#and i hope it's clear that first of the list is first place in your heart between them and then going down | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stuckinmymind22 · 2 days ago

Text

playlists | stay/is it over now? + better man

Chapter 1

pair: portgas d. ace x afab reader (she/her)

modern au | multimedia | musician ace | more info on story

tags: fluff fluff and more fluff, cursing, group chat alert, luffy cameo, goofy ace, also they’re both fucking stupid lowkey (she said like she didn’t write them that way) lowkey imply ace and reader are sluts (good for you!!)

mdni: please - look i can't tell you how to live your life but this isn't for you pls avoid thx

wc: 7.7k (i said it would be shorter and it's the same fucking length 😭)

excerpt:

“You wanna go back to my place?” Ace asks. After the words leave his mouth he seems to have realized the potential implications of them. His face reddens and he trips over his words, “N-Not like that - I -” You cut him off with a laugh, unknowingly bestowing mercy on the poor man, who knows he would’ve dug himself deeper trying to escape. This is by far the most embarrassed you have ever seen him, and it is kind of endearing. It’s clear that he has started to let you past his confident persona, and you appreciate the vulnerability. Your interruption gives him time to recover, at least a little bit. “I meant to like play video games,” he clarifies, scratching the back of his neck. To his relief, you readily agree to his offer, rather eagerly too. He probably shouldn’t read into that, right?

a/n: AHHHHHHH sorry it took so long i want to say it wont happen again but i am not predictable. also it turns out i really like the word mischief (thank you thesaurus)

we're working really hard on not second guessing every single thing i write, but i am in the trenches lol somethings might be cringe but that's part of the process idfk

important: theres a lot of text messages (well i feels like a lot) and i did my best to add in alt text so i hope that works if anyone needs it. lowkey starts off a bit choppy bc there's a lot of texts but it'll get longer i promise (this'll also happen again though)

song(s): there's a lot of songs in this chapter, so i made a list but they'll still be linked when used.

just a note that the songs don't necessarily reflect what happens in the chapter

stay - post malone is it over now? - taylor swift better man - 5 seconds of summer

here's the playlist for everything

He remembered, that’s the first thing you think when you hear the line. It’s a question about last night’s show. Because you told him how you were dreading it. Not only did he remember, he cared enough to ask.

Holy shit.

A confusing feeling blossoms in your chest when you figure it out. You don’t want to not read into it too much, but there’s a portion of your mind that is running wild. You're unsure of the exact intention behind it but it’s got you hook line and sinker – not that you are going to admit that to anyone, not even yourself.

Truth be told it is something you never would’ve thought of doing, talking with lyrics like this. Ace found a love language that you didn't know existed, much less one that you’re already fluent in. The platonic kind, you hastily tact on to the thought.

Knowing he’s already near his phone (judging by his quick response time) you’re calling him before you even notice you’re doing it. To your surprise, Ace picks up before the second ring, leaving you no time to second guess your actions. “You know you could’ve just asked me to call you, or call me yourself,” you tease, forgoing a greeting. Once he answered, talking to him came naturally, despite your initial nerves.

“Well hello to you too,” Ace laughs. His voice sounds even better than you remember, somehow. “And I know, but this is more fun,” the mischievous twinge in his voice has you wishing you could see his face in more than your mind’s eye. “So are you gonna tell me or do I have to guess,” he teases.

“I don't know, maybe you should ask,” you push back. Ace sighs exaggeratedly but relents. “I’m so glad you asked,” you giggle. You go on to tell him about the night before, which, luckily, went better than you expected.

Unaware, or uncaring, of the passage of time the two of you talk for nearly an hour before the call comes to an end. Your heart’s racing, you need to tell someone about this.

note: i completely forgot about kaya until i was adding the alt text to this and i dont wanna redo it, so please forgive me

Despite Ace making an effort to show up early, when he arrives at the cafe you agreed to meet at he finds you waiting there for him. You spot him quickly and wave him over wearing a big smile. He tries to ignore the way his heart picks up pace.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say playfully, bumping his shoulder as he stands next to you entering the line.

“It’s a small world,” Ace shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets, “Whatcha gonna get?”

“Why? You wanna copy me, Cowboy?” you tease, eyes flickering to his hat.

“Cowboy?” he questions, amused. “It suits you,” you shrug. Ace can’t help but recognize how this mirrors one of your first interactions when he called you doll for the first time.

The banter between the two of you flows freely, until you sit down at a table in the back corner of the cafe and your demeanor starts to shift. Ace watches you as you stare at the table and play with your hands. He can’t help but wonder what’s on your mind, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen you nervous like this before. Whatever inner turmoil you were experiencing seems to disappear and you look back at him with a disarming smile.

“I don’t think I asked this, but how long have you been performing? I mean seeing you play - it’s clear you’re a seasoned vet when it comes to crowd work cause that kind of skill doesn’t appear overnight,” your singing of his praises has Ace becoming flustered. He’s never been good with compliments.

It isn’t hard to see that he isn’t as confident in his abilities as he pretends to be. Logically, he knows that what you’re saying is true, but something in his brain refuses to believe it. Either way his cheeks flare up and he avoids your eyes until the red in his face has died down.

“I started playing shows a few years ago, in my late teens. Playing really wherever I could and I did that for a couple of years,” it’s at this point he looks at you again, “I had to quit for a few months but other than that it’s been nonstop since I started.”

“Was that when you joined the navy?” you ask. Ace is a little taken aback by your question, he didn’t expect you to remember something he told you in passing the first time you met. This time, Ace is able to hide the blush he felt creeping up his neck. He can’t help but feel ridiculous, he isn’t like this with other people. Besides, you’re friends, just friends.

“Yeah, I got pretty big over there,” he admits. “I even had a few labels approach me, but I wasn’t interested in working with them. One of them’s super persistent though. Like annoyingly persistent. I said I wasn’t interested and they didn’t let go. They’re a big one too, so not even me moving across the country stopped them from knocking at my door.”

“They’re still bothering you?” you raise an eyebrow. Shit, he was not supposed to tell you that. “If they’re that interested in you, you probably could get a good deal.”

“I’m working on it,” the words slip out of his mouth before he can think about them. Shit. He really wasn’t supposed to say that. Why did he tell you that? You barely know each other.

But then again, he’s always been a pretty good judge of character and for some reason he trusts you. Now that the cat’s out of the bag there’s no point in trying to hide it, plus he’s been dying to talk to someone about it.

Ace leans in, scanning your surroundings before whispering, “I’m not supposed to be telling you this, so you gotta swear yourself to secrecy.” Wearing an endearing, goofy grin he extends his finger. A pinky promise.

Donning a faux seriousness you nod in agreement. You’re barely able to contain your amusement as you swear yourself to secrecy. Something in Ace’s stomach flutters at you playing along with the bit, but he simply chalks it up to sharing information he’s not supposed to.

After the promise is made Ace tells you that “for some reason” this big label is dead set on signing him. You know the reason they would do that, you think it’s blatantly obvious too. You aren’t sure if he’s being coy saying that or if he doesn’t see how talented he actually is (it’s both). Because of their interest he has been given the upper hand in negotiations, which for an unsigned, relatively unknown artist, is practically unheard of.

He knows he probably shouldn’t go into the details but you look so cute intently listening to him like this. Plus you did pinky promise. “It is still in talks, so nothing is set in stone yet, but I’m not supposed to be discussing it,” he clarifies, you nod in understanding and he continues, “To be honest, I’m not even sure I’ll take the deal, even if they give me everything I want. I really like to be independent and not having to answer to anyone.

“However,” Ace’s tone turns mischievous and his eyes light up, “it is fun to see how far they’ll go.”

“So you’re trolling them,” you question, clearly amused by his antics. “Basically,” he confirms with sparkling eyes and a shit-eating grin. “But who knows? I might take them up on the offer” he feigns sincerity, pausing for a moment. You raise an eyebrow, knowing more is coming. “...Eventually, probably not though.” There it is, the roguish smile slips back onto his face. You shake your head but fail to hold back your laugh.

“‘s kinda annoying that they don’t leave me alone. And I’m doing fine without ‘em. I’m nearly halfway through my first album, just gotta get back in the studio – it’s been a while,” Ace chuckles.

“I don’t think I’ve been in a studio in years,” you confess.

“You make music?” he questions, a little surprised you didn’t bring that up earlier, although you haven’t known each other too long he supposes.

“You make music?” Ace asks. He’s a little surprised you’ve never brought it up.

“I mean kinda?” you say more as a question. “I really enjoy production, I actually went to school for it.”

“For real?”

“Mmhmm,” you confirm, “that’s where I met Luffy and Usopp actually. We took a class together and Usopp’s the one who got me my job.”

“You should come into the studio with me sometime. Maybe you can show me the ropes or something,” Ace says so casually with a charming smile that it nearly takes your breath away.

“I don’t know, I’m definitely out of practice,” you confide.

“So?” he questioned, “I’m sure it’ll be easy to pick back up.”

“We’ll see,” you smile, leaving it open ended.

Your conversation wanders and by the time it dies down your drinks are long gone and so is your reason to stay, but neither of you truly want to leave each other’s company. A rare semi-awkward silence envelopes the table as the two of you independently rack your brain for some way to prolong your time together, neither of you aware that the other is doing the same.

You cut him off with a laugh, unknowingly bestowing mercy on the poor man, who knows he would’ve dug himself deeper trying to escape. This is by far the most embarrassed you have ever seen him, and it is kind of endearing. It’s clear that he has started to let you past his confident persona, and you appreciate the vulnerability.

Your interruption gives him time to recover, at least a little bit. “I meant to like play video games,” he clarifies, scratching the back of his neck. To his relief, you readily agree to his offer, rather eagerly too. He probably shouldn’t read into that, right?

~~~~~~

It isn’t until you are both standing in front of his door that the nerves really hit Ace. He doesn’t usually bring girls home, especially not just to hang out. Now that he’s thinking about it he has never brought a girl here since he moved in a few months ago. You’re kind of uncharted waters to him, he admits to himself. But there’s no going back now, besides, he wanted this– he wants this.

You can see the tension build in his shoulders as thoughts race through his mind. Ace opens the door, moving to the side to let you in first. You’re curious what’s got him stressed but you decide not to question it, instead you direct your attention to the interior.

The apartment is pretty standard for a single man in his twenties. It has all the necessities, a couch, a lamp, a TV (with its own dedicated stand, so that’s impressive), and a small coffee table. If anything it was above average out of the many similar places you’ve been to. The only things out of place were the guitar precariously perched against the couch and a litany of notebooks. Evidence of his songwriting. He moves the notebooks and guitars out of the way with great care.

“Um, what game do you want to play?” Ace questions, consciously trying not to be awkward.

You rack your brain for a game, it doesn't take you long to settle on one. It's a popular one that you're quite good at - there's the added bonus that it's competitive and you and Ace have a score to settle (not that this compares to drinking but it is a competition so it still counts in your mind).

“You’re in luck,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Little do you know that you picked the one he wants to play; it’s one of his favorites too. As he is pulling up the game he tosses you a controller. “I should warn you that I am pretty good at this one,” he teases, “But don’t worry, I’ll let you warm up. Give you a fighting chance and all.”

You scrunch your nose in mock offence. “I’m not worried,” you assert, holding your head high, “I don’t even need a warm up, I’m ready to kick your ass right now.”

“I like the confidence,” Ace responds, “but I haven’t played for a while so please.” He isn’t exactly lying, he hasn’t played the game in a while, but he isn’t exactly telling the truth either – he does genuinely want you to have a fighting chance and he knows that this way your pride won’t get in the way. Your eyes soften and you relent to his request.

After choosing characters and picking one of the easier maps you start playing. Despite being the one who claimed he needed a refresher, Ace is very talkative. The things he’s bringing up aren’t even related to the game, still you entertain him and answer his questions, finding it amusing that he’s unable to keep his mouth shut.

Somehow, you don’t notice how Ace keeps stealing looks at you – he can’t help it though. You’re sitting cross legged next to him, your knee just barely brushing against him, drawing his attention with every slight move you make. It doesn’t help that you look so pretty focused like this, your tongue peaking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration. Once again, you’re confusing him.

He tries talking to take his mind off of it but not only did that not work, it also made him awful at the game. In the first practice round you absolutely annihilate him. There is no other way around it. You tease him for it too, asking if he needs more time to warm up. Ace has no shame in taking you up on that offer, this time stepping up his game. He’s doing pretty well, your skill levels start to seem pretty evenly matched. Feeling more confident he risks a glance at you, and yet again his performance falters. This time he snaps out of it quicker, making a comeback and even winning the round.

“You ready to play for real, Dollface?” Ace challenges.

“You ready for your ego to get bruised,” you retort with a playful glimmer in your eyes. “I don’t see that happening, Doll,” he teases back. “You never know,” you say. Ace laughs, shaking his head.

“Best two out of three?” he questions. “Sure,” you agree, “but it won’t matter either way, I’m gonna crush you.” You know you’re not that good at the game but it’s fun to talk shit idk.

It doesn’t take long for the competition to heat up, both of your competitive natures coming to light. Playful smack talk becomes the backdrop of the rounds with both of you occasionally bumping the other to psych them out. Round three things start to get really tense, you’re tied and so the winner takes all.

Ace manages to take the lead by a rather significant margin, “Looks like I’m winning this one,” Ace beams, his victory seeming imminent.

“Not so fast, hot stuff,” you push back. The comment takes him by surprise, throwing him off of his game. His brain pauses, did you just admit that you also find him attractive?

“Oh so I’m hot stuff now?” he teases. He watches you freeze as embarrassment takes over. “I kinda liked Cowboy,” he continues, with a fake pout.

“It’s not like it’s a lie though,” you say, making momentary eye contact, “might even be more fitting.” Okay now you doubled down on it. Ace is definitely reading into it now. Even after he recovers from the initial shock he doesn’t refocus on the game, his attention now centered on you. You (unknowingly) take advantage of his distraction and manage to pull ahead and win the round.

Going to rub your victory in his face you notice that he is out of it. You realize that he was playing half heartedly and demand a rematch. You want to win fair and square. Ace complies and he wins the next one. You try to walk back the rematch claiming the victory was valid, but (predictably) he fights back. Best two out of three turns into best three out of five to best five out of seven. Eventually, you stop keeping score at all.

Laughter echoes throughout the room, both of your antics and tactics for winning getting more and more ridiculous. You can’t recall the last time you laughed this hard. You really like being around Ace, and that might become a real problem, but for now you push that to the back of your mind. It’s an issue for later, for now you want to concentrate on the present and enjoy his company.

Although you’d started at a respectable distance, that gap’s been closing slowly without your awareness. Following another win you turn to gloat and you realize exactly how close you are. Ace’s freckles are much more visible from here. Automatically, your brain starts painting constellations on his cheeks finding patterns in the dots speckling his face.

Your eyes fall down to his lips and stop their journey. It is clear that something has shifted. There is an unknown gravity that is pulling you in. You’re so close now, you can feel his breath fanning across your face. If you lean in just a little bit more –

The sound of the front door slamming open brings you back to reality. Eyes grow wide in joint surprise. Luffy’s greeting rings out through the room. Before he can suspect anything you move away from Ace, trying to bury your disappointment.

Ace, whose back is towards the door, shakes his head, muttering a curse at his brother before turning around. “Luffy, what did I tell you about slamming the door,” Ace shouts, chastising his brother. “Sorry,” Luffy laughs, kicking his shoes off.

You take the moment of refuge to process what just happened, well what almost just happened. It’s good that this happened actually, you reason with yourself. It would only complicate things in the long run. Imagine if things go south and you were forced to see him at work, no thank you.

Ace gives up on scolding Luffy for his repeated unannounced visits as the younger boy walks away into the kitchen. Hold on, why is Luffy here? “Sorry about him, he has keys to the place, which I regret giving him, and likes to show up and raid the fridge,” Ace makes a point to say the last parts louder, clearly intending for his brother to hear. Luffy’s boisterous laugh echoes from the kitchen.

Luffy must’ve caught onto the fact that Ace had company over because he exits the kitchen with curious eyes. Actively eating out of an open tupperware of leftovers, he scans the room catching sight of you on the couch. In classic Luffy fashion, he greets you excitedly – mouth full of food. Then he looks puzzled. “Why are you here?” he asks point blank. His abrasive questions are nothing new to you so you don’t take it personally.

“She’s –” Ace starts off, not getting far before Luffy cuts him off. “Oooo, video games! I wanna play!” Luffy exclaims. He quickly annihilates whatever it is he’s eating before returning the dishes to the kitchen.

Ace knows that Luffy isn’t the best at recognizing social cues and it isn’t even his fault. However, that doesn’t stop Ace from being annoyed. He is ready to throw him out by the scruff of his neck when Luffy reemerges. Luffy, still full of excitement, stands nearby seemingly waiting for permission to join.

Realizing Luffy would be a good buffer and help prevent whatever the hell nearly happened, you readily accept his involvement, but ultimately leave the decision up to Ace. Ace wants to say no, he really wants to say no, but you expressing your willingness for him to join and Luffy’s fucking puppydog eyes (Ace always has been a sucker for them, especially knowing that they are earnest everytime) has him caving really quick.

“Yay!” Luffy exclaims, running over to grab a controller. Luffy, for his part, is pumped to be hanging out with both of you guys. You’re two of his favorite people in the whole wide world, why wouldn’t he want to hang out with you together. He plops down between the two of you eager to play. You can’t help but chuckle at his extreme joy.

At first Luffy doesn’t play the game seriously, choosing to goof off. At one point he gets up in the middle of a match to go get (steal) more food, walking right past Ace who yells at him prompting Luffy to laugh. During his absence you and Ace focused on fighting each other, ignoring Luffy’s character – turns out that was a mistake. Luffy comes back, mouthful of food and manages to beat you both. And not by a little bit he destroys you both, claiming victory for the first time that night. In hindsight it was slightly suspicious that he was losing so badly when you remember him being somewhat decent at the game (as in he doesn’t die in 30 seconds, not that he wins).

After that the gloves are off, it turns out that Luffy is now good at the game, like really good. He goes on a winning streak. You’re rotating who is picking the map for the rounds and no matter what is chosen it’s like Luffy has the home game advantage. You and Ace grow increasingly more exacerbated, accusing him of cheating despite none of you knowing how one could even cheat at this game. He keeps laughing at the incredulous looks on your faces.

Luffy bags nearly half a dozen rounds before you start to do something about it. When it is Luffy’s turn to pick the map, Ace catches your eyes. Somehow you two have become masters at silent communications. Immediately you know that he wants to form an alliance to take his brother down. With your joint effort you manage to take him out. Both of you cheer in victory, seemingly forgetting that the match wasn’t over until Luffy brings it up. And the game is back on.

Luffy doesn't win a single round after your joint effort to take him out, but he laughs at how competitive you and Ace are. You end up going back down to a two player game while Luffy watches, periodically leaving for more food (you’ve stopped questioning how he does it at this point). Luffy eventually announces his departure – citing his hunger as the reason, which Ace knows means that he cleaned them out again.

And just like that, you and Ace are back to being alone.

Some of the tension from earlier bubbles its way back up to the surface, and it’s clear that the both of you feel it too. Even after forcing the energy to go away it still lingers; it’s background radiation now. Despite your feelings, both of you are pretending that you’re “just friends.”

Ace is the first to break the silence, offering you something to drink (scolding himself for forgetting to do so earlier). Luffy might eat all their food but he knows better than to drink all their alcohol/but at least he leaves the booze alone. You gratefully accept his offer.

However, you were not prepared for what watching him use a bottle opener would do for you/would awaken in you. Why the fuck is that sexy when he does it? You feel insane. It is not normal to have that reaction and it is definitely not normal to feel that way about a friend. The problem is worse than you thought, you have to nip it in the bud. Have you seen his arms? Dear lord. Even your thoughts betray you. Annoyingly, you can’t stop imagining the feeling of his lips.

The worst part is he’s none the wiser for it, but you intend to keep it that way. You beat the horny demon back with a stick (insert bonk meme). With some effort you are finally able to force the thoughts away at least for the time being. Once you return to normal, you realize he’s talking to you.

“-- I don’t know how he did it. He used to suck at that game and whine every time he lost, I can’t believe he wiped the floor with us.” You’re quick to catch onto the fact that he’s talking about Luffy’s insane winning streak

“I wasn’t expecting it either. Last time we played this at game night he was pretty bad at it. It’s crazy how fast he turned that around,” you say, slipping into the conversation as if you were attentive the whole time.

~~~~~~

“You’ve never seen it?” Ace questions, eyes wide. After getting some food delivered, the two of you had gotten onto the topic of your favorite movies and you have never seen his favorite. You confirm again that you don’t know the movie. He shakes his head, “That ain’t right, we gotta fix this.” A chuckle leaves your lips, but you don’t protest. Ace is already pulling the film up when he pauses and checks the time, “Ah shit, it’s getting late. D’ya think you have time for a movie?” he questions with a hopeful gaze.

Checking your phone, you determine you have at least a couple more hours before you’d get uncomfortable walking home. “I got the time,” you say and watch as a faint smile blossoms on his lips – the very lips you were staring at earlier, dying to kiss.

Calm down, you scold yourself.

“Okay, wait right there,” he says before dashing away sporting a childish grin. God, he is not helping your cause. He runs into the kitchen and moments later you hear the hum of a microwave. First you were horny and now you’re acting like you’re in high school. You need to pull yourself together. His footsteps pad off to somewhere else but you are no longer paying attention to him, at least you’re trying really hard not to.

The description of the movie starts to look real interesting, you read and reread it until you can think straight. By the time that happens, Ace is already on his way back with a big bowl of popcorn and a comforter, shutting off lights as he goes.

After setting down the popcorn on the table, Ace plops onto the couch. “Come closer, I don’t bite,” he teases, lifting up the edge of the thick blanket. “Unless you want me to,” he winks, it could just be the lighting but his eyes seem darker than before. Your breath catches momentarily at the insinuation before a chuckle runs through you and you scoot over to join him underneath the blanket.

Now satisfied that you’re all settled he presses play and promises you a cinematic masterpiece. It's hard for you to focus on it at first (or anything really), especially when you realize how close you are to him. In reality, you’re not much closer than you were playing video games, but under a blanket it somehow felt different.

It doesn’t take long before the story draws you in, pulling you away from your confusing thought processes. Ace, however, did not account for how distracting you would be. Oftentimes he found himself watching your reactions to what was happening more than the movie itself. He wants to think that it’s because he knows it so well he doesn’t need to look to know what’s happening, but that’s not true.

Not too long after the film started you catch Ace looking at you. “What?” you question with a laugh. He silently dismisses your question with a smile, turning his attention back to the screen. Shrugging it off you do the same.

Forcing himself to look at the TV instead of you turns out to be a good idea. This way you can no longer distract him. Ace falls back into the familiar storyline, getting absorbed by it.

A little bit past the halfway mark of the film you start to grow sleepy. At some point you got even closer together, now you can feel his body heat radiating off of him. Your eyelids are getting heavy. His smell is oddly comforting, between his blanket and the source the scent envelopes you. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open so much that you don’t even notice when you give in to the exhaustion.

A weight falls on Ace’s shoulder out of nowhere. It doesn’t take him long to realize what it is or rather who it is. He’s ready to tease you about it too but his heart melts hearing your soft rhythmic breaths and seeing the peaceful look on your face. He isn’t sure what to do, but he is pretty sure that it follows the cat rule; he is now stuck there until you wake up.

Ace tries to go back to the movie, but he is hyper aware of your head on his shoulder. With nowhere to go and no way to escape you he is forced to face how he feels about you.

In all honesty, you confuse him (to put it bluntly).

You’re friends, he knows that. Yet he wants more - at least he thinks he does. This doesn’t feel like it’s strictly platonic, there’s too much chemistry for that. Shit, he nearly kissed you not even three full hours ago. Troubling enough, he still wants to, and he has for a while now.

Ace tries to figure out what you are to him - what he wants you to be to him – but he can’t quite make sense of it. He’s never really wanted someone like this before and that scares him. Your dynamic is something right outside of his familiarity, he understands most of it but there’s some parts that are confusing.

He knows that he thinks you’re hot, and if earlier meant anything he’s pretty sure you find him attractive too. That part he understands. He also gets the whole friendship thing. What he doesn’t understand is why you using him as a pillow makes him so happy. Why did his heart race when you sent him back songs asking him to coffee? And most of all what the hell possessed him to tell you about his family?

Back at the cafe you had gotten to talking about your childhoods, which prompted you to ask him about his family. The question was innocent enough, it was clear that you just wanted to get to know him, but it came with baggage you couldn't have possibly known about. He normally doesn’t like talking about it but he felt comfortable with you for some reason. Some information about it he felt comfortable enough to share with you freely. He told you about his mother, the neighbor who had offered him refuge when he needed it. Hell, he even touched on Dadan and his life before his brothers. Then you asked about his dad. Once again you had no idea of how the topic of the man leaves a bitter taste in Ace’s mouth. As soon as you noticed how uncomfortable he was, you completely switched the subject. You did it naturally too, like you were trying to cover up the fact that you were giving him an out. You were so quick to bail him out of a conversation he wasn’t comfortable with. It made him like you more, trust you more too, enough that he was willing to circle back to the topic. He has been pushing the boundaries of what he’s comfortable with sharing already, so what’s a little bit more he reasoned to himself. Also, with how well the two of you get along, you were probably going to find out about it eventually. “I don’t talk to my father,” Ace stated emotionlessly, jumping head first into it during a lull in your conversation. You were clearly surprised by him bringing it back up, but you let him talk. “I’ve actually never met the man and never want to. I could if I did, I know where he is and how to reach him, but I have no desire to have anything to do with him,” a hint of bitterness seeps into his tone, contradicting the indifference he exhibited earlier. “Why?” your voice was small, the question seemed to have slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it, when you registered you had said it you clamped your hand over your mouth. “Ummm,” Ace hesitated, “he’s in prison, like famously so,” he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, no longer keeping eye contact. You could tell that he was debating whether he wanted to continue or not and you reminded him that he doesn’t have to tell you anything. That only strengthened his resolve. “I took my mom’s last name to not be associated with him. It’s funny that I’ve never had any contact with him and he still managed to fuck up my life,” he said with a half hearted laugh. He wasn’t entirely sure if he had the courage to tell you his name, but he ripped that bandaid off regardless, “His name’s Gol D. Roger.” Your eyes widened in surprise. Of course you knew the name, he braced himself for impact, or questions at least, but it never came. Instead, he got a look of confusion from you, “You didn’t do any of it so I don’t really care who he is.” Your reaction reminded him a lot of Luffy’s when they were kids, maybe that’s why he felt safe telling you. “Sorry about not having a dad though,” you said, catching him off guard. He snorted, but in the way that coffee ended up going down the wrong pipe and in his nose. “Oh my god, are you okay,” you laughed. Ace responded with a weak thumbs up and you pat him on the back until he got his breathing back under control.

Ace tries to think back on the day as a whole, but he keeps coming back to that moment. He couldn’t figure out what that moment alone means, let alone all of the other things too.

He has virtually no experience with romantic relationships, in fact they are so foreign to him that the thought of one doesn’t even cross his mind. He’s racking his brain to try and come up with an answer. The closest thing he can come up with is a friends with benefits situation. He’s done it before and it has worked (granted it has also failed miserably), but is it even worth the risk?

While he knows he’d be down for it, Ace has no clue if that is something you’d even consider. For all he knows you could be in a relationship. Fuck, what if you’re already seeing someone. He’s never asked, he’s never even thought to. This idea could be dead in the water already. Plus you’re probably not interested in him anyways.

Even if there is something between you two, Ace knows better than to make a move on you (despite how much he kinda wants to). You’re too entwined in his life at the moment for that to be a good idea. For starters you work at the place he now will have regular gigs at. And not simply work there but you are on the production team meaning you’d have regular contact. Not only that, but you’re one of Luffy’s good friends. He heard all about you before he even knew he was gonna meet you (Luffy called Ace a LOT while he was away, keeping him updated on his life in almost excruciating detail). If things were to get messy his brother would be stuck in the middle of it all, and Ace doesn’t want to do that to him. On the other hand, because you are so entwined in his life, will he even be able to hold himself back?

You just got into his life and he already likes having you around so he wouldn’t want to spoil that either. Friends is probably all it could be – friends who find each other hot, sure, but friends nonetheless. But why doesn’t that sit right with him?

~~~~~~

Not long after you leave, while he’s picking up (mostly after Luffy), Ace hears keys in the door. Sabo’s home. Honestly he didn’t even realize he was gone.

“Where were you?” Ace asks his brother as he enters their shared apartment. In all honesty his brother’s unusual absence slipped his mind.

“How was your day?” Sabo questions, ignoring him entirely. Ace does not like the way he said that, like he knows something. Nevermind that he rarely asks that in the first place.

“You first,” Ace stands his ground.

Sabo sighs but gives in, “I got dinner with Luffy then we went to his place.” Knowing he was with Luffy, Ace suddenly understands his tone earlier. There is no way that Luffy didn’t tell him about your presence, the kid isn’t exactly known for keeping his mouth shut. He now knows exactly where this conversation is headed and that there is no escaping it. Ace sighs in defeat, bracing himself for the interrogation.

“You like her, don’t you?” Sabo smiles, no longer under the pretense of asking about his day. Ace, annoyingly, has to hold back a blush, he just hopes the tips of his ears aren’t betraying him by turning red.

“I mean, kinda. She’s a friend, y’know,” Ace tries, really just wanting to get out of this. Sabo levels Ace a look, clearly not buying it. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he caves.

“You know you can’t lie to me, why are you trying,” Sabo says.

“I’m not, she’s just a friend,” Ace insists, he knows full well that he is, he just wishes that it was the truth and that these weird feelings he’s having would go away. At least that would make things a hell of a lot easier. Going for you is a bad idea and he knows it. He just wishes he wasn’t looking for/craving trouble.

Sensing that Sabo didn’t believe him, he gives in, “Fine, I think I like her, I don’t know. It’s weird plus it’s a bad idea. Also no way she goes for me, but still.” Unspeaking, Sabo prompts Ace to continue. Annoyingly, he realizes that talking this through is probably going to help. Ace makes his way to the small dining table they have in the living room with a heavy sigh. When he looks back at his brother, he looks more vulnerable.

“I fucking told her about my dad, Sabo” Ace confesses, hands running through his hair. Sabo’s eyes widen in surprise, it looks like it’s even more than he (and Koala, his long term girlfriend, who knows all about this) thought. The blond takes the seat next to him waiting for him to continue. Ace is fiddling with his hands.

“I’m not even sure why I told her,” Ace starts, fiddling with his hands. “She didn’t even care, no comments, no questions, no nothing,” Ace looks Sabo in the eyes, conveying things that he doesn’t even understand yet. Sabo is well aware of how Ace has been treated due to his biological father, he has witnessed it first hand, right away he knows how big of a deal this is to him.

Ace’s tone and body language shift away from the earlier vulnerability, “But nothing’s gonna happen. It’s all platonic. She’s just really easy to talk to.” He isn’t sure who he is trying to convince, Sabo or himself.

Understanding that he wants to drop the dad topic (even if they’re brothers it isn’t something he loves to talk about) Sabo grows mischievous. “And hot too, right?” he teases.

Ace’s head snaps to him, freaked out that he can tell that. How does he know that? The question is implied. Sabo laughs, accomplishing his goal with Ace’s deer in the headlights look, he’d love to leave it there but he chooses to explain further, “After the party, when you got home, you would not shut up about her. Your ass was hovering over the toilet talking about the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. I should’ve recorded it, it was embarrassing.”

“Bastard,” Ace scoffs, but his face is inflamed.

“It got pretty graphic too,” Sabo goes on, completely ignoring Ace’s comment in favor of imitating some of the things that he said until Ace’s face was bright red.

“Shut up!” Ace protests, he is so glad you’re not here to see this, but Sabo continues mocking him.

“I almost left you alone to choke and die,” Sabo laughs, right now Ace is kinda wishing he did.

A notification from Ace’s phone pulls him from the conversation (thankfully). It’s a text from you. Sabo also knows it’s a text from you, he can tell by the way Ace is looking at his phone. This is just proving his point, the one he danced around because, knowing his brother, leading him to a conclusion works so much better than telling him point blank.

There’s not anything more he can do so Sabo leaves for his room. Oh wait, he learned something. “Hey Ace,” Sabo calls out from behind the cover of his door (just in case), successfully getting his attention. “She’s single by the way,” he continues wiggling his brows.

“Shut up,” the protest from Ace is weak, his attention clearly back on whatever you were saying.

this one got messed up, pretend those heart hands are at the bottom

BONUS:

they both wingmaning ace independently tbh

we were so close to escaping the y/n curse but then the texts came and i couldn’t figure a way out of it

a/n: so about the bottle opener thing…. i can explain… arms 🤤 ngl i forgot i put that in there until i was "proofreading"

in my headcanon the video game was super smash bros (v silly of me to have a hc about something i wrote)

btw someone needs to stop me there is a slim (large) chance that im gonna make reader have a drunk tattoo (nothing bad probably like doodlebob or a random shape) jus for a joke that isn't really funny

i literally i too much to say i'm making a whole debrief for this 😭

thank you for reading ily 💕

pls like & comment! let me know your thoughts | © stuckinmymind22 | dividers by @enchanthings

#Spotify #portgas d ace x reader #one piece ace #portgas ace x you #modern au #one piece x reader #ace x reader #one piece x you #portgas ace x reader #ace x you #ace x y/n #fire first ace x reader #one piece smau #canon post

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beef-brisket · 21 hours ago

Text

Adam smiled and went out to grab it. And his package, he won't forget the package. He's actually surprised it hadn't been stolen.

Adam: Here we go! Anywhere specific you want it?

Lucifer blushed at how easily Adam was carrying his parcel.

Lucifer: Oh, uh- just on the table here, thank you Adam.

Shutting the door with his foot, Adam walked over and placed the mail on the table in front of Lucifer.

Adam: Right, are you hungry? I can get some dinner on? Or if you'd rather me stay out of the kitchen, I can order something.

Lucifer was shocked. He's never had someone so mindful of his space before. Not that he's given many people the chance, but the few times he has... haven't gone well. But it seems he's made the right choice with Adam. Finally.

Lucifer smiled softly: You can go in the kitchen. Thanks for asking first.

Adam: Yeah, of course! We could talk about this after dinner, if you'd like. If there's any place you really don't want me to go - or dietary things - o guess... we should talk about that before I cook dinner... but I'm guessing you can eat the food you have in the cupboard- okay, I'm going to cook. See you soon-! Call out of you need anything!

Lucifer laughed: Thanks Adam!

Adorable.

Placing a plate in front of Lucifer, Adam smiled widely: Bone apple... uh... here you go!

Lucifer chuckled: This looks great!

Adam: Oh, good! It's just pasta, so hopefully I haven't fucked it up.

Lucifer: I'm sure you didn't... well, I hope.

Adam: I promise, I didn't.

They both laughed and started eating.

Lucifer: Okay... I don't want to sound bossy... but rules.

Adam smiled and faced him: I love people bossing me around. I crave that clear direction, you know?

Lucifer: Oh! Really?

Adam: Yep! Just think of me as your bitch! Anything you want or don't want, you got it!

Lucifer laughed: Thos might be easier than I thought.

Adam: Oh, I'm extremely easy... not in that way- that was weird. Ignore what I just said.

Lucifer couldn't stop laughing, he hasn't felt this way with someone. Even with... the person he married.

Lucifer: Okay... so... Charlie's room... is a no go.

Adam: Fair enough.

Lucifer: Unless she says, of course! And the spare room down here is where you can stay, if you want! I know you live next door and everything.

Adam: I'll stay here, if that's okay with you- in case you need anything- and only if you want me to!

Lucifer smiled and continued reading off the list. They exchanged phone numbers, and Adam helped Lucifer get ready for bed.

Adam: Okay, give me a call if you need anything. I'm a pretty light sleeper so I'll wake up!

Lucifer: I'll keep that in mind. Good night, Adam- Thanks again for everything!

Adam: Anytime, short stuff- I mean that in the best way- I'm going to go- night!

Lucifer smiled as Adam walked off. He wasn't sure how he felt about someone staying in his house, but he strangly felt safer.

Lucifer: ...Oh! Adam! You need to check the windows!

Trapped Heart

@beef-brisket

⚠️This deals with Agoraphobia, anxiety, depression, and mentions of domestic abuse ⚠️

Adam: Well that's the last of them.

He looked around his new home and smiled, this place was so much better than his last home and a third of the price too.

They were practically giving it away.

There was his lawn mower that was on the truck still.

Adam went out to put it in the garage when he noticed his neighbor, a short blonde man getting his mail from his box. He was better looking than his last neighbor.

Adam waved: Hey!

Lucifer jumped as he grasped his mail, he looked over and saw a handsome brunette standing in the driveway across the road smiling and waving.

Lucifer: O-Oh, hi!

Adam: Names Adam, I just moved in.

Lucifer: N-nice to meet you! I'm Lucifer, I hope you like it here.

He wanted to be polite and welcome his new neighbor right, but he could already feel the cold tendrils of anxiety start to slowly crawl through his skin trying to wrap around him like a vice grip.

How long has he been outside? His heart started to beat a little hard with each moment he's not back in his home. He could die! He's not safe he needs to get back!

Adam: Yeah me too.

By the looks of it he already likes what he sees.

Lucifer nodded, he could feel the tremors starting in his hands the palms getting sweaty.

He needs to go.

Lucifer: I-It was nice to meet you Adam! B-But I need to get going.

Adam: Oh okay, maybe we can hang out sometime?

Lucifer gave a tight smile: Y-yeah.

He waved again to be polite and tried not to run back to his house, his therapist said it was good for him to be out as long as he could stand it.

Pushing himself a little each day. Today him reached his limit.

Once his front door was closed and locked behind relief washed over him, he's safe now nothing can hurt him. He hugged his mail to his chest, he needed to sit down.

Lucifer went over and placed everything on the coffee table. He tried to remember his breathing exercises.

Adam seemed very nice, maybe he'll send Charlie over when she comes to give him a proper greeting.

Adam tilted his head as he watched his new neighbor go into his home, if he didn't know any better he would say the man was panicked. Did he do something? He knows his personality can be a little brash at times but he thought he was being polite.

A man that lived beside him came out for his mail as well.

Adam: Hi! Umm, I'm new here.

Alastor: Oh hello! I'm Alastor, I guess that makes us neighbors.

Adam chuckled: Guess so. Umm, if I may ask, is the man that lives there okay? I didn't intend to upset him.

Alastor looked over at Lucifer's home and rolled his eyes.

Alastor: Getting the mail was he? Don't worry about it that man's afraid of his own shadow. I wouldn't waste my time, he never leaves his house.

Well that sounded a little dramatic.

Adam: What?

Alastor leaned on the fence: Oh yeah, Mr. Morgenstern over there never leaves his house. Rumor has it that his wife used to beat the fuck out of him in the home but it was worse when they were in public. Apparently she'd just humiliate him and others would join in making things worse. He was never free of her but at least in the home he could be alone.

Adam was horrified to hear that: Dude, the fuck, is that true?

Alastor shrugged: Not sure. All I know that is true is she left him nearly 8 years ago and he's become some kind of hermit that never leaves the damn house. His daughter Charlie, sweet girl you'll likely meet her, comes over from time to time.

Adam looked over at Lucifer's house, that couldn't all be true right? Maybe some was and the rest is telephone gossip extras?

Him and Alastor parted ways, he had to put everything away in his house. All the while his mind kept going back to the handsome neighbor across the way.

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daddy-ul · 11 days ago

Text

Well, now I wanna know

*But what about Lulu, you say? Not a Metallica album, according to the guys! It's a Metallica&LouReed album, which is apparently different

Nuance me in the tags/comments

#metallica #hardwired to self destruct #death magnetic #72 seasons #lars ulrich #kirk hammett #rob trujillo #james hetfield #i think i know how this will go but feel free to surprise me!#and i hope it's clear that first of the list is first place in your heart between them and then going down #see how gracious i am that i remembered to add the last option

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santaasi · 1 month ago

Text

obviously blind

pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader

summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3

ᯓ★ now playing…

slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

Would you promise me you'll never let me go

November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.

It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.

When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.

“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”

By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.

“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”

The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.

“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”

James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.

At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.

A girl.

Not just any girl, but you.

You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.

You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.

“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”

You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.

“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.

Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.

And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.

“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”

You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”

But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.

Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.

“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.

It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.

Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.

Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.

“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.

James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.

It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...

“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”

James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.

“Padfoot—”

“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.

Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.

“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.

“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”

James groaned, though his smile was fond.

Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.

“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”

Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.

When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.

“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”

Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”

Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”

Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”

You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering.

As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.

James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”

James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.

And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.

July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.

Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.

Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.

Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.

THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.

Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.

“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.

James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”

James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”

James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.

James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.

You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.

“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.

By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.

“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.

“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”

“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”

“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”

But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.

AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.

It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.

One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.

James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.

It was unbearable.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”

You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”

“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.

Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.

But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.

BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.

And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.

“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.

“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.

“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”

James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”

Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”

James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.

March 30, 1975

My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.

How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.

And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.

It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.

“Darling,” Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.

“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.

Never by name. Always darling.

Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.

James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.

IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”

James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”

James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”

“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.

You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”

“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”

James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”

“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”

From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.

One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.

“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.

James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”

James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”

Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.

LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.

And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.

“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.

Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”

It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”

Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”

Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“Alright, what are you two plotting?”

“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”

James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”

Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.

And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.

DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.

But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.

You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.

Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.

Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.

“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.

You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”

James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.

It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.

That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.

Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”

“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”

Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.

“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.

“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.

Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.

November 27, 1976

My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love

THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.

Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”

“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.

Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.

And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.

Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

The idiot was besotted.

Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.

“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”

As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.

Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.

The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.

October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?

Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.

And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.

February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!

Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”

Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.

Then came the letters about Lily.

March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”

He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.

It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?

By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.

December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.

The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.

And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.

The final letter undid him.

December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.

Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.

“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now.

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.

Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.

It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.

And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.

Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.

Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.

The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.

But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”

James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.

“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”

The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”

James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.

He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.

It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.

Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.

“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.

Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”

James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.

“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”

There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”

James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”

James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.

“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”

James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”

For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.

“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.

Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”

James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”

As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.

And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.

THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.

From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.

But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.

Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.

James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”

“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.

You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.

The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.

“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.

“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”

That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.

Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.

A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.

“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.

“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.

“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.

James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”

Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.

By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.

For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.

“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.

James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.

James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.

"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.

Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.

He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:

To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,

Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.

So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.

December 25, 1976 My Love, It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try. Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart. Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard. I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose. I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you. Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure. How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.

I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you. Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you. Forever yours, Jamie

thankx for reading <3

god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).

and if you've finished reading this, thank u and I love you so much! I hope you enjoyed every part of it and I will be very glad if you leave a comment, because it seems to me that I have left all of myself in this work!

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox. btw my requests are open so… make a wish :3

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

#– santi 🪐#james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter x y/n #james potter fanfiction #bsf!james potter #james potter x fem!reader

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nkogneatho · 2 months ago

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SANTA'S CUMMING TO TOWN

—fushiguro toji x fem!reader

#TAPE NO 1 OF 'Tis the Season to be Naughty

—cw: breeding, santa kink (idk bruh i am all high and horny), mention on pregnancy, prone bone, raw sex, spanking, dirty talking, nick names. (art creds: yy6241 on ig)

—a/n: 1.2k words of everything that is wrong with me

Christmas wasn't particularly the most awaited time of the year for Toji. You on the other hand? You made sure that your place looked like the Christmas Spirit threw up garlands, trees and cute lights all over.

"Can you pass me those lights?" you ask Toji who was hanging the pinecones on the tree.

"Tell me why we're doin' this again?"

"Because it's Christmas. It's the season of joy. Oh, by the way," you gently step down from the table that helped you a gain a foot to put on the decorations, "gumi's friends are coming tomorrow so make sure to dress up as a santa."

"What?" He is stunned. It's not that he doesn't like kids but to have all their excited eyes on him would give him quite the stage fright.

"Please Please Toji. I know you don't like this kinda stuff but gumi was so excited the other day to see santa."

"What's in it for me?"

"You want a bribe for dressing up to make your son happy?" Your arms fold against your chest and you look at him with a poker face.

"Of course. That little brat gets spoiled way too much by you. When's my turn?"

"Toji. It's either the santa costume or the shark costume and dancing on baby shark for an hour"

*GASP*

"Hope ya know Santa doesn't like you, sweetheart." He walks away after giving you a nasty look. You know he doesn't mean it. He is cute when he is all pouty.

The party felt like forever. You send Megumi off to Shiu's place with his son and his mom. They were gonna have a sleepover. Megumi was a raging introvert just like his father so him having a best friend was a big deal for you.

"So the dishes are done. The extra party hats are in the cupboard, the floor is clean and y—" You stop your moving feet and look at the view in front of you. "And Santa hasn't left yet."

"Well...I still have one bad girl on my list. Thought I'd take care of that." He steps closer. The heat emitting from his body already reaching to hug your skin.

"But I've been your good girl, haven't I?" your doe eyes flutter at him, your fingers curling his white faux beard.

"Nah sweetheart. You've been so bad. You've barely paid any attention to me all month. Don'tcha think ya should get punished for that?" His grainy voice grazes against your neck. You try so hard to come up with a quick witty answer to turn this into a wholesome conversation but that was down the drain the moment he put that thing on. You were never into the whole santa thing until now. All blame goes to the man underneath the costume.

"P-punished?" You clear you throat. "Like?" You wait for an answer but you don't get one. Well, at least not in words.

Toji picks you up bridal style and walks to the cozy mattress next to the christmas tree and the gifts.

"Gonna give you a full experience, doll."

Everytime you fuck, Toji's always the one to get undressed first. He is too impatient to feel you against him. But tonight, you're the only one getting undressed. Your dress pools on your stomach as calloused hands hike it up.

"Toj—"

"tsk tsk. address me properly, naughty girl."

"Santa! Need you inside me.

"Heh. Not so soon, darling. Gotta punish you first." In a split second, you're turned on your belly, face pushed against the pillow. Toji inhales a sharp breath watching your exposed ass. A quick spank is landed on your them, making your husband hard as your plump skin bounces.

"Look at'cha. Such a slut. getting all wet with just a spank? what you gon' do when santa fills up your hole, doll?"

*spank*

"Ah! Fuck. I am so sorry, Santa. I promise I'll be a good girl f'you" you mewl.

"Promise? ight. Let's test that." You hear him shuffle. His fingers unbuckle the comically large belt and tugging down the pants just enough to expose his throbbing cock. He pumps it a few times before slapping the precum covered tip on your butt cheeks, the slight wet feeling on your skin turning you on even more. Toji grabs a cushion and settles it between the floor and your stomach so your pussy is easily visible. It's shameful. You know you're so wet that it's traveling down your thigh and drenching the cushion.

You feel his cockhead rub against your slick, opening the folds.

"Shit. She's dripping, sweetheart. Don't even need to stretch ya tonight. You ready for Santa's cock?"

He doesn't even give you a chance to answer before he is slowly forcing it in your pussy. Emerald eyes not even blinking for a second out of fear of missing even a single frame of the way you swallow him.

"Fuuuuuck!" you cry out at the stretch.

"Attagirl. Took it all in once. Keep it up and I might take you off my bad list, baby."

He starts off a few gentle strokes to get you used to it all before he puts his arms on your back, pushing you further against the mattress as he starts pounding into you like an animal.

"Fuckfuckfuck fucking god! I love your pussy. You feel so fucking good. Ughhh"

"Ah! Ah! Ah! Santa, pl—please. You're so big."

"I know, baby. But—ugh—you're takin' me sooo well. Fuck! Yeah, baby c'mon. Grind that ass on my cock. Yeaaaah just like that fuck!"

"G-gunna cum, anh anh ffu—ngh," you cry and your tears are soaked by the pillows. In another second, you're coming undone on his cock, screaming his name.

"Good girl. Good. Fucking. Girl." Each word enunciated with a deep plunge in your shivering pussy.

"You've been such a good girl. Santa's gonna give you a gift." Toji picks up his pace again, rolling his hips faster, the faux beard chafing your shoulders as he is putting all his weight on you, all his instincts telling him to breed you.

"Gunna give my sweet doll the greatest gift. You better take it all. 'm gonna make sure your pussy does. goddaaaamn nghh—" A few more deep thrusts and soon he is losing his composure, cumming and painting your insides with his thick leak.

"You better return the gift in nine months doll." You're too fucked in your brain to even register what he said.

The next morning you're not even making eye contact with Toji, too embarrassed to accept you were turned on by something so innocent. Good thing Megumi comes by the door running, helping you avoid the situation for a little longer.

"Aww come here, my boy. Did you have fun at Uncle Shiu's?" He nods. His little arms coming to hug you.

"So what gift ya got brat?" Toji asks the little sea urchin.

"I got a pink tiger with a red color bow. He is the best. I named him Yuuji." You chuckle, wiping the drool from corner of his lips. "And we ate fortune cookies."

"ohh! what did your cookie say?"

"It said Santa will bring a little sister next year." Blood rushes to your cheeks, your face heating up at the little boy's innocent comment, sounding completely sinful after scenes from last night play in your head. You bite the insides of your cheek.

"Mhm. Hope he does, babe." He kisses the top of the boy's head and then your temple. Yeah he is not the Christmas kinda guy. But this might be his new favorite holiday now.

#toji x reader #toji smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #fushiguro toji #toji x female reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

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sonicboomseason3 · 10 months ago

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a brief recap of what has been going on with the sonic movieverse in the past several months:

paramount has come out in public support of israel

keanu reeves, a man who has publicly rubbed elbows with none other than benjamin netanyahu, reportedly gets cast as shadow for the upcoming third movie

james marsden, the guy who plays tom, got exposed as having written a letter of support for a convicted pedophile

there's fucking??? zionist propaganda in the knuckles series???

kind of connected to the last point but adam pally, the guy who plays wade, is evidently pro-israel too

this is a complete and utter joke.

EDIT AS OF 4/30/24: if people see this version of the post, i'd really appreciate it if you reblog it instead of the other versions, as it's the most updated one with all the information that i want included. thank you :]

you know, it's been a few days since i've made this post, and some of you (not most) are staying determined in defending/justifying/giving the benefit of the doubt to keanu for that photo with netanyahu, whether it's because "it was a decade ago," "him being civil to someone he ran into at a party one time doesn't mean anything," "he's probably just silent because his pr managers won't allow him to speak up," etc. i've made my thoughts on the matter quite clear by directly responding to these people, but at this point, i'm tired of both seeing them in my notes and repeating myself, so take this as my final word on the issue.

i can't help it if you don't think the photo with netanyahu is damning, and i'm done engaging with everyone going out of their way to tell me that. i obviously disagree, especially after finding out that 1. the host of the party, arnon milchan, is a former israeli spy who has a history of developing israel's nuclear program and promoting apartheid in south africa (information that had broken out a few months prior to the party and thus would've been fresh news around the time keanu chose to attend) and 2. keanu has been caught hanging around at least two other weirdos, but if you don't find any of that to be cause for reasonable concern, then there really is nothing else i can say afaik.

with all that said, i'm beginning to realize how strange it is that these people's first instinct when seeing this post is to start debating about keanu's political stances without ever acknowledging any of the other bullet points. you guys realize that this isn't just about him, right? i know tumblr reading comprehension is known for being piss-poor, but like… you realize that i was trying to make a point of how there are MULTIPLE terrible things that have broken out about the people and company involved in the sonic movies, right? and yet, a lot of the people leaping to speak on keanu's behalf in my notes are completely ignoring the parts where i bring up paramount, pally, etc. all in favor of zeroing in on the singular point about keanu and making bad faith assumptions about me for holding him accountable. really makes one wonder where your priorities lie if, in a post that talks about so many other things, me accusing an a-list celebrity with, according to google, a net worth of almost $400 million is where you draw the line and apparently the only thing worth your acknowledgment.

ultimately, what i'm trying to say is that the intention of this post was just to gather up everything that i had been hearing for the past several months and put it all together in one place. there were a bunch of people who didn't know about at least one of the bullet points before seeing this post, and i'm glad that i could help inform them, that was what i was hoping to do! but as for the keanu thing, i've said pretty much all i can say for now, and i don't want to derail the original post even more than i may have already. unless something new comes up, i'm done talking about him.

#sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic movie #.sbs3 #yeah no i WILL be annoying about this #because what the fuck

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ro-is-struggling · 11 months ago

Text

Safer In His Arms || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: Since you were little you always dreamed of meeting a noble and brave knight, falling in love and marrying him to rule your kingdom together until the end of your days. But as you looked around at the men that had come to the banquet to ask for your hand in marriage, it was clear that those dreams were nothing more than a fantasy. Or at least that's what you thought until fate crossed your path with Geralt of Rivia. The witcher, with his hard expression and cold stare, was the last person anyone would describe as warm or chivalrous. But not you. From the moment you met him, you saw nothing but kindness in his eyes. And when he managed to rescue you from the hands of bandits, you knew that maybe there was still some hope that your fantasy could come true —just maybe not in the way you had always imagined.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of sexual assault (nothing happens but if it’s triggering for you I wouldn’t read it), protective!geralt, SMUT MINORS DNI, virgin!reader, inexperienced!reader, loss of virginity (not accurate this is just porn!), dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, creampie, aftercare, fluff

English is not my first language

Word count: 13500 (not even sorry)

Notes: I don't know why I keep giving every princess I write a sad/tragic story, sorry about that. Also this ended up being way more smutty than I anticipated, sorry about that too (not really). It was supposed to be a fun little hurt/comfort fic about Geralt saving the reader but it developed a mind of its own and ended up being another excuse to write more smut. I tried to make the smut a bit more fluffy than normal since it's supposed to be the reader's first time, but I didn't want it to be too fluffy given that they technically barely know each other, so there's no actual love between them (if that makes sense?). So, sorry if it's a bit all over the place!

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The cold breeze of the summer night hit your skin the moment you set foot outside, reminding you that you should have taken a coat. While the days tended to be hot this time of year, once the sun set over the horizon a cool breeze embraced the entire kingdom, courtesy of the ocean forces that surrounded the borders of the land. It was quite peaceful. On a quiet night you loved to sit in the courtyard listening to the waves crashing against the rocks and smelling the scent of the salty water that was carried by the winds and mingled with the sweet perfume of the garden flowers. It seemed to always bring peace to your troubled mind, and that was exactly what you needed right now.

You could still hear the noise coming from inside the castle, though it was slowly getting lost in the sound of the sea. The laughter, the chatter, the joyful music, it all faded into the background as you plopped down on one of the seats in the courtyard, allowing yourself a moment to take a deep breath and let the beauty of your kingdom impart some of the wisdom you so desperately needed. All the guests were there for you —to talk and dance with you, to make unattainable but romantic promises in exchange for your hand in marriage— and yet all you wanted to do was disappear. You were tired of the politics, the diplomacy, tired of feeling the pressure of having to decide the future of your life and your kingdom in one night. The choice of a husband was very important to your parents, to your people and it should be to you too, but all you wanted was for the day to be over.

"I'm glad to see I'm not the only one feeling overwhelmed in there." A deep voice startled you.

Looking up you were met with a tall man leaning against one of the stone pillars supporting the roof of the covered section of the courtyard. His arms were crossed over his chest, muscles showing through the fabric of his clothes. His white hair hid part of his face, though you could still make out his hard expression and defined jaw. But what caught your attention the most was not the size of his muscles or the fact that the clothes he was wearing seemed too elegant for someone like him. No, what caught your attention the most were the amber eyes that watched you, admiring you from a distance, hiding behind a few rebellious strands of hair. You had never seen such beautiful eyes before. They were piercing, and yet there was a softness in them. Like the sun on a summer afternoon, they shone with an intensity that would have blinded anyone. But you were mesmerized by them, unable to look away.

"Though I must admit I did not expect to find you here, your highness, given that you are the center of the party."

"I needed some fresh air." You managed to say, forcing yourself to look away from his eyes. "I lost count of the number of men I danced with tonight...I just needed a break."

"That bad, huh?" His lips curved upward slightly, giving his hard expression a softer look. "I suppose if any of them had made a good impression at least you would remember their name."

"It wouldn't matter anyways. My parents have a very strong opinion about the one I should choose." You let out a bitter chuckle. "This banquet is just a formality, a contingency plan.... Give everyone a false sense of hope so they won't attack us for feeling left out."

"I'm sure you still have some sort of control over the whole thing. You're the one getting married after all."

"Since when does a woman's opinion matter when there's wealth and power involved? I'm just a pawn in their political game." Your gaze dropped, focusing on the embroidered details of your dress to avoid facing the intense gaze of the man in front of you. "When I was a girl I used to dream of growing up, meeting a brave and honorable prince and falling in love with him... now I know that feelings come after marriage, if they come at all."

Geralt watched you walk arround the courtyard, your fingers tracing the petals of the flowers that decorated the place without paying much attention to your movements. You had a blank stare and a sad expression adorned your delicate face. He was not a big lover of royalty —he didn't care about politics and didn't like the arrogant tone with which most of them used to speak—, but you were different. When he looked at you he didn't see a spoiled, arrogant princess or a manipulative political figure capable of anything to get their way. He only saw a sad and disillusioned young woman, confused about her future and the responsibility that fell on her shoulders.

Geralt felt bad for you and had an inexplicable urge to hug you, though he restrained himself. He opted to move closer to you, just took a couple of steps forward and he was already able to breathe in the scent of your perfume. His nostrils were pleasantly assaulted by the sweet scent emanating from your skin and hair. It was special, a blend of jasmine, vanilla and a hint of sea water. It was like nothing he had ever smelled before and he was sure that your scent would linger in his memory for a long time.

"It is still your life." He spoke behind your back and you turned to look at him. He seemed much bigger now that he was closer to you. His figure towered over you imposingly, yet his eyes were soft. "You can always take back your control over it." Your lips curved upward slightly and Geralt thought the smile suited you much better than the grimace of sadness.

You appreciated his effort to improve your mood. He was a complete stranger who had no reason to listen to your complaints about a life that many considered privileged. And though his words were simple, they accomplished their purpose. You felt so helpless and trapped that you were unable to see that things didn't end there. Yes, you were forced to marry someone you did not love for the sake of your kingdom, but that was not the same as giving up your life, your control and power over it. There was still hope.

"Thank you..." you trailed off, realizing at that moment that you had opened yourself so sincerely to a man whose name you didn't even know.

But before he could introduce himself, a voice in the distance interrupted you, answering for him.

"Geralt! There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you. You are supposed to protect me, you know."

Geralt let out an irritated sigh as the man you recognized as one of the many musicians hired by your parents to play at the banquet approached you. You had to stifle a chuckle as you realized that rather than escaping the noise of the party, he had come there to get a break from his friend's vibrant and cheerful personality. They were an odd pair, but you had no doubt that there had to be trust between them from the way the bard addresses him.

“I’ve been doing the impossible to hide from Lord Kaius for ages! What the hell were you doing out her–” The artist's complaints were cut short when his eyes finally rested on your figure. "Your highness." He gave a subtle bow, the tone of his voice changing to a lower, more subtle one from one second to the next.

"I'm afraid it's my fault. I was preoccupying your friend with the problems that afflict my mind on this fine evening and he was too kind to interrupt me. He was a great help, but you can take him back now. You clearly need him more than I do."

"Won't you come inside, your highness? You wouldn't want to miss your own party." The bard asked and you smiled at him.

"In a moment. I'd like to enjoy the peace and fresh air for a while longer."

Geralt didn't know why, but his eyes kept searching for you in the crowd of people dancing and eating like there was no tomorrow. After Jaskier dragged him back to the banquet hall —and after saving him from the fury of the man whose daughter had lost her innocence in the hands of the bard—, he kept his eyes on the big dark wooden doors, waiting to see you enter. But the minutes passed and there was no sign of you anywhere. He hadn't seen you come through the door and he couldn't find you in the crowd of people or see you at the royal table sitting next to your parents. You had disappeared and some people were beginning to notice.

For a moment, Geralt wondered if perhaps his words had encouraged certain behaviors in you. Maybe your way of taking control of your life was to run away from there, leaving your parents, your suitors and your responsibilities behind and start from scratch. He was wondering if perhaps he should go out to look for you, when his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden entrance of a man running towards the king and queen waving a paper in his raised right hand.

"The princess has been kidnapped." He announced loudly, causing the entire room to fall into a deep silence.

The musicians stopped playing, the people dancing stood motionless in the middle of the room and the queen almost fainted at that very moment. There was a collective sigh and then nothing. Pure silence while the king read the note that had been left behind by the bandits, establishing a payment for the recovery of the princess.

However, the silence did not last long. It was a room full of princes, knights and lords who were there to win the heart of the princess —or at least, the political interest of her parents— so chaos was bound to break out at a time like that. Lord Einar, the one who had found the note in the courtyard, was the first to offer his services to save the princess. His bravery set off a chain reaction of man after man appearing before the king to justify why they were the best suited for the task and not their competitors. And as they fought among themselves, Geralt decided to take matters into his own hands.

He finally felt comfortable as he inspected the courtyard and its surroundings for some sort of clue as to your whereabouts. For the first time since he had arrived at the castle he felt as if he actually had something to do there. Banquets and politics weren't his thing, but tracking down and hunting evil was. And while his area of expertise was monsters, he was willing to make an exception —anything to find an excuse to get him out of the political mess unfolding in the banquet hall.

His senses enhanced by the mutation allowed Geralt to follow the path that your scent had left in the air. He only had to take a couple of deep breaths and he immediately caught the fragrance of jasmine and vanilla that he had smelled on your skin. It stood out above any other scent near him, almost as if he had you in front of him once again. All he had to do was follow it to the outskirts of the castle, where his tracking skills allowed him to form a clearer picture of the situation.

They were heading north, away from the ocean and into the forest. The four pairs of footprints in the dirt indicated the presence of three heavy men who were accompanied by a fourth subject that was not so pleased to be there. The footprints were more shallow and imperfect. They belonged to a person of smaller build who was being dragged by those men. Geralt found no blood on the path, so he felt optimistic. You were conscious and had no serious wounds that would leave traces of your blood on the road, so there was a high chance that he would arrive in time to save you.

Following the path became a little more complicated the deeper he went into the woods, but fortunately for him the vegetation was not so lush and the bandits had not hidden very far away. Soon he was able to hear their angry mutterings in the distance. The night wind carried your sobs with it and Geralt followed them as if it were a map straight to your whereabouts.

You were being held captive in what appeared to be abandoned land. There was a dirty old shack and behind it, in the distance, Geralt could make out a barn that he had no doubt was in the same condition. A dim light was escaping through the half-open wooden door, so he knew that was where he had to go.

Two of the bandits scattered around the property to control the perimeter while one remained inside with you. Geralt was able to slip past them unseen with ease. Clearly, they were not men of great intellect and wisdom. Only a fool would kidnap a princess on the one night she was surrounded by strong and capable noble knights looking to prove themselves to her. Although glancing around, he was the only one there, so perhaps the bandits had a point.

Geralt was very careful with his movements, seeking to stay in the shadows as long as possible to assess the situation. He knew he could take out those men without breaking a sweat, even if they attacked him all three at once. But he had to consider that you were in the middle and any mistake he made could end badly for you. So he took his time, stealing a glimpse of the barn through the cracked door. His vision was limited by the odd angle from which he was forced to observe the scene, as well as the dim light that illuminated the room. Geralt was considering going in with his sword held high and end it all, when a sudden movement forced him to retreat so as not to be found.

Still, he got to see the way the man was mistreating you, pushing you violently against a pile of hay while you cried and begged for your life. And he got to hear the string of degenerate words he spat at you, enjoying the fear in your voice as you struggled to keep your distance from him. It made Geralt angry. Very angry.

The next sequence of actions happened so quickly that it was hard for you to process it. Although, to be honest, your mind wasn't quite there either. A part of you was completely missing, preparing to face the worst. When your captor lunged at you, effectively imprisoning you against the hay and almost completely restricting your movements, your mind transported you to another place. You could still hear his voice in the distance, smell his unpleasant odor and feel his weight on your body, but it all felt distant, muffled by the sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks and the smell of salt water. Your body was still struggling to break free and tears were still streaming down your cheeks, but your mind was preparing to face the horror you knew was coming.

"You can cry all you want, no one is coming to save you." The man clicked his tongue, an evil smile forming on his lips. "A castle full of people and not a single man in sight, what a shame! But don't worry, princess, the time has come for you to know what a real man is." He moved his hands to the buttons of his pants, his leering gaze roaming over your body. You felt like screaming, crying and vomiting all at the same time, but you remained immobile, not knowing how to react. You simply closed your eyes, concentrating on the images of the sea you loved so much, waiting for the moment to pass.

But instead of feeling the weight of your captor's body on you again, you felt the splatter of warm liquid on your skin. Droplets rolled down your cheeks, mixing with your tears, and streams fell on your clothes. When you opened your eyes you found the sharp point of a sword poking out of your captor's pierced stomach. It was his blood that drenched your body, his blood that stained your clothes. It poured down on you from the wound in his stomach and from the cut in his throat that prevented him from producing more than broken cries as he drowned in his own blood.

It took you a few seconds to understand what was happening. Your confused mind, on high alert for new dangers, was not able to comprehend that the death of your captor was something positive for you. You only saw blood in quantities you had never seen before and could not help but scream as you watched in horror as the sword disappeared inside the bandit's body —splashing a few more drops of blood on its way out.

In the blink of an eye, the dying body of your captor was removed from above you and was replaced by a hand that pressed over your mouth to silence you. You struggled against it, your own hands snapping out of their state of shock to clutch at the arm of the new danger in an attempt to separate it from you. But then your eyes focused on the man leaning over you, the one who had saved you and who was desperately asking you to keep quiet.

A surge of calm ran through your body as you made contact with those golden eyes that intrigued you so much. You knew then that you were no longer in danger for Geralt had come to your rescue. Your heart was still beating almost inhumanly fast, pumping adrenaline throughout your body, and your breathing was still rapid, but you were able to calm your whimpers of protest under his hand. You stopped fighting him, trusting that you would be safe under his care.

"There are more-" You tried to warn him as he removed his hand from your mouth, but Geralt shushed you.

"I know, they're outside. That's why I need you to stay quiet and hide while I deal with them. Can you do that, your highness?" You nodded slowly, letting Geralt lead you to the back of the barn. He settled you behind a pile of hay that was large enough to hide your crouched figure, asking you to stay there until he came back for you, no matter what you heard outside.

"Wait! Don't leave me!" you panicked as he took a step away from you. Your hand flew to his arm, clinging to his clothes in an attempt to keep him from leaving. You knew what he had to do, but the thought of being alone again terrified you.

"Everything will be fine." Geralt tried to calm you, his voice a soft whisper. "I promise I will come back for you."

He gave you a moment before trying to leave once again, waiting for you to let go of his arm willingly rather than forcibly push you away. Geralt knew you were terrified and needed support, and he was more than willing to give it, but first he had to take care of the bandits that were still on the loose. And it would not be wise to fight them while you were present. It would only distress you further and put you in unnecessary danger. So, with a slight nod, he left you in the barn once more, disappearing into the night to finish what he had started.

You curled up in your place, listening to the distant sounds of the fight as you let another wave of tears roll down your cheeks. The smell of blood and dirt surrounded you. You were covered in it —in dirt, from being pushed back and forth around the place; in your captor's sweat, after he threw his body over yours; and in his blood, thanks to Geralt's fierce but effective attack. It made you want to vomit. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in, and your mind was slowly beginning to understand the great danger you were in and how lucky you were that Geralt showed up when he did.

“Princess?”

His voice brought you back to reality. He was kneeling beside you, looking at you with concern in those beautiful yellow eyes. The skin on his face was stained with a few drops of blood, as you imagined yours to be, but that did not lessen the softness of his expression. You threw yourself into his arms without a second thought, hiding your face in his neck as you sobbed in relief to know that the danger was over.

"It's okay, you're safe. I'm here, it's going to be okay." Geralt muttered against your hair, pulling you into his arms hoping that would be enough to help ease your nerves.

He held you against his body for as long as you needed him to, stroking your back with his hand in a slow, delicate way to inspire some sense of calm in you. He didn't move for a moment, not even when your sobs began to fade and your breathing became regular. No, Geralt waited for you to make the first move, breaking away from him when you were ready to do so.

"It's all right. You're fine. Just breathe with me. In...and out...in...and out. All right."

You let the soft but deep tone of his voice slowly wash away the paralyzing fear and nerves that plagued you. You focused on the warmth of his body and the way his arms wrapped around you, making you feel safe. You mimicked the rhythm of his breathing, letting him slowly guide you back to normal.

When you opened your eyes again the world around you was no longer spinning. Your vision was still a little blurry from the tears, but you could make out perfectly the yellow eyes, bright as the summer sun, watching you carefully.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a small smile. "Did they hurt you?" You shook your head. Most of the blood on you at that moment wasn't yours, thankfully. Beyond a couple of bruises on your wrists from the bindings, and a split lip from a slap, you weren't injured. Your head hurt and you had twisted your ankle in an attempt to escape but it was nothing you couldn't handle.

"Who were they?" You asked in a shaky voice as you tried to stand up. You winced in pain as you put weight on your injured foot, but Geralt caught you in his arms before you lost your balance.

"Trust me, you're not going to like the answer to that."

A collective sigh was heard as you and Geralt entered the war room, where the king and queen were coordinating a rescue party with some soldiers and half of the suitors present at the banquet. It was a sigh of surprise rather than relief. It was clear that no one expected to see you there, much less with the disheveled appearance you had.

Your mother was the first to react, running up to you with tears in her eyes. Although she couldn't bring herself to hug you, the blood that stained your ball gown was still fresh, so she settled for holding your cheeks in her hands while repeating over and over again how happy she was that you were safe. Your father reacted by sending the guards to arrest Geralt as his worried mind believed that the witcher somehow had something to do with your kidnapping. You had to stand between them, taking your savior's hand in yours to make your position clear.

"What you imply is ridiculous! He saved me, father. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him." you stated firmly, keeping your head held high and holding back tears in your eyes.

"He very well could still be behind all this. He's a witcher who wasn't officially invited to the festivities and conveniently vanished in the middle of the night without a word. No one can attest to him but that bard..."

"No offense, your majesty, but I just felt as though the situation was not being treated with the necessary urgency." Geralt interjected, speaking in a calm and slightly defiant tone. "I knew for a fact that she couldn't be far away and that time was of the essence, but everyone at that feast seemed more interested in proving themselves worthy of glory and respect than saving your daughter's life. I just did what had to be done."

"How dare you speak that way about these noble men, witcher! Any one of them would be more than willing to give his life for my daughter!"

"He is right, father. If you want to find a culprit, you should direct your gaze to Lord Einar."

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. But his gaze was focused on you, staring at you with a fury you didn't know if the others were able to detect. He took a step forward and you tightened your grip on Geralt's hand, instinctively seeking his support. He stuck to your side, silently letting you know that he was ready to come between him and you if necessary —though he seriously doubted that Einar would be stupid enough to try to hurt you in front of the king.

"This is absurd!" Lord Einar complained with exaggerated outrage. "I will not allow myself to be disrespected in this way! I was invited to this feast to formalize my interest in the princess, which is greater than that of anyone in this room, if I may add. Have you forgotten that it was I who noticed the princess's strange disappearance? If I had not gone out to look for her, perhaps the news of her disappearance would have come too late. And may I remind you, your majesty, that it was I who first offered my services to bring her back safe and sound."

"That was the plan, wasn't it?" Geralt spoke through gritted teeth. "To pay some coins to a bunch of desperate bastards to take her so that you could rescue her and thus win her and the king's heart."

"I will not allow this... thing to disrespect me like this!"

"Your scent was on their clothes. Your name was the last thing they uttered before I slit their throats. You knew you didn't stand a chance with her, so you found a way to force your name to the top of the list."

Intimidated by Geralt's cold, hard stare, Lord Einar turned to look at the king. "These are nothing more than baseless accusations made by someone who clearly wants to distract us from his own guilt and involvement." he said, keeping his head held high as he lied through his teeth. "I beg you, my king, to consider punishment for this insolent witcher."

"Is this proof enough for you?" you snapped, tossing an object on the table.

After the bandits were dead, Geralt had searched their bodies for some kind of proof that their words were true. That's how he had found a ring in the pocket of one of them that clearly didn't belong to them. It was made of a fine metal and in the center, engraved in gold, was the seal of a noble family: the Blakesley family.

The ring rolled against the dark wood, exposing Lord Einar's lies with each flick of the ring before the gaze of all present. There was nothing he could say to avoid the punishment that was coming, so when your father gave the order and the guards took him by force, he decided to take his rage out on you. His voice echoed through the corridors as he was escorted to the dungeon, shouting a string of insults at you. He questioned your honor and your ability as a ruler, claiming that he only wanted to marry you to ensure that the kingdom would not perish when your father died.

Those were nothing more than the words of an unstable man who was filled with spite, angered by your rejection. You knew it meant nothing, but you still couldn't help but feel humiliated as he shouted all those things in front of so many people. Your eyes filled with tears and you clung to Geralt almost instinctively, hiding your face in his neck so no one would see you cry. He wrapped his arms around you, ignoring the very unfriendly looks that several of the men in the room gave him.

Your mother ordered the room to be emptied, realizing that the crowd was doing nothing to help your condition. The last thing you needed at that moment was to feel watched and judged by a bunch of people, so she personally closed the doors behind the last guard to leave the room.

"You should take a long bath, my love. I'll send someone to prepare the tub and clean clothes for you. That will certainly make you feel better." Your mother spoke in a soft voice, placing a hand on your back. "And you, witcher, are more than welcome to stay tonight. I'll have a room prepared for you and bring you some clean clothes. We can talk more in the morning."

You gave your mother a smile as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, trying to convince her that you were fine. She knew you weren't, but she also knew you well enough not to push you at that moment. So she left the room without adding anything else, leaving you alone with Geralt once again.

"Thank you... for everything." Your voice broke the silence, your eyes traveling from the door to Geralt's face. "I just realized I didn't thank you yet."

"You don't have to." He didn't need to hear it from your mouth, he could see in your eyes how grateful you were. Your expression hadn't changed much since he had found you, even though you tried hard to hide it, there were still traces of fear and distress in your eyes.

"Of course I have to! You have saved me from a terrible fate, not only at the hands of those bandits, but also at the hands of that... man." There were other words with which you would have liked to describe him, but you decided it was not appropriate for you to utter them. He didn't even deserve that from you. "I'm glad you were dragged here... I don't know what would have become of me without you tonight, Geralt."

The room fell silent as you looked into each other's eyes. You lost yourself in the amber that surrounded his pupils —which seemed to be more dilated, although it could well be an effect of the light, you thought—, trying to discover the secrets hidden in his eyes. Geralt was not easy to read, no matter how hard you tried, you had no idea of the things that could be going through his head at that moment. And yet, there was something in his eyes that calmed you. When he looked back at you, there was a softness in them that invited you to continue to admire them forever. It was a connection unlike anything you had ever felt before. It piqued your curiosity and some other things you didn't quite know how to explain.

Your hand was still intertwined with Geralt's and you weren't entirely sure for how long. Although you weren't complaining, you found the warmth of his skin against yours extremely comforting. It made you feel less alone, less vulnerable. You trusted him with your life, you knew that as long as he was around nothing bad could happen to you. And boy did you need that at that moment. You were still quite affected by everything that had happened and the idea of being alone terrified you. You needed company, but not just anyone. You needed his company.

"Would you mind escorting me to my chambers?" you broke the silence, clearing your throat to make sure your voice sounded firm. "My foot still hurts a little and I wouldn't want to fall down the stairs."

It was a foolish excuse. You knew it. Geralt knew it. The twisted foot you got while struggling with your captors was not a cause for concern. It hurt a little, yes, but you could still walk normally. All you wanted was an excuse not to be separated from Geralt and luckily for you, he played along. He allowed you to take his arm for stability and walked with you to your quarters. You appreciated his proximity, enjoying the feel of his body pressed against yours as his warmth enveloped you. But unfortunately it only seemed to aggravate his absence when he pulled away from you, willing to leave you alone so you could rest.

Your hand closed around his arm almost as an unwilling reflex. Your body craved his closeness. Your mind needed his company to be at ease. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't let Geralt leave. Not tonight at least. His eyes lingered on your hand, admiring how small it appeared when compared to his arm, before he looked up into your eyes, searching your expression for an explanation.

"Stay, please." Your voice was almost a whisper. Your eyes had trouble making eye contact with him for the first time since you had met. Geralt knew then that you were embarrassed of uttering those words. "I need you. I... I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Are you sure?" He said after a few seconds of silence, his expression firm but gentle. You nodded, looking at him with pleading eyes as you released his arm from your grip. Geralt sighed and finally crossed the threshold of the door, closing it behind him.

Geralt allowed you to guide him across the room to a door that hid a large private bathtub on the other side. It was already filled with water and salts, ready for you to use it. Everything smelled of you, of that delicious combination of jasmine and vanilla that Geralt found so special. It was intoxicating, like he was breathing in your scent straight from the source.

"Would you mind helping me with the lace?" Your voice brought him back to reality. Geralt watched as you turned around, gathering your hair over one of your shoulders to expose your back to him so he could unfasten your dress. He knew it was inappropriate and that he was probably breaking some rule —not to mention, taking advantage of the king's hospitality—, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Not when you were offering yourself to him like that.

Geralt's hands caressed your back first, his fingers slowly tracing a path from your shoulders to where the lacing of your dress ended. You closed your eyes, holding your breath as you felt him slowly loosen your dress. You could feel his imposing figure towering over you. He was so close that you could hear his breathing and feel the heat radiating from his body. You liked the proximity, probably more than you should.

When Geralt finished his work and your dress began to slide down your shoulders, you knew you should have been embarrassed. You were used to being naked in front of servants, but they were always women you trusted, handmaidens who had taken care of you since you were little and helped you dress or bathe. You had never been so exposed in front of a man before and you should definitely feel ashamed, but you were not. You simply let the dress fall to your feet and stepped into the tub as if there was no man present.

The water was warm and the tub was deep enough to hide your modesty if you sat in the right position. The dim candlelight also helped, though ultimately you really didn't mind feeling Geralt's gaze on your body.

"Join me, please. The water's nice and there's room enough for both of us."

Your curious eyes unashamedly traced the muscles of his arms and torso as he revealed himself to you. You noticed the scars that marked his skin, some smaller and some larger, and you couldn't help but wonder what the stories behind them were. Geralt was an exceptional man, unlike anyone you had ever met in your life. He was so rigid and reserved, and yet he had shown nothing but kindness and gentleness in your presence. He was a mystery and you wanted nothing more than to discover what he hid behind those beautiful amber eyes.

Out of respect —and some embarrassment—, you looked away as his hands undid the buttons of his pants. You focused your attention on the jasmine petals floating in the water, feeling your cheeks grow warm as a small voice in your head encouraged you to look up.

Geralt settled next to you in the tub, avoiding being too close or sitting in front of you so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable or self-conscious in his presence. However, you needed his closeness, so you shortened the distance as much as you could, pressing your arm against his. When he didn't complain, you went a step further and rested your head on his shoulder. Geralt stood still for a moment, debating once again whether his actions were appropriate, but in the end he relaxed.

He put his arm around your shoulders, effectively pulling you closer to him. A smile formed on your lips as you adjusted yourself in the new position, hiding your face in his neck. Geralt's fingers traced soft lines on the skin of your arm, a caress that both relaxed and excited you. That kind of intimacy was something new to you. Feeling his naked skin against yours, inhaling that musky scent mixed with something you couldn't describe as anything but his own essence, feeling the soft caresses of his calloused fingers, everything made you feel a certain way inside. You didn't have the exact words to describe it. It was like a flame, a warmth spreading through you that was both comforting and exciting. Ultimately, you didn't care about being able to put a name to what you felt. You just wanted to stay close to Geralt for as long as you were allowed.

Without even realizing it, your hand traveled up to his chest, your curious fingers tracing the jagged lines that marked his skin. You used the scars as a map to his body, letting them guide your path as you explored his chest with your touch. And as your fingers moved, you imagined the heroic stories behind each one, wondering what kind of monsters had inflicted them and if there were any that were human-made.

"I wonder how many princesses you've saved to end up like this." You broke the silence, your voice soft as you got lost in thought. It was mostly a joke, but there was some genuine curiosity hidden in it.

"Surprisingly, less than you're probably imagining."

You didn't quite know why, but hearing Geralt say that put a smile on your lips. It made you feel special, in a way. He hadn't been hired to save you —technically he hadn't even been invited to the party—, he had no obligation to you or your family, and yet he had risked his life to help you. There was something in you that awakened in him his noblest instincts.

"I'm sure that's what you tell everyone." You laughed, looking up at him from your position on his shoulder. You could admire his profile, his sharp jawline and the way his lips curved upward slightly as he let out a huff.

"Often delicate young women like you find my methods to be too... grotesque. They don't see me as being much different from the monsters I kill." Geralt spoke honestly, remembering the horrified expressions on the faces of the maidens he had sought to save from danger in his past, when he had little experience as a witcher. He was young and naive at the time and believed he could use his skills for more than just hunting monsters. After all, evil came in all shapes and sizes, even in humans. It didn't take him long to understand that humans didn't see a knight of noble spirit when he intervened in such situations, only a mutant designed to kill.

You noticed his thoughtful expression, his eyes looking straight ahead as if his mind was transporting him to another place. You wondered what kind of memories he might have swirling around in his head at that moment, outraged to think that someone could treat him badly after he saved their life. You admitted that he had quite an imposing figure and that his expression wasn't very friendly most of the time, but you still couldn't understand how anyone could be afraid of him. Even before he saved you —when he was just a stranger who took the time to listen to your problems— you saw nothing threatening in him. His beautiful yellow eyes inspired nothing but trust in you from the first moment you made contact with them.

“Then they were all fools." You sat up straight, one hand resting on Geralt's cheek to force him to look at you. "I don't understand how anyone could look at you and see danger in you. Even covered in blood, all I see is... safety and comfort." You gave him a small smile as your finger carefully wiped a small spot of blood from his cheek.

"Or maybe you're being naively nice."

Geralt took a cloth that rested on the edge of the tub and dipped it in the warm water. Then one of his hands cupped your chin, tilting your face slightly so he could get a better look at you in the candlelight. The flames danced in the air, creating shadows on your delicate skin. But even in the dim light he could still see the splashes of blood that stained your beautiful face. They made such a contrast that it was impossible to ignore them. The implication of such a violent act had no place on the delicate face of a princess like you. He hated to see the scratch on your lip, the dirt on your cheeks, the dried blood on your skin. You should not have been subjected to such horrors and he wanted to do everything in his power to erase the evidence from your body. So Geralt took the trouble to wipe the blood away, carefully running the wet cloth over your skin until it was all gone.

You remained silent as he worked on you, completely immobile while you watched him closely. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, but his expression was gentle. His hands moved delicately over your skin, as if he was afraid of breaking you if he wasn't careful. You could barely feel the cloth brushing against your cheek from how slow and gentle Geralt was being. But his fingers... his fingers were another story.

They were warm against your skin, caressing every little spot the cloth passed through to soothe any possible irritation the fabric might arouse. They awakened a tingling sensation as they traveled down your face. When they reached your neck, you knew that Geralt could feel the accelerated pulsing of your heart against his fingertips. It was impossible that he couldn't when you could hear the beating in your ears yourself. His hands felt so big against your neck. If he wanted to hurt you, he could probably do it with just one hand. That should have scared you, considering he was a man you barely knew, but it didn't. You knew he wasn't going to hurt you, not when he caressed the sensitive skin of your neck and collarbones with such gentleness.

"Maybe I'm naive," you broke the silence, your voice barely more audible than a whisper. "But I honestly don't think a mutant designed to kill, as you say, would go to the trouble of caring for me the way you are doing."

Geralt's eyes looked up at you, that intriguing yellow you loved so much capturing you in a transe. They were calling you, daring you to dive into the ocean of honey and mystery that was his gaze. And you obeyed without the slightest resistance, letting your heart take the reins of your body. You leaned towards him, slowly. His hands were still on your neck, but he didn't use them to stop you. On the contrary, he leaned towards you too and when your lips finally collided, he used his grip on your jaw to deepen the kiss.

The kiss started slow, a quick brush of your lips as you finally let yourselves indulge in your deepest desires. But as you became more comfortable in each other's arms, the kiss intensified. You let Geralt guide you, knowing that he would undoubtedly have more experience than you. You surrendered to his lips and the caresses of his tongue, giving yourself to him completely as you struggled to keep up with him.

That wasn't your first kiss, however, it was the first kiss that felt like this, so... intense, passionate. You barely remembered the boy who had given you your first kiss, but you knew you would remember Geralt for the rest of your life. You didn't know how he did it, but the simple touch of his lips and the strokes of his fingers on your skin turned you to mush between his hands. You had never felt anything like it before and you didn't want to stop. But despite your protests, Geralt suddenly pulled away from you.

"What are you doing?" He didn't sound annoyed or confused, more concerned.

"I'm taking control of my life." You leaned into him once more and Geralt accepted your kiss, his desperate lips demonstrating his true intentions. He let his desires consume him for a moment before regaining control over his body and pulling away from you again.

"Are you sure?" It wasn't that he wanted to stop, but the voice of morality in the back of his mind compelled him to make sure you wanted the same. He needed to know that he wasn't taking advantage of you, that you weren't throwing yourself into his arms as a result of your vulnerable state after the attack.

"For as long as I can remember, I have always dreamed of meeting a noble prince who would protect me from danger. We would fall in love and live a long and happy life together after our marriage. Now I know that is impossible. I cannot choose who I marry. I cannot choose to marry for love. There's nothing I can do to change it, that's just the way things work." You paused, your hands reaching for Geralt's to entwine your fingers. "But I can still choose who to give myself to, body and soul, for the first time... and you're the closest thing I have to that fantasy."

There was a sadness in your eyes that made Geralt feel bad for you. He didn't know you very well, but he knew you deserved better than a future you didn't want. The inability to choose your own path in life was something that seemed to affect you greatly, and if he was able to bring you some peace he was willing to do so. But the tub full of dirty water was not the place for it, much less considering it would be your first experience of something like that.

"Speak freely." You said after a few seconds of unbearable silence. "If you don't want to be with me because you don't like me I'll understand. But please don't turn me down just because you think you're guarding my honor or something. I want this... I want you."

Those last words seemed to do the trick, because Geralt's lips joined yours once again. Only this time the kiss was different, much slower and more sensual, though just as desperate. His lips moved in time with yours, tongues intertwined in a sinful dance as Geralt allowed his hands to slowly explore your body. His fingers ignited flames on your skin in their path, pleasure and anticipation building inside you.

The water in the tub swirled violently as Geralt lifted you into his arms, moving you to sit on his lap as if you weighed nothing. You clung to his shoulders for support, feeling his fingers dig into the sensitive skin of your hips. But it didn't hurt, at least not in a bad way. It was a pleasant ache that made you feel alive. Just like his kisses, which trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin.

Geralt's kisses continued their way down and you couldn't help but buck your hips against his when his lips closed over your nipple. You pushed your chest into him instinctively, giving yourself to him as one of your hands got lost in his hair. Pure pleasure traveled through your veins as his tongue played with your breasts, giving attention to one before moving on to the other. He held you tightly against his body, one strong arm stretched across your back while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his growing erection.

You both moaned as your cunt made contact with his cock. The sensation you felt when the tip brushed against your little bundle of nerves was unlike anything you had ever felt before. The pleasure was much more intense, much more raw. You could feel it spreading through your body and into your bones. So, naturally, you sought it again, creating a rhythm that had you panting in no time.

You were forced to stop when Geralt suddenly stood up, carrying you in his arms. Your moan of pleasure turned into a cry of surprise, the water in the tub moving violently, flooding the room as he moved towards the exit. You clung to his shoulders, afraid of falling, as you asked him what he was doing.

"We can't do it here. It has to be done properly, in a bed where you’ll be comfortable, and not in a bathtub full of filthy water."

You couldn't help but smile to yourself as you understood the meaning of his words. Once again, Geralt was looking after you, worrying about you and your well-being more than any other man in your life had ever done. He wanted to make things right, to make sure that your first sexual encounter was a positive experience. And while he wasn't exactly the man you had imagined doing it with, he was quite close to it. Every thing he said, every gesture he made to you, made you feel more confident in your decision.

Geralt carefully laid you down on the bed, making sure you were comfortable before continuing his assault on your body. He kissed you again and, as you let his tongue explore your mouth, you couldn't help but think how much bigger he felt now that he was leaning over you. He had one arm on either side of your head, holding himself up so he wouldn't crush you with his weight. One of his toned legs rested in between yours, keeping you open and exposed to him. You were essentially trapped under his body, completely at his mercy, and you liked it.

The pleasure building up inside you was starting to feel too overwhelming. As much as you enjoyed Geralt's wet kisses, you needed more. You needed relief. So you pushed your hips into him once more, seeking that intoxicating pleasure you'd felt in the bathtub. Your wet pussy slid easily up his thigh and a wave of pleasure coursed through your body.

"Fuck!" Geralt moaned as he felt your wetness trickling down his leg. You looked so sensual moving your hips against him with adoring desperation, struggling to find some relief. The little moans that fell from your lips in between ragged breaths drove him crazy, making it difficult for him to control his instincts. He had to be gentle with you, it was your first time and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't pin you down and fuck you until your legs shook.

"Tell me, princess, have you ever touched yourself?" Geralt spoke against your skin as his lips continued their path of wet kisses down your body. "Perhaps when you were alone at night, hidden in the darkness of your chambers."

It took you a few seconds to process Geralt's words, your mind distracted with the way his kisses slowly trailed down your chest, barely pausing on your breasts before continuing to travel down. It made your body tremble with anticipation, wondering what he was up to. He was watching you from his position on your abdomen, lips barely pulling away from your skin so he could observe your face more comfortably, waiting for an answer. The color of his eyes had darkened, the yellow glowing like the flames of the candles that lit the room. There was hunger in them. Geralt was looking at you like a wolf at its prey. You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, managing to answer him with a simple negative shake of your head.

"So you don't know what real pleasure feels like, huh?" You weren't sure if it was a question for you, but you shook your head again anyway. You felt Geralt's lips curving into a smile against the sensitive skin of your lower belly and a shiver ran down your spine when you heard his next words. "I'm going to change that."

Despite the firmness in his voice, Geralt was slow and gentle with each movement he made next. He was careful to position himself between your legs, pushing them open and revealing your most secret part to his hungry gaze. He noticed almost immediately the way you tensed with embarrassment, feeling vulnerable, so he was quick to spread sweet kisses on your right thigh, while gently caressing the skin of your left. He could smell the scent of your arousal with every breath he took. It was intoxicating, the sweet nectar he had been waiting to taste all this time. But first he had to make sure you were comfortable. He was there to pleasure you, nothing mattered if you didn't enjoy it.

"It's okay, my sweet. You don't have to be ashamed, you're beautiful." He spoke against your skin, his voice a raspy, sensual, whisper. "I have to get you ready for my cock, all right? This will feel so good, I promise. But if it doesn't, I want you to tell me, can you do that?" You nodded, but that wasn't enough for him. "I need you to use your words."

"Yes, Geralt, I will."

"Good."

Geralt gave you a few seconds to relax before diving into your cunt, spreading wet kisses down your inner thighs as he got closer and closer to the place where you needed him most. When his tongue finally made contact with the sweet nectar trickling down your folds, he let out a sound that vibrated in his chest with force. All hint of self-control disappeared then, buried under the primal desire that the taste of your arousal awakened in him.

He ate you like a starving man, his tongue exploring your most intimate place with expert skill. Your hips jolted as his lips closed over your small bundle of nerves, your whole body convulsing as you felt pleasure like you had never felt before. It was so intense it was almost too much. It scared you in a way, as it felt like your own body didn't respond to you —like it didn't belong to you. It belonged to Geralt now, and only responded to the stimulation he gave your body. You were torn between the need to pull away from his entrancing lips —which were no doubt uttering some spell to claim ownership of your innocence— and your body's carnal desire to surrender to his clever tricks in order to continue to feel such pure pleasure.

"Does it feel good, princess?" Geralt spoke between your legs, his warm breath crashing against your pussy and sending shivers down your spine.

"Yes! So good... please don't stop." You didn't recognize your own voice as you spoke. It sounded raspy from all the moaning, and there was a hint of desperation you'd never heard in yourself before. It wasn't the first time you had begged someone for something you wanted, but it was the first time you actually meant it.

"I won't, I promise. I'm here to make you feel good." Geralt assured between slow, long licks, focusing his attention on your clit before continuing. "But if you're going to take my cock, I'll need to stretch your tight hole." You tensed again and once more he used his strategy of stroking and kissing your thighs to calm you down. You knew that penetration was an important part of the whole thing and you were ready to face it, but still, the unknown scared you a little. "I'm going to insert a finger inside you, is that all right my sweet? It might feel a little uncomfortable at first, but I promise it will feel great afterwards. But first I have to know that you still want this."

"Yes, Geralt, I want this. I trust you, please." You gave him a shy smile, looking at him with complete admiration. He saw the desire in your eyes, mixed with anticipation and a hint of fear. But you were confident in your decision, so he continued.

"Relax, I'm going to take care of you." He murmured against your skin, his kisses slowly moving closer to your wet cunt. "Just focus on the pleasure."

Geralt's voice echoed in your mind, your body obeying his commands as if he had cast a spell over you that left you with no other choice. You focused on the fire burning inside you, on the skillful way he flicked his tongue against your abused bundle of nerves and on the knot in your stomach that tightened with each passing second. You tried not to tense up as you felt Geralt's finger press against your entrance, biting your lip and taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. His tongue was doing a good job of distracting you, but you could still feel the slightly painful drag of his finger inside you.

"You're doing so well for me." Geralt complimented you, keeping his finger still inside you to give you time to get used to the new sensation. You couldn't hide how much it pleased you to hear those words, because your walls clenched around his finger, revealing your deepest desires. Geralt grunted against your pussy, fantasizing about how good your tight hole would feel around his cock.

It took you a moment to get used to the strange sensation of his intrusion. It wasn't painful exactly, mostly uncomfortable since your walls weren't used to stretching like that. But eventually the discomfort faded into pleasure, bringing new sensations as he slowly began to move his finger inside you.

Your moans became uncontrollable, increasing in volume with each of Geralt's caresses. If you weren't so wrapped up in your own pleasure, you would have worried about the possibility of being overheard by some servant or guard walking down the corridor. You knew it might potentially ruin your reputation, but you couldn't focus on anything other than the way Geralt's long, thick finger stretched you, making you feel full in the most pleasurable way possible.

"Geralt I-" You tried to speak, but the air caught in your throat as you felt the knot in your stomach becoming incredibly tight, threatening to snap.

"I know, my sweet, I know." Geralt interrupted you as he noticed your trouble forming coherent sentences. He could sense you were getting close to relief in the way your walls tightened around his finger, your juices dripping down your legs and soaking his hand. "Just let yourself go. I've got you."

Geralt added another finger inside you, stretching your walls even further. He was careful, his movements slow and precise as he both prepared you for his cock and brought you closer to the edge. His mouth focused on your clit, his lips closing around your sensitive pearl as his fingers explored your insides, reaching that spongy place deep inside you and rubbing it until your whole body shuddered with your orgasm.

It felt like your insides exploded, the tension that had been building in your core suddenly snapping as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body. Your mind went blank, eyes rolling back as Geralt did his best to hold back the violent spasms of your muscles.

And then your body fell limp on the sheets. You could barely hear the world around you over your racing heartbeat that throbbed in your ears. You knew Geralt was muttering things against your skin as he kissed his way back up, but your mind was too lost in the pleasure to make sense of his words. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, your body desperate for oxygen as it struggled to regain control.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a soft smile as you opened your eyes, his face slowly coming into focus on your clouded vision. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine! That was..." you paused, searching for the words to describe it. Although explaining your feelings proved to be more difficult than you expected. You were convinced that there were no words in any language you knew to describe what he had made you feel. So you let out an airy laugh, hiding your face in his neck and spreading small kisses over his skin.

"Do you still want to go through with this?" Geralt asked you, pulling away from you a little so he could look into your eyes. You kissed him back, tasting the sweet flavor of your arousal on his tongue. It was strangely erotic for you to feel your own essence on him, like a mark that, though temporary, showed to whom his lips belonged. It sent a rush of desire and confidence through your body, igniting the fire inside you once more.

The pressure of his cock was nothing like his fingers. While the stretching sensation was not completely foreign to you, Geralt's cock was much longer and thicker than his fingers so it hurt a lot more when he began to push it into you. The mixture of your arousal and his saliva helped his member slide more easily through your walls, but you still couldn't hold back the whine of pain, which vibrated against Geralt's lips.

"It's all right... you're all right. Just a little more." He crooned as he rested his forehead against yours. His fingers caressed the skin of your hip, giving you comfort as you clung to his shoulders. "You're doing so good for me, my sweet." His voice was soft, but erratic, laced with the clear pleasure that sliding so torturously slow inside your tight walls brought him.

Geralt remained immobile once he bottomed out, spreading kisses all over your face and neck as he gave you time to adjust to his size. It was the hardest task he had ever had to do in his life. Facing any monster was easier than staying still when your warm, wet walls wrapped around him so well. He was desperate to move, pull out of you almost completely only to slam back in, thrusting his hips against yours as he pinned you against the bed. But it was your first time, so he had to be gentle with you. You weren't ready for that kind of rough loving, so Geralt pushed his dark desires aside and waited for you to give him the signal to move.

After a while, your moans of discomfort turned into whimpers of protest, not from pain, but from the growing fire inside you that wasn't being tended to. You experimentally moved your hips against Geralt's, just to see what it would feel like. It was a small movement, but it was enough to push his cock deeper inside you, sparking a pleasurable tingling sensation that spread throughout your body. So you did it again, moving with more confidence this time. And again, only this time, Geralt met you halfway, grinding his hips against yours.

Your walls tightened around his cock and the growl that escaped his lips was so deep and primal that it almost pushed you over the edge once more. Something about knowing that you were the cause of those moans, that your body, your pussy, your caresses, were responsible for such reactions was so arousing. Knowing that even though you were inexperienced you were able to elicit such pleasure in him made you feel more comfortable and confident. You were turning his world upside down as much as he was turning yours.

"You look so beautiful like this." Geralt said as he slightly increased the rhythm of his hips. "So small and fragile underneath me, eyes filled with lust as you try your best to take me in your tight hole."

You moaned into his mouth, desperately searching his lips for something to keep you grounded as pleasure took over your body and mind. Your cunt clenched at his words, finding the mix of softness and roughness in his action incredibly arousing. His hips moved against yours in a consistent and deep, yet slow and sensual rhythm. His calloused fingers roamed over your body, caressing you in such a subtle way that it gave you goosebumps. His filthy words perfectly balanced flattery and roughness, awakening feelings you didn't know you had. It was all a dangerous, overwhelming mix, slowly getting to you close to the edge.

"Does it feel good? Do you like feeling me deep inside you?" You could only moan incoherently in response, hiding your face in the crook of Geralt's neck as your nails dug into his back. "I like it too. You feel so good wrapped around me, my perfect princess."

"Yes, I'm yours! I'm all yours, please..." You begged, for what, you weren't sure. But that didn't really matter, you just wanted Geralt to do whatever he wanted with you. You knew there was no future in your relationship, but this was no time to think about tomorrow. At that moment you were giving yourself body and soul to him, allowing him permission to use and explore your body as he wished.

"Yes you are, but not just for tonight." Geralt moaned in your ear, his voice a deep hoarse whisper. He sucked a mark just below your earlobe, nibbling the sensitive area playfully before continuing to speak. "You will always remember this night and think of me when your future husband takes you to bed on your wedding night. He's not going to compare to me... to how good I'm making you feel. But that's fine, because at least you had a chance to know what it feels like to be adored like you truly deserve, my princess."

"Fuck, Geralt! I'm-" Your warning was interrupted by a moan as you felt him sink his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck at the same time he pushed his member incredibly deep inside you.

"I know, I can feel you squeezing me so tight. It's alright, just let go for me, my sweet. I want to feel you as you come undone on my cock."

His hand traveled south, calloused fingers pressing against your abused bundle of nerves, drawing circles over it. The way your pussy clenched around his cock made it hard to focus, his own orgasm approaching with alarming speed. But he kept a steady rhythm, his hips moving in a slow, sensual way to make sure his cock brushed that special place inside you without causing you any pain.

"That's it, keep making those pretty notices for me. You're doing so good for me, my beautiful, perfect, princess. Just let go, I've got you. You're safe with me, just let go."

It was the softness in his husky voice that finally pushed you over the edge, your whole body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. Geralt's name was the last thing you uttered before the world around you disappeared behind the waves of pleasure. It was a pathetic whimper, a plea for mercy as you felt frightened by the sheer intensity of your orgasm. Geralt was sure he had never heard a more sensual melody. The way you had uttered his name just before the pleasure exploded inside you was something he was never going to forget.

"That's it, my sweet. You did such a good job for me." He complimented you, slowing down the rhythm of his hips to give you time to recover. "You're alright. I'm here, I've got you. Just breathe... that's it."

Geralt's voice helped you refocus on the real world, his sweet kisses slowly lifting the fog that clouded your mind. You could still feel him inside you, his cock throbbing desperate for relief. The shallow thrusts weren't enough and you needed to feel him falling apart inside you. You needed to know what it felt like to have a man —and especially him— come inside you. And you knew it was safe with him since witchers were incapable of fathering children as a result of their mutations.

"Geralt, please... I want to feel you." You managed to say between gasps, locking your legs around his hips to keep him in place, pressed inside you. He let out a deep growl as he understood the meaning behind your words, his eyes darkening with lust. You were definitely going to be the death of him.

"Of course, my sweet, how could I deny you anything?" He murmurs against your lips, slowly increasing the rhythm of his hips. "You want to feel my seed deep inside you, is that it? You want me to fill you up, leave a part of me inside you so you won't miss me so much when I'm gone?"

His words alone were enough to ignite that flame inside you again. Your body was tired, but still screamed for more. Geralt's thrusts became erratic with each passing second, desperate to reach his own relief. And in the search for his pleasure he was taking you with him to a new limit.

"I will give it to you, my princess. I will give you all of me. I could never deny you anything, my sweet, beautiful girl."

His sweet words contrasted with the harshness of his movements, hips crashing against yours in desperate thrusts. He was getting closer to his relief and he could feel in the way your cunt clenched around his cock that you were too. His thumb focused on your clit once more, one, two, three strokes accompanied by his thrusts and you were crying his name again. But he didn't get to enjoy much of the way you tightened around him, because he came seconds later, shooting his load deep inside you.

Geralt collapsed on top of you, his body crushing you against the bed as you both tried to catch your breath. But even though he was much bigger than you, it wasn't an uncomfortable position. The weight of his body felt comforting against yours. You liked the way he hid his face in your neck, breathing heavily against your sweaty skin. It gave you the opportunity to stroke his back and run your fingers through his hair. It felt intimate, in a completely different way than the sex you'd just had.

You whined in protest as he rolled to the side, feeling the mixture of your arousal and his sliding down your legs now that his cock had left you. It was a strange sensation to feel empty without him inside you. You didn't know such a feeling was possible, for you that used to be normal, the only way to feel. But now that you had had Geralt buried deep inside you, that you had felt his seed filling you to the brim, you would always be aware of that strange emptiness between your legs.

"How are you feeling?" you heard him say and you struggled to open your eyes, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. He was standing at the foot of the bed, a cloth in his hand, and you wondered when he had moved from your side without you noticing.

"Great! That was... great." You mumbled, still unable to find an adequate word to describe how good he had made you feel.

Geralt gave you a small smile before lowering his face to your legs, placing small kisses on your skin as he moved closer and closer to your center. "Open up for me, my princess. I need to clean you."

You reluctantly complied, feeling much more exposed and vulnerable now that the deed was done. However, he was gentle with you, moving carefully as he cleaned you so as not to irritate your sensitive, abused cunt. And when he was done, he kissed his way down your face, caressing your skin with his lips, culminating his journey in your mouth.

"What about you?" you tried to sound casual as you spoke, though you failed miserably. "Was it... good for you too?" You immediately regretted your choice of words, worrying that you had ruined the moment.

"I thought I had been quite clear if not with my words, with my actions at least." Geralt let out an airy laugh and you followed suit, feeling a little more relieved.

Then the room fell into silence. It wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable one, but a peaceful one. You got lost in Geralt's eyes, admiring the yellow glow that was much softer now, though just as captivating. The candlelight reflected in them in a special way, highlighting their unique beauty. You could stare at them for hours if it weren't for the tiredness that was slowly beginning to take hold of you.

You didn't realize you had closed your eyes until you felt Geralt move beside you. You stopped feeling the weight of his body on the bed, so you opened your eyes immediately. Your hand flew to his arm, fingers closing around his wrist. "Please don't go," you begged as you saw that he had sat up in bed. "I want you to stay with me tonight."

Geralt smiled, the corners of his lip curving slightly upward as he reached out with his free arm to grab the blanket that had been left forgotten at the foot of the bed. His eyes lowered to your hand and his expression turned hard as he noticed the ligature marks on your skin. He hated to know the horrible treatment that someone as delicate and beautiful as you had to go through at the hands of those bandits. Even though he had rescued you before something even worse happened to you, as he looked at the marks on your wrists he feared he had not been quick enough.

Noticing the change in his expression, your eyes followed Geralt's gaze with curiosity. You felt embarrassed when you realized what he was looking at with such intensity and released his grip on his arm, seeking to hide your injured wrist. But he didn't let you. Geralt intertwined his fingers with yours and brought your hand to his lips. His eyes didn't break contact with you as he scattered delicate kisses over the irritated area of your wrist, showing you that you had nothing to be ashamed of with him.

"I'm not going anywhere if you don't want me to, my princess. I'm here to serve you tonight." Geralt said as he lay down next to you once again, covering you both with the blanket.

You took advantage of his words and his desire to please you by curling up against him, resting your head on his chest. Geralt wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you even tighter against his body as he let his fingers trace invisible patterns on your skin. It was extremely relaxing, his gentle touch and the warmth of his body enveloping you was exactly what your tired mind needed to rest. All the fear, the terrifying memories of your attackers and the feeling of danger completely disappeared as he held you in his arms.

"Good, because I feel safer when I'm in your arms." You mumbled as you closed your eyes, feeling sleep slowly overcome you.

It was hard to say goodbye to Geralt when the time came for him to leave. He had only stayed at the castle for a couple of days at your father's insistence, but that had been more than enough for you to grow fond of him. He was not a very talkative person, but that only made your conversations more interesting. He was intriguing, a closed book that only opened with the pronunciation of the right words. You had fun unraveling some of his history, hearing about his adventures and the monsters he had faced. He was definitely the most interesting man you had ever met - far more interesting and noble than most of the men who were competing for your hand in marriage. And now you had to see him go.

You always knew that your days were numbered, that Geralt would eventually leave and you would have to go back to reality. You thought you could do it, enjoy his company and the illusion of freedom you had created with him and then say goodbye as if nothing happened, but you would be lying if you said you weren't a little sad about his departure. Especially because you didn't know if you would ever see him again. Maybe on your wedding day, if you invited Jaskier to play at the festivities he would bring him as security again. Or perhaps, if the kingdom was haunted by some evil creature he would find his way back to you. But nothing was certain and that made you feel quite sad.

"I guess this is our goodbye." You watched Geralt settle his horse's saddle, tucking away his swords and clutching his bag as he prepared to leave. You tried to hide the grimace of sadness that wanted to form on your face, but the disappointment in your voice betrayed you. "I'll never see you again, will I?"

Geralt stopped what he was doing to look you in the eyes. You could have sworn you saw a glint of sadness in the golden fire of his irises, though it disappeared as he blinked. "It'll probably be a while, yeah." He sighed. "But nothing is set in stone. Maybe the search for a job will bring me back down these roads."

You smiled. Even moments before he left, he was still making an effort to make you feel good. "I'd like that." You took a couple of steps closer to him, taking his hand in yours to feel his skin against yours one last time. "The gates of this castle will always be open to you, Geralt of Rivia. And as long as I am alive, you will always find safe passage through these lands."

"Thank you, your highness. It is an honor." He bowed slightly even though he knew it was not necessary. Formalities had been forgotten between you since your night together. Then, he took your hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips caressed your skin gently, planting a soft kiss of farewell. "Until we meet again."

You held back the urge you had to taste the flavor of his lips one last time, knowing that there were too many eyes around you that would deem such behavior inappropriate. And perhaps they were right, after all, a respectable maiden like you, in search of a husband to marry and rule with, could not be seen kissing anybody. You knew you would probably regret it for the rest of your life —especially if Geralt never stopped by again—, but it was the right thing to do. Your days of freedom were over, now you had to resume your responsibilities as a princess and that meant holding back the urge you had to run after Geralt, get on his horse and let him take you wherever he wanted. So you just watched him leave, seeing how his figure became smaller and smaller on the horizon while you wished with all your soul that fate would cross your path again.

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x fem reader #geralt of rivia smut #geralt x reader smut #the witcher x reader #the witcher x reader smut #geralt x reader #the witcher smut #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher netflix #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader

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pathologicalreid · 3 months ago

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central nervous system | s.r.

in which you are drugged on what should've been a routine case

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst; hurt/comfort content warnings: being drugged, threatened sexual assault, season 10, blood, broken glass, in a bar but reader doesn't drink, jareau!reader. word count: 1.7k a/n: oh dear. this week was so eternally long. work was crazy busy i worked overtime and almost ended up in the hospital which all led up to me taking the lsat today. crazy shit, but margovember will prevail. also! i'm hoping to get masterlists updated tomorrow if that's something you've been waiting on.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” an unfamiliar voice intrudes on your private thoughts, looking around the bar that you had been planted in to see if you could catch your UnSub before he had the chance to attack someone else.

He sets a glass in front of you, and you drop some cash on the wooden surface, you shrug, “I’m in town on business.”

The bartender laughs heartily at your response before shaking his head, “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just—that’s a line I hear a lot.”

Your face warms at the recognition that the bartender was flirting with you, but this is a man who gets paid to be nice. You take his words at face value and sip at your drink, “Well, I have no reason to lie to you,” you squint at his name tag, “Jackson.”

He wipes down a spill, hooking the rag over the sink, and smiling at you, “Well, it’s nice to meet an honest woman.”

Following him with your eyes as he walks away, that last comment rubs you the wrong way, but Jackson Gleason was the bar manager, and Garcia had already cleared him from the suspect list.

You find yourself wishing Hotch had sent you into the bar with an earbud to communicate with the team, but instead, you were handed a phone, preprogrammed to alert the team if you hit the power button. There was a plainclothes officer somewhere in a corner to keep an eye on you, and the rest of the team was at the precinct or in an unmarked van outside.

Kate had coached you to the best of her abilities, but this wasn’t your first time going undercover. Catching serial rapists was more her speed, but she was pregnant, which immediately took her out of the running. Sipping from the thin straw in your glass, you let your eyes wander around the bar, antique posters and advertisements are littered across the walls, and someone just started playing Radiohead on the jukebox.

Eyeing the phone in your purse, you sigh, stirring the ice in your cup listlessly.

“Can I get you another? Maybe something stronger?” The manager offers, returning from the employees-only door with a new package of straws to restock the bar.

You shake your head, holding your empty glass out of him to take, “The same thing is fine.” Ignoring the fact that you don’t drink—you couldn’t drink on the job; all you’d been given was a coke.

He raises his eyebrows at that, “Suit yourself,” he says, ignoring the fact that you were trying to hand off your already dirtied glass to him and filling a clean cup with ice and coke.

Brushing it off as company policy, you thank him for the drink, placing another few dollars on the bar and smiling at him. Over your shoulder, you glance at the plainclothes officer, engaging in an animated conversation with another patron over whatever sports game is playing on the TV. You suspect he’s a little too good at pretending to be off the clock.

You make a face at the straw in your glass, and the bartender notices, “Sorry, just ran out of plastic.”

Taken aback, you use the paper straw anyway, sipping at your drink while you still can—knowing the straw will inevitably disintegrate.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice something wrong, a dull ache in your chest exacerbated by a slight rise in your body temperature. Your fingertips feel hot like they would after coming inside from the cold. You look down to find the emergency phone in your purse, but your head droops with your eyes, every controlled movement before a struggle.

“Hey,” Gleason says, jutting his chin in your direction, “You don’t look so great.”

A different version of yourself would’ve given him snark in return, but that different version of yourself would’ve been able to feel her extremities. “Woah,” You breathe, trying to swing your legs off of the stool only to find that you’re much higher from the ground than you initially thought.

When you lift your head again, whipping it back so hard you’re afraid it might fly off, he’s standing directly in front of you, “Why don’t I take you out back? You can get some fresh air,” the offer is innocent enough, but it rubs you the wrong way. His hand is on your waist, at the very least you know that’s wrong—you have a boyfriend, and it’s not this guy.

No, your boyfriend is outside of the bar in a van, waiting for your signal because you’re… oh. “No,” you whisper, trying to get your breathing under control. “I’m— Where’s my phone?” You’re digging through your purse as he stands you up and guides you to the back of the bar, closer to a large exit sign.

Sirens are going off in your head, but even they sound separated from your situation. “I can call a cab for you,” he assures you, leading you by your arm and closer to the back door.

“No,” you say again, “I really need my phone…” his grip tightens on your wrist, practically dragging you out of the bar while you use your free hand to find your phone, pushing the power button before it slips out of your hand, clattering to the ground. “That really hurts,” you tell him, now able to give more of your focus to evading the man who was most decidedly not Jackson Gleason.

Pulling your arm back, you manage to break free from him, the momentum from your struggle sends your hand flying into a picture frame, shattering the glass and causing the UnSub to spin on his heel. “Look at what you did,” he seethes, gripping your hair at the back of your head and forcing you to look at the shattered glass.

Your mouth gapes at the sensation of your hair being pulled until there’s a rush of cold air and he pushes you forward, into the waiting arms of someone else, “Woah, hey, I’ve got you,” Spencer says, keeping you off of the floor and, with the help of someone else, carrying your dead weight over to one of the booths.

Spencer clambers into the booth seat first, seating you in front of him so that your back is pressing against his chest. You let out a low groan when he wraps an arm around your waist, keeping your body from flopping onto the sticky hardwood.

“Do you know what you took?” He asks, pressing his face into your hair so that the two of you can keep your voices down.

Vaguely aware of the way his fingers are pressing into the pulse point on your wrist, you shake your head, “I didn’t take anything.”

He hums in response, “You were drugged. I— I’m so sorry we didn’t realize who it was sooner. By the time we realized there was a discrepancy in Jackson Gleason’s file, you had already pushed the alert button,” he tells you, being careful not to move around too much. “Can you lift your head for me? It’ll help your breathing.”

With tremendous effort—and some help from Spencer—you lift your head, letting it rest on him. Now, you can see that the majority of the bar has cleared out, Rossi watches you nervously from the bar, telling Spencer something about paramedics. You huff, “Where’s JJ?”

“She’ll meet us at the hospital, love,” he answers you, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

Trying to adjust yourself, you shake your head indeterminably, “No, it’s… I need my sister. I need my sister.” Somewhere—a past version of yourself, perhaps—you knew that JJ was at the hospital, speaking with one of the survivors.

Spencer speaks with someone that you can’t see, they’re standing in your periphery, a mangled blur of a person. Moments later, something cold is pressed to your face, and the sensation makes you jump, “Ow,” you whine, though it doesn’t hurt.

“Ducky?” Your sister’s voice rings through the phone, and you’re surprised to hear her using your nickname. Although, your status as JJ’s little sister tends to come through when you’re hurt.

You hum into the receiver, “Hi, J,” you greet wearily.

A sigh of relief is her next response, “Hey, Derek said you’re waiting for the paramedics to take you to the hospital, and I’ll be here to greet you when you arrive. Does that sound alright?”

“It’s cold in here,” you mumble, wondering if Derek is the blurry shape remaining in your periphery.

There’s a pause on her end before she speaks up again, “I’m sorry, Ducky.” There it was again. “You’ll be okay though; you just have to wait it out.”

You nod as a jacket is laid out on your lap; Spencer must’ve heard you mention being cold to your sister. Your boyfriend whispers something to you, “Spencer says the paramedics are here and I can’t talk to you anymore.”

JJ laughs slightly on the phone, “I’ll see you when you get here, okay?”

“Yeah, J,” you whisper, letting someone take the phone from you. You frown at Spencer, “I don’t feel quite right.”

Helping you get on the gurney, Spencer holds your hand while an EMT wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm, “He likely gave you a central nervous system inhibitor.”

You nod slowly, wrinkling your nose when the other paramedic shines a light in your eyes, “I am nervous,” you answer. Trying to listen to the medical personnel as they explain what’s going on, but it all goes in one ear and out the other. One of them crudely wraps a cut on your hand to staunch the bleeding, but you couldn’t even remember when it started to bleed.

Anxiously, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Don’t bite down on your lip,” Spencer instructs, “You could bite right through it and not even realize.”

Releasing your lip, your eyes widen at him while he pulls a blanket over your shoulders. “That’s scary,” you whisper.

“I agree,” he says, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “It is scary.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #margovember

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hayatoseyepatch · 4 months ago

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𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓:Zayne could not contain the possessive need to keep you all to himself, to not let anyone see the most private parts of your being. So if he had to convince you to let him perform your routine gynecological exam, then so be it. 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗:Zayne (Love & Deepspace) 𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙:1.2k 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘:Fem!ReaderxZayne. ⚠️NSFW Dark Content⚠️.

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘:Pussy inspection, yandere themes, fingering, depraved thoughts, possessive behavior, praise, degradation, dubcon, medical malpractice, sexual coercion, power dynamics (kinda?), doctor/patient play.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊: It's time to get this shit started!! (•̀ᴗ•́)و Welcome to the first official post of my kinktober. We're starting off strong of course with a character I've never written before, oops. So I do apologize if Zayne is a wee bit ooc. That being said, I hope you enjoy and I'll see you in the next one! ૮꒰ྀི∩´ᵕ`∩꒱ྀིა See full kinktober master list here.

Zayne typically didn’t perform this kind of examination, he was a surgeon not a gynecologist. However, the mere idea of anyone, even another medical professional, having access to your most intimate places was enough to make his skin crawl. This profound possessive energy he felt when it came to you was not something he was familiar with but he couldn’t contain himself. So here you sat, legs in stirrups, knees locked together as much as possible, shy for Zayne to see your most intimate areas. He had to swallow a chuckle, the stirrups making it impossible for you to try and hide yourself from him. He eyed you as he slid the latex onto his digits, sitting on the chair in front of you and rolling until he was positioned between your legs. He hummed lightly, a cold hand sliding up the warmth of your thighs, parting what you could close of your legs to expose yourself to him.

“Relax, it’s just a routine exam, it’ll be over before you know it.” His voice was calming the low baritone soothing but holding a sternness that had you complying under his touch. Zayne was grateful he was sat at a lower level, your eyes also being transfixed on the ceiling, because if you spared a glance you might have caught the way he needed to adjust himself in his slacks. The sight of your glistening pussy was enough to have his cock stirring. He cleared his throat, focusing at the task at hand. “I’ll be inserting my fingers, they may be a bit cold due to the lubricant.” He tried to keep his tone professional and tried to keep the desperation from his tone.

He felt like an animal being held back on a tight leash. The urge to thrust his fingers in your tight heat, to lean forward just a bit and finally get a taste of you. The number of times he craved to be in a similar position, the countless nights he had fisted his cock as the thought of feeling you around him was mortifying. As his first digit slipped past your entrance he swallowed a groan. Your walls welcomed him fully, practically sucking in his digit with your tightness. He wasn’t sure if it was his own desire speaking or if you were wet enough without the lubricant for his fingers to ease inside of you. He catches it, the sharp inhale. he deludes himself into thinking that it's in response to the stretch that his fingers provide and not the temperature of his digits. He slides in a second digit, your walls hugging his fingers tightly. “I need you to relax, you think you could do that for me?” His voice is gentle, your tightness indicative of being tense.

“But I am relaxed, Dr. Zayne.” The words fall from your lips without hesitation, being sincere in their delivery. Zayne blinked to himself, you couldn’t possibly be his tight. He chanced his words hopeful tone forced to be swallowed. “So are you always this tight? Would you say you are active in your sex life?” He watches between your knees as your face flushes, sparing a glance between you legs had been a mistake. Seeing him looking up at you between your thighs, while his fingers were knuckle deep inside you, caused an involuntary clench of your cunt. Sucking his fingers in deeper as if begging for more. “Well, I..” Your voice trails off, embarrassed to say your last partner had been quite some time ago, since you had rekindled with Zayne, if you were honest.

Zayne it seems senses your words you were grateful you didn’t have to continue. However, that gratefulness is replaced with mortification at his following words. “With how, well, responsive you’re being I’d say it was quite some time since you have taken a partner. That kind of sexual deprivation could cause a build-up of frustration and tension, its not good for your evol.” Zayne offered a pensive sigh, trying to make it as believable as possible that this was in your best interest for your health. “The best course of action would be a stimulated orgasm, to release some of that tension.”

The way Zayne spoke, so certain and absolute, had you believing that this was the only course of action to assist with your issue. And you’d be lying if you hadn’t imagined this exact scenario while at home with your own fingers buried in your depths. “Whatever you think is best, you are the doctor afterall.” Your voice quivered albeit nervous as his fingers began to move, hoping this meant more than just a routine exam to him. Though you must admit, you’ve never heard of this type of treatment ever taking place. Even Zayne himself was doubtful you would fall for his ruse, but he also was hopeful you’re agreeance was because it was him. He knew he was right to think no one else should this exam, not when you were so easily goaded into following his instructions. “Yes, just like that, you're doing so well for me.”

His fingers set a steady pace from the beginning, pumping in and out of your walls easily and without resistance. He took the thumb on his free hand, his tongue swiping across the latex covered digit to act as lubricant, not that it was truly needed, before using it to rub tight circles on your clit. He relished in the sounds that slipped from your lips, the cry of “Dr. Zayne” reaching his ears and making his cock throb against the confines of his scrubs. Unable to qualm his desire any longer he groaned. “My apologies, snowflake, this is going to be very unprofessional of me.” His voice came out husky, dripping with need as he leaned forward, replacing his thumb with his tongue.

He tries and fails to swallow the groan as he finally takes you against his tastebuds after yearning for longer than he is proud to admit. His wet muscle moves in time with his fingertips as they work in tandem to bring you to release. He takes his now free hand, applying pressure to the patch of skin below your belly button. The added weight of his hand makes it feel as if his fingers are pressing impossibly deep, your head being thrown back, making the parchment covering the seat crinkle, alerting yourself just as to where you both were. Even if you wanted to protest or express concern that anyone could walk in, your voice dies in your throat cut off by a moan as the pads of his fingers find that oh so delicate spongey patch within your depths.

Your receptiveness to his touch has him abusing that spot, picking up the speed at with he lapped at your clit until your hips bucked against his face riding out the waves of your orgasm as much as the stirrups would allow. He allows you a moment of reprieve, watching as you res against the seat, chest rising and falling to catch your breath after the intense orgasm. “Now, we’ll continue with the examination whenever you’re ready.” He speaks, wiping your juices from his chin, as if he hadn’t just eaten your cunt. “Though I will recommend you come visit me again to release some of that built up tension, cant have one of our best hunters out of commission now could we?” if you hadn’t know any better you would have sworn there was a curl to his lips and a wink thrown in your direction. But, hey, who were you to disobey the doctor's orders?

𝕯𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘 ��𝖞 @/𝖈𝖆𝖋𝖊𝖐𝖎𝖙𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖊 & @/𝖘𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖐𝖆-𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖕𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖘. 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖐𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖞 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝖜𝖎𝖋𝖊 @eevees-hobbies 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖆 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖔𝖓𝖊, 𝕴 𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖇𝖇! ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @littleplantfreak @maruflix @umemiaa @143-ilyuu @uzxotic @serendipitous-fernweh @princesstiti14 (𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙/𝖉𝖒/𝖆𝖘𝖐 𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖔𝖗 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖘) (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

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gurugirl · 5 months ago

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Truth or Dare | slumber party!h

Summary: Y/n's coworker, Harry, has never been to a slumber party so she decides to remedy that and give him a sleepover he'll never forget.

A/N: Based off this request. Thanks anon! I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 6,752

Warning: smut

. . .

By her third glass of chardonnay, her stomach was feeling the acid from the wine but she was having such a good time talking to Harry from the operations department that she didn’t care. She’d have another before calling it a night. Just one more glass so she could sit with him a little longer and listen to him talk and watch as he ran his finger along the edge of his pint glass.

He was probably looking at her like he was because he was also three pints of lager in and he was kind so he was holding eye contact to be polite. Certainly, it wasn’t because he found her attractive (though she’d have welcomed that).

The company’s management meeting was long over and everyone else had gone home but Harry and Y/n stayed for another round. They rarely ever got to talk at the office. She’d always wanted to pick his brain about why he decided to move to the US and how, of all companies, he chose to work at Dunn Services.

Y/n laughed on cue as he mentioned something from his childhood with his sister having her friends over to stay the night. He grinned, a healthy row of teeth aimed at her before he looked down and laughed at himself, “In truth? I never did have a sleepover or anything like that.”

“Really? Surely you had friends…”

Harry nodded, “Oh yeah I had a lot of friends. But I never stayed over at anyone’s and they never came over to mine either. Just… I don’t know. Never happened.”

Placing her nearly empty glass down she turned and waved with a smile as the waitress walked by, “Can we get another round, please?”

“How are you getting home?” Harry asked when she faced him, crossing her leg over her knee toward him.

“Taxi. You?”

“Might walk. I’m not far from here.”

Nodding she placed her elbows on the table, “So, I think that you’ve missed out on an integral right of passage, having never had a slumber party. You should definitely remedy that at some point. I highly recommend a fun sleepover. In fact, if you need pointers on what to do during a sleepover, I’m your gal.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your go-to during a slumber party?” Harry teased before taking another sip of his beer.

“Well, I think there are like two main components. The first is entertainment and I’m always keen on a good movie, or a dumb one, either way… a movie for sure if I’m picking. Some people like to play board games or whatever, but I like to stuff myself into a pile of blankets and pillows and just lie, or drape,” she spoke using her arms to demonstrate herself draping into pillows. “Occasionally, if the mood is right, I’ll enjoy a little truth or dare.”

“Got it. A movie and maybe if the mood is right, truth or dare. And what’s the second component.”

Y/n crossed her fingers together and raised her brows as if she were about to say something very important, “Snacks. Beverages. Good ones. Usually just small bites but here’s my list…” She cleared her throat, “Buttered popcorn, and possibly potato chips. Definitely something chocolatey, and maybe something like a cookie or a snack cake. If not potato chips then tortilla chips and if it’s tortilla chips, salsa should also definitely be on the menu.”

Harry held back the laugh in his throat as he nodded, “Wow. Okay. What about like a burger or Chinese food? Would that be allowed?”

Y/n shrugged, “It’s your party. You can do what you want. I’m just telling you what I’d do and what would be a hit with your sleepover buddy.”

Harry breathed out a laugh. Y/n could tell he was getting bashful. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. She watched him for a few seconds before the waitress returned with their drinks.

A quick gulp of wine and she nudged at his shin with her shoe, “You wanna have a slumber party with me?”

Harry blinked and tilted his head, “What? You mean… Seriously?”

She shrugged, “Why not? Then next time someone asks if you’ve ever had a proper slumber party you can say that you have.”

He laughed loudly, his husky voice was like music to her ears. Pointing at her with his finger he grinned, “Now how I can argue with that? I mean,” he shook his head, a glint in his eye, “Every time someone asks me if I’ve been to a slumber party and I tell them I haven’t, it’s such a disappointment! The look on their faces when they realize my whole childhood was a sham…”

They both laughed, leaning in toward one another, tittering toward the edges of their stools.

Harry tilted his head, “Actually I think it sounds fun. You just name the day and I’ll be there.”

Y/n smiled at him. She knew it was crazy. Having a grown man at her place for a slumber party. Typically adults didn’t have those kinds of sleepovers – it was usually with the intent of something far more salacious. But she’d show him a good time, she thought, raising her glass toward his, “Deal.”

. . .

Y/n had her sofa bed pulled out and piled high with extra blankets and pillows. She had all her favorite snacks plus she ordered cheeseburgers and fries for the guest of the night. It was silly. Truly she hadn’t had a real slumber party in ages, but she couldn’t help but feel a little bit of excitement that she’d be hanging out with Harry all night. It was possible that her small crush on him was making her feel all giddy but she’d push down that feeling until he gave her any extenuating signals.

Because the truth was that they were both single, young adults and this was such an unlikely scenario. No one would look at this and say Oh how cute of these two grown adults hanging out in bed together for a sleepover. So innocent! No, she knew better. While maybe nothing would actually happen it certainly wouldn’t look innocent.

And of course, she did pick out the perfect pijama set. Something a little more flattering on her body but not too hey I really need to get laid tonight. It was a happy compromise. Cotton shorts and a button-up, matching short-sleeved top. This was just supposed to be a slumber party after all.

Right?

Besides, the little paper invitation she gave him on Monday morning told him to arrive in his sleepwear so she had to look the part. And not to toot her own horn but she made a very cute invitation just for him tucked into a pink envelope with a separate little response card that had space at the bottom for him to mark yes or no if he could come. It was a yes. Obviously.

When Harry finally arrived he was wearing a pair of grey sweats and a white t-shirt. And for some fucking bizarre reason he looked so much hotter than he did when he wore his well-fitted suits at work.

Because goddamn did his shirt somehow just hug his torso in all the right spots and it allowed her to take a good look at all tattoos on his arms that were normally hidden under brushed wool jackets or long-sleeved button-up shirts. She knew he had tattoos. She’d seen him roll up his sleeves a couple of times but she never wanted to be rude and stare for long.

And then the sweatpants, while loose in the legs, fit his waist and hips and…

“You okay?” Harry was still standing in the doorway with his backpack draped over his arm waiting to be invited in.

“Yeah, sorry. Not used to seeing you dressed down like this. Almost unrecognizable.”

Harry let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling as Y/n stepped aside to let him in, “Would you like to see my ID? Swear I’m the Harry Styles, the guy you invited over for chips, popcorn, and truth or dare. I’ve even got your invite somewhere in my bag…”

She breathed a laugh through her nose and watched him enter into her space, “Movies too. Oh, and I also ordered cheeseburgers. Remembered that you mentioned that.”

He seemed quite pleased with the burgers as she handed him the bag. She got those small ones, five to an order, “Thanks. Fries too, huh?” He reached into the bag and pulled out three crinkle-cut french fries then stuffed them into his mouth.

“So should we settle in and pick out a movie?” She gestured toward her couch.

Harry had seen the pull-out couch with heaps of pillows and blankets when he walked in. He knew that that would be where they’d be spending most of the evening. It was the glaring thing about the whole slumber party slash sleepover. That they’d be probably sleeping next to one another. As two young, healthy, attractive adults.

“Sure,” he nodded and waited for her to pick which side she was going to take before climbing in next to her, the thin mattress and metal frame giving way gently under his weight before he leaned back against a mountain of pillows, bag of burgers safe in his hands.

Y/n had a few video streaming services at the ready and they settled on a cheesy comedy from the late 90s before Y/n reached over to her coffee table and then lined up all the snacks between them.

They chatted a little, having both seen the movie already. Topics were anything from what their plans were for the rest of the weekend to what they’d eaten for lunch at work. And it was only a little awkward when they both reached into the bowl of M&M’s at the same time, fingers brushing together.

Harry moved his hand away, “Sorry. You go…”

Y/n grinned at him, scooping a handful of candy into her palm, and then sat up, adjusting her seating as she crossed her legs together, “Wanna do truth or dare? Pretend like we’re 15 again having a sleepover. Really get into the whole slumber party vibe, ya know?”

Harry dug out a few M&M’s and let out a chesty laugh, “If I’m 15 again we’re in big trouble.”

Y/n snorted a laugh, “Why? What do you mean?”

He shook his head, a wide grin on his face with deep set dimples carved into each cheek as he turned his head to look at her, “If this were happening when I was 15 I’d already be in the bathroom hyperventilating and probably trying to will away a boner after our hands touched in the M&M’s bowl.”

Y/n guffawed and threw her head back, nearly choking on her bite of chocolatey candies as Harry laughed with her. Honestly, it was the best icebreaker she could have asked for. Things had been kind of clunky between them up until that moment as they were still trying to navigate how to act around one another. And she knew he was teasing but the good belly laugh that she got from Harry’s story was exactly what they needed.

“Okay fine. We’ll just keep going about it as adults then. No fifteen-year-olds here tonight,” Y/n chuckled as she shoveled a few kernels of popcorn into her mouth.

Y/n kept her eyes on him as she chewed her mouthful, “So truth or dare?”

Harry cocked his head at her, “So the mood is right then? For truth or dare?”

Y/n’s brows furrowed, “The mood?”

“Yeah. You said it over drinks. Remember when you were telling me what the most important components are to a sleepover and you said you liked truth or dare if the mood was right.”

Nodding slowly, she thought back to what she’d said, “Yeah. I guess I did say that. And I mean… I think the mood’s right for a little truth or dare. Movie’s almost over and you just pretty much kicked us off with that truth.” A breathy laugh was pushed from her mouth.

She could tell Harry was mulling on another question as he bit the inside of his cheek, head tilting in agreement, “So that means it’s your turn. Truth or dare?”

Biting her lip as she pondered, she pressed her back into the soft pillows behind her, “Truth.”

Harry shifted to his side, long legs stretching the length of the mattress as he propped his head up in his hand, a pillow under his arm, “Have you ever kissed a co-worker before?”

Scoffing Y/n moved to her side, mimicking Harry’s position on her side, “No,” she grinned. It was true. She’d never once done anything with any of her coworkers. Having Harry over at her house was the closest she’d ever gotten to doing anything like that. “Now you. Truth or dare?”

His green eyes slid over her features, “Truth.”

She laughed to herself, trying to think of something funny, “How many stuffed animals do you own?”

Licking his lips he nodded, “Think maybe two? Gifts from my niece… Truth or dare?”

“Mmm… dare,” she giggled.

Harry lifted a brow, “Ahhh… feeling bold yeah? Okay… hmm…” He pursed his lips to the side as he considered the dare. “Read to me the last text you sent to anyone. And you have to show me to prove it was the last one. And it can’t be any texts you and me, cause that’s not fair.”

Y/n blinked. She wasn’t exactly sure what her last text was besides Harry. But she was slightly worried because if it was what she was thinking… lifting up her message app she scrolled down to the text thread below Harry’s and it was a text with her sister. Which was what she had been worried about. She gulped, hoping that the things she said about her “coworker” who was coming to stay with her weren’t the last things she and her sister texted about.

Puffing out a breath she covered up all the previous texts to show Harry the last text from her sister – God knows you need it. Sending you good vibes, sis ;)

Harry squinted as he looked at the message and pointed, “That’s to you. The dare was to show me the last text you sent to someone. Let’s see it…”

Feeling her neck heat up she angled the phone away from him and read what she’d sent her sister. And there was no mention of Harry but if he were even halfway decent at picking up clues he might be able to figure out what was being discussed prior.

She shook her head and looked up at him. She couldn’t believe she was about to show him what was on her screen. But a dare was a dare. What was the worst that could happen?

lol I doubt anything will happen but I wouldn’t turn him down. Got condoms just in case 😜 send all your good vibes my way

Harry’s brows squished together as he looked at the text and back to Y/n and then down again at the words on her screen. She saw his throat bob and she knew the look on his face. He fucking knew what that was. He had to know.

She had to look away. She pulled the phone down and killed the screen. The awkwardness between them thick and uncomfortable as she peeked back at him. The edge of his mouth was pulled upward in a smirk, “That’s to your sister?”

Nodding she blew out an exasperated breath, “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

Harry grinned as he positioned his knee closer to Y/n, his eyes still on hers, “Dare.”

Swallowing her embarrassment down the best she could she decided to ask him the same, “Now show me the last text you sent anyone besides me.”

Harry’s smartass grin told her all she needed to know. That his last text probably wasn’t nearly as risqué as hers.

And it wasn’t. Not even close.

You can have two pounds for free. I’ve got so many growing I can’t keep up. As long as you come to pick them up on Monday they’re yours.

“I have a bunch of zucchini growing in my garden,” Harry pulled the phone away and laid it down next to his hip. “Got a neighbor who wants some.”

Of course, his last text to anyone was about zucchini. Jesus, she was so far out of her depth.

He was still wearing that shit-eating grin as he said, “Truth or dare, Y/n?”

And the way he said her name, all slow and sexy-like had her insides heating up. Well, maybe she made up the sexy part but he was definitely teasing her. She could just feel it.

“Truth.”

She was sure she’d regret that. Truth or dare. It didn’t matter. She was still reeling from showing him her texts.

“Was that text about me?” Shit-eating grin in place as he asked. Fucker.

Y/n’s eyes grew wide dropping her mouth open in surprise. Of course, he was going to ask that. Of course!

“Oh come on, Harry…” she pleaded.

He lifted his brows and awarded her a larger grin with those cute indents scoring into his cheeks, “Them’s the rules, baby. You chose truth and now you have to be honest.”

Clearing her throat she sat up to her bottom and leaned forward so she didn’t have to look at him as she put her head in her hands and laughed in disbelief, “Jesus. Seriously?”

“Yep. Spill. Let’s hear it.”

“Okay. Fine. Yes. It was about you.”

Keeping her eyes on her lap she waited for a smug remark. Some kind of teasing reply but it was quiet. Slowly she turned to look back at him and he was still lying on his side, head in his palm as he watched her, his eyes fixed to hers.

She shrugged, “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

Harry flattened his lips and squinted at her before cocking his head, “Hold on… Really? That was about me?”

Sighing she rolled her eyes, “Yes. Sorry. I was… it was just funny… it was me joking around with my sister is all.”

He blinked and looked down at the space between them as he nodded, “Okay. I see. So you didn’t actually mean it?”

“Well… I guess… We were joking. Obviously, nothing has to happen. I would never expect that. I…” she breathed out exasperated.

“Obviously nothing has to happen. Did you want it to happen?” His pupils were pinned to hers again.

Opening her mouth she stopped herself for a moment. She knew her answer was yes but she didn’t want to come off like a creep. She hadn’t expected it and assumed it wouldn’t. But the truth remained; she hoped it would happen.

Deflating her posture she laid back to her side to face Harry, tucking a pillow into her chest, “The truth is that I think you’re attractive and I haven’t been with anyone in kind of a long time and… she knows that, my sister. So we were just… it was lighthearted but yeah I mean… without any expectations, cause I would never… I hope you know that. But I did think it would be nice.”

“Nice. Yeah. I agree. It would be nice. And just so you know,” he swung his head to look over his shoulder before looking back at her, “I brought condoms as well. You know… just in case.”

She was a bit stunned at that. Was he…

“Dare me to kiss you,” he grinned, irises dropping to her lips for a second before looking back into her eyes.

She laughed, “That’s not how the game works. The rules are you can’t–”

“Fuck the rules. Dare me to kiss you.”

Shaking her head with a wide smile stretched across her face she felt like her skin was pricking as her heartbeat picked up. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

Looking back into his eyes she inhaled deeply, “Fine. I dare you to kiss me.”

Harry’s smirk was unreal. The way he dragged his gaze over her face and down to her mouth was almost lewd, “Didn’t need to play truth or dare to get me to kiss you, Y/n,” he scooted in, grabbing the pillow she had tucked into her chest and tossing it away before he drew a hand up to her face, “You just needed to ask.”

She held her breath as he closed in slowly until it was as if all the tension in the room had popped and fizzled when his lips met hers.

He was so soft and gentle. Lips winding easily, carefully at first. And then she parted her lips more, kissing him back and letting her mouth press into his bottom lip before their tongues were meshed.

She moved her knee out to stabilize herself and knocked over the bowl of popcorn between them. Laughing into his mouth she gasped as she parted from him but he only reached for her again, placing his palm at the back of her head to pull her mouth back against his with a grunt from his chest as he pushed the bowl away and drove his arm underneath her side to keep her from getting too far.

Harry was softly moaning as his tongue worked its way into her mouth gently. It was clear he’d wanted to kiss her. That he liked it. And that notion made her head spin combined with the feel of his thumb traveling over her jaw. There was not going to be any stopping the momentum that had begun.

Well, except for when the bowl of M&M’s poured out against her leg. She had to push at him. As much as she would have loved to have kept making out, she would not have been able to enjoy melted chocolate on her legs or the bedsheets tucked around the mattress (think of the scrubbing she’d need to do!).

“Sorry,” she panted and looked down at the smashed pieces of popcorn and the chocolate candies strewn between them, “I’ve gotta pick this up. Our body heat will melt all these and it’s gonna be a big mess.”

Harry grinned, “Why don’t we just move this party to your bed for a little bit? Clean up later? The M&M’s won’t melt if we’re not laying on them.”

She laughed, already feeling overwhelmed and overheated from the kiss and now he was suggesting taking it to her bed? This was really happening, wasn’t it? She nodded and they both moved off the sofa sleeper to their feet, Harry following behind Y/n as she led him to her bedroom.

She already had her bedside lamp on. Bed made perfectly, everything tucked in and neat.

She turned to look at him and he stepped against her, palm splaying at her low back, “I dare you to get onto your bed and take your clothes off.”

A small laugh burst from her chest, “Oh, so now we’re just doing dares?”

He nodded, “Making up our own rules for this game. S’more fun this way.”

Letting go of her he watched as she stepped backward toward her bed and began to unbutton her nightshirt until it was shed from her body before she pushed her shorts down her legs. She was left in a pretty white bralette (something soft for bedtime) that stretched around her breasts and a pair of thin cotton panties that matched. She kneed up onto her bed and let her feet dangle off the edge and pointed, “Now I dare you to take off your clothes.”

He peeled his white t-shirt off, his hair mussing in the process. She watched with her lips parted at the gorgeous man stripping before her. Not only was he built exactly like what she dreamed of (tattoos, beefy, muscular, a touch soft, very masculine) but the boner tenting his sweats was hard not to home in on.

Harry stuck his fingers into the waistband and looked up at her, “M’not wearing any underwear, so be warned…”

She swallowed as the material lowered, belly button, happy trail, a bit of dark hair and then he pulled the stretchy waistband away from his body so his cock could push free and she was already clenching at just the sight as he removed his sweatpants, cock full and heavy between his strong thighs.

Jesus Christ.

Harry stepped forward, nudging himself between her knees and she leaned back to look up at him, “I dare you to take off the rest of this. Since I’m completely naked feels only fair.”

She bit her lip and looked down at his girthy dick. He was clearly not shy of his body, standing there like that, cock right in front of her. But why should he be shy when he looked like that?

Scooting back further into the bed she got up to her knees and pulled the bralette off first, feeling the heat of his gaze on her tits as she then slid her panties down her thighs. She wasn’t nearly as confident as Harry was as she quickly pulled at her top blanket and covered herself with a small laugh.

Harry stepped forward, one knee on the mattress before climbing in next to her, nosing at her cheek softly before his lips were connected to hers again. And she melted into him just like before. His mouth was magic or something because before she realized it, he’d pulled the blankets off her body and he had a big palm sliding up her thigh and over her hip, “Don’t cover up. So pretty. Knew you would be.”

She pushed her fingers into his thick wavey hair and felt her side hit the mattress as Harry pulled at her again, mouth still smeared against hers. He grabbed at her thigh, hitching it over his hip as he tucked in closer and it was warm and she could feel it. Feel him against her hip.

His giant hand smoothed against her bottom and up her spine until he was wrapping his long fingers around the back of her neck. Y/n nudged in closer, driving her hips forward until she was practically straddling him. So Harry took that as his cue to move to his back, taking her hips in his hands so she’d follow with him.

It had caught her off guard, the sudden change in position but her lips never stopped moving with his. Their kisses were wet and she could smell their saliva, and a touch of onion even from the burgers he’d eaten.

He guided her hips down, his thick cock hot under her thigh until she felt her pussy drag against warm skin at the base of his dick. A small gasp escaped her mouth as he pulled her up, letting her pussy glide up his length, “So wet already, Y/n…”

She was. It was embarrassing. Every inch of his shaft her pussy dragged against, coated him, wetted his skin. He kept pushing and pulling at her hips, using her slippery pussy like a soft wet toy he could run up and down his length.

Then she felt his fingers move around to her backside, digits sliding against her pussy as he licked into her mouth.

Gently she rolled against him and when she moved herself further down he pushed a fingertip inside, “Go on. Fuck yourself on my finger a little bit,” he whispered against her mouth.

He was filthy. She had no idea. He’d always been so sweet at work. So polite and respectful. But here he was reaching around her ass to get a finger inside of her cunt as she rubbed her pussy over his cock.

She panted into his mouth as she slid down around his finger, her clit smushed into his dick, slippery as she rolled up and down. But then he began to assist as he added another finger and began to fuck into her pussy, letting his digits curve into her the best he could from his angle. Slushy wet, she stopped moving her hips and parted from the kiss as she looked down at him. She could tell she was gushing all over his palm and probably his dick as she moaned.

“S’that feel good. You’re gettin’ my fingers all wet like it feels good.”

Nodding she gasped, “Yeah. Feels so good…”

Harry rutted up against her, his cock still pressed into her clit, and she panted, eyes still searing into his. She didn’t want to look away. She almost couldn’t believe he was in her bed fingering her like that.

“Your turn to dare me to do something. What do you want, Y/n?”

She moaned and closed her eyes. She was certain of what she wanted as she listened to the way his fingers gushed with each plunge into her.

“Fuck… dare you to… put on a condom.”

She popped her eyes open to peer down at him as he slid his fingers out of her, wiping her arousal on her ass, “They right here?” He moved his hand toward her bedside table, a knuckle tapping at the wood.

Climbing off of him she opened the drawer, “Yeah, a whole box. Hold on…”

Reaching over to pull out the condoms she felt Harry’s hands on her hips as he moved to sit up, then his lips were on her back, dotting warm kisses to her shoulder blades as she finally plucked a condom from the fresh box.

She watched him put the condom on and as expected, it didn’t cover his entire length. He was kind of a big guy. Well, maybe there was no kind of about it. Before today she had no idea he was packing like that. Though he always did come off as very confident and sure of himself.

She bit her lip as she watched him toss the wrapper away and then he kneed up to her, arm sliding to her back and carefully lowering her to the bed before spreading her legs apart as he fit himself there, sturdy thighs pushing against her soft ones.

“Gonna tell your sister her good vibes worked?” He smirked down at her, hands scouring her hips and tummy and then kneading softly at her tits.

Y/n laughed and reached a hand down to his knee before he pulled at her, making her thighs drape over his as he inched in closer.

“Hmm?” He was awfully teasing, she thought, grinning at her waiting for an answer.

“Probably,” she spit out in a laugh.

Harry gripped at her thighs, lifting her a bit more to fit her bum over his bent knees and she wanted to scream in embarrassment when she realized he was inspecting her sodden vulva. She’d gotten herself all tidied up for him, should anything like this happen, so at least she had that going for her.

He smoothed his thumb through her pussylips, spreading them apart, and softly blew out a breath, “That is very pretty. Think we get him in there?”

She rolled her eyes as she watched him wrap his palm around his base and lay his fat cock over her mons, the condomed-tip reaching to her belly button, maybe further past, “Well, it’s made for it, so I’m pretty sure–”

“What… your pussy’s made to fit around my cock?” A cocky dimpled smirk gave way to a laugh.

“You know what I meant. It’s meant to… like…” she breathed out a laugh.

“Oh, I know… just fucking with you, Y/n.”

He gazed at her as he reared back, painting his cockhead through her labia, up and down, a soft bump into her clit before he repeated, spreading her soft lips apart as he watched the way his crown smeared her arousal between her creases.

When she moaned and wiggled her hips he pointed himself right at her little muscle, nudging softly forward, opening it up for himself. And she felt that first push, the way his tip fit into her, spreading apart and then stretching to accommodate his circumference.

“Oh god…” she breathed as he slipped in halfway and then pulled back.

“Almost there,” he panted as he kept his eyes on where they were connected, pushing and pulling back until she was swallowing him whole, his cock enveloped in her soft, warm pussy.

When he’d buried in whole, he moaned and watched her face twist up in ecstasy. Her lips were dropped open and her neck stretched long as she grasped onto the forearm of the hand he had gripping her waist.

Slowly he began to thrust, viscous liquid seeping from her pussy and sticking to his shaft. It was filthy. She was so wet that every time he bottomed out there was a splat and a plap sounding between them.

She let out a deep moan and her lips curled up, humid breath escaping her mouth as she felt him driving into her guts. He was taking it easy. Languidly fucking into her with wet claps every time he plunged in.

When her cunt was taking him easier and she was dripping down to her ass he moved in a little harder, faster. Angling himself over her, a palm down on the mattress so he could work into her with more gusto.

“Ah! Harry…” she squeaked at the stronger thrusts and clung onto his lats. He was panting, lips parted and pink, a curl falling over his forehead as he plowed into her splooshing pussy.

“Fuck you’re wet. Pussy is gushing, Y/n…”

Her brows pushed together as she gasped, her body knocked upward every time his hips met hers making her tits bounce. Harry didn’t know where to keep his focus. He loved watching his cock disappear into her hole but he kind of liked being right over her so he could see her face crinkle up every time he bottomed out and then her pretty breasts sway up and down. Or maybe he’d like to fuck her from behind, watch her ass jiggle as he pounded into her.

“Mmm… fuck that’s big!”

Harry groaned, “Yeah? Sure know how to sweet talk a man don’t you, pretty? S’hurt?”

She watched his face, a lusty grin, droopy eyelids as he continued muscling his way in deep.

She hissed when he bucked in, as if he was showing off just how deep he could push in and she coughed out, “Mmm… a little!”

Harry was going to lose his mind with her if she kept squeaking out moans and splatting around his cock like she was but he would be a gentleman and pull back a touch. Slowing down a little he sat up and moved his hand between them, smushing his thumb into her clit, which was so sticky wet even that swished and slid under the pad of his digit.

“Yessss…” she breathed out before murmuring on about how good it felt. “Oh fuck, that’s it. Oh god… please don’t stop… Harry, fuck, yes…”

The clit. The magical little nob that worked wonders as long as the man knew where to find it. Clearly, Harry knew right where it was. Knew how to circle over it, pressing against it just right. Knew how to fuck into her as well. Sliding his length through her vaginal walls, spreading her open, and grazing against her gummy little spot on the inside that had her buzzing and liquifying for him.

He watched her whine and squirm under him, loving how she was so into it. God that was an ego boost, “Like that, Y/n? Gonna come for me? Yeah?”

Her ears were already ringing when she lost herself, gripping around him and crying out as her orgasm washed through her tummy. Harry’s cock made her feel so full, so incredibly stuffed to the brim that it weighed her down and she could hardly move as he bulldozed into her, the pad of his thick thumb smushing fast circles over her throbbing nub.

Fucking her through it he gasped at how she spasmed and milked around him, her pussy trying to siphon his come right through his condom. But Harry wouldn’t come just yet. He had something to prove. Wanted to make a show of his prowess and give her something to tell her sister about.

So when she was finally calmed and her pussy wasn’t clamping around him like a vice grip he slid his hand under her head and kissed her gently, speaking low and soft against her lips, “Gonna have you flip over, okay? Just need a little more yeah?”

When he parted from the kiss she blinked up at him, fluttering lashes and out of breath, “You didn’t come?”

He shook his head, pulling himself out, gently before he placed his hands on her hips, “Not yet. I will soon, though. M’right on the edge. Won’t take me long.”

She rolled to her side as he lifted her hips and helped her get to her tummy. She felt his hands on her ass, squeezing and rubbing each meaty globe in his big palms. Then he was straddling her thighs as he spread her gently and she felt him push his thick tip back into her pussy, sharp and hot. It was tighter, felt a lot fuller like that as he began driving in deep and then pulling out to his tip, before plowing back into the hilt.

His moans grew louder and, even he could admit, sounded quite whiny, pathetic. He was shaking as he watched his dick spread her in half, her soft ass jiggling as he smacked into her, skin patting, his cock leaking precum steadily into his condom.

He hissed when it felt too good. His balls squeezing and his fat dick throbbing inside of her. He thrusted forward, landing a palm down next to her shoulder, his chest pressed into her back as he rutted himself in, tucking his cock through her insides and puffed out a hot groan into her ear, “Fuck you feel good. Gonna make me come, baby…”

She moaned and nodded, “Come for me, Harry…”

He might have held out for another thirty seconds, possibly a minute longer but her breathy words, all sultry and pleading had him pumping into his condom in an instant. He gargled on a moan and squeezed his eyes closed as he buried in and stilled his hips, ass flexing so he could push in further if it were possible.

Y/n felt him crushing her back as he collapsed over her, panted breaths in her ear, cock still throbbing in the aftermath of his orgasm.

She didn’t mind it. Liked his weight on her like that. Enjoyed the way he seemed just as fucked out as she was. She could even feel his heart pounding in his chest against her back.

With a moan, she turned her head and nuzzled her face into her blanket with her eyes closed. She’d fall asleep that way if he couldn’t get up. It was quite warm and comforting. Like a weighted blanket draped over her body. And maybe she did doze off for a bit because when she opened her eyes she felt him moving off of her before he crashed down next to her, the springs in her mattress bouncing under him.

Pushing herself to lie on her side she ran a hand over his chest and he turned to look at her, a dopey smile on his flushed face, “So this is what happens at slumber parties, huh? I’ve really missed out all these years.”

She giggled and nodded into her pillow, “Yep. They’re just like big orgies really. Normally there are more than just two people. It’s how I lost my virginity.”

Harry sputtered a laugh, “Really?”

Y/n couldn’t help but to cackle loudly and roll to her back, the biggest grin on her face, “No, silly. I was teasing.”

He slid a hand over her tummy, “So this isn’t what happens at slumber parties, then?” She could hear the cheeky smile in his voice.

She turned her head to look at him, “Well, not usually. But I think we made our own rules for this one today.”

“Yeah? Well, I have to give it to you. You throw a hell of a party. I’m certain this is gonna go down as the best sleepover in history.”

. . .

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nyxvuxoa-writes · 8 months ago

Note

Hello, may I request a #15 with Sergei Kravinoff from the prompts?

Thank you.

You got it hon. I hope this hits the spot for you. ★

𝙈𝙞𝙣𝙚

Sergei Kravinoff x Submissive!F!Reader

◢ Genre: Prompt Request — Suitable For Adults Only. Minors will be blocked.

◢ Warnings: 18+ only, please. AFAB Reader. PWP (maybe slight plotting, mostly smut). Angst. The reader is referred to as a property of sorts. Submissive reader. Reader being defiant. Being dominated by Sergei. Manhandling of the reader. Sexual Choking (don't try unless you know what you are doing). Ripping clothes off reader. P-in-V. Dirty Talk. Orgasm denial. Internal ejaculation.

◢ Word Count: 1.6K

◢ A/N: Gif was made by me, please credit me if you use it. Likes are enjoyed. Reblogs are always greatly appreciated. And I am always down to hear what you think.

2K Follower Prompt List

"I'm not your property." You spit at him, an anger in your voice that continued the argument that was already going on. Sergei turns to look at you. There was confusion on his face. His brow furrows heavily. The tension in his shoulders spreads through his body. He lets out a heavy breath, and you can see the way his muscles move heavily with movements. The Russian was taken aback by your words.

"Since when?" He growls at you. "Since I say so. I'm in charge of me. Not you."

Sergei blinks, his head tilting slightly. He was trying to process your words, and they weren't sinking in. Since the start of your relationship with him, it had been clear where your place was with him. He was in charge. He says jump and you are supposed to say 'yes sir, how high'. But today, he might have struck a nerve with you that sent you into this state. Maybe you just needed a good reminder of how this relationship with him worked. Reaching up, Sergei runs his fingers over his lips, thinking.

"You have one chance to correct yourself." He says.

Those were words you had never heard out of his mouth. But your arms crossed in defiance. You stand your ground, putting your foot down on the matter. He could read the brat in your body language. It would be a lie to say that a part of him wasn't turned on by it. You were normally such a good girl, and here you were with your big girl panties on thinking that you could call the shots simply because you were frustrated with him. Angry even. Eventually, he might realize that he was an asshole, but right now the only thing he could focus on was putting you back into your place. To hear you moaning and pining for him like the simple creature you are.

It's a matter of seconds and his left hand is around your throat. He catches you off guard and you reach up, grabbing at his arm. Your eyes go wide, but you don't feel unsafe. You have never felt unsafe with the man, and truthfully he'd never hurt you. Not in a way you didn't enjoy, anyway. You can feel his fingers pressing into the sides of your neck. He's limiting the blood flow, causing you to feel a weirdly euphoric feeling. You tense and relax at the same time. His eyes meet yours with an intense stare and before you have the chance to respond, Sergei is gripping your shirt with his free hand. You hear the sound of ripping fabric from your body. He shreds it with ease, removing it from your body, and exposing your upper half.

A slight smirk comes to his face. You can see the corner of his mouth twitch slightly at the sight of you like this. He likes it, feeling the authority over you coursing through his veins like a slight adrenaline high. He backs you up against the wall, his hand pinning you by your neck to it. His free hand goes to your panties, ripping the sides of them and removing them from you. You feel as thin fabric slides down the inside of your legs and to the floor at your feet. For that brief moment, you both stare at each other.

It wasn't the first time you had been manhandled by the brute, but it was the first time in this situation. You feel your mind slipping into a state of submission, realizing that he was about to correct the poor choice of words that came from you. The hand against your throat loosens slightly before it tightens again. His free hand moves to his black pants, freeing himself from it. Sergei's hard, already at attention, and aching to remind you exactly where you belong. You can feel your mouth water in anticipation and you're already becoming slick between your legs. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. The emotions went from angry and frustrated to, utter desire to feel that correction. All it took was the simple actions of a hand around your throat and that piercing gaze to lock with yours.

His movements are quick as you feel the hand go from your throat to your hips. He lifts you up with ease, positioning you quickly so that he can thrust himself up into you. You feel a wave of heat wash over your body as your skin becomes sensitive. He fills you quickly, bringing your hips to his as his entire length presses into you. He slams you against the wall slightly, growling as he feels the way your body flexes around him. You let out a moan that causes Sergei to growl against the crook of your neck. This wasn't about you, but he still wanted to hear those moans. They fueled him to start pumping into with an aggressive nature.

Your hands go to brace themselves, but you feel like you don't know where to put them. They grip his arms, his shoulders. You try and hold on as he starts to pump away. The sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the room. You can't contain the noises coming from your lips as you start to moan louder, and louder with each almost slightly painful thrust between your legs. He was using your hole for his own pleasure, making sure you were aware that it was his. Your body is his. Your mind is his. He was going to do with it as he pleased. You weren't going to stand there and tell him that you weren't his. You brought out that deeply primal dom in his body, he was making sure you felt it and knew it.

The louder you became, the harder he started to thrust. You could feel the base of him meeting at your swollen cunt, that tease of sensation that caused your body to tremble in his strong grip. He noticed it, growling at you slightly. His fingertips pressed into your thighs and lower ass with every intention of leaving little painful bruises for you to remember later.

"Don't you dare cum." He growled into your ear. "You haven't earned that." He added.

"But..." You went to plead with him as your tone whimpers for him. Were you even going to be able to stop yourself from doing that? He growled again, pressing you against the wall a little more. His head shakes with a no.

"Whose hole is that?" He asks deeply, groaning slightly. "Y-yours!" You cry out, feeling a hard thrust up into you. "Say it again." He snaps at you. "It's yours! My hole is yours!" You say, your fingers pressing into his skin as you continue to try and brace yourself.

He growls again, moaning at the end of it, almost as if he was approving of what was said without having to say it. He adjusts himself slightly, moving your weight so that he can stop thrusting. He moves your body for you, bouncing you along his length with such ease, his hand bracing you with your thighs a little more. He was using you, every bit of you for his own satisfaction. You could feel the tension in his shoulders and arms. You can tell there were bruises already starting to form from his fingers.

You do your best to hold off a finish, feeling as sweet spots were hit. Your body can't help but tremble, which adds fuel to his fire. He bounces you faster, harder, using how he moved your body to milk himself into you. Being with him long enough made it easy to read his body language, and he was starting to reach that finish with a goal in mind. You wanted so badly to finish with him, to finish at all, but the idea of him telling you that you weren't allowed sent a need through your mind. Let him use you, let him get that point across and maybe, just maybe you can earn a finish later.

Sergei's growling and moaning become more intense, becoming more frequent as he feels that building pressure. He wasn't holding back. That wasn't the point of any of this. He was going to be clear about where you stood in this relationship with him. He felt that heavy twitch in his cock, and his fingers press even harder into your skin as he braces you against the wall once more and buries himself deeply in between your legs. Your fingers press into his skin, nails digging into him as you fight off the urge to finish with him. You can feel his seed start to fill you, the warmth of it seeping out between the flesh that met his. He pressed as deeply as he could, twitching heavily as he made sure you took every last drop of him.

A hand moves back to your neck as he pulls from you. There is a mess between your legs, you can feel it. He lowers you back to your feet, the hand moving to grip your jaw and he forces you to look deeply into his eyes. At first, there is silence. You both stare at each other as he observes the way you are going to react to him, to all of this. There is no negative reaction, maybe a slight look of shock, but you can feel this deeper connection with him. That frustrated brat mode had faded away, and you're putty in his hands.

"You're mine." He says, making sure that the words are loud and clear. "You're mine in every sense of the term. Don't think I am done correcting you. I'm not."

Extra Tags: @voxmortuus

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dawngyu · 1 month ago

Text

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.

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