#ex ex lovers

[peachyogurrrt]

realest ig thing ive ever did.

[hoonatic]

emergency contact | park sunghoon x reader

prompt: weeks after your breakup, sunghoon finds out that he’s still your emergency contact. pairing: non-idol sunghoon x implied female reader genre: angst with hopeful/happy? ending; second chance romance??; exes to lovers??? word count: 2800 note: i’ve had a cute fic idea that i wanted to write forever…but this is not it. the sad demons have visited me once again. hope y’all enjoy nevertheless and any feedback is much appreciated <3

sunghoon was miserable. 

it had been three weeks, five days, two hours, and thirty-two minutes since the two of you had gone no contact.

he wished he could say he was happy to be single, that he was no longer “locked down” and “whipped” as his friends had always called him. but the so-called “freedom” felt like hell since it meant losing you.

at first, he kept telling himself that time would heal the pain. “it’s natural,” he had repeated like a mantra, “she was your best friend and lover for years.” but no, this heartbreak was inhumane. his desire to see you, apologize endlessly, and spend days holding you until you could feel every ounce of his love was gnawing at his soul. if anything, it got worse by the minute.

he had tried so hard to balance work and the rest of his life, using the excuse several times that he was securing this future for your shared life with him. that one day, you’d be able to reap the rewards of his efforts and live comfortably together without stress.

but what was the use of all of that now? the future he had worked so hard to create was ripped out from his hands by no one other than himself. 

you had accused him of being too busy for you. dates canceled at the last minute, a birthday forgotten, and all the texts left on read had built up to the argument that ended it all. he was always good at fighting, a little too good. he had retorted that you weren’t being supportive, and he was never one to sugarcoat his words. his tongue was sharp, and he did nothing to dull its blade.

but there wasn’t too much yelling on your part, and he thought that that hurt more. he wanted you to fight back, to stand your ground because he knew deep down that he was being the asshole. his toxic thought was that by you fighting back, this meant that you were still fighting for your relationship. but instead, you just stared with silent tears and a blank expression. seeing the indifference in eyes that had previously held so much love was a sight that would stay with him forever. so, in fear of you leaving, he ran instead.

he was a coward, leaving your shared home to run back to the apartment he had still technically owned but hadn’t lived in for more than a year. he locked himself away for a few days, but the realization that you hadn’t attempted to contact him burned more than he could put into words. you were done with him. he had hurt you, had the audacity to be the one to run, and now he had lost you.

he had even run from his job. he couldn’t stand to walk into the same building he stayed in when he forgot dates with you. his coworkers wouldn’t stop asking what happened to him, why he looked so rough. he even found an empty container that had once held lunch you made for him. but his final straw was getting promoted. his first instinct was to call you, but he remembered the sad truth before he could dial. any ounce of pride was washed away with shame in that moment. that same day, he quit without notice.

so there he was: miserable, alone, and unemployed with nothing left to run from but memories. he had spent the last week going through his phone and saving your pictures together in a locked album. he wouldn’t dare delete them, but he couldn’t stomach looking at you either.

he wished he could get drunk and sleep away the pain. he had tried, he definitely did - but that night, he dreamt of you. you were smiling at first, eyes ever full of love. you were speaking, yet he couldn’t hear you. but he could see how your words started to gradually look sadder, and slowly, tears started to fall as your grin dropped. he woke up that next morning crying with the conclusion that he would have to face this heartbreak sober.

but another day of scrolling through albums had stopped abruptly when he saw the notification that changed everything.

SOS i called emergency services from this approximate location after my watch detected a hard fall. you are receiving this message because i have you listed as my emergency contact.

sunghoon had to remind himself to breathe.

he had purchased that watch for you as a “just because” present months ago. you had complained of bad sleep and he wanted you to use it as a way to track your slumber. he hated seeing you tired. he knew that the watch had a fall detection function, but it had never been used before.

his heart was in his stomach as he went to his favorite contacts page and selected your name for the first time in weeks.

“please,” he begged, all notion of running away from you leaving his brain, “pick up please.”

but you just weren’t answering. so he tried again and again and again.

for a moment while the line attempted to connect, he wondered if this was how he had made you feel for months - desperate for a sliver of attention from him. but instead, he was desperate for a sign of life.

finally, after about two minutes of trying to reach you, his body moved of its own accord. before he knew it, his car keys were in his hands and he was out the door.

the car ride there might have been the worst part. the speed at which he drove at almost defied the laws of physics. other drivers were cursing at him but he wasn’t registering anything except the thought of your safety. he just needed to get to you.

why did he run? why didn’t he try to talk it out? if he was so afraid of losing you, why did he do the one thing that would guarantee that? he should have been there like he promised to be from the beginning. you would have been safe with him.

when he pulled up to the house you had shared for so long, he suddenly felt the world slow down. why were emergency services there? you should’ve canceled them by now.

he had to double park as the ambulance was blocking the driveway. why were they here?

the emts and police had arrived at the same time as him, which both increased his anxiety and soothed him. for one, that meant he had been quick enough. but why did you need them?

“sir, do you know–” an officer had approached him as he stumbled to the front door. all he could understand was your name. why were they asking if he knew you? of course he knew you. you, the love of his life. you, his soulmate by every meaning of the word. you were you. and you were safe.

as if sensing his distress, he felt an emt worker pull him to the side as the same officer prepared to break down the door. seeing this, sunghoon finally returned to his senses.

“w-wait! sorry, i have a key.” sunghoon’s hands were shaking. the only way that door had unlocked was by pure muscle memory because he didn’t understand what he was doing at all.

as soon as the door opened, sunghoon tried to step in. finally, he was close to you. 

the officer, however, pulled him back.

“sir, you should wait here. we need to make an initial search before you can go in.”

“what, why? if she’s in there, i want to see–”

“sir, it’s just in case we find something we wouldn’t want you to see.”

all of sunghoon’s hesitation and fear went out the window at those words. his body flew automatically as he ran inside.

he screamed your name as he rushed in, ignoring the yells of the police officers who followed him in. as it had been for almost four weeks, his only thought was you. he just needed you.

he checked the ground floor first, eyes scanning the open space in less than a second as his body avoided an officer trying to grab him. sunghoon then moved to the staircase, long legs prepared to skip steps to reach you. then suddenly, he heard the voice his ears had been longing for,

“sunghoon?!”

his head shot up. there you were, finally. he saw the sadness, confusion, and fear all flash your face as you registered the emergency workers behind him. you looked exhausted and unruly, but he had never felt more in love.

he didn’t even remember climbing the steps, but suddenly he was at the top of the staircase and you were in his arms. 

you could feel him trembling as he held you. you took his face into your hands to look at him, “sunghoon? what’s wrong? why are you here? is it my parents? is someone hurt?” you watched as his mouth opened but no words came out. after a few seconds, one of the officers spoke from the bottom of the steps,

“ma’am, we received an alert from your device that a hard fall had occurred.”

suddenly, you understood everything. taking sunghoon’s hand gently, you led him down the stairs, afraid he’d fall from shock. he followed you silently, but his grip tightened seemingly with every step.

that’s when you noticed your shattered watch on the third step.

you let sunghoon go and you could hear his deep breath when you did. you picked up the watch and offered it up to the officer as an explanation, “i’m sorry officer, it looks like there’s been a misunderstanding…”

the officer nodded in understanding, and dismissed the emts, “got it, ma’am. we will still need a formal report for our records since this was registered as an emergency call.” he motioned to your couch as he took out a pen and paper.

you reached for sunghoon’s hand once more and led him to sit with you. in the moment, you knew he needed you more than you would ever understand. so, as you explained to the officer, you held his trembling hand, rubbing soothing circles with your thumb.

“i was doing laundry here downstairs and had taken off my watch to prevent it from getting wet,” you recounted, “i put it on top of the basket of clothes that i took upstairs. i remember tripping a little going up the stairs - i didn’t fall, but that must’ve been when the watch fell."

"what about your phone, where is it? i'm sure your boyfriend must've tried to call you."

sunghoon slowly nodded at that, turning to look at you. you smiled sheepishly, "i left it upstairs and it was on silent while i folded the clothes. i’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”

after finishing up your statement, the remaining officer prepared to leave. as he walked out the door, he gave a soft smile to the both of you,

“glad to see it was a false alarm, ma’am. you had this gentleman quite worried - ran so fast i couldn’t even grab him!” the officer laughed, “you two have a nice day now! sorry about your watch, though!”

after he shut your door, the silence enveloped your home. you closed your eyes and breathed deeply to prepare to speak to your ex-boyfriend. but as soon as you opened them, sunghoon started to cry softly.

he hugged you tighter than he ever had, and soon enough, his face was buried in your neck. his cries were silent, but you could feel his body shaking as his tears soaked your shirt.

“sunghoon…” you started, stroking his back, “i’m sorry i worried you, honey.”

you knew you shouldn’t be calling your ex pet names, especially an ex that had run from you without properly ending the relationship. but your heart still held so much love for him that it flowed out naturally. and you knew he was crying from more than just worry, so you doubt he minded at all in the moment.

his crying slowed down as his arms took to loosely wrapping around your waist instead. he pulled away from your neck to rest his forehead on yours. from this angle, you could see his swollen eyes and red nose - a sight so rare in all the years you had dated. he was never a crier after all.

but memories of several late-night conversations rushed your mind. he always said his number one fear was your death, and now you could see he had never lied about that.

he could see your mind go elsewhere so he called your name softly, “don’t say you’re sorry. i’m so happy, these are relieved tears. and i just really, really missed you.” he croaked out. you knew he had more to say, so you just nodded, letting him go on.

“and i’m sorry, baby. for everything. i shouldn’t have run, i shouldn’t have tried to egg you on to fight me back. i shouldn’t have even fought anything you said that night. you were right. i didn’t prioritize you. in my attempt to secure you for life, i let you go instead. i’m so sorry, i never wanted to break up.” he was rambling in earnest now, afraid that no words would make you take him back.

you listened quietly as he went on for a few minutes after that, hand continuing to rub his back, “i know honey, i know.”

“baby, you need to understand that i almost died thinking you almost died today,” you could’ve laughed at how dramatically he spoke, “i couldn’t breathe right thinking that our last conversation could’ve been an argument. that you wouldn't have ever known just how deeply i love you and need you. i have so much regret for how i treated you, but if you’d give me the chance, i have all the time in the world to make it up to you…let’s go on that vacation i promised you. we can leave tomorrow if you’d like.” he smiled hopefully at you.

“hoon,” his heart soared at the use of his beloved nickname, “what do you mean? don’t you have work? can you really leave with such short notice?”

“i quit my job.”

“excuse me?”

“no job that made me work that much is worth it. i’ll find one with better work-life balance…after our vacation. if that’s what you still want of course…” he spoke more quietly, as if afraid of rejection.

you sighed. you really should be realistic with this - you two had been broken up for a few weeks at that point. you knew the love was still there, but was this a good decision?

while there was still some hesitation on your part, you couldn't help but notice how gingerly he held you. his arms were still around your waist loosely, yet there was something desperate about their hold. you knew he was holding back from hurting you - you could tell how tightly he wanted to hug you.

he was so shaken up at the idea of you being hurt that he rushed over there despite the two of you not being on speaking terms. for someone who had trouble communicating how he felt sometimes, you knew his actions spoke louder than words. he always acted brave, but there was so much he feared. and you knew losing you was always at the top of this list.

you could also feel how he was simply soaking in the sight of your face. his eyes were shy, yet determined. he wasn't going to risk missing another second of staring at you. a part of you grew conscious, but you knew he was just taking in what he had missed for weeks.

“what about…” you started and almost giggled at how he perked up, “we take it slow - another two weeks or so to talk everything out and relax? to get us to a good place again before you hold me hostage in some foreign country?”

sunghoon smiled softly, kissing your forehead. you leaned in naturally to his warmth, to his touch that you missed so much. “that sounds like a great idea, love.” he spoke, “we’ll get you a new watch too. and i’ll do all the itinerary planning and packing whenever you’re ready, okay? i love you.”

“okay. and i love you too. can’t wait to enjoy your unemployment with you for now!”

one smile and nod from you had him taking you into his arms once more, relishing in your being. he was back where he belonged. he had experienced the scariest reminder ever that he needed you, and sunghoon was never letting you go now.

[majunju]

the abyss princess and skirk

[sunclown]

Best thing of part 4 💎💲

[scorpieuns]

I’M YOURS | JAKE SIM

pairing: ex!jake x afab!reader, friend! sunghoon x afab!reader

summary: despite your best friend and sunghoon’s attempts to get to you move on from your ex-boyfriend, you just simply cannot get over jake—and he can’t either.

word count: 6.1k

genre: friends to undefined. exes to ambiguous. college setting.

warnings (18+): smut (absolute filth.) fluff (if you use a microscope lmfao). alcohol. mentions of breakups. (slightly) possesive jake. kissing. grinding. nipple play (f. recieving). fingering (f. recieving.). unprotected sex. slightly rough sex. doggie. slight hair pulling. multiple orgasms. both reader and jake are stubborn as hell. (let me know if there’s anything missing!)

A/N: inspired by the request posts from @rivaillescum and @teddursa — I got wayyy to carried away lol but first long fic post!

“What about him?” Aeri yells over the music, your eyes following her pointed finger towards a man leaning against the wall with his eyes glued to the phone in his hand.

“Park Wonbin from art history?” You turn to the girl with an eyebrow raised, “Park Wonbin, who’s had a girlfriend since last fall?”

Aeri's shoulders sink, “I should’ve known someone who looked like that wasn’t single.” You laugh at her bummed out expression, sipping the drink in your hands as you subtly dance to the music playing.

“Now him?” She nods towards the direction of another man, expressively dancing in the large crowd, “I cannot have a one night stand with a wannabe tiktoker Ae.”

“Why are you so difficult?” She groans, resting her head against the wall.

“Just give up already.”

“I can’t,” she whines, “I brought you out tonight so you could have fun, and get over Jake.”

You almost choke on your drink, “What? It's been like…two weeks since we broke up.”

“Exactly.” She retorts. “That’s why I shouldn't catch you staring at his contact all the damn time.” Your mouth falls open, “That was just one time!”

Aeri raises her eyebrows and you fall silent, already foreseeing your defeat in this little argument.

“Look,” Aeri says, her voice softening, “what matters is that this time you’re really done with him.” Her words were gentle, but the weight of them hit you harder than you expected. Aeri meant well, but the truth was embarrassing.

It had been two weeks since you broke up with Jake—for the third time in four months. Yes, third.

And no, you didn’t know why you kept going back either. Maybe dating a frat boy who happened to be a soccer star wasn’t your brightest idea.

Looking back, it seemed like you'd signed up for trouble with a side of emotional whiplash and good sex.

At first, Jake had been amazing.

Sophomore year started like a rom-com: he treated you like royalty, planned cute dates, stayed up all night with you in the library (even though he wasn’t the one with exams), and Jake just couldn’t get enough of you. The first six months were straight out of your dreams.

Your friends were gagging at how cute you were, even painting your face with his team colours to cheer him on with your friends from the bleachers like the supportive girlfriend you were—waiting for him to sweep you off your feet with a kiss whenever he won a game.

Then, everything changed after the final soccer game for the College Cup. Jake’s hero moment brought home the trophy, and suddenly, soccer was his whole life. You were still proud of him, of course, but things quickly started to feel…off.

Calls became shorter, dates were postponed, and before you knew it, you were practically his motivational speaker, squeezed in between practice sessions and interviews.

By the end, it felt like you were on his schedule, like a convenience more than a priority. He only called when he needed something—and that was obviously whenever he was horny and wanted to fuck what ever stress he had out of him.

You finally confronted him about it, hoping he’d realize that he was treating you like a fuck buddy more than his girlfriend—but instead, Jake argued, claiming he was too “busy” for “all that other dating stuff.”

That was your tipping point.

So, you broke up. And just when you thought you were free and ready to move on, summer ends and Jake reappears like some kind of relationship boomerang.

He apologized, said all the right things, told you how much he missed you—and boom. Hours later, you’re back in his bed, wondering how it all happened.

The cycle was maddening. Each time he’d win you over with apologies and promises, things would feel perfect again, and then…well, you knew how it went.

“This time, it’s really over,” you declare over the pounding music, convincing yourself more than anyone else.

The last breakup was the worst yet. You argued for hours, screaming about relationships and priorities, and it finally hit you: Jake didn’t really deserve your time.

So why was it so hard to let him go?

You brushed away the ache in your heart as your argument came to mind, downing what was left of your drink to somehow dull the pain and take solace in the alcohol settling into your system.

“You just need a rebound.” Aeri says over the music, “I promise you, a good one night stand might just give you a fresh start and get you out of Jake's chokehold.”

“So is that why you dragged me to a party being hosted by his frat house?” You inquired with amusement. “Oh come on! Not every guy here belongs to the frat.”

You mull over her ‘rebound’ statement, eyes surveying the crowd as your nails made dents into the empty can. “Speaking of...” Aeri trails off and you follow the direction of her gaze to another one of your university's well known juniors and soccer players, Park Sunghoon.

Your eyes landed on his, staring at you from across the room with a gaze that made your cheeks warm. Sunghoon was one of the other popular boys in the year. He was sweet, funny, playful and damn that smile— you understood why girls fell at his feet.

You and Sunghoon had a few interactions before. You volunteered as a first aid for their soccer games on a few occasions, and he consistently took the chance to talk to you whenever you were present or needed his supposedly real injuries examined.

“He's been watching you for quite a while now.” She adds, playfully bumping her shoulder against yours. You divert your attention from him and look back at your best friend who was sporting a cheeky grin.

“The goalkeeper, Ae? That’s such a low blow.”

The girl besides you shrugs, moving her body to the beat of the music, “So…? He clearly likes you and I’m one hundred percent sure he’d treat you better than he ever did.”

You’re about to open your mouth to say something when she cuts you off. “Oh! I think I have to go to the…bathroom! I’ll see you later (Y/N).” She says, pressing a chaste kiss on your cheek before rushing away from your side.

Your eyebrows meet in confusion as she dashes away from you, mouth agape at her sudden and abrupt departure—even running the opposite way.

But before your mind can conjure up any reasons, you hear your name being called in the loud crowd, turning to see Sunghoon making his way to you.

Oh. I see what you did there Aeri.

"Hey, angel," Sunghoon’s voice is low, with that unmistakable charm as he saunters up to you, eyes locked on yours.

"Sunghoon," you breathe, smiling as he closes the distance, his arms opening for you. His gaze flickers over your face, lingering just long enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Knew I’d recognize that pretty face anywhere," he murmurs as his arms slip around your waist, pulling you close.

For a moment, you let yourself sink into him—his scent wrapping around you, the firm warmth of his hands pressing against your lower back. It’s like everything around you fades except the feel of his body, the way your heart picks up in rhythm with his.

“How’ve you been?” you ask softly, voice catching just a bit as he pulls away, though his hands stay where they are, fingers resting casually on your hips.

“Any ‘injuries’ since I’ve been gone?” You tease, and the sound of his laugh sends a thrill through you.

“You noticed, huh?” Sunghoon’s voice drops a notch lower, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles just above your hip.

You smirk, raising an eyebrow. "How many times were you going to fake a knee injury in one game?”

“As many times as it took to get you close.” His hand lifts, brushing a few strands of hair from your face, his fingertips grazing your skin just enough to make you bite your lip.

“It’s kinda hard to keep my eyes on you when I'm supposed to be, y’know…playing.” His lips curl into a slow smirk, eyes burning into yours.

“Well,” you whisper, feeling the heat rise between you, “you’ve got me all to yourself now.”

Sunghoon’s gaze drops to your lips, making your pulse race. The air thickens, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah?” His voice is pure temptation, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Do I get to kiss you too?”

You don’t even have to think about it. You nod, lips parting slightly, eyes dipping to his mouth. His smirk deepens as he closes the distance, and your breath catches, waiting for the touch you've been craving.

Sunghoon wasted no time kissing you, softly crashing his lips against yours in a way that made you hum in content.

You could taste the remnants of his drink as he kissed you slowly and softly, meticulously exploring your mouth with his tongue as his hands stayed glued to your hips, rubbing your sides through the silk fabric of your minidress.

Your hand drifted to his, guiding it down to cup your ass which made him groan into your mouth. Sunghoon broke away from the kiss, softly biting your bottom lip as he pulled away with a smirk.

He leans closer to the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Do you want to take this upstairs?” The feeling of his hand caressing your ass makes you sigh, already feeling the fabric of your underwear sticking to you.

But before you could even respond, your eyes landed on someone who had suddenly materialised across the room, heart dropping to your stomach and your breath catching in your throat.

Jake.

His clenched jaw made you conclude that his eyes were seemingly already on you for what must’ve been like a while now, searing holes through you and Sunghoon from afar.

Your ears grew warm, gently pushing the tall man off you with a strained exhale. “Is everything alright? Did I do anything wrong?” Sunghoon asked as he scanned you worryingly.

“Of course not!” You immediately protest, “I just…” you trailed off as your eyes darted to the man who was still staring at you before they landed back on Sunghoon’s concerned ones.

“I don’t think I’m feeling well.”

It wasn’t a lie. You felt like you were gonna throw up with all the bile that was rising in your throat.

Why did he have to appear right now?

You could feel yourself slowly sobering up as you glanced at Jake once again, warm brown eyes staring you down in a way that made your breathing stutter.

“I think I need to go to the bathroom.” You mutter as you look away, swallowing the unwelcomed lump in your throat.

“Oh…the line to the bathroom looks pretty bad right now, you could use ours upstairs?”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Sure!” He nods with a smile, “do you want me to go with you?”

You shake your head, “It's okay, I’ll…I’ll be back” You smile weakly, pressing a quick kiss on Sunghoon’s lips before you slip away from his hold.

You couldn’t even bother to reply to his distant “call me if you need me” as you travelled through the sea of bodies, trying to find your way to stairs as your heart hammered out of your chest.

Shit.

Nothing could’ve prepared you to actually see Jake, even if you half-heartedly expected it. The frat house was so large, you had concluded that you probably wouldn’t have to see him.

Some part of you—regrettably and painfully so, already concluded that he was probably somewhere, rutting into some girl that threw herself at him, celebrating the freedom of being single or something.

You stormed up the stairs, making a beeline for the bathroom, relieved to find that it was empty as Sunghoon had mentioned, and as soon as the door closed behind you, you let out a weary sigh, muttering a curse under your breath.

Now you were mad at yourself. Why did you push Sunghoon away?

You could’ve let the junior lead you upstairs all while Sunghoon watched, knowing he knew exactly what you’d be up to–but you pushed him off. You could already imagine Jake’s joy when you walked away, leaving Sunghoon alone in the crowd.

Well done (Y/N).

Well-fucking-done. You thought to yourself as you looked at your reflection in the mirror, but your little self berating session was interrupted by the suddenly louder and crispier sound of music emitting into the bathroom, eyes travelling to the opened door.

When Jake comes into view, you roll your eyes and sigh inwardly. “What the hell do you want, Jake?” Is all you say, instantly plagued by irritation.

It was hard to admit, but he did look good tonight. All traces of his once blonde tinged hair were drowned out by the colour of jet black and it suited him so well.

He was dressed in a black dress shirt, chain around his neck and pair of loose fitting jeans that hung around his hips—a simple outfit that still looked undeniably great on him.

“I just came to check on you,” he shoves his hands in his back pockets as he nods his head to the door, “you didn’t look so well out there.”

“I’m fine.” You say, turning away, “can you get fuck out now?”

“Woah, just hang on a sec,” Jake sighs, “I haven’t seen you in ages, princess.”

Princess.

“I’m not your princess anymore Jake,” you deadpanned. “We broke up, remember? For good this time.” You added, emphasising the finality of it.

You wanted to make it clear that there was no going back, that this time Jake couldn't make you cave or entice you to return.

You were ready for something–someone– new, and you were pretty sure he was still waiting for you downstairs.

This was the perfect time to leave before you’d probably do anything you’d regret, especially when you noticed Jake’s lingering gaze on your minidress.

You cleared your throat, rolling your eyes as you tried to slip past Jake, but he blocked your way, his hand grabbing your wrist. His grip wasn’t forceful, but it was enough to halt you. “So, you’re really going back to him?” His words were sharp, a hint of desperation creeping in.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “That’s none of your business.” Yanking your hand free, you spun on your heel, making for the door without so much as a second glance.

“(Y/N), baby, wait.” He followed closely, reaching out again, but you dodged him with a huff, crossing your arms tighter around yourself.

“Jake, seriously, just leave me alone.”

“Baby—” He finally managed to catch your arm, stopping you in your tracks. You groaned, throwing your head back with exaggerated frustration. “What now, Jake?”

He tried to meet your eyes, but you refused, stubbornly staring at anything that wasn’t his face. His hand cupped your chin, gently turning your face to his. “Can we please talk? Please?” Jake’s voice was soft, almost pleading, and that stupid thumb of his traced along your jaw, sending a wave of heat through you that you definitely did not want to feel right now.

“Fine. Whatever,” you muttered, not quite looking at him but letting him lead you into his room.

As the door closed behind you, muffling the noise of the party downstairs, your gaze drifted around the room, filled with memories you weren’t ready to be reminded of yet.

But Jake didn’t give you the chance to settle into those thoughts. “Sunghoon?” he asked, his voice dripping with disbelief as he turned to you. His expression darkened instantly. “Seriously? Sunghoon?”

You snorted, shrugging carelessly. “Yeah, so what? He’s hot.”

Jake’s jaw clenched so hard you could practically hear his teeth grinding together. “So, what—you’re actually gonna sleep with him?” He sounded like he couldn’t decide if he was hurt or furious.

You folded your arms, lifting your chin defiantly. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”

“What’s it to me?” He stepped closer, and this time, you didn’t flinch. You wanted him to be mad. You liked him like this, all riled up and focused on you.

“You’re gonna fuck the one guy you told me not to worry about? The guy who’s been after you since the day we got together? My friend and my teammate?”

His eyes narrowed at you and you shrugged again, feigning indifference even though your heart was beating way too fast. “We’re not together anymore, Jake. I can sleep with whoever I want.”

Jake’s eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite read—anger, hurt, jealousy, all rolled into one.

“Wow. You really don’t care, do you?” His voice had gone quiet now, the kind of quiet that made you feel something twist in your stomach.

You opened your mouth to snap back, but the words didn’t come out as easily as you wanted them to. “I don’t…I mean, I told you, I’m not your girlfriend. You don’t get to—

“I don’t get to?” He cut you off, his laugh bitter as he ran his hand through his hair, pacing in front of you. “You’ve really moved on, huh? That easy?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. This wasn’t how you wanted this to go. But before you could say anything, he stepped closer again, backing you up until your legs hit the bed.

“You still feel something, (Y/N),” he said, his voice low, and the way his eyes bore into yours made it impossible to deny, even if you wanted to. “You’re still mine. You know it.”

Your heart was racing now, his closeness making it hard to breathe. But you weren’t about to let him win that easily. “I’m not yours, Jake. Not anymore.” Your voice wavered, just slightly, but you held your ground.

His hand reached out, fingertips brushing your arm, the touch so light it made your skin tingle. “Say it again,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Tell me you don’t care.”

You swallowed, hating how your resolve was crumbling under his touch. “I—I don’t care,” you repeated, but the words sounded less convincing now, and you both knew it.

“I’m done with you, Jake.” Your voice came out sharper, laced with defiance, but the flicker of doubt behind it didn’t go unnoticed by your ex boyfriend.

“Are you sure?” Jake’s words were smooth, almost teasing, as he leaned in closer, fingers drifting over to the slope of your neck. He saw the way your eyes betrayed you, flickering to his lips for a brief second, and his smirk grew. “Because you don’t look over me.”

You rolled your eyes, even though your pulse quickened. “Has anyone ever told you how insufferable you are?” The bitterness in your laugh didn’t mask the heat that rose to your cheeks.

“Maybe. But it doesn’t make it any less true,” he said, his voice infuriatingly smug. “I saw you staring at me out there, (Y/N). You couldn’t keep your eyes off me, even with him standing right there.”

“You’re delusional,” you shot back, but the words didn’t have the bite you wanted them to. There was an edge of frustration—at him, at yourself—that you couldn’t shake. “I wasn’t staring at you.”

Jake chuckled softly, stepping in just enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. “Sure, baby. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“You are such an asshole,” you hissed, trying to inject some venom into the words, but it came out more exasperated than you intended.

Jake tilted his head, his gaze softening in that maddening way, like he knew exactly how to unravel you. “Come on (Y/N), don’t be like that. You know you miss me.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach, the warmth creeping into your chest. “I don’t miss anything about you.”

“Really?” he whispered, his hand finding its way to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as his touch sent sparks through your skin. “Because I miss you. I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you could feel the traitorous warmth spreading through your veins.

His eyes—those stupid, beautiful brown eyes—were staring right into yours, and you hated that they still had that effect on you. But you weren’t about to give in. Not this time.

“I bet you have,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, though the sarcasm lacked its usual punch. “Probably because you miss having someone at your beck and call.”

Jake’s smirk faltered, but his gaze didn’t waver. “That’s not it, and you know it.” His voice was lower now, more intimate, tracing his thumb along your jaw. “I miss you.”

Your chest tightened and you hated how easily he got to you, how your demeanor crumbled the second he looked at you like that.

“I’ve moved on,” you said, but your voice was weak, barely above a whisper.

“Have you?” He breathed, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of his bated breath against your lips, “because right now, you don’t look like someone who’s moved on.”

You should’ve pushed him away, told him off like you promised Aeri you would. But instead, a warm feeling fluttered in the pit of your stomach as his lips hovered just out of reach.

Jake’s fingers traced the line of your jaw, then down the side of your neck, sending electric shivers through your body as he leaned in even closer. The air between you was thick with tension, your breath shaky as you struggled to maintain control, slowly failing your resistance to give in to the desire that threatened to pull you under.

Jake’s lips brushed against yours before crashing against them in a heated, desperate kiss, his hand falling waist with tightening grip as if he was afraid to let go.

You kissed him back fiercely, your hands gripping his shirt as if to anchor yourself to the moment, all the anger, frustration, and unresolved feelings pouring into the kiss.

His soft plump lips moved unrelenting and hungrily against yours, his hands moving to cup your cheeks, fingers resting on your jaw as he deepened the kiss.

You tried to stay balanced as so many feelings crashed over you in equal measures, desperately leaning up into the kiss as you tried to match his fervour.

Oh, how you missed it.

His lips, his touch.

It all felt like a drug, a drug you disappointingly couldn't get enough of.

You fell into the bed softly, letting Jake hover over you without breaking the kisses, “I missed you.” he whispers, before kissing you again.

For a split second, you pulled back, breathless, your chest rising and falling as you looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “You’re still an asshole,” you muttered, though there was no bite left in your voice now.

Jake’s lips curved into a smirk as he leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one slower, softer. “Yeah, but you’re still kissing me,” he whispered against your lips.

Jake’s lips continued to moved against yours and you could barely breathe from the tightness in your chest, tangling your fingers into his soft hair as you drew him closer.

He pulled away and you barely had a second to think before his lips were on your neck, head falling to the side as soft sloppy kisses were pressed onto your skin, eliciting a soft moan from you.

You could feel Jake smirk against your neck, sucking marks into your skin that you were sure he wanted to show.

Your eyes flutter shut as his hands slowly ease down your body, his touch firmer than last time, lips lingering on the slope of your neck and fingers sliding under your dress.

Jake’s warm palm slid up the inside of your thighs and a wave of anticipation and desire coursed through you, a sound escaping your throat only to be muffled by his lips.

He pulled away and latched his lips to your collarbone, sucking and littering the skin with hues of purple as his fingers traced along your underwear making you arch your back reflectively.

"I’ve missed this." Jake whispers, hooking his finger around the waistband of your underwear, pressing a trail of sloppy kisses down the valley of your breasts as he slowly pulls your underwear off.

A shaky sigh fell past your lips at the feeling of the cool air hitting your cunt, and you couldn’t help but cry at the feeling of Jake’s fingers running up your glistening folds.

“Well…I…haven’t.” You breathe out stubbornly as his other hand pushes your straps over your arms, fingers brushing the cup of your dress away and running over your naked breasts.

The feeling of his cold rings grazing over your nipples makes you clench around nothing, half lidded eyes staring back at his lustful ones.

“Hmm. Really?” He asks, looking down between your legs, raising his eyebrow as he looked up.

“That was probably…” You begin, slowly losing your train of thought at the feeling of his hand caressing your breasts. “Shit—that was probably Sunghoon” You only manage to say in between swallowed moans.

“Come again?”

Your cheeky smile was quickly wiped off, as his fingers traced up and down your folds, biting your lip with a whine as he circled your wet entrance.

A soft breathy moan leaves your lips, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as his fingers slid into you with ease, leaning into his touch. “Jake, shit—” Your voice cuts off, mouth falling agape as he slowly drags his fingers in and out of you.

“That’s what I thought.”

Prick.

Jake’s plump lips latch onto your erect nipple, tongue swirling and sucking on the sensitive bud and your head falls back into the pillow biting your lip as your hands weave into Jake’s soft hair.

Jake groaned around your sensitive bud, making your whole body twitch at the vibration. His tongue moved to your other one, giving it the same treatment and you couldn't stop yourself from grinding against him, needing more.

His tongue and fingers were doing wonders on you, trying to silence the sounds falling from your lips. You resisted your moans by biting your lip to avoid giving him that satisfaction—which he obviously hated.

Jake could still tell that you were falling apart, ruining the fabric of his shirt and grinding into his fingers breathlessly, but that wasn't enough, he wanted to hear you.

“So we’re playing it that way, huh?” He pulled away, chest heaving against yours as you grabbed his arm, fingers continuing to pump into you, throwing head back with a breathy, almost silent moan before looking back at him.

“What way?” You rasped, feigning innocence, watching your ex-boyfriend chuckle to himself.

“Okay.”

And before you could get lost in the feeling of his fingers any longer, he slips out of your cunt, whining at the loss of his touch.

You were barely given time to protest or process anything before he swiftly flipped you over, face meeting the soft pillows that adorned his bed with a surprised gasp.

You could feel your heart thrum against your chest, face growing warm at the compromising position Jake just put you in.

You turned around, glancing at Jake's lips wrapped around his fingers, sucking your arousal clean off with a delighted hum.

He eyes darted over to yours, and you tore your eyes away, that dull ache returning to your thighs from the sight.

“M’gonna fuck you so good,” Jake's eyes trailed over your backside, “you’ll scream my name.” He groaned, kneading the soft flesh of your ass as your breath stuttered.

Jake quickly got rid of his clothes and you hated the way your heart skipped a beat in anticipation.

“Are you sure about that?” You challenge, almost yelping when he suddenly grabs your hips flush to his own.

He leaned over to you, brushing your hair away from your face as he pressed a soft kiss on the side of your temple.

“You and that damn attitude.” Jake clicked his tongue as he ran his cock along your folds, soft whimpers leaving your lips as he slowly pushed himself into you.

Jake watched as he eased himself in, moaning at the way your warmth and wetness sucked him in like a vacuum.

The stretch felt so good, so undeniably good and you hated the way your walls instantly fluttered around him, soft pathetic sounds falling out of your lips as he began to move, grabbing the sheets beneath with your swallowed cries.

You clamp your hand over your mouth and Jake glares, shaking his head with an affronted expression as he grabs that wrist, pinning it behind your back as he continues to work himself in and out of you.

“Shit.” You gasp, letting a few whimpers slip past your lips, cheek flushed against the soft pillows, a few moans escaping your throat at the feeling of him brushing over you in a way that made your vision cloudy before closing your mouth.

"You're taking me soooo well, baby.” Jake’s brows drew together with a moan, snapping his hips to yours as you clenched around him.

"Fuck, you missed this didn't you?" He hissed, watching you writhe in pleasure.

You were a mess beneath him, tears pricking your eyes at the way he relentlessly pounded into you.

You let out a loud gasp when Jake reached under to play with your clit, pressing his finger into it, "Jake." You whispered with a whimper, fisting the sheets, still stubbornly refusing to make any sound—which Jake only took as a challenge.

Your heart couldn't help but swell with guilt when Sunghoon came to mind, still awaiting your return.

Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe after a few minutes had passed, he went over to check on you, only to hear your moans emitting from the crevices of Jake's door before walking away.

Jake really did have a chokehold on you.

The man pulled out with a curse, and you cried at the sudden loss. You were about to turn around to protest when Jake gripped the base of his cock, lining up with your puffy entrance again.

With no warning, Jake plunged his dick into your tight heat, the sound of skin slapping against each other and a scream leaving your lips as the man fucked you relentlessly.

“That's it, princess, let me hear those beautiful moans.”

“Oh, fuck.” You moaned, gasping and writhing, arching your back and pushing yourself against his cock, begging for more.

“You're so fucking good around me- fucking made for me.” Jake groans, low moans tumbling from his lips.

"You're mine aren't you?"

Of course, you wanted to scream no—you wanted to deny his claim, but his name spilled out of your lips, again and again, begging him not to stop.

"Say you're mine." He hissed, pounding his cock into you. Your heart raced, and you were certain that he could feel it as the pleasure continuously washed over you.

"Say it."

“Jake oh my—” you’re cut off by your own moan the moment he hit your sweet spot, your face hot as you let out lewd sounds into the pillows with no control of your own, throat strained already.

"Fuck—Yes! I'm yours." You screamed, tears spilling out of your eyes as he worked his hand around your clit.

“I’m yours.” You moaned, clawing at the sheets. He continued to rub his finger over your swollen bud, his other hand reaching over to gently grab a fistful of your hair bringing you flush to his chest.

You could feel your legs begin to tremble as profound pleasure coursed through you, hands flailing around to grip on his shoulder as you continuously surged forward from Jake’s thrusts.

“That’s right, baby.” He rasped, almost bordering whimpers as he continued to pump in you, thick velvety walls hugging him so tightly, slipping in and out of you with such ease.

Your whimpers and screams echoed through the room, legs threatening to give out from just how good he felt, dizzying and intense pleasure washing over you everytime he thrusted into you.

You were too fucked out to be self conscious about your loud moans, or concerned that maybe people could somehow hear Jake fucking your brains out over the loud music.

If you weren’t so clouded and already fucked out, you would’ve guessed that Jake probably loved how loud you were.

It felt like he was telling the whole house that you were still his no matter what—especially Park Sunghoon.

Jake would notice the goalkeeper staring at you from across the field, cozying up to you as if he wasn’t just a few metres away from you— the nerve.

Like what the fuck happened to bro code?

“Do you think he can make you feel this way baby?” he asks and your mouth falls agape, brain foggy. You shook your head with a whimper.

You were so out of focus, his dick so good and stupefying that you couldn't even speak.

Jake revelled in the moans of his name tumbling past your lips. The thought of another guy’s name leaving those pretty lips drove him crazy, you were his, he had no idea what was going in Sunghoon’s mind to think that he could actually be with you.

He could feel you tightening around him and he knew you were close, thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release.

"Say my name." He hissed, "tell me who makes you feel this good."

"Jake-"

“I can’t hear you princess.” He groaned.

"Jake!" You sobbed, gasping and squirming as the pleasure became too much.

"That’s it, come for me, baby." He cooed, wrapping an arm around your neck and squeezing it gently.

The pressure on your throat, and the way his fingers played with your clit were enough to make you scream out his name, the coil in your stomach finally snapping, walls clamping around him and milking him for all he's worth as your legs shook, vision blackening, and eyes squeezing shut.

You moan his name, the only thing running through your mind and leaving your lips as he places you back into the bed, holding your hips.

"That’s right." Jake groaned, still slamming his hips into you. "Who does your pussy belong to?"

“Fuck,” you cried out, feeling another orgasm creep in, "it belongs to you, only you." You mewled as your walls tightened, shattering pleasure rippling through you once again, as his thrusts finally slowed.

“Such a pretty sight for me.” He moaned with a final thrust, shooting his seed into you as he rode out your highs.

Jake continued to empty his load into you, softly whimpering at the sudden warmth coating your walls until he finally pulled out of you.

Your head fell into pillows, the aftershocks of your orgasms still rippling through you as you tried to catch your breath.

"(Y/N)," He said softly, and you could feel his hands rest on the slope of neck and you slowly turned to look at him.

Jake gently wiped away your stray tears, his eyes looking for some sort of affirmation that what he did was okay, that he hadn't gone too far, that he didn't hurt you.

"You okay?"

You nodded with a dazed laugh, “Yeah, I’m fine.” You rasped, as he enveloped your lips in a sloppy and gentle kiss.

Jake wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing the marks on your neck that he left a while ago.

“Stay over.” He whispers against your skin and your shoulders fall with a sigh, hands brushing his slightly damp hair away from his face, “I don’t know Jake…”

“Just for tonight.”

“Please.” He begs, in a softer tone. You looked at him— at his pretty face, his pink plump lips and his slightly messy hair, breathing in the mellow undertones of sweet vanilla in the perfume he was wearing tonight.

“Jake.” You whisper again, as you watch his hands caress your shoulders. You look up at him, ready to turn him down but you don’t say anything.

“We don’t have to do anything…I just want to be with you.”

Those words.

It’s like you could see your past self rolling her eyes, “not again.”

“Okay.”

You let him pull you back to his chest, let him wrap his arms around you as you fell asleep, lulled by the rise and fall of his chest and the sound of his beating heart.

Jake watched you fall asleep in his arms, and the sight alone made him forget about the world outside, and the ache that was still in his chest.

It was just for tonight.

Just for tonight.

[jjungkookislife]

Navigating Tides

♡ pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader

♡ genre: exes to lovers, angst, fluff, smut [18+]

♡ summary: A cruise is the last place you expect to see your ex-boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook. You broke up six months ago, and your best friends Jimin and Yoongi assured you your ex wouldn't even remember this cruise that you booked a year in advance. However, on your first night on board, you discover your ex isn't only on the cruise ship, but there are no rooms available for him to stay in other than yours.

♡ wc: 18.9k

♡ warnings: alcohol use/mention, food mentions, mention of murder on cruise ship documentaries, threats of violence, sexual thoughts, jealousy, making out, marking (hickeys, biting, scratching), hair pulling, oral sex (f. giving and receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

♡ a/n: a huge thank you to the anon who suggested the title ❤

♡ date: September 1, 2024

“Jimin, I don’t think this is a good idea,” you sigh heavily as you adjust your sunhat. Your large sunglasses keep the sun out of your eyes and make it easier to take in your surroundings.

Passengers stand around you, some checking their tickets, others counting their luggage, and your best friend scoping out your next boyfriend while he checks his phone for messages regarding his beloved cat, Moon.

“Come on! You bought the ticket in advance! You know Jungkook isn’t going to show. You broke up six months ago, he wouldn’t come on this cruise if you paid him!” Jimin exclaims trying (and failing) to ease your worries. 

“He’s right,” Yoongi chimes in once he gets a photo of his cat from his parents. “Jungkook wouldn’t leave his office to come on a cruise his ex and best friends booked a year in advance. He probably doesn’t even remember it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you give in as the line moves forward. You pull your luggage beside you. “There’s no way he’d be here.”

Jimin nods as Yoongi moves their luggage. You stand in line with your ticket and passport in hand as Jimin rattles on about all the things he wants to do for the next seven days out on the ocean. You half-listen, looking around at the passengers,  hoping for a relaxing time. 

“We’re a few doors down,” Jimin continues, “but we’ll come get you for all our meals and we can figure out what to do that day. There’s a casino and a karaoke night.”

You nod, smiling as the line moves again. The breeze ruffles your hair beneath your hat and you close your eyes momentarily. 

A vacation was just what you needed.

Jeon Jungkook is a strong man. He’s got a lean body and hands that could rip open a pineapple with ease. He normally doesn’t demonstrate his great strength, but the women are eating it up at the bar closest to the dock. 

His assistant had reminded him about his vacation last week. A cruise, she had informed him as she showed him the next ten days blocked off his calendar. 

Jungkook had denied taking the time off but his assistant had insisted he go. When he tried to protest again, the assistant threatened to call his mother. 

Jungkook took a bite of the pineapple before throwing a handful of bills on the bar. 

“Gotta go!” He yelled over the ruckus he had caused and grabbed his suitcase with his sticky hands. The women were sad to see him go, but Jungkook had minutes before the cruise ship left the dock. 

“Welcome,” Jungkook is greeted before his ticket and passport are checked. He was directed to his floor but Jungkook headed straight for the bar, where more passengers were gathered to get their vacation started.

By the time you get to your room, you’re pleased to see your luggage waiting for you. You head to the balcony, admiring the view as the ship pulls away from the dock. 

You take a few minutes to fix your makeup and grab your sunblock before shoving your suitcase under your bed. Yoongi had insisted you cram everything into one large suitcase and he’d bring an extra one for souvenirs. Jimin had allowed you to sneak some more outfits into his luggage since Yoongi knew better than to try to limit his clothing options.

“That should do it,” you say to yourself as you head out of the cabin, just to spot Yoongi and Jimin heading your way.

“Let’s get something to eat and hit the pool,” Jimin grins as he takes your hand and Yoongi’s in the other.

Meanwhile, Jungkook has finished his drink at the bar and heads toward his cabin. 

He’s glad to see his suitcase has been delivered and he slides it under the bed easily. He takes his room key and heads back out to see what there’s to do on this cruise.

He wishes he had paid more attention to the details when you had booked it.

Yoongi is soaking wet, shaking his long black hair, making you and Jimin scream. He laughs, his gummy smile makes Jimin melt.

“You’re drying yourself off like a dog,” you comment as he sits in the chair with Jimin. 

Yoongi shrugs, leaning forward to take a large bite of the watermelon slice Jimin holds out for him. 

Jimin had slathered the three of you in sunblock, lecturing on the dangers of the UV rays and whatnot. You knew better than to ignore his advice, seeing as he was a dermatologist and Yoongi was a plastic surgeon.

“Are either of you going to get in the pool?” Yoongi asks as he cards his fingers through his wet hair. Jimin bites his bottom lip as he watches Yoongi with a look that’s all too familiar.

“Don’t you dare!” You swat at Jimin with your book. The couple laughs.

“You promised I wouldn’t be a third-wheel,” you remind them.

Yoongi nods. “We promised.”

Jimin nods. “Of course, we’re just teasing.”

“More like setting up foreplay,” you mutter but they ignore you as Jimin hands you a slice of watermelon and a cube of pineapple. The two of you were waiting for this evening’s dinner to have drinks, though the cocktails of the passengers around you looked delicious.

“Since we’re on vacation, are you gonna be seeking a dance partner?” Jimin asks wiggling his eyebrows.

“You know, for the horizontal hula?” Yoongi smirks, earning a swat to his arm.

“No! I’m here to relax!” you insist as you open your book. You clasp your kitten bookmark before it can slip out of the worn pages. 

Jimin sighs dramatically as he falls over onto your chair. “Come on! You don’t have to marry anyone, just flirt.”

“Min,” Yoongi warns, noting the shift in your posture. 

Jimin mimes zipping his lips as he sits up. 

“I just worry about you.”

“There’s no need, Minnie. If it happens, it happens, okay?” you ask as you close your book once more, giving up on getting any reading done.

Yoongi places his hand on Jimin’s shoulder, tugging him to their chair. Jimin goes easily, placated for the moment.

You steal a grape from Jimin’s plate before lying back on the chair with your hat covering your face.

Jimin smiles as he grabs his book and lies back to read, his fruit plate long forgotten. 

As Yoongi reaches for a grape, his eyes catch a familiar tattoo sleeve but when he blinks, it’s gone.

Must have been the heat playing tricks on him.

Dinner had been a blast.

Yoongi and Jimin had gotten every cocktail that you had eyes on earlier in the day. You danced, laughed, and forgot all about Jungkook.

“We’ll see you in the morning,” Jimin said as he walked you to your cabin. Yoongi waited out in the hall outside of theirs’ to make sure Jimin was in his eyesight. He’d seen too many documentaries on shit going sideways on cruises to leave either of you unsupervised.

“Goodnight, Minnie. Love you,” you hug him tight before he leaves you with a kiss to your temple.

Once he’s gone, you kick your shoes off in your cabin. It’s just as you left it. 

You let your hair down as you begin to unbutton your blue dress, allowing the thin straps to fall off your shoulders.

You’re startled when the bathroom door swings open, steam flooding out of it, obscuring whoever is there.

You scream!

The steam clears and out walks a man with a colorful tattoo sleeve on one arm, his other hand holding the white towel around his waist.

His doe eyes widen as he spots you.

“What are you doing here?!” you shout at the same time. “Me?! YOU?! Stop that!”

You both stomp a foot at the same time. 

Water runs down your ex’s sculpted chest and abs—you can’t help but stare. You remember tracing those delicious abs with your tongue, ending up on your knees with his cock down your throat.

A shiver rolls down your back.

“What are you doing here, Jungkook?” you huff, stomping your foot. You hope your next-door neighbors don’t complain about the noise.

“I’m on vacation,” he answers in a duh tone.

“In my cabin?” 

“I didn’t know you were going to be here! We haven’t talked since…” Jungkook trails off, sighing heavily. He feels the knots in his throat, the ache of holding back tears.

“You never take vacations. Why did you come?” you demand answers as you cross your arms over your chest, eyes widening when you realize your bra-clad tits are exposed. You immediately turn around, fixing your dress before facing him once again.

Jungkook rubs his nape awkwardly. He grabs the robe from the bathroom and puts it on.

“I know. My assistant insisted. I never canceled the vacation request and she made plans,” Jungkook shrugged. 

“Well, you can’t stay here!” you exclaim, pointing toward the door sharply.

Jungkook says your name, but you glare at him. He raises his hands in defeat.

“At least let me get dressed, okay?” 

“Fine,” you grumble as he grabs his suitcase from under the bed. You head to the balcony to sit while Jungkook gets dressed.

This was not how you wanted to spend your vacation. Was it too late to fly home from the next port? You couldn’t be stuck on the same ship with Jungkook for the next seven days and six nights. Just knowing he was on board would drive you up the wall.

Five minutes later, Jungkook is dressed as you reenter the cabin. You go with him to the front of the ship, flagging down someone who could help you.

Jungkook explains the situation, and the cruise worker listens while searching for any available rooms.

“I apologize, but there are no other rooms available. We’re fully booked. You’ll have to stay in the room, sir.”

“But-” You go to protest but the worker cuts you off.

“There’s nothing we can do, ma’am. I apologize but we’re in the middle of the ocean, hours from our first stop.”

“Thanks for checking,” you state in defeat as you turn on your heel with Jungkook behind you.

Back in your cabin, you go to the bathroom to shower. You come out in a robe, going for your suitcase to grab your pajamas before going back into the bathroom. 

Jungkook stays out on the balcony until you’re getting into bed.

“I’m sorry. If I had known-”

“Just don’t,” you stop him. He shuts up immediately. “I just want to get through tonight, okay?”

Jungkook nods as you pull the covers over your body. You tug the pillows and place a few between you and the spot where Jungkook will have to sleep.

Silently, Jungkook climbs into bed.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Jungkook whispers as you turn out the lights.

Heat stifles you as you arouse from your sleep. You moan as you push the covers but the pillows’ warmth is still making you hot. You push at them, trying to shove them off the bed, but a grunt greets you instead.

“Quit,” a familiar sleepy voice wakes you up in an instant. 

You scramble to sit up, but you’ve wrapped yourself around Jungkook, who is shirtless. His bed head looks adorable as he whines at the loss of warmth before he tugs the covers toward him, sleeping some more.

Quickly, you get dressed and storm out of your cabin.

You could not deal with this without a stiff drink and your best friends.

Part of you hoped you were dreaming.

~

“He’s here!” you yell when you reach Yoongi and Jimin’s table. Plates of fruit, eggs, and pancakes greet you along with glasses filled with water, some with various types of juices, and mimosas.

You plop down on a free chair, reaching for a mimosa and then Jimin’s. Both men watch you with wide eyes as Yoongi offers you his drink.

“Who’s here?” Jimin asks, befuddled.

Jimin and Yoongi exchange a look. They had watched you go to your room before they retired for the night.

Who could you have run into?

“Jungkook!” You hiss in explanation. “He’s here!”

Yoongi frowns. “I thought that was him.”

You whip your head to face him. “You knew?!”

Yoongi rapidly shakes his head. “I thought I saw him yesterday but when I blinked, he was gone. I thought the heat had gotten to me.”

You cackle, nearly losing your mind. “Well, he’s fucking here! And he’s staying in my room!”

Jimin and Yoongi’s mouths drop open wide in shock.

“He’s what?!” Jimin recovers first as he waves down a waiter and orders more mimosas for the three of you. This revelation demanded a drink.

“Can’t he get a room for himself? Lord knows he can afford it,” Yoongi grumbles as he picks at his buttery toast.

“No, it’s booked solid,” you sigh as you cover your face with your hands.

“Good morning, everyone!” Jungkook greets you before he takes the empty seat beside you. He helps himself to some fruit and some of your mimosa.

Jimin and Yoongi stare at him with wide eyes. So you weren’t lying to go home. 

“Hey,” Jimin waves weakly. “Surprising to see you out of the office.”

Jungkook ignores the jab at him. “You look good, Jimin. Very good.”

“Watch it,” Yoongi growls. “Just because he’ll be amicable doesn’t mean I won’t wipe the table with your face.”

Jungkook raises his hands in defeat. “Just being friendly. We are spending the week together after all. Isn’t that right, roomie?” 

Jungkook nudges you with his elbow.

“Eat dirt,” you respond as you ignore him and grab a stack of pancakes. You drown them in syrup and ignore Jungkook and Jimin catching up. Yoongi glares at him the whole time before breakfast ends and you head back to your room to get ready to reach the first port.

The first two days on board, you manage to avoid Jungkook after his appearance at breakfast that one morning. 

You were three days into your cruise when you were hanging poolside with Jimin and Yoongi once again. The warmth of the sun felt nice on your skin, even with Jimin’s nagging about flipping over and reapplying sunblock.

Your swimsuit was something sexy Jimin had picked out to accentuate your favorite features of your body. He had picked out a few outfits for you and Yoongi to match his. You looked more like a polytriad than a group of friends, but you liked the outfits.

Your sun hat and sunglasses kept out the gazes of any men who would have the slightest interest in you, much to Jimin’s annoyance.

Jimin sits on his sun lounger slathering more sunblock on his skin while Yoongi goes off to get the three of you drinks. You’ve been busy the past few days shopping, eating, dancing, laughing, and enjoying life away from the claws of capitalism.

Shade casts over you, and you look up to see Jungkook’s smiling face, dimples and all.

“What do you want, Jeon?” you huff as you sit up, removing your sunglasses. 

Jungkook stands over you, checking you out in your swimsuit. He briefly remembers the times he held you in his arms, when his touch aroused you, not repulsed you.

Jungkook sits down at the end of your seat. His body glistened as if he had just gotten out of the pool. You’re sure there’s at least a gaggle of men and women staring at the both of you. Jungkook attracted attention wherever he went. His glorious body, tattoos, hair, and a radiant smile broke more than just your heart.

His piercings catch the sun, the glint hitting your eyes.

“Yeah,” Jimin pipes up. “This zone is for loading future husbands only.”

You roll your eyes at Jimin but lean back as Jungkook’s body freezes.

“Husbands?” 

“Yes,” Jimin retorts, “Husbands.”

“I didn’t know you were looking,” Jungkook said as he looked at you, perplexed. 

You shrug.

“I figure the next person I date will be the one.”

Jungkook remains silent. He cards a tattooed hand through his wet hair, and you curse him in your mind. He knew how hot he looked, he just wanted to make you suffer.

You weren’t going to give in to his tricks though.

You move your legs toward you, pretending you don’t want to get hit with water droplets but you can’t ignore the rapid heartbeat between your legs. 

“JK!” Yoongi shouts as he approaches, squirting Jungkook with a water gun. 

“Hey!” Jungkook shouts as he chases Yoongi, quickly catching up to the older man. A fight ensues as both men try to gain control of the water gun before Jungkook acquires one from a bystander.

“Fuck,” you groan as you put your sun hat back on.

“He’s fucking hot,” Jimin groans as he lies back. You look at each other and burst out laughing.

“He’s a menace,” you sigh but your heart flutters as you spot him in the pool with Yoongi. The two are splashing each other and some of the other passengers but they don’t seem to mind as they join in.

Jimin is silent for a few minutes before he turns to face you.

“Be honest with me, babe. You still love him?”

“Do you even have to ask?” you respond as you watch Jungkook shake the water out of his hair before he pulls himself out of the pool.

Jungkook ignores the way his cock throbs at the sight of you in your sundress as you walk down the hall to meet Jimin and Yoongi. He nearly drools at the sway of your hips as your body shows off all your best assets.

His thoughts easily wander, you were the only one he ever felt like he could be himself. You were his best friend and he’d lost you over a heated argument about him working so much. He had said some things he had regretted, especially when he lost you.

He had spent the last six months thrown into work, avoiding any socialization wherever possible. He didn’t want to meet someone new, he wanted you. But you had blocked him, made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with him and now you were confined to a cruise ship and he would do whatever it took to get you back.

You turn when you hear your name being called, and heat rushes to your cheeks when you spot the captain, Kim Namjoon. 

He looks divine in his crisp white uniform, his hat tucked under his right arm. 

“Good evening,” he greets you with a dimpled grin. You smile brightly at him, asking him about his day. 

He had heard about your predicament with Jungkook the following morning and had invited you to a special dinner with him tonight as an apology for the inconvenience.

Normally, you would have denied any sort of offer, not wanting to inconvenience anyone but Namjoon was hot, smart, and funny. 

Namjoon offers you his arm, which you take giddily as he escorts you to your private dinner. 

Within five minutes he had you laughing, wine threatening to shoot out of your nose. 

Jimin had encouraged you to go to dinner after he spotted the captain later that day, and now that Namjoon’s schedule allowed, you sat in front of him in a candlelit room with a spectacular view. 

A white ceramic vase sat in the middle of the table with fresh pink peonies. Soft music played from a speaker overhead, and the sound of the ocean filled the background. 

Namjoon’s eyes lit up every time he shared a snippet of his tales from the sea. You listened intently, batting your lashes whenever he’d smile with his dimples on display. 

You know this wasn’t a date, and it would never work out with how long Namjoon had to be out at sea, but it was nice to get back into the game after such a long time. You never imagined being tossed back into the dating pool after Jungkook.

The thought makes your smile waver for a moment, and you reach for your glass of wine instead. 

Two silver-covered trays arrive shortly, stopping Namjoon mid-sentence as he smiles proudly. 

“I caught tonight’s dinner. I had our chef cook it with a special sauce that you’ll enjoy,” Namjoon states as your tray is set in front of you and you nod excitedly.

All excitement vanishes as you see two little beady eyes staring back at you.

Jungkook looks immaculate. His undercut is on display, his tattoos pop against his white-button shirt, and his smile can dazzle just about anyone… except Min Yoongi.

Yoongi is the first to spot Jungkook heading to the table where he sits beside his boyfriend. Yoongi had loved Jungkook, still did but his loyalty to you made him pull away from the younger man. An annoyance brewed where he held brotherly love for him once. If you decided to get back with him, it would take Yoongi a while to thaw out. 

Jungkook looks around the area, finally asking Jimin where you are.

“She’s on a date,” Yoongi smirks as Jungkook’s hopeful smile turns into a frown. The younger man toys with his lip piercings worriedly. 

“With the Captain,” Yoongi continues, ignoring the jab of his boyfriend’s sharp elbow to his ribs. “So she’ll be late coming to bed tonight… if she goes to bed at all.”

Jungkook’s heart deflates further as he twiddles his fingers. His eyes shine as he blinks back tears. Jimin scowls at Yoongi. 

Perhaps, he had gone too far. Yoongi slouches into his seat, abashed.  

“It’s just dinner,” Jimin tries to assure Jungkook. “They’re on the balcony by the lobby.” 

“Jimin!” Yoongi hisses before Jimin elbows his ribs again. 

“What? He loves her!” Jimin exclaims, gaining the attention of a few patrons. 

Jungkook feels his ears burn from the attention as he thanks Jimin quietly before leaving the couple to enjoy dinner. 

Heartache is quick to consume Jungkook despite Jimin’s poor assurance of you and the captain’s night. He remembered how mesmerized Captain Kim had seemed when he offered his apologies before asking you to dinner right in front of Jungkook. As if he were invisible!

Okay, maybe Jungkook was jealous. He never wanted to end things, and he didn’t mean any of the things he said that awful night of your breakup. He had taken steps to fix himself, working less, going home more, and prioritizing himself and his family. He was a new man, even his mother had noticed the change. She was hopeful you and him would get back together. 

Jungkook wallows in his sadness as he heads down one hallway and down another. He ignored the conversations around him and anyone who tried to strike up a conversation. 

Before he knows it, he arrives at the kitchen with the swinging doors. He’s about to turn away when he gets grabbed by a man in a white hat with a stern look. 

“Why are you just standing around?!” The man shouts as he hands Jungkook a silver tray with a thick lid that reflects his befuddled expression. 

Jungkook looks at the name tag on the man’s white coat that reads, Soobin.

“Listen,” Jungkook tries to protest but he’s shoved in the direction of the other doors that lead who-knows-where. Jungkook stumbles before righting himself as the staff in the kitchen zoom back and forth adding garnish, stirring bubbling pots, and plating elaborate dishes in pristine white ceramic plates 

“Hurry!” Soobin shouts from across the kitchen, his scowl sends a shiver of fear down Jungkook’s spine. He balances the tray in one hand as he pushes the black doors in front of him. 

Jungkook’s not even sure where he’s going, or how he got into this situation from just losing himself in his thoughts but now he had to deliver whatever was under the tray and look for an exit. 

Perhaps he could scale the side of the ship to get on another floor. 

There was no way he’d be facing Chef Soobin’s wrath again. That much he was sure of. 

“We’ve been waiting on you,” someone else hisses at him once he goes through the swinging door, biting his lip when one of the doors smacks his back and jolts him forward. 

“I don’t-” Jungkook tries to explain but is interrupted as someone apologizes to a man clad in white. 

Jungkook’s heart sinks as he recognizes you with every step he takes. 

“Here is dessert,” the person grins as Jungkook sets the tray on the table.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him, confusion forming on your brow. 

Jungkook looks to the side where the waiter is placing the remains of your dinner on a cart, and two black beady eyes seem to follow his movements as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. 

“Kookie?” You ask in surprise and his heart flips at the nickname he’d only allow you to use. 

However, before he can bask in the sweetness of it, you clear your throat and correct yourself, using his full name instead. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Jungkook bites his lip. This looks bad from all angles. The truth sounds like a fabricated lie and a lie would sound worse. 

Namjoon raises a brow at the two of you, quickly putting the pieces together. 

“Join us for dessert,” Namjoon smiles warmly as he waves over the waiter to ask for another chair but Jungkook shakes his head. 

“No, that’s okay! I just got lost is all,” Jungkook blushes as he cards a hand through his hair nervously. You follow the action closely, studying Jungkook and the way his fingers twitch at his side. He avoids your gaze and Namjoon’s, apologizing as he takes a step back. 

“I’ll go find my way back to Jimin and Yoongi. Please, don’t let me interrupt any further,” Jungkook can taste the vileness of his words but he’s at odds with his words and his thoughts. 

“Why don’t I walk you back,” you offer, surprising him and Namjoon. 

“Oh, no that’s not necessary,” Jungkook shakes his head but makes eye contact with the little beady eyes from before. 

Had Namjoon tried to feed you that prawn? Did he not know food with eyes freaked you out? How long had you stared at those bead-like eyes before the plate had been removed from the table?

“Of course it is,” you say as you rise from your seat. Namjoon remains silent as you thank him for dinner.

“It was a pleasure,” Namjoon responds as he stands. He takes your hand in his and kisses it, making you smile bashfully. 

“I’ll be going now!” Jungkook squeaks, his face red like the prawn still staring at him. Why hadn’t the waiter taken that abomination back to the kitchen yet?

Was he hiding out of Chef Soobin’s wrath too?

“Kook!” You huff, flustered as you take his arm to link with yours. Jungkook stays silent as you lead him out of the private dining quarters through a door he could have easily spotted if he hadn’t been so flustered by the events. 

Weakly, Jungkook waves at Namjoon, who watches the two of you leave.   

Jungkook gets a good look at the captain, admiring the long, thick hair that sits at his shoulders. He looks dapper in his uniform and hat, with thick arms and thighs to die for. 

Jungkook was glad he had appeared just in time, or you’d be Captain Kim’s wife before the end of the cruise. 

Hell, Jungkook would vie for Namjoon.

You remain silent as you drag Jungkook by the arm. He goes willingly as you lead him toward the giant dining room with the rest of the passengers.

You come to a halt before entering, ignoring the hunger pangs in your belly. 

“What exactly is it that you are doing, Jungkook!�� You ask as your anger bubbles over now that you’re alone with him. 

Jungkook steeled himself, biting his lower lip in the way you love. 

“I apologize,” Jungkook says sincerely, though the words taste like poison. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your date.”

“It wasn’t a date,” you respond automatically, cringing at the speed of your words. 

Jungkook visibly perks up.

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” you mutter as you cross your arms over your chest, drawing Jungkook’s saddened gaze for a moment. “Though I did need some rescuing, so thank you.”

Jungkook perks up again, smiling cutely. 

Before any more words are exchanged, your stomach rumbles loudly. Jungkook bites back his laughter as you cover your face.

“Oh my!” Jungkook giggles when your tummy rumbles again. 

“Kook!” You whine, stomping your foot. “Stop laughing!”

Jungkook continues to laugh, broad shoulders shaking as he does so. You pout, flipping him off.

“Come on, let’s get you something to eat,” Jungkook smiles as he takes your hand to lead you to the buffet. You thank him sheepishly as he hands you a clean plate to fill with food. 

You ignore the rumble of your stomach as you sit beside Jungkook in a booth.  The dinner rush has come and gone, only you and a few stragglers are left behind as the servers clean tables and stack dirty dishes a few tables away. 

“How long did you have a staring contest with that thing at the table?” Jungkook asks midway through dinner as he chews his food. For a moment he looks upset as he chews but you know it’s just him enjoying his meal. 

“Hey! Namjoon is a nice guy!” You retort as you move your mashed potatoes around your plate. 

Jungkook blinks owlishly, his cheeks stuffed with food. He resembles a cute little chipmunk.

He swallows, pounding his chest with his fist before he speaks. “I meant the prawn.”

“Oh!” you squeak as your body heats with embarrassment while Jungkook bursts into laughter. 

His eyes crinkle at the corners, his pretty nose scrunches and his teeth make an appearance. Your heart flutters in your chest, his laughter healing the wounds he’d left behind. 

No matter how much you tried to deny it, you were still hopelessly in love with him. 

You’re up bright and early the next morning. Jungkook snores softly beside you, cuddled to the pillow between the two of you. 

His hair is splayed on the pillow, one arm tucked under it to support his head. 

His broad back is on display, the covers hanging on his hips as he rolls over an inch. You had spent several mornings waking up beside him, cuddled up, sharing kisses and each other's bodies. Mornings filled with happiness and love, memories you held onto, wishing to relive. 

Instead, you get ready for the day. Jimin and Yoongi are excited to get to the port. There will be tons to do today before coming aboard for dinner and a show.

You put your swimsuit on under your sundress. You pack a change of clothes, sunblock, sunglasses, wallet, water bottle, mini first aid kit, and lip balm in your bag before heading out. 

Jimin waits for you in the hallway, informing you that his other half has gone to secure a table in the dining room before the early risers can fill up the area. 

“Soooo,” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows as the two of you sit down with Yoongi. Your plates are filled with eggs and sausage, fruits, and muffins. 

“So what?” You ask as you eat a slice of an apple Jimin cut for you, the only way you could easily eat fruit. 

Jimin is exasperated as he rolls his eyes at you. 

“What happened on your date?” Jimin asks as he takes a sip of his iced coffee. 

“It wasn’t a date,” you shake your head. “Just dinner.”

“Dinner with the cruise ship captain,” Yoongi cuts in. “That’s a big deal.”

“A private dinner with the cruise ship captain,” Jimin rephrased as he gave you his undivided attention. 

A heavy sigh escapes your beeswax-sticky lips. Should lip balm tingle?

“He served prawns,” you whisper, looking around to make sure Namjoon and his staff are not around. 

“Oooh,” Jimin smiles. 

“No, they had beady little eyes like marbles. They stared into my soul,” you shiver at the memory. 

“Yikes,” Yoongi shakes his head in disdain. He knew how much eyeballs freaked you out. 

“I couldn’t eat it,” you continue as you munch on a grape. “Then Jungkook came in and I didn’t have to.”

Jimin and Yoongi exchange a bewildered look. “What do you mean Jungkook came in?”

“Yeah,” you nod as you stab a cube of watermelon with your fork. “He brought dessert? The whole thing was odd now that I think about it.”

“You didn’t ask him?” Yoongi questions but you shrug as you finish eating. 

“We came to have dinner and it didn’t come up,” you explain with a second shrug. 

Yoongi raises a brow at you. It wasn’t normal for you to be so nonchalant about this, especially with how you’d reacted to Jungkook interrupting your vacation so far. You always had a quip or snide attitude when it came to your ex, so interrupting your not date was major. 

“Your ex-boyfriend interrupts your date and you don’t ask him why?” Yoongi is blunt with his question, seeking a direct answer. Jimin would have toed around it all day but Yoongi wanted to enjoy his cruise, plus he needed all drama set aside when he proposed soon. 

“It wasn’t a date,” you remind him in a sing-song tone. “I didn’t want to eat the eyes, sue me if I was grateful he showed up.”

“Jungkook aside, how was dinner with Namjoon? Do you like him? Do you wanna go on a date date?” Jimin inquires, hopeful that his friend may move on from Jungkook at last. You seem to want to but he knows you still love the dark-haired, tattooed man. 

“No,” you shake your head firmly. “He’d be away too much. That’s why Jungkook and I didn’t work out. Why go get involved in the same situation?” 

“Fair,” Yoongi agrees as he clears his plate. “Come on then, we have a city to explore.”

“Yeah!” Jimin cheers as he takes your hand in his to lead you toward the exit with Yoongi in tow. You smiled brightly as you headed for the port, excited to spend the day with your two best friends. 

No matter what life threw at you, they’d be by your side always. 

Jimin was excited as he watched the waves crash against the boat. 

You had stripped down to your bathing suit, and gotten lathered up in sunblock thanks to Jimin. 

Your sun hat sat on your head and your sunglasses nearly covered half your face as you laid back enjoying the breeze. 

You were doing your best to ignore Jungkook’s shirtless body. Jimin had rubbed his back with sunblock after he’d done you. 

The three of you had been surprised to see Jungkook jogging toward you at the pier, making it just in time to join you for your scheduled scuba diving session. 

Great.

Okay, so you were a little happy to see him. After all, you had planned this excursion with the four of you in mind. 

Though after the breakup, you never imagined it would be the four of you here in the ocean breeze. 

Music plays softly from Yoongi’s speaker. He’s got a thick book in his lap, as his sunglasses cover his shut eyes. He takes a cat nap, lulled by the sound of the waves crashing. 

Beside you, Jungkook puts his life jacket on, tightening the straps to keep himself safe but all it does is draw attention to his tiny waist, a waist you used to trace with your tongue. You flush at the thought, memories of you on your knees licking him up and down, teasing him just to hear him whimper and cry out your name…

“Hmmm?” You look up when you realize someone is calling your name. 

“I asked if you needed help with your life jacket?” Jungkook asks as he holds out the red monstrosity. You doubt it would look as good on you as it did him. You always felt like they were choking you. 

“I’ve got it, thanks,” you say as you take the jacket from him. Cordial. You could do this. It was your vacation, you should enjoy it to the best of your abilities. You should be relaxing, and thankful to be away from the world of work. 

The boat stops soon after and a tall, lean man comes to join you. Yoongi yawns as he awakens from his nap at Jimin’s prodding. He’d be damned if his boyfriend spent the entire vacation snoozing. 

“My name is Taehyung or Tae. Whichever you prefer,” the man introduced himself with a boxy grin. His dark curly hair moved with the breeze and his sun-kissed skin seemed to glow beautifully under the early morning sun. 

“Today we’ll be scuba diving in one of my favorite spots. We’ll be using the buddy system for this excursion, break for lunch, and then sail until four pm.”

You groan. The buddy system. You were shit out of luck as Jimin grabs Yoongi and leads him to the edge of the boat as Taehyung goes over a few more rules. 

Your two best friends hold hands as they get into the water, laughing as they resurface. 

Taehyung approaches you, smiling. “Let me know if you have any questions or if there’s anything specific you’d like to see today. The weather seems to be cooperating with us this morning.” 

“Thank you,” you say graciously as you begin to snap the buckles of your life jacket. You cry out when your hair gets caught in one and Taehyung is quick to unsnap the buckle and release your hair. 

“Here you go,” he coos gently as he pulls your hair upward to tie it in a loose bun. “Safety first.”

You lock your gaze on him as he easily ties your hair. He’s so close it makes your heart flip. His minty breath brushes your skin as he leans in closer to make sure he’s got all of your hair in one hand before tying a scrunchie around it. 

“There we go,” he muses as he takes a step back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect.”

Jungkook glares at the back of Taehyung’s head, cursing him in his mind. Would pushing Taehyung off his boat be rude? Jungkook didn’t think so. However, he didn’t need to be charged and stranded overseas. So he’d play nice. 

For now.

“Can we get in the water now?” Jungkook huffs as he puts his goggles on. “We came here to scuba dive.”

“Yeah,” you nod as you put your goggles on with Taehyung's help, much to Jungkook’s indignation. 

“There we go, love. Don’t want you getting hurt,” Taehyung smiles warmly as he helps you into the water. 

“It’s cold!” You exclaim, giggling as Taehyung dips into the water only to resurface moments later. He brushes his wet hair back, and you bite your bottom lip as he shakes the excess water off. 

Jimin notices the interaction and swims toward you, easily escaping Yoongi’s attempts to stop him from playing Cupid in the middle of the ocean. 

“Tae, can we go down now?” Jimin asks pleasantly, ignoring the death flares from

Yoongi and Jungkook. 

“Sure,” Taehyung responds as he leads the group to an area a few feet away from the boat. He gives them some information about the sea creatures lurking about, warning them to be careful as all are not friendly.

Jungkook sticks close to you, grinning when you go underwater with him. 

The two of you take photos with his camera, giggling at the bubbles that escape underwater before coming up for air. 

“This is amazing!” You grin as you float on your back for a moment. Jungkook watches you, his heart fluttering giddily in his chest. 

All he wanted was for you to be happy. How could he have allowed his work to consume him to the point of breaking up? He always swore to himself he’d be nothing like his workaholic father, and now here he was recreating his old man’s mistakes. 

Never again, Jungkook swears to himself. He would not lose the love of his life over the company. You mattered more, you always would. He had lost sight of that but never again. Being without you these past six months had been torturous. 

Somehow he had spent days in bed, wearing ramen-stained pajamas to go with his red-rimmed eyes. Jungkook didn’t know your eyes could hurt so much from crying, that the ache would almost rival that of his broken heart. 

He didn’t want to imagine what you had gone through. The pain he had caused. 

“Earth to Kook! Are you there?” Jungkook is startled out of his thoughts as you wave your hand in front of his face. “We’re going to the boat for lunch.”

Jungkook follows you as you swim back to the boat. Taehyung helps you out of the water, offering you a towel to dry off with before joining Jimin and Yoongi. 

Taehyung gives the four of you space as the boat hits the waves once more. 

“I’m so hungry,” Jimin hums as he takes a seat to look at the spread on the table. 

“Ooh, guacamole, tacos, and burritos,” Jungkook nearly drools as you grab a plate for him and one for yourself. 

The four of you enjoy lunch before Jimin falls asleep with Yoongi’s head on his lap. You dab some sunblock on their faces, and hope the sun doesn’t hit them.

“Today was fun,” Jungkook said as he sipped his beer. He sets it between you, and you reach for it to sip it. You weren’t a fan of beer but now and then you’d enjoy a sip of Jungkook’s. Old habits die hard apparently. 

Jungkook remains silent at the indirect kiss. However, on the inside, he’s giggling to himself. 

“It was,” you agree as you lie back, moaning as your muscles relax. You could easily fall asleep right there with the waves gently rocking the boat. 

“I’m sorry for crashing your vacation,” Jungkook apologizes after a moment of silence. “I wouldn’t have come if I knew you’d be here.”

“Gee, thanks,” you huff, offended. 

“No, no!” Jungkook shakes his head quickly. “I meant because I know you wouldn’t want to see me after…”

Your heart sinks in your chest as you toy with the edge of the towel to distract yourself. The wind ruffles your hair as you stare out into the ocean. 

“Despite everything that’s happened, I’ve had fun on this cruise. We can be cordial, right?” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, ignoring the crack in his heart. “Of course.”

You turn to face Jungkook, his dark brown eyes locked on yours. For a split second, you consider leaning in closer, kissing him for old-time’s sake but you don’t. No matter how many times you fantasized about being with him, he wasn’t yours. Not even the cute mole under his lip could tempt you enough to kiss him, and you loved that mole!

“I accept your apology,” you say, focusing your eyes on his instead of the mole beneath his lip or his tongue tracing his piercings like you used to. 

Fuck, why were you denying him again? 

“Friends?” Jungkook asks as he offers his tattooed hand for a handshake. 

Your eyes flit from his to his hand and back before sighing. “Friends.”

Jungkook smiles brightly, fireworks going off in his chest. 

“But try anything fishy, and you’re out of here!” You inform him. 

Jungkook chuckles but agrees nonetheless. “I’m not planning on feeding you beady eyes or anything.”

“Good,” you stuck your tongue out at him and lay back on your towel. Jungkook lies beside you as you stare at the sky. 

You’re dozing off, and you swear it’s just your imagination playing tricks on you when you hear a whisper, “I missed you. I still love you.”

“They’re adorable,” Jimin cooed quietly as he looked at you curled up with Jungkook. 

“We should take a picture of them,” Yoongi agrees as he hands his phone to Jimin. Eagerly, Jimin takes a handful of pictures from different angles, all blackmail material for later. 

Once the photos are taken, Yoongi kicks Jungkook’s butt. “Get up! We’re here!”

Groaning, Jungkook stirs before Yoongi kicks him again. This time harder. 

“Hey!” Jungkook grunts as he swats Yoongi’s foot away. His shout wakes you, an annoyed frown on your face. 

“What is it?” You ask as you rub your eyes. The life jacket is still tied to your chest as you sit up. You probably shouldn’t have slept in it. 

“We gotta get back on the ship. We’re having dinner and a show, remember?” Jimin offers you his hand to help you up. You nod as you gather your belongings and Jimin helps Yoongi gather his. 

“I hope you enjoyed your time,” Taehyung bows as Jimin and Yoongi climb off the boat and onto the dock. 

“We did!” Jimin assured him as they waited for you. 

“Oh, need some help?” Taehyung asks as you struggle to undo the buckles of the life jacket. They had gotten tangled while you slept. 

“Please,” you pout as you try to untangle one strap only to tangle it more. Taehyung chuckles softly as his fingers make quick work of the buckles, setting you free in moments. 

“There we go, love. All set,” Taehyung smiles warmly at you as he helps you out of the life jacket. You thank him sincerely as you put your sundress over your bathing suit. 

“Thank you so much for today, Taehyung. I had a great time,” you say as you take his hand to get off his boat. 

Taehyung kisses your hand gently. “I hope to see you again, love. Take care.”

You giggle as you wave goodbye to the curly-haired cutie. 

Jungkook grunts as he gets off the boat last, rolling his eyes at Taehyung. 

He knew he had no right to be jealous but that was easier said than done. 

When you got back on the cruise ship, you were still smiling whilst looking at your hand. 

Jungkook was beyond jealous.

“What was that between you and Taehyung?” Jimin clasps his hands at dinner. 

You giggle at his excitement, knowing you’re gonna nip any hope of finding a man at sea in the bud. 

“It was nothing,” you assure him. “He’s just friendly.”

Jungkook scoffs from his seat, his eyes glued to his menu. 

Yoongi kicks him under the table. 

The three men are dressed to the nines. Jimin wears a black tuxedo with a white button-down shirt and skinny black tie. Beside him, Yoongi looks just as hot in a matching tuxedo with a black bow tie. 

Next to you, Jungkook is in all black. He looks delectable, and it takes all your willpower to keep your eyes off him. He had the same problem earlier when you stepped out of the bathroom in your maroon A-line dress with the deep v-cut that made your breasts look fabulous. He nearly proposed to you then and there.

“Looked like something was blooming,” Jimin insists as a server brings a basket full of fresh rolls and butter. 

“We had a few conversations while I booked the excursion,” you shrug, nonchalantly. “Nothing came of it.”

“Until he kissed your hand,” Jungkook grumbles into his menu.

“Ow!” He yelps when Yoongi’s foot kicks him again. 

“Anyway, he kissed your hand,” Yoongi grinned devilishly. “Could mean something.”

You wave him off. “He’s just being friendly.”

“He wasn’t that friendly with me,” Jungkook muttered.

You ignore him. 

You take a roll from the basket, cut it in half, and share it with Jungkook out of habit. You don’t notice the surprised look on your friends’ faces. 

“Who’s headlining anyway?” You ask as you spread butter on your roll. “I heard the act had backed out and someone else took their place.”

“Kim Seokjin,” Yoongi responds as he sips his whiskey. “I looked him up before dinner. He’s got an amazing voice. You’ll like him.”

You nod, eager to get to the show after dinner.

Jungkook looks up Seokjin on his phone, pouting when he sees an image of him on the screen. 

Did everyone you came in contact with on this cruise have to be so fucking attractive?

The lights dim as the last member of the audience takes their seat. Jungkook pouts beside you, not the least bit enthused about the handsome man who will be serenading the crowd in a few moments. 

Jimin is excited, chatting your ear off as he looks through the set list on the table. A few waiters come and go with trays filled with drinks and tiny napkins. 

The candlelit tables are the only form of light until the spotlight comes on and the first few notes of a song fill the air. 

“Welcome everyone,” a sultry voice greets the crowd from his spot at a piano. His hair is long and curly, it reaches his shoulders. He wears an all-white suit with a pink shirt underneath, the first few buttons undone to show a bit of his chest. 

His lips are plush and look oh-so kissable. He’s gorgeous, more so than his pictures. He is truly a vision that your eyes are blessed to behold. 

“Wow!” You breathe in awe as he sings a beautiful song about loving oneself. Jungkook frowns, what are the chances of him being able to steal the microphone and serenade you instead?

Nobody pays him attention as he watches Seokjin both in awe and jealousy. You seem enamored with the man as he dances with a group, never missing a note, and never sounding out of breath.

On top of it all, he’s funny too. After the first three songs, he takes a seat on a stool set out for him. He has a guitar beside him, and Jungkook wonders if there’s anything Seokjin can’t do.

“This one goes out to all the loves that could have been, the broken hearts, and the ones hoping for a second chance,” Seokjin introduces the next song as the lights dim and he strums his guitar. 

“And it feels like you’re getting further away,” Seokjin croons as his eyes mist with tears but he continues to sing.

Jungkook sits up in his chair, turning to look at you. You’re focused on Seokjin but tears are rolling down your cheeks as you take in every lyric, feeling as if it’s being engrained into your heart.

Gently, Jungkook wipes your tears with his monogrammed silk handkerchief. You gasp in surprise but soon smile through your tears, thanking him. Jungkook nods, remaining silent as the song comes to an end, and you take a shaky breath.

The show goes on, and after a few more songs, Seokjin rises from his seat. He does a few upbeat songs, getting the crowd clapping and singing along with him.

Seokjin pulls members from the audience to join him, teaching them simple choreography before he has them perform alongside him.

Yoongi and Jimin get pulled on stage, and they do amazing beside Seokjin. You cheer the loudest for them as they do body rolls all while sending flirty gazes to the audience. They both enjoy the attention, smiling as they thank Seokjin once the song ends.

Jimin blushes once he’s back in his seat. You hug him tightly, kissing his cheek. “You’re wonderful!”

“That?” Jimin giggles. “That was nothing.”

“Please,” Jungkook adds. “You were made for the stage. The both of you!”

You nod in agreement, smiling when people stop by your table to compliment the couple. Seokjin takes the stage once more, sitting on the stool for a moment while he introduces the last song.

“I’d like to end this night on a higher note,” Seokjin states as he looks out into the crowd. “Feel free to grab a partner and dance.” 

Seokjin heads to the crowd while singing. A few couples head to the dancefloor, swaying slowly to his beautiful voice. 

Jimin and Yoongi join the other couples shortly after, whispering sweet-nothings to each other as they go.

Awkwardness bubbles inside you, as you look down at the tablecloth. Would it be possible to leave the show unnoticed? Seokjin was nearby, surely nobody would notice if you made a hasty exit.

You rise from your seat sharply, surprising Jungkook. He stares at you with wide eyes, wondering where you’re going. 

However, before Jungkook can ask, Seokjin chooses that moment to take your hand, dancing with you at your table for a moment.

“When I’m with you, there is no one else,” he sings beautifully. Your heart skips a beat as you place your hand on his shoulder, smiling bashfully as he spins you once.

Jungkook is ready to head back to the cabin, not wanting to see another man fall for you just as he had. He knew when it was time to throw in the towel, and you may have accepted his apology and agreed to be friends, but how often did that actually pan out? Would you still talk to him once you weren’t stuck on a cruise ship? Jungkook wasn’t sure.

He wasn’t going to stand around and watch you fall for someone else. That much he was sure of.

Seokjin stills you once he finishes spinning you. He then places your hand in Jungkook’s before leaving to another table.

Jungkook’s doe eyes are wide with surprise. You look shocked, but lead him to the dancefloor beside Jimin and Yoongi.

“You were shining towards me, the only light found in the darkness,” Seokjin sings wholeheartedly as Jungkook holds you close. It’s been so long since the last time he held you like this; since he realized how perfect you fit in your arms. He promised if you gave him one more chance, he would make sure to never ruin it. He’d never hurt you again. He’d be more mindful of his words, he’d prioritize you over his company. Jungkook would make sure you never felt like you were an afterthought. It saddens him to think he had made you feel like that, and that it took losing you for it to snap him into reality.

How long had you been unhappy at his side? Was he selfish in wanting you back? In pursuing you still? Had his appearance on this cruise been a divine intervention or a simple coincidence? 

Jungkook forces himself to focus on you and not the downward spiral of despair brewing in his mind. You rest your head on his shoulder, swaying with him as he holds you closer.

Perhaps tonight the two of you could have a private moment to talk things out. Or maybe he’d be asking for too much?

Too soon for Jungkook’s liking, the song ends. He blinks his unshed tears away as you take a step back, clapping with everyone else.

“I’m going to head to the bar,” you inform him as you leave as quickly as possible. Jimin and Yoongi watch you go, and Yoongi places his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Tough break, man.”

Jungkook nods as he watches you squeeze through the crowd, disappearing soon after.

Jimin and Yoongi leave him by himself, the two enamored with each other after a romantic evening, both eager to get to their room for some privacy.

Jungkook is a little envious.

“Screwdriver, please,” you tell the bartender once you reach the bar. You need something to take the edge off, just a few minutes away from Jungkook and your array of emotions.

“I’ll have the same,” the voice beside you says. The bartender nods as he goes to make the drinks. You turn to your left to see Seokjin.

“You were wonderful,” you compliment, smiling genuinely. You hope you’re not bothering him. Surely he has people circling him at all times, especially after his shows.

“Thank you,” Seokjin bows his head, his ears turning red. 

The bartender places the drinks in front of you on black napkins with a gold border. You thank him before sipping your drink.

“Fuck, I needed that,” you muttter as you take a second sip.

“Trouble in paradise?” Seokjin asks as he sips from his glass. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” you respond sadly stirring your drink with your paper straw.

“I’m all ears,” Seokjin smiles, disarming any protests you might have had. 

“Don’t you have another show?” You ask with wide eyes, surprised this stranger would want to hear about your woes.

“Nope, that was the last one for the night,” Seokjin informs you. He holds out his hand for you to shake as he introduces himself. You shake his hand after giving him your name.

The two of you scoot to the end of the bar with your drinks. It takes you a few more sips of your screwdriver before you fill in Seokjin about your trip thus far and how you were stuck sharing your cabin with your ex.

“Sounds to me like there’s a lot of love there,” Seokjin responds after you’re done telling your tale. He waves down the bartender, asking for two glasses of water before he continues. “If you’ve forgiven him, what’s holding you back?”

You bite your bottom lip as you try to make a list of your doubts. 

“What if he hasn’t changed? What if we get back together and I’m brushed aside again?” 

Seokjin thanks the bartender as he pushes a glass of water toward you. He clicks his tongue before shrugging. 

“There’s no way to find out unless you try. Second chances are few and far between. Some people don’t get second chances, most try to make it work the second time. If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again,” Seokjin grins as he chugs his water. 

“So you do greeting cards on the side, huh?” You tease, playfully bumping into Seokjin. He laughs wholeheartedly, his eyes turning into half-moons. 

“I could, couldn’t I,” he says after his laughter has subsided. “But on a serious note, the two of you looked great on the dance floor. I didn’t know you were broken up when I danced with you.”

“Why do things have to be so complicated?” You huff as you finish your water. 

“They don’t have to be,” Seokjin assures you. “They’re only complicated if you make it so. You love him, he loves you, what more is there to it?”

You sigh heavily, you know Seokjin’s reasoning is a little half-baked but it makes sense. What’s keeping you from giving it a second shot? You love Jungkook so much, and despite Jimin’s attempts at fixing you up with someone, you always compare them to Jungkook. He was the love of your life, knew it from the moment you laid eyes on him in your flower shop. He had walked in looking frazzled. His black suit was well fitted and his broad chest showed from the few buttons left undone at the top. His hair had been brushed back, his undercut on display. 

Frazzled, he’d asked you for a custom bouquet. His mother’s birthday dinner was that evening and though he had a birthday present for her, he didn’t want to show up without flowers. She adored flowers, he’d informed you. All kinds, any color, any array. He never went empty-handed but the last floralist he’d ordered from had sent him nothing but stems and wilted roses. 

After that day, he made daily appearances, until eventually he asked you out. 

On your third month of dating, he had you meet his mother, her house filled with flowers from your shop. 

“It’s so nice to meet the woman responsible for my new garden,” she joked as she welcomed you into her home with a tight hug. 

Jungkook had blushed, hiding his face in his hands. 

His mother adored you right off the bat, and that’s when Jungkook knew he couldn’t live without you, didn’t want to. 

Your relationship had been perfect at first, something out of a fairytale. You spent a lot of time together, went on dates, spent the night, and tried his hobbies which involved rock climbing, kayaking, and bungee jumping. He tried yours, cooking, baking, painting, candle making. However, as your relationship wore on, Jungkook spent more and more time at work at his company. Business trips overseas, meetings late into the night, days off spent sleeping or moody. 

You understood at first. You were supportive and gave him space when he needed it but soon came the canceled dates, the forgotten anniversaries, and the forgotten birthdays. 

“I’m tired of coming second all the time, Jungkook,” you told him one day in his office after another canceled dinner. 

“I have to work, babe. I can’t put it off for dinner,” he said as he sat at his desk, barely looking up from his laptop. 

“It wasn’t always like this, Kook. You used to make an effort to come home,” you frowned as you placed your hands on your hips. 

“You know I would of I could,” Jungkook huffs as he rubs his face with his hands. He had a knot in his shoulders from the stress and a headache was building rapidly. He didn’t have time for this argument. The longer you interrupted him the longer it would take for him to finish and go home to your shared apartment. 

“Kookie,” you sigh, defeated. “I’m tired of waiting for you.”

“Nobody asked you to!” He exclaims as he shuts his laptop. 

His words shattered your heart and a knot formed in your throat. You held back tears, simply nodding. 

“Don’t worry, I’m done waiting on you.”

You had walked out of his office without another word. You headed straight to your shared apartment to pack up your belongings and crash on Jimin’s couch. 

Jungkook had gone home late that night exhausted from his day at work. He had been put off by the complete silence. The lights were all off which was unusual since you were scared of the dark. You always had one light on, whether it was the living room lamp or the light over the stove. 

Jungkook called out for you but got no response as he made his way to the bedroom. 

The silence was eerie, just like the darkness. When he flicked the light switch, his eyes widened and his heart sank in his chest. 

Drawers were open and emptied. Your half of the closet had nothing but empty clothes hangers. 

Jungkook shook his head, this couldn’t be happening. 

He rushed to the bathroom to see your makeup, face products, and toiletries were gone. He heaved, resisting the urge to puke as cold sweat beaded on his forehead. 

Jungkook went to the kitchen, opening cabinets to see if your favorite mug was gone. There wasn’t an item left that belonged to you in the apartment. 

You truly had grown tired of waiting for him. 

Jungkook fell to his knees on the cold kitchen floor. His heart felt like it was cracking into tiny pieces. He had lost you. He was sure of it. 

You were gone.

“Hello?” Seokjin waves his hand in front of your face when his question goes unanswered.

You apologize before he repeats his question. “What more is there to it?”

Seokjin had a point. What was keeping you from making amends? Jungkook was here, you’d forgiven him, and secretly his mother had called you throughout the six months to check on you but also fill you in on Jungkook’s change. No longer was he missing dinner, he was at her home promptly at six every evening. He had his days off, and spent more time with her, which she loved but she missed the shine in her son’s eyes, the little sparkle he got when he was with you.

Fear wasn’t a good enough reason to stay away, not anymore. 

“You’re right,” you give in with a small smile. 

“I always am,” Seokjin chuckles as he reaches into his suit pocket and hands you a card. “Here, call me when you need a singer for your wedding. I’ll give you ten percent off.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Thanks, Seokjin.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Think nothing of it. Now go, get your man back.”

“You only want us together so we’ll book you,” you laugh as his cheeks turn pink. 

“Hey, I gotta make a living somehow,” he winks at you to make you laugh. “Now quit stalling and go!”

“All right! All right! I’m going!” You laugh as you hug him goodbye, promising to update him before the cruise is over. Seokjin waves as you go, hopeful that you and Jungkook will make amends. 

Seokjin orders a shot, raising it in your honor before downing it. 

Perhaps his next endeavor would lead him to matchmaking. 

You’re filled with nerves by the time you reach your cabin. You use your bracelet to let yourself into the room, hoping the butterflies in your stomach will settle. 

However, your nerves are for naught as you spot Jungkook asleep in your bed. 

Disappointed, you head to the bathroom to change and wash your face. 

Jungkook opens his eyes once he hears the bathroom door shut. He looks at the time and notes you’ve been gone a little over an hour. 

He hopes you and Seokjin will be happy together. 

The next morning you’re up bright and early. You roll over expecting to see Jungkook, but instead, you find his spot empty and the sheets cold. 

Frowning, you get out of bed to get ready for the day. 

You were hoping to talk to him before reaching the next port. 

“Good morning!” Jimin sings as he enters your bedroom after knocking incessantly while you get dressed. 

“Morning,” you mumble as you grab your purse and sunglasses. Another sundress covers your body, this one purple with white flowers. Your bathing suit hides beneath the cool fabric, riding up a bit as you bend down to fix the strap on your sandal. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Jimin raised a brow at your response. “I thought you and Seokjin hit it off last night. At least it looked that way when we were heading to bed.”

“Nothing happened,” you roll your eyes at Jimin’s nosiness. “We talked about Jungkook.”

“Ew, talking about an ex on the first date is such a downer,” Jimin comments as he follows you out of the cabin and into the hallway. 

“It wasn’t a date,” you insist as you face forward. “Have you seen Jungkook? He wasn’t in bed this morning.”

“He’s probably at breakfast with Yoongi. I sent him ahead to get us a table,” Jimin explains. 

“Oh,” you say dejected. “So you haven’t seen Kookie?”

“Kookie?” Jimin’s eyes widen in surprise. “You’re calling him Kookie again? He’s not a dick anymore?” 

“Jimin,” you huff. “Have you seen Jungkook or not?”

Jimin shakes his head. “Not since last night.”

You frown. You wanted to speak with him sooner rather than later. Tonight was one of the last nights on board, and if he was nowhere to be found you’re not sure if you’d have the courage to reach out to him once you went back home. 

“Let’s have breakfast and go about our day. I’m sure he’ll show up at some point.” 

“What if he doesn’t?” You bite your lip nervously. 

Jimin scoffs. “Please, this is the man who somehow found you in the captain’s private dining room. He’ll find you.”

You giggle as you take Jimin’s arm in yours, feeling much lighter as you head to the dining area.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Aren’t I always,” Jimin states cheekily.

However, Jungkook isn’t at breakfast and he’s nowhere to be seen when you get off the ship at the next port.

“Don’t worry about him, babe,” Jimin links his left arm with your right. “He’ll show up.”

“I hope you’re right,” you sigh. “I need to talk to him.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Don’t let him ruin your day. We’ve got a whole day at the beach.”

You smile as you go with the couple to check out the market on the way to the beach. You fill your bag with souvenirs for your family and friends. Jimin buys you snacks, trying them all on the way to the beach.

“This weather is so nice,” you sigh happily as you rest on your lounger under a large blue umbrella Yoongi had set up for the four of you, despite Jungkook being nowhere to be found.

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” Yoongi volunteers as Jimin mentions wanting a blue drink with an umbrella that the person a few feet away from you was sipping on.

“Get me one too!” you call after him as he raises his hand over his shoulder to assure you he heard your request.

The sand is hot on Yoongi’s feet as he reaches the bar. There’s a crowd at one end of the bar, cheering as some shirtless dude rips open a watermelon with his bare hands. Yoongi rolls his eyes as he orders your drinks and a bottle of water for himself.

“JK! JK! JK!” The crowd cheers. Yoongi whips his head to the crowd, spotting Jungkook’s tattooed arm dripping with watermelon juice. He pours the juice into a few shot glasses, while the bartender adds vodka.

“Cheers!” Jungkook grabs a shot as do a few of his fans.

“Thanks!” Yoongi pays for the drinks, sliding the cold water bottle into the pocket of his swim trunks. He barrels through Jungkook’s onlookers, earning a few angry looks as he grabs Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Hey! No touchy!” Jungkook exclaims before he realizes it’s Yoongi grabbing his shoulder.

“Oh! Yoongi! What’s up?”

“You know your girl’s been looking for you all morning?” Yoongi raises a brow as he tugs Jungkook away from the bar, ignoring the onlookers’ protests.

“She’s Seokjin’s girl now,” Jungkook shrugs.

“You’re an idiot! You know that?”

“I do,” Jungkook agrees easily and Yoongi hands him his water. 

“Drink this and come join us. I’m proposing to Jimin tonight and I don’t need you ruining this for us.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “Oh shit! You’re proposing! Congrats! Does he know?!”

Yoongi’s forehead vein twitches. “I haven’t done it yet.”

Jungkook nods, smiling. “You should.”

“I’m gonna.”

“Good,” Jungkook grins. “You should.”

“I’m gonna,” Yoongi rolls his eyes at the younger man.

“You should.” Jungkook bobs his head.

“I’m gonna,” Yoongi insists before carding a hand through his long black hair. “Will you shut up?! Let’s go!”

Jungkook chugs the bottle of water before following Yoongi to where you and Jimin chat under the large umbrella.

“Hey stranger,” Jimin greets Jungkook as Yoongi hands you and Jimin your drinks. 

“Hey,” Jungkook waves weakly as he takes a seat on the end of Jimin’s chair. Jimin eyes Yoongi, silently asking him what gives. Yoongi answers with a shrug.

“Okay…” Jimin grins. “Glad we’re all here.”

You nod as you sip your blue drink, not knowing what to say or do. Yoongi sits on your chair, stretching out. You poke his chest, and he pouts.

“Be good,” he swats at your hand, making you laugh as you and Jimin talk about the drink. Jungkook remains silent as he watches the ocean, wondering what he can do to make things between you less awkward.

Hours pass, and soon it’s almost sunset.

“It’s right over here,” Yoongi says as he leads Jimin by the hand to a place further down the beach.

“Hello!” A bright voice greets the four of you along with three giant horses.

“Horseback riding?” Jimin squeals in delight. He kisses Yoongi on the cheek. 

“I’m Hoseok,” the man introduces himself. “I’ll be giving you a tour.”

You all introduce yourselves.

Hoseok has Jimin and Yoongi meet their horse, becoming familiar with the steed before helping them onto Pepper, a beautiful black stallion.

“All right you two, you’re on Sugar,” Hoseok states as he hands you and Jungkook sugar cubes for the horse. “She’s the sweetest I own. Be good to her and she’ll be good to you.”

Hoseok helps you onto the horse, his hands gently guiding you forward so he can get Jungkook on behind you. 

“Place your hands around her waist and place them here,” Hoseok instructs before telling you where to place yours.

“Aren’t you a good girl?” Hoseok coos, and you giggle.

Hoseok pets Sugar, but winks at you before he gets on his horse, a beautiful sandy brown mare named Cinnamon.

Unknowingly, Hoseok is leading you to the spot Yoongi will propose. However, he takes the long way around, showing you as much of his beautiful city as possible.

Hoseok hangs beside you and Jungkook. He’s very outgoing, filling any awkward pauses with jokes, and information you’re eager to hear. 

“Why don’t you two hang back a bit?” Hoseok raises a brow, winking at you once more before he goes to Yoongi and Jimin. Sugar comes to a stop, and Jungkook jolts forward, his chest hitting your back.

“Sorry,” he apologizes as he grips your waist tighter to keep himself on the horse. 

“What’s going on?” you ask as you watch Hoseok lead Yoongi and Jimin further up before he hands Jimin a blindfold. Hoseok calls for Sugar, and she goes willingly.

“Whoa!” you hold tight to the horse and Jungkook, scared you’ll fall off and get a mouthful of sand in the process.

Soon, lights appear in the sand in the shape of a heart. Rose petals are spread perfectly throughout, spelling out the words, Will you marry me?

“Oh my god,” you whisper, tears immediately filling your eyes. 

“What’s going on?” Jimin asks as Hoseok helps him off the horse once Yoongi gets into position. A photographer and videographer stand nearby, waiting as Hoseok leads Jimin to Yoongi. Hoseok then comes for you and Jungkook, helping you off the horse before leading you to the side.

“You may remove your blindfold,” Hoseok instructs as he grabs the three horses' reins to get them out of the photos.

Jimin is confused but does as he’s told. His heart is racing in his chest, his hands have grown sweaty from nerves, and butterflies swirl in his tummy.

A gasp escapes him as the silk blindfold flutters to the sand. His hands cover his mouth as he looks at Yoongi kneeling in front of him with a black velvet box containing a perfect amethyst ring.

“Will you marry me?” Yoongi asks with hope in his eyes. 

Jimin nods, “Yes. Yes!”

You grab Jungkook, shaking him in your excitement as your two best friends kiss. Yoongi places the ring on Jimin’s finger, and you allow them to have their moment, waiting for the happy couple to turn to you and wave you over.

You wrap your arms around them both, squeezing them until they tell you they can’t breathe. You release them, admiring Jimin’s ring, giggling in your excitement as you begin talking about wedding plans.

“Congratulations,” Jungkook tells Yoongi as he watches you and Jimin bounce ideas off each other as Hoseok approaches with the horses.

“Thanks,” Yoongi smiles brightly, love in his eyes when he looks at Jimin.

“We should get going before the ship leaves without us,” Jimin turns to face the two, urging them onto the horses. Hoseok helps you back onto Sugar, his hand lingering on your waist as you settle. You laugh at something he says, gently swatting him as he laughs before he goes to help Jimin and Yoongi.

Jungkook gets on Sugar without any help, his hands gripping your waist as Hoseok gets on Cinnamon and leads the four of you back to his office.

Jimin and Yoongi are all smiles at dinner. Champagne glasses in your hands as you toast their engagement before they go off on their own.

“I’m so happy for them,” you grin as you watch your best friends leave. 

Jungkook nods in agreement. 

“What should we do now?” 

“Want to check out the party on deck?” You ask as you see fireworks going off in the distance. Jungkook nods as he follows you out onto the deck.

The two of you haven’t had a chance to have a serious conversation due to all the excitement but now with Jimin and Yoongi gone, you were unsure how to approach the subject.

More fireworks go off as you find a spot for the two of you to watch the rest of the show, amazed by the beautiful colors and patterns of the fireworks.

Jungkook smiles as the last few go off before the passengers clap and disperse.

“Should we head back to the room?” you ask Jungkook as a chill runs down your spine, your hands rubbing your arms.

Jungkook nods. He takes his jacket off to drape over your shoulders as he follows you back into the ship, going down the halls until you reach your cabin.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” you inform him as you set his jacket on the bed before going to the bathroom with your pajamas in tow. Jungkook nods, as he hangs his jacket in the small closet. 

He cards a hand through his hair before he heads out to the balcony to watch the waves. Something about the endless ocean at night made him uneasy but he couldn’t stand the tightness he felt in his chest being in such a small room feeling somewhat awkward.

“Bathroom’s free!” You call twenty minutes later as you climb into bed before Jungkook can see you wearing one of his old t-shirts to bed. You had packed it with the thought that he wouldn’t be joining you on this cruise and now you were stuck hiding under the sheets.

“Thanks!” He responds before he heads into the shower. You scroll on your phone absentmindedly, humming until he comes out. He’s shirtless as he does his nighttime skincare routine, singing a song softly to himself.

You stare at his perfect abdomen, wishing you could run your hands over his broad shoulders and tapered waist. Your lips ache to kiss every mole and scar on his body, to taste him once more. 

“Jungkook, can we talk?” You ask as you muster all the courage you can. 

Jungkook's eyes widen in surprise, his toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

He nods as he rushes to the bathroom sink to spit out the toothpaste. 

You wait patiently for him to finish before he sits on the edge of the bed. 

Jungkook waits apprehensively for you to speak as you play with the sheets. 

“I’ve been talking to your mom these past few months,” you say, avoiding his gaze. 

“My mom?” Jungkook is surprised at the revelation. “Why?”

You shrug. “I didn’t break up with her.”

You’ve got him there. 

“She says you’ve changed a lot these past six months,” you continue as you finally meet his gaze. “That you’re different now.”

“I am,” Jungkook nods eagerly. “I swear.”

“I want to believe you,” you respond honestly as you focus on the sheets, tugging them to peaks. “I’m just scared of getting hurt again.”

“I know,” Jungkook sighs heavily. “I’ve been kicking myself for how I treated you back then. I was an idiot. I said things I didn’t mean. I missed so many events and dinners. I’m truly sorry.”

“I still love you, Jungkook. I never stopped,” you admit sheepishly as you feel heat rush to your cheeks. 

Jungkook moves closer, his hand gently cupping your face. He waits patiently until you meet his gaze. 

“I never stopped loving you, baby. I want to be the man you deserve. I want to be everything I wasn’t. You are my priority. I’m sorry it took me losing you to figure it out,” Jungkook gently caresses your cheek. Tears well in your eyes as you try to blink them away. 

When one rolls down your cheek, Jungkook tenderly wipes it away with his thumb. 

“I never meant to hurt you, love. And I swear that I never will,” Jungkook promises as he hooks his pinkie with yours. You smile through your tears, wrapping your arms around him to hold him close. 

Jungkook rubs your back softly, holding you tight, afraid to let you go. He can feel your tears land on his shoulder as he holds you, whispering assurances and sweet nothings until you’re sniffling instead of crying. 

When you let go, you wipe your eyes and smile at him sheepishly. 

Jungkook holds your hands in his, kissing each of them before pressing his lips to yours. His forehead rests on yours, and your gaze meets his hopeful one. 

“You are my everything,” Jungkook whispers. “Today, tomorrow, and for the rest of my life. I love you.”

“One last kiss before we head out,”  Jungkook pouts as he stands in front of the door to your cabin, his back pressed to it. 

You roll your eyes playfully, but lean in close to kiss him. Jungkook’s large hands grip your waist, tugging you closer as he deepens the kiss, making you moan when he sucks on your bottom lip. 

“Fuck,” you curse when you take a breath. Jungkook smirks, his hand moving higher on your back. 

“We could say we’re sick,” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at you.  

“Please,” you scoff. “You know Jimin would break the door down if he thought I was sick.”

Jungkook pouts, “But we just got together. I want to make up for lost time.”

You run your hands over the smooth planes of his chest. You have lunch plans with Jimin and Yoongi, some wedding planning, and more celebrating you’re sure. It’s why you’ve decided not to announce your relationship to the happy couple just yet. 

Your plans for the day are very relaxed for your last night on board, until the farewell party this evening. Seokjin will be performing at dinner once again, and then the passengers will get to have one last big hurrah before going home in the morning. You were apprehensive about going home, would Jungkook keep his promise? Could you put yourself through a second breakup if things didn’t work out?*

Should you just come clean to your two best friends and ask for their advice?

“We can do all that tonight,” You assure Jungkook as you kiss the corner of his mouth and reach for the doorknob behind him. 

Jungkook smiles, nodding as he steps aside to let you by. 

“I was about to go banging on your door!” Jimin huffs as you and Jungkook sit at the table with Jimin and Yoongi. 

“So dramatic,” you mutter as you stab a cube of watermelon from Jimin’s plate. 

Yoongi looks at Jungkook with a frown. “I see you’re still here.”

“Where else am I supposed to go?” Jungkook asks with a raised brow as he reaches for a roll.

“Kinda hoped our girl here would have pushed you over the balcony by now,” Yoongi huffs, a disappointed look on his face as he turns to you. “I guess there’s always tonight.”

“Yoongi,” you roll your eyes. “Be nice. This is a happy time for the two of you. We should celebrate!”

“We have been,” Jimin giggles, ignoring Yoongi’s rosy cheeks. 

“Did you bring your wedding binder?” You ask Jimin as you sip your mimosa. Jimin shakes his head but hands you his phone where he keeps a digital copy just in case. 

“Of course, you’ll have to be my maid of honor!” Jimin exclaims as he shows you his ideas for themes and colors. 

“Duh,” you grin as you scroll onto the next page on his phone. The two of you are lost in wedding planning mode but Yoongi is watching you.

Something about you seemed different and he can’t quite put his finger on it. 

Jungkook eats his lunch quietly listening to you and Jimin chatter about the wedding. He keeps one hand in his lap as he tries not to look over at you too much. It’s harder than he thought pretending you weren’t back together. He wanted to hold your hand, to lean his head on your shoulder, or to even hold a conversation with you but he knew it would be too risky. 

If it were up to him, he’d announce it to the whole ship, so that they knew you were his once again. 

However, instead, he eats his lunch and keeps to himself. 

Yoongi can’t shake the feeling. As lunch ends and the four of you head to the pool, Yoongi keeps his watchful eye on you. 

He notes the way you laugh at Jungkook’s jokes, how you seem to lean into him more as the day goes by, sharing snacks and drinks when you would have poured them on Jungkook at the start of the cruise. 

Jungkook’s longing stares are almost nonexistent. He seems to have regained the sparkle in his eye as he laughs with you and Jimin. His nose is scrunched, and his eyes are closed into pretty little half-moons. 

“Something’s off,” Yoongi whispers to himself before the four of you split to get ready for the last evening on board. 

Music played softly in the background as dinner was served to the passengers. Everyone wore their best gowns and suits. Diamonds, pearls, rubies, and all other colorful gems were in abundance on passenger’s necks and ears. 

The candlelit room gave a softer, more romantic feel to the evening as you awaited your waiter to get to your table. 

“I’m so sad it’s our last night,” Jimin pouts as he places his hand over his fiancé’s. 

“I know,” you frown. “I wish we had more time on board.”

“You can always honeymoon on a cruise,” Jungkook suggests as he reaches for his glass of water, trying to ignore Yoongi’s intense gaze. 

“Ooh, what a marvelous idea!” Jimin chirps as he claps. He turns to Yoongi with a smile, “What do you think, babe?”

Yoongi blinks once. “You’re fucking him.”

Jimin’s eyes widen as Jungkook chokes on his water. 

“What?!” Jimin is scandalized, protests sitting heavy on his tongue. He was most definitely not fucking Jungkook or anyone else for that matter. 

Yoongi looks pointedly at you, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Of course not!” You hiss, shaking your head as Jungkook coughs repeatedly. You pat his back gently, asking if he needs anything as his face turns red. 

“There’s something up with you two,” Yoongi states as he stares into your soul. He quirks his head to the side as he notes the way you gently rub Jungkook’s back, offering him your glass of water and checking on him again. 

“You’re back together!” Jimin exclaims as he looks at Yoongi, who is frowning now. 

“Ew, I wish you two were just fucking again,” he spits. 

“Oh, you love me,” Jungkook laughs but doesn’t deny Jimin’s allegation.

“Can we not do this right now?” You ask as you smile at the waiter approaching the table. 

Surprisingly, Yoongi and Jimin remain quiet as your dinner is set on the table. 

Jungkook stuffs his mouth with food, nearly choking so he can avoid speaking. 

Once the waiter leaves, Jimin smirks. “So, are you two back together?”

Jungkook chews noisily beside you, looking at nearby tables instead of Jimin. 

“Technically,” you answer, giggling when Jungkook pokes your side. 

“Kookie!”

“Oh, no! They’re going to be insufferable again!” Yoongi whines as he pouts. 

“I know,” Jungkook chirps. “Isn’t it wonderful?” 

Yoongi groans, but despite his outward displeasure of your revelation, inside he’s delighted to have you happy once again. 

Though he will tear Jungkook a new one if he breaks your heart again. Jimin and you won’t be able to hold him back again…

“I’m so exhausted,” you groan as you kick your heels off in your cabin. 

Jungkook is fresh out of the shower, drying his hair with a towel on his way to the bed as you unzip your dress before scurrying into the steamy bathroom with Jimin’s gift tucked behind your back. 

Jimin had insisted you walk him to his cabin despite his confused fiancé being at his side. 

“Go away, Jungkook! I’ll walk her back,” Jimin had pushed Jungkook towards your shared room, insisting he needed to talk to you. 

“What is it, Jimin?” You ask as you follow him into his room. Jimin waves you off as he lugs his suitcase in front of you.

He searches through his clothing and some of yours that he’s packed for you. He pushed everything out of the way until he finally came out with a pretty bubblegum pink gift bag. 

“What is it?” You ask with wide eyes as he hands it to you. 

“You’re welcome!” Jimin grins as he stuffs everything back into his suitcase. 

“Jimin!” You're scandalized as you see the tiny pieces of black fabric he expects you to wear for Jungkook tonight. 

Jimin shrugs. “I had hoped you’d meet some hottie on the ship and bang his brains out. The fact that it’s Jungkook works for me.”

You turn to Yoongi who shakes his head, chuckling. “Leave me out of this.”

“Go,” Jimin pushes you gently towards the door. “Fuck his brains out. Get an orgasm or six, was that the record?” 

Jimin looks over at Yoongi who holds up seven fingers. 

“Ooh, seven like that song we like. Fuck him to that,” Jimin snickers as he leads you out of his cabin and walks you to yours. 

“What if it’s too soon?” You whisper as you reach your door. 

“Only do what feels right. Whether it’s on the cruise or later on,” Jimin says. “The gift is yours regardless.”

You unlock your bedroom door, leaning against it. You hug Jimin tightly, kissing his cheek.

“Thanks, Jimin. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” you squeeze him once more. 

When you part, you spot Yoongi waiting for Jimin in the hall, you blow him a kiss and step into your cabin.

“Thank you, Jimin,” you whisper as you look at yourself in the mirror. You admire the way the ruffles are soft on your skin, the lace not itchy like some sets you’ve worn before. You’re thankful Jimin cut the tags off because you don’t even want to imagine how much your best friend spent on something to get you laid.

You smile, tugging on Jungkook’s shirt that you stole from his suitcase while he showered before dinner and hid in the bathroom for this moment. 

It felt surreal to be back together, and you swore you’d take things slow this time around but tonight had been so lovely. From dinner with your favorite people in the world to dancing the night away under the stars. 

Jungkook was just as he was, and you hoped he kept true to his word. You love him so much, sometimes it feels overwhelming but you’re sure he’s your person and you are his. 

Your love knows no bounds, and being back together makes your heart sing. 

“You can do this,” you tell yourself, trying to hype yourself up but it feels like the first time all over again. You had been nervous that night, spilled wine on his pants, and bonked his head with yours when you both reached for a napkin to dab at the wine. 

Jungkook ended up wearing some of your Kuromi pajama pants while his pants were in the wash. Who knew he’d look so good in them? 

Jungkook is in bed when you finally open the bathroom door. He’s shirtless, scrolling on his phone until he hears the door.

“Oh,” his doe eyes widen when he spots you in his t-shirt. You climb into bed beside him as he sets his phone on the nightstand.

“Hi,” you whisper shyly.

“Hi,” Jungkook giggles in response as you get under the covers with him. He lies on his side so he can face you, his hand rests on your hip while the other gets tucked under his pillow.

Silence envelopes the two of you, shy smiles on your lips. Your heart beats in tune with his as he pulls you closer. Your forehead rests on his, your noses brushed, and Jungkook breathed you in. 

It only takes a moment or two before his lips meet yours, kissing you softly. Slowly, your lips move with his feeling the slight pressure from his lip rings. 

You moan, gripping his bare shoulders as he tugs you over him, making you straddle his tiny waist. 

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes in between kisses and light touches. “So much.”

“Jungkook,” you whisper, afraid that speaking too loudly will pop this bubble of comfort. 

Jungkook hushes you with a finger to your lips, shaking his head befo he moves his hand to the back of your head to pull you towards him. Fiery lips meet yours as desire pools in your abdomen. 

“Fuck,” he curses gripping you tightly, afraid to let you go lest he lose you again. He’s not sure he could survive it one more time. 

“I’ve missed you. I love you. I need you.” Jungkook states as he kisses his way down your jaw towards your neck. Your fingers thread in his thick black hair, tugging as he nips at your neck. 

“I missed you,” you confess in a heady tone as he tugs the collar of the shirt to the side. He’s eager to kiss any bit of you within reach, wanting to familiarize himself with your body once more and hopefully hear those dulcet sounds he loves so much. 

Just hearing you moan his name might be enough to send him into the stars, dispersing among the sky. 

“I love you,” you admit. Jungkook pauses, his gaze locked on yours as his heart flits in his chest, a sweet grin on his lips. You kiss him. You kiss the mole on beneath his lip, the mole on his nose, the scar on his cheek, and the mole on his neck; your favorite. 

Perhaps later you’ll kiss the scar on his shoulder, the one on his ribs, and any new ones acquired in your time apart. You’ll familiarize yourself with his body once again, and become one just like you were always meant to. 

Jungkook’s hand cups your face, moaning your name as his hands grip the shirt you’re wearing. “Let’s get you out of this, love.”

You nod, raising your arms to aid him. 

“Wow!” Jungkook exclaims, admiring the lace that barely covers your body. He tongues his lip rings, his eyes dark and hooded as you grab his hands to place on your hips. 

“Don’t just stare, baby.” 

Jungkook nods, smiling as he pecks your lips before you guide his hands to your breasts. 

His fingers toy with the string tying the two cups together, knowing he could easily get this undone. 

Without a second thought, Jungkook easily flips the two of you over. You giggle when your head meets the pillows, your body caged between Jungkook’s broad shoulders and deliciously thick arms. You run your hands over his bicep, clenching around nothing when he flexes for you. 

The list of things you’d love to do to him is endless but right now all you can focus on is him and the needy whimper that escapes him when his cock rubs against your cunt. 

“I don’t want to rush,” Jungkook admits but a roll of your hips has him seeing stars. 

Your hand laces with his, your thumb gently stroking his skin. “We can go slow, babe.”

Jungkook nods as he kisses you again, his hand cupping your cheek as your legs wind around his hips to pull him closer. Your name escapes him in a groan, the sound shooting straight to your cunt. Your eyes flutter shut as you curse, kissing him hungrily as your nails drag down his back. Jungkook kisses you feverishly, his tongue meeting yours, sucking it into his mouth. He pulls back, nipping your lip before he kisses his way down your body until he settles between your tits. 

“I’ve missed these fucking tits,” Jungkook grunts as you tug his hair.

“Kook!”

He smirks, “Soon, baby. Be patient.”

“It’s been six months,” you whine as you tug his hair again, earning a tiny bite on your wrist. 

“I know,” he responds, kissing your sternum. “But we have all night and I want these in my mouth.” 

Jungkook grabs the black string between his teeth and tugs until the bow comes undone. Your breasts are exposed as the thin lace material goes in opposite directions. 

It feels like heaven when his lips meet your heated skin. His soft lips draw out the sweetest moans from your parted lips with each kiss pressed to your skin. 

“So beautiful,” Jungkook whispers as his eyes meet yours for a brief moment. He grins when you whine his name, begging him to keep going. 

Jungkook aims to please as he takes a hard nipple into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it slowly, gently tugging on it to make you groan before he sucks it into his mouth. 

His hand grips your other breast, rolling your nipple between his fingertips before he switches. 

Your nails scratch at his scalp, gripping his hair to hold him closer to your tit. He sucks until your legs clamp around him, your hips writhing as you grind against him. 

You’re soaking wet, dripping through your lingerie and soaking his sweatpants. 

“Stop teasing me,” you plead as you arch into him, head lolled back as your hair splays on the pillow. 

Chuckling, Jungkook releases you before he licks and sucks his way down your body until he’s gripping your hips with his hands. He tugs you onto his lap.

“I love you so much, baby,” Jungkook says as runs his hand over your mound. He pressed his index finger to your pussy, teasing you for a moment before he undoes the bows on your hips. 

You lay bare underneath him. He’s transfixed by your arousal slick on your thighs, and he licks his lips. Fuck, he’s missed you so much. 

“I love you, Koo,” you respond as he grips each of your thighs in his hands. He lies flat on his stomach as he drags you closer, draping your legs over his shoulders. 

His tongue is flat as he licks a stripe on your folds. His tight hold on your thighs makes you moan as he teases your clit with his tongue. 

A sigh escapes you as you stare at the ceiling, thighs trembling as Jungkook buries himself in the apex of your legs. Your hand reaches for his, fingers laced as he continues to feast on you. The sounds that escape the two of you are lewd, and if you weren’t so focused on the pleasure you’d be embarrassed by how loud you were being. 

“That’s it, baby. Pull my fucking hair,” Jungkook encourages as you do as he’s asked. You squeeze his head between your thighs as his experienced tongue makes you cry out his name, covering your mouth with your hand to muffle your pleasurable cries. 

“Don’t,” Jungkook huffs as he licks his lips. His dark gaze makes you clench around nothing as you focus on him. His lips and nose shine with your arousal, his hair is in disarray from all your tugging and pulling, and his eyes darken further as he moves your hand off your mouth. “I want to hear how good I make you feel. I want all your moans. I want everything.”

You nod, cursing as he slides two fingers into you and you arch, moaning when his thumb rubs your clit in circles. Jungkook kisses your thighs, his lips joining his fingers soon after. 

Heat races through your veins as Jungkook curls your fingers, watching you intently as you begin to unravel. Your breathing has changed, your moans have risen in octave, and you dig your nails into his shoulder as your orgasm hits, and your back arches off the bed as a loud moan of his name fills the room. 

Jungkook rubs himself on the mattress, your moans going straight to his cock as his chest fills with pride. 

“Kookie,” you whine when the last tremors of your orgasm leave you feeling overstimulated.

Giggling, Jungkook kisses your clit before sitting up between your legs. His hands move up and down your thighs, settling on your hips. 

“It’s been so long,” he admits in a soft tone. “Way too long.”

You sit up, cupping his face in your hands. Your noses brush as you look him in the eyes. 

“Let’s make up for lost time.”

Nodding, Jungkook kisses you gently, falling deeper in love, if that were possible. With each kiss, he promises to be a better man for you, to be the one you deserve. 

“Lie down for me, baby,” you instruct as you get on your knees to allow your “beefcake” of a boyfriend to take your spot. Perhaps you should have laid down a towel before ensuing your activities but it was too late now. 

With Jungkook beneath you, your hands are free to roam where they please. You straddle him, your bare cunt on his erection with only the sweatpants keeping you from feeling him. Soon, you promise yourself. Soon.

A kiss here, a kiss there. You kiss each of his moles, licking and sucking his skin beside his neck mole to leave a pretty little mark. Perhaps you’d be more cautious, knowing he’d have work soon but you don’t care in the moment. You’d cover him in love bites from head to toe if you could. 

Your finger traces the scar on his shoulder, and Jungkook watches you with bated breath. When you kiss it, he gives a quick anecdote of how it happened before you move across his chest to the scar on his ribs. You trace it as Jungkook fills you in on what occurred. 

Your hands run over his chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath. Jungkook’s always had a wonderful body. Such a beautiful man, inside and out. Everything about him makes you fall for him even more. 

Your lips trail kisses down his taut abdomen, leaving hickeys on his hips, near his navel, and below his scar. 

Teasingly, you stroke his hard cock over his sweatpants. He moans your name, begging you not to tease him. You giggle, kissing his cock over the sweatpants before slowly tugging them down his thighs. 

You help him take them off before wrapping your hand around him, but your fingers still don’t meet. You smile as you stroke him, his soft whimpers making you wet. 

“So pretty like this,” you coo, and Jungkook gasps when you spit on his cock. 

“Please, baby,” he pleads as you lower your mouth, kissing the underside of his dick. 

“You can beg better than that, can’t you?” You smirk.

Jungkook nods hastily, begging for you to touch him and stop teasing him. You reward him by wrapping your lips around his cock, your tongue swirling around the leaking head. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans as you slowly bob up and down his length. His hand finds its way into your hair, gently gripping it to steady himself. 

You start slow, ignoring the ache in your knees as you slurp and tongue at his slit. His moans flow prettily from his pretty pink lips as you take more of him in your mouth. You do your best to take all of him but you gag, spluttering around him as you focus on breathing through your nose. 

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Jungkook breathes as his eyes roll back when he hits the your throat and you choke on him before pulling off. A bridge of saliva connects your lips to his cock as your eyes water before you take him back in. 

You spit on him, using your hand to stroke him while taking his balls in your mouth. Jungkook curses, eyes squeezed shut as the knot in his stomach tightened. Fuck, if he didn’t know any better, he’d be sure you were torturing him to get back at him. 

But you want to please him, you’ve missed having him just like this. 

His whimpers encourage you as you release him, kissing the head of his cock once more before you bob up and down his length.

It’s Jungkook who stops you with a tug of your hair, wiping the tear that rubs down your cheek. 

“I’ll cum down your throat if you keep going, my love,” he chuckles as you release him petulantly.

“But I want more,” you pout as Jungkook kisses you, his hand on the back of your head as yours winds around his neck. 

“So greedy,” he chuckles before kissing your nose. “Don’t worry, I am too.”

“How do you want me, Koo?” You ask bashfully as you sit back on your knees, ready to get into any position he desires. 

“Lay down for me, baby. I want to look at you while we make love again,” Jungkook helps you lie down beneath him. 

His fingers lace with yours when you settle under him. Your heart races in your chest as he kisses you gently.. 

You spread your legs further for him, wrapping them around his waist to pull him closer. Jungkook lines his cock at your entrance, moaning when he slides home.

“Fuck,” he grunts as you curse against his lips. “Fuck, love.”

“I know,” you sigh as you take all of him, the stretch delectable as you remember. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you free your hand from his to grip his forearm. “Fuck, Kook.”

Jungkook tongues his lip piercings as he watches pleasure overcome you. He gives you a moment to adjust to his length. Your nails dig into his arm for a moment before your lustful gaze meets his.

“More,” you plead in a whisper as Jungkook pushes a little deeper, bottoming out when you feel like he’ll reach your throat.

Fire blooms in your belly, desire swirling deep inside you as you kiss Jungkook.

Jungkook pulls out nearly all the way before sliding back into you. Your back arches as he sets a pace that makes you moan incoherently. He kisses you, all teeth and tongues, and dulcet moans.

His lips trail kisses to your neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks behind as he moves his greedy lips to your breasts.

Jungkook’s broad frame cages you beneath him, his hips meeting yours as the lewd sounds of your lovemaking fill the room. 

“Jungkook!” you cry out as you drag your nails down his perfect back. 

“Baby,” he moans, slamming into you again and again, enthralled by the way your tits jiggle with each of his thrusts. You tighten around him, biting back a guttural moan as fire courses through your veins.

“So fucking wet for me,” Jungkook praises. His hand moves between your bodies to rub your clit while his lips find your tits. 

“Love you. I love you,” you gasp as he grabs your hips, squeezing as he pulls you onto his cock.

“I love you,” he responds, groaning when your thighs quiver at his sides. You whimper, eyes fluttering shut as his name rolls off your tongue in a heady tone that makes his head spin. 

“Jungkook, fuck,” you can’t think straight, too overwhelmed with pleasure to warn him of your approaching orgasm, but this is Jungkook, he knows you better than you know yourself.

“I know, baby. I’ve got you,” he assures you as your hips meet his, and his lips meet yours in a messy kiss that swallows your moans as you hit your high. Your body tightens for a moment, your cunt milking Jungkook as he moans your name into your neck.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he whines as he fucks you through your orgasm and then through his. Sweat beads on your forehead and his. His black hair sticks to his face as he rocks his hips, sure he’s fucked you full of his seed before he pulls out and lays at your side.

Silence envelopes you two for a moment before you’re giggling with each other.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” you grin foolishly as you roll onto your side to face Jungkook, who is already watching you.

“Definitely,” he agrees, his hand pushing your hair out of your eyes. “You’re amazing.”

“Don’t get cheesy with me,” you poke his chest, smiling when he bites your finger playfully.

“You love it when I’m cheesy,” Jungkook responds as he pulls you to his chest. You’re both hot, and sticky with sweat but you’re willing to ignore it for now, at least until you can drag yourself up to use the bathroom and shower again.

“I love you,” you confirm as you place your hand in his. He laces your fingers together, moving your joined hands over his heart, kissing them.

“I love you too, baby. I always have, and I always will.” Jungkook swears as you lay your head on his chest, beside your joined hands, falling asleep to the sound of his heart beating for you.

The next morning is a haze.

You wake with Jungkook draped around you, his leg over your hip as he snores by your ear. You hate to wake him, but after you fell asleep, Jungkook had to wake you to shower, clean up, and change the sheets.

“Don’t get up,” Jungkook whines in his sleepy tone. “Stay with me.”

“We leave in a few hours and we haven’t packed,” you remind him. Jungkook groans as he clings to you.

You kiss him, morning breath not bothering you. “You’ll get more kisses if you get up.”

Jungkook whines. “No up, just kiss.”

“That’s not how this will work,” you laugh as you wiggle out of his grasp. Jungkook sighs as he sits up, his adorable bedhead makes you smile.

Lazily, Jungkook gets out of bed, yawning as he heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth and style his hair.

“I don’t wanna leave,” he says, well, you think that’s what he said with his toothbrush in his mouth. You shake your head when he spits into the sink as you pack your belongings in your bag, including the tiny pieces of fabric Jimin gifted you.

“We can vacation again soon,” you tell him as you shut your bag, and tug on the zippers to close it. It’s funny how you didn’t even want to come on this cruise, and now you weren’t sure you wanted to leave. However, you’d come without Jungkook and now you were leaving with him at your side.

Perhaps this trip hadn’t been so bad after all.

“I’ll hold you to it, babe. Now, when are we having breakfast? I’m hungry as hell after last night,” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “And this morning.”

You laugh at him, throwing a shirt at him.

Jungkook ducks out of the way, cackling as he shuts the bathroom door.

Jimin and Yoongi meet you for breakfast. The two are in their bubble as you approach with Jungkook at your side.

You sit beside Jimin, kissing his cheek. “Thanks for the gift.”

Jimin brightens, “You used it?”

Jungkook and Yoongi look at each other confused.

“Used what?” Jungkook asks as he takes a biscuit from the basket on the table. He bites into it before Jimin answers.

“The lingerie.”

Jungkook chokes on his biscuit, hitting his chest with his fist before he forces himself to swallow. Yoongi hands him a glass of juice, and Jungkook thanks him with a thumbs-up.

“You’re so back together!” Jimin cheers as he hugs you tightly. Yoongi rolls his eyes in annoyance, but a pleased smile appears on his lips.

“Can we stop talking about them fucking and move onto our wedding plans?” Yoongi asks as he stifles a yawn.

“How about a destination wedding?” you offer as you rub Jungkook’s back soothingly. He smiles weakly at you, his cheeks pink.

“I like the way you think,” Jimin grins as he rattles off ideas with you and Yoongi. Jungkook is too focused on breakfast to offer any input, but he’s sure you’ll catch him up on the way home. 

Things were looking up for him.

Jungkook would have to give his assistant a bonus upon his return. 

~

“Do we have to go?” Jungkook whines as he wraps his arm around your waist. 

Jimin and Yoongi are packing the bags into the trunk of your airport shuttle. 

“We do, work awaits,” you remind him as he frowns. 

“What if we take a few days for ourselves? Just the two of us?” Jungkook questions. 

“Oh?” You raise a brow. “What did you have in mind?” 

“It’ll be a surprise until we get to the airport,” Jungkook smiles brightly. “I want you all to myself for just a little longer.”

“Then I am all yours,” you rest your head on his chest as he leads you to your friends. 

“Ready to go?” Yoongi asks as he shuts the trunk. 

“Definitely,” you answer as you take Jungkook's hand in yours. 

You’re not sure what the future holds for the both of you, but you’re hopeful it’ll be bright with Jungkook at your side once more. 

© jjungkookislife - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, this includes Youtube.

[camishroom]

hmmmmmmmm gortash and durge??? I love them

[disgracefulthings]

Yue Qingyuan: Shang-Shidi, a demon clan is causing some trouble with some minor sects. Can you ask Luo Binghe to look into it?

Shang Qinghua: Sure, he owes me a favor anyway

Liu Qingge: How does someone like you get a demon lord to owe you a favor?

Shang Qinghua: I tell him what Shen Qingqiu likes in bed

Yue Qingyuan: WHAT?!

Liu Qingge: HOW-?

Shang Qinghua: Anyway I'll get right on that

[guzhufuren]

upcoming thai ql prayer circle 🤝🤝🤝

[chleem]

Hallow's eve

Oneshot; exes drew x yn

Summary: drew wasn’t the type to get jealous. And tonight, on hallow’s eve, is his first time experiencing this bitter emotion. 

Genre: exes to lovers, smut, angst, fluff 

Warnings: cursing, unprotected sex, etc

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

♡⸝⸝ happy halloween!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“You can’t be fucking serious,”

Drew laughs bitterly, his eyes landing on you. 

The light blue corset, leathered mini-skirt, police badge, duty belt, and bunny ears are all too recognizable to him. A seducing touch to the costume of Judy Hopps from Zootopia. It shows off your curves beautifully, everything about it made you look more sensual than usual. 

But the main reason for his bitterness isn’t because of your costume, rather…who you’re matching with. 

His friend Paul. Whose wearing what was supposed to be Drew’s, the Nick Wilde costume. 

Fuck. It’s been a month since the breakup, and you show up with his friend?

“Shit, did you know about this?”

Drew forces his eyes away from you, turning the Keith. His lips are pursed, clenching on his jaw tightly. All the emotions are coming back to him all at once; regret, anger, and confused. “Does it look like I know?” He doesn’t even try to hide the sourness in his voice. 

Keith nervously glances to the side; he knows Drew isn’t over you. Hell, Drew didn’t even try to get over you, and everyone knew it. Dated for a year…how is one suppose to forget about that? “Shit man…”

Drew sighs, turning his gaze back to you. He hasn’t seen you for a whole month…and you looked beautiful. 

And Drew of course knew how much he missed you, shit, everything he did he thought of you. Waking up? Why weren’t you in his bed. Showering? Why weren’t you helping him wash his hair. Eating? Why weren’t you sitting in the seat beside him. 

And seeing you hold Paul’s hand, greeting others with a soft smile; that should be him standing beside you. 

“They’re…probably not even together,” Keith tries to make the situation look better than it is. 

Then, while you’re talking to someone dressed as a mummy, Paul distracts himself by planting kisses along your jaw. “Not together, huh?” Drew snickers at the audacity of Paul, doing that to you. He should know better than to touch what’s his. 

Drew’s whole costume feels annoying now. Obviously, breaking up with you meant having no costume. So, he improvised to dress up as Patrick Bateman, from American Psycho. 

He shrugs the clear raincoat off, hanging it on a random coat hanger that happens to be in a kitchen. He loosens his tie, pouring himself another round of drinks. 

When Drew glances at Keith, he sees a sly smile on his face. What the fuck-

“You’re jealous, man.”

Jealous? To Drew, it was an ugly and immature emotion. Only insecure people feel that way. Drew wasn’t insecure, god no.

No. That just wasn’t who Drew was, to be jealous. 

Besides, what’s there to be jealous of? He knows you too well, you’re definitely just bitter. Because out of all his friends, you hate Paul the most.

His mind was just playing tricks on him. 

But fuck- how much he wanted to punch Paul still, and claim the spot next to you. 

“No,” Drew laughs it off, sounding as if he’s being held at gunpoint. He downs the drink in his hand in one sip, and says more firmly this time, “no.”

Keith raises an eyebrow at him; obviously not believing his friend. “Nah, you jealous. Jealous that Paul gets all that now.”

Ew. That thought disgusts Drew. “Fuck off-“

Someone yells for a game of truth or dare in the living room. Drew’s eyes immediately find themselves on you, even with the huge amount of costumes in here. Paul ushers you to join; reluctantly, you follow him. 

Seems like Drew’s also playing. 

——

Amidst the loud Halloween party, a game of truth or dare begins. Refusing to answer or do the dare, results in a penalty drink. 

Paul’s hand on your thigh makes you want to throw up. You hated this guy; why, out of anyone, did you ask him to be your date?

Your stupid pride got the worst of you, refusing to show up at the party alone, especially with the chance of seeing Drew. You suspected that he must have moved on, so you decided to show how ‘well’ you were doing.

Wrong. Everyone close to you knew how many sleepless nights you’ve had in the last month, depressed and withered away in your room. Really, getting ready tonight was an impossible task too. 

Paul is…disrespectful, awkward, inappropriate, the list goes on. He’s not close with Drew; but still, it bothered you that he was always at hangouts. Once, he made a move on you (a rather rude, pushy one) while you were still with Drew. 

Yep. Now thinking back, you would’ve preferred to come alone instead of with this prick. 

“You good?”

Yeah, if you take your hand off me. “Lovely,” you manage to breathe out, focusing your gaze at the circle that has now formed in the living room. 

Your eyes land on Drew; pulling a random chair and sitting down, manspreading. He never looked finer, in his American Psycho costume. And plus, his hair. The last time you saw him, he had bangs. Not that this new buzzcut looked bad; it gave a whole new demeanor to Drew, one that was more matured. 

Wow. Looking at him, you realize how much you miss him. You wanted to go sit next to him, run your hands through his buzzcut, and just talk to him, hear his deep, calming voice. 

Shit. He makes eye contact with you, and for the first time, you can’t tell what’s on his mind. Is he mad? Regretful? Or does he…even care? You watch as his eyes scan down your body, lingering longer on your legs. Or rather, Paul’s hand there. 

“Alright…who wants to go first?” Some person you don’t know, speaks up, sitting down on the couch. 

The eye contact breaks, with Drew turning his face away, drinking the cup in his hand. 

Huh.

Someone volunteers for a dare, but you don’t show much interest. This is a stupid game anyways. 

During the game, Paul would whisper something dirty in your ear, which honestly, pissed you off more. When he kissed your jaw earlier, that was already crossing the line. But you could feel someone watching you intensively, so you go along with it; smiling, whispering back, responding to his touches. You hoped that someone would call on you, just so you could leave Paul’s side for a while. 

And as if some angel heard you, halfway through the game-

“Drew, truth or dare?”

That caught your attention, but you try not to show it. You make subtle glances in his direction, wondering what he was going to chose. 

“Dare,” his voice is deep, just like how you last remembered it. 

The person asking was his friend, Keith. He hung around so much, that you can easily recognize the mischievous glint in his eyes; he’s gonna say something crazy. 

You’re right; because he says, “7 minutes in heaven. With y/n.”

The people in the circle all murmur and woo, in anticipation. Great. Was there anyone here that didn’t know about the breakup?

You can’t help but smile down at your lap, at how ridiculous this dare is. Surely, Drew wouldn’t say yes, right? You couldn’t tell; his face showed no emotion towards that dare. 

“Say no, alright?” Paul’s disgusting voice forces you to look over at him. 

Did you want to say no? 

You take a good look at Paul’s face; maybe saying no isn’t the worst idea. Being locked somewhere awkward with Drew sounded better than…actually, better than anything. 

Suddenly, you feel a heavy presence standing close to you. And when you look over, it’s Drew. He stands in front of you, and he holds out a hand for you to take.

You look up at his face, hints of eagerness only you could notice. He nods gently towards his hand, telling you to take it. 

“Yo dude, she doesn’t wants to go-“

You take it. Your hand comes in contact with the familiar warmth, the hands that you always found comfort in. You let him pull you out of Paul’s arms, a little too rough, and you stumble a bit. 

You smile awkwardly, holding onto his hand hard to regain your balance. “Hey, I’ll be here waiting for you,” Paul continues to say. 

“Sure,” you force out, adjusting your skirt. Deep down, you’ve never been more glad to be rescued by Drew. 

——

He’s walking at a fast pace, and with his grip on your hand tight, you can tell how urgent he is. His patience slips away with each tug he gives to each door he passes by, occupied by strangers already. 

“Maybe we should just give up-“

The last door is budged opened, and when the two of you glance inside, it’s empty. 

“Great,” you murmur awkwardly, before forcing your hand out of his. You don’t want to do so; but given the current situation between you two, it’ll feel weird if you continue to hold his hand. 

You brush past him into the small bedroom, and sit yourself on the bed. This bunny headband was getting itchy, so you take it off, putting it beside you. 

You watch as Drew locks the door behind him, sliding his suit jacket off. Woah, woah, woah, is he stripping? “Um…what are you doing?”

His blue eyes stare blankly into yours; as he lazily rolls his sleeves up. “the walking, it gets hot.”

Oh. He…yeah, it might get too hot from all the fast walking. Why would he strip? Drew wasn’t that kind of person, what were you thinking? You look down at your lap; embarrassed of your own thoughts. 

Well…this is awkward. The only sound in here was the faint music from downstairs. 

And then Drew sits down on the bed, next to you. The mattress dips under his weight, his scent (he smells real good) hitting you, and just his overall presence. 

That damn buzzcut. What even motivated him to get his entire head shaved? You were curious; and you wanted to know what happened to him in the past month. Was he also miserable like you? Or did he forget about everything-

“Paul, huh?”

He’s leaned forward; so you can’t really tell his expressions. But his voice comes out deep and almost hushed, like he needed to force it out. 

Your heart was beating fast, why were you nervous? It was just Drew; you’ve dated him for a year, known him for more than that. Yet, every action and word he says can still made you flustered. “Well, he has a thing for me.”

Was that the right response? You weren’t sure; Drew answers a few seconds later, “I know,” you watch his back muscles through his see-through button up tense, “just didn’t know you had a thing for him.”

Almost forgot how well he knew you. “People can change,” you shrug, trying to act cool. 

That earns a ��tsk’ of disapproval from him, and he leans back. He turns towards you; the pretty blue of his eyes staring into yours. “Not you.”

“Could say the same about you,” you bitterly reply, referring to the breakup. It was out of character for him to just dump you, saying he was ‘busy’. A dick move, to be honest. 

Drew rolls his eyes upward; as if thinking of a response. His lips are slightly pursed; and you see the amusement in them. 

“Am I wrong?” You press, and suddenly, the depression from the past month has surfaced into anger. Anger towards Drew. “You have no right to say that-“

“You’re dating Paul,” he emphasizes on the last part, his eyebrows furrowed at you. “Paul, for god’s sake.”

You shake your head, a sour smile on your lips. The anger inside of you begs to be released, and as a way of spreading it out, you stand up. So mad, you can’t even sit still. “So what? Why do you care, we broke up-“

“A month, only for a month!” He raises his voice slightly louder than yours, and he also stands up now. This escalated fast. “And Paul. Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes I am! More than ever, you got a problem with that?” You provoke, the two of you standing in less than a meter from each other. He stares down at you, and even with your angered mind, his proximity still drives you insane. “Let’s not forget that you dumped me-“

“You’re dating Paul?” He asks once again, realizing that you didn’t correct him from earlier. His face shows it all; betrayal and disgust.

 You laugh at him, rather distastefully, “Do you not hear yourself right now? You’re worried about that-“

“You dating him or not?”

He just stays in place, towering over you. That question lingers in the air, his jealousy heavy. He watches you, and you see a mixture of longing and frustration in them. He’s practically begging you with his eyes at this point. 

The devil on your shoulder pushes you to lie, “we’ve been seeing each other.”

He immediately steps away from you, pacing around the room with his hands running through his scalp. He turns back around to you, but stands at a distance now, “y/n, what the fuck-“

“Why are you getting mad at me?” You yell back, your voice cracking. 

“I don’t believe you,” he harshly denies, shaking his head. 

Fights with Drew was never like this; he would apologize quickly and fix the problem. Tonight? You might’ve just pissed him off to the point of no return. 

You tuck your hair behind your ears, before placing them on your hips firmly. “Well, that’s the truth, whether you like it or not-“

“I don’t fucking believe you, y/n,” he denies once again. 

“You saw him around me, what else do you-“

“I don’t believe you,” he repeats, closing the distance between the two of you again. You gulp at his presence towering over you; this time, there’s an edge to his demeanor. Knowing that you lied, it felt dangerous to be standing this close to him. “You’re bluffing, I know it.”

The sharpness in his eyes glints with challenge, searching for the truth in yours. He won’t be easily swayed; he knew you too well. 

You cock your head to the side, the same challenge in your eyes that mirrors back to him. You don’t miss it; the jealously in his. He’s jealous right now! 

No wayyy he’s jealous. Years you’ve known him; never once have you seen him jealous. Drew was that kind of person; unbothered and sure about himself. At first it frustrated you, it seemed like he didn’t care. But you soon learned that it just meant he trusted you, never questioning about your friendships or interactions.

But still, he’s jealous right now! For the very first time! And you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t tease him about it. C’mon, this man was jealous of Paul. How cute. “You’re jealous,” you say, failing to hide the amusement in your tone. “You’re fucking jealous right now-“

“No,” he firmly denies it. 

“Yes, you are. You, Drew Starkey, is jealous-“

“I’m not fucking-“

“Yes! You’re jealous!” You point out, a bit too cheerful at that. You almost forget that you’re suppose to be angry at him, “You’re bitter that it’s not you-“

“Gosh, you’re driving me insane,” he groans, throwing his head back in frustration. “I don’t feel that way-“

“Oh, you totally are,” you say, taking a few steps back and snickering. Gosh, this is fun to make fun of. “Drew Starkey’s jealous for the first time-“

Drew’s lips come in contact with yours, his tongue thrusting into yours urgently. 

Woah.

You didn’t even realize he had closed the gap again; his hands cupping your face to trap you into him. You hit his chest to push him away; but the longer his lips attach to yours, the softer your hits were. 

Alcohol. You taste that on his lips, pretty sure yours too. 

Yet, like a second nature, your body and brain reacts to Drew in a submissive way, kissing him back. You can’t help it; the warmth of his hands on either sides of your face, his soft lips…everything about him. Everything about him is endearing to you. 

In this moment, you realized you could never truly get over Drew. And quite frankly, you don’t want to. 

He pulls away, but his hands still remain on your face. “I’m not jealous,” he murmurs, his lidded-eyes gazing down at your lips then back your eyes. His chest under your touch rises and falls, the beat of his heart fast. 

The urge to fight or tease him disappears; you just want to be in his presence, in his touch, feeling the warmth of him. As if it could solve all your problems.  

“Shut up,” you breathe out, pulling him down by his tie and kissing him. 

Drew immediately kisses you back; never been more glad to be ordered to shut up. His hands move down your body, until they come in contact with the strings at the back of your corset. 

You feel him struggling with undoing it; probably distracted by your lips on his. 

Gosh, was it so hard to undo a couple of strings?

You force him onto the bed, and he immediately readjusts himself to a nice position. You quickly put your hands behind you and untie the strings, while Drew undos his own tie, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Was that so hard?” You tease him, letting the corset fall off you. Drew’s mouth is slightly opened as his eyes drift lower down to your naked chest; his fixated gaze giving you a confidence boost.

“Mmhm,” he lazily replies; hands pull you into his lap by the waist. His lips attach them to yours again, and your hands work on unbuttoning his shirt. He kisses down your neck, laying love bites on it. 

“Shit…” you moan. Drew’s lips were skilled, and they knew where you liked it. 

His hands knead your breasts, just as you got his last button undone. Your hands roam around his chest, abs, then coming back up to run through his scalp. Huh. It’s gonna take some time to get used to no hair to tug on. 

His lips move down to your chest, and he starts to suck on your nipples. He fully makes out with them; his tongue sloppily tugging and devouring them in. It sends pleasure down to your core; and you start to rub against him, feeling the material of his pants harden. 

“Drew…” you voice out, hands feeling his scalp. It feels, weird and comfortable. 

He pulls away, his chest heavy as he looks up at you with hungry eyes. “Yeah?”

“Lay back,” you order, wiping the saliva that drips down the side of his lips. 

Drew gulps, before nodding. His hands remove themselves from you, hurriedly discards his shirt, and he scoots himself further down the bed. You get the clear look of his boner through his pants; damn. 

Your hands go to undo your duty belt; when they come in contact with metal chains. 

Huh? You look down and see, that it was the handcuffs you got for Judy Hopps’ character. 

The dirtiest idea pops up in your mind, and you look back up at Drew with a smile. His eyes are squinted at you, eyebrows furrowed. The two of you share a look; and then he shakes his head in disapproval. “No. I’m not getting handcuffed.”

This was never tried over the course of your relationship with him, and now that the opportunity presented itself, you had to try. You pout, taking the metal chains in your hands. You dip onto the bed, crawling between his spread legs. “Please, baby. It’ll be fun,” you flirtatiously say, your hand crawling up his thigh. “I’ll make it feel good.”

“You always make me feel good,” he murmurs, his arms tucked behind his head. 

“Pretty please then?” Your hand comes in contact with his boner, and you grip it through his pants. 

He moans under your touch, his mind fighting the battle to not be seduced by you. 

You knew how much Drew liked to touch you, always having his arm around you either lovingly and protectively. He took pride in being the person that gets to touch you whenever he wants and wherever. So of course, he wouldn’t be so happy to be handcuffed. 

You swing the handcuffs, giving him a soft smile. 

After a few seconds, he moans again, this time out of frustration, “fine. Do it.”

You smile ear-to-ear, happy that he agreed. You straddle his waist, as he offers his hands to you. You fasten one around his wrist, the material digging slightly into his skin. “Does it hurt?” You murmur, even though you were already moving onto his other hand. 

“I’m good,” he assures you, and when you glance down, you see that your breasts are directly in front of his face, a distraction provided. You shake your head, a soft smile on your lips as you bring both handcuffed wrists and hook it on the headboard. 

You ignore the kisses he trails on your chest; and tug on his hands to make sure it stays there. “Hey, stop it,” you warn him, before getting off. 

By instinct, he tugs his wrists wanting to keep you atop of him, but the handcuffs stop him. “Ride me, c’mon,” he whines, getting impatient with the restraints of his hands. Look, you haven’t even started and he’s already whining. 

Drew looks very hot in this angle; usually in charge, to be in a position where he physically couldn’t do anything. 

You giggle, undoing the duty belt and shimmying your skirt off. You lean forward between his legs, looking up at him with intrigued eyes. “Have some patience, baby,” the nickname drives him crazy, throwing his head back in frustration. 

His reaction makes you grin. You can see the struggle on his face—wanting to be annoyed but unable to resist the pull of your playful teasing. It’s the kind of tension that makes your heart race, as your hands go and undo his belt. 

The belt comes off, next was the zipper, then his pants. You tug it down to his knees, his dick piercing through his boxers. It’s begging to be sucked by you. 

You pull it down, his dick practically springing out. “Fuck,” you moan, leaning down close to it. 

Drew thrusts his hips, making the tip hit your nose. You look up at him, furrowing your eyebrows. You didn’t like how impatient he is right now, “stay still.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, biting down on his bottom lip. “You look pretty from this angle, though.”

You give him a smug smile, before opening your mouth and taking his tip in. He immediately groans at that, as your mouth moves lower. 

The tug of the handcuffs is heard, as well as Drew saying, “wanna touch you.”

You smirk against his dick, one hand gripping on his thigh, another one going up to his balls. You massage one side; while your mouth skillfully takes Drew in. 

But Drew decides to take a step further, and thrusts his hip upward. That makes you gag; his tip hitting almost the back of your mouth. You immediately pull your mouth out, “stay still,” you say, more firmly this time. “Or I’ll leave, and you’ll stay here handcuffed.”

Another tug of his handcuffs, “didn’t mean to.”

“Be a good boy and stay still, okay?” The lust, tipsiness, combined with Drew’s vulnerable situation serves as a huge boost to your confidence. 

“Yes ma’am,” he murmurs, relaxing his entire body now. You’re in charge now; the handcuffs remind him of that. 

You give him a glare as a warning; you don’t miss the small curl at the corner of his lips. You take him in again, your hand squeezing his balls gently. You start to bop your head up and down, tongue wrapping and sucking his dick. 

“Shit,” you hear him groan, “just like that, babe.”

His soft moans ensure you that you’re doing a great job, as well as the occasional tugs of the handcuffs, his hands dying to touch you. Your head bops faster with each passing second, the pleasure of sucking his cock pooling in your undies too. 

It’s when you feel his cock twitch inside your mouth, you pull away. 

“Babe, what?” He manages to breathe out, he couldn’t believe that you just denied him of an orgasm. 

That nickname sends a bigger impact to your core than it should’ve. You sit up and lean forward, planting a sloppy kiss against his lips. He kisses back immediately, eager and needy. You pull away, “didn’t know you were this whiny.”

He forms a small frown, which makes you giggle, “I’ll let you cum, stop whining,” you kiss along his neck, down his chest, abs, and stopping right before his dick. “You got a condom?”

“You think I planned this?’ He tugs on his handcuffs. Right. He definitely wasn’t planning on fucking his ex-girlfriend. 

You get off the bed, rummaging the nightstands, hoping for condoms to be here. Nope. “Fuck,” you frustratedly groan, pushing your hair to one side. “Now what?” 

That question lingers in the air, the two of you staring at each other. No condom, and two horny adults. There was only one solution. No, two solutions. But who in their right mind would suggest that one-

“Raw,” Drew speaks up. 

“Raw?” You’ve never gone raw before; the risks of it overpowering the pleasure of it. You glance that Drew, seeing how calm he was to suggest that. Then at his dick, which was still erected. 

“Unless you want to go back downstairs.”

Oh god. You didn’t want to; you wanted to have sex with Drew. But you had to be honest; the idea of raw sex was terrifying. 

“Y/n?” His blue eyes meet yours, “sit down first.”

You sit back down beside him, placing your hand on his lower stomach. “Raw?” You’re more asking yourself, yet you look at Drew’s face. 

Drew. Going raw with Drew. Drew. Not some random guy. The Drew that you’ve found yourself get really into. Okay. Maybe if you two didn’t break up a month ago, you would’ve gotten to that point with him anyways, right? 

“You okay?” He asks gently. 

You give him a soft smile, getting yourself between his legs yet again. “Can’t be any different than a condom, right?”

He smirks at your agreement of this, “hope so.”

You lean forward and give him a quick peck on the lips. “Stretch yourself out first,” he reminds, looking down towards your core. You take your underwear off, sitting back and spreading your legs. It gives Drew the clear view of your pussy; and he groans at that. “Need help?”

He tugs on his handcuffs. Pretty sure it’ll bruise his wrists if he continues to move against them. The sly smile on his lips tell you everything; “I got it,” you assure him. 

You line two fingers against yourself; and then put it in. “Shit,” you groan at how wet you are already; thrusting your fingers in slowly.

You can’t help but compare your own fingering to Drew’s; finding his more satisfying to your core. Nevertheless, you stretch yourself out just like Drew says, picking the pace after a few seconds. “Fuck,” you hear him groan; and after a couple of sloppy thrusts, you pull out, finding yourself stretched. 

“Good?” He asks, watching as you straddle yourself on his waist again. 

“Perfect,” you practically purr, leaning forward and kissing him. You feel his smile against your lips; him kissing you back tenderly. 

You pull away and look down; aligning yourself with his dick. Shit. 

You sink down, feeling his cock enter you slowly. You moan loudly at the feeling; no barriers between the two anymore. When you sit down fully, you’re sure his tip hits the back of your core. 

Drew throws his head back in pleasure, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Feels real good,” he murmurs, his eyes fluttering to stay open. 

You giggle gently at his reaction; and you raise your hips, ready to start moving. You move up, then slide back down on him. “Shit,” you curse, the sensation unreal. 

Raising your hips again, you start riding him, at an unusual slow pace. Your nails dig into his shoulders, transferring the pain there. “Wanna touch you,” he voices out, tugging on the handcuffs. 

“You touch me all the time,” you hum, continuing to slam yourself up and down him. He groans at that, a knowing smile on his lips. 

“Touch yourself for me, then,” he thrusts his hip upwards, causing you to moan at the friction. 

You do as told; bringing your hands up to your breasts and squeezing them while bouncing. You’ve never felt this much pleasure; the feeling of Drew watching you while you ride him, your hands all over while you imagine it being him. 

The sound of skin slapping, heavy moans, and the tugs of Drew’s cuffs fill the room, as well as the rising temperature in here. This sex experience reminds you just how much you and Drew are compatible for each other; easily kinky and fond together. 

You feel the familiar hotness fill up your core, your movements getting more sloppy. “Close?” He asks, sounding breathless. 

“Yes,” you moan, your hands back around his shoulders. 

Drew leans himself upwards with his upper body, and he gives you a messy kiss. His kiss sends you over the ledge; and you feel the knot coming undone. He pulls away with a smug smile, “came all over my cock.”

“Shut up,” you smile, pulling him back and kissing him again. You liked kissing him more than you should. 

“Hey, can you undo these for me?” He tugs on the handcuffs for the nth time tonight. 

“Should I?” You cock your head playfully to the side. He playfully thrusts upwards towards your core, and you groan at that. “Fuck, Drew.”

“C’mon, undo me,” he begs, his blue eyes staring teasingly into yours. 

Gosh, this man. It’s unfair how attractive he is, from his looks to his actions. Everything, just touches your heart. You pull out of him, the stickiness around your legs don’t feel as gross as they should. But you do miss the warmth of him, feeling bit empty. 

You search around for your duty belt; grabbing it off the floor. It had three little compartments around it, and you rummage around each one. The cheap material makes it hard to open each. 

“Babe, you’re taking forever,” you hear him behind you. 

You ignore his comment; working your way to the last one. Surely the key had to be in the last one, right?

Is it; and you throw the belt back down, turning back to him. “Were you always this impatient?” You ask, unlocking both of his wrists. 

The handcuffs shoot down as soon as you’re done; and he flips you under him in one fast motion. You let out a shriek, not expecting to be pinned in mere seconds. He looks down at you with a small smirk, “my turn.”

“What?” You let out a nervous giggle, his hold on your wrists tightening. 

You let out a loud gasp when he shrinks his length down into your core; pushing it fully in at once. Shit, shit, shit. His lips attach themselves to your neck, leaving love bites, eventually moving down lower. “Drew,” you manage to breathe out despite feeling the weight of him down on you. 

“Yeah?” He mumbles against your skin, one hand intertwining with yours. 

“…feels good,” you admit, even though it was unexpected to be pinned down. Having his cock fully in you; felt like heaven. Now, he’s gonna give you your second orgasm of the night; halloween? Must be Christmas. 

“I’know,” he kisses your jaw, his other hand now kneading your breasts. “Besides, haven’t cummed yet.”

Oh. You were consumed with chasing your own orgasm, you didn’t realize that Drew hasn’t had his yet. 

Drew starts to push his body into yours, picking up the pace after each thrust. He hits your exact g-spots, knowing your body all too well. You moan loudly in his ear, mixed in with his. Just like that, your second orgasm slowly forms.

“Shit,” he curses, his hands locking tightly with yours. 

Okay, raw sex definitely felt better than condom ones. Or was it because it’s Drew? Either way, you want to do this more, honestly. Maybe the handcuffs too. 

“Close, Drew,” you breathe out between thrusts. 

“Same, babe,” he kisses your cheek.

The knot comes undone for the second time tonight, and you cum over his dick. At the same time, you feel it twitch inside you; his turn. 

Drew gets ready to pull out, but you hurriedly wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Cum inside me,” you urge him, wanting to feel yourself filled with his orgasm. 

Drew gives you a lazy smile, lips leaning towards yours. And this kiss, was more endearing, his tongue moving in a soft tempo. He cums, and you feel the warmth of him mixing with yours. 

You smile back against his lips; you’ve never had such mind-blowing sex. 

He eventually pulls out of you, reaching for the tissues on the nightstand. You let him clean you up, leaning against the headboard; the two of you staying silent to recover from what just happened. 

And slowly, the realization of what happened, fogs up the both of your minds. Lust is gone, now only left with clarification. Clarification of what’ll be next, between the two of you.

“Drew?” You speak up, as he finishes and cleans himself up quickly, throwing it in the trash after. 

He sits by your legs, his blue eyes looking up and meeting yours. “I miss you.” That confession catches you off guard. You gulp, looking down at your lap. “I’m sorry,” he adds, voice cracking. 

Your heart aches at that; and you feel him move to the spot besides you. He pulls the covers up, covering the both of you. “I’m sorry,” he repeats once again, “I’m, I’m a stupid fuck.”

“You are,” you agree, still looking down and playing with your fingers. 

“I just…we dated for a year. And, I just got scared?” The last part was almost as if he also didn’t believe himself for feeling that way. 

“Why?”

“I don’t know, just…something I feel. But I realized, not being with you was worse,” his hands wrap around yours, and you look up at him. His blue eyes are mixed with regret, sincerity, and…love. Well, at least you interpret it that way. 

“Took a month away from me to realize that?”

“Yes. I think that just shows how idiotic I am. Trust me, the past month was horrible.”

You giggle, “you can’t just dump me whenever you feel like it.”

“First and last time,” he promises.

“What?” You look at him questionably. 

“If you’ll take me back.”

Do you want to take Drew back? Your mind was screaming no, but your heart was telling you to spend forever with him. He really hurt you, and he really is an idiot. But he’s your idiot. And one year of dating has told you that he does make stupid decisions, coming to regret them later. 

Fuck it. You always listened to your heart anyways. “Fine, if you insist,” you playfully say, your hands intertwining with his again. You missed holding onto these hands. Then, your eyes drop to his wrists, seeing the red spots around them. “Drew, those handcuffs-“

Drew’s other hand cups your face, and he sends an attack of his kisses to your cheek. You laugh loudly at that, which just drives him to give you more. “Hey-“ he kisses your lips, the two of you leaning down until your backs hit the mattress. 

“I…”

“Hmm?” You stare into his eyes. He stares at you all smitten, his lips slightly open in awe. 

“I…love you,” he confesses. 

Oh. Oh. The butterflies in your stomach fight to get out, and you let them. You love Drew. Yeah, you love Drew. After everything you’ve been through with him, you deserved to be loved, to be loved by him.  “I love you more,” you emphasize on the last word. 

“Fuck,” he kisses you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer into his arms. “Driving me insane. Insane, y’know that?”

“I’know,” you giggle, the two of you staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. You’ve never felt happier. And when your hands run through his scalp; you’re reminded of his buzzcut. “Hey, why did you shave your hair?”

“It got annoying,” he rubs circles around your waist, “and, well, I missed you.”

“so you shaved your hair?” 

“…yeah,” suddenly he gets shy, burying his face into your neck. You smile at that, feeling like he’s a little baby. 

After a few seconds, he murmurs against your neck. “Hey, y’know what you should dress up as next year?”

“Next year already?” You look down at him, him looking back up at you. 

“Yeah,” he pulls away, “Lola bunny.”

Lola bunny? Wasn’t that the cartoon character? From Loony tunes? You furrow your eyebrows at Drew, “why?”

He gives you a grin, “kinda…my childhood crush.”

“Really?” This is the first time he’s telling you this; and you can’t help but grow amused at that. Lola bunny? Maybe that can explain why he’s so weird sometimes. Cute weird. “Will you be my Bugs then?”

“Of course,” he immediately says, “not Paul, that’s for sure.”

Paul. You’re suddenly reminded of that gross man you asked to come with you; and also of Drew’s jealously. Hey, he’s jealous! That thought is bought up in your mind once again, thanks to Drew himself. What girlfriend would you be if you didn’t tease him about it? “Oh, you were so jealous.”

“Jealous? No,” he denies, even with the small smirk on his lips. 

“So it’s okay if I see Paul-“

“We’re together, now. Like, literally a few seconds ago,” he cuts you off. “Screw Paul. Or any other guy.”

“That’s jealousy,” you smile, pointing at his face. 

He bites on your finger, causing you to shriek and put your finger down. “Just love you a lot.” 

Your heart warms at that; but it doesn’t change your mind about how jealous he was. “Drew, you don’t need to be jealous. I’m yours.”

He chuckles, “I’m not jealous!”

Okay. He might never admit it. His pride, and his overall aura, jealousy just won’t be something he wants to bow down to. 

“Of course,” you rest your chin on his forehead. “Of course.”

“I wasn’t jealous!” He continues to hum. 

“Shhh,” you coo at him, rubbing the skin around his shoulders, which feel firm yet soft. Your eyes are falling heavy, and in Drew’s arms, you knew you could get some comfortable sleep. The first time; for the past month. 

You close your eyes, ready to drift to sleep, when Drew says, “I think we went over 7 minutes.”

“Huh?” You lazily reply, your brain ready to turn off. 

“Nothing.”

That was the end of the conversation; and you drifted off to sleep, knowing that Drew was beside you. The familiar scent of him dozes you off, and you feel safe knowing he’s going to be taking care of you. 

Lola bunny. Maybe you should dress up like her next year, fulfill Drew’s nasty fantasies. Huh. Maybe. 

-------------------------------

word count: 6.6k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: petition for drew to be patrick bateman 🙋‍♀️

happy halloween! what are you dressing up as??? hope you enjoyed this oneshot, kinky and got really sweet in the end. pls ignore any mistakes; i hate proofreading. anyways, happy halloween! ik im already looking forward to christmas ;)

[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!!

[deunmiu-dessie]

werewolf!ex-boyfriend who you've been out of a relationship for the last couple of months. werewolf!ex-boyfriend who can't get over you, who doesn't want to get over you. werewolf!ex-boyfriend who becomes dangerously obsessed with you, because you belong to him, he's already laid his claim on you. werewolf!ex-boyfriend who stalks you all over town. werewolf!ex-boyfriend thinking of ways to win you back. werewolf!ex-boyfriend who becomes desperate when you move on to someone else. werewolf!ex-boyfriend who follows you home from work one night. werewolf!ex-boyfriend who drags you into an empty alleyway, covering your mouth. werewolf!ex-boyfriend who whimpers and pleads, humping against your thigh. "just the tip, that's it. you don't mind, right?" ˙◠˙

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

[freedomfireflies]

Pillow Talk*

Summary: The one where you and Harry both have insomnia, and decide to spend one very strange night together.

Word Count: 7.2k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, daddy kink, mentions of drugs, angst (w/ happy ending!), not suitable for Ramadan!

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“Come on. Just one time.”

“No. Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Probably. I haven’t slept in 32 hours.”

You huff as you hide yourself behind your door. You don’t even want to see him. Because you don’t want to have this conversation or entertain this idiotic idea. This is what Harry does. He plays games. He tricks and he ruins and if you open this door, you know you’ll regret it. 

“Poppy, please,” he calls, and you hear his forehead land on the wood as though to brace himself. “I’ve tried everything else, okay? It always works with you. I just…I wanted to try. See if it still does.”

You frown. “You realize how wildly inappropriate this is, right? Asking if you can come in just so we can sleep together?”

“Yeah, but that’s all I want to do. Sleep,” he insists again. “Really. I’ll keep my hands to myself and I won’t even talk to you.”

You consider this. Truthfully, you haven’t slept all that well since the breakup, either. And sure, you’ve longed for the nights when the two of you would fall into such an easy, simple, and incredibly effective routine. 

But he broke your heart. And now you’re both paying the price.

“Just one night,” he pleads again. “And if it doesn’t work, I swear I won’t bother you ever again.”

There’s a subtle ache in your chest. Just hearing his voice reminds you of the pain. Of the joy. Of every good moment and every bad one, all wrapped up in the same silky cadence.

You take a deep breath. Perhaps you’re curious, too. Even if you don’t want to be. Because maybe this will work. Maybe you’ll finally be able to rest and get on with your life.

Or maybe it won’t.

But at least if it doesn’t, maybe you can find some closure.

So, with that thought…you open the door. 

He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him. Which makes you just a touch happy if you’re being honest with yourself. His usual curls are askew and unkept. The bags under his eyes are dark and his clothes are wildly wrinkled.

And you’re surprised. He’s been up for longer than 32 hours before and handled it much better. You wonder if his age is catching up with him or if there’s something else keeping him awake.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

But you don’t fight with him. He’s not here to fight and you accept his terms as you widen the door and allow him to step inside.

He nods gratefully as he slips into your living room, but his eyes linger on your face. Almost like he doesn’t recognize you, and it makes your insides turn as you shut the door and put a few feet between you.

“What?” you huff.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, you look…different.”

“Okay…?”

“You changed your hair.”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. It’s nice.”

You cross your arms. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Another pause, and the silence feels heavy.

“Well…do you wanna…?” you eventually say, and he nods.

“Right, yeah.”

“Okay.”

You turn to lead him to your room and it’s…unsettling how normal it feels. Like an old habit rearing its ugly head once again.

When you get there, his surprise returns. “You changed your room, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Why?”

Your eyes roll as you angrily toss your blankets back. “This is the one room I associated with you the most. And short of moving, I needed something you hadn’t touched or tainted. So I made the room mine again.”

He thinks about this, attention lingering on the new paint on the walls and the new furniture in each corner. “I like it.”

“I don’t care.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“Great. Can you get in the bed please so we can get this over with?”

Obliging, he slips off his shoes and joins you under the duvet. “Never thought I’d hear you say that again.”

“Never thought I’d have to say it.”

“Mm. You changed your mattress.”

“Obviously.”

“And the sheets and blankets, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there anything in here you didn’t change?”

“The carpet. But only because my landlord said I couldn’t.”

“Right.” He’s smiling again. “But you did get a rug.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice.”

“Bite me.”

He laughs now and you want to smack him. “I see you still get grumpy when you’re tired.”

“No, I get grumpy when my asshole of an ex shows up to my apartment at 3 in the morning demanding to be let in so he can sleep in my bed with me like a fucking child,” you argue. And you know you’re being snippy and maybe even rude, but he deserves it. After everything he’s put you through, you deserve to be in charge of your own emotions. 

You turn the lamp off and the dark room grows incredibly quiet. You’re both stiff, unable to relax when you’re this close. You don’t want to touch—not the way you used to. And you don’t want to be close or let your guard down, although you suppose you’ll have to in order to sleep.

And then he says, “I really did try, you know. To find another way to sleep.”

You look up at the ceiling and release a soft exhale. “Okay.”

“Melatonin, light therapy, cut out coffee. Even drank those…sleep mocktail things everyone talks about.” He shifts. “I don’t know, I guess my brain just wouldn’t turn off.”

“Yeah. I know.”

More quiet.

“I haven’t done any since we broke up,” he finally says. Gentle, like he’s afraid to break the silence. 

Your lashes flutter. He doesn’t have to say it for you to know what he means. “Great.”

“Yeah.” Another beat. “I thought it was work, I guess. Maybe the stress or something. I’ve been sleeping fine, but these past couple weeks…”

“Right.”

“And I just figured—”

“No, I got it. It’s fine, let’s just…let’s just try to sleep,” you say and he nods.

The bedroom settles and you try, you really do. But you can’t when he’s breathing so goddamn loud and shifting every two seconds and sighing like he’s in pain.

“What?” you eventually hiss.

“Are you dating someone?” he asks.

“What?”

“Are you dating someone?” he repeats. “Josie said you were.”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Kind of. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“We’re…we’ve been on a few dates. It’s not official.”

“He hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend?”

“Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t. I just figure you deserve someone that actually wants to date you.”

“Oh, do I?” You roll your head to look at him. “Funny, you didn’t seem to think so when you were dating me.”

“All right, touché,” he mumbles. “I could have been better, I know that. And I know I took advantage. You did a lot for me and I didn’t…I didn’t care.”

Surprised, you twist your fingers together. “Uh…yeah. Right. Thank you.”

His head rolls, too. And even with the dim-light, his eyes find yours. “I’m sorry, Poppy. You really did deserve better than me. And if you found it with this guy…I’ll be happy for you.”

You swallow before sighing to yourself. “I mean, I don’t know if I did. He’s…he’s really nice. But he’s so…he’s just…”

“Vanilla?”

Your eyes widen. “Yeah. How did you—”

“He was wearing Crocs with tube socks.”

You laugh—loud. “Oh my god, how did you know?”

“I might have looked him up,” he admits through a grin. “Wanted to make sure he was worth your time.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And he wears Crocs with tube socks. He can’t make you cum.”

Your features scrunch together as you gasp and look away. “Ew, Harry. It’s not about that—”

“It’s always about that. Come on, am I wrong?”

“You—yes. What he wears has nothing to do with what he’s like in bed—”

“So he’s not vanilla?”

“He’s…” You pause. “He…look, he really tries—”

“So, he is,” Harry finishes for you. “Well, at least you got some.”

“I…yeah. Uh-huh.”

Instantly, he turns onto his side, head resting in the palm of his hand as he studies you. “He couldn’t get it up, could he?”

“Harry,” you groan, and reach out to swat him. “Stop, it wasn’t that. We just…we were taking things slow. We did some stuff. Just not…all of it.”

“So what he’d do?”

“Harry—”

“Come on, we’re adults, just tell me.”

“Ew, no—”

“Listen, you used to get fucked good. I’m just trying to help you get back to that.”

You frown but do oblige. “I don’t know. He ate me out and I blew him. That’s it.”

“And…?”

“And…I don’t know. He was fine. He was good.”

“Sure.”

Your eyes roll. “Okay, he…he wasn’t really all that into it. He stopped after a few seconds and asked if I came. Then he said his jaw was tired and that maybe we should just switch.”

Now, Harry’s features scrunch, too. “Shit. What a fucking pussy. Ironically.”

“I guess. It could have been worse.”

“Really? Eating you out was always my favorite. What kind of asshole just stops if he doesn’t have to?”

You feel a rush of heat through your body as you look away. “I guess they can’t all be you.”

“Damn fucking right,” he scoffs. “Seriously, you still wanted to see him after that?”

“He’s cute,” you argue. “And nice. And yeah, maybe he’s not that adventurous but that’s okay. I don’t need wild sex all the time.”

He’s quiet. “How about just one time?”

You turn back. “What?”

“I—okay, I was just thinking…you know, one of the things we would do when we couldn’t sleep was…fuck, so—”

“Oh, absolutely not.” You sit up, as though to put some distance between you. “No. Forget it—”

“Poppy—”

“Don’t call me that,” you huff. “You don’t get to call me that ever again. Okay, I’m not gonna fuck you just so we can sleep—”

“It wouldn’t be just for that,” he argues, sitting up as well. “It would also help your mood, too—”

“Oh, my mood?” You glare at him. “My mood is just fine, actually. In fact, I’d say it’s pretty good if I agreed to let you in my apartment in the first place—”

“You didn’t have to. I’m just saying, if sex with him is gonna be bland, might as well get in one last good fuck before you commit to a lifetime of boring—”

“Oh, my god. It’s not a lifetime and you’re a fucking asshole—”

“Yeah. We’ve established that. Doesn’t change the fact that you need it.”

You stare at him. “Is that why you’re really here? To trick me into sleeping with you?”

He leans back. “What? No. I don’t trick people into having sex, it was just a suggestion—”

“Yeah, a pretty dumb one. Did you honestly think I’d say yes?”

“Yeah,” he admits haughtily. “Yeah, because we didn’t break up over the sex. We broke up because you’re an uptight—”

“What? Say it,” you sneer. “Say it. I’m an uptight bitch because I wouldn’t let you do cocaine.”

He scoffs again and looks off into the dark of your room. The argument lulls. “I could never do anything right.”

“That wasn’t the problem and you know it.” You pull your legs to your chest. “I wanted to move forward and you kept going back. You’re almost 30 and you still act like you’re 19.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to get married and do the whole white picket fence life,” he says. “Maybe I liked things the way they were—”

“No. No, you liked parties with your friends and doing drugs that kept you up for hours  and getting fired and leaving me to pay all the bills—”

“You didn’t pay all the bills and I told you I would do what I could to help—”

“Yeah. But apparently that included getting fucked up and staying out all night just to crash the next day.” You study him closely. “You were never around anymore. I never saw you. We were on two different paths and the only time we ever talked was when you asked if I wanted to fuck.”

“So, that’s it, huh? I’m just a villain in your story. You were this perfect fucking princess, and I was a monster that ruined your life?”

“No, obviously not. I wasn’t perfect. I know that.”

“Do you?” His eyes flick between yours. “You didn’t want me to move forward with you. You liked your new job and your new friends because they didn’t remind you of me. Of who we both used to be.”

“So? I’m not proud of what I used to do. And sure, maybe I wanted to make a better impression on the people paying my salary and keeping me employed. Is that such a fucking crime?”

“No. But you didn’t want me to be a part of that impression and you know it.”

“Right. Because you were shit-faced all the time.”

He opens his mouth, ready to retort. But then he closes it. He closes it and he stares at you and then…he surges forward.

Even if you were given at least two seconds to prepare, you’re not prepared for the way his hands feel on your cheeks as he kisses you. As he presses his lips to yours and steals the labored breaths in your lungs.

But you don’t fight him. You know you should. Know you should push him off and berate him. Yet you let him kiss you. And you kiss him back. And it’s far too easy to slip back into this routine as his tongue slides against yours in such a teasing way.

Your stomach flips while your hands land on his lap. You’re desperate to be closer, to feel his body against yours. His skin, and the way it melts beneath your palms like butter. You dance this devious dance and before you know it, you’re stripping each other of the few clothes you have.

He starts with your shirt. Ripping it over your head before his mouth lands on your chest. Bare and beautiful to him. His kisses are wet and sloppy and you arch yourself closer as you drag your fingers down his scalp.

The only reason he stops is to let you peel his t-shirt off, too. And then his jeans and socks. And you move so fluidly, you’re nearly naked in under a minute. The only thing left between you now his underwear and yours.

He lays you down, gentle. Surprisingly gentle, given the anger that brought you here. And he gazes at you in a soft, unspoken way that says everything you don’t exactly know how to say. 

His fingers brush down your cheek as his body settles atop yours. He still fits between your legs like he was always meant to and the weight of him almost feels good.

“Are you all right?” he finally whispers, and he doesn’t sound like the same man from before. He sounds like the man you fell in love with. “Is this okay?”

You nod quickly, scared that if you think about it, you’ll ruin it. “Yeah. Go.”

He doesn’t. “We don’t have to,” he says. “You were right, it’s probably a dumb idea—”

“Yeah, but…it always works.” You shift beneath him and reach for his briefs, rolling them down his hips. “And I’m tired. Tired of fighting with you, tired of not getting any sleep…tired of pretending I hate you. You were right, our sex is good. So let’s do it. And then we can sleep. And we can finally move on.”

Not the most romantic of speeches, but it works. At least right now. He kisses you again and drags your underwear aside in order to tease you with the tip of his cock.

He feels like you remember. And maybe you find just a touch of comfort in that. There are no awkward pauses or confusion about what to do next. You don’t have to find your rhythm or anticipate the next step. You know him. And he knows you.

Your rub your clit in order to stimulate yourself. You aren’t exactly wet enough for this to be enjoyable, but you don’t expect him to do what he did before. The foreplay is up to you now and you’re more than all right with that.

However, he’s not. And he instantly swats your hand away in order to do it himself. Allowing his fingers to drag up and down your pussy until you shiver before he slips the tip of his middle finger inside.

“Shit,” he whispers. His forehead drops to yours. “Fucking missed this.”

You bite the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He starts to pump, bending your body to his salacious intentions until the unmistakable sound of wetness echoes throughout the room. “I know you missed it, too.”

“Hm. Don’t push it.”

“Why not?” He presses a kiss to your cheek. Then to your jaw. Your lips. Your nose. Your neck. Everywhere you used to love. “Are you really gonna tell me you didn’t?” 

“Maybe.”

“So Crocs with Tube Socks is better, huh?”

“…not exactly.”

“Right.” He adds a second finger and your eyes roll back. “Don’t worry, Poppy, I’ll fix it.”

“Don’t…call me that,” you pant again, and he chuckles.

“Don’t know what else to call you. You were always my pretty Poppy.”

“But now I’m not,” you say. “Now you call me nothing. Because I’m not yours to call.”

He sighs but does seem to obey, at least for now. And the faster he thrusts his hand, the needier this growing feeling becomes. Stronger and louder until you finally grab onto his shoulders and say, “Just put it in already.”

He smirks. “How romantic.”

“It’s not supposed to be. Just come on.”

So, he does. He takes hold of his cock and he slips it through the gathering arousal until he can push in. And you both reel.

Truthfully, you’ve missed the sounds he makes when he’s turned on. The way he groans and grits his teeth together. The way the muscles in his arms strain until you can see those beautiful veins you used to love to run your tongue over. 

He’s stunning. Even now, in the soft light of the moon through your curtains. His silhouette is unholy as it hovers above you. Strong hips beginning to thrust as you both work in tandem to find release.

And it’s closer than you expected. There’s something about him that can get you there even without much effort. Something Crocs with Tube Socks could never seem to figure out. 

Because he’s not Harry. And only Harry can play you like an instrument and make such symphonic music all with the flick of his finger and a thrust of his cock.

He kisses you again and you both feel anxious. Soft murmurings of praise and, “Keep going,” that have you arching from the bed and moaning into his mouth.

You’re sweating and gasping for air and clutching onto his back as you attempt to meet his rhythm with rolls of your own. You need this. You need to cum so you can find release and you need to cum so you can finally sleep and you need to cum because then you’ll finally be able to let him go. To close the door on the chapter of you and Harry and move the fuck on.

But how can you move on when you’re still under him? How can you insist that you’re fine and doing great if you’re so easily convinced to fuck him just so you can both get some sleep?

There are other remedies to insomnia that don’t involve his cock and maybe you should have tried that before you let him into your apartment. 

Either way, you’re coming before you can think twice about it. Raking your nails down his back and whimpering his name as he pulls out and finishes on your thigh. 

And just like that…

It’s over.

You find him in the kitchen about an hour later. You managed to sleep at least a few minutes before you felt the sadistic hand of insomnia pull you back out. But when you woke, Harry was gone. His clothes were still on the floor, so you knew he hadn’t left. But he wasn’t with you.

He’s staring out your kitchen window when you slip into the living room. You’re not sure if he hears you or not but if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he keeps himself braced against the sink, clad in nothing more than his briefs.

Curious, you call, “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. Silent. Contemplative. “I used to love this window,” he eventually says. Soft, like he’s reminiscing. “The way the light looked in the morning. The way your little crystals would put rainbows on the wall and you’d get so excited. How you’d make me dance with you to some Elton John song while we were literally in the middle of cooking.”

You blink. “Um…okay.”

He turns and his eyes find yours. “I fucking loved this apartment. And this kitchen. And that couch. And your room. And even the hallway. I loved being here, all the time. I hated going back to my place because it never felt the same.”

The silence grows louder now as you look down at your feet and pull your robe just a bit tighter. “I know,” you finally whisper. “That’s why I changed it.”

“I know,” he whispers back. His expression falls. “You changed everything. This apartment, your life…us.”

“Because I had to,” you argue, glancing back up. “I had to, Harry. I couldn’t keep going in circles. I couldn’t drag you along behind me into the future when you clearly wanted to be anywhere else.” 

“Because the future you always painted didn’t seem to have room for me,” he huffs. “Okay, with all these dinner parties and fancy houses and good school districts. You’d planned out the next 30 years and I didn’t see myself anywhere in your picture.”

“I didn’t fucking care about the parties or the school districts,” you nearly yell. “God, I—I didn’t want the white picket fence life. I didn’t want the 1950’s American Dream shit you keep thinking I did. I just wanted you. Yes, I wanted a good job with insurance and stability. But I wasn’t gonna trade what we had just for that—”

“But you did. You didn’t tell your parents we’d moved in together. You didn’t even tell half of our friends. You went on trips without me and you stopped telling me about your day and we never talked—”

“Because you were never around! You were either out with your friends getting drunk or high or you were in there playing video games because you’d had a ‘hard day.’ So, no. I didn’t want to talk to you when I knew you weren’t even listening in the first place.”

 He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. Angry. Indignant. “You resented me. You resented the fact that we were together and you resented that I wasn’t perfect like your precious new friends—”

“Oh, that’s—” You pinch the bridge of your nose and force in a deep breath. “No. I didn’t want you to be like them. I didn’t want you to act pretentious and stuffy and talk about the stock market every goddamn second of the day. The only thing I resented…was the fact that you wouldn’t take care of yourself.”

“I was taking care of myself—”

“Bullshit. You were doing drugs—you were doing cocaine—and you weren’t eating, you weren’t sleeping, you nearly drunk yourself to death—”

“Right, but I wasn’t doing it all the time. It was just…it was occasionally, and it wasn’t a lot—”

“I don’t care. You shouldn’t have been doing it at all, Harry,” you finally shout. “You…you scared the shit out of me. Every time one of your friends would call and say you were passed out, I thought…I thought this was it. I thought I was gonna lose you. Do you know how many times I just sat on the floor and cried because I was so scared? Because you never wanted to listen when I told you to stop? Because you were so sure you were invincible?”

He seems pained by this, features wilting as he takes a tentative step forward. But he stops when you move back. “Poppy, I wasn’t trying to scare you, I…I didn’t know—”

“Yes, you did,” you scoff. “I told you, over and over that I didn’t want to lose you, but you thought I was being dramatic.”

He nods once. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I am.” He looks at you. “S’why I stopped after we broke up. You were right, I needed to get my shit together.”

You nod, too. “Good. I’m glad.”

His gaze dances around the kitchen. “I hate that you changed everything,” he says again, and your heart wrenches. “I hate that it doesn’t look like it used to. I hate that I hurt you so bad that you felt like you had to erase everything I ever touched.”

You step closer and wipe a tear from your cheek. “Yeah, I hate it, too. I hate that I had to. I hate that stupid mattress and I hate that my kitchen doesn’t look like a rainbow anymore and I really fucking hate that I have no one to dance with when I cook.”

His eyes soften as they find yours and in only a few seconds, he’s reaching for the belt on your robe and tugging you to him. Wrapping you in his arms as he presses you against his chest, the way he always used to when you were sad.

“No,” you argue weakly, although you do nothing to stop him. “No, you can’t…you can’t—”

“Yes, I can,” he retorts quietly. You feel his lips press to the top of your head. “You don’t get to cry over me anymore. You’re better than that now. You did what I couldn’t. You moved on. And I don’t get to ruin that for you.”

You sniffle as you run your hand down his stomach. “It wasn’t about moving on. I just needed to learn how to be strong enough for both of us.”

“Poppy,” he breathes and holds you tighter. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

And deep down…you know he’s right.

“Shit, just like that…a little closer. Good girl, hold yourself open for me, baby. Yeah.”

Doing your best to oblige, you slip your fingers between your folds as Harry nudges his nose closer. Kissing his way along your thighs before allowing his tongue to lick a very generous stripe up your pussy.

Round 2 is on the couch. Harry wanted the kitchen counter—nearly insisted on it, in fact—but you knew you didn’t want to ruin your favorite breakfast spot. And you weren’t about to just for him.

So, the couch it was. He complained about it as you got settled. He hates this new couch, too. The color, the lumpy cushions, the way it feels like you’re sinking when you sit. 

You told him you didn’t care. You loved it and if it annoyed him, that was a bonus.

Thankfully, he swallowed his complaints in favor of swallowing you. He tossed your robe open and pulled your thighs apart. And then he buried himself between the warmth of your pussy the way he always used to.

And you decided that maybe you don’t mind insomnia so much if this is the remedy.

“Missed this, too,” he says now as he nips at your clit. “God, you’ve always tasted so fucking good. S’fucking crazy, baby. Can’t ever get enough.”

“Sure,” you snort, head dropping back. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls—”

“No.” He shakes his head and his nose nudges the sensitive nerves as you whine. “No, there’s no other girls. Come on, did you really think there could be?”

“With a mouth like that? Yeah,” you admit. He laughs. “That’s how we met. You were such—fuck—such a player.”

“Maybe,” he concedes before mouthing at you again. “But nobody else has ever made me feel the way you do.”

You snort. “Where’d you learn that line?”

“It’s not a line. It’s the truth.”

“Harry. Come on. I know you.”

“Then you should know I don’t say shit I don’t mean.” He smooths his palms down your thighs in order to spread you just a bit further and see the way your hole flutters. “Oh, pretty girl. S’just drenched, hm? All sensitive from the last one…need Daddy to make it better?”

You scrunch your nose. “You don’t get to call yourself that anymore.”

“No?” He grins. “Why not?”

“Because I hate you and Daddy is reserved for someone I like.”

He tsks. “I don’t know, kind of seems like you still like it. Keep clenching around my tongue like you wanna hear me say it again.”

You hesitate as you weave your fingers through his curls. “Never.”

He hums and the vibration against your cunt makes your thighs twitch. “Come on, baby. Don’t be mean to Daddy.”

You want to glare. Slap at him, refuse him. But he’s right—you have missed the moniker. If only just because of how good he sounds when he says it. So, you let him tease you and taunt you as he tastes you. You let him do whatever the hell he wants because your second orgasm feels stronger than the first and you don’t imagine you’ll survive this one. 

He slips a finger in as well. Beckons your pleasure closer with every curl of the large digit. It’s practiced. He sucks and licks and nips and thrusts and curls and pumps all at the same time.

Then, he pulls back and brings his palm down in a sharp smack to your pussy. 

“Stop squirming,” he instructs, then shoots you an obviously pleased frown. “Don’t be a brat.”

“M’not,” you whimper. “Not a brat…just wanna cum.”

“Do you, hm?” He licks you again then adds two fingers. “Should I let you?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously?” He’s smirking now as he starts to go faster. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you do deserve it. Yeah? After being so nice as to let me in.”

You pout. “Mhm.”

He’s so happy. He’s always his happiest when he’s suffocating himself with your pussy. He does everything he knows you love. He leaves teasing kisses to the inside of your thighs. He slaps at your leg, your clit, your hip. He helps rock you against his tongue and even lifts you from the couch to find a deeper angle. 

And he does all of this out of sheer enjoyment. 

“Harry,” you whimper as you melt into the cushions. Your limbs feel like jello. The pleasure is everywhere, and he looks like a god. His face is covered in you, glistening about as bright as the stars.

“I know, Poppy,” he says. He kisses your pussy and then smiles at you. “I know.”

You like the way Harry’s chest feels. Warm and soft and painted in the tattoos you used to trace with your finger.

He’s gently scratching your back as you both lay in bed. The room is quiet—you haven’t spoken in minutes. Still, neither of you can seem to find sleep and you know you’ll desperately need it soon. 

But this is nice. Even if it is the last time. You like getting to reminisce—pretend for even a moment that things are the way they used to be. When you were happy and safe and content to be together.

You weren’t sure you’d ever feel this kind of peace again.

“I missed you, too, you know,” he whispers after a moment.

You glance up. 

“I didn’t just miss your apartment. I missed you.” He takes a breath and runs his palm along your spine. “I miss our Sunday mornings and I miss when we’d watch scary movies just so we could make out and I miss the way you used to dance around in your underwear to some stupid musical you were obsessed with.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “Har…”

“And I don’t know what happened,” he says. “I felt like…I felt like I was watching you do all these amazing things and I just couldn’t keep up. You were getting promoted and moving up and I was still at the fucking bar serving drinks. And you knew what you wanted to do. I didn’t.”

“I didn’t know,” you argue gently. “Not really. I hate my job. I hate that I don’t enjoy it the way I used to. I mean, I like that it pays the bills, but maybe that shouldn’t be enough.”

He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “You should do what makes you happy.”

“You used to make me happy.”

The soft strokes against your spine slow. 

“You did, Har,” you tell him. “So happy. That’s why I hated that we started fighting all of the time. I hated that you were gone or that I was gone or the fact that I was too ashamed to tell you that I missed you. And that I was scared we were losing each other.”

“Maybe we needed to lose each other,” he says and you feel sick. “Maybe we needed to be apart to see what we really wanted.”

You think about this. The idea sounds nice. Inviting. A happy end to a rather dreadful story.

But you both know better. Five months has taught you better.

“There’s a reason we broke up,” you finally murmur. “We didn’t…we didn’t like each other anymore. We were holding each other back—”

“I liked you,” he says softly. “I loved you. Yeah, I was mad, but I didn’t just stop loving you.” 

“Maybe you should have. Maybe it would have been easier for us and we wouldn’t be…here.”

More silence. It stretches for what feels like hours.

And then, “I can’t sleep because of you.”

You suck in a quiet breath. “What?”

“When Josie told me that you were seeing someone, I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And she showed me a picture she took of you guys and you were so happy. Smiling at him like you used to smile at me and I just…I didn’t know what to do.”

Another pause. You don’t know what to say.

“I put my fist through a wall,” he tells you. “And somehow, that still didn’t hurt as much as knowing you’d moved on.”

You snake your arm around his middle and snuggle closer. “Harry, you knew we both had to move on eventually.”

“Did we?”

“Harry…”

“But so soon? It’s only been five months.”

“Yeah. Five months to grieve you and cry over you and realize I did this for you.” You close your eyes. Tight. “We’re better people now.”

“No, we’re tired people now,” he teases, and you smile. “And I think I’ll be losing sleep over you for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I mean it. I’m always gonna think about you. Think about what I did wrong. What I could have done better.”

“I fucked up, too,” you argue. “I should have told my parents. And our friends. I should have talked to you more, asked you to do more things together. You’re right, I was ashamed of you. Of this…routine we’d fallen into. And I’m sorry.”

He says nothing. After all, there’s nothing more to say.

But he kisses the crown of your head and it speaks louder than any words.

“Fuck…fuck, Poppy, please—”

You grin as you lick your lips. He’s always sounded the most beautiful when he’s begging. And his best begging always tends to happen when his cock is down your throat. 

“What, Daddy?” you ask innocently. “What do you need me to do?”

His eyes roll back and he grips the sheets in his fist. “Please…”

You reposition yourself over his legs as you dip back down to have another taste. You lick and you suck and you stroke until he’s making another strained noise that sounds like sex.

You hope your neighbors can hear. You bet they missed him.

“Good boy,” you purr, squeezing his thighs as you take him even further. 

He sucks in a sharp breath through gritted teeth before his hand finds your hair and he squeezes. “Easy…easy, baby. S’been a while. Don’t hurt yourself—”

You respond to his instruction by inhaling through your nose and relaxing the muscles in your throat. Allowing him to hit the back the way he always used to.

His head drops into the pillows. “Shit—Poppy, I mean it. M’not gonna fuck your throat. It’s gonna hurt and I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.”

It’s an oddly thoughtful gesture but it does nothing for you now. Instead, you shake your head and pull off, a string of saliva dripping down his cock in your wake. “I’m fine, H. Trust me, I can take it.”

“Yeah?” He pushes up onto his elbows. “Is Crocs with Tube Socks hung or something?”

You grin. “No. But that dildo you got me last year is.”

He blinks. “You…fucking hell, you fuck your throat with that?”

“Mhm.” You swirl your tongue around his tip as he curses. “And then I fuck myself. And I pretend it’s you.”

He tightens his hold on your hair and forces your eyes back to his. “Are you serious?”

You nod, now feeling a touch shy as you wipe your mouth with your knuckles. “Yeah…I know that’s…probably weird, but…I mean, you got it for me, so I thought I’d be weirder to think about someone else—”

“No, it’s…” He stops. Struggles. “Shit, I really needed to hear that.”

“Oh, you did, huh?” 

“Yeah. I wouldn’t want you to think about anyone else when you used it, either. It’s got my fucking initials on it.”

You laugh, louder than you mean to and it makes him grin. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? It was a pretty good gift, I’ll admit.”

“S’a fucking perfect gift,” he retorts. “We had a lot of fun with that dildo.”

“We did indeed.”

“But apparently not as much fun as you’re having with it.”

“Fucking myself helps me sleep,” you remind him. “So sometimes it’s necessity.”

“Is that right?” 

“Mhm.” You squeeze the base and he twitches. “You used to watch me. Remember?”

“I do.” His eyes get darker. “Do you fuck yourself a lot?”

“…these days, yeah. Apparently, I can’t sleep all that well, either.”

“And does it work?”

“Most of the time, yeah.” You turn your attention back to his cock in order to avoid his curiosity before you quietly admit, “Sometimes I pretend you’re here. Sleeping next to me. And…that helps, too.”

He reaches for your wrist and pulls your attention back. “Poppy—”

“No, don’t look at me like that, it’s dumb—”

“I imagine you, too.”

You blink. “You do?”

“Every night. Except the past couple weeks. Cause now I just think about you and him. And then I can’t fucking sleep.”

You turn your hand so your fingers brush through his. “Shit. We’re a mess.”

He smiles. “Yeah.”

The conversation falls away as you dip back down to resume your work. Squeezing his balls, moaning as you take him on your tongue, and milking him for every last drop. 

Turns out, you missed the taste of him, too.

Morning comes before either of you find a moment of rest. But you can feel yourself growing tired. Your eyelids are beginning to droop, and your body feels incredibly spent. 

Turns out, round 4 is where the magic happened. He brought out your favorite vibrator and teased your poor, swollen clit with it until you squirted. It was easy and quick and he seemed rather delighted to be bathed in you.

Until, of course, you insist on an actual bath to clean you both.

The shower felt good. The warm water washing away the sticky sweat on your skin. And the two of you fell back into a similar routine. He ran the soap down your arms and you washed his curls with your favorite shampoo. A shampoo he claimed he looked everywhere for after you broke up but could never find.

He said he missed the smell. The way it made his hair so soft. And the way it would make his pillowcase smell just like you.

You were grateful that the shower hid your tears.

You both crashed on the couch after you had dried off. The sheets still needed to be cleaned and neither of you could be bothered. But, as it turned out, the couch was growing on him. And he begrudgingly admitted it was rather comfy as the two of you curled up in your usual spot. 

You know you’re both close to sleep. Finally, after all your efforts to get here. But you also know that once you wake up, Harry will leave. 

And there’s a chance you won’t see him again.

You know that nothing has changed. The two of you still want different things, even if you want each other. And you hate that that’s not enough. That what you want and what you should want don’t align.

Instead, he’ll move on with his life and you’ll move on with yours.

But you don’t want to learn how to fall asleep without him.

“Make me a deal,” you whisper.

He hums. Lashes shut tight as the morning light slips in through the window. “What?”

“If I wake up, and you’re still here…we do this again. Not…as a couple. But as two broken humans that find rest with each other.”

His eyes open.

“But if you’re gone,” you continue, “then we don’t. We don’t do it again, we don’t see each other again, we don’t reach out again. We cut ties. Officially. Block and move on. For real.”

He seems saddened by this, and you hate that you’ve made him sad. But you both know it’s for the best. This won’t be sustainable in the long run. And maybe it’s a bad idea to continue at all, but maybe you want to hold on to him anyway. At least for a little while.

Even if it’s just as friends.

Exes.

Two broken humans that used to make each other whole.

His lips press together and he nods once. “Deal,” he agrees, and you can tell by the look on his face, he’s already made a decision.

You aren’t sure which way, but you suppose you’ll find out soon enough. So, you allow your eyes to fall shut and your dreams to take hold. Melting into his arms and into the sofa as you finally find sleep quicker than you have in months.

You’re not sure how long you’re out. It feels like hours. A heavy slumber that leaves you rather refreshed as your eyes eventually flutter open. 

You don’t see Harry as you slowly adjust to your surroundings. And you don’t feel him, either. But you’re too afraid to really look. To sit up and realize that he’s gone. For good.

And then, just when you think you’ve lost him…you hear the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Good morning, Poppy.”

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @laelamarley @myalovesharry

[frickingnerd]

trying to win back your heart

pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader

summary: after your break up, bakugou tries to win back your heart - and he's very persistent!

tags: lovers to exes, bakugou still loves reader, gifting reader flowers, 'angst' to silly fluff, charming!bakugou

"don't you ever get tired of doing this?"

you sighed and looked at your ex-boyfriend and the big bouquet of flowers he held in his arms. ever since you had broken up with him, after your last fight, bakugou had tried everything to win you back. flowers, sweets, teddy bears, love letters – you had seen it all! 

"never, not when it's about you!"

he grinned so confidently at you, that you just couldn't help but roll your eyes. bakugou was just too stubborn! it was what led to you breaking up with him and now he tried to use this stubborness of his to win you back as well. 

"i told you, i don't need flowers or sweets or whatever…" you were growing frustrated with him. "i just want some time alone right now, alright? once i've calmed down a bit, we can talk again"

that confident grin on bakugou's lips faded away and he lowered his head. 

"could you at least take the flowers then? i don't really have any use for them, you know?"

he reached the bouquet out towards you. you hesitated, but ended up taking it, which caused that stupid grin to appear on bakugou's face again. 

"you took the flowers, so you can't be that mad at me~"

bakugou hummed victoriously, earning a glare from you. 

"shut up and leave before i change my mind…"

[orchidsinthespr1ng]

[scealaiscoite]

valentine’s prompts; tropes ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍊 ꒱

ੈ✩‧₊˚ friends to lovers

¹⁾ “you really planned this?! remind me how you’re single, again?”

²⁾ “thanks for making today a little less depressing.”

³⁾ “has it occurred to you that we’ve spent more valentine’s days with each other than with people we’ve actually been dating?”

⁴⁾ “c’mon, like i need an excuse to spend time with you.”

⁵⁾ “i can’t help but think that this is a little more effort than someone would normally put in for their friend.”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ coworkers to lovers

¹⁾ “if you’re still wondering who left those flowers at your desk, i think i’m ready to put your mind at ease.”

²⁾ “you’re telling me you really have nowhere better to be than here today?”

³⁾ “c’mon, it’s not like haven’t shared a dinner whilst working late before. it doesn’t have to mean anything different just because of the day that’s in it.”

⁴⁾ “someone’s been leaving valentines for me all over the building today, and i’m pretty sure i know who.”

⁵⁾ “i don’t have any plans after work, and i know you haven’t either. how about we keep each other company instead of spending it alone?”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ roommates to lovers

¹⁾ “before you say anything about me being at home tonight, i want to remind you that you are too.”

²⁾ “i thought that since we both had nowhere to be today, we could make a day of it. just ourselves.”

³⁾ “i’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything i need to know about how your date went.”

⁴⁾ “wow, someone’s looking good. hot date, or what?”

⁵⁾ “i’m happy i got to spend the day with someone i actually care about.”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ exes to lovers

¹⁾ “don’t tell me; you had so much fun with me last year, that you just couldn’t resist spending it with me again.”

²⁾ “wow, you really don’t have anyone special in your life at the minute.”

³⁾ “ i wanted to treat you how i should’ve before.”

⁴⁾ “you really thought i wouldn’t remember what you like? please, give me a little credit.”

⁵⁾ “maybe if things had gone like this every year, we wouldn’t have ended up the way we did.”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ secret relationship

¹⁾ “are you telling me we can’t do anything to mark the day?”

²⁾ “i understand if you don’t want to, but i wanted to tell you that i planned a few things for us today.”

³⁾ “it’s so much less than what you deserve, but it’s all i could think to do given the circumstances.”

⁴⁾ “and here i was, expecting just an anonymous bunch of flowers.”

⁵⁾ “i couldn’t think of a better night to show everyone how in love with you i am.”