#*light starts diming*

[notrobinsomethingworse]

Why else would he have two arms?

Steph: Fuck we forgot a torch.

Tim: Hang on I got this.

Tim, snaps Jason’s arm like a glow-stick.

Jason, eyes illuminated bright green casting light onto the surrounding area: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU.

Tim: Got it.

[wp100]

i miss my spongebob fixation

[kisakunt]

toji who has never known a day where he was good with money. toji who has never experienced financial stability a moment in his life. he’s a gambling man— a man of trinkets and risks and bets. he knows he’s good enough to win any fight he’s in, finish any job he starts, find a way around everything, so he thinks his luck has to transcend into money. he always takes that shot because today’s the day, i can tell.

toji who, after the first time he met you, stored away exactly five hundred yen that he refused to touch for the next time he saw you and you wanted a coffee. he keeps it with him all the time, tucked nice and neat in his thrashed wallet for safe keeping.

toji who, before your first date, pawned one of his last worthwhile possessions to take you somewhere nice. he knows this isn’t sustainable, so for the second and third he plans them around jobs.

toji who stops wasting a dime at a bar. he hates drinking anyway. he doesn’t get takeout anymore— instead has become quite the mediocre chef. he limits his gambling from four races a week to one.

toji who stops picking up the big gigs. it infuriates shiu, but toji waves him off with large fingers and a gruff noise. instead, he focuses on little jobs. smaller paycheck, smaller duration, more time home.

toji who will never change for anyone. this is his life— this is the life he’s given himself for, he’s lost for, he’s given blood, and sweat, and arguably tears for. but, when you nuzzle your way deeper into his life, he does practice harm reduction.

toji who gets a bank account on your two month anniversary. he opts for checking and savings, although savings ever hardly sees the light of day.

toji who, while he has been a man of work forever, has never worked like this. he washes his sheets once a week, cleans dishes, picks up trash from his drawers and the floor and the poor excuse of a futon he calls a couch.

toji who becomes a man when he meets you. toji who understands finally what it means to want to provide. toji who practices the best way he can to be good to you. toji who, if you ever did ask, would give it all away for you.

toji who didn’t know loving someone in turn meant he had to love himself until he met you.

[majinbangus]

Silly thought but-

Wearing a fit with no pockets, you have no purse, no nothing to carry your phone, but that's okay because your man said he'll carry it in his pocket, he has more than enough space in those jeans of his. He tells you you don't need to bring your wallet either. Today's all on him.

So he's out treating you to some shopping (gotta spoil his love and all). You're at the register, looking cute while he's digging in his pocket to pay. He can't find his wallet. That's okay, he'll check his other pocket. Still no wallet. Alright, he's starting to get upset with himself. Did he really forget the one thing he needed for today? He promised you he would take care of everything. Take care of you.

He pats himself down once, twice, thrice, but still nothing. He forgot his wallet at home. He's about to curse himself out and apologize to you for bringing you out for nothing, but then you put a placating hand on his bicep, squeezing with a sweet smile he doesn't deserve, telling him it's alright. And just when he's about to rebuff that, you- you-

You reach into the front of your shirt, fingers dipping between your breasts, and pull out your credit card, making quick work and paying for the things he should be paying for, before he can react.

You put your card back in your bra and grab your bagged items, smiling at him, telling him you want to eat at that new restaurant down the street. He doesn't snap out of his haze until you're tugging at him.

Grumbly and grunting, he snatches your bags outta your hand, mumbling something about you not lifting a finger and promising to make it up to you for forgetting his wallet and making you pay for your day out, the day he was supposed to spoil you rotten. But he sucks up his indignation because you're smiling and happy to be spending the day with him, and that's all he really wanted.

He would have also promised a light punishment because how dare you presume you would have to pay for anything when he was there to take care of you, but since he did in fact forget his wallet, he was willing to let your transgression go. Just this once. He would not be forgetting his wallet ever again, and you would not have to worry about paying a dime for anything you ever needed or wanted while he was around.

-

reader ftw with the bra as a pocket hack

[fandomwritesstuff]

The Sun to my Moon

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds/The Void x Thunderbolts!Mutant!Reader Summary: After delayed on missions, you just want to go back. You miss everyone but you really miss Bob, as your relationship is evolving. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Light angst, smut (unprotected P in V, Oral m receiving, little possessiveness kink ig?, breastplay) (let me know if I missed any) A/N: First time writing smut(feedback appreciated but be kind). This story also took off from me. Slightly inspired by 505 by Arctic Monkeys. Let me know what you all think. Also may or may not be working on a Bob Floyd piece if anyone is interested... Word Count: 3,639

“Just a few more days” Valentina told you during your call to report in. Your eyes twitched in irritation.

“You said that two days ago.” You reminded her, voice harsh as you glared at the wall you were staring at. You couldn’t stand the shitty hotel room any longer, nor should you have to when you knew there was a nice, warm room with your bed in it at the Tower. 

This was the third mission that you had been sent on this month alone, and it was supposed to have ended almost a week ago. However, Val seemed to find more excuses each time to keep you away. 

The thought of relaxing back at the tower with everyone else was all that was keeping you going lately. Hell, you would even take sparring with Bucky, Yelena, or Walker right now over staying in this room for one more minute. 

What you really wanted though, was to get back to the book that you had been reading with Bob. You hadn’t been able to even get halfway through before you were pulled away again. 

It made you wonder how Bob was handling these delays. You had told him when you expected to be back. Now, you somewhat regretted that, knowing he would worry until you walked back through the doors of the Tower. You were glad that Yelena was still there, hopefully she could keep him steady enough. Not that you could ask–you’ve had no contact with the team for this last mission. One reason going undercover was never your favorite. 

Pretending to be someone you weren’t also played into the dislike you had for these missions. You hated the crawling feeling you would get when the lines blurred between yourself and who you were posing as. It was a tricky tightrope that you knew how to walk, but could slip either way. However, being one of the least recognizable on the team and a shadow manipulator, made you the first in line for the role.

Normally, you were fine pushing through–finishing to whatever end Valentina wanted. Missions were your payday afterall and could be for good causes. However, with three straight missions, and the abnormal pushes to continue–care was out the window.

“I want my extract, tonight.” The command was met with silence and then a deep sigh. 

“I can arrange for it to be tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.” Val claimed. Shaking your head, you scoffed. She wanted you to go back in the morning–not happening. 

“What’s so hard to understand about tonight?” You asked rhetorically. “There’s no more information to gain–I’m leaving tonight whether you have a plane ready or I pick up a car on your dime.” You knew the ultimatum would piss her off, but you were apathetic to her feelings at this point.

Val scoffed but you could hear Mel in the background discussing the options. It wasn’t clear enough for you to make out, but you knew Mel would do everything in her power to get you back tonight. 

“Fine, a jet will be there in an hour. If you’re not ready, you’ll pay for your own way back.” She snapped and ended the call before you could respond. Rolling your eyes, you set your phone down and started to collect the items that you had brought with you. 

Packing up was fairly simple for you, as you never fully unpacked to begin with. Most of your clothes were still in your duffel bags, it just took a little rearranging of them to fit in your hygiene items. You then packed the items from the nightstand, your chargers, book, and you couldn’t forget the keychain that Bob had given you just before you left. It was a little moon that fit like puzzle pieces with the sun side that he had kept. 

You saw the keychain on your last shopping trip. Bob had come with you just to get outside for a little, or so he had said–Yelena made it known that she believed he went just to be closer to you. You made a comment about how they're keychain fit the two of you–him having the power of a thousand suns or something like that and you being a shadow manipulator working better at night. 

Bob had agreed and didn’t say anything as you walked away from it in the store. Little did you know that he had grabbed it and quickly paid for it when you weren’t looking. He didn’t even give it to you right away, either. He waited until right before this undercover mission. It brought a smile to your face thinking about it. 

He had been so nervous to approach you as you were grabbing a few items from storage. You had noticed him lingering in the hallway of storage. 

“Hey, Bob.” You called as you grabbed a weapon cleaner, having run out during your last mission. “You need something?” You asked with a gentle smile as you prepared to leave the room. 

“No, well n-not from there.” He told you. You noticed his hands were behind his back and he was rocking on the balls of his feet. He was wearing a light sweater with sweatpants, both slightly rumpled. 

“Then what’s up?” You asked, tilting your head as you closed the door to storage. 

“I, uh, wanted t-to give you this.” His hands moved to be in front of him holding the keychain that you saw in the store. “I remember you liked it in the store and I t-thought that maybe it could remind you of m–of the t-team while you’re gone. With you having so many missions and having to be away. I also thought you could pick which one you wanted and all.” He started to ramble. 

You stepped closer and gently grabbed the moon from his hands. “I can’t take the sun from the man with the power of a thousand of them.” You joked. “Maybe this will remind you that you’ll always be my sun god.” Flirting with him hadn’t been your goal–if asked you would blame it on being tired–but Bob’s face made it worth it. 

His eyes widened as his jaw dropped to the floor. You could see the gears turning and the glow of his power in his eyes at his unexpected overwhelming emotion. A flush filled his cheeks and his breathing was shaky as he started to blink harder. 

“Thank you, Bob.” You spoke softly. You wanted to hug him, but feared it would overwhelm him even more than he already was. Instead, you decided to continue getting ready for your next mission. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.” You reminded him as you walked past. He nodded as he watched you leave, feet firmly planted as if frozen to the ground. 

Chuckling lightly, you wondered how long he had stayed there after you left. The thought of one of the others finding him–especially Ava or Yelena–was especially funny to you. You couldn’t wait to ask them when you got back. Although talking with Bob was all you really wanted to do. 

Wanting to be comfortable, you changed into cargo pants, a plain shirt, and your tactical vest. Once you had double checked that everything was packed, you threw your backpack on and carried your dufflebags in your hands.

You were right on time as you made it to the launch pad, the jet was just landing. You smiled as you stepped on, ready to go home. Thankfully, it was a short flight and you stepped out onto the roof of the tower.

You felt your muscles relax–no longer as on edge. Taking a deep breath of the night time air, you closed your eyes allowing yourself a moment to yourself. Away from the missions, away from Val telling you what to do, and away from chaos that the team unintentionally brings. A calm washed over you like a wave, dragging away the tension as it receded. You were safe–you were home.

Inside of the elevator, you felt it couldn’t go any slower. You bounced on the balls of feet–ready to break out any moment. You only knew it was moving with the ding of each floor change. Each bell is a signal that brings you closer–not close enough–to your sanctuary. 

It was as if you could hear your bed calling your name, ready to sing you a song to help you sleep. However, when the elevator door opened the record skipped as Yelena leaned against the wall, waiting for you. 

“Yelena?” 

“Oh, good you’re back.” Her words were sarcastic as she pushed herself away from the wall. “We had a slight mishap while you were gone.” She used a slight gesture as she met your eyes. The we in question had nothing to do with the whole team. 

“What happened?” The tension was back in your shoulders. You braced yourself for the storm you couldn't see.

“Relax, we handled it–or really he did. He got upset with the delays, worked himself up a little, almost shattered a couple things, but was able to get control and bring himself back down.” She told you, motioning with her hand as she did. 

You stared at her blankly. “When was this?” 

“A couple nights ago, he’s been okay the last few days, but he has shut himself in your room.” 

“My room?” You asked. 

“We didn’t have time to make a plan and he was missing you, so I figured that was the closest he could get without you here.” She explained with a shrug. “Sue me.”

“Alright, make a plan later, got it.” You mumbled and took a breath. “It’s fine, he’s there half the nights I’m here anyways.” You let out a laugh with a sigh. Nodding and looking down at your feet, allowing the tension to ease. 

“Exactly!” She exclaimed. “Well, I’m going to bed.” 

“Night, Lena.” You called after her as she started to walk away.

“Night.” She gave you a small wave, not bothering to turn and face you. 

You then made your way to your room. The hallway was dark, lit only by the moonlight coming through the windows. You watched your shadow as it danced along beside you. Getting to your door, you opened it slowly–in case Bob was sleeping. You didn’t want to wake him if you could help it. However, when you saw him, your heart melted. Kicking off your boots, you walked closer.

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed, a smile pulling at your lips. He was curled up into a ball, blanket barely covering him and you could see the sweat stains on his light shirt from him overheating. His hair had fallen lightly in his face as he rested his head on one pillow and hugged your second one to his body as if it were an anchor keeping him stable. 

You brushed back his hair gently, unable to resist the temptation. His eyes fluttered before sluggishly opening, taking a moment to adjust to the low lights you had turned on. When they did, his eyes widened and you could see the yellow glow flicker as his excitement grew.

“You're back!” he exclaimed, moving to sit up on his hip. Your hand fell from his hair and on to the bed between you. 

You nodded, becoming hyper aware of the little space between you–the fact that he was in your bed and comfortable enough to sleep. It made you aware of feelings that you had been pushing down for a while.

“A-are you okay? Why were you so late? Y-you told me two weeks but then Mel was telling us about d-delays with little info. She'd tell us what Val had said–that you were supposedly alright just needed more time. I was so worried because you couldn't talk to us so we just had to trust her and-”

“I know, I know. I'm okay, she just wanted me to try and get more info. But I'm here now.” You interrupted his spiraling. 

The glow in his eyes was more prominent, his mind racing. His eyes were darting between yours as if trying to verify this wasn't just a dream. You moved your hand to cup his cheek and felt him lean into your touch. 

“I couldn't keep my sun god waiting, now could I?” You teased, causing his eyes to widen. You dropped your hand as his head moved away slightly to be level. 

“You mean it?”

“Mean what? That you're a sun-”

“That I'm your's.” he whispered as if afraid speaking too loudly would scare you away and make his loneliness real.

“If you want to be.” 

He nodded, biting his lip as his gaze met yours.

“I need words, Bob.” 

“I'd like that–t-to be your's, I mean.” he answered, pausing for a moment. “Can I… can I kiss you?” his eyes darting between your eyes and lips. 

“Yes,” you whispered, slightly leaning in as his hand came to cup your face. 

Closing your eyes, you leaning into him. His lips brushed your lightly, hesitating only a moment before pressing them onto yours softly. His lips were warm and slightly chapped. He hesitated to press harder, scared to hurt you unintentionally with his strength. Scared you might break like the glass he almost shattered when you didn't come back. And as soon as the kiss had started, he ended it, pulling back. 

You quickly brought your hand up to the back of his neck to pull him back in. Pressing harder against him, sending a message to him that you wouldn't break. You could take whatever he could give you. He slowly leaned back, still holding onto you, falling back on his elbows as you leaned with him. 

You moved to straddle him as his hand slowly came up to the zipper of your vest. Breaking the kiss he met your eyes in a silent question, gold more prominent than before. You nodded and he pulled the zipper down in one quick motion–vest slipping off your shoulders and on to floor soon after. You began to trail a line of kisses down his neck, and he tilted his head to give you more room. You sucked at the sweet spot on his neck earning a light whimper from him.

You slipped your hands under his shirt, and before you could ask he was moving to take it off. You smirked and continued the trail of open mouth kisses down his chest, dragging your nails lightly over his abs followed by your lips until you got to his waist. 

“May I?” You asked, looking up at him, fingers playing with the knotted string of his sweats. His eyes were wide, breath shaky, and there was a flush to his cheeks. 

“Ye-yeah.” He stuttered. Undoing the knot and hooking your finger into his pants–he helped you remove them by lifting his hips. His erection sprang free, curling slightly toward his stomach. The tip was red and you could see a small amount of precum. You smirked as you flattened your tongue against him, licking from base to tip. 

Bob’s eyes shut as he fell back completely with a moan. You wrapped your hand around the base and stroked a few times before swirling your tongue around the tip. You then closed your mouth around the head and sucked. 

“Oh, fuck.” Bob groaned, one hand moved to cover his face, the other found the back of your head. 

You felt his hand urge you on, lightly pushing your head further down. Taking more of him into your mouth, you started a steady tempo, using your hand for what couldn’t fit. He continued to whimper and moan, turning you on more. 

Suddenly his hand tightened in your hair and he pulled you off, causing you to stop everything. 

“Everything okay? Did I do something wrong?” You asked, attempting to meet his eyes. 

Bob dragged his hand down off of his face and shook his head. 

“Just didn’t want to cum yet.” He explained. There was a slight dazed look to him that brought a grin to your face.

Leaning up to kiss him, you felt his hands start to explore your body. His hands slipped under your shirt, drifting up past your ribs and cupping your breasts. You threw the shirt off, not caring to see where it landed.

Your bra soon followed as Bob started to trail open mouth kisses over your chest. You moaned as he sucked a nipple into his mouth while your hands started to undo your cargo pants. 

Moving off the bed for a moment, Bob let out a whine that made you nearly go crawling back. However, you decided to tease him, turning away as you slowly dragged your pants and underwear down your legs–giving Bob a good view of your wetness, earning a groan from him. You then slowly walked back to the bed–a slight strut in your step. Bob was on his elbows, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Crawling on the bed, you moved to straddle him once more.

“You tell me if it's too much or you need to stop, okay?” You asked, placing your hands on his chest. 

He nodded, before remembering to use his voice. “Y-yeah, I will.” His eyes were brighter than you had seen in a while, like little stars in the dark night sky.

Smiling you then dragged one of your hands down between the two of you. Grabbing him and lining him up with your entrance. 

You moved slowly–dragging out the pleasure for both of you, as you sank onto his length. Your hands rested on his chest as you watched his expression change. His face contorted with a moan and he fell back, hands moving to grab your hips. Once your hips were flush, you gave yourself–and Bob–a moment to adjust. 

Slowly grinding on him, his eyes snapped to yours causing you to smirk. You then slowly started to move. Bob's grip became tighter on your waist and you could feel him slightly lifting and pulling you back down each time. 

Your name was like a prayer on his lips. You moaned at the sight of his wrecked state. A man with that much power brought to a whimpering state, by you. 

Your sun god. 

Your's.

“S-say it.” He managed to say in between moans suddenly. 

“Say what?” 

“That I'm–fuck–that I'm your's.” 

“You're mine.” The words caused him to twitch inside you–a moan falling from both of your lips.

“You're mine, Bob.” That seemed to make him short circuit as he let out a visceral moan. His hands pulled you down as he bucked up into you. 

You then moved a hand down to touch yourself. A moan fell from your lips and you closed your eyes, relishing in the pleasure. Increasing your pace, when you opened your eyes, Bob was looking at you again. His pupils were blown wide but you could still see the gold burning there. Raw power flowing through him. His name overflowed from your lips like a fountain. 

Suddenly, Bob flipped the two of you and attached his lips to yours. The kiss was passionate but messy. A display of emotion as Bob set a quick pace.

You clenched around him–you wouldn't last much longer at this rate. He wouldn't either, his pace just barely faltering a little. 

“Mine.” You moaned again, when he released your mouth. There lights flickered, and it wouldn't take much more for him to let go.

“You're mine” a moan was ripped from your lips “and I-I'm your's.” 

That seemed to be all he needed to be pushed over the edge–you right behind him. He thrusted one more time before twitching and releasing inside of you. Your orgasm crashed through you like a wave and you saw stars.The lights flickered and burst–glass raining down in a small shower of sparks–as he collapsed on top of you to protect you. 

After a moment of collecting your breath, he pushed himself up. The gold in his eyes was dimmer–not gone but not as intense now. His eyes searched yours for a moment before slowly pulling out. 

“You okay?” He asked as he carefully maneuvered out of the bed, avoiding the glass on the floor.

“Yeah, shouldn't I be asking you that? Did you get cut?” 

“No, I-I'm fine. I'm sorry, my power just–I couldn't stop it.” he rambled, looking for something to clean up with. 

You leaned up and noticed that there didn't seem to be any glass on the bed. You wondered if his powers did that subconsciously to protect you–it must have. 

“Hey, just come to bed. We'll worry about cleaning up in the morning.” 

“Are you sure, I can at least grab a towel–”

“I'll be fine. Come to bed, my not-so-little sun god.” you spoke with a smile, patting the spot next to you. 

He only nodded, making his way to the other side of the bed and pulling the covers back, joining you. You curled into his side, resting your head on his chest as you wrapped your arm around his waist. 

Looking up, you smiled and couldn't believe you could now call this man your's. A man with so much power, it seemed unreal. 

“W-what?” Bob asked, catching your staring. 

“Just can't believe you're mine.” 

“You can't believe it–I feel like I'm gonna wake up tomorrow and this will all have been a dream.” He whispered, muscles tense. Both of you in awe of the other. 

“No dream, Bob. I'll be here when you wake.” You reassured him and he managed a weak smile before relaxing into you–arms moving to wrap around you. 

Soon you both fell asleep. Someone could worry about all the blown lightbulbs on this floor of the tower tomorrow morning.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Slicked Back & Smitten

Rating: Mature Audiences

Warning: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, spicy, wlw smut, mirror sex, Paige's biceps, paige fucking you while having you in a headlock, !top paige, !bottom reader, light oral (fem reseving), !purple strap Paige, !slick back ponytail P (yes this deserves a warning), fluff

Paring: Paige Bueckers x fem reader

Fandom: Uconn's Women's basketbal

Summary: Slicked Back ponytail P... and she's swollen in the right places too... oh you're down bad baby

Tag: @elliesglock , @elalfywhore , @paxaz535

The morning of the UConn vs. Butler game was absolute chaos. With a 1 p.m. tip-off, I had been up at the ass crack of dawn, running errands before heading to the arena. Meanwhile, Paige was at home, usually getting her game day braids done by Kayla—her routine, her thing.

Except today, Kayla couldn’t do them she was getting over being sick, didn't wanna risk Paige getting sick.

And I? I was too busy being the responsible, errand-running girlfriend to even offer to do them myself.

So, Paige had to figure something out.

By the time I arrived at the arena, the team was already warming up. I greeted a few of the staff members before spotting Kayla on the sidelines, watching the girls get their final shots up before tip-off.

"Did you see what she did?" Kayla asked as I approached.

I was confused. "Who?"

Kayla gave me a look. "Your girlfriend."

I turned my head, scanning the court until my eyes landed on Paige in her love, Abby warm up. And, oh, did my jaw practically drop.

Instead of her signature game day braids, she had done a sleek middle-part ponytail. The gel, the clean parting, the way the ponytail laid so perfectly down her back—it was… different. It was… distracting.

I bit the inside of my cheek, shifting on my feet. "Yeah… I see her."

Kayla snickered, nudging me. "She look good, huh?"

I exhaled sharply, eyes still glued to Paige as she moved across the court, completely unaware of the effect she was having on me. The slick back? The way it emphasized her face, her jawline, her everything? Yeah, it was bad for me.

"Kayla," I started, voice low. "I don’t think you should do her braids next game either."

Kayla howled. "Oh, nah, you down bad!"

I rolled my eyes, pretending like I wasn’t already making plans to personally ensure Paige never wore braids again.

———

The first half of the game was a problem.

Paige was playing out of her mind. She was dropping dimes, hitting threes, getting to the basket with ease—and she looked damn good doing it.

I was trying to focus on the actual game, trying not to be the most obvious girlfriend ever, but every time she drove to the rim, her ponytail swung just right, her edges still perfectly laid despite how much she was sweating.

It was a crisis.

By halftime, I had reached my breaking point.

Sitting in the stands, I pulled my phone out, thumbs flying across the screen as I sent a text Paige wouldn’t see until later.

Me: You need to put me in a headlock when we get back home.

Me: And I need you to consider this slick back ponytail as your new game day hair. Like… permanently.

I hit send, exhaling as I locked my phone. Out of sight, out of mind. I just needed to get through the rest of the game without combusting.

———

Paige didn’t see the message until hours later.

After the game, she had her usual post-game press conference, with Kk and Azzii answering questions about UConn’s dominant win, her own performance, and how it felt playing without her signature braids.

Then came the locker room celebrations, the team hyping each other up, the post-game shower, and finally—finally—Paige was back at our shared off-campus apartment.

Freshly showered, she walked into the bedroom with a towel around her neck, only in her black Nike sports bra and grey boxers sitting perfectly on her waist line, scrolling through her phone finally checking all her notifications.

I was sitting on the bed, scrolling mindlessly myself, until I saw her pause.

Her head tilted. "What the hell?"

I tried to act innocent. "What?"

Paige turned her phone towards me, revealing my very suggestive text from earlier. "This," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Headlock? Really?"

I shrugged, unbothered. "You read it. You know what I said."

She huffed out a laugh, tossing her phone onto the nightstand before crawling onto the bed. She hovered over me, arms on either side of my head, that damn ponytail still sleek even after her shower.

"So," Paige mused, voice dropping slightly. "You liked the ponytail, huh?"

I reached up, running my fingers over the base of it where she had secured it with a black hair tie. "Liked? Understatement."

Paige smirked, dipping down to press a lingering kiss to my jaw. "Liked it enough to text me during halftime about puttin yo ass in a headlock?"

I exhaled sharply. "I was having a moment."

She kissed the corner of my mouth, teasing me. "Mhm. And what kind of headlock we talking about?"

I rolled my eyes, pushing her lightly. "Don’t play with me, Bueckers."

Paige chuckled, finally kissing me for real, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to rest her forehead against mine. "So… ponytail again next game?"

I nodded immediately. "Absolutely, baby it’s your secret weapon."

She smirked, leaned closer, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered, "Anything for you, baby. Especially when I get to have my way with you afterward."

I shivered at her words, my heart racing with anticipation. There was something intoxicating about the way she claimed me, the way she took charge. I loved every moment of it, even if it made me feel vulnerable.

Paige stood up suddenly, her playful demeanor shifting into something more commanding. “Come here,” she instructed, her voice firm yet sultry. I followed her, curiosity piqued, as she led me to the full-length mirror on the wall, right next to the bed.

“Look at yourself,” she murmured, her fingers brushing against my neck as she turned me to face the glass. I could see the reflection of us, a flush creeping across my cheeks. “You’re beautiful,” she said, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “But I want you to see what I see.”

Before I could respond, she slowly pulling my satan mini sleep dress, off revealing my body to herself as if she was claming a prize. My heart raced as I realized her intentions. “Paige…” I started, but her smirk silenced me.

“Shh,” she said, a playful glint in her eye. “Trust me, watch me the whole time, ma. ” She walked to the other bed side table to pull out the purple stap, taking the boxers off and expertly securing it around her waist.

I watched her through the Mirror not taking my eyes of her once.

“Now,” she said, walking back to me and now her breath warm against my neck, “I want you to look at yourself in the mirror and think about how good you can be for me.”

She wrapped her strong arms around me, pulling me back against her chest, and I found my breath catching in my throat as I felt her biceps flex around my head.

“Paige, I—”

“Good girls do what they’re told,” she interrupted playfully, flexing her biceps around my chin so I could look up see my own reflection. “Look at you. So pretty, so willing. You’re perfect just like this.”

I gazed into the mirror, my heart pounding as I saw the way she held me—her strength juxtaposed against my vulnerability. I felt a rush of heat surge through me.

“Tell me what you see,” Paige urged, her voice steady yet sultry. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I see…” I hesitated, caught between the thrill of her hold and the desire to please her. “I see… me. I see us.”

“Good girl,” she praised, her voice dripping with satisfaction. I could feel the tension in her body, the way she leaned into me, the heat radiating off her. “Now, tell me how much you want me.”

“I want you, Paige,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. The honesty of my desire sent a thrill through me, igniting a fire that burned deep within. “I want you to fuck me.”

“See? Was that so hard?” she teased, her lips brushing against my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re learning.”

Paige turned me slightly, enough that I could see her in the mirror too. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she gazed down at me, and I felt a rush of exhilaration at being at her mercy. “Now, I want you to remember this moment. How it feels to be my good girl.”

With that, she pressed her lips against mine, capturing me in a kiss that was both sweet and demanding. I melted against her, surrendering fully to the sensation of her body against mine. Each kiss deepened my desire, igniting a passion that coursed through my veins.

“Look at us,” she murmured between kisses, her voice low and seductive. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Together, we create magic.”

Once back on the bed she had me face down ass up, still facibg the mirror.

I gasped as she took her tongue and gave my much needy pussy attention, “You’re so beautiful like this,” she whispered, her breath warm against my thigh just before kissing and biting at it. “I want to make you feel everything.”

After a few mins of practically making out with my pussy, Paige, pulling me up by my hair before locking my head in her biceps again, her lips brushing against my ear as she trailed kisses along my jawline and neck. I could feel her warmth, her desire, and it sent waves of pleasure coursing through me. “Tell me how it feels, and don't be quiet about it either, baby” she instructed, her voice a tantalizing whisper.

“Good,” I breathed, my heart racing. “It feels so good.”

“Good girls deserve to be rewarded,” she replied, her lips curling into a smirk. “And you’ve been so very good, so keep watching in the mirror for me, yeah mamas”

She guided my gaze back to the mirror, forcing me to watch as she explored my body, her hands roaming, her kisses igniting every nerve. “Look at how much you crave this,” she teased, her voice a sultry melody. “You want to be my good girl, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I gasped, the thrill of her words sending me spiraling deeper into desire.

“Then let’s make this a night to remember,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief and passion.

Before I could fully process her movements, she had me pinned, face down ass up into the satan sheets, every inch of my body electrified by her touch. The strap slid deeper, an intoxicating sensation that made my heart race and my mind spin.

I could feel every pulse, every inch of her as she filled me, her confidence radiating through the air. Letting out a groan as if she could actually feel me clenching around her. “Fuck, baby you takin my dick so good. Pussy just swallowin me whole, shit.”

“Paige…” I managed to whisper, but the words were swallowed by the thick tension that hung between us. My body was responding, every nerve ending alive with the thrill of the moment. She held me captive, and I was more than willing to surrender.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me as she thrust deeper, the rhythm slow at first but building in intensity. I could hear her breathing, a mix of pleasure and desire, and it sent a shiver down my spine. “You’re so perfect for me,” she murmured, a sultry smile playing on her lips. “I could do this forever.”

With every thrust, she drew me closer to a precipice I had only ever dreamed of. The world outside faded away; there was nothing but the two of us, lost in our own universe. I could feel the heat pooling within me, a delicious tension building that threatened to consume us both.

“God, you feel so good,” she breathed, her voice thick with desire. “I want you to look in the mirror when you cum f'me. Watch yourself fall apart on my shit, ma.”

I surrendered completely, allowing myself to be swept up in the waves of pleasure she was creating. The way she moved, the way she filled me—it was intoxicating. I could feel every inch of her, the connection between us palpable, electric. It was as if we were two bodies entwined in a dance as old as time, a rhythm that only we could hear.

“Paige, I…” My words faltered as she hit a spot that made my entire body quiver. I could feel the tension building, spiraling higher and higher until it felt like I might burst.

“Shh, just look in the mirror and feel,” she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. “I’ve got you.”

Her words were like a spell, wrapping around me and pulling me deeper into the moment. I lost myself completely, every thought dissolving into a haze of pure ecstasy. Looking into the mirror watching with way she had my arms pinned behind my back, the determination on her face to make me feel so full. Watching the way my juices leaked on the bed, the way the base of the strap milky white from the way she was pounding me into the bed. The world outside ceased to exist; all that mattered was the connection between us, the way she moved, the way she touched me.

As she pushed deeper, I could feel the heat rising more and more, the pressure building within me. I was teetering on the edge, and I could sense that she was too. And as a last minute act she put me in a headlock again, hips still hitting all the right spot. “Yes, just like that, watch yourself f'me” she urged, her voice a low, sultry whisper. “Let go for me. Yeah ma, cum on my dick.”

With a final thrust, everything exploded, watching myself fall apart on the purple strap. I felt the world around me shatter into a million pieces, the sensation overwhelming and all-consuming. Waves of pleasure crashed over me, leaving me breathless and trembling.

“Just like that, baby. That’s it,” Paige encouraged, her voice a sultry murmur that was so encouraging that I could cum again. “You’re so beautiful when you cum, f'me baby.”

I could hardly respond, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure that coursed through me. I felt her slow down, her movements becoming gentle as she brought me back down from the high. My head resting back on her shoulder for a few seconds before I look at our sweat, cum dripping bodies, in awe

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern flickering in her eyes as they met mine through the mirror.

I nodded, still catching my breath. “More than okay,” I whispered, a smile breaking across my face. “That was incredible.”

Her lips curled into a playful grin, and I could see the satisfaction shining in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. But I’m not done with you yet.”

Before I could fully comprehend her words, she shifted her body, and mine her movements fluid and graceful. The strap was still there, a reminder of the connection we shared, and as she positioned herself above me, as I am now on my back, I felt the excitement build once more.

“Just relax and enjoy the ride,” she said, her voice low and enticing.

With that, she began to move again, her body rocking against mine in a way that sent shivers coursing through me. Every thrust was deliberate, every movement intentional, and I could feel myself responding, eager to meet her rhythm.

“God, you’re amazing,” she breathed, her eyes locked onto mine. The intensity of her gaze sent another wave of heat through me, igniting the fire that had only just begun to simmer.

“Paige, you have no idea…” I gasped, my hands finding their way to her hips, guiding her as I tried to keep up with her pace.

We were lost in each other, the world outside fading away once more. The tension built again, a delicious spiral that threatened to consume us both. I could feel the heat rising, the pressure coiling within me, and I knew we were nearing the edge once more.

“Just a little more,” she urged, her breath coming in quick gasps as she pushed herself closer, her voice laced with urgency. “I want to feel you again.”

With her words, I was gone, the tension breaking like a dam as the pleasure rushed over me once more. I could feel her reach her peak too, our bodies connected in a way that felt transcendent.

As we collapsed together, breathless and spent, I couldn’t help but smile. In that moment, everything felt right. We were two souls intertwined, lost in the heat of desire and the sweetness of connection.

“Wow,” I managed to say, a laugh escaping my lips. “What just happened?”

Paige chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “Just a little magic,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And I think we should do it again.”

I grinned, my heart racing at the thought. “I’m all in.”

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[beaucate]

─── 𝖙hat's just 𝓵ottie . . . (best-friend fem!reader)

warnings. somno. dub-con. creepy lottie. manipulation. can’t you tell I just love an oblivious reader 🧘🏽‍♀️

lottie wouldn’t call herself obsessive.

neither would you.

you’d known her long enough to memorise her; her breathing, and how it goes shallow right before she’s about to sleep. how quiet she moved, as if her feet were padded or she didn’t want to be heard. she was woven into your blood, low and gradual, until you couldn’t tell what was yours and what was hers.

and everything she did was intentional. it all landed with a thud, like she was trying to press herself into you permanently. her habits had conjoined with yours into a ritual. everything down to your morning routines have morphed into one.

she never asked for anything, not really. she just offered, always. her time, her touch, her constant attention. her money. not a dime entered her pockets without it being spent on you; matching dresses, matching rings, twin necklaces like charms keeping you tethered. “this one’s for you. it’ll match mine.”

you never protested. not anymore at least. she was so good to you. thoughtful. a little intense for you, sure, but she never asked for anything in return.

and when her fingers traced the back of your neck, slow and thoughtful, you shivered, and she’d smile – the unknown patterns she would leave, created a small burning feeling at your skin. sometimes her hand hovered at the small of your back and stayed too long, you leaned into it without thinking. it was just touch.

it was just lottie.

her fingers would also trail over your wrist when you sit beside her, thigh leaning against yours long after it should’ve moved. she sometimes stares at you like she’s waiting for something, some divine permission she knows you’ll never consciously give her, but she’s patient.

lottie has always been patient.

and yet…there were certain things that didn’t make sense to you.

just fleeting moments.

when you told her you were thinking of dating someone, she went quiet. her lashes fluttered down. and then;  “I just don’t want anyone to take you away from me.”

you giggled, nervously, eyes wary as lottie stared at you with furrowed brows. “i’m not going anywhere,” you told her. “you’re my best friend.”

her smile was slow and strange. “i know,” she whispered. “you just…forget that sometimes.”

and maybe that’s why lottie didn’t like to sleep alone. maybe that’s why it started with sleepovers, then turned into shared beds, then into nights where she curled herself around you like a lifeline, breath warm against your ear. her hands never strayed ( you believed, you didn’t think she’d hurt you in your sleep ) but they never stopped touching, either. a thumb brushing your collarbone. fingertips pressed to your stomach beneath the hem of your shirt, steady and still.

and you let her. but not because you were too afraid to say no, but because you didn’t think no ever needed saying.

you recall sleeping in her bed more nights than your own. at first, because it was easier. then, because she asked. eventually, because she never let you go home.

not that she said that.

she’d yawn, say she missed you, ask if you wanted to stay over, and then, gently, fold the blanket around your legs. the lights would go out before you had a chance to answer.

you’d always spend the night. she’d wait for your breath to steady before moving close. wait for the moment your body slackens against the mattress; trusting, and unguarded. she presses her chest to your back and pretends she’s asleep. pretends she’s not breathing you in like incense; mouth parted against your shoulder.

it overwhelms her, sometimes. this...need. it just doesn’t feel wrong.

you shift in your sleep, mumbling something soft, and she holds her breath.

God, you’re beautiful like this. open without knowing it. the hem of your sleep shirt ridden up, exposing the soft curve of your hips; it feels like an invitation.

you don’t wake. you never really do when she’d do this.

she lays a trembling hand on your waist, careful as her pulse sings in her ears. she could stay like this forever. but her body has other ideas. when you sigh in your sleep and roll closer, your thigh slips between hers, and she gasps – quietly – but not enough. you shift again, and your hips brush hers, and she’s wet. shamefully.

don’t wake up. please don’t wake up.

but she wouldn’t stop if you did.

she wouldn’t hurt you  ( she’d never hurt you )  but her hands would keep moving. sliding under your shirt. tracing the slope of your belly. pressing into the soft parts of you like she had any right.

because she’s been good, hasn’t she? she’s waited. she’s loved you the whole time.

you’re just so warm, her thighs capturing the back of your knee. need splitting her open like rotten fruit. then her fingers brush between your legs, barely, a breath of contact. you make a sound, a small, and helpless noise, and then you shift again, like your body knows her before your mind ever could. she freezes.

then you murmur her name in a sigh, barely a whisper. lottie...and she thinks she’ll die.

you don’t awake though, and for that she’s grateful.

she keeps her hand there. still, just resting, feeling your heat through cotton – she wishes you’d trust her enough to not wear anything beneath your night gown. but she’ll fix that soon enough.

for a pregnant pause, she doesn’t move. not yet at least. but she wants to, so badly it hurts. her thighs press together, and she rocks – slow, almost subconsciously – against the shape of your leg.

a quiet, desperate grind.

it doesn’t take long when she finally comes; softly, and biting the inside of her cheek, she almost cries as her release pulses between her thighs, soaking the fabric of her underwear. her whole body shudders with it.

lottie tucks her flushed face into your sweat ridden shoulder, and clings to you like you’re the only altar worth kneeling to.

You don’t stir, just make a helpless noise that she ignores after your snores slowly come back to life.

in the morning, she’s already in her kitchen– her house empty and dull like it normally is, and she’s making you tea exactly how you like. lottie smiles gently at you, muttering your name like sin hasn’t been committed.

you look at her teasingly, “what?” you ask, but don’t question why she stares too long, used to her odd moments. because it’s lottie.

she’s just like that. she’s just... lottie.

[daechwitatamic]

cherrybomb || csc

(banner by @sailorsoons)

cherrybomb seungcheol x afab reader || angst smut fluff || exes2lovers, pacific rim universe NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Piloting a jaeger requires a rare ability called drifting - a neural connection with your co-pilot. You and Seungcheol are masters of the drift... until you have something in your head that you don't want him to see.

wc: 19.5k

warnings: language, heavy angst with happy ending, fight scenes, fight scenes written by an author with zero fighting or martial arts knowledge lmfao thus they are vague as possible, feelings heavy plot light and smut light, kissing and pretty generic (and brief) p in v smut

Author's note: thank you for hali for 1) accidentally sparking this idea, 2) agreeing to collab with me, 3) reading this along the way and hyping me up, and 4) beta-ing my mistakes, a million smooches for you ily

This fic takes place in the Pacific Rim universe but I honestly don't think you need to know the lore, everything you need to know should be explained. If you think something is unclear without prior pacific rim knowledge, shoot me a message privately and I'll make some edits and credit you for the insight!

Also in this universe: storm breaker by @sailorsoons

Teaser:

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “You were there. You saw what happened. Seungcheol and I can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing has mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did then.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer. 

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest. 

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

Playlist: you're the smoke in my gun, blowin' like cherry bombs...

The first time you ever saw Choi Seungcheol, he was flipping a man four years his senior over his shoulder and slamming him into the ground. Satisfied, he staggered backwards, chest heaving from exertion, eyes narrowed in preparation for the next move.

That’s what Seungcheol did - he leveled whatever was in front of him, and he started watching for what was coming next before the body could even hit the ground.

That’s what made him a great jaeger pilot. Not the brute strength - strong men are dime a dozen, always have been - but the watching.

You’d marked him as your first choice.

You were both nineteen. You’d grown up in the Shatterdome, the only child to a couple who piloted a neon green jaeger named Charron’s Revenge. You knew everything about how jaegers and their teams worked by the time you were nine. You started training to fight years before that. There was never a question that you would follow in your parents’ giant, mechanical footsteps one day. You just needed the right partner.

You needed Seungcheol.

The jaeger program didn’t turn away recruits - everyone could do something - but there was an organized process to match up compatible pilots. Applying recruits would fight before an audience of previously-accepted but currently-unmatched potential pilots. The pilots would rank the fighters, choosing their top five based on perceived potential for compatibility.

Then, the roles would switch. The applicants became the audience. The audience became the show.

When it was your turn to fight, you silently pleaded with the universe that Seungcheol would mark you high as well. This was the only guarantee that you’d get a chance to spar with him, to test it out before the Marshall, who would make the final call.

Let him see, you begged. Let him see how perfectly we’d work together.

And, by some miracle, he did. In fact, he rated you first, as well.

Your sparring match went exactly how you expected - he barreled at you, and you dodged every move. He could easily take you out with a single blow, but he couldn’t get his hands on you, not when you used his own inertia against him at every turn. What you didn’t expect was your own inability to land a shot. For the whole fight, you were unable to move out of the defensive - keeping out of his reach took all of your effort.

It was a draw - the first sign of strong compatibility.

You didn’t talk after the match - your father whisked you away to recover before your second-rated match, and you didn’t see Seungcheol for the rest of the day.

The second-rated match was a dud. But you already knew, even then, that it didn’t matter.

You’d met your co-pilot. You’d found your partner.

—

He found you in the mess hall that night, dropping into an empty spot on the other side of the table, his tray in his hands. His black hair was loose and wavy, and his right arm sported a sizeable bruise that he definitely didn’t get from you.

“I know who you are,” he said by way of greeting. You raised a brow at him, waiting. “Your parents piloted Charron’s Revenge.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “That better not be why you picked me.”

He gave his head an annoyed little flick. “Of course not. I picked you because you’re fluid - and I’m not.”

Appeased, you felt your hackles settle back down. “That’s true,” you allowed. “You’re not fluid. But you’re purposeful, and-”

You were interrupted when Yoon Jeonghan dropped into the seat to your left, chuckling under his breath as he fixed his long, dark hair into a spiky ponytail at the back of his head.

“Cherry, did you hear?” he asked you, ignoring the new-comer. “The crew for Fatal Rapids got called back in for misconduct.”

“Choi Seungcheol, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, introducing the two young men. “Hannie does more than gossip, I promise. He’s one of the pilots for Devil’s Advocates. Their drop stats are insane.”

“In practice only,” Jeonghan demurred. “For now.”

“Cherry?” Seungcheol parroted, raising a dark brow. “That’s not what I wrote on my paper earlier.”

“Just a nickname,” you explained. When you were very small, you’d struggled with the name of your parents’ jaeger, calling it Cherry’s Revenge instead of Charron’s, and the crew - who doted on you like their own - started the habit of calling you Cherry. Somehow, it had spread, and stuck. “Only my parents use my real name. But you can call me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“No,” he said, frowning as if deeply considering his options. “I like it.”

You folded your arms on the table, leaning in to peer at Seungcheol. “So, what’s your story? You’ve heard of me. I haven’t heard of you.”

He shrugged, glanced around, then decided he could talk freely. There’s something about being in a room that’s positively teeming with people and conversation - it gives you privacy without feeling too intimate. You’re not alone.

“Not much of a story, not like you,” he admitted. “I grew up thinking I’d take over my dad’s business. We lost my dad… then, we lost the business. I have no marketable skillset, and university was out of the question. But…” He trailed off, then met your gaze firmly. Something in his look demanded you forgo any pity or sympathy, demanded you take him seriously. “I’m strong. So I came here. I came to fight.”

You sidestepped the bruises he’d bared. “Not like me,” you repeated with a bit of a scoff. “I hate to disappoint you, but my parents are the pilots - the story is theirs. I don’t have one, not yet.”

Something playful glinted in his eyes, the first true sign of personality you’d seen. “So all the rumors about the Princess of the Shatterdome aren’t true?”

Your jaw dropped. You’d heard the nickname before - it was never meant nicely. You tried to ignore it as best you could - people could think what they wanted. When you had a crew, when you had a jaeger, you’d be able to prove them wrong. “What rumors?”

“You’re spoiled,” Jeonghan supplied, having decided he was part of the conversation after all. “Entitled.”

You spluttered as Jeonghan stood, giving you a cheerful pat on the shoulder. “And bitchy! That’s just what I’ve heard. Of course I know better. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Love ya!”

You stared incredulously after him as he disappeared, your face burning with embarrassment and your heart hammering with adrenaline. Fight, your systems told you.

If only you could.

Seungcheol bit back a smile, reaching out to pat your arm placatingly.

“I don’t…” you started to say, but your voice caught in your throat. You cleared it, tried again. “I don’t think I really deserve all that.”

He nodded, lips pushed into a semblance of a thoughtful pout. “What I’d heard,” he said calmly, “is that you’re a hell of a fighter, scary smart, and that you take no shit. Unless it’s from your friends, apparently.”

This made a bitter little laugh bubble from you. You still simmered with humiliation, feared that maybe he’d decide he didn’t want to co-pilot with you after all.

“I think it’s up to you which story gets told,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “That’s what I always said. So… let’s get started.”

—

You and Seungcheol lucked out - the team that had been recalled for misconduct were terminated from their posts in the weeks following the sparring trials, and their jaeger Fatal Rapids had been disassembled, the parts up for grabs.

You and Seungcheol repurposed Rapids’s main frame, your crew working to individualize the bot to your needs as best they could. You splurged on quad-processors for her legs to allow your jaeger to keep up with how you move - quick and lithe. Seungcheol lobbied for (and won) some extra power in the top half, and you compromised and chose a mix of red and blue sections for her paintjob.

Duellona Fury, you named her. Duellona for you, the destroyer. Fury for Seungcheol, because that was where his fight came from.

You got to know Seungcheol’s fury very well. Especially when you started trying to drift.

None of it happened fast - not the building of your machine, nor your neural handshake. In fact, you didn’t pilot Duellona Fury together for a whole calendar year.

You started with physical compatibility - you sparred almost all day, every day. You fought - with each other and against each other - until all you could do was lay on the ground and pant, blinking to make the ceiling stay in focus.

Seungcheol may not have grown up training in the Shatterdome the way you did, but he kept up without complaint. You learned his way - force and strength - and he learned the way you favored - to weave and dodge.

The fighting was the easy part.

You had never drifted with someone you had true drift compatibility with. Seungcheol had never drifted at all. The Marshall wouldn’t even consider hooking the two of you up to the machine until you went through the proper training.

On the day you and Seungcheol were officially declared as co-pilots-in-training, you both stood below the half-built shell of your towering jaeger, sparks flying and drills screaming as the crew worked on her.

Your Marshall looked seriously at his new team-in-training. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll meditate together. Talk to each other. Get deep about it. If you’ve talked about it out here-” he swept an arm across the deck, “-it won’t take hold so strongly in there.” He’d jabbed a finger in the upward direction of Duellona Fury.

Seungcheol didn’t look at you, nor the Marshall. Instead, he kept his eyes on Duellona's unfinished frame, stories above you. “Yes, Sir,” he said steadily.

Your parents weren’t technically retired yet, the year you and Seungcheol started training together. Charron’s Revenge still sat in the well below the Shatterdome. They still lived on the base, still took part in daily training. They hadn’t been called into a fight in years, though; the assignments went to the younger crews.

You took dinner in their quarters instead of the mess hall, that night.

“Congratulations,” your father said warmly from across the table. “You worked hard to get here.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling shy beneath the praise. “I hope the drift will work for me and Choi Seungcheol.”

“What do you think of him?” your mother had asked, her sharp eyes honing in on you, watching your reactions.

“I think he’s a great fighter,” you said. “The rest… I guess I’ll have to learn.”

“Do you trust him? Can you trust him out there, when the sea and the wind are trying to knock you down, and hell itself rises up from the depths?”

You swallowed. She’s right for her intensity - they will be putting their daughter’s life in her co-pilot’s hands, every time there’s a fight. You knew firsthand how terrifying it was to stand in the tech bay and wait, not knowing if your loved ones will make it back.

You thought about how you and Seungcheol fight together in the sparring rooms. You thought about how you weaved and your opponent followed your movement, only to be knocked sideways. You thought of how Seungcheol followed your motion backwards, ducked in tandem with you to avoid a hit, and how you followed his momentum forward and up to attack. Your bodies followed each other like they were magnetized. And Seungcheol was always watching for the next hit.

“Yes,” you said, so quietly that you cleared your throat and said it again. “Yes, I trust him.”

“Then we wish you luck,” your father said, and raised his glass. “To Duellona Fury.”

“To Duellona Fury,” you echoed.

On your way out of the quarters, later, you slowed as you passed the wall where they hung their accolades and awards, the newspaper clippings, photos, and medals. Before your eyes they aged - the photographs changing through the years, no longer showing a bright, fiery couple, instead displaying proof of passing time: a baby bump, then a toddler, then a child beaming alongside them as if she’d done what they had done; greying hairs, softening bodies, deepening of wrinkles. Then the pictures stopped.

You never asked them if they missed it.

—

You and Seungcheol started meditating together the next morning; it seemed logical to begin at the easiest step. In an empty sparring room, you sat facing each other, knees touching.

“Have you done this before?” you asked, as you both settled in, shifting weight and adjusting ankles.

“Not with someone else,” he admitted, lips protruding in a bit of a pout. “Only alone.”

You nodded. You’d grown up learning all of this - the right way to fight as a team member, how to be in tune for a neural connection. It led to you teaching Seungcheol often - yet when you fought together, any leadership fell away.

“Normally,” you explained, “you focus on your breath, keeping your mind clear. But for our practice, you want to focus on our breath. We breathe together. And when your mind wanders, your awareness should be coming to peace with my presence there. Like, making a path for the neural connection - for later. So there’s no resistance.”

“Have you done this before?” Seungcheol asked.

You wobbled your head around - not yes, but not no. “I’ve practiced it - I’ve done the meditation with partners. But I’ve never moved forward to an actual drift with anyone.”

This seemed to appease him, and he settled his weight backwards, letting his hands rest near his knees.

You let your eyes float closed and inhaled, listening and feeling for Seungcheol’s inhale to end, letting your breath out when he did. It took no time to match your breaths, to let your mind go blissfully quiet. You focused on feeling open, readable - any thought that floated through your mind, you pretended he could hear, too. You tried to feel and release any defensiveness, any urge to close off.

When the timer went off, it surprised you. You opened your eyes, and the feeling that struck you was this -

It was surprising to see Seungcheol before you. It hadn’t felt like he was beside you. It had felt like he was you.

You meditated, you fought, and finally, you talked.

Laying on the sparring room floor, your head somewhere near Seungcheol’s shins, he asked you, “Where do you wish you were right now? If you weren’t here.”

You laughed at yourself before answering, knowing how silly you would sound. “In a tree.”

A disbelieving smile played on his lips, almost as if he wasn’t sure you weren’t making fun of him somehow. “A tree?”

“No, really,” you insisted, still smiling a little. “There’s not a lot of nature here, in case you didn’t notice. I grew up in the Dome - never got to leave, much.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond to this, just nodded like he understood, his small smile going a bit tight around the edges.

You frowned, reading him exactly. “You think I’m sheltered,” you observed. It wasn’t a question. He couldn’t say no.

He looked at you, then. “You were sheltered,” he said, voice low. “But when I say it, I don’t mean naive. I just think… there’s a lot of world out there. A lot of things to see. You won’t see any of it if you spend your entire life under the Dome.”

You nod, accepting this. “I won’t see any of it if it gets destroyed, either. There’s a lot of world out there - that we’re trying to keep safe.”

Seungcheol watched you intently for a moment, lips downturned and gaze heavy. Then, he asked, “Have you ever seen a kaiju? I mean - in person?”

“Sort of,” you mumbled.

He’d rolled from his back to his front, closer to you, putting you shoulder to shoulder. “Kind of seems like a yes-or-no question.”

Your lips twisted. “Then, no. But I’ve stood in the bay and listened to Mission Control talk my mom and dad through a fight dozens of times, watched Charron’s Revenge on the screens and prayed I wouldn’t see her get sawed in half.”

You stopped, trailed a finger through the thin layer of dirt on the floor. “I know it’s not the same as looking one in the face myself,” you whispered. “But the fear… shouldn’t that fear count, shouldn’t it feel the same?”

Seungcheol swallowed, trailed his own finger through the dirt until his fingertip just barely touched yours. It felt like energy sizzled in the centimeter between your pointer and his.

“When Menaceclaw attacked,” he said, “he missed my home by one block. We watched him go by from the sidewalk. I wasn’t even as tall as his foot. But even with him towering over the buildings, taking them down without even trying, I don’t think what I felt was afraid. I think I just felt resigned. Like I knew, at seven, that even though we survived this one… nothing was going to be… the same, or okay. I don’t know.”

“You knew what you lost,” you said quietly. “Part of you did.”

He looked up at you, nudged his finger into yours. “You never knew anything different. It wasn’t a loss. The fear was just always part of the deal.”

You rolled sideways, laying your head on your bicep for a pillow, regarding the dark-eyed, dark-haired young man across from you. His face scrunched in a laugh, brows furrowing and lips pouting.

“What?” he asked through the quiet laugh. “Why are you looking at me?”

“What else?” you mused. “What else am I going to find when we go tiptoeing through your memories?”

He smiled faintly and then mirrored you, laying his head on his arm, his eyes swimming as he thought.

“A lot of my family, probably,” he said. “A lot of fighting. Menaceclaw. Probably some very mid sex.”

You laughed without meaning to. “My condolences?”

He grinned at you, pleased. “Eh, what can you do? I try to treat everything like a learning experience.”

You laughed again, and his smile grew, gums showing. “What about you?” he asked off-handedly.

“Mid sex?” you asked, eyebrows raising. “I hate to inform you, Choi Seungcheol, but I don’t do anything mid.”

“No,” he protested, laughing, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder. “I meant - what will we see when it’s your turn?”

“The Dome,” you said, half-joking - but it was true. “Training. My parents. Their fights, their accomplishments.”

And, as a true drift partner should, he understood what you weren’t saying.

“We’ll have our turn,” he promised, pushing himself to sit up, then stand, reaching down to help you up. “We’re gonna be fucking unstoppable. Let’s go again.”

Fire sparking behind your ribs, you nodded seriously, then reached up to take his hand.

—

Weeks of sparring melded into months of meditation and talking. The next phase of training co-pilots was learning to drift in one of the simulators - but not in a jaeger. Not yet.

You and Seungcheol finished training in one of the sparring rooms shortly before dinner would be served in the mess hall.

“Meet you there?” you asked, still half-breathless, your body starting to ache as the adrenaline from a fight melted away.

“Sure,” he agreed, and you disappeared into the changing rooms, scrubbing the sweat and dirt away as quickly as you could. You changed into something clean and made your way to the mess hall.

You scanned for familiar faces, frowning when your normal table seemed to be occupied by a team of new recruits that you didn’t know.

Seungcheol appeared at your elbow, frowning dramatically. “Our table,” he whined.

“There’s Chan and Wylie,” you said, nodding to another corner where your friends sat practically on top of each other. Chan and Wylie had never understood personal space, not when it came to one another. They barely noticed when you and Seungcheol plopped onto the benches next to them, but Seungkwan did.

“You’re bleeding, Cherry,” he said, before inhaling an entire mouthful of rice.

You started to scan your arms - you didn’t feel pain anywhere - but Seungcheol found it first, gingerly swiping his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Sorry, Cherry,” he murmured. “I should’ve pulled that punch.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” you grumbled, swatting at his hand and wiping roughly at the spot, your hand coming away with a small smear of red - nothing to be alarmed about. It would stop on its own. “You pull shots in practice, you’ll hesitate in the field.”

“She’s right,” Chan said from his physical tangle with Wylie. “What you practice will show up in your muscle memory. You’ve got to mean it, every time.”

Wylie reached across his arms and took a bite from his plate, then asked, “Did you guys see the new jaeger?”

“I did,” Seungkwan said eagerly. “Chaser Supernova, or something like that? She’s smaller, but she’s supposed to be fast.”

“Is that her team at our normal table?” you asked dryly, shooting the rookies a dark look over your shoulder. Seungcheol jostled you playfully, sending you a smile that brought you back.

The bench dipped to your left, and you turned to see Soonyoung - one of Seungkwan’s two co-pilots - settle in.

“Talking about Supernova?” he asked, hands busy opening his drink. “They seem okay - they’re a trio, like us.”

“Where is Seokmin?” Seungkwan asked, scanning the room. “I haven’t seen him in like two hours.”

“Talking to Jihoon, I think,” Soonyoung answered absently, focused on his meal. “He lost another co-pilot today.”

“Not again,” you and Seungcheol both blurted, matching levels of exasperation.

“That was freaky,” Wylie said, just as Chan told you, “You two are acting like us, now.”

“We do not need another Chan-and-Wylie,” Seungkwan said seriously, shaking his head.

Seungcheol sent you a sideways, sheepish grin.

“We won’t be,” he promised the group, but his eyes were still on you.

—

The simulators were built to be exact replicas of the conn-pod, so that trainees could get used to the feeling of being strapped in, of moving with the gear. But the real purpose was to practice the neural handshake without risking damage - to the jaeger, to the tech bay, to each other.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told Seungcheol as the tech team worked around you both like a choreographed dance.

“I’m never nervous,” he said, suddenly cocky.

If you could reach his hand from where you were strapped in, you would have. If you understood anything about Seungcheol - if any part of him mirrored you - it was the way he showcased bravado, the way he used it as his most-familiar mask.

“It’s only practice,” you reminded him. “And it’s only me.”

He licked his lips quickly, eyes darting to the side and then back to you. Then, he gave you a small nod.

“Normally,” your chief tech - a beautiful woman with jet-black hair named Nainsi - told you, “right now, you would be ready for the drop. In the simulator, we skip that step because we aren’t dropping onto a jaeger. Instead, we’ll engage the pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence.”

You and Seungcheol nod in tandem.

“You’re all good?” Nainsi checks. “Then I’m going back into the tech bay - you’ll hear me through the intercom.”

Alone in the simulator, you met Seungcheol’s gaze and couldn’t help the excited grin that spread across your face. Finally, finally you were here. Once you could do this successfully, the next step was to fight in your own jaeger - to drop into Duellona Fury and walk into the sea.

He didn’t return your smile, instead giving you a tight nod, expression serious.

Over the intercom, you said clearly, “Ready and aligned.”

Nainsi answered, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself as the artificial voice of the simulator’s tech system spoke around you, 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

At first, you thought something went wrong. Everything went red behind your eyelids, and you blinked, instinctively trying to clear it away.

The red faded, and you found yourself in Seungcheol’s childhood home. You didn’t know how you knew that - you just knew. It was as familiar to you, inside the drift, as your own. You knew that to your left was a small kitchen with two broken floor tiles; you knew - without having ever seen it - that to your right was a narrow hallway that led to a bathroom and two small bedrooms.

Two small boys played on the carpet; rather, the smaller one played with some toy cars while the other watched the television with rapture. Behind them, at the kitchen table, a woman typed busily on an outdated laptop, bags heavy under her eyes.

Somewhere around you, a voice floated by, telling you, neural handshake strong and holding.

You could see Seungcheol in your periphery - the adult Seungcheol, the Seungcheol of now - as he looked at his mother, his brother, himself.

“It’s not real,” you reminded him gently. “It’s just a memory.”

“I know,” he said back, voice hushed, as if he might scare them away. “It’s just… good to see them.”

The house evaporated as gently as morning dew under a mid-morning sun; you stood in a schoolyard. Seungcheol, the small one, had a bloody lip and a mean swing.

You felt a rush of affection for him - him, the child, face contorting with misplaced anger, using strength as a bandage. You wanted to stand in front of him, between him and the anger, him and the other kids, and let him take a breath. You wanted to tell him to step with his punch to get more power. You wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him, you’re going to be fine.

And he knew all of it, because he was in your mind.

Seungcheol - your Seungcheol - walked away from the swarm of children egging on the fight and opened a door. You followed.

Inside was not the school, but a hospital room. Your body jolted forward, distracting and alarming. You heard, faintly, a series of beeps, that robotic voice needling in your ears, saying, calibration failure… recalibrating in 3… 2… 1…

“It’s only a memory,” you said again, but the warning beeps were coming stronger, louder, more clearly. The hospital room looked opaque, and Seungcheol walked backwards towards you, away from it, herding you both out of the room. The room - a bed, a pulled curtain, a lot of white - flickered, like a glitch, and then vanished, leaving you standing in the simulator.

Neural handshake disengaged…

“Seungcheol!” you yelled, pulling your helmet off and wheeling on him as best you could with most of your body still strapped in. “What the hell was that? You pushed me out!”

He was breathing hard, eyes a little wild. “Not that,” he said, a little ragged. “I’ll let you in but - not that.”

“You don’t get to choose!” you snapped. Part of you knew this was just growing pains, he’d never drifted before, he was learning. But the rest of you smarted and stung - both from his rejection and from your failure to train, to succeed, to check off this final step before you could get inside your jaeger. “It’s kind of an all-or-nothing thing!”

He let out a billow of air, reaching a hand up to rub at his face. “Sorry. I’ll… let’s try again.”

You didn’t answer, fuming silently instead.

“I’m sorry, Cherry,” he said. “The stuff with my dad…”

“You can’t cherry-pick what we see and what we don’t,” you fired back. His eyes shot to yours and his mouth quirked and you read the joke all over his face. “Don’t you laugh, Seungcheol, it’s not funny!”

But you were laughing through the scolding.

“Stop,” you whined.

Your anger defused, he looked at you again, taking a bracing breath. “It’s not about you,” he tried to explain. “I’m not keeping you out. I’m keeping me out.”

“Don’t chase the rabbit,” you told him, shaking your head. “See what it wants you to see and move on. Find the next door. If you stand there and let your hurt - or your, I don’t know… grief - rise up… that’s when we’re going to have trouble.”

“Find the next door,” he repeated, eyes on the floor. “Got it.”

“You can’t push it away,” you reminded him, “but you don’t have to stay in it, either.”

He nodded, eyes already lighting up, ready to go again.

The second time, you saw him steel himself before opening that same door, watching carefully as he shuffled inside, only looking sideways at the hospital room that materialized around you.

“Seungcheol.”

He turned to look at you, wide-eyed, but you hadn’t called him. The voice, weak and hoarse, had come from the other side of the fluttering curtain.

The glitching started almost immediately - the image around you flickering like a bad wall projection. Something rocked beneath your feet, an earthquake only inside your minds.

You opened your mouth, started to tell him, you don’t have to stay, to remind him that he could move forward. Instead, you heard yourself say, “I’m here.”

The tremors under your feet quivered to a stop. You watched with trepidation and Seungcheol closed his eyes and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Then, he held his hand out, waiting.

You slipped your hand into his, and then he turned and continued walking, ignoring his father’s memory calling out to him. The flickering stopped, the picture you were part of brightening again as you found the next door, stepped through, left his pain behind.

—

It got easier quickly. Seungcheol’s ability to press on, to maintain focus, strengthened.

The strolls through your mind went easier - you’d had years to practice maintaining focus, waiting until after to let the emotions hit you.

Seungcheol learned to be ready for you, after. He’d sit with you, silent, and breathe in tandem as you worked to let go, to release the images of Charron’s Revenge on the tech bay screen, the sounds of your parents’ frantic communication as they fought together, the fear crawling its way up your legs every time until someone in the bay said, “Charron’s Revenge, cleared to return.” The loneliness of being the only kid in the Dome, having no outlet except fighting. Everything that threatened your mind while you piloted, everything that you had to save for later - save for him.

You were both freshly turned twenty when you got green-lit to drive.

“Seungcheol!” you called across the mess hall, practically racing to your table. He turned, eyebrows raised, as you crossed the large room.

“We’re approved to drop!” you told him excitedly. It churned in you - finally, finally you could fight, you could prove what you could do, you could help. “We’re on the drop schedule for tomorrow!”

His grin was unfettered, unfiltered, just for you. He reached up a fist and you bumped it enthusiastically. You were too excited to eat, too excited to sleep. You tossed and turned, imagining experiencing a drop for the first time, imagining striding through the mighty sea like it was nothing, imagining staring down hell itself and bringing it to its knees.

You were still awake when you heard the alarms down the hall. Yours didn’t go off, because you weren’t on duty, weren’t approved to fight.

Down the hall, there was a flurry of commotion - shouting, rushing, people pushing past you as they pulled on boots and jackets.

“Cat-3 in the west bay,” someone shouted.

“Deploying Devil’s Advocate!”

You reached the tech bay, trying to stay out of the way but not unseen. When the Marshall strode by, you stepped sideways.

“Let us drop,” you said quickly, knowing time was precious. “It’ll be like practice. We can be back-up. We’ll hang back.”

“Absolutely not,” the Marshall said, already moving to work past you. “You’re not approved yet. We don’t need a liability right now.”

“We’re scheduled for tomorrow!” you protested, and then you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll get our turn,” Seungcheol told you quietly. Of course he’d come out, of course he found you.

You deflated. “It could have been us. We are hours from approval.”

He gave your shoulder a tiny shake. “We’ll get our turn,” he repeated. “Don’t make trouble.”

You glowered, but you knew he was right. “Fine,” you grumbled as Joshua and Jeonghan slinked past you in matching jackets and matching shit-eating grins. You stayed out of the way as they prepared to drop.

You stayed through the fight, listened to the control room buzz and chatter, until you heard, “Devil’s Advocate, cleared to return.”

Only then did you try to go back to sleep. Seungcheol gave your shoulder one more squeeze.

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated.

—

Some people feel God at church. The history of tradition and the sanctity of ritual speak to them, help them feel part of something, help them feel that unnameable swell of something spiritual.

Some people feel God in nature. The patterns of the universe, the way math exists without human touch, the harmonies and patterns that seem too intricate for coincidence help them believe in a planner’s touch. The beauty of the outdoors allows them to wonder, to feel like they belong as a piece of this clockwork.

But you - you felt God when you stood before your jaeger, marveling at the power, the beauty, how it feels like yours, how it feels like Seungcheol before you’re even inside it. Duellona Fury promises you power, promises you purpose.

That hand was on your shoulder again, and it slid down to the center of your back before removing itself.

Beside you, Seungcheol stared up at your glorious machine.

“She looks sick,” he said, the grin taking over his face.

“I can’t wait to fuck shit up,” you murmured, your reverent tone at odds with the flippancy of your words.

“Ready?” the Marshall asked you, coming up to your left. “We’ll get you calibrated and dropped, and then you’ll do a lap of the bay. We’re sending out Pretty Savage just in case you run into trouble.”

The defensiveness rose in you quick, like a snakebite.

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Seungcheol said, voice hard. You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze - a reminder to watch it, just as his hand on your shoulder frequently did for you.

“It’s just safety protocol.” The Marshall was unphased by the outburst. “Have fun, you two. Enjoy your first joy-ride.”

You screamed when you dropped, the exhilaration rushing out of you as Duellona Fury fell story after story before slowing and attaching to your jaeger’s mainframe.

Goosebumps raised along your arms when the Shatterdome’s sea-doors slid open, shudders traveling your body as you and Seungcheol stepped together, Duellona Fury stepping with you, her gigantic, metal form following every movement.

For the first time in your whole, careful life, you felt powerful. Your jaeger cut through the ocean waves like they were nothing, making an easy perimeter of the bay. In your head, you could somehow both hear and feel Seungcheol’s delight, his low-simmering desire to fight, to do something a perfect mirror of your own.

“How is it?” Soonyoung’s voice crackled in your ears, reminding you that Pretty Savage wasn’t far behind you.

“Incredible,” Seungcheol answered him, at the same time that you said, “It’s everything.”

It didn’t matter that you came from a family of pilots. It didn’t matter that you were raised in the Dome, training since you were young. None of that mattered. You were born for this - born to fight for your planet, born for Duellona Fury, born for Choi Seungcheol.

—

The west bay became Duellona’s playground; you and Seungcheol were often assigned to patrol there.

It was only a few months in that you faced a kaiju for the first time.

“Come in, Duellona Fury,” Nainsi’s voice came through. “We have a reading just a few miles north of you. Cat-2. Approaching at -”

Duellona Fury was turning due north before the command was even given.

“Are you ready for this?” you shouted to Seungcheol as Duellona slid through the water, the adrenaline singing in your system already.

“You know I am,” he answered, something hard in it, and the thrill in your stomach sparked.

When the sea split in half, the kaiju rising from the depths with an unearthly roar, you sank into a defensive stance, feeling Seungcheol move beside you, doing the same.

“Let’s fucking go,” Seungcheol said darkly, and launched forward, your arms rearing back for momentum before the first swing. The punch landed solidly, your whole body shaking once as the kaiju faltered backwards a few steps.

It opened its mouth and you glimpsed three rows of teeth bigger than a cow before it was lunging at you; Duellona Fury lurched. You tried to duck sideways as Seungcheol tried to move towards your opponent.

The moment of indecision cost you - the kaiju got its teeth on Duellona’s shoulder, knocking you back several steps. Beside you, Seungcheol roared as sparks flew near the bite.

“Are we breached?” you yelled, trying to steady your balance again.

“Not yet!” he yelled back, and you swung again, a hit landing hard enough to knock the kaiju loose, spitting it back into the sea.

You tried to move into a defensive crouch again; again, the jaeger faltered.

“Cherry!” Seungcheol yelled, desperation laced in his voice. “Cherry, don’t fight me!”

“Move with me!” you answered, and he did, miraculously, Duellona dodging left before an incoming attack.

Don’t fight me.

You rocked forward with Seungcheol as soon as you were clear of the kaiju’s trajectory, just as you’d done in practice thousands of times. Back in sync, Duellona Fury landed a kick to the kaiju’s middle that sent it stumbling.

“We’ve got him,” you said, feeling a win.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Seungcheol warned you. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the kaiju exploded from the dark ocean, limbs flailing as it flew towards you.

Duellona’s arms came up and locked it in battle, the impact shaking you so hard that your teeth chattered against each other. You groaned with exertion as you tried to match its strength.

“I don’t think we can hold it,” you managed through grit teeth.

“We’ve got this,” your partner promised, and with a mighty shove, you managed to flip the beast over your shoulder and beneath the waves.

“Drop the bombs and head for the east side,” you said quickly, already moving. Duellona Fury followed your command, turning and starting an easy run through the bay’s churning waters, away from where the kaiju was struggling to its feet, furious and vengeful. As she ran, she dropped three small explosives, about sixty feet apart. The explosives slipped into the ocean depths.

“Ready?” Seungcheol asked, a little breathless. “Are we far enough away?”

“Light him up,” you replied. Seungcheol reached up and tapped the button; somewhere behind you, the ocean exploded.

—

“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, later, in the med bay.

“Not that bad,” Seungcheol said, but you could see the blood-stains on the bandaging.

“It won’t happen again,” you promised. “I think I just… practiced alone for so long. I forgot to listen. I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol shook his hand, eyes finding yours. “There’s nothing to forgive, Cherry. Forget about it.” Then, he brightened. “You know what I want to do?”

“What?” you asked, not entirely past feeling guilty.

His smile was devilish. “I want to go celebrate our first fucking kill.”

– 

You marked the passing of two years in statistics.

Three hundred and forty-six explosives detonated.

Two hundred and eighty-three drops. Two hundred and eight-three kills. 

Seventy-two mainframe repairs.

Twenty-eight achievement awards.

Nine television interviews.

Six upgrades.

One ill-informed “vacation” during which you both itched with anxiety, spending the whole time messaging your friends back in the Shatterdome desperately, praying you wouldn’t miss a fight in which you were needed.

Seven hundred and thirty days of living in and around Seungcheol’s mind and heart. But that stat should’ve gone first.

It was a good high. Your team had a good run.

It wasn’t a kaiju that reduced it to ash, not an attack that took your team out of the rotation of main fighters and sent your jaeger to gather rust and dust below the Dome. It was your own stupid heart.

There were a lot of moments that could have been it. Each time you walked into a fight knowing the danger, each time he ended up in the med bay reeking of antibacterial ointment and resentment. Each time you slid into your place beside him - space he saved only for you. Each time his voice bidding you goodnight from the bottom bunk was the last thing you heard at the end of the day. Any of these moments might have been the one to make you stop, gasp, suddenly slammed with understanding. That you loved him, that he was everything you couldn’t bear to be without, that he was part of you. But they weren’t.

There was no moment of realization at all.

Instead, it slowly seeped into your consciousness, as gently and naturally as morning dew collecting on pre-dawn petals. The knowledge clung to you, as impossible to ignore as damp feet after running barefoot through the yard just after sunrise.

If you knew something, that meant your co-pilot would know it, too.

Unless you tucked it away, pushed it down deep and cast his attention elsewhere, a mental sleight-of-hand. Look here instead. 

You were twenty-three, on a routine patrol, when Mission Control radioed Duellona that there was a reading in the bay.

“Looks like it’s only a Cat-1,” Mission Control told you.

“On it,” you told them, feeling your body already mirroring Seungcheol’s as Duellona picked up her pace, striding through the waves. 

You glanced sideways at him, and immediately wished you hadn’t. He was already zoned in, eyes focused and jaw sharp as he concentrated. 

He caught your gaze for only a second. “Focus, Cherry,” he cautioned. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I would never,” you retorted, and he laughed. You were both cocky; you both knew it.

For a second, things felt better. 

The fight was almost easy, when the ocean seemed to split in two and the waves fell away like wrapping paper to reveal the kaiju you’d been sent for. 

You swung and ducked, dropping explosives strategically, Seungcheol moving in unison with you. There was something graceful about it - something beautiful in the sync, something holy in the way your muscles mimicked each other’s. 

This is what happens when sunlight hits morning dew: it warms, lifts, makes the air humid and sticky until it burns away. 

It rose up in you, your love for him, infusing the air around you, infusing the neural handshake that he was deeply imbedded in.

No. 

You panicked, tried to do several things at once - tried to shove the feeling down, tried to think of something else, tried to push Seungcheol’s consciousness out of yours.

Duellona Fury lurched around you, shuddering. 

“Cherry!” Seungcheol screamed to your left, and then the kaiju hit, its full weight slamming into Duellona’s mainframe.

You both staggered, trying to right yourselves, as the machines around you blinked and beeped and rebooted. 

Seungcheol grunted under the neural weight of driving alone as you gasped and closed your eyes, trying desperately to fix it. Around you, you heard the floating words - recalibrating.

“Recalibrate faster!” you shouted, glancing sideways to see your co-pilot struggling to hold the monster in place, his face contorting with effort, arms straining against the machinery. He bared his gritted teeth, exhaling in a hiss between them. 

You gave yourself a shake, bouncing on the balls of your feet, desperate for the connection to take again so you could pick up your half, take the literal weight from him. As soon as you felt the neural handshake, you gave a mighty shove and Duellona flipped the monster backwards, the ocean receding and then coming back to slam her shins, swallowing the monster whole.

You both sank into a defensive stance, ready for the beast to rise again.

“What was that?” Seungcheol demanded, later, as he sat in the med bay, waiting for his nosebleed to stop. The nosebleed you’d caused by letting him carry a neural load meant for two.

“I don’t know,” you lied, still panicked and desperate. 

“Bullshit,” Seungcheol countered, eyes narrowed. He reached up and pulled the cotton away from his face, examining it. “I’m fine now,” he announced, and tossed the wad into a nearby trash bin, standing.

You fought the urge to cower, knowing he’d never let it go if you did. You followed him silently out of the med bay and back towards your dormitories. Halfway there, he slowed, then stopped.

Then, more calmly this time, he asked, “What happened, Cherry? You pushed me out.”

There was a slight pout to it, a sliver of hurt, and it sliced through you like something tangible, like you were actually wounded from it, like it might actually bleed.

“I don’t know,” you repeated. Guilt poked at you until you relented, gave him something that was at least partly true.  “I got scared.” 

“That can’t happen, and you know it,” he said seriously, his large frame casting a long shadow to your left as he leaned into your space. “You can’t keep secrets - that’s piloting 101. We’ve got to handle it. You know what’s at stake here.”

You did; you did, and that was entirely the problem. It wasn’t just feelings, it wasn’t just your relationship with Seungcheol at stake. It was your relationship with your co-pilot - your ability to fight was at stake, your ability to keep others safe. Your legacy.

Your parents’ wall of pictures flashed in your mind.

“I’m going to my mom and dad’s for a while,” you said quietly. 

He nodded, let you run away - trusted you to come back to him when you were ready, trusted you to let him in.

You weren’t sure if he was right or wrong, as you walked away and left him behind.

You didn’t go to your parents’, though. Instead, you went to the tech bay and sat, watching Duellona undergo simple repairs from her fight. You stayed there, the metal cold beneath your thighs, watching the tech team buff over a scratch on your jaeger’s torso, until someone dropped into the spot next to you, bumping their shoulder roughly into yours.

“Where’s Seungcheol?” Wylie, who co-piloted Fury Striker with Chan, was your closest friend in the Dome besides Seungcheol. 

“He’s pissed at me,” you answered, looking sideways, because the question had really meant, why isn’t Seungcheol with you? 

You weren’t sure she’d understand what you were going through - she and Chan had been obsessed with each other since they were kids. Neither of them had ever had to fear that their love for each other would mess anything up. It had been part of their deal from the start.

“What’d you do?” Wylie demanded, turning her full, unfettered attention on you. You wanted to shrink from the intensity of it - but that was always how Wylie worked: full wattage, all the time.

“Almost got us killed by a fucking Cat-1 tonight,” you muttered, angry at yourself, angry at your heart.

Wylie smacked your arm hard enough to send you sideways. “Cherry!” she scolded. 

“There was something I didn’t want him to see.” You said it in your head first, weighed the words, then forced them through your teeth. You hoped she’d just know what it was, hoped you wouldn’t have to force those words past muscle and bone, too.

Wylie’s face dropped into irritation. “Cherry,” she repeated, disappointment dripping from the two syllables.

You looked up at Duellona Fury again. 

“You can’t do that,” she told you, giving your ankle a little kick for emphasis. “You know you can’t do that.”

You can’t love him? Or, you can’t keep secrets from him?

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to know the answer.

Seungcheol was waiting up for you when you finally returned to the dorm. You opened the door to find the first room - an entryway and kitchen, both - dimly lit. Beyond it, in the small sitting space, Seungcheol sat facing the door, his chin in his hand.

You knew the look on his face. You knew it so well that you almost ran from it, almost turned right around and went back out to the hallway.

Brows slightly furrowed, mouth a straight line, jaw tight. Eyes focused, locked in. It was the face he made in training before he bodied someone. It was the face he made in the field before an offensive strike. It meant he had his sights on a target, a problem, and he was about to throw everything he had at it.

And right now, you were the problem.

“Hey?” you tried meekly.

He nodded. Licked his lips. Stood. 

He’s pissed at me, you’d told Wylie. The energy radiating from your co-pilot was much more complex than that, the air around you palpably tense and teetering.

“How was it at your parents’?” he asked, voice low. 

You took one tentative step closer. “I didn’t go,” you admitted. One lie between you was already more than you wanted. “I watched them patch up Duellona instead. Talked to Wylie a little.”

He nodded, eyes still on you. Nervousness coursed through you, but it would be a lie - another one - to say it wasn’t laced with a little excitement. He was stunning, always, but like this - it almost took your breath away.

If he was in your mind right now, there’d be no question. He’d know all of it. The attraction, the desire, the fear, the affection, the love, the need. All of it. 

His eyes caught on a bruise peeking out from the short sleeve of your top. “You should’ve had them look at that,” he said, reaching out like he wanted to run his fingers over the dark splotch, but he was just too far away, fingertips closing around the air just an inch or two away. 

You shook your head. “You needed attention first. You carried the neural load alone.” Because of me.

“Only for a minute.”

“A minute too long. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

It hung between you. You don’t know if you’d inched forward or he had, or both, but you were close enough to touch now when you hadn’t been just seconds ago.

He lifted his eyes, his gaze locking on yours. In the dim room, his eyes shone black. “You pushed me out.”

It was an accusation, but it was also a question.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, barely able to say it, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. “Seungcheol, I was scared.”

Maybe he was in your head. Maybe he did know all of it.

“Don’t be,” he told you. “Don’t be scared.”

His arms were around you though you didn’t see him move. It wasn’t the first time you’d let him embrace you - after a fight, in relief, or in victorious delight, or sometimes just in sleepy affection at the end of a long day. It was far from the first time that you’d found comfort in the space between his arms, strong and capable around your frame, your forehead pressed against his sternum as his heart beat directly into your bones. 

But it was the first time that his fingers, confident and sure, tipped under your chin, guiding you to look up at him, guiding your mouth to meet his.

You don’t know if you melted or exploded - it was somehow both at once. You gripped his back, feeling the muscles move beneath his t-shirt, relaxing into his hold and focusing on the feel of his full lips firm and hungry against your own. This was everything - everything you’d wanted, everything you were afraid of, everything you needed, everything that could rip your life apart.

You didn’t mean to whine, but it slipped up your throat and into the gasped space between your lips and his as you tried to pull in a desperate breath. He responded with a grunt, walking you backwards until the edge of the kitchen counter jutted into your lower back. His hands traveled, up to the back of your neck, back down to the slight curve of your waist, around to the back of your ass. He tugged your hips against his roughly, and you let your head fall back, panting, head spinning.

“Cherry,” he breathed against the newly bared stretch of your neck, his lips close enough to drag against your skin as he spoke.

Your hands found the back of his neck, gave the slightest tug upwards, and he followed, bringing his mouth back to yours. His tongue pressed yours briefly, your moan muffled entirely by his mouth as you tried to press him closer, closer, as if you wanted your rib-cages to meld, to slip together like fitting puzzle pieces. 

His hand slipped lower from your ass and wrapped around your thighs, taking only a second to lift you onto the counter behind you. You wrapped yourself around him immediately, pulling him into the space between your legs, arms around his neck, pulling him in, wanting to feel every bit of him against you. 

His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted; you raised your arms in compliance and felt the cotton slip over your head and your hands.

“Yours,” you murmured, but he had already reached back between his shoulder blades, his own top joining yours on the floor.

Your hands found him on their own, sliding over his skin, fingers dipping between muscles, thumbs sweeping over shadows.

You kissed until you turned liquid, molten, your fingers wrapped in his hair. His fingers mapped every inch of your skin, as if his job was to report back on every previously unknown dip, every rough circle, every beauty mark or blemish. His fingers traced them all, his hands passing over you reverently.

The brush of his bare chest against your own was torturous; delicious until you were full, until you couldn’t take it anymore, until the electric-sharp thrill became uncomfortable. You tilted backwards, creating more space between your torsos but pushing your hips firmly into his.

You both groaned at the contact. You could feel the heat and weight of him now, and everything instinctual within you urged you to shift further, to bring that heat and heaviness closer to the part of you that ached for it. 

He pressed his hips into you without reservation, your core clenching in response to the movement and the friction. 

Then he leaned back, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, his arms bracketing you on either side, his chest heaving as he struggled to control his breathing. He drank you in, his eyes as molten as you felt. You leaned back on your elbows and met his gaze.

The moment expanded; nothing existed but his eyes and the pant of his breath and the way he smelled like he’d just finished a fight and the way he felt between your thighs, unmovable and steady.

Neither of you was connected to jaeger machinery, but you may as well have been, because you knew without a shadow of a doubt that your minds were connected, the drift be damned. Your eyes locked, you knew he felt everything you felt - the gravity of what you were doing, the love that drove you, the fire coursing through you. If there was going to be hesitation or questioning, this was the moment, this was the pause. But you were one, your minds were one, and there was none of that. 

His unvoiced question definitively answered by the certainty that flowed between you, Seungcheol moved to lift you again, taking you easily from the countertop into the dark of the room you share, settling you on your back on his bottom bunk.

Above you, mostly shadowed, was your other half, the only person who knew and understood every cobwebbed corner of your consciousness, the only person who had walked through your mind and found himself mirrored in every way that mattered. He was beautiful in the fractured light, his expression serious and gaze intense. 

You reached up to slide your thumb along his jaw and his eyes fluttered closed, his breath leaving him as in relief, as if you’d made some kind of admission. 

Making love to Seungcheol felt like drifting. His eyes on you as his fingers pulled you apart felt the same as the careful way he’d watch you when your memories got emotional, like he was watching for any sign that you weren’t okay, that you needed more or less or him. 

The way his breath and shoulders shuddered when he pressed into you for the first time felt the same as when he faltered in face of his father’s memory; both times, his fingers laced through yours and held tight until you could both breathe again.

He felt how you’d always known he would. Perfect - a perfect fit for you, a physical compatibility you had never tested but had always trusted would be there. He took you apart without even trying, and all you could do was hold onto him, feel all of him, feel all of it, and try to remember to breathe.

You didn’t speak as you moved together in the dark; the only sounds in the tight room were muted gasps, tiny moans muffled against necks, skin on skin, the obscene squelching sounds that accompanied each snap of his hips. You didn’t say the words that your lips tried to form - it’s so much, go slow for a little, Seungcheol, I love you, more - please, don’t stop. Maybe he heard them. Maybe this was a different way to drift, one that didn’t need wires.

You did your best to hold his gaze, losing sight of him only when you strained up to kiss him, when you nuzzled your face into the warmth between his neck and shoulder and gasped against a wave of sensation, when you couldn’t help but close them as they rolled back, your toes curling. 

He pressed his forehead to yours when he finished, your name slipping out of him, as if it had been literally squeezed from his lungs. “Cherry… Cherry…”

You lay together in silence for a long time, feeling your hearts slow, your skin cool. Your thumb traced his jaw again and again, slow, worshipful. “Cheol,” you whispered. My Cheol. My everything. You didn’t say the rest as you lay together in the quiet, in the dark, your heartbeats competing. 

You didn’t know that you’d drifted together for the last time. You didn’t know that your ability to neural connect could be broken.

–

The wind whips around you, stinging your face. You barely flinch. When you’d first relocated here, three years ago, the cold had made you literally cry during your first month. Just from having to walk from the door of the dormitory across the yard to the mess hall dorm, the intensity of it had sent you spiraling into misery - damning the circumstances that had sent you here, away from everyone and everything you knew and loved, to a place where the air hurt. 

You were sure it would hurt, this intensely, forever.

But time eased the sting, and despite your doubts you did adjust. Now the early morning wind feels bracing and refreshing rather than painful. You’ve adjusted to a lot of things since relocating to a small training center in Alakanuk, Alaska: the climate, the food, the no-frills campus you lived and worked on. Being away from your parents, from Wylie and Chan and Seungkwan and Jeonghan and all the other pilots you were friends with at the Shatterdome.

Being away from Seungcheol. Being partnerless, a half instead of a whole. 

Being unable to pilot, unable to fight. 

Being brokenhearted.

Just like the cold, the pain of your losses was the same - the sting of heartbreak and loneliness and homesickness faded to something ignorable, something you could keep tucked tight in the back of your mind. 

You can hear the noise from inside the mess hall before you even cross the courtyard. There are short of fifty girls ranging from ages seven to eighteen being housed here, but from the noise you’d swear it was at least a hundred. 

The buildings are single-storied, painted with a heavily-chipping grey-blue that sometimes seems to belong to the mist you often get rolling in from the ocean. When you’d first come, you’d legitimately thought they were painted that way as camouflage, meant to blend in with the sea. The other trainers had a good laugh about that. 

As you cross the courtyard between the trainers’ dorms and the mess hall, you breathe deeply, eyes on the birds alight above you. After a lifetime in the Shatterdome, you don’t take for granted the fresh air you’re afforded as you pass between buildings, outside, the sky open and changing above. You don’t take for granted the rhythm of the ocean, the cries of the gulls, nor the distant treeline.

It was Seungcheol who had noted that you were sheltered, having never lived outside of the Dome. 

It was Seungcheol you could blame - at least halfway - for your relocation here, where there wasn’t a jaeger or even a city for hundreds of miles. 

When you pull open the flimsy door to the mess hall, the noise triples. Several of the girls call out to greet you, and you give them a quick wave as you head to the table where the staff eats.

“You’re later than normal,” one of the other instructors notes as you reach for a piece of bread.

You shrug lightly, unbothered. “Still have plenty of time before the first class. What day is today, Thursday? I’ve got the little ones first, right?”

The all-girls training center is meant to teach fighting and the groundworks for drifting, but no jaegers are housed here, no teams launch into the icy bay. The girls here will grow up to pilot - if they get selected, if they get paired with a partner. 

You’re mostly here to teach them to fight, the way you trained in the Dome, but you do plenty more. Help brush hair in the mornings, console tearful faces, teach games and sports, mediate arguments. You also got sucked into running one literacy class a week, though you still haven’t figured out how that happened. 

It would be a lie to say this wasn’t fulfilling, that you didn’t love the girls you cared for, that you weren’t happy here with the ocean and birds and trees and laughter. In many ways, the seclusion of this training center is exactly what you needed to get back on your feet, to find strength in yourself, to heal with distance and time.

But, god, what you would give for a real fight. What you would give to feel both loved and threatened by Wylie, to rib at the guys, to hug your mom. What you would give to hear Seungcheol’s teasing pout, to catch his gaze across the span of your jaeger and know what his body and yours will do, to feel his fingers just barely graze your back when he knows you need to be reminded to focus.

The final time you’d tried, the neural connection never took. It was like trying to connect with a stranger. It had simply been still, a thing that was never alive.

“Don’t do this,” Seungcheol had begged, and that had been the nail in the coffin.

Don’t do this, he’d said. It had landed like blame. Like everything was your fault, and only yours. Like you had broken the connection on purpose, were keeping him out, barricading your mind from his when you desperately wanted everything to go right back to normal.

After that failure, you didn’t tell him you were asking to be reassigned. You didn’t want to give him the chance to say don’t do this a second time.

You’ve just ended a class, the girls starting to filter out through the training room’s side door towards the mess hall for lunch, when the center’s Administrator calls your name from the door.

“There’s a call for you on my line. I have them holding.”

A call? 

Adrenaline races through you; it has to be an emergency. Your parents and friends can reach you on your own device, which is tucked into your back pocket. To call the mainline here at the center means this is a base-to-base call, not a personal one.

You’ve only been in this office a handful of times in your few years here, and you shuffle awkwardly around the desk and pick up the receiver that sits abandoned on the chipped, wooden desktop. 

You greet the person on the line with your real name. 

“Cherry?”

Your Marshall - your old Marshall, from the Dome - sounds unsure if he has the right person on the line. No one has called you Cherry in three years. Even your parents have used your given name the few times they’ve said it on your weekly calls home.

“It’s me,” you affirm. “Is everything okay? My parents?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, and you heave a relieved breath. “Everyone is fine. This is official business. I want to call you in.”

You shake your head, frowning, well aware that he can’t see your reaction. Your body has said no, but you force yourself to ask, “Me? Why?”

“We’re down a few teams,” the Marshall says. “And -”

“You’ve got more recruits than places to put them,” you counter before he can finish. “Call one of the new teams up. Call three new teams up. You don’t need me.”

“We do - we need teams with experience, teams that are ready. Not rookies bumbling around looking for mistakes. We need precision. We need Duellona Fury.”

Your Marshall lays out the situation: the teams that are out, the problems they’re having at the breach - less time between attacks, more monsters at once. You’ve seen this before, you all have, and there’s protocol in place - protocol that starts with all hands on deck. 

You shake your head again. From the door, the Administrator of the center watches you seriously, like she knows you’re being taken away. 

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “What can I give you? I can’t pilot Duellona.”

Not anymore. 

The Marshall sighs, like he knew this argument was coming and didn’t have a good response. 

“I think you can,” he says finally. “I’m not saying it will be easy, and I’m not saying it will happen quickly or without effort. But I think you can.”

“No,” you say, the first time you’ve voiced it. “You were there. You saw what happened. We can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. You’ve both had a lot of time to��. You’ve both had a lot of time since then. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

This blow knocks you into silence. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, eyes steadfastly on the warped wood of the desk, fingers toying absently with the Administrator’s pen. 

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing had mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did three years ago. The splitting ache in your chest that you’ve felt every day since you became aware of loving him has only worked its way deeper with time. 

And Seungcheol’s anger? The anger and betrayal he’d leveled at you, when he was sure you were keeping him out of your head on purpose? You couldn’t speak for him, but if you had to guess, there weren’t enough years in a human life to let that hurt mellow into something safe enough to drift with.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer. 

The Marshall hesitates. “Not yet.”

“You might want to do that first,” you point out. “Before flying me back only to have him refuse.” 

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest. 

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

The girls cry when you tell them you’re leaving, and it makes you want to cry, too. You hold it together as you give them hugs, hold it together as you pack your single bag of belongings. You hold it together in the passenger seat of the center’s only beat-up van, waving out the back window as the training center fades away.

It’s standing on the deck of the ferry, the coast receding and the sea wind clawing at your face, that you let it go. You bury your face behind your hands and feel it release behind your ribs. You cry for all of it - for leaving the girls behind, for leaving a place that had sheltered you like a sanctuary. For the time you’d lost at the Dome, for the fights you’d sat out, for the years with your parents and friends that had slipped away like sand between your fingers. For your fear that Seungcheol will turn you away, just as hurt and angry as he was one thousand and ninety-five days ago. 

You’d been so determined to keep him from walking through the depths of your love for him, in the drift. You were so scared it would be too much, too intense, too much emotion for the drift. You’d been scared it would be too much for him - that the weight of it would inherently ask for more than he could give you in return. You’d been scared it would ruin your partnership, your compatibility, your capability to co-pilot.

But that had happened anyway. You almost have to laugh. 

As furiously as your tears begin, they peter out quickly. You take a few deep gulps of salty air, use the backs of your hands to wipe at your cheeks and beneath your nose. As you calm down, you keep your eyes on the horizon, your hands tight on the ship’s railing, and you let your mind wander back to Seungcheol. Here, thousands of miles away, you let yourself think back to those last weeks before you left the Shatterdome. You let yourself wonder, for the first time, what exactly caused everything to crumble.

You’d been so afraid to let Seungcheol into your head once the loving him had taken over. Why had it scared you so badly? As you keep your eyes on the grey of the horizon, you puzzle it out in your mind.

Had it been the uncertainty? That had certainly played a part. Did Seungcheol love you, back then? If he didn’t, everything between you could have changed - your friendship, your partnership, your ability to drift. It hadn’t seemed worth the risk to lose it all - his presence in your life, your ability to fight together. 

But maybe he had. If he did love you, back then… that would have changed things, too. What if starting something romantic affected your drift? There were too many maybes, too many variables. It had seemed safe to push it all down, to try and keep him away from it. To try and keep things the same.

Of course, you’d lost it all anyway.

Even if he did love you three years ago, you think as the sea air whips around you, did he love you the way you loved him? What if it had been too much - the way you could breathe once he was with you, the way you kept each other in check - what if he had loved you, but not that much?

Had it been a mistake to keep him out? Maybe. But it could have been just as catastrophic to let him in. There was no way to know, now.

You turn away from the ship’s railing, away from the horizon and the sea, away from your mistakes. There’s no use looking back like this. You can’t change it. You aren’t even sure you can fix it.

You were hoping to sleep on the plane, but you’re woefully awake well after take-off. Determined not to keep ruminating on what had happened before you left, instead you wonder what awaits you now.

The most-likely scenario, you think, professional and polite - but cold. Like you, he takes duty and responsibility seriously. The airplane bumps, a pocket of air jostling the small craft, and your hands find the armrests and cling tight until it stops.

The best case scenario, of course, would be that enough time has passed that Seungcheol’s hurt has faded. Maybe, you think, maybe he’s moved on from harboring that anger. Maybe he’ll greet you warmly, maybe you’ll pick up right where you left off.

This hope, this day-dream, aches, so much that you blink it away and turn to watch the clouds through the window, a desperate distraction. You crave Seungcheol - you crave feeling safe with his arms around you, you crave the elation you’d feel when he entered the room you were in, you crave the peace that comes with two minds engaged in neural handshake - the peace of someone’s mind interlaced with your own, understanding you, operating with you, picking up half of your mental lift.

You crave his giggle when you say something stupid in the dark of the dorm before bed, his pout when he feels like he isn’t getting enough attention, you crave his voice echoing in your head long after he’s gone asleep because you heard him talk to you all day long. 

You crave his lips on yours, his teeth on your neck, his hands on your body, even if you only had it once. You’ve craved it ever since.

You crave closing your eyes and pressing your forehead to his sternum, feeling safe and quiet and like you belong. You miss the sanctuary of that space, chest to chest with him, something sacred in the way it exists only for you.

You know you can’t have it - any of it. The daydream isn’t real. Your curse will be to crave it forever, alone.

When you arrive at the Shatterdome, it’s your parents who greet you just inside. For a moment, you’re happy to be back, overcome with emotion as you hug them tight. They’ve aged in these three years. You’ve missed them awfully. You only tell them the latter. 

They walk with you to the Marshall’s office, where you’re meant to report upon arrival. 

You hesitate, covering the moment by tugging your duffle’s strap higher on your shoulder. Your mother reads you anyway, reaching out and giving your shoulder a squeeze. 

“It will be okay,” she whispers. 

Your father catches on. “You’ve faced down worse,” he reasons. 

You disagree. There’s no monster in the sea bigger than your love for Seungcheol, no wounding possible that could hurt more than losing him has. But you appreciate the sentiment, so you give them each a grateful nod, tell them you’ll visit after dinner, and turn to knock on the door.

“Come in,” the Marshall’s voice carries through the door, and you turn the knob and step inside. 

All you see is Seungcheol; the Marshall, the office furniture, the flickering screens on the walls all snap into nonexistence in the presence of your former lover. He’s the only thing in the room that comes into focus. Everything else is just fuzzy noise.

His face wavers for a moment when your eyes meet his, the muscles rippling as he fights to get them under control. 

You don’t know what reaction he’s fighting. You don’t know if he’s feeling happiness or hatred. You don’t know if he’s fighting a smile or a scowl.

You give him a quick bow in greeting, and he returns it. His face is stone, now, his mouth tight and eyes flat. 

He turns to face the Marshall, to receive orders, so you do the same.

“I trust your travel went well?” the Marshall begins.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Even the single syllable of yes will come out of your mouth like gravel and dirt and sand, getting everywhere, leaving a trail.

“Your orders,” he says then, a bit of a sigh on his tone - as if he knows the uphill battle this will be, “are to reconnect as best you can. You’ll follow your old schedule. You’ll spar, you’ll meditate, and you’ll talk. After some time, we’ll try the drift again, see if the connection has recovered any.”

Seungcheol’s voice startles you when he speaks. “How long do you imagine it will be before we try?” he asks, just cold enough to have a sliver of sarcasm in it. 

The Marshall’s eyes narrow, just slightly, as if he’d caught it. “That’s entirely up to you two,” he says evenly. “When you were young and hungry to fight, you trained yourselves into exhaustion. You spent every waking second trying to cultivate the bond that would carry you into your jaeger. With the same intention and drive, I imagine you could be piloting Duellona within the week.”

You fight to keep your chin up, your eyes on the Marshall, instead of ducking your head and watching the floor. The Marshall lifts his arm and glances at his watch. 

“Your allotted time in Sparring Room 7 begins on the hour,” he says. This is his way of dismissing you.

In the hallway, you pause. “I’m just going to drop my bag in the dorm,” you say quietly, not looking at Seungcheol. 

He gives a tight nod. “Fine,” he says, and turns to go the other way, towards the sparring and training rooms. Clearly he intends to meet you there. You heave a deep breath, and turn back towards the wing with the dorms.

Stepping into the dorm you used to share with Seungcheol hits you harder than you thought it would. You’re not sure what you expected - to feel like coming home, maybe, or perhaps to be slapped with the memories of you and Seungcheol together, dancing around each other as you hurried to get dressed for a drop, lazing around in the sitting area after a full day of training. And, of course, the single night you’d spent together.

Neither thing happens. You aren’t overcome by a feeling of nostalgia and love, nor are you inundated by memories of what you’ve lost. Instead, the room feels exactly as it is: empty and still.

Your footsteps’ echoes taunt you as you walk through the kitchen, the sitting area, and into the bedroom. It’s pristine to the point of detriment; it feels like no one lives there. You set your bag on the floor near the foot of the bed - you can unpack later, after training - and turn to go.

Strangely, it’s stepping into the training room that slams you with memory and nostalgia. The wood cool beneath your feet, the vague smell of sweat and citrus-y cleaner, the sounds of punches landing and grunts of effort from the training rooms on either side - they all cocoon you in history, making goosebumps rise on your arms as the emotions surround you.

It makes sense, you think, as Seungcheol glances over his shoulder at the sound of your arrival. He doesn’t speak to you, just swaggers to the center of the room and takes a stance you recognize from Form One. Your body leads you opposite him, muscle memory guiding you into the first form you ever learned with him. It makes sense that this would be what felt like home - your minds going empty together, your bodies following the steps in unison. The sparring forms are the closest you can get to drifting without an actual neural connection.

Well, that and sleeping together, but you don’t see that on your agenda.

You stare at him across the invisible circle between you and try to read him. His face is cold and empty, but that already tells you so much about what he’s feeling. Seungcheol was never cold with you. When you fought together he slipped into that mode you loved so much - ready to level anything, chin lifted, eyes narrowed, confident and so very strong. But it was when you were together outside the fights that you had loved him best - often pouting, lips protruding, voice lifting into a whine. And the best of all - that smile, dimples creating shadows that beg for your thumb to press them, eyes squeezing shut with happiness or laughter.

Something must show on your face, because you watch the muscles in Seungcheol’s upper body untense, as if he’d been ready to fight and recognized that you weren’t.

“I’m good,” you mutter quickly, before he can ask. It feels better to lie to him before he actually asks you, like that’s somehow less dishonest. “Let’s go.”

Form One is basic - no hits, no fancy moves. At the training center, you’d teach it to the littlest ones until they had it memorized. It was really about control and communication - precision and alignment with your partner. You had to breathe together as your feet traced opposite circles across the knots in the wooden floor. You had to rise and bend in unison. It was about watching and listening.

You and Seungcheol could - literally, you’d tried more than once - do it blindfolded in perfect step with one another. Before. You don’t know if you still can. But, now, unblindfolded, it’s too easy.

You move through forms one through six without incident - both of you flowing as easily as water.

Form Seven is the first form that incorporates actual hits and blocks. You’ll have to touch for the first time, even if it’s forearm to forearm or ankle to shoulder. You move right as he moves left, crouch and circle as his right foot flies over your head, stand and punch where you know his open hand will be waiting to stop you.

It is, and you press your fist against it for just a second before spinning away to continue the form. You ache, even as your body continues following the steps, to have him entirely again - to meet his eyes and smile the way you both used to, because you were pleased with what your bodies could do. Because you had each other, completely.

After the tenth form, you bow, turn, and walk out of the ring. You drink some water, your back to him. Years ago you’d have used this break to chat, but you don’t know what to say to him. You’re scared that he’ll shut down anything you say, whether you choose small talk or go straight for the heart of the problem, and you honestly don’t think you can shoulder his rejection right now. So you stay quiet.

After a few short minutes of rest, you return to the center of the room. This is when you’ll spar for real.

You and Seungcheol had done this for years before things went wrong. You’d long ago adjusted to how hard you should hit, how to dodge his moves, how to make this a dance as much as a fight. Now, you feel like it’s your first time again.

Seungcheol attacks as you’d expect - all offensive, pushy, succeeding in herding you backwards even as you dodge each blow. You know his goal is to flip you, and normally you can avoid that by forcing him to go on the defensive as he avoids your own hits. Simply dodging won’t be enough - eventually he’ll cage you in unless you distract him.

You throw yourself into a summersault and manage to get behind him - an opportune moment to strike. You shift your weight to follow the blow as you twist your hips to send a kick towards his unprotected head. He turns just too late - the blow will land.

You can’t do it. You freeze, your core working to keep you upright as you fight your own momentum, halting the kick inches from his temple.

You know immediately that pulling the hit was a mistake. His eyes narrow, and he sweeps his foot at the ankle you’re balancing on. You crash to the ground, heaving a breath and taking quick inventory.

You aren’t hurt. Not this time.

“Get up, Cherry,” he says darkly, moving back to the center to start again. “And don’t do that shit again.”

He comes at you full force in the next match, too. You dodge and weave, but you don’t try to strike. You know he knows it; this isn’t how it used to work. You can almost feel him get angrier as you fight, but you can’t make yourself hit back. You want him to knock you down, you deserve to take some shots.

You take two blows to the back and one to a shoulder; you fall back unsteadily but manage to find your footing and roll away from his next kick.

The match continues - you taking a handful of blows, though none with the force to level you, and Seungcheol with his lip curled in fury.

“If you’re not going to fight, then leave,” he spits.

“Would if I could,” you retort without thinking. You mean that you don’t want to be here like this - not talking, cold, at odds. But you know it reads as not wanting to be here at all.

It seems like everything you say and do only hurts him more.

“I didn’t mean -” you start, and Seungcheol takes your arms and flips you over his shoulders.

“Don’t waste my fucking time,” he says, brushing his hands together and stepping back to give you room to pick yourself up.

“Don’t curse at me,” you answer, pushing yourself to your hands and knees, pausing to catch your breath before rising fully again.

He shakes his head, rolls his eyes a little.

You hate this side of him.

You know you deserve it. For pushing him out. For leaving him here. For loving him, messing everything up, when he never asked for that.

“Seungcheol,” you say, but he ignores you, pacing a few steps and then turning to face you, lowering himself into a defensive stance, ready to spar again.

“Cheol,” you try again. “Listen to me.”

“Marshall scheduled us time to talk later,” he says flatly. “Right now we’re scheduled to fight. So fight me, Cherry. Let’s go.”

The rest of the hour continues the same. By the time it’s over, Seungcheol storms out without speaking to you, furious over every single pulled punch.

You don’t know what to do to make it all better.

You shower quickly, dressing in dry linens, and then re-emerge for the hours you’re scheduled to meditate together. You hope that maybe this will help the situation - maybe not talking will be good for you, give you a chance to feel your connection without the chance to fuck it up with words.

You’re wrong; trying to meditate together is just as desperately fruitless as sparring had been.

You can’t focus at all - can’t shift your attention to your breath, to your body, to the earth beneath you, to the energy of your partner.

Your partner is the distraction, though he sits perfectly still, eyes closed. He might as well be yelling. His shoulders are tight, his jaw still clenched. Anger radiates off him so strongly that it makes your stomach hurt, makes you want to cower from it. You can’t stop watching him, hoping you’ll see him relax, hoping you’ll see the moment that he lets go.

He doesn’t.

“Your eyes are supposed to be closed,” he murmurs, and you feel your face heat, embarrassed that he knew you were watching him.

“I can’t,” you admit. Maybe, you think, you should just be brutally honest, starting now. It’s not like you could make this worse. “I can’t stop noticing how angry -”

“Then stop pissing me off,” he snaps, eyes opening. “Just a suggestion.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” you cry, and push yourself to stand. You’re not sure why - maybe just to pace. “You never used to talk to me like this. Who are you?”

He looks at the floor, the first sign of guilt you’ve seen since you came home.

“Fine,” he finally bites back, and you know it’s as close to sorry as you’ll get. “I’ll reign it in. Sit back down.”

You shift your weight, arms crossed defensively across your chest, and close your eyes, deciding.

“Sit down, Cherry,” he repeats, and it’s gentler now. That’s what makes you cave, and you settle back across from him.

He’s less tense this time, so you eventually manage to close your eyes and count your breaths. But you’re still feeling for him, reaching for him in your mind, and coming up with nothing between you fingers. Touching him is as possible as touching the fog that used to blanket the training center, thick enough to blind you but impossible to grasp.

The pain feels like a cramp, except it’s behind your ribs instead of in your muscles. The pain grips and tightens, takes over. You want him, you want to be his again, you want to be inside these walls - where you used to fit comfortably. The fact that you’re out here, without him, aches so badly it makes you nauseated.

You want to beg him - let me in again, let me back in, let me be close to you again.

It won’t do any good, and you know it.

He was yours - you had him, you knew him, you could reach out to him and he’d pick you up. You’d taken it for granted, and you’d run away from it. You’d chosen to let it go, and now all you get is this: Seungcheol, cold and closed. Seungcheol, hating you for everything that happened.

—

Dinner is just as bad.

You go to the mess hall eager to see Wylie and Jeonghan and Seungkwan and all the other friends you haven’t seen in years. Wylie screeches like a banshee when she spots you, crossing the mess hall in a blur and hugging you so tightly that you both stagger, off balance, until Seungkwan joins the hug and rights you again.

“I missed you both so much,” you whisper, the only vulnerability anyone’s going to get out of you today.

“Then don’t leave again!” Wylie snaps, but you know the admonishment is full of love.

“I can’t promise,” you admit. Honestly, you’ve already made up your mind - you want to go back to Alaska. You’re not wanted here, not by the person who matters. What good are you, taking up a bed, if you can’t drift?

You’ve already given up hope that he’ll come around.

Seated at the table, you listen while your friends fill you in on what you’ve missed in three years - the fights in the bay, the new teams of pilots, the illnesses and injuries. You almost don’t notice Seungcheol silently takes a seat on Jeonghan’s other side, but something in you prickles, like you’ve sensed him.

The tension around the table heightens; the conversation goes a little stilted. When it’s apparent that he’s going to ignore you two seats down from him, Wylie slaps her hand flat on the tabletop.

“Come on, Seungcheol,” she scolds, and you’re sure no one wonders what she means.

His face goes dark so quickly it’s alarming. “Don’t,” he tells her darkly, one finger coming up to point at her in warning.

Her own eyes narrow and dart to her fork. Beside her, Chan’s eyes pingpong between them. He’s probably wondering if he should hold her back or join her.

“It’s fine,” you mutter, grabbing your tray and making to rise. “I’ll go.”

“Cherry, no,” Wylie protests, and then turns a glower onto your ex-co-pilot as if to say see what you did?

“It’s fine,” you repeat, standing. “I told my mom and dad I’d come by.”

You slink out before anyone else can argue.

You can’t even be mad at him - you did this by pushing him away. You hammered every last nail in the coffin by requesting to transfer. You pushed him out and you left him behind and now you have to face the reality that you can’t have him anymore. He isn’t yours, not anymore.

When you return to your dorm, he’s already in bed, the lights out. He’s facing the wall so you can only see his back, can only see the angry, tight shoulder poking out the top of the sheets. It tells you everything you need to know.

You don’t try to talk to him. You just go to bed.

—

You spend four days identically - fighting while sparring, not meditating, and avoiding Seungcheol’s ice-out. On the fifth day, your Marshall loses patience and changes your schedule. Your entire day is blocked to working on Duellona’s mainframe - buffing, repainting, greasing, and anything else you’re able to handle on your own.

“Since you can’t do anything else useful,” he adds, and you avoid Seungcheol’s eyes, ashamed.

Standing under Duellona’s unlit frame fills you with guilt. It feels like you’re letting her down, disappointing her by letting her rust here, failing your half of the bargain. You run your hands gently over the metal, finding the rough spots that need attention. Somewhere to your left, you can hear the telltale sounds of Seungcheol tightening bolts.

You work in silence for hours.

Eventually, you crack. You’re not sure if it’s the monotony of the task, the tension woven into the silence between you too, or being so close to your jaeger but unable to fight in it - maybe a combination. Something pushes at you from the inside, like a balloon trying to inflate under your skin and running out of room.

You flop backwards on the metal walkway, the grooves digging into your back. “What are we doing?” you ask, and you hear the tool Seungcheol had been using cling loudly as he sets it down.

“Following orders?” he says, stepping around Duellona’s side to look at you. “Fixing up the jaeger?”

“Fixing up the jaeger we don’t get to pilot?” you ask, sitting back up to look at him better.

“Is that what you’re here for?” he asks, the sudden ferocity of it surprising you. “To fight? Is that why you came back?”

You reach up to the walkway’s railing and pull yourself up. You feel yourself frowning at his question, at the heat behind it. 

“I’m back because the Marshall gave me an order,” you say slowly. 

“And that’s it?” he demands. 

You stare at him. You feel sure there’s more to the question, more that he’s asking. You feel sure, after knowing Choi Seungcheol down to the last molecule, that he’s really asking, you didn’t come back for me?

And it confuses you. You try to think about your split from his perspective: you’d shut him out, then slept with him, and then vanished. You’d made a lot of assumptions about his anger since then. You assumed he was angry at you for pushing him out of your head. You assumed he was angry at you for sleeping with him and then leaving. You assumed he was angry with you for ruining your drift, for ripping him away from the ability to fight. You assumed he was angry because he never knew why - never knew what it was that you were so desperate to hide, never knew why sleeping together had made things so much worse that the neural connection had fizzled into nothing altogether.

Is there more to it, his anger?

Should you call him on it, should you ask?

You take too long deciding. Seungcheol scoffs, like he’s disgusted with you. “I should have known,” he says coldly. “Princess of the Shatterdome, I should have known you only cared about piloting - about your legacy.”

This is something you’ve never said to him - that your desire to shine as brightly as your parents has weighed on you. This is something he’d pulled from the drift, something he only knew from tiptoeing around your mind before a fight. 

“That isn’t fair,” you say, your voice hard. “Is there another reason I should have come back? I’d love to hear it.”

He hears the challenge as it is - you didn’t ask me to come back, the Marshall did. You let me go.

He has nothing to say for himself, just stares back at you, eyes narrowed in anger, chest moving too quickly as he battles with his temper.

“Exactly,” you say curtly. The victory stings. It doesn’t feel like a win at all. “The bottom line is I’m here now, and we can pilot again if we can get our shit together.”

He shakes his head. “You left,” he says finally. “That’s the bottom line. You decided you were out, you decided you didn’t want me in your head, and then you left.”

He watches you, waits for you to say something. When you don’t, he lets out a derisive little laugh. “We’re both wasting our time here. The drift won’t work. We aren’t going to fix it.”

For the first time, fear slices through you like steel. “You can’t know that,” you say. You hear the fear in the way your voice comes out low and rounded, barely sounding like you at all.

“I can,” he retorts. “You know how I know? Because I don’t want to. You wanted me out of your head so badly? You got it. Can’t turn back now.”

He heads for the ladder, swings around and finds the third rung down with ease.

“So that’s it?” you ask his retreating form. Your heart is hammering and you’re starting to get tunnel vision. 

The only answer he gives you are his feet hitting each new rung with a clunk and a vibration that rattles up your legs.

—

You go to the training rooms alone and run through the forms just to do something; your mind turns the problem over and over as your body goes through the motions. After, you take a longer shower than normal, letting the water run hotter than you normally would.

After, you go to the Marshall’s office, determined. Or maybe resigned.

When he opens the door, he already looks irritated, like he knew exactly who would be on the other side.

“Requesting an audience,” you say flatly, fighting the instinct to cross your arms defensively.

He glances at his watch. “Five minutes.”

You step inside but leave the door open.

“I’m requesting transfer back to Alakanuk,” you tell him as evenly as you can manage. You’re sure he’s not surprised. “Seungcheol has made it very clear that we won’t be fighting together again. If that’s the case, then I can’t do anything useful here. But in Alakanuk I can.”

You pause, looking to see if you can read anything on the Marshall’s face - any hint that he’s considering what you’re saying, or that it’s a lost cause. He gives you nothing.

“Please,” you say. “Those girls need me. If I can’t help here, I can help them.”

The Marshall tilts his head just slightly. “Surely anyone can teach little girls the forms.”

You shake your head. “It’s more than that, and you know it. It’s not about the forms. I love those girls. I came back here to follow orders, and I tried. But if it isn’t going to happen… Please, don’t make me waste time here if I can be with them instead.”

The silence when you stop speaking seems to last for hours. Your heart pounds, and you work on keeping your breathing even. If he tells you no, you might just lose it, just give up entirely.

Finally, he takes a breath and seems to consider you. “If,” he says, and your eyes widen with hope, “your co-pilot agrees, then I will reassign you back to Alaska. But only if he will agree.”

“No problem,” you say quickly. Seungcheol was the one who said it was over. He should have no problem letting you leave.

When you step out of the Marshall’s office, Seungcheol steps out of the shadows. You should be surprised to see him, but in the Shatterdome it feels right that he just is wherever you are. That’s always how it was, before.

You look at him disdainfully. “I assume you heard that conversation?”

He nods, once.

“So?” you ask. “Will you tell him you approve, so I can go?”

For the first time since you returned, Seungcheol smiles, tight and sarcastic.

“No,” he says easily, like it’s kind of funny.

Fury erupts inside you; you can’t even pinpoint where in your body it stems from. “Why?” you demand. “Because you feel like I took something from you, so you want to take something from me?”

He doesn’t respond to this. You know you’re right. You know him. You know his mind.

“I hate to fuck up your narrative,” you spit at him, “but I’ve lost out here just as much as you have. You’re not the only one who lost the ability to fight. You’re not the only one who lost their partner.”

You wish you could tell him the rest - you’re not the one who spent three years with a broken heart on top of it. He had lost you as a partner and a friend - you had lost him in the same ways, and you’d had to harbor your broken heart.

He shakes his head. “Poor baby,” he bites sarcastically, and then takes off down the hallway, into the dark.

—

You stop sleeping at the dorm. Sometimes you sleep at your parents’, sometimes on Wylie and Chan’s tiny couch, sometimes in bed with Seungkwan, who kicks at you and whines that you take up too much space. Sometimes you sleep inside Duellona Fury, sitting up, your back against her metal frame.

The Marshall seems to have taken some pity on you. He schedules your mornings training the Dome’s recruits, and lets Seungcheol get back to what he was doing in your absence - which seems to be on track to move up in rank, to maybe become a Marshall himself, someday. It isn’t quite the same as being back with your girls, but training recruits feels at least somewhat fulfilling. And it keeps you and Seungcheol busy - separately - until afternoon.

Then, he schedules you to spar.

In your first week, you’d been unwilling to hit Seungcheol. You’d been feeling guilty for hurting him, sad for your time apart, hopeful that if you were soft to him, then he’d be soft back to you.

Now, you’re fucking furious.

For the first time, when the match begins, you hit him first. He’s surprised for only a second, eyebrows shooting up as he stumbles for balance, and then you watch something delighted and devilish fall over his face. Like he knows exactly what dance this is, and he’s been learning the steps in secret.

The match is brutal, reminiscent of your very first one, when you were both nineteen. You throw hit after hit his way; he blocks or dodges all of them. But he can’t get a hit on you either - you’re too quick, spurred on by fury. You’ve been angry in a fight before. But you’ve never been angry at him.

You spin and throw up a kick, expecting his forearm to rise and block it. Instead, you knock him in the jaw.

He grunts, hand flying up to cover his mouth, and you drop your stance with a gasp.

“Shit!” you cry, hurrying closer. “I’m so sorry! Are you bleeding? Let me look.”

“‘M fine,” he mutters thickly from behind his hand, but you ignore him. For a second, things are how they used to be between you. He lets you peel his hand away, lets you gingerly turn his head this way and that, even opens up so you can check his teeth.

“You’re gonna have a fat lip,” you tell him regretfully. “But nothing’s bleeding. Teeth look okay. Anything loose in there?”

He pokes around his teeth with his pinky. “Nope.”

You take a step back, cowed. “I’m really sorry.”

He laughs a little, wryly. “I bet you feel better, though.”

You bite back a smile. “Actually…” you say, and he laughs again. You both do.

Somehow, this seems to be the thing that cracks the anger you’ve both been encased in, unable to move forward or backward. You feel melted, and you wonder if he feels freer now, too.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you say. You mean the kick, but the words land heavy.

He avoids your gaze. “I need some water,” he says, turning and heading to the side of the room.

You do the same, sitting heavily on the bench where your water waits for you.

“Hey,” he says, and you look over, brows raised in anticipation. “Tell me about Alaska.”

You can’t help but smile.

“It’s so beautiful,” you tell him. “God, Cheol, the ocean there. And the birds, and the snow…”

He’s watching you, listening, but while he listens he stands and heads to the center of the ring, settling into a starting form. With a small smile, you follow, standing opposite him. He starts an easy match that’s mostly just following the eighth form. It includes some hits and blocks, but you both do them gently, easily, circling each other slowly.

“So you liked it?” he asks. You can hear how hard he’s working to make it sound casual.

“It was so beautiful,” you admit before ducking below a kick. “But it was also… really hard.”

“What was the best part?” he asks.

You smile, block a hit. He almost gets his hands on you for a flip, but you dodge around behind him. He turns to follow you. “Weirdly, it was taking care of them outside of class. We - the instructors - we kind of their moms, away from home, you know? I’m the one who knew Yejin won’t sleep unless someone sits by her bed for a while. I’m the one that knew that Farrah and Salome only argue because they’re competitive. I’m the one that knew that Maria and Anjali don’t know their times-tables, that Ximena can’t brush her own hair, or that Iseul is allergic to fish. I loved them. I loved knowing them.”

He looks at you for a long time. “Maybe you should go back,” he says finally.

It feels like a trap. 

You look at the floor, at the wall, then finally back at him. “If you’ll do this for real,” you say carefully, “then I’d rather be here. If we’re actually trying, then I don’t want to go.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Finally, he swallows hard, not looking at you.

“What was the worst part?”

There’s only one answer.

“Missing you,” you say. “Losing you.”

He manages to get both of your arms and hauls you over his shoulders. You land on your back so hard that the air is knocked out of your lungs and your eyes close protectively. For a second, you lay there panting, waiting for the pain in your back to settle down, waiting for the stars behind your eyelids to calm.

When you open them again, the ceiling coming into focus above you, the room is empty.

–

You have a hunch on where you can find him, and you head to the jaeger bay. Sure enough, he’s sitting below Duellona, knees to his chest, staring up at her.

You sit next to him and he doesn’t get up and leave, which you take as a good sign.

“I can’t do this if you’re not all in,” he tells you without looking at you. “You walked away from me once. I can’t let you back in my head if there’s any possibility you’ll walk away again. If you’re with me, I need you to be with me.”

Something prickles in the back of your head. You feel like you’re starting to realize something - the seed of an understanding is pushing delicately through the dirt, but hasn’t yet spread out its leaves under the warmth of the sun yet.

Something about his hurt. Something about why.

“I think we should try to drift,” you tell him.

This seems to startle him - he forgets to be cold, turns to look at you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I can tell you how much I missed you,” you reason, “and tell you about how I spent every minute just… steeped in regret. Or we can walk through it - you can see for yourself.”

You know what you’re risking. If he gets into your head now, he’ll see it all - he’ll know everything, he’ll be able to feel for himself the depth of your loss, the height of your love. 

But what’s the harm, now? You can’t lose him twice. Maybe it’ll be enough for him to realize you hadn’t left him because you didn’t care about him. Maybe it’ll be enough for his forgiveness. 

Maybe then, he’ll tell the Marshall to let you go back to Alakanuk. 

It’s Seungkwan you bother, since he’d been in mission control before finding his team of co-pilots. The sideways look he gives you as he walks to your conn pod is withering, but you know better than to take it personally.

You buzz with nerves. The last time you’d tried this, the neural handshake hadn’t even connected. There had just been nothing.

The second you hear neural handshake initiating, you almost sob with relief. You can’t even pay attention to the memories - Seungcheol’s memories - floating around you; you want to collapse, to press your palms to the ground and thank the universe for letting you back in.

His first memories are a breeze - the ones you’ve jogged through together hundreds of times: his first home, his school, his father’s hospital room, the Dome. Then you slow your pace, because this is new.

You’re facing the landing dock on the Shatterdome’s roof. Seungcheol stands with his back to you, watching through the glass walls as a helicopter waits, the pilot talking into his headset.

You watch yourself walk towards the chopper’s open door. You watch yourself leave, remember how hard it was to not look back.

You hadn’t known that Seungcheol had been there, that he had seen you go.

The pain that accompanies the memory hits you like you’re drowning, like it’s too deep and you can’t feel the bottom, and you feel the machinery falter around you.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “I’m with you.”

He nods, still doesn’t look at you. But the beeping stops, the connection holding. 

There’s knowledge in this memory, knowledge in this pain. Seungcheol’s thoughts in this moment read in your head as clearly as if he said them aloud - I did this. I pushed her too far; I made her run.

You can’t stay here, can’t let him wallow in the memory of pain. You had to move forward - that’s how the drift works. Reluctantly you step towards the door, glancing over your shoulder to see if he’s following. 

He is. His jaw is tight and fists are clenched, but he is.

When the next memory - not in order of chronology, clearly - appears before you, you want to vanish into the floor. You’re watching yourselves in Seungcheol’s bed. Thankfully, you’re sleeping - this was after. But in the memory, Seungcheol is awake, laying on his side, his eyes drinking in your sleeping form.

The emotions and the knowledge come with it in an instant. The tenderness and the love he felt in that moment surround you now in the memory, unignorable, impossible to mistake. 

He had loved you. He had known you loved him, and he was showing you how he felt. The understanding slams you so hard that you think you stop breathing.

“Seungcheol,” you whisper. Around you, the scene begins to flicker, the connection starting to react to the oversaturation of emotion.

“We can talk about it after,” he says, voice hard. “Don’t stay in it. Find the next door.”

Your eyes find the door, but you feel frozen. You want the connection to drop, you want to unlock yourself from the stupid drive-suit and throw yourself into his arms, you want to apologize for leaving him thinking he’d pushed you away, thinking that he scared you into running.

“Cherry,” he warns. “The drift can’t -”

You know. 

And you owe him your side of the story.

You take a steeling breath and head for the door. You don’t take his hand. You don’t know if you deserve to, if he’d want you to.

When you step through the doors, you’re confused - you’re still in your dorm. Your bodies are both in the bed.

Now, though, Seungcheol sleeps, and you - the memory of you - sits on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. 

You feel the emotion the memory holds, which means Seungcheol does, too.

Fear. It’s still fear - fear that he’ll know, fear that what you just did together will make it worse, make it harder to hide. 

Beside you, Seungcheol’s eyes go wide. 

“We have to move on,” you tell him. He looks at you, then back at the memory. 

“You -?” he starts to ask.

“After,” you tell him firmly. “We’ll talk after.”

You open the door, and you’re suddenly outside, surrounded by white.

Alaska.

The emotion knocks you over with the fury of an ocean wave - even though you know you’re not supposed to let it. This was how you had felt every day that you were gone, and it screams at you now, determined to be heart, determined to be felt. The loneliness, the regret, the despair and heartbreak all rise up in you, overtaking you, as snow falls gently and silently around you.

And the love. That never went away. That never mellowed, as the Marshall had put it.

If he didn’t know before, he has to know now. There’s no way he couldn’t.

Seungcheol squeezes your hand, and you almost jump. You look down at your linked fingers in shock, then up at him, eyes wide.

“We should go back and talk about this,” he tells you, but his grip on you is firm, assuring.

“Okay. It’s this way,” you tell him, trying to breathe, and you lead him by the hand through the snow. The fog strengthens as you walk, until you can’t see anything but grey, can’t see anything but Seungcheol’s hand in yours.

You continue on. You know where to go. When you step through, the fog vanishes as if it was never there, nothing gradual about it. With the fog gone, you can see clearly where you are - inside Duellona Fury’s conn-pod.

As you begin to work on the straps, you call through the intercom, “Kwan? We… need some privacy. We’ve got to talk - alone.”

His voice crackles back at you. “Yes, I’m leaving, I’m already gone. If you hear popcorn crunching, no you don’t.”

Seungcheol gives you a flat look. “Let’s go home and talk,” he suggests.

Home.

You are so afraid and so hopeful. You don’t know how to juggle both.

Back in your small living space, you sit like you’re meditating.

“Let’s figure this out,” he says. “No lies.”

“No lies,” you agree. Your knees touch, and you reach to take his hands. He lets you, giving your fingers a squeeze.

“You knew,” you say first, bordering on accusation. “I was trying so hard to hide how I felt about you… but you knew.”

He nods, his eyes on you. “And you,” he says slowly, “didn’t… know? That I knew?”

You shake your head, confirming. “I didn’t know. I thought I hid it.”

He smiles at you, a little placating. “Not as well as you would have liked.”

“And you…” You chicken out, swallow, force yourself to be brave. “You… loved me, too?”

He nods. “I did.” 

The air leaves your lungs so forcefully that you bend over, pressing your forehead to the tops of your hands. He pulls his hands from yours and you feel his touch, firm and reassuring, cupping your shoulders and rubbing his thumbs along them.

“We felt the same,” you echo into your shins. “You loved me.”

“Cherry,” he says above you, his voice like a plea. “I don’t understand why - when we… when I… I felt like once I forced you to look at it, it was too much. You ran.”

You sit with this for a minute, stunned and processing. His hands are back in yours, which you take as a good sign. 

“You thought… wait. You thought, after that night, that I knew how you felt, too?”

He nods. “I thought you knew,” he says, confusion still present in his tone. “I thought we both knew. I thought if it was out in the open, the glitch in the drift would be fixed.”

You wipe at your face, trying to breathe. “And instead,” you realize, “we couldn’t even connect, because I was still trying to hide it from you, and then you were hurt. I thought it was broken. I thought we really broke it forever.”

He looks at you in wonder. “That’s why you left,” he breathes, and you know he’s understanding this for the first time. “You thought we made the problem worse.”

It’s your turn to nod. “After we…I mean, I knew if I couldn’t hide it from you before that night, there was no chance I’d be able to hide it after. I kept you out in the first place because I… was afraid. I was afraid for you to see how much I loved you. It seemed… hopeless to keep trying.”

The words lay bloody between you, but his grip on your hands is strong, and you take another breath.

You push on, adding, “I was afraid it would be too much. I was afraid everything would change.”

Which it did, you think. He nods, like he hears this, like he agrees.

He releases you and leans back, blowing out a loud breath. “We’re so fucking stupid,” he says, and you splutter out a laugh.

“We really are.”

“I can’t believe we lost three years over that,” he says.

“I can’t believe you thought it was your fault that I left.”

“I can’t believe you left in the first place.”

This makes you smile, guilty. “That’s fair.”

You push yourself to stand; Seungcheol mirrors you, as if you’re already in the neural handshake, bodies working in tandem. 

“Cherry,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “It could never be too much. I love you. I’m crazy about you. I’m only me when I’m with you.”

You remember him, the night you’d slept together, telling you, don’t be afraid. He’d told you, after all, and you’d missed it entirely.

You close the distance between your bodies and kiss him hard. His arms circle your waist immediately, like they were waiting for you. He kisses you back hungrily. His mouth meets yours eagerly, his tongue stroking yours confidently before he shifts his attention to your jaw, your neck, then your mouth again. His hands don’t wander this time - instead he holds you so firmly it almost hurts, like he won’t let you move an inch, won’t let you out of his grasp ever again.

You cradle his face between your hands, let your teeth gently scrape along his bottom lip. “Cheol,” you whisper, then kiss him again. “You’re everything.” It’s what you should have said aloud the night you’d slept with him.

When the kiss breaks, he presses his lips to the top of your head and holds them there, melting around you a little. You give his middle a squeeze, revel in his heartbeat surrounding you like music.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t just say it.”

“Me too,” you tell him, holding him just a little tighter. “I should never have tried to hide it from you in the first place.”

He kisses your temple, and you hold each other, silently, each grappling with the time you’d wasted apart. 

You’re interrupted by a knock. You break apart, puzzled. You’re even more puzzled to see your Marshall at the door, and Seungkwan literally bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

“I’ve heard your drift is working again,” the Marshall says dryly. 

You look over your shoulder at Seungcheol, grinning. “Seems like it.”

“There’s a Cat-1 reading in the bay. I was about to alarm for Pretty Savage to drop, but Savage’s team insisted I give you the opportunity first. They can follow as backup. How do you feel?”

Seungcheol is at your side. He looks at you, his face open and raw. “Well?” he asks you. “Are you in, or are you out?”

“I’m in,” you tell him seriously. “I’m with you.”

You thrum with excitement as a tech team helps strap you into the drive-suits, and you can’t help but shoot Seungcheol a wild grin, your happiness alive and unbounded. 

You tell mission control - Nainsi, probably, just like the old days - “Ready and aligned.”

Mission Control - definitely Nainsi - responds, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

The artificial voice bounces around you - 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

Around you, the machines flicker busily. Neural handshake strong and holding. Now calibrating…

You’re crying, but you ignore it. You beam through tears, looking sideways at your co-pilot. His eyes dance as he smiles back at you. You want to unstrap yourself to the drivesuit and go kiss his dimples, the dimples you hadn’t seen in years. You resist the urge.

“Ready to drop?”  He looks sideways at you, sly. 

You scoff at him, your own grin cocky and sure, like you’re twenty again, like nothing had ever been broken between you. “Been ready. Let’s light ‘em up.”

– end

thank you so much for reading!!!!

stay tuned for more fics in this universe! Should be a fun time!!

[fyuyushia]

"There's a reason why people don't stay where they are. Baby, sometimes, love just ain't enough" — Sometimes love just ain't enough.

Ex-boyfriend!Sung Jinwoo who you had to break up with due to the need to be realistic.

You didn't want to leave him, really. Especially after things just started going awry for him. His dad's gone missing, his mother succumbed to eternal slumber, never to awaken for who knows how long. With him being the sole breadwinner left to keep the family from falling into poverty, he had to drop out and work as a hunter despite only being an E-rank hunter.

He's struggling enough as is, so you wanted to keep yourself by his side. However as it stands, it just wasn't possible. Your mother despises him, your father pushes you to focus on your career and forget about your fleeting highschool romance.

"You've grown past that age now," he had said to you once during dinner. "Be realistic, you can't survive clinging onto a man who can't give you anything. Even worse since he's having you help pay things off. Where is his pride? No man would let the woman he loves work hard to make ends meet."

You wanted to refute, but you knew deep down his words rang true. Bags grew under your eyes due to overwork. Even if he didn't want you to, you couldn't help but want to help ease his burdens somewhat. However, this willingness of yours had resulted in your health deteriorating to a sickening point. Your once comfortable lifestyle became a distant memory, now wrought with debts and an alarming amount of bills to pay. You hated yourself for thinking this way, but it was the cold and bitter truth.

Not everything could be resolved with love alone.

Ex Boyfriend!Jinwoo who's absolutely devastated by the news when you break it to him but still greets you off with a smile. One last time, he takes you out to a meal in some obscure diner—one you always frequented with him whenever there was something to celebrate.

Offering to pay for the meal, he takes the remaining bill on his wallet, insisting that he should pay since he was the one who insisted. Jinwoo, your beloved Jinwoo—he was always shouldering everything, insisting on spoiling you despite always struggling to make ends meet. Small trinkets, flowers, even this run down diner—he'd spend every single dime on you and his family but never for himself. It was physically painful to tell him that, hated how you had to be realistic despite wanting nothing more to stay by his side.

When the night's over he takes you home, walking you to the station. You were quiet the entire time, unable to meet him in the eye. Guilt wracked up your nerves, rendering you unable to speak. He didn't deserve this—didn't deserve someone who'd give up on him when the going got tough. He deserved someone who'd stick by his side, lending him their shoulder especially on moments like this.

"Ah, right." Jinwoo halted in his tracks, reaching for something in his pocket.

You stop as well, tilting your head up a bit to see what he was doing. He furrows his brows, feeling around in search of something. He visibly lights up when he finally finds it, making you even more curious. You raise your head, twisting your body to face him entirely.

"Here," stretching out his arm, he offers a box to you. "A little something for you..."

You blink, surprised. You look at him for assurance, he nods in turn, urging you to take it. You gingerly accept it, holding the small box in your hand. Curious about what it held within, you open it.

A gasp leaves your lips, eyes wide in surprise. You stared at your hands and then to him, lips trembling. "This is..."

It was a necklace—one you adored but didn't have the guts to buy because of the amount. Using what little money you had, you chipped in on Jinah's tuition fee, forsaking the chance to get that necklace for yourself in favor of helping Jinwoo. You thought you wouldn't ever see it again—get to wear it even—but lo and behold.

He scratches the back of his head, a bit embarrassed. "I saw you eyeing it when we went to the mall before. I wanted to give it to you since it's our 4th anniversary. Am I being presumptuous?"

You look at him, disbelief etched on your features. You know full well how pricey it is, how did he even find the money to buy this?

"Jinwoo I—you didn't have to."

"I wanted to. I know being with me is difficult, I'm poor and I always come back home injured. I owe you this much."

You bit back a scoff, baffled by just how selfless this man could get. You wanted to say something, berate him for being so stupid and going through such lengths for you. Instead, all that left you was a broken sob.

Tears ran down your cheeks, unable to hold in the guilt that ate you from in to out. Your shoulders trembled, lips quivering as you wept. "You idiot."

Your heart felt heavy, crushing your body with its weight. The waterworks quickly ran, never ending once it began.

"I"m sorry, I'm sorry. Jinwoo I—I'm sorry."

Breathless murmurs left your lips, apologizing profusely to the man who fate saw fit to make suffer.

Stupid Jinwoo, always so considerate. Offering everything to you so zealously, he was far too naive. "Do you think I'd appreciate something like this? You dummy."

Jinwoo flinches, panicking at the sight of your tears. "Hey now, why are you crying? Don't cry, you know I don't like seeing you cry."

He gives you a small smile, bringing you to his arms to give you a tight hug. You only cry harder in response, aching for this man—for this unbelievably sweet man.

"It's okay. I'm sorry too, I know it was a nightmare being with me."

"Don't say that." You bury your face against the crook of his neck. Circling your arms around him, your hands grip the fabric of his sweater. "You were a blessing."

"Thank you." He pats your back, not minding the fact that you've stained his clothes with your tears. "But there's no need to deny it. I know I haven't been the best boyfriend."

"I would've preferred it if I could give you a comfortable life as well." He pulls you closer, rubbing comforting circles. "You deserve more than this life. You deserve a man who can provide you with anything you want, not someone like me who can barely give you anything."

"Shut up." You bawl, knuckles turning white from the sheer grip you had on him.

He laughs. "I'm sorry, I wasn't able to give you that kind of life even up to the very end."

Ex boyfriend!Jinwoo who lets you go all too easily, trying to not mind the aching pain that grew in his chest. He knew it was for the better, you deserved better than him.

He sees other couples out and about on the streets, wearing smiles free of worry. He envies them, longing for a time when he can make you smile so widely like that as well. He knows it in his head. He knows it well—too well it absolutely ruins him. You deserve more than run-down diners and cheap gifts. You deserve more than having to worry about the roof on your head, deserve more than having to skip meals just to save money. You deserved someone that wasn't him. At least, the him he was now.

Ex-boyfriend!Jinwoo who, after years finally had his life back together. His mother woke up, Jinah's tuition problem was solved and he had enough money to not worry about the roof over his head now. He's grown stronger, better than the him of the past.

Ex-boyfriend!Jinwoo who you meet again after years. Your life turned for the better shortly after leaving him as well, no longer burdened by the never-ending bills you once worried about having to pay. He's standing in front of you, taller, cooler, you had a hard time reconciling him with the Jinwoo you once knew.

You peer into his eyes, noticing the innocence that left his eyes. Your heart pangs, what horrors did he have to face to end up where he is now? You worry for him, but you don't say anything, afraid of overstepping. Did you still even have the right to worry? After leaving him in the dust, leaving him to fend for himself?

"Jinwoo."

He replies with your name, bluntly calling you as well. You spend a few seconds trapped in this moment, staring into his eyes that you loved getting lost in.

"it's been a while. Seems like you've been doing great lately, good for you."

He nods, allowing a smile to break on his lips. It was bittersweet, and through it did you see a glimpse of the past, the naive him that disappeared as he had to survive for the sake of himself and his family.

"Care for a walk?" He follows up with your name, murmuring it so softly you were immediately thrown back to the past.

"Maybe a cup of coffee too while we're at it, just like the good times."

Wait hold on my creative juices aren't stopping whoa. Watch me disappear of of the face of the internet for another month again after running out of reserves.

[hanginginthevoid]

Privilege of Flight

pairing: bob reynolds x fem!powered!reader

summary: you can fly. valentina needs a flying avenger. after a too good to be true deal, you end up an avenger. because you don’t want 5 people riding you into the sun, you make it a priority to teach bob how to fly so he can share the burden.

a/n: Takes a bit to get to the part with bob but please stick w me, I like a lotta meat on my stories. i’m still easing back into writing and figuring out bob’s character, but im happy w this. reader has cosmic powers derived from the stars!!

warnings: ooc bob? i can’t think of anything else

word count: 4.2k

--

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine has been on your ass recently. She's calling as close to nonstop as possible. She's found your instagram, tiktok, and even your pinterest, and messaged you on all three. 

In what world would she think this would attract you to picking up the phone? 

In all honesty, you don’t have anything against her. Everybody has to get by in this world, doesn’t mean people are gonna take the hard way of being a good person. But if she’s trying to get you to join the dime store avengers, it’s not going to happen. 

It’s your own fault honestly. A fight you were trying to wrap up got into the public eye, and of course the civilians took to pulling out their phones to record instead of fleeing the scene. Next thing you knew, your face was plastered all over the news, ecstatic to have such a powerful being defending the people. But who are you? Who are you affiliated with? And what really are your motives? That’s what really matters to the people. 

After that, you've been trying to lie low. Clearly it doesn’t matter though, Valentina wants you and it's only a matter of time before she comes knocking on your crappy apartment door. Hopefully that fateful night isn’t tonight;  tonight it's time to recharge. 

The smog of the city always blocks the shine from the stars and if it's not the smog it’s humans trying to outshine the stars with their artificial lights. It's unfortunate, but whenever you need to recharge you get plenty of time to yourself and fresh air. 

After about two hours of driving, and another 17 calls from Valentina, it’s time to pull over to the side of the road. You turn off your phone before anything else, and then you pop the trunk, and turn the car itself off. Snagging the fluffy blanket that you keep in your car for nights just like these, you close the trunk and lay the blanket over the roof of the car. Then you drape yourself over it, getting as comfortable as one can on top of a car, then you let the shine absorb into every available limb, recharging the internal battery that your powers stem from. 

The chill of the night and the comfort that you feel from being in your element lulls you into a peaceful, deep sleep. 

–

You can’t believe what you’re seeing when you get up. Well actually. You can, you just don’t want to.

“Ms.L/n. Or would you prefer Starling? Well either way, funny running into you here.” 

After thoroughly assessing her, you respond, “Valentina.”

“You do know the respectful thing to do is to respond when someone reaches out.” 

Valentina just has this way of speaking. It’s so disrespectful, and undermining, but she covers it with this light tone to make it seem not all that bad. 

“When someone takes the stalker approach, I don’t think it's necessary to respond.” At this point, you’ve gotten off the roof of your car and started folding your blanket.

“Well, since you forced me all the way out here just to have a conversation, why don't we at least get coffee? Wouldn’t you like that?” 

And that's how you ended up in some diner that only sees truckers and elderly couples who have been coming for years, with Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. 

You get a stack of chocolate chip pancakes and what's considered the gold standard of diner coffee, while Valentina makes her assistant make her some specialized coffee, and you can just smell the difference in the way the beans were roasted. 

“So. You’ve taken the internet by storm.”

“Not intentionally.”

“Intentional or not! You’ve got all the people on your side. They’re fascinated with you. Y’know I need that.”

“Need what exactly?” You’re eying her suspiciously now, still sipping your coffee.

“I need someone that the people love.” Valentina starts waving her hands around to try and add to the appeal. “Someone who can be the real face of my New Avengers.”

You sigh, it just doesn’t make sense, “You have plenty of people on that team, Valentina. I don’t see wh-”

“All of them are losers. Three super soldiers who could barely lift a rock, one girl who can phase through things, and another who’s got nothing special going on for her. I need a really heavy hitter, and I want it to be you.” 

“And what would I get from this?” 

“Well a solid paycheck for starters. Top of the line technology. A fantastic suit, tailored perfectly to your capabilities. Really, you’d be stupid not to accept.”

After dousing your last bite in syrup, you swirl it around a bit, then lift the fork to your lips and take a methodical bite. Making sure to take plenty of time chewing, then a long last sip of coffee, you lick your lips before responding, “I want floor length windows in my room. And a signing bonus of 100k.”

“Done and done. Pack up that raggedy apartment of yours and we will be seeing you Monday morning bright and early at the tower to get you all settled in!” Valentina claps her hands together before sliding out of the booth and leaving you behind to contemplate the weight of your decision. 

The weight lifts when you get the notification of a hefty deposit into your account.

–

Valentina texted you that you would not need any furniture, and she would be supplying you with the most comfortable bedroom set. So you’re traveling light, only a couple of duffle bags along with a backpack. The elevator takes a surprisingly short period of time to get you to the top floor, however when it opens you just want it to go straight back down.

Bucky Barnes, John Walker, Yelena Belova, and some guy with shaggy hair are all looking at you with curiosity. 

“So Val really went and got us a flier. I see how it is, tired of all the punching and shooting.” Yelena sizes you up as she speaks, it feels like she's looking into your soul.  “Well, c’mon then. I’ll show you your new super amazing living arrangement.” 

As you’re walking away you hear the Red Guardian shouting, “YES! Now we can ride the new girl into the sun since Bob will not comply!”

After Yelena’s delivered you to your room, she gives you a basic rundown of what all the buttons do and what appliances you have access to straight from your room. After that, she tries to leave and give you some time to unpack, and settle in, but you stop her. 

“What did that guy mean by ‘ride the new girl into the sun’?”

“Alexi is… He doesn’t know when to speak, when to shut up, y’know? Your powers as a whole are going to be a very useful addition to the team. But sometimes we need a faster response to issues, and a flier is really useful for that. We tried helping Bob along with learning how to fly, but y’know we kind of can’t do that without knowing how to ourselves.”

You shift from side to side while processing this information. “Well, I could try? I already know the basics and then you guys don't have to ride me at all.”

“I’ll let Bob know, let me know if you need anything.” And then the door is shut and you’re left to your thoughts. 

‘Ride you into the sun’ is just a crazy thing to say. Even if you need a fast response, you’d rather do it yourself. You start putting things into drawers, making the bed, and placing a few trinkets around the room to try and make it feel more like home. 

You probably should get some team bonding in. They all already know each other, you’re fresh meat. And it’d be really good to actually know everyone a little bit in case of a threat or a routine mission pop up. Instead you fidget with all the gadgets that come with your room until the sun starts to set. You’ll give it to Valentina, she gave you a great room to watch the sunset from. Probably the worst one for your powers but she wouldn’t care to know that. 

–

You’ve been at the tower for just under two weeks, and every time you try to talk with Bob he curves you. Half of the time you’re just trying to get to know him! Any sort of acknowledgement of his existence leads to him finding the closest exit, person, or activity that he can find just to avoid a conversation. 

The clock has barely struck 4 in the morning when you see him. Bob is sitting on the couch, lamp to his left switched on to the softest setting, and a blanket around his shoulders. He’s doing something with his hands, but from this angle you can’t tell what it is. 

You clear your throat so that you don’t startle him. Bob flinches a bit anyway, before looking up at you. 

“Oh hey.. I didn’t think anyone else was up, sorry.” His hands never stopped fidgeting with the object in his lap.

“Nothing to be sorry for. I'm more of a night person anyway.” Inching forward, you make a move towards the windows, basking in the last bits of starlight. 

“Because of your powers.. Right?” Bob’s turned himself sideways, you think it's to get a better look at you without making it so obvious.

“Mhm, the stars help me to do a lot of things.” 

“Like what?” 

Maybe Bob is just a night person. “I can shoot blasts of cosmic energy, either singular blasts or like a pulse of them. I could move people or buildings with my mind. All of my senses are heightened,” You turn to face him instead of the skyline, “as well as my speed and strength.” 

You’ve faded now, and Bob’s eyes go wide, “ I can go into the shadows and pop out wherever I please as long as the shadows connect.” 

Now you’re in front of him on the couch, “And.. I can fly.”

“That’s.. A lot. You can do all of that from the stars?” 

“Yup. Some scientists I worked with have a theory that I could even control the stars if I wanted. Like waking them up, or maneuvering them into different spots in the solar system.”

“That's awesome.” Bob went back to fidgeting with his rubix cube, now that you’ve got a clear view of it, it's easily identifiable.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

He’s solving the rubix cube faster and faster. Maybe you shouldn’t push, but you’ve been waiting for this chance for a while now, eager to help out the team. “Do you have any powers?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard all about it. The most recent ‘New York incident’? All me.”

“Sooo, you can fly too then?”

“Not me technically. The other guy.”

“You wanna fly?” Bob looks up at that, pausing his ministrations.

“It’s dangerous if I use my powers.” 

You’re sat criss-cross, and now levitating just a bit above the couch you remind him, “I just said I could awaken a star if I really wanted to, I think you should try with me.”

“You said it was a theory.” 

“Yeah, but it’d be nice to not have to walk all around this giant building right?” The way your eyes are shining in the moonlight, the tiredness behind them, and the earnest look in the downturned smile you’re wearing, wears him down to the point of agreeing with a shy nod.

–

You and Bob don’t end up in the training room for three more days. The first day, Bob was too tired, when you went to ask if he wanted to train you found him napping. Guess you were wrong in assuming he was a night person. The second day there was an official Avengers event to welcome her most recent edition to the team, and after being paraded around all day, you no longer felt up to conversing. But finally on the third day you two were both well rested and prepared to conquer flight.

“Sorry.. Can you just explain it one more time?” Bob’s shaking his hands out, trying to get his anxiety out you’d guess.

 Looking into his eyes you remind him, “It's fine, you don’t need to apologize for anything, Bob.” Then moving to grab his hands and splay his fingers out with his palms facing down you speak slowly, “For me, I just think about where I want to go. In most cases it's up, having your hands like this might help with the mental idea of going up since a lot of older superheroes used this move to propel themselves in any direction.”

Then you start to fly, maybe it’d be considered floating since you’re just a couple of inches off the ground, but everyone has to start somewhere. Bob’s concentrating, you can tell from the way he’s straining his fingers, and using his shoulders to press his arms tightly to his body.

“Remember to relax. Think about things that make you happy. Things that make you forget, even for a second, all the bad things.”

A couple of minutes pass by, but then Bob’s feet are off the ground. Less than yours are, but they’re not touching the ground and that’s all that matters. 

You rest a hand on Bob’s shoulder as a simple way to trigger him into opening his eyes. When he does he’s looking above your head again, a look of confusion flashes across his face, then his eyes shoot downard.

“Im… Doing it?” 

“Yes,” You stifle a laugh at his astonishment, “You’re doing it Bob!”

You grab his hands and give the two of you a little spin, showing him that he really is flying. The two of you are grinning and giggling like two kids who just got away with nabbing the candy from its hiding spot. 

The joy is short lived though. In an instant Bob's feet are back on the ground, and since your hands are still grasping his, he brings you down a bit with him. 

“Damn. Sorry. Didn’t mean to drag you like that.” 

Even though his mood seemed to dampen, you’re still smiling from ear to ear, “All good. You did great, Bob! We can work on getting you higher and able to fly for longer tomorrow if you’d like?” 

But instead of accepting your offer, Bob declines, centering himself again and re-closing his eyes; he lifts himself off the floor again. “So I just.. think about going up and it happens?”

“Sort of! Think about moving every part of yourself towards the ceiling. First your head, then your arms, and legs” 

The idea was for him to slowly gravitate toward the ceiling, lightly bumping his head on it in the worst case. Instead, Bob shoots upwards and crashes into the ceiling, leaving a decent size dent in it. 

“Ow, ow, ow. Not like that I’m guessing?” He’s got flakes of drywall in his hair so you reach up and ruffle his already messy hair, shaking the drywall free. When you’re done you pat it down to flatten and reshape it again, but you miss the way that Bob is staring at you before you back away.

You huff out a laugh, “No, not like that. Try and keep it in the back of your mind to take every movement slow. I’ve got all the time in the world, unless you’ve got somewhere to be there’s no need to rush.” 

His head shakes left to right, negating the fact that he has anywhere else to be. And the two of you go straight back to focusing on the basics of getting up in the air and elevating yourself once you’re airborne. Its like this for hours, until Walker comes to get you both, reminding you how important nutrition is.

–

After a few weeks of Bob and you practicing his flight in the training room, it’s time to take his skills into the outside world. Albeit, he is nervous for the scenario that his powers go haywire in the outdoors, Yelena’s told him not to worry, he hasn’t had a void scare in his entire time training with you anyway.

The two of you are on the roof of the Avengers tower. It puts you in an immediate situation where you need to engage in flight, unless your preference is to plummet to the ground. The moon is shining, but at this height and total lack of light, nobody should notice you and Bob gliding through the sky.

“Where do you want to go?”

Bob looks up at you, a slight furrow to his brow, “Hm? I thought you decided where we would go already.” 

“Nope! Your first time flying outside, you get to pick.”

“I’m not really sure. Can you think of a nice spot?”

You could take him out of the city, flying makes for a fast trip. But that would be more for you than him, Bob probably doesn’t care about the stars all that much. Plus you can’t see the beauty of nature when it's dark out anyway.

“Why don’t we just go up? The lights of the city make for a nice view when you get high enough.”

Bob sounds disappointed when he speaks, “Oh. Yeah that's - that’s fine.”

“Did you secretly have something else in mind?” You’re teasing him, hoping he gives you a bit of insight into his inner thoughts.

“Well, uh. The stars are your thing, and since it's dark out I thought we’d be doing something to see them better. But it's fine! We don’t have to, I’m sure the city is beautiful just like you said.” Bob raised his hands up in defense, waving them around a bit. You just nod, before lifting off the ground and inching away, silently inviting him to join you.

You bring him to Stokes State Forest, it's not too far from the city but it's far enough that the view you have of the stars is just right. Easily, you flip onto your back, allowing you to look at nothing else but them. Next to you, Bob fumbles with getting onto his back. 

Without turning your head you remind him, “It’s like floating, put most of your weight into your waist and balance it there.” Then he’s got it. The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes before you right yourself. 

“Show me your skills Bob! I didn’t drag you all the way out here for nothing.”

Bob rights himself, much more clumsy than you did, having to throw his hands out in an attempt to steady himself. Then he’s zooming around you, doing flips and twisting around himself. He dips down way below, and grabs a handful of water from the lake. Somehow most of the water sticks in his hand and makes it all the way up to you, just for him to splash you with it. 

You start moving with him, twisting and twirling around him in a similar sense. You hear Bob laughing, a real true laugh, before jetting off. 

The close proximity you two have been sharing recently has made you think. Bob is kind, and caring, and he really loves his team. Over anyone they’re his family, his most important people. Despite the challenges he faces with his powers, Bob still made an effort to learn to control his ability to fly. Yeah, maybe you have a silly little girl crush on him. It’ll pass, most do.

He catches up to you, grabs your arms and pulls you into his chest while spinning you around. “You’re going really fast. Am I that big of an eyesore?” 

So he’s got jokes. Two can play at that, “Mhm, the biggest actually. You make me come here, with my one true love, and expect me to stick around you?”

Bob laughs along with you before falling back to resume floating on his back. He lets you go from his hug but he still has a grip on your hand to keep you close, it makes your heart flutter.

You turn your head, hoping to make eye contact with the deep blues you’ve gotten used to seeing, “Wanna see something cool?”

Bob nods, not sure what you could be referring to. Reaching your left arm out, as to not stop holding Bob's hand, you focus on drawing out the raw strength that each and every star in your view has to offer. You’ve practiced this a handful of times since the first time Bob mentioned it just being a theory, so you can hold it for about 30 seconds now. And for those 30 seconds, the sky is brighter than it's ever been, each star glows brighter than ever, their very slight hues all the more visible like this. Then it's over. 

You look over at Bob but he’s already looking over at you. “Wasn’t it beautiful?” 

He’s nodding along, “Yeah.. The most beautiful.” You missed that he only looked at the stars for a few seconds, and spent the rest of the time looking at you. He can’t believe how patient you’ve been with him. How much faith you had in him from the very beginning. He hopes after this you won’t stop giving him so much attention, that he can still be in your orbit. 

Walker told him to make a move, that you wouldn’t reject him. But it's Walker we’re talking about, and he’s not exactly the person Bob would want to take advice from even if it wasn't on romance. He’s only thinking about it because Bucky and Ava were in the vicinity too, and they didn’t tell him not to believe Walker. 

He’s mentioned it to Yelena too. He trusts her the most, and she said it’d be fine. She said even if you said no, that you wouldn’t shut him out or make it weird. But how is Yelena supposed to know that? She met you at the same time that Bob met you, and even he isn’t sure how you’d react.

“Hey, Bob?” You aren’t looking at him. Your voice is just above a whisper, like you didn’t really want him to hear you, but the words clawed their way out of your throat anyways. 

“Yeah?” He’s staring at your side profile now. You must have thought it was odd to be sitting here in silence.

“I think- I think I like you.”

“I’d hope you liked my personality. You’ve only been stuck helping me with my powers for-”

“No. Not like your personality.” You turn your head to face his, “Like you, Bob. All of you. The way you take care of everyone in the tower, in the best way you can. The way despite your fears, you learned to master a part of your powers. How when none of the medics are available, you patch up the team, and you make sure to make whoever is the most beat up, their favorite meal. The way that you leave your comfortable spot on the couch to hang out with me near the window when we’re both up during the middle of the night.”

During your rant you drifted from laying on your back to hovering upright, the severity of your statement weighing on you. Bob follows shortly after, not wanting you to feel that he wasn’t taking your confession seriously. 

“I - uh. Didn’t think you paid attention to all of that.” He’s blushing and avoiding eye contact. You actually liked him?

“Of course I did. Out of everyone on the team, I’m closest to you. I seek you out in every room I enter. I look for you before heading to the infirmary after a mission. I make hot chocolate now instead of coffee, just so I have an excuse to bring you some too!” 

You’re no longer holding eye contact, looking at everything but him. The weight of your emotions and the fear of rejection is too much to bear, especially when you know you’re gonna see the look of pity in Bob’s eyes. But since you’re not looking at him, you don’t see the way Bob wets his lips before inching closer. His left hand reaches forward and grabs your right, and his right hand reaches up to move at pushing some hair behind your ear. 

As you look back at him, Bob’s hand moves to cradle your face. His thumb caressing your cheekbone as he speaks, “I like you too. Probably a little bit more than that but who cares.” His eyes go from your eyes to your lips, “I haven’t done this in a while, I’d really like to kiss you though.”

So you lean forward and kiss him. Both of your lips are slightly windburned, but that doesn’t take away from the softness of Bob’s lips, or the warmth that blooms in your chest from having your feelings be reciprocated. Unbeknownst to the two of you, the stars are glowing bright again.

It's nice, you think, having your relationship be started in this way. No prying eyes, no cameras, no whispers through the vents about what the two of you are doing. When you get back to the tower it’ll be a different story, everyone is gonna be able to tell that there was a shift in your relationship, and the questions will be endless. That’s a problem for when the sun rises though. 

Speaking of the sun, you achieved your goal, Alexi can ride Bob into the sun instead of you.

Likes/comments/reblogs are super duper appreciated <3

[woantohae]

hey friend you should do a bob reynold x witch!reader like she has the same powers as wanda but like not??like a headcanon or them meeting through the thunderbolts idk just something fr fr

thank youuuu for stepping up

Thunderbolts || (Bob Reynolds x Polaris! reader)

Summary: They're not supes. They're not heroes. The don't give up.

What happens when a group of "bad people" needs to assemble to fight something bigger than them?

Author's note: Hello! So this is a series of Bob Reynolds, the other parts can be found in my masterlist <3333

Y/N had arrived at the place where Valentina had summoned her. The girl didn't entirely trust her word, but the woman had information that was valuable to her. For months she wanted to know where her sister Wanda Maximoff was. After the battle against Thanos, Wanda had completely disappeared. The black-haired woman tried to call her whenever she could, but her cell phone was always busy or she simply didn't answer.

Y/N knew she was still grieving Vision's death. But she let her know that if Wanda needs something, or a sister.... she would be there in an instant.

The darkness of the corridors did not give her a good feeling, she kept her eyes fixed on each corner to make sure she was prepared to fight if necessary. She turned the corner and found a room with various furniture and objects scattered around the space. There was a light illuminating the room but it didn't calm her down completely. She heard someone else enter the room, so she quickly hides in a dark corner. The girl doesn't want to start a fight so soon.

The new person is a man wearing a suit similar to Captain America's and wearing a shield with pride and confidence. It's John Walker. She had heard of him.

Y/N frowns when she sees that he is also hiding when she hears another person enter the room. Why on earth had Valentina summoned her here if more people were arriving?

She remains in her place until she sees how a new girl with short blonde hair enters the place at a slow but sure pace. She looks at some papers and her face expresses distrust. She knew she was not alone, especially when John decides to come out of hiding and start shooting her, to which the blonde dodges him. There are two more people who enter the scene and start fighting. Y/N lets out a sigh and takes off her coat, letting it fall to the floor. She comes out of hiding and stands in front of the rest.

"Who are you?" John asks. He proceeds to throw his shield, but the girl raises her hands and lets the energy flow from her fingers to stop the vibranium in mid-air and throw it across the room.

"Bad move" Y/N observes her opponents.

"How did you do that?" the blonde asks, without moving from the spot.

"What? This?" She lifts a metal box and throws it at the soldier. The shor-haired blonde girl throws a knife through the air, which Y/N catches and throws away, being caught by a masked person. The fight continues with bullets fired by another black-haired woman.

Suddenly, the short blonde haired girl stops the fight with a scream.

"Enough!" She exclaims "We're not going to gain anything if we keep trying to kill each other."

The masked person stops next to the black-haired person in the black suit. John looks at Y/N suspiciously and she raises her hands in surrender to hear what the blonde has to say. Everyone watches each other carefully to see their movements and not let their guard down.

"It's obvious that someone wants us gone," she points out with a gesture. "We've all done bad things here."

Y/N looks at her with a frown.

"Shadow op. Contract kills" she raises an eyebrow.

"Why would anyone want that?" John questions picking up his shield. He shrugs. "And you former Red Room assassin. Why should I trust you? God only knows the blood in your hands"

"That's pretty ludicrous coming from the dime store Captain America." the other black haired woman says.

"I'll have you know the official Captain America, so..." he defends.

"Yeah. For like, two seconds" Y/N jokes.

They both laugh with sarcasm.

"It getting so tense in here" a new voice says.

Everyone turns to where the voice is heard and sees a man dressed in scrubs. Y/N is ready to use her powers if he tries to attack them. The man immediately throws his hands in the air.

"Wow, easy"

"Who are you?" Ghost asks.

"I-I- I'm Bob" he says pointing to himself.

"Great. Another one we need to fight with" John says.

"Wait. Weren't you sent together?" Bob asks pointing at them, still raising his hands. It seems harmless, Y/N thinks.

"If that were the case, believe me, I wouldn't have thrown the shield at her," John points out Y/N.

"Yeah, sure," she says.

Before they can fight again, a clock starts counting down and the lights of the room turns off.

"Shit," Yelena says. He turns to Bob "Why are you here?"

"I-I don't know." he seems nervous.

The clock continues counting until there are only seconds left to find out what it is.

"We must go. Now!" Ghost says.

Everyone starts running as soon as they hear the clock beeping at zero. Y/N runs to Bob's side by chance and upon hearing an explosion, Y/N pulls his hand to fall to the ground with her.

The smell of smoke fills Y/N's nostrils and she coughs at the sensation. He looks to his side and sees everyone lying on the ground, trying to catch their breath as best they can. Bob looks at her fearful of what just happened and nods his head.

"Thank you" he thanks. Y/N just watches him and shakes her head, having only one thought in her head at the moment.

Valentina was behind all this.

........

Part II

Hi! I know it's short and nothing is happening between Bob and Y/N..... yet.

But I'm thinking about how to continue the story and I would like to complement it when "Thunderbolts" is released. However, I'm going to let my creative process take care of the continuation between both characters for now.

Hope you enjoyed it <333

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

They unknowingly bring up an insecurity Seungmin|Pt1

Pt2 Pt3

Your heart was strung in your throat. Seungmin was always one to tease; and for the most part he was good about shying away from topics you were sensitive about so no problems had ever arisen. But as you read over his texts over and over again you felt your heart pinch in a way that was all to similar to what you had felt in your previous relationship.

"You talk too much, you know that?" Your ex had told you that numerous times, and eventually it led to a break up. And your constant yapping became something that made you insecure.

But when you first met Seungmin you felt like you were perfect the way you were. Chan had said you would balance Seungmin out quite well. And up until now you felt as if that were the case.

Now you wondered if maybe you did become to much.

Maybe the constant chatter had become annoying to the quiet boy you loved dearly.

And while you had been in love numerous times before, it hurt more to even think of losing Seungmin than all your previous heart breaks combined. And that was a lot considering you had always been the one to have your heart broken.

You couldn't tear yourself away from your phone screen - rereading those texts and overanalyizing the tone.

Maybe it was in a light hearted way? Or maybe it was the complete opposite and it was fully aggression?

You sat there trying to pick apart every single meaning, connotation, and tone the words he sent could have when your phone dimed again.

"I'm guessing your busy shopping since my phone has been quite for more than fifteen minutes. Haha, I think that's a first!"

You did everything in your power to try and bite back the knot in your throat from coming up and causing tears. So much so your eyes started to burn and you ended up shedding a few quietly.

The rest of the day you busied yourself with miniscule little tasks like dusting the fans and sweeping the welcome mat that you intended to take along with you when you moved in with Seungmin.

You tried to take your mind off of the texts. You figured Seungmin didn’t mean it in anyway malicious sort of way. In fact you knew he meant it as a lighthearted joke. In the time you had spent with him you had easily learned just how kind and loving of a person he was, and how much he cared for you.

You just couldn’t shake the hurt from those words - and more importantly the fear you had deep down that there was some truth to the words he had sent.

By the time Seungmin arrived at your apartment it was early evening. Every Wednesday you guys would cook together ever since you witnessed him and Felix blowing food up by accident on a live. Seungmin followed the normal routine of slipping off his shoes and into his house slippers and immediately changing into a cheap shirt he had bought when you first had started your endeavors since he was smart enough to realize he was a messy cook.

“Hey baby.” He said as he greeted you with a quick hug from behind and a chaste kiss to the cheek before he went to wash his hands.

You have a small noise of acknowledgement as Seungmin dried his hands off on a plaid towel and turned to you with happy anticipation.

“What are we cooking today?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs.” You replied as you started to grab the necessary ingredients. Seungmin followed you around like a happy puppy and helped you a carry everything to the counter you reserved for preparation of ingredients.

“So how do we start?” Seungmin asked. By now he had noticed your face was a little droopy and your responses were short and if there was any conversation it was only in answer to his initiation.

“With the ground beef.” You said as you pulled out a big bowl to put the meat and seasonings in. Seungmin watched you from his peripheral as you poured in some panco bread crumbs and a bunch of other various aromatic seasonings while he opened up the meat packaging.

As he kneeled everything with his hands he tried asking you about your day.

“So did you end up ordering the mugs baby?”

“No, I didn’t.” Silence.

“Oh…maybe after dinner we can look on Etsy together? Or maybe find a website to customize them? It might seem like a lot but I think the guys would really appreciate your sentiment.”

“Yeah, we can do that.” Silence.

Seungmin started to roll out oddly and unevenly shaped meatballs and continued to try and ask you questions as you guys worked, but your answers we short. Not rude. But literally short.

Not thouroghly explained like usual.

Even at dinner you were quiet and barely even touched your food.

“Do you not feel good baby?” Seungmin asked you as you played with a piece of garlic bread.

“I feel okay…maybe a little tired.” You said popping the piece into your mouth as if to show you were feeling fine.

Seungmin sighed and put his fork down.

“Did my text hurt your feelings?” He had been worrying about it all day when he had seen you had left him on read. It was an odd thing but nevertheless endearing when you would finish a conversation over text and send a meme to him just to acknowledge the end of the conversation, and to make sure he “didn’t find it hurtful” that you had left him on read. Even if he constantly assured you it was in no way shape or form a problem.

You hadn’t sent him a meme. And the more he thought about it he realized that his humor might not have translated through text.

“Im sorry if I hurt your feelings. It was a joke, Y/N. I would never purposefully want to hurt you. I love when you share about your day. I was a bit tied up so while you texting me might have been inconvienent at the moment doesnt mean I don’t appreciate you wanting me to know everything about what you are doing. I love that you want me to be a part of your life , even the tiny thing.”

“It’s okay babe.” You replied putting a smile on your face. “I know you didn’t mean it to hurt me. I’m just tired that’s all.” You let out a breath as you stood up and collected Seungmin’s plate. “Maybe we can just watch a movie instead of shopping? I just don’t feel like thinking very much right now in any capacity…” You let out quietly.

“Of course.” Seungmin responded, trailing you into the kitchen as you set the plates in the sink. “I love you.” He said quietly, his voice lilting up slightly. Were you actually okay?

“I love you too Minmin.” You place a a small kiss next to his eye and head towards the living room.

During the movie Seungmin kept stealing glances at you as you leaned on him but not into him. As you laughed but the curve of your mouth didn’t exactly reach your eyes. And how those same eyes were focused on the screen but your mind was obviously some place else.

Although you had said you were fine your silence gave him the answer you actually wanted to give. That Seungmin had struck a nerve more sensitive than he had known.

[the-mortuary-witch]

SPELLS

MAKE SURE TO CLEANSE YOUR SPACE, TOOLS, AND JARS BEFORE STARTING ANY SPELL. I WILL ALSO UPDATE THIS POST MORE OFTEN WHEN I FIND MORE SPELLS.

REGULAR SPELLS:

REDUCING STRESS SPELL:

• Take a small white taper candle.

• Spread oils and herbs on your candle that are associated with relaxation.

• Light it with intention.

GAINING MONEY SPELL:

You will need:

• A full moon.

• A coin (any silver coin, like a nickel, dime, or quarter).

Position the coin so that the light of the moon shines into it. Gently sweep your hands just above the surface, symbolically gathering the moons silver.

While doing this say:

“Lovely Lady of the moon, bring to me your wealth right soon. Fill my hands with silver and gold. All you give, my hands can hold.”

Repeat this 3 times - leave the coin there until morning, then keep it in your pocket.

REMOVING TOXICITY FROM YOUR LIFE SPELL:

• Lemon (only use half.)

• Salt.

• Chili flakes.

• Two white candles.

• String (tie around both candle.)

• Light with intention and as the cord cuts between both candles, visualize all toxicity being removed from your life. That includes people and situations.

SIMPLE HAPPINESS SPELL:

• Cleanse white tea candle before taking it out of the tin.

• Pour mint, lemon balm, and dried orange pieces into the tin.

• Put the candle back in the tin.

• Carve the Wunjo (for joy, harmony, bliss, and fulfillment) into the candle.

• Light your candle when you need some happiness in your life.

REMOVE SELF-DOUBT SPELL CANDLE:

• Cleanse a small blue taper candle.

• Make a herbal blend of: rosemary, basil, lavender, calendula, thyme, sage, and nettle.

• Anoint your candle then dress it with the herbal blend.

• Add citrine and amethyst crystals in front of the candle before lighting it.

• Meditate while you let the candle burn out completely as you let those self-doubts go.

ANTI-SEASONAL DEPRESSION SPELL CANDLE:

• Cleanse half an orange and small white taper candle.

• Place candle in the middle of the orange.

• Sprinkle cinnamon, ginger, rosemary, thyme, juniper berries, and rose around the candle and on the orange.

• Light your candle and let it burn it out completely.

FULL MOON SPELL:

• Cleanse small white taper candle.

• Make a herbal blend of: cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, rosemary, mint, basil, and thyme.

• Anoint your candle then dress it with the herbal blend.

• Write your manifestations on bay leaves before using string to tie them to the candle.

• Sprinkle salt around the candle before placing clear quartz and moon water in front of your candle.

• Light your candle and let it burn out completely during the full moon.

PROTECTION SPELL CANDLE:

• Cleanse a small black taper candle before lighting the bottom and sticking it onto a waterproof tray.

• Pour moon water in the tray and sprinkle salt, sage, rosemary, black pepper, cloves, and crushed up egg shells into the water.

• Light with intention and let your candle burn out completely.

SPELL JARS:

MENTAL STRENGTH SPELL JAR:

• Small jar.

• Place a protection symbol under your jar.

• Salt.

• Rosemary.

• Chamomile.

• Cinnamon.

• Rose petals.

• Protection symbol then placed on top of all the ingredients, the symbol should be facing upward.

• Red candle wax to seal the jar.

SELF LOVE SPELL JAR:

• Either a small or heart shaped jar.

• Rose petals.

• Dried lavender.

• Himalayan salt.

• A love note to yourself.

• Essential oils (rose, jasmine, bergamot, or ylang ylang).

• Honey.

• Rose quartz (tiny ones).

• Rosemary.

• Pink candle wax to seal the jar.

SUCCESS SPELL JAR:

• Small jar.

• Cinnamon.

• Basil.

• Intention/petition.

• Star anise.

• Ginger.

• Orange peel.

• Sea salt.

PROTECTION SPELL JAR:

• Small jar.

• Salt.

• Obsidian (tiny ones).

• Amethyst (tiny ones).

• Rosemary (break it up then place in the jar to save space).

• Cloves.

• Cinnamon.

• Thyme.

• Lavender.

• Rose (preferably two mini roses).

• Black wax to seal the jar as you focus on your intention to infuse the jar.

• Keep the jar in your home or carry it with you.

GOOD HEALTH SPELL JAR:

• Small jar.

• Cinnamon.

• Rosemary.

• Lavender.

• Garlic.

• Amethyst.

• Green wax to seal the jar.

• Keep the spell jar close by and draw its healing energy when needed.

GET A JOB SPELL JAR:

• Salt.

• Money rice.

• Cinnamon.

• Bay leaf plus dream job written on it.

• Seal with green wax.

• Visualize the moment you get your new job.

MOTIVATION SPELL JAR:

• Salt.

• Cinnamon.

• Coffee.

• Rosemary.

• Bay leaf plus intention written on it.

• Seal with orange or white wax.

PROSPERITY SPELL JAR:

• Green aventurine (tiny ones).

• Citrine.

• Thyme.

• Basil.

• Mint.

• Cinnamon.

• Coins.

• Cloves.

TRANQULITY SPELL JAR

• Chamomile.

• Salt.

• Lavender.

• Amethyst (tiny ones).

• Fluorite.

• Seal with white wax.

ANTI-BAD VIBE SPELL JAR:

• Bay leaves.

• Cloves.

• Mugwort.

• Amethyst (tiny ones).

• Salt.

• Chamomile.

• Seal with red wax.

PRODUCTIVITY SPELL JAR:

• Cinnamon.

• Cloves.

• Citrine (tiny ones).

• Rosemary.

• Amethyst (tiny ones).

• Seal with yellow wax.

CREATIVITY SPELL JAR:

• Citrine.

• Lapis lazuli.

• Jasmine.

• Cinnamon.

• Honey suckle.

• Unakite (tiny ones).

• Rosemary.

• Black pepper.

• Pine.

• Seal with a mix of yellow and orange wax.

FERTILITY SPELL JAR:

• Red clover.

• Hibiscus petals.

• Cinnamon.

• Jasmine.

• Rhodonite.

• Moonstone.

• Garnet.

• Seal with a mix of pink and white wax.

SUCCESSFUL BUSINESS SPELL JAR:

• Thyme.

• Salt.

• Rosemary.

• Tiger’s Eye (tiny ones).

• Smoky quartz (tiny ones).

• Green aventurine (tiny ones).

• Citrine (tiny ones).

• Seal with purple wax.

ANTI-DEPRESSION SPELL JAR:

• Salt.

• Pepper.

• Cayenne.

• Lavender.

• Orange.

• Quartz (tiny ones).

• Rose quartz (tiny ones).

• Seal with orange wax.

DIVINE MASCULINE SPELL JAR:

• Mint.

• Ginger.

• Turmeric.

• Salt.

• Tiger’s Eye (tiny ones).

• Garnet (tiny ones).

• Sunstone (tiny ones).

• Seal with a mix of blue and red wax.

DIVINE FEMININE SPELL JAR:

• Himalayan salt.

• Red clover.

• Amethyst (tiny ones).

• Rose quartz (tiny ones).

• Moonstone (tiny ones).

• Seal with blue wax.

ANXIETY RELEASE SPELL JAR:

• Sea salt.

• Lavender.

• Chamomile

• St. John’s Wort.

• Amethyst (tiny ones).

• Rhodonite (tiny ones).

• Seal with blue wax.

PET PROTECTION SPELL JAR:

• Salt.

• Rosemary.

• Cloves.

• Hair from your pet.

• Pentagram oil (olive or jojoba oil, add dried herbs including rosemary, sage, and frankincense for protection and purification, and essential oils like myrrh, cedarwood, and lavender. Store in a cool and dry place, plus keep away from children and pets.)

• Seal with black wax, to add potency, infuse the oil with a small pentagram charm, then allow it to charge for a full lunar cycle before using it.

[word-for-today]

Two words you might not expect to share an etymology: faggot and fascist. Linguists have a few theories about how a word meaning “bundle of sticks” came to be a slur for gay men—probably a connection to back when gathering small sticks to start fires with was a light chore delegated to old women or young boys—but as a word for a bundle of sticks it’s a diminutive of fascis, the big bundle of rods used as a symbol for strength in unity (as pictured on the US dime)

(I really hope Tumblr is mature enough to handle a linguistic discussion of a slur……)

[prettygirl-gabi]

Ours to Build

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Y/N Parker

Fandom: Women’s College Basketball

Summary:Was choosing love over legacy really worth it?

(Spoiler: it absolutely was.)

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav , @liloandstitchstan , @kaliblazin , @marleymarleymarleymarley

People say when you’re the daughter of greatness, you either break under the weight or become something heavier than it. I wasn’t interested in either.

I just wanted to play.

And maybe—just maybe—fall in love with someone who believed in me before the trophies, the banners, or the signature shoe deals ever came into the picture.

That someone was Paige Bueckers.

And it started long before either of us put on a college jersey.

We met for the first time at the 2017 FIBA Americas U16 Championship. Paige was already “Paige”—the icy-cool guard from Minnesota with a silky shot and a step-back that made coaches foam at the mouth.

I was the tall wing everyone whispered about. “That’s Candace Parker’s daughter,” they’d murmur. Like my last name was heavier than my whole frame.

I remember her walking over during the first team lunch, plopping down across from me with a crooked smile and a mountain of chicken nuggets.

“You eat like a toddler,” I said.

She grinned. “And you look like you’re gonna judge me about it.”

I was judging her. And falling in love at the same time.

From there, it was Youth Olympics in 2018, then FIBA U17, then U19 in Thailand—every time, we found each other on the court and off. She’d pass me no-look dimes.

I’d set her rock-solid screens. She’d text me songs in the middle of the night. I’d text her back lyrics like they were poetry.

By the time we both turned 18, we were unofficially official—just…quiet about it.

Because there was always this: “Y/N’s going to Tennessee.”

Because there was always this: “Paige is going to UConn.”

Because there was always doubt.

“You guys won’t last past college. Not if you’re at different schools.”

“You’re not seriously thinking about UConn, right?”

“Candace Parker’s daughter at UConn? That’s blasphemy.”

Everyone had something to say.

Everyone but Paige.

We were laying on the trampoline in her back yard the summer before senior year, tangled in a throw blanket. Our way of keeping the bugs from biting us. Her fingers were laced with mine.

“Come to UConn,” she said for the fiftieth time, voice soft against my shoulder. “Just…think about it.”

“I’ve always been a Vol,” I murmured.

“You’ve always been Candace’s Vol. Not yours.” She pulled back, met my eyes. “What if UConn is yours?”

And maybe it was that—how gently she said it. Or maybe it was the way she made me feel like I had a choice ,

I visited USC. They rolled out the red carpet. Flashy lights, media dreams.

I visited Tennessee. Pat Summitt’s name on everything. My mom beamed like a kid in a candy store. But I felt small there—like a shadow.

I visited UConn last. Geno kept it real. Paige was right there next to me even though she’d already done her tour. I walked into the gym and my chest got tight.

Not with fear—with clarity.

Decision Day — ESPN Broadcast

My palms were sweating. My mom sat beside me, cool as ice in her orange blouse. Paige was watching from home, texting me “👀👀👀👀” nonstop.

I opened the UConn hat and placed it on my head.

And then I leaned toward the mic.

“My mom is one of the greatest women’s basketball players of all time,” I began. “I already have high expectations set for me, and I know that if I became a Lady Vol it would be harder than it would be anywhere else.

But Tennessee was my mom’s legacy.

UConn will be mine.”

Five years.

Five years of torn ligaments, ice packs, crutches, surgeries, tears, rehab, tears again, and love holding all of it together.

My injury list was just as ugly as Paige’s:

• ACL tear my sophomore year

• MCL sprain during junior season

• Broken wrist during conference tournament in Year 4

• Broken foot in preseason of my fifth and final year

And Paige? She’d suffered through it all with me—and on her own:

• Ankle surgery.

• Tibial plateau fracture.

• Torn ACL.

• Another knee scare just this past January.

We had every reason to stop. To walk away. But neither of us wanted our story to end like that. Not bruised and limping off some bench in a sweatsuit. Not with our heads down.

We wanted a banner.

We wanted our moment.

April 6th, 2025

Amalie Arena, Tampa Bay

UConn vs. South Carolina

Final Score: UConn 82 - South Carolina 59

Confetti fell like spring snow.

I was on my knees at half-court, sobbing into my palms while the crowd roared.

We did it.

We really did it.

I felt arms wrap around me from behind. Paige, her jersey soaked with sweat and her face shining with tears, pressed her forehead into the back of my neck.

“We did it, baby,” she whispered. “They said we wouldn’t last. That we couldn’t win. But look.”

I turned into her arms, held her like I’d never let go. “This is ours.”

And then—before I could think twice—I kissed her.

Right there.

Right in the middle of the arena.

In front of millions.

In front of my mom.

Geno.

The haters.

Everyone.

The crowd exploded.

They handed us scissors. We climbed ladders to cut our pieces of the net.

When I snipped mine and turned, Paige was already on the ground, grinning up at me.

“Jump,” she called.

I launched myself off the last rung and into her arms. She caught me like she always had.

And kissed me again like she always would.

Once in the post game press conference.

Paige had the net around her neck and I had my hat and hers on top of mine.

Attempting to be serious.

Reporter: “Y/N, what would you say to the people who told you choosing UConn was a mistake?”

I smirked. Paige’s hand found mine under the table.

“I’d say…thank you. You helped me write my own story.”

Reporter: “And Paige, what would you say to the people who said the injuries would end you?”

She leaned into the mic. “They didn’t end me. They made me fight harder—for this team. For her.”

Back in the hotel, the net string tied around my wrist like a bracelet, I lay beside Paige under cheap linen sheets and championship dreams.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about?” she murmured, tracing circles on my stomach.

“What?”

“Your mom said once, ‘Don’t be the next me. Be the first you.’”

I turned to face her, eyes stinging. “Guess I finally did.”

She smiled. “Yeah, you did.”

I kissed her again, soft and slow.

This was the legacy we built.

Not hers.

Not my mom’s.

Ours.

Forever.

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                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[stllmnstr]

something old, something new

hello have a 2.3k drabble about Heeseung still having feelings for his ex heavily inspired by the above behind the scenes no doubt mv pics and based on this anon prompt sent to me:

this was supposed to be short but I got carried away and ended up writing 2.3k on my PHONE in an hour so please excuse any typos 😭

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Lee Heeseung loves weddings.

When he admits this to people, which is in and of itself a fairly rare occasion, they assume it’s for all of the usual reasons.

The open bar, the well curated playlist, the free food... After all, those are the typical things men in their mid twenties tend to enjoy. And Heeseung always nods along. Forces a laugh whenever his conversation partner cracks another age old joke about getting a little too tipsy on the dance floor.

Besides, it’s not like he’s immune to baser pleasures. At twenty-five, Heeseung does genuinely enjoy eating well and getting drunk on someone else’s dime.

But if he digs a little deeper, is a little more honest with himself, the real reason he loves weddings so much is the romance of it all.

A white dress thats been agonized over and alternated to perfection. A cake thats been taste-tested and intentionally designed with the lucky couple in mind. A venue that likely cost an arm and a leg, but it’s worth it, because it’s the place where two people get to display the love they have for each other in front of everyone that’s important in their lives.

And Jay, he thinks, has outdone them all. The ballroom Heeseung steps into with perfectly shined shoes is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Crystal chandeliers bathe the high ceilinged room in soft, warm light that almost glows like candles at dusk.

The aisle separates two generously sized sections of seating from one another. Each table is laid with a crease less cream colored tablecloth and a bouquet of flowers that Heeseung doesn’t want to guess the price of. It’s stunning. It’s perfect.

And Jay, Heeseung’s best friend of thirteen years, deserves nothing less.

Jake seems to agree. Coming to stand next to Heeseung, he jerks his chin towards the door that leads to the neighboring room. “I just heard from a very trustworthy source that the open bar starts at 1 pm sharp,” he grins.

Heeseung has a sneaking suspicious that this trustworthy source is Sunghoon, which means it’s likely to be incorrect. Besides, booze isn’t what he’s here for.

“Hopefully not,” Heeseung nudges Jake’s shoulder, “since no one wants to watch you stumble down the aisle.”

“At least I’m just a groomsman.” Jake shrugs. “You, on the other hand, Mr. Best Man, have to be on your best behavior. Besides, I can handle my alcohol.”

Heeseung’s lips flatten. “I have several videos that prove otherwise.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake waves his palm. “I’ll be good. I promise. No shots until after the ceremony.”

Heeseung just rolls his eyes. His younger friend might be a little more lax when it comes to conducting himself in public, but Heeseung isn’t actually worried. This is Jay’s wedding, after all. And no matter how much Jake and Sunghoon enjoy a good party, they also know how to take things seriously when it matters.

For a moment, Jake just looks around the room, taking it in like Heeseung had a few minutes prior. Similar actions, different conclusions. Jake doesn’t comment on the lighting or the tablecloths or even the romance. Instead, he says, “I can’t believe Jay’s actually getting married.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung breathes. Jay is the first in their friend group to officially leave bachelor-hood, and it does feel a bit strange to bear witness to. “Me neither.”

Jake is still shaking his head. “And he’s the first one out of all of us. That’s almost weirder. You know, we always thought it would be –”

Remembering himself, Jake lets the sentiment die on his lips.

It doesn’t matter, though. Heeseung already knows what he was going to say.

We always thought it would be you.

Four long years ago, at twenty-one, Heeseung had felt far too young for marriage. But that didn’t stop him from imagining what you’d look like in a white dress. What flavor of wedding cake the two of you would select from the box of samples. What overpriced venue you would decide to officially intertwine your lives in.

It didn’t stop him from tucking away a small, velvet box in the back of his drawer for safekeeping. From fantasizing about kneeling in front of you and finally sliding a gorgeous, sparking ring right where he wanted it to belong.

It didn’t stop him from making promises and plans. Adjustments to his life just to make sure there was always space for you.

But one year later, the box and the ring inside were still tucked away. And the love Heeseung kept safe suddenly had no place to go.

He told his friends it was mutual, that you’d made the decision together. But Heeseung never wanted to let go. Even if a job opportunity meant you had to move across the country. Even if it made no logical sense for him to follow when he was still finishing his degree.

It was circumstances, he explained to his friends, to his family. Not anything either of you did wrong.

But alone, surrounded by the four walls of his bedroom and the overwhelming clamor of his own thoughts, Heeseung just cried. Sobbed. The kind of tears that left him gasping for air and with a throb behind his temple.

Because he knew that he never would have done that to you. He would have turned down the job, would have found a way to make long distance work, would have transferred to another university to be close to you even if it wasn’t logical.

He would have done it, the big romantic gesture that gives the rom-com a happy ending and signals to the production team that it’s time to roll the credits.

But you didn’t. When he suggested long distance, you just sighed. And there were tears in your eyes too, but there was no fight.

So Heeseung, despite every bone in his body screaming at him not to, let you go.

And now, three years later, he’s about to watch his best friend get married and pretend it doesn’t sting. He’s happy for Jay. He is. But the selfish parts of him will always wish he was the one waiting at the end of the aisle instead. For you.

The universe has never made a habit of bending to his desires, though, and he fulfills his role as best man well. The ceremony goes off without a hitch, and Jake is appropriately steady-footed in his role as a groomsman.

The white dress is gorgeous. The cake is delicious. The venue is perfect. Whatever romance is, Jay and his fiancée — no, his wife — have captured it well.

Despite his earlier words, Heeseung makes a home for himself at the aforementioned open bar the second the ceremony is over. Knocking back another swig of whiskey, he appreciates the slight burn. At least it’s in his throat this time, instead of his heart. And at least it’s induced by alcohol instead of misplaced jealousy.

But he must have had one too many drinks, because for a fleeting moment, he swears that the late arrival that makes a hesitant entrance into the reception room is—

No.

There’s no way.

You only knew Jay because you knew Heeseung, and those flowers withered three long years ago. You have no reason to be here now.

But then he hears it, and oh the lurch in his heart hurts just as bad as it did the first time. Because despite the improbability of it all, that’s your voice that floats above the music and exchanged pleasantries with another guest. Even after all the time that’s passed, Heeseung would know it anywhere. Could pick it out of any crowd.

He turns to you slowly, as if he can delay the inevitable just a little longer. As soon as his eyes land on you, he realizes his mistake. He shouldn’t have looked at you at all, should have just slid off the bar stool and ran in the other direction because it still hurts.

You’re three years older, and the time has been good to you. The evening dress you wear hangs from your body in a way that only reminds him of what you look like beneath it, of the way running his hands and his lips and his love over the skin you conceal used to feel like second nature. The way you used to play with his hair with his head in your lap, trading small moments of intimacy after a long day.

It hurts. It aches and it stings and it burns.

He has to get out of here. He has to leave. Now.

Not caring if he’s making a scene, Heeseung stands from the barstool. The only reason he tries to be somewhat discreet is to avoid the heat of your gaze.

All the way to the door on the opposite side of the room, he doesn’t turn back. Not once. On the other side of the door, he lets his body go limp against the solid surface beneath his spine, just for a moment. He exhales a long held breath.

But the air is still stifling, even as he loosens the tie at his neck. Straightening back to his full height, he turns down a short hallway until he arrives at the small outdoor balcony he noticed earlier.

The air outside is cold, at least. Fresh.

On the horizon, the sun spends its last few moments of the day painting the sky in gorgeous, golden hues. Heeseung squints, but he doesn’t look away. Hands wrapped around the bannister that lines the balcony, he sags into himself.

Shoulders hunched, he forces a long inhale into his lungs. And then he releases it. His breath is a pattern he can cling to, something steady that tethers him back to reality. Something to focus on that isn’t the war in his mind.

But peacetime is only an illusion. After a handful of quiet minutes, he hears the door open behind him.

“Oh,” you startle. He knows it’s you, even from just one syllable. “Sorry, I didn’t realize someone was out here already. I’ll just…” Your words trail off into silence, but Heeseung doesn’t hear retreating footsteps, doesn’t hear the door close again. After another stilted moment, what he hears is, “Heeseung?”

Your voice is small. As if you can apologize just by being gentle. As if he’s a wounded animal you don’t want to startle.

And Heeseung, despite himself, does feel a bit like a kitten left out in the rain when he finds it in himself to turn and face you.

The only word he says is your name. His tone is steady, even. More so than he thought he was capable of. But he’s looking at you now too, and his eyes have never been good at hiding secrets.

“I…” You trail off again. You’re at a loss too. “How are you?”

“Don’t do that,” Heeseung shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” you retreat immediately. But Heeseung remembers when you used to argue, when you used to fight back. When you valued the strength of your relationship over his wounded pride.

“Don’t be,” Heeseung shakes his head again. “You made your choice, so stick to it. You don’t get to…” He screws his eyes shut for a moment, fist clenching at his side. Opening his eyes again, he matches your gaze. “You don’t get to leave me and then apologize for it.”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t miss a beat. “I meant for intruding,” you tell him. “I was apologizing for disturbing you.”

But you remember how he used to love making space for you in his life. How his plans were your plans and his time alone on a balcony would only be made better if you were there, too.

And you still remember the day you were inspired by a strong bout of spring fever, how you dedicated an entire afternoon to deep cleaning.

You still remember the small, velvet box you found.

You didn’t open it, but you didn’t have to. The small, nondescript container scared you enough. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry Heeseung. You already had Pinterest boards full of white dresses and three-tier cakes and stunning venues. Suits that you thought would bring out his best features.

But you’d also just gotten the news of your promotion. Across the country. You didn’t know how to tell him, and you had less of an idea how to leave him.

But you knew you had to. He would follow you, if you let him. You were sure of it. But he was enrolled in the best university for his program, and you watched him fight tooth and nail to earn his spot there.

Heeseung was a bright light, a beacon of good things, and if you were honest with yourself, you felt like his commitment to you was something that only weighed him down.

He was an adult, too. A young one, yes, but a full, grown person all the same. Perfectly capable of making his own decisions, but you took that from him anyway.

And now, three years later, you can still read him like an open book. There’s hurt in his gaze, pain that lingers even now. There’s resentment, too, and you can’t blame him for it.

I still love you, you want to tell him. Because it’s true. Because you do. Because you can see it in his eyes, too.

But you’ve always been better at holding your tongue than him.

Instead, you turn on your heel, planning to exit the way you came.

Fingers around the door handle, the sound of your name stops you.

It sounds like he’s begging, like he’s pleading, and you can’t bear to turn and see the results of your devastation as surely as you hear them.

Instead, you remain motionless. You squeeze your eyes shut as tightly as you can.

And then, so faintly it’s almost lost to the wind, he says, “Stay. Please.”

.....

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