#And how they both line up with the lines coming from the heart!

[quxxrpearl]

Jon knew something was wrong. Something was missing. He couldn't really grasp what it was, but he much probably could point his finger at the area where things went wrong. It was just there: under his heart, near his stomach, cozzed up against his liver.

He tasted death. That much most of his men whispered, so did the Free Folk. They called him a God. Other of "The undead," another awkward title that he had to withstand while his presence was announced. But when asked, he couldn't really say what the Stranger felt like. It was just like a dream, like he was a wolf running free alongside The Wall, nothing much, really. And then he was back, quick and easy.

And still, he came back wrong. His men made his hand tremble under his thick gloves when they spoke, and he flinched ever so slightly when heavy hands patted his shoulders. It worried him that they would notice, sniff it on him, the hesitation, the shivers, the frowned eyebrows, the unevenness in his breath.

Tormund noticed, Jon suspected. The man kissed-by-fire always looked at him carefully, as if waiting he would snap and hold his sword against the same men that made him shake. "Nothing is more dangerous than an animal afraid of death with nowhere to run", Tormund mumbled the other night, while they both were staring at the fire. Then Jon knew that his friend smelled the wrongness in him.

That wrongness only got a name when Sansa showed up at the Night's Watch, small and dirty, afraid and cold. Hugging her was a warm balm that soothed his stab wounds, lessing the throbbing, taming the ache, licking his wound clean, and calm. It took him only a day to feel restless again because since his men turned their back on him, what could they do to his poor Sansa? His younger sister who already suffered so much?

It was the restless night, Sansa's first night, where Jon didn't lock himself up in his chambers, instead kept himself up all night, pacing around his office, clutching Longclaw's pommel, the wolf head rough against his fingers, nervously wondering about Sansa's safety. About her smile, sweet rose cheeks, blue eyes, sharp lines, soft kissed-by-fire hair, her life, about how she could lose it at any given time. How Jon could go to her chambers tomorrow morning and find a corpse.

What would he do then? Rage against his men? Point fingers? Shower them with Rage and Blood? Give them sentences and executions? Ride, horseback, south and kill the Boltons, and then go to King's Landing and rampage until he got himself killed? He knew nothing good would come from it, but if something came to happen to Sansa, then wouldn't his fury be justified?

The Stranger was as twisted as any other Seven, and Jon feared it would come to Sansa to visit and torment her. Would hurt and make her suffer, leave that emptiness with her all the same as it did to him.

It was that night, Sansa's first night at the Watch, that he stomped his feet all the way to her chambers, sneaking from Brienne's tired vigil, restless until he saw Sansa's peaceful resting face, that his heart settled down understanding that she was safe.

It was that night that he finally named what came back wrong with him: he came back afraid.

Afraid of his loved ones losing their lives, since life was a fragile and fleeting thing.

Jon Snow came back so afraid that he would prefer to throw himself to Ramsay's hounds and Daenerys' dragons than take the risk of his lady losing her life or her home and realm.

Jon came back afraid for the lives of others. For Sansa's.

"came back wrong" what about Came Back Afraid. You used to be brave. Too brave maybe, defying the odds at every turn, a fighter, cocky, playing with fire, first to throw yourself at the enemy. Until one day it all caught up to you. You came back, somehow, but now you know all too intimately how it feels to lose, to die, to be destroyed. Now you flinch and freeze and cower at the slightest provocation. Who even are you now if you can't be brave? The grave may have let you go, but the mortal fear still grips you tighter than ever.

[astraloverflow]

Good Cop, Bad Cop (They're Both Bad)

Basically cop!König and cop!Ghost pull you over Since my current König post is going to take a while, I decided to cook up this little post for you guys, I hope you enjoy it :) If there's enough traction, maybe I'll make a part 2, lemme know what you guys think <3 TW: power dynamics oh my, manipulation, implied smut, implied non-con/ dub-con WC: 4046 MDNI

The asphalt stretches ahead, darkness swallowing far beyond your line of sight. Your dim, aging headlights carve a soft path through the void for your eager eyes to make out, their yellow glow flickering against the cracked asphalt; trees loom on either side, their twisted branches reaching, almost as if to grab you. The night is thick and quiet— too quiet. Each bump in the road rattles through your hands on the wheel, a reminder that you’re alone out here. Or at least, you should be.

You push your foot on the gas, watching the speedometer climb up, noticing an abandoned car on the side of the dirt as you whiz by it. It’s customary to see at least one on these long deserted back roads. You’ve always wondered what ends up happening to these cars that are left behind by their owners. Do they rust away, staying on these streets? Do they get towed away? Broken into? Stolen?

You don’t think much more of it and continue tearing up the road, tapping your finger idly on the steering wheel, mimicking the music beating loudly through the speakers, wanting to get home as fast as possible. You’ve never been a fan of driving at night, especially not this late and alone. 

Suddenly, the headlights of this so-called abandoned vehicle come to life in the distance, flashes of red and blue catch your attention from the rearview mirror, and your heart sinks in dread, “fuck.” 

The police car eases its way off the gravel that lines the side of the street and onto the concrete. For a moment, the car gets smaller and smaller, your speed creating distance between the array of flashes, and you hope that this distance consumes the car straight out of your sight. To your dismay, the vehicle starts to speed its way to you, lights becoming more pronounced and more difficult to ignore. 

You curse yourself and pivot your foot from the gas onto the break, slowing your vehicle down steadily. Due to the sheer speed you were driving at, it takes a moment for the car to decelerate. The dial on the speedometer shifts counterclockwise and you watch as the numbers slowly crawl down, as if dying. After a few seconds, the car is slowed enough to pull it onto the shoulder of the road, tires crunching as they make contact with the gravel, the car rolling to a stop. Your heart is pitter-pattering in your chest, and your hand that was shaking from the sudden rush of adrenaline reaches for the transmission to push upwards on the knob, parking the car, doors unlocking with a click at the gear change. Your foot lifts off the break, and the car steadies itself with a small roll, tires locking. Instinctively pressing down the red and white triangle button on top of your audio system, the hazard lights flick on, imitating the tick of a metronome to illuminate the crushed rocks beneath the vehicle slightly. You’ve never so much as stolen anything before, being pulled over and having to face authorities in these conditions makes your stomach sink into a pit. As you ruminate, the police cruiser slows behind you, parking itself, lights still flashing wildly. You lament the situation, thoughts flooding your mind about how stupid it was for the cops to be here in the first place. It’s practically empty almost all of the time on these backroads, especially at this hour of the night; it doesn’t make sense to you why any kind of law enforcement would wait for a driver to pass by just to nail them with a ticket.

You almost forget that you’ve been pulled over, sucked into your thoughts, until you see a large figure exit the vehicle from the rearview mirror. Your heart jumps at this, and you quickly reach for your glove compartment to grab your vehicle registration, closing the door with a thud. A sharp knock at the window makes you jump and turn your head. He was fast, you thought you had at least a few more seconds. The officer bends at the hip after a moment, leering into the car, and you push down on the window switch, watching the glass disappear into the driver's side door.

You strain your eyes trying to make out his face in the dark, noticing that it is obscured by some sort of cloth, the only part visible being his eyes. You’ve never seen an officer hide their face before, let alone with a piece of fabric.

“License and registration,” he says, accent cutting through the silence like a knife, reaching your ears. 

“One second, sorry,” you stammer, grabbing your wallet in the middle console, unzipping it and pulling out a plastic card. You hand him both the registration papers and your license, and he takes them, gloved fingers brushing against your own for a fleeting second. Your heart jumps at this contact, already overstimulated by being pulled over— you retract your hand, placing both your palms onto your lap, beginning to think of excuses.

He stares down at the card, holding it in his large hand. Your name leaves his lips as he repeats it, reading it off of the thin piece of plastic, “Do you know how fast you were going?” His eyes flick up, boring into your own. The dark makes it hard for your brain to construct his eyes, but the light from your dashboard is enough to see the cold expression he holds in them, blue irises a thin line around his blown pupils.

“Uhm.. no officer,” you hesitate, a bit quieter than you had hoped for your words to come out. 

“About thirty over,” he states matter of factly before looking into your car, eyes catching your outfit, “What are you doing out this late?” 

You feel your mouth go dry at this. The truth is you were just at a house party, celebrating the end of a successful-ish semester. It was about 1:30 am now as you sat in your car trying to come up with any semblance of a believable story. You told yourself you weren’t going to drink, not having a ride back home, being forced to take yourself back to your place through the outskirts of the city at the end of the night. You told yourself. You even made sure to reject any and all alcohol until a close friend of yours urged you, drunkenly begging you to take a shot to celebrate finishing classes. “One can’t hurt, just drink some water after, you’ll be fine, please, for me?” Your friend’s words ring in your ears, and you wallow at yourself for being guilted into taking two more after their initial coercion. It’s been an hour since that, but fear creeps up at the thought of a breathalyzer test. Although you felt sober, you knew the test would not reflect that, and would get you in trouble with the bulky officer staring down at you from your left. It was best to just not act suspicious, take the ticket, and reap the consequences to your bank account later.

“I was just at a friend’s house. Stayed up too late watching a movie, so I decided I needed to get home,” you respond, lying through your teeth, hoping it was convincing enough, feigning a small smile nervously. 

The man hums in thought and you feel relief, thinking he bought your lie. He pauses before speaking up again, “Wearing that?”

You look down at your outfit, a pair of jeans and a tiny top that did little to preserve your dignity. You wish you brought a sweater. Arms almost immediately wrap around your waist, insecurity filling you whole. “Yes...” You murmur, hoping he won’t question you further than that. 

He breaks eye contact and motions towards the vehicle parked a few feet behind yours, almost like he was calling someone. You watch from the rearview mirror as another figure steps out, this time from the passenger's seat. Their silhouette looked almost entirely black, except for the white on their face that reflected the red and blue lights spinning on the top of the car. The figure’s boots made contact with the ground and crunched softly as they made a few strides towards the other man. “Ran a check, looks good on my end. Yours?” His voice was deep, with an accent behind it that you could only assume was from somewhere in England, something rough and commanding in its tone.

“Can’t say the same,” the taller man speaks out, eyes flickering to yours for a brief moment before quickly shifting away to meet the man standing beside him. The officer with the white mask makes his way toward the other, and as he closes the gap, your mind scrambles to make sense of his appearance. Squinting, you notice that the mask covering his face is white, with strange grooves etched into it that resemble the jagged shape of a skull, deep and haunting. His eyes are like dark, void-like holes that seem to bore right through you as he passes, there’s something unnatural about the way he carries himself, something predatory, and you can’t seem to pry your eyes away.

“What’ve we got ‘ere?” The shorter man, not to imply that his height was by any means unimpressive, chimes, his voice oddly casual. He leans towards the open window of the car, placing one forearm on the side of the metal encasing you safely, almost like a prison.

“Suspected intoxication,” the hooded man speaks up, his tone flat and emotionless. His words hang in the air, each one settling in your chest with an increasing heaviness. The other hums, eyes scanning you once more, but unlike the cold blue ones of the officer standing behind him, his gaze isn’t as icey, there’s something deeper in it, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“You been drinkin’ sweetheart?” His voice is laced with a syrupy sweetness that makes your stomach flip. The term ‘sweetheart’ rolls off his tongue like a curse, and the word itself feels out of place as if he’s using it to control the situation, to unsettle you. The question hits you hard, and your stomach drops with the weight of an anchor. The unease in your gut tightens into full-blown dread. Something about this doesn’t sit right with you. This isn’t how any regular traffic stop should feel, is it?

When you don’t immediately answer, his voice shatters the silence again, colder now, sharper, “Talk to me.” 

You feel your throat tighten, words barely escaping your lips as you answer meekly, “I haven’t..” It’s almost a whisper, barely audible against the growing noise in your head. The man at your window continues to stare at you, eyes piercing, trying to get a read of the situation, searching for any information he could use against you.

“Ghost.” The voice calls from behind him, a demand. The man you now know as Ghost turns, his posture stiff, his gaze flicking to the other looming behind him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses, voice laced with annoyance. Shaking his head with a slight scoff, turning back to face you, his eyes crinkle in the corner softly, and you imagine that behind his odd display of a face, is a smile— though something about this situation makes it feel like a threat.

Watching this play out is frightening, to say the least. You feel your pulse quicken, and every second that passes tightens the knot in your stomach. You don’t know if this is the experience most people face when pulled over at night, or if it was just your terrible luck. You don’t have any prior experience to compare it to, but something in your heart screamed at you that this was wrong, something was terribly wrong here.

You stare at Ghost, now leaning forward slightly as he tilts his head. His voice breaks through your racing thoughts, low and silky, “Why doncha step outta the vehicle for us?”

Your body freezes. You aren’t entirely sure why you reacted this way; regardless of what it was, the suffocating feeling, the lead weight against your chest did not waver. Every single instinct inside you is telling you to get out of this situation. 

“Did’ja hear me?” His voice shatters through the silence again, sharper now, and the calm, almost bored tone from before disappears, replaced with a command, “Turn the ignition off, n’ step out, love.”

The instructions linger in the air like a final warning, and despite every fibre of your being telling you to refuse, your shaking hands reach for your keys nestled in the ignition and you twist, the engine dying, along with the lights at the head of your vehicle. Holding the keys in your hand, you step out of the car, hesitantly. Ghost steps back to give you space to open the car door and exit. You stand and immediately notice how he dwarfs your height, looking down at you through his skull mask, arms crossed over his police vest. The red and blue spinning on top of the police car creates a cast of colours, allowing you to still make out the scene in front of you despite the darkness that engulfs the scenery. You notice a dark streak across the white letters that read out ‘POLICE’ across his chest. In blue light, it looks almost black, but as the red circles back around, you make out a faint scarlet colour. 

Blood? 

Your eyes focus on it, your heart skipping a beat. Though the thought barely forms in your head before he speaks again, “Hands against the car, love, turn around.”

You blink, not understanding or comprehending the sudden demand, “What?” You ask, almost automatically, surprised at his sudden order.

“Gonna search’cha. Turn around, hands on the hood of the car. It’s standard protocol, isn’t that right König?” He remarks, turning to look at the man behind him. His words are so casual, so rehearsed, and it takes you a second, but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the looming presence of the larger man, König, who just nods in approval. 

You aren’t well versed in what your rights are exactly, despite seeing countless posts online urging you to become aware in case some cop tries to take advantage of your ignorance. You think back on those moments you’ve scrolled past and feel regret, maybe you should have been more cautious, should have taken some more time to read up on it. The thought of outright saying no flicks through your mind, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came; you’re not entirely sure if you have the right to refuse, so you comply and turn to face your vehicle slowly, moving your arms to place your trembling hands on the hood, still warm from the engine. “Good girl,” he whispers with a growl from behind you.

The words make your skin crawl, sending a wave of nausea through your gut. You want to turn around, stand your ground, and demand answers. You want to scream at him, ask why he pulled you over in the first place, especially here, in this deserted, dark stretch of road. But your body is frozen, your limbs heavy with a deep, paralyzing dread. You can’t speak. You can’t move.

As you find the courage to open your mouth and protest, a wall of muscle presses up behind you— the air is forced out of your lungs in a sharp, startled gasp, and all that escapes your throat is a choked sound, trapped and desperate. It dies instantly at the pressure as if your body knows it’s powerless to stop what’s happening. A nudge from something stiff, something heavy, something warm, presses against your lower back, and the sensation almost makes you fall forward, but you keep your hands on the car, shakily. “What are you doing?” You ask, heat rising to your ears, your voice quiet and cracking, breaking under the weight of the situation.

“Just gonna check ‘ya angel, no need to panic.” Ghost’s voice is smooth as his hands start to move along your sides, gliding over your trembling skin with cold precision as he pushes his hips into you, eliciting another small yelp from you that serves to bring heat straight to your face at the feeling of his hardness against your spine. He then slowly moves down each leg, bending at the knees to pat down your thighs, not before grabbing at the skin, and moving to your ankles. You’re humiliated, and you have to stifle the urge to ask him why this is even necessary. Your top is small, and your pants are tight against your skin, they’d be able to see if you had anything in your pockets, concealed away. His leather-clad hands are along your body. And then, he stands back up, his hands lingering near your stomach, just shy of touching your chest. You can feel the tension hanging between you two, the thin line between a normal pat-down and something much worse. His fingers hover, almost hesitant as if testing the waters, “You don’t mind, do ya?” 

You blink at this, your head spinning. Is this normal? He asked for permission, didn’t he? Maybe you’re overthinking. Maybe he’s just doing his job, and you’re just nervous. But the doubt gnaws at you. You’ve heard of cops acting imposing, standing tall with a panoptic gaze, demanding submission without ever needing to speak a word. You’ve heard stories of them using that authority to cross boundaries with people— no, to break them entirely.

You’ve always struggled with confrontation. You’ve tended to let things slide before and made excuses for bad behaviour. It’s like a habit, but this, this is different. This is too much. The unease deepens into something darker. Something inside you screams to fight back, to speak up, to demand that they stop.

But all that comes out is a whisper, barely audible, “I’m a little uncomfortable.” The words feel weak, but you force them out, your voice trembling. You hope that’s enough— that the honesty will be enough to make him stop.

He was teetering the edge of patting you down, and groping you; you’re not sure if this is what a standard pat down is considered to be. You’ve seen people get checked at the airport after stepping through the scanners, lighting up with a flash, at the indication that something was out of place— it was quick, fast, non-invasive. But this. This felt like he was about to grab at your very soul, so tightly that it might as well burst in his hands, deflating any sense of pride or dignity you had left with a harsh crack and spill of the contents. “Poor thing’s uncomfortable,” Ghost murmurs with a frown, turning to look at König.

The other man doesn’t say anything at first, his towering figure casting a long shadow over you, but when he speaks, his voice is commanding, “Enough, Ghost.” Relief surges through you as Ghost steps back, his lips curling slightly in irritation as he clicks his tongue, finally, some distance. But your pulse doesn’t slow; it races, your heart still pounding in your ears, as the confusion and fear hang thick in the air, choking the space around you. Maybe they’ve decided to let you go now, but something in you tells you this isn't over. 

Your thoughts are silenced as your hands are suddenly grabbed from where they were resting, being maneuvered roughly behind your back. The sudden action makes you lose balance and fall forward with a yelp. When you make a move to straighten your torso up, a hand reaches the nape of your neck to keep you pinned to the hood of your car roughly, your chest and side of your face becoming dirty with the dust covering your vehicle. The taller man leans over your body, and you’re brought to your tippy toes as he does this, his erection pushing harshly against your ass. The cloth on his face drapes over your shoulder as he brings his mouth close to your ear, “You’re too soft with her, asking if it’s okay if she doesn’t mind. Slut like her doesn’t care about shit like that. Look at what she’s wearing… Begging for it, on display for us.” The way he spoke into your ear made your heart seize up. He spoke directly to you, but referred to you in the second person, dehumanizing you even further, not even addressing you as equal to them. This was beyond humiliating, beyond anything you would have expected. 

“Get off of me,” you protest, with a tone less than convincing. The one holding you down laughs, a chuckle breaking through his throat.

He thinks this is some kind of joke. 

“Fuck, Ghost,” he chortles, the sound low and sinister, dripping with mockery. “You should see how she’s trembling under me right now. It’s pathetic,” His voice cuts through the stillness, like a sharp blade, and the way he savours the words makes your stomach churn. Each laugh feels like a slap to your senses, echoing in your skull, ringing louder than the panic surging through your veins.

“Fucking bitch doesn’t even know we aren’t actually cops,” he says, and just like that, the ground shifts beneath your feet and your entire world is upside down. Your breath has ceased, and your lungs feel as if they were taken straight out of your ribcage. “We put on a good show for you though, right? Pulling you over like that? Saying you were going 30 over, Ghost saying he ran a check on you.”  A laugh spills from his lips again, thick with satisfaction, and every syllable feels like it's pulling you deeper into a pit of dread.

It’s as if time stops. The world tilts sideways, and your body goes cold. The weight of his words presses down on you, and you realize, with sickening clarity, that everything you thought you understood was a lie. The badge, the uniforms, the flashing lights— all of it was just a performance. A sick game.

“Cops in this area have no backbone,” König starts, with a sickening satisfaction lingering on the ends of his words, “They were so easy to take down too, Schatz, you have no idea.” Another laugh billows out from his chest, “Where else do you think we got this uniform from? The cruiser?” 

Your heart is pounding so loudly, and everything starts to click. The blood on Ghost’s vest, you should have known. You want to move, to escape, but your body feels like stone. The world around you is suddenly too small, suffocating like the walls are closing in with every laugh, every word. You want to scream, but the sound won’t come. A tear runs down the bridge of your nose and König hums, leaning in close to you to breathe in the scent of your fear, “Love breaking girls like you, fuck.”

Ghost remains silent in the corner, his eyes watching, but you can’t tell if he’s complicit or detached from the cruel charade. You’re too far gone to care now. All that matters is the cold truth sinking into you like a heavyweight. Your mouth goes dry, the room spinning as the sick realization settles in harshly. You weren’t just caught in a trap. You were the prey, and every moment of this has been designed to break you, to twist you into their game.

Your eyes look backwards to meet Ghost’s, and you plead to him with begging eyes, for him to say anything, to get the man on top of you off, give you some sense of respite, some room to breathe, some time to process what is happening. As you thought you were starting to make progress, looking at Ghost with such a sad, pleading look, König notices and glares down at you. He leans into your ear again and speaks words that make you feel like you’ve died, a million times over and over again, “Oh Schatz,” he chuckles with a small sigh, sounding almost disappointed at your display, “Don’t look at him like that, he’s just waiting his turn.”

[eddieslunchbox]

eighty-six, baby

summary: the ups and downs of the day eddie finally graduates

18+ [boyfriend!eddie x female!reader]

contains: blood, violence, bullying, hurt/comfort, swearing, mentions of alcohol, superficial injuries, fluff, kissing, surprise party, dustin and eddie acting like siblings

word count: 9.7k

a/n: baby's graduation day! eddie really deserved to walk across that stage in '86 and this is my interpretation of how he ended up going out with a bang and some blood. please heed the warning above if you're not comfortable with blood/violence. as always, please reblog/comment if you enjoyed this- I love hearing from you ❤

A metal clang rings through Eddie’s ears as he shuts the lid of his, now empty, lunch box, having met up for one final deal before the start of the ceremony. He shoves the tin into the back of his van and plucks his graduation cap off of the passenger seat. 

"Hey, Munson!"

Eddie stiffens, his knuckles turning white around his cap as he straightens his spine and heaves a heavy sigh through his nose.

Graduation starts in thirty minutes and he really thought that he could avoid this today, but he just isn’t that lucky. 

Shutting the door to his van and turning around, he plasters an unbothered smirk on his face to meet Jason and Andy, both dressed in their gowns like everyone else. 

“Happy graduation, freak.” Andy grins, trailing behind Jason until they both come to stand in front of Eddie, effectively cornering him against the side of his van and blocking anyone’s view who may be walking through the parking lot. “I’m shocked that Higgins is actually letting you take home a diploma today.” 

Eddie brushes this off, glancing towards the school where you’re waiting inside the front doors for him to finish his deal so that you could steal one last kiss before he has to line up with the other students. 

“Happy graduation, fellas.” He tips his chin in a small bow. “If you came here for a trade, you’re out of luck as of-” he glances at his watch, “three minutes ago.” 

Before he can blink, Jason is wrapping his fist around the collar of Eddie’s gown and slamming him against the side of his van, rolling his eyes in the process. 

“We don’t want your weed, freak,” Jason grits, the corner of his lip turning up in a menacing smile. “You really think I was just gonna let you walk right out of here without a goodbye?” 

Eddie plasters on his best poker face despite the way his heart skips a beat in his chest, Jason’s breath fanning across his face smelling like beer and the remnants of cigar smoke. 

This was the third year Eddie spent as a senior in high school and with your help, he finally managed to get good enough grades and actually submit all of his assignments to secure his diploma and get the hell out of Hawkins High.

When you met, Eddie was in the eleventh grade and you in the tenth, and you were the dictionary definition of high school sweethearts. Attached at the hip and caught making out in the hallway between classes a few too many times. 

When Eddie was held back from graduating the first time, he was pissed but he also secretly enjoyed getting to spend another year with you, taking a majority of the same classes. The second time it happened though, he had to watch you graduate while he sat in the stands with a flimsy bouquet of flowers in his hand and a shameful feeling in his stomach that he was forced to be there again, but this time without you. 

And on the first day of what ended up being his final senior year, Jason and his gang were in the same grade and opted to fuel their egos through Eddie’s torment, making him their own personal punching bag whenever they needed to blow off some steam. It worked in their favour, not having you around, but you still knew what went on when you would show up to Eddie’s trailer on a Friday night and he opened the door with a bag of peas pressed against his cheek. 

He never took the bullying well, at least not behind closed doors. And after attempting to fight back and being pummelled into the ground for a fourth time, earning himself a concussion, Eddie stopped defending himself.

They were stronger than him. So he let the jocks take what they needed without really blinking an eye, and he got off a little easier for it. 

When he showed up to school with a black eye or a fat lip, he acted like it didn’t exist. No matter the judgemental looks he received from his teachers or the worried ones from his friends. But he struggled with the embarrassment he felt for himself, that teenagers were the ones overpowering him.

It was something he eventually confided in you with when he broke down over the phone one night the week after Christmas break. 

They made him feel weak, immature, and downright stupid each time he was forced to clean up his nose in the school bathroom before Hellfire or see the look on his uncle’s face when he came home with another shiner. 

But now, he’s graduating. 

Third time’s a charm, he had said to you the night before the first day of class, and had been more determined than ever to get it right this time. 

And he did. 

But he still isn’t so lucky to believe that he could’ve gone the entire day without running into Jason. 

“Look-” Eddie mutters, his jaw tightening. “I’m not fighting you. So just let it go, man,” he says, stooping low enough to practically plead for his own mercy today. 

Wayne is here, waiting for him in the stands with the rest of the parents and families, and you’re bound to walk out of the school at any minute, looking for him. 

“Shut up. You’re a piece of shit, Munson,” Jason spits, his nose close to brushing against Eddie’s with how close he’s standing. “I think I deserve one last hurrah, don’t I?” he breathes through a smile that makes Eddie’s stomach turn. “To show everyone here you’re just some weak and pathetic satanist that can’t even bother defending himself?” 

“Jason- just wait… at least until after the ceremony, man, please-” 

“You’re the last person here who deserves to walk across that stage today. You can go ahead and show your girl how fucking pathetic you are.” 

Eddie manages to keep a straight face despite that comment feeling more painful than the fist that Jason throws across his face. His knuckles collide with the top of his cheek bone and skim across his nose with a soft cracking sound, springing tears to his eyes. 

Warmth immediately spills from Eddie’s nose and before he can turn his head back to face his abuser, a glob of spit lands directly on his cheek that makes him wince. 

“I truly wish you all of the best,” Jason says when he drops his hold around Eddie’s collar and takes a step back. “Lord knows you’ll be spending the rest of your life slinging drugs in alleyways until the chief finally locks you up for good.” 

Eddie glances at Jason who grins as he walks backwards, knocking his fist against Andy’s. 

“See you up there, yeah?” Jason points behind him to the football field where the ceremony is taking place. He sucks his tongue against his teeth before spinning on his heel and making his way back around the front of the school where everyone is starting to line up. 

Blood seeps between Eddie’s lips and he spits it onto the ground, lifting his arm to wipe off the saliva on his cheek with his sleeve. 

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, bringing his hand to his nose and glancing at his fingers to see them coated bright red. 

Your eyes flicker up to the clock above the doors, letting out a quiet sigh when Eddie still hasn’t shown. You cross your arms over your chest and rest your head on the wall, silently hoping he didn’t bail at the last minute since you had to convince him to come to this thing in the first place. 

It’s only when you spot Jason and Andy walking past the front doors, laughing about something that you feel your stomach drop. Jason pulls a cigar from the pocket of his gown and you spot the blotchy red skin covering his knuckles. 

“Shit,” you breathe, pushing the door open and stepping outside, rushing around the building to where Eddie’s van is parked. 

The back doors are open wide, facing the forest where he backed in when he arrived and there’s a wet, red stain painting the road next to his passenger side door. You press your lips together, your heart rising into your throat. 

Eddie is sitting in the back of the van, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and a tissue soaked in blood pressed against his nose. Broken blood vessels are painting the skin under his eye, turning a deep shade of red as it swells.

“Eddie…” you gasp, shoulders falling as you spot the two tissues he’s already discarded.

His head lifts up when you reach down to pick up his graduation cap off the ground where he dropped it, brushing it clean with your hand. 

“It’s fine,” he mumbles, voice nasally as he holds the tissue tightly to his nose. 

You glance towards the school, aware that the students are starting to line up. If Eddie doesn’t get there in time, he won’t be walking the stage. 

Climbing into his van on your knees, you set his cap to the side and grab a few more tissues from the box he keeps in the back. 

“Let me see,” you say, pulling out the water bottle you brought in your bag for the long day, dampening one of the tissues. 

Eddie turns to you and carefully lowers the maroon coloured tissue from his nose. Your eyes dart across his features and threaten to fill with tears, drops of red staining the green and orange stole that sits around his neck. 

Blood seeps slowly from one of his nostrils and you bring the tissue to his upper lip, carefully cleaning away the drying blood that’s smeared there. “Does it hurt?” 

“It’s not broken,” he says, voice quiet and although he didn’t answer your question, you don’t push. When your finger grazes over the side of his nose, he hisses, pulling away and lifting his hand to your wrist. “Fuck- stop. I’ll do it.” 

You frown, sitting back on your heels. “We don’t have time. You need to stop the bleeding, everyone is lining up already.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“What doesn’t?” 

He shakes his head, letting your arm go and plucking a fresh tissue to hold under his dripping nose. “I’m not walking that fucking stage,” he mutters, and you don’t miss the sheen of saltwater that spills across his vision before he looks down at the pavement. “Not like this. Not when Wayne is here… he-” his breath catches in his throat and his jaw tightens, “-it’s humiliating.” 

A lump forms in your throat that you swallow down, lifting your hand to his chin and turning him back to face you. You keep a gentle grip on his face as you wipe up the remainder of blood on his face, which he doesn’t fight you on. 

“I didn’t even fucking do anything this time, I barely said a word but he needed to get one last punch in,” he continues, blinking quickly in an attempt to clear his bleary eyes. “But he got what he wanted. I’m not going up there. I shouldn’t even be getting this diploma.” 

You pause at his words, lifting your eyes to his which are averted down to your thighs. “Did Jason say that to you?” 

“Does it matter?” 

He lifts a hand to rub at his uninjured eye and you notice the blood staining his fingers, dropping the dirtied tissue to the side and wetting a new one. He looks at you when you take his hand into your lap, chin tilted down to your chest as you clean up his skin. 

“You deserve to graduate more than anyone here, Eddie,” you start, his brows twitching down at the conviction in your voice. “And you’re going to walk across that stage today and snatch that god damn diploma out of Principal Higgins hand, give him the bird, and celebrate the fact that you’re finally getting the hell out of here.” 

You raise your eyes to meet his, noticing that his nose has almost stopped bleeding. 

“This shit doesn’t make you weak,” you quietly continue, tilting his chin up to wipe up the blood sitting in his nose. “And Wayne isn’t going to think you are. Especially not if you go up there without caring about what any of those assholes think about you. They may be physically stronger than you, but they have nothing over you, Eddie. You’re already so much more than they will ever be.” 

He’s quiet when you drop your hand from his chin and ball up the tissues in your hand to throw away later. His rings clink together as he curls his hand into a fist before flexing his fingers outward and back again, a nervous habit he developed a few years ago. 

“You proved everyone wrong this year. And you’re graduating today. You finished high school.” 

Despite the gnarly bruise that’s forming beneath his eye and the blood on his gown, he still looks just as beautiful as he did this morning when his lips curl up in a shy smirk, and he lifts his eyes to yours. 

“Fuck Jason and his friends, you’re not going to see them again after today. And this day is for you. No one else,” you say, lifting your hands to rest on his cheeks, smoothing your thumbs over his skin to collect any tears lingering there. “Got it?” 

He lets out a soft chuckle, sniffling and wincing slightly at the taste of blood in his throat. “Yeah, sweetheart. I got it.” 

“Good. Now… just try not to touch your nose for a while. It stopped bleeding for now but you might like… rip something open again if you do anything,” you murmur, eyeing his nose carefully. “Do you want me to break into the nurse’s office and find an ice pack for your eye?” 

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” he replies despite the throbbing pain in his face. “But, are you really going to make me walk out there with blood on my gown?” he says in jest although he knows that it’ll only solidify his standing as the ‘freak of Hawkins High’ until he walks off of that stage and doesn’t look back. 

“You might need to avoid Mrs. Click after the ceremony or she’ll make you pay for it, but-” 

You’re cut off by Eddie’s lips eagerly meeting yours, muffling the noise of surprise you make. He rests his hand against the side of your neck, forcing himself to stop from melting into a puddle on the pavement from the way you slide your fingers into his hair, the sweet lip gloss you’re wearing smearing against his lips.

His nose brushes your cheek and forces him to pull back from the sting, his lips glossy and pupils wide when your eyes flutter back open. 

“What was that for?” you giggle quietly as he slips his tongue out over his bottom lip to taste the gloss on his mouth and presses his fingers into the side of your thigh. 

“I’m happy you’re here,” he breathes, sniffling softly. “I still wish that we would’ve been graduating together- but you’re here, and I couldn’t do this shit without you.” 

You smile, giving him another quick kiss before swiping away some of the lip gloss on his bottom lip. “Don’t get all sappy on me already. You’re not allowed to make me cry until the ceremony.” 

He chuckles with the shake of his head, tilting his head down to glance at his watch. His face falls slightly as he sighs. “I should get going.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to find you some ice? It’s going to be a while before your name is called.” 

He shakes his head as you take in the swelling skin below his eye, knowing that his appearance is going to end up shocking some of the parents there today when he gets his diploma. Not that he cares about them. 

“I’m sure,” he cements and you give him a small, unsure frown. “I don’t want you worrying about me- I swear I’m good.” 

“Fine,” you mumble. “But I have some tylenol that you should take.” Pulling out a couple of capsules from your bag, you drop them into his hand and he swallows them down with the water you brought. “And bring your sunglasses. It’s sunny.” 

You have no doubt that he is going to wind up with a headache by the end of the day, more sensitive to sunlight ever since his head got slammed into the ground by one of Jason’s friends after Eddie threw a punch that busted their lip open a week before Halloween last year.

“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie murmurs and you roll your eyes, leaning into the kiss he presses to your cheek before plucking his sunglasses off of the floor of his van and sliding them onto his nose. 

He grabs his graduation cap before getting up and pulling you up with him. “I’ll be in the stands with Wayne, but if you need anything-” 

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” he assures you, tugging you into his chest for one last hug before he locks his van and leaves you to go sit under the sweltering sun for the next hour. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you mumble, kissing him again before stepping back and nudging him towards the school. “Now go!” 

He smirks, walking backward and giving you a two-fingered salute before spinning on his heel and sauntering off across the parking lot. 

You make your way back over to the football field, spotting Wayne at the end of one of the rows, saving a seat for you next to Dustin who Eddie had no idea was here. They had become pretty good friends over the school year and Dustin was the reason Eddie had started getting passionate about his Hellfire campaigns again after the slump he went through when school first began. 

And, Dustin practically begged you to let him come today, although you never thought of turning him down when he asked the first time, knowing Eddie would appreciate having him here even if he denied it.

Climbing the steps, you give Wayne a small smile before sliding past him to sit down, Dustin immediately holding out a bag of trail mix for you. “Thank you,” you mumble, plucking some from the bag to munch on. 

The graduates are slowly filling into the seats but you can’t see Eddie yet. 

“Hey,” you say suddenly, turning to Dustin. “Could you do me a favour?” 

“Uh, depends what it is,” he mumbles through the food in his mouth. 

“I need you to sneak into the school and find Eddie an ice pack and some water,” you reply and he looks at you with the raise of his brows high on his forehead. “And you’ll need to get it to him during all the blabbering-” You wave your hand towards the stage where the teachers are quietly conversing to each other. “Please?” 

Dustin glances towards the school. “What happened?” 

“What do you think?” you mutter quietly and he frowns, turning to you. 

“Alright,” he sighs, shoving the bag of trail mix into your hand. “But if I get caught, you owe me big. And I mean big.” 

“Deal.” 

With a pause of hesitation, Dustin sighs before standing up and making his way down the stairs, disappearing behind the stands. Wayne clears his throat and you glance at him. 

“He has a black eye,” you say unpromptedly and he blinks at you. “But he’s fine... I made sure.” 

He doesn’t reply, flickering his gaze towards where the students are walking into the field, his lips pursing softly in disappointment. 

“Dustin’s finding him some ice, and I gave him painkillers so he’ll make it through the ceremony without any issue. And this is… well hopefully, the last time he’ll ever deal with this,” you quietly continue and Wayne nods, keeping his eyes on the teenagers when he finally speaks up. 

“Who did it?” he asks, nodding towards the group and you glance over, seeing that most of the first few rows are filled in, but Jason happens to be standing at the side of the stage, talking to his coach and tilting his head back with a loud laugh. 

“Kid beside the stage… It’s been him and some of his friends.” 

Shaking his head, he sighs and sits back, hands clasping the edge of the seat beneath him. “Well… thank you. For always making sure he’s okay.” 

“Of course,” you shrug like it’s nothing and it makes Wayne smile as he plucks the program off of the seat and flips through it to pass the time. 

When you finally spot Eddie making his way onto the field, his sunglasses are still perched on his nose and his graduation cap sits snugly on his head, flattening some of his curls. His head turns towards the bleachers and you can tell the exact moment he spots you, a grin spreading on his lips before he eagerly waves to you. 

You smile, waving back and nudging his uncle’s leg with your knee to get his attention. He spots Eddie and lifts his hand in a wave, smiling softly as he follows the line into the next row of chairs stationed on the grass and sits down, his back facing you. 

You’re glad he’s in good spirits after what happened and can only hope that the rest of the day goes smoothly. 

About ten minutes later, while Principal Higgins is in the middle of his speech, you spot quiet commotion coming from the side of the field. Dustin is pulling his arm away from one of the teachers standing by the exit, a bottle of water and a plastic bag filled with ice clutched in his hands. 

He manages to get out of her grip and runs towards the plastic chairs, catching the attention of almost everyone in the stands as he slides into the row that Eddie is in with his lips moving in what you can only assume to be quiet apologies to the people he passes. He stops halfway through the row and shoves the items into Eddie’s lap without a word before turning around and hurrying out of there. 

A teacher is making her way over to him but he immediately darts around the rows of chairs and back over to where you’re sitting, his feet slamming loudly against the metal stairs as he climbs them. He hurriedly squeezes past you and Wayne and sits down with a heavy sigh, panting to catch his breath. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” he huffs and you ignore the glances of both parents and students in favour of finding Eddie in the crowd, his body twisted in his seat and sunglasses in his hand. 

He raises an eyebrow at you and you just smile, shrugging your shoulders to your ears. His tongue pokes into his cheek and a smile tugs at his lips, shaking his head in disbelief. You pucker your lips and press your fingers to them before blowing him a kiss, his cheeks turning a visible shade of pink. 

With his sunglasses off you can see that his eye is now a deep shade of purple, and you’re glad you didn’t listen to him about the ice, knowing he’ll be grateful he has it if he needs it.

He turns around in his seat and you can feel another pair of eyes on you, lifting your gaze towards the second row of students where Jason has his head turned, eyes narrowing in your direction. 

You lift your hand and wiggle your fingers at him before promptly sticking out your tongue, making his jaw tick in annoyance. He rolls his eyes and slumps into his chair as he looks back towards the stage and you smile in satisfaction, dropping your chin to rest in your hand. 

You, Dustin, and Wayne spend the next little while finishing off the bag of trail mix and keeping as hydrated as possible in the heat, and you silently envy the parents who brought umbrellas to shade themselves from the unrelenting sun as you fold up your program into an accordion to fan yourself with.

The ceremony doesn’t drag on as much as you anticipated it would, already on the L’s after forty-five minutes, but Dustin is keeping himself occupied with the copy of Lord of the Rings he had borrowed from Eddie, who checked it out of the school library two years ago and dodged enough late fees until the librarian reluctantly ordered a new copy in replacement. 

None of you are planning to stick around once Eddie gets his diploma, knowing that the last thing he would want is to be forced to sit here for the next hour or two until the end of the ceremony. And there’s currently an ice cream cake sitting in Wayne’s freezer that Eddie doesn’t know about, but that you’re dying to dig into after sitting in the sun all morning. 

Wayne wipes a bead of sweat off of his temple with the back of his hand and you trade programs with him so that he can use your makeshift fan, flipping through his pristine one until you find the list of names. There’s only five people in front of Eddie and you glance up to see that his row is lining up at the side of the stage. 

His water and ice were promptly discarded onto his seat before he stood up which you’re unsurprised by, happy nonetheless that he keeps his sunglasses perched over his eyes until the first M name is called out. Eddie tugs his glasses off and shoves them into the pocket of his gown, his eye visibly black and blue even from where you’re sitting. 

Of course, this being his last day ever at Hawkins High, he’s going out with a bang. Although, you don’t miss the way he starts to fiddle with the rings on his fingers, toeing at the ground with nerves the closer he gets to the stage. 

Wayne glances at you when you pull your camera from your bag, turning it on and tugging your bag back over your shoulder. “I’ll get a photo of him. Just enjoy this,” you say when you catch his eye and he quietly clears his throat, nodding as he looks towards the stage again. 

You stand up and make your way out of the stands, careful not to trip over your feet on the steep stairs before walking closer to the side of the stage Eddie will be leaving from. Fiddling with your camera, you spot him on the other end, gripping the railing tightly as the student in front of him grabs his diploma and shakes Principal Higgins hand. 

“Edward Waylon Munson,” Mr. Kaminski drones from his place at the podium and there’s scattered applause as Eddie hops up onto the stage with his signature smirk on his face. 

You can’t help the tears that well up in your eyes as you lift your camera to your eye. Principal Higgings barely holds out the diploma before Eddie grabs it from his hand with a mocking bow. He turns to walk backwards for a few steps and lifts his middle finger into the air, letting out a loud “whoo!” that makes a few parents in the audience jump. 

He is a sight to see with his frizzy curls poofing out from underneath his graduation cap and the violent bruise painting his cheek, but no one would have a clue that he was ever bothered by his injuries.

You’re not surprised when Eddie’s eyes snap to a section in the front row, hearing a quiet yell from Jason that you can’t understand but which makes your jaw tick in frustration. Eddie merely tilts his head to the side and lifts his hands up near his head, poking his fingers up and sticking his tongue out with a crazed look in his eye.

A few gasps erupt from the bleachers and Eddie’s face falls into an amused smirk as he lowers his hands back to his sides.

Snapping a few pictures, you hear Dustin cheering loudly from the stands next to Wayne and there’s a few others from the crowd that you recognize as Robin and Nancy, both who are in the same graduating class, Eddie’s bandmates, Mike, and Steve who you spotted in the bleachers when you first arrived. 

Higgins and the other teachers roll their eyes, grumbling nonsense under their breaths, but Eddie just smiles, giving a two-fingered salute to Dustin and Wayne. 

A lump settles at the base of your throat with your emotion, happy that despite all the people who had no problem voicing their negative opinion about him over the years, and particularly this past school year, that he still did make a couple of friends that were actually happy he was able to finally get his diploma.

There’s a soft pink hue ghosting across Eddie’s unmarred cheek that you’re pretty sure is from the handful of genuine cheers he received that he never expected, but you know if you mention it, he’ll blame it on the sun. 

He tugs his tassel to the side and practically skips down the steps onto the grass as you shove your camera back into your bag and find his eyes with a beaming smile on your face. You hurry to meet him halfway, leaping into his arms with your legs wrapping around his hips and arms latching onto his shoulders. 

Neither of you care about the eyes of anyone in the crowd as you hug him tightly. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Eddie Munson,” you say with so much conviction that his eyes threaten to water as he buries his head in your neck. “You did it!” 

You pull away, planting your hands on his cheeks and your lips on his. It’s hard to kiss him with your smile and you pull back when he groans.

“Careful of the eye, sweetheart,” he murmurs through a grin and you giggle an apology, sliding your hand to the back of his neck and kissing him again. 

He sets you back down on the ground a few seconds later, keeping his lips on yours with a content hum vibrating his chest, only stopping when you hear Dustin’s voice. 

“Get a room.” 

Eddie smiles, pulling away from you and glancing up to see Dustin and Wayne walking over to you. You step to the side and notice the slight shift in Eddie’s expression when he sees his uncle’s glossy eyes. 

You fumble to pull your camera back out of your bag as Wayne clasps a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, shaking his head as he takes in the bruise on his cheek. “Christ boy,” he mutters. “That’s one hell of a way to go, isn’t it?” he jokes, making Eddie laugh before pulling him into a hug.

It’s hard to decipher any of the words they exchange as you snap a photo of the sweet moment, Eddie pulling back with a wobbly lip before he sniffles and glances down to his feet, letting out a soft laugh when Wayne pats a heavy hand on his back. 

“Know I’m proud of you kid,” Wayne mutters and Eddie wipes at his eyes with his sleeve with a quick nod. 

The sweet moment ends abruptly when Dustin walks up to him and throws his arms around his shoulders, making Eddie stiffen slightly. 

“I knew you could fucking do it, Eddie-” he starts and Eddie gives him a brief pat on the back before squirming out of his hold, Dustin ducking before he can put him in a headlock. “You’re gonna let me use the throne now, right?” 

“Considering none of those other guys take it seriously enough… Yeah, it’s yours man.” 

You smile when Dustin pumps his fist into the air with a whispered “yes” and continues babbling about his campaign ideas as the four of you walk towards the parking lot. 

Luckily Eddie’s friends walked the stage before him, so he isn’t missing out on anything, leaving early. He throws his sunglasses back on and waits until you’re at his side to slide his hand into yours, lightly bumping his hip against your side.

“You have to keep hosting campaigns, you’re the best Dungeon Master there is!” Dustin exclaims with wide eyes as you step off the grass and onto the asphalt, turning to walk backwards so he can look at Eddie. “I have so many things I still need to show you, and you have to help me with my own games now, and-” 

“Dude, relax,” Eddie cuts him off. “I’m not giving up DM that easily. You’re taking the reins here-” he points to the school. “But I’ll still host campaigns, I just have to work out the details first.” 

Dustin’s shoulders slump in relief and you notice the tiniest hint of a smile on Eddie’s face once he turns back around. 

Wayne is parked a couple cars down from the van and you stop in the middle to part ways, Eddie lifting his foot to nudge at Dustin’s leg.

“Thanks for coming, man. Means a lot,” he says quietly. “I’ll see you around, yeah?” 

Dustin frowns. “Obviously. We’re all going to your house.” 

You roll your eyes with a small sigh, not knowing why you ever trusted Dustin to keep even part of a secret to himself. 

Eddie raises his eyebrows, glancing from Wayne to you and you give him a small smile, shrugging your shoulders.

“Come on,” you start, hooking your arm into his and tugging him towards his van. “Let’s go before someone says too much.”

“You got something planned?” he asks with a teasing smirk before his face falls slightly and he tugs you back. “But wait, can we stop for milkshakes or something? I’m sweating my ass off.” 

“Don’t you need to go and return that gown before you go anywhere?” Wayne pipes up from behind him and Eddie spins on his heel, plucking at the fabric covering his chest. 

“Not unless I wanna give ‘em any amount of money for this,” he says, grimacing down at the blood, now stained a murky shade of brown against the fabric. “They can’t do shit about it once I’m gone.” 

“If you say so,” Wayne grumbles, rounding the bed of his truck to get into the driver’s seat as Dustin climbs in on the other side. 

“We don’t need to stop for milkshakes,” you say and Eddie looks back at you with his bottom lip jutting out. 

“Hey-” Wayne suddenly calls from over the top of his truck and Eddie turns back. “Don’t get any more speeding tickets, alright? ‘Cause I’m not paying for them anymore. You’re finished high school, so you’re not getting away with that shit as easily,” he scolds with a pointed look towards his nephew, but you can see the glimmer of pride in his gaze. 

Eddie doesn’t reply but gives him a thumbs up before turning to you and curling his arm around your shoulders.

“So… why are you denying a graduate his milkshake? You know I’m driving right, so you don’t really have the ultimate say-” 

“It’s a surprise!” you cut him off and he laughs, walking with you to the side of his van.

“One sec,” he quips before he’s ripping the stole off over his head and hastily unzipping the gown with a relieved sigh when the slight breeze in the air flits across his skin. 

Your eyes trail down to what he’s wearing underneath, which you did see before he picked up his gown this morning, but it had somehow slipped your mind. 

His favourite ripped black jeans are sitting on his hips, lacking their usual jewelry in place of an old leather belt that has a faded silver buckle of a skull resting just below his navel. A fitted, black singlet tank top hugs his lean figure, tucked into his jeans and showing off his arms which are slightly more defined than usual with the push-ups he started doing a few weeks ago. 

He pushes the gown off of his shoulders, letting the fabric drop to the ground and your eyes drag over the recent additions on his arms from over the last year, the dark ink prominent across his pale skin. 

When he turns to pick up the discarded gown, you notice the sheen of sweat coating his heated skin, glimmering under the summer sun and matting down the subtle peek of hair you glimpse under his arm.

Eddie turns his head to look at you and a smirk lifts to his face when he watches your lips part as your eyes dart over his figure. 

“Baby?” he drags on slowly, standing up straight and tilting his head to the side. 

Your eyes snap back up to his face, cheeks growing flush. “What?” 

His eyes crinkle softly as he laughs, pulling open the door to his van and chucking his cap and gown behind the front seat with the fake diploma, the real one being sent through the mail in the coming weeks. 

“See something you like?” he teases before lifting himself onto his toes and turning his back to you, whipping his head over his shoulder with a much too-forced smoulder that makes you giggle. “Doesn’t this deserve a milkshake?” 

“No, Eddie!” you laugh, nudging him to get inside the van. “There’s something better at your house. Promise.” 

“Oh yeah?” He arches his brow at you, perching himself on the edge of the driver’s seat, and you nod. “Consider me intrigued.” 

He pulls you in for a kiss by the back of your neck, moaning quietly at the taste of your lip gloss before patting the back of your thigh and telling you to get in the van. 

The drive back to his trailer is filled with blaring music combined with Eddie’s screams as he sings along, batting his hands against the steering wheel and bopping his head enough that his hair sticks to his cheeks, damp from the heat. There’s a wide smile on his face for almost the entire drive and you watch him and his happiness, recognizing how much more relaxed he already seems, the further away from the school you get. 

The air conditioning in his van busted yesterday and he hasn’t gotten around to fixing it yet, so you’re sweating in places you didn’t even know could sweat, but nothing could have stumped your happiness in that moment, knowing that he’s finally free of all of the shit that’s been holding him back for so many years. 

He reaches over to turn down the music when he pulls into the trailer park, having been scolded more than once by his elderly neighbour for the noise. He has a soft spot for her though, shovelling her walk in the winter in exchange for a cup of cocoa, or scrubbing her car clean in the summertime for a lemonade, like he’s done for the last handful of years. 

You take your seatbelt off before he’s even put the van into park next to Wayne’s truck, twisting around to grab his graduation cap, smoothing the tassel out between your fingers. He watches you, shutting off the van and dipping his chin when you lean forward to secure the cap over his curls again. 

“What are you doing?” he mumbles, nose twitching when the tassel tickles his skin. 

“Can you keep it on for a little bit?” 

“Why?” He lifts his head and you push the tassel to the side of the cap, smiling at him. 

“Because, I’m proud of you and you look really cute wearing it.” 

His features briefly twist in annoyance as he groans, but you catch the faint smile that quivers at the corner of his lips. “Fine. But it’s coming off as soon as you’re done taking all your little photos.” 

With that, you both get out and Eddie sighs in relief from no longer being in the hot, humid air inside of his van. He lingers in the subtle breeze, tipping his chin up towards the sky with his eyes falling closed and you take the opportunity to snap another picture of him, his head turning to you when he hears your camera. 

You smile at him, shoving it back into your bag and holding your hand out. “Come on, I’m dying out here.” 

He grins at you, looking like an excited little boy as he strides over to take your hand and follow you eagerly up the stairs and into the trailer. 

“We’re home!” Eddie bellows, the screen door loudly slamming shut behind him. “There better be a damn good reason why I couldn’t buy myself a shake-” 

He pauses, taking in the sight of the four boys sitting in the living room, talking each other’s ears off about some movie you haven’t seen. Your shoulders fall in relief that his bandmates made it to the trailer before you did, knowing they only left the ceremony as soon as Eddie walked off of the stage. 

There’s a shiny foil banner hung above the television, reading “Happy Graduation!” and a few balloons scattered around the room; the most you were able to do in the short time you had the trailer to yourself this morning when Wayne took Eddie out for breakfast.

No one even glances up at Eddie’s voice, too engrossed in their conversation and you press your lips together with a disappointed roll of your eyes, having initially planned that they would all surprise Eddie as soon as the two of you walked through the door. Not even Dustin looks up, rambling to Gareth. 

“Surprise?” you say timidly, looking up at Eddie to see a crease between his brows, an unreadable expression on his face. 

His eyes snap down to yours when he hears your voice and his face softens. “You planned this?” 

You nod. “I know it isn’t a big… party or anything, and if you want, I’m sure we can head over to Steve’s a little later to see everyone else but I just thought-” 

You end up cutting yourself off with a quiet ‘oof’ when Eddie crushes you in a hug, almost knocking you straight onto the floor with the force, if only his arms weren’t holding you tightly against his chest. 

“You’re incredible,” Eddie breathes into your neck, pressing his face there despite the pain radiating in his cheekbone. “I don’t care about a party… this is all I wanted- even more than I thought I did,” he says before pulling back and placing his hands on the sides of your neck. “Shit, sweetheart,” he chuckles, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks and glancing at the party banner on the wall. “I was so happy just to come back here with you and Wayne.” 

“I still thought it would be a little bit more than this,” you say in quiet frustration, motioning to the boys in the living room who still haven’t acknowledged either of you. “They were at least supposed to say ‘surprise.’” 

The smile on his face only grows before he’s pushing at your shoulders until your back hits the wall, his lips promptly smearing against yours. His kiss is rough and a little uncoordinated but it only lasts for a couple of seconds, Eddie pulling back when you hear a familiar, low clearing of a throat. 

Wayne stands with his hip resting on the edge of the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Should I barbecue tonight, or do you want to go out again?” he asks, rubbing his fingers over the scruff on his chin and Eddie’s face drops into a sarcastic scowl. 

“Do you have to ask?” he accuses and Wayne grumbles something under his breath before turning to go back into the kitchen, waving a dismissive hand. 

“You’re helping me grill then,” Wayne calls and Eddie gives him a salute that he doesn’t see, turning back to you. 

“This is still a surprise, baby,” he reassures your previous comment, tilting his head towards the living room. “But if you think you’re ever gonna pull them away from talking about Day of the Dead, you’re so wrong,” he drags out his words, voice dropping into a low hum. 

You laugh, his hands squeezing at your hips before he plants another kiss onto your lips. “Thank you,” he murmurs and you smile, dipping your chin to rest your forehead on his. 

“You’re welcome… Are you happy?” 

“So fuckin’ happy,” he whispers, eyes glimmering in delight and you think today might just be the day that those brown eyes officially make your heart burst into pieces. 

“Can I show you why we didn’t stop for shakes now? Maybe we can actually all cool off,” you ask and he nods quickly, the tassel on his cap wiggling with the movement. 

Wayne is pouring sodas for everyone into solo cups when you walk into the kitchen, two beers dripping in condensation sitting on the counter and Eddie slips one into his hand, taking a swig of it. He keeps his hand on your hip as you pull open the door to the freezer, the icy air coming out in visible clouds and chilling your skin. 

You feel his chin come down to rest on the top of your head while you grab the ice cream cake and slip out of his grip to set it on the counter.

His eyes widen when he sees it, blindly shutting the freezer and standing next to you with his jaw falling open in surprise. 

It’s a simple sheet cake with white icing covering the entire thing, black piping around the edges and the demon from his Hellfire logo iced onto the centre in gel next to a dark green graduation cap, matching the one sitting on his head. 

The words at the top of the cake read, 'Graduating Munson of ‘86,' with a cursive, 'Congratulations!' piped below the demon’s head. 

Eddie cackles at the message on the cake as you pop off the frosty lid and set it to the side. 

“Holy shit, this is amazing,” he beams, sliding his hands around your waist to pull you into his chest. “You do this?” 

“Maybe… I placed the order anyway,” you reply, smiling when he tightens his arms around you. “Wayne came up with the writing though.” 

“Well we’re not celebrating the whole bloody class of ‘86, ‘side from your boys,” Wayne mumbles from his place near the sink, nodding towards the living room. 

“Is it chocolate inside?” Eddie asks, lips brushing your ear. 

“Duh.” 

His hand lifts up, eager to swipe off some of the icing on the side of the cake. 

“Ah!” You lightly slap his hand away. “You’ll get your piece. But don’t you want a picture before you dig into it?” 

“Hell yeah,” he agrees and moves around you to pick up the cake carefully in his hands while you bring your camera back out. 

He smiles widely at you and you lift your camera to your eye. “Say ‘happy graduation!’” 

The camera goes off but you instruct him to take another one and he pretends to pose just to humour you before he leans down and takes a big bite off the corner of the cake, smearing his face and nose with black and white icing as soon as the shutter goes off. 

“Eddie!” Your jaw drops as you lower the camera and he looks at you innocently, chewing down the cake and ice cream in his mouth. “That’s going to stain your face.” 

Wayne chuckles as Eddie’s face falls and he puts the cake down, sticking his tongue out to try and lick up the black icing on his upper lip. His uncle tosses a wet kitchen towel at his face as you move to start cutting up the cake. 

“Better?” Eddie asks after a few seconds and you glance at him to see a small stripe of black still staining the side of his top lip and darkening the stubble he has there. 

“Sure.” You smile and he frowns, poking a finger into your side. 

When the cake is cut and distributed onto paper plates, Wayne calls the boys to grab their food and Eddie saunters into the living room with his arm curled around a bowl of chips, beer in hand. He drops down onto the sofa with a happy sigh, setting the bowl onto the coffee table and patting the cushion for you to sit next to him, grabbing the plate you made up for him with his already-bitten cake.

The next hour flies by with the boys greedy in their helpings of cake, and you eventually wind up curled against Eddie’s side and holding a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel to his cheek after he mentioned how badly it was starting to sting. 

He has your legs pulled over his, one hand curled around your thigh with the other gesturing animatedly at his side as he talks about the new setlist he wants his band to try the next time they book a gig, since The Hideout is currently closed down for some much needed renovations. 

It used to make you a little uncomfortable, joining in on hangouts like this with Eddie where you were the only girl in the room. But despite the people he deals to, or the ones that have a sour taste in their mouth whenever they so much as glance in his direction, Eddie generally surrounds himself with good people. 

He has a habit of latching onto anyone that shows him any ounce of kindness, and was eventually left with the very few that never once got sick of him.

His friends are some of the most respectful you’ve ever met, treating you as any other member of the group aside from the occasional wrestling, headlocks, and crude pranks that they play on each other. 

You’re also lucky that Wayne has always been so easygoing with your relationship with his nephew, so long as you stuck to keeping things strictly PG when people were around: a rule he demanded after having caught the two of you fooling around on the sofa one night when he came home from work early with a cold, the very first year that you had started dating. 

You’re happy in a room with the people that Eddie loves the most and he’s overjoyed that you’ve found your place so seamlessly within the group, even if you occasionally slip away to spend some much needed time with Robin or Nancy. 

The frozen peas eventually get too warm to do much of anything, but Eddie insists that they helped anyway, lightly prodding at his bruised cheekbone to feel how cold his skin is. Wayne takes the bag from you when he heads back into the kitchen to start prepping dinner and Eddie grabs your hand, lifting it to his lips to press a light kiss there. 

He keeps his hand tucked into yours and turns to join in on the conversation about D&D, specifically, the new characters they were working on, started up by Dustin. 

Without thinking about it, he tugs the graduation cap off of his head when it starts to feel too tight and your lip juts out in a small pout, catching his attention. 

“Sorry, baby. But it’s gonna give me a headache soon,” he says, smoothing down his already flattened curls. “Here-” he twists to face you better and lifts the cap to set on your head, tucking it down over your hair. 

“You’ve already seen me in this, Eds,” you mumble in resignation, not fighting him when his eyes brighten at the sight of you in his graduation cap. 

“Yeah but you look hot in it.” He shrugs, nudging his finger against the tassel before dropping his hands onto your thighs. 

Your cheeks feel hot at the compliment and you bite back your smile, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder. 

Both of you briefly forget about the stiff piece of cardboard stitched into the top of the cap, the corner of it jabbing Eddie in the neck and making him yelp. 

“Oh my god.” You whip your head up and he bursts into a laugh. “I’m so sorry!” 

You press your hand to the red mark already forming on his pale skin, his shoulders shaking softly as he chuckles. 

“I should’ve seen that one coming. You and Carver really know where my weak spots are,” he teasingly prods and your frown only deepens. 

“Don’t compare me to Jason,” you mumble, his face falling at the joke he didn’t realize was a little too far. Your thumb brushes gingerly over the freshly marred skin near his collarbone and he lets out a quiet sigh at the delicate touch. “You know I didn’t do that on purpose-” you start to defend yourself but he grabs your hands to tangle them together with his. 

“I know- hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about what I was saying.” He feels awful at the genuine sadness now painted across your features. “Was super shitty of me to say.” 

“I still hate what he did today,” you admit, eyes lifting to his bruise. 

“I know,” he murmurs against the back of your hands, his eyes rounding out in apology. “Forgive me?” he softly pleads, kissing your knuckles and you give him a weak nod. 

You absolutely hate the reminder of what that piece of shit did to him, but you know that his words slipped out without thought with no intentional malice behind them. He had also mentioned to you when he pulled out of the school’s parking lot that this wound up being the first time he ended up not caring so much about what Jason did - once you talked him down at least - knowing now that the chances of ever running into him and his friends again are truly slim to none.

“Thank you,” he says through a sigh and lifts his head. “Can I have a kiss?” 

Leaning forward, he merely pulls back and the crease between your brows deepens until he taps against the side of his neck. The corners of your lips turn up and you pull his cap off of your head, tilting your chin forward to press one soft kiss to his skin. 

He finds your lips with his own when you sit back, resting his hand on your jaw. He lingers on you for a few seconds before pulling back, the tip of his nose brushing yours. 

“You kissed me better… did it work with you?” he wonders, dark eyes flickering back and forth between yours and you have to pull your lips to the side to hide your smile. 

There is a part of you that would love nothing more than to tease him more than you’re currently capable of with the presence of his friends in the room, but you just shake your head. His brow arches in surprise. 

“No? How many do you need?” 

You shrug and his eyes narrow at you before he starts counting up from one. Shaking your head with every number he says, you deny him satisfaction only until he reaches five. 

“Five it is,” he murmurs, creeping his fingers over your collarbone before he wraps his hand around the back of your neck and pulls you forward. 

It’s hard to kiss with the smiles lifting onto both of your faces and you laugh when he accidentally kisses your teeth. The five consecutive pecks are fast and noisy each time your lips part from each other, and you pull your bottom one between your teeth after the fifth one as Eddie trails his kisses up and over your cheek until you giggle, pulling away from his grasp. 

“Worked like a charm,” he hums, laughing softly into your hair and catching Dustin’s disgusted gaze over the top of your head. 

“Are you guys done?” he asks and has to duck behind the coffee table when Eddie immediately chucks a throw pillow at his head. 

“Fuck off!” Dustin yells, throwing it back and Eddie dodges it as it flies past his head. 

“Watch it! I’m damaged goods, Henderson.” 

“You’re damaged something alright,” Dustin mutters under his breath and you press your lips together, not surprised when Eddie’s eyes narrow and he carefully pushes your legs off of his lap. 

“You wanna say that to my face like a man?” Eddie taunts, a menacing smirk on his face as Dustin’s eyes briefly widen but he hides it with a forced clearing of his throat, pushing his fingers through his hair. 

“What? No- I didn’t say anything.” His voice is quiet and Eddie pats his hand against your thigh before standing up to tower over his friend. “I’m just uh… gonna go to the bathroom,” he continues, pushing himself to stand and rushing around the sofa to put it between him and Eddie. 

“You’re dead,” Eddie barely gets out before Dustin is sprinting out of the trailer with a shriek, making Eddie roll his eyes, sitting back down with a satisfied smile. 

“You’re not going after him?” 

He shakes his head. “Nah. Let him hide out there for ten minutes, he deserves it. I graduated today, he doesn’t get to mess with me.”

“You’re really going to keep milking that for the rest of the day, aren’t you?” 

His brows raise high on his head and he nods, grabbing a handful of chips to shove into his mouth. You playfully roll your eyes as he sits back and hooks an arm around your shoulders before pressing a salty kiss to your cheek. 

“Ugh,” you scoff lightly at the crumbs that fall from his lips and down your shirt. “You’re lucky I love you,” you grumble and he chuckles once he’s swallowed down his snack. 

“Luckiest guy in the world,” he replies, gently knocking his head against yours and you smile, cuddling deeper into his side, knowing just how much he truly believes that. 

You feel the same way, after all.

[81pastrys]

Hi pls could u request a dad Lando fic where Lila is about 17/18 and she gets a pregnancy scare (she's not actually preggo obvi 😭) but she goes to her mum about it cuz she's so scared on what to do and Lando overhears but they're both rlly supportive in case it does come back positive and when it turns out to be negative they're relieved but then he goes full dad mode if u get what I mean 😂 have a grt day hope ur doing alright 🫶

Waiting Game

Summary— Lila worries she messed up big time, but when it’s a false alarm she gets another ‘talk’

Warnings— teen pregnancy scare

A/N— I have more in the works 🫶🏻

Dad Lando List

Part 2 ; Part 3

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws

Lila was a good kid, always had good grades, no bad influences. Lando never worried about her well being if she went out to party and such, but what did worry him was Carlo.

Yes, Lila and Carlo had been dating for almost 3 years, but he hated the fact they were. Don’t get him wrong, amazing kid, great even, but Lando knows too much for his own good about teenagers and relationships.

He brought these worries up to his wife when it all started, walking in the two making out, but she blew him off with a, “They’re just kids Lando, bring this up in a few years and I’ll agree.” Well. The timer ran out and he overheard the two talking.

He could tell Lila was anxious, nervous, and scared. All by her tone of voice and stuttering. “Mum, I-I’m scared.” She started off with. Her mum was now concerned, what could be worrying Lila?

“What’s the matter sweetheart?” Maybe Carlo broke her heart, maybe she was just having a rough time with Lando being away while she hits milestones and such. Her mum couldn’t tell.

“Well, I talked with Carlo already and he told me not to worry but-“ Lila was cut off by Lando’s entrance, his worried manner appeared smiley and normal dad Lando.

“Hey my sweetheart.” He said, kissing her head. She shot him a nervous smile and he could see her tapping her fingers like he taught her when she got anxious. “Is something wrong?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing while he looked to his wife.

Lila hesitated and let out a quiet whine before blurting, “I think I’m pregnant.” She gasped at her own words and covered her mouth. Tears started forming and Lando immediately pulled her into a hug. “I haven’t taken a test, but I’m late and I-“

“Shh, it’s okay Lila.” Lando cooed looking to his wife. She got the message and walked to her bathroom. Not that her and Lando were trying, but she had pregnancy tests on hand in case. “Whatever happens, we’ll be right here with you.” He assured her they would not shut her out for a mistake.

Lila wiped her tears, trying to hide the emotions from her dad as he let her loose. “Please don’t kill him, it was an accident.” She whispered. Lando couldn’t give two shits about Carlo right now, not when his daughter needs him.

“Here sweetheart, me and your dad are going to talk for a little okay, we aren’t going anywhere okay?” Her mum returned with the test and Lila nodded, hurrying to the bathroom. She looked to Lando and sighed. “She is almost 18 Lan.”

Lando didn’t know how to respond, Lila would have her world turned upside down is she was pregnant. Her scholarships, her career, all of that required her full attention. “She’ll be okay my love.” He nodded and hugged his wife. “Whatever the test says is okay, she’ll have us either way.”

Lila followed the instructions and took deep breaths as the test lines faded into appearance. Not pregnant. She took another deep sigh and immediately told Carlo. She returned to her parents and showed them the negative test.

Lando likes trying to lighten the mood, maybe not in the best ways but he said, “I think I see a second line there.” He smiled big and Lila’s eyes nearly popped out her head. She looked back at the test.

“He’s joking.” Her mum said, hugging her teenager. “Now, we need to talk about using protection.” Lando’s smile faded and he crossed his arms. Why wasn’t this even a scare?

“Why was this even possible?” He asked. Not that he had the talk with her, but he knew his wife surely did. “Condoms, is she on birth control?” Lando asked. His wife shook her head and Lila took the reprimands.

“Lila we talked about this, we can get you on birth control, but for the time being.” Her mum added, looking to Lando. “We can buy condoms or give you money to buy them, but we want you to be safe.”

Lando doesn’t want her sexually active at all, but that’s just his fatherly instinct. “He should be buying them.” He mumbled. “Besides the point, you can do what you want, as long as you are safe while doing it.” He said.

“It was a one time thing, we weren’t thinking right, but I think he’s more scared than I was.” Lila said. “You might get a call from his dad.” Lando sighed. Of course Carlo would go running to daddy if his girlfriend had a pregnancy scare.

“If Carlos calls me freaking out, can we prank him?” Lando asked his wife like a giddy child. His wife rolled her eyes and Lila loved the idea. Carlos ended up not calling and Lando was bummed he couldn’t prank his best friend.

Why wouldn’t Lando want to prank Carlos 😭

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @itznotsophia @chertik-007vvv @kallanfiona

[biteyoubiteme]

You do not get how much i love zombie themed things like ugh i will eat up anything that is related to an apocalypse lol its my fav and omfg i was waiting so long to find the moment to sit down and eat this up and i did not regret it so sorry my reblog took forever but its here now lol- 

Your eyes flicked briefly to the small bottle of sleeping pills on the bedside table. It sat there like an accusation, a stark reminder of the restless hours you spent last night. The tossing, the turning, the damp sheets sticking to your skin as you wrestled with the silence that reduced to grant you peace. Im on the edge of my seat i already love your writing so much- 

“Did you guys see the news?” okay i love the way that you cut back from both povs so much like uuuggghhh i love the parallels- 

Taehyun blinked, his half-asleep face confused as his eyes adjusted to the screen. He stared, his breath catching when he realized what he was watching. He’d never been a fan of gore or horror, and this felt like both—worse, even. The video was chaos: people running, screaming, blood everywhere. Limbs tangled and barely escaping the streets. The sounds of panic—raw, animalistic—clawed at his nerves. He shivered, his voice coming out barely above a whisper. "Is this… a new movie or something?" stttoooooopppp my sweet boy just wishing it was a movie and in disbelief ;-;-;-

Panic flared across his face as he started typing furiously, sending messages to his mom. Where are you? Are you safe? Please reply. His heart pounded with every second of silence that followed. YEONJUN AND HIS MOM WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME ILL SOB- 

Hands trembled slightly as he held the phone, fighting the urge to hang up and try calling his mom again. Soobin saw it, his own anxiety spiking so he stepped closer, placing a steady hand on Yeonjun’s shoulder then taking the phone from his shaky grip. STOP IT THIS HURTS ME SM SSSSTTTOOOP

STAY INDOORS. ANY SIGNS OF WOUNDS, FEVER, OR VIOLENT BEHAVIOR—ISOLATE IMMEDIATELY. I would be shaking so bad omfg- 

The bile, bitter taste, nausea kept pushing until your stomach was empty and you felt nothing but raw, aching emptiness. I love this line sm- 

Rest, fix yourself, and take a bath.” "Did you just take a bath?" THE PARALLELS AGAIN I LOVE IT 

Everything screamed lived in. Floors wooden tiles. It was clean, considering men were living in this place. Some sweaters were carelessly tossed over the couch, an Uno card sat beside it, random orange peels and a few glass mugs were scattered across the table. But aside from that, everything seemed… orderly. Something about this space made you feel out of place. Stop i love how its frozen in a way obviously because they live there but also in so much normality even as the world falls apart-

If anything, it’s comforting to see Soobin still so… Soobin. This is what would fix me in a an apocalypse 

Kai gripped Soobin’s hand tighter, his fingers digging in just enough. Soobin looked at him—a silent apology, a promise to do better. Sobs a lot and for a long time- 

The sight of you looking troubled, unsettles him for some reason. Then, with no warning, the vehicle comes to a sudden halt, throwing everyone forward. It awakes you, and your eyes snap open, hands reaching for your gun. Okay i love how reader could just kinda sense something was going to happen-

Beomgyu gives a shrug. "Isn’t avoiding them just going to make it worse?" he says, eyes still glued to the decaying figures. "I mean, I would like to be able to look at them without feeling like I’m about to throw up." i love him- 

“This is so cool,” The horrors of the night melted away. You smirked, shaking your head as you reached for the first branch, beginning your own ascent. Beomgyu’s gaze stayed on you, his hands hovering slightly as if wanting to help but unsure how. STOP IT I KNOW ITS SMALL BUT LIKE I LOVE THIS SO MUCH like its just them climbing a tree for crying out loud but im giggling and i love him- 

His eyes—they were too brown, too soft for a world like this. When the silence stretched too long, he shifted uncomfortably, his ears flushing red. “I… I wanna thank you. For bringing me with you,” he said, shyly. “Thank you, Y/N.” EEEEEKKKK >< i love him stop it stop it stop it stop it 

But here you are, and you’re killing it—uh, not literally—well, maybe literally, but—” im so sat for stuttering gyu like no one touch him hes mine-

“Kill it,” you instructed, tilting the infected’s head to expose its temple. His heart pounded as he raised the knife. He brought it down, but his strike lacked strength, and blade only sank halfway in. The infected howled, its hands clawing weakly at the air. “Y/N, I—what do I—” “Again,” you cut him off, grabbing his other hand and placing it on the knife. “Use both hands if you have to. Pull it out and try again. Harder this time.” He did as you said, the knife coming free with a sickening squelch. Blood splattered onto his hands, warm and sticky, and he nearly gagged. Clenching his teeth, he raised the blade again and drove it down with all his strength. The groaning stopped, the infected falling silent. Okay i love this part sm like teaching him and whatnot like there fear there and everything but also his need to do it uuuuggghhh

Tears pricked at his eyes as he wiped his mouth. That infected—it wasn’t just a monster. It had been a person once, a living, breathing human being. Maybe they had a family waiting for them, a home filled with memories, or a life they’d worked hard to build. Maybe they’d been on a vacation or rushing to work the day the world fell apart. MY POOR BOY PLS I LOVE HIM STOP IT- 

your hands looked smaller than his, fragile—he wipes the blood on his trembling fingers. How? How could you—manage to do all of this? “You ended its suffering,” you said quietly, hesitant. “That’s how I try to think of it.” “Does it get easier?” “Never.” It was just a single word, but somehow, it felt like a glimpse—Beomgyu feels closer. It felt like he knew you just a little bit better. UGH I LOVE THE ANGST i love this moment so much and him just thinking of how she could be so brave or ill believe it to be that way bc i know he would not judge her and ugh i love it sm- 

That boyish smile, dimples and all, made him look so much younger. SOBS

Beomgyu moved before he could think. He didn't know if it was the look in your eyes or the way your hand trembled, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t let you do this. While Seo-jun was distracted by your figure, Beomgyu raised his weapon. Just as you had taught him hours ago, he aimed for the head. SOBS HARDER OMG HER TEACHING HIM TO KILL THEM ONLY FOR HIM TO HAVE TO DO IT NOT EVEN TO SAVE HER PHYSICALLY BUT MENTALLY ;-;-;-;“Why—” Your voice cracked, unable to finish the question. “He was your friend,” he said quietly. “I'm not going to let you do that. Not while I’m here.” Friend. That single word shattered whatever fragile wall you’d been holding up. A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, and you quickly wiped it away with your hand. “He’s not suffering anymore,” Beomgyu added softly, his hand gently brushing the top of your head—you avoided his eyes, yet again. “He’s not suffering,” YOU DID THIS TO HURT ME RAYA PLS NO 

He’s smart.” “He is,” Beomgyu agreed, a small smile at his lips as he stirred the contents of his disposable pack. “He’s the calmest one too.” screaming crying 

The man holding him inhaled deeply near his hair, a disgusting, exaggerated sniff. “Freshly washed. You’ve got a place nearby, don’t you?” the chill i got stop it i hate it omfg- 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? No fight left in you?” You smirked—just a little. It was enough to confuse him, before he could react, your teeth sank into his throat. Hard. It was a spot right where you knew it would hurt most. A pressure point. His scream ripped through while he stumbled back, clutching at the gaping wound with blood pouring through his fingers. The bitter, metallic taste flooded your mouth, but you didn't stop. You grabbed the gun he dropped as he fell and turned, firing without hesitation. BANG. The man who had taken your gun didn’t even have time to aim before he hit the ground. “Fuck—” one of them snarled, charging at you. Before he could get too close, your foot sweeped his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a grunt. BANG. You aim your gun and pulled the trigger on his face. The man with the bat. Pain exploded in your shoulder, a gunshot tearing through your flesh, but you didn’t flinch. His mistake wasn’t pulling the trigger; it was not aiming for your head like you aimed for his. BANG. The leader gurgled, blood bubbling up from his lips as he stared at you in disbelief. “Monster—” he chokes on the floor, his hands futilely gripping his shredded throat. His blood pooled beneath him as he sputtered his last, trying and failing to form a single word. “You—” BANG. i know i put like the whole part nearly but like BUT OMFG I LOVE IT SM i love the walking dead and this refrence of one of my all time fav scenes in the show is just the cherry on top of this fic i GASPED when i read this and was on the floor like the desperation laced in this to save the two of them uuuuuuugggghhh im on the floor i love it so much- 

“Look at me!” he shouted, louder this time. Hands cupping your face, trembling as much as yours. “Baby, look at me.” Your eyes darted up, locking onto his. Your tears spilled down your face. BABY- I DIED- and him just wanting to take care of reader stop it no stop it fr- 

“Ever since I met you, there hasn’t been a single thing you’ve done that I couldn’t understand.” The answer caught you off guard, made something in you falter. SOOOOBBBIING TEARS OKAY 

“You watch Dora?” “No.” “You just mentioned her.” “She’s famous.” “So am I,” he shot back. “But you didn’t know me before this.” “Are you seriously going to bring that up again?” “Heh.” Beomgyu’s grin only widened. He could almost see it—the tiniest twitch at the corner of your lips before you turned away. Almost. It made his heart flutter in that stupid, uncontrollable way he hated admitting to himself. The way i was giggling i love this so much like the way its just a small thing but at the same time it means so much to me and i love that the reader didnt know who he was and that beomgyu was joking eeekk stop i love it- 

He wondered if you’d be any good at FPS games. You were already a menace with a gun in real life, so you’d probably be terrifying in a match. Pls spin off and they are just playing games together pls- 

Without giving you time to change your mind, Beomgyu lifted the camera, stepped close, and pressed his cheek against yours. The faint warmth of your skin against his made his stomach flip, but he ignored it, snapping the picture before you could pull away. UUUGGGHH THE MOMENT PLS I LOVE IT- 

It was the little things, mostly. The way he insisted you eat first, even when food was scarce. The way he handed you the best parts of the military rations. How he seemed to know when the weight of the barn still lingered in your mind, distracting you with his terrible jokes or a question just long enough to pull you out of it. Or how he’d ask if you’d slept okay, like it mattered in a world where nothing really did. Raya said ‘oh yeah what will hurt cam even if its little what should i add to kill her? Huuummm’ and added this 

Strong arms pulled him in, and the dam he’d tried so hard to hold together crumbled. He buried his face into the familiar comfort of Soobin’s shoulder, trying desperately not to sob. He had missed them. They had never left his mind—not once. STOP IT THE SOOBIN AND BEOMGYU BROTHERHOOD SO STRONG I COULD CRY SO MUCH IM SICK- 

Restless, you’d found yourself outside his tent, knocking like a ghost haunting its own grave. I love this line- 

“It’s… Beomgyu,” He countered quickly, the way you said another man’s name at this hour unsettling him more than it should. Silence. He braced himself for rejection, for the possibility that you’d tell him to go, that he's insane to be here at this hour, or that you didn’t want to see him. Stop the bit of jealousy stop it stop it stop it- 

"Are you mad at me?" Beomgyu's voice wavers, cracking slightly as the words spill out. All those rehearsed lines, the ones he'd turned over in his head a thousand times, crumble into this raw, unpolished question. THE INTIMACY OF JUST SAYING WHAT COMES TO MIND IN THE MOMENT UGH I LOVE THIS SM- 

Even if I…” His voice broke, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Even if I die trying.” STOP IT PLS STOP IT 

"I think I'm in love with you," he says, voice breaking on his confession. "I'm in love with you that I wonder how the hell I lived without you all these years. I’m so glad I met you, did you know that? If I’d known, I’d have counted down the days—even marked my calendar stupidly—just to know you were waiting for me at the end of it. And if I had a choice to go back in time, to stop this apocalypse before it happened, I wouldn’t do a damn thing. Because I’d lose the chance to meet you. Here. As insane as it sounds," His voice shakes, but he pushes on, "I won’t—I won’t force you…. to like me. That’s not what I want. But would it be selfish of me to ask you to stop acting like I'm not here? Like you don’t know me? I can’t…" He hiccups, shoulders shaking. "I just want to be part of your life, Y/N." His words made you take a step forward, your hands trembling as you cup his tear-streaked face. He flinches at first, but then he melts into your touch, his breathing uneven. “I’m afraid,” you admitted, your voice breaking, freckles on his face evident with his face bare. “I’ll ruin you. I’ll ruin your life. I'm a fucking ruined person. Can’t you see that?” OH RAYA WANTS ME TO CRY- 

“Who would’ve guessed that you’re a crybaby too?” he whispered, his voice uneven but with affection. Sobs sm 

Both of you pull back, breaths heavy. A delicate string of saliva still connects your lips, breaking as Beomgyu takes a step forward more, his eyes locked on yours, "I want you." You nod, reaching for him, your fingers curling around his arm to pull him back into you. "We have to be quiet." OH!

“Please kiss me.” He murmurs into your mouth. IM WEAK- 

He groaned lightly, shifting closer to you. “I think… we should stay here,” he mumbled, his voice raspy and slow, as though speaking was too much effort. He moved until he was pressed against you, his head resting on your bare chest as he planted soft, sleepy kisses against your skin. “I have things to do, you know,” you protested lightly, though you made no move to stop him. Instead, you let your arms encircle him, cradling his head. His hand slid beneath the blanket, settling on the small of your back, familiar against your bare skin. “Wake up,” you poked his cheek with your finger. He parted his lips and let out an exaggerated, snore that startled a laugh out of you. “Idiot,” you said, shaking your head, though the fondness in your tone betrayed you. “I’ll give you an hour. After that, Captain Joon is going to start looking for me.” "Let him look,"  Beomgyu groaned, burying his face deeper into your chest like a stubborn child. No you dont get how much i love this little moment it means sm to me dont evertake it away from me bc ill cry a lot ugly and drowning- 

"Can I join you? You know, to save water," He immediately quips. You smirk, your eyes meeting his before you give him a subtle nod. That tiny gesture is all it takes for his heart to race, he’s sure you can hear it. Sobs sobs and sobs again 

“Come back to me safely,” he interrupts, his hands cradle your face. His thumbs gently brush your cheeks. “You don’t have a choice.” THE TEARS PLS

The four of them swarm the youngest member, nearly knocking him off his feet in their excitement. Kai’s laughter echoes through the courtyard as Soobin immediately bursts into tears, clinging to him like a lifeline. Beomgyu hugs him tightly, burying his face in his shoulder, while Yeonjun ruffles his hair affectionately. Taehyun, ever practical, starts inspecting Kai’s arms and legs for injuries. They fussed over Kai like he was the most fragile thing in the world, each of them trying to make up for lost time. MY BABY IS BACK EEEEKKKK><

Kai’s grin was blinding, his low ponytail framed his face as he leaned closer to get another look at the photos. “She’s pretty. I’m really happy for you, Beomgyu.” also raya you are so evil long haired kai when im still in mourning over the fact he cut his hair? Evil evil evil evil- 

Everyone stops to watch. In a world so cruel, so damned, there’s something warm in the way two lovers find each other again. SOOOOOOOBBBBING NOT A DRY EYE 

“I promise to come back to you as soon as I can, okay?” he whispers, "I promise." You know the truth. You’ll never see him again. This is it. “Okay,” you say softly, forcing a small smile onto your lips. You’ll never wake up to the sound of his soft breaths against your skin again. You’ll never walk through the Daegu home he often described with so much warmth, never see the place where his happiest memories were made. A place he wants to go with you. WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME YOURE SO MEAN WTF RAYA WTF- 

Without a word, he drops to one knee, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his cheek against your growing belly. “I missed the both of you,” he whispers, voice soft and full of love. Okay you made it up to me all the pain for this thank you i love it sm i love this fic eeeeekkkk ><

“This album is a love letter, a reflection of the most meaningful chapter in my life,” Beomgyu shared. “It’s inspired by the warmth, comfort, and love I’ve found in my marriage. I wanted to capture the feeling of having someone to come home to—a place where your heart feels at peace, no matter what chaos the world throws at you.” also was this a manifestation of beomgyu solo??? And it being titled panic omfg it fits- it fits so well- 

THE LAST SAFE PLACE

pairing: idol!beomgyu x fem!soldier reader click here for moodboard

Summary: The world didn’t end with a bang. It ended with a whisper, a deadly virus creeping through the streets, turning the living into something… monstrous.

It was supposed to be a mission. Get in. Get out. Rescue the five a-list boys holed up deep in the city of Seoul. But nothing in this new, broken world is simple anymore.

The dead don’t scare you as much as his starry eyes do—deep brown eyes that make you question if you’re the one who needs saving, after all.

warnings!: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. apocalypse!, survival!, blood!, character!deaths, zombies!, descriptions of!killing, gore!, attempted!sa, menace!reader, anxiety!attacks, signs of!pstd, cursing!, side oc characters, reader has her own last name, pov being switched from reader to beomgyu, mini timeskips, drunk-in-love beomgyu, emotional-baggage, let me know if I missed any! (not proofread, first fic.) smut!warnings: fingering!, oral!fem receiving, missionary, unprotected, slightbody!worship.

wordcount: 30k

notes: Whenever I saw writers call their fic their "baby," I used to wonder what that really felt like. Now here I am, sharing my first-ever fic—my baby—with all of you. It’s far from perfect; I know that. But isn’t that the beauty of writing? I believe we all have room to grow, and so do I.

This fic is inspired by two things I hold dear; Beomgyu (and TXT as a whole) and the idea of finding love in the middle of an apocalypse. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed creating it.

taglist: I just want to say I love you. thank you for giving this story a chance. @beomiracles @agustdiv1ne @binluvsu @saejinniestar @haowonbins @vampzity @usuallyunlikelyfox @gyu-tori @xodidarks @tubasmiracle @hyunelixbun @woncheecks @lovingbeomgyudayone @beomsdoll @baekberrie @parkweylyn @lun4mizuka @lilbrorufr @no1likemybbgcharlie

Saying the military "protects the nation" always felt like a hollow statement to you—something neat and rehearsed, meant for recruitment ads or patriotic speeches, you came to understand it all too well after years of service. Life is fragile, easily dismissed with a single command, and the concept of disobedience isn’t even an option.

You follow orders, make decisions, and carry out tasks already mapped out for you and your team. The oath you swore binds you to honour whatever higher-ups deem necessary for the greater good, no matter the cost. It matters not, even if it costs your life. That’s how it is.

You've lived like that for as long as you can remember, and sometimes you wonder if it’s that very belief—an unwavering fool—that drove you to become the soldier you are. You know by now that it will also be the very reason for your end someday.

The sound of banging at the door jerks you awake. Your eyes strain in the pitch-black darkness of the barracks. You think you might’ve slept, but it doesn’t feel like it—not really. More like you were just drifting in and out of consciousness, never quite at rest.

"Park. Roll Call." You blinked, scrunching your face. The pounding on the door didn't let up, insistent as ever, making it clear there was no chance of them stopping.

"I'm up." You shouted. The cool floor met your bare feet, and you groggily reached for your shoes tucked neatly underneath. Your eyes flicked briefly to the small bottle of sleeping pills on the bedside table. It sat there like an accusation, a stark reminder of the restless hours you spent last night. The tossing, the turning, the damp sheets sticking to your skin as you wrestled with the silence that refused to grant you peace.

You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face. The pills—felt like the only option. You stared at the bottle, before grabbing it and slipping it into your bag.

Opening the door, you found yourself face to face with a smirking Do-hyun. "Good morning," he said, tone laced with sarcasm. "Except it’s 2:30 a.m. and we’ve got urgent business. Captain’s called us. Did not say anything about it."

"Must be top secret," you muttered, wincing as the harsh overhead light hit your face. You tried to tame your hair, pulling it into a sloppy ponytail. "C'mon."

You fell into step beside Do-Hyun, the sound of your boots hitting the floor echoing down the empty hallways of the garrison. Your shoulders brushed as you walked, the quiet around you almost unsettling. It was way too early—or maybe too late—for anyone to be this awake.

Seeing a few other soldiers from different units, you saw the same thing: them stumbling into their shoes, eyes half-closed, still caught somewhere between sleep and whatever had pulled them out of bed.

Your boots thudded against the floor with each step. Everyone knows the drill—soon enough, you'd find out what the mission was. Probably something you weren’t supposed to ask too many questions about. Face set in a hard, businesslike expression, you could feel another one coming. Another duty. Another unknown.

"This must be a big one," you muttered, scanning the growing crowd of fighters being herded into place. It was rare to see… this many called out at once. "How many teams are they assembling?"

"I don’t know," Do-Hyun replied with a tired sigh, clearly irritated. "I should be asleep, dreaming about anything other than this, but here we are." Early-morning chaos is the only thing that can get under his skin.

You followed him as he turned left down another corridor. People started staring as you passed—from other squads, lingering on the two of you. They knew. They knew who you were.

Black berets. Special Commands Unit. Infamous. You didn’t need to say it aloud; everyone already knows. The reputation of efficiency, precision, and something else—something darker. Your team never, ever failed. Your team didn’t just complete missions. You annihilated them.

That reputation followed you everywhere. You could still feel the weight of their gazes—some filled with admiration, others with something harder to read, maybe even a little fear. It wasn’t new. You’d felt it for years, people looked at you like you were a hero or a big, bad warning.

You were used to it by now.

When you finally enter into the room where your team usually gathers, the moment your eyes land on the team commander, you and Do-yun both instinctively, snap to attention, "Captain Joon. Park Y/N and Jung Do-yun, reporting."

"At ease. Sit down," Captain Joon responds, tone as calm as ever, looking at you directly as if assessing your state. You lower your salute, glancing around at the rest of your teammates already seated. Looks like you’re the last to arrive.

You make your way to an empty seat, crossing your legs as you also folded your arms, leaning back for comfort. You catch the faintest glance from another one of your teammates, Eun-woo, who raises an eyebrow at you but says nothing.

Captain Joon stands at the front, pacing back and forth, usual self missing. He opens his mouth, then stops, words not coming. He closes it again, staring ahead. It’s strange to see him hesitate like this—it’s not like him at all.

"Alright," he starts, avoiding anyone for eye contact. "We’ve got a new mission. It’s… a lot different than what we usually have." You uncross your arms and lean forward without thinking, drawn on the word "different." There’s something about it—his tone, his hesitation, maybe—that makes your stomach clench.

He continues, "This one’s high-risk. We don’t know exactly what we’re walking to. We’ve got intel, but it’s shaky at best; All I know is there’s a virus spreading. Not like Corona. No, it’s not like that. This one… it turns people into something, not human. They become—" He stops, words hanging in the air. "—they kill.. They attack. And they spread it to others. It’s not confirmed yet, but it will be. Soon."

He doesn’t wait for any further response. "We move out in an hour or two. We will be assigned to a specific mission in the middle of this. Get your gear ready. Dismissed." Six pairs of eyes follow him as he exits, leaving a heavy silence in the room. It's cold. It almost feels unreal—like something out of a movie.

You’d been to other countries, thrown into the thick of it—dealing with terrorists, and a hundred other ways to die. After all the things you’d seen, all the wars you’d fought, the idea of a virus outbreak was not the kind of fight you were used to.

"So, a virus? Like zombies?" Seo-jun’s voice breaks the stillness. He stands up, eyes wide with disbelief.

"It's medically impossible." Beom-seok replied, shaking his head, "Or at least… it should be." he added, almost to himself.

"If it's a virus—then what? How are we, supposed to stop that? A plan on how? Is there going to be a… vaccine? Some cure?"

You stand up, movement so subtle yet enough to make the others still, their attention turning to you. "We’ll figure it out," you say, voice firm. You lean back against the table, crossing your arms, "We always do. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it."

Do-hyun shoots you a look, then nods, his expression unreadable. "Right," he says. "We’ll deal with it."

The words hang in the air, and the newly shut door swings open with a loud noise, making everyone turn. A figure stands in the doorway, breathless. "Did you guys see the news?"

"Did you see the news?"

Yeonjun’s hands were trembling as he shoved his phone into Taehyun’s hands, practically forcing him to look. On the screen was a livestream—a news broadcast, but not the usual kind.

Taehyun blinked, his half-asleep face confused as his eyes adjusted to the screen. He stared, his breath catching when he realized what he was watching. He’d never been a fan of gore or horror, and this felt like both—worse, even. The video was chaos: people running, screaming, blood everywhere. Limbs tangled and barely escaping the streets. The sounds of panic—raw, animalistic—clawed at his nerves. He shivered, his voice coming out barely above a whisper. "Is this… a new movie or something?"

Yeonjun swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the phone as he snatched it back, his fingers quickly tapping away at the screen. "No," he said, voice low, "It’s from.. SBS."

"A drama from SBS?" Taehyun asked, still trying to make sense of what he had just seen.

"No," Yeonjun shook his head quickly. "News live stream. It's been trending. Saw it a couple of minutes ago." Panic flared across his face as he started typing furiously, sending messages to his mom. Where are you? Are you safe? Please reply. His heart pounded with every second of silence that followed.

As the phone screen glowed with his continuous text, the sound of a door creaking open interrupted. Soobin stepped out of the bathroom, checking the two of them that seemed frozen in place. "What happened?" he asked, voice laced with concern.

The question was left unanswered when Yeonjun’s phone suddenly rang. A small spark of relief flaring up in his chest—only for it to fade just as quickly.

It wasn’t from his mom. It's their manager, "Hello?"

Taehyun got up to get his own phone, his movements stiff. Soobin stayed by Yeonjun’s side, eyes flicking between the phone in Yeonjun's hand and his face—filled with anxious expression.

"He’ll speak to you. He wants to," Yeonjun said, meeting Soobin's gaze. His voice was uncertain. Yeonjun did not want to miss out on anything, but the manager had already requested for their leader. Soobin nodded, catching the worry in the latter's eyes. He offered a soft tone, "You can put it on speaker."

"Okay, listen up. I don’t know what’s really happening, but it’s dangerous, very dangerous out there. It’s… people eating people. Do not let anyone leave the house. All five of you. You've just had your groceries dropped, right?"

"Yeah, but what’s—" Yeonjun’s voice cracked, but the manager cut him off.

"Again, I don’t know much. None of us do. We heard the president’s about to announce martial law over this. The military’s locking down the city. You can’t go anywhere. All you need to do is stay inside. Help will come. When they get there, they’ll say my name. You’ll know it’s them." Hands trembled slightly as he held the phone, fighting the urge to hang up and try calling his mom again. Soobin saw it, his own anxiety spiking so he stepped closer, placing a steady hand on Yeonjun’s shoulder then taking the phone from his shaky grip.

"How long do we have to stay here?" Soobin whispered. "What about our families? They’re out there too."

"I don’t know," came the reply, the voice on the other end. "This started in Seoul, based on the news. The military’s setting up safe zones in every city around you. They’ll be protected. But no one can get in or out until things settle. Just… stay inside. I’ll keep you updated when I can-" The line went dead. They stared at the phone, signal bar disappearing completely.

"What are we going to do now?" They heard Kai mutter. He’d stepped out of his room after hearing the commotion. "Hiyyih is out here in Seoul too."

"I don’t have a signal now either," Soobin said, glancing at his own phone, face tightening as soon as he saw missed calls from his dad, his mom, and his sister, brother. He has missed their calls. With a frustrated sigh, he grabbed the TV remote and switched it on, only to be met with a busy signal. The screen flickered, in bold letters, the message appeared:

STAY INDOORS. ANY SIGNS OF WOUNDS, FEVER, OR VIOLENT BEHAVIOR—ISOLATE IMMEDIATELY.

He started flipping through the channels, to see something different. But each station showed the same warning. Taehyun returned, his face heavy with worry. "I got through to my mom, but she was crying too much to say anything. Just told me to stay safe."

Yeonjun was silent. He didn't know what to do, unsure if this was some elaborate prank. Looking around the room, suddenly realised something. "And where the hell is Beomgyu?"

"Sleeping."

A scream pierced the air outside the dorm room, making all of them jump in shock. Kai was the first to react, quickly moving toward the door and peering through the peephole. For a brief moment, there was nothing—just eerie silence. Then, a thump echoed, followed by continuous pounding on the steel door.

"Help!" The voice outside cried, voice hoarse. Shuffling was heard.

"Kai, get here!" Soobin hissed, Kai moved back, frozen in place, gaze still fixed on the door. Slowly, he crossed the room, his footsteps making no sound, cautious as he approached the youngest. He then grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back, away from the door. "Stay away from the door,"

Four men stood paralyzed, eyes wide and locked on the door, afraid that it might open, every muscle tense. The door vibrated with each pound from the other side, and the sound of another scream sent a chill down their spines.

Waiting in terrified silence, hoping whatever was outside would stop.

Yeah. They definitely shouldn’t go outside.

It had been seventy-two hours since the government declared the state of emergency.

Seventy-two hours, since the virus outbreak hit the public, and almost everything began to spiral out of control. Your team had been pushed from one task to the next—helping transport, fortifying armoury barricades, trying to keep the city standing. You feel like you couldn't even have time to blink.

Nothing seemed to stand a chance against the speed of the virus.

The radio crackled to life, its voice cutting through the tense silence. "It’s reported that some cases have been found outside of Seoul too."

You swallowed, the water in your canteen suddenly feeling too heavy in your mouth. Your rifle was strapped to your back—knives tucked into your pockets pulled at your clothes, a grim necessity. Your backpack packed with supplies, pulled at your shoulders.

The blood on the streets made your face contort. It wasn’t just the sight of it—it was the knowledge that innocent people, civilians, were the ones who’d ended up here. It was their blood staining the ground, their lives cut short. In just seventy-two hours, this outbreak had become a full-blown mad nightmare. It was real, right here—heavy, like the world had already started to fall apart around you.

"How long?" you asked, trying to shake the unease gnawing at your stomach.

"The report came in an hour ago," came the response. An hour. Sixty minutes. That’s all it took for the virus to spread. An hour, it was no longer just the city.

"There’s still some armory left in this area," Captain Joon says, brushing off the latest intel your team just received. "We need to clear this out, then head back to camp for the next mission."

You slip the water bottle back into the side pocket of your backpack and tilt your head back, stretching out any stiffness. It's been almost twenty-four hours since you last slept.

"Ju-won will come with us."

"The newbie?" Ji-ho raises an eyebrow.

But the thing is, he’s not really a newbie. The military doesn’t just let anyone into the special command unit—you have to be overqualified to even get a chance. People are reacting this way because it’s been years since anyone new has joined. They’re not used to it. The whole thing feels a little odd.

The boy walks forward. You glance at him, and it’s clear right away. The way his body stiffens when he sees seven seasoned soldiers in front of him—he can’t be more than twenty. But, something about the way he carries himself catches your attention. His eyes don’t drop, not even for a second. There’s no sign of hesitation or backing down, even as the rest of you appraise him, silently evaluating his physical presence. It’s almost as if he expects to be here, like he belongs.

He's got guts.

"Captain," he saluted, "Min Ju-won. Sent from Unit Two to provide additional assistance. Engineering."

Captain Joon gave a quick nod, his eyes briefly shifting to you. "Stick with Y/N." Ju-won lowered his salute and jogged over to where you stood.

"We leave in 10 minutes,"

Seo-jun let out a low whistle, looking over Ju-won with a grin. "Well, look what we got here. A kid at the end of the world. What a nice day it is." The sarcasm in his voice hung in the air as he effortlessly adjusted his M4.

"Ignore him. He's a twat," you muttered, clicking your tongue and feigning an attempt to kick Seo-jun's leg for his comment.

Ju-won, just smiled and waved it off, his eyes still locked on you with an almost admiration. "It's alright," he said quickly. "Y/N… then I must be looking at the black beret's most skilled team engineer and sharp-shooter."

"Damn right, she is," Do-Hyun chimed in, grinning as he playfully ruffled your hair. You slapped his hand away, the motion half-hearted but familiar.

The wind howled as the cargo truck went down the rugged road, the engine's hum barely audible over the gusts. Beom-Seok was at the wheel, while Captain Joon sat in the passenger seat, checking the horizon. The other six of you were crammed in the back, weapons ready.

You could feel that someone was watching you. You turned your head to the right, and sure enough, there he was—Ju-won, looking at you with an expression that was oddly calm for a day like this. You chewed absently on the sweet gum in your mouth.

"I’ve always heard your name, even when I was still training," he said almost embarrassed, but there was a hint of respect in his words, "A lot of us admire your skills. We even know your schedule—like when you will drop off at the headquarters."

"Yeah?" You raised an eyebrow, curious but not particularly moved. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

Ju-won grinned, unfazed. "And, of course, your temper is well-known too."

You snorted at that. Of course, it was. You'd made more than one higher-up nearly pass out with your snark and disregard.

Most of them acted like you were supposed to kiss their feet, even though they barely had the skills to back it up—just a good last name and a father in a high place. Lucky bastards. They got used to it—eventually.

Ju-won seemed to pause, thinking for a moment. "I want to be like you."

It caught you off, staring at him, no response from your lips. Who would want to be as miserable? Who in the right mind would? No one should have to carry this kind of burden, no one but you.

"You don’t know anything," you said, right after seconds of silence. "Trust me, you don’t."

Ju-won didn’t seem discouraged by your bluntness. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, "Then maybe I can ask questions to get to know you better?"

"No." You're unsure of where he was going with this.

"Just one then? And if I do well on this mission, I can ask for another one after?" He pumped his fist after your silence, the small gesture that made you want to roll your eyes again.

"How old were you when you joined the military?" His voice was gentle, but his curiosity was clear.

It wasn’t a question people often asked, at least not in the way he asked it. Most were interested in your skills, the missions you’d completed, or the stories you could tell. No one, ever cared much about who you were before all that.

"About seventeen, officially," you replied, the words feeling strange in your mouth. Had it really been that long?

"Woah," Ju-won exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise. "And how long have you been in service?"

You glanced out at the passing landscape, your thoughts briefly drifting to the years that had passed. "Seven years. Counting."

"You're so cool." His gaze flicked to you a few more times, but he didn’t press further.

The only sound in the pitch-black courtyard was the soft shuffle of footsteps against gravel, your team moved cautiously toward the overrun military outpost. It had been more than twenty-four hours since anyone radioed in, and in your line of work, that could only mean one thing.

Defeat. Death. They’re dead.

You gripped the AR-15 in your hands, its weight and feel as familiar as your own skin. Your eyes stayed locked ahead, scanning the shadows, the captain just a few steps in front of you. You could feel Ju-won’s breath on your back.

"Hold." The captain's voice barely rose above a whisper, but you caught it—sharp and commanding. His hand went up in a familiar gesture, signaling. Eun-woo and Ji-ho moved, splitting off to cover the blind spots—each one wary of possible exits or hidden threats.

The minutes stretched on, almost suffocating. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, when faintly, a soft whistle.

A go signal. Finally.

The captain’s eyes flicked to you. Without words, he surged forward, and you followed, close, moving deeper into where the map was marked.

With Eun-woo and Ji-ho still posted at the entrance of the courtyard, and Beom-seok at the Cargo Truck to secure on the road, the remaining five of you moved carefully toward the building’s entrance.

Seo-jun reached for the rail handle and pulled it. It was a split-second decision, but he made the mistake of opening it too wide, too fast. The sound was deafening in the silence—a loud scrape of metal against metal. It was the darkness. Or maybe it was the way no one had heard anything.

The infected—so many of them—started to emerge from the inside, their eyes hungry, limbs jerking unnaturally as they snarled and gnawed at the space where you stood.

"Shut it off!" was yelled, but it was too late. Seo-jun tried desperately to pull the door, but the dead were already pushing their way through, toppling the door with brutal force. No stopping them now.

The growls, their gurgling moans, flooded. You took a step back, when you noticed the next wave of infected closing in from both sides—right and left. The courtyard was becoming a death trap.

“Guns!” Captain Joon barked, voice sharp and urgent. He raised his rifle, opening fire on the approaching dead, and you followed. You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. You aimed at the nearest infected, firing with the precision you’d drilled into your muscle memory. Beside you, you felt Ju-won moving, his shots echoing through the chaos.

You kicked one of the infected coming too close toward you—hard. The sickening crack of its skull as it spun from the impact of your boots almost drowned out the growls, relief was fleeting—another wave was already pushing through.

"Move!" you shouted to Ju-won, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him to the right side, where it seemed there was a slight gap in the swarm. You followed, not letting up on your fire. Each shot to the head was methodical, each kill necessary for survival.

You kept repeating it in your head—headshots. Headshots, or they don’t die.

Through the haze of gunfire and screams, you spotted Do-hyun on the opposite side, surrounded but still fighting, his rifle a blur as he tried to hold the line.

"Captain!" you shouted, your voice rising over, as you saw the widening gap between your team. You continued firing, shots ringing out, each one a desperate attempt to keep the tide of the dead at bay. You grabbed the arm of an infected that crept up from behind, pulling it sidewards with all your strength. The thing flailed, but you kicked its legs out from under it, slamming its head down with a close shot. Blood splattering on your track pants.

Another bullet whizzed past you, too close, and you turned to meet Ju-won’s eyes. There was no time for words. He’d just taken down one of the infected that had come up behind you.

Minutes passed, but it felt like hours. The gunfire echoed in your ears, drowning out everything else. Then, you heard it—Seo-jun’s voice cutting through the noise.

"Captain. Orders!"

It was a soldier’s instinct, that need for direction even in the face of death. It was what you were trained to do, what you had to do.

"Fall back." His command came. The words you’d been waiting for. You began to step back, scanning the darkened courtyard. And then, just as you thought it couldn’t get worse, you saw it—a wave of infected flooding out from the building. Your eyes locked on one of them, a child, no more than twelve, wearing a middle school uniform.

No. No time to mourn, no time to think. You shake it off, turn your attention back to Ju-won, who was already falling back as well.

You ran, but it was a futile attempt. The middle part of the courtyard, the one that had been empty moments ago, was now swarming with infected.

“Go forward!” Captain Joon’s shouted again.

The sound of gunfire, the screams, the snarls—they were all blending together now. You saw Eun-woo and Ji-ho still at the entrance of the courtyard, firing relentlessly. But there were too many. It had to be the sound of all the gunfire—had to be why they were flooding in from the other buildings now.

You couldn’t run without firing. The infected were, too close for comfort.

“Ahhh!”

Ju-won’s scream tore through the noise, and you whipped your head to the side. You saw him—surrounded by four, maybe five infected. Their gnarled hands reaching for him.

You sprinted forward, the gun dropped in an instant. You reached the closest infected, grabbing its hair and yanking its head back with force. The knife you’d pulled was a flash of silver in the darkness, and you slashed it across its throat, the blade biting into the flesh with a wet sound.

You couldn’t fire. Not with Ju-won so close to them.

You felt Do-hyun and Seo-jun near you now, forming a small circle, keeping the infected at bay while you worked to free Ju-won. One by one, you killed the infected around him within seconds. But when the last one finally dropped, you froze for the first time tonight.

There's a wound. The bite. A deep, angry stash on Ju-won’s neck, blood spilling down his chest, soaking through and colouring his shirt. Your heart stopped.

"Y/N…" His voice was weak. Too weak.

"Come on," you said, trying to drag him to his feet. The others were silent, at the sight.

"Help me!" you shouted, the panic finally breaking through as the infected kept coming. "What the fuck are you staring at? Help me!"

Do-hyun snapped out of his thoughts and rushed to help. He moved to slide his arm under the left side, but before he could get a firm grip, Ju-won's hand shot out, pushing him away.

"Leave me."

"No. Come on."

“Just leave me, Y/N.” he whispered again, "I know I can't be helped."

“I’m not having this conversation—”

“It hurts!” Ju-won suddenly shouted, pain in his voice. His lips were turning blue, face pale, eyes glassy with tears. “It hurts so much. I—I want this to just end. End it. Please. I'm begging you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He started crying, Min Ju-won.

“Y/N?” Do-hyun’s voice broke through, gunshots ringing, “Decide now.” Seo-jun’s voice was distant, more gunfire ringing out, words clear. He was asking you to make a choice.

"Shh, It’s going to be okay," you murmured, wiping his tears away, "Everything’s going to be okay." You pushed the sweat-damp strands of hair from his forehead, fingers brushing against his cold skin. “You’ll be alright.”

Min Ju-won.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” You leaned in close, feeling his weak attempt to smile on your neck, breath coming out in ragged gasps when he felt you pressed your knife to the back of his head. “It’s okay, Ju-won.”

Making sure to do it quickly, you didn’t want him to suffer—not even for a second. He stilled, and then there was a quiet exhale against your skin. His last breath.

Arms went limp in your embrace.

Min Ju-won.

You stare at your hands, blood too much, not yours, too obvious to wipe away. The vehicle lurches forward, but nothing about this mission feels like it’s worth it. No weapons recovered. And one less soldier with you.

You ignore the stares of your teammates, the silent questions they’re too scared to ask. Even when your captain demands what happened, you can’t find the words.

Death isn’t new to you.

You’ve seen it, lived with it, had to pull the trigger more times than you care to admit. Had to deal with it more times than you'd care to count. But this… this is different. There’s a heaviness in your throat that won’t lift—can still feel him, still hear his laboured breath as you hold him in your arms.

The dog tags in your hand are cold against your palm. They’re not yours. There were too many of them. The infected.

No one could even bring his body back.

"We're here," Eun-woo says, the vehicle finally pulls to a stop at your temporary camp. He'd been staring out the window for the entire ride, lost in thought, barely noticing the road or time. You don’t wait for anyone to open get out. You push yourself out, body stiff and eyes burning, but you do your best not to let anyone see. You try to blink away the moisture, to keep it together. You can’t. You won’t.

“Y/N, I—” Seo-jun starts, his voice hesitant, reaching for you.

"Save it." you snap, harshly, not letting him finish his sentence. He falters at your glare, watching turn and walk straight for the barracks, not even sparing a second glance in his direction.

Your body, with blood, not yours, and the dog tag around your hands swaying with every step.

"Give her space. She did it herself. Again." Do-hyun’s voice is softer, almost reluctant, as he watches you retreat. His eyes follow you, lost in thought.

Maybe it’s because you’re a woman and they’re all men, or maybe because you’ve always been the youngest, they've known you since you were much younger. Or maybe it’s the fact that they’ve never seen you crack, never once seen you break down when they all have at one point or another. After all these years, when they themselves had crumbled, you always seemed to keep it together. You always did. First... they admired how strong you were—physically, emotionally, mentally—and even envied it at times but as time went on, they started to realise something.

The empty look in your eyes—it's haunting. They all knew what you did for them, what you'd sacrificed.

Ji-ho pats Seo-jun’s shoulder, his face mixed with understanding and exhaustion. He points his head toward the door, a silent suggestion to let you have your space.

You stepped inside the massive military tent, the hum of conversations halting as everyone’s gaze turned toward you. You noticed someone even take a hesitant step back, eyes widening.

"I'm not fucking bitten," You didn't pause to explain further. You couldn’t. Instead, you kept walking, ignoring the stares, the whispers that you could practically feel on your skin. You didn't care, walking past the soldiers, the stares heavy on your back. You made your way to your assigned makeshift door, pulling it open and stepping inside.

The small room felt like the only place you could breathe. The bathroom was the next thing you could think of.

Once inside, you slumped onto the cold, unforgiving floor. Your face landed near the toilet, and before you brace yourself, your stomach churned. The contents from your day—what little you had managed to eat—came up violently. It kept going, feeling your body betray you as your throat burned, as your muscles contracted in spasms. The bile, bitter taste, nausea kept pushing until your stomach was empty and you felt nothing but raw, aching emptiness.

You dry your mouth with the back of your filthy hand, smell of blood still lingering in your nostrils. The memory of it—of what you'd seen, what you just did—threatened to send you over the edge again. You fought the urge to gag.

You knew it wasn’t something Seo-jun should be explaining for. He called you earlier, sounding like he wanted to apologize, wanted to make sure you were okay. But you didn’t want to tell him everything was fine. Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what was waiting for you inside that damned place. He didn’t know the hundreds of the dead you'd have to face. He tried his best too, just like you did. But none of that mattered.

Killing is easy. You had convinced yourself that—it was something you could do without blinking now. Maybe you could even kill with the same ease as walking a dog in the park, that it could become second nature.

You killed someone who had just started to make you wonder—what question they would be asking you after the mission. Something small, something so... human. With your own hands. No real reason. No justification. For the sake of getting equipment. You killed him.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

With effort, you flushed the toilet, then let your body slide back to the nearest wall. Once it was done, you let yourself slump back against the nearest wall, Your fingers digging into your face as if you could erase the last few hours just by pressing hard enough. Sweat, cold and clammy, trickled down your forehead.

"Y/N," came a voice from outside the door.

Captain Joon. You didn't respond. You didn’t even move. "Rest," he said, his voice softer than usual, "You're needed for another mission after a couple of hours. Rest, fix yourself, and take a bath."

"Did you just take a bath?" Taehyun asked, seeing Beomgyu’s damp hair, towel draped around his neck, few droplets of water still clinging to his skin.

Beomgyu nodded, not even looking up from the crackers he was munching on.

"Again?"

"You got a problem with that?" Beomgyu’s house slipper flew through the air toward Taehyun’s. It was effortlesly dodged.

"Why are you taking a bath three times a day?"

Beomgyu shrugged, gaze finally lifting to meet Taehyun's. "There's nothing else to do,"

Taehyun paused, small ache in his chest upon the words. Being an idol, he knew well the activities—packed schedules, comebacks, fan events, concerts. It never stopped. Hell, he could not even remember the last time he’d celebrated his birthday with his family.

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, "It's been four days… You think our families are okay out there?"

Every day now was a reminder—waking up to the reality of the virus outbreak, everything at a stop.

"They should be," Taehyun replied, though he didn’t feel as sure as he sounded. "We're the ones stuck here."

Beomgyu didn’t answer, instead shuffling his trash away. Just then, Kai appeared from the bathroom, face slack with disappointment.

"Guys, the water’s stopped."

Yeonjun jumped from his seat, rushing to check the sinks, only to find no water coming out. "Shit."

Beomgyu bit his lip, frustration bubbling inside him. Just when things couldn’t seem to get worse. The isolation, the fear—it was all becoming too much now. It's growing every day. He stood up, ignoring Soobin’s frantic voice as he tried to save whatever little water they had left.

He shut himself in his room, the door clicking softly behind him. His eyes wandered to the small house model his family had made for him—a little reminder of home, something he would look at whenever he needed to feel close to them. He collapsed onto his unmade bed, staring blankly at the white ceiling, his thoughts made up mix of thoughts and scenarios. Maybe there was a miracle out there—something, anything, to change this.

Minutes passed in silence before Beomgyu’s voice broke the stillness. "I hope there’s an angel out there. Someone who’ll come get us… get me. Out here, to a safe place." His heart thudded painfully in his chest—he knew no one would ever hear those words, but he couldn’t help but hope.

You slowly make your way toward the apartment complex, the team had decided to move under the cover of darkness again—it drew fewer infected and lowered the chances of running into trouble. At least that’s what your team hoped for.

The freshly laundered combat uniform felt like it was made for you. The black fabric, almost matte, clung to your body, moving with you as if it were a second skin. Your boots, worn but sturdy, held you grounded. Each step was sure. They gave you that solid grip. On your hips, the twin knives sat, steel blades catching the light with a faint, almost imperceptible gleam. Your hair was pulled back, tight in a high knot. Not a strand is out of place.

The mission was clear: rescue the five A-list boys trapped in this building, ever since the outbreak began.

Hybe, was the one who went to the military for help. They couldn’t exactly say no to them—so here you are, walking into a situation you can’t quite predict.

Six of you, without Beom-seok to secure the vehicle on the road as usual—all armed and ready, step closer to the entrance of the block—though you spot a few infected lingering around, they’re silently dealt with. A knife to the head, no noise, no struggle—just clean and quick.

Your captain’s biggest worry is the location. The middle of the city. So many people in such a small space can only mean one thing—too many infected. It’s a risk, but it’s the job. That is exactly why these people are stuck here in the first place. No help has been able to get through until your team was sent in.

"It's here," Eun-woo says, pointing toward the stairs in the corner. He folds the marked map and tucks it away. Captain Joon nods, "One by one. Be aware of your surroundings."

Everyone gives a tight nod, moving quickly to follow his instructions. You scanned every corner, every shadow. You don’t miss a thing. There are a few infected nearby, but they have not noticed you. So long as they don’t see or hear, and you’re far enough, you’ll be fine.

Earlier, it was also clear that most of the infected in this area are concentrated in the outer courtyard. It looks like the people who lived here panicked, tried to escape out there, drawing all the infected away from the apartment complex itself. It’s eerily quiet now, almost too quiet.

You reach the door to apartment 304, and the rest of your team spreads out, covering all sides of the hallway. You catch your breath, scanning both directions again, alert to any movement. Someone begins to knock on the door. Minutes tick by, but there’s no answer.

"Are they fucking asleep?" Ji-ho whispers, his voice sharp with impatience.

"What do you expect?" you snap,"You think they’re awake at this hour, just waiting for us to show up?" The words feel bitter, but you don’t care. "Move,"

Before you can even make a move toward the door, a voice breaks the silence. It's soft, hesitant, almost as if the person speaking is scared to even let the words out.

"Who’re you?"

Kai had been just about to head to the bathroom for a quick piss when he heard it—an soft rattle against the door.

It’s been days, days, since there was any sound from the other side. Complete silence. So hearing something now, especially in the dead of night, made his blood run cold.

Someone’s trying to break in?

He freezes, mind racing. Slowly, he walks towards the door, arms out in front of him, keeping a little distance like it might somehow help. His breath is shallow as he inches closer to the small peephole in the door, just enough to get a glimpse.

Soobin made him promise not to go near the door, but he won’t know. He’s asleep, anyway.

There are people out there. No, not just people—soldiers? At least three men and a woman, he's not really sure, but they're standing and staring straight at their door. He can’t make out their words, sound too muffled, but he can tell they’re muttering something under their breath, heads tilted as if they’re listening too.

Woah. She’s… really pretty.

Kai immediately shakes his head. Focus. Now is not the time to be thinking about how pretty she is. She’s out there, trying to break the door down. Or… is she?

What if they’re the ones sent to rescue us?

He squints through the crack in the door again, taking in the soldiers�� uniforms. They’re military. That has to mean something—and waking the others would take too long. He swallows hard, asking the question.

"Who’re you?"

"Open the door," Captain Joon says, his voice firm and immediate. "We've come to help you." There’s no reply from the other side.

"Manager Jisoo. Hybe."

There’s a sound of the lock turning, and the door creaks open just a crack. It’s dim inside. The air inside hits you. Smells faintly of candles—probably because there’s no electricity to rely on anymore. One by one, everyone got ready to move inside. You turned your head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the person who had opened it.

He looked young—his skin pale and features sharp, with a foreign look. His bangs messily hung over his eyes, longer than he probably intended. Your eyes met his, and just as quickly, he looked away. Great. You all must have really scared him—heavily armed, arriving at his dorm in the dead of night.

"We're all coming in, Son," Captain Joon said, gaze flicking to the boy’s face, silently asking for permission—though he did not really need it. You were here to rescue them, to bring everyone back. Whether they were ready or not, you were going in. "What's your name?"

He nodded and opened the door wider. "Heuningkai. Kai is fine."

"How many of you are still in here?"

"Five. Uh, I’ll need to wake everyone up first."

"Go on." You took in the space they had been holed up in. Everything screamed lived in. Floors wooden tiles. It was clean, considering men were living in this place. Some sweaters were carelessly tossed over the couch, an Uno card sat beside it, random orange peels and a few glass mugs were scattered across the table. But aside from that, everything seemed… orderly. Something about this space made you feel out of place.

"Could you please wait here?" Kai stopped after taking a few steps away from your team. The front door shut behind. You glanced at him as he spoke, and you saw it—his face.

It was almost like he was afraid that if he turned around, everyone would just... leave.

He didn’t give anyone a chance to respond. Without another word, he turned and headed for the nearest door. You took in the hallway—six doors in total. One of them was probably the bathroom, and the rest, you guessed, must be their rooms.

Kai walks in, still feeling the embarrassment creeping up his neck. He did not mean to pout or sound so desperate in front of everyone—it just kind of happened.

The whole outbreak had him on edge all the time. It wasn’t like him at all. But now, for the first time in a while, he's starting to see hope. And with that came a fear he hadn’t expected.

He shuts the door behind him, eyes flick to Soobin, who’s sprawled out on the bed in his usual weird sleeping position. One arm thrown over his face, legs tangled in the sheets like he’s trying to escape them.

If anything, it’s comforting to see Soobin still so… Soobin.

"Wake up," Kai says, giving Soobin’s arm a little shake. There’s no response. "Soobin,"

He just mumbles something unintelligible and stays still. With a sigh, Kai slaps the flesh of Soobin's thigh—a trick he’s learned always works when he's in deep sleep.

"Shi—Kai?" The latter groans, blinking his eyes open. He winces slightly, almost about to curse, but then he notices the younger one standing there, looking a little shaken, and his protective instinct kicks in. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"They’re here. They—the help. They’re outside. I let them in." The older man shot up, his mind struggling to shake off the remnants of sleep. For days, he'd been waiting for this moment, but now that it was here, he could hardly believe it.

Soobin looked at Kai’s face, searching for any sign of bluffness. None.

"Wake everyone up, Kai. I’ll, I'll talk to them. Good job," he said, his voice thick with a mix of urgency and something else—nervousness, maybe. He ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to steady his racing heart.

The younger gave a quick nod, already rising to carry out the task.

Soobin hesitated for a moment, then followed, his feet heavier than usual. When he stepped out of his room, the sight hit him. Soldiers.

All dressed in black, standing almost stiffly in the cramped living room, as if they did not know where to place themselves, presence filling every corner. They looked out of place—one man was sitting, looking collected. He was much older—maybe in his late 40s—and when he saw Soobin, he stood up too, moving with authority.

"Hello," Soobin said, bowing deeply. He wished his voice to be normal, but it cracked. His eyes stung, and he blinked, trying to hold back the tears likely to spill. These people—they look so capable.

How desperately he’d needed them.

"I know it's late, but we need to move now. It’ll make things easier for us," Captain Joon started.

Everyone had gathered in the living room now—eleven people, all listening. A large map was spread out on the table in front of them, marked with lines and notes. "We’ve got a cargo truck on standby, and someone guarding it. Waiting for us,"

You leaned against the wall at the back, trying to stay out of the way. Your long gun resting to your right side. You crossed your arms, observing them all, taking in the scene. These five—when they first arrived, you’d seen it clearly: that fleeting, unguarded emotion that flashed across their faces. Relief? Fear?

Your thoughts drifted for a moment, the hum of voices fading, when suddenly you caught something. One of them was looking at you. You met his gaze, and for a second, neither of you moved. His eyes were a soft brown, almost warm, framed by dark hair that was swept back but still fell messily across his forehead. His jaw was sharp, yet there was something almost delicate about it. Something… soft.

You raised an eyebrow at him, just a slight challenge, and he blinked, startled. He bowed his head in your direction awkwardly—before you could return it, his eyes darted away quickly. Followed by a deep shade of red that crept into the tips of his ears.

He didn’t look back at you again—as though he couldn’t look at you a second longer.

Little did you know, when you weren’t paying attention, his eyes would steal a few more glances in your direction, each one shorter, but no less curious.

"We'll travel this way, and you all will be dropped off here at this camp, as requested. Understand?"

"And, we can just bring a backpack each?" Soobin asks, looking around the group. He’d introduced himself as the leader earlier.

"That doesn't mean you can just throw anything in there," you replied, finally speaking up, giving your first words tonight. "Keep it light. Only pack what you really need." Captain Joon gave a slight nod, acknowledging your point.

"Got it,"

"While we're at it," Captain Joon continued, “since we’ll be traveling together, it’s probably best you get to know the people you’ll be with. Just in case something goes wrong.” The mention of anything happening seemed to linger in the air. The five of them had never seen an infected before. You all know that can cause problems.

"As you probably already know, I'm the Captain of this team," Joon said, he shot a quick glance at you before going on.

"Park Y/N," he nodded in your direction, "our engineer sergeant. She’s the one who builds stuff, blows stuff up—whatever needs doing, really. She's my second-in-command."

Beomgyu has a valid reason to look at you now. And when he thought he never be more mesmerized, somehow, he was.

Earlier, when he first stumbled out of bed and woken by Kai, he wandered into the living room, still half-dazed. He was caught off guard on how… beautiful you were. He’d seen soldiers, sure, but you? You were different. You looked like you belonged on a magazine cover—not out here, in the middle of a hellscape.

How are you, not a celebrity? he wonders, half-wanting to slap himself. How are you so beautiful, standing here, in the middle of this nightmare? The strangest thing, though, was the pull in his chest—even though he’d only just learned your name. Even your name—sounds pretty.

"Do-hyun," Joon said, pointing to a man near you, "he's in charge of our comms—makes sure we stay connected. Keeps the radios running, that sort of thing." Do-hyun gave a lazy salute, a smirk playing on his lips.

"That’s Eun-woo and Ji-ho," Joon went on, pointing to two others standing with confidence. "They’re our weapons experts—know every damn thing about fixing, maintaining, and using all our weapons. They also take inventory, make sure we’re stocked up when we need to move out."

"And then there's Seo-jun," Joon said, nodding toward a tall, figure standing slightly apart from the rest like you. "Does the planning, the strategizing. And last but not least, Beom-seok. He’s the one left behind—our medic.”

"You can pack now. We'll wait here. We’ve got food rations on the truck, so you can eat there." Captain Joon finally ends the conversation.

The five of them stand up and start making their way to their rooms.

Beomgyu exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. The air feels lighter as he steps into his room. They're finally getting out here.

He stands in front of his closet for a few seconds, unsure of what to grab first. He picks up his backpack and starts shuffling through his things—some clothes, and his hygiene kit that Taehyun had already packed for him. He opens his drawer and realizes he’ll need to change out of his pajamas. A plain shirt, some cargo pants, his jacket… and where the hell are his boots? Before he can finish, he hears the door creak open.

"Beomgyu," Yeonjun’s says. "That chick’s really cute."

Beomgyu freezes, his hand mid-reach for his shoes. He blinks and turns to face Yeonjun. "Have you packed your stuff, or do you think we’ve got all the time in the world?"

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, looking slightly taken aback. "Geez, chill. Why are you being so mad?"

Beomgyu hesitates. He doesn’t really know. It could be the way Yeonjun had interrupted his packing, or maybe… maybe it’s because Yeonjun’s casually saying something like that. Beomgyu feels something twist in his stomach.

Yeonjun thinks you’re pretty. He doesn’t know how to deal with that.

"'M sorry,"

Yeonjun watches him closely. "Was it because of what I said—"

"No."

A knock sounds on the door. Both of them turn toward it. Eun-woo peeks his head inside, his expression casual. "We're just waiting for the two of you, and then we're off."

"Let's go,"

The only sound is the steady rhythm of feet against the ground. Your team is spread out, moving in a loose pattern. Captain Joon, Seo-jun, and Ji-ho take the lead, scanning the surroundings. Soobin and Kai walk close behind, hand in hand. Taehyun and Beomgyu follow next, then Yeonjun.

You, along with Do-hyun and Eun-woo, bring up the rear. It’s all going smoothly. You’re alert, watching the others, everything seems calm—until you notice Yeonjun. He’s suddenly still, his body frozen in place. You glance over and follow his line of sight.

In the open space ahead, a small group of infected wander aimlessly. Movements are jerky, unnatural, and the growls that escape their throats are low and guttural. One of them is lying on the ground, its torso half severed, intestine out, but its arms are still twitching, dragging itself forward in a grotesque imitation of life.

Yeonjun’s breathing stops entirely, his chest barely rising and falling. He’s staring at them, wide-eyed, body tense. You step up and place a hand on his shoulder. The touch makes him flinch.

"Shhh," you whisper, barely audible. The last thing you need right now is anyone making noise. One sound, one slip-up, and the infected will be on you. "Move. Eyes front—Don't… do not look at them."

He does not respond at first, you’re not even sure if he’s even hearing you. His eyes check the infected again, then back to the ground. He swallows. Finally, he nods, voice tight, "Yeah."

You give him a push on the back, enough to get him moving. It was a relief to see Yeonjun walking. You exhaled slowly, locking eyes with Do-hyun. He'd seen it all. That look between you two was enough to say it all: they weren’t ready for this. They hadn’t been told nearly enough.

Everyone kept walking, the building’s echoing silence wrapping around you as you neared the first level. It wasn’t far now—just out the main door, across the block, and then Beom-seok would be waiting for you on the road. The end was in sight.

"Shit!" Soobin’s voice is loud, his hands pressed against his chest in surprise. He hadn’t expected it. A woman, infected, eyes wide open, slumped lifelessly in a chair in the lobby. Her body was barely recognizable, rotting, the decay setting in.

No one moved. You spun around, doubt kicking in, scanning the lobby for any movement. Kai gripped Soobin’s hand tighter, his fingers digging in just enough. Soobin looked at him—a silent apology, a promise to do better.

It was only a minute, before Captain Joon finally moved. You stepped out of the building, the fresh air hitting you in a way that almost felt too good. The five newcomers, still adjusting to the chaos, kept their gazes fixed ahead, careful not to glance at the herd gathering in the open space nearby.

Then you saw him—Beom-seok. Leaning against the tires on the road, his eyes sweeping the distance, waiting. "Took you long enough," Beom-seok mutters, his eyes looking at you as he watches you approach.

One by one, everyone began climbing into the truck. Ji-ho caught your eye, giving you a quick signal to get in.

"Yeah? Are you bored or something?" Seo-jun shoots back, his tone teasing.

You gripped Ji-ho's hand, pulling yourself up the tall cargo bed. You paused, glancing down at Taehyun and offering your hand. He grasped it firmly, and with one smooth pull, you helped him up. He meets your gaze and gives a nod, a thank you.

Beomgyu was next, and Ji-ho was beside you, helping Yeonjun up. Kai and Soobin were already settled inside chatting quietly, and the truck was starting to feel a little more like a secure place.

You let your hand fall, but it only took a second for Beomgyu to extend his own.

Soft. Warm. It feels different somehow.

Beomgyu feels your hand—still shielded by your tactical gloves, but with the fingertips exposed. Even through the fabric, he can feel the warmth of your skin. It’s subtle, and for some reason, it’s enough to make his heart beat a little faster. You gripped his hand, pulling him up with the same ease as you did with Taehyun.

He’s finally out—the one they’d been stuck in, waiting, starving. Water was running low, food was practically gone and no electricity. It’s been days. Time blurred together in there. He’d tried his hardest not to let his emotions spill over, even when his mind kept replaying all the times he’d imagined getting out. All the moments he’d prayed for this. And now, it’s real.

He's here.

"Thank you," Beomgyu whispers, he hopes that somehow, those two words are enough for you to know.

"Sure,"

Beomgyu smiles wider as the fresh scent of grass hits his face. It’s a smell he never thought he’d miss, now it feels like a luxury—something he never realized how much he took for granted until now.

He turns his head to look at you, he feels his heart settle. Your head slightly leaned back against the rail, eyes closed in peaceful sleep. He fights the urge to nudge the soldier sitting next to you and tell him to move so you can rest your head somewhere more comfortable. He notices a shift in your face. Your brows furrow—a small frown begins to start on your forehead. Beomgyu's smile fade. The sight of you looking troubled, unsettles him for some reason.

Then, with no warning, the vehicle comes to a sudden halt, throwing everyone forward. It awakes you, and your eyes snap open, hands reaching for your gun.

"What now?" Eun-woo asks, stepping toward the window that connects to the driver's area, his voice tight with concern. You follow his gaze and your stomach drops. A fire. A huge fire, raging up ahead. And it looks like it's right where your team was supposed to drop off.

Yeonjun holds his nose at the smell of burning, smoke.

"Didn’t you radio them, Do-hyun?"

"I did, before we started heading back, Captain," You start mentally counting the minutes—five people eating, the time it took to pack up, and the drive back. It couldn’t have been more than two hours.

Two hours, and the fire’s already this big. "What happens now?" You hear Kai ask himself.

You don't have to look for long to spot them. Infected. They’re coming toward your truck—more than you can count. A mass of tumbling bodies, moving fast.

"Captain!" you shout, your voice sharp. "They are coming. Too many of them." Your words startle everyone in the truck.

Beom-seok’s hands twitch on the steering wheel, nerves on edge as he maneuvers the truck. His mind races, unsure of the next move. Where the hell should we go?

"Head for the nearest camp," Captain Joon orders, "Do-hyun, can you get through to them?"

"I'm trying," Do-hyun responds, fingers moving over the radio—silence greets him in return. The truck moves, and all of you watch the infected, filling the road behind.

Beomgyu watches the infected, slow, stumbling figures moving toward the vehicle. He knows they wont catch up—he knows they cant outrun it—still, his stomach churns.

"Are you okay?" Soobin asks, voice soft. He saw Beomgyu’s face when he locked eyes with the dead. "Try not to look at them," he suggests. It’s what Soobin does—keep his eyes away.

Beomgyu gives a shrug. "Isn’t avoiding them just going to make it worse?" he says, eyes still glued to the decaying figures. "I mean, I would like to be able to look at them without feeling like I’m about to throw up."

Soobin sighs, "We are getting out of here. Hybe did not let these people get us just to leave us hanging. There’s gotta be a place somewhere. Maybe we’ll even be able to go home, see our families again."

Beomgyu’s throat tightens at the mention of family, he swallows the feeling down. "What if we don’t, though?" he murmurs, "You saw the fire at the camp we were supposed to be at. Do you really think we’d have made it out? If we got there earlier…. do your really think we would have survived?"

Soobin’s heart clench at the question, he can't bring himself to answer. He does not want to think about it, but he knows Beomgyu’s right. Everything had seemed okay—until that overrun camp. The silence stretches, loud with unspoken fears.

Beomgyu’s hand starts picking at his nails, his gaze unfocused. "What if there’s no safe place left?" His voice cracks,trying his hardest not to think about his family.

"Stop." It’s you. You had been close enough to hear their whispers. "I’ll let you know if there’s no place anymore. Until I do, don’t think about it."

Beomgyu looks up at you, meeting your eyes for a moment. And just like that, the heaviness inside him lifts—just a little.

The vehicle comes to a halt by the side of the road, dust kicking up as the engine sputters off. Captain Joon looks ahead, eyes narrowing at the said camp he has in mind. It’s about a ten-minute walk from here.

"Still no response, Captain," Do-hyun reports, his fingers pressing anxiously on the radio. "Should I try reaching out to other units? They're farther out, but I can give it a shot."

Captain Joon does not look at him, eyes fixed ahead. "You can do that later. For now, we need to check this site first." He pauses, "It’s not wise for all of us to go. These five civilians stay here with a couple of you, the rest of us will move out."

Beomgyu catches the glint of your fingers as you reach for your gun, checking the magazine, clicking it back and then tightening your boot laces. There's no need for more words. The message is clear. You're going out, you're checking the place. You’re not going to sit around and wait.

"Y/N," Captain Joon calls out as you start climbing down from the cargo bed.

“I’m going with you,” you say, already strapping your gun across your shoulder. Without waiting for a response, you take a few long strides,, scanning the fields around you. The tall grass sways gently in the breeze. A few of the soldiers start following suit—Eun-woo, Ji-ho, and you catch the sound of their boots as they move behind you.

Captain Joon strides past, and you follow him, your boots crunching against the dry earth.

Beomgyu watches, his eyes never leaving your form as you move further into the distance. He can hear Yeonjun’s sigh beside him, but it did not make him look away. Instead, he counts under his breath, doing everything he can to keep you in sight until you’re too far to see.

The truck was quiet, the minutes stretching on as the remaining soldiers outside paced back and forth, keeping watch.

“I’m worried about Hiyyih,” Kai said suddenly, breaking the silence. His words drew the attention of the older guys around him, all seated close by.

“Do you think she got rescued too?” Kai asked, voice quieter now. “Or maybe…she made it out to Seoul when everything went like this?”

Taehyun reached over, giving the youngest's head a soft pat. “She is okay, Kai,” he said, “Once we get to the camp, we can ask the Captain,”

“Yeah,”

“Stop stressing about it, though,” Yeonjun chimed in, “We will figure it out soon enough.” Soobin stayed quiet, gaze fixed on some distant thought.

“They’re back,” Beomgyu said, his gaze darting between the road and the distant figures coming into view. He kept watching, squinting to make out their shapes as they got closer. Minutes passed, and the faces became clear: Captain Joon, two other soldiers… and you.

“They’re fewer than we expected,” Captain Joon announced as he reached the group, his voice steady but grim. “The camp’s still standing. We’ll spend the night there and wait for further instructions.” His words weighed heavy in the air. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay composed.

When you entered the place, the sight was sobering. Just over half a dozen soldiers were left. The others, you were told, had been sent out on missions—and none of their teams had returned. You shook the thoughts away, chalking it up to exhaustion. Fatigue was setting in, and all you wanted was a shower and some sleep. For now, this camp would have to do.

Adjusting the straps of your backpack, you glanced around and saw everyone gathering their belongings. You opened your gun case and checked the magazines, counting each one carefully. “We’ll need to do inventory soon,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Beomgyu caught your words and looked over, his eyes flicking from your face to the black case cradling the weapons.

Arriving at the camp on foot felt like walking into a ghost town. The only sign of life was… the small group of soldiers waiting, their tired eyes, makes the place feel even emptier. Captain Joon started barking orders, assigning tents to everyone. Your mind was fixed on one thing: rest.

“I’m going to shower and sleep. Wake me if I’m needed,” you told the captain, walking past him as he gave you a quick nod.

You headed to your tent, overhearing the arrangements for the five civilians. They’d be taking turns in the showers, then each also having a small tent of their own. Your own shelter was small, just as you’d expected. You set your things down, pulling out what you needed for the shower.

The shower area was sectioned off with a heavy curtain, its edges swaying slightly in the breeze. You pushed it aside and stepped in, letting the cool water wash over you. The sensation of the water running down your back. After finishing your routine, you reached for a towel and your robe. Once you’d changed into a clean military shirt and loose pants, you stepped outside, your hair still damp.

The camp was quiet, save for the crackle of a small fire in the center. A few soldiers sat around it—Yeonjun was eating, with Beomgyu and Taehyun seated beside him. Soobin, walking toward them, caught your gaze and gave you a respectful bow. Kai was likely in the showers, taking his turn.

Back at your tent, you dried your hair—hitting the makeshift pillow, your eyes drifted shut. It was harder to sleep that night.

Beomgyu jolted awake to the sharp crack of a gunshot. His chest tightened as he gasped, sitting up abruptly in the darkness.

BANG.

Another shot echoed through the camp, louder this time. He instinctively covered his ears, his heart pounding in his chest. The sound was close—too close. A flurry of gunfire followed, chaotic and all over the place. He froze as a shadow darted past the thin walls of his tent. His hands trembled as he forced himself to stand.

He fumbled for his pants, pulling them on as another scream tore through the night, quickly silenced by another gunshot. His mind raced. Should he go outside? Should he stay hidden?

Soobin. Yeonjun. Taehyun. Kai.

You.

The names rang in his head snapped him. He peeked through a small gap in the tent’s fabric, his breath hitching at the sight outside. Strangers—men he hadn’t seen earlier—moved through the camp. One of them hefted a sack of supplies over his shoulder, while others fired wildly at the soldiers.

Bandits?

The realization hit hard. These men were fighting the soldiers stationed at the camp, gunfire exchanged in rapid bursts. Beomgyu swallowed hard. His tent was further out than the others, which gave him a sliver of cover, but he knew he had to move. As he stepped out of his tent, a bullet zipped past him, close enough to feel the air shift against his cheek. He flinched, his heart hammering in his chest.

“What the—”

A scream drew his attention. A bandit, snarling and swinging his weapon, was overwhelmed by an infected lunging at him from the side. The sight froze Beomgyu in place, fear rooting him to the spot.

A hand clamped over his mouth, silencing the scream that threatened to escape. He turned sharply, eyes wide, only to see you staring back at him.

“We’re leaving. Or we’re dead,” you whispered, your voice urgent but low. Beomgyu hesitated, glancing toward the other tents. He wanted to go to the others, to check if they were okay, but you tightened your grip on his wrist, stopping him.

“They will see you,” you hissed. Behind you, the infected were starting to swarm the camp, drawn by the gunfire. Beomgyu felt a lump rise in his throat. Your hand dropped from his mouth, and you tugged on his wrist, shoving him back toward his tent. “Grab your things. Be fast.”

Beomgyu stumbled inside, adrenaline coursing through him as he grabbed his backpack. He hadn’t even unpacked yet, telling himself earlier he’d do it in the morning. Now, it didn’t matter. There wasn’t going to be a morning if he stayed.

When he stepped back out, you were watching the bandits, your jaw clenched. He noticed your backpack already slung over your shoulder. The white shirt you’d worn earlier was still visible beneath a hastily thrown-on jacket, paired with cargo pants and sturdy boots.

“Come on,” You started moving, weaving through the shadows with practiced steps. Beomgyu followed—heart heavy and torn as he glanced back toward the other tents.

His four brothers weren’t with him.

Beomgyu’s feet ached with every step. He had been trailing behind you for what felt like hours, though it couldn’t have been more than fifty minutes. Your strides were quick, far faster than he could have imagined for someone with shorter legs than his. He had no idea where you were leading him, and the darkness of the woods only made it worse.

Shadows stretched long between the trees, and every crackle of leaves underfoot made his heart jump. But then you turned back to look at him, your face briefly influenced by the moon's light—it was just a quick check to make sure he was still behind—and somehow that was enough to keep him moving.

Finally, you stopped in front of a towering tree. Its trunk was wide and strong, the kind that seemed to have stood for centuries. You tilted your head up to inspect it, then turned back to him. “This will do. We’ll climb up here,”

Beomgyu blinked, his gaze sweeping nervously between you and the tree. Climbing? He had never climbed a tree before—not even as a kid. But the alternative—staying on the ground, exposed to the infected, or people that might be lurking—was far worse.

“O-okay,” The two of you did not know where you were going—or how far you still had to go—but at least up here, you could catch your breath. He watched as you point toward the bark, signaling for him to go first.

“Here,” you said, tapping a sturdy-looking notch just above your reach. “Put your foot here.”

“You sure it’ll hold?”

“It will, trust me.”

Beomgyu swallowed hard and placed his foot on the notch. It felt solid, but the uneven texture of the bark made him wobble slightly. He grabbed the trunk for balance, his fingers scraping against the rough surface. “Here, grab this branch,” you guided him, pointing to a solid-looking limb.

The bark was rough, but he held on, his muscles trembling. The tree swayed just a little under his weight, the rustling leaves made him think that the whole thing might give way. But it didn’t. With a grunt, he hoisted himself, settling into a spot that felt stable enough to hold him. The height gave him an odd sense of relief—He looked down at you, his fear replaced by a grin.

“This is so cool,” The horrors of the night melted away. You smirked, shaking your head as you reached for the first branch, beginning your own ascent. Beomgyu’s gaze stayed on you, his hands hovering slightly as if wanting to help but unsure how.

When you were nearly at his level, reaching for a branch to pull yourself up, the wood suddenly gave way with a sharp crack. Making you slip. “Shit!” Beomgyu lunged toward you, his hands finding your elbow just in time. “I-I—What do I do?!”

“Can you not panic like you’re the one about to fall?” you snapped, though your voice lacked real bite.

“Right!” he stammered, his grip tightening. You grasped his other outstretched arm, and with one strong pull, he managed to haul you up. The force of it sent you toppling forward, landing squarely against him. For a second, everything went still. Beomgyu’s breath hitched as he looked up at you, your face inches from his.

You could feel the warmth of his body against your chest, see the subtle freckles and barely-there moles on his skin that you hadn’t noticed before. His gaze flickered to your lips.

In a swift motion, you pushed yourself off him—brushing the dust and bits of bark from your clothes, you avoided his eyes. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak just yet.

An hour had passed since the two of you settled. Your back leaned towards the tree and for a brief moment, you let your eyes close, though your mind raced.

Plans. Risks. Next steps.

“What’s the next plan?”

You opened your eyes, exhaling softly. “I’m planning to check back at the camp once the sun’s up,” you said after a moment. “From a distance. The infected were drawn to the gunfire, so I doubt they’ll stay there. But I need to see what’s left.”

Beomgyu nodded, “We should see if there’s anyone still there. Maybe stuck or hiding.”

You glanced at him and adjusted the rifle slung across your chest. The weight of the handgun in your pocket and the knives strapped to your thighs felt heavier.

“We’ll try to track them too,” you said, then added quietly, “Or you could stay here and wait for me.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Okay.”

Silence fell between you again, interrupted only by the faint rustle of leaves. Beomgyu broke it with a sudden thought. “I can’t believe people can kill each other just like that,” he said, voice with disbelief.

The words made you pause. Your eyes, previously shut, opened fully, and you turned your head slightly toward him. But you said nothing. “Why did they do that?” Beomgyu asked, his tone softer now.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you looked away, avoiding his gaze. His eyes—they were too brown, too soft for a world like this. When the silence stretched too long, he shifted uncomfortably, his ears flushing red. “I… I wanna thank you. For bringing me with you,” he said, shyly. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Sleep,” you said, brushing his gratitude aside. “I’ll keep watch.”

“I do think I can,” he admitted, rubbing his neck. "I swear I can still hear the gunshots in my ears.” You sighed. Sleep wasn’t an option for you either.

Beomgyu hesitated before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?”

“You already did,”

His face flushed deeper. “I mean… another question.”

When you didn’t respond, he continued, “Why are you the only woman in your team?”

Your eyes flicked to him, one brow raising slightly. “Are you implying there shouldn’t be one?”

“No! God, no,” he said quickly, his hands flailing slightly as he stumbled over his words. “I mean, it’s just—wow. It’s amazing.”

“That a woman can do a man’s job?”

“No—yes—no!” Beomgyu groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I just mean, like… it’s impressive. Especially since women aren’t even required to go through military service. But here you are, and you’re killing it—uh, not literally—well, maybe literally, but—”

You studied his flustered face for a moment before cutting him off, “I get it,” you said, watching as relief washed over him. “I think I was just… born for this. I can’t imagine myself doing anything else.”

“That’s… cool,” he murmured, nodding slowly. You hummed, leaning your head back against the tree.

“I don’t think I can imagine myself doing anything else either,” Beomgyu said, thoughtful. He stared at his hands, a small smile tugging at his lips. You watched him for a second longer than you meant to.

“That’s cool,” you echoed his words, earning a laugh from him. His smile widened, his laugh soft but real, and it lit up the darkness around you. Even his laugh—

It made you look away, your chest tightening. His smile—it was dangerous.

Beomgyu turned his gaze to you, studying your profile. The way your lashes caught the faint moonlight. Beautiful, he thought.

“How old were you when you joined the military?” he asked, randomly. Your expression froze, startled by the question.

“What?”

“I mean, if it’s okay to ask,” he said, tilting his head slightly, his tone careful. “You don’t have to—”

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. That question—it wasn’t one you wanted to answer again. Not now. Not ever.

“Close your eyes and rest,” you said flatly, “We’re done talking. The dead might hear us.”

The other one's face fell.

The sunlight was warm against Beomgyu's face, pulling him from his sleep. He blinked a few times, squinting at the brightness, trying to shake off his muzzy state.

"Hey, sleeping beauty." You say, "If you want to come, we need to go. Now."

He turned to see you already packing up, tossing a protein bar his way without looking. He barely caught it, fumbling it in his hands before managing a weak, “Thanks.”

"Let's go." You unscrewed your water bottle and took a quick drink before slinging your gear over your shoulder. Without waiting for him to respond, you started climbing down from the tree. Beomgyu followed, the descent easier than the nerve-wracking climb up last night, his legs still felt stiff from the awkward position he’d slept in. His feet hit the forest floor, and he took a deep breath. The woods in daylight were almost beautiful painting everything in shades of green.

He yawned, unwrapping his protein bar as he fell into step behind you. The two of you walked in silence, his eyes wandering over the scenery. It was hard to reconcile how peaceful the forest looked with the gnawing fear in his gut. About twenty minutes in, you suddenly stopped, your hand shooting up in a signal. Beomgyu, distracted, nearly walked into you.

“Infected,”

He followed your line of sight and spotted it—a man-shaped figure stumbling through the trees, its feet dragging awkwardly. The distance between you and it was still considerable.

Beomgyu glanced at you, his eyes wide. “How did you even see that?” he whispered. “I wouldn’t have noticed it until it was right in front of us.”

You ignored the question, “You haven't done this yet, so now’s the time to learn.”

Now, the words struck him awake. He’d known this was coming—he wasn’t naive—but he hadn’t expected it to be now. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t we find, I don’t know, somewhere more open for this?” He couldn’t help the nervous edge in his voice. Just weeks ago, his biggest challenge was memorizing their group's choreography.

“This is the perfect place to practice,” you said, not bothering to look at him.

He hesitated, shifting on his feet. “I mean, I’m not scared or anything, but—”

“Scared?” you interrupted, finally turning to him with a raised eyebrow.

“No. Let’s just get it over with.”

You nodded, pulling a knife from your belt and handing it to him. The weight of it in his hand felt foreign. He stared at the blade, the black handle smooth, well maintained. His eyes caught the faint etching of your name on it.

“Grip it like this,” you said, adjusting his grip. Your hands were firm, guiding his fingers into place. “Keep your thumb here for control. When you strike, aim for the head and use enough force so you don’t have to do it twice.”

He nodded, his throat dry. "Go in when I say.”

The infected was closer now, its groans louder, its movements jerky and unnatural. You gestured for him to move to the left, opposite of where you were going. He obeyed, his steps hesitant.

You moved quickly, drawing its attention. Beomgyu couldn’t take his eyes off you as you circled it without second thoughts or any fear.With a sharp kick, you knocked its legs out from under it. The infected collapsed to its knees, and you pressed your boot into its back, holding it in place. “Come here,”

Beomgyu swallowed hard, the knife trembling in his hand as he approached.

“Kill it,” you instructed, tilting the infected’s head to expose its temple.

His heart pounded as he raised the knife. He brought it down, but his strike lacked strength, and blade only sank halfway in. The infected howled, its hands clawing weakly at the air. “Y/N, I—what do I—”

“Again,” you cut him off, grabbing his other hand and placing it on the knife. “Use both hands if you have to. Pull it out and try again. Harder this time.”

He did as you said, the knife coming free with a sickening squelch. Blood splattered onto his hands, warm and sticky, and he nearly gagged. Clenching his teeth, he raised the blade again and drove it down with all his strength. The groaning stopped, the infected falling silent.

You let the body slump to the ground, standing up as Beomgyu stumbled away, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He made it to the nearest tree before doubling over, the contents of his stomach spilling onto the forest floor.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he wiped his mouth. That infected—it wasn’t just a monster. It had been a person once, a living, breathing human being. Maybe they had a family waiting for them, a home filled with memories, or a life they’d worked hard to build. Maybe they’d been on a vacation or rushing to work the day the world fell apart.

Beomgyu’s breath hitched—he was the one who ended them, the one who took what little remained of their existence. He never imagined his life would come to this—how could he? Just a month ago, his world had been with roaring crowds, and music that echoed through stadiums. He’d been smiling at cameras, shooting music videos, and waving to fans who looked at him like he was untouchable, someone larger than life.

You crouched next to him, holding out a piece of cloth. He stared at your hand for a moment before taking it —your hands looked smaller than his, fragile—he wipes the blood on his trembling fingers.

How? How could you—manage to do all of this?

“You ended its suffering,” you said quietly, hesitant. “That’s how I try to think of it.”

“Does it get easier?”

“Never.”

It was just a single word, but somehow, it felt like a glimpse—Beomgyu feels closer. It felt like he knew you just a little bit better.

The two of you continued toward the overrun camp, the knife you’d lent Beomgyu still in his hands. For all the danger the weapon symbolized, it seemed to bring him a strange kind of comfort, his grip on it much more familiar.

Another walker crossed your path, Beomgyu stepped forward, more sure of himself this time. With just a little guidance from you, he managed to take it down.

Familiarity.

When you reached the backside of the camp, low growls echoed from ahead. Slowly, you leaned out to peek, careful not to make a sound. About a dozen infected, just as you expected.

And just as you'd predicted, the bandits had left too, leaving nothing behind but destruction. You moved, glancing over your shoulder to check on Beomgyu. He was scanning the area, his movements mirroring yours. That small action made your chest swell with pride.

He's learning. He's trying. And most of all, he's here—for his friends.

Together, you began checking the tents, moving smoothly and silently. Nothing. No survivors. But you found a few supplies—military rations, protein bars, ammo and some guns. Grabbing a duffel bag, you started packing up. Beomgyu helped in without hesitation.

Halfway through the camp, Beomgyu froze. His eyes locked on something ahead. That’s when you saw it too.

BEOMGYU, KAI, WE GOT OUT. WITH THE OTHERS. WE’RE HEADING TO THE JEONJU CAMP. STAY SAFE. SB, YJ, AND TH.

“They got out,” Beomgyu said, his voice breaking the silence. Relief washed over him, lifting some of the weight he’d been carrying. Kai wasn’t with them yet, but this was hope. He would find Kai too. He’d see this message too. “I knew it!”

He spun around to face you, a grin breaking across his face. He pumped his fist in the air, silently cheering as if he’d just hit the jackpot. That boyish smile, dimples and all, made him look so much younger.

And then, he saw it—a faint, fleeting curve of your lips.

His laugh bubbled out, soft and genuine, as he ran toward you, nearly tripping over his own feet in excitement. You're perfect, he thinks, the thought hitting him as naturally as breathing. You try to step back, caught off guard, but it’s too late.

It’s already too late.

“I freaking knew it,” he said, his arms around you warm, his chin resting on the top of your head. You stood frozen, your hands awkwardly at your sides, nodding stiffly.

“I told you,” he whispered. When he finally steps back, his eyes search your face, the smile he’d seen just moments ago is already gone. You look away, avoiding his gaze, and the sudden absence of it—leaves an ache in his chest.

He wants to see it again.

“Let’s wrap this up and circle outside the camp,” you say, pulling the zipper closed on the duffel bag you’d packed full. “We need to check if Kai’s lingering nearby. And we’ll need to secure a vehicle too. We’re in Daejeon—its a long way to Jeonju.”

“Thank you.” Beomgyu’s voice is quiet, and his cheeks flush red as he remembers his earlier outburst—the way he’d hugged you without thinking. Maybe it was the relief from the message, or maybe it was just seeing you smile at him for the first time.

“Why do you think they’re in Jeonju?”

“Probably got a radio response,”

He nods, falling in step behind you as you heft the duffel bag over your shoulder. Beomgyu quickens his pace, catching up to you. He tugs the bag from your hands. “Let me take this,”

The two of you stepped out of the tent, the silence heavy between you. You were nearing the camp’s edge when Beomgyu noticed you slowing down, your steps faltering.

Seo-jun.

His movements were slow, his hands trembling as he stumbled forward. He's looking at you. Seo-jun’s blood-soaked uniform and gaping bite on his neck entered your vision. Gunshot wounds riddled his chest—a soldier’s final stand. He had fought. Hard. For his team. For everyone.

"Y/N?" Beomgyu’s voice broke through the haze, soft but urgent. He noticed that you had stopped, your gaze fixed on the infected figure ahead. He squinted, and his heart sank when he realized it was someone from your team.

Seven years. You had known Seo-jun for seven years. You had planned to make things right with him, to talk, to reconcile. But how could you now? How could you fix things when he was already lost? You tried to blink away the moisture from your eyes.

“Am I ever getting a break?” you muttered to yourself, the words bitter. "Even here, you find a way to mock me, Seo-jun."

Beomgyu could hear the shakiness in your voice, the rawness in the way you spoke. He listens.

You couldn’t leave him like this. Alone in his lifeless form, wandering endlessly. He deserved more than that. “Come on, you shit,” you muttered, your throat tightening as you stepped forward, reaching for your knife. But you froze.

Around his neck, alongside his dog tags, hung another set. Min Ju-won’s. Even at the end, Seo-jun had carried that burden, blaming himself for something you both knew wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t let it go, not even in death.

Beomgyu moved before he could think. He didn't know if it was the look in your eyes or the way your hand trembled, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t let you do this. While Seo-jun was distracted by your figure, Beomgyu raised his weapon. Just as you had taught him hours ago, he aimed for the head.

Seo-jun’s body crumpled to the ground. Beomgyu guided him down gently, almost reverently. From his backpack, Beomgyu pulled an extra jacket. Without a word, he draped it over Seo-jun’s face. It wasn’t much, but it was the only dignity he could offer.

When he stood, his eyes met yours, raw and glistening with emotion.

“Why—” Your voice cracked, unable to finish the question.

“He was your friend,” he said quietly. “I'm not going to let you do that. Not while I’m here.”

Friend.

That single word shattered whatever fragile wall you’d been holding up. A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, and you quickly wiped it away with your hand.

“He’s not suffering anymore,” Beomgyu added softly, his hand gently brushing the top of your head—you avoided his eyes, yet again. “He’s not suffering,”

He bent down to grab the duffel bag he’d dropped earlier, slinging it over one shoulder. Then, he reached out, his hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Let's get out of here.” He pulled you forward.

Beomgyu's hand didn’t leave yours until the two of you were far beyond the camp.

"Hey," you called out to Beomgyu, who was busy checking a nearby car. "This looks fresh—like it hasn’t been here long." He made his way over, and you held out—a baseball, cap.

"Wait," Beomgyu said, eyes widening as he took it. Turning it over in his hands, he inspected it closely. "This… this is Kai’s,"

When you looked at him, a small smile was already spreading across his face, lighting up his features like it always did.

Beomgyu… he was so easily moved by the smallest things. It didn’t take much to make him smile. Or maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe it was because he loved his brothers, that even the smallest sign of them was enough to give him something to hold onto.

You dropped your gaze when his eyes met yours and moved toward the next car, pretending. But your thoughts refused to stay put. Here you were again, thinking about him—about his silly antics.

In the past twelve hours, it felt like he’d done nothing but occupy your mind. Every small moment with him clung to you. The way his voice softened when he spoke—The way he’d quietly ask, “You okay?” as if you were the one who needed saving.

After Seo-jun—he hadn’t said a word about it. No awkward condolences, no probing questions. Just silence—the kind you needed. Like he just… knew. No one had ever been like this—this careful, this kind. No one had ever looked at you the way he did, with eyes that were too brown and too full of something you didn’t want to name.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it at all.

“I think Kai’s already ahead of us,” you bit into the bland military ration that was handed to you. “Heading towards Jeonju, if those tracks are anything to go by. He’s smart.”

“He is,” Beomgyu agreed, a small smile at his lips as he stirred the contents of his disposable pack. “He’s the calmest one too.”

“Then I guess we will see him there,” you said with a shrug. “Now all we need to do is find a working car.”

“A manual,”

“Hm.”

“That has gas in it.”

“Figures,” you muttered. “But that’ll be the easier part.”

Silence settled over the two of you again, it had become strangely common. You both ate, focused on the food. Every so often, you’d catch Beomgyu glancing your way, and flashes you his small, boyish grin on his face.

You tossed the empty pack toward a nearby car and wiped your hands on your pants. “It’s getting dark soon,” you said. “We should camp nearby and head out at first light.” Moving at night was usually the smarter option, especially with a vehicle and a full team. But here, now? Just the two of you, on foot, with no guarantee of shelter or backup—it wasn’t worth the risk.

Sticking to the woods was safer. The fewer infected—or people—you encountered, the better. You only ventured onto the road when there was a car worth checking.

In the fading light, a barn came into view. Its doors were wide open, silhouetted against the trees. You signaled Beomgyu to wait outside while you moved to secure the area. Inside, it was clear the owner had left in a hurry, taking most of what mattered. It was empty, save for a few odds and ends no one had cared to take—its enough for a temporary shelter.

“Looks good enough,” you murmured as you stepped back outside. Beomgyu nodded, already starting to unload your supplies. The discovery of a small lake nearby was an unexpected bonus.

“I’m going to wash up,” you said, gathering what you needed and slinging your gun over your shoulder. Beomgyu gave a slight nod, his eyes lingering on you as you walked away.

The water was cold, scouring away the dirt and sweat. You were quick, not wanting to leave Beomgyu alone for long. When you returned, your damp hair clung to your neck, and your skin was clean and slightly chilled.

“Your turn,” He glanced up, eyes flitting over your freshly washed face. His heart thudded hard in his chest. Cute, he thought, forcing himself to look away. Beomgyu nodded, grabbing his things and heading out to the lake. He came back just as fast, hair dripping but visibly refreshed.

You sat side by side on the makeshift bedding, neither of you saying much. Beomgyu’s soft breathing enters your ears—hand rested close enough that you could almost feel its warmth against your skin.

You found your eyes beginning to close with peace you hadn’t realized you were still capable of feeling.

Beomgyu woke up, immediately turning to his left. There you were, curled up on your side, the rise and fall of your chest visible in the dim space. He stared, mesmerized—it was the first time he’d ever seen you asleep. You looked… soft. A side of you he never thought he’d witness.

He shifted. The urge to pee was becoming unbearable. Careful not to wake you, Beomgyu slipped off and crept toward the barn door. The cold air hit him as he stepped outside, wrapping his arms tightly around himself for warmth. He scanned the area just like you’d taught him—ears tuned to every sound. Nothing.

He let out a breath of relief and headed to a nearby tree. Unzipping his pants, he took care of business quickly, the chill urging him to hurry. After he finished and zipped back up, a faint rustling behind him made him stop. Before he could turn, a large, rough hand clamped over his mouth, oppressing his scream. Another arm locked around his neck, pulling him back against a solid chest.

“Shut up if you value your life,” a low, gravelly voice growled against his ear. The man holding him inhaled deeply near his hair, a disgusting, exaggerated sniff. “Freshly washed. You’ve got a place nearby, don’t you?”

Beomgyu’s eyes darted ahead, and his stomach dropped when three more men stepped into view. Each held a weapon—a bat, a knife, and worst, a pistol. The man restraining him gives a rough shake, his breath hot and foul. “Don’t make me ask again. Where’s your camp?”

Beomgyu shook his head violently, panic blooming in his chest. He couldn't—he wouldn't—lead them back to you. The thought of them finding you, sleeping and unaware—this was his fault. He should have been more careful.

The man growled in frustration. “Y' think this is a joke?” he spat, hardening his chokehold. Beomgyu’s throat made a strangled sound as he gasped for air. The man with the knife stepped forward, expression predatory. “Maybe this will help him remember,” he said, pressing the blade against Beomgyu’s cheek. The sharp metal bit into his skin, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make him wince.

“There’s a barn ahead,” the one with the baseball bat said,“Think that’s it?” Beomgyu’s reaction betrayed him—his wide eyes and the flash of fear gave them all the confirmation they needed.

“Yeah,” the man holding him laughed darkly, “that’s it.”

Before Beomgyu could resist, they forced his hands behind his back and bound them tightly, shoving a cloth into his mouth to stifle any protest. He struggled, but it was no use—they yanked him forward, dragging him roughly toward the barn. And he knew exactly where they were taking him. To you.

“Fucking hell,” the man holding Beomgyu growled, his gaze shifting to your sleeping figure inside the barn. A dark grin tugged at his lips. “Is this what you’re so scared of? Afraid we’ll take her away from you?”

Beomgyu thrashed, desperate to scream, to warn you, but the cloth bound tight in his mouth smothered any sound. The group moved closer, one of them stepping forward to push the barn door open. The large, old door creaked. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to wake you.

Your eyes snapped open, adjusting to the figures looming at the entrance, shadows that didn’t belong. Your hand reached for the gun nearby. The glint of their weapons caught your eye as they aimed at you in return.

“Sweetheart,” the tallest man drawled, stepping forward. His tone was mocking, dangerous. He shoved someone in front of him—Beomgyu. Your breath hitched as your eyes locked onto his. His face was pale, streaked with dirt and tears, and a raw red mark marred his cheek. His wide, terrified eyes pleaded with you.

Red.

“What the fuck do you want, asshole?” You cocked your gun, the sharp metallic click echoing. One of them flinched. Good.

The leader sneered, shoving Beomgyu roughly to the side. He tied him to a post like he was nothing more than an animal. Your jaw tightened as you watched the way they manhandled him, your fists clenching around the gun. When he was done, the leader turned back to you, whistling low at the deadly glare you levelled at him. His cocky smirk only deepened.

“You look loaded,” he said, his eyes flicking to the bags by the wall. “And since you asked so nicely, we’d also like to take turns with you, sweetheart.”

Beomgyu shook his head violently from where he was tied, his muffled cries useless against their laughter. His chest heaved, panic consuming him as the men began to advance on you.

“We’re lucky you’re here,” the leader continued, leering. “If we didn’t have a choice, we’d take the boy instead. He’s got such a pretty face, after all.”

Red.

All you saw was red.

Your vision blurred as rage consumed you. You let one of them grab your gun without resistance. It didn’t matter.

You'll kill them all.

The leader was close now, grabbing a fistful of your hair to tilt your head back. His face was inches from yours, his smirk as disgusting as the words spilling from his mouth. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? No fight left in you?”

You smirked—just a little. It was enough to confuse him, before he could react, your teeth sank into his throat. Hard.

It was a spot right where you knew it would hurt most. A pressure point. His scream ripped through while he stumbled back, clutching at the gaping wound with blood pouring through his fingers. The bitter, metallic taste flooded your mouth, but you didn't stop. You grabbed the gun he dropped as he fell and turned, firing without hesitation.

BANG.

The man who had taken your gun didn’t even have time to aim before he hit the ground.

“Fuck—” one of them snarled, charging at you. Before he could get too close, your foot sweeped his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a grunt.

BANG.

You aim your gun and pulled the trigger on his face. The man with the bat.

Pain exploded in your shoulder, a gunshot tearing through your flesh, but you didn’t flinch. His mistake wasn’t pulling the trigger; it was not aiming for your head like you aimed for his.

BANG.

The leader gurgled, blood bubbling up from his lips as he stared at you in disbelief. “Monster—” he chokes on the floor, his hands futilely gripping his shredded throat. His blood pooled beneath him as he sputtered his last, trying and failing to form a single word. “You—”

BANG.

You stared at the four lifeless bodies beneath you, the gun in your hand began to feel impossibly heavy. Blood clung to your shirt like a second skin, still warm, sticky. Your mouth tasted metallic, your hair a disheveled mess from the earlier struggle.

Behind you, Beomgyu sat slumped against the post, trembling. He’d watched everything—every deafening shot, every life you’d taken to protect. His body flinched with each pull of the trigger. Now, his tears streamed freely, but not out of fear. No, this wasn’t fear.

He was crying because you had to do this.

Sobbing around the cloth still gagging him, his muffled cries echoing in the now-silent barn. You moved, steps distant, as if someone else controlled them. You crouched down and began untying the ropes binding Beomgyu to the post. His breath hitched as your fingers worked the knots, your hands stained with blood that was not yours. The ropes fell loose. Beomgyu searched your face, desperate for some sign of emotion—but your eyes were blank, lost.

Before he could speak, you stood, bolting toward the barn door. Beomgyu panicked. He hiccuped, scrambling to his feet, his legs weak from being tied up for so long. “Y/N!” he tried to call, but his voice cracked. His head spinning.

You were gone. Were you leaving him? He looked around frantically, his feet faltering as the barn opened into the cool night. He couldn’t lose you. Not now.

Beomgyu finds you at the small lake nearby, kneeling in the water. The cold ripples lapped at your clothes, soaking them, but you didnt seem to notice. Your hands scrubbed furiously at your arms, over and over, like you were trying to erase your own skin. “Y/N,”

“Y-You were shot,” he said, voice cracking. His eyes darted to your shoulder, blood had begun to seep through your shirt.

You gasped for air, your chest squeezing with every shallow breath. No matter how hard you tried, it felt like the air couldn't reach your lungs. Your hands clutched your face as if you could physically hold yourself together—thoughts raced through your mind, loud and suffocating. The world around you blurred and warped, slipping further and further from your grasp.

You killed them.

“Y/N—” Beomgyu’s voice broke through. “Breathe—”

You barely registered him.

“Can you—”

“Look at me!” he shouted, louder this time. Hands cupping your face, trembling as much as yours. “Baby, look at me.” Your eyes darted up, locking onto his. Your tears spilled down your face.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice softening, “Just keep looking at me, brave girl.” You leaned into him, your weight heavy against his chest. His soft voice leads you.

“Okay,” he said, his forehead brushing yours gently. “I need you to help me out. Can you do that?” You nodded weakly in his arms.

“Good. Start with five things you can see. Anything, okay? Just tell me five things.” Your gaze darted, focusing on anything you could name. “The tree,” you whispered shakily. “The grass. The water. Your tears. And…you.”

“That’s it,” he said, “Now, four things you can touch. What are they?”

“Your hands,” you murmured, your fingers twitching against his. “The water. My hair. And…stones.”

“Perfect,” he said, his thumbs now against your cheeks. “What about three things you can hear?” You breathed deeply this time, the cloud in your head beginning to lift. “The wind. The water. And you.” His lips curved into the smallest, most fragile smile. “Two things you can smell?”

You hesitated. “The blood,” you admitted, voice cracking. “And…the trees.”

“One thing you can taste.”

You swallowed hard, finally meeting his eyes fully. “Metal,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

"You did it." Beomgyu’s voice trembled, his hands cradling your face with a gentleness that only made the tears come faster. He does his best to brush them away. "Thank fuck."

“Beomgyu,” his name on your lips slips out barely more than a whisper. Forehead pressed against his shoulder, your arms wrapping around him slowly, shakily, until they found their place on his back.

There's a soft press of lips against your temple, warm and fleeting.

He helped you wash the blood off your body, his hands careful, never lingering longer than necessary. His gaze flicked to yours every few seconds, searching for some sign of permission—or maybe for you to tell him to stop. But you didn't. You can't, not when his eyes held that pleading look, soft and desperate, as if this was the only way he could help you carry the weight of what had happened.

When it came time to clean your face, you stopped him with a slight shake of your head. He didn’t argue.

Later, he examined the gunshot wound on your shoulder, gently turning you to check for an exit wound. Relief flickered across his face when he found one. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, had this more than I can keep track of.” you replied. His head snapped up, disbelief written all over his features.

The two of you walked back to the barn in silence, clothes damp from the lake. Your hands swung loosely at your sides, brushing his once, then twice, until Beomgyu hesitantly reached out and took your hand in his. You didn’t pull away.

“You can wait here,” he said softly when the barn came into view. “I’ll grab our things. We need to leave—someone might’ve heard.” You nodded, understanding without him saying it: he didn’t want you to see the bodies again.

Within minutes, he returned with your bags. You rummaged through yours, finding fresh pants and underwear but no shirt. “Do you have a shirt?”

“I do,” He's already handing it to you.

“Thanks.”

Slipping it over your head, you caught the faint scent of him—musky, with a subtle sweetness. It suited him.

The two of you moved to a nearby tree, settling under its shadow. The world was still dark, the night stretching on endlessly. You sat beside him, his shoulders side by side with yours.“Can you say it again?”

“What?”

“My name,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. You noticed the tips of his ears reddening. “Like you did earlier.”

“No,”

He chuckled, his gaze falling to where your hands rested in your lap. “As I expected.” When you did not respond, he ventured another question. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What about it?”

“Was that your first t—”

“It wasn’t,” you cut him off, your eyes fixed ahead. You didn’t know why, but the words kept coming. “I’ve killed before. Being a soldier in the war… it wasn’t a choice. Sometimes I even had to kill my own teammates.” You paused,“But this… it’s different. They were civilians.”

“You had to kill your teammates too?”

You turned to him, studying the calm expression on his face. His eyes—the same ones that had anchored you earlier—held no trace of distrust, even after your confession. “Why aren’t you freaked out by this?”

“Because I want to know you,” he said with a small shrug. “Believe it or not, I’ve always been a good judge of character—or at least, that’s what my mom used to say. Soobin, too.” He paused, his lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. “Ever since I met you, there hasn’t been a single thing you’ve done that I couldn’t understand.” The answer caught you off guard, made something in you falter.

"I had to kill them because they asked me to,"

“Then you're the strongest person I’ve ever met.” You didn’t know how to respond—you dont trust your voice not to break. How could he look at you like that after everything he’d seen? After all you’d done?

Minutes passed, when you felt him shift beside you, his arm lifting as he gently guided your head to rest on his shoulder. The warmth of him made it easier to close your eyes.

"You can rest now,"

“This one doesn’t work either,” Beomgyu called out from up ahead. You were still busy checking the car you’d been inspecting—never mind. It didn’t work, either.

“Should we just go on foot?” he asked, exasperation into his voice. It had been over a day of wandering and hoping to find a working vehicle. There’d been a few infected here and there, but sticking to the backroads had kept you from running into anything worse than a small group.

“It’s dangerous,” you replied without looking up.

Silence.

Beomgyu never let a comment slide without a retort, you know that by now. Heart thumping, you stepped out of the car and scanned the area, instincts on high alert.

“BAH!” He jumped out in front of you, doubling over with laughter so intense it sounded like he might choke. “You should’ve seen your face!” he managed between gasps. “It was so cute.”

“Are you done?”

Clearing his throat, Beomgyu grinned. It was just another one of his attempts to get on your nerves. He pulled something from his pocket—a dusty Polaroid camera he had found in one of the trucks. He flipped it open and checked the film. Two shots left. Without missing a beat, he raised it to his face and clicked the button.

You blinked, unimpressed. “Are you even checking the cars, or are you just running around pretending to be Dora the Explorer?”

Beomgyu smirked as the film began developing. “You watch Dora?”

“No.”

“You just mentioned her.”

“She’s famous.”

“So am I,” he shot back. “But you didn’t know me before this.”

“Are you seriously going to bring that up again?”

“Heh.” Beomgyu’s grin only widened. He could almost see it—the tiniest twitch at the corner of your lips before you turned away. Almost. It made his heart flutter in that stupid, uncontrollable way he hated admitting to himself.

As the photo developed, he glanced down at it. The image of you slowly came into view—you, standing in the middle of the road, hair pulled into a loose ponytail, staring at something out of frame with a faintly confused look on your face. “Beautiful,” he exhales.

If you looked this good now, how stunning would you be on a normal day?

If this were a normal day, Beomgyu would be all over you.He’d give you flowers every single day, just to make you smile. He’d buy you anything you wanted—or even things you didn’t know you needed. Love is effort. It's what his parents taught him. — And he’d give it, all of it. He’d take photos of you, even beg if he had to, make playlists for you, play games with you, anything.

He wondered if you’d be any good at FPS games. You were already a menace with a gun in real life, so you’d probably be terrifying in a match.

Maybe, if the world ever allowed it, he’d convince you to visit Daegu, his hometown with him. His parents would love you. His brother, too, though Beomgyu would definitely have to bribe him to keep his mouth shut about the massive crush he’d been harboring on you. Would you like… Toto?

Beomgyu stared at the camera in his hands. Who knows if he’ll ever get another moment like this—another chance—in a world as unpredictable as this one? The idea settles in his mind, and he doesn’t let himself hesitate. “Let’s take a picture together.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to give him that deadpan, unamused stare—the one that always made Beomgyu bite back a grin. Another idea sparked his mind, “Okay, listen. After this, I promise not to mess around anymore,” He jutted his lower lip out just slightly, eyes pleading like a puppy who’d been caught chewing on a shoe.

“You promise.”

“Cross my heart,” he said quickly, nodding like his life depended on it. When you didn’t immediately reply, he skipped towards you. He knew this silence, too—your subtle little “yes” that didn’t require any words. He’d been observing you to pick up on your signals, even the smallest ones.

Without giving you time to change your mind, Beomgyu lifted the camera, stepped close, and pressed his cheek against yours. The faint warmth of your skin against his made his stomach flip, but he ignored it, snapping the picture before you could pull away.

You jerked back, shaking your head.

As the photo developed, Beomgyu stared at it, the edges curling faintly as the image sharpened. There it was—your face, with that same unamused look, your lips slightly pressed together like a daughter forced into posing for an overly enthusiastic mom. Beside you was him, the complete opposite—grinning like an idiot, dimples on full display, both your faces so close, touching.

Something about the contrast, about the way your expressions came together on that tiny square, made his heart do that stupid fluttering thing again. He tucked the photo into his pocket, alongside the other one.

He kept his promise and moved to the next car with you.

After three more hours of searching, you finally found a working car. Beomgyu let out an excited cheer, breaking into his little happy dance again. You tried not to smile, tried not to let his enthusiasm rub off on you—but, honestly, it was getting harder and harder to resist.

"Catch," you called, tossing the last bag to him. He caught it easily, stashing it in the backseat. Sliding into the driver’s seat, you glanced over as he settled into the passenger side. He looked so at ease there, sprawling out and fiddling with something on the dash. A passenger princess. Or was it prince? Either way, you could get used to him being there, looking peaceful for once.

You started the engine and pulled out onto the road, the car’s windows down to let in the cool breeze. As you drove, Beomgyu’s gaze drifted to your hair, your loose ponytail starting to come undone from the wind.

“Let me fix this for you,” he said, leaning over.

You felt his hands gently brush against your hair as he worked, careful not to distract you too much while you focused on the road. In the rearview mirror, you caught sight of his face—his brow furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted. His fingers brushed against your neck as he gathered your hair, the touch light and deliberate. You could feel the care in the way he worked, securing the ponytail more tightly this time. "There."

When he finished, he leaned back, his hands falling to his lap as he took a moment to admire his work—admiring you. His gaze lingered, drinking in the curve of your face, the way your hands gripped the steering wheel just tight enough. He never felt safer than he did here, by your side. Somehow, in the middle of all this, he’d found his safe place.

His safe place.

“Try to get some sleep while I drive,” Beomgyu's unable to look away—you were right there in front of him, so effortlessly beautiful it made his heart ache. The soft curve of your cheeks, the faint flush that he couldn’t stop staring at—he wanted to reach out, to brush his lips against them, to trace the tip of your nose with his own.

In the short time he’d been alone with you—just forty-eight hours—it felt like he’d known you a lifetime. Like you’d been waiting there all along, someone he was meant to find. He wants to know more.

“Yeah, sleep. Sure.” He replies, words catching in his throat.

You’ve been driving for a while now. Beside you, Beomgyu was fast asleep, his soft snores fill your ears. A faint smile tugged at your lips as you glanced over, his head resting against the window, one hand tucked beneath it like a pillow.

The camp was close, maybe 15 minutes away. Just 15 more minutes before you’d be separated from him. The thought twisted something deep in your chest. Selfish. You knew it was selfish to feel this way. You barely knew him, and yet…

You glanced at him again, his face soft and unguarded in sleep. Everything else seemed to fade—the road ahead, the weight of your responsibilities, even the constant buzz of survival.

Survival.

Being with him didn’t feel like you were just trying to survive.

Him—who had no choice but to end up with you. You were about to leave that camp. You're already far. But when you saw him at that overrun camp, darting between tents with nothing but desperation and bad luck to shield him from the bandits, something inside you shifted. You just moved. Your feet carried you forward before your mind could catch up, before the voice of reason could stop you.

You didn’t know then that the next two days with him would chip away at the walls you’d built.

It was the little things, mostly. The way he insisted you eat first, even when food was scarce. The way he handed you the best parts of the military rations. How he seemed to know when the weight of the barn still lingered in your mind, distracting you with his terrible jokes or a question just long enough to pull you out of it. Or how he’d ask if you’d slept okay, like it mattered in a world where nothing really did.

And that smile he gives you—so easy, so genuine, even when there was no reason for it. Like he just couldn’t help himself. But now, it was ending. It had to end. You have to end it.

You tightened your grip on the wheel, staring hard at the road ahead. This was the right thing to do, the smart thing. You’d get him to safety, to people who could take care of him better than you ever could.

He didn’t belong out here with you, and you didn’t belong anywhere.

Survival.

There's nothing more that terrified you.

You spot the camp—Jeonju. It’s much bigger, with sturdy railings circling the perimeter to keep the infected out. The car rolls closer, the guards stationed on top of the walls notice you. A blinding floodlight clicks on. You know what that means: get out and identify yourselves.

“Beomgyu,” you say, shaking him awake. “We’re here. Wake up, dumbass.”

“Huh? Oh,” he mutters, the light strike his face. “Got it.”

“We’ll leave our stuff in the car for now. We just need to head up there and check in.” He nods, following your lead as you climb out. You raise both hands in the air, palms open. Beomgyu mimics you.

“State your business!” one of the guards calls down from the wall.

Before you can answer, you notice movement out of the corner of your eye. An infected, shambling closer—too close to Beomgyu. You’re already moving, boots hitting the dirt as you drive your foot into its chest and plunge your knife into its skull.

You step back into position, brushing some blood off your sleeve. “Park Y/N!” you shout up at the guard. “I report directly to Captain Joon. I’ve got Choi Beomgyu with me—a rescued civilian.”

You waited for ten minutes, at most.

The gates creak open, the panels sliding apart to reveal three soldiers stepping out, their rifles at the ready. One of them freezes, his eyes going wide. “That’s really Y/N from the Black Berets. Idiot.”

You ignore his outburst, your gaze cool as it shifts to his badge. “Can we go in now, Ji-min?”

The soldiers straighten instantly, snapping salutes in your direction. Two of them move toward the car, offering to grab your supplies. You give them a curt nod before turning to Beomgyu, only to find him already looking at you—his eyes, questioning.

“Is my team here?” you ask the soldier who stayed behind.

“Yes,” You glance back at Beomgyu. His stare now answered. Without another word, you both start to walk toward the gate.

Beomgyu’s eyes widened, his breath unstable after he spotted the four figures waiting inside. They were here. They were really here.

Before he could fully process it, Soobin’s tall frame sprinted toward him, Yeonjun and Taehyun close behind. He barely noticed you stepping aside to give them space, his entire focus locked on his brothers. The first embrace hit him like a floodgate bursting. Strong arms pulled him in, and the dam he’d tried so hard to hold together crumbled. He buried his face into the familiar comfort of Soobin’s shoulder, trying desperately not to sob. He had missed them. They had never left his mind—not once.

“Choi Beomgyu,” Soobin said, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Are you okay?”

Yeonjun’s hand came up to gently ruffle his hair, a comforting gesture that made the lump in Beomgyu’s throat harder to swallow. “You’re not hurt, right?”

Beomgyu shook his head, sniffling as he wiped at his face.

“You took your time,” Taehyun teased with a small smile. “Sorry we couldn't wait for you back there. It's impossible to get to you, but we really tried.”

“It does not matter,” Beomgyu replied quickly, “Wait—where’s Kai?”

“He’s not here yet,” Soobin admitted, voice pained. “But one of the soldiers saw him escaping with someone else—a soldier. They said he made it out.”

“That ambush was insane,” Beomgyu nodded, even his heart ached. He had to hold onto hope. Kai was strong—he’d make it. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after, Kai would walk through those gates too.

A sudden panic shot through him, his head snapping to the side. “What’s wrong?”

Beomgyu eyes scanned the cluster of soldiers nearby. Where are you? He finally spotted you, standing with Captain Joon. The older man looked serious, but there was a warmth in his demeanor as he clapped a hand on your shoulder. You said something to him, your expression calm. Captain Joon’s face softened, and for a moment, it looked like he wanted to pull you into an embrace.

“She’s been with you this whole time?” Yeonjun asked, surprised.

“Since the start,”

Soobin doesn’t wait. He steps forward, taking Beomgyu by the arm as Yeonjun and Taehyun fall in beside them. Together, the four approach you. You don't have time to register what’s happening before Soobin wraps his arms around you in a unexpected hug.

“Thank you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for bringing him back to us.”

You glance over Soobin’s shoulder, catching Beomgyu’s gaze. He’s watching you, his eyes soft and full of something unspoken—a warmth that makes your chest tighten. You manage a small smile in return, the corners of your lips curving just enough to acknowledge him. He gives back a grin, that makes his dimple appear.

Gently patting Soobin on the back, you step away. “How are you holding up?” you ask,“I heard Kai’s not here yet. But with Ji-ho looking out for him, I know he’ll make it. He’s capable.”

Your words seem to ease the tension in the group. Soobin nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Yeonjun offers a faint smile, and even Taehyun pats your shoulder.

“We’re managing,” Soobin says. “Just waiting to hear what Hybe’s next steps are.”

Captain Joon appeared beside you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You’ve done enough for today,” he says. “Go wash up. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Beomgyu trails behind the other three, footsteps slower, reluctant. He looks back over his shoulder, at the direction you went—away from him, toward your own assigned space. This camp is massive, lined with rows of tents in all shapes and sizes, yet somehow, even with so many people around, Beomgyu feels unmoored without you nearby.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. You’ll need to change the bandage on your shoulder soon. He knows that, just like he knows you probably won’t bother unless someone reminds you. It’s always him who keeps track, who insists on helping you replace the worn-out wraps.

“Here’s your room,” Taehyun points to the tent ahead. Beomgyu steps inside, placing his things near the bed. It’s small but better—an actual mattress and even a tiny bathroom. He crouches by his bag, pulling out a fresh set of clothes for after his shower.

He tugs off his shirt, fingers brushed against the knife strapped to his belt. Slowly, he unhooks it, focuses on the small engraving on the handle—your name, etched deep into the worn metal. Would you want it back? Probably. The thought makes his pout, because he doesn’t want to let it go. Not yet.

He crosses the room and sets the knife carefully on the small table, almost tenderly, like it's an object meant for something more delicate than killing.

He showers with his heart feeling impossibly heavy.

Your hair was still damp from the shower, clinging to your neck as you ran a towel through it. Tugging a fresh pair of cargo pants up your hips, you reached for your shirt.

“You should always keep it wrapped as long as it’s not healed yet.” His voice echoed in your mind, unbidden.

“Fucking Choi Beomgyu,” you muttered, shaking your head as you grabbed the roll of bandages from the small supply pile nearby. “Always so annoying.”

Your fingers worked quickly, wrapping the fresh bandage around your shoulder. The wound looked much better now. Once you were satisfied it was comfortable, you pulled your shirt over your head and stepped out of your tent.

Your stomach growled in response with the smeel of cooking. A warm meal—finally. “Y/N!”

You turned at the sound of Yeonjun’s voice. He waved you over, seated with their small group near one of the campfires. Several other campfires are on the open space with large pots of food simmered over flames. “Sit down here,” Yeonjun offered, patting the spot on the log beside him.

You took the seat, extending your hands toward the warmth of the fire. Across, your eyes met Beomgyu’s. He was seated opposite you, quiet for once, his gaze flickering away as soon as it met yours.

Yeonjun handed you a steaming bowl of soup, carefully scooped from the pot. “Fill up. It’s good,” he said with a grin.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking the bowl into your hands. You reached for a spoon, Soobin beat you to it, holding one out.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Let me know if you need seconds.”

You cleared your throat, a little thrown off by the casual care they offered. It wasn’t something you were used to.

The conversation around the fire swirled, voices rising and falling as they swapped stories. You ate in silence, letting the warmth of the meal soothe you. It had been so long since you’d had something like this. But one person wasn’t talking much. Beomgyu.

You coughed—ate a little too fast, the food catching in your throat. It has only been a second when a water bottle was offered.

“Drink up,” Beomgyu said, already twisting the cap off for you. He reached for your bowl, holding it steady so you could take the bottle from his hand. You took a sip, the cool water easing the discomfort. “Thanks,” you muttered.

“That’s right, Beomgyu,” Taehyun teased, smirking. “Take care of her. I’m sure she had to drag your sorry ass out there.”

“She did not!” Beomgyu blurted, his ears turning red.

“Oh, I bet she carried you on her back,” Yeonjun chimed in, clearly enjoying himself. “What? No way!”

“You probably teased her the whole time,” Taehyun added, grinning.

“I didn’t—”

“What a baby,” Soobin finished with a dramatic shake of his head.

Their teasing bounced around the fire, growing louder. Mixed with exaggerated groans as playful shoves sent shoulders bumping on the log seats. Beomgyu, red-faced and clearly at his limit, stomped his foot on the ground in mock frustration.

You couldn’t help it; a laugh escaped you, small at first but growing. You quickly covered your mouth with the back of your hand, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle it.

Beomgyu's wide eyes locked on you. You laughed. You finally fucking laughed. He feels his heart about to burst at the sweet sound.

“Oh-ho, look at her!” Soobin exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “The stress must’ve caught up with her. This is your fault, Choi Beomgyu!”

"Choi Soobin, you shi—," Beomgyu sputtered in protest, and more laughter joined with you.

It had been a week since that night by the fire. A week since Beomgyu arrived at the camp with you—and a week since he last saw you laugh like that. He could still picture it—your face by the warm glow of the fire, the soft orange light making you look almost ethereal. Did you know how exquisite you look when your eyes crinkle with joy? “Did you cut the vegetables, Beomgyu?” Yeonjun asked him as he pointed at the makeshift kitchen in the camp. “Yeah, I did,” he replied, tossing the emptied cans into the trash. He’d offered to handle it, trying to distract himself. Hybe still hadn’t contacted the military about their group, so they’d started helping around. The soldiers were reluctant at first, but Soobin had talked them into it. Now, they pitched in with small domestic tasks—delivering freshly laundered clothes from the women who washed them, cutting vegetables for the large communal meals, anything to stay useful. Beomgyu learned there were about forty-five people at the camp: nine civilians like them, eleven workers, and twenty-five soldiers. It had been a week since you’d spoken to him. A week since you’d even looked at him. Beomgyu tried. He really did. He’d tried to reach out. He started waking up early—a feat for him, someone who once detested mornings—he’d wait by the path, knowing it was your routine to jog at first light. But the moment he saw you, stretching with Do-hyun under the rising sun, his courage crumbled. Feet rooted to the spot, unable to move closer. He tried during meals too, sweeping his eyes on the tables, hoping to sit with you—but every time their group arrived, you were already standing, tray in hand, heading somewhere he could not follow. He even lingered around the grounds, pretending to have something to do. Sometimes, he felt a pair of eyes on him—heart leaping at the possibility it was you—but when he looked up, the space was empty. Eventually, he’d retreat to his tent, his shoulders heavy with defeat. It felt like you were avoiding him. Ignoring him. Do you hate him? Did he do something wrong? He lay awake most nights, staring at the canvas ceiling of his tent, replaying your moments together over and over. He could still feel the warmth of your hands. The memory of you in his arms—how perfectly you fit in it. Were you okay? Was your shoulder healing as it should? Were you eating enough? Sleeping well? Had he already become invisible to you? What is he to you anyway? A friend? Do you even consider him as one?

“You’ve been out of it these past days, Beomgyu.” Yeonjun’s voice broke into his thoughts, accompanied by a firm hand on his shoulder. His eyes searched Beomgyu’s face, concern evident. “What’s troubling you?”

“Nothing, I…” Beomgyu’s voice cracked as he tried to answer. He swallowed hard, looking away. “I guess I’m just… more tired than usual.”

“If you need to talk, let me know, okay?”

"When are you going to talk to him?" Do-hyun asked, breathless, as you pulled him to his feet after knocking him down for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. The moon guides your makeshift sparring circle. You hadn’t planned to spar with him; it just happened. Restless, you’d found yourself outside his tent, knocking like a ghost haunting its own grave.

You released his hand abruptly, stepping back at his words. “Let’s go again,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Without waiting for a reply, you charged, throwing a closed fist at his right side. He dodged it easily, his laughter breaking the tense silence.

“You know, you’re way less terrifying when you’re distracted,” he teased, grinning at the glare you shot him. “Seriously, Y/N? How long are you gonna keep ignoring the boy? The guy’s trying so hard it’s starting to make me feel bad. If it were me, I’d have fumbled already—”

Before he could finish, you grabbed him by the neck, locking him in a chokehold. “I t-tap out! Fuck! You're going to kill me.” he wheezed, coughing as you let him go. He stumbled back, rubbing his neck. “Shit, I forgot how strong your grip is. For real, how are you not a man?” You didn’t respond. Instead, you wiped the sweat from your forehead, glancing at the clock. It was nearing 11 p.m.

“Reject the kid already, will you? Do him a favor so he can move on.” Do-hyun muttered, reaching for his water bottle. “You cold-ass woman.”

“He’s not a kid,” you said finally, your voice low but firm. Grabbing a towel, you wiped the sweat from your face. “He’s almost my age.”

“Sure,” Do-hyun replied, watching you closely as you drank from your water bottle, to the bags under your eyes. “Not sleeping again?”

You shook your head, capping the bottle and tossing it aside. “It’s harder these days.”

“I know,” he said, softer now. “But you’ve gotta try. I need to head out anyway—errands tomorrow. And honestly, I can’t take more knockouts from you. Have mercy.”

“Idiot,” you muttered, smirking despite yourself.

“You’re the idiot for ignoring—” You didn’t let him finish, rolling your eyes as you turned and headed for your tent. A quick shower later, you were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The camp quiet, your mind was anything but. Frowning, you closed your eyes, waiting for sleep to come.

It never did.

Beomgyu tossed onto his right side again, the thin mattress beneath him groaning in protest. He lost count of how many times he'd shifted since lying down, each movement more restless than the last.

His chest felt tight, like his heart was pounding against some invisible weight. He sat up, running a hand through his messy hair in frustration. His gaze wandered aimlessly, landing on the small table by his bedside. He froze.

Polaroids.

The universe must be mocking him for missing you this much. Did he really need more reminders?

He inhaled deeply, the sound sharp in the quiet of his tent. Standing abruptly, he began pacing, his feet brushing against the worn canvas floor as a single question churned in his mind: Should I see her? His eyes flicked to the clock—11:28 p.m. Were you even awake?

But then, what difference did it make? Another night of lying there, drowning in this ache, wasn’t an option. He just needed something—your face, your voice, anything.

That’s what he told himself as he stopped pacing, turning toward the small mirror propped against the tent’s corner. His reflection stared back, dishevelled and vulnerable in a way he hadn’t let himself feel in years. He raked his hands through his hair, trying to smooth it out, What the hell are you doing? he thought bitterly. You’re an idol for god’s sake.

But then again, you were… a goddess. And right now, none of the titles, pressure, his previous job or self-doubt mattered. It doesn't matter if you'll kick him out as soon as you see him.

What mattered was seeing you.

He stopped just short of your tent, staring at the outline of it. His breath hitched, and his body betrayed him as he turned away, a cowardly retreat already forming in his mind. But he only made it three steps before he falter, his fists clenching at his sides. No. Not tonight.

He turned back, counting the seconds in his head. He rehearsed the words he’d been forming for days now, words that felt too small for what he really wanted to say but would have to do. This had to count. It had to—

“I can see you out there, you know. What do you want?” The sound of your voice sent a panic through him. You sounded tired, a little annoyed. The shadows must have given him away—his pacing back and forth casting restless shapes against the thin fabric of your tent. “Do-hyun?”

“It’s… Beomgyu,” He countered quickly, the way you said another man’s name at this hour unsettling him more than it should. Silence. He braced himself for rejection, for the possibility that you’d tell him to go, that he's insane to be here at this hour, or that you didn’t want to see him.

But the truth is, your eyes are wide inside. He’s insane. What is he doing here? Why now? You stand up slowly, your fingers brushing the edge of your blanket. You can’t turn him away now. It’s too obvious. “Come in.”

Beomgyu that stood outside your tent, hand unstable when he finally pushed the flap aside. The sudden rush of light revealed you, standing there, your eyes locking onto his. For a minute, he forgot how to breathe. His eyes on your face like he was trying to memorize every line, every shadow. “Hi,” he said, it wasn’t how he had planned to start, but it was all he could manage.

You instinctively stepped behind, folding your arms across your chest as a barrier. “What is it?” You looked away, unable to meet his eyes. They were too much—too deep, too brown.

"Are you mad at me?" Beomgyu's voice wavers, cracking slightly as the words spill out. All those rehearsed lines, the ones he'd turned over in his head a thousand times, crumble into this raw, unpolished question.

"I-I— you’ve been ignoring me, Y/N. Don’t even try to deny it." His voice rises, “I called— I even called you out there twice, and I know you heard me.” He pauses, the lump in his throat refuses to go away. "Did I… do something? Something that made you mad at me?" The words are choked, his voice barely above a whisper now.

His eyes—glassy, rimmed red—look at you—he’s holding back tears; you can tell by the way his lips tremble slightly, the way he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. But despite it all, he doesn’t look away. He can’t.

Not when he’s missed you this much.

"Beomgyu, whatever you think is between us," you let your arms fall limply to your sides, "it's nothing. This… this is just a mission. Soon, everything will go back to where it belongs." You pause, your words deliberate, heavy. "And we’ll never see each other again."

His eyebrows knit, disbelief etched his face. "Who decides that? Who says that?"

You exhale sharply, the weight of your own words pressing down on your chest. "It’s just how it is. That’s how it’s always been. You should surround yourself with people like you."

"I—" he starts, but you cut him off before he can unravel any further.

"Stop this." Your tone hardens, more defensive than you intend, but it’s the only way to protect yourself. "Don’t talk to me again, Beomgyu. Don’t seek me out. If you’re just… grateful for what happened, fine. I’ll accept that. And if you feel guilty about it?" Your voice cracks slightly, but you push through, "Then maybe… maybe you can pay me back someday. In the future."

Beomgyu’s lips trembled as he fought for his next words, his hands shaking. “Then tell me. Tell me, straight to my face, looking in my eyes, that you didn’t feel anything. That you don’t feel anything for me. That you’ll never like me, no matter what I do. Even if I…” His voice broke, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Even if I die trying.”

Everything you’ve held back finally spill over, and your voice comes out in a shaky whisper. "Dumbass."

“You can’t,” he said softly, eyes tracing the fall of your tears.

“What are—”

"I think I'm in love with you," he says, voice breaking on his confession. "I'm in love with you that I wonder how the hell I lived without you all these years. I’m so glad I met you, did you know that? If I’d known, I’d have counted down the days—even marked my calendar stupidly—just to know you were waiting for me at the end of it. And if I had a choice to go back in time, to stop this apocalypse before it happened, I wouldn’t do a damn thing. Because I’d lose the chance to meet you. Here. As insane as it sounds," His voice shakes, but he pushes on, "I won’t—I won’t force you…. to like me. That’s not what I want. But would it be selfish of me to ask you to stop acting like I'm not here? Like you don’t know me? I can’t…" He hiccups, shoulders shaking. "I just want to be part of your life, Y/N."

His words made you take a step forward, your hands trembling as you cup his tear-streaked face. He flinches at first, but then he melts into your touch, his breathing uneven. “I’m afraid,” you admitted, your voice breaking, freckles on his face evident with his face bare. “I’ll ruin you. I’ll ruin your life. I'm a fucking ruined person. Can’t you see that?”

"I see you more than you see yourself," His hands come up to cover yours, gripping them tightly as though letting go would mean losing you. "You're a fucking angel."

You sobbed at his words. Angel. The word echoed in your head, a word so unfamiliar. How could someone as shattered as you ever be called that? How could Beomgyu see anything but the cracks, the mess? How could someone this real—this kind—exist? Is he even real? A dream? Or is he just a figment of your imagination, conjured up in your darkest moments to give you false hope?

Your tears fall faster, and Beomgyu panics, own heart breaking at the sight of you crying. Gently, he lets go of your hands and slides his up your arms, his touch featherlight—moves slowly, as though afraid he might hurt you, tracing his way to your shoulders, then your neck, until his fingers cradle your face.

“Who would’ve guessed that you’re a crybaby too?” he whispered, his voice uneven but with affection. He steps closer, wrapping you in his arms, pulling your unstable form against his chest. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your sobs muffled against his warmth.

You feel it—all the longing, all the sleepless nights spent thinking about him. The ache of holding yourself back every time you see him from afar—waiting for you, searching for you. He holds you.

He holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. One hand caresses the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, while the other keeps you pressed against him. He presses soft, baby kisses to the side of your head, whispering. "Y/N,"

You stepped back slightly from his embrace, but Beomgyu’s hands stayed on your face, his thumbs softly brushing against your skin. He smiled—how could a single expression hold so much, and somehow, make everything hurt a little less? You swallowed the lump in your throat. Maybe, just maybe, you could have this. Even if it was only for tonight.

You rose onto your tiptoes, and leaned in. Closing your eyes, you pressed your lips to his—a fleeting, tentative kiss that barely lasted a second. It was quick, and when you pulled back, you were met with his wide eyes staring down at you, stunned. He hadn’t even had time to close them.

For a moment, neither of you moved. His eyes half-closed, his hands tightened slightly on your face, and before you could say anything, he leaned down, pulling you back in.

This time, he kissed you. He tilted his head just enough to fit against you perfectly, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your knees weak. His grip on your face was firm, his tounge grazing your lips—a soft plea—asking for entrance. You let him in, letting him taste you as you tasted him.

Both of you pull back, breaths heavy. A delicate string of saliva still connects your lips, breaking as Beomgyu takes a step forward more, his eyes locked on yours, "I want you."

You nod, reaching for him, your fingers curling around his arm to pull him back into you. "We have to be quiet."

His hands find your waist, fingers dip beneath the hem of your shirt. He lifts it, the fabric brushing over your skin, exposing the softness and heat of your bare waist to his touch. His palms glide over your skin.

You found yourself on your back, on the softness of your mattress, his weight settled on top of you. Delicate and warm. His hand grasps your thigh and he hoist it up his waist. “Please kiss me.” He murmurs into your mouth.

Your tongue brushes his, and he squeezes your thigh. He returns it, seeking your bottom lip to lightly suck on it. Your hands are up his shirt and he starts tugging down your loose pants. He shakily runs a finger between your legs and you inhale sharply. He rubs you, the feel of you soft, so good. He spreads you apart and gently caresses your clit. And you’re so fucking wet. He can't help but give a light sensual pinch. "Beomgyu," you moan on his lips. Made his heart flutter.

Your breathing is harsher and he looks at your pretty face as he shoves his middle finger in you—touching you is enough for him. He looks at you—wanting to see every expression you make. He’s going to fuck you until you cum all over his dick and then he’ll do it again. Until you don't doubt whatever this is. Until you won't be able to think about leaving him anymore.

He fumbles with your remaining clothes, taking his time as if savouring every second. It’s slower than you expected—partly because he keeps grabbing your face, pulling you into deep, heated kisses that leave you breathless.

Your hands help him get out of his shirt, pulls it over his head—hair falling over his forehead prettily. He leans down and kisses you—hands grab your hair and roam your body, his mouth does the same. Your face, your neck, your shoulder blades. "You're beautiful,"

He kisses down your chest and you run your fingers through his now much longer hair. He licks your nipple and your breath hitched. He bites gently, then bites harder and your back arches—he suckles, then lick. He does it again and again, to your left and right, giving them enough attention. He hears you moan—smirks at your skin—and he keeps wanting to hear it.

He goes down further—kisses down and the smell of you is divine. His face hovers and with his fingers he spreads you apart. He swallows—salivating. He sticks his tongue out, lightly licking your clit. He buries his face in, tongue inside, hands on your hips. "Shit, you taste so sweet, could eat this all day," He groans, lapping up, sucks the arousal out of you. He moves up, nose bumping on your clit then he suckles. His dick is throbbing at the way you taste. Your hands pull his hair, and he feels you down on his chin. He was leaving no parts untouched by his warm mouth.

Going back to you, looking at your face, he bows his head. “Kiss me.”

You pull his head down and kiss him, he slides right in and you cry out. "Fuck, you're so tight," He kisses you while he trusts in and out, your moans muffled on his mouth. "You feel so good," Your nails on his back scrape and he thrusts, hard, and keeps himself all the way in and you squirm under him, feeling you coming close.

"More, gyu." You whine out, legs gripping his warm waist as you pull him closer. He did, trust becoming faster, hitting the spot that made you moan out his name. He repositions himself deeper inside you, pressing you into the mattress, his free hand reaching for your clit, rubs lightly. "M'close," Then you felt it, the warm fuzzy feeling—the rush, almost blinding—the warmth of his arms and the softness of his whispered name on your lips that brought tears to your eyes. His own cum mixing with yours.

He smiled down at you, his lips quirking in a soft, almost shy grin as he took in your fucked-out expression. “I love you,” he whispered. He can't help himself.

The faint sound of running water filled the room as he disappeared for a second, and you assumed he was cleaning himself up. When he returned, his pants sit low on his hips, his chest still bare, and in his hand, he holds a warm, damp cloth.

Your eyes follow him as he approaches, his eyes filled with so much love it made your chest ache. He kneels beside you, his touch was careful as he ran the cloth over your skin, wiping away, cleaning you up. He worked slowly, keeping one of his hand holding your own, focus entirely on you.

When he was done, he looked up at you with that same soft smile, his eyes searching yours. You feel your own lips curve in response, reaching out to touch his flushed cheeks, your fingers brushing against his warm skin. The simple touch makes his smile widen into a boyish grin. His grin burned into the back of your mind. He holds you. He holds your heart too.

I love you too.

The warm rays of the morning sun seeped through the thin walls of the tent, casting a golden glow over the room. Dust motes floated in the light, drifting toward the tangled mess of blankets wrapped around your body.

It was the best sleep you’d had in a long time. You didn’t even remember falling asleep. A yawn slipped past your lips as you stretched your arms, rolling over to the other side.

You weren't alone.

Beomgyu.

He looked so peaceful when he slept, his features soft and unguarded. The sunlight kissed his skin, giving it a honeyed glow, and his hair fell messily over his forehead, looking impossibly touchable. The blanket on his side was pushed low, revealing that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His pale chest and neck were scattered with faint love bites—marks you had left there. His lips were slightly parted, and he looked so utterly…. serene, it made your chest swell.

You reached out, your fingers gently comb his hair. “Beomgyu,” you murmured softly.

"Hm?" He hummed.

You smiled, and he returned it—his smile lazy, but somehow brighter than the sunlight spilling into the room. “Hi, baby,” he greeted,

"It's morning,"

He groaned lightly, shifting closer to you. “I think… we should stay here,” he mumbled, his voice raspy and slow, as though speaking was too much effort. He moved until he was pressed against you, his head resting on your bare chest as he planted soft, sleepy kisses against your skin.

“I have things to do, you know,” you protested lightly, though you made no move to stop him. Instead, you let your arms encircle him, cradling his head. His hand slid beneath the blanket, settling on the small of your back, familiar against your bare skin.

“Wake up,” you poked his cheek with your finger.

He parted his lips and let out an exaggerated, snore that startled a laugh out of you. “Idiot,” you said, shaking your head, though the fondness in your tone betrayed you. “I’ll give you an hour. After that, Captain Joon is going to start looking for me.”

"Let him look," Beomgyu groaned, burying his face deeper into your chest like a stubborn child. “But why is he always looking for you?”

“Because he’s my captain, you twat,” you replied, pinching his cheeks. “And, oh yeah, he’s my father.”

“What!?” Beomgyu shot up, his eyes now wide open and his sleepiness completely forgotten.

“Well, my adoptive father," Beomgyu’s eyes softened instantly at the word adoptive. He didn’t press, but his silence, the slight tilt of his head, was an invitation to continue if you were ready.

“Yeah, so, uh…” You swallowed hard, your fingers fidgeting slightly. “My parents were both special forces soldiers. When they were on a mission—a spy operation—they… they didn’t make it back. I was five.”Hi hand found yours, his fingers squeezing gently.

“I was sent to an orphanage after that,” you continued, your voice steadier now. "I was there for a few years. Then, when I was ten, Captain Joon showed up out of nowhere. Turns out, he was my dad’s best friend. He adopted me. Took me in like I was his own.”

Beomgyu nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “How did you end up being a soldier?” he asked softly.

A bittersweet smile tugged at your lips. “I guess it was always in me,” you admitted. “Even as a kid. Captain Joon saw that too. I was… kind of wild. Always getting into trouble at school—detentions, fights. I couldn’t stand bullies, even when they weren’t targeting me. I’d step in, no matter the cost.” You paused, letting out a quiet laugh. “It got worse when I got older. One time, I was walking home, and this group of older boys jumped me. They were bigger, stronger… I didn’t stand a chance. Captain Joon saw what happened, and after that, he decided to put me somewhere I couldn’t get hurt like that anymore. He took me with him—in a military camp.”

Your fingers brushed the hem of the blanket, your voice growing quieter. “I officially became a soldier when I was seventeen. Got into the Black Berets a year later.”

Beomgyu traced the line of your jaw with his fingers, his gentle touch made the words come easier.

“The time you asked me how old I was when I started…” You hesitated, but his intertwined hands with yours encouraged you to continue. “I got rude because… that question was asked of me once before. By someone. He was bitten by the infected, and I—” Your voice cracked, “I ended up killing him.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t bear the thought of seeing judgment—or worse, pity—staring back at you, but Beomgyu didn’t let you hide. His hands cupped your face, tilting it up until your eyes met his.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, “He’s not suffering anymore.”

Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears as you nodded. He wrapped his arms around you, guiding your head to rest against his chest. No words were spoken. For minutes, you stayed like that, listening to the thump of his heart against yours, a language of its own.

"I should probably be more careful around Captain Joon,” Beomgyu said out of nowhere, trying to lighten the mood.

You laughed, arms around you holding you closer. When he noticed you staring at him, he tilted his head slightly, his expression playful. “What? Too handsome?”

“Pfft,” you snorted. “Androgynous.” He whined dramatically, leaning in to pepper your face with kisses. You tried to push him away, laughing as he chased your retreating lips.

“Who would’ve thought,” he murmured, “that I’d fall in love with the prettiest girl at the end of the world?”

The words brought heat to your cheeks, and you turned your face away to hide the blush. “Okay, that’s enough,” you said, slipping out of his hold and reaching for the first shirt you could find—it was his.

He sat up too, watching you pull his shirt over your body. The hem brushed your thighs, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He gathers your hair that had gotten caught under the shirt, his fingers brushing against your neck. "I need to shower, Beomgyu."

"Can I join you? You know, to save water," He immediately quips. You smirk, your eyes meeting his before you give him a subtle nod. That tiny gesture is all it takes for his heart to race, he’s sure you can hear it.

In fact, there was barely any washing done.

Beomgyu finally steps out of your tent, though it took more convincing from you than it probably should have.

You’re still inside, safe from the prying eyes. The sun is higher now, casting everything in a harsh light. He squints, adjusting to the brightness, and immediately spots a few soldiers milling about nearby.

His stomach drops. If any of them so much as glance his way, they’ll know exactly where he just came from. Your tent. The only woman’s tent in a unit of 25 soldiers.

He keeps his head down, heat creeping up his neck and to his ears as he feels the unseen stares. The scenario playing out like an idol dating scandal—and dispatch is about to break the story of his life.

Choi Beomgyu, caught sneaking out of her tent at sunrise, he imagines the headline, biting back a groan. He quickens his pace, muttering to himself, "I’m so dead."

"Hold up."

A firm hand clamped down on Beomgyu's shoulder, halting his little walk of shame. His eyes widened as he turned, meeting the sharp gaze of Do-hyun. The older soldier’s eyes flicked back toward your tent—just six steps behind him—then back to Beomgyu’s freshly washed hair.

"And here I was, starting to feel sorry for you," Do-hyun said with a smirk. Beomgyu barely had time to stammer out a response before the tent flap rustled, and you stepped out.

"Do-hyun," Beomgyu glanced at you briefly, but you didn't meet his eyes, locked on Do-hyun instead. "Let’s go, yeah?" you asked, a pointed glare following the words.

Do-hyun chuckled, lifting his hands in mock surrender as he stepped back, releasing Beomgyu. "Sure, sure," he said, his smirk softening into something less smug.

The two of you walked off, leaving Beomgyu standing there, you glance back at him, catching a glimpse of his warm, flustered expression. Do-hyun caught it, muttering, "You’ve got him wrapped around your… finger,"

You didn’t even break stride, your foot shot out, connecting with his shin. Do-hyun yelped, doubling over, he clutched his leg. "Ow! Damn it, I was kidding!"

Beomgyu finally exhales when his tent comes into view, relief flooding his chest. He thought he was in the clear—until he steps inside and sees his three brothers waiting for him.

"Where the fuck were you?" Beomgyu knows he’s not getting out of this easily. This is going to be a long talk.

Beomgyu tells them. Everything. He leaves out the more private details—of course, he does. Some things are just for him to know. He starts from the beginning, telling them, that he just… fell in love with you.

The room goes quiet for a beat before Soobin steps forward, wrapping him in a hug, his voice soft. "Our little Beomgyu’s growing up," he says, sniffing dramatically.

Taehyun follows with a few firms pats on Beomgyu’s back, his smile warm. Yeonjun, leaning casually against the tent post, grins and shakes his head. "You lucky bastard," he teases, but there’s nothing but happiness in his voice.

The four of them embrace, there's a gap in their circle—a place reserved for someone who isn’t there yet but will be soon.

The day passed with a warmth in your chest, fueled by stealing stares and fleeting touches from Beomgyu.

Lunch was a lively affair, shared with Do-hyun, Eun-woo, Beom-seok, Yeonjun, Soobin, and Taehyun. The meal was filled with teasing banter, laughter cutting through the usual hum of camp life. Eun-woo’s soft pats on Beomgyu’s back and Beom-seok’s subtle nods didn’t go unnoticed—they were quiet acknowledgments.

Now, you walk toward the largest tent with your three teammates by your side. Beomgyu’s heated kiss still burns on your lips, the warmth of it fresh, even though it happened only an hour ago. — Captain Joon has called an unexpected night meeting, one that made Beomgyu pout as he agrees to wait at your tent.

The four of you step inside and salute, standing at attention until the captain’s familiar command: "Sit down."

The scene is one you’ve known many times before. Yet, there are absences that can't be ignored. Ji-ho, reporting in via radio, assures that he’ll be here soon with Huening Kai. — And Seo-jun.

“A brand-new mission for us,” Captain Joon announces, his eyes with a glimmer of hope rarely seen these days. “Word is there’s a doctor working on the possibility of a cure. And since Jeonju camp is the most stable for now, he’ll need assistance. This is the most critical priority, and we’ll be the ones handling it.”

Murmurs ripple through the group, surprised with cautious optimism. A cure—it sounds almost too good to be true. You let out a slow breath of relief, the faintest ember of hope flickering in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, humanity has a chance this time.

“We’re leaving in a few,” Captain Joon continues, his voice firm. “No time to waste.”

When you reach your tent, Beomgyu is already seated, and waiting. The moment he sees you, he stands, and you stride toward him without wasting any second, pressing your lips to his in a kiss he immediately melts into, “Are you okay?” he asks softly when you pull away, hands finding your waist.

“Hmm.” You nod, leaning into his embrace, arms wrapping around him. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “We’re leaving now. Mission came in.”

Beomgyu stiffens. “Right now?"

“Yes.”

“O-okay.” His voice falters, and he swallows hard.

“It might take a while,” you admit, your hands sliding up to cup his face as you look into his wide, searching eyes. “It’s pretty far out, and I—”

“Come back to me safely,” he interrupts, his hands cradle your face. His thumbs gently brush your cheeks. “You don’t have a choice.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. You nod, "I promise.” Reaching up, you unclasp your dog tag, holding it carefully in your hands before slipping it around his neck. His eyes never leave yours, he watches you secure the chain.

“I’ll see you soon,”

He holds you.

It’s been two days since you left, and Beomgyu sits at the table, pushing his food around more than eating it. His mind keeps drifting back to you. The weight of your necklace around his neck is comforting—but it reminds him you’re not here. He sighs.

“There's a car coming!” someone shouts from the outer courtyard. Beomgyu’s head snaps up, his heart skipping a beat. He’s out of his chair in an instant, sprinting toward the commotion, the rest of his members right on his heels. His breath comes fast, uneven, as he skids to a stop outside. His eyes widen, and for the first time in days, relief crashes over him.

“KAI!”

The four of them swarm the youngest member, nearly knocking him off his feet in their excitement. Kai’s laughter echoes through the courtyard as Soobin immediately bursts into tears, clinging to him like a lifeline. Beomgyu hugs him tightly, burying his face in his shoulder, while Yeonjun ruffles his hair affectionately. Taehyun, ever practical, starts inspecting Kai’s arms and legs for injuries.

Everything feels right. They’re together, whole. Now, he just needs you to get back here.

They fussed over Kai like he was the most fragile thing in the world, each of them trying to make up for lost time. Kai explained what happened—they had been trapped, which was why it took weeks to get here. But Ji-ho, just as you’d assured them before, had been capable. He’d taken care of Kai and somehow managed to get him back to them safely.

Later that night, Beomgyu was shuffling on his bed while Kai lounged comfortably nearby. It wasn’t long before the others would join them; Kai had pleaded for a sleepover with his brothers, saying he missed them too much to sleep alone. Of course, none of them could resist.

“Woah.” Kai says, and Beomgyu turned, pillow in hand, to see what had caught his attention. The younger was staring at the two Polaroids on Beomgyu’s bedside table, face lit with curiosity. “Is this real?”

“What, you think I Photoshopped them or something?” Beomgyu laughed, a little sheepishly. He paused, before adding, “I took those with her… on the way here.”

Kai’s eyes flicked back to him, curious. “You’re together?”

“Yeah.” Beomgyu’s lips tugged into a shy smile. “She’s my girlfriend now.”

Kai’s grin was blinding, his low ponytail framed his face as he leaned closer to get another look at the photos. “She’s pretty. I’m really happy for you, Beomgyu.”

You step through the gates of Jeonju camp, your body aching. It’s been a month since you last saw this place—since you last saw him.

Your clothes are filthy, smeared with dirt and the blood of infected, but none of that matters now. The Doctor is alive, the cure is nearly complete, and your mission is done. You made it.

And then you see him.

Beomgyu is already running toward you, his eyes wide and filled with something that looks like disbelief, like awe, love. You can’t stop the smile that breaks across your face, even as your legs wobble beneath you. You start running too, stumbling at first, but your body pushes through the pain, the rest of the world blurring into nothing.

When you reach him, he doesn’t hesitate. His arms wrap around you tightly, lifting you off the ground. He holds you close. You cling to him, shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline and the overwhelming relief of being home—of being with him.

Everyone stops to watch. In a world so cruel, so damned, there’s something warm in the way two lovers find each other again.

A reminder to believe there’s still something worth fighting for.

"See you soon, and take care of yourself," Soobin leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. You nod, offering a small smile. "You too."

His lips curve into that familiar, reassuring smile as he hoists his backpack over his shoulder. "Y/N, stay safe," Taehyun says, stepping in to wrap you in a firm hug. You nod on his shoulders.

"Let’s have ramyeon soon, yeah?" Yeonjun chimes in, his usual playful grin lighting up his face. Without waiting for a reply, he grabs your face in his hands and plants a kiss on your forehead, mirroring Soobin. "I’ll cook for you," he adds confidently, pulling back but keeping his hands on your cheeks.

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes. "Okay, Mr. Married to Ramyeon." He laughs too, giving your cheeks a playful pat before turning to follow Soobin and Taehyun onto the bus.

For a moment, you just stand there, watching the three of them board.

You turn to see Kai looking down at you, his expression shy. He pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you with surprising strength. "I’ll miss you," he sings softly.

It’s been three months since the doctor arrived at Jeonju camp with you. A month later he was in, and the cure was complete. Those who received the shot stopped being targeted by the infected—it was as if the vaccine turned them invisible. No more running, no more hiding.

After countless tests and trial runs, the results were undeniable: 100% effective. The world is still far from healed. There’s so much to rebuild, so much left to do. But this vaccine—it’s a start.

And now, Hybe is taking them back. Back to the world they belong to. Back to the life they’d almost forgotten was possible.

A warm hand slips into yours, and you glance up to meet Beomgyu’s glassy stare. Your eyes flicker to his neck—your dog tags still hang there, glinting in the light. He holds your hands and lifts them to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your palms without breaking eye contact.

“I promise to come back to you as soon as I can, okay?” he whispers, "I promise."

You know the truth. You’ll never see him again. This is it.

You already have your orders—a mission overseas to distribute the cure, to spread it where it’s needed most. You don’t know when you’ll be back. Or if you’ll be back. The world finally has a chance, but your worlds were never meant to stay intertwined.

“Okay,” you say softly, forcing a small smile onto your lips. You’ll never wake up to the sound of his soft breaths against your skin again. You’ll never walk through the Daegu home he often described with so much warmth, never see the place where his happiest memories were made. A place he wants to go with you.

He’s an idol—a star shining too brightly for someone like you. A celebrity adored by millions. And you’re a soldier, bound by duty to serve your country. He deserves someone gentle, maybe an idol like him, or someone who fits seamlessly into his world. Someone who isn’t constantly called away to fight battles in far-off places.

It made you happy while it lasted.

This dream—this borrowed time you had.

“I love you,” he says suddenly,, and then he’s kissing you. Once, twice—then a third time, slower. He kisses the tip of your nose, and you smile through the tears that blur your vision. You stare at him, taking in everything—the curve of his lips, the softness in his eyes, the way his hair falls... across his forehead. You try to commit it all to memory. “I love you so much,” he says, voice trembling as he cups your face.

“I love you too,”

YEAR 2030

You find yourself in the kitchen, humming softly as the news plays in the background. The aroma of spices and fresh herbs fills the space. You chop vegetables for tonight’s dinner, the rhythm of the task bringing you peace. You always find yourself great with knives, you suppose.

A smile spreads across your face as you feel it—a pair of hands, warm, gently caressing your stomach. A body presses against your back, and a soft breath grazes the curve of your neck. The scent of him surrounds you, and you don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

When you do turn, you’re met with his smile—the one that lights up his entire face, even as exhaustion lingers in his eyes. He looks like he just got home, probably rushing straight from practice, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. Without a word, he drops to one knee, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his cheek against your growing belly.

“I missed the both of you,” he whispers, voice soft and full of love.

You laugh, your hand moving to his hair, your fingers combing through the soft freshly bleached blonde strands. “I don’t think they can hear you yet, Gyu,” you tease gently, your smile tender. “I’m only five months along.”

He tilts his head up to look at you, his lips forming a playful pout that makes you giggle like you’re both still teenagers. Standing, he cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, wedding band catches the light, whispering of the life you’ve built together. The life you thought was impossible. But he made it—he made it possible.

If he wanted to—he would.

“I don’t care,” he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. Then your nose. And finally, your lips. His scent, his warmth, the way his heart beats against yours—he's home.

He holds you.

The only sound is the exchanged kisses and the faint murmur of the news on the television.

Following the record-breaking success of TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s latest comeback, member Beomgyu has surprised fans worldwide by releasing his first solo album, The Last Safe Place. The album, deeply supported by MOAs, has already sparked widespread buzz—not only for its musical brilliance but also for the heartfelt inspiration behind it: Beomgyu’s recent marriage.

“This album is a love letter, a reflection of the most meaningful chapter in my life,” Beomgyu shared. “It’s inspired by the warmth, comfort, and love I’ve found in my marriage. I wanted to capture the feeling of having someone to come home to—a place where your heart feels at peace, no matter what chaos the world throws at you.”

THE END.

[allykakamatsu]

TWST Headcanons

Some of these will be more in dept than others, one or two will be AU specific, either way, enjoy~

Ace:

Bi disaster and is in hardcore denial over it

Didn't have any scars coming into NRC but by the time the year was over he had thorn pricks all over him (from the Rose Garden and from OB!Malleus) plus some nasty marks from the STYX guards that never went away.

Nowhere near as bad as Cater, but is afraid of loosing the people he's close to which is why he acts so abrasive.

On that note, post book 7 Cater is 100% is favourite senpai.

Before going to NRC got gifted a pocketwatch by his brother. Mostly not a big deal but in Twisted Hearts it's a big part of the inciting incident.

Deuce:

Also a bi disaster, in slightly less denial about it.

Covered head to toe in scratches and scars due to how many fights he got into during his delinquent days.

Not sure if canon refutes this in any way, but he feels pretty resentful for his dad leaving him and Dylla alone.

After seeing Ace's dream he starts worrying he's a bad friend to Yuu as he wasn't even thinking that much about what would happen when Yuu is eventually allowed to go home.

Trey:

Gay and proud.

Doesn't have many scars but like everyone in Heartslaybul he does have some marks from the rose garden, plus a few burn marks from cooking mishaps.

After an incident with Rook in science club, always carries a spare pair of glasses with him to be safe.

Does not know his dad puns suck ass and no one has the heart to tell him despite the cringe.

Cater:

Bi, though tbh if you're playing the JP side that one's honestly just canon-

Also some flavour of trans but idk which one yet.

Another rose thorn victim, and also has some burn marks from when he had to do the cooking at home and it went wrong.

Has a pretty big crush on Vil (again this one is debatably canon on the JP side if nothing else)

Admittedly I'm borrowing this one from @ladyazurith but due to his clones he was in charge of being everywhere and getting all the manual work done, which is why he was so quick to pawn it on Ace and Deuce during Book 1.

Wants to open up about his issues to his friends but has no idea how, plus there's the fear that he won't see them after NRC anyway, or that they won't like him anymore once he's more honest.

Riddle:

Gay and (somehow) even deeper in denial than Ace is about it.

The one with the least amount of rose thorn scars but still has a few. Also has some very slight burn marks from some reckless fire magic usage.

Also this one is for all the OB bois but some of the ink markings from his Overblot left behind some faint lines that become more visible when he (or any other OB boy) use magic.

Naturally white hair, his mother made him use magic to turn it red, and post book 6 he let's a little bit of the white show.

Not the worst at NRC with this, but has no idea the average price of most things so he has a decent chance of getting scammed.

Post book 1 once he admits he's never had a sleepover among other things Cater immediately drags the group into one. It goes well and Riddle has fun despite some initial awkwardness.

(more underneath cut)

Leona:

Asexual Biromantic. Also some flavour of trans but idk which.

Got his scar from when the rude son of guest visiting the Savannah pushed him while they were playing outside and he hit a rock. Also because of the scar his depth perception is fucked.

Has had to deal with a few assassination attempts and has some scars from it but is somehow not the one with the highest score of those.

Used to date Vil during the stars first year but they broke it off before the year was over. Now they've had some time to cool off (plus Jack and Epel joining NRC who they both care for) they're stuck in will they won't they hell.

Made the day Rook transferred out of Savannahclaw a dorm-wide holiday-

Will never admit it, but has a soft spot for Cheka and kids in general.

Ruggie:

Unlabelled but know he likes dudes.

Has a few nicks due to his thievery back home, but the only scar he bothers to cover up is the mark on his arm he still has after Leona almost killed him, mainly to make sure no one starts treating him like a kicked puppy due to it.

Has vitiligo

Frequently mails canned food he got from Sam as well as cash he stole from Leona's account back home to his Grandma.

Despite the rough start due to Book 2 he and Jamil are besties and meet up at least twice a week to shit talk everyone on campus.

Is not the Vice Housewarden, however no one can remember who Leona actually picked so they kinda just give him all the jobs a vice would have.

Jack:

Bi, also I can't prove it but something not cis is going on with his gender.

Has some nicks cause Savannahclaw has a lot of uneven edges all over the place, however most of his scars come from book 2.

On that note, gets pushed around by the whole dorm a lot in book 2, both figuratively and literally, due to him being the only one who still cared about playing fair. It’s better post Book 2 but he’s still not treated great by his dorm.

Doesn't get to hang out as much as he'd like but is really glad NRC gave him a chance to see Vil again.

Occasionally gets roped into the Diasomnia training due to Sebek offering and him wanting to mix it up.

Azul:

Gay and generfluid but prefers male pronouns.

Aside from the standard OB scars he has some scars from when his classmates back in the Coral Sea were poking him with sharp coral.

An ever so slightly better flier than Jade, or at least can last longer without having a heart attack.

Honest to the Seven just wants to help Jamil out in his own... unique way, the fact that he'd have such a powerful mage in his dorm is honestly just a bonus.

Frequently turns board game club into personal issues venting, much to Idia's dismay.

Jade:

Hasn't thought much about sexuality but he knows he likes guys. Is also generfluid though they don't have a preference.

Not nearly as many as Floyd but still has a lot of scars, including a large and nasty one on his back from when a strong mer attacked him when he was younger.

Part of a mob family and is the one set to take over the family business, a prospect he doesn't hate but would rather have as much fun as he can on land in the meantime.

Had a few more siblings when they were younger, however a group of predators showed up one day and killed most of them. Jade (the only one awake due to him getting a midnight snack) managed to keep himself and Floyd safe but he didn't bother trying to help the others, leading to him watching them all die.

Would rather die than admit it, but is pretty insecure about his UM and it's many limitations and worries that he might get replaced for not being strong enough.

Floyd:

Gay and generfluid, though like Azul he tends to prefer he/him most days.

Head to toe in scars, there's barely a part of him that isn't scratched in some way.

Also forgot to mention this with Jade but the two of them both have their mer cheek stripes showing at all times.

Too young to remember their other siblings and Jade plus their parents never told him so he doesn't know.

Not as down horrendous as Azul but also likes Jamil a lot and wants his sea snake to have nice things.

On that note, his favourite people are the kind that aren't afraid of him and are even not afraid to fight him, which is why he latched onto Riddle so fast after the chaos that was their Opening Ceremony.

Kalim:

Pan, he just loves everyone.

Multiple scars from the assassination attempts, most notably rope burns on his wrists which he usually tries to cover with either long sleeves or jewellery as a distraction.

The one time he tried to go to a therapist for his issues it ended up being an assassin so that scared him off for life.

Once a month after book 4 he goes over to Heartslaybul so Riddle can teach him law so he has more of an idea how to help Jamil and the rest of the Vipers.

Jamil:

Bi with a male preference and Bigender, but you can only call him she if he gave explicit permission (thank @blondeaxolotl for that one)

Hard to tell due to how well he hides them with his magic, but is the only one at NRC who can compete with Floyd and Lilia in the scars amount. Stab wounds, rope burns, marks left by Ruggie making him fall down the stairs, burns from when he was learning to cook, OB scars, you name it Jamil probably has it.

Half snake beastman on his mom's side, all that really shows is a snake tongue and sharper fangs

Major complex over needing to feel needed given that being essential to Kalim was all he had going for him most of his life. Only starts to deal with it and by extension accept Kalim's help after Book 6 when Leona turns their tower trip into a therapy session.

Will never admit it out loud but is warming up to Azul and Floyd (not that he’ll admit it) However while things are a bit better he and Jade still don't get along though, partly cause they spend less time together and partly because they're too similar in a lot of ways.

Never liked Rook much to begin with, but the mild dislike turned to full on salt after VDC. Like, he gets that Vil probably needed some consequences but did he have to drag everyone else down with him?

Vil:

Bi but a male preference and genderfluid, no pronoun preference.

The only scars he had before his OB was one he got when he was 6 and he accidentally cut himself with a knife, and has done everything in his power to hide it.

Not many other kids where he grew up so he didn't have many friends, Jack being his only one for a good while.

Part of him wishes he could meet his mother but doesn't have any regrets about being raised by Eric.

He and Rook are a package deal. If you want to date one, the other is there. Platonic or romantic, RookVil are a pair you do not seperate.

Speaking of Rook though, while Vil knows Rook did the right thing at VDC and he'd probably feel awful if he won after what he did and almost did, the dumb emotional part of his brain was still hurt, though the two patched things up by the end of book 6.

Rook:

Gay, like so gay it almost makes everyone else look straight by comparison. Also idk his gender but he ain't cis.

Has a decent number of hunting scars. Isn't ashamed at all but they're usually covered since they're mostly on his hands and he usually wears gloves.

Half of Savannahclaw has filed a restraining order against him though none have gone through.

Still feels some guilt over book 5 cause he knew how much it hurt Vil plus it got the others caught in the middle but he knew that he couldn't let NRC win after Vil tried to poison Neige.

Vil and Leona's biggest shipper when they were together, low key trying to set them back up now that they're on better terms.

Epel:

Gay and transmasc. Overcompensating masculinity wise big time.

Has a decent few scrapes from the farm, and also has a gap tooth that he doesn't mind but Vil is desperately trying to convince him to go to the dentist to fix with the actor even offered to pay for.

Goes back and forward between thinking Deuce is the coolest or the lamest affectionate. Either way they love talking Blastcycles.

Looks up to Leona a lot, low key horrified to learn that he and Vil somehow used to date.

Was sweating a lot during the Harveston trip as he was worried the group would see his old pictures and figure out he wasn't born a boy, but while the truth didn't come out seeing how well they reacted when they thought Marja's old picture was him did give him a lot of peace of mind.

The one besides Ace who crashes at Ramshackle the most so he can get a break from Pomfiore.

Idia:

Asexual and demiromantic. Also some flavour of trans but idk which

Has a few burn scars, some from the obvious source and others from wires sparking while he tried to fix something.

Actually descended from Hades, he and his parents are just hesitant to admit it due to the inevitable multiple follow up questions.

Addicted to this worlds version of Project Sekai. Do I have any evidence besides vibes? No but I still believe it-

After a few too many near death experiences calls he's just started making prosthetic limbs just in case he needs to replace something, and even if he never needs them he can just use them for Ortho when he's ready for a size upgrade.

Ortho:

Has only just gained sentience and doesn't really care about romance or gender rn

No real scars cause well, robot, though he does let the first years have some fun and do marker graffiti on him sometimes.

Has all of OG!Ortho's memories, and while he knows it's silly he still finds himself dealing with imposter syndrome a fair bit.

Has figured out that everyone thinks anything rude he says is unintentional, and uses this to occasionally back talk people who make him mad and get away with it.

Malleus:

His type is anyone who likes him back and he barely knows what gender is.

Doesn't really have any scars on him prior to loosing his horn during book 7. The people close to him on the other hand...

Due to them both being in one man clubs whenever cross club competitions arise Crowley usually pairs Malleus and Jade together, leading to a surprising friendship between the two.

To some people (Leona's) annoyance, post horn breaking he's still plenty powerful, just not god level like he used to be.

Speaking of Leona. They dated. It was only for a week as Leona was rebounding hard after Vil, it was messy, both of them regret it, but it happened, though Mal is open to trying again.

Also a surprisingly good cook, if only to keep Silver alive until he learned how.

Lilia:

Bi and polyamorous. Also doesn't give a fuck about gender.

Probably the most scared one at NRC for obvious reasons, man is covered in stab wounds as well as lightning scars from both Melanor and Malleus.

Speaking of Melanor, the two of them along with Levan/Raverne were all dating though the royal couple made sure the senate didn;t find out about Lilia.

Genuinely oblivious to how awful his cooking is. He managed to raise Silver without him dying so how bad can it be? (Silver has an iron stomach as well as Malleus saving him)

Silver:

Demi. Thinks he's cis but is open to experiment.

Has a few scratches and bruises from his training but nothing too major.

Post book 7 he briefly experiments with dying a streak of his hair blonde but quickly gives up on that idea and just goes back to no dye, or if he does want to dye he goes black like Lilia and Malleus.

Loves singing. Wanted to audition for VDC but didn't want to risk screwing it up by falling asleep mid song.

Forgot to mention with Kalim but those two are pure lights. More so relevant for Twisted Hearts but in cannon it means they're less likely to Overblot and blots tend to keep their distance.

Sebek:

Doesn't really have a label for it but he knows he likes guys.

Like Silver just has a few training nicks though he has a few more due to being more reckless.

One time nearly had a heart attack and destroyed half the dorm looking for his Malleus painting, only to find out that Lilia just took it to clean the frame. Afterwards Sebek cleaned up and sent himself to detention out of shame-

Due to his dad being a dentist he has some of the best dental hygiene on campus and knows a lot about teeth, leading to a surprise friendship with Trey.

Eventually remembers the events of NBC Lost in the book, but whether that's because he finds Skully's painting, meeting his ghost at Ramshackle or actually sees his friend in person again depends on the setting and how I'm feeling.

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[dance-is-life27]

Drive

Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary: After you find yourself not able to sleep, you take Joaquin out for a late night drive.

Warnings: Gender Neutral Reader, fluff, friends to lovers, flirting, first kiss, driving at night, not beta read

A/N: I need everyone to thank Halsey because the song Drive really inspired both of my most recent fics for some reason.

Reblogs are more appreciated than likes!

You know that it’s late when you call, that the last thing that you should be doing right now is interrupting Joaquin’s sleep but your brain has been going a thousand miles a minute since the sun set and you're desperate to do anything to get it to shut up for once. 

And still, Joaquin answers anyway. 

“Hey, everything okay?” He asks you, his voice deeper than usual as sleep mixes over the concern for you calling so late at night. The fact that he answered at all makes your heart flutter. 

“Wanna go for a drive?” You ask instead of replying, the silence that stretches over the call makes you wonder briefly if he’s fallen back asleep but it’s then that you hear movement on the other side of the line.

Joaquin clears his throat, “Give me ten minutes.” 

“I’m giving you five, Falcon.” 

Joaquin comes out true to his word, or yours you guess, five minutes later in a hoodie, a pair of shorts, and some old converse. You can’t help but laugh when he picks up speed to get to your car, probably to escape the biting wind that you know is howling right outside. It doesn’t take long before Joaquin is sliding into your passenger seat, looking tired but nonetheless happy to see you. 

“Hey,” Joaquin grins at you before his brows furrow, “what’s going on? Are you okay?” Joaquin’s eyes drift down your body, probably trying to check for any physical injuries on you but you wave him off with your hand before reaching for the radio. Turning up the volume you let the music from the station fill the silence before you take off. 

You drive around city streets, taking both new and familiar turns alike, letting only your gut lead you to where you want to go next. It’s surprisingly blissful being out this late, not that many cars on the road and any tension that you might normally hold within you during the day is completely gone. As expected, it doesn’t take long for Joaquin to start talking again about anything and everything, you turn the music down and try to keep up with the conversation when you can but mostly you’re just focused on keeping your eyes on the road. And it helps that Joaquin doesn’t seem to mind either, happy to talk and to let his words be the perfect distraction for you. 

It’s easy to admit that this is exactly what you were wanting when you pulled up outside of Joaquin’s house, debating if you should call him or not. 

You don’t know how long it is that you drive for, or where you’ve ended up, only that at some point you’ve yawned one too many times and that your eyes have started to feel heavy. That’s your cue to get you to pull into the nearest empty parking lot. You finally relax as you put your car in park, letting your eyes shut as you lean your head back against the headrest. 

A few moments pass before you realize that Joaquin has stopped speaking entirely and you crack open an eye to look at him.

“What’s on your mind, Torres?” 

Joaquin tilts his head, “What’s on yours?” he questions, an added gentleness to it that makes you feel comforted. Safe, in a way that only Joaquin has the power to do.

You shrug, before you finally force yourself to answer, “Everything, I guess. Couldn’t sleep, decided I wanted to go for a drive, then decided that I wanted some company and called you.” 

“Oh.” 

You laugh despite yourself, “Yeah, oh.” 

Silence stretches on in the closed space of your car. When you do find it in you to open your eyes again you're greeted by the dazzling sights of the city you’re in. A sight that you find yourself taking for granted more often than not these days. You look around at empty buildings lit up by neon lights, a sight that replaces the glow of the stars in the night sky. You’ll never get over just how mesmerizing the world around you becomes when you just stop to look and admire it  for once. 

You turn your head to face Joaquin, maybe to ask him a stupid question but the words die on your tongue when you find him already looking at you. 

“What are you doing?” You eventually ask as you stare at Joaquin, taking in how the glow from a business sign near by highlights his face in a gorgeous wash of blue and purple. 

“Enjoying the view,” Joaquin replies before he smiles at you and you can’t help the laugh that escapes your throat. “Oh, c’mon that was a good line!” Joaquin tries to defend but even he doesn’t stop the few chuckles that leave him either. 

“It was cheesy.” 

Joaquin clicks his tongue before he leans over the center console, gently invading your personal bubble, “A good cheesy?” Joaquin inquires, his eyebrows going up as a smirk stretches wide on his face. You just barely repress the urge to roll your eyes. 

“I don’t think there is such a thing.” You reply, leaning into Joaquin as you do so. 

Joaquin hums, the low sound feels like it echoes in the space between you two, “Maybe you think too much.” 

You shrug, “Maybe I do,” Joaquin’s eyes shine in the night, the look of lights and love reflect in the all consuming warmth of brown, “You got a good solution for me?” 

Joaquin nods only once, the movement so minuscule that you barely notice it before he leans in. “I’ve got a few ideas.” He whispers, his breath hot against your lips as the gap between you both finally closes. You sigh into the kiss, a warmth settling over you as you and Joaquin explore each other like this for the first time. It’s gentle and soft and intense all at the same time, a mix that leaves you dizzy and your hands come up to cradle Joaquin’s face in an effort to ground you in reality. It feels like hours pass by when you and Joaquin break apart for air. 

You both gasp, your noses still brushing together as you breathe each other in. 

“We should-” Joaquin pants, you realize then that this is the first time you’ve ever seen Joaquin Torres at a loss for words. Speechless, because of you. “We should go on drives like this more often.” You find yourself nodding in agreement as Joaquin grins at you. The sight of his blinding smile and his flushed face under the lights makes you want to pull him back in again but you refrain, pulling back slightly when Joaquin tries to lean in again. He takes your cue without a word spoken and settles back into the seat as if nothing had happened at all. 

Your eyes glance over at the clock and you realize just how late it's gotten, “And you should’ve had your idea sooner,” Joaquin looks at you out of the corner of his eye, clearly questioning where you’re going with this, “Might’ve saved me some gas.” 

Joaquin’s laughter rings out as you put your car in reverse, you use your phone to map out the quickest way back to Joaquin’s place as you have a feeling that you won’t have any more trouble with falling asleep tonight. 

[wchswift]

── tipping point

pairing! beau arlen x best friend fem!reader

summary! a movie night turns heated when teasing turns to kissing, and tension finally snaps between you two.

contents! sexual tension, suggestive content, friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, flirting and teasing,

word count! 1.1k

Beau’s backyard is bathed in the soft glow of the projector, the movie flickering across the makeshift screen he’s rigged up behind his trailer. The air is warm, laced with the scent of pine and the distant sounds of crickets. You’re both kicked back in your chairs, legs stretched out, the space between you comfortable—familiar.

It’s always like this. Easy. No pressure, no expectations. Just Beau, a good movie, and the kind of playful teasing that makes the time slip away too fast.

“You know,” you murmur, stretching your arms behind your head, “you’ve got terrible taste in movies for a guy who thinks he’s a cowboy.”

Beau scoffs, tilting his beer bottle toward you. “Excuse me? This is a classic.”

You snort. “It’s a disaster.”

“You’re a disaster.”

You nudge his boot with yours, smirking. “Really? That’s your comeback?”

“Yep.” He pops the p and takes a long sip of his beer, watching you over the rim of the bottle with that smug, easy confidence that always makes you want to push his buttons.

The teasing flows naturally, lighthearted jabs back and forth, your laughter mixing with his. It’s what makes this whole thing work—the constant banter, the way you both toe the line without ever fully crossing it.

At least, that’s how it used to be.

Because at some point tonight, something shifts.

It’s subtle at first. The way Beau’s eyes linger on your lips when you smirk at him. The way your knee brushes against his, and neither of you pulls away. The space between you isn’t as wide as it was when the movie started, and you’re both noticing it now.

The credits roll, but neither of you moves.

The projector hums in the silence, casting flickering light across Beau’s face. His gaze flicks to you, lingering, something unreadable in his expression.

He shifts in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head, and the way his shirt tightens across his chest shouldn’t make your breath hitch, but it does.

“You ever think about it?” His voice is low, rougher than before.

Your stomach tightens. “Think about what?”

His lips quirk, but it’s not a smirk this time. It’s something else—something slower. “Us.”

The word hangs heavy in the air, thickening the tension that’s been simmering under the surface for way too long. Your heartbeat kicks up, but you force a smirk, trying to keep it light.

“Us? You saying you got a crush on me, Sheriff?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Think we’re past the crush stage, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches. His voice is different now—low, warm, intentional.

And suddenly, you’re aware of everything. The way he’s watching you like he’s finally letting himself see you. The way your palms are starting to sweat. The way your body is leaning just a little closer without you meaning to.

It’s a choice. Right now, this is still a choice. You could laugh it off, break the moment, go back to what’s safe.

Or you could do what you’ve wanted to do for months.

Slowly, you push yourself up from your chair, your heart pounding harder than it should. Beau’s brows lift in surprise, but he doesn't react. He just keeps watching you with a raised brow, with something unreadable in his eyes—something waiting.

You step between his legs, but instead of grabbing his shirt and yanking him up, you do something worse.

You straddle his lap.

Beau tenses under you, his hands instinctively coming to rest on your waist, but he doesn’t pull you closer. Not yet. He just stares, his pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling a little too fast.

“The hell are you doin’, sweetheart?” His voice is rough, but he doesn’t sound like he wants you to stop.

You smirk, but it’s shaky. “Testing a theory.”

And then you kiss him.

It’s slow at first—deep, warm, deliberate. Beau lets out a low sound, something between a sigh and a growl before his hands tighten on your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin through your shirt. You sink into him, letting the weight of it pull you both under, the world narrowing down to the feel of his lips, the way he tilts his head to take more of you.

It’s soft, but it’s intense. Like you’ve both been waiting for this without realizing it. Like something inside you clicks into place the second your lips touch.

He kisses you like he’s been starving for it. Like he can’t believe you’re finally letting him.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, tangled together, kissing slow and deep, getting lost in it. When you finally pull back, both of you breathless, foreheads brushing, Beau swears under his breath and you realize this was never just a friendship.

“Shit.” His hands flex on your waist, like he’s trying to get himself under control. His breath is warm against your lips while he murmurs, “You got any idea what you just started?”

And just like that, it snaps.

Beau surges up, kissing you harder, rougher. His hands slide under your shirt, fingertips pressing against your back as he pulls you flush against him. The second kiss is nothing like the first—it’s messy, desperate, and hungry. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, and he groans into your mouth, his grip tightening as he rolls his hips up against you.

It’s not enough.

You can feel it in the way he grips you, the way his breath stutters when your teeth graze his bottom lip. The need is thick between you now, burning hot and fast.

Beau momentarily breaks away, his thumb brushes your cheek, slow, deliberate. His voice is rough when he murmurs, “You gonna let me take you inside, or you just wanted to knock me on my ass?”

Your stomach flips, heat curling low in your spine.

You don’t answer. You just grab his hand, pulling him up with you toward the trailer.

His chuckle is low and filthy while he follows—his body pressed close, his lips brushing against your jaw as his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt as you step through the door.

It starts slow.

And then it doesn’t.

The door clicks shut behind you, but you barely register the sound—too lost in the way Beau’s lips find your neck, in the heat of his hands as they slide under your shirt, in the way the tension that’s been building between you for so damn long finally, finally breaks.

And as his mouth claims yours again, and again, so rough and deep... and you know—

There’s no going back from this.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

𖤐 masterlist

lina's notes: soo, I wasn't going to post this so soon, I even made a schedule to post only on Wednesdays and Sundays, buttt I wrote this at 2am and I just couldn't resist to post it lol I just love this sheriff sm what can I do??

tagging my favs beau writers <3 @daylighted @jasvtsc @figthoughts @deansbeer @couturewinx @waynes-multiverse @soldiersgirl @honeyryewhiskey @zepskies @rositaslabyrinth @blossomingorchids @cowboysandcigarettes

(let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3)

[itsaintmebabe]

for you

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ chapter six !

summary: y/n struggles with indecision at a café, but a thoughtful gesture from vi leads to a deepening connection between them, sparking deeper feelings that culminates in a moment that changes everything.

pairing: hockey player! vi x sports med trainer!fem! reader

notes: okie we getting there finally but dont get too comfy there's more to come!!! comment on this post or message me if want to be added to the taglist and i would love to have feedback from you guys!!! <3

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ chapter seven / series masterlist

The line at the café was longer than usual, and Y/N was doing her best not to fidget as she stared up at the board above the counter. The sheer amount of coffee options was overwhelming: caramel this, vanilla that, iced, blended, oat milk, almond milk, it felt like too much for a brain that hadn’t yet had caffeine. Her eyes darted between them all, trying to weigh her options, but her indecision was only growing with every second.

Eventually, she settled. A simple hot mocha latte. Warmth in her hands sounded better than the chilled shock of her usual iced coffee. The thought of the cold air waiting for her outside helped seal the decision.

But as she stepped closer to the counter, her attention shifted to the glass display case just below it.

Pastries. Too many beautiful, golden, flaky pastries.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the chocolate croissant nestled among them like a perfect, buttery treasure. She could already taste it, soft, warm, sweet, but a quick glance at the total in her banking app reminded her that, realistically, it was either the coffee or the croissant. Not both. Not today.

She twisted the ring on her finger absently, nibbling the inside of her cheek as she weighed the decision far longer than she should’ve, but she knew she had to settle. She offered the barista a kind smile, voice soft as she placed her order and paid for the mocha, no pastry. Then she moved off to the side, quietly pulling out her phone to reply to Mel’s texts while she waited.

She didn’t know it, but Vi was in line behind her. Just a few customers between them, and she’d recognized her immediately.

She’d been about to call out, maybe even tap her shoulder, but then she saw the way Y/N was staring at the pastries. Her eyes lingered on her as she twisted that little ring on her finger, expression serious like this was a life-altering decision. The way she bit her cheek and stared at that chocolate croissant made Vi’s chest ache with something she couldn’t quite name. Y/N looked soft. Lit up. Alive.

But then her shoulders slumped a little, and she paid without ever mentioning the pastry.

Vi frowned.

When Y/N’s name was called, she grabbed the warm drink with both hands like it was something sacred, then moved to one of the small tables in the corner of the café. She still had time before class, so she made herself comfortable, if not a little clumsily, and pulled a book out of her overstuffed bag, nestled into her seat, and slipped on her headphones.

Vi watched as she tuned the world out, clearly already immersed in her book, sipping her mocha like it was made for her alone. She didn’t think twice.

It only took a few minutes. A few minutes later, Y/N was flipping a page when a white paper bag appeared in front of her face.

She blinked at it, a little startled, and looked up.

Vi was standing there, hood pulled up over her short pink hair, a small, lopsided smile on her face. Her eyes were warm. Patient.

Y/N tugged her headphones down and looked between her and the bag.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” she said, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her hoodie.

Curiosity rising, Y/N took the bag and opened it, and her heart stuttered.

The smell hit her first: buttery, warm, rich with chocolate. She stared down at the chocolate croissant tucked gently inside, then back up at Vi, stunned.

“How did you know I wanted this?”

Vi shrugged, casual, but her grin was smug. “You were practically drooling.”

Y/N couldn’t fight the way her smile stretched across her face. She reached in, pulled the croissant out, and tore into it like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

"You really didn’t have to," she said softly, touched.

"I wanted to," Vi said, her blue eyes didn’t leave Y/N’s face. "Plus, I like seeing you smile like that."

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. She bit into the croissant with a soft hum, and Vi laughed as she chewed happily.

Vi plopped into the chair across from her, resting her elbows on the table. “You always reading?”

Mouth full, she mumbled, “It’s fun.”

Vi chuckled, leaning back. “What’s it about?”

That was all the prompting Y/N needed.

She launched into a ramble about the book, mouth still occasionally full of croissant, eyes bright and animated. Vi wasn’t really listening, not to the details anyway, but she loved hearing her talk. Loved the way she came alive when it was about something she loved. She could’ve sat there all day.

Her gaze dropped to Y/N’s lips, soft, slightly stained with chocolate. A smudge sat at the corner of her mouth, and before she could even think about it, her hand was reaching across the table. Her thumb brushed the smear away gently, and before Y/N could react, she brought it to her own lips, licking the chocolate off without a second thought.

Y/N froze.

Her words died in her throat the moment Vi’s skin touched hers. The soft press of her thumb against her face made her skin burn, and the sight of Vi licking it clean nearly made her heart explode.

She watched her lips. Vi watched hers.

For a moment, the rest of the café disappeared.

Until Y/N’s phone buzzed, making her jump slightly. She glanced down: a text from Viktor.

Viktor: hey, can I borrow a pen when you get here?

She quickly typed out a yes, then checked the time.

Class started in 15 minutes. The café was about a five-minute walk. She looked up at Vi, still flushed, still warm all over.

“We should probably head to class,” she said, hesitating before quietly asking, “You… wanna walk with me?”

Vi stood so fast it was almost comedic. “Yeah. Of course.”

Y/N reached for her bag, but Vi was quicker, grabbing it before she could. She tried to protest, lightly tugging it back, but she was already moving toward the door with it slung over her shoulder.

“Vi—come on, that thing’s heavy—”

“Exactly. That’s why you’re not carrying it,” she called over her shoulder, grinning.

She held the door open for Y/N, and despite the chill in the air, she felt warm.

They stepped outside together, teasing back and forth as they started their walk, hands brushing occasionally, but never quite holding.

Not yet.

—

Vi and Y/N stepped into the lecture hall, their footsteps soft on the tiled floor as the low hum of students talking filled the room. Their voices dropped to a murmur as they crossed the threshold, the familiar scent of old textbooks and freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air. Their steps slower than usual, words softer now, like they were savoring something unspoken. Y/N clutched her warm mocha latte in one hand, the memory of Vi’s fingers brushing chocolate from her lips still humming faintly on her skin. They paused at the front of the classroom, Y/N’s eyes scanning the room for a familiar face.

Vi held her breath as she watched Y/N. She could see how her eyes flitted from row to row, and Vi followed her gaze, trying to guess who she was looking for. Their hands brushed as Y/N took her purse back from Vi, fingers grazing in a brief, electric moment that made Vi’s stomach flutter. The softness of Y/N’s skin against her own sparked something warm in Vi’s chest, a heat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

"Looking for Viktor?" Vi asked, trying to keep her tone neutral but feeling the twist of something sour in her chest.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, scanning the rows. “He said he’d save me a seat.”

Vi forced a nod, even as something unpleasant flared in her gut. Y/N finally spotted Viktor and started forward but hesitated a few steps in, glancing back at Vi. Her eyes found Vi’s, a hint of nervous hope there, and her voice came soft, tentative. “Do you… want to come sit with me?”

Vi blinked, surprised by the invitation. She felt the pressure in her chest ease, warmth spreading outward like ripples in a pond. “Yeah,” she said quickly, nodding. “I'd like that.”

She fell into step beside Y/N again, gently taking her bag before Y/N could object. Her fingers brushed Y/N’s forearm with deliberate care, the contact brief but intimate. A shiver ran down Y/N’s spine from the tenderness of it, and Vi’s hand lingered for a second longer than it needed to before she let go.

Vi glanced up and caught Mylo and Claire in their usual spot, their jaws slack and eyes wide. Without breaking stride, she shot them a middle finger, her face a picture of smug satisfaction. When she looked back, Y/N was at Viktor’s side, chatting animatedly about something related to their class.

Vi’s eyes narrowed just slightly. She couldn’t help the sharp twist in her gut as she watched Y/N talking with Viktor, her smile easy and warm. But then Y/N turned back toward Vi, smile even brighter, and gestured between them.

“Vi, this is Viktor,” she said. “Vik, this is Vi.”

Vi nodded, giving Viktor a friendly wave. “Hey.”

“And this,” Y/N added, pointing to the man next to Viktor, “is his boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Vi said, relief washing through her like a tide pulling away doubt. She smiled more genuinely now. “Nice to meet you both.”

Y/N moved to sit, and Vi followed, sliding into the seat beside her. There was a subtle thrum of awareness between them as they settled in. Y/N leaned over. “Can I have my bag back now?”

Vi grinned and handed it over, watching in quiet amusement as Y/N dug through it, muttering to herself.

“Not that funny,” Y/N said when she caught Vi laughing.

“It kinda is,” Vi teased. “You act like it’s a survival kit.”

“It basically is.” Y/N shot her a mock glare before pulling out a battered notebook and a half-unwrapped granola bar. She offered Vi a piece of it, which Vi accepted, their fingers brushing again.

Class started, but Vi wasn’t even pretending to pay attention. Her gaze drifted over to Y/N, her expression softening as she took her in. Y/N was focused on the front of the class, eyes occasionally glancing down at her notes, brow furrowed in thought. Vi loved the way her features shifted when she was concentrating, how expressive she was even in stillness.

She found herself memorizing details, the curve of Y/N’s lips, the way her lashes fluttered when she blinked, the soft slope of her neck as she tilted her head. There was something effortless about her beauty, but what drew Vi in deeper was the warmth that radiated from her, the way she always made Vi feel seen, like she mattered.

Y/N could feel Vi looking at her, and it sent a familiar flutter through her chest. She tried to stay focused, but the weight of Vi’s gaze was comforting and distracting all at once. It made her feel safe. Desired. Special.

She glanced sideways, meeting Vi’s eyes, and for a heartbeat neither of them looked away. Then Y/N smiled, just a small twitch of her lips, but it was enough to make Vi’s breath catch.

This thing between them was changing. Neither of them had said anything aloud, but the silence was full of things left unsaid—how Vi’s teasing felt like affection, how Y/N’s shy glances lingered a little longer, how their hands kept finding excuses to touch. It was slow, unfolding like petals turning toward the sun, but it was real.

And neither of them wanted it to stop.

—

Y/N lay sprawled across her couch, one arm resting over her forehead as she stared blankly at the ceiling, her mind replaying the way Vi had looked at her in class. The way Vi’s hand had brushed against hers when she took back her purse. The warmth of Vi’s fingers on her forearm, so brief yet lingering in her memory like an imprint she couldn’t shake. It wasn’t just the touch, it was the way Vi touched her, like she was something fragile but not breakable, something Vi wanted to keep close but wasn’t sure if she should.

She exhaled, shifting against the cushions, but it didn’t help. Her thoughts circled endlessly, pulling her back to Vi, Vi with her teasing smirk, Vi with her sharp eyes that softened when they landed on her, Vi standing too close and not close enough. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to think about anything else, but the pull Vi had on her was relentless.

She didn’t hear the apartment door open. Didn’t notice Mel’s presence until something soft but weighty hit her square in the stomach. She gasped, bolting upright and clutching the object, a throw pillow, as her wide eyes met Mel’s unimpressed stare.

“Finally,” Mel sighed, crossing her arms as she loomed over the couch. “I’ve been standing here trying to talk to you, but you’re too busy daydreaming about—” She tilted her head knowingly. “Let me guess. Vi?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned instantly, her grip tightening on the pillow as she quickly looked away. “What do you want?” she muttered, ignoring Mel’s smirk.

Mel rolled her eyes, leaning against the arm of the couch. “I was trying to ask if you wanted to come to a party with me and Jayce later. Some frat thing.”

Y/N made a noncommittal noise, her fingers absentmindedly twisting the fabric of the pillowcase. She wasn’t really a party person. But then, before she could stop herself, the question slipped out in a voice too quiet, too hopeful.

“Is Vi going?”

Mel’s smirk widened instantly. “Oh?” she drawled, tilting her head playfully. “And why do you want to know?”

Y/N stiffened, her cheeks going impossibly hotter. “I don’t,” she lied, eyes dropping to her hands. “I was just wondering.”

Mel chuckled, the sound rich with amusement. “Sure,” she said, clearly not believing a word. “You were just wondering.”

Y/N huffed, shoving the pillow aside as she sat up fully, pretending to be unbothered. “Are you going or not?” Mel pressed, her gaze sharp and knowing.

Y/N shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “Sure.”

Mel just laughed, shaking her head as she pushed off the couch. “Uh-huh. You just happen to be going to a party where Vi might be. Totally a coincidence.”

Y/N groaned, flopping back onto the cushions and throwing an arm over her face. She could practically hear Mel’s smirk in her voice as she walked away.

But as much as she tried to pretend otherwise, she couldn’t ignore the quiet buzz of anticipation thrumming in her chest.

She hoped Vi would be there.

—

The party was already in full swing by the time Y/N arrived with Mel and Jayce. Her arm was linked with Mel’s as they pushed through the crowd, Jayce holding onto Mel’s other hand. The frat house was packed, the air thick with the scent of beer, sweat, and cheap cologne. The pulsing bass of the music vibrated through the floor, making Y/N’s heart race, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the atmosphere or from the anticipation of seeing Vi.

She felt a little out of place in the outfit Mel had picked for her, a short jean skirt, a tight black top, and her favorite black boots. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it, but it felt… intentional. Almost like she was trying to get someone’s attention. And if she was being honest with herself, she already knew whose. The thought sent a rush through her stomach, a nervous thrill at the possibility of seeing Vi tonight.

The three of them finally maneuvered their way to an area with a few worn-out couches, surrounded by a mix of familiar faces from both the men’s and women’s hockey teams. Laughter and playful jabs filled the space, everyone far more relaxed than Y/N usually saw them at the ice rink. But Vi wasn’t there. Disappointment crept into her chest, but she shoved it down, forcing a smile as Claire pulled her into an easy conversation, thanking her for the stretches she had taught her.

What Y/N didn’t realize was that Vi had only stepped away to grab a couple of beers. As Vi returned, she handed a red solo cup to Mylo, her striking blue eyes scanning the room, until they landed on Y/N.

Y/N saw Vi before Vi saw her, and for a moment, all she could do was stare. Vi looked effortlessly good, her leather jacket hugging her frame, her relaxed confidence making her stand out even in a crowded room. The scar on her brow and the ink on her cheek only made her more captivating, the way they creased as she laughed at something Mylo had said. Y/N’s stomach flipped, she had always thought Vi was beautiful, but tonight, it was like she was seeing her through new eyes, like everything about Vi had suddenly become sharper, more defined, more real.

Vi finally noticed her, her expression shifting the second their eyes met. Her smirk softened into something warmer, something just for Y/N. She barely acknowledged Jayce when he approached, nodding absently to whatever he was saying while her gaze stayed locked onto Y/N. The way Vi was looking at her, like she was the only person in the room, made Y/N’s cheeks heat up, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed by her own staring. But when she glanced back, Vi was still watching her, her lips quirking up as she lifted a hand in a small wave.

Y/N smiled, returning the gesture, her stomach flipping again. They were lost in each other for what felt like forever, the noise of the party fading into a dull hum. Vi took a step forward, like she was going to close the distance, like she needed to, but before she could, Mel grabbed Y/N’s wrist with an excited squeal.

“Oh my god, this is our song!” Mel shouted, tugging Y/N towards the dance floor.

Y/N’s excitement mirrored Mel’s as she was pulled toward the dance floor, but not before she glanced over her shoulder at Vi one last time. Vi was still watching her, her expression unreadable, but her lips were still curled into that soft, amused smile.

Vi huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head, but she couldn’t even be annoyed. She liked seeing Y/N happy.

As Y/N and Mel danced, laughing and singing along to the music, Vi stood by, watching. Jayce nudged her with his beer, smirking knowingly. “Go,” he said simply.

Jayce just smirked, nodding towards Y/N. “Go dance with her.”

Vi hesitated. “I don’t—”

Jayce rolled his eyes. “She’s waiting for you, dumbass.”

Vi hesitated, her fingers tightening around her cup. She wasn’t much of a dancer. But then she saw the way Y/N moved, how carefree she looked, how the dim, colorful lights of the frat house highlighted the happiness in her face. And suddenly, it wasn’t a choice anymore.

With a resigned sigh, Vi shoved her drink into Jayce’s chest and made her way toward the dance floor.

Y/N didn’t even realize Vi was behind her until she felt the warmth of hands settling gently on her waist. The touch sent a shock through her, making her breath hitch. Vi leaned in, her lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as she spoke, voice low and teasing. “Didn’t think you were the type to get dragged onto the dance floor.”

Y/N exhaled a shaky laugh, her hands instinctively moving to rest over Vi’s. “I could say the same about you.”

Vi hummed, her thumbs brushing slow, lazy circles against Y/N’s hips. “Guess you bring it out of me.”

They swayed together, their movements much slower than the beat of the music pounding through the house. Y/N could barely focus on anything else but the heat of Vi’s hands, the way her breath tickled against her skin, the way Vi felt so solid, so real against her. It was intoxicating.

After a few moments, Y/N turned in Vi’s hold, keeping Vi’s hands on her waist as she looped her arms around Vi’s neck. Their foreheads nearly touched, their breaths mingling in the space between them. Y/N swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs as she murmured, “Your eyes are beautiful.”

Vi’s breath hitched slightly, her grip on Y/N’s waist tightening. “You’re just saying that.”

“I mean it,” Y/N whispered, her gaze flickering down to Vi’s lips before meeting her eyes again.

Vi caught the glance, her own eyes darkening as she leaned in just a little more. Her voice was barely more than a breath when she asked, “Can I?”

Y/N didn’t even think before she nodded.

Before she could say anything else, Vi was closing the distance, pressing their lips together in a firm, desperate kiss. The moment their mouths met, everything else disappeared. Y/N melted into Vi, her hands sliding into Vi’s pink hair, gripping the soft strands as Vi pulled her impossibly closer, their bodies flush against each other.

Vi kissed her like she had been waiting for this moment forever, like she was terrified it would end too soon. Her lips were soft but insistent, moving in sync with Y/N’s as if they had done this a thousand times before. One of Vi’s hands slid up Y/N’s back, fingers grazing her spine, while the other remained on her waist, gripping her tight like she never wanted to let go.

Y/N sighed against Vi’s lips, parting them slightly, and Vi took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tilting her head to press even closer. A quiet whimper escaped Y/N before she could stop it, and Vi groaned softly in response, her fingers tightening in Y/N’s hair.

The sound of teasing whistles and laughter finally broke them apart. Vi pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against Y/N’s, her breathing heavy as she chuckled under her breath. Y/N was still holding onto her, still dizzy from the kiss, her lips tingling, her body on fire.

“That was…” Y/N trailed off, catching her breath, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Even better than I thought it would be.”

Vi let out a breathy laugh, her thumb brushing lightly against Y/N’s waist. “Yeah?”

Y/N nodded, and Vi kissed her again, quick but firm, before pulling back to send a half-hearted glare toward the heckling team still grinning and teasing before turning back to Y/N, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. “Wanna get out of here?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Vi grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together as she led them through the crowd, out of the frat house, and into the cool night air. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ taglist !

@daughterofthemoons-stuff @strawb4kdior @lover-girl009 @aprilshireath @brianna-merlim @jinririz @arahiraaai @yeinbae @jupitism @ii-vee @vxtanne31 @brooks-lin @re1daway @st0nerlesb0 @starletfemme @somecleverremark @thankynext @maybenotjaybe

[kxsagi]

Can i request reo with a reader who really dislikes spending so much money because she grew up in poverty and when reo spoils her she feels bad wondering how she'd repay him but reo reassures her he does it cuz he loves her

“𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜����𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬”

a/n: all my readers are deserving of being spoiled 🙂‍↕️

(art credits go to coa6186496501 on X)

reo’s arm is casually draped over your shoulders as the two of you walk through the luxurious shopping district. you’re still getting used to this – a place where glass storefronts gleam with designer logos and sales associates practically float over to you, all honeyed smiles and soft bows. it feels too surreal, too out of reach. but then again, so is the boy beside you. 

“what do you think?” reo asks, holding up a delicate necklace with a tiny diamond at the center. it sparkles under the warm lighting, almost as dazzling as the expectant look in his eyes. 

you glance at the price tag. and immediately, your stomach tightens. way too much. probably more than what your family spent on groceries in a month growing up. you quickly look away, forcing a smile. “it’s pretty,” you mumble, praying he doesn’t read the discomfort in your voice. 

but of course, he does. he always does. 

reo’s gaze softens, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly in that way they do when he’s studying you like he’s trying to read between the lines. but instead of pressing you, he gently sets the necklace back down. he interlaces his fingers with yours and tugs you along. 

“c’mon, let’s keep looking.” 

you exhale in relief, but it doesn’t last long. fifteen minutes later, he’s slipping a velvet box into your hands, a pair of earrings you accidentally lingered on for too long. and when you start to protest, his voice is light, playful. “they’re cute, right? you deserve ‘em.” 

your throat constricts. you feel the familiar wave of guilt crash over you. you love him, you do. but being with him, a man who could probably buy a yacht on impulse, makes you feel so… unworthy. like you can’t possibly give him enough in return. 

the weight of it makes you quietly pull your hand away from his. and when you speak, your voice comes out smaller than you intend. “reo… you don’t have to keep spending money on me like this.” 

he frowns slightly, confused by the sudden shift. “i know i don’t. but i want to.” 

you shake your head. you can’t meet his eyes. “but i… i can’t pay you back for all of this,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. it’s humiliating. you hate how shaky you sound, how vulnerable it makes you feel. “i don’t want you to think i’m taking advantage of you.” 

the silence that follows makes your heart sink. you finally look up, bracing yourself for disappointment or maybe even frustration. but instead, you’re met with nothing but tenderness. 

reo’s expression softens immediately. he cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks as if you were something fragile. his voice drops, quiet but firm. “hey… love, look at me.” 

your eyes flicker to his. 

“you’re not taking advantage of me. not even close.” he smiles faintly, but there’s a certain seriousness behind it. “i buy you things because i want to. not because i expect you to repay me. not because i think you owe me. but because i love you. and seeing you happy? that’s worth more than anything i could ever buy.” 

your chest tightens. your lip trembles slightly before you can bite it down. you feel so silly, so silly for doubting him, but you can’t help the years of scarcity clinging to your skin like a bad habit. 

reo notices. he presses his forehead against yours, voice barely above a murmur now. “you don’t have to give me anything back, okay? just let me spoil you. let me love you. that’s more than enough.” 

and just like that, the dam breaks. you melt into him, burying your face into his chest. his arms are around you in seconds, warm and steady, holding you like he never intends to let go. 

“i love you,” you whisper into the fabric of his sweater, your voice cracking slightly from the lump in your throat. 

he presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head, tightening his hold on you. “i love you more,” he murmurs. “and you can’t put a price on that.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[batboysanonymous]

Blood on My Hands

Azriel x Reader

Summary: They promised forever beneath a sky of stars, but some betrayals burn deeper than any scar, and now she has to decide if love is enough, or if letting go will be the only thing that saves them both.

Based on the song: bloodonmyhands by Tate McRae

I’ve got some blood on my hands…

There had always been something forbidden about Azriel.

Not because he was the Spymaster. Not because his shadows whispered secrets no one else heard. But because he had walls no one could scale, and Y/n had spent years trying to climb them, each time falling harder than the last.

They met not in chaos or war, but in the quiet sanctuary of the High Lord’s library, long after midnight.

She had been there out of restlessness. He had been there out of habit.

At first, neither spoke. But the silence between them was never empty.

Azriel was a storm barely contained, and she had been drawn to him like gravity, not by his power, but by his loneliness.

Months passed, each encounter small and quiet. A brush of fingers as they reached for the same book. A shared glance over ancient texts. A conversation in whispers that stretched until dawn.

And then, one night she had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder.

When she woke, his wings were wrapped around her like shelter. His shadows gently curling around her wrist.

That was the moment everything changed.

I was so prepared to let you cross all my lines I was so prepared to fight a war on your side…

Falling for Azriel was not a choice. It was a complete and utter surrender.

Every wall he put up, she scaled. Every secret he locked away, she coaxed into the light.

He told her about the scars. About the cold cell he’d grown up in. About the hands that had broken his bones and how his shadows came to him not as gifts, but as comfort.

She told him about the weight of expectation. About feeling invisible in a court full of stars.

They fit, imperfect but whole. She became the only person he could be soft with. And he became her sanctuary.

They discovered they were mates on a night that felt too fragile to name.

He had been wounded after a mission gone wrong. She sat beside his bed, holding his hand, singing songs from her childhood until the fever broke.

And when his eyes finally fluttered open, he whispered, "I can feel the bond."

She’d wept, cradling his face in her hands, and kissed him like a promise.

So where’d it go, boy? One second you were begging for my time, then…

The problem with walls is that even when they come down, you never stop fearing what happens if someone gets too close.

Azriel loved her. She knew that. But fear twisted him.

It started with missed dinners. Excuses about missions. A darkness in his eyes that she couldn’t reach.

One night, when he came home long after midnight, reeking of adrenaline and perfume too sweet to be her own, she asked quietly, "Where were you?"

He hesitated too long.

"Nowhere."

She nodded, but something inside her cracked.

You forgot I’ve got a lotta pride and choices…

She followed him.

Not out of jealousy. Out of survival.

And what she found shattered her.

Azriel, standing too close to another female in an alleyway. Not touching, but close enough. Whispering secrets he’d once only given to her.

She didn’t confront him. Not yet.

Instead, she let the silence choke her. Let him lie, night after night.

Until the weight became too heavy.

Dance like I can’t be bothered, know it kills you…

The next time he tried to touch her, she flinched.

And that was when he knew.

"You deserve more than me," he said one night, his voice hoarse.

She stared at him, heart breaking. "I never asked for more than you."

But he couldn’t meet her eyes.

So she left.

Bounced back and found another… and he hates you.

Eris found her wandering through Autumn.

"Running from him or yourself?" he asked, smirking.

"Both," she whispered.

He poured her wine and gave her company without demands.

It wasn’t love. But it was distraction. And sometimes that was enough.

She danced in firelit halls, let Eris spin her beneath chandeliers, let him kiss her just long enough that the pain dulled.

Azriel’s shadows were always watching. She knew.

Good.

Let it hurt.

Oh baby boy, you’re seein’ stars And it fucks you up so hard…

The letters came next.

I never meant to hurt you. You were always everything. I’m lost without you.

She burned them all.

But every flame felt like setting her own heart alight.

I got a new man to please Fallin’ for you was a damn disease…

Eris asked her, once, "Do you love me?"

She answered honestly. "No."

"Good," he said. "Because you don’t need another man’s cage."

She smiled bitterly. "I need to stop needing anything at all."

Boy, get a grip, I’m sick of you callin’…

He appeared in Autumn.

Azriel.

In full armor, shadows writhing with pain.

"Come home," he rasped.

She shook her head. "I was home."

He fell to his knees before her. "I’m sorry."

"I know."

But sorry wasn’t enough.

Blood on my hands…

She returned to Velaris anyway.

Not for him, but for herself.

She sat on the balcony where it all began, staring at the stars, remembering the nights they spoke of dreams they were too afraid to chase.

He found her there, silently.

"I don’t expect forgiveness," Azriel said softly.

She didn’t look at him. "What do you expect?"

"To prove to you, however long it takes, that I’m still yours. That I never stopped being yours."

Her heart twisted. "Do you think that’s enough?"

"No." His voice broke. "But it’s all I have."

She finally turned to him.

"Then you better fight like hell."

I got some blood on my hands And I know it fucks you up so hard…

He kissed her fingertips first. As if they were fragile. As if he didn’t deserve them.

She let him.

Because some things break, but that doesn’t mean they can’t heal.

It would take time. And pain. And trust rebuilt piece by piece.

But love, love was still there, burning beneath all the ruin.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to begin again.

Taglist: @willowpains, @masbt1218, @antonia002, @bookishcait, @fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, @buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff,  @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch,  @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @kksbookstuff, @marina468

Want to join my tag list? Drop a comment or check out this link to submit a specific series you would like tagged in! (Or if you just don't want to comment, that's okay too)

[astr-venus]

｡⁠☆Both Calloused Hands｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+⁠ 

☆Jason x reader

☆Cw: body image issues, sex mention, birth control mention, slight possessiveness

You have a handful of the skin of your stomach in your hand, your shirt rolled up to expose your body to the unforgiving visage in the full length mirror. Your frown is tense, a hard crease between your brows as you pinch and rub your skin between your fingers.

Jason is behind you, just barely in view from the side of the mirror. He's doing something on his phone, not paying attention to what you're doing. You're supposed to be getting dressed, but you're clearly sidetracked.

"I think I'm gaining weight." You sound just as uncomfortable as you look.

"So?"

"My pants don't fit the same way they did a couple months ago."

Jason raises an eyebrow, tearing his gaze from his phone to lock eyes with yours through the mirror.

"I can take you shopping tomorrow then."

"No, Jason I don't want you to buy me new pants."

New pants is giving up. It's defeat. It's acceptance of your new body, your new size.

"I think it's cuz of my new birth control."

"I'm still not seeing the problem. You look as good as you always do."

Your frown deepens. You've seen Jason practically worship the ground you work on. You've felt his calloused hands drag along your waist, his lips bite and suck exactly where your hands are placed upon yourself. You know he's attracted to you, but there's this weird separation in your head that just doesn't seem to leave you.

Because how good is good? And what does he mean as you always do? Have you always been this weight, always looked this way and you're just noticing now? The thought makes you a little sick.

"Look..." Jason slides behind you, wrapping his hands around yours. "If it makes you that unhappy then just get off it. I still think you're gorgeous, for what it's worth."

"If I get off the pill then no sex at least until marriage." You love Jason, but you're not gonna end up anyone's baby mama, daddy, or nothing.

"Okay, then let's get married."

"Jason, be serious."

"I am." He shrugs.

Your breath leaves you in a huff of air. You're left staring at him through the reflection, the weight of him behind your back feels too heavy, and unreal, at the same time.

"D-Don't fuck with me, Jason."

He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. "'M not."

"You mean it?"

"Yeah."

You look down to where your hands are interlocked over your stomach, and the back up to your face in the mirror. Heart fluttering excitement gets squashed by a sudden feeling of utter inadequacy. Not enough of what you should be, and too much of what you are.

It's like you're covered in it. This drudge of grotesqueness that no one around you seems to have. It's on the meat of your arms and the fat of your thighs, it pulls to create the lines on your face, and the stretch marks on your chest. You're drowning in the pieces of you that separate you from others. The ugly parts that you know other people have, but you can't seem to find when you look at them.

"We should stay in."

"What?" You choke out.

"We should stay in. I don't wanna share you right now."

"... Share?"

"No. Keep every part of you to myself. No one else should look at you, but me."

Jason's eyes are burning into your reflection. His gaze is heavy, possessive. You don't know how long he's been staring.

"We can reschedule for another time." He placates, running kisses down your shoulder. "Come lay with me."

Your throat feels thick with tears. They came out of nowhere, really.

"Y-Yeah, okay."

"Okay."

Neither of you move for a moment, stuck eye-fucking each other in the mirror. Jason with a heat that makes you want to shy away, yourself with a soft and hesitant reverence. You make quite the sight.

He breaks the tension with another kiss, this one placed on your jaw, and begins to lead you away from the mirror. When your head turns to catch one last appraisal of your body Jason places a hand on your cheek, guiding your eyes back towards himself.

"Eyes on me, pretty."

"Okay."

Reader, having a slight breakdown: I'm gross, worthless, nobody should love me ever.

Jason, completely oblivious: Jesus fucking Christ they're so hot be normal be normal be normal be normal be normal

Posting this but it's almost 2am and it's not proofread, if it's ass uhhhhh that's none of my business. I have longer fics not too far behind this one, trust and believe

｡⁠☆Requests Open

[deadlysoupy]

here's a tfe starbee request: post breakbee breakup, bumblebee wants to make breakdown jealous. starscream has been dealing with annoying comments from megatron since their divorce the end of the war and wants to make a point about him not needing megatron. they get together as each others rebounds and end up catching feelings for each other.

or, alternatively, bumblebee defending starscream from megatron's comments about how starscream is too evil to be allowed to exist in the world unsupervised. they aren't even together and don't even get along at this point but it makes starscream go heart eyes (spark eyes?) because other than hashtag no one's ever stood up to megatron for him.

this one took a while but hey, it's here and it turned out better than i thought it would! (quick note tho for the future: you guys should know i'm not one for "rebound" ships. or jealousy, unless it's starscream. there are some lines i dont want to cross and this is one of them. just letting you know that, unless an alternative is provided, like here, i will not write a "rebound" fic)

(Read here on AO3)

The day has not been going well for Starscream.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he's had a consecutive streak of bad luck looming over his helm. Ever since he was imprisoned, come to think of it. He's had it pretty well during their "stalemate" with the Autobots and the Maltos, but it was nothing he would describe as "lucky".

He ultimately failed in his mission to finally have a home, but that wasn't anything new.

Now, he's forced to share space with the person who pushed him so far into insanity, and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Mainly, Starscream has learned to avoid confrontation with Megatron, no matter how impossible that seemed. It was working — for some time.

This day turned out to be an exception.

They cross each other in the maintenance room. Starscream needs to upload intel on their new human relations — he didn't read the file, it was too processor-numbing for him — and it seemed like Megatron ended up with the same objective. It had still felt like a strange vision, that Megatron would ever do someone's bidding that easily. The room was small, barely enough for three bots, and given Megatron's frame… well. One could say the air started suffocating Starscream pretty fast.

He grits his denta and reaches out his servo to the main panel.

Apparently, that was the wrong move to make. Megatron regards him with a "look", his size — as always — looming over him, murderous optics drilling into his spark.

"What do you think you're doing, Starscream."

He doesn't shudder under the threatening tone. He needs to keep calm, or it will blow his whole plan out of proportion.

"I'm doing my job, Megatron," he answers, staying as still as possible. "Or is this not what I'm supposed to do?"

The warframe clicks his denta. "You never do your job. There's always something with you."

"I've been nothing but compliant with you Autobots ever since you oh so kindly let me out," he can't help but sneer in response. "I have no reason to do harm, so you should just let me do what I came here to do."

Megatron unleashes his pointed dentas, glinting under the artificial lighting of the room. "I wonder how long this charade of yours will keep working, Starscream. We both know you aren't doing your job out of well intentions — your spark will always be rotten."

And Starscream would have agreed with him on any other day. On any other occasion. He would have glowed in the praise, would have considered it to be the mightiest words of affirmation he's ever heard, and he would have gone on his merry way.

But he wasn't going to let this go. He can't keep pretending to like this presence, this… humiliation. Hashtag, the Terrans, and one other particular bot taught him otherwise.

Starscream's backstrut straightens, high on alert, voice loud. "You may believe whatever you want, Lord Megatron, but I deserve to be here just as you do. You've earned your chance to keep your place among the Autobots, and I should have the space to be able to do the same. Unless… you actually don't deserve to be here? Unless you're just the same arrogant fool you've always—"

A servo squeezes Starscream's shoulder and the plating creaks under it. Starscream's frame buckles, but stands firm. "Shut your ammering, Starscream, or I'll remind you why I don't trust your miserable spark with anything of importance."

"What's going on here?" Bumblebee's voice comes from the entrance. Starscream won't admit it out loud, but he's glad to hear it. The Autobot has been the only one keeping him sane in all of his time outside of the brig.

"Nothing, Bumblebee," Megatron regards him with a short look. His servo moves away from Starscream's shoulder — the ping of pain runs across his entire frame, but it goes away quickly. Luckily, Megatron wasn't able to do a lot of damage. "I was simply concerned that Starscream had malicious intentions. Nothing more."

Bumblebee arches an optic ridge, first at Megatron, then at Starscream, who looks away from them both. He was not going to get involved anymore. It would only make things worse.

"Right," Bee says. "So, that's solved, then? Can't you… I don't know… be nice now?"

"Are you insinuating I wasn't, Bumblebee?"

And when that tone is directed at Bumblebee, Starscream's gears are twitching. He almost wants to open his mouth to retort, but Bee beats him to it.

"Well, by the sound of it — no, you really weren't. Yeah, I've been listening," the scout folds his servos. Star glances at him, and the stance almost mesmerises him. He's completely calm… while scolding Megatron. "I know you're trying, Megs, but come on. We need to be better than this. I'll admit, Starscream can be a little… a lot to handle, but if you deserved even a smidge of doubt, then he does, too. He's not that bad once you get to know him. You don't need to second-guess his every move. Just… be patient, okay?"

Starscream isn't sure whether he should be offended, touched, or enraged at Bumblebee's comments.

In the end, he settles on amused. He doesn't recall a time when someone would defend him and, at the same time, be so very kind to someone like Megatron. It's something Bumblebee masters to an art form. And he's growing to appreciate it.

Despite his efforts not to, a smile makes its way on Starscream's face. He turns his helm before anyone notices.

Megatron huffs air out of his vents. "You're right. We should… cooperate," he sounds like he's fighting the words actively coming out of his mouth. Starscream hopes it hurts to say them. "I'll come back later, when it's less crowded. Good day, Bumblebee."

"You, too."

When Megatron leaves, Starscream still has a smile on his face.

"That was some lecture you gave there, little Bee."

Bumblebee shrugs and walks up to Starscream. "Yeah, well, sometimes the guy forgets who's on which side. Gotta approach everyone differently, y'know?"

And there was also that. How Bumblebee chose his words carefully, suiting it for whoever the bot was talking to. It reminded Starscream of himself, in a way, and made Bumblebee all the more… interesting to interact with.

Bumblebee's nonchalance turns into concern. "He didn't… hurt you, did he?"

Judging by the way Bee glances at his shoulder, any answer might set off alarm bells in the Autobot's processor, so there was no way of hiding it. "Perhaps. Nothing I can't handle, though."

Bumblebee frowns. "Are you sure? Do you want me to… I don't know, stay with you?"

A grin snakes up Starscream's faceplate. "What, worried about little old me, Honeybee? Have no fear — I am perfectly operational. Besides, I'm sure you have your own duties to attend to."

The bot wants to protest, an objection on his lipplates, but a blush takes over on his faceplate, and the thought is forgotten. "…sure. I'll… see you later?"

"Oh, you will," Starscream coos, and Bumblebee turns tail as fast as that.

Despite his tremendous desire to shoo Bumblebee out of the room, it's now sparkless and empty. Starscream clutches his shoulder, still aching, but on its way to recovery. He'll manage without help, as he always had.

Next time, perhaps, Bumblebee. Next time.

[lilangelbud]

Been obsessed lately with gloryholes idk why but I have and I got this filthy idea…what if one brother drags the other to it knowing that it’s their sister and then it culminates in a hot three way with some dp??

The dimly lit booth smelled of cheap bleach and something faintly musky, the kind of scent that lingered in places where secrets were exchanged more than words. This is a bad idea, he thought, but his brother’s hand was already on his shoulder, shoving him forward with a grin that was equal parts mischievous and unsettling.

“Come on, man, it’s just for fun. Live a little,” his brother said, his voice low but insistent. “You’ve been wound up tighter than a spring lately. This’ll loosen you up.”

He hesitated, staring at the small, unassuming hole in the wall. The gloryhole. Just the thought of it made his stomach twist, but not entirely in a bad way. There was something… forbidden about it, something that made his pulse quicken despite the queasiness. His brother had always been the wild one, the one who pushed boundaries without a second thought. And now, here they were, in some seedy corner of the city, about to cross a line he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

“What if someone sees us?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the club’s bassline.

His brother laughed, a low, rough sound that sent shivers down his spine. “No one’s looking, trust me. This place is a ghost town tonight. Besides, it’s not like we’re doing anything crazy. It’s just a little… curiosity. Think of it as a science experiment.”

He rolled his eyes, though his heart was racing now. Curiosity? Science experiment? His brother was full of it, as usual. But there was something in his tone, something knowing that made him uneasy. What was he hiding?

Before he could protest further, his brother nudged him closer to the wall. “Go on. It’s your turn.”

He took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly as he unbuckled his belt. The air felt thicker here, heavy with anticipation and something else he couldn’t quite place. When he stepped closer, he could see a faint shadow on the other side of the wall, the outline of someone waiting, patiently. This is insane, he thought, but his body was already reacting, betraying him.

As he leaned forward, he felt the first brush of warmth against his skin, soft and inviting. Oh God, he thought, his breath hitching as the sensation intensified. It was so different from what he’d expected—gentle, almost teasing, as if the person on the other side knew exactly how to unravel him. He closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in the moment, the shame and guilt melting away under the weight of pleasure.

“See? Told you it’d be fun,” his brother muttered, his voice closer now. Too close.

He opened his eyes, glancing over his shoulder, only to see his brother watching him with a smirk that made his stomach drop. “What the hell are you doing?”

His brother shrugged, leaning against the wall casually. “Just enjoying the show. You’re not the only one who gets to have fun, you know.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, he heard a soft, familiar laugh from the other side of the wall. His blood ran cold. No. It couldn’t be.

The shadow moved, and then a face appeared, peeking through the hole with a smile that was both innocent and wicked. Their sister.

“Surprise,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Didn’t think you’d find me here, huh?”

He stumbled back, his mind reeling. What the fuck was going on? His brother was grinning like a madman, clearly in on the joke, but he couldn’t process it. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“I told you it’d be fun,” his brother said, stepping closer to the hole now. “Didn’t think you’d be so… responsive, though.”

He glared at him, his face burning with shame and something else he couldn’t name. “You knew? You knew it was her?”

His brother shrugged, unapologetic. “Yeah. And now you know too. So what’s the problem?”

The problem? The problem was that his body was still singing from her touch, and the look in her eyes was anything but innocent. She was watching him, her gaze heavy with an intensity that made his chest tighten. She wanted this. And so did his brother.

“Come on,” his brother said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You felt it too. Don’t act like you didn’t.”

He swallowed hard, his mind racing. This was wrong. So wrong. But the way she was looking at him, the way his brother was watching him… it was like they were daring him to take the next step. To cross the line they’d already crossed.

“Relax,” his sister said, her voice soft but commanding. “We’re family. And families… take care of each other.”

He froze as she reached through the hole, her fingers brushing against his chest before moving lower, teasing him in a way that made his knees weak. Her touch was different now, more deliberate, more intense. And when she looked at him, there was no mistaking the desire in her eyes.

“Let us take care of you,” his brother murmured, stepping closer until he was right behind him, his breath hot against his neck. “You know you want it.”

He did. God help him, he did. The shame was still there, burning in the back of his mind, but it was overshadowed by the need, the hunger that was building inside him. And when his sister’s hand closed around him, he couldn’t hold back the groan that escaped his lips.

“That’s it,” his brother whispered, his hands sliding down his sides. “Just let it happen.”

The wall between them felt like a barrier that needed to be torn down, and as his sister’s touch grew more insistent, he knew they weren’t going to stop there. The door to the booth opened, and she stepped inside, her eyes locking with his as she closed the distance between them.

“No more walls,” she said, her voice low and sultry as she pressed against him. “No more hiding.”

He couldn’t argue. Not when she was standing there, her body flush against his, and his brother was right behind him, his hands roaming freely. The tension in the room was palpable, a thick, heavy thing that made it hard to breathe. But he didn’t want to breathe. He just wanted this. All of this.

“We’re going to make you feel so good,” his sister murmured, her lips brushing against his ear. “But you have to let us.”

He nodded, his mind hazy with desire. Let them. That was all he had to do. And as they moved together, their bodies intertwining in a way that felt both familiar and forbidden.

The room felt like it was spinning, or maybe it was just his head, as he stood there, caught between his sister’s heated gaze and his brother’s commanding presence. His sister’s hands slid up his chest, her fingers teasingly brushing over his nipples before she leaned in, her lips brushing against his. Her kiss was slow, deliberate, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

“You’re so tense,” she murmured against his lips, her breath warm and intoxicating. “Relax. Let us take care of you.”

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it was impossible. His brother’s hands were on his hips now, pulling him closer, and he could feel the heat radiating off both of them. It was overwhelming, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Not when his sister’s tongue was sliding against his own, not when his brother’s lips were tracing the curve of his neck.

“She’s right,” his brother growled, his voice low and rough. “You’re overthinking this. Just let go.”

His sister pulled back slightly, her eyes locking with his. There was something in her gaze, something wicked and knowing, that made his stomach twist in the best possible way. She stepped back, her hands trailing down his body until they reached the waistband of his pants. With a slow, deliberate motion, she undid the button and slid them down, her eyes never leaving his.

His brother’s hands were on him too, stripping him of his shirt, and he stood there, exposed, as they both looked at him with a hunger that made his knees weak.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” his sister whispered, her voice dripping with desire. She knelt in front of him, her hands sliding up his thighs, and he gasped as her lips brushed against his hard length.

His brother’s hands were on his shoulders now, steadying him as his sister took him into her mouth. The sensation was almost too much, and he let out a low moan, his head falling back against his brother’s chest. His sister’s tongue was working wonders, and he could feel his body trembling under the onslaught of pleasure.

“You like that?” his brother murmured in his ear, his voice thick with desire. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

He could only nod, his breath coming in short gasps as his sister’s mouth moved up and down his length. His brother’s hands were everywhere, tracing the lines of his body, teasing his nipples, and he felt like he was on fire.

But then she stopped, pulling back and looking up at him with that same wicked smile. “Your turn,” she said, standing up and turning to face his brother.

He watched, his heart pounding in his chest, as she undid his brother’s pants, her hands sliding inside to grasp his hard length. His brother let out a low groan, his head falling back as she stroked him, her movements slow and deliberate.

“Do you like watching?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Do you like seeing your brother like this?”

He couldn’t answer. He was too caught up in the sight of her hand moving up and down his brother’s length, in the way his brother’s body trembled under her touch.

“Come here,” she said, her voice soft but commanding.

He hesitated for a moment, but then he was moving, his body obeying her before his mind could catch up. She reached out, taking his hand and pulling him closer, until he was standing right in front of her.

“You’re both so beautiful,” she murmured, her eyes flickering between them. “I want you both. Together.”

His brother’s hands were on him again, pulling him closer, and their bodies pressed together in a way that felt both familiar and forbidden. His sister’s hands were on them too, guiding them, and he could feel his brother’s hard length pressing against his own.

“You’re going to fuck me,” she said, her voice low and sultry. “Both of you. At the same time.”

His breath caught in his throat, and he could feel his brother’s hands tightening on his hips. His sister stepped back, her hands sliding down her body as she slowly undressed, and he couldn’t look away. She was breathtaking, her body a perfect blend of curves and softness, and he felt a surge of desire so strong it nearly knocked him off his feet.

She lay down, her legs spreading, and he could see the slickness between her thighs. His brother’s hands were on him again, guiding him towards their sister, and he followed, his body moving on autopilot.

“Take me,” she whispered, her eyes dark with desire. “Both of you.”

His brother’s hands were on his hips, positioning him, and he could feel his sister’s hands guiding him as he pressed against her entrance. He hesitated for a moment, but then he was pushing into her, her warmth enveloping him, and he let out a low groan.

His brother was behind him now, his hands on his hips, and he could feel the pressure as he pressed against his own entrance. He tensed for a moment, but then his brother was pushing in, and the sensation was overwhelming. He was filled, stretched, and he could feel every inch of his brother inside him.

His sister’s hands were on his hips, pulling him closer, and he could feel her body trembling beneath him. He started to move, slowly at first, unsure of himself, but then she was moaning, her body arching up to meet his. His brother’s movements matched his own, and he could feel the rhythm building between them.

The room was filled with their moans, the sound of skin against skin, and he felt like he was losing himself in the pleasure. His sister’s hands were everywhere, teasing, touching, and he could feel his body responding to her every move.

“Faster,” she gasped, her nails digging into his hips. “Please, faster.”

He obeyed, his body moving with a rhythm that felt almost primal. His brother’s hands were on his hips, guiding him, and he could feel the pressure building inside him. His sister’s body was trembling beneath him, her moans growing louder, and he knew she was close.

“Come for me,” she whispered, her voice thick with desire. “Please, come for me.”

He couldn’t hold back. The pressure inside him was too much, and he let out a low groan as he came, his body trembling with the force of it. His brother’s hands tightened on his hips, and he could feel him coming too, the sensation pushing him over the edge.

His sister’s body arched beneath him, her moans filling the room, and he could feel her coming too, her warmth tightening around him.

He was still trembling, his body spent, as they collapsed, their bodies tangled together. His sister’s hands were on him, tracing the lines of his body, and he could feel his brother’s breath on the back of his neck.

“That was amazing,” she whispered, her voice soft and sultry. “But we’re not done yet.”

He could feel his brother’s hands on him again, and he let out a low moan. Not done yet. The words sent a shiver down his spine, and he couldn’t wait to see what they had in store for him next.

“What do you want next?” his sister asked, her voice low and teasing. “Do you want more?” She bit her lower lip, her eyes flicking between them with a playful hunger. “Or do you want to watch us?”

He hesitated, his heart pounding. “I want… both.”

His sister grinned, her wicked smile returning as she leaned back against the pillows, her legs spreading again. “Then take me… again.”

His brother’s hands were already on him, guiding him, and he could feel the heat of their bodies pressing together. Not done yet. The thought sent another thrill through him as he moved closer, ready to give in to whatever they wanted.

[joocomics]

DOUBLE TAKE

part two | part three

pairing: rockstar!junhan x fem!reader x supermodel!jooyeon

genre: slice of life ( 18+ ) wc: 1.6k

summary: your friend’s rock band books the coffee shop you work at for a day to shoot their new music video. at first glance, everything is going well until the line between story and reality begins to blur

contains: brief mention of a hook up (under light alcohol influence), sprinkle of angst and suppressed feelings

a.note ! the amazing joohan collage at the top is made by @nomatterjoo big thank you to her for sharing it with me and making it in the first place - this idea wouldn’t have happened without it ♡

[ xdinary heroes masterlist | general masterlist ]

“Junhan, hey!” You pull the boy aside, quickly before they call him back to touch up his makeup or adjust the bangs of his bright red hair. “Who is that?”

Junhan follows your gaze.

The small coffee shop you’ve been working at for over six months has transformed into a chaotic set for an upcoming music video for Junhan’s band; there’s tons of camera equipment, high energy and overwhelmed people buzzing around. A vast contrast to what this space usually looks like.

“That’s Jooyeon,” he leans over the counter, “we grew up together.”

Your eyes shift back to him. To Jooyeon.

The director is gesturing him something as a beautiful girl wearing ripped fishnets is sitting silently on his lap. Jooyeon nods, memorising what the director is telling him to do; one of his hands is still resting on her waist.

You’re entranced.

His face is so attractive, in a way that almost demands attention. You can barely comprehend what any of these people here are doing because it’s impossible to look away from him.

“He’s a supermodel actually,” Junhan adds. “We used to hang out all the time, but now we’re both too busy. I’m constantly at the studio while he’s always travelling.”

You nod almost absentmindedly as your eyes are trapped upon the lingering image of Jooyeon’s hands roaming over the girl’s body.

Junhan and Jooyeon’s friendship isn’t the only friendship that has changed with time though. Yours has too - especially when you realised that it’s not a simple friendship anymore. When you realised you missed Junhan too much - more than you should.

You kept that information to yourself; you never acted on it - except for that one night. The one neither of you mention, the one that both of you rather pretend it never happened. The accident caused by few drinks.

It’s better this way - no explanations, no excuses nor confessions.

Junhan has never looked at you that way - he never will, and you can’t even be bothered by it. His life is exciting, full of surprises, movie-like experiences that allow him to meet new people every day…

So you buried the feelings; you allowed the distance to grow in the pace of his popularity, and your paths to drift apart, hoping that one day your feelings would fade too.

Now, for the first time in a while, you look at somebody else and feel that rush coming back.

Obviously, nothing is going to happen. Jooyeon is going to do his job and leave, continuing his glamorous lifestyle without even remembering your name. But it feels nice - finally feeling something about someone new.

“I’m actually surprised he agreed to do this.” Junhan speaks up again after taking a sip of water. “He’s got like… ten runway shows to fly to with Paris fashion week happening right now. I owe him.”

You watch how a small, polite smile tugs at Jooyeon’s lips as the girl leaves his lap. Then, how he makes his way towards you and Junhan with slow footsteps.

“By the way, I owe you too,” Junhan nudges you with his shoulder. His eyes glance at your familiar side profile, slowing the pace in search of anything that might have changed since you’ve last seen each other. “For making this happen here.”

“When have I ever said no to you?” Your lips curl into an easy smile as you turn to him.

You can’t ignore the brief clenching of your heart when you acknowledge how close you’ve been standing next to each other. You’re close enough to see his lips separate and catch their quiet murmur despite all the noise.

“Well…”

But he doesn’t get the chance to finish as Jooyeon stops in front of you.

You begin to wipe the counter, letting your gaze flicker from time to time.

“Man… shooting music videos is hard.”

He rests his forearms, sighing from exhaustion. His blonde wavy hair shines under the lights, earning him a hypnotic elegance, but his features are playful, letting you sense his quiet confidence.

“Harder than walking down a runway in front of thousands of people and trying not to trip?” Junhan grins, grabbing a water bottle from the back and tossing it to him.

It’s been many months since he was last here, but he still feels comfortable around the place.

“Yeah.” Jooyeon catches the bottle effortlessly, knitting brows. “At least on the runway I don’t have to shoot the same thing twenty times.”

Junhan shakes his head, scoffing.

Across from you, some of the camera crew are adjusting equipment for the next round of filming while the band members are slouched on the couch in the corner, almost settling into a lull.

Then, you hear Jooyeon speak up.

“Listen, I’m not an expert, but... I’m your friend.” His casual voice slightly drops deliberately.

You can’t help, but shoot Junhan a wary glance. He raises a brow at his friend, waiting for him to continue.

“Something’s off.”

“What do you mean?”

“The music video,” Jooyeon gestures vaguely towards the set, “it’s too predictable.”

Unknowingly, both you and Junhan, scan the place - all the props and scattered drinks, some sitting on tables, others shattered on the floor; the neon sign you personally bought because you thought it fits the gritty, underground atmosphere the band’s team created in here...

Junhan shrugs but you recognise his hesitation.

“I don’t think we can do anything about it.”

Jooyeon’s brows furrow for a quick second as he drums with fingers on the counter.

“The label wants something easy to market, anyways.” Junhan adds.

“But that’s your song,” Jooyeon mutters more quietly. “It should feel like you.”

Junhan exhales before moving a hand on the back of his neck. He believes his friend has a point - it’s written on his face.

A moment of silence passes when suddenly you and Jooyeon lock eyes.

Accidentally or not, you can’t tell. Until his lips curve into a knowing smile.

For a moment, it feels like he saw something in you; like he’s actually been aware of you this entire time, like he hasn’t forgotten your face and your name the moment Junhan introduced you to him.

“Instead of having the bad guy and the bad girl all over each other in the booth...” he says in a thoughtful tone as though he’s still forming his thought. “You could have the bad guy getting it on with the sweet waitress.”

He leans in, adding to the thick energy that starts forming between you.

“On top of the counter.” He adds, tapping on the surface.

“The sweet waitress?” Junhan turns to you.

You grip the dish towel in your hand tighter, trying to collect your thoughts before it gets awkward.

“Think about it,” Jooyeon speaks up before you get to say anything, simultaneously adjusting the gray blazer on his shoulders. “The bad dude getting caught up in something he’s not supposed to want. There’s contrast. Intrigue.”

A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he notices his friend humming.

“And honestly, I think your waitress over here would do a much better job than the actress you hired.”

Your face heats up as your eyes shift from one guy to the other. But then, Junhan holds onto your gaze, unreadable, yet hopeful at the same time.

“Would you be interested?” He asks.

“Oh, uhm...” Your fingers curl around the towel as you peek at Jooyeon’s smirk stretching. “Are you sure? I’m not... a professional actress.”

“Well, it’s just kissing.” Junhan says with a raised brow. “You’re not going to do anything else.”

There’s no pressure in his light voice, but you can feel yourself being more and more convinced the longer the idea hangs in the air.

Jooyeon, mirroring Junhan’s expression, but slightly more amused, repeats after him:

“Yeah, it’s just kissing.”

He draws out the verb lazily, like he’s savouring it; aware it’s going to grow some tension. The spark of mischief in his eyes glimmers as he lifts a hand.

“And then,” he stops his gaze upon Junhan. “You burst out of the bathroom.” His excited expression keeps shifting as he paints the scene. “And you’re fucking pissed! The person of your dreams, the one you’ve loved your whole damn life...” His eyes flicker towards you for a brief second, making you wonder if you imagined it. “She wants to screw another guy.”

You don’t know if it’s because your mind suddenly goes overheated, but somehow the coffee shop feels way quieter, way hotter; the music and the chatter are suddenly muted for your ears. The shiny intensity of Jooyeon’s gaze lingers on the skin of your face though he’s not looking at you anymore.

Junhan is processing everything silently; his lips are pressed into a thin line in comparison to yours that stay slightly parted - seconds away from speaking.

“I think his idea is good.” You turn to him as you’re still standing next to each other. Your voice is steadier than you expected. “It makes the story more interesting. It raises questions.”

Jooyeon leans back, pleased with the way he casually rewrote the entire music video just like that.

For the first time since you pulled Junhan behind the counter, he moves - not away from you, but aside so he can glance between you and Jooyeon. His features, accentuated by the smoky makeup, sharpen with intensity as he focuses; his gaze is locked, calculating. Like he’s watching a puzzle come together.

At once, he nods, interlocking his slim fingers together.

“I agree,” he simply says. Nothing more.

This is about to be the most eventful shift you’ve ever had.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

♡ taglist: @sweet-dreaming-girl @zelinkcrossing

[novaursa]

Hello ❤️ May I request an Otto Hightower x Tyrell reader fic, please?

When Otto is dismissed by Aegon in season 2, he travels to Highgarden before going to Oldtown. Lady Tyrell would be the widow of an old friend. Her and Otto would be familiar with each other, they exchanged letters frequently and/or she often came to court. He confides in her about being dismissed, his doubts about Aegon as king, etc. She is worried about her son going to battle. It would be lovely if they could share some intimacy, finding comfort in each other.

Thank you so much for your consideration. Much love ❤️

What Remains of Us

- Summary: Some things war takes, some it gives.

- Pairing: tyrell!reader/Otto Hightower

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

The banners of House Hightower flapped lazily in the spring wind, ivory and green against the emerald sprawl of Highgarden. The sun had dipped behind a veil of pale clouds, casting a diffused amber light over the Reach, where every hill bloomed with wildflowers and the air hung heavy with the scent of rose and honeysuckle. You stood beneath the carved archway of the eastern courtyard, where the ivy curled up the old stone like a lover’s grasp, your fingers clasped before you as your small retinue murmured polite courtesies and idle guesses among themselves. Your gown was a soft green silk, embroidered at the sleeves with golden blooms—modest but elegant, befitting a lady of your stature and one who had long ago learned the subtle art of courtly restraint. The letter he had sent ahead lay folded and unread in your chamber; you did not need it. You had read enough of Otto Hightower to know the measure of the man even before you saw the shape of him again.

He came through the outer gates at a slow canter, the dust of the road clinging to the hem of his cloak and the edges of his gloves, but otherwise, he bore himself with the same stiff dignity as ever. He rode like a man who had never forgotten who he was, even if the crown had tried to forget it for him. The lines at his mouth were deeper, his beard a touch more silver than when last you saw him at court, but his eyes—the keen, assessing ones that had always made you feel both admired and studied—had not dimmed. You stepped forward as his horse slowed, and he dismounted without waiting for help, the reins handed off to a servant before he turned to face you fully.

"My lady Tyrell," he greeted, bowing his head with a formality that made your chest ache for reasons you would not name. "You’ve not changed a whit."

You smiled gently, as you had so many times in the Red Keep’s gardens, over a shared cup of wine or the corner of some forgotten document. "And you’ve not grown any better at lying, my lord."

A flicker of amusement passed over his features. He did not laugh—not Otto Hightower, not here, not now—but the warmth in his eyes was real. "I had forgotten how sharp your tongue could be."

You stepped closer, and he did not flinch when you took his gloved hand in yours. "And I had not forgotten how heavy your words could weigh upon a heart. Come inside. You must be tired. The road from King’s Landing is long, especially with pride tucked beside you in the saddle."

His gaze held yours for a moment longer, and you saw it there—pride, yes, but also something frayed beneath it. You turned, guiding him into the shade of the trellised walkway, where wisteria curled above your heads and petals drifted like silk on the breeze. Your ladies-in-waiting lingered at a polite distance, and the guards posted at the gate looked on with the idle eyes of men not expecting trouble.

"It was not my choice to leave," Otto said once you were within the quiet of the inner garden, away from ears and judgment. His voice had the worn edge of iron struck too many times, and his hands folded behind his back like a man standing before a council that had already made up its mind. "The boy dismissed me. In front of the whole court. Not even his mother was consulted."

You stopped beside the stone basin where white lilies floated over clear water and turned to him. "You’ve written to me of your doubts before. About what kind of king Aegon might be."

He exhaled slowly. "I had hoped that, in time, he might grow into the weight of the crown. I thought… with Alicent beside him, and my counsel steadying his path..." He shook his head, and for a moment, you saw the weariness seep through the mask of the statesman. "But he is reckless. Cruel, even, though I daresay he has not the spine for true tyranny. He rules by whim and temper, and I fear what will become of the realm if he leads us into war."

You reached out and gently touched his sleeve, the worn velvet soft under your fingers. "You fear for the realm, but I fear for my son. Ser Lyonel rides for the Riverlands within the week. He’s but twenty, and I can see in his eyes that he’s eager to win glory he does not yet understand. If there is to be war, he will not be safe."

Otto’s expression softened. He covered your hand with his, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. "He is a fine young man. I met him once at court, do you remember? He asked me if dragons were truly as large as the stories claimed. You said he wouldn’t rest until he saw one with his own eyes."

"He still won’t," you murmured, the ghost of a smile passing over your lips. "But now he hopes to see one from a battlefield."

"I would not have had you worry like this," Otto said quietly, as if the words cost him something. "If I had held my place, perhaps I could have tempered Aegon’s more… dangerous impulses. But it was slipping from my hands even before the boy took the throne. And now I am an old man with enemies in every corner of court and a grandson who thinks power is his by birthright alone."

You looked up at him, this man who had always written to you not as a lord to a lady but as a confidant to another soul caught in the web of power and legacy. "You are not just an old man, Otto. You are a Hightower, the Hand who held the realm together for longer than most dared hope. And you are tired. Come. Rest, speak plainly, and let me bear some of the weight for a while."

He looked at you then, not as the Hand of the King or as a man measured by the legacy of his name—but as Otto. A man you had once exchanged poems with beneath the blossoming trees of King’s Landing, who had written of your late husband with such grace it brought tears to your eyes. A man you had never quite allowed yourself to miss until now.

"Only for a while," he said at last. "And only because it is you."

You smiled faintly. "It was always me."

The nights in Highgarden were warmer now, thick with the perfume of rose blossoms and rich dew clinging to every leaf. A hush had settled over the castle, the kind of silence that came not from sleep but from something deeper—from expectation, from unspoken thoughts swirling like mist along the River Mander. In the days since Otto’s arrival, you had spent every afternoon in quiet conversation or long walks beneath the green canopies, neither of you mentioning when he would leave for Oldtown, only ever speaking in the shape of the moment. You’d grown used to his presence again, the way his voice rumbled low when speaking thoughtfully, how his hands—so often still, deliberate—would sometimes twitch when he was lost in thought, or how his eyes softened each time they landed on you. You had known Otto Hightower for many years, but not like this—not like something close and tangible, like breath warming the hollow of your throat.

That night, the candles flickered low against the stone walls of your solar, and the fire burned gentle in the hearth. You had not summoned him, and yet he came—silent but purposeful, his hand resting against the edge of the door as though asking permission with nothing more than presence. You were seated by the fire, the laces of your gown undone at the throat, a shawl drawn loosely about your shoulders. When you met his eyes, there was no need for words. You stood slowly and crossed the room, each step deliberate, your bare feet whispering against the rug. He didn’t move until you reached him.

“Have you come to say goodbye?” you asked quietly, the words steadier than you felt.

His eyes searched your face for a long moment, as though committing it to memory. “Not yet.”

You nodded, heart fluttering beneath your ribs like a trapped bird. Then, carefully, you reached up and touched his cheek, letting your fingers trace the edge of his beard, the warm skin beneath. He exhaled shakily, almost imperceptibly, and leaned into your touch as if starved for it.

When he kissed you, it was not the kiss of a younger man, wild and eager. It was deliberate, full of unspoken things—regret, longing, years of restraint that no longer held. His lips were warm, dry at first, then softer as they parted yours, tasting of red wine and solitude. You clutched his shoulders and felt the tension in them, how tightly he held himself together. You knew then that no one had touched him like this in years—not truly. You led him slowly to your bed, your fingers unfastening the buttons of his doublet one by one, not out of haste, but reverence. Each layer peeled away until he stood before you in nothing but his skin and the truth of what remained between you.

He was not young. His body bore the marks of time—scars, silver hair, the subtle tremor in his hands—but none of it repelled you. If anything, it made him more real, more dear. When your gown slipped from your shoulders and pooled at your feet, he let his eyes take you in with a reverence that stole your breath. His fingers brushed along your waist, your spine, pausing at the curve of your hip as if memorizing every inch.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, as though it were a confession.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead to his. “And you are still a man worth loving.”

You lay with him as the fire crackled low, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the hush of his breath mingling with your own. He was slow, reverent, as if afraid to break the moment—each touch considered, each kiss lingering. He held you as he moved inside you, and you held him in return, neither of you rushing toward the end. There was no desperation in your union, only quiet understanding—a meeting of souls as much as flesh. His name slipped from your lips like a prayer, and he whispered yours back, low and raw in the dark.

Afterward, he did not retreat or rise as you feared he might. Instead, he gathered you into his arms and drew the coverlet over your bodies, his hand resting at the curve of your back, his mouth brushing your temple. You curled into him, your leg tangled with his, your heart beating in rhythm with his chest.

“I was afraid,” he said after a long stretch of silence.

You turned your face to him. “Of what?”

“That I would lose myself in this. In you.” He looked down at you then, his fingers brushing lightly along your arm. “But I’ve spent so long being the Hand, the father, the keeper of peace. I forgot what it was like to just be a man.”

You traced a line over his chest with your fingertip, watching his skin shiver beneath your touch. “Then let this be your remembering. Even if it’s only for a little while.”

He kissed your forehead, lingering there, his breath warm. “It won’t be just a little while. Not for me.”

You closed your eyes and let yourself believe that, if only for the night. You fell asleep wrapped in his warmth, lulled by the sound of the fire and the steady beat of his heart. But when the morning came, you knew he would rise before the sun, and ride eastward to the Hightower, to duty, to the shadow of war. And you would remain, a garden left behind—but one he would carry with him, always.