#but then there were small acts of kindness

[anarchythorn]

wait wait wait youre on to something actually. wait. oh my god. deadass this just gave me the most peak revelation about the movie. Afton's treatment of the children is almost DEFINITELY going to be showed or implied to be a reflection of his treatment of Vanessa isn't it. oh my god.

like... he treats them like an abusive father. he KNOWS he has control over them, it seems like he feels ENTITLED to it if anything. "I MADE YOU!" in that moment probably carries the same meaning as a shitty parent saying "I brought you into this world, I can take you out of it!" to scare their kid. he controls them and he controls Vanessa in almost the same ways, it's all but directly stated that he veiws/treats both of them like tools that he has some kind of entitlement to.

"You had ONE job!"

to Vanessa, acting almost like her ability to be his little helper is all she's good for in his eyes (and he certainly has no qualms about getting rid of her once she isn't his obedient helpful accessory anymore!!)

"Wake up, children! I have something for you to play with!"

to the animatronics, some of which had just been fucking tased, and yet he not only fully expects them to obey his order, but he phrases it like they should be thankful to do so in the same way a kid would be grateful for a new toy.

Spot the difference in the intentions behind these lines btw:

"Look at you. Look at the NASTY things you have become! Look how small you are! How worthless you are! You are wretched, rotten little beasts! I MADE YOU!"

"A little old for temper tantrums, aren't we, Vanessa?"

he's literally just more direct about it in the first one but both are literally intended to do the same exact same thing: to make the receiving party feel small. to paint the receiving party as unreasonable/incapable of "reasonable" behavior.

he belittles them and he belittles Vanessa when he doesn't get what he wants. he killed the kids with no remorse, he for all intents and purposes ATTEMPTS to kill his own kid just the same. for all intents and purposes, Vanessa is little more than a tool in his eyes, and the kids are just the same.

...I wonder if Vanessa ever watched her father talk to the animatronics and remembered all the times that he talked to her like that. I wonder if her childhood was robbed from her the same as the spirits' childhoods were, the only difference being that she got to live into adulthood instead of simply being cut short.

FNAF MOVIE SPOILERS

I guarantee y'all that the way Afton spoke to the animatronics in his big "I made you!" speech is exactly how he spoke to Vanessa growing up.

[heeaara]

FOR YOU, i WOULD ✴︎⠀ ( 정원의 남자친구 ) 𓈒𓈒 ╰—hand in hand, you & me. today, tomorrow, forever.

𝒥 ｡｡ bf ━ yang jungwon + 𝑓.reader ⟡ wc650, cw 𓂃 relationship, skinship, petnames, headcanons ? overall fluff ♡ .

ARA's NOTE : second post on blr, lets goo. took a little layout inspo from my one & only IT GiRL @flwrstqr. dani ilysm TT. also, this fic is mainly dedicated to my one & only jungwon girl @vmpivory. hope y'all enjoy reading it TT.

BOYFRiEND JUNGWON ━ who would always give you forehead kisses for every chance he gets. Forehead kisses is his way of showing pure affection and adoration towards you, His forehead kisses gave you a feeling of protectiveness. Because, let's be honest, a forehead kiss isn't just a kiss, its a promise. And, you knew yang jungwon wasn't the one who broke promises, he keeps them like an oath.

BOYFRiEND JUNGWON ━ who gives you butterflies even with the smallest gestures. He never fails to make you flustered with his cutest smiles, and not to mention, his compliments always had your heartbeat at the fastest speeds. He knew the kind of impact he had on you and he utterly loved it, he loved how your cheeks would turn red even at the slightest and smallest accolade. 

BOYFRiEND JUNGWON ━ who would absolutely turn into a baby for your attention. He loved being pampered by you, and it wasn't like you hated it. You loved it when he would turn into a little fluff ball and being all sulky, craving your attention. You loved the way he would use his boba eyes to manipulate you, not that you hated it, you wanted to actually hide him inside your pocket, that's how cute and irresistible he was. 

BOYFRiEND JUNGWON ━ who would always boop your nose whenever he wants to annoy you because he loved seeing his girlfriend being all pouty. You secretly loved it when he did that, it was something, actually ━ a kind of a gesture of pure love and tease. It was the kind of motion only you two understood only. It was his way of telling you that he treasured you and his unbounded love for you.

BOYFRiEND JUNGWON ━ who wouldn't even go a day without cuddling with you. To be accurate, you were like his teddy bear without whom he couldn't sleep a night. Cuddles with you were his favorite thing. Having the both of you tangled with each other, having to have you in his arms was like a beautiful dream from which he would never want to wake up from. 

BOYFRiEND JUNGWON ━ who loves surprising you with planning and taking you to small, cute dates. Like going on a spontaneous hike, trying new foods, or exploring new places together. As well as, he would take you to small ice cream dates considering how much you loved and were obsessed with ice cream. He loves spending time with you.

BOYFRiEND JUNGWON ━ who would totally destroy the whole damn world if something happens or something bothers his girl. He indeed was the cutest and with the kindest heart but when it came to his loved ones, he would actually turn into a monster to protect them. He had a protective nature and you always felt safe with him.

BOYFRiEND JUNGWON ━ who would give you the best acts of services. From holding your bag or carrying your heels to letting him do the dishes or cook the meal for the night. One of his actions that showed how he loved and cared for you.

BOYFRiEND JUNGWON ━ who would send you small, cute texts throughout the day to check up on you. You loved it when he did that. Whenever you both are away from each other, his texts are the only thing that keeps you motivated and you loved the way it would lighten up your mood or distract you from the biggest of stresses. You knew, he was always there for you.

BOYFRiEND JUNGWON ━ who would love you for who you are, always, and forever.

TAGLiST : @haerinheartss @flufflights @vmpivory @manaah02 @sugarikiz ( imk if u want me to add you to my taglist ).

[sai-int]

So, my favorite headcanon for Simon Riley is that he's an incredibly silly guy, but through trauma and shit, the only way he can express his silliness is subtly like with his shitty jokes and one liners.

All of this to say that I think he would have a great time mildly gaslighting his friends for pranks as well as occasionally doing something so out of character in a secluded area with the specific intention of getting caught, just so he can tell his victim that no one will believe them.

His most common victim is Johnny, and like Simon said, no one ever believes him.

THIS but it starts with johnny, then it spreads to the rest of the 141...

simon knows he’s the easiest target. the man is loud, expressive, reactive, which makes it so much worse when no one ever believes him. the gaslighting starts small. missing gear, things moving an inch to the left when johnny swears he just put them down, ghost walking into a room seconds after soap saw him leave it.

soap: "ye were just here-"

ghost: "no, i wasn’t."

soap: "ye-"

ghost: "y'sure y'sleepin' enough, sergeant?"

but then simon gets bored and starts pulling bigger stunts. like the time johnny walks into price's office looking for something and catches simon, full tac gear, standing on top of price’s desk, balancing on one foot, arms outstretched like he’s doing some kind of weird fucking yoga pose.

"steamin' jesus-what the fuck- the desk??"

simon just turns his head slowly to look at him, holds eye contact for a long moment, then-

"what desk?"

-before stepping down and leaving without another word.

johnny tries to tell price.

soap: "he was on yer desk-"

price: "uh-huh."

soap: "just stood there, like a fuckin' bird-"

price: "right."

soap: "ye dinnae believe me."

price: "not even a little."

ghost: "sounds like a you problem, mate."

next, it’s gaz. and simon takes an entirely different approach with him. gaz is logical, grounded, harder to mess with, but simon finds the perfect way.

he mirrors him.

gaz reaches for his coffee? simon reaches at the same time, like he was waiting for it.

gaz crosses his arms? simon crosses his arms, same angle, same stance, eyes locked dead on him.

gaz starts to say something? simon says the same thing moments later, like some kind of demonic mime act.

it gets so bad that one day, gaz just snaps.

gaz: "WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?"

ghost: "dunno what you mean, mate."

but price? price takes the longest to crack.

because simon knows that man is unshakable. he knows it’ll take something subtle, something long-term.

so he starts misquoting things.

price: "all due respect, i've been running ops since before you were born-"

ghost: "no, yeah, i get it. 'live, laugh, love,' an' all that."

price: "…what."

or:

price: "we’re not outta the woods yet-"

ghost: "yeah, yeah. "an apple a day keeps the wolves in the henhouse."

price: "that’s- no. what? that’s not-"

it takes weeks. weeks of price catching simon slipping complete nonsense into casual conversation, weeks of simon saying it all with that flat, deadpan expression. weeks of price trying to correct him-

price: "that’s not how the saying goes."

ghost: "yeah it is."

price: "no, it’s not-"

ghost: "okay, boss."

-and never getting anywhere.

until finally, one day, price just exhales hard, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters,

price: "i fucking hate you."

ghost? just shrugs.

"s'all water under the fridge, cap."

[00valentina-writes00]

ik this is a over done trope but reader flinching during and argument please with ambessa or sevika (ignore if this makes you un comfy)

Ahem how bout both?

✞⛧ Sevika AND Ambessa when you flinch during an argument ✞⛧

✞⛧𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕜𝕒✞⛧

✞⛧ Sevika’s initial reaction would be a flicker of surprise, quickly replaced by a sharp, assessing gaze. She’s not one for unnecessary drama, but she can read the situation like a book.

✞⛧ Her first instinct would be to immediately back off, her posture stiffening as her mind runs through what she just did to make you flinch.

✞⛧ She’d never want to make you feel unsafe, and if she sees you flinch, she’d pause, her intense focus shifting to you. It would throw her off balance for a moment, not because she’s unsure of her own actions, but because she never wanted to make you feel that way.

✞⛧ Sevika’s eyes would narrow, her protective side kicking in as she looks at you like you’ve just wounded her in a way words can’t explain.

✞⛧ Her voice would soften, though not necessarily in a comforting way—it would be more of a controlled, cold calmness. “Did I scare you?” she’d ask, her tone low and even, though there’s a hint of frustration underlying it.

✞⛧ If you don’t answer, Sevika would get even more guarded, crossing her arms in front of her chest and giving you space while trying to hide how affected she is by the flinch.

✞⛧ Despite her tough exterior, Sevika would feel a pang of guilt. She’s not someone who tends to apologize, but she might mutter, “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” in a rare moment of vulnerability.

✞⛧ She’d probably keep her distance for a while after that, trying to process what happened internally, but her eyes would never leave you—watching, waiting for some sort of response

✞⛧ Sevika would be incredibly introspective after the flinch, likely replaying the entire argument in her mind, dissecting what she said, and wondering if she was too harsh, too fast with her words.

✞⛧ Even though Sevika’s a fighter, she has an incredibly strong sense of pride, and seeing you flinch would hit her harder than she’d care to admit.

✞⛧ If you tried to apologize or explain why you flinched, Sevika would hold up a hand, telling you to stop. She’s not the kind of person to let you take the blame for something she feels responsible for.

✞⛧ You might see Sevika take a long breath and slowly step towards you, her usual stoic face replaced by something closer to concern—a rare sight for her.

✞⛧ If you’re still visibly shaken, Sevika would drop any argument she’s holding onto, her gaze softening as she focuses entirely on making sure you’re okay, though she’s still not great with emotions.

✞⛧ Her frustration would shift inward, and you might catch her muttering under her breath, “I didn’t mean to fucking hurt you.” It’s rare for Sevika to admit when she’s wrong, but she doesn’t like seeing you afraid of her.

✞⛧ Sevika would give you time to process, but she’d also be very blunt about how she’s feeling. “You think I would hurt you?” she’d ask, her voice quieter now, not filled with the anger it had earlier.

✞⛧ If you told her that you were just startled, she’d take that as a small relief, but still feel bad about the fact that it happened at all. “I’m not gonna hurt you, [Y/N],” she’d reaffirm, but with more emphasis on reassurance than defensiveness.

✞⛧ She might offer to sit down with you, her stance softened, but her brow furrowed in concentration. She’s not good with comforting, but she’ll try, even if it’s awkward.

✞⛧ The next time you argue, Sevika would be more cautious, taking a moment to gauge your reactions before she raises her voice or gets more heated. She’s not one for letting arguments go, but she’s not going to push you to the breaking point.

✞⛧ If you bring up what happened in the past, Sevika would have a hard time admitting how much it bothered her. She’d downplay it and act like it wasn’t a big deal, but deep down, she’s processing how to better handle your relationship.

✞⛧ Sevika might not openly show it, but seeing you flinch makes her question how she presents herself to you. She doesn’t want to be a source of fear, even though she often exudes a commanding, intimidating presence.

✞⛧ In rare moments, if you ask her about it later, Sevika would simply shrug it off but with a quiet intensity in her eyes. “I never wanted to make you feel like that. I just… don’t do well with soft shit,” she’d admit, showing how much she struggles with vulnerability.

✞⛧ She may not be able to apologize directly, but she’ll do things to make it up to you—maybe fixing the situation with actions rather than words. Her way of showing she cares would be by offering you the space you need and then following it up with practical support.

✞⛧ If you flinch again in the future, Sevika would tense up instantly, but this time, she’d be quicker to pull back, knowing how badly she messed up the last time.

✞⛧ Sevika might get frustrated with herself more than anything else. She’s not the type to back down from anything, but when it comes to making you feel comfortable, she’s out of her depth.

✞⛧ As she reflects on the situation, she might get a little defensive, questioning herself: Am I too much? But she’ll keep it to herself, never admitting to the self-doubt that follows moments like these.

✞⛧ She’ll probably make up for it by doing something practical for you—whether it’s taking on extra responsibilities or handling something that would ease your stress.

✞⛧ Sevika might also check in on you more often, even if it’s in her own blunt way. “You good?” she’d ask, trying to gauge where your head’s at and how she can fix things without making it awkward.

✞⛧ The next time you fight, Sevika would be less prone to raising her voice, realizing that yelling isn’t always the answer when it comes to you. She’d still argue with the same intensity, but she’d dial it back a little.

✞⛧ Sevika wouldn’t easily forgive herself for making you feel scared. Even if she doesn’t say it out loud, she would work harder to be less overwhelming when communicating with you.

✞⛧ As time passes, Sevika would subtly show that she’s learned to tone down her anger when she’s upset with you, recognizing that your emotional well-being is just as important as her need to be heard.

✞⛧ Even if the argument itself is unresolved, she’ll make sure the aftermath doesn’t leave you feeling like you’re walking on eggshells around her. If she needs to adjust her approach, she will, even if it takes time

✞⛧𝔸𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕒✞⛧

✞⛧ Ambessa would immediately notice the flinch, her sharp eyes narrowing with a flicker of concern. She’s not someone who misses details, especially when it comes to you.

✞⛧ Her first instinct would be to stop mid-sentence, her anger momentarily fading. She’s not used to seeing you afraid, and it causes a slight shift in her demeanor.

✞⛧ She’d take a deep breath, her voice lowering, no longer filled with the same intensity as before. “Did I scare you?” she’d ask, her tone surprisingly calm, but with a hint of vulnerability.

✞⛧ Ambessa is incredibly proud, so she’d try to mask her own unease. She’d raise an eyebrow, but there’s a subtle tension in her posture, as though she’s trying to figure out how to respond to your reaction.

✞⛧ She’d not apologize outright—Ambessa isn’t the type to back down from her beliefs—but she’d soften her approach, trying to gauge whether you’re physically okay or just emotionally shaken.

✞⛧ The moment she sees the flinch, a part of her feels a pang of guilt, though she wouldn’t admit it. Ambessa rarely shows vulnerability, so she’d struggle internally, not knowing how to reconcile this new layer of her relationship with you.

✞⛧ She would stop pacing or gesturing wildly, looking at you with a careful gaze. “You don’t need to be afraid of me,” she’d state, more as an assertion than a question, trying to convince herself just as much as you.

✞⛧ If you don’t say anything, Ambessa would grow increasingly frustrated with herself. She’s used to being the commanding presence in a room, but this is different. She doesn’t know how to fix it immediately.

✞⛧ Ambessa might take a step back, giving you space, though it’s clear she’s not used to this kind of emotional vulnerability. She’d cross her arms, trying to maintain her usual air of control, but she’s silently concerned about how much you’re affected.

✞⛧ She’d avoid making direct eye contact for a moment, visibly rethinking her words and actions. Ambessa is fiercely intelligent, and she’d be running through everything she just said, trying to pinpoint what made you flinch.

✞⛧ Ambessa might try to reassert her dominance in a different way, by sitting down or leaning against something, trying to display authority while simultaneously keeping her voice steady and calm. “This isn’t how I intended for this to go,” she’d admit quietly.

✞⛧ She’d attempt to approach you more carefully, though it’s clear she’s not quite sure how to be gentle. “Tell me what I did,” she’d ask, trying to understand why you reacted the way you did.

✞⛧ If you explain it’s not her fault but just the intensity of the argument, she’d frown deeply, taking that into account. Ambessa doesn’t like feeling misunderstood, but she would respect your honesty in this moment.

✞⛧ Ambessa would try to mask her emotions by shifting the conversation back to the issue at hand, but the tension in her body would remain. She’s used to arguing and controlling the situation, but this time it feels like she’s lost her grasp.

✞⛧ She’d likely keep the conversation civil afterward, but there would be an undercurrent of carefulness in her tone that wasn’t there before. She’d check in with you periodically, making sure you’re still okay.

✞⛧ Despite her initial reaction, she would be sensitive to any further signs of discomfort. Ambessa would be hyper-aware of your body language, making sure you’re not retreating or shrinking away from her.

✞⛧ If the argument continues, Ambessa would intentionally lower her tone, trying not to overwhelm you with her usual fire. She may even offer a compromise, though it’s a rare moment where she’s willing to soften her stance.

✞⛧ Ambessa is fiercely protective, so if she feels like she’s been too harsh, she might take a subtle step back from being confrontational and offer reassurance. “You’re important to me,” she’d say, though not in a way that’s overly affectionate.

✞⛧ She’s not quick to apologize, but in rare moments like this, she might drop her defenses just enough to show a softer side. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she’d admit quietly, her voice lacking its usual edge.

✞⛧ Ambessa would be conflicted. She knows her strength can be intimidating, but she also values loyalty and respect above all else. Seeing you flinch causes her to question if she’s gone too far in asserting herself.

✞⛧ If you try to walk away or distance yourself, Ambessa would stay rooted, allowing you space but not letting you escape the conversation entirely. She’d want to resolve things, but she’d give you the autonomy to handle the situation at your own pace.

✞⛧ She may change her approach entirely, opting for a more measured and less commanding tone. If she feels like she’s pushed too hard, she’ll shift back into a more controlled demeanor, but the worry will be evident in her eyes

✞⛧ Afterward, Ambessa might focus on actions over words. She would make sure you’re comfortable, making the effort to attend to your needs in practical ways, like preparing food or taking care of other responsibilities.

✞⛧ Her pride won’t let her completely back down, but she’ll make it known that she’s not a threat to you. “We’re not enemies,” she’d remind you with a subtle gesture of reassurance.

✞⛧ Despite being a formidable leader, Ambessa would be deeply shaken by your reaction. She’d want to reassure you of her commitment, even though she might not be the best at expressing it openly.

✞⛧ If the tension continues to linger, Ambessa might get frustrated with herself. She’s used to maintaining control, and being in a position where she’s unsure of how to fix things challenges her more than she’s willing to admit.

✞⛧ Ambessa would want to avoid you feeling like you’re walking on eggshells around her, so she might take extra care not to escalate things further. She would be cautious in her tone and actions, trying to bring down the tension.

✞⛧ If the argument comes up again in the future, Ambessa would be far more aware of her approach, actively trying to make sure that she doesn’t trigger another flinch from you. She’d try to use her words more carefully, even if that means holding back some of her usual fire.

✞⛧ Ambessa may not be used to showing this side of herself, but if you’re still upset or anxious, she would give you space to talk about it, even if it means dropping her pride to listen.

✞⛧ In her quieter moments, Ambessa might confide in you about her struggle with balancing strength and vulnerability. “I wasn’t raised to show weakness,” she’d admit, revealing a small crack in her otherwise impervious exterior

✞⛧ Ultimately, Ambessa would want to make sure you feel safe, heard, and respected. While she might still have moments of pride or dominance, she’ll take extra steps to show that she’s not going to harm you, emotionally or physically.

✞⛧ Though Ambessa may not say it out loud, seeing you flinch would make her reflect on her leadership style and the way she manages relationships. It would be a turning point for her in considering how she communicates with you.

[scoupsakakitty]

Hoshi x 14th member please like a very slowburn and members are tired of seeing hoshi like that until they make hoshi confess to her, and he likes her like from the very start in their trainee days, but the members found out he likes her that much after years so yeah, maybe she is the same age as him, he's just a few months older so most of all the members calls her noona noona hehehe

Timing is Everything | idol!hoshi x 14thMember | fluff

Hoshi had always liked her.

Not in the casual, fleeting way people develop crushes during their trainee days no, this was different. It was the kind of quiet affection that settled deep in his chest, growing roots with every passing year. It started with the way she tied her hair in messy buns during late-night practices, the determination in her eyes when the trainers pushed them too hard, and the way she laughed at his dumb jokes even when she was exhausted.

But he never said anything.

Years passed. They debuted. They became family. The feelings stayed.

And the members noticed.

It wasn’t the obvious things Hoshi was careful about that. No lingering stares or unnecessary compliments. But it was the small things: how he always saved her favorite snacks without thinking, how his mood shifted whenever she was upset, how his jokes were always just a little funnier when she laughed.

One day, after another painfully obvious moment where Hoshi practically short-circuited because she called him cute in passing.

“Hyung,” Seungkwan groaned, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “I can’t do this anymore. Just tell her you like her.”

Hoshi’s head shot up, eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, please,” Mingyu chimed in, rolling his eyes. “We’ve known since what? 2016? Honestly, it’s impressive how long you’ve managed to suffer in silence.”

“I’m not suffering.” Hoshi’s voice was high-pitched. Betrayed.

Jeonghan smirked from his spot near the window.

The room burst into laughter, but Hoshi’s face was burning.

“I don’t like her like that,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

Seungcheol snorted. “Yeah, sure. And Minghao doesn’t like painting.”

Before Hoshi could come up with a weak defense, the door creaked open. Y/N walked in, wiping sweat from her forehead, a water bottle in hand.

The room instantly shifted. The teasing died down, but the mischievous glint in Dino’s eyes said it all.

“Noona,” Dino called out casually, stretching his arms over his head. “Serious question.”

She glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “What now, Chan?”

“If you had to date one of us hypothetically, of course who do you think would be the best boyfriend?”

The room erupted in laughter again. Hoshi’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

“Yah, what kind of question is that?” Seungkwan groaned, but the grin on his face showed he was loving every second of it.

She smirked, clearly amused, and pretended to think about it as she walked further into the room. “Hmm… tough one.”

Hoshi stared at the floor, trying to act indifferent, but his ears were turning red.

“Well,” she began, her eyes scanning the room, “Seungcheol would be too bossy. Jeonghan’s too sneaky I’d never know if he’s being serious. Mingyu’s way too clumsy. Vernon? I’d have to compete with his music.”

Everyone laughed, and even Hoshi managed a weak smile, though his chest felt tight.

Then, for just a brief second, her eyes met his.

“I’d probably pick someone who makes me laugh,” she said casually looking at Hoshi. “Someone kind… someone reliable.”

Hoshi swallowed hard. His heart was racing.

“But I’m not naming names,” she added playfully, tossing her towel over her shoulder and heading to grab her bag.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Seungkwan leaned in, whispering through gritted teeth, “She was totally talking about you.”

Mingyu nodded. “If you don’t confess soon, I might do it for you.”

Hoshi didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His heart was still somewhere on the practice room floor.————————————————————————————-The days after that conversation felt unbearable.

Hoshi couldn’t stop thinking about it her words, the way her gaze lingered just a little too long, the teasing smirks from the members every time she walked into a room. It was like they were all in on some secret that he wasn’t brave enough to face.

But nothing compared to her.

The way she laughed during late-night rehearsals. The casual way she’d nudge his shoulder when he made a joke. The way his heart raced every time their hands brushed, even if it was just by accident.

It was getting harder to pretend.————————————————————————————-A Week Later

She was sitting on the floor, stretching, while Hoshi absentmindedly fiddled with his water bottle, debating with himself.

Just say it. What’s the worst that could happen?

But the words stayed trapped in his throat.

“You’ve been acting weird lately,” she suddenly said, breaking the silence.

Hoshi’s heart nearly stopped.

“Weird? Me? No, I’m totally normal,” he stammered, laughing nervously.

She gave him a look one of those looks that saw right through him. “Come on, you’ve been zoning out, avoiding eye contact, and you’re quieter than usual. What’s up?”

Hoshi opened his mouth, then closed it again. His chest felt tight. He could hear Seungkwan’s voice in his head: ‘She obviously likes you too. Just confess.’

But fear held him back. What if it ruined everything?

“I’m just… tired,” he muttered, looking away.

She didn’t press further, but the tension hung in the air, thick and heavy.————————————————————————————-The Next Day

“Okay, that’s it,” Seungcheol declared, slamming his palm on the table during lunch. “We’re staging an intervention.”

Hoshi blinked. “What?”

Jeonghan leaned in with a wicked grin. “You’re confessing today. No more excuses.”

Mingyu nodded, his mouth full of rice. “Yep. We’re tired of watching you suffer.”

“I’m not suffering—”

“Oh, please,” Seungkwan cut in. “You looked like you were about to faint yesterday when she asked if you were okay.”

Before Hoshi could protest, the door swung open, and Y/N walked in.

Perfect timing.

Seungcheol didn’t miss a beat. “Hey, Y/N. Hoshi has something to tell you.”

Hoshi’s eyes widened in horror. “Hyung!”

She paused, looking between them, clearly confused. “Uh… what is it?”

The room went silent. All eyes on Hoshi.

His heart was racing. His hands were clammy. But then she smiled just a small, curious smile and something in him snapped.

Hoshi stood up so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair. “I—I like you!” he blurted out, voice louder than intended.

Silence.

The words echoed in the room.

Her eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised. Hoshi felt like he was going to pass out.

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” he added, his voice softer now, but more steady. “Since our trainee days. I just… I was scared to tell you because I didn’t want to ruin what we have. But I can’t keep pretending anymore.”

The room was dead silent for a beat then Seungkwan dramatically covered his face like he was watching a drama unfold.

Y/N didn’t say anything at first. She just stared at him, and Hoshi felt like the ground might swallow him whole.

But then she smiled. A real, soft smile.

“I was wondering when you’d finally say it,” she said quietly, her eyes warm.

Hoshi blinked. “Wait… what?”

She stepped closer, her smile widening. “I like you too, idiot.”

The room exploded with noise cheering, laughter, Seungcheol shaking Hoshi by the shoulders like a proud dad.

Hoshi just stood there, stunned, until Y/N gently reached for his hand. That’s when it hit him.

She likes him back.

All those years of quiet longing, small glances, unsaid words it was all worth it.

And the members?

They claimed victory like it was their confession.————————————————————————————-It’s the same night and Y/N couldn’t sleep.

Her heart had been racing since Hoshi’s confession. The words kept replaying in her mind like a song she couldn’t turn off.

“I’ve liked you for a long time.”

She had waited for so long to hear those words. But now that she had, it felt like something inside her had snapped a tension she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. She needed more than words. She needed him.

Without overthinking, she quietly slipped out of her room, her footsteps soft against the wooden floor. The hallway was dim, shadows dancing along the walls. She paused briefly in front of Hoshi’s door, her heart pounding like a drum.

Just do it.

She knocked softly, barely giving herself time to reconsider.

The door creaked open, revealing Hoshi in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly messy from sleep. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw her standing there.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft and slightly raspy from sleep.

But she didn’t answer.

Without a word, she stepped into his room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Hoshi barely had time to process before she crossed the space between them in quick, determined steps. She reached up, cupping his face with both hands, and pulled him down into a kiss.

It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t shy. It was everything she’d been holding back weeks, months, years of quiet longing poured into a single, desperate moment.

At first, Hoshi froze, his eyes wide with shock. But then something in him melted.

His hands found her hips instinctively, pulling her closer, erasing the space between them. His lips moved with hers, gentle at first, then deeper, more certain. Like he was making up for all the time they’d wasted.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Hoshi’s eyes searched hers, his heart racing wildly.

“W-What was that for?” he whispered, his voice barely steady.

Y/N smiled softly, her forehead resting lightly against his.

“I’ve been holding back for too long,” she whispered, her fingers still gently cradling his face. “You finally said how you feel… so now I can finally say it too.”

She leaned back just enough to look into his eyes, her gaze sincere.

“I love you, Hoshi.”

The words hit him harder than he expected. His heart felt like it might burst.

A slow smile spread across his face, soft and full of warmth. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering gently against her cheek.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, his voice filled with so much emotion it made her chest tighten.

He kissed her again softer this time, slower, like he had all the time in the world. And for the first time, they did.

No more hiding.

No more holding back.

Just them.————————————————————————————-

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

My dearest Yve,

I actually teared up reading this—no joke. The fact that you took the time to write such an in-depth analysis and appreciation for the little details means the world to me. It genuinely overwhelmed me (in the best way possible). So, in return, I’m going to take my time to respond to each and every one of your comments. But first, I owe you an apology for taking so long to reply... ms girl had a little detour to A&E over the weekend LMFAO (I’m fine now!).

You raised such a great point about how loud MC was when she threw the can. I actually debated whether I should keep that in, but ultimately, I left it because I felt it reflected the impulsive nature of humans. At that moment, she was starving and had risked her life to find food only to discover that it was rotten. I wanted to capture that raw frustration. The fact that this was the very first paragraph and you already caught onto such a small detail blows my mind.

YES! In every zombie film or show I’ve seen, the biggest threat is almost never the zombies. And that’s the irony, isn’t it? Because zombies were humans once. It really highlights how, dead or undead, human beings are always the ultimate apex predators.

Thank you for appreciating the comparative parallel in the nightmare line EHEHEHE

When I was planning her character, the only thing I knew for certain was that she needed to be independent. By extension, that meant making her a complete badass who doesn’t rely on others to survive. I think this also stems from her past experiences with survival groups and after being on her own for so long, she’s developed an instinct to act rather than wait for problems to resolve themselves. She’s practical and hardened by her reality, but at the core of it all, she’s still human, with fragile emotions beneath the surface.

OMG, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for noticing that none of the boys stepped in to help her! Having them swoop in to save her would have completely undermined her character. She survived almost a year alone in a zombie apocalypse—she’s not about to need a man to rescue her from one zombie. Also, “In your bed” is crazy, by the way!

THANK YOU AGAIN for noticing the fact that both the reader and MC don’t immediately know who’s speaking? That was so difficult to write during the motel sequence, but I’m so glad it paid off. And Ni-ki being that obvious? LMAO.

I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you actually take notes while reading. You are truly one of a kind, and honestly, every writer deserves a reader like you.

Even though you told me not to answer, I'm going to do it anyway. Yes, you are a freak for enjoying the scenes where she's running for her life. BUT, I am also a freak for writing them. So really, we’re just in this together.

I knew Jay was the perfect fit for the cautious character because, in my mind, he’s someone who is wise and learns from experience. I actually debated between him and Sunghoon for this role but ultimately went with Jay. Also, JAYWON.

You are so valid for saying you would’ve up and left too. Honestly, same. The only reason MC didn’t was because she didn’t want to be like the people from her last group. As pragmatic as she is, she hates being proven wrong.

So, we’re both SE Asian, Libras, AND Jungwon-biased? Shayla, tell me this isn’t fate.

AGREED ABOUT THAT TRAIN TO BUSAN CHARACTER. Had me pulling out my hair watching. The selfish, stubborn characters always survive too long for my liking. And it makes sense because If you put yourself first, you stand a better chance of making it out alive.

To clear up any confusion about how the zombies in this AU function, they rely on whatever senses are still available to them. I assume you were referring to the line “empty eye sockets seem to bore into you.” In that case, the zombie had no eyes and was relying on sound cues. Later on, I used “milky eyes” to describe those that do still have their vision. Basically, they react to whatever they can—sound, the smell of blood, movement—if something grabs their attention, they go for it!

That’s it. That’s the message. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

XOXO, Nat <3

SAFE & SOUND — part 1

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

word count: 14k

MASTERLIST

Rotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Avoid the cities. Get out fast.

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

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

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

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

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

For a time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weakness gets you killed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re coming.

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

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

You’re out of time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the reprieve is short-lived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Future...?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re surrounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re… looking out for each other…?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weird. They don’t have much, but leaving an entire camp unattended like that is reckless, bordering on suicidal. It’s the kind of decision that makes you question their judgment.

Now you’re even more confused about your perception of these people. Are they confident? Brave? Or are they simply stupid?

It’s hard to tell.

But whatever the reason, it leaves you uneasy. Because in a world like this, confidence and bravery can look an awful lot like arrogance—and arrogance gets people killed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks. “Take it however you want.”

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

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

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

This, sitting and talking, feels foreign. Unnatural.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, his jaw tightening. “Barely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ready to disappear without a trace.

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

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

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

Something is wrong.

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

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

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

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

“Like someone put them there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then it’s someone else."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

masterlist | part 2 - warmth

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

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

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

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

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly (part one)

part two (soon)

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!introverted!kook!reader

cw: swearing, very indirect subtle mention of sexual activities (no actual scenes), mention of drug usage (no actual scene)

synopsys: it's the last year of high school and y/n is paired up with rafe cameron for a 2 week project in art class. this wouldn't be a problem if y/n wasn't awkward as hell and well ... if there wasn't her big fat crush on him.

word count: 2144

a/n: i haven't written this kind of stuff since like 8th grade (i recently graduated from university sooo yeah) but i kinda felt like it now and idk. there are so many smut involved fics on here (which isn't bad, i just need more softer slow burn stuff). not saying there won't be any smut in future parts hihihihi. also i have no clue how the american school system works (i'm from europe) so pls just accept this lol. and kelce's last name is statter bc apparently it was never mentioned in the show. anyway, this is for all my introverted and overthinking girlies (who may or may not be little freaks) <3

*****

Fuck my life.

That was the only thing on your mind as Mr. Smith announced the partners for the upcoming two-week art project. In pairs, you were supposed to create a reinterpretation of the Greek gods.

The assignment wasn’t the problem. In fact, it actually sounded kind of fun. But your partner? Yeah, that was the real issue.

Fucking Rafe Cameron.

Of all the people in this class, it had to be him. You didn’t even know why he'd chosen this class. Rafe was probably the last guy you’d expect to take an art elective—well, right after Kelce Statter.

He'd probably thought it was an easy class to boost his GPA. Rookie mistake.

Okay, whatever, it was just a small project. You could handle this.

NO, YOU COULDN’T, HOLY SHIT.

The thought of working with Rafe Cameron made your skin crawl. In all your years at Kildare Academy, you'd maybe exchanged two words with him—and that was only because he'd mistaken you for another girl.

"Y/N, right?" Rafe appeared at your desk at the end of class, a bored expression on his face.

Okay, okay, just act normal. Be nice. You nodded. "Yeah."

Rafe stared at you for a moment, like he was waiting for you to say more. His eyebrows furrowed slightly before he tilted his head. "Cool, okay. Let’s just meet up during lunch break and get this over with."

Did he seriously think you could finish a two-week project in one lunch break?

When he saw the look on your face, he raised his brows in amusement, his tone teasing. "What? You too busy?"

Your cheeks heated up as you shook your head. "No, lunch sounds good."

"Okay, then let’s meet after the fifth period." Before you could ask where you should meet him, he turned around and disappeared out of the classroom.

You frowned. This was off to a great start.

Just two weeks, you reminded yourself as you slung your bag over your shoulder and headed to math class.

On the way, you unlocked your phone to text your bestie Cara:

You shoved your phone away and tried to ignore the uneasiness creeping into your stomach.

You didn’t usually have trouble talking to guys but Rafe Cameron was a whole different story. Not because he was "too cool" or some dumb shit like that.

No, Rafe was just... intimidating. Not in that bad-boy, cringe Wattpad kind of way. It was something else, something you couldn’t quite put into words.

He wasn’t arrogant—he was proud. He was loud, but not in the annoying way Kelce Statton was. He wasn’t rude—he just said whatever the hell was on his mind.

He was just ... himself. And yet, somehow he wasn't. It felt like there was a lot more going on beneath the surface.

Maybe that was what made him so interesting to you. Sure, he had a nice face and a well-known name, no doubt about that. But more than anything, you wanted to know why he was the way he was.

Was he just a blunt person who didn’t give a fuck, or was there more to him than his looks and his last name?

So yeah, maybe a part of you was curious about him. But he had such an overwhelming presence, you wouldn’t even know where to start.

In the past, he'd had a few friends-with-benefits situations, but none of them had lasted long. And that was definitely a path you didn't want to go down. Under different circumstances, maybe you could but you've never even held hands with a guy, let alone kissed one or—yeah, no, not going there.

Okay, chill. Internally, you cursed Cara for fueling your delusions.

You had more important problems at right now anyway. Like math class with Mrs. Richman. And no one could claim you were a star student in that subject.

----

The lesson dragged on, your thoughts constantly drifting. After class, you were supposed to meet Rafe.

Rafe, who had PE right now.

Shit. You tried not to think about a sweaty, heavy-breathing, and—NOPE, NOT NOW.

"Okay, that’s it for today. Don’t forget about the math test next week. But for now, go enjoy the nice weather," Mrs. Richman announced, dismissing the class.

Your hands felt clammy as you got up to leave. What the fuck is wrong with me?

You headed to the restroom and washed your hands. Why were you so nervous about spending one lunch break with Rafe Cameron? Fuck you, social anxiety.

"Everything okay?" A soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. "You look kinda pale."

You turned to see the pretty face of Molly Crane. Red hair, cute freckles, and a super charming smile. She was one of the few Kooks (if any existed at all) who was genuinely nice.

You forced a smile. "Yeah, yeah, all good. I think I just ate something bad for breakfast."

Molly didn't look convinced. "You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Really, thanks, Molly. I’m fine now." With an awkward smile, you excused yourself and headed out—only to realize that, well… great, you and Rafe had never picked a meeting spot.

Brrrt.

Your phone had been buzzing since math class. Of course, it had been Cara.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and texted back.

Should you really wait in front of the gym? That felt weird af. But at the same time, you didn’t want to miss him and end up having an awkward conversation about it in the next art class.

The dining hall would've been the most obvious meeting place, but would Rafe actually look for you there?

You pressed your lips together. Fuck it.

Heart pounding, you headed toward the gym.

Good thing your body totally knew how to distinguish between social interaction and actual danger.

When you arrived, you heard muffled voices of the boys inside, along with Coach Brown’s instructions.

Just breathe, it’s just one lunch break, you told yourself. Then again, this was probably how the next two weeks were going to feel.

You held your breath as the gym doors swung open, and a crowd of sweaty—oops wrong, freshly showered—boys streamed out.

You awkwardly stepped to the side, ignoring the curious glances thrown your way.

No sign of Rafe yet. A sick feeling settled in your stomach. Even worse than being here and having to explain HOW you knew that he would be here, would be explaining why you were standing there if he didn’t actually have PE right now.

But then relief washed over you when you spotted Kelce Statter and Topper Thornton. And right behind them—Rafe Cameron.

You tightened your grip on your bag. Okay, okay, I can do this. They’ll probably say bye to Rafe and leave for lunch now.

They didn’t. Great.

When Rafe saw you, something flickered in his gaze that you didn’t want to analyze. You expected him to just walk past you but instead, he headed straight toward you—with Kelce and Topper right behind him.

Just smile. No, not like that, you probably look like a creep. Oh god, okay.

"Hey," Rafe greeted you with a slightly puzzled smile as the three of them stopped in front of you. "I didn't expect you here."

In other words: Did you stalk me or how did you know I was here?

Kelce and Topper eyed you with amusement. This is so unbelievably embarrassing.

Blushing, you pointed at the gym bag slung over his shoulder. "Well, I saw you bringing a sports bag today, and PE is usually scheduled right before lunch ... so I just assumed you’d be here."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kelce stifling a laugh. You wanted to disappear from Earth, no from this universe. No way anyone would believe--

"Right," Rafe replied with a lopsided grin. "I would’ve just waited in the dining hall."

So you had been right. And you could've saved yourself this painfully awkward moment. G-r-e-a-t.

"Good thinking though. The faster we get this project over with, the better."

Shit, did Rafe just compliment you? Then again, why did the last sentence sound like he didn't want to work with you?

You smiled awkwardly. "Exactly."

"You're Y/N Y/L/N, right? Your mom owns Y/L/N Yacht Sales." Topper’s voice cut in, and you were grateful for the topic change.

You nodded. "Yeah."

Was that admiration on Topper’s face?

"Ohh, a business Mommy, I like that", Kelce said, and both Topper and Rafe eyed him with shaking heads.

Topper blinked at him annoyed. "Bro, shut the fuck up for once."

Kelce just laughed.

"My dad bought a Grady-White from you guys recently," Rafe remarked, and your gaze flicked back to his blue eyes.

Jesus, he wasn’t just looking at you—he was staring into your soul. If he was always looking at girls like that you'd gladly be his friends-with-benefits-girl.

You prayed to whatever gods were listening that you didn’t blush. "I remember. A 456 Canyon."

The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched up. "Yeah, a pretty model."

Your cheeks warmed, and either he didn’t notice, or he chose not to comment on it.

"Oh shit, that sounds like a boat party," Kelce chimed in with a grin and looked at you. "If I were you, I’d have thrown a dozen parties by now. So many possibilities…"

Rafe scoffed amused. "Good thing she isn’t, or her family would be broke by now."

You allowed yourself a small smirk.

„Hey, I’m just saying.“ Kelce raised his hands innocently.

Topper tapped him on the chest with the back of his hand. „Okay, dude, and I’m saying we’re leaving now before you say more stupid shit.“ Then he looked at you apologetically and turned his gaze to Rafe. „See you later.“

Rafe just gave him a short nod, his expression hard to read, before turning back to you with a tired smile as Kelce and Topper disappeared behind the gym. „So, you hungry?“

Why did this situation suddenly feel so… intimate? It wasn’t. Definitely not. There was absolutely no reason to feel weird about this. And yet—standing here alone with Rafe Cameron was… a lot. Maybe it was the way he looked at you—calm, focused, as if he was actually paying attention.

Or maybe it was the damn wet strands of hair falling into his forehead after his shower.

Get a grip.

You nodded quickly, trying not to overthink it. „The cafeteria has quinoa veggie bowls today. Or fries, if you’re not into influencer food.“

Oh God. Was that your attempt at being funny? Tragic.

Rafe’s lips twitched with amusement. „So, you’re assuming I don’t like quinoa bowls?“

Oh. Oh no.

Heat immediately rushed to your face, and you could feel your cheeks burning. Why the hell did you say that?

„No—I mean…“ You let out a nervous laugh, which sounded more like a weird cough. „Not that you wouldn’t like it, but you’re just more like—uh, not that I’m putting you in a box or anything, but you don’t seem like someone who… uh…“

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. „Someone who eats quinoa?“

You sighed. „Forget it. I’m just talking nonsense.“

„No, no, now I’m curious.“ His voice was amused, almost teasing. „How exactly do I seem?“

You swallowed. Shit.

„Uh…“ Your eyes flickered over him for a second—his broad shoulders, the damp strands of hair falling into his forehead, the fresh polo shirt fitting way too well against his body—oh God, wrong direction.

„I just meant…“ Maybe you should just stop talking and dig your own grave. You sighed and smiled awkwardly. „Okay, look, I'm sorry if you’re actually a secret quinoa veggie bowl advocate. I didn’t mean to sound condescending.“

Rafe laughed. Not in a mocking way—no, it was real, warm, which somehow made it worse because it only made you more nervous.

„No, no, I get it,“ he said, shrugging with an amused smile. „I guess I need to work out more if I’m giving off ‘fries guy’ vibes.“

Your eyes widened, and you quickly shook your head. „That’s not what—“

„Relax, I know what you meant.“ He cut you off, tilting his head toward the dining hall. „Come on, you can keep judging me in there.“

I am the most embarrassing person alive, you thought, face still burning.

Still, you fell into step beside him, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. Brain, could you please shut the hell up? Thanks.

It didn’t.

Because why did Rafe’s presence feel so overwhelming—in the best way possible? And why did his ridiculously good aftershave still linger in the air between you, like some kind of cruel distraction?

And most importantly—how the hell were you supposed to survive two whole weeks of this?

[tricoloreddango]

Phainon with chubby reader headcanons

contents: female reader / fluff and smut / insecurity and comfort / possessiveness / protectiveness / clingy behavior / mentions of marriage / riding / oral fem receiving / 69 position / cockwarming / soft and rough sex / service dom / period sex / aftercare / not suitable for minors

[Mydei version] [back to m.list]

SFW

—You are constantly made to be flustered. No, he won’t spare you any compliments, making sure they’re as poetic and detailed as possible. He’ll go as far as telling you how much he’d worship a statue made in the image of your body, leaving offerings for his ‘goddess’. But even if he can’t sculpt, he’ll gladly paint you if you give him a permission.

—Phainon wasn’t afraid to be constantly touching you, enjoying the physicality of you under his palms; being in public never stopped him from touching you either—he was just more subtle about it. He didn’t mean anything naughty (unless in a right setting), he just liked the fact you were there with him. Having your hip stroked or your waist wrapped with his arm, or even sleeping with his hand under your clothes just to feel your warmth was an everyday thing.

—Whenever you feel insecure, he’s not the one to just say “nah, don’t worry” and some compliment. He much preferred to get to the bottom of your insecurity and talk you through it until you no longer feel as if it was that bad—no matter how many times it takes you to fully solidify the fact in your head.

—Let him buy pretty or flattering clothes for you. One on hand, he didn’t like others having a clear view of your body; on the other hand, he wanted your shape to be enhanced and decorated—especially for others to agree with him that he’s indeed a lucky man.

—Phainon loved to take you to swimming sessions, somewhere by more isolated pools. His favorite part was you lying next to him on the blanket, the sun warming your skin, your body in a swimsuit and him having an excuse to spread open kisses onto your uncovered skin. You’ll make his heart flutter a lot if you giggle happily.

—Please let him rest on your stomach. He really liked taking a nap with him between your thighs, wanting an occasion to feel your soft body under him. You probably will feel ticklish with his warm breath teasing your skin, but he’ll fall asleep into a nap very quickly.

—All kinds of bodies were worshipped on Amphoreus, but should anyone end up spilling unpleasantries for your ears to hear you’ll have nothing to worry about. He’ll make sure to call out this person, not afraid to embarrass them in public either.

—Did I mention how clingy he is? On top of that, you’ll hear “I love you” on every occasion possible.

—Phainon knew you two should get to know each other well first. However, the ideas of marriage will fill his head rather quickly just in the beginning of your relationship… simply because he had feelings for you a long time before, and probably chased you for just as long.

—Teasing was just a big part of his personality. That’s why he liked to act like he’s your husband already, with that being done in front of others (it’s beneficial to him anyway, as no other man will think you’re an option anymore). Other form tease came from his touch you in small amounts throughout the day, just to get bit breathy and thinking of him.

Not to mention asking things such as “and who’s this pretty girl, huh?” or “what would you do if I was to kiss you all of the sudden?”—all whispered right into your ear, leaving him with a satisfied flicker in his eyes at your provoked tremble.

NSFW:

—He’ll set any warm and fuzzy setting you wish to have. Candles, essential oils, massage oil? You’ve got it. Sex wasn’t some mindless or animalistic ritual to him. He wasn’t using you, he was making love to you.

—You’re being fondled everywhere and I mean everywhere. He’ll become a whiny creature if he has to separate his hands from your body for even a second. It’s like during the day where he can’t keep his hands away from you, with a difference that this time it’s done in a really desperate and erotic way.

—He loved when you get on top of him. Any weight was enough for him to handle; he loved to see your beautiful body being exposed when you were sitting on him. He’ll squeeze and knead your flesh, while spilling out praises and encouragements.

—Every part of you was sweet, that’s why your pussy was no different. Phainon couldn’t get enough of eating you out on everyday basis, sometimes even stopping you in the middle of something just to drop down on his knees to pleasure you. You’re cooking? Great, turn off the stove for a moment and turn around to face him, before you spread your legs for him to sit between. It will be a perfect argument for him to touch and feel your thick thighs.

—69 position was arguably one of the best in his humble opinion. He could feel the weight of your body, the flesh of your chub against him on the bed; while you both exchange the beautiful act of mouthy-pleasuring like two true lovers. He’d service you anyway, yet he adored you wanting to make him feel good as well. Really, you were growing more and more lovable to Phainon everyday.

—Another perfect position was you both on your sides, with him either behind you or in front of you. He’ll hold you regardless, wanting sex to be something more than just fucking. He craved the intimacy with you… which of course didn’t mean he didn’t get rough with you occasionally, especially if he stared at you throughout the day than usual and needed to release his tension.

—Romantic gestures didn’t have to be cliche. One of his idea was you cockwarming him to sleep, in case cuddling wasn’t enough.

—Forgive him if he sometimes sounds too loud (high pitched even) or if he squeezes your hand too tightly (an intimate gesture he couldn’t deny himself of). It’s just that every time you laid each other on your shared bed, he was becoming a man thirsty, desperate and weaker than ever…. you’ll kill him too if you choose to be same amount of loud or squeeze violently around his cock. Perhaps you’ll force loud vulgar words from his mouth as well.

—He didn’t care if you or someone else found it nasty, he wouldn’t mind sleeping with you during your bleeding. It’s just a matter of placing a towel under you for him. He’ll gladly help you with your cramps by pushing orgasms out of you, and the fact you’d let him trust with your body even on your vulnerable time of the month made him feel a step closer to you. It’s just another way of him fully accepting you.

—Aftercare was as intense as possible. You need water? He’s already on his way. A towel was ready next to the bed. If you feel cold, he’ll keep you warm or help you dress up. Any soreness you had, he’ll gladly massage (and feel your plumpness with that). Not to mention all the pretty praises you’ll hear, even through your ears ringing post-orgasm.

[anas-aspiration]

Saw requests open for Vi....

Now, I love angst. Love it so hard. And Vi and Caitlyn are, you know... ;)

So I request some sort of angst scene where Vi is caught in her feelings for both Caitlyn and reader and it could end badly or goodly! I'd read either way.

Dissentient.

Vi x fem! reader

Summary: You and Vi had everything before she stopped talking to you for a relationship with Caitlyn. It wasn’t that she didn’t love you, she was afraid of her feelings for both of you and what would happen if she didn’t choose Cait.

Warning: Angst, Alcohol, cheating

You swirled the ice in your drink around before taking a fat swig of it. The bar was buzzing with people, causing the temperature to be drastic compared to that of outside where snow painted the streets. You used to come to the last drop to drink with Vi all the time but today your eyes follow her hands as she brushes Caitlyns hair behind her ear across the bar. Just weeks before this she had held you in her arms and promised forever while whispering “I love you” softly against your neck. The following day she would have ghosted you. You spent hours rotting away on your couch wondering what exactly happened. Then word came to you that Caitlyn asked if they could take their relationship a step further as well as Vi become an enforcer. At that point, what could you do? They were coworkers and probably fucked in the mansion that is Caitlyns bedroom every night.

“What can I get for you?” The bartender roughly spoke out.

You raised your gaze from your drink to the stubby man then you realized he was not talking to you.

“I’ll take two of what she has.” Vi spoke behind you. You locked eye contact with her and the energy between you immediately intensified.

“Hello.” You hesitantly said.

“Hello. You alone princess?”

You scoffed. “Would that concern you?”

“Oh come on.” She rolled her eyes playfully and leaned closer to your ear. “We don’t have to act like you didn’t miss me.”

“Here you are!” The bartender hands Vi the two drinks looking proud of himself.

She takes them in hand and brings one to her lips. She raises an eyebrow as she takes a sip. “Hm. Good taste.” She raises the glass at you while turning away.

You swiftly grab her wrist, surprising even yourself and definitely Vi. “I didn’t deserve it.” You stated with more confidence than you had before.

“It? You mean me giving you space?” She looked offended.

“Don’t misunderstand me. Space? That’s the last thing I want with you.” There was a brief pause between your bantering. “Wanted.”

“Meet me in the bathroom in ten minutes.” She turned on her heel and walked away faster than you could argue.

For two minutes you stayed contemplating whether or not it’s worth it to talk things through with Vi. At four minutes you packed your things into your purse and stared at the exit. After seven minutes you engaged in light conversation with a stranger next to you. Nine minutes passed and you were asking the kind stranger to hold your seat and watch your drink.

You leaned against the door, its cool surface pressing into your back as you studied Violet’s eyes—soft, powdery, and full of something unreadable. The small distance between you felt heavier than it should have, thick with unspoken words.

“So… does she know you’re in here talking to me?” Your voice was even, but there was an edge to it, a sharpness that cut through the quiet.

Violet pressed her lips together, before she opened her mouth. Finally, she exhaled, the word slipping out like an admission of guilt.

“No.”

Your stomach twisted. You turned away for a moment, then dragged your hands down your face before letting them fall into your palms. A heavy sigh escaped you.

Violet’s fingers found your wrists, her touch light but firm, as if she was afraid you might pull away. Her hands were warm against your skin, grounding, though it did little to ease the weight settling in your chest.

“No,” she said again, more urgently this time. “You know I’m not like that.” A breath shuddered past her lips. “Well, I swear ‘m trying. Really am.”

You lifted your head, meeting her gaze with an expression that said everything you didn’t. Really? You could tell she was starting to slur her words.

She winced at the doubt in your eyes, her grip tightening just slightly.

“Come on,” she pleaded, something desperate laced in her voice. “She made me choose.”

Your brows furrowed.“Choose?” you repeated, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “You mean… me or her?”

Violet sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on her shoulders. “Yeah.”

You stared at her, waiting for some kind of follow-up, some kind of justification that might make this whole thing make sense. But there was nothing—just that one word, flat and resigned.

You let out a breath, half a scoff, half an incredulous laugh. “What the hell, Vi? Is she crazy?”

Violet let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “No, she’s not fucking crazy.” But even as she said it, something in her eyes betrayed her—a flicker of doubt, a silent question she didn’t want to acknowledge.

You leaned forward slightly, searching her face for an answer she wasn’t giving. “You left me,” you said, your voice quieter now but laced with something raw. “With no explanation. For someone who had the audacity to make you choose between us.” You let the words settle before continuing, your voice growing sharper. “Do you have any idea how childish that is? How unfair?”

Violet’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out. The silence between you stretched, thick and heavy, carrying the weight of everything left unsaid.

“Right,” you said flatly, your voice devoid of emotion.

Violet’s gaze dropped to the floor, her shoulders slightly hunched as if bracing for impact. “I had to,” she murmured. “If I wanted to make a change around here.” She lifted her head just enough to meet your eyes. “And look, I am. But this… situation—it doesn’t mean we can’t still see each other.”

You blinked, trying to process what she was saying. Then you let out a short laugh. “Are you joking?” Your eyes searched her face, looking for something—guilt, remorse, hesitation—but instead, there was something else. Something almost hopeful.

“I know what I did was fucked up,” she admitted. “But you have to understand where I was coming from.”

You didn’t move, but she did. Her hands, slow and deliberate, slid up your arms before one found your waist, the other tracing the edge of your jaw. The warmth of her fingers sent a shiver down your spine, betraying the anger still lingering in your chest.

“I can make it up to you,” she whispered, her breath warm against your skin. “Please, baby.” Her lips were inches from yours now, her body pressing just slightly against yours. “Just let me make you feel better.”

Her touch was familiar, intoxicating, and for a moment, you felt your sadness waver.

Her lips were soft, gentle in a way that made your chest ache. It was almost reassuring—almost convincing—that what you thought had slipped away between the two of you hadn’t been lost after all. That the connection, the quiet understanding, the fire that once burned so effortlessly between you was still there, waiting beneath the surface.

For that moment, you allowed yourself to believe it. To sink into the warmth of her touch, the familiarity of her breath mingling with yours. It felt like muscle memory, like something your body still recognized even if your heart wasn’t sure it should.

The hand ghosting over your waist slid down to grope your ass. You let out a gasp into the kiss, exactly as you knew she liked it.

“Mmmph. She— fuck, she doesn’t have to know.”

A/n!!: me when I’m supposed to be doing homework.

[somnus-lucis-caelum]

She was acting out games again. Somnus watched, though he crossed his arms and shook his head while still watching her, as if he was an adult not believing antics that a child presented to him.

So her childhood bedroom was right next door? Had this been part of her chambers, too?

Curiously he stepped through the door – and it was a similar feeling as when Gilgamesh hit him with a shield in training. But this was a mental shield. And it was colourful. And cluttered.

Somnus’ eyes widened a little and he did not know where to look at first. There was just… so much.

“That is all yours?”

How could one person own so many little things and trinkets? It was not even that everything was immeasurably valuable and only luxury. No. There were a lot of small bits and pieces that had no monetary value – but surely a sentimental one to Aerith.

Somnus sucked in his breath, turning in a circle and trying to take in more – though it seemed where ever he looked, things only multiplied.

It was… magical in its own way. But too much. He would never know how she even found sleep in here. Was her mind not constantly jumping from one thing to the next?

“That is… a lot.”

Maybe a vague comment like that was the best course. He did not want to insult her. He just was not at all used to this kind of decoration habits. The halls and corridors of Lucis were very straightlined and simple.

“… I think Gilgamesh will be quite alright here.”, he mused, throwing her another grin. The giant Shield would not want to stay here. And imagining him in this bed with all the pink and blankets and pillows… it would be a picture for the gods.

Though there was one wall that had Somnus stepping closer. This, he wanted to look at. Countless scrolls and pieces of parchment, drawn on and painted. With so many scenes and magical happenings… it looked as if the entire wall was a mural to tell the story of a life. Her life.

“Did you draw all of these?”, he asked, his fingers gingerly smoothing out one rolled in corner of a picture. If Somnus ha dto guess, it depicted Queen Ifalna, holding a smaller Aerith on her lap. It looked divine. “You are a master artist…”

There was little need to guess where Aerith was. As always, she found a reason to talk, and talk, and to talk and talk. Each room they breezed through, she managed to have something to say, alerting the guards of her returned presence long before their eyes sighted her.

She confidently led Somnus through to 'their' door, even swept out one of her arms in a flourish to invite him further inside. Her heel swept the door then and it closed with a soft click, a moment of silence spreading out, one that she finally didn't rush in to fill.

"Yeah, this is ours." Aerith echoed, allowing time for that sentiment to sink in. She glanced around. There were so many memories in this room... but it looked as though it had been wiped completely clean in the time that she had been gone. Now it stood as a blank slate. Ready to be filled with a new chapter.

His smirk only threw her for a moment. Her curiousity swiftly changing to amusement. "Oh?" she asked, as if that had been a challenge against her. Hands folded behind her back, Aerith approached the door that connected on their left, even pausing at it to politely knock.

"Hello? Gilgamesh? I hope you don't mind the imposition, Somnus wanted to inspect your temporary living quarters." It was just teasing, underlined by the look she threw over her shoulder to the Prince. "He isn't saying anything. I think he's amazed by the artwork."

Finally putting an end to the little charade, and to the build-up of what he must think her room must look like, Aerith grabbed for the door and gave it a simple push open. She strolled inside the bedroom so easily. It was, after all, her most familiar place in the world.

There was something set down upon every single surface. And, to her gentle amusement, there she found her travelling trunk. Her eyebrows shot up at the sight. "Ohh. Guess dad told them where they could shove this." she lightly commented, stepping around the trunk with a hum.

"Of course, I am a generous partner, if you would feel more comfortable in... your personal hell." Aerith offered with a laugh, unable to keep a straight face as she motioned around for him. "You're welcome to this bed should you want it."

[tsumuus]

Bokuto with 💐 but he just forgot to add the note and is confused why you haven't talked to him all day?? The only reason you find out is cuz akaashi has to get him prepped for the game and he's still whining about the flowers.

Valentine’s Day had never been a particularly important day to you. It was sweet, sure, watching your classmates exchange gifts and letters, but it never held much weight in your own life. So, when you walked into the classroom that morning and found a bouquet of flowers resting neatly on your desk, you were more confused than anything else.

The arrangement was beautiful- warm-toned roses mixed with delicate baby’s breath and eucalyptus leaves. Whoever had put it together had clearly taken care in choosing the colors and balance, and the scent was fresh and crisp. You blinked at it, looking around the classroom for some kind of clue as to where it came from. There was no note. No card. Just the flowers.

Your first assumption was that one of your friends had left them there as a joke, or maybe they had been misplaced and were meant for someone else. You entertained the possibility that they were actually for you for all of five seconds before shaking your head. That was unlikely. With a small shrug, you placed the bouquet carefully to the side, not thinking much more of it.

Bokuto, however, was thinking about it a lot.

He had woken up extra early that morning, painstakingly picking out each flower at the shop near his house, making sure the colors were just right. He had nearly been late to school just to sneak them onto your desk before you arrived, his heart pounding the entire time. He had imagined you seeing them, lighting up in excitement, maybe even rushing over to hug him.

But that didn’t happen.

The morning had passed in a blur, and you hadn’t spoken to him once. Not even a casual “hey” in the hallways. He had spent most of his classes staring blankly at his notebooks, thoughts running wild.

Had you figured out they were from him and just… ignored it?

Did you not like them at all?

By lunch, his usual boisterous energy had all but disappeared. He barely touched his food, responding to Akaashi’s comments with half-hearted hums and nods. Akaashi had noticed the shift immediately, but trying to cheer Bokuto up was like trying to push a boulder uphill. When practice rolled around in the afternoon, the setter had had enough.

Bokuto was terrible at practice.

His spikes lacked their usual power, his receives were sluggish, and his energy was nowhere to be found. He was moody, barely speaking to anyone, shoulders hunched in defeat. Fukurodani’s coach called for a break when it became obvious that he wasn’t getting better. Akaashi approached him, exasperation evident on his face.

“Bokuto-san,” he said, arms crossed, “what is going on?”

Bokuto muttered something under his breath, barely audible.

Akaashi sighed, rubbing his temples. “What?”

Another mutter, this time slightly clearer, your name hidden in the jumble of words.

Akaashi straightened, connecting the dots in an instant. He pulled out his phone without another word and shot you a quick text.

Akaashi: If you’re free, come to the gym. Bokuto needs some cheering up.

You had just finished packing up your things from your club when your phone buzzed. Seeing Akaashi’s name flash across the screen, you quickly read the message, a frown tugging at your lips. Bokuto? What could possibly be wrong?

You didn’t hesitate before grabbing your things and making your way toward the gym.

When you arrived, you spotted Bokuto sitting on the bench, staring at the ground with his elbows resting on his knees. His usual lively presence was nowhere to be seen, replaced by an unfamiliar gloominess.

You approached cautiously. “Hey, Bo.”

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, golden eyes wide. “yn?”

You sat down beside him, concern evident in your expression. “What’s wrong? Akaashi said you were acting off today.”

Bokuto deflated further, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s stupid.”

You nudged him. “Come on. You can tell me.”

He hesitated for a moment before finally mumbling, “Did you… get anything today?”

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Like, I dunno… flowers?”

Your mouth parted slightly in realization. “Oh. Yeah, actually. I found some on my desk this morning. I’m still not sure who they’re from, though.” You laughed lightly. “For a second, I thought maybe they weren’t even meant for me.”

Bokuto stared at you like you had just spoken another language. “You… don’t know who they’re from?”

You tilted your head. “No. There was no note or anything.”

Bokuto’s entire body tensed before his hands flew up to his hair, gripping at the strands. “Oh my god.”

You frowned. “Bo?”

“I forgot the note,” he groaned dramatically, burying his face in his hands. “I had it- I wrote this whole thing, and I was gonna put it with the flowers, but I must’ve dropped it somewhere, and you never said anything, so I thought- ”

You felt your heart stutter. “Wait. You… you were the one who left them?”

Bokuto peeked at you through his fingers, cheeks dusted pink. “Uh… yeah.”

A warm feeling spread through your chest as you took in his expression- sheepish, nervous, a little hopeful. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t pieced it together sooner.

Slowly, a soft smile curled at your lips. “Bo, they were beautiful.”

His hands dropped slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, reaching out to gently take one of his hands in yours. “And if I had known they were from you, I would’ve said something sooner.”

Bokuto visibly perked up at the contact, his eyes searching yours. “Does that mean…?”

You squeezed his hand. “It means I’m really happy they were from you.”

For a second, he just stared, processing your words before his entire face broke into a blinding grin. “Really?!”

You laughed, nodding. “Really.”

With a sudden burst of energy, Bokuto pulled you into a tight hug, nearly knocking you off the bench. “You have no idea how happy that makes me!”

You laughed against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

valentines event | masterlists

a/n hes my baby i love him so much were literally married

[tr4gictea]

Hallo!! can I req a lyney, kaveh and haitham x reader (again..) with reader who constantly overworks and ends up sleeping t theirb desk? I loved the last rain fic u rote RAHHHH thank you sm!!

Overworked!Teen!Reader+Lyney,Kaveh,&Alhaitham

❥Masterlist

Tags: fluff, overworked reader, no beta we die like men,

Including: Lyney, Kaveh, & Alhaitham

word count: 3k words

A/n: Hi! thank you for the request @cheri-2047! Heyyy... how yall doing... I'm back and I am going to post constantly. And one announcement at the end of the story!

Also, state if you want your fic to be written in a platonic or romantic manner or I will choose for you. This is very much a threat >:D (JKJK(kinda(not really(but please write what the intentions you want(this is for your enjoyment and my piece of mind that i made something you wanted(I love you <3))))))

Alhaitham

Art: @ Ahiii7 on twitter

You stare at the clock in the corner of the desk, the hand is slowly creeping towards midnight. The library was empty except for you, your desk was scattered full of textbooks, essay guides, and empty cups of coffee. Your tired eyes gaze over the essay structure, ensuring that every comma, period, and word is perfect. This essay had to be perfect.

You rub your eyes feeling tiredness wash over you but you can't stop now. Your hand was starting to cramp up from how much you were writing but you had to keep going. You can't stop. Not now. This Akademiya application essay is too important. If you don't get into the akademiya now that will throw off your whole plan of becoming the youngest person to join Spantamad in the akademiya's history.

Getting into Spantamad at such a young age would prove your capable. Your parents expect nothing less from you, you've always been told you have what it takes. But was that true? Do you really have what it takes to get into one of the best schools in teyvat?

You push those thoughts aside. No, you have to be perfect. You continue to scratch away at the essay on your desk annotating notes you hadn't noticed before. When suddenly a bolt of pain is sent through your hand, making you drop the pen and grip your hand in pain.

You begin to massage your hand, and you allow yourself to sink into your chair. Your eyelids felt so heavy, that all you want to do is rest and be done with this essay. Maybe you can take a quick nap, just to so you can get some energy. You set the timer beside you to 30 minutes so it wouldn't be too long of a nap. It couldn't hurt to take one break, could it?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Alhaitham was always the first person to enter the akademiya. Even before he became the acting grand sage he was always the first person to enter those doors. He has a set-in-stone plan that he has put together for himself to follow. Even if one thing is off, his whole day feels like a mess.

First, he wakes up before the sun rises and has a short 3-mile run, he then gets ready for his day while Kaveh is talking his ear off about something. When he arrived at the school he'd enjoyed the silence of an empty place.

That's why when he hears a loud beeping coming from inside the library he is immediately ticked off. He marches his way into the library prepared to kick some student out. His 10 minutes of silence in the halls have been ruined by some student thinking there someone special to be able to leave that noise going and no think that he's- Oh wait, it's you.

When the acting grand sage turns the corner, he is met with the sight of you sleeping on a library desk filled with stacks of books and cups of what looked like coffee. He turned the alarm on your desk off with a small tap. Your face was scrunched into an angry face and you were mumbling something in your sleep.

He hated to admit but it was kind of, cute.

He looked at the papers in front of you, they were submission essays to the Akademiya. Each one was different from the last. Touching on a different subject in each essay he read. He's seen these essays before, you showed them to him so he could check if there were any mistakes. He had told you they were fine but you somehow managed to find the smallest mistakes a re-write the whole essay again. You've been overworking yourself too much lately and it was not good for someone of your age.

"(Y/n), (Y/n)?" Your breathing was slow and it looked like you were deep in sleep. You were probably up for a while if you are still in the N3 stage of sleep. He would take you into his office so you could get some rest away from others' eyes.

He draped his cape over you carefully picked you up and carried you to the elevator up to his office. He figured it would be less embarrassing for you to be asleep in front of a bunch of college students.

He placed you on a couch he had placed in his office a couple months ago. Alhaitham looked down at you on the couch and saw your smile soften.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your eyes began to slowly blink open, the soft fabric underneath your body was comforting compared to that hardwood desk. You hugged the pillow next to your head allowin- wait.

You blink your eyes open at the sudden realization that you aren't at your desk anymore. Your body shoots up from its resting position and looks around the new area. Your eyes adjusted to the new lighting and a blur of what looked like an office came into view. It looked like Alhaitham's office.

"Hm? You're up," You turned your head to see Alhaitham at his desk writing down something on a stack of papers. "I've prepared a cup of chamomile tea for you." He gestures to a cup of tea on a side table beside you.

You thanked him and took the tea off the table, it was warm to the touch and wasn't too hot at all. "How long was I out for?"

"10 hours and 46 minutes," He responds. You hum in response and go back to your tea. "You know, you shouldn't be overworking yourself like this."

"I know, I just... need everything to be perfect." you sigh and hug your knees close to your chest.

"Perfection is something even the greatest scholars have never achieved, and you will never reach it either," His reply felt cold but warm at the same time. You could tell he was trying to give some type of comfort in his own weird way.

"But, if it's not perfect, what's the point?" How am I supposed to be the person that everyone thinks I am?

"In truth, people want something real. Something that reflects your thoughts, your ideals, and personality." He looks up from his work and gives you a small smile. "You are a very sharp and determined person, I know you are more than capable of writing this without having to work yourself to death." Were those words of comfort? From Alhaitham?! The most unloving man alive?!? And with a smile that wasn't condescending?!?!

"Who are you and what have you done with the Acting Grand Sage?"

His smile falters into his condescending smirk. "I let you sleep in my office and this is the thanks I get? Ungrateful." He rolls his eyes playfully.

"Words of comfort from you are odd." You chuckle.

"Hm?" He raised his eyebrow at you, "I do not know what you mean? I am always comforting,"

"Okay then name one time in the past week that you comforted someone."

He pulled his arm under his chin and thought long and hard about it. "Ah yes, I gave Layla notes on her thesis and told her it was average enough to get an 'A'. "

"You didn't actually say that to her, did you?" Your mouth agape at this man's lack of social skills.

"No, I didn't say it to her," He pauses for a moment. "I wrote it on the front of her essay." The scholar answered with a straight look on his face.

"Dude..."

Lyney

Art: @ m_iothle on twitter

"Fuck..." You sigh as you let yourself fall onto the ground. You are currently atop a roof in the Court of Fontaine looking into the window of a Fontainian official's house. You had been tasked, by Father, to gather as much information as you could about the man as you could.

The dim light inside the home and the moon are the only things illuminating your surroundings as you adjust your position. You take out a notebook and start flipping through weeks of information on this guy. Every detail mattered — what this guy ate, who he spoke to, what time he went to bed — it all mattered.

Reading through you could see patterns forming, patterns that could be this man's downfall. But the job was taking its toll. You barely slept for weeks, surviving off caffeine, small sandwiches, and will. Though your senses have been sharpened through harsh training you find yourself having trouble keeping yourself upright.

"Just one more hour..." You mumble as you try to fight off sleep, your words echo in your head as you scribble down more notes in your journal. Minutes blurred into another as your eyes grew heavier, you fought the sleep, shifting into other positions, but your body had other plans.

And just like that — they were out.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Lyney grumbled, tapping his foot on the floor as he waited for you to return from your mission to give him a briefing. His teeth shuddered as a cold breeze hit him. Lyney had been waiting up to an hour for you to show up but to no avail had he seen any sight of you.

You've been late to meetings, but never more than 10 minutes. An annoyed expression spread across his face as he realized he would have to come find you himself. About half an hour later Lyney found you knocked out on the roof across from the target.

"Hmm, aren't they adorable?" Lyney hums to themselves as they smile down at they're sleeping, sibling. He scans over your face taking note of your eye bags and unkept hair. Your notebook dangles loosely from your fingertips, he bends down and plucks it from your hands. You've been neglecting to take care of yourself and from the looks of it, you fell asleep on the job. Well we can't have that, can we?

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

A loud crack jolted you from your sleeping position. You sprung yourself up from your relaxed position — ready to fight whoever shot at you. But to your surprise, you only find Lyney with a straight face and his eyes showing no emotions for you to read.

"L-lyney?!" You blurt out, "What are you-, wait! Is it check-in time already?!" You say in a panic suddenly remembering the meeting.

"Yes, my dear sibling it is far past the time we agreed on," He grumbled. "And not only have I found you asleep on the job, you have also left yourself open to attacks."

I scoffed at his words "I'm hidden, the target has no idea I'm here."

"Hm," He hummed then lunged at you, he grabbed your arm and twisted it behind your back. "Even if you are hidden that does not make you invisible — you are still open to attacks."

You struggle against his hold, every time you try to pull yourself out of his grip Lyney twists your arm causing pain throughout your body. "Well, I just woke up and you're stronger than me."

"Is that the excuse we should carve into your grave then?"

You stop struggling for a second taking in his words. Your body was noticeably sluggish, normally when someone had you in this position you could easily twist your way out of it. But your exhaustion had cost you some of your strength — which left you helpless under Lyney.

The magician loosens his grip and lets you move away from him. "Y/n, I get it, this is your first mission and you want to do your best. But this is not the mission you should lose sleep over."

"I know... but I want to make Father proud and give me more missions in the future—,"

"— And they will, but at this rate, you'll burn yourself out." A pang of frustration and concern twisted in his chest. "If you go about every mission like this then you'll end up hating the idea of getting sent out on the field."

You keep your head low feeling a twinge of shame for overworking yourself. Lyney lets out a sigh and places a hand on your head, "You did great work today Y/n, you should be proud."

A smile threatens to appear on your face as he praises you, "But the next time Father sends you on a mission I hope that you will remember to take care of yourself. Got it." It sounded like he was more demanding of you than asking.

"Yes sir!" you say, excited about the prospect of getting a second mission.

"Good, now head back to the house and get some rest," He turns away from you and starts flipping through your notebook. "I'll take care of the rest."

Kaveh

Art: @ m_iothle on twitter

Who says that kids can't handle pressure? Because they obviously haven't met you! The demanding life of owning a restaurant is tough on your parents; so you're here to lighten their load. Do they need more utensils? You'll buy some! Short staffed? Pfft easy, you'll jump in! Crippling debt from when your father started the business? Take it out of your own pocket! When people ask you about the pressure, what pressure? Pressure is for non-achievers who are too scared to get what's needed to be done.

You live and breathe by this mantra; it's all that keeps you in business and out of the streets. You work hard as your parents' underpaid accountant. The idea of the business clasping caused you to work long work hours well into the night, such as this night.

The evening moonlight shows through the window, casting on your face. The dinner rush has started, and the sound of utensils hitting plates runs through your ears. Your parents are running from kitchen to table carrying heavy trays of food and empty plates. You can see tired lines itching onto their faces as they tirelessly work.

The restaurant work had also taken a toll on you — causing you sleepless nights wondering if you were gonna have a home the next day. All you could do was adjust your parent's budgeting to something more sustainable.

You are currently seated at the bar working out the details of next month's budgeting plans. You rub your temple to try and soothe your nerves. You look at every cent of money that goes in and out of this place. Every little dollar counts.

The rent is due soon. The money was looking scarce. The price of tomatoes is getting higher, so we might need to push more egg-related dishes to customers. Maybe you could switch to a cheaper brand. Looking over the spreadsheet it didn't seem like your parent's restaurant had much time left. Maybe —

Your head snapped forward, then snapped back up.

No. You have to stay awake.

You blicked rapidly and chugged down half a hot coffee to keep you from falling asleep. You needed to figure out how to save the business. If the restaurant went down then your parent's dreams would go down. This place wasn't just a job for them but also their home, literally. Your father never looked happier when he was in the kitchen even with bags forming under his eyes. Your mother thrived on making recipes for others to try. And you lived here — it offered such a warm and inviting atmosphere that you loved.

So you pressed on, even as your eyes grew heavy and your head dropped...... SLAM!

A cup slamming on the table jerking you up right from your half-sleeping state. You look up to see a slightly drunk architect sitting next to you. You recognized the man as Kaveh, the famous architect who often came down to your parents' restaurant to drink his sorrows away. You two frequently chatted when he came around and considered each other as kind of friends.

He had a joyful expression on his face and looked to be celebrating something by himself. This is odd for him as when he comes in he's often here to yap on about some horrible client he's has.

You are unsure of when he got there in the short time you rested your eyes but it was probably a little while ago. You look at the clock across from you, it reads 11:36 PM. Fuck, you let yourself relax and wasted an hour and a half. You groggily stretched out your arms and lazily picked up the pencil to continue your work.

"Late night?" Kaveh says facing his body toward you.

You fidget with a strand of your hair. "Something like that." You huff out.

"You don't look that great," He said trying to put it as nicely as possible.

"I'm fine," You brush him off as you take a sip of your now cold coffee. His eyes scan over the mess of papers surrounding you and frowns.

"Y/n, I get you're trying to help your parents but — you can't do that if you're dead on your feet."

You let out a small chuckle "Those are some wise words for a drunkard."

He chuckled nervously, remembering a certain sage who spoke those words to him "Yeah, they're technically not my words but they helped me when I was working myself to death."

"Well, I don't really have a choice," You mutter. "If I don't fix this budget then—,"

Kaveh stops you with a hand to your face. "The restaurant will not shut down if you rest during the night." He furrows his eyebrows. "This restaurant is your parent's responsibility — not yours."

The architect reaches for the paper in front of you and carefully stacks them together. "Now, you go rest for however much you need to and come back when you have energy?"

You wait a beat before responding, one night's rest couldn't hurt? "Alright," You sigh in defeat as you push yourself off the high stool.

The numbers could wait — just a little while.

For my announcement, I will not be as genshin-focused from now on. I will still post genshin things if you request it but I will be trying to focus on other fandoms like MHA/JJK/Demon Slayer. This is mostly because I have not been enjoying genshin anymore and it's gotten kinda stale in terms of everything. So if you have any requests I will do them but other than that I'm not writing genshin. (also, yes true meaning will continue but it will end at Fontaine because I don't wanna write Natlan #ProudNatlanStoryQuestHater)

More Genshin Impact Stories *ੈ✩‧₊˚

More Alhaitham Stories ˚ ༘ ୭ ˚. More Lyney Stories ₊˚.༄ More Kaveh Stories ˚ ༘ ୭ ˚.

REMEMBER TO SMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON, OBLITERATE THAT FOLLOW BUTTON AND, REQUEST FOR A SHOUT-OUT IN MY NEXT VIDEO 🗣🗣🗣🔥🔥🔥

[heliosunny]

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Sunday x Reader

You had always been curious about the Lucky Egg Dispenser, a mysterious device rumored to grant adventurers a lifelong companion. Most people who used it received magical creatures, loyal beasts, or helpful familiars.

“It doesn’t hurt to try” you muttered, inserting the required currency and pulling the lever.

With a soft clunk, a smooth white egg rolled out, settling at your feet. You picked it up, weighing it in your hands. The display indicated it would take three days to hatch, not an issue for you. You had raised creatures before, and you always loved trying new things.

But when the time came, and the egg finally cracked open… Instead of a creature, instead of an animal or familiar, a man stepped out.

Tall, elegant, dressed in pristine white with a knowing smile curling at his lips. His bright golden eyes gleamed as he stretched, as if waking from a long dream.

Then, his gaze landed on you.

“Ah” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “So you’re the one who called me.”

Before you could react, he took a step forward, grasping your hand gently but firmly, bringing it to his lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

“You may call me Sunday” he said, smiling sweetly. “And from now on—” his grip tightened, his golden eyes never wavering from yours “I belong to you.”

Baby duck syndrome is not what you expected.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Sunday remained close, his golden eyes studying you with a quiet fascination. There was something unsettling about the way he observed you, like you were a puzzle he had already solved but still wanted to take apart piece by piece.

Then, his expression shifted. A small, tired sigh escaped his lips as he leaned ever so slightly against you. “I feel… strange” he murmured, his voice soft, almost vulnerable.

Your instincts kicked in before you could think.

“Are you feeling weak?” you asked, scanning him for signs of illness or exhaustion. He had just been born, after all.

Sunday only gave a slow nod.

You hesitated before gently guiding him to the bed. “You should rest” you said, pulling the blanket over him. “I’ll go out and buy some food. Stay here and sleep.”

Sunday blinked up at you, his golden eyes half-lidded, his lips curling just slightly at the corners.

“Okay.” he whispered.

You left, unaware of the way his gaze lingered on your retreating figure. Unaware of the way his fingers lightly traced the sheets you had just touched. Unaware of the way he let out a quiet chuckle, his exhaustion nothing more than an act, a simple game to see how easily you’d care for him.

How quickly you’d let your guard down.

When you returned with bags of food, he was exactly where you had left him, still curled beneath the blanket.

The next morning, as you prepared for work, Sunday sat up with a slow, lazy stretch.

“Take me with you” he said.

You blinked. “You want to go dungeon crawling?”

He tilted his head. “You’re my partner, aren’t you? I should be by your side.”

You hesitated. Taking an inexperienced person into a dungeon was dangerous, even if he had come from the Lucky Egg. But from the way he looked at you, so expectant, so patient, you found yourself agreeing before you could think too hard about it.

“Alright. But first, we need to get you supplies and a weapon.”

Sunday smiled. It was a slow, knowing smile, like he had expected you to say yes all along.

The weapon shop was one of the best in town, known for testing adventurers to determine what kind of weapon suited them best.

Sunday walked in beside you, his golden eyes sweeping over the neatly arranged weapons, his expression unreadable. The shopkeeper, an older man who had seen countless warriors come and go, greeted you with a nod.

“New recruit?” he asked, looking Sunday up and down.

You hesitated before nodding. “Something like that.”

Sunday said nothing, only offering the man a polite smile.

The shopkeeper gestured toward the testing area. “Alright, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Unlike most adventurers, Sunday didn’t reach for a sword or staff.

Instead, he walked toward a shelf lined with old spellbooks.

He stopped in front of one, tilting his head before picking it up. The moment his fingers brushed the cover, the book shuddered, glowing symbols unraveling from the pages, floating in the air like restless spirits.

A deep hum filled the room. Sunday's golden eyes gleamed as the magic coiled around his fingertips. He flipped the book open, running his hand over the text.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he spoke a single word.

A shockwave burst through the shop, every candle flickering, every item rattling on its shelves. A surge of energy shot forward, splitting the testing dummy apart with precise, clean cuts, the edges of the wood scorched from pure magical heat.

The shopkeeper let out a slow breath. “…You sure he’s a beginner?”

Sunday turned to you, his smile small but unmistakable.

As if he was expecting your reaction.

The dungeon entrance loomed ahead, an eerie cavern pulsing with an unnatural glow. You had been here before, countless times, even. But this time, you weren’t alone.

Sunday walked beside you, his book tucked under one arm, golden eyes bright with curiosity. Unlike most newcomers, he showed no hesitation. If anything, he looked amused.

“Stay close” you warned as you stepped in. “Dungeons aren’t predictable.”

Sunday merely smiled. “Of course.”

The first wave of monsters lunged at you.

You raised your weapon, already preparing to fight, but before you could react, Sunday murmured something under his breath. The spellbook in his hands flipped open on its own. Ethereal pages glowed, symbols lifting into the air like drifting embers. A pulse of invisible energy rippled outward. The monsters stopped instantly. Their movements slowed, their eyes unfocused, as if they had forgotten what they were doing. Then, one by one, they turned, lumbering away, their aggression erased from their minds.

You stood frozen. “Did you… just make them forget they were attacking?”

Sunday hummed, flipping another page. “Mmm. Something like that.”

Before you could question him further, a second group of monsters appeared. This time, Sunday didn’t wait. He spoke another spell, his voice lilting, almost gentle. The creatures turned on each other.

They screeched and tore at their own kind, their minds completely overwritten, their perception of friend and foe altered in an instant. By the time you stepped forward to deal the final blow, there was nothing left to fight.

“Was that helpful?” he asked lightly.

You didn’t answer immediately. Because no matter how useful his magic was, no matter how effortless he made it seem, there was one undeniable fact. Sunday’s power wasn’t just about attack or defense. It was about control.

After emerging victorious from Sunday’s first dungeon dive, you decided to celebrate.

The bar was lively, filled with adventurers boasting of their conquests over drinks. You found a table for two, ordering food and drinks, letting the adrenaline from the dungeon finally settle.

Sunday sat across from you, golden eyes watching your every move. He hadn’t touched his drink much, merely swirling the liquid in his glass, seemingly more interested in you.

"You did well today" you admitted, taking another sip of your drink.

His lips curled slightly. "Mmm. Did I?"

You gave him a look. "You know you did."

Sunday hummed, tilting his head. "Then… will you keep me by your side?"

Something about the way he said it sent a strange shiver down your spine, but before you could respond, a loud scoff interrupted.

You turned, eyes narrowing as a group of men approached your table. You recognized them, regular adventurers, ones who never liked newcomers.

"Never seen you around before" one sneered, looking at Sunday. "A fresh recruit, huh? Got yourself an easy ride with a partner like that?"

Sunday blinked at them, expression unreadable.

You sighed, already annoyed. "We're just here to eat."

"Yeah?" Another man chuckled, resting a hand on your shoulder. "Then maybe you can spare some of those dungeon points for us, sweetheart."

Before he could finish his sentence, he froze. His eyes went blank. His fingers twitched before he abruptly pulled his hand away, stepping back as if he had touched something burning.

The other men stilled, confusion flashing across their faces as the atmosphere shifted.

Sunday was still seated, his book closed, his expression pleasant.

"You're being quite rude" he murmured.

The men stiffened. Their faces twisted as if they were struggling to understand something, as if their own thoughts weren’t their own anymore. Then, without another word, they turned. And walked straight out of the bar.

You stared.

Sunday smiled at you. "Shall we continue our meal?"

You didn't reply immediately. Because once again, he had done something—something unnatural.

By the time you returned home, the alcohol had settled in, leaving you slightly sluggish.

Sunday followed you closely, perfectly composed despite drinking with you earlier.

"You should rest" you mumbled, pushing him toward his own bed.

Sunday let himself be tucked in, golden eyes watching you with quiet amusement.

You turned to leave for the other room, but suddenly, an arm wrapped around your waist. You barely had time to react before you were pulled down into Sunday’s embrace. Your breath hitched as he buried his face into your shoulder, his grip firm.

"Stay" he whispered.

You tensed. "Sunday—"

"Just for tonight" he said. "You're warm."

Your body was too heavy from exhaustion, too sluggish from the alcohol to argue properly. Eventually, sleep pulled you under.

The next morning, you woke up sore.

Your body ached from the awkward position you had slept in, Sunday’s arms still loosely wrapped around you. You groaned, shifting slightly. That was when you felt his fingers brush against your back.

“…You're in pain?” His voice was quiet.

You sighed. “Kind of. You held on too tight.”

“I see. My apologies.”

His tone was light, casual, even. But when you turned to look at him—He was smiling. And somehow, you got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t sorry at all.

It wasn’t surprising that Sunday’s abilities had drawn attention. After the dungeon raid and his effortless control over enemies, it was only a matter of time before a guild or authority figure took notice.

They approached the two of you after a routine dungeon run, their uniforms crisp, their expressions unreadable.

“You there! Sunday, was it?”

Sunday barely spared them a glance.

“We’d like to speak with you. Your abilities are… unconventional.”

Sunday smiled. Not his usual playful one. Not his amused, knowing one. This one was cold.

“I’m not interested.”

The guild members exchanged glances, clearly not expecting such a blunt dismissal.

“You should reconsider. If you join, you’ll have access to—”

“I said,” Sunday cut in smoothly, “I’m not interested.”

The conversation ended there.

You didn’t press him about it. Not yet.

A few days later, you finally had some free time. Deciding Sunday needed to learn more about this world, you took him through the city, explaining how things worked, the market, the trading system, the different factions of adventurers. He listened with interest, though he often focused more on you than on the surroundings.

Then, while passing by a street vendor, you noticed something. Sunday had stopped walking. He was staring at a display of rings, delicate, polished bands, some plain, some adorned with small gemstones.

You raised an eyebrow. “Interested in jewelry?”

Sunday blinked, as if caught off guard. “No” he said, too quickly.

You smirked.

Ignoring his weak denial, you picked up a simple silver ring and handed it to the vendor.

“I’ll take this one.”

Sunday’s eyes widened slightly as you took his hand, slipping the ring onto his finger.

“There” you said. “Consider it a gift.”

For a moment, he just stared at it. Then, he flexed his fingers, golden eyes unreadable.

“…You shouldn’t give things like this so easily.”

You shrugged. “Why not?”

His lips parted as if he wanted to say something.

But before he could, a familiar, sinking feeling settled in your gut.

You weren’t alone.

You barely had time to react before figures appeared around you, their movements precise, their presence unmistakable.

Guild members.

And they weren’t just here to talk this time.

Sunday stepped in front of you immediately.

One of the guild members raised a hand. “We don’t want trouble. We just need him to come with us.”

Sunday’s fingers curled. You felt it before you saw it. The shift in the air. The way reality itself seemed to bend around him. One moment, the guild members were standing firm. The next, their movements turned sluggish, hesitant.

Some faltered entirely, eyes unfocused, their minds clearly muddled.

“Leave” he said

And they did.

Not because they wanted to

But because Sunday had made them want to.

By the time you got home, the tension had finally faded.

You let out a relieved breath, turning to Sunday. “That was… intense.”

He simply smiled. “I handled it.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Then, softly, you asked, “Sunday… why were they after you?”

He hesitated. His usual ease, his usual playfulness—gone.

“…Does it matter?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

Then, with a small chuckle, he looked away.

“Let’s not ruin the mood.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

But the weight of your unanswered question lingered. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sunday was keeping something from you.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore. Sunday was too strong, too intelligent, too unnatural.

His level skyrocketed after only a few dungeon runs. His magic wasn’t just powerful, it was absolute. He could alter minds, erase memories, bend reality in ways no normal adventurer could.

And now, the guild wanted him.

But for what reason?

And why wouldn’t he tell you?

You decided to start with the Adventurer’s Registry.

Every adventurer, no matter their origin, had an entry in the system. Even those spawned from the Lucky Egg Machine would at least have basic data—name, level, class, stats.

But when you searched for Sunday, something strange happened. There was no record.

Not incomplete data. Not a hidden file.

Just… nothing.

As if he didn’t exist.

A cold feeling settled in your gut.

Something was wrong.

Determined, you dug deeper.

If the registry didn’t have his records, then maybe the guild—

Error

Your access was blocked.

That was odd. You weren’t a high-ranking adventurer, but you should have been able to see basic guild logs.

Why would Sunday’s information be classified?

Unless…

It was dangerous to know.

That night, you confronted him.

“Sunday,” you said firmly, stepping in front of him. “Who are you?”

He blinked, golden eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Then, he smiled. “Your partner.”

“Don’t do that.” Your voice was sharper than intended. “I looked you up. You don’t exist. Not in the registry. Not anywhere.”

He sighed.

“…You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

“Sunday” you whispered. “Tell me the truth.”

He tilted his head, studying you, fingers tracing the ring you had given him.

Then, softly, almost regretfully—he murmured:

“I was never meant to be found.”

And just like that, you realized

Sunday wasn’t just powerful.

He was something else entirely.

Your investigation led you to an unlikely source, an old researcher who had once worked with the guild. The meeting was secretive, hidden within the ruins of an abandoned archive.

"You’re looking into that boy, aren’t you?" the researcher murmured, flipping through aged documents. "Sunday… That’s what you call him?"

You nodded. "You know something, don’t you?"

A sigh. The researcher slid a file toward you. The papers inside were yellowed with age, some pages missing, others barely legible. But what you could read chilled you.

[Project: Daybreak]

An artificial entity, created through forbidden magic. Designed to manipulate perception, rewrite reality itself. A prototype abandoned before completion—

—escaped from containment—

—no known weaknesses—

—do not engage without extreme caution—

Your hands trembled as you turned to the researcher. "This… This means he’s not-"

"Not human" the researcher finished. "Not even from the Lucky Egg Machine. He’s something far more dangerous."

And you had been traveling with him, trusting him, without knowing any of this.

Your breath came fast, panic setting in. "I have to—"

A shadow loomed behind you.

Too late.

A gentle hand rested on your shoulder.

A familiar, comforting voice whispered:

"You shouldn’t have seen that."

Your body tensed, magic seeped into your mind, curling like soft whispers in your thoughts.

Forget

The world blurred.

When you woke up, you were in your bed. Sunday sat beside you, reading a book, his golden eyes calm as he noticed you stir.

"Morning" he said, voice light. "You were out for a while."

Your head felt… strange.

Something was missing.

Hadn’t you been—?

You blinked. What were you even trying to remember?

Shaking the strange thought away, you sat up. Sunday smiled, reaching out to brush your hair from your face.

"You should rest more," he murmured. "I’ll take care of everything."

You nodded slowly, the unease already slipping away.

Because Sunday was your partner.

And there was nothing to worry about.

Right?

[promptedwordsmith]

LaDS giving you flowers

Caleb

Caleb would likely approach this with a kind of seriousness that might surprise you, especially since he’s not the type to do things casually. If he were to give you flowers, it would be deeply intentional—every detail would matter. He wouldn’t just pick up a random bouquet from the store. It would be a thoughtful selection, perhaps tied to a significant memory you both shared, or a specific flower that symbolizes something personal between the two of you. He might choose a rare or meaningful flower, one that speaks to the uniqueness of your relationship. It wouldn’t be a gesture of grand romance in the traditional sense, but it would be imbued with his quiet, intense affection.

In a way, giving flowers to you would likely be his way of expressing something he struggles to say outright. It’s a vulnerability he might not show in other ways. He’d want to make sure that the gesture feels like more than just a gift—it’s a silent declaration of how much you mean to him. He’d likely be a little uncomfortable with the public display of emotion, feeling awkward at first, but once he sees your smile, he would feel a rare satisfaction in knowing he’s done something for you that’s meaningful and tender.

Rafayel

Rafayel’s approach to giving flowers with a sense of quiet reverence, a way to show affection without fully needing to verbalize his emotions. He’s not the type to offer them casually; when he hands you flowers, it’s because he’s truly inspired by you, by your presence, or by a moment shared. He’d be a bit shy, not necessarily because he’s embarrassed, but because the act is so deeply personal for him. He’d likely pick out flowers carefully, thinking about which ones express the exact sentiment he wants to convey—something as delicate and intricate as his feelings for you. His gesture might feel understated, almost as if it was an extension of his art—delicate, thoughtful, and meaningful. It’s not about the grandeur of the act but about the quiet, subtle communication of his emotions.

Sylus

Giving flowers would be a rare and deliberate act, something that, in his own way, speaks volumes about his feelings. He would prefer more permanent gifts for you but the sentiment of flowers stands. He’s not the type to indulge in what he sees as frivolous gestures, and everything he does has meaning, a calculated purpose behind it. So when he does give you flowers, it would be far from conventional. He wouldn't just hand you a bouquet with a simple smile; instead, he would choose them with care—likely a flower with some sort of symbolism, something that reflects a deeper part of his feelings for you, whether it's a subtle nod to an inside joke or a more profound symbol of his admiration or affection.

If he were to give you flowers, it would likely be in a private, intimate moment. Maybe he'd present them to you as you sit together in his study or as he pulls you close on a quiet evening. His manner would be calm, measured, yet there would be something in his gaze—perhaps a fleeting softness or a trace of vulnerability—that reveals more than the simple act itself. He’d never say it outright, but the flowers would be his way of showing you that, despite his usual coldness and control, you matter to him in ways his words cannot capture.

Xavier

Though Xavier cares deeply, he’s not one to often express his emotions openly. As such, giving flowers would feel vulnerable to him. He’s not used to putting his feelings out there in such a visible way. He might feel slightly awkward, unsure of how it will be received, but his sincerity would shine through, and if the gesture is accepted with warmth, it would mean a great deal to him.

Despite the initial awkwardness, Xavier would feel content once the flowers are given. He finds a certain fulfillment in small, meaningful gestures, and giving flowers would be his way of showing that he’s paying attention to what the other person might need or enjoy. It’s not about making a scene—it’s about the quiet understanding between the two of you.

When he gives you flowers he doesn’t just want to hand over store bought bouquets, it may be janky but he will go out of his way to pick them himself, wanting to give you the labour of his love.

Zayne

He might lean toward a more understated bouquet, something elegant and timeless, like white lilies or perhaps even a single rose. He would likely feel a little out of his comfort zone, as it’s not the most “practical” of gestures in his world, but he’d do it because he truly wants to express his care for you. You would get flowers very often, not so you would have multiple vases but enough that you would always receive replacement flowers when the last ones wilted.

[kruegerspillow]

lovelorn; simon ghost riley

Creators note: we hate drunk blokes who roam round the city like they're homeless! Woo!!

Warnings: angst w/o comfort, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mutual pining, mentions of sexual assault (not from simon), not proofread :(

Word count: 1.1k

Simon swore he was capable of love.

He was a bit rough around the edges, he knows that, but he truly is capable of being a lover. He's a human being capable of affection and warmth—

But, those were merely words of reassurance that he memorized like a prayer. Did he believe in them? No, not really.

He had never held his lover like a lifeline, nor has he devoted his soul to a person. His emotions are always bottled up—becoming a ticking bomb—ready to blow up at any moment. One mistake could lead to an explosion. He stayed like this until… you.

You with your cheeky antics, you with your capable demeanor, you with your soft-spoken banters. It flipped a switch inside him that he never knew even existed. He no longer felt like a machine, and, for once, he felt... alive.

But he'll never admit that, for the sake of the carefully constructed walls he had spent his whole life building. Admitting it would mean peeling back layers of himself he’d rather keep hidden, exposing the soft, vulnerable parts he’s always been too afraid to face. Simon was no stranger to risks, but this risk is the only one he'd never take.

And so, he pushes you away.

Not willingly, of course, never. He feared that his touch on your skin will forever taint them, causing your skin to be just as corrupted as him. He didn't want to ruin you, so he built an even bigger wall between the both of you.

But, to you? You'll never understand why he views himself in that way. You've never despised the scars that are now a part of his body. You've never seen him as an outcast, no matter how rotten he is beneath his flesh. He is just Simon Riley to you.

The thought of losing you scares him. After what happened to Johnny, he's unsure if he could bear attending another funeral. A funeral of someone he'd once loved. You. He never expected someone as kind as you to act heedful towards him. Though, at the same time, he is in awe. He yearns for your presence, for the banters and for the feeling of your love.

But it wasn't entirely possible, and it hurt him more than any physical pain he'd been through. With his absence, he's afraid that it'll hurt you more than him. It slowly kills him whenever the thought flashes across his mind, knowing that he might never be yours truly. For now, all he could do is shut himself down and hide behind the mask of his— like a small, fragile coward.

Simon walked through the city, his hood was thrown over his head while his hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket. A small shiver ran down his spine as the soft snow covered him. His gaze shifted from one spot to another, taking in the flashing lights that nearly blinded him.

He passed by some drunken men, throwing up and laughing like a lunatic while Simon's nose scrunched up at the nasty stench that hit his nostrils. Though, his movements halted.

His eyes catched on a familiar figure, sitting down on a bench with a cigarette between their fingers. It was you.

His eyes widened, noticing a random bloke that had just eyed you like a predator hunting its prey. He tensed up, watching the man as he reached out to touch you while you shifted in your seat, trying to avoid the queer man.

Simon's jaw clenched before he quickly made his way towards the both of you, his fingers twitching before he grabbed on the man's collar. Fuck, he was ready to risk his job for this.

“What the fuck do you think you're doin’?” The man yelped, squeezing Simon's forearm.

“The fuck do you think you're doin’, eh? Touchin’ someone like tha’ when they're clearly not fuckin’ interested in ya," Simon retorted, the tone in his voice could cut through

The man quickly realized his mistake, his lips pressing into a thin line before he mumbled a quick apology. Simon paused, glancing between you and the man, just to notice the distressed look on your face. His eyes softened, feeling the anxiety arousing in your body. His hands retreated from the pitiful bloke. As the man ran away, regretting all of his life choices, Simon immediately grabbed onto your shoulders.

“Bloody ‘ell, are ya alright?” He murmured, the anger in his voice dissipating.

You gave him a quick though not really convincing nod, feeling his hands relaxing against your shoulder. His eyes roamed over your face, taking in the slight twitches that were a clear indication of discomfort.

“Yeah—yeah, I'm good.” You say, sounding like you were trying to convince yourself instead.

For a second, he didn't believe you, wanting to ask you the question again. But for the sake of trying to clear the tension up in the air, he shifted he topic.

“Christ, what're ya doin’ out ‘ere? It's far too late or ya to be wanderin’ around.” Simon scolded softly. “It's not safe.”

The cigarette in between your fingers had been long forgotten. Just as the fire crackled—you ended it, dropping the fag onto the ground and stomping over it. The sound of a honk appear our of thin air, causing Simon to drop his grip on your shoulder and shift his gaze to the source.

“I know—I was just on a night out with someone. I got too carried away with him and... yeah.” You explained.

Simon's heart dropped into his stomach, a despised feeling awakening inside of his body. For a moment, he was out of words—who could you possibly be out with this late? Was he a close friend? Does Simon know who this bloke is?

A million questions ran through his head, but the sound of your voice snapped him out of his trance.

“My driver's here, I'll get going now.” You murmured, turning your back on him before walking towards the car that had stopped for you. Just as you were about to close the door, you paused before giving him an appreciative smile.

“Oh, and, thank you, Simon.”

Despite the warmth from your words, something felt oddly... weird.

You'd never been this cold to him. Did you realize how he'd looked at you with such longing in his eyes? Or did he do something wrong for you to give him the cold shoulder? Where was the jokes that he'd been hoping for?

But he couldn't answer those questions. Not when the love of his life's meeting another man—not when the love of his life's taking a taxi instead of a ride home with him. It helped him come to a realization—

Maybe he wasn't so capable of loving.

And perhaps, he never will be.

kruegerspillow © 2024 ➵ do not feed my work into ai, repost or translate my work to post it around. Reblogs are much appreciated ୨ৎ

[annab-nana]

note: this is a blurb i wanted to write using a prompt from the winter wonderland sleepover because i wanted to add rooster to my masterlist.

prompt: “Don’t you ever do that again!”

warnings: not proofread, basically a rewrite of one of the scenes in top gun maverick but reader is taking maverick's place

❀ masterlist ❀

you first thought it was bad when rooster ran out of flares and you had to swoop in to cover him with your own. you then realized it got worse when you felt the impact of the missile slamming into your engine. it only continued to go downhill from there.

now, you were running through the snowy forest trying to get to rooster. you thought you'd lost him for a second earlier and your efforts had been for nothing when his fighter took a hit. however, relief soon found you when you saw his parachute. when you laid eyes on him, he was pulling off his parachute and beginning to bury it.

one second, you were filled with concern for him.

"are you okay?" you shouted as you ran closer to him.

"yeah, i'll manage."

the next second, you were angry.

your body showed no signs of slowing and you ran right into him with purpose, pushing him down.

he took off his helmet and looked at you incredulously. "what the hell?"

"what are you doing here?" you asked, your anger clear in your tone.

rooster had never felt more confused. "what am i doing here?"

"yes, what are you doing here? i didn't take that missile for you to be down here with me. you should be back on the carrier by now!" your eyes held a blazing fire that rooster had never seen before.

his brows dropped to a furrow as he tilted his head down a bit more to be at your eye level. "i saved your life."

"i saved your life," you challenged loudly, taking a step closer to him. "what the hell were you thinking?"

rooster inched closer as well, very much invading your personal space, but neither of you cared. "mav told us not to think!"

"i know!" you cried out, "why do you think i did that?!"

"i don't know, but don't you ever do that again!"

there was an intense moment between the two of you as you stared one another down. your breaths mingled together due to your proximity and your chests rose and fell quickly with them. both your eyes and his bounced between the others, each of you waiting for the other to do or say something.

it was ultimately you who broke the staring match.

it was like your body was acting before your brain could tell it what to do. you stepped the last little bit closer and wrapped your arms around his neck, letting out a sigh you hadn't realized you were holding in.

rooster wasted no time in circling his arms around your waist.

"you scared the shit out of me," you whispered, squeezing him a little tighter.

rooster's light chuckle made you feel a little bit better. "you scared the shit out of me first," he uttered before pulling back ever so slightly to look you in the eyes. "are you okay?"

"yeah," you tell him, trying to inspire confidence, though your voice doesn't match your intentions. you're scared and you know he is too, but you can't be scared right now. you both need to get back to the carrier. "so, any ideas on how to get out of here?"

"i was kind of hoping you had something," rooster commented, a small grin on his lips, "there's a reason your callsign is murdock. you're our daredevil. one of your crazy plans would be great right now."

a light laugh fell from your lips as you both pulled away fully from each other. your eyes search the trees around you while you wait for inspiration to strike. then, it hits you.

"if a crazy plan is what you want," you preface, reaching for rooster's arm to pull him in the direction you were going, "then a crazy plan is what you will get."

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