#to be in my room all fucking day I don’t want to be like this but I don’t have anything else to be like

[no-144444]

marco polo- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight

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Things had been a little awkward since coming back to Monaco. Oscar had noticed the way you’d become a little bit more… closed off, or just a bit less talkative. That didn’t bother him. If Oscar Piastri could do anything, he could definitely talk. It took a few days for the two of you to get back into a flow of things, but no matter, he just kept suggesting things you could do together, and you didn’t have anything better to do, so off you went.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“When do you leave for Kigali?” Oscar asked, sipping on his smoothie. You’d think it wasn’t December with the Monaco weather around the two of you. You and Oscar had decided to go for a quick training session (in the form of a swim) before you left for the awards. The FIA prize-giving. The one night of your life that, if you could, you’d pay any half-good impersonator to be you, and you could fuck off and enjoy your break. 

That, alas, would not be happening this year. You had to go. You were World Champion after all. 

“Tomorrow morning I think,” you huffed, swiping your card into the gym. “Want to come by any chance?” you asked, awkwardly. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a date?”

You rolled your eyes, walking away. “I don’t want one,” you sighed. “I have you.”

And with that bombshell, you walked into the women’s dressing room. 

He genuinely didn’t know what to do for a solid minute. He just stood there, his arms out in front of him and his jaw dropped. One of the gym employees had to ask if he was alright. He went into the changing room with a lot on his mind. You hadn’t meant it like that, surely? 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You hadn’t meant it to sound like that, really. You just meant, ‘oh, I don’t want to bother with asking someone to go with me and dealing with the online chatter about the prospects of my dead dating life, and you’re here and my best mate and people know we’re mates so that’s easier and I’d have much more fun with you anyways so yeah’, but you seemed to have a way with words. A way that made everything coming out of your mouth to him, deeply, deeply awkward. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He honestly couldn’t get over the earlier comment, but when you came out in a bikini, his brain stopped altogether. 

“25 metre pool… 40 laps?” you suggested, pulling on your goggles. Granted, the goggles made you look a little bit less sexy, but much more you, and he felt his shorts get tighter again. 

“Sounds good,” he nodded, following you into the pool. That did not sound good. Oscar was a good swimmer, but you went every day you could. He was fucked, but he didn’t notice that since he was too busy staring at you. 

You enjoyed swimming, you found it relaxed you. Your favourite was sea-swimming, but Monté-Carlo beaches are pretty swamped with fans, and you don’t enjoy people taking pictures of you in your swimming togs. You shot off in the pool, a simple breast stroke as Oscar followed behind you. After about 30 minutes, you’d done 46 laps, and Oscar had given up halfway through and had somehow ended up in a marco polo game with a few kids. When you walked over to get him, you sat at the edge of the pool, watching the game with a soft smile on your face. 

“Is that your girlfriend?!” one of the girls gasped. “She’s so pretty!”

Oscar opened his eyes and smiled when he found you, then he looked back at the girl. “She is, isn’t she?” 

The girl swam off again, giggling as she swam around one of her friends. He didn't deny it. He didn't try to correct her. He just smiled and agreed. As much as every voice in your head screamed that he should be ashamed of you, he never was. He wasn't ashamed of you

“You playing?” one of the teenage boys asked, coming up beside you and holding a hand out. 

You looked up to Oscar who smiled and nodded. “I’ll be on again,” he promised. 

You grinned. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Marco?” he called out. You’d both been playing with them for about 20 minutes, but you were genuinely having too much fun to notice. 

“Polo!” you called back, and he could hear the smile on your lips. God, it was good to hear you laugh again. The last triple header had been nothing but work (except from the party but he hadn’t had gained the courage to talk about that yet), and it was nice to see you let loose. 

He reached a hand out and brushed your midriff, making you laugh, and he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his arms, opening his eyes as he laughed with you. He loved this, loved you, loved being around you.

Your giggles died down, as did his and you smiled at him, looking up. “Alright?” he asked, pulling his arm around your shoulder as you both turned back to the kids. You nodded at him as they started explaining the next game to you both. You didn’t mind how his hand stayed around your shoulder. You didn’t mind it one bit. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You ended up back at your house, enjoying the setting sun as Oscar cooked dinner on your barbeque. You were busy staring at your garden while he was busy staring at you (and the dinner). 

“I meant it earlier,” you told him, joining him beside the grill. “I want you to come to the awards.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Take someone else,” he insisted. 

“Who else would I take?” you questioned him. “Some random male celebrity who everyone will think I’m dating?”

He tried to ignore the fact that the thought of you with someone else made his stomach flip, but he couldn’t really. He turned to look at you. “People think we’re dating.”

You stared abc at him for a second, then rolled your eyes. “That’s different.”

“How?” he pushed. Again, you just looked at him. It was weird. The air changed. 

“It just… is,” you said, your voice small. “Look, if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. I was just asking because you’ve really been the only person there for me, and I think the trophy is as much yours as it is mine,” you huffed. 

He stilled for a moment. Of course he was going to go, from the second you asked. He’d literally do anything you asked. He just… he wanted to give you an out, just in case the offer wasn’t genuine. He was happy to say that it was. And he planned on taking it. 

“Of course I’ll come,” he smiled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders again, and pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. “I love supporting you.” 

The both of you stilled. Your stomach churned and he just couldn’t believe what he’d done. He hadn't even meant to, it was a complete accident, but it happened. He liked it. He loved days like these, and he hoped that he hadn’t just fucked everything up with one little action. You honestly held your breath for a few seconds, shock taking over, then decided that it was alright, and leant into him more. 

“Thanks Osc.”

Like he’d said earlier, whiplash. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar was an ‘Airport Dad’ in the worst sense of the word. He made sure you two got to the airport 3 hours early (you were flying private), made you triple check your passport and boarding pass three times before he let you get out of the taxi, and demanded the window seat you were sitting in even though it was a private plane. 

The plane ride was enjoyable though, a night of playing uno with him, Max, Charles, Yuki, and George. 

“He’s cheating!” George argued, slamming his cards down after Oscar won a fourth time. 

“How?!” Oscar laughed, arguing back as both Charles and Max rolled their eyes at him, throwing their cards on the table. 

“I don’t know, but he’s doing it!” George seethed, getting up. “I’m getting another drink and by the time I get back Y/n, I expect your race engineer to be sorted out!” 

You laughed at the exchange, taking no sides. Oscar turned to you with a bright smile and roll of his eyes while you started fixing the cards up for the next round.

“You two are insufferable, aren’t you?” Yuki sighed. 

“What do you mean?” you scoffed, throwing a card at him. 

“I’m so single!” he groaned, letting his head rest on the table. “You two keep reminding me of that!”

Max laughed as Lando groaned again, and you gulped back a shocked chuckle. Oscar excused himself to the bathroom for a moment. 

“We’re not dating,” you reminded Yuki. 

He scoffed. “Yeah, it’s not like he’s madly in love with you or anything as well then,” You stared at him for a moment and he rolled his eyes. “I mean come on! The way that man looks at you? It’s insane!” 

You shook your head, brushing him off. “We’re friends, nothing more.” 

“Oh sure.” 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You all landed and were driven straight to the arena to get ready. You were immediately thrown into makeup and getting dressed, and basically separated from Oscar because Max stole him away. 

You were nervous, there was no point in lying about it. You hated making speeches, you hated being on stage, and you hated being celebrated. You knew you just had to remind yourself that Oscar was somewhere in that audience and he was there for you. He didn’t care what happened, he’d sit there with a smile on his face no matter what. 

Knock knock. 

“We want to see the dress!” Max called from the other side of the door. Good thing you were almost ready. You smiled awkwardly as you opened the door, trying to show off the dress but it just ended up looking like a weird pose. Oscar’s jaw dropped anyway, but you didn’t see since Max was busy pulling you in for a hug. 

Oscar’s slacks got a lot tighter as he watched you in the dress, and he realised the night had become nearly impossible, but he’d do it for you. It would just be slightly tortuous. The way the dress clung to you made him crazy. The red, a stark contrast to the regular papaya racesuit or dark workout clothes he was used to seeing you in. It was maddening how badly he wanted to just reach out and smooth a hand on your hip, or just run a hand through your perfectly styled hair. You were goregous, to put it simply.

“What do you think?” you asked, your voice uncomfortable. 

He smiled down at you. “I think you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “I think you’re always beautiful.”

You wished he didn’t say the sweetest things. You still felt like you didn't deserve them. 

He knew you did.

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[dementedkittenribbon]

Rafe Cameron with his neurodivergent girlfriend! (Based on my own experience!)

18plus only!! Smut!! Daddy kink!!

You were hyper focused on the movie as the night went on, informing Rafe facts you’d learned by hours of research on your own time and he listened best he could. But you didn’t notice his hand lingering around his crotch. Not until the movie was over and you had laid flat on your back with him next to you. You felt him shift and you grew quiet. Your own needs rising as Rafe switched his LED lights on a dimmer setting. His fingers drifted to touch your arm, tracing your skin as he looked at you.

“You’re driving me insane, doll. I feel like I’m gonna fuckin bust in my pants.” You swallow and stare at the ceiling.

“Driving you insane?”

“Yeah. Your body is perfect. Shorts barely covering your ass and tits bouncing. You don’t even have to try. I’ve been thinking about you staying here for days. I jerk off about it.” He admits without an ounce of shame and your face heats up.

“Me too.”

“Yeah? You finger fuck that wet pussy thinking about me?” Rafe asks, his voice growing lower and you nod. Play with that pussy then you’re gonna cream on my dick.”

You suck your fingers, getting them damp before you tug down your shorts and panties. Your cunt clenches as you circle your clit, wetness pulsing as you feel Rafe take his cock in his fist. You slide two fingers in easily, your body accustomed to this as you pump them. You moan as you hear Rafe pant and feel him roll his hips.

“Ah, fuck. Something about you alone in your room, fucking yourself while you think about me.” He strokes harder before he finally breaks and pulls you on top of him.

Your legs straddle his lap, his hands gripping your ass as he pushes you down on his dick, he sits up and you tear off his shirt. Your fingernails lightly dig into his chest. You take him to the hilt, your right hand moving to play with his balls.

“Look at me,” He orders and you bounce on his cock, avoiding his eyes but he refused to let it go. “No. Keep your eyes on me, princess. I wanna see how it good it feels when you cream on my cock,” he growls and you obey him as you grind down.

He massages your tits as he helps you, your movements growing sloppy as you get closer. “Rafe-it feels so good-“ You stammer and he grunts.

“Yeah, babydoll? You like it when daddy fills you up? You like being a greedy little slut for me?” You nod with a whimper and he slaps your ass hard. “Cum for me, princess. And then I’m gonna fucking pound you until you’re screamin.”

You cum all over his dick, whining as you shake and your vision goes white but he’s relentless as he flips you on your back. His hand around your throat. He lifts one leg over his shoulder, getting a deeper angle and thrusts harder.

You shriek from overstimulation but your hands clutch his shoulders. “Open your mouth,” He says and you do. He spits inside, “You’re such a good girl, baby. Taking me like a fucking whore,”

“Mhm, needed this so bad, daddy. I want you to cum in me, want it to spill out and soak the bed.” You beg and he moans, tightening his grip on your neck, keeping your eyes on him.

“That’s it, princess. Proud of you for talking through it,” He huffs before he cums in you, the headboard slamming against the wall and your pussy squelches. He lets go of your throat, hands on either side of your head as he fucks through his climax.

“Fuck, princess. Squeezing me so hard, your cunt feels so good,” He praises and you blink rapidly as he pulls out, pumping his dick and cum drips on your tits. “Messy little slut. I want you to get on all fours. Gonna cum on that pretty tattoo on your back.”

[mujingsi]

hi hali i promised annotations and i am here to deliver. but FIRST OFF. short and sweet playlist that i curated for this fic:

fly as me - bruno mars, silk sonic wide open (foreword) - niki saturn - lyn lapid you weren’t meant to see that - the rare occasions get it - keshi tsunami - niki nocturne (interlude) - laufey take a bite - beabadoobee

this fic is genuinely my roman empire and i think of it so so so much. thank u for putting ur whole writer-ussy into this. okay here we go,, Be prepared for a lot of incoherent rambling, dumb annotations that make no sense, and screaming.

It’s a bit of an overreaction, especially for a team who just dispatched a Category Four kaiju. But it doesn’t matter. Xander isn’t Jihoon’s first co-pilot and he won’t be his last. They rarely last long, a cycle of Rangers who cannot stand to work with him for more than a few fights. Jihoon examines the scratches on his suit, thinking that he needs to get it buffed while the Marshall deliberates how to answer Xander’s demands.

⤷ this is so fucking hot of him. ok sorry

They do that a lot, so in sync that despite the fact that they’re two different people, sometimes Jihoon feels like he’s talking to one. Wylie is a little shorter than Chan, but just as furious in personality and attitude. She leans against Chan, cocking her head to the side. It’s not a conscious movement but an instinct, her body naturally attaching to her co-pilot’s. Jihoon knows that level of closeness well.

⤷ JM SO IN LOVE WITH CHAN AND WYLIE YOU WILL BE HESRING MORE ABT THEM FRKM ME!!! theyre sooo in tune w it h each other and just the JUXAPOSITION OF THEM WITH JIHOON WHO LITERALLY JUSTTTT LOST A COPILOT LITERALLY MAKES IT EVEN MORENPERFECT !!! i will take anyyy wylie and chan crumbs im so so so serious <3

He trails to the shower, tossing his clothes in the hamper as he does. Leaving the lights on so it’s only the dull orange glow over his bed, he turns on the shower as hot as it will go. It takes a second, but soon steam is filling the room, choking him as he slides under the stream of water, sighing as the heat of it burns away any lingering frustration for the day.

⤷ Oh my god idk i can literally VISUALIZE THIS SO WELL I CAN HEAR THE SPRAY OF THE SHOWER AND HIS HEAVING SIGH AND AND

“Ever heard of foreplay?” you grunt, helping Maya out of the giant mech behind you. She shoots you a thankful grin, taking off her helmet. Her face is flushed pink, hairline sweaty. “You really just dive in dry, huh?”

⤷ all i’m saying is that this is me. LMFOAODOEKSD

Storm Breaker. It’s a good name for a jaeger and it matches the profile. She’s built to withstand the brutal waves of the deep ocean and the onslaught of a high-category kaiju. Your interest is piqued, curious about Storm Breaker and her brutal pilot.

⤷ everyone stay calm. it’s happening. ITS HAPPENING

Somewhere behind him, Jihoon hears Minghao shriek. “She bit me!” Scratch that. Maybe Wylie does bite.

⤷ LMFAOOOOO I LOVE WYLIE i wanna be friends with wylie and chan so bad I LOVE THEEEMMMM

“My new drift partner,” Seokmin sighs dreamily. Soonyoung and Seungkwan smack him at the same time, offended. They’re one of the few triple pilot groups, operating a massive piece of machinery made for slaughtering and hammering down on high-grade kaiju. “What? Look at her!”

⤷ BOOSOOKSEON COPILOTS!!!! I KEEP FUCKING WINNING!!!!!!!!!!!!! god i can already imagine the chaos,,, i just LOVE how youve characterized them all <3

A collective hum goes through them. All of them recall that situation, but no one says a thing. The weight of Cherry’s absence sits heavy on them - even Jihoon misses her a little.

⤷ I LOVE WHEN FICS REFERENCE ESCH OTHER LIKE THIS IS LITERALLY SOOOOOOO GOOD UGGHHHH THE TIMELINES ADDING UP <33 i need to put the cherrybomb fic on my tbr!!!! bro im being so serious when i say ive never even consumed pacific rim AND YOU MAKE ME WANT TO CONSUME THE MEDIA PLSDLDFKGF

Lee Jihoon is prettier in person. You don’t know why it’s the first thing you notice as you watch him walk across the training center. He’s dressed in fitted cargo pants and a racing jacket over a t-shirt, emphasizing his broad shoulders. His hair is bleached and pinned into a low bun, some of his bangs hanging in his dark eyes. He doesn't notice you watching him as he nears an empty mat, shedding the jacket.

⤷ everyday i thank the universal super being that hali wrote long blonde haired jihoon. like r u kidding me. just look at this paragraph. everyone say thank you hali. thank you hali

“So are you my new co-pilot?” a soft voice startles you and you turn to see that Jihoon has snuck up on you. His eyes are darker in person, entirely consuming as he looks down at you with a cocked head. His blonde hair sticks to his forehead, pale skin covered in a sheen of sweat. “You must be, right?”

⤷ i like how this can be read as jihoon either being taller than reader OR him thinking better of himself than them, therefore “looking down” on them (shakes like a chihuahua) (i know its most likely the former but STILL i like it. i like how it can be read as physically or metaphorically.)

Your intuition tells you that you’re perfectly matched, fighting style so similar that it’s hard to get a hit in - you won’t get a hit in, too in sync with him to out maneuver him.  So you deviate.  Instead of dodging a smack to the ribs, you let him hit you. His surprise is so apparent that he breaks his concentration and you strike, foot sweeping behind his ankle and pulling, knocking him from his feet. Jihoon goes down hard, breath leaving his lungs as you pounce, pinning him.

⤷ ooohhh.... so reader is LIKE THAT!!! I CAN ALREADY SENSE THIS IS GOING TO BE SO OOOOO GOOD. im eating my fist

Jihoon huffs underneath you, shaking his head. You’ve still got him pinned, your palm pressed to his chest and your knee planted in his stomach. He glances away from you and you become aware that everyone has stopped to watch the two of you spar. And you’re still on top of him.

⤷ AAUAEUEHEJEUEHRHEHEHWUEUE HES UNSETTLED!!! HE DOESNT LIKET HAT READER IS GOOD AT WHAT SHE DOES!!!! I’m going INSANEEEEEE!!! bro the palpable TENSION,, THE TENSION BETWEEN THEM IS SO FUCKING INSANE AND THEY JUST MET,, please let this be a she falls first but he falls harder FUCK!!!!!

Jihoon snatches his phone and locks the screen, putting it face down. He scowls down, feeling his heart flip a little. Your scent drifts over to him at your proximity, a mix of amber and jasmine. It’s already familiar to him, having caught the scent when you pinned him down earlier, hand pressed to his heart-

⤷ THE TENSION IS SO FUCKJNN HGOODOFFDDJFKROWOWA

You’re pretty. He’s had attractive co-pilots before. That’s not new, nor has it ever bothered him. Something about you draws the eye, though. He thinks it’s the aura of confidence you give off, effortlessly comfortable in your skin and your situation, despite Jihoon not making it any easier on you.

⤷ once again guys. HE WILL FALL HARDER!!!!!!!!!! AND I AM GOING TO DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BUT JN A GOOD WAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Seungcheol relaxes, and though he doesn’t introduce himself, he’s not unkind to you. Jihoon feels a pang for the pilot, knowing that the last year has been difficult for him. Cherry left Seungcheol adrift without a partner, and he’s been unable to find someone to replace her.

⤷ once again hali this is literally like. so insane how easily u are able to reference and bring alt fics into this,,,, like i am SO curious about chan and wylie’s relationship as well as cheol and cherry’s like it’s just SK GOOD AHHH

“Tchaikovsky was inspired by Mozart.” “I didn’t say one was better than the other.” You smirk. “You don’t like differences of opinion, do you?” “I always value opinions. Some more than others.” “Mhmm. Where can I put my things?”

⤷ screaming crying ripping my hair out THEYRE PERFECT FOR ONE ANOTHER!!!!! ALREADY BANTERING AND ALL THAT JAZZ

Weather the storm, you think to yourself. Jihoon is angry and capricious, but it’s more to do with his situation than it is to do with you. And despite his snappy nature, there are flashes of him willing to work with you by answering questions, albeit with attitude. You can do this. You can make Lee Jihoon like you. Maybe even respect you.

⤷ really like the mindset reader has it’s just an overall really good way to view life????? and i think it really compliments jihoon nicely

“Are you a coffee person?” he asks, because he knows you’re awake. Of course he does. You don’t answer for a moment, stuck between eyeing the narrow taper of his hips and the question that implies he’s willing to make you coffee. He turns, arching a brow at you. “Now you shut up?”

⤷ I, too, would be drooling. Me too. (barking loudly. snarling. FUCK!!!;!(!;!(!;!;&:&;)

Jihoon shuffles into the bathroom. You hear the faucet turn on and you go back to tilting your head backward under the stream of water, ignoring the sound of him going about his morning routine. In a way, it’s sort of peaceful, the sounds of him softly opening and closing cabinets and the clinking of jars against the counter soft in the background.

⤷ My god it’s so domestic. My hod. mmmm i love domesticity especially in intense situations .... in life or death situations ....... ughhhh the moments of peace and calm ....

“Meditating. Turn back around so we can be back-to-back.” “What? Why?” “Just trust me.” “I don’t.”

⤷ this is me highlighting this passage and making little heart doodles next to it bc i LOVE BANTERRRRR

You roll your eyes at the barb but grin when Jihoon listens, twisting back around to face the front. He lets you settle against him, the warmth from his back melting into yours. He is rigid, his spine solid as it digs into yours for a second. You lick your lips, feeling electricity shiver down you at the contact, like there’s a spark.

⤷ i need them to jump each other’s bones already

“She did, but it doesn’t make up for what she did. I was her equal, not someone she was supposed to protect.” You look at him and he looks at you, surrounded by your memories in the drift. “I am deserving of treated like an equal.”

⤷ god this entire passage is so powerful i love love when fics give reader Background and Character and mold them!!! and the way that reader is insinuating that they want jihoon to trust her ,,,,

There is a melody to your mind that he enjoys, though he’ll never tell you so. The more you drift together, the more Jihoon realizes that you are exactly like a Tchaikovsky piece. There is an organized chaos to you, a mathematical formula that is logical and measurable, but that deviates from the norm once in a while.

⤷ HES COMPARING HER TO MUSIC

⤷ EVERYOEN FUCKING STAY CALM

Jihoon has quickly learned that the longer he lets you sleep in the morning, the less whiny you are when you wake up. Instead of playing his music out loud, he lets you sleep until he’s made two cups of coffee, adding a spoonful of brown sugar and milk to yours. He sets it on the table and walks back to the bathroom, one of the requiem pieces carrying him through his routine.

⤷ guys it’s so FOMESTIC,,, it’s so FUCKING DOMESTIC IM GENUIENLY GOIGN TO CRY THE ACTS OF SERVICE THE THOUGHTFULNESS THE QUIET FONDNESS FUCK!!!!!!!! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“You want to be an extra set of eyes and ears.” He nods at the accurate assessment. “Got it. Run me through Solar Saber drop stats if you know them.”

⤷ ik i keep saying this but i just really love how reader and jihoon don’t have to. Talk. to understand each other they just,,, do? they just know. they just KNOW

“It looks like that kaiju is playing you like a bongo,” Wylie’s voice comes over comms. “Hey Woozi, do you feel like it’s composing one of those songs you like?” “Oh sure,” he shoots back. “Take your time, Wylie. It’s not like it’s trying to crack us like an egg.”  “Ugh,” you sigh. “Don’t talk about food. I didn’t eat breakfast. Hey Seungkwan, can you ask Joshua to save me some hash browns? He’s always at the cafeteria first.”  Jihoon rolls his eyes. “You’re all insane. Any day now, Fang Striker.”

⤷ PLEASE,,, I LOVE THEM SOOOO MUCH THEIR BONDS ARE SO SILLY!!!!! I am so attached to them <33 love their relationships with each other!!

“So,” you ask the group. “Can we get hashbrowns now?” Jihoon realizes at that moment he doesn’t dislike you at all.

⤷ HES FALLING HARDDDDDD AAAAAAAAJKFDGHJDFKHGFJKGHDFKJG

You’ve adopted a lot of things that Jihoon does. It happens naturally, especially the more you drift. You find yourself putting on Mozart instead of Tchaikovsky or taking your coffee black on accident or scolding others in the training room for not being precise and perfect.  Ghost Drifting is what some call it. You don’t think you’re quite there yet, being that Jihoon still hides half of himself away. But sometimes, even outside of the drift, you feel him in your mind like a phantom presence.

love love LOVE when people are close enough that they leave pieces of themselves in each other < 3 it’s always so good no matter if it’s romantic or not

He doesn’t feel your eyes on him, going about making tea for the both of you. He hums along to the song - you don’t know when he became so familiar with it, his movements comfortable. Practiced. Relaxed. A swell of affection overtakes you, realizing you don’t know when he started making you tea. Or putting on Tchaikovsky for you. Or not biting at you every two seconds. 

⤷ i’m seriously going to bite my fist it’s the way that jihoon is slowly slowly opening up like a terrified shelter cat god i’m so so so in love with how u characterized his character hali omfg

“Five minutes until surface breach.”  “Oh! Hi, Vernon,” you chirp.  “Sup?” “Would kill for a coffee right now. And like, a bagel. Or hashbrowns?”  Vernon groans. “Mood.”  Jihoon snorts but says nothing. Minghao’s voice comes over the comms, soft and cool. “Blue, everytime I drop with you you’re talking about food.”  “Have you considered that Ji doesn't feed me?”  “So it’s Ji now, huh?” “Don’t get her started,” Jihoon grunts at Minghao’s teasing. “One mile out from the line of defense.” Chan joins the conversation, voice chipper. “Fang Striker ready to pursue. Also, good morning everyone!”  Everyone groans in misery collectively instead of greeting him back. Wylie’s voice cracks like a whip as she spits out, “Be nice to him.”

⤷ LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS ENTIRE SEQUENCE i’ve always been SUCH a big fan abt romance stories being more than just the (obvious) romance of the reader and character interacting w one another. the stronger and complex the relationships are w other side characters the better!!! like i can tell sm about ALL characters just from this little snippet!! like there’s so much to be implied here. the insinuation of emperor's mandate and storm breaker dropping together in the past? the implication that hao is catching onto jihoon letting blue in? the soft bullying of chan and how protective wylie is? i love it. love love love

It’s a lie. You know it's a lie because you feel it is as sure as you feel your own glittering satisfaction that he’s thinking about it. That Jihoon is considering opening the door for you, even a fraction.

⤷ oh shut up. oh actually shut up rn. AAAUUUGUGHHHHHHHHHHFJDJSHWHWJAKALEOWOFKR LET HER IN LET HER IBNNNNNN

“There was no reading!” Vernon yells back. “The signature appeared a half second before it attacked like it had some sort of stealth mode!”  “Kaiju don’t have fucking stealth mode, Vernon!” “Maybe it got an iOS update man, I don’t know!”

⤷ PLEAAAASE THIS IS SO FUCKING UNDERIOUS I LOVE VERNON SO MUCH LMFAOAOAODOEODOW

“I guess I’m not so bad a co-pilot after all, right?” He rolls his eyes but you get the feeling the tips of his ears have turned red. “Come on, Ji. Tell me I’m a good co-pilot.” “No way.” “Come onnnn.” He levels a look at you, dark eyes churning. He licks his lips, opening and closing his mouth before he finally murmurs, “Can I show you instead?”

⤷ are you. kidin g me. MY FUCKJNG STIMACH DID THE FUCKJGN FLIP THJNGY HALI FUCK YOU JESUSU HFSJDFFHGCHRIST YJEOWIWOD YEOWLS

Snatches of panic and anger and concern seize you for a split second, it feels like your own but you realize it’s not, Jihoon’s feelings bleeding into you like a fresh wound as you strike at the kaiju again. Its tail loops around the left leg again and Jihoon’s worry spikes, so raw and unfamiliar that when he lifts his foot, you don’t lift yours.

⤷ OH MY FUCKIGN GOD!!!!!! OH MY FUCKIGNG GGODODDDDDDDDD. SCREMAING PULLING AT MY FUCKING HAIR. the first time they are uncoordinated.......... GODD........... YELLINGGUYS

A little boy bullied by bigger kids. A woman being torn out of a home screaming in the hand of a kaiju. The sound of Mozart drowning out the screams of destruction. Young Jihoon crying in his room alone, nursing bruised ribs and knees. Teenage Jihoon fighting back. A man named Haneul that has seen all of Jihoon’s scars.

⤷ its the way im fuckinf screaming into my PILLOW ALL OF THE JIHOON LORE,,,,,,

Hatred when he meets you for the first time. Pride when he makes his first successful drop. Grief when Haneul retired. Resentment when he’s reassigned to a new pilot.  Jihoon screams your name but you are drowning in him. Jihoon’s emotional dam has broken and years worth of who he is comes out in a torrent. Jihoon joins the pilot program because he wants to get away from the home. The smell of books and oil lanterns. Greasy fingers and fumes. A blue mat rushing up to meet him as he falls.

⤷ SO MUCH JNFORMAJTON AT ONCE,,, OH MY GOD HALI. YOU ARE SOOOO GOOD AT WRITING INTERJECTIONS. AT WRITING LIKE. FAST PACED MOVING SCENARIOS my heart is actually beating SO fast reading all of this like i feel so full of suspense and yearning and hoping that everything will be okay

“Shit,” Jihoon swears. “Blue, come on. Come back to me. I’m sorry. Don’t chase my memories!” A kite against a blue sky. Two paper boats on a lake. Your smile as you hang upside down off the bunk bed. Soonyoung giving Jihoon a birthday cake. Wylie in a hospital bed. Jeonghan and Joshua accepting pilots of the year.  “I’m sorry,” Jihoon whispers, both in your mind and outloud. “Come back.”

⤷ this,,,,,,,, this,,!!,,,,,,!!!!!!!!! THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE IS BREAKING THE STORM SHE IS THE STORM BREAKER. fuc k SHE IS JIHOONS STORM BREAKER IM GOING TO SOB MY HEART

You feel your words resonate in him. His affection is startling. He hides nothing from you now, every thought he’s ever had of you, every moment his eyes lingered on you too, every second he realized he didn’t dislike you at all - it’s all there for you to see. His soul laid bare.

⤷ I’m fucjfjnggnot on the floor hali

“So she’ll be okay?” he clarifies again, looking at the doctor with a hard stare. The man tending to your arm looks nervous under the sharp gaze of a jaeger pilot. “You’re sure it’s not broken? It better not be broken.”

⤷ jihoon care agenda,,, ,, , ,,, fuck im so ruined. im such a goddamn fucking sucker for big climaxes that end with character A being so desperate about character B being okay,,,, and you NAILED IT!!!

Back in your room, Jihoon sits you on his bottom bunk to examine the arm himself, holding you carefully as though he can break you at any moment. You let him have this, watching as his eyebrows crease and mouth twists while he rotates your arm delicately.

⤷ chefs fucking kiss chefs. fucking kiss. idk just something about the way he has never been so direct about his attention on blue until now like ru kidding me. its like suddenly all there is in his life is blue and itm akes me want to cry (in a good way)

“You’re not, Jihoon.” You squeeze his arm to emphasize your words. “But even if you were, I trust that little boy too. He was empathetic and kind.” Jihoon glances at you, unsure. “Don’t run away from me now that you’ve let me in. I’ve seen you and I still want you. Unless you don’t want me.” “Of course I do.” “It’s hard to tell with you, you know?” His gaze drops down to your mouth. “I’ll show you, then.”

⤷ my live reaction to this:

Kissing Jihoon is like standing in the eye of a storm. He’s brutal and calm, sharp and soft. His heart beats against yours, his chest heaving when he pulls away from your mouth to press wet kisses to the shape of your jaw and down your throat.

⤷ allusions to storm ,,, he is the storm she broke ,,,,,

“Thank you for waiting for me.” You almost don’t hear him when he says it, his voice so soft. “When you didn’t have to.” Your arms loop around his neck, pulling him closer. His nose brushes against yours and you feel your adoration for him grow. “Of course I did. You were meant for me.”

⤷ you were meant for me. you were meant for me. do you know how much that sentence means to someone who only ever had the textbook definition of love? are you kidding me? you were meant for me. being you means being for me. the meaning of you is to be mine and the meaning of me is to be yours

“Thank you.”  You’re so close to sleep that you barely register what he’s saying. “For what?” “Withstanding the storm,” he laughs. “Withstanding me and waiting me out.” “You’re worth it.” “I hope so. I want to be.”

⤷ hali. HALI. the promise of growth and character development. the sentiment of saying thank you for being there while i was difficult instead of i'm sorry you had to see me while i was difficult. once again the full circle back to withstanding the storm. she IS jihoon's storm breaker. god.

TLDR:

⤷ 10/10. this is absolutely one of my favorite fucking woozi fics out there. the world building, the character dynamics, the romance, the beautiful character development,,,, this fic really has it all!!! its genuinely genuinely genuinely one of my favorites out of the (probably five bajillion) fics i've read. and trust me when i've seen i've read a LOT of fics. i usually don't even reread them (i have a hard time enjoying when i know what happens next) but your writing is so so so goddamn good and keeps me on my toes and always has me wanting more. thank u for sticking along the ride of my crazy annotations LMFAO okay thats all goodbye!!!

Storm Breaker (l.jh)

Pairing: Jaeger Pilot!Lee Jihoon x Jaeger Pilot! f.reader  

Summary: It’s a known fact Lee Jihoon is one of the best pilots the jaeger Program has. The only problem? He can’t keep a co-pilot to save his life. He thinks you’ll just be another Ranger in the rotation, but you are an unpleasant surprise. 

Word Count: 23,373

Genre: Pacific Rim AU, Forced Proximity, Annoyed to Lovers

Type: Smut, Angst

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Jihoon is a bit of an asshole, action/fighting scenes, brief descriptions of blood, mentions of offscreen deaths, brief mentions of sick parents, brief mention of having no family, sexual tension, explicit language, A Lot of Pacific Rim Techincal Terms But They’re Explained, terrible humor, a hint of angst, brief depictions of Jihoon being insecure about his childhood, sexually explicit content including nipple play, biting, a total of one (1) spank, oral (f. receiving), the slightest hint of voyeurism mentioned, unprotected sex (don’t do this), multiple orgasms, a lot of spit and cum, cum eating, vaginal fingering, a lot of biting, Jihoon is emotionally constipated and then lets it all out lmfaoooo

A/N: This is a re-upload from my old blog, since this was one of the stories that got blasted to the moon. Please enjoy PacRim Uji, who I love so dearly.

A/N 2: SPECIAL THANKS TO @daechwitatamic for not only collaborating with me on our little corner of the internet, but beta reading this giant piece and constantly motivating me while writing it. I could not be anywhere without you I love u 

Also in this Universe: Cherry Bomb by @daechwitatamic

Main Masterlist | Ask | Read Next: Cherry Bomb

Jihoon doesn’t flinch when Xander throws his helmet against the wall. The crash is loud, but the reinforced material doesn’t crack under the force of the concrete. It clatters to the floor while Jihoon tucks his helmet under his right arm. Sweat drips down the side of his neck and down his back, but he can’t get to it while in his Drivesuit. 

Just add it to his list of inconveniences.  

Everyone in the room freezes as Xander storms toward the command center and right for the Marshall in charge, his steps thunderous against the metal floor. Instead of following him, Jihoon leans against the doorframe, watching the way his co-pilot rages, imagining steam coming out of his ears. 

“I can’t fucking pilot with him,” Xander screams, stabbing an accusatory finger in Jihoon’s direction. “I refuse to do it. Reassign me.” 

Eyes drift toward Jihoon. He ignores them, watching as Xander stops at the command post where both the Marshall and the LOCCENT Mission Controller who just walked them through their kaiju fight stand. Both of them stare at Xander, who is red in the face, chest heaving. 

It’s a bit of an overreaction, especially for a team who just dispatched a Category Four kaiju. But it doesn’t matter. Xander isn’t Jihoon’s first co-pilot and he won���t be his last. They rarely last long, a cycle of Rangers who cannot stand to work with him for more than a few fights. Jihoon examines the scratches on his suit, thinking that he needs to get it buffed while the Marshall deliberates how to answer Xander’s demands. 

“Ranger-” 

Xander cuts off the Marshall. Bold, if you ask Jihoon. “I’ll leave the fucking program if that’s what I have to do. I won’t pilot with him anymore, I don’t care that we can drift. He won’t trust me, he won’t give up the reins and he refuses to let me in. He’s arrogant and pig headed!”

“Pig headed,” Jihoon mutters to himself. “That’s new.” 

The Marshall sighs heavily, eyes drifting toward Jihoon, who is still leaning against the doorframe. He lifts a single shoulder in a shrug, unsure what the Marshall expected. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Marshall asks Xander to follow him, gesturing toward the door at the back of the command center that leads into offices. 

Silence blankets the room at their departure. At least, as silent as it can get in the jaeger hub. The beeping of machinery and radar is a constant sound under the hum of machinery and the awkward cough of one of the workers in the room. Jihoon raises his brows as if to ask someone to say something. No one does and he nods, dismissing himself. 

Laughter trails up the stairs followed by loud steps. He looks down to see Chan and Wylie coming up the stairwell, cheeks flushed and hairlines sweaty from their battle with Dreadfury only minutes earlier. Their team had the assist on the kill, and though they hadn’t landed the final blow, their constant offense had given Jihoon and his partner the time they needed to figure out how to move in. 

Chan sees Jihoon and raises a questioning brow, pausing in the stairs. “Lose your co-pilot?” he asks, looking Jihoon up and down. 

“How’d you guess?” 

“Standard,” Chan and Wylie say at the same time. 

They do that a lot, so in sync that despite the fact that they’re two different people, sometimes Jihoon feels like he’s talking to one. Wylie is a little shorter than Chan, but just as furious in personality and attitude. She leans against Chan, cocking her head to the side. It’s not a conscious movement but an instinct, her body naturally attaching to her co-pilot’s. Jihoon knows that level of closeness well. 

“Think they’ll just finally get rid of you?”

“Nope.” 

“Standard,” they both say in unison again. It’s Chan who says, “Must be nice to get away with murder, Woozi.” He continues up the stairs, clapping Jihoon on the shoulder as he goes. Wylie trails behind him, shooting Jihoon a grin. “One day you’re gonna end up on your ass.” 

“That’s fine. You’ll both take me in, right?” 

Both of their voices meld as they howl in laughter, passing him and going into the command center, yelling “Nope!” 

Despite their teasing, Jihoon smiles. He’s known the pair for years and despite their ability to get under his skin, he’s fond of them. They’re good jaeger pilots, scrappy as they come and vicious in the field. Unlike Jihoon, they’ve piloted their jaeger together from the start, syncing like twin flames and sticking to one another. 

It helps that they grew up together, of course. And that they’re in a relationship, one heart, one soul. 

Sighing, Jihoon jogs down the rest of the stairs, tired and sore. He needs a shower, food and a fucking nap. He and Xander had been pulling extra shifts, the kaiju activity having increased with the bad weather. He suspects it was also in an attempt to get Jihoon to bond with Xander more and get him to open up, but that hadn’t happened.

That’s the problem with piloting with Jihoon. The more time people spend with him, the less they can stomach the way he resists them in the mental bridge that connects co-pilots. It isn’t that he’s afraid for them to see what’s in his head - they haven’t earned a right to his privacy.

Privacy is important to him. 

Murmurs ripple through the cafeteria as he enters, rolling his head to the side to try and workout the kink that is formed there. He glances around and fights the urge to roll his eyes. Word spreads fast when you’re secluded in the Shatterdome with nothing but fucking ocean and giant monsters around you. 

As usual, he ignores the stares and whispering. He catches Soonyoung’s eye from afar and shrugs when his friend gives him a questioning glance, earning an eye roll. Not for the first time, Jihoon finds himself wondering why someone like Soonyoung or Wonwoo can’t be his partner. 

Drift compatibility. 

He knows that’s the answer, but he’ll never stop wishing that pairing jaeger pilots together was a little easier. So many factors go into making people drift compatible and yet he’s yet to find a partner he can tolerate - or tolerate him in return. If it were as easy as picking his friends, he’d have settled with someone long ago. 

Brushing away the thought, he heads to his room. It doesn’t matter what he wants. If wishes were horses, everyone would be a rider. He’s pretty sure that one of his former co-pilots had said that - in regard to Jihoon being impossible to work with, of course. 

The dark and quiet of his room brings the peace Jihoon craves. He feels the tension melt from his shoulders. He suddenly realizes how tired he is, feeling like parchment stretched too thin over a rough surface. He peels himself out of his clothes methodically, welcoming the chill of the room against his sweaty skin. 

He trails to the shower, tossing his clothes in the hamper as he does. Leaving the lights on so it’s only the dull orange glow over his bed, he turns on the shower as hot as it will go. It takes a second, but soon steam is filling the room, choking him as he slides under the stream of water, sighing as the heat of it burns away any lingering frustration for the day. 

Tomorrow, he’ll have a new partner. It’s a simple fact and a routine he is familiar with. That’s fine with him - they can keep assigning people to him until they find someone competent. Jihoon isn’t going anywhere. 

He has nowhere else to go anyway. 

-

“I need you to do me a favor,” Kira says before you can finish stepping out of the jaeger. The Marshall of the Sydney Shatterdome looks deadly serious. You scoff under the helmet, reaching up to unclasp it and shuck it off. Fresh air fills your lungs. It’s hot and tastes like metal in the jaeger bay, but it’s familiar. “And I need an answer quickly.”

“Ever heard of foreplay?” you grunt, helping Maya out of the giant mech behind you. She shoots you a thankful grin, taking off her helmet. Her face is flushed pink, hairline sweaty. “You really just dive in dry, huh?” 

“You know my cousin is a Marshall of a Shatterdome overseas?” 

You pause. “Yeah.” 

“They’re asking for a skilled pilot to pair with one of their Rangers. They sent over the drift profile and you’re the only pilot we have that’s a match.” You frown and she holds out a hand to stop your protest, a crease in her mouth. “Just look over the report and the profile I sent you, alright?” 

“I mean, my answer is no. I’m fine here.”

“You are. You’re one of our best teams,” Kira says earnestly, her dark eyes flicking between you and Maya. “But respectfully, your value is needed elsewhere. There isn’t enough activity here to keep a veteran of your status on shift, Blue.”

You feel a flicker of uncertainty. Rarely does Kira use your nickname. It’s too familiar for a military commander of her status, and though you’ve considered her a friend for years, she never uses your nickname on shift. Unless she really needs something from you.  

Licking your lips, you hesitate to answer. You don’t want to say she’s right about your skillset and risk insulting your coworkers and other pilots in the jaeger Program, but it’s an accurate statement. The Shatterdome you report to is old - one of the first built in the beginning. But kaiju activity is mostly unpredictable, shifting with the tides. You barely get them once a month anymore, and there are too many pilots who need the practice.

You don’t. 

You glance at Maya and she offers a soft smile. “Hey, I didn’t think you’d be my co-pilot forever. Hoped, maybe. But I didn't expect it.”

“Oh come on, I’m with you for life, Maya.” 

“Romantic.” Maya’s gaze softens. “Marshall has a point, though. We’re a little… slow here.” 

It makes a pang go through your heart. Maya has been your co-pilot since your mother passed away, and though you didn’t go through the Ranger training program with her, she’s the perfect balance to you. You like having her around, and the thought of changing pilots just because someone wants your experience is… unideal. 

Sensing your unease, Maya reaches out and touches your forearm, squeezing over the metal of your Drivesuit. Her smile is soft. Knowing. Like she knew that being in the drift with you wasn’t forever, and she’s already saying bye. 

“Look,” Kira sighs, bringing your attention back to her. “My cousin really needs a skilled pilot and someone who is a leader and isn’t afraid of working with veteran pilots. They get more activity, and they need someone sharp. Skilled. Strong.” 

“I mean, I’ll look over the papers.” 

“Thank you.” She steps away. “I need to know by the end of the day, though.”

“Jesus Christ, Marshall. End of the day is in like two hours.”

Her smile is firm. “I know.” 

Waving her off, you leave your jaeger behind, Maya trailing after you. She peppers you with encouragement as you walk, steps heavy on the metal catwalk. You don’t respond right away, thoughts trying to catch up with being thrown an offer immediately after slamming a monster back into the depth of the ocean just minutes ago. 

You don’t have to ask why you. Drift compatibility alone is important enough to move jaeger pilots around the world from Shatterdome to Shatterdome in order to make the best pairs possible. There aren’t a ton of pilots - especially among the younger ones - at your base that are compatible with you.

Stubborn, Kira had always said. Finding an equally dominant co-pilot that meshes with you is difficult. You suspect that if you were not extremely talented at what you do and a veteran at your base, they might have moved you to an advisory position a long time ago.

Advising is not for you, though. The grind of metal and the heat of the fight is where you thrive, letting your mind go empty, entirely driven by instinct. Instinct was the reason you were so good at fighting kaiju. Your mom had always said you had the instinct of a warrior, and after putting down as many monsters to protect humanity’s coasts, you had to agree. 

Maya immediately goes to the shower once you reach your shared room. You dive onto the bottom bunk, snatching the tablet sitting on your night stand. Your eyes squint from the brightness, sensitive in the dim room. Clicking through your emails, you find the reporting and profile from Kira and open it, information unfurling before you. 

“Huh,” You muse, raising your brows as Lee Jihoon appears on your screen. “I know your name.” 

His profile is impeccable - and so is his skill. Chewing on your lip, you throw yourself onto your cot and flip through all of the materials provided on your potential co-pilot. Veteran Ranger. Highly skilled in combat. Top of his class in the academy. 

Clicking on the attachments, you watch the attached videos. There’s clips from his fights in and out of the suit. You find yourself hypnotized by his fighting style. There is a beauty to it, but it’s absolutely lethal. Efficient. There are no extra flourishes, no showmanship. Lee Jihoon fights to kill. 

“So why do you need me?” you mutter to yourself, pulling up his past partners. The list is extensive, stretching back to multiple co-pilots over weeks at a time. “Jesus christ. You do not play nice.”

He must not, at least. Half of the pilots assigned to him are only barely compatible. You know it takes more than just matching fight styles, but based on the history glowing at you from the screen, Jihoon’s Marshall was doing anything they could to keep him, even if it meant pairing him with someone who was scoring as low as 54% compatible. 

Pulling up your side-by-side analysis, you whistle. 98% was a good fucking number. You’d only ever had 90% with your mom, and she was genetically linked to you. Still, with as many partners as Jihoon has had in the past year alone, you don’t know that it’s worth it, even if his base has more kaiju activity and looks to be in need of veteran fighters.

Sighing, you close the tablet and throw it on the pillow. Resting your head against the metal wall, you close your eyes, thinking. You’re happy where you’re at. You’re a leader here, and you like Maya as your partner. She’s young and eager to learn - and you like your jaeger. Shadow Stalker is a good suit, though a little older. 

Biting your lip, you grab the tablet again, opening the jaeger details on Jihoon’s profile. Newer model. Built for endurance. Equipped with multiple blades, suited for pilots who prefer sword-style fighting. She’s painted gray-blue like the deepest part of a storm - blue like your mother’s first jaeger, which makes you grin. 

Storm Breaker. It’s a good name for a jaeger and it matches the profile. She’s built to withstand the brutal waves of the deep ocean and the onslaught of a high-category kaiju. Your interest is piqued, curious about Storm Breaker and her brutal pilot. 

Closing the tablet again, you stare into the distance, thinking. “What’s your deal, Lee Jihoon?” 

-

Jihoon hates sparring with Chan almost as much as he hates sparring with Wylie. Chan doesn’t scratch at Jihoon like a feral cat like Wylie might, but he does bite, which is exactly what he does when he can’t get out of Jihoon’s hold. 

“You fucker,” Jihoon hisses, letting him go. Chan slips out of Jihoon’s grasp and rolls to his feet a few feet away, crouched low and ready to go again. Despite years of being a jaeger pilot, Chan nor his co-pilot have fallen out of their scrapy upbringings, fighting like two street orphans. “What, are you going to bite a kaiju if you can?” 

“Of course not. I just don’t like losing to you.”

“Too bad.” Jihoon straightens and lifts his fists, planting his feet firmly. Sweat slicks the back of his neck, wispy pieces of hair escaping his hair tie and sticking to damp skin. “No more biting.” 

“No promises.” 

Somewhere behind him, Jihoon hears Minghao shriek. “She bit me!”

Scratch that. Maybe Wylie does bite. 

Chan comes at Jihoon again. He’s a good fighter and he’s ruthless. It’s one of Jihoon’s favorite things about him. But there’s always an opening, always a moment between fluid movements that reveals itself that Jihoon can take advantage of. 

He does exactly that, going on the defense, watching and waiting for the moment. When it reveals itself, Jihoon strikes lightning fast, catching Chan in the chest hard and taking him down to the ground. Jihoon feels the wind leave Chan’s lungs as he coughs hard, head smacking the mat. 

Behind them, Jihoon hears the collective wince. Chan is dazed for a second, groaning underneath Jihoon’s hand pressed to his chest. He can feel the hammering of Chan’s heart, a little faster than his own. When it’s clear Chan isn’t going to claw at him, Jihoon stands and offers him a hand.

With a heaving sigh, Chan takes it. Jihoon claps him on the back, grinning as Chan tries to catch his breath, rubbing the back of his head. “That hurt.”

“Oops.” Chan looks over Jihoon’s shoulder and grins, causing him to turn around and follow the younger’s gaze. Wylie sweeps her feet under Mingho’s, knocking him to the mat. She pounces like a creature from hell before he can react, pinning him down. “Well, at least one of us didn’t get our ass beat today.” 

“Stop biting, Dino,” Jihoon says as they trail off the mat, a warning. Chan has the decency to look chagrined, bowing slightly to his superior. Jihoon adores the kid, but he will not serve as a chew toy. 

Grabbing a water, Jihoon sits down on the floor with Seungkwan, Soonyoung and Seokmin as Junhui and Minghao trade places. Minghao is nursing a scratch on his neck from Wylie’s nails, muttering about her being a demon straight from hell as he sits. Wylie gives her new opponent a wicked grin, taking her place on the mat and beckoning Junhui toward her. Jihoon shakes his head, gulping down water and leaning back on his hands. 

“Fresh blood,” Soonyoung notes, gesturing toward the training room entrance as the Marshall leads a group of people in. “They’re holding trials for the two new mark fives tomorrow. Wanna go?” 

“No.” 

Soonyoung laughs. “Come on, they might be looking for another partner for you too.”

“Don’t care.” 

“You can’t keep going through partners, man.”

Jihoon doesn’t react, eyes scanning the group of cadets. They all look fresh-faced and in awe as they’re led around the mats, wide eyes glued to the sparring pilots as they go. His eyes settle on you, though, pausing. 

You don’t have the same awestruck wonder as the other cadets, trailing behind them as your eyes scan the structure, the fighters and the equipment around you. Calculating. Critical. You’re a little older than the other cadets too - not in looks but in aura, chin lifted, gaze sharp. Experienced. 

Soonyoung follows Jihoon’s line of sight and straightens. “Woah. Who is that?” 

“My new drift partner,” Seokmin sighs dreamily. Soonyoung and Seungkwan smack him at the same time, offended. They’re one of the few triple pilot groups, operating a massive piece of machinery made for slaughtering and hammering down on high-grade kaiju. “What? Look at her!” 

“You shouldn’t fuck your co-pilot,” Seungkwan mutters. “Look what happened to Seungcheol and Cherry. She’s still at that training facility in Alaska. Didn’t come back after their drift glitched.” 

A collective hum goes through them. All of them recall that situation, but no one says a thing. The weight of Cherry’s absence sits heavy on them - even Jihoon misses her a little. 

“I don’t know,” Soonyoung notes cryptically, eyeing Wylie. She’s managed to get Junhui off his feet, slamming him down with a rattle of mat and springs, pinning him with a savage growl. Wylie Coyote indeed, Jihoon thinks, smirking. “Seems to work for Wylie just fine. God, look at Chan, he literally has heart eyes. Disgusting.” 

It’s true. The pilot in question sits at the edge of the mat, elbows resting on top of his knees as he watches his girlfriend with his mouth open, lips upturned a little. His eyes are dazed, focused on Wylie as she holds onto a thrashing Junhui. There’s so much love in his gaze that Jihoon averts his eyes, worried he’s observing something sacred and private.  

“Not everyone is like them,” Seungkwan shoots back. “They share a brain cell.” 

“We’re literally drift partners. We basically do the same thing.” 

“And yet I don’t want to fuck you, Hoshi.” 

Soonyoung cocks his head to the side. “You know, that brings up a valid question-”

“No,” the other three say at the same time, cutting him off before he can get going. 

Still, Seungkwan’s point is valid. The drift is something that is so intimate that it isn’t uncommon for copilots to have a romance or some sort of tension. The neural handshake makes you become one, unable to hide anything. It is inviting someone else into your head to see everything you see, everything you have seen. Memories, feelings, thoughts - nothing is yours anymore. 

Jihoon hides it all from his co-pilots. He knows he’s not supposed to - openness and being honest and true with your partner makes for a better drift. But the intimacy of the connection makes him uncomfortable, and he’s not ready for anyone to see him - really see him. 

So he hides in the drift. Knows how to bring nothing to it, to give only the parts of himself he has to in order for his partner to fight alongside him. Jihoon gives nothing more. And they don’t need it, frankly. 

The Marshall leads the new recruits back out of the room. He watches you go, wondering what your deal is. As though you sense his eyes on you, your eyes flicker over to his, catching his gaze. He’s unsure why, but he pauses, the room stilling for a split second. Then you’re grinning wickedly, vanishing from the room. 

He brushes it off and turns his eyes back to his friends. 

-

Lee Jihoon is prettier in person. You don’t know why it’s the first thing you notice as you watch him walk across the training center. He’s dressed in fitted cargo pants and a racing jacket over a t-shirt, emphasizing his broad shoulders. His hair is bleached and pinned into a low bun, some of his bangs hanging in his dark eyes. He doesn't notice you watching him as he nears an empty mat, shedding the jacket. 

He’s compact. Small, but toned, muscles rippling as he begins to go through a series of stretches. You know he’s a good fighter from your observations the day before. Everything about him screams efficiency. You can’t put your thumb on it, but the way he carries himself is methodical.

Lee Jihoon is the perfect jaeger pilot on paper. 

It’s the partners that he has a problem with. He’s had eight co-pilots in the last year alone, which is more than anyone has the right to. Before that, he managed to keep someone for six months before they requested a transfer to a different location. 

You sense Jihoon’s gaze, realizing he’s picked up on your staring. His expression is as neutral as it was yesterday, as though he has zero interest in whoever you are. He must not - he turns away and gets back to what he was doing, the moment passing without fanfare. 

Everyone in the room is paired with their pilots, going through fight sequences. You watch the different pairs, noting those who exhibit high-drift compatibility and others who are still learning. You note how many talented pilots this base has, likely due to the high activity. 

As though the thought summons the very creatures from the depths of the ocean, an alarm goes off. You don’t flinch, used to the kaiju alert system. It had gone off the day before, though. You look up at the screen as it flashes the names of the pilots on duty, calling them to report to the drop bridge. 

A few shouts of good luck draw your attention to the center of the room where two of the younger pilots head out. You’d seen them sparring earlier, so in time with one another that you weren’t sure where one began and one ended. The man looks at the girl and gives her a smile so full of love that you look away, startled at its intensity. 

While romantic connections between pilots aren’t totally uncommon, you’re not used to it. Most of the Rangers at your old base were family members and childhood friends, connection deep and intimate but not like that. You wonder what it must be like, if it makes love any easier to be that deeply connected. 

“So are you my new co-pilot?” a soft voice startles you and you turn to see that Jihoon has snuck up on you. His eyes are darker in person, entirely consuming as he looks down at you with a cocked head. His blonde hair sticks to his forehead, pale skin covered in a sheen of sweat. “You must be, right?”

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re not a cadet. And you’ve been watching me for the better part of two hours.” 

You shrug. “You can learn a lot from watching veterans.” 

“You could at least offer to spar to see if we’re any good together.”

“You mean to see if I’m good enough for you.” He lifts a shoulder, not disagreeing with you. Wiping your palms on your knees, you stand up. Even though he’s small, you’re still a little shorter than him, nearly eye level. You stick your hand out, giving him your name. “But you can call me Blue.”

Instead of taking your hand, he nods and turns on his heel, striding back to the mat he occupied earlier. You stand and stare at the newly vacated spot, hand held out in the air. “Alright,” you mutter to yourself, dropping your hand and going after him. 

Eyes follow you. You can feel them as you trail after him, watching his smooth, even gait. Everything about Jihoon is refined and controlled, even down to the minute expressions as he steps onto the mat and turns to face you. Sliding your shoes off, you join him, feeling the spring beneath your step and the softness of the floor.

Jihoon heads to a rack of bo staffs, picking one up and tossing it to you. You snatch it, spinning it lightly to test the weight. The balance is near perfect, a slight weight to the left side. You adjust accordingly, grip firm. Jihoon does the same, spinning his staff and rolling his shoulders.

“Who were those pilots called to make the drop?” you ask, conversational. 

“Dino and Wylie.” 

“Good pilots?” 

He takes his stance. “Excellent. They’re terrors. It won’t be a problem for them. Are you right handed or left handed?”

“Ambidextrous.”

“Good.” 

You don’t know why, but his assessing gaze bothers you suddenly. Like you know that even though you know you’re an excellent fighter, it still won’t be enough for him. The thought that you’ve lost before you even begun pricks a nerve and you strike first. 

It’s immediately obvious why you’re compatible. Jihoon knows your next move before you know what it is. You feel him move like an instinct, imagining his attack and defense before it happens. It isn’t a fight, but a dialogue, two skilled fighters communicating in a pattern only familiar to them. 

Sweat slicks the back of your neck and back. You barely register it, losing yourself in the rhythm of Jihoon’s movements. The sound of the training gym fades to the background and you barely hear the crack of your staffs as they meet over and over again. You hardly see him, vision fading to a narrow point of instinct.

This is how you fight. Muscle memory, driven by intuition.

Your intuition tells you that you’re perfectly matched, fighting style so similar that it’s hard to get a hit in - you won’t get a hit in, too in sync with him to out maneuver him. 

So you deviate. 

Instead of dodging a smack to the ribs, you let him hit you. His surprise is so apparent that he breaks his concentration and you strike, foot sweeping behind his ankle and pulling, knocking him from his feet. Jihoon goes down hard, breath leaving his lungs as you pounce, pinning him.

For a second, it’s just the two of you. His heart pounds, chest heaving in time with yours. Even your breaths are evenly matched, a tempo that is deeper than most human understanding. Drift compatible. You feel it the same way you feel the spark of his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. You’re so aware of it that you don’t hear what he says at first, his mouth moving but no sounds coming out.

“What?” 

“That doesn’t count,” he asserts. “I hit you first. The fight is over after that.”

You frown. “The fight doesn’t end until there’s a killing blow. A swipe to the ribs wouldn’t do it.”

“That isn’t how that works.” 

“There are no rules of engagement in the ocean.” 

He scowls. “There are basic principles to fighting. You lose when you get hit first.”

“Do you lose when a kaiju hits you first? Or do you keep fighting?” 

Jihoon huffs underneath you, shaking his head. You’ve still got him pinned, your palm pressed to his chest and your knee planted in his stomach. He glances away from you and you become aware that everyone has stopped to watch the two of you spar.

And you’re still on top of him. 

Clearing your throat, you climb off of him smoothly. You offer a hand to help him up but he doesn’t take it, getting up on his own. He’s flushed, cheeks tinged peak and mouth twisted in frustration. You watch him as he gives the room around you a cutting glance, making everyone immediately turn back to what they were doing. 

Jihoon puts his staff back and you watch him. He looks minorly irritated on the surface, but you can see it rippling deeper than that. He’s unsettled and it makes you grin. 

“This won’t work,” Jihoon says as he turns back to you, crossing his arms over his chest. You ignore the way his biceps flex and blink at him in confusion. “You can’t be my partner.”

“What? We’re compatible. That was one of the best fighting flows I’ve ever had.”

“We’re too different in principle.” 

That gets a frown from you. “I don’t think so at all. You let your instinct guide you. So do I.” 

“You deviate.” 

“I let the natural dialogue of the fight lead me.”

You let silence fall between you. You can see why so many other pilots had issues with him. Jihoon approaches every statement as though it is the absolute truth, a fact that cannot be disproven. He speaks with the authority of someone who knows he’s right often, and frequently goes unchallenged.

Instead of letting him get a rise out of you, you switch topics. “Are you hungry?”

He pauses. “What?” 

“What part of the question didn’t you understand? Are you hungry?”

Jihoon is perplexed. You’re sure that by now, mostly people have visibly grown upset with the combative dialogue. You don’t mind much, watching as he thinks on your question. You take the opportunity to appreciate the gentle slope of his nose up close, the delicate curve of his mouth, the contrast of feminine and masculine features that make an exquisite face. 

Then Jihoon unfolds his arms and walks past you. You turn to follow him but he says over his shoulder, “I don’t want to have lunch with you. We’re not friends.” 

There’s no room for argument in the way that he says it. You watch him as he leaves, never once turning back. 

-

You are vexing. 

There isn’t another word to describe you. Jihoon hasn’t the slightest idea how you’ve managed to so thoroughly irritate him at your first encounter, but he can’t stop thinking about how frustrated he is when he slams his tray down on the table. 

It’s a little early for lunch, mostly engineers and staff going on shift soon filling the room to eat quickly. The giant clock above the entryway to the cafeteria resets and Jihoon relaxes a little, confirming that Chan and Wylie are fine. He knew they would be - a Category Two kaiju is nothing for a pair like them.

Jihoon finds himself thinking of you. Of what you must be able to do in a jaeger.

Curious, Jihoon looks up your name. It rings a bell - you were pretty renowned at your homebase. Clicking through videos, he sets his phone on the table as he eats, eyes glued to the screen. Your drops are easily accessible to him, clicking through them as he eats. 

There is something hypnotizing the way you and your old co-pilot Maya Veliz fight. You’re efficient and without flashy moves, which he can appreciate. But there’s a speed at which you make decisions and take risks that has him shaking his head. 

Yet, there is something vaguely familiar. He pauses his meal to watch closer, realizing what it is. There is a brutality to your fighting that he recognizes in himself, a need to kill. You fight to win, willing to take a little damage if it means you can deal the final blow.

The thought unsettles him. Your fighting style is so similar to his that he would be lying if he tried to say otherwise. There is logic and calculation to your moves, but then there’s always that deviation. That random blip in your pattern that is unexpected and dangerous. 

“Will watching my drop footage make you like me more?”

Your voice startles him. He drops his fork and it clatters against the table, loud in the soft din of the cafeteria. You’re leaning over him, a smirk on your face and a devilish glint dancing in your eyes as you look at his phone screen where you successfully put down a kaiju. 

“Deathclaw wasn’t very impressive. It was pretty small. My mom and I took out Umbraxis my first year, though.”

Jihoon snatches his phone and locks the screen, putting it face down. He scowls down, feeling his heart flip a little. Your scent drifts over to him at your proximity, a mix of amber and jasmine. It’s already familiar to him, having caught the scent when you pinned him down earlier, hand pressed to his heart-

You sit across from him and he looks up at you. His mind goes blank, staring as you unwrap your silverware picking up a fork to stab a piece of chicken and pop it into your mouth. You hum happily, totally unaware - or maybe unbothered - at his increasing irritation. 

“Tell me about your jaeger,” you demand - not ask. Your eyes find his, two pools of curiosity that have his tongue heavy, words sticky. “I want to know all about her.”

“You’re not going to make the drop with me.”

The curve of your mouth is wicked. “Tell me anyway.”

For a few minutes, Jihoon doesn’t answer. He waits to see if the silence will push you away or make you anxious. It doesn’t seem to. You keep eating without saying anything else, occasionally glancing at him with a cocked brow as if to suggest you have all the time in the world. 

“She was re-outfitted two years ago,” Jihoon says slowly. He doesn’t know why he’s answering you at all, but he continues, “Mark-5 now with the new outfitted tech - she’s still nuclear-driven to avoid any EMP attacks. Outfitted with GD6 steel-obsidian chain swords on each arm, but there are also smaller, detachable blades for hand-to-hand fighting, along with some projectiles. She’s also got a lightning strike powered by the nuclear-core but it can only be used once, and only as a last resort. It obliterates local wildlife in the water.”

“What’s the suspension look like?”

“Gyro-stabilizers to stay fluid when fighting and L-10 locks on all of the joints to strap in and withstand damage. She’s built to take a lot of blunt-force and melee attacks, but she’s top heavy if she loses footing.”

“Have you only been in Storm Breaker?”

He nods. “Since my first drop.”

“She’s beautifully built.” 

Jihoon doesn’t respond. It does bring him a small sense of pride to know that you admire the jaeger he fights in, but he doesn’t thank you. He suspects you notice but doesn't say anything, which surprises him. You seem like the stubborn type who doesn't like to back down from a fight, and yet multiple times this morning you’ve conceded to him, refusing to get upset. 

It bothers him. He can’t tell if it’s because you’re a people pleaser or if you think you're gentle-parenting him, and he doesn’t like it either way. 

So he doesn’t talk to you. He lets the conversation die there, despite sensing your amusement from across the table. He feels the grip on his fork increase, metal biting into his palms as he tries to ignore you. He can smell the jasmine and amber of your perfume, which makes him feel more insane, and he can’t help but steal glances at you and dart his eyes away.

You’re pretty. He’s had attractive co-pilots before. That’s not new, nor has it ever bothered him. Something about you draws the eye, though. He thinks it’s the aura of confidence you give off, effortlessly comfortable in your skin and your situation, despite Jihoon not making it any easier on you.

“Hi,” The raspy voice interrupts Jihoon’s thoughts and he looks up as Wylie slams her tray down on the table. She’s sweaty, freshly peeled from her Drivesuite and offering a hand to you as she gives her full name. “You can call me Wylie, though. Everyone does. Are you Woozi’s new co-pilot?”

“Yes,” you answer at the same time Jihoon says no. “Though I didn’t know that was the name he preferred.” 

Wylie shoots him a sly grin and sits down next to him. He curses and scoots over, the younger girl nearly on top of him as she leans her elbows on the table. “He doesn’t prefer it, which is why it stuck. He's a very cranky cat, but he’s nice once you get to know him.” 

Jihoon scowls, turning to her. “Did I invite you to sit down with us?”

“No.” 

That’s it. That’s the end of her statement. Jihoon watches as she settles happily, opening chocolate milk and chugging it back like it’s water. Jihoon cringes and readies to lob an insult her way when he’s interrupted again, another tray slamming down next to hers. 

Closing his eyes, Jihoon summons all the gods he doesn’t believe in to give him the god damn patience. Chan is wearing a shit-eating grin as he leans across the table, offering his hand in the same, chipper manner his partner had moments before. 

“I’m Chan. But you can call me Dino.”

“Why Dino?” 

“I step on everyone.” 

You raise your brows, amused, eyes flickering to Wylie. Sensing your question, Wylie says around a mouthful of mac and cheese, “Like Wylie Coyote because I’m a menace who doesn’t stop attacking.” 

“How was your drop?” 

“Easy,” they say in unison. 

Jihoon focuses on his plate, feeling grouchy. They start to talk like he’s not even there, and though that is typically how conversations go around him, he’s suddenly bothered by it. Especially when you seem so smug that at least someone likes you. 

He wants to tell you they don’t count. Chan is one of the nicest people in the Shatterdome and will talk to anyone, if they give him the time of day. Wylie isn’t exactly nice but she’s in love with Chan and is happy to be nice to anyone who is being nice to him. The pair are relatively easy to win over. 

It only gets worse for him when Soonyoung and the others start sitting down. Everyone seems eager to ask you questions, a new shiny toy for his friends to play with. He chews on the corner of his lip, feeling stormy in the corner of the table as Seokmin peppers you with questions and exclamations at your answers. 

A shift in tension makes Jihoon look up. Seungcheol sits down at the table slowly, as though trying not to be a distraction or catch any attention. He’s three seats away from Wylie and out of her eyeshot, but Wylie is a born predator, sensing him like a hunter. Her eyes cut over to Seungcheol and she bristles, shooting up to her feet to grab her tray and storm off. 

Chan sighs, muttering a brief apology before grabbing his things and going after her. Jihoon glances at Seungcheol, watching the way his jaw ticks at the interaction. Surprisingly, you don’t ask any questions. You lean over to Soonyoung and ask him about some of their earlier fights, shifting the energy at the table from tense to light in a second.

Seungcheol relaxes, and though he doesn’t introduce himself, he’s not unkind to you. Jihoon feels a pang for the pilot, knowing that the last year has been difficult for him. Cherry left Seungcheol adrift without a partner, and he’s been unable to find someone to replace her. 

He thinks about offering you to Seungcheol as an alternative. 

Jihoon does learn a little bit about you while listening to everyone talk, though. You've only had two co-pilots in your life where Jihoon has lost count. He wonders what growing up piloting with a parent feels like, and though you smile as you talk about growing up working with your mom, there’s a tightness to your mouth, a look in your eye that he can’t place.

Feeling his gaze, your eyes shift to him. Jihoon realizes he’s been staring at you. He stands and leaves the table abruptly, Seokmin’s voice apologizing on his behalf drifting after him. 

Thankfully, you don’t follow him. He dumps his tray and leaves it in the discarded pile for the cafeteria staff and immediately begins the climb to the command bridge where the Marshall’s office is. His thoughts race but go nowhere at the same time, an echochamber that he can’t untangle. 

Before Jihoon can knock on the entrance to the Marshall’s office, the military commander looks up and waves Jihoon in. “I was about to call for you. Shut the door, please.”

Jihoon does so without comment and sits down. He glances around the office, distracting himself as the Marshall finishes what he was working on. The office is orderly and tidy, every ounce the professional and uptight officer that sits in front of Jihoon, leaning back in the seat to sigh heavily and level Jihoon with a stare. 

Before Jihoon can open his mouth to list all of the reasons you shouldn’t be his pilot, the Marshall speaks. “You’re on probation.” 

“I - what?” 

“For the next three months, if you lose your co-pilot, you will be reassigned to administrative work or to a new Shatterdome.”

Jihoon opens his mouth. Closes it. The weight of the Marshall’s words don’t quite sink in, though Jihoon can tell they’re heavy. Real. “We’ve given you plenty of chances to effectively remain a pilot for Storm Breaker, but the board feels as though the trade off has become an issue.”

“The trade off?”

“You’re costing us money. And cadets. People want to train where they can potentially see themselves become a pilot. When we have open spots and jaegers coming up on retirement, it bolsters recruitment.” The Marshall levels him with a tired stare. “But when we have a pilot who no one can partner with, it puts us in a bind to send cadets where they will fit elsewhere.” 

“Look - “

“No you look, Lee. You’ve been a pilot here for six years. That’s considered a veteran in this field. But the higher ups grow tired of even veterans when they’ve been unmanageable for the last two of those six years.”

Heat flashes up the side of Jihoon’s neck, equal parts embarrassed and angry. He’d been the first in his class to suit up, selected as Haneul’s co-pilot to fill in for their partner that had retired. Jihoon remembers how proud - and nervous - he was and how easy it had been to partner with Haneul.

He didn’t have that anymore, the safety net of the only parental figure he’d ever known gone. 

“The pilots you’ve paired me with have no business being in a jaeger,” Jihoon says matter of factly. “I don’t respect them.”

“Well good thing we’ve given you someone to respect.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “I can’t fight with her.”

“You can and you will. Your drift compatibility is 98% and you have similar fighting style and come from similar machines. You’ll start Conn-pod training tomorrow.”

“Don’t make me partner with her. I don’t like her.”

The Marshall stands. “One day you might learn that if you give people a chance, you’d like what you find.” 

“Marshall-” 

“That’s all, Ranger.” 

The air feels heavy as Jihoon leaves the Marshall’s office. He stops on the command deck, his eyes flickering over to the windows. The glass is floor to ceiling all the way around, giving the tower a 360-degree view of the pacific ocean. Blue stretches out as far as the eye can see, backdropped by the shining silver of the city. 

Boats bob on the water, shifting back and forth on the dark surface. Air teams go back and forth, working in the aftermath of Chan and Wylie’s successful kaiju destruction. Jihoon can see the toxicity on the surface of the water, an oil slick that he knows the exact pungent smell of. 

Trailing to an observation window, he stares with unseeing eyes. How many times had he stood up here and provided commentary to his friends during a fight? He didn’t frequent the command deck, but sometimes it gave him perspective. Or he was a little worried about his friends, especially when they were taking on higher category kaiju. 

Jihoon chews on the side of his lip. He’s talked Wylie and Chan through plenty of bouts before. He remembers sharply the terror of the fight that had changed all of their lives over a year ago, watching as the hull of Fang Striker was breached, the screams of terror as Wylie took a talon to the stomach, nearly killing her. The aftermath of Chan’s grief.

A chill breaks out over his arms. Jihoon knows he isn’t cut out to sit through something like that again, to try and get a panicking pilot to focus and get to safety. He’s not made for an advisory role. Not built to watch pilots come and go, completely operating out of his control. 

Death is easier to process in the heat of battle. It gives him an excuse to be distracted, to hide from the immediate pain of losing a pilot during a fight because he’s too busy protecting himself, protecting the city. He’s not made to watch it from afar and take the full weight of it.

Turning away from the window, Jihoon descends back down to the ground floor. 

Probation period. Three months of having to stomach you or he’s out. Flexing his fingers, he heads to his room, needing the silence. If Jihoon is going to do this, he knows he needs to keep himself in line. Can’t push you away like he has the others. 

And he hates you for it.

-

Music bleeds through the metal door out into the hall. You wonder how any of the neighboring rooms let him get away with it. Then again, Lee Jihoon seems like someone most jaeger pilots don’t go toe-to-toe with often, if they can help it. At least it’s classical music, the swelling sound of Mozart sweeping into the hallway as you open the door, propping it with your hip to haul the box in your arms through. 

Jihoon’s eyes snap open immediately. He’s lounging on the bottom bunk of the bed in the far corner of the room, face lit by the glow of the muted screen in the corner showing the rain and ocean spray beating against the Shatterdome. Nothing disturbs the seas at the moment, though you wonder in a hotspot like this how long that will last. 

A scowl twists his mouth. You let the door shut behind you, setting the box down on the media table by the doorway. “Mozart?” you ask, arching a brow. He glares at you, sitting up from where he had been lounging with his hands tucked behind his head. “A bit cliche, don’t you think?” 

“What do you know about music?”

“Enough to know that someone with balanced compositions that orchestrate total control and logic in its make is… not surprising for you.” He blinks in surprise. “I like Tchaikovsky. There’s something more mercurial to his compositions.” 

“Tchaikovsky was inspired by Mozart.”

“I didn’t say one was better than the other.” You smirk. “You don’t like differences of opinion, do you?”

“I always value opinions. Some more than others.”

“Mhmm. Where can I put my things?”

Jihoon closes his eyes and lays back on the bed. His blonde hair is undone, fanning around him in a silvery-white halo. “The trash chute, preferably.” 

“Wherever I want, got it.” 

He ignores you. You suppress a laugh and move into the room proper. It’s small, filled with only the essentials to house two people to eat, sleep, and shower. A small kitchenette sits to your left, hidden in darkness with all of the lights off. You spot a shelf filled with dry goods - mostly protein bars - and coffee. There is a sad excuse for a sitting area with a tiny table and two chairs next to the TV screen, a bunk bed with a wardrobe next to it, and a tiny bathroom.

Cozy. 

Pulling open the wardrobe, you see that there’s room for your things. You shoot Jihoon a sidelong glance. He certainly hadn’t moved his things over to take over the full wardrobe after his last pilot left. You wonder if he’s just used to being unable to use the full space or if he had made room for you.

You doubt it’s the latter. 

Ave Verum Corpus plays in the background as you unpack the tiny box that is your life. You hum along, shutting the wardrobe and padding over to the bathroom. Jihoon could be asleep for all you know, but you suspect he’s not. When you glance over at him after shutting the medicine cabinet, you see his foot tapping to the beat of the music.

“What other kind of music do you like?” His foot stops tapping at your question.

Turning off the bathroom light, you move to the door to break down the cardboard box you brought your things in. Jihoon doesn’t answer at first, his frame rigid with tension, as though he had forgotten you were there until you spoke. You suppose that’s entirely possible, if not a little unlikely. 

Just when you think he’s not going to answer, he mutters, “I like ballads.”

“Romantic.” He frowns but doesn’t say anything further. “What’s your favorite one? Or artist?”

“Go play twenty questions with someone else. I’m not interested.”

“I’m going to find out anyway.” He opens his eyes then. They’re dark, pupils blown as his face twitches in an almost snarl. “It is an inevitable fact that we will have to drift. I recommend making peace with that now.” 

“I’m going to bed,” he announces, flopping over on his side and crossing his arms.

You let Jihoon be mean. It does you no good to fight with him when you eventually need him on your side, and you can sympathize with him to a degree. He didn’t choose you as his pilot and he’s backed into a corner, a do or die situation that he can’t back out of. The only way is forward and it’s against his will. 

As he pretends to sleep, you occupy yourself on the top bunk with your tablet, sliding headphones over your ears so he doesn’t bitch you out. Flicking through online channels, you familiarize yourself with your fellow jaeger pilots at the Shatterdome, watching fight footage and interviews. 

You come across a set of popular pilots, only one of them familiar to you. You recognize the man from dinner earlier - he had sat down and the tension around the table had increased tenfold. Wylie had immediately clocked his presence and stormed off, Chan trailing behind her with an apologetic look.

Tapping on their information, you hum in interest to yourself. Seungcheol. You recognize the name, vaguely. He piloted Duellona Fury with his copilot, a woman you don’t recognize but that has a bright smile. They make a good team, totally in sync and feeding off each other’s energy. You wonder where she is now, assuming she’s the source of the tension between Wylie and Seungcheol.

You wonder what you and Jihoon will be like as drift partners. So far he seems to hate you, but he does tolerate you. It’s a start, if not ideal. You won’t start drifting right away - not for real anyway. Practicing combat drills and learning more about one another is the first step to any partnership, followed by practice drifts.

In the drift, there’s no room for hatred or enmity. Trust is paramount, but almost as important is respect. Respect for what you see in the thoughts and feelings of your partner, respect that they’re good at what they do and that they’re the best person for the job, respect that they are your equal. Too many partners get lost in trying to save the other, losing sight of being equally capable or feeling like they know better. 

Jihoon doesn’t seem capable of that. Not right now, anyway. It doesn’t matter, though. You’re his only option to stay in the jaeger program, and though he hasn’t said anything about it, you’re pretty sure he knows. 

“Can you shut the tablet off?” Jihoon grunts from below. You sigh heavily, tucking it to your chest. “The glow is fucking bright.”

“The TV is also glowing, Jihoon.” 

“Yeah, so your tablet adds to the general light in the room.”

“Close your eyes.”

“It isn’t helping. Go under your covers.”

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath in, you lock the tablet and shove it under your pillow. “Better?”

“Yes.”

Weather the storm, you think to yourself. Jihoon is angry and capricious, but it’s more to do with his situation than it is to do with you. And despite his snappy nature, there are flashes of him willing to work with you by answering questions, albeit with attitude. 

You can do this. You can make Lee Jihoon like you. Maybe even respect you.

-

You are not a morning person. Lee Jihoon, however, is a morning person. Which is why it takes everything inside of you not to launch your pillow at him when you hear the classical music wake you from sleep in the morning, making you lift your heavy head to look around the room, vision blurry.

Heat from a fresh shower drifts from the bathroom only a short distance away. You stare in confusion, blinking rapidly as Jihoon walks out of the bathroom. He’s brushing his teeth furiously with one hand, looking at his phone with the other, blue light making him look like a phantom in the dim light. 

And he’s dressed in nothing but a towel slung low on his waist, making you nearly go catatonic. 

It’s not like you haven’t seen a body before - it’s just a body, and soon enough, you’ll be in his head. It’s important to get any weirdness out of the way because in the drift, you’ll bare everything. But for some reason the image of his small, compact body scrambles your brain this early in the morning.

Jihoon is built like a weapon, all sleek lines and hard muscles. He stands in the kitchen, setting down his phone as he opens cabinets and starts to make coffee, toothbrush still in his mouth. The muscles in his back flex as he moves, skin pale and smooth as the moon. 

“Are you a coffee person?” he asks, because he knows you’re awake. Of course he does. You don’t answer for a moment, stuck between eyeing the narrow taper of his hips and the question that implies he’s willing to make you coffee. He turns, arching a brow at you. “Now you shut up?” 

That brings a scowl to your face. “Yes, I drink coffee.” 

“Great.” 

He goes back to what he was doing, ignoring you entirely. Dragging your eyes away from him, feeling flushed and overwarm, you throw the covers back, scrambling from the top bunk. You land with a soft huff, feeling the chill of the concrete floor as you dart to the wardrobe to pull out clothes. 

“What time is it?”

“You have eyes, look at the TV.”

Got it, you think. He’ll make coffee for you but not do something as simple as answer what time it is. You do look at the TV, seeing the darkened feed of the churning ocean breaking against the walls of the Shatterdome. There are multiple camera angles, weather radar and Dome messages that break up the screen into sections. The time is in the top corner, flashing 5:13 am. 

“Ji, it is five in the morning.”

“Five-thirteen. And don’t call me Ji. I’m not your buddy.” 

Taking a deep breath, you mutter curses under your breath. “I’m going to shower.”

As expected, you get no response. 

The great thing about living in a billion dollar buildinding with hundreds of people is that there’s no shortage of hot water. You’re grateful as the steam fills the room, hot water making your coiled muscles melt the second you step under the shower. You let the frustration from the morning fade away, the rush of the water and the feel of it sluicing down your back-

A loud knock on the door breaks your reverie. You hear it open. Jihoon grunts, “I wasn’t done brushing my teeth. I need the sink.”

“Then use the sink.”

Jihoon shuffles into the bathroom. You hear the faucet turn on and you go back to tilting your head backward under the stream of water, ignoring the sound of him going about his morning routine. In a way, it’s sort of peaceful, the sounds of him softly opening and closing cabinets and the clinking of jars against the counter soft in the background. 

He’s back in the kitchen by the time you’re out of the shower and wrapped in a towel. You venture out into the main room in kind, deciding that if he is going to walk around in nothing but a towel, so will you. He barely gives you a glance from his bottom bunk, lounging around in low-slung sweats with no shirt, blonde hair splayed on his pillow. You ignore him in favor of the lone mug of coffee sitting in the kitchen steaming.

Gripping it and bringing it up, you let the ceramic warm you from your palms upward, inhaling before taking a tentative sip. It’s bitter but it helps you wake up. You glance at Jihoon from over the lip of the cup. He scrolls on a tablet mindlessly, as though he’s forgotten you’re there.

Neither one of you speaks as you finish your coffee. Turning to the sink, you start washing the cup out. You notice his used mug sitting in the bottom of the sink and pick it up, wash it and put it in the drying rack next to yours without thinking about it before returning to the bathroom to dress fully.

Once dressed and out of the bathroom, it’s almost six. Jihoon is bent over by the door, his boot on the coffee table as he laces it. Now fully dressed, his long hair is pulled back in a bun, a few silver whisps escaping and falling across his face. Again, you’re struck by how beautiful he is for a moment. 

He straightens and looks at you, raising his brows. Instead of answering him, you hurry to the wardrobe, pulling out your boots to slide them on and head to breakfast. You half expect him to leave you behind, but to your surprise, he lingers with the door open, dark eyes clocking your every movement. As soon as you’re done tying laces, he’s out the door and charging again, leaving you to scramble behind him.

Silence follows you into the cafeteria, which has the quiet atmosphere of an early morning. Workers and pilots ending their shifts sit at the table, scarfing down breakfast for dinner. Early shift workers hurry to grab a bite before heading off to the different parts of the Shatterdome. It’s not nearly as loud as lunch or dinner, but the soft din is inviting as you go through the line, following your new co-pilot wordlessly. 

None of the friendly faces from yesterday are in the cafeteria, so the two of you sit alone. Jihoon is methodical as he sets up his breakfast, each move calculated and precise. He eats the same way, finishing something entirely before moving on to the next time. 

His obsession with organization and control is almost fascinating, if not a little worrying. Instead of asking about it, you eat in silence, humming delightedly at the cheesy hashbrowns made available that morning. He casts you a single annoyed glance when he notices you enjoying your meal. 

Breakfast goes without a fight, though. Glancing at the large clock above the entrance to the cafeteria, you realize you only have a few minutes left before your day of training starts. Jihoon seems to be on the same wavelength, pulling out his phone to scroll through your schedule. 

“Meditation first,” he murmurs. He shoves his phone in his pocket and stands without preamble. “Do you think you can manage meditation?”

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but we haven’t spoken for over an hour.”

Confusion crosses his face, quickly followed by astonishment. He hadn’t realized that most of your morning has been spent in silence. His brows pull together, mouth turning slightly as he works over your words. It seems to make him unhappy. He narrows his eyes and his mouth twists before he turns and marches away from the table, leaving you behind. 

Mouth quirking, you follow quickly, not wanting to lose your way to wherever it is you’re supposed to report to. He walks faster this time, determined to keep you moving and on your toes. Wherever the studio designated to you for the morning feels like it’s halfway around the world. Jihoon leads you down a series of halls and stairs, never slowing his pace once.

By the time you get to a small, soundproof room, your calves are burning. 

“You need conditioning,” he mutters, noticing the way you’re a little out of breath.

“You basically just took me on a light jog,” you protest. “I think it’s fair to be a little winded this early in the morning.”

“It doesn’t matter what time it is. What will you do if we make the drop at four in the morning?” 

Jihoon doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead, he goes to the middle of the room and sits down on the floor, and crosses his legs. Instead of taking his bait and picking a fight with him, you sigh and stride into the room. He positions himself, ready for you to sit in front of him. Instead, you circle around him, sitting down behind him. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, twisting toward you.

“Meditating. Turn back around so we can be back-to-back.”

“What? Why?”

“Just trust me.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, try. It’s easier to feel your breaths and your heartbeat this way. Plus, there's less pressure if you don’t have to look directly at me.”

“Thank god for that,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes at the barb but grin when Jihoon listens, twisting back around to face the front. He lets you settle against him, the warmth from his back melting into yours. He is rigid, his spine solid as it digs into yours for a second. You lick your lips, feeling electricity shiver down you at the contact, like there’s a spark. 

The hum of the air condition is the only sound in the room. You close your eyes, leaning into Jihoon so that you fit flush together. You match your breaths with his, feeling your breathing slow down. Your heart slows to, like it’s trying to let him catch up, both of you melting into the same rhythm. 

Behind you, Jihoon relaxes. The back of his head rests against yours, both of you leaning into the touch, becoming the equal opposing force holding the other up. 

Balance is imperative in co-pilots. Jihoon needed to bring to the fight what you lacked and vice versa, the two of you making something whole, something complete. It’s a balance that’s not easily achieved, and though you’d always been a good pair with your mother and then maya, you know instinctively that it’s nothing compared to Jihoon’s counterbalance. 

A timer goes off in the room, startling you with how quickly time has passed. You blink your eyes rapidly, letting the room swim back into focus. For a second, neither one of you moves, content to lean against the other until Jihoon seems to realize he’s still pressed against you. He scrambles to his feet unexpectedly and you fall backward, losing his counterweight immediately. 

Thunking against the floor, you glare up at him. He smirks, looking down at you as he wipes dust from the back of his pants. “You should never let a co-pilot fall,” you huff, hauling yourself to your feet. 

“Good thing we’re not really co-pilots.”

“Yet,” you supply. You get up, stretching and feeling your joints pop. “Even you can’t deny that it was a great first meditation session.”

“Let’s go. We have sparring.” 

-

Jihoon doesn’t like you. 

He doesn’t like you, but he has to admit you are a perfect fit for him. You are loud where he is quiet, you make light when he remains serious, and you deviate when he’s planned. Yet somehow, you manage to mesh with him in your training, the perfect opposite force to him.

For the most part, you leave him alone. He can tell you’ve figured out when to bite back and when to eat your words. It’s become a game to him, throwing insults your way to watch whether you’ll riposte back or swallow your pride. 

The amount of times you swallow your pride impresses him, unfortunately. His original assessment that you are unpredictable and uncontrolled was wrong. He can see the way you actively meet his cold winter with warm summer, trying to melt him. 

He doesn't like giving you credit for your control, but he does so begrudgingly. 

Worst of all, he realizes that it’s not you he dislikes. It’s his situation, it’s knowing that you’re his lifeline and he has to accept you, and it’s knowing that despite his initial dislike, you’re a mirror that he can’t look away from. It doesn’t help that you live two feet away from him at all times, occupying every moment of his life just a reach-of-a-hand away. 

Training is tiring. It feels like he’s a rookie all over again, going through the exercises as the two of you learn to fight together, moving through meditation sessions, sparring, talking sessions - which don't really involve a lot of talking on his part as much as yours - and drop simulations. 

Drop simulations are the most exhausting for him. You bring everything to the drift. It’s nearly overwhelming at first how much you’re willing to show him. From the moment the mental bridge connects the two of you through the simulation software, Jihoon is shocked at the way you lay yourself bare. You hide nothing from him, letting him roam around your thoughts at his leisure. 

He feels everything you’ve ever felt. Elation when you make your first real drop with your first co-pilot, your mom. Sore ribs after a particularly difficult sparring match when you were a teeager in the training program. Pride when you finish the top of your training program. Terror when a fight goes awry and your mother overwhelms you in the drift, taking the full neural load of the jaeger to protect you. Rage at her doing so. 

“What happened here?” he finds himself asking, sticking near the memory. 

He thinks you won’t answer him, but of course you do. Unlike him, you’re open for the taking. “The hull was breached in my first year of fighting. My mother panicked because it was on my side of the jaeger and she tried to take on the neural load.” 

Jihoon says nothing. Piloting a jaeger alone overwhelms the nervous system and the brain, which is why each jaeger has two pilots in the first place. It can be done, but the risk for damage is always present. He senses where your conversation is going.

“We only piloted together for three more years after that. She was starting to struggle to make the drift, so we paused to get her examined. They discovered lesions on her brain and linked it to the damage from that day she tried to pilot alone.”

“She wanted to protect you.”

“She did, but it doesn’t make up for what she did. I was her equal, not someone she was supposed to protect.” You look at him and he looks at you, surrounded by your memories in the drift. “I am deserving of treated like an equal.” 

He understands what you’re really saying, that he should treat you like an equal too. Instead of responding, he busies himself with studying other parts of you that you let him have. 

There is a melody to your mind that he enjoys, though he’ll never tell you so. The more you drift together, the more Jihoon realizes that you are exactly like a Tchaikovsky piece. There is an organized chaos to you, a mathematical formula that is logical and measurable, but that deviates from the norm once in a while. 

Every drift, you remain open to him, your thoughts for the taking. You don’t even hide the moments you’ve thought of him - both in occasional attraction and irritation. Irritation at him bringing nothing to drift, opening no part of himself to you. Irritation when he’s mean to you. Hesitant fondness when he does something nice. Confused attraction when he walks around in just a towel. 

Water sluices down his back. Jihoon’s thoughts are still foggy from three weeks of nothing but practice and drills. He also finds it harder to sleep sometimes in the room, his dreams filled with the scent of your amber and jasmine and the lively sound of Tchaikovsky acting as the soundtrack to his dreams.

You’re still asleep when he exits the bathroom. He’s made sure to turn the light off before opening the door, steam billowing out after him. He scoops headphones from the nightstand as he heads to the kitchen, towel snug around his waist. He pops the earbuds in, the sound of Mozart starting his morning as he begins to make coffee. 

Jihoon has quickly learned that the longer he lets you sleep in the morning, the less whiny you are when you wake up. Instead of playing his music out loud, he lets you sleep until he’s made two cups of coffee, adding a spoonful of brown sugar and milk to yours. He sets it on the table and walks back to the bathroom, one of the requiem pieces carrying him through his routine. 

On the way to the bathroom, he stops by your bunk. He hesitates for a second, drinking you in as you sleep. Nestled in that top bunk is the only place you’re as peaceful as you are in the drift. Your features are smoothed out as you slumber, mouth open a little, drool sticky on the corner of your mouth. Jihoon’s lips twitch a little and he shakes his head before reaching out to tap the ankle hanging off your bed. You mumble in response. 

“Get up,” he says gruffly. “You’ve slept long enough.”

He returns to the bathroom and shuts the door to get fully dressed. He knows you’ll be standing in the kitchen looking dazed and confused sipping coffee until he comes out and frees the bathroom for you to shower. 

The alarm for a kaiju alert goes off. He hears it blaring over his music and he pulls the earbuds out, opening the door half dressed in just pants as he looks at the screen flashing red. A Category Four kaiju has been sighted in the bay. His heart skips, knowing that Cat-4 kaiju are dangerous even for the most skilled pilots at the Dome. 

Assignments flash across the screen. Solar Saber and Fang Striker have been summoned to drop. Nervousness flutters in Jihoon’s stomach. He snatches a shirt and yanks it over his head, moving quickly around the room to grab boots. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, leaning off the counter. 

“Heading to the command deck. Come or don’t.”

“I’ll come.” 

You dump your coffee in the sink, jumping to action as you peel off your pajama pants, searching for cargos. Jihoon hardly realizes you’re changing in front of him - he’s seen it all in your head anyway - as he laces his boots. He doesn’t know why, but he starts to explain himself, “Dino and Wylie have a… history with Cat-4 kaiju.” 

“You want to be an extra set of eyes and ears.” He nods at the accurate assessment. “Got it. Run me through Solar Saber drop stats if you know them.”

Jihoon does. He fires off what he knows about the team. Their stats are fine, but a Category Four kaiju is new for them. They have a good jaeger. It’s on the newer side, nuclear powered with plasma cannons and a massive plasma sword that burns brighter than the sun, earning the machine its name. It’s piloted by a set of twins, which produce some of the best drifts in the jaeger program.

But there’s a nervousness in Jihoon’s stomach that he can’t place. Everytime his friends drop, he knows they’ll be okay - but he also knows the level of danger. Perhaps it’s because of Chan and Wylie’s accident last year or because they’re dropping with a team Jihoon doesn’t trust, but he suddenly wants to tell the Marshall to let Storm Breaker do the drop.

A hand brings him out of his thoughts. Your gaze is as calm as the surface of a lake, piercing. “We’re ready, if we need to be.” 

Of course you know what he’s thinking. Despite his best efforts, you seem particularly good at stitching the tiny threads that escape through Jihoon’s wall of ice.  

You drop your hand and grab the room keys, heading toward the door with top speed. His arm is warm where your fingers were a moment ago, burning like a brand. He shakes it off as he follows you out, both of you jogging up to the top level of the Shatterdome to observe. 

Crew races around the dome. Jihoon sees Seungkwan and Vernon rushing up the stairs to the command deck. He follows suit, you quick on his heels. People fill the room, talking over one another as they shout into headsets and screens flash different camera angles. 

The Marshall stands in the center of it all behind the LOCCENT Mission Controller who will walk the pilots through the fight. Jihoon doesn’t recognize the man giving them instructions, but he joins the wall of people standing behind him to observe the screens, taking a place next to Vernon and Seungkwan. 

You glance at Vernon and back to Jihoon, a question in your gaze. “This is Vernon,” Jihoon says in response. “He’s currently a jumphawk pilot. Could be a jaeger pilot if he could figure out the drift but he’s too screwy up top.” 

“Thanks, man.”

“You can call me Blue,” you offer. Your eyes drift to the screens. “Friends of the pilots out there?”

“Wylie is one of my best friends.” 

Instead of telling him something like they’ll be alright or offering words of comfort, all you do is nod. Jihoon respects that. Anything comforting would be a potential lie and useless in a world of blood and metal, salt and fire. 

The entire room falls into a steady cadence. Jihoon crosses his arms as he focuses on the screen. He’s mutely aware that you’re standing so close to him he can feel the heat of your arm, hands shoved in your pockets as you watch the screens, brows furrowed in concentration. 

On screen, Solar Saber churns the water toward a towering kaiju in the bay. The creature is straight out of a nightmare, a barbed tail whipping across the surface of the ocean, misting water as it does. From what Jihoon can tell, it’s got four legs, each equipped with long talons. Rows and rows of teeth reveal itself as the kaiju opens its mouth and roars, the vibration from the sound so deep that it vibrates underneath his feet. 

“I don’t like that tail,” Vernon mutters next to Jihoon. 

“It’s like a manticore.” Jihoon glances at you. You’re not looking at them, but your head is tilted in curiosity as you point to the screen. “Four legs, a curved tail with a barb. The webbing around its neck suggests it might have a frill.”

“Strike teams, confirm positions,” the LOCCENT controller says into the mic. 

“Fang Striker in position two miles north of kaiju and Solar Saber.” It’s Wylie’s raspy voice that crackles over the shared radiowave with the jaeger teams. “Perimeter is set.”

“Solar Saber ready to engage,” a female voice comes over the speaker. Jihoon recognizes it as one of the twin co-pilots, Jezzi. 

“Permission to engage.” 

As Solar Saber engages with the kaiju, the command deck goes quiet. People guiding the helicopters and ground teams speak softly into their mics, a level of tense calm washing over as everyone watches the fight ensue.

Solar Saber is beautiful to watch fight. The armor is painted radiant gold and the glow of the sword is magnificent against the stormy waters as it slashes at the kaiju. Jezzi and her sister Yaz are calm throughout their bout, their voices clear and communicative as the kaiju batters them. 

“Cut off the tail,” you mutter under your breath. “It’s going to-”

Jihoon sees what you do as soon as you say it. While trying to kill the kaiju with a direct blow, Solar Saber has forgotten about the tail. The tip of the tail shivers, reminding Jihoon of a cat ready to strike, and it does. One moment, Solar Saber and the kaiju are locked in a wrestling match. Next, the tail is hammering the hull of the jaeger, striking over and over again like a scorpion.

Chaos explodes on the screens. Jihoon holds his breath as red flashes across the screens as the tail breaches the hull of Solar Saber. A tingle settles over him, the buzz of nerves as he watches Solar Saber take a knee, ocean water surging around the jaeger as the kaiju’s tail continues to hammer the jaeger’s head open. 

Jihoon grabs the LOCCENT Controller’s chair and yanks him backward out of the way, jamming his finger against the button to speak. “Don’t let it force you under the waterline,” he barks. “Cut off that tail, Solar Saber. If it forces you down, you’re going to take on water and drown.” 

“The right panel is damaged from acid from the tail,” Jezzi yells over the comes. “Sword arm cannot engage.” 

“Then disengage, Solar Saber. Do not let it force you down another knee.” 

Yaz screams back something incomprehensible over the comms. The left arm of Solar Saber lurches, reaching for the kaiju’s tail. It catches, yanking at the appendage hard. The kaiju screams as the tail breaks where Solar Saber has it gripped. The kaiju frenzies, screaming wildly as frills - just like you’d predicted - shake to life by its head, vibrating back and forth in a threat display as its dismembered tail whips back and forth, spraying ichor. 

“Fang Striker engaging,” Chan’s voice comes over the comms.

It’s the Marshall who answers. “Fang Striker, hold the perimeter.” 

“Fuck the peremiter,” Wylie seethes. 

The Marshall turns to you and Jihoon. “We’re ready,” Jihoon says at the same time as you.

A string of curses leaves Marshall’s mouth. “Fang Striker, assist Solar Saber with the intent to disengage. Storm Breaker dropping in ten.” 

Heart hammering, Jihoon turns to follow you out of the command center, footsteps like thunder as you sprint to the jaeger bay. He doesn’t even think twice about dropping with you, any reservations about you vanishing as the fighting instinct takes over. 

You’re an entirely different person when you step onto the catwalk, your team already scrambling with pieces of your Drivesuit. There is an eerie calm about you. You meet his gaze head on as your team fits armored pieces of Drivesuit onto your arms. Jihoon sees himself reflected so clearly that he’s startled. 

“What?” you ask, sensing the bewilderment. 

“Show me what you’re made of,” he says simply. 

Your mouth curves in a wicked grin and you nod once, understanding. 

Storm Breaker is beautiful. The fondness for her sweeps over him as he steps into the cockpit. The screens come to life, casting blue and red glow all over as he steps into the Conn-pod. He sheds any reservations he has as the team helps him connect. You’re only a few feet away, stepping into the left side of the Conn-pod. 

Jihoon’s world shifts to screens and canned voices in his headset as the shield of his helmet closes. It’s Seungkwan he hears over comms saying, “Engaging pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence.” 

“Do the pilots always take over the LOCCENT Controller’s here?” you muse, just to Jihoon. 

His lips twitch. “What can I say? Seungkwan knows I’m a control freak.” 

“Engaging neural handshake in three… two… one…” 

The world around him goes mute for a moment. Jihoon’s vision flashes white for a second. He feels you then, your thoughts and feelings becoming his. They’re not overwhelming though. He feels focus and determination from you with an undercurrent of ferocity. All of your memories and other feelings are there too, but they exist in the background. You’re a seasoned pilot, Jihoon doesn’t have to worry about you chasing the rabbit and falling down a hole of memories. 

“Neural handshake holding and strong,” Seungkwan calls. “Initiating drop in three… two… one…”

Jihoon’s stomach flies into his throat as he falls away from the world. The world is nothing but freefall for a few seconds. He feels the thrill that shoots through you and smiles - he can’t help it. Bending at the knee, he braces for impact. You do the same, and the cockpit lands on the jaeger’s mainframe with a metallic clang.

“Calibrating right hemisphere,” Jihoon announces, feeling the machine start to power to life. “Calibrated.” 

You repeat on the left side, the full machine powered on and ready with both hemispheres locked in.

“Storm Breaker ready to pursue,” Jihoon says. He looks up at the screen where Fang Striker is engaging the kaiju. Outside of Storm Breaker, he might feel his heart race with panic. Solar Saber is overturned and he has no idea if the pilots are inside of it as it takes on water. “Two miles out from contact.” 

“Pursue.” 

Your first step as a team is perfect. Fluid. Jihoon knew it would be. He hates to admit that he was wrong, but he knows it is. There is a thread of satisfaction bleeding over from you as Storm Breaker charges into the ocean, water rising rapidly around the waist. 

Ocean water slams against Storm Breaker’s chest as you charge toward the fighting. Fang Striker’s comms are patched in, but Wylie and Chan are silent as they rip at the kaiju, pulling at one of its wings that it unfolded from its back. Fang Striker looks tiny against the hulking mass of the monster, but its team is doing what it does best, savaging the creature a little at a time.

“Storm Breaker half a mile out,” you announce, voice like steel. “Ready to engage.” 

“Engage at your discretion.”

“Storm Breaker,” Chan says over comms. “Try and restrain this motherfucker. We’ve got a loose plate in its armor to exploit but it keeps shaking us off.”

“Heard.” 

As if hearing Chan, the kaiju flings Fang Striker off. Fang Striker’s red body crashes into the ocean, Wylie cursing the kaiju straight to hell and about fifty other foul places. 

Storm Breaker engages, both you and Jihoon plunging into the fight. The kaiju swipes at you but you both duck together, dodging the swing as you punch hard from the left in tandem. You knock it hard, it’s head snapping to the side. As a team, you use the opening to wrap the right arm around the kaiju’s neck, squeezing it toward Storm Breaker’s chest in a headlock. 

Stabilizers and locks click into place. He grits his teeth, as though feeling the actual strength it takes as the kaiju roars and claws at Storm Breaker, trying to free itself from the headlock. Together, you put the left arm around it, adding to the force to keep the kaiju from slipping from your grip. 

Clawed blows hammer down on Storm Breaker. Neither of you gives way, tightening your grip on the creature and ignoring the way the talons scratch against the hull. Storm Breaker is built to withstand, and neither one of you flinches as furious blows rain down on you, fists hammering. 

“It looks like that kaiju is playing you like a bongo,” Wylie’s voice comes over comms. “Hey Woozi, do you feel like it’s composing one of those songs you like?”

“Oh sure,” he shoots back. “Take your time, Wylie. It’s not like it’s trying to crack us like an egg.” 

“Ugh,” you sigh. “Don’t talk about food. I didn’t eat breakfast. Hey Seungkwan, can you ask Joshua to save me some hash browns? He’s always at the cafeteria first.” 

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “You’re all insane. Any day now, Fang Striker.” 

Fang Striker appears from the sky like a creature from hell, a red streak of death as it falls. They land on the kaiju’s back, the force of the landing vibrating through Storm Breaker’s frame. The kaiju tries to twist in Storm Breaker’s arms, but you and Jihoon tighten even further. Fang Striker’s sword glints in the sunlight as it unsheathes. 

“Don’t stab us,” you say at the same exact time that Jihoon has the thought.

They almost do. Fang Striker buries the sword through the back of the kaiju, the tip of the blade peaking through its chest, almost scraping against Storm Breaker’s stomach. The monster thrashes wildly for a few minutes, clawing at Storm Breaker’s hull. Fang Striker hits the release on their sword, leaving it embedded in the kaiju’s back to stand and fire into the kaiju with plasma cannons. 

Jihoon feels the tremor of the shots land. There’s a final kick from the kaiju before it slumps, putting all of its deadweight on Storm Breaker. In unison, you and Jihoon throw the creature off of you. It lands with a crash, water surging around the creature as its weight drags it down before buoyancy pulls it back up.

Storm Breaker straightens, standing in the open water with a battered Fang Striker a couple of yards away. Panting, Jihoon looks across the Conn-pod where you’re already looking at him, shield on your helmet up as you grin at him. There is unguarded happiness there, nearly as bright as the sun that glints off Storm Breaker’s helm. 

“So,” you ask the group. “Can we get hashbrowns now?”

Jihoon realizes at that moment he doesn’t dislike you at all. 

-

“Would you slow down?” Jihoon asks, setting his tray down next to you roughly. He plops in the seat next to you, giving you a severe side eye. “You’re going to throw up the second you hit the treadmill eating that fast.”

“I want to get more bacon before they run out,” you whine. “They won’t make more once it’s gone.”

Uncovering the top of his tray, Jihoon reveals a heap of bacon slices. You oggle as he sets it between the two of you, shaking his head and scoffing. “Yeah,” he huffs. “I know. I brought more, so slow down.”

Affection for your co-pilot warms you. The affection is certainly one-sided, but you don’t mind. In the four months you’ve been co-piloting with Jihoon, he still hasn’t opened up to you.

Despite having made the drop five times together, Jihoon still brings almost nothing to the drift. You catch pieces of him, tiny snippets of memories or emotions or thoughts as you become one. You slowly use them to fit together the pieces of the Jihoon puzzle you’ve been working on every day. 

It helps that you live in such close proximity, too. Jihoon’s habits speak far more for them than his words ever could. Like the way he wakes up at the same exact time every day and tries to be asleep at the same time every night, or the way he meticulously cleans your shared living space every Sunday, or the way he starts every sparring session with the same eight-stretch sequence.

He still doesn’t talk about him in your time slotted for getting to know one another. It’s not therapy exactly, but every pilot team has designated time daily to talk things out. To work through things that are bothering them, or to talk about themselves. The more pilots know one another, the better they fight.

You know virtually nothing about Jihoon. He doesn’t talk about himself during sessions, so you talk for him. You tell him about your childhood, about piloting with your mom, about how much you miss Maya. He eventually starts asking questions. Provides responses.

“We’re on the drop schedule tomorrow,” Jihoon notes, flicking through his tablet on the table next to him. “It’s graveyard shift. Do you want me to ask Mingyu and Wonwoo to switch to the day shift?” 

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

He gives you a critical look. “You’re awful in the mornings.” 

“Not when I’m fighting.” You snatch more bacon. “Would you rather me or Mingyu in a jaeger at two in the morning?”

“Point taken.” Both of you know the only person more miserable than you in the morning is Kim Mingyu. Jihoon nudges you with your elbow and gestures to the bacon. “Finish up. We have to workout soon.” 

“Ugh.”

He smirks. “Cardio day.”

“Ji, no.”

He ignores the nickname. “So much running.”

Now you know he’s doing it on purpose. There are few things in your training schedule that bring Jihoon joy like torturing you during scheduled workouts. He had started slating them each day, determined to harden your conditioning despite the fact that you’re already in decent shape.

Decent is a word in his vocabulary. He only expects perfection and even then, you’re pretty sure it’s unattainable. Still, you finish your breakfast and let him lead you to the gym, peppering him with whining and protests the entire way. He ignores them with a placid smile, hands linked behind his back as he walks. 

When you get to the gym, there are other pilots and workers using their free time to exercise. There’s only a single treadmill open, which Jihoon gets on easily. You start to edge your way toward yoga mats with the intention of not working out at all when he leans over to look at the time on the treadmill next to him. 

“You’ve been on it for an hour,” he grunts at some boy who looks like a cadet. “Off you go.”

The cadet scrambles off, almost forgetting to turn the treadmill off before he does. He bows in respect before shooting off like a frightened school of fish. Jihoon turns to you, grinning as he pats the machine. “For you.” 

“Thanks,” you deadpan. “Just what I’ve always wanted.” 

Jihoon’s grin only grows when you step onto the treadmill as he leans over the rail and turns it on, pressing the incline and speed buttons until you’re walking at a warm up pace. Which, for Jihoon, is a solid jog. 

As you jog, you fish out headphones from your pocket. You pop them in your ears, careful not to trip as the sound of classical fills your ears. You’ve taken to using Jihoon’s playlists, despite originally making fun of him for it. You find that it distracts you more than you thought it would, and it helps that you feel like a character in a fantasy movie running to an epic soundtrack.

You’ve adopted a lot of things that Jihoon does. It happens naturally, especially the more you drift. You find yourself putting on Mozart instead of Tchaikovsky or taking your coffee black on accident or scolding others in the training room for not being precise and perfect. 

Ghost Drifting is what some call it. You don’t think you’re quite there yet, being that Jihoon still hides half of himself away. But sometimes, even outside of the drift, you feel him in your mind like a phantom presence. 

After your workout, you go through the same day you have everyday: meditate back to back, sparring, and your talking session, which mostly consists of you both sitting next to one another looking over your drop footage and noting areas for improvement. 

Jihoon’s shoulder is pressed against yours, his eyes focused on the tablet in your hands, tracking the slowed down movement of the video. He taps the screen, pointing to the right side of the jaeger that he pilots. “I was a bit slow here.” 

“It’s not your reaction time, you’d never punch that slow. That’s the arm that took damage two fights ago against Razorbill. Let’s talk to the J-Tech team and see if there’s a delay in the receptor. It might be a split second off.” He snorts and you glance sidelong at him. “What?”

“You don’t think I’d punch slow?”

“No.” 

Jihoon raises his brows. You can feel his surprise at your seriousness to his question. He obviously expected you to turn it into a harmless jab, but you mean it when you say, “Your reaction time has been perfect for the last sixteen drops you’ve made. If there’s a delay, it’s the machinery. Not you.”

He looks away from you, nodding once. The tips of his ears are red and he mutters, “Thanks.” 

Instead of pressing the matter like you want to, you smile and hit play again, both of you focusing on the screen once more to talk through the remainder of your allotted bonding time. 

In your room, Jihoon turns on the speakers, the sound of Pas de Deux from the Nutcracker floods the room. You pause by the wardrobe where you’re shucking your boots off, gazing at Jihoon as he moves into the kitchen silently, taking out two mugs, a box of peppermint tea and a kettle. 

He doesn’t feel your eyes on him, going about making tea for the both of you. He hums along to the song - you don’t know when he became so familiar with it, his movements comfortable. Practiced. Relaxed. A swell of affection overtakes you, realizing you don’t know when he started making you tea. Or putting on Tchaikovsky for you. Or not biting at you every two seconds. 

Sensing your gaze, he turns to look at you over his shoulder. You turn away from him, busying yourself with your boots to spare him from making an excuse as to why he’s making you tea. Because you’ll know he’ll give one, provide you with some sort of excuse that it isn’t a favor or because you’re friends, but rather something like the tea bags are too large for one or I have to boil the water anyway. 

When you’re done changing for bed, he’s standing next to you, mug extended. He doesn’t look at you, instead finding interest in the cameras outside the Shatterdome. You take the mug from him and say nothing, knowing he’d rather you not thank him. 

Mug in hand, you climb carefully into the top bunk, crossing your legs as you nestle the mug next to you, pulling out your tablet to read. He gets into bed without a word, both of you existing in comfortable silence, just like Jihoon prefers. 

-

Alarms wrench you from sleep. You’re thrown forward in your bed, red flashing on the TV as the kaiju alert system wails. You wipe sleep from your face as you haul yourself over the edge of the bunk, landing next to Jihoon who is pulling off his sweats in favor of cargo pants as quickly as he can. You feel dizzy and off balance as you do the same, shoving one foot in your pants and hopping on one leg as your foot catches while trying to shove in the other.

Jihoon grabs you by the elbow, holding you steady as you shove your foot through the leg of your pants and shoot him a grateful look. He nods, letting you go to finish zipping his pants and digging around for a shirt. He can’t seem to find one, cursing under his breath as he roots around. You toss him one of yours instead, grabbing a pair of socks and throwing yourself onto his bunk to yank them on, quickly followed by shoes. 

“Fuck,” Jihoon mutters as he looks up at the screen, the red painting him in hellish light. “We’ve got a Cat-4. They’re dropping Emperor’s Mandate and Fang Striker with us.” 

“Dino and Wylie weren’t even on rotation.” 

“They’re not making the same mistake they did with Solar Saber.” He pulls out a tablet, squinting against the glow. “We're the last line of defense. Hao and Jun will take point with Fang Striker.” 

“Got it. Let’s go.”

You take off at a jog, easily keeping pace with one another as you go. There are jaeger teams moving about the building getting ready, the alarms still sounding as you navigate to the jaeger bay. Your team is already there and ready to fit you into Drivesuits, sliding each piece of armor on with practiced care. 

Jihoon catches your eyes from where he stands across from you, letting a team member slide his hand into a metal glove. His eyes are dark as the stormy sea outside, a bottomless well that you can’t seem to dive down into, but want to. His lips twitch a little and he gives you a nod, which you’ve come to understand is Jihoon for I trust you. 

Screens blink to life as you enter the Conn-Pod. Closing the front shield of your helmet, you immediately turn on open comms, listening as the Marshall and LOCCENT Controller on duty - you think it’s Nainsi - talking Minghao and Junhui through their neural handshake. 

The spine of your Drivesuit connects to the Conn-pod, your heads up display coming to life. You feel the metal whirring and clicking into place, rotating your shoulders and flexing your fingers as your jaeger team finishes connecting Jihoon to the Conn-pod before exciting and shutting the door firmly.

“Storm Breaker ready to drop,” Jihoon announces. 

“Engaging pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence,” Nainsi answers. “Engaging neural handshake in three… two… one…”

It’s like jumping off a cliff into freezing cold water. You feel the flash of cold, vision going white for a split second before you feel Jihoon’s calm flow through you. He’s steady like an icy river, his thoughts, feelings and emotions hidden down in their dark depth where they can’t bother either of you.

You’re like rapids, rushing thoughts and feelings, pouring everything through the drift at him. He takes it in stride, used to the white-capped rush of information he gets from you each time you connect. Jihoon adjusts easily, already hitting buttons on his screen as images from your day flash through your mind - including you watching him make you tea in the kitchen.

Jihoon says nothing about that. He says nothing about the gentle wave of your embarrassment either as Nainsi says, “Neural handshake strong and holding.”

Chan’s voice crackles through comms. “Fang Striker on standby for neural handshake.”

“Copy. Storm Breaker prepare for drop in three… two… one.”

Dropping feels like falling through the core of the earth. For a few moments, it’s a flightless feeling as you fall through the Shatterdome. Then you land, knees absorbing impact as the head of the jaeger falls into the neck socket, locking in.

“Calibrating right side,” Jihoon announces. “Calibrated.”

“Calibrating left side. Calibrated. Ready to engage.” 

Nainsi confirms calibration and directs, “Storm Breaker, take north point defense two miles from the shoreline. Hold that line. Fang Striker, engaging in pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence in three… two… one.” 

You tune out the rest of Fang Striker’s drop as you and Jihoon behind to charge into the bay. The windshield in front of you immediately froths with sea salt and wind, battering down on the jaeger as the night sea surges against Storm Breaker’s legs. You cut through the water like a knife, carving your way toward the defense line as the jumphawk team flies into place. 

“Five minutes until surface breach.” 

“Oh! Hi, Vernon,” you chirp. 

“Sup?”

“Would kill for a coffee right now. And like, a bagel. Or hashbrowns?” 

Vernon groans. “Mood.” 

Jihoon snorts but says nothing. Minghao’s voice comes over the comms, soft and cool. “Blue, everytime I drop with you you’re talking about food.” 

“Have you considered that Ji doesn't feed me?” 

“So it’s Ji now, huh?”

“Don’t get her started,” Jihoon grunts at Minghao’s teasing. “One mile out from the line of defense.”

Chan joins the conversation, voice chipper. “Fang Striker ready to pursue. Also, good morning everyone!” 

Everyone groans in misery collectively instead of greeting him back. Wylie’s voice cracks like a whip as she spits out, “Be nice to him.” 

Everyone greets Chan after that. Jihoon shakes his head, amused. “Fang Striker, escort Emperor’s Mandate to engage. Four minutes until surface breach.” 

Black ocean ripples outward in front of Storm Breaker as you move. You near the defense line, the city lights like a sea of stars at Storm Breaker’s back. Air support circles overhead, monitoring kaiju activity and helping with positioning. You see the spotlights glinting on the surface, waiting for a kaiju to surface. 

To the east of your position, Fang Striker and Emperor’s Mandate cut through the water. Fang Striker’s red paint is violent against the night, but her build is small next to the towering white fury of Minghao and Junhui’s jaeger. 

“Storm Breaker in position,” Jihoon calls. You both stop moving, your jaeger coming to a standstill as the water sloshes around your waist. 

“Standby, Storm Breaker. Kaiju breach in one minute.” 

“Emperor’s Mandate and Fang Striker in position. Ready to engage.” 

“Engage at your discretion.” 

Comms go silent as the strike team waits for the kaiju to appear. It’s the calm before the storm, the silence pregnant with tension. You feel a tentative brush of Jihoon’s thoughts against you. You turn and glance at him, surprised. 

Jihoon is watching you with a stormy expression, thoughtful. “You thinking about letting me in that big ass head of yours?” You tease, just in your personal comms. 

He smirks and shakes his head, breaking eye contact to look out the front of Storm Breakers cockpit. “Not a chance.” 

It’s a lie. You know it's a lie because you feel it is as sure as you feel your own glittering satisfaction that he’s thinking about it. That Jihoon is considering opening the door for you, even a fraction. 

Your satisfaction only lasts a second as the kaiju breaches the surface in front of Emperor’s Mandate and Fang Striker. You watch in strained silence as the jumphawk team begins reporting what they can about the makeup of the kaiju.

Emperor’s Mandate engages immediately, their metal saber chain shooting from the right arm and punching through the shoulder of the kaiju. An electromagnetic pulse goes down the chain and it goes taught like a sword as Junhui slices upward, attempting to sever the kaiju’s arm. 

The kaiju lands a hard punch to Emperor’s Mandate in the middle, sending them backward into the ocean as the chain-turned-sword pulls out as they fall. Fang Striker is there before the kaiju can attack again, charging and tackling the kaiju at the waist. She’s not built for heavy fighting, but Chan and Wylie are vicious, clawing at the kaiju with their metal claws. 

“Fang Striker, roll!” Minghao orders. Fang Stricker does, using the kaiju as weight to rock themselves over and under the creature, vanishing beneath the water’s surface as Emperor’s Mandate lands a punch to the kaiju’s back with a plasmacaster, turning the night blue as the sparks flare. “Push and we’ll pull.”

Salt spray mists the windshield as you and Jihoon watch in silence. The kaiju is a massive, hulking beast with spikes down its spine and a nasty club tail that catches Fang Striker in the knees, taking her down. The two jaeger teams work in flawless tandem, punching when the other ducks, tackling with the other falls. 

In a way, it’s beautiful to watch the fury of what a jaeger can do. Your lips twitch upward as the fight starts to go their way, Emperor’s Mandate severing the leg of the monster as Fang Striker pounces on it, sinking both clawed hands into its shoulder blades and tearing through its hide. 

“Storm Breaker-” Vernon’s panicked voice gets cut off as your world turns upside down. 

You feel yourself slam against the restraints of the Conn-pod connecting you to the jaeger. A surprised shriek escapes you as you flip head-over-feet in Storm Breaker, crashing into the ocean with a violent slam. A kaiju raises itself from the water, rearing its head like a cobra as it shrieks, the sound shaking the entire hull. 

“What the fuck?” Jihoon screams over comms. Storm Breaker rolls as the kaiju strikes like a snake, barely missing you as it hits empty water. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

“There was no reading!” Vernon yells back. “The signature appeared a half second before it attacked like it had some sort of stealth mode!” 

“Kaiju don’t have fucking stealth mode, Vernon!”

“Maybe it got an iOS update man, I don’t know!” 

There’s no time to care about why or how a kaiju isn’t appearing on the reporting team’s screen. Whatever level it is, it’s fast. You and Jihoon get to your feet just as it strikes again, fangs striking at the windshield. It doesn’t crack, but the sound of kaiju bone against the glass isn’t promising.

Storm Breaker stumbles back a few steps before regaining footing. You both strike with your right fist, slamming into the neck area of the beast as it winds up to strike again. It looks like a massive cobra, coils and coils of kaiju body gathering each time it tries. 

A shudder vibrates through the jaeger as the punch lands, sending the kaiju back several hundred yards. You don’t give it a moment to recover, both of you charging as you equip short swords perfect for close-combat fighting and slicing. 

“I think it’s too fast to pick up a reading,” you shout over comms. “It moves so quickly!”

Fighting is a careful rhythm. You and Jihoon find it immediately, tuning out the sound of the other fight as you zero in on your target. It doesn’t matter that the kaiju took you by surprise, it doesn’t matter that Jihoon still hasn’t let you in, it doesn’t matter that somewhere, you have other friends in just as much danger.

What matters is this. The feeling of rage that flows from Jihoon - or maybe it’s you - as you both savagely plunge a sword in the serpent body of your enemy. What matters is the way you and Jihoon flow, two rivers with the same curves and dips, sliding around the kaiju as you strike again, spraying ichor into the sea. 

Storm Breaker’s sword extends from the right arm, reflecting the city lights briefly before you cut sideways. The blade slides clean through like a knife through paper. You and Jihoon both scream savagely in unison as the head flies separate from the body, sailing in the air for a moment before crashing into the surface as blood spurts from the main body. 

It flails for a moment longer before crashing under ocean froth and water. Victory surges through you and you look across the Conn-pod where Jihoon is grinning at you, stars in his eyes. You feel a moment of elation, laughter bubbling to your lips as Nainsi recalls you to the Dome, Emperor’s Mandate and Fang Striker standing victorious.

“That’s kill number six?” Jihoon asks, voice delighted. “We’re on a fucking roll.” 

“I guess I’m not so bad a co-pilot after all, right?” He rolls his eyes but you get the feeling the tips of his ears have turned red. “Come on, Ji. Tell me I’m a good co-pilot.”

“No way.”

“Come onnnn.”

He levels a look at you, dark eyes churning. He licks his lips, opening and closing his mouth before he finally murmurs, “Can I show you instead?” 

The left foot of Storm Breaker is yanked from under you. You go down screaming, feeling the impact of the seafloor as you go down in the shallows hard. Pain shoots up your left arm as you slam against the restraints keeping you attached to the Conn-pod. Lights flash in your heads up display and a sensor starts going off, the left arm of the jaeger going dead as it loses connection. 

Jihoon is screaming your name over comms as you grit your teeth, and gather your bearings. You suck in a sharp breath as you both scramble to get Storm Breaker on her feet. “Left arms gone cold,” Jihoon yells over comms. You manage to get Storm Breaker to her feet as you both throw out your right arm, bracing for impact as the kaiju’s head strikes again. “It grew back two fucking heads!” 

“Fang Striker pursuing!” It’s Chan voice over the comms. “Three miles out from contact.” 

One of the heads strikes at the helm again, knocking into Storm Breaker hard. Your world rocks as you shove with the full force of the right side of the jaeger, thrusters turning on as you launch the kaiju and its twin heads backward. 

“How the fuck do we kill this thing?” you screech, charging toward the creature as it slides through the water, coiling to strike again. “If we cut off its head again, it’s just going to grow another.”

“Stab it through the head? I don’t fucking know!”

Snatches of panic and anger and concern seize you for a split second, it feels like your own but you realize it’s not, Jihoon’s feelings bleeding into you like a fresh wound as you strike at the kaiju again. Its tail loops around the left leg again and Jihoon’s worry spikes, so raw and unfamiliar that when he lifts his foot, you don’t lift yours. 

Storm Breaker stalls, filled with mechanic screeching as the two of you clash in the drift in a moment of indecision. A storm of emotions batters down on you. Your lungs squeeze as you feel yourself torn away from the fight and into Jihoon’s memories, each one flitting by so fast you can barely resonate with them. 

A little boy bullied by bigger kids. A woman being torn out of a home screaming in the hand of a kaiju. The sound of Mozart drowning out the screams of destruction. Young Jihoon crying in his room alone, nursing bruised ribs and knees. Teenage Jihoon fighting back. A man named Haneul that has seen all of Jihoon’s scars. 

“... out of alignment!” 

Words crash through you as you feel a tremor go through Storm Breaker. Jihoon’s thoughts are like a hurricane tearing at your foundation. 

Hatred when he meets you for the first time. Pride when he makes his first successful drop. Grief when Haneul retired. Resentment when he’s reassigned to a new pilot. 

Jihoon screams your name but you are drowning in him. Jihoon’s emotional dam has broken and years worth of who he is comes out in a torrent.

Jihoon joins the pilot program because he wants to get away from the home. The smell of books and oil lanterns. Greasy fingers and fumes. A blue mat rushing up to meet him as he falls. 

“Emperor’s Mandate two miles out. Preparing to engage!” 

Bitter coffee. Celebrating Haneul’s birthday. The sting of Chan biting him mid spar. Pretending he didn’t hate his childhood. Hiding the scared little boy behind a controlled exterior. 

“She’s chasing the rabbit!” 

Chasing the rabbit. You hear the word and vaguely realize you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of Jihoon’s memories and emotions, completely unused to them in a space where you’re connected intimately. You try to gather your bearings, shutting down the images flashing across your mind that don’t belong to you as Storm Breaker gets rocked again. 

“Shit,” Jihoon swears. “Blue, come on. Come back to me. I’m sorry. Don’t chase my memories!”

A kite against a blue sky. Two paper boats on a lake. Your smile as you hang upside down off the bunk bed. Soonyoung giving Jihoon a birthday cake. Wylie in a hospital bed. Jeonghan and Joshua accepting pilots of the year. 

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon whispers, both in your mind and outloud. “Come back.”

You can do this. You can withstand the storm of Jihoon’s consciousness. You shake him out of your head, sorting out your thoughts and his. It’s nearly impossible to understand where you end and he begins, but you manage to hold back the wake of his uncontrolled consciousness.

Blinking, you come back to the present. There are lights and warnings going off as Storm Breaker takes another strike from the kaiju. Fang Striker is taking on its other head, the kaiju splitting focus between two jaeger teams as it tries to split open the top of your jaeger. Wylie and Chan are yelling in comms and Emperor’s Mandate is in pursuit to help you disengage. 

The left arm of your jaeger is still cold, totally disconnected from the rest of the machinery. You run through a list of fighting options with one arm down. The right side of the jaeger is fitted with a sword, explosive and a plasma caster in the first of the hand. But the jaeger overall- 

“Light it up,” you tell Jihoon. His relief crashing into you like a tidal wave. He understands what you want to do immediately. You feel his agreement rather than see it as you both start to tap controls on your control panels. “Fang Striker, prepare for lighting strike!” 

“Fry this motherfucker!” Wylie screams. “I fucking hate snakes!”

The nuclear reactor at the core of your jaeger starts to charge. From the top down, your jaeger begins to power down, lights flickering out and screens going dead. Your heart hammers as the kaiju slams into the head of the jaeger over and over again, trying to crack the helm wide open. Storm Breaker takes the savage blows as all but the nuclear core shuts off.

A low hum begins to sound at the heart of the machine. You feel the vibration tingle in your spine as all of the energy flow focuses in the center of the jaeger, slowly charging and pulling electricity from everywhere else. It’s a slow process, the kaiju beating down on you as the core winds up. 

“Fuck,” Jihoon swears at a particularly harsh strike. “This fucking bitch!”

“We’ve got it,” you tell him. You look across the Conn-pod at him, his face pale behind the shield of his helmet. “She’s not going to break, Ji.” 

You feel your words resonate in him. His affection is startling. He hides nothing from you now, every thought he’s ever had of you, every moment his eyes lingered on you too, every second he realized he didn’t dislike you at all - it’s all there for you to see. His soul laid bare. 

“She’s ready!” Your smile is like the sun. “Light her up!” 

Jihoon hits a button on his panel and the air turns to static. A ripple of energy passes through you, only lasting a split second before a bolt of white lightning explodes from the center of the jaeger. The world turns white, forcing you to shield your eyes as you hear the crack of deafening thunder. 

Ears ringing, you lower your hand as the light fades, blue sparks of electricity zapping across the ocean in a mile-wide radius. Smoking, the kaiju falls backwards, ocean spraying up on either side as it hits the surface of the sea. You can barely hear Fang Striker over the sound of the high-pitched whine in your ears.

You wait, but the kaiju doesn’t rise again. The jumphawk team circles above, waiting for another kaiju signature, but none comes. 

Sagging in your Conn-pod, you glance over at Jihoon. “Does that count as one or two kills? I’m so fucking over monster fighting today. I want a goddamn grilled cheese.”

-

Jihoon is a wreck. Not only does he visibly hover near your medical bed as the attending medic tends to your arm, ensuring it’s not broken, but you can still feel him like he’s attached to you in the drift. His concern is touching, but there’s also anger there. Not at you but at himself, boiling under the surface of his newfound worry. 

“So she’ll be okay?” he clarifies again, looking at the doctor with a hard stare. The man tending to your arm looks nervous under the sharp gaze of a jaeger pilot. “You’re sure it’s not broken? It better not be broken.”

“Jihoon,” you say gently. He crosses his arms over his chest, not taking his eyes off the doctor as he stares him down. “I’m fine. It’s just some bruising.”

“Just some bruising. Your arm practically fell off.”

“It did not. Let the doctor finish, Ji.”

He softens, turning to sit on an empty cot as he sulks. You watch him with muted amusement. His bottom lip juts out slightly, put out by you not letting him baby you. Cute, you think. 

Thankfully, the arm isn’t damaged. You’d bruised it pretty severely when Storm Breaker went down and you slammed against your restraints, but otherwise you’re unharmed. Some pain meds, ice and rest should do the trick, so you and Jihoon leave the medical bay with the doctor’s advice in hand and Jihoon muttering under his breath.

Back in your room, Jihoon sits you on his bottom bunk to examine the arm himself, holding you carefully as though he can break you at any moment. You let him have this, watching as his eyebrows crease and mouth twists while he rotates your arm delicately.

He has pretty hands. You’ve always thought so, but now you watch his slender fingers brush over your sore arm with care, feeling a shiver threaten the base of your spine. 

“You should ask for a reassignment.” Jihoon’s words land like a brick. You look up at him, eyes flashing with confusion. “I nearly killed you today. It was unprofessional and shameful as your co-pilot to knock you out of alignment like that. You don’t deserve that.”

“It happens, Jihoon. Fighting in a jaeger isn’t always perfect.”

“Well I am. And today I wasn’t. Request a new pilot, the Marshall will understand. People don’t last with me, it’ll be no risk to you.”

“I’m not requesting a new pilot. You’re who I want to drift with.”

He starts to pace. “Why? I’m obviously still that scared little boy who used to hide in his room alone.” 

Even without having felt his emotions in the drift, Jihoon makes so much more sense to you now. You reach out to him, taking him by the arms to stop his pacing. He won’t look at you, averting his eyes elsewhere. Your heart squeezes knowing that the reason Jihoon kept you out is because he didn’t want you to see who he was before he was the controlled, perfect jaeger pilot. 

“You’re not, Jihoon.” You squeeze his arm to emphasize your words. “But even if you were, I trust that little boy too. He was empathetic and kind.” Jihoon glances at you, unsure. “Don’t run away from me now that you’ve let me in. I’ve seen you and I still want you. Unless you don’t want me.”

“Of course I do.”

“It’s hard to tell with you, you know?”

His gaze drops down to your mouth. “I’ll show you, then.” 

Without another word, Jihoon grabs you by the waist and pulls you to him fully. Your arms slip around his neck, holding onto him for balance as he crashes his mouth to yours. His lips are warm and soft in contrast to the ferocity he kisses you with, fingers digging into your hips, mouth hungry. 

You meet him with equal fervor, fingers tangling in the long hair at the nape of his neck. He grunts when your nails scratch against his scalp, biting into your lower lip. He presses his tongue to the seam of your mouth and you let him in, sighing as his tongue brushes against yours, eager to taste you.

Kissing Jihoon is like standing in the eye of a storm. He’s brutal and calm, sharp and soft. His heart beats against yours, his chest heaving when he pulls away from your mouth to press wet kisses to the shape of your jaw and down your throat.

One of Jihoon’s hands slides up your back, fingers dancing along your spine until he reaches the base of your neck. He grabs you firmly, pulling your head back to give him better access to the softness of your throat. You let out a breathy sound and he groans low in his throat. 

“Don’t make that sound,” he whispers, biting your neck gently and chasing the sting with his tongue. “I’ll fucking crumble.” 

“So crumble.” 

“Fuck.”

Jihoon starts pushing you backward, your steps a tangle of feet. It might be the most uncoordinated the two of you have ever been, caught up in the heat of each other’s mouths as he kisses you feverishly again. It’s messy and spit-slicked, making you light headed. Your knees hit his bottom bunk and you crash backward, Jihoon on top of you. 

Your hands seek the warmth of his skin, sliding under the hem of his shirt over his flexing stomach to his firm chest. He lets you rake your nails across him as he settles on top of you, his hands planted on either side of your head and a knee slotted between your legs. 

Having him this close is everything. Months of not being able to have him entirely or the way you want has made you ravenous for him. You pull at his shirt, nipping at his lip and whining. He laughs darkly, leaning up from you to grab the back of his shirt and pull it up over his head. 

He lets you do what you want, content to let you run your fingers over the ridges of his stomach, the narrow shape of his waist, the firmness of his chest. He dives back down to attach his mouth to your collarbone, pulling the neckline of your shirt out of the way for access.

“Just take it off,” you complain, shivering as he continues his assault.

“Mmmf - difficult.”

This is not the composed Jihoon you’re used to. This is the raw, unedited version of him you’ve been begging to see. This is the storm letting loose because he knows you can take it - want to take it.

Jihoon does get tired of your shirt, growling as he grabs it firmly and tears it up and over your head. You laugh as he does, loving the way he scowls and presses you back down, biting your jaw as he does. He palms your tits over your bra, pinching your nipples through the fabric. You squeal and arch into him, head pressing into the mattress.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he huffs, mouth trailing butterfly-soft kisses toward your chest. 

“Sensitive?” you jest, dropping a hand between your bodies to press against the front of his pants. He hisses, hips twitching as you press against his cock. You grin wickedly as he pants raggedly against your skin, letting you squeeze him. “Yeah, you are.” 

Jihoon drags his knee up the bed, pressing between your legs. A bolt of pleasure surges through you and you whimper, making him smirk against your chest. “What was that?” 

“Nothing.”

He drops a hand down to your waist, squeezing. “Didn’t sound like nothing. Come on,” he urges. “You know you want to.” 

So you do. You roll your hips forward, pressing your clothed cunt against his thigh. The layers of clothes block too much of the sensation and you press harder, desperate for stimulation. A whine drips from your mouth as you grow frustrated. You feel the curve of Jihoon’s smile against the curve of your left breast as he places a wet kiss there. 

“Having a hard time?”

“Jihoon.”

One hand stays fixed on your hips, urging you to continue to grind into him despite it not being enough. The other slides up your front, his fingers light as feathers. He hooks a finger in the cup of your bra and pulls downward. He drags his mouth downward, giving your nipple a playful flick with his tongue. 

“Jihoon.” 

He hums thoughtfully, circling your pert bud with his tongue. A tremor goes through you and you squeeze your eyes shut. He closes his mouth on you and sucks gently, making you gasp. You continue to roll your hips into him as he scrapes his teeth against you gently. 

Cool air hits your spit-slicked chest as he kisses sloppily over to your other breast, repeating his ministrations. It feels so good you feel like you’re going to lose your mind. His skin is hot against yours and you’re desperate to feel more of him, hands pulling at his shoulders as he sucks wet marks into your chest. 

“More,” you whisper. “God, please more.” 

He knows what you mean when you say more because of course he does. He rids you of your bra entirely, throwing it somewhere else in the room. He works the buttons on your pants next, deft fingers moving quickly before tugging them down your thighs. He lets you pull his cargos down and throw them, but it’s as far as you get before he’s lavishing attention to your tits again. 

“Try now,” he pants. 

His knee is pressed right against the apex of your thighs. You don’t care that he can feel the damp cloth against his skin. You slow grind on his knee, feeling the pressure infinitely better with just a thin layer of underwear between you. A sigh of relief escapes you and he grunts, pleased as you keep going, thighs shaking. 

You could drown in him and not care. He smells like spearmint and soap, his hair soft as silk as it slides between your fingers. He gives a sound of approval everytime you card your hands through his hair, especially when he gives you a sharp bite and you tug. 

A tingle settles in the depth of your stomach. You feel like you could almost come this way, getting off with just his leg between your thighs and his mouth sucking greedily at your tits. You feel yourself tighten, hips pressing further but it’s not quite enough.

He reads you like a book. Jihoon slides his knee back and replaces it with his hand, fingers delicately pressing against your clit. It makes you see stars, going rigid in his grasp as he gently circles it a few times before dragging his fingers back down to press at your core through your underwear. 

“So god damn wet,” he lets go of your nipple with a pop. He hooks a finger through your underwear and pulls them to the side, his knuckles brushing your sticky folds. “So pretty for me.” 

His compliment makes you shy. You hide your face behind your hands and he laughs darkly, letting you. He’s already seen all of you in the drift, but this is different. More personal. Real. 

The press of a finger into your cunt is slow and maddening. You immediately want more, desperate for it. He doesn’t give it to you right away, taking his time as he busies his mouth with your chest and neck, content to finger fuck you at a leisurely pace. 

When he hooks his finger and presses right into that soft spot, you seize up. He grins, finding exactly what he was looking for. His mouth catches yours again, a tangle of tongue and teeth as he presses another finger in. You squirm against the mattresses, pinned under his weight. The heel of his hand presses into your clit, adding pressure as he strokes your front walls rhythmically. 

You’re greedy for him. You suck his tongue into your mouth and he moans, letting you do what you want. The wet squelch of his hand between your legs only spurs you on, his name dripping from your lips in a whine as you cling to him, feeling the start of your orgasm.

Jihoon knows it’s coming. His pace is more intent and he shuffles up the bed to get a better angle. Your toes curl and you writhe against the sheets, feeling the way they stick to your balmy skin as he works you closer and closer to an orgasm. 

He presses a soft kiss under your ear, chaste compared to the mess he makes of your cunt. “Come on,” his voice is husky and gentle. “Let go for me.”

It’s his for me that sends you over the edge. Your legs squeeze around his hand but he keeps at it, pressing tender kisses to your collarbones as you twitch under his touch. Your orgasm starts to wane and turn into overstimulation, your panting turning into whimpering, nails digging into the back of his neck, unsure if you’re trying to push him away or keep him there.

Jihoon retracts his hand slowly. You feel the way you drip down the curve of your ass as you pant, staring up at the bottom of your bunk trying to gulp down air. He nudges his nose against your jaw, bringing your attention back to the present as his dark eyes look up at you.

Your voice comes out rough from use. “Want you.”

The corner of his mouth lifts and he nods, lifting himself off you to let you peel your underwear the rest of the way down as he works his briefs down his thighs. You let out a squeak when you look up to see him using the cum on his fingers to stroke himself, head tilted back a little, eyes heavy. 

“What?” he murmurs, dropping his gaze down to you. His eyes are fucked out just from getting you off and it drives you insane, this visual of him blotchy with warmth, hair sticking to his forehead.

“You’re so hot,” you blurt and he pauses, raising a brow at you. “Don’t stop.” 

“You like when I touch myself in front of you?” You nod, chewing on your lip as you stare. He grins and starts stroking himself slowly again, squeezing his flushed tip as he does, beads of precum dripping over the edge. “I’ll give you a show later. If I don’t fuck you in the next five minutes I will nut in my hand.” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t hate it.” 

“Oh? You want me to cum in my hand instead of that pretty pussy?” You purse your lips, staring back at him with a pout. “Didn’t think so.” He laughs and shuffles on his knees toward you, shaking his head and groaning when your legs fall open automatically for him, revealing the mess he’s made. “Can’t believe I made myself wait for this.” 

“How stupid of you.”

Your stomach flutters when Jihoon lowers himself, cockhead pressing at your entrance. You ache for him - in more ways than one. Jihoon feels it too, hanging his head and letting his hair cascade around his face like a silvery halo as he slowly presses in. 

His name falls from your mouth as you gasp, feeling the pressure of him as he sinks into your cunt slowly. You feel full and overwhelmed and perfect all at once, a myriad of feelings peppering your senses until he’s fully sheathed to the hilt. 

Jihoon’s breathing is ragged for a moment as you clench around him, throbbing. He sucks in air sharply between his teeth, one hand going to your hip to press you into the mattress while the other lands next to your head, bearing his weight. 

“Thank you for waiting for me.” You almost don’t hear him when he says it, his voice so soft. “When you didn’t have to.”

Your arms loop around his neck, pulling him closer. His nose brushes against yours and you feel your adoration for him grow. “Of course I did. You were meant for me.” 

Prompted by your words, he nods and pulls his hips back slowly. The glide is easy with how wet you are. He thrusts back in with a hard snap, stealing your breath. The ability to string together coherent words vanishes as Jihoon sets a punctuated space. 

“Fuck,” you whisper. 

Fuck is right. Jihoon angles his hips perfectly, kissing your spot with each thrust with a deadly precision you’ve only seen in battle. Of course he fucks like he fights with absolute accuracy, driving you right toward an orgasm within a few minutes. Your fingers tangle in your hair, mouth pressed against his forehead where it rests against you. 

His hand slides from your hips to your thigh, slipping under it and hiking it upward. It deepens the angle and you let out a loud sound, unable to catch your breath as sparks fly behind your eyelids.

“Holy shit, like that.” You’re a mess under him and he knows it, driving his hips faster as you continue to fall apart. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

“Yeah?” he asks, almost taunting. “Gonna come like this?”

“Yes, please don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. He keeps going, driving you to the edge until you’re coming around him with enough force to knock heads with him. He mumbles something that sound like ouch but you’re too far gone, squeezing the fucking life out of him as you come before going boneless. 

Jihoon pulls out and flips you, your world spinning as you land face first in his pillows. They smell like him and you love it, sliding your hands up to grip at the pillows as he drags your knees up, ass toward him. Sweat slicks your back and you try to take in a few ragged breaths, turning your head to the side to watch him sidelong. 

His dark eyes dip to your ass and he curses, shifting backward so that he can lean down, hands prying your thighs apart to make way for his tongue as it slides up your pussy. 

“Oh shit,” you wheeze. 

He practically purrs against you, tongue licking slowly back and forth. The grip on his pillows tightens, one of your hands shooting back to grab his hair, holding him to you. He laughs, the vibration going straight through you as he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking over it. 

“I love when you pull my hair,” he admits, panting as he takes a breath. 

His tongue dives back in, pressing against your clenching hole. It is maddening the way he works you with his mouth. You feel like you’re coasting to another high. He knows exactly what to do, knows when to slow down, knows when to speed up. Jihoon has had access to you for months and it shows, navigating your body like it’s second nature to him.

“I’m gonna come again.” It comes out as a whine, fingers twisting in his locks. “Shit.”

“So come again.” 

You do. It’s not as hard as the first one but it’s just as good, your orgasm shivering through you. Warmth floods you and you bite into his pillow, muting the loud sound that spills from your lips. 

Jihoon doesn’t give you a second to recover before he’s up on his knees and pushing back into you. His hand cracks across your ass and you let out a startled yelp, earning laughter from both of you. Spent and delirious, your hand finds purchase on his wrist, holding on to him as he fucks you fast and hard. 

He lets go of where he holds your hip to lace your fingers instead, pressing your linked fingers against the curve of your ass as he drills his hips forward. Somehow the hand holding is more intimate, your throat screwing shut as Jihoon chases after his own high.

With a muted murmur of your name, he comes. His thrusts turn messy, each press of his hips against your ass met with a wet sound. You don’t even care about the slick running down your legs, absolutely spent and sweaty and tired and a little in love with the man behind you.

Slowly, he lets go of your hand. You drop your arm to the mattress, suddenly aware of the ache in your shoulder at the angle. Instead of pulling out, Jihoon leans forward, pressing his sweaty chest to your back, mouth brushing softly against your shoulders. 

“Thank you.” 

You’re so close to sleep that you barely register what he’s saying. “For what?”

“Withstanding the storm,” he laughs. “Withstanding me and waiting me out.”

“You’re worth it.”

“I hope so. I want to be.” 

With care, he detangles himself from you. You make a pitiful sound and he tuts at you, rolling you over on your back so that he can see your face. His eyes swim with more affection than you’ve ever seen, kick starting your heart. You lift a hand and tuck his bangs behind his ear, fingers lingering to brush across his cheek.

“So I’m kind of like your Storm Breaker, right?” 

He groans. “Don’t start.”

“What? You literally just said I withstood the storm or whatever.” 

“Come on, we’re showering.” 

“No way, I am not moving right now.”

“You are not sleeping covered in cum.”

“Ji,” you whine. 

He grins and kisses your head, getting out of bed. “Come on then, storm breaker. Withstand me a little more.” 

TAG LIST:

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[skzdust]

Take From Me, Leave Nothing Left

SMUT. MINORS DNI.

This fic was an anonymous request (here)! Thank you to the requester and I hope you all like it! I had so much fun writing it teehee

Title is from "Hypnosis" by Sleep Token!

Summary: You've been texting Seonghwa all day, and when he gets home, he's about to show you how mean he can be.

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x afab Reader

Includes: overstimulation, nipple play, vibrators, dildos, gagging, needy texting, creampie, pleaseeeee practice safe sex irl!

Word count: 1.7k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst, @atzlordz,

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

11:34am, Feb 02

You: Hiii Hwa Seonghwa 💕: Hello my love =) You: When are you going to be homeeeeee Seonghwa 💕: I have a full day my love Seonghwa 💕: There is much dancing to be done You: :( Seonghwa 💕: I’ll be home soon enough, I promise, darling You: You’d better Seonghwa 💕: xx

1:43pm, Feb 02

You: Can you hurry up with the dancing Seonghwa 💕: We’re dancing so fast, my love You: Please? Seonghwa 💕: Just be patient for a few more hours for me, doll You: Idk I really want your cock You: But I’ll try Seonghwa 💕: Good girl xx

3:57pm, Feb 02

You: Hwa, please, need you Seonghwa 💕: You NEED me? You: Yes, I do Seonghwa 💕: Patience is a virtue, doll You: Okay, but getting railed within an inch of my life is also a virtue Seonghwa 💕: That doesn’t make sense You: Please? Seonghwa 💕: I’ll be home soon, promise You: Okay, hurry back Seonghwa 💕: I’ll do my best, love

5:41pm, Feb 02

You: You going to be home soon? Seonghwa 💕: Wrapping things up now, shouldn’t be more than a few minutes! You: THANK GOD You: Was considering pulling out the vibrator Seonghwa 💕: Wow Seonghwa 💕: Didn’t know you were disobedient as well as needy. You: I’m not disobedient, you didn’t say anything about the vibrator :) You: What’s a girl to do when her man’s not here to fuck her? Seonghwa 💕: Just be ready for me when I’m home.

The door creaked open, and you practically jumped up from where you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through something on your phone. “Seonghwa!”

“Hi, baby.” He didn’t look at you, locking the door behind him and setting his bag down. “Someone’s been needy today, haven’t they?”

You swallowed, already hungry for whatever he had planned. “Yeah, I have.”

He still didn’t look at you, walking into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. “Bothering me while I’m at work.”

“I’m sorry, Hwa.”

He laughed. “Don’t lie to me, you’re not sorry.”

“I just want you.” You mumbled.

“I know.” He took a sip, finally turning around to face you. “So you’re going to get me. You’re going to get a punishment.”

“A punishment?”

“Mhm.” He tilted his head a bit. “And it was a busy day for me, so I think I deserve someone— something— to take my stress out on, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, of course.” You breathed.

He smiled, that big grin like sunshine. “Perfect, then, baby.” He jerked his head towards the bedroom. “Go.”

You scrambled to stand up and get to the bedroom, getting your clothes off and thrown into a pile in the corner. You laid yourself out on the bed, your lingerie giving you the extra bit of confidence you needed to feel really sexy.

Seonghwa walked into the room like the wolf who knew he had the bunny cornered. You could feel your pulse quicken.

He smiled, all teeth. “Aw, look at you, all ready for me.”

“Yeah.” You sighed.

He leaned over you, tangling his fingers in the straps crisscrossing your chest, taking a moment to admire how they looked on your skin before he yanked towards himself, pulling you up off the bed. You struggled to get your hands under you. “Hwa!”

“Sir.” He said, looking at you darkly. “You know to address me as sir. Don’t make that mistake again.”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded quickly.

He let go, pushing you back onto the bed. “Hands and knees.”

You obeyed his command, getting yourself into position and looking over your shoulder.

“Fuck.” Seonghwa groaned. “So pretty.”

Your breath caught as he moved to the dresser, pulling out your collection of sex toys. He selected a big vibrator and walked back over. “You want this?”

“Yes, sir.”

He laughed, mumbling something to himself as he walked back over to you. He helped you take your lacy underwear off, throwing them aside with the rest of your clothes. You inhaled as you felt the vibrator touch your entrance. Seonghwa teased you with it for a little bit, then, without warning, shoved it inside.

Seonghwa was usually one for foreplay, teasing you till you were soaked, working you up slowly. Starting with just a finger before moving onto a bigger dildo, and then finally his cock. But it seemed today he was down to business as he switched the vibrator onto its highest setting and began to ruthlessly fuck you with it.

You made a sound that might’ve been a moan or a squeak or something in between, your arms shaking at the effort of keeping you up. Seonghwa kept on going, and he started talking. “You know, you talk a lot of game for someone who can barely stay in the position I’ve asked you to. You’d think that after all of your talk and neediness you’d be able to withstand a little more than one vibrator.”

“I can!” You moaned. “I can take it, sir.”

“Oh, can you?” He teased. “Can you take more?”

“Yes!”

He leaned over you and started to play with one of your nipples. “I’m gonna overstimulate you until you’re sobbing and begging me to stop, baby. And then I’m going to keep going.”

Your mouth dropped open in a long moan, and you arched back against him.

“Yeah? You like the sound of that?” His voice was almost soft.

“Yes.” You whined.

“Good girl.” He whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the buzzing of the vibrator.

His pace suddenly turned from fast to punishing, and his hand worked harder at your nipple, overwhelming you with stimulation. It wasn’t long until you were coming with a moan, your legs shaking.

He pulled the vibrator out and pushed you down onto your front before rolling you onto your back. His eyes surveyed your form. “Beautiful, but I need you looking a bit more debauched.”

You smiled, your mind in a bit of a post-orgasm haze. “How do you intend to do that?”

“I intend to fuck your face and your pussy at the same time.”

Your head tilted back with a groan. “Fuck, Seong-sir.” You caught yourself just in time.

He ignored your near slip-up but for a twitch of his lips. “Open your legs.”

You did., opening your mouth too.

“I would tell you you’re a good girl, but you’re just taking a punishment, so doing what’s expected of you doesn’t deserve all that much respect, wouldn’t you agree?”

Before you could respond, Seonghwa pushed the vibrator he’d just been fucking you with into your mouth, muffling a noise from you. The silicone had a strange, nearly bitter taste in your mouth, and you could taste yourself all over it. He repositioned himself, getting in a good place so he could start to fuck you with two fingers at the same time as he was fucking your face. Thankfully, he didn’t turn the vibrator on, but the act was dirty enough that your entire body felt like it was on fire. You shut your eyes, settling into the sensations.

He laughed, a low sound. “Fucking slut. Do you like that? Does that feel good to you?”

You nodded, moaning as he shallowly fucked your mouth.

“Of course it does.” He continued. “You would like being treated like this.”

This continued for a while, and then he went back to the drawer to retrieve more toys, this time a gag and an even bigger dildo.

He strapped the gag onto your face, pulling on it a few times to make sure it wasn’t going anywhere, and then began to fuck you with the dildo. “Look at you, taking it like a whore. That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? My little fucktoy.”

You moaned as much as the gag would allow. You were starting to get overwhelmed, all of the sensations so potent. You could feel every nerve in your body so strongly, especially the ones between your legs.

You weren’t ready to start begging, yet. It was still on the positive side of strong, not quite edging into overstimulation just yet.

But it hit that point quickly when Seonghwa slid a couple of fingers in beside the dildo, stretching you even wider. You moaned a few times, pointing at the gag to show him you needed to tell him something. He paused for a moment to undo the straps.

“Sir, it’s— it’s so much— it’s too much.”

He studied your face for a moment before his mouth spread into a smile. “No, it’s not, not yet.”

You watched as he undid his belt and took off his pants and boxers, letting his cock free.

You let out a breath looking at it. Seonghwa still had to get off, and leave it to him to get you as sensitive as possible before doing so.

He lined himself up and smirked at you before pushing inside. “Fuck, slut, you’re so tight, you feel so good.”

He let both of you adjust for just a moment before starting to fuck you, his hips snapping back and forth into you. His mouth fell open as he fucked you, mumbling things in your ear. “You feel so good around me”, “such a good fucktoy”. You shivered and moaned with every degrading name and the sensations he gave you with them. He started playing with your nipples again, and your moans turned into whines. It was so overwhelming, you were so overstimulated, but it felt so good, he felt so good.

His thrusts became more erratic, more stuttering, and his hips pushed forward one last time as you felt an unmistakable warmth filling you. You loved it when he came inside, claimed you as his.

He fell limp, and you rolled onto your side, curling into him. His arms wrapped around you, and you thought if you didn’t have to, you’d never move.

But, of course, that wasn’t the case, and after a few moments Seonghwa gently kissed your hair. “Okay, baby, let’s get in the shower.”

“But ‘m cozy.” You grumbled.

“You’ll be even cozier once you’re clean.” He pulled out slowly, his cum spilling all over the sheets. “And we need clean sheets, too.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” You sighed.

“And then we can cuddle after.” He smiled.

“Yes please.” You smiled back. “Love you, Seonghwa.”

“Love you too, baby.”

[pan-kojiwa]

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ➻ 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧?

[Characters] ➻ 𝐒𝐚𝐞 𝐈𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 | 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫 | ??? |

[CW] ➻ SFW, stranger to lovers, whipped Kaiser, a bit ooc.

Waffle’s note -> that was long… tbh I didn’t know where I was going with this at some point… I should’ve just made a boyfriend!kaiser *sigh* well anyway, it’s still about cute aggression but with a little bit of obsession??? Also, does it feel like I tried to headcanon my way out of an 2k OS? Yes? Yh me too… it happened twice.. anyways u_u’

❦ 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫

✮ Michael Kaiser was used dealing with malice, to the point it became a second nature to him. After all, it was all he had ever known. Hurting people just came that easily. But everything changed when you showed up, and it’s still the case till this day. Michael Kaiser is mean, arrogant, and overly confident, yet all of that disappears in your presence. In fact, the first time he saw you, he couldn’t even speak. All you did was smile— yet he stood there, stunned. Your smile… so timid, but so bright… it almost blinded him. And your eyes… God. Those innocent sparkles in your eyes when you looked at him… he lost the war before it even began that day. You literally destroyed the thick walls he spent so long building around himself. Yes— the walls that hid the most ugliest parts in him, they got blown up. With just one look. And since then, he’s been craving your gaze— your attention. He’s drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.

✮ Kaiser can be really selfish sometimes. From the first time he saw you, he knew he wanted you all for himself. He can’t help it, your entire being is calling to him. It's almost turning into an obsession at this point— and resisting the urge to be all up in your space is becoming hard. He wants to be the only person that you see, just as you're the only one he sees. Your smile when you're happy, your cries when you're sad, your rosie cheeks when you're being shy. Aah—He’s overwhelmed. Feeling so many emotions at once while picturing how cute you are— oh... he would love to have you all to himself.

✮ Kaiser never thought he would become a big, hopeless idiot when in love. Then again, it’s not surprising for someone who spent his life pushing people away and experiencing nothing but hate. But now, being hated, receiving or giving malice, manipulating people… he doesn’t care about any of that. Yeah— It doesn’t matter anymore. All he wants is you. You. The way his name rolls perfectly on your tongue like it was meant for it. The way your ears and nose turns a bright red when he tilts your chin up just to tease you. The way you always take a step back, completely flustered whenever he gets too close—he wants it. He needs it. God no— he craves it. He’s longing for a taste of your love, and he’s ready to do whatever it takes to have you by his side.

✮ Since you’re his first love, or more like the first person he’s allowed himself to love, sometimes he doesn’t quite understand his feelings. Well, he knows it’s love. What he doesn’t understand are the overwhelming urges to touch you, to feel your skin under his fingertips, to hold you in his arms, to grab you and kiss you all over, the urges to bite you just from looking at you smile… He just can’t seem to control himself around you. And he just can’t leave you alone either.

You’re passing by when someone suddenly yanks you into on of the meeting rooms. Luckily, the lights are on, so you could immediately see the face of the culprit.

“Kaiser?! What the fuck!? You scared the shit out of me!”

You quickly push the door closed, just in case someone passes by. You definitely don’t want to get caught in an empty room with one of the players.

Kaiser chuckles with a smirk as he leaned on the table behind him.

“ - Oh really, liebling? My apologies, I didn’t mean to.”

You raise an eyebrow, sceptical. Because from where you stand, he clearly did. Yet, you couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.

“ - What are you doing here? Aren’t you gonna shower with the others?”

“ - Too crowded.” He replies, stepping closer to you with that playful smirk.

Your heart starts racing, and a faint blush creeps on your cheeks. You instinctively back away, your breath hitching. The door was behind you so you know you’re absolutely not trapped in the room. But with him so close, all up in your space feels like all your senses are being tickled. And not to mention how Kaiser had been acting strange lately. He’s always been a bit pretentious with everyone— even when he was alone— but now it seems like he’s paying extra attention to you. At first, you were thrown off, but the way he treats you like you were the most amazing person in the world makes you curious. Or flattered?

“ - Should I give you the key to the staff bathroom?”

“ - Oh my, I’d like that—only if you come with me.”

You blush furiously, your head dropping as you stare at your shoes, completely flustered.

“ - I—”

Kaiser grabs your chin, carefully lifting your head to meet his gaze. His gaze is intense yet soft on you. You could see his inner conflict swirling in those blue eyes, just like a storm.

“ - I know you were about to go take care of the team… He pauses. But… I wanted you all to myself.” He says bluntly freeing your chin, before taking one of your hand in his. He then gives it a light squeeze lifting towards his lips to place a soft kiss on it.

Your flustered look as well as your fluttering eyes makes him clench his jaw. Why are you making this so much harder for him? Why your little pout drives him mad like this? Why is it so hard— so impossible to resist you?

When he’s around you he can’t seem to control his emotions. So his only option left, is to let you go.

“ - If I make you stay here any longer, I might end up never letting you go.”

He tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear and then lets you out of the room, confused and heart pounding hard in your chest

✮ When he sees you, on the bench, wearing a jersey—a little too big for you— with his number and his name, his heart skips a beat. A warm feeling invading all his senses. He can’t see your expression completely from that distance, but he can definitively imagine your sweet lips silently cheering for him as well as your doe eyes, focused on him—full of anticipation for his goal. Suddenly, all he wants is to run to you— grab your head and kiss every inch on your adorable face. Yet he brushes off all this chaos of emotion it with a confident smirk, only sending a flying kiss towards you as he scores a goal for you. He was so close to ditch the whole match just to shower you with kisses.

✮ Kaiser is pretty much an open book once you get to know him. You’re completely aware of how whipped he is for you, even if he still tries to deny how much effect you have on him. The way you nervously play with your hair, or the way your fingers brush against his when you hand him his water battle during the team training— It’s almost ridiculous how it makes him go insane. So much that he can’t believe how much he just wants to hold you in his arms and hide you away.

✮ He likes to scoop you up in his arms. He always says that you look cuter that way but really, you both know it’s just an excuse to hold you in his arms. The way you circle your arms around his neck— pressing your chest tightly against his as your head rests on his shoulder. The way you hide your flushed face in the crook of his neck— oh… He swallows hard, an overwhelming warmth spreading through his entire body. He swallows again as the sensation began to migrate towards his heart. Fuck… it feels like it’s melting. He desperately wants to kiss you… to bite you… you’re so cute to the point he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. If you knew how much his heart is begging for your love right now… would you want him as much as he wants you?

✮ Kaiser always tries to mask what he truly feels with arrogance or confidence— because after all he’s “superior to all those plebeians.” So of course vulnerability isn’t something he comfortable with. He needs complete control over his emotion to feel secure. But it’s impossible with you around. And no matter how hard he tries to resist, he just can’t hide how much your cuteness affects him.

“ - Micheal!”

He turns around as he hears a very familiar voice calling him from afar—your voice. Your beautiful voice. The voice that could bring him down to his knees, even if he tried so hard not to fumble.

The cheerful tone you only use when you see him or when he smiles at you never fails to make his heart burst in flames. He can’t stay away from you, so that probably explains why his feet moved on their own, rushing toward you. And right there, you’re killing him— or more like your expression is. How can you be so cute? Your shy smile—your eyes shining with pure joy and affection— it’s making his heart swell with a softness that he sure isn’t used to—and it’s like a punch in the face.

But he can’t let you see this weak side of him. He can’t possibly let you know that he’s pathetic without you.

“ - Well, well, look who’s back to see this poor, miserable man.”

He stops right in front of you slightly leaning forward.

“ - You make it sound like I abandoned you.” You laugh softly hearing the dramatic tone dripping from his voice. But there’s something else in it—something that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“ - Oh, but you did.” He grabs his chest like what you just said hurt him deeply.

“ - Without any pity for my poor soul, you left me all alone for an entire week.” You tilt your head at the tone in his voice. It was back. That sad tone—no, not sad. Sorrow? You just couldn’t put your finger on it.

“ - I was sick… sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

The way your voice softened to reassure him, how you’re actually scearching for his gaze to make sure he’s okay, it must have done something to his heart, because before you even know, one of his hand is on your chin, tilting your face toward him. But his touch feels hesitant—because in reality he knows that being so close to you, feeling you skin under his fingertips— this is a risky move—but he couldn’t stop himself.

Your hopeful gaze, the way your lips parts as if you wanted to say something but didn’t—

He’s down bad. He wants to hold you, to hug you and kiss you everywhere. You’re too cute for your own good. His heart is pounding in his chest as if it could burst any minute from now.

But Instead, he simply gives you an enigmatic smile, while his fingers slowly let go of your chin.

“ - It’s okay, mein liebling, you don’t have to apologize. I’m just happy you came back to me.”

And with that, he turns away, glancing at you one last before walking away.

“ - Wait—don’t go!” You grab his arm before he can get too far.

“ - Oh? Can’t live without me already?”

You look down, nervous and unsure, blushing slightly as you bite your inner lip. And something in Kaiser snaps. Something he’s been trying—desperately—to control. He can’t stand it anymore. You’re just too fucking cute, too precious.

“ - Fuck…”

He quickly grab your face, pressing a gentle kiss on one of your cheek, then the other. You then close your eyes as you feel him moving toward your left eye, then the right one.

“ - I need you… I need you so badly in my life. I can’t resist anymore… please…”

Your eyes went wide and you feel your heart swell in happiness— you even tear up from the emotions. Without wasting any more time, you wrap your arms around his head , pulling him into a tight hug with his head resting in the crook your neck, a relieved smile on his face.

Silently, you hug each other.

✮ The way you pout sometimes, when you’re looking for him silently scanning the room with your eyes. And the way they instantly light up when you finally spot him— god you’re so cute. It always makes him want to grab you, bite your shoulder or cover your face with kisses.

✮ The way you only look at him— like the other players don’t even matter. The way you massage his shoulders during breaks to help him relax, while you completely ignore the other players— giving him all your attention. It never fails making him feel like he’s special. Your favorite. God, the way you always run to him first with that sincere and genuine smile of yours, shining so brightly on your face. You’re just so perfect in his eyes. To the point, the only way he can manage to regain control is by nearly choking himself.

✮ He likes to tease you. He noticed how much his teasing fluster you and seeing you blush and whimper like that with your adorable doe eyes when he gets close to you makes his heart explode. And he’s addicted to this sensation.

✮ The way you get jealous is so endearing to him—you’re just like an angry little kitten when fans and random people try to flirt with him. He doesn’t even look at them—because they’re not you after— still, he can see how much it pisses you off. Well it’s fine by him. He gets to have you all for himself right?

You and Kaiser are heading toward the training ground entrance, chatting about you are in such a good mood. Well— until a sudden screech resonated in your ears. Of course it’s yet another fan trying to get his attention, screaming his name and saying all kinds of bullshit about how he can “get it.”

You turn around instantly, glaring daggers at whoever said that. Violence isn't an answer. It's a question— the answer is yes. Fully understanding this quote you prepare yourself to throw hands. But before you can even take a step, Kaiser stops you with a smirk. And, really, he doesn’t fucking know where he finds the strength not to pinch your puffed up— angry cheeks. So damn pretty.

With some convincing, you finally step inside the training ground holding in hand. However, the second you’re out of the public eye, you slam him against the nearest wall, gripping his collar.

“ - When are you going to ask me out?” You hiss, frowning and lips pressed into an adorable pout.

Kaiser smirks chuckling as he tilts his head slightly.

“ - Oh, but Liebling... He then slides his hands on your hips, pulling you closer while lowering his head in the crook of your neck. You feel his teeth faintly grazing your skin before pressing a soft kiss on the same spot. You're already mine.”

[emsdevs]

As someone who's southern, yr thoughts about Luke and Nico w Appalachian reader is making my brain worms wriggle. Thinking abt Quinn with someone from the area and the memes of him staring on the bench during the games is him trying to decipher what the fresh fuck you just said to him. I have a Canadian friend and I always giggle at her slightly accent and trying to explain certain things to her that they just don't have. Quinn would be so lost about boiled peanuts and buying them off the side of the road🤚🏻

Boiled Peanuts

a/n: here to let everyone know that I'll write southern and/or Appalachian reader any time for anyone!! it's one of my favs!! sorry for the wait nonnie!!

masterlist | NHL Masterlists | Quinn Hughes Masterlist

Quinn was sitting on the bench in between shifts. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the pictures being taken. He knew it wouldn’t be long before it was the latest “Quinn Hughes is seeing ghosts” picture, but he honestly didn’t care. Truly, most of the time when he was zoned out like this, he was trying to keep his focus on the game, even though he wasn’t playing, but right now, it’s something totally different that has him looking like he’s in another realm. He can’t get your conversation from earlier in the day out of his head.

~~

He was eating some lunch before going to take his pregame nap when he noticed you heading back to the stove, ready to cook something else.

“What are you making, baby? If you want more food, you could’ve just asked for some of mine,” he was a little hurt you’d try to make yourself something extra without telling him he was hogging all the food.

“I didn’t eat a lot because I was saving room for what I’m about to make, and I would’ve offered you some, but I don’t really think you’d like it,” you shrugged.

“Well, I still wanna know,” he was genuinely curious, wondering why you’re being secretive.

“I’m gonna boil some peanuts,” you laughed as you spoke, knowing Quinn would think that’s a weird answer.

He’s silent for a moment, and you can see the confusion on his face. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s good, Quinny. We used to buy them at stands on the side of the road all the time back home.”

“You WHAT?” Quinn couldn’t believe his ears. He was fully aware that the southern parts of the U.S. had a completely different culture from the northern part he grew up in, and that awareness had only grown since he began dating you. He had heard all kinds of stories from before you moved to Vancouver, and he swore each one shocked him more than the last. This one, though, might take the cake. “Babe, you can’t just stop at stands on the side of the highway and buy stuff. That’s so dangerous.”

“Sweetheart, everyone does it all the time where I’m from. I mean, Lordy, someone’s probably doin’ it right now. Besides, I didn’t say highway. It was a two-lane road, honey.”

~~

The shock hadn’t worn off at all. He spent every second he had on the bench concerned for your safety and wondering what in the world made you want to try boiled peanuts. He had heard you say some truly insane phrases, and he didn’t question the weird suspicions you grew up with. He doesn’t know if he can let this go, though. 

Boiled Peanuts??

taglist: @heartsforjh @fofiquierellorar @justxpaulina @alex-wotton @devilinpradaheels @coldheartedmar @juxmi @macklin-celebrini-71 @puckmedude @one-sweet-gubler @pickedapuck @alexxavicry @dancerbailey3 @madebyhappymeals @ccomandercody @kirajessie @beenucks @bookshlmc

join the taglist

[sayyestoheav3nn]

Nights Like This Short: Three Little Words

Roman x black!oc 

Warnings: fluff, suggestive content 

Word count: 1.2k

a/n: going to start working on part six of ‘nights like this’ tonight. but in the meantime, i lowkey had the urge to write a little fluff lol. why do i feel like y’all are lowkey going to hate this man even more now lmaoo 🙃 click here to be added to my tag list 🤍

Roman’s backyard was filled with his family’s laughter and chatter. There was no denying that he enjoyed when they came to visit, however, there was just so fucking many of them it didn’t take much to become a slightly overstimulating event. 

He took a deep breath, letting the warm sun along with the calm ocean breeze relax him. 

As his family mingled, he couldn’t help but to grin at the sight of his two five year old nieces latched on to Zoe as if they’d known her a lifetime. Since the moment she introduced herself to them, the tiny gremlins hadn't left her side. 

Roman’s mom seemingly came out of nowhere and stood beside him, she smiled as her gaze shifted to the scene her son’s eyes were very much glued to.  

Her heart beamed as she watched Zoe play tag with her granddaughters, “She’s a lovely girl, Roman. I’m looking forward to seeing your own little ones running around here one day…” she teased. 

Roman smiled to himself, staying quiet as he took a sip of his beer. Truth be told, it had been a subject in the back of his mind for a while now. There were so many nights he’d lay awake thinking about their future, while Zoe peacefully slept on his chest.

For years one of his biggest fears was getting one of his fuck buddies pregnant. 

This was the reason his rotation consisted mainly of women on the WWE roster, they made it clear the last thing they wanted was to get knocked up at the height of their careers. Which worked out for him perfectly, because the thought of having a kid with someone he felt absolutely nothing for, scared him shitless.

That was until Zoe came into his life.

From the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew she was different. And in getting to know her, seeing her for who she really was, Roman knew there was absolutely nothing in this world he wanted to experience without her.

Roman’s mom studied him, because as good as he thinks he is when it comes to hiding his emotions, she easily sees right through him. “You love her, don’t you son?”

He’d never been more sure of anything in his fucking life, “With all my heart.”

“Then what’s stopping you from telling her?”

Roman looked down, his gaze focused on the grass. “I just…just don’t want her to think it’s too soon.” 

“Sweetie, look at her.” His focus was now redirected back to Zoe, her beautiful smile radiating as she was immersed in a conversation with Naomi, and his sister Mariana. 

“Zoe has been surrounded by so many unfamiliar faces in the span of a day, I’m sure that must be an overwhelming experience for her. Yet, she’s selfless, giving each and every one of us a glimpse of who she is, while still wanting to learn more about our culture and who you are.”

“If that’s not love…I don’t know what is,” she continued.

Roman stayed silent, while giving his mom a hug. He started making his way towards Zoe, but unfortunately didn’t make it very far, due to Jey and Jimmy stopping him to help make a damn bonfire.

They spent over twenty minutes setting it up, the task was slightly more difficult considering it was brand new and Roman had never used it before.

Once he was finally left to himself he made his way back in the house after noticing Zoe was no longer outdoors. Mariana couldn’t help but to laugh seeing her brothers eyes dart around the room trying to find her.

“Look at ‘Mr no strings attached’, finally introducing us to a girl. I honestly never thought I’d see the day.”

Roman rolled his eyes, “Shut up. Where is she?”

“She’s in the office,” Mariana walked in front of him, blocking his path. “I know you aren’t used to actually being emotionally connected with someone, but please don’t fuck this up Ro. Women like her, can’t be replaced,” she muttered.

“I know,” he sighed. Although his sister tends to annoy the hell out of him, he knows she means well. Her words lingered on his mind for a moment, Zoe's past experience with her ex was something he was always mindful of. Hearing what he put her through, was something he never wanted her to go through again.

She stepped aside as he headed for the office. Roman reached for the door, and carefully twisted the doorknob, “Hey, was wondering where you were.”

Zoe looked back at him, a smile tugged the corner of her lips. “Sorry, I wanted to make the girls a cute little bow for their hair.”

“Damn, they already got you wrapped around their little fingers huh,” he smiled.

“Something like that,” she chuckled.

There was a small sense of nervousness gnawing at him, deep down he wondered if telling her would scare her off. He knew this was a big step, and wholeheartedly understood the weight that comes with those three words. 

But there was absolutely no denying what he feels for her, she means absolutely everything to him. And whether she feels the same or not, he needs her to know.

Roman walked behind her as she stood cutting small pieces of fabric. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist pulling her closely to his chest, his head made his way into the crook of her neck, “I love you, Zoe.”

She paused slowly turning around to face him, tears brimmed in her eyes as she used both her hands to grab his face. There was a brief period of silence, as she looked into his eyes.

“I love you too baby.”

Roman smiled before pressing his lips into hers, Zoe stood on her tiptoes, attempting to slide her arms around his neck. He chuckled and picked her up, hoisting her on his waist. 

Their kiss deepened as Roman slowly began to inch up her dress.

“Roman not now.. your family is here,” she giggled.

“So what?” He sat her down on the table and slid his hands to the warm spot between her legs. Zoe’s mouth instantly parted as Roman’s fingers worked past the fabric of her underwear, teasing her already slick folds. “Let them entertain themselves for a bit, while daddy takes care of you.”

“Fuck...” Roman’s dick was rock hard as he watched her slide down her underwear and slowly spread her legs apart. Roman licked his lips, his mouth practically salivating at just the thought of tasting her sweet pussy. Just as he was about to get in position to feast on the woman he loved, a loud ass knock on the door interrupted them.

“One second,” Zoe scrambled to get off the desk and fix her dress, she was relieved Roman made the choice of locking the door.

“It’s Mariana, sorry the girls wanted me to ask if you wanted to join us for a swim?”

“Of course! I’ll meet you guys in a minute.”

Zoe turned to Roman as she slid her underwear back on. “You coming?”

His jaw clenched as he sighed, “I need a minute.” Zoe glanced down immediately understanding why. Roman’s huge bulge was damn near bursting at the seams.

“Shit, I’m sorry baby,” she kissed his cheek and discreetly stepped out of the room.

There was no doubt they were going to make up for it. 

All fucking night, that was for damn sure.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: More Than Enough

Marshall had been deep in album mode for weeks now, and you understood. You always understood. When he was in that space, nothing else existed—not time, not sleep, not food unless you physically put it in front of him.

But what you hadn’t expected was how his team would start leaning on you.

At first, it was small things—grabbing coffee, handling small errands, answering calls when Marshall was too busy. You didn’t mind helping. But then it became more.

"Hey, can you run out and grab lunch for everyone?"

"Mind handling the studio schedule? Paul’s swamped."

"Can you make sure the deliveries get sorted? We’re behind on inventory."

And it wasn’t just errands—it was the dismissive way they spoke to you, like you were supposed to do these things. Like you were just there to help them.

Like you weren’t his wife.

The first few times, you brushed it off. It wasn’t a big deal, right? Marshall was in his creative zone. You didn’t want to bother him with stupid complaints when he was making something brilliant.

But after a while, it started to weigh on you.

You weren’t just being helpful—you were being used.

And the worst part? Marshall didn’t notice.

He barely even looked at you most days, too caught up in the music, scribbling in notebooks, pacing the room while he worked through lyrics. You were just there, silent and waiting.

So you stopped going.

You didn’t make a big deal out of it—you just found excuses. Told him you had things to do at home, or that you didn’t want to get in the way. And at first, he didn’t seem to notice.

Until today.

Marshall came home earlier than usual, his hoodie slung low over his face, his hands in his pockets. He found you curled up on the couch, watching some random show you weren’t even paying attention to.

"You mad at me?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

He sat down on the armrest, facing you. "You’re mad," he repeated. "You haven’t been at the studio all week."

You shrugged, looking away. "Just needed a break."

His eyes narrowed. "Bullshit."

You sighed, your fingers tightening around the blanket in your lap. "It’s nothing, Marshall."

"Obviously, it’s something." His voice was sharp now, frustration creeping in. "Talk to me."

You hesitated. "It’s just… your team. They—" You swallowed, feeling stupid for even bringing it up. "They kind of use me for shit."

His brows furrowed. "What?"

"Like, I get it, you’re busy, but they just assume I’ll do things. Errands, scheduling, handling stupid crap they don’t want to deal with. And I didn’t say anything because you were working, and I didn’t want to bother you with—"

Marshall stood up so fast the armrest shook.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

You flinched. "Marshall—"

"Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?" His voice was low and dangerous now, his fists clenching at his sides. "They’ve been using you?"

You bit your lip. "I didn’t want to be a distraction."

His head snapped toward you, eyes flashing. "You think you’re a distraction?"

You looked down. "I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it."

Marshall let out a sharp breath, running a hand over his face before crouching in front of you. He reached for your hands, prying them away from the blanket.

"You’re my wife," he said firmly. "Not their assistant. Not their goddamn secretary. Mine."

Your chest tightened. "I know, but—"

"No." His grip on your hands tightened. "No buts. You don’t hide shit like this from me, you hear me?" His voice softened, but the fire in his eyes didn’t dim. "You don’t just deal with it alone."

You swallowed, guilt creeping in. "I didn’t know how to bring it up."

He exhaled, shaking his head. "Baby, you don’t gotta know how. You just gotta say it."

You nodded slowly, and Marshall stood, pulling you up with him before wrapping his arms around you.

His chin rested on your head, and his voice rumbled against your hair.

"They’re gonna learn real fucking quick who they’re dealing with."

You smiled into his chest, feeling the weight of the past few weeks lift off your shoulders.

Marshall wasn’t just listening now—he was handling it.

[sheaabuttaababyy]

Hall of Fame - RR

Roman reigns x oc Ciara

Smut 18+, fluff

"Ow shit" Ciara hissed moving her head away from Andre her hairstylist, rubbing her forehead where he burned her with the hot comb.

"Girl I told yo ass to stop moving" he said continuing to hot comb her hair.

"It’s not my fault you played Luther. You know that song gets me moving" Ciara slightly danced in her chair singing the lyrics.

"Exactly why you got burnt" Andre slapped her shoulder making her stop her movements mugging him.

Ciara was currently in her hotel room with her glam team getting ready to go with her husband to the WWE Hall of fame.

"How you feeing, Are you excited." Maria her personal Makeup Artist asked as she did Ciara’s makeup.

"Yes I am even though I know it’s gonna be a busy day, I’m happy I get to spend time with Joe. You know. I love our kids, but I really need me and him time right now. We’ve both been extremely busy him with wrestling and me with music, so I just wanna enjoy this weekend with him" Ciara smiled softly thinking about her husband. She loved him to death.

Both Andre and Maria let out a "awwh" making Ciara laugh.

"I know y’all gonna have some good fucking tonight. mhmm" Andre said nodding his head.

"I agree. No disrespect girl but your man is soo finee I know he be breaking your shit in" Maria spoke whistling.

"He do." Ciara spoke smirking and the other two let out whistles.

After an hour Ciara hair and makeup was done. Now her team was just smoothing down and fixing her dress.

Ciara was in-front of a full body mirror that was in the hotel room putting on her earrings, as a knocking sound was at the door. "Come in."

looking through the mirror she saw Joe walk in dressed in his all black suit with his hair back in a bun.

He came behind her standing a couple inches away as he took in how beautiful his wife looked. Her brown skin glowing, her hair up in a bun showing her insanely gorgeous face and her beautiful seductive eyes. And don’t get him started on the black dress that hugged her thick body perfectly. Ciara was always insanely thick but after having their kids she grew even thicker and he loved it.

Stepping closer he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. Continuing just staring at her through the mirror still mesmerized.

"Why you staring like that?" Ciara softly spoke feeling shy under her husbands gaze.

"You look so beautiful Ci." Kissing her shoulder he slowly trailed light kisses up all the way to her neck . "So. So. So. Sooo beautiful" he kissed all over her neck making her giggle at the ticklish feeling of his beard.

"Thank you love, you look so handsome" slightly turning her head she puckered her lips wanting a kiss. Joe leaned down kissing her making sure not to ruin her lip combo.

Pulling away they both smiled. "I love you" Ciara spoke pecking his lips again. "I love you too baby" Joe leaned down giving her 2 more pecks.

"Why can’t I have love like that" Andre spoke quietly to Maria as he fake wiped his tears.

Joe and Ciara were now in their Limo heading towards the Hall of Fame.

Her head was resting against his shoulder careful so she didn’t mess up her bun.

"Oh I almost forgot" Joe spoke making her look towards him. He dug into his pocket before putting out a diamond necklace. Ciara’s eyes went wide seeing the beautiful jewelry. "Holy shit. Joe is that for me?"

"Noo it’s for the chauffeur" the sarcasm made Ciara playfully smack him as he smiled. "Turn your ass around so I can put it on you baby"

Listening she turned around as Joe placed the cold diamonds on Ciara clipping it. Taking her phone camera flipping it towards her she saw how the diamonds were glistening. "Ooooh not my man icing me out. Thank you boo" she said pecking his lips.

Having still a 15 minute drive Joe decided to quickly give his mom a ft call so they could check up on the kids real quick. "Hey ma we wanted to check up and talk to the kids real quick"

"Their good. Baby boy is right here with me. Say hi to mama and daddy Kayden"

"Ohhh hiii my sweet boy mommy misses you baby" Ciara cooed making Kayden smile trying to grab the phone.

"Where’s Kira and Jacob" Joe asked his mom. "Jacob is playing his game in the living room and Kira is with him. Here I’ll pass them the phone"

A smiled formed on both Joe and Ciara’s face seeing the excitement coming from their kids when they noticed their parents.

"Oh my gosh mommy you look so pretty" Kira gushed seeing her mother.

"Awhh thank you my sweet girl."

"What about me sweetie do I look pretty" Roman started playfully doing dramatic poses making their kids laugh.

After talking to them a bit more they said their goodbyes. "Okay mommy and daddy gotta go but you guys be good for your grandma okay. We love you"

"Love you too, byeee" the kids said before hanging up.

Ciara sighed leaning against Joes side her head on his chest. "We have really cute kids"

"Well of course we do their mother literally looks like a goddess"

"Nah it’s cause their daddy is this fine ass Greek god" she said looking up at him, already seeing that his eyes were set on her.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm" nodding her head, Joe leaned his head down, Slowly kissing her lips into a passionate kiss. The kiss got more heated by the second both of them completely forgetting where they were going.

"Hmm. Wait wait you gone fuck up my makeup boy" Ciara broke away grabbing her phone to check her face. Surprised at the fact her lips were perfectly fine just less glossy.

"Let’s just leave and go back to the hotel" Joe spoke kissing all around her upper shoulder.

"are you crazy? Your literally speaking tonight"

Sighing he pulled away leaning back "Fuck I forgot about that."

The car came to a stop as the sound of shouting and camera flashes were surrounding them. One of the security guards opened the car door as Joe stepped out before giving his hand to his wife helping her out.

Wrapping a protective arm around her waist he guided her inside inside towards the red carpet area.

They stepped up to the red carpet where all the paparazzi was. Joe wrapped his left arm around her lower waist as her body was slightly turned against him her left hand resting against his chest.

"ROMAN OVER HERE"

"CIARA LOOK ON YOUR LEFT "

"MR AND MRS REIGNS ON YOUR RIGHT"

After the pictures, they were now standing with one of the carpet interviewers.

"Well first I wanna start to say Roman and Ciara it’s such an honour to meet you both. Wow" as they both smiled nodding their head.

Wrapping up the interview Joe grabbed her hand taking her to the back where all the wrestlers were going to be.

"Oh my goddd you look gorgeous" Trinity ran up to Ciara pulling her into a tight hug.

"So do you!" she said grabbing her hand spinning her around.

She caught up and talk to a few people as some of them went into the stadium part to do their walk.

"You ready to go?"

"Yeah I am. Wait aren’t you doing ur speech?"

"Yes I am" Joe spoke as he smoothed down his suit. "So why would I walk out with you this is your moment"

"I don’t care your walking with me" grabbing her hand he went near the entrance as they waited for his music to hit.

When it did they walked down towards the stage hand in hand, as the whole arena threw up a one acknowledging him.

Getting to the stairs of the stage he placed a kiss on Ciara’s lips the crowd cheering loudly as he did. He walked up the stage as Ciara’s stood off to side where the others were sitting.

As he gave his speech Paul came out giving Joe a hug before he took over the stage speaking. Joes theme hit again walking to me taking my hand as we exited out.

It’s now 10 pm and they were at a little after party. Currently Ciara was dancing with Trinity, savelina and Bianca. She was slightly tipsy as she was sipping on her 5th glass of champagne.

Once the DJ started playing afrobeats her waist started whining immediately. Slowly she rotated her hips to the music.

She made eye contact with Joe who was standing off to the side at a table watching her with a smirk on his face. Bending down arching her back more she effortlessly made her ass move, making it move like water through her dress.

"Nah I gotta catch that" she heard Savelina say as she stood behind Ciara trying to catch her ass, making her stand up and laugh.

A few songs later and Ciara was now a little more than tipsy as she made her way to Joe. Spotting her he took one last sip of his drink putting it on the table as she wrapped her arms around him snuggling her face into his chest.

"You alright baby?" Kissing her forehead he wrapped his arms around her rubbing his left hand up and down her back.

"Yes I just wanna be in your skin" Joe chuckled at her words before looking at his cousins who were watching them in amusement.

"Yup. It’s time for us to go" Joe announced as he dapped up his cousins saying bye.

"Aight man y’all stay safe" Jey said

"don’t have too much fun kids" Jimmy clown ass spoke making Joe shake his head.

"Let’s go my love" He tried guiding her to the exit but she wasn’t budging. Joe knowing what she wanted grabbed the back of her thick thighs, lifting her up with ease.

As he walked them outside to their private Limo she randomly started caressing his face singing one of her songs to him. "You don’t know need no other body. Only you fi hold my bodyyyy"

"That’s right baby I’m glad you know” kissing her cheek she squealed making him laugh as he rounded the car.

Placing her in he shut the door going to the other side getting in.

Soon as he went in he was met with Ciara’s lips on his he made a moaning sound against her mouth surprised by the action.

She straddled his lap, his hands automatically moving to her ass gripping it before giving it a slap. "mhmm I need you Joe" she whimpered as her body began to get hot.

Her body craving and needing him.

"Me too baby I need your warm, wet pussy wrapped around my dick"

The two of them made out, their hands touching each other’s body in need. Joe pulled away as the car barley went to a stop, before he opened the door carrying Ciara who’s legs were wrapped around his waist tightly.

He walked at a fast pace towards the hotel entrance, all the way to the elevator doors not caring about the people that were there staring at them.

Once he pressed the button to the floor and the doors closed their lips met again. He hiked her body up higher his hands now holding her up by her ass that was over flowing in his hands. It’s like they were drunk off of each other.

They continued to make out slowly as he walked them to their door. Pulling away to find the keycard Joe dug in his pocket as Ciara made herself busy by sucking and licking Joes neck.

Finding the card the door unlocked. Walking into the large hotel room, Joe placed his wife on the king size bed, making her body bounce up and down softly.

Keeping his eyes on her she watched him take his suit off. Standing naked, he yanked her to the edge of the bed flipping her on her stomach, zipping her dress down.

He kissed down her back peeling the fabric off her body as the lower his kisses went down. Once her dress went past her ass he tenderly put open mouth kisses all over both cheeks, giving her little nibbles along the way.

Taking her dress fully off along with her thong that had a string of her sticky juices on it. he laid down on the bed with his head supported by a pillow.

"Come sit" his husky command filling the air.

"I can’t. I’ll suffocate you"

Grabbing her arm he yanked her towards him so her lower half was hovering his face. "Good"

Gripping her upper thighs he pulled her down so she was fully seated on his face. "Oh shit" Ciara whimpered as Joe’s tongue flicked at her sensitive bundle of nerves.

He hummed into her pussy loving the way she tasted. Wrapping his lips around her clit he sucked it into his mouth shaking his head from side to side.

Ciara let out a low scream trying to pull away as he ate her up as if he was starving. He pulled away slightly to get a breath in.

Looking down Ciara saw that his face was red from the lack of oxygen and how his hair was out and wild. His beard soaked and covered in his wife’s sticky n creamy juices.

Shooting her a wink he brought his face back to her pussy sucking her clit again. Brining two of his fingers up he inserted them into her, fingering her at a steady pace. "Ooooh fuck daddy I’m gonna cum"

Ciara rotated her hips feeling her orgasm approaching. "I feel it baby, come for me. Let me see that pretty pussy come in daddy’s mouth"

"Mhmmm fuck" Ciara came hard shaking on top of Joe’s face her juices splashing all over him as he greedily lapped up every drop.

Ciara came down from her high scooting down a bit. Now sitting in her husbands lap.

"Wanna see how good you taste baby?" Joe asked Ciara as she lazily nodded her head.

He brought his fingers back into her. Groaning at how tightly she wrapped around his fingers. Her mouth parted letting out a whine as he stroked her sensitive pussy.

Taking them out he brought his creamy fingers to her lips. wrapping her warm wet mouth around them slowly Ciara, bobbed her head up and down staring with her seductive eyes, as she sucked his fingers as if it was his dick.

"Your so fucking sexy" gripping her neck he pulled her into a passionate kiss, their tongues clashing as they both tasted Ciara off each other’s mouths.

Laying Ciara on her back, he sat on his knees. Spreading her legs before grabbing the base of his hardened dick guiding it to her entrance.

Slowly he sunk himself into her warm, soft, sticky walls. "Oh fuck, you feel so good" giving her slow deep strokes so she could feel every. Inch. Of. him.

"Mhmm…shit Joe I feel you"

"Yeah? Where you feel me?" Leaning down he captured her right nipple. Sucking it into his mouth.

Ciara let out a gasp at the combination of joe sucking her nipples and hitting that certain spot inside her. "Ooooh in my s-stomach. Fuck"

He continued his hard deep strokes before shifting his position. Getting back on his knees he threw Ciara’s right leg over his shoulder as the other was in the crook of his arm.

He felt his nut coming causing him speed up his strokes. "Fuck Ci I’m close, where you want it?"

"In me. put a baby in me daddy"

He smiled at her bold answer. Bringing his head down he captured his lips with hers. "You want a baby?" Ciara nodded a pout forming on her beautiful face as Joe’s dick was becoming too much for her to handle."

"Ima make sure you get pregnant tonight. Have you walk around with a swollen belly for the next nine months"

Ciara moaned at her husbands words feeling her second orgasm coming.

"Come with me baby. Come with me" he put his sweaty forehead against hers as both of them came.

"Awwh look at that. That’s baby number four" Joe let a chuckle as Ciara legs quivered. Pulling out he watched how his nut slowly spilled out her. "Nah put that shit right back in" he scooped up what spilled with his fingers putting them right back in her.

"Shit. Joe I’m sensitive"

Slapping her ass he got up standing at the edge of the bed. "Too bad. Now arch that shit, you said you wanted a baby, now that’s what ima give you" she let out a laugh/scream and he pulled her towards him.

After multiple rounds on the bed and some in the shower. Joe and Ciara were now cuddled up, their warm naked bodies under the sheets. Her laying on top of him as he was rubbing her ass lovingly.

"Do you think you actually got me pregnant?" Ciara asked tracing her finger along Joes tatted peck.

"100%. I’ll be surprised if you aren’t to be honest"

"Your crazy" she laughed pinching his tiny nipple playfully.

"Hey your the one who said. Put a baby in me daddy Ughh yess" he spoke mocking his wife’s moans.

Ciara looked at him in disbelief. "I can’t fucking stand you" giggling she tried getting off him but Joe didn’t let her. His left arm wrapped tightly around her waist as the right continued to massage her ass.

"Yo ass ain’t going anywhere" he spoke kissing her forehead making Ciara hum and snuggle in his chest.

Ciara felt her eyes close slightly as she began to doze off. "I love you Joe" she murmured against his chest feeling sleep take over.

"I love you too baby" he spoke as both of them eventually dozed off in each other’s arms.

Sorry for any errors, this was kinda rushed

I like this little couple I might write more about them idk

Btw Jacob is 9,

Kira is 7

kayden is 2

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist

🏷 taglist @usoinked @mselenalovebug @theusotwinzcom @bloodlineslut @urbeez @punksyeet @4milly @luvrsluxe @trippinsorrows @catxo

[munsonsmixtapes]

Just You and Me: Part Two

On every part of this series, there will be a poll where you can vote whether you want reader to end up with Steve or Eddie or both! This has been so much fun to write and I hope y’all enjoy!

summary: you debut your “relationship at Corroded Coffin’s gig at The Hideout, unknowingly hurting the both of them.

cw: hurt/no comfort, angst, mention of alcohol

part one

Steve is sitting on the couch in your living room while you show him the entire time frame of your “relationship” that you’ve mapped out on a piece of poster board. You put it up on an easel and even got a collapsible metal pointer to really show him how serious you are about the whole thing.

Though, he seems more interested in the bag of potato chips he’s snacking on as opposed to the whole point of why he’s even at your apartment. He knows he’s supposed to be focusing, but how can he when you’re wearing that skirt that drives him crazy? Your legs just look so good and he’s so desperate to run his hands up and down your thighs as he lies on top of you, kissing you until you’re both-

“Steve, hello,” you’re waving your hand in front of his face and he’s quick to snap back into reality.

“Huh?” He asks, still partially in his daze and you snatch the chip bag from his hand and see them down on the coffee table that sits between you, making sure it’s just out of reach for him.

“Focus.“ You hit the pointer against the poster board to try to get his attention, but he’s still got that dreamy look in his eye. You wonder what’s so important that he’s not listening to you. It seems like he’s been in his own head for days.

“Sorry.” Now he feels like a jackass. You’re going through all of this effort and all he’s doing is staring at your body. He brings his focus back to the board and for the first time, he’s actually looking and holy shit, with how much thought you’ve put into this whole thing, it might just work.

“Where is your head today?” Up his ass, apparently. He can’t think about anything except how beautiful you look and it’s fucking with his head.

“I’m sorry. I was just up really late last night.” He’s actually not lying. He couldn’t sleep because of you. Because of this whole thing and how he isn’t exactly sure how it’s going to play out.

“Right, with your flavor of the week?” He hasn’t actually slept with anyone in a long time. He would just keep wishing it was you so he just stopped altogether because he didn’t want to lead anyone.

“Nope, just me and my hand, unfortunately.” He holds up said hand and wiggles his fingers which causes you to grimace.

“Gross.”

“So when does this whole thing start?” He asks, leaning against the couch with his arms sitting along the back.

“Tomorrow night. Corroded Coffin is performing at the Hideout so it’s a perfect opportunity.”

“So, no practice? We’re just going balls deep?” How the hell are you going to pull this off without practice? That makes no sense and no one’s even going to believe you if you can’t be convincing.

“First of all, don’t ever say that again. Second, we’re going to practice right now so just chill out, alright?” You head over to the couch and sit down next to Steve. Your thighs are touching and he can feel the heat from you through his jeans. If things were different, he’d have you straddling his lap, his hands resting on your back as he kisses you until you’re both breathless.

“Practice what?” He asks. Maybe if he actually read everything on your easel, he wouldn’t be so confused.

“Hold my hand,” you tell him and he hates that his cheeks are blushing. He’s held your hand so many times, but this is different. It’s supposed to be romantic, or implying that it is to other people.

His hand slides into yours, fingers intertwining and when he looks up at your face, you’re staring at him like he’s just hung the moon. God, you’re good. You’re acting, right? You have to be. Because if you weren’t and actually in love with him then you wouldn’t even be doing this whole stupid thing.

“You’re a natural,” you tell him with a smile.

“I’m just holding your hand, l/n. It’s not rocket science.”

“Still,” you shrug. “You know exactly what to do.” And he does. You’d never admit it, but his hand feels nice in yours. It’s soft and smooth and the way that his thumb is rubbing back and forth along yours. You almost don’t want to let go.

“Is this it?” Steve asks, still feeling his heart hammer in his chest at the feeling of your hand in his. He’d never tell you how right it feels to him. How he wants to hold your hand forever and never let go.

“No,” You shake your head, your hand reluctantly slipping out of his. You turn your body fully to face him and he mimics you, trying his best to not reach for your hand again. “I was wondering if you’d be comfortable practicing kissing.” Would he be comfortable? He’s only dreamed about kissing you every day for the majority of his life. He’s so ready and trying to not show just how eager he is.

“I’m open to it,” he nods and you bring your legs up onto the couch, crossing them over each other. And once again, Steve mimics you, doing the exact same thing. He watches as you take a deep breath. Could it be possible that you’re just as nervous? That would actually make him feel a whole lot better.

Your hands slowly reach up and grab hold of his face, cradling it gently. He hums at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. Is this actually real? Or does this dream just seem so realistic? As soon as your lips touch his, he’s sure that it’s real. And it’s perfect, everything he ever dreamed it would be.

His mouth moves with yours as one hand rests at the back of your head, the other resting on your waist. And of fucking course you’re a good kisser. You’re good at everything. It’s only supposed to be short, but neither of you want to be the first to break away.

So you stay like that for just a little longer. You even go as far as licking into his mouth to deepen it, so close to climbing into his lap, but you refrain. It isn’t supposed to be like this. It’s just practice. But you’re enjoying it way more than you thought you would. So much so that you’re not even thinking about why you’re doing it or Eddie for that matter. All you’re thinking about is Steve and how much you want him inside you.

Steve lets out a moan and you’re quick to pull away, finally pulled back into reality. His pupils are blown wide and his lips are a pretty shade of pink from being kiss bitten. He runs his hands through his hair and god, he’s just so pretty. You’ve always thought that, but especially tonight. You have to pull yourself out of your thoughts, trying to think about Eddie. That’s your main focus.

You don’t like Steve. This was just you getting caught up in the moment. That’s all it is. You just have to make sure that you don’t go that far again so you don’t do something you know you shouldn’t. As long as all of your kisses are around other people, that shouldn’t be a problem.

“How was that?” You ask before rolling your lips into your mouth.

“That was-” Steve cuts himself off, his cheeks turning a bright pink. “That was-I mean, wow.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You’re unsure, but you’re hoping so. He wouldn’t have kissed you for that long if it was bad, right?

“Yes.”

“Well, good. I think we’re going to be convincing.” So you still want to go through with it. Eddie is still your goal. He doesn’t know why he thought that his kiss would make you want to call the whole thing off. Clearly all Steve will ever be to you is your best friend.

The rest of the night is spent role playing different scenarios and acting accordingly. Steve tries his best to play it off like he’s fine, but really, all he wants to do is throw in the towel. He wants to just quit and tell you that you’re on your own because it’s all just hurting too much.

But because he’s just such a great friend, he doesn’t. He can’t. You’ve already gotten this far and now you have to see it through. He also doesn’t want you asking Robin. Partly because he knows Robin can’t lie for shit and partly because he’d just be super jealous. So he’s going to do it and he’s going to do it with a big smile on his face because he doesn’t want to hurt you.

The Hideout is pretty empty when you and Steve show up. This is the usual turn out for a Tuesday night, but you and your friends are going to cheer for the band just like you always do. They’re setting up their equipment on the stage and you and Steve make a beeline for them, you trying to not seem so excited to see Eddie.

He looks so good in his leather jacket, cropped t-shirt, and jeans that hug his body in all the right places. He catches sight of you out of the corner of his eye and cuts his conversation with Gareth short as he hurries over to you.

He jumps off the stage and Steve’s quick to pull you back so you don’t get hurt, trying his hardest not to glare at the guy. That’s one of his best friends and is he really going to be the kind of guy who lets a girl get in between them? No way. Their friendship is way more important than that.

“You made it,” Eddie smiles, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“I always do,” you smile back and Steve doesn’t like the flirty looks you’re giving each other. “And I even brought Stevie to be another one of your cheerleaders.”

Eddie watches the way Steve wraps his arms around your middle, resting his chin on your shoulder. This doesn’t surprise him since you’re always touchy with each other, but this time, it seems different. And when Steve kisses your cheek, he knows it is.

“So, you two, huh?” He asks, pushing hands further into his pockets, balling his fists as he tries his best to hide how upset he is. He always knew this day would come. The two of you are meant for each other and everyone knows it. He just wished he would have had a chance before the two of you made it official. But he supposes that you were always bound to end up together. That’s how that kind of shit always goes for Eddie.

“Yeah,” you nod with a smile, looking up at Steve and Eddie feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest because it’s not him who you’re looking at like that. “For a couple weeks now, wouldn’t you say so, honey?”

“I’d say so,” Steve nods, not even having to try to look lovingly at you.

“Well, I’m happy for you. It was a long time coming.” He’s smiling through the pain, trying his best to pretend like he can’t hear his heart breaking.

There’s a look on his face that you can’t quite make out and you really wish you knew if he was telling the truth. But then again, Eddie is one who’s known for being honest, even brutally so. And you’ve been friends long enough that you expect him to tell you the truth when something is bothering him.

But Eddie would never tell you the truth, not about how he feels about you, anyway. He’s taking that shit to the grave now since you’re with Steve. He excuses himself to head back to the stage to make sure that everything is all set and you’re starting to think that went too well. He really wasn’t even a little jealous?

You and Steve head to the bar and he’s squeezing your shoulder to show you that he’s sympathetic to the situation. Because as badly as he wants to be with you, he really just wants you to be happy in the end even if it’s not with him.

The two of you sip on your drinks, standing even closer to each other than you normally would, feeling the need to touch each other in any way you can to make the whole thing believable. You have to admit that Steve is a much better actor than you had initially thought. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that he was in love with you.

How devastating that would be if he was? You would have felt so horrible for asking him to pretend to be your boyfriend if you knew that was what he was wanting from you all along. That would really make you feel like a dick because how cruel would that have been to make him pretend to be something he’s wanted to be all for the purpose of trying to get the attention of someone else?

You reach up and brush some hair out of Steve’s face and he’s trying so hard to reel back his feelings. He’s been thinking about that kiss since it happened and if he had the balls, he would have asked you if you could price again. He’s desperate for more, so close to pulling you yo the bathroom to have his way with you, fucking you senseless until you completely forget Eddie’s name, Steve’s being the only one to fall from your lips.

You’re nudging him from his fantasy and he’s immediately snapped back to reality. How long was he out? His fantasies seem to be lasting way longer lately, much more real. He’s getting even more pathetic by the second and he’s not sure how much more he can take.

“It's about to start. Let’s go.” You grab him by the hand and he follows you to the front of the stage where you’re beaming up at Eddie who’s at the front of the stage, introducing the band into the mic before going into the first song.

He watches you the entire time, hating how Steve’s got his arms wrapped around you, his chin making a home on your shoulder. He’s filled with more anger than he knows what to do with. Seeing how you’re looking at each other makes him so jealous that he’s so close to diving off the stage and tackling Steve, which he knows is wrong.

Because truly, neither of you are doing anything wrong. You’re just a couple and Eddie was actually counting down the days, trying to slide in before you got together, but he’s too late. And he’s kicking himself for it.

He’s so focused on you and Steve that he’s not even paying attention to what he’s doing. He’s actually not even sure how he can keep up with his bandmates. He’s trying to focus on the lyrics he’s singing. The lyrics he wrote for you and how he feels about you.

You can’t believe how talented Eddie is. How this is what he’s really meant to do. You just know he’s going to make it and pretty soon, Corroded Coffin is going to sell out arenas, The Hideout being just the beginning.

He’s so into what he’s singing, his eyes closed. But you don’t know that he’s only doing it so he doesn’t have to see you with Steve. The song is so romantic, unlike the band’s other songs. Eddie’s voice sounds so pained and you hope that he’s not speaking from personal experience. Even though it hurts thinking about him being with someone else, you’d hate for him to not be able to be with who he’s interested in.

He’s grabbed your attention as he goes into his guitar solo, the cords slower than what he’s used to. You’re hypnotized by the way his fingers slide across the strings, doing it so effortlessly that you can’t help but be impressed.

Steve sees the way you’re staring and pulls you closer to him to get your attention. How will it look if his girlfriend is looking at the lead singer like he’s hung the moon? He knows no one cares, but he does. He honestly only cares because of how badly he wants you to look at him like that. That’s all he’s ever wanted and he knows that he’s not going to get it. Because it’s just his luck that he'd be in love with someone who isn’t in love with him. He’s never anyone’s first choice.

The set ends and the two of you wait as Eddie and the band pack up their equipment. You’re supposed to go out to dinner with them afterwards and Steve is absolutely dreading it. He just wants to go home and drown himself in the bottle of tequila he bought the other night and listen to your favorite record on repeat.

You wait until Eddie is distracted and wrap your arms around Steve's neck, throwing your head back as a loud laugh escapes your lips. Steve somehow catches on and he laughs as well, his genuine because yours is just so damn contagious.

Eddie looks up from where he’s putting his guitar away and that feeling in his gut he’s been having since the two of you showed up gets even worse, to the point where it starts to hurt. Yeah, he’s not going out tonight. He’s going to curl up in his bed and write some of the most devastating lyrics.

And when he watches the two of you lean in for a kiss, well, you might as well have ripped his heart out of his chest. That would have hurt a lot less. Gareth follows Eddie’s line of sight and doesn’t even have to ask to know what Eddie is thinking.

He doesn’t see how no one else knows how Eddie feels. He’s so goddamn obvious that it’s become painful to watch. And he knows you like him too so seeing you show up with Steve really threw him off. He knows that Steve likes you too, so this whole thing is really just a mess. He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, especially not Eddie because he’s always getting the short end of the stick.

The rest of the members go out to dinner which you politely decline the invitation to since Eddie’s not going. You just have Steve drop you off at your apartment because being by yourself suddenly sounds so inviting. You just want to be by yourself because of how hurt you are that your plan is failing and it’s only started. How the hell are you going to continue when it’s not even effective?

So, the three of you wallow in your self pity in your respective rooms, hating how everything is turning out. It’s all so painful and unfair. Tears are shed and alcohol is drunk like water to numb the pain that you’re all feeling. Something that should be so simple has been complicated because you just had to go and pull Steve into your scheme instead of just being honest with him. And it seems like you’re going to pay for it, unknowingly hurting the both of them.

[forwhomthewordsflow]

Lean On Me

modern music teacher!eddie munson x art teacher fem!reader

18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

warnings: minor emergency room situation, injury, fluffy x100, allusions to smut, a lil more coach!steve harrington

author's note: definitely did not write this one clocked in at my desk…i just can’t stay away from these guys.  this is not proofread so please be gentle if there are any mistakes :) also, i’m no medical professional so i’m not exactly sure if this is how one would treat a bruised foot…just go with it. ALSO!!! I had to give our art teacher a last name, and the polls chose 'Ms. Heart.' cute right?

please let me know what your thoughts are on this series!

word count: 3.9k

Ms. Heart🎨: The kids are saying they saw Coach Harrington carrying you out to the parking lot…tell me they’re kidding

Mr. Munson🎸: “Carrying” is an exaggeration…

You see the “Incoming FaceTime Call” notification pop up on the screen of your phone and hurry to shut your classroom door.  Even though it’s nearing the end of the day, and this is technically your planning period, sometimes kids still like to come in and hang out in your classroom.  You had a feeling that Eddie wouldn’t want any students around to hear this call though.

Your anxiety is momentarily forgotten when you see his handsome face on your screen after answering the FaceTime call.  Even after almost three weeks of knowing him, it still surprises you how gorgeous the man is.  You’re focused on the curve of his sexy grin, but you can't help but notice the subtle winces peaking through it.   You can tell he’s in the passenger seat of a truck, Steve’s truck you’re guessing, and your theory is confirmed when the man in question grabs the phone from Eddie’s hands and puts it up to his face.

“Well hello there Ms. Art Teacher!  You’ll never guess what your guy got himself into now–wait a second,” he turns to look at Eddie with an appalled expression ,”Why is your lady’s name in your phone ‘Ms. Heart’?” 

Eddie snatches his phone back from Steve’s hands and can barely hear the sound of you laughing from the other end.  You and him both know that you put your names in each other's phones as your ‘teacher names,’ just in case someone were to see a notification and get suspicious.  You still have yet to go public with your new relationship, and Eddie is counting down the days until he can let everyone know you’re his girl.

“Will you stop calling her ‘my lady’? You sound like a douche.”

Steve lets out a triumphant laugh. “Yeah, right.  This douche is getting laid on the regular pal.  I’ll hear your opinions on my vocabulary when you can say the same.”

Eddie looks back at your face on his screen, noticing how you’re blushing at Steve’s words.  He throws you a wink, just to see your reaction, and he isn’t disappointed.  You turn even redder and throw your free hand over your face to cover your smile.  

Steve’s words don’t bother you exactly, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been devoting a lot of time to thinking about whether or not Eddie cares that the two of you haven’t slept together yet.  It’s not that you don’t want to, of course you want to.  You’ve been wanting to climb that man like a tree since the moment he first spoke to you at orientation.  There just hasn’t been time to even approach that topic with the school year starting and the craziness of it all.  

You and Eddie are smiling bashfully at each other through the screen when he grunts in pain.  The phone shakes at the same time, and you remember that Steve is driving Eddie somewhere.

“Fuck, man.  Can you try not to drive into every pothole you see?”

Steve scoffs, “Yeah sure.  Lemme just swerve around them and into all the other cars on the road.  Then we’d both be injured.”

Both? Both? Meaning one of them already is?

“Eddie?” you ask.  He can tell by the sound of the question that you're on the verge of panic, so he smiles at you through the screen.

“Yes, sweet girl?”  You can hear Steve’s fake gag in the background at Eddie’s use of the pet name for you, but it doesn’t stop the lovesick smile from trying to make its way onto your lips.

Eddie finds it particularly entertaining to try out all the different pet names on you to see which ones will make you blush the hardest.  He says he keeps an Excel spreadsheet so he can track the data…but you’re pretty sure he’s lying.  Okay, maybe 75% sure.

You point a finger at him sternly. “Quit trying to distract me.  Tell me what’s going on please.”  Eddie would have to be a fool to resist your sweet request, so he gives in. 

“There may have been a little incident while I was putting away equipment after 6th period…”

Steve guffaws, “Yeah, I’ll say.  Your man dropped a 40 pound speaker on his foot!”  Eddie’s hand slaps to his forehead with a groan, he had planned on breaking the news a little gentler to you, and perhaps in a way that didn’t make him look like a total idiot.

Your mouth drops in horror, “What?”

Eddie instantly jumps into trying to calm you down, “Honey, it’s really not that bad–”

“–I heard a crunch!”

“Steve!  Please.”

You take a deep, grounding breath.  “Eddie, just talk please.”

Eddie reaches over to smack Steve before speaking.  “Steve was in my classroom because we were planning on moving a couple speakers out to the fields for the game tonight.  The one I was carrying slipped and landed a little bit on my foot, that’s all.”  He tries his best to speak calmly to keep you from panicking, but it’s hard to ignore the throbbing pain in his right foot.  

“Eddie!  Are you okay?  How bad does it hurt?”  You wish you were with him instead of pacing around in your empty classroom. 

“I can barely feel it sweetheart, I’d rate it a three out of ten.”

Steve scoffs loudly, “Okay buddy, that’s not what it sounded like when I was carrying your ass out of school.”

Eddie turns to fix Steve with a glare, “I still had one foot on the ground, dude.  You were not carrying me.”  He turns back to look at your face through the screen, “He wasn’t carrying me.”  

You hear Steve laughing off screen and Eddie rolls his eyes.  You can’t help but to laugh a little too at the absurdity of it all.  “Where are you heading to?”

“We’re going to the ER.  Personally, I think that’s a little dramatic, but mama bear over here…”

Steve passionately chimes in, “It’s important to treat every injury with the same level of seriousness, even the minor ones!” 

“I actually agree with him on this one, Ed.” you say with a soft smile.  Eddie swoons internally.

He’s able to overlook your choice of Steve’s side due to your use of the nickname.  You’ve been a bit hesitant about using pet names with him the way he does with you, but you’ve assured him time and time again that it’s only because you’ve never dated a guy who actually liked any of that stuff before.  You’re working your way up to Eddie’s level of nicknames, and ‘Ed’ has been a recent development in that process.  Eddie loves it.  

“Gimme the phone man,” Steve’s hand juts into the screen expectantly, swiping the phone from Eddie’s grasp.  “Hey Ms. Artsy, do you think you’ll be able to give this guy a ride back home? Our first home game is in a couple hours, and the boys can’t play without their coach.”

You had almost forgotten about the football game tonight.  Your students had been amped up all day long about it, convincing you to help them paint signs to hold up at the game during class time.  You were planning on asking Eddie if he wanted to go, but you weren’t sure how he felt about attending a school event together.  The status of your relationship wasn’t necessarily a secret, but still not very many people knew.  

“Of course I can!  I just have to clean up a bit and I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, teach.” Steve hands the phone back to Eddie, who’s been sulking in the passenger seat because he missed your face. 

You smile at him, “Hang tight, I’ll see you soon okay?”

Eddie smiles, “Okaayyy–!” His voice cuts off in a pained grunt before the call ends, leading you to assume that Steve had once again hit a pothole.  

-

You’re a ball of nerves as you pull in to park outside of the emergency room.  Thankfully, you’re the type of person who keeps their car relatively clean, but that didn’t stop you from doing a once over just to make extra sure there wasn’t any mess.  Why were you so anxious to drive with Eddie?  Maybe the stress from the past hour just has you wound extra tight.

Nervous as you may be, you can’t help but to walk with a bounce in your step as you approach the entrance.  Seeing Eddie is always the highlight of your day, and you couldn’t wipe the growing grin off your face if you tried.  You just hope he isn’t in too much pain, your heart lurches at the thought of him being hurt in any way.

Thanks to impeccable timing, you spot Eddie and Steve walking down the hallway you’ve just entered into.  You notice the papers in Steve’s hands, and the crutches that Eddie is already seemingly irritated by.  Your eyes meet as he looks up, and the crease between his furrowed eyebrows is gone in an instant as a smile lights up his face.  Steve can’t help but smile along as he watches Eddie hobble a little faster on his crutches towards you. 

God, he missed you today.  He loves the color of the top you’re wearing, the way your jeans hug your thighs, the curve of your smile, and he might just love you too, although he probably shouldn’t tell you that part just yet.  

Steve checks his watch for the hundredth time since he and Eddie had arrived at the ER, running a hand through his hair anxiously.  He hands you the papers the doctor gave them with care instructions and pain medication prescriptions before you can even say hello.

“Okay, team.  Kick-off is in thirty minutes, and I gotta jet.”  He looks to you, already in ‘coach’ mode.  “Here are the papers from the doctor, the do’s and don'ts for a bruised foot bone, care instructions, ya-da ya-da.  His prescription can be picked up after 6, there’s a pharmacy around the corner that’s open til 10.”  

You take the papers from him and nod your head, trying to commit all the information to memory.

“Wish me luck guys!”  Steve jogs away, fist pumping the air. “Go Tigers!”

You turn to face Eddie, the both of you wearing matching smiles and shaking your heads at Steve’s theatrics.  You move a bit closer to Eddie, yearning for a hug but not sure if it’s a good idea.

As if he can read your mind, Eddie grins, “Can a hurt guy get a hug? I’m not able to hug you back at this moment but I’ll make it up to you later.”

You step into his space and wrap your arms around his waist, laying your head on his chest and breathing him in.  How does he still smell so good after teaching all day long?  

He rests his cheek on the top of your head, wondering the same thing about you.  How could someone’s hair possibly be this soft and smell this amazing?  This.  This is what he’s been waiting for all day long.  God, you feel so good pressed against him like this.  If he wasn’t such a gentleman, he’d let the stirring of his cock in his jeans distract him from the pain in his foot, but unfortunately the two of you are still standing in the middle of the ER.  

“Shall we?” 

“Yup!” You reluctantly pull away from his warmth and move to his side to walk with him. You notice him holding his black Dr. Marten’s boot by its laces in one of his hands, then you look down to see his right foot, heavily wrapped in tan bandages.  

“Be honest, does it hurt?” you ask as you take his boot from him so that he can have a better grasp on his crutch.

Eddie sighs, hanging his head.  “I mean, it’s definitely throbbing still.”

“Aw, you poor thing.” You reach up to brush a stray curl out of Eddie’s face, and he can’t help but to lean into your touch like a dog when you use that tone of voice.

You hope he’ll let you take him back to your house instead of his own.  The idea of taking care of him and doting on him has you smiling already.  

“Wanna go back to my house?” Eddie feels his ears perk up at the thought of getting to go to your house again. “I can take you back to yours to get some clothes and stuff, but I don’t like the idea of leaving you there alone when you can’t drive yourself.”

Eddie knows he wouldn’t necessarily be alone, but having Steve Harrington as a roommate often feels like living alone.  Not in a bad way of course, it’s just that Steve is rarely ever at home unless he’s with a woman for the night or hungover in the morning.  

“You sure you want me at your place all weekend long?” Eddie’s giving you an out.  He’s fully aware that the two of you haven’t spent the night together before, and the last thing he wants you to think is that he expects anything from you. 

“Why wouldn’t I? We’ll be super lazy together.  We can watch movies, eat junk food, take naps…it’ll be awesome.”  You look up at him with a giddy smile and Eddie knows he would agree to anything you said. 

“Sounds perfect,” he murmurs against your forehead before pressing two kisses there.

“I parked just ahead in the front row, I didn’t want you to have to go very far but I can still pull the car up here if you feel like you don’t want to go that far.  You must be exhausted.”

He feels his chest warm, you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever seen.  “I’ll be fine, baby.  I can make it.”  He has to work hard to focus on operating his crutches and not your sweet smile, it would be very un-cool of him to fall flat on his face in this parking lot right now.

He manages to make it all the way to your car, putting his crutches in your backseat and hopping over to the passenger side.  You make sure to open the door for him, not moving until you’re sure he’s safe in the seat and buckled up.  You hope he doesn’t think your hovering is annoying.

Eddie thinks your hovering is adorably sweet.  

As soon as you get in and start the car, Eddie asks to see your phone.

“Sure,” you fish it from your purse and hand it to him, “Passcode is 0102.  You gonna DJ?”

“Nope, your car, your tunes honey.  I’m just putting in my address so you know where you’re going.”

“I remember where you live, Ed,” you giggle.  “I’ve been to your place before, remember?”

Of course he remembers, you let him cook you dinner twice and both times you fell asleep in each other’s arms halfway through ‘Back To The Future.’  Maybe this weekend you’ll finally be able to finish it.

“Well, alrighty then.  I’m sorry I ever doubted you, my lady.” You laugh at his dramatics and reverse out of the parking space.

“You’d be wise to never do it again, good sir,” you reply in a medieval accent similar to the one Eddie spoke in.  He’s thankful that you’re distracted by navigating yourself out of the parking lot and not able to see the way his face flushes and his jeans tighten around his groin at your reciprocated dramatics.  You’re so hot when you talk nerdy to him.  You’re so hot all the time.

Eddie sits back and takes in the image of you driving, one he’s never seen before.  He chuckles a bit at how proper you’re sitting, back straight and hands at ten and two on the wheel.  

“Ease up, baby.  You’re not being graded right now,” he laughs.

You laugh along, a little embarrassed. “I know, I drive like a dork.”  You look over at him, exasperated.  “I just don’t feel prepared if I’m slouching or driving one handed!  You never know what could happen.”

“Careful, you’re starting to sound like Steve “Mama Bear” Harrington,” he teases.

You scoff and roll your eyes, still smiling.

“Can you put on some music please?  Driving without it weirds me out.”

“Sure,” Eddie chuckles, opening up the ‘Spotify’ app on your phone. “Uh-oh, look who’s in the hot seat now.  Time to take a peek at your ‘On Repeat.’”

You laugh but hold your head up proudly.  “Peek away Mr. Munson.  I’ve got nothing to hide, I am who I am.”

“Yeah we’ll see about that,” Eddie mumbles as he locates the playlist and hits shuffle.  He can’t believe his ears when the opening chords to ‘One Of These Nights” by Eagles play from your speakers.  His head snaps up towards you, and you can’t help but to burst out laughing at the bewildered look on his face.

“You know, I actually feel like a total asshole right now.  This is an amazing song.” He looks at you like he’s proud of you, and your chest feels warmer.

By the time the song is nearing its end, Eddie’s trying to catch his breath from attempting to hit the highest notes and you’re breaking your “ten and two” rule by clutching your stomach because you’ve been laughing so hard that it hurts. 

Eddie vaguely recognizes the next song as a showtune, but doesn’t comment on it because he’s too caught up in you.  

You, still laughing out loud with your widest smile and the setting sun outlining your silhouette in a golden-orange glow.  He can’t believe he’s in your car, that you’re driving him around, the goddess that you are.  You’re ethereal.  Other-worldly.  

You’re starting to look concerned.  

After coming down from your laughing fit, you turn to find Eddie staring at you with a dazed and confused look in his eye.  Being that he’s fresh out of the Emergency Room, you’re instantly a bit concerned for his well being.  

“Eddie?  Are you feeling okay?”

He blinks a few times before responding, “S-sorry, it’s just…you are so goddamn beautiful.”

Will you ever get used to this floaty warm feeling in your chest?  Luckily for you, he says this while you pull your car into his driveway.  You put the car into park, and lean your head back onto the headrest, no doubt sporting a smile that’s as lovesick as you feel.  

You look at him and whisper, “Thank you.”  Shy fingers reach out to take his hand that rests on your center console, and he’s quick to hold on tight.  Without breaking eye contact with you, Eddie brings your hand up to his mouth and presses two warm kisses to your knuckles.  He then uses that hand to pull you towards him, stopping when your faces are only inches apart.  

“Thank you for driving me,” he whispers, unable to look away from your soft lips.  

“You’re welcome,” you sigh, wishing he would just kiss you already. 

Eddie’s loving the effect he has on you.  He notices your chest rising and falling faster, the breathy tone of your voice, the darkness taking over your eyes.  

He finally leans in and presses his lips to yours gently.  This kiss is much softer than your first one, there’s no urgency or tenacity.  This kiss lets you know that there will be many more to come.  You can’t remember a time where you’d been handled any gentler than this.  Eddie’s holding your face like you’re a rare jewel, like you’re priceless and valuable, and he kisses you like he’s trying to worship you.  

It feels like your lips are dancing together, this feels practiced and choreographed and natural.  

You’re so going to fall in love with this man. 

He pulls away after what could’ve been five hours or five seconds, either way it’s far too soon.  Your mouth chases his lips, making him chuckle softly as he drops kisses onto your nose, cheeks, forehead and chin.

You smile, thoroughly enjoying being doted on like this.  

Eddie backs away once and for all, smoothing your hair out of your face with both hands, his smile matching yours.  

“So pretty.”

You blush harder, if it’s even possible, and let out a happy sigh.  

And with both hands on either side of your face, Eddie obviously uses this opportunity to smush your cheeks together so that your lips pucker. 

“Even prettier,” He leans forward and plants one on you, “Let’s get inside, I can hear my bed calling our names.”

He quickly corrects himself when he sees your eyes widen, “F-for a nap!  I’m tired, you’re probably tired.  Nap time.”

Eddie is sure he’s totally mortified you until he spots you trying to hide your bashful smile and pink cheeks as you undo your seatbelt and get out of the car.  Maybe you’d be into more than nap time?  Why the fuck did he call it ‘nap time’?  

You’re an idiot, Eddie.  That’s why.  She’s not going to fuck you while you have a stupid bruised and use words like ‘nap time.’

He’s still shaking his head at himself when you open the passenger door, looking at him expectantly.  Oh that’s right, you’re going to help him hobble to his own front door, because he’s an idiot who dropped a goddamn amp on his fucking foot.

Eddie hits his head backwards on the headrest with a sigh, “I feel so un-cool right now.”

The sound of your laugh eases his pain a little.

“You’ll live.  C’mon, big boy,”  You chuckle, smirking and looking down on him from where you stand outside your car.  

You open the door to the backseat to grab his crutches and your purse, and Eddie starts to question himself as he feels his dick twitch at your use of the new nickname.  Perhaps it’s something the two of you can explore down the line…he needs to stop thinking about sex with you or else he’ll pop a very obvious boner and scare you off.  

A quick recalling of the mental image that’s seared into his mind of Mrs. Bedson, the 57 year old choir teacher, bumping and grinding with the tennis coach at last year’s prom does the trick.  Eugh.  Eddie shivers at the memory.  

You pop back up with his crutches under your arm, reaching your other one down to help him up.  He doesn’t need the help, but he takes your hand anyway because it feels so right to hold it. 

You unlock his front door with his keys, and then the two of you head inside.  After placing your purse on one of the hooks in the entryway while simultaneously toeing your shoes off, you turn to him with a teasing smile.

“Nap time?”

He laughs, “Yeah, yeah.  Nap time.”

TAGLIST:

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[suzukiblu]

Day four of February’s first weekly WIP behind the cut; “the puzzle trap sex-room”. content warnings: past grooming, past sexual abuse, past statutory rape, past dubious consent, CURRENT unhealthy coping mechanisms, immediate fallout of sex pollen/death trap-induced sexual coercion, and a POV character who does not understand what the problem with any of that is, he’s FINE, Jesus, lay off already and let him live his life. So uh, you know, just Kon’s … entire pre-YJ dating history, pretty much? Pretty much that, yeah. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Let. Go. Of. Me,” Superboy hisses, glaring up at Superman and feeling his TTK twist through every stupid nook and cranny and hidden seam and locked door and piece of tech in this stupid cave, and Superman–Superman– 

Doesn’t. 

Superman just keeps looking at him like–like he’s–like he’s fucking sad or something, like he’s upset, like he’s fucking pitying him over something he literally made the fuck up! There is not a problem here, Superman and Batman literally made up this fucking “problem”, and Robin is not helping! 

“Kid,” Superman starts, and Superboy–and Superboy–

Nobody treats him like a kid until it's fucking convenient for them, so nobody gets to treat him like a kid. 

“That’s not my fucking NAME!” he roars at him, and takes a swing at his face. Superman glances sidelong–glances sidelong to block his fist so he won’t break it on him; so Superman won’t accidentally break it himself. Because that’s what Superman does, when it’s not an actual threat; minimizes the damage. 

Because he thinks that Superboy is actually stupid. 

Like Superboy doesn’t know way more about him than Superman even pretends to wanna know about him. 

Superman’s got a hand up to catch his fist–meaning, Superman isn’t paying attention to his other hand when Superboy snaps his TTK around the bones and muscles and nerves in his hand and wrenches. Superman curses in surprise, visibly startling as he reflexively snaps his hand back, takes a startled step back as he clutches at it, and fucking finally lets fucking go of him and–and– 

And Superboy does not, actually, feel any fucking better at all. 

He can’t even actually run off, he knows, because it’s not like Superman couldn’t catch him before he took a step. He just–he just wanted him to fucking let go, it was–he didn’t–he needed him to let go and Superman wasn’t and he doesn’t even fucking care if he hurt him, if he–if he– 

“You don’t know fucking anything about my fucking life!” he snarls at him, and Superman just stares at him for a moment. 

“What was–?” Superman starts, and Superboy does not care. 

“Fucking high and mighty shithead judging who I fuck when you are literally cucking some reporter dude in front of all of Metropolis and like, basically the whole fucking world!” he yells at him, clenching his fists at his sides instead and not giving a fuck when the floor cracks under his feet; when the lockers and showers all fall apart; when the fucking lights rattle. “Literally! Literally the whole fucking world!” 

“Ms. Lane and I are just–” Superman starts to say, because he’s a fucking asshole who never listens to him, and Superboy wants to actually punch him now. 

“I have literally felt you and Mrs. Lane-Kent playing grab-ass as soon as you thought nobody was looking more than once, man, it is not fuckin’ subtle!” he snaps sharply, and Superman . . . pauses. 

“‘Felt’,” he repeats slowly, and Superboy’s just so fucking angry. 

Tana knows he can do that. Even fucking Knockout knew he could do that. She liked that he could do that. 

And he’s definitely told Superman about it before.

[lila-lou]

✨His second exception - Pt. 32/?✨

Summary: The moment Ben found out you were pregnant was probably the happiest moment of his life. However, happiness proved fleeting. Now, he is faced with the aftermath of his shattered dreams. Of what is left of you, and what is left of him.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, FLUFF

Word Count: 7879

A/N: This is the sequel to “His only exeption” - and Part 32 of "His second exception".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙

The next morning, the quiet hum of a rare peaceful day broke as you and Ben found yourselves in a familiar standoff. You were seated on the edge of the bed, cradling Aria in your arms as Ben stood nearby, arms crossed, his green eyes narrowed in his typical stubborn fashion.

“I’m telling you”, Ben started, his voice low but firm, “we go in, see Dr. Collins, and then we’re out. No pit stops, no introductions, no bullshit”.

You shot him a look, your own stubbornness bubbling to the surface. “Ben, it’s not bullshit”, you said, adjusting Aria’s blanket as she cooed softly in your arms. “The team’s been asking about her since the day she was born. They just want to meet her. What’s the harm in that?”.

Ben scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “The harm? You mean besides the fact that I don’t trust half of them not to screw something up? Or the fact that the second we walk into that room, it’s gonna turn into a circus? No thanks”.

“Ben”, you said, your voice steady, though you could feel your own frustration bubbling. “They’re not monsters. They just want to meet her. It’s not like we’re leaving her alone with them”.

“That’s not the fucking point”, Ben shot back, stopping mid-step to glare at you. “Every time I let those idiots near something important, it blows up in my face—literally half the time. You want our kid to be next on their list of screw-ups?”.

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing look. “You know that’s not going to happen. They’re her family too, whether you admit it or not”.

“Family?”, Ben repeated, snorting derisively. “A bunch of fucking pussys? Yeah, real heartwarming”.

You stood, holding Aria carefully against your chest as you moved closer to him. “They’re your team”, you reminded him softly. “You’ve fought with them. Bled with them. That means something, doesn’t it?”.

Ben’s jaw worked as he avoided your gaze, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “They don’t know what the fuck they’re doing half the time”, he muttered, his voice quieter now, almost like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “And she’s too damn small to be around their chaos”.

You reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm. “She’s small”, you agreed, “but she’s already got you to protect her. And I trust you, Ben. I trust you to keep her safe, even around them”.

His green eyes finally met yours, the storm in them softening just slightly. He let out a long, heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair again. “You really want this, huh?”.

“I do”, you said firmly. “She’s not going to live in a bubble, Ben. And this is a step forward—for all of us”.

He stared at you for a moment longer, then down at Aria, who was now clutching her blanket with her tiny fist. His lips pressed into a thin line, and finally, he muttered, “Fine. But if someone sneezes near her, I’m throwing them out a fucking window”.

You smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Deal”.

Ben grumbled something under his breath, but as you adjusted Aria in your arms, he reached out, his large hand brushing against her tiny head with surprising gentleness. “This is still a stupid idea”, he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly.

The elevator doors slid open to the top floor, and Ben stepped out with his usual commanding presence, the car seat in one hand like it was weightless. Aria was bundled snugly inside, her tiny face barely visible beneath the soft blanket. You followed close behind, keeping a watchful eye on him—and on the environment, just in case someone got a little too curious.

It didn’t take long. The moment Ben’s boots hit the polished floor, Annie and Kimiko peeked out from around the corner, their faces lit with barely-contained excitement. They weren’t even trying to be subtle, their curiosity as obvious as the sun.

Ben stopped in his tracks, narrowing his green eyes at them. “What the hell are you two doing?”, he growled, his tone low and unimpressed. “Lurking around like a couple of fucking creeps?”.

Annie stepped forward first, hands raised in mock surrender, though the grin on her face made it clear she wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. “We weren’t lurking”, she said innocently, though the way her eyes flicked immediately to the car seat gave her away. “We just… happened to be in the area”.

Kimiko followed, nodding enthusiastically and peeking curiously at the bundle Ben was carrying. She didn’t say anything, but the wide-eyed, almost giddy look she shot Annie said it all: They were absolutely lurking.

You smirked, stepping up beside Ben. “They’re just curious”, you said lightly, giving him a pointed look. “You can’t exactly blame them”.

Ben, dressed in his full supe suit, rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Let’s get this over with… fucking quick”. His tone was gruff, but there was a certain care in the way he carried Aria’s car seat, his steps steady and deliberate as he strode toward the meeting room. You followed close behind, exchanging an amused glance with Annie as she and Kimiko trailed after you.

As soon as Ben pushed the door open, the rest of the team turned their heads, curiosity and surprise lighting up their faces. M.M. was seated near the head of the table, his brows raised as he took in the sight of Ben carrying a car seat. Frenchie, lounging in a chair with his feet propped up, broke into a wide grin, while Hughie blinked, his mouth opening and closing as though he wasn’t sure what to say.

“Is that…?”, Hughie started, but Ben didn’t let him finish.

“Yeah, it’s her”, Ben grunted, moving to his usual corner of the meeting table. He gently placed the car seat on the surface, his large hand steadying it as he adjusted the angle slightly. Aria stirred inside, letting out a tiny noise, and Ben immediately leaned in to check on her, his gruff exterior softening for a brief moment.

“Well, I’ll be damned”, M.M. said, his voice low but warm as he stood to get a better look. “Didn’t think I’d ever see the day. Soldier Boy with a baby”.

Frenchie, ever the opportunist for mischief, leaned forward with an exaggerated grin. “And not just any baby, mon ami. The tiniest soldier in the world”.

“Careful with the stupid jokes”, Ben muttered, his sharp green eyes flicking to Frenchie. “She’s not gonna find you funny when she grows up, and neither do I”.

Frenchie held up his hands in mock surrender, though his grin didn’t fade. “Ah, but you must admit, it’s a sight. The great Soldier Boy, protector of the innocent, protector of… diapers”.

Hughie, still staring at the car seat, finally found his voice. “She’s adorable”, he said softly, his awe clear as he glanced at you. “Congratulations. Both of you”.

Ben grunted, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, but you stepped forward, smiling as you adjusted the blanket covering Aria. “Thanks, Hughie”, you said warmly. “We thought it was time for you all to meet her—briefly”, you added, shooting a glance at Ben.

Kimiko, standing quietly near the back, stepped forward slowly, her gaze fixed on the car seat. Her expression was softer than usual, almost reverent, as she looked at the tiny bundle inside. When she glanced up at you, her eyes were bright with unspoken emotion, and you nodded, silently giving her permission.

Kimiko crouched down slightly, leaning closer to get a better look. Aria made a small noise, her little hands twitching under the blanket, and Kimiko’s face broke into a rare, radiant smile.

“She’s tiny”, M.M. said, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Smaller than I imagined”.

“She’s a baby, genius”, Ben snapped, though there was no real heat in his tone. “That’s how they’re supposed to be”.

M.M. smirked, crossing his arms. “Yeah, but you? I figured your kid would come out bench-pressing something”.

Ben rolled his eyes, but before he could fire back, Aria let out a soft coo, her little face scrunching up as though to steal the spotlight. The entire room seemed to freeze for a moment, everyone’s attention locked on her.

You sighed, crossing your arms and glancing at Ben. “Just get her out, Ben”, you grumbled, exasperation in your voice. “They can barely see her all scrunched up like that”.

Ben shot you a look, one brow arched in defiance, but the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah, yeah”, he muttered, carefully reaching down to unfasten Aria’s car seat straps. “You’re acting like I’m hiding her or something”.

“You are”, you countered, plopping down in the chair beside his at the head of the table. “Now stop being dramatic and let them meet her properly”.

As Ben lifted Aria out of the car seat, her tiny body wriggled slightly in response to the change in position. He adjusted her blanket, ensuring she was snug before cradling her securely against his chest. Her little face peeked out just enough for the others to see, and a collective wave of awe swept across the room.

“There”, Ben muttered, turning slightly so everyone could get a better look. “Happy now?”.

Annie stepped closer, her smile soft and radiant as she peered down at Aria. “Oh my God”, she whispered, her voice filled with wonder. “She’s beautiful”.

Kimiko nodded in agreement, her expression still glowing with that rare, unguarded joy. She glanced between you and Ben, her gaze filled with something that looked like admiration.

“Mon dieu”, Frenchie said dramatically, clasping his hands over his heart. “Such a tiny miracle, born to such… interesting parents”.

Ben shot him a sharp look. “Careful, Frenchie. I can still punt you across the room”.

Frenchie grinned, entirely unfazed. “Ah, but you wouldn’t. Not in front of the bébé”.

Butcher stepped up beside Ben, a wide grin plastered across his face as he peered down at Aria, who let out a tiny sigh against Ben’s chest. He tilted his head, his sharp eyes glinting with mischief as he crossed his arms. “So”, he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “the big bad Soldier Boy didn’t get himself a strapping young lad to carry on the legacy, eh? Just this itsy-bitsy little girl instead”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, and he turned slowly to glare at Butcher, his green eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “You wanna say that again?”, he growled.

Butcher smirked, completely unfazed. “Just saying”, he continued, gesturing lazily toward Aria, “didn’t exactly picture you with a pint-sized princess. Bet you were hoping for a mini-you, weren’t ya? All fists and attitude?”.

“She’ll kick your ass before she even hits kindergarten”, he grumbled.

Butcher raised an eyebrow, his grin never faltering. “Oh, is that right? She’s gonna take after her dear old dad, is she? What’s she gonna do—punch me with those tiny little fists?”. He gestured mockingly toward Aria’s barely visible hands, which were tucked under her blanket.

Ben tilted his head slightly, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips now. “You won’t even see it coming”, he said, his tone dripping with confidence. “One day, you’ll be mouthing off like you always do, and bam—tiny fists, big fucking attitude. You’ll be on your damn ass”.

The room erupted into laughter, Annie and Frenchie grinning as Hughie tried and failed to stifle a chuckle. Even Kimiko smiled, signing something quickly to Frenchie, who grinned as he translated. “She says, ‘He’s probably right’”.

Butcher rolled his eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement in his expression. “Well, if she’s anything like you, mate, I’ll need to watch my back, won’t I?”.

Ben leaned back slightly, his smirk settling into something softer as he glanced down at Aria, who was still fast asleep against his chest. “Damn right you will”, he muttered, his tone quieter now but no less sure.

You laughed from your seat, shaking your head. “Alright, boys, let’s not start planning playground fights just yet”, you teased, your voice light. “She’s got a few years before she’s taking on anyone”.

Ben glanced at you, his smirk widening slightly. “Few years? Nah”, he said confidently. “Give her a couple months. She’s already got more fight in her than half this room”.

Butcher rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll see. But for now, mate, she’s just a little blob who probably cries when you take her bottle away”.

Ben’s smirk turned sharp again. “And she’d still take you in a fight”.

Annie reached over, giving your arm a gentle squeeze, her warm smile radiating pure joy. “She’s so cute”, she whispered, her eyes never leaving Aria. The excitement on her face was unmistakable, and every time Aria so much as twitched or yawned, Annie looked like she was about to melt into a puddle.

Meanwhile, Ben had finally settled into his chair, leaning back as much as physically possible, looking every bit like a man who’d rather be anywhere else. His massive hand rested against Aria’s tiny back, holding her securely against his chest. She was completely sprawled out against him, her little head tucked right beneath his chin, her breaths soft and even.

Ben exhaled sharply. “Alright, what’s the deal?”, he grumbled, shifting slightly but never loosening his hold on Aria. “Let’s get this over with. I wanna go home”.

M.M. finally sat up straighter and cleared his throat. “Alright, listen up”, he said, setting a folder on the table and glancing at everyone. “We got a few things moving right now—some supe activity in the lower boroughs that’s catching too much attention. Could be nothin’, but it’s worth keeping an eye on”.

Ben grunted but barely looked interested. His free hand drummed idly against the armrest of his chair, while his other remained firmly cradled around Aria. “So, what, you need me to smash some heads or just look scary?”, he muttered, shifting slightly as Aria scrunched herself closer into his supe suit.

Annie, who had been trying to focus on the meeting, let out a quiet squeal as Aria stretched slightly, pressing her tiny hands against Ben’s chest before curling back into him. Hughie, sitting beside her, chuckled softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited, Annie”.

She swatted him lightly, though her eyes stayed locked on Aria. “Look at her, Hughie”, she whispered. “She’s perfect”.

Ben rolled his eyes. “You act like she’s a goddamn museum exhibit”, he muttered, though he didn’t move, letting Aria burrow into him.

M.M. sighed, ignoring the momentary distraction. “Look, I know we’re all excited about the baby, but let’s stay on track”, he said, glancing between everyone. “Frenchie, Kimiko, I want you both tailing a few leads, see what shakes out. Annie, Hughie, same for you”.

Everyone nodded, though Annie still kept sneaking glances at Aria, her hands clasped together as if resisting the urge to reach out and touch her.

M.M. then looked at Ben, his expression expectant. “And you?”.

Ben tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question. “Depends”, he said lazily. “You gonna let me skip the next boring-ass meeting if I play nice?”.

M.M. gave him an unimpressed look. “You’re already skipping half of them”.

Ben shrugged. “Yeah, well, now I got an excuse”.

At that moment, Aria let out a tiny yawn, her little mouth opening as she nuzzled deeper into Ben’s chest. Annie let out another small squeal, and even Hughie cracked a grin. Ben just sighed heavily, though the way his fingers gently rubbed against Aria’s back betrayed how much he actually cared.

“Fine”, he muttered. “I’ll help. But now I wanna get her home before any of you start tryin’ to fucking steal her”.

Frenchie grinned. “Ah, but you cannot blame us. She is the first supe baby we actually like”.

Ben shot him a glare. “Exactly why I’m keeping her away from you”.

M.M. just shook his head, but there was the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips. “Alright, let’s wrap this up before Soldier Boy here starts threatening us all. One last thing—”. He glanced at you. “How are you holding up? You need anything?”.

You smiled softly, your eyes flicking to Ben and Aria. “I think we’re okay”, you said quietly. “Just… adjusting”.

Ben snorted. “Yeah, adjusting to not sleeping”.

M.M. smirked. “Welcome to parenthood, man”.

Ben grumbled something under his breath but didn’t argue, his fingers still absentmindedly rubbing Aria’s back.

The meeting continued for another ten minutes, but it was clear everyone—especially Ben—was eager to wrap it up. And the entire time, Aria remained tucked safely against his chest, the softest little presence in a room full of chaos.

As the meeting wound down, M.M. gave a final glance around the table, ensuring everyone understood their assignments. “Alright, that’s it for now”, he said, closing the folder in front of him.

Ben wasted no time. “Good”, he grunted, pushing himself up from the chair with careful precision to not jostle Aria too much. “We’re out”.

Annie pouted slightly, clearly disappointed that she wouldn’t get any more baby time. “Oh, come on”, she said, glancing at you for support. “You could at least let me hold her for a second”.

Ben shot her a look. “Yeah, not happening, Sparkles”.

Annie folded her arms. “I am perfectly capable of holding a baby, you know”.

“I don’t doubt it”, Ben said, adjusting Aria’s blanket, his tone casual. “Still not happening”.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “He’s been like this with her since day one”, you told Annie. “Overprotective as hell”.

Ben scoffed. “Of course I am”.

M.M. smirked. “Can’t say I blame him”, he admitted. “But you know one of these days, you’re gonna have to let someone else hold her, right?”.

Ben grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, then glanced at you. “You ready to go, or you wanna sit here and watch them drool over the kid all day?”.

You rolled your eyes but stood carefully, still mindful of your own healing body. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready”.

Frenchie, ever the instigator, called after you both. “Ben, mon ami, don’t forget—if you need a babysitter, I am available”.

Ben didn’t even bother looking back as he carried Aria toward the exit. “Yeah, that’s not happening either”.

As you walked toward the elevator, you could hear Annie sigh dramatically. “He’s ridiculous”, she muttered.

M.M. chuckled. “Yeah, but you gotta admit—it’s kinda hilarious”.

The elevator doors slid open, and Ben stepped inside, turning slightly to make sure you were right beside him before pressing the button. As the doors closed, he finally looked down at Aria, who was still peacefully curled up against his chest.

His voice dropped to something lower, more intimate. “Finally”, he muttered, exhaling softly.

The next days passed in a blur of sleepless nights, diaper changes, and your parents hovering like watchdogs. While their help was invaluable, it drove Ben up the damn wall—especially your mother, who always seemed to have a better way of doing things. She corrected how he held Aria, how he rocked her, even how he mixed her formula. It had taken every ounce of restraint in his body not to snap at her the last time she told him again that "babies need a gentler touch".

Today was no exception.

Ben was already dressed in his supe suit, his jaw tight as he fastened the last strap on his forearm. He was heading to the tower for a new mission, and he hated every second of it. They needed him, they’d said. Some classified mess that only he could handle. And while Ben never shied away from a fight, leaving you and Aria behind? That made his blood boil.

Still, if he had to go, he was damn well dressing his daughter before he left.

“I’ll do it”, Ben grumbled as he scooped up Aria from her bassinet, cradling her against his chest as he walked toward the changing table. “Last thing I need is your mother telling me again I’m putting her onesie on wrong”.

You smirked from your spot on the bed. “She just wants to help”.

“She wants to micromanage”, Ben shot back, carefully laying Aria down. He crouched in front of her, his large hands working delicately as he unfastened her sleeper and reached for the onesie he’d picked out—a deep green one with little gold stars. “This one’s good”, he muttered to himself, as if reaffirming the choice.

“She’s gonna spit up on it in two seconds”, you pointed out.

Ben scoffed. “Then I’ll change her again”.

You let out a small laugh, watching as Ben carefully wrangled Aria’s squirmy little legs into the onesie. She let out a tiny grunt, flailing her hands, and Ben sighed dramatically. “Come on, kid, work with me here”, he muttered. “You got my blood in you—should be able to take orders”.

Aria responded by scrunching up her face and making a tiny noise that sounded dangerously close to a fart.

Ben froze, staring at her for a second before looking over his shoulder at you. “Was that—?”.

“Yep”, you confirmed, grinning.

Ben groaned, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. Already doesn’t listen”.

Despite the grumbling, he finished dressing her with an efficiency that only came from weeks of experience. He snapped up the front, adjusted the little collar, and ran a gentle hand over her tiny belly before scooping her back up into his arms.

“That’s my girl”, he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. He cradled her close, one hand supporting her head as he turned to face you. His smirk faded slightly, replaced by something more serious.

“Sure you’ll be okay?”. His voice was low, rough with quiet concern.

You nodded. “A-Train’s staying behind. And the guards. We’ll be fine”.

Ben clenched his jaw, clearly hating it. Leaving you and Aria behind—even with security—made his blood boil. He wasn’t used to trusting anyone else to do his job.

“Yeah”, he muttered finally, adjusting his grip on Aria. “Still hate it”.

You reached out, brushing your fingers over his arm. “Just come back in one piece, okay?”.

Ben snorted, but the look in his eyes was softer now. “I always do".

He leaned down, pressing a firm kiss to your lips before straightening up, Aria still tucked safely against his chest. “Alright”, he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with”.

You got up from the bed, still moving a bit slower than usual as you recovered, but determined to be the one to bring him to the tower. Ben immediately noticed, his sharp green eyes flicking to you with that signature mix of protectiveness and annoyance.

“I should make you stay in bed”, he grumbled, shifting Aria slightly so she was more comfortable.

“And yet”, you said with a small smirk, “you can’t make me do anything”.

Ben snorted but didn’t argue. He just shook his head and muttered something about stubborn women before stepping past you toward the door.

The drive to Vought Tower was uneventful, aside from Ben’s constant muttering under his breath. Aria, seemingly in sync with her father’s mood, fussed a little in her car seat but eventually settled after a few minutes of soft rocking from you.

When you pulled up to the private entrance, a small team was already waiting. A-Train stood near the entrance, arms crossed, looking as relaxed as ever, while a few Vought security members lingered in the background.

Ben got out first, immediately scanning the area with a sharpness that reminded you exactly who he was—the Soldier Boy instinct never really turned off. He walked around to your side, opening the door before you could even reach for the handle.

“You sure about this?”, he asked again, his voice low as he helped you out, his hand steadying you more than necessary.

“I’ll be fine”, you reassured him. “Aria will be fine”.

Ben grumbled something under his breath, then turned toward A-Train, who was already watching the whole interaction with mild amusement.

“Don’t screw this up”, Ben said flatly, his voice edged with warning.

A-Train scoffed, crossing his arms. “Man, you act like I don’t know how to babysit”.

“I know you don’t know how to babysit”, Ben snapped, adjusting Aria’s car seat in the crook of his arm. “But you do know how to follow orders. So listen up—nothing happens to them. You so much as blink wrong, and I’ll put your ass through a fucking wall”.

A-Train raised his hands in mock surrender. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Damn”.

Ben wasn’t satisfied, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. He turned back to you, looking down at you with something unreadable in his expression. He was bad at this—bad at saying things that weren’t wrapped up in sarcasm or frustration—but you knew him well enough to see through the act.

“I’ll be back soon”, he muttered, almost like a promise.

You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly over his chest, right where Aria’s head had rested moments before. “We’ll be here”, you whispered.

Ben’s jaw tightened slightly, his green eyes flicking between you and Aria, then toward the group of idiots already waiting near the elevator, grinning like jackals. He exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly torn between keeping up his tough exterior and giving you what you wanted.

But when you whispered, I love you, your fingers still resting lightly on his chest, something in his expression softened—just for a moment. His free hand came up, brushing against your jaw as he leaned in, his lips barely ghosting over yours before pressing down in a firm, lingering kiss. It wasn’t just a goodbye—it was a promise.

A sharp whistle cut through the moment.

“Aw, look at him”, Frenchie drawled from the elevator, arms crossed, a smug grin stretched across his face. “Big, bad Soldier Boy going all soft. It’s beautiful, really”.

“Fuck off, Frenchie”, Ben muttered, pulling back but letting his fingers linger on your chin for just a second longer before finally stepping away.

Butcher, standing beside Frenchie, was grinning like he was enjoying every second of this. “Didn’t think I’d live to see the day”, he said, shaking his head. “The bastard’s gone domestic”.

Ben rolled his shoulders, his annoyance flaring as he turned toward them. “Keep talking, and I’ll make sure you don’t live much longer”, he growled, grabbing his shield from where it rested by the car.

Frenchie just chuckled, following him onto the elevator. “Ah, mon ami, we are just saying—it is a sight. The great Soldier Boy, tamed”.

Ben didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he threw one last glance over his shoulder at you and Aria before stepping onto the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind him.

You sighed, shaking your head as you adjusted Aria’s blanket. A-Train leaned against the car, arms still crossed, smirking slightly.

“Man, you really got him wrapped around your finger, huh?”, he mused.

You smirked, looking down at your daughter. “Nah”, you said softly. “She does”.

The elevator doors slid shut behind Ben, taking him away into the depths of Vought Tower. You let out a slow breath, adjusting Aria’s blanket as her tiny fingers twitched in her sleep. The soft hum of the car’s engine was the only sound for a moment, before A-Train chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned against the side of the vehicle.

“Never thought I’d see that guy acting like a damn bodyguard for a baby”.

You arched an eyebrow. “You do realize that baby is his whole world now, right?”.

A-Train gave a nonchalant shrug but didn’t argue. Instead, he straightened up, stretching his arms as he glanced toward the other guards standing near the entrance. “So”, he said, eyeing you, “you gonna head back home, or you wanna stick around?”.

You sighed, adjusting Aria’s. “Actually”, you muttered, running a tired hand through your hair, “I wanted to check on some reports and sort through whatever mess is waiting for me. My office has been run by a few assistants these past few weeks, and I can only imagine the chaos”.

A-Train let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, that’s a you problem. No way I’d be thinking about paperwork with a newborn”.

You shot him a look. “Yeah, well, some of us don’t get to just run fast and hope everything works out”.

He smirked, hands slipping into his pockets. “Hey, I do more than run”.

You arched a brow. “Uh-huh. And how’s that working out for you?”.

He huffed but didn’t argue, instead glancing at the entrance where the Vought security team loitered. “You really wanna drag the baby in there?”, he asked.

You sighed, glancing down at Aria. She was asleep, her tiny face peaceful. If you were going to go inside, it had to be now—before she woke up and demanded to be fed or changed.

“Yeah”, you said finally, adjusting your seatbelt. “Might as well get it over with”.

A-Train shrugged, stepping aside. “Your funeral”, he muttered.

The moment your feet moved, the security team straightened, their eyes flicking to you with immediate recognition.

“Ma’am”, one of them greeted, nodding. “Do you need an escort?”.

You shook your head. “No, I know the way”.

The guard hesitated, glancing at A-Train, who just raised an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me”, he muttered. “I’m just here for the ride”.

The guard nodded, stepping aside to let you through. With Aria’s car seat held securely in your grip, you headed into the tower, bracing yourself for whatever mess was waiting upstairs.

When you stepped into your office, you knew immediately that you’d been right to worry.

Stacks of paperwork cluttered your desk, several screens were open with half-finished reports, and your assistants—three of them—were scrambling through folders like they were putting out fires.

The moment they saw you, all three of them froze.

“Uh—(Y/N)!”. One of them, a young woman named Rebecca, practically jumped from her chair. “We weren’t expecting you!”.

You sighed, shifting Aria’s seat onto the edge of your desk. “Yeah, well, neither was half of this mess, I assume”.

Rebecca and the others exchanged nervous glances before nodding. “There’s… been a lot”, she admitted hesitantly. “We did our best, but there are some things only you can sign off on”.

“Of course there are”, you muttered, already feeling the headache forming.

Aria stirred in her seat, letting out a soft whimper, and all three assistants stiffened slightly, as if realizing for the first time that there was, in fact, a baby in the room.

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Oh my God”, she whispered. “Is that…?”.

You sighed softly. “Yes, this is Aria”.

All three of them looked absolutely enchanted, their stress momentarily forgotten as they crowded a little closer.

“She’s so tiny”, one of them murmured.

“She’s adorable”, another added.

You let out a chuckle. “Yeah, she’s cute. But please… just tell me how bad it is”.

Rebecca straightened, clearing her throat. “Right. So, about the contract revisions—”.

Before she could finish, Aria let out a sharp, wailing cry.

All three assistants jumped.

“Oh no”, Rebecca whispered.

A-Train, standing at the doorway with his arms crossed, just snorted. “Yeah. Now it’s your problem”.

You let out a long sigh, barely holding back an exhausted groan as you reached down to unbuckle Aria from her car seat. The second she was free, you lifted her against your chest, cradling her close as you instinctively swayed on your feet, trying to soothe her.

Her tiny body tensed against you, her little fists curling into the fabric of your top, but as soon as she felt your warmth and heard the steady beat of your heart, her cries softened into small, hiccuping whimpers.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, baby girl", you murmured, rubbing slow circles on her back. "Life’s hard when you have zero responsibilities, huh?".

Your assistants, still standing awkwardly nearby, looked visibly relieved as Aria calmed down in your arms. Rebecca, however, still looked hesitant to speak, her eyes flicking between you and the mess of paperwork on your desk.

You sighed again, shifting Aria slightly in your arms so you could reach for a pen. “Alright”, you muttered, giving the pile of papers a resigned look, “what’s first?”.

Rebecca immediately perked up, stepping forward with a thick folder. “Uh—contract revisions first. Just need your signature to finalize the deals from last quarter”.

You adjusted Aria in one arm, balancing her against your shoulder while taking the pen in your free hand. It wasn’t ideal, but at this point, multitasking had become your default setting. You flipped through the pages quickly, scanning the contracts before signing your name where necessary.

Meanwhile, A-Train, who had been leaning against the doorway, finally made himself comfortable—plopping down onto the couch in your office like he owned the place. He let out a satisfied sigh, reaching into his jacket pocket before pulling out a bag of mixed nuts.

You shot him an incredulous look. “Seriously?”.

He shrugged, tossing a few into his mouth. “What? This is quality entertainment”, he said, his words slightly muffled as he chewed. “You, being all business with a baby in one arm? Kinda badass”.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you shifted your focus back to the paperwork, signing off on another document before flipping to the next.

Rebecca, who was still standing beside your desk, hesitated before speaking again. “Um… if you need to take a break, we can always come back to this later—".

“Nah, let’s just get it done now”, you mumbled, barely looking up as you signed another page. “The faster I get through this, the sooner I can leave”.

Aria shifted against you, letting out a sleepy sigh, her little body completely relaxed now. You exhaled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before returning your focus to the endless stack of papers.

Just then, the door swung open with its usual dramatic flair, and there stood Frenchie, his ever-present grin widening the second he spotted Aria in your arms. “Ah, there she is! The littlest boss in the building!”, he declared, stepping inside with the same chaotic energy he always carried.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Frenchie?”, you asked, shifting Aria slightly as you turned to face him. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the mission with Ben?”.

Frenchie gave you an exaggerated shrug, sauntering inside and flopping into the chair across from your desk. “Ah, mon amour, do you really think our dear, paranoid Soldier Boy would leave you here without reinforcements?”. He smirked, tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. “Non, non. He sent me to ‘help’ A-Train”. His fingers curled into air quotes around the word help.

From the couch, A-Train scoffed, tossing a peanut into his mouth. “More like to babysit me while I babysit them”.

Frenchie grinned, not even trying to deny it. “Maybe. Maybe not. But let’s be honest, cherie”, he said, looking at you now. “Would you rather be left with just him?”. He gestured toward A-Train with a dramatic flourish.

You exhaled, shaking your head. “He knows I can handle myself”.

Frenchie nodded sagely. “Oui, oui, of course. But does that matter to a man who has spent the last month watching over you and this little one like a rabid dog?”. His grin softened as he leaned in, peering at Aria, who was still sleeping peacefully in your arms. “She is growing fast, no? Last time I saw her, she was just a tiny thing”.

“She is still tiny”, you said with a chuckle, adjusting her blanket.

Frenchie’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he reached for his coat pocket and pulled out something small—a tiny knitted beanie, deep green with a little white star stitched on the front. “I made this”, he said proudly, holding it up. “For her. To match her papa, non?”.

You gasped softly, touched by the gesture. “Frenchie… you knit?”.

He gave an exaggerated bow, his expression completely smug. “I contain multitudes”.

A-Train snorted from his spot on the couch, popping another peanut into his mouth as he shook his head. “Man, you gotta be real bored if you’re out here knitting hats for babies”.

Frenchie gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if A-Train had physically wounded him. “Bored? Bored? Mon dieu, you wound me, mon frère! This is not boredom—this is art!”. He held up the tiny green hat proudly, tilting it from side to side as if admiring his craftsmanship. “Besides, would you not agree that the littlest Soldier deserves proper fashion?”.

You chuckled, adjusting Aria in your arms while flipping through the next set of reports in front of you. “Honestly, Frenchie, it’s adorable. Ben’s gonna pretend to hate it, but he’ll make sure she wears it at least once”.

Frenchie smirked knowingly. “Ah, but of course. He will grumble, roll his eyes, call me some colorful insult, and then, secretly, he will think she looks perfect in it”.

A-Train shook his head, smirking. “Man, you really got this guy figured out, huh?”.

Frenchie shrugged, placing the little beanie gently on your desk before lounging back in his chair. “Ben is not as complicated as he pretends to be”, he mused, watching as you skimmed another document. “Protective, aggressive, stubborn as hell—but he is, at his core, a man who has found something worth living for”.

You paused for a moment, your fingers lingering on the edge of the report. Your gaze dropped to Aria, her tiny fingers curling against your chest as she nuzzled into you. “Yeah”, you murmured softly. “He really has”.

Frenchie grinned. “And you, ma belle, have him wrapped around your little finger. But this one—” he gestured toward Aria—“she has him wrapped around her entire tiny, tiny body”.

A-Train snorted, tossing a peanut at Frenchie, who dodged it effortlessly. “Alright, Shakespeare, calm down with the poetry”.

You rolled your eyes, signing another paper while Aria shifted slightly against you.

The first night without Ben felt strange. Not that you weren’t capable—between Frenchie and A-Train, you had more than enough help—but the absence of his brooding presence made the house feel just a little too big, a little too quiet. Well, aside from Aria, who had no concept of time or the need for uninterrupted sleep.

At precisely 3:42 AM, she made that abundantly clear.

You had just gotten her settled after a feeding when A-Train, groggy and wrapped in a blanket he’d stolen from your couch, shuffled out of the guest room. His usually cocky demeanor was gone, replaced by a very tired man questioning every life choice that led him here.

“You said she was asleep”, he muttered, rubbing his face.

“She was”, you whispered back, bouncing Aria gently. “She changed her mind”.

A-Train stared at you, then at the baby. “Damn, you really are her mom”.

You threw a pillow at him.

The next afternoon, Frenchie arrived at your place with an entire duffel bag of baby supplies.

“I was thinking”, he said, setting it on the table. “She should have style. No offense, ma belle, but Ben is dressing her like a tiny recruit. It is tragic”.

You raised an eyebrow as he pulled out an assortment of baby clothes—frilly dresses, tiny berets, a literal miniature leather jacket.

“She is 6 weeks old, Frenchie”, you said, but you couldn’t help laughing.

“She is French”, he corrected. “By association”.

A-Train walked by, snatching the tiny leather jacket. “Okay, this one’s actually cool”.

By night four, the exhaustion was starting to creep in. You had barely closed your eyes when Aria started fussing. You were about to get up when you heard footsteps—Frenchie’s, light and careful.

Curious, you peeked out to find him standing over Aria’s bassinet, rocking her gently.

“You’re talking to her in French?”, you asked softly, leaning against the doorframe.

Frenchie looked over his shoulder, completely unbothered. “Of course. She must learn the language of romance early”.

You smirked. “Ben’s gonna kill you”.

Frenchie grinned. “He will grumble, then he will see how cultured she is and pretend it was his idea”.

On day six, A-Train had the brilliant idea to try to get Aria to sleep by running in place with her.

“Dude”, you deadpanned from the couch, watching him bounce slightly, cradling Aria in one arm like a football.

“Just trust me”, he said, keeping his speed controlled. “Babies like movement. The vibration calms them”.

Frenchie, sitting nearby, raised a skeptical brow. “Or she will throw up all over your supe suit”.

A-Train scoffed. “I’m literally a professional when it comes to control—”.

Aria burped loudly.

A-Train froze. “Oh, hell no”.

Too late.

The seventh night, you finally had a moment of peace. Aria had actually gone to sleep without much fuss, and you were curled up on the couch, staring at your phone.

Ben’s last message had been simple: Be back tomorrow.

You exhaled, letting the exhaustion sink into your bones. As much as you appreciated A-Train and Frenchie, you needed him home.

As if on cue, the front door opened.

Ben stepped inside, looking like he had been through hell and back—dirt still clinging to his supe suit, exhaustion clear in his sharp green eyes. But the second he spotted you on the couch, Aria asleep in her bassinet nearby, his entire body relaxed.

“You’re early”, you whispered, standing up.

He didn’t answer, just crossed the room in a few strides, pulled you into his arms, and kissed you. Hard.

“Missed my girls”, he muttered against your lips.

You smiled, resting your forehead against his. “We missed you too”.

From the hallway, A-Train groaned. “Man, come on. I just got comfortable”.

Frenchie smirked, tossing an arm over A-Train’s shoulder. “Ah, mon ami, let them have their moment”.

Ben shot them both a look. “You two still here?”.

“You’re welcome”, A-Train shot back, heading toward the door. “Your kid’s still in one piece. Barely”.

Ben rolled his eyes before turning back to you. He glanced at Aria, sleeping peacefully, and let out a breath. “She good?”.

“She’s perfect”, you murmured, brushing his hair back gently. “She knows her daddy’s home”.

Ben smirked, leaning down to scoop Aria up carefully. She stirred slightly, blinking up at him, and he softened instantly.

“Hey, chicken”, he murmured. “Bet you missed me”.

Aria yawned, scrunching up against his chest. Ben shook his head, smirking. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re not impressed”.

You leaned against him, watching as he cradled her effortlessly, exhaustion forgotten.

Ben stayed still, holding Aria close, his rough fingers brushing over the soft blanket wrapped around her tiny body. She let out a sleepy little sigh, nuzzling against his chest, and for a moment, everything in the room stilled. His green eyes softened in a way only you had ever seen, his grip firm but impossibly gentle.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing yourself against his side, soaking in the warmth of having him home again. His scent—faintly smoky, tinged with gunpowder and something undeniably Ben—was comforting in a way you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much.

“You look like shit”, you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder.

Ben snorted. “Fuck, thanks, sweetheart. You always this romantic, or is this just for me?”.

You smirked, tilting your chin up to press a kiss to the stubble on his jaw. “Only for you”.

From across the room, A-Train groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “Jesus, man, you just got back. Can you wait, like, an hour before you two start whispering sweet nothings?”.

Frenchie, still lounging near the kitchen. “Ah, mon frère, you don’t understand. L’amour does not wait”.

Ben shot them both an unamused look. “Why are you still in my house?”.

“You told us to stay”, A-Train shot back, rolling his eyes. “I was just following orders, Captain America”.

Ben muttered something under his breath, then turned his attention back to Aria, his fingers tracing over the curve of her tiny cheek. “Did they mess with you, huh?”, he murmured, ignoring the others completely. “Did these two fucking morons teach you anything stupid?”.

Aria let out a small noise, shifting slightly in his arms, and Ben smirked, glancing up at you. “Yeah, that’s what I thought”.

You smiled, nudging him gently. “They were good. Frenchie even knitted her a hat”.

Ben blinked. “He what?”.

Frenchie grinned proudly and reached into his coat, pulling out the tiny green beanie he’d made earlier in the week. “For the tiniest soldier”.

Ben stared at it for a long second before muttering, “Jesus Christ”.

“You love it”, you teased.

“I tolerate it”, Ben corrected, but you didn’t miss the way he carefully tucked it into his pocket.

A-Train stretched, letting out a yawn. “Alright, well, now that Dad’s home, I’m out”.

“Wait”, you said, grinning. “You’re running home? Thought you were comfortable”.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Yeah, I was—until you two started making eyes at each other like a couple of teenagers”.

Ben rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip on Aria. “Good. Get lost”.

———————————

A/N: Just one more chapter... Please let me know what you think. 🥰

-

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK @faephoria @hobby27 @baby19sthings @fitxgrld @winchesterwild78 @uddiifiigj @libby99hb @urgogodancer @urinternetmom @mochminnie @laaadygisbooornex3 @fallout-girl219 @whump-loverz @ @fallout-girl219

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

My Best Friend’s Brother (Part 5)

Player 001 x reader

Masterlist <- comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

You, Jun Ho, and In Ho walked to your apartment, grabbing clothes, your favorite throw blanket, and stuff for your cat.

“Why do you need so much shit?” In Ho, who seemingly had something to say all the time, spoke. He rolled your suitcase.

“She’s gonna be staying with us all month, dim wit” Jun Ho replied.

“Well that’s stupid. Don’t touch my shit while I’m at work.”

“Our room, our stuff” you said cheekily before you shot a look at him.

“No. My room, my stuff” he said.

“Wellllll I am staying there for a whi-“

“Whatever. Don’t touch my shit.”

“She touched your shit yesterday…” Jun Ho said.

“I dont give a fuck, i gave her permission to touch my shit.” In Ho snapped back. “Now, im telling her not to touch my shit when I’m not home”

“I don’t want touch shit at all”

“You literally scoop cat shit” Jun Ho says. In Ho snickered.

“Good one” he gave a fist bump.

“Can we stop talking about shit?!” You ask heatedly. The boys shut their mouths before In Ho whispered:

“Someone’s losing her shit.” Jun Ho laughed loudly, In Ho following suit.

“Seriously, In Ho? You’re literally older than us, get your shit together” they both snorted before laughing even louder. Making you laugh too.

Jun Ho left almost as soon as you guys arrived to the house.

In Ho pushed you against the door, barricading it shut. Breathing heavily in your ear, his cock leaking in his pants.

“I’ve been wanting to get ahold of you since you got out of bed this morning.” He growled in your ear. “I shouldn’t have let you go”

“No, you shouldn’t have” you reply, helping him out of his pants. You dropped to your knees. In Ho pulled your hair up, as you licked his tip. The feeling making him throw his head back, a low grumble from his chest accompanying it. You took his length, putting his cock deep in your throat. In Ho grunted primally as he pushed his cock in deeper. Forcing your head to hit the door. He pinned your hair up, thrusting into your mouth.

“Oh god, (y/n), why does your mouth feel so fucking good?” He coaxed in a low tone, fucking your throat. “I almost want to cum right now, fuck” the foreign feeling of his cock in your mouth was a long awaited day dream, you began to gag and choke on his thick member. The vibrations sending him into overdrive. He sped up, chasing his orgasm now, continuing his brutal assault on your throat. He braced his hand against the door, his hips stuttered. His body tense and convulsion with every thrust into your mouth. A low grumble”oh god” was uttered in the most sinful groan as he released cum down your throat. Thrusting slower now to fully empty himself inside you before putting himself back in his jeans.

“Your cum tastes almost like whiskey” you giggle.

“Well, according to last night… you really fucking like whiskey” he said. Your watery eyes looked up at him. “Ready to go pick out a new mattress your-annoyingness” he joked. You slapped his shoulder as you stood.

“Shut up.” You squint at him.

“Sorry” he kept laughing. “Mom, tell your son to stop laughing at me” you said as you walk into the kitchen.

“I would but, I haven’t heard him laugh this hard since he was younger.” She giggled lightly.

“Where Mr. Hwang?” You ask. “we might need his help.”

“He’s out betting on the horse races. Just have them deliver it to the house, the boys can do all of that.”

“Okay.” You shrug. You hear a loud groan as your cat emerges from In Ho’s room.

“Come back! I wanted more cuddles!!” He shouts chasing after the animal.

“Awww he’s so precious!” Mrs. Hwang exclaims. “What’s his name?”

“Wiseuki” you say aloud. The cat rubs against her legs as she repeats his name, looking at you knowing why you named him that… after her whiskey drinking son.

“Come on (y/n), let’s go pick that mattress” In Ho says pushing you out the door.

As soon as you entered the mattress store, he threw himself onto a bed. Immediate disgust etching on his face. You could tell this was going to be a long trip.

Taglist

@christinamadsen @sebbymybaby21 @nakiio5775 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @player279achlys @watasinekoru @galaxygurlll @angelofthorr @whamzou

[456x001]

Gi hun waits behind the corner. And then just like everyday, at 1:32pm Gi-hun hears In-ho’s footsteps approaching the end of the hallway. He’s sick of it, sick of it all. Sick of watching In-ho walk up to that same triangle guard and hearing their meaningless debrief for the umpteenth time. What does it matter anyway? At the end of day he will find In-ho lying in a pool of his own blood, looking up him and watch the light slowly fade from his eyes.

The guard walks away and In-ho walks down the hallway, nearing him.

Gi-hun’s had enough this. In-ho’s about to pass him when he grabs his shoulder and yanks him around, shoving him against the wall. “Why do you keep dying?!” Gi-hun yells. In-ho, to his credit, looks mildly bewildered before slipping back into his usual stoic and calculating demeanor.

He raises an eyebrow and shoots him a questioning look. Gi-hun punches the wall next to him and lets out a frustrated yell before pressing his forehead against the right of the wall next to In-ho’s head.

In-ho’s turns his head to face Gi-hun and studies his expression before pushing himself off the wall and peering out into the hallway from behind the corner. “Not here.”he says before grabbing Gi-hun’s wrist and dragging him down the other side of the hallway they were standing in. They approach what seems to be just another part of the wall before In-ho firmly presses his hand against it and pushes inward. The wall splits open and reveals a sleek black door which scans In-ho’s face and then opens inwards, granting him access to what looks like an office.

In-ho, still holding onto Gi-hun’s wrist, pulls him inside and shuts the door. Finally letting go of his wrist, he paces to the other side of the room before turning around to face him again. He lets out a frustrated sigh, “What is it now Gi-hun? How are you even here? You’re not supposed to be here, you-“ “I agree!” Gi-hun yells. “I’m not supposed to be here, I don’t want to be here! But I’m stuck! I’m stuck reliving the same day over and over again, stuck hearing Yong-sik complain about the milk, stuck hearing Geum-ja scold the stupid shaman lady, stuck hearing the stupid shaman lady’s tirade about the will of the gods, and stuck watching you die over and over and over again!” he bemoans grabbing his hair with both his hands. “I want it to end! I want it all to end! I just want it to end!” he screams, eyes shut tightly.

In-ho slowly steps towards him, approaching him akin to someone approaching a scared stray animal. He gently presses his hand against Gi-hun’s forehead. As if he was checking his temperature. “Gi-hun, are you okay?” he asked. He looked...concerned. Oh, the nerve! The nerve!! “Are you fucking kidding me?” In-ho straightens. “I’m not sick! I don’t have a fever! I’m not hallucinating! and you keep fucking dying.”

He was too tired for this. He just wants In-ho to stop looking at him with those stupid concerned eyes. He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he barely hears it. A snort. He looks up and sees In-ho with his fist in his mouth. He was trying not to laugh. Gi hun narrows his eyes at him in utter disbelief. “You cannot be serious! You’re laughing? In-ho loses it. “I’m standing here and telling you about how I’ve been watching you die every single day and you’re laughing?” Gi-hun is glaring daggers at him. I’ll kill him myself this time he thinks to himself. He was appalled by the ridiculousness of it all. The Front Man was standing here in front of him laughing his ass off.

“Gi-hun…don’t you think….this is a bit much even for you…” In ho says in between his dying laughter. “If you think this is going to get you and everyone out of here, I’m sorry but it’s not my call.”

“Do you think I want to stand here and explain all this to you and beg you to understand so that I can save your life?”After everything you did? Gi hun drags his palm down his face.

“I believe you” In-ho says resolutely.

“What?”

“I believe you” he says again.

Gi-hun looks at him and sees In-ho looking back at him earnestly.

Gi hun sighs.

“Thank you. For trying to save me.”

The words feel heavy leaving his mouth. He wasn’t just talking about the time loop.

“I don’t give a shit about you.”

Lies.

I just need you to survive so that I can escape this nightmare.”

In ho’s face hardens and his lips press into a thin line.

If In ho notices something more flicker in Gi hun’s eyes, he doesn’t mention it. The absurdity of the situation making him pinch the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“So you’re saying you start everyday the same, every event down to minute detail unfolds exactly the same. You’re able to interfere and change things but it always ends with me dying and then the time loop restarts?”

“Yes.” huffs Gi-hun.

“Do I die the same way every time?”

“Yes.”

“What happens?” In-ho gazes at him intently, looking to catch something Gi-hun might’ve missed.

——————————————————————-

that’s all for now! im a very busy gal but if yall want more i might make more

i want a post season 2 groundhog day type fic where in ho dies and then gi hun gets trapped in a time loop of that day and eventually he realizes that the only way to exit the time loop is to save in ho so he tries to save him over and over again and slowly falls in love with him in the process.

[nameless-jamie]

Moan

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes

Jamie Tartt was a pain in Y/N’s ass on a good day. On a bad day, though—like today for example, when he was injured and milking it for all it was worth—he was insufferable.

Y/N stood in his living room, arms crossed, watching as he sprawled out on his couch like a prince in exile, his left ankle propped up on a pile of pillows. His shorts had ridden up slightly, exposing more of his ridiculously toned thigh than necessary, and he was holding the remote like it physically pained him to lift it.

“You could be in the club’s physio room,” she pointed out. “With actual professionals taking care of you.”

Jamie let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing his hand over his face like the mere suggestion exhausted him. “Yeah, but they’re all proper strict and boring. And I don’t like the way they make me do all the exercises in order. I like a bit of flexibility, yeah?”

“What you like is getting me to babysit you.”

His lips curled into a slow, smug grin. “What can I say? You’re my favorite assistant.”

She scoffed. “Idiot, I'm your only assistant.”

“Exactly. That means your job is lookin’ after me.” He reached for the remote again and made a show of wincing. “Ow. That hurt, that.”

“Oh, piss off.”

“No, really. It’s bad, Y/N. So bad.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “I could waste away here, just wither from neglect. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would ya?”

“Jamie, you’re not dying. You twisted your ankle.”

“You say that, but it feels serious. Could be career-ending.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

It wasn’t like she had much of a choice in the matter. Ever since Jamie had gone down clutching his ankle in the last match, he had been insistent that she was the only one he could trust to take care of him. Something about her “already knowing his dramatic tendencies” and being “good at keeping him in check.” Which, fine, was technically true, but she was his personal assistant, not his nurse. Although he fucking offered to by her a sexy nurse uniform...

Yet, here she was, spending her evening in his ridiculously big house, watching as he exaggerated his injury like a spoiled child.

“Did you take the painkillers?” she asked, crossing the room to grab the ice pack off the coffee table.

Jamie pouted at her. Actually pouted. “Nah. Didn’t wanna take ‘em without food.”

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “Right. Because you can’t possibly hobble to the kitchen and grab something.”

He grinned. “Now you’re gettin’ it.”

An hour later, after making sure he ate something.

"Protein bars do not count, Jamie."

"That's basically food, love"

She sat cross-legged on the floor beside the couch, replacing his ice pack, while he flicked through Netflix options.

“You’re meant to be resting, not watching telly,” she scolded.

“This is resting.”

“Resting doesn’t require constant entertainment.”

Jamie let out a low chuckle. “Dunno, love. I think I’d get real bored just sittin’ here in silence. Unless you were gonna read to me or some shit. Like in them period dramas Keeley likes.”

She scoffed. “Not happening.”

“Tragic.” He sighed.

5 minutes later the TV was off. But Jamie kept playing with his phone, scrolling aimlessly. “Reckon I should make a dramatic post about my injury?”

“Reckon you should shut up and rest.”

“Oi,” he said, flicking his gaze down to her. “Bit rude.”

“Bit accurate.”

His lips twitched. “Y’know, I think I deserve a little somethin’ for bein’ such a good patient.”

“You are not a good patient.”

“Yeah, I am. I’ve barely complained.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“…Out loud,” he added with a grin. “Anyway, I’m thinkin’ you could help me with my physio. Since I trust you more than them club people.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I feel like you just want an excuse to get a massage out of this.”

His grin turned positively wicked. “You offerin’?”

She groaned. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet you’re still here, so—”

She grabbed the massage oil from the table with a sigh. “Fine. But if you make one inappropriate comment, I’m leaving you to suffer.”

Jamie held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’d never.”

She should have said no. She should have.

But he looked so pleased with himself, and some masochistic part of her wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. Maybe she could pinch his calves...

It started off fine. Innocent, even. She sat at the edge of the couch, her hands carefully pressing into the muscles of his calf, kneading out the tension from his injury. His ankle was still a little swollen, so she was gentle, working her thumbs into the muscle just above the injury, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. Jamie had his head tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted slightly.

Jamie, for once, was silent. Maybe he was asleep?

The room had gone quiet except for the occasional sound of the TV playing some random Netflix series in the background. If she hadn’t known Jamie so well, she might have thought he was actually in pain instead of reveling in the attention.

She was so focused on working out the tension that she didn’t realize she had shifted closer, one knee now resting on the couch between his legs.

Then—

He suddenly made a sound.

A very specific sound.

A low, deep, utterly sinful moan.

Y/N’s hands froze.

Jamie’s eyes snapped open a second later.

They stared at each other.

“…Did you just—”

“No.”

“Yes, you did.”

Jamie’s face turned red, and for once, for once, he looked genuinely flustered. “It weren’t— I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh my god.” Y/N snatched her hands away like he was on fire, scrambling backward, away from his lap.

“Oi, calm down—” Jamie groaned. This time out of embarrassment, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can you not make a big deal outta this?”

She gaped at him, then let out a slow, wicked smile. “Oh, Jamie.” She shook her head. “I absolutely can...not.”

“Y/N—”

“Jamie Tartt,” she announced, standing up dramatically, “moaning from a massage. A massage by ME!”

“Shut up.”

“Moaning like I—”

“I swear to god, Y/N, if you say it—”

“Like I was giving you something else entirely. Oh, I bet you would LOVE THAT!”

Jamie let out a strangled noise. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N.”

She grinned. “Oh, I love this for sure.”

“I don’t.”

“I know. That's like the whole point.” She grabbed her coat, still laughing. “I’m never letting you live this down. You can do the rest of your physio yourself. Or do whatever to yourself, I don't care.”

“But—” He let his head drop back against the cushions with a groan. “Fuckin' hate you.”

“No, you don’t, in fact I think you fuckin' love meee.”

He cracked one eye open, watching as she pulled on her jacket, still smiling like she’d just won the lottery. His mouth twitched.

“Yeah,” he shouted after her. “I really fuckin’ do.”

And she definitely had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling at that.

"Idiot!"