#he saw 'ily' and zeroed in on it

[pineappical]

acronyms 💙

[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!!

[mit0bee]

Twisted Wonderland boys with an S/O who's afraid of bugs (me too)

Did I literally just post 5 minutes ago? yes. am i posting again? yes. Stuff you should read: Bulleted HC's because i dont feel like writing an essay like i did with floyds tent hc, no beta we die like men, mention of multiple types of bugs Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Malleus Draconia, Trey Clover, Jamil Viper, Vil Schoenheit, Epel Felmier, Sebek Zigvolt, Floyd Leech

(can be read as platonic but i did write it with a romantic relationship in mind)

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

Leona literally came running into the room thinking you had died or smthn, but no. you were screaming, standing on his bed....all over a small cockroach.

Bro actually sighed. like, a super big sigh, one that youd only get from a dissapointed mother while he stomped on the bug.

"Seriously, Herbivore? You took care of multiple overblots, but a single cockroach gets you all worked up?"

hes grinning so hard. youd want to punch him with how hard hes grinning.

all hes thinking is about the amount he can tease you about this

but, yes. he does get rid of the bug.

unless he was sleeping. then he forces asks ruggie to do it nicely.

MALLEUS DRACONIA

implodes the bug.

im not kidding.

he literally goes full on oceangate on that bug and implodes it

you didnt even have time to properly freak out before the bug was wiped off the face of the earth

"tsunotarou what was that sound?"

"nothing light of my life" *hiding bug corpse*

"are you sure bc i thought i saw a bug"

"nope. no bugs here? should we buy some bug repellant to ease your mind?"

".....no its okay."

you knew he somehow killed the bug.

and it only made you love him even more than you already do.

TREY CLOVER

catches the bug for you and lets it outside.

unlike the first two, he tries his best not to kill the bug.

he pulls the "how would you feel if i stomp on you and kill you?"

"if you killed me while i was a bug i'd thank you"

"you'd be dead, [name]."

"....id thank you from the grave."

he just sighs and shakes his head

probably convinces riddle to let him put anti-bug measures around heartslaybul for you (it didnt take much convincing riddle hates bugs too)

JAMIL VIPER

screams with you

probably set ramshackle on fire more than once while visiting you

you both have to call kalim or adeuce to come exterminate the single cockroach on the ground

again, that one tik tok sound where its like

"YOU KILL THE BUG, YOURE THE MAN!"

"SINCE WHEN."

thats a daily interaction between the two of you

if it happened at scarabia, he'd stay at ramshackle for the next month

literally would abandon kalim (or if he really cant be trusted he'd just bring kalim with him to make sure he didn't cause any problems)

VIL SCHOENHIET

screams with you x2

isn't as dramatic as jamil, but he definitely freaks out about it too.

about the bugs? no. about the bug bites.

again, youd have to call someone to save the both of you so you dont pass tf out and die while he gets eaten alive by a fruit fly

wym fruit flies dont bite? you cant be too cautious.

somehow always has bug repellant with him in the warm seasons

hes prepared and will NOT get any bug bites

EPEL FELMIER

zero reaction, or has a positive one.

"what in tarnation do you mean you hate bugs?! they help with fertilizer blah blah blah blah blah blah (i dont know farming stuff)!"

you have to CONVINCE him to get rid of the bugs, but he'll eventually cave and do it just for you

if you ask him to put up anti-insect measures he'd look at you like youre crazy

"[name]. bugs are actually really good for our ecosystem. back at home we always had to take care of the bugs, or else our crops would die."

"shut up. please. ily, but i cant deal with these bugs."

"okay okay okay fine"

will reluctantly set them up

overall a 4/10 for bug measures he will do it just not unless you beg

SEBEK ZIGVOLT

yells.

not in fear, but in anger because how DARE such a miniscule thing try to terrify the people he cares about?!

doesnt explode it like malleus

but strikes it with lightning.

yk his dorm card groovy? thats what hes doing to a little centipede.

expects you to praise him for protecting you

sure, its a given that he would, but he would very much so appreciate your thanks, and maybe a head pat or smthn

give him one.

now.

FLOYD LEECH

like trey, he lets the bug free

sometimes.

other times he kills it and chases you with the corpse

or keeps it alive and chases you with the living bug

if you REALLYYYYYYYYYY dont like bugs, like straight up sobbing, freaking out, then he wont but otherwise? have fun bro

someone has to seperate you two when you see a bug, because he will do something

sometimes if he's feeling generous he wont do anything and you'll be like "tf? what did you do to be so nice?"

"cant i just be generous towards my shrimpy?"

"no."

".....yeah i almost grilled grim thinking he was food."

"you WHAT."

all of this because of a simple bug

oh to be young and in love ----------------------- m.list @mit0ee 's work, please do not steal!

[felixdragonheartofficial]

TFA TEAM PRIME HUMAN REDESIGNS FINALLY

FUCK

+headcannons

Optimus: gotta stay focused

looks too old compared to his bot form.

I find it impossible for Optimus to be more than a million years old in this canon. In the least, he's older than 1000 years and since we have mfs that are canonically over 70 million years old(fagatron iykyk) compared to that, he feels like a dude in his early-to-mid-30's being the group parent.

---

-I made him more youthful, gave him curly hair, and tailored his clothing to actually look like his bot form.

-workaholic

-on the cusp of barley being able to hold his liquor

-doesn't own a pair of pajamas until Sari gets some for him

-usually forgets to put them on, but appreciates the gesture

-stays active for like, 3 days until he can't fight off sleep with work brain anymore, and unceremoniously passes out on the couch to sleep for a full 24 hours

-ratchet sighs and puts a blanket over him as per routine

-frequently checks security feed

-elf on the shelf despiser

-early morning talks with jazz and ratchet over coffee (they all wake up at 6 am)

-half thrives on caffeine and a vigorous training protocol

-is a dog person, loves German shepherds to death

David sama, pls forgive me ily very much

Ratchet: to old for this nonsense

doesn't match his body type in the slightest.

Ratchet is really old, he's got a sallow face and a gramp gut, how dare they square him. He's wayyy too angular and peachy looking.

-I gave him his luscious curves back, adding all the equipment id expect a field medic to have because he is a field medic, not a regular doctor. I changed his facial proportions, and also made his face gaunt, for that dead inside PTSD look.

---

-drinks his coffee black with brown sugar, literally drinks it piping hot

-is one of those old people who complains about noise

-confiscates bumblebee and Sari's toy cars, and puts them in a high up cabinet

-neither of them know how to bypass the child safety lock lmao

-casual clothes includes a lot- a l o t of plaid shirts, and 10 pairs of the same blue jeans

-tunes out bulkhead and prowls convos about birdwatching

-big fan of political satire dramas

-Sentinel doesn't approve

-Ratchet doesn't give a rats ass about what he thinks of course

Bumblebee: professional smart-ass

doesn't match his body type/age.

Bumblebees holoform is presented as a 10-12 year old child specifically for the fact that he's short, and the comedic relief. Total ass

I set his human age as 19-20 years old, making him more of a big brother to sari because that og model is disappointingly lackluster

---

-Bumblebee is a scrappy wisecracking punk, like an adhd kid who just got roller skates for Christmas.

-since he doesn't have wheels, I feel like he'd wear skates instead to emulate the feeling

-terrible at watching where he's going cuz he's too busy trying to show off, so ratchet makes him wear all that padding + training wheels

-legit despises the padding and training wheels

-Jealous of Blurr for mastering roller blades lmao.

-his favorite games are choose your fighter and fps

-saw ONE ancient ass assassins creed playthrough and begged ratchet to install hidden tasers in his arm bands (was denied)

-Sari used her key to do it instead

-self appointed "rizzler"

-Optimus has zero idea of what that means and thinks it's code for something dubious

-Ratchet knows what it means and thinks it's silly

-"I' was something of a rizzler myself back in my day, kid"

-bumblebee cringes

-loves summer and swimming

-wants to be the fastest thing in the sea because y'know, it's bumblebee

-is spooked from the beach for awhile cuz he saw sharks in Prowls nature documentary

-there are infact, no sharks in lake Erie

Bulkhead: big guy, bigger heart

doesn't match his body type/aspirations.

Jesus fuck he's so wide?? And his belly migrated to his shoulders?? I'm gonna be honest, I really hate this design. I feel like it contributed to the "brute strength = stupid" take that most in the fandom associates with him.

---

-Bulkhead is a SWEET. CARING. NERD YOU FOOLS. He's like the male version of a tall goth gf-

-a tall-nerdy-farm hand-physics bf, You got me fucked up.

-Its already shown that bulkhead really likes art in Addition to creating it. He hates being only seen as the "muscle" so it wouldn't make sense for him to lean into that.

-bunny slippers that him and sari made together(she provided the buttons)

-the slippers go missing sometimes (basically considered community property unless he's wearing them)

(ratchet and prowl are the main offenders)

-frequent art museum goer

-really likes watching cooking shows, but is too shy to make food himself

-Owns a ton of star maps

-Really wants a treehouse that he, bumblebee and sari can hang out in

-pillowfort enjoyer

-casually reads quantum physics at the beach

Prowl: draft dodger

Doesn't look like him at all.

Prowls holoform being a mustachioed,white, police officer was an actual jumpscare for 7 y/o me, I kid you not

---

- I know this bitch would not wear a helmet (you can't force him to) que windswept hair

-Not as much as starscreams, for obvious reasons but yk

-prowl is like one of those "shoes are a prison for your feet"

-emo hipster

-has a pet cactus named "planty"

-bumblebee heckles him for it

-can and has brought his cactus with him on early evening motorcycle rides

-the helmet is reserved for his cactus, bring your own >:(

-salad consumer

-him and jazz share custody of the cactus

-repeat victim of the cat distribution system

-ratchet has probably spent hours telling him they can't keep any animals at base

-frequent midnight picnics with jazz

-and beachcombing

-and roaming around antique stores cuz jazz wants to know what vinyl records are

-got a mug with an attempted pink chibi cat with big round shiny eyes painted onto it, courtesy of bulkhead trying to find an artsyle

-cherishes this mug to death

-has a shrine dedicated to it

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

request!!: peter parker who has a huge crush on reader and one day r just accidently friendzones themself without even realising that they did? (i hope that makes sense?) then after that u can take it anywhere u want to honestly!! ly <333

ily anon, you answered my pleas. also you know that tt prank where couples kiss and then say “thanks brother” or “love you sis”… couldn’t help but add it for some comedy.

mcu!peter parker x fem!reader

masterlist

you need to learn when to shut your mouth. tripping your foot into your mouth has gotten you into too many situations before, but this one is absolutely the worst one. you might as well be taken to the grave already.

your just a girl. sometimes you say your crush is “like a brother to you” when getting hounded by mr. delmar. it’s a panic move, mouth speaking before mind catches up. and it landed you in the dog house when you saw the way peter’s face dropped at the implication. but you thought he was smart enough to know that wasn’t true, you were touchy and teasing with him. you wouldn’t do that with a sibling, you’re not one of those people.

“mj, i’m a fucking idiot.” groaning into your pillow, trying to suffocate yourself.

she gave an exasperated sigh that you knew was followed by an eye roll. “yes you are, but you don’t need parker.” you heard the flip of a page.

you whined in your throat, “but i want parker!” acting like a tantrum kid. even adding a kick to your feet, your bed springs creaking.

mj groaned, “then clear the air! it’s not that hard!” over your peter parker drama.

you rolled from your stomach to your back, arms flipping to your sides as you stared up at your white ceiling. “but what if-“ your sentence was cut short by a knock at your window.

“say his name and he appears.”

peeking at the tips of your toes you saw peter squatting on your terrace, a hesitant smile with an awkward wave. welp, now’s a good time to clear the air.

crawling off your bed you pushed the window up and were greeted by a cool breeze. bits of peter’s baby curls swaying with the touch, a angelic glow surrounding him. you feel yourself melt just at the sight of him.

“h- hey peter, whatcha-“ “can we talk? alone?”

your eyes zeroed in on mj who was blantanly staring at the two of you, book of no interest at the moment. “oh, i’m fine over here.”

“mj…” “fine. fine. i’ll see you both at school.” packing up and leaving your home with a wiggle of her brows.

“so what did-“ “do you really think of my as a brother?”

you couldn’t help a small chuckle, “kinda funny how you’ve interrupted me three times, but uh, no. i- i don’t see you as a brother, that thought feels gross. mr. delmar was making me anxious.” looking to your fingers as you drummed them along your windowsill.

���oh thank god.” peter declared while cupping his hands on your cheeks to bring your head up. both of you smiling brightly at each other

two months later

“so what do i do?” “just sit there and look pretty.”

a shy smile at peter’s lovely words. he finished setting up his camera and pressed record, you just stared at his side profile.

“you wanna get to her, well you gotta go through me.” and peter turned to kiss you on the lips. a shiny haze covered your eyes then- “love you sis.”

“peter!”



[hwanchaesong]

omg i got a good idea for an ateez song imagine: like i can -sam smith.

idk who but alive you feel like could match the vibes best. im kinda thinking yunho or seonghwa but they could be so different like shsbvsjsnd ily

a/n: this is SO SO VERY LATE I APOLOGIZE. THIS HAS BEEN ON MY DRAFTS FOR TOO LONG. I HOPE YOU'LL STILL ENJOY IT THO. AGAIN, FORGIVE ME FOR POSTING THIS AFTER SO LONG 😭

also, let's make this a seonghwa x reader x yunho cuz y not

suggestive (kinda smutty) & angst, no fluff here. love triangle, and mentions of other sins are in here so read at your own risk. also mdni!

LIKE I CAN - SAM SMITH

Seonghwa's piercing gaze cuts through the plethora of people in the dance floor of the smoky club, straight onto your figure latched onto his nemesis.

Jeong fucking Yunho.

Out of all the other guys you can mess around with, you really had to go to the person he least expected.

Seems like you know how to play a game of terror.

He scoffs when he sees you giggle at the other man's whispered words, biting your lower lip when his hand drops on your exposed thighs, crawling higher until it had you closing your legs in a failed protest.

Oh, how he hates seeing you like this. Like you weren't chanting his name like a mantra a few days ago. Like you weren't panting for more in his sheets. Like he didn't carved your body to accommodate him and only him.

He smirked when he saw an opportunity to lock you in, watching you saunter towards the restroom, and he stood up himself, boldly following you in there.

You were minding your own business, not until someone rudely barged in, pinning you on the wall with their face dangerously close to yours.

"What the f-"

"Watch your words, babe."

You almost shrieked when the person that you don't wanna have an encounter with shows himself without any warning.

"Seonghwa?" you muttered his name, and the way you called him sent the blood rushing down in his member. He loved it whenever you sounded meek in his presence.

"Let me go. I don't have time for this shit." you said, voice firm and he was shocked at how confident you are.

Is this what that Yunho has been teaching you? After all his hard work in shaping you into his submissive baby girl. Oh, he has to remind you where you stand in here.

"I don't have time for your attitude, princess."

Seonghwa's hands went into your waist, pushing your lower half into his own while he sticks his leg in between your thighs, causing you to let out a small squeak when your clothed pussy rubbed against his jeans.

It sent you down the rabbit hole, back to zero when he's intoxicating you like this again.

How do you even escape from him?

Park Seonghwa, the guy that every girl wanted yet you had him as your trophy after a one night stand during a drunken stupor of his frat's party.

He was once a stranger that you glanced at, maybe once or twice, you couldn't remember but you do know that he made you laugh. He made you happy for a short while before giving you an entirely different kind of serotonin. One that you could acquire when the waves crash you into euphoria.

He showed you a world of situations that sailed on ships made of sands. Thus, it crumbles easily, making you seek a home made out of bricks, a shelter that winds cannot destroy.

Yet here he is, in all his glory, kissing you like there's no tomorrow.

"I thought you were better than this. Care to explain yourself princess, hm?" he mumbles against your bruised lips as he nibbles on it, his hands going over your breast to grope it rather harshly.

"I don't need to explain myself to you." you panted, clenched fists weakly punching his chest, but you both know that no matter what you do, his temptation would be difficult to resist.

You moaned when his mouth slid down to your neck, biting your sweet spot while his hand wandered onto your damp panties, circling your garment-clad clit, it had you thrashing around in his arms.

Seonghwa chuckled darkly, murmuring the exact words that had your knees buckling for him, "Oh my sweet, little princess. I think I have to remind you that no one can show you passion like I do."

---------------------------------------------------

You were quietly sitting on the bed, the television's volume nothing but white noises to you.

Then you slightly jumped on your spot when a splash of cold water dripped on your cheeks, "Ah!"

You glared at the perpetrator, fresh out of the shower.

"Yunho! You scared me!" you whined, making him chuckle at your adorable countenance.

"You are the one scaring me, actually. You're too silent. Is something bothering you?" he asks, concern lacing his voice as he sits beside you, landing a palm on your leg and tenderly massaging it, giving you a sense of solace.

Yunho really is something, you think.

With him, it feels like all your sins will be forgiven. A gentleman that could cleanse your soul, a once in a lifetime chance and you'd be a damn fool if you let him go.

But it does plague your mind, the way you let yourself be consumed by the demon when you already have yourself an honest man.

"It's nothing, it's just-" you began to speak, but you were astounded when he cut you off with a groundbreaking fact that's been eating you inside and out.

"Is it what happened in the party?"

You and that Park shithead Seonghwa, he thinks.

You looked at him, wide eyed and anxious but he only waved you off. Still, there's a mayhem of vibes that surrounds him, and you have no idea of what will happen next.

"Y/N, my love, you must take for an idiot no?" he sniggers, then halts to tilt your chin up and he leans onto you, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

He's another kind of poison, and a pattern seemed to click in your mind on what kind of men you are drawn to.

"Yunho, it's not like that." you tried defending yourself but he shushed you with a peck on the lips, his hands brushing your arms lightly until he reached your shoulders.

Goosebumps trailed on where he touched you, then he abruptly pushed you down the bed, eliciting a surprised gasp from you.

"Darling, it's okay." he reassures, positioning himself on top of you and discarding the towel around his waist. Droplets of water fell on you, soaking your shirt that he hoisted up, revealing your breasts to him, your nipples perking up at being exposed in cold air.

His warm hands explored your smooth skin while he inhaled your scent, smooching on the crook of your neck and his eyes squinted when he saw the remnants of Seonghwa's disgusting mark.

His fingers tickled your stomach, reaching for your tits and playing with your nipples, tugging on it and you felt yourself getting wet with his ministrations.

"Y-Yunho.." you mewled, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.

He merely hummed before biting the same spot where Seonghwa soiled you, mumbling curses at the thought of that shitty fuck boy.

"It's okay," he repeats what he said a while ago, "because at the end of the day, you'll still come back to me. No one can show you heaven like I can."

He already has you, and in Yunho's perception, you are his. You belong to him, you belong with him.

Dwindling roads and outreached hands are presented to you, so, which one do you choose?

[darlingdreadwrites]

cam

pairing: Edward Nashton x GN!Reader

summary: Edward finds your hacked webcam feed and can’t help but watch you.

contains: edward being a little creep, webcams, edward finding you absolutely fascinating, voyeurism

warnings: again eddie being a creep, stalking, getting watched through camera without consent, dub-con I think (if you think even an insinuation is too much, don't read it. ily), slight nsfw at the end but it doesn’t go beyond his hand on his lap, poorly written work-arounds to explain hacking into said camera

word count: 544

masterlist

a.n: i wrote this months ago and reworked on it. i wanted to make it a series but idk.

Edward had a habit of watching people through their cameras when he felt stressed. And, fuck, was he stressed today. He liked to watch others go through their day—oblivious to the vigilante who watched them. He typed out the familiar website and scrolled through the channels of unsuspecting people. Hacked front door cameras, baby cams, security cameras, and, of course, webcams.

His eyes found interest in someone whose face was rather close to their screen. Your hair splaying in different directions, your brows twitched as they furrowed, and your nose scrunching in concentration. Oh, weren’t you cute?

For some reason, you had piqued Edward's interest. You seemed like you were typing away on your keyboard with a flurry, the only sources of light being a small lamp in the corner of the room and your bright screen. Every other detail in your room was hidden in harsh shadows.

He clicked on the channel almost immediately. Nobody else was in here, he noted as he saw the little person icon go from zero to one. He tilted his head and leaned back slightly and waited for the audio to load in. He jumped as your music blared through his speakers. He scrambled to mute the channel, regulating his breathing when he did.

With a deep inhalation, he cautiously raised the volume to one that wouldn't cause his ears to bleed. He listened closely to the lyrics and melody to find some familiarity. He couldn't recognize the jumpy, dark tune, but he noted how danceable it seemed to be for you. You seemed to sway deliciously to it as you wrote. Sometimes stopping to dance in your chair and mouth along to the words, just to go back to writing furiously.

His eyes were trained on your concentrated ones. It was as if he thought looking hard enough would allow him to see what you were writing. He huffed through his nostrils when he found his attempt was unsuccessful. Yet, he was too intrigued to let this go. Just as he was going to open up the proper tools to get to the screen your attention was on, he paused.

You had stopped writing and reached for something not in the camera's view. Your pretty little hand was holding the neck of a wine bottle. Throwing your head back as you took quick gulps. You put the bottle down and gasped for air, wiping your mouth with the palm of your hand. You smiled, the swaying of your shoulders becoming more expressive.

Edward watched on, perplexed, as you stood from your swivel chair and began to sway and mouth the words, wine bottle still in hand. Your hands raised upwards, only one of them stopping midway to press the bottle to your lips. Something about this made his lips twitch into a crooked smile. And itchy. Very itchy. Had he always been sweating?

He blinked rapidly and grunted, pressing down the commands on his keyboard to open the program that would allow access to your computer. He continued to type as more windows kept popping up, momentarily glancing up to watch you dance. The palm of his right hand pressing into the crotch area of his jeans had simply found itself there on its own.

[footiehoemcfc]

We'll be Alright

Hi :) okay so this is the first fic I've ever written and the first one I've ever posted so I'm still new to trying and figuring out how this works. I've always wanted to write one and I had this concept on my notes for a while now. I also want to thank @carlottawllms and @cityfanchelseaslut because with just their writing they played a small part in inspiring me to do this <3. Anyways this will deff have a second part or three idk yet, but it will not be out until like a week or two cause I'm going a on a trip. I hope you like it and if you have feedback lmk ily. Angst, tw some curse words, 2.7k words PART 2, 3 and 4 (final) on my masterlist!

Life lately had been stressful to say the least. It had taken a toll on you and Mason. You were in the middle of a busy period with your company, a lot of meetings, projects and deadlines. On top of that, you’ve had family problems. Mason was dealing with social media scrutiny, transfer rumors, little to zero game time and it affected him, more than he liked to admit. You both were really just tired of everything and the only thing both of you wanted was a break from everything and be with one another. 

Your relationship was not new, but it was not long enough for it to have been through really rough patches. You knew at some point it would come though, Mason travels a lot and is always training. However, you always thought that whatever rough patch you’d go through would be easy with him since you two were pretty good at communicating. This hasn’t been the case at all. Ever since the new year Mason has been more and more distant and wanted to talk less about everything. You could feel it, you felt lonely. You felt like you were just there, you did not feel like his girlfriend, you felt like he didn’t love you as much. 

It was already dinner time and you were cooking for the both of you, something you always liked to do. You heard the front door open and Mason walk in through the door. You smiled at him and he gave you a smile as well. “Hi my love, smells good” he said as he placed his keys on the key holder. “Hi baby, thanks I’m making this Mexican bowl I saw on tiktok thought you might like it”, he came over to you and gave you a kiss on the cheek saying “Thank you”. 

When you finished cooking, you both sat down and ate almost entirely in silence until he decided to tell you something you were not expecting. “I had a meeting with Lew and my dad today, about my contract”, you had no idea where this was going since it was pretty much the first time he was talking about this topic with you. You nodded for him to go on, “well I think a transfer would be the best option for me in the summer, there are a couple of clubs that have shown interest so…yea”. What? You thought to yourself. You were so confused. He had always wanted to stay here why is it changing all of a sudden? You met this boy 2 years ago, he would always go on and on about how much he loved the fans, the team, the staff, the stadium, the atmosphere, so how come he wants to leave now? At the beginning of the relationship you would’ve agreed immediately not being a huge Chelsea fan yourself, but after being with him and getting to know him, you could care less what club he was playing, you knew how much he loved living here and being on the team. Sure, this season has been far from what they thought it would be, but you were not expecting this. You had your doubts, why is he wanting a move now? 

“Hello, are you there?” Mason said chuckling interrupting you from all of your thoughts. “I thought you’d be more excited or happy about this…” he said, “No, I mean, yes, I’m just shocked sorry. I wasn’t expecting that, especially since you love it here and since I’ve known you you’ve never mentioned leaving or anything like that.” “Yea I know I never have but, you know my contract ends next year, the new offer is not ideal, and Lewis and my dad think it’s the best option” he said looking at you, “okay” you weren’t sure what to say. You knew it was not his idea. As much as he needed to take into consideration other people’s opinions on this matter, you thought it was best if he made a decision based on what he thought it was best for him. “Okayy what?” “Nothing” “Y/n I know you, you are biting your tongue”. 

Well, if you promised to be honest with him you would. “I just think…I mean is that what you really want? You want to leave? Or is it just the easy way out? Or just because your family said it was best you think it is?” you said this in a loving tone, trying to really figure out why he was trying to decide so quickly on this. “I-I do want this” he stuttered, you knew deep down he was still debating whether it would be a good idea or not. “Okay, then that’s fine” you said getting up and picking up your plate. He placed his fork down and looked frustrated. “You don’t believe me” “Mason plea-“ “This is going to be the best for me, I know you never really cared or supported chels but it will be the same with the new club so not much will change and it won’t be that hard for you” you stopped what you were doing while he said this. You never cared? You knew this would turn ugly now that both of you were getting more upset. “I never cared?! I always go to your games when I can, or I watch them from home. You know damn well wherever you go I will support you because you are my boyfriend” “Then why is this so bad for you?” “Because I know this is not what you want!” as much as you didn’t want to raise your voice, you were getting tired of trying to make him understand what bothered you.

You wanted him to be happy, and if that meant leaving then so be it, but it just confused you how he would make such a big decision in a span of a few hours without thinking about it more. Hell, he could barely decide what to wear for a night out in two hours. “It’s what I want now!” He had never raised his voice like this with you. You could cut the tension with a knife in the room. “Have you not seen the shit show this season has been!? Of course not, you’ve been busier than ever with your job and your office meetings.” “And don’t you think that maybe next year it will be different? You are bullshitting yourself into thinking that going to another place is the better option when you and I both know you’ve never ever dreamed of that. Just because people that love you want that for you does not mean you need to do it. Think for yourself. And I do care, I watch every single game of yours, I never say anything about it cause I know you come home upset and never talk to me about it…and that’s…that’s a whole other thing” whispering the last part and looking away. 

This was it. This was the rough patch you were anticipating with him. You didn’t want to have this fight but maybe it was for the best. You were not planning on telling Mason how you’ve felt the last couple of months to not add anything more on his plate, but tonight maybe would be the day. You were tired of it, the first time you are hearing about his contract is today, never discussing it with you. You knew it would be an option and you would follow him anywhere, but it hurt that he could never talk to you about it and have your input as well, every big decision you’ve made you would always ask his opinion. “What whole other thing?” “Mason…I feel like…I feel like the past 2-3 months I’ve just been trying for you to talk to me and for you to let me help you and you just don’t want it. I didn’t even know when you were injured, I find out today that you made up your mind about what you want to do, I never knew anything about this whole thing. I’m out of the loop on your life. I feel like I’m there for you or at least try to cause you don’t’ let me, and you never bother to be there for me, I’ve been going through a lot too at work and with my family.” After saying that you had no idea how this would go down. To be honest, recently you could never tell in which mood Mason would be. You did not blame him though, it has been incredibly hard for him, but you needed him as well.

After you said this his face, just said it all. “Y/n this whole year has been shit, I don’t need this” Ouch. You excepted different outcomes from this, but him not caring AGAIN was not one of them. “You don’t need what? Me? This relationship? To talk about it?” You were getting more and more upset, you felt like he was invalidating your feelings. “No, I don’t need more problems, I already have enough bullshit to deal with. I don’t talk to you about it because I know it will stress you out, more than you are already.” You scoffed hearing this. “Again, you don’t believe me fucking hell” “No I don’t Mason, how come you can open up and talk to your friends and not me?” Mason started grabbing his face and pacing around the room. He didn’t want to have this conversation, you could visibly tell. But you were adamant to figure out why he was being like this with you. “You are so selfish sometimes.” 

After everything you have done, for him to call you selfish was the tip of the iceberg. “Selfish!? Selfish? Are you being serious right now? Selfish because I want to feel like your fucking girlfriend again?!” “You are!” This was getting heated very quickly and you didn’t like it. What was supposed to be a nice dinner with him just turned into probably the biggest argument you two have ever had. “Mason” you tried calming yourself down to talk to him so he would do the same as well. “Listen, I feel the way I fee-“ “Do you like seeing me fail here to feel better about yourself? Is that what this is?” “What?” You were shocked. How did it go from you being selfish to know you wanting him to fail. It’s like both of you were throwing in everything, every single thought you two have had the past month because you haven’t been communicating. Being selfish was one thing, but him thinking that low of you hurt, specially because you have always rooted for him. “Where the hell did that come from?” You need to know if you did something to make him think that way, you were certain you hadn’t. “It doesn’t matter” he was about to walk to the main entrance of the house to go upstairs. “No, what is that about?” He stopped. He didn’t turn around, debating whether to keep arguing or just leave it and go upstairs. He finally turned around, “Jayden had that thought and…I don’t know I feel like now that you think I’m making the wrong decision maybe he is right” Jayden. The one friend of his that had some sort of vendetta against you. You were always nice to him, but he was a prick. You had your reasons to dislike him and Mason knew you two did not get along but you were not going to be that girlfriend that wants their boyfriend to cut someone off their lives. You were aware he didn’t like you too, why? He had always said Mason “settled” too quickly and he was too young to be “fucking around with just one girl”. Jayden loved going out, getting drunk and have a crazy night. Mason did not, but Jayden always thought it was you telling him not to go out drinking or something. 

You snapped back to reality. “Jayden? Out of all of your friends, you are going to believe Jayden? The guy who hates me for god knows what?” Mason was just blank, he was slowly realizing how ridiculous that sounded, especially since it was coming from someone who doesn’t really know you. But that, that was your tipping point. You felt like you had enough. First, being called selfish and now this. You wanted to cry, not because of the situation itself but because it hurt that after all the effort you’ve made to be there for him even thought you were having a hard time to, he would think like that. You gathered up the courage to say what you had to say, “well you know what, if you want to be talking to your friends about all of this and not me, go ahead. I’m done, and you can tell Jayden to go fuck himself, and so can you.” You walked up to the couch to grab your overnight bag, put your shoes and jacket on and leave. You did not want to be with him now. You felt like he was disrespecting you. He tried to stop you from leaving the kitchen. You realized that was not all you had inside you. 

“Y/n stop please, we can talk about this” just as you were about to open the front door, you decided to let it out. “Oh, now you want to talk. You want to believe what your friends say? Go ahead. I’ve been so patient Mason I really have. I’ve come here after every game to try and take your mind off it and the only way it worked was when it was sex, I’ve been trying for you to talk to me but no you have your stupid fucking friend, I’ve been trying to get you help and no you don’t need it and I’m worrying too much. I’ve been waiting for YOU to ask me how I am and actually care about my life as well but you haven’t cause you don’t. I’ve been feeling like a fucking ghost in your house and with you, all while I’ve felt like shit cause my job is killing me, I feel like I will literally break down any day now and I STILL make the fucking effort to come here because I know you are not okay after not winning another fucking game. So I am not selfish, I’m not against the idea of you leaving just because of me, I don’t like seeing you fail just to feel better about myself, I am just fucking tired of this and tired of feeling like shit and trying to figure out what the fuck I did wrong and if you still even love me because every time you’ve said it the last months it just sounds like you’re saying it out of habit. So, you figure out what you want, think whatever you want to think about me based on what your stupid friends say more specifically the same one that does not like me. I’m leaving.” It was like the weight of the world came off your shoulders. 

You never ever raise your voice or snap like this. But having felt so sad, unappreciated and just not loved made you say all of this. Mason just stood there listening to you. You tried getting all of it out without tearing up, but you couldn’t. You opened the door and left. Mason was hurt, he hated that you have felt that way for so long. He didn’t mean for it to become this huge. He knows he was wrong in assuming that of you, he knows he was wrong in believing something Jayden had said. He had no idea how was going to fix it, but he was determined to do it.

[moonlightdancer26]

Can you give your take on this? Because for the life of me I can’t comprehend why lily started dating James right after the worst memory.

Like yeah you’re upset and rightfully fair too, but I feel like she sorta had a liking for James way before the whole thing with sev, like she must’ve thought he’s amusing or something, and I kinda feel like severus might have seen it too, but of course that’s just my thinking.

Correction: She didn’t actually date James right after SWM, she began dating him in 7th year, which was around 2 years after SWM occurred. I don’t think she could be that cruel to date James right after he did something that awful to Snape lol.

I do think she was at least attracted to James during SWM, JKR herself has even confirmed that Lils somewhat fancied James during that period (“You’re a woman, you know what I mean!” no.. no I don’t, JKR 🤨). Her behaviour with James in SWM was concerning as hell, her best friend was legitimately on the ground after just having been choked with soapsuds and her first reaction was to not even glance at him and automatically start bickering with James and talking about his broomstick and his “stupid hair.” 💀 like Lily ily but.. wtf are you doing??

But to be fair to Lils, when she dated James, she genuinely thought he had changed and became a better person. She wouldn’t have dated him if he was still bullying Snape and other people, she would’ve still been attracted to him like she was in SWM, but she wouldn’t have actually gone out with him. However, my issue with that is the fact that she was willing to go out with him AFTER she saw that he SA’d and bullied her (at the time) best friend for YEARS. Lames shippers like to say “oh but she and Snape weren’t friends anymore!! She didn’t ‘owe him anything!’” but like.. at the time, Snape was her best friend of 7 years, and James (knowing that they were friends) had no issue blatantly torturing him and publicly exposing him and then blackmailed Lily (not Snape, but Lily herself) into going out with him. This isn’t an issue about Snape or them not being friends anymore or whatever, it’s the fact that James—at least at one point of his life—had literally zero issue hurting the person Lily cared about and blackmailing her and threatening to hex her. The fact that he was even capable of SA, choking someone with soapsuds, immobilising them, relentlessly bullying them for years, all while knowing that they were someone Lily cared about, should have sent her running for the HILLS. All of that is putting aside that he also had no problem blackmailing Lily and then threatening to hex her when she wanted to defend her friend (“?? wtf girl? How dare you try to help out your friend after I just SA’d them and blackmailed you?? You better not make me hex you too 😠”).

And to make things worse…… what did James even do to change?? Stop bullying people?? Wow so incredible of him! That’s definitely going to reverse the damage of the people he did all that shit to! We should all applaud him for doing the absolute bare minimum!! I should definitely look past him assaulting my now-ex-best-friend-but-who-was-still-someone-I-cared-about-and-respected-at-one-point-in-my-life for 6 whole years, even though he never actually apologised to my now-ex-best-friend… which… would’ve been the proof that he actually changed… Oh who cares? I’m definitely going to date him anyway!

Like, I don’t even care if I wasn’t friends with that person anymore, the fact that YOU had no problem assaulting that person and making their life miserable for YEARS even though you know how much I care about them and then trying to force me into going out with you would be enough for me to not want to go out with you. Simply knowing that you were capable of doing such atrocious things to ANY human being is horrifying. That isn’t even regarding that he showed no hard evidence of changing, merely stopping the bullying does nothing to heal the victim of what you put them through. Like, if I went out and killed a bunch of people, and I suddenly decide to stop killing people, does that mean I’m not guilty of murder?

So, I don’t hate Lily, but I’m definitely not fond of her character. All her scenes show her being pretty unpleasant and she ended up marrying JAMES of all people, so yeah I’m definitely not going to think very highly of her intelligence level…

Anyway, that’s my take. I’m sorry for how long this got, but your ask really triggered something in me that’s been waiting to rant about this 💀

[usedtobecooler]

hi candyyyy! hope you’re doing well! :) for the drabble night i’ll tell you the constant thought that runs around in my head is eddie and steve getting each other off to the thought of you, their bestie. then oh no! you walk in on them! whatever will you do??? lol thank u if you do and thank u if you don’t ily 💕💕💕 - @bloodandtime

not you giving me the hottest mental image and thinking i'm just not gonna write it i'm going insane

warnings: handjobs, mostly steddie based but reader makes her appearance right at the end, eludes to threesome.

"did you — fuck, eddie don't do that m'gonna cum — see how tight her skirt was today?" steve's voice is shaky as he teeters on the edge, and it's embarrassing how quickly he's gonna blow his load. he can't take his eyes off of where eddie's lube slick hand is twisting up and down his cock, the way the backs of their knuckles rub together from how closer they are.

neither of them had the decorum to undress properly, both of them shoving their respective pants down to their thighs and pulling their cocks out with zero thought to it, ungraceful as ever. steve's on his knees between eddie's spread legs, hovering over the menacing little bastard just enough so that if he shifts his hips slightly forward the blurt of precum spilling from his slit would pool onto the head of eddie's own cock.

"yeah, man. she bent over in front of me and i saw the wet patch on her panties." eddie's languid, lucid, not a care in the fucking world as he lazily shuts his eyes, curly hair fanning out over his pillow as steve's large hand works over the length of his cock. steve always did this thing — catching his thumb along the underside and rubbing it until eddie's hips were jerking up and punching into the air, had their mushroom tips sliding together until they were both gasping.

steve has to squeeze his eyes shut at the mental image, hips fucking into eddie's fist. he's not even thinking about himself bending you over, he's thinking about eddie's ringed fingers engulfing your hips, running his hard cock over the soaked material covering your puffy cunt. it makes him shiver, a deep heat working it's way into his lower stomach. he's so close.

"guys, i — oh shit, i'm so sorry!" your voice comes from the doorway as you burst through eddie's door like you always do, without knocking. you cover your eyes, but can't help the way your fingers slide apart, peaking through them to make sure you truly saw what you think you did. god, they're jerking each other off. you squeeze your thighs together, relishing in the little bit of friction it gives to your aching clit.

steve turns when he hears your panicked little squeal, and he can't help it — he grips onto eddie's headboard with his free hand, tummy tightening as he cums all over the metalhead's tight fist. a deep grunt escapes his lips, face contorting in utter bliss as ropes of his release land all over eddie's fingers, dripping down onto his own hand around eddie's cock, the fluid dripping between his fingers and making the slick twist of his own fist even wetter.

"shit, sweetheart, didn't see you there," eddie's panting, looking over steve's shoulder and staring right at you with hazy eyes, and if he's caught off guard or panicking he's making no show of it to you whatsoever, "made poor harrington here blow his load for me."

steve squeezes the base of eddie's cock in retaliation, making him choke on his own tongue and moan quietly. he always liked when steve played rough with him — and steve used that to his advantage when he needed to. steve smirks down at the dishevelled man below him, tightening his fist ever so slightly and picking up the pace of his jerking, the wet schlick invading your ears and making your cunt clench.

"why don't you—" you start, unable to stop yourself from watching them both with curious eyes, tugging your glossy lip between your teeth, "why don't you cum too? i promise i'll lick you both clean when you're done, i wanna taste."

that's the end of eddie, your words hit him like a punch to the gut and he's gone, wild brown orbs going wide and then he cums, so hard his stomach muscles visibly tense and his back arches off the bed. his cum shoots so far it hits his shirt, staining it off white as steve cackles — you had a filthier mouth than he expected.

eddie's barely recovered from his orgasm when you come stalking over. you pretend not to notice steve's cock kicking up in interest when you catch sight of the mess they've made of each other, "make some room for me, boys. it's my turn to have fun."

[robot-rarepairs-dotcom]

Hiiiii!!!!!! Idk if the wrecker polycule (bulkhead/wheeljack/magnus) is a rarepair but. i literally saw two arts for them and ZERO fics (ZERO!! THEY DON'T EVEN HAVE A TAG)

So. uh. um. headcanons please:33 (both sfw and nsfw)

SORRY I DIDNT SEE THIS SOONER ANON ILY WAAAA

They wrap Magnus in their love

Wheeljack likes teasing Magnus to see his biolights and blush (an @/ultramagni headcanon that I ADORE)

Shower Magnus with affection and love and praise

See they compliment Magnus 24/7 so when Magnus shyly flirts back it kills them

After hard battles they all get together and snuggle kiss cuddle snooze

Wheeljack gives his partners massages because he can sense when they’re sore

Nsfw below the cut:

Magnus is easily overstimulated so it’s super vanilla wholesome facing

Magnus is a pretty crier when overstimulated or filled with too much transfluid and Bulkhead and Wheeljack are into that

Post interfacing cuddles

Bulkhead and Wheeljack are the tops but Bulkhead is more a switch

Magnus eats out/sucks off super good

Highest endurance goes to Bulkhead then Wheeljack

Quiet and cute interfacing

Magnus is hella shy👉👈

[appalachianapologies]

could not tell you where this came from. i was simply eating my rushed lunch and was gripped with the idea. bone apple tea have a snip with absolutely zero context ily <3

“Hey man, you alright?”

Mac shivers when he looks up, pushing wet bangs out of his eyes. Most of the blood is on the back of his hands, but Mac imagines that it still isn’t a great look.

“Oh. Wait, Angus, right?”

“Mac,” he replies, coughing as soon as he rasps out the word. “I go by Mac, now.”

“Oh, cool. I’m-”

“Bozer.” Nevermind the fact that they happened to be in the same grade in a town with barely 5,000 people—Mac’s pretty sure that everyone’s heard of Bozer. 

He gives a sheepish smile, as if he could read Mac’s mind. “You okay? Stupid question. Can I like… call someone for you?”

That’s a big part of Mac’s problem. Not that Bozer would know. “No,” Mac shakes his head, swallowing anything else. “I’m okay.”

“Do you like… want a ride or something?”

This time, Mac shakes his head with more fervor. “I uh, I appreciate your concern. But I’m good. Really.”

Bozer stares at him for long enough that standing out in the rain has probably gone from annoying to uncomfortable. “Look, for my own peace of mind, could I at least do something? I don’t feel great about leaving you here. Seriously. No ulterior motives.”

It’s almost funny how much it seems that Bozer hasn’t changed one bit in the five years since Mac’s seen him. Despite the fame, he’s still the same person who would wait long after school with someone when they missed their bus, or share crackers from his lunch. 

Mac couldn’t imagine still being the same person he was in high school. Not after everything.

Without asking for permission, Bozer moves, squatting and joining Mac on the side of a wet and dirty curb. 

“You don’t…” the words are lost on Mac as he tries to get them out. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not gonna leave you on the street when it’s raining.”

“I’m a stranger.”

“We spent twelve years together at school,” Bozer counters, though ‘together’ is a strong word. They existed in the same space geographically, but outside of study hall and the one off literature class, never saw or interacted with each other. Bozer was the type of person that everyone knew for all the right reasons, and Mac for the wrong ones.

Bozer pulls his phone from his pocket after a few seconds, but just barely glances at the screen before stuffing it back. “I haven’t seen you around here for a while.”

Mac raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t the only one who left Mission City. Last Mac heard, Bozer was getting calls left and right from Hollywood. Reporters, magazine owners, the whole thing. 

He’s right, of course. Mac hasn’t been back here for five years, but Bozer is the last person that Mac would’ve expected to recognize that. From Mac’s rough understanding, neither of them have called this town their home for a long few years.

“I haven’t been here for a while,” Mac eventually replies. There’s still a part of his brain that can’t quite comprehend the conversation he’s having right now. The fact that he’s even here to converse in the first place. 

“How’s your grandpa?”

A hollow laugh nearly escapes through Mac’s chest. “Dead.”

“Oh, shit. Fuck, I didn’t know.”

Shaking his head, Mac looks down at the rainwater beginning to collect in the divots of the road. “It’s fine. Just happened.” It’s the only reason Mac’s back here.

“Hey, listen, I know you’re probably going to say no to this, but just hear me out, okay?” Bozer doesn’t wait for Mac’s approval to continue, “Come back to my house with me.”

“Boze-”

“Just warm up, eat some food. My parents always cook too much, and I know they wouldn’t mind.”

This time, a laugh does manage to get out. Nobody’s parents want to see a sopping wet, road-rashed Mac. Nobody’s parents would even want to see a Mac that was put together- his own included. 

“I’m not leaving you out here. Just- please, man. I don’t want to wake up to my dad saying that they found your body tomorrow morning, okay?”

“You won’t.”

“Please.” Evidently, Bozer’s not above begging. “If you don’t come with me, I’ll end up telling my dad anyway, and you’d end up spending the night in the station anyway. You’ll at least get a home cooked meal this way.”

Mac bites the inside of his cheeks hard enough that he tastes blood.

“Mac-”

“Fine.”

“Yeah?”

Exhaling, Mac gives him a nod. “Yeah.”

[half-truths-and-hyperbole-louk]

Louk's Bad Batch rewatch part 28 omg omg

mid season finale let's go batchersss 🤟

The Bad Batch 2x08

sleepy Wrecker 🤫🤲

Gonky and Echo watching Omega meditate 🥺

Omega asking Echo if he wants to try she was so innocently asking too 🥲

"I don't enjoy solitude" 💔😭

"hey boys" Rex my whole ass heart 🥰💕

lmao gives no details just is like ok meet me on coruscant like it's nbd 💀

how long has it been since they've been there ??

I'm assuming they've been there ?? idk ??

Rex introducing tbb like Cody did 🥲🤲 and Omega's little wave 💕

Echo keeping Omega back from the body, mom

the identifying number being wiped and Tech being the one to comment on not knowing that was a thing.... foreshadowing ? 👀

Echo stepping up immediately to speak in the senate 🥺

Hunter: "the senate won't listen to us, we're deserters" ... who Rampart said died in *his* attack, so the perfect people imo

"a simple data collection" right in the middle of imperial coruscant lololol ily Rex 💕

Chuchi and Omega team up 🥳🙌

they clearly don't think Chuchi is in that much danger bc they let Omega go with her ...

Omega with all her questions 🥺 she's learning everything she can

Omega's face seeing Rampart lmao meeee

he didn't even look at her 🙄

"there's nothing else she can do" HA idiot watch her go actually

Omega's run to look over the edge 🤲

"which one belongs to the clones?" heartbreaking 😫😭

I relate to Chuchi on a personal level, she cares sm about the clones 💕

Bail in dad mode keeping an eye on Omega hehe

Omega's confidence in tbb is so precious 🤲

Senator Burtoni lol blast from the past

the way she looks at Omega makes me uncomfy 👀

she gives zero fks about kamino girlll

"because I'm a clone too... it was my home .... and im angry" YES OMEGA SPEAKING UP FOR HERSELF TO A KAMINOAN I'M SO PROUD 🥳

Wrecker nearly getting zapped 👀

*mission impossible theme plays*

Wreckers saw !! bro I love it !!

Rex helping as many brothers as he can 🥺🤲

mans says he's helped "not enough" brothers... yeah but how many pls

"help's hard to come by these days..." Rex just ask him you know he'll go with you 🥲

"taking a lesson from your squad, we improvise" !!! tcw flashbacks lol I love when they have no plan 💕

knife knife knife 👀

"this is him better" Wrecker you've got this bby !!

lmao Tech controlling the cart from his datapad

Hunter's growl at Tech (again) 👀🤭

sneaky bois shhh 🤫

@anonymous-galager said Tech sounds like Crosshair in this scene hehe

regs: 'ayo someone activated the bridge' tbb + Rex: 'hey boys' they're so unserious while I'm hyperventilating 💀

the clones coming to stop tbb boys !! they're doing it for you !! 😫

Hunter: "new plan. 14, 5, 86" Wrecker: "all of them!?" I will never get tired of their plans 💕 (don't look at me plan 99 I'm not talking about you)

Rex: "we need an exit strategy" Echo: "got one, we're going over them" Rex: 😳 ??

Rex dodging blaster bolts 👌

"this should be interesting" Rex 🤝 Cody saying the same thing about tbb

Tech piloting the escape pod lmao he can literally fly anything

Rampart 🔫😈

lol he really thought he did something 💀

Omega's disguise wearing one of Chuchi's ponchos 🥰💕 Cal Kestis is coming for that poncho 👀

Rex giving Omega the data !! how much they all trust her 🥺

Rampart's whole speech full of rubbish 🙄

Omega catching her breath after running that whole way 🥺 you did good bby 💕

YES CHUCHI PLAY THAT EVIDENCE 🥳

Omega having to relive kamino being destroyed 😭💔

I PANICKED ITS PALPS 🙃

I hate that they twisted the whole thing so bad 😡😡😡

"I was following orders" well well well how the turn tables

the clones taking him away !!! it's like poetry, it rhymes 👌

Chuchi looked so defeated 😭😭😭

Omega hearing the introduction of stormtroopers ... I'm stuck in the foetal position forever 💔😫

Rex hating on palpatine hehe

"the fate of all the clones is now sealed because of us" AND THEY THINK ITS THEIR FAULT I HATE IT HERE 😫😭💔

"I will keep fighting for the clones" me too babes

I thought it was weird tbb just seemed to know Echo would go with Rex but it has taken me this long to realise they probably all discussed it while Omega was taking the data in 🙃😭

each of their lil moments with Echo 🥲

poor Omega probably blames Rex for Echo leaving 💔

"we're a squad" "we need you too" ...when I cry forever 😭

Omega literally jumping into his arms 🥺 and then wiping her tears away *screams into pillow*

the sad clone music I am in spain without the s

"keep an eye on them" ~ mom worrying about the kids

THE CROSSHAIR PARALELLS HELP-

and she's hugging Lula again 💔💔💔💔

I knew it'd be a bad idea to leave it all this close together I am gonna be an absolute wreck watching the s2 finale and going straight into s3 🙃

[matenrou-fan]

so there's this prompt that I saw in a writing that's like:

You had sex with you partner, and them the next day you say that you didn't cum that time. They took it personally and decided to make you cum several times at the same moment.

SO ALLOW ME TO REQUEST SOMETHING LIKE THIS WITH MY TOP 3 TEASING GUYS: REI, HITOYA AND GENTARO

tysm Anya ilu

🪼

Rei, Hitoya and Gentaro with fem! s/o (+ overstimulation)

ily too <3

GNreader, teasing, begging, sex toys, overstimulation, rough sex;;

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

;MINORS DNI;

-It was just a direct insult to his men's pride.

-"Ahh, my priceless ladybird, are you sure?" - with a chuckle, he leans closer with a mischievous grin. - "You look like you had a good time last night, huh..?"

-No, actually, even though he would laugh about it and apologize in some teasing manner, you have no idea how personally he takes it. So there's no chance he wouldn't take revenge and show you what this old man and his body are capable of.

-Cause despite his age Rei has a great stamina and can go for hours, for the whole night or day even, if it means he would be able to see your absolutely lost, blushing face, as you cum one more time, neither of you can remember exactly how many..

-"Ohh, I see, my dear.." - he cooed right in your ear before biting a soft earlobe. - "Now I totally can tell when you're actually cumming.. But let me feel it again, just to make sure I would remember well.."

-Also, these hands know what they do. And while his cock so deep inside you, forcing your tight walls to stretch around his thickness, arms not leaving your body even for a second, tickling smooth skin, squeezing hard nipples, grasping your waist in some certain way that makes your whole body tingle..

-Oh, and, of course, words. Some dirty talk during foreplay (this time Rei would make sure you cum only with the help of his fingers, for beginning.), and so many teases about you being so much more sensitive this time than yesterday. Oh, maybe even a little bit of praise for your beautiful body, but only if you would be a good obedient partner and will deserve it.

-He's also waiting for some praise back, but just in another form. High pitched moans and weak attempts to call his name would be just enough, show him how much you like it. But expect to receive another few teases now.

-To the end of the session Rei's just sure you would take your words back, or even ask for more.. Not right now, of course, as he already pulls all possible energy from you, leaving you with an absolutely empty head and zero feelings in your body, all nerves concentrated only in your sensitive parts that he abuses all this time with his tongue, fingers, cock..

-"Mm? What's wrong? It's even hard to walk now?" - he smirks, as it strokes his ego to see how sore you're now. - "Sorry, sorry, but isn't this what you asked for..?"

-Another hurted man..

-"You didn't? Then why didn't you tell me immediately?" - chuckling, he patted his head. - "I'm sure I would have had time to help you.."

-But actually, he's not that teasing about this, acting more serious as Hitoya actually wants to make you feel pleasant too. So some little talk about what was wrong or what makes you more excited definitely would take place.

-..But maybe you shouldn't have said all your weaknesses and secrets, as now, when he pins you to the bed again, five minutes was enough to make you forget about everything besides Hitoya.

-Surprisingly passionate this time, your boyfriend used all this new information too well. Usually, Hitoya is more playful and prefers to be something like a lazy dom, letting you play with him and fight for some dominance, yet today he has a mission that he's willing to accomplish. Maybe even over-delivers his task..

-But you seem to like it, don't you? Because he's very attentive and listens carefully to all your small sounds,and noticing all light changes in your face, quickly finds just the right place to pound in you, slapping his hips to yours with every thrust.

-Would be more soft with his words in the beginning, actually. Asking how you like it and if he needs to change something.. But somewhere in the middle Hitoya starts teasing you more, clearly seeing how you melt in your pleasure now. Oh, and would definitely make you say something dirty right before your orgasm about how you love to be fucked by him or how good his dick feels inside you.. Such a confession said with a weak voice, and then this tight pressure around his cock.. He can get addicted to this.

-Oh, and of course there's not only one or two rounds. Somewhere in the depth of his soul your boyfriend understands that maybe you didn't have that much fun last night because he's always at work and doesn't pay attention to you, causing a bit of a rift. So today he would improve his attitude, drowning you in this passion that was stored for all that time, making you lose your mind again and again in burning bliss.

-"Oh, s/o.. When you look at me like that you just makes me want to fuck you even more.." - Hitoya chuckles, enjoying how you're trying to catch breath after another mind shattering wave in your body. - "There's no way I will leave you until morning.."

-You probably thought that he would be chill about this, due to his behavior.

-"Oh, I know, s/o.. When a man can bring his lover to the edge, his dick feels like it was put in mustard.. So I share your pain. " - with a tired sigh, he looks at you and then a small smile plays on his lips. - "Well, that's all a lie.."

-And this is what you expect, thinking your boyfriend's not really upset. When actually Gentaro now comes up with a whole plan, thinking about it more detailed and carefully than about his writings.

-So.. the one who would overstimulate you on purpose. I'm sure he's pretty kinky so there's a bunch of scenarios he wants to play with you, and maybe he found the one that would be perfect as a little punishment for your words..

-Making you sit around with a small vibrator in your clenching hole while you two have a casual date at his place. Nothing more than just kisses and cuddles, and his fingers on a switch, increasing the speed. Your boyfriend don't want to torture you, no! Only waiting when you would start begging for more, so it's all upon you.

-And when you finally ask him for more, there would be a long, long foreplay as Gentaro heated up your whole body even more with his fingers and mouth now, but not letting you cum.

-To begin with, he needs to bring you to the state where you don't even remember your own name from all this arousal that tickles all your insides and brain.. And only after that, taking off his pants and quickly sinking inside you, Gentaro would let you cum as you squeeze his dick with your tight walls.

-He would tolerate only when you get your orgasm while bouncing on him tonight, but don't worry, his cock wouldn't leave your body even for a second, pounding you again and again.

-And of course, what a beautiful wave with words he has..! Your tummy tickles and heart beats faster from all this dirty talk, and this time you can clearly say he's not joking, really wishing to do all this thing with you.. And you can't help but whimper, telling him your limit is not that high.

-"No no no, s/o, we can't stop now.. I was counting, and I want us to finish when there is another round number, okay?" - Gentaro coo right in your ear, tickling your waist before grasping it firmly and start thrusting in you again. - "In this case we would receive great luck in our relationship, believe me this time.."

[qmorningcrew]

dump all your ideas abt ur summer camp au i want to hear it

ahhhhhh first of all anon ily <333

here’s my ideas for the summer camp au so far :)

- it’s called quesadilla summer camp (im so creative lmao)

- the camp was created on an experiment. if it went well, they would implement the plans on a larger scale. (what’s the experiment? it’s assumed it has something to do with crossing the language barriers but no one actually specifies)

- all participants get college scholarships

- but the whole thing is really badly executed? like it just does not have the set up or functionality of a normal summer camp

- there’s just very little supervision or guidance

- the camp is run by some version of the duck, and they’re very uninvolved which leads cucurucho and zero to just Not Care.

- counselors are rubius, cucurucho, and the code entity

- the code entity goes by zero

- zero really doesn’t talk but they all learn pretty easy it’s how fucking awful of an idea it is to piss them off

- cucurucho and zero are they/it besties

- rubius is the same age/around the same age as the campers, cucurucho and zero are older

- sometimes one the campers walks into their cabin and sees an entirely new person in their cabin, which is normal. they switch cabins constantly

- the first week people just keep. randomly wandering off. “where’s wilbur?” two hours later wilbur walks out of the woods with a rock. (not even like a cool rock. it’s just a normal fucking rock)

- phil’s the mom friend. but he’s still a disaster. he’s just the only one with any shred of responsibility. he’s also just got an aura of trustworthiness that makes everyone trust him with their problems

- fit is just. so chill

- he also just? always has what you need? “yeah sorry it’s a bit hot in here, a screw that seemed important fell out of the fan earlier so we haven’t turned it on yet” “oh! i think it’s in here- nope screwdriver’s in the left pocket, where did you say the screw was?”

- dan just kinda disappears for a bit? cucurucho tells the campers he went on vacation but they don’t entirely believe them. dan comes back a little different.

- spreen is always either starting chaos or nowhere to be found

- quackity manages to keep putting himself in the middle of like every problem whether he’s involved or not

- however charlie pretty much is always involved

- luzu is had DID and arin is an alter

- luzu does know about arin but he was just diagnosed and is still figuring it all out

- roier flirts with everyone (except jaiden, he respects her boundaries)

- wilbur brought his guitar with him and sings at the campfire some nights

- charlie only joins in on the meme songs

- jaiden finds the most. random shit. “hey guys i found $20 stuck to the bottom of the picnic table with a piece of gum” “oh dude look! a patch of four leaf clovers!” “woah look at this cool bottle cap i just found!”

- maximus is a conspiracy theorist but in like a, hey this actually genuinely makes sense kind of way

- bad is terrified of spiders

- he saw one in the bathroom of his cabin and was completely moved in to a different cabin within seven minutes

- roier finds this hilarious

- foolish and vegetta are dating. no one knows how they got together or when they got together. if you ask either of them, you’ll get two completely different answers

- the brazilians join two-ish weeks in

- they all arrive together in a bus together and have already formed a Friendship on the journey there

- the bus was almost set ablaze 4-6 separate times (depends on your definition on separate)

- there is an extremely done cucurucho driving the bus

- forever sees phil and immediately turns to tell felps how that is the man of his dreams

- mike and pac are inseparable. they’re just kind of always within the vicinity of each other.

- cellbit, bad, foolish, and maximus attempt to take over the camp together. it doesn’t go as planned.

[dykeferatu]

Hi, River! :)

What's your favourite NIN song(s) my dude? (If I may call you my dude.)

hello! god this is like asking me to choose a favorite child except i think that would be easier. if i was a parent. it's hard to chose only a few faves but it will TRY to keep this limited... (note from future river: i failed)

fuck this is actually so difficult... ok i have to get closer out of the way

obviously..... predictable choice but it's a hit for a reason ok!! it was my top song on spotify last year and i literally only started listening to nin in october. so good... i saw u respond to my post about track transitions and the transition from closer into ruiner makes me go crazyyyyyyy. i love ruiner as well but again. trying to keep it limited..

ok nearly every song on tds is a favorite so i'm just going to highlight a few more and then i'll give other releases a chance 😭

reptileee.. UGHHH. yeah this one just does something to me. the machinery sounds. yum. that guitar bit that lines up with that one machine sample that's playing throughout (3:43 if u don't know wtf i'm talking abt)... and i like the muffled yelling in the outro

there are songs on tds i guess i technically like listening to more but there's something about this one that makes it special to me. it's comforting somehow! the intro is meditative, and the meat of the song is cathartic. i like how we get the same muffled effect as on reptile, but here even the instrumentals are muffled

BURN!! one of my first favs. so good and aggressive. grraaahhhh

ok gonna try to limit myself to one song per release from here on out bc i really do love so many.....

so fun and funky. the nursery rhyme lyrics are a little silly but i love it. also love the part where he just screams

so many good things abt this one... the first things that made my ears perk up were the synths on the chorus

there's just a weight to the sound of this one that i'm obsessed with atm. also, the crunch is real good

ok already breaking my promise but the fragile has so many songs and i haaave to highlight please. underrated as hell!!! hearing that chorus for the first time changed my brain chemistry (<- could say this about a lot of nin stuff lmao)

breaking my promise AGAIN because LA MER...... such a beautiful song. does things to me. has made me cry. whatever........

gotta love only. the beat. the rambling verses. the chorus. the reference to down in it. fun!

i ran out of embeds but THAT WON'T STOP ME...

Me, I'm Not - i woke up with this song stuck in my head once and then i listened to year zero and finally Got It

Discipline - just a banger

Various Methods of Escape - hesitation marks is CRIMINALLY UNDERRATED

The Background World - i do kinda with there was a version with a shorter outro bc i looove this one but it's hard to put on playlists. great way to end the ep tho

God Break Down the Door - PLAY THAT SAX TRENT!! i also love his voice in this one

OK i'm done. i agonized over this and i still wanted to include more 😭😭 tysm for asking and thanks to anyone who got to the end of this post <3 ily