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aardelea · 2 days ago

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How does he react to catcalling?

Hey there!

Thank you so much for your request, and my sincerest apologies for how long this took—I’ve been completely swamped with work and just couldn’t find the time to get to it sooner. I really hope the Anon who originally asked for this still gets to read it!

I have to admit, I struggled a bit with this headcanon. I’ve experienced catcalling myself, but never when someone was with me. And since everyone reacts differently and the circumstances are always unique, it was quite challenging to figure out how each character would realistically respond. That said, I hope the final result still resonates with you.

Since your lover’s reaction would largely depend on how you respond, let’s assume for the sake of simplicity that everything happens so quickly, you don’t even have the time to react.

Happy reading! 😊

You finally have some free time and decide to go for a stroll through the city—maybe grab a bite together or run a few errands. Since there's no convenient way for you to head there together, you agree to meet directly in town. The designated meeting point is a public transit stop, where you’re already waiting in a great mood, excited to see your boyfriend.

However, your mood quickly sours when a young man approaches, flashing you a sleazy grin. He whistles and, as he gets closer, says, "Hey there, sweetheart. Nice ass." He smirks as he walks past, completely oblivious to the fact that, at that very moment, your man is approaching from the opposite direction.

Jin

Frustrated that he wasn’t there in time to prevent the situation altogether, Jin doesn’t waste a second. He immediately steps in front of the guy, blocking his way.

The stranger halts in confusion, swallowing any irritation he might have had about nearly bumping into someone—because Jin’s icy stare alone is enough to freeze him in place. Without a word, Jin grabs him by the collar and yanks him toward you, none too gently. Whatever the guy tries to stammer out is ignored. Once he’s standing right in front of you, Jin simply states, “Apologize.” He doesn’t even need to use his Stigma—the demand alone is enough to make the guy comply.

How long this ordeal lasts depends entirely on the stranger. Jin won’t be satisfied until the guy is on his knees, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. And if he needs a little extra motivation? Well, a swift nudge to the knees or a none-too-gentle smack to the back of the head should do the trick.

Even if you try to intervene, Jin won’t let up until he deems justice served. Once he’s finally satisfied, he lets the guy go, casually drapes an arm around your shoulders, and walks off with you. “Never settle for second-rate. You’re worth more.”

Tohma

A true gentleman, Tohma takes care of his lady. No random punk is going to get away with dumping his unresolved perversions on you. He strides up to the guy, blocking his way with his usual unreadable grin. Outwardly, he looks calm, but inside? He’s absolutely seething.

"Well, well. What do we have here? Surely I must’ve misheard. It almost sounded like you said something wildly inappropriate to the lovely lady behind you." The guy just scoffs and replies, "Dude, are you deaf? Get outta my way, three-eyes."

Tohma sighs theatrically. “And here I was, hoping we could handle this the easy way…” You watch as he leans in and whispers something in the guy’s ear—something you can’t quite hear. When he pulls back, he’s still grinning, hands casually stuffed in his pockets. The guy, however, stands there frozen for a solid few seconds before quickly turning to you, bowing deeply. "I deeply apologize, ma'am. My behavior was highly inappropriate. I wish you a pleasant day." His eyes flick nervously toward Tohma, who only smirks and says, "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

Without hesitation, the guy scurries off. Tohma turns back to you, offering his arm with an easy smile. "Shall we, beautiful?"

Luca

Luca is a man of honor. There’s no way he’d ever let something happen to you under his watch. That’s why he’s frustrated—no, downright disappointed in himself—for not arriving earlier to stop this from happening in the first place.

Without hesitation, he steps in front of the guy, blocking his path. “That is no way to speak to a lady. Not in Japan, not anywhere in the world. Apologize.”

"Dude, what’s your problem? Move," the guy snaps, attempting to push past him. But Luca isn’t budging. At first, he still seems composed—polite, even—but his gaze darkens with every second. "Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time," he says, his voice lower now. "Apologize for your unacceptable behavior. Or I’ll make you."

The stranger hesitates when he notices Luca’s hands clenching into fists. Begrudgingly, he turns to you, gives a half-hearted bow, and mutters an apology. Then, glaring back at Luca, he asks, "Happy now?" Luca’s only response is a cold, "I better not see you anywhere near her again." He doesn’t even bother watching him leave—his attention is immediately back on you, making sure you’re okay.

Kaito

Kaito might call himself a coward, but his actions tell a different story. When it really matters, he always pushes through his fears. And seeing you in distress? That’s more than enough to make him act.

Is he scared? Absolutely. Does the idea of a confrontation terrify him? More than anything. But will he let that stop him from standing up for you? Never.

Whispering a few words of encouragement to himself, he clenches his fists, marches up to the guy, and grabs his shoulder, spinning him around. "What the hell do you think you’re saying to my girlfriend?! Apologize!" His attempt at a deep, commanding voice comes out… well, more like a high-pitched shriek.

The guy barely spares him a glance before slapping his hand away and walking off with a dismissive, "Man, you’re nuts." Kaito, now fuming, yells after him about how he clearly has no manners and must’ve been raised by wolves. After throwing in a few extra insults for good measure, he rushes to you, wrapping a protective—and slightly trembling—arm around your shoulders. "Are you okay? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner. Please tell me you’re okay…"

Alan

Just as the guy turns to leave, he suddenly collides with something—or rather, someone. Hard. He stumbles back, landing unceremoniously on his ass, cursing loudly. "Dude, watch where you’re—" His words die in his throat the moment he looks up and meets Alan’s impassive stare.

The guy sees nothing but blank indifference. But you? You know Alan better than most. And you can tell he’s barely keeping his fury in check.

"Do you think that’s an appropriate way to speak to a woman?" Alan asks coolly, unmoving. The guy quickly shakes his head. "Then apologize." The silence stretches as the guy hesitates—until Alan’s voice cuts through the air again, sharper this time. "Now."

The guy scrambles to his feet, turning to you with a deep bow, stammering out rushed apologies. "I-I’m so sorry, miss, that was incredibly rude of me… I didn’t mean to…" Alan steps closer, his gaze still pinned on him. Once the guy finally finishes groveling, Alan simply says, "That’s enough. Leave."

As soon as the guy scurries away, Alan steps to your side, his expression softening just a fraction as he looks at you. "Are you alright?"

Sho

Even though Sho is usually a pretty laid-back guy, he takes your well-being very seriously. If you show even the slightest sign of discomfort after what just happened, he will react immediately.

In his usual relaxed manner, he approaches the guy, casually placing an arm around his shoulder as if they were old friends. With a not-so-gentle turn, he maneuvers the startled stranger toward you.

“She really is quite attractive, isn’t she?” With these words, they stop right in front of you. “Why don’t you tell us what else you find so great about my girlfriend? Please, I’d love to hear your opinion.”

Judging by how intimidated the guy looks while futilely trying to escape Sho’s grip, you almost feel sorry for him. Almost. “This is a huge misunderstanding. Seriously, man! I didn’t know she had a boyfriend!”

“I don’t see how that makes anything better. Come on now, apologize.” … “S-s-sorry.” The stranger’s stammering is barely comprehensible, and any confidence he had before is completely gone. After some further insistence from Sho, a somewhat coherent apology finally comes out. Sho then pushes him away with a “See? That wasn’t so hard,” before turning back to you. “You really do attract these kinds of guys like a magnet, huh?” he teases as he casually drapes an arm around your shoulders and starts walking toward the city center.

Leo

Leo knows exactly the type of guy with that sleazy expression and can sense what’s about to happen before it even unfolds. Since he can’t prevent it, he decides to take a different approach to protect his girlfriend’s honor. He pulls out his phone and starts a livestream—just in time to catch the guy’s sleazy remark.

“And this, my dear viewers…” He switches his camera to selfie mode, filming himself with a cheerful expression as he moves in sync with the stranger, casually throwing an arm around his shoulder so that both of their faces are in the frame. “… is exactly the kind of pathetic guy who thinks it’s okay to harass women. Say hello to our audience, loser.”

“What the…?” The moment the livestream comments start flooding in, the guy realizes what’s happening. Panicked, he wriggles out of Leo’s grip and bolts. “Looks like he’s suddenly feeling a little embarrassed, huh? So, ladies watching this stream—watch out for this guy. Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

He abruptly ends the livestream, and by the time he reaches you, he looks visibly upset. “I seriously can’t take my eyes off you for one second, can I?” His tone is sharp, but you’ve been with Leo long enough to hear the concern beneath it. He glances over his shoulder one last time before turning back to you, wrapping an arm lovingly around your waist.

“Come on. You get to choose which restaurant you’re treating me to.” Before you can protest, he plants a kiss on your forehead, and for just a split second, you catch the softest, most affectionate smile on his lips.

Haru

Haru is naturally a peaceful person who avoids conflicts whenever possible. However, he also has a strong protective instinct, so he would step in immediately if he saw someone—especially you—being harassed.

Since he prefers a calm approach when dealing with people (except when he’s with friends), he quietly walks up to the stranger, placing a hand on his shoulder. His demeanor is more de-escalating than threatening.

“That’s really not a good way to treat someone. Don’t you think you should apologize?” Unfortunately, even the best advice rarely gets through to people like this. The guy angrily slaps Haru’s hand away and snaps at him to keep his hands off.

Haru sighs, watching the guy walk away with a disappointed look before turning to you and gently wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I’m sorry that happened to you. Are you okay?” He will spend the rest of the day trying to distract you from what happened, making sure to give you plenty of sweet compliments—careful not to make them too suggestive—so that this experience doesn’t taint your perception of receiving compliments in the future.

Towa

Since this scenario takes place in broad daylight, I assume Towa isn’t able to speak properly just yet. He may be a free spirit who doesn’t always follow societal conventions, but he immediately recognizes the situation unfolding before him.

Without hesitation, he strides toward the stranger, roughly grabbing his shoulder and letting out a deep, guttural growl (you know the kind of sounds Towa makes—there’s no easy way to describe them). The guy quickly yanks himself free and glares at Towa. “Are you out of your mind, attacking me like that?”

This is the moment when Towa’s gaze darkens completely, and as if on cue, the entire sky follows suit. Rain begins pouring down in sheets, and lightning strikes all around you. The stranger panics, breaking free and sprinting off to find shelter. You could swear the lightning bolts seem to follow him as he flees.

Thankfully, you’re standing under an awning, and as Towa approaches you, his intense expression shifts into one of deep, heart-wrenching concern. If you want the storm to subside along with his mood, you’d better reassure him that you’re okay.

Ren

One might assume that Ren wouldn’t notice an incident like this because he’s glued to his phone, but he actually pays much more attention to his surroundings than people think.

Annoyed, he puts his phone away and steps directly in the stranger’s path, visibly irritated. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You really think it’s okay to talk to women like that?”

The guy looks intimidated at first but quickly recovers his arrogance. “And who do you think you are, talking to me like that in the middle of the street?” Ren, unfazed, remains perfectly calm. He knows his height and build give him an advantage, and while he would never willingly get into a physical fight, he uses his presence to his benefit. He deliberately squares up to the guy, emphasizing the size difference.

Combined with the cold look in Ren’s eyes, his tactic works. The stranger hesitates, then turns back to you, muttering a quick, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” before slipping past Ren and vanishing as quickly as possible.

Ren smirks slightly, satisfied with the outcome, then walks over to you with a more serious expression and pulls you into his arms. “Just ignore guys like that. They’ve got nothing going for them except a big mouth.”

Romeo

No one. I repeat. Absolutely no one except Romeo himself has the right to throw any kind of compliments at his property his beloved. Especially not suggestive ones. Just because he always tells you to keep your head high and learn to stand up for yourself doesn’t mean he lacks a protective instinct.

Accordingly, one of Romeo's legendary outbursts of rage comes to light, which he directs straight at the stranger. "What the hell do you think you're doing, talking to my wife like that, you miserable piece of trash, huh?" Romeo wouldn't rule half of Sinostra if his demeanor wasn’t absolutely terrifying and intimidating. He will most likely have the same effect on the stranger. If yelling doesn’t work, Romeo doesn’t hesitate to draw his weapon. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s aimed it at someone.

Similar to Jin, he will make the stranger apologize in the most humiliating (and, for him, the most degrading) way possible. The only difference is that Romeo will keep shouting at him the whole time and threaten to ruin him and his entire family if he ever hears that he’s misbehaved in any way again. Even if it’s just carelessly throwing a cigarette on the street instead of using a proper trash bin.

As the stranger runs off, nearly sobbing and looking back now and then to make sure Romeo isn't following him, Romeo doesn't spare him another glance. Instead, he turns to you. "I certainly hope you’re not intimidated by such a pathetic maggot. Let’s go. He’s wasted enough of our valuable time."

Taiga

As Taiga approaches and observes the situation, an uncontrollable rage builds up inside him. He quickens his pace and makes a point of standing tall as he nears the scumbag.

Before the stranger can turn around and continue on his way, Taiga loops his arm around his neck while passing him, forcing him back in your direction with sheer strength. From an outsider’s perspective, the gesture might look friendly at first, but the stranger's face tells a different story as he realizes Taiga is just one move away from choking him into unconsciousness.

"Oh yeah, she’s a real cutie, isn’t she?" he says in a low voice as they both move toward you. Though Taiga's words are directed at the young man, and his tone carries an unmistakable threat, his gaze remains locked on you, a clear, sadistic grin on his lips. "Too bad for you that she’s my cutie."

He continues to push the stranger forward until they both stop in front of you. Panic is written all over the man's face as he seems to sense Taiga’s thirst for blood just as much as you do. Taiga releases his grip on his shoulders and instead grabs the nape of his neck, digging his nails into the man's flesh, making him stare at you with both terror and pain in his eyes. "Don’t be shy. What do you say when you’ve disrespected a woman?"

The young man stammers out apologies, becoming more remorseful the tighter Taiga's grip gets. He only stops when the stranger sounds sufficiently pathetic in his ears. "Do you accept his apology, kitty cat?" Your answer will determine whether the poor guy gets away with just a scare or spends the night in the hospital.

Ritsu

As we all know, Ritsu is the type to always carry both his voice recorder and his camera. As he observes the scene in front of him, he doesn’t hesitate to pull out his camera and snap a picture of the man passing by.

The guy looks at Ritsu in confusion, then walks toward him angrily, asking in an aggressive tone why he took a picture of him.

"I simply took a photo of my beautiful girlfriend," Ritsu replies to the accusation of photographing him without permission. "Unfortunately, there's also some guy in the frame who just made some inappropriate remarks toward her. What a shame." As always, Ritsu remains calm during the exchange.

When the man protests that "it’s not illegal to talk to women," Ritsu nods in agreement. "True. However, now I know your face. And if I ever hear that you’ve broken the law in any way—even if it’s just a parking violation—you can bet I’ll make sure you pay for it."

The guy stares at Ritsu in disbelief and suddenly looks very nervous as he abruptly turns and hurries away. Ritsu pays him no further attention and calmly walks up to you. Before greeting you as usual, he asks if you’re okay and thenoffers his arm as you both continue toward your destination.

Haku

Haku is a pretty laid-back and calm guy. Instead of resorting to physical violence, he prefers to use words. Nevertheless, he absolutely despises seeing his princess being harassed by sleazy men. And even Haku can get a little rough sometimes.

As he walks past, he places his hand on the stranger’s shoulder, turning him toward him. His grip is firm enough to stop the man from walking away. "Hey, don’t you think your behaviour was completely inappropriate? Do us all a favor and apologize to her."

Haku doesn’t have an imposing height or an extraordinary build, so the stranger probably isn’t too impressed by his words. He roughly pushes Haku’s hand away. "It’s none of your business how I talk to women. Do us a favor and scram." As the guy turns to walk away, Haku casually calls after him, "Oh, so I’m just imagining things when I say your grandmother is utterly ashamed of you?"

The stranger hesitates, turning back briefly, stammering, "How do you…?" before scurrying away even faster.

Haku then turns to you, making sure you're okay. Depending on your mood, he’ll do everything in his power to make sure you remember this day in a positive light. Casually, he drapes his arm around you as you walk together. If you ask whether he really saw the guy’s grandmother's spirit, he just smirks mischievously and says, "Who knows?"

Subaru

Subaru is a calm and peaceful guy. While he reacts immediately to imminent danger without hesitation, he has never been one to engage in open confrontations. So, in this situation, he would focus more on comforting you than dealing with the stranger.

Since Subaru avoids touching people, he wouldn’t physically stop the stranger from walking away. On top of that, he feels uncomfortable being recognized as an actor. Despite his growing fame, it seems to have made him more self-conscious rather than confident.

Nevertheless, Subaru is clearly angry and addresses the stranger with an uncharacteristically serious expression. "That kind of behavior is inappropriate and clearly made her uncomfortable. You should apologize."

"And what, you think you’re her knight in shining armor? Piss off." With these harsh words, the man walks away.

Subaru doesn’t waste any more time on him and instead turns to you with a concerned expression. Whatever it takes to cheer you up and distract you, Subaru will do it.

Zenji

Let’s assume that Zenji is alive in this scenario, as his current situation obviously prevents him from taking any real action. Although he is an optimist who believes in the good in people, he is not someone who lets others walk all over him.

At first, he approaches you with his usual cheerful demeanor, but his expression darkens quickly when he sees the scene unfolding before him. After hearing the stranger’s passing comment, Zenji strides straight toward him and deliberately stops in his path, forcing the man to halt and look at him.

"It is unbecoming to behave this way in front of a lady. You should apologize to her." Zenji's tone is unusually serious, and the look in his eyes is something you rarely see in your friend. However, the stranger seems unimpressed and asks Zenji what his problem is for suddenly confronting him.

"Can’t you see that your words made her uncomfortable? You still have the chance to make it right." Unfortunately, this type of person is rarely moved by morality, and Zenji’s words have little effect. Laughing, the stranger turns away and walks off.

Zenji watches him for a moment, his initial anger fading into slight disappointment. Then he turns to you, pulling you into a reassuring embrace and checking if you’re alright. He apologizes for not being there sooner, so you wouldn’t have had to go through this situation in the first place. Some people just seem to have lost their way.

Rui

In the past, Rui would have immediately confronted the man, calling him out on his behavior without a second thought about the consequences. He would have been firm but never aggressive, relying on his natural charm to coax an apology out of the stranger. After all, he considers himself a pacifist. However, if things had escalated, I doubt he would have simply let it go—and he might have resorted to physical force if necessary.

But things are different now, and Rui is painfully aware of it. Under no circumstances would he risk a physical altercation where he might, at worst, end up killing his opponent. That’s why he swallows his pride and sense of justice, standing by silently as the man walks past him without a word.

Visibly worried, Rui approaches you and immediately asks if you’re okay. The worse you feel after the encounter, the more it reflects in his own expression. He will apologize over and over for not being able to do anything, and no matter how many times you reassure him that it’s alright, he won’t stop doubting himself and his worth in your relationship.

You should keep in mind that this man would do absolutely anything for you if he could. Even though you are the victim in this situation, and depending on your personality, you might be struggling mentally as well, don’t forget to check on your partner. He is suffering right along with you.

How in the world did you manage to get Ed out of the house during the day? Or to get him moving at all? This must be true love. As he watches the scene unfold, a faint grin spreads across his face, and he eyes the stranger carefully while walking toward him.

"Well, well, a textbook chauvinist. I thought speaking to a lady like that was outdated. Don’t you think an apology is in order?" The stranger stares at Ed, perplexed by his old-fashioned way of speaking. "What do you want from me? You talk like my grandfather. Get lost." With that, the man turns away and walks off.

"Take care! Even in a beautiful country like this, it’s not as safe as you might think." Ed calls after him. The stranger briefly glances back, asks if Ed has a screw loose, and then continues on his way. All the while, Ed hasn’t stopped grinning. The way he watches the young man leave is eerily similar to a predator studying its prey before striking.

"Shall we?" Ed asks, holding out his parasol invitingly so you can stand under it with him. "Don’t worry. People like him always get what they deserve sooner or later. I believe you call it karma here." You already have a sinking feeling that what awaits the stranger has nothing to do with karma. Whether you choose to bring it up with Ed is entirely up to you.

Lyca

Lyca is still adjusting to life among humans and the social norms that come with it. However, he has had a strong sense of justice for a long time, so the moment he sees someone speaking inappropriately to you, he immediately steps in.

He tries to rein in his anger, as he has learned the hard way that people often fear him when he gives in to his wilder instincts. No matter how despicable the stranger is, he is still human, and Lyca has likely accumulated some emotional scars from past rejections. The last thing he wants is to add another one to the list.

"Hey, that’s not okay," Lyca says as he approaches, stepping directly into the stranger’s path. "Apologize to her." "And you shouldn’t just talk to strangers out of nowhere, so I guess we’re even," the man replies dismissively, turning away to continue on his way.

Lyca watches him go, and for a brief moment, you see him start to lift an arm as if to stop the stranger. But halfway through the motion, he freezes and lets his arms fall back down in frustration.

He clenches his fists for a second before relaxing them again and walking over to you. He asks if you’re alright, making sure to call the guy an absolute jerk for speaking to you like that. Even though Lyca sounds normal, you know him well enough to see that he’s deeply frustrated about not having done more. A few comforting words might help him.

Yuri

Coming from an well cultured background, Yuri would never allow a woman’s dignity—especially his own woman’s—to be insulted like that. His rage is evident as he turns to the stranger, his voice booming. "How dare you address a lady in such a disgraceful manner, you worm?!"

The stranger seems startled by Yuri’s sudden outburst but ultimately remains unimpressed. "No need to yell, man. I was just giving the lady a compliment."

"You call that a compliment, you simpleton?! Apologize at once!" Though Yuri usually prides himself on handling matters with a level head, it’s clear that he’s struggling to keep his composure. The stranger snorts derisively and walks past him. "What a lunatic…" you hear him mumble as he leaves.

Yuri glares after him for a moment before turning to you. With quick steps, he reaches you, protectively wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. "Pay no mind to that coward. Some men simply have no idea how to treat a beautiful woman properly."

Jiro

Jiro is unfamiliar with common social conventions, so there’s a good chance he won’t immediately recognize the situation for what it is.

Since there is no immediate physical threat from the stranger—who simply walks past after making his inappropriate remark—Jiro might just stare after him in mild confusion before turning to you and asking if you know the guy.

What happens next depends entirely on your reaction. If you’re visibly shaken or uncomfortable, Jiro will immediately pick up on it. He’ll ask you if the man did something bad to you, and if you say yes, he’ll offer to "take care of him"—which, knowing Jiro, would be done in the most terrifying way possible.

If you act as if it’s no big deal or say it doesn’t bother you, Jiro won’t push further and will simply continue with your plans for the day. However, if you explain to him what catcalling is and why it’s inappropriate—or if you struggle to hide your discomfort—he will definitely remember this situation. The next time something similar happens (though hopefully, it never will), he won’t hesitate to react much more… forcefully.

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golden-reverie · 2 days ago

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Burnt Out

Author’s note: Hello to anyone who sees this! I’m Elodie, 24, from the Midwest. I love to experiment with writing, and my guilty pleasure is anything to do with Harry Styles. I’ve been so inspired by all the amazing writers on here, so I finally decided to take a stab at something of my own. I hope you enjoy :)

Summary: You’ve been running yourself ragged over a work project, and Harry isn’t having it.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: MDNI, spanking, punishment, fingering, pre-established dom/sub relationship, stern dom!harry, sub!reader, fem!reader, aftercare, all actions and dynamics are consensual

The soft glow of the laptop screen flickered against the walls, casting restless shadows in the dimly lit house. Y/N’s fingers danced over the keyboard, her eyes locked onto the cascading lines of code. Stray wisps of amber hair had escaped the messy bun atop her head, and she absently chewed on the end of a pen—an old habit from her college days. The room was silent, save for the rhythmic clicking of keys and the quiet hum of the laptop’s fan.

Harry lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of concern and quiet frustration. The faint aroma of the dinner he’d prepared still clung to the air, a cruel reminder that she had once again skipped a meal in favor of work. Outside, the streetlights cast a soft, silver glow through the thin curtains, tracing ghostly patterns on the floor. Y/N remained wrapped in the world of her screen, completely oblivious to his presence.

He cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the hush like a blade. “Y/N, it’s late. You need to come to bed.”

She didn’t look up. “Just a few more minutes, Harry. I need to finish this.”

Harry sighed, raking a hand through his unruly curls. “You’ve been saying that for the last three hours. You need a break.”

This time, she did glance up—just long enough for him to catch the flicker of exhaustion in her gaze before she turned back to her work. “I can’t. This project is a big one. I have to get it done.”

Harry pushed off the door frame and strode toward her, his presence heavy, unyielding. A warm hand landed on her shoulder, grounding her. “You’ve been at this nonstop for weeks. You need to take care of yourself.”

She shrugged off his touch. “I will. Just not tonight.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not how this works, Y/N. You know the rules. You agreed to them.” His voice remained level, but there was an edge to it now, a quiet authority that she could no longer ignore. “Your body needs food, rest… You’ll burn out if you keep this up.”

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, but for the first time in hours, she hesitated. She exhaled slowly, her voice softer, but still laced with defiance.

“I just… need to finish this. Can’t you see that?”

Harry’s expression didn’t waver. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You can finish it tomorrow. During normal hours. Right now, you need sleep. I already let you skip dinner, and we both know that wasn’t the first meal you’ve ignored lately.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I’ve run out of patience, love.”

Y/N stilled. She understood the implication behind his words. Her breath hitched, cheeks heating.

“Harry, I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can.” His tone was gentle, yet immovable. “And you will.” With deliberate ease, he reached out and closed her laptop, the sudden silence deafening.

She finally looked at him, her eyes flashing with something between defiance and reluctant surrender. “You’re being over the top,” she muttered.

Harry smirked, tilting her chin up with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Maybe I am. But someone has to be.” His thumb brushed against her cheek, slow and deliberate. “You’re not taking care of yourself. And that’s not acceptable to me.” His voice was softer now, but it carried an unmistakable weight.

The air thickened, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable.

He took a step back, nodding toward the staircase. “C’mon. Up you get.”

Y/N hesitated for half a second before pushing up from her chair, her body drawn to his like a tide to the shore. As much as she wanted to argue, she knew he was right. This project had pushed her past her limits—late nights, skipped meals, unanswered texts and calls—Harry had let a lot slide. But tonight, that grace had run out. And now that she had been pulled from the blue-light-induced trance she had been under, she found herself grateful for his insistence.

As they ascended the stairs, a different kind of tension coiled low in her stomach. She knew exactly where this was going, and she could already feel the electricity crackling in the space between them.

Harry sat on the edge of their bed, his eyes steady as she hovered in the doorway. He extended a hand, beckoning her forward.

“C’mere,” he commanded.

She found her place in between his legs. His hands fell to her hips and slinked around to the soft flesh under her ass, holding her in place. She looked down at him, anticipating his next move.

“I think you have a pretty good idea of where this is headed, yeah?” His eyes held a quiet patience that stood in sharp contrast to the inevitable sentence looming over her head.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, avoiding his gaze.

Harry hummed in approval. “I’ve let a lot slide these past couple of weeks,” he said, tilting his head forward in search of her eyes. “I know big projects come up and that they sometimes get the better of our judgment. That’s just life. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by skipping meals and running on two hours of sleep each day… I know you know that.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders, fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt. A nervous habit.

He blows out a soft sigh, brushing his fingers against her skin, “I gave you plenty of chances to course-correct, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting perfection, but you’ve been running yourself into the ground, and that’s not something I can just overlook.”

She chewed her lip, her gaze flickering anywhere but his face. “I know. I’m sorry.” A frustrated breath escaped her lips, “It’s just… this project is important to me, and you know how cutthroat my coworkers can be. I can’t afford to fall behind.”

“I understand,” he says, lightly squeezing her flesh beneath his hands. “And I love how hard you work, but regardless, you know you can’t be on your A-game if you’re not taking care of yourself… That’s why we put these rules in place, remember? He moves his right hand up to her jaw in a silent command to meet his stare, “Because I love you and I care about you.” His voice was steady, eyes unwavering. “And sometimes you need a reminder to care about yourself, too. Yeah?”

She maintained eye contact this time, the guilt she had been trying to push aside settled heavily in her chest. “I love you too.” she mumbles, her voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t just an apology—it was an admission. She had ignored the rules, brushed aside her own well-being for weeks, and now the weight of it all felt like it was seeping out of her pores, pooling at his feet.

Harry lets his hand drop from her chin, his expression firm but not unkind. “And I appreciate that,” he says, his tone shifting, sharpening. “But you know the deal.”

It wasn’t necessarily a question, but she answered him, nonetheless.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, over my knee,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He patted his thigh—a silent summons, firm and absolute.

Y/N hesitated for a moment. Not out of reluctance, but out of the sheer pleasure of the moment—this dance between them—the thrill of defiance followed by sweet surrender. She always wanted this, always needed this, and until right now; she hadn’t realized how much she’d been craving it.

He didn’t rush her. He never did. He simply waited, watching her with steady, knowing eyes. The weight of his gaze alone sent a shiver through her, anticipation thrumming beneath her skin. Taking a slow, measured breath, she finally relented, placing her hands on the mattress for balance as she draped herself over his lap.

He took a moment to admire the sight before him—the gentle arch of her back, the delicate vibration in her limbs, betraying her excitement. His hands smoothed over her spine, warm and comforting, a soothing contrast to the tension coiling inside her.

He could feel her trembling almost imperceptibly as she laid there—a quiet, unspoken longing bubbling up from her core. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings, peeling them down her legs with deliberate ease before tossing them aside.

His palms roamed over the swell of her ass, his touch featherlight, teasing. Y/N bit her lip, resisting the instinct to press her thighs together as he traced the lace trim of her panties, feeling her heat radiating through the delicate fabric. That alone nearly unraveled him. His cock strained painfully against his sweatpants, but he forced himself to linger in this moment—the exquisite torture of making her wait, of drawing it out until she was teetering on the edge.

His hands traveled upward, finding the hem of her shirt, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin beneath. He heard the small hitch in her breath, watched as goosebumps bloomed across her flesh. Slowly, agonizingly, he lifted the fabric, removing it from her body, letting the cool air kiss her bare back as she shivered in his grasp.

He towered over her, his presence commanding every ounce of her attention. His voice, low and unwavering, wrapped around her like a steel chain. “Is your work more important than your own health?”

Y/N inhaled sharply, steadying herself before she answered. “No, Sir.”

“And who decides when you’ve had enough?” His head tilted slightly, waiting—expecting.

His voice rumbled through her, a dark, velvety vibration that settled deep in her bones. Her breath hitched. “You do, Sir.”

A flicker of approval danced in his eyes. “Good girl.”

His palm ghosted over the curves of her ass, tracing gentle circles that did little to soothe the anticipation humming in her nerves. “I want you to count for me.”

She barely had a moment to brace herself before his hand left her skin—only to return with a sharp, resounding crack.

“One!” she gasped. But before she could stop herself, her right hand shot back instinctively, trying to shield herself from the sting.

Harry was faster. He caught her wrist effortlessly, pinning it against the small of her back. His fingers wove through hers, the delicate touch at odds with the firmness of his next words.

“You know better than that.” His voice carried a quiet, heavy disapproval that made her stomach flip. “We’re starting over. Every time you squirm, we’ll go back to one again. Understood?”

Y/N swallowed hard, resisting the urge to whimper. He meant business tonight. “Yes, Sir.”

The next blow landed just as hard.

“One, Sir.” This time, she tagged on the honorific—not required, but a subtle touch she knew he'd appreciate. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

Then came the next. And the next.

“Two, Sir… Three, Sir!” The quick succession stole the breath from her lungs, leaving her voice edged with both pain and something deeper, something needier.

He could feel it—the way her body responded, her skin flushing beneath his touch, heat rolling off her in waves. His palm burned against her flesh, but he reveled in it. He lived for this part: the slow, deliberate breaking down of everything but sensation.

By number twelve, the sharp slap landed against the tender flesh of her lower thighs, and she wailed, the sound raw and unfiltered. Tears pricked at the edges of her vision, but still, she forced the number past her lips.

Harry knew her body better than she did. He knew exactly how to unravel her, how to make her cry out first from frustration—then from sheer, unadulterated pleasure. He wanted her mind empty, consumed only by this, by him.

The next set of strikes sent waves of something heady through her, an intoxicating blend of pain and euphoria. Her breath stuttered. She barely managed to grunt out the numbers between each punishing impact, her body trembling, craving.

By the time he reached twenty-eight, her head had fallen slack against the bed, silent tears soaking into the duvet. This was the most Y/N had ever taken. Normally, he didn’t have to go past twenty before she surrendered completely, but tonight—tonight she had been stubborn. Each slap chipped away at the stress, the tension, the weight she had been carrying for weeks.

He felt the moment her body gave in. The way her fingers went limp in his grasp, her voice raw, spent. She wasn’t resisting anymore—just accepting.

“Thirty, Sir,” she sobbed, the words almost lost in the haze of exhaustion and relief. Then, softer still, “I’m sorry.”

Harry let his hand relax, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over the heated expanse of her skin. Her body was still shaking, but not from pain. Not anymore. He knew she had slipped, drifting into that quiet, blissful space where nothing existed beyond the warmth of his touch and the safety of his presence.

And he wasn’t about to pull her out. Not yet.

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady rhythm of his palm smoothing over her, and the lingering, uneven sniffles escaping her lips. He let her breathe, let her be.

After a couple minutes, he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “You did so good baby. I’m proud of you.”

He pressed a few final, featherlight kisses along the curve of her lower back, his breath warm against her skin as he murmured, “Are you ready for me to check on you?”

He already knew the answer. Knew what he would find when his fingers slipped between her thighs. The anticipation sent a thrill down his spine as he let his hand drift lower, tracing the seam of her slick folds, drinking in the heat that seeped into his skin.

She was dripping.

Harry was hard beneath her, the evidence pressing insistently against her stomach, and he knew she could feel it too. But tonight wasn’t about him. Yes, she had broken the rules—deserved the punishment she had just endured—but more importantly, he wanted to strip away the weight she had been carrying. He wanted to unmake the stress that had hardened her and replace it with something softer.

His thumb found her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her squirm, a broken whimper muffled against the duvet.

“Good girl, Y/N,” he praised, his voice a low hum of satisfaction.

“Just gonna make you feel good now, yeah?”

He slid a finger inside her, slow and deliberate, while his free hand threaded into her hair, stroking, grounding her.

Her nod was small, but he felt the way her body melted, giving in to his touch. Wetness seeped onto his thigh, further proof of how much she needed this—needed him.

He pushed a second finger inside, reveling in the way her walls clenched around him, her body trembling from the overwhelming sensations. With every stroke, he could feel her tension unraveling, her muscles slackening, the last remnants of restraint slipping away.

The world around him dissolved as his fingers curled inside her, seeking out the spot he knew would make her crumble. “You’ve been so good for me,” he whispered, his lips grazing the damp skin of her shoulder. “Took your punishment like a champ. Now, I want you to come for me. Just like this.”

Her skin tasted of sweat and salt, the scent of her arousal thick in the air.

Y/N was a paradox—a perfect blend of submission and defiance. As obedient as she was, that stubborn streak of hers ran just as deep, a constant challenge that kept him on his toes. But nights like this? When she surrendered completely, yielding every inch of herself to him without hesitation?

He savored it. Relished it. Worshipped it.

Because having all of her—mind, body, and soul—was a privilege he would never take for granted.

He studied her like an artist captivated by the final stroke of their masterpiece, burning the view into his memory—the flutter of her lashes as her eyes turned glassy, the flush that crept down her neck, the way her cunt clenched so tightly around his fingers as if trying to keep him there forever. He wanted to teach her to let go. To release all the anxiety, frustration, and exhaustion that had been suffocating her for far too long.

But he needed it to come from her—wanted her to own her pleasure as much as he did—to know that she was worthy, desired, loved.

Harry’s fingers slid deeper, moving with deliberate slowness as they arched just right, pressing against the spot that had her moaning, her body instinctively grinding against his palm. Her face was buried in the duvet, eyes squeezed shut as she gasped, overwhelmed by the rush of sensations flooding through her.

“Come on, Y/N. Let go for me,” he coaxed, his voice dripping with filthy promise.

Her body tensed, and he knew he had her. She trembled on the precipice before the dam broke. A shattered moan tore from her lips as pleasure ripped through her, muscles spasming in tight, rhythmic waves. The heat of her release coated his figures, and he didn’t stop—not yet.

He worked her through it, his thumb never relenting from the steady, precise strokes against her clit. He wanted everything. Wanted to hear her cry out for him, to watch the pleasure drag her under until she had nothing left to give.

And under she went.

Her cries turned breathless as the last tremors wracked her body, her limbs going boneless beneath his touch. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, smirking at the needy little whimper she made at the loss. He soothed the ache with soft strokes along her trembling thighs, grounding her as she came back down.

“Atta girl, sweetheart,” he cooed, voice laced with satisfaction. “That feel good?”

A slow, exhausted nod was all she could manage. As the haze of pleasure lifted, she became aware of everything at once—the damp strands of hair sticking to her nape, the tingling in her limbs, the lingering warmth radiating from her backside.

But nothing could pull her back to reality quite like his voice.

“Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?”

***

Water cascaded from the shower head in silken ribbons, a warm, soothing contrast against the cool tile. Steam curled in the air, thick and languid, blurring the edges of the room until it felt like they existed in their own private universe. The scent of eucalyptus clung to the mist, wrapping around them like an embrace.

Harry held Y/N close, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, the quiet strength of him anchoring her. Her head rested against his collarbone, the sound of his heartbeat a calming metronome against the storm that had been raging inside her for weeks.

His hands moved slowly over her damp skin, drawing soothing circles along her spine, his thumbs tracing the delicate ridges of her back. She shivered—not from the cold, but from the contrast of sensations: the warmth of the water, the cool air beyond it, the roughness of his calloused fingers against the softness of her flesh.

She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze through the water’s shimmering veil. Her lips were parted, her lashes heavy, surrender written in every line of her expression. Harry felt something deep and primal stir in his chest.

With a lingering kiss, he turned her around, his fingers threading through her hair as he worked the shampoo into a gentle lather. His touch was reverent, a contradiction of tenderness and strength, his large hands cradling her head with the kind of care that made her stomach flutter. She sighed softly, melting into the sensation as she rested against his muscled body, her small noises of contentment filling the air like music.

When the last suds had been rinsed away, Harry reached past her to shut off the water, the sudden absence of sound leaving them in an intimate hush. Without hesitation, he grabbed the towels he had set out earlier, wrapping her in one before she could feel the bite of the air. He took his time drying her off, the plush fabric gliding over her sensitive skin like a gentle breeze, coaxing a soft sigh from her lips. Then, with the same quiet devotion, he slipped one of his t-shirts over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her smaller frame.

As Y/N moved through the final steps of her skincare routine, Harry retrieved a bottle of lotion from the cupboard across the room. He approached her with the grace of a shadow, gently tapping her on the bum.

“When you’re done, I want you to lay on the bed on your tummy. Ok?” His voice a smooth, honeyed command.

She finished up and did as she was told, sinking into the mattress, her head resting on her folded arms. Her damp hair spread across the silk pillow like a river of dark water, cool and smooth against the fabric.

The bed dipped beneath his weight, and she heard the soft sound of lotion being smoothed between his hands. A moment later, the hem of her shirt lifted, and his warm palms met the tender skin of her backside. Y/N sighed deeply, the coolness of the lotion a welcome relief to the heat lingering from earlier. His hands moved with slow, deliberate strokes, massaging away the sting, his fingers tracing the curves of her body with intimate familiarity.

The room was quiet, save for the rustle of sheets and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Y/N felt herself unraveling beneath his touch, sinking into the present moment, leaving behind the weight of the stress that had knotted itself into her muscles. He always knew how to bring her back—how to pull her from the depths of her mind and remind her that she didn't have to handle everything on her own.

When he was finished, he leaned down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her neck before pressing a gentle kiss to the delicate skin there.

“How do you feel?” His voice was a low murmur against her ear, thick with warmth and something deeper—something unspoken but understood.

Y/N swallowed, taking a moment to gather her words. “I—I feel good, Sir,” she admitted, her voice still laced with the remnants of pleasure and submission. “Still a little out of it… but good.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “I’m glad for the punishment. I really needed that.”

She shifted to sit up, and he caught her chin between his fingers, maneuvering her head to face him.

Harry’s lips curved into a soft smile, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring patterns along her cheek. “You did well tonight. You know that, right? M’proud of you.”

The weight of his words settled over her like a blanket—warm, protective, unwavering. She smiled softly into his touch.

A beat of silence stretched between them before he spoke again. “When you feel like things are spiraling, I need you to know you can come to me.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he leaned in and kissed her. It was slow and deliberate, filled with everything he didn’t need to say—everything he had already proven.

When she finally pulled away, her voice was softer, more certain. “I do know that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner. It’s… a habit, shutting people out when I’m stressed. But regardless, you didn’t deserve that.”

Harry exhaled a quiet laugh, “Yes, I’m well aware of that habit of yours, which we’ll crack one day. But in the meantime, you can push all you want, sweetheart. Unfortunately for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

She giggled, letting him pull her into his chest. “On the contrary. Very fortunate for me,” she corrected, her voice tinged with affection.

He grinned, maneuvering the covers so she could slide beneath them. Reaching over, he switched off the lamp on his bedside table, casting the room into a velvety darkness.

As Y/N melted into him, the last of her tension slipping away, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“Get some sleep. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered against his skin, finally surrendering to the quiet lull of sleep’s embrace.

...

Ahhh! Kind of out there for my first post but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Hope you enjoyed!

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somerandomcockroach · 1 day ago

Text

*stretches, breathes fresh cold air in, waters eyes, sits down* Here we go again ~

MMMMMMMMM Prowl's birth and existence starting and being described as nothing AHAH, EVEN MORE, the way to kill him if something goes crazy. MAN, MY BOY, YOU WERE BORN COLD AND COVERED IN COLD ALREADY Wait is it like. Half Prowl's pov. I know it can be described this way but I just, loved how the "Warm hands on his head sounds", more like explaining how it feels for him than a simple fact *sudden cackle* Didn't know translation of hitherto and it sounded like a funny mispelling.

*INHALES* I listen to "Steel for Humans" and it beat SO WELL I've got shivers "He wasn't nothing. He was a void, but suddenly that void had a direction, no matter how meaningless it sounded." NOT A NOTHING, but still not a something, void created out of will just to serve and not have a will "He became his purpose" I SO MUCH WANT TO SEE IT INSIDE HIS HEAD

G[PDFGOPFOWWJ

OH THIS IS SO TASTY. OTHER VIEW ON TAC NET, SO DAMN TASTY AHEFHJADGH. I WOULDN'T HAVE PAID ATTENTION BUT. "HE CALLED HIM PROWL" NOW THAT DOESN'T QUITE MAKE SENSE PFFFHT OF COURSE HE TOLD HIM TO DISAGREE WITH HIM. OF COURSE HE TOLD A CREATION THAT WAS BORN TO SERVE AND AGREE TO BE AND DISAGREE.

AJHEGHRESJGERS OF COURSE WHY NOT. BREAK HIM.

GOOD JOB, MY BOY, GIVE THEM HEADACHES AHAHA

I need them in one room more often, his own scientific amusement and observation Ah so his very first purpose was to help him bring a peace. YES IT IS A NANNY AHAHA

FRIENDSHIP WILL NOT GET YOU TO COUNCIL FASTER OH THERE ARE OTHER GOLEMS. I kind of was wondering if Orion is the only one who will just... make it different Naaaahhh Prowl is already a big bunch of emotions even if not the happiest ones, no wonder he isn't like them "Not allowed artifacts" *Looks at Shockwave* HGASHDGAEHGEAHG I assist Orion and help him, agree.... actually, do not agree anymore, Ratchet now looks like a good friend to help me keep Orion in place. So golems are widely spread occasion. Keeping places clean and other easy stuff. Double-bottom trap. DAMN I LIKE BODY LANGUAGE DETAILS JAHGGEA not sure if Prowl just now made a joke or stated a fact about processor.

NOW, THIS IS A DYNAMIC WITH THEM I LOVE TO SEE

EWHGFHEWFGEWH OH EHWGREHG MMM OH I LOVE HOW PROWL IS JUST. NO WAY TO GET THAT HE IS A GOLEM. NO MORE.

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZEEEEE W- WAIT. F*** YOU. YEEEEEEEEEEESSSSS HIS STUDENTS ARE SAVAGES SAVED AND GOTTEN TO SHOCKWAVE YEEEEEESSSSSSS “Can read, write, speak, even makes music.” Who's that pokemon? ........Okay here comes the bits of their future destruction... and the fact that they will just. Accept it. Of course! Why not! *lies down* ....PROWL. PROWL NO. PROWL WRONG. NOT THIS WAY. NOT LIKE THIS NO.

PROWL STOP THIS IS A WRONG CHARACTER GROWTH

"When...when a mech commits especially terrible crimes against the will of Primus, the very magic of their spark rises up against them and turns them into a demon. And I just learned today what a...demon looks like." lET Me just. There is no shit like "Primus' will. Primus hangs out with atheist and smiles when someone says that Primus isn't capable of everything. It is the council. AH. Council is capable of extracting the spark. CAN THEY ALSO F**KING TURN OTHERS INTO DEMONS?!? ORION THIS IS COUNCIL I DON'T BELIEVE THAT IT IS PRIMUS, ORION YOU ARE DOING RIGHT THINGS.

This bit. Prowl has done things. He has done and might be chased for it. But he doesn't have a spark. I wonder to whom he resembles with the "I hope he doesn't"...

“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

___________________

Magical Golem Prowl anyone? ‘,:) This story exists in the same universe as Spellbound au. and Monster hunter au and ties them together so I highly recommend you read all of them.

The fic under the cut⤵️

He seemed to be nothing.

The emptiness that infinitely defined his nonexistent self bounced off the metal plates and glinted in the droplets of still-warm energon. He was nothing, but there was so much around him that the space was like an infinite buzz of cluttered noise. The voices above him sounded excited. The metal slab beneath him was cold and hard.

“Good. Now you need to put a piece of your armor on this. Somewhere it will be in plain sight and easily reachable.”

“Oh...wouldn't it make more sense to hide it under the armor? I mean, it's an obvious weak point.”

He idly thought, his hands felt numb.

“No no, that's the whole point. You're using an artifact you haven't fully studied and you don't know exactly how it's going to turn out. If it goes crazy and becomes dangerous, you should have an easy way to destroy it. Where's the artifact by the way?”

The tinkling of metal.

The sound of a crystal clattering against armor.

Warm hands on his head.

“Here.”

“Excellent. Now. This will be the base on which the entire spell will be held, so you want to hide this artifact very well and secure it carefully so it doesn't break by mistake.”

Did he have hands too? He was nothing, why did he have hands? It didn't make sense.

Orion took a couple steps away from the table and stood pensively.

“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave, hitherto distracted by an almost invisible spot on his shoulderplate, glanced leisurely over Orion's shoulder

“Golems don't need much to function. You made a good shell. The magical structure is strong as well, I see.”

Orion hesitantly pointed to the golem's forehead, decorated with a neat sharp chevron.

“I added some things that weren't in your instructions and I think I made a mistake somewhere.”

“Golem making is a complex skill, don't give up if it doesn't work right awa...you know what, actually no, you did everything right.”

Orion shrugged in frustration.

“Then why won't it move?”

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“ Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion walked back over to the table with a quiet “oh” and nervously clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

The emptiness that forever defined his nonexistent self stammered. He wasn't nothing. He had a purpose and that purpose shaped him, put strength into his numb limbs and molded his lack of thought into naked intent.

He wasn't nothing. He was a void, but suddenly that void had a direction, no matter how meaningless it sounded.

He stopped being just nothing. He became his purpose. And it felt so right that it was unclear how he could ever have been anything else before.

He opened his optics.

Orion, who apparently hadn't expected that the thing he'd made specifically for it to move would move, jerked back with a funny sound.

On the opposite side, Shockwave nodded proudly, returning to the spot on his armor that even in the bright lights of the workshop only he could see.

“I believed in you.”

_________

“Oh my god! How do you sneak up on me so quietly every time?”

He wasn't nothing anymore. He was a whole long list of instructions and rules. His creator sat him down at a table and meticulously listed everything he could and could not do. Handed him many books and ordered him to attend a huge number of lectures. He now knew who to bow to if he passed them in the hallway and who to avoid. He had learned hundreds of names and thousands of titles. Learned how to pretend to be a real Mech, even though he wasn't.

The world around him was complex and confusing, but he found that this complexity had its own patterns, linked together in a bizarre web of systems and sequences. It was worth pulling on the right end, and the meaningless facts organized themselves into something much more manageable.

Everything made sense. The planet revolved around a star. Mechs rejoiced when they got something that improved their quality of life. Energon burned, producing energy. Big things tended to be heavier than small things.

The world was divided into Mechs and monsters...and him.

He was inclined to be...quiet.

His creator - he'd asked to be called Orion - twitched when he found his creation standing right behind him.

He was very talented at finding Orion wherever he was. And very light compared to most things his size. Like everything else it made sense. He wasn't a Mech, he was just an empty shell. An armor summoned to life by magic. His footsteps were as quiet as a mini bot's. Whatever Orion called it, he wasn't 'sneaking' on purpose.

A few cycles later, Orion accidentally bent one of its finals when he turned around too quickly, startled by the quiet footsteps behind him.

He named him Prowl. It was...not exactly logical, but there was a certain sense to it. Prowl nodded and agreed. He always agreed with everything Orion said, even if it didn't make sense at all. Orion's opinion took a higher priority than anything else.

Until it didn't.

Until Orion gave him a focused look and told him that he should argue if he thought it was necessary.

Until Orion put the servo on his shoulder and said something along the lines of....

“You can disagree with me if you think my opinion is wrong. I'm not asking you to go against me. I'm not perfect and I can't be the one absolute point of reference for everything. You can and I'm sure will be smarter than me about many things. I want you to tell me if I'm wrong and what I should do about it.”

Like…well….like an absolute fool.

This concept was new. Prowl wasn't built to argue. He was made to obey orders and to serve a function.

Orion smiled slyly. At least it was probably a smile behind his mask that made the corners of his optics lift.

“It wouldn't be considered a disobedience of my order if I ordered you to disobey it. Don't you think?”

Prowl opened his mouth to agree out of habit, but then changed his mind mid-motion and closed it back. It...it didn't make sense. It made sense that was breaking under its own weight. It was mercilessly mixing up all of his pre-learned patterns for talking to Orion. If he agreed with that logic now, it would mean accepting its use. If he protested, it would also mean accepting it, but in a bit more embarrassing way. Just when he was thinking of simply retreating silently to the nearest shadow and banging his head against the wall, he heard a quiet chuckle and realized that Orion had been amusing himself for some time now, watching him struggle.

Prowl decided that verbal responses might be overrated and frowned his face in the most believable expression of displeasure he could portray.

Orion broke out into laughter.

________

“What exactly is my goal?”

Orion looks. Curious. He stops talking to Shockwave and leans back on the bench.

“Right now, to study these journals. I already told you.”

Prowl nods to indicate he heard him and continues

“Studying serves a future purpose. Studying for the sake of studying would be meaningless to me. What is my final goal?”

“To assist me” Orion says slightly confused. ”Within the best of your ability of course.“”

“Аh. Assist in the fulfillment of your goal.”

“Well. I'd say so, yes.”

Prowl nods

“And what is your goal?”

Shockwave, who has been sitting next to them the whole time looks like they're a couple of previously unknown to science species he's just personally discovered.

Prowl ignores him.

“I...you remember the separation between Mechs and monsters, right?” asks Orion cautiously.

“Yes.”

“Mechs...are unfair to monsters. Monsters are cruel to Mechs. It's a needlessly violent situation that I want to...try to. Fix.”

Prowl frowns to indicate that the information isn't completely clear.

“You're a member of the order of hunters. And...” he shakes his head toward the nearest window ”...you have a considerable number of hunters under your command. Your job involves destroying monsters.”

Shockwave makes some sort of quiet amused sound and props his chin up with his hand.

Prowl ignores him harder.

“My job is to bring peace.” says Orion “You don't have to kill monsters to do that. You can negotiate with them. Find a compromise. Coexist. I...I guess basically, I'm trying to make the world a little better?”

Prowl doesn't look impressed. He's actually making a special effort to not let Orion think in any way that he might be intrigued by the whole endeavor.

“You do realize that's a disproportionately large goal for just one Mech, right?”

Orion shrugs awkwardly

“That's why I made you.”

__________

Ratchet puts aside his tools and critically examines his work.

“Don't touch that and it will heal normally.”

Orion smiles gratefully

“Thank you.”

Ratchet is important to Orion. They are close and very valuable friends to each other. The two of them look peaceful now, despite the fact that Ratchet threatened Orion when he first showed up in Sick Bay, so Prowl decides it would be a socially acceptable moment to start talking

“Orion, you're wanted at the Council.”

The second half of his line is drowned helplessly in two startled exclamations at once. Orion, to his honor, calms down almost immediately, but Ratchet continues cursing for a while.

Prowl doesn't wait for him to finish. The Council meeting is earlier than usual today and Orion has already had a few occasions of misbehavior. It's in his best interest to at least show up on time this time.

“Shockwave asked me to tell you to hurry. I will add that showing up at the last minute will not be good for your reputation if you are still hoping to convince the council to let you take more units.”

Ratchet .....stares.

“Primus' rusty hinges, Orion, who's that? Did they assign a nanny to you?”

Orion twitches his finals playfully and immediately crinkles in pain, remembering that one of them should have been left to heal.

“Remember when I wanted to find an assistant? Well...”

Ratchet casts an increasingly more suspicious look at Prowl. Prowl decides that friendliness is overrated and limits his expression to a barely perceptible tilt of his head in response.

“...Shockwave recently helped me figure out how to create golems and I figured if I couldn't find anyone I could trust, I might as well...make one. So. Ratchet meet Prowl.” finishes Orion awkwardly.

Ratchet glares at Prowl for a while longer. Then he turns away and starts tidying up Sick Bay.

“I'm not buying it. I don't know where you found this guy, but you're not playing me. Nice poker face by the way.”

One of Prowl's wings twitches

“He wasn't lying.”

Ratchet snorts grumpily.

“Those...” he waves toward the next room ”...are golems.

There, behind the wall, several golems scurry around. They have medical staff symbols painted on their shoulders, and there is not a trace of thought in their eyes. Two are scrubbing the floors, another wiping the shelves and window sills clean of dust. They occasionally mumble softly under their noses or utter an inane “excuse me” every time they accidentally bump into each other. Prowl knows that if you ask any of them a question with more than one variable, they start babbling guiltily and shrugging their shoulders. They're stupid, but they themselves don't seem to care about that at all. They are their purpose. And their purpose is to keep things clean. They are pride because they are good at their job.

Prowl frowns. He's a headache. Because his "purpose" has been distracted by his conversation with Ratchet and will probably add another tardy to his list in the near future.

Orion begins (thank goodness) to move toward the door

“I've made improvements. There might have been...some not exactly allowed artifacts.”

Ratchet rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly. Prowl can see that his face is already starting to wrinkle in that spot. Patient antics probably age Ratchet far more effectively than the passage of time itself.

“I...you know what...go before the Council sends a search party to look for you.”

Orion sighs and without further distraction finally walks out the door.

Prowl decides that Ratchet might be a good ally when it comes to managing Orion.

He nods politely goodbye before leaving.

______________

“I am different from them. Why?”

Orion puts down the document he's been working on and looks first at Prowl and then, over his head, at the other golems scurrying down the hallway with brooms and rags. He doesn't need to interject exactly who he thinks Prowl is different from.

“Do you want a philosophical answer or a technical one?”

Prowl reaches out and pokes somewhere in Orion's document

“ You missed a comma. Both.”

Orion obediently puts the comma in and folds up the document. His finals are twitching faintly. It could be a sign of concentration as well as distraction. Prowl has already figured out that Orion's body language is a double-bottom trap. For a Mech with this level of expressiveness, Orion is surprisingly difficult to read.

“Sometime quite a while ago during one of my expeditions, I found a unique artifact. A fascinating item, granting wisdom to anyone brave enough to use it.”

“I have a feeling a ‘but’ is coming.”

“You're right. The artifact's unique gift was also its curse. It fed so much information through the Mech's heads that it literally caused the processors of its owners to melt.”

“Oh. Good thing I don't have a processor then.”

Orion laughs quietly

“Indeed. You won't have that problem. And about the other part....Think of all the Mechs you know who are savvy enough about politics and available to work together at the moment.”

Orion gives him a moment before continuing.

“ What is the likelihood that the most trustworthy of them would betray me, for their own gain or out of fear?”

“ Twenty-eight percent,” Prowl informs.

And then hesitates a moment.

Orion is obviously a smart Mech. Not smart enough to single-handedly dominate the political arena, definitely not with his ideals and ideas of what's right. But smart enough to realize it. He knows what he wants and he also knows he can't achieve it alone.

Prowl looks at Orion, who just stands there, eyeing him, without in any way trying to continue the conversation.

Orion is idealistic, and therefore often mistaken for stupid. He isn't. Orion doesn't just know that he can't succeed alone, he knows that everyone else knows it too. He thinks this knowledge will be used against him when the opportunity arises. He's right. By Prowl's count, at least three suspiciously clever Mechs were going to sweet-talk their way into becoming Orion's assistant one way or another before... he appeared.

One of the janitor golems runs past them down the corridor. He doesn't turn around, doesn't even slow down or cast a curious glance. His only goal, his only interest is cleaning. The rest of the world might as well not exist at all.

Prowl thinks he's not that different.

Orion apparently reads the understanding from his face, because he nods contentedly and starts walking further down the hall.

“You didn't take yourself into account when you made the statistics, did you?”

Prowl follows him silently on his heels. Not close enough to be familiar, but not so far away that the conversation stops being private.

“The sampling condition was all mechs. I am not one.”

“That's true” Orion shrugs “You have no loved ones that the Council could use to influence you. You have no desires to be bought by their fulfillment. And while I cannot say with absolute certainty that you will never be capable of going against me...” Prowl starts to open his mouth to object but Orion gestures him to stop, “...no no no no, let me finish. And while I can't be sure you'll never betray me, I at least know for sure that before you met me you had no reason to do so. Do you understand?”

Prowl understands. It makes sense. He still feels the need to argue back, because it is part of his function to do that.

“I would never betray you. I'm not capable of it.”

Orion twitches his finals. Without seeing his face Prowl assumes it is a sign of doubt.

“You are a creature of intellect, Prowl. I am a Mech of ideals. Those two things don't always combine well.”

______

“Foolish and presumptuous.”

Prowl ponders that his function could be much easier if he didn't have to constantly try to balance what is right and what is right in Orion's eyes.

“If you were spotted, the Council would have good reason to assume this isn't the first time you've done something like this.”

“No one noticed,” Orion tries, but Prowl doesn't let him finish that thought

“No one has seen you, because you're lucky. You can't count on it being a permanent occurrence! You undermine your own position by giving the Council grounds for suspicion, you...”

Prowl stops, still pointing his finger accusingly somewhere on Orion's chin. Shockwave, who has witnessed the scene, makes an impressed face and steps closer.

“I swear, you're probably the most capable golem maker I've ever had the pleasure of teaching, Orion. If I hadn't seen that guy on your assembly table, I would never know.”

Prowl takes the statement as a compliment, but doesn't feel the need to show it outwardly. Shockwave, as one of the few who knows about him not being a real Mech, doesn't take offense to it in any way.

“Did I interrupt something dramatic?”

Prowl snorts, because the gesture maintains just the right amount of judgment for his situation.

“Orion is once again harboring a monster instead of killing it or letting it escape.”

This news immediately enlivens Shockwave's posture. Prowl knows he's an even bigger fan of collecting suspicious side projects than Orion. Their friendship, frankly, will one day bury either one or both of them. Prowl just hopes his presence will be enough to sway the percentages when that happens.

Orion doesn't try to deny anything.

“One of my squads encountered a ghost near the northern border. I couldn't... listen Shockwave, he's a good guy. He just needs to be given a chance to show it.”

“Can he talk?” there's almost visible stars in Shockwave's eyes..

Prowl slumps his shoulders helplessly, already knowing what's coming next. These two have done this dance a hundred times before. One of Shockwave's favorite side projects was a school for, as they called them, magically gifted and extraordinary Mechs. In fact, it was the largest den of various monsters that Prowl had ever seen. Every time Orion's hunting squads found a monster that could even remotely resemble a normal Mech, Orion would rush with happy optics to hand it over to Shockwave for care. There, the monsters were taught everything they needed to fit into the society of normal Mechs, but more importantly, they were given documents. Precious pieces of paper that granted their holders rights, freedoms, and protections as Shockwave's apprentices.

Prowl could appreciate the noble endeavor. He could also see clearly that with each addition, this school would become more and more of an inconvenient thorn in the Council's side. Just like Orion, Shockwave was happy to paint a brighter and brighter target on his own back for many cycles.

Orion, insensitive to danger that is not immediate, cheerfully begins to recite

“Can read, write, speak, even makes music.”

Shockwave nods happily

“Introduce us?”

Prowl wonders how far Shockwave can stretch the definition of “magically gifted Mech”. One day Orion will pick up a Kraken on the street and then they'll both probably have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to make it's documents. Ugh.

When Orion had asked him to calculate the probability of betrayal, the most reliable mech he was evaluating at the time was Shockwave.

Twenty-eight percent...

Prowl wonders how many students must be on the opposite side of the scale from Orion for Shockwave to choose in their favor. Speculation is actually useless. If the Council decides to nail Shockwave, they will of course use his entire school at once.

In fact, they probably won't even have to force Shockwave to choose between the school and Orion, because Orion himself will choose a bunch of monsters over himself.

This ridiculously dangerous social construct they call friendship rests entirely on their reputation as honest and honorable mechs. Prowl stares at Shockwave's back and wonders how one mech could have so much charisma, that he gets away with keeping a huge number of Council enemies right under the noses of that same Council.

_________________

Orion gently lifts the now graying shell of what was once a monster from the ground

He doesn't even turn toward Prowl.

"Did you kill him?"

Killing...it's a stretch. Does the act of helping a murderer qualify as murder? Or the lack of action that could have saved the now murdered person? In most cultures and languages, “murder” refers to the act of ending someone else's life, but the context implies a physical act. Did you put a knife in his back? Did you push him off a cliff? Did you cut him with a sword?

By those criteria. Well. Prowl never killed anyone. Nor is he likely to, for he has neither the skill nor the strength to do so.

Did he cause death? Absolutely.

Orion's always had this heroic streak that wouldn't let him just pass by the distressed and disadvantaged. Orion has always had a great spark of kindness and principles as strong as titanium alloy as to what is right and what is wrong.

In Orion's world view, murder is wrong. And murder in conditions where it was possible to solve everything by peace is immoral and unacceptable.

Prowl's worldview tells him that Orion could do much better if he stopped wasting his potential on helping those who will only drag him down in the long run. Orion's life depends entirely on the Council's opinion of him. A Council that has been watching him closely lately. Even if Orion doesn't like it, it's Prowl's job to make sure they like what they see.

Orion turns to him, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Prowl. That mech tried to escape. Past you. And now he's dead. Were you the one who killed him?"

"No," says Prowl, "he ran into one of the patrols."

That statement is missing a good half of the details. Like mentioning that the patrol wouldn't have been there in the first place if Prowl hadn't sent them an anonymous lead.

Orion doesn't need to know that. Orion lives under the idea that every life is precious and, even more inconveniently, equal.

Prowl sometimes feels like yelling at him for it. Because that shiny perfect picture is simply unsustainable outside of Orion's head. The monster, whose graying body now lies on the ground, would be of little use to society. Likely left free, he would have simply continued to attack and kill travelers.

Whereas Orion spends his life making the world a better place. This is an objective fact confirmed by numerous observations.

They are not equals. And they probably never will be. Orion's life is much. Much heavier on the imaginary scales of statistics.

Orion squints at him suspiciously. He's clearly hesitant.

"You could have just let him go instead of killing him."

The trap is honestly too obvious.

"I didn't kill him" Prowl repeats "he ran into a patrol. You can't blame the hunters for doing their job."

Orion places a hand on the dead creature's forehead in a respectful gesture of regret while simultaneously averting his gaze. It's a habit by now.

Look the other way, don't let the council know what you're doing. Sympathize but not in plain sight, help but in secret.

"They had no right to attack him.This is neutral territory. He has the right to run wherever he wants."

Prowl's mouth is twisting with the urge to argue. To say that according to existing information, this monster would have just continued the attacks if he'd stayed free.

He says nothing. Orion is clearly in no mood to argue right now, and he's already questioning Prowl's claim. It's not worth pushing any further.

Prowl only nods, showing that he's heard Orion's point of view.

__________________

He is surprisingly good at lying.

Of course the skill doesn't just come naturally, but he's been known for his straightforwardness. Mechs automatically expect him to either remain silent or tell the unpleasant truth.

All he has to do is give only certain bits and pieces instead of coherent information without changing his usual behavior in any way and the mechs won't be inclined to verify it, filling in the gaps themselves. As a golem, he can't lie, but he can get others to lie to themselves.

He exploits this a lot. Probably more often than Orion would approve, but Prowl doesn't ask him to confirm. Conversations with Orion tend to narrow down his list of options. Because Orion is a real living mech. With a spark. With feelings. And his complex moral code revolves entirely around what he feels to be right.

Prowl has no spark. Prowl has an empty armor that he considers his body and a wisdom artifact that he considers his worth. Both his and Orion's understandings of what is right...overlap...sometimes.

Not always.

______________

"I saw a demon in person for the first time today."

Prowl politely shifts his posture to show he's listening

"A …demon?"

"Demon" Orion repeats "When...when a mech commits especially terrible crimes against the will of Primus, the very magic of their spark rises up against them and turns them into a demon. And I just learned today what a...demon looks like."

Prowl remains silent, waiting for a continuation that never comes. Orion seems gone in his thoughts....

"And what does it look like?" prompts Prowl.

"Creepy. It looks creepy and unnatural and terrifying. Primus' wrath has a very ugly shape..."

"Ah...I see...what did that mech do to be met with such punishment?"

Orion frowns

"I'm not sure. But what we're doing can't go against Primus' will, right? I mean, all beings are his creations! He can't condemn us for trying to make peace between mechs and monsters..."

Prowl is familiar with the concept of punishment for wrongdoing. But something about the very idea...the idea that punishment will find you no matter how well you hide because you can’t run away from your own spark...he has to admit it's disturbing.

"I hope he doesn't."

——————————

Thoughts?👁

Ahsjfjfj

This is the first half of the fic btw because I don’t have enough time to translate the whole thing in one day. I’ll try to post the second half tomorrow🤞

#oh my god no wonder I read so slow if I take time to just comment everything in my head #my eyes are closing they have been staring at screens non-stop for 3-4 days in a row I better go #I swear to god if the second part #is the Shockwave #I might kill someone #out of pure emotion #I like it #Prowl's characterization....#*lies down*#wow....#I so much want to kiss writers recently you all keep gems in your heads and forge them into beautiful rings

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andhumanslovedstories · 6 hours ago

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Something I've been thinking about in regards to the difficulty of writing about my job in the healthcare profession is that there's very different conversations happening at the same time. The first is that this is a job that gives us a lot of power over vulnerable people that is easy to abuse and easier to be passive about. The second is that people will never not bitch about their jobs.

What if a customer service job was high-stakes? That's nursing. It's not the only part of nursing, but cmon, anyone who has worked a public-facing job knows how some people can be. Hospitals are full of people having the worst days of their lives while also being tired, hungry, lonely, and bored.

Plus, it's not just the general population you're dealing with. Hospitals have a disproportionate amount of very difficult people. To draw some examples from my own direct experience: the dementia patient had become too violent to stay at home (unfortunately common), infected chronic wound guy who is so racist that his facility will not take him back, confused patient who screams unceasingly 24 hours a day until she passes out, sexually inappropriate guy who needs two caregivers at all time, another racist patient but this time they're also sexist, banned from multiple shelters for assaulting the staff, etc. Or what might be the most common: person who is too sick to go home alone but no one they know will agree to take care of them. Like, have any of you cut off horrible relatives or abusive partners? People who were in whatever way unacceptable to be around? Would you like to take care of them? And you KNOW they're also not doing any of the stuff that would help them heal so it seems like they will never leave.

I think the gap between healthcare as a Duty versus as a Job contributes to hostile conversations. When you're complaining about your Job ("that moment when you let a call light ring for a while in the hopes someone else answers this time because that patient is annoying as hell"), it's frustrating to get a response that solely looks at the situation through the lens of a Duty ("all patients deserve the same level of care and shouldn’t be ignored.") And it's also frustrating to have these legitimate criticisms ignored or disputed because people are like "it's not that serious, calm down, let nurses vent." And it’s also frustrating to feel so intensely monitored in your free time because of your job. And it’s also frustrating to see people in their free time display qualities that seem like they would have big, negative impacts on their job.

Thinking on this topic, I keep coming back to this one memory. There was a time when I responded to a Code Blue (cardiac arrest, guy’s heart has fully stopped) and was the fifteenth or so person to arrive. The room's full of critical care nurses, I'm not the direct care nurse, the rest of the floor is quiet. So basically, I'm useless to the emergency situation. I ran into a coworker who also responded to the code. I hadn't seen her in a minute, so we caught up. She showed me the new stickers on her water bottle. I don’t remember the exact sticker, but I believe it was a nacho-based pun. It was a pleasant chat.

Meanwhile during this entire conversation, within eyesight of where we are because we’re waiting around to see if we’re needed, people are trying to bring a patient back from the dead. What was happening in that room is life-or-death--to the patient. For me, it was an interlude during a forgettable shift. I only remember that code because the discrepancy between what I was experiencing and what the patient was experiencing was so stark. I don't even remember if the patient survived or not.

None of the patient’s family was there. If they had been, we would have removed ourselves further or not talked so casually. Probably. But if the spouse was there, it would be so insanely insensitive if we tried to include the patient's spouse in our chat about fun stickers. If me and that nurse had been casually in a different hallway chatting, it would be very abrupt for the patient's spouse to walk into our conversation and explain how the patient's death would be so hard on the kids. One of these examples is way more sympathetic and understandable than the other. And I want that spouse to feel comfortable coming up to me and discussing that! That’s part of my job! But also, you can get why that would be a distressing interruption to a moment of downtime.

In both cases, the people in the conversation couldn't be further apart in tone and investment. Neither of us are being bad people. We just should not be talking to each other. And the nature of the Internet and public posting is sometimes talking about my job feels like it's me, my coworker, the spouse, and the revived but severely affected patient in single group chat.

#nursing blog #b.#here’s nursing writing unrelated to the strike #I drafted it ages ago and just found it again

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wroetominter · 1 day ago

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Three Peaks - George Clarke

Warnings: none, some swearing

Thank you for the request! I have some serious writers block right now so bear with as the time between posts may be a little longer. I appreciate you!

———

"I don't know how I got roped into this one" I adjusted the microphone I was securing to Chris' t-shirt. He chuckled, patting my shoulder as I finished.

"Well, there aren't many of you fit enough to actually climb three mountains so it was quite the easy choice." Chris said. I sighed, shaking my head. Mentally slapping myself for telling Chris casually that I enjoyed a good hike.

Chris had the thought for a video that honestly, I couldn't even make fun of. It was a really well thought out idea. A group of his friends and crew tackling the three peaks challenge. Which is essentially just climbing three mountains in 24 hours. Seems damn near impossible, especially considering the group he had.

I had been part of Chris' camera crew for almost a year now, and I felt like I had really found a good group of friends in this job. Outside of filming I had been hanging out with Chris and his core group frequently. Many nights spent out at different pubs, or simply hanging out at their flat.

"Let's get going shall we?" Chris began to lead the group. I stuck towards the middle, filming the boys who had taken the lead.

Reev, Chris, and George led the pack as we began the ascent to the top of our first mountain.

"I can already tell this is going to be fucking awful." I heard from behind me. I turned my head to see Arthur Hill beginning the days complaints.

"George you owe me a tenner!" Television shouted from beside him.

"What?" I asked in confusion.

"I placed a bet that Hill would be the first to complain." Television explained. I threw my head back laughing, panning the camera to catch Hills reaction. He deadpanned and just stared at the camera.

"Don't worry Arthur, I'm not looking forward to this either."

Each boy had been given their own special challenge for the video, and I was really enjoying watching Reev attempt to put rocks in the boys shoes.

"What's your challenge?" I asked Chris as I caught up to him.

"I need to get someone to believe a fake fact about each mountain." He whispered to the camera.

"That feels alarmingly easy considering the group we're with." I said. He agreed and told me he was already scheming up his first lie to tell Arthur.

We had been climbing for close to two hours by this point, and we were nearing the peak.

"Enjoying yourself love?" George asked me as he took a seat on the rock next to me.

"It's not nearly as bad as I expected it to be, I'll be honest." I snacked on the apple slices I packed, offering one out to George.

We sat in a comfortable silence, watching the others as they bantered back and forth with each other.

I sat and admired George as he laughed, not being able to help myself from laughing along. He had an infectious laugh. Chris caught me staring at George and raised an eyebrow at me. He was the only one of the group who knew I had somewhat of a crush on George. I had unfortunately admitted it to him accidentally after one drink too many during a pub crawl.

We had all gotten up again to keep our pace going up the mountain. The terrain upwards wasn't too bad. The most annoying part by far was having to continue to film while simultaneously making sure I didn't fall down.

"I never thought this would end!" Arthur Hill screamed as we reached the peak.

"I'm sure you're used to hearing that in bed." Harry joked with him patting him on the back.

We all shared a laugh and took in the nice view. It wasn't long before we realized that 'huh, guess we just go down now' and begin to descend the mountain.

I trailed behind Chris and ArthurTV, catching some of their conversation as Chris tried to convince Arthur that some celebrity had been the first person to complete this challenge. I had to actively hold in a giggle as I knew Chris was having him on with his challenge.

During my distracted state, I felt myself slide to the side as my foot hit a loose rock that sent me falling down. Instinctively deciding to protect my camera, I took the full brunt of the fall to my hip and legs.

"Shit, are you alright?" George asked jogging to catch up to me.

Catching my breath after scaring myself with the fall, I nodded towards him. I turned my camera off and stuck it in its carrying bag beside me, examining my ankle.

It was fairly scraped up, and was slightly throbbing. Nothing that felt it would be too crazy but painful nonetheless.

A few of the others called out to see if I was okay. I gave them a thumbs up.

"I'll stay with her and help her down, you guys can go ahead we'll just be a few minutes." George called back to them.

"Does it hurt?" He asked me, grazing his fingertips over my ankle to assess.

"Not a ton, I think I was more shocked by the fall than anything. I'll be fine George, thank you for staying behind with me." I smiled at him, noting his features contorted with uncertainty at my words.

He stood up, holding his hands out for me to help me up. I happily grabbed them and put pressure on my ankle, feeling a tinge of pain but it was bearable.

I stood upright, George still holding onto my hands to make sure I was steady. He never took his eyes off of mine, scanning my face for any sign of pain.

"I'm good George, I promise." He smiled at me, squeezing my hands.

"I think it's time to reveal my challenge to you." His words took me by surprise as I had no idea where this topic had come from.

He let go of my hands, fishing around in his pocket and pulling out a cue card similar to the other boys. He unfolded it and turned it towards me.

In small, easily recognizable handwriting I read off 'tell Y/n you have feelings for her you dumb twat'. Chris. Of course Chris would write that.

I looked back up to him, his face flushed from either embarrassment or anxiety, I couldn't tell.

"I assume what's written there is true?" I asked George, looking to him for confirmation. He nodded, sliding the paper back into his pocket.

We both stood there a little awkwardly for a moment, neither of us being particularly good at the whole admitting feelings thing.

"Your feelings are mutual." I said, cutting the silence. His eyes widened at me, a smile breaking on his features.

He put an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer for a hug.

"How about we talk more about this over dinner once we’re done with the next two mountains?” He propositioned.

I groaned, “I forgot we still have two fucking mountains to go.” He laughed as I pouted.

He slid his hand up to my cheek, bringing his face closer to mine and connecting our lips in a short, sweet kiss.

“This should give you something to look forward to” he said as he pulled away. It was my turn for my cheeks to turn pink. Despite how tired and sweaty we already were, he still looked absolutely perfect.

“I suppose I can make it through as long as you promise not to let me fall again.” He laughed.

“I’ll do my best.”

We walked downwards, eventually catching up with the others who had stopped for a water break.

“Finally you two made it! Began to think you two were shacking up up there!” ArthurTV exclaimed.

I rolled my eyes at him, laughing.

“Not quite shacking up, but my challenge is complete.” George bragged, Chris’ head shot towards us at these words.

“No way.” He said, looking to me for confirmation.

“Yes way” I replied, George put his arm over my shoulder once again and we watched as the mental cogs turned in the other boys heads.

“Oh my god he finally got the balls to tell her!” Arthur Hill screamed, jumping around like a fangirl.

I looked to George who just shook his head in embarrassment. “Did everyone know except me?” I asked only loud enough for him to hear.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

I knew then that the next two mountains would likely be sex jokes and embarrassing stories, and I was weirdly looking forward to it.

#imagine #chrismd #george clarke #george clarkeey #george clarkey #george clarke fics #george clarke fluff #arthur hill #arthurtv

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gangstalkerbarbie · 2 days ago

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This being tumblr, for my own wellbeing I have to explicitly put forth that we disagree about the draft (I think a country that needs to draft should impose national service on all young adults without discrimination, I would have gone to war by now if my family had let me and I don't think that was my family's business).

Having said that: we probably agree that the thing is also that actually... they don't? Young women Don't intrinsically smell like that. No kind of human juvenile does. I was a teenage girl once and I raised my brothers and some of my cousins, I would know.

There is an oaty, warm, milky baby smell everyone has, especially concentrated around their hair whorl, but they grow out of it at puberty. If you've ever lived with an intact male or female animal and watched them go through puberty, you'll notice they lose the baby smell then too.

So at least we can rule out that he's a threat to literal children.

But like teenagers? Teenagers stink. There's not a special creamy buttery teenage smell for any sex of teenager, it's just that girls are pushed more to cover their hormonal teenager stink.

What do they cover it with? Perfume. Immoderate amounts of the stuff.

Due to the vagaries of culture (and how disgustingly normative just like outright pedophilia used to be in many places), a majority of little girl perfumes (so the ones you're supposed to grow out of around, say, 28) smell like buttery vanilla and suchlike. Edible sugary dainty fluffy smells, Shirley Temple kind of smells, aren't you just a sweet little thing, Daddy wants to eat you up.

These are the smells he's conditioned himself to find sexually irresistible. Again, adult women are often pressured not to wear them...

Not that he'll ever see this on a recycled post about him on a site he isn't remotely on, but I'm saying this for the benefit of the teens likely to find me from the Homestuck tag: they should prevent this guy from hanging out near high schools. He's both rapey and stupid, a combination routinely propagandised to girls as something you can and should want to have in your life, which you actually very much do not want remotely breathing near you.

Anybody talking about the smell of a woman in these sorts of terms is a fucking nutjob too. Everyone who is attracted to whatever sex enjoys that sex's pheromone stink, which is under no circumstances ever any kind of irresistible "fuck me" signal. Nobody consents to sex by existing. You always have control over your actions. "Not being able to resist" violating someone's bodily autonomy is always a choice and I unironically think that in a perfect world everybody who makes this choice should be chemically castrated.

This is why I don’t give a fuck when people say it’s mean for me to want all those with a Y chromosome to do forced military service and die in war. Because now they’re wasting all our resources to go on the internet and say pedophilic shit like this.

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 day ago

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Pull This Move

0.8k+ words of chaotic Tim Bradford fluff

A/N: Have you guys seen the "when he's copying your snaps so you pull this move" thing? I saw a drawing of it with the Batboys and then this happened.

“Tim never keeps his ringer on,” Lucy muses after your phone buzzes again. “Is that a cop-to-cop thing?”

“Yeah, some people have problems with it, others don’t mind,” you explain. “I usually have mine silenced, I just forgot.”

“Do you know why Tim is off today?”

“Just needed a break,” you explain. “Have to have to a balance in a job like this.”

“And Snapchat gives you that balance?” Lucy teases as your phone chimes with an incoming photo.

“If it’s from who I think it is, maybe,” you answer cryptically.

“Who do you think it is?!” she inquires loudly.

“Hold that thought, we’ve got a reckless driver ahead.”

During your lunch break, you open the new Snapchat and roll your eyes.

“So,” Lucy says as she sits beside you. “Who is it? New boyfriend? Potential boyfriend?”

“Let’s go with really good friend,” you reply. “Who doesn’t know how to use the app and just copies my snaps.”

“Cute!!”

You hum, then think of the snap you wish to get. So, you open the app and move the phone to one side to capture your flexed bicep. Lucy gasps as you lock the screen, and you furrow your brows at her.

“What?” you ask.

“It is a guy! Why else would you flex to have them copy it? Tell me everything!”

“New rule, when I’m substituting as your TO, you have to talk to me like Tim.”

Lucy sighs and raises her hands in surrender when your phone chimes again. Yet, after you unlock it, she snatches your phone out of your hand.

“Lucy!” you yell as she stands. “No, stop- listen. I will blue page you, Chen!”

Lucy freezes. Half-standing with your arm extended over the table, you exhale.

“Give it back and I’ll- I’ll let you see the picture. That’s it, and you have to learn to respect boundaries.”

“Will you tell Tim?” she asks, blocking your phone with her free hand.

“Not if you listen.”

Lucy nods and passes your phone back with a quiet apology. You sit, and Lucy pulls her chair beside yours. You click the red square in the app and lift a brow appreciatively at the muscled arm on the screen. There is a familiar gray shirt stretched tightly around the flexed bicep, and you hold the screen for several seconds to prolong your enjoyment of the picture.

“There,” you say, shifting your hips to slide your phone into your pocket. “Happy, Chen?”

Lucy doesn’t answer, and you turn toward her. Her jaw drops as she stares at you.

“What?”

“Was that Tim?” she asks.

“Why would you think that?” you say rather than answering.

“He wears a lot of gray shirts, and you… I don’t know how to say this without getting in trouble again.”

You cross your arms below your powered-off body cam and lean back in your seat. “Speak freely, Lucy.”

“Everyone knows you have a crush on him,” she blurts out.

“So, a gray shirt and a workplace crush lead you to believe that Tim - officer stoic and serious - would send me a Snapchat?” you challenge.

“Well when you put it like that,” Lucy mumbles, “it sounds ridiculous.”

“I’ll give you something if you give me something,” you offer. “I need some dirt on Lopez. Help me get that, and I’ll tell you something.”

“Done,” Lucy agrees. Then, she asks, “Wait, why? What’d she do?”

“No questions. Agree or don’t,” you reply. Lucy nods, and you say, “I’m going on a date with the guy in the picture tonight. We’ve been dating for a while.”

“Will you tell me more later? If things work out and I get something on Angela?”

You stand to return to the shop and say, “We’ll see.”

Walking into your house after your shift ends, you sigh.

“Did you actually help my boot today or just send Snapchats?” someone asks from the kitchen.

Laughing, you enter the room and lean your forehead between your boyfriend’s shoulder blades.

“Lucy saw the picture,” you say. “It was a really good picture, though.”

“How?” he asks, holding your arm as he turns toward you.

“She wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t tell her much, and she’s helping with our Angela problem.”

“Your Angela problem,” Tim corrects.

“Which will become our Angela problem when she finds out that my fiancé and my least favorite sergeant are the same man,” you point out.

“Shouldn’t have told her you were engaged.”

“I didn’t!”

Tim chuckles, so you sigh and fall against his chest.

“It’ll be fine,” he assures you.

“As long as you keep showing those Bradford biceps,” you grumble against his chest.

“Hey,” Tim begins carefully.

You pull back and narrow your eyes at him.

“If Angela already has an idea, and Wade knows… maybe we should ask them to help,” he suggests.

“You want Wade and Angela to be our witnesses?” you clarify. After a moment, you concede, “It could work. She’d keep it a secret if we let her come to the wedding.”

“Not what most people think about when they’re wedding planning.”

You smile and kiss Tim, thankful that your relationship is anything but average. Most people don’t have Tim Bradford going down the aisle with them, you think.

#tim bradford blurb #tim bradford x reader #hanna's blurbs #hanna writes✯#fem!reader #tim bradford

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sevikaslapdog · 3 days ago

Text

His wife

Summary: Its been almost ten years since everyone graduated, and they all decided to get back together and have a class reunion.

Warnings: fem reader, use of yn, izuku and reader have the cutest friendship, drinking

You and Katsuki met almost two years after he debuted as a pro hero, of course you knew who he was but that wasn’t why you fell in love with him.

Sure to the world he was snappy, slightly aggressive, but to you he was sweet, patient, and the most caring man in the world.

Now almost eight years later a ring was sitting on your left hand and he had your initials tattooed on his ring finger. Of course he’d rather wear a ring but his job prevented that so the only tattoo he’d ever get was your initials.

This past year your husband had been patrolling more than usual, wanting to work with Izuku every chance he could. Especially now that he had the new suit that Katsuki worked his ass off for.

You worked for Katsuki’s agency since he’d rather die than have you work for someone else, plus it gave him an excuse to see you more.

A couple weeks ago though he got a text from Izuku, talking about how their old class was having a get together for a ‘class reunion’. You remember how he scoffed as he retold the story to you. You smiled at him, nodding while you said “We should go! Plus i’ve been wanting to meet all your old friends!”

Who is Katsuki to say no to his wife?

Which is how he landed himself in this position, watching you hurriedly get ready even though his finished almost a hour ago. You were now finding the perfect jewelry pieces, he sighed as he got up from the couch and went to your shared bedroom.

“No one’s gonna be paying attention to your jewelry woman, we’re gonna be late and we still have to pick up Izuku.” You huffed, closing the clasp to your earring. Turning around to face him, “I’m done, do I look ok?”

His expression softened slightly, he could tell you were nervous. He walked towards your, placing his hands on your hips and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“Ya look good, cmon now.” You smiled up at him, placing a soft kiss to his lips before going to grab your purse and phone. He was waiting for you at the door, you smiled at him apologetically since you realized just how much time you actually took.

Twenty minutes later you and Katsuki were parked outside Izuku’s apartment, his car recently broke down since in your husband’s words was ‘a piece of fucking shit.’ You smiled whenever you saw him exiting the building, unlocking the door’s so he could get in.

Although Katsuki would never admit it he was happy you got along with Izuku so well, you two were the most important people in his lives just in different ways. At first he was a bit pissed off years ago whenever you two started becoming friends but the more he matured the more he realized it was a blessing.

Finally the back door opened and Izuku slid into the backseat, closing the door behind him. You turned to face him as he sat in the middle seat, buckling himself up. “Do you think they’ll like me?” Izuku could only smile, looking at the rearview mirror and making eye contact with Katsuki.

He looked back at you with a smile, “Im sure they will yn, there’s really no need to worry. If you’d like I can help and introduce you to Ochako.” You smiled, nodding “Oh yes, I see her on tv sometimes she’s gorgeous.” He nod’s along agreeing with you.

The car is filled with chatter from you and Izuku mostly, Katsuki butting in from time to time as he drives the three of you to the club Momo rented out.

Almost thirty minutes later the car was finally in park, Katsuki turned off the car and turned to you. “Stop being so nervous, everyone will like you.” You’ve already met Kirishima, Denki, Jirou, and Mina. You nodded along, “Ok let’s go.” You quickly got out the car and slid your purse onto your shoulder and making sure you had your phone.

Katsuki smirked knowing you were trying to get out the car so you didn’t chicken out. He and Izuku got out the car and you all walked inside, Katsuki stopped you while Izuku made his way to some people you’ve seen on Tv before. “You sure you’ll be ok? If you’d want to leave we can go.” All you could was nod, turning your head to face him.

“Yea I’m sure, I think i’m gonna go over there with Izuku for a bit. Just to meet some people I don’t already know.” He glanced over to where Izuku was, seeing him with Shoto, Uraraka, and Iida. He hummed, giving your hand a squeeze before you both parted way.

You walked over to Izuku who was standing near the bar with people you recognized, you tapped his arm as he turned to you with a smile. He placed his hand on your shoulder and turned to the small group, “This is yn, kacchan’s wife.” You waved to them, seeing how Uraraka immediately smiled at you.

She immediately smiled, sticking her hand out for you to shake. “Oh my Izuku’s told me about you, i’m so happy to finally get to meet you.” You could already feel yourself coming out of your shell as you shook her hand, glancing over at Izuku with a grateful smile. “It’s nice to meet you too, I would hope its only good things he’s saying.”

She gently pulled her hand away just as someone else talked, you immediately recognized him as Shoto Todoroki. If you were being honest you used to be a big fan of his, always enjoying watching his fights just to see how he used his quirk. “It’s nice to meet you yn, its nice to meet the women who somehow put’s up with Bakugo.”

You could hear Izuku stifle a laugh as you laughed yourself nodding your head, “Its nice to meet you too.”

Soon you comfortably conversed with the group, though the whole time you could practically feel Katsuki’s eyes on you. You knew he just wanted you to feel comfortable, you excuses yourself from the group and walked over to where he was.

He was sitting in a large booth with Kirishima and Mina, and Jirou and Denki. Seeing you walking over he placed his drink down and slid over making room for you, you smiled at him as you sat down.

The group said different greeting’s to you before falling back into the conversation. Though Katsuki’s focus was on you, placing his arm on the back of the booth to rest behind you. “Uraraka was so sweet, and Shoto was honestly really funny.” Katsuki grumbled at the compliment you gave Todoroki. He was aware of your past fangirling for the man and he would always tease you for it.

“Honestly, Im really glad we came.” He smiled at that, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “Im glad you’re making more friends.” You smiled at him and moved closer towards him, his arm moved from the booth to over your shoulder’s. You both entered the conversation with the group.

As the night went on you had talked to most of the people in the room, besides a few. You and Uraraka had exchanged numbers with smiles on both of your faces as you two made plans. You ended up confessing to Todoroki about your past fan behavior for him, he laughed as you told him. He mentioned it to your husband later that night which caused him to get yelled at as you two laughed.

Finally you and him had just dropped off Izuku, you were driving since Katsuki had a few drinks. The car was quiet besides the air flowing throughout the car, Katsuki shifted around in his seat before speaking “Did you enjoy tonight?” Immediately you smiled again at the memories of the night “Yes I did, me and Uraraka exchanged numbers and we promised to meet up the next time she’s available.”

He stayed silent as he stared at you with a soft smile, he was happy you were making your own friends. He didn’t mind that all of your friends were his, but he was glad you were making your own. “I told you they’d like you.” You glanced over at him with a smile, finally pulling into your neighborhood.

“I guess you were right.” He hummed and the car fell silent again.

Once you two got home you and him got in the shower together, you helped him wash his hair like you do most nights and he helped you with yours. After you were both in pajamas, you and him crawled into bed with him on your chest.

home

#boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero academia #mha #bakugo katuski #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader

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omid-1 · 10 hours ago

Text

BETTER THAN PHYSICS⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ —SJY

Pairing: tutor!Jake x fem!student!reader

Summary: You have always hated physics. You've tried to learn it but it doesn't work out. Will that change when you go for tutoring to the hottest and most handsome man you've ever seen?

Genre:smuttttt

Warnings: 18+, age gap( reader is 19 and Jake is 30), mdni, unprotected sex (don’t do it) , soft dom jake, fingering, oral ( fem receiving), eating out, dirty talks, swearing, fingering, squirting, hickeys,begging, nipple play, kissing, pet names (baby, princess etc.), mutual desire, missionary, big dick!Jake, multiple orgasms (sorry if I missed sth)

Word count: 3,5 k

Author note: ahhh, my first fanfic has so many likes and reblogs!!! Thank you so much!!! I’m very glad that you liked it ㅤ♡ ^^ ! I hope you will like this one too ♡

English is not my first language so sorry if there are any mistakes

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊

Physics has never been your favorite subject. You’ve always passed this subject with luck. No matter how much time you spent studying it, it was always bad. When you graduated from school you went to college. You didn’t expect that there will be also physics.

You are in your first year of study and you are doing very well in your studies. Unfortunately, you are only stopped by unfortunate physics. You're writing exams in a few weeks and that includes this subject.

You studied at night, took notes and even concentrated a lot during the lectures but it didn't do anything. You just think and know that you don’t have the talent for it.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊

One evening you called your mom. You do it often because you are living now in a dormitory with your friend.

Your university is far from your home so you had to move away. Due to your studies, you don’t have much time to visit your family, so you often call them.

You talked with your mom. She knows very well about your troubles with physics. She told you that she knows someone who could tutor you.

At first you weren't too convinced by her idea, but nevertheless you knew that she wants good for you, and you guess this will be your last hope.

You found out from her that your tutor was to be a man who teaches physics at the school, and his name is Jaeyun. According to your mom, he taught her friend's son and he passed his exams 100%. She gave you his phone number and you wrote down.

Later in the evening after studying you were laying in bed. You mindlessly scrolled through social media on your phone. You were reminded that you need to call or text to this tutor.

You were wondering if this is a good idea. What if it's just a waste of time and money for you and you don't learn anything? Or worse it will be some old man who God knows what he will do to you?

But on the other hand, he was recommended by your mom so you trust her.

You chose his number. You didn’t want to call him so you wrote a short message:

YN: Hi, I’m YN! My mom gave me your number because you supposedly tutor physics

You were surprised how quickly he texted back:

Jaeyun: Hey! Yes, I tutor! if you want, we can arrange when to meet :)

You read his message and immediately wrote back:

YN: okay, we can even meet tomorrow if it suits you

Jaeyun: what about 6 pm?

YN: of course, it suit me!

You didn't know it would go so easily. You agreed on where to meet and decided to meet at his house. It turned out that he lives near your dormitory so you had a good commute to his place. With thoughts of tomorrow's tutoring, you fell asleep.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊

You enter the apartment building where he lives. You have to admit that it’s very luxurious here and these apartments must have been very expensive. You ride the elevator and you are stressed.

It occurred to you that you have never really seen him. What if he turns out to be some kind of weirdos and you never leave his apartment again?

You walk unsteadily down the corridor and your brain is filled with thoughts. You stand in front of his apartment and softly knock on the door.

He opens the door. And my God before your eyes appeared the most handsome man you have ever seen.

He is wearing a black shirt that has two buttons unbuttoned and through this you can see that he is wearing a silver necklace, glasses in which he looks like a nerd and has lovely black slightly disheveled hair

And his face?? Goddamn,he looks like he’s some kind of Greek goddess. For all you know he's about 30 years old but he looks younger.

You know in advance that you won't learn much from his tutoring, and you won’t be able to focus since he looks too good.

You stand for a moment literally staring at him until you are shaken by his voice and he says calmly with a slight smile "Hi, are you YN?"

And when you heard his Australian accent? You literally went wild. He has the hottest voice you've ever heard.

You look at him and nod ,, yes, it’s me”

Jaeyun lets you in and you leave your shoes in the hallway. You have to admit that his apartment looks very expensive. Everything is very modern and looks new. You honestly like it a lot. It was clear that he lives alone, but this surprised you because how can such a handsome man be single?

You sat side by side in the living room at the table. You pulled out a physics book when Jaeyun said ,,so I haven't switched to you yet. I'm Sim Jaeyun but just can call me Jake”

You look at him the whole time and smile softly. Then you show him all the topics you were struggling with in physics.

,,okay, let’s start from the beginning. I will try to explain you as simply as possible”

Jake looks through your physics book and when you look at his big, veiny hands. You are getting wet. You wonder how you would feel if he choked or fingered you with them.

He starts to explain the subject to you. For the first half hour you listen and even start to understand something because he explains to you in a very simple and interesting way.

But then you are more and more distracted. You rest your elbow on the table and put your head on your hand. you look or rather stare at him.

He is so damn attractive. And also the fact that he is so smart makes you more and more horny for him. You really want to fuck with him.

,,is everything okay?” You hear his voice, which wakes you up from your fantasies about him. Probably he noticed that you’re not focused. You quickly straighten up and you say perplexed

,, yes..”

Jake smirks slightly and your heart beats faster. He starts dictating a note to you and you write it down. When he finish speaking he lean toward you. You immediately smell his perfume. He smells so good.

He is so close that you can practically hear his breath.Your heart beats even faster if it’s possible. Out of the corner of his eye he looks at you

Something tells you that he did it on purpose. You can sense it in the tension between you.

He leans back but you have the impression that the chairs you are sitting on are getting closer to each other.

After the tutoring, you leave his house. And damn, you already know that you may not learn much physics, but Jake is the most handsome and charming man you've ever seen and you need to do something about it.

On the other hand, Jake thinks about you the same. When he saw first saw you he thought that you are the prettiest girl he has ever seen. He is not stupid he noticed how you look at him. But for now he will tease you and see what comes out of it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊

It's been two weeks since your first meeting and Jake is tutoring you several times a week.

Through each meeting you became closer and closer to each other . Often you dont talk only about physics but about normal topics and got to know each other.

You found out a lot of things about him. For example, he born and when he was younger he lived in Australia or that he graduated with two degrees. You have to admit that he’s really interesting and smart (plus very sexy hehe)

The other thing that is not hard to miss is the huge sexual tension between you two. Small and seemingly random touches light a fire in your body.

For example, Jake just happened to want to turn a page in a book at the time you did, and then your hands would touch, or he would claim he couldn't hear you and move your chair closer to his even though you were sitting very close.

On purpose when you go to him you put on more and more skimpy clothes. You see his gaze linger a little too long on your figure, or how he look at your lips instead of your eyes when he explains something to you.

You both know very well that you want each other. however, neither Jake nor you have made any concrete move yet. You are exhausted by this and you are thinking of doing something about it.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊

You sit next to each other on chairs. Today is your pre-last tutoring before the exam. However, you care more about making something happen between you. You've been horny for him since you first met him. You don't want to wait any longer.

You wore shorter skirt than usual and sweater today. You saw Jake watching you when you entered his apartment.

He explains some task to you although you don’t listen to him at all. You look at him as if he were the prettiest painting you've ever seen.

His eyebrows are slightly drawn together and he looks at you intensely. He speaks slowly and tries to explain everything in the simplest but most accurate way possible. His lips look so pretty and enticing.

You got the impression that he looks even hotter today than last time. His T-shirt showed perfectly his veins on his arms and he had different glasses than last time which perfectly highlighted his nose.

,,YN, are you even listening to me?”

You see that he bites his lip-you have noticed that this is his habit and sometimes he does it unintentionally. He raises his eyebrow and looks at you.

,, yes, I’m listening but I'm a little distracted” you answer and you look at his plump lips.

His smile widens and he looks deeply into your eyes. He asks curiously even though he knows exactly what is on your mind ,, What got you so distracted?”

You look at him and delicate blush appears on your cheeks. You know that this is your chance ,, I don’t know. I guess I've had enough of the physics. I need a break”

Jake looks at you intently and he answers calmly ,, okay, as you wish princess”

When you hear him say the pet name so naturally you get butterflies in your stomach. You lay finger on your lips and you play with your lip. You smile at him and you don’t break eye contact.

Jake when he watches you he loses his temper. He knows that he has to do something ,, c’mere, sit on my lap”

You listen to him and you sit on his lap. You put your hands behind his neck You get hot when you are so close. You look at his lips and then at his eyes. Jake notices this and grins ,,what happened, baby? Would you like to kiss me?”

You bite your lip slightly and Jake gently touches your lips with his finger while looking at them carefully. He wonders how pretty they would look around his dick.

Jake brings his face to yours and gently brushes his lips against yours. You begin to kiss each other subtly and sweetly. You have chills down your spine.

You deepen the kiss, you feel Jake exploring your lip with his tongue and you moan quietly into his mouth. You think that you've never felt so good when someone kissed you before

His hands moved sensually over your body. You felt his erection grow beneath you. You deliberately began to wriggle in his lap.

All the time you didn’t pull away from the kiss. It was more and more passionate and hot between you. You hear Jake begin to moan silently.

You pull away from the kiss and you feel Jake's hands on your waist. You whisper "bedroom"

Jake immediately knows what you're about and takes you in his arms. All the way to his bedroom you kiss and don’t take your hands off each other. When you enter the room Jake puts you on his bed.

He looks at you,his eyes darken and he delights ,,fuck baby, you look so pretty under me”

Your flushed face, reddened lips from an earlier passionate kiss and teasing smile arouses something in him. He thinks he's about to go crazy

His cock grows in his pants just because he looks at you. He thinks you're so cute when you're lying underneath him and so desperate for him.

,,Jake.., please do something” you beg him when you notice that jake is staring at you. And you honestly love it but you are desperate and need his touch.

,,for you everything, princess” he starts kissing and gently nibbling your neck. You moaned quietly in pleasure when he did it . You already know that he will leave marks on your neck

Jake begins to lift your t-shirt and looks at you with a questioning gaze asking for your permission. You nod and he pulls down your t-shirt and then your bra. He gently touches one of your nipples and licks and nibbles the other with his tongue.

You groan at the feeling. No one has ever touched you as good as jake. You squirm and whine.

Jake notices this how desperate you are. You are such a mess underneath him but he loves it. Your moans for him are like the prettiest voice he has ever heard.

He smiles, raises an eyebrow when he looks at you and says teasingly ,,tell me sweetie, where do you want me to touch you?”

You moan and look up at him. His disheveled hair from your touch, his mean grin and plump reddened lips make your pussy drip even more.

,,please… I need your month and fingers in my pussy”

Smile from his face doesn’t disappear when you beg him so nicely. He gently pulls down your skirt and you are left in just your panties. He lies down between your thighs and he puts your legs over his shoulders.

He slowly touches your clit with two fingers through your panties. He sees the wet spot on them and says in a deep voice ,, Your pussy is so wet and eager just for me, isn't it?”

,,o-only for you jakey…” you answer and keep your hands firmly on the sheet. Jake pulls down your panties and begins to touch your clit with one finger. he deliberately and gently moves his finger from top to bottom. You gasp and squirm.

,, jakey pleasee….. I need more”

At your request, he inserts two fingers into your cunt and you moan at the feeling when jake purrs ,,mmm, your pussy is so tight around my fingers”

Jake quickly and thoroughly fingers you and then adds his mouth. He starts eating your pussy like a hungry man. You moan loudly at the sensation.

He licks and nibbles your clit with his tongue and on top of that he fingers you with three fingers. He hits all the spots perfectly

,,fuck, you taste so sweet”

You have never felt so good before. You roll your eyes and hold your hands tightly in his hair. All you can hear in the room are your cries of his name and the wet sounds of your pussy as he inserts his fingers into you.

You feel that you are about to come, and you know that it will be the most intense orgasm you have ever experienced ,, fuck, jake… I-I feel s-soo goodd!!”

You moan and scream. Your back arches as you feel the knot in your stomach can burst at any moment. He doesn't stop. He starts fingering you even harder as far as possible perfectly reaching your G-spot.

,, jakeeee!!!! I’m cumming!!!!!” You scream when you cum at his face and fingers. You shout his name all the time. you have never came so intensely just because someone fingered and ate you out.

Your legs are shaking. ,, fuck doll,you’re so pretty when you cum on me” You feel Jake licking all your juices from your pussy and you moan quietly at the sensation.

You catch eye contact. you see that jake has your juices on his lips and nose. Damn, he looks so hot. You slowly sit up and jake draws you in for a passionate and desperate kiss.

You desire each other further so much. You taste yourself on his tongue. You start touching his cock through his pants and he quietly moans at the sensation

You pull away from the kiss and want to pay him back. However, he has other plans and says as he pulls off his shirt ,, baby, another time, I have to fuck you now”

You are breathing hard and your pussy is wet again just by his words. Jake gets up from the bed and pulls down his pants and boxers. You watch his every move.

And oh God. You’ve never seen a prettier body. He looks like he is some kind of god. He is athletic and you can see that he spends a lot of time in the gym.

And his cock? He is big, thick and stringy. You yourself don't know how your little pussy will take it all in.

He sees you staring at him and raises an eyebrow and smiles ,,hmm honey, do you like what you see?"

You nod and practically drool over him. He crouches in front of you on the bed and puts your legs over his shoulders. He pumps his cock a few time.

He holds your wrists behind your head and says seductively in a deep voice ,, will you be my good girl and you’ll take all my cook in your little pussy?”

your pussy is already so soaked for the second time and you want him to fuck you already. in a shaky voice you answer ,, yes!!! Please…. Fuck mee!”

His cock stands and when he hears you wanting him he puts the tip into your pussy. You moan at the feeling. He slowly enters further. You roll your eyes and moan his name.

Jake feels how warm and tight you are around him and thinks he could come already. He lays his head on your shoulder and breathes hard as he starts to move

,,mmmm j-jakeyy..” You moan as his cock thrusts into your pussy at a steady pace. Never before has anyone fucked you as well as he has. His big cock hits deep inside you in places you didn't know existed.

,,mhmm.. you feel so fucking full” He teases and and thrusts firmly into you ,, I'm sure you've wanted to have your tutor's cock pushed deep into your pussy for a long time”

You know you won't last long when he fucks you too good. You scream and purr louder and louder by the second.

He keeps his hands on your hips thrusting into you harder and harder. His cock twitches inside you and he knows he is close now

,,princess, you feel so good” He fucks you hard and fast. And whispers dirty words in your ear. He starts kissing your neck and massaging your clit. You moan his name loudly and feel that your second orgasm will be even more intense than the first.

Your lips part. You cum and squirts around his dick. You close your eyes and you feel ecstasy. Jake, meanwhile, loudly moans your name and asks in a shaky voice ,, Can I fill you up? Your pussy will be all filled in my cum”

,, yes-ss, pleaseee!!”you moan when you feel that jake paints your walls with his cum and pounding into you one last time

You breathe loudly as you feel Jake gently come out of you. cum from your pussy spills onto his bed sheets.

Jake goes into the bathroom and brings a towel to wipe the mess between your legs. Then he puts the towel on the floor.

You lie in his bed and wonder what will happen next. Jake sits down next to you and asks sweetly ,,are you feeling okay?"

You look at him and when you see how he cares for you your pulse speeds up.

You think you already know that you are in love with him.

,, yes Jake, it was amazing” you answer with a soft and tired smile. His smile widens and he lies down next to you. He opens his arms and you move closer to him.

You lie in each other's arms. Jake leaves kisses on your shoulder and cheek. there is a comfortable silence between you. Suddenly Jake speaks up ,,how about when you pass your physics exam I will take you out on a date?"

You raise an eyebrow and answer ,,it sounds amazing, but why wait until the exam?”

Jake giggles quietly and says bringing his lips closer to yours

,,it will be your prize baby”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊

Thank you for reading! ♥︎

#jake enhypen #jake smut #jake sim #jake x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen hard thoughts

77 notes · View notes

thatfeelinwhenyou · 22 hours ago

Text

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

#thatfeelingwhenyou love mail! 💌📫#tfwy moot moot

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