#Actually that sounds great I really want that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

foreveia · 2 days ago

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take two ⤨ iwaizumi hajime

⨭ genre; fluff, idiots to lovers but like they're actually so dumb

⨭ pairing; iwaizumi x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 5.7k

⨭ descriptions; your boss has been trying to set you up with her son for months, but as it turns out at the holiday party... you've already met him before.

⨭ warnings; explicit language and dialogue, no graphic content tho, alcohol

⨭ a/n; fun little short fic to fill the fix to publish something lolol enjoy this iwa love dump as i work on my next long fic (tell me in the comments if y'all like these better)

one.

There are exactly three things you know to be true about Iwaizumi Emi:

She is the best divorce attorney in Tohoku, possibly the country.

She is the kind of woman who could negotiate her way out of murder charges and secure the victim’s house in the settlement.

She is, without a doubt, trying to set you up with her son.

You respect her. You admire her. You are, on occasion, lowkey terrified of her.

Which is why you’re currently sitting at your desk, nodding at all the appropriate intervals while she breezes through yet another pitch about why her son and you are, in her professional opinion, a perfect match.

“He’s back from Irvine for the summer,” she says, skimming a property settlement document like it personally offended her. She tosses it onto your pile nonchalantly, and you let out a short sigh because it’s just more backend filing to do and, despite your adoration for your career path and real passion towards legal work, entry jobs in the firm are mostly busy work. “I really think you’ll like him. He’s—”

You tune out. Not in an obvious way, of course—no, you’re a professional. You sprinkle in the occasional mmhmm and sounds great so she doesn’t catch on, but this isn’t your first rodeo. You’ve heard this pitch before—multiple times. Hajime is intelligent, responsible, not an idiot like some of these men out here, blah blah blah.

It’s not that you have anything against him, really. It’s just that you’ve spent months perfecting the art of dodging your boss’s matchmaking attempts, and frankly, you don’t have the energy to entertain her latest scheme.

“You’re finally going to meet him at the firm’s ball this weekend,” Emi continues, finally looking up from her paperwork, her smile entirely too satisfied.

You blink. “Oh.”

“He’s excited to meet you too.”

Now that is new. Usually, these monologues are strictly one-sided—I told him about you! and You two will get along so well! But he’s excited to meet you too? That’s an escalation. That’s a game-changer. That means he knows about you. He has an opinion about you.

You resist the urge to groan. Instead, you summon a polite, professional smile—the same one you use when dealing with particularly insufferable clients. “Looking forward to it,” you say, because what else are you supposed to say to the woman who could single-handedly end your career if she wanted to?

In reality, the only thing you’re looking forward to about the ball is the open bar. Being in your early twenties means being woefully broke, and you’d be lying if you said the thought of unlimited free alcohol wasn’t a strong motivator.

So, you strike a deal with yourself: you’ll put on a fancy dress, endure painful heels, and let Emi parade you in front of her son like a prize show poodle—all in exchange for an endless supply of pinot noir, cocktail shrimp, and, if you play your cards right, an entire bottle of champagne to sneak home in your purse.

It’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make.

two.

Because you’re an adult with an absolutely thriving social life (read: you have two friends who are willing to tolerate your bullshit after 6 PM), you, Yachi, and Kiyoko are now seated at your favorite little izakaya, wedged into a corner booth with plates of karaage and a pitcher of beer between you.

Kiyoko is talking about wedding venues. Because she’s engaged. To Tanaka. Which is objectively insane because in your head, they’re still in that “grossly obsessed with each other but pretending they’re just friends” phase, even though they’ve been together for years. The whole thing is a crime against single people everywhere, but you are supportive because your already jaw-dropping friend is somehow glowing even brighter now that she has a fat rock on her ring finger. She looks lighter, happier. She deserves it.

Yachi, meanwhile, is explaining—between delicate sips of her beer—that she’s too swamped with work to even think about dating. Which, yeah. Fair. The woman works harder than most people you know, so you respect it.

Then, as the conversation naturally shifts to your love life (as it always does, because you’re the group’s designated mess), you sigh, sinking into your seat dramatically.

“I haven’t had sex in months.”

There’s a beat of silence before Kiyoko and Yachi both roll their eyes in unison, like they rehearsed it.

“Oh my God,” Yachi mutters.

“You cannot still be caught up on GDD,” Kiyoko says flatly, pouring herself another drink.

“Okay, first of all,” you say, holding up a finger, “it is not about him. It’s just a general fact about my current state of being.”

“Uh-huh,” Kiyoko hums, entirely unconvinced.

“Second of all,” you continue, undeterred, “GDD was life-changing, and I feel like I should be allowed to mourn the lack of that level of—of excellence in my life.”

“Life-changing,” Yachi repeats, deadpan. “You hooked up with him once.”

“Yeah, and my life was changed.”

GDD—Good Dick Dude, as he has been dubbed by your dear, unsupportive friends—was a guy you hooked up with in January after a truly legendary New Year’s Eve party.

The night itself had been pure chaos. Hinata had somehow scored an invite to this insane rooftop party—one of those bougie, exclusive, if-you-know-you-know events where you absolutely do not belong but somehow manage to fake it enough to get through the door. He’d gotten a few plus-ones, which is how you ended up there, sipping champagne you definitely couldn’t afford and making out with a guy who, to this day, remains one of the most mind-blowing hookups of your entire life.

Gorgeous, buff, and dangerous with his hands. The kind of guy who knew exactly what he was doing, which, honestly? A rarity these days. You barely remember his name—something short, easy to moan—but you do remember his stupidly perfect smirk and the way he all but ruined you against the nearest flat surface.

But then the party ended, the night faded into a haze, and you never saw him again.

Which is fine. It’s fine. Really.

You’re definitely not still thinking about it.

Kiyoko takes a sip of her beer, unimpressed. “You’ve been on, what? Five Hinge dates since then? Six?”

“Seven,” Yachi corrects.

You point at her. “Exactly.”

Kiyoko gives you a long, slow blink.

“I mean that as proof that I am not hung up on him!” you clarify. “I’ve been trying, okay? But the bar is in hell. Do you know how many ‘we should get drinks’ texts I get from guys who put crypto investor in their bios?”

Kiyoko sighs. “Okay, but let’s be real—are you actually giving any of these guys a chance?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Frown. “I mean… like… conceptually?”

“Right.”

Yachi, forever gentle but devastatingly perceptive, tilts her head at you. “Is it possible,” she says carefully, “that maybe none of these guys are measuring up because you’re subconsciously comparing them to him?”

You scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”

Is it ridiculous?

Because, okay, maybe—just maybe—no one has quite lived up to that night. And maybe you’re being a little unfair to the dating pool by expecting every single guy to have that same kind of chemistry with you. And maybe you do occasionally find yourself staring at random ceilings, wondering where GDD is now and if he even remembers you.

But still. That doesn’t mean anything.

You’re pretty sure.

“I hate you guys,” you grumble, stabbing aggressively at a piece of karaage.

Yachi pats your hand sympathetically. “We know.”

Kiyoko, ever the queen of smooth topic transitions, nudges the conversation in a new direction. “Speaking of your questionable taste in men, your boss is still trying to set you up with her son, correct?”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the booth. “Unfortunately, yes. And now, apparently, he’s excited to meet me.”

Yachi perks up. “Wait, so you are meeting him?”

“At the firm’s ball this weekend,” you say, waving a hand. “It’s fine. I’ll get a little wine drunk, take advantage of the seafood bar.”

Kiyoko raises an eyebrow. “So, you’re not going to entertain the idea of this Hajime guy at all?”

You scoff. “Absolutely not.”

Yachi hums, tilting her head in that way she does when she’s about to say something devastatingly reasonable. “I mean… what if Emi’s right?”

You blink. “What?”

“What if this is it?” she says, half-teasing, half-genuinely curious. “Like, what if you meet him and he’s actually your soulmate? Imagine if this whole time, your boss has been playing the long game, orchestrating your love story like some kind of corporate fairy godmother.”

You snort. Loudly. “Right. Because that’s totally my luck.”

Kiyoko and Yachi exchange a knowing look, but they let it go.

You take another sip of your beer, shaking your head. Hajime Iwaizumi—whoever he is—is not the love of your life.

That would be insane.

three.

You had to pull out your graduate school formal gown from the back of your closet for this, but wow, you really forgot just how good you look in red.

Your day-to-day work attire consists of pantsuits and button-ups, neatly tucked into cautiously ironed trousers, so you’ve honestly forgotten how nice it is to get dressed up once in a while. There’s something about slipping into a gown that fits like a dream, sweeping your hair up just right, and swiping on that perfect shade of lipstick that makes you feel invincible. Like you could negotiate a million-dollar deal, steal the firm’s best clients, and seduce someone’s husband all in the same breath.

Not that you would, obviously.

Probably.

The venue is ridiculous in the way all law firm events are ridiculous—held in a ballroom large enough to house a small country, chandeliers dripping in gold, servers weaving through the crowd with trays of champagne and fancy bruschetta topped with fucking caviar of all things. All this just to celebrate another year of making money off people’s divorces. Incredible the way capitalism works.

You’ve barely made it through your first glass of wine before Emi finds you.

“There she is,” she croons, linking her arm through yours. She looks positively radiant in an emerald gown, diamonds at her ears, and the kind of effortless elegance that comes from winning. You’d respect it more if she weren’t actively dragging you toward your inevitable doom. “Come on, sweetheart. Hajime’s here, and I cannot wait for you two to finally meet.”

You bite back a sigh, because of course. No warm-up period, no buffer—just straight to the matchmaking. “Can’t I get a few more drinks in me first?”

She waves a hand, utterly dismissing your complaints. “You’ll like him. I know you will.”

You doubt it. But you let her lead you anyway, mostly because you know resisting is pointless: your boss has the world’s most spell-blinding smile and enough charm to always get her way. Emi always wins.

She stops near the bar, where a man stands with his back to you, broad shoulders wrapped in a sharp black suit, one hand resting on the counter as he talks with someone just out of view.

Emi squeezes your hand. “Hajime,” she calls, her voice warm.

The man turns.

And every thought in your head immediately ceases to exist.

Because standing before you, looking unfairly good in a tailored suit and sipping from a glass of whiskey like he isn’t single-handedly ruining your life, is GDD.

Good Dick Dude.

Hajime Iwaizumi is Good Dick Dude.

Your brain short-circuits. This is not happening. This is some kind of fever dream, a cruel trick played by the universe to punish you for your sins.

Hajime’s sharp green eyes land on you, recognition flickering behind them, and then—oh no.

He smirks. Like he knows exactly what’s running through your mind right now. Like he remembers everything.

Emi, completely unaware of your crisis, beams. “Hajime, this is the associate I’ve been telling you about.”

His mischievous, more than just amused smile widens. “Oh, I know who she is.”

Your soul leaves your body.

Because that voice? That voice is the same one that had whispered filth against your neck four months ago. The same voice that had laughed when you moaned his name. The same voice that had ruined you in ways you still haven’t fully recovered from.

You are going to die. Right here, right now, in the middle of this godforsaken gala.

“Hajime Iwaizumi,” he says smoothly, offering a hand. His palm is rough when you take it—calloused, strong, a stark reminder of exactly where those hands have been. His grip is firm, steady, and entirely too knowing.

You swallow, pasting on the best Oh wow, I am totally not spiraling internally smile you can manage. “Yeah,” you say weakly. “We’ve met.”

“Oh!” Emi beams, clasping her hands together like she’s just delighted by this new revelation. “That’s wonderful! I knew you two would get along.”

You let out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a strangled choke. Hajime is still watching you, head tilted slightly, like he’s enjoying this: like he can see the exact moment you realize how deeply, horrifically screwed you are. Because there is no way Emi knows. She’s too composed, too pleased. If she had any inkling that her son and her associate had met four months ago in a completely inappropriate context, she’d have you both buried in litigation faster than you could say conflict of interest.

Which means Hajime is choosing to be a menace.

God, you’re going to kill him.

“Hajime just got back from Irvine a few days ago, for the start of his summer break,” Emi continues, completely oblivious to the absolute war waging behind your polite smile. “I’ve been telling him all about you, of course.”

You almost choke on your drink. “You have?”

“Of course I have!” Emi nods enthusiastically. “She’s one of the brightest associates we have, Hajime. Sharp, diligent, absolutely ruthless in negotiations—she reminds me of myself when I was her age.”

Your lips twitch. You do enjoy being compared to the most terrifying woman you’ve ever met, so it’s really too bad that this entire situation has you currently dying inside.

Hajime hums, eyes still locked on you. “Yeah,” he says, voice dipping just slightly. “She’s definitely memorable.”

Your entire body lights on fire.

Memorable.

Oh, he’s being insufferable on purpose.

Emi sighs happily, taking a sip of her champagne. “I knew you two would hit it off.”

You want to scream. You want to throw your drink in Hajime’s face. You want to rewind time and never step foot into that rooftop party.

Instead, you just smile tightly. “Mm-hmm.”

Hajime grins at your suffering. “So,” he says, tilting his glass in your direction, “how have you been?”

You resist the urge to kick him in the shins. “Busy,” you say, voice clipped. “Working.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, that does sound like you.”

You stiffen. Hajime, you realize, is having the time of his life watching you squirm. And it’s only going to get worse.

Because Emi suddenly claps her hands together, eyes bright with mischief. “Oh! I should leave you two to chat,” she says. “Get to know each other properly.”

Oh. Oh no. Emi. Emi, please.

But before you can protest, she winks at you—winks, like she’s a fairy godmother orchestrating the perfect romance—and disappears back into the crowd.

And just like that, you are alone with him.

Hajime watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes gleaming with amusement. “So,” he says, smirking, “I see you haven’t forgotten me.”

Your jaw clenches. “You smug little—”

“You look good,” he interrupts smoothly, scanning you from head to toe. His gaze lingers, appreciative but blatantly teasing. “Red suits you.”

God, you want to strangle him. You cross your arms, willing yourself to stay calm. “You knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

He chuckles. “I had a feeling.”

“A feeling?”

He tilts his head, as if contemplating. “Well,” he says, “it wasn’t confirmed until I saw you.”

You glare. “You could’ve warned me.”

“And miss that reaction?” He grins. “Not a chance.”

You hate him. You hate that he looks so effortlessly good in a suit. You hate that his voice is still just as devastating as you remember. You hate that even now, months later, you can still feel the phantom weight of his hands on your hips, the rough scrape of his callouses against your skin, the way he had murmured just like that, baby against your ear—

You inhale sharply. Nope. Absolutely not. We are not thinking about that right now.

Hajime, unfortunately, definitely knows what you’re thinking about. His smirk is downright criminal. “So,” he says, leaning in slightly, voice low, “been a while, hasn’t it?”

You refuse to give him the satisfaction of blushing. “Oh, shut up.”

He laughs, warm and amused, and you are horribly aware that this night is only just beginning.

four.

Hajime happens to actually be a pretty intelligent and funny person, which is making it much, much harder to dodge his attempts at flirting and his mother’s attempts at forced-proximity matchmaking.

It was supposed to be easy. You were supposed to sip your wine, endure some polite small talk, and then fade into the crowd before Emi could corner you into any serious you’d make such a beautiful couple talk. But instead, you’re somehow still here, talking to him, because Hajime Iwaizumi is annoyingly easy to talk to.

Which is not fair. It’s not fair at all, actually.

He makes it look effortless, like this isn’t completely unhinged, like it’s not absolutely deranged that your boss has spent months trying to set you up with a man who has already—

You take a sip of your wine. You are not going to finish that thought.

Hajime watches you over the rim of his whiskey glass, looking entirely too entertained by this whole situation. “You seem tense.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t argue. “Hey, could be worse,” he says. “At least my mom has good taste.”

You choke on your sip, feeling the bubbles tingle in your nose and really regretting every life decision you’ve made in the last six months. “Oh, my God.”

He laughs, tilting his glass in a mock toast.

You squint at him, wary and slightly annoyed, unable to fathom how he’s not also dying at this situation. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I mean…” He shrugs, all easy amusement. “I’m just saying—this could be a lot worse. Imagine if she was trying to set you up with someone actually terrible.”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, swirling your wine. “You’re already pretty high on my list of worst-case scenarios.”

“See, now that hurts.”

You roll your eyes. “You’ll live.”

Before Hajime can respond—before you can regain any sense of control over this conversation—Emi appears out of nowhere, her eyes shining.

“There you two are!” she says, absolutely beaming. “It’s time for the first dance!”

You freeze.

Hajime—the absolute traitor—just raises an eyebrow. “First dance?”

“Yes! It’s tradition,” Emi says, already ushering you toward the ballroom floor. “Senior partners and their dates open the dance floor—it’s been that way for years.”

You dig your heels into the floor. “But I’m not—”

“Now, sweetheart,” Emi interrupts, entirely ignoring your panic, “you wouldn’t want to break tradition, would you?”

You stare at her, betrayed.

She smiles.

Oh, she planned this.

Hajime, standing beside you, lets out a quiet, amused sigh before draining the last of his whiskey. “Well,” he says, offering you a hand, “guess we should give the people what they want.”

You glare at him. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh,” he says. “That’s why you’re still holding my hand.”

You drop it immediately.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop him from leading you on to the dance floor. His hand slides around your waist, pulling you gently to the center of the ballroom; you’re struggling to ignore the far too many pairs of eyes on you two as he rearranges your arms around his neck.

And—oh, hell.

You forgot how solid he is.

His grip is firm but steady, his palm warm where it rests against your back. He moves easily, like this isn’t completely ridiculous, like your brain isn’t currently melting out of your ears.

“Relax,” Hajime murmurs.

You scowl. “I am relaxed.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah, totally.”

You hate him. You hate the way he’s looking at you—amused, interested, entirely too smug for someone who has already ruined your life once.

He leads you into a slow, easy step, and goddamn it, of course he’s good at this, too. His movements are effortless, confident. He keeps the rhythm perfectly, and you hate that you match him so well.

He tilts his head, watching you. “You’re thinking really hard about something.”

“No, I’m not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Right. So you’re definitely not thinking about how good I am at this.”

You promptly step on his foot. He laughs, and it ignites your hatefire even more.

“Asshole,” you mutter.

“I was going to say you look good tonight,” he muses, unfazed. “But now I don’t know if you deserve the compliment.”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

Hajime smirks. “Touchy.”

He spins you as the music hits a crescendo, dropping you abruptly into a dip that catches you heavily off-guard. It makes you lock your fingers tighter around his neck, and when he lifts you back up, you nearly slam right into his very, very firm chest (what the hell, is this man made entirely of protein?), face first.

“What the fuck?” you huff, a little winded. “You are actually a horrible human being.”

Hajime hums, tilting his head slightly, his eyes flickering with something too smug, too entertained. “You keep saying that,” he muses, voice low enough that it barely carries past the space between you, “but I think you just like having someone to complain about.”

Before you can deliver a scathing reply, he tugs you a fraction closer. It’s subtle, barely noticeable to anyone watching, but you feel it—the shift of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, the way your body slots against his just enough for warmth to pass between you.

Your breath catches, and it’s infuriating how he notices. How his hold tightens, like he can read every single thought running through your head and is thrilled by it.

“You’re such a dick,” you frown, shifting slightly, trying to put some space between you.

Hajime chuckles, and the sound is entirely too satisfied. His mouth is right by your ear, so you practically feel it more than you really hear it, when he murmurs, “And what are you gonna do about it?”

Your brain short-circuits.

Because that—that—is not fair.

That is the kind of thing a man should not be allowed to say in that voice, in that low, teasing rumble, into your ear, while holding you against him like this.

It happens before you can even think about it.

Before you can register that you are, in fact, in the middle of a ballroom at your company’s annual gala. Before you can process the reality that Emi is somewhere in this crowd, and she has already been insufferable about this whole ordeal.

Before any of that can hit you, you grab the lapels of his stupidly well-fitted suit, tilt your chin up, and kiss him.

It’s instant, sharp, devastating. Your hands tighten against his chest as you crash into him, and Hajime—because he is the worst person alive—immediately reacts.

One hand presses firm into your back, the other finding its way to your jaw, fingers curling just slightly as he deepens the kiss without hesitation. His lips are warm, just the right mix of soft and steady, and when he angles his head just so—his nose brushing against yours, his thumb skimming your cheek—you feel yourself sink, like he’s pulling you under and you don’t even mind drowning.

It should not be this good.

It should not set your pulse racing like this, make you forget for a single, damning second that this is the worst possible thing you could be doing right now.

But it does. And for just a moment, nothing else exists. Not the party. Not the music. Not the fact that literally everyone is watching you right now. Just the heat of his mouth, the firm press of his fingers at your back, the way he exhales sharply like he wasn’t expecting this either, but he’s not about to stop it, not for anything in the world.

And then you remember where you are.

You rip yourself away, blinking rapidly, your brain racing to catch up with what you just did.

And that is the moment you hear it: the loudest, most delighted squeal of your entire existence.

Your stomach plummets.

Because standing at the edge of the ballroom, her hands clasped together in sheer glee, is none other than Emi Iwaizumi herself. And she is positively vibrating with joy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she gushes, and the way she looks at you is the exact way someone would look at their child who just announced they were getting married. “I knew it! I knew you two would be perfect together!”

Your soul leaves your body. You stare at her, horrified. You slowly turn back to Hajime—who, because he is an absolute menace, is still standing entirely too close, still holding you just slightly like he isn’t ready to let go.

And he is smiling.

The kind of smile that says I win. The kind of smile that says he is absolutely going to remind you of this for the rest of your natural life.

You physically have to stop yourself from shoving him away.

Instead, you inhale, sharp and deep, and will yourself to stay calm. Emi is still talking. She is still gushing. And you cannot deal with whatever she’s about to say next, so before she can so much as breathe, you turn back to Hajime, seize his wrist, and drag him off the dance floor, because if you don’t get away from this immediately, you are actually going to die of secondhand embarrassment and shame.

five.

This is because of your dry spell.

Your dry spell is the reason why your entire sense of self-control and awareness have gone out the window, and the reason why, now that you and Hajime have successfully escaped the ballroom onto the balcony, he is doubled over laughing and you are actually freaking out.

“Jesus fuck,” you groan, pressing your hands to your face. The cool night air does nothing to soothe the absolute catastrophe unfolding inside your brain. “I kissed you. I kissed you in front of everyone.”

Hajime straightens, still grinning like an asshole. “Yeah,” he says, entirely too pleased. “You did.”

You drop your hands, glaring. “Fuck you, dude. You’re not helping.”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t aware I needed to.”

You let out an incoherent noise of distress.

Hajime, because he is insufferable, just leans against the balcony railing, watching you unravel like it’s the best entertainment he’s had all night. His tie is slightly loosened now, his jacket unbuttoned, and somehow, he looks even better like this—a little rumpled, a little amused, looking at you like he already knows how this is going to end.

That is actually unacceptable.

“This is your fault,” you snap, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You goaded me into it.”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so I made you kiss me?”

“Yes,” you declare, with full conviction, even though you definitely grabbed him first. “You set me up.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You really can’t handle taking the L, huh?”

“I can handle it,” you insist. “I just don’t want to.”

His lips twitch like he’s trying very hard not to laugh again. “So you kissed me against your will?”

“Yes.”

Hajime tilts his head, amused. “Interesting. Because you seemed pretty into it.”

Your jaw drops. “I—you—shut up.”

He chuckles, and God, his voice is all warm and low and pleased with himself, and you really need to get it together before you do something stupid again.

You exhale sharply, crossing your arms and shifting your focus to the city skyline instead. Sendai stretches out before you in a sea of golden lights, a stark contrast to the absolute nightmare happening in your head.

This is fine. You can recover from this. You just have to never, ever acknowledge it again.

You square your shoulders, turning back to him. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. We are going to go back inside, pretend this never happened, and move on with our lives.”

Hajime hums, considering. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna work.”

You squint. “What do you mean that’s not gonna work?”

He pushes off the railing, taking a step closer—too close, enough that you feel it again, that ridiculous, stupid warmth that shouldn’t still be there after all this time. “I mean,” he says, slow, deliberate, “you’re acting like that kiss was a mistake.”

You blink. “Because it was.”

He lifts a single eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, but it comes out way too defensive, and Hajime knows it.

He grins. You decide that you hate him.

“I’m sure,” you insist, crossing your arms tighter, like that will somehow make this whole situation less insufferable. “It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. A lapse in judgment. That’s it.”

Hajime tilts his head, thoughtful. “Okay. So if I kissed you again right now, you wouldn’t like it.”

Your entire brain short-circuits. The audacity. The unbelievable nerve.

You gape at him. “You wouldn’t.”

His grin widens. “Wouldn’t I?”

You hate how smug he looks. You hate that your stomach flips at the idea of it. You hate that you don’t immediately shut it down.

He watches your expression carefully, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, like he won’t actually do it unless you give him some kind of sign. Which is so much worse, because it means he’s giving you the chance to say no, to walk away, to end this before it can spiral any further.

But you don’t.

And that—more than the kiss itself, more than Emi’s squealing, more than the public spectacle you just made—is what finally sends you into full-blown panic mode.

You do want him to kiss you again.

You stare at him, pulse thrumming, brain caught in a violent tug-of-war between denial and desire. And Hajime? Hajime is watching you with the patience of someone who knows he’s already won.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low, steady.

You scowl. “Say what?”

“That you want me to kiss you again.”

Your jaw clenches. He’s baiting you, letting you choose, waiting for you to meet him halfway. You exhale sharply, tilting your chin up. “You’re so full of yourself.”

His mouth twitches. “Not an answer.”

“Fine,” you snap. “I want you to kiss me again.”

Hajime grins. “That’s all I needed.”

And then, he does.

This time, it’s slower, deeper, not rushed by the heat of the moment. He takes his time, like he’s savoring it, like he’s memorizing the way you melt into him. And you? You let him. Because, goddamn it, you were never winning this battle.

When you finally pull away, breathless, he smirks down at you. “See? Not a mistake.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

He laughs, pressing another quick kiss to your forehead that feels far more intimate than a casual pair of friends-with-benefits should. You, scandalized, shove him away, but Hajime just grins, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, pressing your fingers to your forehead, like that will somehow stop the ridiculous heat crawling up your neck.

Hajime hums, smug. “And yet, you’re still standing here.”

You are still standing here. You could have left, could have walked back into that ballroom and pretended this entire thing never happened. But instead, you’re here. On this balcony. With him.

You shift, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “So… what now?”

Hajime leans back against the railing. “Dunno. Guess that depends on you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why do I feel like you already have an answer?”

“Because I do,” he says plainly, in a way so nonchalant and effortless it could only be said like that by him.

You exhale sharply, tilting your head up to the sky, like the stars might have some kind of solution for this. “You know this is gonna be a thing now, right?”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “A thing?”

“Yeah,” you say, making a vague gesture between the two of you. “A thing. Emi’s gonna lose her mind. She’s probably already telling the senior partners that her matchmaking career is a success.”

Hajime laughs, the sound easy, effortless. “Yeah. She probably is.”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “I am never going to live this down.”

“Probably not.”

You squint at him. “You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”

Hajime shrugs, then reaches for your hand, tugging you forward so suddenly that you nearly stumble into him. His hands slide down to your waist, thumbs brushing over the fabric of your dress. “I could,” he murmurs, close, too close, “but we both know I wouldn’t mean it.”

You scowl. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he says, smug, “you still kissed me. Twice, actually.”

You glare. “Stop counting.”

“No promises.”

You groan, pressing your forehead to his chest in sheer exasperation. “This is my villain origin story.”

Hajime just laughs, wrapping his arms fully around you, and you hate—hate—that it feels nice, that it feels right.

“Hajime,” you say, voice muffled against his suit jacket.

“Yeah?”

You lift your head just enough to meet his gaze. “If we’re doing this, you are legally required to make it up to me with at least two fancy dates. Minimum.”

Hajime smirks, like he was already planning on it. “Deal.”

“And no getting too smug about this, either,” you squint.

He tilts his head. “Define ‘too smug.’”

You groan, shoving at his chest. “God, I hate you.”

Hajime just catches your wrist and grins, pressing a slow, soft kiss to your knuckles. “Sure you do.”

You really don’t. And both of you know that very well, because he has his mother’s spell-blinding smile and you have always been a sucker for them both.

⨭ closing; churned this out over one 3 hour writing sesh bc i got this idea in my head and had to see it through. not proofread and very very hastily written, but i like her anyway. #comment #reblog #lemme know ur thoughts mwah xoxo

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hrrtshape · 2 days ago

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PLEASE do more storytimes of ur 15 days in ur dr 😩😩 like literally talk about anything, what food did you munch on, outfits, small details of your life that anyone else would find mundane but were so important to you... yap your soul away I BEG 🙏

✶ the basics of my shift to my better cr.

◞ when i shifted : september 3rd to september 18th.

◞ my time ratio : i went to sleep in my cr at about 1 in the morning (oh, quiet !!!) and woke up around 12 am. so i'm not really sure about the time ratio. it has always been 1 hour = 1 week, but i suppose it was different. time is fake. calendars are a conspiracy. moving on.

◞ where i shifted : new york. more specifically my room !! more specifically...... my mom's penthouse in fifth ave which looked absolutely the same as my pinterest board !?!?! uh I DID check google maps to find my house, only to find out that in this reality, it's a hotel ?!?!?! so. yea. kewl.

◞ backstory stuff : so, in my better cr i am basically me. everything is the same except that like everything's amplified. like i am me, but on dolby atmos surround sound with a slight film grain, ykykykykyk? my mom has a billion dollar worth foods-company (which primarily specialised in sugar-free and sometimes gluten-free stuff). she’s like if gwyneth paltrow actually had taste, and her whole brand is “eat like a decadent queen but without the sugar crash.” my dad, who is divorced from my mom, is somehow involved in auction houses & art dealing. not in a shady way, just in a “I inherited this Monet and I suppose I should do something with it” way. he’s always at Sotheby’s, slightly overwhelmed, always one step away from getting scammed. his great-great-grandma was like...a duchess in russia, and then fled during the russian revolution. so...that's that. i live with my older brother, who is very much a VERY GOOD (and i mean very, very, very good) tech bro who parties way too much and my mom. my younger brother lives with my dad in the west village. the custody arrangement was quite literally dictated by vibe.

◞ some of my friends : as always, i scripted in lily rose depp (she isn't an actress, though). our moms were really good friends, and that's how we met. when i shifted, i did gain some memories (!!!! and they were all so kewt) that we shared. i think my favourite one was when we were 12 and walking around galeries lafayette and just trying on heels. in chanel. and dior. heels that cost more than a small car. we were 4’10 and wobbling around, but we swore we were women of the world.

oh, and the most unhinged friend situation?? blair waldorf and serena van der foocking woodsen. YEP. so my better cr WAS inspired by gossip girl, but obviously i didn't want to be stalked n all, so i didn't even bother scripting them in, but my brain did it anyways. SO. yea. i even went to blair's slumber party (but like earlier, not during this shift). it was absolutely perfect. silk sleep masks. monogrammed pajamas. a slight air of menace, because blair is blair. i respect it.

◞ about loml, coryo : soooo, i didn't get to talk to him much :( cause we were at the rivals stage of our whole....saga. but, like, flirty rivals. the type where he would look at me in class like he was plotting my downfall, and i would look back like i was considering letting him. a classic. we didn’t do much !!! sadly !!!! although he DIDDDDD put his arm around me once !!!! when i was walking to classsss.sss/s/s//!??!?!?!?!?? so. YEA. hehehehehehhehe. ALSO. watched him play basketball......which was..........definitely not an out of body experience.

more important things !!!!

◞ food : okay. very important. let’s talk snacks. the cafes in my better cr are like little jewel boxes, and they make the best hazelnut croissants known to mankind. flaky. golden. would cause riots if taken away. also, i drank so many iced matchas i swear my bloodstream was 50% soy milk. my favourite meal was this ridiculous dinner at le bernardin where my mom and i ordered like four courses and just gossiped the whole time. opulence and secrecy, baby.

talking about my mom !!! on day 7 ish we went to louis vuitton for no absolute reason, and i experienced euphoria when we walked out there with new LV handbags. no special occasion, no nothing !!! (i start rioting cause i want to be back in my dr)

◞ outfits : what i wore daily was basically........MMMM. my closet was so massive. so so so so massive. and everything, and i mean EVERYTHING from my pinterest board was there. YEA, YEA!!! cashmere cardigans, tiny skirts, knee-high socks, vintage designer. most of my weekend nights were just me changing outfits. cause. AAAAAAAAAAA !!!!!!!

◞ small details : the smell of my apartment in the morning was always coffee and expensive candles. i had a balcony, which is insane considering it’s new york, but we move. i spent most evenings perched there with a book, looking over the city like some sort of melancholic heiress.

◞ school : st. lazarus international college (i am gonna introduce this one because i swear there has never been a kewler sckewl). yeah. the most competitive, the most exclusive, the most "if you don't know someone, you simply won't get in" school in new york. my mom basically donated a library to make sure i never had to worry about a waitlist. the building looks like an old château got plucked from the french countryside and dropped onto the upper east side, except it has a state-of-the-art technology lab and a rooftop garden where people pretend to study. the halls ARE buzzing. the classrooms ARE ivy-league rigorous. the drama IS constant. the uniform IS exquisite. crisp white button-downs, navy skirts, custom blazers with embroidered crests, knee-high socks, and a distinct air of inherited wealth.

◞ classes : philosophy was my favorite. not because i actually cared about the syllabus, but because the professor was clearly going through something existential, and it was just funny to poke at his worldview with hypotheticals that made him question reality. history was a battlefield, literally, because coryo and i sat across from each other. french? easy. literature? divine. mathematics? completely unnecessary to my future, but tolerable because my notes were meticulously colour-coded.

◞ social scene : so you already know about my girl lily-rose, but there were so many more. the usual suspects: the impossibly rich, the impossibly gorgeous, and the impossibly charming. social hierarchy wasn't rigid, but it was understood. there were the future ceos, the legacy kids, the ones who summered in capri, the ones whose last names could buy small countries. my niche was effortlessly magnetic. somewhere between the literati and the scandal-makers, sipping matcha lattes while discussing nietzsche, only to abandon the conversation halfway through to plan a party. the sheer drama of it all. the only thing that mattered was that i was KEWL.

◞ parties : iconic. thrown in penthouses, brownstones, luxury hotel suites when someone’s parents were away. they started with sophisticated cocktail hours and always descended into beautifully controlled chaos. champagne in crystal coupes, whispered conversations on private terraces, someone always ending the night dramatically (usually not me, but i did have my moment.......we'll get to that later). i attended two, excluding day 12-13 when i went to athens with my friend to celebrate her birthday (it was.....very fun. believe me).

◞ moments that i'll never forget : buying my first designer bag (chloé tote), gave coryo a nosebleed (i talked about that already but you know......so...wow moment), discussed halloween with my friend group (and then shifted right before it UGH), overheard a woman complaining about the declining quality of caviar. felt like i was in a tv show. rich people are SO weird. i felt like i was in crazy rich asians.

◞ books i read during my shift (literature is important!!!) : bonjour tristesse andddddd started reading ulysses.

◞ random things that made my shift feel real : the specific way my balcony doors creaked when i opened them. the sound of a coffee being stirred at my favorite café. a pinch i gave my forearm everyday i woke up there !?!?!?

that’s the shift report, lovies. let me know what else you wanna hear, cause trust me, i could talk for hours. cause i remember EVERYTHING. not every second, but, like, every hour at least. mwah xxxxxxx and thank god for self made this method that helped me do this like yip yip hooray !?!?

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supernovafics · 3 days ago

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bestfriend!steve comforting you after a break up

wc: 875

a/n: this short thing was born because "walking in the rain" by we all together has been stuck on repeat for me currently. enjoy!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“hey, what are you doing out here?”

you were somehow able to hear steve’s voice over the heavy sound of the rain.

seeing his maroon bmw was unexpected, and if it was any other moment it would’ve been a pleasant surprise, but in this one it wasn’t because you had really just wanted to be alone.

“i’m just walking,” you answered, not stopping to walk over to his car and instead continuing your path down the sidewalk; you weren’t entirely sure where you were going, but you didn’t really mind that right then.

“walking?” steve asked, his tone incredulous and slightly amused. “it’s pouring out.”

all you could do was shrug in response because you didn’t want to say anything right then; not even to your best friend.

you hoped that would be the end of it. that steve would understand that your shrug meant that you wanted to be left alone and he’d drive away, leaving you out here walking in the rain on this random tuesday afternoon. but of course, he didn’t drive off.

instead, he pulled over and parked his car on the random street and then ran to catch up with you; his scoops ahoy uniform immediately getting soaked in the process along with his hair.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, falling into step with you.

you shook your head instead of verbally answering him because you knew that it would be too hard to outwardly lie to him.

steve looked at you, confusion and worry written so clearly across his features because he didn’t know what was up with you in this moment.

the rain hid your tears well, but it didn’t hide how puffy and red your eyes were.

“are you crying?” he asked. “what happened?”

you wiped at your cheeks with the sleeve of the jacket you were wearing, and it did absolutely nothing to help, but the action still felt slightly soothing. “i don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

“okay,” steve responded, matching your quiet tone and not pushing you further. “we can keep walking.”

and so you did. continued walking down the random sidewalk and letting the rain fill the silence lingering between you two.

until you finally did say something.

“nate and i broke up. well, actually, he, um, he broke up with me… he ended things,” you said and then you quickly continued before steve could respond. “and i didn’t want to talk about this right now. i wanted to wait until i was at least a little less sad about it to tell you, but...” you trailed off with a halfhearted shrug.

“i’m sorry,” steve told you, voice soft and hand finding yours, giving it a light reassuring squeeze.

“it’s okay.”

it was obvious that your words were a lie— there was nothing about how affected you felt by the abrupt end of this six month relationship that felt okay— but steve decided against calling you out on it.

he gave your hand another squeeze. “can we go to my car now before we end up getting sick out here?”

“okay,” you whispered and for a second, you thought that he wasn’t able to hear you over the sound of the rain, but then he was leading the way back to his car.

“i just don’t get it, y’know,” you said, voice still quiet, once you were sitting in steve’s passenger seat. your rain-soaked clothes were starting to stick to you in an uncomfortable kind of way, but you weren't really focused on that right then. “what i did wrong.”

“you didn’t do anything wrong.” the certainty in his voice surprised you as much as it managed to comfort you.

you turned to look at him, the smallest frown on your face. “how could you possibly know that?”

“because i know you and you’re great.”

his words made you smile, just a little bit, which was a nice contrast from how shitty you’d been feeling for the last hour. it was typical steve behavior, him doing anything and everything to make you feel better.

you’d been used to it from the moment you two met in third grade when you tripped while playing on the playground and he cracked jokes during the entire walk to the nurses office to take your mind off of the pain of your scraped knees.

“i never liked nate, by the way,” he continued.

“i know you didn’t,” you responded. “which is what makes this a thousand times more embarrassing.”

you knew that if you had just avoided nate like steve had suggested from the beginning none of this would be happening. you wouldn’t have been walking around aimlessly in the rain and you wouldn’t have needed your best friend to save you from your own sadness.

“do you want me to take you to your place or mine?” steve asked softly, breaking the growing quiet.

“yours,” you answered immediately. you couldn’t imagine not being with him right now— in his house, in whatever t-shirt and sweatpants he’d offer you to change into, on his couch watching bad movies until it got late and you dragged yourselves to his bed to sleep like you’d done a million times before. “please.”

steve nodded. “of course. anything for you.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst

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thatfeelinwhenyou · 1 day ago

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My dearest Yve,

I actually teared up reading this—no joke. The fact that you took the time to write such an in-depth analysis and appreciation for the little details means the world to me. It genuinely overwhelmed me (in the best way possible). So, in return, I’m going to take my time to respond to each and every one of your comments. But first, I owe you an apology for taking so long to reply... ms girl had a little detour to A&E over the weekend LMFAO (I’m fine now!).

You raised such a great point about how loud MC was when she threw the can. I actually debated whether I should keep that in, but ultimately, I left it because I felt it reflected the impulsive nature of humans. At that moment, she was starving and had risked her life to find food only to discover that it was rotten. I wanted to capture that raw frustration. The fact that this was the very first paragraph and you already caught onto such a small detail blows my mind.

YES! In every zombie film or show I’ve seen, the biggest threat is almost never the zombies. And that’s the irony, isn’t it? Because zombies were humans once. It really highlights how, dead or undead, human beings are always the ultimate apex predators.

Thank you for appreciating the comparative parallel in the nightmare line EHEHEHE

When I was planning her character, the only thing I knew for certain was that she needed to be independent. By extension, that meant making her a complete badass who doesn’t rely on others to survive. I think this also stems from her past experiences with survival groups and after being on her own for so long, she’s developed an instinct to act rather than wait for problems to resolve themselves. She’s practical and hardened by her reality, but at the core of it all, she’s still human, with fragile emotions beneath the surface.

OMG, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for noticing that none of the boys stepped in to help her! Having them swoop in to save her would have completely undermined her character. She survived almost a year alone in a zombie apocalypse—she’s not about to need a man to rescue her from one zombie. Also, “In your bed” is crazy, by the way!

THANK YOU AGAIN for noticing the fact that both the reader and MC don’t immediately know who’s speaking? That was so difficult to write during the motel sequence, but I’m so glad it paid off. And Ni-ki being that obvious? LMAO.

I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you actually take notes while reading. You are truly one of a kind, and honestly, every writer deserves a reader like you.

Even though you told me not to answer, I'm going to do it anyway. Yes, you are a freak for enjoying the scenes where she's running for her life. BUT, I am also a freak for writing them. So really, we’re just in this together.

I knew Jay was the perfect fit for the cautious character because, in my mind, he’s someone who is wise and learns from experience. I actually debated between him and Sunghoon for this role but ultimately went with Jay. Also, JAYWON.

You are so valid for saying you would’ve up and left too. Honestly, same. The only reason MC didn’t was because she didn’t want to be like the people from her last group. As pragmatic as she is, she hates being proven wrong.

So, we’re both SE Asian, Libras, AND Jungwon-biased? Shayla, tell me this isn’t fate.

AGREED ABOUT THAT TRAIN TO BUSAN CHARACTER. Had me pulling out my hair watching. The selfish, stubborn characters always survive too long for my liking. And it makes sense because If you put yourself first, you stand a better chance of making it out alive.

To clear up any confusion about how the zombies in this AU function, they rely on whatever senses are still available to them. I assume you were referring to the line “empty eye sockets seem to bore into you.” In that case, the zombie had no eyes and was relying on sound cues. Later on, I used “milky eyes” to describe those that do still have their vision. Basically, they react to whatever they can—sound, the smell of blood, movement—if something grabs their attention, they go for it!

That’s it. That’s the message. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

XOXO, Nat <3

SAFE & SOUND — part 1

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: 14k

MASTERLIST

Rotten.

The can of tuna you’ve risked your life to retrieve from the mart in the next neighbourhood is rotten. Just like everything else roaming the streets.

The smell hits you first, sharp and metallic, curling through the air like a mocking laugh. It’s only when you peer into the greyish sludge that you know for sure. Gagging, you launch the can across the dimly lit room. The clang as it hits the wall feels louder than it should, echoing against the hollow silence. A greasy smear marks its path before it rolls to a stop.

Your stomach tightens, but not from hunger—not entirely. It’s exhaustion, or frustration, or both, a familiar cocktail of feelings that churns in your gut. You press a hand to your stomach, willing it to stay quiet. The small victories matter now, even if they’re as simple as keeping quiet.

“Figures,” you mutter, wiping your hands on the knees of your tattered jeans. The word feels heavy in the thick silence of the abandoned community building you’ve been calling home—a makeshift fortress that’s only just kept you alive for the past year.

The windows are boarded up with planks you scavenged from nearby wreckage, letting in only the faintest cracks of moonlight, casting fractured shadows on the walls. The small corner where you sleep is enclosed by a barricade of furniture you've managed to tie together with ropes and scraps of cloth you’ve gathered. It’s not perfect, but it’s held so far.

Outside, the telltale groans of the undead float through the night air, mingling with the distant sound of screams and breaking glass. You’ve learned to tune it out, to pretend that the world hasn’t fallen apart.

But every so often, when the noises grow too close or too many, the illusion shatters, leaving behind a pit of fear in your stomach that no amount of fortification can fill.

You lean back, letting your head hit the wall. The cracks in the paint catch against the rough weave of your jacket, the sound gritty and small. Your mind drifts back to that fateful day, the day everything went to shit.

You’d only been living in Seoul for a month, you were barely unpacked, just starting to memorise the labyrinth of subway lines, the shortcuts to your university. University acceptance had felt like the first step towards something bigger, something brighter. You can still see your parents’ faces, lit with pride, when you shared the news. Getting into a university in Seoul—it’s like gaining instant bragging rights for life.

Except now, none of it matters. Those things out there couldn’t care less about your alma mater, whether you’re earning a six-figure salary or pulled from the gutter. To them, you’re just another meal on legs—flesh, blood, and bone all blending into the same, mindless craving.

You’d always thought you’d know what to do in a zombie apocalypse. Every movie and survival guide said the same thing:

Avoid the cities. Get out fast.

So when the news started to break, you didn’t hesitate. You grabbed a bag—essentials only—and set out, determined to make it back to your parents in the province. You didn’t even pause to think about how impossible it might be.

But the city had other plans. You hadn’t even made it ten blocks before the streets were overrun. A tide of chaos, of screams and shoving bodies—alive and not—forced you off course.

The community building was a last-ditch refuge, its doors flung open to anyone desperate enough to run for them. You’d barely made it inside before the barricades went up. It wasn’t the plan, but then again, nothing about survival ever is.

At first, it felt like a haven. There were enough supplies to keep everyone fed—if barely. Dozens of survivors shared the space, most of them too old or too scared to leave. The rations were thin, one meal a day if you were lucky, but it was enough.

You and a handful of the younger survivors took turns venturing out, gathering what you could from nearby shops and houses. It wasn’t much, but it worked.

For a time.

When the convenience store was stripped bare, you moved to the supermarket. When that was picked clean, you ventured further. Each trip took you deeper into danger, the risk growing with every step. Supplies dwindled. The fear grew sharper, harder to ignore.

People started to die—some to the undead, others to hunger, and still others to the kind of cruelty that only surfaces when survival is on the line.

You learned quickly that it wasn’t just the zombies you had to fear. You’ve seen it firsthand: the way desperation changes people.

At first, it was small things—arguments over ration sizes, whispers of distrust. But then the small petty arguments turned into fights, and fights turned into bloodshed.

One by one, people either left to take their chances elsewhere or fell victim to the chaos within. A high school student, he had barely turned eighteen, stabbed a man over a tin of peaches. A woman abandoned her own mother to save herself when the barricade was breached.

Survival strips away more than flesh—it strips away the pretence of civility, leaving only the raw, animalistic instinct to endure at any cost. It’s not just the undead that keep you awake at night—it’s the memory of what people are capable of becoming.

So when the barricade failed during a particularly viscous storm and you’d barely escaped with your life, you dragged what little you could salvage to this corner of the building, patching up the holes as best as possible. Alone, because it was safer that way.

Now, alone in the faint light of your makeshift fortress, the weight of it all presses down on you. The loneliness, the hunger, the constant, gnawing terror—it’s all too much. But you shove it aside, because there’s no room for weakness here.

Weakness gets you killed.

Your stomach growls again, insistent, and you grit your teeth. You’ll have to go out again soon. The thought sends a chill through you, but there’s no other choice. Survival doesn’t wait for fear to subside.

Taking a deep breath, you stand and reach for your weapon—a rusted crowbar that’s seen more use than you’d like to admit. Tomorrow, you’ll go out again, search for food, risk what’s left of your life to keep it from ending.

For now, you sit in the dark and listen. To the groans. To the screams. To the sound of your own ragged breathing. And try not to dream.

A loud thunk from below jolts you awake, not that you were fully unconscious in the first place. Your entire body goes rigid as you strain to listen. Another thunk. Then a scrape, like something heavy being dragged across the ground floor. Your mind races—it could be the wind, or maybe another scavenger. Or it could be them.

Your grip on the crowbar tightens as you slowly push yourself off the floor. You tiptoe toward the staircase leading down to the lobby. The wooden stairs creak under your weight as you inch down them, and you wince at each sound. They might as well be gunshots in the stillness.

Sweat beads on your forehead as you reach the landing and peer into the dark hallway beyond. Shadows shift and flicker in the faint moonlight filtering through cracks in the boarded-up windows.

The dragging sound comes again, closer this time, and your grip tightens until the ridged metal of the crowbar bites into your skin. Then, a growl echoes from the darkness. Low. Guttural. Not human.

You back up instinctively, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. Your foot catches on a loose piece of debris, and you stumble, barely catching yourself on the railing. The noise you make is small but loud enough to stir the growling into a frenzy. The shuffling grows faster, more erratic.

They’re coming.

“Shit,” you hiss under your breath, scrambling back up the stairs. You’ve rehearsed this scenario a hundred times in your head. Go to the second floor. Block the stairwell. Wait it out. It’s worked before, but something tells you this time is different. There’s too much noise, too many of them. And you’re already running low on supplies.

By the time you reach the top of the stairs, the first figure emerges into the faint light below. Its flesh hangs from its bones in sickly, yellowed strips. Empty eye sockets seem to bore into you as it lets out a chilling moan. Behind it, more shadows lurch into view, a grotesque parade of decay and hunger.

You’re out of time.

Slamming the door to the stairwell shut, you shove a heavy desk against it and wedge the crowbar beneath the handle for good measure. The door shudders almost immediately under the weight of their assault, the moans and growls growing louder with each passing second. You back away, your mind racing for an escape route.

Your eyes dart to the boarded-up windows. It’s a long drop, but there’s a fire escape just a few feet out of reach. If you can break through the boards and make the jump, you might stand a chance. It’s a gamble, but so is staying here

And if you’re being honest, you’d rather plunge to your death than be torn apart limb by limb.

Grabbing a chair, you smash it against the nearest window. The wood splinters and cracks, but it holds firm. Behind you, the door creaks ominously as the barricade begins to give way. Desperation fuels your next swing, and the boards finally snap, leaving a jagged hole just big enough to climb through.

You don’t think—you just act, hauling yourself up and out onto the narrow ledge outside. The cold night air hits your face, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside. Below, the fire escape beckons. You take a deep breath, brace yourself, and leap.

For a moment, you’re weightless. Then your hands slam into the metal railing, and you scramble to pull yourself up. Your palms sting, and your muscles scream in protest, but you don’t let go. Not when survival is so close.

Behind you, the door finally gives way. The sound of splintering wood and the enraged cries of the undead spur you into action. You don’t look back as you climb down the fire escape, each step taking you further from the nightmare above, and closer to the nightmare below.

When your feet finally hit the ground, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. But it’s short-lived. The streets are no safer than the building you just escaped. Shadows move in the distance, and the faint echo of shuffling feet reminds you that you’re never truly alone.

With nothing but the clothes on your back, you start to run. You don’t know where you’re going—only that you can’t stop. Your legs burn, your lungs ache, but you keep moving, fuelled by a singular, desperate thought: keep going. Always keep going. Because if you stop, even for a moment, it’ll all be over.

The groans follow you, relentless and hungry. You don’t dare look back. Instead, you focus on the narrow alleyways and shadowed streets ahead, praying you don’t make a wrong turn.

You finally spot a building—an auto store with its doors hanging slightly ajar. Without thinking, you rush inside, slamming the door shut behind you. Your hands fumble for something—anything—to block it, and you grab a rusted toolbox, wedging it against the frame. It feels pathetic, barely a barrier, but you convince yourself it’s better than nothing.

Your breaths come fast and shallow as you scan the room. Rows of dusty shelves cluttered with tools and car parts stretch before you, their contents untouched for what feels like decades. The air is stale and heavy, carrying the faint tang of motor oil. For a fleeting moment, the oppressive noise of the streets is muffled, and you almost feel safe.

But the reprieve is short-lived.

Voices. Human voices. Low, urgent, and drawing closer.

Your stomach twists as panic sets in, sharp and paralysing. You reach for a loose screwdriver on the floor and dart behind a shelf, crouching low. Dust clings to your clothes as you press yourself against the cold metal, willing yourself to disappear.

The door creaks open, and the toolbox scrapes uselessly across the floor. You curse silently under your breath. What a waste of effort.

Boots scuff against the ground as they enter. Voices—male voices—filter through the stale air, rough and laced with tension. “That was close, fuck.” one mutters, his voice shaking. You can hear him catching his breath, the fear in his tone unmistakable.

Looks like you weren’t the only one running from the horde that came out of nowhere.

“What the hell is The Future doing in the city?” another snaps, frustration cutting through the hushed atmosphere.

The Future...?

"They're looking for us, what else?" a third man grunts, his voice deep and gravelly.

"Talk about obsessive,” a fourth says, anger simmering beneath. “We escaped more than six months ago. How are they still trying to track us down?"

“That community… they’re worse than the dead. I’d rather take my chances out here than go back there.” Five.

“You don’t get it. They’ll hunt us down. They always do,” Six.

"I mean… We stole almost six months’ worth of supplies. And a van. I'd hunt us too." This one is a little cheeky. Seven.

"Shut the fuck up,” the gravelly voice growls. “You think this is funny?”

Your mind races. A community hunting them? You’ve heard of survivors forming groups. Hell, you were part of one. But this… this sounds different. Darker.

You press yourself closer to the shelf, your gip on the screwdriver so tight your fingers cramp. Seven men, at least—that’s how many voices you can count. Could you take them? Absolutely not.

For now, the only option is to stay hidden. You force yourself to breathe slowly, silently, and focus on their words, desperate for answers. Whatever these men are running from, you need to know if it’s worse than what’s already out there—or if it’s heading straight for you.

Just then, a faint groan slices through the oppressive silence, this one agonisingly close. Your head snaps around, heart thundering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

Right there, not more than a foot away and obscured beneath a grimy sheet of cardboard, something stirs. The groan rises in pitch, raw and guttural, as the cardboard shifts, revealing a face ravaged by decay. Skin, or what’s left of it, clings to its skull in uneven patches, and its milky, dead eyes lock onto yours with an almost sentient hunger.

You freeze, the breath hitching in your chest as time seems to slow. The stench of rot floods your senses, almost choking you, and a cold sweat slicks your skin.

Before you can react, the creature lurches, its skeletal hand shooting out with horrifying speed. Filthy, jagged nails scrape against your leg, finding purchase in the fabric of your jeans and digging into the flesh beneath.

A piercing shriek tears from your throat—raw, primal, and louder than you intend. The sound ricochets off the walls, each echo feeding the panic clawing at your mind.

Desperation surges like a tidal wave, drowning out coherent thought. You kick wildly, your boot connecting with the thing’s chest, but its grip is unyielding. The screwdriver slips in your sweat-slicked palm as you fumble to raise it, your muscles trembling with adrenaline-fuelled terror. Its grip tightens, nails biting deeper, and for a moment, the sickening thought flashes through your mind: You’re not getting out of this.

But then instinct takes over. With a desperate cry, you swing the screwdriver down, the metal driving into its skull in a sickening crunch. the sound reverberating through the stillness like a death knell.

The zombie spasms, its hand loosening slightly, but not enough.

Your vision narrows, fury and survival instinct blending into a single, overpowering force. You strike again, and again, each impact a visceral symphony of shattering bone and yielding flesh. The stench grows worse, cloying and metallic, as blood splatters your hands and face.

Finally, the creature goes still, collapsing into a lifeless heap at your feet. Your chest heaves as you stagger back, the screwdriver slipping from your trembling fingers to clatter against the floor. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the rasp of your own ragged breaths.

"Fuck," you whisper, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Your gaze drifts down to the bloodied mess staining the floor, bile rising in your throat. You swallow hard, forcing it down. There’s no time for weakness—not now, not ever.

When you finally look up, your stomach twists into knots. Seven figures stand over you, their faces obscured by shadow but their postures unmistakably tense.

One of them steps closer, the metallic glint of a pistol catching the dim light. Your breath hitches as the cold barrel presses against your temple, its unforgiving weight a reminder of how precarious your situation has just become.

"Who the hell are you?" One of them growls, his voice low and dangerous. The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken threats, as you stare back at him, your mind scrambling for a response that might just keep you alive.

You swallow hard, your mouth dry as sandpaper. “Just… just a survivor,” you stammer, your voice barely a whisper. The cold barrel against your temple makes your skin crawl, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure they can all hear it. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I’ll leave. Please.”

"Drop the act," another voice cuts in, this one sharp and impatient. "The speaker steps closer, his silhouette lean and wiry, eyes narrowed. “You think we’re stupid? You’ve been listening in.”

“What should we do with her?” someone else pipes up from the shadows. His tone is casual, but the words make your stomach drop. “She could be one of them.”

“I’m not!” you blurt, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I swear, I don’t even know who you’re talking about! I just ran in here to hide!”

The gunman doesn’t lower his weapon, his piercing gaze locked onto yours. The air is thick, suffocating, as he scans your face, searching for any hint of deceit. The silence stretches unbearably until someone else breaks it.

“There’s seven of us, and she’s a girl.” one points out, this one almost amused. His tone is light, but his eyes glint with curiosity. “Not exactly the kind The Future kept around. Didn’t they kill most of their women? Called them weak or some shit.”

"Doesn’t mean she’s not a threat," the gunman mutters, but the tension in his stance eases slightly. The barrel wavers, though it remains trained on you. "Start talking. What are you doing here?"

You take a shuddering breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. "I was running from a horde," you say, jerking your head vaguely toward the door. Your voice is steadier now, but your trembling hands betray your fear.

“Where’s the rest of your group?” he asks, his tone laced with suspicion. “How many of you are there?”

“There’s no group,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “It’s just me. I’ve been on my own for months.”

"On your own?" A man near the back crosses his arms, his posture sceptical. "That’s a load of bullshit. Nobody lasts this long alone." His blonde hair gleams faintly in the dim light, a beacon that would make him laughably easy to track in broad daylight. You wonder how someone so conspicuous has managed to survive this long, especially when they’re clearly being hunted.

"I’m telling the truth," you insist, your voice firm despite the quiver in your hands. “I’ve got nothing to hide. My place got overrun. I just needed somewhere to hide.”

“What place?” the blonde man carefully makes his way in front, crouching slightly, levelling his gaze with yours. The question hangs heavy, and you know your answer could mean the difference between life and death.

“A community building,” you answer, your voice quieter now. “It’s just down the street. I can show you if you don’t believe me.”

“Show us?” Another man scoffs. “You said it was overrun? Why the hell would we follow you to a place that’s crawling with them? Are you stupid?”

You bite back a retort, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. “I’m not lying,” you say, your voice sharper than before. “Look, I didn’t survive this long just to let a bunch of men decide whether to shoot me in my fucking head for being in the wrong place at the wrong bloody time.”

The man with the blonde hair tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he can’t quite solve. Then he speaks again, his tone quiet but firm. “Can we trust you?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you hold his gaze, unflinching, and nod once. Slowly, deliberately. For a moment, no one speaks. You can feel the weight of their stares, assessing, calculating.

Finally, a simple, subtle raise of the blonde’s hand is all it takes for the gunman to lower his pistol. The others, though still wary, seem to follow his lead. Relief washes over you, but you keep your face neutral, refusing to show weakness.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Jungwon.”

His name is Jungwon. It strikes you as a strangely gentle name—garden—yet nothing about him feels soft.

"If you’re lying," Jungwon warns, his tone like steel, "you won’t get a second chance." It doesn’t take long for you to realise—he’s the leader.

“I understand,” you reply, your throat tight. The words feel hollow, but they’re all you can offer.

"What’s your name?" one of them asks, his voice brighter but no less wary.

"Y/N," you reply. "And you?"

He hesitates before giving you a small, guarded smile. “Sunoo. And don’t get any funny ideas. We’re a small group, but we bite.”

The faint attempt at levity doesn’t go unnoticed, but it does little to ease the knot in your stomach. You nod again, glancing at the others. Their eyes still linger on you, like predators sizing up prey.

“You said there’s a horde,” Jungwon says, cutting through the moment. His tone is all business now. “Where’s it coming from?”

“South,” you say, your voice steady but curious. “Wait, weren’t you lot running from it too?” Your eyebrow arches as you ask, testing the waters.

“Don’t ask too many questions, or I might just kill you,” the same man who held the pistol to your head snaps, his tone as sharp as the glare he fixes on you. Tough one, you think grimly. Definitely not the friendly type.

“How big is it—the horde?” he demands, his words clipped and impatient. His posture is rigid, his eyes narrowing as though he’s daring you to lie.

“Big enough,” you answer grimly, your voice heavy with the weight of what’s chasing you. The memory of the mass of undead flashes in your mind—their grotesque forms, the relentless moans. You push it aside, forcing yourself to focus. “They’re close. If we stay here much longer, they’ll find us.”

Jungwon doesn’t hesitate. “Then we move,” he declares, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for debate. It’s a tone you’ve heard before in those who’ve seen too much, those who lead because no one else will. “Grab your things. We leave in five.”

You swallow hard, scanning their faces. They’re already moving, collecting bags and makeshift weapons, their movements practised and efficient. You take a breath, forcing your hands to stop shaking.

“There’s a motel north-east from here, just off the horde’s course.” you say, stepping forward slightly, trying to sound confident. “I cleared it out once when I couldn’t get back to the community building. I can take you there, wait for the horde to pass, and then I’ll be on my way.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you feel the tension in the room shift. The air grows heavier, colder.

Jungwon’s sharp gaze locks onto yours, his expression unreadable, but it’s not him who speaks. The man with the sharp tongue—the one who held a pistol to your head earlier—lets out a humourless laugh. “Who said anything about letting you go?” he says, his voice dripping with malice, as though your suggestion was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.

The silence that follows his words feels suffocating, heavier than the looming threat of the undead outside. You try to keep your expression neutral, but the knot in your stomach tightens with each passing second. Your eyes flick to Jungwon, hoping for some sort of reprieve, but his face remains impassive, impossible to read.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” you say carefully, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “I’ve survived this long on my own. I don’t need your help, and I don’t want to be in your way.”

The gunman scoffs, the corner of his mouth curling in disdain. “Bold words for someone who had a gun to their head five minutes ago.”

“Enough,” Jungwon cuts in, his voice slicing through the tension like a knife. The others fall silent, though their postures remain taut, their eyes still fixed on you. He steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate, as if gauging your reaction with every step.

“We don’t know you,” he says, his voice measured but carrying an edge of steel. “You could be useful, or you could be a liability. Either way, we’re not taking risks.”

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to stand your ground. “I’ve already told you—I’m not with anyone. No group, no weapons, no agenda. Just me. If you think I’m lying, you’re wasting your time.”

He watches you for a moment longer, his dark eyes scanning your face for cracks in your resolve. Finally, he speaks. “You’ll come with us,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ll see what you’re worth.”

Your stomach twists, the flicker of hope you’d allowed yourself extinguished in an instant. Your jaw clenches, but you nod. There’s no point in arguing—not when they hold all the cards.

“What if she’s dead weight?” the pistol-wielding man mutters, his arms crossed as he glares at you.

“Then she’ll stay behind,” Jungwon replies coldly, his eyes still locked on yours. The words send a shiver down your spine, but you refuse to flinch.

The group moves quickly, their actions smooth and practised as they gather their supplies. You take a moment to glance at their makeshift arsenal—rusted blades, a machete, a pistol with a half-empty box of ammo. It’s not much, but it’s enough to survive. Barely.

Jungwon’s voice cuts through the room again. “Time’s up. Let’s go.”

The group falls into formation, their movements synchronised, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. You find yourself in the middle, flanked on all sides, nothing to defend yourself with. Even the mere rusty screwdriver taken away from you.

Their message is clear: you’re not one of them. They don’t trust you.

As you step out into the night, the cool air hits your face, a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the room. The streets are eerily quiet, the faint groans of the undead carried on the wind. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scan the shadows, every instinct screaming at you to run. But there’s nowhere to go—not empty-handed, and certainly not without them gunning you down before you even make five feet.

Jungwon takes the lead, his blonde hair catching the faint glow of the moon as he moves with purpose. You follow closely, your senses on high alert. Every shuffle of movement, every distant sound sets your nerves on edge.

Sunoo sidles up next to you, his steps light and almost casual, though the wariness in his eyes lingers. “Don’t let Jay get to you,” he says in a low voice, his lips curving into a faint smile. “That grump always tries to come off scarier than he is. He’s actually a bit of a softie.”

Jay. The name sticks in your mind, sharp and blunt at the same time, just like the man it belongs to. You glance over at him—his posture rigid, eyes scanning the shadows like a hawk. There’s nothing soft about him now, not the way he grips the pistol or the sharp edge to his jaw as he walks a few paces ahead.

“A softie?” you murmur back, your voice sceptical. “He doesn’t look the type.”

Sunoo chuckles quietly, his expression lightening. “Oh, he’s a pain in the ass, no doubt about that. But trust me, when it comes down to it, Jay always looks after the group. Even if he’s a bit dramatic about it.”

You don’t know whether to take that as reassurance or a warning.

“Does he look after the strays too?” you ask, your tone laced with cautious humour.

Sunoo raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a playful smile. “That depends,” he says, his tone light yet probing. “Are you planning to stay a stray?”

You don’t reply, and the silence stretches just long enough for it to become uncomfortable. Sunoo seems to take the hint, letting the question hang unanswered. His smile fades slightly, but he doesn’t press further.

Instead, he shifts gears, his voice dropping low enough to avoid drawing the attention of the others. “So, this motel of yours,” he begins, tilting his head. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” you reply, keeping your voice steady, though the scepticism in his tone pricks at you. “It’s just a place I found. Empty, at least the last time I checked.”

“And if it’s not?” he presses, his brow furrowing as his sharp eyes flick to your face. There’s no malice there, just careful calculation, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re bluffing.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” you say firmly. “Like I’ve dealt with everything else.”

He studies you for a moment longer before nodding, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. “Fair enough.”

You nod back, though your attention is already shifting, your gaze flicking from Sunoo to Jungwon, before landing on Jay. He hasn’t so much as glanced in your direction since leaving the shop, but you can feel the weight of his presence, like a storm cloud hanging overhead. Softie or not, there’s no denying he’s dangerous.

This whole group is dangerous. Not just in the way they pointed a gun at your head. You’d have done the same if the roles were reversed.

No, it’s something deeper than that. It’s in the way they move together, a silent understanding passing between them. It’s in the way they trust each other without needing to speak. That trust feels foreign to you.

Distrust is second nature now, woven into every fibre of your being. It has kept you alive, but here, it feels like a barrier, separating you from the unspoken bond that holds them together. They don’t trust you, and you can’t blame them. You’re the outsider, the unknown element, and trust is a commodity none of you can afford to give freely—not for you, and certainly not for them.

The group moves swiftly through the shadowed streets, their footsteps light but purposeful. You walk in the middle of their formation, acutely aware of how exposed you all are. Every darkened alley, every overturned car feels like a trap waiting to spring.

Suddenly, Jungwon raises a hand, his entire body going still. The shift is immediate—the group halts in unison, their movements instinctive, like a well-oiled machine. Your breath catches, your heart pounding like a drum as you strain your ears. At first, there’s nothing but the faint rustling of the wind. Then you hear it—shuffling, faint but unmistakable, just ahead.

“Eyes up,” Jay mutters, his voice barely above a whisper as he tightens his grip on the pistol.

The group edges closer to the corner of a crumbling building, each step measured and deliberate. Jungwon moves first, peering around the edge with slow precision. His posture stiffens, and when he pulls back, his expression is grim.

“A group of them, about thirty, maybe more.” You feel a chill run down your spine.

“South?” Jay hisses, his sharp glare cutting through the dim light as he looks over his shoulder at you. “You said they were coming from the south.”

“They are,” you snap back defensively, lowering your voice but unable to hide the edge in your tone. “How was I supposed to know they’re crawling here too?”

Jay lets out a low, humourless laugh, his head shaking lightly. “This is exactly why we didn’t believe you when you said you survived the city all alone.”

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the rising tension. “Now’s not the time for this,” someone says—the voice calm but clipped, firm enough to settle the brewing argument. You glance towards the speaker, realising you still haven’t put a name to his face. “Why are there so many of them tonight?”

You shake your head, the unease in your chest growing heavier. “Tonight is… different,” you admit, your voice wavering slightly. “There seem to be more of them roaming the streets. It’s like something’s drawn them here.”

“Yeah, like a scream of some sort.” The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Slowly, one by one, the group turns their heads toward you.

Your stomach drops, and you open your mouth to protest, but the conversation is cut short by a sudden, guttural growl. One of the zombies has noticed you. Its milky, lifeless eyes locking onto the group as it lets out a low, haunting moan.

“Shit,” Jungwon mutters under his breath, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade.

The moan spreads like a signal, the rest of the horde turning their decayed heads in unison. Their shuffling quickens, their jerky movements laced with unnatural determination.

“Here they come,” Jay snaps, his voice sharp as he raises his pistol.

“Sunghoon, they’re coming from the back too!” Sunoo’s voice rises in alarm, his gaze darting to the rear of the group. You whip your head around, your blood running cold as more figures stumble into view behind you.

“We can’t fight them all,” Sunghoon says, panic bleeding into his usually calm tone.

For a moment, everything feels suspended—the groans of the undead growing louder, the sharp intakes of breath from the group, the suffocating realisation that escape is narrowing with every passing second. Then, with a voice like tempered steel, Jungwon breaks the paralysis.

“Move!” he commands, his voice slicing through the chaos.

The group breaks into a run, weaving through the narrow streets and abandoned cars. The sound of shuffling feet and guttural growls follows close behind, a relentless reminder of what’s chasing you.

Your lungs burn, and your legs ache, but you keep moving, driven by pure adrenaline. As you round a corner, the motel comes into view—a squat, two-storey building with boarded-up windows. Relief surges through you, but it’s fleeting. The dead are still on your heels.

“There!” you shout, pointing toward the motel. “We can barricade ourselves inside!”

Jungwon nods, taking the lead as the group sprints toward the building. Jay fires a few shots over his shoulder, each one finding its mark, but it only slows the horde momentarily.

“Go, go, go!” Sunoo yells, holding the door open as the group piles inside.

The moment you’re inside, you move instinctively, grabbing a nearby desk and shoving it against the door with Sunghoon’s help. The others pile on whatever they can find—chairs, shelves, anything to hold the door shut. The pounding starts almost immediately, a grim reminder of how little time you have.

“We can’t stay here,” says someone whose name you haven’t learned, his voice trembling as he steps back, his wide eyes darting between the barricade and the rest of the group. “They’ll break through eventually.”

Jungwon turns to you, his dark, calculating eyes pinning you in place. “You said you cleared this place before,” he says, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Is there another way out?”

“There’s a back exit,” you say, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “But it’s narrow. If they cut us off—”

“We don’t have a choice,” Jungwon interrupts. “We’ll make it work.”

The pounding intensifies, the barricade creaking under the strain. The group exchanges tense glances, their exhaustion mirrored in each other’s faces. Your palms are slick with sweat as you clench your fists, the urge to act warring with the mounting dread in your gut.

“Let’s go,” Jungwon says sharply, gesturing for the group to fall into formation. He starts toward the back, his movements quick and precise, but you grab the edge of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

“Give me a weapon to defend myself with,” you say, your voice low but firm.

“No,” he replies instantly, not even breaking his stride.

Your grip tightens, forcing him to pause. “Jungwon,” you say, your tone urgent but measured, “I can see you care a lot about your group. I also know that when push comes to shove, I won’t be your priority. If you can’t guarantee my safety, then I need something to defend myself with.”

He hesitates, his brow furrowing deeply. The pounding against the barricade grows louder, each crash like a warning bell, and you can feel the impatience bubbling beneath your skin.

“Please,” you press, your voice softening but losing none of its intensity.

For a moment, he stares at you, the tension in his jaw betraying his internal debate. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he reaches into his belt and pulls out a small, serrated knife. “Fine,” he says, his tone clipped, handing it to you. “But you stay close to me. No exceptions.”

Relief floods through you as you take the weapon, the cool metal solid and reassuring in your hand. “Understood,” you say, nodding quickly.

“Move!” Jungwon orders, his voice cutting through the noise. The group springs into action, heading toward the narrow corridor that leads to the back exit. Your heart pounds as you grip the knife tightly, your eyes darting to the barricade one last time.

The group moves quickly, the narrow corridor pressing in on all sides. Every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet feels deafening, every shadow a potential ambush. Jungwon leads the way, his blade gleaming faintly in the dim light as he keeps his focus locked on the path ahead.

“Stay close,” he mutters, glancing back at you for a fraction of a second before returning his attention forward.

The pounding on the barricade grows faint behind you, but a new sound takes its place—the unmistakable shuffle and groans of the undead echoing off the walls. The noise comes from ahead and behind, a cruel symphony that makes your stomach churn.

You’re surrounded.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you don’t even know who is speaking, all you can tell is—he’s panicking.

The group halts, frozen as the reality of your situation sinks in. Jay takes a sharp breath, glancing over his shoulder. “They’ve cut us off,” he says grimly. “We’re trapped.”

“Keep moving,” Jungwon orders, though his voice is taut with tension. “We fight through. There’s no other choice.”

As if on cue, a wave of zombies emerges from the shadows ahead. Their decayed faces twist into grotesque mockeries of hunger, their milky eyes locking onto the group. The moans grow louder, their jerky movements speeding up as they close the distance.

Raising his pistol, Jay fires a clean shot, dropping the lead zombie, but the rest surge forward undeterred.

You tighten your grip on the knife Jungwon gave you, your palms sweaty. The first zombie lunges, and Jungwon meets it head-on, his blade diving into its skull with practiced precision. Another takes its place immediately, forcing him back.

“Behind you!” you yell, spotting movement in the shadows. A zombie stumbles toward Jungwon, its bony hands reaching for him.

Without thinking, you surge forward, driving your knife into its temple before it can lay a hand on him. The impact sends a jolt through your arm, but the creature collapses instantly, its lifeless body hitting the ground at Jungwon’s feet.

He spins around, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing in acknowledgment. “Thanks,” he mutters, before plunging his blade into another.

You barely have time to catch your breath before you spot it—a narrow opening in the wall ahead, barely visible in the chaos. It’s just large enough to squeeze through, and beyond it, you can see an open street.

Your heart pounds as the thought crystallises in your mind: freedom. You could run. You could escape. You could leave all of this behind and save yourself.

The idea is tempting. The promise of survival so close you can almost taste it. But as quickly as it takes root, something stronger rises to smother it. Something within you that won’t allow you to abandon them. These people—dangerous and distrustful as they are—are fighting to survive, just like you.

Your gaze flickers back to the group. Jungwon, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision, glances back to check on Jay before taking on another zombie. Jay’s pistol rings out, his shots deliberate and controlled, his sharp eyes scanning for threats to the others. Sunghoon swings a crowbar with brute force, stepping in to shield Sunoo when he falters.

They’re… looking out for each other…?

You hesitate, the knife in your hand growing heavier with every passing second. It’s not just survival fueling them—it’s something more. Something you haven’t seen in a long time.

After everything—the chaos, the selfishness, the betrayal—you didn’t think there was any humanity left in people. Not after what went down at the community building.

You’ve seen what desperation does to people, how it strips them bare, leaving nothing but fear and greed in its wake. You can still see the faces of the ones who abandoned their own blood. The ones who took more than their share, who fought over scraps while others starved, who left others behind to die just to save themselves.

And yet, here you are, watching this ragtag group fight not just for themselves, but for each other.

There’s something different about the way they move. It’s primal, yes, but not animalistic. They swing their weapons with purpose, shouting warnings to each other, putting themselves in danger to keep one another alive—not because they have to, but because they choose to.

They’re holding on to something—civility, camaraderie, maybe hope. Or maybe it’s the uncanny refusal to let go of what makes them human, even when the world around them is anything but. It makes your chest ache, this flicker of humanity you thought was long dead.

You aren’t sure why—not entirely. Maybe it’s the look of determination on their faces. Maybe it’s that fleeting look of surprise in Jungwon’s eyes when you saved him that stays with you. The unspoken gratitude, the trust he gave you in return. Maybe it’s the fire in your chest that refuses to let you be like the others, the ones who ran when things got hard. To hold on to what little humanity you have left. Or maybe it’s something simpler: you just don’t want to survive alone anymore.

Your gaze shifts back to the horde. More are flooding into the corridor from both sides, their moans growing louder. The group is outnumbered, overwhelmed. If you leave now, they won’t make it.

Your grip on the knife tightens as the choice solidifies in your mind. The opening in the wall calls to you, but you can’t move toward it. Not when they’re still fighting. Not when leaving would mean becoming one of them.

You take a step forward instead, slashing at the nearest zombie before it can reach Jay. The creature collapses, and Jay’s head snaps toward you, confusion flickering across his face. He doesn’t say anything, just nods once, almost imperceptibly, before firing at the next target.

The path forward is a blur of movement and noise. You don’t think, don’t question. You just fight.

“Over there!” you shout, pointing to the opening. “There’s a way out!”

Jungwon’s head snaps up at your words, his dark eyes meeting yours. Something flickers across his face—something unreadable, a mix of surprise and something else you can’t quite place. He nods sharply, his voice steady even as chaos erupts around him. “Stay with me,” he orders. “We’ll make it out together.”

The group presses forward, fighting with renewed determination. You stand your ground, slashing at anything that comes too close, your heart pounding as adrenaline fuels every movement. The horde presses in, relentless, but inch by inch, you force your way toward the opening. For reasons you can’t fully explain, you stay close to them.

Jungwon moves ahead, his blade a blur as he carves through the oncoming zombies. You’re at the rear now, turning back occasionally to strike at anything that gets too close.

A zombie lunges from the side, its grotesque face inches from you before you drive your knife into its eye socket. The creature crumples, but the force of it pulls you off balance, and you stumble, landing hard on one knee.

“Get up!” Jay barks, his voice sharp but charged with urgency. He fires a shot over your shoulder, the bullet whizzing past to take down another zombie that had been closing in on you.

You scramble to your feet, gripping your knife with renewed determination. The narrow opening is only a few feet away now, and the others are already pushing through. Sunoo slips through first, then Sunghoon, the two of them pulling at debris on the other side to clear the way for the rest of you.

“Move, move!” Jungwon shouts, his voice cutting through the cacophony. He’s still holding the line, his blade flashing in the dim light as he keeps the horde at bay.

You shove Jay forward toward the opening, your pulse racing. “Go!”

With a grim nod, Jay ducks through the opening, leaving you and Jungwon alone with the horde. The zombies are almost upon you now, their grotesque moans filling the narrow space. Jungwon glances at you, his face slick with sweat and streaked with blood.

“You first,” he says, his tone brooking no argument.

“Not a chance,” you shoot back, slashing at a zombie that gets too close. The blade slices through its rotted neck, sending its head lolling to the side as its body collapses. “They need you. I’ll be right behind.”

For a moment, he stares at you, something flickering in his dark eyes—frustration, maybe, or something closer to understanding. Then he nods once, a sharp, decisive motion, and the two of you fall into a rhythm. His blade swings high while your knife strikes low, each movement synchronised as if you’ve been fighting together for years.

The opening is right there, but the horde is closing in fast. A zombie lunges at Jungwon from his blind spot, and before you can think, you shove him aside, your knife plunging into the creature’s chest. The impact sends both you and the zombie crashing to the ground, the stench of rot filling your nose as you wrestle against its weight.

“Y/N!” Jungwon’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and commanding. He pulls the zombie off you in one fluid motion, driving his blade into its skull. “Get up, now!”

He hauls you to your feet, his grip firm but not unkind, and together you bolt for the opening. The others are waiting on the other side, their faces pale and drawn but alive. Sunghoon reaches out, grabbing your arm to pull you through just as the horde slams into the debris you’d hastily piled to block the passage.

The group collapses onto the open street, panting and bloodied but alive. The sound of the horde pounding against the barricade is deafening, but it holds—at least for now.

“Everyone okay?” Jungwon asks, his voice steadier than it has any right to be. His eyes scan the group, lingering on you for a fraction of a second longer than the others.

“Barely,” Sunoo mutters, leaning heavily on Sunghoon. “That was too close.”

Jay stands a few feet away, reloading his pistol with practised efficiency. He glances at you, his expression unreadable. “You could’ve run,” he says flatly, though there’s something in his tone that isn’t quite accusatory.

You meet his gaze, your grip tightening on the bloodied knife in your hand. “So could you.”

Jay snorts, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough.”

Jungwon steps forward, his blade still clutched tightly in his hand. “We need to keep moving,” he says, his tone brisk but quieter now. “The noise will draw more of them.”

You nod, your heart still racing as you fall into step with the group. The streets ahead stretch out in shadowed uncertainty, but for the first time, you feel a flicker of something you haven’t felt in a long time. In the presence of people—people who aren’t trying to eat or kill you.

When the group reaches the edge of Seoul, where cracked asphalt gives way to gravel and the looming forest stretches into the horizon, everyone stops. The air is thick with tension, the only sounds the distant rustle of leaves and the crunch of boots on dirt. The group exchanges wary glances, but it’s Jay who breaks the silence.

“Surely she’s not coming with us back to camp,” he says bluntly, his voice cutting through the stillness like a knife. His pistol hangs loose in his hand, though his sharp gaze flicks to you with suspicion. Then, he turns to Jungwon. “We still don’t know anything about her.”

“She helped us escape,” one of them counters, his voice steady but calm. He’s tall, with an easy confidence, though his tone carries just enough weight to make Jay glance at him. “That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?”

Jay doesn’t look convinced. “It doesn’t mean she’s not a liability, Heeseung.” he counters, his voice clipped. “We’ve all seen how that ends.”

“I’m standing right here, you know,” you say, your tone flat but laced with frustration. You’re too tired to hide the edge in your voice. “If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have stuck around to help.”

“Helping doesn’t mean you’re trustworthy,” Jay shoots back, narrowing his eyes. “Plenty of people are helpful—until they aren’t. Jake, why don’t you remind Jungwon what happened the last time we trusted someone?”

Jake—leaning against a nearby tree with his arms crossed—glances at Jay before speaking. His voice is lighter, more measured, but no less pointed. “She was armed,” he says, nodding toward the knife still clutched in your hand. “If she wanted to hurt us, she’d have done it by now.”

“She practically did,” Jay fires back, his glare intensifying. “With the way she brought that horde down on us.”

You stiffen, your exhaustion bubbling over into anger. “If you think my pathetic little scream brought in a horde that big, then you must be denser than I thought." you bite out, your tone dripping with incredulity,

Jay takes a step closer, his expression darkening. “Then why don’t you care to explain why there were so many of them tonight? You said so yourself—it’s different. Something’s drawn them here.”

The accusation hangs heavy in the air, each word sharp and biting. Your chest tightens, frustration mingling with the lingering fear from earlier. “How the hell would I know?” you snap, your voice rising slightly before you force it down. “You think I have all the answers? I’ve been on my own for months. I don’t know what’s out there any more than you do.”

“Exactly,” Jay counters, his voice cold. “You’ve been on your own. No one to vouch for you. No one to trust you. Why should we be the ones to take that risk?”

You open your mouth to argue, but Jungwon raises a hand, silencing the brewing argument. “Enough,” he says, his voice calm but commanding.

“You said you’ve been on your own." Jungwon turns to you, his dark eyes meeting yours, unblinking.

You nod slowly, meeting his gaze with as much calm as you can muster. “That’s right.”

“Then why didn’t you run?” Jungwon asks, his voice softer now, though no less searching. “You could’ve left when you saw that opening.”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and weighted with meaning. For a moment, you hesitate, your chest tightening. The truth feels raw, vulnerable, but you know it’s the only chance you have. “Because I’ve seen what happens when people leave others behind,” you say quietly, your voice steady but laced with emotion. “I… was left behind. It’s not who I want to be.”

The group falls into an uneasy silence. Even Jay says nothing, though his expression remains guarded. Sunoo glances between you and Jungwon, his face unreadable. Heeseung exhales slowly, lowering his machete just slightly, his knuckles no longer white from gripping the handle.

“She doesn’t seem like a threat to me,” Sunoo finally says, his tone softer now. “Besides, what’s one more person? It’s not like we’re overflowing with allies.”

“She could slow us down,” Jay argues, though his earlier venom seems to have dulled. “What if she can’t keep up?”

“I kept up with you just fine back there,” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop.

“And she saved Jungwon. Knife to the skull. Pretty impressive, actually.” says the cheeky one you remember from the auto shop. His tone is casual, but it carries just enough humour to make Jungwon roll his eyes.

“Very funny, Ni-ki,” Jungwon says, exhaling through his nose. His expression remains unreadable as his gaze sweeps over the group.

He’s quiet for a moment, clearly weighing the risks, before finally speaking. “She comes with us, we'll figure the rest out at camp." he states firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jay mutters something under his breath, but he doesn’t protest further. Sunoo gives you a quick smile, while Heeseung offers a small nod. Ni-ki shrugs, already turning back toward the forest path.

The journey to the camp is long and fraught with silence. The group moves with practised precision, their formation tight as they navigate the dark, twisting paths that grow denser with every step. You trail close behind, clutching your knife tightly. The blood and sweat drying on your skin makes you feel grimy, but the real discomfort comes from the sharp looks Jay still throws your way whenever he glances back.

Eventually, the dense trees give way to a clearing, revealing the camp nestled among towering pines. A cluster of tents, a single battered van, and a manmade lean-to are scattered around the space, surrounded by a crude barricade of fallen logs and scavenged metal.

“Home sweet home,” Sunoo mutters, his voice tinged with fatigue as he pulls the barricade open just wide enough for the group to slip through. The camp is eerily quiet, save for the distant rustling of the forest.

You glance around, scanning the area for signs of other people, but it becomes clear that the group before you is all there is.

Weird. They don’t have much, but leaving an entire camp unattended like that is reckless, bordering on suicidal. It’s the kind of decision that makes you question their judgment.

Now you’re even more confused about your perception of these people. Are they confident? Brave? Or are they simply stupid?

It’s hard to tell.

But whatever the reason, it leaves you uneasy. Because in a world like this, confidence and bravery can look an awful lot like arrogance—and arrogance gets people killed.

“Who’s on first watch tonight?” Jungwon asks, his tone brisk and businesslike as his eyes sweep the camp.

“Jake and Ni-ki,” Heeseung replies, dropping his machete with a heavy sigh.

“Erm... both of them are already passed out over there.” Sunghoon’s voice is dry, almost amused, as he points toward the lean-to.

Your gaze follows his finger, and sure enough, you spot two figures sprawled out on the uneven ground, tangled in what looks like a half-hearted attempt at bedding. One of them is snoring softly, an arm flung carelessly over his face, while the other lies curled into himself, his back rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. They’ve managed to find the least uncomfortable positions possible in a place like this, but it’s clear they’re out cold.

Jungwon pinches the bridge of his nose, a gesture that speaks to his weariness more than any words could. “Brilliant,” he mutters under his breath, the exasperation in his tone cutting through the quiet. He looks like a man who carries the weight of everyone around him, even when he doesn’t want to.

The group shifts awkwardly, the tension thick enough to press against your chest. Your fingers twitch around the handle of your knife, an unconscious reflex as you weigh your options. You don’t owe these people anything. And yet, when the words leave your mouth, they surprise even you.

“I can take first watch, and one of you can cover me after.” Your voice is steady, but the exhaustion leaks through at the edges. You don’t offer because you feel like you owe them. No, the truth is simpler: you know you won’t sleep. Even with your body screaming for rest, every muscle and bone aching from the day’s events, your mind is wide awake. Very, very awake.

Jay scoffs immediately, the sound sharp and derisive. “Like hell we would leave you on watch alone, what if you run?”

The comment makes your blood simmer, but you clamp down on the flare of frustration. Instead, you meet his glare with a level stare. “Jay, I’m really not in the mood to argue with you,” you say, your tone firm but not aggressive. “If you don’t trust me, then you can take first watch with me.”

The challenge in your voice is unmistakable, and it hangs in the air between you like a taut string. Jay’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze hardening as though he’s deciding whether to call your bluff. You hold his stare, refusing to back down, even as the silence stretches.

Your heartbeat drums in your ears, but you keep your expression steady, determined not to show weakness. You don’t know if they’ll ever trust you, but you’ve survived too long to let someone like Jay intimidate you now.

Jungwon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose again, as though trying to contain the growing tension in the camp. Finally, he lowers his hand and looks at Jay, his expression firm but calm. “I’ll take the first watch with her,” he says, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Jay’s mouth opens, likely to argue, but Jungwon cuts him off with a sharp look. “Get some rest. We’ll need everyone at least awake tomorrow.”

Jay clicks his tongue but doesn’t push further. Instead, he mutters something under his breath and stalks off toward the fire, dropping onto a log with a pointed lack of grace. The others disperse as well, settling into their makeshift bedding or sitting quietly by the fire. Jungwon turns to you.

“Come on,” he says, motioning toward a ladder tied to the side of what looks like a precariously constructed watchtower. “The view’s better up there.”

You follow him, gripping the ladder tightly as you climb. The watchtower, built from scavenged wood and tied together with ropes and wire, creaks slightly under your combined weight but holds firm. When you reach the top, you find a narrow platform with a rough wooden railing. From this vantage point, the camp feels small, a fragile sanctuary surrounded by endless darkness.

Jungwon settles near the edge, resting his blade across his lap as he scans the treeline. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are sharp, constantly moving as though anticipating the worst.

You sit a few feet away, your knife still in hand, though you’re not entirely sure what good it will do against the night. For a while, neither of you speaks, the silence broken only by the distant rustling of leaves and the faint crackle of the fire below.

“Do you always volunteer for shit the rest doesn’t want to do?” you ask, breaking the quiet.

Jungwon glances at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not always. But someone has to do it. Might as well be me.”

You nod, your gaze drifting to the dark forest beyond the barricade. “You don’t trust me either,” you say, your voice quiet but not accusatory. It’s a statement, not a question.

He doesn’t answer right away, his eyes fixed on the horizon. When he does speak, his tone is measured. “It’s not about trust. Not entirely. It’s about knowing what people are capable of when things go bad.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Yeah. I’ve seen what people are capable of.”

Jungwon glances at you again, his expression softening just slightly. “What… happened?” he asks, his voice low, as though he knows it’s a loaded question but is willing to bear the weight of it.

You hesitate, the memories clawing at the edges of your mind, threatening to drag you back into a place you’d give anything to forget. Frankly, you don’t want to answer. You don’t even want to think about it. But the past has a cruel way of lingering, forcing you to confront it over and over again, like an open wound that refuses to heal.

“The community building,” you begin slowly, the words bitter on your tongue. “It was supposed to be safe. A place where people worked together. Where we helped each other survive.”

“At least, that’s what we told ourselves. But things changed when the supplies started running low. Suddenly, it wasn’t about helping each other anymore. It was about who could take the most, who could get out alive.” You pause, your fingers tightening around the knife in your hand as the images flood your mind. The arguments over food, the mistrust that spread like rot, the way desperation revealed the ugliest parts of human nature.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the words spill out, raw and jagged. “I watched people turn on each other. Families. Friends. People who’d shared meals, shared stories, who’d promised to have each other’s backs. They fought over scraps. They left others behind without a second thought. And when the barricade fell… when the dead came through…” Your voice wavers, and you clench your jaw to steady it. “They didn’t just leave the weak behind. They trampled them. Used them as bait. Anything to save themselves.”

Jungwon doesn’t say anything, but his gaze remains fixed on you, his expression unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s judging you, pitying you, or just listening. Maybe it’s all three.

“I’d like to think the ones who made it out remember that place the way I do,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. “But I don’t think they do. I think they tell themselves it wasn’t their fault. That they had no choice. Maybe they’re right. But I had to see it, and I have to live with it.”

Jungwon watches you carefully, his expression unreadable but not unkind. After a moment, he asks, his voice low and steady, “Is that why you choose to survive alone?”

The question cuts through the quiet night, striking a nerve you hadn’t realised was exposed. You hesitate, your gaze falling to the dark ground below. “Maybe,” you admit softly. “It’s easier, I guess. No one to rely on. No one to disappoint you. No one to leave you behind.”

Jungwon doesn’t say anything immediately, but his silence feels deliberate, as though he’s giving you space to continue. You exhale slowly, the memories pressing against your chest like a weight you can’t shrug off.

“When you’re on your own, the only person you have to worry about is yourself,” you say, your voice hardening slightly. “If you make a mistake, you pay for it. If you survive, it’s because you earned it. There’s no one else to blame, and no one else to lose.”

Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t waver, and there’s a gravity in his eyes that makes you feel exposed. “But it’s also lonely,” he says quietly, as though he’s not asking but stating a fact.

You swallow hard, the truth of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. You don’t answer, but the silence between you speaks volumes. Jungwon shifts slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he speaks. “Not everyone would’ve made it out of that and kept going,” he says quietly. “Most people would’ve given up. You didn’t.”

You blink, his words catching you off guard. They’re not exactly comforting, but there’s a sincerity in them that makes your chest tighten, like a wound you’d forgotten you were nursing.

“I don’t know if that’s something to be proud of,” you admit, your gaze fixed on the dark forest beyond the camp.

“It is,” Jungwon says firmly, and there’s an edge of conviction in his tone that makes you glance at him. “It means you didn’t let it break you. And that’s harder than most people realise—keeping yourself from going insane. Stopping yourself from letting this fucked-up excuse of a world swallow you whole. You didn’t give in, and that counts for something.”

You study him for a moment, his face lit faintly by the moonlight, his blonde hair swaying lightly in the night breeze. His expression is calm but resolute, as though he’s been through his own version of hell and come out with his soul intact.

You’re not sure how to respond, so you don’t. Instead, you let his words sit with you, their weight lighter than the memories they’ve momentarily displaced.

“You’re not as rough around the edges as Jay seems to think,” he says after a while, his tone lighter now. “But you’re not like the others either. You’ve got... fight in you.”

You glance at him, arching an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He smirks. “Take it however you want.”

“But that’s not what we do here,” he continues. “If someone falls behind, we don’t leave them.”

You turn to him, searching his face for any hint of deception, any sign that this is just a comforting lie. But his expression is earnest, his eyes unwavering.

You’ve been on your own for almost six months. You don’t even remember the last time you had a conversation this long with anyone. Words, when they did come, were usually short, functional—commands barked at yourself to keep moving, or fleeting exchanges shouted during desperate encounters.

This, sitting and talking, feels foreign. Unnatural.

It’s not that you haven’t come across other survivors. You’ve met people. Survivors who had extended a hand, offered you a place in their groups. Some seemed kind, others desperate. But you rejected them all. Trust is a luxury you can’t afford, and joining a group means opening yourself to betrayal, to risk. You’ve seen what people are capable of when the stakes are life and death. Better to keep moving on your own than rely on someone who could turn on you at any moment.

Still, sitting here with Jungwon, his calm voice cutting through the quiet night, you find yourself oddly enjoying it.

“Must be exhausting, caring about people.” you say, a faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

Jungwon chuckles softly, the sound low and almost foreign in the stillness of the night. “It is,” he admits, his gaze flicking briefly to the camp below. The firelight dances across the faces of the others, who are finally beginning to settle down for the night. “But it’s worth it. At least, I like to think it is.”

You watch him for a moment, the corners of your mouth quirking slightly upward. “Did you know each other? Before?”

“Yup,” he says, leaning back against the rough railing of the makeshift watchtower. The faint moonlight softens the hard edges of his face as he speaks, his tone lighter now, touched with nostalgia. “Childhood friends. I’d just started university, and they wanted to come check out the campus. It was supposed to be a quick visit.”

He pauses, his gaze drifting toward the dark expanse of trees surrounding the camp. “We just so happened to be together when everything went to shit.”

The simplicity of his words doesn’t mask the weight they carry. You imagine the scene—an ordinary day, plans for the future barely set in motion, torn apart by chaos. You wonder if he thinks about how different things might’ve been if the timing had been just slightly off. If he’d been alone, or if they hadn’t been there together.

“Lucky, I guess,” you say quietly, though the word feels wrong in your mouth. Luck doesn’t feel like it belongs in this world anymore, not when it comes with such brutal cost.

“Yeah,” Jungwon replies, his voice softer now, almost like he’s agreeing and disagreeing at the same time. “Lucky.”

“What happened?” you ask cautiously, sensing the weight of his memories but curious nonetheless.

He exhales slowly, the breath heavy with remembrance. “We started out as a big group—most of the faculty ended up holed up in the auditorium. We thought we’d escape the initial chaos for the time. But someone got bit early on and hid it from the rest of us. They turned in the middle of the night. It took out half of us before we even knew what was happening.”

You swallow hard, the familiar pang of loss and horror creeping into your chest. “And the rest of you?”

“The seven of us, plus a few others, managed to get out alive,” he says, his voice tinged with a faint bitterness. “We thought our luck had turned when we ran into a group of people in military uniforms. They had tanks, rifles, the works. We thought we were safe.”

“That was The Future, wasn’t it?” you ask, recalling the name you’d overheard the others mention earlier.

Jungwon’s gaze sharpens, his expression darkening. “Do you really not know anything about The Future?”

You shake your head slowly, a knot of unease forming in your stomach. “No. I’ve been on my own for months. I’ve seen groups, but nothing that sounds like what you’re describing.”

Jungwon leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice lowers, taking on a colder edge. “They’re not a group. They’re an organisation. Big. Made up of military personnels who went rogue when they realised the government couldn’t control the outbreak, and high profile politicians started to abandon the people to save themselves.”

Your stomach twists uncomfortably, the weight of his words sinking in. The idea of a well-organised, militarised group with no one to answer to makes your skin crawl. “And you escaped from them?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

He nods, his jaw tightening. “Barely.”

“If they’re so strong,” you press cautiously, “why did you leave?”

Jungwon’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze dropping briefly to the dark ground below before lifting to meet yours again. “Their way of surviving… it’s messed up,” he says, his tone grim. “It isn’t about helping anyone—it’s about control. They take what they want. Supplies, people, anything they think they can use. If they decide you’re deadweight, just another mouth to feed, they won’t hesitate to…” He trails off, the unspoken words hanging heavy between you.

Your throat feels tight. “Is that why Jake said they’d gotten rid off all their women?” you ask tentatively, the memory of Jake’s earlier comment sharp in your mind.

Jungwon’s expression darkens further. “Not all,” he corrects, though the words do little to ease the growing unease in your chest. “Just those who, to them, served no purpose. And not just women. Children. The elderly. Anyone with a disability, or even someone who was sick—whether it was visible or not. If you couldn’t pull your weight or be useful to their ‘mission,’ you were as good as dead.”

Your stomach churns, bile rising in your throat. “That’s not survival,” you say quietly, your voice shaking slightly. “That’s—”

“Evil?” Jungwon finishes for you, his tone bitter. “Yeah. It is. They hide it under words like ‘efficiency’ and ‘necessity,’ but it’s just cruelty. That’s why we left.”

You can see the weight of the memories in his eyes, the lingering shadows of everything he’s seen and done to survive. For a moment, the silence between you feels suffocating, the distant rustle of the forest doing little to break the tension.

“How many of you escaped?” you ask, though you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re all that’s left.” he says simply, his voice carrying the weight of names and faces you’ll likely never know.

He leans back against the watchtower railing, his shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of the past has settled there. “We’ve been running ever since. Trying to stay ahead of them. Trying to survive without becoming like them.”

The knot in your stomach tightens further. The apocalypse had already stripped the world of so much—life, hope, humanity—and now it seemed to have given rise to something even worse.

You glance down at the camp below, at the group who had been wary of you, who still didn’t fully trust you. Yet despite everything, they’d chosen to leave a place like that behind, to hold onto something resembling morality.

“Must’ve taken a lot,” you say quietly. “To leave. To fight back.”

“It did,” Jungwon replies, his voice steady but tired. “But if surviving means losing everything that makes us human, then what’s the point?”

His words linger in the cool night air, settling deep into your bones. For the first time, you realise that you and the group aren’t so different after all. Just ordinary people, barely on the cusp of adulthood, thrust into a world that demands you play the role of protectors. Not because you’re ready, but because the ones who should have been there to protect you failed. Now, all you have is each other, forced to fill the gaps left behind by the people who should have kept you safe.

"But why are they still trying to hunt you down?" you ask, the question slipping out before you can think twice. It lingers in the air between you, heavy with curiosity and unease.

Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his gaze shifting to the dark treeline beyond the camp. For a moment, it seems like he might not answer. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Because we didn’t just leave,” he says, his voice low and edged with something darker—regret, perhaps, or anger. “We took supplies. Food, medicine, weapons. Enough to give us a fighting chance out here. To them, that’s unforgivable. They don’t see people. They see assets. Resources they think they own.”

You feel a chill crawl down your spine as you process his words. “You think they’re after the supplies you took?”

“It’s not just about the supplies,” Jungwon replies, his tone grim. “It’s about control. We embarrassed them. Made them look weak. To The Future, that’s worse than losing anything physical. If they let us go, it sets a precedent. It shows people that they’re not invincible, and then what is to stop others from doing the same?”

Your stomach churns. “So they’re chasing you to make an example of you.”

“Exactly,” he says, his voice colder now. “They want everyone to know what happens when you cross them. And they won’t stop until they get what they want.”

The weight of his words settles heavily in your chest, the reality of their situation sinking in. It’s not just survival they’re fighting for—it’s freedom from a force that refuses to let them go. You glance back at Jungwon, his expression calm but laced with something harder, something forged by experience.

“How long have you been running?” you ask softly.

Jungwon exhales, the sound low and tired. “Almost six months,” he admits, his gaze fixed on the treeline.

There’s a pause before he continues, quieter this time, as though saying it aloud makes it more real. “Although… we think we might have lost them. For now. But we’re always ready to keep moving. Always looking over our shoulders.”

“Every time we think we’re safe enough to settle down, they find us,” he murmurs. “Like an obsessive ex-girlfriend, you know?”

The analogy catches you off guard, and you chuckle despite the seriousness of the conversation. It’s a strained laugh, but genuine—a brief flicker of something human in the midst of everything bleak. “The kind that won’t take a hint?”

Jungwon huffs a small laugh of his own, though there’s no real humour behind it. “Exactly.” He glances at you, a shadow of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Except this one’s got a lot more firepower.”

That explains it. Why they were so willing to leave the camp unattended, why they carried more supplies on their backs than they could possibly need. It wasn’t out of carelessness or greed—it was strategy. They packed light enough to keep moving, but just heavy enough to make sure they wouldn’t have to stop.

Everything they did was calculated, preparing for the worst. Ready to run at a moment’s notice if the situation demanded it.

Ready to disappear without a trace.

The fire below flickers, its faint glow casting long shadows across his face. For a moment, you see the weariness behind his sharp exterior, the cracks in the armour he’s built to protect himself and the people he cares about.

“You said tonight was different—you said there were a lot more of them than usual. Why did you think that way?” Jungwon asks, his tone low and measured, though his eyes flicker with unease.

You hesitate, chewing on your thoughts. The question pulls at loose threads in your mind, unravelling memories of the streets you’ve come to know too well. Images flash behind your eyes—the empty alleys, the shifting shadows, the silence that stretches too long before it breaks. You’ve always trusted your gut, and tonight, it screamed louder than ever.

Something is wrong.

“The city is… unpredictable,” you reply carefully, the words slow as you try to make sense of the thoughts swirling in your head. “Some days, the streets are empty. You might see the occasional horde passing through. They linger for a bit before something else catches their attention—a noise, a movement, anything that draws them away.”

“But hordes… they’re creatures of habit,” Jungwon listens intently as you continue, his brow furrowed, tension tightening his posture. “The noise they make keeps them together, pulling in the surrounding stragglers to join their little marching band. It’s a cycle. And that’s what makes them manageable. You can figure out their patterns, track the way they move, and avoid them if you’re careful.”

“But tonight, though…” You pause, the words lingering on your tongue like a bad taste you can’t quite spit out. “It wasn’t just one or two. It felt like they were coming from everywhere. Every direction.”

Jungwon’s gaze flickers to meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. His expression hardens, the flicker of dread in his eyes matching your own.

“Like someone put them there.”

The words hang in the air, thick and heavy. As soon as you finish, the thought sends a chill down your spine, settling deep in your chest. The silence stretches between you both, tense and oppressive, as the weight of the implication sinks in.

The idea that someone—anyone—might be capable of coordinating something so horrifying is almost impossible to comprehend. Almost.

“Do you think it was deliberate?” you ask, your voice quieter now, as if afraid to hear the answer.

Jungwon exhales slowly, his expression hardening. “Truth is, we don’t know for sure. We were in the city earlier, scouting for car parts to fix up the van. That’s when we thought we ran into members of The Future. But one thing about them—they don’t fuck with the cities. They stick to the communities near their base, taking whatever they need—supplies, weapons, fuel. They think the cities are too dangerous, too unpredictable.” His words hang in the air for a moment before he continues, his voice darker now. “But the way the hordes moved tonight... it felt like someone wanted them to sweep the area.”

The thought settles over you like a heavy fog. “But you don’t think it’s them? The Future?”

Jungwon shakes his head, though the hesitation in his expression is hard to miss. “It’s not their style. They don’t deal in chaos—they deal in control. And releasing hordes into the city? That’s reckless. Dangerous, even for them.”

“If it wasn’t them...” you start, but your voice falters.

Jungwon’s gaze sharpens as it meets yours, steady but grim.

“Then it’s someone else."

You sense that the weight of the conversation is more than you can handle for the rest of the night, and you know Jungwon senses it too. The quiet lingers between you, heavy but not unpleasant, the kind that almost invites you to leave the darkness of your thoughts behind.

“Should I go wake Jake and Ni-ki up for their shift?” you suggest, breaking the silence. You’re not sure whether the talk with Jungwon has helped ease some of your inner turmoil or if the sheer exhaustion from the day’s events is finally catching up to you, but your eyelids are growing heavier with every passing second.

Jungwon shakes his head slightly, his voice calm and even. “I’m actually just going to keep watch for the night. You can turn in if you’re tired.”

You blink at him, his words jolting you back to focus. “What?” you ask, disbelief lacing your tone. “In that case, we’ll take turns. There’s no way I’m leaving you up here alone the entire night. I can only imagine what Jay’s got to say when he wakes up tomorrow and finds out.”

Jungwon’s lips twitch, and then, to your surprise, he laughs—a genuine, unguarded laugh. The sound is startlingly warm, almost foreign in the bleakness of the night. For a moment, it feels like the world around you isn’t as broken as it really is.

“Fine,” he says, shaking his head in mild amusement. “You can rest first. I’ll wake you in an hour.”

His words carry a gentleness you hadn’t expected, and it throws you off balance more than you’d like to admit. You study his face—the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the faint trace of a smile still lingering.

You hesitate, your exhaustion pulling at you, but the lingering sense of distrust—of everything, not just him—roots you in place. “You sure?” you mumble, your voice heavy with fatigue.

“Yeah,” he says with a faint nod, his eyes scanning the dark forest beyond the camp. “I’ve got it.”

“Alright,” you finally agree, leaning back against the railing and letting yourself relax just a fraction. “But don’t forget to wake me.”

“I won’t,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost reassuring.

The weight of the day presses down on you like a blanket, and despite your reluctance, you feel your body begin to give in.

Leaning back against the rough planks of the watchtower, you close your eyes, telling yourself you’re just resting them for a moment. But the distant rustling of the trees, the faint crackle of the campfire below, and the steady presence of Jungwon beside you lull you into a state of half-awareness.

At some point, you shift unconsciously, your head tilting until it finds something solid—warm. You’re too far gone to realise what’s happened, the exhaustion dragging you under.

masterlist | part 2 - warmth

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

notes from nat: i'm adapting a new form of writing specifically for this setting. i think i mentioned before how i struggle describing present moments over writing thoughts and monologues. lo and behold, turns out an apocalypse au is all about the present moment... i'm taking this as a challenge and honestly don't have high hopes. but i sincerely appreciate the read from all of you! things will start picking up in the next part~

perm taglist. @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @catlicense @bubblytaetae @mrchweeee @artstaeh @sleeping-demons @yuviqik @junsflow @blurryriki @bobabunhee @hueningcry @fakeuwus @enhaslxt @neocockthotology @Starryhani @aishisgrey @katarinamae @mitmit01 @youcancometome @cupiddolle @classicroyalty @dearsjaeyun @ikeucakeu @sammie217 @tinycatharsis @M1kkso

taglist open. @sungbyhoon @theothernads @kyshhhhhh @jiryunn @strxwbloody @jaklvbub @rikikiynikilcykiki @jakesimfromstatefarm @rikiiisoob @doublebunv @thinkinboutbin @eunandonly @wilonevys @sugarikiz @jellymiki @adoredbyjay @rebeccaaaaaaaa @baedreamverse @bamguetismee @flwwon @l1s0ro @st4rgirl1235

#thatfeelingwhenyou love mail! 💌📫#tfwy moot moot

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lovelylittlegrim · 2 days ago

Text

Paint it Black

Steddie (Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson)

pre-relationship - 1.4K words - no warnings

———————————————————————

“I like when you paint your nails.”

Eddie startles at the sudden sound of Steve’s voice, even with how softly he spoke. It’s been quiet for a while between them, a movie playing in the background that they’ve both seen before, the voices just muffled ambiance.

He looks up to find Steve staring at him. “What?”

“Your nails.” Steve holds up his own hand, wiggling his fingers like maybe Eddie will understand better if he sees what Steve’s talking about. “I like when you paint them.”

Eddie looks down at where he’s been steadfastly applying black nail polish to his right hand, it’s harder than doing his left but he’s had a lot of practice and he’s damn near perfect at it these days. The layer is even, glossy, not a smudge to be seen.

“Uh, thanks,” he says slowly, unsure what else there is to say. He peeks back at Steve through his bangs.

Steve hums and drops his hand back to the couch, he continues to watch Eddie even though Eddie’s finished.

“Do you want me to paint yours?” Eddie doesn’t know why he’s asking. He’s never seen Steve with painted nails before and… he can’t imagine it when he thinks about it. Steve in his crisp blue jeans and his clean polos, black on his nails. It would look so out of place. Like some dirty part of Eddie rubbed off on him. Tainted him.

“Yeah,” Steve says.

Eddie blinks. “What?”

“You can paint them, it’s not like anyone else will see.” Steve slides off the couch, joining Eddie on the floor at the coffee table. He drops his hands on the stained wood and splays his fingers. “I’ll take it off before my shift Thursday.”

“You’re serious?”

“Why not?” Steve gives a single shoulder shrug, a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. “It’s not the first time my nails have been painted.”

That makes Eddie pause. “It’s not?”

“Robin paints my toes whenever she sleeps over. They’re probably still purple actually, I haven’t bothered to take it off, not like anyone sees my feet.”

“Oh,” Eddie huffs at the mental image of Steve with his face coated in a face mask and lotion, his bangs pulled up in a little rubber band and Robin painting his toenails every color of the rainbow.

Actually, it’s kind of cute. He wants to see Steve like that.

“So,” Steve drums his fingers on the table. “You gonna paint them?”

“Yeah,” Eddie pulls lightly on one of Steve's hands, drawing it closer to himself. “Don’t move.”

Steve doesn’t. He sits quiet and still, watching Eddie work without complaint. When Eddie’s done he leans back to inspect all of the nails, wiping at an edge here and there to clean it up, uncaring that he’s staining his own thumbs. When he’s satisfied he leans back in and lightly blows at the paint.

Somewhere above him, Steve’s throat clicks, and Eddie glances up at him through his lashes curiously.

“You’re much better at it than Robin,” Steve says after a beat. “She gets it all over my skin, doesn’t even try to clean it up.”

Eddie laughs, air puffing right out of his lungs. “I’ve met Robin so I’m really not surprised.”

He picks up one of Steve’s hands, turns it left and right to make sure he sees the paint from every angle, and makes sure there are no rough patches or opaque spots he needs to go over. He doesn’t know why he cares so much about it looking good, Steve’s just going to take it off in less than twenty four hours.

He drags his thrums lightly over one of Steve’s knuckles and then lets go, his fingers curling in on themself. “All done.”

Steve holds his hands up, fingers spread to see Eddie’s work. “It looks great.”

And it does.

Eddie grins as he twists the polish closed tightly and stuffs it back into his bag. He watches with something close to fond amusement as Steve very carefully settles back against the couch, hands on his knees so he doesn’t touch anything until the paint is well and truly dry. Eddie settles next to him, his own hands already dry enough to not cause a problem but he mirrors Steve and they watch the rest of the movie, making snide little comments about the acting and the plot.

He doesn’t let himself think about the feeling of Steve’s warm hand in his or the feeling of Steve’s eyes watching him so intently.

It’s not good for his health.

—

It’s two days later before he finally sees Steve again, the movies in Eddie hand already grievously late. Robin will chew him out but he knows Steve will waive the late fees with a stern waggle of his finger like a disapproving parent and tell him to do better next time. He’s so dorky, Eddie doesn’t know how the guy was ever cool in highschool except… Well, he does, because even now Steve is annoyingly good looking, better looking in Eddie’s opinion. More rugged even though he’s still so put together, confident in different ways and funny.

The bell jangles loudly when Eddie enters family video.

Robin looks up, eyes narrowing instantly. “You're late, Munson.”

Eddie winces. “Please accept my most humble apology, I was otherwise inconvenienced on the eve of these returns.”

“You mean you forgot until Wayne told you this morning.”

“Yeah.”

She snorts and holds her hands out for the videos. When Eddie gives them to her she says, “I better not have to rewind them.”

Eddie thanks Wayne over and over in his head for having the forethought to do that before forcing Eddie into Robin's clutches. “They are.”

“They better be.”

Eddie takes his time browsing the stacks of tapes. He knows what’s here, he spends most of his time bothering Steve and Robin but Steve’s on break in the back and he wants the chance of seeing him before he leaves.

It’s another ten minutes of staring at Night of the Comet before the door to the back opens and Steve strolls out. He spots Eddie instantly and Eddie grabs the movie he’d been stalking with and heads for the counter.

“Hey,” Steve grins. “You finally returned your movies.”

He holds his hand out for the new tapes and Eddie goes still. His eyes wide as he takes in Steve’s hand.

“Your nails,” Eddie says, ignoring all semblance of a greeting. “They’re still painted.”

Steve glances down at his hands, laughs a little quiet and awkward. “Yeah, does it look weird on me?”

“No.” Eddie thought that it would. That Steve, perfectly put together Steve Harrrington, would look tarnished and sullied by Eddie with the black paint. That he would look tainted by all that Eddie is but… “I like it.”

“Oh,” Steve grins, drags Eddie movie choices closer to ring them up. “Me too, it’s kinda like having you around even when you’re not here.”

Eddie swallows hard. “Yeah.”

It’s just a little splash of black paint, but it makes Eddie want impossible things just to see it still there. He wants more of himself on Steve. His clothes, his rings, himself. He wants to cover Steve in the things that he loves, show everyone that this pretty and perfect boy is something that Eddie Munson treasures.

“Will you paint them again?” Steve asks without looking at him.

“I’ll paint them anytime you want,” Eddie says honestly. He hands over a few crumpled bills to pay as he remembers how easy the moment between them had been. How quiet and perfect. He would probably do anything for Steve Harrington and he’s not even embarrassed to admit that.

Steve’s smile is soft.

“Thanks,” he says and then holds the tapes out to Eddie. He glances over his shoulder at Robin who is doing her best to pretend she’s not watching them. Steve huffs and turns back to Eddie, lowers his voice and leans a little across the counter. “How about tonight?”

Eddie glances back down at Steve’s still perfect nails then up to Steve’s face, his dark eyes watching Eddie just as intently as they had two days ago. His nails don’t need to be touched up yet. “Yeah, I’m free.”

“Great,” Steve says, hand brushing Eddie’s as he hands over a receipt. “I'll see you later?”

“Yeah, yes, I’ll be there,” Eddie stumbles over the words.

When Eddie leaves his head is a mess of want and confusion and hope. So much hope.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fanfics #paint it black #nail polish #kinda wanna do a second part but idk #LLG writes

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genderqueerdykes · 3 days ago

Note

I'm going to start throwing a tantrum if the popular leftist YouTubers keep saying Trans Women when talking about the effects of Trump's policies that very much can and do harm and kill trans men. Like I don't get it? What is the point of specifying trans Women every time they talk about broader trans issues? Do they even realize they're doing this?

this is a really good ask, thanks for taking the time to say it! that makes me really glad i don't watch anything even remotely political or related to queer topics on youtube. i'm not sure how other people can do it, it's entirely too stressful and it's way more common than not that people just end up getting sucked up into petty drama instead of talking about the queer experience or helping other queer people.

i have to be honest to god about this behavior: it's virtue signalling mixed with genuine trans(andro)phobia. the vast majority of it is straight up just virtue signalling and it's old as fuck. it is super obvious and i have no idea how people think they're doing anything good by behaving this way. this is a way for people to make Themselves feel better because they're patting themselves on the back for being sooooooooo progressive and sooooooo good to trans women. people want to look like a great ally to transfems without actually being one.

it's fucking annoying as hell and it's being done on purpose to show that that person doesn't give a singular shit about trans men or anyone else and is literally just sucking up to trans women in the hopes of gaining brownie points and looking more progressive. like it's glaringly apparent that people think that trans woman is the only way to be trans, can we call this bullshit for what it is? "trans person" does NOT mean "trans woman". if you want to specifically talk about trans women, just say that. don't do this weird thing where you're like "oh this is gonna affect trans people!" and then immediately say it as trans women.

trans women are not the only trans people. fucking stop this behavior. you are doing this on purpose. you are leaving out trans men on purpose for the sake of trying to look progressive and like you care about trans rights. all you're doing is proving that you are transphobic af and are only doing this to either suck up to trans women, or for trans women to intentionally erase trans men and completely leave them out of the conversation. like sometimes it IS trans women doing this and we HAVE to call it out. trans women can and do participate in transmasc erasure. we have to pretending that trans women can't hurt trans men, transmascs, nonbinary people, genderqueer people and all other kinds of trans people.

i 100% agree with you. if we're talking about trans issues in general why do people ONLY say trans women and that's it? i don't know how to say it any other way than transphobic legislature hurts every single trans person. every single one. masc, femme, both, something else altogether. all of us are affected. what about genderfluid people? what about bigender people? what about transfems who aren't women? what about agender people? what about transneutral people?

trans does not mean "Trans women and trans women only". stop this behavior. we GET it. you wanna LOOK like you care about trans women. we GET that you want to suck up to us for Progressive Brownie Points. like people really think we can't see this shit. people really think that we cannot tell that people are pandering to us just so they can pat themselves on the back for looking like they care about trans rights. we can fucking see that you're doing this to try to get the transfems in your life to think highly of you while you're not actually helping them at all.

i need people to understand that transfems and trans women are aware of how fucking phony this shit sounds, even when it's coming from other transfems and trans women. like we are nowhere near as dumb as y'all think we are. i honestly find it really fucking nasty that people think that trans women are too dumb to tell when people are just sucking up to us to try to make themselves look better. if you ask me, this behavior is just as transmisogynistic as it is transandrophobic, exorsexist and just transphobic in general.

you can't leave out every other single trans person for the sake of trying to gain rights for trans women. it's all of us, or none of us. leaving other trans people out of the discussion will not make trans womens' lives better or easier. we don't want this. stop it.

#asks #feedback #answers

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247-diaperboy · 3 days ago

Text

Friends house

Story of high school friends reunited after several years of not seeing each other.

Max had been my best friend when i was young. We stayed friends all though eliminatory school and high school. After graduation, we went our separate ways. He went to college on the west coast and i went to college on the east coast.

He went to school studying to work in cooperate finance. He wanted to be a cooperate vice president of finance for a big compony. He was ambitious and determined. I had a feeling that he would succeed.

I went to law school and graduated from law school. I prepared for my bar exam. I decided to start my own law firm. It was silly but I wanted to try to make a go of it. I actually kept my day job. Just in case.

My law firm did take off. I was able to get clients. I developed a reputation. I was still young and could make a life for myself. I would have money. I had a purpose. That was what i wanted.

Max too was going up the letter. He got a job in an accounting department at a fairly well-known company. He was able to move up to mid-level management. Then he was offered vice president of finance after his predecessor was moved up in position.

We had tried to keep in touch after we graduated. We had for a little while. We talked on the phone and email. Then we got busy and had our own lives. We tried to keep in touch, but it did not work.

It seemed we had moved on. We were in a different place. Our lives no longer intertwined. Over time we were fine with it. We were so fine with it that we did not notice that we were apart. It was not a major factor in our lives.

I made a comment on his social media page. He wrote a response. I followed up with a response of my own. Then he commented. We ended up having a long conversation on his wall. The conversation moved from his social media page wall to messenger. We had quite the online conversation. It went on and on for quite some time.

After a time, I got a call. I answered my phone. “Hello this is matt. I said. "Matty its Max.” he said. I was thrilled to hear from him. We ended up talking on the phone for an hour in a half. It was like old times.

We ended up talking on the phone back and forth. we had numerous phone calls. He had suggested that i come visit him and stay over for a week or so. I did not think that he would really happen. I was pretty sure that he did not think it would happen either. I said, sure that sounds great. We did continue to talk about it.it seemed like a pipe dream. It hardly sounded like something that would really happen.

He kept talking to me about coming to visit him. Over time it became a real possibility. We decided that we were really going to do it. We made arrangement for me to come see him for ten days. I would stay with him in his home.

I held out my enthusiasm at first. I refused to get excited. Then as we cemented our plans, I got more and more excited. Then as i got closer to my vacation, I got really excited. I wanted to see Max again. I knew that Max wanted to see me.

I worked my last day before my vacation. I had packed though out the week. After I completed my last shift before the vacation, I went home and finished up the packing. I went to bed and the next day I got ready to go.

A friend of mine drove me to the airport. I was there in plenty of time. Until I actually boarded the plane, I still did not totally feel that it was real. As the plane neared the airport near Max, I knew that indeed this was really going to happen.

The plane touched down. We were allowed to disembark. We got up from the plane. I was exhilarated as I departed from the aircraft. I looked for my friend. After a few seconds of canvassing the area, I found him.

I walked over to him. I gave him a great big hug. I got in his car, and we headed to his house. We arrived. He took out his grill. We got caught up on what we had doing. We reminisced about our crazy activities as a kid. We laughed a lot.

It was like no time had passed. We both had a lot of fun. I was enjoying myself. I could tell that he was as well.

After a long day of hanging out and catching up, we were both tired. We both decided to call it a night.

“Hey, I am going to have you stay in the guest room. It is the first bedroom up the stairs to your right. Max said. “Oh ok. Sounds good. I answered. “I have another request. I was taken a back. I had no idea what this ‘request’ was. “What is this request? “I asked.

“I want you to wear a diaper to bed. “A diaper?” I asked. “Yes. I waterproofed the bed but just as a precaution, I want you to wear one. I was totally shocked. I was not expecting that.

“A diaper? Really max! I have not had a problem with bed wetting sense i was eight. I don't have any problem with incontinence. I assured him.

“I remember your issues when you were younger. I have not seen you in a while. I think it is a wise precaution knowing your history Matty.

I did not want to fight with him over this. This was his house. I agreed. We went upstairs. He took out a diaper. I pulled down my pants. I took off my underwear. I laid on my back on the bed. He put a diaper under my bum. Max pulled the diaper up between my legs and fastened the tapes. As strange as it may sound, I slept great.

I woke up. I had not peed myself. I hoped maybe I would convince him that I am fully potty trained and wearing a diaper is really not necessary. I woke up and went downstairs. He was making breakfast.

“How did you sleep?” he asked. “I slept great. I told him. I noticed he was wearing a diaper. I asked why are you wearing a diaper?

I wear diapers at night now. It feels so good. Did you soil yourself?” he asked. “No i did not. “I said.

“You should. It feels so good. “He said. I was stunned. After breakfast he asked me to help him take off his diaper. We went to his room. I took off his diaper. It was really wet. I threw it away.

He told me it would be a shame to waste a diaper. He told me to pee myself. I tried and tried. I could not do it. He told me to relax. He told me to picture a toilet. He told me to tell my brain it was ok to let go. Finally, the urine leaked out. It felt weird. It also felt good. I liked it.

That night he suggested we sleep in the same bed. I liked that idea. We laid in bed.

Neither of us was gay. We both liked girls. We had had girlfriends. We were both busy with careers, so we were not dating as of late. We were one of those friendship where we made people wonder. We did not care.

We hung out all week. We played basketball. We ran together. We watched tv and movies together. At one time he leaned on me. I put my arm around him.

One night we cuddled. I hated when the vacation was over. He came to visit me a few months later. We continue to correspond. I started to wear diapers at night. I wet my diaper at night. I wore regular underwear in the day. I never had an issue. However now I had an entire stock of diapers in my bedroom.

Max and I kept in touch. He started his own compony in my town. Eventually we decided to move in together. We sleep in the same bed. Are we a couple? It is not clearly defined at least not yet.

#diaper community #diapered boy #diaper regression #fiction #bed wetting #diaper friends

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flwrkid14 · 1 day ago

Note

I was reading the two posts about Tim's Christmas list, and just thought of the Bat Family noticing how happy Tim is.

Maybe Damian sees the new brushes and asks why Tim has Stephanie's things?

"Oh no, those aren't her's. They're mine. Danny got them for me cause they were on my list. I've needed a new set for a few years, but I only remember when I'm on a mission and needs to use them. Isn't he so sweet? And he got me really good quality ones, too!"

Or Jason mocking Tim for finally getting new hoodies. And instead of huffing or quipping back, Tim just brightens. Smiling in a way Jason's never seen.

"Danny got them for me! They're so soft. There's some of my favorite gifts from him! It's honestly nice to have new clothes that aren't formal. I'm so happy he read my list." And kinda just bounces away.

Maybe Bruce asking if Tim finally got new cups for his office?

"Danny's so sweet, isn't he? He found my list for Christmas and decided to get me a few mugs and thermoses. It's great I don't have to worry about accidentally cutting my mouth open again." 😊

Or Stephanie (who was injured on patrol and Tim's Nest, with apartment on top, was the closest place she could get to.) commenting on the fact that Tim has a lot of blankets, pillows, and plushies.

"Danny got them for me for Christmas I love how soft and warm everything is. He even found a plushie of a sleeping ghost! It's weighted, has a heating feature, and is made of glow in the dark fabric. Matter of fact, almost all the plushies and blankets he got me were weighted! Just like I had written on my list. They make me feel so loved. After all, he wants me to feel warm and safe, what's more considerate than that?"

Cass looks for Tim, knowing he's staying in the manor overnight because of a gala the next day. She hears music coming from the bathroom, but the light isn't on. So she goes in to turn it off, just in case Tim accidentally left it on. Only to see that there is a light on. A music box made to look like a record player spinning a vinyl, projecting blue light to look like you were underwater. Tim was in the bathtub, with the music box on the rim.

After the kerfuffle of them realizing Cass walked in on Tim taking a bath, and Tim getting dressed quickly, Cassandra asks him where he got it? It's cute and sounds really nice.

"Oh, it's a gift from Danny. He gave me it for Christmas. He knows I like cute things like that. And it's nice to listen to. He even got me this cat eared fluffy hairband for when I do my skincare or makeup! So cute, right?" 🥰

And slowly, all of them realize they never got Tim what he wanted. They try to justify it by saying he put tech on the list, but they look back through past lists and realize Tim changed his list because no one ever got him what he put on the list.

omg, I love your take on my posts! Your writing is so good! And you're absolutely right—the batfamily realizing their oversight and coming to terms with is such an interesting angle to explore! I like the way you went about it, especially all the times Tim kept mentioning the items were from his list!!

That said, I also wanted to address something that a lot of people were frustrated about when reading my original post.. many were upset with the family for not reading Tim’s list, wondering if they lost it or ignored it on purpose. I realize I didn’t provide enough context on my post for how the list actually functions!

The christmas lists in the batfamily aren’t necessarily meant to be followed to the letter—they’re more of a reference in case someone doesn’t know what to get. For example, Damian’s interests are pretty well known (art supplies, things for his animals, weapons), so most of the family can buy him something without needing to check his list. But for someone like Alfred or Bruce, where their preferences might be harder to pin down, the list serves as a guide.

With Tim, the family assumes they already know what he likes. They don’t think they need to check his list because, in their minds, they already understand him. So they keep giving him things they know he uses—cameras, electronics, hard drives—without realizing he already has more than enough. It’s not necessarily neglectful; it’s just a blind spot.

Danny, on the other hand, actually looks at the list. Not only because he wants to get Tim the best gifts possible, but because he lives with him. He sees what Tim already has in abundance and what he’s been meaning to get for himself but keeps putting off. That’s why his gifts are so thoughtful—he pays attention in a way the others don’t.

I hope this explanation helps clarify things for those who were confused or frustrated!!

#thanks for the ask <3 #I kept seeing people pissed off at the bats and realized my mistake oops #hopefully this makes it a little more understandable!

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hackfixation · 2 days ago

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rewatching episode 1

1) something about the detail of Mark swapping out his watches drives me mad. They're not even allowed a single *hint* of their external personalities. It's just a decal watch, but thats enough for it to be contraband

2) "You look hungover" Mark S. knows nothing about his outie, so this comment from Ms. Cobal is definitely a form of emotional manipulation.

3) This show really hits right in the feels of being an office employee

4) So much blue in this series. Blue is associated with calm & tranquility, a type of peace. On the other hand blue can also be associated with order, superstition and depression. Also associated with Medicine & Tech

5) "I've wanted to pummel mark myself bit I'm his employer" "one part of your orientation that mark can't possibly derail" Manipulative af. Scapegoating & Underminding Mark.

6) "Every time you find yourself here it's because you chose to come back" Mark S. sounds so dissociated while saying that line. As if he's tried to convince himself of it.

7) Imagine if he had hit Helena, the fucking shit show of a news circus. "Maybe his innie influenced him subconsciously?!"

8) Devon and Mark have such a great sibling dynamic, I love it

9) The Severance "Dinner" Talk is such an awkward and succinct display of College Educated Liberal-Progressive political conversations. They can easily discuss a topic in vague terms "Life & Food" but the minute you confront them with actual corrections "No one would've called it ww1 as ww2 hadn't happened yet", Mark wasn't questioning his intelligence but the look the man gave suggested that he took it that way. Plus the minute it's revealed he's severed through someone "outting" him, everyone stares at him as if he's something fascinating or horrifying. They care about the optics, ethics and politics of his lived experience than about him. "I stand by you with no reservation" yet lists all the reasons why its controversial? "So well said" "I definitely stand by mark" meaningless commentary, nobody there actually *cares* about Mark ( besides Devon ) because they're all just performing compassion

10) THEIR SIBLING DYNAMIC IS SO AMAZING

11) Ricken is so hard to describe. The actor captures that balance between well-meaning & self-aggrandozing liberal so well? Hes caring & compassionate but completely not reading social cues.

12) Racecar means something but couldn't tell ya

13) PETEY!

14) "Sorry, I had to drown out the memory of mom & dad switching out our beds when we were kids" I love these two so much

15) "Hi, Kids Whats for Dinner" Good try at the sleeper agent bit, Petey

16) "I'm your best friend, you're my very good friend" Love this line because if a stranger told me that, I would be mildly offended lowkey.

17 ) The Ms. Selvig reveal. Even if shes not severed, still a commentary about who we are in our personal lives vs our work lives.

#severance #severance spoilers #severance season 1 #ep 1 #god i love this show #mark scout #mark s #helena eagan #helena e #devon scout hale #devon #ms selvig #ms cobel #the dinner scene #rant #rambles #thoughts while watching

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prettyboykatsuki · 2 days ago

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cw for the most longwinded and insane discussion of psuedocest and caleb and mcs relationship in lds.

MY THOUGHTS ARE SUBJECT TO CHANGE !!!!!!!!!!!!! but for now...

MAJOR CW FOR PSUEDOCEST AND SPOILERS FOR CALEB CARDS

like. not only is caleb being a siscon integral to his characterization - it also crucial to understanding what is actually going on in their dynamic because when you remove the familial context (and, in turn, remove calebs sole reason for being KJDSHJDS) none of the conflict of the story will feel meaningful or make any sense

calebs and mcs relationship is run of the mill traumatized sibling codependency. the amount and the extent in which the both of them emotionally rely on each other is reinforced in the myth where it affirms that caleb is basically fucking winter solider and that if mc had the chip in her she would end up with a similar obsession about protecting him.

but caleb has harbored a stronger desire for her since forever.

and MORE than that , i do not think his desire for her genuinely conflicts with his interest in acting as her older brother.

so much of the conflict caleb experiences is about wanting to maintain the image of protection and strength in order to make sure mc never feels completely out of depth and keep himself as a safe space in her life. he makes a promise in her bond as to not restrain her. his priority has always and will always be her family. acting as her dependable gege is something caleb goes to great lengths to do

this is proven again by their hidden waves card where he doesnt want mc to see him sick. he cant be sick, cant show weakness. because he wants her to continue to depend on him for as long as they are live. he wants to continue to be the person she relies on.

the distorted nature of their relationship exists because for calebs desire to monopolize mc and continue acting like her gege are not at odds INTERNALLY. rather, he is under the correct impression that expressing that to mc would alter her already fragile connection and feelings about family.

WHICH IS WHY THE CONVERSATION THEY HAVE IN THE MAIN STORY CAPTIVE BIRD - WHERE CALEB EXPLICITLY SAYS THAT IT WAS MCS MISTAKE TO THINK HE WOULD KEEP ACTING AS HER GOOD OLDER BROTHER IS SOOO DKJFHSJD !!!

thank you mao for the translations on that for affirming the psuedocest in it AND the tragedy in it.

based on all of that and the way i see it - i think the underlying sexual tension is probably something that has existed in their relationship for a long time. something that mc has probably felt but somewhat willfully chosen to overlook or acknowledge because of what it would mean . to what capacity she has understood it is imo still up for debate

TO ME........ i think this is about a willingness to the accept that distortion. the intentional cruelty in deying to mc that he was ever gege in the first place. i do think that this is of course partially because of his frustration over his feelings but also a way for him to make mc confront their relationship more head on. mc sees it a denial of their bond and i think this will require resolving at some point

but because i think caleb knows even better than mc that mc could accept A LOT from caleb simply because of who he is to her. but its not what he wants. he wants HER as she is. to have all of her.

to act as both. to be everything to her she is to him. in order to do that, i think he probably first intends to make mc conscious of him this way. forcefully because its the only way she'll really get it and come to him of her own volition and accept what has probably existed between them for a long time

i think this is also an act of mercy on calebs behalf. because i think it would genuinely be easy for him to get what he wants out of mc on the guise of acting as her brother only. i think it is knowing that he chooses not to do that and instead goes so forcefully in making her aware of him and his desires. i know that sounds insane but for now thats how i see it.

its a matter of caleb wanting to be both her gege and everything inbetween. above and below.

SORRY AND I AM INSANE .

#aristotle.txt #a.caleb #psuedocest cw #incest cw

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lapisnotlazuli · 3 days ago

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Calling Lapis fans/defenders "gooners" is insanely closed minded of people. Steven Universe is a show where things aren't black and white because it is written realistically. Just because someone takes the time to understand or defend a character doesn't mean they just like the character for their looks.

Lapis was used over and over again. First she was put in the mirror and used that way, then by Peridot and Jasper as a source of information, then by Jasper in a fusion. She never even wanted to be part of a war, she got caught up in one and it took thousands of years to escape.

Jasper was abusive and it's implied/can be assumed she was physical with Lapis on the ship (if anybody wants I can go into detail on this). Lapis had one chance to save Steven. She didn't want to be used again and she snapped back. Jasper was fully ready to use her, Lapis was reacting in a fight/flight mode. Sure she WAS by the ocean but could she really summon the water before Jasper hurt/shattered her and went after Steven? In a life or death situation you don't think logically. Her first instinct wasn't even to fight, she tries to run and Jasper grabs her. Maybe there were other solutions but it mainly feels like victim blaming. Jasper was ready to use Lapis for power and Lapis knew this. Lapis very much just reacted. Why does she have to be a perfect victim to Jasper's force/abuse? Why do people forget how logic can fly out the door in a life or death scenario? Sure she could have done things differently but SU writes her realistically, people being abused don't always make the prettiest choices.

Once Lapis got to Earth, she had a day before another gem who used her (Peridot) started to try to be her friend. She just wasn't ready for that. Peridot sorry might have felt genuine from Peridot's POV but to Lapis it just sounded like "sorry I used you but you were just really useful lol". Apologies with a "but" often feel so half hearted and like the situation was actually just the receivers fault. Of course, Lapis shouldn't have yelled or broke the tape recorder but she had tried to just say no earlier. She didn't go straight to yelling like people act like she did. She was pushed past a point and snapped. Both gems in this episode could have handled it better.

Putting that aside, they become great friends later and are close!! However there's only about a year between this and her finding out the diamonds were aware of Earth. She didn't have time to heal in that year- no human would and a year is almost nothing to gems. She wanted to keep Peridot safe, that's why she tried to take Peridot with her. Even though Peridot wanted to stay, Lapis was too scared to. She snapped at Peridot because she was scared for herself and Peridot. Peridot was era 2, she would have never known the war like Lapis did. Of course, yelling and taking the barn wasn't the right thing but it is not black and white. Judging based off future and the end of S5, they talked and Lapis most likely apologized.

Lapis did do things wrong but she still isn't a bad person. The fandom seems to think someone has to be perfect to be a good person but the truth is noone is perfect.

She could've done things differently and she could've done the "right" thing several times but she grew and changed after her choices. She came back to help defend Earth- she came back to Peridot. I wish people didn't just hate her to make another character look better. Lapis is a good person who was used over and over again, of course she had some flaws. But at the end of the day what matters is the nuance of the situation.

I will always defend Lapis because people never take more than 5 seconds to understand her. Black and white thinking is far to common especially in this fandom.

#written by lapis's number one fan #steven universe #lapis lazuli #lapis su #lapis steven universe #lazuli rambles #steven universe meta #tw abuse mention #<- just in case #jasper steven universe #peridot steven universe #btw it is so immature to go “oh you like lapis? haha gooner”#like stand ur ground at least

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whenhypen · 22 hours ago

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falling for you, this is for you

jake x gn!reader, 1087 words playlist - blossom by enhypen, fallin’ by dawn content warnings: established relationship, fluff, small amounts of skinship, one mention of reader being compared to a “disney princess” but it’s not really gendering the reader and is more for comedy.

(masterlist)

author’s note: this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written! please give feedback and suggestions (positive or negative), so I can improve. I tried my best to not include the reader having a specific gender or race to keep it inclusive, but please let me know if there are gendered terms or things that could elude to race!

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the park as cherry blossoms fell in the gentle breeze. It was Valentine’s Day, and Jake had been looking forward to this moment all week. He had meticulously planned every detail, wanting to make it special for you. As he reached the park, he took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

You were already there, sitting on a bench under a flowering cherry blossom tree, petals fluttering around you like delicate pink snowflakes. Jake’s heart raced at the sight of you. You looked so perfect, focused on a book. He approached you quietly, not wanting to interrupt.

“Hey there, Valentine!” he said, a playful smile spreading across his face.

You looked up, your eyes lighting up. “Jake! You made it!” You closed your book and stood up, giving him a warm hug. He wrapped his arms around you, feeling the comfort of your presence.

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he replied, pulling back to look at you. “Ready for a fun day?”

“Absolutely! What’s the plan?” you asked, curiosity sparkling in your eyes.

Jake grinned, his excitement bubbling over. “First, picnic time! I packed some of your favorite snacks and a few Valentine’s Day goodies!”

Your eyes sparkled with joy. “You really thought of everything, didn’t you?”

“Only the best for you,” he said, winking. Jake led you to a cozy spot on the grass, where he had laid out a checkered blanket adorned with heart patterns. As you both settled, he pulled out a basket filled with heart-shaped sandwiches, strawberries with chocolate (STRAWBERRY WITH CHOCOLATE), and cookies decorated with pink icing.

“This looks great!” you exclaimed, your mouth watering.

“I’m glad you think so!” Jake said, handing you a heart-shaped sandwich. “I made sure to include everything you love—no mayo, just how you like it.”

As you both enjoyed the picnic, you talked about everything and anything. Jake loved hearing your laughter, especially when you made fun of his attempts at “cooking.”

“I mean, who knew heart-shaped sandwiches could be so… avant-garde?” you taunted.

“Hey, it’s called creativity!” he hit back, giggling. “I’m basically an artist.”

After finishing the picnic, Jake asked, “How about we take a walk around the park? I heard there’s a cute pond nearby with some Valentine’s decorations.”

You nodded, eager to explore. As you walked, side by side, the gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and the sound of laughter from nearby children filled the air. Jake felt a sense of peace, enjoying the simple pleasure of being with you.

When you reached the pond, you were captivated by the sight. The water sparkled under the sunlight, and ducks paddled lazily across the water’s surface. You leaned over the bridge’s railing, eyes wide with wonder.

“They’re so cute!” you exclaimed, pointing at the ducks. “Look at ‘em!”

Jake chuckled, his heart swelling at your enthusiasm. “They are. Wanna feed them?”

You nodded eagerly, and Jake reached into his bag, pulling out some bread he had brought (don’t actually feed ducks bread! It causes digestion problems. feed them quinoa instead). He tore off small pieces and handed them to you. Together, you tossed the bread into the water, watching as the ducks quacked and splashed around, eagerly eating the treats.

“This is so much fun!” you laughed, your joy infectious. “I feel like a Disney princess!”

“Just wait until the squirrels start singing,” Jake joked, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Then we’ll know we’ve made it.”

After a while, you both decided to sit on a nearby bench, enjoying the view of the pond. Jake turned to you, his expression serious for a moment. “I’m really glad we could do this together. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

You smiled, cheeks turning warm.

As the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a pink-golden hue over the park, Jake suggested, “How about we take a few pictures to remember today?”

You agreed enthusiastically, and he pulled out his phone. He snapped a few candid shots of you, capturing your laughter and the way the sunlight danced in your hair. Then, it was your turn to take pictures of him. You playfully posed, making silly faces that made him laugh.

“Okay, now let’s take a serious one!” you said with a mock-serious expression, trying to stifle your giggles. Jake straightened up, putting on his best model face, and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter again.

“Seriously, though,” you said, wiping your tears of laughter from your eyes. “This day has been perfect.”

Jake smiled, his heart swelling with happiness. “I’m glad you think so. I wanted it to be special for you.”

As the sun began to set, the hues of orange and pink turning blue, you both settled back onto the bench, the warmth of the day wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. The park was starting to quiet down, the sounds of laughter fading into the distance.

“Do you remember our first Valentine’s Day together?” you asked, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Of course! We were so awkward,” he chuckled, recalling the memory. “I think I tripped over my own feet trying to impress you.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “And I spilled juice all over your shirt! I thought you’d never want to see me again.”

“Never! You were too charming for that,” he replied, his voice softening.

You looked up at him, your heart fluttering at the genuineness in his eyes. “You make everything better.”

As the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, Jake took a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I know today is about celebrating love, and I just want you to know how much you mean to me.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jake,” you echoed.

As the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, you both sat in comfortable silence, hand in hand, knowing that this day would be etched in your hearts forever. The cherry blossoms continued to dance in the gentle breeze, a beautiful reminder of the bond you have.

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siryouarebeingmocked · 18 hours ago

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That list.

This just sounds like a dude who's kinda feminine. I've noticed that a lot of people seem to think being gender-non-confirming is the same as being enby.

Which seems kinda sexist, actually.

Given how most of these are from non-European cultures, gotta wonder if this particular thing is related to the revived Noble Savage idea.

...Ancient Greek Mythology? Really?

This just sounds like extremist Christianity. Like conversion therapy.

Ironic that the list Tena linked to included a Christian sect.

Assigned gender at birth = bad, assigned gender at some indeterminate later point = good?

I'm sorry, isn't this what pro-trans people are supposed to be against?

If you're claiming all of those identities are valid, then you're also endorsing multiple contradicting religious beliefs. And saying mutilating people's bodies in the name of the belief their bodies are inherently wrong is inherently okay.

You're endorsing Christians so extreme they make the actual Puritans look like National Baptists.

This is not logically consistent. In fact, it's awfully close to certain stereotypes of trans supporters.

When those total strangers want society, law, and government to validate their self-identity, it becomes everyone’s business.

And those are, naturally, very important to trans people. Explicitly, for many of them.

For obvious reasons!*

Also, I love how this is coming from someone with an entirely ideological objection to Trump’s actions, who can’t explain how this will allegedly actually affect people.

Seriously, she threw her toys out of the pram.

renardtrickster tried (archive), and he had to use someone else’s line-by-line analysis, which is clearly not the one line point Tenafly made.

And that’s putting it generously.

Tena was implying that believing in only two genders and not non-binaries is the same as being anti-trans. Which it isn't.

A detailed analysis of Trump's Executive Order is trying to motte-and-bailey the argument. And Tena's own childish tantrums.

This is not the way to make an actual argument if you want to convince people.

Irony is, it's this exact same sort of disconnect from what normal people believe - maybe even normal liberals and progressives - that helped the Dems lose.

I also like how Renard's tags imply he's "arguing with pigs", when this whole thread was started by someone who was angry and confrontational and kept engaging with blatant bait and did nothing constructive.

The meanings of words are determined by usage. And everyone I've seen who claims gender and sex are two different things is a pro-trans progressive person. And I'm not sure it's a majority belief even among that group.

Which suggests that they formed this belief out of ideological convenience, not working from first principles.

At the very least you can't act like it's a universally accepted fact.

*This is not the first time I’ve seen people imply that LGBT stuff should just be ignored, even though there’s a great deal of effort being spent by LGBT advocates on making it part of international, everyday discourse.

Same with a lot of Diversity™ stuff. They don’t want to address the criticism, so they say you’re wrong for even caring in the first place, even though that also applies to the supporters.

Though these folks are rarely so silly as to talk about apparent anti-LGBT discrimination at the highest level of American government and then insist LGBT stuff is a private matter.

Which makes it extra ironic when Renard’s goalpost-moving defense includes talking about lack of government support for trans people as a negative.

#crazy #trump #tenaflyviper #lgbt #this is why trump won #renardtrickster #doublethink

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schrijverr · 1 day ago

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I Know That, because I Married Him for It

Divergence from chapter 20, where Chimney finds out Buck and Eddie are married from a high Eddie and then has to deal with keeping it secret; an impossible task for him.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (pre-slash)

Warning: non consensual drug use

~~~

Maddie has just carted Buck off in her car, which had been more trouble than Chimney expected, since him and Eddie have apparently become conjoined under the influence of whatever drug is in their system right now.

However, the two of them succeeded …leaving him with a now crying Eddie. Great.

Chimney very much did not sign up to be a tripsitter – well, maybe he had being a paramedic and all, but still – and it has been more stressful than expected. Though that can be attributed to it being his friends and colleagues that were drugged with an unknown substance by an unknown assailant at an unknown time somewhere today.

Anyway, that is not for Chimney to worry about. Chimney needs to worry about Eddie being okay until his aunt can come pick him up. And right now Eddie is crying, which means Chimney will have to do something about that.

He gingerly makes his way over to Eddie and sits down next to. Despite how he was draped over Buck earlier, Chimney doesn’t touch him, just sits close enough for Eddie to know he’s there. With the state he’s in, he doesn’t want to accidentally trigger him.

“Hey, buddy, how are we doing?” he asks.

“Badly,” Eddie says, before starting to cry harder.

Right now Chimney really wishes Maddie would have taken longer to be here, since Buck’s high had been gentle until they had to separate the two and he was the only person that was stopping Eddie from crying. Chimney is pretty okay with people crying from the pain, not great with people crying because of emotions. He’s awkward, alright!

“Well, I know it’s scary, but you’re gonna be okay.” Chimney pats Eddie on the back, since Eddie is tilting towards him until their knees are touching.

“No, it’s not. You took Buck,” Eddie pouts. “And I’m not gonna be able to see Chris again. I miss him.” Then he starts crying again.

Okay, Chimney knew Buck and Eddie had become fast friends in the past few months, but this is ridiculous. Still, Eddie is in distress and Chimney is trying to keep him calm. They’ve made more than enough of a scene already.

So, he tries to soothe him again: “I know, Eddie, I know. But you’ll see them soon.”

It doesn’t really help and Eddie continues to cry. Chimney is looking out over the parking lot desperately, trying to see if a car comes pulling in with a woman that looks like she could potentially be Eddie’s aunt. No dice.

“Uh, I can tell you some stories about Chris and chickens? Would that help?” Chimney asks, because it seemed to help when Buck did it. Eddie doesn’t answer, so he tries: “So, uhm, Chris was on a farm and there was this chicken named Betty. They were the best-”

“No!” Eddie cuts him off, shaking his head stubbornly as he scowls: “That didn’t happen.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Chimney replies, a little annoyed. Why did it work when Buck did it, but not when he does it?

“No,” Eddie says again, god, he really is pig headed, why didn’t Chimney notice that before. “Buck told me things that happened. You don’t.”

“How can Buck have told you things that happened?” Chimney exclaims. “He was talking about Chris and chickens, don’t tell me you two went to a chicken farm recently.” Is is childish to argue with the drugged person about this? Maybe. However, Chimney has had a stressful day, okay?

“Of course not,” Eddie actually sounds offended. “You’re doing it wrong.” He is at least not crying anymore, instead pouting as he defends Buck’s storytelling over Chimney’s. “Buck was talking about the Johnson farm.”

“You two actually went to a farm?” Chimney exclaims, because what the fuck is his life becoming, this just can’t be real.

“Yeah, Buck worked there, dumbass,” Eddie tells him. “It’s where he met Chris.”

“No, Buck met Chris at the hospital after your grandma had a fall. That was pretty recently. Don’t you remember that?” Chimney knows that sometimes the best move is to go along with delusions or confusion, but right now he wants to be sure Eddie is actually okay and memory loss is a scary thing to happen. Fuck, why did he let Hen and Buck out from under his supervision?

Eddie is oblivious to this and in a know-it-all manner he says: “No, he didn’t. Buck met Chris on the farm, because he was watching him. I know that, because I married him for it.”

Chimney chokes on his spit and starts coughing. He knows people say all sort of things while high, but holy shit Eddie sounds way to confident about that one. “What?” he finally manages to push out of his throat.

Now Eddie is looking at him with confusion as if he is the weird one. “What what?”

“You married Buck?” Chimney asks, still a bit breathless and red in the face.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, then he leans in and whispers: “But you’re not allowed to tell anyone. It’s a secret. Shhhhh,” he places a finger to his lip as he does that.

“Buck is your husband?” Chimney says, voice distorted by the finger still pressed to his lips.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie hums happily, pulling back. He smiles for a moment, before his lip wobbles again and his voice sounds very sad when he whispers: “I miss him.” Then he bursts out into tears all over, burying his head in his hands.

What the fuck.

Chimney is honestly so thrown off by everything Eddie just said that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, because none of that makes sense. Eddie and Buck? Married? He knows they’re friends, but they just met. He was there for that!

But here Eddie is, crying about missing his husband, whom he apparently met at a chicken farm and who is Buck. Like probie, has been there for a year never mentioned having any family, Buck. It doesn’t make any sense to Chimney.

He wraps an arm around Eddie, letting him lean his head on his shoulder, while his face still carries a bewildered expression. What is today. What is his life.

Eddie sadly murmurs into his shoulder: “I wanna see Buck and Chris now. I don’t wanna be all alone again. I had to be alone away from them in the army and it sucked. I don’t wanna do that again. I never wanna do that again. Why did you make Buck go?”

And he sounds so fucking sad that Chimney has to push his bewildered-ness down, so he can squeeze Eddie’s shoulder and shush: “I’m sorry, Eddie, but you’ll see both of them soon. You need to get this stuff out of your system, it’s not safe to leave you alone, so I called your aunt, because I didn’t know. If you said, I could have let you go with Maddie.”

Chimney honestly doesn’t know why Maddie didn’t say anything and just struggled with him to get the two separated.

Almost as soon as that question pops into his brain, Eddie’s starts shaking his head. “No. No, Maddie doesn’t know.”

“She doesn’t?” Chimney can’s help, but exclaims, because what. It is already wild information that he doesn’t know what to do with, but hey, keeping your relationship out of the work place isn’t too crazy, but Maddie doesn’t know? Buck’s sister doesn’t know. Is she homophobic? Chimney didn’t think so, but he’s only met her a few times now. That would suck.

“No one knows. It’s a secret,” Eddie tells him, giving him big eyes and putting on the most important voice he’s capable of.

Chimney freezes.

No one knows?

The implications of that hit him. He might be straight, but he’s been friends with Hen and Karen for a long time, stood as best man at their wedding, witnessed how the 118 talked to her before Bobby took over. No one knowing means Chimney has to keep this secret.

Fuck!

“Uhm, okay. It’s a secret,” Chimney agrees, voice a little faint. He can do this, right? Yeah, he can totally keep this secret… He hopes.

“Hmm, secret,” Eddie nods. Then he looks over to the side, distracted by some of the kids from the pageant running around, while their moms tried to prevent skinned knees, Chimney doesn’t get it, but Eddie seems to take something different from it, saying: “I miss Chris.” And it doesn’t surprise Chimney in the slightest when he then breaks down again.

Unwilling to have more knowledge unwillingly dropped on him that he’ll then have to keep secret, Chimney lets him cry as he holds him without saying anything to invoke a reaction. God, he hopes Eddie’s aunt comes soon.

Fifteen minutes later, his prayer is answered. A car pulls up and a severe looking woman with black hair steps out, immediately zeroing in on Eddie and walking over. Once she is sufficiently close enough to loom over them, she crosses her arms and shakes her head: “… Edmundo.”

Eddie looks up and blinks a few times, tears still in his eyes, but he smiles when he sees the woman, despite her expression. “Tía Pepa!”

Pepa’s face soften and she nods to her car: “Let’s get going, mijo.”

Almost instantly, Eddie starts to move and Chimney quickly catches up, helping him up, because despite his determination, his coordination is less than stellar right now. He wants to be polite and say hi to Pepa, but Eddie is moving, so Chimney supports him all the way to the car.

Thankfully, Pepa opens the door for them, even though she lets Chimney do most of the heavy lifting, while she just tuts at Eddie and scolds him for not being more careful and that he has Chris to think about.

Wrong thing to say of her, but she hasn’t been there, so Chimney forgives her as Eddie starts crying again while Chimney buckles him in.

Once Eddie is seated, Chimney straightens up and finally extends his hand to Pepa: “I’m Chimney, Eddie’s coworker. There was an unknown substance he must have come into contact with. He’s not the only one, but with the symptoms observed, he doesn’t need to go to a hospital. He’s just high, essentially. Uhm, so you just have to keep an eye on him, make sure he’s okay, get him to drink water if you can. Thank you for coming to pick him up, I can’t imagine that call was what you were hoping for today.”

“Pepa,” she introduces herself, before amusedly scoffing: “And I’m just glad you kept my nephew out of trouble. I’ll watch over him, don’t worry. I have time.”

In the background Eddie sobs again and Chimney cringes: “Thank you, uhm, the crying has been kind of normal.”

“He misses Chris, I get it. He always does,” Pepa says, giving him a sharp smile. “I’ll call Carla to watch Chris, since I don’t think Eddie would want him to see him until it’s out of his system, even if he misses him. How long do you think it will last?”

“I can’t give hard numbers, but most of the time trips last between 9 and 12 hours. So, he’ll be okay by tomorrow for sure,” Chimney tells her.

“Alright. Thank you and nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you too. Good luck, have a good day!”

Pepa just smiles and nods at him, before getting in her car. Chimney watches as she swats Eddie’s hand away from the radio, then cards a quick hand through his hair, before pinching his cheek. With that done, Eddie calms a little and she pulls out of the parking lot, leaving Chimney behind.

For a moment, he just stands there as everything all comes crashing down on him again. Holy shit, his coworkers just got drugged. What the fuck!

Chimney deflates slightly, the stress of suddenly being responsible for all his coworkers on a call washing off him now that he’s handed over the last one to someone else. He’ll have to drive the ambulance and truck back to the station somehow and stay behind until they can get a full shift back at the house, not to mention give a statement, but at least no one got seriously hurt.

There were no overdoses, no bad reactions – either allergies, bad trips or meds that shouldn’t mix – and he has a text from Athena saying Bobby is okay. Chimney kept everyone alive.

He lets out a deep breath and rubs his face.

He allows himself one moment, then pops a piece of gum in his mouth and makes his way back inside to get all the gear sorted out.

The 125 had been called in to deal with the shoe in face incident instead and there are fortunately still some of them there, so Chimney gets the Captain to lend one of his people out to help Chimney drive the two vehicles back to the station. Chimney gets the feeling this won’t be the last time someone asks what the hell happened.

Once everything is sorted and the guy from the 125 is back to his own house, Chimney flops onto the couch. He is exhausted. Cops will come by later to take his statement and all the food has been confiscated, which sucks, but at least there won’t be any calls.

As he lies there, he fishes his phone out of his pocket. Karen has send him some videos of Hen, which are hilarious and they’re so going to make fun of her for that later. Athena only sends him a curt text back, which is understandable. He didn’t give Pepa his number, so nothing from her, but Maddie did text him that Buck’s gentle high has become an emotional one and they’re on the couch with ice cream.

Chimney thinks to himself: understandable, we took him away from his husband. He is about to text a joke back when he remembers it’s a secret. It honestly doesn’t feel completely real yet that Buck and Eddie are married, but Eddie seemed adamant.

And now Chimney knows.

And no one else.

Looking back on his conversation with Pepa, he realizes that she never mentioned Buck at all, just Chris. Seems like Eddie wasn’t lying about no one knowing. If it’s real at all.

He doesn’t know if he should take high Eddie’s word as gospel, but it also seems like a wild and random thing to lie about. Like even if Eddie has a crush on Buck, jumping to being married seems excessive. And why the chicken story? How did that just happen? No, it definitely has some basis of truth.

It has a basis of truth and it’s a secret. A secret that goes deep. They didn’t tell their families, they didn’t tell Bobby, Buck never mentioned it all his entire probie year, even if he’s a chronic over-sharer. Hell, they played out a first meeting on Eddie’s first day. They had a spat.

Buck and Eddie are married and have gone to great lengths to hide that fact and now Chimney know it too. This is going to end terribly.

First, Chimney can’t keep secrets for shit, so this is impossible. Secondly, this is really something HR should be informed about. Eddie can’t work with Buck in his probie year. Chimney would think they’d lied for that, were it not for neither Maddie and Pepa knowing.

So, now here he is. With no clue what to do. He can’t go to Maddie to talk about it, because that would be outing him to her, which is bad. Even telling Hen or Bobby would be outing them and bad, because one is their boss, so don’t share sensitive information with him, especially because this might get them fired, and Hen is their coworker as well.

He should just wait for Buck and Eddie to ride out this high, then go to them about it. That is the best course of action. They can decide what to do with Chimney knowing and the likely limited time he can keep it to himself.

Fuck, why did he have to find this out! Unfair. Chimney has a stressful enough life with working as a paramedic/firefighter, he doesn’t need big coworker secrets on top of this.

Like, is he now complicit in them lying to HR? Do they even know they can get into serious trouble for this? Or will they be able to claim obliviousness and it’s only Chimney who will go down for this?!

Okay, no, breathe. You’re going to talk to them, explain to them why this is a bad idea and that they have to come clean before he accidentally does it, apologize in advance for doing that, and then it will all be fine.

It’ll be fine.

It’s totally gonna be fine.

…

God, Chimney hates this!

He tosses and turns a little on the couch as his mind whirs without being able to calm down. He is almost grateful to the police coming to take his statement, because that’s a distraction he can use right now. However, not blurting out what Eddie confessed when recounting their behavior is a struggle and he dreads the coming few days.

Beyond that he texts Maddie some but that’s a minefield, tries to beat Hen’s high score on the pin ball machine, then sulkily plays firetruck simulator when he can’t, as well as naps a bit.

Still, despite not answering any calls, since it’s just him at the firehouse, he is exhausted when B shift comes back in to take over for him.

When he gets home, he has a text from Maddie saying Buck has moved from crying it out to sleeping it off. So, Chimney tells her that despite usually knowing better, he’s going to follow her brother’s example, which gets him some laughing emojis back. With that he drops into bed and knocks out, hoping he’s forgotten today when he wakes up.

After a good amount of sleep for all of them and a drug test for most of them, they’re all back for a shift.

Chimney is both looking forward to it and deeply dreading it.

Bobby has come in early and hidden away, a clear message that he does not want to discuss it. But Hen is right there to be made fun off, which Chimney needs to blow off jitters and nerves, because if he is teasing her, he can’t be talking about Buck and Eddie.

Luckily, it’s Hen and she knows him, so she takes like a champ. She sniffs: “I’m not embarrassed about being filled with love, Chim.”

“According to Karen love is not the only thing you wanted to be filled with,” Chimney says gleefully.

“Oh shut up!”

“What are we talking about?” Buck asks as he and Eddie come walking up, both looking better than the last time Chimney saw them. Which isn’t that hard admittedly, since both were crying said last time.

“Nothing!” Hen exclaims, not necessarily embarrassed, but happy to have an out from the teasing to focus on Buck and Eddie instead.

Chimney would have happily teased her in front of Buck and Eddie, had it not been Buck and Eddie who just arrived. Together, he notes. Did they arrive in one car from their shared home? Or are they still keeping it up, even though he knows?

Neither of them seem nervous or looking at him anxiously and they haven’t texted him. What are they thinking? It seems like only he is panicking, since Hen is oblivious and either Buck and Eddie are phenomenal actors or they don’t care as much.

To distract further from herself, Hen asks: “Did both of you get everything out of you system alright?”

Buck blushes a bright red at that and throws himself on the couch, groaning loudly: “I embarrassed myself so much. After all my efforts to do dumb shit like this when Maddie couldn’t see, this had to happen to me. I’m never going to eat anything I didn’t see prepared.”

“What did you do?” Hen asks curiously.

Now Buck looks away and mutters: “Nothing.” Suspicious. Did he accidentally tell Maddie? Is Chimney no longer alone in this?

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Eddie tries to comfort him. Does Eddie not know? Is that why both are not looking at him, because Buck didn’t tell Eddie and Eddie didn’t tell Buck? Should Chimney be worried about that? But then why isn’t Eddie looking at him.

“You weren’t there,” Buck grouches, crossing his arms. “I had to wrestle for control to get those videos deleted.”

“And what about you, Eddie? Spill anything to your aunt?” Chimney finds himself asking, biting the inside of his cheek to not ramble on more.

“Uh, no?” Eddie frowns, now looking at Chimney, but only being confused, nothing else. “Did I say something weird to you? It’s honestly a bit of a blur.”

Fuck, does Eddie not remember telling Chimney? That is even worse! Noooo! How could this happen to him? What does he do now!?

Floundering for a second, Chimney goes: “To me? Weird? No, no, of course not. Nothing weird said to me, no, sir. I- I am not knowing of anything weird. At all. I just- I gotta go.”

Chimney can’t do this, he spins on his heel and quickly walks away. Where? He does not know, but that doesn’t matter, he needs to be somewhere other than here. As he leaves, he hears Eddie ask: “Did I so something?” but he doesn’t care. Eddie did do something. He ruined Chimney’s life, he just doesn’t remember it.

He walks until he’s in the locker room, then decides this is far away enough to have a freak out.

Okay, so… Eddie might not remember telling Chimney this very big important secret. That is Bad, very bad. Fuck. What does he do? What is the plan?

Alright, Chimney, think. Eddie doesn’t know you know this, so Buck doesn’t either. They are oblivious as is the rest of the 118. It can remain that way. If he just keeps his mouth shut, they can pass this by without anything changing, it’s not his secret to tell anyway, so he should just keep it.

But they might get in trouble with HR. But is that Chimney’s problem? Maybe he can say he didn’t know when it comes out, that could work. But he also is a bad liar. But he can claim not being a dick and not wanting to out his coworkers, or say he thought it had been approved. Yeah, that could work. Chimney can totally make that work.

He nods to himself, glad to have made the decision. He is just about to rejoin everyone when Hen pokes her head around the door of the locker room. She asks: “Is everything okay? You just kind of ran away from Eddie, did something happen?”

“Me? Not okay? Of course I’m okay,” Chimney grins awkwardly. Okay, so maybe his acting casual skills need some work, but he’s trying!

“Chim,” Hen raises her brow at him with a tone that says: ‘you’re not fooling me, something is up and you better tell me right now.’

“Hen,” Chimney replies, hoping his tone conveys: ‘I know you know something and that you also know that I know that you know that I know something, however, for my sake, please do not ask me more.’

They stare at each other for a few seconds in a stand off, neither of them budging. Then Hen goes: “Alright, keep you secrets.”

“I know that’s a Lord of the Rings quote! You do pay attention when I force you to watch movies with me,” Chimney crows, both delighted at winning the stand off and at the confirmation that Hen does pay attention, even when she complains.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “just don’t come crying to me when whatever is going on, goes wrong.”

“I won’t,” Chimney promises, even though he’s not sure he’ll keep it and Hen knows it. Luckily, he doesn’t get called out on it, because the alarm starts to ring and they have to get their asses into gear instead.

Being on a call with Buck and Eddie isn’t much better. He continuously notices how close they are, the way their shoulders always bump together, the way they wordlessly communicate, the little glances and looks they give each other.

However, being on a call is a distraction, which is better than nothing. Focusing on a patient always puts him in a different mindset and he can ignore the Buck and Eddie show for a bit.

It’s worse to have down time. Chimney realizes very quickly his acting skills are worse than he thought and acting casual is practically not an option for him. Whenever he is around either Buck or Eddie for too long, he starts rambling, before having to remove himself from the situation.

Still, Buck and Eddie don’t have to make it so hard on him! He had already noticed they were close, but now he is just way too aware of the massive heart eyes they keep giving each other. Like, if they were keeping their marriage secret, could they at least act less sappy, in love around each other? For Chimney’s sake.

Less than a week has passed since their first shift back on after the drugging and Chimney is slowly losing it.

They’re back on today and Buck and Eddie are playing pool together. One could say they were shit talking each other, but Chimney couldn’t describe it as anything other than flirting. Badly flirting at that. God, they’re made for each other, he thinks disgusted. Why does he have to be lonely? It’s so unfair.

Apparently, he has been as unsubtle as Buck and Eddie have been, because Hen throws her hands up and exclaims: “Okay, I can’t take it anymore.”

“Wha?” Chimney blinks as everyone turns to look at her.

Hen places a hand on her hip and says: “You have been acting weird around Buck and Eddie since the drugging, just tell everyone what happened and put us all out of our misery! I can’t take this anymore.”

“Me? Weird? I’m not weird, I’m like so normal. I- I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hen,” he chuckles nervously, already glancing around for his best exit strategy.

“Chimney, I swear to fucking god, if you don’t-”

“Eddie told me him and Buck are married!” It bursts out of his mouth, the pressure becoming too much as he cracks under it. Immediately he cringes and slaps his hands over his mouth. He did not want to tell anyone like this. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to tell anyone at all!

“What?” Hen shrieks, clearly, this is not what she thought he’d say.

He squints slightly, chancing a peak at Buck and Eddie, who are completely frozen next to the pool table, staring at Chimney with horror.

Hen whirls around to where Buck and Eddie are, repeating loudly: “What!”

“Uh… Eddie was lying?” Buck offers after a few seconds, the answer sounding more like a question, as if he is asking them to believe his lie.

“No, he wasn’t,” Chimney frowns, because he can’t have been. One, Buck is clearly lying right now, and two, Chimney did not torture himself for a week for it to not be true now.

“I have no clue what you are talking about,” Eddie says, sounding a little more believable than Buck does.

“You don’t?” Chimney starts doubting himself again. Buck did have that hook up phase, he wouldn’t do that if he was married, right? Maybe it was just a hallucination and that’s why Pepa never mentioned Buck, because it’s not real.

Oh god, what if it’s not real?

“I just- You sounded very sure of yourself,” Chimney stutters, feeling a bit like a fool now. “I mean, Buck was talking about Chris and chickens and then you mentioned you two meeting on a chicken farm, uh, the Johnson farm, I think it was.”

“How do you know about the John-” Buck cuts himself off as Eddie elbows him in the side and he clears his throat and says: “I mean, huh, Johnson farm. Don’t know it.”

Eddie face palms at the words and Chimney is now pretty confident that Eddie hadn’t been lying about the being married thing. Which is so much more confusing now. Just why couldn’t Eddie have kept his mouth shut? Why must Chimney go through this?

“You two better start talking right now,” Hen tells both of them, her eyes daring them to deflect or deny again.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “so me and Buck are married.”

“How long?”

“Uh,” Eddie thinks for a second, looking at Buck, who fills in: “Two years. Give or take, little more give than take.”

Eyes nearly fall out of both Chimney’s and Hen’s sockets. Chimney half assumed that it was a recent thing, maybe an impulsive marriage, post-Buck’s hook up phase at least, but two years? Uh, jikes, dude. Chimney and Hem exchange a glance.

Naturally, Eddie chooses this moment to become observant and suspicious back, asking: “What was that glance about?”

Chimney and Hen exchange another glance, before Chimney delicately says: “Uh, the- the two years is a bit of, uhm, a surprise? Uh, since- since neither of you acted very married.” He coughs. “I mean, especially Buck, uhm, during his probie year.”

Realization dawns on Buck’s face and Chimney really hopes he isn’t going to see the start of a divorce right now. He’s been put through enough.

“Oh, you mean the Buck having sex thing?” Eddie says, realization also hitting him. He sounds very casual about it and neither know if that is a good thing.

“That is not what you think!” Buck quickly exclaims, waving his hands about as he does. “That is so not what you think or what it looks like. Me and Eddie aren’t married like that. I wasn’t cheating on him, I swear.”

They look over to Eddie to confirm. Eddie doesn’t look very pleased, but he manages a smile to them as he explains: “It’s a marriage of convenience. Me and Buck are friends, just legally married for Chris’s benefit.”

Chimney’s voice is a little higher than normal due to the relief as he says: “Oh, that’s- that’s good. Really good.”

“Uh-huh,” Hen agrees. “So, how did that happen? And why the fuck did you lie about that?”

Now it’s Buck and Eddie’s turn to give each other a look, making a few facial expressions at one another before they seem to reach a consensus.

“Well, I worked at a chicken farm in El Paso and I met Chris there with Shannon, his mom. We kind of hit it off and I started babysitting,” Buck starts.

Eddie sees their question coming and interjects: “Me and Shan were already divorced then.”

“Oh, yeah, important detail,” Buck says sheepishly, before continuing: “Anyway, I babysat a lot, Eddie came back from tour, then Shan left to take care of her mom – long story, kind of shitty of her – but then I met Eddie, helped out more with Chris. Chris needed more surgery. Surgery is expensive. Eddie went back in the army. We got married so I could adopt Chris and look after him while Eddie was on tour. That’s kind of the spark notes.”

That is a lot of information to process and Chimney has a head start in the processing department. It is honestly the most Buck and Eddie move that the explanation makes almost less sense. But of course, these two are married as friends, because Buck dated Eddie’s ex-wife and then just hung around to help with the kid after she left. Somehow that makes perfect sense for him.

What is his life at this point?

Next to him, Hen seems to have processed most of what they just told them – there are still a thousand questions to be asked, but they at least have the basics – and is sharp enough to ask: “And what about my other question? Why did you two lie?”

Both Buck and Eddie look a little embarrassed about it with Eddie looking away with red ears, while Buck rubs the back of his head again.

“Uh, well, we wanted to work together,” Buck finally says. “It says no romantic partners in your probie year, but me and Eddie aren’t romantic, right, so then it doesn’t apply. But then we were thinking, when you know someone, people ask questions about how you know them and then the story would have come out and it’s a bit complicated and stuff. So, uh, we decided to lie.”

“Of fucking course you two did,” Hen sighs, taking off her glasses for a moment to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“Are you mad?” Buck asks, voice small. It never ceases to amaze Chimney just how vulnerable Buck can sound.

Instantly Hen melts a little, putting her glasses back on as she smiles: “Of course I’m not mad, Buck, just wrapping my head around it all.”

“Sorry,” Buck says and, hey! Why does Hen get a sorry? Chimney has been keeping this secret for a whole week, doesn’t he deserve credit for that? He was suffering!

“It’s okay,” Hen reassures him.

Then Eddie asks: “So, what is gonna happen now? You know, now that you know? Are you going to do something with it?”

“Oh no, definitely not. I’m not meddling more in this nonsense,” Hen says without skipping a beat and she is so right for that.

They look to Chimney, who says: “Yeah, no, I already went through enough for that secret, I’m not putting myself through more.”

Both Buck and Eddie seem to sag a little in relief, then Hen pulls the rug out from under them: “But you two gotta tell Bobby. He needs to know about this. Just in case.”

“What? No!” Buck exclaims horrified.

“Hen, please don’t make us do that,” Eddie begs.

Chimney can already tell by the way Hen is standing that she isn’t going to change her mind and he cackles loudly; vindication for his suffering! Maybe being forced into tripsitting everyone, isn’t the worst thing that could have happened to him.

A/N:

Do I get frustrated with season 4!Chimney for keeping that secret from Buck? Yes, I do. Was it also fucking hilarious? Yes, it was xp

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