#i saw this scene in an edit and knew i had to gif it

[shiqingxuanz]

WORD OF HONOR ➵ EPISODE 34

[moonkhao]

HIDDEN AGENDA PILOT (2022)

[fairyroses]

— SMALLVILLE, "Accelerate" (2.21) & "Wrath" (7.07)

+ bonus:

[heatherfield]

@giftober 2023 | Day 29: backpacks

♪ Everybody said that you'd better watch out Man, she's gonna turn you in And me, you know that I thought I looked out And now look at the trouble that I'm in ♪

Baelfire Neal Cassidy in Once Upon a Time, 2.01 "Broken"

[lulu2992]

Ask meme!

I was tagged by @simplegenius042 for my “Top Four Fictional Crushes”! Thank you :)

There are others but here are the 4 characters I immediately thought of (in no particular order, I just wanted the picture to look visually coherent):

Ardyn Izunia - Final Fantasy XV (2016)

Vaas Montenegro - Far Cry 3 (2012)

John Seed - Far Cry 5 (2018)

Ghirahim - The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword (2011)

Honorable mention (because he’s my first fictional crush):

Li Shang - Mulan (1998)

Shout-out to him for being to only normal person in this post :’)

[daechwitatamic]

cherrybomb || csc

(banner by @sailorrhansol)

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 @sailorrhansol 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 @/sailorhansol

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! Wylie and Chan will get their own fic written by @sailorrhansol, as will Woozi! I'm also planning a Vernon x Reader in this universe, too! Should be a fun time!!

[league-of-simps]

𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧!𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 - Part One | Part Two

➛ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Tomura was researching how to flirt with girls but gets sidetracked.

➛ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: masturbation, edging, feminine pronouns

➛ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 463

➛ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: The scenario made me giggle but atp I just need to write an actual fic 'cause it's a follow up to the last Virgin!Tomura piece I wrote. This is barely edited - be gentle.

Virgin!Tomura binge-watching romance animes in an attempt to find the best way to approach you. No, no, no. Most of these required touching. Hand holding, wall leaning, brushing hair out of the girl's face... biting, for some reason. With one hand, he scrolled through episodes of random romance scenes, trying to picture the two of you in these scenarios, while the other scratched idly at his neck. None of these were what he wanted to do to get his message across.

Virgin!Tomura turning his research from romance anime to animated eroges - something he was somewhat familiar with. It was a video game. He knew video games. What he didn't realize was that the eroge that he had chosen to play at random had a character that looked eerily similar to you. Tomura nearly decayed his mouse when he saw that character come on screen. His eyes rake over the character as he moved the mouse to the "unclothe" option, and then they widen as the character was bare before him.

Virgin!Tomura finding the "scene selector" option as fast as possible and clicking the first option. Heat rushed to his face as he watched your doppelganger ride the faceless main character that he had named after himself. He clicked the next scene and his cock twitched in his pants as he watched her suck his character's dick. Muffled moans poured from his computer's speakers but he didn't have the strength to turn them down. He was transfixed. This could be you and him.

Virgin!Tomura hastily jerking his pants and boxers down until his cock sprung free into the cold air of his room. He gripped himself tightly with one hand and navigated the mouse to the next scene button with the other. An involuntary groan escaped him as he watched your double pump his character's cock slowly. He wondered how you would do that... were you fast? Slow? Teasing? Would you use two hands? Your boobs? He increased the speed of the scene.

Virgin!Tomura not even getting a full stroke in before warm ropes of cum cover his fist. He got off to just thinking about what you would do to him.

Virgin!Tomura growing frustrated with his early release and fucking himself faster until his hips were bucking into his fist. He can't cum that early if he was with you - when he was with you - so he stopped just shy of his next release, his thumb hovering over the slit on the head of his throbbing cock.

Virgin!Tomura spending nearly fifteen minutes edging himself until he accidentally clicked the next scene. This angle looked too much like you as your double rode him with her back to the screen. He couldn't hold back any longer. He spilled onto his already soiled hand in one wave of pleasure while another load arched upward and splattered onto the desk in front of him in another. He was panting by the time his cock grew soft, your name coming out in a breathy whisper. If getting this sort of release was possible by just imagining you fucking him, he wondered what it was like for you to actually be there with him.

A bunch of pixels on the screen wasn't enough.

[lunasblunt]

barracuda

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪

SFW!!!!! pt.1

pairing: logan howlett x original female!mutant character

summary: terra, a mutant with the ability to manipulate earthly elements and grow plants/flowers from her palms, finds herself incredibly fed up with logan as they’re forced to to train together.

suggested song: barracuda by heart BASIC IK BUT IT JUST FITS SO WELL

CW: mention of blood, mention of hand to hand combat / fighting using their powers (i’m terrible at writing fight scenes so it won’t be graphic at all), logan is pretty aggressive towards her but dw it’s not gonna be like this for the entire fic it’s just his character arc….

A/N: pretty sure i saw a oneshot w the idea of these powers a while ago so just wanna let u guys know this idea did NOT come from me & i don’t claim to have come up w it :)) also this is part 1 so pls don't hate me for not making them make out straight away...... we need some tension first... HOPE U ENJOY <3

edited a/n: if anyone’s interested in being on a taglist for this fic pls reply/lmk i’d love to figure out how tumblr works and keep u all updated lolllll

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪

terra was never one to fuss over charles’s orders. the girl knew the man was incapable of making bad decisions, especially when it came to the team. but when charles had called both logan and terra into his office, asking the two of them to train as a combat duo, she felt her respect for his wisdom fly out the window.

logan… and her? a combat duo? she found the idea hilarious. her eyes scanned the office, waiting to see if this meeting was some sort of prank. as charles continued on, raving about how if the two could cooperate as a unit it could be greatly beneficial for the team, she had to face the reality of the situation. the professor was serious.

the idea of their gifts working well together caused her a great headache. if anything, their abilities, and personalities, were quite opposite. in what world would logan’s cocky, carefree skillset and her peaceful, nonviolent aura compliment each other?

as much as she wanted to put up a fight with the professor, she’d known there was nothing she could do. when charles had made his mind up, it was an unspoken rule to trust how it played out.

now here she was, a day later, taking a gulp of water unhappily as she waited for logan’s arrival.

the second logan stepped foot into training room, terra could feel the energy shift. his cold, stuck up demeanor practically deteriorated the calm, tranquil atmosphere she’d been building all morning.

"glad you decided to show up!" terra spits, setting the tone for their upcoming weeks of training. it'd been an hour past the time charles had set for them to meet.

this newfound attitude felt out of character to terra. usually, the girl found herself calm and collected, grounded and appreciative of the world around her. it was when she first met logan that she discovered the way it felt to actually hate someone.

terra thinks back to the two's first few encounters. the way he ignored her hand when she politely introduced herself, the way he made passive aggressive comments toward her in group settings, the way he completely ignored her presence in any scenario. a hot, tingly feeling started to fill the pit in her stomach.

logan scoffs to himself, finding her attitude amusing. he pinches the thick cigar resting between his lips, takes one last puff, then puts it out on the wall beside him.

"we'll start with hand to hand combat." is all that logan lets escapes his lips. he wasn't there to chat, he was there for a reason, and he wasn't going to let her waste anymore of his day. “no powers, no tricks, just raw sparring.”

terra shakes her head, returning the same petty scoff he’d given her in response. he was unbelievable.

as the two get into their fighting positions, terra refuses to acknowledge the way logan is quick to peel off his tank top, and she definitely refuses to acknowledge the strange way it left that fiery pit in her stomach lively and bothered.

for a while the two fight, logan’s experience giving him the upper hand. she’d never been the soldier, she was the distraction. making the ground shake or bending the trees around them into different shapes to buy the team some extra time; she was there to confuse the enemy, not hurt them.

eventually, their brawl tends to get more heated and logan can see how it’s affecting her. the girl was tired, her body practically crumbling beneath her, but she refused to give up.

logan sees this as the perfect opportunity to get under her skin.

“come on, that all you got?” he hisses through gritted teeth, poking the bear. terra can’t help but let the vines that had been begging to be freed shoot out of her palms. before he realizes what’s going on, logan can feel the plants slithering up his legs. they make their way to his forearms, then to his neck, curling around him tightly, pushing him away from the girl trapped beneath him.

logan lets out a low chuckle at the girl’s spectacle, the grip of the vines on his neck a feeling he didn't exactly mind. was that really the best she could do?

as terra gives a breathless smirk, thinking she’d done a number on him, logan lets the blades hidden in between his knuckles slide out. without a word, the man is instantly darting toward her... or more specifically the green nuisances growing from her hands.

logan slices the vines straight from where they came from, leaving terra no choice but to fall to the floor in agonizing pain.

he watches as her palms start to gush blood, her eyes widening in shock. bending down on his knee, getting to her level, logan lets his lips slide into a smirk. these next few weeks were going to be fun for him. "you're gonna keep getting yourself into trouble if you don't start paying attention." the man breathes, too careless to yell.

with that, logan turns on his heel, his back facing the injured girl. he thinks about lighting up the rest of his cigar, more hung up on the taste of it lingering in his mouth than the state he's left the oh so peaceful "mother nature" in.

[indigovigilance]

Bullet Theory

Thesis: Crowley passed Aziraphale a bullet during the Final Fifteen kiss. This bullet contains his memories. He tucked it under his tongue, then began to access the memories during the ride up the elevator.

Edit: debunked by God himself, in response to this post. As a reminder, please don’t send fan theories to NG.

Proof:

Glint in the mouth

Inspo credit to this post by @somehow-a-human

Yeah so we were already paying way too much attention to that very special four-letter word we thought Aziraphale was going to say, but it so happens that during that cut-off phoneme is the only time you can see this shiny object in his mouth. (catching this on the right frame was emotionally painful and I’m sending Gavin Finney my therapy bills (actually no I’m not I love you very much sir)).

So that’s the basis of this theory. Crowley passed Aziraphale a bullet that he then tucks under his tongue.

Add’l Evidence Post-Kiss

Aziraphale works his jaw after raising his fingers to his lips: [gif]

Then when the Metatron comes in, he turns his back on the Metatron and raises his hand. I originally thought he was wiping his eyes. Now I think he’s raising his hand to his mouth, maybe to spit out the bullet, maybe to make sure it’s secured under his tongue.

Credits Scene

Aziraphale has the craziest fucking look on his face through the credits, we can all agree. But towards the end, his eyes flicker back and forth, as if he is watching or reading something. Then he smiles. I hypothesize that he is still accessing his memories during this time, and getting the information he needs to [redacted].

Thematic Justification: The Bullet Catch

Aziraphale having a bullet in his mouth as part of a two-man act of deception is not a fresh concept by the time we get to The Final Fifteen.

Additionally, the use of surreptitious modes of communication, where messages are passed from person to person inaudabily, is introduced in this same magic trick. 

NB1: I wish I could credit the person who I first saw point this out (relatively recently). It wasn’t even tagged as meta, I don’t think. But the gist was there’s some parallelism between “aim for my mouth but shoot past my ear” and the “pin the lips on the lips” move that Crowley pulls in the Final Fifteen. If I find it I will properly cite.

NB2: One hypothesis that has circulated around, I think creditable to @sendarya, is that Aziraphale mouths “trust me” to Crowley just before he gets on the elevator. This isn’t necessary to the Bullet Theory but it would be thematically consistent.

Small objects carry memories

Why a bullet? Well, it’s a small object that has meaningful significance between the pair of people involved, much like:

Beelzebub introduces us to the idea that a small object like a fly can be used as a storage container for memories. We also see that the object entering the body of the person is a viable way for the memories to be delivered.

(btw Jon Hamm if you’re reading this, you have very pretty eyes)

“I keep a derringer in a hollowed out book”

K, so it’s not like Crowley is just carrying a bullet loaded with Aziraphale’s memories around with him at all times, is it? (I mean, it could be, but probably not. I’ll just point you to this meta for my theories on why, if Crowley had anything that needed to be kept safe, he would keep it in the bookshop.)

We learn in S2E4 that Aziraphale keeps a gun in a hollowed out book somewhere in the shop. A gun wouldn’t be any good without bullets, right? This may not be the reason the derringer was left as a Chekhov’s Gun for S3, but it’s a possibility. If Crowley wasn’t already in possession of a bullet, he knew that he could find one in the shop. Even more likely, the exact bullet used in the 1941 magic trick is a precious keepsake being kept somewhere in the bookshop, and Crowley chose to use that exact bullet because of the memories already directly attached to the object.

Why Aziraphale even has memories to be returned to him

We know that Aziraphale could have had his mind wiped because Heaven has done it before. Certainly once. Probably twice. We know this because when Metatron is announcing that Gabriel, alongside having his memories erased, is being demoted to 38th class, Muriel pipes up and reminds us that they are 37th class:

So this wasn’t a “just Gabriel” thing. Mind-wiping is a routine form of personnel management in Heaven. There is NO reason for us to believe that it didn’t happen to Aziraphale. But in case you need a reason to believe it, here goes:

We know from our interactions with Jim that the person whose memories are missing (1) doesn’t necessarily know and (2) isn’t necessarily distressed by that fact, even if they do. Muriel also fits this “cheerful empty shell” archetype. You know who else does? Ding ding ding. The one and only A. Z. “wiggles with delight” Fell.

I can already hear your very valid counter-argument. This guy is actually terrified out of his mind on any given day that his romance with a demon will be discovered. Yes. Because he’s involved in a romance with a demon. The other two angels we’ve met don’t have this issue. Beyond that, though, these three characters share more in common with each other disposition-wise than any of them do with the other angels we’ve met (Uriel, Michael, Sandolphon, etc.).

We also know that Aziraphale has been [demoted] at some point from Cherub to Principality. This is book canon: 

"Technically Aziraphale was a Principality, but people made jokes about that these days."

This has also been confirmed (insofar as Neil Gaiman ever confirms anything) by Word of God:

(marketing video screengrab clipped for brevity)

We don’t know for sure it was a demotion, but I think we have enough evidence to infer that with a high degree of confidence.

Anyways.

Summary: Aziraphale is a cheerful angel who was demoted and has a name that is not biblical canon. This evidence indicates that was probably mind-wiped. This is not the first time I’m proposing this. It won’t be the last.

How Crowley Did It

My meta on Continuity Errors gives the complete proof for why I believe that Crowley is able to stop time without Aziraphale knowing, and I propose in that meta that the kiss was a cover-up for the exertion of effort necessary to pull that off. I further proposed that during the pause, he retrieved something from the bookshop. At the time of writing, I didn’t know what. Now, I have an inkling that it was a bullet.

If you need a refresher on Clock Theory, here’s one. The idea is that the clock behind Aziraphale shifts by fifteen minutes from before the kiss to after the kiss. This is consistent with a theory that Crowley paused time (but the clock kept running) in order to retrieve the bullet, dump Aziraphale’s memories into it if he hadn’t already, and then return to transfer the bullet to Aziraphale.

Why Crowley Kept the Secret So Long

As with Continuity Errors, I am ending this meta with a very unsatisfactory “I don’t know.” The motivation for Crowley to keep Aziraphale’s memories from him until the very moment he’s about to leave must have been a strong one. I think it has something to do with why Crowley was so insistent on trying to get Aziraphale to run away with him, instead of dealing with whatever’s coming. But as with Continuity Errors, I suspect that the good omens meta hivemind (and the vast collection of people who are posting clues, you have no idea how important you are) will assemble yet more breadcrumbs that we can follow to some sort of hypothesis.

Until then,

iv

(here's my meta index if you would like to read more stuff like this)

[the-fluff-piece]

"Invisible: chose your own romance

- Law or Sanji?

This is a "choose your own adventure" type continuation of "invisible", if you haven't read that, start here. You can chose at the end if you want to be with Sanji or Law, click on the link to get to the corresponding story

Being friends with Sanji went better than expected. He was still the most handsome and awesome man you knew and it would take a while until your feelings would adjust, but it was good as it was. You helped him often in the galley where you talked and joked.

But he didn't stop swooning over Nami and Robin. When he served them, you were still invisible to him. From one moment to the next, they became his entire focus. His shouted praise and confessions of love still hurt, everyday.

But there was something new to occupy your mind: when Law realised that he had fucked up and spilled secrets that weren't his, he apologised sincerely. He also spotted your stamp collection while standing in your door.

"Wow is that an alabasta crowning special edition?" His whole being changed in a second. His usually squinted eyes opened, his mouth formed a little smile and he disrespected your personal space to squeeze past you and inspect your collection.

With care, he looked through the pages and showed he was also a stamp nerd. It was an unexpected bond that formed and he was still a little frightening, but you promised to look at his coin collection as well.

The two pirate ships anchored side by side for the day and everyone met for a big BBQ on the sunny.

You helped Sanji with the grill, handing him things and goving out food for everyone. Helping him out with his duties on the ship had become your favorite pastime. The moments spent together in the galley where moments of privacy, just the two of you.

When you could at least pretend that in other circumstances, he might have chosen you instead of literally any other girl.

You loaded your arms with plates and brought it to your crew and guests all around the ship. As you approached Law with some grilled fish, he patted the seat next to himself.

"Y/n-ya, I got something for you" He looked excited, showing you a rare smile.

Sanji

Sanji was pretty happy. He resolved the issue with Y/n like a man and gained a friend in the process. It was still new to him to have a lady friend that was just his friend, but he liked it. She helped him in the kitchen and kept him company, he could vent about Zoro or even swoon over Nami. The book she had made just for him had a special place in his kitchen and his heart. He felt seen, appreciated on another level than Luffy or Nami appreciated him.

And right now, he grilled tasty food for all his friends. Life was great. He couldn't help but to whistle a tune.

"Wow what's going on there?" Nami pointed behind Sanji.

He turned his head and saw Y/n, sitting on a picnic blanked with that tra-guy. They were awfully close, looking at some kind of thick book together.

Sanji stared as Law produced a magnifying glass and both tried to look through it at the same time, bumping their heads together and laughing.

"Sanji, you OK?" Nami asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He asked through, as he now realised, gritted teeth.

"You just kind of bit your cigarette off" She looked at the crumbling stump on the floor.

"Must have been in my pocket for too long" He mumbled and pried his gaze from the scene behind him to resume his grill duty.

Throughts raced through his head: why were they so friendly all of a sudden? What were they looking at? How long as this been going on? Why didn't she tell him? They shared everything.

He tried to breathe deeply. She had a right to hang with whomever she wanted. Sanji respected the heart pirates captain for his strength and skill. He was a good guy. This was OK.

He snuck another glance - fuck, are they holding hands?

He turned a bit to fast, throwing a piece of meat in the air with his momentum. Luffy sailed past and caught it with his mouth ("tasty!")

They inspected a small coin on Law's hand, she traced it with her hand - it looked like they were caressing each other - like lovers.

"Sanji, you're turning red" Nami commented.

"It's just really warm at the grill" He groaned as he felt his body tense with anger.

You

It was a great evening, finally you have found a fellow collector who valued a piece's beauty as well as its history.

He was willing to trade an especially ornate coin from a flower island for one of your incredibly detailed Sora stamps.

"This was enjoyable, let's do it again someday!" He eyed the stamp with pure joy in his eyes. You could almost see the boy he must have been once.

"Do you like machines?" He suddenly asked.

"Well, I think they're interesting, but I'm not a machinist" You didn't know where he was going with it.

"You want to see the inner workings of the polar tang?"

He lead you away from the party to the strange submarine he called his home. With a quick "shambles" he transported both of you inside.

He didn't warn you or prepare you in any way - it was like losing your sense of direction and being spun around, condensed into one second. Landing and not knowing where the floor was made you sway and fall directly onto Law's outstretched arm.

He gently pushed you backwards until you were upright again.

"Warn me next time, please!" You huffed.

"Apologies, I should have known" He chuckled. You were pretty sure he did know and he did tease you.

It was pretty dark, there were sparse, little lamps illuminating the hallway. Tiny lights and dials seemed to make up the walls of the ship.

Sanji

Angry puffs of smoke surrounded Sanji as he smoked like a nervous chimney. His thoughts were glued to one subject alone:

What was she doing with that guy? Were they secretly dating? Did they fall in love just now? Did he touch her?

Almost swallowing his cigarette from his gasp, he decided it was his duty to protect her from that guy's tattooed hands. She was so innocent and sweet, the thought of any man groping her made Sanji's legs itchy. If he so much as looks at her in a lusty way, Sanji would kick that gut all the way back to the north blue.

He stomped around the ship in a foul mood.

"Have you seen y/n?" He asked around, "or law?"

"They went back to the tang I think" one of Law's crew indicated the weird submarine.

"Alone?" Sanji grabbed him by the collar.

"I mean, just the two of them!" He said.

Letting him fall from his hands, sanji sprinted as fast as he could toward the ship. If that bastard did something to her he would sink it.

He ripped the door open and ran down the first corridor he could see, crying our her name.

With relief, he heard her answer "I'm here!" And Sanji ran towards the sound. Bending a corner, he saw the most horrifying thing.

Y/n was practically trapped by Law, shoved against some kind of rattling machine. He looked malicious. She looked so small and helpless against him.

"Hey you dirty bastard, let her go!" Sanji challenged the surgeon of death.

You

The polar tangs inner workings actually were quite interesting. The engine and life support were to complicated to understand, but you got the basic principle of the ship. You absolutely had to tell franky about this when you got back.

Law was way taller than you and easily leaned above your head to explain some of the dials and meters to you.

It was kind of exciting. It was hard to deny that he was good looking, in a bad-boy kind of way. But underneath the stoic surface was a nerd for collecting, machinery and medicine. He was so different from Sanji in almost every aspect, but just as appealing.

Keep it together, you can't have your heart broken by another stupid crush. He's out of your league, you told yourself. He's just happy to meet another coin enthusiast, that's all.

In the wrong moment, you looked up at him, and he smiled just right. He looked gorgeous. Dreaded infatuation was driven through your heart like a spear and you blushed, thankful for the cover of darkness.

The rest of his explanation went by in a blur, you both hung on his lips and didn't get a word he was saying.

"Y/n!" Someone screamed. Footsteps could be heard throughout the ship.

"I'm here" you answered, hopefully loud enough.

Not even a second later, Sanji slid around a corner and immediately began shittalking Law.

"Get your dirty hands off her, you bastard!" He screamed, fist raised.

"I'm not even touching her" Law stated calmly.

"He showed me how the submarine works." You told Sanji, demonstrably taking a step back from Law.

Sanji was there in a heartbeat, grabbing you around the waist and dragging you behind him.

"Guess you're leaving. But think about my offer, will you?" Law waved at you and stepped back into the hallway.

With a yank, you landed in Sanji's arms and you were back at the sunny before you realised he had carried you all the way.

When he finally set you down in the safety of the galley, he sighed and began to inspect you.

"Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?" His voice sounded distressed.

"Did he....force you to do anything?"He grabbed your chin and looked into your eyes.

"No, we just looked at the engine and the electronics" you mumbled out from between his long fingers.

"He's our ally, calm down" you grabbed his hand to reassure him.

"Tss" He threw his blonde hair around like the diva he was. Anger has reddened his face and squeezed his mouth into an adorable pout.

"Just don't be alone with that guy anymore" he said.

You just rolled your eyes, knowing better than to correct him while he was really on edge.

"What offer was he talking about?" Sanji began chewing the end of his cigarette.

"To join his crew" you stated as sanji flinched.

"Cannot wait to see that guy's face when you turn him down" he grinned maliciously.

"Who said I would?" You looked at his surprised face as the cigarette almost dropped from his gaping mouth.

"Uhm what? You're..You're not seriously considering that. The guy is a weirdo" He gestured wildly, "unpredictable!"

"Don't talk about him like that! He's been a great ally to us. So he's a little introverted, he still has a kind heart" you stated, demonstrably calm.

"He cuts people open! He's...he treat you well!" Sanji's voice morphed into a shriek.

"He's a surgeon, his crew is so nice. Why are you like this?" You got louder as well. It was your decision, not his.

"Promise me you won't go!" He shouted.

"Who do you think you are?" You retaliated, "you can't give me orders! Maybe I want to join his crew? What's it to you? A few weeks ago you didn't even talk to me - now you're aching like...like..." You were so angry, words eluded you.

"Like a man protecting a woman?" Sanji's voice was flat, without emotion.

"...like an overbearing father" you corrected him. The nerve -acting like you suddenly registered as a girl to him.

His face became cold and unreadable, scary.

This had no use anymore.

"Good night Sanji" you didn't wait for his answer and left him in the galley.

After your little argument with Sanji, you packed your bags with the motivation of anger and hurt. But you mostly threw your belongings in without plan or order. A half packed bag, total chaos.

The next morning - the heart pirates would leave and you had to decide if you wanted to go with them. You already talked to Luffy about this - he only told you to follow your heart.

You stood on deck, you bag over your shoulder. When Law saw this he smiled and nodded, Bepo was nervously fumbling and blushing behind him.

You turned back to your old crew to say goodbye, you were sure they would understand. Frankly cried, Luffy looked serious and wished you all the best. Sanji was nowhere to be seen.

As you approached the heart pirates, who were already shouting Greetings, you saw Law nod behind you.

Sanji stood there with a small package in his hands, wrapped in cloth. His cheeks were fiery red as he tried to keep his composure.

"I made you a last bento" His voice was hoarse, breaking, "everything you like. All your favorites. Just promise that you'll eat proper over there." He handed you the box and as his fingers brushed against yours, he couldn't keep it together anymore.

You didn't move, your were both holding the box as he wept and whispered his goodbyes:

"I am sorry I didn't see you. I'm sorry I was so stupid. I wish I could turn back time and make everything right. I didn't know what love meant until I lost you. I... I am so sorry." He whispered so softly that only you could hear it.

------

What's going to happen? Will you stay or go?

--> chose Law and go to the heart pirates

--> chose Sanji and stay

Taglist @sophsgloom @nim-rose @iloveartofcartoons-blog @caffeinated-chicken-nuggets @mugiwarasoul19 @yeeeeezly @atanukileaf @rosemaplefairy90 @carpinchootaku @corvinalitbitina

[mae-is-crazy]

I was wondering if you could do Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes one shot where Mae and Noa are sitting by a fire in a cave, like you know how some movies do like silhouette scenes where the light shines on them but you can only see their silhouettes and they're talking very softly I'm not really sure you can come up with something maybe it's something serious or like something touching or heartwarming. But I always imagine they would be tired and like exhausted or something or emotionally or physically but they're like getting closer to each other I mean they're Bond or something which eventually mae fall asleep on him and he feels all awkward X3

Okay, I'm being so serious right now what I say that I LOVE THIS REQUEST!! So frickin' wholesome and cute. I'm usually one to go into serious and darker content, but I couldn't miss the opportunity to write some fluff. I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope you have just as much fun reading the finished product :) :)

Signs of Constant (Noa/Mae)

Synopsis: A quiet night by the fire leads to sharing the beauties of two different world.

(This story is unedited. Edits will be conducted at a later date).

In the serene warmth of the fire in front of him, Noa observed Mae.

He studied her face like it was the last time he’d see it. And it very well could be; she’d been gone for two springs, off with who he assumed to be a group of intelligent ech- humans- so who knew how long she’d be gone for next time. When Anaya alerted him of her presence, Noa had felt this warm wave in his gut that pushed him to see her without a second thought.  

Through the limited lighting of the dancing flames, Noa took in her every feature.

Noa could see a faint scar on the bottom right side of her chin, one that hadn’t been there the last time she was around. Her hair looked different too. Darker? No, it was just the night. It did look shorter, but only slightly. It was still in that lose braid he last saw her with.

Something that hadn’t changed, however, was her eyes. Even with hues of orange engulfing the small cave the two were huddled in, its raging colors were no match against the cerulean shade in her eyes. Even before the two were formally introduced he’d first noticed the striking color, a color that shood out against the earthy browns and greens of his clan. They somehow seemed to shine brighter on the night.

As if reading his mind, Mae blinked in his direction. She smirked slyly as Noa quickly looked down at his lap. “Gotcha,” she teased lightly.

Noa silently prayed his dark pelt could hide whatever heat was radiating off his face. He turned to look behind him, instead focusing on the massive silhouettes on the rocky backdrop. It was clear enough the height difference between the two, but the fire only made it more obvious- almost monstrous.

An ape and a human. Two different species, two different worlds. Different ways of life and how they think the world should work. And yet they were at peace with one another.  It shouldn’t be possible, and yet here they were, sharing a fire.

Mae follows Noa’s field of sight. She watches the shadows behind them bounce across the rock wall. Noa side eyed her. A smile began creeping upon her face.

“My mom always did this when we had a fire,” Mae explained as eh shuffled herself to turn around, her back facing the fire. “You can tell stories with the fire.”

The put her hands up and together. She stacked her thumbs on top of each other and made a slight cup with her hands. She displayed it in front of the fire, and…

“It’s a bird,” Mae moved her hands in a fluid motion as if the creature was in flight. Noa couldn’t’ hide the amused chortle, only making the girl’s smirk grow into a toothy smile. Noa could feel a quickening sensation in his heart. Her eyes seemed to shine brighter through her smile- brighter than the flames in the pitch black night- because of her smile.

Mae changed her hands to form a new shape. This beast had a snout similar to that of a boar, but without jagged teeth or short, flappy ears- whereas this thing’s ears stood at attention. “It’s a dog.”

Noa gave her a confused glance. Mae put her hands down immediately after.

“The hands… are like sign.”

“I don’t know sign.”

Noa twisted his whole body to fully face Mae and she silently did the same. He put up one hand and took a deep breath before slowly twisting his fingers into different shapes. He’d tuck a finger into his parm or point to the side. He took a moment before moving onto each letter to let Mae absorb what she was seeing.

“Fire,” he whispered. Mae looked at her own hand. She glanced up at Noa’s hand and back down at hers before trying for herself. Noa watched the girl tale her time forming each character. When she’d make a mistake, he repeated the sign until she’d get it right.

Noa released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He softly smirked. There was so much to learn from one another. So much to teach as well, it seemed.

Mae looked outside past the fire. The only thing visible in the dead of night was the celestial body of stars. It was a constant in this rapidly changing world. Noa found reassurance that, no matter what happened, he could as least look up each night and find that the stars hadn’t left him.

Noa signed without looking away from the girl. “Stars,” he murmured. She followed quickly in suit and mirrored his gestured. “Stars,” she mimicked quietly.

The ape nodded in approval. He raised his hand one more time, this time spelling out each word as he shaped it.

He tucked his thumb between his pinkie and ring finger. “M.”

Made a fist but being sure to keep his thumb exposed. “A.”

Noa’s fingers touched each other tightly and sat atop his thumb.

Mae beat him to finish the word.

“E.”

The two watched one another carefully. The silence that once brought Noa comfort now made him feel awkward, almost uneasy. Whereas Noa would stare at Mae, it seemed that she was doing it to him- thinking to herself, forming possible judgments. What did she see that he couldn’t?

The intensity in her glare suddenly shifted and her she relaxed her shoulders. Mae squeezed her eyes shut and dipped her head. She stretched out her arms and yawned. Before Noa could register what was happening, Mae leaned closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder.

Noa stiffened like a board. He heard his breath and eyed the fragile girl (though she was far from fragile outside of the physical scene). The fire was beginning to die down. Even so, Mae still did not shiver against Noa’s body.

He waited a minute, two, ten before settling on the idea that she’d fallen asleep. He tilted his head to catch a glimpse of her peacefully slumbering form.  The young ape felt truly honored to feel trusted with this precious girl’s life in such a vulnerable state.

Noa was just about to allow himself sleep when he heard a tiny voice against him:

“Tomorrow, I want you to each me your name.”

[probably-writing-x]

Blushing Boy

Drew Starkey x Reader

Summary: There were few things that made Drew Starkey lose his confidence, in fact, perhaps only one could truly ever do it; you. He didn’t know how, or why, but you just seemed to have that goddamn effect on him.

Warnings: Nothing besties, just fluffy as heck

Author’s Note: Thank you so so much for the love on my other post, I just had to post this one too !! Please please send in any requests you have my angels <3

Not my gif

You were just about nearing the end of press for Outer Banks Season 3, and all bases had been covered - you’d done interviews to see how well you knew your cast mates, ones looking at scenes from the show, and, of course, the puppy interview. Today was your last day, though all of you were split up in different places, on different projects, and so the last day of interviews would be done over zoom. This was your first experience working on the show, having come in to play Rafe’s love interest as the start of the season. Thankfully, the fans had fallen in love with you, and especially with your storyline with Drew. So much so, in fact, that they’d started to ship you two as actors as well, adoring every moment that they saw you spend together. The two of you were just friends, but you can’t say you didn’t find it amusing whenever theories were made. And, being honest, some of the edits did make you two look cute.

That was your side of things, anyway. Drew had fallen for you at the same rate that Rafe had fallen for your character. He wanted to see you every morning you started work, waiting to catch sight of you on set. He wanted to film all of his scenes with you, watching in awe whenever you acted. He was mesmerised whenever he saw you at events, amazed by you from the red carpets to the earliest of mornings. Drew felt like a schoolboy around you, stumbling over his words, blushing at prolonged eye contact, ears pricking up at the sound of your name. And it only got worse the more he saw of you.

“Okay, thank you guys all for joining me today,” The interviewer begins, smiling widely into the screen, “We’ve got Madelyn, Chase, Madison, Rudy, Jonathon, Carlacia, Drew and (Y/N), the cast of season three of Outer Banks, now streaming on Netflix. How are you guys doing?”

“I’m good,” Madelyn smiles.

“I’m tired, I flew back from Paris today and I’m so jetlagged,” Madison laughs.

“Okay, we’ll start off with a question for Chase, how has it been with the new additions to the cast this season - with Carlacia and (Y/N). How does that fit in with the dynamic of you guys working together?”

Chase leans closer to his microphone and speaks, “You know I think we got really lucky again to work with another great group of people, we all get on so well and these two just fit in perfectly with that, and it makes it so easy to go to work when you’re with such a good bunch.”

“Amazing, and (Y/N), what was your experience like being on set?”

You shift in your seat, glancing at all of the faces on screen, “Like Chase said, it was just ideal getting to work with everyone, it’s like being on one long holiday all working together, you’re out in the sun everyday, you’re on the water, you’re doing stunts, it was just such a great experience. And I was so lucky to get to share the screen with Drew, he makes it so easy to come into work everyday and, I mean, it’s not exactly hard to pretend to fall in love with him.”

You glance at him on the screen and the way his eyes seem so transfixed as you speak, like he holds onto every syllable one at a time. He’s wearing a purple t-shirt that brings out his eyes and his hair is messy in that sort of perfect way it always was.

“And Drew, what was it like to be working with (Y/N) so closely?”

“Yeah, I mean,” He coughs over his words, “It was great, (Y/N) is just perfect to work with, I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. She’s so talented, and kind and supportive as an actress and she just made me want to get up every day and come into work.”

You’re sure your cheeks heat with the vulnerability of what he has said. His are bright red too, and you’re relieved for a moment to share the same feeling even across the screen.

A few more questions are asked, Rudy explains about how many injuries he managed to pick up on set and Jonathon tells an embarrassing story about you and Madelyn from the wrap party. And then attention falls back to you and Drew.

“So, whilst I’ve got you guys here, I have to ask Drew and (Y/N) about the rumours that have been going around about you two, can you tell me anything the fans will want to hear?”

You laugh, slightly allowing yourself a bit more time before you figure out what to say, “You know, these things are inevitable when you play a couple on a show. But I think we take it as a compliment if anything, at least it was convincing enough for people to believe us, you know? Right Drew?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Drew chuckles dryly, “I’m just glad they know that we don’t hate each other.”

“Are you blushing Starkey?!” Rudy exclaims, coming closer to the screen.

Drew laughs and looks away, biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth, “Shut it Pankow.”

Everyone laughs but it’s as if you can feel all eyes on the two of you, and in that moment, all you want it for him to be there with you to share the attention. For him to be close enough that your hand could brush his, your eyes could focus solely on Drew’s, your laugh in rhythm with his. And, in that moment, perhaps for the first time, you realise that maybe those edits had realised something before you had.

“Okay, well it’s been great speaking to you guys, thank you so much for joining me,” The interviewer finishes up, closing off before telling you that you’re all done and you can log off from the call.

You shut your laptop and pull out your phone to see notifications already bursting through. They’re all from the groupchat you had with the other girls.

Oh my god did you see his face?

Are you kidding me rn??? That boy is in love with you

I’ll never forgive you if you don’t date Starkey fr

You laugh, fingers hovering over the buttons as you try to figure out a response. You wanted to tell them that they were being stupid, that there was no reason for them to think like that. But you can’t bring yourself to lie to them.

You swipe away from that chat, scrolling the short way down to where Drew’s chat with you was. The last thing he’d sent you was a fan made video of the two of you, a video from set where he had you on his shoulders in the pool and both of you fell under.

When you go to text him, he’s already typing.

And this time, you’re the one that’s blushing.

[winchesterwild78]

Behind the Scenes pt 1

Master List

Minors DNI 18+

Warnings: anxiety, things heat up a little, language, not really-but light petting/smutish

A/N: You are newly hired on Supernatural. Your character was supposed to be a one and done but the fans loved you so they wrote you in the story. You were supposed to play Sam’s love interest, but things get complicated when you fall for someone behind the scenes. This is a work of fiction. No disrespect to Jensen or Jared or their families. *kinda a long chapter, just wanted to set up the story*

I edited this fast- please forgive any mistakes

This is my original work, do not take it.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

As you drove to the studio on your first day you were so nervous. You had been a fan of Supernatural for years and here you were getting ready to play a small part on this amazing show. You already knew your character was only going to appear in a few episodes but you didn’t care. You were excited to work with Jared, Misha and of course Jensen.

You pulled up to the gate and showed the security guard your ID. They welcomed you and told you where to park. When you pulled in the parking lot there was a man waiting for you. “Hey, you must be Y/N. I’m Carter and I’m a PA on the set. I’ll be helping you and showing you around.” He said extending his hand to you. “Hey, Carter. It’s really nice to meet you. Thanks. I’m a bit nervous.” You admitted. He smiled and told you not to be that everyone was so welcoming.

The two of you walked into a large building and were greeted by some other people. They were excited to see you. Someone handed you a script and told you this was the latest copy of what you were shooting today. Carter walked you to the hair/make up trailer and told you he’d be back with your wardrobe.

You walked in the trailer and Carter introduced you to the women in there. They were very sweet and welcoming. You sat in the first chair and the woman, Sarah started doing your makeup for your first scene. There was a loud sound from behind you and Sarah and the other woman, Cheyenne looked at each other and said “Uhoh. Here comes trouble” and laughed. You watched in the mirror as the door opened and saw Jared and Jensen walk in.

You sat still and instantly got nervous. The guys walked in and hugged Sarah and Cheyenne then their attention turned to you. Jared was first to speak. “You must be Y/N. It’s great to finally meet you.” He extended his hand. “I’d give you a hug but I see you’re busy” he said. “It’s nice to meet you too Jared. I’m looking forward to working with you.” You said offering a smile. Jensen stepped forward and his green eyes sparkled as he said hello. You smiled and said hello back. He extended his hand to shake yours and he held on a little longer than usual. Jared cleared his throat and Jensen let go.

You blushed as you looked away. Sarah finished with your makeup and Cheyenne asked you to come sit in her chair. You sat down and noticed Jensen watching you from the couch. Jared climbed in Sarah’s chair to get ready for the scene. Jensen sat watching every move you made and hung on every word you said.

“So Y/N, seems like our first scene together is today. Are you excited?”Jared asked. “Yeah. I read the rewrite this morning so I think I’m ready. I did read we had to kiss. Are you okay with that, what about your wife” You asked. “Yeah I’m good and so is she. Are you comfortable with it. We don’t have to do that scene today if you need more time” he said. “No, I’m okay. I just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable. You’re the one married.” You answered. Jared stood up and walked over to you and took your hand. “Hey, it’s okay. I appreciate your concern. It’s actually refreshing to have someone concerned about me and my family.”

Jensen smiled. He couldn’t help but smile at your genuine concern. You stood up and grabbed your clothes. “Thanks ladies. I look amazing” you said as you started to leave. They hugged you and smiled. Jared gave you a hug and told you he’d see you on set. Jensen just stood and smiled. You smiled at him and left heading towards your trailer.

You found your trailer and it was between Jensen’s and Jared’s. You smiled as you walked it. Your trailer was beautiful and had so many amenities. You changed into your wardrobe and grabbed the script. You sat on your couch reading over it.

Jensen and Jared were sitting in the hair and makeup trailer getting ready for their scenes. “Hey Jens, you okay man. You’ve been really quiet this morning” Jared nudged him. “Huh, oh yeah. Just thinking and getting my head in the game.” Jensen replied. “Hmm, okay man. Whatever you say” Jared smirked.

Carter knocked on your door and said they needed you on set. You walked out with him and arrived on the massive set. Everyone was excited to finally meet you and the director came over and introduced himself. You saw Jared and Jensen already on set and Jared walked over grabbing you into a big hug. Jensen still stood to the side. You were starting to wonder what you did that made him act like he was.

“Hey Y/N, you okay” Jared asked. “Yeah, just not sure if I upset Jensen or something. He hasn’t really spoken to me. Did I take this role from somebody he knows” you asked. “Oh no, I’m not sure what’s wrong with him, but I know you didn’t do anything wrong.” He said.

The director called for places and you, Jared and Jensen all got into your spots. “Action” the director called out. Jared crossed the room and began the dialogue. Jensen was in character too. Your character was a young woman who the brothers saved from a vampire nest. You were grateful for the rescue so you kiss Sam. After some retakes it was time to shoot the kissing scene. Before action was called Jared asked if you were ready and you shook your head.

“Sam I have no idea how to thank you. I honestly thought I was going to die. Thank you” you said as you stood on your toes and kissed him. He deepened the kiss and you melted in his arms. “And cut, that’s a wrap for the day everyone. Remember we have an early call tomorrow.” you heard the director say. Jared helped you stand and squeezed your arm. “You did great, Y/N”. He said with a smile. You thanked him and started to leave the set.

You walked to your trailer and sat down for a minute. You felt like your first day went really good but you couldn’t shake the feeling you did something to upset Jensen.

You tried to brush it off but you couldn’t figure it out. You stood up and headed for the shower. You carefully took off your clothes and placed them on the bed. You jumped in the shower and were amazed by the shower pressure. Once you were done you put on some comfy clothes and laid on the couch. You decided since you had an early call you’d just spend the night in your trailer.

You turned on the television and put on some random show for background noise. You scrolled through social media and saw you had some new friend requests from the cast and crew. Your heart leaped when you saw one from Jensen. There was a soft knock on the door. You stood up and opened the door to see Jensen standing there. You smiled and he smiled back. “Hey Y/N, can I come in” he asked. You stepped to the side and nodded.

When he walked past, you smelled his cologne and it was intoxicating. He sat down on the couch and you sat beside him. “So, what’s on your mind Jensen” you asked. “I wanted to apologize if I came across as rude today. That wasn’t my intention. If I’m being honest I was kind of in awe of you. I couldn’t find the words” he confessed. “You were in awe of me” you asked. “Yeah, you were genuinely concerned about Jared and Gen and how they were going to handle the kissing scene. I’ve never met anyone like you. And you’re really beautiful” Jensen admitted. You smiled and blushed. “Thank you, Jensen. That means a lot to me.”

“So how did you feel about your first day and kissing that moose” Jensen chuckled. “I think it went pretty good. It was difficult standing on my toes trying to kiss him, he’s so dang tall. How does Gen do it.” You laughed. “Maybe next time we should be sitting.”

Something in the air changed. It felt like the room was filled with an electric charge. Jensen locked eyes with you and you couldn’t look away. His hand brushed against your face to slide a stray hair behind your ear. You leaned into his touch. His hand slowly brushed your cheek and as his hand slid down to your chin fire erupted on your skin. Jensen lifted your chin and leaned in. You leaned forward into his space. You could smell his woodsy cologne and mint gum. It was intoxicating.

The two of you were inches apart and all you could hear was the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Your breath hitched as Jensen’s lips were inches from yours. Your hot breath mingling with his. He whispers “can I kiss you?” Words failed you. All you were able to do was nod yes. His lips fell on yours and you melted. The kiss was soft and sweet. You felt Jensen run his fingers into your hair and he pulled you closer deepening the kiss. His tongue ran across your lips asking for entry. You parted your lips and your tongues began an intricate dance of dominance. You moaned into his mouth and he smiled. As the kiss continued your hands ran over each other’s bodies.

When you two pulled away to catch your breath you both were panting. You’ve deemed about kissing him for years, but this was so much better than any fantasy you’ve had. You looked at Jensen and smiled. He ran his hands through his hair and bit his lip. “Um, I uh should go” he said as he stood. You were shocked. What the hell just happened. “Oh, yeah okay. I uh need to sleep too. We have an early call” you said trying to hold back emotions.

Jensen looked at you and you swear he was about to say something but he turned and walked towards the door. You stood there dumbfounded. As his hand grabbed the door he whispered “good night Y/N” then left. You stood there with your fingers on your lips feeling the ghost of his kiss.

Jensen went to his trailer and sat on the couch with his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe he kissed you. He wanted to but damn you just started and he didn’t want to screw anything up. He let out a frustrated sigh and climbed into his bed. He stared at the ceiling thinking about you and how he hopes he didn’t screw anything up.

You crawled into your bed and stared at the ceiling too. Playing over and over again the kiss and how he felt in your arms. Why did he kiss you and then leave so quickly. He’d been acting strange all day and this was your first day. How would the rest of the shooting days go. Ugh! You sighed loudly and stared at the ceiling until exhaustion took over.

Jensen sent Jared a text:

Jensen: Jared I screwed up. I kissed her

Jared: you kissed who? Y/N?

Jensen: Yeah. I went to apologize for being rude and I swear I was pulled to her like a magnet. I don’t know what came over me. Then I stood up and left like a fucking coward.

Jared: Damn man, sounds like you’ve got it bad. Please fix this before it gets bad. She’s great and I think she’s going to be great for the show. I’m all for you being with her, but damn dude. The first day?!?!

Jensen: Yeah I know. I guess I should talk to her tomorrow. It’s too late. I’m sure she’s asleep.

Jared: take her coffee in the morning and talk to her. Night man

Jensen: great idea. Night.

Your alarm went off early and you groaned as you turned it off. You set your alarm early so you had time to shower, grab some breakfast and relax before heading to set. You knew craft service was there early so you didn’t have to go far for breakfast. You jumped in the shower and got dressed. As you’re brushing your hair you hear a soft knock on the door. “Just a second” you said as you walked to the door.

You opened the door to see Jensen standing there with coffee and a hesitant smile. You looked at him and stepped to the side. Letting him come in. “Hey Y/N, I wanted to talk to you about last night.” He said hesitantly. You motioned to the couch and you both sat down. “I got you a coffee. Figured you’d need one with such an early morning.” “Thank you, Jensen. I didn’t sleep well so this means a lot.” You said taking the coffee.

“So what did you want to talk about” you asked nervously. “I wanted to apologize for leaving like I did last night. There isn’t a good reason for why I did that. I have to tell you from the moment I saw you I was drawn to you. Then I kissed you and what I felt scared the hell out of me. I just met you and I want you to be mine. I want to get to know you and see where this leads” Jensen said taking your hand.

You smiled and said “I’d like that too, Jensen. When you kissed me last night it was a dream come true. I feel drawn to you too, but I’m scared. You’re Jensen Ackles and could have any woman you wanted. When you kissed me I thought it was a dream I didn’t want to wake up from. I’m willing to take this slow if you want to.”

“Yes, Y/N. I want to, I want you. Let’s take it slow and see where this leads. We should keep this between us for now. I don’t want too many opinions in this relationship. Jared kinda knows I like you and I kissed you, but that’s it.” Jensen said.

“Okay. Let’s take it slow and keep it between us for now.” You smiled. He leaned in and whispered “I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. Can I kiss you again?” You smiled and nodded yes. Jensen ran his fingers in your hair and pulled you closer. His lips landed on yours in a soft kiss. Your tongue licked his lips asking for entry and he parted his lips. You both deepened the kiss and it grew passionate. His hands were running down your body and your hands found his hair. Moans left your mouth as his hands brushed against your breasts. Jensen pulled you into his lap as he kissed you. Your legs straddling his lap and your heat feeling his growing bulge.

Jensen shifted and his hardness pushed into you. He groaned and so did you. God he felt so big. You both pulled away panting for air and your cheeks flushed with desire. There is no fucking way you two are going to be able to take this slow with his body being so damn gorgeous. You bit your lower lip and pushed off of him and stood.

“We need to stop Jensen. I’m not sure I can control myself if we continue.” Your voice dripping with desire. “Yeah, I know. I’d love to see what’s under that shirt and in those jeans.” He practically growled. “Damn, Ackles. You can’t say stuff like that to me before I shoot a make out scene with Jared” you laughed. He chuckled but there was something behind it. You weren’t sure what it was.

He kissed you one last time and you thanked him for the coffee. He left and you went to grab some food before heading to makeup and hair. Jared was sitting at the table eating and he stood up when he saw you. “Hey Y/N, how’d you sleep” he asked pulling you into a hug. “Okay, not the best but I had things on my mind” you said. “Yeah. Hopefully he got his head out of his ass” Jared whispered as he nudged you. You shook your head yes as you smiled.

The day went by pretty quickly. The scenes you shot with the guys were pretty easy. As the day progressed you knew the make out scene was coming up. Jensen had been acting kinda weird this afternoon as the scene approached. You just brushed it off trying to focus on the scene.

“Okay, Jared and Y/N let’s get ready for your characters confession of their feelings and make out scene. You okay with that Y/N” the director asked. You shook your head yes. Jared wanted to make sure you were comfortable with every part of the scene and you told him you were.

You noticed Jensen standing off to the side behind the camera as you and Jared took your marks. “Quiet on set, and Action” the director yelled. “Hey Sam, I think we should talk” you said. “Yeah. I agree Lilah. I really want to see where this goes between us. I really like you and I think we could make it work” Sam said. “I think so too, Sam.” You said with a smile. He kissed you and ran his hands in your hair. You moaned into his kiss and his hands started to run up and down your body. Sam (Jared) pulled you down onto his lap and your legs straddled him. You couldn’t help but think about Jensen in that moment. You stiffened and Jared leaned forward and whispered into your ear if you were okay. You whispered yes back. Jared started kissing you as you moaned Sam’s name and he moaned Lilah’s. He removed your shirt and kissed down your body.

Your back was to the camera so you didn’t see Jensen’s jaw clenching. He was getting angry seeing his best friend kissing and making out with you. He kept telling himself it was your characters not you but it wasn’t helping. He stormed out of the room. Not long after the direct called cut. Jared helped you grab your shirt and stand up.

“Great take guys. That’s a wrap for today” the director said. “Hey Jared, where did Jensen go” you asked. “Hmm maybe his trailer” he said. You walked towards your trailer to change and as you got to your door Jensen’s trailer door flung open. You jumped and looked at him. He looked pissed. “Hey Jensen, you okay” you asked. “No I’m not” he practically growled and kept walking. “Jensen, what’s wrong. Did I do something” you asked trying to get him to stop. “Look, I like you, but I’m not sure this is going to work out.” He said as he kept walking. You stood completely shocked. You then went after him. “Jensen, stop. Talk to me. It wasn’t even a few hours ago you said you wanted to see where this thing went and now you’re throwing in the towel. What the hell happened” you demanded. He looked at you scoffed and climbed in his car driving off.

Wow, okay. You thought. Fuck this you said and walked to your trailer. You changed and left the set for the day. You had a few days off before your next call day. So you decided to head back to your apartment. Hopefully you’d get some answers soon.

Forever tags: @nescaveckdaily @kr804573 @k-slla @jackles010378 @jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @roseblue373

[dearsnow]

THE LAST TIME

- ten out of the countless times you have seen neil perry, and nine where you saw him alive. (neil perry x gn! implied to be shy reader, fluff to angst, canon-typical main character death, major spoilers for dps but i assume you’ve watched it before, i included my own poetry so i hope y’all like it, sad face emoji i teared up while writing this).

word count: 9,006

a/n - thank you so so much to my beta readers @sorencd and @chuudidit for reading this massive piece, i appreciate you endlessly <3 this was definitely a labor of love, one that i took a considerable amount of time to write and edit. i adore dead poets society and poetry in general (i have written 130+ poems and never plan on stopping) so i definitely needed to put my thoughts into words lol 😭 anyways, i hope you enjoy, because i definitely enjoyed writing this for you.

When Neil Perry first saw you, and god, did he see you, he knew nothing would ever be the same again.

You were simply sitting there under the old tree just outside the borders of Welton with a book under your nose and the soft rays of a flashlight filtering through your hair. You had one knee up, holding the book in a gentle balancing act as he stared. Charlie gave him a nudge, eyebrows raised and a tease on the tip of his tongue, but Neil couldn’t even move. He was completely and utterly dumbstruck. The moon was hanging above your head, full and bright, drowning you in a poetic haze. You flipped a page and he could feel his heart beating in his chest. He thought he had never seen anything so beautiful before, and he had no idea why.

After a long minute, he peeled his gaze away from the figure under the tree and followed the other dead poets to their second ever meeting. From the corner of his eye, he swore he saw you glance up at him when he passed, but no one else seemed to notice.

When Neil and the poets were walking back to Welton, you weren’t there- something Neil noticed instantly. Of course, being who he was, Todd noticed that Neil noticed, and Charlie noticed that Todd noticed, and before he knew it, Neil and his fixation were the new tortured topics of the evening. 

“Oh, love at first sight! The most beautiful kind.” Charlie teased, clasping his hands and spinning around. “How romantic.”

Neil shook his head, trying desperately to clear his suspicions. “It’s not like that. I swear, it’s not even a crush. I just thought it was weird.”

Cameron chimed in with a slightly hushed tone. At least he was aware of the fact that they were quickly approaching the earshot of every single person in Welton Academy. “I wonder where they came from. I mean, it couldn’t have been comfortable or safe to be out here at night. Especially alone.”

“Same. What do you think they were reading?” Neil responded, quick to try and put the teasing behind him. Despite his efforts, the teasing carried long into the night and the days following it. It seemed like nothing and no one would ever let him forget he ever saw you.

He would find out later that you were reading a poetry book.

He saw you for the second time on a trip to the main town. He recognized you instantly, from what little knowledge of you he had gained. You had the same hair, the same stature, the same book tucked under your arm as you peered into the musty old bookstore in the back corner. Just Todd was with him this time, and he definitely knew what was up.

Todd glanced at him, a warm expression on his face. Once again, Neil was entranced.

In the new glorious daylight, he noticed things he never could’ve before. The undertones of your hair, your skin, the way you seemed to glow even when you dipped into the shadows. He saw the pure beauty of you in a manner he had never seen anyone else in before. He took a step forward, pulled towards you somehow as his heart beat a mile a minute. The bookstore loomed over you, cracked and imperfect, yet casting the evening in a scene plucked out of a storybook. You turned, seeming to have seen him in the window’s reflection, and he flinched. He almost had a heart attack as his brain registered the color of your eyes and exactly how your mouth pulled up into a smile. Quickly turning away, he grabbed Todd’s sleeve and hightailed it out of there. Todd followed, as he always did. Neil was enamored, and Todd could tell.

“Do you think they saw me?” Neil gasped, pulling Todd into the square’s corner. He was panting lightly, red-cheeked, with a lopsided grin on his face. Todd had never seen him nervous, much less shy. In fact, he was the opposite- friendly, inclusive, and not the type to run away from a challenge. Something must have been different about you.

Todd raised his eyebrows. “Probably, Neil, they looked back.” He, too, saw your eyes, though he was mostly focused on the anxiety coursing through his veins rather than committing them to memory.

Neil’s gasping breaths were definitely louder than they needed to be. “Oh god, they definitely saw me. They probably think I’m a creep. Jesus, it’s definitely over.”

“What’s over?” Todd put a hand on his shoulder worriedly. “There was nothing there to begin with. They’re just a person, you’ll be fine.”

“Way to kill my dreams, Todd. Look, can you promise me that you won’t tell this to anyone else?” Neil asked, suddenly very serious. He glanced around like someone would waltz into the trash-filled and truthfully disgusting corner. The bathrooms were just around the bend, and he could smell it.

Intrigued, Todd nodded.

“I need you to say it. Promise me.” Neil whispered. His coat crinkled as he moved closer to Todd, the material dipping around his sweater. The fall air was the perfect background for whatever Neil was trying to get up to.

“I promise.”

Neil grinned boyishly and glanced around the corner again. “This is stupid, but I think I’m in love.” From the look in his eyes, Todd could definitely tell. His friend was suddenly more animated than he had been in a very long while, and he knew that he would do anything to keep him that way. His caution, however, took over.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. What if you never see them again?”

“And what if I do?” Neil breathed. “What if I see them tomorrow, or the next day, or a week from now? What if I see them every day of my life because I just went out and said something?”

Todd shook his head. “Just be careful, alright? There’s a very good chance that nothing will come of it.” Neil clasped Todd’s jacket, quirking his eyebrows.

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Just no.”

The first time you saw Neil Perry, you didn’t even know you saw him. You were sitting under a tree, reading an Emily Dickinson book you bought in the town’s bookstore. It was a way to relax to you. A way to forget all of your troubles and just enjoy the wonders of the world. You don’t know why you picked that tree, or why you stayed so long you had to use the flashlight you so hastily packed, but life has its ways of pulling you towards something you didn’t know existed.

The scenery was absolutely beautiful, even at night. You wrapped your thick coat tightly around your shoulders. The fall leaves beneath you gave a crackle and the moon hung high above your head, slightly illuminating your page. Welton Academy loomed just outside of your line of sight. It was beautiful, too, but something about the cold stone walls made you shiver.

As time slipped away, you began to hear a hushed cacophony of boys around your age coming out of the school to the side of you. They had their hoods up, laughing and giggling like they were in some sort of secret club. You looked up, and one of them stopped dead in his tracks. You could see his breaths clouding in the night as the others urged him forward. Your eyes drifted back down to your book, as if you were embarrassed. The moment broke, and he was on his way.

You weren’t there for his return back to Welton.

The second time you saw him, you noticed him a lot more clearly. You were window shopping just outside of the bookstore. Even though the building was dusty and marred, it smelled like home. It smelled like stories and adventures and comfort. You were a frequent visitor to this place, and one of the owner’s best customers. 

He often set up his new imports in the big, yellow-tinted window in front of you. As you gazed in, you noticed a face appear in the space next to you. You turned around partially, meeting his dark brown eyes. Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at him.

It was an electric moment. His lips were slightly parted, and the gray clouds above him were engorged with unshed tears. You gaped at him, dumbfounded, as milliseconds ticked away like hours.

Before you knew it, he had sped away with his friend in tow. Huh, you hadn’t even noticed he had a friend. All you could think about was the fact that he looked familiar, and the fact that he was the most handsome boy you had ever had the pleasure of locking eyes with.

His stature reminded you of the boy by the tree, the boy from Welton Academy. There was just something about him that screamed “you saw him once in a dream”.

Somehow, you thought one simple thought: you were in love with someone you did not know.

When Neil saw you for the third time, and the third time you saw him, he worked up the courage to talk to you.

Mr. Keating was instructing the boys outside yet again. They were in the courtyard, taking inspiration from the world around them. From leaves, patches of mud, anything that struck their fancy. 

You were taking a walk by campus. Once again, you didn’t know why; you just were. The boys were not a quiet group, and you could hear their shouts very clearly. You strained your ears, hoping to hear one voice in particular. Of course, you didn’t know what his voice sounded like, but you were listening anyway. If you were right, and he was a boy from Welton, maybe you might be able to catch a word or two.

That’s when Neil spotted the person walking loops around the front of campus. Maybe, for the first time, you could be his inspiration.

He looked over his shoulder, quickly trying to assess whether he could slip away unnoticed or not. No one seemed to be looking at him. He left his group behind and jogged up next to you.

You saw him coming. Even from a distance, you knew it was him. Your heart began to pound in your ears, loud and fast and just a little bit lovesick. You were right.

“Hey!” He exclaimed. You took a small step back. Your nerves were on their highest setting and your mind was reeling. What did he think of you, you wondered. More importantly, who was he?

As he approached, you put on your best nervous smile. “Hi.”

“My name’s Neil.” He said, reaching out a hand for you to shake. You complied quickly, saying your own name in turn. His palms were slightly damp, but you couldn’t blame him. Yours were probably worse.

The moment your hand held his, fitting perfectly under his fingers, he knew you were made for him. “I saw you in town the other day. Do you like books?” 

Your voice was hesitant, unsure, and Neil wished he could reach out and smooth the wrinkles in the sound like an old coat. “Yeah.”

“What were you reading?” Neil asked. He tried to stamp down his own nerves, but something about you made his breaths flutter in and out like butterfly wings. It was a feeling he was completely and entirely new to.

You shifted the bag on your shoulder to your hands, reaching in to pull out the book. “Oh, Poems by Emily Dickinson. It’s not the traditional type of book, but I love poetry.” Your cheeks began to warm. You knew nothing about this boy. What if he thought poetry was stupid, just a lesson in his English class and nothing else? How could anyone know how much those words meant to you?

Neil beamed, big and wide and lovesick. You truly were perfect for him, he thought. Poetry. You certainly were poetic, with those gorgeous eyes and an equally beautiful mind. “I love poetry too.” He breathed.

Your tense smile turned genuine. “You do? That’s awesome.” A quiet flutter started to pick up in your heart.

“Yeah. You know what?” He grinned, “my friends and I have a sort of poetry club. The dead poets society- we do readings, original works, whatever the members are feeling at the moment.” He sucked in a silent breath, pausing just enough to let his reeling mind decide on what he wanted to say. “It’s at night in the old Indian cave.” You nodded along to his words, growing increasingly intrigued the further he carried on. This dead poets society began to excite you. It was all you ever wanted in life: a community of like-minded people sharing the verses that made your heart tick. “If you want, I mean, you should go to our next meeting. It’s tonight.” Neil offered. He could tell his words were cycling through your mind, finally catching up to his proposal.

You wanted to join the dead poets society so badly it made your heart ache. A little inkling, though, in the back of your head, sparked a pit in your stomach. “Would your friends be okay with me being there? I… I don’t exactly know them.”

Neil was head over heels. You were so wonderfully lively, in the way that a breeze touching his eyelashes with the tips of its fingers would be. You were exactly how he expected, and exactly who he needed.

He waved away your concern with the flip of a hand and a laugh. “Don’t worry about it. The others bring guests too, and gosh, I’m sure they’re going to love you! Especially Todd. I’m sure you two would get along real well.” 

“Then I’ll definitely be there.” You replied. The sparkle in your eye shot Neil at full force. You were excited, smiling, happy. He made you happy. He mentally patted himself on the back.

“Great!” Leaves rustled from behind Neil, and you could see a group of boys approaching in the near distance. “Shoot. I gotta go, but make sure to show up. I’ll be waiting for you.” He whispered, leaning in closer to you before turning around to walk towards the group. You felt cold air where he had once been, and you wished for a moment that he would come back. His friends, however, were hooting and hollering, and you thought you could hear a kissy noise or two. You shook your head, a shaky warmth creeping its way up your neck, before turning to walk away.

You were going to go to a secret meeting in a secret cave at a hauntingly secret hour, and you had never been quite so excited in your entire life.

The fourth time you saw each other was the dead poets society meeting. You were brimming with nerves beforehand, shaking fingers gathering your materials as you tried to prepare for waltzing into a place with people entirely unknown to you. The bag you were holding contained a couple of your favorite poetry books, your own poems scratched in the empty spaces on certain pages that really inspired you. You weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to read a poem out loud, especially your own work, but earlier in the evening, you resolved to “go with the flow” and do what the others were doing. You hoped you wouldn’t have to regret that decision later.

After putting everything together and making sure to turn off your light and close your door, you slipped out of your house into the black night.

The scenery on your walk was entirely too beautiful. You never noticed just how much the bark on trees formed swirling patterns, or how the stars seemed to twinkle on their own. The ground under your feet was littered with fallen leaves in fiery shades and clumps of moist dirt. You began to smile just a little bit, thinking of a poem you had written when autumn had first started. That is surely what you would say if the dead poets wanted you to speak.

Nothing felt greater than breathing in the crisp, cold air and swinging your arms as you stepped along the path less traveled on. 

When you finally reached the cave, heart significantly lighter, the sound of laughter floated up to your ears. It was bountiful and boyish and beautiful. You peered around the edge of the cave entrance, and Neil’s eye immediately caught on you.

“Come in, come in! We’re just about to begin.” He called. You stepped fully into the light and glanced around at your company.

They were giggling and shoving, gaping at you and Neil with a sort of uncertain certainty. Some were standing, some sitting, a couple moving around, and all of them male. You took a seat next to Neil, between him and the boy you saw with him in town. He gave you a meaningful nod and looked to Neil, who was opening an old, thick book. He was frightened to so much as speak in front of you, as silly as it might have seemed.

“Attention, dead poets. Today is another wonderful night.” He announced, voice deep and commanding and humorously theatrical. “I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately… I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life! To put to rout all that was not life… And not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived…” His voice trailed off, and someone from the back of the cave echoed his last word. He closed the book with a snap, and the boys began to murmur excitedly.

Neil took a seat and turned to you, a glimmer of something sweet in his eye. When he looked at you, all he saw was magnificence. “Who wants to start?”

A boy jumped up. In his fist was a crumpled piece of paper, which he made a show of unfolding. “For those of you who don’t know,” He said, with a pointed glance at you, “my name is Nuwanda, and today, I actually made a poem.”

A couple boys yelled in support, and Neil gave you a nudge. “Charlie Dalton.” He whispered, making sure to not alert the others. You thanked him with a shy nod. Then, as “Nuwanda” was starting to begin his woefully homemade poem, Neil put his arm around your shoulders. 

His touch sent jitters through your entire body, lighting you up like a firework. It just felt so right, so natural, so breathtaking. It felt exactly like shaking his hand and feeling his eyes and seeing his breath hang in the air- like it was destined, written in the stars, utterly perfect. You leaned into his touch, feeling his warm breath fanning over the back of your neck and shoulder. “To live, to learn, to die,

my boys, 

to see, to love, to burn. 

To touch, to know, to harm, 

my dear,

to eat, to reap, to sow.” 

Charlie recited. For someone who seemingly took poetry lightly, he wasn’t particularly bad. He put more passion into his words than most other boys you knew. In fact, you’re sure he would be a great writer if he put more than an ounce of effort into it.

He took a bow as the room erupted into applause, Neil’s arm still wrapped around you. He could feel it too, the electricity. He wanted nothing more than to bottle that feeling and keep it forever.

Charlie sat, staring at you and Neil with a smirk on the corners of his lips. “Hey, why don’t we let our guest take a crack at it?”

The cave filled with a rumble of excitement from all of the poets. Neil’s brows were furrowed, but he gave an urge of support anyway. “If you want to, of course.”

You wanted to. Energy thrummed throughout your company, filling you with a sense of confidence you rarely had anywhere else. For once, you truly wanted to speak up. The air was crackling with a sense of anxious anticipation, and you could smell the love each boy held for each other. They knew, somehow, that the moment meant a lot to Neil, and they were willing to put aside any inhibitions to help him enjoy the night.

“I’ll go.” You uttered. Neil’s face lit up as his previous worries slunk away into the night.

You pulled out a book from your usual bag and opened it to the page you knew so well you could recite the poem it held without looking. And, of course, your own poem was scribbled in the margins. 

Everyone was attempting to peer over your shoulder, to take a glimpse of what made you a poet. Having attention on you was an odd feeling, like ants crawling along the back of your spine. You took a deep breath. “When you die,

the beetles will still sing.

The trout will still jump,

and the earth will still rumble.

When you die, the moon will still turn

and the stars will still burn.

When you die,

The lakes will still ripple

and the trees will still creak

and I will lower you into the ground

and I will cry so hard the world stops moving.”

As the last words left your lips, a profound silence enveloped the group. Then, all at once, it exploded.

“We’ve got a real poet in here!” Came Charlie’s teasing (yet not entirely unkind) voice. “Truly Keating material. What sparked your creative melancholy?”

You felt yourself glowing as you sat. If you were being honest, you never could have imagined that anyone would genuinely enjoy your work. That notion was entirely unfounded and untrue, considering they were a group of poets, but it persisted nonetheless. “I don’t know, really. Just the notion of losing a loved one, I suppose.”

When Neil saw you, in that moment, when he heard your voice, he couldn’t breathe. He knew so little about you, yet you pumped his pulse up to be as fast as a racehorse. He wanted, no, he needed to learn everything that made you you. He needed to know what you looked like when waking up in the morning, or how your fingers felt threading through his hair, or your deepest, most desperate passions. He needed to be so close to you he could feel your heartbeat through the fabric of your shirt. He was intrigued. 

When he first discovered acting, he felt the same exact way- a burning desire to learn, to know, to discover. If you let him, he would recite his lines all the way into your heart.

The meeting continued as the sky grew ever darker, complete with poems and rhymes and words spoken in deliberately lyrical tones. You fell into every verse and every story as easily as you would if they were written in a book. You began to learn every name in the room, and they quickly caught on to yours. It was a community, a group of people that began to feel like home. 

Of course, by the time they decided to end things, the stars were full and bright. The sun would surely peek its head out of the fog in a couple hours. You were smiling harder and more genuinely than you ever had before, with Neil by your side, and Todd on your other. As they all stood up to leave with boisterous whispers, Neil turned to you.

“Will you come tomorrow? And the next, and every day after that?” His question was so excited, so innocent, like he didn’t know that you would kill for the chance to be near him and everything he held dear.

You smiled. “Of course. I’ll be a dead poet for life.”

Your eighth encounter with Neil was not a lucky twist of fate. He got permission to leave school for some something or other that you never bothered to find out. Now, it was just you two and the big town square looming in front of you.

In truth, it wasn’t that big, but when you’re standing at the beginning of a new day with the boy that holds your heart, everything feels intense.

He took hold of the sleeve of your sweater, as he so often did, and you descended upon the shops.

“Come on, you’ve absolutely got to try the milkshakes at Tom’s Ice Cream Parlor! They’re just the best. Hurry, hurry!” He tugged you along, a bright smile on his face. God, how you loved him.

You had grown closer in the past five dead poets society meetings. Often, he would stay with you in the cave long after the meetings had ended. You would talk about whatever crossed your mind in the moment, and he would spin stories out of thin air. He didn’t ever seem to talk about real life things, though. His work at school, sure, but anything outside of that was uncharted territory. When you asked him about his family, he just clammed up.

You laughed as he weaved through the clumps of people with you in tow. “Slow down, Neil! You’re gonna get us killed.”

The sound of your voice, especially your laugh, was something Neil had come to relish. He would keep you talking all day if it meant he could hear that giddy ring in his ears every time he craved your presence. “You’ve just got to go faster. The line is horrific at this time of day.” 

“This place had better be good.”

“It is, believe me. It’ll be the best you’ve ever had.”

When you arrived, bodies hot and just a little uncomfortably sweaty, the sight of the ice cream parlor was a welcome one. He led you through the doors and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. You wished you could do it for him. The line was, unsurprisingly, quite long. You made idle chat, but his words fell on deaf ears as you stared at him.

“…he was real impressed when Charlie played his sax. Mr. Nolan, though, he definitely wasn’t-“ And, before you could think about it, before the screaming in your head could tell you no, you reached up and smoothed the cowlick that always seemed to mess up his part. When you pulled your hand away, he was beaming.

“Thanks.” He said, simply. You smiled back at him.

“No problem. So, what happened to Charlie afterwards?” You questioned. Neil gave you a look, one you had come to realize meant “I’ll tell you later”.

As you stood three people away from the front counter, Neil fumbled around in his pockets. “Shoot, I could’ve sworn I brought more money than this…” He muttered. He pulled out a dime and three pennies, all slightly covered in the fuzz from his jacket pocket. “I’m sorry. I don’t know, I must’ve spaced out- I’m usually so good about things like this.”

You took his arm with one hand and slipped the other in your pocket, rooting around for any spare change you had. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I have more than enough.”

You did not, in fact, have more than enough. You had a single quarter and a spare button. Pooled together, you could get exactly one milkshake and have his three pennies left over. Neil looked at you regretfully.

“You take it. I’ll get one another time.” He said, putting on a smile. “I’ve had too many sweet things today anyways.”

You would not accept this as an answer. Not here, not now. He deserved all the good things life had to offer, and you would be damned if he didn’t get them- starting with this milkshake. “It’s alright, you have it.”

Neil looked at you with furrowed eyebrows. “You should have it, really.” He would be damned if you didn’t get what he dragged you out here to experience. If he could see your face, smiling and sticky-lipped, after taking a sip from something he contributed to, he would be the happiest man on earth. 

The back-and-forth was getting nowhere and you both knew it. “Why don’t we just share it then? Ask for two straws?” You sighed. “It’s the best solution.”

He paused. It wasn’t ideal, and it wasn’t the life he wanted to give you (if this was any indicator), but it would work. Everything would work as long as you were there. “Okay. Yeah, let’s do that.”

There was another quick conversation about which flavor to choose, but you settled on one that you both liked equal amounts. You discovered that he had far different tastes than you milkshake-wise. If you were any less filtered, you would’ve told him his opinions were downright wrong.

You sat with him, smiling so hard you thought your face would break as he finally told you what happened to Charlie. Apparently, Nolan had reprimanded him as he so often had to do, but Charlie couldn’t stop smiling during the lecture. Eventually, Nolan just stopped mid-sentence and ushered the boy out the door. Apparently nothing and no one could ever crush Charlie’s spirit, not even the hardships of wooden rulers.

You leaned in to take a sip absentmindedly. As you reached your straw, you felt the tip of Neil’s nose brush against yours, and you realized you were so close to him you were almost kissing. You pulled back quickly, a hotness enveloping your cheeks.

“Sorry.” You uttered, trying not to look him in the eye. You were so mortified you almost killed yourself on the spot.

Neil, however, was overjoyed. He felt your breath on his chin and it was all he could think about. You, close to him, like you would’ve touched him if you hadn’t pulled away. He relished the feeling.

He shrugged, trying in vain to make it seem like he was just simply all right with it. “It wasn’t a problem,” He said, before noticing that the milkshake was running dangerously low. “Hey, why don’t you take the last sip?”

You cocked your head slightly. “Why?”

“Because I never want to be the one to end it.” He grinned. You shook your head, the corners of your lips rising up as he let out a little laugh. You adored his laugh.

“If you say so.”

That conversation stuck with you a long time after it happened.

It took four more dead poets meetings for Neil to ask you to go somewhere with him again. By the twelfth experience, though, you knew him like the back of your hand.

He loved acting. Loved it. He loved it so desperately that he was willing to face the wrath of his father to pursue the play he was casted in. Oh, and you learned about his father through whispers, mostly from Charlie. Neil, he told you, would never say a word about him. Tyrannical, inhospitable, red-hot like fire and ice-cold like ice. You knew of his mother, too, and her quiet indifference. Neil held a special place in his heart for Todd, the new boy at Welton. He loved puppies and poetry and soft scarves. Not the scratchy ones, as those irritated his neck. He wanted to be an actor in the future, but his father wanted him to be a doctor. He loved so many things, and yet could not have them; however, he definitely hated when people felt sorry for him.

So, you weren’t sorry. You felt his desires like a burning in your gut, stripped away piece by piece, but you were not sorry. You loved him.

You needed him to be fulfilled in every way possible, and you were not sorry. He was going through so many conflicting things, and you were not sorry. You were hopeful.

Life would turn around, you told him. He would see. In ten years, he would be on Broadway, waving at you and Todd and Charlie from the stage. He would be great, and you knew it.

“I’ve never skated like this before. Are you sure it’s safe?” You asked, standing at the edge of Welton’s lake. It was late in fall, with powdery snow dusting the edges of the ground, but the lake may have been in the process of freezing still. Neil took your gloved hands.

“Trust me, it’s good.”

He often asked you to trust him, and you always did. There was just something in his deep, dark eyes that whispered exactly how strong he was.

You took a tentative step onto the ice, nose already feeling the cold burn of pre-winter air. The ground under your feet was slick, but it held. Neil walked backwards, gently guiding you, and you followed.

You found a sort of rhythm in the movements, pushing off with your feet and letting them slide forward on the ice. Neil’s face was tinged with red as you skated on flat shoes, never letting go of your hands. You laughed, truly and honestly. The world spun around you in a blur, white and brown and beautiful. The air snuck through the gaps on your clothes, but you did not care. In that second, it was just you and Neil and the most beautiful day you had ever known.

His eyes softened when he looked at you. Even through the lack of words, he knew exactly what you were thinking. That crinkle by your eyes, the curve of your lips, your laugh. You were content, happy even, because he brought you here. When you reached the middle of the lake, leaning against him, trusting him, he felt a fluttering in his stomach. 

Throughout his days with you, he had come to discover the person behind the book, behind the shy smile. He could firmly say that he knew you, and he loved you even more for it.

He knew your favorite book, which jokes made you laugh so hard tears formed in your eyes, your favorite ice cream flavor. It wasn’t his, but it was completely and entirely you. There was nothing he adored more in the world than you.

You stared at him with a smile gracing your lips as you came to a stop. He reached his hand up to your face and brushed a small snowflake away from the corner of your mouth gently. His hands were soft.

He leaned in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his face. It was now or never, he thought. Carpe diem.

Neil pressed his lips to yours, and all of your feelings exploded from your connected flesh like dynamite.

He was warm, so warm. You kissed him fervently with your arms wrapped around his shoulders like you were dancing. He had finally done it, put to action the kind thoughts he had expressed, and you were glowing. There were stars in your tightly shut eyes, and you reveled in how they spun.

Neil’s mind was racing as you didn’t pull away. He didn’t know what he expected, but you pulling him closer was not his first thought. He most definitely didn’t mind.

When you finally broke the kiss, you were both panting feverishly and looking starved for more. Your combined breaths hung in front of your faces.

“We should do that again.” He whispered. You huffed a laugh, feeling every bit as blushy as he looked.

“Only if you’re okay with never stopping.”

It was a week and a half before Neil’s big play, and the twenty-fourth (maybe twenty-fifth, you had lost count) time you saw him. It was also your tenth official date.

“Date” may have been a loose term, as it was more practicing lines than talking, but the atmosphere was quiet and calm at the café you sat in. There were grainy pictures of favorite customers on the wall and the chairs were just the right amount of wobbly. It felt like a place where you could relax without abandon. Neil’s hand was on top of yours and he was staring deep into your eyes as he spoke line after line, trying to steel his nerves and push past the stress of his approaching deadline.

“If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended, that you have but slumber’d here while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream, gentles, do not reprehend: if you pardon, we will mend: and, as I am an honest Puck, if we have unearned luck…” He hesitated for a moment, eyes unfocused. You squeezed his hand in support and he gave you a small smile. Clearing his throat, he continued. “…now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue, we will make amends ere long; else the Puck a liar call; so, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.” 

You gave a quiet cheer and clasped your hands together. “I think that was your best runthrough yet! I’m so proud of you.”

His eyes lit up as he gazed at you bashfully. “You think?”

“Absolutely. You’re good, you’re really good. You could probably perform tomorrow if you wanted to.” He smiled and ran his fingers over his fleece sleeves as you spoke. If you were in the audience, he was sure he would be able to do anything. “In fact, you could perform any time you wanted to. You’re just that amazing.”

You were so impressed by the sheer amount of talent and emotion he had that you just couldn’t help but smother him in compliments. Every single one was true.

Neil tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, blushing like a madman. Every time you said something kind about him, his heart leapt for joy. “What about you? What have you been working on?” He posed. He had heard your poetry before, of course, but you always seemed to be creating something new.

You pulled out a book from the bag sitting next to you and flipped around. There was one specific poem you wanted him to hear. One you had written about him.

When you found it, you turned the book sideways so you both could see and pointed at it. “This one.” Neil tilted his head, opening his mouth to read it aloud. “I think, 

if I was blind,

I would still know your face.

The curve of your nose would call to me

and your eyelids would flutter under my touch.

There is no one else, no one at all

who could make the pads of my fingers

see the entire world.”

He gazed up at you with a starstruck expression. “Is this about anyone in particular?” Neil leaned forward and dipped his head down to rest on his propped-up hand. He had a grin on his face. He absolutely knew who it was about.

“I wrote that one for Meeks. He’s just so cute, don’t you think?” You teased. Neil’s mouth dropped open as his expression turned to comical shock. 

“I’m wounded, my love! How dare you.” He shouted, throwing his arms up. You started laughing as he continued his theatrical expressions, much to the dismay of the café workers.

“Be careful, we might get thrown out!”

“I’ll throw you out myself if you don’t stop laughing at my demise.” He furrowed his eyebrows and scrunched his nose as you giggled from your seat. “I’m so lucky to have you.” He murmured, suddenly as soft as a spring rain. You ran your fingers over his hand underneath the table, finding every groove like it was your own.

“And I’m lucky to have you. I love you, you know.” 

Neil smiled gently. “I love you too. So much.”

You sat in that café for a few hours more, until the workers had to politely remind you of their closing hours. You laughed and talked and felt the sheer joy of being with the boy you had begun to consider your soulmate. He was a star, shining his light and illuminating you with his rays. Too often, however, the brightest lights fade within the snap of a finger.

“I hope that when I die,” Neil wrote, right before your thirty-first meeting,

“God will send me back to Earth.

He will say,

‘Live again. Run again,

hope again,

plunge your body into ice-cold water again. 

Hate again, 

and cry again,

run your fingers through the grass again.

Kiss them again, 

press your palms to their faces again,

and lose them again.

Let yourself feel again,

and never forget

that life is what matters, 

not death.’

And I will say,

‘I promise

to do everything I have ever told myself I could not do

again and again and again.’”

He closed his journal with a thump and tucked it into his drawer calmly. That was something he would rather not share with anyone, not even you. 

The day was cold and drizzly, but he stood up with a kind of manic smile. He walked out of the doors of Welton and into your awaiting arms.

You both sat down on a park bench under the cover of a tree. Your seats were slightly wet and very cold, but it didn’t matter all that much. You were just glad to be there with him, with Neil. He was the love of your life, and any time with him was well-spent.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly. He was the same as he always was, you thought. But his eyes were welling up with tears and you just felt the need to ask, like some unearthly force was telling you that you needed to.

He leaned back, putting his arm around the back of the bench with a sigh. “I’m trapped.” He was smiling, but there was such an utter lack of humor behind it that it made you shiver. You shifted closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder as a silent sign of comfort. By this point, knew everything there was to know about Neil Perry- even the parts he tried to keep hidden.

“How so?”

“I don’t even know, I just… I want to be an actor. That is what I want to do for the rest of my life. But I can’t, and I’m trapped, and no one can help me, no matter how much they try.” His voice was sullen, but he was still smiling. Curse him for trying to make you feel better even then.

You placed a kiss on the back of his hand and threaded your fingers through his. Your heart ached for him. You knew there was nothing you could do about it, though, and that’s what made it even harder. Holding his hand, telling him it’ll all work out, everything ultimately did nothing for his situation, and you cursed the being that forced him into this position. If you could scream into the night, into the big, black sky to execrate the universe, you would. You did, in the future. You regretted not doing it sooner.

“I’m sorry.” You started, squeezing his hand. “ Just keep going, alright? I promise you, in the future, none of this will matter at all. You just have to stick with it. The world will find a way of figuring it out.”

His face formed a more genuine smile as he laid his head on top of yours. “Yeah. I guess it will.”

The last time Neil Perry saw you was the night he had been anticipating, dreaming about, and dreading: the night of his play. He was prepared. He knew every line and cue by heart, and yet he was still nervous. He was so nervous he could hardly think. 

He stood behind the curtains listening to the chatter of the audience. The rest of the cast members and some of the technicians were scrambling to put everything in place, but he just stared at the dark walls of fabric separating him from his new life. That was it. He was going to put on the best performance of his goddamn life.

The lights dimmed, and he stepped away to take his place.

When it was finally time for him to make his entrance, Neil did it with flourish. “How now, spirit! whither wander you?” He spoke. Cheers came from the audience, whoops and hollers from the dead poets. He could hardly keep himself from smiling.

Then, he saw you. You were grinning wide and large from your seat, giving him that quiet encouragement he had always loved. You whispered his name, and Neil could hear it in his heart.

He was having fun. So much fun. With every line he spoke, with every movement he made, Neil was sinking deeper and deeper into the play and his love for acting. He didn’t remember the last time he had ever felt that alive. 

But with every sinking, there comes a point where one drowns.

His father was there. When had he come? Neil hadn’t seen him before. God. He was burning a hole in the back of his head with his piercing gaze, and it took everything in Neil not to turn and run. That was it, he thought. He was done. But gods be good, he was going to finish his play. He would not let his father ruin this for him.

By the time he was speaking his last lines, the ones he had practiced with you, he barely remembered his father was part of the audience. The curtains closed, and the audience exploded into cheers. He could hear your voice, he swore he could- he was the happiest man on Earth. He had put on the performance of his lifetime, and he couldn’t be more proud. Until, of course, he was dragged out the door by his father.

He was back home before he had even registered his father’s anger. All he could feel was emptiness as the gnawing hole in his stomach expanded to encompass his entire being.

“We're trying very hard to understand why it is that you insist on defying us. Whatever the reason, we're not gonna let you ruin your life. Tomorrow I'm withdrawing you from Welton and enrolling you in Braden Military School. You're going to Harvard and you're gonna be a doctor.” His father stated, eyes sharp. Neil let out a noise of protest.

“But that's ten more years. Father, that's a lifetime! I won’t be able to see any of them again, not one person I knew before. You can’t do this to me, you just can’t.” Tears formed in Neil’s eyes, and as he looked at his mother, she was feeling the same way. And yet she said nothing. He could feel himself becoming increasingly more desperate. 

His father scoffed. “Oh, stop it. Don't be so dramatic. You make it sound like a prison term. You don't understand, Neil. You have opportunities that I never even dreamt of and I am not going to let you waste them.”

Neil rose to his feet, suddenly angry. He needed to fight for this, for himself. He couldn’t just let one man take away everything he had ever loved. If he couldn’t see you, his friends, if he couldn’t act, there was no purpose in his life. “I've got to tell you what I feel.”

Neil’s mother reached for him. “We’ve been so worried about-“ 

“What? What? Tell me what you feel. What is it? Is it more of this, this acting business? Because you can forget that. What?” And just like that, it was gone. Neil sat back down, staring blankly at his lap. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do anything because he was just a stupid boy who wouldn’t listen. His father scoffed once again before leaving the room.

His mother, ever the soft one, paused.

“I was good. I was really good.” He whispered. She sighed, urging him to his feet. 

“Go on, get some sleep.”

Neil nodded, still in a trance, before trudging to his room. That was it. He was done. He would never see you again, no matter what, and it hurt him so badly he didn’t know what else to do. He ran his fingers over his things lightly before removing his shirt. That was it. He grasped his crown of twigs and placed it on his head, staring out through his open window. The cool air kissed his body sweetly, like your lips on a rainy day. He took a deep breath.

It was time for his last act, his curtain call, his final carpe diem. There was no warning, and yet there did not need to be one. That night, that cold, bitter night, he knew what he needed to do. 

The last time you saw Neil Perry, he didn’t see you. He couldn’t see you. It was December 18th, and you had been asked to read a poem at his funeral. 

God, the word “funeral” hit you like a train. Neil was dead. His sweet demeanor, his gentle words, his soft hair, they were all going to be covered in dirt within the next few hours. You couldn’t stand it. The world needed so much more of him, but terribly, horribly, the world did not deserve it. No one deserved him.

It was odd, you thought, how the sound of one gunshot could replay over and over again in your mind without you ever having heard it at all. The boom, the thud, the scream. It was all so clear in your mind.

As the priest spoke, you felt an emptiness pool in your guts. He was really gone. Your Neil, your poor Neil. You sat between Charlie and Todd, all three of your faces streaked with tears. You could feel more welling up in your eyes, and you let them free without a care. Neil was dead, and nothing else in the world mattered.

In a way, you couldn’t believe it. He was just here, warm and happy and yours. When you got that phone call, you almost joined him. Nothing was worth it anymore, nothing at all. The eulogies, the sobs, they faded into the background as you stared down at the ground.

Before you knew what was happening, you were standing at a podium with a piece of paper clutched between your shaking fingers. Neil’s mom looked up at you in silent support.

You took a breath, so much like the breaths you always took before reading a poem and yet so different. Neil could not hear this one.

“When you died,

the beetles still sang.

The trout still jumped,

and the earth still rumbled.

When you died, the moon still turned

and the stars still burned.

When you died,” Your voice cracked. Looking out into the audience, at people you didn’t know and people you knew so well you could identify them by a strand of their hair, it was too much. Hot tears slipped their way down your face as the pit in your stomach grew ever-wider. 

“The lakes still rippled 

and the trees still creaked

and I lowered you into the ground

and I cried so hard the world stopped moving.” 

There was a murmur throughout the audience, choked sobs and utters of agreement. “For Neil, who lived as he died and died as he lived.” You rasped.

You were quickly ushered away from the podium and back into your seat.

Neil was one in a million. There was no one else in the history of ever that could make you feel so amazing. Like you were a real person, like you mattered. He made everyone feel that way, but something in him burned for you in a way that you believed was unique. And, of course, you burned for him the same. 

The rest of the service went by in a blur. Everyone around you began to get up, and you knew it was time. As you sat there, still as a rock, when everyone went to say their final farewells, you were extinguished. 

You felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. When you looked up from your tear-soaked lap, Todd was there, and he clasped your hand. “Let’s go.” He whispered. “Let’s say goodbye.”

You pulled a page from the book by your feet and shoved it into your pocket. It was for him, it always was and it always had been.

“In some other universe, I found you again.

Maybe in this one we held hands, gently and honestly,

or leaned against each other’s shoulders on the train,

or sobbed against each other’s shirts when we crashed and burned,

because anything with you

means flying too close to the sun.” It read. 

As you stood in front of his casket, you could hardly bear to focus on his pale face.

He was cold, so cold. The embalmer had done well with his head, but there was so much that just looked off. He didn’t look like your Neil. He looked empty. You gripped his hand and brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. It was winter, and he was colder and paler than the snow.

You held him far longer than what was deemed socially acceptable before tucking the page into his lapel and swiftly walking away.

You weren’t there for his burial, and you knew you couldn’t be. It was just too much. If you had seen his casket close, if you had watched them shovel dirt on top of the wooden box, you would’ve dropped to your knees and screamed. Much like you’re doing now.

You sat on that same old park bench, knees clutched up to your soaked chest, sobbing harder than you ever had before. Your Neil was gone and you could never see him again, not ever.

When you saw Neil Perry for the last time, and god, did you see him, you knew nothing would ever be the same again.

[ace-of-gay]

I currently dont have a masterlist set up for this collection but i hope you enjoy this none the less, this will eventually be posted on ao3 but i dont have an account currently

Not betad or edited

Warnings: age regression, self neglect (not eating, not sleeping, etc.) slight panicked reader but not nearly enough to be a full warning, reader is a half ghoul half human cause this is my interpretation of a fantasy universe <3, cuddles!!!

age regression is a coping that can both voluntary and/or involuntary it is entirely safe and reccomended by therapists if they believe it would be effective for said person but as mentioned for some people it is entirely unpredictable, if this makes you uncomfortable please carry on thank you <3

This was originally written for my best friend so keep in mind this is our dream and thoughts and may not fit well into the ghost universe

Word count: 2,025 words

Nameless ghouls and papa copia taking care of half ghoul reader

Having spent a restless night wasnt uncommon for your or any of the ghouls, especially when seasons and elements were changing, you spent a good few weeks of the tour in your element but the farther and farther you traveled to bring enlightenment to others around the world the more the weather seemed to shift, this most recent nights travel not only took you to a new scene and new spirit of buzzing thrill but a stiffened weight of being completely out of your element, while yes it effects all ghouls it affected you far different.

Being part ghoul meant you weren't as aware of your instincts so feeling them shift always left you in a silent suffocating shock.

With so much bustle amongst the ghouls, papa having a chipper edge to his seemingly endless worries it kept the team heightened and moving, preparing and running through the setlist, this will be the biggest show yet in a city youre entirely new to.

You hid the encroaching feeling well, never once had any of the ghouls questions any difference to your demeanor; having one responsibility after another kept you busy all day nevery staying in one area for long, earbuds in and mask upon your dome, it was same as others methods of preparing just more secluded and in your zone, if there were any changes in anything at all papa, the ghouls and ghoulettes knew that they could calmly inturupt you in your flow.

Listening to every part of the setlist through the literal audio versions of it, everything on the outside seemed normal to everyone but the electric vibrations in your joints and dull ache in your head told you plenty, to the others you were staying silent to save your voice for later so to speak but to you the weight of speaking was way heavier than your desire to ask for help or for rest.

With the show quickly approaching and you having forgotten to eat you downed not one but two energy drinks, spiking youre adrenaline temporarily in hopes itd get you through the show.

All you had to do was get through the night off of artificial energy and true passion for others joy. Just like the full ghouls you spent your time during the show in your human form but unlike them you had a harder time forcing it to stay when you were exhausted.

Papa copia unbeknownst to you had his eye on you, hes the only one who saw you this morning, the deep bags under your eyes and your ghoulish grey having a pale green seemingly sickly color easily masked by your helmet, if all went well youd rest for extra tonight but he didn't see that being the only end to the night.

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

You were a fan favorite, when you weren't singing backup vocals you were running around stage with your hagstorm base shredding in duos with swiss, bursts of fire being shot upwards, the only time you stay away from the edge of the stage, the light from the fire glinting against the slightly matte chrome picguard, just enough to catch you right in the eye blurring your vision with a blinding flash.

to the congregation watching below your jolts you send into moving your bass guitar looked like flare but for you it was sheer panic, the blinding flash was just enough to put you on the edge of tipping into a deeply unwanted headspace at the moment.

prancing over to where mountain is perched at his drums you take yourself out of the limelight and hide yourself in the downcast shadows from his drums, with the last three chords being extended for showmanship you give a desperate glance to papa with hope that he'll see your glance, and such he does.

You station yourself once more at your mic, you stum the starting chords and belt out backup vocals for the final song, your throat aches as your human form is slipping, your eyes having small flickers of change and a small stumble thankfully met with a stomp on the down beat.

papa makes his way your direction ending the set list with 'Darkness at the heart of my love', when it gets to the part without vocals he does hand flourishes while you play your bass passing by with his mic down "tieni duro piccolo", walking his way around the stage to stand center and finish up the song.

In a blurr of time everything felt like it was on sparks of muscle memory and you were at the front with all other ghouls taking a well deserved bow with a standing ovation for each and every single one of you.

Papa copia was the first to lead off stage letting the ghouls throw picks and a few drumsticks from mountain and what not, you didn't stay long to see everything but you did notice people throwing things onstage as gifts; off stage setting down your bass in a stand you stumble into papas open arms.

Your forehead lay gently atop his chest still in your helmet your horns sit near his collar bone shaking yohr head, "i cant papa, i cant" not entirely sure yourself what you meant he hummed in understanding and hushed you, gently rubbing your back and swaying side to side, "stai bene piccolo ghoul, you can rest now. Ive got you, matter of factly weve got you"

Finally relaxing enough to let your ghoul form fall free, your tail limp all of you is exhausted and you feel so small but people always said it was weird and not good, they never listened to you when you said it was involuntary or a coping mechanism it was just permanently bad.

"Oh piccolo, shh your thoughts are so very loud my dear, it is okay to be small, the ministry welcomes all with coping, we will care of you"

He holds you closer and tighter humming a tune, and just like that your walls had fallen, there was no more fighting it, big doe ghoulish eyes staring up at him, complete silence from you.

At this point the others had made their way backstage, dew came walking over to take over while papa helped collect all the instruments. "Dew, could you please take them to the bus? We will get everything "

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》in the bus now and changed in comfortable clothes dew led you to the ghoul pile nest, when you refused to sit down he stepped aside watching as you grab your comfort item from your personal bunk and made your way back to the nest laying in the center, followed by him curling himself around you.

The ghouls only ever took their helmets off when in a homely environment so dew having his helmet off was his symbol of saying you are safe.

Once everyone had finished packing up and putting stuff away they had all filed in slowly

Cumulus being the first to stop by you and dew at the nest, holding out a plush ghoul for you that she had picked up from the items thrown on stage, papa copia was next to stop by sitting with you and dew, you hadnt noticed until now that he was asleep holding onto you until mountain joined pulling him off of you so you could lean into papa as he held one of your comfort snacks and a juice, both already having been opened by him, he held you as you snacked.

Once you had finished he got up going to the front to drive the bus.

You were once more pulled into the cuddle pile by dewdrop his eyes open long enough to make sure all of your comfort items were tucked against your chest, between you both, "sleep little one, a tiny ghoul needs plenty of rest" soon joined by the rest you had finally fallen asleep, the ghouls were your element aswell. When finally at the hotel for the evening you were carefully awoken by papa, all the ghouls except dew had gotten up, but even he was awake, but he stayed to keep you warm, "it is time to go in, we are buddy system tonight, four ghouls in a room, each room has two king sized beds so its plentyful room"

You finally let go of dew and stretch, getting up to get ready you realize your overnight bag has already been packed and one of the taller ghouls hoodies layed out next to it, you could hear the ruckus at the front of the bus of all the other ghouls ready to bunk up in the hotel.

You slip on the hoodie which you now know belongs to swiss, his smell encapsulating your mind.

Papa comes up behind you placing a hand on your back "piccolo the ghouls have decided you can pick who youre bunking with, they want to be sure youre okay when tiny, loro ti amano"

You make your way to the front of the bus where you find the ghouls with their charm up. looking to papa followed by you tapping swiss, rain and mountain on the heads, the three stand up, mountain takes your bag and rain scurrys away and back with your mask in hand "are you able to use charm right now or is the mask a better option?" He questions

Taking a moment to test how well the charm feels, you point at the mask. Nodding he gently places it atop your head, he places his hand under your chin causing you to look up so he can buckle it up and tan pats you atop your head, swiss gently pulls the back of the hoodie at the bottom away from your back "curl your tail tiny" tucking it under the hoodie

Once in the room mountain sets down the bags he was carrying and helped take the mask off of your noggin, ruffling your hair causing you to chirp in response, rain and swiss hop on the bed closest to the door leaving the one near the window "copia is ordering food for everyone, hes getting youre favorite for you" mountain chimes, grabbing to tv channel guide and flipping through it.

"Movie?" You mumble causing all three of them to look over, normally youre completely silent when youre small, "you wanna watch a movie?" He questions flicking on the tv and sitting on the bed, he turns on Wall-E for you.

Sometime a few minutes later he feels you shuffle closer on the bed cuddling into his side with your comfort item in hand.

After dinner was delivered and eaten and the movie was over you had tucked yourself on your side of the bed you shared with mountain, rains lamp still on so he could read while swiss was practically cuddled ontop of him, every time you would shift or turn in bed they could hear it, causing them to watch you carefully when youd move or grumble is dissatisfaction.

there was just no way to get comfortable, this wasnt home or the bus, you werent wrapped in your family, you huff out rolling over to look at mountain, to your suprise he was looking right at you quizically.

You quickly curl into his side before he got the chance to say anything, "o parum ghoul, mi amor, papa is right, your thoughts really are so very loud" swiss sighs, pulling himself out of his bed followed by rain who lay on your open side and swiss next to mountain, it may not be a perfect ghoul pile but its better than before, rolling over when rain pulls out his book to read aloud, your head on his chest.

listen to the thrum and Rumble deep in his chest, your eyes fall closed but not before you wrap your tail around swiss' wrist where it resides clutched around mountain, your mind will feel fresh and lively tomorrow filed with the itmost of energy, especially after an evening full of cuddles and littlespace, rain places a gentle kiss atop your head and just like that you are asleep.

[nerdofthecentrey]

Hi hi! So the lack of Sang-wook (sweet home) ficts on here is insane! So I was thinking if you could write something x GN reader (if possible) maybe something where like, sang-wook finally breaks after putting up that cold facade he always has and reader just comforts him (maybe reader being the only person in between the survivors that doesn't find him weird or scary? (Maybe a confession) take your time and feel free to ignore if you don't like this! (Just answer to it so I know if you don't want to write it I understand!)

I’ll Be There | Sang-wook x GN reader

Genre: Fluff, A bit of Angst

Summary: Sang-wook’s walls finally collapse and your the only one who understands him.

Warnings: Mentions of Killing, Normal Sweet Home Stuff

Unedited ( Will be editing tomorrow)

————————————

Sang-wook was dangerous. There was no denying his hard cold demeanor and his fearlessness to stand up for/ to anyone in the group. Everyone though he was a criminal but you knew that underneath that had to be someone that cared. Everyday you watched as he groaned and grumbled at everyone. You tried your best to make sure he was always taken care of because he was important more to you than anyone. Maybe it was a petty crush or perhaps it came from a place of understanding.

Everyone treated him as an outsider. Yet you would offer him food. He at first reacted like he didn’t care just walking away every time you tried. Slowly things changed. He would answer by shaking his head no sometimes he would take one piece before walking off as he started to warm up to you.

On a rather gloomy day rain fell hard outside, everyone already seemed to be in a terrible mood. But than a monster broke into the first floor. It tore through walls and damn near killed you all, luckily Hyun-Soo was quick on his feet to light it on fire before it could reach where everyone slept.

“ This is ridiculous we aren’t safe! That thing got down here!” Woo-Hyun shouted out. Making practically everyone jump beside Sang-wook who stood next to you.

“ Ya, I mean what if we were sleeping a-and it snuck down here and killed us all!” Gook-hee added pulling her dog closer to her. They had a point, but the way that they bitched about it didn’t help any.

“ Let’s all just take a breath-“ You started trying to regain some form of peace you’d all just lost.

“ Don’t tell me to breathe!” Woo-Hyun said walking up to you. Sang-Wook stepped forward as if he were protecting you. But Do-Hyun spoke before a fight could break lose,

“ The problem has been fixed we’ll have everyone check over certain spots so we can-“ Woo-Hyun cut him off grabbing his collar practically almost ripping Do-hyun’s white t-shirt in the process.

“ Your trying to kill us first you hold food from us and now this you-“

Sang-wook lightly pushing Woo-hyun back. His face turned to pure shock.

“ You dare put your hands on me! You thug!” He yelled pointing at him. “ Why is he even still here he’s a danger to us all! He killed a person!”

Sang-Wook face fell for second before harding back up. He stepped back as Woo-Hyun continued.

“ He’s a murder a psychopath-“

“ Stop it!” You shouted making everyone go silent.

Sang-wook shoved his hands in his pockets while walking away from the scene.

“ Walk away killer!” Woo-Hyun yelled point at him.

“ Would you stop!” You shouted smacking his hand down Woo-Hyun face turned in shock.

“ Did you ever stop to think that maybe he did it for our own good? Maybe that man was out to kill us or take our only things we have left.”

Woo-Hyun looked at you with a slightly deflated expression. “ Whatever nobody cares what you have to say! You don’t even speak half the time..” He muttered before walking away his wife trailing behind.

Everyone else followed their lead going off on their own. You decide to go after Sang-wook you weren’t sure what you’d find. But you saw the look in his eyes almost like someone had poked his heart.

As you turned the corner you heard the sound of breaking concrete and grunts. You saw Sang-wook standing over concrete blocks slamming them with a sledge hammer. Little piece scattering across the floor.

“ Sang-wook?” You said softly.

“ Go.” He muttered as he dropped the hammer on the ground his back towards you.

You start taking slow steps towards him asking, “ Are you okay ?” He didn’t reply instead he stayed silent you noticed his shoulders starting to shake by the time you reached his side you saw tears streaming down his face. It made your heart hurt to see him like this. You felt bad like you were seeing something you weren’t meant too but you weren’t going anywhere you wanted him to know that.

“ It’s okay.” He practically jumped on top of you wrapping his arms around your waist pulling you close gripping your shirt as he sobbed into your neck. His grip was tight like you would disappear if he let go. You wrapped your arms around his smoothing his hair as you whispering.

“ You can cry, it’s okay.” That he did. You practically watched as his walls came down you let him crying till the sun was setting by than you both found yourself sitting on the dirt near the window in a comfortable silence.

“ Thank you..” He muttered. You could help but giggle at his embarrassed tone, He gives you shocked look.

“ It’s okay.” You grinned. “I’m not judging you.”

Sang-wook’s eyes widen a bit at your statement like nobody had ever showed this type of care for him. Maybe you were the first in a while.

“ You don’t have to be strong in front of me.” You reassured him. You just wanted him to be okay to know that even if the whole world judged him you wouldn’t.

“ I don’t know what to say..” His eyes trailing down to the dirt.

“ Then don’t say anything, Just promise me you’ll let me be there for you.”

He nodded his head in acceptance of you and an acceptance of letting someone special in. You made him feel like there was more to this world than constantly having to watch your own back now he could watch what was right in-front of him.

———————————————————————

A/N: Hope you enjoy this. I wasn’t sure what kinda of ending I was gonna do. I was thinking about having Sang-wook tell the reader he didn’t kill them for a dumb reason. Or this ending where Sang-wook just tries to leave it in the past and move on with the reader which is this end. Anyways That’s all Much appreciation ❤️💚!!