#jaeger name generator

[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!!

[bratreligion]

JAMES JOINT FEATURING EREN JAEGER | REVAMPED

in which your situationship of nearly a year finally makes his way to your city after months of no contact. (18+)

cw & disclaimers sex obviously, mentions of weed/getting high, spit sharing sowwy, this is a true story lowk except we never met or did the domestic shit booooo! this is a rewritten version of the original by me, i promise i didn’t steal anything! 6.9k wk

The soft melody of Summer Walker’s ‘Body’ sang softly from your TV, bouncing off the walls, nothing more than background noise like the static crackling of whatever candle you had lit earlier, the sweet aroma of vanilla birthday cake passing through the air. The untouched assignment drained your MacBook's battery life, serving as an additional light source alongside the dim periwinkle colored lights strung around the corners of your ceiling. The array of pastel colored notebooks and color coded papers cluttered the rest of your bed while you lay sprawled across your comforter, more relaxed than you should have been, given that you were supposed to be studying. You couldn’t help it. The silk pillows and squishmallows propped onto your mattress were too soft for your hazy mind. You knew no real, productive work was getting done the minute you kicked your Crocs off and stepped onto the delicate carpet flooring in your bedroom.

Frankly, getting work done anywhere had been hard for you. You couldn’t recall the last time you had turned in an assignment without it being exceptionally late or half assed, even in the easy classes you minored in. It was unlike you. Your academic life had been one of a kind previously, your name always being at the top of the dean's list or the first called on during an award ceremony. You were in a slump, and anyone could tell from how you dragged your feet around, your confident walk losing its essence day after day, no longer gleefully swinging your braids around or wearing a big, cheeky grin. You tried to deny the reason you’d been feeling so drained. Though you’d never admit it, everyone close to you knew why their friend had lost her gleam.

Eren Jaeger's name had become nothing short of infamous amongst your friends and everything you associated with him. A group of three to four people despised him. But the craziest thing was that they’d never met him in person.

And neither had you.

You lay still on the bed, nearly dozing off into yet another deep sleep, your lashes resting on your droopy cheeks, so relaxed you hadn’t noticed your bonnet sliding off your head. Sighing, your chest rising and falling, beating with your heart that thumped suddenly in a fast, erratic rhythm with your phone, iPad, and Macbook. Gasping faintly, you jumped, manicured hands scurrying to find one of the three devices, eventually landing on your iPad. You squinted, so groggy you hadn’t noticed the buzzing was from an incoming Facetime call that you assumed would be Mikasa or Sasha calling to get you out of your apartment. The second your vision adjusted to the lighting, a pit of anxiety settled inside of your tummy, drying whatever spit pooled in your mouth.

(916)330-0413… (916)330-0413.

The only sound was your faint, heavy breathing. You watched the number run across the screen, the number you knew by heart, the number that called your phone every night and morning until three months ago. The device buzzed furiously in your clammy palms as if screaming at you to answer–daring you.

You had met him about 10 months ago. Well, met was a generous word–heard from him. It was the night of your 20th birthday, a night you would never forget for many reasons, his acknowledgment of you being one of them, much to your dismay. You had posted at least six pictures of your night out, the ones of you receiving the most love from your following. You looked beyond, darling, in your baby pink mini dress, with your white designer heels adding just three inches to your height, which wasn’t much. A tiara sat atop your rose blond install, your favorite hairstyle that year probably, giving off the impression that you were the princess you dressed like. Pretty wasn’t even the word for it.

You’ll never forget how you had climbed into bed wearing nothing but a towel after your shower, beyond tired and too exhausted to slip into some dainty little pajamas but extremely pleased with how your night went, your hot pink bonnet protecting the hair you were so fond of, ready for bed. It was a habit of yours to check your phone before sleeping, just in case you had missed anything aside from the Instagram notifications admiring you popping up every few minutes. However, one of those notifications stood out. The two of you weren’t mutual, nor did either of you follow each other, which wasn’t unusual. People find your account all the time. His username wasn’t familiar, nor did anyone you knew follow him. Yet, there was something so intriguing about the stranger. He hadn’t said anything even remotely memorable.

e.jaegerr._ liked your story

e.jaegerr._ liked your story

e.jaegerr._ replied to your story with: ‘damn am i too late to say happy birthday mama?'

You thought back to how you grinned, typing back a quick ‘no, a happy birthday is always welcome’ before inspecting the account, not having an image of him in your head just yet, but expectations of some basic guy still lingered in the back of your mind. It took a second for his page to load, janky ass student housing wifi, and when it did, there wasn’t much to see at first. Raising an eyebrow and glancing at the photography posts, you clicked through his highlights, quickly admiring his many documented adventures until you found something you could work with.

To say your mouth turned to dry cotton would be an understatement.

He was not the average, medium ugly guy who stumbled across your page 99% of the time, not the slightest bit. From what you had gathered after seeing his birthday cake in a previous slide, his name was Eren, and Eren was the embodiment of fine.

His hair was long, possibly exceeding shoulder length, a mere estimate you made based on the way it sat in the messy bun in the back of his head, strands of his chocolate locs framing his handsome face, and the nonchalant expression he wore, which it seemed only he could pull off. The lighting in the pictures wasn’t the best, meaning he sucked at personal pictures outside of his photography hobby, but you could make out the color of his emerald orbs as they almost spoke to you through the phone. Not a lot of guys could pull off piercings and tattoos, art in the form of ink covering his right arm, chest, and neck, but the septum ring that hung from his nose looked too good on him, not to mention how sexy the hoop ring on top of his blush pink bottom lip. You could only imagine how the cool metal would feel against your lips.

Without knowing, you bit down on your bottom lip as you stalked, occasionally allowing your tongue to wet your lips as they grew dry from your teeth piercing them. Startled by the buzzing in your hand, you read the response, a lazy grin spreading across your face at his humor.

It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, given that he was just a random guy from Instagram and that he lived in Sacramento, miles and miles away from you, but damn, did that boy know how to apply pressure. It began with a few texts from your number, as he was so charismatic that he got your number the night he responded to your story. You hadn’t ever talked to a guy like him, a guy with depth, in touch with not only his feelings but the feelings of life all around him. It was hot. Hot as fuck.

Before you knew it, the two of you were calling every day, and if one of you couldn’t sleep on the phone the night before for whatever reason, he was calling the minute you were up. With these calls came intimacy.

Lots of it.

It wasn’t abnormal for you to be complimented and praised after your every move. You were a beautiful, ambitious girl. There was something incredibly addictive about how he spoke to you and admired the little details of your appearance that you shared over the phone. He noticed things, like when you changed the way you styled your edges. All of it went straight to your lower half, something you eventually but shamefully admitted, leading to an entirely different relationship than the one you planned to have with him.

“Your pussy’s so fuckin’ pretty, ma. Spread your legs more, let daddy see how wet that shit is.” he groaned out, his voice so, so raspy and enticing, only adding to the leaking mess your pussy had become from his words alone. You felt your hole clench around your fingers as you opened your legs wider, growing greedier by the minute as you watched him stroke his dick, not paying any mind to how embarrassed you were being this vulnerable for someone. Fuck, it was big. And so pretty. “There you go, baby, good girl.”

You needed him so badly that it had started to hurt. Every movement he made and every word that rolled off of his tongue went straight to your cunt, the aching becoming more and more painful as you pumped two digits in and out of yourself, your slick staining the silk sheets on your bed. The most angelic mewls fell from your mouth, your sounds causing Eren’s dick to twitch in his hand. ‘Daddy, it hurts so bad–f-fuck, I n-need you.” You hiccupped, squeezing your eyes shut.

It was sinful, the way he threw his head back and let out those grunts, cursing under his breath as he increased the speed of his stroking. He swore he’d never been this horny until he met you. “I know baby, daddy knows. ‘m gonna come see you, ma, I promise and I'm gonna fill that pretty pussy up.”

“You got me so, so wet, Eren. Fuckkkk, ‘m close,” you whined as that familiar coil built up in your stomach.

He smiled, taking a mental note of how your body reacted to the experience, every jerk or twitch, or how your eyebrows furrowed when your clit twitched. “Yeah? You close, mama?”

You sloppily pumped your fingers inside of your pussy, your release threatening to gush all down your bed. “So close, ‘ren, please.”

“Cum baby, make a fuckin’ mess for daddy.” He watched as clear liquid sprayed from your pussy, admiring how you knew to keep your fingers inside because he knew that you knew he’d want you to cum for him again. Sweet praises fell off his tongue as you came undone on his phone, not even noticing the white spewing from his angry red tip, staining his boxers.

Things were so domestic with him. His name ran through your head at least a thousand times a day, and it didn’t help that he seemed perfect in your eyes. He liked paying for your hair appointments knowing he’d be the first to see and he loved picking and paying for your nails knowing you’d be spreading your soaked lips open for him later that night. Then there were the random gifts sent, usually something you had mentioned you were saving for. And he cooked! He’d give you cooking lessons in his mom’s kitchen, where he claimed all the good seasonings were while his mom scolded him to not burn anything, always speaking to you sweetly and calling you her daughter. You loved when he’d pull an all nighter while you studied, no matter how busy he was the next day, watching movies high as a kite and eventually distracting you and making you laugh. It was everything to you–he was everything to you. Naturally, you had assumed the two of you were an item, at least boyfriend and girlfriend status because anyone would. Eren was your boyfriend. You were his girlfriend.

Right?

“‘Ren?” you murmured, cozying up in one of your many blankets as you watched him fiddle with his gaming controller, his beautiful eyes immediately leaving the TV screen upon hearing you call his name.

“Yes, baby?” He set the controller down.

You bit down on your bottom lip, the artificial flavoring of your strawberry lip gloss dusting your tongue, exhaling shakily. “What am I to you?”

He grinned, looking down in an attempt to hide how quickly the thought of you made his cheeks warm and pink. “You’re mine, my girl. You know that.” He didn’t give his answer much thought as he didn’t think there was more depth to the question.

“So we’re boyfriend and girlfriend,” you snorted, laughing off how childish the question was even though you were extremely nervous to ask it.

“If we lived closer, of course.”

…Huh?

You sat up, resting your weight on your elbow as you squinted and jerked your neck back. You furrowed your brows, mouth instantly settling into a pout. “What does that mean?” You spat, tone nowhere near as endearing as it was seconds before.

Eren’s brow raised, not liking your tone because it was the tone you spoke in when a nasty attitude was brewing within you. “What do you mean? Baby, we talked about this. Fully committing to something long distance doesn’t work but you know how I feel about you. I didn’t think it was something you still thought about."

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. “Do you mean when we talked about this shit months ago because in that case, we didn’t talk about a fuck thing? Since when were a couple of miles an issue for you?”

He sat up, eyes piercing into you through the phone because one, the two of you did talk about it, and two, he hated it when you spoke to him like you didn’t have any sense. “Watch your mouth, not about to say it again either. We did talk about it, [♡].” Aggravated wasn’t even the word to describe how you were feeling. Long distance wasn’t an issue when he introduced you to his mom or when he promised to take care of you, so why was the label such a big deal?

“Man, whatever, Eren. You think you’re about to lead me on and have me looking stupid and you’re not.”

“Nobody is leading you on or making you look stupid, what the fuck are you talking about? I’ve meant every word I’ve ever said to you. What about a label changes that?” He groaned, growing a bit irritated himself.

You laughed but you were nowhere near amused. “You know what, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’ll talk to you later or somethin’.”

He huffed, reaching for the phone knowing you were about to hang up in his face to piss him off. “Nah, ain’t no later–”

“Goodnight, Eren.”

That was three months ago as of tonight. Eren tried for days to get more than one word responses from you, but everything you said to his paragraphs was nonchalant and cold. No matter how much he called, texted, or emailed you, it didn't make a difference. Nothing seemed to change how you felt about the ordeal. At the time, you didn’t think you were being dramatic. For fucks sake, he had seen your entire body, knew you like the back of his hand, and been the first man you had uttered the words ‘I love you’ to. However, as the messages came, they eventually stopped. He stopped calling, no longer trying all around. As weeks passed, he accepted that things might’ve been over between you guys as much as it hurt him to admit it. You would’ve reached out if he didn’t seem to be doing so fine without you. Just as you had started to get over the issue, he started posting more, traveling to cities with people you had never seen him with, and even getting another tattoo. It was like he didn’t give a fuck, like there wasn’t a girl states away grieving his absence.

Your reminiscing was cut short when the numbers lit up the screen of your iPad once again. It never dawned upon you that you had never officially blocked his number after blocking him everywhere else. You picked up the remote control for your led lights, changing the color from lavender to white. Your fingers shook profusely as you propped your iPad up enough so he’d see nothing past your bonnet. Swiping the phone button to the left, you let out a shaky breath as the connection went through. In seconds, you experienced the same awe as months ago, just as you did when you first saw him.

“Mama,” that familiar yet foreign raspiness making your heart skip a beat. Half of his long hair fell on his broad shoulders that poked through his black t-shirt while the other half was in his usual man bun. He’d never cut it. Those low, piercing eyes focused on whatever he was doing in his lap, his slender fingers likely rolling a blunt. Half his arm sleeve was visible, but it had been touched up. He sat pretty in the driver's seat of his blacked out Jeep, the moonlight bleeding through his cracked windows emphasizing just how stunning he was. “Where you at? I want to see you.”

See you? “Hello to you too, Eren.”

He chuckled, eventually looking up from his la. “Hi, baby. Why can’t I see you? I didn’t call to see your ceiling, lil’ girl.”

You huffed, biting back a smile as you adjusted the angle of your iPad, revealing everything he had missed so dearly. You always looked so pretty, your lips greased up with whatever lip gloss you had in rotation for the month. The wavy curls from your braids that had come out of your bonnet framed your round face, making you look too soft. Your reading glasses were slightly crooked, but it didn’t matter because they still sat adorably on your face like he remembered. He did his best not to look down at your breasts bursting from the little white tank top you wore, but he couldn’t help it.

“Happy now?” You sucked your teeth, avoiding eye contact.

“Very,” He licked his lips. “You didn’t answer my question. Where are you?”

You hadn’t thought about it when you answered, but where Eren lived, the sun didn’t set for another two hours. He looked so good in the moonlight you hadn’t realized that the moonlight was supposed to be a sun setting on his pale skin. “Home… Where are you?”

He laughed softly, grinning. You were a smart girl, he knew you’d figure it out. “You know where I am, mama. I still remember your address.”

“Eren, I know you’re not in my fuckin’ city right now…”

“You know I am. I’m about to be on my way to you. What floor are you on again? That apartment complex is big as hell.” He talked so cooly about coming to see you as if it was something he’d done before as if he didn’t live in California. You knew Eren well, and from what you learned about him, he wasn’t bullshitting, and frankly, that’s what scared you the most about this whole thing. He was serious, maybe more serious than he had ever been.

“Why?” You spoke out, attempting to conceal how nervous he was making you.

“Ain’t no why. You’re lucky I didn’t pull up and knock on every door in that building. You know exactly why, I’m coming to see you. Like I asked you before, what floor do you live on?” You watched as Eren started his car, muscles flexing so deliciously as he moved. Focus. You knew there was no talking him out of his plan, he was stubborn like that and truthfully, you did know why he was asking. You wanted to talk to him, you had for a while now.

Taking one last look around the room and back at Eren, whose wheels were already rolling, you sighed. “The sixth floor.”

The pit in your stomach was something similar to the Mariana trench. It had been around ten minutes since Eren hung up, and it only took fifteen to get to your apartment from where he currently resided in the city. In that ten minutes, you had done a lot. Eren started sharing his location with you again, so you didn’t have any additional time to sit on the bed in disbelief because you knew he was coming, so you did your best to prepare on such short notice.

You lathered your body in an additional layer of cocoa oil and vanilla-scented lotion, reviving that fresh aroma from your shower two hours ago. The bonnet was staying on, but you did your edges to add extra flare and applied a layer of the lipgloss you wore.

Now, you told yourself he wasn’t coming into your room. Whatever talking the two of you would be doing could be done in the living room, on the couch, at a friendly distance. At least, that’s what you repeated to yourself as you straightened up your room, storing away your school supplies and picking up laundry. You didn’t care to change either, not wearing more than some little pink shorts and a white tank top with care bears printed on the fabric. No bra, no panties. Revealing, but Eren could look, not touch.

While making sure your living room was presentable. Three loud knocks echoed through the space, each adding to how intensely your heart thumped against your chest. Your jaw fell slack, hands anxiously gripping the fur on your couch pillows. Another knock. Eren wasn’t supposed to arrive for another five minutes, not to mention the elevator ride and the walk to your unit. The walk towards the door gave you a sense of impending doom if that phrase had a positive connotation. Each step on the cold wood floors sent chills up your spine, and you thought you would fart by the time you got to the front door. With a trembling handle, you flipped the locks, taking a deep breath as you twisted the knob.

You smelled him before you saw him, the scent of his cologne, likely the one you bought him, mixed with a faint trace of weed, overwhelming your sense of smell. He was tall, you knew that, all of him and his lean yet muscular structure standing at an accurate 6'2, but it was different in person. You felt those eyes, his green eyes lined with rings of silver and pools of curiosity and a hint of nervousness. His chest was moving up and down, poking through his shirt, seemingly matching with the black sweatpants that loosely hung on his hips. He was even more attractive in person, all of his features unique.

You stood frozen in the doorway, just like he was. Though he seemed better at concealing his nerves with his body language, he felt just as anxious as you did. He had imagined what it would be like to see you in person a million times, but nothing could compare to how gorgeous you truly were, no matter the circumstances.

“You look pretty, baby.” Eren slurred, shamelessly eyeing you as a predator did its prey, like he wanted to devour you right there. It made you feel small under him. You swallowed the thick pool of spit in your mouth, biting back yet another smile as you shifted your feet. 

“Thank you.”

“Can I come in?” You nodded, stepping aside for him, your legs feeling weak as you inhaled his scent. His head hung low as he walked over to your couch and took a seat. He lowered his gaze, eyes sinfully inviting as he watched your figure as you walked towards him. Eren almost chuckled, remembering that he knew what you looked like underneath those little ass clothes. If the mood were better, he would’ve been six out of eight inches deep into you right now, as he promised.

You sat on the couch, closer than you planned, somewhat avoiding his eyes, folding a leg under your bottom as you stroked the fur on your couch pillows. You were so cute.

“Damn, mama. I know we haven’t talked, but I thought you’d have more to say. What’s wrong, hm?” He teased, twirling a strand of his hair.

You scoffed, jerking your head back. “You’re the one in my city claiming I know why you’re here, so you should be talking. Talk, Eren. Why are you here?” He sucked his teeth, reminding himself to address your little attitude later as if he even played with you like that. Eren sat up, his attention entirely on you. Deep down, he hoped his appearance would settle this little feud once and for all.

“In all honesty,” he started. “I’m here because I took a job at an art gallery in the city. If we’re being real, I only took the job to run into you because I didn’t need it. I knew you wouldn’t have wanted to see me before but I couldn’t take this anymore. I missed you so bad, [♡]. I felt like a piece of my soul was missing without you, I can’t imagine being one of the losers who lost you physically. I understand why you reacted the way you did but I can’t go another fuckin’ day without having you in my life.” Tears welled in your eyes as you listened to him speak, all of your old feelings resurfacing. He scooted closer, taking you by surprise.

“Eren–”

“No, listen. Distance was never in the way of my feelings for you. I just didn’t want to hurt you by not being here with you physically all of the time because I know how you are. You know that was my reason for not making things official, as stupid as it sounds.” You did know that. He had told you that a few times. You felt a little embarrassed listening to him explain things to you because honestly, you hadn't thought of a few points he was making, and you couldn’t help but think that if you did, the entire separation could’ve been avoided. Eren would’ve been yours physically in no time.

During the lengthy conversation, he was so careful with his words, never once invalidating how you felt while ensuring you understood things from his point of view. Whatever question you had, he had an answer for. It was captivating to watch his facial expressions as he spoke, something you had always wanted to experience in person. You noticed how he focused his gaze on you, how he blinked when he was confused, and how quickly his cheeks flushed when he felt strongly about something. “I’m sorry, [♡]. For everything.” His head hung low, the deep brown strands of his hair working as curtains to hide the emotions on his face. Pretty boy, you thought. 

“Eren.” You whispered. His head shot up, eyes full of nothing but guilt he didn’t even need to feel. Your heart felt tight in your chest seeing him like that. “I forgive you. I’m sorry too. It wasn’t right for me to not hear you out.”

“C’mere, mama.” Eren huffed, spreading his legs and opening his arms for you. You didn’t hesitate, moving closer to and straddling him. You smiled and wrapped your arms around the nape of his neck, the same aching between your legs from months ago reappearing as he placed his hands on your lower back, rubbing at the fat right above your ass. He smelled so damn good. His presence alone turned you on. “Let me look at you.”

He grinned as he let his hands roam your waist, not quite touching your ass yet. “I can’t believe I finally got my hands on your pretty ass after all this time. Fuck, you’re so pretty, even when you’re mad at me.” He leaned in, pressing his lips against your own, stealing whatever gloss remained on your lips. You cupped his jaw in your hands, deepening the kiss. It was innocent at first, his lips embracing you and your presence. Stroking your thumbs against his soft cheeks, you hungrily chased his lips, wincing as he bit down on your bottom one. You felt his lips turn up against yours.

At first, you hadn’t realized you were rolling your hips against his, too enticed by the feeling of his lips against yours for the first time. It was when your fingers started to toy with the hairs on the nape of his neck and when his hands had started pawing at the fat of your ass that you knew where things were going. And what did you look like stopping?

“Fuck,” Eren hissed, the movement of your hips applying pressure to his already growing hard-on. “What are you doing, mama?”

You licked your lips, placing a kiss behind his ear. “I need you, ‘ren. Now.”

He pulled back and scanned your features, looking for any signs of doubt on your face before he gave in. “Yeah? Want me to show you how sorry I am, pretty girl?” The smirk that spread on his lips was telling. You shyly nodded, gripping at his shirt. He placed pecks on your jawline, moving down to your neck, every kiss growing sloppier until the angelic moans he missed so much slipped from your lips. Eren’s hands were rough, rocking your hips against his and slapping at your ass every time you moaned in his ear. You knew he had a big dick, but feeling it harden against your cunt, the wet spot in your shorts growing by the second.

His hands slid up the back of your tank top, prompting you to remove it altogether before he did. You sat on his lap, tits in his face, nipples hard from the friction and cold atmosphere in the living room. Eren murmured curses under his breath as he rubbed his thumb across your nipples, sloppily placing his mouth on the left one, and he continued toying with the other. “So fuckin’ beautiful, baby, fuck.” You whimpered, throwing your head back, the pleasure only adding to the pool of arousal you were sure he could feel by now. 

“Feels so good, ‘ren, shit.” He sucked at your nipples like he was starving. He needed to taste them. 

“Let me take you to your room,” He breathed out, voice an octave deeper. “Please.”

Giggling, you stood up, holding your hand out. “Come on.”

“E–eren wait a second–fuck,” you wailed, fingers desperately clutching handfuls of the hair between your legs as you threw your head back. He hummed, attentively observing your face change expressions as he greedily sucked your clit. It had been like this for around thirty minutes now, him sucking your juices out of you until you were pleading for your release. The moment the two of you stepped into your bedroom, he nearly consumed you as you were, his soft pink lips leaving marks from your neck to your thighs as he thrusted three digits into your soaking cunt until you were clenching around his fingers. You barely had time to recover from the intense pleasure, quickly ending up where you were now, about to cum for the second time if he wanted you to. “Too m-much, baby.”

His eyes darkened as he pushed your legs further back, slurping and licking every little bit of slick that dripped out of you as he inserted two of his fingers again. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet, mama. Wait just a little longer for daddy,” he mumbled. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he curled his fingers upwards, hitting every nerve in your walls, making you clench around his fingers so, so tight.

The sounds he made against your pussy were downright filthy as he buried his face in your heat, fingers now coated in a layer of cream. You were so wet for him, at least three times wetter than you were on the phone, and it drove him crazy to see your pussy so nasty for him. Soft whimpers fell from your mouth as you felt your release coming, the feeling seemingly more intense than it was before due to his edging. “Daddy, I can’t hold it, please, I need to c-cum.” With every plea, his tongue swirled so intensely around your clit. He made it so hard to hold it.

“You’ ready to cum for me, pretty girl? Tell me how bad you need to cum, and I’ll let you.” Eren whispered, leaving faint kisses against your throbbing clit as he pumped more of your wetness out of you.

“I need it so bad. Let me be good and cum for you, please, ‘ren.” You wept, legs trembling like leaves in the wind.

He grinned, emerald eyes locking with yours as he nodded. “Atta girl, go ahead, mama.” The nastiest moans came out of you as you finally let go, vision going blurry as your head fell back into the sheets. You ground your cunt against his face, unknowingly adding to the aching in his boxers as you cried out his name. He whispered praises between your legs, biting down on his lip as he watched your body react to the pleasure, taking in every little twitch or jerk your body made.

“You look even sexier doing that shit in person. Come here, [♡],” He sat up, pulling you closer to him by your ankles. You were so fucked out already you hadn’t even realized he hadn’t been inside of you yet. He laughed as he took in your expression, in awe at how beautiful you looked. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Eren pulled his shirt over his head, exposing the tattoos you had longed to see on his toned stomach. His body was so sexy, muscles flexing while doing such a simple task. Spit pooled into the cavern of your mouth as you watched him pull down his sweats and boxers, nearly moaning at the mere sight of his dick springing out. His tip was pretty and an angry shade of red as it slapped against his stomach, making a ‘thud’ sound. He was so big, all eight inches of him falling against his thigh. “Shit,” you whispered. Eren only chuckled as he pulled the rest of his clothes off his ankles. “Eren…”

He rested his big hands on the back of your thighs, thumbs slowly stroking the skin. “You’ gonna be good and take this dick for me like you promised?”

The way he talked alone made your stomach churn. You nodded, tucking your bottom lip under your teeth as you eyed his length. Fuck, that was a lot to take in person. “Yes, ‘ren.”

He leaned in, sucking at the marks he previously left against the canvas of your neck as he positioned himself at your entrance. He was so rough as he licked and tongued the bruises he had left, hoping to distract you from how big the stretch was. With a wet squelch, you felt the thick head of his dick enter you, instantly clenching around what little you were given as you gasped. He groaned against your neck, murmuring curses at the feeling. “Oh my god.”

“Shit, you feel good.” He wasn’t all the way in, maybe four or so inches deep, but the feeling of him sliding into you was already too much. Your arms wrapped around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as your eyes nearly bursted from the sockets. He moved steadily, as he pushed the rest of what could fit into you, the pulsating of your gummy walls driving him mad. God, you felt as good as you looked, all wet and warm like a hug. You cried out his name in response, clit throbbing as you looked down and watched him enter you. It felt incredible, but it was a scene so dirty. You were almost gushing against the veins that decorated his dick, your pussy gripping around the shaft each time he pulled out. “This pussy feels too good, mama, damn.”

He increased the speed of his thrusting, each movement prying those beautiful noises from you as he hit the spots none of your toys had located. You were embarrassingly wet for him, the sounds of your moans clashing with the sound of your cunt greedily sucking him in. He groaned at the feeling and gripped your thighs tighter, watching a white ring form around the base of his dick. “There you go, cream on that shit, good girl.”

“You’re makin’ my pussy feel good, daddy,” you cried as your nails clawed against his back. His balls harshly slapped against your ass, adding to how loud the two of you were. Between his breathy moans and your long, drawn out whimpers, you were sure you’d be getting a noise complaint sooner or later.

“Fuck,” He could feel you getting ready to cum as he pushed in and out of you, pussy making the sweetest mess against him. The feeling of you gripping him like you needed him inside of you was nothing he had ever felt before, causing his hips to stutter. You looked gorgeous as you made those pretty faces, calling out for him as his tip kissed your sweet spot. “You look so pretty right now, mama. Takin’ this shit like a good girl, ‘m so proud of you. I'm so, so sorry for leaving you, ma.”

That familiar feeling consumed your lower half for the third time in almost an hour. The assault on Eren’s back only worsened as he fed you those long, deep strokes, your pussy leaking onto the sheets at this point. “D-daddy.”

Eren looked down at your wet eyes, unable to resist the smile on his lips. He could feel you getting close, and he loved it. He loved feeling you so much that it was about to make him cum too. “I feel you, baby. Fuck, this pussy taking me so good, daddy bout’ to cum too.”

You closed your eyes, gripping the hairs on the back of his neck as you came again. “Oh my g-god, Eren.” You cried as your toes curled in the air. His movements grew sloppy as you gush around his dick, making him whine. 

“Come here, ma.” Unexpectedly, he pulls out, a loud ‘pop’ bouncing off the walls as he pats your quivering thigh. He groaned, slowly stroking himself with one hand. His eyes were dark, his hunger for you growing as the two of you locked eyes. You shivered as you sat up into a kneeling position, legs almost giving out on you in the process. He smirked as he removed his hand from his dick, wrapping it around your neck and giving it a good squeeze. “Let me fuck your pretty ass face til’ I cum?”

You nodded eagerly and opened your mouth, letting his sticky shaft fill up your mouth as he kept his grasp on your throat, wasting no time as he bobbed your mouth up and down his wet shaft. The view from above was amazing. You looked divine looking up at him with those big doe eyes as he fucked your throat. A mixture of your cum and spit ran from the sides of your mouth as you hollowed your cheeks and down his balls. Eren moaned loudly as your throat tightened around his tip as it hit the back of your throat. “F-fuck, look at you eating that dick up like a fuckin’ good girl. I love that shit.”

He pulled you off his length, hand still firmly around your neck as he looked down at you. You swallowed, breaths heavy. He tapped your cheek, muttering an ‘open’. His dick visibly twitched when you followed his order and stuck your tongue out. Curling his tongue, he leaned down, a thick glob of his spit sliding off the wet muscle and into your mouth.

“Swallow that shit.” You swallowed, the action adding to the mess between your legs. He smiled and pushed his dick back into your mouth, now thrusting harder than before making thick spit bubbles form around the base. You brought up a shaky hand and stroked whatever didn’t fit in your mouth, not once letting your gag reflex stop you. His chest rapidly moved up and down as he got louder and breathier. Your mouth felt so good around him. “Shit–’m cumming, mama.”

You hummed, closing your eyes as he shot warm, white ropes down your throat, a thousand curses falling from his lips as his hips jerked. The two of you were making a mess as his hips slowed down. Streams of white dripped down your chin as he pulled out of your mouth.

Giggling, you held onto his thigh. “You taste good.” 

His breaths were heavy as he chuckled, leaning down and wrapping his lips around yours, spit and cum making the kiss sloppy. “You did so well for me, you know that?”

“Mhm, ‘m your good girl, daddy.”

“If you keep talking like that, I’ll have you up all night, keep playin’.” You smiled as he cupped your cheeks, peppering kisses across your face. “I’m gonna clean you up and get you some water, okay?”

“Okay, ‘ren.”

“And, [♡]?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.” He said with his chest, attention locked on you as a blush crept onto his cheeks.

You pressed an innocent kiss onto his lips, swirling his neck hairs around your fingers as he gripped the fat of your love handles, deepening the kiss. You sucked on his bottom lip, biting down gently and smiling into the kiss before you pulled away. Your eyes lit up beautifully as you took a long look into his, all of his love behind those green eyes you loved so much. “I love you, too, Eren.”

[formula-fun]

so this is happening, apparently

YES!! We need a pacific rim fic!! Think about the potential! Training since childhood Max and Charles are so competitive and thinking they'll pilot different jaegers and race for the kill counts BUT turns out they're the most drift compatible pair.

yess???? it could be so so good! i like the idea of everyone knowing they're compatible super early on but them being completely resistant to it and lowkey a little stupid. like every time they spar they try to fight super dirty and aggressively to prove they hate each other and it would never work, but in reality the program directors are watching like....inchresting......such similar styles...... and then they do a drift test when they're like 16 or sth and it goes horribly because they both bring a bunch of baggage into it and its VERY dramatic and they both end up getting benched for like a year and a half because they're seen as too volatile. eventually they get paired with other people but it doesn't really work out because they're still connected a little bit and can't help but compare their new partners to each other, and their new partners can obvs feel that so it's like drifting with maxandcharles instead of just one person, which is super distracting. and meanwhile max and charles have picked up each other's memories and habits and favorite foods and shit like that and it's becoming super annoying for everyone around them to hear them complain all the time (who liked vanilla ice cream first? point of contention) and over time the things they fought over become running jokes and they finally realize it's actually kind of nice to have someone around who understands you that easily. just in time for them to hop in a jaeger and kill some aliens

like tbh it could be an entire fic about the academy, theres so much there. there could be nary a single kaiju in this entire fucking thing. a love letter to the drift and all that it represents

[arlerts-angel]

having so many hard thoughts abt eren rn. how dominant he would be, getting off on making u nervous and embarrassed. his long hair hanging in ur face as he hovers above u... i feel like he'd love fingering u, the feeling of ur warm, wet pussy clenching around his fingers. and fuck, just knowing that he was making u feel so good would egg him on so quickly.

i know u dont write much eren, and thats okay!! please disregard this if it doesnt resonate with you. i just trust ur interpretation of the characters since u have such a knack for it. but if it does id love to hear ur thoughts. im just a whore for eren jaeger what can i say 🤤

eren jaeger x fem!reader, NSFW 🤍 18+ MDNI

a/n: oop i don't usually write characters with 'daddy' as a title but i can so see eren calling himself that so that's what i wrote SORRY HNSHKSHK I HOPE YOU LIKE IT STILL 😰

lots of dirty talk | fingering | pet names: baby, pretty, princess, dirty girl | eren calls himself daddy

taglist: @ringsofsaturnnnn @i-literally-cant-with-this @milky-aeons

NONNIE !!! you are so right

eren absolutely loves making you flustered and squirmy; he thinks you're just so cute when you're nervous! not only that, but i think it fuels his ego just a smidge 🤭

and mmm, i agree that one of his favorite things in the world to do to you is finger your desperate little pussy while he hovers above you. he has a perfect view of your pretty face while he makes you cum on his fingers :(

oh, some food for thought! eren would absolutely moan with you and talk you through while he fingers you :(

he sucks air in through his gritted teeth while he fingers you and rubs your clit, going on about "aw, feels so good doesn't it baby? i know it does. y'look so pretty... so fuckin pretty baby. pussy's so wet for me baby, you like when i finger you huh? yeahhh, right there... just like that. doing so good for me, princess."

oh and when you buck your hips against him while he fingers you?

"oh you like that, don't you? dirty girl. so desperate to cum. tell daddy how good he makes you feel. let me hear it, baby. wanna hear those pretty moans."

he just loves to pleasure you in general ! fingering, eating you out, fucking you senseless, anything that makes you cum he loves !

i think he'd be heavy on eye contact, but sometimes the eye contact is too much so you try to hide your face or close your eyes but he hits you with the "look at me baby. wanna look into those pretty eyes when you cum for me"

HEAR ME OUT. HE KISSES YOUR FOREHEAD WHILE YOU CUM. 😵‍💫😍

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, fwb with feelings

— General info: 18+, modern AU, one-shot, smut, fluff

— Summary: Everyone is suspicious that Eren Jaeger has a secret girlfriend or at least a new body. What they don’t know is that his secret affair is with you.

— Content warnings: nsfw, vaginal sex, handjob, light bondage, femdom if you squint (Eren likes being tied up), role switch, mentions of drunken make out, vaginal fingering, mutual pining.

— Notes: I haven't written smut for Eren in a while, but here you go. Happy reading, bubs!

Links: Read on AO3 |  Masterlist

Or at least a secret person who's kept him from overwhelming you with his flirty attitude and incessant date proposals. The change in his demeanor was obvious from the start. Your friends noticed it right away.

Eren Jaeger has a secret girlfriend.

Overnight, he simply stopped trying to persuade you into going out with him.

If anything, this shift in dynamics brings peace to your group. Nobody has to put up with Eren's cringey pick-up lines and you seem more relaxed than ever now that Eren's off your back.

You've always made it clear to him that you just want to be friends, yet that's never stopped him from shamelessly insisting how great you'd be together if you just gave him a chance. But now that he's no longer waking his friends’ second-hand embarrassment by forcing them to watch him get rejected over and over again — they have to give you credit, you've remained incredibly patient — the only explanation is that he's spontaneously over his crush, or he's found someone else to fixate on.

Whichever the case is, he's awfully secretive about it. Nobody has met her and he hasn’t even mentioned a name. All they know is he has a goofy grin when the group splits at the end of your get-togethers and he rushes to his confidential rendezvous. But perhaps that's for the better. If he's not talking about it, then it means whichever poor girl he's lured in isn't a ploy to make you jealous.

As your weekly poker night comes to an end after everyone has come down from their weed-induced high — it's your turn to host — and everyone takes on a different task to tidy your living room, Eren is especially quick to wash glasses and finish off everyone's self-assigned duties so goodbyes can be bid sooner.

Everyone heads out the door and into their cars to drive back home.

Eren lingers in front of your house, as his hands fumble around his glove compartment long enough for his friends to disappear from view. With one last glance over his shoulder, he hurries back up the steps to your front door and eagerly knocks a coded beat.

When the door cracks open, you're looking up at him with a neutral expression.

“I think I forgot my lighter,” he grins.

With a roll of your eyes, you pull him inside by his shirt and shut the door.

A short while later, Eren's wrists are tied to the bed with a silk scarf and he does his best to resist the urge to thrust into your hand, as you jerk him off at the laziest pace you can manage. His torso is littered with the searing sensation left by your lips when you kissed down to his V line minutes earlier.

Eren's bare chest rises and falls heavily as he watches himself grow big enough that your thumb can no longer reach your fingertips.

A soft mewl leaves his lips when your thumb brushes over the head of his cock, the gentle friction sending a tickle up his spine and causing his nipples to harden.

“When can I tell our friends we're together?” he asks, admiring the black lace set that adorns your body. The thin straps of your thong disappear into the crease of your thighs as you rest on your calves before him. He hasn't pointed it out, afraid it might embarrass you if he did, but he's noticed you've gotten into wearing sexier pieces of lingerie as the weeks have gone by.

He didn't mind the plain cotton underwear from the first time you pulled him aside to tell him you'd give him one night and no more — pink bikini cut panties with a little bow at the front— but he's not complaining about your recent style evolution, either.

You raise a quizzical eyebrow.

Eren barely acknowledges your expression, but clarifies anyway in between shallow breaths.

“O-or… you know just t-tell them that we're sleeping together.”

Your lips tug into a smile.

“You want them to know you like being tied up and jerked off by me?”

An airy chuckle leaves Eren's lips as his head falls back against the pillow.

“Yeah… I kinda do,” he shyly admits, blinking up at you through half-lidded eyes.

After the first night you spent with Eren, when you drunkenly made out in his car and you let him finger you to an orgasm after poker at Armin's, you assumed he'd get bored and just move on. His tireless flirting always seemed like more of a joke with how juvenile he was about the matter.

Eren was known to be loyal to none else than the bachelor life, always having fun but never settling down. He went from to girl to guy, to girl again. He wasn't careless about it, but he wasn't one to get attached to his fleeting partners more than he should, either. You weren't a prude, but you learned long ago that sleeping with friends can be messy, which is why you spent months rejecting him countless times. Besides, you'd feel a bit hurt if he just saw you as one more person to conquer.

But one too many shots of tequila two months ago pushed you into a spiral of lust and hazy thinking. Suddenly, giving into Eren's advances didn't seem too bad. And considering you kissed him first, you could at least say you had some power over how you felt about it all. You wouldn't get attached, and you wouldn't expect more than you knew he could offer. It'd just be a friend helping a friend get off.

Only it didn't stop there. Eren stopped by your house the following morning to confess his feelings. It wasn't the first time Eren admitted to liking you, but it was the first time he was so earnest when pronouncing the words.

You remained skeptical. Even now, when he tries to get your opinion on revealing your relationship to your friends, you hesitate. Suddenly, you're oblivious to the pounding in your chest each time he flashes his boyish grin at you, or when he shudders under your touch and you have to hold back from viewing him through a romantic lense. Suddenly, you ignore the fact that he hasn't even talked to anyone else since that night in his car or that he's adamant about repeating how much he likes you each time he gently wipes you clean of his cum. Suddenly, you can't recall the lengthy periods you've spent browsing lingerie, thinking a little too hard about what Eren might like. Suddenly, you're clueless to the absurdly obvious that somewhere along the way, you've developed feelings for Eren and his have only gotten stronger.

“So?” he breathes, a lazy crooked smile plastered on his face.

Your hand pauses as you lean forward to kiss his cheek.

“You're cute,” you smile.

Eren blushes profusely as you pick up your movements, your hand more firm this time as it strokes his cock.

With your free hand, you unclasp your bra with agile movements, letting the delicate cups of black lace fall from your breasts and the straps to glide off your shoulders.

Eren bites back a whimper as his gaze wanders over your pert nipples.

“What was that?” you tease, giggling once Eren throws his head back like you knew he would. You soften your hold on his cock, which elicits another whimper from the helpless figure before you.

“You're getting meaner these days,” Eren mumbles as he returns his gaze to you. “Come on,” he begs, bucking his hips upwards to accentuate his pleading. “Touch me, please.”

A sigh of relief falls from his lips when your hand wraps around his length once more, your thumb brushing over his tip with a ghostly touch that has shivers running down his spine.

He connects with your gaze, refusing to peel his focus from you even when a particular stroke makes him hiss and his eyebrows upturn in pleasure. It's a matter of willpower, to not come undone before he even gets the chance to bury himself inside you.

His eyes shimmer at the image of you bending forward to trace your hardened nipples with his tip. Your nipple brushes with exquisite friction over the slit of his urethra. It sends a pleasant tingle through your chest and has him releasing shuddered breaths, breaking the dam of his mental prowess as warm cum bubbles and leaks from the tip, trailing down his length and pooling in the crevices between him and your hand.

There's no use in toughing it out anymore. You stroke him more fervently, kindly prolonging his high as he thrusts into your hand, his hips clumsy and his whimpers broken as he struggles with his restraints.

Your hand grows sticky as it slathers his release over his length, his cock still hard even after the last of the creamy white ropes finish spurting from his tip.

When you look up at him, he's got a lazy grin on his face and his eyes shimmer as they watch you adoringly. He'll never not be fascinated by how hard it is to hold back when it comes to you. But he tries his best, and it's earned you plenty of hours worth of fun.

You smile back as you press his hips against the mattress before straddling him. His breath hitches when he realizes you're preparing to lower yourself onto his cock.

Your fingers hook under your thong, tugging the fabric to the side as your free hand strokes him before he gets a chance to soften — as if that were possible; the man gets hard just by looking at you. Carefully, you line him up with your entrance and lower yourself in measured movements. Your brow furrows in concentration, your eyes closing as you replay a visual in your head of his length making its way inside you.

A pleasant burn comes from sinking onto him without much preparation beforehand, but the slick gathered between your folds from watching him writhe under your touch eases any discomfort.

“Easy, baby,” Eren murmurs, admiring the way his cock gradually stretches you open and disappears into you until you're flush against his pelvis.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips, your features softening once he's fully inside. It's been a while since you and Eren started exclusively sleeping with each other, and it only gets better each time he carves your insides to be his perfect fit. You've never felt so full, both physically and emotionally.

“Do all the people who've been on this bed get to spend the night?” you teasingly asked the first time he invited you to stay over at his place.

Eren smiled as he continued twirling a lock of your hair between his fingers, his chest still reflecting his heavy breaths as his efforts to make you cum twice that night caught up to his body.

“You're the first.”

You never expected Eren to be so tender. Even when you decided to explore new things together, there was always a moment where he'd just look at you and smile, infecting you with his amusement that ultimately ended with a shared laugh as you collapsed onto bed beside him, or further teasing which led to the most mind-blowing orgasms.

You stir your hips slowly, getting used to the feeling of him inside you. Eren can only admire from below as your hands fix themselves on his stomach and you start to grind against him.

A lazy crooked grin stretches across his face as he watches your brow furrow in concentration when you're finally comfortable enough to raise your hips and sink back onto him, grinding your clit onto his pelvic bone as you do. Your movements are sharp and measured as your arousal continues to build up and a series of pretty moans climb up your throat.

Your tits bounce to the beat of your skin slapping against his, offering Eren the most perfect view as he grows frustrated with the pink silk scarf that's keeping him from playing with the soft mounds.

“Eren,” you whine, short of breath and too clouded by lust to remember how to pronounce anything other than his name.

“Keep going… You're doing so fucking good, baby,” he breathes, and accentuates his words with upwards thrusts he makes to meet you halfway. “So. Fucking. Good.”

Your head rolls back, your eyes fluttering closed as you bite back the moan that's threatening to escape your lips.

Your hands fall onto his calves and you lean back, pulling his focus from your tits to the wet folds that swallow his cock, coating him with the glossy sheen of your arousal.

Eren continues thrusting up into you a few times, matching your rhythm and doing his best to ignore the pesky scarf that keeps him from reversing your roles and dominating you instead. You haven't reprimanded him for moving so he figures you could use a bit of help — you must be getting tired.

It's oddly fun to be tied to the bed as he grows more and more excited each time you lift your hips and your sloppy cunt is right in his line of view. It's incredibly satisfying for him to witness you fluttering around him, taking him so well as you only grow more needy, too. So he does his best to remain a good tool to help you get off.

Your forehead is lined with sweat, your features are contorted in a mix of concentration and pleasure, your thighs are growing heavier and yet you've never looked prettier in Eren's eyes.

No matter how glad he is just to watch you use him, it's a huge relief when you throw yourself forward with barely enough clarity to undo the knot on his wrists with one sharp tug of the silk fabric, and he can finally dig his fingers into your hips, picking up your slowing pace for a more fervent one.

The sound of slapping skin plays over and over again as you fall forward and bury your face into the crook of his neck, whimpering and exhaling nonsensical noises into his feverish skin as a reward for his patience.

His hands grope your ass, spreading your cheeks as he helps you meet his eager thrusts. Your nails dig into his shoulder and grip the sheets, the satisfying sensations between your legs too big for your body to carry as your breasts jostle against his chest in tandem with his relentless thrusts.

Eren's hand effortlessly wraps and tugs at your hair, forcing you to face him as you reach your high.

Sweet moans and whimpers fall from your parted lips, your half-lidded eyes looking down at him through a glossy haze.

“You're so pretty, baby. Come here and give me a kiss,” he coos, before pulling you by the back of your neck into a searing kiss that overwhelms your body further.

His tongue expertly glides inside your mouth, caressing yours and devouring each of your moans. The kiss is desperate and sloppy, with teeth crashing into each other in his futile attempts to bring you impossibly closer — as if thrusting himself into the deepest parts of you and shoving his tongue to the back of your throat isn't enough.

But it's no surprise. He's always been like this. At least, that's what you learned from day one of this secret arrangement. What you don't know is his desperation was awakened by just you.

Eren's no stranger to being a wildfire in bed, but it's different with you. His usual passion has been puppeteered by his heartstrings since the very first time two months ago. He's been a shameless flirt, it's true. But once you kissed him that night in his car, it was game over. He can still remember the frantic beat of his heart that stemmed from that very first taste of your lips. It still finds its way to him now, even when he eases his rough kiss for exhausted breaths that he releases over your open mouth.

Never before has he held so much eye contact with the person on top or below him, yet he finds a way to always have your face in his line of view to appreciate every little shift in your features. He loves the way your eyebrows knit together when you feel your orgasm coming in, and the way they soften with the washed over bliss of your high. He loves getting to clean you after and getting to hold you while you share pointless conversations as your exhaustion catches up to you — that's probably even better than the actual sex.

So as you cum around his cock and he fills you with hot ropes of white, he exhales a sweet ‘I love you’ against your lips.

Your body shivers and your legs weakly tremble as you climb off of him.

He pads to the bathroom, where he soaks a clean washcloth with warm water and comes back to find you fixing your hair on the bed.

His heart flutters as he goes through the usual motions of sitting beside you, tapping your thigh for you to spread your legs just enough for him to tenderly wipe his cum from the still sensitive spot at the center.

“What was that about?” you ask as you lean back into your hands, admiring his large hands gingerly pressing the washcloth where your thighs meet.

He glances at you briefly before smiling as he continues cleaning you.

“What do you mean?” he asks, still with that sly grin etched on his face.

Your face warms.

“Earlier, when you came,” you explain, circling around the exact words. “What you said… was that from the heat of the moment or something? Some new kink I should know about?”

An airy chuckle leaves his lips as he softly shakes his head.

“I wouldn't say that,” he murmurs. “Let's just leave it there. You can decide what to do with it later.”

You hum in response, trying your best to look composed as butterflies stir in your stomach.

You've spent the past two months being skeptical, but ignoring your blooming feelings is hard when Eren keeps surprising you with things like this. He's sweet and attentive, and cuddling in bed with random conversations is easily earning the first slot in your favorite things to do. You like brushing his hair from his face and burying your face in the crook of his neck. You like hearing him say sweet things and you like the duality of his actions in bed.

You can decide what to do with it later.

It'll be a while before you admit to the cause of the incessant pounding in your chest, but for now the feelings linger in the air as Eren pulls you under the covers with him and he presses a kiss into your hair.

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[fresidoll]

★ COLLEGE EREN GENERAL HEADCANONS  

.ᐟ General headcanons of Eren as a college boy

.ᐟ ModernEren!

.ᐟ Content warnings none

.ᐟ Word count 1.14k

.ᐟ A/N english it's not my first language so there may be some spelling mistakes. This might be quite long because i tend to rant and it’s also my first work;( 

☆ First off, Eren for sure comes from a rich family. His family from his father’s side comes from generations and generations of inherited wealth with inherited business, companies or associations that add more to the current patrimony of the Jaeger family. Even if he was born with a silver spoon on his mouth, Eren isn’t a petty brat about it. Thanks to his mom's good education and gentle nature, Eren doesn’t like to brag about the money his family has and always uses the money he gets from his parents wisely.

☆ There was a little bit of nepotism involved when he was admitted in college. Since his father is well known and knows a bunch of important people all round the world, Eren’s last name didn’t go unnoticed and even if he didn’t get a very good grade in the Math part in the entrance exam, he got in automatically. But even if he didn’t do great in Math, he nailed everything else in the exam so that’s why nepotism was used but very little.

☆ He shares a room with Jean. The influence of his father had limited use so he didn’t got to choose his roommate and ended up in a room with a guy that seemed to dislike him from the very start. Jean also came from a wealthy family but unlike Eren, Jean seemed to be more spoiled and smug which caused Eren’s dislike towards him, which resulted in Jean disliking Eren for thinking he was better than him. For the first month of sharing the room they were constantly arguing about who made was more messy, who took the other’s stuff, who was taking more space of the room, who took the other’s food from the mini fridge and stuff like that, but after that month, the got to tolerate each other eventually and then they became kind of friends even if they won’t admit it.

☆ Him, Armin and Mikasa are childhood friends so of course they ended up in the same school because their parents are friends and it was bound to happen. Eren and Armin are on the same dorm floor so it’s usual for them to walk out together and meet Mikasa halfway from her dorm building. They are always hanging out together, it's a rare sight to not see the three of them or to see one of them by themselves. Even if they formed a group of friends, they three are stuck like glue and it’s very likely that if the group of friends tears apart, they still will be a trio.

☆ I think that it’s very likely that Eren would either pursue a degree in law, arts or in medical sciences following his father’s steps. Growing up going with his father at work at the hospital he works in, Eren learned a lot of things involving medical terms, basic procedures and the names and how medical instruments worked, and on top of that, he showed an aptitude for handling emergencies and medical crises so medical sciences seems like the perfect degree for him. Since Eren it’s someone that has very strong morals and a very strong sense of justice, law it’s a very asserted degree for him to pursue. I think being a lawyer would be a good choice since Eren has a good ability for talking and thinking fast. And arts, i think Eren could choose arts because it’s something he actually likes but i see him pursuing this degree more as a side career or more like a kind of hobby he wants to master. I feel he’s good with instruments like piano, guitar and violin. He also has a very good voice that he can control very well, so singing it’s an ability of his. I also think he may be good at drawing and painting, he wouldn’t be an ace but he has some talent he could polish and he would become very good at it. Eren really loves all forms of art so pursuing an art degree would be something he does from the heart more than anything.

☆ If Eren doesn't pursue a degree in arts, it’s very likely that he joins a club involving arts like music, painting or even theatre. He’s a very creative person with abilities he’s very interested to polish and to explore the highest potential of them, he would be very devoted to the branch of arts he will choose to pursue and would give his all and literally would pour his heart out in every creation he makes. I think it would also be very likely that he would chose to start a band of his own *wink, wink *

☆ Now, he’s actually intelligent academically speaking but he totally sucks at Math. Eren is a letter’s person and all the subjects like English, History, Languages are very easy to understand and he always gets perfect grades in their exams, projects and presentations. He even tutors Connie and Sasha in those subjects, sometimes in exchange of buying him his lunch or candy from the vending machines. But, Eren it’s a complete airhead in Math and in any subject that has to do with numbers. He can do basic operations like addition, subtraction, multiplication and division and they are right most of the time but equations are another story. He can’t get inside his head how equations work, he always forgets the formulas and obviously always gets the results wrong. It doesn’t matter how much Armin tries to tutor him, Eren never seems to grasp how equations work. And for the record, on one of his Math exams he only got 3 questions right out of the 25 questions that were on the exam.

☆ Lastly, he was very homesick for the first two weeks of his college life. He missed his parents a lot (he missed his mom way more than his dad) and would be constantly texting them and he would spare some of his free time to call his mom just to hear her voice even just for a few minutes. He even cried some days when thing would get too overwhelming and sometimes he even thought of going back home even if he didn’t really was actually considering doing it. His homesickness went away as the days passed and he got used to the new stage of his life, and also thanks to the baked sweets his mom sended to him every week. By the way, his mom sends him baked sweets every week because she used to bake very often for Eren and now she can’t get out of the habit, and also because she misses her baby too much and baking it’s her way of telling Eren how much she loves him even if he’s away from home.

A/N; i think i ranted a lot buy luckily it wasn't so boring;( i loved to write this btw ✨

[enkas-illusion]

(Not) Just Another Crush - Part 1/2

Fandom / Pairing: Attack On Titan / Eren x f!reader

Rating: NSFW/Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Content Warning: Fluff, fluff, A LOT of fluff, slow burn, kissing, language, slight make out, emotional edging of sorts (it will make sense)

Chapter Summary: Instead of pining over the mystery man at your gym from a distance, you decide to take matters into your own hands and talk to the guy. And you find out that Eren Jaeger, as it turns out, is akin to a man written by a woman.

Author's notes:  Hello, here’s a meet-cute type of thing for gym bro Eren cause ~I need a big boy, gimme a big boy, gimme a big big boy~; this is a 2-part story so the chapters are super lengthy. Hope you enjoy it – feel free to like, reblog or comment! Thank you for reading! 

-Eren’s Birdie

Song Dedication: Crush by Cigarettes After Sex

Part 1 | Part 2

To the unassuming eyes, it may look like just two people interacting – but to the ones who knew, you and the gym trainer, it was fate intervening to give you this opportunity!

“Bruh, if you don't go talk to him now…” you hear Porco, the trainer's voice as he nudges you in your crush's direction.

As you walk up to your crush you think about how stupid this idea seems. The plan was to ask him to alternate sets with you on seated rows since the gym was way too crowded. 

Honestly, the move was a bit too obvious in your opinion. But you'd set your mind to it – Today is the day you finally talk to your crush!

It had been quite some time since you'd been secretly simping over this guy so what's the harm? All the other equipment being occupied was the perfect excuse, if you had to look for one, to finally talk to him.

Since you’re usually reserved, you don’t talk to anyone at the gym. You've always been this way – doing your own thing while blasting music in your earphones and going home without ever lifting your head up.

But ever since you saw him about a month ago, your eyes had been wandering around to find him the minute you'd enter the gym, stealing glimpses whenever you could without being creepy about it. 

You decided it was just some stupid crush only because the man was ridiculously hot so it'll fade away eventually. But man, were you wrong.

When he didn't show up to the gym the whole week last week, you rushed to Porco, who's always hanging around to enquire – any semblance of subtlety thrown out the window. 

It wasn't like you were planning to make a move (god knows the only reason you didn't talk much at the gym was to avoid the occasional creeps that would try talking you up).... but the fact that it felt like a missed chance with the mystery guy left an itch and a curiosity to know more.

“...you know the one who's always wearing anime t-shirts? Long, black haired pretty dude?” You'd asked, hoping Porco would recognize your crush from your half-assed description.

When Porco was seemingly confused, you'd pestered further, “The one who always has his hair tied in a messy bun but still looks gorgeous? Nothing? Ummm- The emo dude with the perfect proportions!”

“OH! Are you talking about Eren? I can’t quite remember his last name but pretty sure you’re talking about Eren. Yeah… he's a regular– has been here for a year now.”

“How come I only saw him a month ago?”

“I think he recently switched timings to fit his work schedule or something. Maybe he shifted back to the mornings.”

Your heart sinks at the information… there goes your imaginary chance with Eren.

Eren.

You memorise his name anyway… hoping that maybe the gods would be generous enough to give you a chance to talk to him.

And they do. He shows up over the weekend and you secretly cheer that he's back during your schedule. However, another month passes by as you keep on trying to find the ‘perfect’ opportunity to talk to him. 

Which brings you to the present moment, as you walk towards him and wait at a distance while he finishes his reps. He slows down his movements nonetheless when your eyes meet, and before you can stop yourself, you wave at him before abruptly putting your hand down. 

Eren stops his movements and pulls his headphones back, his serious face breaking into a soft smile, “Hii…?”

“Hey, sorry to interrupt but would you mind alternating sets with me? I’ve been waiting for about 15 minutes…” you point at the other equipments flocked by people, “Totally cool if you can’t tho-”

“Okay,” he smiles as he does five more reps before getting up and wiping the sweat off the seat.

“Thank you,” you say as you go to adjust the weights. Your jaw almost drops when you see it's set to 80kgs. You almost want to laugh as you set it back to 15kgs.

‘Dude’s a beast, don’t compare! Upper body never was your best muscle group,’ you think to yourself. You resume your music quickly and begin your set. When you’re done, you get up to wipe the seat as well as the handlebars of the machine with your towel.

You hear a snort from behind and when you turn to look at Eren and see him give you a smile that has you weak in your knees.

“What?” you ask confused.

“Wiping the handles as well? Cute,” he answers. He can’t help but find this action considerate – Most people don’t even bother wiping the patch formed by their sweaty ass cheeks.

Even if his compliment makes you blush, you try hard to not let it show. You simply move away to signal him to the seat. He bends down to readjust the weights.

“No way you’re gonna go above 80!?” you gasp as you see him push it to 100kgs.

“The last one is always till failure,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Oh... that’s crazy, I could never. I’ve got noodle arms,” you joke.

“Didn’t you get your first full pull up a few days ago?” he asks. 

PAUSE. He’s noticed you before???

As if instantly reading your mind, he adds, “I saw you cheering and clapping your hands with Porco when you did it.”

“Oh that… sorry, I try not to bother anyone much usually,” you feel the heat rise to your cheeks out of embarrassment.

“I know, don’t be sorry, it’s a good thing to celebrate your PR… besides, Reiner has been teasing me about not making any progress lately so I need to step up my game for sure,” he laughs to himself as he gets into position.

“Reiner?” 

“That’s the huge blonde who I usually come with,” he explains. You simply nod and don’t speak further, letting him begin his set. He starts well but by the end you can tell that Eren is struggling a bit as soft cusses leave his lips, face scrunching and chest heaving as he steadies his breathing.

“Come on… 2 more.” you cheer, causing him to grunt as he finishes his set. Your eyebrows raise in surprise when you see him wipe the handles along with the seat, imitating your habit.

“Thank you.” you blush as you bend down to readjust the weights to 25kgs, “So, you’re done?”

“Yeah…” he speaks, taking small sips of water from his bottle, “I’ll see you around?” 

You nod and he smiles at you as he turns to leave, but quickly turns back again, “Shit! Sorry… What's your name?”

The blush grows even further at his question as you tell him your name and ask, “What about you?”

“I’m Eren… Eren Jaeger.”

Jaeger. Eren Jaeger.

You memorise his full name and you both say your goodbyes as you get back to your workout. Eren left way before you did, leaving no room for further conversations to occur. 

This interaction hadn’t gone unnoticed by Porco, who rushed to your side when you were stretching, “Soooo, am I your cupid yet?”

“Don’t get your hopes up… we’ll have small talks whenever we see each other at best. Nothing’s going to happen!” you lie with a straight face, but deep down you were dying to check him out on Instagram once you were in the comfort of your home.

Your crush was oh so kind to spare you the stalking when you see your phone light up with a notification later at night.

Eren_j started following you.

You almost jump up out of your bed but steady yourself to call your best friend, Annie, before you even get to checking his account.

“Guess who just followed me on ig?” you giggle when she picks up the call.

“Huh?”

“Guess. Who. Followed. Me!” you repeat.

“Darling… I need context,” she replies dryly.

“Eren… Eren followed me… the gym crush!” you squeal, killing the suspense since you knew it was too late at night for her to indulge in your guessing game.

“Waitttttt… the supposedly hot emo guy who wears anime t-shirts?” you can hear her surprising tone, “you go girl– thought you were too much of a puss-”

“Annie!” you cut her off, “What do I do? Should I text him first or just follow back?”

“NO! Always let the guy text first,” she proclaims.

“Ugh… but okay, I hear you… wouldn’t want to seem like a simp after keeping my cool for so long,” you answer back as you put her on speaker to follow him back. You see the Requested icon turn to Following within seconds.

“ANN! He accepted already,” you almost yell.

“Welp, that was fast,” she chuckles.

“Sooo,” you begin in a sweet sing-song voice, “I’m gonna go stalk his profil-”

“Yeah, alright… have a good night babe.” you hear a dramatic mwah from her. You chuckle as you bid her good night before hanging up.

As you skim through his profile, you can’t help but feel giddy at the fact that this guy actually seems to have a personality, unlike some gym bros who make ‘muscle’ their entire personality.

When you’re going through his story highlights, you see his username pop up at the top of your screen, making your heart race faster. He had replied to your story. You rush to check on your profile what you’d posted, feeling your brain malfunction as you fear it being something embarrassing and goofy.

Phew. It was just a post-workout selfie showing off your wet, sweaty t-shirt.

You open his text.

Eren_j:

Guess u got a good workout in after I left afterall.

Feeling a bit bold, you text back.

I did… would’ve been a lot more fun with you tho.

And you almost want to throw your phone away in anticipation as you see the typing icon.

Eren_j:

Be careful what you wish for. I’ve been told im a strict/difficult gym partner.

I like me a challenge :)

Eren_j:

Is that so? Guess i gotta make it particularly hard for u :)))

I’m a tough girl Eren… i think i can take it.

You swing your feet as you roll around on the bed. If you ever showed this to Annie, she’d probably call it ‘fucking cringe but cute nonetheless’. 

As the double entendre texts died down, seamless conversations kept you hooked. He was putting in equal amounts of effort to keep the conversation alive. You don’t exactly remember how you fell asleep but you remember talking to him for about two hours or so. 

And that’s how you became gym buddies. As another month had passed by, you got to know him as a friend. You want to cuss yourself since your crush has only increased tenfold ever since you’ve gotten to know him personally. 

You realise just how deceiving his looks are – on the outside, he’s this big, intimidating dude but on the inside he’s got the golden retriever energy. Eren is the perfect mix of what you’d call a serious yet laid back/chill guy.

He’s thoughtful, remembers tiny details about you, sends you songs whenever he finds one he thinks you’d like and memes that remind him of you and is a self proclaimed hopeless romantic. You could go on and on about Eren and it would still not be enough – needless to say, you were absolutely gone for him, the kind that they describe as being totally head-over-heels in movies.

And it doesn’t help that a few nights ago, when the gym was basically empty, you two almost kissed. Standing in the corridor, as you were saying your goodbyes, it felt as if he was about to lean in to kiss you before being interrupted by someone walking out the changing room, making you flee the scene, akin to a criminal being caught.

But then again, you weren’t really sure if it was just your delusion overriding the tiny bit of logic left in your romance-ridden brain.

~~~

“Eren… I can’t– fuck,” you groan as your hands shake.

“You got it, come on. You’re doing so good. One more then we’re done. Promise,” you hear his voice as his grip on your waist tightens. 

Eren supports your bodyweight as he pushes you up so that your chin is touching the pull up bar. The first few were bearable but by your 7th pull up, it’s more like he’s working his biceps rather than you working your back.

With shaky hands, you try to control your movement as you come down but your arms almost give in, causing you to slightly stumble as you drop to your feet with a light thud. His grip on your waist tightens to steady you before letting go gently.

Ever since the almost kiss, you’d been extra aware of his touches. So even his guiding touches, without any ulterior motives, have been making you feel some type of way.

You slouch slightly as you sit against a wall in the corner, sipping your water. You close your eyes to calm your breathing as you feel your arms burn. You groan as you realise you’re going to be super sore tomorrow morning.

“Good job bub,” he snickers. You open your eyes to see him bend down in front of you to pat your head lightly.

“I give up… you win, you are a ruthless gym partner.”

“Aww… I'm flattered,” he jokes further.

You roll your eyes as you swat his hand away from your head.

“Let me make it up to you, I’ll give you a massage. How about that?” he adds jokingly, though you know he wouldn’t mind actually giving you one if you ask him nicely.

“You better! I’m not going to be able to make dinner tonight!” you reply as you hold your arms out limply in front of him.

“Then don’t. Let me make you dinner,” he says, taking the opportunity.

“For real?” you ask, taken by surprise by his sudden yet tempting offer.

“Yeah? Got any plans for tonight?”

“No… let’s do it. I'm in,” you agree before demanding, “but, I want that massage as well.”

“Done… my massages can put those Thai spas to shame,” he boasts.

“Are you overselling yourself Jaeger?” you tease him, “it’s often disappointing when reality doesn’t match the hype.”

“You’re gonna eat your words later… I’ve been told I’ve got magic fingers.” he retorts, his cocky smirk wider than ever. You roll your eyes as you grab your things before getting up. 

“That’s for me to decide,” you poke him further, “... the food better be worth the 7 pull ups.”

Surprisingly he doesn’t have a witty comeback in his arsenal this time. You simply hear a low chuckle escape his lips and it’s somehow more mischievous than whatever clever words he would’ve spoken otherwise.

You’d never been to his place before, meaning it took a few minutes for your brain to register that you were going to Eren fucking Jaeger’s place! In the changing room, you freshen up as much as you can to try to not look like a sweaty mess. You change into a pair of jeans and a jumper, slinging the gym bag over your shoulder before giving yourself one last look in the mirror and walking out to meet him near the entrance of the gym.

As you walk out, you see him waiting for you on his bike, securing the helmet on his head. He’s changed into a pair of loose jeans and a denim jacket over his t-shirt. Even when you’d seen his ride for the first time, Eren being a biker never surprised you since it felt very on-brand for him. 

Imagine him picking you up for a date, waiting on his bike with a bouquet of tulips in hand. Ehe. 

You snap out of your daydream when he holds out the other helmet in front of you. You lean your head down when he motions you to do so and he puts the helmet on you.

“Where did the second one come from?” you wonder out loud.

“I had planned to take you home tonight from the start,” he winks.

You snort as you slide the visor of his helmet down his face. You hear his laugh as he adds, “Porco let me borrow his, apparently he keeps an extra one in the cabin for god-knows-what.”

“I guess I really might need to call Porco a cupi–” you freeze midway.

“Hmm?” 

“A good trainer.” you correct yourself, and you’re pretty sure it was far from convincing but Eren decides not to tease you about it. You’re 99.99% certain he heard it – maybe he just wants to save you the embarrassment, you think to yourself.

You hop onto his bike and hesitantly rest your hands on his sides not wanting to seem awkward by straight up hugging him from behind. However, he straightens his back as he grabs the top of your hands, pulling them to the front to wrap them around his waist. You smile to yourself as you rest your cheek on his back and hug your arms around him steadily.

The ride back to his place is barely 10 minutes long. You miss being so close to him as soon as you get off the bike in the parking lot. He parks and guides you to his apartment holding your wrist gently. It’s not a complete holding-hands-fingers-intertwined but that has never stopped you from overanalyzing things, has it?

You take in your surroundings when you enter the apartment and it doesn’t stand out much. It looks like any normal dude’s apartment, except it’s cleaner – probably more than your own.

“Wow, your apartment is clean,” you comment.

“You’re hurting me babe. Did you expect me to live like a savage just cause I’m a guy.”

“No, no… I’m sorry it came out wrong–” you try to clarify but he interrupts.

“Kidding! I know it’s cleaner than usual. I live with Reiner and Levi… while Reiner and I aren’t really shabby, Levi really can’t tolerate a dirty house,” Eren explains.

“Oh, that must be exhausting, no?”

“Not really. That was Levi’s one condition when Reiner and I went to him in search of a third flatmate so we agreed.”

“Ah, makes sense. Are they here?” you ask, curiously as you hang your bag near the coat rack and take off your shoes. Eren returns to your side, having locked the door and keeping all his things in their designated places. 

“Nah. Reiner’s out of town on a work trip for like two weeks and Levi’s gone home for a few days as well,” he answers as he shrugs off his jacket, folding it before placing it on the side table.

You can’t help but find it cute that he keeps the place neat so diligently, being considerate of others… but then again, you’ve been finding all of Eren’s actions cute lately.

“... so it’s just us here tonight.” he says flirtatiously.

“Good thing, I’d hate to share food now… I’m hungry,” you say, dodging it. Usually, you’d flirt back but the two of you being alone at his place suddenly feels so real – anything could happen. You chicken out – there may be a possibility that he likes you back but there could ALSO be a possibility of him only liking you as a friend.

“‘Ight, what would you like to have?” he asks as you follow him to the kitchen. 

“Surprise me… nothing too fancy though.” 

“Phew… I was actually hoping for that answer since I’d prepared the dough for burger patties,” he admits sheepishly as he washes his hand and puts on the apron. You lean against the opposite counter to let him cook in peace without any hindrance. 

“Do you want my hel-”

“OH– just a min,” he interrupts you as he hurries out of the kitchen. You blink in confusion as you follow him out to check on the guy and find him connecting his phone to the speaker.

A soft song plays through the speaker loudly and he walks towards you as if just now he’s truly ready to take on kitchen duties. 

“It’s my cooking playlist,” he smiles.

He’s so fucking cute. For fucks sake!

When you ask him again if he wants your help, he declines saying ‘the only thing you need to do tonight is compliment my amazing skills.’

So you watch him work while chatting away about random things. It doesn’t take long for him to prepare the patties and heat the buns, adding copious amounts of veggies with melting cheese on top of it. He presents it with a ‘Tada!’ and you clap at his presentation with a dramatic ‘Bravo!’

When you taste the first bite, you almost moan at how delicious it is. The burger is huge, juicy and has the right balance of crispy and soft with spicy, sweet and sour. You close your eyes, delving into the heavenly taste.

You open your eyes to see Eren devouring his own burger, unfazed by the masterpiece that he’d created as if it were something ordinary to him.

“Eren!” you squeal, “if this is what I get to eat after, I might just do a hundred pull-ups from tomorrow.”

Eren chuckles at this, licking the cheesy sauce that had trickled down his fingers, “Told ya I only brag when I know I’m good.”

“I’m serious! This is too good,” you add, taking another bite. 

“I know… thank you,” Eren smiles, clearly amused at the way you’re enjoying his burger. And in that moment, a thought crosses his mind – he’d make you dinner every night if it meant that he got to be the reason for you to feel such bliss.

Neither of you talk much till you finish eating. Your reason being wanting to relish in the taste with full concentration and Eren’s reason being not wanting to disturb your peace.

When you’re done, you clear out the plates and Eren cleans the table. As you’re walking out of the kitchen, you hear a familiar tune playing when he resumes the songs on his playlist.

You recognize it – Dope Lovers by DPR IAN.

“I love this song!” you exclaim as you walk towards him. The tension you’d felt at the beginner has almost dissipated and feeling a little courageous, you extend an arm out to him to dance.

He tosses his phone on the sofa before taking your hand to pull you closer to him. You sway your body to the rhythm as you mumble some of the lyrics.

“Is it the art or the artist that you like?” he teases.

“Well, you can’t deny that he is hot… There’s something about DPR Ian, he’s soooo–” you pause to think about the right word to use before concluding, “– babygurl.”

“Babygurl?” Eren laughs as he rests his arms at your hips, “What does that even mean?”

“It’s like daddy –  it’s a state of mind,” you joke but then you purse your lips as you really think about how to explain this endearing slang to Eren, “Babygurl is when a man is so comfortable in his masculinity that he isn't scared of embracing his soft side and being gentle. A man who knows that kindness is strength. Someone who looks so tough but is far from toxic. A man who’s a gentleman in the true sense of the word… does that make sense?”

“Hmm, I think so…” he nods, “Who else is babygurl?”

“You are, Eren,” you smile and lift your hands up to move to his neck but stop when you feel a weird stiffness in your shoulders, “ow, it’s sore already.”

“Okay, let’s give you that massage!” he declares with a booming laugh, taking your hands in his and guiding you to the sofa. He sits you down with your back facing him and gently taps near your lower back to signal you to sit up straight.

“Relax your shoulders,” you hear him speak softly as his hands move up to your shoulders but he pauses his movement. He lifts his hands to comb his fingers through your locks and you jerk slightly when his fingers touch your neck in the process.

“Eren, what are you doin-” you giggle as you turn your head to look at him. 

“Shh, stay still,” he murmurs, knitting his eyebrows in concentration. His hair falls down, framing his face as he takes out his hair tie. You turn to look to the front as he runs his fingers to gather all your loose strands together once again. You feel him gently pull at your hair as he secures it with his hair tie.

“You know, you could’ve just asked for mine. It’s in my bag,” you chuckle.

“Too lazy,” he replies as his hands begin to massage your back gently. He alternates between pressing his thumbs down the length of your spine and pressing his palms flat to cover the entire area, sliding his hands down in slow pressured movements. You slouch in his touch and his hands move up to your shoulder blades to massage the area in circular motion.

“Mmm, Eren– that feels so good,” you breathe out, skin feeling like wax that could melt into his hands at any moment. You’re certain you’d fall asleep in a few minutes if he continued doing this any longer.

Eren changes his movement to bring up his fingertips to your nape, dragging them gently over the expanse of your neck, his fingers dancing over your skin as he dips them under the collar to trace your skin. This causes you to let out an involuntary whimper and your cheeks heat up in embarrassment when his touch comes to a halt.

You’re pretty sure he can see the goosebumps pricking on the surface of your skin and you mumble a soft ‘sorry’ as you create some space between to turn around to face him completely. Your eyes meet and you’re smiling at him awkwardly but he has a poker face. 

He gets up abruptly, breaking eye contact as he hurries towards the kitchen. You look at him, confused and are about to ask him why he was acting that way but he speaks up before you do.

“Want anything to drink? Something sweet for dessert?”

“Umm… okay,” you mutter, still confused.

“Anything specific?” he enquires.

“I wouldn’t mind a cup of hot coffee,” you request, smiling as you abandon your previous thought.

“Coffee? At night?” he counters, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that’s my talent. I can sleep like a baby no matter how strong the coffee is.”

“Hmmm… Would you like to try the Eren Jaeger Special where I mix loads of chocolate with coffee and cream?”

“So, basically a mocha?” you press your lips together to keep yourself from laughing.

“Yes or no?” he says with narrowed eyes.

“Yes,” you laugh and he rolls his eyes as he turns around, disappearing into the kitchen.

You’re scrolling through your phone when you hear his approaching footsteps after a few minutes. You close your phone as you turn your head to look up at him as he walks towards you with two steaming mugs in hand.

As soon as he places one of the mugs on the table, you pick it up instantly. He sits down in front of you to clink your mugs together with a ‘cheers’. You both take tiny sips together and your eyes widen at the frothy sweet and bitter taste. 

“If you get me addicted, you’ll have to be the one to meet the demands too, just sayinggg…'' you blow over the surface and take another sip.

“Yes ma’am, I’d gladly oblige to all of your demands,” he winks before taking another sip from his mug. You try to hide your growing smile with your mug. For the rest of the conversation you try to change the subject from the two of you to literally anything else you can find – and Eren being the great conversationalist that he is, is talking about each topic just as enthusiastically.

“Aww man, the last of the coffee’s gone cold.” you swirl the liquid in the mug.

“Chug! Chug! Chug!” Eren fake yells, already having finished his. You raise one fist up as you gulp the last of your coffee down in one go and slam the mug down on the cushion. Feeling the frothy stache over your upper lip, you lick it off, laughing along with him.

“There’s still some left…” Eren mumbles, pointing at his own mouth to show the spot. Before you have a chance to wipe it, he swipes his thumb over the corner of your lips before bringing it to his lips to lick it off. It’s such a simple act yet it has the butterflies in your stomach going rampant.

“Hey, that was mine,” you try to feign offence but it comes out more desperate than you’d intended as you stare at his lips a little too longer than friends are supposed to. 

He cups your face with both his hands as his gaze deepens before his eyes move down to your lips. Your breath hitches as you see him instinctively wet his lips. He leans in to move closer till your faces are just inches away.

“Then take it back agai–” he’s rudely interrupted by the sound of the front door opening with a loud thud. You pull back abruptly to create some space between the two of you. You see Eren’s jaw clench as he closes his eyes briefly in an attempt to keep his cool.

“REINER MY BROTHER– oh,” you see a man enter the living room with a large backpack.

“Jean.” Eren says, giving him a tight lipped smile.

“Eren. Where’s Reiner?” Jean asks as he looks at the two of you.

“Did he not tell you that he wasn’t gonna be at home for a while?” Eren answers, and you’re almost surprised at how cold his tone is.

“Yes? But I figured he'd leave after seeing me?” Jean retorts.

“And why would he do that?” Eren asks just as coldly.

“Since he said I was welcome to stay in his room while I was in town? Even told me to use the key y'all keep in the space behind the nameplate,” the man explains.

“Great! It's amazing how my roommate fails to tell me about shit like this.” Eren mutters but smiles at the guy nonetheless, “His room is unlocked… feel free to make yourself at home I guess.”

“Thanks. Have fun, I guess,” Jean half salutes Eren, giving you both a smug smile, feeling the satisfaction of having cockblocked his friendly foe. He leaves you two alone, making his way to Reiner’s room. Once you watch him disappear, you turn to check your phone for the time.

This time it was real! You’re not delusional, he really was about to kiss you!

You silence the voice in your head. You don’t know how to feel about the fact that Eren seemingly likes you but he can’t seem to make a move or at least declare his feelings with certainty. And there’s no way in hell you’d confess first since it’s pretty evident you like him, you’ve dropped enough hints over a month’s time – you want him to be the one to do it first.

“It’s late, I better get going,” you make an excuse as you stand up, gathering your things as you prepare to leave. Your cheeks feel hot and you give him a small smile, feeling a bit too flustered to carry on a conversation at this point.

“Let me drop you home,” he offers quickly as he stands up with you.

“My apartment isn’t far from here.”

“It's late,” he adds. You consider it and nod your head. He smiles as he grabs his keys along with his own two helmets this time.

The ride home is quick so neither of you bother with small talk. Once he parks in the parking lot of your apartment building, he tilts his bike to make it easier for you to get off. He gets off the bike, gently taking your helmet off and placing it on the bike. As you fix your hair, he takes his helmet off as well, placing it next to yours.

You slightly shuffle on your feet as you prepare to say your goodbyes. When he turns back to look at you, you smile earnestly. 

“I had a fun time tonight… despite you being a meanie at the gym.” you try to lighten up the tension.

“Only for you bub,” he jokes back, making finger-hearts at you.

“Good night, Eren.” you laugh as you wave at him and turn to walk away. You barely take a step when you hear him say your name.

“Hmm?” you turn around to look at him again. He doesn’t speak but takes one long stride to close the distance between you, wrapping his hands around your waist. As if on instinct, you drop your bag to the ground and place your hands on his shoulders, looking up at him as your breath hitches in your throat again.

He brings his left hand up to your cheek, dipping his head down to kiss your lips without any further delay. His wider frame envelopes yours as the hand on your cheek snakes back to hold your head in place as he deepens the kiss. You wrap both your hands around his neck, standing on your tippy toes for better access while his lower hand wraps around your waist even tighter.

When your lips finally part to catch your breaths, he looks you in the eye, smiling contently. Your legs feel giddy from the high you’re experiencing and you’re glad he’s still holding you flush against his body.

“I’d been dying to do that ever since I laid my eyes on you… figured it’d be pretty stupid of me to let the opportunity go twice in a row,” he confesses, dipping his head down again to kiss you once again.

You’re surprised, your brain reeling at the information but you close your eyes nonetheless, getting lost in the feeling of his lips moving against yours.

“Yeah, it would’ve been pretty stupid,” you smile when he pulls back. You pull him down by the collar to give him a kiss on his cheek, “Thank you for not wasting any more chances.”

You run your hands through his loose strands and he hums as he closes his eyes. You pull him down for another deep kiss. His tongue invades your mouth and he squeezes your ass as he pulls your body further closer to his. When you feel his boner from under his clothing, it causes you to moan into the kiss.

Your hands move down his sides, lowering further but he stops your movement with his own hands holding your wrists firmly. He pulls away from the kiss, eyes still closed as he rests his forehead against yours. His hot breath fans your face as he speaks, “It’s taking everything in me to not come up to your place to fuck you right now.”

“Then do it,” you mewl desperately as you kiss him again. He smiles into the kiss but breaks it once again to speak, “No, I wanna do this right. Let me take you out on a real date first… tomorrow evening?”

You feel your cheeks burn up as you bite your bottom lip to contain the grin threatening to give away your excitement as you nod. You stand on your toes once again to give him a quick peck. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, enveloping you into a comforting hug.

“Take this with you,” he mumbles as he goes to grab a helmet. He leans down to grab your bag from the floor, handing both the items to you.

“Good night Eren,” you smile. He cups your face with both his hands and leans down to kiss you again – it’s brief but passionate.

“Good night baby,” he smiles as he lightly smacks your ass, earning a yelp from you. Before you can scold him, he gives you a hasty kiss before making his way to his bike. You walk to the elevator and press the button, turning to look back at him as he secures his helmet.

He starts the bike but waits till he sees you enter the elevator. Just as the door closes, you catch a glimpse of him leaving. You lean back against the railing, covering your face with your hands, not really believing what had just occurred. 

The man you’d been pining over for months had been crushing over you all along too. 

Eren Jaeger never was just another unrequited crush – and come tomorrow, he’s going to mean a lot more than just a friend.

[inkedinfusions]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger chapter 9

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.

── ★ ˙ ̟ . 🗝 .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist

⊰– prev   next–⊱

𝟎𝟗 | 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬

chapter word count: 3.5 k

content warnings: blanket warnings

a/n: Hi everyone, its been a whilee. The hell that is exam week is over, so I finally had time to sit down and write. I had a lot of fun writing the main cast's reactions, and I swear by now I've seen the episode 'Brave Volunteers' like fifty times. Every line of dialogue in that episode is branded onto my brain. Anyway, I hope ya'll like the chapter and characterization! Another thing, I don't know if it was clear or not but last chapter Yelena did NOT tell them all of Zeke's fifty year plan. In 'Brave Volunteers' its stated in the government scene that they should accept Yelena's offer so they can hear the plan So that's that lol. Like always, a big shout out to my beta reader, who not only proof read this chapter but was also the reason I understood calculus. Everyone say thanks P. Also title mention!

Thanks for reading!

𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 they don’t use your name. The girl is not the worst thing you’ve been called –no, that honor went to unnamed Marleyan guards– but your name is one of the few things you have left from your home.

Your name, your face, your old clothes. Your name and your face are always with you. The first is always implicit, a faucet and a pillar of your identity, a reminder of who gave you the title. The latter is a statement of who came before you, and even if they were nonexistent in this universe, you still bear the likeness of their figures.

On the other hand, your clothes are the only thing that you can be physically separated from. The risk from bringing strange garments to the island far outweighed the small comfort they would bring you, and so you were outvoted in your request to bring them with you. Zeke kept them, somewhere under the floorboards, or wrapped in darkness at the end of an old closet, or in between the house’s foundations.

Eventually moths would eat away at them, your face would change into something your family has never seen. But your name would remain constant, a brilliant flare for those that knew you in the before.

So yes, being called the girl miffs you a little bit.

“I’m afraid we can't do that,” Yelena says, keeping up the pretense that being separated from you is detrimental to the volunteers.

“No, no, we insist!” Hange says with a smile, and you’re not the only one that notices a slight edge to their voice. “I can only imagine her merit, given it was you who insisted on waiting for her at the beach.”

With their cheery smile, Hange manages to bring attention to the fact that you were important to the volunteers, while also indirectly stating your status as a perceived pawn. Levi is less discreet with his facial expressions. He has been glaring at Yelena ever since she started singing praises about Zeke. It's cold, quiet, and could be easily passed off as being part of Levi’s general distrust of strangers, even his resting annoyed face, but it stems from something much more personal, given her ties to Zeke.

“As her guardian, it would be unbecoming of me to abandon her so soon after our journey,” Yelena says.

“Guardian?” Hange asks, turning to you. “Were your parents victims of Marley too?”

“They’re… not around,” you say. “Anymore.”

You don’t confirm nor deny the causes of your family’s absence. In a way, it was you that was taken by Marley, not the other way around. It felt as if the universe was playing a big joke on you, stripping you of your family, bringing you to an unfamiliar territory, loading your back with the burden of knowing. You are well on the road to becoming a shonen protagonist, and hopefully one who got what they wanted in the end.

“So you see,” Yelena says, “I couldn’t possibly leave her to fend for herself.”

“What they were trying to say,” Levi says, toeing the line between interrupting and being patient, “is that she would be much more comfortable were she to comply.”

The unspoken threat and implied future whereabouts of the Volunteers hangs in the air. You know Yelena is letting it simmer for a moment, before she inevitably agrees. She and Onyankopon share glances, discussing something that has already been decided.

The plays that are now being created in the chess board have been scrutinized already, chances and paths to the end have already been calculated, and most if not all valuable players have already been scouted. Both Yelena and Onyankopon have very different ideas of what the endgame entails, but the road to getting there is similar in both iterations.

“You can’t fault my faction for being cautious. We trust your people to take our plans and transform them for the betterment of the island, but Y/n is a special case. I trust you understand, given your own young charges.”

Yelena places her teacup on the table, reveling in the unobstructed march of the circumstances she has weaved. This woman knows the strands and how to thread them, and her strengths lie there and in her almost complete view of the full tapestry.

“I would like to request that she is free to seek us out, should she wish to.”

“She’ll be escorted,” Levi counters. “One on one rendezvous will not be permitted.”

“I expect nothing less. We look forward to working with you, for the betterment of the nation of Paradis. Please make sure to opt in sooner rather than later, as it would be a shame to not share the plans we carefully designed before arriving.”

Yelena smiles that unsettling grin of hers and a deal is struck. She and Onyankopon rise from their seats, and you, Hange and Levi accompany them just outside the tent flaps. Onyankopon turns to you, putting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing in a comforting fashion.

“It won't be long, okay?” he says. You've only known him properly for a day, which most of it was spent separately, him on the deck as a soldier, you hidden away with the cargo. But you assume he must feel some sort of responsibility towards you, someone young whom he must leave with strangers in order to ensure the help they are offering is accepted. You nod as he retreats, giving Yelena space to approach you.

And you understand his worries and his concerns, and you know they are well founded even if they aren't exactly accurate. If what Eren told you and if Hange’s and Levi’s reaction is of any indication, then you have some sort of tentative immunity in the eyes of Paradis.

The question is, what does the island’s government expect in return? How far does Eren’s knowledge of you extend? How much has he shared?

You are taken by surprise when Yelena pulls you into a hug, dwarfing your figure with her thin frame. You hesitantly return the gesture, and put your arms around her. If Zeke’s hug felt secure and grounded, hers feels suffocating and cold.

Your head starts to hurt again, and you squeeze your eyes shut so your brain has one less sense to process. It helps somewhat, and only adds onto your guardian–charge charade with Yelena.

“Stay focused,” she murmurs in your ear, before pulling away. “I’ll see you soon” is her final farewell, and she and Onyankopon are taken away by other Scouts, about to be reunited with the other Volunteers and unfortunate soldiers.

You look at their retreating figures when Levi’s gruff voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Get inside,” he says. “It's almost dawn, and you need to report to us before the brats arrive.”

You mouth brats? while you follow them inside, grunting when Hange decides to tackle you gently, putting their arm around your shoulders.

“I'm sorry we didn’t ask you directly,” Hange starts chirping, their voice moving faster than their mouth. “We didn’t know you would arrive so soon, and less so with people from the other side of the sea…”

Their voice trails off as they stare at you expectantly, making you squirm. Their half hug is nice though. Comforting and full of energy you seem to be quickly depleting from.

“Get off the kid, Four eyes,” Levi says, taking a seat and bringing his cup, holding it by the rim. “We need her report.”

“Oh!” Hange exclaims. “Of course! Come on, come on, take a seat–”

They lead you to the middle chair, and you sit down in front of the pair, not quite knowing what to expect. You need to report to us versus we need your report. Something you are required to do versus something they are looking for. Choices in spoken words often talk louder than the voices expressing them, so you hope this is a spark of future mutual trust.

They ask you to confirm Yelena’s plan and you recite back the small spiel in its entirety. Specific questions are posed and you answer them to the best of your ability, still carefully abiding only by the limited information brought forward by Yelena. You purposely stutter on some, if only to keep your cards close to your chest. Nonetheless, sometimes you trip over your words truly just because you’re nervous.

“And what's in it for you?” Levi asks. Hange makes a move to scold him for his lack of tact, but you wave off their concerns.

“I want the same as you,” you say. “The island’s safety.”

“And why you?” he presses.

That throws you in for a loop. Their questions made it seem like they knew something was up with you, but now you don't know if they’re referring to why you, as in why you a teenager, or why you as in what tools you have at your disposal that made you the ideal asset.

“Didn’t Eren already tell you?” you ask, because it's better to fall short of the question than to reveal extra information that will surely make its way to their higher ups.

Levi narrows his eyes. “So you know.”

“I met him at the beach, just when I got off the ship,” you confirm. “We didn't talk for long, but he told me to tell you my name. I assume that's because you already know about me?”

“Right on!” Hange says. “Eren hasn’t spilled a whole lot, but it was enough to convince us that you were someone who wanted to do right by Paradis.” They finish off their explanation with a grin, and you revel in the way it calms you down. Even Levi, who plays the bad cop in the interrogation, is surprisingly not as antagonistic as you expected him to be.

“I do,” you say. “I know you have no basis to trust me but a few words, but I really do just want to help. And i understand if you want to keep me at arms length–”

“Don’t be silly,” Hange says. “You’re our ally now! And you didn’t hear it from me but there's no reason to be worried for your guardians–”

“Hange,” Levi says, warning in his tone.

“Anyway! I’m sure it would be better for you to stick close to Levi’s squad while we figure out where to place you.”

“Levi’s squad?” you ask.

You whip your head towards the front of the tent when chatter is heard from outside, growing louder and louder, footsteps accompanying them as they approach the entrance. You distinguish teenage voices overlapping the others, seemingly discussing, constantly one upping the others’ contributions. Your heart leaps out of your chest as a hand reaches under the entrance flap and opens it, letting in the soft light of the early morning.

Six teenagers dressed in Scout uniforms come inside the tent, some more apprehensive than others. Jean Kirstein and Connie Springer –if they’re anything like their animated counterparts– decidedly don’t trust you, but their distrust for Yelena is bigger. Sasha Braus looks like she'd rather be snoring on a cot than gawking at you and Mikasa Ackerman is doing her best to prevent her from falling asleep, even if the girl is starting to look more awake.

Mikasa is also pointedly standing in front of Armin and Eren, shielding them as much from your line of sight as she can. You don't take it personally; you know they're her family and you're someone who could pose a threat to them. Still, it is kinda funny. Those two, being the only titan shifters on the island, are probably the ones who should be doing the protecting. But instead, Mikasa takes on that role, and you can't help but admire her for it.

Armin Artlet is looking at you half in awe, half analyzing you. You remember he always advocated for peace, for hearing out the unexpected allies they encountered, and for trying to find a middle ground in the midst of bloodshed and uncertainty. For someone with the tallest and most disastrous titan, he sure does look smaller in real life. His blond hair is still styled into that bob though, and you marvel at how the trio's hairstyles are somewhat similar at this point in time.

Finally, Eren is the last person to set foot inside the tent. Technically, you've already met him, even if you only exchanged ten stilled sentences at the beach. He is the only one that is not the least bit apprehensive of you. Now though, with the light of the day and the lantern combined, you can distinguish bags under his eyes and a strange tension on his shoulders. If you looked in a mirror, you think then maybe you’d see similar attributes in yourself.

“Who’s this?” Jean asks when the group approaches you.

“Y/n,” you say, extending your hand. “Nice to meet you…?”

“Jean Kirstein,” he says, shaking it. “No last name?”

“Oh, it’s…” you trail off.

Many times you have dealt with slow wifi in your world, where computers suddenly forgot they were supposed to be fast and innovative technology, and instead took ages to process or retrieve information. Your brain seems similarly frozen, and you start to panic when you can’t reach the information you seek. You'd have better luck digging a hole in shifting sands with only your hands as tools, than remember it.

It feels like when you are running in a dream, where you sprint as fast as you can, and yet there are invisible ropes holding you back, tying your wrists, your torso, and the air around you feels like jelly, preventing your every move.

The panic and hesitation must show in your vacant gaze when you are too preoccupied with remembering, because Jean awkwardly clears his throat and looks at Levi.

“Where do we take her, sir?” Jean asks.

“I don’t know, show her around. Show her the facilities and don’t cause a commotion or you can expect extra drills extra early. Looking at you, Braus.”

The girl in question splutters, flailing her arms around in defense. Connie snorts and punches her lightly on the arm as they exit the tent. Armin flanks you as you follow the duo outside, eager to know more information on the outside world. Mikasa lags behind for a moment as Levi tells her something, but she joins the group soon enough.

“You said your name was Y/n, right?” Armin asks and you nod. “Do you really come from the other side of the sea? What’s it like?”

“Uh, I dunno? There’s people, buildings, cars…”

“Cars? Do you mean carts?” Connie asks.

“Kinda, but with no horses to pull them. I think it has something to do with pistons and ignition?”

Armin’s eyes get impossibly bigger, impossibly brighter. His face is pulled into an awed expression, and it makes you want to sit down with him and explain everything the new world has to offer. Besides the –you know– animosity towards their race.

“Do you know about the fields of ice? Or the fiery waters?” Armin continues.

“Not personally,” you say. “I’ve never gone to a volcano or frozen plains, but I’ve seen them in photographs.”

“Like Eren’s dad’s picture,” Mikasa says when Sasha pulls a confused expression.

You find yourself nodding. “Yeah, that one.”

Jean narrows his eyes. “You know about that?”

“Uh–”

You messed up. The trouble you have remembering your last name (what the hell, what the hell, what the hell), and the unexpected introduction with the main cast, as well as the lack of proper sleep hits you over the head. You hastily catch Eren’s eye, wordlessly asking him what you should answer. What you’re allowed to answer.

He simply shrugs. “I told you guys she knew things.”

“Oh! Are you also a shifter?” Sasha asks. “Do you get those memory thingies too?”

“I can’t– I’m not,” you quickly amend, “a titan.”

“Bummer.”

“Sasha!” Connie whispers.

“What?”

You chuckle awkwardly trying to diffuse the tension as you walk. They point out various structures, most of them tents. There's the field canteen, the lavatories, the grounds and the tent barracks. “It's fine,” you say after a moment. “It would be easier to explain if I were a shifter.”

“What are you then?” Connie asks.

I’m just someone who likes stories is what you want to say, but you know that will only serve to confuse them further. You quickly go through a list of possibilities that include lying about having royal blood, lying about your parents being shifters, or lying about being part of experiments. The first one can be easily disproved by anyone with eyes, the second is not something that makes a lot of sense, and the third one is just plain reaching.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Eren says, not missing a beat while you’re weaving a lie. “She’s the key to whatever locked up memories I have. I don’t think it's a coincidence I remembered one yesterday, just before the ship arrived.”

“I don’t understand it myself fully yet,” you say, falling into a rhythm with Eren’s explanation. “I just know things I shouldn’t. That's how I knew to find Zeke, and to come to the island.”

The mention of Zeke’s name brings forward a slight tension in everyone’s shoulders, and they exchange glances, as if only just remembering you were someone who was allied with an old enemy.

“You’re with the tall woman then?” Jean asks.

“Officially yeah,” you say. “But Yelena’s always creeped me out.”

“But you’re on their side, is what I'm saying.”

You shrug, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “My… future memories, if you can call them that, have shown me primarily what has happened here. You’re welcome to believe me or not, but I do feel a sense of duty to you all.” If they notice how you changed the island for you all they do not mention it.

“I trust her,” Eren says, breaking the silence.

“We know,” Jean says, rolling his eyes. “You’ve made that very clear.”

Eren shrugs, and you all stop walking on the edge of the tent barracks. Everyone but Mikasa is on cleaning duty for the morning, given she was the one to win some kind of training game the day before. So they send you off with her to the barracks, where you are promised a cot and time to digest everything. You wave at them, and they promise to come back to escort you to the canteen when you wake up.

Mikasa starts walking to the far left, checking behind her once to ensure you are following her. You jog after her until you reach her, and you fall into an uneasy step next to the girl. Birds fill the early morning air with their chirps, occasionally flying from tree to tree when you get too close to one in your path.

“I don’t know if I should trust you,” she says after a while, and you flinch, expecting her sentiments all the same.

“But I trust Eren,” she continues, “and he trusts you. Armin thinks you are allies that will help the island, but not all of us are as optimistic.”

“I get it,” you say, giving her a small smile. “I know what happened, so I get it, really. I don't expect you all to trust me so quickly either.”

“Don’t let him down.”

“I won’t,” you promise. “Nor will I let you down, if you'll let me.”

She stops in front of a small tent sandwiched between others. You see two cots when you walk in, parallel to each other. There are a few personal items on the one directly to your left, while the right is bare with the only exception of thin sheets and a thin blanket.

“That one’s yours,” Mikasa says, pointing to the one on the right. “I’ll be back in a while to check in on you. Don’t leave without someone from the squad.”

“Okay. See you later?”

Mikasa nods and leaves, leaving behind a slight breeze from where she opened the tent. You step closer to your cot, dropping your satchel at one of its legs. You only had water and a little bit of rations left on it, so you were allowed to keep it. It rattles as it hits the floor, but you’re too preoccupied with finally laying down to properly care.

You groan in satisfaction when your tense back hits the fabric of the cot. It's not the most comfortable place you’ve slept on recently, but it is a welcome luxury after spending more that twenty four hours on the cold floor of a ship’s cargo hold, so it's really no surprise when your eyes close the moment your head touches the pillow.

The first part of your plan, arriving to Paradis, is completed. The second, earning everyone's trust, is going better than expected, thanks to the curveball that was Eren’s knowledge of you. So you let your consciousness rest for a moment, going to sleep in between flashes of stars.

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[violets-and-amber]

And they were Drift compatible ♡

Just leaving this song here for vibes c:

Jaeger co-pilots Vherevin Lavellan (they/them) and Commander Cullen Rutherford (he/him).

I have some ideas for how this Pacific Rim AU works in a modern Thedas world under the cut.

Jaegers are powered by mages that use the lyrium in the machines to move it, and Templars that help keep the mage from "burning out" and to co-pilot the jaeger itself. Mages act as a sort of converter for the lyrium, almost like a battery, as well as the source of the machine's weaponry.

The first pilots were wardens, but both wardens would quickly burn out after one battle, and it was believed that it had something to do with the Blight in their bodies, as the first experiments with jaegers used Blight magic. The queen and king of Ferelden are two of the few warden pilots that survived a few battles before being forced to retire.

The wardens reached out to the Chantry who then submitted their Circle mages and Templars to be pilots, the Templars using their abilities to keep the mages from burning out.

Cullen is a Commander that has not successfully completed a run despite his perfect simulation scores and his abilities to lead and fight along side ground soldiers. Each time he connects with a mage pilot, they get lost in his memories, chase the RABIT and are unable to complete a run together. Cullen is also the only Templar that no longer takes lyrium, with many doubting if he'd be able to control a mage in the middle of a fight.

Vherevin is a Dalish mage and, like other Dalish mages or non-Circle mages, stronger than the Circle mages because they are trained to use their magic differently. "Hedge mages" like Vher are seen as highly dangerous and volatile, however it became imperative that the Dalish join the fight with the other races as they were losing the battle against the archdemons and the dark spawn.

Vherevin goes through many pilots, none able to handle the sheer amount of power generated by the mage, nor are they able to draw on the lyrium of their jaeger to help control the mage because Vher's jaeger does not have lyrium. Vher powers the whole machine themself, drawing on the stored magic they charge the jaeger with before hand in its four limbs, spirits, and crystal foci meant to build up magic and expel it in a focused blast (This is meant to mirror G. Danger being "analog"). When Templars try to reign in Vher's magic, their magic burns up the lyrium in their bodies, making them weak and useless from the sudden withdrawal attack.

Vher travels from station to station, fighting darkspawn and trying to find their co-pilot. Until they get to the same station Cullen is at. He is a considered a Templar in name only since he no longer takes lyrium, and Vher would not be able to cripple him in a battle. In simulations, Cullen has shown to be quick and level headed in a battle, and the hope is that Cullen can finish a battle fast enough to stop Vher from "overheating" the jaeger or "burning out."

[driftwithme]

Pacific Rim texting headcanons:

Pentecost has absolutely zero typos.

There's no way Chuck is a good texter he has no one to talk to beside his dad he sucks at it

Also Chuck's most used emojis are the dog one and the insulting ones lol

Mako is the queen of abbreviations she is also a smooth texter (like her dad) but with more emojis.

Raleigh was isolated from the world for years he is an awkward texter for sure. His face was priceless when he saw all the new emojis. He is an overtexter, of course.

If the Wei Tang brothers text you a voice message you CANNOT listen to it in public there's no way of knowing what it says

Newt sometimes only talks using emojis combinations that only Hermann can read.

Seriously Hermann texts are either long ass paragraphs or hand emojis kehfkfjfkfj

Bless Tenko, king of smooth texters.

The Kaidonovsky has this rule of no pics no videochats no voice messages if you don't ask first if you can't summarize what you want to say you should be calling.

Half the Jaeger Program have Newt blocked on their phones.

Hermann list of contacts is so funny he puts emojis on their names to identify even the pizza delivery guy.

Raleigh insists on keeping his old ass phone because he still has Yancy's chat there :((((

The Jaeger pilots have an official group chat only for information that Pentecost manages and no one can write but him, except when he opens it so everyone can reply understood

Then there's the unofficial Jaeger pilots. group chat that Herc cannot open when he's near Pentecost or he'd be unable to stop his laugh in time.

When the rest figure out that Chuck has like two contacts in his phone, it's over. His phone goes from a peaceful creature to the endless buzzing of a group of clowns sending him whatever.

No one complains about the group chat they have to share pics of Max btw.

Mako and Raleigh sometimes text each other in Japanese and they even forget about it so sometimes they do it in the group chats too it's adorable and annoying

There's a viral voice message of Aleksis drunk singing that Aleks doesn't know exists 'cause Sasha kept it a secret. There's a betting poll about who would accidentally mention it in front of Aleksis.

As a general, the Dome is always reminding people to please use their private phones and not the work phones when they flirt text each other please the technicians can read those

[swamp-chicken]

PACIFIC RIM AU PLZ PLZ PLZ PLZ PLZ

I originally started writing this for hermicraft big bang like ... two years ago? and i was going to emotionally blackmail danya into doing the art. but then I kind of lost all interest in writing. still, I have a solid 1/6 of this fic written! i should pick it up again someday

an excerpt below.. ignore my notes to myself

Etho, the Etho, was a legend. Never mind that he was Bdubs’ inspiration to start piloting in the first place. The man had revolutionized the Pan Pacific Defense Corps, starting in the early years when he was an engineer working on the first generation of jaegers. And then, not satisfied with helping create one of the most advanced machines in the world, humanity’s only hope, Etho chose to step inside the jaeger he had helped design and became one of the first pilots. He had been the only scientist brave enough to step into the jaeger himself.

**with pause and beef???***He did it with full knowledge of the risk it entailed. Back then, piloting was even more dangerous than it was now. It wasn’t just the kaiju you had to worry about. Those days were pre-fission, pre-drift. There were the unshielded nuclear reactors, leaking radiation into the cockpit. There was the incredible neural load placed on the pilot as he maneuvered the jaeger solo. But still, Etho soldiered on.

And he kicked ass. 

For years, he was the hero of the world. You could run up to any civilian in the street and they would know who Etho was, as well as at least three random facts about him— what his favorite color was, favorite band— you name it. He was famous famous. His image was plastered on every PPDC commercial, he was sitting at every PPDC press conference. But the reason people really went crazy over him was how humble he seemed, like the perfect selfless hero. He sat quiet in the press conferences, he smiled and waved when it was needed. He started wearing a mask at some point, and whether it was out of shyness or germophobia no one every knew. But no one cared, it just added to the mystique. 

And Bdubs, well, Bdubs wasn’t different than anyone else, really. But his interest in Etho was maybe a bit stronger than his peers. He watched every fight, every press conference, every commercial. He typed out furious defenses of him in online forums, and stealthily saved photos of him to his hard drive.** more here

Etho granted only one private interview the entire time he was a pilot. It was an intimate half-hour, tastefully lit. Bdubs had stayed up past his bedtime to watch the interview live. He hung on Etho’s every word, memorized the nervous way he shifted in his seat, how he stumbled through his answers. And then the interviewer had asked it— The Question. “Why do you do what you do?”

Etho’s answer changed Bdubs’ life. He had shrugged, tentatively glanced at someone behind the camera. “Um,” he hummed, maybe trying to buy time. “I guess… I just like fighting aliens, I guess.”

Bdubs signed up for the PPDC the next day. 

For Bdubs, Etho was the inspiration. He inspired Bdubs to quit the latest of his dead-end jobs, inspired him to move across the country—towards the danger, instead of away—against the urging of his family, his friends, and his own common sense. He inspired Bdubs to enroll in the PPDC, to persevere through the rigorous and often discouraging training process. And it all worked out. After a rough start, Bdubs’ high drift compatibility scores starting rolling in and he was fast-tracked towards becoming a pilot. 

But during Bdubs’ training, things started changing. The jaeger, once unstoppable machines of destruction, were faltering. The kaiju were emerging bigger and more ferocious, fill of poison and spines and slavering for destruction. The jaegers started falling.

He still remembers where he was the day it happened. It was late November, close to 1 AM and the pilot trainees were clustered around Scar’s phone. Somehow he had managed to smuggle one in despite there being an explicit ban on outside tech. A new kaiju had appeared— a mark 3, the biggest one yet, and Team Canada had been sent to dispatch it. The footage was blurred with rain, the pacific rocked with an early winter storm.

Peering over his comrade’s shoulder, squinting at the tiny screen, Bdubs could barely make out the kaiju and jaeger battling. The kaiju stood almost twice the height of the jaeger. The video was shaky. The film helicopter must be miles away, using a telescoping lens.

The jaeger threw a punch that the kaiju, snakelike, easily avoided. Then the kaiju belched and bright acid exploded from its mouth, drenching the jaeger’s left side. 

“Oooooh!” the trainees chorused, and Bdubs felt a pit in his stomach.

“Look,” Grian pointed out. “I think their arm is disabled.” And it was. The jaeger’s left arm hung limply. The acid must have eaten through the muscle cables.

“They’ll be alright,” Bdubs said, but he couldn’t keep the nervousness out of his voice. “Etho only needs one arm anyway.”

“Such an Etho stan,” Grian mocked. They all had discovered his obsession early, and ruthlessly teased him about it. “I don’t know, dude. This doesn’t look good.”

The jaeger struck out again, this time with a nearly-executed kick. It made sold contact with the kaiju’s leg, bringing it down. Then, in a move so smooth it looked choreographed, the jaeger brought its right arm down on the kaiju’s head, smashing the creature below the waves.

“See?” Bdubs crowed, looking around the room triumphantly. “A broken arm can’t stop him.”

But no one looked up. “Bdubs…” Scar said. 

Bdubs glanced back at the screen.

The kaiju had some kind of tail. It was prehensile, it was clawed. And it was tearing away at the jaeger cockpit.

Bdubs leaned forward. On the tiny phone screen, it was impossible to see details past the rain lashing the camera. Suddenly, the footage seared white, and then, darkness. The entire room held its breath.

Gradually, the footage resolved. Nothing was visible absent the helicopter spotlight, panning across the uneasy waves.

The video cut, and the tinny voice of the newscaster filtered through the static in Bdubs’ ears: “…no life signs from… could mean they have been removed from the pons… not necessarily deceased…”

The room was dead silent. Then: “Shit,” Grian whispered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

For Bdubs, there were no words. 

Later, he would learn that Beef and Pause had been ripped from the cockpit by the kaiju, killed while still tethered to Etho through the drift. And that Etho, controlling the jaeger on his own, had still somehow managed to bring the kaiju down, jamming the jaeger’s plasma pulser down the kaiju’s throat and discharging until he there was nothing left. 

The found the jaeger collapsed on a remote stretch of coast on Vancouver island. 

And then… nothing. No news from the PPDC, no media appearances from Etho. There were tons of rumors, of course. The solo drift had fried his brain. The radiation had finally caught up to him. The emotional and physical pain of his partners dying in the drift were enough to cause a psychotic break. But regardless of the reason, Etho was never heard from again. 

It was a year later that Bdubs got his pilots license. When he first entered the drift, it was in a very different world than the one Etho had fought in. The kaiju were bigger and meaner. The jaeger tech always seemed to lag a step behind. And the humans were losing.

But now he was back. And he wanted to drift with Bdubs. 

Cleo cocked her head at him. “Do you want to maybe come with me to command?”

[theshipsong]

dare i argue...

kenny has a very interesting, consistent morality that isn't all that aberrant compared to most of AoT's main cast.

he is our main source of ackerman lore, whose fallen status within the walls directly telegraphs the position of eldia in the larger world, so on closer inspection, kenny, levi, and mikasa are more than a bit analogous to grisha and the warriors. in kenny's case, i think most of the elder jaegers. hear me out:

my ongoing beef with the uprising arc anime adaptation includes this scene with kenny's grandfather. confoundingly, WIT cut significant length from grandpa's explanation about the ackermans' persecution at the hands of the MPs, but gave kenny a line that... is ghostwritten by zeke jaeger.

in the manga, kenny discouraged kuchel from carrying levi to term for reasons he doesn't verbalize (snk 65)

in the anime (aot 43), my subtitles say "I swear, ain't no point being born in a craphole world like this where there's not a single dream worth pursuing."

the dubbed line is "who'd want to be born into this piece of shit world anyway? there isn't a dream you could have worth suffering through it."

btw i think WIT giving kenny like, 5x more lines with the word "dream" is fucking cheesy and childish; i could see how this mindset is challenged immediately by carla in bystander, but does kenny have to be the one to say it? we get that from historia and alma and ymir already! plenty of characters express thoughts of regretting being born, but this and zeke's are particular to eldians and ackermans, not individuals

but what grandpa ackerman says about this "deal" between the ackerman patriarch and the crown echoes grisha and zeke's propaganda bedtime stories. the first generation born within the walls hoped that ignorance would spare future ackermans, and eldians left behind when the walls went up hoped compliance would save them from... paradise, conscription, what have you. historical omission and revision: neither fucking worked! that ackerman patriarch died pointlessly, every eldian sacrificed to marley's imperialism from foot soldiers in the trenches to the warriors and proto-warriors, ksaver's generation and older, died pointlessly.

much like the warriors, i don't think any of the above excuses or downplays kenny's wrongdoings, but contextualizes them:

he's a serial killer

as far as we know his Ripping was mostly MPs. as of this scene in ch. 65, the latest were lurking outside a dying old man's home, whether that means they monitored the eldest living ackerman closely, or they were there to jump kenny. point is, killing cops is uhhhhh cool. i don’t care he becomes one himself later. the old 2nd wave feminist adage of “the personal is political” applies to any gender, really, and we should all take police violence against vulnerable populations personally, so whether you frame kenny’s kill count before joining the MPs as self-defense or vengeance, there’s a net positive of fewer MPs terrorizing the streets of the interior and the underground.

he abandoned and/or abused levi

my guess is without his anime-only Zekeism™, kenny’s concern before levi's birth is more specific to kuchel’s circumstances, and also informs his abandonment:

raising a child would make kuchel’s life even more difficult;

the underground and moreover a brothel are no place to raise a child;

as his reaction to levi not knowing his last name goes, living as an ackerman is a curse unto itself (the zeke and ksaver conclusion), even if kenny’s relationship with uri has improved his circumstances;

my most charitable and extracanonical thought for this man is… i wonder what happened to his and kuchel’s own parents. how else do you lose track of your sister like this? did they feel abandoned themselves? did kenny already doubt kuchel would live long or be strong enough to protect a child (maternal mortality, which fellow MP nile dawk brings up in 108)? when he said “i’m not cut out to be some kid’s father,” did he also think that of kuchel? or did he think he also failed as an older brother—kenny and kuchel as grisha and faye...

we only get kenny’s POV of his time with levi, which lasts about five pages of chapter 69. my point is, levi whump revisionism tends to give him annie leonhart's canonical childhood, for which there is no evidence in chapter 69 or in bad boy.

of course, filling the blanks of kenny's pedagogy is grim, and popular fanon isn't unreasonable at all. there's no nonviolent way to teach violence, which kenny calls "the only tool he had" and likely thought of as the only thing he could offer levi. removing levi from the underground didn't seem to cross his mind, either, which could point to a pessimism that people kill people, above and below—the ackermans were wiped out on the surface, after all. but i actually find the understanding of their relationship to the royal family as feudal in the japanese sense helpful here: would bringing him along set levi's path for him, one in service to the reisses? cruel as it was, kenny guaranteed levi's freedom.

he's a cop

okay, this is where the manga gets a little ambiguous/inconsistent with chronology. when kenny gets the anti-personnel squad, he says he’s “never been part of the military before”—he’s actually following levi’s footsteps here, a criminal recruit far outclassing these graduates of the cadet corps. however, to historia, he identifies himself as part of the first interior squad in 845. the fuck?

what is more certain is after he meets uri and becomes his bodyguard 😏, he joins this "assembly" or "council" of nobles and wallists. "bodyguard" does not sound like a role in which kenny would wander the walls doing extrajudicial murder like sannes. when levi and hange interrogate sannes, he proudly lists his own resume (snk 55), which includes killing armin’s parents, erwin’s father, and historia’s mother (the 2nd worst thing to be in the walls is blond), so besides alma, kenny doesn't seem to be included in these panels of the first interior squad "bloodying [their] hands" for peace within the walls.

i think a reasonable conclusion is kenny joined the first interior squad after uri's death in 842, and this squad is so elusive as to be legendary to the average MP. there is probably some translation subtlety with "squad" and "section, " so my understanding is the anti-personnel squad is either part of the first interior squad, or an elite, separate but affiliated group much like levi's special operations squad.

i think of kenny in these three years as unmoored much like iseyama describes levi after shiganshina; the main thing guiding him seems to be his disdain for rod reiss, since he has no hard feeling against frieda. dare i say... rod is kenuri's zeke?

besides his worry for kuchel and debatable care for levi, kenny does, actually, express some of the humanitarianism that motivates his nephew, also in chapter 65 and also excluded from the anime adaptation:

"how much WE lost in those five years?! how many precious lives?!" "he don't give two shits about any of it! not his his family, not humanity, and certainly not you, historia!!

like, HELLO? who is he referring to? the residents of wall maria? the culling that killed armin's grandfather? historia's half-siblings? hell—trost and stohess, mere months ago? i think he's being genuine! this isn't a token, empty phrase, tugging at historia's heartstrings. a killer can value life, i don't think that's that crazy a thing to propose, least of all in attack on titan and least of all in the uprising arc where levi squad kills other humans (also all cops).

kenny's narration in chapter 69 and episode 47 revolves around power. his respect for uri starts from acknowledging him as "the strongest guy around," which echoes over the moment he abandons levi—he's done his level best to teach levi to be the strongest underground, and his philosophy of proving yourself to be the strongest or most powerful doesn't belie a sense of superiority over the weak or any desire to rule; it's the logical conclusion of the oppressed. he thinks of himself as strong, but doesn't call kuchel weak, and his use of "we"—he counts himself part of humanity. his later ambition to steal the founder... makes him more similar to erwin. he just wants the knowledge, the view from up there.

but i think kenny is a little dishonest in chapter 58 before one of levi's coldest "yeah"'s of all time:

i'll kill anyone if that's what it takes to get the job done. ya kill too when it benefits ya, right?

for both men, this object "you" is not themselves as individuals, despite their posturing. it could really, really be humanity, for all three ackermans. mikasa, ten chapters prior:

there are only so many lives i can value, and i decided who those people were six years ago, so you shouldn't try to ask for my pity. because right now, i don't have time to spare, or room in my heart.

and her series-long journey is excavating her heart for humanity. the common fandom complaint that she "only cares about eren" is, to me, similarly reductive as their view of kenny. characters can lie to themselves, or reveal they're more selfless than they thought.

in conclusion:

ACAB

WIT skipped a lot of exposition to animate an extra kenny-levi fight that doesn't even make sense spatially

of course he sucks! and so do the younger ackermans! but they all suck a lot less than they think they do

kenny is also historia's uncle by marriage, in my heart

someone draw him and zeke hanging out

[theriu]

It's Jaeger Naming Time!

In celebration of the cancellation of the apocalypse, go to this random noun generator and tag this post with your Jaeger name :D (Bonus points for also sharing who would be your copilot!)

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: A simple dinner party leads to new relations. Eren Jaeger can't keep his eyes off of you.

— Content warnings: mentions of murder, alcohol consumption.

— Notes: I'm so excited to post the first chapter to my new series. I've been wanting to write again for two years now and I finally got hit with inspiration. This is a little different from my usual stuff, but I hope you'll like it. A special thank you to @dreamy-jaeger​ for beta-reading <3 Happy reading, bubs!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

at first sight

Nobody ever said anything about the desperate cries that could be faintly heard from one of the units in Sina Park. Then again, the surrounding houses were occupied by people well into the age when sound just doesn’t reach them as well as it did even just a few years back.  

Sina Park was known for being a peaceful area. With its small and painterly identical houses, and its gardens full of color and floral aromas, it was a picture-perfect community. It wasn’t embedded into its terms to remain strictly as senior-only housing but the great majority of its residents certainly gave off that idea to any outsider. It was to the point where it came as a surprise for one to find out there was someone under the age of sixty living there. But everyone in Sina was well acquainted with each other, and friendliness was practically the norm between every carefree neighbor. 

That was probably why Mr. Shadis didn’t bat an eye when he was enjoying a cup of tea on his front porch and he saw the youngest of the Sina community step out with a duffel bag that was promptly thrown into the trunk of his car, the same night silence reclaimed its territory in Sina Gardens. 

“A bit chilly tonight, eh Fred?” Mr. Shadis asked from his side of the street, raising his hand in greeting when he saw his neighbor walk out.

The young man tossed a boyish smile toward his elder while reciprocating his wave. 

“Just a bit, Mr. Shadis. You probably shouldn’t be out much longer or you’ll catch a cold,” he replied, still smiling as he slammed his trunk shut and smoothly tossed his car key in the air with his left hand, catching it swiftly with his right. 

“Me? What about you?” Shadis teased.

“I’ve still got good bones,” he joked to which Shadis clicked his tongue, feigning hurt feelings as he shook his head.

“You be careful on the road now, eh Fred?” he said, watching the young man disappear into his car, his hand lagging behind to wave goodbye.

The car peeled slowly from its driveway, out of Sina Park, and onto the main road. As the speedometer needle trembled between steady numbers, music flowed softly through the car’s speakers, barely loud enough to disguise the disgusted voice that murmured “That’s not my name, you stupid fuck.”  

The early autumn breeze pins your skirt against your thighs and playfully tussles your hair as you hurry toward the bakery on the corner of the street. You’re welcomed by the pleasant jingle of the bell above the door, as well as Kuchel’s warm interior that puts a stop to the outside’s disturbances on your clothes. 

A slight impatience consumes you as you wait for your turn to order, but you try to keep your booted feet from tapping against the hardwood floor and settle for tapping your fingers on your wallet as you try to assess the available baked goods from your spot in line. There’s a variety of sweet and salty treats — from jumbo oatmeal cookies to pain au chocolat to rolls — but you’ve only got a single thing in mind. A breath of relief escapes your lightly chapped lips when you get close enough to see a neatly stacked pyramid of lemon bars in the display, and a second one after you have a box of them secured in your hands minutes later. 

A satisfied smirk tugs lightly at your lips as you allow yourself to admire the neatly packaged treats. As you make your way to the door, the bell dings, pulling your attention from the box and saving you from clumsily bumping into the man who just walked in. The exchange is brief; he quickly apologizes for the avoided accident and holds the door open for you with a shy smile. 

You don’t reciprocate his warm smile but opt for politely nodding in acknowledgment and thanking him for the gesture before hurrying out the door, not wanting to prolong his act of kindness more than necessary. You take a sharp turn toward the nearest bus stop, completely oblivious to the lingering pair of emerald eyes that steal one last glance at you from inside the bakery. 

Once again, the wind teases your hair until it finds itself locked out by the shutting door of the bus you settle into. Your hand dives into your purse to retrieve your earbuds as soon as you find a seat, yet no music plays throughout your journey. The box from the bakery remains safely in your lap, the contents being lightly jostled now and then when the bus stops to pick up more passengers.  

From the bakery to the bus and for the twenty-minute commute, you go over the names of the people you’ll be meeting in your head. 

It’s not often that you get invited to a coworker’s housewarming party. It’s not often that you form a friendly relationship with a coworker. In fact, it’s not often that you engage with someone at all unless it’s for work or other impersonal things. But Armin Arlert’s nice. Despite being the kind of person who can’t seem to let the purposely lonely be lonely, you’ve taken a liking to him. 

His friends, you think, might be a different story. It’s not that you expect them to be dreadful people, but socializing has never been your scene. You can be pleasant, laugh at jokes, and perhaps even throw one out yourself, but it’s not in you to pursue deeper connections. You’re more at ease keeping to yourself and observing if anything. However, the hopeful look on Armin’s face during your lunch break last week, when he insisted he wanted you at his party, has been popping up in your head at all hours so you feel as though you have no choice but to go beyond your standard pleasantries.  

Your plan for surviving the evening is simple. Get there a few hours early so you can help cook, clean, or anything else Armin might need help with before his friends arrive. Partly because that’s what your altruistic nature steers you to do, but also because you’re hoping you can get a refresher course on what Armin's friends are like so you know what to expect and how to act. If they’re all friends of Armin, maybe it’ll be worth it for you to put some genuine intention behind your courtesies. After all, being friends with Armin hasn’t been difficult so far. You dare to even call it nice. Maybe it’s time for you to make at least one more friend.

Armin’s kitchen is bustling with energy as he and his friends move from one spot to another, swiftly keeping out of each other’s way in perfect sync to finish dinner preparations. 

“I still can’t believe every single one of you bought me a candle… and the same one to top it all off,” Armin shakes his head in amusement, his mind recalling the small cluster of ocean-scented candles he left on the living room coffee table. 

Despite his constant assurance that he’d take full responsibility for the food and drinks — he was the one to bring up the idea of a housewarming party first, so it only made sense —, all of his friends arrived little by little before noon to help out with the cooking. First was Mikasa who, as soon as Armin opened the door, handed him the gift bag with a smile, congratulating him on the move and saying she hoped her present would help make the place a little cozier.   

Then came Connie and Sasha who, despite being roommates, failed to coordinate their gift choices and only realized they bought the same thing when Armin opened Sasha’s bag first and Connie’s jaw dropped in absolute horror. It only got funnier from there. Jean barely stuck the carefully wrapped gift box toward Armin when Mikasa muttered under her breath “It’s a good day for candle sales”. 

“Well, you like candles, and the ocean is pretty much your brand, dude. Don’t blame us.” Jean shrugs, not bothering to peel his focused gaze from the carrots he’s grating. 

“The last time I even talked about the ocean I was, like, fifteen. Almost ten years ago!”

Everyone knows Armin loves the long-term supply of ocean-scented candles, and what may seem like complaints to outsiders is just another bit they’ve all dragged on from their youth.

But Connie still seems a bit lost. His hands pause from sprinkling rosemary leaves on the potato wedges Mikasa neatly laid out on a baking tray.

“So you’re not fucking with the ocean anymore?” he asks with an uncharacteristically serious expression that causes Jean to sputter a laugh before disguising it as a cough. 

“Ignore them,” Sasha prompts, rolling her eyes. Her lips then stretch into a suggestive grin. “Tell us about the girl you invited over. Before she gets here, you have to tell us for real this time, are you into her? Do we need to talk you up? I’m the best wingwoman, Armin. I will make her love you even if it kills me.” Sasha’s hands fall heavily onto Armin’s shoulders as if to back up her conviction.

Armin furrows his brow in mild exasperation. This was the second time he’d been harrowed with that string of questions, which didn’t seem like much, but it took a while for him to get his friends to drop the topic the first time around. He shakes his head and peels Sasha’s hands from his form, fixing them firmly at her sides.

“I already told you it’s not like that. And I don't think human sacrifice is needed, Sash. We’re friends. I just want her to meet you guys… and Eren, of course.”

Nobody picks up on the short pause before Eren’s name or Armin’s sly expression that he’s quick to hide by turning to face the sink.

“She’s a bit quiet but she’s really nice. I think she’ll be a nice addition to our group. You’ll like her, I promise. Just go a little easy, okay?” Armin pauses as he tugs on a pair of dishwashing gloves to whip around one last time. “And don’t say anything weird! I swear I’m telling the truth.”

“Okay,” Jean replies in a sing-songy voice. Armin turns to shoot him a threatening look upon hearing his teasing tone, only to find Jean pointing a stern finger in his direction, “But if you change your mind, I got you, bro.” 

Armin only smiles in response, not willing to spare any more breath in correcting him, and starts washing the dishes. Before he can finish scrubbing the bowl in his hands, the doorbell rings and he rushes to pry himself free from his dishwashing gloves before heading to the intercom, glancing back to make sure everyone is still keeping busy.

“It’s me,” a slightly fuzzy version of your voice comes through the speaker. 

He buzzes you in immediately and steps into the hall to wait for you.

When he sees you round the corner, his face breaks out into a grin. 

“Hey, you made it!”

Your lips quirk into a small smile. Armin makes way for you to step inside.

“I thought I could get here a little early to help you with the food. I hope that’s okay.” Your voice trembles a bit at the end, and you start to worry when you realize Armin’s grin has faded. 

“Actually, everything is pretty much done already. Everyone got here around noon, and they kind of took over.”

As if on cue, a burst of laughter hits your ears from where you assume the kitchen is. 

You manage to let out a slow ‘oh’.

Your simple plan has officially backfired. Since Armin's friends are already here, and since he's had no shortage of hands to help him prepare for his get-together, there's nothing left for you to do. More importantly, there’s no more window for you to ask questions. You hoped you’d be the first to arrive, and each arrival after that would be spaced out so you had enough time to get a feel on every one of Armin’s friends on their own. Now that that’s out the window, you start to worry the dynamics will be a bit too awkward between you and however many there are of them. It’s a battlefield now. Too many factors, too many things to worry about. Headfirst, no safety net, no baby steps.

Almost as if he can sense your panic through your otherwise expressionless face, Armin smiles.

“Don't worry about it, they're nice.”

Your fingers curl tighter around the box of desserts. There's a permanent knot in your stomach that twists further, reminding you of its presence, in situations like this. Your mind flashes a jumble of different scenarios and all the possibilities for outcomes without letting you actually process or make sense of any of it. 

And in the next instant, you're back. 

“I brought some lemon bars from Kuchel.” You raise the box just enough for the movement to catch Armin’s eye.

His face lights up when he looks down at the box in your hands and he immediately takes hold of it.

“I freakin’ love these! Thank you!” 

Relief washes over your previously tensed features. Of course, you already knew these specific lemon bars are Armin’s favorite. He's always bummed out when you go together to Kuchel for your lunch break and there's no more left.

“I actually got the last batch,” you state proudly, the feeling only growing when his fingers excitedly tug at the ribbon tying the handles together and fishing out a pastry, biting into it with no hesitation.

“No kidding, they always sell out. Come on, I'll introduce you to everybody.” He heads toward the kitchen, waving at you to follow him.

You nervously tug at your turtleneck's sleeves, leaving them to cover your hands in an almost protective manner. 

The fact that all eyes fall on you the second you step into everyone's line of vision doesn't help you feel at ease. Your gaze wanders to a distant place in an attempt to lessen the mental weight everyone's stares bear on you. But Armin throws a comforting arm over your shoulder and gives you a light squeeze as he announces your name to everybody. 

When you look up — because you have to in order to properly link names and faces together — each new person in the room has a warmth to their features that gradually soothes your internal distress.

Sasha’s the first name to be called out. She's also the only one who goes up to steal you from Armin's arms and hugs you excitedly, squealing about how exciting it is to finally meet you. You're taken aback by the sudden embrace, but she’s holding you so tight that you can't look back at Armin for help. You're also oblivious to his warning gaze toward her behind your back. 

Mikasa smiles and nods politely at you from the other side of the counter. It's quite the contrast from the first girl, but her gaze radiates kindness.

Jean's good looks are the first thing you notice from him, and he's got a cool energy to match. He raises two fingers in a salute when it's his turn, paired with a side smile as he casually leans against the bar.

Lastly, there's Connie, who proves himself to be as goofy as Armin told you beforehand, by dramatically posing with one arm against the counter and his opposite hand resting on his hip, muscles flexed, head turned low just so he could look up again and say “the one and only”. 

You purse your lips in response to hide the smile that still manages to slip through.

“Nice to meet you all.”

You stand there awkwardly for what you think is a second too long, silently begging to come up with something else to say or for someone else to pick up the task so everyone can move on. 

Thankfully, Armin swoops in, showing off his box of lemon bars on his way to a seat at the bar. He taps the seat next to him, gesturing for you to sit.

“Impressive,” Jean says, nodding in approval as he neatly folds a tea towel. He knows how much Armin loves Kuchel's lemon bars. 

“It's not a big deal,” you reply, waving him off as you scan the room for something to give yourself to do. But there isn't much. 

The counters have been cleared of any signs of ingredient prep during introductions, there's a timer set for the oven, and there's but a small pile of dishes left unfinished at the sink, which Mikasa is already finishing up. So you settle for sitting at the bar and staying out of everyone's way.

However, sitting still doesn't clear you from everyone's attention. It only makes sense that they're curious about you. And with the oven timer still with a little less than an hour to go, you can sense the start of a conversation where you're the main focus. 

“So…” Jean begins. 

Everyone gathers around the bar.

You brace yourself.

The following minutes are a bit of a blur. You try your best to keep up with everyone's questions. Where you're from, your birthday, your zodiac sign, what kind of music you like, if you've been to this and that place, or tried the food at x, y, and z. They're pretty basic questions, but as long as you're a target you're kept on your toes. After each of your answers, there's an exchanged glance or a nod of approval. You know everyone is only trying to get to know you, yet you can't help but feel as though every question is part of a test and your likability is at stake. That is until the conversation branches out to a story about the best taco truck in the next town over, which, in turn, leads to a story about Connie and Sasha getting food poisoning from a different taco truck they decided to try after their favorite one happened to close early that day. Only then can you breathe a sigh of relief. You even laugh a little at Sasha’s colorful retelling of the taco story. 

“So, basically, don't go to Tito's,” Sasha finalizes, giving you a stern look. “You'll be shitting and barfing for a week.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” you laugh.

After that, the conversation flows a lot easier for you. There's less pressure with the decrease in questions thrown your way, which gives you more confidence to chime in with anecdotes of your own. It's hard to pinpoint when the conversation stopped feeling like a test, but you're grateful for it. 

You realize there was never any battlefield to survive. Not here, not with this group of friends. And it’s nice to have several people willing to fill in any silence and steer the flow of the conversation instead of feeling the pressure of everyone's interest in your hands. 

Just as you take a second to wander your gaze across everyone's laughing faces, finally feeling at ease with your place in the group, the doorbell rings, followed by the shrill sound of the timer. 

“Fucking Jaeger,” Jean mutters.

“Just in time,” Armin grins, hops down from his chair, and makes his way to the door. Jean follows him at his heel, mumbling something about “Jaeger” being late. 

You're distracted by Mikasa's voice calling your name. 

“Could you get me the oven mitts, please?”

You nod and offer your assistance in taking out the chicken.

On the other side of the wall, Armin buzzes his last guest in and holds the door open to wait, shooting a confused look at Jean, who leans back against the wall to wait, too.

As soon as he comes in, Armin yells out, “Eren!” and pulls his best friend into a big hug, forcing him to crouch slightly to accommodate his embrace. They both laugh as Jean stands with his arms across his chest and a disgruntled look on his face.

“Hey, man. Sorry I'm late.” 

“Mhm,” Jean hums, expecting Eren to cower under his gaze. 

He doesn't. Jean is completely ignored as Eren sheepishly starts to explain himself, even though Armin didn't expect him until around this time anyway. 

“I wanted to get you those lemon bars you like from that bakery. But when I got there, they were all out, so I went to their other shop across town, but they didn't have any either, and so then I—”

Armin laughs. 

“Relax. You made it, that's what matters.”

“I feel bad, though. I really wanted to get some for you. I know they're your favorite.”

“If you really wanted to do something nice, you could've gotten here earlier to help with the cooking,” Jean scolds. Then he smirks. “Like I did.” 

Eren rolls his eyes, finally acknowledging Jean. 

He then pulls out a small gift box and hands it to Armin with a smile. 

"I got you a candle, though."

Jean snorts and walks back to the kitchen, leaving an annoyed Eren shooting daggers at his back. 

Armin graciously takes the gift, taking the lid off to confirm that the candle is, indeed, ocean-scented.

"Thanks, buddy. I was running short on these," he smiles sympathetically at his friend, patting his shoulder. 

As they walk into the open space of the dining area, you walk out with a stack of plates in your hands to set the table. Armin perks up upon seeing you and excitedly rushes Eren, saying he wants to introduce him to somebody. 

Armin’s voice catches your attention as you carefully set the plates down. “This is my best friend Eren.” 

Your gaze shifts toward the pair of surprised green eyes already set on you while Armin’s voice goes on in the background, repeating your name to his friend. 

“Hey, it’s you.” Eren smiles in recognition. 

Armin’s eyebrows raise in surprise; yours furrow in confusion. Everyone starts filing to the dining area with food and silverware to finish setting the table. You step aside, murmuring quiet apologies as you get out of their way and step closer to Armin and his friend. 

“You two know each other?” Armin asks, his gaze shifting between the two of you.

Before Eren can answer, he’s interrupted by Mikasa walking over.

“Hey, Eren. You’re late.” She looks up at him with disappointment. You get the feeling he was supposed to arrive around the same time she and the others did.

“Yeah!” Connie whines from the dining table, where he’s setting up wine glasses. “We had to work twice as hard.” 

Eren ignores Connie’s flawed math.

“Sorry, everybody,” he replies, yet his tone is more that of a meek kid who’s forced to apologize. 

He returns his focus to his original conversation. Armin is still looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, right! Uh… yeah, we bumped into each other at Kuchel’s earlier,” he finally explains. He looks at you shyly. “I held the door for you.”

Your furrowed brow softens, and your lips shape into a silent ah! when you recall the brief interaction. You didn’t even remember his face, but you nod along now.

“Come on, guys. Let’s eat!” Mikasa’s voice cuts through the silence, putting an end to your conversation.

Throughout dinner, everyone is a lot more chatty than you expected, considering there's plenty of food to get through. Everyone spills out as many light-hearted anecdotes about one another as the bites they take of baked potato wedges, garlic butter chicken, and grated carrot salad. Their stories are clear to have been brought up between them several times over the years, but they're new to you and you appreciate them choosing to share with you.

It turns out, the universe has worked its magic to make sure all six friends remain close since childhood. The fact is a little intimidating when you find out, but you do your best to push it aside.

At first, you're perfectly fine quietly listening as you eat, your voice only adding to the mix in the shape of a laugh, a gasp, or a question for the storyteller — just enough so they don't forget you're there. 

The entire time, you feel a pair of eyes stealing glances at you from across the table even when you're not talking. Whenever you slowly look up to meet them, Eren quickly shifts his gaze elsewhere. When choosing places at the table, Armin insisted on having you across from one another. He didn't outright say it, but he did rearrange everyone else so that it worked out that way. 

Given that he was the last to arrive and you've barely spoken directly to each other since he got here, you're not sure how to feel about Eren yet. He seems nice enough, but you don't feel as easy even looking at him as you do with the others. It's strange, but his late arrival made all the difference. Somehow he seems like a total stranger compared to the people you met just an hour before him. After your awkward introduction, it’s hard to say if you can make the situation better.

Night has settled in by the time everyone is leaning back in their seats with full bellies, lazily sipping wine every few minutes as the conversation eases into a quieter, slower pace. The serving dishes have been scraped clean. The box of lemon bars you brought over has been split for dessert, leaving just one lonely square that you know a slightly tipsy Armin has been eyeing. 

Eren had turned to look at you with surprise when Armin thanked you for the second time.

“Ah, so you're the one who beat me to the last batch,” was what he said. 

A soft apology tumbled from your lips.

So far, you hadn't proved yourself to be big on smiling but, when you did, it was nice to look at. Consequently, he tried to be the cause of at least one. So when you gave him nothing for his weak attempt at teasing, he shrunk in his seat and decided to keep quiet. 

It's not long before Jean suggests moving to the living room to play a game and you take that as your cue to start clearing the table so there's no mess to come back to later. As you slip quietly into the kitchen, you can hear Jean and Connie arguing over whether to play cards or Monopoly. As Connie argues, he doesn't want to play Monopoly with a cheater, to which Jean says it's not his fault he's the better player.

You carefully place the dishes in the sink, adjusting the streaming water to a warm temperature. As you tug the pair of dishwashing gloves onto your hands, you catch a glimpse of a figure stepping beside you. When you look up, you're met with a boyish grin and shy jewel-toned eyes. He's setting down another pile of dirty dishes on the counter.

“Hi.” 

You're not sure how to respond other than with a polite nod and a soft hi back. There's not much else to say, anyway. Half of you hopes he'll leave; you need some space to recharge your social battery. The other half is curious about the kind of conversation you might have to engage in if he stays. 

You focus your gaze on the soaking dishes, waiting with bated breath to see what he does. 

He stays. 

He offers to dry what you wash. 

There's a nervous tremor in his voice. Like a kid scared to ask for permission instead of an adult offering help. It's so small you barely notice it, but it's there. 

You nod. 

You wash, he dries. 

It's quiet save for the sounds of dishes clinking together. 

Then, his voice comes through.

“I didn't mean to put you on the spot earlier when I got here. I just have a knack for remembering faces.” 

An uncomfortable warmth crawls up your neck and pools at your cheeks. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm kind of the opposite. I just don't pay attention to faces,” you explain. 

“Oh.” He forces a laugh. “Yeah, no, I get it.” 

He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, unsure of how to keep the conversation going. It's a bit discouraging for him to see how laser-focused you are on doing the dishes though, and he already feels foolish for making you apologize for not recognizing a total stranger. He tries not to stare at you too much but it's difficult when you're right there beside him. He only hopes you can't make him out looking at you from the corner of his eye.

You, on the other hand, can feel his eyes burning holes into your side profile. Ignoring it is harder than you hope but at least you have something to help. You're not sure if he expects you to reciprocate his efforts in breaking the ice, but you've yet to get a proper read on him. He was mostly quiet during dinner. Whenever a story with him at the center came up, he'd try to sway the conversation in a different direction. He seemed tense and you hate to think he might be uncomfortable with your presence. Maybe he's an anxious person who's easily embarrassed, you think. Or he might’ve thought you were stuck up and rude after you failed to recognize him and that's why the air now feels so thick. That happens a lot. The people around you are mostly a blur until — and if you ever — have a reason to break into friendly territory. 

The next time you hand a dish for Eren to dry, your gaze lingers, carefully taking in his features. His green eyes are striking, but it's not as if the rest of his face falls short of that. He's very handsome. In a more boyish way than you observed Jean to be, but sharper than, say, Armin. His brown hair is neatly cut on the sides, contrasted by the choppy bangs that line his forehead — something that brings more youth to his face. He's got long, thick lashes and plump lips. Faint freckles are scattered along what one might consider to be a perfect straight nose. He's very handsome, indeed. But that's not all. There's a delicacy to his features that blends them all harmoniously, making Eren Jaeger quite… pretty. 

Eren suddenly clears his throat; you take it as a sign to stop staring.

“So… um… how long have you been friends with Armin?” 

You already know the answer, and you didn’t mind the silence at all, but you might as well try to get Armin’s best friend in your good graces. Especially after your dreadful mistake of not recognizing him. It bothers you to think he might have decided he doesn’t like you because of that.

“Since we were six… Um… He had a lot of trouble with bullies back in elementary school and I beat them up for him.”

That part you didn’t know, so you pause your focus on the plate you’re scrubbing to glance at Eren with admiration. 

“I think he might’ve developed a weird hero complex by mistake though,” he laughs to himself. “He wanted me to get into fights every time he saw someone new being bullied.”

You laugh. The sound makes Eren’s chest swell with pride. 

“Did you do it?”

He bashfully nods without ungluing his gaze from the serving spoon he’s drying.

You laugh some more.

“And of course, then he would take them in as a friend. Something about strength in numbers or whatever. To this day he has this thing that he needs to take in anyone who seems vulnerable.”

You laugh through your nose fully aware of the familiarity you feel from Eren’s story.

“That definitely sounds like him.”

You grin as you finish rinsing the plate, excited to have found some common ground to latch onto for conversation. 

Eren admires your happy expression from the corner of his eye.

But when you turn to look at him, he averts his gaze, curling his lips inwards, and he takes the plate from your hands. 

Your lips downturn a bit, thinking you might still have a long way to go before you can make up for your mistake. 

Still, the thickness in the kitchen air dissipates as you each return to your tasks, the corners of your lips perking up in relieved smiles. 

Armin walks in a moment later with the remnants of a laugh on his face from whatever conversation he just left behind. His faded grin resurfaces when he finds you and Eren together, and he catches a glimpse of the pink tint dusting his best friend's cheeks. 

He watches for a few seconds, mildly amused that neither of you seems to notice his presence. Just as Eren finishes wiping the last fork dry, he decides to speak. 

“You didn't need to do that.” 

His statement is directed at both of you, yet his gaze is fixed on you, a warm smile gracing his features.

“You should join the others,” he tells you. “Oh, and uh…” He swipes a bottle from one of the cupboards. “Take this with you.” 

“Let me just help put away everything,” you offer.

“It's okay, Eren and I got it,” he assures you.

You back out hesitantly, only decidedly walking out when Armin gives you a reassuring nod.

Both men watch you leave. As soon as you're out of sight, Armin's lips stretch into a knowing smile. 

“She's pretty, huh?”

Eren's eyebrows upturn in clear worry when he rips his gaze from you to look at Armin. They soften a split second later in an attempt to appear nonchalant before his grinning friend. 

“Um… I guess so… I don't know.” 

He hurries to tend to the dishes waiting to be put away, hoping it's enough to mask the way he slowly deflates.

Plates and forks are stored in silence. An amused Armin keeps glancing at him.

After a while, a soft laugh escapes his lips.

“Relax, I'm not into her.” 

Eren stiffens, unable to remove his hand by will from the cupboard door he just shut, and instead letting gravity take the wheel. 

Before he can reflect on how exposed he feels, Armin's voice comes through again from where he's now leaning casually against the counter with his hands in his pockets.

“But I meant it when I said she's pretty.” He nods along for emphasis even though Eren has yet to look at him.

“She's really smart too. And kind! I mean, she can seem a little cold at first, but I heard some guys are into that. There's just this charm to her, you know? A few guys at work have tried asking her out but they're totally wrong for her.” He shakes his head at the last thought, then side-eyes Eren expectantly.

“If she ever goes out with someone, I hope it's one of the good guys.” 

Throughout Armin's speech, Eren kept his lips pressed together in a tight line, wondering where Armin was headed with all he was saying. At first, he assumed his friend was interested in the new face of the group, which is why he feigned disinterest. But with every word that kept rolling off his tongue, his intentions were blatantly obvious. And yet he still decides to ask, “What are you trying to do, Armin?”

"Nothing... nothing at all," Armin answers with a shrug, playing it off as if any suggestion is all in Eren's head. He straightens up and starts walking out of the kitchen. There's a pause in his step just before he can slip out of sight. Looking at Eren over his shoulder, he leaves him with one last thought.

“All I'm saying is if you just keep staring at her, she’s gonna get weirded out.”

Eren is left alone, blushing profusely and running a shaky hand through his hair. 

“Come on! That can’t be your most embarrassing thing!”

You shrug.

“That's all I've got.”

“What’s going on?” Eren asks as he takes in the scene. 

It took him a while to reason with himself alone in the kitchen. By the time Eren joins everyone in the living room — nerves finally dormant — everyone is sitting on the floor around the coffee table playing a drinking game. He walks over in search of an open space and ends up nestled between Jean and Connie. Jean throws an arm over his shoulders.

“Jaeger, good. Buddy, tell her about the time you tried to do a one-arm pushup.” From his sleepy eyes and the affectionate term toward Eren, one can easily tell he's drunk.

Eren looks up quizzically at everybody.

“We're telling our most embarrassing stories,” you explain. “Whoever has the worst one wins the round and everyone else has to drink. I think it's just a ploy for everyone to get dirt on me though.” 

You pout at your cup. It's clear you're a little tipsy, too.

Eren softly laughs.

“Whaa– we would never,” Sasha pouts.

“You're getting a deal! You get six embarrassing stories for the price of one!” Connie points out. 

As you start to argue that it's not really fair because it's not like you have anyone to tell, Sasha’s phone buzzes in her pocket and a loud groan rumbles from her throat after skimming through whatever text she just got. Her chin falls onto the coffee table, arms stretched out before her so she can reply. 

Mikasa looks at her with concern and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, affectionately tapping her nose afterward.

“What's wrong?”

“Kaya's out with her friends and she's asking me to send her money for an Uber. I told her to be careful with her money but she just won't listen.” 

Everyone either sympathetically smiles at her or idly watches her send over fifty dollars. You look at Armin, who quietly explains Kaya is Sasha’s younger sister who's a college freshman. You nod in understanding. 

“That's a little sibling for you,” Connie mutters, softly patting Sasha’s head. 

“That's why I love being an only child,” Jean states matter-of-factly. He stretches his arms over his head, rolling his shoulders back before reaching for the bottle of liquor at the center of the table. “Never had to worry about some annoying little runt.”

“I would've liked to have a younger sister,” Mikasa says. “It would've been fun to hang out and teach her things, you know?” 

A touch of nostalgia dances along her lips as she traces the rim of her glass with her index finger. 

“Oh, do you have any siblings?” Her eyes flit in your direction. 

The question is innocent, but the topic of family causes you to shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“No… I don't.” You try to smile, but it's stiff. 

Jean's loud clapping startles you. He tops off all but Connie's and Sasha’s glasses. 

“Oh yeah, single child gang!” He raises his glass in cheers and downs the contents. You follow his lead, hoping that'll mark the end of that topic. But it doesn't. “You must've been spoiled growing up, am I right?”

You lower your gaze, opting to fiddle with your fingers instead of answering. 

Mikasa seems to sense the fragility of the topic from your side because her eyebrows upturn in concern when she looks at you. 

“Hey, not everyone has a mother like yours. Don't be rude, Jean-boy.” She raises a teasing eyebrow as she whips her head in Jean's direction.

“Didn't you yell at her when she brought cupcakes to our class for your birthday?” Eren scrunched his eyebrows together in feigned thought.

“I was twelve! You can't keep holding that over my head. I'm twenty-five now,” Jean whines.

“And I've yet to see you mature,” Eren mutters.

A hushed giggle escapes your lips. You cover it up by sipping your drink. A satisfied smirk tugs at Eren's lips when he catches a glimpse of your smile.

Contrary to his sober self, drunk Jean craves Eren's approval and affection instead of their usual frenemy-like banter. He looks at him with sad eyes.

“Hey, I've made up for it. Mama Kirstein doesn't need to lift a finger thanks to her amazing engineer son.” 

Sasha’s face contorts in confusion.

“Last time I went to Trost with you, she was still working as a seamstress.” 

Jean waves her off.

“She just likes to keep busy.”

“What do your parents do?” Sasha turns to you.

You're trapped. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see Armin leaning forward with just as much interest as the others. In the past, Armin's asked about your family only once. After vaguely implying you weren't close to them, he dropped the topic. But now, in his intoxicated state, he doesn't do much to keep his level of curiosity under wraps. And knowing you're slightly buzzed, too, he hopes you’ve let go of any inhibitions that have kept you from revealing more of your background. 

Armin likes you. He's always admired your efficiency at work, but you seemed lonely and closed off — which is why he decided to approach you in the first place. To everyone in the office, you were a cold stuck-up woman — yet they still refused to stop obsessing over you. To him, you were just misunderstood and lowkey. Sure, you refused to do much to take up space in a room, but through small conversations here and there, he was allowed to slowly unveil your true self. 

But there was always another hidden wall. Armin wouldn't admit it out of fear of seeming like a creep, but that line you expertly draw — allowing someone in without fully giving yourself away — is part of what makes you alluring. That and your keen eye for reading people.

You wet your lips with a swipe of your tongue, looking for a way out inside the clear liquid sitting at the bottom of your glass.

Eren zeroes in on your face, trying to decipher the distant look in your eyes. The weight on his chest lightens when you finally speak.

“I'm not sure what they're doing now. Last time I checked, my mom was a drug addict, and my dad left when I was twelve.”

The weight in Eren's chest comes back heavier than ever.

Silence takes over the living room. Even the darkness outside the window seems eerily quiet as your abrupt statement courses through the gears in everyone's heads.

There's no certainty as to why you blurted out what you did. Maybe it was a sense of security which you now think was a trick of your mind. Perhaps the alcohol is to blame. After all, you didn't feel any need to be a burden on others on an otherwise fun night before. But the words just seemed to push their way out of your mouth. 

A severe scolding rings in your ears.

You always ruin everything!

You don't expect anyone to come up with an answer. In fact, you'll be grateful if someone simply discards your words and steers the conversation in a different direction. But if nobody does, then you'll quietly make your way home. There’s no use in annoying others by begging them to let you stay, promising you won't cause any more trouble. 

“How long has it been since you saw your mom?” Mikasa's voice cuts through the thickness of the air.

The look in her eyes is sympathetic. Not the fake kind that makes you feel pitied for having endured a rough life. It's the kind that simply matches such an ordinary question.

“About a year,” you murmur. 

Jean hums in thought.

“A year, huh? That's almost how long you've been in the city, right?” He scratches his chin as he retrieves the information you shared earlier from his tipsy brain. 

You nod. “Yup… one year.”

Everyone nods along to your answer. Everyone but one.

You nervously blink toward the left, searching Armin's face. He's slumped in his spot, his eyes lost at a blank point. They flash in your direction, and he quickly composes himself, but not quick enough for his expression to go unnoticed by you.

Despite some things here and there, he thought you were close. He never pressured you to share anything you didn't want to. Just getting along and respecting each other would have sufficed — he’s a giver more than he is a taker. But he feels like he failed to support you. He's extremely dumbfounded, but he doesn't make it a point that you never told him the specifics on something so big. He refuses to make you think he resents you for it. 

But the glimpse you caught of his fallen shoulders and clouded eyes still makes you lower your head in guilt. Just ten minutes ago, you felt accomplished for being on your way to gaining new friends and grateful that Armin paved the way for you. You're embarrassed for having thought that you could juggle more relationships when you've barely been open to the one you already have. It's almost laughable that you thought to leave your comfort zone and give this evening a try.

Before you can issue an apology, Jean's loud clapping startles you for the second time tonight.

"Well.” He tilts his head as he splits the last of the liquor into everyone's glass for one last drink. “In any case... if you hadn't moved here, you wouldn't be drinking with the best people you'll ever meet." 

“Hear, hear!” Armin yells beside you, following Jean's lead and raising his glass toward the center. 

Your eyes meet his. He's smiling, nodding almost imperceptibly for you to join your glass with everyone else's. The corners of your lips quirk into a relieved smile. You raise your glass.

The rest of the group cheers as joyful clinks spread through the room. 

Whatever darkness was squeezing at your chest dissipates. Your eyes crinkle in amusement as you allow your giddiness to take over. 

A pair of mesmerized green eyes linger on your face from the opposite side of the coffee table. His lips part slightly to draw in a long breath, followed by a sip of alcohol. 

A beeping phone sifts through the commotion.

Mikasa looks down at her phone. First, with curiosity, then with worry. 

Levi Don't go out at night for a while. Killer on the loose. SN3

She calls out Armin's name.

“Turn on the news on channel 3.”

The urgency tainting Mikasa's usual steady voice has Armin scrambling to find the remote, though with a bit of confusion. Everyone else exchanges quizzical glances while they wait for him to turn the television on.

A male newscaster is halfway through reciting a report on the police department's recent findings. 

“... The twenty-six-year-old woman's body was dismembered and disposed of in a garbage dumpster behind a local restaurant. Police have yet to report any evidence that can lead them to any suspects. An autopsy is ongoing to pinpoint the cause of death but with the initial report, signs point to a possible case of torture…”

The mood shifts yet again. Everyone stares at the screen, but the words no longer reach anyone's ears. Nobody recognized the girl identified on the screen but it's still unnerving when something so tragic and cruel happens in the city one lives in. Being close in age to the victim just makes it even rougher. 

Eren is the first to look back — specifically at the girls.

You all seem lost in thought. His gaze flits in your direction. You're just as distant, nursing your glass in your hands as you chew on your bottom lip. He turns to Mikasa.

“Was that Levi earlier?”

Eren's voice pulls Mikasa from her thoughts.

She nods.

“Who's Levi?” you ask.

“My uncle,” she explains. “He texted me not to go out at night for a while. They didn't say if this was a serial killer but I don't think he wants to take any chances as long as the culprit is out there.” In a lower voice she adds, “he's in the police.” 

You slowly nod, then suddenly remember where you are.

“I need to get home fast, then.” 

Your eyes land on the digital clock beside the TV. It's well past the time to catch the last bus. You swipe your phone from your purse to look up cab numbers, unaware of the nervous glances exchanged all around you.

“I don't think you should leave now.” Eren stops you from dialing the first cab company from your search results, his eyes wide with concern. He doesn't realize his hand is holding onto your wrist until you look down at it.

He pulls away, embarrassed, but remains firm in his statement.

“Eren's right,” Connie agrees. He has a protective hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “Mind if we crash here tonight?” He directs his gaze at Armin. 

“No need to ask. I'll bring out some blankets.”

It's two in the morning. A cluster of tired bodies sleeps peacefully on the living room floor. Lazy limbs stretch out and across someone else's. Light snores and rare mumblings are the only thing that disturbs the quiet. 

The murder on the news had left everyone unsettled. Much so, that everyone felt inclined to sleep together in the same room. It didn’t do much for their comfort given the space, but it gave everyone a sense of safety. 

Eren’s eyelids barely flutter open. They're so heavy, he wishes he could just ignore the uncomfortable fullness of his bladder. But he can't. Begrudgingly, he clumsily rises to his feet and makes his way to the bathroom, rubbing his temples with one hand and feeling around for any walls and furniture with his other while his eyes adjust to the darkness. 

When he gets back, he catches sight of a lone figure sitting out on the small balcony outside of the kitchen.

It takes him a minute to rid himself of the extra warmth in his face. He takes a deep breath and quietly slides the door open to step out.

“Hey.” 

You look up at him from your chair. Your knees are pressed against your chest, your arms wrapped around them for support as your cheek rests on top.

“Hi.” 

“Is it okay if I sit?”

You nod and proceed to face forward, resting your chin where your cheek used to be.

The night is pleasantly warm. You're wearing the sweats and shirt Armin lent you for the night. 

Eren's gaze roams every shape of your side profile. It's the second time you've been alone together and he's racking his brain on what to talk about to balance out the way he's been staring at you all night. He doesn't want to give Armin another reason to tease him. His hands are sweaty and his cheeks start to warm at the reminder.

“Did I wake you?” 

Your voice is gentle and sweet, but it startles him nonetheless. 

“No,” he manages to say. He pauses. “How long have you been out here?”

You shake your head as you look up at the star-littered sky.

“Not long.”

He hums, mulling your answer over. 

If you’re awake at this hour, not bothering to try going back to sleep, something must be weighing heavily on your mind, he reasons. That’s further proven by the way you’re shrinking into yourself, trying to take up as little space as you can. Not that he’s especially knowledgeable about you, but there’s a difference in how your quietness manifests itself now than during dinner. It’s comparable to the way you were after watching the news. 

“Are you okay?” 

He watches you hesitate to give him an answer. Your lips tremble, parting and pressing together a couple of times. It’s as if you’re willing to talk but the words are lodged in your throat.

“You can tell me.”

Still no answer. 

“Is it because of the girl on the news?”

Finally, you look at him. Your brows twist with grief. 

“I just can’t stop thinking about her. Her family must be devastated.”

All evening, Eren’s had a hard time holding your gaze. Mainly because he didn’t want to give himself away, but it’s also hard to admire someone when they’re looking directly at you. Once his racing heart finds a steadier rhythm, he finds it’s actually easy to lose himself in your eyes. 

There’s a subtle glassiness to them — one he’d be more concerned about if he hadn’t noticed it as a natural part of you. Your eyes heavily conveyed every emotion, every little thought. And Eren suddenly felt compelled to learn how to read them.

The way you’ve presented yourself so far — gentle and cautious — gives you an aura of delicate maturity in the eyes of others. But for a brief moment, you seem small. Troubled, even. 

“I know it’s selfish for me to be thinking about this, but sometimes I wonder if I’ll have anyone crying for me when I die. I don’t have many people,” you whisper.

It feels strange to Eren to suddenly feel a surge of courage when he’s been nothing but an awkward wreck around you since you met.

“You have us now.”

You don’t show yourself to be entirely convinced. In fact, there’s a hint of amusement shimmering in your eyes. But you appreciate his words no matter how empty they might turn out to be. 

Eren hesitates to ask you the question that’s been gnawing at his brain for hours now. You’ve been sharing such a pleasant moment, that he hates to think he might ruin it all and end up losing his cool in the process. 

“That stuff about your parents… is it true?”

It’s a leap of faith.

“You think I made it up?”

The raised eyebrow and the humorless smile that graces your lips take him by surprise, even more so than the firm tone of your voice.

“No, of course not!” He chokes on his words, frantic he might have offended you. 

But you laugh, and it soothes him instantly.

“Relax, I was just teasing you.” You look away, warmth pooling at your cheeks upon your failed attempt to be funny. “It’s true, by the way. I’m a child of neglect.” 

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips.

He doesn't pick up on your embarrassment — he’s much too focused on his own.

Despite the bitterness lacing your gentle voice, he can’t help himself from wanting to know more. It makes him anxious. Finding you attractive is besides the point. His mind is scrambling at any opportunity to get closer to you. He wants to keep talking. He wants to hear more about what worries you. He wants to stretch out the night and keep the conversation going — even if he’s caught off guard by your unpredictable teasing a few more times. He wants to know about your past. He wants to know you. But you kill off his chances when you suddenly change the course of the conversation. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” You look up at him with concern contorting your features. It takes everything in him not to let his gaze drift to your bottom lip that’s caught between your teeth to keep your nerves at bay.

“Huh?”

You clear your throat before explaining and fiddle with your hands as you do. You focus on the moon instead of him.

It’s quite cute for Eren to see you fidget for once.

“It's just that during dinner you barely talked and whenever I looked at you, you would look away,” you explain bashfully. “And then when we were doing the dishes together, you just felt a little awkward. I mean, I don’t expect you to be all chummy with me, but it was kind of like you were forcing yourself to talk to me.” 

Eren wants to smack himself. He had no idea of the message he was sending all this time. All those averted gazes and suppressed smiles must have looked totally different from your end.

“I thought maybe you were uncomfortable with me around.”

Your voice is even softer than before. It might have to do with the people sleeping inside or maybe you're just feeling quieter than usual. Eren has no idea. But it's a nice sound, and his quickening heartbeat isn't lost on him.

The abrupt changes in his system are giving him whiplash. And it’s all because of you.

“I’m not,” he whispers. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

A deep shade of red gradually tints his cheeks, openly defying the pale blue light from the moon. His gaze shies away from you and settles on his lap, where he nervously rubs his sweaty palms just to give himself something to do. When his eyes slowly drift back to your face, he swallows hard. 

It finally hits you.  

Oh, you think. 

Next chapter

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[blueminuet]

So the JimmyTimmy PacRim AU is ending, so it's time to give everyone a rundown of what they really want...

A detailed list of all Jaegers in the AU and what they are based on:

The first few jaegers got really long, so sorry about the long winded post. A lot of this was stuff from my planning notes, and may or may not change depending on if I contradicted myself somewhere, or if co-author @fauvester accidentally contradicted me, in which case forget what I said, Fauve has never done anything wrong in her life.

The AU Itself

This AU takes place in roughly 2030, with the Kaiju War starting around 2015

The Jaegers

Logo made by fauve tm tm tm tm

Cranium Blast

In universe:

Mark III Jaeger built circa 2020

Original pilots: Cindy Vortex and Jimmy Vortex (née Neutron)

Originally stationed at the Anchorage Shatterdome

One of only two jaegers to be successfully solo piloted (by Cindy Vortex in 2025)

Retired in 2025 after encounter with Kaiju Calamitous

Re-activated in 2030 at the Hong Kong Shatterdome with pilots Jimmy Neutron and Timmy Turner

Meta Info:

Pretty obviously based on the canonical jaeger Cherno Alpha (personally my favorite jaeger)

Unlike Cherno, Cranium Blast is a third generation jaeger that incorporated the best of the Mark I Cherno Alpha, and made some improvements (notably, escape pods)

Also unlike Cherno, Cranium Blast has a detachable conn-pod, which sits on the front of the head (see: the little white box on the head in the image)

The "head" of this style jaeger is actually a huge amount of power cells that store excess energy from the jaeger's nuclear core, which allows it to have pretty powerful armaments, in exchange for slightly less mobility.

Cranium Blast's armaments: Tesla Fist, Static Cannon (mostly made up), and a Nuclear Vortex Turbine (the canonical name of the swirly thingy on the chest of G. Danger.)

Umbral Phantom

In universe:

Mark III Jaeger built circa 2019

Original pilots: Danny Fenton and Valerie Grey

Additional pilot teams: Danny Fenton and Jazz Fenton, Danny Fenton and Sam Manson, Danny Fenton and Tucker Foley

Originally stationed at the Anchorage Shatterdome

One of only two jaegers to be solo piloted (by Danny Fenton, 2024)

Valerie Grey retired from the program after the encounter with Kaiju Plasmius in 2024

Danny Fenton continued, cycling through 3 different co-pilots in two years, before quitting the program in 2026

Standard Mark III armaments, including the plasma cannon hand.

Meta Info:

Yeah, this is just Danny's trauma mech

I kind of imagine it being a mix between Romeo Blue and G. Danger but with the classic black/white Danny Phantom colors with ecto-green accents

Art and logo made by fauve tm tm tm tm

Tigre Pantera

In universe:

Mark V Jaeger built circa 2028

Original pilots: Rodolfo Rivera and Manny Rivera

Originally stationed at the Panama Shatterdome

Two years later, Tigre Pantera was reassigned to the Hong Kong Shatterdome.

Renamed to Tigre Fantasma in 2030, after Manny Rivera and Danny Fenton became the pilot team and the jaeger was re-fitted with one of Umbral Phantom's arms.

Logo made by fauve tm tm tm tm

Meta Info:

Very obviously based on Striker Eureka, right down to the father/son jaeger pilot team.

Fauve wisely added cat ears though.

The color scheme was very obviously chosen by Rodolfo, the shiny white with gold trim.

The armaments on this one are pretty much the same as Striker Eureka, but we added cat claws because obviously.

I put Tigre at the Panama Shatterdome even though Los Angeles is closer to where Miracle City would be, but like... p much all of these cartoons are either based in North America or a fictional version of North America, we gotta spread out a little.

OKAY YES FINE I FORGOT TO TALK ABOUT JENNY:

The XJ9 system is an artificial intelligence created by Dr. Wakeman to take on some of the neural load from jaeger pilots. All studies on artificial intelligence taking a full person's worth of the neural load have failed, but Dr. Wakeman found success with implementing AI to take the edge off.

Jimmy, personally, thinks Dr. Wakeman is kind of a nutjob, and the only reason the XJ9 system ended up in the Mark V jaegers is because Jimmy was not involved in its development.

Anyway, Manny loves Jenny, he insisted she pick a name and that's what she picked. She's his big Mech-AI sister and we love that.

Samurai Bravo

In universe:

Mark I jaeger built circa 2016

Originally assigned to the Tokyo Shatterdome

Original pilots: Johnny Bravo and Jack Oda

Reassigned to Hong Kong Shatterdome in 2030

Armaments: Plasma Sword, Chest Gatling

Meta info:

If I were to pick a canon jaeger this one is based on, it's Tacit Ronin

I decided that Johnny is from Russia in this AU, because really we needed people to spread out a bit.

I gave Samurai Jack the family name Oda because I'm from the Kamen Rider fandom where Oda Nobunaga's ghost, resurrected zombie, and catholic cowboy spirit imprint are all just vibing.

Oh right, people might want some backstory on Samurai Bravo…

Johnny is Russian in this AU, but is obsessed with America and “American culture” which is… why he is the way he is…

He probably did a study abroad in America back in college and still talks about it 

(The political landscape of this AU is never discussed unless it is, but since Russia is one of the PPDC counties well just assume they are friendly enough to have had a study abroad program with the US.) 

Anyway, Johnny was a cadet at the Russian Shatterdome at Vladivostok and could never find a drift partner because he’s… like that. 

Jack is Japanese, obviously, but lived in America for some time, earning him the nickname “Jack”. (What’s his real given name? Unimportant.) 

Jack joined up as a jaeger pilot cadet early in the program, but had trouble finding a partner because he was too closed off and individualistic. 

Shatterdomes nearby each other (in a global sense) would often collaborate and send cadets to new Shatterdomes to try to find matches if they had enough skill to continue in the program. The Vladivostok Shatterdome was all too happy to send Johnny off to Tokyo… 

Jack instantly disliked Johnny, especially as his reputation as an arrogant troublemaker preceded him. 

Johnny did NOT pick up on that AT ALL, and just wanted to make a new friend who had lived in America to talk about America Stuff. 

Jack eventually got fed up and challenged Johnny to a spar. He quickly learned that despite Johnny’s bravado (lol) he was actually quite observant and insightful. 

Jack was still reluctant to drift with Johnny, but their first drift test went very well, both of them getting insight into the others’ was of thinking, and quickly learning how they could compliment each other. 

Despite being assigned to Tokyo full time, Johnny maintained close connections with the Russian Shatterdome. 

When the Utonium triplets were cadets, they were the first candidates for a triple pilot jaeger. Despite having strong drift compatibility, they experienced issues with maintaining the drift due to each of them preferring different strategies and styles 

Chemical X

In universe:

Mark IV jaeger built circa 2026

The only three person jaeger

Originally stationed at the Vladivostok Shatterdome

Current pilots: Rangers Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup Utonium 

Reassigned to Hong Kong Shatterdome in 2030

Armaments: Triple Arms!

Meta info:

Pretty obviously based on Crimson Typhoon.

I originally had the PPGs based out of Nagasaki, but decided to put them in Russia, and built in the narrative that Johnny may have helped train them (despite having been moved to Japan)

I would, again, like to apologize for killing off the PPGs...

Unstoppable Sitch

In universe:

Mark III jaeger built circa 2020

Originally stationed at the Los Angeles shatterdome

Original pilots: Rangers Ron and Kim Possible

Reassigned to Hong Kong Shatterdome in 2030

Meta info:

I thought about assigning Kim and Ron to Russia, in my shuffling around of people, but eventually decided they could stay in North America

I would like to, again, apologize for killing Ron Stoppable

ComVee Wild

In universe:

Mark IV, built circa 2024

Originally assigned to Sydney shatterdome

Original pilots: Rangers Eliza Thornberry and Darwin 

Meta Info:

Only mentioned in dialogue, not actually active in the AU

Darwin is a human in this AU, that's it, that's all I got.

Football Heart

In universe:

Mark II built circa 2017

Originally stationed at Lima Shatterdome

Original pilots: Rangers Arnold and Helga Pataki

Meta info:

Only mentioned in dialogue, not actually active in this AU

Did I have Arnold take Helga's last name because I forgot what his is? Yes. Yes, absolutely I did.

Originally this was going to be one of the still active jaegers, but there were just too many things going on so I dropped them.

Also, Helga would never die, I fully believe that if there was going to be a third solo pilot, it would be her.

Castor Fury

In universe:

Mark I built circa 2015

Originally stationed at the PPDC Jaeger R&D yards in British Columbia. Later loaned out to various other coastal cities as there were few jaegers to go around.

Original pilots: Norbert and Daggett Beaver

Meta info:

Yeah, I literally made this jaeger up on the spot, I just saw another opportunity to drop in an OG nicktoons reference...

Castor is the genus name for beavers...

But I also felt like Castor was clever too for the association with twins (Castor and Pollux) and Norbert and Daggett would be twins in this AU.

I see Norbert and Daggett as being the equivalent of the Beckett twins in pacrim. They aren't necessarily good at fighting or anything, but they happened to be there when they needed to put two people with shared experiences into a robot.

Note: most jaegers past this point are mentioned in the prequel, Fools Rush In.

Puma Loco

In universe:

Mark I built circa 2016

Originally stationed at Panama Shatterdome

Original pilots: Rangers Jorge Rivera and Rodolfo Rivera

Retired in 2027 when Jorge Rivera finally retired and a new jaeger was commissioned for Rodolfo to pilot with his son.

Meta info:

Did you know there's a canon jaeger called Puma Real?

I just thought it was fun if the Riveras were still a legacy family in this AU

Hawaiian Shore

In universe:

Mark I built circa 2016

Originally stationed at Honolulu Shatterdome

Original pilots: Rangers Tito Makani and Raymundo Rocket

Retired in 2020 after death of co-pilot Raymundo Rocket

Meta info:

Fauve mentioned the Honolulu Shatterdome in a throwaway line, and I, knowing there was no Honolulu Shatterdome in pacrim canon, decided to make the Honolulu Shatterdome canon and then make everything tragic. This is my role as a radical canon inclusionist.

I need you to listen to me, I need you to hear what I am saying.......... Tito and Raymundo were gay for each other.

Rocket Power

In universe:

Mark III built circa 2020

Originally stationed at Honolulu Shatterdome

Original pilots: Rangers Reggie Rocket and Otto Rocket

Destroyed in 2024, both rangers lost

Meta info:

I actually really like Rocket Power, I promise...

You can't make a pacrim AU without killing a few Blorbos

If you were wondering, in Fools Rush In, yes, the blond guy is Sam and he's the only one of the gang that is still alive aside from Tito...

Honorable mention: "Marquez’s busted up Mark II"

This is Dora the Explorer's jaeger. No, I do not know who co-piloted. No, I do not know the name of it. It is canon to the AU though.

[monsterblogging]

Jaeger Piloting 101: How Rangers Get Into The Thing & Other Basic Stuff

Hello Pacific Rim fans, today I am doing a post on the topic of how rangers get into the conn-pod, and take control of the Jaeger, plus do a quick look at conn-pod interiors in general! I'll be using pictures sourced from movie-screencaps.com to illustrate the process.

Before I proceed, I'd like to remind folks that Lady Danger's canonical name contains a racial slur. It will be depicted here in screenshots, but I encourage fans to use the name "Lady Danger" in casual conversation, fanfiction etc. It doesn't matter if the name was referencing an old engine, it doesn't matter if no harm was intended by it; a slur's a slur.

Before the rangers enter the conn-pod, they must first suit up. This isn't something they can do on their own - they have a dedicated team of assistant techs to help them into their drivesuits. As we can see here, Raleigh and Yancy Becket's team have the name of their jaeger printed on the backs of their jumpsuits:

If you read my earlier post on jaegers, you know that drivesuits come in two layers. Here's Raleigh and Yancy already wearing the first layer, while one of their technicians assists:

Next, the technicians help them into the drivesuit's second, armored layer. On the right side of the first image is the area where the drivesuits are kept when not in use:

And then we have this thing that's pulled out of a special storage box and put over the spinal area, connecting the back of the armor together:

We also see Yancy and Raleigh pull on their helmets, and this strange liquid drains out. (It makes me think of the orange juice Raleigh was drinking earlier.) It's not clear how common this feature is, but we know it's not universal - the refurbished Lady Danger doesn't have this, and Cherno Alpha's helmets don't look it would even be possible.

Next up, the pilots enter the conn-pod. Note those two light gray things on the floor in the first picture; that's part of the Pilot Motion Rig. Also note the dark gray things hanging from the ceiling in the second picture; that's also part of it.

Once the pilots step into the bottom part of Pilot Motion Rig, metal clamps lock their feet into place. On the right, Raleigh is already locked in; on the left, Yancy is not yet locked in:

Meanwhile, more technicians help pilots get into the upper part of the Pilot Motion Rig.

At this point, something magical and wonderful absolutely terrifying else happens: the floor pulls away, leaving the pilots standing like:

If you look down once the floor's pulled back, it's uh. Quite the view.

In the case of Lady Danger, a nuclear-powered Mark-3, this is where technicians drop the head to connect it to the body. (The head is stored separately to reduce radiation exposure that might damage the delicate circuits.)

At this point, the Beckets are looking at this in front of them:

As the head connects, the pilot-to-pilot protocol is engaged, the computer system fires up, and the Beckets see a LOADING screen:

In the Anchorage Shatterdome, Lady Danger was wheeled out through a door on a rolling platform. At this point, the neural handshake was activated with a countdown of fifteen seconds.

The neural link is established, and you got two people in control of a Jaeger!

From here, stuff often depends on the specific jaeger, as control systems can be pretty different. For example, we see Raleigh and Yancy holding these round things in the arms they're controlling at the beginning of the film, but the refurbished Lady Danger doesn't seem to use them, and neither do the other jaegers.

I'd also like to contrast Cherno Alpha's drivesuits with Lady Danger's drivesuits for a moment, just to emphasize how different designs can be. As you can see, each pilot's drivesuit has cables connected to the arm they're controlling:

Also as I was looking at pictures of jaeger interiors, I noticed something curious about Lady Danger vs. Striker Eureka.

The original Lady Danger has a high console like this:

The refurbished Lady Danger has one positioned lower:

Striker Eureka has both a high and low console:

So make of that what you will, lol.

And that's the basics of boarding and controlling a jaeger! If you haven't seen it already I also recommend checking out my other post on jaeger lore, where I compiled everything I could find out about them from various Pacific Rim medias. And you might also read Drifting, as conceptualized by Travis Beacham if you're interested in knowing more about the drifting aspect, and maybe Drift Hangover Lore if the possibility of sentient jaegers appeals to you.

Happy monster punching, or whatever it is you people do out there. *Slinks back into the bog*