#three generations of happy parents ;v;

[lady-djarin]

independent contractor

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

fully inspired by this post

warnings/tags: no outbreak au, no sarah mentioned, but we can always pretend she’s at collage or something, infidelity by reader(reader’s hubby is an asshole), contractor!joel, age gap (late 20s/mid 50s) , masterbation (m), smelling of panties(?), sexting, oral (receiving), p in v (unprotected- don’t do that!!) general smut so children leave!! mdni 18+

word count: 6.1k

a/n: i understand not everyone is going to dig the infidelity thing so i get that, if you are not into that please just scroll on, thank you :)

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It was a beautiful dress but damn if it wasn’t complicated, the back had all these complicated buttons and clasps to hold it closed. You had managed to get yourself into the thin fabric but just as you needed your husband to close the dress, he had conveniently disappeared. He had been dressed for the party for a while and had been running around the house trying to organize the vendors. It was all for some charity thing he was throwing through his company. He was the CEO of some big company that even after 5 years of marriage you still didn’t understand. Something to do with finance? Maybe.

“Hon? Are you up here?” You huffed as you realized he was not in ear shot. Your husband had a habit of doing this, leaving right when you needed him in favor of something he needed.

You can now admit to yourself that the marriage you were in was a little rushed. Ok, maybe more than rushed. You were engaged within three months of meeting and married in less than a year. The first year of marriage was amazing, he would shower you with gifts and trips and practically worshiped the ground you walk on. It now felt like he only did this to rope you in. He began to take multiple long ‘work trips’ every month and you soon found evidence of an affair (or multiple). Once, there was long hair all over his clothes that was definitely not his or yours along with red lipstick smudged on a white shirt. Was he not even trying to hide it or did he just not care?

You had always told yourself that ‘you’d never be with a cheater’ and you wouldn’t fall prey to men who used women. Well, after a quick marriage, that you begged your parents to go along with, you felt like you had nowhere else to go. Your parents would not be happy and would surely find a way to blame you, and all your friends were also his. So, you kept your head high as your husband did as he pleased. You were now a forgotten trophy on the shelf he felt didn’t need polishing anymore. So you did as you pleased, with his money. One of the things you liked spending his money on was renovations to the house that you were usually alone in.

Currently, you were renovating the other side of the house to become a library/craft area for yourself. The contractor was actually at the house doing a walk through before the party got started. He happened to hear you calling for your husband from down the hall and came to your rescue.

“Sorry to disturb you ma’am, I think he went downstairs,” he was looking down when he first walked in, probably to make sure you were decent. What a gentleman.

“Of course he did, uhg,” you fumbled with the clasps behind your back and failed to make a difference.

“I can go get ‘em for ya?”

“No that’s ok Joel, thank you,” Joel Miller, one half of Miller Construction. He had been so great from the beginning, knowing exactly what you wanted for the library, seeing your vision immediately. He was very much the southern Texan gentleman, ‘yes ma’am, no ma’am’, no matter how many times you told him you hated it. “and please, Joel. I’m not a ma’am.” Your smile drew his eyes up.

”My mama would kill me if she heard me call ya’ anythin’ but, ma’am,” he stepped into the room, already coming to help even with your refusal. “I’m more delicate than ya think, im sure i can handle some buttons,” he came up behind you in the mirror and his soft touch on your shoulder blade made you inhale. You held the dress against your chest making sure he had room to fasten the small clasps. You caught his gaze in the mirror that was fixated on the dip in the front of the dress.

He matched your smile.

His surprisingly nimble fingers secure every last fastening and it feels like you can hear your own heart beating out of your chest. It had been a long time since you were looked at the way Joel was looking at you. He was a handsome man, big and rugged but soft in his features. He had these deep brown eyes that you could get lost in and lips that would make a nun blush. He was affecting you in ways your husband hadn’t done in years, he was turning you on. A complete stranger was turning you on and you didn’t really feel guilty.

Did that make you a terrible person?

You know what, fuck it. Your husband cheated and left you alone in life, you were entitled to some flirting every now and then.

“There ya are darlin’,” dear lord, his voice. The deep southern drawl made your panties wet.

“Thank you… Joel.”

”Enjoy the party,” watching him walk away was the hardest thing all night, aside from having to laugh at all your husband’s bad jokes all night. All night your mind was occupied by the sexy contractor.

~

It had been about a week since the party and the library reno was well underway. Joel and his team, including the other half of Miller Construction, his brother Tommy, were working tirelessly. In that last week your husband had been in and out of the house at weird times. On this particular day he left early in the morning without saying so much as a word to you. You used the day to mope around on your phone or read but what kept stealing your attention was the attractive contractor.

His team wasn’t around so the house was truly empty, the quiet was starting to drive you mad. As you wandered up the winding staircase, you found a sweatshirt draped over the railing. That damn husband, he leaves shit everywhere. Without thinking much of it, you threw the hoodie on as you found the library under construction.

The sweatshirt smells like sawdust and something distinctly man. That's different from what your husband normally smells like. The thought of him buying new cologne for some mistress almost made your blood boil, if you truly loved him anymore it would.

The library was really starting to come together, the plans on the table laid out the new shelves and built in table being put in and you dreamed of the days you would spend in there. The rest of your day was spent inside, no husband in sight so you did what you wanted, camped out on the couch with snacks galore and bad tv. Your husband eventually came home, after midnight, to find you passed out on the couch. You were roused by him, he woke you to send you off to bed. He used to carry you.

“Hey, get to bed, it's late… New hoodie?” Your eyebrows narrowed and you looked at him confused.

“What? It’s yours?”

”No it's not, I don't work at ‘Miller Construction’…” his tone felt like sandpaper against your skin. Also, have you been wearing Joel’s sweatshirt this whole time?

~

You wore it almost every day. Refusing to even wash it, it would get rid of the smell. The smell of him. It was like a drug, anytime your husband left you alone in that big house you wrapped yourself in Joel.

The rumble of the engine told you someone was at the house, but the deep southern drawl was what told you it was Joel. You felt giddy, like a girl with her first crush. You were already wearing the sweatshirt because you were expecting him today. He was leading his team of guys up to the library, telling them what to get started on. You made your way up there, under the guise of greeting Joel and asking if they need anything. In reality you wanted to see his reaction to you wearing his clothes.

“Morning Joel, you guys need anything?”

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. He noticed right away, scanning the hoodie and his gaze set your skin on fire. You felt your cheeks heat up as he stepped closer, the air was thick with tension and you immediately felt the mood change. His lips curved up in the corner slightly as he lowered his voice.

He looked handsome as always, the salt and pepper in his beard and hair was somehow very attractive to you. He was older for sure but you’d be lying if you said that wasn’t part of the attraction.

“Nice sweatshirt you got there…,” you could practically feel his heart beating just inches from you. “Miller.”

You had to strangle down a breath hearing his voice drop an octave like that, teasing you. This was real… Joel Miller, your contractor, was flirting with you. And you liked it, a lot. Not only the blatantly wrong flirting but the fact that your husband could come home at any time. It was making your skin flush with arousal and it felt like he could sense it somehow.

“I can wash it and get it back to you,” you wanted to gauge how into this he was. He did not disappoint.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jesus christ.

“Keep it sugar, looks better on ya anyway,” he left you there, finally with enough room to breathe without inhaling his intoxicating cologne. Holy shit, holy shit!

Your mind never strayed far from the older man, you seemed to fixate on the memory of him crowding you in your own home. The rest of the day went smoothly, you went about your business as the Miller Construction crew worked on your new library. You could hear the men working upstairs and every time you heard that one specific rumbling southern drawl your heart stopped for just a beat.

You were screwed.

~

Joel’s day could not have been longer, though he was the only one that noticed. The rest of the crew worked through the day, trying to get their tasks done sooner rather than later to be able to go home on time. Meanwhile, he was thinking about the pretty wife of the man who is paying him. He knew it was wrong but damn if it didn’t feel good. He saw the way your husband acted around you the last few weeks, he was engaged in every conversation except ones with you. Joel could even tell that the man was cheating, he clearly wasn’t trying to hide it. That’s really the only reason he was letting himself indulge with you, that and you seemed to be on the same page as him.

He knew he was in trouble, he had already memorized your features, your lips haunting him most of all. Every time you spoke he was entranced, unable to look away from your mouth. This was so wrong, he was working for you and your husband. He couldn’t help it, you were perfect, everything he could ever want. He dreamed about feeling you under him and that thought kept him half hard in his jeans all day.

By the time he was set to leave he felt like if he didn’t get himself taken care of he was going to explode. All he could think about was you in that damn hoodie, and how he would bend you over with it on. He knew it would smell like you now, it would smell like both of you. As he hopped into his truck he was so distracted that he didn’t see you coming down the driveway towards his car.

“Hey Joel…” Fuck. “I just wanted to get this back to you before I forget.” The gray fabric already smelled like you from where you held it by his car window. Why were you giving it back? He told you to keep it.

”Oh thanks darlin’,” it wasn’t lost on him how your eyes sparkled at this nickname. You were in the most delicious little shorts, showing just enough of the tops of your thighs as you walked back into the house. Fuck, he felt like such a dirty old man. You were so much younger and bright and kind. He felt like he could never deserve you.

He threw the hoodie on the passenger seat as he felt another surge of guilt and arousal settle into this stomach. Just as he was about to pull onto the street, he noticed something much darker than the hoodie sticking out of the pocket. He pulled it to reveal a pair of lacy black panties.

His heart nearly stopped. He would have never expected this, a sweet girl like you leaving her panties in her contractors sweatshirt. His jeans became even tighter than before as he pulled the panties up to his face.

He really was a dirty old man.

They had clearly been worn and it made his head spin, they smelled like heaven and you, he worried he might cum at the smell alone. He needed to get home.

As he raced home with your underwear gripped in his hand, he battled his thoughts. He knew it was wrong to mess around with a married woman but he felt different with you already. You were like the light at the end of his very lonely tunnel, no one ever looked at him the way you did. He practically tore his front door off the hinges as he rushed up to his bedroom. He felt like a teenager with an uncontrollable boner trying to find release.

The black lace was tight in his grip as he shucked his jeans off, the constricting fabric making his blood boil. He pulled himself free and the first touch to his hard length caused a gravely moan to slip from his lips. Tension and heat gathered in his stomach as he stroked himself. His fingers were rough as they circled his weeping tip but he needed to feel relief. He couldn’t even get himself into the shower, he just dropped onto the edge of his bed and never stopped moving his hand.

Those dark panties were teasing him, you were teasing him. You had to be, maybe you were making fun of his obvious crush. No, there was no way you would have grinned like you did if you didn’t feel the same way. It was an offering, a way for you to make a move without being apparent.

Holy shit. You wanted him.

That made his lower muscles spasm suddenly and his orgasm started to barrel down his spine. He pictured you in your small shorts earlier that day and he lost it. A deep groan escaped his throat as he spilled all over his knuckles. He pumped until he was oversensitive, his whole body reacting until he fell back into the bed.

All night his brain juggled wanting nothing but you and telling himself it was wrong. And it was wrong, at least on paper, of course he shouldn’t be messing with a client's wife. Even if she wanted him back.

~

Last time you saw Joel outside his car was almost a week ago. It was driving you crazy. You worried that he took it the wrong way or didn’t even see them. You couldn’t decide if you should be mortified, nervous, turned on or all the above. Then your phone went off.

Usually the texts between you and Joel were regarding what materials or paint you wanted. Now it was something totally different.

5:04PM >Joel: Sorry I have not been to check on the progress of the library personally. There was an emergency at another job.

>Joel: Also, thank you for my gift.

Only someone like Joel would thank you for sneaking him a pair of your panties.

5:09PM <You: im glad you liked them

<You: i was a little worried…

Your heart was thundering in your chest. Your husband was right across the couch, engrossed in his baseball game more than you, per usual. Was it wrong to like this so much, the fact that he had no idea you were texting another man right now, in front of him.

5:12PM >Joel: Why would you be worried? It's the best gift anyone’s ever given me.

>Joel: Any man should be so lucky.

Your pulse kicked up again somehow. He was making it all sound so meaningful. Maybe it was to him. Maybe he never took it the wrong way. Maybe he took it exactly the right way.

5:14PM <You: did you use them?

There was a pause for a few minutes.

5:20PM >Joel: Jesus…

>Joel: I’m at work, darlin.

5:22PM <You: so?

5:25PM >Joel: You got a mouth on you, huh?

5:26PM <You: and i know how to use it

5:28PM >Joel: We might just have to have you prove yourself then.

5:30PM <You: just tell me when

5:31PM >Joel: You are dangerous, angel.

>Joel: I have them in my pocket right now.

>Joel: I couldn’t help myself.

Jesus, this man was going to be the death of you. He was carrying your panties around in his pocket, while he was at work. Your thighs instantly squeezed together and it was at that moment you decided.

Fuck it, he made you feel good and your husband clearly didn’t care about your needs. You needed a divorce, and not just because of Joel. It was about you finally doing what’s good for you.

Suddenly an idea came to you, admititly a very bad idea but again, fuck it.

5:36PM <You: hey, do you have any plans tonight?

5:37PM >Joel: You know darlin, I don’t.

Thank god.

5:38PM <You: what’s your address?

5:38PM >Joel: 7 Oak Village Rd. I get home at 7.

5:38PM <You: see you then

You needed a plan. Your husband wouldn’t really care if you made last minute plans, you just needed a reason. Since he barely takes the time to pay attention to you, he definitely doesn’t know your friends very well.

“Hey, I know this is super random, but my friend Ashley”(totally a fake friend) “just got dumped, Isn’t that awful? She wants me to come over so she’s not alone. Would you care if I spent the night with her?”

It wasn’t really an odd thing, you spent the night with friends before. You should feel bad for lying so easily like this but the thrill of it all was keeping you going. You knew he wouldn’t object but he barely even looked at you. A quick glance back before he focused on the tv again as he waved you off.

”Yea, I don’t care… Johnny’s coming over anyway. Have fun.”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes, you knew you should be upset but you were too used to it at this point. You went upstairs to pack a bag and get ready. It had been a long time since a booty call and you forgot how giddy it made you feel. Knowing you were going to a man's house who actually wanted you there and actually wanted you.

Once you showered and finished packing, you went down to head out the garage. Apparently while you were upstairs Johnny and many more came over and had taken over the couch as they all debated over some play in the game. You tried to get your husband's attention, calling his name and waving at him. Anger boiled over in your gut. Just another reason not to feel guilty about tonight.

You loaded up into the car and pulled out of the massive driveway without a regret in your heart. This was the beginning of a new chapter and it felt right in so many ways. Your skin was buzzing with arousal, you had been thinking of Joel’s thick hands that would soon be on you, throughout your whole shower.

Before you left the neighborhood you sent Joel a quick text.

7:13PM <You: on my way

7:14PM >Joel: Can’t wait.

You felt the heat creep up into your cheeks and down your neck. Your nerves did start to wear on you though, all the usual stuff; Will he like me? Do I look nice? Did I miss a spot shaving my legs? You decided to wear a thin silk slip dress/nightgown under a baggy zip up hoodie. You figured it was a good way to look ‘sloppy’ enough that your husband wouldn’t care, if he even looked your way. You made the short drive over to Joel’s neighborhood and your nerves seemed to melt away as you got closer. It was odd, normally this kind of thing would send your pulse skyrocketing but the thought of seeing Joel made you calm, almost serene. He definitely made your head swim with giddy arousal though.

You found the beautiful house marked ‘No. 7’ and knocked on the perfectly painted door. Of course his house was gorgeous, he was a contractor. Only moments went by until the door was pulled open by that very sexy looking contractor. His brown curls were slightly messy on his head and he wore some kind of faded shirt and loose sweatpants that hung way too low. You couldn’t look away.

“Hi darlin’,” he rubbed his neck and his cheeks went red. He was nervous.

“Hi,” you couldn’t help the smile spreading on your face.

“Come in, here let me.” He gently took your bag from your shoulder and guided you to the couch where he had a bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table. The inside of his home was just as beautiful as the outside; the couch was large and comfortable, there was quiet music playing in the corner from an old school record player and books and plants littering the shelves. He came back and poured you both a glass and clinked the two together before you each took a long drink. He finally sat down and you turned so your feet were up against his leg, quickly feeling comfortable with him.

“I wasn’t sure if you would be ok… with me coming over.”

“Why?” God his southern accent was like honey.

“I don’t know, maybe it was…I was too forward.” You were sure why you felt the need to bring this up, maybe clear the air somehow. “I’m divorcing him, I can't do it anymore.” Saying it out loud made your heart lurch.

“I get it sweetheart, it ain’t fair that he treats ya’ that way.” You were leaning into each other at this point, unable to stop the magnetic pull between you. His arm was draped over the back of the couch, his hand near your shoulder. He started to entwine his finger in your hair, his big brown eyes danced over your face and it made you almost want to shy away from his gaze.

“You don’t think I'm a terrible person?” You looked into his eyes finally, wanting to know how he felt about you, how he felt about this.

His fingers left your hair as his thumb brushed over your lips. “Y’not a terrible anythin’ darlin’,” then he moved.

He was on you before you could take another breath. He slotted his lips over yours, his tongue sliding between them. He devoured you, stole the breath from your lungs. It was all consuming the way he kissed you, it felt like he was starved and you were all he wanted to consume. He sat back and pulled you with him, your legs wrapping around his hips leaving your core right in his lap. His hand cupped both cheeks as you pressed yourself fully to him, your hips grinding down into his. Your baggy sweatshirt was obstructing your skin from touching his, you needed more and the fabric was too warm.

You leaned back and you finally got a good look at his face as you pulled the zipper down. His lips were swollen and red and his eyes were almost all pupils. After ripping the bulky fabric off he finally moved his hands to the rest of you. He traced your arms down to where your hands laid on your thighs, he then lightly ran his fingers up your back over the thin fabric of your nightgown.

“You are so… fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” He sounded like he couldn’t catch his breath and yours caught in your throat. He pulled you into him again but it still wasn’t enough skin. As his soft lips worked over your pulse and his rough beard scratched at your neck you knew you needed more of him. You groaned as you pulled away again and tried to pull his shirt off yourself but he was just large enough to make it difficult. He smirked at you as he leaned forward to remove the shirt and your skin finally made contact with his.

You both groaned as you came together once again, finally able to feel his warm solid chest against yours. He explored your body again as your mouths did the same, he kissed down your neck, over your shoulders and between your breasts. The thin straps holding up the nightgown were quickly pulled down, revealing your chest to him. He lavished you and you felt the vibration of his groans as he licked the crevice between your breasts before closing his mouth around a peak and sucking. Your whole body arched into his, your fingers carding through his hair which made him groan deeper.

“Fuck— Joel,” your skin was on fire and you were lightheaded. You knew somewhere deep down you should feel bad or guilty but it was the furthest thing from your mind. He made you feel like you were floating, your soul somehow detached from your body.

He pulled back from you, just enough to catch his breath and look into your eyes. His hands however never stopped roaming your skin. His pupils were blown wide, almost none of the deep brown in his eyes were left now. He dipped his head and dove back into your skin, his lips attaching to your neck and it made you groan and your core clench.

He groaned into you and you felt it rumble through his chest. You felt like you were losing grip on reality, you couldn’t tell someone your own name if they asked. It was all worth it because you were lost in the pleasure of feeling him under you, but you needed more of him.

You dropped to the floor, the carpet soft under your knees. You tried to pull Joel’s pants down his hips, almost frantically as if you didn’t see all of him now you would die.

“Hol’on darlin’,” he kind of giggled as he slipped the fabric off his hips and he fell back onto the couch and looked down at you with his mouth hanging open in awe. You met his gaze before looking down at his hard length.

Fuck, he was big.

You lowered your mouth to him, teasing your lips over his silky skin. His breath caught in his chest. You ran your tongue up and his hand came up to hold the back of your head, not to force but support. Eventually his fingers grabbed into your hair when you wrapped your lips around him and pulled him in. You felt his rough moan reverberate into your body every time you dropped your head. It was difficult to take him all at once but you had to feel him, everywhere.

“Fuck, oh my—gooood…” he dropped his head back onto the couch but you knew he was watching you, his eyes never left you. You felt your arousal spread between your thighs knowing you were driving him mad. Before you even got a chance to really do much Joel pulled you up on your feet. He stayed seated and looked up at you through his lashes and your heart stopped for a second seeing him below you like this made your stomach dip and your panties wet.

His eyes were blazing a path over your body, nightgown bunched around your waist with your entire chest exposed. You should be cold but you felt like you were on fire. He ran his palms up the backside of your legs until he reached the lacy fabric of your underwear. His eyes never left yours as he slowly pulled the fabric off your hips and over your ass, his hands touching skin the whole way down and helped you step out of it. That swooping feeling settled into your stomach again as he slid his fingers back up the inside of your leg until he reached your hot center, eyes never leaving yours. You both moaned as he dipped into the slick that coated your skin.

“Mhmmm, this all f’me?” He looked at you with a mix of arrogance and pure desire as he moved his fingers in a slow circular motion. It was made easy by just how wet you were, you didn’t know if you had ever been this wet before. That’s the effect he had on you, or maybe this is just a primal kind of desire that you never had with your soon-to-be ex-husband.

Either way you were spiraling fast. You knew once you two came together you wouldn’t last long. You needed to feel him, it was driving you mad.

Joel seemed to be taking it slow, which you can admire as this is very new and he probably wanted to make sure you’re comfortable. While you admired him taking the time to make you comfortable you couldn’t wait anymore. As he kissed your chest and his fingers kept moving in agonizing circles across your sensitive bundle while you straddled his lap. His hard length rubbed against your center and both of your bodies shook with desire.

He groaned as he wasn’t expecting you to be on him so fast. His hands ran along every inch, taking you into him and never wanting to let go. You rocked your hips and slowly dragged your core across his length causing you both to stutter and moan. You were sick of waiting for the thing you had been thinking about non stop for weeks.

“Will you… make me feel good?” Your voice was squeaky and horse from all the moans and his eyes fluttered at your request.

“Oh darlin’… that bastard ain’t taking care of you huh? When’s the last time you were properly touched?”

You turned your eyes away from him, slightly embarrassed that he was able to tell that so easily. “Uhm… a while.” He gave you a pointed look, clearly not liking your non-answer. “A… a year,” his eyes widened at your admission. “Over a year…” You cringed at your final answer. You weren’t proud of the fact that it had been so long but you haven't been attracted to your husband in a long time.

”Oh… you poor thing,” he bracketed your cheeks with his large hands. “Don’t worry darlin’.”

Joel was losing composure quickly, he was ready to give you everything you deserved. His nimble fingers reached between your bodies and slid along your center, drawing a wanton moan from your chest. You ground your hips into his hand trying to create the friction he wasn’t giving you. He slowly spread your lips and ran his fingers gingerly over your clit causing your body to shake in his grasp.

“Hmm… y’all wet f’me?” His southern drawl was making his lust-drunk words slur together deliciously. The scruff of his mustache scratched at your neck but his lips and tongue soothed over the sensitive skin.

“Mmhmm… Joel— oh god please,” you sounded just as lost. Your voice cracked and your hips never stopped moving over his hand, desperate for attention.

“Don’t worry darlin’, I gotcha,” he quickly flipped you and your back hit the plush couch. A soft ‘oomf’ escaped your lips and Joel was mesmerized as you lay beneath him. “Oh look at’cha, you’re so pretty baby.”

His words were like hot honey, warm and sweet. You shifted under him and wrapped your fingers around his hard shaft and the groan that reverberated through his chest made your breath catch in your throat. You kept stroking him as his fingers found your wet center again, spreading your release over your puffy folds. As you wrapped your legs around his hips, you guided his crown to your core and felt the sweet stretch of him entering you slowly.

He paused for a few moments and looked like he was trying to center himself again before pushing his hips fully into yours and held himself there. A deep rumbling groan broke through his lips as he began to move, the stretch was making you nervous at first but you felt more and more comfortable as he kept moving. When he started to rub your neglected clit, a bolt of pleasure shot down your spine causing your back to arch and nails to dig into his arms.

“Such a good girl, baby… ngh— you-you feel so good,” his syrupy words made your head feel fuzzy and limbs heavy. His hips started to snap into yours at a harsher pace and his fingers spent up between you in tandem. Your orgasm was quickly approaching with his movements, faster than you expected. Was this the norm for people with healthy relationships and sex lives, real attraction? You couldn’t even finish the thought before Joel sped up his fingers and started to hammer into you. He was surrounding you, hovering over with those dark eyes and large shoulders. The smell of him alone was about to send you over the edge, he smelled like soap and a little like sawdust, all over man. His voice broke you out of your hazy state.

“You’re gonna— cum for me darlin’, I—I can’t hold on…much longer baby.” His voice was rough and demanding and almost like your body listened, you fell over the edge. The lewd moans and shouts of Joel’s name coming out of our mouth surprised you both. At feeling you cum around him, Joel lost all of his remaining control. He stilled inside you and you felt his muscles contract in his release.

“Oh fu—fuck! oh my… god,” he slumped against you and you welcomed his weight. You both settled into the couch as you rubbed your arms up and down his back. “I’m— I’m sorry darlin’, it's been a while. Normally I'd have… taken my time.”

He sounded almost nervous, it made you smile.

“Joel, stop. You have nothing to apologize for.”

”I’ll redeem myself next time.”

Next time? He wants there to be a next time!

You smiled to yourself and hummed at the content feeling of being under him while he still filled you.

You drifted to a place of half consciousness and woke up in, what you were pretty sure was the morning to the smell of bacon. You turned over in a bed, Joel's bed, to find it empty. You looked around the room and found it to be just like Joel, cozy and masculine. You located a shirt of his and threw it on before heading down the stairs to find a very sexy shirtless Joel standing in his kitchen, flipping pancakes.

“Mornin’ sleepy head,” his voice was thick with sleep and you walked up to him at the stove. With one large arm he pulled you into his side and kissed the top of your head. A slow smile spread on your lips at the familiarity of it all, the warmness of having someone to take care of you like this, emotionally. Something you almost never had with your husband, soon to be ex.

“Joel… thank you, for this.”

“What’cha mean darlin?”

“Taking care of me. Letting me come over last night.”

“Hey, look at me,” he tilted your chin up to meet his eyes. “Anytime you need me, I’m here.”

You tried to blink away the tears gathering on your lashes but one managed to slip, Joel’s thumb catching it before it reached your cheek. Time felt like it stopped as you leaned in to each other, lips pressing together as you moaned at the feeling.

The day was spent lazing in bed and talking about all the things you two would do when your divorce was finalized. The idea of divorce was the scariest thing in the world when you first thought about it, but now, knowing Joel would be with you every step of the way… you couldn’t wait.

[daechwitatamic]

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(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!!

[soaps-mohawk]

Pre-Dinner Activities

Summary: Simon is horny for his wife. That's it. That's the plot.

Pairing: Simon x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ explicit sexual content, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex, Simon is a little shit

A/N: I saw a post about writing filthy smut and posting it today so people have to read it while at dinner with their families. So Happy Thanksgiving for those of you in America, and for those of you not, uh Happy Thursday/Friday whatever day it is for you. This is shit, I wrote it yesterday, but enjoy!

MASTERLIST

“Simon, we’re going to be late.” 

“There’s traffic this time of night.” He says, ignoring your protest as he kneels down behind you. “Can come up with a believable excuse.” 

“I’m not going to dinner with your parents looking like I’ve been fucked three ways to Sunday.” You say, finishing your mascara. 

“That’s what makeup is for.” Simon mumbles, hiking your dress up around your hips. 

“I already did my makeup.” You say, grunting as he pushes you up against the bathroom sink.

“You can touch it up.” His lips brush your inner thigh, his fingers slipping around the hem of your panties. 

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t get turned on every time we go out to dinner.” Your voice gets breathier as his face pushes up between your legs. “Guess this is better than fucking in the parking lot after.” 

Simon hums, the sound vibrating against your pussy as he mouths at your folds. “That’s definitely happening too.” 

Your complaint is cut off by a breathy moan as he drags his tongue through your wet slit. Despite your protests you can’t deny how wet the anticipation of his mouth on you has made you. 

“Fuck.” You breathe, leaning further over the counter as he pushes further between your legs. “You’re going to suffocate yourself.” 

“Good.” His voice is muffled as he presses further between your thighs, sucking your clit between his lips. 

Your panties are looped around one ankle, giving you room to spread your legs for him. Those big hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you back against his face. His lips suckle at your clit, and you know he’s getting absolutely drowned by the slick dribbling out of you.

He offers up no complaint though as he drags his tongue across your clit, his nose pressing against your folds. He draws circles around the sensitive bud, his mouth slurping at the slick starting to seep out of you. 

“Fucking hell, Simon.” You moan, your legs jerking as he scrapes his teeth against the underside of your clit. 

He lets out a muffled grunt, his tongue alternating between circles and teasing flicks against your clit. You’re going to cum and fast with how worked up he’s making you. He loves eating you out, his head between your thighs every chance he gets. He just loves you in general, but he also loves your pussy. 

“Fuck,” You moan as his tongue flicks across your clit. He’s groaning into your pussy, the sound vibrating through your slick folds. 

He pulls away just slightly from your clit, just enough to drag his tongue through your folds again. “Gonna cum?” He asks, his voice still slightly muffled. 

“Yeah,” You breathe, dropping down onto your arms on the counter as you push your hips backwards into his face. 

He uses the new position to his advantage, sucking hard on your clit. Your hips jolt from the pleasure, needy moans leaving your lips as you lay there against the counter. 

Your knees buckle as he continues to suck hard on your clit, his pleased groans vibrating through the sensitive bud. You're so close, your orgasm rapidly approaching. 

You’re right there, right on the edge of your orgasm when he pulls away, completely withdrawing himself from between your legs. You let out a disgruntled whine, lifting your head to stare at him in the mirror as he pushes himself up to stand. 

“What the fuck Simon!” You say, watching him as he frantically undoes his belt. 

“Can’t stand it any longer.” He shoves his pants and briefs down, his cock rock hard and angry red. 

He doesn’t give you any warning before he’s pushing into you, splitting you open around his thick cock. His hand pushes against your upper back keeping you pinned as he begins to snap his hips against your ass. 

“We’re really going to be late now.” You gasp, pushing your hips back against his, meeting his thrusts. 

“Can’t show up to dinner with my parents with a raging boner.” He says. 

“I could have given you a hand job in the car on the way.” You whine. 

“Can’t show up with cum on my pants either.” He grunts, pushing his cock as deep as he can inside of you. “Much prefer this anyway.” 

“Damn it, Simon.” You groan as he shifts his hips, dragging his cock against that spot inside of you. 

“You fucking love it.” He grunts, his hands dropping to your hips. 

He's not wrong. 

His thrusts are rough and sharp, pointed with a purpose. His cock drags along that spot inside of you with every thrust, pushing you closer and closer to the orgasm you were denied just a few moments ago. You’re not going to last much longer, not with his cock bullying itself into you like that. 

“Fuck, fuck-” Your back arches, pushing your hips back against his. He keeps the pace, thrusting into you hard and fast as you cum around him, gushing all over his cock. 

“Fucking beautiful.” He groans, his eyes cast downward at your ass as his thrusts start to get sloppy. 

You watch in the mirror as he gets closer and closer to the edge, his eyes still cast downward, his lips parted as he breathes. There’s sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening the edges of his hair. You’ll have to fix that. 

His head tilts back as he cums, exposing the column of his throat. You want to sink your teeth into his skin, but that’ll be for later. He cums inside of you, filling you up with hot spurts of his seed, his hips pushed right up against your ass. He grinds against you a couple of times before folding himself over you. 

His hands come to rest on the counter on either side of you, his gaze locked with yours in the mirror. “Think it’s too late to cancel?” 

“Yeah.” You breathe, reaching for a tissue to dab at the sweat beaded on your own forehead. “We’ve already cancelled twice.” 

“Fuck,” He breathes as he slips out of you. “You’re right.” 

“We need to leave like five minutes ago.” You say, quickly fixing your makeup as he helps you back into your panties. 

His hand cups your pussy as he pulls them up, his fingertips applying gentle pressure to your clit. “Keep that in there for later.” He grins, nipping at the skin behind your ear. 

“Fine,” You give him a pointed look through the mirror. “But we’re going to dinner with your parents, so no fingering me under the table this time.”

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[ellastone-olsen]

Undisclosed desires - Agatha Harkness

DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY WORKS. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY

Summary: Agatha is your mother's best friend with whom you like to spend time. Everything is great if you don’t remember about your little (big) crush on her. What if one movie night something doesn't go as usual?

Pairing: moms best friend!Agatha Harkness × f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, dom!agatha, sub!reader, age gap (A45 R21), mommy kink, face sitting (A), thigh riding (R), masturbations (R), little stalking i think, pet names, oral (both), a little fluff

DISCLAIMER: ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE SORRY FOR GRAMMAR OR SPELLING MISTAKES

Word count: 2.7k

AN: hi guys this is my first work in English and the first work that I generally post on tumblr. I hope you'll enjoy <3

Agatha met your mother when you were just over 18. It was a typical weekend when the older woman walked into your house, talking sweetly with your mother. Out of curiosity, you went downstairs from your room; honestly, you didn’t often have any guests in your house after your parents’ divorce.

When you appeared in the kitchen, Agatha had her back to you, your mother was the first who notice your presence. "Oh my god Y/N you scared me! You can't walk so quietly!" Agatha immediately turned to your mother’s screams. The first time you looked at her, you forgot how to breathe. She seemed beautiful, even attractive, you of course knew about your “mommy issues” but how quickly your admiration for the woman grew into a little crush... you knew it wasn't right.

But that didn’t stop you from finding her social media “I’m just curious to know more about her” you told yourself, of course that was partly true. It started as a sweet, innocent thoughts about her beautiful curly hair, blue eyes and the sweet smile that she gave you when she came to visit and the three of you were sitting in the kitchen. “Y/N, you’ve already entered your second year of college, how are your studies?” she asked either out of politeness or out of pure curiosity. You were always happy to answer any of her questions, and then sneakily watch her facial expressions and gestures while she told your mother something about her failed Tinder dates. Deep inside you were jealous and hoped that these dates would remain a failure.

Later your relationship became closer one. This happened after about a year of her frequent visits in your house. At first sight it looked like she was your aunty and you were her favorite niece. At least that's what it looked like to your mother. Considering that Agatha did not have children (you also learned this from her social media), she was happy to spend time with someone who wasn't your mother. So your phrases like “Agatha and I are going to the mall today” or “I’ll stay at Agatha’s for the night” were not something surprising. Your mother was glad that you were spending your free time with a person whom she could trust and know that everything would be okay with you, even though you are already 19.

You loved staying at Agatha’s house, looking at her in her home clothes, and in the morning waking up and hearing “I made you a breakfast, superstar” by the way she cooks divine. At each of these weekends, you were talking (sometimes she tried to ask you about your possible boyfriends or girlfriends, which made you blush and go away from the topic), cooking some crisps and towards the end of the night, sitting down to watch movies on her big plush sofa. “Aggie, I’m cold,” you said after which you moved closer to her and hugged her in secret dying from such closeness.

Even later, you caught yourself having terrible frank thoughts about her. They fell on you like a bolt from the blue. So once again going to her Facebook and opening a new photo you began to look at it more carefully than always. It was an ordinary photo where she stood in a black light dress with straps with a V-shaped neckline, holding her hand to her face, covering her smile and the caption “at home you can look the way you want😘.” The focus of attention first moved to her lips, then dropped to a thin hand with a neat black manicure, thoughts concentrated on each of the fingers, about how you could... Even lower to the neckline on her dress which opened up a view of her breasts but left room for imagination, the light fabric did not hide the outline of her nipples and then...

You were already lying on the bed in your room, your mother had long gone to bed. The same photo of Agatha was open on your phone while your fingers traced circles on your clit. Then they moved lower, collecting abundant wetness at the entrance, and when one finger entered you and your gaze was again drawn to the photo on the phone your back arched. You imagined that it was Agatha doing all these things to you; the second finger slipped inside filling you so well and the pace increased. All that was heard in the room was shaky breathing and a quiet whine, “Fuck Aggie...yes that’s it, yes mommy please,” the other hand came down to rub the clit and then it happened. You saw stars looking at the woman's photo, wishing that she would shut you up with a kiss now. When your breathing evened out, you took your phone and typed one message, “Tomorrow is the weekend, can I come over for the night?”

Saturday was your favorite day of the week because Agatha wasn’t at work like on weekdays and you could spend time together. Right now you were walking through the parking lot to her car so that she could take you two to the cafe that you had been telling her about for a long time. "How are you doing, superstar?" The woman asked while watching the road. You loved that cute little nickname she gave you so much. “Well, in general, everything is fine, except for small problems with writing a thesis, you know, it turns out to be not easy I’m very tired” you said and felt her hand gently covering yours and squeezing. Raising your eyes, you were met by her familiar smile, “You can handle everything, you know that you can always ask me for help?” you just nodded, and the older woman continued to watch the road.

The day passed too quickly when in the evening the two of you walked into Agatha’s spacious but cozy apartment. "So I think that after such an eventful day we can immediately move on to watching a movie, how do you look at it, superstar?" You went to wash your hands and called out to her from the bathroom, “As much as you want, I’ll like any of your ideas. For now, I’ll go change clothes and come back to you,” you said, wiping your hands and taking your bag with things.

There are two bedrooms in Agatha's apartment , one for her and one for guests. You were always located in the second one but more than once you were just a guest in the older woman’s bedroom. Speaking as a “guest” we can say that you just came in a couple of times to find out how long it would take her to get ready and briefly examined the interior. All you remembered was the purple tones of the room, a large bed, a chest of drawers with a bunch of jewelry and cosmetics on it, and above that was a regular oval mirror. Apparently there were also a couple of intricate paintings and a bedside lamp. You respected this part of the woman’s personal space and did not poke your overly curious nose into it.

Your bag was thrown on the floor of the room that had already become yours, your street clothes were scattered on the bed, your makeup was washed off and you were already wearing the soft plush pajamas that Agatha had given you last Christmas. “I’m here,” you called out as you returned to the room, where the older woman had already carefully prepared snacks for the movie and selected a two-hour thriller for tonight. “Come here,” Agatha patted the spot on the couch next to her and you landed there, covering yourself with the blanket and resting your head on her shoulder.

The movie went quickly and you didn’t notice how you had already started to fall asleep when a sharp poke in your side woke you up, “Hey don’t sleep, you’ll still have time for this tomorrow,” Agatha said grinning. You jumped up sharply which made her laugh. Here on the TV screen there is a chase, explosions, the main character miraculously escapes when suddenly..."OH MY GOD" you screamed and crawled with your head under the blanket when moans came from the TV speakers and a sex scene appeared on the entire screen in front of your eyes. You weren’t ready to see this right here right now, especially in the company of an older woman, and you behaved like a blushing virgin. Agatha’s laughter came from above, “Come on Y/N, you’d think you’ve never seen anything like this before. Get out of there”. The blanket was thrown off you and a picture of naked people appeared before your eyes again. Your eyes widened as you looked from the TV to Agatha and back. This whole situation has made your cheeks warm up and you can already feel a faint pulsation between your legs.

“Oh, is it really such a small thing that has embarrassed you so much, superstar, you’re already a big girl, why are you blushing so much? Or maybe... oh..” the woman looked at you more carefully, studying how quickly your chest rises and falls, noticing how you begin to squirm in place. The gears in her head are spinning intensely and a thought arises.“Oh sweet girl, let me help you. Come here,” the woman moves you closer to her, squeezing her thigh between your legs, encouraging you to ride her. You're about to explode. “Aggie, what are you doing? What..” you are stopped by her hand covering your cheek, “Oh baby you have now confirmed my suspicions on this matter,” your heart is about to jump out of your chest, “What do you mean, Aggie?” The woman moves you closer and already runs her lips along your neck to your ear and whispers, “About your little crush. Did you think I wouldn’t notice this? Or maybe I’m too dumb and won’t put two and two together mmm?” You pull back to look at her dumbfounded. What's happening now? Does she want you too? Did she know all along? A swarm of thoughts race through your head as her hand grabs your hair and pulls you back towards her. “You’re thinking too loudly honey, let mommy think for you.” The nickname she gave herself completely drives you insane and you groan. “Oh fuck” comes out of your mouth.

The woman laughs and lowers her lips to your pulse point. Her hands grab your hips, encouraging you to grind against her thigh. When you do what she wants Agatha looks up from your neck, “Such a good girl you’ve had a crush on me for a long time, haven’t you? I bet you’ve been thinking about this moment. Tell mommy, am I right Y/N?” Your breathing is unsteady and you feel like your underwear is hopelessly wet, the thoughts in your head are confused. "Mmmh yeah you're right." The answer seems to suit Agatha as her lips immediately find yours in a careless kiss and your whole world explodes. The woman’s hand reaches under the elastic band of your pants and she strokes you through your underwear, feeling how wet you are. With such contact you moan into her mouth and beg, “Oh Fuck Mommy please please I need more.” Agatha shushes you and takes her hand out of your pants "Hush baby, you'll get what you want but first mommy needs to cum. Can you do that for me? Make mommy cum and I'll return the favor."

She pulls you encouraging you to get off of her and begins to undress until she is left in only black underwear. You stop her hands when her fingers cling to the edge of her panties. “I want to help you. Can I?” She nods and you kneel in front of her, taking off an item of clothing and seeing how her sticky wetness stretches. You start biting and sucking on her inner thighs and are almost to the top when she stops you. “No, not like that, lie down on your back.” You do as she says and she ride you, moving higher up to your head, “I want to sit on your pretty face baby, will you let mommy ride your face?” Your pupils dilate as you nod impatiently "Please." Agatha lowers her dripping pussy onto your mouth and you suck and lick her clit, and then push your tongue into her hole, causing the woman to arch and move her hips. “Oh god that's such a good girl. You're going to make mommy cum baby. Mommy's gonna cum all over your face." These words turn you on more and you start working on her pussy harder until the woman lets out her last moan as she cums into your mouth. She continues to sit on you while you lazily lick her clean, and then stands up and grabs your legs, opening them wide.

Pants with panties tossed somewhere to the side, the sweater is also pulled off your body and you lie in front of her completely naked. “Fucking god you’re even more prettier than I imagined”. Agatha mutters and turns you over so you’re sitting on her lap again. Your breasts are right in front of her face and she takes one nipple into her mouth while she roughly squeezes your thighs, feeling your wetness on her leg. You hold her shoulders with your hands and stand up. “Please Aggie, I need to cum so bad.” Agatha releases her nipple from her mouth and growls “Wrong name.” Your forehead presses against her shoulder as you whimper “Please mommy make me cum.”

She spreads the wetness all over your pussy and teases your clit. Two fingers circle at your entrance and she pushes them inside, to which you moan and bite her shoulder. "Fuck, you're so tight, what if I add another one? You're so wet you can take it can't you baby?" You hum into her shoulder in agreement and three fingers slip inside “Ride me” Agatha takes your waist with her free hand, helping you move and you start bouncing on her “Mommy I’m so full. Feel so good” you moan. The room is filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the smell of sex. Incomprehensible whimpers and requests not to stop escape your mouth while you try to push yourself deeper onto Agatha’s fingers. Your hand reaches for your clit and draws circles on it. Abundant wetness flows down the older woman’s hand and she feels your walls squeezing around her. "Mommy I'm going to cum. Oh God I'm going to cum Aggie, mommy don't stop please." When Agatha's fingers deliciously hit that right spot inside you over and over again, when you hear "That's such a good girl. Cum for your mommy, cum all over my fingers baby" it happens and you explode, cumming on top of her. Agatha finds your lips and pulls you into a kiss, brushing the sticky hair from your forehead and whispering how well you did for her.

After a minute, you catch your breath and get off of her, lying down next. You are silent. Agatha is silent. You don’t believe what just happened and how this is even possible. The gears in your head start working again and you try to decide what to do next. She wanted you, does this mean that your feelings are mutual or was it just sex for one time? A soft blanket covers your naked body and a hand strokes your shoulder. You hesitantly raise your head to Agatha, she is the first to break the silence.

"You're thinking too loudly again, superstar." Her hand gently strokes your cheek. "I understand your doubts and fears, baby. Let's just go to bed for now, do you agree?" You nod and get out of bed still in the blanket, taking your pajamas with you. Your legs slowly drag you into your bedroom as Agatha’s question hangs in the air. "Where are you going?" She gently hugs you by the shoulders, leads you into her bedroom and lays you on a soft, large bed where you fall into a calm, deep sleep.

[stars-n-spice]

RAAAAHH BAD BATCH SECOND GENERATION!!

Behold! Silly Squad ten(ish) years later after the rescue on Mt. Tantiss!

Or aka my "Somehow the clones magically age normally and Tech is alive" AU in which they all get happy endings and their own families :)

And yes the cadets and Sami also get adopted by the families :D

I will probably post more in depth things about each individual family later but there's some basic information like what their lives are like on Pabu, what the kid's names mean, how they got adopted, and so on about each under the cut!

Guardians Family - The Yuns

Hunter and Jung decided to adopt Mox and Sami (who didn't want to go back to her family)

Later they find and adopt Huihana, thus completing their family!

But it doesn't account for all the other kids Jung and Hunter have adopted mentally and spiritually since they run a school on Pabu

Huihana means "lily/lotus" in Maori and 'Hana' means "one" in Korean

Huihana is half human and half Mirialan - later on when she's older she'll get tattoos similiar to Sami, Mox, and Jung's

Huihana is two years old and the youngest of the Second Gen kids

Mox gets the Pantoran facial tattoo to match with his sister :)

Sami ends up being Jung's padawan basically and ends up adding to her facial tattoo to match the ones Jung has

The family runs a school/camp! Mainly for Force sensitive kiddos, but Hunter also teaches them practical stuff as well

Hunter and Jung are the last of the couples to get "married"

I say "married" because they're already practically married (in a QPR) but they have a whole celebration for the sake of Omega

ScompScope Family - The Cossas

Echo and Viram decide to adopt Deke after he starts to join them on their missions with Rex and Chuchi

And then they have two sons of their own - Tikan and Zisanu - once they feel they've done their part and finally settle down

Put the three together and you get "Dee," "Tee," and "Zee" (that was a complete coincidence btw)

Tika[n] means 'Heavy' in Tsonga

Zisanu means 'Five' in Chichewa

Yeah, their names are meant to honor Hevy and Fives :) I thought it would be fitting

Rex is their godfather (and is totally not bitter about them not being named after him, totally not at all)

Echo and Viram continue to do rebellion work for a while before finally deciding to settle down once their part is done

Every now and then they do go and help Rex though, usually they'll take Deke with them and leave the two others with their Tíos since they're still kinda young (T and Z are not super happy about it)

When they're on Pabu, Echo helps wherever he can and Viram continues her work as a medic and helps out at the clinic

Third of the group to get married - they'd already waited long enough and they decided it was better late than never because they'd pushed off their relationship for the sake of their duties

Starburst Family - The Nultez Clan

When you have a clone and a Mandalorian as parents, you're going to have a TON of kids

Khea had already taken Itri as a Foundling before her and Wrecker got married

Wrecker and Khea adopt Stak in a heartbeat and he becomes a Foundling as well

Marama and Maia are twins (32 minutes apart) and are absolute trouble makers

Marama means "moon/bright" in Maori (fitting with the Star motif of Khea)

Maia means "brave/confident" in Maori (fitting of her personality and her parents')

Elio means sun (again fitting with the star motif of Khea, and going alongside Marama)

Dha'ika is Khea's cat and Lula is the kids' cat

But to be fair, they have a TON of other pets

They basically run a farm on Pabu - Khea still is a mechanic on the side and helps fix things up around the island

First to get married - they'd been dating the longest and it was spontaneous

Techphee Family - The Genoa Family

You do NOT want to mess with the Genoa siblings - they're a force to be reckoned with; intelligent as all hell, charming as fuck, witty, resourceful, talented pilots - they have it all

Except for good eyesight :/

Vela is farsighted

Rangi is nearsighted

Vela means "viligant/watchful" but it's also the name of a constellation taken directly from the Latin word for the sail of a ship (which is fitting considering Phee is a pirate and Tech and her are both phenomenal pilots)

Rangi means "Sky/heavens" in Maori (again, fitting that pilot thing)

Honestly, Rangi is just Mutant Mayhem Donnie if I'm being 100% honest with you (even his voice, I imagine it to sound like Micah Abbey's)

This family is all over the place - while they have somewhere to stay on Pabu, usually they're out exploring the galaxy together and doing various fun (dangerous) things

They practically live in Phee's ship - and they love it honestly

They always bring back souvenirs and stories for everyone whenever they return back to Pabu

Second of the group to get married - you can bet that after supposedly losing Tech, Phee made sure to tie him down and put a ring on him

Sharpshooters Family - The Marr Family

Last ones to adopt because Tay's not confident he's good with kids (it's the one thing he actually doesn't think he's good at)

Because of Tay's insecurities, Crosshair was fine with it just being them but deep down he really did want a kid

So when he was out on a mission helping Echo and stumbled upon an orphan, he didn't hesitate

Took a while for Tay to accept it though because he was terrified he might hurt their new daughter or something, but he soon proves to be a natural

Meet Akona Marr! She's half Nautolan and half Pantoran!

Akona means "to enthuse" in Maori (fits her personality)

She gets a crosshair tattoo to match her Pa and Tay gets something similar and he also caps off his horns so Akona doesn't hurt herself since she likes to climb him

Akona is nonverbal and has a tendency to bite people but her Dads love her anyways

She is spoiled ROTTEN though because like with Crosshair, Tay cannot say no to her

They're a family of fishermen! Tay and Akona are both amphibious races so they enjoy being in the water and Crosshair's enhanced eyesight helps spot fish in the waters despite the glare from the sun

Fourth of the group to get married - Tay took too long to ask (he was nervous) and Crosshair never really expressed wanting a wedding because of everything that went into it and all the attention that was going to be on him during it

💫 Tag List: @stardume 💫 Join the silly squad taglist here! 💫 Silly Squad Masterpost

[queensunshinee]

I would love to see a simple blurb of Patrick and Liana on their good days! Even though I'm rooting for Art now, we can't deny that in the beginning they were cute 🥲

ohhhh yeah, when they were good they were really the best :) warnings: SMUT! 18+!, dirty talk, p in v sex, oral sex, fingering, praise.

Patrick stared at Liana as if she had fallen from the moon, and she felt her cheeks begin to burn. "Why are you looking at me like that? You were the one who told me to wear a dress!" She quickly touched her nose with her hand. "I'm going to change clothes." She rolled her eyes while he continued to remain silent and stare at her.

Slowly, Patrick's smile widened, and he entered her dorm room. His hand, which was behind his back, held a rose wrapped in clear cellophane and a bow. "You're perfect. I'm just thinking about how to survive dinner without taking off that dress." He kissed her gently on the cheek. "You clean up well yourself, Zweig," she said, unable to hide her smile. "Where are we going?" she asked, examining his unusually polished appearance. A light blue button-down and jeans. Clean shoes. Who was this guy, and what did he do to her boyfriend?

"Since I managed to surprise you? No way I'm telling you now. But we're running late, Lilo, let's go." Patrick felt mesmerized. He really felt he wouldn't survive the black dress combined with the new bangs she had cut and the bright red lipstick. Patrick helped her put on her coat and handed her bag while she locked the door.

"You can open your eyes," Patrick whispered in her ear as they stood in front of the chef's restaurant Liana had talked about on the phone with Melissa three months ago when Patrick was next to her. She had only said that the place belonged to some chef she had seen on TV, and Patrick made a mental note to reserve a spot for them. From that moment, he saved up for their meal. He did a few odd jobs between the courses his parents forced him to take and his training sessions. One of the jobs he did was delivering newspapers. He was utterly exhausted, but the look she gave him now was worth the hassle of the past few months.

"Patrick, we can't. It's too expensive here." She was in complete shock, swallowing hard as he practically dragged her to the entrance. "Happy anniversary, Lilo." He smiled at her, and before they went inside, she stopped and gave him a deep but brief kiss. "How did you know I wanted to eat here?" she asked curiously. "That's what happens when I want to know everything about you." He shrugged without looking at her, as if it was obvious. As if it was clear to everyone that he loved her enough to want to know every detail of her life.

They sat down, and he ordered the white wine she had loved since they moved to London. In general, he thought he kinda admired who she had become since they moved to London. She was so intelligent that sometimes he was embarrassed to join in the conversations she had when he was next to her, even though he knew she would never judge him. He didn't want people to think she surrounded herself with foolish people. He always made sure to go home and read a bit on Google about the topics she talked about that he didn't understand. To know more for the next time he saw one of the people she had talked to. So as not to embarrass her.

"Are you happy?" he asked when they entered his apartment, and she took off her shoes. They were both full and slightly tipsy. He felt a warmth in his stomach that didn't characterize London's winter in any way but did characterize Liana. "You know that even if we had been sitting in the pizzeria across from your apartment, I would have been happy, right?" Her smile was wide and sincere. "Let me," he murmured, seeing her struggle with the buckle of her shoe. "You don't have to—" she replied, but he was already on all fours in front of her, smiling one of his softest smiles, the gentlest ones that she knew were reserved just for her.

Patrick took off her shoe and started planting small kisses on her leg, making her bite her lip while she ran her fingers through his curls. "You're so beautiful, Lilo. Everyone in that restaurant was jealous of me." He murmured, and she felt his breath on her pussy. She knew he saw how wet she was. How much she wanted him. How she always, always wanted him. It could have been embarrassing if she didn't know he wanted her just as much.

"What do you want, Liana?" he asked, partly to tease and partly to hear her demand what he already wanted to do. "Your tongue. Please." She found herself almost trembling as his strong hand steadied her. He gave a small lick over her panties and then couldn't resist sucking on that spot with a force that made her moan and him growl.

"So wet, sweetie," he mumbled, suddenly pulling down her panties but leaving them around her legs, making it hard for her to spread. One hand held her ass, and the other stabilized her left leg while his tongue explored her from the inside. "Fuck, Pat," she managed to say through a quiet moan, struggling to breathe and talk at the same time. His skilled tongue explored every inch of her, his lips pulling and kissing while he drank every drop she released.

The hand that held her butt gripped harder. Liana was sure it would leave a mark for days, but just the thought of it could bring her to the edge, while the hand that was on her leg joined his lips, and three fingers at once made quick movements in and out. Liana couldn't control the volume of her moans anymore and almost screamed.

"Atta girl, give me everything you've got. I want the neighbors to hear when you come on my face, Liana, do it for me," he almost begged in a half-broken voice but still maintained authority while he continued to eat her out. Liana's eyes rolled back as she screamed his name, stabilizing herself by grabbing his head uncontrollably, causing him to groan almost as loudly as she did as she came on his chin.

Patrick stood up, not leaving her for a moment because he knew she was struggling to stand steadily right now. He almost dragged her to the bed, finally removing her panties and unzipping her dress. "The dress has done its job, I don't want to see it anymore," he muttered and threw it to the floor with mock defiance while undressing quickly.

"I want you so much, Liana. Fuck. I've never needed anything like I need to be inside you," he said, planting long, sloppy kisses on every part of her he could reach. His hand played with one of her nipples while giving her a moment to recover from the orgasm she had just experienced, to avoid overwhelming her senses. "Please, fuck me. Patrick. Please," she begged, and he smiled. "Not tonight," he said gently, moving her sweaty bangs from her face and seeing her eyes widen, showing disappointment. "Tonight, we're going to be one of those disgusting couples," he continued, kissing her cheek and then the other. "Tonight, I'm just going to love you. We're making love tonight. Tomorrow, we'll fuck. Okay?" he asked.

Liana was so surprised because it was uncharacteristic. Everything with Patrick was rough and blunt and almost jarring to those who didn't know him. Borderline disgusting to outsiders. He could spit in her mouth, and she would swallow it. He could slap her while his cock was down her throat. Use her holes as if she were his personal toy, and it was perfect. Sometimes it was all she wanted from him. All she never knew she wanted. She loved everything he loved. Any request that seemed excessive to someone else, Liana wanted to perform excellently. She wanted him to pet her and tell her she was a good girl because she made him feel so good. But she was sure she couldn't make Patrick feel better than he made her feel. With him, she felt seen. Complete. Like she never had before.

And suddenly, he was lying above her, full of tenderness and peace. Not wanting to fuck her but just to love her. As if they weren't the same things. "Okay," she answered him. "You're so good, Liana," he mumbled as he slid his cock all the way into her, and they both sighed, making the most desperate moans possible.

Patrick moved slowly and deeply. His gaze never left hers except for the moments he had to close his eyes, or he would come too soon. He wanted to hold on to this night. Prolong their experience as much as he could. "I love you so much," he said, feeling her clench around him. He had to stop himself from thrusting faster and harder. He wanted to be gentle with her tonight. He wanted her to know how much he appreciated her.

"I love you more," she replied, and he knew it was bullshit because there was no way anyone in the world loved someone more than Patrick loved Liana. Instead of arguing with her, he pressed his lips to hers. She clenched around him again, and he knew she was close. "Look at me, Liana," he mumbled, forcing himself and her to open their eyes.

"Fuck, Pat," she managed to say before she came. "I know, Lilo, so good. Fuck," he said and came right after her. His body weight enveloped her for a few lazy minutes during which he didn't pull out and kept planting small kisses on her shoulder, where his head rested.

"Happy anniversary, Lilo. I love you," he said, and she smiled at him, looking at the man lying next to her in bed. On the one hand, not believing they had already been together for a year, and on the other hand, feeling like they had been this way their entire lives.

Send me more requests about the story and from time to time I'll get to write some extras like this one. Hope you liked it. Let me know 💜

taglist: @suzysface tqd4455 @soberbabes @nina357 @lamoursansfin @marley1773 @ruyaas-world @apolloscastellan @primlovesdilfs @fangirl-kimora @serenadingtigers @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @ganana @yoitsme-04 @swetearss

[blacklegsanjiii]

Ohhh!!! I hadn’t known about the vivre card.. that’s so good. Them slowly learning emotions is just as interesting.

I can only imagine 124ji get told to be careful around Sanji as early as possible because once they start roughhousing, it’s stuff that can break his bones no sweat, and they kind of need a framework to not crack their brother in half by accident. But they internalize it a little too hard. All they take away is that Sanji is FRAIL in general, and the idea that they are fundamentally different. Not in a negative way, but they start clinging to him and stopping him from doing things because they don’t have a gauge for what’s safe for him, just that they three are a lot tougher than him and thus they extrapolate They should be the ones doing things. When they’re very young it’s not for any particular reason, they haven’t really gotten there in terms of learning empathy. So it’s for some stupid reason, like them having come in a set of four and it being kind of awkward if they lost their third.

Sora and Mihawk have a hell of a time trying to correct that behavior because that wasn’t what they wanted the kids to take from it at all, but at least it’s better than the alternative, and eventually they get it to stop for a while… up until they start learning some emotions and identifying the ones they have, even if they’re muted.

They figure out they love their brother. They love the rest of their family, too, but they’ve never been presented to them as frail the way Sanji was. So they start doing the clinging again because they figured out that with this realization that they love him, the idea of ever losing him or having him be out of commission just becomes unsettling and uncomfortable. And this time Sanji is the one who gets them to stop— he wants to be independent, damnit!

By the time they’re adults it’s mostly gone away, but it’s an old habits die hard thing. There’s all these little movements and gestures they do when Sanji’s around that indicate they want to, but they’re holding themselves back. They get that their brother is now strong, maybe even as strong as them even if he doesn’t have an exoskeleton, and he’s competent and happy and does things on his own no issue, but the instinct remains.

(ALSO SORRY THIS ASK IS SO LONG!!! I’m a writer in my own right, and your stuff inspires me a bunch at times -v-)’’ )

NO PLEASE THAT MEANS SO MUCH DON"T APOLOGIZE!!! I AM SO FUCKING HONORED???

So 124ji, for as long as they can remember being corrected from climbing on Sanji or hitting him or kicking him. Sanji cries when they do it but they don't. They don't get it for the first few explanations that Sanji is softer than them, not as sturdy. So 124ji are confused because why is Sanji so frail? They're all the same! Except Sanji has a picture like Mama and Papa but his isn't colorful. It's pretty though! So they start internalizing Sanji being frail and fragile. So they start not letting Sanji do things. If they hear any chastisements from their parents they don't let Sanji do those things anymore. Cracking eggs with Papa? Nope! Climbing to sit on the back of the chair or whatever? Not allowed! They're a set and you can't break the set!

Sora and Mihawk are staring at them in amusement but also knowing they fucked up with the corrections because they won't let Sanji be independent. The little blond is suddenly at the back of the line the kids travel in. He's not allowed to be in the water because he might drown, despite the fact they can all drown-bath time is such a struggle now. It was only because Sanji had waded a tad to deep on the beach without him or Sora or Reiju and now the three of them are telling Sanji he can't take a bath and Sanji is getting upset and looking at Mihawk with teary eyes. So Mihawk bathes those three, drops them off with Sora and Reiju and then bathes Sanji because lord have mercy he has four boys and Reiju's just as bad.

They do eventually correct the corrections so Sanji can be wild and free and cook. It took a while but they're lovely kids, really. They swear. They have their challenges but it's good. Mihawk never thought he would have a family this big so it's nice and he has Sora, something else he never thought he would be able to say. The fact that some nights Mihawk and Sora are pulled into the library with all the blankets and pillows the kids can find and a fort made big enough for them all.

And when they're older and learning emotions? They learn they love their brother and fall back into old habits. Especially when they learn that Sanji is the only one of them with a soulmate. So they have to protect him if someone out there is going to love their brother as much as they do. They all doubt Sanji's soulmate will BUT the point remains! So they fall back into their old habits, if Sanji gets sick they're the ones taking care of him. Any knicks, or cuts or scrapes or anything they bandage. It's almost like they're developing anxiety over but Sanji keeps insisting he can take care of himself. He starts refusing their help and being coddled by them. So they start letting him and living with that unsettling feeling but as they get older it gets less and less, easier to deal with. Sanji knows they love him, even if he is different.

When Sanji goes to work and then joins the crew and it's nice to breathe and fight and have equal matches to him and Sanji loves his Nakama he does. Eventually though, probably post timeskip. The crew is astonished at Mihawk because he's so fundamentally different with five kids and a soulmark he doesn't hide. 124ji are all over their brother as Reiju watches softly and points it out to their mom. They're being good when Zoro and Sanji fight and Luffy flings himself into the blond. Half steps taken then back tracked, jolts of hands that can't decide where to be. The brothers have worked hard okay? They know he's capable and have read the news.

Then the tips of Sanji's soulmark peak above the collar of his shirt, and Niji, loving Niji, sees it's not just an outline but can't tell if it's greyed out or not demands Sanji to take his shirt off so they can see. They're back to being all over the cook as the crew watches.

[sleepingdeath-light]

poly relationship hcs ; jumin & v

requested by ; anonymous (02/08/23)

fandom(s) ; mystic messenger

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; v / jihyun kim, jumin han

outline ; “hi death, i hope you’re having a good day! i was wondering if i could request some sfw poly headcanons for mysme, either for v and jumin or jaehee and zen, whichever you feel like more! thank you in advance <3”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

with partners like jumin and v it’s impossible for you to not be spoiled rotten — they love providing for you and each make sure, in their own ways, that you’re never without whatever you want, need or crave (whether that’s a home cooked meal, a new outfit, supplies for your hobbies, or anything else)

jumin is incredibly protective of you and v, feeling a lot of guilt about what happened to his best friend (and now partner) in his last relationship and what followed it — so he makes sure that the two of you are accompanied by security whenever you’re out and about (overtly if you’re at a public event, like a gala or a fundraiser by the rfa, and covertly by a smaller group if you’re just running errands or going on a date or something else along those lines)

jihyun took up painting again after settling into your relationship and you and jumin are his muses — pretty much all of his warm up sketches are of the two of you (countless expressions, poses, scenarios, moments captured in pencil and pastel and oils and pen and charcoal and…), he takes pictures of you all of the time, makes sure that you know how wonderful you both are, even if most of his art featuring the two of you never leaves your home

jumin leans towards traditional pet names (like ‘darling’ and ‘dear’, when addressing the two of you) whilst being responsive to anything you use for him — including some ‘sillier’ pet names like ‘honey bunny’ and ‘baby’ — whereas v will generally just call you and jumin by you names or, occasionally, ‘my love’ or ‘my loves’ when addressing you both

the three of you go on frequent holidays just to escape the responsibilities of life for a while — jumin, his business, and you and jihyun, the duties of running the renamed rfa — and you go anywhere and everywhere you can (even tagging along on business trips with jumin just to get away for a few days — which he’s always quietly grateful for)

jumin and v are both early risers, with the former having to get up immediately in order to get to work whilst the latter enjoys staying in bed and cuddling for a little while — but neither leave bed without sharing a kiss amongst the three of you (with jihyun even returning later once you’ve woken up with some freshly made breakfast for you to share after jumin has gone to work — or to have with him if it’s one of his rare days off)

you and v will often venture out to jumin’s office in order to join him for lunch, taking the opportunity to spend some much needed time together in the midst of his packed schedule — but if he’s too busy that day you two will just pack him something with some loving notes for him to read between meetings

between the three of you elizabeth the third is absolutely spoiled rotten and you wouldn’t have it any other way — three sets of hands to give her affection, three humans to play with, three pet parents buying her all of the toys and treats a cat could possibly want, and three laps to curl up on when she’s tired (what a life!)

when it comes to kissing — jumin always kisses you passionately and never fails to leave you flustered and breathless (he also prefers to kiss your knuckles or your lips), whilst jihyun prefers to kiss you sweetly and chastely whilst making every one count (he also prefers to kiss the top of your head and your wrists)

jumin sleeps flat on his back and enjoys having the two of you cuddled up to him — either against his sides or on his chest — whilst v is a side sleeper who prefers to spoon over anything else, but he’s also happy to have you or jumin resting on his chest if you’re comfortable there

[ducktoonsfanart]

Happy Mother’s Day - Duck family - Grandma Duck with her grandchidren and great-grandchildren - Della Duck with her sons and Daisy Duck with her nieces - Duckverse and Quack Pack - Duck Family in Quack Pack AU

Although I'm late, I certainly wish all mothers, grandmothers and aunts a happy Mother's Day!

Yes, it depends on the country (in Mexico it is celebrated on May 10th, in Britain on March 10th, in some Orthodox countries it is two weeks before Christmas), but generally it is taken on the second Sunday of May and yes, the mother is an extremely important figure in the family because it gives offspring and preserves it and takes care of it. Also, there is a lot of religious significance, especially in the Christian one, when you look at Mary, the mother of Jesus, who took care of Jesus until Jesus started his activity and teaching others. Also, there are a lot of fictional mothers in various literary works, films, plays, comics, video games and cartoons of various genres. Well, it's the same in Donald Duck comics and Donald Duck cartoons, which I'm particularly attached to.

Of course, so that I didn't do anything related to that holiday (and there will be those drawings for sure), I will post earlier drawings like the ones I did last year, only on this blog of mine where I publish my drawings, otherwise I did this last year related to Duckvember themed around mother ducks. I chose three maternal figures from the Duckverse (Disney comics and Ducktales) namely Grandma Duck, Daisy and Della Duck.

The first drawing was related to the 80th anniversary of her first appearance, and I mean Grandma Duck (Elvira Coot). And certainly she is responsible for the development of Donald Duck, as well as his sister and his cousins. And all her children are together, some around her and some in the portraits. Yes, I drew Grandma Duck (Elvira Coot) as I envision her in the Quack Pack version, as well as the rest of the Duck family. Yes, she's alive in my version of the Quack Pack AU, only she's much older, but mostly she's happy to have living descendants around to take care of her. Especially grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

The other drawing I did was Della Duck with her sons, Huey, Dewey and Louie plus Phooey Duck (Donald’s fourth lost nephew) and Daisy Duck with her nieces, April, May and June Duck. Della and Daisy are mother figures to them, and their children are teenagers. Yes, as in the previous drawing, I drew in the Quack Pack version or the way I imagine. I hope you like it. The music that inspired me to draw this I took from there: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BoH89vxiQDk

The family photos and portraits you can see in the background are Quackmore Duck, Hortense Duck (McDuck), Goostave Gander, Daphne Gander (Duck), Eider Duck, Lulubelle Duck (Loon), Fanny Coot and Aunt Gertie. Others in this drawing are Donald Duck, Daisy Duck, Della Duck, Fethry Duck, Gus Goose, Abner Whitewater Duck, Kildare Coot (Sgrizzo), Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck, Phooey Duck, April, May and June Duck, Dugan Duck (Fethry’s nephew) and Shamrock Gander (Gladstone’s nephew). 

You can also see here, since this is my repost of my drawings after all: https://ducktoonsfanart.tumblr.com/post/733931302533955584

If you like this, feel free to like and reblog this, but please don't copy these same ideas of mine, without mentioning me and without my permission. Thank you! Also, to all mothers, aunts and grandmothers, I wish you a happy Mother's Day! Certainly, Grandma Duck, Daisy Duck and Della Duck deserve all the respect from me, as great parents!

[vilandel]

Black Clover Next Generation V ♣️💘

Family Tree of Roselei-Yami-Faust

Time to present this portion of my next generation^^'

Ichika and Nacht first had their relationship in secrecy. One of the reasons was because they wanted some peace and quiet before facing the reaction of their families and friends. The other reason was... Yami being a bit overprotective over his little sister.

Charlotte knew about them way before everyone else, as Ichika needed like a sister figure and advice. Charlotte supported them so much.

She was also the one who hold Yami back the best once he found out. Overprotective brother, especially since... Nacht and Ichika have already done it once he found out^^'

But well, in the end, deep down he was happy for them. Didn't stop him to threaten Nacht and promised to kill him if he hurts Ichika in any way.

Only for Nacht to reply that if he ever hurt Ichika, she probably would be the one killing him. Yami was dumbfounded first, then laughed.

Charlottes mother gifted Yami and Charlotte their very own cottage (actually, a bit big for a cottage, almost a manor) as a wedding present. Locally wise, it is placed like exactly between the places of their own squad bases. Plus, it also has some Hino inspired rooms.

The garden is also a mix of Clover and Hino styles.

When Charlotte got pregnant with their first child, Yami was certain that it would be a girl. It was only until the mid-wife put his baby into his arms and saying "Congratulations, it's a healthy boy" that he realizes that it was a boy.

Their son was given a Hino name, Asahi, which means "Morning Sun". He was called like that in Morgens honor and Nacht is his Godfather.

Asahi is personality wise just like his mother. But he is also very good with the sword and the katana, to his father's joy. He became one of the best swordsmen and fencer in Clover.

Asahi also grows into a handsome lad, he got a Fanclub before he ever got his grimoire.

But he doesn't like that so many girls and also boys are attracted to him, as they only like his good looks and not himself.

Asahi also is since childhood deeply in love with Nymphea Silva (another side he got from his mother^^). And well, his feelings aren't that one-sided over time...

Charlotte and Vanessa are overjoyed about this. Yami and Nozel... not so much, but their love for their children is of course stronger.

When Charlotte got pregnant again, Yami was again more than certain that it would be a girl this time... only to get another son.

Their second boy got a Clover-like name, Clovis meaning "Warrior" (it is a coincidence that it sounds similar to "Clover^^').

He is the only one of their children who got Yamis buff frame. Already with nine years, he was very much big for his age.

Personality-wise, Clovis is the perfect mix of his parents. He also the one who always plays the diplomat when his siblings are fighting... Happen to destroy a wall sometimes to make them stop, but apologizes always immediately.

Didn't got Yamis density, thank goodness.

When Charlotte got pregnant for the third time, Yami was now certain that it would also be a boy this time... Only to finally got a baby girl.

She was named Tora, meaning "Tiger".

Personality-wise, she is totally Yamis daughter. Cursing a lot as well, except when Charlotte is giving The Stare. Doesn't help that Yami encourages Tora with cursing words.

Loves Nozels hairstyle a lot and wants the same one day, much to Yamis despair.

Asahi and Tora are often at each other's throats, with Clovis trying to mend. But deep down, there are almost no closer siblings than those three.

None of them got Yamis toilet problems. But they are always very embarrassed about their father's toilet stories.

As for Nacht and Ichika, given their respective roles, they first had a long-distance relationship.

But they wanted a future and a life together, that wish growing stronger over the years.

With Ryus help, a solution was found. Ichika resigned from the Ryuzen and instead became like an ambassador warrior for Hino in Clover.

They got two children together, twins, a boy and a girl.

The boy got the name Mond while the girl was called Sonne, german words for "moon" and "sun"

Despite their shining names, the new Faust twins are rather gloomy. Mond got a fascination for alchemy (still a much unknown science in the Black Clover world in my head canons) while Sonne got a soft spot for spooky things.

Yami calls them the Dark Lights or the Double Eclipse. He always got a glare when it happens.

Mond and Sonne are never intimidated when their uncle is getting scary, much to his despair and Nachts joy.

Asahi got most of his mother's frame, with her blonde hair in every way, which he wears long with a low ponytail or a low braid; he got Yamis dark grey eyes, though and he got Charlottes Briar Magic, with the difference that he got roses in any color possible. Clovis is buff like Yami and got messy hair like him, but Charlottes hair color, while his eye are a mix of his parents, grey-blue, he got Yamis Darkness Magic. Tora, on the other hand, is physically a lot like Charlotte, but with black long curly hair and her mother's blue eyes, her magic is somehow a mix of her parents, Black Rose Magic.

Mond and Sonne both have black hair, silky like their fathers and thick like their mothers, which they both wear long and free. Mond got Ichikas dark grey eyes, while Sonne has Nachts blue eyes. Mond got Nachts Shadow Magic while Sonne got Ichikas Darkness Magic.

Last point... Don't get the cousins together as a team... The world won't survive it.

[teatimeatwinterpalace]

Like it or not, the one who saved and modernized the monarchy was King George V, not king Edward VII, and this is an undisputed fact that all historians would agree with. After all, It was during the reign of King George V that 13 European Monarchies crumbled to the ground while the british monarchy survived. And it survived because of George V, because of his leadership, his modern statesmanship, his will to embrace and encourage changes, his popularity and the respect that his nation had for him, while he led his country to victory during WW1. He was the FIRST Monarch that brought monarchy close to people, hence why he was nicknamed the People's Monarch or the Citizen Monarch. George reigned during the most difficult times in the history of monarchy and of mankind, but he managed to save his monarchy and to modernize it, setting the path for a Constitutional Modern Monarch*. Your bias cannot change it, because facts dont give a damn about your opinions. A pity that you cannot uplift Edward VII without bringing George down. George wasnt dull, he was quite the character. He was genuine, funny, reproachable, a lover of books and cinema, and most importantly he was a SERIOUS LEADER, who acted exactly as a modern head of state is suppsed to act. Oh and he was a FAITHFUL Husband, he was devoted to his wife and loyal to her throughout their entire marriage. Something that can never be said of Edward VII who was unfaithful and over-indulgent in everything ( Im sure his mistresses would have preferred Handsome George though). If being faithful and family-oriented makes a man dull, than give me dull everyday. Queen Alexandra would've been happy to have married a man like George who never embarrassed and humiliated his wife

Oh my, where does this come from? lmao. Tbh, I deserve this kind of message when it's about Wilhelm. I'm totally biased regarding this rascally young fop (Alexander III said it first!). Badmouthing him is one of my favourite pastime. But George, come on! I never been too harsh with him? EXCEPT, perhaps, when it comes down to the Romanovs, but what can I say? When you don't have a backbone, you really don't…

Yet, I'm a tad puzzled by your message because we are talking about George V right? The one who in April 1905 hadn't seen his children for three months. The one who used to shout at his second son "Get it out" when the poor soul was suffering from stammer. The one who in 1917, while on a stroll in the grounds of Sandringham complained to Nora Wigram that his children always avoided him. Nora retelling this story in one of her letters to her parents said how Mary, David and Bertie became "quite cheerful & entirely flippant, writing their names in the snow" when George and Mary had gone home on said stroll. However, do you know who was ACTUALLY a good father? his cousin *whispering* Nicky.

Faithful yes but let me remind you that their marriage was far from smooth sailing. They lived seperately for months on end. You also must have forgotten the countless letters from George trying to apologise for shutting down, being rude or cold towards May. + May's letters complaining on how he would shut her out. The man was unable to articulate his feelings which led to endless misunderstanding. May who once wrote to George while in Paris : "I quite understand about yr not wishing to come to Paris & am not angry, I only thought it wd be nice change as I find life in general very dull- unless one has a change sometimes." She had wanted him to join her but had received a rebuff instead. May who wrote to his brother in 1900 while she was stuck in the gloomy York Cottage: "It is so dull here & I feel very low & depressed tho' Im pretty well on the whole" (alright she was pregnant at that time, but guess where George was?… out shooting birds).

Led his country to victory during WW1? Hmmm, you really mean George V who was described in 1918 by the Viscount Esher in those terms: "he seems virtually a recluse, steadily devoting himself to good purposes and little works of a good kind, but with not conspicuousness, no assertiveness of the King's position." / "making himself a nonentity" ? While May wrote on 19 november 1916 to her son David about the hospital visits: "They are "assomant" (tiresome) & I dislike them more than words can describe!" and then proceeded to explain how much she enjoyed her shopping trips at Goode's.

I'm teasing because OF COURSE I think George V was a good ruler and perhaps he was the kind of ruler the country needed at that time. He was a great arbitrator and was able to adapt and change despite having conservative views and being very much uneducated. How he dealt with the Irish question is a stellar example! He was an ordinary man who disliked society and suffered from bouts of depression. There is a sentence that struck me in Ridley's book which in my opinion sums up George : "He was a man of disconnected feelings".

I could write PAGES about Bertie's shortcomings and how his shenanigans damaged the monarchy. Yet he was a gifted ruler, very much in tune with his time.

So I guess anon, it comes down to... preference. If you are more into shooting birds and collecting stamps, you do you! I, on the contrary, have a soft spot for cosmopolitan kings with a string of scandals.

Now if you'd excuse me, I'm off painting the town red with Bertie!

[missbadideas]

Too late for goodbyes (Take me back)

It feels as if the days have been moving slower as of late. Every moment feels dull, dry, and Misaki has been rejecting every assassination request they've gotten. They didn't want to be around people, they just wanted to bury themselves somewhere and forget their pathetic existence. 

It isn't as if this feeling was new. It came and went, just like everything else they felt. 

(Just like the constant regret and other feelings of inadequacy chasing after them.) 

If they ignored it enough and kept it in a box, it'll go away just like always.  

Their parents had kicked them out. They didn't associate with Misaki a lot, but god they loved Misaki. Misaki knows their parents loved them. Their childhood was good, warm, happy. As much as it could've been, at least.

( Stress, debts, their parents crying. )

Their funeral was some time ago. 

Misaki's phone was flooded with notifications. She put it on silent a while ago, and she didn't want to bother with opening it.

She hasn't opened it ever since they got the news.

They numbly grab at their phone and unlock it, their face being hit with the brightness of the screen. their curtains are covering the window, not letting the sun in.

Misaki scrunches up their nose at the brightness and turns it down, before scrolling mindlessly through the texts their friends sent. 

They almost closed their phone and went back to sleep if not for the text messages they got sent almost instantly.

5 Notification from <Goreboy> 15 Notifications from <Angelic> 12 Notifications from <K9>

They were all asking Misaki for a call. They didn't have the energy to talk to all of them. 

God, Misaki was such a shit friend.

Guilt simmered in their gut, making them nauseous despite not eating for the past few days.

They aren't sure they want to look at the messages. They can't handle this right now.

The phone is shaky in their grip, and their shoulders are tense as they scroll through old messages. V seems to have tried calling them nonstop, apparently. His last message would've concerning, if Misaki could muster up enough energy to care.

( They want to throw themselves down the deep end. They're a useless piece of trash who won't ever amount to anything, never made their parents proud- fucking mistake of a child-)

Misaki doesn't have the energy to cry. They didn't cry when they got the news, they didn't cry during the funeral, and they won't be crying now.

They decide to message in general. 

<Hitmeuppp> I did not live laugh love very much lately Srry pookies <Hitmeuppp> is typing... <Hitmeuppp> Im genuinly sorry though, i didnt mean to ignore you guys, i just dont know what to do with my life lately.  <Hitmeuppp> is typing... <Hitmeuppp> is typing... <Hitmeuppp> My parents passed away.

They feel a bile in their throat, but they swallow it down. That was the hard truth, but it feels different typing it out.

It almost feels real now.

<Hitmeuppp> I wasnt in a goo d spoace and i still dont think I amn if im not online or if i dont commit murders for a while thats why i just need time i dont know, probably if i dont reply for too long though i probs offed myself 

She took a deep breath, their fingers freezing over the keyboard of their phone. They don't know what to do with themselves lately. Was it a joke? they don't know anymore.

<Hitmeuppp> jk jk i wouldnt 

Everything they did was for their parents. They finally helped them clear their debt, they were supposed to reconcile, Misaki was planning on finally stopping their assassinations and genuinely trying.

Things were supposed to get better. 

Call from <Angelic> -> Accept  -> Decline 

One, two, three seconds- Misaki let their phone ring for one minute straight before they forced their shaky finger to press accept.

" Misaki...How have you been?" Angel's voice sounded tired. It reminds Misaki that she doesn't know how the others have been while she's been ignoring the server and all other online activities. They’re not sure how to answer that. “Uh, well, you know! Vaguely shrugs, things are fine. They’re going, I guess.”  Misaki counts one, two, three- and then Angel answers. Misaki can hear her moving around. There’s sounds of traffic, noise- was that Ronin in the background? “ You don’t have to force it…if you need to talk, you know I’ll always make time for you when I can. I’m sure the others feel the same way.” It felt vulnerable, honest, too much so for them. They want to hang up immediately. They can’t- think. Their throat was tight. “ I…- I just wish you guys were here? It’s, It’s stupid. “ “...Give me a moment.” Not ominous at all, nor is it disheartening- sure. 

A knock on the door right after she ended the call. Misaki pocketed their phone, tapping their foot anxiously as they held the handle. They’re not sure they could handle social interaction with strangers, especially after Angel ended the call like that.

" Holy shit, V?" Misaki breathed out, their eyes widening as their grip on the door handle loosened after they opened the door.

V's shoulders looked tense, and he reached out to cover Misaki's hand with his own. " We...I am regretful to hear of your loss, Misaki. My condolences."

They'd gotten close- somewhat, Misaki likes to think, ever since a few halloweens ago. Misaki would even consider them friends now.

" Uh, it's like, totally fine. Not that you killed them or anything." They chuckle, only realizing they're choking down a sob afterwards. Their throat feels tight, and their cheeks are wet.

V looks almost panicked by the sight of their tears. Misaki would've found it a bit funny, if not for the circumstances.

" Have I...imposed? If you'd prefer to grieve alone, that is understandable. I-" He was interrupted by an all too familiar voice. 

" Christ, loser vigilante. We're not fucking off after comin' all the way here." 

" Ronin..." A gentle soft voice sighed. "Despite his choice of words, Ro's right, V. We're not leaving Misaki to deal with this on their own. She's been going through a lot, lately. "

It took them a moment, but they noticed two distinct figures behind him. Familiar wine red hair and a blonde woman. Ronin had one hand in his pocket, while Angel wore a tight-lipped smile. 

" You...Ronin? Angel? you two came? wait, Angel, I was- like, just on the phone with you?? when did you even have the time?" Misaki didn't know what to say. Had they planned this? just for her? 

Were they that worried?

Angel's smile lost some of its tightness, but it still didn't reach her eyes. " I was in the car when we called. We all booked a flight to visit you, since you weren't answering calls or texts. We were...We were worried, Misaki. " 

There's no telling if this will ever go away entirely, grief comes and goes most say.

But for now, things feel like they'll be okay. 

Everything will be okay. ____________ A little rushed, once again gotta study for exams tis a sad life

[celestetcetera]

YOUR TAGS ON MY 14~DONNA/SHAUN POST......FINALLY SOMEONE WHO'S ALSO SO SO NORMAL ABOUT THEM!!!!!!! hello hi....... O.O

YES HI HIII!!! Omg I literally have been thinking about Them nonstop <3 i love me a good queerplatonic situation

sidenote i do believe your post is responsible for my and my sibling's nonstop use of the phrase "queerplatonic V" (which we have been applying to 14~donna/shaun (sidenote we need a cool name for this ship) as well as a few other dynamics in different media. lmao i have a shipping type)

anwyay. here's some of my brainrot Thoughts about them:

Shaun is so supportive of his wife’s newoldfound alien platonic soulmate <3 he’s just happy to see her laugh and smile all the time. where before when she tried to remember she'd get sad and not understand why

Absolutely this fic’s fault but I love the idea of Rose & Shaun being the ones to be like. Oh yeah these guys are queerplatonic as HELL but they'll never notice so they push them together

A special favorite of this dynamic is Shaun making them go on Platonic Date Nights

I also love the idea that the three of them are so supportive of their little throuple that there is simply zero problems with jealousy or whatever. Shoutout to this post that pitches a telepathic alien trying to mess w/ their relationship only for it to fail spectacularly

Honestly it is a tad criminal that we don’t get to see more of Fourteen and Shaun interacting or tbh Shaun in general. I think the Doctor very quickly bonds with the entire Noble-Temple fam

He and Shaun scheme together bc they both know Donna is the most awesome woman in the universe <3 but she apparently DOESN’T so they set up little date nights and such to pamper her lol

Donna and Fourteen tease each other relentlessly they r constantly bickering <3

The three of them also have p much every aspect of parenting Rose covered. Donna and Shaun were already slaying but the Doctor pops in as a fun uncle that helps with her history homework, coaches her through weird metacrisis side effects, and occasionally chats about gender

Sidenote I just love the headcanon that Donna & Rose retain some of the powers from the metacrisis, even though they’ve given most of it up

There’s this one post that was made pre-specials that talks about the idea that Donna vague regeneration powers and I personally like the idea that she can just Do That but never really notices lmao

Also since this is my canon now. Fourteen has the weirdest gender experience of an iteration yet

Obviously the Doctor in general is hella genderfluid but Fourteen doesn’t identify as a guy 100%

They didn’t have time to question it during specials canon and just kinda rolled with the biggest thing that stood out to him, which is being a man again (for the most part) but later on he thinks and observes Rose more and he’s kinda just like. Hmmmm I think theres more to this

Anyway Fourteen uses the/he/they/she pronouns roughly in that order

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 9 - Of Vice and Men

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 8 -- Part 10

Pairing: Mike x Dani x Sy (Yup...) and Mike x Dani

Summary: When Dani finally shows up at Mike's place again, figuring she should really confess her little adventure with Sy, the night takes a very unexpected turn.

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, oral and fingering (f receiving), m/m/f-threesome stuff, drug use (weed and alcohol). P-in-v sex. Some fluff, some angst if you squint a li'l...

Word count: 5.8k

A/N: The first bit was hella inspired by this idea form @marveldcmistress. I wanted to write this as soon as I saw that idea, but it needed a little context. And you get some bonus fucking after it. Anyway, enjoy this little piece of filth. (Or skip it, if this isn't something you're generally into, that's absolutely A-Okay!)

By the by! This chapter takes this fic over 40k words!

“Fuck!” It sounded from the other side of the door. “Fuck! Mike, you dick!”

“Sore loser, Syverson?” God no, it wasn’t true. You dropped the hand you were going to use to knock on the door and seriously considered turning around and walking away. You’d barely talked to Mike for days, and he’d been asking what was wrong, but you hadn’t been able to tell him. How was “I fucked your roommate after an orientation party” ever going to be a message someone didn’t mind hearing? You’d just about die if Mike would all of a sudden confess he’d slept with Ariel or something. 

“Whatever, I’m gonna take a piss,” Sy’s drawl was unmistakable - it had to be him. The remark was followed by heavy footsteps - and the realization that there was no way for you to get out of there in time. The door swung open right in your face. 

“Hi there, Sugar,” Sy grinned before he pushed past you and made his way to the bathroom. 

“Dani!” Mike said, upbeat as ever. He raced to the door as a puppy that was happy to see his owner again after a long day. “Come in! You’re not going home for the holidays?” You explained to Mike that your parents both worked in a hospital and couldn’t get any time off work, so you’d decided to stay put instead of exhaust yourself traveling all over the place.

“You?” You asked as you walked into the room and dropped yourself on the couch. 

“Divorce is wonderful. My mom would rather spend Christmas with her girlfriends and their mid-life crises on a cruise in the Bahamas or wherever, and my dad can’t be arsed to remember he has a son ever since Jessica and her two wonderful daughters showed up in his life.” Shit, you wished you hadn’t asked so casually. 

“It’s okay, Dani,” he chuckled, “I’m kind of glad you’ll be here. Do you have plans for New Year's Eve?” How had this not come up yet? You’d made plans with Sloane and Ari back in September, but they were both seeing guys - casually, but still - so perhaps…

“I was going to go out with my friends, but maybe you want to tag along?” You suggested. Mike looked happy that you’d want him around. 

“If they’re okay with that, I’d love to. We can sleep here, if you want?” 

“Are you avoiding awkward morning confrontations with my roommates, Mike?” You laughed as you shook your head. 

“Oh, one hundred percent.” You had to admit that you appreciated the honesty. “But I guess I don’t have the right, since you were surprised by Sy’s presence last weekend.” God, no! That was impossible! Except it wasn’t, because from that stupid grin on his face you could very clearly tell that he knew. “Sy told me you guys slept together. It’s no big deal, Dani.” 

“No big deal? I’d go absolutely ballistic if you told me you screwed one of my roommates…”

“We can’t all be as chill as I am,” Mike joked as he pulled me into a hug. You were curled up next to him on the couch when Sy came back. You moved your feet in as closely as they would go, but the couch was a little on the small side for the three of you, what with Sy being as broad as he was and Mike taking up a surprising amount of space for someone so lanky. 

“Kill the game, Sy, there’s ladies present now.”

“I don’t see any.” Sy looked around theatrically, and the second he looked away from you you kicked him in the thigh. “Fuck!” He grabbed your ankles and pulled them into his lap, holding onto them firmly when you tried to pull back. The extra space was welcome, but you weren’t quite sure how comfortable Mike would be with you having your feet in Sy’s lap, given the circumstances - especially since you were wearing a skirt, although it was long enough, even in this position. You looked up at him and found him looking down at you. 

“Comfy?” He chuckled when he saw your surprise. “You can just relax, Dani, it’s in the past.” But you couldn’t relax. You were worried about grades, and Sy, and Mike, sad that you weren’t going to be home for the holidays and miserable when you considered that nobody else would be there, even if you did go home, because your parents didn’t have the time. It wasn’t entirely fair, you knew that, but you felt a little alone. And did you mention sad? 

“We were planning on drinking and watching dumb movies, you in, babe?” Mike pulled you from your thoughts, and repeated the question when he realized you hadn’t heard a thing. You nodded in reply; it actually sounded like a good way to take your mind off things. The boys had clearly already started part A of the whole scheme, judging from the several empty bottles on the small table and the faint smell of beer that surrounded Mike. Sy reached into the mini fridge that sat next to the couch and handed you a bottle. Your hand was shaking when you took it from him. 

“Jesus, baby, you need to relax.” It was easier said than done; you were tense from the thoughts running through your head, and Sy’s presence didn’t exactly do anything to help the situation. Then, there was the fact that you noticed that your restlessness was putting Mike on edge, which wasn’t a good place for him to be, either. 

“Mike, go smoke or something,” Sy laughed all of a sudden. Next to you, you felt Mike make some erratic movements that you guessed were intended to tell Sy to shut up. 

“You smoke, Mike?” you asked curiously. As far as you knew, he wasn’t a regular smoker - you’d never seen him with a cigarette in hand, at least - but given his unruly disposition (and by that you meant: ADHD) you wouldn’t be surprised if he sometimes indulged in something more calm-inducing and mellowing than alcohol or tobacco. 

“Eh… Occasionally,” he responded before sending a chilling glare Sy’s way. 

“Like… Cigarettes?” you asked while raising one eyebrow at him. 

“Herbally augmented ones,” Mike responded dryly while he rolled his eyes, as if he was waiting for you to berate him. 

“Got enough to share?” You asked carefully. Mike’s face lit up like a Christmas tree and he nodded enthusiastically. From the looks of it, he wasn’t used to people being chill about this.

The three of you prepared to go outside - naturally, the list of things August would commit murder over included ‘smoking indoors’. When Mike suddenly stood still in the middle of the hallway, both you and Sy bumped into him. 

“Should we invite Geralt?” That one came as a bit of a shock to you, he seemed so… uptight, you had expected more of a ‘just say no’-type. 

“No, you shouldn’t.” The voice - very clearly belonging to Geralt himself - came from somewhere inside Geralt’s bedroom. It made a lot more sense now; turning off those senses was probably a necessity rather than just a pleasure at times. 

“I thought they’d be done by now,” Mike joked softly to Sy.  

“Poor girl won’t walk for a week,” Sy chuckled back at him. From behind the door, you heard someone rummage around, followed by heavy footsteps. Mike ducked behind you - God dammit, it was a good thing he was cute, because he wasn’t exactly a tough guy. 

The door swung open to reveal an agitated Geralt in a pair of black sweatpants - and, from what your unconsciously wandering eyes gathered, nothing else. If there was an eloquent way to describe what you saw, you couldn’t come up with it: Your idiot brain full-on got stuck on “ho-ly shit” and you struggled - hard - to keep your thoughts out of the fucking gutter. Fact the first; Geralt was ripped. We’re talking borderline body-builder level shredded. Fact the second; He was half naked, and it was distracting beyond belief. Fact the third; you had a boyfriend. And apparently, Geralt wasn’t exactly eligible, either - at least not right now. So your staring was completely inappropriate, and you had to fucking stop it. But no matter how hard you tried to tear your eyes away from this beast of a man, you just couldn’t seem to do it. Every time you managed to redirect your gaze somewhere other than his abs - or lower - you found something else to be distracted by. His chest (chiseled, hairy, sweaty and heaving to the rhythm of heavy breathing - as if he’d been… running), his silver hair (falling loosely around his face instead of the usual neatly pulled back style; definitely sex-hair), his thick brows (Dani, what the fuck?). The moment seemed to last an eternity… 

“Michael, Nathan, for fuck’s sake, go,” he hissed through gritted teeth (hot) before he even looked into the hallway. When his amber eyes shot up to death-stare Mike and Sy in the face, they revealed that Geralt clearly hadn’t expected to meet your gaze first. “And Danielle. Hi, sorry.” His agitation seemed to dissipate and with it, his attitude. While Geralt seemed to deflate, Mike puffed up behind you, chest out - chin up, no doubt, but you couldn’t see - and fingers digging into your waist possessively. 

“He used our full names, man, run,” Sy laughed as he made a break for the stairs. 

“After you, Dani,” Mike said through gritted teeth, nudging you towards the stairs with urgency. He lingered behind you for a second. 

“Put on a shirt next time, dick,” you heard him hiss. Was it just your imagination, or was there a hint of insecurity to his voice?

“Shit, this is good,” you said as you handed the joint to Sy, “where did you get that stuff?”

“Leon,” Mike shrugged. He wrapped his arms around you from behind and pulled you close. It was freezing outside, weather reports even predicted snow. 

“Didn’t strike me as the type to deal drugs,” you wondered out loud. 

“He just negotiated a deal with the guys who do,” Mike laughed quietly, “he knew what they were up to, because he’s Leon, and because they’re pretty much full time potheads, they needed him a lot. Gets us a very welcome discount.”

“And by ‘us’ you mean…” 

“I think the words you’re lookin’ for are ‘all y’all’, Sugar,” Sy drawled with a deep chuckle, “but yeah. All of us indulge from time to time.”

“August?” You asked, wide-eyed and giggling. You didn’t laugh because it was entirely unbelievable or something - let’s face it, that man needed to get high more than the rest of them - you just found a lot of things weirdly funny right now.

“When he ain’t got his girl ‘round to slap the livin’ shit out of,” Sy whispered grimly. Your head spun around so fast you hurt a muscle in your neck, but you ignored it. 

“Excuse me?!” 

“Not like that, babe,” Mike said. You felt one of his legs brush past you on its way to Sy’s shin. “And forget Sy mentioned that, it’s none of our business.” He said the last part more to Sy than to you. For someone who was well on his way to having smoked half of that joint you were supposed to be sharing, Mike sounded surprisingly level-headed. After a while, you angrily came to the conclusion that it wasn’t just Mike who hadn’t been sharing. 

���Hey!” You said while reaching for the joint. Your voice was thick with annoyance at being passed over. Who did they think they were, hogging all the good stuff?

“I’m not carrying you up two flights of stairs, baby,” Mike said as he pressed his forehead against yours. The smirk on his face was even dumber than usual - it was fucking adorable. 

“You could,” you pouted. Mike traced your pushed out bottom lip with his thumb before pressing his own lips to yours. 

“But I’m not going to,” he answered when he pulled away. Another soft peck landed on the tip of your nose. You had to admit you were starting to get a little unsure of your footing at times - you could get up the stairs, but maybe not in a straight line. You wouldn’t fall, though, you could do this. 

“Why don’t you go ahead, darlin’,” Sy laughed, “we’ll be up.” Standing outside with nothing more to do seemed like a fool’s game; you were cold and wanted to be under a warm, cozy blanket. Mike chuckled when you sighed reluctantly before heeding Sy’s advice. As the door closed and you disappeared out of earshot, their conversation continued. 

“You’re a lucky man, Mikey,” Sy sighed as he lifted the joint up to his lips, “she’s a damn good one in the sack.”

“You’d know,” Mike laughed. Somehow, he felt more threatened by that little spat with a half-naked and impressively angry Geralt, than by the fact that Sy had actually shagged his girlfriend. Actually, considering the fact that he and Sy weren’t strangers to sharing girls, it maybe wasn’t so strange after all. 

“Y’know what, I’m glad I never asked her number,” Sy sounded very sincere, “y’all are good together.”

“I’m glad too,” Mikey said with his signature mischievous look in his eyes, “she sucks dick like a pro.” The weed was doing its job because the guys couldn’t keep their laughter down. 

“Wonder who taught her that, because it wasn’t me.” The laugh that came from him wasn’t completely genuine, Mike noticed, it was almost as if he was a little jealous. 

“No good with you?”

“Don’t remember her tryin’. And I feel I’d’a remembered.” Sy shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him much. “I was just glad she wasn’t one of them girls that just do it to return the favor, y’know.” That he wasn’t lying about.

“Eh…” Mike scratched the back of his head. 

“You’ve never…”

“Once. High school girlfriend. She told me I was bad and I’ve been kinda scared ever since,” Mike seemed very interested in the color of his shoes all of a sudden. 

“Well, I can always show you what she likes,” Sy half-joked as he dropped the butt of the joint in the ashtray on the windowsill before disappearing inside. 

You were much more comfortable between Sy and Mike now. The three of you had assumed the same positions on the couch you had before; you were snuggled up to Mike, with your feet resting in Sy’s lap. After a while, the chilly air in the room distracted you from the terrible horror slashfest that was going on on the TV in front of you. As soon as you shivered, Mike jumped up and grabbed you a blanket. It was nice, being tucked in between them. Some time later, you noticed that Sy’s fingers were drawing firm circles over the bottoms of your feet; the feeling was nice, and it made you hum and snuggle into Mikey further. He replied by sliding his hand underneath the blanket to your waist. You couldn’t see the meaningful look the two exchanged above you, both thinking about the last thing Sy had mentioned when they’d been outside. 

Sy’s hands found their way underneath the blanket, too, and the circular motions of his fingers slowly worked their way up your calves. It startled you, and you pulled your legs in, crawling further into Mike, lookin up wide-eyed, not scared, but definitely confused. 

“Relax, baby,” Mike said with a cheeky wink - the kind of wink that really only meant one thing; he was in on this… The thought alone turned your pussy into a dripping mess, but something in your mind told you you were crazy for thinking Mike was okay with this. You weren’t even quite sure you were okay with this. That night with Sy had been good, sure, but it had been just that - one night. You weren’t sure you wanted him again - and you were sure you didn’t want to complicate things with Mike, though you weren’t quite sure there was such a thing as complicated when it came to Mike. He generally didn’t seem to do ‘complicated’. And there was one thing about that night you had missed. Something no other guy - not that there had been many in the meantime - had been able to do as well. Something Mike hadn’t done at all… You remembered your conversation with Sloane and Ariel about that hookup - and while Slo’s alliterations had been a little over the top, the gist of it was that you’d spent the majority of that conversation raving about Sy’s incredibly skilled mouth. When his fingers reached the inside of your thighs and Mike’s hands had slowly moved from your waist to your chest, you started to squirm. 

“Shit, Mike, she’s worse at sitting still than you.”

“If I didn’t know any better…”

“I’d say this turned her on.”

“I’d check, but I can’t reach,” Mike laughed. The sound was mellow and thick and it just sounded so delightfully stoned that you couldn’t help but laugh yourself. That laugh turned into a giggle when Sy took that little hint and one hand traveled further up your thigh, suddenly snaking between your legs, pushing your skirt up as it moved up, and up, and up, until the tips of his fingers rested softly against your pussy. You whined when he traced them back and forth along your covered slit a few times and Mike’s hand lazily toyed with one of your nipples through your bra. One finger slipped into your panties and dragged a single line between your folds. 

“Oh, no, she’s definitely into this,” Sy chuckled. This time, you did see the meaningful look that the boys gave each other, and you gasped. Not only were they okay with this whole thing; they’d done it before. You moaned softly when Mike softly pinched your nipple, right at the time when Sy slipped a finger into your wetness. The combination of your high and the feeling of two sets of hands on your skin fueled the fire inside you, and you moved your hips to give Sy easier access. 

“Shit, she really is.” It was Mike’s turn to chuckle. Judging from the situation in his jeans, he wasn’t exactly having a terrible time, either. One finger became two, and though you were more than wet enough to accommodate the added girth, you squirmed when he pushed into you. Mike looked mostly focused on the TV while playing with your boobs, although his eyes darted in your direction often. Maybe he just felt that it wouldn’t make you more comfortable to have him staring down at you the whole time - and he’d be right. Things changed pace when Mikey all of a sudden pulled you up and started lifting your sweater. You gladly helped him take it off. It was Sy’s cue to take off your underwear, which went surprisingly easily. He slipped off the couch, onto the floor in front of you, two fingers quickly finding their way back to tease at your entrance. 

"Please," you sighed before you could stop yourself. The boys laughed at your plea.

"Feel good, baby?" Mike whispered in your ear. His tongue traced your ear and traveled down your neck. The incredible feeling of Mikey sucking on the tender skin of your throat was rivaled only by the feeling of Sy's hot breath on your cunt, which came closer and closer until his tongue hit your clit. 

"Fuck," you spoke hoarsely as you tried to register it all; Mike's stubbled jaw, soft lips and sharp teeth, ravaging your neck, no doubt marking you up with little lovebites everywhere, his slim hands feverishly kneading your breasts, and Sy's scruffy beard scratching between your legs as his tongue lapped away at your clit, fingers curling inside your pussy, pressing against that special spot that made your legs tense up from the intense pleasure. Your hand reached for Mikey's head, fingers tangling with his hair, as the other made its way to Sy's, pressing his face closer to you. Fuck, if he kept this up you were going to cum in less than a minute. You caught a glimpse of Mike's eyes as he looked at your writhing body, right before capturing your lips with his, and realized right then just how much you wanted it to be him down there between your thighs. 

"Baby," you moaned into his mouth, nudging his head down firmly. He took the hint - not that it was in any way subtle - and slid off the couch to join Sy, who must have felt the movement next to him, because he stopped doing what he was doing right before you were about to cum, and pulled away. 

You whined at the loss of friction and pouted as you looked down at the men who were sitting between your legs. They grinned at each other before each putting a hand behind your knee and pushing your legs up on the couch, spreading you wide open. Your brain almost shut down trying to comprehend everything that happened next; one mouth near each of your knees, biting, sucking and licking its way toward your center so fucking slowly it made you want to cry; one side flaring up with the occasional sting of a lovebite, the other plagued by the constant chafing of course hair against delicate skin. Fingers tracing your leg faster in a race to your core that ended with two hands fighting for entrance between your legs, until they ultimately gave up and four eager fingers found their way inside your throbbing heat. They were rough in their enthusiasm, making you squirm when they stretched you a little too far. Occasional chuckles slipped from their throats as they relished the view of your endlessly writhing body above them. They looked at you, each in their own distinct way; Sy cocky and amused - and rightfully so: the arrogant bastard knew exactly what he did to you and every bit of that confident smirk was deserved - and Mikey curious, selfless and eager to learn new ways to please you. You rolled your hips against their movements, fucking yourself entirely goddamn stupid on their fingers as their faces moved in closer. 

"Fuck, Sugar," he chuckled before raising his eyebrows at Mike. "Easy one, brother, she's doing half the work for you." 

Mike's fingers slipped out of you, which would have been very upsetting if they hadn't immediately been replaced by his tongue. You gasped when he found the swollen little pearl that begged so desperately for attention. Fuck, even if Sy was right and you were doing half the work by writhing against him, you didn't give a damn; nothing was going to stop you from fucking yourself to heaven and back on Sy's fingers and Mikey's tongue. It came sooner than expected, and after you rode out your high, Sy's fingers left your pussy and he climbed back onto the couch with you, that cocky grin still firmly set on his face.

"I think she's got another one in her, Mike," he said as he wrapped his arms around you. He didn't try to kiss you, which you appreciated, but he did take a thorough interest in your tits. Fingers dug into the soft flesh of your boobs and circled your nipples. They were later replaced by his warm mouth, gently sucking and biting down on the pebbled skin. 

Mike's rhythm was less stable now that he had both his hands and mouth to worry about, and the contrast with a minute ago turned his moments unsure until his mouth left your skin and he focused on his hands. You weren't having it; one hand twisted itself into his hair and pulled his face back to where you felt it belonged. 

"He's a li'l shy, Sugar," Sy drawled in your ear so softly that you doubted Mike had even heard it. You understood the assignment.

"Baby, don't stop," you whined - with an extra side of extra whiny - as you kept nudging his head in the direction you wanted it to go, "it was so good." The decision to wrap his lips around your clit again was rewarded with a high pitched squeal that came from deep within you. This time, too, you unconsciously helped Mike keep his rhythm by writhing your hips into him. When he made the executive decision to forget about his hands - the right choice; kid just couldn't multitask for shit - and focus on his tongue, you felt yourself on the climb up towards your second orgasm. Fuck, he was good, and the sight of that gorgeous face between your legs was so fantastic that your eyes were glued on him - provided you were able to keep them open, anyway. Your climax approached swiftly, and with a perfectly timed flick of his tongue, Mike tilted you over the edge and eagerly took in every drop of arousal that spilled from you before joining you on the couch. The boys pulled you back into the position you had started your night in - leaning into Mike, feet in Sy's lap - and covered you with the blanket. No one brought up anything else - not even the raging boners they both obviously had. When you tentatively rubbed Mike through his jeans, he just pulled your hand away and shook his head and winked at you.

The whole thing felt like a dream when you woke up in Mike’s arms the next morning, though you couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad one. Slowly but surely, the notion that it had been the worst idea in the history of humanity wormed its way into your brain, and you wanted nothing more than to get out of bed, but Mike was still asleep and he was holding you close. Without realizing it, your quiet panic woke him up. 

“Dani, what’s wrong? It’s early,” he mumbled into your ear. 

“I have to go, Mike,” you said under your breath as you strained against the arms that held you firmly in place. 

“No, you don’t,” Mike said, all of a sudden sounding very alert, “we need to talk.” You knew he was right, but the thought scared you nonetheless. 

“We did that,” you said shyly, “while we’ve only been on one date. With the room… I’m not going to explain why it’s fucking weird.” 

“Did you have fun?” Mike asked. You stared at him in disbelief. What the hell did that matter? “It was weird, Mike.” 

“Did you have fun?” He asked again. From the look on his face you could tell he wouldn’t let that go. 

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “weird but fun.” 

“So think about that. I know I am. We were a little drunk, a lot stoned, sometimes you do weird stuff. Forgive and forget the weird bit, remember the fun bit, you’re good to go.” 

“I guess…” 

“And for the record; you’ve been on one date with me. I’ve been on two dates with you.” You couldn’t help but laugh at that. 

“Hey, there’s that pretty smile.” Mike grabbed your chin to turn your face to his. You loved hearing him say that, it did something to you. Forget the weird, remember the fun, you chanted as you thought about the night before. What about the bit you had been longing for but never got? Your unasked question was answered when Mike pressed his lips to yours and immediately set your insides on fire. After a few minutes, filled with soft kisses on your lips, neck, shoulders and boobs; tongues trailing and tracing; teeth pulling and biting, Mike’s hands started wandering over your body. He was impatient today, which was great, because so were you. After a hasty expedition down your torso, he found you dripping wet - the lovely result of the night before, the dream about the night before, and the few blissful minutes with his mouth all over your body. He looked up at you, grinning widely before dipping his head below the covers and making his way down, leaving kisses and love bites in his wake. For a brief moment, he examined his handiwork from the night before, and found your left leg covered in small bruises. The other was covered in beard-burn, but that went in the direction of his mental trash bin - not his circus, not his monkeys, right? He didn’t tease you, which you appreciated; all you wanted was to feel his mouth on you, and he happily obliged. It started with a few lazy kisses along your slit, followed by a careful flick of his tongue against your already swollen clit. Before long, you were grinding yourself against his mouth again, as Mike eagerly pressed his tongue to the sensitive pearl between your legs. 

“Fuck, Mikey!” You cooed as you felt the pressure in your stomach build. “Don’t stop!” He didn’t. Instead, he unraveled you with his tongue, only ending his efforts when the last wave of your orgasm had passed. If he’d been impatient before, it was nothing compared to him now. He scrambled to grab a condom off the shelf over the headboard, and if putting them on were an Olympic sport, he’d have medaled for sure. 

“Wait!” You said, and were immediately faced with puppy-eyes that belonged to a man who clearly didn’t want to wait.

“Dani!” He whined, really dragging out that last i. As adorable as you found the whole thing, you weren’t blessed with much patience this morning, either. 

“Ok, fine!” You said quasi-annoyed, rolling your eyes at Mike’s very enthusiastic expression. When he didn’t move, you got suspicious. “What?”

“Turn around,” he said, laughing when your eyes widened, “please?” Fuck, those goddamn eyes, you seriously doubted you’d ever be able to refuse this guy: All he had to do was look at you with those fucking puppy-eyes and you were a puddle at his feet. So you listened and turned over on your stomach, getting tangled up in the logistics of legs and bodies and what not. He pulled you onto your knees, taking advantage of the great view of you ass he had this way, being himself and biting you, very quickly, before squeezing and kneading away while lining his cock up with the entrance to your drenched pussy. As previously established; he was impatient. It just turned out that you had no idea just how impatient. With one quick thrust, Mike sank all the way into you. The angle that came with your current position took him deep, a little too deep.

“Ow!”

“Sorry!” His next move was slower, more controlled and it allowed you to move yourself into a better position. “Better?” You couldn’t do anything other than nod and gasp when he slid into you again. 

“Fuck!” This was good, so, so good. You quickly lost your train of thought and threw your hips back to meet Mike’s thrusts. He chuckled at your enthusiasm. His fingers dug into your skin when he gripped you tight so he could pull you back onto his cock himself. Every time his hips slammed into you, the noises that escaped from your throat became more high pitched and louder; you buried your head in a pillow to muffle them but you were fairly sure you didn’t have a prayer that no one else would hear. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered; your entire world consisted of Mike and you, and sex and sweat and this new but incredible feeling of getting railed from behind six ways to sunday - or monday, today was sunday, even though you were entirely convinced you’d be bruised inside and out tomorrow. Who gave a fuck about a little pain, especially when it hurt so good? Whether it lasted too long or too short was a question you’d probably never be able to answer, but when Mike finished and fell down on the bed next to you, your body was glad it was over even though your mind still screamed for more. 

“Just so we’re clear,” Mike grinned at you, “you liked that, right?” Someone should teach the dirty bastard to stop asking these ridiculous questions. You tickled his side, and squealed when he grabbed your wrists. 

“Shit! Yes, Mikey, I liked that.” Despite being slightly embarrassed to admit it, it would take a far better actress than you were to talk yourself and Mike into believing that your racy little performance had been a lie. “What’s it matter?” Mike let go of your hands and looked at you as if you’d gone insane. 

“First, call me a sentimental douche but I think sex is better when everyone involved is having fun,” he said while he poked at your sides, and for a moment you were charmed by the sweetness of that statement, “and second, I’ve never been with a girl who liked getting nailed from behind like that, which is very convenient for me because it happens to be my favorite position. Any further ridiculous questions?” The entire statement was so wildly Mike-esque that you couldn’t be mad at it or disgusted by it even if you tried. Besides, there wasn’t a single part of that statement that wasn’t completely true.

“One,” you chuckled in reply to his question, “feel like having another go at taking an uninterrupted shower with me?”

The second floor bathroom was occupied, and you could see it in his eyes.

“If that’s Sy…” he began to whisper to you before being interrupted by the person on the other side of the bathroom door. 

“It’s not.” Of course it was Geralt. That hearing of his was both scary and amazing. The two of you hurried to the other bathroom, laughing at what had just happened. 

“Do I need to feel guilty about that? Did we just do to him what Sy did to us?” Mike wondered out loud as you got in the shower, still snickering. 

“First, Mikey, we didn’t do anything,” you said as you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him close, “and no. You would have found out if it was Sy, and even if it had been him, you probably would have just come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be funny if he was in there by himself.”

“Are you suggesting we wait until he has a girlfriend, too, and then get him back for that?”

“No. I’m suggesting you shut up.” Had Mike just called you his girlfriend?

-> Part 10

[mud-castle]

(Same nonny) I also saw that Hawk/Squilf would happen as an arranged union, which I am v curious about, especially bc you said the “drama is spicy there”. May I have the tea? Also, who would Dove/Ivy’s second parent be? And - sorry for the question bombardment - are arranged unions commonplace in the DM clans?

Bombard me, I beg.

I'm noticing that I'm treating the clans like miniature kingdoms more and more in Dark Mirror, lol.

The whole thing is messy af right now due to serious timeline issues I'm trynna work out but:

Basically, Leopardstar is on the thinnest of ice with Misty after the whole Tigerclan debacle. Honestly, she's barely treading ice-water with Misty. Leopard's refusal to go with the clans until the last possible minute mostly do to her pride was the last straw. Maybe Reedwhisker is taken or something. So Misty goes to TC and Fire is more than happy to aid.

Having both worked together to take down Tigerstar and Leopardstar, they're like "yo, we should like officially align." or maybe they get a sign or something who knows. This is basically the only legal way half-clan cats can be born.

Anywayyy, the end result is Hawkfrost (eligible because he's deputy) and Squilf (eligible because she's the leader's daughter) getting cat married. Squilf especially does not appreciate this.

Anyway the deed is done and Leaf returns to the clans. A mess of things happen, Leaf discovers she is preggers and leaves the clans a bit before the three are born (partially because she's preggers, but for a number of other reasons.)

Now this area is extremely messy, but it's my favorite. For background, Leaf has always been the favorite. She has a calm mind, and strong presence. Whereas Squilf only has one of those things and is highly prone to impulsivity. Squilf feels she's not treated with the proper respect. So, when Squilf turns out to be barren and knows Leaf is about to have kits, she strikes out on her own and steals the Three. Which is the start of their sibling rivalry to actual enemies arc.

There's also a bit of a parallel with Hawkfrost and Brambleclaw in there. One being the respected deputy of Riverclan, the other a social pariah turned exile, both with the same father. Actually...there could be quite a bit of that with Hawk v Moth and Bramble v Tawny too. Maybe I'll have Moth join Leaf's cause then hmmm.....

Idk who Dove/Ivy's second parent would be tbh. I'm open to suggestions tho.

Arranged unions are made in the case of an alliance between two clans, but with extra assurance. It's a deeper form of allyship. Generally made between the leaders themselves, leaders' kids, the deputy, or a high-ranking warrior with the ability to become deputy. Tiger & Leopard should've gotten married, which should've been everyone's first tip that something was up with this whole uniting thing. No, it's not common, but it is quite binding and shameful for a clan to break.

[afarcryfrommymain]

Far Cry OC Tournament Round 1A

Esther Seed v Orayani Ragadio v Wesley Beltran

Voting and little about our contestants under the cut!

Esther Seed (@vampireninjabunnies-blog)

About: Esther was born on March 20th 1994, in a very small rural community outside of Atlanta, Georgia to the local pastor David Shea and his wife Mary. She's the youngest of three, her sister Sarah is ten years older and Michael is four years older. She didn't fit in very well as a child due to being skipped ahead several grades. Her parents did the best they could to make her childhood a happy one and for the most part succeeded despite their deep poverty. She graduated from Harvard University at eighteen with her Ph.D in Psychiatry, focusing on childhood and religious trauma. Esther participated in competitive archery while in University and was champion three years in a row. She met John Seed in a nightclub not long after, and they dated for a year before she moved to Montana. During that year she'd worked as a social worker but quit from burnout when the systems flaws kept her from saving a child in an abusive home. She and John married and lived very happily for around two years despite her passive aggressive conflict with Joseph. Until one night after an argument with Joseph went too far. She and John attempted to leave Eden's Gate and Hope County but Joseph ran them off the road into the river. Now three years later the Reaping is in full swing, John and the rest of the county believe she's dead. And she's trapped in a bunker by Joseph with her children working to escape. Esther is 5"0, 98lbs, long copper red hair, big brown doe eyes. Fair skinned and covered in freckles with an hourglass figure. A fairly small, delicate woman. She has two tattoos given to her by John. The Seven virtues in latin under her right breast and a small bumblebee with John's initials on her pelvis. Later in her story she has the word PRIDE carved into her left shoulder blade by Joseph.

Does your OC have anything to share?: "Esther is an accomplished archer and equestrian. She is quite good at mounted archery and being as petite as she is she favours stealth and ambushes if she has to fight."

Orayani Ragadio (@broken-balance-baby)

About: She's from the post-canon au of Far Cry 3 where Jason becomes a merc! Filipino Aeta girl, she's also a starting journalist and meets Jason and his team in the middle of a warzone in Southern Philippines. she's very sweet, polite and always optimistic, she also doesn't seem very smart because of that but she is. she knows how to handle a bow and arrow and Jason teaches her how to use guns in their story.

Anything else we should know?: "she's very small! like say about 5'1 or so. so it's possible she could use her size to her advantage LOL"

Wesley Beltran (@stacispratt)

About: wes beltran considers himself a generally calm person, and this is true until his friends are in danger. staci and joey are his only family in hope county, and he'd do anything for them. after the seeds take them from him, his singular goal is to rescue them at any cost. at first, he agrees to help the resistance, because the more people fighting the cult the better, but the second any task doesn't directly help him get joey back from john (his first goal), he'll ditch it. he doesn't want to waste time, he wants to get right to joey, and also get his hands bloody punishing the people who have hurt her. after he gets accustomed to his brand new bloodlust, he prefers to use knives/blades/shovels to kill cultists over guns. it's more personal and painful for them. this is especially so with john seed! killing him from a distance with a gun would take all the reward out of killing john. also, it turns out that john seed's obsession with him scratches a very particular, desperate, life-long need inside wes to find someone who loves him more than anything, and his priorities after he rescues joey starts to blur into something that includes soaking up john's obsessive love forever and ever so he can (maybe, possibly) finally feel so full of love he'll never starve for it again! that's not to say john and wes don't beat the shit out of each other, because they do, most notably at wes's confession where wes beats john over the head with a metal pipe to rescue joey, and at wes's atonement, where john tattoos wes and then wes hunts john down until john gets the upper hand and steals him away to his bunker where, you guessed it, they beat the shit out of each other again. when marshal burke dies, wes blames the resistance. staci suffers near-death torment at the hands of jacob seed, and wes can't reconcile this with the idea that the resistance cares at all, because he's so sucked up in the well-being of his own two best friends. eventually, consumed with his mutual obsession for john seed, wes joins the cult and becomes john's right hand man and favorite chosen. he doesn't particularly take pleasure in torturing or killing innocents, but his loyalty to john has cemented itself and he'd do anything for him, just as he'd do anything for joey & staci. plus they still get to make each other bleed without politics also boomer is his bestie :)

Anything else we should know?: corruption arc through obsessive love babey.