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sidekick-hero · 3 days ago

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Sing Me A Love Song

rating: t | cw: off-screen domestic violence | wc: 5.6 k | tags: fluff, modern au, love songs, first love, bartender Steve and Eddie, platonic hellcheer, Jason Carver being an asshole as usual, hurt!Chrissy (off-screen)

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My fill for the @steddielovemonth Day 1. Prompts: 🎵 You and Me - Lifehouse and ❣️"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." - Plato

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." - Plato

“You don’t understand,” Eddie groans, raking a hand through his curls. “If I don’t get this done, I might lose my contract.”

Chrissy doesn’t look impressed. She wipes down the counter in front of him, barely sparing him a glance. “I still think you’re being dramatic. You already have, what, ten songs? Isn’t that enough for an album?”

God, he wishes she were right. She should be right. Ten songs isn’t a lot, but it’s enough. Maybe he could throw in a cover, remaster one of his old tracks, stretch it to eleven. A solid number. A prime number, even—Jesus, he really needs to stop talking to Jeff.

But none of that matters. Because the problem isn’t the number.

The problem is the clause in his contract that requires one of those songs to be a love song.

Why did he agree to that? Oh, right. Desperation.

He needed the deal. Needed the money. Because Wayne’s life depends on it. And if Eddie can’t pay for his treatment, his uncle—the one person who’s always been there for him—will die.

So, yeah. It was either this record deal or selling a kidney in Tijuana.

“It’s not enough, Chris. I need one more song. And it’s like—” He exhales sharply, gripping his hair. “It’s like I’ve never written music before. My head’s empty, my hands are clumsier than a toddler’s, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t fail. I just can’t.”

That finally makes Chrissy pause. She sets down the rag, brows drawing together as her bright blue eyes search his face. “Eddie… this doesn’t sound like it’s just about an album.”

The bar is empty. No one’s here to overhear when he finally breaks.

Wayne’s diagnosis. The impossible cost of his treatment. The record label that dropped him like a bad habit the second he was outed—one stupid drunken mistake and suddenly, he was toxic. The desperate, humiliating scramble to find a new label, the rejection after rejection until he finally landed in Chicago, closer to Wayne, signing this contract.

Signing that clause.

Chrissy listens without interrupting, her hands folded over his. When he’s done, she exhales.

“A love song? Why would they insist on a love song?”

Eddie shrugs. “Something about bad boys with a secret soft side pulling in fans.”

She snorts. Loudly.

“Oi!”

“Eddie, sweetie.” Her grin is infuriating. “When I first met you during our shift, I thought you’d be mean and scary. But the moment you tried to slide over the bar and ate shit instead? Yeah. I knew you were just a giant dork.”

It’s impossible to fight off the answering grin tugging at his lips.

“I should be offended, but you’re not wrong. Just don’t tell anyone, okay? I have a reputation to uphold.”

Chrissy hops onto the bar, swinging her legs as she leans in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Then, more gently, “Look, don’t overthink it. Just write about the first guy you fell in love with. First love’s always a hit.”

Yeah. If only it were that simple.

“Great idea. Know any guys willing to fill that spot?”

Chrissy blinks. “Wha—” She stops, eyes narrowing as she really looks at him. “Wait. Are you— Is this your way of telling me you’ve never been in love?”

Eddie gives her finger guns. “Ding, ding, ding! The pretty young lady wins the jackpot.”

She just stares at him. Eddie braces himself, expecting pity, but all he finds in her eyes is warmth. Understanding.

Chrissy exhales. “Well. Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.”

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

Bartending wasn’t exactly the glamorous, fame-laden career Eddie had dreamed of. But it was something he was surprisingly good at—always had been. Even back in high school, when he worked at the local dive bar just to buy himself and his band a weekly gig.

More importantly, though, it paid the bills.

Most of the first half of his record deal advance had gone straight to Wayne’s medical expenses. A small chunk covered recording costs, but food and rent were a whole different story. Maybe, if he actually delivers this album, the rest of the money will be enough to buy himself a place. But that’s a big if.

So, for now, bartending it is. It keeps a roof over his head, food in his fridge, and—maybe the best part—it gave him his first real friend in this city: Chrissy.

She keeps him sane on the bad days, when the anxiety sinks its teeth into him and won’t let go. And when he told her the embarrassing truth about his love life—or complete lack thereof—she had been nothing but kind. She offered tips, boosted his ego with her sheer bewilderment that someone like him had never been in love, and insisted it was only a matter of time.

Eddie isn’t so sure.

Most of his time is spent combing through Wayne’s medical reports or checking in with his nurse. He calls every day. Visits three times a week, taking the long trip back to rural Indiana to be with the only real father figure he’s ever had.

His nights—except Tuesdays and Wednesdays—are spent at the bar. Sure, plenty of the regulars are hot, and a few of them are actually nice, but Eddie isn’t naïve. He doesn’t expect to show up to work one day and suddenly have the man of his dreams stroll right up to him and say—

“Hello? Are you Eddie, by any chance?”

Eddie looks up from where he’s been taking stock of the liquor and locks eyes with the most ridiculously gorgeous pair of hazel eyes he’s ever seen.

It’s like grabbing a live wire. A jolt of electricity races through him, buzzing under his skin, making his heart slam against his ribs and his stomach do an actual, literal flip.

What the fuck is happening?

“I—uhm, yeah, that’s Eddie. Me. I mean—me is Eddie. Goddammit.” He squeezes his eyes shut for half a second, mentally kicking himself. “I’m Eddie. That’s right. How can I help you?”

The guy in front of him looks like he’s this close to laughing, biting down on a full bottom lip, hazel eyes twinkling with amusement. But he holds back, tilting his head slightly before offering a warm, easy smile.

“I’m Steve. Steve Harrington? Chrissy said she’d give you a call—told you I’d be covering for her for the next six weeks.”

She had done no such thing. Eddie would remember if she had.

Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t heard from her all day. Not that they text constantly, but there’s always something—a meme, a random thought, a conversation that drags out over days. It’s Thursday now, and the last time they talked was Tuesday night, when she asked about Wayne.

His stomach twists.

“From the look on your face, she hasn’t done that.”

Eddie exhales. “Uh, no. No, she hasn’t. What happened? Why does she need someone to cover for her?”

Six weeks. That sounds serious. That sounds… bad.

Steve’s expression softens, but his voice is firm. “It’s not my place to say, I’m afraid.”

That just makes Eddie’s anxiety spike. He should appreciate that Steve is protecting Chrissy’s privacy—normally, he would—but right now, it’s just frustrating. Besides, Chrissy has never mentioned a Steve before. And he tells the guy as much.

Steve nods like he expected that. “She’s a friend of my best friend and roommate, Robin. That’s how we met. She asked me to help out, and that’s all I can tell you, man. I’m sorry.”

He does sound sorry. And Eddie does care about Chrissy, which means he needs to talk to her, not interrogate some guy she apparently trusts enough to take her place.

Steve must read something in his face because he adds, “If you want to call her, I can handle things here. Just tell me what to do.”

It sounds more like a question than an offer, like Steve isn’t sure where he stands and doesn’t want to overstep. Eddie has always had a problem with authority, with people telling him what to do. Steve doesn’t know that, but it still rubs him the wrong way for half a second—until he realizes Steve isn’t telling him anything. He’s offering.

Eddie hesitates for a beat, then exhales sharply and nods. "Yeah, okay. Thanks. Just start by restocking the bar—I’ll show you how to place an order for liquor and supplies when I get back."

Right now, he needs to hear Chrissy’s voice. Needs to know she’s okay. Everything else can wait.

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

Turns out that Chrissy’s asshole of a boyfriend—ex-boyfriend now, thank fuck—had grabbed her so hard during a fight that he broke her wrist. The only good thing about it was that it had finally been the last straw for Chrissy. She kicked his sorry ass to the curb.

Eddie had hated Jason from the second he walked into the bar, all possessive grip and territorial bullshit. Throw in the holier-than-thou attitude, the obsession with “purity” and Christian values, and the way he sneered at Eddie the moment Chrissy’s back was turned? Yeah. He saw this coming from a mile away.

They talk for a few minutes, and Eddie promises to stop by her place tomorrow. He’ll bring ice cream, they’ll watch some cheesy rom-com, and he’ll do whatever it takes to cheer her up.

When he walks back into the bar, his face must be as thunderous as he feels because Steve actually winces.

“She told you what happened, huh?”

Eddie nods, grinding his teeth. “Fucking asshole. I wish I’d run him over with my van when I had the chance.”

Steve doesn’t even blink. “Amen to that. Robin’s already plotting his demise. You two should team up. I volunteered to get rid of the body, because Robin’s not exactly… athletic. Can’t dig deep holes, can’t lift heavy stuff. But she’s scary smart—probably knows some undetectable poison or something. What’s your specialty?”

Eddie hates what happened to Chrissy. Hates that she had to go through it. But hearing Steve talk like this, hearing how much her friends care? It makes him feel a little better. And the fact that he’s apparently included in this unhinged murder plot now? Yeah.

Maybe he got lucky, after all.

“I’m creative and ridiculously good at planning—years of being a Dungeon Master. No one thinks of as many scenarios as I do. I’ll cover every possibility. They’ll never catch us.”

They grin at each other, and for the first time since hearing Chrissy’s small, shaken voice, Eddie feels like himself again.

Steve grins. “Perfect. We’ll make a great team.”

And just like that, the weight on Eddie’s chest lifts a little. It’s easy with Steve, like they’ve known each other longer than just—what, an hour? He’s funny, sharp, and clearly good to the people he cares about.

And, well. It doesn’t hurt that he’s stupidly attractive.

They slip into working together without much effort. Eddie shows Steve the ropes while stealing little glances when he thinks the other man isn’t looking—at the way his fingers move deftly around the bottles, the smooth way he leans against the bar when talking to customers, the stretch of his arms when he reaches for a glass on the top shelf.

He’s a natural. Charismatic as hell, too. More than one customer lingers just a little longer when Steve serves them, and Eddie is absolutely not annoyed by that. Nope. Not at all.

“You know,” Steve says at one point, when the rush has died down, “you’re not bad at this.”

Eddie scoffs, tossing a bar rag over his shoulder. “Not bad? Please. I’m great at this.”

Steve hums, eyes twinkling. “If you say so. I guess I’ll have to stick around to see for myself.”

There’s something in his voice, something that makes heat curl in Eddie’s stomach. A challenge. A tease. A promise, maybe.

Eddie leans in, close enough to catch a hint of cologne and something unmistakably Steve. "Yeah?” he murmurs, smirking. “Guess you will.”

The air crackles between them, heavy and charged, until a customer clears their throat and pulls them back to reality.

Eddie straightens, fighting back a grin as he goes to take the order.

He has a feeling working with Steve is going to be very interesting.

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

Turns out he was right—working with Steve is definitely interesting. It’s also confusing and exhilarating. And, honestly? It’s driving him insane.

Steve is everything Eddie never knew he wanted or needed. None of the guys Eddie’s ever hooked up with or tried dating were even close to being like Steve. And maybe that had been his mistake all along.

Because Steve makes him feel things he didn’t even know he could feel. He catches himself daydreaming about kissing the moles on Steve’s neck and face, wondering what it would be like to run his fingers along the smooth line of his jaw. He catches himself thinking about what he could ask Steve next, wanting to learn more and more about him. Eddie wants to make him laugh, wants to tell Steve about his day, about the last book he read, ask him what he thinks of a certain song or movie.

It’s like every little moment with Steve only deepens the curiosity, the pull. And Eddie can’t seem to stop himself from wanting more.

And yet, he can’t bring himself to take it any further than the harmless flirting they’ve been doing. Steve never seems to mind Eddie’s over-the-top flirting—calling him pet names, throwing himself at his feet dramatically, draping himself over Steve and acting like personal space is a suggestion, not a boundary.

One night, after another intense moment between them, the air crackling with something Eddie can’t quite name, he comes home, sits down, and writes it all out. He lets all these feelings he doesn’t even really understand pour onto the page. Every thought, every feeling—the longing and wonder, the joy and insanity of liking someone, wanting someone so much it’s almost physical.

A few weeks ago, he would’ve been bouncing off the walls with excitement at having written his first love song.

Now? He has a hard time bringing himself to care, because all he wants is to tell Steve these things. To have the courage to look into those beloved hazel eyes and make Steve understand the depth of what Eddie feels for him.

Now, all Eddie wants is to take Steve home and never let him go.

That’s why he’s struggling to feel as joyous as he should when Chrissy tells him she’ll be back next week.

Eddie’s wiping down the bar when Steve steps up, leaning against it with a casual ease that makes Eddie’s heart skip, like it always does when Steve’s close.

“Hey,” Steve says, a little more softly than usual. “You heard from Chrissy?”

Eddie pauses, glancing up, not quite meeting Steve’s eyes. “Yeah. She’s coming back next week. Gonna be back at the bar on Monday.”

“Ah, that’s great,” Steve says with a smile, but there’s something in his tone that doesn’t quite match the words.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You don’t seem so excited.”

Steve shrugs, the movement casual but his gaze fixed on Eddie now. “I mean, I am. I’m glad she’s doing better. Just… I don’t know. Things’ve been good here, you know?”

Eddie’s pulse quickens, his mind racing. He knows exactly what Steve means. Things have been good. They’ve been intense—charged, even. And now, with Chrissy coming back, it feels like a door he’s been carefully edging toward might slam shut.

“Yeah, I get that,” Eddie says, trying to sound casual even though his throat feels tight. “It’s been… nice, having you here.”

Steve’s lips twitch into a smile, a little teasing. “Nice, huh? Just nice?”

Eddie meets his gaze then, the air between them thick with unspoken words. “Yeah. More than nice. I—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

Steve doesn’t let it slide. His eyes narrow slightly, and he leans in, his voice lowering. “No, come on. What were you gonna say?”

Eddie hesitates, heart pounding. He wants to say so much, but the weight of it is too much. Instead, he grabs a glass, fills it with water, and hands it to Steve, forcing a smile. “Doesn’t matter.”

But Steve isn’t buying it. He takes the glass, but his eyes stay locked on Eddie. “It does matter. You matter, Eddie.”

There’s a long silence, and Eddie feels like he’s about to drown in it. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

“Hey,” Steve says, his voice softer now, “don’t worry about it. I get it. Chrissy’s your friend.”

Eddie nods, but it doesn’t feel like he’s actually hearing him. He’s still stuck on the fact that the connection between them has shifted somehow. And now, Chrissy coming back just feels like the beginning of the end of whatever this is.

But all Steve does is give him that reassuring smile, and for a moment, it feels like maybe he’s not as worried about it as Eddie is. Maybe.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” Eddie murmurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

Steve’s expression softens. “Me too, man.”

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

On Sunday, Eddie gets a visit from Chrissy. He’s just in his pajama bottoms, pouring himself a cup of coffee when the doorbell rings.

“Chris! What are you doing here?”

She steps into his flat, pressing a fleeting kiss to his cheek as she brushes past him. “I’m happy to see you, too.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Just surprised to have you drop by like that. I’m always happy to see you, you know that.”

He follows her into the flat, where she’s already made herself at home at the kitchen island, pouring herself a cup as well.

“Yes, I know, I was just teasing you. I wanted to drop by to see how you’re doing.”

“You’ll see me tomorrow at work.” He tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but he probably doesn’t succeed. He really needs to work on his poker face.

Chrissy eyes him like she can see right through him, like maybe she’s already read his mind. Eddie knows better than to think she hasn’t. She’s sharp like that.

“Yeah, and something tells me you’re not doing so great because of that.”

That’s his girl—blunt and straight to the point. Eddie considers brushing it off, pretending he has no idea what she’s talking about, but he knows better. She deserves his honesty.

“No. I’m not really. Not because I don’t want you back,” he adds quickly, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “I missed you, Chris. Like crazy. You’re one of my best friends, and I’m so happy to have you back.”

She nods, her small hand curling over his in a comforting gesture. “But you don’t want Steve to go.”

“How—”

Her smile is soft and amused, like they’re in on some private joke together. “You’ve been talking about nothing but him for the past few weeks, Eds. I’ve never seen you take to anyone so fast. It took me months to get you to talk to me about anything but work. And you and Steve are sending each other memes and texts all day.”

Then, with a mischievous gleam in her eye, she adds, “Besides, you should see your face when you talk about him. I’m just waiting for you to start twirling your hair or kicking your feet.”

“Shut up! I’m not doing that.”

“Might as well be, with the way you’re acting. You like him.” She singsongs.

Burying his face in his hands, Eddie groans dramatically. “God, I hate you.”

Chrissy pulls his hands away, her fingers warm as she gently makes him look at her. Her face is a picture of seriousness, though a hint of a smile still lingers at the corner of her lips. “No, you don’t. You just know I’m right. I told you it was only a matter of time until you fell for someone. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Eddie glares at her, but there’s no real heat behind it. He stays quiet, his eyes darting around the room like he’s searching for an escape. When he doesn’t say anything, she raises her brows, giving him that ‘I knew it’ look. “See? Now you can write your love song!”

He mutters something under his breath, too low for her to hear.

“What was that?”

“I said... I already did,” Eddie says, a little sheepish, but trying to keep his cool. “It’s actually pretty good, I think. One of my best.”

Chrissy’s eyes light up, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Eddie, that’s awesome!”

Eddie shrugs, though his expression is far from pleased. “Yeah, but it’s not enough. He’s still leaving after tonight, and then... I’ll never see him again.”

Chrissy waves a hand like she’s brushing off a bad thought. “That’s such a load of crap, and you know it. We can totally visit him and Robin. I’ll invite them over! You’ll still get to hang out.”

Eddie sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe, but it’s not the same. I won’t see him every day, won’t have an excuse to talk to him, flirt with him. We’ll just be... acquaintances.”

Chrissy taps her chin, looking like she’s piecing things together in that genius way of hers. “Okay, but... have you ever thought about just telling him?”

“Stop saying that like it’s easy,” Eddie demands. Okay, whines. He’s aware he’s acting like a petulant child instead of a grown-ass 26-year-old, but honestly? He doesn’t care. This shit sucks. No wonder he never bothered with it before—falling for someone is exhausting.

“It could be,” Chrissy says with that maddening calm of hers, like she’s solving a simple math problem instead of his entire emotional crisis.

Eddie glares. “Oh yeah? How do you figure?”

“Well,” she says, taking a casual sip of her coffee like she’s not about to drop a bombshell, “it’s not like Steve isn’t talking about you just as much.”

“He is?” Eddie all but shrieks, and Chrissy winces at the sheer volume. He claps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, sorry. He is?” he repeats, softer this time, though he still sounds way too giddy to play it cool.

Chrissy just laughs at him. “Yes, Edward. Steve talks about you, too. Or so I heard from Robin. And the few times we talked, he asked me questions about you.”

Eddie’s heart picks up speed, slamming against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. That’s something, right?

“What did he ask?” he presses, leaning forward like Chrissy is holding onto state secrets rather than just casual conversation.

She taps her chin, pretending to think it over. “Oh, just normal stuff. How long I’ve known you, what you did before coming to Chicago… if you’re single.”

Eddie freezes. The butterflies in his stomach go feral.

But then—like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head—another thought creeps in.

“Then why didn’t he make a move?” he asks, deflating just as quickly as he puffed up.

Chrissy just raises an unimpressed brow. “Why didn’t you?”

Fair.

“Because I’ve never dated anyone before,” Eddie admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Never felt like this for anyone before. I have no idea what I’m doing. I highly doubt Steve has been single all his life.”

Chrissy opens her mouth, then hesitates, like she’s conceding his point. Normally, Eddie loves to be right, but this time? He wants to be wrong. Wants Steve’s questions to mean something.

“I see your point, okay,” she finally says, then adds, “but maybe there’s something in Steve’s past that makes him cautious too. Ever think of that?”

Eddie frowns. “Like what?”

Chrissy’s face softens. “It’s not my place to say,” she says gently. “Let’s just say… love can hurt. And if you’ve been burned before, it makes you scared to touch the stove again.”

Eddie’s chest tightens, both at the thought of Steve getting hurt and at the way Chrissy’s voice dips—because she’s speaking from experience, too. Without thinking, he reaches for her, pulling her into a tight hug. Her head tucks neatly under his chin, her small frame warm against him.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” he murmurs. “You deserved better.”

She nods against his chest. “Yeah. And I’ll get over it. Just need some time. Just like Steve, probably. Maybe he’s not sure if he’s ready to let someone in again, you know?”

Eddie does know. Letting someone in after you've experienced the pain of losing someone, of mourning the presence someone once had in your life, it's scary as hell.

But maybe… just maybe… it’s worth the risk.

“I think I have an idea,” he says, and really hopes he’ll be brave enough to follow through.

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

Their last shift together goes by way too fast.

It’s weird. Like Eddie’s waiting for something to happen, anything. He doesn’t know what exactly—except that’s a lie. He does know.

He wants Steve to kiss him. Wants Steve to grab him, lift him onto the bar top, step between his legs, and cradle his face in those steady hands before finally—finally—giving him a first kiss that means something.

More than that, he wants Steve to tell him. That Eddie’s not crazy, not alone in this. That he feels it too—this maddening, electric pull that makes Eddie’s knees weak, makes his stomach flip, makes his heart hammer against his ribs like it’s trying to escape.

Steve does none of those things.

Instead, they pour drinks, chat with the regulars, do their jobs. And when the night winds down—when the last stool is flipped onto the tables, the floors are swept, and Eddie flicks off the lights—they step outside and fall into each other’s arms without a single word.

They hold on for far longer than what anyone would call normal.

Fuck normal, Eddie thinks, tightening his grip around Steve’s solid frame. Normal never made me feel like this.

Steve exhales against his neck, his voice quiet but soaked in something Eddie can’t name. “I’ll miss this,” he murmurs. “I’ll miss you.”

Say it, Eddie begs in his head. Please. Just say you feel this too.

But Steve doesn’t.

Eddie wishes that he were brave, wishes that he could bridge the metaphorical gap between the two of them by simply taking a leap of faith.

But he doesn’t.

So they pull away, exchanging promises to stay in touch, and Eddie walks away feeling like he just lost something he never even had.

Two weeks later, Eddie finds himself back at The Upside Down, waiting for Chrissy. But this time, he’s not behind the bar, taking stock of liquor bottles or wiping down counters.

He’s behind the curtain of the small stage they built at the far end of the bar, fidgeting with the strap of his guitar, his heart hammering and his hands shaking. The stage usually belongs to local bands on the weekends, filling the space with music that draws in bigger crowds.

But today is Monday. And behind the bar—his bar—is Steve, restocking the cabinets, just like he did the first time he stepped in to cover for Chrissy. Full circle, Eddie thinks, watching from the shadows.

Except this time, Steve is covering for Eddie.

Steve thinks Eddie had to leave for an emergency, an excuse Chrissy fed him about needing to see his uncle. Eddie isn’t exactly proud of using Wayne’s health as a pretext to lure Steve here under false pretenses. But what’s the saying?

All’s fair in love and war.

And if Eddie is going to do something about this mess of feelings, he’s going to do it in the way he knows best.

Through music.

“We’re ready,” Chrissy whispers, squeezing his arm. “Bar’s surprisingly full for a Monday, so don’t be nervous. The only thing that matters is getting your man.”

Eddie salutes her with a grin that’s only half forced. “Aye, aye, captain.”

Then, with a deep breath, he settles onto the small stool at center stage, guitar resting on his knee. The curtain pulls back, and suddenly, he’s bathed in the warm glow of the stage lights, staring out at the sea of faces in front of him.

But there’s only one face that matters.

His eyes find Steve instantly, standing behind the bar, frozen mid-motion with a bottle in his hand, wide-eyed and staring like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him.

Eddie taps the mic, wincing at the light thump it makes through the speakers. “Is this thing on? Yeah, sounds like it.” He clears his throat, nerves tightening in his chest. Here goes nothing.

“Hi, everybody. Some of you might know me as the guy who pours your drinks and listens to your problems, but tonight, I’m here as a humble musician playing a song.” His fingers flex around the neck of his guitar as he exhales. “A special song for a special someone.”

A ripple of murmurs runs through the crowd, but Eddie barely hears it. His pulse is pounding too loud in his ears.

“I ask you to be kind because—well, this is a love song. And I’ve never done that before.” He huffs a breathless laugh. “Written a love song, I mean. Or been in love.” His fingers tighten on the frets, his throat thick with something unnamed. “But then I met someone who changed all of that. Someone who makes me laugh even when I don’t want to. Who makes me want to rip my hair out with how much I want to touch and hold them.”

A beat of silence. His heart feels like it’s about to break his ribs.

“Someone who is kind and brave and quick-witted. A secret nerd.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “And the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

The room feels impossibly still. Eddie can feel Steve’s eyes on him now, burning, waiting. But he doesn’t dare look. If he meets those hazel eyes, he’s not sure he’ll make it through this without forgetting how to breathe.

He takes another shaky inhale, tilts his chin toward the mic. “So, yeah. Please be kind, because this is all new to me.”

And then—he plays.

All of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right I'm tripping on words You've got my head spinning I don't know where to go from here 'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do Nothing to prove And it's you and me and all other people And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you

The last note fades into the air, leaving the bar in a thick, charged silence. For a split second, Eddie’s convinced he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life. His fingers hover over the strings, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat.

And then—

The bar erupts into applause.

Someone calls his name, and he thinks he hears Chrissy cheer Bravo but Eddie barely registers it because his brain is still trying to catch up.

But then he sees him.

Steve.

Still standing behind the bar, both hands braced against the counter like he needs the support. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes wide and shining in the dim lighting. And then Steve runs a hand through his hair, shakes his head in what looks like pure disbelief, and laughs.

Not a mean laugh. Not a nervous one. A stunned, overwhelmed, delighted kind of laugh.

Eddie barely has time to put his guitar down before Steve moves.

He pushes past the bar, past the regulars clapping him on the back, eyes locked onto Eddie like there’s no one else in the damn room. Eddie stands frozen on stage, unsure what’s about to happen but aching for whatever it is.

And then Steve’s there, grabbing Eddie’s face in his hands and kissing him.

It’s not a shy, hesitant kiss. It’s everything. Warm, firm, desperate. Steve’s lips press against Eddie’s like he’s making up for lost time, and Eddie melts into it without hesitation, gripping Steve’s waist like he’s afraid he’ll disappear.

The bar goes wild.

Someone catcalls. Eddie hears Chrissy’s delighted I knew it! but all of it is background noise to the way Steve feels against him, the way his fingers tighten in Eddie’s hair, the way he lingers even as they finally—reluctantly—pull apart just enough to breathe.

Steve's forehead presses against Eddie's, his voice barely a whisper. "Please tell me that song was for me. Otherwise this is going to get awkward very quickly."

Eddie's laugh is joyous, relief palpable in every tone. "Of course. Who else would it be about?"

"I don't know, I've seen the looks you give Herbert," Steve grins, his eyebrows wagging. God, Eddie loves him.

Eddie kisses him again. "No, unfortunately my heart is set on you. Does your reaction to my song mean you feel the same?"

“You idiot,” Steve murmurs, but he’s smiling. Grinning. “You really think you’re the only one who feels this?”

Eddie exhales a laugh, overwhelmed and dizzy and so stupidly happy he can’t stand it. “I dunno,” he rasps. “You never said anything.”

Steve huffs, nudging their noses together. “Neither did you.”

Eddie grins. “Yeah, well. I wrote a song instead.”

Steve shakes his head, laughing again, and kisses him once more—just because he can.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #eddie x steve #stranger things fanfiction #steddielovemonth #my writing

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weirdero · 3 days ago

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I’ve seen a lot of people speculating that Gemma’s storyline will lead to a cloning reveal, which like, it’s a decent theory and wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But god, this show is so specific and detail oriented Ben Stiller himself has even said nothing in the show is a coincidence. The cloning theory has also been shut down a couple times by some producers and writes from what I understand and idk I feel like a cloning reveal would just be so boring. And honestly, I don’t know if this is insane, but I’m fully leaning towards the idea that when it comes to Ms. Casey/Gemma, it’s more of a resurrection situation.

Okay so hear me out I believe our Ms. Casey is still physically Gemma her original body, her bones, her blood she’s alive baby that’s her but like also it’s not her. It’s like in horror or fantasy stories when a character dies and comes back but comes back wrong YK?. Physically it’s still them but it’s not them. In my opinion, her brain has been completely reset, wiping away whatever kind of person she used to be.

To back this theory I’ve been heavily leaning on the interaction between Ms. Cobel and Helena in the parking lot and just the general existence of the Mammalian Nurturable department.

Now, I might be reading into this too much, but I just love these characters so much and this show so please bear with me, this is a long one.

this season Harmony/Ms. Cobel is a problem. Like there is just no way she isn’t. Lumon is already struggling to keep it together after the scandal the main four caused, and a change in management isn’t helping. People are (probably) starting to pay attention, and they do not need that kind of heat. Ms. Cobel literally crashing tf out making herself homeless and sneaking around in the dark probably isn’t helping.

Helena’s choice of words have always stood out to me. She’s calculated, smart, and precise in how she speak just like Harmony. Both of them are masters at saying exactly what they need to without ever outright saying it yk? So when she she spots Cobel in the parking lot in the middle of the night she clocks her immediately.

Harmony walks out as if she still has a job in that bitch and has the audacity to tell Helena what her needs are and exactly how they should be met. And in my opinion, Helena is appalled but not surprised. She calls her out on her behavior.

“I hear ego, hubris, and arrogance. Kier teaches us they only cause pain.”

To me, this isn’t just a read it’s a warning. Harmony doesn’t take it. She bites back, calling Helena a NEPOTISM BABY. wild.

And I mean look at Helena’s face.

So Helena lays it out for her as plainly as possible

“We didn’t have to ask you back.”

No translation even needed, she just said it flat out Baby, we don’t need you here. You do not, no matter what you think, represent us. You are not Lumon.

And Harmony, being just as cunty clocks her shit right back

“You didn’t have a choice.”

At this point, Ms. Cobel isn’t just skating on thin ice she’s walking across a frozen lake in metal combat boots, her ass skipping around as if the ice won’t break. And that’s her mistake.

Helena, after giving Harmony multiple chances to walk away. Multiple chances to come back in on lumons terms. Multiple chances to stop playing in her fucking face, finally pulls back with a kind smile and offers her a chance to “restart”.

As they walk towards the car, Ms. Cobel locks eyes with Helena’s bodyguard and the instant terror is actually insane. Full deer in headlights.

A lot of people saw that shot and took it as a straight-up Sopranos esque death threat like, if she gets in that car, she’s not gonna survive the drive (RIP Audriana). And sure, it could be as simple as that, but this show is just way too good for it to be that simple.

I think Cobel recognizes the bodyguard. She knows him and I mean like fr knows him.

I saw a theory on Reddit suggesting that the bodyguard might be someone she knew maybe a former coworker, someone from her personal life (they suggested it could’ve been someone she was super close with before she even became the woman we know today) idk just somebody she knows knows and out of nowhere suddenly, he’s here, presented as Helena’s bodyguard. But it’s not him. It’s his skin, his bones, his blood but it’s not HIM.

And the way it plays out, it doesn’t seem like the bodyguard recognizes her at least not in the same way she knows him. That stare man that stare. I didn’t even know Harmony could experience fear. Who knows, maybe in that moment she’s reflecting on everything that’s happened. She bitched out the boss’s daughter in this empty ass parking lot on the brink of a mental break down, and suddenly there’s a chance to start over. All she has to do is get in that car, with that man, talk to the higher-ups, and hit the “reset” button.

Basically my theory is that Lumon are essentially grave robbing the fuck out of that town. Taking people who have been in serious accidents car crashes, house fires, construction site falls, factory explosion, hell even a drive by. I also think they’re also taking drug addicts, the homeless people who have no loved ones looking out for them, or even looking for them at all, the ones who are confirmed to be gone in every way, physically or emotionally. They’re taking these people and giving them a full system reset rebooting the computer.

By doing this, Lumon gets to create a free labor force that works 24/7 without question or resistance, exploiting people who have no emotional ties or support systems. Blank slate baby! They’re also using these individuals as test subjects for whatever weird shit they wanna launch out as a new product.

This helps explain a lot of the weird shit going on with the employees at Mammalian Nurturable. They look so rough and are also really off-putting towards outsiders. Which is understandable but I genuinely believe they haven’t even “clocked out” in days, if not ever.

Even though this theory makes the most sense to me, It still has its plot holes like if Gemma isn’t a clone and it’s her “resurrected” where does she go when she’s not her innie. In Season 1, she tells Mark she’s only conscious as her innie for a couple of minutes at a time, and the longest she’s ever stayed “alive” was the 8 hours she spent with his department. So where tf is she if not there as Ms Casey i don’t know man I do not know.

Anyways I have some other general curiosities about the town itself and why Lumon decided to build their main building there. I saw a TikTok video of someone saying it reminded them of company-built towns like Hershey Pennsylvania or Kodak Town, and I agree. Anywho I love this show so much it hurts I hope it never dies I literally missed having an obsession this intense I hope it gets all the love and awards it deserves!!

#severance #severance season 2 #helena eagan #helly r #harmony cobel #ms casey #Gemma/ms Casey

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mujingsi · 2 days ago

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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.

“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.

“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.

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.”

“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.

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?”

“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.

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.

“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?”

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.”

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.

“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.

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.”

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.

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.”

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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!”

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.

“... 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.”

“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.

“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.

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.

“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.

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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#artist pick 💚#18+ listeners only 🎧#woozi x reader #lee jihoon x reader #i think i said (mostly) everything i wanted to say in the annotations #but idk you really scratched my brain with this one

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msbigredmachine · 3 days ago

Text

The Boy Next Door: Chapter Eight

MASTERLIST ✨ harmshake’s masterlist ✨ msbigredmachine’s masterlist

Word Count: 8.4k

💥TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains DARK THEMES. Please proceed with caution💥

A/N: Sorry in advance for any errors, I'm not feeling well rn

Sitting stiffly in the cramped office at the Hartford Police Precinct, Raquel’s hands gripped the edge of the chair so tightly that her knuckles were turning an ugly shade of white. Across from her, Officer Gable leaned forward, his elbows resting on the scratched desk between them. The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting harsh shadows over the stacks of paperwork and cluttered files. Raquel’s nerves were frayed, but she kept her composure—for now.

Beside her, her colleague, Kelani, was anything but composed. The young paralegal trembled, her hands clutching a crumpled tissue that she twisted mercilessly between her fingers. Her tear-streaked face was pale, and her wide eyes darted nervously around the room as though searching for answers on the scuffed walls.

“It’s been days, Officer,” Kelani said, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear. “Gemini hasn’t been at the office. She hasn’t answered her phone. This isn’t like her.”

Raquel cut in, her tone sharper but no less panicked. “She’s one of the most disciplined people I know. If she was going to be out, she would’ve let someone know. She’s not the type to just… disappear.”

Gable sat across from them, his notepad resting on the desk between them. His brow furrowed as he tapped the pen against the pad. “You’re sure you’ve checked everywhere? Friends, family? Places she frequents?”

Raquel let out a small, frustrated laugh. “Come on, Gable. She goes out like everyone else, but she doesn’t disappear like this. Everyone knows her—she’s reliable. This is different.”

Kelani, her voice trembling, added, “We’ve tried everything. Her phone’s been off since Friday. I…I can’t shake the feeling that something’s really wrong.” She pressed the tissue to her mouth as if stifling a sob.

Raquel reached over to squeeze her colleague’s hand, she herself barely keeping her emotions under control. “It’s not just us, Officer. I’m in the Neighborhood Watch, too. I know there’s been women going missing around here. We’re just scared that Gem could become another statistic.”

Officer Gable leaned back in his chair, exhaling heavily. He ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, his features softening slightly as he tried to reassure them. “Look, we all love Gemini, alright? We’ll do everything we can to find her. This precinct takes care of its own, and she’s part of this community.”

Raquel narrowed her eyes slightly, her sharp mind already making connections. “What about Carmelo?” she asked. “He’s her man. Does he know anything?”

Officer Gable shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the weight of her question evident in his expression. He glanced down at his notepad, then back at Raquel. “He’s aware of the situation,” he said carefully, choosing his words. “And, yeah, he and Gemini were seeing each other, but…he’s just as in the dark as the rest of us right now.”

Kelani let out a shaky breath, her voice thick with tears. “But if they're dating, shouldn’t he have some idea of where she might have gone? Or if something was wrong?”

Gable’s jaw tightened, a flicker of empathy softening his tone. “He’s been looking for her on his own, calling her, checking her place. Trust me, he’s worried too. This isn’t easy for him either.”

Raquel leaned forward, her gaze sharp. “Then why isn’t he here? Why isn’t he the one leading this investigation if it’s personal for him?”

Gable hesitated before replying, his voice low. “Because sometimes when it’s personal, it’s harder to see things clearly. Hayes is doing everything he can, but he knows this can’t just be about him. We’re all working to bring Gemini back safely, and that’s what matters.”

Kelani sniffled again, wiping at her eyes. “Please, just find her. We’re terrified something’s happened.”

Gable nodded solemnly. “I promise, we’ll do everything we can.”

Meanwhile, Officer Hayes sat alone in his office, the walls seemingly closing in around him as dread knotted his stomach. His desk phone and iPhone sat side by side, both useless. He’d called Gemini’s number so many times that her voicemail greeting was burned into his brain.

“Where the fuck are you, Gem?” he muttered under his breath, his fingers tapping anxiously on the desk.

He’d driven by her house three times over the past few days, each visit more nerve-wracking than the last. The curtains were drawn, the lights off. Her car sat in the driveway, but there was no sign of life. He’d even called Ivy, hoping she might have some answers, but her phone went straight to voicemail too.

“Damn it,” he hissed, leaning back in his chair. He didn’t believe in coincidences. Gemini and Ivy hadn’t been on speaking terms for weeks, but now both women were unreachable at the same time. Something was wrong. And he had no idea where next to look.

A knock at his door interrupted his spiraling thoughts. Carmelo sat up as the door opened to reveal a red-haired woman with a concerned expression. She hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

“Officer Hayes?” she asked.

“That’s me,” he said, studying her. He didn’t recognize her, but her anxious energy put him on edge.

“I’m Becky,” she introduced herself. “I need to file a report about my friend, Ivy Jones.”

Carmelo’s heart sank. “Take a seat,” he prodded, drawing out the chair opposite his desk for her.

Becky sat down, clasping her hands together tightly. “Ivy’s little girl, Zaia, came to my house for a slumber party with my daughter, Lyra, over the weekend. Ivy was supposed to pick her up on Sunday, but she never showed.”

“Never showed?” Carmelo repeated, as he grabbed a pen and a notepad.

Becky shook her head. “I tried taking Zaia back to her house, but the doors were locked, and it didn’t seem like anyone was home. I called Ivy’s phone, but it went straight to voicemail. I’ve tried every day since. Nothing.” Her voice cracked slightly as she added, “Zaia is still at my house. She keeps asking for her mom, and I don’t know what to tell her.”

“Jesus,” Carmelo muttered, running a hand over his face. Poor girl. “When did you say you last saw her?”

“Friday,” Becky answered. “That’s when she dropped Zaia off. She seemed fine—completely normal. But now…I’m not so sure.” She let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping. “My husband, Seth, pushed me to come here. He thinks that if Ivy still isn’t answering, something’s seriously wrong.” Becky leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper, eyes wide with worry. “He’s even starting to say it might be…kidnapping.”

Carmelo shook his head grimly, his gut churning with worry. “We don’t know that yet, but you did the right thing coming in,” he told her. “I’ll make sure this gets priority. In the meantime, keep Zaia safe. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Becky nodded, though her worry was evident. “Please find Ivy. Zaia needs her.”

“I will,” Carmelo promised, though the words felt hollow.

As Becky left, he sat back heavily in his chair, his mind racing. His chest felt tight, his breathing uneven. The crime rate in this town was starting to climb. Three women in total were now missing, two of them connected to him in some way. And then there was Rhea, the pregnant girl who’d turned up dead weeks, her body dumped in the woods, the case still unresolved. Surely this had to be some kind of coincidence.

Right?

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, slamming his fist against the desk.

The door opened again, and Officer Gable stepped inside. “You good, bro?” he asked, noticing his partner’s agitation.

Carmelo glanced up, his jaw clenched. “How can I be good? Gemini’s missing. Ivy’s missing. The Belair lady, too. Something’s happening in Hartford, and we’re not catching it fast enough.”

Gable frowned, sitting down across from him. “You think this is connected to that girl, Rhea?”

“I don’t know,” Carmelo admitted. “But it’s not random. Too many women are disappearing or turning up dead, and now it’s hitting close to home.”

Gable nodded slowly, his expression serious. “This is personal for you, isn’t it?”

“Damn fucking right it’s personal,” Carmelo snapped. “Gemini’s my girl. I’m not losing her.”

Gable hesitated before replying, “We’ll figure this out, Hayes. But you need to keep a clear head. If you get too close—”

“I don’t give a fuck how close I get,” Carmelo interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m gon’ find her, and I’m gonna figure out who’s behind this. Whoever they are, they’re not walking away from this.”

Gable didn’t argue, though his concern was evident. As the two officers sat in tense silence, the weight of the situation pressed down on them both.

Hartford wasn’t safe anymore.

Her body throbbed with pain, every muscle screaming, every bone she owned weighed down by exhaustion.

Ivy had no idea how long she’d been trapped in this nightmare. Days? Weeks? Time blurred into an endless abyss of suffering. There were no windows, no clocks—nothing to anchor her to reality. Only the suffocating darkness, the damp concrete walls, and the slow, agonizing creak of the heavy door whenever he came.

Roman.

No. Mateo Hobbs.

The air mattress he had given her to be sleeping on was a mockery of comfort. She was too drained to move, too hollowed out to cry, but sleep was impossible. Every time her eyes drifted shut, she saw him. Felt him.

Instead, she tried to think of Zaia.

Was she still at Becky’s house? Had Becky noticed something was wrong? Or had Roman dispatched Becky too before she could get the chance?

The thought made Ivy sick.

Because she knew what he was capable of now.

She had learned the truth in the most horrifying way possible—his real name, his real face beneath the mask of charm and seduction. Mateo Hobbs.

He wasn’t just a liar. He was a monster. He had slithered into her life, invaded her bed, whispered sweet words in her ear while his hands were already stained with the blood of the people she loved.

Angelo. The father of her child. Murdered. By him.

Gemini. Her best friend. Murdered. By him.

He had pretended to comfort Ivy when Angelo died, holding her close as she wept, whispering lies while the blood on his hands had barely dried. He had stroked her hair, murmured reassurances, all while knowing he was the reason Angelo was gone. And when she had sobbed in his kitchen over Gemini’s disappearance, wracked with guilt and fear, he had watched in silence—because he already knew Gemini wasn’t missing. She was dead, buried just feet below, her screams long since silenced by the same hands that caressed Ivy with twisted affection.

How many more had there been? How many innocent lives had he taken before he turned his sights on Ivy?

Her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms so hard it hurt. Every nerve in her body screamed for release—for something, anything, to make this torment stop. She wanted to tear him apart, to claw at her own skin until every trace of him was gone. But it wouldn’t matter. No matter how much she raged, no matter how deep she bled, she would still be here. Trapped, with escape slipping further and further out of reach.

Twice a day, he came.

Bringing food.

Bathing her like she was his doll.

And then violating her.

He treated her as if they were lovers, whispering sweet nothings against her skin, kissing her tenderly while he took what he wanted. Each time, he made sure she climaxed, as if that made it okay. As if that erased the horror, the utter disgust of every moment he touched her.

He fed her himself now, having stripped away any semblance of autonomy after her failed attempt to stab him with a spoon. There were no utensils anymore—just his hands, his dominance. He pressed the food against her lips, his grip unyielding. When she resisted, his patience thinned, fingers tightening at her jaw until she had no choice but to open her mouth. Chew. Swallow. Submit. His to control.

“You need to eat,” he said, voice low, as if he were speaking to a frightened animal.

And today, when she stirred from a restless, hollow sleep, she knew before she even opened her eyes that something was wrong.

She wasn’t alone.

A breath ghosted over her skin. The weight of a presence beside her, unmoving, watching.

Her eyes snapped open, her body jerking in terror.

Roman was lying next to her, propped on one elbow, studying her with quiet fascination.

“Morning, my love,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction.

Ivy’s stomach clenched with revulsion. She scrambled back, breath hitching, but there was nowhere to go. The wall pressed against her spine, cold and taunting.

He didn’t react to her fear. If anything, he looked amused.

Then he reached for her, his grip unrelenting as he pulled her up and guided her toward the small bathroom. She tried to push him away, her hands weak against his chest, but he barely noticed. He was so strong. Unshakable. No matter how much she resisted, he always won.

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

She was breaking.

He was breaking her.

The water ran warm, and he bathed her with careful, practiced hands. He touched her, dragging his fingers over her skin, washing her hair, his touch sickeningly tender. He acted as if she belonged to him, as if this was routine, as if she wanted this.

Ivy stared blankly at the tiled wall, emotionless, frozen beneath his hands.

When he was finished, he dried her off and dressed her. A neat pile of fresh clothes and underwear sat in a corner.

Her fresh clothes and underwear.

Meaning he had been inside her house. Again.

Obviously he’d been there before. More than once. So he knew how to get in. Where to go.

But now, he was an uninvited guest, walking through her rooms. Opening her drawers. Touching her belongings. Breathing her in.

She felt violated all over again.

He hummed under his breath, brushing her hair with slow, gentle strokes. His fingers grazed her scalp, gentle, affectionate. A mockery of care.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, tilting her chin so their eyes met. “Just like you always do.”

Ivy wanted to shatter into a million pieces.

Then, he reached for a paper bag, pulling out a wrapped breakfast burrito.

Her stomach twisted violently.

“Bacon and scrambled eggs,” he said, his smile almost warm. “Just how you like it. Because you’ve been such a good girl.”

It made her sick how stupid she’d been. Allowing this man to learn these details about her through their time together—casually, effortlessly, during the months he had spent pretending to be the perfect man.

And now, he was using it against her.

Her throat burned with bile.

She couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t fight.

So she sat in silence.

Trapped.

Hopeless.

Drowning in this unimaginable nightmare.

Officer Hayes stepped out of the squad car, his dark eyes scanning the modest suburban neighborhood through his Aviators as he adjusted his holster. It was a crisp, gray morning, the kind where clouds seemed heavy with the promise of rain. He glanced at Officer Gable, who shut his car door and motioned toward the house a few feet ahead. The house was pristine—sharp lines, expansive glass windows, and a driveway that looked like it had been freshly hosed down that morning.

“Finance guy, no priors,” Gable muttered, looking through his notes as they approached the door. “Don’t see how he’s involved in any of this.”

Hayes nodded, his face unreadable. “Maybe. We met him at Gem’s Halloween party, remember?”

“Yeah,” Gable said, frowning as he adjusted his badge. “Big Aquaman dude, long hair, quiet type. Nothing that raises any alarm bells.”

Hayes hesitated, the memory of that party resurfacing in his mind. Roman had been polite, almost overly so, but there had been a moment—just a flicker—when Hayes had noticed tension between him and Gemini. He’d dismissed it at the time, chalking it up to a personal disagreement, but now? With Gemini missing, that moment gnawed at him.

“Something felt… off,” Hayes admitted. “I didn’t think much of it then, but now I’m not so sure.”

Gable shrugged. “Let’s see what he has to say.”

Hayes rang the doorbell, the chime barely audible from the outside. A few moments later, the door opened to reveal Roman. He was as imposing as Hayes remembered—tall, muscular and broad-shouldered. His dark hair was tied back neatly, and he wore a black sweater that clung to his huge frame and dark jeans that seemed effortlessly stylish.

Roman’s expression oozed with polite curiosity as he took in the two cops. “Officers,” he greeted, his deep voice smooth but carrying a hint of confusion. “What’s going on? Everything okay?”

Carmelo offered a small nod, his tone calm but professional. “How’s it going, Roman? Sorry to drop by unannounced, but we need to ask you a few questions. Hope this isn’t a bad time.”

Roman tilted his head, his brows furrowing with what appeared to be genuine confusion. “Questions? What’s this about?”

“We’ll cut to the chase to avoid wasting time. When’s the last time you heard from Ivy?” Gable asked.

Roman’s face softened into concern as he exhaled deeply. Tiredly. “Ivy? The last time we spoke was a couple of days ago. She seemed…distant, distracted even. She told me she needed some space, so I didn’t push.”

His answer rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, his tone smooth and sincere.

“Well,” Gable said, his gaze sharp, “no one can seem to find her or reach her. She and Gemini are both missing.”

Roman’s brows shot up, his expression shifting seamlessly to shock. “Missing?” he repeated, his voice low and steady. “Hold up…That…that doesn’t make any sense. I mean, Ivy’s been under a lot of pressure, but Gemini too? I—this is the first I’m hearing of it.” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as if he were processing the news. He shook his head, his voice filled with what sounded like genuine worry.

“When was the last time you saw them both?” Hayes asked, watching Roman closely.

Roman exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. “Ivy was a few days ago. She’s been under a lot of stress. She hasn’t really been the same since Angelo’s death, it’s been so hard for her. And Gemini…I haven’t seen her since last week.” He paused, his gaze lowering. “God, this is awful. I care about both of them. What can I do to help?”

Hayes exchanged a glance with Gable before pressing further. “Speaking of Angelo, we heard you and he had some disagreements before his death.”

Roman looked up sharply, his expression briefly guarded before softening into something more regretful. “Angelo and I… yes, we had a disagreement. Just one. It was stupid, really, a misunderstanding. We hashed it out the next day, and that was that.” He sighed deeply, his tone lowering. “He was a good man, and what happened to him was tragic. A car accident…it still doesn’t feel real.”

Hayes studied Roman’s face, his smooth answers and calm demeanor making it difficult to gauge anything beyond what the man wanted them to see.

“Angelo was a great dad,” Roman continued, his voice thick with emotion. “Zaia adored him. This must be so hard on her. Where is she?”

The question came out casually enough, but something in the way Roman asked it made Carmelo pause.

“She’s safe,” he informed, his instincts urging him to keep it vague.

Roman nodded slowly, though his jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. “That’s good. She’s a sweet kid. I’d hate for her to be caught up in all of this. If it helps, I’d be happy to take her in while you figure things out. She knows me; I can keep her comfortable.”

His voice was calm, measured, but Hayes detected the faintest hint of desperation beneath the surface. Roman’s mask was flawless, but something about the offer didn’t sit right.

“That won’t be necessary,” Hayes said evenly. “We’ll make sure Zaia’s taken care of.”

Roman gave a tight-lipped smile, his eyes lingering on Hayes for a moment longer than was comfortable. “Of course. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Gable nodded, stepping back slightly. “We’ll keep you in the loop.”

Roman watched them retreat, his expression unreadable. “Thank you, officers. Be safe out there.”

As the door closed, Hayes felt a wave of unease settle over him. Gable glanced at him as they walked back to the car.

“Well, he’s convincing,” Gable said.

Hayes didn’t respond immediately. He glanced back at the house, his instincts buzzing. Roman’s answers had been smooth—too smooth.

“Yeah,” Hayes muttered, sliding into the car. “Maybe a little too convincing.”

As they pulled away, Hayes couldn’t shake the feeling that Roman knew far more than he was letting on. But he had no proof.

Over the days, Roman spoke to Ivy with a chilling casualness, recounting his killing sprees as if reliving fond memories. Antonia. Elesha. The two murders in Hartford’s neighboring counties. Rhea. Bianca. Each name was another knot in Ivy’s stomach, another weight pressing against her lungs.

He pointed at the second barrel beside the one he had stuffed Gemini into. “That’s where Bianca is,” he said, his voice devoid of remorse. “I killed her because I could.”

A silent sob wracked Ivy’s body, hot tears streaking down her face. He had no reason. No twisted justification. Just power—the pleasure of taking a life simply because it was his to take.

But she was starting to see the pattern. The obsession. Roman needed control over the women in his life. He demanded devotion, compliance. When he felt disrespected, when they defied him, he ended them. And then, he moved on to the next.

“Those bitches got what was coming to them,” he muttered, referring to Antonia and Elesha, his voice as steady as if he were discussing the weather. “I moved heaven and earth for them, and still, they decided it wasn’t enough.” He smiled. “But it’s all good. I got you now.”

Ivy swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

It always came back to betrayal for him. He had been cheated on. Lied to. Abandoned. From his mother, who picked the lifestyle of a mob boss’ wife over nurturing her son, to Antonia, who left him for her college professor. And Elesha…his wife, the woman he had vowed to cherish, had been carrying another man’s child. His own cousin’s child.

Everything she heard made her physically ill.

He spoke of the future as if it were inevitable, as if she had a choice. “Once everything settles down, once them cops get off my back, I’m taking you out of this town,” he murmured one night, his fingers brushing damp strands of hair from her face with eerie tenderness. “We’ll go somewhere far away, somewhere quiet. Where no one can find us.”

Oh god.

“But what about Zaia?” Her voice cracked. “I need my baby, Roman. Please.”

Roman didn’t hesitate. “She’ll come with us, of course,” he said smoothly, “Once I convince those two idiot cops that I can take her.”

Desperation clawed at her chest, her mind a whirl of frantic thoughts. She couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let Roman get his hands on her baby. Couldn’t let Roman take both of them away. But what could she do now that she was stuck here?

One evening, he entered the room, the scent of warm food trailing behind him like a ghost of normalcy. But there was something off—something in the way he moved, the unsettling lightness in his step. Ivy tensed, her unease sharpening as he set the food in front of her, his gaze locked onto hers, unblinking. Then, gently, deliberately, his hand dipped into his pocket.

The air seemed to thin as he withdrew a small velvet box. Ivy’s breath caught and not in the romantic way, her stomach twisting into a tight, suffocating knot. Roman flipped open the box, the diamond ring catching the dim light like a cruel joke.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment since I first met you,” he murmured, his deep voice rich with certainty. “We belong together, Ivy. I want you to marry me.”

The walls seemed to close in, pressing in on her. Her pulse hammered in her ears as her gaze locked onto the ring.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered.

Roman tilted his head, studying her reaction. Then, with a slow, sly smirk, he said, “It was Elesha’s.”

The words hit her like a blow.

He let the silence stretch before adding, almost casually, “I pried it off her fingers after she died.”

He had kept it. All this time. After he killed her.

Revulsion burned through her like acid. Her vision blurred, a red haze creeping in at the edges.

“What—” Her voice broke, strangled with horror. “What is wrong with you?”

Roman watched her, calm as ever. Like this was nothing. Like he hadn’t just confessed to something monstrous.

Her entire body trembled. The walls felt like they were closing in. The ring—the proof of his cruelty—gleamed in its velvet jail, a sickening symbol of everything she wanted to escape.

“I can’t marry you,” she choked out, shaking her head. “I won’t.”

Roman stilled. Blinked, as if processing an impossible concept. The warmth in his eyes flickered out like a candle snuffed by the wind.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, stepping toward her.

She lurched back, chest heaving. Her voice cracked, raw and ragged. “Yes, I do! You—you killed her! You kept her ring like some kind of trophy, and you expect me to wear it?”

Roman exhaled slowly, his grip tightening around the box before he snapped it shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the suffocating silence.

“Ivy,” he said, voice low, warning. “You need to calm down.”

She let out a hysterical laugh, hands shaking as she raked them through her hair. “Calm down? You’re insane!”

His jaw clenched. “I love you.”

She shook her head, chest burning with fear, anger—despair. “No! You don’t know what love is! I’m sorry, but I’m not marrying you. Period.”

Something flashed in his eyes—something dangerous. Then, his jaw tensed, his fingers tightening around the box. His eyes turned cold, lethal.

The transformation was terrifying.

His voice dropped into a low, guttural snarl.

“If I can’t have you…then no one else will.”

Before she could comprehend what was happening, Roman grabbed her, dragging her to the far corner of the room. Her heart sank as she realized he was taking her to the trapdoor, the heavy metal latch gleaming ominously.

“Roman, no!” she cried, her voice raw with terror. She clawed at his arms, kicked her legs, anything to break free, but he was too strong.

He yanked the door open with a deafening creak, revealing the gaping black pit beneath, where Gemini had laid dead. Ivy’s blood turned to ice.

“No! Please!” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “Don’t put me in there! I’ll do whatever you want! Just don’t—”

Her words were cut off as Roman shoved her forward. She screamed, her nails scraping against the edge of the trapdoor as she tried to stop herself, but it was no use. She fell, hard, her scream piercing the air as she tumbled into the darkness.

Roman slammed the trapdoor shut, her cries muffled but still audible through the thick metal. He stood there for a moment, his chest heaving as he stared at the closed door.

Then, without a second glance, he turned and walked out of the basement, Ivy’s screams fading behind him.

The search for Ivy and Gemini had consumed the town. Days had passed since they were declared missing, and the air had become thick with desperation. Everywhere you turned, there were posters of their faces—on lampposts, in store windows, on every corner of the neighborhood. The words MISSING screamed in bold red ink, and beneath them, the faces of two women who had been loved by the entire community. It was all hands on deck now: the local Neighborhood Watch, volunteers, and the police were combing through every lead, no matter how small. Still, no trace. No sign. Nothing.

Officer Gable walked into Carmelo’s office with a grim expression, holding a manila folder in one hand, his other hand pressed against his forehead as if trying to hold back the weight of the investigation.

“Anything?” Carmelo asked, glancing up from the pile of papers on his desk. His eyes were bloodshot from sleepless nights.

Gable dropped the folder onto the desk with a heavy sigh. “We’re running out of places to look, but we’ve got more volunteers. The whole town’s on it. People are offering tips, though some are…fucking useless.”

Carmelo rubbed his eyes, the exhaustion evident in his every movement. He leaned back in his chair. “Any solid leads?”

Before Gable could respond, the door to his office opened, and in walked Becky and her husband Seth. Both of them looked like they hadn’t slept in days, their faces drawn with worry. Holding Becky’s hand was Zaia, whose tear-streaked face registered the chaos that had plagued her young life.

Zaia’s sniffle shattered the heavy silence, her small voice trembling. “Where’s Mama?” Her wide, confused eyes darted around the office, searching, desperate, as if expecting Ivy to walk through the door at any second. “Is Mama here?”

Becky knelt beside her, tucking a stray curl behind Zaia’s ear, though her hands were shaking. “Sweetheart, we’re looking for her, okay? We’re gonna find her.” She forced a smile, but her voice wavered, betraying the fear she was trying so hard to hide. “She’s gonna be alright.”

Zaia swallowed hard, blinking up at Becky. “And Duchess?” she whispered. “Mama said she’d pick her up from the groomer.”

Becky’s breath caught. She glanced at Seth, whose jaw clenched as he looked away.

Carmelo stepped forward, his expression carefully measured. He had seen this before—too many times. A child clinging to hope that might not exist. “Thank you for bringing her,” he murmured to the couple before crouching down to Zaia’s level, his voice turning soft. “Hey, sweetie. You wanna take a seat? I just wanna ask you a few questions, okay?”

Zaia hesitated before climbing onto the chair, swinging her legs slightly. Carmelo exhaled, steadying himself. “Zaia, do you remember the last time you saw your mama?”

A slow nod. Her bottom lip quivered, and she clutched the hem of her t-shirt. “She took me to Lyra’s house for our slumber party.”

Carmelo nodded. “Okay…Do you remember anything else about that day? Did you see anyone you didn’t know that could have been following you?”

Zaia sniffled again, her voice growing even smaller. “I remember…Roman was with us.”

“Roman? Your neighbor?” Gable prodded gently.

Zaia nodded. “He’s Mama’s boyfriend. He drove us to Lyra’s house.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I like Roman. He’s nice. He buys me toys. But…” Her fingers curled into the fabric of her t-shirt, gripping tight. “He yelled at me.”

Carmelo exchanged a glance with Gable, something unspoken passing between them. A shift. A new crack in the picture. And this one? It felt important.

“He yelled at you? Why did he yell? What happened?” asked Carmelo.

Zaia hesitated, looking down at her shoes. “I was playing my music, but I kept playing the same song over and over. He didn’t like it. He got real mad. Told me to shut it off.” Her eyes filled with tears again, her voice small and unsure. “I didn’t like it. It made me upset.”

Carmelo exchanged a quick glance with Gable. There was something cold about Roman’s behavior. That wasn’t just yelling. That was control.

Hayes knelt in front of Zaia, his voice gentle but stern. “Zaia, I want you to listen to me. No one’s gonna yell at you again, okay?”

Zaia nodded, though the sadness in her eyes was still there. Then, in a voice so small it nearly broke all their hearts, she murmured, “I just want my Mama…and Duchess.” Her lip quivered. “I wanna go home. Can we go home? Maybe they’re back.”

Carmelo stepped forward, placing a hand gently on her small shoulder. “You might be right. Ya know what? I will take you home. Hopefully she’s returned, just like you said. Is that okay?”

Zaia nodded eagerly, hope brimming in her eyes.

Becky looked to Carmelo, uncertainty swimming in hers. “Are you sure? Can you…can you make sure she’s safe?”

Carmelo nodded, his expression hardening. “I’ll make sure. I won’t let anything happen to her. I’ll take Gable with me. If we get there and she hasn’t returned, we’ll bring her right back to yours.” He gave a small, reassuring smile as he crouched beside Zaia. “We’ll bring her back. I promise.”

When Becky and Seth left, Carmelo pulled Gable aside, his jaw set with determination. “We’re checking Ivy’s house again. Top to bottom. Then, Reigns’ place.” His eyes darkened, his voice edged with certainty. “That guy is bullshittin’ us. I can feel it.”

The dark had weight. It pressed against her skin, thick and cloying, seeping into her lungs like smoke. There was no beginning, no end—just the pit, just the silence, just the endless, gnawing void.

She’d stopped counting the hours. Time wasn’t real down here. Only hunger, only cold, only the bruises blooming along her limbs from when he threw her down and locked the world away. She had lost count of the minutes, the silence pressing in on her like a living thing. Roman had thrown her down here like she was nothing, like she was his to punish. And for what? Because she wouldn’t marry him? Because she wouldn’t legitimize his sexual violence?

The whispers began.

At first, they were soft, curling around the edges of her consciousness like a song half-remembered. They spoke in fragments—slippery syllables, broken thoughts.

Then they grew bolder.

They spoke Zaia’s name.

Whispers in the dark, so faint she almost missed it.

She pressed a trembling hand to her ears. No, no, this wasn’t real. Just exhaustion. Fear and loneliness stretching itself thin.

But then—

Zaia…

Her daughter’s name, floating up from the depths, whispered with the same gentle cadence Ivy used when tucking her in at night.

She swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut. This was the trap. This was how the dark got inside you—by making you believe.

But the dark was patient. It slithered into her bones, weaving its way into the fabric of her mind. She felt it shifting in the walls, crawling beneath her skin, threading itself through the marrow of her ribs.

She started muttering to herself, rocking slightly, her voice hoarse and uneven. Zaia. Zaia. Her baby, her anchor. If she said it enough, maybe she wouldn’t lose herself to madness.

Maybe.

The walls whispered—no, breathed—around her. Shapes slithered in the black, shifting in the corners of her vision. Shadows with no bodies. Voices with no mouths.

Then, suddenly—light.

Ivy gasped, her eyes flying open as the trapdoor groaned above, spilling a blinding light into her prison. The sharp contrast burned, sending white-hot pain lancing through her skull. She flinched, but her body barely moved, too weak, too stiff.

And then he was there. A figure in the light, his shadow swallowing her whole. Roman. She blinked, but he didn’t change. He loomed above like an eclipse, food in tow.

Her gaze drifted up to him, unfocused. Wide, hollow eyes stared at something only she could see. The ghosts that had kept her company in the pitch darkness.

She flinched when he reached for her, but didn’t resist as he dragged her out of the pit, her limbs limp and useless. The world tilted, and suddenly she was back on the mattress. A flash of panic engulfed her, praying he wouldn’t touch her this time.

Roman remained silent, choosing to stand there quietly and observe her, jaw clenched as he set the tray of food between them. “You should eat.”

Ivy said nothing, merely drew her knees to her chest and slowly rocked herself back and forth.

Roman dipped a piece of bread into the thick bowl of soup, swirling it around. “So…have you had time to think about my proposal?” he said.

She tilted her head at him. Slow. Mechanical. Then—

A sharp, breathless laugh.

Roman’s expression hardened. “Ivy?”

She didn’t answer. Just lifted a hand, her index finger tracing something unseen in the air.

“The walls are breathing,” she murmured. “Did you notice?”

A pause. Then, softly,

“They don’t like you.”

His eyes narrowed. Suspicion. “What are you doing?”

“Listening to the voices, silly.” Ivy shifted, her body folding in on itself, arms wrapped tight like she was holding herself together. “They don’t like me either, but you? Ooh, they hate your guts, homie.”

Silence.

She let it stretch. Let it coil between them like a living thing. Then, she shivered, rubbing her arms, fingers twitching like she could feel something crawling beneath her skin.

“They move in the dark,” she whispered. “I hear them when I’m sleep. You shouldn’t have put me in there, Roman. Now I’ll never be free of them.”

Roman exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. Frustration. But underneath it—hesitation.

He chose not to feed her this time, leaving her and walking out of the basement to fend for herself.

By evening time, she was singing.

Soft melodies, eerie and wordless, weaving through the dark, cold basement like something ancient, something wrong. Sometimes she hummed lullabies, sometimes she whispered nonsense, with Zaia’s name woven between.

Roman ignored her, continued his routine with her, seemingly unfazed.

The next day, she was clawing at the walls, nails dragging slow, deliberate lines through the concrete ground.

Roman watched her, the concern starting to emerge, lining his sharp features.

She gasped—sharp, wild—and her eyes locked onto his with something close to delight.

“They’re in the walls,” she whispered, pointing. “I feel them.”

His breath hitched. Just for a second.

Her grin was wide and content.

Later that night, when he showed up to violate her, Ivy was laid in the fetal position, her back to him.

Roman sighed heavily and stood over her. “Ivy! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Rolling into a seated position, she blinked up at him.

Then, out of nowhere, she sobbed.

Guttural. Anguished.

Loud.

She collapsed against him.

Fingers clutching his shirt, burying her face against his chest, body trembling like something fragile, something broken.

“I can’t,” she whispered, her soft voice fractured, splintered at the edges. “I can’t…they won’t let me sleep…I can’t—I can’t—”

She looked up at him, tear-streaked eyes wide, pleading. “Please stay with me. Please, baby. Just for one night. Stay with me. Don’t leave me alone again.”

Visibly taken aback, his hands hovered. Then, slowly—hesitantly—he gripped her shoulders. Just for a moment.

“Try to get some sleep,” he muttered. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Another morning, another sign that Ivy was having a breakdown.

This time, when Roman appeared in the basement, there was utter silence from her. Not a word, not a sound. Just her, lying on the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Roman set the tray of food down carefully, the way someone might lay an offering before an altar. A steaming bowl of chicken soup.

Ivy didn’t move. She just stared.

Roman sighed, raking a hand through his long hair. There was something else in his eyes today; something softer, vulnerable.

“You must be hungry.”

Again. Silence. Then, her breath caught, her lips parting.

“You threw me in that pit like I was nothing.”

Roman didn’t respond.

Ivy let out another shuddering exhale. Her fingers curled inward, like she was afraid to touch the bowl, like she thought it would vanish.

Her voice broke. “You hate me, don’t you?”

A flicker in his eyes. Guilt? “You know that’s not true,” he murmured.

Ivy let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Liar.”

Her fingers skimmed the edge of the tray, staring at it as though deep in thought.

“Roman…” Her voice was smaller now, softer. Frightened. “I…” Her throat tightened, and then she laughed again. Quiet. Fractured. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

She watched the way his shoulders tensed, the way his eyes searched hers.

“You need to eat,” he said.

Ivy looked away, as if she couldn’t bear the sight of him.

Settling down quietly beside her, Roman’s hands rested on his thighs as he studied her for a long moment. “I’m sorry I put you in there,” he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of disheveled hair behind her ear. “I did it because I love you, Ivy. I just needed you to understand, to see sense.”

She exhaled shakily, allowing herself to tremble under his touch. “I was scared…at first,” she whispered, eyes welling with tears as she leaned closer to him. “But now that I’ve had time to think, I—maybe I understand now.”

His gaze darkened, but the doubt still lingered in his eyes. He felt her breath against his lips before she kissed him—slowly, hungrily. He felt her melt into him, felt her surrender, her fingers cupping his jaw to hold him close as their mouths moved together. And for a moment, just a moment, all felt right with the world again.

Then, she pulled away. Just a fraction. Just enough to whisper, “I think I’m hungry now.”

Roman nodded, placing the tray in her lap. The steam curled up between them as she wrapped her fingers around the warm ceramic bowl. She lifted it toward her lips, breathing in the rich scent.

Then, in one swift motion, she hurled the scalding soup into his face.

Roman roared, staggering back, hands flying to his burning skin. She didn’t hesitate—she smashed the bowl against his head, the ceramic shattering on impact. It knocked him off the mattress with a groan, dazed. He was still moving, still too strong, so she grabbed the tray and swung it with all the strength she had left.

The metal cracked against his skull.

He went down. Collapsed like a rag doll. His huge body going stock-still.

For a horrifying second, Ivy just stared at his unmoving body, chest heaving. Then survival instincts kicked in. She dropped to her knees, hands shaking as she frantically searched his pockets. He always kept the keys on him—she had watched him, studied him, memorized the little habits that he thought went unnoticed.

Her fingers found the cool metal. Heard the faint jangle.

Yes!

She limped towards the basement door as fast as her bare feet could carry her, forcing the key into the lock with clumsy, trembling hands. The mechanism clicked, and she wrenched it open, stumbling up the stairs. Her bare feet barely registered the pain as she reached the second door, fumbling with the lock.

“Come on,” she breathed, turning the key desperately.

The lock gave.

She shoved the door open and sprinted out of the basement, breathing in the air of his home. She knew she wasn’t safe yet. Not until she had Duchess.

Duchess.

Panic seized her chest. Where could she be?

Almost on cue, a faint whimper reached her ears, and she turned toward the sound, dread curling in her stomach.

The laundry room.

She ran, bursting into the small space and nearly sobbing when she saw the kennel tucked in the corner. Duchess was inside, her tiny body unnaturally still, a muzzle strapped around her snout to silence her cries. But the second she laid eyes on Ivy, the whimpering turned frantic.

“I’m here,” Ivy gasped, falling to her knees and wrestling with the latch. “I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you.”

The moment the latch opened, Duchess tumbled into her arms, barely able to stand on her own. Quickly relieving the puppy of the muzzle, Ivy cradled her close, pressing kisses to the soft fur on her head.

“I’m getting us out of here,” she swore, holding Duchess protectively as she staggered toward the front door, her heart hammering.

The police cruiser sped down the quiet street, its tires humming against the asphalt. In the back seat, Zaia pressed her small hands against the window, wide eyes scanning the darkness, hoping—praying—to see her mother. Every shadow, every movement made her heart lurch.

In the front, Carmelo’s phone vibrated against the dashboard. Without missing a beat, Gable snatched it up, glancing at the screen.

"FaceTime," Gable muttered. "The number’s from Florida."

Carmelo frowned. "Answer it."

Gable swiped the screen, and the call connected. A sharp-jawed man with piercing blue eyes appeared on the display.

"Officer Hayes?" His tone was clipped, urgent, with an edge to it. "I’m Detective Cody Rhodes from Orlando PD. You don’t know me, but I know what’s been happening in your town."

Carmelo tightened his grip on the wheel. "The hell is this about?"

Cody exhaled sharply. "I need your help. I’ve been tracking a man—Mateo Hobbs—for over a year now. He’s responsible for multiple murders and disappearances down south. And I just found out he's in your neck of the woods, Hartford."

Gable shot a glance at Carmelo. "Never heard of him."

"You have," Cody corrected. He angled his phone, showing a grainy photo of a man with long, dark hair, piercing eyes, and a sharp, calculating expression. "You know him as Roman Reigns."

The car went dead silent.

From the back seat, Zaia let out a small gasp. "Officer, that’s Roman!"

A chill slithered down Carmelo’s spine. He felt his pulse hammer in his throat as he exchanged a look with Gable.

"Son of a bitch," Gable gaped. “It is Reigns!”

Cody continued, his voice edged with urgency. "Me and my partner, Lieutenant Cargill, just landed in Hartford. You’re gonna need backup before you move in on him. He’s dangerous as hell, and if the woman you’re looking for was taken by him, she’s in immediate danger."

Carmelo’s jaw locked. There was no doubt in his mind now—Roman had everything to do with Ivy’s disappearance. Maybe Gemini’s, too.

"We’re headed there already," he said firmly. "There’s no time to waste. We’ll send you the location. Meet us there."

“Wait! Hayes, don’t—”

Gable hung up abruptly, and Carmelo slammed his foot on the gas. The cruiser lurched forward, sirens off, the tires screeching as the cop’s mind raced. It was more and more evident that they were about to step into the heart of something far darker than they’d imagined.

As they reached Roman’s house, Carmelo slowed the car, his mind sharpening into focus. He looked over his shoulder at Zaia, who was still staring out the window.

“Zaia, stay in the car, okay? Don’t move unless I tell you to,” Carmelo said gently, his voice full of a calm he didn’t feel.

Zaia nodded, though the fear in her eyes was unmistakable.

Gable was already out of the car, his gun drawn, his movements sharp and precise. Carmelo followed suit, every muscle in his body taut with readiness. The air simmered with tension as they moved toward the house. They weren’t just confronting some local thug. For all intents and purposes, they were dealing with a predator.

As they neared his front yard, the door swung open.

Ivy staggered out, clutching Duchess tightly to her chest. She looked ragged, her hair disheveled, her face drawn and bruised, eyes wild with desperation. Her breath expelled in short, frantic gasps as her eyes darted wildly around the street.

Then she saw Hayes and Gable.

But even more importantly, across the street, inside the police cruiser, was her daughter.

Her baby.

Her little face, pressed against the window, wide-eyed and terrified, her tiny hands splayed against the glass.

"Zaia?!" Ivy screamed, her voice ripping from her throat like it was torn from her very soul. "Baby!"

Zaia’s eyes snapped to her, her face lighting up with unbridled excitement. Without thinking, she fumbled with the door handle, trying to push it open.

“Mama!”

Carmelo’s heart slammed in his chest. “Zaia! Wait!”

Zaia bolted out of the back seat, running toward her mother. "Mama!"

Desperation surged through Ivy like a tidal wave. Her feet stumbled forward, every instinct in her body commanding her to run. To reach her baby. To wrap her arms around her and never let go.

"Zaia, no!" Carmelo lunged forward, grabbing her just in time.

At the same time, Gable rushed toward Ivy and Duchess. "Come on, we got you—"

A gunshot split the air.

A sickening crack rang out as the bullet ripped through Gable’s skull. Blood and brain matter splattered the green grass below. His body went limp, crumpling on Roman’s front lawn.

Ivy let out a piercing scream.

Behind her, Roman stood, gun raised, eyes wild. The side of his head was dripping with blood from where Ivy had struck him, but he didn’t seem to care. His breath was ragged, unhinged. He looked deranged.

Carmelo’s stomach dropped.

"Fuck," he hissed, yanking Zaia against him, shielding her small frame with his body.

Roman didn’t hesitate. He fired again, bullet after bullet.

Carmelo ducked, his arms tightening around Zaia as he carried her behind the police car. "Shots fired, officer down!" he roared into his radio. "We need backup now!"

"Zaia!" Ivy barely had time to take a step forward before Roman’s huge bicep wrapped around her throat, constricting her airflow. She fought against his grip, kicking, gasping for air. But Roman didn’t let go. He yanked her back across his yard, ignoring the pain of her fingers desperately clawing at his grip.

“Mama!” a despondent Zaia wailed, struggling in Carmelo’s arms. “Let me go, I have to help her! Mamaaaa!”

In all of the chaos, Ivy managed one final act of defiance—she released Duchess. The injured puppy stumbled to the ground, whimpering as she limped down the yard, across the street, moving toward Zaia before collapsing into the little girl’s lap.

“Get your ass inside! Now!” Roman’s voice was wild, manic. He dragged Ivy through the door, slamming it behind him with a force that rattled the house. Inside, he shoved her to the floor of the foyer. She hit the ground hard, her body numbing with shock.

“You fucking monster,” she spat, “you psycho!”

Roman wiped the blood from his face, breathing heavily, his countenance even more unstable. He spun around and trudged through his house, bolting every possible entryway, locking it all down and sealing them inside, as if preparing for a siege.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted you," he muttered when he was finished, shaking his head. "Well played, baby girl. Well played."

Ivy stared up at him in horror as he stepped back, chest rising and falling erratically. Then he gave a slow, twisted smile.

The next words he uttered sent Ivy’s heart plummeting into the abyss.

"Fine," he said, his voice was a deranged whisper. "Ya know what? Fuck it. I’ll push the ‘wedding’ forward. We’re getting married right now."

2 chapters to go.

Your comments and reblogs are so much appreciated! Please keep your Asks coming, we’re loving all the theories!

Please remember that this is FICTION and nothing more. Thank you so much for understanding!

🏷️: @harmshake @cyberdejos2 @thesamoanqueen @vebner37 @thewarlordsworld

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#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns imagine #the boy next door #roman reigns x black oc

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ayumigotabittoolonely · 3 days ago

Text

He probably hates me x I love her so much

(part 3)

(teen nanami x teen reader fluff!)

Part 3 - the mission mishap

Previous part - the bakery incident

Last part -The confession that wasn't supposed to happen!

Nanami Kento liked order. He liked logic. He liked things that made sense.

You, unfortunately, made no sense at all.

Which was exactly why he was currently pacing outside the infirmary, jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides.

He told you not to rush in. He told you to wait. He told you to stick to the plan. But did you listen? No. Instead, you threw yourself into danger like you had something to prove, and now you were lying inside with a freshly bandaged wound while Shoko sighed over your recklessness.

And worst of all? You probably thought he was mad at you.

Which okay, fine. Maybe he was. But not in the way you assumed.

He wasn’t mad because you were reckless. He wasn’t mad because you messed up. He was mad because for one agonizing moment, he thought he was going to lose you.

And that? That was unacceptable.

The door creaked open, and you stepped out, rubbing your arm sheepishly. "Hey."

Nanami whirled around so fast you swore you saw his tie swing.

",you are an idiot."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"A reckless, thoughtless idiot," he continued, voice low but sharp. "Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if I hadn’t-" He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Never mind. It doesn’t matter."

Your stomach twisted. You had been expecting some kind of lecture, but this? This was different.

"Nanami, I—"

"Just don’t do it again." His voice was quieter now, almost strained. "Please."

That made you pause.

You looked at him carefully the way his shoulders were tense, the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his brows were furrowed not in anger, but in something closer to… worry?

And suddenly, a thought crept in.

Maybe… maybe he didn’t hate you.

Maybe he cared

Two Hours Earlier

"Okay, seriously, what is with you?"

You wiped a cut on your cheek, frowning at Haibara as he walked beside you through the forest. The mission was done, the curse exorcised, and you were mostly fine. So why was Haibara grinning like he had just found out your most embarrassing secret?

"What?" you huffed.

Haibara snickered. "You really don’t get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

He whistled. "Man, you’re so lucky Nanami isn’t here right now. He’d be dying of secondhand embarrassment."

You crossed your arms, glaring. "Haibara, I swear—"

"He totally freaked out when you got hurt," Haibara said, cutting you off. "Like, full-on Nanami meltdown. It was kind of impressive, honestly."

You faltered. "What?"

"He carried you straight to Shoko the second you were down. Didn't even let the curse fully disappear first." Haibara leaned in conspiratorially. "And when Yaga asked what happened, he said ‘It was my fault. I should’ve protected her better.’ Like, dude that’s some next-level guilt for a guy who claims he doesn’t care."

Your breath hitched.

You remembered bits and pieces the rush of adrenaline, the sharp pain in your side, the feeling of someone’s arms around you before everything faded to black. But you had assumed it was just instinct. That Nanami would have done the same for anyone.

Right?

Haibara must have seen the confusion on your face because he rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. You really think he’d react like that if you were just another classmate?"

You opened your mouth to argue but no words came out.

Because, deep down, you already knew the answer.

Present

Nanami was still standing there, staring at the ground like he was this close to losing his mind.

You took a slow step forward. Then another.

"Nanami," you said carefully.

He stiffened. "What?"

You swallowed. "Why do you care so much?"

His head snapped up, eyes widening just slightly. He opened his mouth, hesitated then clenched his jaw. "Because you were reckless."

"That’s not an answer."

Nanami’s fingers twitched. His lips parted like he was about to say something something important. Something real.

But instead, he just shook his head. "Just be more careful next time," he muttered, turning away. "Please."

And then he walked off, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding in your ears.

You should have felt relieved. Happy, even. But instead, there was a different feeling creeping in.

Because Nanami Kento was lying.

And you were going to figure out why.

@cheriiepies @erenspersonalwh0re

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asdfghjklartblog · 21 hours ago

Text

My Time

Trans masc reader x yandere batfam

I’ve been getting into vocaloid songs, or like songs that use Teto and Miku’s voices. Anyways since I used to be really into Miku I wanted to use that cause well… What kind of person doesn’t love Miku?

I hope you guys like it. I think there’s some spelling mistakes or typos and if there is, sorry :P but otherwise I don’t got much to say! Good reading! It’s about 5.8k words! Yay!

Your mother, m/n was a beautiful woman. Strong, charming, and stubborn, at least that’s what your daddy said. And you might not remember mommy, but you trust daddy. He says that mommy loved you, that she loved you so much, but that she couldn’t come back. You didn’t really understand, not at the time. I mean how could a two-year-old grapple with the concept of death? However, even though your mom left, you weren’t lonely, you had daddy. Daddy wasn’t your real father, no, but he’s the one that’s been loving you and taking care of you. He’s the one that told you stories when you went to bed, tucked you in and kissed you good night. He held you when you were scared, cuddled you when you wanted love. He was everything you could ever want, he promised to stay with you till you got sick of him. He promised he’d be there for you no matter what.

You woke up for your first day of preschool, and when you go to look at your little froggy clock you saw that it was already 9 in the morning. You ran over to your daddy’s room excitedly chattering about how you were going to be late because of him which makes you giggle, because usually daddy would chastise and tease you about making them late. You open the door to find him still, there’s stab wounds all over his chest and dried blood all over the bed, his eyes are dull and lifeless and there’s bruises at his neck and wrists.

You shiver as a breeze comes through the open window. You stand there for a while, confused on what to do. There’s this bad feeling in your stomach but despite that you slowly approach the bed. You poke your dad and try to wake him up, you notice that he’s cold, daddy’s never cold. He’s always warm and comforting and perfect for cuddles. You start crying, not really knowing why. You climb up on the bed and curl up beside him. The sheets are crusty with blood and it feels all gross and but that doesn’t really matter to you right now. You just want to stay here with daddy.

You don’t know how long you’re there but at some point daddy’s phone rings. You stare at it, frozen in place before you climb down from the bed and go over to it. You pick up the phone and a woman says. “Hello! This is Thierry Preschool, we were wondering if your child y/n was still coming? It’s been about two hours since it started and we were just checking.”

You don’t know what to say to her. You fidget a bit before mumbling. “H-Hello. Daddy can’t come to the phone right now. Um. I’m scared. Daddy isn’t moving and there’s blood all over? That’s bad, right? Daddy’s cold and everything and -and I don’t know what to do!”

You start sniffling, on the verge of crying again as the person on the other line stays silent. She then gently and calmly says. “Honey, it’s going to be okay. Can you tell me where you live honey? Calm down and watch some TV or read a book, okay honey? Can you do that for me? Can you be strong for me?”

You sniffle and nod trying to get out a choked up “Yeah.” From your throat. You try your best to mumble out an address as she coos about how good of a job you’re doing and how she needs you to stay calm. Before she hangs up, she tells you that some nice men will come to pick you up and that you have to be good for them. You nod and mumble an okay. You go back to curl up against your daddy, you bury your face into his chest and whisper to him.

“People are coming. It’s okay daddy. We’ll be okay. I love you. You’ll wake up soon right? Please? I’ll be a good girl daddy I promise.”

The nice men come and they look at you and daddy with… An expression you’ve never seen before. It makes you feel worse. They try to tear you away from him but you hold onto daddy with a death grip while you scream and shout as they try to convince you to let go. You’re scared. You don’t wanna let him go. They eventually pry you away from him as you wail and try your best to wriggle out of their hold. After that, it’s a bit of a blur. You were wrangled into a police car as one of them sat in the backseat with you trying to calm you down.

You look out the window, watching as the officer drives through the streets, going through traffic. You’re escorted into a building and taken into a room where a police officer try to question you gently. However the next thing you know everything gets blurry, it’s hard to breathe and it feels like your insides are spiky. When you can breathe again some man with a scruffy face and blocky glasses is holding you close to his chest saying things like. “It’s okay, you’re alright.” And “Breathe, breathe for me.” You calm down, not because of his words, but because he looks a bit like dad. His scruffy face, his gentle smile, his dark green eyes. It makes you bury your face into the man’s chest and whisper out a small broken. “Don’t leave me.”

The next thing you can remember was the man carrying you around like a baby, mostly because even after the weird “panic attack” or whatever the police officer called it, you wouldn’t let go of him. Which made the man holding you look at you sadly. He gives in and instead of forcing you to let go and go back to doing work, he starts showing you all kinds of things, giving you a tour around the police station. You learn from one of the men that the guy holding you is named Commissioner Gordon. Weird name. It sounds kinda cool though.

Once you’ve fully calmed down he carries you over to where a nurse is and he distracts you by talking about dinosaurs which you excitedly listen to while they draw some blood to see if you’re healthy and to notify any blood relatives. Commie says you’re being a very good girl and that they’ll have results in less than an hour, he also asks if you’re hungry which you nod enthusiastically to. He then leaves to get you some chips and a donut from the break room. You’re about to start chowing down before Commie asks. “Hold on there kid, isn’t there something you need to say before eating?”

You stand there staring at him and then make an ‘Oh!’ face and say. “Thanks Commie!”

You don’t notice but as you start eating the donut that a couple of the police officers laugh while Commie cracks a smile and then huffs before saying. “Kid, Commissioner isn’t my first name. It’s Jim.”

You then absentmindedly say as you take another bite of the donut. “Oh. Okay Jimmy.”

One of the guards starts laughing again and this time even Jimmy chuckles. However someone comes in and whispers to Jimmy and he then turns back to the person as they whisper to each other. Another officer takes it upon himself to distract and picks you up before throwing you up into the air and catching you. Making you giggle and ask for more. Jimmy approaches again and he subtly asks the officer distracting you to put you down. Jimmy takes a knee looking at you at eye level and hesitates before saying. “We… Found some people you’re… Related to. We called them up and asked if they’d take you in, and he said yes. Do you know Bruce Wayne? He’s your daddy-“

You immediately interrupt him saying. “But I already have a daddy. I don’t need another one-“

Jimmy interrupts you trying to gently say. “I’m sorry. But.. Your daddy… He can’t take care of you anymore-“

“What do you mean? Why? Can’t you help him? I’ve been waiting and being a good girl! Does daddy not want me anymore?”

“Honey-“

“No! I’ve been good! Daddy said he’d stay with me! He promised, h-he-“

Jimmy interrupts with a firm call of your name which makes you stop. He puts a hand on your shoulder and brings you into a hug as he gently says to you. “I’m sorry. He’s gone.” As those words tumble out of his mouth you tear up again and you raise your arms to cling on to him for dear life. You bawl and hiccup and he’s there to take all of your anger, your sadness until you’ve calmed down again. He pulls away from you and tries to talk to you, but you’re tired. You’re sad, you don’t have the energy to talk. He sighs and then holds your hand and guides you to a bench, he pats your head and says. “How about you wait here? Since your room is not exactly under investigation I could maybe swipe some things for you? Do you have a favorite toy or picture I can get for you?”

You wait trying to think about what you would want from your room. You think of your little stuffed owl that daddy named Oliver and your stuffed cat you named Oliver 2. You want the picture on your nightstand of you, mommy and daddy. You want the special night light daddy made for you. You want your dinosaur pjs daddy got for your birthday, you try your best to relay this Jimmy but all that comes out are little mumbles and whimpers.

He sighs and says with a small smile. “Tell ya what kid, when you go stay with da- Bruce. Why don’t you have him send an email or make him call us about what you want from home. And I’ll get those things for you. How does that sound kid?”

You look up at him, slowly and you hesitantly nod. He ruffles your head and with a smile and says. “‘Atta girl!”

Which makes you smile a bit before your face going blank. He sighs at that and says. “Someone’ll be here to pick you up shortly. And-“

You hear someone running and turn to look where it’s coming from. You see some guy comes running and stops in front of you. He heaves as he holds something familiar under his arm. After he catches his breath he smiles at you before handing you the thing under his arm. A stuffed owl which you immediately recognize as Oliver. He winks at you and then crouches down to your height as he says.

“Hey kid, my name’s Ethan Bennett. Man, you are like a carbon copy of Bruce. Well, except for your eyes, yours are e/c and a lot softer. Shit, where do I even start. Uh, Oh! I’m your uncle, well, not your actual uncle but like, you can consider me as one. I’m a detective under Commissioner Gordon. I’m also your dad’s best friend, I’m not the one here to pick you up, I’m actually still on the clock but uh. This guy,” He says as he holds up Oliver with a smug smile. “Said that he needed to get to you. So I did him a favor. Just… Don’t tell anyone.”

You take Oliver from his hand and while Jimmy and Uncle Bennett argue you start to tear up again. You hug Oliver tight burying your face in his soft downy chest. Then looking up at Uncle Bennett, you quietly say. “Thank you.” Which he pauses the argument for, before smiling down at you. “You’re welcome, kid. Say how about I wait with you huh? I could show you pictures of your daddy-“

You immediately interrupt. “Not my daddy.”

Ethan looks a bit confused at that, and looks to Jimmy for an explanation. Jimmy shrugs and motions for Uncle Bennett to continue. “Should I call him your dad?”

You nod, confirming that dad is an acceptable choice of words. He chuckles and then continues. “How about I show you pictures of him. So we can.. Condition you to him like a cat.”

You see Jimmy smack Uncle Bennett’s bald head which makes you giggle as Uncle tries to defend himself saying. “What? It’s true! I mean, he’s a big guy, he’s probably gonna scare her. I mean unless you know him, he looks pretty scary. And look at her.”

Uncle says as he gestures to you with both hands. “She’s barely what 4? 5? She looks like a sad wet kitten, Bruce looks like that evil grey bird that looks like it eats puppies compared to her.”

You tilt your head at that. There’s an evil bird? Your father looks like a bird? What does that mean? Your uncle is weird maybe you can get a different one. Jimmy seems like he’d be a good uncle.

They start arguing again and you go back to sit on the bench as they argued. You hold Oliver tightly in your hands and wait, you see them stop arguing with both of them leaving you to wait alone. Or at least that’s what you thought would happen. Until uncle Bennett comes back with some files in hand and some markers and pencils in the other. He sits next to you and says. “Well, I couldn’t get out of work early, but he never said I couldn’t work while I waited with you.”

You smile at him and scooch closer to him as he chuckles. And so the two of you wait. And wait. And wait some more. By 5 you then see an man that looks kinda like a butler being escorted by an officer. You tug on uncle Bennet’s dress shirt before asking. “What do you think he’s in for?”

He looks at you confused before looking up, you see his eyes widen and he starts to burst into laughter. Both the officer and fancy man look confused, and well, so are you.

Your eyes meet with the fancy man’s and his eyes widen and his pupils shrink in shock. He then schools his expression and looks at you with a smile, you shift in your seat feeling a bit uncomfortable with the look in his eyes. The fancy man walks up to you and crouches to your level, he then gently says to you.

“Hello. You must be y/n. My name is Alfred Pennyworth, I’m the butler for the Wayne family. I apologize but your father is not able to pick you up since-“

“What? Alfred what do you mean-“

Then Alfred and uncle Bennett starts talking and kinda arguing. You couldn’t care less though, you have Oliver now! You smile and nuzzle into Oliver’s fluffy chest and then squeeze the little speaker in its wing which plays a recording of your daddy humming his lullaby and then saying. “I love you my little Bubo.” You hold it closer and whisper into its fur. “I love you too daddy.” You hear uncle Bennett’s and Alfred’s argument start to quiet down and you catch uncle saying.

“-how he treats his other kid? Look, even if there was an emergency-“

Alfred sighs as he replies. “No, he does not treat master Dick like this, look. I’m not going to make excuses for him. Master Bruce had his phone on silent for a meeting and so he wasn’t able to answer, then there was Penguin who tried to steal some kind of tech there and you know how they have to follow protocol and whatnot-“

You sigh and look up at Alfred while tugging at his pant leg. They both look down at you and you just ask. “I’m tired. And hungry. I wanna go home. Can you take me home?”

They both look at each other nervously and Alfred takes a breath and says. “I apologize Miss y/n. But, you cannot go home. I understand this is hard for you, and you don’t understand what’s going on. But I, your father and your brother will take care of you. You have my word.”

You want to argue, you wanna fight and yell and say the bad words that your daddy says by accident sometimes. But you’re so small, well, at least you feel small. You’ve never felt this small, well you have, but daddy was there to hug and comfort you. As you look at Alfred, you wish something, anything would just leave your math. Instead all you can say is. “Okay. But I want warm honeyed milk and a bed time story.”

Alfred chuckles at that and nods. You don’t understand why is he laughing, You are completely serious, if you do not have your drink you will throw a tantrum. It’s the least this mysterious man can do after saying that. Alfred, then follows Ethan to go get the paperwork to take you out of the police station and to claim legal rights over you. Meanwhile you tell Oliver about your day, about the scary things that happened. You look at Oliver’s beady eyes and whisper. “I hope my dad likes me. Daddy says I’m a good girl so they’ll like me, I know they will. And even if they don’t, daddy says that some people are just stupid and dumb and don’t deserve to be your friends.”

Alfred comes back with a thick folder of paperwork which you frown at, you don’t like paper. It makes the people you like busy, specifically daddy. You hate when daddy has paperwork. You then look up to Alfred and tug on his pant leg as you whisper up to him. “Do you hate paperwork too?”

He raises an eyebrow at you with a little smile on his face, he takes your hand and starts to lead you out of the police station as you two start to converse. You talk to him about anything that comes to mind. From what you think of paperwork to which Hercules beetle you love the most, to how you peed your pants at the aquarium while you were out in the play area. Alfred had to contain his laughter as you described all of the kids started crying, including you. Finally you arrive at this big building and you look up at it in awe, you then look around at the courtyard and the scary but pretty style of the building. You look up to Alfred and say. “This is like, a bajillion times bigger than my home!”

Before Alfred can stop you, you start running off to the front door giggling and squealing as Alfred tries to catch you. After a few minutes of expertly dodging and wiggling out of his hold like some slippery snake. He catches you and then throws you under his arm which you make a little ‘oof’ sound at.

Alfred then takes you through the foyer and after going through some hallways, which you don’t keep track of, you get to the kitchen. He sits you down at a stool by the kitchen island and says. “Don’t go running off miss y/n we wouldn’t want you to get lost after all.” You sigh and then nod before you stretch and yawn.

Someone comes into the kitchen and says. “Hello Alfred, who’s the kid?” You look at the person talking and see a guy that looks around Alfred’s age and a some teenager following behind him. You try to get off from the stool, now bored out of your mind as Alfred talks to the other man while the teen notices you and goes over to help. He takes you off the stool and says. “What’s your name?”

You look at him dead in the eyes and then slap his thigh and say. “Tag!” You start booking it as you giggle, your game of tag now in session. The teen looks at you with wide eyes and starts to chase after you. Realizing that it was a mistake putting you on the ground. You go into a room and find that it’s a bedroom, you giggle as you put a pillow under the covers to trick the boy and then get under the bed.

He comes rushing in saying. “Hey, this isn’t funny. Come on, if you come out I’ll… uh, get Alfred to make you cookies? I don’t know. Uh, just come out. I’d rather not have Mr. Wayne or my dad scold me about letting some kid loose in the manor.”

He then sees the trap you laid out for him and as soon as he gets close to the bed you shoot your hands out to grab at his ankles, which makes him scream like a girl and practically jump away like some spider or grasshopper. You start giggling maniacally as he falls on to his butt. You then come out from under the bed as you say. “I got you!” In a sing songy voice as you sit next to him. The teen sighs and stands up, he dusts himself off and says. “Yeah you got-“ and then ambushes you by picking you up from your armpits and says. “Hah! In your face!”

You giggle some more as you whine “No” trying to wiggle out of the teen’s hold. After you calm down you look up at him and ask. “Hi! What’s your name?”

He replies with a small smirk saying. “I’m Luke Fox. And you? What’s your name you little rascal?”

You grin widely, like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland and say. “Y/n! And my last name is l/n! Nice to meet you!”

He smiles back and then holds you to his chest and starts to walk back to the kitchen as he says. “So… Bruce Wayne’s kid huh? I can tell. You look a lot like him. A lot smaller and cuter, but still.”

Your mischievous smile disappears and you instead, bury your face into his chest as you reply. “Yeah. Uncle Bennett said that too. I don’t care, I just want my daddy back.”

Luke looks at you a bit confused and then you explain to him what happened today. All the way from the moment you woke up to just right now. At some point during your retelling of the accounts of today, he stops walking leaving you two just standing in the middle of some hallway. After you finished he looks at you with the same expression those police officers that found you had, the same sad expression that Jimmy and Uncle tried to hide as well. You don’t like how it feels to be looked at like this. It makes your chest kinda heavy and your stomach weird. Luke holds you closer, staying silent for a bit before saying. “My mom makes me this really bomb ass hot cho- Shit I said a- Dammit! Fuck!”

When Luke groans at himself for cussing in front of a literal child you start to giggle. You smile and then tap his shoulder before whispering into his ear. “Daddy swears a lot too. Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Pinky swear!” As she raises her hand and pinky so they can swear on it together.

He chuckles and pinky swears with you, not long after you two enter the kitchen, with you still in his arms. You see that neither the man or Alfred noticed you or Luke were gone. You couldn’t care less however. At least you made your first friend. You then see someone else some into the kitchen, he’s tall and… Wow. He really does look like you. You wriggle in Luke’s arms, telling him to let you down. Meanwhile Bruce, the person people keep talking about, your supposed father, walks past you and Luke. His focus is on Alfred and Luke’s dad, Luke finally lets you down after teasing you a bit more and you slowly walk over to Bruce. You stare at his face as he talks to the other two men, he had the same spiky eyebrows as you. You’ve never seen someone with the same eyebrows as you.

You shift nervously before patting your clothes and hair down before tugging on his pant leg. You look up at him with a small hopeful smile. Bruce looks down at you and his eyes widen impossibly before he schools his face before giving you a smile, he opens his mouth to say something but you interrupt. “Hello! I am y/n l/n. We look alike! I like your eyes. They look like how mint tastes. Why are you so big? Will I get that big? Do you think I’ll be taller than you?”

He looks at you strangely, a bit surprised and a bit… Something else? Whatever it is it makes you kinda feel bad and you don’t like that. You fidget as he turns his attention towards Luke’s dad and Alfred. Talking about something else again. You look back at Luke and he looks a bit confused and slightly agitated, he then fixes his face and smiles at you before walking over and saying. “He’s probably just tired or something. How about I make something for you? Sandwich maybe?”

You nod and follow him to the fridge as you look through everything. He shows you some some sandwich ingredients taking the time to show you each one and answering your questions about it. He then makes the sandwich for you, although he’s slightly cringing as you bite into your “abomination sandwich”. Which is what he called your delicious sandwich, and is definitely NOT an abomination. You’re eating at the little island on the stool that’s as big as you and you see another kid walk in. He has black hair and pretty blue eyes, you wave hi and he looks at you confused and a bit judgmental. The kid then asks you. “Who are you?”

You answer back. “Y/n. What’s your name?”

“None of your business.” He replies in a snarky tone.

You look at him, surprised and then glare at him, before you can snap back Luke says. “That’s Dick. He’s gonna be your brother. Kinda. Also, come on Dick. Be nicer.”

Dick huffs and and grumbles “Fine.” before he goes over to the fridge to look through it. He gasp, offended by something. He then glares at you and asks. “Did you finish all the prosciutto? I was gonna have that as a snack, I was saving it for a good day!”

Before Luke can apologize for you, you look at Dick and say. “Well maybe you should’ve had a note on it or something! This is my first day here! I don’t know you people!”

Dick looks you up and down and then marches up to where you’re sitting and nabs half of your sandwich and takes a bite, it only takes a moment before he’s sputtering and coughing because of the overly salty and spicy sandwich. You look on with both anger and slight satisfaction, angry he stole your sandwich and satisfied that he’s in pain. Luke tries to hide a smile as he turns away and hides his trembling mouth with his hand.

The adults then turn to look at you three, wondering what the commotion is. Alfred sighs and goes over to try and calm down Dick while Bruce looks at you disapprovingly. You look at Bruce, offended and stick your tongue and blow a raspberry at him before going back to your sandwich, tearing into the sandwich like you were a hyena and the sandwich was your carcass. Luke chuckles at that before saying. “Come on, don’t be mean. He’s only had Dick for what? Less than a month?”

You look at Luke with appalled face and say. “He isn’t even a real dad?!”

Bruce sighs as he looks down and asks Alfred. “So? What’s the situation with her? And have you-“

You can see Luke looks at Bruce with a weird face, something like a cross of disappointment and disgust before turning to you, and using his body to cover your view of almost everyone in the room. He then says. “Hey, how about we go to the living room? I’ll take you there. We could watch a movie or something? Oh, my dad showed me this movie called Totoro. Or something, you look like you’d live it! Let’s see if I can-“

He starts talking idly, as if to fill in space. When your finished with your sandwich he takes you off the chair and hurriedly walks you out of the kitchen and into the living room. He has you sit close to him so you two could watch it on his phone. You barely get through the first half before his dad comes over to say. “Come on, Luke. It’s time for us to go.” Luke tries to ask for a bit more time. He nudges your shoulder and whispers. “Hey, do some puppy eyes come on.”

What the hell are puppy eyes, you think to yourself before tilting your head at him like a puppy. Luke’s dad rolls his eyes with an affectionate look on his face before saying. “It’s a school night kid. Plus, your mom would kill me if I let you stay out past curfew again.”

Luke throws his head back groans dramatically before saying. “All my other friends can stay out past 8-“

“Well I’m not their parents am I? I’m yours. Now I’ll be waiting in the car for you.” Luke’s dad then turns to you and ruffles your hair before saying. “It was nice to meet you little one. Have a good night.”

You nod at him, and the man nods back before going over to the coatrack, getting his coat and leaving. Luke looks at you with a small pout on his face he sighs before ruffling your hair too, which makes you smile. He then gets up with a groan, just like daddy does. You follow as he also goes to get his coat and hat he then puts on his stuff and says. “Guess I gotta go… Have a goodnight y/n. Take care of yourself.”

He then gives you a hug before leaving. You yell after him. “Good night Luke! Sleep well!”

He smiles at that and waves at you before getting into his dad’s car, driving off and leaving you in the manor. You go back inside and go back to the living area where you see Alfred. You walk up to him and tilt your head like a curious puppy, waiting for him to announce his intentions. Alfred smiles before he says. “I came to inform you that I have gotten your room ready. On another note, it is time for you to go to bed young lady.”

You put up a hand and in a serious tone of voice you say. “No. You must have forgotten our deal. I want a hot chocolate, a fancy one with cinnamon, heavy cream.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow and asks. “Really? If I recall our agreement was that I’d make you honeyed milk. How strange. I suppose I should get rid of the honeyed milk that I put in your room then?”

You vehemently shake your head and say. “N-No! That’s fine! I’ll drink it! It’s mine! You can’t take it back!”

Alfred then lets out a hum of consideration. “If you say so. Now come along. I must tuck you in before the hour.”

This man speaks funny. You like it. You then try to imitate him using the fanciest words you know, like anemone and hypertension. He laughs but you’re not sure whether it’s because of the accent or because you probably used the words wrong. Anyways he brings you to your new room and you gasp at how big it is, you hurriedly take off your shoes and put them right next to the door before you run straight for the bed and climb on to it, it’s so soft!

You then notice the hot milk on the bedside table, you crawl over and sit on the edge of the bed so you can take a sip. You sigh in delight at the taste, the milk is nice and creamy with a hint of vanilla and cinnamon as well as some honey to make it sweet. You yawn and get off the bed so you can walk over to Alfred. “Thank you, it’s really yummy. Can I have some pajamas now? I’m sleepy and so is Oliver-“

You then realize that you don’t have Oliver in your arms, and you can’t remember where you put him. Your eyes become blurry as tears fill your vision, you look up at Alfred and whine. “Where’s Oliver? I can’t remember where he is.. Can you help me find him?”

Alfred opens his mouth to say something but a beep comes from his phone, he sighs and says. “I will bring him soon, just lie down and-“

You interrupt him saying. “No! He’s always there when I sleep! I need him, if my daddy isn’t gonna be here then I need Oliver to be here at least!” You don’t like how Alfred is trying to hurry things up. You don’t like that daddy’s not here, you don’t like how Oliver’s not here, you hate that your favorite people are leaving and you HATE everything about this day. Sure you met new and nice people, but you want Daddy. You want him to kiss your face and tickle your tummy and hug you. You start sobbing and pulling on your h/c hair and trying your best to not choke on air.

Alfred looks at you sadly and then sighs, he then gets on one knee and says. “Miss y/n. Please stop. I will get Oliver for you, I will be right back. I promise. I will return with your dear Oliver and some old pajamas.”

You look back at him and nod as you sniffle. You sit on your bed and sip on your warm milk while Alfred leaves to go get Oliver and some pajamas. You wait, and wait. and wait some more. But he never comes. You accidentally fall asleep, finished with your drink and more tired than you’ve ever felt. That’s when you realized, no one’s gonna take care of you like daddy, no one’s gonna tuck you in, kiss your tears away, or any of the other things he used to do. You curl up and cry softly in the early morning light, mourning the loss of your father. Something that you didn’t know was possible until it happened.

—————————————————

I hope you like it! I already have the next few chapters planned so it will be angst for the next 3 or 4 chapters :)))

#mine arth #yandere batfam #neglected reader #tw neglect #yandere batman x reader #not yet yandere but still #yandere dick grayson #yandere alfred pennyworth #the only normal ones will be Luke and Lucius #and maybe superman haven’t decided #yandere dc #lucius fox #luke fox #ethan bennett #jim gordon

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cherryblossompink303 · 2 days ago

Text

Patience: ~Big brother is a prince!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: The ouran host club get an unexpected visitor ➼ what to expect: "you need him as much as he needs you" ➼ warnings: None ➼ Part ten | Part eleven

"I am scared to think of the jokes the twins are going to make today" You raise an eyebrow at the sight of the host clubs attire for the day. Hikaru gasps "We are gentlemen y/n, we would never, you are the one with a dirty mind" You roll your eyes, laughing as you sit down at your usual table, pulling out your notebook.

"Sure" you roll your eyes through a laugh. "Just you wait y/n we will convince the boss that you should start wearing the costumes aswell" the door creaks open strangely early for the time of day "Oh. what an unnaturally young guest" Tamaki notes, low and behold stood in the doorway it a little girl that couldn't be older than five years old. "Well, glad you're here, my little lost kitty cat" he extends his hand to the little girl.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Big brother is a prince!

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"Little kitty-cat, why have you come to see us today?" taaki asks, leaning down to make eye contact with the girl, who raises her hand to point at the club "It's a reverse harem!"

you nearly spit out your tea from over at the table at what the girl said, convinced tha you must have heard wrong. The hosts freeze up for the same reason "That can't be right. I must've heard wrong. Maybe there's still some water in my ear from when i went swimming" Tamaki bashes his head.You want to point out that he went swimming days ago but you also want to believe that you both heard wrong.

"Water in the ear that's gotta be it"

"I'm sure we just heard her wrong, there's no way this cute little girl said the words 'reverse harem' something's going on with our ears"

"There's debauchery here!" the girl exclaims again,at this point there was no denying that you had heard her right. "Yay! There's debauchery here, isn't there?"

"You're the glasses character" she points to Kyoya

"You're the boy-lolita, and the stoic type" she points to Honey and Mori.

"Twincest"

"The sex appeal" she points to you, a horrified look taking over your face. "I mean I'll take it but oh my god"

"And the bookworm!"

"hmm" she turns to tamaki who stumbles in fear, the girls eyes widen at the sight of him "Big brother?"

"My brother’s blond- you must be him!” Then, much to his surprise, she throws herself into Tamaki’s arms, hanging from his neck and kicking her feet.

“You never told us about this.”

“Since when do you have a little sister?” The twins accuse.

“I don’t- I’m definitely an only child- at least as far as I know…” Tamaki fears, holding the squirming little girl so that she doesn’t fall. "I must admit you two do look similar" You point out.

“I want to know if ‘glasses character’ is superior to 'big brother.’” Kyoya wonders, clearly still slightly tense between the two of them after what had happened at your apartment.

“Does that matter? I can’t believe she called me a bookworm.” Haruhi stews, thoroughly unhappy with her assigned character.

"You study all the time Haruhi, I got sex appeal, from a child. I'm horrified" you stare at the scene before you with concern. "They're not wrong though" the twins comment, you laugh.

"Excuse me. You want to tell me your name, little one?" Tamaki asks, slightly frazzled from the interaction. "Kirimi!"

"Kirimi?" Haruhi questions, wondering who would name their child afer salmon. "Kirmi-chan, I'm afraid you've made a mistake. I'm really sorry but I don't have a younger sister"

Tears begin to well up in Kirmi's eyes "Are you sure? You're blond just like me" it is at that moment that you know that Tamaki isn't going to be able to resist "Well, that is true..."

He picks her up "i give in! As of this moment, I'm your new big brother! You're so cute!" he spins her around.

"I know you get carried away by emotion , but don't you think it's irresponsible to make such empty promises?" Haruhi points out, watching him spin around Kirimi.

"Don't listen to that mean Haruhi. I'm not irresponsible. Come home with me and I'll look after you" you sigh as you watch Tamaki definitely being irresponsible. "What do you think we should do?" You turn to Kyoya.

"We should probably try to find out if she actually has a brother at this school"

"Kirimi"

The black magic club door appears once again in the music room yet this time the person who steps out in a way resembles Tamaki, with long blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Hey, uh, who they hell are you?"

"He looks like a foreigner!"

"What's up with that? How come the door looks different all of a sudden"

"Oh Kirimi" the boy steps out from the door way "Master, you forgot your cloak" a maid and butler steps out from behind him wrapping a dark cloak around the boy, which is the point that everyone realises who it actually is. "Nekozawa-senpai?" they all question in tandem.

"Master Umehito is terribly vunerable to any kind of bright light for that reason, if he doesn'tshroud himself in black, he will fall victim to the brightness of the outside world, and will undoubtedly collapse and just to be comfortable, he even has to cover his beautiful blond hair with a dark wig " The maid explains.

"On the other hand his sister, mistress Kirimi, is frightened of dark, dimly lit places" The butler chimes in.

"So this little girl is Nekozawa-senpai's younger sister?" Haruhi asks.

"You are quite insightful. Yes, that will be correct sir."

Tamaki puts Kirmi down, leaving her to stare in confusion at her brother. "Kirimi, so this is where you've been hiding." he approaches her in his typical way which certainly is nightmare fuel to a child.

"Big brother save me from the monster!" Kirimi launches herself back into Tamaki's arms.

"Please don't be scared, I'd like to introduce you to someone. This is Belzenef, the nekozawa family had worshipped cats for generations"

"You know, I get the feeling she's not scared of the puppet call me crazy, but I think it's you" Haruhi points out, Kyoya nodding behind her. "It's probably your clothes, we'll help you change, 'kay?" The twins slide in.

"Oh! Don't do that! It's far too bright! I may die!" Nekozawa-senpai cries as the twins pull at his cloak.

"I know! Why don't we just darken the room!" Honey goes to draw closed the curtains of the music room, Krimi bursts out crying "Don't! I'm afraid of the dark!"

"Don't worry little one!"

"Either way, someone's unhappy" Kyoya points out.

"It's a tragedy that these two siblings are such polar opposites. As a result, they have come to be known as the Nekozawa family's Romeo and Juliet"

"But Romeo and Juliet weren't brother and sister. I think their situation was a little different" Haruhi points out.

"Oh I'm well aware of that, to be honest it's something I just came up with on the fly. Pretty impressive huh? I thought it might make the story more dramatic"

"Oh I see"

"We were sent by the master's family to get our beloved mistress Kirimi back home safely"

"Is the rest of the family..." "As out of touch as you three are?"

"How dare you say such a terrible thing! The Nekozawas are a distinguished family! They're descendants of the Tokarev dynasty of russia!"

The host club's heads tilted to the side at the name "Tokarev, huh?" Kyoya questions. "Wait, you mean Romanov, right?"

"There's a legend that says once every few hundred years, a Nekozawa child is born. A child who is destined to be possessed by that darkness, exactly like our master Umehito" there is something about the maid that was starting to remind you of renge with her flare for the dramatic.

"That legend may or may not be true"

"What do you mean it may or may not be true?"

"Is it or isn't it?"

"Mistress Kirmi fell in love with the handsome fairytale prince of an odler brother she had seen in portraits. However, as a result of his condition, the master is unable to go near his sister without being shrouded in black. Once she learned that her older brother was enrolled in a high school here, she decided to go looking for him. That's what brought her to your host club. We've tried to keep her comfort by reading her bed time stories about princely characters like her brother, but we ran out of stories so we've started reading her shoujo manga that had princely characters in them and i'm afraid she's become completely addicted"

"Shoujo manga?" Haruhi questions "Oh...that's not..." you cringe at the idea of shoujo manga being read to sucha small child. "Is there really debauchery in shoujo manga?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to haruhi" you shake your head. "But Sashimi-chan is so young"

"Not Sashimi" "It's Kirimi"

"So Kirimi-chan doesn't know that you're her real older brother Nekozawa-senpai?"

"Yes, we've talked to her, but she refuses to believe us"

"That's so sad, well no wonder Neko-chan is so upset"

"It's painful, that's why every night I offer prayers, in hopes that one day, Kirimi will come to embrace the darkness"

"I think you've got it backwards buddy"

"You should try to get accustomed to the light" "What are you trying to do to your sister?"

The butler steps forward "Come along mistress kirimi"

"It's time to go home"

Kirimi bursts out whailing "I'm not going with you! I don't wanna go home! I wanna stay with my big brother!"

"Nekozawa-senpai?"

"Don't worry about me Suoh, all I want is for my sister to be happy. Make sure she gets the love she deserves" Nekozawa runs away in clear distress.

"But wait a minute! Senpai!" Nekozawa is long gone.

"Sibling relations are a source of problems in any family" Kyoya pushes his glasses up, which you know that means he isn't entirely just talking about Nekozawa-senpai and Kirimi.

"I must admit though, that was a noble act, giving up being apart of kirimi's life so that she can be happy, even if leaving her with Tamaki is certainly not the best option" You think aloud.

"Even so, I'm kinda jealous, I grew up an only child, so I can't really relate. But I can't imagine how tough it must be to have a sibling that's so different from you that you can't even spend time together"

Tamaki places Kirimi down "Is something wrong? Tell me, big brother"

"I'm sorry Kirimi-chan, but I'm not the big brother you've been looking for, don't worry, he's still out there. Believe it or not you have a big brother that's even more handsome than I am, and I promise you he's a real prince"

"Oh no" you mutter, for a second you thought that Tamaki may have been doing the right thing but he's ended up going in the complete opposite direction.

"Once she stepped foot in this room, Kirimi-chan became a guest of the host club and it's our job to make all our guests happy! It's an absolute tragedy to see a brother and sister at odds this way. We have to do something to help them! Starting now, 'operation: change Nekozawa-senpai into the princely character of Kirimi-chan's dreams' is underway!"

"Are you serious?"

"But sir"

"You want to change Umehito from a prince of darkness to a prince of light? I don't know if that's even possible"

"Senpai, quit getting carried away by your emotions! Don't make promises you can't keep"

Tamaki smirks "Oh, ye of little faith. Have you forgotten we have an expert on our side?"

"Oh no" you already know where this is going even before you hear the ghastly shrieks of laughter and the churning of a motor as Renge arises out of the floor.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"And as winefried rose from the well she vowed that she would never go near him again...Kirimi can we take a break?" you figured that baby-sitting kirimi would be better than witnessing whatever Renge has in store for Nekozawa-senpai, however you figured that reading her stories you had from back at home may be more age appropriate than reading her shoujo manga.

"No! I haven't heard these stories before I want to know!" She jumps up and down on the sofa next to you, shaking your arm as she does so. "Okay one more"

"yay!" Kirimi throws herself backwards to lie back on the couch, head resting on your leg. "There was once a princess called Dwynwen..."

It is about halfway through that you realise that Kirimi has fallen asleep on top of you. "I thought it was strangely quiet" Kyoya hums from the doorway, drawing your attention "I think she has been running around so much at the dragon stories she's worn out"

"I was unaware you owned so many fairytale books" He enters the room, approaching the two of you "There are very few of these ones in print, I brought them with me to make sure they don't get thrown out"

Kyoya picks one up "I see" he trails off, attempting to read the language on the cover despite the fact that you're pretty sure that he does not know it. "How is Renge's 'masterclass' going?"

"interestingly...I must admit she certainly runs a tight regime" you laugh "Sounds about right" you pull a blanket over Kirmi after she stirs in your lap. "Do you think it will work?"

"Possibly, I know that Renge certainly does not like to take no for an answer"

"And how are things with..."

He raises an eyebrow "with?" your head tilts to the side, knowing that he is playing dumb. "You know what I am referring to"

"Tamaki and I have yet to have a chance to speak" he looks off into the distance, not wanting to make eye contact with you. "You have had ample time, you are avoiding the topic"

"And what if I am?" he finally turns back to look at you "You shouldn't, you need him as much as he needs you"

"He was incredibly careless, I cannot forgive that"

"Kyoya." your voice is stern, pulling his attention. "Do you think that Tamaki messed up my apartment maliciously?"

"Well- No- Of course I don't- he wouldn't"

"He wasn't thinking, I will admit that because he never does, why was that any different to today when he decided to get the hopes up of a five year old that he will somehow change Nekozawa-senpai into something he is not?"

"It...It isn't different and it is incredibly different at the same time"

"How?"

Kyoya pauses, looking back at you with the same look you had given him seconds ago "You know how it is different" you raise an eyebrow "I do?"

"You do. and if you do not then you are less astute then I thought you were which I incredibly doubt"

"Tell me anyway?" Kirimi stirs before Kyoya can give an answer, waking up once more, rubbing her eyes as she sits up. "Oh its the glasses guy again" you laugh.

"I'll talk to Tamaki if you want me to but no promises of anything beyond it"

All of a sudden you hear a whail from the science room down the hall, everyone's heads snapping to look at the door. "Maybe we should double check that Renge isn't going too overboard"

You move Kirmi to sit on the sofa properly "Wait here for a moment Kirimi I will be right back"

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"Dare I ask?" as you enter the science room you find Haruhi yelling tamaki who was standing next to a mannequin who appeared to be dressed like her. "It's better if you don't"

"Big brother?" Kirimi appears next to you in the doorway "This room is dark and scary" she starts to tear up. "Oh, Kirimi-chan, i asked you to wait for me in the other room"

"What's wrong little one? There, there, calm down" Tamaki runs over, picking kirmi up "You see? There's nothing to be afraid of" the two of them laugh as he spins her around.

"Senpai?" You turn around to find a dejected Nekozawa-senpai chanting to himself about being a princely big brother. "I'm not afraid of this flashlight! Self evil beam!"

Nekozawa-senpai flashes the torch in his face. "He did it!"

"Nekozawa-senpai's come a long way, he's able to shine a flashlight in his own face"

"Bravo, senpai, bravo"

"Good job, I'm impressed"

"You did it! Your little sister is going to be so thrilled"

"Look there Kirirmi-chan that gentleman is your real big brother." Tamaki points to Nekozawa.

"Kirimi" Nekozawa-senpai turns around, a horrifying look on his face due to the the underlighting. Kirimi screams at the sight, running away.

"So I guess shining the flashlight in his face" "Scared her and sent her running"

"Oh kirimi" Nekozawa-senpai bursts out crying. "I've had enough. Even if I continue your special training there's no guarantee that Kirimi will ever accept me I think she'd be better off if you acted as her brother in my stead, Suoh"

"But that's rediculous you're the big brother she's looking for. If you care about her, you'll do whatever it takes to win her over"

The twins finally pull back the curtains of the room "Hey, look Kirimi-chan hasn't made it out of the courtyard"

"There's something down there with her...oh it's just a cat" Nekozawa-Senpai gasps "Your family sure does love cats" "Even strays warm up to you guys"

"What did you say?" Nekozawa-senpai pushes the twins away to take a look "They're revered by our family, it's true, but Kirimi wouldn't participate in something like that. Something as occult as befriending a stray cat. Kirimi is afraid of animals and cats are the creatures she fears the most"

"Kirmi!" Nekozawa-senpai jumps through the window.

"Nekozawa-senpai!"

"But he's not wearing his black cloak!"

Nekozawa-senpai runs up to Kirimi, who jumps into his arms, now actually able to see him in daylight without the cloak.

"Now look at that, this is all thanks to my special training" you roll your eyes, although even you can admit that while her methods were questionable, Renge was more helpful than not this time.

"I think Nekozawa-senpai is ready to continue on his own now, one of us should probably sort out what we're going to do about this window" You look at the remains.

the rest of the host club hum in agreement "Kyoya, Tamaki? would you mind?" the two of them look at you hesitantly "S-sure" Tamaki stutters out in nervousness, whether that be at you or Kyoya it is unclear.

You smile "Great, we'll leave you to it" turning around as you go to leave you place a hand on Kyoya's shoulder "Talk to him, remember what I said, you need him" You whisper, leaving the room with the rest of the host club.

Maintaining relationships certainly was not Kyoya's strong point, that much was clear, but if Nekozawa-Senpai can overcome all that to reunite with his sister, maybe he can learn to change too, with time, and patience.

Next time on patience 'Honey's three bitter days!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000 @katgirl05 @smellslikelovinglies @veras-fanfic-reblogs @sadprimrose @mirtalikesdr @sleeplesssskeleton @ritzes28 @crackpeole @rory-cakes @renjunniex @II-kita-san-II @angelicwillows @missbrebre1012 @sleep-7372 @strawberrbitch @reticent-writer @eternal-dokja

#kyoya ootori #kyoya ootori x reader #kyoya x reader #ohshc kyoya #ohshc #ohshc x reader #ouran high school host club #ouran host club #ouran highschool host club #ouran hshc #kaoru hitachiin #ouran #ouran kyoya #hikaru hitachiin #haruhi fujioka #tamaki suoh

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 3 days ago

Text

In Any Reality: Revelations

(continuation of the alt!Assistant AU-- they are no longer boss/employee at this point)

---

Please come.

That’s all the text on Kara’s screen says, and even though she waits several minutes, no further clarification comes in.

Where are you? She sends back. Are you okay?

Apartment.

Kara is already logging off when the response buzzes on her cell. Working late, there’s no one to criticize her speedy exit. She flies to Lena’s apartment, but when her x-ray vision confirms Lena is alone and in no apparent danger, Kara ducks into an alley to wait a reasonably human amount of time before officially arriving.

Only then does she let herself up, using her key to slip inside Lena’s apartment. There she makes a beeline to where Lena sits on her too-white couch, elbows on her knees with her shoulders slumped.

“Lena?” Her girlfriend doesn’t look up at her approach, and alarm flares in Kara’s chest. She crosses the room and kneels in front of her, taking Lena’s hands in hers. “Lena, what’s wrong?”

Finally, Lena lifts her chin, meeting Kara’s gaze with flat, empty eyes.

“Lena, what happened?” Kara insists.

“Is this real?”

Lena’s voice is rough and dull. Kara blinks in confusion. “You mean us?”

“I mean… me.”

In an instant, Kara knows exactly what’s happened. It’s her turn for her shoulders to slump as she sinks back on her heels. “Lex told you.”

Not a question. There’s no doubt in Kara’s mind. Only Lex would see his sister happy, then pull the rug out from under her entire reality, just to see her miserable. Broken.

Lena exhales. “He says I’m just an echo. A construct of his will.”

“Lex is a self-obsessed maniac,” Kara snaps. “He couldn’t build a construct of you if he tried.”

Green eyes sharpen. “But it’s true, isn’t it. He made this world– made me. This version of me.”

Shaking her head, Kara releases Lena’s hands to reach up and cup her cheeks instead.

“You are real,” she says firmly. Lena’s eyes fill with tears. “You are real. Lex may have had a hand in shaping this world, but he made nothing.”

“But…”

“Do you think he would be this pissed if he had any control over you? Over us?”

Doubt clouds Lena’s gaze, which self-consciously slides away from Kara. “He says you loved her too.”

“Yes, “ Kara says. “I did.”

Lena pulls away from Kara’s hands. “I must be a poor consolation prize.”

Gritting her teeth, Kara struggles to rein in her temper. She doesn’t understand why Lex can’t stand to see Lena happy. Before, she would have believed it was just Lena’s happiness with her, a Super, that burrowed under his skin. But in this reality, where she isn’t Supergirl, where she only rarely uses her abilities… This is about Lena, not Kara.

Lex hates his sister.

“You’re not listening to me,” Kara says, keeping her voice even. “Lex didn’t create you.”

“But–”

“Lena. Look at me.” Kara waits until Lena meets her gaze. “Some things may be different. But no matter how different things may be… In any world, in any reality, I love you.”

“And you’ve met so many of me then?”

Kara bites back a laugh. In the old reality, her experience reality-hopping with Mxy had hardly seemed different from any other thursday, but here in this reality? Kara shakes her head, half to herself.

“It’s too long to explain,” she replies, “but yes. I have.”

Lena doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Kara gives her time to absorb the new information. Finally, Lena nods, running her palms against her thighs.

“All right,” she says.

Genuine confusion crests over Kara. “All right, what?”

Lena gazes at her solemnly.

“I’ll help you get home.”

Silence hangs between them. Kara’s heart twinges– she can’t deny she misses her old life. It’s like losing Krypton again, in a way, but with the continued reminder of what used to be in the faces of her friends and family. If she had a choice, would she return to that world?

Luckily, she doesn’t have to make that impossible choice.

“This is the only home there is,” she delivers plainly. “It’s a miracle even this one still exists.”

Lena’s features soften. “I’m sorry.”

Kara nods her gratitude. “I’m just relieved I still have you.”

“Lex said…” Her voice cracks. “Lex said we hated each other.”

Of course he did. “We had a falling out,” is all she says. “We didn’t have time to work through it.”

Lena swallows thickly. “You loved her?”

“I love you. All of you.”

“I don’t…” Lena’s voice sounds uncertain, for the first time Kara has seen in this reality. “I don’t know if I can live in the shadow of another version of me.”

Kara bites her lip. “That’s a decision only you can make,” she says softly. “But know this: of all the Lena’s I’ve ever loved, and those I’ve lost, you are the only one I’ve ever kissed.”

—-

Kara gives Lena space over the following week. Her stomach churns in apprehension of Lena’s decision but she refuses to let despair claim her. No matter what happens, Lena is alive– she exists, and she’s breaking away from Lex with every attempt he makes to tear her down.

Alex notices the change in her demeanor, but Kara declines to share. This feels too intimate to explain, even if she could. But Alex doesn’t know the truth of the multiverse, and Kara has no desire to walk her through it.

On the sixth day, Kara is at her easel– fiddling with her brush more than she actually paints– when a knock sounds at her door. Even without looking, she knows that it’s Lena. Taking a breath to steady herself, Kara sets her brush aside and lifts away from her stool.

Lena stands stiffly beyond the threshold when Kara opens the door. Her discomfort is plainly visible, and her features hold too much uncertainty to put Kara’s heart at ease.

“Hey,” she says softly, stepping aside to invite Lena in.

“Hey,” Lena returns, just as soft. She ducks her chin as she enters, and looks up through her lashes at Kara. It’s an image Kara knows well from the previous reality– it’s the first time she’s seen it in this one.

“Lena…”

“I want to know.” Lena finally lifts her chin. “I want to know why we hated each other so much.”

Kara breathes a quiet sigh. “I’m an alien.”

Lena clearly wasn’t expecting that. She blinks. “Oh.”

“That wasn’t why you hated me– it was that I lied about it, and let you believe I was two different people for far longer than I could justify.” She swallows. “I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

“Even though…?”

Even though it never happened. Even though it didn’t matter any more.

“Even though,” Kara confirms. Crisis may have eradicated countless worlds and lives, but Kara’s regret will persist to eternity.

Lena looks at her hands, where her fingers nervously twist and worry each other.

“Kara… I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. And I don’t know what I would do if I had the memories you do.”

Kara’s throat tightens. She braces herself against hope and disappointment both.

“All I know,” Lena continues, “is that I love you. So if you’re willing to love this flawed, inglorious version of me, then… I’m not going to let Lex take you away from me.”

Kara closes her eyes, sending tears spilling down her cheeks. She sniffs, and a sob pops out of her. She hears a thump when Lena drops her purse to the floor, and then Lena is reaching for her, tentative hands pulling Kara’s arms from where they’ve wrapped around herself, until their hands link together.

Kara offers a trembling nod, blinking up at Lena.

“Thank you.”

“No,” Lena whispers hoarsely, voice thick with tears of her own. “Thank you. Thank you for finding me.”

"Always."

#in any reality #supercorp #alt!Assistant au #Lena learns the truth #just lex being mean #again

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velting · 2 days ago

Text

-`♡Our Manager♡´-

U-20 x Manager!Reader

╰┈➤. .Synopsis: You are the new U-20 manager! You try your best and connect with the players in the team, hoping this job and experience would go well and help them succeed!

╰┈➤. .Warnings: None

╰┈➤. [Featuring]: Oliver Aiku - Sendo Shuuto - Itsuki Watatsuki - Kento Cho- Gen Fukaku- Teru Kitsunenzato - Miroku Darai- Nio Kazuma-Neru Teppei- Haru Hayate (Separate)

The air in the training facility buzzed with the chaotic energy of the players. Sweat beaded down their faces as they gathered around the large, open space, the smell of freshly cut grass lingering from their recent drills. The sound of cleats scraping the floor echoed as the team members huddled together, some still stretching, others chatting loudly. It was the end of another grueling training session, and there was no shortage of banter and horseplay among the young athletes.

"You think I could totally outpace you, right?" one of the forwards boasted to a defender, his voice thick with mischief.

"I’ll believe it when I see it," the defender smirked back, tossing a water bottle to his teammate.

Laughter broke out, filling the room with the usual banter that had become part of their routine. But just as one of the midfielders was about to make a sarcastic comment about how bad the others' aim was with the ball, the door to the locker room swung open with a loud thud.

The room fell silent in an instant.

A tall man stepped into the space, the sound of his boots clanging heavily against the floor. Coach Kato—tough, no-nonsense, and always commanding attention—had arrived. His sharp eyes scanned the group with an intimidating focus. He was a man who didn’t need to raise his voice to make people listen, but when he did, it was enough to make anyone sit up straighter.

"Alright, everyone, listen up," Coach Kato's voice cut through the noise, firm and commanding.

A collective shush ran through the team as they turned to face him. The playful energy quickly dissipated, leaving an air of expectation. It wasn’t often that Coach called for attention after a training session unless it was important.

[Name] stood at the door just behind him, her hands nervously clasped together as she waited for her introduction. Her hair swayed by the wind as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to expect. Her heart raced—not from nervousness about speaking, but from the weight of the moment. She was about to meet the entire U-20 soccer team as their new manager. Despite her usually easy going personality, this felt like a big step.

Coach Kato finally broke the silence. “This is [Name] [Surename],” he said, gesturing toward her. “She’s the new manager of this team. She’ll be helping with your schedules, maintaining your fitness and training routines, and keeping you organized. She’s not here to play your babysitter. You’re to treat her with respect, just like any other member of the team.”

[Name] straightened a bit, her heart beating faster at the mention of her role. She couldn’t help but smile, even though the pressure was mounting. It was a new experience for her, stepping into a professional setting like this one. Her cheeks flushed lightly under the attention, and she felt the weight of all those curious eyes on her.

“Hey, come on, Coach! We can totally handle ourselves,” one of the players called out, his tone half-joking, half-challenging. He was a forward with a reputation for mischief, always looking for an excuse to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, she doesn’t have to tell us what to do!” another player chimed in, grinning.

The coach raised an eyebrow, his voice darkening. “You think you can handle yourselves? Last time I checked, none of you could keep track of your own socks, let alone your schedules."

A few chuckles rippled through the group at Coach Kato’s remark, but there was no mistaking the authority in his tone.

[Name’s] cheeks flushed deeper, but she knew this was her moment to shine—no matter how intimidating the situation felt. She took a small step forward, standing a bit taller, and offered a bow to the team.

“Hello! My name is [Name] [Surename],” she began, her voice slightly more chipper than she felt, but she did her best to stay confident. “I’ll be managing everything behind the scenes—from your training schedules to making sure you have all the right gear. I’m really happy to be here and excited to get to know all of you!” She beamed, her smile as bright and genuine as she could muster.

As she stood there, nervously twiddling her fingers together, there was a slight, awkward pause. The players exchanged glances, trying to size her up. Some of them were still skeptical, while others were intrigued. [Name’s] towering height and striking appearance—especially with her hair and her eyes peeking out from her clear glasses—made her stand out in a way that was hard to ignore.

One of the more bold players, a striker known for his cocky attitude, tilted his head and shot her a playful grin. “I’ll take care of her, don’t worry, Coach!” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Another player snorted in laughter, and the team’s usual rowdiness began to creep back in, despite the coach’s stern presence. But before the jokes could escalate, Coach Kato’s voice rang out again.

“That’s enough,” he snapped, a warning in his tone that made even the most rebellious players freeze. “You’ll treat her with respect, and that means no teasing, no messin' around, and no distractions during practice. If I hear anything out of line, you’ll be running laps until your legs give out. Got it?”

The locker room went dead silent again. The team knew better than to challenge Coach Kato, especially when he used that tone. Some players even shuffled their feet uncomfortably, realizing they might have crossed a line. [Name] swallowed and glanced nervously at the floor, hoping she hadn’t caused too much trouble by being the center of attention. But she was also grateful—this was the kind of environment where everyone would know she meant business, and perhaps they would give her a chance.

Coach Kato gave one last stern look to the group before turning his attention back to [Name]. “You’ll report to me for any issues, and we’ll work together to make sure this team stays on track. [Name], I trust you’ll keep them in line?”

She nodded enthusiastically, trying to shake off the nerves. “Yes, Coach! I’ll do my best.”

Coach Kato gave her a brief, approving nod. “Good. Now, get to know each other. We’re a team, and that starts with everyone pulling their weight. [Name], we’re counting on you to make sure things run smoothly. Welcome aboard.”

With that, the coach turned and walked out, leaving [Name] standing at the front of the room as the players slowly began to stir, murmuring amongst themselves.

As the door clicked shut behind the coach, a murmur of disbelief spread across the team. Some exchanged curious glances, while others made their way toward [Name].

“Well, [Name]-san, huh?” The bold striker from earlier swaggered over, a teasing smile on his face. “Not what I expected, but I guess we’ll see what you’ve got. Can you keep up with us?”

[Name] chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “I hope so! I’m pretty good at staying organized… and I’ll be cheering for you guys from the sidelines!”

Her response, a bit shy but sincere, earned a few raised eyebrows, followed by polite nods. The first test had been passed: she wasn’t just another manager. She was part of the team now, and the journey to get to know each player was just beginning.

But what she didn’t know was that, despite her air-headed nature and awkwardness, the seeds of admiration had already been quietly planted.

Aiku Oliver ➺

The crisp sound of sneakers pounding against the field was constant. The U-20 team was deep into their daily training session, the field now painted with the streaks of sunlight breaking through the clouds. The players, drenched in sweat, were focused and determined, running their laps with precision. [Name] stood off to the side, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose as she diligently took notes on the team’s performance. A clipboard was clasped tightly in her hands as she wrote down the times each player completed their laps, tracking their stamina and ensuring no one pushed themselves too hard—or too little.

Every so often, she would call out to one of the players, handing them a water bottle as they slowed to catch their breath, offering encouragement.

“You’re doing great, Hanako! Just a few more laps!” she cheered, passing a bottle to a panting midfielder.

“Thanks, [Name]-san!” Hanako said with a quick, grateful nod, before jogging off again.

[Name] smiled, but it was starting to feel like the time was stretching on forever. The sun was growing warmer, and the field’s intensity was starting to wear on her as well. Still, she had a job to do, and she wouldn’t let herself slack off. But just as she glanced back down at her notes, she saw one of the players approaching her, a bit slower than usual, his tall frame cutting through the group of running athletes.

It was Oliver Aiku, the team’s defense specialist.

Oliver was hard to miss, his dark purple hair with lime-green tips a standout against the backdrop of the other players. His muscular build was clear under his training gear, and his confident stride had a commanding presence that drew the attention of anyone nearby. As he approached, he shot a playful grin in [Name’s] direction, his heterochromatic eyes—green on the left, purple on the right—glistening with a mixture of confidence and mischief.

“Hey, manager,” Oliver said, his voice smooth with an almost teasing undertone. He slowed to a walk as he neared her, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. His eyes narrowed in an appreciative gaze. “You look stunning out here, you know? It's not often we get someone like you on the sidelines.”

[Name] blinked, a bit taken aback by the sudden attention. She knew Oliver was the team’s resident heartthrob—he had a reputation with the ladies, no doubt. The way he was looking at her made her cheeks turn pinker than she’d like to admit.

“Uh, t-thank you,” she stammered, fumbling with her clipboard. Her mind scrambled to stay focused. Stay professional, [Name], she reminded herself. She quickly pulled out a water bottle, offering it to him. “You’re doing well! Drink some water, stay hydrated.”

She handed it to him with a polite smile, trying to hide the fact that her heart rate had sped up at the compliment.

Oliver smirked, taking the bottle from her hand, but instead of immediately drinking, he lingered a moment longer, his grin widening. “You know, I could use a few things outside of just water,” he said, his tone smooth, almost flirtatious. “How about I take you out for a nice dinner sometime? You deserve it for all the hard work you’re doing for us.”

[Name] felt the heat rush to her face. What did he just say?! she thought in a daze. She’d heard stories of Oliver’s way with words, but hearing it directed at her was a whole new level of awkward.

“W-well,” she stammered, trying her best to keep it cool, “I-I’m really just here to help with your training… And, you know, make sure everyone’s staying on track. But, uh…” She fidgeted, her heart thumping in her chest. She wasn’t sure what to say. Her usual confidence was slipping away. “I’ll consider it… after the training,” she added quickly, her words coming out almost like a nervous whisper.

Oliver’s smile grew, clearly enjoying the effect he had on her. “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he replied smoothly, his eyes glinting with a playful spark. He stepped back a little, ready to continue his laps. “I’ll be looking forward to it, [Name]-chan.”

He gave her a knowing wink, and for a moment, [Name] stood frozen, her face bright red. No way… Did he just wink at me?

Trying to regain some composure, she quickly jotted down the time for his lap. “D-Don’t push yourself too hard, Aiku,” she said, her voice shaky. “We don’t want you overexerting yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” Oliver said, his voice turning soft, almost teasing. He gave her a final look over his shoulder as he started to jog away, his eyes lingering on her with that mischievous glint. “But if you ever want to talk more, just let me know, okay?”

[Name] watched him for a moment, her mind still reeling. Did I just get flirted with? By Oliver Aiku? She shook her head, trying to focus back on the task at hand, though her thoughts were still a swirl of confusion and surprise.

As the training session continued, Oliver’s behavior toward [Name] became more and more evident. He began to seek her out during breaks, hanging around her as she handed out water bottles to the players. Each time, he would make some offhand comment about her looks, her work ethic, or how much she seemed to stand out in comparison to other managers.

His compliments, though laced with a lighthearted, teasing tone, had a subtle sincerity to them that [Name] couldn’t ignore. She had to admit—he had a way with words. But it was also clear that Oliver wasn’t just flirting for fun—there was a growing admiration in his eyes. The way he’d wink at her, or the moments when he’d seek her out to engage in small talk, made it feel like he was trying to carve out moments where he could connect with her outside of just training.

[Name], however, remained mostly oblivious to the deeper meaning behind his words. She was so focused on her responsibilities that she didn’t notice how his attempts to charm her were slowly changing into something more serious. She was a little unsure of how to react, not just because of Oliver’s flirtations but because, in the back of her mind, she still had worries about her appearance, especially compared to someone as striking and confident as him.

And so, Oliver’s charming yet somewhat playful nature became a puzzle she found herself unwillingly drawn to.

As Oliver finished his laps, he slowed down and jogged back to the group, glancing over his shoulder once more at [Name]. She stood there, a little flustered but trying to focus on her clipboard. Oliver grinned to himself, shaking his head.

“Guess I’ll just have to make sure I see you more often, manager,” he murmured under his breath, his gaze lingering for a second longer.

[Name], still caught up in the haze of his attention, blushed deeply as she wrote down his final lap time. Oliver Aiku, she thought, glancing at him as he jogged away. ‘Definitely a lot to deal with, but... I guess he’s not that bad.’

Sendo Shuuto ➺

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the soccer field. The players had finished their laps for the day, but the air was still thick with the scent of sweat and grass, as some of the more energetic team members continued to practice on their own. The golden light caught the edges of the goalposts and the sleek blades of grass beneath them. [Name] stood at the sidelines, clipboard in hand, keeping track of the final practice sessions.

She had become accustomed to the rhythm of the players by now. The way they pushed themselves, their laughter, their teasing—all of it felt strangely familiar. Still, she stayed focused, occasionally making her way toward a player who needed a quick drink or a few words of encouragement.

It was at that moment that Sendo Shuuto, the star striker of the team, caught her eye. With his lean build and confidence practically oozing from his every movement, he was impossible to miss. He stood a few meters away, adjusting his position for a shot at the goal, an intense focus in his pale red eyes. [Name] smiled to herself as she watched him, knowing that he was known for his impressive skills—his talent was undeniable.

Sendo had been a little quieter around her than the others, but there was something in the way he observed her from a distance, the slight blush on his face whenever she offered him a compliment or encouragement. It was clear that he had taken a particular liking to her, though he hadn’t yet made his feelings known outright.

With a determined look on his face, Sendo kicked the ball with impressive force toward the goalpost, trying to show off his skills. But, as if fate had a different plan, the ball ricocheted off the post and unexpectedly flew straight toward the wall on the far side of the field.

There was a brief, almost comical silence, followed by a loud thwack as the ball bounced off the wall and came straight back toward Sendo. The ball hit him squarely on the head with a soft thud.

“Ow!” Sendo yelped, stumbling back a step, his face scrunching in pain as he tried to steady himself. His body rocked slightly as he rubbed the back of his head, wincing from the unexpected hit.

[Name], who had been walking toward him with a water bottle in hand, immediately froze. Her eyes widened in concern as she rushed to his side. “Sendo-kun! Are you alright?!”

Her voice was filled with genuine worry, and Sendo, still slightly dazed from the unexpected blow, couldn’t help but notice how close she was standing to him. His heart skipped a beat. ‘Oh no… did she see that?’ He tried to act tough, but his face flushed redder than he ever thought possible. “I’m fine... I mean, that wasn’t exactly part of the plan...” he muttered, still rubbing his head. He tried to smile it off, but the pain was more than he wanted to admit.

[Name’s] eyes softened with concern, and without a second thought, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “You really should be more careful! That looked like it hurt.”

Sendo couldn’t help but notice how soft her voice sounded, how close she was to him now. Her warm presence was so calming, so… beautiful. He tried to stand a little taller to impress her, but his head still throbbed from the impact.

She noticed his slight unsteadiness and, without thinking, gently guided him down onto the grass. “You should rest for a moment, Sendo-kun,” she suggested, her tone kind and caring. “I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

Before he could protest, [Name] kneeled down beside him, lifting his head gently onto her lap, a soft gasp escaping from his lips as the reality of the situation hit him. He could feel the warmth of her thighs against his cheek, her delicate fingers brushing through his hair as she checked his head.

The world around him seemed to slow. His heart pounded in his chest, and his thoughts went blank. ‘Wait... is this really happening?’

[Name’s] face was now directly above him, her soft, comforting voice reaching his ears as she spoke, “Just relax for a moment. I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

But in that instant, something inside Sendo snapped. He blinked rapidly, feeling his face grow hotter with each passing second. ‘Her... her lap?’ He could feel his pulse racing, his breath caught in his throat. He had been this close to girls before, sure, but never like this. Never with a girl who was as… perfect as her.

[Name’s] gentle touch, her concern for him, and her calm demeanor were like a dream. The way she looked down at him with those soft eyes... It was almost too much. The sweet scent of her hair, the sound of her voice, the closeness—it was overwhelming. ‘She’s so beautiful…’ he thought, his mind swirling in a sea of thoughts.

His heart was hammering now, and he felt something stir deep within him. His thoughts began to drift, and before he could even stop himself, his eyes fluttered closed, and he passed out.

[Name], still unaware of the full extent of what had just happened, blinked in confusion as she noticed his face grow pale and his body go limp. “Sendo-kun?! No, no! What’s going on?!” she exclaimed, panic rising in her chest.

She quickly shifted her position to check on him, her hands gently shaking his shoulders. “Sendo-kun, wake up! Are you okay?!”

His expression remained serene, almost too calm as if he were in a deep, peaceful sleep. But [Name] couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She waved her hands in front of his face, trying to snap him back to reality, but there was no response.

Meanwhile, in the depths of his mind, Sendo Shuuto was lost in a dream. His mind was filled with images of him and [Name], the woman who had so suddenly and unexpectedly captured his heart. They were standing side by side at the altar, in a beautiful church with delicate roses scattered around them, the soft glow of candles lighting the way.

“I do,” he whispered, his voice smooth with confidence as he gazed into her eyes.

[Name], dressed in a stunning wedding gown, smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with affection. “I do, too,” she responded softly, her voice filled with warmth.

As they exchanged vows in his dream, Sendo felt his heart swell. In his fantasy world, nothing was more perfect than this moment. ‘This is how it’s supposed to be…’ he thought, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

But then, just as he leaned in to kiss her, the dream blurred, and a sharp, unexpected voice broke through the fantasy.

“Sendo-kun!” [Name’s] voice called out to him from the real world, pulling him back from his daydreams.

Sendo’s eyes slowly fluttered open, and he let out a weak groan, his head still in [Name’s] lap. His heart was racing, and his face burned hotter than it had ever felt before. ‘What... what just happened?’ he thought, trying to focus his thoughts.

[Name], still looking down at him with a concerned expression, tilted her head in confusion. “Sendo-kun, are you okay now?”

For a moment, he couldn’t form any words, his mind still trying to catch up with the rapid beat of his heart. But then, his lips curled into a sheepish grin, despite the overwhelming embarrassment. “I-I’m fine… Just... a little dizzy,” he stammered, his voice still soft from his dream-induced haze.

His face was still flushed, but it wasn’t from the hit. It was from the way [Name] was looking at him, the way she cared for him. He was too embarrassed to meet her gaze directly.

[Name] smiled gently and helped him sit up. “I’m glad you’re okay, but maybe you should take it easy for the rest of the day, okay?”

Sendo nodded, still feeling the weight of her touch in his mind. “Yeah… I’ll take it easy. But... thank you, [Name]-chan.” His voice had an underlying sincerity that he didn’t quite realize until now.

As she stood and walked away, he couldn’t stop the dreamy look in his eyes. Maybe one day... he thought to himself, his heart racing once more. ‘Maybe one day, she’ll really be mine.’

Kazuma Nio ➺

The air in the gym was thick with the sound of weights clanging against each other, mixed with the sharp breaths of players pushing themselves. The team was in the middle of their strength training session, and despite the hot, humid air, there was an undeniable energy in the room. The sound of machines being used, grunts of exertion, and motivational shouts filled the space, all blending together to create an atmosphere that was equal parts exhausting and inspiring.

[Name] stood to the side, her clipboard in hand as she made her way through her task of observing and noting each player's progress. Her gaze shifted over the team, each member focused on their individual exercises. Her eyes landed on Nio Kazuma, who was positioned at the far end of the gym near the bench press, his broad shoulders and powerful build evident as he gripped the heavy barbell.

Kazuma was known for his raw strength and the competitive streak that ran through him. His sweat-drenched shirt clung to his body, and the muscles in his arms and chest flexed as he pressed the barbell upward with ease. He was in the middle of a set, his face contorted in concentration as he pushed through the weight.

[Name] couldn't help but feel impressed by the sight. His confidence and sheer physicality were something to behold, but it was also clear from his focused expression that he didn’t take his training lightly.

As Kazuma finished his set, he released the bar with a loud clank, letting it drop back into place on the rack. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, exhaling deeply. [Name], seeing an opportunity to show some support, made her way toward him, her light footsteps barely making a sound on the gym floor.

Kazuma glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of [Name] walking toward him. His lips curved into a confident, cocky grin. He wiped his hands on his gym shorts and adjusted his posture, trying to make himself look even more imposing as she got closer.

[Name] gave him a friendly, genuine smile. “Kazuma-kun, I have to say, I’m really impressed with how much you’re pushing yourself,” she said, her voice filled with admiration.

Kazuma’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the attention. He straightened up, flexing his chest slightly in a way that made his muscles pop even more. “Ah, well, you know. I don’t settle for being just ‘good’ at something,” he said with a wink. “If you want to be the best, you’ve got to give it everything you’ve got.”

His voice had that usual confident edge, and there was an unmistakable arrogance in the way he spoke. But [Name] didn’t mind. She admired his enthusiasm and the way he carried himself—his confidence was contagious.

“You’re definitely showing that you’re giving it your all,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “It’s really inspiring to see someone put so much into their training. It makes the team look up to you.”

Kazuma chuckled, clearly pleased with the praise. He swiped a towel off the nearby bench and draped it over his shoulders, holding it like a trophy. “Well, I can’t let the guys think I’m slacking, can I? They need to know who the strongest guy in the room is.” He looked at her, his dark eyes glinting with that same cocky confidence. “And that’s me, of course.”

[Name] giggled softly at his boastful nature but couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of respect for him. His confidence wasn’t unfounded—he was clearly one of the strongest players on the team, and there was something about his attitude that made him stand out.

“I can tell,” she said, her eyes bright with admiration. “It’s hard to ignore the guy who pushes himself so hard.”

Kazuma smirked, clearly satisfied with the compliment. He stretched his arms above his head and gave a slight nod, as if acknowledging her words. “Well, someone’s gotta set the standard,” he said, lowering his arms and flashing her another confident smile. “And why not let it be me?”

[Name] chuckled, her cheeks flushing slightly from the ease with which Kazuma commanded the room. His personality was loud and assertive, but it was also oddly charming in a way that made him hard to ignore. “I don’t think anyone would argue with that.”

Kazuma took a few steps toward her, wiping his face with the towel. He seemed to grow even more comfortable with her presence, his posture relaxed but still brimming with self-assurance. “Hey, you’re doing a pretty great job keeping track of everything, [Name]-chan,” he said, his tone casual but tinged with genuine appreciation. “It’s gotta be tough, managing all these guys.”

[Name] smiled, a little flattered by the compliment. “It’s not easy, but I enjoy being part of the team,” she said, trying to sound modest. “I really like getting to know everyone and helping out however I can.”

Kazuma gave her a look that was half teasing, half approving. “Well, it’s clear you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, that’s for sure. Anyone with brains and a little charm like yours can do pretty much anything.”

The compliment hit her harder than expected, and she felt her face warm. Kazuma-kun, always so confident, she thought to herself, a little bashful but also genuinely impressed.

“You’re too kind,” she said, trying to regain her composure. “But I’m just here to make sure everyone stays on track. I’m just doing my job.”

Kazuma smirked, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well, if it’s your job to make sure we’re all doing our best, then I guess I should show off a little more,” he said, his grin widening. “You know, just to make sure I’m living up to your expectations.”

[Name] laughed softly, her eyes twinkling. “You don’t need to show off for me, Kazuma-kun. You’ve already proven yourself plenty.” She tilted her head slightly, adding, “But I’m happy to see you take pride in your work.”

Kazuma chuckled, clearly pleased by her words. He gave her a playful shrug. “What can I say? It’s just in my nature. But don’t worry, I’ll leave some of the spotlight for the rest of the team too.”

[Name] smiled warmly at him, appreciating his straightforwardness. “I’m sure everyone appreciates that. It’s great to see you leading by example.”

Kazuma gave a quick nod, then glanced down at his watch. “Well, I should get back to it. Can’t let the rest of the team think I’m slacking off, right?”

“Of course,” [Name] said, watching him with a genuine smile. “Keep up the great work, Kazuma-kun. I’ll be cheering for you.”

Kazuma gave her a final grin, his cocky demeanor still very much intact. “You’ve got it, manager,” he said, before turning back toward the bench press. “I’ll make sure to keep impressing you.”

As Kazuma returned to his workout, [Name] stood off to the side, a small smile on her face as she watched him. His confidence was infectious, and despite his cocky nature, she couldn’t help but admire his drive. His ability to be both serious and relaxed in the same breath was something she found fascinating.

He really does have a way of making everything look effortless, [Name] thought, her admiration for Kazuma growing. I can see why he’s a leader on this team.

The gym felt a little quieter as the sound of weights and grunts took over once again. Yet, for [Name], Kazuma’s boldness and confidence lingered in the air. She could only hope that his energy would help lead the team to greater heights, just as his personality did for him.

Hayate Haru ➺

The late afternoon sun cast a soft golden light over the soccer field, creating a tranquil, almost dreamlike atmosphere. The sounds of the team’s training had started to die down as most of the players were finishing their workouts, their laughter and voices fading into the distance. The occasional breeze ruffled the leaves of the nearby trees, sending a refreshing coolness through the air.

In a quiet corner of the field, far away from the commotion of the others, Haru Hayate was laying on his back, eyes closed, arms stretched out at his sides as he enjoyed the peaceful solitude. His spiky light yellow hair seemed to glisten in the sunlight, and his tall, lean figure was perfectly still against the soft grass. Hayate was a person who valued calmness and quiet—he found solace in the simple act of soaking in the environment around him, far from the chaos of the training ground.

The world around him was peaceful, almost serene. The gentle rustling of the leaves, the faint chirp of birds in the distance, and the occasional flutter of a butterfly’s wings—these were the small things that he appreciated, the things that allowed him to reset and recharge.

[Name], having finished her rounds and ensuring everyone else was doing okay, was walking through the field, clipboard in hand. She was scanning the area for the last few team members to check in on, making sure everyone was hydrated and feeling good. Her eyes fell upon Hayate, who was still stretched out on the grass, seemingly undisturbed by the hustle and bustle around him. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him—his peaceful aura was a sharp contrast to the usual high-energy atmosphere of the field.

She quietly approached him, stepping lightly on the grass, not wanting to disturb his calm. As she drew closer, she looked down at his resting face, her gaze softening. There was something about the way he lay there, completely at ease, that made [Name] feel… relaxed. She admired how effortlessly he seemed to embrace tranquility.

The warmth of the sunlight made her feel at ease as well, and for a moment, she stood there just admiring the scene before her. The wind tugged at her hair, and she thought to herself that it was nice to have moments like this, where everything seemed to slow down and feel right.

Without thinking, [Name] leaned down slightly, wanting to get a little closer.

At that very moment, Hayate’s calm was interrupted by the faintest shift in the air. He felt a presence above him, a quiet disturbance in the atmosphere. His eyes fluttered open slowly, as if drawn to something. When he met [Name’s] gaze, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Ah!" Hayate gasped, his head jerking up instinctively in the direction of her sudden presence. His motion was too quick, and before he could stop it, he collided with her forehead with a soft thunk.

Both of them yelped in pain, the sound echoing across the otherwise quiet field.

“Ow! That hurt!” [Name] exclaimed, her hands immediately flying to her forehead. Her eyes were wide from the sudden shock, and she stumbled back a step, rubbing her head.

Hayate, also wincing from the accidental collision, quickly sat up, his hand going to his own head where it had made contact. “Ah, I’m sorry!” he said, his voice calm, but there was a hint of fluster in his expression as he glanced up at her. "I didn’t expect you to be right there…”

[Name] blinked in confusion but then let out a nervous laugh, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “I was just checking in on you, Hayate-kun. I didn’t mean to startle you…” She winced slightly as she touched her forehead, still recovering from the bump. “That was quite the greeting.”

Hayate, rubbing his own head with a slightly sheepish expression, shook his head. “No, it’s my fault. I should’ve noticed you approaching. My bad…”

[Name] smiled gently, reassured by his calmness despite the accident. “It’s okay, really. I should have been more careful, too.”

Hayate gave her an easygoing smile, his eyes softening as he relaxed again. “Well, you’ve got me up now, so… what’s up? Was there something you needed?”

[Name], now standing fully upright, took a step back, her expression softening as she observed him more closely. “Actually, I was just making sure everyone was alright. You’ve been out here for a while, and I wanted to check in and see if you were feeling okay. You looked so at peace that I thought I’d let you enjoy it, but I guess I startled you…”

Hayate chuckled quietly, leaning back into the grass and letting out a deep breath. “It’s fine. I’ve just been enjoying the quiet for a bit. I like the feeling of the sun on my skin, and the wind…” His voice trailed off as he looked up at the sky, his eyes half-lidded in contentment. “I guess I needed a little break from all the noise, you know?”

[Name] nodded, understanding. She could see that he wasn’t just physically relaxed but mentally rejuvenated by the peaceful atmosphere. “I get it. Sometimes, the noise of everything can get overwhelming. It’s nice to just take a step back and breathe for a moment.”

Hayate turned his head slightly to look at her, his eyes softening with a rare warmth. “Exactly. That’s why I come here sometimes. It helps me clear my mind.”

[Name] smiled brightly at him, her eyes glimmering with interest. “I think that’s really nice. I mean, I always feel like I’m running around trying to make sure everyone’s doing alright, but there’s something special about taking time for yourself and just appreciating the moment.”

Hayate’s lips curved into a small, quiet smile at her words. “Yeah. It’s important to find peace wherever you can. And it’s not just the quiet; it’s the little things. The plants, the wind, the sky… it all works together to help me stay grounded.”

[Name] tilted her head curiously. “Plants?”

Hayate nodded slowly, his gaze drifting back to the small patch of grass surrounding them. “My grandfather’s a botanist. Growing up, I spent a lot of time with him, learning about different types of plants and the importance of nature. Being around plants helps me feel more connected, more… calm.” His voice took on a slightly nostalgic tone, as if remembering something meaningful. “The scenery here reminds me of the peace I found in those moments.”

[Name’s] expression softened as she took in his words. She hadn’t known that about him. “That sounds wonderful. I think it’s amazing how plants can bring such a sense of calm. Maybe… I should get you a little potted plant as a gift sometime.” She chuckled softly. “It seems fitting.”

Hayate looked at her in surprise, his lips twitching upward into a small, genuine smile. “I’d appreciate that,” he said quietly. “It’s the thought that counts.”

[Name’s] heart warmed as she smiled at him, her fingers gently brushing through her hair. “I’ll make a note of it. Maybe something that can help you feel even more at peace.”

Hayate stretched out his legs, his posture still completely relaxed. “I’ll look forward to it, then.”

The peaceful atmosphere settled around them once again. [Name] stood there for a moment, enjoying the stillness, as the sounds of the team’s training slowly faded into the background. It was nice, she thought, to have this quiet moment with him. His calm, collected nature was something she admired, and in a way, it made her feel just a little more grounded herself.

“Well,” she said, after a moment of quiet contemplation, “I’ll let you get back to your peace and quiet. I just wanted to check in.”

Hayate gave a slight nod, his expression still calm and serene. “Thanks for checking in, [Name]-chan. I’m good here.”

[Name] smiled brightly at him, nodding in return. “Alright then. Take care, Hayate-kun.”

As she walked away, Hayate lay back down on the grass, closing his eyes again, the soft breeze carrying his thoughts far away. [Name] couldn’t help but smile to herself, thinking that it was nice to see someone so at peace with themselves. She’d have to get him that plant one day.

Neru Teppei ➺

The day was slowly winding down, the sun beginning its descent and casting a warm golden light across the field. The sound of heavy breathing and the thud of soccer balls slowly faded as the last few players finished their grueling training sessions. The air felt slightly humid but refreshing, the smell of freshly cut grass mingling with the faint scent of sweat and determination.

[Name] had taken it upon herself to prepare some hearty meals for the team, wanting to ensure everyone refueled after such an intense practice. She had spent the better part of the morning making a large pot of curry, along with some other snacks, and now it was time to distribute the food to the players. She walked through the field with a large container in hand, her eyes scanning for players who might be in need of a break.

As she passed by the others, she saw many of them eagerly waiting for their meals, but her attention was soon drawn to Neru Teppei. He was sitting off to the side, leaning against a bench, looking completely drained. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his normally bright eyes were half-lidded, a clear sign that he was struggling to keep his energy up.

[Name’s] heart softened at the sight. Teppei was always so energetic and cheerful, and seeing him this tired made her want to help him even more.

She walked up to him with a bright smile, trying her best to lift his spirits. “Hey, Teppei-kun! You look like you’ve been working really hard! Want something to eat?”

Teppei, whose eyes were barely open, immediately perked up at the mention of food. “Food? Did you make food, [Name]-chan?” His voice was a little raspy from exhaustion, but there was a spark of excitement in his eyes at the thought of getting something to eat.

[Name] couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction. “Of course! I made curry for everyone. I figured it would be perfect to help everyone get their energy back after all that running.”

Teppei, despite being on the verge of passing out, sat up straighter, a wide grin forming on his face. “Curry?! That sounds amazing! I’m starving!”

[Name] smiled warmly, her heart swelling with affection for the team member she’d come to care so much about. She bent down slightly, holding out the spoon with a hearty helping of curry. “Here, Teppei-kun, let me feed you! You’ve earned it.”

Teppei’s face immediately turned a deep shade of red as he blinked up at her, surprised by the gesture. His usual cheerfulness didn’t seem to do much to calm his nerves in this moment—being fed by his manager was an overwhelming experience, and he couldn’t help but feel flustered. “W-wait, [Name]-chan, you don’t have to—!”

But before he could finish, [Name] was already bringing the spoon closer to his lips, her eyes full of care and warmth. “Don’t worry, Teppei! You’ve worked so hard today. Let me help you out.”

Teppei’s heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth without thinking, and before he knew it, the warm curry was in his mouth. The flavors instantly hit his senses, and he couldn’t help but sigh in contentment, his eyes closing in satisfaction. “Mmm… this is so good, [Name]-chan! You’re amazing! I never knew you were such a good cook!” He smiled at her, his cheeks still flushed, both from the food and the moment itself.

[Name] chuckled softly, happy to see him enjoying the meal. “I’m glad you like it! It makes me happy to know that it’s helping everyone.”

Teppei couldn’t stop himself from looking at her with admiration. He had always thought she was kind, but this… this felt different. He felt a warmth growing in his chest—not just from the food, but from the kindness she was showing him. It made him feel special, and he couldn’t deny the butterflies in his stomach as he watched her smile.

As she fed him the next spoonful, [Name] looked down at him and asked, “So, Teppei-kun, tell me something about yourself. What do you like to do when you’re not training?”

Teppei’s eyes lit up as he eagerly replied, “Oh! I love Pokémon! They’re the best! My favorite is Pikachu. He’s just so cute and full of energy, like me! I’ve always wanted to be like him—positive, always there for my friends, and ready for any challenge!”

[Name’s] smile widened. “I love Pokémon too! My favorite is Pachirisu. I think she’s just adorable and so full of spirit. And she’s always so kind-hearted!”

Teppei’s face lit up even more, his excitement clearly evident. “Pachirisu! That’s a great choice! They’re both so cute! I bet they’d make an amazing team!”

[Name] giggled. “Right? I think they’d be the perfect pair. Maybe Pikachu and Pachirisu could be like… you and me!”

Teppei’s eyes widened in surprise at her words, and his heart skipped a beat. Did she… did she just compare herself to his favorite Pokémon? He blushed even harder, his mind racing. He couldn’t help but picture Pikachu and Pachirisu together, and for some reason, it felt right. In his mind, it was almost like a perfect metaphor for the bond he felt with his manager—he, the energetic and cheerful Pikachu, and her, the sweet and kind Pachirisu.

“You think so?” Teppei asked, his voice slightly shaky as he looked up at her with wide eyes, his blush deepening. “I… I like that idea a lot.”

[Name] smiled warmly at him, feeding him another spoonful of curry. “I’m glad! You’re such a hard worker, Teppei-kun. It’s nice to see someone with so much energy and spirit.”

As Teppei ate the food, he couldn’t stop thinking about her words. His heart was fluttering in his chest. There was something so comforting about [Name]—about her kindness and the way she made him feel special. He didn’t want this moment to end. He didn’t want her to go.

As she finished the meal and started to clean up, Teppei couldn’t help but ask, “[Name]-chan, do you think… we could hang out again sometime? Maybe talk a little more? I’d love to chat with you again…”

[Name] paused in her cleaning, turning back to him with a warm smile. “Of course, Teppei-kun! I’d love that. We can talk more once everything’s settled. It’ll be fun!”

Teppei’s heart soared. “I’ll be looking forward to it! Thanks, [Name]-chan.”

As [Name] walked off to clean up the rest of the mess, Teppei sat there, his heart racing, his mind filled with thoughts of Pikachu and Pachirisu—of him and his manager. His smile grew wider as he daydreamed about their next conversation.

Miroku Darai ➺

The gym was unusually quiet, the distant sounds of soccer balls bouncing and players shouting faintly in the background. The air was thick with a serene, peaceful atmosphere as sunlight poured through the large windows, casting soft shadows over the gym floor. There were weights neatly arranged in one corner and a few yoga mats scattered around, but the real center of attention was a single, calm space where a young man sat with perfect stillness.

Miroku Darai, the U-20 team’s spiritual soul, sat cross-legged on a yoga mat in the center of the gym, his black eyes closed in deep meditation. His dark skin contrasted against the faint golden light around him, and his henna tattoos along his arms and neck gave off an aura of calm, almost sacred presence. His breathing was slow and steady, the rhythmic hum of his chant adding to the peaceful energy of the room. He was completely absorbed in the practice, tuning out everything around him as he focused on the stillness within.

[Name] walked into the gym, her usual light-hearted energy trailing behind her. She had a small notebook tucked under her arm, planning to jot down some things for the team’s upcoming schedule. She didn’t expect to find anyone here—let alone Darai in the midst of his peaceful meditation. However, her intentions to keep things quiet were thwarted as she accidentally pushed the door just a little too hard, causing it to slam shut.

The loud thud of the door breaking the stillness made Darai’s eyes snap open, his sharp gaze now fixed on the source of the disturbance. He exhaled sharply, the calm that once enveloped him momentarily broken. The tranquility of the gym seemed to vanish in an instant as he stared at the person who had dared to interrupt his peace.

[Name’s] eyes widened in realization, her cheeks turning red from the embarrassment. She quickly bowed deeply, her words tumbling out in rapid apology.

“I-I’m so sorry, Darai-kun! I didn’t mean to disturb you! I didn’t see you there! Please forgive me!” She bowed again, the sincerity in her voice clear.

Darai let out a long, deep sigh, his lips curling into a slight smile as he observed her flustered form. He had always been a man of few words, and though he had a natural gravitas, his personality was far from harsh. He exhaled slowly, then spoke with an air of calm that returned to him quickly.

“It’s... fine,” he said, his voice deep and soothing, though tinged with a hint of exhaustion from having his peaceful moment interrupted. “It’s not the end of the world, just... a little disruption.” His tone was almost dismissive, as if not holding any ill will, yet still clearly yearning for the peace he had lost.

[Name] straightened, her bowing ceasing, though her expression was still full of concern. “I didn’t mean to bother you while you were meditating. What were you doing, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Darai’s eyes flickered slightly, considering her question. Meditation was something deeply personal to him, a moment of reflection and calm in a world full of chaos. His thoughts paused for a moment before he spoke again.

“I was meditating. Trying to find balance in the chaos,” Darai replied quietly, his gaze thoughtful. “The world is constantly shifting, filled with... noise. I need peace to clear my mind.”

[Name’s] eyes softened, sensing the sincerity in his words. She had always admired how Darai seemed to possess an inner calm, as if he had mastered the art of controlling his mind. It intrigued her, and she found herself drawn to the peacefulness he radiated.

“I can understand that,” [Name] said gently. “It’s hard to find peace in the middle of everything, isn’t it?”

Darai slowly nodded, his gaze turning back to the floor, as if grounding himself again. He didn’t speak for a moment, allowing the room to fill with silence once more. But then, [Name] took a step forward, her voice light but eager.

“Would you mind if I joined you? I don’t know much about meditation, but... I think it would be nice to try.”

Darai’s eyes opened once again, and he glanced at her with slight surprise. For a moment, his usual reluctance to engage in conversation was evident, but he seemed to take in her genuine interest, and his gaze softened. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“If you wish,” Darai said, a rare warmth in his voice. “The peace is not exclusive. Anyone who seeks it is welcome.”

[Name] smiled in return, grateful for his openness. She moved to sit beside him on the mat, copying his posture as best as she could. She folded her legs underneath her and straightened her back, though her mind was racing with excitement and curiosity.

As they sat in silence, the only sounds were the rhythmic hum of Darai’s chanting and the soft sound of breathing between them. [Name] couldn’t help but feel that even in the silence, something unspoken passed between them—an understanding, a bond.

“You have a really calming aura, Darai-kun,” [Name] said, her voice soft and sincere as she sat with her eyes closed, attempting to focus on the stillness. “I can see why so many people gravitate toward you. Your meditation… it’s beautiful.”

Darai’s eyes flickered open, a hint of surprise crossing his expression. He felt his heart skip a beat, a rare sense of fluster hitting him. Why is my heart racing? He thought to himself, as the sudden compliment caused his usual calm demeanor to waver.

Her words echoed in his mind—beautiful. The way she appreciated his practice made him feel a little more seen than usual. It wasn’t often that others took interest in his spiritual side, especially in a world so focused on the physicality of soccer. But [Name’s] earnestness felt different.

“Thank you,” Darai murmured, his voice almost a whisper. He cleared his throat, attempting to refocus. “I believe in balance. Yin and Yang. Life needs both sides to work harmoniously. You can only find peace once you accept both the calm and the chaos.”

[Name] nodded, her eyes still closed as she let his words sink in. She could sense that Darai had a wisdom beyond his years, a quiet strength that came from within. It made her feel connected to him in a way that went beyond mere words.

They continued to meditate in silence, the room becoming even more still as time passed. [Name] found herself relaxing deeply, her mind becoming clearer with each breath she took. For the first time in a long while, she felt completely at ease, sharing a peaceful moment with someone who valued serenity as much as she did.

Cho Kento ➺

The locker room was quiet except for the faint sounds of the occasional rustle of towels and shoes. It was a dimly lit space, the golden glow of the setting sun filtering in through the windows, casting long shadows on the polished floor. The air carried a faint, musky scent of sweat and the lingering freshness of a workout just completed. In the corner, there was a small area with padded mats where players sometimes took a moment to rest or stretch.

Kento Cho, the tall, handsome, and stern member of the U-20 soccer team, sat on one of the benches. His expression was serious, but his furrowed brow hinted at the discomfort he was feeling. His dark hair was still damp from the practice, and his body, which was perfectly sculpted from his rigorous training routine, seemed a little tense. He had been pushing himself hard lately—staying disciplined in both his training and diet, always striving to improve—but something had gone wrong. He felt a sharp, painful pop in his lower back earlier while working through an intense set of exercises, and now the discomfort had settled in.

He was used to pushing through physical pain, but this was different. It felt like something needed to be addressed, or else it could get worse.

Looking over at the door to the locker room, he caught sight of [Name] [Surename], the manager of the team. She was busy tidying up and checking her clipboard, her usual cheerful expression on her face. She had been a steady, supportive presence for the team, always there to help with anything they needed.

Kento hesitated for a moment, then walked over to her. He could see she was immersed in her tasks, and he almost didn’t want to bother her. But the pain was becoming harder to ignore. He cleared his throat.

“[Name],” Kento said, his voice calm but tinged with discomfort. “I... I think I hurt myself during training. There’s this tightness in my back. Do you think you could help me with it?”

[Name] looked up, her eyes widening in concern. She noticed the slight grimace on Kento’s face and immediately put down the clipboard she had been holding.

“Of course! What happened? Is it bad?” she asked, her voice full of concern as she stood up, walking toward him. Her genuine care was apparent, and she was ready to offer her help.

Kento rubbed the back of his neck, his usual stern demeanor softening slightly under the weight of the discomfort. “I think I might’ve pulled something, or it just... popped when I was stretching. It’s a bit painful now. I was hoping you could maybe give me a massage or something. It’s nothing too serious, but... I just need it to feel better.”

[Name] nodded, her brow furrowing with empathy. She had seen the way Kento worked—always so focused, so determined—and she hated to see him in pain. She gestured for him to sit down on the bench, where she had already noticed the soft cushions. She felt a little nervous, but she knew she could help. After all, she had experience with giving her friends and teammates massages before.

“Alright, please take a seat. I’ll do my best to help you out,” [Name] said with a reassuring smile, trying to keep her own unease in check. She gently patted the spot next to her on the bench, encouraging Kento to sit.

Kento did as she asked, slowly lowering himself onto the bench. His eyes closed for a moment, silently grateful for her willingness to help him.

[Name] stood behind him, moving around to his back. Her hands were slightly trembling as she touched his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles that were tense from the strain he had put on them during his workout. Her heart beat a little faster, realizing how close she was to him, how his shirtless form gave her a view of his well-toned body, and how she was about to touch him in a way she had never done before.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, pushing aside her personal thoughts, focusing on her task. She began by gently massaging his shoulders, her fingers pressing into the tight knots in his muscles. Kento let out a small sigh of relief at the pressure being applied to the spots that had been causing him pain.

“That’s... better,” Kento murmured, his voice low and calm. He could feel the tension slowly ebbing away, and it brought a quiet sense of peace. “You’re really good at this, [Name]. I didn’t know you were trained in this sort of thing.”

[Name] smiled, though her cheeks flushed slightly at his compliment. “I’m not exactly trained, but I’ve helped out with my friends before. I’m really glad it��s helping.”

Her hands moved further down his back, applying gentle but firm pressure as she worked on his lower back. As her hands made contact with his skin, she couldn’t help but feel the warmth radiating from his body. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the clean, sweaty scent of post-practice—it was almost intoxicating. [Name] quickly turned her attention back to her task, focusing on the sensation of his muscles relaxing beneath her touch.

Kento leaned back slightly, his eyes closing in relaxation. He could feel his body letting go of the tension, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to relax fully. “You’ve got a really good touch,” he murmured, his voice now almost quiet, filled with appreciation. “I think... I think I might’ve been too hard on myself lately. I don’t always know when to stop pushing.”

[Name’s] hands paused for a moment as she heard his words. She could hear the underlying frustration in his voice, the weight of his dedication to always strive for the best. “Kento, you’re already working so hard. You don’t have to do everything all at once,” she said, her voice warm but firm. “It’s okay to take breaks when your body tells you it needs one.”

Kento stayed silent for a moment, and then he exhaled deeply, as if he were releasing some of his own internal tension. He didn’t usually talk about his limits. He always had this intense drive to be better, to be perfect. But hearing [Name’s] reassuring words, he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t realized he needed.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with a sense of gratitude. “You’re right.”

[Name] smiled softly, her hands continuing their soothing motions. She had never expected such a heartfelt moment to arise from something as simple as helping him with a massage. It felt like she was getting to see a different side of Kento—one that was more vulnerable and human.

As she continued to ease the tension from his back, [Name] couldn’t help but feel a little flustered by the proximity and the way his muscles shifted beneath her touch. She had always admired Kento’s strong and disciplined nature, but this more relaxed side of him was... surprisingly endearing. It made her realize just how much she enjoyed being close to him, even in such an intimate moment, helping him to feel better.

Kento’s eyes opened after a few minutes, and he shifted slightly, turning his head slightly to look at her. “I’m really grateful for this, [Name],” he said quietly, his voice almost soft. “I’ll... try to take things a little easier from now on.”

[Name] nodded, her smile widening. “I’m glad I could help. Take care of yourself, Kento. You’re doing amazing, but even the strongest people need to rest.”

Kento looked over his shoulder at her, his serious expression softening with a hint of admiration. “Thanks. You’re always so kind... I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two shared a quiet moment of understanding before [Name] finished the massage. Kento stood up with a slow stretch, feeling the relief in his back. He was grateful for the care she had shown him and the peace she had given him during his moment of pain.

Wakatsuki Itsuki➺

The soft hum of the night was the only sound that filled the dormitory. Most of the team had long since fallen asleep after a long and tiring day of training. The quietness of the building felt peaceful, with the occasional sound of distant crickets outside. The cool night air seeped through the slightly cracked windows, adding a calm, almost serene atmosphere to the space.

The lights in the hallway were dim, casting soft shadows along the floor, and the quiet murmur of the wind outside was the only thing that could be heard. Inside one of the rooms, Wakatsuki Itsuki lay on his futon, his eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. His body was still, but his mind was restless.

Itsuki had always struggled with sleep. The quiet of the night was supposed to bring comfort, but instead, it only amplified the thoughts racing through his head. He flipped over onto his side and pulled the blanket tighter around him, trying to find a comfortable position. But no matter how much he tossed and turned, he couldn't find any peace. The quiet was deafening, and his insomnia was taking its usual toll on him.

Finally, after what felt like hours of tossing and turning, he gave up on trying to sleep. He quietly slipped out from under his blanket, careful not to wake his teammates. The cold wooden floor felt oddly comforting under his bare feet as he padded softly to the door.

He crept down the hallway, his black hair falling over his eyes as he tried to sneak past the others' rooms. His footsteps were light, but his mind was still racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite shake. He made his way toward the kitchen area, hoping a glass of water might help soothe the restlessness that refused to leave him.

But as he turned a corner, his hand brushed the doorframe, and he stumbled slightly. He lost his balance, and before he could steady himself, he collided with someone else.

“Ah!” a startled voice exclaimed as both figures bumped into each other. Itsuki’s heart skipped a beat as he quickly took a step back, trying to apologize for his clumsiness.

“I-I’m so sorry!” Itsuki stammered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He immediately looked down at the floor, feeling awkward and unsure of what to do.

[Name] [Surename], the team’s manager, was standing there with wide eyes, clearly surprised by the collision. Her face softened, and she giggled softly, brushing a few strands of her long black hair out of her face.

“No need to apologize, Itsuki!” she said with a warm, reassuring smile. “It’s no big deal. Are you okay?”

Itsuki looked up quickly, his gaze meeting hers for a brief moment. The contact made his heart race even faster, and he felt his cheeks burn with a sudden, intense heat. He quickly nodded, too embarrassed to say much else. The warmth from her smile made him feel even more self-conscious, and he found himself frozen in place, unsure of how to respond.

“I’m... I’m fine,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. The quietness of his words made him feel even more timid and small.

[Name] tilted her head, her smile still soft and kind. “You’re sure? You look a little tired,” she said gently. “It’s pretty late, too. Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Itsuki was caught off guard by how perceptive she was. He nodded again, though his head was lowered slightly in embarrassment. “I... I can’t sleep,” he whispered, the words barely leaving his lips. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was feeling vulnerable now. “I just... I didn’t want to wake anyone.”

[Name’s] eyes softened even further as she stepped closer to him. She could tell that Itsuki was trying to hide his discomfort, but she could see right through it. She didn’t want him to feel alone or restless, especially when the team needed to be well-rested for the next day’s training.

“Well... if you’re feeling restless, maybe you could come with me to my room?” [Name] offered, her tone warm and inviting. “It’s a little quieter there. I could make sure you get some rest, if you’d like.”

Itsuki froze for a moment, his mind racing with uncertainty. The idea of being in a room alone with [Name] was both comforting and terrifying at the same time. He wasn’t used to being so close to someone else—especially not someone as warm and friendly as her. But he didn’t want to refuse her kindness. After a few moments of internal hesitation, he finally whispered, “I-I don’t want to be a bother…”

[Name] smiled gently and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s no trouble at all, Itsuki,” she said softly, her voice soothing. “I just want you to feel comfortable and get some sleep. I’ll be there if you need anything.”

Her kindness eased his anxiety a little. He nodded, though he still felt a little flustered. “Thank you...”

[Name] led him down the hallway toward her room. The door creaked slightly as she opened it, revealing the cozy, quiet space inside. A futon was already set up on the floor, and there was a faint scent of lavender in the air from the small sachet near the window. The soft lighting from a nearby lamp created a peaceful, calming atmosphere.

“There we go,” [Name] said with a smile. “This should be a little more comfortable for you. I’ll just sleep here on the futon too. You’re not bothering me, I promise.”

Itsuki hesitated for a moment, his cheeks turning pink again. The idea of lying next to her was almost too much for him to handle, but he knew she just wanted to help. “I... thank you,” he whispered again.

[Name] made sure to fluff the blankets and settled down beside him on the futon. “Just relax, okay?” she said gently. “You can rest now.”

For a moment, they both lay there in the soft silence, the only sound being the gentle rustle of the sheets and the soft rhythm of their breathing. Itsuki tried to calm his racing heart, feeling incredibly self-conscious and nervous next to her. But [Name] didn’t seem to mind. She just smiled softly and looked over at him, her eyes sparkling in the low light.

After a few moments, she began humming a gentle tune, one that was soothing and peaceful, like a lullaby. Itsuki felt his eyelids grow heavy as the soft melody lulled him into a peaceful daze. The soft, calming sound was like a weight being lifted from his chest, and soon, he found himself drifting off to sleep.

His breathing slowed, and he let out a soft sigh of relief as he finally succumbed to the sleep he had been fighting for so long. [Name], noticing that he had finally relaxed, gently tucked him in, her fingers brushing the top of his head as she smiled to herself.

As she lay down next to him, she hummed softly again, the sound filling the room like a gentle breeze. Soon, she too drifted into slumber, her own heart warmed by the quiet peace of the moment.

Kitsunenzato Teru ➺

The day had been long, filled with intense training sessions and moments of both frustration and triumph. The team had worked hard, pushing themselves to their limits, and now it was time for a brief break before heading to dinner. The locker room buzzed with the sounds of teammates chatting, some laughing, and others still catching their breath from the workout.

[Name] [Surename] was standing near the door, her notebook in hand, jotting down notes about the day’s training and team dynamics. She’d always been so caught up in organizing and helping out the team, but there was something special about these small moments she shared with each of the members. Tonight, though, she found her gaze drawn toward one particular player: Kitsunenzato Teru, the cheerful and optimistic forward with light salmon-colored hair and his signature panda-like nose.

Teru had been chatting with a few of his teammates, but as soon as he noticed [Name’s] presence, he waved at her with a bright smile, his signature blue doe eyes sparkling in the dim light of the locker room. [Name] waved back, her usual grin spreading across her face as she walked over toward him.

“Hey, [Name]!” Teru greeted her, his energy always so infectious. “I was actually hoping you could help me with something.”

[Name] tilted her head, genuinely curious. “Sure! What is it?”

Teru’s smile widened, and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well… it’s my hair. I’ve been trying to tie it into a bun for a while, but I just can’t seem to do it the way I want.” He sighed dramatically, his eyes sparkling with a playful glint. “Do you think you could help me out?”

[Name] couldn’t help but laugh softly at his cute antics. Teru always had this ability to make things feel lighthearted, no matter the situation. She nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! I’d be happy to help. Let’s see what we can do.”

Teru led her to a nearby bench where he sat down, giving her an exaggerated bow. “Thank you so much, [Name]! I’ve been really struggling with this.”

[Name] chuckled and knelt down in front of him, her fingers already reaching for his soft hair. She picked up a brush from her bag and started to run it through his light salmon strands, gently untangling any knots that had formed.

As she worked, they began chatting, sharing stories and exchanging jokes, with Teru constantly offering playful comments and making her laugh. The atmosphere was warm, comfortable, like a quiet bubble where it was just the two of them, outside the chaos of the rest of the team.

“You know,” [Name] said, as she worked on the final touches, “I think you’d make a pretty good hairstylist with how much you care about your hair.” She smirked teasingly.

Teru blinked in mock offense, his hands going to his hips. “Hey, I take my hair very seriously, alright? Gotta look good on and off the field, you know? It’s all about presentation!”

[Name] giggled, her fingers deftly tying the final loop of the bun. “I can tell! But honestly, it’s not bad at all. It suits you.”

Teru beamed at her, a proud twinkle in his eye. “Really? You think so? I’ve never had someone tie it for me before. I think I might even keep it like this for the next game.”

[Name] smiled, stepping back to admire her handiwork. His bun was neat, secure, and definitely looked more polished than the usual messy style. “There we go,” she said with satisfaction, brushing her hands off. “I think it looks great.”

Teru jumped up from the bench, his face lighting up with joy as he twirled in front of her, showing off the new hairstyle. “Wow, this looks awesome! I can’t believe I’ve been struggling with this for so long!”

[Name] watched him with a fond smile, her heart warmed by his unbridled enthusiasm. “I’m glad you like it! You look amazing, Teru.”

Before she could react, Teru took a step toward her, and in a sudden burst of affection, he wrapped her in a tight hug. [Name] froze, taken aback by the sudden warmth of his embrace, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Teru’s hug was sincere, his energy and gratitude pouring into the simple act.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he said, his voice muffled as he held her tightly. “I’m so happy with it, [Name]. You really helped me out!”

[Name] blinked, her face flushing slightly, but she quickly recovered. She smiled warmly and returned the hug, her arms gently wrapping around his back. “I’m happy I could help, Teru,” she said softly. “I’m always here if you need anything.”

The hug lasted just a moment longer before Teru pulled back, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re the best, [Name]!” he exclaimed. “I’ll owe you a snack or something later, okay?”

[Name] laughed, brushing a few strands of her own hair behind her ear. “No need to owe me anything! It was fun.”

Teru winked at her, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. “I insist! A snack is definitely in order for such a fine hairstyle.”

She chuckled, feeling her heart warm at the interaction. Teru always knew how to lift her spirits. “Alright, alright. But only if it’s something really sweet.”

Teru gave a mock salute, his grin growing wider. “You got it! A sweet treat for the sweet manager!”

As the two of them laughed and continued their conversation, the locker room felt just a little bit brighter. Even with the chaos of the training sessions, moments like these—where the team came together, laughing and supporting one another—were what truly made [Name] feel that she was part of something special. Teru’s kindness, like the rest of the team’s, filled her with warmth, and she couldn’t help but feel grateful for the chance to be a part of their lives.

Gen Fukaku ➺

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow through the windows of the training facility. The last of the players were finishing up their cooldown exercises, some stretching on mats and others talking in groups. [Name] [Surename] was in the corner of the room, organizing her notes on the day's training, but her thoughts were somewhere else. She had spent the day with the team, bonding with each player, but there was one player she hadn't spent much time with yet: Gen Fukaku, the team's serious and reserved goalkeeper.

Fukaku had always been somewhat of an enigma. His serious demeanor, combined with his tendency to keep to himself, made him hard to approach. While the other players seemed to have their personalities shine through in their interactions with [Name], Fukaku remained a mystery to her. But she knew he was just as much a part of the team, and she wanted to show him that he was seen and appreciated as much as the others.

As she stood up, deciding to take a small break from her work, she looked around and spotted him. Fukaku Gen was sitting near the far end of the room, his tall frame hunched slightly as he tied his shoes. His expression, as always, was serious, and his eyes focused on the task at hand.

[Name] took a deep breath and walked over to him, carrying a small tin of homemade cookies she had baked earlier. She had been looking forward to sharing them with the team, but something about Fukaku’s quiet nature made her especially want to offer him a sweet treat.

When she approached him, he didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence, his attention still on his shoes. [Name] hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Hey, Fukaku,” she said softly, her voice gentle yet filled with warmth. “I made some sweets for the team today. Would you like one?”

Fukaku paused for a moment, his hands still holding his shoe laces. He glanced up at her, surprise flickering in his brown eyes. “You… made these for us?” His voice was low, almost hesitant, as though he didn’t quite believe it.

[Name] nodded, offering the tin with a smile. “Yeah! I thought you might like one. They’re cookies. I hope you like them.”

For a moment, Fukaku just stared at the tin, his expression unreadable. [Name] felt a bit nervous under his gaze but held the tin out for him, her smile never wavering. Finally, he sighed softly and slowly took the tin from her hand. He opened it, picking out a cookie and inspecting it carefully as though evaluating its quality.

[Name] stood there, watching him with a soft, patient smile, her hands clasped together in front of her.

Fukaku didn’t say anything right away. He broke off a small piece of the cookie and took a bite. [Name’s] heart raced a little as she waited for his response. The silence between them stretched for a few moments before he finally looked up, his brown eyes meeting hers.

“…It’s good,” he said, his voice as serious as ever. “Very sweet. You did a good job.”

[Name] beamed at the compliment, feeling her cheeks warm. She had been a little unsure if he would even enjoy the cookies, considering how reserved he was, but hearing him speak so honestly about it made her feel a sense of accomplishment.

“I’m glad you like it!” she said enthusiastically, her voice brightening. “If you want, I can bake more for you sometime.”

Fukaku’s expression softened just a touch, and [Name] noticed the slight change. It was subtle, but it was there. He placed the cookie tin down beside him, and for a moment, he just looked at her quietly.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, his voice quieter this time, almost as if he was trying to make himself more vulnerable. “But... thank you. No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

[Name’s] heart ached a little at his words, and she bent down slightly to get on his level, her eyes filled with genuine care. “Well, I just wanted to show you that I appreciate you, Fukaku. You’re a big part of the team, and I’m really glad you’re here.”

Fukaku blinked, his eyebrows furrowing as if processing her words. He wasn’t used to being so openly praised or shown kindness. His brow furrowed slightly, and he looked down at the tin again, his fingers brushing over the cookies.

“…I’m not good at talking,” he admitted after a beat, his voice more vulnerable than she had ever heard it. “I don’t… say much. But I do care about the team.”

[Name] smiled softly, understanding that words weren’t always Fukaku’s forte. She placed a hand on his shoulder, a simple gesture meant to convey her appreciation. “I know. You don’t have to say anything to prove how much you care. Your actions speak louder than words.”

For the briefest moment, Fukaku’s face softened, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked at her, then back down at the cookie tin, his fingers playing with the edge. “You’re different, [Name],” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. “Most people just see the expression, the quiet... they don’t see beyond it.”

[Name’s] heart fluttered, and she nodded gently. “I see you, Fukaku. You don’t have to be anyone else around me.”

The air between them grew comfortable, and Fukaku slowly took another cookie, this time without hesitation. He didn’t smile, but the small gesture—him accepting the cookie and acknowledging her presence in his own way—spoke volumes.

“Thank you,” he said again, this time with a quiet sincerity that made [Name’s] heart swell. “I’ll… I’ll try to make more time for these things.”

[Name] smiled brightly, her chest feeling warm at the unexpected bond they were forming. “Anytime, Fukaku. I’m always here if you want to talk—or if you want more sweets.”

Fukaku chuckled softly, his expression still stoic but with a slight softening in his eyes. “Maybe just a little more.”

As she walked away to continue her rounds, [Name] felt a renewed sense of connection with the team. It wasn’t always about grand gestures or words; sometimes, just sharing a simple moment of kindness was all it took to make someone feel seen.

-`♡´-

-`♡Our Manager♡´-

The day had been long—too long, if [Name] were being honest. She had spent hours tracking the players' training progress, handing out water, taking notes, and making sure every one of them had what they needed to perform at their best. It was rewarding, of course, but the exhaustion was starting to catch up with her.

As the last few players finished their individual drills, [Name] took a moment to sit at the table in the team office. Her head rested in her hands as she tried to catch her breath. The hum of the lights and the occasional shuffle of feet filled the otherwise quiet space.

She yawned, stretching her arms overhead. Her eyes were heavy, and despite trying to stay alert, she couldn’t fight the pull of sleep much longer. Slowly, her eyes fluttered closed, and her head drooped toward the desk. The paperwork that had piled up throughout the day became too much for her to keep her focus on, and in the end, she simply succumbed to the fatigue, drifting off to sleep on the table, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

The room was still, save for the occasional sound of footsteps echoing down the hall. Unbeknownst to her, the team had noticed her fall asleep, each one of them quietly observing their manager as she rested.

-`♡´-

Haru Hayate was the first to notice. The tall, calm player glanced over from the doorway, his usual serene demeanor softening with concern. Seeing [Name], slumped over at the table, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. He knew how hard she had worked that day. Without a word, he stepped quietly into the room, a light breeze of calm following him as he moved to cover her.

Gently, he draped a blanket over her, ensuring she was comfortable. The soft fabric rustled as he settled it over her shoulders. He paused for a moment, just watching her as she slept, a small smile tugging at his lips. The peace that surrounded her in that moment was rare in the busy training facility, and it reminded him of how much the team appreciated her.

As he left, he whispered, “Rest well, [Name].”

-`♡´-

Kitsunenzato Teru was next to come in. His bright and cheery energy had a slight hum of excitement even now as he saw [Name] sleeping. The sight of her exhaustion struck him, and he wanted to do something nice for her, something small to show his appreciation.

He quickly found a small snack on the counter, a bar of chocolate that he knew would provide a burst of energy once she woke. He placed it beside her on the table, with a small note that simply read, “A little treat for the best manager!” He grinned at his handiwork and took a step back, admiring his thoughtful gesture.

“Sweet dreams, manager,” he whispered with a wink before quietly leaving the room.

-`♡´-

Miroku Darai, always in touch with his inner peace, stood outside the door, observing with quiet understanding. He saw how [Name] had given her all to the team that day. Her exhaustion was clear, and while she may not have asked for help, Darai felt the need to offer her something soothing.

He entered the room and quietly prepared a cup of tea—chamomile and honey, the perfect remedy for a long day. He placed the warm cup next to her, the steam curling up in the air, the aroma soothing and calming. A small note accompanied it: “For rest and relaxation. May you find peace in this cup.”

With a quiet nod, Darai left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

-`♡´-

Sendou Shuuto walked in next. His loud and boisterous personality had been subdued for once, replaced by a quiet concern as he surveyed the sleeping [Name]. He couldn’t help but notice how much she had taken on during the day. In an act of kindness, he gently gathered up the scattered papers she had been working on and neatly organized them into a pile, ensuring everything was in order.

As he worked, he couldn’t resist glancing over at her. She was still so serene in her sleep, and it made him smile softly. Before leaving, he jotted down a quick note, scrawling, “For the best manager ever—don’t overwork yourself!” and placed it on top of the papers. With a final smile, he quietly exited.

-`♡´-

Oliver Aiku, always the flirt, couldn’t help but notice [Name’s] peaceful slumber as he passed by the open door. He stopped for a moment, watching her, and a small grin spread across his face. As he entered, he silently watched her for a beat, before picking up a sticky note and scribbling something quickly.

“You’re amazing. Don’t push yourself too hard. Take care of yourself!”

He placed it gently on her desk, right by her hand, and with a last glance at the peaceful manager, he quietly slipped out of the room, his heart swelling with a protective feeling he rarely showed.

-`♡´-

Kento Cho, ever the serious one, took one last look around the training facility, his eyes scanning for any unfinished tasks. As he passed the office, he saw [Name] resting on the desk. He paused, walking over to her silently. His hand hovered for a moment before he gently placed a bottle of water next to her.

The note he left was short and simple, but meaningful: “Stay hydrated. Don’t forget to take care of yourself.”

He sighed, shaking his head as if to remind himself to take his own advice. With one final glance, he turned and quietly left.

-`♡´-

Neru Teppei was next. He grinned as he spotted the sleeping manager, her exhaustion clear. Unlike the others, Teppei couldn’t resist one more playful gesture. He grabbed a bright sticky note and scribbled something silly: “Pikachu and Pachirisu forever! Rest up, manager!”

With that, he quickly grabbed a sweet treat, a small cupcake he had stashed away, and placed it near her hand. Teppei gave one last, heartfelt smile and crept out of the room, his heart light with the affection he felt for their manager.

-`♡´-

Itsuki Wakatsuki had been standing outside for some time, uncertain if he should enter. But seeing everyone else leave, he decided to slip in quietly. As a gentle, introverted person, he didn’t want to disturb her rest, but he wanted to leave something behind to show his appreciation.

He quietly placed a small note by her side, written in his delicate handwriting: “Thank you for always being there for us. Please get some rest.”

With a deep breath and a tiny, bashful smile, he left the room without a sound.

-`♡´-

Fukaku Gen, ever the serious one, took a moment to consider the situation. He saw his manager sleeping soundly, her exhaustion apparent. He silently stepped over to her desk and placed a simple note beside her: “Take care of yourself. You’re appreciated more than you know.” It was brief, but in his usual quiet way, it conveyed everything he wanted to say.

Fukaku turned, leaving the room with nothing more than a soft sigh.

-`♡´-

Nio Kazuma, the final one to peek in, stood quietly at the doorway, watching his manager sleep. He had witnessed her effort firsthand that day. He could tell that she was the type of person who always gave everything, even when it wasn’t asked of her. With a small smile, he left a note beside her with a few simple words: “Rest well, manager. You’ve earned it.”

-`♡´-

[Name] slowly stirred from her nap, stretching lazily as she blinked her eyes open. Her body was sore from the long day, but there was something oddly comforting about the scene before her. She looked around the desk and found that the chaos of papers was now neatly organized. There was a warm cup of tea by her side, a blanket gently draped over her shoulders, and a sweet treat waiting for her. A small smile tugged at her lips as she read the notes that had been left for her.

“For the best manager ever—don’t overwork yourself!” “Stay hydrated. Don’t forget to take care of yourself.” “Pikachu and Pachirisu forever!” and many more words of encouragement and care from her players.

Her heart swelled with gratitude as she took in the small gestures from each of them. She silently thanked her team for being so thoughtful, for looking out for her, and for making her feel appreciated.

As she stood, stretching once more, she felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and affection. Though the day had been long and taxing, this quiet moment made it all worth it.

-`♡´-

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