#what if. a good thing happened ever a little bit

[cod-indulgences]

Johnny x female!reader, pregnancy kink, baby trapping, possessive vibes (reader is the one being baby trapped)

Soap never thought much about kids until he met you. Now it's gripped him like a fever- thinking of you fat with his baby, an immediate claim on your body that can't be hidden, a neon sign screaming Johnny fucked me to anyone who blinks at you. Tits getting heavy, nipples soft and dark, the way your back would curve to balance out the weight in your belly. Soft bodied and warm as you cradle a little newborn to your chest, something with a spike of dark hair and little fat hands.

He lets himself dream while holding his cock as deep inside as he can, the tip shoved up against your cervix, playing with your clit until you come around him, milking his balls so that everything goes into you, fills you up. Carefully withdrawing to avoid spilling even a drop of previous come, thumbing any back inside you as you whine and try to protect your sore pussy- sorry, love, can't help myself, so fucking gorgeous. Just another round, he'll be gentle, sweet to your lovely cunt as it hungrily drinks up everything he gives it.

Soap's not a man who denies himself very well.

If your birth control gets a bit messed up- little pills in flimsy packages, love, not surprising that the case snapped and spilled all over when he opened the bathroom cabinet and it fell out. It's alright, you can get more later, come back to bed- it's not his fault. Accidents happen. The emergency condoms are old, no wonder it snapped and spilled creamy come into your pussy, you only realized it too late when Soap pulled out after cuddling with his cock still inside.

The plan B he finds gets flushed, and he's helpful as you dig through your purse, sure you just had it, until he soothes your worries and distracts you until you're moaning and coming on his cock again, drunk on your orgasms, mind slipping away from thoughts of pills to greedily soak up pleasure instead.

The little plastic stick in your hand, two solid lines, is one of the most gorgeous things Soap ever saw, next to your lovely self of course.

Now he's got everything he wanted, playing with your breasts as they grow, tugging your nipples and whispering in your ear about how they'll feel wet with your milk for the little one. The curve of your belly as it swells, your thighs and ass thicker, the taste of your pussy changing on his tongue as he indulges every night, sucking on your clit, buried so deep he can't see anything except your thighs and the arching curve above him where his baby grows.

And of course this one will need a sibling- easy enough, breasts sore so he just has to scrape his teeth over your nipples to make you shake, your body opening up for his cock and letting him just take you, too tired to think to check for a condom when he groans and holds you close, thrusting deep inside, so good love, so tight and hot for me.

And once you've got two under your belt, what's a third, right?

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Cater Diamond - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

#MyLoungewear #BirthdayEve #CheckOutMyHairband ...Posted!

Summon: 'Kay then, tomorrow's ol' Cay-kun's birthday... I gotta get hyped to receive all those well wishes!

Groovification: The birthday video came out great... No doubt about it, this'll definitely go viral ♪

Home: This is Cay-kun's favorite ♪

Swap Looks: Yaaaaawn... Guess I'll go wash my face.

Home Transition 1: I'm usually just on my phone whenever I'm in my room～ ...Huh, studying? Don't pick on me by asking that～

Home Transition 2: Azul-kun treated me to a real fancy-looking drink ♪ He said my promoting it on Magicam would be payment enough.

Home Transition 3: A limited cosmetics set, huh～ Even the package itself is super duper cute! Maybe I'll buy it as a birthday gift to myself.

Home Transition - Login: The number of likes and comments I get on my Magicam posts on my birthday is through the roof! It makes me happy, sure, but it's a little difficult to reply to them all～

Home Transition - Groovy: Never thought I'd ever have Leona-kun wishing me a happy birthday... Wish I woulda snagged a video of it happening.

Home Tap 1: Don'tcha think this loungewear is soft and adorable? Both the top and bottoms are part of the same outfit series.

Home Tap 2: All I did was change up my eyeliner a little bit, but Rook-kun picked up on it right away... He's kinda scarily observant.

Home Tap 3: My hair's looks all silky smooth? Right? Isn't it? I tried out this hair milk that I came across on Magicam.

Home Tap 4: I'm totally used to Lilia-chan's surprises... Is what I'd like to say, but he definitely got me again this year.

Home Tap 5: It's rare to see ya boy Cay-kun without a suit drawn on, isn't it? Wanna take a pic together to remember this moment by?

Home Tap - Groovy: My loungewear? Well, yeah, I have a ton of other sets. Maybe I should wear a more cool-looking outfit tomorrow ♪

Duo: [CATER]: Leona-kun, gimmie your most heartfelt well wishes～ [LEONA]: I'll just do it normally, Cater.

Birthday Login Message: Thanks for the birthday wishes! I got a thing with the Pop Music Club after this, but you wanna come with me, [Yuu]? I mean, it's not really like we're going to be doing anything special. We'll probably just be snacking and chatting, like usual. Ah, I just had a good idea. One sec, let me reach out to Lilia-chan and Kalim-kun. ...Niice～ Looks like they're both on board. "'Kay, then we'll go with the plan I just sent you guys" ...And send. So basically, we're gonna throw an impromptu Cay-kun Birthday Performance. Come and enjoy the celebration!

Requested by @farfalla049.

[redwinelew]

too busy being yours | lewis hamilton

teammate + driver!reader

summary inspired by hozier's cover of do i wanna know

word count 4.4k

warnings 18+ content. angry/hate sex. choking. oral (f receiving), praise kink. kinda angsty a bit. i tried to make this neutral so it could be mercedes!lewis or ferrari!lewis. unedited bcs i couldn't be bothered. many grammatical errors. english is not my first language.

author's note i hate how fucking long this is bcs it was supposed to be a short blurb but i got too carried away as i always do. this fic drained me so idk if it's any good but i hope u guys enjoy

masterlist | requests are CLOSED!

this is just sex, you said to yourself the first time lewis was fucking you after your overtake in miami causing him to lose his chance at getting a podium.

"you kept pissing me off since the day we met, you know," he said as he wrapped his large inked hand around your throat, your head turned to one side and your cheek pressed hard floor of his driver's room.

a tear escaped your eyes as they rolled back, his cock ramming into you. he gave you so little time to adjust to his size and it burned. he was bigger than anyone you have ever taken, combined with the way he was choking you, the brutal pace of his cock ramming inside you, it was pain mixed with pleasure. you never felt like this is with anyone else, and it made the experience better all together.

"so— you couldn't— fuck. you couldn't stop— thinking about me since then? is that what— you're saying?" you sassed him back.

he almost didn't make you cum that day.

for some reason, somehow you have always expected things to end like this between the two of you. not that you think about him bending your knees to your chest and fucking you hard until you see stars and all you could think about was how deep he is inside you on daily basis but it has become some fort of tradition for you two to get on each other's nerves every week, and he looks like the type who would let out his frustration with sex. it was like it was bound to happen.

the second time it happened, you tell yourself that he was just trying to make you feel better, after you crashed against alex albon in japan.

"let me take care of you." he assured, sinking to his knees in your hotel room's floor. his hands were spreading your legs wide for him to bury his face in between them.

you propped yourself on your elbows, wanting to watch him and you swore you never thought he could be this gentle with you after what happened in his driver's room. his thick lips smeared long, wet kisses all over your thighs, eyes stay locked with yours, taking in your reaction. your chest heaved and you released a shaky breath, throwing your head back the moment his tongue dived into your sensitive parts.

he was going slow, careful of your injuries but not too slow that he was depriving you of that high. his tongue moved in the most articulate ways, fingers pumping in and out like he just knew what would makes you click and shatter. as if he was already a pro at at the art of pleasuring you, despite this being his first time putting his tongue on you.

"i want to hear you," he lifted his head for a split second to say, half a whisper after he noticed how you were, how you were biting your bottom lip, trying to suppress the sinful sounds from escaping your lips.

"someone— might hear—"

"i wanna hear you." he repeated, firm but gently. "please, sweetie. i wanna hear you fall apart for me."

when your eyes met his, somehow it was clear that this was not the same man who had fucked you hard on the floor of his driver's room a few weeks ago. his eyes were different. you hoped your own were not deceiving you because you could swore it was filled with a different kind of lust compared to the first time.

noticing your hesitation, he took your hand and brought it to his head, gesturing you to guide him by grabbing his braids.

"come on. show me what you like. i want to know."

"i want to know."

you wanted to argue that he didn't have any reason to. why should he know how to eat you out until your body shook from pleasure and your eyes see stars? why should he know how to flick his tongue in ways that would make his name the only word you could remember? having lewis hamilton, the seven time formula 1 world champion on his knees with his head in between your legs is not something that would ever happen again, no.

but you found yourself spreading your legs a little bit further, trying to make your body relaxed and comfortable on the hotel bed. you gathered his braids since his hair tie has gone somehow, and he let you. he dived back to your clit, and groaned, loving the way you guided him in order to help you reach your peak.

he made you cum twice with his tongue and fingers. then with his cock, and again it was different from the first time. he let you stare into his big brown eyes, his braids hung like curtains on either side of his face as his bare frame towered over your naked body, your legs locked around his waist.

he was thrusting into you slow and deep, like he wanted you to feel every inch of him, to draw those little gasps of yours he was starting to get obsessed with. he wanted to see your eyes flutter as he hits that sweet spot inside you, the one that would make you utter his name like a prayer.

you tried to focus more on the pleasure he was bringing and less on the fact that this felt like he was making love to you. because it couldn't. that word should be forbidden from both your lips and his. this was not love. he was only fucking you this slow and this gentle because you got into a crash. he was afraid he could cause more serious injuries to you even though there wasn't even any to begin with.

the third time, it was after you and him achieved podium together but that race was a bit different than the other. a historic 1-2 at your team's home race, the first since you joined the team. a win with lewis here was something you were determined to happen since the beginning of the season and it finally came true.

your lips never lacked a smile since you crossed the checkered flag with lewis behind you. the long, tight hug that you two shared, especially the way he was burying his face in the crook of your neck, his hand rubbing your back and the way tears were streaming down your cheeks were definitely one of the most talked-about topics among fans that week. but you couldn't care any less. a lot has happened for you personally. you were unable to give your 100% when the season starts, and a bunch of DNFs and crashes did not help your case either. podium started to feel like a distant dream. you thought about the fact that your contract was ending this year and had not been renewed yet. you needed this win and thankfully it proved something to the team. you wanted them to forget about finding a new driver to replace you next year because the old you were still here. struggling with a new car design is something common among formula 1 drivers. lewis knew it all too well.

that is why he cannot stop praising you that night.

"you did great, sweetie. you were amazing." he said with each slow thrust of his cock, earning soft sighs from your lips. his strong arms were cradling your face, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"you— you were great too." you said, trying to redirect it to him, hating the way your cheeks grew warm at his praise. you've spent so much time arguing and getting on each other's nerves that being praised by him felt strange though not unwelcome. in fact, you hated how much you loved it. hated how it was the only thing that you crave to hear from his pretty mouth from now on. no more bickerings. no more quick retorts. just his sweet tongue making you feel good about yourself, verbally and physically.

"no, no. this is about you. you did great. you deserved every bit of this. don't you?" you delt him slowing down. you bit your bottom lip, too overwhelmed by his intense gaze to say anything.

"i asked you a question, sweetie." he demanded an answer, keeping his tone soft. his voice was barely a whisper.

"i— mhmm.... please.... move." was all you could say instead as you turned your head, trying to hide from his gaze. you never felt so small. this feelings burned.

"answer my question, first. you did great, didn't you? sweet girl?"

you whimper pathetically at the new nickname, letting him grab your chin to meet his eyes once again.

"i didn't..... early on. i wasn't doing good." you say quietly. you don't know why that was in your mind at the time. you should be enjoying the day, that moment. your win, the way he was filling you up to the brim. nothing else matters. what more could you asked for?

except maybe more assurance from him. that this win was not because of luck. was purely your hard work. was because you fucking deserved it.

"that's normal, sweetie. they made a lot of upgrades and improvements this year, didn't they? it's normal to take time to readjust to some changes. don't beat yourself up for it. you're a great driver. everybody knows that. i knew it."

why the fuck do you feel like a rookie right now? you didn't need to hear all that. you've been in this sport for years. you've moved teams, dealt with the fact that you had driven and struggled with far shittier cars. but why did lewis' words make you feel slightly better, deep down? why did he make me feel relaxed enough to unclench your jaw and to drop your tensed shoulders? how did he know exactly what you needed to hear? how did he manage to read you so well?

"y-yeah." you nod breathlessly, agreeing, especially when he finally moved his hips again, but it wasn't enough to make you reach that peak again and he knew it.

"repeat after me: i deserve this."

"lewis—"

"say it or you're not cumming tonight."

you swallowed, lips trembling. as threatening as it soundes, you knew lewis didn't mean that. but still, he's a man of his words. you didn't want to risk the perfect night you and him are having.

and maybe, just maybe, you start listening to his words. you start pushing away all those negative thoughts that were trying to drown your victory today.

"i...." you take a deep breath. "i deserve this."

"louder." he demanded again as he shifted between your hips, gripping your thighs tighter, his eyes never wavered from yours.

"i deserve this." you did as he commanded, with a much firmer tone, like you really mean it.

because you did. you fucking deserve this win. this team. this life. him.

"you did great today." lewis started fucking you again deeply, not hurried with his pace.

"i did great today." you gasped.

"that's my good girl."

you're his good girl.

he kissed you that night, for the first time ever, which surprised you when you thought about it again. the first time you two fucked, you never get to so much as a glance at his lips because of the position he got you in. second time, the thought did cross your mind, making you wonder how would his lips which was sucking on your clit at the time felt when they're pressed against yours instead. how he would devour you like you're all he needs to survive. how his tongue would taste in your mouth.

and it was sweet. long and passionate. better than your wildest dreams. it felt so natural, the way his lips moved against yours in a perfect synchronization. as if they were made to have this dance together.

you whimpered into his mouth when you came, and he drank it all up, swallowing your cry, big hands cupping your cheeks. it was heaven.

until you fell back to earth, to reality, when you realized that like every other thing in this world, what you have with lewis right now, whatever the hell he wants to call it, it will not last forever.

how long are you two going to keep this up? pretending like you hated each other's guts during the day, only to be tangled up under the covers at night? how long until everybody in the garage, fans on the internet notice your stolen glances? how you two always tries to stand a few feet apart, not because the mere sight of each other disgusted you both, but because you are afraid that you were not able to keep this facade up any longer. that you might say fuck it and jump to each other's arm to celebrate another podium. or rushing to ask your race engineer if the other was okay after a crash.

you remembered an interview lewis did. with which magazine, it doesn't matter but what he talked about was. that he wants to have a family, to have kids. it sticks in your mind, every word in the article you already have them memorized. only one question is left.

is that woman you, or is this just another fling to him?

you need to know, need to put an exact label to this thing you get going on with lewis right now or else it might drive you crazy. you cannot keep letting him in, cannot let him whisper another one of those promises in your ear, each time you let him have his way raw with you, if they all meant nothing to him. he might not seem like the type, but you cannot let yourself lost in the uncertainty. better to end this now before it's too late.

you glanced at his sleeping figure on your right on your hotel bed. another night spent together, without knowing where this stands for him. was it all just for fun, his way to release his frustration? it'd be fair, since you never exactly made it easy for him to have you as his teammate. or did it actually mean something to him, deep inside, only he is too afraid to say it?

you shift to your side, staring at his beautiful face. you snuggle up closer, tangling up your legs with his under the covers, needing to go feel his heat, as if this is the last time you will ever get to be this close to him.

it could be.

your hand goes to push his braids behind his ear, cupping his cheek before running your rhumb across his cheekbone and he stirs a bit, a sigh left his thick lips and you feel his hand on your hip tenses a little before he relaxes again. he's absolutely breathtaking, when the pressure of winning his eighth championship isn't occupying his mind. the way his long lashes flutter in his sleep. two piercings decorating his nose. giant lion tattoo on his chest exposed, besides the most obvious parts down there, all for you to see.

something inside you cannot help but wonder.... do other girls get to see him like this too? how many of them? do they get to touch him like this as well? does he enjoy it? does he whisper to their ears the same thing as he did to you?

your heart clenches but then you quickly tell yourself. of course he does. of course they do. it would be a fool of you to think otherwise. who do you think you are, besides a teammate who has been giving him a hard time ever since you two were paired together? a woman he's using to release all of his frustration on? you are nothing but those. do not think that the great formula 1 champion lewis hamilton would make an exception for you. do not pretend like this "relationship" would have a future.

but then, another part of your brain reminds you, trying to ease your nerves. he wouldn't stay every night, probably wouldn't even let you have your orgasms, wouldn't even think about getting on his knees for the woman he hates with every fiber of his being, if this was meaningless for him.

you wanted to move, when he suddenly stirs again. a groan left his lips.

"what time is it?" he asks in that deep, sleepy tone of his, eyes still shut. his accent is always more apparent in the morning.

"almost seven." you say flatly, removing your hand from his face, laying on your back again, your face turns away.

lewis senses the shift in your behavior somehow. his thick eyebrows meet in a knot, before his eyes open. he lays on his back as well, stretching his body a bit, feeling every single muscle in his body sore, before sitting on the bed. you take a peak at him, the way his muscular body bathe in the sunlight seeping through the room through the gaps between the curtains. he takes his hair tie from his wrist, gathering his braids before tying them back together again lowly. his tattooed back visible to you, with lightning-shaped patterns caused by your sharp nails from last night. you bite your lip at the sight, at your poor, desperate attempt to mark him as yours.

it's useless.

he will never be.

a deep exhale escapes from his lips before he glances at you momentarily, eyes raking over the visible outline of your naked figure under the white covers, taking in your sudden cold demeanor.

"did i hurt you?" lewis asks, voice laced with concern.

yes, in a way, you wanted to say. but instead you keep quiet. wouldn't it be nice if you could just freeze, trying not to move, and you'd shrink, disappear from here forever? not having to face him anymore, nor that one painful fact that you have tried to forget. if only life is easy that way.

he calls your name, gently, and it still feels foreign to you, the way your name leaves softly from his lips. you were used to him barking, hissing it. like your name is poisonous, disgusting to him in the garage. never would you have thought he would whispers it so calmly, moaning it even.

he calls again, and you cannot ignore him this time. you turn your head, meeting his eyes tiredly.

"i'm fine—"

"no, you're not." he cuts you off, and it almost angers you. how would he know how you really feel? he doesn't know anything about you besides how to make you come. he doesn't know your favorite food, your favorite colour. you want him to stop pretending like he's got you all figured out.

"i...." you sigh. "i don't wanna talk about this right now, please."

lewis raises an eyebrow. "you know that answer will only make me even more curious now, right? just tell me."

when you stay silent, still refusing to meet his eyes, lewis tries to guess himself.

"is it about last night? did i hurt you? please, tell me. i can't...." his sentence trails away when you shake your head slowly at his guess.

you bite your lip again, harder, before sitting up as well, pulling the white covers to conceal your bare chest. your eyes stare into a corner blankly, nails scratching the back of your neck as your mind tries to put together the words you have been dying to say to him ever since what happened in his driver's room.

"it's not just last night.... it's the previous nights. it's every other night we spent. together. i don't...." you gulp thickly, suddenly at loss for words. you have been thinking about this moment for so long, you hate yourself for not being able to be straight now.

"sweetie...."

"what are we, lewis?"

pause.

"what?" he asks back, his face all scrunched up, eyebrows tie up like he didn't even process your question.

you take a deep, shaky breath, before finally, finally looking at him in the eyes.

"i mean, what are we? what is this?"

"what is wha—" he chuckles with a nervous look on his face, probably wondering what the hell has gotten into you this early in the morning that made you asked these questions.

you try your best not to roll your eyes at his clueless face. you wish he could just skip these acts, pretending like he doesn't know exactly what you're talking about. you want to move to the part where he confirms what you have known all this time.

"please, just be honest with me. i don't want to waste my time anymore and i'm sure you—"

"no, hey— wait a second. what is this— what the hell are you—"

"i asked you first!" you say impatiently, raising your voice a little, which startles lewis but you wish you could say that you care. every second spent with him feels like you should have been using it to do something else, with somebody else and you might have a future with.

"what are we, lewis?" you repeat, firmly this time and louder so the question seeps through his mind.

pause.

"all these nights we've spent together.... did they mean anything to you? like at all? i need you to be honest with me because if this is all just for fun to you then you can find someone else—"

"i don't want someone else." he cuts you off. the suddenness of it combined with the firmness of his voice catches you off guard. but you are not about to let it distract you.

"well that's too damn bad because i'm not here to be one of your girls—"

"me neither." a beat. "i just want you to be the only girl."

pause.

"what the hell does that mean?"

"it means...." a sigh from him. "that i am a coward who should have told you how i really felt from the beginning."

his voice is getting shakier as he continues. "you drive me crazy since you first joined this team but then i realized that i love how it feels, as long as it was you who makes me feel this way."

you gulp at his smooth words, trying to keep yourself together. this is lewis hamilton, 7 times formula 1 world champion. his name itself is bigger than the sport. he knows how to make people fall to their knees in his presence. you do not want to be one of them, cannot allow yourself to be.

lewis takes a deep breath, and you find yourself holding yours.

"the only kind of girl i want you to be is mine."

pause.

"you...." you shudder. "you can't just say that. like it means nothing."

part of you are relieved somehow that he feels that way. that this was not meaningless to him. but you did not expect another type of feeling to enter the conversation. or maybe you did, only you refuse to think about it. because the mere thought of lewis falling in love with you as this goes on feels impossible to happen.

"i wouldn't if that's the case." he says, quick and confidently. "I'm in love with you, sweetie."

"i...." he stammers suddenly. "it's been a while since i was in love, i almost forgot how it feels. it was after our team's home race that i realized it. that night. it felt good to be like that with you. i remembered how i wanted to spend every night like that with you. not just the sex but the lengthy conversations we had after. and the way you felt in my arms when you fell asleep, i.... i just want to hold you like that every night. i can't get enough. you've made me a mad man, love."

oh, love.

you chew on your bottom lip, not knowing what to say, how to react. you didn't expect a confession, never would have dreamt of those four letter words to leave his lips while talking to you. mine. love.

or maybe you did. you think about moments that you two spent alone together, besides having him inside you that you shared and you find yourself loving every single second. sharing stories, your passions. you realized how much you enjoy hearing his rambles and wishing that you could hear more, that he would share more. something deeper, more personal.

"we can't." you say without thinking.

lewis clenches his jaw, huffing in frustration.

"why not? because you think the team wouldn't approve? or the fans?" he quickly guesses, like he already knew the excuses you'd give.

"i'd only accept rejection from you if you yourself do not want this. not because of the team or our publicists or— or the fans. because who cares what those people have to say? this is our lives, not theirs. do not let other people dictate how you feel." he says firmly.

"i'm not." you retort just as fast. "because i do feel the same."

you see how he releases a heavy breath after hearing your own confession, like a weight has been lifted from his shoulder. a relief.

"i just need to know if you are serious about going public. it's a big step. how long have we been rivals publicly? and then suddenly we're dating? how would that look?"

he smiles tinily.

"i'm sure it wouldn't be a surprise to them. maybe deep down they know you've always wanted me."

"oh, me?" you roll your eyes at him while pointing at yourself. "alright, sir lewis 'you've made me a mad man' hamilton. sure. i wanted you first. definitely not the other way around."

he chuckles this time, his white teeth on full display before he closes the distance between you two.

"keep talking and i'll show you how mad you truly have made me." he says in a low, sultry voice.

and you did. and he kept his promise. you two ignored the fact that you have a qualification today, or how purposely loud you are being. you know you'd be too embarrassed to actually face the other drivers who stay in this same hotel after today but when lewis was fucking you deep and slow but hard as a way to prove his devotion to you, you cannot exactly say that you care about anything else in that moment.

[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.” 

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[harrywavycurly]

Absolutely loving killer Harry! I love how protective of us he is and how just caring and in love he is with us. Though has there ever been a time where he was the one where he desperately needed someone or us for comfort? Has he ever been that vulnerable with us?

Hiii lovey!! So I think 100000% Harry has had moments of insecurity and thinks he’s not enough for you and that’s sort of why he needs you to comfort him a bit! So I hope you enjoy this!!💖

Find all things Loving a Killer here✨

CW: Harry is a killer in this series but it’s only mentioned briefly and no details are given in this update about what he’s done.

Tag List: @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia

Summary: Harry has a bad day and just needs you to comfort him a bit✨

It’s rare that Harry lets anyone see him at his lowest when the weight of all the horrible things he’s done rests on his shoulders and he feels as if he doesn’t deserve the happiness he’s found in life, the happiness he has all because of you. You’re the one person who has seen Harry in this state, he doesn’t bother putting up a wall with you because you know him too well and while he does keep things from you, such as what he really does for a living, he is actually very forthcoming with his feelings with you because most of the time it’s just him telling you how much he loves you and how you’re the best thing that ever happened to him. But something he’s learned in his years of being with you and especially in the years he’s been married to you is that it’s just as important for him to share how he’s feeling in the not so great moments as well as the happy ones, it’s what helps you understand him a bit more and get to see his more vulnerable side that he doesn’t share with anyone else.

That’s why having Harry’s head resting in your lap while you’re sat at the edge of the bed with him on his knees between your legs isn’t that shocking, you could tell he was feeling a little down the moment he got home from work a few hours earlier. You run a hand through his hair as he lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, the feeling of your nails lightly scratching his scalp making him relax the tiniest bit. He hasn’t said anything to you minus that he loves you but that was as he was getting ready for bed, he’s been silence since then even when he dropped to his knees in front of you while you were putting your lotion on and rested his head in your lap and securely wrapped himself around you and you don’t mind because you know he will talk when he’s ready.

“Can I ask you something?” You look down at him as he mumbles his question into the fabric of your pajama pants.

“You can ask me anything you want.” You tell him as your free hand rests on the top of his shoulder so you can give it a small squeeze.

“Do you think you’ll always love me?” He knows he shouldn’t be asking you this while you have no clue about the horrible things he does and has done in the time you’ve known him but he just needs some reassurance in this very moment so he doesn’t really care how unfair he’s being.

“I know I’ll always love you.” You answer with a smile as you continue running your fingers through his hair. “There’s nothing you could do that would ever make me stop loving you.” Your soft and gentle tone lets him know you mean every word and Harry wants to smile but he can’t because of the guilt he feels knowing that he’s already done plenty of things that would make all the love you have for him fade away and turn into disgust and anger.

“I don’t deserve you.” He says with a sigh as his arms around your middle tighten almost as if he’s afraid that if his hold on you loosens even just the tiniest bit you’ll slip away from him. You feel the corners of your mouth drop at his words, hating that whatever thoughts he’s got swirling around in his mind are making him feel like he’s not good enough. You bring your hand up and place it on his cheek that’s not pressed against your thighs, you softly run your thumb over his cheekbone as your other hand plays with the hair at the back of his neck.

“Well I know you don’t hear this a lot but you’re wrong.” You watch as your words make Harry’s mouth twitch like he’s fighting off a smile. “You deserve me because I deserve you.” You swallow the small lump that’s forming in your throat as you look over at your nightstand that has a photo of you and Harry from your wedding day sitting in a pretty frame next to your lamp.

“No one can love me the way you do. No one can make me feel like I’m the most important person in the whole world the way you do. No one can protect me the way you do. So you saying you don’t deserve me is like you’re trying to tell me I don’t deserve the kind of happiness that I only get when I’m with you.” Harry’s eyes open as soon as he hears you sniffle and you don’t even have time to wipe away the few tears that have escaped before he’s sitting up making your hands fall into your lap while his come up to gently cup the sides of your face, his thumbs softly wiping away the tears for you.

“You deserve all the happiness in the world.” He tells you with as much softness he can muster as he feels his heart begin to crack at the sight of you getting upset because you just want him to know how loved he makes you feel. While he’s glad he makes you feel this way he also hates that a part of him knows the reason he goes so overboard with his love and affection for you is because he thinks maybe if he treats you the best he possibly can you won’t want to leave the moment you find out the monster he really is.

“And I get that when I’m with you.” Harry hates knowing your happiness is tied up in being with him because he knows there’s a small possibility that somewhere down the line he won’t be able to be around anymore, either because a job goes wrong or someone stumbles upon his preferred burial site that holds more than a few skeletons of his. “Is there something wrong that we need to work on? Are you not-”

“No baby there’s nothing wrong.” He says quickly stopping you from asking any other questions because he can’t stand the thought of you thinking you have anything to do with his mood this evening. “I just sometimes think this-this life we’ve made with each other is almost too good to be true and-and I get in my head about how one day you’re going to realize how fucked up I am and you’ll run for the hills.” His thumbs are still softly rubbing over your cheeks as he finally lets you in on the types of things that have been rolling around in his mind lately.

“I already know how fucked up you are Harry.” His eyes stare into yours as you bring your hands up and rest them on top of his. “You wake up before the sun rises to work out. You also prefer cold showers unless I’m joining you and force you to take a hot one. You are so organized I don’t even know where half our stuff even is. And you eat beans on toast. You’re an actual freak.” You explain with a small sniffle while you wrap your hands around his wrists, Harry appreciates your attempt at trying to change the mood of the conversation because he doesn’t know how much longer he can watch tears slip down your face.

“But you love me right?” He asks as he leans in to place a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll never love anyone the way I love you so don’t think even for a minute that I’ll ever leave you okay?” Harry just nods as you give his wrists a squeeze and that’s when you notice his eyes have gotten a little misty. “I promise I’m not going anywhere.” You reassure him as you move your hands from his wrist and up to his face while his hands drop to your shoulders.

“Good.” You smile as you feel him lean into your touch. “You mean everything to me you know that right?” You give him a small nod as you hear the emotion in his voice. “I love you.” He says softly as you lean in and rest your forehead against his as a few stray tears roll down his face. “I’m sor-” Harry’s apology is cut off by the feeling of your lips on his in a sweet kiss.

“I love you too.” You mumble against his lips as his hands slip into your hair keeping your face close to his. “You don’t have to apologize to me. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Harry closes his eyes for a moment as you take your thumbs and wipe away the last of his tears while he take a few seconds to let your words sink in, ignoring the ever present guilt that wants to work its way up his chest and into his throat so he can come clean and just tell you everything he’s done wrong that would make you change your mind and demand an apology and probably a divorce from him.

But Harry decides that while yes he does unspeakable things and hurts people for a living, there’s a reason he walked into the cafe you worked at all those years ago and maybe it was because the universe or whatever it may be knew you were exactly what he needed in his life. He felt lost before he met you, just going through the motions of life with no real purpose until you came along and gave him one. That’s why he will always drop whatever he’s doing if you need him because your happiness is his main priority and it’s the same reason he’d leave and make sure you never saw him again if you ever do decide to be done with him.

He hasn’t ever loved anyone as much as he loves you and as he leans in and places a kiss to your lips he knows you love him just as much when he feels you pull him closer when you think he’s about to pull away, not wanting him to get too far but you have nothing to worry about because Harry isn’t going anywhere. The two of you are it for each other and he feels a sense of relief wash over him as that realization hits him, momentarily putting him at ease.

“You really think I’m a freak because of the beans on toast thing?” He teases once you actually allow him to pull away and you roll your eyes as he places little kisses to the tip of your nose and then both cheeks.

“Yes.” He smiles as you run a hand through his hair. “But you’re my freak.”

“Oh really? And here I was thinking you were my little freak.” He chuckles at the way your cheeks get pink as he leans down and gives you a quick peck making you smile when he pulls away. It’s a smile that makes Harry’s heart want to burst because it’s the smile you give him when he can tell you’re truly happy and that’s all Harry wants, he just wants to be able to make you smile like that for as long as he can.

[urgardenandmine]

good little boy ❆ - s. park (pt. i)

summary: sunghoon is a major fuckboy (emphasis on fuck) with a camera kink ⚠️‼️WARNING: strong language and this work is like NASTY (by tinashe) so read if you are able to handle dirty stuff⚠️‼️ genre: dirty and NASTY (NSFW) pairing: m!reader x park sunghoon word count: 2.8K

requested by @acidangel-fromasia

“look who came crawling back…”

the voice immediately gave you a headache, yet he wasn’t wrong. i mean you were now on his doorstep, wearing your decorated crocs, your camo-green sweats and a baggy black hoodie. you grumbled softly, staring at the man in front of you who wore nothing but his grey sweatpants and flashed his chiseled body. he had no care for who saw him, though probably no one did as it was the morning and everyone was now at work in school.

as you two stared at one another, being dumb college students, you both had nothing to do in your free time. you could be studying or maybe even just going to the gym and catch up on working out since class has made things out of whack for you but you decided to answer a stupid booty call from a jerk wad (who knew how to make you c-). 

the very attractive man, sunghoon, eyed you up and down. he pouted, stepping closer to you as he wrapped his arms around your waist as he looked into your eyes. he tilted his head, whining.

“aw, love~, you aren’t wearing your choker.” he stated, causing you to look away as the tip of your ears began to feel warmer. you didn’t want to give into his cute antics, just wanted some good pounding then leave. you got stiff, making sure he couldn’t lower your guard because every time you did, all you ended up with was trust issues and even more piled on. sighing, you gently removed his arms from you and glared up at him. 

“i don’t wanna wear that, park.” you spat back, causing him to whine even more as he slouched and pressed his forehead against yours. the mention of his last name caused him to feel a bit fiery inside, hearing how the boy who grips the sheets under him was gaining a backbone. sunghoon chuckled softly as he stood up right and kissed your temple, before wrapping his hand around your neck. you gulped softly, feeling his digits slightly dig on where they met your neck. he removed your hoodie, revealing your freshly washed fluffy hair and grazed his teeth on your ear.

“i guess this will have to work…” he whispered, before biting your ear softly. you tried to hold back your feelings of immense attraction yet it was evident you were getting a bit stiffer somewhere else. removing his veined, warm hands from your throat, he smiled and leaned against his door frame. exhaling happily, he smiled at you as he took in the sight in front of him. in front of him, he saw a hot and bothered fuck toy who he couldn’t wait to strip and just ruin. 

“well, come on in! why don’t we get comfortable.” he inviting teased, grabbing your hands as he led you into his house. you and sunghoon were both students who commuted and both lived at  home. the fun thing though was that his parents were rarely home, so he had the place all to himself. you took in the sight of his living room, seeing the usual couch and the coffee table. what was new was the notebooks on the table, which was weird as you knew sunghoon to be the type of boy to never study since. only time you ever saw him study was when he tried to get your attention from school and it worked, considering this is your dozen time being here in a month. 

following sunghoon up to his room, you took a small breath to prepare yourself for what was about to happen. in reality, sunghoon was a great bed partner. you couldn’t remember a time when he gave you a rough pounding or a sensual one to where you couldn’t walk. as much as you didn’t want to, you were always screaming his name and always scratching his back to where his friends thought he had a secret girlfriend. though in reality, sunghoon was the typical DL guy who just knew how to use his tool. 

walking into his room, you were met with the blinds drawn yet the sheer blinds left over the windows, letting in some light and not too much for people to see the mess about to be made in a couple minutes. his bed sheets were the usual navy blue silk linen, while his pillows were a dark blue and white flannel pattern. the rest of the room was dark, the only light source being the window. sunghoon stood by the door, letting you in to get situated as he chuckled and spanked you gently. you jumped a bit, looking back at him as you groaned. closing the door behind him, he slowly slinked off his sweats to reveal his black boxers. you looked back and saw his bulge, blushing as you rolled your eyes and stuck your hands in the hem of your sweatpants before you felt a hand grab yours, stopping you. 

looking over your shoulder, you saw sunghoon smile as he kissed your cheek and then had you take your hands out. he turned you around, lifting your chin with his soft hands as he planted his coral lips onto yours. closing your eyes, he kissed gently before turning it into a whole make out session. within a second, he wrapped both arms around your waist again as he rubbed his now solid bulge against yours, eliciting soft moans from you both as you had your arms around his neck. sunghoon began to bite your lips, moving down to your neck leaving marks, regardless of the pain he brought you. you whimpered, head rolling back as he then licked his bite marks. chuckling softly, sunghoon then pushed you onto the bed. 

crashing onto the bed, you looked down to see him now slowly undressing you. feeling the soft cotton slowly slide down your legs, you began to feel sunghoon kiss your thighs as he got closer to your clothed throbbing member. shivering, you tried to push him off you as he then glared at you, swiping your hand away as he bit your thigh gently. while on his knees, sunghoon slowly brought one hand down into his boxers and began to slowly tease himself as he teased you. 

sunghoon took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your body wash and you yourself. feeling impatient, sunghoon then used his one free hand and slowly yanked off your own boxers, seeing your rock hard dick spring into the air. though you yourself weren’t the biggest, you were palatable. sunghoon smirked, looking at you as he then used both hands and slinked both arms under your thighs, propping you up as he brought his mouth closer to your pulsing member. feeling his breath reach your tip and more, you closed your eyes and felt embarrassed as you had never seen this side of him. well, you have but you don’t remember much. seeing you not look at him, sunghoon pinched your thighs and caused you to squeak a bit. you looked down and saw him glaring at you.

“look at me, bitch.” sunghoon demanded, before having his tongue lick your tip. gulping, you made sure to make eye contact with the brown eyed boy. sunghoon took a small breath, trying to pace himself. he wanted to enjoy how he was going to ruin you. one thing about sunghoon being a fuckboy was he was a fun one, as he knew how to make sure you got close to the edge but never finished before him. looking up at you, sunghoon then engulfed your whole dick into his warm, wet mouth before moaning around you, sending vibrations throughout your lower member. you groaned, arching your back as you were sensitive. being the usual submissive person in most situations, you were barely tasted down there. with sunghoon, he owned every part of you and wanted to make sure you knew only he could make you feel this good. 

he began to bob his head up and down, his eyes now closed as he began to slobber all over your crotch as your dick hit the back of his warm throat. though sunghoon was strictly a top and you had rarely gotten head, to you both, it felt perfect with one another. though sunghoon had multiple bodies and people to choose from, he chose you every day and when he couldn’t, he didn’t mind whipping out his cock to jerk and send you videos throughout the day till you caved in. 

as sunghoon bobbed up and down, he slowly removed his mouth and began to lap at your balls, causing you to shake and hold onto his head. he saw you biting your lip and trying not to be too loud, making him annoyed. in retaliation, he began to suck on your balls, causing you to let out a loud and long moan as he smirked and then spat on your cock, stroking you softly. 

“f-fuck! sunghoon~.” you whimpered, causing him to smirk as he then removed his hand. he then lifted you up gently, seeing your hole now in front of him. in an instant, sunghoon began to kiss that area as you moaned. having both arms hold you up, he began to devour you as he moaned into your opening. you gripped the bed sheets, the silk ruffling into your hands. sunghoon then removed one hand, staring at the puckering hole in front of him as you could see his face covered in spit. he laughed, spitting on you as he then ran a finger onto you. as you looked at him, you were met with the eyes of a boy who wanted to drag you to heaven and back. slipping a finger into you, sunghoon moaned as he entered you. moaning loudly, you threw your head back as he began to stir your insides.

after what seemed to be a year of teasing (when in reality it was possibly only fifteen minutes) of sunghoon’s fingers inside your warm insides, he was now matching his tip against your hole. as you were ready to brace yourself, you heard a small beep and click. looking at him, you saaw sunghoon holding your leg and now a camcorder in his hand. bunching up your hoodie and covering your privates, sunghoon looked down at you. 

“what’s wrong little pet, shy?” he teased, spanking you as you whined softly. 

“just wondering what’s that for…” you asked, scared of upsetting him. whenever he was angry, he fucked your brains out till you were a rambling mess. sunghoon smiled, turning on the camera as he then angled it to your face and held your face in his hand. he then bent down and kissed you sloppily, moaning into your mouth as his tongue slipped into your mouth. pulling away, he showed the camera your flushed face as he grinned from ear to ear.

“just something for me to watch later, bunny. don’t be shy.” he reassured, standing back up and then pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. he slapped his hard cock onto yours, making you feel needy for it. he then tugged on your hoodie, signaling he wanted this off immediately. understanding his signal, you sat up and removed your hoodie, tossing it off to the side. he inhaled deeply, breathing slowly as he panned the camera to your body and ran a hand down your body. 

“look at my little fuck toy…” he trailed, rubbing his hard eight inch cock against your skin. setting the camera near your head, he then made sure he was in frame as he grabbed a condom and some lube. though sunghoon was rough, he wasn’t careless with you or his health. though his other partners and him were always safe and clean, sunghoon did a little more for you. he made sure he shaved, didn’t smell and as well, made sure the mood was just right. there was music playing in the back yet it wasn’t too loud as the only music he chose to listen to was your grunts and whines. along with that, he had lit a scented candle you mentioned was your favorite when you two had first met. 

grabbing your thighs and placing them around his waist, sunghoon bent down, his face close to yours as he stroked his lubed and covered cock. he lined up his dick with your hole, licking his lips as he saw how needy you were yet were trying to cover it up. he rolled his eyes, kissing you gently as he then slipped his tip in. sucking in a breath, you winced as sunghoon slowly made his way into you. not pushing any further, letting you get used to his girth once more, he lubed up his hand and began to stroke you slowly. you moaned, looking up at sunghoon. he closed his eyes, listening deeply to your noises. 

as he continued to stroke you, he began to push a little deeper in. though it hurt a bit, it felt amazing as sunghoon’s soft and now slick hands  were tugging on your hard cock. as he was halfway in, sunghoon began to kiss your neck. feeling him in you, it was a feeling you missed. you found yourself playing with your back door a lot more frequently ever since you guys began hooking up and it felt like nothing. as he was halfway inside you, you could feel the veins throbbing and how full you were. sunghoon groaned, feeling himself slip into your warm hole. kissing your neck as well as he stroked you, sunghoon then pushed himself in slowly all the way. whining, you wrapped your arms around his burly shoulders. he laughed softly, leaving a small hickey. 

after being adjusted to him, he began to move without any notice. your eyes widened, as you began to let out a string of moans as he began to do shallow strokes. you closed your eyes, feeling sunghoon throb as he began to pump you gently. turning your head towards his neck, he could feel you breathe onto him. lifting his lips from your neck, your eyes locked. in the next second, you began locking lips and making a mess of one another’s lips. 

after five minutes of slow strokes, sunghoon then placed his hands onto the sides of your ass as he began to thrust deeper and harder. 

“fuck! sunghoon!” you yelped, feeling him hit your prostate in an instant. since you two were constant fuck buddies, sunghoon knew you better than you knew yourself. smirking to himself, he looked into the camera and began to demolish your hole. being taller, he rested his head on top of yours as his chin was on your crown. as he stared into the camera, he moaned and smiled at the sight before him. he saw your legs wrapped around him as the bed was shaking. reaching over to grab the camera, he then lifted himself enough to film your face that was filled with lust and pleasure.

“good little faggot, take my cock.” he groaned, shoving it harder to where you began to shake. 

“good fucking slut~.” sunghoon sang, spitting on your face as he then took his other fingers and shoved it into your mouth. you began to suck on them instinctively, making sunghoon happy as he ruined your insides to the point where you were gripping the sheets once again. sunghoon held the camera and began to thrust into you like there was no tomorrow, grinning once more as he could feel how loose you were getting.

bringing one hand to your throat, sunghoon then began to choke you slightly. he knew it wasn’t your favorite but he loved the sight of seeing you under him and whining.

“look at my bitch with his choker. fucking perfect.” the taller man huffed out. changing the pace of his thrusts, sunghoon then slowed down and began to do deeper strokes. he pulled out till only his tip was left inside, then ramming it in. as he did so, he had elicited a loud whine from you, filling the room with only your moans and his deep low grunts. your hands began to hold onto his arm as he choked you, feeling something soon pooling in your lower area. 

“oh, f-fuck! fuck, fuck!” you rambled, arching your back as you came all over yourself. sunghoon tightened his grip on your throat, smiling as he then filmed your shaking legs and what seemed to be your never ending cumshot. he filmed a closeup of your hard cock trembling, as it spewed it’s milk.

setting down the camera, he slowed down his thrusts as he then sped up. he gripped one leg with his other free arm, still choking you as he then pressed his forehead against yours. 

“god, fucking love you, [y/n].” he mumbled, before he got back to fucking your brains out.

and he continued to do so, till you painted his sheets and yourself white and made yourself wetter than ever. sunghoon kept the camera rolling, forgetting it was ever there as he lost himself in you…

⋆｡°✩

dis shit is LONG

sorry if it got rushed at the end but SURPRISE, this is a two-parter

hope y'all enjoy my first ever smut/nsfw story!

[naridabarbi]

I had a dream about like azzi and juju being together, could you pls make a one shot about them where its like azzi is jealous by some girl flirting with juju?

"JEALOUSY LOOKS GOOD ON YOU"

pairing - juju watkins x azzi fudd

word count - 667

c/w- language, suggestive, angst if you squint.

a/n - being that this ship is rare and unusual, i have no smut for you guys. i REFUSEE to get backlashed. anywho, i told you guys that i wont ever turn down an request so I have to keep my word.

Azzi was pissed.

Not the playful kind of mad where Juju could flash that charming grin and make it all go away. No, this was real, arms-crossed, jaw-clenched, fully committed to being mad pissed.

And it was all because of some overly friendly interviewer who clearly had no self-control.

Azzi had been watching the game live, curled up on the couch in Juju’s hoodie, grinning like an idiot every time her girl dominated on the court. Twenty-nine points, seven assists, three steals—Juju was balling. And when she hit that final three-pointer, Azzi had damn near jumped off the couch.

But then—then—came the post-game interview.

Azzi should have turned the TV off. She should have just texted Juju her usual “Proud of you, baby. Come home to me.” and waited like a calm and rational girlfriend.

But no.

Now she was gripping the remote way too tight, glaring at the screen as some random woman stood way too close to Juju, smiling up at her like she wanted to eat her alive.

And Juju? Completely oblivious.

She was laughing, flashing that perfect smile, looking fine as hell, and making things worse.

Then it happened.

The interviewer’s hand—on Juju’s arm. A soft, lingering touch that had Azzi seeing red.

“Oh, hell no.” Azzi snatched up her phone and fired off a text.

Azzi: When are you coming home?

Juju: On my way now, Mama. Miss me?

Azzi rolled her eyes. Oh, she missed her, alright. Missed her before she had to watch another woman practically throw herself at her girlfriend on national television.

By the time Juju walked through the door an hour later, Azzi was curled up on the couch, arms crossed, her lips set in a pout.

Juju stepped inside, dropping her bag, her brows furrowing at the energy in the room. “What’s wrong, Mama?”

Azzi didn’t even look at her. “Nothing.”

Juju smirked instantly. Oh. So that’s what they were doing.

She kicked off her sneakers and made her way over, standing in front of Azzi, hands on her hips. “Uh-huh. You sure? ‘Cause you look a little…” She tilted her head. “Mad.”

Azzi still refused to look at her. “I’m fine.”

Juju chuckled, finally putting the pieces together. She glanced at the paused screen on the TV—the interview from earlier still frozen in place. And just like that, she knew.

“Ohhh,” Juju drawled, plopping down beside her, draping an arm lazily over the back of the couch. “So that’s what this is about.”

Azzi’s jaw clenched. “Don’t.”

Juju grinned, leaning in just enough to brush her lips against Azzi’s ear. “Mama, are you jealous?”

Azzi scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “No.”

Juju chuckled, slipping a hand under Azzi’s hoodie and resting her warm palm on her waist. “Lying ain’t a good look on you, baby.”

Azzi shivered but refused to give in. “Maybe I just don’t like watching my girlfriend get touched on live TV.”

Juju bit back a smile. “Baby, she wasn’t touching me like that.”

Azzi finally turned to face her, eyes sharp. “Did she have to touch you at all?”

Juju licked her lips, loving this way more than she should. She leaned in even closer, her voice low. “You’re kinda sexy when you’re mad, Mama.”

Azzi huffed, looking away. “Shut up.”

Juju laughed softly, pressing a kiss to Azzi’s jaw. “C’mon, baby. You know you’re the only one for me.” Another kiss, this time just below her ear. “Only you.”

Azzi sighed, her resolve slipping. “You’re annoying.”

Juju smirked, trailing kisses down her neck now. “And you’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Azzi tried—really tried—to keep her attitude. But then Juju’s hand slid lower, squeezing her hip just right, and her voice dropped into that dangerous tone.

“Wanna know how I can make it up to you, hm?” Juju murmured against her skin.

Azzi swallowed hard. Oh.

Maybe she’d let Juju fix it, after all.

[blitzbomb]

*Kai watches Garland with every intention of making the man feel like he’s on display - a toy to be debuted, used and judged. Kai takes in every movement with his dark eyes. Inside he burns with a need to punish Garland and make him see that things could just be so much worse for him. But Kai has to keep himself in check. Humans are fragile and so easy to accidentally kill. Happens all the time with the recently changed: feeding goes too far, a captive gets pushed just a little too forcibly or strangled a little too hard and long. Mostly, as a brief hunger roils in his gut, Kai has to remind himself that Garland should get one torture at a time.*

*Well if that isn’t just the first compliment he’s paid her. Mariam doesn’t want to let those words go to her head but it’s kinda hard not to - it would be tempting to bite down as if her teeth could do some real damage to his flesh, or to grab him too hard just to make Boris panic. But that’s not the point. It’s about showing that she’s capable of making her own choices… And earning her own respect. And showing Boris she’s worth keeping alive a bit longer, maybe just a little. Mari works him steadily. Not too slow, not too fast.. She’ll know when the time is right to turn it up that last notch and gag on him. Timed right, Boris won’t be able to hold himself back.*

-------

Garland lets out a low, deep breath. He can feel Kai's eyes glued to him. Watching every move. He needs to make this look good. Needs Kai to be merciful when he finally... Garland tries to not think about what will happen next. Just leans back, eyes on the ceiling, as he bends his knees and gets to work. One finger just teasing over his hole before retreating back for lube. Coming back dripping and ready to sink deep inside. He wonders how long Kai will wait before finally taking what he wants. If he will let this draw out or get right to business.

Boris watches with utmost glee as Mariam sucks his cock like a good little fuck toy. She's not as eager as hos other girls, but good lord she's far warmer and wetter than them girls could ever hope to be. There are perks to keeping this bitch alive. Lucky for Mariam since her personality seems eager to end her life. But Boris can ignore it. Far more interested in what she can give than what she says most of the time. "Fuck... More." He tugs at her hair, wanting to feel every inch of his cock in her warm, wet mouth.

She'd tried so hard. Mariam had done everything in her power to keep herself hidden. Herself and the small group of ragtag survivors who fled the city. Only a few of them spoke English, but that's neither here nor there.. They all had the same goal. Live. And to live as they are... Not as one of them. Mariam had gone into town to get access to a convenience store. Steal some food, bring back to the camp. It hadn't gone well. She and her small party were found... And found by Kai, of all people.

With a content groan, Boris pulls himself out of his body filled bed. Paying no attention to the two female vampires feasting on a half dead human at the foot of the bed. It smells like sex and blood. Just how Boris likes it, but the night had barely started, and he’s already bored. Sex, blood, sleep, and repeat. Gaining this immortal life has been a gift from Kai, sure, but Boris isn’t half bored now they have so much of Russia under control. And soon the rest of the world. Thinking of, Boris might go give Kai a visit. Been a while since he last saw that bastard. He might have some fun things for Boris to do.

[v3lv3tsin]

moonstruck: nishimura riki

| pairning: nishimura riki x reader

I genre: prince!niki, princess!reader

I warnings: no warnings <3

I word count: 1.8k

I stefy's note: just a little something before i actually come back and post the last part of the jungwon series (i'm really sorry it took so long to write but i was busy with uni and some resits), so enjoy :)

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If anyone would have asked what do you like about Niki, you would have said before that it was his smile, but now ever since getting to know him better that answer changed and so have you. His sense of humor, especially when having guest to entertain was what made you two get close to each other in the first place.

It was easy how it happened and since none of you planned for it to happen made it even more special. But your mother never approved of him, saying that he "wouldn't be a good enough suitor for you" nor a good husband from the way he was behaving.

He was known to be more of carefree than other princes were, but maybe that's what made you notice him. Or maybe it was the sly smile he always gave you whenever you'd meet.

What came to your surprise was that although your mother seemed to be very keen on keeping the two of you apart for as long as possible it didn't seem to work all the time. And this was the case for when Niki invited other distinguished guests, such as Mr. Yang, Mr. Park and Mr. Sim, alongside you. Obviously.

To your surprise, your mother seemed to have approved of the invitation long before you could've even proposed the idea to her. Meaning that you would be accompanied by your governess. Saying that you weren't excited even a bit to see him, was a lie in itself. There was no doubt that his father approved of the party to be held at their spring residence. You heard about the stories about the fountains and their respective tricks so being able to experience it sounded perfect already.

So that is how you and your governess, Claire, found yourselves waiting to be escorted into the gardens and fountains of the residence, by Niki and his father. It didn't take long to see Nikis smile widening as soon as he saw you waiting for him and his father to be able to welcome you properly, as if he didn't plan this whole party just to see you and hear your voice. Having to go to all the trouble of convincing his father that having his others friends coming to the party it would distract him from even talking to you in the first place.

Realizing they might be busy with the guests that would have to be arriving soon or they already arrived, the butler escorts you into the gardens with a small grin as if he knew that would happen when you would enter the garden area. As soon as you enter through the gates you're met with a slight splash of water coming from the statutes guarding the fountains at the center of the garden. Although the water didn't get too much on your dress as it wasn't a lot, it made you laugh just a little bit.

One thing is for sure that this was no ordinary party. And another thing that you realized was that water will be involved.

Before being able exit being hit by the water in the first place, you finally make eye contact with Niki, seeing that he was laughing too. Coming to greet and welcome you to their spring residence, were both him and his father. "Welcome to our little house, Mrs. Choi." Mr. Nishimura, Niki's father says on a modest tone, knowing that the residence wasn't close to being little.

"Thank you for inviting me." You smile happily, knowing how much of a fuss was for him and his son to be able to have this many guests in their private residence. Smiling at Niki before to his father, you're met with the news that lunch would be served soon, as one of the butlers came to announce Mr. Nishimura.

"I see that you've already met my son." His father feels the need to point out that your relationship with his son was far from a friendship from what he could grasp at first sight. Without wanting to have more of the awkward silence that seemed to be happening for some time now, his father voices on the same tone as before, making sure to let the two of you talk in peace. "Lunch will be served soon."

"I'm surprised your mother decided to let you come alone." Niki speaks on a teasing tone, thinking it was high time that he talks about most feared topic between the two of you. Your mother. It was true that his father agreed to plan the party and sent you an invitation, and not your mother, knowing that she would never let you come to it.

"She is busy with tonight's party." You answer him giving him barely any information about your plans for the night as you were missing your mother's party instead of being there to help her organize everything. "But you knew that very well." You continue on the same tone wanting to let him know that it was his idea this party, in the first place.

"I missed you." Niki blurs out while rubbing the back of his neck, in a whispery tone as he looks at you. It was true, he did. Ever since you spent more time together he couldn't take his mind off you as much as he tried.

"Lunch should be served soon." You answer by changing the topic, not wanting to talk to him about the feelings you have been developing for him lately. Or ever since you first met him at one of Mr. Yang's parties. Heading to the stunningly looking table, that seemed to made out of stone having around it shining stone seats. One interesting aspect about the stone seats was that they all seemed to have a hole in the middle of them. It did seem uncomfortable at first, but when you saw Niki sit down next you, all of it was gone.

Usually you would be the one to complain about how comfortable or not something was, but it seemed that this was not the case. Everyone around the table seemed to be enjoying themselves, you finally make eye contact with Niki's father who seemed to be in an intense conversation with his son while you were sharing your thoughts with one of Mr. Park's date. Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever you could feel something coming from the back of you.

Water. Splashes of water everywhere. Surrounding the whole table. From the front and from the back.

The delicious meal in front of you was not drenched in water and so were you. Not as much as you have except as the dress having so many layers managed to block some of the water coming from the chair you were sitting on.

"Gentlemen, i think it is better to enjoy the view somewhere else." Wearing a smirk on his face was now Mr. Nishimura, Nki's father who seemed to be enjoying the annoyed or the surprised faces of his guests. As much as you hated your mother for forbidding you to see Niki, there was one aspect that you two usually agree on.

Never, under no circumstance, piss of Mr. Nishimura. As charming as his son can be, the Nishimuras have always been known for getting their revenge, one way or another.

Getting up from your seat to follow Niki's father, who was now leading the way to what looked like to be a mechanical music-playing theatre. It was nothing you have seen before. While walking to the theatre you felt Niki's hand holding yours as the two of you followed his fathers lead. The place was beautiful to say the least, each statute had water coming from it in a peaceful manner. Some were showing scenes you have never seen before, such as a demon like face who had its tongue coming out, along with water coming out of its nose or two lovers walking together, hand in hand, in a forest.

Before you could see the theatre in its full glory, Niki whispered to you. "Come, i know a place when we'll be just fine." Just fine? Not being hit by the water again sounded perfectly so you followed him willingly. He surely knew more about the place than you, but knowing him he was surely planning something.

Sitting in front of a tower-like palace you could a court life, showing different professions, whether it is the building work-party, the daily workers who bring building materials to the foreman, who drinks, or the butchers slaughtering an ox, or the barber who shaves a man beneath his guild sign. The palace was surrounded by a three-storey building in a semicircle, partly giving a view into its interior.

Busy  activity  takes  place  on  the  street:  a  dancing  bear  performs, guards march past the Residence, a farmer pushes an old woman in a wheelbarrow  over  the  road.  Figures  from  the  Commedia  dell’arte  are also to be seen, and if one so wishes, one can discern the social status of the figures involved. The most noble move less and more slowly that the workers. 

Holding your waist from behind as you watched the now music-playing theatre was Niki, that was whispering to you new information about the palace-like theatre. "200 figurines, powered by water." It wasn't a lot of information, but thinking that these 200 figurines were moving by the help of water, was something innovative. Considering that the both of you sat pretty far in the back, for any of you to be able to see anything, you suggested moving forward to be able to watch the scene better.

Not long after the mechanical theatre stopped from Mr. Nishimuras signal, water started splashing again. Slower this time, but still a lot. Considering that you and Niki were far back, the water didn't get to you. That is when you decided to ask him, how or why did that happen. Seeing that your curiosity was peaked, Niki answers before you could open you mouth to even ask the question. "This spot is never wet. There's no water conduit here."

Taking your hand in his as his father was now leading the gentlemen to a church looking like building, Niki was leading you outside the beautiful garden. Trying to avoid the water coming from the different parts of them, he took your face in his hands and said on a loving whispery tone. "I waited so long to do this."

Before you could protest, his lips found yours and all seemed forgotten. Your mum not letting you see him again. Your governess having to accompany you to the party. The disapproving looks his father would give you from time to time.

All of it was gone.

© V3LV3TSIN — do not translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

[suzukiblu]

Day three 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 ))

Nothing even happened to him. Nobody touched him or anything, he just–he didn’t do anything he didn’t decide to do or want to do or–or–

He didn’t want Robin to yank his hair. Or to lie to him about the stupid condoms. 

. . . he didn’t really even wanna suck him off, really, but Robin had refused to settle for a handjob and, like, it wasn’t like they’d had the time to argue about it, so . . . so that’d been . . . 

Nobody touched him, though. Or, like–made him do . . . anything. He, like–it was his stupid idea to get Robin off and try to work on the puzzle with his TTK at the same time and, like . . . and . . . 

Tana’s nice to him. She likes him. She–and doesn’t Superman fucking know how few people have actually, like–have actually ever, like– 

People don’t just like him. Especially not–especially not just for being him. 

And definitely not enough to just be fucking nice to him. 

Robin sure as fuck wasn’t nice to him, drugged off his fucking rocker or not. Not like Tana is. So she’s not like that. He knows she’s not like that. She likes him. Just ‘cuz sometimes they have problems, that’s not–everybody’s relationship has problems! Who the hell’s relationship doesn’t have problems? Fuck, Superman is literally screwing Lois Lane behind her literal husband’s back and everyone in the whole goddamn world knows it except said husband, apparently, so like–so why does Superman get to judge who he messes around with? At least Tana’s not fucking married or whatever! 

She’ll take him back again, and he’ll be better, and he won’t disappoint her or piss her off anymore, and–and it’ll be better. It’ll work this time; work for good this time. 

She’s good to him. So he can–he can be good for her. He knows he can. 

He has to be, because she's–because she's the only one who ever even would be nice to him. 

And fucking Superman still won't even let go of his fucking arm. 

“Kid, just–please just talk to me,” Superman says. Superboy has literally never cared less about talking to anyone in his life. He pries apart the computer monitor and pulls all the fiddly little bits of it apart and strips the walls of all their gear in just–just a wave, and less an instant, all-over thing. Taking it apart piece by piece is–better. Just–better. 

He doesn't really know why he's thinking that, just . . . 

“We do need to talk, yes,” Batman says in that same bullshit neutral trap-voice, and Superboy doesn't even look at him; just twists the interior locking mechanisms of his stupid utility belt into a knot. Let the asshole have to cut it off later. He picks a bunch of random other locks in the cave and knots them up just as bad. A couple alarms go off. He really doesn't give a fuck. 

It's stupid. Something–something a kid would do. 

Well, they're the assholes trying to treat him like one, so that's on fucking them, isn't it. And they’re the assholes who aren’t actually talking to him, so why the fuck would he stick around to talk to them? It’s not talking, when all they’re goddamn doing is deciding they know more about his life than he does. He barely even sees Superman most of the time, and he definitely never sees fucking Batman. Neither of them know anything about HIS FUCKING LIFE! 

Superman doesn’t even bother remembering any of the shit he says to him anyway, apparently.

[itsabouttimex2]

Not a request, just blabbering about the “not the beloved au” because. God. Poor MK. Obviously, y/n is the one suffering the most from the dynamic, but MK’s development is being stunted by the way the two kings are raising him. Never being told no, having everything and everyone live their life to accommodate around him- sure he’s still a toddler, they’re going to be stupid, but he’s resorting to hurting himself when he doesn’t get what he wants (ie Y/N, a whole person!) that is very troubling behavior.

I’d hate to see how he’d be grown up- he’d definitely still be a hero- he IS a good kid, he’d want to help people- but what happens if he’s not able to beat someone in a fight immediately or he’s outmatched? How much of him fighting would just make things worse because he’s used to the world bending over backwards to make him happy?

Poor kid.

Not The Beloved

Anon, I'm so glad you brought this up, because on surface level, NTB!MK is a little entitled menace. But when you take a moment to scratch past that unfortunate facade, then... well, yeah. He is a victim all in his own right, hard as it may be to see from a certain viewpoint. The only world MK knows is his own family and their home- his two dads, Y/N, the Flower Fruit Mountain monkeys, and the mountain itself.

The end. No school. No friends. Nothing.

And that's just the way his dads like it! Sun Wukong likes that his kiddo is isolated, stunted, socially awkward and somewhat entitled! That just makes him easier to spoil! Easier to love! And Macaque, too! If he helps to custom-cater a world that his beloved baby boy can't survive outside of? Then MK can't leave, and thus can never escape his love and care!

Which is exactly why MK needs the reader.

In spite of being everything that the little kid is not, Y/N's startling normality is the only grounding factor that MK has to let him know that something is wrong. Because Y/N didn't have the upbringing that their little brother had, they have a legitimate claim to being the least mentally-skewed of the family, which is, unsurprisingly, one hell of a boon.

Like, MK has it great... at first. Never Having to do chores or make your own food, and having your overbearing daddies brush your teeth and tie your shoes for you is awesome when you're four, but sucks ass when you're twelve and can barely function outside your role as a spoiled prince-

But! There's still Y/N!

Frustrated, jealous, and angry Y/N. Y/N, who seethes and huffs and kicks their feet and grits their teeth and punches their pillow into pulpy fluff, who curses under their breath and has to burn all the letters they write about how much they despise their family. Y/N who was only spared punishment after the scraps of those letters were found because MK cried and begged for his daddies to forgive his older sibling because-

Because Y/N, in spite of their jealously and anger, will still roll up both sleeves, sit down, and teach their little brother how to tie his shoes, how to roll up a tube of toothpaste to squeeze the last bit out, how to boil water and brown meat.

There's this normalcy to being hated by someone that anchors MK to reality, even though he's a little too young and naive to really put his grateful feelings into words, so instead it all manifests as "Y/N is my favorite person ever and ever!" that Wukong and Macaque don't like (because they are both horribly jealous) but will force Y/N to reciprocate.

And even when his beloved older sibling bullies their parents into coughing up the necessary resources in order to head off to college, MK keeps in touch with the phones he begs both his fathers to buy, and manages to maneuver them both into two strict "buts".

Specifically, "You can go off to college, but you have to keep in touch with us and MK." and "We'll foot the bill, but you have to come back and stay here during the weekends."

Which is... enough. Enough of a thread cut loose that Y/N slips free to experience at least a mildly normal life pursuing their desired field with some actual space to grow and heal and establish normal relationships outside of their toxic family.

(Even though they're definitely becoming the mom/dad friend.)

Then there's the matter of "How good of a hero will MK be without his good-natured upbringing, courtesy of Pigsy and Tang?" that you brought up, and the answer to that question is: "Don't worry about it, because MK doesn't get to be a hero."

After all, why would his dads risk losing their miracle baby?

So it isn't even "Would MK ditch a fight or otherwise give up on it when he struggles?", it's "Can Y/N bare-knuckle Red Son's cute face into pulp with only their long suppressed rage as fuel?" because MK isn't the hero of NTB- Y/N is.

And they don't ever intend on losing the new life they fought to find.

[youngirlfrom]

THE WICKED DIE ALONE

ɞ Someone like Y/N Kent has to find her true self, not just with the strength of a hero, but by walking the fine line between the light and darkness within. Because at the end of the day the wicked die alone. And for Y/N to die alone means all of humanity dies with her.

| Richard Grayson x Fem!Reader | chapter 3

Warnings: bl!!d, k!lling, mental health, slightly jason todd x reader, smut, english is not my first language.

Chapter 3 | chapter 2 , chapter 1

The bright lights of Metropolis disappeared behind her shrinking one by one. While the whole city was asleep, a storm was raging inside Y/N. The effect of this dream echoing in her chest would not dissipate.

Seeing Dick's dream… Witnessing his greatest pain, his darkest moment, even if unintentionally…

This was a limit she could not cross. It gave her a great conflict within herself: She wanted to tell him everything, share his burden, but at the same time she knew that she was violating Dick's privacy. She couldn't forgive herself for this.

Y/N had never told anyone about her dreams except her family. How could he say that anyway? How could she tell Damian that she saw his most private moments when he was just starting to respect her?

The clouds hanging over the city skyline were gloomy, befitting the Blüdhaven atmosphere. Blüdhaven was not as gloomy as Gotham, but it still contained a loneliness in the shadows of the seedy streets of the city.

Dick always say this city was worth fighting for. According to him, the city held hope because people were essentially good inside them. Bad men, especially corrupt police, were destroying this city.

Even at this time of night, Y/N was sure Dick would be on patrol. He was always working. He was giving his whole self for the city, for the people.

When she arrived at Blüdhaven, she immediately noticed a figure moving in the shadows. His eyes and movements were familiar. It was a fast, agile and deadly dance as always. But Y/N had known him for a very long time. There was fatigue behind these movements.

Instead of going directly there, she first hovered over the city for a bit. Maybe she should have given up.

But she couldn't.

When Dick stood on the roof of a tall building and started watching something carefully, Y/N slowly descended to the roof.

Y/N said with a slight smile, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked at those broad shoulders of Dick. "You look tired, Grayson."

Dick "Fuck!" he shouted loudly and reflexively quickly took out his escrima sticks. But when he looked at the owner of the voice, the expression on his face was mixed with surprise and concern. "Y/N? What are you doing here?"

Y/N paused for a moment before answering. She averted her eyes and bit her lips. Dick knew immediately that something was wrong, so he tried to warm things up as he took a few steps closer to her. "Are you tired of patrolling Metropolis?"

Y/N smiled slightly, but there was still a shadow in her eyes. "I needed to take a breather," she said, sounding more tired than usual.

Studying her face, Dick wondered if she ever slept. The under eyes had become more prominent. "Are you just here to breathe, or did something else happen?"

Y/N stole a glance. "I thought I could help lower Blüdhaven's crime rate a little."

Dick tilted his head. "You know me, Y/N. I can tell when you're hiding something." Y/N hated how good he was at reading people.

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling how the wind cooled the night. For a moment she wanted to tell everything. Dick's past, that terrible night she dreamed of, the pain he experienced as a child… But she couldn't do it. Because if she told, it might shake Dick's trust in her. It was as if she had witnessed his most intimate moments and deepest pain.

"It's no big deal," she said finally.

Dick gently held her chin and made her look at him. "I know something happened." He whispered. "Tell me."

That voice… Should Y/N melt into that soft touch or his voice? It was already hard not to throw herself into his arms.

Y/N looked away. "It's quieter here. Sometimes… it's easier to be alone."

Dick continued to look at her face. "But you don't want to be alone, do you?"

Y/N paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and spoke. "Sometimes you don't realize how the past catches up with you, right? You have a dream or a moment comes and everything piles up on you."

Dick remained silent but then ask. "Did you dream? Was it like some kind of nightmare?"

"Kinda."

Dick noticed how difficult she was talking. He decided that this was not something that could be handled on the roof and he gripped her waist tightly.

Y/N jumped from the sudden contact. "What are you doing?" Before she could say it, she was interrupted by Dick jumping off the roof.

"I'm taking you home."

"You know I can fly, right?" She asked and didn't bother suppressing her laughter when Dick leapt into another building with her.

"You can't deny that you didn't enjoy this." Said Dick as he matched her laughter. "Besides, you don't know where I live."

Instead of paying attention to what he was saying, Y/N was too busy having fun with Dick taking her from rooftop to rooftop. It was like flying on his father's back when he was little.

And soon the dick stopped in front of an apartment. Y/N had wished the little excursion had lasted a little longer but she didn't comment. "Do you live here?"

Dick nodded before encouraging her to walk ahead. "After you, ma'am."

Y/N felt her heart warming at Dick's efforts to comfort her and walked through the door he opened. When she entered, she was greeted with dim lights and deep silence. Dick's house was worse than she thought.

The air in the house was heavy, as if he had been trapped in loneliness for years. The dim light surrounded the room like a ghost; The middle of the hall was collapsed, sheets were scattered everywhere, there were a few old photographs hanging on the walls, coffee mugs thrown in a corner and scattered documents. Dick was using the place not as a home, but as a shelter.

"Do you live here?" she asked, shocked.

Dick sheepishly put his hand behind his neck. "I know it's a bit messy."

He laughed when he saw Y/N continuing to look at him in shock. "What is that face?"

Y/N rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "This is more than a little messy. Does a ghost live here or is it Dick Grayson?"

Dick smiled. "I spend my nights chasing criminals on the street, keeping the house in order is not really my priority."

Y/N rolled her eyes again and snapped her fingers. Purple energy swirled in the air like a whirlpool, and the items began to gather themselves together. The sofa was straightened, the coffee mugs floated into the kitchen, the mess on the floor settled into place. In a few seconds, the room was completely transformed.

Dick watched, fascinated. "Thats amazing."

Y/N glared at him. "Seriously, you could try harder."

"Please forgive me, ma'am, I will make this place spotless until your next visit." he said, leaning down. Looks like he was on his showmanship personality tonight.

Just as she was about to sit on the sofa, a dog barking echoed in the house.

"My god!" Y/N shouted and ran towards the dog. "You had a dog?"

"It's only been a week. I saved her from the thugs on the street. I call her Haley, but she probably won't stay here."

Y/N looked at him mockingly. "We both know that this is her home now." she said, sitting on the sofa with the little dog on her lap. Dick got up to change, leaving the two of them on the couch.

Haley closed her eyes after smelling Y/N's hand. She made a slight growling sound, a sign of comfort and trust. Y/N felt her heart soften for a moment. It felt oddly warming for Dick to have someone greet him like that when he came home. She didn't want him to live alone in this empty place.

She sighed as she continued to pet the little dog. "Man I miss Krypto."

When Dick returned a few minutes later after changing his clothes, he smiled slightly when he saw Y/N with the dog. "I think you're more attached to her than I am."

"I love animals." she said and smiled as if she had just thought of it. "Did you know Damian adopted another dog?"

Dick frowned in horror. "How many animals does he have?"

Y/N shrugged. "I stopped counting after those two cows." When she said that, they both laughed.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Do you have coffee?"

"If you think I'm going to make you drink coffee, you're wrong. You look like the Corpse Bride with those eyes." When he said Haley barked as if to confirm him.

"I haven't been able to sleep lately." she muttered as she settled further into the couch. After pouring water for the tea, Dick sat down next to her on the sofa.

"Are you having a nightmare?" he asked to understand her.

"Stuff like that." When she said that, they both fell silent. Y/N looked at Dick as she hugged the tiny being in her arms. She tried not to get flustered while those deep blue eyes were watching her from the beginning. She felt somehow at peace when she was around him. At that moment, she remembered why she had come here from Metropolis.

One of Dick's fingers, roaming Haley's torso, made contact with Y/N's hand. "Is it your dreams that brought you here?"

Y/N nodded. She felt like a little child. She moved his pinky finger towards Dick's pinky finger. "My dreams are not my own." she muttered.

The way Dick looked at her encouraged her, so she continued. She had come this far, whatever was going to happen, happened. "I can see other people's worst nightmares. Or someone's death."

Dick's expression changed as he tried to fully digest the words. The surprise on his face was replaced by deep thought. His ocean blue eyes were locked on Y/N's face; He was analyzing, trying to understand.

This was something he didn't know. He had heard a lot about Y/N's abilities. She could keep a collapsed building standing. By surrounding her body with a wave of energy, she could block all bullets. But this… this was something completely different.

"Other people's nightmares?" he repeated, his voice low and careful.

Y/N pressed her lips together, suddenly realizing that talking about this topic she had brought up was harder than she expected. Having Dick look at her so intently made her feel a little more vulnerable.

"Yes," She murmured. "It's not just dreams. Past… Future… I don't even know how it works. It just happens."

A muscle moved in Dick's face. “That's why you're here.”

Y/N looked away. She sighed as she ran her fingers through Haley's soft fur. "Yes," she said at last. "Tonight… I saw you."

Dick's body tensed involuntarily. Even at that moment, he was trying to control his reaction, but Y/N knew him enough to notice.

"Me?"

Y/N nodded. "When you were a child… That night."

Dick's pupils narrowed. That night. When that night was mentioned, everyone knew which night they were talking about. In a public arena, in the middle of Gotham's most famous circus, the night that changed Dick Grayson's life forever…

When Y/N saw that he wasn't saying anything, she continued. "I don't know if I should tell you this. I just…wanted you to know that. Because I care about you."

Dick's eyes were fixed on her, but the storm inside his was clearly evident. The first Robin, who grew up alongside Batman years ago, became one of the strongest heroes, but some wounds never healed.

There was silence for a while. Y/N waited for him to say anything, but Dick just turned his face away. He remained completely silent for a few seconds, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

Y/N sighed, "If you don't want to talk about it—"

"What kind of dream was it?"

Dick's voice was softer than she expected. When Y/N looked at him, she could see that Dick was still reliving that night in his mind. So she couldn't lie to him.

"There was blood," she said slowly. "Voices… The screams of the crowd… But I remember you the most."

Dick's jaw tightened but he said nothing.

"You were standing in the middle of the stage," Y/N continued, her voice trailing off. "Your legs were shaking, your eyes were fixed on the lifeless bodies of your mother and father. And then, a voice…"

Dick tilted his head slightly, as if reliving that moment in his head.

"When I saw that…I understood you," Y/N sighed. "Why you are who you are… Why you fight for Blüdhaven, every night, every time."

Dick didn't speak for a long time. Y/N realized that he didn't know how to process this. Maybe it was too much. Maybe she should never have told him.

Dick turned to her. "That's why you looked sad," He said with a slight smile. "For me."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm sorry for you, Grayson. You are my…"

Her sentence hung in the air. Y/N didn't know what to say. Dick tilted his head as if he understood what she was trying to say.

But then Dick bowed his head and laughed quietly.

"What?" Y/N asked in surprise.

Dick shook his head. "For you to feel guilty about something like that… It's just like your thing."

The familiar smile on Dick's face was back, but this time there was sadness in it. He stared at her for a few seconds, then pulled Y/N close to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

As Y/N felt the warmth of Dick's shoulder, she realized that the storm inside her was slowly calming down. She had finally shared this secret that she had kept inside her for so long, and what she feared had not happened. Dick didn't shut her out, didn't get angry, didn't even run away. Instead, he accepted her existence and chose to get closer to her.

As the silence dragged on, even Haley continued to sleep silently in Y/N's lap, as if realizing the sacredness of this moment. Y/N could feel Dick's breath on his shoulder, steady and calm.

"What kind of talent is this?" murmured Dick at last. "How do you deal with this?"

Y/N smiled, but she had a bitter feeling. "I can't handle it," She admitted. "Seeing people's deepest fears, losses, pain… Feeling like I have experienced them… Sometimes I even forget who I am."

Dick lifted his head a little and looked at her. His ocean blue eyes were shining with concern. "So you didn't share this with anyone?"

Y/N shook her head. "Except for my family… No. Mom and dad know that I sometimes have nightmares, but they don't know the details. "I couldn't tell Jon because I didn't want to scare him."

Dick bowed his head slightly. "And you told me."

Y/N looked at his face. "Yes."

Dick bit his lips to keep from smiling, but eventually gave up. "This made me feel special."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Don't make this a joke, Grayson."

Dick laughed, his voice echoing around the room like a soft melody. But there was something else behind his smile; that slight resentment that he always tries to hide, but never disappears from his eyes…

"I'm serious," he said. "Thank you for telling me this."

Y/N looked at him sideways. "Didn't you find me strange?"

Dick shrugged. "I already knew you are weird. This just added another item to the list." They laughed when he said. As the night slowly passed away, Y/N could feel her eyes closing.

Dick's smile softened a bit when he noticed Y/N's eyelids starting to feel heavy. Watching her fall asleep next to him like that, feeling so comfortable… it felt strangely warm inside.

Haley was curled up further in Y/N's lap, breathing peacefully. Y/N looked at Dick one last time before closing her eyes completely. Her eyes were tired, but there was a little peace in them.

"You can sleep," Dick said in a low voice. "You are safe here."

Y/N opened her lips to respond, but her eyes closed before the words came out. Dick watched her face for a moment. This girl, who was normally used to standing strong, was now completely defenseless and peaceful.

Dick slowly pulled the blanket from the edge of the couch and placed it over Y/N. He smiled when Haley stirred and gently brushed her tail over her little hand.

He didn't want to ruin this moment. But in the back of his mind, what Y/N had told him continued to echo.

"I can see other people's worst nightmares. Or someone's death."

This sentence stirred something inside Dick. Y/N's powers were even heavier than he expected. Witnessing people's darkest moments, feeling their pain… How could she handle this?

He couldn't wait to ask this, but not tonight. Tonight, for the first time, Y/N seemed to feel safe.

Dick slowly sat up, moving a little closer to the couch, careful not to wake Y/N. Her face was peaceful, but her pretty eyebrows were slightly furrowed, as if she was still thinking about something even in her dreams.

Dick lowered his head and whispered in a low voice:

"What else have you seen, beautiful?"

Y/N stirred slightly but didn't wake up. Dick sighed and ran his fingers through her hair. No matter what, he wouldn't pressure her. She had to tell him this when she wanted to.

Just the fact that she fell asleep like that was a sign of trust in itself, right?

No matter how hard Dick resisted, fatigue eventually caught up with him. He leaned his head back against the back of the sofa, closed his eyes, and tried to quiet his mind for a moment. Y/N's steady breathing sounded like a lullaby to his ears along with the silence of the night.

There were no more patrols tonight. Tonight Blüdhaven could wait for them, for her.

Tonight Dick Grayson was more at peace than ever.

It was one of the best chapters I've ever written. I told you guys it would be worth the wait.

I love you all, see you next chapter 🩵🩵🩵

[trustmypoison]

Ateez when their independent partner struggles financially

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘Good evening! I recently found your page) First of all, thank you for sharing all your works here with your readers!🙏🏻 I’ve been reading alll your SVT reactions and drabbles all days. I would like to make request if it’s possible. When you are free and in the mood, could you please write for all Ateez members ( if you are still writing for them, if not, for SVT members) their reactions when their independent gf asking for the financial support/help for the first time ever( to pay her rent maybe) . Because I’m the oldest daughter 🥲 and sometimes I want to ask for someone’s help but either too proud or just don’t want to show that I’m weak or something. Thank you very much! Have a great day!‘

A/N: Oldest daughter syndrome is real and I have it too. 🤩

Just gives you the money, no questions asked - Hongjoong, San, Jongho

He immensely respects your stubborn independence and he’s aware that you had to be in a tough situation to even bring it up to him. He lets you ramble for only a little bit before he’s just asking how much you need, ready to send it. It doesn’t matter what the issue really is this month, but he’s not shy about telling you that he’ll help you anytime you need it. And no, he won’t be accepting any repayments ever. 

Gives you the money with some questions asked - Seonghwa, Yeosang

I think he also really respects your stubborn independence and recognizes that you must be in a tough spot to even ask him for help. But that’s precisely what worries him. He’s not trying to be nosy. He’s just worried that you’ve been struggling for a while and haven’t said anything, or that you had a big bill that threw off your budget. Those things happen and he’d be totally understanding about it, but he just wants you to feel comfortable letting him know when you’re struggling so he can be there for you. 

Just asks you to move in with him - Yunho, Mingi, Wooyoung

He’d pay for everything if you’d let him - he knows it will never happen but it’s always worth mentioning in his eyes. So when you approach him with money troubles, say with making rent for whatever reason, he jumps right to saying “Why don’t we find a place and move in together?” He knows the last thing you want is to be a mooch, but the last thing he wants is for you to stress about this when he has plenty of money to cover the things you’re worried about. 

[fandomfluffandfuck]

*Timidly raises hand* ✋️ I think I have a new kink 😵 I want my mouth fingered 🫣🫣

P.S. I'd kill for you to write about any of the boys as the drooly bottom having his mouth fingered 😵‍💫😵‍💫

related to this

I'm always happy to help with some good old fashioned self discovery 👀

And maybe it's how clear my recent memories are, maybe it's just my desire to submurge myself in those recent events, or maybe it's even the urge to further explore, but, whatever the reason, you made it impossible for me to not think about this...

So, how about some pussy Buck? He was the first, sweetest boy who came to mind, and something tells me he's who'd enjoy this the most 😏

(Beware of: somnophilia/soft cnc, dumbification, generally filthy pornographic things, etc.)

Hmm.

Steve sighs to himself, growing bored with the flickering light filling their living room as it eminates from their TV. This movie isn't as good as he hoped it'd be. A weekend of no real happenings has further bored him. He's a man of action. He doesn't like to lay out often. He moves, no, plows forward. And now he's restless, searching for something, anything, to capture his attention. Although, it doesn't take any effort to find something so worthy, barely having to search, drawing his eyes easily from the uninteresting show, and dragging them down to find--

What, oh, what do we have here?

Steve's lips curl sharply into a cunning yet fond grin, the playful and dark feeling of mischief unfurling in his broad chest, beating in time with his heart under his hairy pecs.

As it turns out, somewhere between the engaging opening of the movie and this low lull, Bucky--his sweet, sweet boyfriend--has fallen asleep with his head of silky chocolate hair pillowed on the rounded muscle of his chest. The front of his body is pressed against the back of Bucky's. They're melting into each other in the late evening, Steve's legs straight out on the end of their L-shaped sofa, his back upright, and Bucky is draped like a blanket over him. Both of Bucky's long, shapely legs have fallen between Steve's widely spread ones. But, the position of Bucky's body at large is of much less interest to Steve than his head and face specifically.

His head is resting on his chest, tipped back there rather than on his shoulder because he's slouched down in his sleep, curling up, sweet as ever. His neck, to accommodate the position of their bodies, is arched, exposing the pale column and seducing his jaw into falling open just so. Ever so slightly open. At once, it's precious and filthy; his little pink rosebud mouth gaping around nothing, the petal of his fat lower lip gently unfurled to soaking up the sun--if the sun were trapped in their room. And who knows, maybe it is, Steve is starting to feel the heat of it all over his body.

Every gentle inhale and exhale comes with a whispered sound, rolling off his soft lips like morning dew.

Steve doesn't think he just does, reaching out to find the damn clicker and turn off the movie. He couldn't give less of a fuck about it suddenly. Everything that comes out of Bucky is precious. He'll know and memorize every gasp and dreamy murmur.

Startled into quick, fluid movement once, the momentum of desire sweeps Steve up further, spurring him into a caress of Bucky's pillow soft cheek. Bucky doesn't stir. Steve can't stay away, the warmth of the sun building inside him, he'll gladly be burned if it comes to that. He's going to stay here, exactly here, with Bucky. Bucky himself isn't immune anyway, as Steve draws his thumb over the sharp line of his jaw, pressing softly against that sweet bit of baby fat he's never lost under his equally precious cleft chin, Bucky is turning more pink.

Steve admires the landscape of his sunrise colored sunburn. He is gorgeous. He is totally irrestiable--

Steve has to tease the pads of his fingers, feather light, back up his cheek, around the other side of his face, and feel the high point of his pretty cheekbone. He touches the vulnerable, delicate skin gracing his eyelids, colored with veins, so near the surface. Steve's fingers skim the slope of his nose, hopping off to find the tempting cavern of his mouth.

Those soft, pouty lips...

God, the prettiest fucking pink Steve could ever imagine. Not to mention the goddamn wet dream red they turn when they're plundered by Steve. Bucky begs to be claimed. Bucky moans and cries and get so fucking spacey and sweet with the right touch--the roughest touch. He likes it. He likes having this mouth--this mouth right here--not just claimed but fucked.

Defiled.

Violated.

He's not happy until he's dizzy and his lips are swollen, glistening wet with his own smeared spit and ruined to a candy red.

Steve shivers involuntarily, thinking about how dirty his sweet boy is, and it jostles his body enough to leave Bucky murmuring. Something useless and incoherent underneath a chest-expanding sigh.

Steve licks his own lips, watching Bucky's lower lip pout out just a touch more with that exhaled breath. He smears his thumb over the plush surface of Bucky's lower lip, catching it just enough for it to bounce back into place. God. Steve can't help the way a growl builds deep in his chest, the heated pressure growing, but he can swallow it down. He'll keep that down, he'll keep it down. He's not done taking Bucky in yet. He's so pretty like this.

Sleeping.

He's beautifully slack and vulnerable. He can't stop Steve from doing a damn thing. All he can do is absorb it. Take it. He's a pliant little sponge, soaking up Steve's body heat and any bit of pleasure Steve offers up--anything he wants to place on his tongue, he can.

Steve caresses the perfect bow of his lips--both of them, upper and lower, touching every part of them, leaving nothing un-teased--before daring to sneak in and place two fingertips on his tongue.

His tongue is surprisingly wet for cat napping with his mouth agape.

Steve shuts his eyes in pleasure, savoring the searing hot sensation of that wet muscle. All smooth and soaked. Steve, just a little, thinks about doing the same with his other hand but lower, diving between Bucky's legs and finding out if he's wet down there, too. It wouldn't surprise Steve if he was. He's so sensitive, just a little bit of touching, petting that's not even too heavy, and he's panting like a dog, starting to drip into his boxer briefs, hips twitching every now and again, sharp and jerky, like he's just aching to grind against anything.

Sweet Jesus, Buck.

Steve loves him so much it hurts. Steve's so deeply in lust with him that it'd be embarrassing if anyone but Bucky knew. He's wrapped around his daintiest finger, always thinking of sticking his cock in him, or, hell, not even his dick, thinking just like he's doing right now--

Pushing his fingers into that lush mouth and feeling around, curling his fingers as if he's searching for his sweet spot. Bucky's eyes, if he's awake when Steve's doing it, that is, even roll like he's got one in his mouth. A sweet spot for a sweet boy. Well. Maybe two sweet spots, one somewhere on his tongue, pressing down hard enough leaving him shuttering, and the other in the back of his throat, hitting it and watching him gag, eyes instantly saturating with desperate tears that beg Steve to go deeper.

Fuck.

Steve wants to bury himself alive in his sweet, tight little throat.

Steve wants to lay him out, limp and helpless, on the edge of the couch, his head hanging off, and shove right in to bulge his throat. Steve wants to curl his fingers in his mouth until Bucmy cums as if he's three fingers deep in his pussy instead. Steve wants to try and fit his fist in there, forcing his jaw wide, making Bucky drool all over himself, wet like he gets when he squirts for Steve. Steve wants to shove a gag in there, not to shut him up, not to muffle him, but to please him, he loves to see how cloudy Bucky's eyes get and how far away Bucky's smarts get when his mouth is stuffed full.

Steve wants so much. He's a hungry, bad man. And like this-? All Bucky can do is give. So, Steve takes.

Plunging his fingers in and in, Steve is wickedly thrilled to learn that Bucky's so deep in dreamland that his tongue doesn't even twitch, and it especially doesn't curl around his fingers and suck.

The novelty of nothing happening when he sticks part of himself in his eager boy's mouth turns Steve on more than it has any right to. He's not doing anything, and that's precisely it.

Take it.

Steve explores, stomping around. What? He has every right to. Bucky's his. He can scrub his fingers against the flat, wet muscle of his tongue, scratching his fingernails tantalizingly light across his tastebuds. He can push his fingers between his teeth and lip and find the sweet, delicate spot where the ever-so-slightly tougher flesh of his bottom lip melts into the smoother, wetter, softer inside of his mouth. He can find each and every arch where tooth meets gum. He can travel back farther, darker and deeper, past just his mouth and into the top of his throat. Two fingers. Searching deeper. Feeling the slick velvet of his throat and just teasing the clutch of a deeper part, his body foolishly trying to keep Steve out. Too bad. He can--

But, god, is it ruined in the most perverse, arousing way.

Then. Exactly then. All at once, Steve's private, uninterrupted time with Bucky's body is ruined.

It's totally fucking worth it.

Bucky launches into action, flailing uselessly as his sweet, hot throat suddenly spasms, clutching like a vise around his plundering fingers. It's exactly fuckin' like when Bucky can't hold on any longer and just can't hold himself back from cumming, his pussy squeezing so painfully tight, wet and hot, around his rock-hard cock, shoved deep into him.

Steve overwhelms Bucky no matter what hole he sticks it in. His pussy. His mouth. His ass. Bucky once squealed, near-sobbed that he was pretty sure Steve was hitting his cervix while he fucked him, but he'd kill him if he stopped, so full and fuckin'-fucking full.

Yeahhh.

This is just like fucking his tight little pussy loose.

He's deep in his throat, two fingers deep, hitting his upper esophageal sphincter, but rather than squealing, Bucky's choking.

It's still a useless, obscene little sound made of pleasure. Of course, it's pleasure. Bucky's choking on air and spit and Steve's fingers but as soon as he's been awake for just a second he's rasping out jagged moans, too.

There he is.

That's Steve's boy.

Jolted into consciousness by invading pleasure and taking it. Just taking it. Adjusting to it so seamlessly. He's an undeniable slut who likes filling. Fucking. He likes everything.

And his enjoyment is painfully obviously in the way he chases Steve's fingers, arching and straining his neck when Steve tries to pull his hand back. He's not just moving his mouth, though, moaning, desperate to suck on his fingers and have his throat fucked, but he's moving those pretty hips, too. Squirming around in an uncoordinated manner that really fucking works for Steve. He's too horny to try and be cool. He can't be smooth. He's just needy, so beyond everything else.

Steve just barely gets a hold of him, hand tight on his hip, biting bruises into his precious body for his own good. He'll get there. He'll get to his achy, throbbing pussy squeezed between his legs. He will. He's just not done with his other hole yet.

His chin is already slick, but he wants to see how wet he can get him. He wants his pussy soaked by the time Steve finally splits his legs and paws at his swollen, wet slit, teasing up to flick his clit and make his shriek. He doesn't want to be kind.

Yeah, he's wet, so fucking wet he already knows, but he could always be wetter. Messier. So, he sticks his fingers deep in one of his holes--his mouth, of course, just a hole that was made to be fucked--and curls them hard. The same way he does when he's got his thumb on Bucky's clit and his fingers inside him, pressing hard, knowing he's gonna squirt everywhere. His messy, dumb boy is so easy to play. He's so easily reduced to nothing but a popsicle, sticky and sugary, soaking their bed in the summer sun, flushed with his bright red sunburn.

[patchworkcuddlebug]

A Good Witch Introduces Itself

[A sequel to The Doll Spell.]

Coven meetings are spectacles just as much as they are shindigs. Witches, connected by anything from fields of study to simple comradery, gather together to boast and gossip and drink tea. Their dolls work together to prepare the venue and provide the refreshments.

The dollwitch hovers on the outskirts of the entrance, unsure of which crowd to introduce itself to first.

"Would you like this one to come with you, Miss?" says Dolly, lingering just behind. That one places her hand on the dollwitch's back, trying to soothe it.

"No, but... thank you." The dollwitch relaxed its shoulders a bit, still using both hands to hold its cloak tighter around itself. "This one knows it needs to tell the others at some point, but it just... doesn't know how they'll react."

Dolly nuzzles her head against its Miss, and it sighs with just a little relief. "If they're really your coven, they'll accept you." The dollwitch leans its head back to match, thanking the (other?) doll again. It's not much, but the sentiment helps.

So, the dollwitch enters through the front door.

This month's meeting was being hosted by The Paint Witch. Her manor was rather non-standard compared to others that this one has seen before. Of course, it was adorned with furniture that seemed esoteric and avant-garde, legs with mismatched angles and wallpaper with discordant colouring. Certain splotches of the decor still seemed wet, yet more creations slowly coagulating and budding from them.

The Cat Witch is the first of the coven to notice this one's presence. Her confused double-take causes the others to pause their conversation and turn their attention completely.

The dollwitch marched, docile and demure, to the circle of customized and ornate furniture circled around the fireplace. It hovered in the rim of the circle, standing at attention.

"Hello everyone." It bowed. "This one was once The Mirror Witch, but now it is just a-"

"MIRROR?!" The Paint Witch leapt forward in her chair, seeming to smile with bemusement as she yelled over the other witches' murmurs of shock. "Oh my god, that's your hat! What the fuck?! What happened to you?"

"This one made an error in its spell, and... became." Its hands, once clasped together in curtsy, start to pull at its cloak again as some of the others begin to give it looks. Surprise, judgment, dismissal... looks.

"You... used to be The Mirror Witch." The Cloth Witch tilted her head. She leaned ahead with a quizzical look, snuggling closer with the ever-still ragdoll in her lap. "Do you have a new name, then?"

"Do not humour this, Cloth." The Gold With commanded, stoic and statuesque. "This is a curse. We do nothing but waste time by pretending that she's a doll."

"It, um..." It's never had a witch call it a doll before. Another witch, it means. It tries not to dwell on the feeling. "This one has been called Miss. That is what Dolly has been calling it, and dolls shouldn't pick their names, so... uh... yeah."

"Oh, you're still a miss, huh? Not a lil' obedient doll~?" The Cat Witch teased, leaning on the arm of her chair towards the dollwitch.

It shudders, trying to keep its feelings at bay. There's no time to consider how that made this one feel. "No Miss, this one-"

Gasps and giggles as the witches looked at each other.

"Um, this... Dolly is still obedient to this one, these two just act... together." It locks eyes with the fireplace, leaning its head forward to hide under its hat.

"Okay, so you're still magic and stuff." says The Paint Witch, nodding along with herself. "You just don't, like, use it as much?"

"Well, magic doesn't give her that little hit of stillness from following her... its purpose." The Cat Witch leaned forward, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

"Do not be so disrespectful." says The Gold Witch with a tone of sincere admonishment. "She is going through enough, being trapped in that thing."

"Oh, of course, we should probably help her change back, then?" The Cloth Witch chimes in, seeming too relaxed.

The dollwitch blinked itself out of stillness. Being talked about instead of talked to had never felt so reassuring before. "Oh! Um, yes, it... can still manage some parlour tricks, but nothing nearly as strong as a witch should..." it trailed off, caught in new sensations. It felt... appropriate to admit that it was essentially powerless compared to a proper witch, deferring to their might and capabilities. It quickly shook the feeling off, insisting to itself that it consider the other witches as equals, lest they look again.

"Yeah, yeah." The Cat Witch waves a hand dismissively, choosing its next words with playful care. "If you want, I can stop you from being a doll~"

"Hush, you." The Gold Witch looked unamused. "I'll build her a sculpture she can haunt. Of course, it may take some work to make it move..."

"What? That's just a doll again. I'll paint her a body." says The Paint Witch, mostly sounding confused.

"Goldie, can I help you with the structure, then?" The Cloth Witch chimes, pulling out a handkerchief out of her ragdoll's pocket and making it bend and twist with her magic. "Golden bones, cloth skin... maybe we can work together on the joints?"

"That's literally a doll." The Paint Witch huffs. "Are you guys even listening to me? There's no point in making something inorganic, she needs something that's hu-"

"It." The dollwitch blurts, eyes to the floor. "Please."

There's a pause. The witches wait for another to speak.

"You're... right, Paint." The Cloth Witch says, placing its handkerchief back. Her voice was cautious, yet compassionate. "If we're going to make a new body for... that one, then she ne- sorry, it needs something grown from scratch."

"Or we steal one."

"Cat, please."

"Guess we gotta ask another coven, huh." said The Paint Witch, resigned. "We're out of our domains. I'll call a doll to get started on a letter."

"Um!" the dollwitch chimed in, answering the witch's need as a good doll should. "This one, can..." it trailed off, not wanting to embarrass itself further.

"Yes, oh my god, you totally have to." The Cat Witch snickered as it shifted positions in her chair again.

"We are not making her lower herself further. She is already going through enough." The Gold Witch commanded to the others.

"Yeah, but like, it is a doll, though, right?" wondered The Paint Witch, hand to her chin. "It probably really wants to."

"Well, the poor thing's probably dealing with a doll's urges." The Cloth Witch figured. "Suppose it'd be helpful if we did assign h... a special task, then. To that one."

The Cat Witch pointed at The Gold Witch. "Haha, get outvoted, loser."

With calm and poise, "I am going to entomb you."

"Use the writing desk I've got upstairs." Said The Paint Witch, pointing behind the dollwitch. "S'in my study."

"Yes," don't say miss, "Thank you." do NOT say miss.

It heard the others continue on as it obeyed, taking dainty steps. "You should not let a doll use your private study." "C'mon, it's Mirror, who cares." "I'd feel awkward with her just standing there, anyway."

. . . . .

"Oh, Miss!" Dolly calls out, running up to her witch, and her fellow doll. The other dolls were bustling behind it, cleaning their stations and packing their things in preparation for their witches to call for them. "How did it go?"

The dollwitch hesitates in the doorway of the Doll's Quarters, as it's frowned upon for witches to enter. "It... didn't go well." its face shied away.

Dolly stepped into the manor proper, its hand instinctively reaching for Miss's. "Oh, this one is sorry to hear that. Would you like to talk about it?"

"No... please." it shrunk away, pulling its hand into itself.

"Oh, of course. This one understands." Dolly takes its hand back. "Is there anything else this one can do for you?"

The dollwitch couldn't bring itself to look at Dolly. "Could you please call this one... Mirror? Just for today."

Dolly nods, a smile on its face. "Anything for you, Mirror."

It... doesn't feel like a good doll. But it doesn't want to, just for now.

The dolls cuddle closer. "You're the best doll this one could ask for."

"And you're the best witch this one could ask for, Mirror."

[jinxedshapeshifter]

I've probably talked about this before but Kazuma's themes fucking kill me.

Samurai On A Mission and Kazuma Asogi: Nocturne are both in a major key. Samurai on a Mission feels happy. It makes you excited. Nocturne's slower, and it's more bittersweet. But it still fills you with optimism. It still feels good to listen to. It gives you the feeling that even if Kazuma's gone, this isn't the end. There's still stuff Ryunosuke needs to do in Kazuma's place.

Compare them to His Glorious Return and A Prosecutor, Reborn, and it's the complete opposite. The opening to His Glorious Return feels just slightly off. Like I don't think it's in a different key than Samurai on a Mission, but it's different enough to just feel off. I think it might be the instruments honestly. His Glorious Return is closer to Nocturne than Samurai on a Mission (obviously it's the same motif but His Glorious Return is closer to Nocturne than Samurai on a Mission because it's slower).

And THEN you get to A Prosecutor, Reborn. How fucking dare they. At this point in the game, not just is Kazuma prosecuting Barok, but his motive is made clear to be revenge (iirc). A Prosecutor, Reborn is basically just Samurai on a Mission with different instruments and in a minor key. A Prosecutor, Reborn specifically has fairly prominent harpsichord in it. The same also applies to Barok's theme. You get the vibe that something is seriously wrong here.

You can literally understand Kazuma's arc before The Resolve of Ryunosuke Naruhodo from his themes alone. That's. impressive. Like just to be clear this isn't the first nor the only time Ace Attorney does this. It was also done with Eustace's themes, Winning Deductions and Winning Independence. But it's so impressive that they gave Kazuma four unique sounding themes using the same motif and made it easy to tell how his story goes just in music. Like just listening to his themes, it goes happiness and positivity > oh actually this is kind of bittersweet. there's still work to be done so we must go on > triumph but also a little bit of "something's off here" > wow what the fuck happened here

It's so impressive to me?? But also the fact that Kazuma has four unique sounding themes that use the same motif is incredibly impressive. All four are basically the same song but different depending on the vibe needed for the part of the game they're featured in. Doing that with anything is hard.

A similar thing is done with the Dance of Deduction tracks. Partners ~ The Game Is Afoot! feels more complete than the initial Joint Reasoning tracks. Listening to the initial Joint Reasoning tracks and then listening to Partners ~ The Game Is Afoot! makes it incredibly obvious to me. In this case, it goes from "this is fun and upbeat!" during Joint Reasoning [TYPE A], then goes to "we're getting a little more intense" during Joint Reasoning [TYPE B], then to "oh now we're getting INTENSE" during Joint Reasoning [TYPE C], then to "shit just got REALLY serious" with Partners ~ The Game Is Afoot! Even the backstage tracks (the ones that play when you either fill in the blanks or correct one of Sholmes's deductions) are like this. It feels more intense and high energy during Sholmes and Mikotoba's Dance of Deduction.

Anyway my point is TGAA is genuinely the best video game soundtrack ever in my opinion and even tops most movie soundtracks for me. I'm almost completely convinced this is because they made the soundtrack sound like music you'd get in Victorian England. I don't think the soundtrack would be nearly as good without the Victorian sound. Anyway back to drawing I go