#because I think that a lot of people are wondering what now

[rebloggingrexan]

this scene was one the franchise creator had wanted to write all his career

Things that I SWEAR I'm not making up about the Star Trek franchise:

A shifty alien bartender, his brother, and his nephew were what happened at Roswell

There are three mutually contradictory canonical explanations for what exists at the centre of the Galaxy, none of which are "A fuck-off gigantic black hole"

Two of these things are, respectively, God and the Devil

(The crew got along well enough with the Devil, but Spock had to blow-up God with a torpedo)

One of the most compelling and sympathetic characters in the franchise is a hologram of Professor Moriarty who gained enough self-awareness to realise that he didn't need to be evil just because he was written that way

If you fly too fast, you turn into a salamander

(Said salamanders are actually the inevitable endpoint of human evolution)

The universe is balanced on the back of a giant koala (why is it smiling? What does it know!?)

There have been three separate groups of Space Nazis (not just aliens with a fascist government; literal Nazis with armbands and swastikas)

There are also: two (2) cowboy planets, two (2) planets that are just post-apocalyptic versions of Cold War-era Earth, one (1) planet ruled by Chicago mobsters from the 1920s, and one (1) version of Earth where the Roman Empire never fell

The Roman planet has its own Jesus

There is an anthropological law governing parallel planetary development that holds that planets are likely to recapitulate eras from Earth history

Because of the intervention of an ancient race of ur-humanoids, most sentient races in the galaxy look like human actors with rubber prostheses glued to their foreheads

There are so many planets centred around sex and hedonism that people in the fandom use the term "Roddenberry Sex Planet" to describe them

Jack the Ripper was an alien ghost

Amelia Earhart was abducted by aliens

If you have a high ESP score, you turn into a god when you try to fly outside of the Galaxy

The major antagonists are: Space Vikings/Samurai, Space Romans (not the Romans mentioned earlier), Space Fascists (not any of the nazi groups mentioned earlier), the Space British Empire (ruled by goo people), and Space Bees (except you'll turn into one if they sting you)

Klingons have two dicks

Borg assimilation can be catalyzed by eating car batteries

[kyri45]

First off, I can’t begin to explain how emotionally overwhelmed and happy I am from this AU, but mainly out of curiosity - do you plan to continue drawing for the moniker fandom, let alone the Shadowpeach Bio parents AU?

Obviously not like full blown comics but drawings, doodles/sketches from time to time. And even if you don’t, do you think you’ll ever ‘return’ the AU. I’m curious where/what you’ll do next overall. I got into/joined this fandom because of your comics and I’m so incredibly grateful and glad I did, either way you’ve done such a wonderful job and I think a lot of people including me will incredibly grateful for years to come, heavens know I’ll never be ready for whenever the end of this comes but it’s been one hell of masterpiece all the way.

One thing at the time. For now I wanna finish the main story.

[arc-misadventures]

The Beach: Ra

Jaune: Okay... wow she was seriously repressed... She really needed that...

Jaune: That was intense...

Jaune: I hope the scratch makes have healed...

Jaune: Hmmm...?

Jaune: Well, my aura's at full, so it should have been healed by now.

Jaune: Okay...

Jaune: I wonder if that video came out alright...

Jaune: Okay... Let's get going.

Jaune: Hmm... This side of the beach is pretty empty. I wonder why?

: It's because of all of the rocks, the tend to keep people away.

Jaune: The rocks? Well there's a lot of rocks, but why is the people staying away because of the rocks?

: People want to lie down on their beach towel, and suntan. Do you think people want to lie down on a hard jagged rock, instead of soft smooth sand?

Jaune: Hmm... That's a fair point... Wait. That voice sounds feminine? That's not the sound of my inner monologue! Who is speaking to me?!

: I'm over here~!

Jaune: Ah-ha! There you... are...?!

: Hello, Jaune~!

Jaune: H-Hi, Mrs. Branwen...

Raven: Didn't I tell you, Jaune: Call me, Raven~!

Jaune: Okay... R-Raven...

Raven: That's better~!

Jaune: S-So... Y-You're looking good... very, very good...

Raven: Oh, thank you~!

Jaune: S-So... What brings you over here...?

Raven: Oh, it's quiet. You don't see any screaming kids, whiney brats, dude bros...

Jaune: Those are good reasons...

Raven: And, since no one is coming here, I have this section of the beach all to myself~!

Jaune: Oh... Oh that sounds great, you don't have to deal with anyone's bullshit, because you're all alone.

Raven: Indeed it is. Now then, care to explain those scratch marks on your back?

Jaune: S-Scratch marks... what are you talking about...?

Raven: I can see the marks on your back, Jaune. So, care to explain yourself~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Yeah, it's pointless to deny it...

Raven: Well~?

Jaune: Haa... Okay, I slept with, Willow Schnee in the showers back there...

Raven: You fucked, Willow Schnee?!

Jaune: We all so filmed it, because she wanted to send it to, Jacques to show how a real man does it...

Raven: You filmed it, and sent it to, Jacques?! Fuck that's hot~!

Jaune: Yeah, will asked me to live out her kinks, and honestly... she made one hell of a deal. And, well... scratch marks...

Raven: So what were, Willow's kinks?

Jaune: Young man reshaping her guts, cucking, Jacques. Stuff like that.

Raven: Damn, Willow is a nasty girl~! And, I thought I was kinky; I'm into my lover being rough with me; Pulling my hair, calling me his bitch, taking it up the ass, breeding, things like that.

Jaune: Well... Yeah... I've heard that a lot today... seems pretty common...

Raven: I do like to do it in public.

Jaune: P-Public?

Raven: Yeah, in public, some place where I could get caught being railed by some hot young sexy stud~! In a place like this for example...

Jaune: T-This place...?

Raven: Yeah, behind those rocks. I mean, how many people wouldn't like to live out the fantasy of taking a sexy piece of ass behind a boulder at the beach~!

Jaune: At the beach...

Raven: So... what do you say, Jaune? You interested in living out this old gals fantasy~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Where's the best place to do this?

Raven: I found a nice place over there~!

Jaune: Okay, let's go!

Raven: Oh, and to warn you, Jaune: I'm a screamer.

Jaune: Oh, well it looks like you may get that audience like you asked for~!

Raven: If they're a sexy girl, can we invite her to join us? I love having threesomes with my wife. Having one at the beach... Oh gods, doesn't that sound so fucking hot~!

Jaune: Why don’t you call her over here, she can join us while we're at it~! She'll know where we are based on your screams~!

Raven: FUCK YES~!

///

Here's one for you @lar-mx Enjoy!

Link to Original Post.

[sepdet]

Oh but this is fascinating.

If "it's fictional because it doesn't exist in nature," then anything that exists through human intervention doesn't exist!

house. Eiffel Tower. crime. tin. Australia. bread. dog. ink. oranges. music. job. tunnel. Sony.

Have they' conflated fictional with fabricated, meaning both "made" and "made up"?

That's an example of polysemy, a word containing multiple meanings.

Polysemy is common in most languages. Less so for English, which is about 5 languages in a teenchcoat, so it has a huge vocabulary. Different shades of meaning have become associated with different words, and the scope of each word has tended to shrink.

I wonder if that contributes to some English-speakers' literalism.

Here's another example of polysemy from [problematic] Joseph Campbell, whose descriptive ideas about mythology tend to be misapplied proscriptively;

The [interviewer] began argumentatively, “The word ‘myth,’ means ‘a lie.’ Myth is a lie.”

So I replied with my definition of myth. “No, myth is not a lie. A whole mythology is an organization of symbolic images and narratives, metaphorical of the possibilities of human experience and the fulfillment of a given culture at a given time.”

“It’s a lie,” he countered.

“It’s a metaphor.”

“It’s a lie.”

This went on for about twenty minutes. Around four or five minutes before the end of the program, I realized that this interviewer did not really know what a metaphor was. I decided to treat him as he was treating me.

“No,” I said, “I tell you it’s metaphorical. You give me an example of a metaphor.”

He replied, “You give me an example.”

I resisted, “No, I’m asking the question this time.” I had not taught school for thirty years for nothing. “And I want you to give me an example of a metaphor.”

[...]

Finally, with something like a minute and a half to go, he rose to the occasion at said, “I’ll try. My friend John runs very fast. People say he runs like a deer. There’s a metaphor.”

As the last seconds of the interview ticked off, I replied, “That is not the metaphor. The metaphor is: John is a deer.”

He shot back, “That’s a li v e.”

“No,” I said, “That is a metaphor.”

And the show ended. What does that incident suggest about our common understanding of metaphor?

It made me reflect that half the people in the world think that the metaphors of their religious traditions, for example, are facts. And the other half contends that they are not facts at all. As a result we have people who consider themselves believers because they accept metaphors as facts, and we have others who classify themselves as atheists because they think religious metaphors are lies.

This argument goes all the way back to Plato and Socrates, who redefined mythos "story, utterance, thing said/told" as pseudos "lie, falsehood,"

It seems to me the problem is not only literalism, the refusal to recognize polysemy or nuance, but a tendency to insist on one meaning of a word when, in context, it means another.

Campbell was concerned with literalism in religion. Now, it's creeping into science, which you'd think would be a better fit for literalism, but not if we latch omto the wrong meanings of words.

Think of the scientific use of "theory" to mean a widely-accepted explanation of something supported by evidence, experiments, and a large body of scientific research by many different research, vs the general public's dismissive use of "theory' to mean hypothesis.

If we've got a lot of people who think scientific theories are unproven guesses, and even that fabricated materials are imaginary, no wonder trust in science is eroding.

or else I'm reading way way way too much into one person's post. 😅

i logged on to twitter.com and saw somebody say “plutonium is fictional because it doesnt exist in nature”. which, one, i dont think is entirely true, im fairly certain trace amounts of plutonium exist in natural uranium deposits, and two, that is such a frankly wonderfully incorrect definition of fictional and im deeply intrigued by the implications. concrete is fictional. polyester doesnt exist

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

SAFE & SOUND — part 5

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: 23.7k

a/n: there's a lot of lore dumping in this one, please read this when you're 100% awake or you'll probably not understand a single thing. additionally, i must preface by saying that this part is all kinds of fucked up. i really urge you to read with discretion. REALLY.

MASTERLIST

People.

They’re dangerous—more dangerous than the dead. It’s a fact that’s been drilled into your mind, reinforced over and over by the world you’ve come to know.

Once stripped down to their core, people will cling to any semblance of purpose. Not just in the sense they'd do anything to keep themselves alive. But they’ll latch onto whatever scraps of hope they can find—convincing themselves that a crumbling building, a barricaded corner of a burning city, is worth dying for if it means they don’t have to face the one truth that terrifies them most: that nothing is safe. That nothing lasts.

But now you understand something even more unsettling.

The only thing more dangerous than people are people with something to lose.

That’s what Jungwon is. That’s what he’s become. He’s not just surviving anymore—he’s holding onto these people, this place, like a lifeline. Like it’s all that stands between him and the abyss.

And that’s what makes him dangerous.

You don’t keep your distance because you think you’re smarter or stronger than him. You do it because you’re afraid. Afraid of the weight he carries every day, the weight of responsibility, of leadership, of knowing that every decision could mean life or death for the people who trust him.

And maybe that’s why being alone feels safer. Because if you’re on your own, you don’t have to deal with the messy, volatile nature of human emotions. You don’t have to shoulder the weight of someone else’s hope or risk letting them down.

You glance around the camp, taking in the barricades, the makeshift beds, the worn-out faces of people who are holding onto hope with everything they’ve got. You’ve already done enough for them.

You’ve gotten them the medicine they need. You’ve made sure they have enough food and water to keep going for however long the heavens permit them to stay alive. You’ve fought alongside them, bled alongside them, and given them more of yourself than you ever intended to.

But that’s it. You’ve reached your limit. You don’t have to hold yourself back for their kindness anymore. You don’t owe these people anything more than you owe yourself. And what you owe yourself—more than anything—is your chance at survival. And with that renewed mindset, you steel yourself.

Quietly, you gather your things. You don’t need much. Just what you can carry. The essentials—enough to keep you moving. Enough to keep you alive. Your hands tremble slightly as you pack, but you don’t stop. You’ve survived this long by knowing when to walk away. 

And that’s exactly what you’ll do.

At this juncture, you have to walk away. Now. Before it’s too late. Before hope takes root in you too, and you lose the capacity to leave. You told yourself you’d do it once the immediate danger had passed. Once you were sure they were safe—at least for a little while. It seemed logical, practical. The right thing to do. 

But now, standing here with that gnawing sense of dread in your gut, you realise that even that thought in itself was hope.

And hope is stupid.

You can’t stay. You won’t survive if you do—not just because of the imminent danger, but because of them. Because losing them would destroy you in ways the world never could.

The only thing more dangerous than people is people with something to lose.

And you have something to lose.

“I don’t want to see you lose yourself.” your own words echo in your mind, sharp and piercing. They’d felt like a knife to the chest when you said them, and they still do now. Because what you didn’t realise then is that it’s not just about Jungwon, or the group, or the rest stop. It’s about you. You’re afraid of losing yourself, of what you’d become if you stayed.

When you die—because everyone in this world eventually does—you only hope you can die as yourself. Human. Both physically and mentally.

It’s the one thing you’ve clung to since everything fell apart. The idea that, no matter how bad things got, you’d hold onto your humanity. You wouldn’t let the world take it from you. Because once that’s gone, what’s the point? What’s left of you then? A shell. A husk. Something that breathes but isn’t really alive.

You’ve seen it happen to others from the community building. People losing themselves, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but desperation and violence. Until they become unrecognisable—barely different from the monsters they’re trying to survive. It’s why you’ve kept your distance, why you’ve chosen solitude time and time again. 

Once you stay, once you put down roots, the danger will come for you. Because in this world, the danger never truly passes. It’s not something you can outrun or wait out. It’s relentless, always coming back, always finding new ways to haunt you. It’ll keep chasing you and every other survivor until it slowly, inevitably consumes you—or worse, you’ll have to stand there and watch it consume the people around you. 

You’ll then risk losing yourself as their deaths start to carve pieces out of you, leaving nothing but jagged edges and hollow spaces.

And you can’t afford to lose yourself like that. 

Not to them. Not to hope.

Tonight, you’ll take the first watch, sit through the long, silent hours, and leave without waking anyone for their shifts. Just before the sun rises—before they stir, before they have a chance to notice you’re gone—you’ll disappear.

It’s the best time to disappear—when the world is caught in that liminal space between darkness and light. This way, they won’t be in any immediate danger. They’ll wake to the sun rising over the horizon, unaware of your absence—at least at first. It’ll give them time to adjust, to make plans without you. And it’ll be easier for you to convince yourself it’s for the best.

The thought repeats in your head like a mantra, though it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, trying to ward off the chill creeping under your skin. The others are tucked away in the convenience store, huddled in their sleeping bags. Jake is next to Jay, keeping an eye on his breathing. Sunoo and Heeseung are resting against a stack of supplies, their heads lolling to the side in exhaustion.

Climbing onto the roof of the rest stop to take up the watch, you’re greeted by a perfect view of the vast horizon. The landscape stretches endlessly before you, dark and quiet under the blanket of night. From here, you’ll be able to spot a threat from miles away—long before it reaches the camp.

The night air is still, save for the distant rustle of leaves. The barricade feels impenetrable for now, but you know better than to trust in fleeting security. Nothing in this world is permanent. Not safety. Not peace. And certainly not the fragile connections you’ve built with these people.

Your gaze drifts toward the campfire, where the flames flicker weakly in the dark. Jungwon sits there, motionless, the rifle resting across his lap. Sunghoon and Ni-ki are beside him, their quiet conversation dwindling as the fire dies down. But Jungwon hasn’t moved since you started your watch. His posture is tense but controlled, his gaze fixed on the flames.

You wonder what he’s thinking—if he’s still replaying the events of the day in his mind. If he’s questioning the choices he’s made. The burdens he carries are etched into the lines of his face, visible even in the dim moonlight.

A part of you wants to go to him. To say something. To apologise for what you’re about to do. But that would be cruel.

Instead, you sit in silence, letting the minutes crawl by as the night drags on. Every second feels like an eternity, your heartbeat loud in your ears. You keep your gaze on the horizon, but your thoughts keep pulling you back to Jungwon. To the people who’ve come to trust you enough to leave you on watch alone, unaware of what you’re planning.

Slowly, one by one, they start turning in for the night. Sunghoon is the first to get up, quietly disappearing into the convenience store beneath you. Then Ni-ki. But before he goes, he pauses, glancing up at you on the roof. His expression is soft, boyish in a way that reminds you just how young he is.

“Don’t forget to wake me for my shift,” he says quietly.

You don’t think you can trust yourself to speak without your voice betraying you, so you simply nod, managing a small, tight-lipped smile.

Ni-ki lingers for a moment, as though sensing something is off. But when you don’t say anything, he finally turns away, disappearing inside.

And then it’s just Jungwon.

He hasn’t moved. The fire has almost gone out now, leaving only embers glowing faintly in the dark. His silhouette is barely visible from where you sit, but you can still feel the ghost of his presence.

Another hour passes before you sense it—a subtle shift in the air, the faint crunch of footsteps retreating into the convenience store.

You glance toward the campfire. It’s nothing but darkness now, and Jungwon is gone.

You don’t even know how much time has passed when you notice it—the faintest hint of dawn creeping over the horizon. The dark sky softens to a deep grey, the first light of morning stretching across the landscape. 

And you know. It’s time.

You descent from the rooftop quietly, careful not to make a sound. The camp is still, the soft snores of your companions the only indication of life. Your gaze lingers on each of them, committing their faces to memory. 

Your feet move silently across the gravel, carrying you toward the gate. The path ahead feels both endless and final, the weight of your decision pressing heavier with each step. You push open the metal gate just small enough for you to slip through, pausing only to adjust the strap of your bag.

Freedom.

The word feels hollow as you take your first steps beyond the safety of the camp. The road stretches out before you, bathed in the soft glow of dawn. The world is vast and empty, and for the first time in a while, you’re completely alone.

But as you take another step, a voice cuts through the silence.

“Y/N.”

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn around, your heart hammering in your chest. Jungwon stands by the gate, his silhouette outlined against the rising sun. His rifle hangs loosely in his hand, but his posture is tense. His eyes meet yours, dark and unwavering.

“You’re leaving.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement—a quiet, resigned truth.

You swallow hard, your throat tightening painfully. There’s no point denying it. He’s always been able to read you too well.

“I thought you might. After everything… I knew you wouldn’t stay.” His voice is steady, but there’s a roughness to it, like he’s holding something back.

Jungwon takes a step toward you, but you instinctively step back, creating distance between you. The space feels heavier than it should, like the air between you is suffocating.

“Don’t. Don’t make this harder than it already is.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it cracks under the vulnerability of your own emotions. The real shock is in the pain you hear in your own words—pain you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

He stills, his gaze never wavering. There’s anger in his expression, exhaustion and a deep sadness that cuts through you like a knife.

Jungwon’s jaw clenches. “Last night, you said you were going to share the burden with me.” His tone is quiet, almost hollow. “Was that a lie?”

You clench your fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms. “If you already know, why ask?”

A humourless laugh escapes his lips, the sound hollow and bitter. It echoes in the quiet of dawn, amplifying the ache in your chest.

“I had hope that you would stay,” he says simply.

Hope.

Not that damned hope again.

Silence stretches between you, heavy with everything said and unsaid. But you both know there’s nothing either of you can say to change the other’s mind. Nothing Jungwon says will convince you to stay—not if it means standing by while they get hurt, while they die. And nothing you say will convince him to leave—not when he’s already made this place feel like home.

“Why?” His voice breaks the silence, softer now. There’s something in his eyes—exhaustion, yes, but also something more vulnerable. Something broken. “Why are you leaving?”

You don’t answer him. You just stare at the void in his eyes and that’s when you notice the bags under it, the way his shoulders slump under the weight of everything he carries. He hasn’t slept all night. He must’ve been waiting—waiting for you to wake Ni-ki up for his shift. Waiting to prove himself wrong about you.

But you never did.

“So that’s it?” His voice rises slightly, frustration seeping in. “You’re already convinced we’re going to die? You don’t even want to try to fight?” His grip on the rifle tightens, his knuckles turning white. His whole body trembles with barely contained anger.

“For god’s sake, Jay took a fucking bullet for you!”

The words hit you like a slap. You flinch, your mind racing back to that moment. The blood. The panic. The sheer terror.

He’s right. Jay did take a bullet for you.

And you repaid that debt by risking your life at the bus terminal to get him the medicine he needed. Give and take. That’s what survival is, isn’t it? But suddenly, that line of thinking feels wrong. Twisted. Because with that mindset, you could justify anything. You could justify stealing from innocent people, killing whoever stands in your way, and calling it necessity. Just like The Future.

Your chest tightens. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but even to your own ears, it sounds hollow.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Jungwon snaps. His voice is raw, laced with hurt and anger. “If you were going to leave, you should’ve done it that night at the motel. You didn’t have to wait until I started caring about you.”

His next words strike harder than anything else.

“What makes you different from the people who walked away from you?” 

The question hangs in the air, cutting through you like a knife to the gut.

What makes you different from the people who left you behind? 

Everything.

Because those people didn’t care about you when they chose to leave. They didn’t hesitate when they abandoned the community building. And you didn’t care about them when you barricaded yourself in that corner to survive.

But here? Here, you care.

And walking away makes you a monster.

Jungwon steps closer, but this time you’re rooted to the spot. His eyes are searching yours, almost pleading. “You don’t feel anything at all?” His voice trembles, and it shatters you to see him like this—vulnerable and exposed in a way you’ve never seen before. 

“Y/N. Say something. Don’t just stand there—”

“You think it’s easy?” Your voice cracks, rising with anger you didn’t even realise you were holding in. “You think it’s easy choosing to leave you? To leave them?”

Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision but you don’t bother wiping them away.

“I wanted to leave that night at the motel,” you continue, your voice trembling. “Hell, I should’ve left. But that would’ve meant leaving all of you to die. I thought I could stay long enough to help, long enough for you to let your guard down so I could slip away. I never meant for it to come this far. I never meant to care.”

“You’re leaving all of us to die now. What’s the difference?” he asks quietly, though you can hear the spite in his words.

“Because I don’t want to stay here,” you choke out. “If you’ve already decided to settle down, there’s nothing I can do to change that. But I will not let myself stay here and watch the worst things imaginable happen to any of you.”

Your voice breaks, the tears flowing freely now. “At least out there, I can tell myself you’re still alive. That maybe I was wrong to think this place is a trap.”

Jungwon takes a shaky breath, his frustration cracking through the cracks in his composure. “Then stay,” he says quietly. “Stay and see for yourself. Stay and make sure you know damn well we’re alive. Leaving won’t keep us safe, Y/N.”

“Well, staying won’t keep you alive either!”

The words come out louder than you intended, your voice breaking as you sob. “I can’t lose any of you. You already saw the state I was in when Jay almost died. Sooner or later I will have to experience that kind of grief—if I have to lose you—I don’t think I’ll survive it.”

He scoffs, and you wince at the evident annoyance. "Back then, you barely knew any of us, and you were willing to sacrifice yourself to save our lives. Now that you do know us, you want to leave because you’re too afraid to see us die?" His voice trembles, rising with frustration. "You’re so full of shit, you know that?"

The words hang in the air, harsher than either of you expected. You see it in his face—the way his eyes widen slightly, the way his lips press together, as if trying to pull the words back. He hadn’t meant to say it, at least not like that. But it’s out there now, and there’s no taking it back.

Jungwon’s expression softens almost immediately, the anger melting into something quieter, something more painful. His shoulders sag, and you can see the weight of everything pressing down on him, heavier than ever. When he speaks again, his voice is low, barely above a whisper, broken by the raw emotion behind it.

“I—I didn’t mean it that way—”

“No.” You cut him off, shaking your head. “You’re right.” Your voice trembles, the truth unraveling inside you, spilling out in a rush you can no longer control. “I’m a coward. I’d rather walk away than experience that loss.”

Jungwon flinches at your words, his expression crumpling as though he’s trying to keep his composure, but failing. His gaze locks onto yours, and in that moment, all the walls he’s built to keep himself steady come crashing down.

“And it’s not a loss to leave us? To leave me?” His voice cracks as he takes a step closer, his eyes dark and glassy with unshed tears. There’s no anger left in him now—just pain. Raw, unfiltered pain. 

You can barely breathe past the lump in your throat, your chest tightening with each second of silence that passes. You blink rapidly, trying to push back the tears threatening to fall, but it’s no use. The emotions you’ve tried to bury rise to the surface, clawing their way out. 

Jungwon’s hand reaches out, hovering just beside your face. He’s waiting for you to lean in first, to close the distance, to give him a sign that you won’t leave. His fingers tremble slightly, so close that you can feel the faint warmth of his palm.

But you don’t move.

“You’re the greatest loss, Jungwon.”

Your voice is so quiet, you almost don’t hear yourself say it. The words slip out like a confession you’ve kept buried for too long. And for a moment, everything is still. Silent.

Jungwon’s eyes widen slightly, as though he’s just realised the weight of what you’ve said. His lips part, like he’s about to say something—maybe to beg you to stay, maybe to tell you he feels the same—but you don’t let him.

You don’t give yourself the chance to change your mind.

You step back, his hand falling limply to his side, and the space between you feels insurmountable. You take another step back, then another.

And this time, when you turn your back on him, you don’t look back. Even with tears streaming down your face, even as your chest aches with the implication of everything you’re leaving behind, you force yourself to keep walking.

Because you know that if you see the look on his face—if you see the heartbreak in his eyes—you won’t be able to walk away.

But even now, as you tell yourself it’s better this way, there’s a small, nagging voice in the back of your mind. A whisper that wonders if isolation is really strength or just another form of self-destruction.

You have no idea how long you’ve been walking. Your thoughts swirl chaotically, clouded by the argument with Jungwon that still plays in your mind like a broken record. The sun hangs high in the sky now, its rays cutting through the morning mist as the chirping of birds fills the air—a hauntingly normal sound in a world that’s anything but.

When you turned your back on him and walked away, you hadn’t planned on where to go. You’d just moved, one foot in front of the other, mindlessly pushing forward like one of the undead you’ve fought so hard to avoid. 

All you know is you have to keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t let yourself get tied down by people, places, or promises.

Before you even realise it, the bus terminal comes into view on the horizon. That bus terminal. The one where everything nearly ended for you. Where Jungwon saved your life.

The memory threatens to surface, but you shake your head sharply, forcing it down. No. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of them. You left them for a reason.

And yet, here you are, heading back toward the city. Back toward the very place you tried so hard to claw your way out of when the outbreak first began. It’s almost laughable, the irony of it. Back then, you were desperate to escape, fleeing the chaos and death that seemed to choke every street. But now? Now you’re willingly going back.

It’s not because the city has become safer—it hasn’t. The streets are likely still teeming with the dead, and the stench of decay probably still clings to the air like a curse. Survivors rarely venture in, the danger too great for most to justify. That makes it a kind of sanctuary in its own twisted way.

You don’t know when it happened—when avoiding the living became more crucial than avoiding the dead. But after everything you’ve been through, after everything that went down with the group, you realise now that some people are better off left alone. Like you.

It’s easier this way. In the city, you don’t have to constantly look over your shoulder for someone else’s sake. Every action, every decision you make will only affect you. There’s no group to protect, no lives depending on your choices, no shared weight to carry. You can move freely, without the suffocating burden of responsibility pressing down on your chest.

As you approach the outskirts of the bus terminal, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. 

What lies ahead makes your stomach churn, the sight so incomprehensible it feels like your mind is playing tricks on you. A horde—massive, grotesque, suffocating in its sheer number—fills the gaps between rusting cars and crumbling buses, their guttural moans and the wet shuffling of decayed limbs filling the stagnant air. The commotion from last night must’ve drawn them here. 

No, something is off.

Your first instinct is to duck, to press yourself against the side of a nearby car, but curiosity keeps your eyes locked on the scene. The horde’s movements are... strange. It’s not just the usual shambling chaos of the dead, not the erratic, aimless wandering you’re used to. It’s too... coordinated. Sections of the group lurch forward in unison, turning together as though responding to some unseen signal.

And then you see them—figures standing atop the cars, scattered like silent sentinels amidst the chaos. Their heads swivel, scanning the area, their posture betraying an awareness the undead don’t have. 

From your hiding spot, you squint, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. Their bodies are draped in something you can’t quite make out at this distance—tattered rags, maybe? No. Your stomach twists as you squint through the haze. It’s flesh. Patches of rotting skin and gore strapped to their bodies, like grotesque armour. Their faces are hollowed out, decayed. But their eyes… it’s clear. Just like the zombie you spotted in the clearing that day. The one that stood eerily still, watching, waiting.

Then one moves. Not with the jerky, mindless motion of the dead, but with purpose. Deliberate. Intentional. Your breath catches in your throat as the realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

They’re… human? But the dead is not going after them. How is that possible?

You watch as one of the figures on a car stomp its foot onto the roof. The horde responds almost immediately, a section of the undead turning in unison, moving as if corralled toward a tighter group of vehicles. Another figure lets out a whistle, low and sharp. The sound sends a ripple through the horde. The zombies lurch toward the source, shuffling like sheep to a shepherd’s call.

It’s sickeningly methodical. Choreographed chaos.

Your mind races as you try to process the scene. These people—whoever and whatever they are—they’ve figured out how to control the dead, how to manipulate them like tools.

Then, you spot another one of them on the roof of the terminal, the one you and Jungwon came from. He’s wearing the same decayed face but his stance is confident, almost arrogant, as he surveys the horde below. 

“Friends!” he calls, his voice echoing above the chaos, carrying an authority that you’ve never heard before in this ruined world. The horde reacts immediately, pushing forward as if his words alone are a leash pulling them to heel. They claw at the walls of the building, their rotting fingers scraping against the brick, desperate and unrelenting.

Your heart hammers in your chest, the sound almost deafening in your ears. Friends? The word twists in your mind, warping into something grotesque. He’s speaking to the dead like they’re equals, like they’re allies in some twisted cause.

“We’re not far now,” he continues, his voice filled with a fervour that makes your stomach churn. The horde responds again, the shuffling and groaning growing louder, almost like a chant. “Tonight, they’ll pay for what they’ve done!”

Your breath catches, and your grip on your bag tightens. They? Who’s they?

The man raises his arms, the action reminding you of a preacher before his congregation, a maestro before his orchestra, and the dead press closer to the building, their movements frenzied in response to him.

“They won’t even know what hit them!” His voice reverberates, filled with rage and something else—something almost gleeful. It’s the sound of someone relishing the thought of destruction, of revenge.

Your gaze darts to the figures on the cars. At first glance, they seem indifferent, but then they raise their fists in unison, a silent cheer. A rallying cry without words, their collective movements eerily synchronised, like a grotesque sermon preached to the dead.

The noise of the horde grows, a crescendo of chaos that grates against your nerves. You can’t tear your eyes away from the man on the roof as he reaches back, his movements slow and precise, untying something from the back of his head.

Your breath catches as he pulls it forward, letting it swing for a moment in the wind. It’s a mask—thin, gnarled, stitched together from the decayed skin of the dead. The detail makes your stomach churn: patches of dried flesh, sinew hanging loose, and hollowed-out eye sockets that must have once belonged to something that used to breathe. When he looks up again, your blood runs cold.

It’s him. The guy Jay went after.

Your stomach flips violently as the pieces snap together in your mind. The zombie from the clearing—that eerily still, haunting figure that locked eyes with you—it wasn’t a zombie. It was him.

Your gaze jerks back to the other figures standing on the cars, to the masks they wear, and the realisation makes your skin crawl. They’re all wearing the dead. Covering themselves in the stench of decay to mask their scent, blending seamlessly with the horde. Walking among them. Herding them like livestock.

The realisation sends a cold shiver racing down your spine, leaving your limbs heavy and unresponsive. The world around you feels like it’s tilting, the ground shifting beneath your feet as you struggle to process the horror in front of you. Your mind races, frantically revisiting every moment that didn’t make sense before: the horde that ambushed you in the city, the back door at the motel, the perfectly timed attack at the camp. It was them. It’s always been them.

The bile rises in your throat, burning and bitter, but you force it down, swallowing hard as you cling to the only thing you can do right now—stay quiet. Your breath comes shallow, the sound of your pounding heartbeat drowning out the chaos around you. 

Your hand trembles as you steady yourself against the car, the metal cool under your palm. You’re not sure how long you can stay here without being spotted, but one thing is clear: these people are dangerous. More dangerous than the dead, more dangerous than any survivor you’ve encountered.

Every instinct screams at you to run, to put as much distance between yourself and this nightmare as possible. But you can’t.

They’re moving the horde. 

Towards you. Towards Jungwon. Towards all of them.

Without realising, your legs move on their own, instinct taking over as you bolt back in the direction you came from. It doesn’t matter that it took you nearly an hour to walk here; you’re running now, faster than you thought your body could manage. 

Your mind races just as fast as your feet. The whole thing feels like some cruel cosmic joke. 

And now, with every step closer to that rest stop, you feel the pull of something you thought you’d severed. It’s not just the danger that’s pushing you back—it’s them. 

Jungwon, with his quiet, unshakable strength that masks the unbearable weight he carries. Jay, who bled for you without hesitation. Ni-ki, who never stopped believing in the group’s survival. Sunoo, Jake, Heeseung, Sunghoon—they’re more than just people you met along the way. They’re the only thing tethering you to this broken, crumbling world.

And that’s exactly why you left.

You left because you couldn’t stand the thought of watching them die. Not Jungwon. Not any of them. Because you know what would happen if they did. The rage would consume you, boiling over until it scorched everything in its path. The grief would hollow you out, leaving nothing but an echo of who you used to be. You’d do things you promised yourself you’d never do, and the world would win. It would take you, just like it’s taken so many others. You’d become a stranger to yourself.

But the irony isn’t lost on you now. You left because you didn’t want to watch them die. You told yourself it was about survival—your survival. You couldn’t stay and risk being reduced to ashes by grief and rage.

And yet here you are, sprinting back to possibly watch them die. Back into the chaos. Into the danger. Into the pain.

You don’t want to go back. You do. You don’t. The contradictions whirl in your mind like a storm, a tempest of fear, anger, and regret. Every step forward feels like a step closer to doom. But every thought of turning back feels like a betrayal of something you can’t quite name.

Back then, it was just an invisible threat—a vague, looming shadow of danger that hung over you like a storm cloud. You couldn’t see it, couldn’t touch it, you don’t know for sure, you could only feel it. That gnawing dread, the constant whispers of worst-case scenarios. And you’d told yourself that leaving was the only way to spare yourself the pain of the inevitable.

Or maybe they wouldn’t die at all. Maybe you were just being paranoid. Maybe you were wrong about that place. Maybe they’d prove you wrong by thriving, by turning it into the refuge they so desperately wanted it to be. You told yourself all of that to justify the decision to walk away, to convince yourself it was the right thing to do.

But even that was just another lie. Another twisted attempt to deny what you really felt. And despite your best efforts to shut it out, to drown it in logic and practicality, you realise now—that thought in itself, that denial, that ignorance—is hope.

Hope that leaving would somehow shield you from the pain of watching them fall apart.

Hope that they wouldn’t die, that you were just being overly cautious, overly cynical.

Hope that you were wrong about that place, that it wasn’t a death trap waiting to claim them all.

And maybe that’s why you hate the whole idea of hope.

Hope, in all its naive, fragile glory, has been the cruelest trick the world ever played on you. It’s a poison wrapped in pretty words and good intentions. You’ve told yourself time and time again that hope is what gets people killed. It makes you reckless. Makes you believe in things that don’t exist. Hope makes you stay when you should run, makes you trust when you shouldn’t, makes you care when you can’t afford to. And the worst part? Hope doesn’t stop the bad things from happening. It doesn’t save you from loss, from grief, from pain. It just makes the fall hurt that much more when it all comes crashing down.

And now, running back down this highway with every nerve in your body screaming at you to hurry, you feel the weight of it pressing down on you.

You didn’t leave because you thought they’d be fine. You didn’t leave because you believed they’d prove you wrong.

You left because you hoped. In your own twisted way.

But now? Now, knowing what you know, hope feels like a cruel joke. There can’t be hope. Not anymore. Because you know the truth. You’ve seen it with your own eyes.

The people on the cars, the masks of flesh, the herded horde—it’s all proof that this world doesn’t care about hope. It doesn’t care about survival. It only cares about death, about how it can twist and shape and devour until there’s nothing left. 

They’re not fine. They won’t thrive. They won’t prove you wrong. You can’t even tell yourself that you’re overthinking it, that you’re paranoid, that it’s all in your head. Ignorance is no longer bliss because you know. It’s not just some superficial, nebulous fear anymore. It’s real, and it’s heading straight for Jungwon and the others, and you’re the only one who knows. 

They don’t know what’s coming. Jungwon doesn’t know. The group doesn’t know. And if you don’t make it back in time—

The thought hits you like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath out of you. You trip over a crack in the asphalt, your body hitting the ground hard, the impact jarring your entire frame. 

For a moment, you’re dazed, your palms scraped and bleeding against the ground. But the sound of your ragged breathing snaps you back to reality. There’s no time to stop. No time to let the pain sink in. You scramble to your feet, dirt clinging to your hands and knees, and keep running.

You don’t even know how long you’ve been running. All you know is the tightening in your chest, the fire in your lungs, and the unrelenting truth clawing at the back of your mind.

They’re actually going to die.

That knowledge burns, searing away any last shred of hope you might have clung to.

And maybe that’s why you hate hope so much. Because you wanted it to be real. You wanted to believe, even if it was just for a moment, that they could have a chance. But this world doesn’t allow for chances. It doesn’t allow for happy endings. It only allows for survival—and only for those willing to tear apart everything and everyone in their way.

Your pace slows as the rest stop comes into view in the distance, the barricade just barely visible against the horizon. Your heart twists at the sight of it. It looks the same as when you left, quiet and still, like it’s waiting for something to happen.

You can’t stop the bitterness from rising in your chest as you picture Jungwon’s face when you walked away. The disappointment, the anger, the heartbreak—it’s burned into your memory like a wound that refuses to heal. He probably thought you were giving up on them, giving up on him. And maybe, in a way, he was right. Because you couldn’t bring yourself to watch them cling to hope like a noose tightening around their necks

And yet, here you are, running back. Not because you believe you can save them. Not because you think there’s still a chance. But because you can’t bear to let the world prove you right. Not like this. Not when the price of being right is their lives.

You hate hope. You hate what it does to people. But what you hate even more is the thought of standing here, doing nothing, and watching it die. Not just them—you. 

Because saving them is saving yourself.

You realise that now, with every step you take. You can’t separate the two. You can’t convince yourself that walking away from them doesn’t mean walking away from who you are, from the part of you that still has a purpose.

The choice isn’t about hope or survival anymore; it’s about what you’re willing to lose in the process.

If you’re going to lose yourself, let it be in trying. Let it be in throwing everything you have into saving them, even if it breaks you in the process. Let it be because you cared enough to fight.

Because the alternative—the guilt, the regret of turning your back and knowing you could have done something—would be far worse. It would eat away at you. Hollowing you out in a way you’d never recover from.

So if saving them means letting the world take the last piece of you, then so be it. If the cost of trying is everything, you’ll pay it. At least this way, when you lose yourself, it’ll be with a purpose. At least it won’t be for nothing.

And if it comes down to it, if the fight doesn’t go the way you hope, you just pray you won’t live long enough to witness the fallout. You hope the world will be merciful enough to take you before it forces you to watch it take them.

You’re close now, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you force your legs to keep moving. The thought of Jungwon and the others pushes you forward, fuels your determination. You can’t let them be caught off guard. You can’t let them die.

The gates swing open before you can even catch your breath to announce your presence. Figures. They probably saw you miles before you even reached the rest stop, perched from their vantage points or perhaps by sheer habit of being on guard.

It’s Sunoo who greets you at the gate, his face lighting up when he spots you. “Y/N! Back already?” he asks, his tone casual, cheerful even. Like you’ve just returned from a harmless errand rather than the most tumultuous hours of your life.

Back already. The words settle uneasily in your chest as you step through the barricade. You glance at him, noticing the messy state of his hair, sticking up in odd angles, and the faint marks of sleep still etched onto his face. He doesn’t know. None of them know.

You scan the area, catching sight of the others. Sunghoon is by the fire, stretching as if he’s just woken up. Heeseung’s leaning against a pillar, rubbing the back of his neck. Even Ni-ki, who usually has a sharp, alert edge to him, is sitting cross-legged in the back of the van, yawning into his hand.

They don’t know you almost left for good. They have no idea that you had stood on the edge of this very decision, ready to walk away from all of this—from them.

Your chest tightens as you realise how quickly things could have gone another way. If it weren’t for what you saw back at the terminal, you’d be gone right now, miles away from this place, convincing yourself that this is how it had to be. And yet, here you are, standing in the midst of them, and not a single one knows how close you were to never coming back.

And then you see him.

Jungwon is leaning against the wall near the van, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze locks onto yours the moment you step into the camp, his expression unreadable. There’s no accusation in his eyes, no anger, no “I told you so.” He just looks at you, and you know.

He didn’t tell them.

Whatever passed between you before you left—whatever anger, whatever hurt—it’s gone now, buried under something heavier. Something you can’t quite name.

Your breath hitches as you hold his gaze, a silent exchange passing between the two of you. There’s no point in asking why he kept it to himself. You know why. He’s protecting you, just like he always does, even when you don’t deserve it.

Sunoo, oblivious to the weight of the moment, grins at you and gestures toward the rest of the group. “We figured you were off hunting or something, but damn, you’ve been gone for three hours. Did you get anything?”

Three hours. That’s all it’s been. You glance down at your hands, still clutching the strap of your bag like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. It felt like so much longer. Like a lifetime has passed since you last stood here.

You glance back at Jungwon, who hasn’t taken his eyes off you. And in that moment, you understand something you didn’t before. He didn’t just protect your secret because it was the right thing to do. He did it because he knows you. Knows how close you were to walking away. Knows how much you’ve been wrestling with the weight of staying. And somehow, despite all of that, he’s still here, waiting for you.

“Well, are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to tell us what you found?” Sunoo’s voice jolts you out of your thoughts, and you force a smile, your mind already racing with how you’re going to explain what’s coming.

Because they may not know that you almost left. But they’re about to find out what you came back for.

You take a deep breath, willing your trembling hands to steady as you adjust the strap of your bag. Sunoo is looking at you expectantly, his cheerful demeanour a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. The others are starting to notice now—Heeseung raises an eyebrow, Sunghoon straightens his posture, and Jake steps closer, his gaze narrowing slightly in concern.

“I… didn’t go hunting,” you begin, your voice low but steady. You glance around the group, meeting their eyes one by one before landing back on Jungwon. His expression remains unreadable, though you catch the slightest twitch of his jaw. “I went back to the bus terminal.”

The ripple of confusion is immediate.

“What?” Jake’s voice cuts through the silence, his brow furrowed. “Why the hell would you go back there?”

“I had to check something,” you say, your words rushing out faster than you intended. “Something didn’t sit right with me about that place, about what happened. So I went back to see if—” You pause, your throat tightening as the images flash through your mind again: the horde, the people, the masks.

“If what?” Heeseung prompts, his voice calm but edged with concern.

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you force yourself to say it. “There’s a horde at the terminal.”

“A horde?” Sunghoon echoes, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Yes,” you say firmly, your eyes scanning the group to make sure they’re listening. “A massive one. Bigger than anything we’ve seen before. But that’s not the worst part.” You take another breath, steeling yourself. “There are people. People controlling it.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“People?” Sunoo’s face twists in confusion, his earlier cheer replaced with unease. “What do you mean, controlling it?”

“They’re… wearing the dead,” you say, your stomach churning at the memory. “Masks. Clothes. Covering themselves in the scent of decay to blend in. They’re herding the zombies like livestock. I saw them. They’re leading the horde.”

Silence. The kind that feels too loud, too sharp.

“That’s not possible,” Jake finally says, his tone disbelieving. “No one can control the dead.”

“I’m telling you, I saw it with my own eyes!” you snap, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “They’re moving the horde, and they’re coming this way. They’re coming for us.”

Heeseung’s expression darkens, and he exchanges a look with Sunghoon. “How do you know they’re coming here?”

You hesitate, your gaze flicking to Jungwon. He’s still silent, his eyes locked on yours, waiting.

“Because he was there—the guy that Jay went after,” you admit, your voice dropping. “I saw him. Seems like he’s the one in charge too. They’re planning to attack tonight. They know you’re here.”

The weight of your words sinks in, rippling through the group like a shockwave. The air shifts, heavy with dread, the fragile sense of safety they tried to hold onto cracking under the pressure. Sunoo looks pale, his cheerful energy drained away as he stares at you like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Jake’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing with determination, though the tension in his shoulders betrays the fear he’s trying to suppress. Ni-ki, who’s just stepped out of the van, freezes mid-step, his expression hardening into one of unease.

Then, movement from the convenience store catches your attention. You glance over, your breath hitching when you see Jay standing in the doorway. Relief washes over you at the sight of him upright, alive, looking much better than the last time you saw him. He’s out of bed—too soon, really—but still, he’s here. Thank god.

But then the relief wanes, replaced by a twinge of worry. The pain in his posture is evident in the way he leans slightly against the doorframe, his body curling in on itself as though every breath takes effort. His complexion is pale, almost ghostly, the lack of colour suggesting someone still in convalescence, still vulnerable. Yet he’s standing there, bearing witness to everything.

And there’s something else. A look on his face that tugs uncomfortably at your chest—regret. It’s there in the tight line of his mouth, in the way his gaze flickers between you and the others. He must’ve heard what you said about the guy. About how he’s still alive. About how he’s leading this horde straight to them.

The regret in his expression cuts deeper than any words could. It’s not regret for himself, not for the pain he’s in or the bullet wound that’s barely begun to heal. It’s regret for what he didn’t finish. For the job he couldn’t complete. And now, because of that, the people he cares about are going to suffer the consequences.

Jay’s the type to bear the blame even when it’s not entirely his to bear. And now, standing there, he looks like he’s drowning in it, his regret and guilt weighing him down like a stone tied to his chest.

“What do we do?” Sunoo’s voice is small, almost childlike. It trembles with fear, breaking the heavy silence that’s gripped the group since your return. His wide eyes dart from person to person, searching for reassurance that none of you can offer.

“We leave,” you say firmly, your gaze locking onto Jungwon’s. The words leave your mouth with more force than you intended, your desperation bleeding into every syllable. “We pack up and leave now, before it’s too late.”

But Jungwon doesn’t respond. His dark eyes remain fixed on yours, unreadable, like he’s searching for something he’s not sure he’ll find.

“Jungwon,” you press, your voice rising slightly as the urgency claws at your chest. “You know we can’t stay. Not with what’s coming.”

His jaw tightens, his posture stiffening as the group watches the two of you with baited breath. You can feel the tension rolling off him, coiling tighter with every passing second. For a moment, you think he’s going to argue. But then he speaks, his voice low and measured. “If we leave now, they’ll follow us. A moving group is easier to track. We need to think this through.”

“Think this through?” you echo, incredulous. The disbelief cuts through your voice, sharp and biting. “There’s nothing to think through. They’re coming, Jungwon. If we stay here, we’re sitting ducks.”

“And if we leave, we’re exposed,” he counters without missing a beat, his calmness only fuelling your frustration. “We don’t even know if we’d make it out of the area before they catch up to us. We need a plan.”

The group falls silent again, their eyes darting between the two of you like they’re caught in the middle of a battlefield with no way to escape. The weight of their stares presses down on you, amplifying the tension already thrumming in your veins.

Your chest heaves as you search for the right words to push through his resolve. But before you can, Jay speaks, cutting through the thick air like a blade. His voice is quiet but firm, carrying a gravity that makes everyone turn toward him. “He’s not going to stop, you know.”

You snap your head toward him, your breath hitching at the resignation in his tone. His gaze locks onto yours, and in that moment, you understand what he’s trying to say.

“He’ll find us,” Jay continues, his voice steady despite the obvious pain he’s in. “And he’ll keep finding us until he gets what he’s looking for.”

"If you're suggesting we leave without you, forget it. We—"

“The only choice is to stay and fight. To settle it once and for all.” Jay’s eyes flicker to Jungwon, then to the rest of the group, his words slicing through the growing sense of dread.

The silence that follows is deafening. You can feel the ripple of fear that passes through the group, the unspoken understanding of what staying to fight would mean. It’s not just survival anymore. It’s war. And war always demands sacrifice.

Jungwon’s gaze shifts to you again, his expression unreadable but weighted with expectation. He’s waiting for you to argue, to push back. But you don’t. Because deep down, you know Jay’s right. This isn’t just some random attack. It’s a personal vendetta. 

Even if you manage to convince them to leave, to escape the immediate threat, it won’t guarantee their safety. These people don’t just want resources or a fight. They want vengeance. They want blood. And they won’t stop until they have it. Running will only delay the inevitable. 

You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. “If we stay,” you finally manage, your voice trembling slightly, “we need to be ready. Completely ready.”

Jungwon nods once, the tiniest flicker of approval crossing his face before it’s gone again. He turns to the group, his voice steady and commanding as he begins issuing instructions. “Ni-ki, Jake—check the barricades. Reinforce every weak spot you find. Sunghoon—bring out all the guns and ammos from the backroom. Sunoo—gather anything we can use to secure the perimeter. I saw some extra rows of barb wires in the basement earlier. Heeseung and I will map out entry points and blind spots. Jay, you stay inside.”

Then Jungwon turns to you.

You wait, holding your breath, anticipating the order he’ll give you. But it doesn’t come. Instead, his gaze lingers on you for a fleeting second before he looks away, addressing the others again. He’s leaving you out of it—deliberately. The realisation hits you harder than it should.

At first, you think he’s still angry, that the tension from your earlier argument hasn’t fully dissipated. But as you study his face, the way his jaw is set but his eyes avoid yours, you see the truth. He’s not mad at you.

He’s giving you an out. He’s leaving the option open—the option to walk away, still.

The group disperses quickly, each person moving with purpose as they carry out their assigned tasks. The sound of hurried footsteps and shifting supplies fills the air, but you remain rooted to the spot. You feel like a ghost, watching them prepare for a battle you’d been so desperate to avoid. A battle you tried to flee from. A battle you brought right down on them.

You glance back at Jungwon. He’s already bent over Heeseung’s map, pointing at something with a furrowed brow. His posture is tense, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap. Even from here, you can see the weight on his shoulders, the burden he carries not just as their leader but as someone who cares too much.

Your chest tightens. You can’t tell if it’s guilt or anger—or maybe something messier than both.

He’s leaving the choice to you because he knows you. He knows you’d hate being told to stay, that forcing you would only drive you further away. But this, this silent permission to go—it feels worse. It feels like he’s already preparing himself for your absence. Like he’s already accepted that you might leave.

You tear your gaze away, your fists clenching at your sides. He’s giving you what you wanted. The freedom to walk away without confrontation. The chance to escape without tying yourself to their fate.

So why does it feel so wrong?

Just then, Jay approaches, his steps slower than usual, but his presence steady. “You look like shit,” he says flatly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“Could say the same thing about you, Jay,” you shoot back without thinking, the words slipping out with a touch of dry humour. Your chest tightens as you’re brought back to the moment on the roadside—the weight of his voice when he confronted you, the guilt that still lingers in your bones. You wonder if he knows just how close you came to leaving.

Jay tilts his head, studying you in that unnervingly perceptive way he has. “Come on,” he says finally, nodding toward the convenience store. “We can keep watch together on the roof.”

Your brow furrows. “Jungwon told you to stay inside.”

“Inside and on top, same thing,” Jay replies, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “At least on the roof, I get to feel somewhat useful.” He clicks his tongue, and there’s a stubborn edge to his tone that you know all too well.

“Jay,” you start, but he cuts you off, his gaze narrowing.

“Don’t start. I know my limits better than anyone, and sitting around waiting to feel like dead weight isn’t doing me any favours.” His voice is sharper now, but not angry. Just resolute. “You can watch my back if you’re so worried.”

You let out a quiet sigh, glancing toward the roof. He’s not wrong—at least up there, he’s out of harm’s way but still contributing. And truthfully, part of you is relieved for the company. You nod reluctantly. “Fine. But you’re not pulling anything heroic. Got it?”

Jay grins faintly, though the usual arrogance in his expression is muted. “I’ll leave the heroics to you this time.” His voice softens as he adds, “Come on, let’s go.”

The scent of the morning feels sharper now, almost intrusive, carried by the cool breeze that brushes over your face as you and Jay sit cross-legged on the roof. The faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds fill the silence between you. Both of you lean back against the convenience store sign, the metal cool against your shoulders.

“How’s recovery been?” you ask, your voice quiet as your gaze stays fixed on the horizon stretching endlessly past the rest stop.

“Good,” Jay replies, his tone nonchalant. “Thanks to the medicine you and Jungwon brought back. And, well, Jake, obviously.”

“So, it doesn’t hurt anymore?” you ask, glancing at him briefly, searching his face for any hint of dishonesty.

Jay lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? It was only two days ago. Of course, it still hurts like shit.”

A wave of guilt crashes over you, sharp and unrelenting. Of course, it hurts. He’s carrying the pain for both of you—for a bullet that was meant for you. Your chest tightens, and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out.

“I’m sorry.”

Jay turns to you, his brow furrowing slightly. “I told you, it’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fine, Jay,” you cut him off, your voice trembling with emotion. “You really could’ve died.”

“Yeah, if you were a little bit taller.” His lips twitch, and you can see him trying to hold it back. But it doesn’t last long before he bursts out laughing—a bright, unrestrained sound that feels almost alien in this grim world. The laughter cuts short, though, as he winces and curls in on himself, the pain from his wound quickly bringing him back to reality.

Your instinct is to reach out, but you hesitate, your hand hovering in the air before dropping back to your lap. “See? It’s not fine,” you mutter, your voice softer now.

Jay breathes through the pain, shaking his head with a faint grin still lingering on his face. “Worth it. That reaction was worth it.”

You stare at him for a moment, incredulous. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” Jay shoots back, his grin lingering, though the weariness in his voice cuts through the lightness. Then his expression shifts, something sharper and more knowing in his eyes. 

“This morning, you left, didn’t you?”

You freeze, the words hitting like a jolt to your chest. Of course you can count on Jay to call you out on your contrarian shit.  

You don’t answer right away, but the silence is all the confirmation he needs. “Yeah, I figured when I woke up and saw Jungwon sitting on the roof. Legs dangling over the edge, just staring at the horizon. Like he was waiting for something. Guess that something was you.”

Your chest tightens, and you turn your gaze back to the horizon. You want to say something, to deny it, but what’s the point? He already knows the truth.

“Did he say anything?” you ask cautiously, your voice quieter now. “Jungwon, I mean.”

Jay’s eyes flick to you, studying your face for a moment before he answers. “Not much. He’s not really the type to spill his guts, you know that.” He pauses, his gaze turning distant, like he’s replaying the memory in his mind. 

Jay continues, his tone lighter, but there’s an edge to it. “For what it’s worth, he didn’t look angry. Just… resigned, I guess. Like he already knew what you were going to do before you did.”

You exhale shakily, your fingers tightening around itself. “I didn’t mean to—” you start, but Jay cuts you off.

“I know,” he says, his voice softer now. “And so does he. Doesn’t mean it didn’t mess with him, though.”

His words land heavier than you expect, and you nod, swallowing hard as the guilt settles deeper into your chest. It’s a hollow ache, twisting and gnawing, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything else. The silence between you stretches thin, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge of collapsing into the depths of your own self-loathing.

Jay, ever the mind reader, speaks up before you spiral. “But that just means he truly cares about you. That you bring him comfort and hope in a world that’s devoid of it.”

Hope. That word feels like an accusation, like it doesn’t belong anywhere near you.

"Why?” you whisper, barely able to hear your own voice. “Why does he care about me? I met you all barely over a week ago.”

“What about you?” he counters. “Why do you care?”

His question takes you off guard, echoing in your mind like a challenge. Why do you care? You left to avoid caring, to avoid the inevitability of their deaths, to avoid watching the world tear them away from you like it’s done to so many before. Yet, here you are, sitting on this roof, your chest tightening with every word, every thought.

You glance at Jay, his face calm but expectant, the faint lines of pain around his mouth betraying the effort it takes for him to even sit upright. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t have to. The weight of his question lingers in the air, demanding an answer you’re not ready to give.

“I shouldn’t care,” you say finally, the words falling flat. They feel like a shield, something to protect yourself from what you’re afraid to admit. “It’d be easier if I didn’t.”

Jay lets out a soft laugh, though it’s tinged with sadness. “Yeah, it would be. But that’s not who you are, is it?”

You don’t respond. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right. You hate that you care, that you couldn’t stop yourself from coming back, from throwing yourself into the fire again and again. You hate that their survival has somehow become entwined with your own, that you can’t even think about saving yourself without thinking about saving them.

Jay shifts slightly, wincing as he adjusts his position. “You care because you see it, don’t you?” he continues, his voice quiet now, almost gentle. “What we have here. It’s not perfect—it’s messy and dangerous, and it might not last. But it’s something. And for some reason, you want to protect that.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I came back because I knew what was coming,” you argue, more to yourself than to him. “Because if I didn’t warn you, you’d all be dead by midnight. That’s it. That’s the only reason.”

Jay tilts his head, studying you with an expression that feels far too knowing. “Sure,” he says, his tone neutral. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You glare at him, but there’s no real anger behind it. Just exhaustion, and maybe a little bit of fear. Because you know he’s right. You look away, your gaze drifting back to the horizon. The beauty of it feels almost mocking, a cruel reminder of what you’re all trying to hold onto in a world determined to take it away.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to keep going when everything feels so... fragile. Like it could all fall apart any second.”

Jay’s expression softens, and for a moment, he looks older, wearier. “None of us do,” he says simply. “We’re all just figuring it out as we go. Even Jungwon. But I guess he tries to hide that from the rest of us.”

“Why?” you ask, finally turning to look at him. “Why does he feel like he has to hide it?”

Jay leans back further against the convenience store sign, his expression heavy with something close to regret. “When things fell apart, we were all with him at his new university. We were stuck there—trapped with him. And Jungwon...” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think he blames himself for that. Like it was his fault we were there instead of safe at home with our families when it all started.”

You’re reminded of your first real conversation with Jungwon, the way he spoke about the group as if their survival was entirely his responsibility. He hadn’t said it outright, but now, hearing it from Jay, it all makes sense. The guilt he carries, the sleepless nights, the endless drive to keep moving forward—it’s all because of them. Because of what he believes he owes them.

“He really thinks it’s his fault?” you murmur, half to yourself.

Jay nods, his gaze distant. “Yeah. But it’s not. We wanted to be there. We wanted to stay. Hell, we probably made it harder for him by refusing to leave. And now, we’re his reason to keep going.” He lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s hollow, lacking any real humour. 

You don’t say anything, letting Jay continue. You can tell he’s speaking from a place that’s deeper than his usual wit, pulling from a well of memories he rarely lets anyone see.

“Somewhere along the way, we just… started relying on him,” Jay says. “On his reassurance, his direction. It wasn’t even intentional. It just… happened. Even someone like me, who hates showing weakness—I faltered. When it happened. When she died.” His voice cracks slightly, and he swallows hard before continuing. “And I would go to him, night after night, just so I can fall asleep. Because his presence brought me that comfort. That feeling that everything might be okay, even when I knew it wouldn’t be.”

Jay’s gaze flicks to you, his expression distant, as though he’s caught between the past and the present. “He does it because it’s in his nature. He feels like he has to carry us, all of us, because we’re still here. That’s just who he is. He’ll carry the world on his shoulders if it means we can breathe a little easier. But it made me realise… Jungwon probably gets scared too. He probably has countless sleepless nights, only he has nobody to lean on.”

You stare at Jay, his words settling over you like a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to bear. The breeze brushes past, carrying with it the faint scent of morning dew, but even that isn’t enough to distract you from the raw honesty in his voice.

You’re quiet for a moment, processing his words. Then Jay’s voice softens even more, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Well, until you came along.”

That catches you off guard. “Me?” you echo, frowning slightly. “What are you talking about?”

Jay tilts his head, his expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “You’re really going to pretend you don’t see it? The way he looks at you. The way he listens when you speak, even when you’re arguing. Especially when you’re arguing.”

You do. You do see it. Only you didn't think it was that significant for someone else to notice it too. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you.

Jay raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Come on. You’re not that dense. The guy practically lights up when you’re around. Even when you’re pissing him off.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat.  “He doesn’t need me,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. “He’s strong enough on his own. He always has been.”

Jay lets out a low, disbelieving laugh. “That’s the thing. He doesn’t need you to carry him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need you. You’re not taking away his strength; you’re giving him a reason to keep using it.”

“Don’t underestimate the kind of relief you bring him,” Jay says firmly. “He’s been carrying all of us for so long, I don’t think he realised how much he needed someone to push back. To challenge him. To make him feel like he doesn’t have to carry it all on his own.”

You glance at Jay, his expression serious now, his usual smirk replaced with something softer. “Why are you telling me this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Because someone has to,” he replies simply. “And because I know you care about him, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

The silence that follows feels heavier than before, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. It settles between you like a fragile truce, delicate but unbroken. Which is surprising, considering you’re having a heart-to-heart with Jay, of all people.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, half-expecting some sarcastic remark or a biting joke to cut through the moment. But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, his gaze fixes on the horizon. His profile, usually so sharp and full of defiance, seems softer now, like the weight of the conversation has smoothed out his edges.

“You know,” you start, breaking the silence, “you remind me of someone from the community building.”

Jay glances at you, curious. He notices your attempt to change the topic but he doesn't call you out on it. “Yeah? I bet they were a real charmer.”

You snort, shaking your head. “No, he was an idiot. But it’s something about the way neither of you know how to sugarcoat your words. That brutal honesty, whether anyone’s ready for it or not.”

Jay chuckles, the sound low and surprisingly genuine. “Well, I hope he’s thriving and doesn’t have a gaping hole in his side.”

“Yeah, well… he was a real troublemaker,” you say, your tone growing more reflective. “Got into all sorts of shit before everything fell apart. He was one of those kids the adults would always shake their heads at. A ‘bad influence,’ they’d say. But I went on a few supply runs with him, so I got to know him better. Yeah, he was reckless, stubborn, and constantly looking for trouble, but he was a nice guy deep down. Helped me out of a few tight spots.”

“He had a little sister. Around four years old when it started,” you continue, your voice lowering. “She was everything to him. No matter how much of a mess he was, he took care of her like his life depended on it. You could see it in the way he looked at her, the way he’d always make sure she had enough food or that she wasn’t scared.”

You pause, the memory sharp and painful. Jay’s quiet, sensing that there’s more to the story. His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t interrupt, letting you take your time.

“One day, there was this fight. Between him and an older man in the building. It got… bad. Heated. I don’t even know what it was about anymore—something stupid, probably. Everyone was watching, caught up in the chaos, and I guess no one noticed his sister trying to stop them. She ran in, got caught in the middle.” Your voice falters, and you swallow hard before continuing. “She got pushed. Fell against the edge of a table. Her skull… cracked open.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of the memory presses down on you, and you can feel Jay’s gaze on you, quiet and steady.

“At first, he was devastated,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Grief just… swallowed him whole. But then, something shifted. His entire demeanour changed. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just… got up, grabbed the man who’d pushed her, and dragged him outside. Fed him to the dead. No hesitation. After that, he left. Never saw him again.”

Jay exhales slowly, leaning forward slightly. “What’s the moral of the story?” he asks, his voice careful, like he’s testing the waters.

“I guess…” you hesitate, trying to put your thoughts into words. “I guess I’m afraid of becoming like him. Detached. Insane. Letting grief consume me to the point where I’m not even me anymore. I still remember his eyes that day, when he dragged that man outside. It was like… everything human about him was gone. And I don’t want that to happen to me.”

Jay watches you closely, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he asks the question you’ve been dreading. “Is that why you left? Because you were scared to face what you’d lose?”

You flinch, the truth hitting you like a slap to the face. “Yeah,” you admit, your voice trembling. 

“Do you think he made it?” he asks suddenly, his gaze still fixed you.

You blink, caught off guard by the question. It’s not one you’ve ever let yourself think about, not in detail. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice hesitant. “I think about it sometimes. Whether he found somewhere safe, whether he made it out of the city alive... but I guess I’ll never know.”

“Do you think you would’ve done the same? If it had been you?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. You hesitate, but only for a moment. Because deep down, you already know the answer.

“Yes,” you say quietly, the weight of the admission settling deep in your chest. Your fingers curl into your palms, your throat tightening.

“I think I would’ve done the same thing. And that’s what makes it worse.”

Jay nods slowly, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingers on you, as if weighing something in his mind.

“There are some things in the universe that are just out of our control,” he says, staring up at the sky like the answers might be written in the clouds. “Like the weather, for example, or who your parents are. And when things go wrong, it’s easy to say, ‘It was out of my hands,’ or ‘There’s nothing I could’ve done about it.’”

Jay’s voice is steady, measured, but there’s something raw underneath it, something that makes you listen even though you don’t want to. He glances at you then, his expression unreadable. “But when you do have control over something—when you actually could have done something, but you choose not to—and then you lose control? That’s worse. That’s so much worse.”

Your fingers curl into your palms, nails biting into skin, but you don’t stop him.

“Because this time, you actually had a hand in it,” Jay continues, his voice quieter now. “Not doing anything about it, knowing what you could’ve done to prevent it—that thought consumes you. It haunts you in your sleep, over and over again. And I think, deep down, you already know this.” He lets out a soft breath, shaking his head slightly. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have come back.”

“Human emotions are fickle. And more often than not, we’re driven by the negative ones,” Jay muses. “Anger, fear, guilt, regret, grief. I mean, it’s hard not to be when you’re forced into a world where the undead is constantly trying to eat you.” He huffs a quiet, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“But the one thing stronger than all of those emotions? Hope.”

He says it so simply, like it’s a fact, like it’s something undeniable. Like he knows you've been grappling with this dilemma.

You want to deny. You really really want to.

“It’s a funny thing, hope,” Jay says, looking back at you now. “You can’t survive without it—not really. It’s the one thing that keeps people moving forward, that makes them cling to life even when it feels impossible. In the apocalypse, you can never have too much hope. Because it’s all we have left.”

His gaze sharpens, like he’s making sure you’re listening.

“That includes each other.”

The lump in your throat grows tighter.

“We’re hope for one another,” Jay says, his voice unwavering. “You’re hope for us. And we damn well need to be hope for you.”

You let out a shaky breath, turning your head away. You stare down at your scraped hands as Jay’s words settle deep into your bones, into every part of yourself you’ve spent so long trying to shut off. You hate hope. You fear it.

Jay leans back against the sign, watching you carefully. He doesn’t press, doesn’t rush you. He just lets you sit with your thoughts, lets you process.

Eventually, you find your voice, though it comes out quieter than you expect. “But you only feel those negative emotions when you hope. Hope sucks the life out of people. Hope gives people false reassurance. People lose all sense of logic just to hold onto hope and yet, it's hope that makes the pain so much more excruciating when it's ripped away from you. You’re only disappointed because you hope. Too much hope is dangerous.” You don't even realise you've been raising your voice until you're done.

Jay huffs out a small, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “It’s a paradox, isn’t it? This fragile, beautiful thing that’s supposed to keep us alive is also the thing that can destroy us.” His voice is steady, thoughtful. “Hope is the spark that ignites negative emotions—but it twists them into something else. Something with purpose.

“Anger, fuelled by hope, becomes determination. Fear, tied to hope, becomes caution. Guilt and regret, tethered to hope, becomes redemption. Grief, woven into hope, becomes strength.”

You flinch at that, but Jay doesn’t let up. “Without hope, those emotions are just weights dragging you down, holding you back. But with it, they’re a reason to fight. A reason to survive.”

“Hope is what gives meaning to every choice, every sacrifice. It’s what makes us human.”

You stare at him, your throat tightening. The words claw at something deep in you, something you’ve spent so long trying to bury. 

“And that’s the cruel irony of it all,” Jay continues, his voice quieter now. “Because hope is also the thing that hurts the most. The thing that leaves you raw, vulnerable to disappointment and despair when it’s inevitably taken away. But even knowing that, we can’t let it go. Because without hope, what’s left?”

His gaze flickers to you then, sharp and knowing. “Not you,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “And definitely not me.”

Jay’s words settle into you like a slow, creeping ache—one you can’t ignore, no matter how much you want to. They seep into the cracks, the ones you’ve spent so long trying to patch over, the ones you told yourself didn’t exist.

And for the first time in a conversation with Jay, you have no response.

You know he’s right. But it hurts—because hope is also the reason you’re here. The reason you turned back. The reason you’re sitting on this rooftop, trying to make sense of the war that rages inside you.

Hope, in the apocalypse, is both a necessity and a curse—and that contradiction is what makes it so powerful.

If you hadn't seen what you saw, you would have been long gone by now. You would’ve walked away with the comfortable lie that they’d be fine, that they’d beat the odds like they always do, that their naive faith in safety would somehow be rewarded.

But you know the truth now. And the truth doesn’t allow you the luxury of ignorance. Because they’re not okay. They won’t be okay.

Not unless you do something.

Leaving now—knowing what’s coming—wouldn’t just make you a coward. It would make you complicit in their deaths. It would mean standing by while the world tears them apart, pretending it isn’t your problem.

And you know yourself well enough to understand exactly how that would end. A lifetime of guilt. A lifetime of knowing you could have done something but chose not to. That guilt would fester inside you, wear you down, strip you bare until there’s nothing left of you that’s worth saving. Until the world finally wins.

And either way—whether you leave or stay—you’re not going to come out of this intact. You’re already too deep, too tangled in it all.

So you choose the path that has even the smallest, most fragile hope of something good coming out of it.

In the end, you chose hope. 

And hope guided you back to them.

The silence between you and Jay stretches for another half-hour, comfortable in a way that doesn’t demand words. There’s no need to fill the space with forced conversation, no pressure to dissect the weight of everything you’ve just talked about. Just the two of you, sitting side by side, watching the horizon as if it holds the answers neither of you have.

Occasionally, your gaze drifts downward, taking in the organised chaos of the camp below. The others move with purpose, their figures threading seamlessly through the makeshift fortifications, pulling them together, binding them to one another. Binding you to them.

Your eyes find Jungwon without meaning to. He’s hunched over a roughly drawn map with Heeseung, tracing escape routes with a furrowed brow. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight, his entire body braced as if the sheer weight of their survival rests on his shoulders alone. Heeseung says something, pointing at a different spot on the map, and Jungwon nods, his fingers tightening around the paper.

You wonder what he’s thinking. If he truly believes they have a chance, or if he’s just convincing himself to. Because no matter how much you try to push it away, the doubt creeps in before you can stop it. It slithers through the cracks in your resolve, wrapping around your thoughts like a noose.

The horde is too big.

There’s no way this place will hold against it.

Even if you get past the first wave, they’ll surround the camp before you even get the chance to turn around and leave.

You press your lips together, gripping the edge of the roof so tightly that your knuckles turn white. The old wood groans under the pressure, but the sound is drowned out by the weight pressing down on your chest.

It’s a losing battle.

You know it. They must know it too.

But then, you look closer. The exhaustion on their faces is unmistakable. The shadows under their eyes, the weariness in their shoulders, the way Sunghoon drags a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as if trying to breathe the tension out of his body.

They don’t fully believe this will work. Not really.

But they’re trying anyway.

Because what else is there to do? Give up? Lay down and wait to be torn apart? No. That’s not who they are.

And despite the gnawing dread in your stomach, you realise—it’s not who you are either.

Just then, panicked voices rise from directly beneath you, coming from a blind spot you can’t see. Your body tenses instinctively as your ears strain to make sense of the commotion. 

Jay stiffens beside you, his head snapping toward the sound. You exchange a knowing look, silent but immediate in your understanding—something’s wrong.

You focus, trying to visualise the situation in your head, piecing together what you can hear against what you can’t see. The sharp edges of alarm in the voices. The sound of someone struggling. A threat, spoken with dangerous intent.

Your eyes flick to Jungwon. His expression is tight, unreadable at first—until you notice the tinge of worry, the fear etched just beneath the surface as his gaze locks onto the entrance of the convenience store.

You’re already counting heads.

Jungwon. Heeseung. Jake. Sunghoon. Ni-ki. Jay, beside you.

Your stomach twists.

Where’s Sunoo?

Before you can say anything, a voice cuts through the tense silence. A voice you don't recognise.

“I know there’s two more,” the stranger calls out, their tone sharp with authority. “You’d better show yourselves before I do something to this boy.”

The world around you stills.

Your breath catches.

Sunoo.

You and Jay exchange another glance, this time urgent, alarm bells ringing in both of your heads. Without hesitation, you inch closer to the edge, careful not to make a sound as you peer over.

Your worst fears are confirmed.

Sunoo stands frozen in the doorway of the convenience store, his hands raised slightly, his posture rigid with fear. His chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, his eyes darting toward Jungwon—toward all of them—searching for an escape that doesn’t exist.

Behind him, partially obscured by the pillars, you catch a glimpse of someone else—an outsider. A woman, dressed in ragged clothing with a cloak draped over her frame. Yet, despite her tattered appearance, her stance radiates a quiet, dangerous confidence that sends every instinct in your body on high alert. With one hand, she presses a pistol firmly against the back of Sunoo’s head, keeping him locked in place.

She’s inside the rest stop. How?

Then it hits you.

She’s been here. Probably ever since you arrived. Hiding. Watching. Acting as a spy for your attackers.

Jungwon’s expression remains unreadable, but you see the tension in his shoulders, the slight tremor in his fingers. He takes a slow step forward, his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. His voice is calm, measured.

“You’re outnumbered. Are you sure you want to do this?” He tilts his head slightly, eyes locked onto hers. “Let him go, and we can talk.”

The woman doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“I said show yourself,” she orders, her voice sharp, unwavering. “You have ten seconds.”

And then she starts counting.

"Ten."

Your gaze flicks to Jay.

What should we do?

"Nine."

Jay’s jaw tightens.

Let’s wait it out.

"Eight."

Your stomach knots.

And what if she shoots him?

"Seven."

Jay exhales sharply, weighing the risk.

I don’t think she will. She’s outnumbered.

"Six."

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

She’s bluffing.

"Five. I’m really going to do it."

Your breath catches.

She’s not bluffing.

"Four."

Jay hesitates.

She has nothing to lose.

"Three—"

“Alright, we’re coming out.”

The words leave your lips before you fully process them. Your arms lift above your head, palms open, your body moving before your mind can tell you to stop. Slowly, carefully, you begin your descent from the roof.

Jungwon’s eyes flicker to you the moment your feet touch the ground, but he doesn’t say anything. His jaw tightens, his fingers twitch slightly at his side. You know he doesn’t like this, but what other choice do you have? You had seconds to decide—risk Sunoo’s life, or give her what she wants.

Your boots hit the pavement, dust kicking up beneath you as you step forward, keeping your hands where she can see them. Jay lands behind you, slower, deliberate. You sense the stiffness in his movements, the way his breathing subtly shifts as he fights to keep himself from wincing. He’s trying not to show it, but he’s still weak.

She can’t know that.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” the woman sneers, swaying the pistol trained on Sunoo. He flinches but doesn’t make a sound, though you can see the tension in his frame, the fear flickering in his eyes. He’s trying to be brave. You need to be braver.

You and Jay stop a few paces away, keeping the distance just wide enough to not seem like a threat. Jungwon, Heeseung, and the others remain still—coiled like springs, waiting for the right moment. Looking for an opening. But you know there might not be one.

A chill creeps down your spine, slithering like ice through your veins, settling deep in your bones. You swallow hard, forcing air into your lungs. Stay calm. Stay in control.

The air around you feels thick, suffocating in its stillness. Each breath is laced with tension, heavy with unspoken words, unspoken fears. Your fingers twitch at your sides, hovering near your weapon, but you don’t dare move—not yet. One wrong twitch, one flinch in the wrong direction, and the woman’s finger might tighten around the trigger.

Then, as if the universe is offering you a cruel favour, a faint breeze stirs the stagnant air, cutting through the oppressive heat and unsettling the dust beneath your feet. The edges of the woman’s tattered cloak flutter with the movement, lifting for the briefest moment.

But it’s enough.

Your breath catches and your gaze snaps to the sight beneath the ragged material, to the place where her left forearm should be.

A stump.

Jagged, uneven, the skin around it healed but rough—evidence of a wound that wasn’t treated with care. A makeshift bandage barely holds in place, frayed from time and neglect.

Your mind races, the implications hitting you like a blow to the chest. 

She’s injured. She’s weaker than she wants you to believe.

The realisation strikes you hard, but before you can fully register how to use it against her, a voice cuts through the tension.

“Hey, I know you.”

It’s Jake.

His tone isn’t hesitant, but certain—sharp enough to make the woman’s smirk falter ever so slightly.

“You do now?” The woman regains her composure quickly, her smirk returning as she idly plays with the safety of her pistol, flicking it on and off, the quiet click-click-click filling the charged silence.

Jake doesn’t flinch. “Lieutenant Kim Minseol. Ammunition Command. You’re part of The Future.”

His words send a ripple of confusion through the group.

Jungwon stiffens beside you, his gaze sharpening as he scrutinises the woman up and down, searching for recognition in her face. The others exchange uneasy glances, but Jake keeps his eyes locked on her.

“I remember you,” he continues, voice controlled but unwavering. “A few weeks before our escape, you came into the treatment facility with a fresh stump on your left arm. It was because of your absence that we were able to sneak into the supply depot.”

For a brief moment, something flickers in her expression. A shadow of something sinister, something ugly. Then she lets out a hollow, bitter laugh.

“What a good memory you have there, Doctor Sim.” The mockery drips from her words, but beneath it, there’s a tightness—like the words taste sour in her mouth.

Jake doesn’t react, his expression carefully guarded.

And then her smirk disappears altogether.

“But you’re wrong about the first part,” she says, her voice dropping lower, losing its feigned amusement. “I was part of The Future. Until they expelled me. Said resources were running low. But of course, that’s because someone helped themselves to six months' worth of supplies.” Her gaze sweeps over all of you, sharp and knowing.

A chill settles over the group.

“It’s not our fault,” Heeseung says evenly, though there’s a tightness in his jaw, a flicker of tension beneath his composed exterior. His gaze shifts—almost unconsciously—to her left arm, lingering for just a second too long. “They would’ve expelled you anyway. For your… unfortunate disability.”

Her head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Someone of my rank would still be valuable enough to keep around, even with my unfortunate disability,” she counters, her tone dripping with cold certainty.

The click of a pistol’s safety disengaging slices through the silence. Sunoo flinches, his breath catching as the muzzle digs harder against his skull.

“You think I’m lying?” Her voice sharpens like a blade, each syllable cutting through the air with precision. “Then what about the dozens of able-bodied men and women they cast out with me?” Her eyes sweep over the group, daring anyone to challenge her, to deny the truth she’s laying before them.

“What excuse do they have?”

No one answers.

“How did you end up here?” you ask, grasping for something, anything to keep the upper hand.

The woman lets out a scoff. “What? Didn’t think a lady with a stump could survive this long?” she sneers. “I was military for a reason, you know. And lucky for the group of us that got expelled, we ran into A.” Her smirk widens, something cruel glinting in her eyes. “Who just so happened to have a long-standing unresolved affair with one… of… you.”

Her gaze sweeps the group deliberately, before landing on Jay.

It lingers.

Your breath stills.

Is she talking about him? About the man Jay went after?

Your head snaps to Jay instinctively, and sure enough, you see it—the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the sharp clench of his jaw. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, but that’s all the confirmation you need.

You keep your voice even, biting back the unease bubbling in your gut. “Did A suggest you lot dress up as freaks too?” you taunt, eyeing the grotesque remnants of the dead clinging to her clothes.

Her smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens.

“Call it whatever you want,” she purrs, rolling her shoulders back, “but it’s kept us alive.” There’s something almost reverent in the way she says it. “It’s what got us this sanctuary of a rest stop.”

Sanctuary. The word makes your stomach churn.

The woman gestures around like she’s unveiling some grand conquest, her voice thick with smug satisfaction. “The Future didn’t see what was coming when we rolled over this place. They never even put up a fight.” She shakes her head, laughing—mocking. “That’s how confident they were in this place. That sure of their survival.”

She spreads her arms wide, as if to drive the point home. “And just like that, they left all this behind! For us, of course.” Her eyes gleams with something almost predatory, as she levels her gaze at you. “Not you.”

She’s getting caught up in her own villain monologue. She’s getting cocky.

“‘The Future are monsters.’” She spits the words out like they taste bitter on her tongue. “It’s easy to just say that, isn’t it?” She lets out a mocking laugh, one filled with more exhaustion than humour.

“Have you ever considered that some of us were just doing what we were told? That we were just trying to survive?”

Silence.

Then, her smirk fades, replaced with something colder. 

“Bet you didn’t think stealing wouldn’t have any implications on the rest of us, did you?” Her grip on the pistol tightens, her knuckles turning white.

“Did you?” she repeats, quieter this time, but the threat behind it is unmistakable.

The weight of her words settles over the group like a thick fog, suffocating in its quiet accusation.

She’s right.

They had never stopped to think about what had happened to the people they left behind. The ones who weren’t part of The Future’s elite, the ones who had simply been following orders. The ones who weren’t cruel enough, strong enough, useful enough to be worth keeping around.

And when they took those six months of supplies, when they ran, they might not have pulled the trigger on those people themselves—

But they might as well have.

It’s a sickening realisation.

The Future is a tyrant military organisation. That much is true. But tyrants don’t survive without followers, without structure, without soldiers willing to do anything to keep their people alive.

Isn’t that exactly what they’ve been doing?

Taking what they can. Keeping their own alive, even if it means condemning someone else.

The guilt twists in your stomach like a knife. You feel it rippling through the others too. She leans in ever so slightly, her lips curling into something almost gentle—but the pistol pressing into Sunoo’s skull tells a different story.

“You see it now, don’t you?” she murmurs, tilting her head. “The hypocrisy. The way you tell yourselves you’re different.”

“You’re no different from The Future.”

“And now you’re back,” she continues, voice like poisoned honey. “Trying to steal something that isn’t yours, again.”

The shift in the air is almost tangible. It’s subtle, like a silent crack forming in a foundation that had once seemed unbreakable—but it’s there.

You see it in the way Jake’s shoulders slump just slightly, in the way Sunghoon’s lips press into a thin line, in the way Heeseung’s gaze flickers to the ground like he can’t quite meet anyone’s eyes, in the way Ni-ki’s jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it might shatter, in the way Jay’s hands twitch at his sides, in the way Sunoo disassociates even with a gun pointed at his head, and among them is Jungwon’s gaze—still sharp and unreadable.

It’s setting in—the weight of her words, the seed of doubt she’s planted.

Because she’s not just threatening them. She’s challenging everything they’ve told themselves to keep going.

The belief that they’re different.

That they’re good.

That, somehow, their survival is more justified than anyone else’s.

But survival is never clean, is it? And now that she has said it, now that she’s painted that picture in their minds, you can see them starting to crumble.

These people—your people—their sole reason for fighting is the belief that they are not monsters. That they are not like The Future, or A, or the ones who take and take and take without looking back.

But now, faced with the consequences of their own actions, you watch that belief fracture.

They’re breaking.

She sees it.

And she revels in it.

This has been her goal all along—to make them doubt themselves. Because a group that doubts itself is a group that falls apart from the inside.

You need to stop this. Now.

“Then let’s talk about what is yours, Lieutenant,” you say, keeping your voice steady, sharp. “Tell me—what exactly did you earn?”

Her smirk falters, just barely. But you catch it.

“What?”

“You and the others,” you press, eyes locked onto hers. “Did you build this place? Did you earn the supplies you’re hoarding? Did you put in the work to secure it?”

Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something, but you don’t give her the chance.

“No,” you answer for her. “You stole it. Just like The Future stole from the people before them. Just like we stole to survive.”

Her fingers twitch.

Good.

“You think you’re better than us?” you continue, pressing the words forward like a knife slipping between ribs. “You took this place the same way we would’ve if we’d gotten here first. Yet, you’re walking around acting like it's your birthright.”

Her expression darkens, her grip on the pistol tightening, but you don’t miss the way her jaw clenches.

A flicker of something shifts through the group.

They exchange glances, the tension easing just slightly, as if your words—blunt and unforgiving—have cracked through the air of helplessness surrounding them. Jungwon’s stare flickers between you and the woman, the gears in his head turning, assessing, waiting for her next move.

The silence that follows is thick, heavy with unspoken truths and fractured justifications.

Then, she speaks.

“We did steal,” she admits, her voice low, sharp, controlled.

Her head tilts, dark eyes locking onto yours, something almost amused flickering in them despite the rage simmering beneath her skin.

“But the difference between us—” she leans in slightly, voice dipping into something razor-thin, something meant to cut, “—is that you’re parading around, pretending you have some kind of moral high ground.”

And this time, it’s your turn to flinch. It takes everything in you to keep your face blank, to not let her see the way her accusation burrows under your skin like a splinter.

Because she’s right. They all know it.

Survival was never about who deserved to live. It was about taking. About seizing what you could before someone else did. About carving out a space in a world that no longer cared who was good, who was bad, who had once been kind.

Because kindness doesn’t keep you alive. Compassion doesn’t put food in your hands or a weapon in your grip. Morality doesn’t stop the teeth that tear through flesh or the hands that pull the trigger.

And if you’re all the same—if you’re all monsters—then what’s left?

There’s only one answer.

Whoever wins.

The only law that exists now is power.

Not justice. Not fairness. Not mercy.

Just power.

And the only ones who get to live in this world are the ones strong enough to take it for themselves.

Survival of the fittest.

That’s what the world was before, and it’s what the world is now. Only now, the stakes are higher. Much higher.

Because before, losing meant failure.

Now? It means death.

And if you hesitate, if you second-guess, if you let yourself be weighed down by the ghost of a world that no longer exists—

You’ll lose.

And the world won’t mourn you. It won’t stop. It won’t care. It will keep turning, indifferent to the bodies left behind, to the names that fade into nothing.

Because nothing from before matters anymore.

Not the rules. Not the morals. Not the person you used to be. You can no longer afford to hold on to the past.

Because the past won’t save you.

Only the future will.

And the only way to have a future—is to take it.

"You think you’ll make it out of here alive if you pull that trigger?” you challenge her, forcing your voice to remain calm, steady. She tilts her head, lips curling into something almost amused as she meets your eyes.

“You should’ve left when you had the chance,” she says, completely disregarding your threat. The blood in your veins turns cold. 

“But who knows? Maybe A will let some of you go. Like what we did with The Future,” she continues, leaning in slightly, as if daring you to flinch. “Let them scurry back to HQ like little mice. So they know to never come back here again.”

Her grin widens, twisting into something cruel. “And now that you’re here, fallen right into our trap, you’ll soon be one of us!” She laughs, the sound sharp and jagged, like glass shattering in the quiet.

Never come back here again…

Soon be one of us…?

The words settle like a stone in your chest. And then, like a curtain being pulled back, you see it—the bigger picture.

She’s laughing. She thinks she’s won. But she doesn't realise what she's just given away.

If A and his people wanted you dead, they wouldn’t have resorted to games. They wouldn’t have wasted time luring you into an ambush or toying with you—not with all these guns and ammos at their disposal. No, they would’ve wiped you out back at that forest clearing when they had the chance. 

They haven’t. They insist on bringing the dead down on you—because they have an ulterior motive. 

They don’t want you dead. They want you alive. 

Why? 

Because only when you’re alive—when you’re standing, breathing, fighting—can you turn. Turn into the very army of the dead they control. Become one of them.

That’s why they let The Future walk away. Not out of mercy. Not because they couldn’t fight them. But because they didn’t need to. The Future was never the target—you were. They wanted you to lead the others right back here. They’ve been waiting for this moment.

And The Future? The Future won’t come back. Not for revenge. Not for a counterattack. They cut their losses and retreated—not because they were outnumbered, not because they were weak, but because they were unaware.

They didn’t understand what they were fighting. They couldn’t defend against something they had no clue how to fight. They knew they couldn’t stand against an enemy that moves undetected through hordes of the dead. Couldn’t win against an army that grows stronger with every person it kills.

So they ran.

But you? You don’t have to. Because you know exactly what’s coming.

And now, standing in the heart of what should have been your own grave, you see it—hope. This place isn’t just a temporary solution. It’s an opportunity.

If A and his people could take this place, then so can you. If they could push out The Future, then there’s a way to do the same to them. And if they could survive out there, using the dead as shields and weapons, then you can find a way to use it against them.

Your fingers tighten into fists.

If you secure this place, they’ll never have to run again.

Not from A. Not from The Future. Not from anyone.

You let out a slow breath, forcing your heartbeat to steady as you shift your stance, eyes locking onto hers.

She thinks she’s won. Thinks she’s backed you all into a corner. But she’s just handed you everything you needed to know.

You tilt your head slightly, allowing the barest hint of a smirk to tug at your lips. “What makes you so confident we can’t just take it from you?”

Her smirk holds firm, but you catch the slightest twitch in her expression—just for a second. “Oh?” she muses, arching a brow. “I’d love to see you try going up against military-trained personnel and a horde of zombies. It’ll be fun.”

You shrug, feigning indifference. “Who said anything about confrontation?” You let the words hang in the air, watching carefully as confusion flickers across her face. “If you lot figured out how to walk with the dead, why can’t we do the same?”

For the first time, her bravado falters. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and there it is—realisation and doubt all at once. Almost like she had never thought about it. Which makes sense because you finding out about their mechanics, isn't part of their plan.

That hesitation—that moment of uncertainty—is all Sunoo needs.

He moves in a blur, striking before she even registers what’s happening. His fingers close around her wrist, twisting sharply as he wrenches the gun from her grip. It clatters to the floor with a thud, and in a single fluid motion, Sunoo has her pinned.

She lets out a sharp grunt, struggling against his hold, but she’s at a disadvantage—distracted, handicapped, unarmed.

And just like that, the tides turn. Sunghoon is on her in seconds, his knee pressing into her back as he yanks her arm behind her. The fight drains from her quickly, the weight of the situation finally sinking in.

You exhale, the adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin, your mind racing through every possibility.

This place can be yours.

They don’t have to run anymore.

Hope is starting to take root.

“Fools. You think it’s easy? Walking among the dead?” she sneers, her voice laced with mockery despite the fact she’s sprawled face-down on the cold, hard floor. Sunghoon’s hands move swiftly over her, searching for any hidden weapons. 

“It takes everything you are to walk with the dead.”

There’s something unsettling in the way she says it, something almost reverent. Like she’s speaking of a religion rather than survival.

Sunoo scoffs, standing over her with her pistol now in his hands. He checks the magazine, clicks the safety on and off before shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, keep talking, lady. It’s not getting you anywhere.”

But she just smirks. That same infuriating smirk that hasn’t left her face since the moment she was caught. She’s lying completely still now, unnaturally calm as Sunghoon and Heeseung haul her up onto a chair. She doesn’t resist—not even when they start binding her arms—or whatever's left of it—tightly behind her, securing the coarse rope around her torso and the back of the chair. If anything, she lets them.

"I've really underestimated you, Y/N." Her voice drips with amusement, her lips curling into something eerily close to admiration, but there’s something sharper beneath it—something darker. "You’re not just similar—you’re just like us. Conniving. Merciless. Dead."

She giggles then, a sound too light, too mocking for the weight of her words, for the quiet horror settling deep in your chest. "You might not even need to wear their skin to walk with the dead."

A chill slithers down your spine, but you force yourself to hold her gaze, to not give her the satisfaction of seeing how deeply her words sink in. Heeseung pulls the final knot tight, the rough rope biting into her skin, binding her in place. Yet, she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t struggle. She just leans back, head resting against the chair, exhaling like she’s settling in, like she’s making herself comfortable rather than sitting bound and at your mercy.

As if she’s the one in control.

"But don’t say I didn’t warn you," she murmurs, her voice almost singsong, a taunting lilt woven through her words. They linger in the space between you, curling like smoke, seeping under your skin. The room feels too quiet now, as if the weight of what she just said has stolen all the air from it.

She tilts her head slightly, her eyes gleaming—not with anger, not with fear, but with something worse. Something that almost looks like pity.

"You’ll understand what I mean soon."

The smirk widens. It stretches across her face, slow and deliberate. You stare at it for too long—long enough for Ni-ki to shove a loose piece of cloth into her mouth, silencing whatever cryptic words she might have let slip next.

But her eyes remain fixed on you, unwavering. Cold. Calculating.

You can’t look away.

Something about the way she’s staring at you feels wrong. Like she’s seeing straight through you, past the layers you’ve built, past the walls you’ve tried to keep up. Like she’s already figured you out before you’ve even figured out yourself. Like she knows exactly how this will play out, and you don’t.

In that sense, you’re already losing. Not in the way you expected—not in battle, not in blood, not in death. But in yourself. Because you can feel it, can sense it creeping in at the edges of your mind, curling into your thoughts, whispering where doubt used to be.

You’ve already begun losing yourself.

It’s only when someone calls you over that you manage to tear your gaze away, the spell breaking.

“What the fuck happened, Sunoo? Where did she come from?” Heeseung demands the second they’re out of earshot, his voice low but urgent.

Sunoo, however, huffs, dramatically rubbing at his wrist as if he’s the real victim here. “Geez, I’m fine, thanks for asking,” he grumbles.

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Sunoo.”

“I was in the basement,” Sunoo starts, crossing his arms, “looking for anything we could use to fortify the barricades. Found this stack of those things—the masks—hidden away in one of the boxes shoved in the corner. Thought, great, more nightmare fuel. And then—bam! She jumped me out of fucking nowhere. How the fuck was I supposed to know she was there?”

His frustration is evident, his gestures exaggerated as he recounts the moment. “If I had known, her one-armed bitchass wouldn’t have even been able to pull that gun on me like that. Ugh.”

The irritation in his voice doesn’t quite mask the underlying unease. She had been down there the whole time—hidden, watching, waiting. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling of being watched.

And yet, you left them here. With her.

A chill runs down your spine. The weight of realisation presses against your ribs, suffocating, threatening to pull you under. But before your mind can spiral further, you hear it—your name.

Spoken by the very voice you’ve been yearning to hear call out your name since you left.

“Y/N.”

Jungwon.

“Are you okay?”

Your breath catches as you turn to face him. His expression is unreadable at first, but his eyes—his eyes betray him. There’s worry there, concern woven into the fabric of his gaze, despite everything. Despite the fight. Despite the fact that you left. You walked away. And yet, here he is, standing before you, asking if you’re okay.

He still cares.

You don’t trust your voice. You’re afraid it’ll betray you, that it’ll crack under the sheer force of everything you’re feeling. That if you try to speak, all that will come out will be fragments of whimpers, of apologies left unsaid.

So instead, you nod. A small, barely perceptible movement. The best you can offer.

Jungwon watches you for a moment, searching. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he nods back. A silent exchange. An understanding.

“Y/N… did you really mean that?” Ni-ki’s voice cuts through the thick tension, pulling your attention away from Jungwon. You turn to him, barely registering the weight of his question. Your mind is still foggy, reeling from everything.

“You think we can walk with the dead?” Ni-ki presses, his gaze unwavering.

“I—I don’t know.” The words feel hollow in your mouth, the uncertainty hanging in the air like a guillotine. Your eyes drop to the ground, unable to meet his stare. “I’m sorry, I just—I always say shit, but half the time, I don’t even know if it’ll work.”

A beat of silence. Then, you swallow hard, forcing yourself to push through the self-doubt. “But… I have seen them do it. They blend in with just a mask over their heads. It can work.”

“But once they get inside the walls, it’s going to be chaos. It’ll be dark. We’ll probably lose sight of one another. You won’t even know if the zombie in front of you is actually dead or one of them.”

“Wait. Once they get inside?” Heeseung’s voice is sharp, cutting through the moment like a blade. His eyes narrow, scanning your face. “You’re saying we let them in?”

Ni-ki exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head as if trying to process it all. 

You inhale deeply, forcing yourself to meet their gazes. “You and I both know the barricades won’t last,” you say, steadying your voice. “Against a normal horde, maybe. But they will be walking among them. Herding them. Pushing them against the gates. Even if they can’t break through the main entrance, they’ll find another way in.”

The unspoken horror settles over the group and you see the fear flicker across their faces.

“But if we leave the gate open,” you continue, your voice quieter now, more deliberate, “they’ll walk in on their own. And we can blend right in.”

“Okay, but then what?” Jake asks, his voice cautious, calculating. “What do we do after that?”

“We take them out.” You don’t hesitate this time. You don’t waver. You meet his gaze head-on. “From within.”

A thick silence follows your words. You can feel it—the doubt, the fear, the pure insanity of what you’re proposing.

“Fight?” Sunghoon is the first to break the silence, his voice incredulous. “Surrounded by the dead? You must be insane.” He lets out a bitter scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “The moment we make a single sound that doesn’t match the dead, we’re finished. You know that.”

You exhale, willing yourself to stay patient. “No,” you say firmly. “Not fight. Just—sneak up on them. Get close. A small cut, enough to draw blood. That’s all we need. The scent will do the rest.”

They stare at you.

Realisation dawns.

It’s not about fighting. It’s not about going up against them in a losing battle. It’s about turning their own strategy against them. The horde is their weapon. But it can be yours too.

Heeseung’s throat bobs as he swallows. “You mean…” His voice trails off, understanding sinking in.

You nod. “We let the horde do it’s job.”

The plan is reckless. Insane. Dangerous. But it’s the only shot you have. 

And if you’re being honest—it’s a solid plan. But you’re not sure if it’s a plan you’re proud to have come up with. You should be. A plan like this—calculated, ruthless, effective—should bring you some sense of relief. Some assurance that you can outthink them, that you can survive this.

It makes sense. It’s logical. It’s exactly the kind of plan The Future would execute without hesitation if they had known what was coming for them. And that’s what unsettles you the most. 

Jungwon hasn’t spoken. He’s been listening, watching, absorbing every word you’ve said. When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you—his expression unreadable, his gaze sharp and searching, as if trying to pick apart what’s going on inside your head.

You’re dragged back to your conversation with Jay on the rooftop. The way he told you—so plainly, so matter-of-factly—that Jungwon relies on you more than he lets on. That you bring him comfort in ways you never realised.

Then your mind goes back further. To the conversation with Jungwon yesterday. The way he told you that he felt a sense of reprieve when you came along. That you were his moral compass.

The weight of that knowledge settles in your chest, and then, just as quickly, it twists into guilt. It crashes over you like a tsunami.

You wonder if he still feels that way about you.

“Sounds like a plan.” Jay’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade, slicing through the tension that had been suffocating the group. Everyone turns to him, eyes wide, like he’s just said something insane.

You’re staring at him too.

“Why are y’all looking at me like that? I’m not the one that came up with this insanity.” His lips twitch with the ghost of a smirk, but the humour doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Then, as if on cue, they all turn to you. Then back to Jay as he continues, “But it’s a plan that could work,”

“Of course you think that,” Jake snaps, his frustration bubbling over. “You’re always about killing people. I mean, look what got us into this shit in the first place.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and you know he doesn’t mean it—not fully. It’s the fear talking. The frustration. The sheer helplessness of the situation that’s clouding his judgement. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

For a moment, you expect Jay to fight back. To argue. To defend himself. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he giggles. It’s a quiet, breathy thing at first—then it morphs into something sharper, something bitter, something unhinged. And it unnerves you.

“You’re right,” Jay says, still grinning, his voice eerily calm. “If I could go back to that night when I went after him, I’d have made sure I watched him die before I left.”

The silence that follows is deafening. 

Then, you feel it—the weight of it pressing down on everyone’s shoulders. No one dares to speak, as if acknowledging it would make them sinners.

And the worst part?

You had said something along those lines to Jay, back at the field. You told him if you were in his shoes, you’d have done worse. But back then it was a figure of speech, a way to make a point. You hadn’t really thought about it, hadn’t truly placed yourself in his shoes, in the heat of that moment.

But now?

Now, you know.

You would have done the same.

And hearing Jay say that—hearing him put words to the rage, to the vengeance clawing its way up your throat—it brings you a twisted sense of relief. A reassurance that you’re not the only person losing yourself in this fucked-up world.

And maybe that’s why you don’t flinch. Maybe that’s why, instead of recoiling from his words, you find yourself gripping onto them like an anchor, like something grounding you in the mess of it all.

Sunoo clears his throat, shifting awkwardly, his fingers tightening around the pistol he’d confiscated from the woman. “Alright, well. That’s… dark.” He tries to break the tension with forced levity, but no one laughs.

No one even breathes.

Jake rubs his face with both hands before exhaling sharply, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear his thoughts, like if he could just reset for a second, maybe this whole situation would make more sense. Ni-ki shifts uncomfortably beside him, his fingers twitching at his sides. His gaze flickers toward Jungwon, waiting—hoping—for him to say something. Anything.

But Jungwon is quiet.

He’s still watching you, his expression unreadable. There’s no anger in his eyes, no judgement, not even disappointment. Just thought.

And that’s almost worse. 

Because you know that look. It’s the same one he gets when he’s met with an epiphany. When something suddenly clicks into place in his mind, when a realisation takes hold and refuses to let go.

He’s thinking.

Not just about the plan. Not just about them.

He’s trying to make sense of you. Trying to piece together something about you that he hadn’t considered before—

No.

Something about himself. Something about his own moral dilemma. Something he’s been trying to lock away, bury deep beneath all the responsibilities, all the weight on his shoulders.

Jungwon blinks once, his gaze hardening, focus snapping back to the present.

“If we’re doing this, we can’t leave any room for error.” Jungwon’s voice slices through the silence, steady but weighted. It’s the first thing he’s said in minutes, and yet it carries the kind of finality that makes your stomach twist.

He’s still looking at you, but it’s different now. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time—not just as another survivor, not just as someone he needs to protect, but as something else. Something more dangerous.

Something like him.

And for the first time, you see it too.

You’ve cracked something in him. You’ve forced him to acknowledge something he hadn’t wanted to. You’ve opened Pandora’s box.

He knows it. You know it.

But neither of you say it.

“We can’t leave any room for error,” Jungwon repeats, his voice firm, sharp with an edge that slices through the tension like a blade. “We do this clean. Precise. No heroics. No last-minute changes. We stick to the plan, and we survive.”

The shift is immediate. The air changes. Everyone straightens, pulling themselves together, waiting for instruction. No one argues. Not even Sunghoon, who had been the first to call you insane. Because there’s no alternative. No second option. It’s this, or death.

Jungwon’s eyes sweep across the group, calculating, weighing every person’s strengths and weaknesses in the space of a single breath. “We’ll move in groups. When the dead come through, we stay in pairs. No one moves alone. We cover for each other, watch each other’s backs.”

His gaze lands on Jay. “You’re still injured. One wrong move and your stitches will come apart. Not to mention you have the biggest target on your back. So, you stay on the roof.”

Jay’s mouth opens, already ready to protest, but Jungwon cuts him off with a look. “We’ll cut the access off, so nothing can get to you. You’ll have the best vantage point—watch for gaps, any tight spots, and make noise to draw attention elsewhere if things start getting too close.”

Jay exhales sharply, jaw tightening, but he nods. He knows better than to argue.

Jungwon turns to the rest of the group, his expression unreadable. “Like Y/N said, it’s going to be dark. We won’t be able to see clearly, but neither will they. Remember, you just need to draw blood. The dead will do the rest.”

Jungwon’s gaze sweeps across them, sharp, calculating. His hands are loose at his sides, but there’s tension in his stance.

“And they don’t know that we’re on to them,” he continues. His voice is even, but there’s something colder beneath it now—something sharp-edged and deliberate. “We use that to our advantage. Move slow, stay quiet. Don’t rush. If you panic, you die.”

The words settle in like a final nail sealing a coffin.

A heavy silence settles over the group, thick and oppressive, pressing into your lungs like a vice. The weight of the plan is suffocating in its reality. The risk, the blood that will spill before the night is over. 

This is it. 

There’s no turning back. No room for hesitation. No time to process the sheer insanity of what you’re about to do. Your hands feel too light, your heartbeat too loud, hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. 

You picture the bodies—your people, their people, the dead in between—limbs tangled, faces unrecognisable beneath the blood and decay. 

What if you fail? What if you hesitate at the wrong moment? What if someone doesn’t make it? What if you don’t make it? Would it matter? Would it change anything? Would the world even notice if one more person disappeared? 

You inhale sharply, trying to ground yourself, but the air feels thin, slipping through your fingers like sand. You don’t realise you’re gripping the hem of your jacket too tightly until your knuckles ache. 

Move. Breathe. Don’t think. 

Because thinking means fear, and fear means weakness, and weakness means death.

Your mind spirals again. It’s been doing that a lot—a relentless, asphyxiating current dragging you under. And just as it’s about to bury you, a palm presses against the small of your back. Warm. Grounding. Your breath hitches at the unexpected touch.

"Y/N, let’s talk."

Jungwon’s voice is quiet but firm, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside you.

He doesn’t wait for a response, simply leading you away, up to the rooftop, where the two of you are left standing under the weight of everything unsaid. You face him, but suddenly, all the words you’ve been rehearsing, all the explanations and apologies you’ve run through in your head over and over, disappear. The moment you look at him—at the quiet intensity in his gaze, the weight in his shoulders—you’re speechless.

Jungwon opens his mouth first. "I—"

But you don’t let him finish. The words burst out of you before you can stop them, raw and desperate. "I’m sorry." Your voice wavers, thick with emotion. "I’m sorry I left you. I know now that I shouldn’t have. God, I was so stupid."

The words come faster now, tumbling over themselves. "I know you said before that you don’t hate me, but you must hate me now—after everything. After I left you. I left you to die." Your breath shudders, a sob catching in your throat. The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, burning hot against your skin. "I’m so sorry, Jungwon. I—"

He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if exasperated. "God, you never let me speak, do you?"

You blink through your tears, caught off guard. "What?"

Jungwon watches you for a moment before his expression softens, something almost amused ghosting across his face. "I told you before, I don’t hate you." His voice is steady, deliberate. "Nothing in this world will ever make me hate you."

You struggle to believe it, your chest tightening as you shake your head. "But I saw it." Your voice is barely a whisper. "That look on your face, when I suggested this insane of an idea."

You swallow, trying to steady yourself. "I thought I told you I didn’t want you to think. To second-guess what you’ve always believed in just to weigh me in."

Jungwon sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before lowering it again. "Well, it can’t be helped," he murmurs. "You’re someone that makes me think. A lot."

His words make something crack inside you, splintering under the weight of your guilt. "I’m sorry." Your voice is smaller this time. "I’m sorry I brought out the worst in you. All I did was shatter your resolve."

Your gaze drops, unable to bear looking at him any longer. "And them? Have you seen the way they look at me? They look at me like I’m a monster."

Jungwon tilts his head slightly. "No," he counters. "Have you seen the way they look at you?"

His response catches you off guard. You open your mouth to argue, to insist that you’ve seen their fear, their hesitation. But something about his tone makes you stop. He gestures for you to look, to truly look.

And so you do.

Your eyes drift down to the group below.

Fear, dread, terror—it’s all there, woven into their expressions, etched into their postures, marinating in the thin air. It clings to them like a suffocating fog, thick and unrelenting. Your stomach churns at the sight of it.

But then, as you really take them in, you notice something else. You see it in the tight-set jaws, the clenched fists, the flickering light behind their eyes. You see it as clear as day—something beneath the fear, the dread, the sheer, gut-wrenching terror.

Determination.

Resolve.

Hope—

"Hope." Jungwon’s voice cuts through the moment, soft but certain.

The word reverberates through you, lodging itself deep in your chest. He says it as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. As if he sees the moment you realise what you’ve done.

"And you gave that to them."

His words knock the breath from your lungs.

Hope. The very thing you ran from. The thing you tried to abandon. The thing you convinced yourself was a lie, a cruel trick played by the universe.

And yet, here it is. Staring back at you in the eyes of the people you are trying to save.

Jungwon studies your face, watching as the realisation settles into you. Then, almost casually, he asks, "Has anyone told you what division I was in back when we were still in The Future?"

You blink, thrown off by the sudden change in topic. "No," you admit.

He exhales, his gaze flickering to the horizon before meeting yours again. "Tactical Functions."

The words hang heavy in the air between you. You wait for him to elaborate.

"I was one of the people who decided who got to stay and who was expelled. I played a part designing the tactics and strategies The Future used against the communities around them. All hell could break loose, and I would still be prioritised to stay. Because they needed people like me."

Your blood runs cold.

Jungwon’s voice remains even, but there’s something detached in it now. "You can’t bring the worst out of me, Y/N. I’m already him. And every night, I would see their faces in my sleep. In the trees. In the breeze." He swallows, his throat bobbing. "What’s worse is the only reason I even suggested we leave in the first place was because the committee brought up the discussion to expel Jay for insubordination."

Your breath hitches. "Jay?"

Jungwon lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah. The man just couldn’t sit still without stirring some kind of shit. And they saw it. Saw how he could be a problem to the system. So, I orchestrated the entire escape. I left those people to reap the consequences of my actions. And I’d only done it because of Jay. If it wasn't for him, I would've sucked it up and continued doing whatever it took for us to survive.”

A weight settles in your chest, heavy and unrelenting.

He turns to you fully now, his eyes unwavering. "So no, I’m not going to sit here and let you talk about yourself like that."

It's a shocking revelation. Your mind reels, trying to reconcile the Jungwon standing before you with the boy who once stood on the watchtower, his voice laced with pure, unfiltered hatred.

You still remember that night vividly—the way his face twisted with something raw and wounded when he first told you about The Future. The way his voice dripped with venom as he spoke of them as something worse than the dead. Back then, you thought it was just anger, just the words of someone who had been wronged, betrayed, and left to fend for himself.

But now, the truth wraps around the two of you in a slow, suffocating chokehold.

He wasn’t just talking about them.

He was talking about himself.

It’s only now that you realise—when he cursed The Future, when he spat their name like it was poison, it wasn’t just about what they had done to others. It was about what they had turned him into. What they had forced him to become.

Jungwon looks at you, waiting for a response. But what can you even say? That it’s not his fault? That he was just doing what he had to do to survive? You already know those words will mean nothing to him.

"I—I didn’t know." Your voice is barely above a whisper when you say.

"Now you do."

Jungwon tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "And knowing what you know, does that change how you see me?"

Your response is immediate. "God, no. Never."

A flicker of something—relief, maybe—passes through his eyes. He nods, as if confirming something to himself.

"Precisely. And that's why you don't have to worry about how I see you.”

A humourless laugh escapes him, but it lacks warmth. "I was crazy to think I could be even a fraction of a good person. Maybe my obsession with holding onto my humanity was just deluded because I had already lost it a long time ago."

His voice drops to something quieter, almost contemplative. "And hearing you and Jay say that? It made me feel… normal. Which, in hindsight, fucking sucks."

A faint, bitter smile tugs at his lips. "But it’s oddly liberating."

All this time, you had convinced yourself that you were a burden to him, that your presence chipped away at his resolve, that you were the thing dragging him into the dark. You thought you were making him worse—forcing him to question himself, to second-guess the beliefs he had once stood so firmly upon.

But standing here, you realise the truth is something entirely different.

You weren’t breaking him.

You were keeping him together.

Jungwon was relying on you in ways you hadn’t even considered—not just for your insight, not just for your ability to challenge him, but for something far more simple. Something far more human.

You made him feel normal.

In a world that demanded ruthlessness, in a life that had forced him to carry responsibilities far heavier than any human being should bear, you were the thing that reminded him he was still just a person. Not just a leader. Not just a tactician. Not just the one keeping them all alive.

Just Jungwon.

And maybe you needed him for the same reasons.

Maybe the two of you had been holding onto each other without even realising it, tethering yourselves to something real in a world that had long since lost its meaning.

Tears spill down your cheeks before your brain even registers them. They come silently, effortlessly, like they belong there—as if your body has been holding onto them, waiting for this moment to finally let go. You don’t wipe them away. You just let them fall, streaking warmth down your cold, dirt-streaked skin.

It’s a bittersweet moment, one that catches you off guard with how deeply it settles into your chest. And you realise, standing here in the quiet, in the wreckage of everything you once thought you believed in—how truly fucked up the two of you are.

But it’s not the kind of fucked up that makes you recoil. It’s the kind that makes you stop and think.

Because if you had truly lost your humanity, would you be standing here now? Would you be looking at Jungwon, voice trembling, hands shaking, with tears running down your face? Would he be standing here, looking at you with something equally raw and conflicted in his expression?

No. You’d be long gone. And they’d all be dead.

But you’re here. You came back. And it’s because you have your humanity that you did.

It’s because Jungwon has his humanity that he’s still here, still standing, still trying. Still fighting to be something more than the sum of his past.

Yes, you’re fucked up. You’d cross lines. You’d do the unimaginable. You’d become a version of yourself you never thought possible if it meant keeping the people you care about alive.

But if that’s what it means to survive in this world, if that’s what it takes to hold onto even the smallest fraction of something real—then maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

Maybe it means you’re still human after all.

And in that sense, you’re fucked up in the most beautiful way the world has left to offer.

Your eyes flicker to his hands, catching the way his fingers twitch at his sides, hesitant, uncertain. He’s deciding whether to reach for you—whether to wipe your tears away or let them fall.

It reminds you of this morning. The way he had extended his hands towards you, offering comfort, only for you to step away. You remember the flicker of hurt in his eyes when it happened 

This time, you won’t step away.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you move, reaching out and grabbing his hands. Jungwon flinches at the sudden contact, startled, his breath hitching ever so slightly. His fingers twitch beneath yours, as if caught off guard by your warmth. For a second, he just looks at you, wide-eyed, unreadable, but you don’t let him pull away.

Gently, deliberately, you guide his hand to your face, pressing his palm against your tear-streaked cheek.

His expression shifts. The surprise fades, softening into something else—something quieter, something careful. His thumb brushes against your skin, tentative at first, then firmer, wiping away the tears that refuse to stop falling.

“Y/N…” your name comes out tender. So achingly tender that it makes your throat tighten, your chest ache.

His touch is careful, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid that if he presses too hard, you’ll shatter. But you won’t. Not here, not now. You lean into his palm, closing your eyes for just a moment, letting yourself soak in the warmth, the steadiness of him.

Jungwon exhales, his breath shaky, as though he’s only just realised how much he wanted to touch you. His hands are calloused but warm, grounding, steady. His fingers move instinctively, tracing the curve of your cheek, brushing the dampness away with an intimacy that makes your stomach twist.

Then, without thinking, you move closer.

Your hands leave his, trailing up to his wrists, then his arms, gripping onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. Maybe he is. Your breath stutters as you take another step, closing the space between you.

Jungwon freezes, his fingers going still against your cheek. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, waiting, unsure.

So you make the choice for him.

You fall into him.

His arms come up instantly, as if on instinct, wrapping around you the moment your body collides with his. His grip is firm, solid, like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have. His breath catches against your temple, his body warm and steady as he pulls you in, pressing you close.

And you let him.

You let yourself melt into his embrace, burying your face into the crook of his neck, the scent of him—faint traces of sweat, earth, and something inherently Jungwon—flooding your senses. His heartbeat is strong beneath your palms, his chest rising and falling with each breath, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realised you needed.

His arms tighten around you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed across your back, holding you together as if you might slip away if he lets go.

Neither of you speak. There’s nothing that needs to be said.

This is enough.

This moment, this embrace, this quiet understanding between the two of you.

Jungwon exhales, the tension in his body easing as he presses his forehead against the side of your head. You feel the way his fingers curl slightly against your back, as if anchoring himself to you, as if you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart too.

His breath is warm against your temple, steady and grounding. You can feel the weight of his past pressing between you, the guilt he carries like a second skin, the ghosts of decisions he can never undo.

You wonder if he can feel it—the weight you carry pressed between you, the invisible burdens you’ve never spoken aloud, the guilt of saving yourself when the community building fell, the regret of walking away from him when he needed you most, the haunting thought that maybe, just maybe, you were always destined to be alone.

The ghosts of your past intertwine with his, shadows merging, regrets bleeding into one another. He’s carried his burdens alone for so long, just as you’ve carried yours. And maybe neither of you are saints—maybe you’ve both done unspeakable things, crossed lines that can never be uncrossed. 

But here, now, in this moment, none of that matters.

Because, here, now, in this moment, that weight is shared.

And somehow, it feels lighter.

So you stay like this, wrapped up in each other, holding onto something fragile, something unspoken. Neither of you dare to move, as if the slightest shift might shatter whatever this is, whatever red strings of fate have bound you together in this cruel, unforgiving world.

part 4 - blood | masterlist | part 5 - dusk

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

notes from nat: this part was supposed to be wayyyyyy longer but i've been nerfed by the block limit (y'all can thank tumblr for that). so what was originally suppose to be 6 parts, i will have to extend into 7 because i doubt i can squeeze everything into one post. from this part onwards, there will be no update schedule. i appreciate your understanding on this as i'm writing on my own free time outside of my 9-5. i'm really sorry for the disappointment because i know how eager some of y'all are to read this and i also want y'all to get these chapters asap!! T.T

perm taglist. @m1kkso @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 @m1kkso @tinycatharsis @parkjjongswifey @dcllsinna @no1likeneo @ChVcon3 @karasusrealwife @addictedtohobi @jyunsim @enhastolemyheart @kawaiichu32 @layzfy @renjunsbirthmark13

taglist open. 1/2 @sungbyhoon @theothernads @kyshhhhhh @jiryunn @strxwbloody @jaklvbub @rikikiynikilcykiki @jakesimfromstatefarm @rikiiisoob @doublebunv @thinkinboutbin @eunandonly @wilonevys @sugarikiz

[atalana]

thinking about the wicked soundtrack again and how my partner (who hadn't listened to much of act 2 until recently) only just made the connection and i realise a lot of people may have not either, so another of my favourite little musical tricks in wicked!

in act 2 we get the wizard's song wonderful, where he runs into elphaba again and tries to get her back on his side

and it's a song that i can't wait to see jeff goldblum do bc honestly it feels like it was written for him

but most of it is his usual wizard blundering, in his usual fake humble but old timey grandiose style (the stuff that feels pulled straight out of a 1930s stage show that all of emerald city is based on), and it is not working

elphaba is not at all impressed by that now that she's seen what lies beneath it

but then his last couple of lines are the ones that almost work, and that's because he changes tactics entirely

and that bit goes "At long long last receive your due long overdue, Elphaba.../The most celebrated are the rehabilitated/There'll be such a whoop-de-doo/A celebration throughout Oz that's all to do with you"

and okay yeah the more obvious trick he's pulling is parroting the wizard and i back to her, reminding her of what she wanted originally

but there's something more important he's doing here!

because those first three lines? are also a melodic match for "Together we'll be the greatest team there's ever been, Glinda.../Dreams the way we planned 'em if we work in tandem/There's no fight we cannot win" (even down to the pause on the name)

and i love all of the focus the movie gave on morrible recognising that glinda was their best shot at getting elphaba back, because the wizard literally tries it again! he steals the melody from elphie almost managing to convince glinda to come with her, and glinda wanting so desperately to believe it's possible. because glinda is the only person who ever stood a chance of getting elphie on her side, because she was the only one ever on elphie's side

(but in both cases. an almost is still just an almost)

[folkwhoreberry]

Amongst Demigods

Flirting With Fate

f1 x reader

or... the one where there are five ways to steal a heart

word count : 999

warning : suggestive jokes, english is not my first language!!!

check masterlist for more parts of this series!!

🏛️🏎️

weeks had passed since you’ve first stepped foot in camp half-blood, and you were starting to feel more settled.

you weren’t sure when it happened, but the chaos of the hermes cabin, the intensity of training, and the never-ending questions about your godly parent had become… normal. what you didn’t expect was the new kind of chaos - one involving a certain group of demigods who seemed to always be around.

——————

lando was the first. you weren’t sure how it happened, but the two of you had started spending a lot of time together. it started innocently enough: races by the lake, where he always insisted he was faster because of his sea legs, which you told him wasn’t a thing.

“come on, admit it,” he’d say, grinning as he caught up to you after another race, “you just like the view.”

you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat every time he flashed that smile. “sure, the view of you eating my dust.”

“oh, dust is it now? I was more thinking of you checking out-“

“shut up, lando.”

he’d laugh, but it was never mean-spirited. you’d end up sitting by the water afterward, legs dangling into the cool lake, talking about everything from your messed-up childhoods to how he still couldn’t swim properly, despite being the son of poseidon. you weren’t really sure what you were, but lando had a way of pulling you in, making you forget everything else.

——————

then, there was charles. sweet, golden, frustratingly perfect charles. he was a natural charmer, but not in the way you’d expect from a son of apollo. he’d always find you after archery practice, usually while you were nursing another terrible shot.

“need help?” he’d ask, leaning against the target, his bow slung lazily over his shoulder.

“if I say yes, will you stop being so smug about it?” you quipped, though you always accepted his help.

he’d stand close behind you, his hands gently guiding yours, his breath warm against your ear as he gave tips.

“just relax, focus on the target, and let go when you feel it’s right.”

you’d let go, but the arrow almost never hit the target.

“I think you’re distracting me,” you muttered one day after yet another failed shot.

“maybe I am,” he replied, a playful smirk on his lips.

you laughed it off, but it was hard to ignore the way your pulse quickened whenever charles was around. he had a way of looking at you, like you were the only person in camp, even when you were surrounded by people.

——————

oscar was different. quiet, thoughtful, but somehow always knowing exactly what to say when you were feeling overwhelmed. you’d started to catch him watching you during lessons, his eyes following you with a sort of quiet curiosity.

“what?” you’d ask, after catching him staring one too many times.

“nothing, just… you’re interesting.”

“interesting how?”

he’d just smile, shrugging as if he wasn’t going to answer, but there was always something behind that smile that made you wonder what he was thinking. the two of you had started to spend more time together, mostly during strategy lessons or sparring sessions, where he was always more tactical than aggressive. it was different with oscar. where lando was playful and charles charming, oscar made you feel like he saw you, like there was something more between the lines.

——————

daniel, though - daniel was chaos. pure, unfiltered, ares-born chaos. he had a way of turning every situation into a joke, a flirtation, a game.

“you know,” he said one day, tossing you a sword during practice, “there’s something about watching you swing a sword that’s…”

“don’t even finish that sentence,” you warned, but you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

“what? it’s impressive! who knew you could be so… deadly?” he wiggled his eyebrows, and you almost dropped the sword from laughing too hard.

but then, daniel would catch you off guard. in between the jokes and teasing, there were moments where he’d be serious, like after a particularly hard fight when you were frustrated and ready to quit. he’d walk up, offering you a hand, his usual grin softened.

“you’ve got this,” he’d say, no jokes, no teasing. just simple, genuine support.

it was those moments that made you wonder if there was more to daniel than the laughter and flirting.

——————

and then… franco. he was the wildcard, the son of eros who always seemed to know just what to say to get under your skin - in the best way. he’d drop by during meals, sliding into the seat next to you with that infuriatingly charming smile.

“hey,” he’d say, his voice soft but with a teasing edge, “have you always been this gorgeous, or is it just today?”

“franco,” you’d groan, rolling your eyes, but he’d just laugh, leaning in a little closer.

“what? I’m just saying, the gods clearly have a favorite.”

he had a way of making you feel special, even when you didn’t want to admit it. there was something about him, something that made your heart race when he got too close, his hand brushing yours in the most casual, accidental way possible.

“you’re impossible,” you’d tell him one day, after he’d successfully distracted you from an entire lesson just by sitting too close.

“impossible to resist, maybe,” he shot back, his grin wide as ever.

“ugh, franco.”

he’d laugh, but there was a tenderness behind his playful words, a softness that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t all games after all.

——————

and so, here you were - caught in the middle of this strange, confusing, and slightly chaotic situation with lando, charles, oscar, daniel, and franco, each of them pulling you in different directions, each with their own way of making you feel something more than just a friend.

you weren’t sure how it happened, but something was definitely happening.

————————————————————————————

@briefkittenearthquake @colpenter

a/n : wrote this during three five minute drives and lunch where I didn’t eat nothing bc fuck tummy ache🫶🏻

[sunrisecaminus]

Hi I hope you having a wonderful day

May I request some sfw optimus x reader?

Message - I am having a great day actually! Also of course! Got to love the Prime once in a great while! I didn't know what to put as a story so I just made the human have a job.

Optimus x Mechanic Reader SFW

Summary - Optimus having a cute hang out at the human's store!

Warning - Very adorable!

Type of fic - Fluff

You have never had to fix so many vehicles before, until you met the Autobots. You never wanted to tell them, but Cybertronian anatomy was actually easy to learn to help Ratchet with the minor injuries these idiots get from missions. You own your very own Mechanic shop and the bots just make it less boring when they come to visit. Optimus was very respectful to you and rarely visits, but after some deep discussions you both have with each other, he will come by to see you a lot more now a days.

Right now you are giving an oil change for someone when you see from the corner of your eye the red, white and blue truck pulling up. The smile that grew on your face said it all and you finished the guys truck, got paid, and let him leave your garage. Walking outside with your o/c overalls (overall color), you pat the front of the hood and greet your big truck friend. "Hi big guy! What you in for?" You wait patiently as he transforms and looks around. "Hello y/n. I came to drop off some parts for your work. Agent Fowler said it's for Bumblebee when he comes in."

You have lifted so much weight off Ratchet's back by giving the mechs their own check ups and basic plating care routines. You have noticed that you haven't given Optimus a full check yet, but you figured it was because the man was very private about his body. You heard from a lot of his friends that he rarely likes to be touched and they blame it on him being a Prime. It didn't matter to you though, you just wanted him to feel comfortable around his new environments and relax. "Well why don't you come in? I closed for the night so no one is coming around anytime soon." Your shop close really late and it's in the middle of no where. Just outside of Jasper was just your mechanic shop, a mini gas station, and the desert. You liked how peaceful it was here, and the autobot base is actually close by, so anytime the kids need a place to stay they could always come to you for a sleep over. You lived in the back of your shop, but you didn't mind. It was like a cozy apartment inside your home with a tv, kitchen, bedroom, and your own bathroom so you didn't need to use the shops public restroom. It wasn't much, but the quiet nature of it made it feel like a luxury to you. Anyway Optimus walks over and sits just outside of the garage as you pull up a chair and grab your microwaved dinner. "So, any new stories you need to tell me? How are the kids?"

You both talk for what seemed like hours. It was so nice to get to be with him again, but what you didn't know is he felt the same way about you. You listened to everything he said and gave such good advice. What he loved most about humans was their empathy, and you had a lot of it. You played a lot of music with your vintage record player and he loved to just close his eyes and listen to the sweet music…made him forget about the war for a few hours. You NEVER talked about the war with him, unless he talked about it first. Being the person you were, you never wanted to talk to someone about deep things unless they initiated it first, a lot of people find dark topics to be uncomfortable to talk about and you knew Optimus was an awkward person. "Hey, thanks for the shipment. Speaking of, I have some new tires for you if you ever wanted to get some new ones yourself. Treat yourself and get something good once in a while to make you feel better." You eat your food, waiting for an answer as he got quiet to think about it. "I don't want to bother you about it y/n. It's very late." He spoke to you like he was such a nuisance. You wanted to change that ever since this man met you. Standing up, you grab your tool box and throw your empty container into the trash. "Transform and come on in, I can hook you up with some good classic black tires! Nothing flashy I promise."

He obeyed and did just that, transforming, and driving inside your garage. He has never done this before, so he may be a little nervous doing this with a human mechanic. It's not that he didn't trust you personally, he was just worried a human wouldn't know how to change Cybertronian tires. What Optimus didn't know, was that you have been taking classes from Ratchet and reading books in translation to help yourself understand how to do everything. You already practice changing tired on Bumblebee and Arcee, so this was going to be a piece of cake for you. Opening the tool box you walk over and hook him onto the big machine. He didn't know what it was for at first until his entire body gets lifted a few feet off the ground. "Are you sure this will hold?" You chuckle from how anxious he was and pat his bumper. "You'll be fine I promise, Fowler hooked me up with some expensive tech so this baby can hold a plane." You put on gloves and start to get to work.

After about two hours, you clean off the last tire and lower him to the ground. He was a big mech so you made sure you lowered him slowly and you see the tires pressing against the shops floors. "Aaaaaand we are done! Now I already sprayed them and put some air in them so you won't have to come back for another check up in-" You interrupt yourself when you heard nothing coming out of him. You could sense that he wasn't listening so you press your hand on his door. "Hey, you ok? Optimus?" That was when you heard a soft noise coming out of his engine…he was asleep. You smiled from the cute moment that is happening right now and you grab a tarp from the back. It was a nice giant blue tarp that is used to protect vehicles from weather conditions as you draped it over his entire body. Going inside the kitchen, you make yourself a cup of hot chocolate as you go back outside into the garage to sit yourself by the desk you have. You take a sip of the mug and place it on the table, grabbing a pen to start drawing for your next blueprint idea. You look back at the sleeping prime that was in your garage. "Sweet dreams Optimus…love you." You go back to work as what you don't see is him flustered on the inside. He woke up when you gave him the blanket…and now he plans to visit you everyday from now on.

[cutehoons02]

Criminal love

*pairing: illegal racer driver Jake x police Girl

*trope: fratboy/oppositive attraction

*synopsis: Having Jake Sim as a neighbor was exhausting, he showed himself as the perfect neighbor that everyone would want: quiet, greeted the old ladies of the neighborhood, always helped those who were in trouble but you had realized that under that face there was something hidden, Perhaps your sixth sense as a novice cop was not entirely so wrong. What if your boss wants to arrest and figure out who the thugs are that run illegal races outside town but these illegal race drivers know your secret, especially your neighbours?

*tags: Lots of tension, the protagonist does not trust Jake, Jake is a pervert but in the end also a good guy, they tease each other, illegal rides, masturbation (semi-public: in car at night) f. receives it, kisses, blackmail, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) +18, sucking on the head,stalking,obsession, pet names (princess, police officer) (jakey,thug) fluffy

(English is not my native language)

Jungwon pt

10.3k (🚔)

You were sitting at your desk, a cup of coffee in your hands, while your supervisor threw a file on your desk. Your supervisor looked at you and started talking to you and two other novices who had passed the state police trials with you: -These guys are becoming a problem, Every month, large cars are stolen and then modified to run and have illegal races outside the city! -

You browsed through the curious photos and there were black sports cars, neon lights, people dancing around bonfires and at the top of the page there were 7 guys with masks or hoods on their eyes. No faces, only speed, tire smoke, and chaos.

"Illegal races? I thought they were only in movies like Fast and Furious, not in real life," you said, curiously. Your supervisor laughed and continued -And clandestine parties outside of Seoul. Nobody knows who they are, but they use nicknames. We heard them on the radio: "Wildcat", "Ghost", "Hawk" and "Joker". These 4 are the best for now but every 6 months they make some tournament to qualify and we know that the other 3 who don't have nicknames are also entering that world; the only thing we know is their nicknames and age ranging from 19 to 23.- And your supervisor sighs

-The problem is that they are unbreakable. Fast, careful, and, as far as we know, never get arrested.- Nod slowly, the thought that torments you is one: what would happen if you found out that one of them was someone you knew?

-I want you to research them from morning to night, the addresses for races are sent on encrypted sites and every weekend they change zone and code to enter. You and the other two colleagues gave "Yes, sir" and left the room.

The automatic door of the convenience store opens with a beep and you head to the instant ramen shelf. The shop is almost empty, the only sound is the local radio that the salesman left on.

Radio: ... according to rumors, a new clandestine race could take place in a few days in the streets outside Seoul. Most expected names? The King of Escapes, "Joker", the night predator "Wildcat", the track ghost "Ghost" and, of course, the elusive "Hawk".

You froze instantly, even the radio was talking about it? Were seriously so famous? and your gaze remains fixed on the ramen you had just taken. Those words, those names...

Until you heard a voice as familiar as that made you look up

«Interesting news, right? I thought that for the radio they put only K-pop!»

Across the aisle, between the shelves, Jake was leaning carelessly against one of the shelves. He wore a grey sweatshirt, his hair slightly ruffled, and eyes that looked at you with a deviated glow. You may be wondering who is this Jake, in plain words is your neighbor and was the representation of the good guy from the neighborhood but your intuition as a cop had always told you to be careful about that kid because you knew he was hiding something. He’s got you and you feel the pulse.

«You are thinking. Something wrong?»

"No. Just tired." Jake smiled softly, pushing himself away from the shelf and approaching a few steps

«Ah, I see. A long day to follow the bad guys, huh?»

You feel a shiver. There is something in the way he says it, something too... conscious.

Jake reaches out and takes a can of iced coffee from the shelf next to you and his arm touches yours for an instant too long.

«You know, you should relax a little bit more. It would be good for you.»

You squeezed the ramen and knew you had to get away but could not take your eyes off him.

«Need a picture of me? That lasts longer.»

His voice is low and playful. He says it with such a confident air that you look up to the sky, but the heat that rises in your face betrays you.

"Are you always so full of yourself?"

«Only when I have an audience worth it!» he said laughing

"And you, Jake... what do you think of illegal racing?" you said pointing at the device of the radio above your heads

For a moment, a very short moment, you noticed a change in his eyes. Something that slipped away, like a shadow. But then he smiles, that usual golden boy expression that deceives everyone.

«Oh, they’re not my type. I’m an engineering student, you know? I have more serious things to think about.»

"Really? So you’re not interested? Not even a little bit?"

Jake bends his head, looking at you carefully, as if he is trying to figure out how far you are pushing the game.

«Well... If I had the time, I think I would go there at least once. It must be fun, right? The thrill of speed, adrenaline, risk... Certainly a nice show.»

You stared at him and if he was lying, he was damn good at it.

"You know what? We could go together."

Jake pauses for a second, then laughs softly, lowering his chin slightly as he looks at you with new interest.

«You... want to go to a clandestine competition? Isn’t it against your social status as a cop? Don’t tell me you want to go there just to arrest those 4 who compete!»

"Well, in a way you’re right I shouldn’t go because I should report immediately but why not? You’re the one who says it could be interesting and if they don’t find me I could first try their territory and then have some evidence to arrest them"

Jake steps forward and you don’t move and your breathing slows down as he approaches, the warmth of his body a few inches away.

«No, no, no... you see, you shouldn’t go to places like that. Not even if you wanted to arrest one of those four pilots»

He raises his hand and, very slowly, touches your cheek. The touch is light, barely perceptible, but you feel a shiver along your back. The thumb moves for a moment on your skin, and then it moves over your hair, making it slide between your fingers.

«Especially a good girl like you.» His voice is a whisper now. A sharp blade wrapped in velvet. «Especially a first-time cop.»

"How do you know I’m a rookie?"

Jake smiles again. But this time there is something darker in that lip curve.

«Because you see. I bet that you will be my age or maybe you are even smaller than me and believe me... In such a place, they would eat you in one bite.» Something in the way he says it, the way he looks at you made you feel like you were being discovered. As if he knew everything about her, while you knew nothing about him... anything.

«But it’s adorable that you want to play the game of finding the bad guys in the story, but maybe there is someone out there who is more evil than just kids who enjoy running with illegal cars!»

And with that, he turns and leaves, leaving you there, with the ramen still in his hand and his heart beating too fast and with the knowledge that he knew too much about you and maybe even your secret.

The lair is illuminated by cold neon lights, casting long shadows on parked cars. The monitors along the wall show maps, photos, and detailed information. An entire wall is dedicated to their "interests": cops looking for them, rivals, people who could be a problem; and in the center of the board, among the many faces, there is one that attracts more than all the eyes of Jake.

Your.

Jake is sitting in his usual chair, with legs stretched out and a lighter between his fingers. Heeseung browsed some cards, Jay was sitting on the hood of a car, and Sunghoon was quietly watching the codes of future races that were to send in encrypted sites.

'So... your lovely neighbor is a cop. And she has a brother who works with the city scum', said Sunghoon

-Life is ironic, huh?- smiled Heeseung as he browsed through the envelope of your personal information

<Who knows, that someone who is not the police has managed to find out his secret> said Jay laughing

Jake smiles softly, his eyes fixed on your picture. He already knows the answer.

«Oh, she knows. He just tries to ignore him. She pretends that his brother is not a problem. Who has no blood on his hands but every day she lives with that fear of being discovered»

It slowly rises, approaches the wall, and with two fingers slides over your image. The thumb touches the edge of the photo as if it is stroking you.

«She wants to be a good girl and at the same time a good cop. But having a gangster in the family... makes everything more complicated, right?»

'So? What do you want to do with it?' asked Sunghoon

Jake turns with a smirk on his lips «She’s smart. Stubborn. If she finds out about us, she’ll start digging.»

<And if he digs too much?> said Jay

«... Then I’ll show her what her don’t want to see.»

Jake takes another picture from under the ballot: it’s your brother. A man he knows in the streets, who doesn’t just run.

«If he turns against me, he will know that I am not the greatest danger in his life.»

Jay whistles quietly and he says no with his head <You know this thing is sick, right?>

«Oh, come tell me when you have a cop who looks at you with suspicion and desire at the same time.» Sunghoon shakes his head with a half smile. 'What if instead you end up wanting it just for yourself?'

Jake freezes for a second. Then he laughs softly. «Isn’t that the same thing? Let him find out who I am. In fact... I can’t wait.»

Heeseung looked at him and said: -Don’t play with the fire Jake, we know you’re good at beating the cops but when you’ve got them on your ass and when feelings come into play it’s harder to beat them-

The air was fresh, typical of late September nights, with a light breeze lifting the dust off the asphalt. The lights of the city faded in the distance as the road stretched out before you and your best friend, your only companion in this madness.

'Tell me again why are we doing this thing?' she asked your friend

"Because I want to see who they are. I want to know who is behind those faces and nicknames. I want to catch them."

Your best friend chuckled. 'Are you sure you don’t just want the adrenaline?'

The shiver of danger was a thin flame under your skin, something that made you feel alive. Yet, there was more. There was Jake.

He left you with too many questions. He studied you too well. How did he know so much about you? And if he had anything to do with it, you should have found out.

You had been trying for days to get to the underground race. You’d lied, gone around private chats, pretended to be someone else. You finally got the invitation. But what you didn’t know was that they knew about you long before you tried to look for them.

When you arrived, the air was vibrating with the roar of the engines.

Purple and blue neon lights lit up isolated streets, sports cars parked everywhere, crowds screaming and betting.

Your best friend came to you, with bright eyes. 'It’s crazy. It feels like you’re in a movie.' You looked around, and the pulse slightly accelerated. You had to spot the pilots. You were supposed to find him and it didn’t take long. Jake was there, leaning on his car, a black Nissan Skyline with red details, a cigarette between his fingers, and a look that was too smug.

He had seen you. He was waiting for you. And he wasn’t alone. Heeseung, Sunghoon, Jay... they were all there. All the pilots. The guys you were trying to frame.

A shiver ran through your back and there was something wrong, unaware of everything your best friend gave you an elbow push. 'Wow, look at that one. It looks like he’s eating you with his eyes.'

Jake.

Smiled. A smile that promised nothing good and at that moment you realized it was a trap, It was a breeze to know where the illegal race was when you had put your false data and knew that one of those 4 knew how to work with the dark web and they had you trapped rather attracted in their sick world. They wanted you to come and let you find the invitation.

The air was thick with excitement and tension. The roar of the engines became louder, vibrations in the asphalt under my feet. But the only thing you felt was Jake, he was there, leaning on his car, talking to someone, but he didn’t even look at you.

The boy next door, the one with the golden retriever smile and sweet eyes, was gone. In his place there was someone else, someone who did not glance at you as if you did not exist yet, you could not take your eyes off him. The way a hand passed through his hair.

The way his sweatshirt fell perfectly on him, leaving a silver chain under his dark shirt and dark glasses that made him look like a thug. The way you knew he was doing this on purpose was pissing you off but also killing you, but you would never admit it.

One shot, you were stuck, your heart popping. Instinctively, you leaned on your best friend, feeling her hand wrap around your waist.

'It’s all right,' she whispered. 'It’s just the signal of departure.'

Sure. You knew it. You were a police officer. Yet, the sound of the shot had paralyzed you for a moment. A memory. A fear you never admitted.

The cars sprinted forward.

People around you were yelling, betting, and filming with phones. The adrenaline was electric in the air and cars moved like lightning, dangerous curves faced at impossible speeds. But your eyes were only on Jake.

Second off, you saw him push his car over the limit, gaining valuable meters. Then came that curve-one of the worst. Sunghoon was in front, ready to close every gap but Jake didn’t brake and with an impossible detachment, he slipped inside at the last second, overtaking him with a maneuver that no one would ever have risked.

The crowd exploded moments later, crossed the finish line first and you felt the adrenaline in your blood, as if you had run too.

You moved without thinking as your best girl yelled to you to come back and you crossed the crowd that was crowded around the drivers, hearing people talking excited about the race. Someone tried to stop you, but you ignored them until you went to Jake, he was there, leaning against his car, bottle of water in hand, as if he had not just risked his life in a crazy run.

"You are completely out of your mind!" you exploded as you approached him.

Jake looked up slowly, surprised by your presence, and then smiled. That damn smile.

«Oh, you worried about me? I have a pretty neighbor who babysits for me!» Was that a game for him?

"That maneuver was a suicide! Are you aware of what could have happened if you had been wrong by one millimeter?"

Jake drank a sip of water, then ran his hand through his sweat-soaked hair. «But I was right.»

"That’s not the point!" you yell, exasperated. "You... you’re not normal."

Jake came a step closer and did so slowly, with intent, until you felt the hood of his car against your back.

«What if I told you that I did it on purpose?» he whispered.

"Why?" you hissed, your heart beating too fast.

Jake smiled. «I wanted to see if you could take your eyes off me.»

The air around you was still warm from the rush of running, but you felt like you were suffocating. Jake laughed. As if this was all just a game to him and as if you were just another bet to win.

"Where’s the guy who studied engineering? The one who takes Layla out to the park and the one who helps old people with groceries?"

Jake leaned slightly toward you

«Still here,» he replied calmly, bowing his head. «Do you want to arrest him?»

And he raised his hands in front of him, his wrists joined together in the universal sign of handcuffs.

«You can arrest me now» Your blood froze.

Jake was making fun of you and he had made fun of you all along and this thing did not sit well, your sixth sense never lied so you would have imagined to find it in a context like that.

You opened your mouth to answer, but it was at that moment that another shot rang in the air and you heard screams.

The crowd around you dispersed, and someone ran. Your hand instinctively went to the belt-but you didn’t have the gun with you. You were unarmed and Jake looked at you and something in his eyes changed. He was funny, but also... serious.

«You are slow,» she said, before grabbing your wrist.

"Wait" He didn’t let you finish the sentence and in a second, pushed you towards his car, opened the passenger door and threw you in, locking you inside without too many compliments and then went up from the driver’s side and pressed the accelerator.

The city lights were passing like trails as Jake ran at breakneck speed through the night streets and police sirens were nearby.

"Jake, stop!" you yelled, nails sticking into the seat.

He laughed. He laughed. "You’re crazy! You’ll kill us both!"

«No, no. I’m in control, baby.»

He steered suddenly into a narrow alley, avoiding another car by a whisper. The pulse in your chest exploded and your mind told you that you had to stop it, that this was your chance to arrest it but your body? Your body was burning with adrenaline.

Jake was damn good. He knew exactly what to do and after a few minutes, the sirens faded. You couldn’t believe he had just dropped them off like a cop with no idea how many years of driving career and then steered sharply again, climbing onto a back road. After a few minutes, it stopped and Seoul lay beneath you, a show of lights that seemed infinitely far from the chaos of just a few minutes before.

Jake turned to you and raised his hands again in the handcuff mark.

«So?» he asked, with that little smile. «Do you still want to arrest me?»

You didn’t think. The palm of your hand hit his cheek with a strong slap, you were so tired of his attitude, his depraved little laugh and everything you had discovered in those few hours.

Jake stopped for a second and then laughed softly, tongue on his lip.

«Oh, I love it when you’re tough.»

And before you could move, he grabbed your wrists and pushed you against the seat. «I told you that you are slow, to be a police officer you should be more reactive, I know that you are at the beginning but you are poor in movements and reflexes»

His eyes dropped on your lips and without asking permission he kissed you and not a sweet kiss was a hungry, wild kiss, as if he had waited too long. As if he finally got what he wanted and maybe, that thing was you. Jake didn’t even give you time to think, he kissed you with the same intensity that he drove: no fear, no rules, no brakes.

His mouth was smashed against yours, hard, overbearing, hands that clenched around your hips to pull you even closer to him.

It was too close, too hot, too intense-you felt sucked into him as if he had always been waiting for that moment.

Your breath broke when his teeth caught your lower lip, pulling it just enough to make you gasp. Bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing and Jake smiled at your lips. Amused. Provocative, as if he was challenging you.

With a steady movement, you grabbed his wrist, using your strength and training to lock it and push it backward, and then you flipped it over onto the driver’s seat, immobilizing him with your hands behind his back.

Jake laughed.

«Finally,» he murmured, «I see my beautiful policeman at work.»

His tone drove you crazy, he was teasing you once again even defeated and the anger exploded inside of you. "You shouldn’t do this stuff, Jake!"

«Oh?" he raised an eyebrow, still laughing. «And what should I do then?»

"Have a normal life!" you broke. "You’re twenty-two! You should be a student, you should be worried about exams, not running to the police like a criminal."

Then he did something that made you freeze the blood blew on your neck and the shiver went through your skin before even your brain could react, and it was at that moment that you understood. He had you.

Jake got out of it with an insane speed, turning you in a moment and locking you under him and this time, you were the one immobilized.

"What the hell?"

He took you by the hips and pulled you up, making you sit on him.

He was too strong, too fast, too clever. You found yourself completely locked in, his hands wrapped around your wrists, chest rising and falling against yours.

"Let me go," you hissed, your breath short.

Jake shook his head. «No.»

You hated him. You hated him with every fiber of your being and you hated even more the fact that his body pressed against yours made you tremble.

"I don’t want to be touched by a thug." Jake smiled. A poisonous smile.

«Pity, princess.» Then he lowered his voice. «You don’t want to be touched by a thug... but your blood runs through your brother’s body.» Your breath stopped. «And you know the difference between me and him?» he continued, his tone so soft that it was scary.

«I run. He traffics weapons.» Your hands clenched in a fist. "You’re lying." Jake bowed his head. «Really?»

He stared at you with those eyes that seemed to see every fucking weakness.

«Tell me, princess... why are you here? To catch us? Or to hide the fact that the perfect cop has a brother who is worth more than anyone in here?» Jake knew everything.

He knew of your dirty blood, of the brother you tried to hide, of the truth that would destroy you, of your name changed at the police station to make sure that people would know you as a normal girl and not with a surname that circulated for years in the prison offices database.

«What, princess?" His voice was a whisper, full of fun. «Now you’re not talking?» You tried to move, to break free from its grip. He had completely blocked you and you felt his big hand slip on your cheek, a slow, languid, dangerous touch.

«You are so beautiful.» His words slipped on you like poison.

"Don’t get it, Jake." You hissed, clenching your teeth. "Tell me how you found out about those things." Jake smiled. That damned bastard smile.

«I have my ways." He shrugs his shoulders as if it were obvious. "But I will never tell you. Especially with a cop who might fuck me.»

Your breath was short and then... you felt it. His lips on your neck gave little kisses from the lobe of your ear down to where there was more meat to suck, bite, kiss, and torment at the same time, and his big hands under your back.

Your body reacted before your mind, you felt a lot of shivers through your back and you wanted to run away from him but you couldn’t a warm shiver passed through you and you hated him for it.

Jake laughed softly against your skin, feeling you stiffening.

«You feel it too, don’t you?» he muttered, the warm breath against your skin. «This thing between us... this fire? It’s since I saw you for the first time caressing Layla that I thought about what your lips tasted like»

No. No. No. You couldn’t let him control.

"You’re a fucking asshole." You spat out, your voice is full of hate.

But he... knew you were in his pocket. He rose just, his eyes shining with pure fun and then he whispered the words that took the air out of your lungs.

«Just try to say one word about me...... or the other pilots... and your boss will find out all about your brother.»

Your blood froze in your veins when you heard those words.

«And guess what?» Jake came closer again, his mouth touched the lobe of your ear. «You will not have a job anymore.» And then you felt the warmth of his hand on your cheek, the thumb slowly caressing your skin, you stiffened, but he did not stop.

«Why do you cry, princess?» he whispered with a crooked smile. «You didn’t expect me to know everything, did you?» and at this affirmation a tear slipped on your face and Jake kissed it.

You blocked was a sweet gesture, it was a gesture not from the thug Jake but from the Jake who played with Layla every morning and who loved to talk to the old people of the neighborhood, He looked like the sweet Jake you first met when you moved in and brought you chocolate chip cookies to introduce himself to you.

«You’re beautiful, even when you’re pissed at me.»

"Fuck you." You hissed, looking away.

Jake laughed softly. A low, drool, terribly hypnotic laugh and then he bowed his head, looking at you with an intensity that made you shudder.

«Let’s make a deal, princess.»

You did not answer immediately because you already knew that it would blackmail you and you hated yourself because of all the laws and rules that you had stated before becoming a cop.

"What kind of a deal?"

«One that suits you.» he smiled with a clever air. «You will no longer interfere with the races, you will no longer put your nose in our business, and I...» paused, letting the words creep into you, «...I will keep your secret, no one will ever know that you took your mother’s name and that you have a brother who works in organized crime.»

You felt yourself missing the ground under your feet. Jake won and your heart was pounding in your chest. You had fought so hard for your job, for your career and now you were in danger of losing everything.

You closed your eyes for a moment, and, with narrow teeth, nodded.

"I don’t want to lose my dream job." you muttered, with a whisper of voice. Jake nodded a satisfied smile.

«And I don’t want to be arrested for something that I love more than my own life.» He was serious, for the first time that night.

"The races?" you asked quietly.

Jake nodded. «The cars, the speed, the adrenaline.» He paused, then added: «It’s all I have and that I have in common with my best friends, I know I can be selfish but I love reckless things and always feeling on the edge of a razor is like a drug for me.»

You bit your lip. So that’s what it meant to him. Not just rebellion. Not just a dangerous game. But passion. Perhaps in another world, in another life, you might have understood it. Jake approached slowly, his breath touching yours.

«So... deal done?» You showed only a second, then sighed, defeated and you gave him the hand "Deal done."

Jake smiled. And before you could add anything else, he kissed you again. This time the kiss was different, sweeter but still intense. Deep, possessive and his hands slid down your back, holding you with disarming assurance. Your fingers slipped down his jaw, up to his neck and you slightly squeezed his silver collar. You felt him tremble under your touch as your hands went under his shirt and felt the crests of his abs under your hands.

«Curse...» whispered against your lips.

It came naturally when you pulled your lips off his and lowered your face and kissed him there, right on the neck as he had done before while your hands traced a path under his muscles and felt him groan slowly, a low, deep sound that made you shiver.

Damn, those damn butterflies in your stomach you felt, the same ones you promised to feel only for a normal guy. Not for Jake. Not for a criminal. Not for a boy who, if he had been caught, would have had a criminal record.

Yet you were sitting on a horse over him to kiss him and let him kiss you; with a gesture, you took off his denim jacket and shortly after his shirt and saw his bare chest illuminated by the little light of the moon that made stand out the crests of his muscles and the V-line defined and he did the same with your sweatshirt and with a precise click made you slip your bra and your breasts jerked slightly and your buds hardened by the contrast of the temperature. His lips go down to your neck, and his teeth touch your skin as he whispers your name, low and rough, a hand wrings your right breast and with her mouth begins to tease you, bite you, and suck on your already hard bud.

His hands are everywhere, «princess», he growls, his voice low and controlled, «if you continue to rub yourself on me in that way I know that we will be arrested not because I am a thug but because of sexual acts in public! »

You bite his lip, keeping the rhythm steady, your hips press against hers and feel its length grow and become harder with each swing you make. "Touch me, Jake, please" Jake looked at you at first lost but it was for months fucking dreaming of touching you, while he took a shower or while watching porn he always thought about you and did not repeat it twice. Jake made the sign to climb over slightly and lie down in the back of the car and then came straight to you.

He slipped his fingers into the button of your jeans and slowly slid the zipper of your jeans «Raise your hips slightly princess» The jeans slipped and Jake’s eyes went to your panties, blackened by moisture.

«So wet just for a little rubbing?» He raises an eyebrow, a smirk that pulls his lips.

«So fucking cute, you know I could ruin you in a single real moment,Y/n.» groan as he drags his fingers to your panties, sneaking under to slide a soft finger into your slit. «Tell me what you want, Y/n and I’ll give it to you but I want to hear you say» you didn’t want to fall into his game of being so desperate to need his fingers in your core, it was months that you did nothing and you were stressed for the new job and all your mess.

"your fingers" his fingers work to find your clitoris. The moment he does, he starts working slowly, and to provoke you against it, he sinks his middle finger in your pussy and you get a jolt when you feel that your clitoris is pinching slightly to give you a light electric shock and slowly you shake and he started laughing. He starts pumping his middle finger up and down and when he sees that you have used it, he puts another one in, "So, Jake, so good" Jake touched your clitoris and while he pumped his fingers he nibbled on your breasts with his lips and your hands went to pull his hair tufts. «Do you want more?»

"Yes-" you nod enthusiastically and don’t waste time, stick your third finger in to join the first two, following the rhythm, savoring the warmth that envelops it, and you unroll yourself beneath it.

«Look at you», she murmurs, «So sweet... so vulnerable only to me, who would have thought that the neighborhood cop would get fucked with my fingers like a depraved in the middle of nowhere by a hooker?»

You moaned that he was an asshole and he told you that asshole was making you come with his hands and then, took your clitoris in the mouth, swirling tongue in slow and devastating circles.

"So handsome, Jake..." As you feel closer to your orgasm Jake realizes that you are coming so tease your clitoris until his fingers are soaked in your excitement when he lets out one takes it to the mouth and licks it and the other brings it to your lips. «Suck, princess I want to see you suck my finger» You knew that for him that was just a game to make you feel weak but you slipped your tongue in his finger and licked your excitement and then you sucked slightly your finger less and Jake felt his cock become harder and harder for that sight and after a while, he sat down and he pulled out his cock and sucked it with you looking at him with your mouth open, It was so beautiful, so forbidden, so exciting to see him suck his cock and you saw his excitement after a little come out and watched you with a devilish laugh as he cleaned up and settled down.

It had been 2 weeks since you first kissed Jake and to your misfortune every time you thought about it your cheeks were warmed by the things you did, and those weeks you had spent doing everything to avoid Jake.

You were always looking through the window before going out, looking for his car, if it wasn’t parked there, then you could breathe but if it was... Your heart was tight and you were always quiet when leaving the apartment. Layla’s candy bowl had also become a signal for you. If you found it full in front of the door, it meant that Jake had been there recently and that was enough to delay your exit from the house for a few minutes.

But that day... that day was different.

You were given your official uniform. You had just left the precinct, still wearing that dark cloth, belt loaded with essential equipment:

The badge was pinned to the chest. The gun in the holster is safe and well-placed. The notebook and the radio, are always ready for use. The handcuffs hung to the belt.

And on the jacket, right under the police logo, was your last name, your mother’s last name. Not your father’s, not the dirty one, stained by the past you were ashamed of just thinking about saying it out loud; watching it gave you a sense of pride that you had never felt before and even your boss was proud of you.

-You’re gonna be a great cop, girl. I’m glad to have you on my team- Those words had left you impressed, they had given you a sense of belonging. And so, with your uniform still on, you came home but you stopped suddenly, your eyes were locked on a scene that you never would have wanted to see, Jake was in the park, a few meters away from you with Layla, his golden retriever ran happily around him, Wagging and barking.

He laughed, his light laugh, sincere the same one you had heard so many times but in that scene, there was no trace of the thug Jake.

There was only the student Jake, the boy from next door, the boy who loved dogs and who seemed to belong to another world.

Why couldn’t he be the only one? Why should there be another Jake? The one from the races, the escapes from the police, the one who had you in a corner with blackmail? It was not right.

It was not right for your heart to speed up when you saw him like this but before you could walk away, Layla noticed you and barked loudly.

The time a blink and the golden retriever jumped on you, licking your face with enthusiasm.

"Layla... hey! Wait!" you exclaimed, caressing her instinctively.

The soft hair under your fingers gave you a strange feeling of comfort.

Then you felt a shadow approaching and in front of you was Jake with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket and smiling one of those dangerous smiles.

«Oh,» he said, bowing his head. «I didn’t think a uniform could fit you so well, princess.» You looked up at him, trying to ignore the way his eyes were slipping into you, taking all the time in the world.

"Don’t call me that." Jake raises the piano. «And what should I call you then?»

"By my name. Or by my rank, if you must."

«Oh, so you want me to call you an agent?» He stepped forward, too close. You could smell his perfume mixed with that of gasoline, the warmth of his body a few centimeters from yours.

«It sounds strange.» he continued, bowing his head. «I should get used to that since you’re my police officer neighbor.»

Sighs. "You’re unbearable."

«And you keep looking at me as if you want to arrest me.» You clench your jaw. "Perhaps because I really would like to." Jake, gave you a questioning look and said, «And for what reason exactly? I’m just an engineering student who helps old people, who always collects Layla’s hunts, who pays taxes what would I have done so bad to be arrested?» said laughing. He challenges you, every time, every single time.

"Would you like me to list them one by one?" you crossed your arms. "Illegal racing. Reckless driving. Fleeing the police. Or should I start with your blackmail of me?"

Jake stood up and shook his head. «Call it blackmail, I call it agreement.»

He gave you a look of pure satisfaction. "And you accepted it."

It was true, you accepted it and there was nothing you could do to change the situation.

Layla barked again, jumping around you, unaware of the tension in the air, Jake looked down at her, then stared back at you.

«You know, Layla adores you.» You sighed, trying to calm down. "Layla is a dog. She loves anyone who treats her well.»

Jake, smiled. «Then why don’t you do the same with me?»

You looked at him badly. "Because you are not a dog."

Jake smiled again, amused. Then he stepped back, raising his hands in surrender.

«Okay, okay» nodded to your uniform. «Are you busy, agent? Can I offer you a coffee and have me officially interrogated?»

You stared at him for a few seconds, it was supposed to be a joke but you couldn’t tell if he meant it or not. And the worst thing was that... for a second, just one stupid second, you almost thought you’d accept.

"Listen, Jake, I don’t want to have anything to do with you. Risk your life, run away from the agents, do what you want but don’t put me in the middle, and never ask me to go out and tease me from morning to night again; I bet that in those races you will find someone with whom you have fun!"

Jake just tilted his head, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at you with that funny, bossy smile.

«As you wish, princess but don’t forget our pact and above all me»

He had whistled to recall Layla, had his hands in his pockets, and left but before he walked away completely, he had cast a last glance at you, a look too sure, and knew that even if you tried to pretend, you were interested in him. He knew you were watching him, just like he watched you and that confidence of his was driving you nuts.

The days passed and you were thrown headlong into work. Every shift was an opportunity to prove you deserved to be there and you were trying to distract yourself, not think about it, not think about Jake until that late afternoon when you were sorting out some files in the ops room, you heard a conversation between your boss and other officers that you would not have wanted to hear; their tones were low, almost sneaky to not be heard and you continued pretending to fix some files in the operations room, you heard a conversation between your boss and other officers that you didn’t want to hear; their tone was low, Almost sneaking out to make themselves heard and you kept pretending to clean up the files and tried to listen to their conversation.

-We got a tip- said your boss -There’s going to be a big illegal run out of town tonight. It is our chance to at least understand who these thugs are and at the same time we will try to catch them-

Your blood froze in your veins No, no, no; if they had taken Jake or one of his friends would have made your name and Jake would have thought it was you.

That you had done the double face and that you had told everything to the police and knowing him, would never forgive you and swallow hard, heart beating like crazy. After the shift, you’d run home as fast as you could but Jake wasn’t there. The apartment next to yours was empty and his car wasn’t parked.

The only thing you could do was go alone and going to the race was the only way to warn him before it was too late.

The road was the same, but this time you had a different feeling in your body, you weren’t there out of curiosity, you weren’t there to study the enemy; you were there because, as much as you hated to admit it, you had to save Jake from himself, or more precisely, from the police.

From your colleagues, from the people who were teaching you how to be a good cop, from the people who were trusting you, and from the people you would grow up with.

When you arrive the scene is the same but only that this time it is closer to the city: powerful cars, lights on, loud music, people drinking and laughing, bets that go from hand to hand, and then your eyes stop on Jake was leaning on his car and around him were at least four girls, all perfect with their short clothes and then there you: Jeans, sweatshirt wide sneakers worn out and you felt out places but immediately his eyes settled on you, Your heart gave you a crazy blow. Jake looked at you for a long moment, then nodded his head to dinner. An invitation. A way of saying "Come here".

You took a deep breath and approached, ignoring the looks of the girls who stared at you as if you didn’t belong there.

You got stuck right in front of him, ready to talk, but before you could even open my mouth, the echo of a gunshot rang in the air. The start of the race. Jake barely smiled, one of those rascal smiles that drove you crazy. Then he leaned over you, dangerously close. «Did you miss me already, princess?»

You opened your mouth, desperately to warn him. But he ran his hand through his hair and said «Let me run.» He left with no care, putting the keys in his jeans pocket. «Later, if I want to, we will talk.»

And then he turned, heading for his car.

Jake had won but you didn’t care about his result because you noticed the sirens flashing in the distance before everyone else and your heart jumped down your throat. You pulled up the hood of your hoodie and you just had to act and with all the voice that you had in your body, you shouted: «POLICE!»

Everyone turned and some started running, others were stuck out of their way. Jake, on the other hand, stood still his eyes stuck in yours, unbelieving, and then you felt his hand clenching your wrist. «What the fuck?!» Hissed between his teeth but before he could say anything else, you tore out the keys of the car. "Get in," you said yelling but he did not move. «I didn’t think you would betray me like this, Y/n.»

«Get on this blessed car if you don’t want to be arrested I’m covering your ass, idiot!» There was no more time and the agents were advancing. Jake, though still shocked, cast you an intense glance.

Then, with a half smile, he got into the car and you started the engine.

As soon as you pressed the accelerator, Jake stiffened and the car sprinted away in a flash, leaving behind chaos, and for a moment, he said nothing.

Then, when you steered sharply to avoid a patrol, he burst out laughing.

«What the hell?!» You heard him punch his car and you heard his laugh

«Where the fuck did you learn to drive like that, you drive better than some drivers who are in the top 10?!» You didn’t answer you were focused but when you entered an impossible curve at full speed, you heard a whistle of approval.

«Holy shit, you’re crazy, if you wanted to impress me you are doing it great.»

"Shut up," you said as the car went over 170 kilometers per hour

«Hey, relax, you don’t have to be so aggressive.» Jake leaned slightly towards you, his mischievous smirk always on his face.

«You seem quite comfortable here. Are you sure you’re on the right side of the law?» You gave him a murderous look, but he just laughed.

«Tell me the truth, princess,» he whispered, «You like the thrill, don’t you?»

You gave him a warning glance, but you didn’t want to admit that it was so exciting to drive against all limits, but you had to be part of the people who were supposed to enforce the laws and not break them.

«I hear him, you know?» His breath touched your ear. «The beat accelerated. The adrenaline.» His eyes shone with fun. «It excites you, does it not?» You turned back to him, your hand tight on the gearbox.

"Will you get out of my car?" Jake burst out laughing.

«Yours? This car is mine, you’re driving it fine but it will never be yours» He dropped against the seat, smiling with satisfaction. «But keep driving,» he said as he looked at you

«Where?» He pointed his head to him «In the lair.» so you followed all its directions until you parked the car in a parking lot and above you was a luxury apartment complex but when you entered the living room your heartbeat was absorbed because there was a blackboard with an immensity of photos And you were there too, of course.

Posted on a large table, carefully ordered there were photos:

You are at work, you in front of your apartment, you walking around the neighborhood and you petting Layla.

Every single detail of your life had been documented and only one person could be responsible for it; you turned to him and he was leaning carelessly against the sofa, his hands tucked in the pockets of the sweatshirt, a half-smile on his lips as if there were nothing strange.

«You are completely out of your mind, are you a stalker?»

«What’s the matter, princess? Don’t you like my decoration?»

You pointed the table with a furious gesture.

"Decoration? You’re completely out of your mind"

He saw your shoulders and said, «well it’s my collection of you!»

Your eyes were blinking with anger.

"A collection?!" you repeated, incredulous. "You’re a stalker! Do you realize how sick all this is?!"

«Come on, don’t do that,» he said, stepping towards you. «Doesn’t it make you feel special?»

You move back a step, clenching your fists.

"Special?!" you smacked. "You make me want to vomit!"

He shook his head with a funny grin.

«Strong words for someone who has taken the trouble to come to the race to save me.» His voice was lower, almost a whisper and he looked at you carefully, as if he were waiting for something.

«Tell me, princess...» He stepped closer to you so close that you could smell his scent, that mixture of gasoline, leather, and mint that was now haunting you.

«Why did you do that?» he said, tracing with his finger the edge of your lower lip.

"What are you talking about?" You tried to mislead, but you knew it wouldn’t work Jake tilted his head slightly

«Why did you take me away from there?» he answered, but you were afraid to tell him what you felt for him.

"Because I was afraid you would tell my secret," you said in a low voice, trying desperately not to look him in the eye.

«Just for that?» His voice went down an octave. «Or why were you afraid for me?» He was an asshole, a damned asshole you did not know how to do it, but he could always read inside and at the end, with a nervous smile, shake your head.

"I don’t care about you." Jake blinked, surprised and then passed his tongue on his lips and nodded. «Ah, understood.» His cheerful gaze faded in an instant, he shrugged carelessly and turned.

«Then you can go.» When you heard that phrase, your breath was blocked, you helped him or even helped all his friends and now he told you you could leave?

Jake took a few steps toward the corridor leading to the rooms.

And you stood there, frozen, was she really... getting away? So? Like nothing?

You wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction of leaving you there, pissed and confused and so, without even thinking about it, you grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him towards you and without giving him time to react, kissed him with force, With frustration at everything you weren’t ready to admit, he stiffened for a second but then his hands squinted on your hips.

And he kissed back with all his arrogance and pushed you against the wall.

His body presses against yours, Trapping you and his fingers sink into your clothes, possessive.

«Christ...» whispered against your lips as you continued to kiss and you pulled his hair tufts now too long and his voice was damn sexy.

The wall against you, Jake’s breathless breath filling your ears. His presence was overwhelming you, but you were not going to give in. You pushed against him, trying to keep control, but he just kept coming closer, more intense, more determined.

«Stop me, please,» he said in a husky voice.

You looked away slightly, staring at him with an intense look. It was as if he was challenging you as if he was trying to see how far you would go.

"Don’t make me laugh," you replied, trying to keep your cool. " Since the first day we met, we both want the same thing, Jake."

Jake, shakes his head, a smile that seems to reveal more than he wanted. «I never thought I would end up in this situation with a police officer,» he said, his voice lighter but with a defiant accent. «Yet... it’s exciting.» He took you in his arms and carried you to his room and made you lie down on his big bed and you continued kissing for whole minutes, his hands moved sensually on your body, you felt his erection growing beneath you and you began to rub against each other’s bodies. His erection was always rubbing against your center "Jake.., please do something" You beg him when you notice that Jake is staring at you and sincerely like you but you’re desperate and you need his touch, his lips around your body and feel his cock inside you.

«I will do whatever you want princess» starts to kiss you and gently nibble your neck and you moaned piano of pleasure when he did, You felt that it bit and sucked your neck and you were seriously afraid that tomorrow you would find signs but in that moment you were at the mercy of all the emotions that it was making you feel.

Jake starts to lift your shirt and looks at you with a questioning look asking for permission you nod and he pulls down your shirt and then his bra. Gently touch one of the nipples and lick and chew the other with your tongue and groan for feeling Jake notices how desperate you are as you keep rubbing and You’re a mess under him but he loves it, loves to see you as obsessed with him as he has been with you for months now, smiles at you, raises an eyebrow looks at you and says in a provocative tone, «tell me, baby, where do you want me to touch you?»

Groan and look at you. His hair ruffled by your touch tickles your neck, his naughty smile and fleshy, reddened lips make your pussy drip even more which is extremely excited and sore.

"Please... I need your fingers in my pussy"

The smile on his face does not disappear when you beg him so kindly and he gently pulls down your jeans and you are left with only panties. «God you’re so excited princess» He slowly touches your clitoris with two fingers in your panties and sees the wet stain on them and says in a deep voice «Your pussy is so wet and eager only for me, isn’t it?»

You nod and Jake lowers your panties and starts touching your clitoris with a finger, moves his finger deliberately and gently from the top down and you gasp for pleasure.

"Just for you jakey, please..... I want more" he started to laugh, he said «You are so eager to have me all for yourself Y/n, but remember when you are mine I won’t let you go anymore»

At your request, he puts two fingers in your pussy and you moan at the feeling but after a while, he started licking your dripping pussy "fuck, Jake. Just like that", you sighed satisfied writhing at the sensation of his fingers pumping inside you and at the same time licking you as if you were his favorite food. " You’re a good guy".

He loved the attention you were giving him, and he let you know how proud of himself when one of his palms crashed into your buttocks before biting your clitoris, the tongue that swirled around the sensitive bud and wanted you to feel so good forever. Your orgasm caught you completely by surprise you didn’t even have time to jump because the stimulation that was giving you Jake was too much, the knot in your stomach suddenly broke, and you melted into a puddle of your slimy white excitement and Jake as that time in the car he took a finger against his lips and licked your white sperm.

«delicious as the last time," he told you while he chuckled and took off his pants and at the same time his boxer shorts and his cock slightly ribzò in its perfect V-line, You had already seen it but it was really big and thick and you had the hill in your mouth because you couldn’t wait to feel it inside of you.

«Ready princess?» he said

"put it in Jake is months since I have had sex with someone" he got a little more serious and gave you a small kiss on the forehead and his big cock stretched your pussy opening it to every delicious centimeter, filling you in a way that you did not know you needed, groaning as your velvety walls completely enveloped him and scratched his back slightly letting him push deeper.

«You’re so fucking tight, Y/n,» he said waiting for you to tell him to move and relax completely under him.

"Move, Jake," you pleaded, trying to press your hips against his. " please, I need you" didn’t finish the last sentence a scream came out of your throat when Jake immediately started banging his pulsing cock inside you. Your whole body trembled in his arms when the bulbous head hit your G-spot, and almost as if he had just pressed a button, your mind emptied because you were completely at his mercy.

"Fuck Jake, too, it’s too beautiful" His chest swelled with pride, a new passion took him and turned his impulses into deep and precise blows that made you reach heaven.

«Does it feel good? Is this what you wanted, right? That my cock fucked you completely but it wasn’t you who didn’t even want to be touched by a thug but now I’m fucking you hard?» Jake grunted, putting yourself back on your back and hiding his face in the hollow of your neck. Could feel himself pulsating wildly inside you, warning him of his imminent high.

"Yes, just you" panicked, the legs clenching around his waist in an attempt to approach him.

«I dreamed of it for a long time», he confessed, «every time I saw you around the place, wearing that fucking uniform that makes your ass look absurd, every time you answered me wrong I wanted to lock you in this room and fuck you as it should.»

Jake could feel your walls clenching on his dick like a vise under the weight of his confession. With your orgasms approaching quickly, she leaned your calves on her strong shoulders to get even deeper, the lips that went to kiss your breasts and nibble your nipples.

«I know how much you like to be treated as not a good girl but the crazy obsessed with me that you are", groans against your chest, feeling her sight fog.

«You’re dripping on me, you’re filling my dick with cream and you feel that you are getting closer to your second orgasm»

"J-Jakey," your body began to writhe beneath him, almost overturning.

«come for me, y/n, let me see how pretty you are while falling apart on my cock» and that was all you needed to feel before a wave of overwhelming pleasure swept over your whole body, your hands pulling her hair for the intensity of your orgasm.

«Fuck, there are almost», he groans, breathless, and you couldn’t help but do the same while you stared at his face, as he chased his high like a rabid dog, using your body for her pleasure.

It took no more than three strong shootings before he poured his essence over your lower belly and thighs, loosened the grip on your legs to let them fall back into place, collapsed upon you, almost crushing you with his body, Completely exhausted and kissed you on the forehead as he hugged you. The guy who was hugging you was the engineering student you met at the beginning and his presence gave you a feeling of tranquility, and for a moment you forgot everything else.

But the sound of your phone broke the silence. He was your boss. Your instinct made you hesitate, but when you heard his voice, something in your chest clenched.

-Hi, how are you? All right? I hope you weren’t with the patrol this evening...-

You performed for a moment, trying to keep calm. " No, I wasn’t with them I was at home" you replied quickly, hoping there was no need to add more and your boss sighed because he didn’t want anything to happen to you.

-good. I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t with them too because we couldn’t arrest anyone, but I checked your file and it says you’re great at running maybe we should try to test your speed to see if you can run and at the same time stop them- Jake looked at you with a smile as he held on to you

"I’ll do my best boss," you said with a little hesitation, and then told you to go to sleep and closed the call and Jake sighed. «If you drive like you did before I know that even I, who am the strongest, will have a lot of choices to run away with you, princess, and maybe it’s time to race a little less and put my focus on my study,» He said to you with a wink as he lay down with his head leaning against the hollow of your chest and you began to massage his back.

«Slowly I will stop making you tell lies. I don’t want you to feel obliged to hide who you are or what you do.»

An incredible feeling of confusion and uncertainty pervades you.

"Jake, you" did not keep going and put a finger near your lips, «Shh, tomorrow I have to wake up early because I have class and you have to go look for the bad guys out there,» he said laughing as he leaned even closer to you.

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[holocene-sims]

next // previous

june 3, 2022 2:00 p.m. newcrest counseling

"i'm really happy to hear you think you worried too much, but what makes you say that? did you feel differently than you expected?"

"i did, actually. as i've figured out over the last week, doing the work to become a healthier person means i know how to better manage negative emotions. i often still default to seeing myself as the person who just falls apart as soon as i feel any emotion less pleasant than neutral. at first, when i was on the plane and then in my hotel room alone, i was battling negative thoughts, but i turned it around pretty quickly. to be honest, that was weird. i'm so used to having to completely lose it before i can recover. recovering at the first very tiny peak in severity is almost a miracle.

finding the good things, however small, to focus on last weekend was what helped me revert my mood and stop feeling icky before icky became horrendous. the negative thoughts on my mind, i redirected to the best of my ability. like, for example, okay, if i never fly an airplane again before i die, i'll just be thrilled i could do it for a few years. a few wonderful years is better than zero years. little kid grant never thought he'd survive past 18, let alone follow his dreams. if time travel were possible and i could go back and tell grant kid he flew an airplane one day, he'd never fucking believe it. so, i already won. nothing can take that away.

on that note, i'm historically not the best at being open to good things or experiences. i'm at least prone closing myself off to relishing them once they're over. i spent so long being lashed by the world with no end in sight that i don't trust goodness, you know? i expect people to get fed up with me or to hurt me. i expect the universe to screw me over. i also believe i don't deserve goodness, and i've thrown away good things myself for that reason alone. i think i'll struggle with those specific thoughts for a very long time, but i do know that i am learning move past them. i'm learning to believe i deserve better and to appreciate things more and to extract what i can from my experiences.

i realized i was moving past those thoughts for the first time after dealing with my ex and then cutting off my dad for the second time, but especially after my dad, and now i'm confirming the changes. i felt like hot garbage for weeks after that final conversation with him because i just did. reminding myself of how truly horrible he was as a father hurt, but after a while, i was glad i told him the truth, and suddenly, i had much more appreciation for the male figures in my life who were or are kind to me. a burden was legitimately lifted off my shoulders, and old me would have never managed to find anything positive in that situation, so the fact that current me did says a lot. if i can find something positive there, i can find something positive anywhere.

but hey, i'm not even getting to the most fulfilling part of why i felt differently than i expected. the wedding was genuinely great, and i ended up wasting no substantial amount of time absorbed in my own feelings, so i got to be present with my friends. even when i was pretending my trauma didn't exist years ago, i spent so much time stuck in my own head or my own body, always filtering every personal conversation through that lens, and you don't get how much energy and attention that soaks up until you can be fully present with people. of course, it helps that i knew all these people and knew i could relax and trust them, but still. it felt good to be able to devote my entire attention to celebrating them and their lives and not have split it between them and my own exhausting thoughts."

[excellentrectangles]

my mom parented my brother and i very similarly. not to this level of detail, exactly, because she was a single parent fighting both a dastardly litigious ex and breast cancer for a lot of our childhood, but still.

i think her secret sauce was respect. for some reason it seems a lot of other parents demand it from their kids without feeling the need to give it. my mom treated us—like op says—as full people, and in return we largely wanted to do what was asked.

now my brother and i are wildly different from each other, and she told us she learned early on that what worked for one of us rarely worked for the other. so we got handled differently in a lot of ways, but the respect and unconditional love was always there for both of us.

knowing we held the power to screw that up, but that it would still only be temporary if we did, was a really wonderful way to grow up.

I am exceptionally lucky in that my parents never hit me, grounded me, confiscated my things, banned me from my hobbies or threatened any of these actions to make me behave as a kid. as an adult it has made me realise how very very long a road most people have to traverse before they can take a statement like 'no rule that must be enforced by threat is legitimate' seriously.

[claggorluvrgurl]

Okay I keep thinking about it I definitely feel like early on in AU Claggor's mourning process and way of coping was just him becoming a crash out. Like I feel like he was full of anger. At the world and himself for being more passive and not sticking to his guns feeling like he should have argued more against doing that job. That maybe if he did Vi wouldn't have died. He definitely let those feelings fester inside him under the guise of trying to be strong for everyone else.

Like I imagine years before Vander really tried to get him to be more assertive. And now look what him not being assertive got him? His sister is dead and now everyone is looking at him. He got comfortable just being the right hand and following. And now he's suddenly a leader and full of worries because he's not sure if he's ever doing the right thing. Because he's a kid and now he's wondering where Vi learned to be so sure and know if she's doing things right. So now he's growing into a ball of anger and sadness and he's not sure who he can talk to. So the best outlet is to just take it out on anyone he gives him a reason .

But no doubt Vander who just lost one child is not gonna notice this self destructive behavior. He's already shaken from losing on kid . He'd be even more worried about losing Claggor . I imagine him pulling him aside to try to have a heart to heart. But the first few times nothing's getting through to him because all he's hearing is that he needs to be better. That he has to do better or he's gonna lose everything. And he internalizes a lot of his feelings putting up a brace face for his siblings. Probably going off alone to deal with people who made sly remarks that they'd hurt his family to deal with them .

The boiling point being when he gets hurt badly because he's still only one person and can't one V one a bunch a guys even if he's a big guy. He comes stumbling back home later that morning bloody and knocks something over because he doesn't have the strength to call for help.

The boy probably ends up on bed rest for weeks and has no choice but to open up. They aren't letting in leave till they know what's going on in that big brain. Because how does a calm collected and rational person start acting like this?? Why does he now think he needs to be like Vi .

Side note I feel like Claggor grew out his hair a lot during this period then cuts it shorter in the end signally the change in his state of mind.

I feel like his appearance changes as he gets worse mentally because he's taking care of himself less so his hair gets longer. But he probably cuts it more in the front so there's less hair in the front so.... Sadly mullet. My son unintentionally gives himself a mullet.

Not sure what his clothing style would look like some artist could brainstorm that if they wanna have fun

[messrsrarchives]

Hello! I adore your blog and your yaps so much I’ve been following you for a few months now and I first wanted to tell you that you do so much good! So, a huge thanks to you for using your platform for trans topics/Palestine/as well as fandom etiquette/awareness and for just being amazing!

All things aside though, I do have a question! I was wondering what your opinion on @the-dead-gay-oscars was. I stumbled upon it recently and felt kind of an icky feeling about it, because it just feels like another way of comparing fanfic to mainstream media when fanfic isn’t really meant to be like that? It’s also putting a bunch of fanfic out there for people to vote on/critique publicly, and I cant find whether or not the fanfic writers are asked for permission for their fics to be included in such an event- especially when I know a lot of people have boundaries over that kind of thing. I just wonder if it brings back that almost expectation for fanfiction to be like published modern literature/movies. I doubt anyone had the intention for it to be like that but I just don’t really like it?

Idk, it just left me feeling weird about the whole thing, but maybe I’m being over dramatic and critical over something meant to be fun, which could totally be the case. 😅

Anyways, thank you so much for what you do! Have a nice day!

hiii !! first of all!!! thank youuu 😖😖🫂🫂

and yeah,,, not a fan. idk if this mention tags them and if it does, sorry!!! just some gentle opinions 😖

idk like,, "best" categories in fandom really ick me out. and i think it can be very discouraging to others? like how does the voting work? do they select nominations and then others vote?

oh you've said they do! so yes, then it turns into "oh my work wasnt as good as the one that won" etc etc - i just think there's better ways to show appreciation than creating more pedestals in a fandom that already has a massive issue with idolisation, imposter syndrome, etc etc

and whether the authors are asked permission or not is irrelevant to me (actually,, probably worse if they are and agree in my mind)

idk. good concept, poor execution that i personally think is just discouraging and competitive when this space is for everyyyyyyone to create and enjoy without worrying whether you're better than someone else or the "best" etc etc. and yes, 100% brings expectations.

i get it was for appreciation, but i dislike the notion when really you could just comment on a fic and say you liked it, and then make a post recommending it, or rec it to your friends etc etc. you know??

we don't need awards and competition, we need community and an encouraging space where everyone feels confident to engage and write and draw and edit and do whatever it is that they do without worrying about whether they're the best at it or if they're as good as someone else

unless i get best rant poster. then it's okay. (I'M KIDDING THAT WAS A /J. THAT WAS A JOKE.)

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

So after Team Jnpr found out what happened with Playtime Co how many toys would they kill because some of them are beyond saving. Actually this could be it's own story. But anyway Yarnby, Catnap, and Miss Delight I think are to far gone. The Doctor would probably be no moral issue with killing. Mommy Long Legs, Dogday, and Doey would probably be willing to help them.

So not gonna lie didn't think too deeply on said concept, I was just commissioned to make the model and send it to them. I literally thought of it as I posted it...

But that is a interesting point, after all a good amount of the toys tragically aren't rehabilitate anymore... Just about any small one for sure as they all are basically feral.

I actually wonder if the smaller bodies can think beyond animalistic thoughts. It was mentioned several times that bigger bodies were failures that resulted in animal like natures like with Yarnby and Pianosarus.

So I imagine most the smaller toys are the same though Mommy does seem to be able to control the Mini-Huggies so some are... Trainable. Which is just another level of fucked up.

Ultimately I'd have to say JNPR would kill a good amount, their first kill would be Huggy, and they would be shocked when they do so cuz they don't understand what it is at first thinking it's a Grimm... Until it doesn't disappear and then a monster and once they learn they range in reaction.

Ironically I see Ren reacting the worst as this would break his semblance from emotional overload and since he rarely deals with emotions it would utterly devastate him... Nora wouldn't be much better realizing it's a child who was probably a lot like her.

Pyrrha would be inconsolable and like she was with Penny, Jaune would also be in a horrible state. But as we've seen in the series he is the best at pulling himself together.

And ultimately for his team he would shove his mental issues down to deal with later knowing something just died in him... They'd talk to Poppy and all four would be disgusted, horrified and angry...

As for which toys, yeah... Yarnby, Catnap, and Miss Delight would all be killed. I do kinda also see this situation where they hesitate to kill them, but Jaune would force himself forward to do it, so his teammates wouldn't.

They Would HATE Sawyer, things would not play out like in the game, they'd tear his robotic army apart shatter his container and drag him out piece by piece already being far past their initial innocence at that point.

Jaune would unlock his semblance from the sheer tragedy of seeing all this horror. Probably when he see's Dogday, desperate to heal him, to heal someone who suffered so much, he's had to kill so many victim already. They didn't deserve this! they weren't monsters, they were people, children who'd been twisted, used, turned into playthings for Playtime.

He'd activate his semblance as he rushed forward, grabbing the little critters rushing into Dogday, pulling them out of his flesh, ignoring them biting, scratching, trying to eat him as he did. He couldn't let him die, not another kid, not one who could still think, who still had a soul, and even now was tortured. Jaune would pass out waking up to see Dogday alive... The mini critters dead, torn apart, his team looking more spiritually worn out then ever.

Jaune would apologize, regretting that he passed out, that he didn't kill the small toys... The Feral children... that his team had to, that he couldn't protect them.

Yeah... this would be a emotionally fucked AU... Bright side I can see them saving Mommy Long Legs and by extension, Bunzo Bunny, PJ Pug-a-Pillar and the Mini-Huggies that she controls.

With Catnap I think Jaune more then anyone would understand... Loyalty is one of the core tennent of the Arcs after all... he would try but when his teams in danger he decides.

Doey, and all the toys in the sanctuary would be saved, because to put it simply the Prototype would die before Sawyer (The Doctor does) when he attacks the sanctuary Jaune and Pyrrha would go with Doey to fight him while Ren and Nora would follow Poppy's plan.

[fluffmonger]

So, in my experience growing up as a deeply curious child in an Evangelical (tm) church..... We *did* read the Bible, we had Sunday school, and Bible studies, all kinds of things. My church used the New International Version as a standard, which keeps some of the poetics of King James, but is a lot clearer and cleaner to read, more modern English. Reading the Bible wasn't the issue at hand.

What we weren't taught was how to interpret the Bible in Context, as a document that was written by historic humans in historic societies and cultures, across several hundred years. There's... Depending on the church, and pastor or Bible study, you may get some emphasis on the difference between the gospels and the letters, or a rundown of the "parts" of the old testament ... But that's usually it. There's no digging into it, and absolutely no questioning. There's very little, if any, acknowledgement that it is in fact, a bunch of separate texts all compiled by a small group of Christians, decades or more after the death of Jesus. To many Christians, I'd wager it feels like the Bible just appeared fully formed out of the air one day, as their holy book. And of course you can't question it, it's *the word of God* so it has to be correct and right, and if you question you're Doubting and not Having Faith (etc).

I hadn't connected the fact that many of the writings of Paul, and John the Revelator were done in the Reign of Emperor Nero until recently, when my classicist partner saw the dates and went "wait what". And if you know anything about Nero well..... Is it any wonder that Paul might have some Concerns about things like morality, and public display of faith and other things? And again! I'm someone who was asking questions and such, all the time, even back then. I was deeply nerdy about it and trying to read it like I read in English class. This made me..... Unpopular. And also felt kind of blasphemous? Like, I always felt odd about that approach while I was in the middle of it because it was *not* standard.

Likewise, a lot of the old testament gets written off as "a collection of stories" and treated more like.... Parables or fables?? Instead of a written collection of Jewish oral history about their history, laws, traditions, and culture. It's all set vaugely "in the past, in Bible times" without any rooting to real history or landscapes or cultures. And of course, because the Bible is all that matters, most Protestants and evangelicals don't think at all about any of the scholarship that goes back millennia on any part of it, the writings of Rabis and later on Christian scholars. The Bible as I was taught, wasn't a living document or a record, it wasn't something to be debated about or argued with, or even questioned, no matter how weird it outdated it seemed. It was *law*, ironclad, and to the claims of many, perfect as is (despite being a work in translation with a lot of nuance and no understanding of translators bias or how a translation should work).

It's.... Pretty fucking dire, and horrific, especially to me now, because the things I've learned about the time periods that the Bible is from? Are actually fascinating, and make it *so* much richer as a text! And then understanding the world of early Christianity, how it became what it is today, how those beliefs and practices became established.... Man, it's fascinating. But again, there's this culture of "Christianity has always been like this and will always be like this" that's very present in those spaces that make it really hard to gain sight of it all.

And... Of course at the end of the day.... The reason people like me didn't realize some of this, is because we weren't told. We werent given the tools to ask the questions we needed to. You can't explore what you don't even know exists, and when you're just told that we don't associate with "those people" and are discouraged from thinking about other faiths except to convert them..... Well.

So yeah. It's not (just) that people don't have reading comprehension.... It's also that they quite literally arent taught the context and origins of their faith for.... Reasons. Also, American Christianity has always just been... Very extreme. Probably bc of the puritans but hey.

Since posting that "how many mass graves and extinct cultures" post last month, I've had multiple Christians in the notes whining that there isn't a "specific instruction of belief that Christianity needs to wipe out every other religion in the world" in Christianity's teachings, and that it's all just The Church/King James/etc.

And every time, I point to the literal text of the passages of The Great Commission.

And nearly every time, that shuts them up; the only time it didn't, it was to engage in some disgusting semantical goalpost moving.

But it's like...

Why do Christians not know the content of their own texts? Is your faith really so tribalistic and totemic around the concept of "Jesus" that you all don't bother to actually read the religious texts?

It feels like it must be--I've heard of too many instances of Christians walking out of readings of The Sermon On The Mount because they think it's "liberal nonsense" and the like, but I just find it baffling and more than a little sad that I, a Jew, apparently knows the New Testament's text better than the people who swear by it and ostensibly believe and follow it.

[novacorpsrecruit]

@skidspace thank you for sharing this lovely piece!!! Oh my god this is so good!!!

Context: missing scene from part 3 of this

———

Hello! I was the anon that mentioned writing an extra scene involving Trick. I ended up adding more to it as I started writing and editing. Again I’m not much of an author so I apologize for any mistakes or confusing parts but I hope you enjoy!

Thanks again for the wonderful story that inspired this

~~~~~~

Steve had to wipe his eyes before he dared to leave the bathroom.

Eddie’s letter was… a lot to take in. He’d be lying if he said the apology didn’t feel good. Hell he’s been yearning for one ever since that last night he saw Eddie.

Even so, it didn’t make that initial hurt go away. Nothing had. Not the time away, not the idea of moving on. Nothing could fill the chasm that used to be filled with Eddie’s love. To know that Eddie was hurting to? It didn’t make him feel any better.

After what Steve deemed enough time to compose himself and not look like a total wreck in front of the customers, he carefully folded the letter back into his apron and left the bathroom. He must’ve been in there longer than he thought because Trick’s booth was now empty.

Steve sighed and thought to himself, he’s still on the clock so he might as well actually do his job. And went to go clear off the table.

As he stacked the dishes and cup a with practiced ease, Steve noticed something amongst the mess. It was a napkin with the words “Rock on, Steve!” written in the corner, and crudely drawn doodle of a hand making the devil horns sign in black ink. Next to the napkin were a few crumpled bills and some change, plenty to cover the cost of Trick’s meal and a tip.

Steve felt his eyes start to well up again. Dammit, he can’t handle this much emotional whiplash in just one 5-hour shift. First Eddie’s letter and now a guy he honestly thought hated his guys was taking the time to apologize and be genuinely kind to him.

Steve set the dishes back on the table and just stared at the napkin note, but he was taken out of his spiral by a loud “Are you kidding me?!” coming from the front of the diner followed by the sound of someone slapping glass.

He peaked around the corner of the booth only to see none other than Trick staring at the ancient pinball machine they kept in the waiting area like it had just insulted his mother.

Steve however, couldn’t help but laugh, which caused Trick to finally break eye contact with the offending contraption and whip his head around. At first, he had a nasty scowl on his face that Steve was SURE many a jock at Tricks own high school had experienced. But once he saw that it was Steve and realized the laugh wasn’t a mocking one, his scowl turned into a cheeky smirk with too much teeth showing, but was friendly nonetheless.

He turned and fully faced Steve.

“Your machine is busted, dude.” He said, slapping the glass top of the pinball machine once again.

“I don’t know man,” Steve surprised himself with how easy he found a joke tone to his words, “I’ve seen a few 10 year olds absolutely destroy the high score on that thing. I think this is just a user issue.”

“Oh fuck off.” Trick’s smile grew wider with the jest, only to be followed by someone loudly clearing their throat. Steve and Trick both turned their heads to see Jenny with her arms crossed and brows furrowed, gaze pinned on Trick.

The other man’s face fell from jovial to a harden nonchalance. Steve recognized the change all too well from when people would give Eddie a hard time in public back home. Like Eddie, the shift in Trick looked well-practiced.

Trick put his hands in the pockets of his jacket and cleared his throat, looking back at Steve once more. “I should probably get going, but uh- could I ask you something first?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Is Eddie doing okay?”

Steve felt a pit form in his stomach at the question. He really didn’t want to air out everything that happened between him and Eddie with a guy he had JUST gotten on friendly terms with.

“W-what do you mean?” He settled on.

Trick gestured up towards his face.

“It’s just that no one has seen him at a party since the night he rocked my shiiii-“ his eyes flick over to where Jenny was still glaring, “I mean, since he called me out for how we were treating you.”

“I, um,” Steve’s hand reflexively went to the letter in his apron, “I don’t really know. I haven’t seen him in…a while.”

Something in how Steve had said that must’ve tipped Trick off to the situation, even just a little. His face took on a concerned look.

“Oh. Well, if you see him or talk to him soon, can you tell him I’m sorry?”

“For what?”

“For driving him away too. Even without the whole ‘boyfriend thing’, for people like us - people like Eddie - it’s hard to find a place that will accept you for who you are, let alone make you feel welcomed. We shouldn’t have made him feel like he had to be one thing or that he had to hide an important part of his life.”

Steve was silent , standing there contemplating the potential of all that might have happened to Eddie since he walked out of their apartment and never came back. Putting the pieces he had together, it seemed that Eddie had not only punched one of his cool new metal friends for Steve’s sake, but had completely stopped hanging out with his all of his cool new metal friends after they bad mouthed Steve to Eddie’s face. Steve was always under the impression that Eddie had known about the ridicule Trick and his friends subjected him to. But he either just didn’t know the severity of it all, or he didn’t care enough to come to Steve’s defense.

Steve was starting to think that was wrong.

Why didn’t Eddie say any of this in his letter? Would it have made the situation better? Would Steve have believed him if he hasn’t just had this whole eye opening apology and conversation with Trick?

The thought threatened to tip his emotions over the edge again so he shook his head a bit, desperate to clear his thoughts

He finally replied, “I’ll tell him.”

Some of Trick’s toothy smile retuned to his face. “Thanks Steve.” He then threw up the devil horns with his right hand and turned to leave.

As he walked away, Trick turned his head one last time to say “I get it if you don’t wanna come back, but I hope I’ll see you around.”

The bell above the door jingled as it was opened, then closed, and then Trick was gone.

-

Steve had to take a few deep breathes before he went back and finished clearing out the booth. Upon returning to behind the counter, Jenny slid up to him with her arms crossed again.

“God, I thought he’d never leave. That guy didn’t give you a hard time, did he?”

Steve didn’t mean to, but a bitter tone slips into his voice.

“No, Jenny. He didn’t.”

Jenny huffed.

“Good, cuz you never know with those types. They always look like they’re gonna-“

“Just because he looks mean and scary doesn’t mean that’s how he really is! You can’t just judge people like that Jenny!” Steve snapped and instantly felt bad for it. The wide-eyed look Jenny was giving him only made it worse.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“No, you’re right. I mean, yeah the yelling was a little rude, but I shouldn’t judge someone just by how they look or dress,” Jenny shrugged, “I mean just look at Rob. He dresses like a dorky pencil pusher who wouldn’t hurt a fly but you and I both know he packs the meanest left hook when the day drunks get too handsy.”

Steve couldn’t help but let out a loud belly laugh at that. God, he really does love working a shift with Jenny.

-

Steve normally took the bus back to Robin’s dorm after work, but the weather was nice enough and his head was full enough that he decided he needed the walk. There were just too many things that happened today he had to work through.

First there was Eddie’s letter and apology, then Trick’s appearance and apology. Those two things alone were enough for one day. But there was also something else. Something Trick said combine with how he acted, how others had acted towards him, that Steve couldn’t get out of his mind.

“For people like Eddie, it’s hard to find a place that accepts you for who you are, let alone makes you feel welcomed.”

Now Steve knew that most of the crowds he ran with back in Hawkins couldn’t be counted as good friends. But he never entered a group of people and felt unwelcomed. He didn’t have people scoff at him or shuffle away when he entered a room. The only time he felt truly ostracized in high school was the time between Billy Hargrove showing up and meeting Robin after graduation. And even then he may not have been welcomed in his old social circles, but when he walked into a room his presence was at least accepted. After graduation most people he knew stopped caring about the petty high school bullshit anyway, save for Billy himself and a select few of his crownies. He had real friends by then. And eventually, he had Eddie.

Eddie who had always been the one that people would stare at like he was going to sacrifice their dogs to Satan at any minute.

Eddie who knew that there wasn’t a place for outcasts like him, so he MADE a place where other kids could feel safe.

Steve thought back on that first day walking into school after Billy had fully deposed him from his title of King Steve. He had felt hundreds of eyes on him as he walked down the hallway, but at the same time he had never felt more alone.

Steve now wondered if that was the feeling Eddie had dealt with his whole life while living in Hawkins.

The idea made him feel…different about Eddie’s actions these past couple months.

Of course, those actions still caused hurt. And after many late-night tearful discussions with Robin, Steve knew he didn’t deserve to be treated that way, that he had deserved better.

But…

But maybe Eddie hadn’t done it because he was ashamed of Steve, or because he didn’t care about how Steve felt.

Maybe…maybe Eddie just couldn’t believe he had found a place that welcomed him because of who he was, not despite it.

He had told Steve as much about their own relationship after they started officially dating. Eddie joked that he couldn’t believe his interests and quirks were what Steve called positives instead of dealbreakers. Steve had laughed along with him at the time. Now the thought broke his heart.

Steve was tired of things breaking his heart. He was tired of licking his wounds, and he was tired of hiding in Robin’s dorm.

Steve had changed his mind about walking. He located the nearest bus stop.

After all, his and Eddie’s apartment was on the other side of town.

Steve had a letter he needed to respond to in person.