#Why did I spent so much time writing this?

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

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part three– summary | Over time and through challenges, you find a way to settle in Jackson with Joel.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, established relationship, takes place over a longer stretch of time (two years), graphic depictions of violence, angst, fluff, there's a lot of tender moments sprinkled throughout, reader's progression into her own self, mentions of sa and coercion, trauma, joel triggering some ptsd for reader, tender smut (slight somnophilia) mentions of reader's scars (though mostly vague), ending is foreshadowing (if you get it, you get it)

author's note | this was very cathartic to write, i've had this entire thing outlined for over a year and like 80% finished so a lot of time i've just spent editing and procrastinating over plot points. i originally intended for this to end very, VERY grim. but, the ending i went with is more fitting. also thank you to anyone who's taking the time to read this or has told me they relate to this story and have found comfort in it, i love you!

word count —10k

PART ONE — PART TWO — SERIES MASTERLIST

The entire situation made you uneasy.

“So, do you have a name?” Ellie asks curiously, shoveling a piece of food into her mouth, “I mean, Joel always calls you the kid or the girl—you know, he did that to me for a while, but I grew on him,”

She smiles around her food, her authenticity wholly her own. 

You knew Ellie through small moments, coming and going, not seeing her much around Joel’s house as she was obviously settled into her own and spent most of her time with Dina or Jesse.

“Ellie,” Joel admonishes, “stop yapping and eat,”

“You are no fun,” Ellie says pointedly at Joel, stabbing a fork into the pile of food on her plate. 

You sat beside Joel, your hands resting on your lap, eyes scanning the table. It felt strange to be here like this, in a place so domestic. Alive. Maria balances Benjamin on her hip in the kitchen as she and Tommy conversed quietly over the few sides still finishing up.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Tommy either—it was just the overwhelming weight of the unspoken, how his eyes couldn’t stop lingering on you and Joel. 

It was the way Joel always seemed to know where you were, what you needed, even before you did. It had always been like that, but tonight, it felt more pronounced than ever.

He’s moving for things before you even make a motion to ask, handing them to you without a word, a hand curling over your thigh in silence when Tommy drops a pot on the floor, startling you and baby Ben in Maria’s arms, knowing instantly how to calm you. You were like a unit, moving as one, and Tommy could clock it from a mile away.

Once everyone had finally settled at the table Tommy clanked his spoon against his bowl, his voice cutting through the quiet. “So, how’ve things been for everyone? Ain’t been much talk from Joel lately. Ellie? Everything good?”

Joel grunted in response, a low, almost reluctant sound as he forked a piece of meat. 

He didn’t meet Tommy’s eyes, but his posture was rigid, almost protective, as if keeping a silent barrier between you and the world around you.

It had been a full six months since you settled into Jackson, spring on the horizon, it would be a welcome reprieve to the bitter cold and piles of thick snow.

Ellie gives a short version, cliff notes, too busy eating to put any real effort into the conversation.

“I dunno why he’s askin’ to do dinner,” Joel had admitted earlier that day, “ain’t like him.”

Most of them saw each other daily, it seemed pointless.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, his hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully but nonchalant.

He noticed how Joel had placed his chair slightly closer to yours than usual, a casual closeness that seemed almost unnatural given Joel’s opposition to people and touch. You weren’t sure if Tommy had caught on, but his eyes lingered on the two of you for a moment longer than comfortable.

This wasn’t the pair he had dismissed the night you were found, something had changed.

The fire in the hearth cracked loudly, filling the room with a dull warmth that did little to ease the tension settling in your chest. The scent of stew hung in the air, thick and comforting, but your stomach churned at the thought of eating. You weren’t used to this—family dinners, warm lighting, the sound of silverware scraping against ceramic.

It was too normal. 

Too exposed.

Tommy hadn’t seen much of Joel these past months outside of patrol and meetings. Not since he’d asked him to keep an eye on you—to help you adjust, to give you someone steady to rely on. He hadn’t expected Joel to isolate with you completely. And now, sitting across from the two of you, something felt off.

Tommy cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Didn’t think I’d be seein’ you two at my table tonight, s’been a while.”

Joel barely looked up at Tommy, “Figured we should.”

Tommy let out a small chuckle, “What, outta obligation?”

Joel’s jaw twitched, “Somethin’ like that.”

Your eyes flicker between the two, quiet as you eat.

Tommy turned his attention to you, “How’s it been? You settlin’ in alright?”

You didn’t answer audibly, not that he expected you to.

“She’s fine,” Joel said, voice even as he answers for you.

Tommy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That right?”

Joel didn’t acknowledge the shift in Tommy’s tone.

Tommy leaned back, watching the way Joel subtly angled his body toward you—protective, like he was ready to shield you from something that wasn’t even there. Instinctual. 

“Joel says you’ve been doin’ well with patrol,” Tommy turns his attention toward you suddenly, ignoring Joel entirely, “you feelin’ comfortable with all of it?”

Surprisingly, you nod, though your eyes ultimately flicker toward Joel who’s staring down Tommy from across the table, quickly catching onto Tommy’s behavior.

Ellie suddenly stood, pushing her bowl away. “I’m gonna—yeah, I’m done eating,” She grabbed her plate and left the room without another word. Smart kid. She knew when to leave.

Maria leaves eventually too, tending to Benjamin as she ascends the stairs and leaves the three of you in a standoff. The rest of the dinner passed in heavy silence. You barely touched your food. Joel barely let his guard down. And Tommy barely took his eyes off the two of you.

It wasn’t until after the dishes were being cleared that Tommy saw his opening.

“Joel,” he said casually, “help me with somethin’ outside.”

Joel hesitated, glancing toward you. You gave him the smallest nod. He exhaled through his nose and followed Tommy out onto the porch without a word. The moment the door shut behind them, Tommy turned.

“What the hell is goin’ on?”

“Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on,” Joel stiffens, standing toe to toe with his brother who lowered his volume to a hushed tone. 

You focused on their voices, the house having fallen quiet.

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Joel,” Tommy retorts, “Is she…should we be worried about her?”

Oh, so he thinks you were taking advantage of Joel—either assumption couldn’t be further from the truth, but it does startle you, wondering how deceptive you looked to Tommy despite how welcoming he had been toward you in the beginning.

“She’s harmless,” Joel responds, “What—suddenly you’re worried about her? You stuck her with me, made her my responsibility, and now you’re worried? What? ‘Cause I’m doin’ what you asked?”

Tommy scoffed, rubbing his hands over his face tiredly, “She’s been here six months and she hasn’t branched out at all. Not once.”

Joel’s expression darkened. “She doesn't like people. I don’t blame her.”

“Or maybe she just doesn't have a choice,” Tommy tries it, bucking up to Joel and flipping the switch, throwing the harsh accusation at his brother.

It landed. A flicker of something passed over Joel’s face, but it was gone just as quick.

Tommy took a step forward, lowering his voice. “I put her with you to help her. To give her some stability until she could fair on her own. I didn’t put her with you to keep her locked away.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “She’s safe with me. And free to leave whenever, s’not my fault if she doesn’t want to—maybe you’ll think twice before takin’ people in because you got a good heart,” by his tone you can tell he’s trying to take a dig, “if you wanna blame anyone, blame yourself.”

Tommy shook his head. 

“That what you tell yourself?”

The blame wasn’t on anyone, really.

You weren’t sure what Tommy’s angle was or if he was just worried for Joel in a weird, roundabout way.

“I think whatever is goin’ on between you two ain’t healthy—to what extent I don’t even wanna fuckin’ know, there’s a point where we gotta hope she can manage on her own,”

Joel’s expression didn’t change. 

But, something in his posture did.

Tommy let out a tired sigh, defeated, “Just... think about what you’re doin’, Joel.”

When Joel finally came back in, his eyes found yours immediately. 

You searched his face, looking for something—anything—to tell you what he was thinking.

He didn’t say a word.

But when he reached for you, you reached for him. 

That’s what you always did.

And maybe that was the problem.

–

You’ve come to cherish the time you spend in Joel’s bed outside of sex.

After almost a year in Jackson, there are moments when things truly feel normal.

As expected, Joel does most of the talking. And to his effort, he tries to get you to speak up, but you often can’t find the courage outside of the intimate moments when he’s holding you close, mouth pressed against your skin as he buries himself inside of you.

“You really ain’t got a name?” Joel asks as he scrolls through a crossword, glasses perched on his nose in a way that felt scarily domestic, remembering Ellie’s earlier question. You scribble on the edge of the crossword, leaving a trace of yourself.

I don’t even know my parents.

You had no real identity, Joel has come to realize.

No sense of self or claim over your body and thoughts, years spent serving as nothing more than a device to be taken apart and used against your will, expected to obey.

Some of them did it purely out of fear and self-preservation, but for you, the opportunity to live a life outside of that place was more important and something you were willing to die trying for.

Still, old habits die hard.

You were trying to find the courage to speak to him in these quieter moments, making small noises when he would ask questions—a hum for yes, a soft and disgruntled noise for no.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable and stifling all at once. 

You felt his fingers trace slow, absentminded circles against your ankle, his touch light, cautious. He was always cautious with you in moments like this, when there was nothing to distract from the weight of things left unsaid.

“You ain’t gotta stay quiet with me,” Joel reminds you gently, your eyes connecting for a moment.

It was strange how a man so stoic could be so soft, even if it was only shown in brief flashes.

Every time you tried, the words twisted in your throat, trapped beneath years of silence. 

Being told your voice didn’t matter. That your body wasn’t yours. 

That your thoughts weren’t worth having.

Joel’s hand stilled. He must have felt the way your breathing hitched.

You’d spent so long being nothing. A thing to be used. A body with no name. No choices. No voice. Nothing at all.

But here—wrapped in Joel’s warmth, his scent, the safety of his presence—you felt like something. Or someone.

Eventually, your lips parted. You sucked in a slow, shaking breath.

Joel holds his breath, having tried this over so many nights.

He feels that his conversation with Tommy was partly responsible, forcing you into a space of discomfort, like you had to listen to him.

Then, in the smallest whisper—so quiet you weren’t sure you’d even said it—you forced out, “I don’t have a name.”

Joel went still.

Then, after a long moment, his voice came low and careful.

“What d’you mean?”

You shrug, crossing your legs on the soft duvet, “I,” your mouth feels dry, like you were having an out of body experience as you spoke, like this wasn’t even real, “—didn’t…need one. He never addressed me directly. None of them did.”

Joel notices the way your tongue lingers around he, a heavy memory, a man whose face is impossible to forget.

The silence grows as Joel seems to contemplate his words, seeing how your fingers inch closer, a quiet yearning that you’ve been learning to subdue—not every act of service needed to be thanked, Joel had made that clear.

You try to ignore how your heart hammers in your chest at his silent admiration of your voice, speaking to him despite your disdain and buried fear, unsure if you could commit to more.

“Look…” he starts, his hand falling to curve around the heel of your foot, pulling your leg straight until your foot presses into the headboard of his bed, his hand traveling to rest against your upper thigh, “I ain’t ever been good at talkin’ about this kinda thing. But I gotta say it, ‘cause if I don’t, I know I’ll regret it.”

He looks serious, lips pulled into a thin line, but not unkind.

“What we've been doin’—I know why you do it. I ain't stupid.” Joel begins, your eyes locked on the way his fingers drag gently against your skin, massaging the muscle, “For a while, I let it happen ‘cause… hell, I don’t even know why. I ain’t got a reason, which makes me a bad person, taking advantage of you like that, knowin’ you had gone through hell to get here,”

You chew nervously at your bottom lip, letting the words sink in and marinate, eyes flickering up to look at him briefly, nodding in quiet understanding.

"But I don’t want that from you. Not like that. I ain’t never wanted somethin’ from you that you didn’t choose to give,” Joel admits, uncomfortable with the vulnerability of the conversation but knowing you needed to hear it, “I got my ways about me, I’m an asshole. I know, but this—I ain’t never been in a situation like this,”

You’ve never heard him talk like this, almost as if he’s spilling everything dark and vulnerable about him, laying his heart and mind out on a silver platter for you to devour.

“Sex ain’t just about… sayin’ thank you,” Joel looks at you directly, waiting to catch your eyes, “it’s supposed to mean somethin’. Be somethin’ you do when you trust someone, when you—” he licks his lips, clearing his throat as the words escape,“—care about ‘em. You understand?"

You nod softly, eyes burning with the faint sting of tears.

“You’ve never owed me nothing, kiddo.”

Eventually, Joel grows tired and stuffs the book away on his nightstand, inviting you beside him under the cover in silence, already knowing you had been itching to snake your way in, seeking out his warmth as he leans back to turn off the lamp and is met with your lips when he turns back, feeling your lips tremble with a timidness he’s not familiar with.

Something about it was different, a long and gentle press of your lips as you sigh, breathing through your nose before you pull away, shuffling closer into his chest as his chin rests at the crown of your head, rubbing slow circles over your shoulder until your breathing evened out.

Joel isn’t even sure if he’s doing this right, but he’s not sure he can let you go now.

It would do more harm than good for both of you.

–

A few months later, on another night, you find yourself in silence.

Mind filtering through a million thoughts at once, Joel sleeping quietly beside you—or so you think. His arm is slung over you, breathing slow and steady. 

But you’re awake, staring up at the ceiling. 

Thoughts race.

Thoughts about him, about you—the unspoken bond. And then, in the stillness, you speak.

“Joel?” you say softly, the small but meaningful utterance of his name has him stirring within seconds, blinking through bleary eyes.

He hums in question.

“Love,” such a fickle word, something you’re not sure you’ve ever felt before, the feeling foreign, “have you felt it before?”

Joel’s eyes open wider, shifting beside you as he rises on one elbow, the hand of his opposite arm reaching for you, fingers brushing absentmindedly along your arm. 

It’s a loaded question—and at this hour? Joel can’t help but chuckle.

“Long time ago,” Joel responds vaguely and you’re waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t.

You’re lying on your back, eyes stuck on the ceiling as he stares at you now.

“What does it feel like?” you ask quietly.

Joel can’t help but cherish the moment, the raw emotion in your voice that he only heard on special occasions, not under the guise of pleasure—this was just you.

Joel tenses slightly, though—his mind shifts to Sarah briefly, his life before. It felt light years away, barely able to remember her face at times.

“Kinda…feels like it’ll break,” Joel says hesitantly, “it’s somethin’....real fragile—like when you hold something too tight and it cracks,” you nod slightly in understanding, “but it's also a feeling you’re too scared to let go of, does that make sense?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt that,” you admit, looking over at him briefly before averting your eyes.

“You’re young, kiddo,” he tells you, “give it some time.”

There’s a stretch of silence before you find the courage to ask, heart skipping unnaturally.

“Who was it?”

Joel figures you lucky that he’s less guarded like this, your warmth against his chest and your bottom lip trembling slightly—it always seemed to, a lingering fear that never left you.

“My daughter,” Joel explains simply, no sugarcoating or lies, “she died….long time ago,”

“Before?” 

Joel nods, a solemn expression flashing across his face before he sets it right.

You don't press him. 

But you wonder, deep down, if he’s afraid he might be feeling it again.

-

When you find your voice outside of Joel, it was in a moment of defense.

You’re not sure why—well, that isn’t entirely true.

You know why, but you can’t explain how the feeling overtook you like possession. 

Tommy had suggested you go on patrols with Jimmy, a younger man in his mid-twenties and closer to your age, a reliable man, as Tommy insisted. You’ve never even seen him, let alone was willing to speak with him or venture out beyond the walls.

It could be anyone else. Ellie, Dina—hell, even Tommy himself. You could fair there, but it seemed like Tommy was forcing you out of your comfort zone without any understanding of what that would mean to you.

“You’re smotherin’ her, Joel,” Tommy argues.

“She’s capable of makin’ her own choices,” Joel defends, turning to you, “I ain’t keepin’ you here, am I?”

You shake your head, arms crossed tight over your chest.

“She needs more than just you,” Tommy responds, “or me—or Ellie, I’ve got people askin’ about her, worried she might—”

“Might what?” Joel asks, warning Tommy to tread carefully,

“I’m just sayin’, people are weirded out by her behavior,” Again, talking as if you weren’t there, you find the anger in your chest beginning to swell, “She can try more—that’s all I’m askin’,”

“I don’t want more,” you spit out, both of the men freezing in place.

Joel turns so fast it’s like he doesn’t believe what he just heard. 

Tommy blinks, his mouth parting slightly in shock.

“I don’t want more,” your tone softens, looking down as you scuff your shoe against the wood of the porch, “I don’t need more.”

Joel’s face contorts in a way that makes Tommy frown with the realization, because whatever mess the two of you were tangled into wasn’t one-sided in the slightest and if Tommy was honest with himself, he knew Joel was in much deeper. 

-

The next time you speak, it was completely unprompted, feeling him thrash violently in bed beside you—he’s had his own nightmares before, usually consisting of him waking in a sweat or mumbling in his sleep, but this one was particularly alarming, like he was being attacked in his slumber as his arm swings up and knocks the lamp to the floor, ceramic shattering and still, he remained deep in the state of fight, and you were trying your hardest to shake him out of it, slapping his face gently as you held down his other arm.

“J—Joel,” you croak, voice thick with sleep and lack of use, always sounding like the words croaked from your mouth any time you spoke, “Joel—wake up!”

He flinches harshly but his eyes fly open, wild before they land on you and his blurry vision becomes clear, the sound of your voice grounding him into reality.

“It’s okay,” your voice shakes, watching as his throat bobbed with a harsh swallow.

He couldn’t explain how your voice had become such a comfort to him.

Like it was something he’s been missing.

-

And the first time he hears you laugh he swears he imagined it.

Ellie makes a terrible joke at his expense and the sound comes out too naturally, a triumphant grin crossing Ellie’s face as you both look at Joel who suddenly feels like he’s in a battle of two against one, hands held up in defeat.

“At least someone laughs at my jokes,” Ellie defends, watching as Joel rolls his eyes fondly.

“So, you’ll laugh when she makes a joke but not at mine?” Joel asks.

You shrug, “They’re good,” You chirp quietly.

Ellie throws her hands out in smug triumph.

“Stay bitter, old man.”

“Old man? I’ll tell Tommy to pair you up with Eugene,” Joel threatens.

Tough break, you think.

“Wha—no, what the fuck? That’s a total abuse of power,”

Joel shrugs as to mock you, catching your gaze briefly with a faint smile.

You’ve never felt more at ease in your life and that terrified you.

–

It happens over time, months, years.

The first year you spend in Jackson is hard—from the moment Ellie has found you on the outskirts of their walls, struggling to break old habits that had been instilled in you from birth, and finding comfort in society that only wanted to live, not take.

Jackson was a community, a family.

You still felt like a stranger, an obedient puppy at Joel’s side, shadowing him wherever he went. Patrols, always. The dining hall, occasionally. He never forces you to attend the fancier events held for the community with overwhelming sights of unfamiliar faces and too many voices. The music, the kids, drunkards getting loud around the tables they liked to play roulette at.

You liked silence and so did Joel. 

Besides, he’s much softer in these moments.

You’re helping him with dinner when you watch Ellie approach him, arms spread out as he pulls her in.

A hug full of feeling, watching his eyes drift close as his cheek presses into the crown of her head, a grin splitting on her face as he squeezes her too tight, playfully shoving him away.

You never asked personal questions, only thrived off the assumptions in your head, but Joel knows you. He can see the way your eyes beg a question but you’re too afraid to ask. 

“I’ll make a deal,” he begins, chopping into the vegetables as you peel potatoes with care, “use your voice and I’ll answer whatever questions is buggin’ you, fair?”

You nod, chewing at your bottom lip habitually before you find the courage to speak, “You…Ellie…” often your words felt disjointed, not that you didn’t understand, but you found yourself being concise, quick, using as little words as possible to get your point across and Joel notices too.

“She’s not mine, biologically,” Joel admits casually, “s’long story, but family ain’t always blood,”

You nod in understanding, the quiet growing again as you place the vegetable and utensil aside, “Her…family?”

“Don’t know much,” Joel shrugs, “kid was dealt a bad hand, but she’s special—a pain in the ass but, she’s good.”

–

Time progresses further, finding comfort through the seasons.

You’ve rotated through different jobs, none of them feeling right without Joel.

And it takes a while, but eventually something clicks.

As a step, you try your attempts at wall patrol—only when Joel wasn’t going out and he was busy planning the patrol schedule out over being gone for days at a time, too worried to leave you, but becoming slightly complacent and selfish in the time he spends inside the walls.

It works for a handful of months, minimal risk, always within shouting distance from Joel.

It was rare for stragglers to come wandering through the woods too, but as someone who had been on the other side, your empathy shines through in a moment of misjudgment one night.

Everyone is on break but you—Tommy and Joel were strict about at least one person always having eyes on the entrance and it wasn’t unsurprising that people jumped on the opportunity to leave you with the responsibility while they snuck away for a break.

You had just opened the gates for Ellie and Dina as they were coming back from the route, pushing the thick doors closed when you spot someone off in the distance, a man stumbling with great difficulty as he limps towards the gate. He’s clutching his side, doubling over in pain, and you feel the jolt of a distant memory pulling at you—a time when you were the one begging silently for help.

By the time you turn over your shoulder, Ellie and Dine are long gone.

Fuck.

“Please!” The shout is faint but enough to stir some instinct deep within you.

The others are too far and he’s approaching quickly, blood leaking from the side of his face as he slumps to his knees by your feet as he reaches you. You dig your heels into dirt and pull the gate open again, just enough for him to slip through with your aid, arm looping into his own.

He collapses onto the ground as soon as he makes it inside, pulling you down as you kneel beside him, “Th—thank you,” he gasps out. His face is flush, not indicative of someone who’s dealt with the elements very long, but he’s bleeding, clearly in pain.

You’re kneeling by his side when Joel’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and angry. 

“What the hell?!” He’s charging toward the gate with his revolver in hand, Tommy trailing behind him with wide eyes, flicking briefly between the two of you.

In any other situation, you wouldn’t have thought twice to leave the man behind, hellbent on survival at whatever cost. You knew better. Your instincts are sharp; they’ve kept you alive long enough, but your newfound heart wins over logical reasoning.

As the crowd of people grows, you find your throat swelling with anxiety.

Desperately, you try to convey your worry through looks.

“Y’all got jobs to do,” Joel snaps, “get back to your station,”

He dismissively moves your hand away as he hauls the man to his feet, the man groaning in deep pain as he shoves him toward Tommy, passing him off before his arm is circling around your bicep and tugging you away, struggling to keep up with his hurried steps until he can find a private spot, cornering you with a face you haven’t seen in almost two years.

“You got a death wish or something?” Joel growls, “Why’d you let him in?”

The intensity of his gaze pins you, and you swallow hard against the pressure building in your chest. Bottom lip trembling with fear, “I—I couldn’t leave him,” you stammer out weakly, emotions tying words into knots, it hurts to speak—to defend yourself.

You weren’t sure what you did was right, but it felt that way in the moment.

 “He was hurt.” Joel’s jaw clenches at your words, a muscle twitching near his temple, veins protruding. He shoves a hand through his greying hair and drops his voice low, not any less terrifying than when he had yelled at you a moment ago—it has been so long since you’ve seen this side of him, unrestrained rage.

“He could be fuckin’ bit,” Joel argues, “hell—maybe he’s fakin’, but you never—never make that decision on your own,” his hand is flying around in anger, pointing from you and to the gate, “you don’t know if he was staging an ambush or if he would’ve had a knife. You can’t be this fucking naive, I’m not gonna be around to save you all the time and—”

“Stop,” you plead, blinking away the tears that formed quickly, “please, stop—just—”

Joel pauses, a steely expression on his face.

“D-don’t be mad at me. I-I know I messed up.” You wipe at your cheeks, but the tears keep coming, and you can’t stop them, can’t stop yourself from shaking. The air between you feels thick and charged, like he had finally found the opportunity to rid himself of you.

Joel’s eyes soften for a fraction of a second before hardening again. He takes a deep breath, and you flinch as he reaches out, not sure if he’s going to hold you or hit you, familiarizing his emotion with violence after years of being on the receiving end of angry, vile men.

He does neither.

Instead, his hand falls to his side in defeat, “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Suddenly, you’ve never felt so small.

–

Joel doesn’t return home until late that night, heavy boot stomps carrying words he couldn’t find the energy to say, finding his bed earlier empty as he approaches his room.

There wasn’t a single trace of you, not here, or anywhere he would usually find you, his mind suddenly going into a panic as he searched frantically through the house—his bathroom, the kitchen, the backyard and into Ellie’s guest house, but nothing.

As he approaches the living room, he notices the lack of blankets and pillows before his head whips toward the basement, door closed and lights off, slowly, he approaches.

What he finds makes the pit in his stomach sink—you, curled up on the old, fragile frame of the bed that held a mattress stained and tattered, sleeping soundly but unknowing of how long.

His anger, his words, had driven you down here, away from the warmth of the house. 

You didn’t feel like you belonged there now.

He feels a pang of guilt. Basements were not meant for living; they were for storage and solitude and silence.

He’s reduced you to this; a thing to be stored away.

Joel approaches with a quieter step, kneeling down at your bedside.

“Hey.” His voice is soft, almost gentle. “Hey.”

You stir, blinking bleary eyes up at him. 

For a moment, confusion clouds your face before it shifts to apprehension, and Joel feels something twist in his chest. You jump back, scared. Eyes wide and fearful.

He fucking hated it.

“Hey,” he tries again, his hands hovering close, curling around the edge of the blanket like he wanted to swoop you into his arms, “You gotta come upstairs.”

You shake your head, pulling the thin blanket tighter around yourself, moving away from him.

“You can’t sleep down here,” he insists, firmer this time but without the sharpness to his tone like earlier, “C’mon, kiddo.”

You shake your head again, face softening as you frowned and pushed him away with a gentleness that tugs at Joel’s heart.

Joel sighs long, deep, hands spreading out over his knees before he admits defeat.

He retreats back upstairs with heavy steps, but this time they speak of regret rather than anger.

-

Out of precaution, they kept that man separated from the community, locked up in a spare cell.

It’s been a few days—but, the real problem comes as they strip him of his bloodied clothes to supply him with new ones, the bag of trashed clothes coming home with Joel later that week as he prepared to burn them out back—not before he pulls himself a small glass of bourbon, simmering in his own thoughts. 

Like a mouse, you sneak up on him. 

It was a strange flash of the past that tore Joel up inside, watching you pour yourself a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge before you eye the pile of clothes on the counter. It wasn’t the egregious amount of blood that shocked you, but the threading—gold flecks underneath dark patterns that had you inching forward carefully, reaching out with timid fingers to shift the fabric out of the way to reveal the gold symbol that instantly made your body seize up, the glass in your hand crashing to the floor and over your feet, ignorant to the shards of glass pricking your skin and the water soaking your shirt.

 “Shit,” Joel mutters in shock, shooting up to his feet and reaching for you before he stops himself. His hands hover like a curse again, unsure of what to do with them or you. 

He decides on a worn dish towel, thrusts it in your direction, “What’s wrong?” 

You’re stuck where you stand, no sense of time or movement. Eyes fixed wide on the clothes. 

“Hey,” his voice is soft, low, and tender, “you can talk to me, s’alright—”

You come back to life with a jolt at his touch, pulling away from him and dropping the towel onto the floor. “I need to get out,” you tell him cryptically, “I need to leave.”

It was the first time he had heard you speak in days and the words are heart wrenching. 

He follows your eye line and grabs at the material, crumpling it in his hand as he brings it toward you.

“This mean anything to you?”

You nod meekly, subtle. 

Your eyes are burning with tears that don’t quite fall, refusing to shed as you push his hand away and take a few steps back, feeling dizzy and intensely nauseous.

“Oh, wo-woah,” Joel follows you in a way that seems territorial, but is purely out of concern, quickly guiding you toward the sink as the bile in your stomach comes to the surface, gagging into the sink as Joel turns the faucet on, his warm hand at your back, “shit—baby, you’re alright,”

Your head snaps to the side, cautious to his words.

It slips out and even Joel can’t look at you for too long, cheeks heating in shame.

You search his face for cracks in his facade, wondering if this was a trick—that he wasn’t going to blow up at you like a flipped switch, all too accustomed to retaliatory behavior. 

“Bad men?” Joel asks after a while, coming to the conclusion based on your initial reaction and your tightened jaw as you stared at him.

You nod, stronger this time. 

“Did you know him?”

The truth? You had no clue who he was.

He was unfamiliar, but he belonged to them.

“No, but he’s with them.”

This changed things.

And he needed to talk with Tommy—soon.

—

Joel knows what he’s required to do, though that part of him had long since been dormant. Firing off a gun was much different than something like this, close and personal, the possibility of watching someone’s life fade under the force of your hands.

He expected you to stay behind given how shook up you were about the entire thing—to him, it still made no sense.

The man was hurt, a sizable gash to his leg and a superficial head wound. But, nothing life threatening; no gaping wounds, no bites. And he seemed uneasy, just another suspicion confirmed that what he had sensed the moment the man had passed beyond the gates wasn’t here seeking help.

He was sent for something.

Joel has an idea, but they would have to kill him first.

You stand quietly in the corner as Joel paces the room, knowing Tommy was stationed just outside the door.

Methods like this weren’t widely accepted in Jackson, people too sheltered to have experienced real threat or harm. But, you understand.

You’ve been on both sides—the helpless victim tied up and waiting for your imminent death, but in the same vein, you’ve watched a man lose his life under the pressure of your blade.

You still don’t recognize him, though that isn’t a surprise. Fresh recruits were filtering in every week, new unsuspecting faces ready to be trained into soldiers, killing machines. Men with an insatiable thirst for violence.

He seems to notice you, though.

Eyes wander, survey—the subservient position you took in the corner wasn’t on purpose, rather habit.

Joel didn’t want you to speak, didn’t want you to put yourself in a position to be attacked. He wanted the man to strike first and give Joel a reason to punish him.

Eventually, it happens.

“Damien’s got pictures of you, carries it everywhere,” the man says around Joel, his voice surprisingly calm, “they take one of each of the girls, but you…”

You flinch at the name. Joel notices.

Joel’s blade flicks open and the man chuckles, eyeing him with challenge.

“Go on, kill me,” he taunts, “I’m not telling you anything.”

Joel grunts and flares his nostrils before he approaches the man and grabs his hand, quickly slicing through the skin, muscle, and bone of one finger before reaching into the small fire pit placed at the center of the room, cauterizing the wound without missing a beat.

You don’t even react, watching Joel work like muscle memory—normally, you would feel fear. 

But, with Joel, it was a strange unrecognizable feeling. 

The young man curses out in pain, thrashing against his binds in the chair as Joel clasps his hand over his mouth, cloth acting as a barrier so he wouldn’t get bit.

“Are there more of you coming?” Joel asks in a calculated tone, “Did they send you here to survey?”

“They’re not after her,” the man chokes out with a sick grin, “but when they find her here, well…”

Joel wraps his fingers around short strands of hair and yanks the man’s head to the side, the point of his knife positioned at the man’s jugular.

“Oh—woahwoah, wait!”

It’s embarrassing how easy it is to make a weak man break.

“They’ve…been watching this place for a while,” he admits breathlessly, eyes glancing nervously at Joel’s knife, “I just did what I was told—they roughed,” a strangled swallow and a quick breath from the man, your arms tighten over your chest as you stare him down, “roughed me up and—and I was supposed to create an opening in a couple days, they—“

“How far are they?” Joel asks suddenly.

“I dunno man!” He shouts.

“Why?” You speak up without warning, both of the men’s attention drawing toward you, “Why now?”

He swallows, eyes flicking up toward Joel out of fear.

“We’re running low—on supplies, housing, everything. This place is the closest that looked—looked worth taking.”

“Where are they now?” You know he knows, pressing the matter. 

“I don’t fucking—“

You step forward quickly, ripping the knife out of Joel’s hand and positioning it at the center of the man’s chest, right above his heart.

“Okayokay—the lodge—the fucking lodge!” He sputters, “We’ve been watching your patrol schedules for months and they found a blind spot, they’re held up at the lodge. Please, I told you, just don’t fucking—“

The blood rises in his throat quickly, your face scrunching up in disdain as you press the blade through his skin until it reaches his heart and his body slumps, staring at Joel the entire time. 

For a moment, there’s bewilderment. 

The last time you and Joel stood around a dead body there had been nothing but raw desire and emotion, but now there was an understanding. Connection.

“That was stupid,” he remarks, with no real threat in his voice, “really fuckin’ stupid.”

“You would have ended up killing him too.”

You weren’t wrong and Joel knew it. 

—

It’s hastily planned, but done with an urgency that carries a heavy burden.

It was Tommy, Joel, and a handful of men, stirring around the gate at midnight when Joel catches you sneaking up on him, bag packed and ready to leave.

He’d left you there for reasons unknown—possibly out of guilt, or fear, but it didn’t matter because you were here and you were going, whether he liked the idea or not.

He doesn’t even combat it, really.

“You sure?” he asks with no malice or apprehensiveness.

Your nod is all he needs.

The world outside the walls is always nothing but silence—eerie and gaunt.

Each footfall of a hoof echoes with a dread that is almost tangible and the wind is loud, roaring in your eyes as it sings a mournful tune.

Joel’s eyes meet yours briefly and in them, an unspoken agreement. 

This was necessary, even if it is dangerous.

The hours that pass feel like years, the sun on the rise as you near the lodge.

It was quiet, too quiet—no movement, no sign of life.

Tommy was the first one to break off, telling Joel he was going to scope out the place on his own and you can see the way Joel’s jaw tenses at the idea, the muscle refusing to relax until his brother returns.

And when he does, there’s a slight breathlessness to his tone, “They’re sleepin’,” he tells Joel, “fuck waiting—we can get in there and deal with this before it turns into a blood bath,”

Joel’s already signaling the others, horses hitched to nearby trees and before you realize it, you’re moving again, faster now.

A plan is made with nothing more than hand signals. Half of you will circle around back, cover escape routes; the rest, straight through the front, guns drawn and ready. They wouldn’t have anywhere to go.

It’s as you approach, stuck to Joel’s side, that he can see the way your eyes dart around.

And then you spot him. 

You hadn’t mentioned him to Joel, the history or the trauma that came with—but it was their leader, an older man who towered like an ox, intimidating without even trying. 

There’s fear there, in your face, but it’s not the kind Joel expects and he knows you well enough to recognize it for what it is—you were starting to dissociate, his finger circling around your wrist to ground you as his hand tightened around the revolver in his grip. He almost says something, almost lets it slip, but there’s no time and it doesn’t matter now.

It’s not until you’re in the main room, a collection of cots and sleeping bodies in front of you, as they are able to subdue a few men with the end of their knives, that a floorboard betrays your presence. 

The creak is deafening and you feel Joel tense beside you, his finger poised on the trigger.

Then suddenly, it's chaos. 

You weren’t a fighter in this sense, so Joel’s main objective is to keep you close but away—it was a bloodbath in an instant, the flurry of grunts from men at the end of their life and Joel hastily shoves an attacker away before he shoots him point blank in the chest.

To your left, Tommy and another guy are pinning two men against the wall, barking orders to drop weapons and stand down and another man lunges toward you as Joel takes him down with a grim efficiency that speaks volumes of his past. 

He doesn’t miss a beat.

But, somewhere amongst the fight, your grip slips from Joel, the blade of your knife slicing through the neck of a stranger, a man, an attacker, as you scramble toward the corner of the room.

There’s only a few moments of calm as you catch your breath, before a gun is being pressed against your neck and your arms are twisted behind your back and tugged, pressing you close to the solid press of a body.

Joel’s eyes had left you for a second—a second.

“I’ll put a bullet through her pretty little head,” Damien, their esteemed leader, shouts behind you, gasping at the grip he has on your hands, twisting them awkwardly behind your back, “think you got your fuckin’ fill, killing my men—”

Joel cocks his gun without hesitation and in retaliation, the leader does the same.

You close your eyes, an unsettling calm washing over you.

“You either leave without her or you don’t leave this place alive.”

—

"She’s not yours to claim,” Joel responds,” she’s not anyone’s."

Damien sneers, a sick grin crossing his features, "You think giving her freedom is a favor? She doesn't know what to do with it. She never did. She’s always been mine."

It was your choice to be here—not Joel’s.

Yours and yours alone.

Despite his domineering position behind you, gun still tight against your throat—he sounded pathetic, not a single man to pedestal him up.

They all laid dead, strewn about the lodge and outside.

He didn’t stand a chance and yet—

“You don’t walk away from this. You don’t get to keep her."

He��s stalling—you can see it.

No one was coming, he had no tricks up his sleeve.

He’d relied on the element of surprise, hoping to blindside and ambush the town with ease.

“No one is going to keep me, not anymore,” you force through gritted teeth, “ and definitely not you.”

“You little bitch,” He snaps, slamming the but of the gun against your head as you fall to the floor, groaning in pain, “I’ll fucking gut y—”

Joel doesn’t let him finish.

The blood splatters against your face as you fall to your ass, a bullet ripping through his skull.

There is stillness then, almost immediate, a quiet that seeps through the lodge and pulses beneath your skin. A thunderous sort of silence. You feel it in the air, violent, rushing—yet nothing moves. 

Joel shoves his gun into his jeans and approaches you with a careful hand, leaning down and using the fabric of his flannel button down to wipe away the thick blood from your face, staring up at him silently in the process of his movement, malleable to his hands as cleans you up.

And just like that, you owe everything to him. Again.

But, you knew there was no need for thanks—it was implied in the stretch of his gaze and a gentle nod.

—

“He raised me,” you explain to Joel a few moments later, staring down at the lifeless body of the man who had held you captive for years, reduced to nothing, “like—a father? But, then he—”

You watch as a few of the men begin to wrap up the body and prepare to drag it out the backdoor of the lodge.

“You ain’t gotta get into it, sweetheart,” Joel comforts, standing near but not touching.

You kneel down and reach into his pocket, stiffness under the fabric that leads you to a stack of items. A small knife, a hastily drawn map, and a few polaroids—just as the younger man had said.

They're unflattering to look at, bringing back an intense wave of emotion as you stare at yourself in the photos, laid in a compromising position and bare of any clothes. Joel can see the tremble in your fingers, unsure, so he pulls the polaroid away and promptly rips it in half, then again, letting the pieces drift to the floor.

Like it never existed.

“He started touching me after the surgery,” you continued despite his words, “then it was hours—days, sometimes. I had to be there for him, whenever he wanted. It hurt. The sex. But, they’re nicer when you take care of them. If I resisted, he'd cut me, hit me, burn me.”

Joel finds himself speechless for the first time in his life.

“They should go for them,” you tell Joel decisively.

The girls—the others, the ones too fearful to make the choice you did.

 You knew they were still there.

“They deserve a chance, too—like the one you gave me. I can lead you there.”

Joel stares at you with a new look, face twitching with minimal emotion but his eyes spoke louder.

The difference between the girl he’d taken in so long ago and the one standing in front of him now was night and day.

-

After the men had decidedly made the move to raid the compound, there were about twenty girls—wounded, injured, but fortunately alive, that they were prepared to take in.

With that, Joel sees you come into your own.

A lot of your time for the next handful of months was spent caring for them, rehabilitating them, and being a source of hope and comfort in a time where they weren’t sure how to feel.

Joel’s astounded by the change.

And you’ve always known to admire—often for the sake of men’s pleasure and their own sick enjoyment. But, like this, sat in Joel's lap as he gave himself over, comfortable in the silence as his fingers slid up and down your thighs—this was for you.

His scars are plenty—scattered over his chest; some from knives from what you can tell, others from scrapes and gashes that didn’t heal well, a few lingering marks under his chin and one that rested unspoken against his temple.

Your thumb grazes over the raised skin and Joel is quick to guide your hand away, but gentle. 

Joel mirrors the sentiment, admiring every inch of your body with a silent look, eyes focused on the trail of his fingers, the way you shiver from his touch.

His curiosity is like his touch—persistent, soothing. It’s easy to let yourself melt into him, let the heat and intimacy roll over both of you. You can see the exhaustion on his face, too.

It was a long day for both of you, too much violence and strife for any one person.

You’ve never slept so soundly next to him, but his touch returns in the morning.

His hands trail over you with such careful urgency, a man intent on giving, taking only the contentment that washes across your face, watching you rouse from sleep.

You shift beside him, pressing closer to the growing need that stirs between you both. His hand is incredibly wonderous between your legs as he guides your knee up, spreading yourself open for him as you shift more to your stomach. Joel pulls you in and his mouth grazes over your shoulder, each kiss a promise of something deeper, something more. 

His breathing catches when you move against his fingers, an unexpected vulnerability in the way he traces circles on your bare back with his lips and tongue.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low and driving right through you like a knife. 

And he means it.

Heat pools inside you, spreading like a wildfire. Joel’s fingers dig into your hips as you push your shorts down, underwear pooling at your ankles before you kick them away and settle yourself against his cock as he hastily shoves them down, pulling a gasp from both of you. 

He groans softly and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You’re not eager, either—not as ravenous as usual. This was entirely for Joel and you were okay with that, in fact, you wanted it more than you cared to admit.

Joel presses his forehead into the crook of your neck, lips grazing your skin as he exhales,his fingers slide from your hips to cup your ass, pulling you further in. Your fingers twist into the sheets as you moan into your pillow, a weak sound that Joel wouldn’t have heard had he not been so close.

He’s warm and hard against you, letting yourself melt into it, into him. 

He moves slowly, each roll of his hips deliberate and electrifying. 

You moan again, unable to keep it in as he shifts his grip slightly to find the angle that makes you whimper and bite down into the sheets.

The sound of his breathing fills the air between you, ragged and raw.

The room is filled with the desperate sound of skin on skin and his soft noises.

“Fuck,” he whispers, more of a breath than anything

Your hand finds purchase in his hair behind you, clutching tightly as he thrusts deeper.

He’s pressed against every inch of your body, sinking into the sheets as his hand comes around your head, hovering over you lazily as he fucks you without urgency, hot skin against your own and you’ve never wanted something—someone, so bad.

The whole world narrows down to this—the two of you.

And you couldn’t be more satisfied.

-

Life had a sick way of give and take.

As you find your place, your comfort with Joel again, Ellie slips through his fingers.

The conversation about Ellie’s immunity was never something you were supposed to hear, but it came about during a hushed conversation late at night, sneaking out of Joel’s bed to the faint rumbling of voices.

“You don’t think it’s strange I’ve never met anyone else like me?” Ellie asked, coat and shoes on like she was prepared to leave—patrols never left this late.

There is nothing but silence on Joel’s end, glancing at her sideways from the kitchen table, his reading glasses perched on his nose and a book open in front of him, knowing Joel was riddled with an insomnia you’ve become familiar with.

“Ellie, enough,” you can hear the way his teeth grind, “we’re not talkin’ about this right now,”

You see his chin turn slightly behind him, sensing your presence. 

But, Ellie doesn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed.

“I can’t be turned,” she says suddenly, at you, “I’m immune.”

It was like a child rambling off her darkest secret, much to the dismay of Joel as his chair skirts back and he stands, a warning.

“She barely talks,” Ellie says offhandedly, and it stings, “who’s she gonna tell?”

There’s a brief flash of apology that shows on her face, but she focuses on Joel, simmering with a similar anger you’ve seen within him. It was damn near identical.

Later, after Ellie leaves for the night, you find yourself curled up against Joel, his fingers rubbing idly against your shoulder as he tries to sleep, but fails.

“What did you do?” you ask suddenly, turning your head up to look at him, his face emotionless.

“They wanted to test on her,” Joel tells you, like he’s reciting a script, “weren’t even sure it would work, it was just experimental. They wanted to dissect on her brain, all on a fuckin’ maybe—I saved her.”

“Is it what she wanted?” 

Joel pauses, eyes flicking down briefly and away from you, guilt washing over his features. 

“She deserves a life—that cure, it was a goddamn pipe dream, that’s it.”

You stay quiet, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you try to put yourself in his shoes, understanding the choices he made.

“I killed…” Joel starts hesitantly, not that his violent side was unfamiliar to you, “a lot of people, innocent ones to protect Ellie. 

“Does she know?” you ask curiously, not an ounce of judgement in your tone, something that Joel seems to notice, his shoulders relaxing.

He shakes his head in silence.

You nod with a somber understanding and curl into him, fingers tugging at the center of his shirt until he angles his body against your own. It takes time, but eventually sleep takes him, the warmth of you wrapped around him.

—

You had decidedly packed Joel’s bag for patrol a few weeks later, his first patrol without you by his side in almost two years, listening to the faint voice of Joel and Ellie on the front porch as you traverse the Miller home.

The tension between Ellie and Joel had risen to a point unfathomable—after she had discovered Joel’s wrongdoings, it had become a heavy point of contention.

And the party from a couple nights ago was the catalyst.

It was supposed to be a celebration for the town, nothing but joy to go around.

You’ve never seen Joel so helpless, attempting to defend Ellie in a moment of vulnerability, not realizing just how well Ellie has come to hold her own. She’d given Joel the full wrath of her resentment toward him and stormed off without a word, nothing but sadness on Joel’s face.

This conversation was a long time coming, months of build up and frustration culminating, hushed voices and broken whispers as Joel looked down somberly into his empty mug from the blinds you peeked through, hastily brushing away a tear.

He joins you in his room a while later, his belongings packed up in the chair at his desk, the lamp at his bedside table illuminating the room in a dull, orange glow.

“It was time to let go,” you assure him, knowing Joel had done everything he could to protect Ellie, “She’ll figure it out—and if she needs to, I’m sure she’ll come to you.”

Joel brings your knuckles to his lips, looking at you as he pressed a kiss to the skin before tugging you playfully forward, quickly swinging your leg over his thigh so you could straddle him properly.

“You’ll wake up tired in the morning,” you warn him, eager fingers digging into supple flesh, his thumb pushing the fabric of your shorts down, “Joel—seriously,”

“I’m dead serious,” he responds, using you as a distraction, eyes focused on the sliver of skin peeking from under your top, his thumb rubbing over the faded scar, your hand pressing to hold him there, “—sure you can handle a couple days without me?”

You nod assuredly, pressing a gentle and teasing kiss to his lips that he chases eagerly.

“You’re gonna make me wait, aren’t ya?” Joel asks, a slight chuckle in the back of his throat as you push him away playfully.

"Gotta make sure you come home to me," you tell him.

It was a big step, relinquishing the claim you and Joel had on one another, fearful that something horrible would happen if you two were to part—but you knew that Joel was careful, safe.

Even with hoard creeping closer and winter releasing it’s wrath this time of year, Joel had never been reckless. He was indestructible, really.

He’d survive—he’d come home to you.

Joel smiles lazily, breathing in your scent as he buries his face into your neck and rolls you into the bed, cuddling himself around your back.

It was a welcome change to not be treated so fragile, like you would break from a single touch—without Joel, you weren’t sure you would have ever reached this point.

To him, you were forever indebted.

Joel had fixed the things about you he’d never broken, rebuilt you piece by piece and reinforced the strength with his words, his actions—because without him, you weren’t sure you would have ever survived this long.

[heliosunny]

Would you mind writing anything with yan Sunday?If u don't mind ofc.Love ur work 🩷🩷

No Distance Left

Yandere!Sunday x Reader

The Quercus Society Library was like a second home to you, nestled on a quiet, tree-lined street where the Oak Family’s influence stretched farther than most could fathom.

You were a child, your visits frequent and filled with laughter, running between aisles with Sunday and Robin as your partners in crime.

One summer afternoon, you remember sitting cross-legged on the worn carpet of the library, flipping through a picture book as Sunday settled beside you. He had always been quiet, observant, but today, his silence was different.

“What’s wrong?”

Sunday hesitated, his gaze lingering on the pages you turned, before softly murmuring, “Do you think we’ll always be together?”

You looked up at him, your mind too young to understand the weight of his words. “Of course, we will! We’ll always come here. This is our place, right?”

“Yeah… our place.”

Robin, the more outspoken and bubbly younger sister, joined in, pulling you both from your thoughts. “I’m gonna be the best at hide-and-seek today! You’ll never find me, Y/N!”

The three of you spent the rest of that afternoon running through the library, hiding between bookshelves, and laughing so loud that even the oak bookshelves seemed to groan with your noise. You were all so young, unaware of the darker undercurrents swirling beneath the surface of your seemingly peaceful days.

Time passed, and soon you were no longer a child. The inevitable day came when you had to leave for high school, and your visits to the Quercus Society Library became less frequent.

The day before you left, Sunday stood by the windows, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the oak windowpane. Robin was tugging on your sleeve, trying to distract you with her usual antics, but you couldn’t ignore the look on Sunday’s face—almost as if he already knew you would be leaving for good.

“Promise me you’ll come back, okay?”

“Of course! I’ll always come back. You and Robin are family.”

Robin bounced over to you, pulling you into a hug with a grin. “You better! I’ll save you a special seat at the library for when you return!”

You promised to return. You swore you would. But once you were out of the city, your studies consumed you. You didn’t keep in touch with Sunday or Robin as much as you intended, and before long, their faces blurred into the past.

The first day of university was supposed to be a fresh start. New environment, new people, and the overwhelming relief of finally taking control of your own life. You had planned everything—your schedule, your part-time job, and how to balance tuition with supporting your family.

What you hadn’t planned for was him.

When Sunday walked into your classroom, it was as if the air itself changed. He didn’t acknowledge you at first. No greeting. He simply walked forward with the same composed grace as always, his presence both familiar and utterly foreign after all these years.

And then—he sat down.

Right beside you.

The entire day passed like that.

He didn’t ask why you never returned. He didn’t scold you, didn’t guilt-trip you. He simply existed next to you.

It wasn’t until the final lecture ended, when the last few students trickled out, that the moment finally came.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

You swallowed hard, gripping your bag’s strap. You owed him an answer.

“I’m sorry, Sunday. I wanted to. I really did.”

He didn’t respond, just stood there, waiting.

“I had to study and work at the same time. I couldn’t afford to go back home, not even once. There was just… no time.”

“So that’s how it is.”

He never pressed further, never questioned you again.

But somehow, he was always there. If you arrived early to class, he was already seated, flipping through his notes. If you stayed late in the library, you’d catch a glimpse of his familiar silhouette a few tables away. Sometimes, when you left your shift at work, you could’ve sworn you saw him across the street.

But he never approached.

That’s what made it so easy to ignore.

Until, one day, your manager pulled you aside after your shift, his expression unusually tense.

"Hey, listen… We’re letting you go."

"What?"

"Look, it’s nothing personal," he said, avoiding your gaze. "We just got complaints, and, well… the decision’s final."

Complaints? From who?

You wanted to ask, to demand answers, but there was no room for negotiation. You needed that job. Without it, how were you supposed to afford tuition?

Then, as if the universe itself had orchestrated it, you stumbled upon an opportunity almost immediately.

A friend mentioned a well-paying job—a company looking for reliable workers. The pay was more than enough to cover tuition and expenses.

And just like that, you unknowingly walked into Sunday’s carefully laid web.

Because this wasn’t just some random company.

----

The library—a place where you retreat to study in peace. You weren’t surprised to see him there. After all, he always liked books growing up.

“Sit.”

Whenever you hesitate on a problem, his voice cuts through your thoughts. “You’re overcomplicating it. Try looking at it from another angle.”

His advice is always correct.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice how brilliant he truly is.

Sunday rises to the top of the school rankings with ease, effortlessly surpassing the former representative. His intelligence, paired with his looks, quickly earns him admiration. People flock to him.

But no matter how many of them smile at him or how many students try to befriend him—he never once returns their warmth.

Except with you.

Students notice the way he talks to you, how he sits with you, how his normally distant demeanor softens in your presence. The whispers begin. How did you get so close to him?

You don’t have an answer.

-----

The barking was deafening, claws scraping against dirt as the dogs chased him down.

He was running, lungs burning, legs trembling—but they were faster. He was going to get caught.

Then, just before they could reach him, you stepped in.

"Run!" you shouted, pushing him out of the way.

You didn’t scream, but he saw it. The way the dogs latched onto your arm, the way blood stained your sleeve. That should have been him.

Tears blurred his vision as he crawled toward you, guilt crashing down like a wave.

“It was my fault,” he sobbed, “You got hurt because of me.”

But you only smiled, even as you winced.

“It’s okay.”

Sunday’s breath hitched as he jolted awake, the remnants of the dream still clinging to his mind. The barking had faded, but his chest was tight, fingers clenched.

"Sunday?" You were leaning slightly toward him, "Are you okay? You had a nightmare or something?"

For a moment, he just stared at you, mind caught between past and present. But then, reality settled in.

You were here. You were safe.

“…I’m okay.”

The bell rang, signaling the end of the morning classes. You stretched in your seat, exhaustion settling into your bones after hours of studying.

“Hey, let’s go get lunch!”

You looked up to see Lena grinning at you, her long, auburn hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Behind her stood Ethan, adjusting the strap of his bag, offering you a lopsided smile.

“You’ve been stuck in here all morning,” Ethan added. “Come on, take a break.”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at Sunday, who was still seated beside you.

"Sure" you finally said, brushing aside the odd tension.

Lena looped her arm around yours, practically dragging you out of the classroom. Ethan chuckled, falling into step beside you.

“I swear, if we left you alone, you’d forget to eat.” Lena teased, bumping her shoulder against yours.

"More like they’d just survive on coffee," Ethan mused. "Again."

You laughed. "Okay, okay, I get it. I’m coming, aren’t I?"

As the three of you walked out together, you could feel Sunday’s eyes on you.

-----

Sunday had always been patient. He had learned from an early age that patience often yielded the best results.

From across the room, his sharp gaze followed as you sat between Ethan and Lena, the three of you chatting. Your eyes crinkled slightly when Lena said something amusing, your shoulders relaxed in their presence.

It was nostalgic. The difference was, it wasn’t him sitting there with you.

He had waited years. Years. Through the quiet ache of your absence, through the countless unanswered moments where he had expected you to return but you never did.

Time had placed a wedge between you, and these two had occupied the space you had once left behind. They filled the void that should have belonged to him.

This won’t do. He needed a way to fix this.

Sunday wasn’t careless. Rushing into anything would be sloppy. No, he had to understand before he acted.

How much did they mean to you? How easily could their ties be severed?

Would you abandon them if they betrayed you? If they hurt you? Or were they so deeply rooted in your life that something more… permanent had to be considered?

He needed answers.

Sunday started with the easiest method.

A quiet, discreet proposal. A generous sum. Enough to make Ethan and Lena rethink their place in your life.

Would they accept it?

Lena, the spirited one—he doubted she would take the bait so easily. But Ethan? He was more practical. Money could be tempting.

All Sunday had to do was ensure the conditions were appealing. A lucrative opportunity, something that would require them to leave. A business proposition, an exclusive program, a scholarship overseas—he had plenty of ways to make it happen.

It wasn’t just about getting them away from you. It was about making them choose to leave on their own.

Sunday’s patience had limits.

If money wasn’t enough, he would take something from them instead.

Their reputation. Their safety. Their future.

He would ensure they had no choice but to leave.

A scandal? A carefully placed rumor? A fabricated incident that would make the university question their standing? Ethan had a stable, good image—how much would it take to stain that?

As for Lena…

Accidents happen all the time.

Once they were gone, he would make his move.

-----

Sunday wasn’t supposed to be here.

He had just finished a business meeting, his mind still occupied with the details. Everything was going as planned—Ethan and Lena wouldn’t last much longer. He was only supposed to head home and prepare for the next steps.

But then, he saw you in the middle of a small plaza, standing by a decorated booth, surrounded by children with bright, excited eyes.

You were giving away balloons.

It was such a simple thing. So ordinary. And yet, the way you smiled at each child, the way you crouched down to tie the strings securely to their little wrists, he felt something shift inside him.

His feet moved before he could think.

He stood at a distance, watching.

A child’s laughter rang out as a bright red balloon suddenly slipped from their hands, floating up and getting tangled in the branches of a tall tree.

The kid pouted, pointing at it.

You reassured them with a smile before stepping closer. Sunday immediately knew what you were planning.

You jumped. Your fingertips brushed against the string. The balloon wobbled. But then, your foot slipped against the bark, and your balance tipped.

He caught you before you could fall.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then you blinked up at him in surprise. "Sunday?"

"That was reckless."

"Thanks for catching me."

Then, as if the moment had never happened, you turned back, reaching for the balloon that had fallen to the ground.

"Here you go! Make sure to hold on tight this time, okay?"

The kid beamed and ran off.

The café was quiet. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries filled the air. Sunday stirred his drink lazily, his gaze never leaving you as you took a sip of yours.

“You do this often?”

“Giving out balloons?”

He nodded.

You hummed, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah. The money’s decent, but that’s not really why I do it.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “I just… like spending time with kids. They remind me of when things were simpler.”

You chuckled, eyes gleaming with nostalgia. "Remember Robin’s birthday when she turned six?"

Of course, he remembered.

Robin had insisted on a castle cake—one with towers and candy decorations. The bakery they ordered from, however, had delivered a sad-looking mess that barely resembled a castle at all.

She had been devastated.

But you? You saved the day.

"Come on, it’s not that bad!" You had said, despite the fact that one of the towers had already collapsed.

Robin had sniffled. “It looks like it melted.”

Sunday had been about to call their family’s staff to fix the issue, but you had beaten him to it—grabbing frosting, extra candy, and getting to work.

By the time you were done, the cake was still a disaster, but Robin had been giggling, gleefully sticking sprinkles onto it.

Sunday had just watched you back then, marveling at the way you always knew how to turn a bad situation around.

You laughed at the memory. "Robin was so happy, she didn’t even care that it looked worse than before."

Sunday’s lips curled into a smile. "You always knew how to handle her."

"She was a sweet kid." You leaned back in your chair, "I kinda miss her, honestly."

"She missed you too."

"I also remember when we got chased by those geese—"

It had been a peaceful day at the park. You, Sunday, and Robin had been sitting near the lake, feeding the ducks.

Until you had mistakenly fed the geese instead.

They had not been pleased.

The next thing you knew, a whole group of them had started charging at you.

Robin had screamed, clutching Sunday’s sleeve.

You had grabbed his hand and yelled, "Run!"

And run, you did. For your lives.

The geese had chased you halfway across the park before you managed to dive over a fence to safety.

Robin had collapsed in laughter. Sunday had given you a long, exasperated stare. And you, despite gasping for breath, had only grinned at him.

“Worth it.”

You snickered into your drink. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run that fast in your life."

"It was your fault to begin with."

"Still fun, though"

The conversation continued like that. And for a moment, Sunday wished time would stop. That this would last forever.

But reality was cruel.

You would go back to your friends. To your job. To your life that no longer included him the way it used to.

Unless, of course, he did something about it.

The next morning, your world came crashing down.

The moment you unlocked your phone, the message stared back at you like a cruel joke.

Ethan was gone in a car accident.

You barely remembered how you got to the hospital. By the time you arrived, his body was already covered, and his family stood there, pale and grief-stricken.

Your knees buckled.

A pair of arms caught you before you hit the ground.

Sunday held you close as sobs wracked through your body, his hands steady against your back while you gasped through the pain.

“I’m here,” he whispered, “I won’t leave.”

You didn’t care how you must have looked—broken, vulnerable, clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.

And for Sunday, it was perfect.

Because in that moment, you only had him.

When he returned home later that night, there was still confusion lingering in his mind.

He never laid a hand on Ethan.

This wasn’t his doing. He had been waiting, but not acting yet.

So how?

The answer came swiftly.

“Did you enjoy my work, young master?”

Sunday’s gaze flickered toward the butler standing before him.

“You.”

“I only did what needed to be done. He was in the way.”

“…I see.”

This man had just done him a favor.

One down. One to go.

----

Sunday knew.

Lena was different.

Unlike Ethan, she was perceptive, cautious—a problem.

She noticed things others didn’t.

So, he tried to negotiate first.

"You should leave them alone, Sunday."

"Leave them alone? I’m only looking out for them."

Lena scoffed. "Looking out for them? Or keeping them caged?"

Ah. So, she really had noticed.

Sunday kept his expression neutral, but he already knew what needed to be done. She wasn’t going to cooperate.

Then, he would simply take everything away from her.

It started with her family’s business.

One by one, their contracts were mysteriously revoked. Their deals collapsed. Investors pulled away as if tainted by an invisible hand.

In less than a month, they were drowning in debt.

And then, when Lena’s father came home one night, weary and defeated, there was a single offer waiting for him.

A lifeline.

Money. Enough to start fresh elsewhere.

All he had to do was take it and move his family away.

You found out the next morning.

"I have to leave."

"What?"

"My family… we’re moving. It's sudden, I know, but… we don’t have a choice."

You shook your head, grasping her hands. "No, there has to be another way—"

"There isn’t." Her grip tightened. "Just… promise me you’ll take care of yourself, okay?"

The goodbye was painful.

And when she finally walked away, you felt something inside you crumble.

Now, it was just you.

He noticed how you withdrew after that. It was expected, of course. But that didn’t mean Sunday would let it stay that way.

He knew exactly how to lift your spirits.

----

"Robin!" Your voice was full of warmth, arms wrapping around the girl who eagerly hugged you back.

She grinned up at you. "I missed you so much!"

Sunday stood beside you, watching with quiet satisfaction.

This was how it should be.

-----

Robin had boundless energy.

From the moment you arrived at the amusement park, she was dragging you from one ride to another, eyes sparkling with excitement. Sunday followed along, calm as always, though he never refused when Robin tugged on his sleeve to join in.

Your first ride was the Ferris wheel.

"We should start slow!" Robin chirped, already hopping into the cabin.

You took the seat across from her while Sunday sat beside you, his arms casually resting against the back of the seat. The ride slowly ascended, giving you a breathtaking view of the city as the sun cast golden hues over the horizon.

Robin pressed her hands against the glass. "It’s so pretty!"

You smiled. "It really is."

Sunday, however, was watching you.

You caught his gaze, and he only gave a small smile. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah. It’s been a while since I had this much fun."

Next, Robin pulled you both toward the rollercoaster.

"Come on, let’s go!"

You hesitated. "Robin, are you sure—?"

"Too late! No backing out now!"

And before you knew it, you were strapped in.

The rollercoaster shot forward at lightning speed. You could feel the wind rushing against your face, your stomach flipping as the ride twisted and turned at high speeds.

"AHHH!" You screamed, gripping the handles for dear life.

Robin was laughing hysterically. "FASTER! FASTER!"

Beside you, Sunday sat completely still.

You gaped at him. "HOW ARE YOU SO CALM?!"

He raised a brow. "Should I be screaming?"

"YES?!?"

Robin was cackling. "Brother, you’re no fun! At least pretend to be scared!"

He merely sighed. "This is hardly thrilling."

"Unbelievable." You shook your head, laughing breathlessly as the ride finally slowed. "Remind me never to sit next to you on a ride again."

Sunday’s lips curled slightly. "As you wish."

After more rides—including an overly competitive bumper car match and a water ride that left you drenched—you finally decided to take a break at a nearby café.

Robin slurped her milkshake. "That was the best! I can’t believe you screamed so much on the drop tower."

You groaned, slumping against the table. "I wasn’t ready for it to DROP THAT FAST."

Sunday took a sip of his coffee "You should’ve read the warning signs."

You glared at him. "I didn’t see any!"

Robin giggled. "That’s ‘cause you were busy trying to fix your hair after the last ride!"

You sighed dramatically. "Betrayed by my own reflection."

Sunday chuckled under his breath.

"I’d say it was worth it."

By the time evening rolled in, you were all starving.

You ended up at a cozy restaurant, settling into a booth near the window. The warm glow of the city lights outside made the moment feel peaceful, a perfect end to the day.

As you browsed the menu, Robin suddenly grinned.

"You know, Sunday’s a little tough to please." She poked your arm playfully. "You should keep an eye on him for me, okay?"

"Huh?"

"He rarely has friends, and he’s kinda odd. So make sure he doesn’t scare people away."

Sunday narrowed his eyes. "Since when?"

Robin smirked. "Since always."

You burst out laughing.

"You know what, I think Robin’s right." You gave Sunday a teasing glance. "You do have that 'mysterious loner' vibe."

Sunday exhaled slowly, setting his menu down. "I was just being myself."

Robin giggled. "Exactly."

You grinned. "Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on you, Sunday."

"I suppose I’ll allow it."

The three of you continued chatting over dinner, the atmosphere warm, the food delicious.

For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed.

Robin had barely left when you already missed her presence. You wished she could’ve stayed longer, but she had responsibilities to tend to back home.

"I’ll come visit again soon, okay?"

You smiled, nodding. "I'll hold you to that."

----

The next day at school, the usual morning bustle filled the campus. Students hurried to their lecture halls, chatting about assignments, exams, and weekend plans. You were just making your way across the courtyard when—

THUD!

A figure dropped from above.

Gasps and screams erupted around you. Before you could even turn to look, a warm hand covered your eyes.

"Don’t look" Sunday’s voice was steady. His grip was gentle yet unyielding, shielding you from the sight before you.

"Sunday...?"

You heard frantic murmurs around you. "Oh my god, did he really just—?"

"Who is that?"

"I heard it was some creep sneaking into campus!"

Security rushed to the scene, and soon, teachers arrived to manage the situation. The man—apparently a pervert who had been sneaking into the school—had jumped from the second floor when he was caught.

Sunday only moved his hand away when the situation was under control. His other hand rested lightly on your shoulder, as if to keep you steady.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah... I just—I didn’t see anything, but still..."

After that incident, the school wasted no time tightening security. Strict rules were enforced for checking students and outsiders coming in and out of campus.

But even with the extra precautions, you couldn’t shake off the unease.

That night, as you sat in your small apartment, you couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. The idea of being alone suddenly felt terrifying.

Then, as if sensing your thoughts, your phone buzzed.

Sunday: Are you alright?

You hesitated before typing back.

You: Yeah... Just a little shaken up, I guess.

A moment later, another message appeared.

Sunday: Come stay over at my place.

You: Huh?

Sunday: The house is big. There’s plenty of room. You don’t have to be alone.

Your fingers hovered over the screen. It was true—Sunday lived in a ridiculously large house. Staying there would be much safer than your small apartment.

Still, something about accepting his offer made you hesitate.

Before you could respond, another message arrived.

Sunday: I won’t force you. But I’d rather not leave you alone when you’re scared.

Maybe… just for a little while.

From that night onward, you and Sunday spent a lot more time together. Having him by your side was oddly reassuring. You didn’t realize just how much you had missed this feeling—the quiet comfort of his presence, the way he seemed to always know what you needed before you even said anything.

At school, he helped you with assignments, explaining complex topics. At home, he was always there to check in on you, making sure you ate properly, got enough rest, and didn’t push yourself too hard.

Even at work, he was helpful, dropping by occasionally to lend a hand or simply to keep you company.

But then, the news started broadcasting horrifying reports.

"Several incidents of theft and assault have been reported in the area. Authorities warn students to be cautious, as perpetrators have been targeting young individuals returning home late at night."

"Eyewitnesses claim the attackers have also been stealing clothing from laundromats and personal belongings from students’ dormitories."

Every night, the news became more alarming. You couldn’t ignore it anymore.

One night, after a particularly long shift, you checked your phone.

Sunday: You’re still at work?

You sighed, typing back.

You: Yeah, I’ll be heading back soon.

His reply came instantly.

Sunday: I’ll pick you up.

Before you could protest, he added—

Sunday: Stay inside and wait.

You didn’t argue. By now, you knew better than to refuse his help.

When he arrived, he didn't say anything at first. He just held the door open for you, waiting for you to get in.

Once you were in the car, he finally spoke. “You need to quit.”

You looked at him in surprise. “Sunday, I can’t just—”

“It’s not safe.”

Of course, you knew. But quitting meant losing income, and without income, you were in trouble.

Still, he was right.

It wasn’t safe anymore.

As if sensing your hesitation, Sunday spoke again, "You don’t have to worry. I have a job for you."

You turned to him. “A job?”

"You can do it from home," he explained, keeping his eyes on the road. "It pays well, and it’ll keep you away from danger."

"But... what kind of job?"

He glanced at you briefly before returning his focus to driving. "Some paperwork for my family’s business. Nothing too complicated."

A part of you felt guilty—accepting help from him when you had always wanted to be independent.

But another part of you knew you had no choice.

So, finally, you sighed. "Alright... I’ll do it."

Sunday’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly. If you had been looking closely, you might have seen the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

----

Sunday sat in his room, staring out the window.

Everything he had done—removing obstacles, orchestrating events, securing your safety—had led to this moment. You were here, under the same roof, relying on him once again.

It was almost laughable how fate worked. Or maybe, fate had nothing to do with it.

Ethan… gone. Lena… out of the picture. Your part-time job… eliminated.

Everything had fallen into place perfectly.

Now, there was no one left to take you away from him.

"Sunday, come down. I made dinner today."

You sat across from Sunday, setting down a warm bowl of soup in front of him.

“I hope it’s not too salty” you joked, taking your seat.

Sunday glanced at the meal before him. It was simple but comforting. Something you had made with your own hands.

“I’m sure it’s perfect.” He took a careful spoonful, humming in approval. “It’s good.”

You smiled, pleased with the response.

As you both ate, you suddenly remembered something.

“Oh, by the way… I saw a strange man earlier.”

Sunday paused, his spoon hovering over his bowl.

You continued, “He was hanging around near the house earlier. I thought it was weird, but maybe he was lost or something.”

He set his spoon down, reaching for his phone under the table. With a discreet movement, he typed a message.

[Check around the house. Find out who it was.]

Then, he looked up and smiled at you, "I’ll have someone look into it. Probably nothing to worry about."

The report came in faster than Sunday expected.

The strange man lurking around? It was him- The very same pervert from the news—the one who had been terrorizing students. The one responsible for the string of thefts, attacks, and robberies. And now, he had made the mistake of coming near you.

Sunday could have handed him to the police right away. That would have been the logical thing to do.

But where’s the fun in that?

Instead, he made a better decision.

Standing before the trembling man, Sunday offered him a deal.

"If you want to live, listen carefully."

Strange noises at night. A shadow passing by your window. The unsettling feeling of being watched.

You told Sunday about it every time.

And every time, he reassured you.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

But it got worse.

One evening, while you were walking home from campus, you felt a presence behind you.

At first, you ignored it. Maybe it was just another student. Maybe it was your imagination.

But then, a hand grabbed your wrist.

Panic shot through you as you struggled, a muffled scream escaping your lips. But before anything could happen—

A force yanked the man away from you.

You barely registered what happened next. All you saw was the flash of his cold eyes before he struck the man down with brutal efficiency.

You heard the pervert scream in pain before Sunday silenced him.

When it was over, Sunday turned to you, his hands slightly bloodied but his expression calm.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

Your legs almost gave out, but Sunday caught you effortlessly, pulling you into his chest.

You shivered, gripping onto him. “I… I was so scared.”

Sunday stroked your back. “It’s over. You’re safe now. I’m here.”

And then, only after he had thoroughly played the hero, did he finally turn the man over to the police.

Later that night, as you rested, Sunday stood in his room, watching the news.

“The suspect has been arrested thanks to an anonymous tip.”

Soon, you wouldn’t be able to imagine life without him. Soon, he would be the only person you needed.

----

The movie played softly in the background, but neither of you were really watching. The warmth of the room and the faint scent of hot milk filled the air.

You took a slow sip, letting the warmth seep into your tired bones.

“Life here is exhausting” you muttered absentmindedly, staring into your cup.

Sunday glanced at you, “Then come back with me.”

You exhaled a small chuckle, rubbing your forehead. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

You turned your head and found Sunday staring at you.

“You’re serious?”

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief. “I think I need a change.”

Sunday’s lips parted slightly as if he was about to say something, but instead, he pressed them together and turned his gaze toward the screen.

His heartbeat was too fast.

You didn’t realize what you had just given him. What you had just promised.

Finally, finally, you were coming back.

After all these years, after all the patience, the careful planning—you were walking right into his arms.

And this time, he wouldn’t let you slip away.

[chrisstvrns]

blurb of chris loving his girl so much, he would do anything for her forgiveness.

warnings: light angst, fluff in the end

word count: 876

chris knew he had fucked up.  

and not in the way where he could flash that lopsided grin, mumble out some half-assed "my bad," and wrap his arms around you until you begrudgingly accepted his apology. no, this was the kind of fuck-up that left his phone void of your name, your texts, your voice. it had been three days. three days of silence, three days of you ignoring his texts, leaving his calls to ring out, and worst of all, three days since you had stormed out of his house with fire in your eyes and venom in your words.  

matt and nick had given him shit for it. repeatedly. but chris didn’t care about their ribbing—he cared that he hadn't been able to fix it yet.  

so, in an act of desperation, he did something he never thought he'd do: he sat down with an actual pen and paper and wrote you a letter. no texting, no notes app draft, no voice memo where he rambled until he hoped he made sense. just ink and regret spilled onto three long pages.  

chris folded the letter, sealed it in an envelope, and, with a determined heart, drove over to your place. he carefully placed the letter into your mailbox, texted a simple “i left something for you,” and prayed you’d read it.  

you did.  

and not only did you read it, but you also grabbed a red pen and went absolutely feral on it.  

when chris found the same envelope in his mailbox the next morning, his heart leapt in hope—until he pulled out the letter and saw your handwriting scribbled all over it, ruthlessly correcting his grammar, circling misspelled words, and writing snarky little comments in the margins.  

“you don’t blame me? then why did you fight me on it?”  

“you should’ve listened to me? damn right. make this a thesis statement instead of burying the lead.”  

“good, this part actually sounds like you mean it. keep going.”  

and the kicker, written at the very bottom in bold, underlined letters:  

“if you can rewrite this and turn it in by tomorrow, i’ll unblock you.”  

chris stared at the letter, torn between laughing and groaning in frustration. only you would take his heartfelt apology and turn it into a goddamn english assignment.  

he grinned.  

challenge accepted.  

chris spent the rest of the day hunched over his desk, muttering to himself as he scribbled out a new draft. he had never put so much effort into writing anything in his life, not even the one essay he actually cared about in high school. he read and reread your comments, taking them seriously, and making sure that this time, every word counted.  

he started over twice. the first draft felt too stiff, too formal - like he was writing a resignation letter instead of an apology. the second had too much rambling, and you’d already told him not to bury the lead. so, for the third attempt, he took a deep breath and wrote like he was talking to you. like you were right in front of him, arms crossed, waiting for him to say something real.  

by the time he finished, his hand was cramping, his desk was covered in discarded drafts, and the clock read 2:14 am. but for the first time in three days, he felt like he had a shot at fixing things.  

chris sealed the new letter in an envelope, drove to your place, and left it in your mailbox, yet again. this time, he didn’t text you - just knocked once and walked away, leaving it in your hands.  

the next morning, his phone buzzed.  

a text from you.  

chris’s heart jumped as he unlocked his phone and read the text.  

“you passed. barely. but i’ll allow it.”  

before he could even think of a reply, another message popped up.  

“come over.”   

chris didn’t waste time. he was out the door in minutes, barely remembering to grab his keys. the drive to your place felt longer than ever, anticipation and nerves tangling in his chest.  

when you opened the door, he barely had a second to register the look on your face before you were pulling him inside, your arms crossing over your chest like you were still debating whether or not to be mad at him.  

“well?” you prompted.  

chris ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath. “i meant every word.”  

you eyed him for a moment before unfolding the letter and holding it up. “this was good,” you admitted, tapping the paper. “and better yet, you actually listened.”  

his lips twitched. “had to. i was being graded.”  

your glare was half-hearted at best. “i don’t think you understand how close you were to failing.”  

chris grinned. “guess that makes this an extra credit assignment,” he said, closing the space between you.  

you rolled your eyes, but when he hesitated, waiting for permission, your expression softened. finally, you sighed, tilting your head up just enough to meet him halfway.  

“i hate that you’re kinda good at this,” you muttered.  

chris smirked. “oh, i’m great at this.”  

and when his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in, you didn’t pull away.

────────────୨ৎ────────────

a/n: this was made based off of this post by @muwapsturniolo !! finally out of my writers slump (???) i kinda hate this sooo ?

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

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[softtdaisy]

hi queen!!!!!!!

for your 2k celebration, would you be able to write a spencer reid x fem! reader fic to ‘couldn’t make it any harder’ by sabrina carpenter plz? i’ve been so obsessed with that song and your writing :)

summary. sometimes love is not enough. and how ironic you have to pretend it is at your best friend's wedding

words count. 2 148

song. couldn't make it any harder by Sabrina Carpenter

a/n. writing two stories with the same song made me realize a. how much i love this song b. how much i love breaking my heart writing angst c. how i relate a little too much to this song ahah, anyway i hope you will love this one and thank you for your request and your nice words 🩷

PARTICIPATE IN MY 2K CELEBRATION

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist| request

“JJ, look at you!” 

If the whole atmosphere wasn’t enough, Penelope’s happiness was clearly contagious. 

None of you could stop looking at JJ in her wedding dress. There was something so special in seeing one of your colleagues, one of your friends—one of your sisters at this point—getting the happy ending she deserved.

“We said no tears before the wedding, ok?” Emily repeated, trying to hide her glossy eyes from you.

“I have tissues,” you said, whispering loud enough so it wasn’t a real secret. And Emily thanked you the same way, making everyone laugh.

This was a big day. A very important one for JJ, first and foremost, but for the whole team. Like a break from the reality of your lives.

None of them knew how much you needed this break more than anyone here. Well, almost anyone.

The perk of a wedding day was that everything seemed to go so fast you didn’t realize what you were doing most of the time. You ran everywhere before the ceremony, barely got the time to talk to most of your friends except for the girls—it was easy when you were all getting prepared in the same room.

And you appreciated that, putting your whole brain aside and just focusing on making sure everything was perfect for JJ and Will. They deserved it. It was the least you could do. Proving that love could be…beautiful.

You worked so hard on forgetting everything that wasn’t wedding-related that you almost forgot who you were walking down the aisle with.

Almost. 

Because even the biggest memory eraser couldn’t have made you forget about Spencer.

When you finally got there, right in time, he was already waiting for you. And your heart stopped for a second. Pretty, beautiful, gorgeous… No word could actually describe how amazing he looked. 

“Wow” was the only sound that left your mouth when you stopped next to him, so close that he didn’t have to move to grab your arm. “You look…wow,” you repeated with a subtle laugh.

Spencer blushed; of course he did. A whole year of dating, and he was still surprised that you found any beauty in him. But a part of him was glad that you pointed it out, this time. Because he spent the whole time getting ready, hoping you would love his look. That you would appreciate that he put his hair exactly the way you loved it—which wasn’t difficult since you seemed to love every haircut on him. Or that he chose the bow tie instead of a classic tie because of the “This one is made for you, baby,” you said one day.

He took the time to scan your whole look too and gave you a sweet smile when he said, “You’re wow too.” He added a soft kiss to your temple before walking down the aisle.

And you were so glad the music was loud enough you couldn’t hear your heart beat fast and hard in your chest. 

Penelope cried during the ceremony. Emily shed a tear or two, discreetly but not enough for you to miss it.

And so did you. Except Spencer was the one who noticed it. How ironic, since he was also the only one to know why this was making you cry.

“Guys!” JJ called, making you and the whole team turn around. The photographer was doing the typical bride and groom shooting. A moment of calm for all of you who finally got to chat and have a drink.

Or so you thought.

“I want to have a picture with you all,” she asked. And you knew to never disappoint a bride on her wedding day.

Group pictures, girls and then boys pictures… The photographer kept asking for new ones.

Until JJ asked for you and Spencer. “I would love to have one with you two,” she offered.

You looked at Spencer, who turned to you at the exact same time. And you were convinced you had the same expression, quite lost but also knowing you had no reason to say no. You acted in a similar way, waiting for the other and ready to defend its decision. You always had each other's backs. Most of your friends found it cute.

You did it too, for a long time.

“Sure,” you replied, taking Spencer’s hand in yours and walking next to the couple. You thought they would separate you, you with JJ on one side and Spencer with Will on the other. And the photographer did, for the first picture.

But then he offered to try with each couple on one side. And so you were next to Spencer again. 

It was crazy to think that for a moment you forgot how to act next to the man you loved. Spencer had to come to your rescue. He grabbed your hand again and gently rubbed his thumb on yours to calm you down. He still had this great power to make you feel at ease in every situation, even the worst one. 

“Think about Bob,” he whispered in your ear, and you turned around suddenly with big eyes and a laugh escaping your lips. Because, of course, out of all the things he could say, Spencer chose to talk about the goldfish you had for two weeks.

You saved it from a crime scene months ago, refusing to leave that poor Bob alone since his owner was…well, not here anymore. Spencer laughed at the way you treated it like a real baby, even putting one of your security cameras right on the bowl to watch him.

Meaning, you got to see on the camera the day the fish chose that the life with you wasn’t worth it anymore. Even if the poor fish’s death wasn’t funny, the way you treated it with Spencer became a running joke. 

One of the very few that survived through your relationship.

If the photographer got your laugh and the funny look you gave Spencer, as well as the lovely one he had on you, you hoped he missed the moment it struck you back. 

Knowing you didn't deserve any of this anymore. 

After the last flash, you excused yourself. You put your phone out of your purse and pretended to have a call. It wasn’t very smooth to lie in a place full of profilers, but you couldn’t find anything else to do.

When you gave Spencer another look, he didn’t seem surprised yet still disappointed to see you leave. Standing there, next to his friends. Not looking lost, just tired of this. And you hated that once again you put him in this situation.

And the whole day kept being a vicious circle. Of being happy for your friends and being reminded that you didn’t know the definition of happiness anymore. Of staying close to Spencer but remembering that you were responsible for the sadness in his eyes on such a beautiful day.

“You were right,” you heard Spencer say in a whisper. 

The night had fallen, and the party got calmer after a few hours. If the wedding wasn’t full of people, some left, and the few that stayed were the closest to a family. And there was something sweet in seeing everyone gather around the lovebirds of the day and dance with them.

And after a dance with Rossi that made you laugh and one with Penelope that held you so tight you considered marrying her, you of course had to share one with Spencer. It would have been suspicious for you to miss the opportunity to dance with your boyfriend.

Even if you were sure that at this point, most of the team could feel something was wrong.

You looked up at him, getting lost in his eyes that seemed to never have lost your sight. They say that eyes are the mirrors of one's soul. You almost forgot about how beautiful it was to admire the world through Spencer’s. 

You could see everything that was going through his mind: being here with everyone, the people he considered family. Celebrating the happiness of his best friend. Dancing with you. 

You were still the one to him. Just like he was to you.

Still.

“About what?” you asked him, moving your hand from his shoulder to the crook of his neck. You saw the little flinch in his movement when your fingers brushed his skin. But right when you were about to move your hand again, he slightly shook his head to ask you not to. 

He moved his face closer to yours, making sure nobody was listening. And you saw from the corners of your eyes that Derek was watching the two of you. So you smiled, slightly. 

“Not telling them we broke up.”

Could you even call it a cold shower when this was all you had in mind the whole day?

You and Spencer started dating a year ago. You knew that being coworkers and lovers could be an equation that led to a bad result. You were aware of that.

You both naively believed that being friends would help make things easier between the two of you. And it did, for most of your relationship.

Until one day you woke up with the same damn fear that had been hunting you in all your past relationships. This was getting too real, too much. 

Soon, Spencer’s touch on your body didn’t feel reassuring but like a threat. He was the most gentle man you’ve ever been with. Yet, his hands on your body suddenly felt too tight every single time, even when he was just caressing your skin. 

You started to push him away. And because he was Spencer, such a lovely person who always wanted to make things right, he refused to let you get rid of him so easily.

You knew you hurt him, once or twice, during arguments where you said things you didn’t mean. You apologized every time. And of course, of course, Spencer forgave you every single time. 

Until Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore.

You saw it in his eyes one night. Most of the time, after a case, you couldn’t push him away. You both needed to find comfort in each other’s arms, and the bad moments were far from your little bubble. 

You remembered how the whole evening went smoothly. You ordered food from your favorite place—the one you ate at for your first date. You watched some documentary while Spencer was reading a book, your head lying on his lap and one of his hands brushing your hair. Something that used to happen a lot during the first months of your relationship but that slowly stopped.

You made love that night. And you perfectly remember how Spencer took all his time to do everything he loved with you, everything he knew you loved to too. This was probably the most memorable and intimate moment you’ve ever shared.

But this was, for sure, the last one you had.

You woke up in the middle of the night, feeling trapped under his arm resting on your stomach. His breath felt like fire against your neck, and you felt the tears growing in your eyes. As much for the stress of feeling vulnerable as for knowing you couldn’t love Spencer properly.

So you left the bed in the middle of the night. And when you saw Spencer the next morning, you noticed the change in his look. He was tired of fighting against a storm that never seemed to calm down.

You reached this point of no return these past days. But with JJ’s wedding coming, you both agreed to keep your breakup private. 

So there you were, dancing like two lovers in between your closest friends, when you were actually just two broken people who couldn’t love each other right.

Slowly, you moved your hand up a little and put it on his cheek. “I’m sorry, Spence,” you whispered. 

You watched as he cuddled against your hand before kissing your palm. “Don’t be,” he replied. “It’s not your fault.” 

You didn’t realize a tear fell from your eyes until you tasted it on your lips.

You hated that you felt so hard to love; you couldn’t even keep your best friend in your life. 

Or maybe you did, somehow.

Because when he noticed the tear too, Spencer brought you closer. Soon, your face met his chest, and you let him cuddle you hard against him. You could feel his lips on your hair and his hand brushing your back nicely. Even when you broke his heart, he still found the energy to comfort you.

You knew you had some explanation to give later. But for now, you agreed to play pretend.

At least in this play, love made you happy. And this was more than what you can say about your real life. 

[lokisladdie1232]

“Are you Seige? The Librarian?” spoke a timid voice.

A boy with unruly dark hair and wide blue eyes gripped the tattered and yellowing pages of a book, his figure a blot against the pale and cloudless sky.

“First, answer me. Who are you?”

Upon closer inspection, the book the boy held had the title of Don Quixote. A rare book, but a classic of older days.

“My name is Zenith.”

Zenith. A powerful name, a name that holds magic. His parents have put a lot of responsibility on his shoulders with such a name. Success is something that every human strives for. They strive to reach their peak, their… Zenith. Perhaps this boy is important. He is carrying a book.

“Yes. I am Siege, the Librarian. Why have you come here, young Zenith?” I ask, eyeing the book.

I would like to place it in the Vault. The Vault was something started by my mentor in his youth. He saw the decline of reading, and collected as many books as possible. The Vault is a large, well protected, and meticulously constructed library, holding all the books that are left in the world. Every book has been carefully catalogued. Except for this one, apparently.

“… I found this book. We don’t read anymore… but… I would like to learn,” the boy whispered, as if ashamed of himself for seeking knowledge.

I take a careful look at the boy. He’s not much to look at. Again, unruly dark hair, blue eyes, some freckles. Zenith’s clothing is a tattered and torn mess. Like he hasn’t had a proper set of clothes in a long time. Sighing, I let the boy in.

“Come in, young Zenith.”

The boy steps inside. At first glance, the space is nothing more than a small house. But I know the secrets. I know every nook and cranny of this place like the back of my hand. In all my three hundred years of being the Librarian, I have never had someone seek knowledge. The desire to read faded before I was born, and now… there is one.

“How about I get you some fresh clothing, Zenith?” I say softly, setting a fresh cup of tea in his trembling hands.

Zenith nods, taking a tentative sip at the tea, before delving in despite the burning on his tongue from the temperature. I rummage through my things, it’s been a long time since I’ve been around a child. However, I manage to find a set of clothes that look like they’ll fit. After a few moments, Zenith is in the fresh clothes. He looks a lot better.

“Will you teach me?” he asks.

“Teach you to read? Why do you with to know?”

“Because I’ve heard that books hold so many stories. More than humans can hold in their heads. I want to read all the stories in the world.”

I actually give the boy a small smile, “An ambitious undertaking. Even I have not read all the stories in the world. I will teach you to read.”

And so, I did. Months spent teaching him the basics, such as letters, sounds, and so on. When he would leave sometimes, he would return with a curious friend. Eventually, I had a gaggle of young children… eager to learn. Zenith and his newfound friends picked up how to read, and then wanted to know how to write. A small piece of a generation craved the lost knowledge of a bygone era. They craved the pocket sized worlds that told of pirates, lectured about lost species, and spun magical tales about ancient civilizations. This is what my mentor told me would happen. Save knowledge, and it will become precious once again.

“And so they shall hear from the mouths of babes, a cry for freedom,” speaks Zenith… the first new Librarian in over three hundred years.

To think, a small boy with nothing became the first in the wave of a return to knowledge. I knew he was special.

A Zenith.

"I am the last librarian on Earth. The world has forgotten how to read, but I guard the knowledge of humanity in a hidden vault. Today, someone knocked on the door—and they brought a book."

[devotedfem]

You're an amazing writer. If you take requests I was wondering can you make a Taehyung x reader where they are dating and they go to jeju to have some alone time but jimin and jungkook decides to tag along and when jimin and jungkook are enjoying the pool taehyung takes that as an opportunity to get his alone time

Little trip go bad - K. TH x reader

Tags: non yandere (i never thought i'd write a non-yan fic lmao), smut, Tae is frustated, jealousy, he needs attention asap, he's so whipped and horny for y/n.

Permanent taglist | patreon.

You and Taehyung have been dating for over a month after he took the courage to ask you out. You two were friends since forever, so he didn’t want to ruin your friendship, but his desire and love for you was stronger than his fear, that’s why he took the risk, and he was so glad that you returned his feelings. He felt so lucky to have you in his life, he was so infatuated with you that his friends tell him that he’s just obsessed.

But it’s not obsession, it’s adoration, you are the girl of his dreams, how could he not be head over heels for you?

Your relationship was sweet, he treated you like a princess. But he couldn’t help his urge to touch your body, to have you under him crying his name with pleasure. He adores you, but he’s also a man, and he has needs, especially with a girlfriend as beautiful as you. Every time you touch him, he has to inhale deep to not lose control, to compose himself and not scare you away.

He needed you so fucking bad.

That’s why he planned a romantic trip to Jeju to have more time alone with you, to charm you so he can fuck you the way you deserve.

He jerks off every night just thinking about you, but he wants to treat you well and take things slowly because you’re worth it. He was a traditional man after all, but it was hard to resist your body.

You jumped with excitement when he told you to pack your things to travel, kissing him with so much love. He kissed you back immediately, devouring your mouth with yearning.

But everything went down the moment Jimin and fucking Jungkook came along, uninvited. You said that you didn’t mind their company at all as the sweet girl you are, but he did mind because he want time alone with you.

The boys looked at him with mirth, they did this on purpose to piss him off, just because Taehyung has been ignoring them too occupied with his girlfriend.

Taehyung was grumpy and angry the first day of the trip, rolling his eyes every time the boys steal your attention away from him. Jealousy burned his very core when you didn’t have your pretty smile and eyes focused only on him. It wasn’t fair, he paid a really big amount of money to spend time alone with his girl.

Taehyung rent a house for three days, and the boys were enjoying themselves around the house giving you two zero privacy, driving Taehyung mad. He was about to murder them. He swears to God that cockblocking him like this should be reason enough to beat their ass up. He couldn’t even fuck you at night because you spent so much time playing PlayStation with them until dawn.

It wasn’t fair.

But then, as if God took pity on him, the morons leaved you two alone to go swimming in the pool, too busy with themselves to pay attention to you.

Taehyung stood behind you in the kitchen, leaving wet kisses on your neck and pinning your hips against the counter. You giggle telling him to stop, but he didn’t, pressing his bulge against your butt.

You were taken aback by how hard he was, gripping your body with burning desire. He sighed into your ear at the sensation of his groin pushing into your bottom, tightening his grip on your hips.

“I need you so fucking bad,” he whispered hotly against your ear, inhaling sharp when you arched your back.

You grabbed his hand, taking him towards your room.

He didn’t waste time, undressing you with desperation on his lidded eyes. He wanted to see you naked so bad it physically hurts him.

You giggle a little at his rushed and desperate movements, it wasn’t like someone would steal you away. But Taehyung didn’t think the same.

He took your sundress off, taking his time to admire your body, undoing slowly your bra without looking away from you, pulling your panties off right after.

“You’re beautiful,” he said breathless, with his dark eyes roaming your body with hunger, looking like a starve man that has finally found something to devour.

You felt shy under his intense and piercing gaze, trying to hide under the sheets. But he didn’t let you, pulling them away and leaving you bared one more time.

“Don’t you ever hide from me again,” he said between teeth, clenching his jaw and looking at you with a scowl. You nodded softly, not wanting to upset him.

He got himself naked quickly, as if he couldn’t resist one more second from fucking you against the mattress.

He kneeled between your legs, opening them widely and making you blush with embarrassment. Your heart pounded at his heavy gaze roaming your breasts and then your exposed folds. He took another peek at your breasts with hunger flashing his eyes, leaning down to play with your nipples, making you moan near his ear, that made him curse under his breath and get back on his knees.

He dragged you closer by lifting your hips up to align you with his erect cock.

“I love you,” he said flicking his dark gaze to your face before shoving his cock inside of you, making you moan his name loudly.

He didn’t waste time to prep you, ramming into you with force and splitting you open. You let out cries of pain and pleasure, and those sounds only railed him up instead of making him slow down. But you weren’t complaining, the pain felt as sweet as the pleasure.

His hands had a bruising grip on your hips, bouncing your body on his cock with raw need.

The vein of his neck popped out and his jaw clenched, the sight of his pretty face getting sweaty turned you on more. He looked so hot like that.

Your walls clenched around him, making him groan and ram into you with more force. You two were closer to your peak, that’s why Taehyung rolled his hips more frantic against you.

His tight grip on your hips turned a little bit unbearable. His face scrunch up in pleasure and his eyes closed before coming inside of you, filling you up to the brim. You came at the same time as him, whimpering and arching your back at the strong orgasm. And then you felt his lips leaving feather kisses on your skin.

Jimin and Jungkook didn’t see your faces until the very next day.

Taglist:

@demonshauntingthedoves @pynkgothicka @deluluisdasolulu @uniquecutie-puffs @Marrylouise @livingformintyoongi @captainhoook @asillysimp @devilzliaison @zephyrdawn @kvstjwonnie @yoongilovescats @bammbi-jeon127 @jerdafuck

[golddustwomanwins]

Say Yes to Heaven

Innocent Art Donaldson x Experienced Reader

18+

This turned out so much different from what I imagined and it might have more parts since I'm incapable of writing short stuff. Need to warm up Art a bit. Really unsure if I like this or not.

Art was a good kid. He prided himself in his faith and his ability to stay away from temptation. He was focused in his classes, dutily writing every single word down the professor uttered. While he did have a social life (Patrick) he rarely went out, rather staying in his dorm and finishing his essays early.

He caught your attention in one of your shared classes. He sat in the front row, only his golden locks in view. His eyes were trained on the board, nothing could deter his attention from the lesson. A golden crucifix dangled at his neck, the only thing out of the ordinary about him. The light of the lamps caught a reflection in it and for a moment it looked like it was on fire. When you asked your friend if she knew him, Tashi laughed.

“That’s Art Donaldson. He’s not your type, sweetie.”

You turn surprised to her. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s a faithful boy. Doesn’t look at any girl longer than would be polite. Real uptight.”

You looked back at him. How his long fingers gripped the pen tightly, veins running through his hands. As if feeling your gaze he turned slightly, wide eyes meeting yours.

His cheeks flushed furiously crimson as he caught you staring. You only smiled, wiggling your fingers at him in a wave and he quickly turned his head again.

Tashi laughed. “You’re diabolical.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you mocked her and you both broke out into quiet giggles.

*

This wasn’t Art’s usual scene. He spent his Friday nights in his dorm, reworking his essays and rereading his notes from his lectures. But ever since he saw you looking at him in class he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He knew who you were, of course he did. Everyone knew you.

One of the most gorgeous girls on campus. Despite your popular party girl persona, you still had good grades. He saw you mostly with Tashi, arm in arm walking around campus. Once he started to notice you, you seemed to be everywhere.

Writing his essay, sitting on campus ground, you and Tashi walked by. A way too short skirt swished around your tan legs, the gentle breeze lifting the fabric once again and he flushed when he saw the edge of your panties.

He looked away immediately, cheeks flushed but he couldn’t help his eyes from jumping back to you. A pit of disappointment opened in his chest when he saw that your skirt was back down.

And he surely wasn’t the only guy noticing you. Half a dozen eyes were trained on you every time you walked by or sit in class. He overheard some of them talking about you, saying vile things that made him sick. And some things that made him listen in secretly. He didn’t know if the things people said were true. That you’d liked your fair share of men, a man eater some would say.

Forbidden thoughts consumed his mind day and night. He was laying in bed late at night wondering what you were doing at the moment. Dressed in a silk slip dress hands traveling beneath the skirt and into your panties.

Art groaned at the imagery, cock growing hard. He refrained from touching himself, groaning and moaning as if he was in pain. He’d have to change his boxers every time, too much precome oozing out of his tip and making a mess out of it.

It happened over and over. He’d see you in a short dress bending over, at table talking to Tashi and he was immediately hard. He cried himself to sleep every night trying to refrain himself from easing his anguish. This was his punishment for his lewd thoughts. It was good that he was in pain, he didn’t deserve anything else.

One night he couldn’t stop himself. He would never touch himself. Instead he started rutting into his mattress, groaning your name until he came in his boxers, cum soaking the fabric. He cried again at the sticky feeling, doubling his prayers that night.

Now he was standing here. The music was buzzing around him uncomfortably, people pushing their sweaty bodies together, grinding their hips in desperation. It smelled like cheep beer and perfume and Art wanted nothing more than to go back to his dorm and bury himself under his comforter.

But there it was, his sole reason to stay. You were across the room, pupils blown wide from the liquor swishing in your cup. Pink glitter littered your eyelids sparkling like the gloss swiped along your plump lips. You had one of your short dresses on again and he swallowed hardly at your cleavage almost spilling over.

Art was standing in a corner awkwardly, hoping no one would notice him or try to talk to him. A few girls sent him flirty looks but he either ignored or didn’t notice it.

Art’s eyes were stuck on your form, talking to a frat boy, his hand on your waist, leaning down to talk in your ear.

You nodded your head enthusiastically at whatever the guy was saying but your eyes were wandering around the room. It struck him in his chest when your eyes found his across the room.

To his horror he felt himself flush again and his eyes widened when you parted with the guy and started approaching him.

“Hey, Art.”

You knew his name. How did you know his name? Art melted slightly as you smiled up at him, your cheeks flushed and lips glossy. There was a foreign sparkle in your eyes, your pupils dilated and gaze not entirely trained on him. It kept flitting up and down as if you weren't able to focus properly.

And he still hadn't said anything.

The smile on your lips tilted slightly the longer he didn't say anything. Finally, he managed to get something out. "H-hi." What a way to go Donaldson.

Despite his complete inability to talk, the smile fixed back on your lips. One hand of yours found his bicep and you suddenly leaned up to talk in his ear. A soft cloud of perfume hit his senses and he stiffened in his jeans as his eyes focused on your carefully manicured nails on his skin.

"I was just heading out for a smoke. Do you want to join?" You turned your head to look at him, face far too close.

No. That was what he should have said. Decline politely but surely. In no way would it be a good idea to be alone with you in such proximity.

"Y-yeah, sure."

You beamed at him, lighting up your whole face and he couldn't regret agreeing to join you in that moment. Your fingers found his wrist and you dragged him after you. People parted for you naturally, some of them throwing surprised looks at you both. What did you have in common with prissy Art Donaldson? Nothing.

Art flushed at the attention but kept going his fingers reaching for yours. You turned and shot him a sweet smile as you entertained your hands.

Once you stepped outside the music grew quieter, only the dull thrum of the bass shaking the ground beneath your feet. The cold night air hit Art's flushed face and for a moment it was easier to form a coherent thought.

He watched you step out of your high heels, kicking them to the side before pulling him down to sit on the patio. You buried your naked feet in the soft grass, due drops trailing along the green blades.

He almost sighed when you pulled your hand from his, putting the cigarette between your lips. Your lips gloss stained the brown part as you cupped your hands to light it up. For a moment the flame flickered along your face, opening a pit in Art's stomach. He should leave. He will leave. Just a moment longer. Just for one cigarette.

"I didn't think you a party goer," you spoke up after inhaling slowly. You pulled your knees up to put your cheek on them, watching him closely.

He smiled embarrassed, only one side of his lips tugging up. Your eyes caught on the half smile. "This is my first." You grinned. "Your first party, huh?" Taking another drag you kept watching him, making Art squirm in his seat. You were different from what he imagined. Much more softer. Gentler. Still, there was something inquisitive in your eyes that made the alarm bells ring in his mind. Danger, danger, danger.

"What changed your mind, to try it out?" you asked, smoke passing along your lips. You noticed him glancing down once and again, small dimples forming in your soft cheeks.

Art glanced down at his fingers, pulling at a thread of his shirt. He had pulled out his best shirt, ironed it and tried in on in front of a mirror before deeming it perfect for the night. Unknowing of how must guys came in lazy attire, t-shirts and old henleys.

"I don't know," he whispered. He looked up surprised when you laughed.

"Don't lie."

The flush on his cheeks travelled down his neck when you caught him in a lie. Your eyes snagged on the necklace dangling from his neck. You reached out, nails scraping along his skin as you took the pendant in your hands. Art shivered and watched you inspect his necklace.

"It's pretty," you said, smiling softly up at him. Art inhaled shakily as you watched him through your impossibly long lashes.

"My nan gave it to me," he mumbled.

"She did? So it's true, you're a faithful boy." You put the cigarette back between your lips. Art's eyes dipped again. "Yeah."

"What a shame," you mumbled. Suddenly, you got up, letting the half smoked cigarette fall to the floor.

"What--" Art shot up to his feet surprised that you were leaving. He watched you bend over to retrieve your shoes, quickly looking away as a flash of pink greeted him.

"Where are you going?" Art asked desperately and you smiled up at him, shoes still dangling from your hands. "Back inside."

"I-it's nice out, isn't it? We can stay a bit. I don't mind," he rushed through the words. He said he'd stay with you for one cigarette but you hadn't finished it. It was half done, lying on the ground, sad smoke still billowing up from it.

"You're a nice guy, Art," you said. "Go home and do whatever you usually do on Friday nights. This isn't your scene."

Art deflated. This was the first time he was genuinely interested in a girl and she turned him down. What was he thinking? It was good that you were turning him down. Nothing could've happened anyway.

He inhaled slightly, hands tugging at his crucifix. "I like talking to you. Let's just stay out here for a little," he begged. You eyed him warily.

"I'm not the right girl for you," you told him. Your cheeks were growing flushed and he didn't know if it was from the cold or not. Your words had a deeper meaning. Did you think you weren't worthy of him? That you would ruin him?

"We can talk," he persisted and you smiled sadly. "Just say yes."

"Usually boys don't just talk to me," you said. His heart sunk at your words, knowing exactly what you were implying with your words. Your eyes dipped back to his necklace. "But you can."

Art beamed at you and for a moment it looked like a halo glowed from above him, golden curls lighting up with his joy. You both sat down again, shoulders brushing, your shoes dangling from your fingers.

It was an unfamiliar sight. A few of the party guests looked out of the glass doors offering a strange look on the patio. You're silhouette sinful, shadows dancing along your curves, swallowing you. Art was submerged in the moonlight, features soft and relaxed. The only point where shadow and light touched were your shoulders, brushing against each other shyly.

[chrkrose]

am i the only one who left sotr feeling like haymitch was just a pawn in somebody else's game? him not being interested in the rebellion because "it is the way it is" (may i say, is this collins winking at us a connection with katniss?) and then poof! suddenly he's on board with whatever plan beetee and plutarch have for him and haymitch not thinking not even once about the possible consequences on his family? him being that clueless felt like a disservice on his character especially given beetee's backstory with ampert and how much he thought about it. maybe it's because i know they're all gonna die, but bro didn't spare a single thought about his brother or ma until the very end when he witness them dying and he's like: 🧍🏻‍♂️ah yes snow said to enjoy my homecoming. I'M??????? are you really this unaware? naive? did you never connect the dots this whole time? literally bro saw capitol's brutality in almost every page but all he can think about is his gf and how much he's missing her (which is valid, he's 16 and in love after all, but what about YOUR FAMILY. why are you not thinking about them?) are we being serious? it's like this prequel robbed him of all of the agency and ruthlessness he had in the og trilogy and yes, people grow & change - he got worse - but him being chained for life by a promise he made to his 16 yo gf seems kinda .. whack to me? and mainly because he had so many reason to be angry at snow & the capitol. i wonder what this book could have been if collins did not went for a quick cash grab (the whole book felt like something she thought in, like, a week? instead of something she was cooking for years, a way of revisiting the characters and explore the themes she wanted to write about) and if she left lenore dove as the gf of his youth and nothing else, someone who was not this special & amazing figure (concept) he idolize in every page. and i have to say: this character in particular felt like an explotation of the covey girls after we had lucy gray. it's like she thought: ohh the fans loved lucy gray, so what if i made haymitch's gf a covey? but without fleshing her out completely, because i don't want to write another trilogy, i just need the covey (baird) name in their faces all the time. i don't know, all those pages and i felt almost nothing, didn't even care when she died and she was supposed to be "the character that haunts the narrative". yeah okay suzanne you wanted that, but if so why haymitch never mentions her in the og trilogy? with all of these covey songs katniss performs multiple times why he never stepped up and told her about his story, why no one ever in district 12 told her about her family history, not even her father whom she loved and spent the most of her time with? ah yes because it was all an afterthought i suppose.. can't believe that back then almost all of us thought (and the feeling persisted in ballad) that she must have been a descendant of some people whose history was lost due to time, genocide, persecution [..] because not even her father was able to tell her a thing and seemed the only one branch left alive in his family tree and instead it all boils down to "it was just 25 years ago!". only thing that makes sense now is asterid never speaking of haymitch because she never acknowledged mayselee either until she saw her on tv because she was a painful chapter in her painful life

Honestly? Haymitch came out of SOTR kind of lame. Like, not even in a “flawed character I understand” way—just flattened out. Passive. Reduced to this guy being shuffled around. And I agree, it just doesn’t track with the Haymitch we knew in the trilogy, who was sharp, cynical, perceptive, and constantly five steps ahead of everyone. Of course the years and the traumas would change him somewhat, but we would still be able to see echoes of who he becomes in this books. This version? He’s just… there. It’s like the book actively stripped away all the agency and intelligence we know he had later on—and for what?

The trilogy genuinely stands stronger without this prequel. I feel like it damages canon more than it adds to it. And yeah, people grow and change, but Haymitch becoming who he is in the original books makes way less sense now. Especially when all his rage and pain is suddenly boiled down to a teenage promise.

As I said before, It honestly felt like Lenore was only created to connect the dots between Lucy Gray and Katniss and to give Katniss that “special one™” legacy that completely undermines one of the best parts of her arc: that she wasn’t special. That she was just a kid caught in a system, reacting to it in a way that resonated because she had no idea how powerful her choices would become. Now, with Lenore and Lucy Gray retroactively linked to her through symbolism, the pin, the songs, the Covey—Katniss feels manufactured. That raw, grounded quality she had is replaced with a sense of prophecy that I really don’t like.

And you’re absolutely right: the way the Covey, Lucy Gray, and now Lenore are so present in District 12, it completely breaks the illusion that Katniss would never hear about any of them. Not from her father? Not from the town? Not even a passing comment from Haymitch, ever? It’s not believable anymore. The book ended up feeling less like a political dystopia and more like an episode of Dark from Netflix with all the secret family trees and tangled connections. Everyone’s related or symbolically linked, and it’s exhausting. It makes the world feel smaller instead of richer.

I’m still bothered about how the story seemed determined to erase the emotional weight of Maysilee (who turned out to be the best character of the book by far, in a surprising turn of events). She didn’t haunt anything. She was overshadowed by Lenore, then Louella, then the plot mechanics themselves. The pin? Handed off to the Covey. Her possible ties to rebellion? Ignored. Her potential romantic or emotionally complex bond with Haymitch? Squashed in two lines so we don’t even consider it. And not in a “clever subversion” way—more like a “we need to redirect your attention because this isn’t the story I want you to think about” kind of way.

It really felt like a quick cash grab rather than something that was “cooked” for years. And the worst part is, I think Suzanne thought she was doing something deep. But without showing us the layers, and just telling us who’s important and why—they don’t land.

So yeah, I agree—Haymitch deserved better. Katniss deserved better. And the trilogy deserved to remain untouched by this kind of retroactive storytelling that only flattens what made the original so powerful to begin with.

[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.

[gonzo-rella]

Breaking Point (sequel to 'Them') | Art Donaldson

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

Sequel to this drabble.

Relationship(s): Art Donaldson x gn!reader (romantic), Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig (romantic)

Summary: You'll, still, never be them.

Warnings: Angst, unhappy relationship between reader and Art, references to physical pain, references to vomiting and nausea, possibly OOC Art Donaldson because I haven't seen this movie since it came out but maybe I'm just being overly insecure about my writing. (Let me know if I need to add any)

Word count: 0.9k

(A/N: Two fics in one day after over half a year of not writing any fanfiction? How do I do it? Anyway, maybe it's because I'm a child of divorce but relationship angst like this is my bread and butter. Not to mention, the Challengers fandom is one of those fandoms that is 99% fem!reader stuff. So, I felt compelled to offer something that allows men and enbies to pretend they're in this mess of a polycule, too. Maybe, one day, I'll write something actually nice and fluffy for these characters. Anyways, if you want a sequel to this sequel, give me some suggestions for where you want it to go. Maybe this could be a choose your own adventure kind of deal where there's multiple endings. We'll see.)

“Are you okay?”

Art looked at you from across the couch, his outstretched arm resting on the back cushion, almost as though he was reaching towards you. You glanced over at him, then returned your attention to your phone. At least, you pretended to be interested in whatever was displayed on the screen.

“Yeah,” you replied, tone colder than intended. “Why do you ask?”

“You slept on the couch last night.”

You shrugged dismissively.

“I couldn’t sleep. I figured I’d watch some TV.”

He didn’t say anything, but just by looking at him, you could tell that he wasn’t convinced. All he did was watch you, and that was almost enough to make your heart melt. But, it didn’t change anything.

“I’m fine, Art.”

It sounded almost like a warning, and he either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it. 

He sighed.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?”

His voice was so delicate and it tore through your stomach. The sensation that surged through your body was agonising yet you couldn’t help but relish it.

You didn’t respond at first, a small part of you hoping that he’d take the hint and drop it. Once this started, there was no going back. You didn’t know if he knew that. Your gaze flickered over to him, and he was still watching you intently. He showed no sign of relenting, despite the fatigue etched into his face. That was just how he looked these days. With a huff, you closed your eyes and rolled your head back. You pressed the power button on your phone and placed it on the arm of the couch.

“The same reason you can’t sleep.”

You refused to meet his gaze yet.

He hesitated before speaking.

“What are you talking about?”

“Art.”

This time, you looked him dead in the eye. You couldn't help it. After all the time you’d spent tormenting yourself about this, silent amidst your despair, you needed to see what he would do or say. If there was anything he could do or say to make this okay- any miraculous thing. You studied him closely, closer than he had been studying you.

He didn’t answer- not verbally. You weren’t sure that he could. It was a confirmation in the absence of denial. He bit his bottom lip as recognition flooded his eyes. If he couldn’t find the words, or if he didn’t dare speak them, you would. They’d spent enough time stewing in your muddled head.

“Every night, all I can think about is them.”

The tears that you’d been holding back for months on end were finally threatening to spill. Looking at him would push you over the edge, so you quickly averted your gaze to salvage whatever dignity you had left.

”I don’t know how much you love me, or if you even love me at all. All I know is that… it’s nothing compared to what you feel for… them.”

Saying either of their names would have made you gag, or burst into tears, or both. Art noticed the nauseated look on your face, so he leaned closer to you and rested his hand on your shoulder, his thumb moving back and forth. You didn’t have the heart nor strength to shrug him off. Besides, it was nice. It meant nothing. It changed nothing. But, it was nice.

“Hey, I love you.”

He still spoke softly, but you could only read it as feeble this time.

“It’s not the same, Art.”

Your voice matched Art’s.

“I want to be loved like how you love them,” you continued. “And, you don’t love me like that, it’s destroying me but that’s fine. You don’t have to. I don’t want you to. But, I can’t keep doing this just because that’s how I love you. And, I’m not saying this to be an asshole or to make you feel like an asshole. I just… yeah. I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t. It feels like I’ll die if I do.”

You stole another glance at Art. His expression was a mixture of guilt, pity and sadness. It was enough to make the tears spill.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could offer you. It was sincere and quiet.

The way he was caressing your shoulder started to ache, as though his thumb was tracing a gaping wound. You stood up and moved away from him so that you were out of reach. You grabbed your phone and wasted no time in loading up the Uber app.

“I can’t be here right now. I can’t deal with you looking at me like that.”

You typed clumsily with one hand, using the back of the other to wipe at your cheeks and your nose.

He watched you from the couch, seemingly frozen in place.

“I can leave.”

You shook your head at his offer. He swallowed.

“Where are you going to go?”

You didn’t answer him. If he didn’t know where you were going, it would hurt less when he didn’t follow you.

“Well, can you at least call me or text me when you get there?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

You could feel his eyes trained on you as you made your way upstairs to pack some things to get you through the night. And, by the time you returned, he was at the bottom of the stairs, staring at you with that familiar, helpless look. You stared right back. It hurt so badly that you could have screamed. 

Neither of you knew what to say, so it was all you could do. You both understood it as a goodbye. It was too early to tell what kind of a goodbye it was.

You brushed past him and went straight out the door.

[pedge-page]

I tend to stay quiet about these things because quite frankly I'd blow my lid off and melt the world around me with my fury but.

It amazes me that people can come on here and have the option to be kind to others and leave an incredibly positive impact on people they interact with, and feel good about themselves for it, but choose to be insufferable shitheads who want to bring everyone else down so they feel as miserable and angry too instead. This isn't math class. Two negatives do not equal positive.

For any newbies , we've lost some of the most talented and inspiring writers in this Fandom thanks to these trolls. The same trolls who have been here for less than 2 minutes are the ones who whine about why there isn't enough content coming out fast enough for their enjoyment.

When we say "18+ only" that also applies to people who use their adult brains. If you can't handle that a properly tagged fic that has explicit warnings about its content is stuff you won't like, the mature thing to do is just shut up and move on. When you start to become you own gestopo trying to police other people's FICTIONAL work that had nothing to do with you in the name of purity censorship rather than just moving on with your own life, you've lost all credibility of calling yourself an "adult". Idc how old you are. You're not ready for the internet. You're not ready to be reading fan FICTION. You're not ready to interact with other adults.

If you spent half as much energy doing this level of "activism" in the real world where REAL people are being hurt , you wouldn't have time to be responding to a million messages applauding or condemning you about your take on FICTIONAL. WRITING. You'd actually be doing something useful with your life. But alas, harassing writers is all you're good for.

You are not the hero you so desperately want to think you are.

And folks, if you're going "hey I'm not harassing anyone!" Ask yourself if you've left a racist, homophonic, transphobic, ableist, elitist, narcissistic anon in someone's box. If you meet one of those boxes, guess what! You're the problem !

The internet is going to be filed with things you don't like. It always has. It always will. But guess what? This is gonna be real shocker for some of you:

YOU ARE RESPONSBILE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME, ESPECIALLY AS AN ADULT.

YOU ARE RESPONSBILE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME, ESPECIALLY AS AN ADULT.

YOU ARE RESPONSBILE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME ESPECIALLY AS AN ADULT.

You picking and choosing what is and isn't ok IN FAN FICTION makes you look stupid. Like I can't tell you how fucking moronically hypocritical some of you are. It has to be a joke.

So if you aren't going to be the adult, and choose to go make a stupid ask to let someone know you don't like their thoughts, don't do it on anon. If you believe in yourself and aren't afraid of your morals, say it with your chest and your profile. Let us be the adults and block you so you don't have to see our content, and we don't have to deal with illiterate kids trying to interact with us anymore.

OR

YOU COULD TAKE OPTION #1 : YOUR VERY OWN LUXURIOUS "BE THE ADULT FIRST" PACKAGE! IT COMES WITH THE INCREDIBLE FEATURE OF "BLOCK THE CONTENT THAT GIVES YOU THE ICK WITHOUT SAYING ANYTHING AT ALL"!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT !?!?!? ITS ALL YOURS all YOU have to do is click 2 buttons! It's sooooo much easier, pain free, and mental and emotionally freeing to just do that instead of typing out some horseshit post or ask and then dealing with everyone on your ass! The added bonus of nobody being on your ass! Did I mention the great feeling you have about not seeing that content anymore! AND as a special thank, we're offering "guilt free conscious" just especially for you! So you can go about your day not thinking about it anymore! No muss no fuss. It's easy!

[hansuigen]

8 days, 8 lives - xmh. monologue.

☁️ Pairing : Xu Minghao x afab!Reader ☁️ Genre : supernatural au, angst & romance, friends to lovers. ☁️ Word count : 466. ☁️ Summary : Minghao dies. Over and over again, in different ways, at different moments. One minute, he’s there—alive, laughing, breathing beside you. The next, he’s gone. And just when the loss becomes unbearable, time resets. You wake up eight days before his death, trapped in an endless cycle of grief and helplessness, forced to relive his final moments again and again. At first, it feels like a cruel accident—a cosmic mistake. But as the loops continue, a pattern emerges. His deaths aren’t random. There’s something at work, something lurking beneath the surface of reality itself, and it’s up to you to figure out why. Each reset is a chance to save him, but time is unpredictable. The world stays the same, but little things shift—unspoken words, unfinished arguments, the way Minghao looks at you like he’s starting to remember something too. You try everything: warning him, protecting him, changing your choices. Nothing works. But then, as the loops unravel, so does the truth—of what’s causing the cycle, of what’s tying Minghao to his fate, and of the love neither of you ever had the chance to confess. You have eight days, eight lives, and one last chance to break the cycle. Before time runs out for good. ☁️ Author’s note : hiii, this is not the final fic—which I am hoping will completed by 4th of april. this is a monologue from minghao’s pov. I am very new to tumblr + writing and I hope you would like this and feedbacks + reblogs are much appreciated. thank you!

You don’t remember the first time I lost you.

I do.

It wasn’t like this. It wasn’t a reset, or a loop, or anything that could be undone. It was final. Absolute. The kind of loss that takes up space in your lungs, makes breathing feel like a task instead of something natural.

I remember the weight of it. The feeling of standing in a world that no longer had you in it. I remember thinking—how am I supposed to move forward if the ground is missing beneath me?

So, I didn’t. I searched instead.

I spent days, weeks, months clawing at the edges of reality, looking for a way to bring you back. I don’t know when I stopped being afraid of the impossible, only that by the time I did, I was already too far in. The universe is not kind, but it listens. And when it asked what I was willing to give, I said everything without hesitation.

And now, we are here.

I don’t know if you’ve realized it yet. If the weight of all this is pressing down on you the way it presses down on me. Maybe you’re still lost in the confusion of it, still trying to find the edges of the dream before waking up. Maybe you don’t want to believe it at all.

I don’t blame you.

The truth is, I never wanted this for you. I only ever wanted you to be okay. To be happy. To live. And if I had to be the one to carry the weight of loss, I would have done it a thousand times over if it meant you never had to feel this pain.

But time is cruel in the way it balances its debts. What was once mine became yours. And now, I watch you run in the same endless circles I did, trying to fix something that refuses to be fixed.

You’re tired. I can see it. And I wish—God, I wish I could take that from you.

I wish I could tell you how to stop it. That there was a way to reach across the gap, to pull you from the wreckage before it consumes you again. But this cycle isn’t built on fairness. It doesn’t care how much we hurt. It only moves forward.

And yet—

And yet, if anyone could break it, it would be you.

You, with your stubborn heart. You, who still fights even when the world tells you it’s already over. You, who holds onto hope like it’s a lifeline, even when you pretend you don’t. You, who I have loved in every version of time, in every life, in every way I have ever known how.

I see it. I always have.

And I hope—when you’re ready—you’ll see it, too.

[fallenclan]

Fdsdfkalsdkj in my last ask (the one with the list of ten cats) I forgot to write which anon I was. Sorry! This is oven mitt anon. 🥊

Beginning my analysis/ramble on my list of my favourite FallenClan cats: 

SECTION A: Scorchstar, Sunwish, Toro, Cherrystar. These four cats are all lumped together because they all became some of my favourites due to the legacy they did/could have left in FallenClan. All of them have occupied significant positions of power/political sway in FallenClan during their lives. 

…Section A got too long so I’m splitting it up into 1A and 2A. 1A is Scorchstar and Sunwish, 2A is Toro and Cherrystar. Here is SECTION 1A:

Scorchstar is fascinating to me, I love love love how morally grey she is. She was a beloved and respected and very competent leader. She was a ferocious defender of her Clan. She had a wife and a son and she would do anything for them. She forced a child into a role she didn’t want and then later killed that same child when she was all grown up. She regretted her crime so much that she was let into StarClan anyways, alongside the person she murdered. Oh my god. Her leadership style is also very fascinating to me; she’s obviously not a heartless leader, during her reign her cats kept saving outsiders and bringing them in when they’re hurt or sick or just wanting a home, but she’s also a very ‘FallenClan-first’ leader, like using the worry box as a source, in that fic a major subject of contention between Scorchstar and Sunwish is that Scorchstar doesn’t want to share herbs with their neighbouring Clans even though FallenClan has plenty and their neighbours have nothing. She’s also the type to be like, ‘a FallenClan’s duty is to do what’s best for the Clan as a whole, even if it causes the individual to suffer’ (ahem. Sunwish) and you can really see how her backstory played into it (Scorchstar’s backstory made me bawl, by the way, you are a fantastic writer); like, she spent her young life being the Responsible Sister who kept her sister Breezeshadow safe and in check and ‘knew what was best for her’ and her entire life’s purpose was just protecting her family, so she expected the same from her Clan as well. …However. Judging by… the events of her life, Scorchstar also has very, very strong biases towards the cats that she loves, so in an alternate universe in which Otterslip was put into Sunwish’s situation, I don’t doubt for a second that she would NEVER put her son in the med. cat role if he didn’t want it. ALSO. HER SPEECH TO RAVENSTAR ABSOLUTELY ROCKED I WAS HOLLERING AND CHEERING. 

Sunwish… oh my god Sunwish occupies my brain at all hours of the day. I love her. First of all she was miserable and cranky and I LOVE characters that are grouchy and kind of mean. Also? Her name fucking sucked, who the hell named her. Was it Wildfang? Why the hell would Wildfang name her THAT? “Congrats, kid! You’re finally an official medicine cat after a long and gruelling apprenticeship where you put yourself through med school by Cat Skyping with my ghost. Here’s a name that will forever remind you of your unfulfilled dreams of becoming a warrior. Lmao bye.” I feel the same about Canarywish, by the way, I’m sorry but Canarywish’s name felt so MEAN especially knowing who named her. I KNOW there’s a possibility that Canarywish was meant as a really nice name, like it was a sign that Canarywish represents the wish of the older cats for a better future for the younger generation or whatever, but it really feels like Ravenstar really went, “Hey my beloved niece who is graduating super early (like me, heh). Remember that time we found a dying loner and you couldn’t save them and how their death will haunt you forever and you WISH you could have saved them? I hereby grant you the name CanaryWISH-” like come ON. Thornwish is the only acceptable -wish cat because he has the vengeful trait so it implies that he wishes his enemies would step on a thorn. ANyways back to Sunwish. Sunwish in life was a medicine cat, and her life was so tragic- like, she was miserable her whole life and then she was murdered (and she was murdered because Scorchstar blamed her for failing to save Nettlestem- Sunwish was GRIEVING after Nettlestem’s death, she loved her so much too!!!). Also, HER BACKSTORY MADE ME BAWL TOO HOW DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS. She had a mother who died when Sunwish was young- Sunwish almost starved to death without her mother when she was just a small kitten. How does Sunwish feel about her dead mom? Sunwish must know that her mother probably feels so grateful that her daughter found a place where she was taken care of and fed and protected, that’s probably all her mother ever hoped for her daughter. Does Sunwish feel ungrateful for dreaming of being a warrior when Clan life is probably more than what her mother ever imagined? Does Sunwish want to be a warrior so badly because being a warrior = having hunting and fighting skills and not being dependent on other cats to feed and protect you, and the last time Sunwish was dependent on someone else to feed and protect her, she nearly starved to death? Anyways. I feel like the role that would have best suited her eventually would actually be… a deputy. Because of her rocky adolescence and young adulthood, I feel like if she had lived she would have made a very caring mentor and she would have been very concerned about young cats and making sure that they don’t have too much on their plate. She’s also pretty brazen about crossing Clan borders for herbs and in the worry box she will give herbs from FallenClan territory to other Clans; her motto seems to be that it straight up Doesn’t Matter whether a cat is from another Clan or not, it poses no interest to her; if a cat is suffering, then her obligation is to Fix It. No exceptions. …I do NOT ever want to see SunSTAR though, I imagine that she would hate the stress. Ideally she’s deputy for a long long time and then steps down to become an elder after a fulfilling career. The life she could have had… Also I’ve got a question: what was Sunwish honoured for at her medicine cat ceremony? I’m so curious… 

AHH i love this... not much to say about it i think you've got them down pretty well!!! scorchstar and sunwish are two characters i love so very much even to this day, and their relationship fucking Haunts me /pos

Sunwish was honored for her responsibility which is. ouch. holy shit

[hotchnerwrites]

hi i have a really weird request i was hoping you’d fulfill :) i read your request guidelines and it says you write for spencer reid but it looks like you write majority hotch fics, which i also enjoy:) i have hoping for a spencer reid x reader fic, i don’t have much of a plot in mind so you may need to get creative, or maybe it could just be headcanons, but anything with a weird reader. like maybe she’s an elementary art teacher type vibe (maybe she’s actually an art teacher, or maybe she works at the BAU, your choice) and she has pet bugs and wears cool clothes, that sort of thing. everyone always writes the reader to be really type a, really similar to spencer, yk? and as much as i love those fics i personally think he’d work well with a little more carefree, creative type person too. thank you so much and you absolutely do not have to write this if you don’t want too!!

Ladybird 🐞

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: SFW, headcanons kinda, reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of (y/n), fluff

A/N: Hi anon! so glad you enjoyed my other fics! I'm so happy you requested Spencer, i've been itching to write my pookie but it's not a common request (yet?), i only have one other published fic of him. i looooooooooove writing his big brain self and ur idea of reader being an opposite personality type was so delicious to write ugh i'm quite happy with this fic. i also have some drafts of him (academic rivals, fluff fics etc.) but i don't post them bc im not at a 100% with them, they're much longer fics too lol. if you want those, i'm happy to post (slowly) so lmk. anyways, enough yapping, ENJOY THE READ!!! mwah mwah mwah <3

My requests are open! Please read my rules before req'ing. Send me stuff! :)

Spencer wasn’t accustomed to the sensation of being in the dark. If something new crossed his path, he’d devour every piece of information he could find, understanding it, processing it, then neatly filing it away in his mind for later use. The idea of being uncertain—it made him uneasy, like a puzzle with a missing piece, gnawing at him until he could fill it in. He hated the discomfort of not knowing.

But you… what were you?

You moved through life with a kind of fluidity he couldn’t quite grasp. Were you like water? No, no, you were too solid, too grounded for that. Fire, then? But you weren’t wild or destructive—your warmth didn’t burn Spencer, it invited him in. The wind, then. You were untethered and free. But even that didn’t feel quite right. The wind didn’t create, and you were full of creation. You existed in a plane ruled by feeling rather than logic, instinct over calculation.

Spencer couldn’t fathom you.

He prided himself on his ability to categorise things, to turn life into binary or categorical data. But you slipped like butter through his mental filing system, like something he could never quantify. You smelled like rain and cedar, like something both fresh and familiar, like petrichor clinging to the edges of an old wooden frame. He couldn’t place it, couldn’t place you, and maybe that was why he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

When you talked about your job— you were an elementary school art teacher— you talked about it with a kind of excitement that made Spencer envious. It was silly, really, but he wanted the one to be taught by you, to spend more time trying to figure you out. He loved his work, too, but it was so full of danger and death, and the way you loved yours made him want to be a part of the world you had.

The first time he met you, Spencer spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to decipher the colours in your outfit. He knew different textures weren’t supposed to be mixed (the Vogue magazine he had swiped at the doctor’s office had declared the mixing of dots and stripes a cardinal sin), but you had layered patterns like a painting. It shouldn’t have made sense. So why did it? He had opened his mouth to ask if there had been a method behind it, but you had flashed a smile at him that made his unfaltering mind stop dead in its tracks, and you had said, “Don’t overthink it, Spence. Just feel.”

As if it was something he knew how to do.

You weren’t chaotic, not exactly—but you were unpredictable. Spencer, with his equations and calculations, with his logic and probabilities, had always sought comfort in knowing the outcome before things even began. But you—you weren’t an equation. You were the space between the numbers, the part of the formula he couldn’t solve. You were a walking, talking example of Ramsey’s theorem— he knew where you started and where you ended, but he couldn’t untangle what was in between.

Every morning, you took a picture of your coffee. It was the same drink every day, but you persevered, swearing the foam made a new image every time. You’d tried to rope him into theorising with you, to get him to see the shape of the world in the swirls and patterns of the cream, but Spencer could never really see it like you. 

“You know it’s just milk and coffee, right?” He’d say, leaning over your shoulder to examine the mug. “There’s no scientific basis for anything more.” 

But you never held it against him. Sometimes, you’d nudge him with your elbow, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth as you said, “I think you’re missing out on a whole new dimension of the universe, Reid.”

He’d hum, a little smile on his lips, and then he’d drop the subject—mostly. He wasn’t one to argue for long, especially when it came to the things that made you happy, like the ritual of your morning coffee or the way you’d rearrange your art supplies by colour, even though it made absolutely no sense.

When Spencer found out you kept bugs as pets, he’d nearly leapt out of his chair.

“You— you have a mantis,” he stammered, eyes wide as he watched you let it crawl delicately over your fingers.

“That’s not just a mantis, Spence,” you scolded him gently, a smile tugging at your lips, “Meet Matilda. She’s my friend.”

Spencer blinked, processing. “Statistically, most people keep a cat or a dog—“

“I’m not a statistic, Spence,” you’d reminded him, voice gentle as if you were talking to one of your school kids.

He tried to understand, tried to decipher why anyone would choose to keep an insect as a pet, but logic evaded him, a feeling he only experienced around you. But when he’d watch you play with Matilda like she was the best thing in the world, he let it go.

He started bringing you little things—odds and ends that made him think of you. A book of surrealist paintings he thought you’d like. A smooth, speckled rock he found outside the precinct. A jar of local honey from a case in a small town, because you once mentioned you liked the taste of dandelions.

And every time, you’d accept them like he had just handed you a moonbeam, eyes lighting up in unadulterated joy.

“See?” you had murmured one day, holding the honey jar up to the light. “You do feel things, Spencer. You just don’t realise it.”

No, it wasn’t about logic. Maybe, it was just about you.

One day, Spencer caught himself carefully placing a ladybug outside on a leaf, rather than brushing it away. As he counted its spots for you— something about them bringing luck— he realised something.

Oh.

I love her.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[oddberryshortcake]

Hello again! Same anon who was asking you about your writing rules! Thanks for letting me know, didn’t wanna just throw something at you without knowing if you were interested yet 😅

Anyways, you seem to be a fan of Silver based off of what i’ve read from you so far (I love him he’s my favorite ❤️), so I was wondering if you could write a scenario on what you think it would have looked like when Silver told Lilia and Malleus that he found out about his origins from Lilia’s dream?

I hate how they left that completely unaddressed because of how important it is to Silver’s character and his relationship with the Diafam. 😭

THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST! I had a lot of fun writing this. I feel the same as you. I have hope that book 8 might continue some of Silver's plot, but in case it doesn't, at least you can make me write these fics because this kind of stuff is my favorite lol

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Despite their promise, Silver was given very few opportunities to speak with his father. 

He didn’t remember much of what happened after the aftermath. He cried his heart out, smothered in the embrace of his family on the floor of Diasomnia’s entrance. Then, all of a sudden, he woke up in a hospital. 

Thankfully, Sebek was in the bed beside him and explained what happened. Malleus and Lilia went to STYX, they were taken to a general hospital in the foothill town of Sage’s Island. He had also been asleep for two days. 

Figures that old habit of his would rear its ugly head after he enjoyed the perks of being fully alert in the realm of dreams. By the time he was fully awake again, his hair had lost its golden color once more and his father’s silver blessing returned to him. 

His blessing…When he got the opportunity to do a video call with his father, he was quick to point out the change in a humorous way. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back to your natural hair color? You could dye it like I do!” Lilia suggested and skirted around why his hair had changed color in the first place. 

Silver had been led to believe he looked like that his whole life, and Lilia never delved deeper into the true story willingly. It was a complete accident that Silver knew. 

So he thought, maybe his father wasn’t ready to talk about such things after all. He doesn’t know the full scope of what Silver experienced in the darkness, and perhaps the shame of Silver seeing him in his General days was enough for him to talk about trivial things during their call instead of what Silver actually wanted. 

Knowing now that Lilia and even Malleus knew of his origins the entire time, and the lengths they went to not discuss such things around him, made Silver feel compelled to keep his own secrets as well. 

His reaction in the pits of despair might’ve been what they had feared would happen. It’d just upset them if they knew, and he was fine…No need to bring up stuff from the past, he should be happy that everyone is alive. 

Except, as much as he was accepting of this now, there was still a piece of him that was still deeply affected by his past. Everything was so much simpler when he believed he was the physical age he was now, that his past never reached past the little cottage in the woods he grew up in. 

When he reunited with the rest of his family again at Wildrose Castle, after the ecstasy and joy he felt at his formal adoption, after he got to speak to the ghosts of his biological parents, after the spell that had made the palace feel alive again had dissipated into the dawn…He was left standing where his cradle still stood, trapped in a moment of time and surrounded by briar…Just as he was.

He spent 400 years in this cradle as the world moved on without him. Had Lilia not found him, this would’ve been where he remained for all eternity, never to join the waking world or be loved by anyone else. 

For as long as he lives past this point, he will never spend as much time in this life as he did in this cradle, and that filled him with a strange wistful feeling. 

“Silver,” Lilia calls out to him. 

Silver looks away from the cradle, which he spent far too long entranced by, and realizes that a majority of the guests had left, leaving him and his family in the remains of his old home. 

“You seemed particularly lost in thought, are you tired?” Malleus inquires. 

He is, but he was always like that. Maybe there was more to his habit than he previously thought…But that wasn’t what was on his mind. He wanted to speak. 

“I was just remembering what happened here.” He said, gesturing to the cradle, “I spent so much time here, It’s a strange feeling to see it again.” 

Malleus and Lilia look at each other like they both want to say something, but neither speaks up.  Sebek is the one who fills in the space. 

“I could hardly believe it myself when I realized you and Dawn Knight were related and not distant ancestors.” Sebek said, “Now that I think about it…Maybe he was that light that was guiding me through Lilia’s memories to find you, I assume you experienced the same?”

“Yes, I saw it all.” Silver replies, then speaks to Lilia directly, “I remember when you found me here, Father.” 

Lilia’s expression turns soft, reminding him of the rare times his father expressed concern around him. The way he knitted his eyebrows together was reminiscent of his worst illnesses, when Father didn’t know he was awake and couldn’t prepare to hide his worry with a smile. 

“Dawn Knight had hurt you and Malleus in such horrible ways. There was no reason for you two to care for me the way you did. Father had the chance to kill me then…But he didn’t.” Silver says, “Malleus could’ve ended me when he learned of my origins, but he didn’t. You both kept me alive, taught me so many things, and loved me despite it all. Because of you, I’ve become an adult. I can never thank you enough for that.”

“Silver,” Malleus calls out to him, voice soft but firm, “Neither of us wanted to bring up what happened because we wanted you to have a happy birthday. But now I’m going to use this chance to say this…I am so sorry.” 

Malleus is the one crying now, not sobbing but Silver can see some tears gather on the edges of his eyes. Still, he’s the one holding Silver’s hand in his own, the way he and Lilia used to when he was little.

“You never should have found out the way that you did. Lilia and I wanted to discuss your origins with you when you were older, but we didn’t know how.” Malleus adds. 

“Silver, you have to know. That dark thought I had, it was so brief. I swear to you I have never felt anything like that since.” Lilia joins in, almost sounding frantic, “While we never wanted to hide these truths from you, my shameful part of me was something I didn’t want you to see. I didn’t want to scare you away like I did before.” 

Here these two are, holding his hands like he’s still a little child. He almost laughs, because of course they still see him this way. His life will be brief, and he’s growing up before they have the chance to really process it. 

In their mind, by the time he truly passes away, he’ll have been ‘far too young’ by fae standards. 

Though it hurts, perhaps the greatest part of being the only human in a fae family is that he has gained a better understanding of his loved ones faster than it would ever be possible for a fae. 

“I’m not a child anymore. You can’t scare me away.” Silver says, “I was upset at first, confused, and afraid. It was hard to fathom how anyone who has been hurt like you could have ever love someone like me. But Sebek reminded me that you didn’t raise me out of hate, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

Lilia shakes his head and chuckles, now he’s getting nearly as emotional as Malleus. Silver had never actually seen his father cry besides the memories he regained and looked into in the dream world. 

“Look at you, you’ve seen the worst of us and you still persevered to save us all. That goodness you have is authentically who you are. I’ve done nothing to influence that.” Lilia insists, and he reaches up to ruffle up his hair, “How could I not love you? You made it so easy to.”

Maybe he was blind to all everyone saw in him, because he simply did what he thought was right, what he could pay forward for being saved and taken care of all those years ago. Everything that everyone, from the past into the present, did to bring him here, was he truly the gift that came out of all that sacrifice? 

“I’m so lucky that in all my long life, I get the chance to share some of it with you.” Lilia added, “And I get to watch you grow up more, you’re the real blessing.” 

“I could not have said it better myself,” Malleus says, regaining his composure, “Silver, please bless us with many more years with you. I know I cannot extend your life to that of a fae’s, and it saddens me now to picture a life where you aren’t in it. But that just makes the time we spend now all the more meaningful.”

With his heart full, he smiles widely in a way that was very uncommon for him. At this moment, he didn’t even feel tired. 

Their moment was broken up by the loud choking sobs of Sebek struggling to hold his tears in. He had been oddly silent the entire time, and yet somehow ended up the most emotional out of all of them. 

“I-I’m s-so lucky too!” He struggles to word out. 

Silver grabbed Sebek’s arm and dragged him into their now group hug. 

Maybe they were all lucky that amidst the war, pain, and loss of the past, they found this sweet little spot in time where they could all be together. He woke up for that reason. 

He didn’t even mind that he slept on the way back to NRC, because there would be far more opportunities to speak with his family in the future. 

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

Mongrel Hearts | Chapter 12

Pairing: Heinrix x Rogue Trader

Read on Ao3

Summary: Finally taking some time for themselves in the midst of their tumultuous lives, Heinrix and Visenya prepare for a companionable evening in one another's company - each internally questioning their intentions while trying to ignore the implications of time spent together. Author's Note: I had entirely too much fun writing this chapter. We have Danrok being an absolute bro, Idira and Jae being an absolute menace, Heinrix on the verge of making conversation-starter notecards, and Visenya beginning to realize how completely boned she really is. I love these nerds. Listening To: All That Could Happen - Moxy The Band

Excerpt From Chapter 12: All That Could Happen

“Why?”

Visenya glanced up to Jae, who was peering at her skeptically and with no small amount of judgement. She held the cold trader’s gaze and frowned.

“Because he’s a member of the Inquisition and could have me executed for heresy if I even suggested it.”

Idira, who could be held responsible for emptying at least one of the two amasec bottles between them, laughed even louder than before while Jae took a long drag from a lho-stick that was nearly burnt to the stub. She snuffed it out on a bronze ashtray atop the side table near Visenya, exhaling smoke that smelled sweet and herbal as she reached over.

“Light of my eyes, you never cease to make me laugh!” Jae exclaimed, leaning back into her chair and tilting her head playfully. “If that man thought you were suggesting a screw, shereen, he’d use his rosette to tie your wrists to the bedpost. Or his own.”

Jae paused, arching a brow in thought.

“Probably his own. Actually, I bet he’d ask you–“

“Jae!”

Her work done, Jae rose from her chair and gave an overly-dramatic bow – grabbing the amasec bottle that was still one-third full as she did so. Idira was cackling, tears beginning to wet at the corners of her closed eyes as she wheezed for breath.

“Fine, I shall keep my accurate opinions to myself,” Jae chirped, tilting the bottle towards Idira and nodding for her to follow. “Let’s go. We have helped Her Ladyship pick an outfit most flattering, which accentuates her curves and emphasizes her beauty – all so she can have a meeting with the handsome Inquisition agent about taxes…or whatever it is you bigwigs talk about.”