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hyuckiefluff · 12 days ago

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Flipped Pt. 2 | Mark Lee

pairing: gryffindor!mark lee x slytherin!fem.reader genre: smut summary: the first time you met mark lee, you flipped his world upside down— literally. seven years later and after countless attempts to avoid you, you're still driving him insane. except now, it’s for an entirely different reason. wc: 6.3k+ cw: explicit content, cursing, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, semi-public sexual acts, oral (fem receiving) a/n: hi!! this is a continuation to my hogwarts au, so please read part one before checking this out <3 I originally wasn't even planning on adding any smut to this fic, and I think it works well without it, but still, a little smut is always a good bonus so here it is! enjoy!

By the time your seventh year rolled around, you and Mark felt like two halves of the same whole. You spent nearly every possible hour together and most of it was sweet and wholesome. He’d sit with you in the greenhouse while you tended to your plants, pretending to be helpful but mostly just watching you with this lovesick look on his face. Or sitting beside you in the library when you worked on assignments, though he hardly ever got any studying done himself. Or at the Quidditch games, where he’d celebrate his wins by flying over the stands and swooping down to kiss you.

But there were also the other moments. The ones where you simply couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Most of your prefect shifts ended in heated makeout sessions behind the statue of the one eyed witch on the third floor. Or tucked away in the Astronomy Tower when everyone else was asleep. Or in the dark staircase leading to the dungeons, pressed against the cold stone wall with his hands roaming your waist and your fingers tangled in his hair. You two found a way to use any place that offered even a little privacy.

And it was getting harder and harder to stop once you started.

You could feel the way his kisses were getting hungrier. Like that time when his hands slid under your robes during Charms class. Or the time in the greenhouse when he kissed you so deeply his knee had ended up between your legs, and you’d gasped, clutching at his robes before hastily pulling away.

And last time things almost went too far.

You’d been tucked in a hidden alcove near the Transfiguration classroom, his back against the stone wall, your body pressed firmly against his as his mouth moved feverishly against yours. His hand had slipped beneath your robes, skimming up your thigh, and before you even realized it, he was fumbling with the buttons of your uniform. His breath was heavy, and you could feel how badly he wanted you, his hands trembling slightly as he tugged at your clothes.

“Wait—” you gasped, grabbing his wrist.

Mark froze immediately, his face paling like he’d done something horribly wrong. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to” he pulled his hands back “I wasn’t trying to push you or—”

“No, it’s not—” you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat still simmering in your stomach. “It’s not that I don’t want to… I do. It’s just…”

Mark watched you carefully, still looking wrecked with guilt. “…Just what?”

You bit your lip. “I don’t… I don’t have any experience with this. I’ve never…I mean, I’ve kissed people before but not like… that. Or… y-you know.”

It took Mark a moment to process what you were saying. Then his face softened immediately, his brows knitting with so much tenderness it almost made you cry.

“Hey, that’s okay” he breathed, pulling you closer again but gentler this time. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You felt your face burn. “I don’t know… I guess I was embarrassed. I thought you’d expect me to…”

“I don’t,” Mark cut you off gently, his thumb stroking your cheek. “I swear. I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. I just… I get carried away sometimes because I really, really like you. But you can tell me to stop anytime, okay?”

“Really?”

“Really,” he promised. Then he nudged your nose with his, grinning cheekily. “Besides… I think it’s kinda cute you’ve never done any of that before.”

You swatted his arm, groaning. “Oh my god, Mark.”

He just laughed, pulling you back in for another kiss.

Later that night, you were curled up in the common room with Karina when the question came bursting out of you like word vomit.

“How does sex feel like?”

Karina choked on her pumpkin juice, coughing violently as her eyes practically popped out of her skull.

“I’m sorry— what?” she spluttered, whipping her head toward you like you’d just grown a second head.

“Like… is it painful at first?” you pressed on, your face heating up. “I imagine it is. It probably depends on the… y’know… size. I mean, I read about it in a Muggle book back home but it was mostly about conception, not really the experience itself, so I—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold it.” Karina held up a hand, looking half-horrified and half-amused. “Where is this coming from… Since when are you so curious about sex?”

“Rina, I’m seventeen.... almost eighteen. It’s perfectly normal for me to start being curious about these things.”

“Oh, so it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you spend every free period snogging the Gryffindor Seeker?”

“Keep your voice down!” you hissed, glancing around the room.

“What?” Karina giggled. “It’s not like everyone doesn’t already know. I think half the school’s caught you guys in the corridors by now”

You groaned loudly, covering your burning face with your hands. “Forget I ever asked.”

“Oh no, no, no. You can’t just drop a bomb like that and then back out—”

Before you could beg her to drop it, Haechan strolled into the common room in his Quidditch uniform, hair damp with sweat, looking like he’d just finished practice. His eyes immediately landed on the two of you and of course, he caught the tail end of Karina’s cackling.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, flopping onto the couch next to you.

Karina turned to him, grinning like the devil. “Oh, nothing. Our sweet, innocent little Y/N here just wants to know what sex feels like.”

“Karina!” you shrieked, whipping around to glare at her as she howled with laughter.

Haechan’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?” He turned to you, scandalized. “You—? You wanna know about... holy shit…”

“Oh my God, stop,” you groaned.

Haechan’s face split into a wicked grin. “Ohhh, I’m so telling him you’re asking about this—”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Why not? I think he’d love to know that his girlfriend’s getting all hot and bothered thinking about—”

“Haechan!”

“I’m kidding!” he laughed, hands raised in surrender. “But seriously. What exactly do you wanna know, huh? Like… the logistics of it? Or do you just wanna know if Mark’s packing—”

You lunged at him with the pillow. “I swear...”

“Alright, alright!” he howled, practically collapsing onto the floor in laughter as you rained down pillow smacks. “I’m just saying, if you want details, I’m right here—”

“Absolutely not.”

Haechan, despite his teasing and borderline inappropriate comments, was surprisingly chill about Mark and you. You had made it clear months ago that you had no romantic feelings for him. He’d taken it well, saying he saw it coming, and from that moment on, he treated you just like he would anyone else. He even became close friends with Mark, realizing he had more things in common with the seeker than he initially thought.

Karina, still crying from laughter, gasped, “Oh my God, you should ask Mark yourself. See how he reacts.”

You froze, mortified. “Are you insane? I’m not asking Mark what sex feels like!”

“Why not?” Haechan snickered, finally pulling himself back onto the couch. “It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it already. Honestly, I’m shocked you two haven’t done it yet, considering how often we catch you practically shagging in the corridors.”

“We do not!”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “You two make the entire school feel single.”

You groaned, absolutely done with this conversation. “I hate both of you.”

“But seriously. If you’re curious, just… talk to him about it. He’ll probably combust on the spot, but he’ll definitely be honest with you.” Karina suggested.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a little hot under the collar.

…Yeah. Like that conversation wouldn’t end with you both tearing each other’s clothes off.

Mark was in the Gryffindor locker room, gulping down water after finishing practice, when Peeves suddenly popped up right in front of him with a loud "Boo!"

He flinched, nearly choking on his water and dropping the bottle to the floor.

“Peeves, what the hell!” Mark coughed, clutching his chest as the poltergeist erupted into a fit of maniacal laughter, floating circles around him.

“What do you want?” Mark huffed, yanking off his gloves. He was the last one in the locker room since he stayed behind to practice a little longer for the upcoming match.

“Ooh, Peeves has a message for you! A juicy little message about your pretty girl!” Peeves sing-songed, grinning mischievously.

Mark froze mid-motion. “Y/N? What about her?”

“She’s in the prefect’s bathroom right now, calling out for you!” Peeves giggled.

Mark furrowed his brows, confused. “Why would she be looking for me there? I’m not a prefect, I can’t even go in there.”

Peeves simply shrugged dramatically, floating upside down. “Peeves is just telling you what Peeves saw! Go, don’t go, who cares! But your pretty girl seemed awfully eager to see you…” he teased before disappearing with a loud pop.

Mark stood there for a second, his heart suddenly hammering. Were you really asking for him in the prefect’s bathroom? That made no sense. But if Peeves was telling the truth…

“Shit,” Mark muttered, quickly tossing his gloves aside and hurrying out of the locker room.

He knew Peeves wasn’t exactly known for being helpful, but what if this time he was actually being serious? Mark’s gut twisted at the thought of you upset or needing him for something.

When he reached the entrance to the prefect bathroom, he hesitated. He wasn’t supposed to be here— it was strictly for prefects and Quidditch captains— but he couldn't just walk away if you were inside asking for him. With a deep breath, he gripped the handle and pushed… but the door didn’t budge.

Mark cursed under his breath. Of course, there was a password.

He racked his brain, trying to remember if you’d ever mentioned it. But you’d never told him the password. Why would you? He wasn’t a prefect, so he had no business knowing it.

“Think, think, think,” Mark muttered to himself, glancing up and down the corridor to make sure no one was around to catch him. Then he remembered that Jaehyun, the Gryffindor team captain, also had access to the bathroom. Mark recalled how he had once bragged about how nice it was, especially with the giant bath and fancy soaps. He’d also, at some point, mentioned the password in passing. What was it again? Pine something…?

“Pinewood?” Mark tried hesitantly, his wand out.

Nothing.

He groaned and ran a hand through his damp hair, his nerves bubbling up again. Peeves had said you were in there looking for him. What if you were hurt or crying, and he was just standing out here like an idiot?

“Pineapple? No, that’s stupid. Pine scent?” Mark paced in front of the door, feeling his frustration rise. He was about to give up when it finally hit him.

“Pine Fresh,” Mark said, his wand raised with more confidence this time.

A soft click echoed from the door, and Mark felt it give under his touch. His heart thudded in his chest as he pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was warm and steamy, the faint smell of soap and fresh water filling the air. Massive white marble walls surrounded a pool-sized bathtub filled with shimmering water.

“Y/N?” he called out, his voice echoing slightly.

Silence.

Mark’s brows furrowed. His stomach sank. The room looked empty like you’d never been here at all. His gut twisted as he realized Peeves’d probably just duped him. That little poltergeist lived for messing with students, and Mark had fallen for it like an idiot. He was about to turn and leave when—

“Mark?”

His head snapped around, his heart leaping to his throat.

You were there.

You were sitting against one of the walls, your legs curled up to your chest, looking small and anxious. Your face was a little flushed, though Mark wasn’t sure if it was from the steam in the room or something else. The second you locked eyes with him, relief flooded your features.

“Oh my god, you are here,” you breathed. You scrambled to stand, your socks slipping slightly on the wet tiles as you rushed toward him.

“Wait, wha... what’s going on? Are you okay?” Mark asked quickly, meeting you halfway. His hands instinctively went to your arms, his concern spiking when he realized how clammy your skin felt. “Why did Peeves say you were asking for me?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, your teeth catching your bottom lip nervously. Mark watched as your gaze darted around the room like you were trying to muster up the courage to speak.

“I…” You swallowed thickly. “I didn’t actually ask for you. I mean... not out loud. I just- I was in here thinking and I really, really wanted you here. And then Peeves showed up and I think he just… I don’t know, sensed it or something and—”

Mark’s stomach did a little flip. You were thinking about him so intensely that Peeves picked up on it?

“Wait, wait.... slow down,” Mark said gently, his thumbs rubbing circles on your arms. “Why did you want me here? What’s wrong?”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, you almost looked embarrassed. “I… I need to talk to you about something. I didn’t know how to say it and I—”

“Hey, hey,” Mark interrupted softly, his hand tilting your chin to look at him. “It’s okay. I’m here"

You took a shaky breath, and then “I want to do it.”

Mark blinked. “…Do what?”

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you averted your gaze, suddenly looking incredibly nervous. “Hey, it’s okay. Just tell me,” he urged softly.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering back up to his wide, shiny, and filled with something he couldn’t quite place. But it stole the breath straight out of his lungs. Suddenly, you rose onto your tiptoes and kissed him.

It wasn’t like your usual kisses. It was deep and desperate, your fingers curling into the fabric of his Quidditch robes tightly. Mark instantly kissed you back, his hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you there. But just as his head started to spin from how good it felt, you broke away and before he could even ask what was going on, you blurted it out.

“I want to have sex with you, Mark.”

He felt his entire body stiffen as his eyes snapped open, sure he had misheard you or that you were joking, or that Peeves had somehow cursed his ears. But the look on your face was anything but playful.

You were serious.

“W-what?” Mark croaked, his voice cracking embarrassingly.

Your face flushed, but you didn’t back down. You held his wide-eyed gaze, your hands now clenching into fists at your sides. “I… I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And I know we’ve never really talked about it or anything, but I just—” You swallowed hard. “I want you. I really want you.”

Mark’s brain was malfunctioning. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again like a complete idiot. “You mean like… like now?” he stammered, his voice embarrassingly high.

“I mean if you want to,” you rushed out. “We don’t have to. I just… I don’t know. I thought about it and then I couldn’t stop thinking about it and… and I didn’t know how to bring it up so I just—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mark interrupted, his hands shooting up like he was trying to slow down time itself. His pulse was roaring in his ears. “You seriously, like, actually want to…?”

“Have sex with you?” you finished bluntly, your voice small but certain. “Yes.”

Mark swore he nearly passed out.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, running a hand down his face. “Are you…I mean, not that I don’t want to, but are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said quickly, your voice shaking a little. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life, Mark. I just… I think about you all the time. And not just like—” You gestured wildly, your face burning. “not just like normal thinking about you. I mean like thinking about you. Like in ways that make me—”

Mark made a strangled noise in his throat. “Holy fuck.”

You groaned, covering your face in embarrassment. “Oh my god, this is so humiliating”

“No, no! It’s not! It’s hot,” Mark blurted without thinking. “I mean… it’s not embarrassing. Like at all. I’m just... wow.” He paced back a step like he was trying to physically process this information. “You’ve been thinking about it?”

“Yes,” you practically cried. “For months.”

Mark clutched his chest. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“So you… you’d want to?” you asked quietly, watching him carefully.

Mark let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-disbelieving wheeze. “Angel, if I knew you’ve been wanting this for months we would’ve done it a million times by now.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“Are you kidding me?” Mark choked. His face was practically glowing red now. “I’ve been... I’ve wanted you like that since forever. I just didn’t want to push you or make you uncomfortable or— oh my god.” His hands flew to his hair like he was about to rip it out. “You actually want to?”

“Yes, Mark!” you laughed, still flushed. “I literally just said that.”

“And you mean like right now?”

You hesitated for half a second, then took a deep, shaky breath. “If you want to.”

Mark stared at you. Then his gaze dropped to your lips, and then lower, and then—

“Holy shit.”

And then he was kissing you again. Harder, more desperate, like the floodgates had finally burst open and he couldn’t get enough. His hands found your waist, gripping you tight as he walked you backward until the small of your back hit the marble edge of the enormous bathtub. You gasped into his mouth, and Mark swallowed the sound like he was starved for it.

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this,” he groaned between kisses. His fingers splayed against your waist, digging in like he was trying to anchor himself. “Like, stupid thoughts.... Constantly. Every time we’re alone together I just—”

“Me too,” you panted, tugging his sweater up slightly so you could touch his skin. “Every time you so much as look at me, I just... god, Mark.”

“Fuck,” Mark cursed, his teeth catching your bottom lip as he kissed you even deeper. “You’re gonna kill me.”

And Merlin help him—he was ready to let you.

Mark yanked your robes off in one swift motion, his touch eager but careful, like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. Your vest followed just as quickly, and when his fingers made quick work of the buttons on your shirt, you had to bite your lip to keep from gasping. He was so quick like he knew what he was doing, and for a fleeting, horrible moment, you wondered how many times he’d done this before.

...Had he done it with Mia?

Your stomach dropped and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the thought away. Not now. You were not about to ruin this for yourself by thinking about that. Not when Mark was kissing you like his life depended on it, not when his hands were brushing over your skin like he needed to touch you.

And Merlin, his mouth felt so good. Soft and warm, his tongue curling against yours as his hands ghosted over your waist. Your shirt was completely open now, hanging loosely off your shoulders, and you barely had a second to feel self-conscious before Mark was already tugging it off.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips, his voice strained. “You’re so—” His words trailed off into a low exhale as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze devouring every inch of exposed skin.

Heat rushed to your face. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Mark asked, his voice rough.

“Like you’ve never seen a girl in a bra before.” You tried to sound playful, but your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Mark let out a breathless laugh, his hands finding your waist. “I haven’t. Not like this. Not you.”

Oh.

Your stomach flipped violently.

You didn’t have time to dwell on it because you were already tugging at his uniform, desperate to get him equally undressed. His Quidditch robes were a nightmare to get off, heavy and tangled around his feet, and you couldn’t help but giggle when he nearly tripped trying to kick them off.

“Sorry— sorry, fuck,” Mark laughed breathlessly, finally ripping the damn thing off and tossing it aside. His sweater followed, and then you were tugging at his tie, trying to loosen it enough to get it over his head.

“Why is your uniform so complicated?” you grumbled, your hands fumbling.

“Tell me about it,” Mark huffed, yanking the tie off himself and tossing it somewhere behind him. You barely had a second to catch your breath before his hands were on your waist again, pulling you flush against his bare chest.

And oh my god.

Your mouth ran dry. His skin was burning hot, still slightly damp from Quidditch practice, and his lean frame was ridiculous. The toned muscles of his stomach, the sharp lines of his collarbones, the veins running down his forearms. You couldn’t stop staring.

“Holy shit,” you breathed without thinking.

Mark blinked. “…What?”

“You’re, like… really fit,” you admitted, your face heating up.

Mark stared at you for half a second, and then he laughed a nervous, slightly disbelieving sound. “What? No, I’m not—”

“Mark,” you cut him off, your eyes still glued to his chest. “Yes, you are. Do you even realize how many girls at Hogwarts talk about you?”

He looked scandalized. “What?”

You laughed, your hands running over his sides just to feel him. “I’m serious ‘Hot Seeker Mark Lee.’”

Mark actually choked. “Stop— what the fuck”

“You think I’m joking?” you teased, loving how red his face was getting. “Girls love you.”

Mark groaned, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder. “Oh my god, stop. I’m literally trying to hold back right now and you’re—”

“Hold back?” you laughed breathlessly. “Why?”

He lifted his head, and the look on his face was almost pained. His gaze dropped to your chest, to the lacy black bra you hadn’t exactly planned for him to see, and then back to your face. “Because if I don’t, I’m gonna, like—” He swallowed hard. “I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

Heat flared in your stomach.

“Then lose it,” you whispered against his lips.

The second the words left your mouth he crashed his lips back to yours, messier this time. His hands gripped your waist and he pushed you even closer. Your legs instantly parted to make room for him, and he stepped between them, pressing his erection against your core.

“Mark,” you gasped, your brain short-circuiting. “Your pants—”

“Oh, right” Mark breathed, realizing he was still half-dressed. His hands fumbled with his belt, but his fingers were clumsy from how badly he was shaking. “Fuck, can you—?”

“Yeah, I got it,” you said quickly, reaching down to unbuckle it yourself. Your hands brushed against the prominent bulge in his pants, and Mark whimpered.

You froze. “Did you just...?”

“Don’t,” Mark groaned, his head dropping onto your shoulder again. “I’m barely hanging on right now, please don’t.”

You bit back a laugh. “You’re so cute.”

“Agh, stop laughing” Mark whined, his face burning.

“Sorry, sorry,” you giggled, finally managing to unfasten his belt and push his pants down his legs. They pooled around his ankles, and Mark practically kicked them off in desperation. Now you were both down to your underwear, and the sight of the outline of his arousal straining against his boxers made your mouth water.

And apparently, Mark was having the same reaction because his eyes were glued to you. His chest heaved, his jaw slack, his gaze devouring every inch of bare skin like he couldn’t believe it was in front of him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Your smiled shyly. “You think so?”

“Do I think so?” He exhaled sharply, his hands skimming over your bare thighs. “Angel, I’ve literally had dreams about you. Fantasies. Every time I see you in those stupid little skirts—” He broke off, his hands gripping your waist tighter and pushing you impossibly closer.

Mark’s gaze snapped to yours, and you swore his pupils somehow dilated even more.

“Can I touch you?” you both blurted at the same time, and then immediately burst into breathless laughter.

“Jesus—” Mark groaned, his head dropping as he laughed. “We’re such losers.”

“Losers who are about to have sex,” you reminded him, grinning.

Mark laughed harder, but his amusement quickly dissolved into something primal when his hands slid up your thighs again, fingertips skimming dangerously high.

“…Please,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

Mark’s hands were shaking slightly as he tugged at your panties. Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt him start to pull them down, and for a moment, you almost closed your legs instinctively, but his gaze was full of a hunger and a kind of desperate focus that made you feel weak in the knees.

He paused for a second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise, pretty girl,” he whispered, the words low and heavy.

You felt your pulse quicken at his words, the rush of heat between your thighs making everything feel too much, but all you could do was nod. You had no idea what you were doing, but the need to have him all over you was enough to make you forget any uncertainty.

With one last look to make sure you were okay with this, he dropped to his knees and dove between your thighs. You gasped, your legs trembling as his tongue licked a long, clean stripe up your already wet core. It felt too good, too overwhelming, and your hands scrambled to grip at his hair as his mouth moved over you, sucking on your clit with a fervor that made your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh my God, Mark,” you moaned, your body involuntarily trying to press closer to him. Hehummed against you, his hands caressing your thighs.

His mouth wasn’t slowing, even when your thighs tried to squeeze around him. Every flick of his tongue made you feel like you were floating and falling all at once. You couldn’t help the moans that kept escaping you, the tightness in your stomach that was building up with each second.

Your breathing was erratic, and your body was trembling from the pleasure, all you could think about was how badly you needed him—how badly you needed to feel more of him.

“Mark… please,” you whimpered, but you didn’t need to say anything more. He knew exactly what you wanted.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter as his tongue continued its delicious work. You were already so close, your body coiling tighter and tighter with each second.

The pleasure built slowly at first, a steady, insistent warmth curling in the pit of your stomach. It coiled tighter and tighter with every flick of Mark’s tongue, every soft hum that vibrated against you. Your fingers clutched at his hair, unsure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

It was too much, too intense, and yet you couldn’t stop chasing it. The sensation crackled through you like static, lighting up every nerve in your body, making your breaths come in short, desperate gasps.

Then—something inside you snapped.

Your body tensed, your legs trembling as a strangled moan tore from your lips. You had never felt anything like this before—like you were shattering and unraveling all at once, floating somewhere between pleasure and something dangerously close to madness.

Mark didn’t stop. He kept his mouth on you and his hands firm on your thighs while you trembled through the aftershocks. Your body twitched, hypersensitive. He only pulled back when you gasped out his name in a broken plea. His lips were glistening, his eyes blown wide with awe and the sight was almost sinful.

You pulled him to you, crashing your lips against his, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groaned into your mouth, his hands kneading the flesh of your ass, pulling you impossibly closer. It wasn’t until you felt him—hot, heavy, bare against you—that you realized at some point his boxers had come off too.

The realization made your breath hitch, and when you pulled back slightly to look down, your stomach clenched.

Oh.

You’d never seen him naked like this before. You’d imagined it, sure, but now that he was here completely bare in front of you, flushed from head to toe, his cock hard and pressing against your slick folds; you felt a different kind of heat spread through you. He was beautiful. And big. Your throat went dry, your fingers twitching against his shoulders.

Mark must have noticed your sudden hesitation because he stilled, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. “You okay?” he murmured, his voice rough but gentle.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. His pupils were blown, his lips swollen, but there was something tender in the way he was looking at you—patient, waiting.

“I just…” You exhaled a shaky breath, fingers drifting tentatively down his torso, feeling the hard planes of his stomach. “You’re… um.” You bit your lip, heat flooding your cheeks.

Mark let out a breathless laugh, his hands smoothing over your waist. “Yeah?” His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, teasing. “What about me?”

You swallowed again, your eyes flickering back down. “You’re just… bigger than I thought.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and as soon as you realized what you’d said, you squeezed your eyes shut in mortification.

Mark choked out a laugh, his head dropping against your shoulder. “Jesus, Y/N,” he groaned, his hands flexing on your hips. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Ugh... sorry” You buried your face in his neck, burning from the inside out, but you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling.

Mark pulled back slightly, tipping your chin up so you’d look at him again. His expression had softened, though his eyes still burned with desire. “You’re sure you still want this?” he asked, thumb brushing your cheek.

You took a deep breath, letting yourself take in the sight of him again—his flushed skin, the way he was holding himself back, the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

You nodded, heart pounding. “I want you, Mark.”

That was all it took.

Mark groaned, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His hands guided your hips, and you felt him rut against you, his cock sliding against your slick folds. The contact alone made you gasp into his mouth, your fingers gripping his shoulders.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned, his voice breaking as he fought to keep himself together. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, pulling a whimper from you, and he swallowed it like he was starving for more of you.

Your head was spinning and your body was still sensitive from your first orgasm, but the ache for all of him only grew more unbearable.

“Please, Mark… I need you,” you begged, your fingers gripping his biceps.

Mark squeezed his eyes shut trying to control himself, keeping in mind that you’d never done this before and he needed to be careful. But the way you were pleading for him made it nearly impossible.

“Shit—okay, okay, angel,” he promised, his voice cracking under the weight of his need. His hand slid between you, gripping himself at the base, and you gasped when you felt the hot, blunt tip press right against your entrance.

His breath caught. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You nodded quickly, your chest heaving. “I will… just—please—”

And then he pushed in, slowly, carefully, like he was afraid you might break. The stretch burned, a sharp sting that made your breath hitch and your nails dig into his shoulders, but you didn’t ask him to stop. Mark’s face contorted, his brows furrowed like he was in pain just trying to hold himself back.

“Fuck…you’re so tight,” he gasped, his head dropping to your shoulder as he pushed in a little more. Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, and his whole body shuddered. “God, Y/N—”

“You’re so big, Mark,” you whimpered, your thighs shaking as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming stretch.

“Angel, you’re doing so good,” Mark gritted out, his voice strained as he stilled inside you, trying to give you time to adjust. His fingers were digging into your waist like he was using all his strength to not start pounding into you. “Just tell me when, okay? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, your body slowly accommodating him. The sting soon melted into a dull ache, and the pleasure started creeping in. You rolled your hips experimentally, and the friction made you both groan.

“I’m okay,” you breathed, your voice shaky but sure. “You can move.”

Mark let out the most wrecked sound you’d ever heard and then he did. He pulled out just a little before sinking back in, the drag of his thick length against your walls making you throw your head back against the tile.

“Holy fuck,” Mark rasped, his grip on your ass tightening as he thrust into you again, a little deeper this time. “You feel so…so fucking good”

The pace he started was slow but there was no mistaking the sheer desperation in his touch. And you were losing your mind. Every stroke made you gasp, the head of his cock brushing places you didn’t even know could feel that good, and the tension in your core was already building again.

“Mark, faster...please,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck. The ache had turned into pure bliss now, and you needed more of him.

“Fuck…yeah, okay—” Mark practically growled, and his pace quickened, his thrusts becoming rougher. His hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit.

Your body jerked in reaction, your walls clenching down around him so tight it made his hips stutter.

“Shit… do that again, baby. Please—” Mark begged, his voice cracking as he pounded into you harder. The sound of skin slapping filled the steamy bathroom, mixed with the high-pitched whines leaving your throat and the desperate grunts coming from Mark.

Your nails raked down his back and he hissed. “Mark… I’m—oh my god—I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me, angel,” Mark growled, his thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit, his thrusts losing rhythm. “Please—fuck—I need to feel you cum on my cock.”

And that was it. Your body tensed as the coil in your stomach snapped again. You sobbed his name, your walls clenching down so hard around him it made his hips falter. Mark cursed loudly, his thrusts growing erratic before he finally stilled inside you, his whole body shaking as his own orgasm ripped through him.

“Fuckfuckfuck—” he gasped, his face buried in your neck as he came hard, his fingers bruising your hips as he emptied himself inside you.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the castle. Mark stayed inside you, his arms still trembling as he held you against him.

“You okay?” he finally rasped, his voice hoarse and breathless.

You managed a soft, blissed-out laugh. “I think… that was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Mark pulled back just enough to look at you, his flushed face breaking into a dazed grin. “Yeah? That good?

You leaned up and kissed him softly, smiling into his lips. “I don’t think I can get enough.”

And Mark laughed, his nose nudging yours as he kissed you again. “Fuck… me neither.”

The train wheezed as it prepared to depart, and you and Mark stumbled onto the platform, both breathless and disheveled from sprinting to catch it in time.

Your hand was still clutching Mark’s as you tried to straighten out your clothes. Your skirt was askew, your shirt half tucked in, and your hair a mess from the rushed… activities prior. Mark didn’t look any better, his tie crooked, his shirt rumpled, and his hair sticking up in odd directions.

“What were you two freaks doing?” Haechan called through the open window as you approached. Karina was beside him, smirking like she already knew the answer.

“Um…” you fumbled, glancing at Mark for backup. “I forgot my… uh… thing, and Mark was helping me find it,” you stammered, tugging at the hem of your skirt in a poor attempt to look composed.

Haechan scoffed. “Right. And I’m the bloody Minister of Magic.”

“Right,” Karina snorted, her eyes narrowing with amusement. “So you’re telling me you two weren’t shagging in the empty dorms while everyone was on the train?”

“What?” Mark drawled, trying to sound appalled but his voice cracked halfway through. “That’s… ridiculous. Do you really think we’re capable of such.. depravity?”

You bit your bottom lip to keep from laughing, but the little grin trying to peek through made it impossible to sell your innocence.

“Mate, your shirt is literally on backwards,” Haechan deadpanned, pointing at Mark’s disastrous state. “Just get on the train, you bloody nymphos.”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Mark, always quick with his mouth, gestured wildly. “This is a gross violation of our characters, honestly.”

“Yeah, yeah, get in before we leave you,” Karina waved dismissively, biting back a laugh of her own. “And fix your clothes, lover boy.”

Mark squeezed your hand, grinning like an idiot as he led you onto the train. The two of you practically collapsed into the first empty compartment you found, still a little breathless, and when you finally caught your reflection in the window, you burst out laughing.

“God, we look a mess,” you giggled, trying to smooth down your hair.

Mark plopped down next to you, his head falling back against the seat.

“Worth it though,” he mumbled, a small smile playing on his lips.

He turned his head to look at you, his soft brown eyes melting with affection as he took in your flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and hair still a mess from his fingers. His chest tightened with the overwhelming urge to kiss you again, but he just smiled instead. “So worth it.”

The train began to move, and you turned your head toward the window. The castle was still visible in the distance, and your heart clenched at the sight of it shrinking away.

You felt Mark watching you, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over the back of your hand. “You okay?” he asked softly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah. It’s just… hard, you know?”

Mark’s gaze flicked to the window, watching the last of the castle towers disappear from view. “Yeah… it really is.”

For a moment, you let yourself mourn it— the end of an era, the end of childhood, the end of the place that had been your entire world. But then you felt Mark squeeze your hand, and when you turned to look at him, he was already smiling softly at you.

“But hey,” he said, nudging you gently. “It’s not really the end, we’ve got plans, remember? Summer at mine, then we’ll find our own place. Maybe a flat in London, or I don’t know… wherever you wanna go. We’ve got forever now, Y/N.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled through the sting in your eyes. “Forever?” you repeated softly.

“Forever,” Mark promised, lifting your intertwined hands to press a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “I mean, if you’ll have me, obviously.”

You scoffed, giving him a playful shove. “Mark Lee, we literally defiled the Gryffindor dorms fifteen minutes ago. I think you’re stuck with me now.”

Mark let out a loud laugh, his head tipping back, and it was like the heavy weight in your chest finally lifted. Because yes, you were leaving Hogwarts, and yes, things would never be the same again but you had Mark now. You had forever. And that made it all okay.

“Goodbye, Hogwarts,” you whispered under your breath. “Thank you for everything.”

And just like that, the castle disappeared from sight.

asjkjdh i loved writing this so much :(((( i could literally make a whole hogwarts series

#nct x reader #nct dream fic #nct smut #nct dream x reader #nct dream smut #nct fic #nct imagines #mark lee x you #nct mark #mark lee x reader #nct mark x reader #nct mark smut #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 fanfic #mark lee x y/n #mark lee fic

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andhumanslovedstories · 2 months ago

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The critical care unit is where the sickest people in the hospital go. Those patients need a nurse completely dedicated to them, and the unit needs to keep "code beds" open in case a patient in a different part of the hospital urgently needs a higher level of care. That means critical care is always under pressure to decompress (i.e. to turf their less sick patients somewhere else so they can take even sicker patients.)

In the last weeks before we went on strike, I was floated repeatedly to the critical care unit to take care of boarders. That's what we call medsurg patients who have graduated from critical care but don't yet have a bed on a medsurg floor. Personally, I hate floating to critical care. On the floor, you would (ideally) never get a patient assignment of three patients who were critical care status an hour ago. That's going to be a very heavy assignment. But that's how many I can take when I'm helping out in critical care. And it's dangerous. It's SO dangerous. The scariest shifts I've had have been with patients who should be in critical care but aren't. People with massive strokes, or GI bleeds, or respiratory failure, that are technically able to be downgraded because if you say they're less acute, you can give more of them to the same nurse.

Last June, Oregon passed a law mandating certain nurse to patient ratios on units. While critical care is ideally a one to one ratio, medsurg (where I work, which is the general hospital population that isn't maternity, emergency, maternity, or behavioral health--so, almost everyone) has more patients per nurse. This is good and makes sense! Most people in the hospital do not need dedicated one-on-one care with someone outside their door. As a night-time medsurg nurse, I expect to take four patients a night.

And by the way? There are a lot of medsurg nurses in America who would KILL for four patients a night. I know some nurses reading this are like "four??? are you kidding me?????" Night shift nurses in states with less protections can average seven or eight patients a night. I've seen some go as high as twelve. When I have five patients, I feel like I'm running like crazy. I truly cannot understand how I could possibly give good care to more people than that.

What this means in an understaffed hospital is that patients who should be critical care get classified as medsurg instead, so instead of needing another nurse to treat another ICU patient, you can give that patient to a medsurg nurse instead. This is so common. I'm in float pool which means I work in almost twenty different units in the hospital. I have seen this happen on every single unit. Critical care patients become medsurg patients. Medsurg patients become observation class. Whatever it takes to maintain the legally mandated ratios without actually increasing staffing.

One of the major things ONA (the Oregon Nursing Association) is striking for protection against decisions like this that put patients and their caregivers at increased risk so that the hospital can save money. Even when laws are put in place protecting workers and patients, companies will work as hard as they can to circumvent those requirements. It's not enough to get legislation passed. We need the power to enforce that legislation. And baby, there is power in a union.

#nursing tag #nurseblr #labor rights

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thatfeelinwhenyou · 21 days ago

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SAFE & SOUND — part 6

Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.

word count: 18k

a/n: heavy trigger warning for depiction of gore, blood, killing and death. reader discretion is advised. enjoy! ☺️

MASTERLIST

Dusk.

It settles over the camp, painting the sky in deep purples and burnt oranges. The air is thick with the kind of quiet that only comes before a storm, heavy and expectant.

You and Jungwon sit side by side on the rooftop, gazing out at the horizon, lost in your own thoughts. Your head rests against his shoulder, his warmth grounding you, the occasional brush of your legs against each other a quiet reminder of just how close you are.

Neither of you has spoken for hours, yet the silence between you isn’t empty. It’s comfortable, weighted with everything that doesn’t need to be said. Words feel pointless when the future is a gaping unknown, when death lingers at the edge of every decision you make.

You still don’t know what your feelings for Jungwon truly are. Is it respect? Admiration? Or something deeper—something dangerous—something resembling affection? You don’t want to find out. Not now. Not when either of you could be dead by sunrise. Naming it would only make it real, and you can’t afford that kind of pain.

A shift in the air makes you straighten slightly. The atmosphere thickens, the world around you seeming to still. And then, in the distance, you see it.

The horde.

It moves like a single entity, a writhing, heaving mass of death spilling over the landscape. Even from miles away, the sheer size of it is terrifying, bigger than what you remember from the bus terminal. Bigger than what you had prepared for. A lump forms in your throat.

You feel Jungwon tense beneath you, his muscles coiling like a wire pulled too tight.

“They’re here,” he murmurs.

The words send a ripple of finality through your chest, cold and sharp. No hesitation, no maybe, no they’re coming—they’re already here.

Without another word, the two of you silently pull apart from one another. Your muscles move on instinct, years of survival kicking in, pushing back the rush of dread clawing up your spine. Your fingers twitch at your sides, curling into fists before flexing out again, steadying yourself.

Your feet barely touch the ground as you move, slipping down from your vantage point with Jungwon close behind. “You see ‘em?” Jake appears beside you just as your feet touch the ground.

You nod. “Yeah. And… the horde’s bigger than I remember.”

A sharp exhale. Jake runs a hand through his hair, his usual confidence slipping. “Fuck, man. Is it too late to pack up and leave?”

Jungwon ignores the comment, already shifting into leader mode. He turns to Sunoo. “The masks?”

Sunoo jerks his thumb towards a small crate by the petrol pumps. “Over there. Though we haven’t actually tried them on…” His voice trails off as the weight of what you’re about to do sinks in.

The idea of wearing the dead suddenly feels more real. More horrifying.

Jungwon strides over to the crate, crouching beside it. He lifts the lid, revealing a mess of grotesque masks, stitched together from the rotting flesh of the dead. The smell alone is enough to make your stomach churn.

Even though you knew what to expect, seeing them up close, knowing you’re about to wear them—it sends an involuntary shudder down your spine.

Sunoo hesitates, eyeing the pile of decayed flesh like it might lunge at him. “I don’t think I can do this,” he mutters, swallowing hard.

“You can,” Jungwon says, his voice steady, leaving no room for argument. “We don’t have a choice.”

Jake exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shake off the dread creeping up his spine. “Well, no point in putting it off,” he mutters before reaching into the crate. He hesitates for only a second before pulling one out, inspecting it under the dimming light. His face twists in disgust. “Jesus Christ.”

“You think A’s people ever got used to this?” Sunghoon mutters, grabbing a mask and flipping it over in his hands.

“No,” Jay answers. “You don’t get used to things like this. You just learn to live with it.”

Just then, a muffled scream cuts through the tense air, sharp and urgent. Your attention snaps to Lieutenant Kim, still bound to the chair beside the convenience store entrance, her body jerking violently as she struggles against the restraints. Her feet slam against the floorboards, the hollow thuds echoing in the heavy silence.

“Shit, I forgot about her,” Ni-ki mutters under his breath, exasperation laced with something closer to unease.

Heeseung strides over without hesitation, yanking the cloth from her mouth in one swift motion. The moment she’s able to breathe freely, she sucks in a sharp breath before her smirk returns, curling at the edges like a predator baring its teeth.

“Hah,” she exhales, eyes flicking straight to you. “That mask… looks like it was made for you.”

Her words slither through the air, taunting. But they don’t hit their mark. Not like she wants them to. Not when you’ve already embraced the horror of what you’re about to do.

Heeseung doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction, moving to shove the cloth straight back in her mouth.

But then she panics.

“Wait!” she blurts out, her voice cracking ever so slightly, the first sign of real fear slipping through the cracks in her bravado. “You can’t just leave me out here with nothing! I’ll die!”

Heeseung pauses, cloth still gripped in his hand, his gaze narrowing as he watches her panic take hold.

The mask of arrogance slips from her face, replaced with something raw. Desperation. The kind that seeps into your bones when you know—truly know—that death is coming for you.

“You knew this was coming,” you say, your voice eerily calm. “You knew we’d figured out A’s plan. That’s why you went after Sunoo. You were buying time, weren’t you? Hoping that if you could keep up the act just a little longer, you’d distract us long enough for them to get here.”

Lieutenant Kim’s eyes snap to yours, her expression flickering with something unreadable.

“You should’ve known what you were getting into the moment you decided to reveal yourself,” you continue, your gaze unwavering. “So why are you acting like the victim?”

Her jaw tightens, and for a split second, she hesitates. It’s barely perceptible, but you see it—the tiny fracture in her composure. The smug confidence she had only moments ago is slipping, cracking at the edges like glass under pressure. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and for the first time since she first revealed herself, she looks afraid.

Then, just as quickly, she scowls, yanking at the ropes again, frustration spilling out in sharp bursts of breath. “I was foolish,” she spits, voice laced with venom. “That was before I realised just how fucking insane you all are.”

Her laugh is bitter, hollow, like something jagged scraping against stone. “You’re actually going through with this? Walking in there like sheep to the slaughter? You don’t know the first thing about walking with the dead.” She shakes her head, eyes flashing with something almost close to disbelief. “The dead don’t think. They don’t hesitate. One slip-up—one wrong breath—and they’ll tear you apart before you can even blink.”

Jungwon steps forward then, his shadow stretching across the floor as he towers over her. “Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it—sharp and unyielding. “You wanted to see us dead. Whether it’s by their hands or yours, the outcome is the same, isn’t it?”

Lieutenant Kim’s breath catches. The bravado she clung to so fiercely is slipping from her grasp. “You don’t understand,” she says, her voice lower now, strained. “I know A. You don’t. You think this is just about killing you? He wants you to turn. He wants you to become part of his army.”

You’ve already figured that much on your own.

She swallows hard, her eyes darting between you all. “You think you can play his game, but you’re not like him. You still care. And that’s why you’re going to lose.”

A heavy silence follows.

No one moves. No one breathes.

Jungwon tilts his head slightly, regarding her with cold calculation. Then he kneels, lowering himself to her eye level. “If you’re so sure we’re going to lose,” he murmurs, “why are you afraid?”

Lieutenant Kim flinches, her mouth pressing into a thin line.

“That’s what I thought,” Jungwon says, standing back up. He nods towards Heeseung. “Stuff the cloth back in.”

“No, wait—you need me,” she spits, trying to regain some ground. “You think you can just walk among them without understanding how it really works? You’ll fuck it up, and then what? You’ll be torn apart before you even reach the first one of them. I know how they move. I know how they think. You need me alive!”

It’s a compelling argument. But the fear in her voice betrays her—this isn’t about being needed. This is about survival. The truth is, she’s terrified. Of being left behind. Of facing the things she’s been walking with for so long without the protection of her disguise.

You step forward then, slow and deliberate, your expression unreadable. The flickering light from the campfire casts long shadows across your face, making your eyes seem darker, more hollow. You look down at her, considering.

“You think we’re going to risk our survival for yours?” Your voice is quiet, dangerous. “You spent how long spying on us? Hunting us? Forcing us into this mess? And now you expect us to trust you?”

“I didn’t force you into anything,” she snaps back, but there’s no real bite to her words anymore. “You were always going to lead them back here. That was inevitable.”

A chill runs through you at her words. So they have been watching you, ever since you ran into the group at the auto shop.

No. Not just since the auto shop. Not just since the city. Not even since the forest.

They’ve been watching you ever since you first rolled up to this rest stop, all those months ago. The horde that swarmed the city that night—it wasn’t a coincidence. They released it. Because that was the night the group finally came out of hiding. The night you ran into them. The night they made sure you would meet.

The night they ensured you would lead them back here.

Your breath stills, your mind racing to fit the pieces together. The city—the ambush—it wasn’t just bad luck. It was orchestrated. Every move you made, every choice you thought was your own—it was all guided. Manipulated. They herded you like cattle back to this place. Back home. Only they hadn’t considered you would leave and expose their plans.

It makes your skin crawl.

“You were there, weren’t you?” you ask, your voice lower now, almost to yourself. “That night in the city. You knew I would run into them. You made sure I did.”

Jungwon’s brows furrow, his mouth parting slightly as if to respond, but he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t know. None of them do.

You scan their faces. They’re all wearing the same expression, a mixture of unease and complete bewilderment. They have no idea what you’re talking about.

The realisation makes your pulse spike. You hadn’t even had time to sit them down, to tell them what you suspected, to lay out the signs that had been gnawing at the back of your mind since that night.

Because everything was happening too fast. Your emotions are a mess—your anger, your fear, your desperation all tangling together, clouding your judgment, making you second-guess things you know are true.

There was no time to think, to process, to make sense of the truth before you were already neck-deep in it.

Lieutenant Kim tilts her head, her smirk creeping back like an old habit. “We were always watching. We knew you tried coming back here for supplies.”

The rage comes quick, burning through your veins. You knew something was off that night in the city, you knew it wasn’t just bad luck. But hearing it confirmed, hearing it from her—it makes your fists clench so tight your nails dig into your palms.

“You led me to them,” you grit out, the realisation settling like a stone in your stomach.

“And you led them here.” Her eyes gleam, victorious. “Funny how that works, huh?”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Your mind is screaming at you to do something. To hit her. To shut her up. To make her feel the fear she forced onto all of you. But you don’t. You can’t. Because deep down, she’s right. You did lead them here. Whether you meant to or not, whether it was orchestrated or just fate, it doesn’t matter now. It happened.

And now, you have to deal with it.

Your throat feels tight as you try to swallow the guilt, but it clings to you, digging its claws into your ribs. You force yourself to breathe. Shutting your eyes for a moment, you focus on the ground beneath your feet, the slight chill of the night air, the distant groans of the horde closing in. You don’t have time for this. There’s no room for regret, no space for self-pity. If you stop now, if you let yourself spiral, you’ll fall apart.

And you can’t afford to fall apart. Not now.

Jungwon sighs beside you, the sound heavy, exhausted. When you finally open your eyes, he’s looking at you, his gaze searching, measured. “What do you think?” he asks.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“I need to know what you think,” he says, his voice calm, but firm. “Do you think we should keep her alive?”

His words hang between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. He’s asking you something deeper than just a yes or no. He’s asking if you can handle this. If you’re still the person who came back, the person who stood in front of them and said this was the only way. If you’re willing to see it through.

You inhale sharply, steadying yourself, and look at the group. At the way they’re waiting, expecting you to take responsibility for your own mess. Your throat feels dry, the weight of the decision hangs in the air like a guillotine, waiting to fall, waiting for you to let it.

Lieutenant Kim watches you, her smirk fading ever so slightly as she realises that Jungwon has placed her fate in your hands. Your psychotic hands.

Jungwon’s eyes are locked on you, unwavering, searching. He’s not testing you, not challenging you. He’s just waiting. Letting you make the call. Because you’re the one who brought this plan to life. You’re the one who gave them hope. And now you have to decide what to do with the person who tried to take that hope away.

You swallow hard, forcing your voice steady. “We keep her alive.”

A few people tense. Sunoo shifts uncomfortably, his fingers still curled around the pistol he took from her. Jake exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. Jungwon doesn’t react, doesn’t move, just waits for you to continue.

“She’s right,” you say, hating the words as they leave your mouth. “She knows how they move, how they think. She knows what they’ll do when they get here. We’d be idiots not to use that.”

Lieutenant Kim raises a brow, the smirk crawling back onto her face, but you cut her off before she can speak.

“But make no mistake,” you say, stepping forward, letting the words press into her like a blade. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because I let you. Don’t mistake that for mercy.”

The smirk falters.

Jungwon watches you, unreadable, before giving a slow nod. “Fine. But she’s not getting any chances to turn this on us. We keep her tied up with Jay on the roof. And if she so much as thinks about playing games—” His voice drops, dark and final. “She’s dead.”

No one argues.

She exhales through her nose, looking between you and Jungwon, something unreadable flashing through her eyes. “Fine,” she says simply. “Have it your way. As long as I come out of it alive.”

Despite the restraints, she looks unnervingly comfortable, like she’s been in worse situations and lived to tell the tale. She’s watching you all carefully, like a cat surrounded by mice, waiting to see who flinches first.

“Well?” Jungwon prompts, arms crossed, standing a few paces away. “You wanted to live. Start talking.”

She exhales through her nose, tilting her head slightly. “I’ll tell you, but don’t think for a second that it means you’ll survive doing it.”

Ni-ki scoffs from where he’s crouched near the crate of masks. “Really selling it to us, thanks.”

She ignores him, shifting slightly in her seat. “Walking with the dead isn’t just about the masks,” she starts. “It’s about becoming them.”

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She lets the words sink in before continuing. “You can’t just put on rotting skin and expect them to ignore you. They sense things. They’re drawn to movement, sound. They can tell when something isn’t right. The mask covers your scent, sure. But if you twitch too much, breathe too hard, look too alive—they’ll notice.”

“Right,” Jay mutters, voice laced with something between disbelief and dark amusement. “Act like the living, and you’ll be dead. How ironic.”

A shiver crawls up your spine.

Sunghoon crosses his arms. “So what, we just shamble around like zombies?”

“Yes,” she says, with an almost sick kind of amusement. “Slow, steady, unbothered. And most importantly—quiet.”

Sunoo, who’s been unusually silent, finally speaks. “How did you learn to do it?” His eyes flick to her missing arm, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

She hums, tilting her head slightly. “I guess I’m just naturally gifted,” she wiggles her remaining fingers as if to taunt you. “You get it wrong once, you don’t get a second chance.”

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of that statement settling over everyone.

Jake exhales sharply. “And the people who got it right?”

“They learned that fear is the biggest giveaway,” she continues. “If you panic, if you start breathing too fast, moving too much—they’ll know. You have to be still inside. Empty.” She flicks her gaze to you, then to Jungwon. “That’s why A’s people don’t hesitate to kill. When you strip yourself down to nothing, there’s nothing left to be afraid of.”

Your stomach churns at her words, a deep, unsettling nausea curling in your gut. There’s a casual ease in the way she speaks, like she’s explaining something as simple as tying a shoelace, as if becoming nothing is a switch you can just flip.

And maybe for her, it is. Maybe that’s why she’s so willing to spill every secret, to reveal all the intricacies of how A’s people move and survive. Because, at the end of the day, she doesn’t care about them—not more than she cares about herself.

It makes sense now, the way she smirked when you asked how she got here, how she survived this long. There was no grand loyalty to A, no deep-seated belief in his cause. She simply did what she had to do to not die. And now, she’s doing it again.

Jungwon seems to come to the same conclusion, his gaze narrowing slightly. “So that’s it, then?” His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it, something edged with quiet contempt. “You don’t care who wins, who dies. You’ll sell out anyone as long as you get to keep breathing?”

She doesn’t even flinch. If anything, she looks amused. “Now you’re getting it.”

There’s no shame in her expression. No guilt. Just the bare, stripped-down truth of what she is.

Survival at all costs.

Jungwon’s expression remains unreadable. “So what’s stopping you from walking out of here?”

She smiles, slow and sharp. “Nothing. If you hadn’t tied me up.”

It’s a warning. A challenge. And a reminder that this is not something you can half-ass. If you’re going to do this, you have to commit.

Jungwon glances at you. “You still think this will work?”

You swallow hard, pushing down the unease clawing at your ribs. “We don’t have a choice.”

Lieutenant Kim’s smile widens. “Then I suggest you start practising.”

You, Heeseung, and Sunghoon move in unspoken sync, lifting her from the ground, each of you gripping a limb as you haul her up toward the roof. She’s heavier than she looks, dead weight in your grasp, but she doesn’t resist. Even as you tighten the ropes around her body, securing them to the support pillar, she doesn’t flinch. She only watches, her dark eyes gleaming under the moonlight, the ghost of a smirk still tugging at the corners of her lips.

You steal a glance towards the horizon, your breath catching slightly as your eyes settle on the horde. They are closer now. A wave of bodies stretching far into the darkness, moving in sluggish, restless synchrony. From up here, they look almost surreal—like a living, breathing organism, pulsing forward with one singular purpose: consume.

Your stomach twists. You count the minutes in your head, assessing their pace, the way they stumble but never truly slow down. Thirty minutes. Maybe forty at best. That’s all the time you have before they reach the outer perimeter. Before they begin pressing against the barricades, before the presence of the living draws them forward in a frenzy.

It’s not enough time. It never is.

You force yourself to look away, tearing your gaze from the inevitable and climbing back down.

By the time your feet hit the ground, the fire crackles against the heavy quiet, flickering shadows dancing across the tense faces gathered around it. The warmth barely reaches you. It should—should seep into your bones, chase away the cold curling at your core—but instead, the chill settles deeper in your chest, curling into the spaces between your lungs.

Jungwon is already watching you, his expression unreadable. You don’t know what he’s looking for, what he sees when he looks at you, but after a moment, he nods. “Put them on,” he instructs the group, his voice calm but firm.

Lieutenant Kim’s warning must have sunk deep into him. What she said about never being able to truly walk with the dead unless you learn to become them.

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the mask in the crate, fingers brushing against the decayed flesh. You force yourself to pick it up, ignoring the way your stomach twists at the thought of pressing this thing against your skin.

The texture is sickly, stiff yet disturbingly soft, like leather left out to rot in the rain. The edges are uneven, jagged where it had been hastily cut from whatever corpse it once belonged to.

You swallow down the bile rising in your throat.

A deep breath. In. Out.

You can do this. You have to.

The stench hits next. A foul, overwhelming odour of decay and stagnant blood floods your senses the moment you lift the mask closer to your face. It’s a putrid mix of damp earth, copper, and something sickly sweet—the unmistakable scent of death. It clings to the inside of your nostrils, coating your tongue as if you’ve tasted it rather than smelled it. You breathe through your mouth in an attempt to lessen the nausea, but it doesn’t help. The scent seeps into you, invasive and inescapable.

You hesitate, staring down at it, your grip tightening. You tell yourself that it’s just a mask. Just a means to an end. A tool for survival. But as you turn it over in your hands, inspecting the ragged stitching that barely holds the flesh together, the hollowed-out sockets where real eyes once sat, the weight of what you’re about to do settles deep in your chest.

It’s not just a mask. It was once a person.

A shudder rakes through you, your mind flashing to the possibility—who were they before they became this? Before their face was carved from their skull and turned into a disguise? A survivor? A fighter? Someone clinging to their last shred of humanity?

Would this be your fate too, if you failed? Would your face be the next to be hollowed out and worn by someone desperate enough to do whatever it takes to live?

Your breath shakes as you glance at the others. They’re watching you, waiting for someone to move first. Waiting for you to move first.

This was your idea.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself. Then, slowly, you lift the mask to your face, your heart hammering against your ribs. The moment it presses against your skin, everything inside you screams. The dampness of rot sinking into your pores, the way the texture clings to your cheek, how the rancid scent floods every sense—it feels suffocating. The edges don’t sit comfortably; they scratch against your jaw, the flaps curling slightly where the flesh has begun to peel. You feel it stretch across the back of your head, tightening against your forehead, your breath now trapped in the confined, hellish space beneath.

The worst part? It moves.

The lingering remnants of decay shift with each breath you take, subtle but unmistakable, as if the dead thing is still breathing with you. The mask absorbs your warmth, dampening further, moulding itself onto you as if it has claimed you as its own.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, your instincts screaming at you to rip it off, get it off, get it off! But you don’t. You can’t. Everyone is watching you. You force yourself to stay still, to endure.

For a moment, you feel sickeningly, terrifyingly not yourself.

But then you remind yourself: This is survival. This is how you live.

The silence around you is suffocating, save for the faint rustle of movement as the others follow suit. No one speaks. You don’t need to look at them to know they’re struggling, too, each reaction ranging from silent horror to barely suppressed gags.

Sunoo dry heaves. “I think I’m actually going to be sick.”

Sunghoon, adjusting his mask, smacks him on the back. “Not in the mask, dude.”

Jake groans. “I swear to god, if I hear one more joke, I’m ripping this thing off and taking my chances.”

Despite everything, a faint smirk tugs at Jungwon’s lips. “Good. If we can joke, we can handle this.”

Your fingers clench into fists at your sides as you watch Jungwon secure his mask. His hands don’t shake, his breath doesn’t falter. Even now, even when you know he’s just as afraid as the rest of you, he refuses to show it. He carries it all in silence, swallowing the fear, locking it away where no one else can see.

Except you.

You can see the tightness in his jaw, the way his shoulders are rigid with tension. He’s terrified—just like you, just like all of you—but he won’t show it. He won’t let himself. Not when everyone is looking to him for reassurance.

And as much as it hurts to see, it makes you admire him even more.

The moment he fastens the last strap, he turns to you. The sight of him like this—his sharp eyes peering out from behind something so grotesque, something that doesn’t belong to him, doesn’t deserve to be him—it unsettles you in a way you can’t quite name. Not because he looks different, but because he doesn’t. The mask, with its decayed flesh and empty, hollowed-out sockets, should strip him of his identity, should erase the Jungwon you know.

But it doesn’t. Even through the filth, through the horrid disguise, he’s still him. Still Jungwon. Still the boy who pulled you back from the edge when you thought you had nowhere left to turn. Still the boy who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders without ever asking for help. Still the same person standing beside you on the rooftop just hours ago.

And yet, something about this feels wrong. Like you’re looking at a ghost of him, a version of him twisted by the world you’re trying so hard to survive in.

He moves with purpose, with certainty, with that same quiet resolve that makes your chest tighten. Because it’s real now. This is real. There is no pretending, no hypothetical outcome where this isn’t happening. You’re doing this.

The world suddenly feels too small, like it’s closing in on you, squeezing the air from your lungs. You’re painfully, horribly aware of the texture of dead flesh pressing against your forehead, against your cheeks. Your vision is slightly obscured, the edges blurred, distorted. The mask is heavy. It’s claustrophobic.

For a split second, panic swells in your chest.

But then you hear it—Jungwon’s breathing. Slow. Measured. Steady.

You focus on that.

If he can do this, so can you.

You lift your chin, squaring your shoulders, forcing yourself to push past the nausea crawling up your throat, past the revulsion, past the unbearable itch of decay against your skin.

This is survival. This is what it takes.

Jungwon watches you for a beat longer, his sharp gaze scanning your face, searching for something. Maybe he’s making sure you’re not going to bolt, that you’re not second-guessing this at the last second. Maybe he’s trying to commit your face to memory before it’s buried beneath the grotesque mask.

“Alright.” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, like he’s bracing himself for what’s to come. He adjusts his mask once more, as if settling into this new, monstrous identity. As if making peace with the fact that he has to become something unrecognisable to survive.

“It’s time.” The words ring through the silence like a final verdict.

He had given you the chance to walk away—multiple times. Every step of the way, he had left the door open to let you decide if this was a fight you were willing to take on. No pressure, no demands. Just a choice. And yet, here you are.

You chose this. Chose to stay. Chose to fight. Chose to bury whatever fear, whatever hesitation still lingered inside you, and stand with them.

Now, you have to hold your ground and finish what you started.

The air is thick with tension, the dying embers of the campfire flickering weakly in the distance, casting long, warped shadows that stretch long and distorted against the walls—the same walls that will either be left standing or reduced to rubble by the time this is all over. There is no in-between.

Everyone stands ready, motionless, save for the occasional shifting of weight, the tightening of fingers around thin air, the quiet, steadying breaths swallowed into the night.

In the dim light, their silhouettes blend into the darkness, merging with the moment. Because from this point forward, none of you are who you were before.

And then, there’s Jay.

He’s the only one still wearing his own face, the last reminder of what normal used to look like. His jaw is tight as he exhales a slow, controlled breath, eyes moving between each of you. The faintest crease in his brows betrays the frustration, the helplessness. He hates this. You can see it in the way his fists clench at his sides, in the way he looks at Jungwon as if asking to be given a role more substantial than being a distraction.

But there is nothing for him. Not tonight.

You know he understands. Knows why he has to stay behind. But knowing doesn’t make it easier. You’d feel the same if you were in his position—sidelined while the people you care about throw themselves into the unknown.

Still, it’s better this way. Better to have him on the bench than risk him collapsing in the middle of the dead, his wound opening up like a beacon in the dark.

Jungwon steps forward, his voice calm and controlled. “Remember the plan. A small cut is all it takes. Even when they catch on to what we’re doing, don’t engage. They won’t be stupid enough to expose themselves in the middle of the horde either. We move in groups and we don’t leave anyone behind.”

He hands each of you a small pocket knife, pressing the cold steel into your palms. You feel its weight, its deadly potential, and the knowledge of what you have to do settles deeper into your bones. Your fingers curl around the handle instinctively, as if your body already knows what your mind is still trying to accept.

Jungwon scans the group, his expression sharp, calculating. “There are seven of us. Let’s split into two pairs and a group of three—”

You don’t let him finish. You do what you do best.

“No.” The word leaves your lips before you can stop it. “Having three of the us walking together could look too out of place. It’s dangerous. We stick to pairs.”

Jungwon sucks in a breath, his jaw tightening. He knows where this is going. You can see it in the way his eyes twitch, in the way his posture stiffens. Despite that, he pushes. “Then I’ll—”

“No,” you cut him off again, firmer this time. “You already know I’m not going to let you do that.”

Jungwon’s entire body stills, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. His chest rises and falls in measured breaths, but his eyes are locked onto yours, searching, challenging.

“Y/N.”

It’s not just your name. It’s a warning. A command.

But you don’t back down. You can’t.

Because you know exactly what he’s thinking. You know that look. You’ve seen it before—the night before you left—when he’s making a decision he knows he won’t change, when he’s preparing to throw himself into the fire, to take on the worst of it, to shoulder the danger like it’s his duty. And maybe, on some level, he thinks if he’s the one to do it, if he’s the one leading the charge, it’ll keep the rest of you safe.

But you know better.

This isn’t just strategy. It’s not just about what makes sense.

It’s about him. It’s about the way he carries the weight of this group like it’s carved into his bones, the way he never lets himself be the one protected. It’s about the way he expects to be the one who pays the price.

And you refuse to let him.

You refuse to lose him.

The tension coils tighter, suffocating, pressing into the space between you like a force of nature neither of you can control. It coils around your throat, wraps around your ribs, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. Every second wasted here is a second closer to death, and yet, neither you nor Jungwon back down.

The others watch in silence, their gazes shifting between you and Jungwon, their fingers tightening around their weapons. They don’t speak, don’t interfere—because this isn’t their fight. It never is when it comes to the two of you.

Whatever moment you shared before—whatever fragile, unspoken thing that had existed in the quiet safety of the rooftop—it stayed there. Preserved like an ancient relic, untouched, unspoken, waiting for a future where the two of you return to reclaim it—a future that may never come.

Jungwon exhales sharply, jaw tightening as he secures the pocket knife into his belt with clipped movements, frustration simmering beneath his skin. But it’s not just frustration. It’s anger. Not at you—never at you—but at the situation. At the inevitability of it all. At the way you refuse to let him shoulder this weight alone.

“Forget about it. I’m not letting you have this one.”

You watch the way his fingers tremble, the way his breath hitches ever so slightly before he forces it into something steady, something controlled. It’s the same way he always is—poised on the edge of breaking, but never quite letting himself fall.

“Jungwon,” you persist.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look at you. As if ignoring you will make you accept his decision. As if you’ll ever just accept it.

“You know I work better alone anyway.” The words come out firmer than you expect, but you don’t take them back. You mean them. You always have. “Hell, having one of you with me probably signs my death penalty.”

The words land between you like a blade, sharp and cutting, splitting open the raw truth neither of you wants to acknowledge.

Jungwon doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react, but something shifts in his eyes—something unreadable, something you can’t afford to decipher right now.

Silence stretches between you, thick and unrelenting. You know he wants to argue, to push back, to demand that you don’t do this. But you also know that, deep down, he understands.

Because you do work better alone. You move faster. Think sharper. Fight harder when there’s no one to slow you down, no one to hold you back. No one to lose.

And maybe that’s why he hesitates. Because if you’re alone, there’s no one to stop you from making the kind of choices that get people killed.

No one to stop you from getting yourself killed.

His fists clench, his knuckles white, his breathing even, but you can see it—the storm behind his gaze, the way his mind races for an argument he knows won’t change anything. He’s searching for an opening, for something he can say to pull you back from this. But there isn’t one.

“Y/N…” His voice is low, raw, edged with something dangerously close to surrender.

There’s a finality in the way he looks at you now, dark eyes burning beneath the grotesque mask. He doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like you standing beside him like this, just as willing to throw yourself into the fire as he is.

But he won’t stop you. He can’t.

And you both know it.

Jungwon exhales sharply, the sound heavy with frustration, his jaw tightening as he finally looks away. You hear it—the quiet resignation in the breath he releases, the way his chest falls just slightly.

And you know you’ve won.

"Jake and Ni-ki. Sunghoon and Sunoo. Heeseung with me." His voice is clipped, controlled, but there’s an edge to it—a thread of reluctance he can’t quite hide. His gaze flickers back to you, lingering for just a second longer, before he turns to Heeseung and the latter nods.

“We’ll tie a white cloth around our left arms,” Heeseung says, moving swiftly to pass down strips of lazily torn fabric. “It’ll help us tell each other apart.”

The cloth feels rough as Sunoo helps you tie it around your arm, the knot tightening like a promise. It’s a fragile identifier, but it’s all you have.

Ni-ki moves to put out the fire completely, the last glow of warmth vanishing in a final flicker. Darkness swallows the camp whole, wrapping around you like a living, breathing entity. The absence of light shifts something in the air, thickens it. You blink, trying to adjust, barely able to make out the vague outlines of the masks surrounding you. The decaying disguises blur into the night, turning your friends into fragments of shadow.

The absence of the fire’s crackling also seem to make everything else sharper. The sound of your own breathing. The faint scuff of movement as someone shifts their weight. And beyond the walls, bleeding through the night like a slow, creeping tide—the groans and shuffling of the dead.

They’re closer than before.

You strain your ears, trying to gauge just how near they are, but it’s impossible to tell. Their movements are uneven, unpredictable, a restless shifting mass of bodies dragging themselves forward, step by step, inch by inch. Every groan, every shuffle, every wet, hollow breath is a reminder of what waits for you on the other side of these walls.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. The weight of the mask presses against your skin, suffocating, the scent of decay curling thick in your nose. You can’t afford to slip up. Especially not now. Not when you’re about to step into the midst of the very things that have haunted you since the world fell apart.

“Move into position.” The command ripples through the group in an instant, setting everything in motion.

Ni-ki and Jake move first, guiding Jay towards the rooftop where Lieutenant Kim remains bound, a cloth still stuffed into her mouth. Her presence is almost an afterthought now—just another problem to deal with once this night is over, if any of you make it that far. The only access point to the roof is a narrow chokepoint, and with Jay positioned there, armed and watching, there’s no chance A’s people will be reckless enough to attempt an ambush from above. Not unless they have a death wish.

At the same time, Sunghoon and Sunoo slip into the shadows behind the convenience store, their silhouettes dissolving into the darkness. When the dead breach the camp, they’ll blend in seamlessly from the side, hidden in plain sight.

Jungwon and Heeseung move next, their footsteps light, measured, a careful synchrony of movement as they make their way towards the gate. Even in the heavy silence, they communicate without words, understanding what needs to be done.

Jungwon reaches the barricade first, fingers curling tightly around the reinforced metal. His breath is steady, his shoulders squared, but you can see the tension in his grip, the way his knuckles whiten as he glances at Heeseung. No hesitation, no uncertainty—just the briefest nod before they begin.

The creak of shifting metal fills the air, a slow, deliberate screech that makes you cringe. The sound alone is enough to make your pulse spike, your body stiffening as your ears strain for any sign of movement beyond the walls.

And then—you hear it.

A shift in the groans outside. A change in the rhythm of their movements. A ripple through the dead.

They know. They feel it—the space opening, the presence of the living.

Heeseung glances back at Jungwon, something unspoken passing between them before they push further, widening the gap just enough for them to slip through.

The threshold stands open, a gaping maw in the barricade, an invitation to the horrors waiting just beyond. And now, all that’s left to do is wait for them to step through.

Ni-ki and Jake are waiting inside the convenience store, bodies pressed against the shadows. They won’t move until the horde has fully pushed through, until they can slip between them unnoticed, blending into the chaos like ghosts.

Meanwhile, Jungwon and Heeseung are taking the longer route, slipping outside the barricade to wrap around from the back, disappearing into the darkness beyond the rest stop. You trust them to know what they’re doing. You trust them to know how to move without hesitation, without fear.

And you—you are right here. Right by the gate. Right in the thick of it.

The cold metal of the barricade presses against your palm as you steady yourself. The night is alive with the low, guttural groans of the dead, shuffling closer, their movements slow but deliberate, drawn in by the sound of something living just beyond their reach.

The gate is open just enough. Just enough to let them pour in, one by one. And when they do, you will be right there with them.

Your plan is to let the dead surround you from the moment they step through. A’s people won’t risk being the first ones to enter the rest stop. Not when there’s a chance they’ll be gunned down before they even make it inside. They’ll wait, watching from the darkness, using the dead as their shields.

They’ll release a handful first, let them flood in, let them test the waters. And only when they’re sure it’s safe, only when they believe the dead have done their job, when they hear the panicked screams of the living being torn apart—then they will come.

Only they won’t hear a single thing. No cries of pain. No desperate gunfire. No sound of bodies hitting the dirt. Only silence.

And silence breeds curiosity.

They’ll hesitate, uncertain, waiting for a sign that their plan is working. But by then, the dead will have filled the space within the barricades, their numbers too dense to pick apart who is living and who isn’t.

And in that moment, that single beat of doubt—it will already be too late.

Because you’ll be waiting.

Right in the heart of it.

The night feels colder now, the wind carrying the putrid scent of rot as the dead shuffle forward, drawn to the opening like moths to a flame.

The closer they get, the more overwhelming the sounds that accompany them—the wet, sickening squelch of decomposing flesh dragging against the ground. The suffocated gurgle of air forced through ruined throats, moans stretching into the night in a discordant chorus. The dull clack of exposed teeth clicking together like chattering bones. Feet scrape against the pavement, shuffling, stumbling, pushing forward with no will, no purpose beyond the primal hunger that keeps them tethered to what remains of existence.

It’s no longer a distant warning carried by the wind, no longer something that exists just beyond reach. It’s here, pressing against the boundaries of your world, seeping through the cracks in the barricade, slithering into the spaces between heartbeats.

It’s everywhere.

Echoing. Reverberating. Surrounding you.

Your pulse pounds in your ears, a frantic drumbeat against the overwhelming noise. The sound of your own breath feels deafening but you force it to stay steady.

And then, the barricade shifts.

A creak of metal echoes into the night, the rusted hinges straining as something presses against it from the other side. Your fingers twitch at your side, but you don’t move. You don’t react. You force yourself to stay still.

And then—

Tok. Tok. Tok.

A deliberate, unnatural knock against the metal. You know that sound. It’s not the dead.

It’s one of them.

Another knock. Tok. Tok. Tok.

A’s people are out there, controlling the horde, directing them like sheepdogs herding cattle. They aren’t pushing through blindly—they’re being led, positioned, placed exactly where they need to be.

Another shove. The metal creaks louder this time.

And then, the first one reaches the gate.

A hand presses through the opening, gnarled fingers curling around the rusted metal, nails cracked and blackened, skin peeling away in wet, glistening strips. It clutches, pulling itself forward, its eyes locking onto you, no consciousness behind that milky, clouded gaze.

It groans, and the sound is guttural, rattling from deep within its ruined throat. More hands appear—reaching, grasping, clawing.

Then, the first body pushes through.

It stumbles, jerking unnaturally, the sheer weight of the horde behind it forcing it forward. Its head lolls to the side, neck bent at an impossible angle, skin stretched taut over exposed bone, lips chewed away leaving only the glistening remains of its teeth permanently bared in an endless, frozen snarl. A second follows. A third.

One by one, they seep into your world, like ink spilling into water, like a plague swallowing everything in its path. It stumbles, feet dragging through the dirt, jerking forward with that disturbing, twisted movement.

Another pushes in behind it. Then another.

They’re so close now. Close enough that you can hear the faint creak of joints stiffened by death, the sticky squelch of exposed muscle shifting beneath half-rotted skin.

And then, one of them turns towards you. Your breath catches, freezing in your throat as it lurches forward, its head tilting unnaturally, as though sniffing the air.

It’s testing you.

A lump forms in your throat, and you will yourself to remain still. Don’t move. Don’t react. Don’t breathe too fast. Lieutenant Kim’s words echos in your head, over and over.

Fear is the biggest giveaway.

The thing sways slightly, its milky-white eyes staring right through you, empty yet searching. It leans closer, enough that you can see the way its skin peels away in slow, sickening strips, revealing the raw, festering tissue underneath. Its breath—if it can even be called that—hits your cheek, rancid and thick with the scent of spoiled meat so pungent that you almost gag.

A low groan rattles from its throat, and for a terrifying second, you swear it knows. It knows you don’t belong.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, an instinct to reach for the knife strapped to your belt. But the thing’s head jerks suddenly, its jaw slack, teeth clicking together as if considering something. Then—

It moves past you.

The second it turns away, your lungs burn from the breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. Your pulse is erratic, hammering against your ribs so hard it physically hurts.

You don’t dare move just yet. Not when another is staggering past you, its shoulder bumping yours with enough force to send a sickening squelch of something wet against your sleeve.

The dead move past you, groaning and shuffling, their scent wrapping around you like smoke, their bodies brushing against yours as they push further in, filling the gaps between the pillars, the scattered supplies, the places they had laughed and planned and hoped.

From where you stand, you can’t see them anymore—Jungwon, Heeseung, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Ni-ki, or even Jay.

But you can feel them. Their presence lingers, just out of sight but never truly gone.

A’s people must be thinking you’ve been caught off guard, that the horde is nothing more than a terrifying accident, a cruel twist of fate forcing you into a corner.

But they’re wrong.

You’ve come to terms with it—the fear that once gnawed at your ribs has dulled into something quieter, something steadier. This isn’t an accident. This isn’t a mistake. This is what has to be done. And now, standing at the edge of it all, watching the dead spill through the gate like water rushing through a cracked dam, all that’s left is the hope that they’ll make it.

That they’ll survive.

That they’ll no longer have to run.

So you let go of whatever fear is left, whatever hesitation still lingers in the back of your mind. You swallow the bile rising in your throat and keep walking.

Walk like you belong.

Blend in.

Be nothing.

Time has lost all meaning. You keep walking, one sluggish step after another, matching the mindless rhythm of the dead around you. You’re searching, scanning, waiting for movement that doesn’t belong. But you’ve seen no sign of A’s people, no flicker of a shadow that moves with intention.

You wonder if the others have had better luck. But if they had, you’d know. You’d hear it. A scream, a shout—something that would disrupt the sickening harmony of the horde.

Nothing.

A flicker of doubt creeps into your mind. Were they even here? Or had they figured you out before you even had a chance to act? The thought sends a shiver down your spine, despite the heat pressing in from all directions. If they’ve already seen through your plan, if somehow Lieutenant Kim managed to send a message out, if they’re just watching, waiting for you to make the first mistake—

You spot Jay.

He’s crouched low near the edge of the rooftop, barely visible unless you tilt your head just right. His body is still, his presence so well-hidden that you almost miss him entirely. But his hand—his hand is moving. Pointing to somewhere ahead of you.

Your pulse spikes. You follow the angle of his gesture, gaze sharpening, focusing—

Movement. Your muscles lock instinctively as your eyes snap to it. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible against the shifting mass of the horde. A figure standing slightly apart, just enough to not be swallowed by the dead. But it’s not the stillness that gives them away.

It’s the way they shift. Too smoothly. Too deliberately. The dead don’t move like that.

Got you.

Your grip tightens around the pocket knife, the cold metal slick against your clammy palm. You don’t hesitate—hesitation will get you killed. Your movements are careful, calculated, slipping through the sea of bodies like a ghost, closing the distance between you and the figure that doesn’t belong.

Your breath is shallow, controlled, just as Lieutenant Kim told you. No fear. No hesitation.

You are nothing.

The figure stands just ahead, barely distinguishable from the others, their posture slightly too rigid, their movements too alive. They’re trying to blend in, just like you. But you see them.

You get close enough that you could reach out and touch them, close enough that the rancid stench clinging to them mixes with your own.

You strike. The blade slices clean across the back of their arm, just deep enough to draw blood.

And for a moment, nothing happens.

Then—

The reaction is immediate, violent. The scent of fresh blood fills the air, and the change is instantaneous. A guttural, inhuman groan rips through the horde.

Bodies shift, jerk, twist toward the source like puppets yanked by unseen strings. The shuffle of feet turns into frantic, erratic movement. Hands that once hung limply at sides now reach, claw, grasping blindly toward the scent that calls to them like a siren’s song.

A’s man panics, the realisation hitting too late. They jolt, trying to shove past the dead, trying to escape, but it’s useless. The moment they stumble, the horde collapses on them.

Then the screaming starts.

You don’t have time to react before the wave of bodies surges forward, a relentless force slamming into you from all sides.

You stagger, nearly losing your footing as rotting arms push past you, skeletal fingers grazing your skin as they reach for something more tantalising than your presence. The pressure is crushing, bodies pressing in too tight, the heat suffocating. You can’t move. You can’t breathe.

You feel the breath of something too close against your ear. A low, gurgling moan.

Panic claws at your throat.

No, no, no—stay calm.

You are nothing.

You are one of them.

You force yourself to remain rigid, unyielding, keeping your breaths shallow. One wrong move, one slip of fear, and they’ll turn on you next.

The screams beneath the pile of dead become muffled, wet gurgles as teeth sink into flesh, tearing, consuming. The horde writhes and shifts around you, desperate, mindless. A frenzy.

And you—trapped in the middle of it all.

The air is thick with the sickly-sweet scent of blood and decay, the stench clogging your throat, coating the inside of your lungs like something tangible. Your heart is slamming against your ribs.

You need to move. You need to get out before this frenzy becomes uncontrollable.

Through the gaps between writhing bodies, you spot another figure—another one of A’s people. They’re frozen, watching the carnage unfold, horror painted across their face—the kind of terror that only comes when a plan unravels right before your eyes.

You catch their gaze. They see you. They know what you just did.

You don’t hesitate. You push forward, weaving through the dead with slow, careful steps, keeping your movements unnatural, hollow. They see you coming, their panic doubling as they shift subtly, preparing to slip away, to disappear back into the horde before you can reach them.

But then you see it—a flash of a familiar white cloth threading through the chaos.

Sunghoon.

He moves fast, quicker than even you anticipated, stepping through the wall of the undead with a precise, calculated strike. His knife cuts deep into the back of their thigh. A clean, swift motion.

The moment the blade slices through skin, the figure stumbles, a sharp, pained gasp slipping past their lips. Their leg buckles, their balance wavers and they fall right into the pit of waiting hands and gnashing teeth. The scream that follows is a raw, jarring sound of pure terror. It barely lasts a second before it’s drowned beneath the frenzied moans of the dead.

Sunghoon doesn’t linger. He doesn’t even spare them a glance as he withdraws, blending seamlessly back into the tide of bodies.

You watch as the horde reacts, the scent of fresh blood igniting them into another violent frenzy. They collapse onto the fallen figure like starving animals, the wet, sickening sounds of tearing flesh sending a shudder down your spine.

Before you can even register the chaos unfolding before you, the provoked growls of the undead rise in a deafening chorus as a shattering scream erupts from the other side of the rest stop.

Then another cry near the gates.

Another from inside the convenience store.

It’s working.

The plan is working.

It’s brutal. It’s monstrous. But it’s working.

Bodies fall beneath the swarm, the dead closing in, sinking their teeth into warm flesh, tearing, consuming. The air is filled with the sound of it—bones snapping, wet, visceral gurgles as throats are ripped open. And yet, something about this moment doesn’t sit right.

You’ve seen what happens when the dead consume the living. But this—this is different. This is calculated. You’re not fighting back. You’re not defending yourself. You’re orchestrating their deaths.

And the worst part?

You don’t feel anything. Not guilt. Not satisfaction. Just the awareness that this is what needs to be done.

That thought lingers, unsettling in its clarity, but there’s no time to dwell on it. You push forward, scanning through the chaos, searching for the next one when you hear it—

A whisper.

“Am…bush…”

Your breath catches.

It’s quiet, barely audible beneath the grotesque symphony of groans and shuffling feet, but it’s there. A hushed, broken murmur, threading its way through the carnage.

They’re communicating.

“Among… us…”

Your head snaps towards the sound, eyes darting wildly, scanning through the writhing bodies, trying to pinpoint where it came from.

But then—it spreads. Like a disease.

One whisper becomes two, then four, then too many. The words ripple through the horde, eerie and fragmented, carried on gasping, inhuman voices. The whispers spread like wildfire, bouncing between the scattered remnants of A’s people still hidden among the horde.

“Am…bush…”

“Among… us…”

Your eyes dart frantically across the shifting mass of bodies, searching for the ones still thinking. The ones who don’t stumble blindly, the ones whose steps are too careful, too measured. The ones who haven’t bled yet.

Then you see it.

One of them, face half-shrouded by the grotesque mask. Their gaze snaps to another figure just a few paces ahead in a silent exchange. They know.

A cold spike of adrenaline rushes through your veins. Your grip tightens around the knife, sweat slicking your palm despite the freezing night air. You move, carefully at first, weaving through the dead, keeping your movements slow and disjointed—just unnatural enough to blend.

The figure in front of you turns their head ever so slightly, as if listening, as if searching for—

You strike.

The blade slices clean across the wrist—deep, precise. Blood wells instantly, dark against the pale, rotting hues around you. The effect is instantaneous.

The closest zombie snaps to attention, its sunken, hollow eyes igniting with something primal. The moment the scent hits, the dead lurch forward.

The scream barely leaves their throat before they’re swallowed whole.

You don’t watch. You don’t think.

You move.

Another step. Another body.

Another quick slash. Another spill of blood. Another scream.

And the dead descend.

The horde surges, bodies slamming against yours in a frenzy, the desperate hunger of the undead overpowering even the whispers of fear.

But it’s not enough. There are still more of them. Still too many. And you don’t even know if A himself is among them.

Your heart is a relentless drum against your ribs, your breaths shallow, measured. You’re not spiralling. Not yet. But the whispers—they don’t stop.

“Am…bush...”

“Among… us...”

You push forward, eyes darting wildly through the shifting mass of bodies. There—another one. You recognise the panic before you even see their face. It’s in the stiffness of their shoulders, the way their breathing picks up just slightly, the instinct to run beginning to override the act.

They know they’ve been made. And unfortunately for them, you’re not the only one who notices the flicker of panic, the unconscious twitch of muscles, the quickening breaths beneath the mask.

Fear is a beacon—and the dead are always drawn to it.

Before they even get the chance to react, the zombie beside them lunges. Teeth sink into their neck with a sickening, wet crunch.

A strangled cry tears from their throat, raw and desperate, but it’s swallowed by the chaos, lost beneath the endless groans of the horde. Their hands claw uselessly at the decayed body latched onto them, but it’s too late—the damage is done, blood spilling down their collar, staining the air with the scent of fresh death.

They struggle. They always struggle. But there’s no winning against something that never stops coming.

You watch as their body jerks, collapsing beneath the weight of the undead, their form vanishing into the sea of rot and decay. And you can’t help but wonder—

Is A panicking too? Is he feeling that same instinctive terror, that slow-dawning horror of watching his own weapon be turned against him?

Maybe then it would save you the trouble of hunting him down.

Or maybe—

“Y/N! To your left, Jake is cornered!” Jay’s voice cuts through the groans.

The dead react instantly to his voice—clear, human, alive—pulling them in like a magnet. Their heads snap toward the direction of the noise, their bodies shifting, pressing forward, pushing closer to the convenience store.

Jake.

Where’s Jake?

Your breath catches as your head whips to the left, eyes darting wildly, scanning—

Bodies, so many bodies, all shifting, writhing, moving as one. Where is he?

Then you see him.

Jake is backed against the rusting frame of the barricade. He’s slowly retreating as two of A’s men close in on him. And not just A’s men—

The mask covers his face, but his body language betrays him—chest rising too fast, shoulders tensed, muscles coiled like a spring about to snap. He’s panicking.

And the dead is starting to pick up on it. Closing in, drawn to that silver of uncertainty, to the quickened breath that doesn’t belong.

A’s men sees it. They’re not trying to attack him, they’re taunting him, taunting the fact he’s about to die due to his inability to kill.

You move before you can think, pushing forward through the crush of bodies, the sickly heat of decay pressing against your skin. The world narrows to the space between you and Jake, to the suffocating mass of the undead, to the time—the seconds slipping through your fingers, too fast, not enough.

You reach the closest zombie, discreetly plunging your knife into it’s temple. You stumble forward towards A’s men, as if on purpose and push one of them into the horde. The yelp that escapes their lips signed their death warrant.

Then the shift. Like a ripple through water, the dead turn, their attention snapping to the unnatural sound. The bodies heading for Jake now twisting towards the new prey.

Jake stumbles forward, breath ragged, shock still clouding his face. He turns to you, eyes wide, as if still catching up to what just happened.

No time.

You grab his arm, dragging him away, forcing him to move, to blend. He’s shaking, his body still locked in fight-or-flight, but he follows.

The two of you push towards the rooftop access, barely making it through the press of bodies. Above you, Jay is already watching, crouched low near the edge. He gestures frantically, silently urging you up.

You climb. The second your feet touch the rooftop, the breath you didn’t realise you were holding escapes in a sharp exhale.

Jake’s still shaking as he rips the mask off his head.

“Are you okay?” you pant, turning to him, but he doesn’t answer. He’s staring at nothing, breath still ragged, hands trembling at his sides.

Jay grips his shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Jake. Where’s Ni-ki?”

“Ni…ki?” The realisation flickers in his eyes.

The world tilts. Your breath catches, eyes snapping to Jake, but he’s already unravelling. His fingers dig into his hair, his chest rising and falling too fast, the weight of the realisation crashing down on him in real-time.

Jay’s fingers tighten. “Jake, where is he?”

“I—I don’t know.” His voice breaks on the last word. “It was so chaotic—I must’ve lost him in the horde. Fuck. Fuck. No. What if he’s—” His breath stutters. His knees buckle slightly. “Fuck. God. No.”

He’s spiralling. You feel it too—that cold, sinking dread curling in your stomach.

Jay grips his shoulders tighter, his own panic bleeding through. “Jake, focus. Where did you last see him?” His voice is sharp, urgent, but Jake is barely hearing him. He shakes his head violently, trying to claw through the fog of shock clouding his mind.

“I—I don’t know!” The words rip from him like something physically painful. “He was right there, I swear he was right there! Then everything—everything just—” He chokes on his own breath, stumbling back a step. “I lost him. I fucking lost him.”

You don’t realise you’re moving until you’re gripping Jake’s arm, hard enough to bruise. “Where, Jake?” Your own voice is taut, barely controlled. You can’t afford to lose control. Not now. Not when Ni-ki is still down there.

Jake’s breathing is erratic, but his gaze flicks to yours, locking onto it, grounding himself just enough. He swallows thickly, blinking hard as he retraces his steps. “He—he was with me when we got separated near the barricade. We were heading toward the convenience store, but then—then the horde—” His voice cracks, and he squeezes his eyes shut as if trying to will himself back to that moment, to see through the panic.

Without a second to spare, you turn on your heel, ready to plunge back into the chaos.

“You’re going back down there?” Jay steps in front of you, his hand flying to your arm, fingers tightening around your sleeve. His grip isn’t harsh, but there’s urgency in it, in the way his breath stutters, in the disbelief written across his face.

“I’m going to find Ni-ki.”

You attempt to push past him, but he doesn’t budge—not without a wince, his hand flying to his side, pain flickering across his features. He’s still injured, but he doesn’t let that stop him.

Jay’s jaw clenches, already scanning the mass of undead below, searching for any movement that doesn’t belong. “He’s smart,” he says, but the conviction in his tone wavers just slightly. “Ni-ki’s smart, he knows how to blend in. He knows.”

You want to believe that. You need to believe that.

But the horde is still moving, still feeding, still shifting, a sea of rotting bodies and gnashing teeth. It’s impossible to tell where they begin and where they end. The noise, the suffocating stench of decay, the endless press of bodies—it’s too much, too chaotic.

And Ni-ki is down there. Alone.

Your pulse thrums in your ears, the sheer wrongness of standing here—safe—while he’s down there, somewhere in that hell, clawing its way through your body like poison. Every second that passes feels like a mistake, like a betrayal, like you are choosing safety over him.

Your eyes meet Jay’s, your voice low, steady, unwavering. “There’s nothing you can say or do that will keep me here. Let me go.”

"Y/N," he snaps, his voice lower now, harsher. "Think for a second. If you go down there without knowing where he is, you’re not saving him—you’re just adding another body to the horde."

His words cut through the panic rattling in your chest, but they don't stop you. They can’t. Because every second that passes is another second Ni-ki is alone, lost in the sea of the dead, and you cannot—will not—stand here and wait.

"He could be anywhere,” Jay presses, his own panic fraying at the edges. “Do you even have a plan? Are you just going to charge in and hope for the best? Hope that the dead don’t pick up on the fear pouring off of you right now?”

You glare at him, your breath ragged, fists clenched at your sides. "If I don’t go, he dies."

Jay exhales sharply, his jaw locking. He turns to Jake, who has barely moved, still frozen with guilt, still staring at the ground like if he looks hard enough, the earth might just swallow him whole.

"Jake," Jay grits out, snapping him back to the moment. “Come on, say something."

Jake’s head lifts, his face pale and sweat-slicked. He looks at you, then back at Jay, then at the chaos below.

"I—" He swallows hard, his voice shaking. "She’s right."

Jay’s expression twists.

Jake lets out a breath, unsteady. "If she doesn't go, and Ni-ki—if Ni-ki doesn’t make it—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "Then what the fuck are we even doing here?"

Jay curses again, his hands dragging down his face before he lets them fall limply to his sides. He looks back at you, his frustration bleeding into something else—something that almost looks like resignation.

You don’t wait for his approval.

Your feet hit the ladder, the rungs cold against your hands as you descend. The stench of rot thickens, the groans of the dead stretching into the night like an eerie melody. Your heartbeat is steady, your muscles locked tight with focus.

You slip back into the horde.

And you become nothing.

The dead press against you, their heat suffocating, their slow, dragging movements brushing against your limbs. You move like them, let yourself become one of them, let your breath still in your lungs.

Ni-ki. Where is Ni-ki?

Your heart hammers as you push forward, eyes darting through the mass of rotting flesh and hollow faces. If you were him, where would you go? The convenience store? The back entrance? Had he managed to climb up somewhere, out of reach?

A flicker of movement catches your eye, but before you can react, a hand shoots out from the darkness, latching onto your wrist with an iron grip.

Panic surges through you as you're yanked sideways, dragged into the shadowed entryway of the convenience store. The noise of the horde muffles around you as you’re pulled inside, the door swinging shut with a soft but final thud—swallowing you into sudden silence.

Your knife is already in your hand as you twist, heart hammering, ready to drive it into whoever grabbed you—

“It’s me.”

Jungwon.

You barely have time to register his presence before another figure steps forward—Heeseung. His eyes are sharp, scanning you for injuries, for any sign that you’ve been compromised. The tension in his posture doesn’t ease when he sees you’re unharmed

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Jungwon hisses, his grip still tight around your wrist. His voice is low, controlled, but the anger—the sheer panic—lurks just beneath the surface. His fingers are cold against your skin, but his hold is firm, unrelenting. There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes your stomach twist—a mixture of frustration, disbelief, and something else, something deeper.

“Everyone and their mothers could see you climb down from the roof,” he continues, his voice sharp, cutting through the suffocating silence of the store. “It’s like you want them to find you.”

The words sting. Because he’s right. You were careless.

His breathing is measured, but you can tell he’s barely holding himself together, barely keeping himself from shaking you for being so reckless. His jaw is clenched so tightly you can see the tension in it, the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

But you don’t have time for this. You don’t have time to let his concern sink in, don’t have time to unpack the way his voice wavers at the edges, the way his fingers twitch against your wrist like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t attempt to calm him down. You don’t explain yourself. You shove his grip off and cut straight to the point.

“Ni-ki is alone somewhere in the horde. I need to find him.”

The shift is instant.

Heeseung’s face darkens as he exhales sharply. “And Jake?”

“He’s on the roof,” you say, voice tight. “Scared shitless out of his mind.”

Heeseung curses under his breath, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. His usual easy confidence is nowhere to be found—he knows what this means. What it could mean.

Jungwon is silent, but his eyes remain locked on yours, unreadable. His breathing is heavier now, barely noticeable unless you’re close enough to feel it in the air between you.

Still, his voice is clearer than everything else when he says, “You should’ve been more careful. What if one of A’s people were waiting for you below the ladder?”

You glare at him. “I didn’t have a choice.” Your voice is sharp, frustration laced into every syllable. “I’m not going to sit up there while he’s trapped in all that.” You gesture wildly to the boarded-up windows, beyond which the dead are still groaning, still hunting.

Jungwon exhales sharply, rubbing his face, trying to suppress whatever storm of emotions is raging inside him. “You never think,” he mutters. But there’s no real anger in it. Not really.

You swallow against the lump rising in your throat. “Where was he last?” Heeseung asks, stepping forward, all business.

“Near the barricade,” you say quickly. “Jake was with him, but then things got chaotic, and he—” You falter, pressing your lips together. “He could be anywhere by now.”

Jungwon exchanges a glance with Heeseung.

“Alright,” Jungwon exhales, nodding. “We’ll find him.”

You nod quickly, your grip tightening on the knife at your belt, already bracing yourself to head back out.

But then—

“And by we, I mean Heeseung and I.” Jungwon’s tone is firm as he meets your gaze.

Your eyebrows draw together. “What?”

“You’re not in control right now,” he states simply. “I need you to stay here until we get back.”

“No.” You shake your head, already stepping forward. “That’s not happening. I’m going out there.”

“Y/N.” Jungwon’s voice stops you cold.

He’s looking at you now—really looking at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that roots you to the spot.

“Please,” he says. It’s barely above a whisper. Not an order. Not a command.

A plea.

It nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

You open your mouth to argue—to fight—but you can’t. Because suddenly, it’s hitting you why he’s saying this.

He knows. He knows that if you go back out there, you’ll do something reckless. You’ll throw yourself headfirst into the chaos. You’ll act without thinking. You’ll do whatever it takes, no matter the cost.

Your hands tremble slightly as you tighten your grip on the knife. You hate this. You hate feeling useless. But as much as you want to deny it, you know he’s right. You’re not thinking straight. You’re acting on impulse.

Jungwon must see the conflict in your expression because his fingers brush your wrist—gentle, grounding.

“Let us do this,” he murmurs.

You force yourself to nod.

It nearly kills you.

You hold your breath as Jungwon and Heeseung slip through the entrance of the convenience store, vanishing back into the seething mass of bodies outside. Your fingers twitch uselessly at your sides, every fibre of your being screaming to do something. But all you can do is watch as they move deeper into the horde, their forms blurring, dissolving into the restless sea of death.

And then—just like that—they’re gone.

You stay put, just as Jungwon instructed, though the restraint feels like a noose tightening around your ribs. Every so often, a scream pierces through the night, sharp and sudden, cutting through the air like a blade. A shout follows somewhere deeper in the horde, indistinct but undeniably human. Your stomach churns. What’s taking them so long?

The longer you stand here, trapped in your own silence, the harder it is to keep your mind from spiralling.

What if Ni-ki is injured? What if Jungwon or Heeseung gets caught up trying to keep each other safe—trying to keep everyone safe—and gets bitten? What if something happens to them, and Jake never recovers from the trauma, the guilt? Where even are Sunghoon and Sunoo?

What if all of this—every risk, every desperate move—was for nothing?

Your pulse thrums violently against your skin as your eyes sweep the horde once more, searching, searching—until they land on something familiar.

A strip of white cloth.

It’s tied around the steering wheel of the van, barely visible beneath the layers of grime and blood staining the windshield. The van sits in the middle of the petrol station, wedged between the pumps, surrounded by the dead.

Your breath catches. A flicker of movement.

Then, through the dust-streaked glass, a pair of eyes rise just above the dashboard.

Ni-ki.

You don’t think. There isn’t time to think.

Before you even register what you’re doing, you’re already moving, pushing through the door and stepping back into the horde. The stench hits you like a brick wall, thick and suffocating, but you ignore it. You keep moving, head ducked low, steps slow and unnatural as you weave through the crush of bodies.

It’s congested here—too congested. Every inch of space is occupied by the dead, the air thick with the sound of gurgling breaths and the grotesque squelch of decayed limbs shifting against one another. You can barely squeeze through without making contact, without brushing against clammy, rotting flesh.

With painstaking effort, you reach the van, every step an exercise in restraint, every movement deliberate and calculated. Your breath is shallow as you discreetly tap your knuckles against the metal frame, the sound barely audible over the discordant moans of the horde. After awhile, a pair of eyes flick up over the window.

Relief surges through you like a tide as recognition dawns in his gaze, the tension in his expression softening ever so slightly. You hear the faint click of the door unlocking, followed by the hesitant creak of rusted metal as he pushes it slightly ajar—just enough for you to slip through if needed.

But movement catches your eye. A zombie shifts, turning its head toward the noise. Your muscles seize, heart hammering against your ribs as you brace for it to lurch towards you.

It doesn’t. The corpse stares for a moment, milky eyes sweeping over you—before turning its attention elsewhere, back to the lifeless rhythm of its existence.

You exhale shakily and push forward, peeking through the gap in the door. The van reeks of stale sweat and rust, the interior cloaked in darkness save for the weak glow of the moonlight filtering through the grime-smeared glass.

Ni-ki sits hunched against the driver’s seat, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. Your eyes scan him, searching, cataloguing every detail for anything out of place.

And then he moves—shifting slightly as he gestures downward. Your gaze follows and the dim light catches the swollen outline of his ankle.

He’s injured.

"Can you walk?" The words slip past your lips, barely above a whisper, the sound almost lost in the cacophony of groans surrounding you. The sweat rolling down the back of your neck feels almost like an invitation—an open door for something to bite you, to tear into your flesh if you so much as make one wrong move.

Ni-ki doesn’t answer immediately and you see the contemplation flicker in his eyes. He’s calculating—debating if it’s worth it. If risking your life to get him out of here is a choice he can live with.

But there’s no need. You’ve already made up your mind. You’re getting him out of here, whether he agrees to it or not.

His jaw tightens before he finally speaks, his voice barely audible over the noise outside. “It hurts if I put pressure on it. I’m afraid I might make a sound that’ll give both of us away.”

Your eyes flick to his injured ankle, noticing the way it's slightly swollen, the bruising starting to form beneath the fabric of his trousers. But that’s not your biggest concern.

“Are you bleeding?” You keep your voice steady, but the weight of the question presses hard against your ribs. If he is—if there’s even a drop of fresh blood—then the moment he steps outside, the horde will catch the scent. And you won’t stand a chance.

He swallows thickly, lifting his hand and tugging at the fabric of his jeans just enough to expose the injury. You strain your eyes in the dim light, scanning for any sign of an open wound. Your breath catches when you see nothing but bruising. No cuts. No breaks in the skin.

You nod, already forming a plan in your mind, already pushing aside the worst-case scenarios clawing at the back of your thoughts. "You can lean on me," you murmur. "We’ll limp towards the ladder and get you to the rooftop. You think you can do that?"

A beat of silence.

Then—he nods.

Your hands tremble slightly as you shift, angling your body just enough to shield Ni-ki from immediate view. The dead are close—too close—but if you do this right, they’ll remain oblivious, unaware that their next meal is slipping right through them.

Ni-ki grits his teeth, his face contorted in silent pain as he struggles to ease himself out of the van. His body tenses when his injured ankle makes contact with the ground, the jolt of agony flashing through him so intense that his breath hitches. You feel it in the way he stiffens, the sharp inhale he quickly muffles, as if sheer willpower alone can keep him from making a sound. The moment hangs precariously between failure and survival, teetering on the edge of catastrophe.

Without thinking, you move—instincts overriding hesitation. You duck beneath his arm, your shoulder pressing firmly against his side as you slip an arm around his waist. He’s heavier than you expected, his weight pressing into you, but you adjust quickly, steadying him against you. He leans into your hold, muscles tense, breaths shallow. You can feel the warmth of him through the layers of grime and sweat-soaked fabric, the stark contrast to the cold, lifeless bodies that surround you.

The dead continue their slow, aimless shuffling, bodies pressing together in a writhing sea of decay, yet they don’t react to you—not yet. You mimic their movements, forcing yourself to stagger in disjointed steps, your limbs slack, your breaths shallow. Ni-ki follows suit, matching your pace as you move in eerie synchronisation with the horde. Every step is agonisingly slow, every second stretching into an eternity.

A noise breaks through the suffocating tension—a sudden clang, sharp and jarring against the restless murmurs of the undead. Your head snaps up instinctively, heart lurching in your chest. Across the rest stop, movement flashes in the corner of your vision—shadows shifting along the rooftop.

Jay and Jake.

They’ve caught on.

The realisation sends a fresh wave of relief through you, but you don’t have time to dwell on it. They’re making noise—deliberate, strategic—drawing attention away from your position. The dead react instantly, their heads snapping toward the source, bodies lurching forward in slow, uncoordinated steps. The groans rise in volume, filling the air as they shift, their hunger reeling them in like a magnet.

A gap opens in the horde—small, fleeting, but just enough.

Your grip on Ni-ki tightens.

This is your chance.

You exhale slowly, steadying both your nerves and your footing before dragging him forward, each staggered step calculated, each movement a fine line between blending in and being discovered. The dead remain oblivious for now, too distracted by the rooftop noise to notice the two living bodies slipping through their midst.

But the living—the living is different.

You feel it—the weight of a gaze cutting through the thick rot-stained air, sharp and knowing. Unlike the vacant, mindless stares of the dead, this one lingers. It searches. It sees.

Your breath hitches, fingers tightening around Ni-ki as you force yourself to keep moving, keep staggering, keep pretending. But the prickle at the back of your neck won’t go away.

Someone is watching you. You don’t know how long, if they saw you help Ni-ki out of the van, if they recognise the way your movements are just slightly too deliberate, too measured.

But if one of them has caught on, how long until the others do? How long until they abandon their own disguises and make their move? How long before this entire plan unravels into chaos?

The rooftop feels impossibly far away now. Every step feels heavier, every moment stretching unbearably thin. Jay and Jake are still making noise, still doing everything they can to keep the attention of the horde. But that won’t help if the real threat isn’t the dead.

The real threat is the living.

The moment it happens, you feel it before you see it. A shift in the air—subtle yet unmistakable, like the quiet before a storm. An unspoken warning prickles along your spine, a whisper of danger slithering beneath your skin. Your stomach lurches, a hollow pit of dread unfurling as your senses sharpen, heightening to a razor’s edge.

Someone is charging straight for you.

Your breath stutters, heart pounding in frantic warning, but you barely have time to react before—

BANG!

The gunshot tears through the night, sharp and deafening. A body crumples before it reaches you, a lifeless heap of tangled limbs and fabric collapsing in on itself. The scent of gunpowder lingers in the air, mixing with the sickly metallic tang of fresh blood. A second later, the dead react.

A grotesque chorus of guttural moans rises like a wave, carried on the wind, deep and insatiable. The horde shifts in unison, their rotting bodies lurching toward the fresh kill with single-minded hunger.

Your head jerks up, breath snagging in your throat as your gaze snaps to the rooftop. Jay stands steady, rifle still raised, the tension rolling off him in waves despite his unwavering stance. His aim had been precise, unerring. He saved you again.

But there’s no time to process the relief. The reality of your situation presses down on you like a crushing weight. The distraction Jake had been orchestrating across the compound is rendered useless as every pair of eyes—dead and alive—now fixates on the spot where the gunshot rang out. The frenzy has begun.

You tighten your grip on Ni-ki’s wrist and push forward, muscles burning, heart hammering as you force your way through the thick, unyielding press of decayed bodies. The air is thick, stifling, choked with the rancid stench of rot. Fingers—some whole, others stripped to sinew and bone—graze your skin, reaching, grasping, desperate. The heat of their decaying flesh is suffocating.

A second shot cracks through the night.

Another body collapses. Another life extinguished.

Ni-ki starts to turn, his instincts telling him to look, but you shove him forward, jaw clenched, refusing to acknowledge what you already know.

The ladder is within reach now, just a few more feet. Just a few more agonising steps—

Then the ground shifts beneath you.

A body drops right in front of you with a sickening thud. The sudden obstruction is unavoidable. Your foot catches on the sprawled corpse, balance teetering on the edge of disaster, and before you know it, the world tilts. You’re falling.

The impact slams through you like a sledgehammer, pain exploding through your ribs as the unforgiving ground rushes up to meet you. The breath is knocked from your lungs in a violent gasp. Your knife slips from your grasp, clattering away into the darkness, lost among the sea of writhing bodies.

You blink, dazed, before your vision locks onto the body lying inches away. The vacant eyes of one of A’s men stare back at you, glassy and unseeing, a bullet hole punched clean through his temple. Blood seeps into the cracks of the pavement beneath him, dark and thick, pooling like ink in the dim light.

Shit.

You have to move. Now.

The dead are shifting, the scent of fresh blood igniting their primal hunger. You can feel it in the way they stir, the guttural growls reverberating through the air. They’re moments away from turning their attention on the body in front of you.

You scramble to your feet, hands grasping at slick concrete, fingers slipping in the growing pool of blood. Desperation claws at your chest, white-hot and searing. You don’t even bother trying to blend in—there’s no time. You just need to get away before the dead close around the body with you inside it.

Ni-ki reaches his hand out for you. His face is taut with fear, his fingers stretched toward yours, urging you to take it. Relief surges in your chest as you lunge for him—but the moment your fingertips brush against his, the horde surges forward. The press of bodies crashes into you, dragging you back into the abyss.

A strangled sound rips from your throat as you’re swallowed whole by the swarm. Panic flares in your chest, a raw, visceral thing, sinking its claws deep.

You thrash against the press of decayed bodies, but it’s like drowning in quicksand. The heat is suffocating and the weight is unbearable. The slick, clammy flesh of the dead clings to you, grasping, pulling, consuming. Your left arm is trapped, ensnared in the tangle of limbs, the rancid breath of the undead hot against your skin.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Ni-ki yanks at your free arm, his grip bruising, desperate, but the sudden movement only draws more attention. The nearest corpse jerks its head toward you, milky eyes locking onto yours. Its lips peel back, revealing blackened gums and jagged teeth, and then—

A groan. Low. Hungry.

More follow.

The walls are closing in.

Ni-ki is shouting something—your name, maybe—but the sound is distant, drowned beneath the deafening roar of blood rushing in your ears. You see the way Ni-ki’s expression crumbles, the sheer desperation as he refuses to let go. His grip tightens, fingers digging in, raw desperation in his eyes.

He’s trying to save you, but in doing so, he’s going to get himself killed too.

No. Not like this. Not after risking your life to get him out of this mess.

You open your mouth to tell him to run—to leave you—but before the words can leave your lips, a spray of blood splatters across your mask.

A skull erupts into fragments inches from your face. The force of the shot sends the corpse toppling backward. But the bullet—it didn’t come from above. It came from in front.

Then another. And another.

Jungwon and Heeseung.

Then, Sunghoon and Sunoo emerge, pistols raised, their movements cold, precise. They’ve abandoned their disguises, stepping out of the shadows, tearing through the horde with practiced efficiency. Each shot is a lifeline. Each bullet carving a path straight toward you.

Above, Jay and Jake rain down gunfire, thinning the horde before they can overwhelm.

“GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE, NOW!”

You don’t hesitate.

Adrenaline fuels you, burning through your veins as you throw your weight forward, kicking free of the bodies threatening to swallow you whole. You stumble as you come loose easily now that majority of the zombies around you have been shot dead. Ni-ki stumbles with you, his breath ragged, his fingers still locked around your wrist.

Almost there.

Your legs feel like lead, every muscle in your body screaming, but you push forward, forcing your way through. You hit the base of the ladder, hands fumbling for purchase, every second stretching unbearably long.

You shove Ni-ki up first. He scrambles desperately, his body trembling from the pain in his ankle, but he doesn’t hesitate or falter.

The moment he starts climbing, you push Sunoo up after him while taking out another zombie that manages to get too close. Sunghoon follows, then Heeseung.

Then it’s just you and Jungwon again.

It reminds you of that moment in the motel, when you first ran into them. Back then, you insisted Jungwon go first, and he did. But now, as you turn to him, intending to do the same, the fear in his eyes stops you. And in that moment, you know he won’t take no for an answer.

You start to climb. Your limbs feel heavy, exhaustion weighing you down, but you force yourself up, step after step, gripping the metal so tightly your knuckles ache. You can still hear the gunshots being fired from above and below you but the sounds are muffled, like you’re underwater and all you can really hear is the sound of your own heartbeat.

As you near the crawlspace, a hand locks around your forearm, yanking you onto the rooftop. Your knees hit the concrete, your chest heaving, lungs burning, the night air rushing into your body like fire. You mutter a small ‘thanks’ though you don’t know who it was.

You don’t even register the pain at first. Your body is running on pure adrenaline, every nerve still screaming from the chaos below. You tear the mask off your face as your vision swims, breath coming in ragged gasps, but you force your gaze across the rooftop.

They’re here.

They’re safe.

Alive.

The weight pressing against your chest loosens just slightly.

Thank God.

You did it.

You—

“You’re bleeding.”

The words cut through the haze, spoken so quietly, so eerily calm, that they don’t quite register at first.

Your heart stops as you notice something in Jay’s expression. It almost makes you throw up. His wide eyes stay fixed—not on your face, not on the carnage behind you—on you.

More specifically—your arm.

Your breath catches as your gaze drops, following his line of sight.

Your sleeve is torn. The fabric is soaked in red, the colour spreading, seeping into the seams, staining your skin. A sharp, pulsing pain finally reaches your brain, cutting through the numbness like a blade.

No.

With trembling fingers, you peel back the fabric. Your stomach twists into a suffocating knot as the wound is exposed.

Teeth marks.

Deep, raw and final. A wound that does not heal.

The rooftop is silent. You can feel their eyes on you—frozen, watching. The weight of their gazes is crushing, suffocating.

No one speaks. No one breathes.

The world seems to tip sideways, the ground slipping out from beneath you. The air is too thick. Your lungs won’t expand.

The relief, the victory—the hope—it all vanishes.

It takes everything in you to force the words out.

“…I’m bit.”

And just like that—everything shatters.

“You’re what?” The moment his voice breaks through the suffocating silence, something inside you completely shatters. The sheer disbelief in his tone makes your throat tighten, makes the wound on your wrist throb as if your body is reminding you of the truth you can’t escape.

“Say that again.”

Your fingers twitch at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you exchange a knowing glance with Jay. He doesn’t say anything, just watches, the weight of his unspoken words pressing down on you like a stone.

There’s no point in dragging this out. No point in trying to soften the blow. You inhale sharply, gathering what little strength you have left, and turn to face Jungwon.

His mask is already coming off, ripped away with shaking fingers, discarded like it’s suffocating him. And for a brief second—a single, fleeting moment—you think you almost forgot what he looked like.

But there he is. Jaw clenched, eyes burning, exhaustion etched into every sharp line of his face.

Jungwon—the leader, the fighter, the survivor.

Jungwon—who has carried everyone through this war, through this night, through the impossible weight of survival.

And now he’s standing in front of you, waiting, eyes searching yours for an answer you already know he won’t be able to accept.

So you don’t draw it out. You don’t let yourself waver. You don’t waste what little time you have.

“I’m bit.”

The way he stills—it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the rooftop. For a second, he doesn’t react. Just stands there, staring at you, expression blank, unreadable, as if his mind is struggling to process the weight of your words, to piece them together into something that makes sense. But his eyes—his eyes—they tell you everything.

“You’re lying.”

You wish you were. You really, really wish you were.

The ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of your lips, but it’s hollow, lifeless. It doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to defeat. The world has won.

Jungwon shakes his head, stepping forward, desperate, refusing to let the words sink in. “No. No.” His voice is cracking, trembling under the weight of something he’s never allowed himself to feel. “Why?”

Then his entire body seems to fold inward, like something inside him has snapped. His hands fly to his hair, gripping, pulling, trembling. “I told you to stay put inside. I told you.” His voice is shaking, rising, unraveling into something wild. “You never listen. Fuck.”

“Jungwon—”

“NO.” His breath is ragged. His eyes are blazing, glassy with emotions he refuses to name. He looks like he wants to grab you, to shake you, to force you to take back what you just said—to make this not real.

But you don’t move.

Because it is real.

“I’m sorry…” The words come out in a whisper, fractured, barely holding themselves together. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep standing, to keep from breaking apart completely.

But you can’t stop your hands from trembling. You can’t stop your fingers from curling into fists, nails digging into your palms, grounding yourself against the pain threatening to consume you whole.

Jungwon stares at you, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts, his chest rising and falling too fast, too unsteady. Then, all at once, you see it happen.

You’re watching his world fall apart.

And this time, he isn’t trying to hide it.

There’s no mask, no pretense, no desperate attempt to hold himself together like he always does. He doesn’t fight it.

Because he can’t.

Because he’s breaking.

And so are you.

Then, without a second thought—without hesitation, without permission—he drops the weapon in his hands, the metallic clang drowned out by the imminent death roaring in your ears, and pulls you into him.

It’s not careful. It’s not slow.

It’s crushing.

One arm winds around your neck, the other cradling the back of your head, his fingers digging into your scalp as if he can keep you here, keep you whole, keep you alive just by holding on tight enough.

He’s trembling. He’s holding you so tight, as if letting go would kill you—when in fact, you both know that letting go would kill him.

And something tells you that if you don’t pry him off of you—he’ll never let go. Even when you’re no longer yourself, even when there’s nothing left but a hollow shell of what you once were, he’d still be here, still holding onto you, still refusing to let go. Even if it destroys him. Even if it means exposing the bare skin of his neck, offering himself to you without fear, without hesitation, without care for what happens next.

Because this isn’t just grief.

This is affection in its most dangerous, most reckless form.

And yet you don’t push him away. You should. You really should tell him to stop. To pull himself together. To walk away before it’s too late.

But instead your arms slowly wrap around his waist, your hands gripping the fabric of his t-shirt so tightly it creases beneath your fingers. Your body sinks into his warmth, and for just a second—you savour it.

The way he feels against you, the way his heartbeat pounds in time with yours, the way he’s breathing you in like this moment is the last thing he’ll ever have of you. And maybe it is. Because this moment will never come back.

And you will never have this again.

Slowly, you feel it—the warmth of hands wrapping around you, one by one, hesitant at first, then stronger, until you’re encased in something far greater than just Jungwon’s embrace.

The others press in, their bodies closing the space, forming a human shield around you like this little confined bubble between all of you is the only thing that matters.

And in that instant—you break. A sob rips from your throat, raw and uncontrollable, and once it starts, it doesn’t stop.

You crumble into Jungwon’s arms—into all of their arms—sobbing incessantly, helplessly, like the sheer weight of everything you’ve been holding back is finally too much to bear.

You don’t know how long you stay like that—clutching, breaking, falling apart together—but when you finally pull back, when your bodies part, Jungwon’s hand never leaves yours.

And it kills you when you bring yourself back to earth. Because this—whatever this is, whatever this moment is meant to be—it’s not over.

A’s people are still out there, still roaming beneath you, waiting, watching. A himself is still out there. And even with your death penalty signed, stamped, and sealed—you still have to finish this. Now more than ever, because you won’t be here in the future. You won’t be around to throw yourself into the fire again and again for them.

And when you’re gone—Jungwon will pick up that role again.

And it’ll get him killed.

Your chest tightens, resolve hardening as you take a slow, shaky breath. You know what you have to do.

"I need to go." The firmness in your voice catches them off guard.

"No." Jungwon doesn’t even give you the chance to argue. His voice is sharp, final, a command, like sheer refusal will be enough to stop you.

But he should know better. A simple "no" isn’t going to suffice.

"I’m no help up here," you push, forcing yourself to be rational, to be cold, even though every fibre of your being wants to fall apart in his arms all over again. "In fact, I’d be a threat. A is still out there. If I don’t find him, he’ll come back. He’ll keep coming back."

"No." Jungwon’s grip tightens on your wrist, his fingers digging in, like he’s trying to anchor you here, to stop you from slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“We can still win, we can—”

“I’ve already lost, Y/N.” You freeze at that. But your conviction doesn’t waver.

“Please, Jungwon.” Your voice quivers, but you step closer, looking into his eyes, begging him to understand, to let you go before it’s too late. “I need to know that you’re safe. Only then can I die in peace.”

The words leave your lips like a final nail in the coffin. You’re going to die. Period.

And the moment they do—you see it sink in. The reality of it. The undeniable, unforgiving truth that this is how it ends.

You see it in the way his head shakes, as if denying it will make it disappear, as if he can erase the bite on your skin just by refusing to believe in it. You see it in the way his gaze drops to the ground, unfocused, staring at nothing, his mind spiralling into a place you can’t reach.

So, with one swift motion, you cup his face between your hands, lifting it so his eyes have no choice but to meet yours.

Your thumb grazes over his cheekbone, the touch gentle, almost reverent, and for a split second, your gaze catches on the bite marks decorating your own wrist.

They taunt you.

Remind you of what’s coming.

But when you look back at Jungwon, it’s suddenly acceptable.

Because in exchange for your life, they will be rewarded. And that thought makes you wonder—when did it happen?

When did their survival become just as important as your own?

When did you stop seeing them as liabilities?

When did you start caring?

You don’t leave room for regret. You lean in, pressing a soft, longing kiss against his lips. It’s gentle—not desperate, not rushed—just enough.

You feel the moment he tenses, the shock rippling through his body. Then, he releases it into you. His jaw relaxes, his grip on you tightens, like he’s pouring everything he can into this moment.

When you pull back, you hesitate.

Just for a second. Just long enough to press your forehead against his.

“Now there’s no way I’m letting you go.” His voice is quiet, a whisper against your lips, but there’s so much weight in it, so much desperation, so much hope—

And you ruin it.

Because you pull away. And he chases after your warmth, his eyes still closed, still pretending you’re there. But when he opens them, his heart drops.

Because he knows. He sees it in your face.

You’re going to do it.

Your gaze moves past Jungwon, landing on Jay behind him.

No words are needed.

Jay understands immediately. And Jungwon realises too late.

“Well, you don’t have a choice.”

The moment the words leave your lips, Jungwon lunges forward, his arms reaching out but he doesn’t reach you. Because Jay and Heeseung are holding him back.

Your heart shatters seeing Jungwon struggle, his entire body writhing in their grip, crying out your name, his voice hoarse, desperate, like sheer force of will could somehow stop this from happening.

Like if he just screams loud enough—you won’t leave.

And then, you see it.

Something you don’t have to wonder about this time. Something you know for certain.

Fear.

Not of the dead. Not of the dangers lurking in every corner. Not of you—

But fear of losing you.

And there it is. The weakness.

Love makes you vulnerable. Caring makes you weak. Hope makes you blind to reality.

But maybe—just maybe—it’s also what makes you human.

You don’t look back as you reach down, picking up the mask from the floor, securing it over your head. Even with the wailing screams, the sobs ripping through Jungwon’s chest, you steel yourself.

You rip the white cloth off your arm, wrapping it around the bite, tying it tight.

It’s not ideal. It won’t change anything. But at least it’ll contain the scent of fresh blood. Not that it matters. You’re already as good as dead.

As you begin your descent down the ladder, you catch the gaze of Lieutenant Kim.

She’s still tied to the sign, cloth in her mouth, her eyes sharp with amusement. And even though she can’t speak, the ghost of a smirk is evident on her lips.

She’s mocking you. Like she knows exactly what’s coming. Like she’s already seen how this will play out. But you swear, to every divine being that still exists, that you will rid this world of every last one of them.

When your feet hit the ground, you push forward. Instincts scream at you to act fast. They haven’t run yet—haven’t broken formation.

But if they do, if even one of them makes it out—this will have all been for nothing. And the vicious cycle of revenge will just keep repeating itself until no one is left to claim victory.

part 5 - people | masterlist | part 7 - ?

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

notes from nat: this chapter actually sucked so much out of me i'm not even kidding. fr put my vocabulary to test because girl was i running out of nouns and verbs and adjectives to use 🤡 also would like to apologise for the mental distress because the next chapter is going to take awhile...

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 10 months ago

Note

Is there a better place for a king to make an heir than on the iron throne? Aegon would be so into that 🥵🥵

I haven't posted a Aegon request in a moment! There is not enough of him on here

Warnings: 18+, smut, throne sex, p + v, dirty talk, unprotected sex

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You were sitting at your desk, responding to a message received by raven from your father when there was a knock on the door. Setting down your quill, you stood and went to the door, finding Criston Cole on the other side.

‘’Your Grace. The King is requesting your presence in the great hall,’’ Ser Criston informed you, his new Hand of the King pin proudly displayed on the left side of his breastplate.

‘’Thank you, Ser Criston.’’ You gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

The guards guarding the doors bowed their heads to their Queen and opened the door for you. Inside, the room was lit with a number of torches and seemed larger than usual. Mayhaps the absence of court attendees gave this illusion. Straight ahead of the doors, at the very end of the room, was the ugly heap of swords where sat the man you loved. Although, sitting wouldn’t be the word you would employ to describe the way Aegon was sitting. He was practically sprawled in the throne, his back slouched against one side, with one leg draped lazily over the armrest and the other hanging down. The Conqueror’s crown sat atop his white head, and you were surprised it had not fallen.

You walked down the length of the hall, your footsteps echoed off the stone walls.

You paused a few steps from the throne. ‘’You’re going to cut yourself sitting like that, my darling,’’ you warned, mindful of the sharp swords used to make this throne.

It was known to all of Westeros that whoever rested upon it must be careful not to make any sudden motions or else risked injury or even death. That very cut on King Viserys had been the trigger and downfall into his sickness. You didn’t want that to happen to your King husband.

Aegon shrugged, nonchalant as always. ‘’The throne doesn’t fear me.’’ His eyes glinted with a mix of mischief and defiance as you approached.

‘’Just be careful,’’ you said softly. ‘’The Seven Kingdoms cannot lose their King so soon. I cannot lose you so soon.’’

‘’I am not as fragile as my father. I sit very comfortably here.’’ Aegon reached a hand out to you. ‘’Come.’’

You climbed the few stairs and he shifted, moving his feet to the ground to sit properly before pulling you down with him and sitting you down on his lap. Aegon’s hands found home on your thighs, covered by your dress, and began to run teasing circles over with his thumb.

A few days ago, the Great Hall was filled with people as you were crowned King and Queen, but now you were all alone.

‘’I’ve missed you at the small council meeting,’’ he said, his tone suddenly tender. ‘’Listening to everyone moaning about money, criminality in the city, and alliances for hours makes me want to take myself out. I would rather spend my morning riding Sunfyre or stay in bed with you. Speaking of bed.’’ Aegon brought his lips close to your ear and half whispered. ‘’Do you remember what I said on my coronation day?’’

He brushed your hair to one side so that it exposed your neck, and placed a number of kisses there, causing you to smile at his sweet touch.

You leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body through his clothes. ‘’That Rhaenyra would get burned to a crisp before sitting on your throne?’’

‘’Yes,’’ Aegon agreed with a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss over your shoulder. ‘’But that was not what I was meaning.’’

You took a moment to think, trying to remember every conversation you had on the day of his coronation. He had shared his fears as a new King as you were helping him get ready and the pressure his grandsire, Otto Hightower, was putting over him. Removing him as Hand of the King was one of the best decisions Aegon made.

And then it hit you. A desire he had voiced to you in the secrecy of your bedchamber with nothing but his crown on his head.

You glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. ‘’Now?’’

Aegon grinned, and you felt yourself getting aroused at the thought of having him in the throne room — on the Iron Throne. It was probably blasphemy to the crown, but Aegon was the one wearing the crown. If he wants to have sex on the Iron Throne, he will.

‘’There is no better place to create an heir than the throne he will one day sit on, is there?’’ he asked, one hand going up your torso to palm your still clothed breasts. ‘’I've been thinking about this since the Conqueror’s crown was put on my head.’’

‘’Your wish is my desire, my King,’’ you said, shifting so you were straddling him. Your new position was causing the skirt of your dress to bunch, but you ignored it. It was a matter of seconds before Aegon would push it up and get his hands between your legs.

His eyes sparkled with lust at your words. This was exactly why Aegon picked you for wife and not the sweet daughter of a Lord his mother wanted him to. You were just as twisted as him in your fantasies. He loved how willing and eager you were to please him, to do crazy things with him, it fueled his desire even more.

You crashed your soft lips against Aegon’s, his hands on your body tightening as he felt desire spread through his blood. It always surprised you how quickly he could get hard. He plunged his tongue into your mouth and fiddled with the laces of your dress, blindly figuring out how to loosen them and free your breasts. Taking all of your clothes off would be too time consuming, but he couldn’t have sex without having his hands on your breasts. That was simply not a possibility.

Aegon broke the kiss briefly to speak. ‘’I need to touch you,’’ he groaned, pulling harder at the laces of your dress.

You reached behind your back to help him out, and pulled the bodice of your dress down your body, revealing your naked breasts to him. Aegon's eyes devoured you, his gaze flickering over every inch of your skin. His thumb brushed over one of your pebbled peaks before pinching it, making you hiss.

Aegon's eyes flicked up to meet yours as you scolded him, but his smirk only grew wider. He did it again, harder this time, before he wrapped his lips around your nipple, tending to your sensitive bud. A soft moan slipped from your lips as your fingers threaded through Aegon's hair, tugging lightly as he sucked and nibbled on your nipple. Each touch sent jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He growled softly as he felt your body respond to him. His free hand squeezed your other breast, kneading it roughly as his tongue flicked over your hardened peak.

You arched your back, pressing yourself closer to him. ‘’Aegon,’’ you breathed, your voice a mix of need and impatience.

His hand left your breast, trailing down your body, over the curve of your waist and hip, and finally slipping under the skirt of your dress. His fingers found your wet cunt, and he groaned against your skin.

‘’Always ready for me,’’ he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His fingers teased your folds, dipping inside just enough to make you gasp, but not enough to satisfy your growing need. ‘’Always so responsive.’’

You bucked your hips against his hand, wordlessly begging for more. It’s not been a full day since you last had sex, but your body was craving Aegon.

Beneath you, you could feel him through his breeches, his cock hard and begging to be let out of its confine. You reached between your bodies, working on undoing the ties of his breeches, the sound of fabric shifting barely heard over the rapid beat of your heart. His cock sprung out, long and thick for you and you wasted no time directing it between your legs, needing him.

You wrapped your hand around him, guiding his weeping tip towards your entrance. He lifted your skirts and grabbed your hips, lifting you slightly to help position himself. When his cock brushed against your entrance, and you both moaned at the contact. You sank down on him with one smooth motion, his cock stretching you and filling you up completely. The sensation was delightful.

A sigh of pleasure left your pink lips as you lifted yourself nearly off of his cock before slamming down again. Aegon’s grip on your hips tightened, pressing you flush against his so your soft breasts were squished against his chest. He attached his mouth under your jaw, kissing and nibbling as you bounced on him.

Your movements were fervent, each rise and fall on Aegon's cock sending waves of pleasure through you both.

‘’You like that, uh? Fucking yourself on your King’s cock,’’ he asked.

You grabbed Aegon’s shoulders for support, going faster. ‘’Yes,’’ you breathed, your breasts bouncing from your movement.

The room was filled with the sounds of your moans and the slap of skin against skin, and echoing outside the halls. Being quiet was not something you had mastered yet.

Feeling your legs starting to hurt from the pressing into the steel of the throne, Aegon reached under your dress to grab at your ass, fingers digging into your flesh, guiding you as he pounded into you. He reached deeper than you did by yourself, making you throw your head back with a cry.

‘’Ah, yes! Oh Gods—’’ Your voice bounced off the walls, causing a flush tint to appear on the faces of the guards standing outside, hearing the echoes of your moans and groans.

Your cunt tightened around him, Aegon’s name leaving your lips over and over again as his cock slammed into you. Your thighs trembled as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body.

‘’I'm so close,’’ you informed your lover, feeling the coil of pleasure tightening in your core.

‘’Then come for me.’’

His mouth crashed on yours as his fingers found your clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles, pushing you closer to the edge. You moaned, your walls tightening around his cock, heightening the sensation as he continued to pound into you. The combination of your moans and the feel of your body milking him drove Aegon over the edge. With a deep groan, he released inside you, his warm seed filling you completely as your walls clenched around him, drawing out both of your climaxes.

Aegon’s head dropped on your collarbones as his body stilled, his crown falling from his head and clattering on the floor beside the throne. He laughed against your skin.

‘’You think this was enough to secure an heir, or do we need to schedule another round?’’ you asked, running a hand through his hair.

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit

All and more taglist: @kenqki @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity @Anouknani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd

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puckinghischier · 9 months ago

Text

Cart Girls & Curly Q’s

Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary: luke has a crush on the cart girl

notes: for once, i feel like i didn’t really struggle while writing luke. this probably isn’t one of my best works, but i loved the idea and i’m so glad i was able to try to bring it to life. hope you enjoy!! happy reading! 🫶🏼

request: from my 400 follower celly - “You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say yes.” with Luke and maybe a cart girl at the golf club close to the summer lake house?

[3k]

Most of your friends absolutely hate going to work in the summertime. They hate being stuck in an office or storefront all day, no chance to enjoy the high UV and prime lake hours.

You, however, never wake up dreading your work.

During the cold, Michigan winters, you work as a bartender at your college’s local bar. You attend your classes in the morning, do your homework in the afternoon, then clock into your shifts at night. You have the routine down to a science.

During the summers, though, you found a job as the cart girl at the uppity country club closest to the large community of expensive lake houses you drive by every morning.

The tips are amazing, and getting paid to drive around in the sunshine and watch attractive men play golf all day is what you call a small piece of paradise. Not to mention you’re off by five o’clock every day, allowing time to join your friends and family out on the boat for night swims and evening rides.

Today was especially good, with it being one of the hottest days of the summer, your sales were sky high.

You’ve already had to restock your beer cooler three times this morning, and it’s barely even noon.

Your boss has really been pushing the sale of liquor, so you inform every group you pass about your buy a double, get a single shot half off deal, but nothing calls to a man more than a cold beer on a hot golf course.

Many of the men you’ve served today have given you a tip simply because you’re out working in the heat, delivering beers ‘like an angel’ one middle aged man told you, handing you an extra ten.

You just laughed and told him thank you, pocketing the cash. You always loved weekend mornings, locals and vacationers alike all over the course, upping your sales, and as a result, your tips.

As you’re leaving the club house after yet another restock, you see a group of guys that you assumed were around your age.

They were being loud, but not obnoxious, as they piled into two carts and sped their way out to the course, eager to get their game started.

You wondered when you would see them, having been told not to bother people until they’re at least on hole two. Apparently, people get mad when you try to sell them alcohol in the middle of their first stroke.

Making your way around your normal path, you start at hole eight and work your way in a circle until you get back to the clubhouse, the later holes being your big money makers. People are either celebrating their lead or mourning their loss at that point, wanting a drink either way.

You sell a few shots, making your boss happy no doubt, but run out of beers for the fourth time that day around hole sixteen. You stop and offer to each group after that, selling a few more liquor items, but were mostly told to come back when you had beer again.

Flying down the cart path, you see the same group of guys from earlier around hole seven, one out of the group flagging you down as you speed by.

You slow your cart down to a stop and they walk over to meet you, grabbing their wallets from their carts as they approach you.

“Sorry, boys, out of beer. On my way back to the clubhouse now to restock if you want to wait a few,” you tell them once they’re within ear shot, not wanting to get their hopes up.

“Well, do you have anything you can sell us? I’m getting beat pretty bad out here and need a pick me up. Don’t really care what it is,” a brunette pleaded.

You tell him about the shot deals, and he hands you his I.D., requesting a double shot of crown and ginger-ale before turning and asking his cart buddy what he wanted.

“Jack, what do you want?” he calls over to a guy that looked similar to him, thinking to yourself that they could be brothers.

He explains the discount to the other brunette, saying he’s already paid, just to pick what he wanted.

After viewing the second player’s I.D., your brother theory is confirmed by their matching last name.

Jack, you learned, asked for a simple, funnily enough, Jack and coke.

“Alright, gentlemen, anything else I can do for you?” you ask, turning to face the last member of the group.

You make eye contact with a tall, curly-headed boy, noticing the pink tone of his cheeks when you catch him staring at you.

“Anything for you, curly Q?” you ask him, taking note of how attractive he was. You always play up the flirting a little when you find a player on the course attractive, figuring it’ll help your sales while simultaneously allowing you to have a little fun.

His cheeks turn an ever-deeper shade of red when he realizes you’re talking to him, freezing up and averting his eyes. You feel a little bad for putting him on the spot, but you find his shyness endearing.

“Nah, Lukey here isn’t old enough, is he Quinny? Still got a few months till you can drink with the big bros. Isn’t that right, Luke?” the brunette named Jack slaps who you’ve now learned is Luke on the back.

You let out a chuckle, witnessing the deadly glare Luke shoots at his older brother.

“Don’t worry, they picked a cart girl that isn’t even old enough to drink, either. Won’t be able to drink the concoctions I make until next spring,” you tell him, hoping to alleviate a little of the embarrassment you caused him.

“Oh, wow,” is all he utters out, bringing out another laugh from you.

“Alright, well, I’ll let you boys get back to your game,” you tell them, walking back over to get back into your cart.

You ride off, thinking of the tall, curly brunette the whole time.

Three hours later, you’re tending the clubhouse bar.

When you came back in for restock, your boss told you it was too hot for you to keep your role as cart girl all day, insisting you switch out with one of your coworkers.

You weren’t too upset with the trade off, now in air conditioning but still getting tips from buzzed players after their game, either nursing their loss or celebrating their win.

The clubhouse gets busier as the day goes on, people dipping in for a quick cool off after playing eighteen holes in the heat.

“Hey, new body down on the end. Care to get it for me?” your co-tender, Brady, asks you, the two of you working in tandem.

You nod at him as you finish pouring the beer in your hand, walking down to the other end of the bar.

“Hey, player, what can I get for ya?” you ask the stranger, not looking up as you place a coaster in front of the patron.

“Just-Just a water, if you don’t mind,” he asks, slightly stumbling his words.

You look up to see the curly brunette, Luke, from earlier.

“Oh, it’s you. Curly Q,” you say, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice.

“Name’s Luke, actually,” he tells you, the redness from earlier returning to his cheeks.

“Yeah, I remember. Just think Curly Q fits you better,” you smirk at him, placing the glass full of water on his coaster. “I’m Y/N.”

He mumbles a small thanks, taking a sip from the glass.

“Anything else I can get for you?” you ask him, glancing down the bar to see if any new customers have sat down.

He stares at you, his eyes caught like a deer in headlights.

You wait patiently for an answer, letting out a small giggle when he just continues to stare at you.

“Alright, well I’ll let you think about your answer and be right back,” you laugh as you start to walk away.

“Wait!” Luke startles you, stopping you in your tracks. “Uhh..do you…come here often?” he stutters out, closing his eyes tightly in embarrassment as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Your eyes shine at him with amusement. “Well, I work here, so I think I’d have to say yes,” you respond, smiling.

Luke peeks one eye open at you, seeing your amused expression and sighing, letting his body sag.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I asked that,” he runs his hand through his curls nervously.

You rest your arms on the bar in front of you. “Ehh, don’t worry about it,” you tell him, scrunching your nose as you shake your head.

Luke gives you a nervous smile, sliding his water towards his body and running his finger around the rim of the glass.

“I’m sure you talk to all kinds of idiots like me when you’re serving drinks, huh?” he asks, making your face fall a bit at his defeated tone.

You stand a little straighter. “Nah, not really. Most of the idiots I talk to are just old and creepy, not my age and charming,” you tell him, finally earning a laugh from him.

His laugh was more of an amused scoff, but you already want to see the shy smile that makes its way onto his face afterwards, again.

“Yeah, cause a guy that asks you if you come to your job often is the epitome of charming,” he looks up at you.

“Well, it’s kept me here talking to you so far, hasn’t it?”

Luke blushes, making you think the man in front of you is unable to go two minutes without his face turning red.

“Yeah, I guess it has,” he casts his eyes towards his lap.

“So, Luke, you a local or here on vacation?” you ask him, glancing down at the quickly clearing stools. You know Brady is getting all of your tips right now, but you can’t bring yourself to move from your spot.

“Well, a little bit of both. Technically on vacation because I live in New Jersey now, but my parents have owned a lake house here since I was a kid, so I claim the title of a local,” you finally get him to loosen up a little, his body language relaxing. “Plus I went to U of M for a little while, so I’ve spent quite a bit of time over in Ann Arbor.”

“Ahh, a city boy,” you tease, grabbing a glass to wipe down, making it look like you’re at least partially doing your job. “Why’d you leave Ann Arbor?”

“Got a…uh…job offer in Jersey,” he tells you cryptically, eyes darting around the room.

“‘A uh…job offer?’ What are you, in the mafia?” you ask him, mimicking his words and poking fun at his nervousness at telling you about his job.

“Well, not quite,” he starts, laughing a real laugh this time, causing you to mentally record the sound and store it in your brain. “I…ahhh…I play hockey up there.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Like, professionally?”

He sinks back into his seat, looking like he wants to hide.

“Yeah. For the New Jersey Devils. My brother, Jack plays for them, too,” He tries to pass some of the attention off of himself.

“Wait, you and your brother both play in the NHL?” the impressed tone of your voice gives Luke a little boost of confidence.

“Well, both of my brothers, actually. But Quinn plays for the Canucks up in Vancouver. Jack and I are both in Jersey, though.”

You let your mouth hang open at him, not being able to hide your shock.

This earns another laugh from Luke.

“What kind of superhuman DNA do your parents possess?” you ask him.

“Not sure. We’re still being studied as we speak,” Luke leans closer, whispering like he’s telling you a secret. “The big wigs in the NHL haven’t found out yet that they grew us in test tubes in their basement.”

You let out a laugh so loud that you gain the attention of several men on the other end of the bar, slapping your hand over your mouth.

Luke leans back in his seat, a fond smile on his face as he sees your embarrassed expression.

“Hey, Y/N, you gonna come help me do your job or what?” you hear Brady yell, annoyed that he’s been working the whole bar alone for the past ten minutes.

You roll your eyes while still facing Luke, removing your hand from your mouth and turning your head to respond. “Yeah, don’t get your club all bent, I’ll be right there.”

Luke’s still smiling at you when you turn back to face him.

“Guess that’s my cue to get back to my job and quit talking to cute boys sitting at the bar, huh?” you spew, realizing what you just said a second too late.

Luke’s eyebrows shoot up, his back straightening in surprise.

You pause all movements, staring at Luke.

“Uhh…anyways, gotta go do my job. Y’know, the thing I come around often for?” you make a call back to Luke’s attempt at a line earlier, hoping it take some of the attention off of what you just said.

Luke chuckles at you. “Yeah, I need to go meet back up with my fellow lab rats, anyways,” he tells you, reaching for his wallet, placing a twenty down on the bar.

“You do realize water is free, right?” you tell him, sliding the bill back to him.

“Yeah. Figured I’d try to make up for the tips I caused you to lose, though,” he shrugs his shoulders, standing from his chair.

“Nope, I’m not taking your money. Feels like you’re just paying me for talking to you,” you tell him, holding the money out towards him and shaking it around, trying to make him take it.

Luke shakes his head at your stubbornness. “C’mon, just take it. Your coworker collected all kinds of tips while you were over here.”

“Nope,” you shake your head, leaning over and grabbing Luke’s arm, placing the money in his hand.

“I need to do something, though. I feel bad causing you to lose out on money that should’ve been yours,” he insists.

“Well, I guess I’ll let you make it up to me,” you start, watching him try to lay the money down again and shooting your arm out, preventing him from doing so. “By giving me your number,” you decide to be bold.

Luke goes still. “Uhh, y-yeah. Sure,” he snaps out of his momentary freeze, fumbling for his phone, handing it over to you.

You put your number in his phone, sending yourself a text before handing it back with a wink.

“I guess I’ll talk to you later?” Luke asks, pushing his stool in.

You nod your head yes, turning to go back to your job duties.

You turn back around after you take a few steps, seeing Luke walking away with his back turned.

“Hey, Curly Q!” you call after him, causing him to turn to look at you. “I get off at five, in case you were wondering,” you shout towards him, flashing a smirk before you walk away.

Luke smiles and shakes his head, making his way towards the other side of the clubhouse.

You watch his figure as he moves across the room, stopping to make small talk with a man, shaking his head before joining his brothers at a small table on the restaurant side of the clubhouse, picking up his menu and browsing the food selection.

You smile to yourself and go back to stacking glasses.

As you’re transferring a new stack of clean glasses to the cooler under the bar, you hear someone call your name from above you.

You stand, rattling off your typical greeting to the new customer.

“Someone named Luke asked me to give this to you,” he tells you, handing you the same twenty-dollar bill Luke had tried to hand you a few minutes prior.

You pick up the bill as the stranger walks away, looking down at it before raising your head and looking for the curly headed culprit.

You meet Luke’s eye, raising a brow at him while lifting the paper money, pointing at it.

Luke shrugs his shoulders and grins from across the room.

Months later, when you’re attending your first ever Devils game in support of your newly titled boyfriend, you watch him skate out on the ice for warm ups, making a bee-line to the seat he provided for you.

He looks at you in his Jersey, a sight he pictured from the moment he first saw you on the golf course last summer, wondering how he managed to impress the pretty cart girl he embarrassed himself with, what feels like so long ago.

Your smile took up your entire face as you waved at him, excited to finally see him play in person. He smiles back, pointing down to the ground, asking if you wanted a puck.

You nodded your head yes, watching him pick up a puck and take the cover off of a small cut out in the plexiglass separating the two of you.

When he slides the puck through the hand sized hole, you grab onto his glove, replacing the puck with a piece of paper before pushing his hand back towards him.

He looks down at his hand, confusion written all over his face. He opens his glove, looking down at his hand, his head snapping up to look at you once he realizes what you had done.

“There’s your tip, hot shot!” you shout at him through the glass, smiling in amusement, seeing the same twenty-dollar bill from the first day you met him resting in his red glove, never imagining that the nervous, bumbling boy sitting in front of you at the bar that day would make you feel like the luckiest girl in all of Michigan, and now New Jersey.

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smileysuh · 11 months ago

Text

comfort cuisine

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more.

tw/cw. unprotected sex, breast worship/massaging, big dick Johnny, fingering, pussy stretching prep, 'it's finger licking good,' praise, dirty talk, masturbation, multiple reader orgasms, cumming together, creampie, soft sex, longing, fluff, etc… I pet names: (hers) honey.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.8k

🍭 aus. aged up/widower dad!John, best friends to lovers, Chef!John, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I'm so happy that people loved Line Chef Mark in my fic Real Talk, I received so many messages about giving Head Chef John his own love story, and this is what I came up with in the past four months :) it's a little different from what I normally do, but I wanted to continue with that 'slice of life' theme and venture into a plot line I've never tried before with widower/single dad John :)

Prologue

“I’m so sorry about this,” Johnny’s voice distracts you from the breakfast you’re making, and you turn around from the bacon to look at your friend. “I really wish I didn’t have to keep calling you and asking for favours like this-”

“Johnny,” you shut his rambling up with a pointed expression, “stop, it’s okay.”

“It’s not-”

“John,” you repeat, “seriously, we’re good. Given… the circumstances, I honestly don’t mind.”

The circumstances… neither of you can bring yourselves to say it. You know that if you say it… if you say ‘I don’t mind helping out since the death of your wife’ Johnny will just about break down, and he doesn’t have time to do that, not when he’s got to be at work for seven am, prepping the kitchen and getting ready for the day.

Even by calling this situation a ‘circumstance,’ you can see a half glazed expression overtake Johnny’s face. He’s frozen for a moment, and you take the time to study him.

You think it’s safe to say neither of you expected any of this to happen.

You’d met him in culinary school- he’d been a young guy, a new dad who’d had a daughter at nineteen, with dreams of opening his own sandwich food truck, ‘like Subway, but gourmet,’ he’d always explained.

Now, he’s a twenty four year old wreck, doing his best to climb the ladder in the food service industry, mourning the loss of his late wife, struggling to take care of his daughter, his dreams of a food truck long since forgotten in favour of chasing a head chef status to earn him enough of a salary to pay for everything in a one income household-

“Seriously,” your words snap the single dad back from his zone out, “we’re good. I’m making breakfast for Soonbok, I’ve got her lunch packed, I’ll take her to kindergarten, pick her up after- you just have to remember I have a night shift, gotta be at my own restaurant by five at the latest.”

“Five, yeah,” Johnny nods, swallowing thickly and toying with his daughters small pink backpack. “One day, I’ll be higher up on the food chain, and I’ll have better hours- I promise this isn’t a forever thing.”

“It’s an ‘as long as it needs to happen’ thing, okay? Don’t sweat it,” you assure him. “Here,” you take some of the crispy bacon out of the pan, putting it onto a scrambled egg bagel you’d prepared, “you need breakfast too.”

Johnny just about melts looking at the food. “You’re so good to me.”

You offer him a smile. “That’s what friends are for.”

One

Johnny swears his age is catching up to him. It’s not even four oclock and he’s feeling tired, letting out a groan as he says goodbye to the nightshift guys and heads to change out of his head chef attire in the staff bathroom. He’d turned thirty this year, and as he looks at his face in the mirror, he thinks he’s starting to see it.

On his way out of the back door, Johnny bumps into one of his line cooks. Mark Lee is pressed to the wall where people usually lean to smoke, his girlfriend closing him in with her hands on either side of his head. Back when she was expo, everyone used to call her Sunshine, but in her dealings with Mark Lee, Johnny’s come to realize that he’s the angel, not her.

“Aren’t you two on the clock?” Johnny jokes as he walks past.

Sunshine pulls away from Mark, offering the head chef a grin. “We’re on a vape break.”

“Sure you are,” Johnny laughs, shaking his head. “See you two back in there, better only be five more minutes.”

“Aren’t you done for the day?” Mark asks, confusion written on his face, along with lipstick marks that he’s hurrying to wipe off.

“Grabbing happy hour with a friend, but be careful Mark Lee, I’m always watching. Just because I’m sitting at the bar doesn’t mean I’m not judging you.”

Johnny can hear Mark mutter something under his breath, and Sunshine is quick to try to calm him down, but as Johnny turns the corner to head to the front entrance of the restaurant, he hears the back door open and close, signaling the end of the little ‘vape break.’

When Johnny joins you at the bar, you’re chatting with Jeno, and the sight makes an unexplainable emotion tingle up his spine. Out of all the front of house staff here, Jeno might just be the biggest manwhore, and he’s had a thing for cougars for a while, although there’s only a handful of years difference between the two of you-

“What are you guys talking about?” John asks, taking a seat on the dark green leather hightop stools surrounding the bar.

“Which virgin drinks are the best,” you respond casually. “I was going to get an iced tea, but Jeno convinced me to try one of your new virgin lemon ginger fizzes.”

“That’s called upselling, honey, you should know that, seeing as you’re in the industry,” Johnny grins.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who invited me here, so I figured you’d be paying.” You take a sip of your straw, looking at Johnny with a smirk, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Are we getting food?” Johnny asks. “I might as well take care of that for you too.”

“I’ve got time,” you respond casually. “Don’t work for an hour, lets get our ‘nosh’ on.”

Johnny can only laugh at your antics, turning to Jeno, who’s watching with an amused grin. Everyone here knows you and Johnny are close, you come here often enough to see him, the two of you catching each other for a half an hour here or there between his day shifts and your night commitments.

Johnny orders three appetizers off the happy hour menu, two things he knows you like, and one that’s more up his alley. “Make sure Yuta isn’t back there slacking off,” Johnny warns Jeno, knowing that two of the items will be coming from the ‘bottom end’ of the expo line, which is where Yuta runs the show after Johnny’s off.

“I’m sure he’ll pull out all the stops for our MVP,” Jeno grins, typing the order into an ipad. “Do you want a beer? We’ve got new rotators.”

“Don’t bother trying to upsell me,” Johnny scoffs. “House Lager, and don’t fuck around with the foam.”

“You run a tight ship here, captain,” you tease, bumping Johnny’s elbow.

“Speaking of-”

“Don’t try to recruit me to work here again,” you’re quick to warn.

“Damn it,” Johnny shakes his head, pretending to be quite upset about your rejection. He does feel it- he does think you’d be a great member of the team, and he’d love to offer you a dual head chef position, but it’s not in his power to do so, and that fact haunts him every day. Working for a company limits what he’s able to do, and sometimes, even at age thirty, Johnny still thinks about his dream to open a food truck, with you by his side. “No, in all seriousness, I wanted to talk to you about Soonie’s birthday.”

“Right, she’s turning eleven soon, that’s quite the milestone,” you grin, playing with your straw.

“I asked Doyoung if I could open early for her birthday, it’s a Sunday, I was thinking some of her friends and their parents could come in for a brunch an hour before we’re open for the public.”

“That’s a great idea!”

“Here’s the catch, Soonie was raised on your breakfast food. As much as I try to make things for her, and I hate to admit this, by the way, she always says your cooking is better. So I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come in that day and help me out with all of this. With your skills, I wouldn’t need Hyuck and Mark, it could be just us, and I’m sure we could make a birthday breakfast Soonbok would never forget. It would be like old times, like back when we were in culinary school.”

He loves the way you’re smiling at him, giving him space to rant.

When he’s done, you cock your head to the side, only wasting one beat before you say, “I’ll do it.”

“Really? I don’t have to bribe you with money or anything?”

“Jeeze, have I ever asked you for money, John?” You smack at his arm, clearly slightly offended. “I’m doing this for Soonie… and maybe a little for you too.”

“Don’t go soft on me, killer,” Johnny teases. “Everyone around here’s too soft these days.”

“Says the softest dad I know,” you roll your eyes.

“Shh,” he warns, “don’t say that loud enough for Jeno to hear.”

“As if everyone doesn’t already know.”

The two of you continue to chat and joke, a short while later, the head manager, Doyoung, shows up carrying food. It’s funny for Johnny to see Doyoung balancing two items on one arm, the third in the palm of his hand, but he supposes Doyoung started somewhere too, the same way John had.

“VIP happy hour appetizers,” Doyoung sighs, setting the food down.

“As opposed to regular happy hour appetizers?” you grin, immediately reaching for a fry.

“These are special,” Doyoung insists, “pretty sure Yuta spit in them.”

Doyoung is a pretty regal man, he’s not one to joke around- but for some reason, when Doyoung is in your vicinity, he loosens up a little. Everyone loosens up around you, you radiate a safe space kind of energy, the kind of energy that makes Johnny’s tense shoulders relax, his smile softening.

“Then I’ll be sure to eat all of this,” you respond. “Tell Yuta more spit.”

Doyoung shakes his head at you. “I’m sure Johnny’s tried to poach you already, but if you ever want a job, you can have his.”

“Hey!” Johnny laughs.

“I’ll consider it,” you grin.

“And I expect a plate of food for this brunch thing,” Doyoung continues. “I’ve heard nothing beats your breakfasts, even though you work nights.”

“Someone has been talking about me again,” you muse, eyes shifting to John.

“What can I say?” He holds his hands up in defense. “I speak only the truth.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Doyoung insists. “Anyways, have fun you two, I’ve got food to run, our new expo girl isn’t filling Sunshine’s shoes too well.”

There’s a glint in Doyoung’s eye before he scurries away, and Johnny turns to watch the new expo girl practically short circuiting with take out orders on the line.

“Poor girl,” you sigh. “It takes a certain kind of person to work in a restaurant.”

And an even more specific type to do what the two of you do as chefs.

Two

You’ve been on a few first dates this year, and this one is definitely a bottom three. You’ve had one drink, and you already feel like finding a way to slip out early.

Initially, you’d been intrigued by dating a man in finance, but it’s clear now that you’re in two completely different worlds- and to make matters worse, he mostly talks about himself. He’s oozing this obnoxious confidence that makes you grimace every time you sip your drink, and not from the alcohol.

Your date is in the bathroom when Johnny calls.

“Hello?”

“Hey, you!” His voice warms your heart. “So Soonie is at a sleep over tonight, and I was thinking about making a Soonbok style menu for her birthday, all Soonie style names for food and such, planning a menu just for her- are you up to anything? Can I go through it with you?”

“Actually…” your gaze shifts to the bathrooms, “I’m on a date.”

“Oh.”

“It’s going so bad, and planning Soonie’s birthday would be such a better use of my evening. Listen, can you come pick me up? I’ll text you the address, you can come and call me when you’re outside, pretend it’s a family emergency or something-”

“You got it, I’ll be there right away.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re hopping into Johnny’s car, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

“That bad, huh?” he asks.

“I don’t even want to talk about it right now,” you groan.

“Here, distract yourself,” Johnny hands you a piece of paper, and you realize it’s a mock up menu for Soonbok’s birthday. “This is just a prototype, I was messing around with styles on some fucking site called Canva-”

“I didn’t know you were good at this sort of thing,” you gasp, taking in the intricate fonts and colouring.

“The site did all the work, trust me,” Johnny scoffs, pulling out into traffic. “Read it over and let me know what you think.”

You begin to scan the menu. There’s Soonie Side Up Eggs, and Boken Avocado Bennies, Soonbok Style Slapjacks and Suh Family Breakfast Sammies.

“I’m shocked you came up with this many names related to Soonie and Suh,” you say.

“I spent my entire shift thinking about them in the back of my mind while I worked,” Johnny admits. “They’re not cheesy or anything, right?”

“They’re definitely cheesy,” you confirm, “but Soonie is going to love them. You’ve always been cheesy, John, and she adores you for it.”

You notice Johnny’s skin turning a little red, and it’s not just from the reflection of the traffic light illuminating the inside of his car while you wait for it to go green.

You continue to study the menu, thinking hard the entire way back to Johnny’s house.

He’s got a modest three bedroom townhouse, with his and Soonbok’s rooms on the top floor, and the guest bedroom on the main floor with the kitchen and living room. The kitchen is, without a doubt, the heart of the home, and the two of you make your way there as soon as you’re past the threshold.

“I have some thoughts,” you admit, setting the menu down and pointing at one of the items. “Soonbok toast,” you announce, a twist on french toast, “it says here that it comes with a berry compote. I can tell that this is one of the dishes more geared toward others, because if this was really for Soonie, you’d know that your daughter doesn't even touch berry or apple crisps. She picks at the oat brown sugar on top, but doesn’t like cooked berries or fruits.”

“Yeah…” Johnny leans next to you, scratching the back of his neck. “That was the only one I wasn’t sure on, but for brunch, you have to have a french toast option, right?”

“We can still do french toast, but I think every menu item should be something she’d actually love, don’t you agree?”

“A hundred percent.”

“What if, instead of berry compote, we do an brown sugar glaze type sauce?”

“That could be doable,” Johnny admits. “Should we try to make one now?”

“Can we do it in the morning?” you ask. “Honestly, I had one drink at the bar, I’m tired after a long shift, and I’m ready to have a few more drinks then pass out.”

“Drinks are a good idea,” Johnny grins, already heading to the fridge. “It will give me more time to think about how to make the brown sugar glaze, and I’ll get on top of that in the morning.”

“Exactly. Chef hours are over, we can just relax,” you insist, heading to collapse on his couch.

“Chef hours are never over,” Johnny reminds you, cracking open a beer and approaching so he can hand it to you.

“It’s one of the reasons dating is so hard in our profession,” you sigh, taking a swig of your drink.

“The hours make it tough,” Johnny nods.

“So does the mentality,” you remind him. “We just… we think a little differently than others. We’re all a little too committed to our work.”

“That’s not always a bad thing, you’ve just gotta find someone you’re compatible with, someone who will appreciate that about you.”

“Says one single chef to the other,” you laugh.

Johnny clinks his bottle against your own before taking a large gulp. “Touche.”

Three

Johnny is doing his best to work quietly, aware that the guest bedroom is just a short distance from the kitchen as he whips up eggs for the french toast batter.

He manages to get all the way through to the cooking before you sleepily putter into the kitchen, adorned in one of his spare shirts for when you sleep over unexpectedly. You look adorable, but Johnny can’t bring himself to focus on you as he perfects the brown sugar glaze, careful not to burn it.

“Almost done,” he calls over his shoulder, “take a seat then try this with me?”

“It smells good,” you tell him, pulling out a chair at the island kitchen counter.

“Thanks, honey, I was up last night thinking about it- had to wake up early to try it out.” He lifts the french toast onto a plate, dipping a spoon into the glaze to coat the breakfast. “I hope I didn’t wake you up?”

“The smell did,” you muse, grinning as he brings the french toast toward you, setting it down and opening a drawer to retrieve two sets of utensils.

The two of you cut into the toast, and you lift your fork. “Cheers,” you grin, and Johnny touches his food to your own before you both go in for a bite.

The french toast is cooked to perfection, and although the brown sugar glaze is a little sweet for his liking, Johnny knows Soonie’s sweettooth will appreciate this adjustment to the recipe.

But when Johnny lifts his gaze to you, he sees apprehension in your eyes. “Did you like it?” he enquires.

“It’s really good, don’t get me wrong,” you assure him quickly, “I just think… maybe it’s missing one or two things.”

“Like what?”

“Mmm…” you cock your head to the side, “we both know Soonbok is a fan of nuts, peanut butter is her usual go to but she likes others too- what if we finely chop some pecan or walnut and add that in somehow?”

“That could work,” Johnny nods.

“Do you mind if I take a crack at it?” you ask.

Johnny laughs. There are very few people he’ll allow to use his kitchen, and luckily you’re the one at the top. You’ve been cooking here for so many years that he doesn’t have to guide you to anything, you stand up and immediately go in search of details to make your french toast masterpiece come to life, and Johnny happily takes a back seat while he finishes his own creation.

You go for a bag of pecans, dumping a small amount onto a cutting board before you begin to finally chop, leaving an array of different sizes of chunks. Soonie has always been a texture specific child, and Johnny loves how you incorporate all the little quirks of his daughter into your cooking like this.

In a pan with some butter, you begin to toast the nuts, getting prepped on your bread by using the already made batter he’d created earlier. As you put the toast into the pan and check the nuts, you cock your head to the side again, an endearing trait you do when you’re thinking.

“What about oats?” you suggest.

“Do whatever you think is best,” Johnny encourages you, heading to the fridge to grab some orange juice and a nearly empty bottle of prosecco he’d opened for a recipe two nights ago.

Johnny watches you add oats to the browning pecans while he makes mimosas, and in no time at all, you’re plating the french toast, with a spoonful of the newly toasted additions, and a few spoonfuls of brown sugar glaze.

“There,” you announce, bringing the food to the table. “I added a bit of cinnamon and brown sugar to the buttered nuts and oats while you were making drinks.”

“Cheers,” Johnny grins, lifting a forkful of your creation to gently touch it to your own.

As soon as he bites into it, Johnny knows that this is a winner. The crunch of the nuts, and the oats- the added fats of the butter- the slight taste of cinnamon on the toppings-

“Wow,” he breathes, leaning back in his chair. “Soonie really wasn’t joking when she said you’re the best breakfast chef in town.”

“Stop it,” you laugh. “You made the glaze! We did this together!”

Johnny goes for a second bite. “This is the stuff that will stick to your ribs,” he muses, not caring that the calorie content was just inflated by the addition of butter and nuts, “Good ol’ comfort food.”

“No, John, you’re a head chef now, this is comfort cuisine,” you correct him with a grin.

Johnny swears your eyes are sparkling as you smile at him, and it makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. It’s times like these that he realizes just how smitten he is with you. You’ve been there for him, through thick and thin. There’s no way he’d be where he is now without you, and he’s not even sure if you know the full extent of it.

But at the same time, because you’re his rock, Johnny doesn’t want to overstep. He can’t lose you, not now, not ever. Soonie lost her mom to a car crash when she was three, and there’s no way in hell Johnny’s going to do something that could potentially make her lose you too.

Four

“Hey, you,” you grin, finishing pouring your glass of wine while you put your favourite chef on speaker.

“Hey, yourself,” Johnny responds, and you can practically hear the smile in his own voice. “Listen, uh, I need to ask you for a favour.”

“Shoot.”

“Two of my line chefs called in today before dinner- pretty sure they’re both hungover or something. Anyways, I’m staying, and it’s a busier night than projected- Soonie is done Girl Guides at seven, and I know it’s your night off, so if you’re busy I can find someone else, but-”

“I’ve got you,” you interrupt him. “Girls night with my favourite girl is a better plan than I had.”

“Really? You sure?”

“A hundred percent.”

“I’d say I owe you one, but at this point, I probably owe you more like a thousand.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you laugh, pouring your wine back into the bottle. “Take care of work, and I’ll take care of our girl.”

A couple hours later, you’re in Johnny’s familiar kitchen, making spiced popcorn and virgin cocktails. Soonie wants to be a chef, just like her dad, and she’s getting better every day. You love giving her soft instructions and lending a helping hand on bigger jugs of juice that her tiny fingers can’t quite hold.

Soonbok has a love for all things disney and music, and although this is probably the third time you’re watching it with her, the two of you settle in for the live action Ariel.

While Johnny is primarily a chef, back when you were in culinary school, he used to sing to himself when he was working. He was always quiet, but loud enough for you to listen to his beautiful voice. Like her father, Soonbok has a way with music, and you adore watching the eleven year old belt out Ariel songs.

She’s tuckered out from Girl Guides however, and about halfway into the movie she cuddles up next to you, her eyelids beginning to droop.

When Johnny comes home as the film is ending, Soonie is fast asleep, and you quickly motion at him to be quiet as he steps through the door.

Johnny is careful as he sets his keys and bag down, kicking off his shoes and putting away his jacket. He tiptoes toward the two of you. “How long has she been out?” he whispers.

“Half an hour or so,” you respond in a hushed tone. “How was work?”

He lets out a sigh. “Could have been better, but I’m home now. Should I get this little one to bed?”

You nod, watching the way Johnny bends down to gently lift his daughter off the couch. She stirs in his arms. “Daddy?”

“Hi, Soonie,” he beams down at her. “Did you have a good girls night?”

“Can y/n stay longer?”

Johnny’s eyes shift to you, and a smile forms on your lips. “I guess I can’t say no to Soonie, can I?”

“Here’s the deal, Soonie, y/n can stay longer, but I’ve gotta put you to bed. You had a long day, didn’t you, sweet girl?”

“Uh huh.” Soonie yawns, cuddling closer to Johnny’s chest, and the sight makes you melt.

Johnny carries her out of the living room and up to the second level. He takes some time tucking her in, and then he comes back down to join you, holding two beers in his hands.

“So two line chefs called in, huh?” you prompt, tucking your legs up and making room for the large man on the sofa.

“I expected it from Haechan, but Mark’s generally pretty reliable. His girlfriend was on shift today, so I know he wasn’t skipping to be with her- I’m guessing they got pretty messed up last night.”

“They’re young,” you point out, accepting a beer from him. “We used to be young.”

“Used to be,” Johnny laughs, taking a swig of his drink.

Looking at this man- this father, you realize maybe he never really got the chance to be young. At twenty five, he had a six year old, he wasn't running around blacking out and getting hung over, he was working his way up the employment ladder, dreaming about a better future for his daughter.

“You mentioned Mark has a girlfriend, I think I’ve heard about her a few times now, it’s interesting that she was in and he wasn’t.”

“I’m going to be honest, I love Mark, he’s a great kid- but, he can sometimes be peer pressured into things. Haechan has a hold on Mark unlike any I’ve seen, they bring out… interesting sides of each other.”

You laugh at the description, and it’s clear there’s more on Johnny’s mind, so you wait for him to continue.

“It’s nice that Mark is young and in love, I can understand that- but at the same time, I just hope he doesn’t make the same mistakes I did. Not that Soonbok is a mistake, of course- I just mean that… life is fragile. You think you’re going to be with someone forever, and then you’re reminded of how frail things can be.”

You frown at his words. Even after all of these years, Johnny still holds so much pain about his lost wife. You want to do your best to help Johnny in every aspect of his life, especially emotional, but this is a topic you never know how to approach. He’s right for grieving, his ex was his first love, his true love- how is there anything you could ever say to make him feel better about her passing?

You open your mouth, only to close it, and Johnny watches you intently. Sometimes he looks at you, the way he’s looking at you right now, and you wonder if he feels the same level of connection with you that you feel with him. You wonder if he wants you to kiss him, if a kiss would make him feel better, if it would - if even for a moment - help him forget about the pains he’s faced in his life.

But it’s because of the pains he’s faced that neither of you can close the distance, you’d like to think about it that way at least. Even after all these years, it’s still too early, so you simply reach out and gently squeeze his hand.

Johnny offers you a smile, and you’re glad that in some small way, maybe you’ve helped him.

Five

It’s a pretty slow day after the lunch rush, so Johnny is sitting in the back office with Doyoung while they pick at their food. They often eat together once things settle down, and today is no different.

What is different, however, is the topic of conversation Doyoung brings up. “How’s y/n doing?” he asks, taking a bite of his salad.

“She’s good. She helped me lock in a french toast recipe for Soonie’s birthday, so that was pretty helpful.”

“That’s nice,” Doyoung nods, “but I’m more interested in what’s going on between the two of you.”

“What do you mean?” Johnny asks, looking up from his schezwan beef noodle bowl.

“I mean, you two have been friends for a long time. There’s a lot of history there.”

Johnny’s shocked that Doyoung is bringing this up. Out of all of the chef’s coworkers, he had not pegged Doyoung as being the man to bring up relationship gossip, and the whole thing takes him off guard for a moment.

“We’re good friends,” Johnny says finally.

“I know that,” Doyoung rolls his eyes. “What’s holding you back from being more? It’s clear how much you two care about each other.”

Johnny looks down at his food, using his chopsticks to play around with a red pepper. “We do care about each other,” he confirms. “She was there for me with Soonie when no one else was, and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“So why don’t you tell her how you really feel about her?” Doyoung presses. “It’s obvious in the way you look at each other- a smart woman like y/n, I’m shocked she hasn’t figured it out for herself by now.”

“I think, because of our history, there’s this… invisible line,” Johnny tries to explain. “Things are good the way they are now, if I try to mess with that… I could lose everything. And I wouldn’t just be losing it for myself, I’d be losing it for Soonie too.”

Doyoung lets out a breath, turning to face Johnny. “I get that it’s hard, but, you’ve got two paths ahead of you. If you give it a try, it could either end well, or badly. But if you keep yourself in this weird middle friend zone place, it’s like you’ve created a house at the crossroads, and that will never lead you anywhere.”

“When did you become so wise about love?” Johnny scoffs.

“Sumi has helped me with it,” Doyoung admits. “I met her here, we started off as friends. I’m her manager, so I had my own reasons for never taking the leap. I had my own house at the crossroads.”

“What made you finally give it a try?”

“She was there for me when my dad died,” Doyoung frowns. “Anyone can be there for you when things go badly, but when a woman truly gives her all to making things easier on you- it’s not something that should be ignored. After everything you and y/n have been through, you both deserve to give it a try.”

“How are you so sure she’d want to give it a try?”

“Because she looks at you the way you look at her.”

Six

Cooking with Johnny might just be the easiest thing in the world. You’d thought that, due to it being Soonie’s birthday, maybe tensions would be high, but as the two of you collaborate in the kitchen, bumping hips and easily communicating, things feel as they always have: easy.

Within fifteen minutes, the two of you have seamlessly cooked thirteen breakfasts for yourselves, Soonie, her four friends, and six adults… well, seven, if you include the Boken Avocado Bennies you’d whipped up for Doyoung.

While there are a number of staff puttering around doing pre-opening tasks, it’s Doyoung who takes the time to help you and Johnny bring all the food to the table. You love watching the stoic manager announce the Soonie-inspired brunch food names, and it’s clear that Soonbok is also enamoured by the shift in Doyoung’s countenance.

Before everyone begins to eat, you take a group picture on Johnny’s phone, loving the massive smile on Soonie’s face.

As you’re about to sit down, Johnny asks one of the other moms to take a picture of just you, him and Soonie. With the two of you on either side of the birthday girl, you can’t help but think that this feels like a family picture.

In a way, Johnny and Soonie are your family- but in the same breath, you’re cognisant of the fact that - had circumstances been different - it would be Soonbok’s mom in this picture right now, and not you. These are shoes that can simply never be filled, no matter how much you wish you could.

The thought isn’t one you like to hold on to, and it’s a thought that’s popped into your head innumerable times throughout the years. Taking your seat next to the birthday girl, you watch her try the french toast, her eyes lighting up.

On top of her own food, Soonie picks at yours and Johnny’s. Both of you are more than happy to share so she can taste more than just one of the special items Johnny had concocted for her.

Brunch is full of laughter and girlish giggles that light up the deserted restaurant. It’s clear how important Johnny has made Soonie feel today, and that brings you more joy than you could ever express out loud.

As things wind down, you and Johnny begin clearing plates to the dishpit. The two of you are shoulder to shoulder, and you’re overwhelmed by an odd sense of longing that you can’t quite describe.

Johnny turns to you, mouth opening as if he’s about to say something- but as servers pass behind you, it’s clear that there’s no room for him to say whatever it is that he wanted to say to you.

You clear your throat, watching a line chef pop up next to Johnny to stack the dishes for dishwasher prep. “You should go back to Soonie,” you tell him, “I’ll finish up with the cleanup.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Of course, it’s Soonie’s day, go be with her.” You offer him a smile, and Johnny reacts by reaching out to squeeze your hand.

Without another word, he leaves you to your thoughts, and the feeling of need that’s growing steadier and steadier in your chest.

Seven

Johnny doesn’t know quite what to do with himself. Soonie’s birthday was yesterday, and today's day shift had been quite slow. He’s feeling restless with Soonie over at a friend’s place tonight, and he tries to drown himself in liquor- whether it be to chase away the loneliness or to gain courage, he’s not sure, but by nine oclock, Johnny finds himself dialing up your number.

“Hey, you,” you answer.

“Hey, yourself,” he grins. “Watcha up to?”

There’s a pause, and Johnny can hear people in the background. “I’m out actually.”

“Oh?” Johnny’s spirits dampen. “Out on another hot date?”

“Not so hot actually.”

Johnny bites at his lip. “I’ll let you go anyways.”

“It’s alright, I stepped out when you called. Do you need something?”

“I guess…” Johnny takes a breath. “I got into the liquor-”

“Say no more, I’ll be right over.”

Eight

“So…” Johnny grins as the two of you head into his kitchen, “how did the date go?”

You scoff, watching him pour a glass of wine. “How do you think it went? I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“I mean… I am pretty hard to compete with,” Johnny flashes you a sexy grin… and proceeds to knock over the glass of wine. “Shit- fuck!”

“Listen, you go take a seat, and I’ll clean this up,” you laugh, watching him lumber toward the sofa. You make quick work of the mess, and when you’re done, you approach him in the living room.

“Come sit,” he prompts, patting the spot right next to him.

“Someone’s feeling awfully cuddly today,” you giggle when he grabs your hand to pull you down where he wants you, leaving no space between the two of you.

“What can I say? I’m a cuddly drunk.”

“I can see that,” you note, assessing him.

His gaze dips to your lips, and your skin tingles.

“Thank you for yesterday,” he says quietly.

“I told you, I was happy to help for Soonie’s special day.”

“It’s not just that,” he insists, “you’re always happy to help. I seriously-” he swallows thickly, “I seriously couldn’t have done anything I’ve done without you.”

“Don’t be so self deprecating,” you warn him, gently pushing his shoulder. “You’d have gotten anywhere you wanted, with or without me.”

“I still don’t have a food truck,” Johnny pouts.

You’d thought maybe he’d given up on that dream- although you’ve held onto hope for Johnny, more than he knows. “Now that you mention it, actually,” you say, pulling out your phone, “I’ve been looking at food trucks for sale online for a minute, and-”

Johnny’s gaze softens. “You’ve been researching for me?”

“Just a little,” you brush it off, trying to find the listing that you’d saved three days ago. “I found this decent looking one at a good price-”

“I think I love you.”

“Huh?” you freeze.

“I didn’t mean it,” Johnny says immediately, and your heart sinks. “I don’t think I love you, I know I do.”

“John, please, that’s the liquor talking.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he insists. “Look, you’ve always been there for me. We work together- and not just because we’re both chefs. Something about this,” Johnny gestures between the two of you, “it just works, and I know I’m not the only one who sees it.”

“Yeah?” You decide to play a little coy, seeing as this confession is coming from a drunk man. “And who else sees it?”

“Doyoung, for one.”

“Doyoung?” You let out a laugh. “Have you been gossiping about me with him?”

“I swear I didn’t bring it up,” Johnny defends himself. “Doyoung said I look at you with love, and that… that you look at me the same way.”

“Well… maybe Doyoung needs to get his eyes checked?”

“Don’t play with me,” Johnny begs, pulling you closer. “There’s always been a line between us, one we’ve both been too scared to cross… but, I think-”

“Now you’re crossing it,” you finish for him. “What made you want to do that?”

“Soonie’s birthday,” Johnny admits. “Our little family picture.”

“Our family picture,” you repeat, melting inside at the fact that he’d viewed the photo in the same light you had.

“Yeah.” Johnny nods. “Our family. Mine, and yours.”

His hand finds your thigh, and you can’t help but reach out to cup his cheek, stroking your thumb across his angular bones. “I’m not sure what to say,” you admit.

“We don’t have to say anything,” Johnny assures you. “Just kiss me, and we can forget about the world for a minute.”

Your heart is racing in your chest as you hesitantly close the distance between your lips. It’s a gentle first kiss, but it soon grows hungry, and you’re not sure if that’s due to his appetite or your own.

His tongue swipes across your lip, and you open your mouth for him, letting out a soft sigh as you get lost in the feeling of the man who’s been your best friend for years.

His hand on your thigh squeezes, and before you know it, he’s pulling you onto his lap. Your knees dig into the sofa on either side of him, and you’re hesitant to fully sit down- a kiss is a kiss, but grinding on Johnny is something else entirely.

“Johnny,” you whisper, throwing your head back to look at the ceiling, wondering how you got into this situation.

“Yes, honey?” He presses kisses along your throat that have tingles shooting up your spine.

“You’re drunk,” you say finally.

“If I’d known you liked me too, I would have done this ages ago.”

“It’s not about that,” you laugh. “It’s about the fact that you’re drunk, and I want you sober when we do this.”

“Do what?” he teases, squeezing your hips, his tongue grazing over your jugular.

“You know what,” you retort with a huff. “Look, you’re right about the line neither of us wanted to cross.”

Johnny pulls away from your throat, looking up at you. “Huh?”

“The line. The unspoken line. All these years, something has been there, between us- but, we both respect your wife, we respect Soonie- I think… I think the time is right for this now, well, not right now, but, once you’re sober again.”

“You’re right,” Johnny concedes.

“How about we watch a movie, then we can go to sleep.”

“You’ll stay over?” There’s a boyish excitement in his voice and it makes you melt.

“Uh huh.”

“Will you stay in my bed with me?”

“Just for cuddles, but only if you promise to drink a bunch of water before we sleep, I don’t want you hung over in the morning.”

Johnny grins. “You got it, honey.”

Nine

Johnny wakes up next to a warm body, and it’s the first time in years. Your presence is the only thing that proves to him that last night wasn’t a dream, some twisted fantasy- No, you’re real, and you’re here, and you’d kissed him back-

He stays cuddled with you for a while, basking in the glow of being in love, truly in love, and finally able to admit it to himself. It’s been so long since his wife, and part of him had forgotten the feeling- maybe that’s why it had taken years for him to realize how much he adores you.

After a while, Johnny decides he needs some water- and he wants to make breakfast for you. He wants to spoil you the way you spoil him.

Johnny is careful as he exits the bed, taking one last look at your peaceful face before heading down to the kitchen.

It’s easy for Johnny to get lost in the act of cooking, focusing on bacon at first before switching to eggs. As it was a few days ago, the smell of food wakes you up, and soon you’re joining him by the stove.

“Watcha making?” you ask, wrapping your body around his.

God, the feeling of you is- fuck, he can’t even describe how good it is.

“Wanted to make you breakfast,” he tells you, plating your food first. Once he has you settled and sitting, he quickly throws together a breakfast sandwich for himself.

“You and your sandwiches,” you laugh, digging into your bacon and eggs.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, coming to join you.

“So well,” you tell him, bumping your knee against his own, “even if someone snores.”

Johnny can only laugh, he’s dealt with Soonbok complaining about his loud snoring for years. “How are the eggs?”

“Good!”

You’re so chipper this morning, and he loves it. Johnny takes a bite of his sandwich- you’d cooked the eggs at the brunch birthday two days ago, and he realizes Soonie was right. “Your eggs are better,” he muses.

“I’d planned on making breakfast for you, but you jumped the gun, big guy.”

“I wanted to pamper you for a change.”

“Cooking is my love language,” you tell him. “I’m excited to make you breakfast more often.”

“I like the sound of that,” he smiles.

“When’s Soonie come home?”

Johnny checks the clock on the stove. “In an hour or so.”

“As much as I’d love to see her, I think maybe it’s better if I’m not here when she gets home,” you say thoughtfully. “She’s a smart girl, I bet she’d be able to tell that something is up.”

“She definitely would,” Johnny confirms. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you that much if you stick around.”

You giggle, reaching over to squeeze his knee.

“How are you feeling about last night?” Johnny asks.

“I’m feeling good, how about you? Still remember all of it?”

“In perfect detail,” he breathes. “Although… a little reminder wouldn’t hurt.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t?” you tease as he leans in, cupping your face so he can press his lips to your own.

God, you’re such a good kisser. It just works. It’s hard for him to even pull away, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you.

“Take me out on a date,” you say.

“Hmm?”

“A date,” you repeat. “Just because we’ve known each other for years doesn’t mean we can skip steps.”

“I respect that,” Johnny nods. “I’ve got a busy week, and it will have to be a night where Soonie is out, but… we’ll make it work.”

Johnny’s so certain it will work, because things between you have always worked, and he can’t wait to see where this takes you.

Ten

It’s been a week, but finally Johnny found time for that date night. Soonie is out with friends again, so it’s the perfect opportunity to get some alone time with the man who’s been on your mind constantly.

He picks you up in his old Dodge truck, compliments your outfit, and refuses to tell you where you’re going or what the plan is.

When you arrive back at his place, you’re honestly not even surprised. “Let me guess, you took me to the best chef in town?”

“You know all my lines, honey,” he grins.

“So, chef, what’s on the menu?”

“I thought maybe you’d take a seat and let me cook for you.”

“As if I’d take a back seat,” you scoff. “What are we making?”

Johnny had made hand made fettucini before he’d come to pick you up. You let him take lead in making a white wine, garlic cream sauce with button mushrooms, spinach and crispy prosciutto, but you insist on being his sous chef and taking care of the chicken.

The smell is heavenly, and as he finishes it all off with fresh herbs, you think you start to drool a little.

“For a guy who claims to specialize in sandwiches of all things, you’re pretty good with italian,” you muse as you take your first bite and nearly moan.

“I’m pretty good with a lot of things,” Johnny laughs.

“Look at you being all cocky.”

“You love it.”

He’s so right.

The two of you chat and laugh together while eating. It’s one of the best meals you’ve had in a very long time. When dinner is over, Johnny suggests a movie. As the two of you settle on the couch, he prompts you to come closer, and soon, the two of you are cuddled together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He’s so warm and comforting- you find yourself dozing off a little, although, maybe it’s something of a food coma from all the pasta.

Johnny brings his lips to your ear, and you shiver when he asks, “Should I carry you to bed, honey?”

Part of you wants to tell him you’re not Soonie and you won’t be calling him daddy any time soon- but another part of you wants to lean into this. It’s been so long since you felt like you could be babied, and if anyone is going to bring out that side of you, it’s going to be Johnny.

“Won’t I be too heavy?” you ask, cognizant of the stairs he’ll have to climb.

“Have you seen my arms? I won’t drop you, honey, I promise.”

You allow him to scoop you up, and you feel like a giggling school girl again as he takes you up to his room. “Do you have a shirt I could wear to sleep?”

“Choose anything,” he tells you. “When you’re changed, you can join me in the bathroom, I went and got a toothbrush for you.”

Before you know it, you’re cuddled in Johnny’s bed, wearing panties and one of his big shirts. He’s pressed to your back, his mint tinged breath warm on the nape of your neck. There’s no pressure for sex, no pressure for anything other than the situation at hand, and you can tell you’re both very content with it.

Soon, you’re drifting off to sleep in the arms of a man who’s been a cornerstone of your life.

It’s a deep, dreamless sleep, and it passes in the blink of an eye. You awaken to light beaming through his window, a warm body behind you, and something hard pressed against your ass.

You laugh to yourself- morning wood isn’t something men can help. Even so, you stir a little, adjusting to get more comfortable.

Johnny releases a sleepy groan.

You stay still, not wanting to wake him, but it feels like the damage is already done when he wraps you tighter in his embrace. “Morning,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Hi,” you respond lightly.

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to shift, and you feel his body tense when he does so. “Fuck,” he goes to pull away, “sorry, I uh-”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, grabbing his forearm so he can’t move away, “keep cuddling me.”

Johnny returns, flush against your back, his hard cock pressing even more firmly to your ass.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” he asks.

“More than okay with it.”

“Yeah?” He leans forward, pressing his lips to your throat. “Are you okay with this, too?” Johnny mumbles, his hot breath fanning across your skin.

“Uh huh,” you sigh, wiggling your bum back against him and arching your neck to give him better access.

His hand finds your hip, gently squeezing you through the shirt you’re wearing. His lips are soft against you, but there’s a need in his motions too, and he begins to grind against your ass.

You let out a groan when he finds the sweet spot just below your ear, and he licks at it, making you moan louder.

“Are we going to do this?” he asks, nipping at your earlobe.

“Fuck it, yes.” You can’t hold back anymore, you turn in his embrace, quickly mounting him and smashing your lips to his own.

Johnny grins into the kiss, holding your hips while you settle on top of him, grinding down against his clothed cock while your tongues begin to clash.

His kisses have you seeing stars, your mind going blank except for him.

Soon, his hands slip under your shirt, slowly grazing up your sides. “Can I take this off of you?” he asks.

You open your eyes to look down at him, studying his pretty lips and his chocolate eyes.

Instead of responding, you sit up, grabbing the hem of the oversized T and lifting it over your head, tossing it to the side and baring yourself to your best friend for the first time.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, gaze falling to your tits. His hands stay at a respectable location on your hips, and you grab one to lift it to your breast, adding pressure so he knows he’s allowed to give you a test squeeze.

Johnny begins to massage you, and you throw your head back, releasing a groan, swiveling your hips against him.

His thumb brushes over your hardened nipple and you mewl loudly, core throbbing from the stimulus.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, propping himself up so he can take your nipple into his mouth.

You cup the back of his head, keeping him on your chest while he worships you. His other hand finds your neglected breast, gently pinching and massaging while he sucks on your sensitive bud.

“John-” You don’t even know what to say, you’re entirely wrapped up in him.

You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch.

Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more.

Johnny pulls away from your breasts, cupping the back of your head and drawing your lips to his again. “We should take our clothes off,” he suggests.

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all week,” you laugh.

He helps you off of him, and you lay next to each other for a moment, both fumbling to get naked. As soon as you’re fully nude, Johnny rolls on top of you, slotting between your thighs. His lips find yours again, and his free hand trails down your body, teasing through your pussy lips.

“You’re already so wet,” he muses.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” you admit.

“Me too,” he assures you, capturing your mouth with his own while he teases a finger into your hole. You push your hips up, wanting more, and you latch onto his strong shoulders, moaning into the kiss.

Johnny’s a big man, and his finger is enough to have you wriggling below him. “Easy, honey,” he grins, looking down at you with eyes full of adoration. “Gotta stretch you open.”

“Fuck,” you groan- does this man read erotica in his spare time? How is a thirty year old, single dad, this well versed in dirty talk even though you’re pretty sure he hasn’t been laid in forever?

He adds a second finger, curling them to find your gspot. As he pumps his hand, lips pressed to yours in a mad frenzy, you can hear your wetness with each motion.

It feels unreal- have fingers alone ever done a number like this on you?

Johnny twists his hand a little, knuckles dragging along your sensitive inner walls. It’s like he’s trying to carve out a space for his cock, although, you know now that this won’t be enough. He’s thick and throbbing on your hip, his length so large you think he might just blow your entire back out when he slips it into you.

Even though you’re eager to be - for lack of a better word - impaled on him, Johnny takes his time kissing you, his fingers continuing their motions. “Wanna rub your clit for me?” he asks, moving his mouth to your neck. “I want to watch you cum.”

Your toes curl at his words, and you bring your hand to your pussy, drawing circles on the sensitive bud while he continues to stroke your inner walls.

Your core throbs around him, whimpers of pleasure escaping you.

“You’re being so good for me, honey,” Johnny tells you, making your insides flutter even more from the sincere words of praise.

Cumming hasn’t always been the easiest thing in the world for you. There are many partners you’ve had who never had the wherewithal to get you there- but somehow, Johnny just knows you. Or maybe, it’s because he knows you- because you feel safe with him, that you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

It also helps that it’s your own fingers on your clit, you know exactly what you like, what pressure, what motions- the digits working you open are just an added bonus that have you seeing stars as you make your way to your peak.

“John,” you gasp, tits pushing up toward his chest when your back arches. “I’m gonna-”

“Let it out for me,” he encourages you softly. “You deserve it.”

“I deserve your cock,” you whine, shocked at your own blatant neediness.

Johnny only laughs. “After,” he assures you, “I promise.”

A few more circles of your clit has the cord in your stomach snapping, your orgasm washing over your like warm summer waves. Your entire body tingles with delight, gasps leaving you as your pussy fully throbs around his fingers, your clit pulsing with desire.

“So pretty,” he whispers, bringing his lips to yours.

From the way he smiles against your mouth, you can tell he doesn’t care that you’re moaning so much he can hardly kiss you.

It’s a closeness you’ve never felt before, and he helps you through your orgasm until you’re pulling your hand away in favour of grabbing his shoulders.

Johnny takes his fingers out of your core, and you watch under hooded eyelids as he brings them to his lips, sucking them clean and releasing a groan. “Everything you do tastes better than what I bring to the table.”

You laugh. He’s such a fucking chef.

“Some might even say it’s…” you stifle a giggle, “Finger licking good.”

Johnny lets out a laugh, eyes lighting up. God, you love this soft, laughter infused sex- you’ve never experienced anything like it.

You grab the back of his neck, drawing his mouth to your own. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and there’s something so erotic about it. He moans loudly, rubbing his cock between your wet pussy lips.

The tip of his cock is stimulating your clit and it sends jitters through you. You can feel how soaked you are, and you wouldn’t be surprised if this ended with a wet patch on his bed from how turned on you’ve been throughout this whole experience.

Johnny seems intent with grinding against you, but you’re lacking patience today, and you reach between your bodies to grab his cock.

Johnny breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours and looking down at where you’re gripping him. He doesn’t say anything, his gaze shifting back to your own. There’s a question in his eyes, and you’re both aware that this is the final line. Once you cross this, there’s no going back.

You bring his cock to your wet hole, and with very little effort, you help guide the head of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans immediately, fists bunching at the pillow on either side of your head. “You’re so tight- are you sure you’re good with this?”

“You’re just- fuck,” you whimper as another inch sinks into you, “you’re just big!”

“Maybe you’ll have to get used to it,” he grins, pushing deeper.

You moan loudly, clawing at his shoulders. “Maybe I will,” you gasp.

He brings his mouth close to your own, until your lips are just brushing, eyes meeting when he says, “I’m looking forward to it.”

As he kisses you, he pushes fully into your warm, wet, throbbing core. His hips are flush to your own, and you swear no one’s ever been this deep inside of you.

Your legs shake on either side of his hips, body suspended in this odd purgatory-like place between extreme pleasure, and an uncomfortable feeling of being stretched more than you’ve ever been stretched before.

“Are you good?” he asks, lips moving to your cheek while you struggle to aclimatize to his cock.

“Yeah,” you nod quickly. “Just- fuck me, it will be easier.”

“If you say so, honey.”

The first thrust has your toes curling, eyes clenching shut with pleasure. A sound that’s never come from you before leaves your lips- a sound you’ve heard in porn, but always thought was an overexpression.

Your fingers dig into Johnny’s shoulders, and he holds you close, mouth finding your neck while he begins to fuck you.

Although, would this be called fucking?

The fluidity of his motions- the way you’re clinging to each other- it feels more like making love, and your skin tingles with the realization.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me you love me again, like you did when you were drunk.”

“I love you,” he says immediately, holding you even tighter. “I love you so much that sometimes it hurts.”

Your entire body both relaxes and is set on fire by his words, your core throbbing desperately around his massive cock.

“Johnny-” you whimper.

“Tell me you love me too,” he pleads.

“I love you too,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair and bringing his face close to yours so you can look up into his eyes. “I love you too.”

Johnny’s hand finds your thigh, hiking it higher on his hip. Somehow, he hits even deeper now, and you wriggle below him, more sounds of pleasure escaping you and filling the room.

“You sound so good, honey- I won’t last if you keep squeezing me and moaning-”

“Then don’t last,” you gasp. “Want you to cum.”

“Where should I cum?”

“Inside- I’m on birth control, just- fuck, Johnny, cum inside.”

He groans, pressing his mouth firmly to your own, his tongue dancing along yours as his motions get even faster.

You’re clinging to him for dear life at this point, and when he slips a hand between your bodies to rub your clit, you nearly begin to cry from how good it feels.

“Love the way your pussy sucks me in when we play with your clit,” he tells you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

“Do you think you can cum for me again? I don’t want to be the only one cumming.”

“Yeah, yeah- fuck, yeah, I can cum again,” you whimper desperately.

“Let me know when,” he instructs, adjusting his motions ever so slightly so each thrust has his cock dragging against your gspot.

You let out a squeal of delight, your thighs shaking around his hips, stomach muscles clenching almost painfully-

“Fuck, John, I’m there- shit, fuck-”

Johnny shuts you up with his lips against your own, and for a second time, your orgasm hits you.

Your core clamps down incredibly hard on his cock, and Johnny groans deeply above you, fingers twitching on your clit. He keeps his pace, and a moment later, you feel his cum filling you up, coating your walls with warmth.

The feeling of his large length throbbing in your own oversensitive hole has your entire mind going fuzzy, and you kiss him like a woman lost, like a woman so completely in love that nothing else matters.

You ride out your orgasms together, until you’re both shaking. Only then does Johnny come to a stop on top of you, kisses turning to a more gentle nature as he holds you close.

“I love you,” he tells you again.

You smile, blinking up at your best friend. “And I love you.”

Epilogue

The two of you are in the kitchen cooking brunch. Johnny is pressed to your back, watching intently, asking all sorts of questions about how you cook eggs to make them so delicious and superior to his own.

“The secret ingredient is love,” you tease.

Johnny can only laugh, holding you tighter.

He’s so lost in you, that he loses track of time, and as the two of you are sitting down to eat, Soonbok walks through the front door. She stops in her tracks when she sees you, letting her little overnight bag slip to the ground.

“Oh, hi, baby,” Johnny stands up immediately.

“Hi, daddy,” Soonie says, allowing her dad to pick her up for a hug while her eyes shift to you.

“Did Sabrina’s mom drop you off?” Johnny asks, looking out the door to wave at Soonie’s friend’s mom as she drives away.

“As always, daddy,” Soonie laughs. “I didn’t know y/n was coming over.”

“Surprise,” you grin, also standing so that when Johnny sets his daughter to the ground, she can run to give you a hug of your own.

Once Soonie is done squeezing you as tight as her little arms can muster, she looks between you and Johnny. For some reason, Johnny feels his heart beginning to race, there’s a knowing in his daughters eyes.

“What’s going on?” Soonie asks finally.

“Y/N and I just had a little sleep over,” Johnny tries to explain, and the concept isn’t a new one, you sleep over frequently… in the guest bedroom.

“So…” a wicked grin appears on Soonbok’s face, “Does this mean you’ll stop trying to get me to call her auntie now?”

“What?” Johnny lets out a surprised laugh.

“You heard me, daddy,” Soonbok’s smile widens. “Does this… does this mean we’ll be a real family now?”

Johnny lets out a shuddery breath. In the years you’ve been helping raise Soonbok, Johnny has broached the idea of her calling you Auntie Y/N, as a respect thing, and his daughter has always refused. Had she seen the connection this whole time? Has this been something Soonbok has wanted ever since she was a five year old with an inquisitive mind and an even more discerning eye?

Johnny’s gaze shifts to you, and you flash him a warm smile.

“Yeah, baby,” Johnny picks up his daughter. “We can be a real family now.”

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! This was such a fun project for me, thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me to write for Chef John, he deserved his happy ending :)

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🔮 preview. The man ordering can’t see you lying on the floor of the food truck. He has no idea what’s going on- and you feel like tempting fate a little. You bring your hand to your pussy, beginning to rub yourself through your pants, adjusting the vibrator ever so slightly as it buzzes inside you. Johnny nearly drops the tomato he’s holding, quickly tearing his gaze from yours. You’ve never seen him trying to focus this hard- and failing. What had been your torture initially, has just become his own, and you kind of love it.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism (fucking in a food truck), use of vibrator while helping a customer, vibrator as a makeshift gag ball, breast worship, fucking with half your clothes on, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, big dick Johnny, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink, etc… I petnames. (hers) honey

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 230

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

You love working with Johnny. Sure, it had been rough at first, getting his food truck on its feet, but it’s been two years, and with some insanely good marketing, you’re now running one of the top trucks in the city.

It’s a joy to watch Johnny fulfill his dreams every day- his odd obsession with sandwiches of all things has only added to your connection. Watching him smile and charm guests makes your heart swell with joy, and on the rare occasion Soonie comes to do the register and take orders, it feels like you’re just one happy family.

Today, however, is a weather disaster. The forcast had mentioned light sprinkles, but cuddled next to Johnny looking out at the torrential downpour, you both feel a little bamboozled.

“You know what would make this more fun?” Johnny asks.

“Customers?” you suggest.

“Yes, but also… I got you something.” The chef flashes you a sly smirk, and you pull away from his shoulder to asses him.

“Am I going to like where this is going?” you ask.

He was single for so long- and there’d been so many sexual things he’d missed out on during that time, but the two of you are making up for it every moment you have alone. You suppose this is a moment alone, so you’re not really shocked that his mind is in the gutter.

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