#anyone knows if they are still alive or not- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

willowsnook · 2 days ago

Text

i need you back

Charles leclerc x wolff!reader

request from @dovesboccianoifiori

—--------------------------------------

“I can’t do this anymore, Charles,” you said, tears streaming down your face as you stood by the front door of his Monaco apartment with your suitcases. Your boyfriend stood broken in front of you, eyes begging you not to leave.

“Please, y/n, it will get better,” he tried to reason, but you laughed, shaking your head.

“You don’t get it, Charlie, you don’t get it because you’re the prince of Ferrari; everyone loves you. You don’t have people constantly commenting on your appearance, what you say, what you wear, or anything you like on social media. They hate me because they love you,” you finished sadly. “I love you more than you could ever know, but I also love myself.”

“I love you,” he whispered, bringing his hand up to your cheek. You leaned it to it gently before pressing one last kiss on his lips and leaving.

You cried the whole way to the airport, feeling like you had ripped your own heart out, but you knew this was for the best. It had been a long time since you were really happy; the hate you consistently got had finally broken you down, and you knew you needed to be alone to build yourself back up. Charles hadn’t done anything wrong, but he also didn’t get it, so it was frustrating when you didn’t feel like you had anyone to talk to about it with.

This would be good for you.

—------------------------

It had been a couple of months since your breakup with Charles, and though it still stung, you were adapting. You moved back to your family’s estate in Vienna and had connected with a bunch of old friends who were getting you through.

You hadn’t seen Charles since you left, but according to social media, he wasn’t out in public often. He looked half-alive in the PR videos Ferrari had been posting. He had tried calling you a lot the first month, but now it was silent between you.

“Hi, sweetheart,” your dad said, knocking on your bedroom door. You were snuggled up in your blankets, watching a movie.

“Hi, dad,” you greeted softly. His face looked around the room in concern, not used to the messy state it was currently in.

“Why don’t you come to the race with me this weekend?” He asked. “I think it will be good for you.”

“I don’t know…,” you trailed off.

“Come on honey, F1 is yours too,” he said, and you thought about it. You had missed being in the paddock for race weekends these past months. He was right; Charles didn’t own F1, and you were allowed to enjoy it.

“Okay,” you said, agreeing, and Toto smiled.

—----------------Belgian GP—--------------------------

The hot sun beat down on you as you stepped into the paddock, dressed in Mercedes colors. You made it a couple of feet before the eyes got to you, making you falter. It felt like everyone was looking at you, and you started to panic.

“Keep moving forward,” a voice said from next to you, pushing you forward. You gave Lewis a grateful smile as he fell into step with you.

“I thought it would be easier,” you murmured to him.

“It’s just because it’s your first race back,” he told you. “They’ll move on to the next thing in a few days.”

His words comforted you as you walked with him. Smiling at familiar faces and ignoring the flashes from cameras. Your dad was waiting for you in the garage, and he gave Lewis a nod of appreciation as you approached.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted you. “Excited for today?”

“Yeah,” you told him with a genuine smile. “Is Kimi here?”

“Yeah, he’s on his side,” your dad said, waving you off. You and Kimi had grown close when he joined as a reserve driver since your dad was obsessed with him, so he was around a lot. You were closer to him in age than George, so your friendship was natural.

Kimi lit up when he saw you jogging over to you, and you giggled.

“Hi Kimi,” you sai,d and he wrapped his arms around you, spinning you around.

“Ciao Bella,” he said, happy to see you. “I’m so glad you are here.”

“Me too,” you said, smiling.

“I need to see someone at Williams. Will you come with?” He asked, and you nodded. The two of you set out and you were temporarily distracted from your sadness until you spotted him.

He came to a stop, mid-conversation with Carlos as he saw you. Carlos followed his line of sight, and his eyes looked pained when he saw you.

Your heart raced as you locked eyes with Charles. He looked thinner, his usually vibrant green eyes now dull and rimmed with dark circles. The world seemed to stand still for a moment as you both stared at each other across the paddock.

Kimi noticed your sudden tension and followed your gaze. "Ah, merda," he muttered under his breath. He gently touched your lower back, ready to steer you away if needed.

Charles took a hesitant step forward, his expression a mixture of hope and heartbreak. But before he could approach, Carlos grabbed his arm and whispered something in his ear. Charles reluctantly nodded, casting one last longing look in your direction before allowing Carlos to lead him away.

You released a shaky breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. "Thanks, Kimi," you said softly, and he smiled at you sympathetically.

Kimi greeted another guy who appeared to be around your age as you made it to Williams. You were racking your brain trying to remember who he was, knowing he was a reserve driver.

“Franco, this is y/n wolff,” Kimi introduced, and Franco’s eyes widened at your last name.

“Who knew the daughter of the wolf would be so beautiful?” he said, recovering and bringing your hand up to kiss its back. You laughed as Kimi snorted, and Franco grinned at both of you. “It’s nice to meet you, y/n; Kimi has said a lot about you.”

“You too, Franco,” you said, and the three of you chatted for a bit. You instantly grew to like Franco, and his jokes and laughter made your day a little better.

It was getting closer to practice, and Kimi had to head back to Mercedes, as he was driving George’s car, but Franco held your arm back.

“Do you want to just stay here with me?” He asked. “I can keep you company.”

“Sure,” you said without a second thought. You said goodbye to Kimi and hung around with Franco, interested in seeing what another team’s garage was like.

Franco kept the conversation going with you, and at one poin,t the two of you looked at the broadcast to see yourselves on the screen. Franco grinned widely as you shied away.

“Not a fan of the spotlight?” He teased, and you gave him an uneasy look.

“More so, not a fan of what comes with it,” you said, and he nodded in understanding.

“Is that why you and Charles broke up?” He asked bluntly before blushing. “Sorr,y that’s none of my business, but Kimi had mentioned it.”

“It’s okay,” you told him. “But yeah, I was pretty much getting ripped apart every day online so I needed a break.”

“I know it’s easier said than done,” he stated. “But you shouldn’t even worry about what those people are saying. They are losers, and you are a beautiful girl who shouldn’t pay them attention.”

“Thanks, Franco,” you said, tears in your eyes. He let you rest your head on his shoulder, and you were thankful that a new friendship was starting to blossom.

—-------------------------------

You and Franco kept in touch over summer break, and you even met up when you were both in London. He quickly became one of your closest friends; you found it easy to open up to him, and he gave excellent advice. Charles was not pleased about this new development.

“Would she really move on that quickly from me?” He asked, irritated. Carlos gave him a pointed look from across the table. He was tired of hearing Charles spiral whenever he got wind that you had hung out with Franco.

“Rebecca said that they are just friends,” Carlos said. “She’s allowed to have friends.”

Charles scoffed, “Of course she can have friends. But why do they have to be involved in F1?”

“Maybe because her dad is the most popular team principal, and her mom is in charge of the academy?” Carlos reasone,d but Charles wasn’t listening.

Charles shook his head, his frustration evident. "I just don't understand. We were so happy together. How could she just move on like this?"

Carlos sighed, setting down his coffee cup. "Charles, my friend, you need to let this go. It's been months. Y/N made her decision, and you need to respect that."

"But I love her," Charles insisted, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't just forget about her."

"I'm not saying you should forget," Carlos said gently. "But you need to focus on yourself, on your racing. Obsessing over who she's spending time with isn't healthy."

Charles slumped in his seat, running a hand through his hair. "I know, I know. It's just... seeing her at the track, with Franco... it hurts."

Carlos reached across the table, squeezing his friend's shoulder.

—----------------------------------

You were in the Williams garage again for the weekend because it was officially Franco’s first F1 race. Monza was electric, and you couldn’t help but feel excited for Charles as well. You’d been nervous when you arrived, but many people in the Tifosi stopped you, commenting on how much they missed seeing you with Charles. It definitely was a stark contrast to what you were used to seeing online.

You didn’t stop the happy tears from coming when you watched Charles take the podium, and Franco getting points was the cherry on top. Everyone was going out that night, and Kimi invited you to tag along as his plus one. You threw on a cute red mini-dress and headed to the upscale restaurant with Kimi. Most of the other drivers were there, and you were having a good time until you realized the girl Charles was sitting next to was clearly his plus one.

You tried to focus on your conversation with Rebecca and Carlos, but your eyes drifted back to Charles and his date. The girl was beautiful, with long dark hair and a dazzling smile. She seemed completely at ease among the drivers and team members, laughing at their jokes and fitting in seamlessly.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" Rebecca asked, noticing your distraction.

You forced a smile. "Yeah, sorry. Just a bit tired I guess."

Carlos and Rebecca exchanged a knowing look. "We can leave if you want," Carlos offered kindly.

"No, no. I'm fine," you insisted, taking a large sip of your wine. But then you looked over again to see Charles date. Right as she pressed a kiss on his cheek, it was over. Tears instantly filled your eyes, and you pushed out of your chair, ignoring people calling after you as you moved toward the exit. A sob escaped your mouth as the fresh air hit you, and two arms were quickly around you.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Carlos soothed, rubbing your back as you clung to him.

“It hurts Carlos,” you cried, and his heart broke at the sight of you.

“I know,” he said.

Charles had seen you bolt out of the restaurant and was only a few paces behind Carlos on the way out. He saw you in Carlos’ arms and was very confused.

“Y/n,” he called out your name, and you whirled on him, anger rising through your body.

“What do you wan,t Charles?” You asked harshly. His brows furrowed at your tone.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” he said, and you laughed humorlessly.

“I’m fine, just go back to your new girlfriend,” you spat out, and he flinched before matching your anger with his own.

“Oh, so you’re allowed to move on but I’m not?” He sneered, and you stepped towards him angrily.

“Please enlighten me with who I’m apparently moving on with,” you snapped.

“Don’t be ridiculous, all I see are you and Franco going out to dinner, you in the Williams garage, you with him in London.”

“Tell me this, Charles, have you ever seen any pictures of him touching me?” You asked icily. “Pictures of him whispering into my ear like your date tonight? Or of him kissing me?”

Charles stilled at your words, finally realizing that maybe you and Franco were just friends. But you weren’t done.

“I can’t believe you would throw this in my face,” you seethed at him. “I still fucking love you Charles! I’m fucking miserable, and you think I just threw our whole relationship away for someone else this quickly. Do you even know me?”

Your voice cracked at the last word, and pain flashed across his face as he took another step towards you.

Charles reached out to touch your arm; his eyes filled with regret. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

You jerked away from his touch, tears streaming down your face. "Don't. Just don't, Charles.”

Carlos stepped between you, placing a protective hand on your shoulder. "I think it's time for you to go back inside, Charles," he said firmly.

Charles looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Carlos' expression made him think better of it. He cast one last pained look at you before turning and heading back into the restaurant.

You sagged against Carlos, suddenly feeling drained. "I want to go home," you whispered.

"Of course," Carlos said gently. "I'll call a car for you."

As you waited for the car to arrive, you couldn't help but replay the encounter. The hurt in Charles' face burning in your mind.

—--------------------------------------

Charles was desperate to get you back. He had sent flowers, jewelry, clothes, literally anything that would make you even consider answering one of his many calls. You accepted the gifts but weren’t giving in to him yet; his words from Monza still echoing in your mind.

You currently were in the Williams hospitality suite, grabbing a coffee with Franco, who had his precious mate.

“I like your bracelet. Is it new?” Franco asked innocently, and you shot him a look. It was one of the many gifts from Charles that had shown up on your door this past week.

“Thank you,” you said, not commenting on it further. Franco rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone.

“I want to show you something,” he said, and you leaned over curiously. He had a bunch of screenshots of comment sections on instagram and twitter on his phone. “I know that you got swept up in all the hate you were getting, but look closer at it; look at how many people reply to those people defending you.”

Hesitantly, you took his phone from hi,m and you scrolled through. He was right; for every one hate comment, there were at least ten telling them off and in support of you.

Your eyes widened as you continued scrolling through Franco's phone, taking in all the supportive comments. "I... I never noticed these before," you said softly.

Franco gently took his phone back. "That's because you were too focused on the negative. But Y/N, there are so many people out there who adore you. You shouldn't let a few trolls dictate your happiness."

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions wash over you. "Thank you for showing me this, Franco. It really means a lot."

He smiled warmly. "That's what friends are for."

Just then, your phone buzzed with a text from Charles: "Can we please talk? I miss you so much."

You stared at the message, your heart racing. Franco noticed your expression change and raised an eyebrow. "Charles again?"

You nodded, biting your lip. "He wants to talk.”

“You should meet up with him,” Franco said. “You still love him, and this break isn’t doing you or him any good. You two belong together.”

After thinking about it for a second, you decided that you agreed and texted him back, saying you could meet him in the hotel lobby this evening.

The rest of the day went by fast, and you soon found yourself waiting on a couch for Charles in the lobby, twiddling your thumbs nervously.

You saw Charles before he saw you. He walked into the lobby, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. His face lit up with a mixture of relief and apprehension as he approached.

"Y/N," he said softly, sitting down beside you. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me."

You nodded, your heart racing. "Of course, Charles."

There was an awkward silence for a moment, both of you unsure where to start. Finally, Charles took a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything. For not understanding what you were going through, for not being there for you the way I should have been. And especially for what happened in Monza. I was jealous and hurt, and I lashed out. It was wrong of me."

You felt tears prick at your eyes. "I'm sorry too, Charlie, for running away that night in Monaco. I should have talked to you about my feelings instead of just leaving."

“I need you back y/n,” he begged. “You belong by my side, I can’t take another weekend of seeing you not in Ferrari colors.”

You let out a small giggle at his request, and he relaxed. He reached for your hand and held it tightly, caressing your skin gently.

“Okay,” you said softly. “I’ll come back, if you’ll have me.”

Charles's face broke out into a grin, and he pulled you into his lap, your cheeks reddening with the embarrassment of being in public.

“Charlie, we are in public,” you complained, nestled against his chest.

“I don’t care, mon cheri,” he said, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

For the first time in months, you felt a glimmer of hope—hope that things could be different this time. Together, you’d rebuild what was broken, stronger than before.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc

226 notes · View notes

zerocoded · 1 day ago

Text

summary: when caleb appears at your front door on a random thursday night after faking his death for weeks, you can't help but want to punch him straight in the knees. lucky for you, you do just that.

authors note: this beautiful drawing that i'm using in the banner is from this lovely artist, credits to them! go check their x account ♡ ANYWAYS, the caleb post i've been daydreaming about the last two days is finally here. CALEB GIRLIES I GOT YOU. let's hold each other's hands until the 22nd comes. i hope i succeed in portraying a real mc bc i'm tired of seeing us being just happy when seeing caleb for the first time when BRO DECEIVED US and played with our emotions like that. without further bs, live laugh love caleb.

warnings: SLIGHT yandere!caleb • gaslighting and manipulation • sfw content • bad writing lol, be warned! • depressive thoughts • reader is on her grieving period • work exhaustion • mental illness mentioned • minor injury • manhandling and pining • height & size difference • caleb literally invades our home • fighting bc reader is a badass and tolerates no bitches • mc bites caleb's hands lol • others LI mentioned • one kissy scene hehe • caleb screams at mc once (boo) • ANGST Y'ALL!

word count: 6.1k

your apartment was silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside. tossing your jacket onto the back of the couch, you leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily. the weight of the day pressed down on you like a vice, your fingers brushing the edge of the message from linkon city hall still lying unopened on the counter.

confirmation of deceased: caleb. adoptive grandmother, dr. josephine. cause of death: explosion – classified incident.

you hadn’t needed to open it. the words were already carved into your memory, and the weight of them had crushed you all day. it didn’t matter that the explosion was months ago—seeing their names on an official report felt like losing them all over again.

you pushed away from the counter, willing your mind to focus on anything else. the hunter uniform hugged your frame perfectly, as it always had, and your reflection in the glass windows of your living room showed how tired you looked.

did anyone notice how wrecked you felt? you wondered if tara had gossiped to the other hunters about your predicament, and if she had left you alone because she somehow understood the weight of what had happened to you.

the message was awful. being asked to confirm the deaths of your loved ones had thrown you into a depressive spiral you hadn’t felt in days after returning from the N109 zone. your troublesome heart sometimes made you feel like you shouldn’t have even been born. when you trauma-dumped this on rafayel a few days ago, he had almost hit you with his paint brush, the words coming out of your mouth too much for him to process. the painter was pissed that you could think of yourself like that.

but that was how you felt—unworthy of being alive, because the person who raised you had been brutally killed.

why not me? you wondered.

linkon city was adorned with shiny skyscrapers, and your privileged view of the city made you feel even smaller, your grievance nothing more than a joke to the world outside of your apartment. knowing you’d have to show up to work again tomorrow added to the weight pressing down on your shoulders from choosing to be a deepspace hunter.

these last few weeks, you had questioned why you chose this job in the first place. since coming back from onychinus and befriending sylus of all people, you’d been thinking about your life decisions more frequently. sylus made you question every little thing you had once thought was a virtue, which now seemed like selfishness in disguise.

the man was good at disturbing your thoughts and making you feel things that put you on the spot.

you became a deepspace hunter because you were selfish. you wanted to make a difference, like the people you grew up with had made.

you wanted to be smart like zayne and attentive like josephine. you wanted to be helpful like caleb and as notorious as your other anhaunsen classmates. you wanted to do anything to escape the feeling you’d had since birth—uselessness.

as you sank deep into the living room cushions and exhaled heavily into the lonely air of your apartment, your phone buzzed with a text from zayne.

fate was joking with you today.

are you okay?, it read.

his worry made your heart flutter a little before sadness took over your entire form again.

you didn’t have the heart to respond. lying required more strength than you had in that moment, so you tossed your phone onto the center table and ignored him.

i’m sorry, zayne, i wish i was stronger for you.

your stomach rumbled, and your ribs ached. earlier in the evening, you had let a wanderer get too close before killing it, distracted as you were. the mistake had left you with a swollen rib and a deep sense of shame. you’d promised to take care of it when you got home, but right now, all you could do was discard a few of your sharp weapons onto the floor before dozing off on the couch.

you’d probably hate yourself in the morning for sleeping with these tight boots on.

for you, the hardest part wasn’t the silence left behind. it wasn’t the way the world seemed to keep spinning while yours had shattered. the hardest part was feeling like you needed to smile, to nod politely when people said, “stay strong,” as if strength could stitch together the pieces of your broken heart.

the hardest part was the way people looked at you, expecting you to move forward, to let the memories be enough. but how could you, when the smell of smoke still haunted your nightmares, when you could still hear caleb’s laughter drowned by the deafening roar of the explosion? how could you heal when your soul was still bleeding, the wounds too fresh, the pain still pouring out with every breath you tried to take?

how could you move forward when you still couldn’t clench your fists as strong as you were accustomed to because you were thrown into the air and broke both of them at the incident?

you wondered if it would ever be enough, and if someday you’d find out who was responsible for all of this pain.

the kitchen candles were the only light in the room when you heard the doorbell ring. sharp and sudden, it cut through the haze and fought off your sleepiness in a second, your hunter’s bells ringing warningly.

your heart jumped, and your hand instinctively went to your side where your pistol usually rested, only to find it absent. you’d left it in your locker at the deepspace headquarters, thinking you wouldn’t need it tonight.

the bell rang again, more insistent this time.

“probably xavier,” you muttered, trying to shake off the lingering unease. your neighbor and cute colleague had been away on a special mission as a hunter. his absence had started to feel noticeable in the quiet moments.

you liked spending time with xavier because he seemed to understand you on another level. he never seemed to expect anything from you, which made grieving next to him a little less daunting. you missed his midnight visits and occasional talks about claw machines and stupid wanderers, and you wished he would respond to your texts asking when he was coming back.

you felt like you needed to hear his voice right now.

without thinking much, you unlocked the door, combat boots still on and dark circles framing your usually bright eyes.

“took you long enough—”

the words died on your lips.

it wasn’t xavier.

standing in your doorway, dressed in a pristine daa military uniform, was a man—ridiculously intimidating and strange. he looked at you with judgment and arrogance, making you step back a little and guard more of yourself.

thank god you still had your uniform on and wasn’t wearing some flimsy nightgown. the man seemed to be eating you alive in his head.

before you had the chance to question the stranger’s presence at your door on this random thursday night, he tossed you aside and pressed you against the corridor wall of your kitchen, your breath instantly hitched and your ribs ached from the impact.

your hunter’s awareness triggered instantly, instincts flaring and mind still trying to process what the hell was going on. your hands struggled against his grip, desperately searching for an evol to resonate with. if your mind had already been spiraling out of control before, now you felt like you could fight a thousand wanderers at once and focus on surviving with mere instinct.

you couldn’t scream. his right hand clamped over your mouth, his left gripping both your wrists in front of your chest and preventing you from punching him like you planned to. somehow, this was a professional individual who knew your fighting mannerisms and wrestling tendencies by heart.

with great effort, you managed to bite his hand that was closest to your mouth and heard his pained grunt right after. you swore you heard him cussing before his head raised and his eyes finally met yours.

your heart stopped. the world narrowed to the faint outline of his silhouette as you finally were able to look at his face. his hair was concealed beneath a presumptuous cap, the daa symbol shining bright at its center. black, red, and gold adorned the unknown uniform of the man who handled your body as if it were weightless, plastic.

you thrashed and twisted in his grip until he was forced to pin both your hands above your head, hissing when you managed to land a kick on his right knee. the door clicked shut beside you as he silenced your attempted scream with his hand again.

amethystine eyes stared back at you, thick brows furrowed as your gazes locked. chills ran down your spine. your hunter uniform pressed uncomfortably against the wall, your combat boots barely touching the floor. yet, despite your effort, he towered over you.

you wanted to cry.

the hidden freckles were the first clue your mind was playing tricks on you, the shape of his mouth the second, and his skin tone the third. countless times since the explosion, you’d dreamed of caleb’s touch—more nights than you could count. but as the weight of the day bore down on you, your fighting spirit waned, the initial rush of adrenaline fading as you stared into his eyes.

everything felt cruelly unfair.

his gaze was uncharacteristically hard as he watched you, his bruising grip on your mouth and wrists warming for a moment before you snapped out of your daze.

a smirk made way to his lips and his stupidly manly perfume set itself on your senses. another attempt at kicking him made him press himself further into you, ribs screaming from the pressure. if he noticed your pained expression, he didn’t mention it at all.

“caleb,” you whispered, the name barely audible. your voice cracked, your body frozen in place, your mind unable to reconcile the impossible reality before you.

he didn’t seem to hear you, but his hand left your mouth, his gaze sweeping over your body and his face so close to yours you could count his naturally defined lashes.

the tension between you two shifted as he eyed you closer, curious eyes landing on your pretty figure. he could swear for a moment you wouldn’t recognize him and that thought perturbed his mind for the next few seconds he allowed himself to bask in your beauty.

caleb was familiar with the sight of you in a hunter’s uniform, but never had he seen you looking this wrecked.

so pretty, but so unfairly exhausted, he thought.

in the weeks leading up to the explosion, he’d promised himself he’d never let you get hurt by ever ever again. now, seeing you like this, he wondered if things looked different from your perspective.

would you hate him?

would you hate him for the decisions he made? for the people he deceived and the families he destroyed? for the secrets he exposed so he could be at advantage and fight for you from a more privileged position?

would you hate him for wanting you all to himself and sharing the same fate as him as a human experiment? for wanting to take you to the ever base and expose you to everyone right before killing them? for being the demise of your life but still wanting to keep you as close as possible?

would you still love him after he told you all of the wrongings he did to make things right for you and him?, he wondered.

the look in your eyes told you no, and because of that, his grip on your pinned hands loosened, the silence between you two remaining charged with tension. he saw the exact moment reality crashed down on you. your gaze faltered, and for a moment, you looked like you were going to cry.

he would hate to see you cry because of him, even though deep down he knew how lovely you looked while pouring your eyes out. he have seen it a thousand times before. caleb wanted to make you cry in other circumstances, not right now.

his lips pressed into a forced smile, and your breath hitched as his eyes shone faintly in the dim light of the kitchen candles. though the light wasn’t very effective, the touch of his gloved hand was enough to confirm the truth: this wasn’t a fucking stranger.

caleb felt when you stopped fighting and caved into his touch, scared to death. he let go of your mouth and stared right at your lips.

“no,” you muttered, shaking your head as if to clear a hallucination. your hands remained bound, your feet still searching for the floor. “this can’t be true.”

he tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “it’s me.” his voice was calm, too familiar, too real. too cruel.

your body trembled with his tone, his breath fanning on your cheeks while your eyes scanned his. it felt wrong to say anything at the moment, fear still there in your eyes.

your body snapped into action, reality slamming into you like a tidal wave. you raised your knee, aiming to knock him off balance, desperate to banish the ghost standing in your kitchen.

but the colonel moved faster.

his hand shot out, catching your leg with unnerving precision. before you could react, he hoisted you over his shoulder effortlessly.

you stumbled, panic surging through your veins. your instincts screamed at you to fight, to move, to do something.

“let me go” you demanded, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and fury, punching his back in a futile attempt to stop him. “who are you? who sent you?”

“i came to see you,” he said simply, his voice steady and unnervingly calm. his eyes darted around the apartment, scanning every corner like a predator assessing its prey. “you didn’t think i’d stay away forever, did you?”

why did he sound so smug and heartless? it pissed you off.

realization set heavy on your shoulders—did he... did he fake his own death?

“you’re a fucking asshole.” you didn’t care that this man was more than six feet tall or that he wore a military uniform of all things, you kicked and screamed as much as you could after he threw you onto the couch—the very place you’d landed earlier that evening.

the moment he released you, you inched toward the center table where your spare weapon was stashed.

caleb’s smile faltered, replaced by something darker. his voice dropped, softer but laced with unsettling intensity. “i hope you cooperate from now on, pipsqueak.”

the words sent a chill down your spine.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” you spat, pistol in hand, ready to aim.

his gaze flicked to your movement, and before you could react, he was there. his hand closed around your wrist, pinning it to the couch with a force that made you gasp.

“you’re not going to hurt me, pipsqueak,” he murmured, his tone almost teasing, though the intensity in his purple eyes told a different story. “i’d never hurt you. you know that.”

you struggled against his grip, your heart pounding as fear twisted into anger. “let me go, caleb.”

“not until you listen,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “will you stop fighting and thrashing around? i need to see if you are ready”

“ready for what?” you spat, your voice trembling with rage.

“for us,” he said simply, his tone calm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

your breath hitched as his words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on you like a storm. “what the hell is ‘us’? you died. i watched you fucking die, asshole.”

he leaned closer, his forehead almost brushing yours, his voice a low whisper. “and i came back—for you.”

the weight of his presence, his words, was suffocating. for a moment, you froze, your mind racing for a way out.

it sounded so intimate, so romantically unsettling having him above you and saying things that made your heart clench. you hoped the hurt in your eyes was visible to the man. you hoped he still had sympathy and felt guilt somewhere underneath that uniform.

caleb stepped back, releasing your wrist but still blocking your path, his expression softening slightly as he examined you. “i need you to be quiet until i can tell you everything.”

“who do you think you are? you filthy liar”.

caleb’s gaze flickered as your words hung between you, unspoken accusations slicing through the air like shards of glass. he shifted his weight, his broad frame now more a shadow than a presence in the dim room. for a moment, it seemed like he might say something—anything—but instead, he exhaled, a quiet sound that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies.

"you look as pretty as always, princess", his whisper reached your ears and you felt a wave of anger wash over you.

"i don't know what you did to caleb, but right now is not the time for games". you spat the words with disgust.

"you think you know anything?" he asked, voice low but steady. his eyes, catching the faint glow of the candlelight, held yours. he looked scary above you.

"you think that you are right?," you bit back, the ache in your ribs forgotten under the pressure of the moment. "faking a death isn’t something i take lightly in my books”.

his jaw tightened, the faintest tremor in his hand betraying him as he sighed. the silence stretched again, taut and heavy, before he finally spoke. “trust me to take care of you as i always did, pipsqueak, i just need more cooperation from you this time. i needed to do that so I could've gotten rid of josephine”.

the vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, stealing whatever biting retort was forming on your tongue. you searched his face, the faint scars etched into his skin, the weariness in his eyes. "what the fuck did you just say?" you said softly, your voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady.

caleb’s expression shifted as he saw the tense tone of your voice, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. regret? anger? it was gone too fast to tell. "i said what i said," he replied, his tone measured, almost calm—too calm. "josephine was a threat. she had to go, and i handled it and you should put this in your mind and move on."

"you handled it?" the words came out as a growl. the disbelief, the rage, the grief—it all boiled over. "you’re talking about the woman who raised me, caleb. who raised you. and you expect me to just—what—trust that you had your reasons? that it’s fine because you handled it?"

you got up from the sofa and watched him tower over you once again, not being afraid to fight him out of your house this time. you took a step further and watched the surprise on his face mix with a hint of mischief.

"you must have lost your mind, who the fuck sent you here? answer me." you asked, your voice sharper now, frustration spilling over.

he stepped closer, the shadow he cast stretching long across the dim room. his voice dropped, soft but firm, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "the sooner you accept the truth, the easier all of this will turn out for you. josephine was a loose thread that could put you at harm and, trust me, i won’t let anything or anyone put you at risk."

"shut up," you snapped, your hands shaking as they clenched into fists. "don’t you dare put this on her. don’t you dare tell me you did this for me." you pushed past him, pacing to the other side of the room as if distance could lessen the fury building inside you. "you’re out of your fucking mind if you think i’m going anywhere with you. you—i mourned you, caleb".

caleb turned, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze locking onto yours. "you don’t have a choice," he said simply. "if you want a chance of surviving, you’ll accompany me to the farspace fleet so you can prove to me that you are not a threat, this isn’t a quest, Y/N.”

"stop acting like you’re my savior," you shouted, spinning to face him. "you lied to me, faked your death, and now you show up here, in my home, telling me what to do? you’ve lost the right to give me orders, caleb. i don’t have to prove you shit"

his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, something like frustration flashed across his face. "you’re impossible," he muttered, more to himself than to you. “don’t make me take you by force, princess, this is already hard enough for me”.

his presence felt heavier now, more intimidating and more overwhelming. “hear me out on this one, pipsqueak, you do as i say and we can have a nice chat. there’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room, can’t you see? you do what you’re told and you don’t cause any trouble, this is my final warning”.

caleb’s gaze didn’t waver, feelings too strong for him to back down.

“you think i trust you wholeheartedly as well? don’t you think i know about what you’re capable to do, what weapon they made you become?”, he questioned, raising more questions about your past to the surface.

you hesitated, your chest heaving as you glared at him, every instinct screaming at you to fight, to run, to do anything but listen.

“you think i don’t know what you’re capable of? you’ve got every right to hate me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger and i’m the only one who can keep you alive.”

he stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the tiled kitchen floor, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist with your unease. the space between you vanished with every deliberate step he took, and before you realized it, the cool edge of the counter pressed against your back.

“i came here to get you so i can protect you,” he said, his voice softer now, almost tender, though his eyes burned with something far less kind. “won’t you trust me, pipsqueak?”

you swallowed hard, your ribs aching as the tension tightened around you like a vice. the pain flared again on your right side, but you forced it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your weakness. caleb’s arms came up, caging you between them, his palms braced on the counter on either side of you. his breath was warm against your skin, the faint scent of mossy perfume and something metallic clinging to him.

his amethystine eyes locked onto yours, drawing you in and daring you to look away. “josephine wasn’t innocent,” he murmured, the words deliberate, each one cutting deeper than the last. “she was the only way left they could get to you easily. so i had to get rid of her.”

the shock and fury bubbling in your chest clawed their way to the surface, but before you could lash out, he moved. slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands, his movements calm but weighted with unspoken meaning. his right hand hovered between your bodies as he tugged off his glove, revealing cold, gleaming metal where flesh once was.

your breath hitched, your eyes widening despite yourself. the intricate machinery of his prosthetic glinted dully in the dim light, a jarring contrast to the warmth of his other hand still braced beside you.

“i didn’t get out of there without paying a price,” he continued, his tone dipping lower, the faintest hint of bitterness creeping into his words. “if that makes you feel better.”

the sight of the metal, the weight of his confession, sent your mind reeling. you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the fury that kept you standing, but the cracks in his armor—the familiar of his voice, the faint tremor in his hand—made it harder to breathe.

“turns out i gave them everything they wanted to have even more control over my body,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, studying your reaction like a predator watching prey. “you’re not the only ever victim in this room, princess, don't you see?”

his words hit like a punch to the gut, the nickname twisting something deep inside you. your eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears making your vision blur. compassion clawed its way forward, fighting against the iron grip of your fury.

he leaned closer, his voice softening, wrapping around you like a velvet noose. “don’t you see now? i’m your only way out. only i can make you safe, princess.” his head tilted slightly, his gaze piercing through the layers of anger and fear you’d built around yourself. “why don’t you see it?”

the way he said it—like it was inevitable, like you were foolish for resisting—sent a fresh wave of defiance coursing through you. your fingers twitched at your sides, curling into fists. the tears threatening to spill were not ones of submission but of frustration, of fury that he could twist your pain and vulnerability into leverage.

your hands trembled as you shoved against his chest, trying to create even an inch of space between you. “you’re the danger here, caleb.”

his expression hardened, though the faintest flicker of something else—hurt? regret?—crossed his features. he caught your wrists before you could push him further, his grip firm but not painful, his proximity suffocating.

“i won’t let you go this time,” he said, his voice quieter now, the sharp edge replaced with something closer to desperation. his eyes seemed to ignore every red signal your body emitted. “what are you afraid of, pipsqueak? c'mon, it’s me, caleb”.

the charged silence that followed was unbearable, the tension between you a living, breathing thing. the weight of his words, the intensity in his gaze—it all felt too much, too close, and yet not close enough.

“answer me.”, he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. “you need me, Y/N.”

you wanted to scream, to shove him back, to wipe that look of control and simmering frustration off his face, but the words stuck in your throat. it wasn’t fear keeping you quiet—it was the truth you didn’t want to admit. the truth you couldn’t admit.

“you don’t get to do this,” you managed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “you don’t get to leave me, fake your death, and then come back like nothing happened. like i’m supposed to just—just fall in line and listen to you.”

his lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. instead, he exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as his grip on your wrists loosened ever so slightly. “i didn’t come back for you to listen,” he said, his tone soft but laced with an edge of frustration. “i came back to make sure you survive. with me.”

“you are crazy” you spat, shaking your head as you finally yanked your hands free from his grasp. “i don't know why you changed so much. you call this survival? being hunted, manipulated, dragged into whatever mess you’ve made? that’s not survival, caleb. that’s hell.”

“didn’t you want answers?!” he snaps, his voice cutting through the charged silence like a whip. his tone is sharp, frustration crackling in the air between you. for a moment, you flinched at his tone. “answers about your past, about granny, about the aether core that lives inside of you?”. he motions for your chest and you lean away from him.

caleb throws his daa hat on the floor and runs his gloved hand over his hair, desperation clinging into his actions. a move you were so used to seeing him doing as a teenager now seemed to paint his figure as someone totally different.

“guess what,” he continues, stepping closer, his boots scraping against the floor as the small space between you shrinks to nothing. “i’m the only one who can give you that.”

your back hits the counter again, the cold surface biting through your shirt as his presence looms over you. his hands grip the edge of the counter on either side of you, boxing you in, and his voice drops lower, quieter, but no less intense. “i know you’ve been looking for the truth. don’t pretend you haven’t. every decision you’ve made, every risk you’ve taken, it’s all been for answers.”

the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, as if the walls of the apartment were closing in. his voice, low and deliberate, carried the kind of certainty that felt like a blade against your resolve. you hated that he knew so much, hated the way his presence seemed to draw out every buried question, every lingering doubt you’d tried so hard to silence.

the truth of it stung more than you wanted to admit. because it was true—wasn’t it? every decision, every desperate move you’d made since josephine’s death had been about finding the missing pieces. about understanding why your life felt like a jigsaw puzzle with crucial parts deliberately torn away.

you grew up with people like zayne and caleb so you’d become the best version of yourself. still, you felt unworthy of everything you have ever achieved.

you were... at a loss of words.

your ribs screamed in pain against the counter, the cold seeping through your shirt and grounding you in the moment. you wanted to push him away, to snap back with something that would shatter the arrogance in his voice. but instead, you found yourself staring at him—really staring—seeing the desperation etched into every line of his face. it wasn’t just his words that rattled you; it was the way his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of something far greater than just your shared past.

you noticed the tremor in his hand, the way it lingered too long on the counter’s edge, as if he were holding himself back from reaching for you. the way his eyes, though sharp and unrelenting, flickered with something almost... pleading.

caleb seemed to be holding himself back—as he always did. this time, though, you were not sure if you wanted him to break and consume you or to let you go and forget the two of you. this was the first time in your life where you felt close enough to the truth, close enough to calm the storm of questions in your mind. still, your grip on your ego seemed to be as tight as ever.

everything felt unfair because you were oh so tired. since onychinus, sylus and the aether core, your mind has been settled into finding answers of questions that were never asked in the first place. you were running in circles and you dreamed every night about how you missed caleb. how you knew he would guide you into the right path if he was alive at the moment.

now that he was here, something felt uncharacteristically right for the first time in weeks.

you need me, he said.

it was a bold statement, a manipulative one, but the worst part was the whisper of doubt it planted in your mind. what if he’s right? what if caleb, with all his possessive behavior, really did have the answers you’d been chasing? could you afford to ignore him—risk losing whatever truth he claimed to hold—just because you didn’t trust him right now? just because his posture changed and his eyes seemed a little darker?

had you the privilege of saying no to him?

you have always been so weak for him, haven't you?

your gaze dropped to his gloved hand, still gripping the counter, then to the hat he’d thrown carelessly onto the floor. there was something raw about the gesture, something that pulled at a part of you you’d long thought buried. it was the same caleb you remembered, the one who’d run his hands through his hair in frustration when things didn’t go his way, but now there was a hardness to him, an edge that made him almost unrecognizable.

he leaned in slightly, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. caleb’s hands cradled your face with an unsettling gentleness, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize every inch of your skin. his breath, warm and steady, fanned over your face, and the proximity made your pulse race despite every instinct screaming at you to pull away.

“do as i say, princess,” he murmured, his voice a mix of honeyed persuasion and steel. “you know deep down that i’m right.”

you hated how easily he saw through you, how his words made your chest tighten with the weight of unspoken truths. but there was a flicker of something else now—a sliver of curiosity, of reluctant consideration.

you stayed in silence.

“you’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, softer, as if the words were meant for no one but you. “what are you afraid of, princess? me?”.

his breath fanned over your cheek, the tension between you felt alive, electric, as if the air itself buzzed with anticipation. caleb’s hands cradled your face with a deliberate slowness, his fingers grazing your jawline like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch. his thumbs traced lazy circles just below your cheekbones, sending faint shivers rippling down your spine.

caleb was very meticulous about the way he touched you. his words—carved in desperation just for you. he brushed away the tears you were shedding, breath in synch with yours as if he wanted for you to share your burden with him.

his thumb brushed against your skin, warm and steady, the faintest hint of mint and wood lingering in the space between you. the closeness made your pulse quicken, the steady rhythm in your chest now erratic and impossible to ignore. his forehead almost touched yours, his lips dangerously close but not quite there, as if he were savoring the moment, drawing it out until the anticipation was unbearable.

you gripped his forearms, confused at the needy feeling clawing its way out of your chest, the longing for closeness and safety that your brain always seemed to tie with the body in front of you. the tenderness he reserved only for you made your heart flutter despite the cruel truths and harsh words that had passed between you.

“what are you afraid of, princess?” he murmured again, his voice impossibly soft, like a velvet thread weaving its way into your thoughts. “it’s just me.”

the way he said it—low and intimate, like he was speaking to the deepest parts of you—made your knees weak.

his metal hand slid down from your face, the cool pads of his fingers brushing over the curve of your neck and coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. the weight was grounding, steadying, but it also sent sparks racing across your skin. the meaning behind his touch was at odds with the coldness of his prosthetic; it felt like both a tether and a promise.

you wondered if he was using your evol against you, manipulating your emotions, or if it was just your stupid, traitorous heart making you feel like you were floating.

your breaths came shallow and uneven as the tension between you thickened, palpable and inescapable. his gaze flickered to your lips, the intensity in his eyes making your stomach twist with anticipation. you hated how much you noticed the way he leaned closer, the way his presence filled every inch of the space around you, until there was nothing left but him.

“you don’t have to be scared of me,” he said softly, his lips brushing the words into the air between you. “i’d never hurt you.”

the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could think of a reason to stop him, he closed the distance.

his lips pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. the kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like he was waiting for you to decide, waiting to see if you would break the moment or lean into it. and for a heartbeat, you froze, the shock of it rooting you in place.

but the tenderness of his kiss, the way his hand tightened slightly on your shoulder as if to steady himself, drew you in. your fingers curled into his forearms, no longer in protest but in something closer to surrender, the heat of his closeness chasing away the cold air of the room. you felt something stir deep inside you when you felt the dips of his muscles underneath his uniform.

when did he became so big?

the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a mix of urgency and restraint, as though he were holding back a tidal wave of emotion. you felt the shift in him—the desperation, the longing he’d tried to bury under layers of control. it poured out now, raw and unguarded, and it pulled something equally raw from within you.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven. his hands stayed where they were, steadying you as much as himself, and for a moment, the silence between you felt heavier than any words could.

“just me,” he whispered again, his voice breaking slightly, as if he needed you to believe it as much as he did.

you're here┃caleb uses you as hostage at the farspace fleet next!┃caleb teaches you his love language ( on going series )

author's note: want to cry more while reading? listen to remember me by d4vd and tell me that this song doesn't describe mc and caleb perfectly. SORRY FOR THE POOR ENDING, i'll make a part two of this post soon, follow me to get updated when i post or just check my masterpost from time to time :) send me a request • my masterpost

204 notes · View notes

siri-ike · 9 hours ago

Text

@ecto-phool Don't mind if I do.

It wouldn't be the first time she disobeyed her mother's orders.

She felt the air cool as she reached closer to the gem. And as she did, it began to change. It glowed a beautiful mix of its own bright green color with traces of blue. Jagged edges formed, spikes extended from the otherwise smoothe stone as tho it was reaching for her too. She drew her hand back, and the pearl dimmed. But the spikes stayed.

She knew it was magical. Even if no one else could feel it, she knew. It was way too conscious not to be alive. Perhaps a sister is trapped inside or a malevolent spirit. They can't know unless they look. Letting someone suffer just because helping could be dangerous would not be just.

This time, she touched it without hesitating. The spokes were sharp, but not a single one pireced her skin. The gem seemed to change in acordance to her movements to be gently caressing her hand no matter how she moved it. She could Teel herself getting tired, as though it was draining her. The bright green faded into a pale white as the stone began to grow. She picked it up with both hands. It became smoother and softer until it was like putty. Once the stone had trippled in size, it stopped geowing evenly and instead started taking a shape. Four limbs and a head formed crudely and slowly. Diana held it to her chest, and it stretched its little arms to her. She watched as fingers emerged that seemed to want nothing more than to grab hers. The head was still just a lumpy, featureless ball. That's when she understood that the ball was not good or evil. It wanted guidance. She held the baby up to her face, and it grabbed her by the cheeks. Its head took a more defined shape. It grabbed her nose and formed one of its own. It clumsily slid its hand down to her lips, and it began to make noises that shocked even itself. The baby did not waste time. It grabbed her cheeks again and pulled with all the strength it didn't have towards its toothless mouth. Diana obliged and moved it closer, where it committed to a slobbery taste test of her left cheek. At this distance, it also managed to get a death grip on a lock of her hair. From her view, she could see thick sprouts of white hair grow. Suddenly, a tiny hand tried to push her nose away. Staring back at her were a set of bright green eyes. They studied her intensely. The white hair turned black as night, and those curious green eyes turned inquisitive blue. The baby looked like her. And it seems to have done that on purpose.

"γεια σου μικρο" (hello, little one)

"mmmhe," it responded, flapping its arms up and down.

"θα θέλατε ένα όνομα" (would you like a name?) She teased.

"Duh, dun, a" it struggled.

Strange, she expected it to repeat sounds she had made, but it came up with this "D" sound by itself.

"How about Denni?" The baby didn't seem to have any protests. It seemed finally able to focus on building its lower body. Diana watched as pale flesh tubes became chubby thighs and calfs connected with soft little knees and ending in adorable feet. She stared as one by one toes popped out in their rightful places. And in a single instant, Diana's fantasy came crashing down around her.

No man can set foot on Paradise Island.

I used Google translate, so if anyone reading this actually knows Greek and would like to offer better translations or phrases. Please do.

Prompt #3

Once again, I really love the idea of Diana being a mother figure to Danny and based off of the concept from one prompt I read where Danny ended up retracting into his core after being severely injured and his core is like a beautiful crystal

So anyways Danny had become a beautiful green crystal due to a bad Fenton parents reveal and somehow his core ended up on like the black market or in the hands of some bad rich dude since to everyone else he looks like a giant green Pearl the size of a baseball and for some reason his core is refusing for him to reform

And one day the person who had him was being ambushed by a few members of the Justice league most notably wonder woman who finds the crystal and senses like a strong power coming from it so she decides to take it to Themyscira, thinking it is probably a powerful artifact from the gods or something

So, it is transported to Themyscira safely without anyone touching it

And after delivering it to her home and placing it somewhere safe and everyone else in the justice league has left already she goes to check on it alongside her mother and maybe a few other Amazonians and somethings telling her to touch the crystal so she does because it’s calling to her like it’s a important thing she has to do and Danny’s core recognizing Diana as a responsible competent and kind individual decides to finally release Danny and let him reform because Danny’s core was keeping him trapped due to his trauma from his family, and it wanted to first find him a competent, healthy and good parental figure, so trauma response was keeping him from forming and now that there was someone who can fulfil the role that’s required his core is letting him reform

But for some reason he Reforms as a newborn baby ( you can choose if you want this to be trans Danny or not) and obviously Diana her mother and the other Amazonians there are shocked because the crystal just turn into a baby, but Diana being the type of person she is would see this as a gift since the crystal turned into a baby when she touched it to her it was probably a gift from the gods so she would decide to raise the baby/Danny

She would decide to stay on Themyscira for a while so she could properly learn how to take care of Danny with the help of her mother and the other Amazonian’s in order to do this she would call off her attendance at the Justice league meetings for about a week or two and of course a few of the members of the Justice league get concerned of her absence until one day she walks into a meeting with a baby in her arms

#fanfic #danny phantom #danny fenton #diana prince #diana of themyscira #wonder woman #themyscira #paradise island #baby phantom

899 notes · View notes

mixingandmelting · 2 days ago

Note

Hey so how do you think the bat boys would deal with a reader who makes it very obvious they’re crushing on the batboys? For not serious situations, they’re sweeter and just more in a good mood whenever the boys are around? Blushes a lot around them and the boys don’t have to be talking directly to them? (Crush can talk to the bat boys normally if the situations serious). (Crush has normal conversations with others people. But goes around telling other super hero friends or just normal friends whenever the bat boys is brought up by other people, they think the bat boys are cute. And always hyping them up to their friends/and the batboy friends even when the batboys are there).

Dick:

He’s flattered really. Yes, unfortunately for everyone, he’s quite aware that he’s attractive but it’s not something he often pays attention to. With trying to protect the world and fighting crime 24/7, being attractive is the last of his priority. But when you gush about him- his abilities, ideals, skills, him as a person - he preens. Sure, he’ll get flustered when you go off on how great he is (and how cute which really takes him off guard) despite the fact he’s right there. And of course he covers himself with the good old classic of clearing his throat even though the corner of his lips won’t stop twitching and the blush on his face gets worse by the second. It’s adorable really. You’re so obvious from how you fan over him whenever he’s brought up in conversations and completely burning when it’s just the two of you and all he’s doing is standing next to you. He sometimes struggles to keep his intrusive thoughts to himself, to tease and see if you can possibly flush even more if he were to poke or “accidentally” brush against you. Though, he’s starting to think you’re doing it on purpose and trying to trip him up when you become completely normal when he’s talking about a mission only to go back on talking about how cute and amazing he is to the person next to you (extra kudos to you when you somehow successfully get the other become a fellow Nightwing stan). Still cute though.

Jason:

People often think he’s dense in the romantic field. From being dead to being back alive and being all rough and reckless, all the typical stuff. It’s truly unfortunate (not really) that that’s not the case and he knows you have a crush on him. Like seriously? It’s so obvious, he’s concerned if there are people who can’t tell that you have a crush on him. The problem is that he doesn’t know what warranted it. He knows he’s quite a shot. Perhaps not as much as Dick given his personality and dark humor, but he has charmed plenty of women with his looks. However, being a former crime lord to now a vigilante outlaw isn’t really all that glorious or something that gets others to swoon over… So yeah, he doesn’t know why you would get all hyped up over him whenever he’s brought up in conversations. Whether he’s there or not, you would rave over him which gets him to do a double take and play with his helmet or muzzle, whichever one he chooses to wear, because suddenly he’s feeling a bit too hot and needs some air to cool his face. All he does is stand next to you and when it’s you and him alone, he sometimes worries how red you get. He won’t lie, seeing you smile more because he’s there makes his heart itch and grin a bit. Plus, he doesn’t mind as much as others would think since you know when to get back to normal and become serious when things are serious.

Tim:

Someone save him. Someone please save him. You have an obvious crush on him and he has no idea what to do. In fact, he didn’t think anyone would possibly develop a crush on him as big as yours. He’s Red Robin and the former third Robin not many people really take note of. Well other than he’s Batman’s former sidekick and also fights crimes like the rest of the Bat family. You, on the other hand, are making it your life mission to tell everyone how incredible he is. Doesn’t matter where, when, and if he’s right there or not. The minute he’s brought up, boom. You’re off describing him in every way possible. Amazing, intellectual. Also what do you mean he’s cute? Since when was he considered cute? A part of him is on to you, wanting to believe this is all a set-up. A prank set up by his friends or family. The other part, he can’t keep a calm facade around you, covering his face with one or both hands to hide the blush that goes down his face to the base of his neck. There’s also lots of fake coughing and clearing his throat involved. Lots, to cover the happy tingles he gets, registering there’s someone who acknowledges his efforts and talents. It gets worse and he gets even more conscious when you’re matching his expression when the two of you are alone. He’s grateful that at least you’re back to normal when things are going down at least.

Duke:

Okay. Wow. You have a crush on him and it’s painfully obvious. There’s a first time for everything and this? This is definitely a first. Forget about Tim and his whole deal with Red Robin, some of the villains in Gotham don't even know his name. That should be telling how low in the pyramid he is. Not that it matters to you apparently. He’s with you and his group of friends and he can hear all the things you say about him given he’s right there. And it doesn’t stop you from fawning over his powers, his fighting and detective abilities, and- uhm ok. Good to know you’re into his looks. He lost track how many times this happened. He does remember by the end, he’s rubbing his face and resigning to sigh through his nose in lieu of groaning out loud. You describe him as if he’s the world’s finest. He can feel the heat radiating off his whole head and body so he has a pretty good idea how he looks. It’s better when he’s alone with you. Your face is burning and he does everything to make the vibe less awkward. It doesn’t work and he makes it more awkward as his mind and your face now resembling a tomato reminds him you have a crush on him. He does wonder how in the world you’re able to snap back to normal so quickly when he’s going through heavy material with you. All fan-vibe gone, you’re listening and giving input which are often good points and covers any areas that were missed.

Damian:

He doesn’t understand your behavior. One moment you’re fine, societal “normal” according to what those around him taught him. You’re casually chatting, making jokes, and expressing emotions like anyone else. On another, you’d suddenly be jumping around and praising him all over the place the second someone drops his name. Disregarding how he stands literally behind you and his cheeks completely pink, gradually turning to red, he thinks of you being just as embarrassing when Dick or someone else in the family brags about him. His skills with the katana, compassion for animals- he can somewhat tolerate that. He completely disagrees over him being hot-cold. He is not hot-cold. His personality also does not resemble a cat. Also how is he cute? He’s far from the word cute, period. Then there’s when you’re alone with him. Face completely rosy and dusted in pink. Every single time without fail, it’s only you and him. All he’s doing is standing next to you and instead of being either normal or chaotic, you’re suddenly blushing. He had entertained the idea of you having interest in him. Until he brings up a new case to you. It’s concerning how you go back to being normal and, surprisingly, making plausible conclusions that help him find a new lead. So despite what everyone around tells him that you have a crush on him, he’s having a hard time seeing it. You are sweeter when he’s around but he feels as though having a crush doesn’t associate with split personalities.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #nightwing #nightwing x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin dc #tim drake #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #duke thomas x reader #duke thomas #dc signal #signal x reader

281 notes · View notes

thatfeelinwhenyou · 11 hours ago

Text

SAFE & SOUND — part 1

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

word count: 14k

Rotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Avoid the cities. Get out fast.

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

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

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

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

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

For a time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weakness gets you killed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re coming.

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

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

You’re out of time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the reprieve is short-lived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Future...?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re surrounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re… looking out for each other…?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weird, they don't have much, but leaving a whole camp unattended like that is dangerous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks. “Take it however you want.”

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

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

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

This, sitting and talking, feels foreign. Unnatural.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, his jaw tightening. “Barely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ready to disappear without a trace.

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

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

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

Something is wrong.

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

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

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

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

“Like someone put them there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then it’s someone else."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

masterlist | part 2 - warmth

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

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

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

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

130 notes · View notes

moonxknightx · 13 hours ago

Text

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Seong Gi-hun x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Smut & Fluff

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: Squid Game

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Smut, 18+, piv, oral (F receiving), soft smut, very short mention of choking, Gi-hun being an absolute sweetie

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: After surviving a number of games already, you are tired and want to go home which you know you can’t, but luckily Gi-hun is there to take care of you .

YOU LET OUT A loud sigh for probably the 100th time that evening as you roll onto your other side, trying to get comfortable in your bunk bed.

“Why can’t I just fall asleep?” You murmur, slowly sitting up right while looking around the room.

Your eyes fall on Young-il, Dae-ho, Jung-bae and Jun-hee who are all soundlessly asleep. Then your eyes fall on Gi-hun who is guarding your self made bunker.

Slowly and carefully, you slip out of bed and head for Gi-hun, sitting down next to him without saying anything.

Gi-hun turns his head to look at you and he can’t help but feel bad when he sees the tiredness on your face. Why is she awake? She should be sleeping.

As if you heard Gi-hun’s thoughts, you turn to face him. “I can’t sleep.” Gi-hun gives you a slight nod before going back to staring ahead of him.

“I’m sorry that I failed to get you out of here.” His voice breaks a little and you notice it immediately. “Don’t. You did your best. If these pigs want to stay to earn their money, let them. Sooner or later they will realize how stupid it was to vote for continuing the games. Half of them won’t even make it until the end.” You scoff at the last part which makes Gi-hun look at you again.

You had met Gi-hun on the first day of being in this hell hole. He had helped you cross the finish line during Red light, Green light. And since that moment you stuck by him, forever grateful that he saved you just seconds before the timer ran out.

When he told everyone that he had played these games before, you were shocked. Why would anyone ever return to here out of free will? Gi-hun explained everything to you. About how he joined the games to pay all of his debts. He told you about the games he played and about the people he lost during them. He also told you how his childhood friend ended his life so Gi-hun could live and get the money. In the end Gi-hun had told you that he came back for a reason. He wanted to end these horrific games, even if it meant his death.

So you joined his team. Not only because you stood behind Gi-hun’s way of thinking, but also to protect him. And he did the same for you.

Gi-hun had grown quite fond of you. He had this urge to protect you and help you with everything he could. He was always worried about you during the games. Especially during Mingle. During one of the first rounds, he lost sight of you and when he heard the ringing of the gunshots from the small room he was in, he couldn’t help but look if one of the fallen bodies were yours. Luckily that was not the case.

The moment the doors opened, you sprinted towards Gi-hun. “you’re alive!” Gi-hun beamed as he pulled you into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry.” You mumbled against his chest.

“Shh don’t apologize, it’s okay. I’m just glad that you’re alive.” Gi-hun reassured you. From that moment on Gi-hun did not once let go of you during remaining time of the game.

“I promise I will get you out of here.”

You look up from your feet to see Gi-hun staring at you. You give him a weak smile before laying your head on his shoulder.

“Please don’t die Gi-hun.” You say weakly. “I’m not planning to.” Gi-hun smiles softly.

“Ahem.”

Both you and Gi-hun turn around to see Young-il standing there. “You two should head to bed. It’s my time to guard anyway.” He says while scratching the back of his neck.

Gi-hun nods and gets back on his feet. He holds out his hand for you to take it, which you do and he helps you back on your feet as well.

“Good night you two.” You hear Young-il say as you head towards your bed, still holding Gi-hun’s hand.

“Gi-hun?” you say softly. “Yes?” He questions while looking at you.

“Could you…could you sleep next to me tonight. I really don’t want to be alone.”

Gi-hun’s heart practically melts upon hearing your words so he nods his head with a kind smile on his face.

He watches how you get ‘comfortable’ in your bunkbed before he joins you. “Are you sure this is okay?” Gi-hun asks as he awkwardly tries not to touch you, afraid he might cross your boundaries.

“It’s okay.” You reassure him while looking at him. Gi-hun’s breathing hitches in his throat as he looks at you. You are so beautiful and kind. You don’t belong here.

“What are you thinking about?” You wonder. Gi-hun just blinks at you. “May I kiss you?” He suddenly asks.

You are a bit taken aback by his question but you nod nonetheless. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it yourself.

“Yes you may.” You smile as both you and Gi-Hun inches closer to each other.

Gi-hun gently places his hand on your cheek before colliding his lips with yours. It’s a passionate kiss, both wanting to feel the other as close as possible.

You immediately kiss back as your hands make their way to Gi-hun’s hair. A small moan slips past his lips as you gently tug on his locks.

He breathes your name and it sounds so beautiful coming from his lips.

“Gi-hun…” You look into his eyes and you see that they are filled with love and sadness, and maybe even anger. But still he kisses you with the upmost gentleness, afraid he might hurt you accidentally.

“I need you.” You whisper and it doesn’t take long for Gi-hun to be on top of you. He leans on his arms which are placed on either side of your face as he looks down at you.

“You are so pretty Gi-hun.” You smile while softly caressing his cheek. Gi-hun can only smile at your words until he feels your hand in his pants.

“A-are you sure?” He asks quickly. “Only if you are. I want you to be comfortable too.” You explain him while placing a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m comfortable.” Gi-hun breathes carefully. “Then i am too.” You slip your hand into Gi-hun’s boxers and carefully wrap your finger’s around his cock.

“Oh fuck…” Gi-hun moans softly while hiding his face in your neck. You begin to pump your hand up and down his cock while Gi-hun is placing wet kisses along your jawline.

“It feels so good.” He says before kissing you again. “Good.” You mumble against his lips with a smile.

You feel Gi-hun grinding against your hand as a way to tell you he needs more.

You want to pull his pants down but he stops you. “Not yet.” You watch with confusion as Gi-hun taps your hips as a way to tell you to lift them up.

The moment you do, Gi-hun slides your sweatpants down and settles between your legs. You watch how he places soft kisses along the insides of your thighs before pressing a kiss to your clit.

“May I?”

“Yes please.” You breathe. Gi-hun smiles before pulling your panties to the side. He carefully spreads your lips and dives in.

“O-oh god!” You moan, immediately putting your hand over your mouth as you feel Gi-hun’s tongue between your folds.

Gi-hun stares up at you with his big puppy eyes while licks at your clit. You try your best to stay still but when you feel two of his fingers entering your pussy, you just can’t.

“Fuck Gi-hun!” You whisper as you clamp your hand down in his hair.

“You taste so good sweetheart. I just can’t get enough of it.” Gi-hun smiles, his face covered in your juices as he keeps licking your pussy.

“Gi-hun I can’t! I’m close.” You moan while bucking your hips. “Then let go for me love.” He murmurs with a lazy grin, still focused on your pussy.

You are immediately sent over the edge as you cover Gi-hun’s face in your juices. You can feel Gi-hun licking up every drop until his face is on your eye level again.

“How did that feel love?” he asks while pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Amazing.” You breathe with a slight chuckle.

“Is it now my turn to make you feel good?” You ask in a seductive tone. Gi-hun clears his throat as he nods, suddenly feeling shy.

“Come on now, don’t be shy baby.” You place a gentle kiss on his lips as you push him off of you, telling him to lay down on his back for you.

Once Gi-hun is settled, you straddle his lap, both hissing when his cock makes contact with your pussy.

“Is this okay?” You ask Gi-hun while playing with his hair. “Y-yes.” He stammers. “Relax baby.” You chuckle as you kiss his cheek.

Gi-hun watches how you grab his cock and align it with your pussy before slowly sliding down, making both you and Gi-hun moan as he grips the sheets in his fists.

“You feel amazing sweetheart.” Gi-hun whimpers, placing both of his hands on your hips, slowly guiding you up and down his cock.

“I can say the same about you.” You moan while steadying yourself with placing one hand on his chest.

Gi-hun watches how you bounce on his cock, trying his best not to make too much noise, but boy is it hard.

Every time you bounce on his cock he wants to scream out, letting everyone know how good you make him feel, but he knows he can’t, so he bites his lip instead.

“You’re so good to me Gi-hun.” You moan while leaning forward so you can kiss his neck.

“Oh baby…” He groans while digging his fingers into your sides. “Stay like this okay.” He whispers in you ear before starting to thrust up into you.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you bite down onto Gi-hun’s shoulder to keep you from making any noise.

“Oh fuck you feel so good baby. So tight and warm, i can stay like this forever.” Gi-hun moans as his thrusts get harder and deeper.

“Gi-hun…” You whimper. “What is it love?” He asks immediately. “Kiss me.” You demand with a slight moan.

“Yes ma’am.” Gi-hun smiles before pulling you into a kiss. You both moan against each other’s mouth while you meet Gi-hun’s thrusts with your own.

“I’m close sweetheart.” Gi-hun breathes while looking at you. “M-me too.” You say while unconsciously wrapping your hand around his throat.

Gi-hun’s eyes widen at the feeling and he can’t help but go even harder now.

“Gi-hun i’m s-so close!” You whisper in his ear while tightening your hold on his throat.

“Come for me baby.” Gi-hun groans. “Be a good girl.” At hearing those words slip from Gi-hun’s lips, you can’t hold it in anymore.

Gi-hun is quick to cover your mouth with his hand as you come onto his cock, soaking it with your juices.

“Fuck that’s it.” Moans Gi-hun before spilling inside of you. You let out a soft whimper as you feel him fill you up with his cum.

“Gi-hun….” you sigh as you collapse on top of him. Suddenly you become aware of your hand being wrapped around his throat so you immediately let go.

“Oh my god i am so sorry.” You quickly apologize, but Gi-hun is quick to shut you up with a kiss.

“Don’t. I liked it.” He smiles. “Really?” You ask surprised. Gi-hun immediately nods. “You should definitely do it more often.”

You and Gi-hun stare at each other before bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Shh!” You laugh as you cover Gi-hun’s mouth with your hand while he does the same with you.

It’s suddenly very quiet as both you and Gi-hun calm down from your highs.

“Thank you.” You suddenly say. “For what?” Gi-hun asks as he pulls you into his chest.

“For being there for me.”

Gi-hun can’t help but smile as he gently ruffles your hair. He places a soft kiss on the top of your head before closing his eyes.

“You don’t have to thank me sweetheart. Now get some sleep, you deserve it.”

“Will you stay here with me?” You ask as you look up at him. Gi-hun smiles, his eyes still closed.

“Of course love, i am not going anywhere.”

I really hope everyone liked how it turned out! It was so much fun to write for Gi-hun. He is quite literally underated in his own show😭

If any of you have any requests about Gi-hun or In-ho, feel free to drop them in my inbox!

#squid game x reader #seong gi hun x reader #gi hun x reader #seong gi hun #lee jung jae #squid game fanfic

115 notes · View notes

gotham-daydreams · 2 days ago

Note

Are you alive? Is 2025 your date of death? We miss you mate

HI!!! OKAY SINCE A LOT OF PEOPLE ARE CONCERNED AND I GENUINELY DON'T WANT ANYONE TO WORRY (especially with how the year is kicking off) I'll say it-

I AM ALIVE!!!

I know it's been a long while, and I apologize for that!! I didn't want to start off the year this way, and actually wanted to start it off with a one shot (and the one that was supposed to come out on Christmas, along with the remaining chapters of the red dawn and so on) but I'll be honest and say that I got distracted, caught up in one too many things, and fell out of DC for a hot minute before crawling back like a man starved.

I've missed you all so much, and for the past few days have been trying to get those things I mentioned together so that I can finally have something up again! Even if I've royally failed the challenge back in October, those last chapters will and are still uneditied and basically made on a time crunch. The oneshots are getting done as we speak, and Chapter 4 is in the works :]

If it sounds like a lot and absolutely insane, that's because it is!! I'll be honest and say that I'm more excited for other projects then what I'm currently working on, but am focusing more on getting things done because you all deserve that and especially for all of your patience and kindness! I know I've said it before, but the Not Series really isn't my best work, and I don't think it will be, but even then I still want to produce a Chapter that you'll enjoy - but if anyone sees a decline in quality (despite the first and 2nd chapter essentially being written in one sitting and posted on the same day), that's probably why!

I do have some updates regarding some of the fics I said I was planning on writing, with the biggest update being in regards to "Ghost" as I've essentially almost rewritten the entire plot at this point, but I'll get there when I get there.

Nevertheless, yes, I am still alive! Even if you probably won't hear too much from me until those couple of things get done, I'll try to multitask and such as much as I can! The way of how I post things may be a little odd, but it'll mostly be with when I get them done, and with all the time I have at the moment - well, I might actually be able to meet my own deadline this time around... even if that new years oneshot is already 13 days late, and I'm not going to talk about the rest of the stuff I have to work on.

Regardless, rest assured! I'm not dead yet, and progress is being made! ... And what better way to show that then being late once again! LOL

#talking daydreams #yandere batfam #not series #the red dawn #batfam oneshots #trust me i cannot believe how late i am either #but at this point i'm tired of it and just trying to get things done #i don't want to produce something half baked either but i am trying my best to keep things fresh and interesting as well #i will say that the oneshots do get a little dark tho!#and so does the red dawn but that's a given considering how that little series is going #again i know i failed that challenge without a doubt #and honestly writing 5 whole chapters in 5 days was crazy enough #especially with how my writing style is #not to mention the ideas i come up with #but again i want to try and keep things the way they were supposed to be initially #the not series is going to be rushed #that i will admit #but its also so that i can focus on stories i feel are more interesting #and have actual substance and effort put into it #that isn't to say that i don't like it #it was just a rushed idea i put out haphazardly and am following with an equally rushed out story #and i feel like you guys definitely deserve better then that #besides #i have plenty of other ideas for neglected readers that are - in my opinion - much more interesting anyway!

85 notes · View notes

luvst4rc0r3 · 1 day ago

Text

Sevika x Agegap!Reader PT.2

WARNINGS:Little suggestive at the end

WC:976

You’re the type of person who wakes up at full speed. Like, as soon as your eyes open, you’re bouncing around the apartment, making breakfast, humming random songs, and generally being a menace to Sevika’s peace.

Sevika, meanwhile, is not a morning person. She’s a “grumble into her coffee while glaring at the world” type of woman.

“Good morning, sunshine!” you chirp one morning, plopping onto the couch beside her.

She squints at you over her mug. “How are you like this at seven in the morning?”

“It’s called being happy to be alive, Sev! You should try it sometime!”

She takes a long sip of her coffee, pretending she didn’t hear you.

You also have a habit of waking her up in the most chaotic ways possible. Once, you tried to wake her by playing a trumpet sound on your phone at full volume. She didn’t even flinch—just pulled you into bed and trapped you there until you promised to let her sleep.

You’re always saying or doing something that leaves Sevika pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Sevika, do you think if I ran fast enough, I could jump across that rooftop?”

“No.”

“But what if—”

“No.”

One time, you got bored and decided to teach yourself how to juggle. You didn’t tell Sevika, so she walked into the apartment to find you throwing knives in the air like it was no big deal.

“WHAT are you doing?” she barked, immediately snatching the knives out of the air.

“Juggling!” you said, as if it were obvious.

“You’re going to kill yourself.”

“But it looks cool, right?”

She sighed. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You love to tease Sevika about being older than you, especially when she does something remotely “old lady”-ish.

“Why do you always order the same thing at the bar, Sev? Is it a comfort thing? Are you stuck in your ways?”

“It’s called knowing what I like,” she replies, glaring at you.

“Next thing I know, you’ll be complaining about kids these days,” you tease, dodging the pillow she throws at you.

You also have a habit of calling her “grandma” just to see how far you can push her.

“Hey, Sev, want me to knit you a blanket? I bet your joints get cold in the winter.”

She gives you the iciest glare imaginable, but you swear you’ve seen her hide a smile.

The age gap means Sevika’s protective instincts are in overdrive. She feels like it’s her job to keep you safe, and she takes it very seriously.

“You’re not invincible,” she says after patching up a scrape you got from one of your harebrained ideas.

“No, but I have you,” you reply, grinning.

She mutters something about how you’re going to give her a heart attack one day.

If you ever get hurt, even if it’s something minor, Sevika goes full mom mode. She’s lecturing you while cleaning the wound, even though her touch is gentle and she’s clearly worried.

“This is why I tell you to think before you do something stupid,” she grumbles.

“But where’s the fun in that?” you joke, and she just sighs.

Sevika pretends like she doesn’t care about your antics, but she absolutely indulges you when no one else is around.

You want to go stargazing on the roof in the middle of the night? She grumbles but helps you climb up there.

You want to bake cookies at 2 a.m. because you “had a craving”? She’s half-asleep but still helps you find the flour.

You want to dress her up in ridiculous clothes “for fun”? She lets you. But only once. And only because you promised not to tell anyone.

You once dragged her to a carnival, and though she claimed she was “too old for this crap,” you caught her smiling while watching you try to win a stuffed animal at a ring toss game. (Spoiler: she stepped in and won it for you with ease. You still call her your hero for it.)

For all your energy, you have moments when you crash, and that’s when Sevika shines. She’s surprisingly good at taking care of you when you’ve worn yourself out.

She’ll scoop you up, carry you to bed, and rub your back until you fall asleep.

If you’re overwhelmed, she knows exactly how to calm you down—usually by sitting you in her lap and letting you ramble while she strokes your hair.

One night, you were feeling particularly insecure about the age gap. “What if I’m too much for you, Sev? Like, what if you get tired of me?”

Sevika immediately shut that down. “You’re a pain in my ass, but you’re my pain in the ass,” she said, pulling you into her arms. “I’m not going anywhere, so stop overthinking.”

She didn’t let you go until you fell asleep, and even then, she stayed awake to make sure you were okay.

Sure, Sevika grumbles about your energy, and you tease her about being old, but at the end of the day, you balance each other out.

You remind her not to take life too seriously.

She keeps you grounded when your chaotic energy gets the better of you.

And even though she claims to not understand your jokes, you’ve caught her smiling at them more than once. She may not laugh, but the fact that you can make her smile? That’s enough for you.

At the end of the day, Sevika’s your grumpy, overprotective girlfriend, and you’re her chaotic little sunshine. She acts like you drive her insane (and you probably do), but she wouldn’t trade you for anything.

“Sevika, I’m pretty sure you secretly love my energy.”

“I tolerate it,” she replies, smirking.

“That’s not what you said last night,” you tease, and she groans.

“One day, I’m going to muzzle you.”

“Good luck, gramps!”

Idk if I’ll write more fics abt this

I want food

#arcane x reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #x reader #x you #x y/n #sevika season 2 #sevika league of legends #sevika x you #sevika imagine #Sevika #sevika x y/n #sevika lol #sevika arcane #sevika x reader

125 notes · View notes

antinousletmehit · 2 days ago

Text

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 14 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇Pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇note: angsty angsty chapter also pegging is mentioned, don’t ask why

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Y/N slipped silently into Telemachus’s room, the thrill of sneaking around outweighing any sense of propriety. She had no real purpose for being there, just the usual urge to mess with his stuff and uncover whatever embarrassing little secrets he might be hiding.

She rifled through the scrolls on his desk, smirking at his newly neat handwriting and the occasional crossed out phrase. She nudged open a chest by the corner, finding nothing but spare tunics and an overly folded blanket. Boring. Then her eyes landed on a parchment pinned beneath a smooth stone on the desk. Unlike the others, this one was different, a map with lines drawn across it, accompanied by hastily written notes in the margins.

Her brow furrowed as she leaned closer, reading the annotations. “Pylos—seek out Nestor. Sparta—Menelaus might have news. Depart under cover of night.”

Her heart sank. Plans to sail?

Before she could process the revelation, the door creaked open, and she whirled around, clutching the map in her hand. Telemachus froze in the doorway, his face shifting from surprise to alarm. “Y/N?” he said, stepping forward. “What are you doing in here?”

She didn’t answer, too caught up in her own panic. “You’re sailing?” she demanded, shaking the map at him. “You’re planning to go to Pylos? And Sparta? Without telling me?” Telemachus shut the door quickly, his expression darkening. “How did you—”

“Don’t you dare try to deflect!” She snapped, her voice sharp with anger. “You’re just going to sneak away in the night? Do you even understand how dangerous this is? There are suitors in this palace who would kill you if they knew!”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell anyone!” Telemachus shot back, stepping closer. “You’re not supposed to know about this! And you have no right to be snooping around in my room!” She glared at him, her grip on the map tightening. “I wouldn’t have had to snoop if you’d just trusted me enough to tell me! You think I wouldn’t care? That I’d just sit here while you run off to get yourself killed?”

“This isn’t your decision to make,” Telemachus countered, his tone firm. “I have to do this, Y/N. My father’s been gone for years, and no one else is going to help me find him!”

“And what if you die trying?” she yelled, her voice cracking slightly. “What if you’re captured, or worse? You think the gods will just keep you safe because you’re Telemachus, the son of Odysseus? You’re not invincible!”

“Neither was my father,” he said quietly.

She faltered, the weight of his words hitting her like a blow. She stared at him, her anger simmering down to something raw and unspoken. “You still should’ve told me,” she muttered, her tone softer now.

“I didn’t want to drag you into this,” Telemachus said, taking the map from her hand. “It’s bad enough that I have to go. I didn’t want you worrying about me, too.” She stopped abruptly, her fists clenched at her sides as she glared at Telemachus, her eyes blazing. “You’re an idiot if you think this is going to end well! Look at what happened to your father. He was gone for twenty years, Telemachus! Twenty years! And you think you’ll be any different?”

“That’s why I have to go,” he snapped, his voice growing louder. “To make sure he’s still alive! To bring him back if I can!”

“And what if you don’t come back?” She shot back, stepping closer. “What if you suffer the same fate, or worse? You’re not some mighty hero, Telemachus! You’re weak—too weak to handle whatever’s out there! Stay here, where you’re safe. Stay with me.” Her voice softened slightly at the end, but her words stung.

Telemachus flinched as if he’d been slapped, his face darkening with a mix of anger and humiliation. “Safe? You think I should just stay here and abandon my father? Sit around while the suitors destroy my home, steal from us, and insult my mother?”

“Yes, because this is your life now!” she shouted, throwing her arms out. “You can’t change what’s happened! You’re just a boy playing at being a man, pretending you have what it takes to fix this mess. You’ll just get yourself killed!”

“Better than living like a coward!” he yelled back.

“Better than dying like a fool!”

Telemachus clenched his fists, his chest heaving. “You’re impossible, Y/N. You don’t get it, do you? You never could. You’re too busy acting like a brute, always picking fights and pretending you’re better than everyone else.” Her face twisted in anger. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” he growled, stepping closer, his voice dripping with venom. “You’re just like a man. Crude, loud, and violent. No wonder the suitors tolerate you—you’re practically one of them.” Her eyes widened slightly, but before she could respond, he sneered, his tone cutting. Her eyes widened slightly, but before she could respond, he sneered, his tone cutting. “And you’re a bitch, Y/N. A selfish, mean spirited bitch who can’t let anyone be happy because you’re too busy dragging them down to your level.”

The words hung in the air like a physical blow. Y/N’s mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. Her face burned with a mix of fury and something deeper—hurt. Telemachus stood his ground, his face flushed with anger as he glared at her. “You know what? If you’re so upset about me leaving, maybe you should stop pretending you care about me at all,” he spat, his voice cold and sharp. “Why don’t you just go back to your brother and be his little lapdog? That’s what you’re best at, isn’t it? Following Antinous around like a shadow, doing whatever he says, no questions asked.”

Her eyes widened, a mix of shock and fury flashing across her face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hissed, stepping closer to him, her fists trembling at her sides. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Telemachus shot back, his voice rising. “You’re so busy playing the loyal sister, the one who’s always at his side, you don’t even realize how pathetic it looks. Do you even have a thought of your own, Y/N? Or is your entire personality just being Antinous’s little attack dog?”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she didn’t respond, her lips pressing into a tight line. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and dangerous, trembling with restrained anger. “How dare you.” Telemachus sneered, refusing to back down. “Oh, I dare. You’re always so quick to judge me, to tell me what I can and can’t do. Maybe take a look at yourself, Y/N. You’re just like him. Cruel, controlling, and arrogant.”

Her fists clenched tighter, her nails digging into her palms. “You don’t get to talk to me like that, Telemachus,” she snapped, her voice breaking slightly. “You don’t know anything about what I’ve been through, what I’ve had to do to survive.”

“And I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?” he scoffed. “You’ve done nothing but make my life harder since you walked into it. If this is what survival looks like, maybe you and Antinous deserve each other.”

Her jaw tightened, her entire body trembling with barely contained rage. “You’re a coward,” she whispered, her voice low and venomous. “A scared little boy who’s too afraid to face the real world. You don’t deserve to leave this place. You don’t deserve to find your father.”

Telemachus’s chest heaved, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Maybe you’re right,” he said bitterly. “But at least I’m trying to do something. You? You just cling to your brother because you’re too scared to stand on your own.” The words struck like a blow, and for a moment, she looked as though she might hit him. Telemachus realized the weight of what he’d just said, but he didn’t back down.

She stood there for a long moment, her heart pounding in her chest. Her hands shook as her nails dug into her palms, her breath catching as she fought to keep herself together. Finally, she let out a shaky exhale, her gaze hardening. “Fine,” she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling with restrained anger. “Go ahead, Telemachus. Be the Icarus that you’re so desperate to become. See where it gets you.” And with that, she stormed out of the room, tears brimming in her eyes leaving his words to echo painfully in her mind.

“Ah shit….I think I fucked up…” Telemachus mumbled, realizing he let his anger get the best of him.

Meanwhile, a few hours earlier

In the dimly lit banquet hall, Antinous sat slouched in a chair, swirling a goblet of wine while Eurymachus lounged across from him, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. The other suitors were scattered around, caught up in drinking and gambling, but Antinous had only one thing on his mind, and he was fuming about it.

“She’s acting weird,” Antinous grumbled, slamming the goblet onto the table. Eurymachus raised an eyebrow, leaning back lazily. “Who’s acting weird?”

“Y/N, who else?” Antinous snapped. “She’s been blushing at everything. I asked her if she wanted to spar earlier, and she just turned red and started muttering. And then later, I found her staring off into the courtyard like some lovesick fool!” He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “It’s driving me insane. What’s gotten into her?”

Eurymachus’s smirk widened, and he propped his chin on his hand, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” he said smoothly, his tone infuriatingly casual. “She’s probably just…distracted.” Antinous glared at him, not missing the glint in Eurymachus’s eyes. “Distracted by what?”

Eurymachus chuckled, taking a long sip from his goblet. “By who, you mean.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Antinous growled, sitting up straighter.

Eurymachus shrugged, his grin practically splitting his face now. “Oh, I think you know. Or maybe you don’t.” He paused for effect, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Let’s just say Y/N might have a certain… suitor of her own.” Antinous froze, his brow furrowing deeply. “What are you talking about? Y/N doesn’t care about any of you idiots.”

“True,” Eurymachus said with a shrug. “But who said it was one of us?” Antinous’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re talking in riddles, and it’s pissing me off. If you know something, spit it out.” Eurymachus leaned in, clearly relishing the moment. “Oh, I could tell you, but where’s the fun in that?” he teased. “I’ll give you a hint, though. Your dear sister might not be as unattached as you think.”

Antinous’s face darkened, his temper flaring. “You’re messing with me,” he said, his voice low and threatening. Eurymachus smirked even wider. “Am I?” Antinous slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing through the hall. “That’s it! Enough of your smug nonsense. If you don’t tell me what you’re insinuating, I’ll break your arm.”

Eurymachus laughed, clearly unfazed. “I’d like to see you try, champ.”

With a growl, Antinous shoved the table aside and stood up. Eurymachus followed suit, rolling up his sleeves. The other suitors began to notice, gathering around as the two squared off at a nearby table. “Fine,” Antinous said, his voice dripping with venom as he slammed his elbow on the table, challenging Eurymachus to an arm wrestle. “If I win, you’ll tell me exactly what you mean about Y/N.”

“And if I win?” Eurymachus asked with a sly grin, clasping Antinous’s hand.

“You won’t,” Antinous snapped.

The room filled with cheers and jeers as the two locked hands, their muscles straining as they pushed against each other with all their might. Antinous’s jaw was clenched tight, his face set in determination, while Eurymachus’s smug grin only made him push harder. The struggle lasted longer than either of them anticipated, but in the end, Antinous slammed Eurymachus’s hand down with a triumphant roar.

“Now talk,” Antinous demanded, standing over Eurymachus with a fierce glare. Eurymachus rubbed his arm, still grinning despite his loss. “Alright, alright,” he said, standing up. “You never said when to tell you, so I’ll leave it up to when I feel like saying it. I’m just oh so very overwhelmed by the amount of pressure on the great Eurymachus.”

Antinous’s face twisted into a snarl, but before he could respond, Eurymachus had already skipped away, his laughter echoing through the hall.

Antinous continued to give him a dirty glare as he sauntered away in laughs. “Did one of the bitches he slept with peg his ass too hard? Thalia right? What is up with everyone today.” He said sighing and sitting back down, goblet still in hand.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @eyuunho @permanently-nothere

@xo-cuteplosion-xo

#epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #antinous #epic telemachus #telemachus #telemachus x reader #antinous x reader #aphrodites gamble

88 notes · View notes

eriexplosion · 4 hours ago

Text

This is going to sound mean, but if anyone tries to apply real world logic (which even there as listed there are people that have survived massive falls!) to why Tech HAS to be dead it feels like they've never watched star wars before.

You know, the franchise where a man gets cut in half and falls down an endless pit and is still alive a decade later and has built himself metal spider legs. And in the show where Hunter fell a long distance and stabbed the mountain so he had no injuries at all. But no suddenly real world rules apply here and just here, and only for the sake of killing Tech, the one character most equipped to survive a long fall due to his fast thinking.

It doesn't even take into account the rules of like. Fiction. Where if you don't see a body or see them for sure die, they might still be alive. But with a franchise like star wars it's extra ridiculous to die on the hill that Tech HAS to be dead. You have to be able to adjust your expectations to the kind of show you are watching, and Star Wars is not a damned documentary.

Another day wondering why on earth they killed off Tech to have next to no engagement with it in Season 3. The dude was right behind Omega and Hunter, the center points of the show, on screen time, is killed off, and...that's it? A couple seconds in episode 5 is all we get?

No memorial on Pabu. No one talking about him, rather than his skills, until Phee does in episode **12**. He doesn't even come up in the most important argument in the whole season, Crosshair and Hunter's rehashing of the disastrous Eriadu mission. THE DUDE WHO DIED ON THAT MISSION DOESN'T COME UP. JUST LOSING OMEGA.

sigh. season 3 could have been great and instead it was a study in wandering around not actually doing much of anything interesting plot wise. numerous plot threads left laying around or cut off in weird ways. CXes brutally murdered instead of continued attempts to undo Hemlock's work. Rex vanishing. Phee sidelined into barely being present despite Pabu being a centerpoint of the show. (Phee having NO emotional reaction to Pabu being attacked????)

sorry to anyone who liked S3 but. I can only see a show which was doing quite well and then just tossed out almost anything good about it.

#the bad batch #like I'm an outlier in that i think the way season 3 was handled CAN work #but only if they have plans already in place to bring him back in the next thing and it would at least make the wonky handling make sense #but im sorry I've lost patience with people insisting he has to be dead because THE REALISM like come on.#this is star wars and part of media analysis is being able to adjust to what kind of media you're watching.#if you don't see their ass get immolated they could be back and if you don't even see them get a fatal injury they're probably fine #last we saw tech he was falling but completely uninjured and had flipped himself over into the skydiver position #theres plenty of room to pull him out of the ether in the next thing like BEHOLD.

155 notes · View notes

esosage · 18 hours ago

Text

I need a vamp robotnik au set in the crab so bad. Like i crave that shit carnally. You dont understand.

Just envison the ship potential. Like i cant imagine that stone could live in close proximity with a vamp robotnik withought getting bitten once or twice. Especially when the only reliable food source robotnik has when in hiding from the government IS STONE! A fact that could be made even better if you make it so that robotnik hasnt bitten anyone before, up until that point.

Just imagine robotnik having gone through YEARS of fighting his urges. Of makeing sure that he wont let something as biological as "hunger" control him. Doing everything he can to avoid drinking from a human, only to be put in a situation years down the line where thats the only solution. And the worst part is that it's his assistant of all people! Like how would robotnik feel? What lengths would he go to in order to avoid the inevitable? How would he react when the time comes? Hell, how would stone react? How would he feel about robotnik starving himself? What would he do?

And when it inevitablly does happen, and robotnik is forced to feed from stone what happens? Does stone become a vampire, or is he fine? And what about robotnik? Does he, after practically being given his first drop of water in a desert after drinking sand his whole life, get addicted? Can he, after being given the best tasting blood he's ever had, still control the urge to feed from stone again? Does it become routine? Does he embrace the oprotunity to feed from stone with open arms from then on? or, does he lie awake at night, tossing in bed next to stone as he tries his best to not sink his teeth in?

Ugh i need to knooow. Besides, theres so much shennanigens you can have with someone living that close to a vampire, for that long. Its driving me crazy.

(Also if robotniks a vampire, is gerald a vampire aswell? I mean it would explain how he's still alive. Is the whole robotnik family vampires? Are they the only vampires out there? And if so, because robotnik was too young to know any of them, how much does robotnik know about vampirism? If much at all? I mean sure, some things he understands naturally, but i doubt it would be everything.. Hell, there could even be some things that robotnik missunderstands about his own biology, since the only real reference for vampires he would have would be the ones in cartoons. Maybe that could be an additional reason as to why he brushes stone asside in favor of gerald, outside of wanting to bond with his long lost grandpop. He finnally has someone who's like him! Who knows and understands what's going on, and can even answer some of robotniks questions about vampirism that no one before him {not even robotnik himself,} ever could! Kinda like a mentor figure in a way. I'm sure robotnik would be thrilled to find out that he's not the only vampire. Especially since it must have been pretty lonely and ostrasizing to have been a vampire growing up. To be so fundementaly different from the rest of his peers, with "quirks" that no one could explain. So there deffinetly would be a sense of kinship that ivo would hold twards gerald in that regard.)

#stobotnik #eggman #jimbotnik #agent stone #dr. robotnik #ivo robotnik #sonic movie 3 #sonic 3 spoilers #sonic movie #vampire au #vampire robotnik #vampires #i rambled on for too long lol.#my bad

55 notes · View notes

marvelstoriesepic · 1 day ago

Text

Like a Phoenix (4)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: theft; Bucky being protective; Bucky being a sneaky little shit; mentions of knives, sexism

Author’s Note: This is a tad shorter, but the next chapter will be the longest so far and quite intense, y’all, so be prepared :) Hope you enjoy ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

The town sprawls out before you, hemmed by rolling hills and thick forest, a cluster of modest wooden homes and stone-built shops that seem to lean into one another for support.

Smoke from numerous chimneys twists into the dusky evening, carrying the combined aromas of home fires and warm bread.

The cramped alleys thrive with activity, merchants shouting their goods in voices worn from years of competing with the noise.

The sensations are overwhelming you, making your head spin after so many days in the quiet of the forest.

You have never set foot in such a place before. Especially, not like this. Not cloaked in a worn brown jacket of the man shadowing your every step.

It likely is a town like any other to him - muddy, loud, alive with barter and chatter - but to you, it might as well be another world.

The actual marketplace is even worse. It is tucked into a wide, cobbled square, flanked by crooked wooden buildings.

Stalls are spread out, some covered in fabric of various colors, others laden with goods that sparkle and shine in the dwindling sunlight.

It is chaos.

People are talking, shouting, laughing. A dog is barking. Children are running, wildly darting through the legs of passing strangers. Everything is haphazard. There is bread next to salted fish, baskets of apples and other fruits, bolts of simple linen, and even knives - rough-hewn and gleaming.

You have to remind yourself to breathe. But your breaths only grow more shallow, afraid to take too much space from air that doesn’t know you’re here.

Your gown underneath Bucky’s jacket is stiff, frayed, and dirty. It’s still a symbol of everything you no longer are. The hood hangs low over your forehead, casting a shadow across your face, but you can’t help but feel like a painted target walking into the open.

Bucky made it clear from the moment you neared the outskirts of the town, that you were to speak to no one unless absolutely necessary. Keep your head down. Don’t look anyone in the eye. And most important; stay at his side. He made you repeat it like you’re some uneducated little girl, though his expression, the way his eyes pierced your own, stopped you from speaking your thoughts.

Bucky walks half ahead of you, half beside you to keep you in his vision. His shoulders are taut and his hand is resting casually - too casually - on the hilt of the dagger at his side. His eyes are sweeping over the stalls - stall to stall, face to face, tracking the movements of the people around you. His shoulder brushes yours every few steps.

You are not naive. You are acutely aware of how risky this situation is. Someone might recognize you. A merchant, a traveler who has once caught a glimpse of you in the palace courtyard, or a soldier who has seen your face etched onto decrees or coins or as a painting on a wall.

But Bucky cannot leave you alone in the forest.

And it appears he also can’t let you stay in that impractical dirty gown that fails to keep you warm each night, for you to lay there shivering and clattering your teeth. He also can’t let you only consuming the tiniest food rations he can find to save something for him.

You feel colder, hungrier, and far more removed from whatever fragile piece of yourself had once existed in the gilded cage of your former life.

The forest is not your friend. Its roots seem to rise intentionally to grasp your already faltering steps. The rustle of the breeze seems to taunt your grumbling stomach and diminishes the thickness of your skin. The trees stand too close, plotting to reach out with their branches and wrap them around you, never letting go.

Bucky, of course, always notices.

The day before, you had glimpsed some berries nestled against the thorns of a bramble bush while staggering through the woods once more. They were bright and glittered in the weak sunlight.

You remembered them from the palace gardens where they grew in neat rows, where servants picked them and cooks used them in summer pies. You’d seen them illustrated in books as a girl, read their names aloud at your tutor’s insistence. Their name you forgot, but you know they are not poisonous.

So you plucked a handful of them off, fingers brushing against the dew-slick leaves.

But before you could bring only one of them to your lips, a shadow fell over you, dark and looming. And before you knew it, a hand shot out to knock the berries out of your grasp. They scattered across the forest floor, rolling into the dirt.

Bucky’s movement was swift, but not violent, yet the force made you stumble a step back.

“What the hell are you doing? Are you tryin’a get yourself killed?” he snapped at you, voice thunderous and blue eyes blazing.

“I am no fool,” you hissed back, but your voice was shaking slightly. “They are not poisonous-”

His glare stopped the words in your throat. “You don’t eat anything unless I tell you it’s safe,” he said lowly, stepping closer. Close enough for you to see the pulse hammering in his neck. “Do you understand me?”

The next morning he told you, you’d visit the next town’s market.

Bucky waited until evening, so you wouldn’t stand out too much since the light of the sun would be dimmed.

Yet, you can’t shake the thought about why he cares.

The cold and the meager food rations don’t seem to affect him much, so why does it matter to him that it affects you?

He’s always been so careful, so paranoid, his caution bordering on obsession.

But then you remember the way his gaze lingered on you these past few days, the way his eyes darkened when observing the sharp lines of your collarbones peaking through your gown or the way you rubbed your arms for warmth in the cold night air but still remained trembling even with Bucky’s bedroll around you or the fire he always alights near you. Or the way his brows came together slightly when letting his eyes fall to the thin leather of your slippers, so unaccustomed for your journey, their once fine embroidery now faded and caked with mud.

Bucky stops abruptly near a stall selling bread, his back moving slightly more in front of you. You nearly collide with him, fabrics brushing together, and his head turns slightly, just enough for you to glimpse the warning in his eyes, the strain in his sharp jawline.

“Stay close.” His voice is a low rumble.

You nod, ducking your head.

The vendor, a small and older woman, exchanges the few coins Bucky hands over for two loaves of crusty brown bread.

He hands them to you, calloused fingers brushing yours for an instant.

His movements show no sign of hesitation, lacking the fear and unease that thrums with each of your heartbeats. He seems confident. Although his shoulders are squared and his jaw is working the whole time, he makes it look so casual. So effortless. Just slipping into the role of a villager, or traveler, just coming to the market to buy some goods.

It frustrates you.

Because the further you walk it feels like an act of defiance against your own instinct. You are not made for this. Not prepared for this. Your refined upbringing, your courtly manners - what value do they hold now?

“Keep your head down,” Bucky murmurs under his breath, eyes staying focused forward.

You do as he says, subtly pulling the hood tighter around your face. The world is narrowed to the cobblestones at your feet, hems of skirts brushing past you, wooden wheels entering your vision as a cart is pushed by. It clatters against the ground.

It is strange, walking through a crowd with your head down, without being noticed. You are used to people looking at you - studying your features, whispering your name and title, bowing their heads. Now, you’re just another person slipping through the throng. A nameless girl in a nameless town.

Nobody makes room for you. Shoulders bump against yours, making you stumble slightly.

You hold the loaves of bread closer to your chest, almost cradling them, as Bucky leads you further into the market, toward a stall displaying cloaks and tunics of rough wool.

The middle-aged woman running it barely glances at you, letting her eyes linger on Bucky.

Without a word, he procures more coins and gestures to a dark, heavy cloak.

You don’t see much of the exchange, still keeping your head down, but you acknowledge the dark fabric in Bucky’s hand he holds out for you to see.

Your hand reaches out to take it and you move to pull it over yourself at the expectant expression Bucky fixes you with.

Bucky watches you as you slip the cloak over your shoulders, trying to hand him back the jacket only for him to tighten it around your shoulders.

He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t meet your eyes. There is something guarded about him.

Resuming your stride through the market, Bucky stops again shortly after. This stall is laden with bolts of fabric in so many different hues.

Despite knowing better, you lift your head a little bit to let your eyes roam over the items. There is that soft blue wool that catches your attention. It’s the color of a cloudless summer sky, the color of the scorpion grasses that grew in your palace gardens.

You don’t know why they caught your attention so fast, but for a moment, you let yourself imagine. A gown spun from this fabric, its folds draped across your shoulders like water, its color catching the light when you twirled through the palace halls. The image is so vivid, so painful, your throat closes up.

You blink to find the burn of Bucky’s eyes on you. He’s just watching you. Silently. With an unreadable expression. You meet his eyes briefly and startle for a moment to find the very same color of the fabric you’ve been staring at reflected in his eyes.

But that is just a coincidence, right?

You didn’t look at the fabric because it reminded you of the exact color of his eyes.

Shame grips your chest and you remember with a start, that you are supposed to conceal yourself and show your face the least you can.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, something your father would have chastised you for, and swiftly move your head down, to continue staring at the uneven ground.

It slightly confuses you that Bucky didn’t reprimand you for not doing that sooner. He merely watched you quietly, with a look far too mild and ambiguous to feel anger over your brief mistake.

The cloak over your head obscures any view of what Bucky does, but he keeps standing beside you and you hear the twinkling sound of coins.

And when he prompts you to continue walking, you spot the blue fabric you’ve been eyeing sticking out from beneath Bucky’s arm as you both weave your way through the throng of people.

You try not to let your heart jump. But there is still something fluttering in your chest, something like tiny wings, but they are clumsy, beating against your ribs half in delight for being able to fly, half in warning to better shoot them down.

You take a glance at his profile, running your eyes over the strong slope of his nose, the hard line of his jaw, the way his dark hair falls over his cheeks, but he keeps his eyes deliberately focused ahead.

Bucky pauses again after a short walk.

You catch sight of boots. Thick-soled and sturdy.

He picks up a pair, turning them over in his hands.

The cobbler standing near, a wiry man with a patchy beard, begins to rattle off the boots’ virtues, but Bucky waves him off brusquely, turning to you.

“These’ll fit.” He holds them out to you.

“Oh, I do not need-”

“Try them,” he orders firmly, taking the bread from your arms and thrusting the boots into your hands instead.

With a resigned sigh you take hold of the boots. They are quite heavy for footwear. Heavier and more robust than anything you’ve ever worn. Their leather feels unfamiliar and stiff against your soft palms.

You slip off your slippers - ignoring the cobbler’s muttered comment about the state of your stockings - and pull the boots on.

“Walk,” Bucky instructs, gesturing to the narrow strip of space beside the stall, and with another sigh, you do as he says.

The boots are clunky at first but you have to admit that they provide a stable and firm base for your sensible feet, protecting them from the hard surface of the ground better than your slippers ever could.

Bucky is watching intently, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t smile. His expression doesn’t change out of his assessment. But he nods slightly. Pursing his lips in satisfaction. He reaches for the coin purse at his belt.

You want to protest - about the cost, about how you don’t want him to pay any more for you, about the guilt in your heart - but he doesn’t throw you another glance when paying the cobbler and leaving your old slippers with the man.

Another relic of your old life gone.

You try hard to remain near Bucky. The sheer crush of bodies pressing around you causes your heart to race and your body to recoil with each bump against you.

He doesn’t glance at you but his hand grazes your arm every so often. His attention is locked on the movement of the crowd, his head turning sharply but subtly every few seconds as if he is cataloging faces and the exits of the market. His presence is grounding but in his own way disconcerting.

He is a blade drawn halfway from its sheath - prepared and anticipating.

Your stomach growls audibly and you flush, wrapping your arms around your middle as if to stifle the sound.

Bucky is carrying the bread but you guessed you wouldn’t have taken a bite even if you still had it. It would feel wrong somehow. Still, more than a week has passed since you felt full, the cold nights and the thin rations eating away the strength you didn’t really have in the first place. It only causes your stomach to crumple inward in contorted shapes as a sign of rebellion.

You watch Bucky’s face jerk to a fruit stall you are about to pass. The merchant is having a discussion with a rather loud customer, which grabs your attention until something small and round appears in your sight.

It’s a red apple that Bucky holds out for you.

You blink at him in disbelief. “Did you just- did you steal that?” Your voice is hushed.

His eyes cut to you. So unfazed. “Do you want it or not?”

Hesitantly, you let your hand reach for the fruit, fingers lightly touching his before pulling away. It looks bigger in your hand.

You hold the apple like you never had one in your hand before, tightening your fingers, and can’t help darting your eyes around nervously, half expecting someone to shout or point.

But nothing happens and Bucky turns ahead again.

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, conflicted between appreciation and discomfort.

You don’t like the way the apple feels in your palm.

Back at the palace, a fruit like this has served as a mere decorative embellishment at all those extravagant feasts and banquets. There were so many of them, all stacked high in golden ornate bowls as if they existed only for beauty. Now it is simply sustenance - limited and precious.

And it fills you with guilt. Shame. You basically feel the muscles around your ribs tightening into knots so complex, you swear they are trying to strangle your heart. Feeling like it hasn’t done enough to justify its effort.

Carefully, you let your eyes catch glimpses of the lives unfolding around you.

A woman with a child on her hip argues fiercely with a butcher over the price of a stringy cut of meat.

A young boy weaves through the strands, his face marked with grime. He clutches a bundle of firewood so large it seems he might topple over any second.

Tucked behind a stall filled with rolls of fabric, a group of women skillfully use their experienced hands, sharing soft, bittersweet laughter while they pass along bits of gossip.

You feel a strange ache watching them. The muscles in your neck strain with the effort of not turning away, causing the fleeting view you get to be both a punishment and a form of wonder.

There is a harshness to their lives, a grit and weariness that is foreign to you. However, they have something you never had the chance to experience. A feeling, something like a community, something they share. They all have a connection.

This is a world of mud and struggle and bargaining, but it is also a happy world.

You don’t recall ever laughing like that before.

You stop walking at one point. And you only realize this because Bucky’s hand is on your arm, urging you to move ahead again, though his hold on you is not forceful.

You blink, again, and stumble back into a walking pace.

Bucky doesn’t say anything but his gaze keeps lingering on you a little longer. Perhaps he sees something in your eyes - in the way you steer clear of meeting his own, rather dropping your gaze to the ground once more - but he falters slightly. Just a single and short delay in the next step he takes. And something twitches in his expression. Only now does he release your arm.

Another few stalls later, Bucky slows, examining a display of gloves and scarves.

While his fingers move over the worn wool and leather, you hover awkwardly behind him, grasping the apple close to your chest and feeling acutely out of place.

The tall woman standing behind the display narrows her eyes at you both and Bucky doesn’t even glance at her at all before he discreetly positions himself more in front of you.

Your gaze is drawn to his back, to the broad set of his shoulders, and the way his hair brushes against the leather at his neck.

He doesn’t belong here either, you realize. Not fully. But unlike you, he is good at pretending.

After a few moments, he turns to you and takes your hand, slipping a glove on, testing the fit. It’s a simple robust design lined with fur.

But unfortunately for you, it’s not the glove that warms your hand, it’s his touch.

You stare down at the way he holds your gloved hand. He nods to himself. “They’re good,” he says gruffly, about to move away but you speak up.

“You really do not have to-”

“We’ll take them,” he states, to you or to the merchant you’re not sure.

After paying and making sure you keep the gloves on your hands, he leads you further down the market.

The sky is getting darker and the shouts around you are starting to turn into a ringing sound in your ears.

You keep your eyes on the ground and on Bucky at all times.

You wondered how he can keep himself so calm and collected but you see the way his hand immediately goes back to hovering over his knife.

He walks until you reach the quieter outskirts of the town, where the air slowly loses the many scents that wouldn’t stop flooding your senses. The streets are less crowded.

“Eat the damn apple,” Bucky tosses over his shoulder without really looking at you. His voice is slightly softer now, almost teasing.

With a glance down at the red fruit in your gloved hand, you sigh and take a bite, sweetness exploding on your tongue. It’s almost immense after consuming mostly bland meals for over a week.

Bucky keeps you on your feet for a while longer. You finished the apple some time ago and now try to ignore the way your stomach still feels hollowed out, the cold is winding up your legs, and the ache in your feet.

Until he stops.

In front of a building with cracked stone walls surrounded by creeping ivy that seems to hold the place together more than the mortar itself. The aroma of damp earth hits your nose.

There is a faint glow of lantern light that seeps through the gaps in the shutters, casting sharp patterns onto the soil trail.

Bucky pushes the door open with a rough shove.

You hesitate at the threshold. This is not the kind of place you ever imagined stepping foot in. Not as a princess. But is that what you are anymore? Whatever title you once held feels like a fading light in your mind.

With a grunt from the man you are traveling with and a hand on your back, you are quickly snapped back to yourself and guided inside.

The inn’s interior is dimly lit, the atmosphere dense with the combined scents of woodsmoke and stale ale and the faintest hint of iron. A fire crackles in a low stone hearth, creating shifting shadows that glide over the rugged tables and assorted chairs spread around the space.

The floorboards creak beneath your new boots, the wood warped and pocked with stains whose origins you don’t care to guess at.

You follow Bucky closely and look around nervously.

The common area is sparsely populated. The patrons are mostly older men nursing mugs of ale. Conversations are indistinct and they don’t care to look up.

Of course, they don’t.

To them, you are nobody.

You probably are. You can feel it. It’s the emptiness in your chest where your title was pinned. There is a hole now. A vacuum where your heart beats softly, uncertain, questioning every pulse, asking permission to exist.

Bucky exchanges a brief word with the innkeeper, a grizzled man with a thin scar cutting across his temple.

You are basically glued to Bucky’s back. And you attempt to avoid the thought that you would feel much more restless without him here.

You don’t even listen to their conversation, only hoping it will end soon.

When he finally turns, key in hand, he briefly glances at you and nods toward a staircase concealed by shadows at the back.

“Upstairs,” he instructs shortly.

Each step you take makes the stairs groan underfoot.

The room is small. Barely more than a box with a bed crammed into one corner, a battered chest in another, a chair, and a single, grime-covered window.

A small lantern burns dimly on the bedside table.

It hasn’t even been two weeks since you have seen a real bed, and still, there is something aching in your chest at the sight of it. The mattress of the bed sags in the middle and the blanket is frayed at the edges.

But it is warm.

Bucky drops his pack along with the blue fabric and the bread onto the chest and leans against the wall, arms crossed as he watches you take in the space. You can’t tell if he is waiting for a complaint or just sizing up your reaction.

You don’t pay him any mind, letting your fingers brush against the rough wood of the window frame and gaze out into the night. The town below is quiet now, the streets empty except for a shadow moving between buildings.

You turn back around to see Bucky unwrapping a small bundle covered in cloth. He takes his time unfolding it and finally reveals a hunk of roasted meat.

You furrow your brows. “Where did you-” You stop mid-sentence, realization dawning as you take in the sly smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t think you’d mind,” he drones out, tearing a piece off with his teeth and pointing at you with the rest. “Guzzled down that apple like it ain’t nothin’.”

You can only stare at him in disgust.

You don’t know if it is his faulty actions or his terrible manners that make you twist your beautiful face into a grimace. Probably both.

“You stole it,” you accuse then, rather lately.

But he only shrugs, utterly unapologetic. The infuriating twist of his lips carries a spark of something almost boyish. “Not the first time, darlin’.”

You open your mouth to argue but then he simply winks at you - an utterly brazen gesture that makes your hands clench with equal parts anger and something deeper.

You spent your life surrounded by people who carried themselves with poise and restraint, who bent over backward to adhere to rules and expectations.

And here is this man, stealing food like it’s his birthright and then having the nerve to wink at you for it.

The apple rests like a mistake in your stomach, causing it to twist with nausea.

After all, you knew it was stolen and you ate it anyway.

And you hate how it makes you feel. How he makes you feel.

Because there is that part of you that speaks of envy.

And it’s unwelcome. It knows it is. But it doesn’t care. Boldly sneaking into the vulnerable parts of your chest, filling spaces where your breath should be. Every inhale feels like drawing in the bitterness of what you lack.

This man moves through the world with a freedom you can’t fathom. He takes what he wants, consequences be damned. Isn’t that what you have always dreamed of?

Bucky Barnes sits in a dingy room with stolen food in hand and looks so content with it.

And when his boot pushes the creaky chair over to you and he holds the meat out to you with an expression that tells you he knows you’ll take it, you want to resist.

But you do not.

So you sit down.

As you chew, Bucky keeps his eyes focused on you.

His posture actually seems relaxed but his eyes are thoughtful.

And you wonder, not for the first time, what goes on behind that gaze.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

You almost choke on the piece of meat in your mouth.

Swallowing hard, you stare at him.

He looks at you so blankly, it’s hard to make out why he would even bother saying that.

You hesitate. “I did not believe you would care about me talking.”

He tilts his head, considering you for a moment before leaning forward slightly. You don’t like how there is only one chair in this room. Because he already looms over you when you are standing.

“I don’t. Ain’t mean I don’t notice.”

“You keep on interrupting me,” you hum, trying to sound as indifferent as he so often does.

His shoulders shake with a laugh. It’s a low sound and it vibrates within you.

“Get used to it, darlin’.”

“Sometimes you think you’re being put in a hard situation but in reality the universe is preparing you for something good. Remember that. And be ready for when it comes.”

- r. m drake

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret

#mercenary!Bucky #princess!reader #mercenary!bucky and princess!reader #enemies to lovers #bucky series #like a phoenix #chapter 4 #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes #bucky #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #james bucky buchanan barnes

57 notes · View notes