#i kept the layout though

[rattini]

My sweet Southern belle wench, Minnow. I poured a lot into this and idk why because it's...a ref sheet lmao [ more info ] || [ playlist ]

[godsfavoritescientist]

Sleeping Soundly Again - my comic for the Until the End of Time zine! I drew this around a year ago, and I'm so excited to get to unleash it on the world at last.

[thecreelhouse]

are any of y’all trying out red note?? 👀 I just made one if any moots are on and wanna exchange IDs lol

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ gods and monsters ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x wife!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you cherished your husband, your family, and the life you had created together. hwang in-ho was a man of contradictions, capable of immense love and devotion. he treated you with such care, as though you were the most precious thing in his world. his adoration was tangible in every gesture, every lingering glance. yet beneath that tenderness was a darkness you struggled to reconcile. this same man, who held your hand with precious affection, was also the masked overseer of the squid game, a series of merciless challenges where the desperate competed, often at the cost of their lives, for a staggering cash prize.

˚ ༘♡ you could never truly fathom it. the man who pressed sweet kisses to your forehead at night was the same monster who orchestrated a spectacle of death and suffering. he claimed no pleasure in it, but the mere fact of his involvement unsettled you. the gleaming black mask, the command he held over every horrific detail, it was a world so far removed from the comfort of your home, yet it belonged to him all the same.

˚ ༘♡ only once had he asked if you wished to attend, to see what he called “his other life.” the question had terrified you to your core, your lips parting in silent dismay. you hadn’t needed to answer. the way your expression shifted, the way fright and disapproval glared across your pallid face, was enough. he never brought it up again, never risked shattering the fragile balance he had created between his two identities.

˚ ༘♡ you were a mother to a healthy three-year-old son, who filled your days with laughter and energy, and you were carrying another child, though you had yet to tell your husband. the news remained a quiet secret, one you turned over in your mind during the solitude of the evening. it wasn’t fear of his reaction that kept you silent. hwang in-ho adored his family, there was no question of that, but the thought of bringing another life into the shadow of the games unsettled you.

˚ ༘♡ you tried to focus on being the woman you wanted to be, a loving mother, a supportive partner. in many ways, you succeeded. you tucked your son in every night with whispered stories and soft lullabies, kept your home warm and welcoming, and met your husband’s gaze with as much love as you could muster, even when doubts crept into the corners of your mind.

˚ ༘♡ when your worries became too much to bear, he would sense it, always. he would take your hands in his, his voice calm, his tone measured. “think of me as two men,” he would say, his words a plea for understanding. “there is hwang in-ho, your husband, your partner, the father of our children. and then there is the front man, a role i play, a mask i wear.”

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to believe him, to hold on to the idea that the man who kissed you tenderly each morning could be separate from the one who orchestrated so much pain. but no matter how you tried to comprehend it, there were nights when the thought of who he was beyond your shared walls kept you awake, your heart aching with questions you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

˚ ༘♡ you tried with all your might to separate the two sides of the man you loved, the front man and your husband, hwang in-ho. but when he told you he wouldn’t be able to contact you during this year’s games, the delicate balance you had worked so hard to maintain crumbled. the weight of his words refused to settle, tearing at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to simply let it go.

˚ ༘♡ “every year, you’ve managed to visit after the game for the day. what’s different this time?” you asked, your voice trembling with desperation.

˚ ༘♡ at first, he deflected, his tone dismissive as if your concerns were unwarranted. but as your worry grew, it became impossible for him to ignore. the strain in your expression, the way your voice cracked when you spoke, it was enough to wear him down. even your son had begun to notice, his small hands tugging at your sleeve, his innocent eyes filled with confusion at the tension that filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ with a frustrated sigh, in-ho finally relented. his hand enveloped yours, warm and steady against your trembling fingers. “i will be there this year,” he admitted, his voice hushed and measured. “as a player.”

˚ ༘♡ the words sent a chill through you, and your breath caught in your throat. “what? why?” you asked, your disbelief slicing through the tension.

˚ ༘♡ his gaze locked onto yours. “there is someone returning to the games this year,” he began, his tone careful. “a former player, a winner in fact. he’s likely to cause complications, and… i can’t deny the intrigue of watching him. this year will be different. i’ve decided to stay close by instead of observing from a distance.”

˚ ༘♡ fury and agony surged within you, and your hands shook as you lightly struck his chest, the beating driven by hysteria. “you idiot!” you yelled. “you can’t guarantee you’ll be safe! have you even thought about your family? what about our son?”

˚ ༘♡ he caught your wrist gently, his grip cautious, his face softening as he pulled you closer. “i will not be in danger,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “i promise you that.”

˚ ༘♡ still, his assurance wasn’t enough. it didn’t stop the knot in your stomach from tightening or the ache in your chest from growing far more intense. the words you spoke next tumbled out before you had a chance to think them through. “if that’s true, then you won’t have any problem with me coming along!”

˚ ༘♡ the declaration hung in the air, sharp and sudden. even you were startled by it, your heart pounding in your chest as the misery of your demand settled between you. fear and anger had driven you to say it, but now it was too late to take it back. you searched his face for a reaction, your pulse racing.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t speak such nonsense again," he said firmly, his tone cutting through the tension in the room. "you have our son to think about. i am going, and i’ll return in a week. this is final."

˚ ༘♡ “no!” you shot back, the tremor in your voice betraying your growing panic. “if you’re going, then i’m coming with you. you told me it’s safe.” your eyes darted toward your son, who had long fallen asleep, blissfully unaware of the battle unfolding. a wave of guilt swept over you, tightening your throat. “he can stay with the household staff for a week. do you think i could take care of him properly while i’m sick with worry about you?”

˚ ༘♡ his brow furrowed, the sharp lines of irritation creasing his weary face. “you’re being unreasonable,” he said, his voice hard, though it faltered slightly as he began pacing the room. each step was measured, purposeful, as though he were trying to walk away from the argument itself. “this is dangerous enough without you there complicating things.”

˚ ༘♡ “and you’re being infuriating,” you countered, your tone rising as desperation overtook your earlier composure. “do you think I’d forgive myself if something happened to you while i stayed here and did nothing? you’re asking too much of me.” your voice cracked, the weight of your despair spilling into the room.

˚ ༘♡ the argument carried on into the late hour, a nightmare of clashing scorn and unresolved fears. he tried to dismiss you, to shut you down with reason, but you refused to back down. your agony, raw and untamed, eventually drove you to the brink. “if you go without me, i’ll leave,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i’ll take our son, and i’ll leave.”

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was deafening. he froze, his gaze snapping to yours, searching your face for the truth. you hated the lie, the hollowness of your own threat, but it was all you had left. leaving him wasn’t something you could ever do, but the thought of him walking into danger alone was unbearable.

˚ ༘♡ he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the burden of his dilemma. “fine,” he said at last, his voice clipped and low. “if you’re coming, then there are conditions… rules that have to be carefully followed.”

˚ ༘♡ your relief was immediate but short-lived as his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. “what conditions?” you asked, your voice softer now, cautious.

˚ ༘♡ “we’ll need to use false identities," he explained, his tone deliberate, each word chosen with care. "to everyone involved, we’re strangers. no one can know who we are, not even that we’re connected."

˚ ༘♡ the practicality of his demand sent a shiver down your spine, even as you nodded in agreement. the idea of pretending he was nothing more than a stranger felt unnatural, wrong, but you couldn’t argue. “i understand,” you murmured, though the knot in your stomach tightened with every passing second.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as though considering whether you truly grasped what you were stepping into. when he finally looked away, you felt no sense of victory, only the forthcoming horror of what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ the games were set to begin in exactly one week, and each passing day left you feeling more unsettled. every time your husband pulled you into his arms, the unease lingered beneath the surface, making it difficult to fully surrender to his warmth. though you tried to find comfort in his presence, the thought of what lay ahead clouded every shared moment.

˚ ༘♡ you had entrusted your son to the most reliable and loyal members of the household staff, ensuring that he would be cared for in your absence. you also took great care to conceal any sign of your pregnancy. if in-ho discovered the truth, he would never allow you to join him, and staying behind was not an option you could accept.

˚ ༘♡ he had laid out the plan with meticulous precision. the two of you would arrive after the chaos of the first game, red light, green light. as he explained it, a large portion of the participants would undoubtedly be eliminated once they grasped the deadly reality of the games. the aftermath of that horror would provide cover for your entrance, allowing you to integrate without raising suspicion.

˚ ༘♡ your husband would take on the identity of player 001, an unassuming participant with no visible ties to you. your alias would be player 077, your stories carefully crafted to fit the narrative. his fabricated reason for joining the games was both haunting and ironic, he claimed he needed money for his pregnant wife. when he first told you this, a wave of panic washed over you, thinking he might have discovered your secret. but as you studied his expression, his calm demeanor revealed no hint of realization.

˚ ༘♡ for your feigned story, he decided you would play the role of a young woman drowning in debt, struggling to pay off the burdens left behind by your late father. the lie felt strangely fitting, yet it unsettled you all the same. every detail he crafted for your cover seemed so calculated, so detached, it was as though he had rehearsed this for far longer than he let on. this game of life and death was nothing more than a facade for him.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded along as he explained the plan, his voice unwavering. though the words were spoken with care, they failed to soothe the growing tension within you. each step of the plan felt cold, clinical, designed to strip away any sense of the life you shared outside these games. with every passing day, the distance between hwang in-ho, your husband, and the front man became more glaring, and you wondered if you could truly separate the two when it mattered most.

˚ ༘♡ you knelt by your son’s bedside, planting a soft kiss against his forehead. his small hand clung to your finger, and for a vanishing moment, you felt the crushing weight of guilt threaten to undo you. you whispered promises you weren’t sure you could keep, telling him you would be back soon, that everything would be fine. as his breathing slowed in sleep, you lingered a minute longer, memorizing the curve of his face and the delicate skin of his tiny hand before slipping away with your husband.

˚ ༘♡ the player uniforms were a tight, oppressive reminder of the role you had agreed to take on. the white and forest-green fabric felt rough against your skin, the stitched numbers, 001 on him, 077 on you, marking you both as part of this wicked charade. the air between you was dense with unspoken tension as you followed his lead into the heart of the games.

˚ ༘♡ the aftermath of the first game hit you like a physical blow. scarlet-red blood smeared the walls, the metallic stench thick enough to taste. lifeless bodies were being dragged away by masked figures, their uniforms pristine against the carnage. your stomach churned violently, and you had to bite down hard to keep from retching. your husband walked ahead, his pace measured, his face a mask of icy detachment.

˚ ༘♡ yet, even as he feigned indifference, you noticed the subtle tension p his clenched fists and the hard line of his jaw. no matter how disciplined and resolute he was, pretending you were a stranger clearly cost him some of his will power.

˚ ༘♡ you entered the massive dormitory, a cavernous space where the remaining players huddled in groups, their expressions etched with terror and disbelief. the room was alive with murmurs, frantic whispers of confusion and distress as they tried to process what had happened. the realization of the deadly nature of the games hung over the crowd, suffocating and inescapable.

˚ ༘♡ abruptly, a piercing voice broke through the calamity, commanding and filled with urgency. all eyes turned to player 456, a man whose presence seemed to dominate the room. his words were bold, calling for a vote in accordance with the consent clause, a chance for the players to decide whether they would continue or abandon the games. the idea rippled through the crowd, igniting faint glimmers of hope in some and deepening the despair in others.

˚ ༘♡ your husband moved slightly, a subtle shift in his stance catching your attention. his gaze flicked toward you, so brief it was almost imperceptible. then, with deliberate movements, he traced a small circle on the back of his hand, an action so precise it disturbed you. he turned away before you could react, his focus now on the masked enforcers who were setting up the voting station.

˚ ༘♡ it took you a moment to understand the message. he wanted you to vote in favor of continuing the games. the realization landed suddenly. you clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to steady yourself. the thought of condemning the remaining players to more death and suffering was unbearable, but you understood what his silent gesture meant. if the games ended now, everything he had planned, every risk he had taken, would amount to nothing.

˚ ༘♡ the apprehension caused your chest to tighten further as the masked figures prepared the voting station, their movements mechanical and precise. the voices of the players rose, some pleading for an end, others arguing to stay. you felt your pulse quicken, the enormity of what you were about to do pressing down on you as you prepared to cast a vote that would decide not only the fate of the players but the course of your husband’s dangerous mission.

a/n: the winner of the fanfiction vote, but i will definitely be writing for cho sang-woo as well! i hope you all enjoy reading! let me know if you have anymore requests! 🤍

[meganegatari]

THE WAY YOU WRITE IS JUST SO YUMMM so yeah🧍🏻‍♀️can you write something about streamer ellie <33

☆: IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. definitelyyyy hasn't been...months...anyway. positive this is one of the worse things i've written, but didn't wanna leave you hanging forever! ngl it's pretty filthy..heh.

◇: 18+ pretend those twitch guideline things don't exist. remote control vibrator use, orgasm denial, sub-ish!ellie?? plot twist at the end bc i think im so funny. 1.6k wc. don't mind the layout of this idk what else to do...

You watch your girlfriend stream her game from your fluffy and comfortable spot on your shared bed—you observe how focused she was on her screen, how her skilled fingers were flying across the keyboard and mouse. It would certainly be a shame to disturb her in such a high tension moment but you think it over, running your finger over the small buttons of the sleek little remote in your hand.

"Yeah, yeah, got 'em! Look at that guys, I fuckin’ aced that!" Ellie rejoices in her victory, and gleefully boasts to her viewers, adjusting her microphone closer and leaning back in her chair.

You're glad you were far off camera, her fans didn't even know she was in a relationship—Ellie made it clear she wanted you to be separate from her hobbies, not because she wanted to keep you a secret, but because she wanted to keep you safe. And you enjoyed watching her stream from the sidelines like this, you saw how her personality captivated viewers and how much fun she really was. But you also enjoyed messing with her on the occasion. Like today.

"Can I watch tonight's stream again?" You asked her eagerly. "Yeah, why not? I'll be doing some tournaments and stuff though, so no distractions." Oops. You bit back a laugh. Ellie immediately sussed out the mischievous look on your face and she sighed, expecting the worst.

Then you showed her the box you've been hiding, "Please let's try, I won't click it too much, I promise." She stared at you for a whole minute, maybe more, before sighing and reluctantly agreeing, rubbing her hands all over her face. "God, fine. Just 'cause I love you. Damn you're evil."

Fast forward to now—the device was snugly inserted inside her pretty pussy, tested out to prove it does in fact work, and works well at that.

So off Ellie went to play her game, getting so caught up in everything she seemingly forgot about the device entirely. In between games she was talking to the viewers, reading the chat and joking back and forth. You decided it was a good enough time to click it so you pressed the button, only for a miniscule zap.

She jerked in her seat, gasping, but quickly recovered with a strategic cough. "Phew sorry guys, something got caught in my throat." You saw a bright berry blush spread across her face, and the way she fought to turn and throw a glare at you. This was going to be fun.

"Alright, the next round’s gonna start, we gotta lock in! Hopefully nothing pops up and this goes smoothly. I can taste the win already.” She put a certain warning tone to her voice in the last part of her sentence, you knew it was meant for you, but were you going to listen? Absolutely not. "Oh yeah chat fun fact, this old area of the map was inspired by ancient ruins just of—ah!" As if her body had a mind of its own, she squirmed in her seat and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a moan when you hit it again, but this time you didn't turn it off right away. You kept it going for a few more seconds, to prolong the terribly delicious sensation.

She screwed her eyes shut tightly and held her breath until you turned it off, mumbling to her viewers about "having hiccups". "The game is starting now, so we really gotta get serious." Her voice had an unsteadiness to it only you could hear, she was keeping her composure rather well so far. But likely wouldn't be able to keep up the act for much longer. Even she has her limits.

As her match went on, she got quiet when she was focused, mashing the keys with a speed fast as sound. Of course, you hit it again, just a short one, causing a choked "guh" to escape from her lips and she twitched when you did so, her facade starting to crack. The effort to keep her voice stable was showing, she was huffing and struggling to get her words out clearly, they were laced with obvious irritation.

"Fuck missed the shot, dammit. Yeah I don't know, somethings up today, sorry guys...off my game." You decided to be nice to her until the game ended, not pressing it further or adjusting the intensity. She played for a little while longer before losing the match, leaning forward on the desk with her face in her hands. This was the perfect moment, so you cranked it up, increased the intensity to maximum, and held the button for the longest time yet, making her whine—a low, drawn out sound she couldn't stifle this time.

You could hear lots of messages being sent, pings in rapid succession, they were probably clipping that moment. Perverts, you thought. 

Her chest was noticeably heaving up and down, her legs spread as she rocks her front against the chair, and she kept her head lowered until you decreased the intensity but didn't turn it all the way off. Her hands were shaking, and her face was a vibrant cherry red, the screen even reflected the sparkle of a couple tears in her eyes.

“What? Oh, I'm just so sad about the loss guys, we were so close—hnn- so…so closeahh—I mean, we should've gotten that…” She trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip and tapping her fingers on the desk’s wooden surface. “Y’know what, I'll be right back.” She paused the stream, made triple sure her camera and microphone were turned off, then whipped around in her chair to face you, glaring silver daggers your way.

You just giggled innocently and turned the device off again. “What the fuck is wrong with you, this shit is not- not light on you at all.” Her voice was breaking, her pretty features contorted in a beautifully needy expression, eyebrows furrowed and eyes all watery. Nearly as wet as the mess in her pants. You feigned innocence and shrugged at her, “Well I didn't know it was that strong.” “You knew damn well.” She's fed up with your antics, but you have fun playing with her. She covers her face and leans back in the chair, the embarrassment in her voice the only thing you could hear, “Fuck you...turn it up again, wanna cum.”

You couldn't contain the laugh that burst forth from your chest, then said, “Only if you stream it.” The shock that flickered across her face was priceless, you wish you could have snapped a photo.

“What the fuck do you mean by that, nah forget it.”

“Hey, you gotta finish your stream either way, they're waiting. Would you wanna be so awful and deprive those darlings of your presence?”

You flash her a sugary smile, and she shoots you a murderous look again, before wordlessly scooting back to her setup, fanning herself briefly and readjusting her coppery hair.

Then she turns the stream back on. “Sorry guys, I had to get up for a second. Anyway, let's play one more game. I'm getting kinda tired today. Let's make this one count, lock in like never before.” She takes a deep breath, cracks her knuckles, and begins smacking away at the keyboard buttons. You're able to see the way she looks tense, on edge, anticipating your devilish interruption.

You debate whether you should torture her, but the answer quickly becomes clear. Click.

“Ah—fuck!” She sputters, and roughly slams her fist on the desk. The pleasure was hitting her with full force, she was in her own, lewd, world now. Her head is thrown back, back arched and hips stuttering, the release was about to sneak up on her.

You watch the scenario unfold, licking your lips and pressing your thighs together to deal with the pressure between them. Her unapologetic moans get louder, but for a second she snaps out of the trance to sit back upright, turn the stream off, before the peak hits her like a truck.

“Holy, fu—hah!!” With a squeal she cums, not caring about how fucking loud she was being, wanting to be selfishly absorbed in ecstasy.

She started to jolt around in her seat, the throes of overstimulation making her whimper like an animal in heat, it truly was a sight to behold. You wish you were in between her legs, lapping up her sweetness straight from the source, but in a way, just watching from the sidelines was satisfying enough. You'll clean her up afterward.

Finally you turned it off once and for all, and gazed at her, she was panting heavily, the post-orgasm glow making her rosy skin shimmer in the low light.

“Hmmm, thanks babe, that was so good…” She tried to talk, her head was in the clouds, but she looked at peace.

“You're a whore.” You chortled, and you two shared a laugh.

Although, a flurry of shrill sounds brought you both out of the fantasy. Ping, ping, ping.

Unfortunately she wasn't able to enjoy the aftermath of a mind-numbing session, because her eyes shot open and she began scrambling to find the source of the sound. Your stomach dropped as you watched her panic, her neuroticism infectious.

She looked at you, her eyes wider than saucers, nothing but fear in her voice, “I wasn't able to turn my mic off…”

What was she going to do now?

if you'd like to be tagged in my fics, click here! thank you for reading. asks, reblogs, and comments are appreciated more than you know. ♡

tags: @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @ashaynep @mascdom @xysbree @liddysflyer @fortune777 @brunaedn @bunnitewsilly @mimasroom2 @deliriousrn @infiniteinquiries @thekill3randthefinalgirl @kissyslut @elliesapple

[gaypirate420]

Viktor running his fingers through m! Readers hair and Jayce is getting jealous of us so Viktor starts giving him a scalp massage too.

This was inspired by that viral post of Viktor High Key being a Dom.

Here nyehehehhe, very short I'm sorry.

Puppies// Jayvik

S1!Jayvik x male!reader.

Summary: Viktor has two puppies in a lab.

Suggestive. Fluff.

Viktor takes a small sip from his drink, the sugary taste of the sweet milk traveling down his mouth, his amber eyes looked down, you and Jayce where on the floor, a chalk in hand as each of you drew his notes on the literal floor of the lab, per his request, something about scaling.

"Is this big enough for you?" You asked a little breathlessly as you leaned back on your knees, going backwards trying not to mess the chalk drawing, a small pout adorning your face as you placed chalk, ruler and measuring tape to a side, you were the first one to protest against this idea.

"it gives me a better view, sweetling." The pale man answered back before returning his lips to his mug, Jayce sighed and shook his head, the sound of chalk and his tired breaths filling the air for a moment.

"Bigger papers exist, V." The tall one mumbled as he kept drawing, his knees already feeling a little sore after being in the cold floor of the lab.

"No need to whine, love, a little mopping will get rid of it." Viktor answered back before taking another sip, you rubbed your eyes, a soft yawn escapes your lips as you rest your head on his lap, avoiding his brace for an inch. His brows were furrowed deep in thought as he saw his blueprint on the floor.

"We have to take a break, we're going insane! We're drawing on the floor! We're scientists not cavemen." You mumbled against his thigh, the sound a little muffled. Viktor shushed you gently and returned to his own little mental palace, one of his hands left his mug, his pale and slender fingers finding your hair. He could feel your tired exhale against his leg.

His touch is gentle, slow, his eyes focused on your tense shoulders, he carefully digs deeper, massaging slowly. Almost as an apology for the burden of making you drag yourself around on the floor drawing.

Jayce finally finished his part, looking down at the whole layout and starting to take mental notes, he steps back to allow the zaunite to see the drawing completely. He claps his hands, getting rid of any chalk dust in them.

The taller man's hazel eyes catch the tender scene, you, on your knees by Viktor's side, your hair getting played with, he feels a warmth creeping on his cheeks, he looks away quickly and tries to focus on the drawing but something else start to brew. Jealousy.

"Hm." Jayce sat down on the floor too, perhaps a little inspired by you on Viktor's left side, he swallowed as his eyes focused on the drawing almost too much and too intensely. Viktor placed his mug between his thighs, he smirks ever so faintly and his hand goes to brush the taller one's hair back, the reaction is immediate, a soft sigh hangs on the air, he leans against his thigh too as Viktor brushes down his neck.

"I can picture your tails wagging perfectly." Viktor said with a teasing tone, you chuckled against him while Jayce whimpers and hides his face on his thigh. Both of you are blushing though, neither pulling away from his touch.

A/N: HEYYYY, hi, how are y'all...I know I KNOW I have some promised fics on the waiting but I'm picky and I want to enjoy my winter break I'm sorry, arrest me. Hope y'all liked this!

[juletheghoul]

Grown

AN: I am sort of going through a writing bender? A manic episode? I don't know, I just know that if I don't get it down I will lose my mind. I have been wanting to write an age-gap fic for Joel (aside from LMF) for a while but I couldn't really find the format or the idea that I could sink my teeth into. There are SO MANY good ones out there, I even had a whole other thing started but it got too intense, and making it sexual wouldn't have been true to that version of Joel, so here is what I came up with. (I kept Tess out of this story) Big thank you to @foli-vora for letting me exorcise this demon, and to @frannyzooey for putting up with my endless messages and voice notes through discord, love y'all! (this is unbeta'd and barely proofread, any and all mistakes are mine)

Joel Miller x F!reader (sex worker) (Joel calls you ‘Pretty’)

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.9K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) , language, Smut 18+, PIV sex (wrap it up), fingering, cream pie, one lonely little lick of his cock👅, come play sort of? dirty talk, age gap (legal), feelings of guilt, talk of sex work, some of it traumatic (no details, no violence)

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist 

He was a risk, calculated but definitely worth it up close. He fidgeted, flexing and unflexing his hands as you moved around the tiny studio apartment. Your home, and ‘office’. You’d searched long and hard, and paid a hefty price for the soft lamps, the newish linens for your bed, the homey touches.

He shifted his weight as you put the quilt down, separating the outside world from the privacy of your sheets. Easier to clean up after too. 

“Boots off, please.” You gesture to the place by the door, and he nodded with a frown. 

“Sorry.” He groaned as he brought his foot up and for a moment you saw his age, through the pleasant features. 

“No problem, how do you want me?” You stand at the foot of the bed, naked under the well-worn, but cherished robe and for a moment he gawps. You don’t laugh, men don’t like it when you laugh. “On my back?” 

“Wait- how old are you again?” He pads over, tall and broad, obscuring the light source when he walks past it. 

“Old enough.” You smile, “come, why don’t you sit here with me?” You hold out your hand to him, and after a tense glance, he takes it and sits where you gesture. His grip is firm, but soft, years of hard work rooted in the calluses that meet your significantly softer palm. It isn’t a turn off though, he’s a man, men work hard. The real ones do, or did anyway.

“How long do I have? S’there anyone else…?” He trails off, his voice cutting off and you smile, placating. 

“You have as long as you need, tonight's all yours.” You sit beside him, and put your hand tentatively on his arm, channeling every single ounce of calm you have and pouring it into him. He’s warm and alive beside you, heat radiating off him under the soft pass of your thumb against the skin peeking out under the denim sleeve, you let the soft light, the light patter of rain outside your window work on him. He surveys the area, learning the layout of your space and you don’t interfere, you follow his gaze and try to see it all from his point of view. 

It's small, but comfortable. It’s exceedingly clean, you’d spent hours and hours making sure, back breaking hours on your hands and knees scrubbing and washing and it had paid off, no matter how sore you’d been after. There’s a little table, with two chairs, a big lumpy chair near the window, where you spent most of your time not working curled up with one of your precious books. He noticed the tiny chest of drawers, the top of it clear except for a half-full glass of water. He saw the baseball bat leaning against the wall tucked just behind it. 

“Can I get a little closer?” You scoot a little, pressing your thigh to his, turning to hold his restless arm between your breasts, your fingers intertwining with his while he got accustomed to your own warmth. Those big, callused, hard-working hands wrapped up in yours. Invitingly warm.

Some people needed a little push, sometimes they were nervous on how to start and they needed someone to get them out of their heads. Some wanted to talk, to sprawl out naked with you and get all of their thoughts out. 

Loneliness is the main malady you alleviate. 

Some didn’t want to talk at all, some just wanted you to open your legs and take, and that was okay too. Everyone had their thing. 

“This okay?” You put your linked palms on the little bit of skin poking out through the gap in your robe, your skin surrounding both sides of his hand. 

“Yeah, s’okay.” He watches the robe slip open, and his other hand joins the fray, pulling it apart to see more of your thigh. He licks his lip as more of you is revealed and you artfully let the shoulder slip, drawing his eye up to your cleavage. He pats his leg, and you get a genuine thrill, sliding over and up onto his lap. He needed no further guidance after that, now that he had permission, his body was taking over. 

His eyes were dark, focused, tracking the line of your throat when you swallowed thickly. He watched the way your breath hitched when he slid his hand up your inner thigh and found you bare underneath, his fingers slipping through the silky hair at your mound, his fingers parting your lips softly to find your slick folds. He lets out a shuddering breath at the same time you do, when his finger slips over your clit. 

“I’m too old for you, pretty.” He watches his hand between your legs, using it to spread your thighs enough to see your pussy dripping for him. 

“You don’t feel too old.” You hold onto his neck, giving him more access and your stomach drops to feel him hardening under the swell of your ass. You pull his hand from between your legs, and dip his fingers into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around them before pressing them back against your achy clit. He pulls a genuine moan of pleasure at the extra slip when he swirls around your clit nice and slow. Tortuous, and talented.

“So fuckin’ soft,” He glides his fingers down, circling your entrance but his eyes are focused on your mouth now, “bet you’re tight as a fist, aren’t you baby?” He slides two thick fingers inside and you clutch at him, more turned on by him than you’ve ever been doing this line of work.

It’s a stretch, but he works them in, pressing against your upper wall, looking for something and when he finds it you whimper in his arms. 

“Do you kiss?” You barely hear him over the blood pounding in your ears, his fingers curling inside you, and he puts more pressure on the button he’s found and you moan, lost and mindlessly enjoying the fullness. 

He presses devastatingly soft, tender kisses to your throat, completely at odds with the wet sounds of his exploration between your legs. 

“Baby, can we kiss?” He repeats it, this time with his fingers still, but stuffed deep. You press your mouth to his, humid and hot and he tastes like the good alcohol you have stashed in your cupboard. He groans and his fingers scissor inside you, squelching between your legs with every lazy pump. He traps your bottom lip between his, alternating a teasing bite to the plump of it, with deep licks into your mouth. You’ve never been kissed like this. 

“You just gonna use your fingers?” He pulls away to skim his nose down your neck, bunching the top of the robe in the splayed hand at your back to pull it down from where it hangs on your shoulder. His mouth engulfs your nipple when it falls and any thoughts that he may be too old for you seem to slip his mind because he doubles down, moaning obscenely into your skin as you leak onto his lap. 

“No, just wanna open you up, I wanna make sure this little pussy can take me.” Arousal and excitement pools in your belly. 

“What a gentleman.” You laugh, half crazed with lust for this man who just might be old enough to be your father. He smiles, drunk on the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, his spit still shining on your breast. He has a dimple, so boyish in contrast to the grey in his beard and in his hair you can’t help but love it, it suits him.

“Spread your legs a little more for me darlin’,” one hand is heavy on your hip, holding you so you can drop one leg and open up a little more, “I wanna see you come,” he speeds up, his thumb now doing tight little circles against your clit and you moan, unabashedly, “look how wet she is,” he stares between your legs “I just wanna see her come.” He hooks his fingers again and the pressure is almost too much. It only takes a few moments, his fingers pet, pet, pet and then you clench, the pleasure going off in your belly like a bomb, radiating out through your breasts, into your hips, all the way down to your fingers and toes. 

A universe contained within your body, borne of his hand.

“Fuck.” Your legs close over his hand, and he slows down but doesn’t stop, a softer, slower stroke while you catch your breath. “Let's get you outta these clothes.” you start undoing the buttons to his shirt, admiring the breadth of his shoulders, the smattering of freckles littered along his skin. He pulls his fingers out from between your legs, shiny and dripping in you and sticks them into his mouth, moaning at the tang of you. 

Undressing him is like opening a gift. His arms are strong, his biceps flexing when he all but lifts you up to stand, pulling your robe off and away from you like it’s on fire. His midsection is soft, but you can feel the strength underneath when you undo his jeans, tensing in excitement the closer you get to the considerable bulge in them. You curl your fingers around both his jeans, and his boxers, impatient to get him naked. You crouch as you pull them down, mouth watering at the size of him, hard and bobbing in front of you. The muscles in his thighs are firm, his skin so warm and you can’t help but lick a stripe up the underside of his cock on the way back up. 

He lets out a sound like he's been punched in the gut and you take it in like sustenance. 

“Don’t–I’ll come too fast if you put it in your mouth.”

You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, just as he reaches down to grab and spread the cheeks of your ass, stomach full of butterflies at the feeling of him hard and leaking against your belly. 

“But I wanna swallow it, I wanna feel it in my throat.” You pout and he lets out a shuddering breath, “Don’t you wanna fuck my mouth?” You press your lips to the hollow of his throat, your fingers slipping through the unruly, grey strands at the back of his neck. 

“Not now baby, I’m barely goin' to last as it is.” He turns you, pressing you to lay in the middle of your quilt and he’s quick to follow, fitting himself between your legs, leaning on one arm beside your skull and when he grabs his cock and gives it a few strokes, you almost can’t watch him. It’s too erotic, it looks so big in his hand, too big to fit but you know it will, he’ll make it fit. 

“Jesus Christ,” He whispers as he feeds himself inside you slowly, an inch, before pulling it out, then a little more, until he’s fucking you a little deeper each time. 

There wasn’t enough air in the room to fill your lungs, he took up every fucking drop. You’d been with other men, you’d been with women, all of them taking their pleasure from your body and most of them giving pleasure in return, this was something else. This was almost scary, the way the vision of him above you made your brain buzz and your nipples hard, made your cunt leak all over him. 

He moves up onto his knees, those big hands pull your legs up and apart, pressing the backs of your thighs into your chest, practically folding you in half to slide his cock deeper still.

He snapped his hips hard, pulling a sound you’d never made out of your mouth, again, and again, until it was a continuous babble. He watches the way his cock disappears inside the tight clutch of your cunt with every dirty roll of his hips. He sinks a little further down, and adjusts his stroke, until just the tip of it stays inside of every heavy push forward. 

This isn’t some desperate, lonely old guy looking to get his dick wet, this is a grown man, fucking you like a grown man does and you feel like a grown woman taking it. 

“Joel, baby that’s so fucking good-“ you press your hands to his chest where he leans against you. He’s focused, eyes glazed over, sweat dripping down his nose in his efforts. He shuts his eyes tight for a moment, his pace stuttering slightly and you know he’s not gonna last.

“I wanna see her come with me inside,” he whines, and you don’t want him to stop what he’s doing so you reach down and swirl your fingers around your clit while he watches, “that’s it baby, that’s it, fuck, I’m close-“ he somehow spreads you wider, the wet suck of your pussy is louder, more obscene, more erotic. 

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna-“ the orgasm strangles the words in your throat, pulsing him out but he pushes back in and you feel it all the way in your toes. 

“Fuuuuuckkk—“ he pulls out and pumps himself furiously against your mound, covering the soft patch of hair in spurt after milky spurt. It’s a lot, some has splashed onto your hip, your belly, you feel it slipping down to where you clench, empty and gaping without him filling you. 

It’s quiet for a moment after, while your blood cools, and he milks himself dry, pumping a few more times despite the over-sensitivity. 

“You got anything for me to clean you up with?” He rubs at the indents he left on the back of your thighs before unfolding you. 

“There’s a little pile of rags in that first drawer behind you.” You point to the tiny chest of drawers, and he groans when he moves up and off of you. Now that he’s emptied his balls, the signs of his age rear their heads. He groans, wincing as he bends forward to carefully wipe everything away with gentle hands. 

It’s nice to see him walk around naked, welcome, you wouldn’t mind seeing it more often, if he came back that was. 

“That was-“ he scratches at the back of his neck, passing the cloth over your belly, “that was really good.”

“I’ll say, it was better than good.” You stretch out and luxuriate like a cat in warm patch of sun, seriously debating offering him time to recover so he could fuck you again. He quirks his lip, the ghost of a smile, the confidence dulled to shy, awkward fumbling. He tosses the rag into the little basket you point to, and he begins the process of getting dressed. You get up when he’s almost done, your thighs, and what’s between already sore and pick up your robe. He’s putting his neat little stack of ration cards on the table when you finish tying it up. 

“Thanks.” He pulls his boots on, opening your door before turning back to find you right on his heels. 

“Anytime.” You smile at him, hoping it won’t be a one-time thing. He moves to step outside but you pull him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and taking something for your own. He kisses you back when you press your mouth to his, it's softer, his tongue sweet when it tangles with yours and you smile into the kiss when he reaches down, and grabs your ass. 

“Bye, Pretty.”

“Bye Joel.”

-

You hadn't fallen into the work, so much as slowly slid into it. The first time had been almost a dare, a challenge to yourself, a proposition made by someone and maybe your own foolish, naive need to prove that you weren’t some stupid baby. A man, an older man that had shared cleaning duty with you had come right out with it, saw you bending over to pick something off the floor and told you that he’d pay every ration card he had for a taste of that ass, as he so eloquently put it. 

At first you’d been shocked, he seemed like a perfectly bland, run of the mill survivor making his way in the QZ, but he’d been serious. You’d asked him to clarify, to repeat his words, and he had. He’d shaken his hands of the dirt and dust of the job, produced a tiny stack of much needed ration cards from a hidden pocket and held them out for you like a cold glass of water in the desert. Something inside you had recoiled, he wasn’t repulsive, but he wasn’t exactly the object of your late night fantasies. Another part though, a hidden little sliver of something jumped at the chance to have some power, some semblance of control and so without much thought to consequence, you’d taken him up on it. 

An uncomfortable fifteen minutes later, he was grunting behind you, stroking himself furiously to paint the cheeks of your ass in his come. 

Once it was done, the little part of you that had welcomed the challenge was curiously absent, and the part that had recoiled was bigger, swelling like some awful, infected limb. But you had rations enough to stop working for a few days, and that took some of the repulsion away. 

It was a while before you did it again. It was a while before you saw the man again, maybe part of you, that ever-present bit of self-preservation urged you to avoid him but he eventually found you again. This time you turned him down, and he hadn’t pressed, but he’d told others. Other men who seemed to sniff you out, some of them older, and less diplomatic and those you told to fuck off. Some of the younger ones though, closer to your age looking for the experience, some of them you took in, with the strict promise to never tell anyone unless they wanted to never see you again. Those experiences were better, less traumatic. 

After that it seemed like things came together, you had a steady string of people who took you seriously and paid up front. 

The first woman had been a girl of around your age, she’d heard from a friend of a friend, carefully and strategically keeping the source to herself. You’d never really given it much thought but once you did it seemed only natural, women got lonely too, and there was nothing about her that you didn’t understand. So you accepted her, took her rations and gave her as much of yourself as you gave the men. 

It’d taken time to establish yourself, to find the regular people you let into the circle, it was all much easier now. With the exception of Joel, you hadn’t taken on someone new in a while, but he made you glad you did.

-

His hands always shake before it starts. 

It’s a light tremble, a couple of fingers in his left hand and you aren’t entirely sure if it’s an injury, or a sign of nerves. He’s hard of hearing in one ear too, his right. You hadn't picked up on it at first but once you do, it makes sense. He tilts his head to the right a tiny bit, turning his good ear towards your mouth. It doesn’t bother you. 

He was older than the rest, that did bother him, but never enough to stop visiting. He dragged it out sometimes, made himself wait, avoided you, but whether it took him a week or a month, he came back. 

“Hi Joel.” You smiled to see him standing at the threshold, fingers twitching by his side, his hair a mess, a small bundle in his grip.

“Hi.” He doesn’t smile back, he’d waited too long, the frown practically tattooed on. He puts the bundle down on the dresser after kicking off his boots, and doesn’t mention it. 

It’s dark outside, later than you usually let anyone come see you but for him you make exceptions. His hands keep rubbing at his thighs, his eyes darting around, you let him settle for a moment, get his bearings before jumping into anything, it’s a dance and you both have your steps. 

“How do you want me?” You finally break the silence once he sits on the quilt. He looks up at you, but doesn’t answer right away, his eyes fall to your cleavage, then down to your waist where the robe is cinched, then further still to your hips. You move closer, until you stand between his spread thighs. 

“Hm? Wanna fuck me on my back? Or should I get on my hands and knees?” You thread your fingers through his hair, slicking it back as best you can, he shudders at your words and at the feeling of your hands on him, putting up his usual show of shame at being here with you, at being older. “Should I get on my knees right here and suck your cock?” His hands land on your hips, his face pressing against your sternum, robe parting enough for him to press his lips to the valley between your breasts.

“You’re too fuckin’ soft, way too fuckin’ pretty to be lettin’ me touch you.” He always does this, has to make it known that you shouldn’t let him do this, that he shouldn’t want you like this. It never stops him, he opens the robe and pushes it off to fall on the floor regardless of his words and moans into the skin of your breast where he nuzzles like a cat.

“Prettiest thing I ever saw.” His mouth laves at one pert nipple, then the other, leaving them hard and shiny when he trails his kisses down to your belly. 

All day you’ve thought about him here, getting to have him to yourself, opening you up and molding you to fit him like a glove, making you see stars like he always does. And all day you’ve felt that slow simmer of arousal, that steady ache to bloom and gape for him, both soft and obscene. The constant excitement of anticipation. His mouth on your nipples only served to turn it up to an inferno, turning you to liquid for him. 

“But I like when you touch me.” You scratch at his scalp, pressing his face into your skin, “I like it when you fuck me, you make it so good, much better than anyone else.” You flatter him, but you don’t lie to him. You’ve learned to be impartial to your experiences, sex is work. As fun as it can be with some of them, it’s all a means to an end, you need to eat and so you do what you have to do. You are also realistic about him, he is not your boyfriend, he’s not your partner, he barely gives you a second glance on the street but in here, he’s your favourite. He fits you better than anyone and anything, and as much as you hate to admit it, you need him as much as he needs you.

He takes in the words, believes them and relishes them. 

“How do you want me, Joel?” You pull his face up, bending down to kiss him before he can answer and his desperation comes through. His tongue is insistent, his kiss almost violent. 

“I want you here-“ he pats the bed, before getting up to take his clothes off. You help him, both of you working efficiently until he’s as naked as you are. His cock is already hard, the tip of him pearly with his own want despite any and all notions of impropriety. 

His body always betrays him. 

He gets you on your back, but he doesn’t lay on top of you, rather beside you. He doesn’t let you turn to face him, he wants it like this, his body curling around yours to be able to see it spread out for him without himself in the way. 

“Open up for me, s’good, just like that.” He takes the thigh closest to him and drapes it over his hip, positioning himself to enter you from underneath. He lifts his head, showcasing his core strength to watch as he brings his cock to the open mouth of your cunt, sliding in without so much as a warning. You feel exposed, spread open and bare under his eye and it only heightens the experience, cracking something open inside of you. 

His hips push and pull slowly, lazily at first despite how fucking hard he is but doesn’t last. The sight in front of you there, breasts bouncing with every snap, is too much for him. With one hand free, he strums and plucks at your nipples, opening up the dam between your thighs to ruin the quilt underneath. 

His other hand isn’t idle though, it slips down, grabbing onto the plush of your ass, holding you in place hard enough to bruise. 

“That feel good?” He watches you leak all over him, and knows it does but he wants to hear it anyway. 

“Yes- Yes Joel–” You moan, turning to watch his face. 

“This little cunt goin' to come for me? I wanna see her come, I wanna feel her choke my dick.” He surges forward, swallowing the moan from the source before speeding up. His cock strokes, strokes, strokes and you feel the warmth blooming in your core, spreading like a wildfire through your hips, the release so close you can almost taste it, you whine and he shushes you, his voice soft despite how depraved you feel with his cock kissing something sacred inside of you. 

You roll your hips to meet his thrusts and sweat builds in your hairline and at the back of your neck, collects and slips where your skin and his meet.

“I know baby, I know, I can feel her, she wants to come doesn’t she?” His lips press against your cheek, his words warm against your skin. His lips are so soft, so plush as he pants into your face, goosebumps cover your body. You nod against him, mouth open in a silent scream when he adjusts his angle slightly. 

He’s no longer able to form complete sentences, his words are reduced to a repeated chant of yeah baby, yeah baby, right there, right there huh? Barely formed questions for the answer you know he already knows and then his fingers are in your mouth, stretching out your lips, holding your mouth open in a filthy, yet pale imitation of what his cock is doing.

You drool, and you don’t care but it’s what he wants, he takes it from your mouth and slides it over your clit and it’s like he’s pressed the nuclear codes in your body. 

You want to curl into yourself, but you can’t, his grip tightens, painfully, holding you to take and take and take his cock until he bursts inside you like a ripe berry. His groan is almost more obscene than the act, his groin pressed up against you tight, pressing himself deeper than ever to paint your cervix in his come. 

“Fuck–” He presses the word to your cheek, sliding his sweat soaked face down your neck, to your shoulder. He pulls out after a moment, and you feel him leak out of you. He moves to hover over you, pulling one nipple into his mouth to taste before the blood has cooled, and then the other. He isn;t done yet though, he kneels between your spread legs, inspecting the mess he’s made of your pussy, a self satisfied look on his face. 

“Gonna dream about this, while I’m gone.” He lifts your legs, pressing them up and open and slips two fingers deep inside to push his come back in and as you moan at the act, you cannot help but wonder where that worried, too-old Joel is right now. 

“Prettiest little cunt.” He says it to himself, rubbing his mess into the sensitive walls of your sex like a balm. 

He licks his fingers after, tasting the combined flavours of both of you. Your heart almost can’t take it. 

Once he’s dressed, and you have gained enough strength to get up and put your robe on he’s almost back to his shy self. 

“I have the rations here, but I brought somethin’ else.” He gestures to the little bundle he’d left on your dresser, “I found it, thought you might like it.” He opens it, and it’s a can of peaches. 

“Oh!” You’re genuinely taken aback. 

“You ain’t allergic right?” He frowns, and you smile, something soft spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the sex you just had.

“No, I’m not allergic. Thank you Joel, I am really excited for this.” You ignore the soreness between your legs and close the gap between you, pressing a soft kiss to his lips in thanks. 

“Well alright then.” He frowns again, and it’s not shyness you see on his face now, it’s awkwardness, it’s a man who doesn’t know how to be soft, but is trying his hardest. 

“Bye Pretty.” He lingers at the door, devouring you with his eyes and even though he was still dripping out of you, you felt naked and exposed, open and spread out for his gaze. 

“Bye Joel, don’t wait too long to come see me again okay?” You press yourself against him, the soft lines of you tucked tight against the hard angles of him. He gifts you with a rare smile but doesn’t respond, save for a toe curling kiss at your threshold before he’s gone. 

Hours later, when your body is truly sore and spent, you lay in bed with a book, eating the peaches he brought, and wonder idly what he’ll bring next time. 

-

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[bunni0nbanhg]

|Ink| 02

Tattoo artist!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

Genre(s): Strangers to lovers, One night stand, Unexpected relationship

Smut Warnings: Intoxication, unprotected sex, Soft!Dom Chan, Switch!Reader, Degrading, Creampies, Breeding kink

Synopsis: You needed to get a tattoo covered up, one you got for your ex. You’re in a new city and go to the closest tattoo parlor by your apartment. The main tattoo artist and owner just so happens to live across the hall from you. Drunken actions turn into a spiral of emotions and your first healthy relationship.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Part 3- ࿐ྂ

The tattoo was healed relatively quick, as quick as most tattoos.

Chan kept his promise to see you too, a few days after the tattoo you hear a knock at your door.

It’s not too late, around half an hour his shop closes. You know this because it’s written on the card Felix handed you before you left.

“Who knew I could charm someone enough to make them want to see me so soon.”

The older laughed in response, shaking his head as he held up a plastic bag with snacks inside. “What can I say, drunk girls who look like they’re about to throw up are my type.”

It was your turn to laugh, tongue pressed to the inside of your cheek out of mock annoyance.

You stepped aside to let him walk in, watching as he kicked off his shoes next to yours already there.

He was wearing another one of his black tank tops, maybe he knew to wear it, saw when it caught your eyes during the session.

“K, show me the wrist.” He turned around as soon as his shoes were off, effectively pulling you away from your trance or staring mindlessly at his back.

“Oh? Really going to use that excuse for real?” Chan grinned in response, tilting his head to the side while taking a careful step forward.

“What else am I here for?”

He turned back around before you could answer, taking your flushed face as a good enough response and deciding to change topics.

“I brought beer too, where’s your fridge?” He held up the bag again to enunciate his question and you nodded before showing him the way to your kitchen.

It wasn’t like he needed you to show him, your apartments had the same layout, but it was the polite thing to do. You didn't care for beer so much, it was bitter and sometimes tastes too much like wheat, especially if cheap. It did the job though, and gets less bad through out the night longer you drink it.

After he put the beverage into your fridge and took out the snacks from the bag he turned back to you again. He bought some salty and sweet stuff, what caught your eye was a chocolate bar, your favorite brand of chocolate.

"I know what I'm calling dibs on." You grinned, snatching the sweet treat from the counter as he tried to grab it before you. You raised an eyebrow as his arm drops with a dramatic pout. "That's my favorite."

He mockingly whined and went to grab it again, but you hid it behind your back. "And I called dibs!" Your voice wavered as he continued trying to get the candy. Even going as far as to try and reach behind you, stopping you from stepping away by wrapping his other arm around your lower back.

It made you nervously laugh, trying to shift your shoulders and wiggle free from his surprisingly firm grip. When seeing no way out, you made a fake hissing sound.

His arms pulled back in a flash and concern immediately filled his eyes. It made you feel guilty for a moment as his eyes darted to your wrist. "Did I squeeze it?" He asked while obviously gesturing to your healing tattoo.

You grinned in response, making him immediately groan in annoyance at being fooled, but also sighing in relief. "You're sly." He shook his head while pointing an accusatory finger.

He seemed to forget about the chocolate, or gave up and let you eat it in victory.

You two settled on a movie, not hungry enough for anything past snacks so dinner was out the way but you needed something to do to squash the lingering awkwardness when you're not too familiar with a person.

"Favorite movie genre." He started, watching you as you picked up your remote to scroll through the movie options. You hummed in though as if you didn't already know. "Depends on my mood, you?"

He copied your hum, leaning back until the back of his head lit the back of the couch. "Action Sci-fi. I love Marvel." You smiled in response, you enjoyed a superhero movie too.

"Favorite movie theater snack." You threw back at him, eyes darting to actually pay attention to what movie you wanted to watch.

"The classic, a big bucket of popcorn with extra butter."

Questions flew back and forth between you two, steering off topic of movies to things like dog breeds to hobbies. Conversation seemed to flow easier than you'd expect, and any awkwardness seemed to fade quickly.

The movie long forgotten and your first cans of beer already cracked open. "Why'd you move out here, just because?" He asked, taking a long swing after.

You looked down at the small opening in your can to drink out of, sloshing the liquid side to side. "Same reason I got the cover up."

His eyebrows raised a little with a thoughtful hum. "So it was a recent break up? I thought it was a while ago." You shook your head with a tightlipped smile, tracing the rim around the can with your index finger.

"I needed a fresh start, it was one of those relationships that should have ended months before it did. I have a habit of talking myself through tough things think it'd get better, but running as soon as I see something good happening for myself. Unintentional self-sabotage you could say."

Chan knew what that was like, to some extent. He'd convinced himself he wasn't worthy of certain things, ultimately ruining a lot of things in his life from overthinking.

"Those relationships suck. I've had my fair share of bad ones before, especially a few long ones."

You'd be lying if you said his words didn't pique your interest, curious to know more. "What was your longest one?"

His eyes flickered down to the bear can just as yours had done, biting down on the two lip rings pierced into his skin. "3 years.." His tone seems reluctant, but you're more surprised by the time he gave you.

"That's a... serious amount of time." You nodded with a little bit of shock obvious in your voice. "Can I ask why it ended or is that too personal?"

He laughed almost bitterly, quickly looking back up to you while resting his free arm over the top of the couch. "We were at different stages of our lives, and it wasn't something we properly discussed."

It was vague, but told a lot at the same time. Some relationships were just that, confusing but natural. Easy but stressful. It made your chest tighten with annoyance at how much you could relate.

"In short I wanted to settle down together and she still wanted to keep her options open."

You sucked in a sudden breath, shocked again. "That'll end a relationship." You nodded with a curt nod. He chuckled again, less bitter and more in amusement at your obvious words.

"Was your last one your longest?" He asked while taking another sip. You took one too before sighing deeply. "Yeah, a year, that's why I got the tattoo. Thought I'd be in it for the long run."

"Thought it was bad, so why stick around?" It didn't mean to sound judgmental, but Chan felt like it did and quickly added. "Was it just, easier?"

You hummed with a nod. "Part of it, yeah. It was mostly because I felt like I was losing out, running out of time. Wasn't the shittiest of past partners I've had, you could say I settled for less than I deserved and didn't realize until I was too far in."

Silence hung in the air as you took another large swig, looking up to see his expression, maybe try and guess what he was thinking despite not knowing much about him as a person and body language.

His eyes were directed at your black screen T.V, still nibbling on his bottom lip in thought. His eyes are darker than usual, but not out of annoyance. The soften when they lock with yours, seemingly snapping out of whatever trance he put himself in.

"I'm guessing you're going to take a break from dating?" He cocked an eyebrow before immediately breaking eye contact with you again.

"I always say that but end up talking to someone again, I think I'm more in a... drifting with the current phase. Whatever I bump into and wants to stick around I'll see if it's worth it."

"But, if it's too good you'll peel them off you?" He guessed, making you sigh at how accurately he can read you. "It's not like I think I don't deserve something good, but you could say I psyche myself out. Get so attached it's scary, I don't like being needy to something that can easily be taken away."

Your fingers trailed up and down the side of your almost empty can, sipping the last of it back before setting it down on your coffee table and getting up from your couch. "Another?" You asked and he nodded.

You handed him the chilled can when sitting back down, simultaneously cracking it open. Yours foamed over a bit and you quickly had to slurp it up before dripping down your hand and arm.

"Have you moved on since your ex?" You asked to resume your conversation, and you got a sigh in return. "Yeah, mentally. Haven't really gone on a date or anything. The night we met was me trying to try my luck but nobody really stuck out to me."

That night was still foggy in your mind, you hope he hadn't seen you do any embarrassing faces or said anything uncomfortable. "What made you stop to help me?" You knew it was probably going to be some bullshit answer about how he just wanted to help, because that's how considerate he seems to annoyingly be.

He's a lot of things actually, stuff you've been able to gather through the back and forth questioning and this conversation alone. It's annoying how he's effortlessly able to keep the flow going, it feel natural to keep on talking. He seems thoughtful in a way that is entirely selfless, and mature enough to not need any parenting.

That's more than most of your exes can account for.

"You were the only one that caught my eye at that point into the night, well, in the night in general. Had no idea I'd get the honor of meeting you again so soon. Much less becoming your neighbor."

There's an obvious teasing tone to his voice and it makes you roll your eyes. He's able to make you want to throw a pillow at him and kiss him at the same time, a dangerous feeling for someone who's already becoming something more than just a neighbor.

"Wow, so flattered, so should I count this as both of our first dates since our shitty breakups?"

He laughs in response, jokingly raising his can to yours to softly clank them together. "Technically, but if I were to take you on a first date I would have hoped it'd be nicer than this."

"My apartment is very nice." You teased with a fake annoyed expression, Chan easily able to see past it with another laugh. "It is, but that's probably because you stuffed all you mess in your room probably."

Your foot gave his thigh an annoyed nudge, shaking your head before taking a long swig of your beer. "I'm not some kid that shoves their toys underneath their bed."

"Sureee." He drags out, jokingly acting like he wasn't convinced. Your eyes narrowed before grinning to match his. "I'd invite you to go check but I'm afraid you might get other ideas, and I'd hate to bump into my new tattoo."

He let out a dramatic scoff, face flushed at your implications, though if asked he'd blame it on the alcohol. "I have self control, might not seem like it with how eagerly I was to show up tonight but that's only because I had to check said tattoo."

You rolled your eyes again, him back at using your tattoo as the excuse to see you. "Guess I'll just have to invite you back when it's healed so we can stop using it was a get out of jail free card."

His eyes darted to you, surprised at how casually you practically invited him to "check your room out" with him. "Because, Y'know, gotta test to see if I put my bedframe together right."

He choked on the sip of beer he just took, topic seemingly escalating far more quicker than he anticipated. Sure, his goal was to flirt here and there, test the waters to see if you were open to something. After all, he was the one to cover your tattoo that was for an ex.

You grinned at being able to get a reaction out of him, also taking another sip. That is until he propped his head with his free hand and leaned a bit closer after recovering from initial shock at your smug look.

"A little bump or two to it won't harm it's healing process much, just gotta make sure your arm stay's above your head."

It was your turn to freeze, having thought you had the upper hand of teasing for a second. His head tilted to the side with a hint of mockery to the action, almost challenging you to say something back.

And you did, challenge him I mean, just not with words.

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You'd have to apologize to your neighbors next to you, your headboard positioned on a wall connected to their apartment. The good thing however was that now you knew your bed frame was stable.

The buzzed feeling wasn't just in your head, and it wasn't there just because of the few cans of beer you two both downed. It was the adrenaline of doing something you knew probably shouldn't be done, I mean, come on, fucking your tattoo artist after just two days of knowing each other was crazy work.

What was worse than fucking your tattoo artist, someone you could avoid if shit hits the fan, is fucking your neighbor. Who knows how often you'd inevitably run into each other to take the same elevator or throw your trash in the dumpster on trash day at the same time.

The awkwardness of running into someone who've you've seen naked and know they've seen you naked is something hard to avoid no matter how hard you try to without talking about it.

You hope it wouldn't end up like that between you two; not when his tongue felt so good pressed against your own. It made you moan when feeling something cool hit the roof of your mouth when he lazily flicked the pink muscle up.

"How did I not see your tongue piercing until now?" You panted against his lips already beginning to look redder with how aggressively you two pulled on each other's bottom lips. You could feel the smirk growing on his lips as he pressed them back against yours.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure you become well acquainted with it."

And that he did, right after sliding off your soaked underwear down your legs and throwing it somewhere on your floor. Your nightshirt and bra didn't last long after, Chan getting hungry to taste more of your skin.

You shivered as you felt the ball of his tongue piercing drag across your collarbone, it retracting as his lips sucked on your skin right under that part of your skeleton.

He groaned as your legs shifted, brushing against the hard on in his basketball shorts. "So desperate for me already." You practically purred with amusement, earning yourself a glare from the man above you. "Princess has a cocky mouth, doesn't she?"

"Only speaking facts baby. Maybe pretend to be a little less eager if you don't want me to call you out on it."

You knew you were a hypocrite, heat pooling at your core that ached for some sort of relief. Chan knew it to, knew it even before reaching a hand down to lazily drag through your folds, earning a surprised gasp from the sudden but appreciated friction.

He brought his two fingers up to suck on and grin back at you. "I'm the eager one?"

You huffed, going to reach a hand down to flick at his forehead when you were reminded of his free hand pinning them above your head. "Oh, forgot about that, did you Princess? I'm only making sure you don't bump your wrist on accident."

His hand held onto yours by lacing together with your fingers, making sure not to touch the plastic around your healing tattoo. Your tongue clicked in subtle but half-hearted annoyance, distracted as soon as his lips started pressing kisses down your exposed chest.

Your eyes glanced down to watch with bated breath, his hot breathing fanning over your skin as he continued going lower and lower. He paused at your lower stomach, making to presses multiple kisses around there while switching occasionally to both your hips and hip bones.

He trailed back up before giving you exactly what you wanted, saving your heat as an indulgence for afterwards.

"Gonna be a good girl and keep your hands up for a second?" He presses his lips to your ear, enunciating his question by squeezing your hands. An embarrassingly desperate whine fell past your lips, effected by the careful movement of his lips earlier down your torso.

"Such a good girl." You mumbled with a nod of your head, Chan satisfied with your promise as he momentarily let go. Your hands laid limp, making no attempt to move from their spot on the upper part of your mattress.

His hands left your body to quickly strip off his tank top, making drool pool in your mouth like wetness did in your cunt. What really made you moan was seeing the entirety of his tattoo when he twisted to throw his tank top in the same pile of your clothes.

He looked back at you with a grin, biting his lower lip to suppress a laugh. No matter how many people complimented or flirted with him based on his body alone never made it any less flustering when someone who's opinion he truly cared about also complimented it.

Next was his shorts, the bulge already noticeable despite the loose material. What you didn’t expect us to see an Ampallang piercing right as his hard length was freed from his boxers.

“How did your ex not lock you down?” You groaned, hips shifting to adjust as you felt your wetness almost trickle down your inner thigh. Chan this time really laughed, throwing his head back with a hand to his chest.

He bent down soon after getting himself to stop laughing, a pleased smile still stretched across his lips as he leaned closer to your downstairs ones. “You gonna make the same mistake?” He hummed before pressing a light kiss on your upper inner thigh.

The action was more affectionate than anything, a total contrast to how he later becomes aggressive with his tongue pressed to your clit.

The barbell of his piercing provided an extra stimulation you didn’t know you needed until now, especially with his mouth was doing an amazing job by itself.

You had to stifle most of your moans with the back of your hand, still being mindful of your neighbors who could not even be home at the moment for all you know.

“What’d I say about your hands?” Chan asked, lips departing from your puffy clit that pulsed with want and need from the sudden lack of touch. You whined in slight annoyance and desperation but moved your hand to rest next to your other wrist.

“Don’t want to be deprived of those pretty little moans.” He grunted before diving back in to seemingly swallow you up whole.

The sound of your panting, little ah’s and whines every time he pressed practically good against your clit sent heat straight down to his dick that already ached painfully so. He’d hold out though, wanting to taste your release on his tongue before anything else.

The knot in your lower stomach tightened as you felt yourself nearing your end, breath hitching. Chan immediately began speeding up, hands gripping your thighs to stop them as the threatened to close.

“Close princess?” He grinned, pressing sloppy kiss through your folds as you moans in response. “Is that all it takes to make you cum? That desperate for a man you just met?”

Your eyes widened as you felt yourself clench around nothing, his tongue immediately sliding in with a quiet almost nonexistent groan falling from his lips. You tasted better than he could ever imagine.

“Fuck, more of that.” You mumbled with a shaky breath, hands lacing together as your fingers twitched to grab onto something. He chuckled against you, eyes trained on the feast he was devouring.

He knew what you meant, and he’d make sure to give you all of the demeaning words and insults he can when fucking it into you, for now he just needs to coax this first orgasm out of you and onto his tongue.

He made sure to flick his tongue up, pressing the medal if his piercings on the roof of you gummy walls. “Shit!” You gasped, stomach tightening.

Chan groaned again, thumbs rubbing circles into your hips as he pressed himself closer, your legs resting over his shoulders. You would have worried about if he was able to breath or not if it wasn’t for him grunting and groaning with every movement he made with his tongue.

And then it hit you, a flash flood wave as the knot in your stomach snapped and heat spread throughout your cunt. “Chan!” You gasped, hips bucking up before you could control them.

He moaned against your folds with pride, not tearing away until you were shaking and trembling and he was able to drink up all of you.

“Such a good girl, took it so well.” He instantly praised, propping himself up to lean his face into your neck.

He pressed sloppy kisses to your skin before wiping your release from his mouth to kiss you. “Think you can handle being in top?”

You nodded pathetically into the kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

He’d have to make sure to do that again, maybe even wake you up by burying his tongue deep inside you, only if it was something you gave him permission to.

“Hands don’t leave my chest.” He grunted before flipping you two over, easily maneuvering you to straddle his lap.

You shuddered as you felt yourself pressed against his cock, eyes staring back down at the surprise piercing through his tip.

He hummed while watching you gaze hungrily, hands back to rest in your hips before gathering your hands to pull you forward slightly and rest them on his chest.

“Right here.” He enunciated with a tap to your knuckle, making you nod again. “Can’t even talk? Too needy for me to fill you up? Such a desperate girl.” He clicked his tongue as you moaned in response.

Sure you’ve been domed before, possibly the only good reason you stayed with a few exes in your past, but the mix between praise and undeniable affection with degrading words did something to stir need in your chest and pussy.

“You should be prepped enough from my tongue, or are you about to ask me for your fingers too?”

You but your bottom lip in thought, already knowing your answer as you shook your head.

His fingers tapped against your thighs before squeezing the flesh there. “Words slut.”

You shuddered before letting out a moan. “I’m ready.”

He hummed in seemingly approval before lifting you up by the bottom of the ass, making you look back as he moved his tip to align with you.

Gathering some of your wetness by smearing precum into your folds, he finally lowered you to sink down onto him.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to just flip you back over and ram into you, but he was able to stay still to let yourself adjust.

You weren’t doing much better yourself, feeling like you could feel him and his piercing in your guts. It was a feeling of being full nonetheless and it made you even more needy.

“What, can’t handle me” he moved one of his hands to grab onto your chin and make sure your gaze locked with his. “Need to pull out?”

You whined instantly in protest, grinding down harder to prove your point. “Don’t you dare.” You gasped as he let out a chuckle.

“Might get the wrong idea if I don’t see you drooling for me to move.” He teased right before you raised your hips up to slam back down.

His own moan cut off any words he wanted to add, making you grin. “Baby can’t believe that a pussy can feel this good.” You mockingly cooed, Chan grunting in response to your tease.

“I had you falling apart on my tongue.”

“Well let’s hope your dick can achieve the same goal.”

Chan decided he liked it better when you were on your back. You gasped as he flipped you toe over again, able to not have to disconnect himself.

“What’s that? Princess gone quiet?”

You shivered as he slowly dragged himself out maybe only half a centimeter, making a point for you to feel the silver barbell rub against your walls.

You moaned as he pressed back in, pulling out a bit more with every thrust until he was setting a pace. “Not so quiet now.” He groaned, eyes trained as he watched himself disappear into you over and over again.

Your hands still laid over your head, one of his hands laced back together with them again.

It was intoxicating, making your mind foggy with bliss. How long had it been since you got a good fuck? Along with the insanity inducing head he gave you; you weren't sure how this man could possibly still be single.

"Spacing out?" His breath hit's the shell of your ear, earning a whine in response. His chest pressed down into yours with his hands between your bodies to grip harshly at your hips and keep them in place. Your head would be smashed into the headboard if he didn't hold you down against his thrusts.

"Can't believe I already got my princess dumb on my cock. What was it you said? Let's see if your dick can do the same? Tell me, is it?"

Your breath hitched as he arms looped underneath your lower back, making your back arch off the bed and he continued ramming into you. Your hands, now free, carded into his hair.

He groaned at the faint burn of his hair getting pulled, same cocky grin on his lips. It made you want to make them red all over again, bite and swap spit like you had done desperately as soon as he pressed you into your mattress.

"Please, please-! Don't stop, don't slow down!" You moaned, knowing your face was flushed impossibly red and eyes glossed over in a haze of bliss and need. "That's not a yes or no." He hummed, moving one of his hands to hike up your thigh to wrap over his hip.

You yelped in response, overwhelmed with the change of position as he drilled at more of an upwards angle. "Yes! yes- just-" Your chest heaved, a shaky moan leaving your lips at the intense familiar feeling of your abdomen tightening.

Chan moaned back, eyes squeezing shut once he felt you clench around him. He knew what it meant, having felt it when his tongue was buried deep inside.

He felt his own impending release start to build up, sighing out. "Tell me, in or out?"

Your mouth dropped open, not quite registering his words fully when he was fucking into you like a god. "Princess, need to know." He urged, dropping the hand on your thigh to tap your cheek.

Your eyes snapped up to look at him as soon as you felt his finger touch the side of your face, still panting with every moan he was able to coax out of you. "In."

Chan could feel his eyes almost roll back, that was the response he was secretly hoping for. Just the idea of getting to see his seed spill out of you when he pulled out. Maybe he'd be able to push it back in with his fingers and fuck more of it into you, if you'd allow him.

There's a lot of stuff he'd gladly do to you if you gave him the ok, and just the image of your cunt, dripping and creaming from your mix releases made him almost cum on the spot.

That mixed with how tightly you were clenching around him, mind and body both wanting to milk him for every single drop he could give you. You hadn't realized how hot it made you feel to know someone was about to cum in you before Chan, maybe it had more to do with the person than the action.

"Really? Eager to carry my kids?"

Like a switch in your mind, your eyes screw shut and something akin to the loudest moan in existence left you, along with the knot in your stomach undoing for the second time that night.

Chan wasn't far after you, breath hitching as you gushed around his length with no warning.

That wasn't a problem for him, never. He gladly fucked into you needily, knowing he looked like a desperate puppy as his hips snapped against yours quickly.

You could have cum again from just the feeling of his seed shooting into you. Hot ropes of cum stuck to your walls, kissing your cervix along with his tip. You best believe Chan had to capture your lips in a kiss if he didn't want to scream like you did.

The bedframe was able to handle more than you could imagine, maybe Ikea furniture wasn't so bad.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Taglist: @sarastayy @estella-novella @danceonmyheyday @iweirdthingsblog

[sonarspace]

RAIN, REGRETS, & REDEMPTION. KENTO NANAMI

SYNOPSIS: promises made in the rain often get washed away, leaving echoes of what might have been CONTENT: angst. nsfw. PAIRING: ex-husband! nanami x reader. WC: 2.7k

☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸

it's been over five months since you filed for divorce from nanami. they say it gets easier with time, but it feels like it just gets harder every day. you miss him so much, it’s like a part of you is just gone.

you still remember that day so clearly—pushing him out the door and yelling “get out!” before collapsing on the floor, tears streaming down your face as it hit you that your marriage was really over.

it’s hard not to feel bitter when you think about how his career seemed to take over your whole life. the rare moments of intimacy—only on birthdays and your anniversary—felt more like a formality than real connection. it’s like your entire relationship was reduced to those fleeting moments, leaving you feeling more alone than ever.

the days after were a blur. you tried to stay busy, but every corner of the apartment was haunted by him. the layout of the living room, your habit of leaving your shoes by the door, his favorite mug next to yours in the cabinet, his second pair of glasses on your bedside table—everything was a painful echo of his absence.

what hurt the most was that he didn’t even fight for you. he didn’t fight for your relationship. it ended so abruptly, like a chapter closing with no chance for a rewrite.

so you did what you could to move on. you packed up everything and decided to move out of the apartment, sending his belongings back through his lawyer since you no longer knew where he lived. yet, selfishly, you kept his sweater. it was the only piece of him you allowed yourself to hold onto.

you decide to spend one last night in the apartment you both once shared, before the divorce would be finalized tomorrow. after tomorrow, you'd be free from everything that connected you to him. the place was empty, with nothing left but your mattress on the floor in the bedroom and the refrigerator in the kitchen.

you pull on his sweater, feeling its familiar warmth, and then catch your reflection in the mirror. you can’t help but think how pathetic it all seems. trying to shake off the feeling, you pour yourself a glass of wine. just as you’re about to head out onto the balcony, the doorbell rings, cutting through the quiet of the empty apartment.

you frown, wondering who could be ringing the doorbell at this late hour. when you open the door, your wine glass nearly slips out of your hand. there he is, standing in front of you—the man who caused you so much pain. whom you still can’t help but long for. his messy blond hair is tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it anxiously. his clothes are crumpled, his shirt hanging out of his pants when it’s usually neatly tucked. he’s breathing heavily, as if he’s just ran up twenty flights of stairs to you.

the sight of him, unexpectedly at your door, floods you with a storm of unresolved feelings, making your heart ache with bittersweet emotion.

“elevator’s out of order, huh?” he says, his voice heavy as he catches his breath. you stare at him, struggling to find your words.

“what are you…” you're about to ask, but he cuts you off.

“can i come in?”

you stand there, your feet rooted to the ground. you’ve replayed this moment countless times during your lonely nights, imagining if he’d ever come back, if he’d ask for your forgiveness. now that he's here, the reality of it is almost too surreal.

you’re about to shut the door, the sight of him too much to handle. but he stops it with his foot. “please, baby,” he says softly, and it almost makes you melt. you quickly remind yourself to stay strong. “you don’t get to call me that,” you snap, sounding like a petulant kid even though the endearment tugs at you.

his eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of regret and desperation. “i know you don’t want to see me, but—”

before he can finish, you sigh and step aside. he walks through the door, and the emptiness of the place hits him hard. memories start rushing back—the way you'd run up to him and hug him when he came home from work, the new recipes you’d tried out together in the kitchen, those late nights on the couch where you’d read while he worked on his laptop. his eyes fall on the open bedroom door, spotting the mattress. the nights you spent together, a mess of tangled limbs.

his throat feels tight, and before he knows it, his eyes are filled with tears. you see the look on his face and without thinking, you set the glass down on the kitchen counter and pull him into a hug. he clings to you, holding you like you’re the only thing anchoring him. his knees start to wobble, and he pulls you down with him. you both sink to the wooden floor. his body trembles as he takes in shaky breaths, trying to hold back his sobs.

you press a kiss to his hair like you have countless times before when he sought comfort in your arms. “kento,” you whisper softly, the name feeling heavy on your tongue. “please,” he whispers back, his voice broken and desperate. you know what he's asking for, but it's too late. “you’re too late,” you say, struggling to keep your voice from wavering.

he pulls back from your shoulder. you both gaze into each other's eyes. the unspoken words hang heavy between the two of you. “i’m sorry,” he says in a broken whisper. the words you've been longing to hear for the past five months. the apology should be bringing you some sort of relief, right? but all you feel is guilt. overwhelming guilt which threatens to spill from your eyes. why didn’t you fight harder for both of you? why did you just pin the blame on him and give up after only one attempt?

as if sensing your turmoil, he cups your cheeks and leans his head against yours. “don't even think about blaming yourself,” he murmurs, his voice soft and reassuring. his hands are warm on your cheeks. his warmth seeps into you, pumping your heart. it's too much in the best way. god, you've missed him so much.

“kento,” your voice chokes. he kisses the tears streaming down your cheeks, his lips brushing against your skin with a featherlight touch.

“no more tears,” he says, giving you a sad smile. his thumb gently brushes away the last of your tears. he stands up and offers you his hand. you take your glass of wine as he grabs the bottle and leads you out to the balcony. you both stand under the night sky, covered with heavy clouds with the promise of rain.

you sip your wine silently while he takes a swig directly from the bottle. after a moment, you place your glass on the floor and, without a word, he hands you the bottle. your fingers brush against each other as you pass the bottle back and forth. you somehow find yourselves moving closer.

he turns his head to look at you as your head rests on his shoulder. you’re unsure who makes the first move and you couldn’t care less. your lips brush against each other, both of you hesitant, unsure if you should cross the line or not. you don’t know if it’s the emotions of the night or the alcohol in your system, but before you can think too much about it, you close the gap and press your lips against his.

the bottle slips from his hand and shatters on the floor as he brings his hand up to cup your cheek. his thumb moves under your jaw, tilting it higher to deepen the kiss. he groans into your mouth, and just then, the rain starts. fat, heavy drops fall over both of you as you lose yourself completely in the kiss.

the kiss starts slow and gentle but quickly turns needy and desperate as you both give in to each other. he walks you back into the apartment, blindly shutting the balcony door behind him with the rain muffled outside. he pulls away, breathing heavily, and his hand moves to the hem of your drenched sweater (his). “looks better on you than it did on me,” he smiles tenderly as he notices.

he waits for a moment, his eyes searching yours for permission to remove it. you nod and the sweater is off before you can blink. your pants follow next. you start unbuttoning his shirt as he kisses you again. both of you blindly make your way back to the bedroom. your hands find the waistband of his pants, and as the back of your feet meets the mattress on the floor, you yelp, falling backward and pulling him down with you. the sounds of your chuckles fill the empty apartment.

the room fills with tension as you both quiet down. kento’s finger gently tucks back a strand of hair behind your ear. "i missed hearing that," he murmurs sincerely. before you can respond, he captures your lips. his tongue presses against your lips and you part them, letting him in as the kiss deepens and becomes urgent.

his hands roam over your body with confidence, each caress of his fingers making you gasp against his lips. he cups your breasts, making you arch into him. he pulls back from your lips and trails teasing kisses down your neck and jaw.

he takes a moment to slip off your bra, leaving you just in your panties. seeing the blush spread across your cheeks, he grins. "you're so fucking beautiful," he breathes, his voice hoarse with need.

his hands continue their exploration, setting your skin ablaze. he parts your legs and positions himself between them, his fingers grazing over your thighs, savoring every inch. he takes in a shaky breath as he gazes down at you, reminding him of the first time you were together.

“ken, please,” you whimper, voice trembling with need. he chuckles at your desperation. “patience, my sweet love.” he spreads your legs wider, making you gasp as his tongue presses against your drenched panties. “haven’t even done anything yet, and you’re already so wet?” he asks with a cocky grin.

his eyes flutter closed as the taste of you seeps through the fabric, his nose pressed against you, sending shivers through your body. your hands instinctively find his hair, tugging him closer. his breath is hot, teasing, as his tongue traces the outline of your folds, every lick driving you closer to the edge. unintelligible sounds spill from your lips as your breaths grow heavier.

his fingers slip beneath your panties, grazing where you need him most. he teases you, taking his time, relearning your body, savoring every reaction. when he pushes two fingers inside, he growls low, “so warm, so eager.” your hips buck up, seeking more.

he withdraws his fingers and slides your panties off, his eyes never leaving you as he pumps himself slowly. he watches the way your lips part, how your eyes darken with desire. without breaking his gaze, he slides into you, and you both moan in unison. the stretch is overwhelming, your hands instinctively grip his shoulders as your body arches, shuddering under the intensity.

his lips trail kisses across your collarbones, his breath ragged against your neck. “tell me you missed me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need and vulnerability.

“i missed you so much,” you breathe out. he groans softly at your confession. his lips crash into yours, a messy attempt to kiss as his movements grow more desperate, deeper.

for a moment, the past five months of pain, regret, and loneliness seem to melt away. it’s just the two of you, tangled up and breathless, your bodies slick with sweat and desire.

outside, the rain pounds against the windows, a loud backdrop to the soft, urgent sounds of your carnal needs. the heavy rain against the windows blends with the symphony of your mingled breaths and whispered names.

your moans grow louder as he picks up the pace, your walls clenching and holding onto him he moves in out of you. your senses blur together, the pressure inside you builds fast. that tight coil in your stomach winding impossibly close to snapping. your muscles tense as you edge towards your release.

your nails dig into his back, your body trembling as you feel yourself teetering on the edge. his grip on you tightens like he’s afraid to let go, afraid of losing this moment—or you—all over again.

“i’m sorry,” he chokes out, his voice cracking as he presses his forehead against yours. his thrusts slow but grow deeper, each one filled with a desperation that cuts through the haze of pleasure. “i’m so sorry.”

the words hit you like a wave, and your chest tightens. it’s hard to breathe, your heart torn between the intensity of your orgasm and the pain of remembering everything that brought you here.

but for just this moment, you let yourself drown in both. the pleasure and the ache intertwine, your moans mixed with soft sobs as you finally come undone in his arms.

your body trembles beneath him as you try to catch your breath, still reeling from the intensity of it all. he stays there for a moment, buried deep inside you, holding you like he never wants to let go. his fingers trace your cheek, catching a stray tear, and his lips press against your skin—soft, desperate.

“don’t leave me,” he whispers, voice breaking as he buries his face into your shoulder. his chest heaves, and he pulls back to meet your eyes, pleading.

you can barely breathe, the weight of it all crashing over you. he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering, trembling, like he’s holding on for dear life.

“i should’ve fought for us,” he says, voice cracking under the strain. “i messed up, but it’s not too late. i’ll talk to the lawyers tomorrow—i’ll fix everything.”

his words hang heavy in the air as he kisses you again, slow and tender, like he’s sealing a vow. and despite the conflicting emotions inside you, you let yourself lean into it, into him, just for tonight.

when you wake the next morning, the light filtering in through the curtains, you feel his warmth still pressed against you. for a brief moment, you think it’s a dream—one of those bittersweet fantasies you’d had over the last few months.

but then you feel his arms tighten, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist. he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck. “good morning,” his voice gruff.

“i’ll talk to the lawyers today,” he whispers, his voice low and soothing. “i’ll make it right.” you give him a sleepy smile and he chuckles fondly. you hear him moving around quietly—getting dressed, gathering his things. “i’ll be back soon,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “we’ll figure it out.”

the morning is gray, the skies still heavy from last night’s rain. you hear the sound of his car pulling away, hoping when you wake up next, this will all be over. but when you do, it’s not the sound of him coming back that wakes you—it’s the phone ringing.

the roads were slick, the rain turning everything into a slippery danger. they say he didn’t see the other car coming, didn’t have time to react. your heart sinks as you hear the fragments of the message: “accident,” “wet roads,” “collision.”

the phone drops from your trembling hand. the world around you blurs as you fall to the floor.

you rush to the hospital, your mind racing. when you finally get to the icu, you find him there, motionless but breathing. a rush of relief floods through you as you see the steady rise and fall of his chest.

you sit by his side, gripping his hand tightly. the steady beeping of the monitors fills the silence in the room. you don’t know when he’ll wake up, or if he’ll wake up at all. tears slip silently down your cheeks as you whisper, “i’m here, kento. i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.”

☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸

A/N: product of me listening to pink in the night on repeat for the past two days. likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

© SONARSPACE 2024 | DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[f1boistrash]

nowhere else i'd rather be | l.s

a/n: here is more of logan x verstappen!reader. i've also got another part in the works which i'm excited to start

summary: you comfort logan after the news broke that he wouldn't be racing in the australian grand prix

<- previous part

You were in the Red Bull garage when the news was announced. You had heard the rumors after Alex's crash in free practice one but you didn't think they would actually do it or at least you hoped they wouldn't. Williams had given Alex Logan's car for the rest of the weekend and you were angry.

You quietly left before anyone noticed, making your way to Logan's room for the weekend. No one batted an eye, too focused on getting the car ready for free practice two so you were able to sneak in. You found his room easily, the layout similar to Red Bulls garage, and knocked on the door. You heard some movement inside but no one came to open the door.

"Logan? It's me, Y/N." You tried again. You didn't want to just barge in but you also wanted to see him, to make sure he was okay. Well as okay as anyone can be in this situation.

"The doors open." You heard him mumble and you quickly slipped inside.

The sight before you broke your heart. Logan was sat on his couch, his head in his hands. He looked defeated. You sat down next to him, immediately wrapping your arms around him. It was like a dam broke inside as tears started falling. You held him tightly, your way of letting him know you weren't going anywhere. It took everything for you to not go in James' office and give him a piece of your mind for treating Logan like this.

It was a few minutes before Logan sat up, moving out of your arms. He brushed his hand over his face as if he was trying to hide the fact he was crying. "I'm sorry." He mumbled, too embarrassed to look at you.

"You don't need to apologize, Logan. What they did was shit. You have every right to be upset." You told him, placing your hand over his. "I don't ever wanna hear you apologize for your feelings, okay?"

"Thanks, Y/N." Logan thanked you, sending you what was probably the first genuine smile of the day. "You being here means a lot."

"There's no where else I'd rather be." You admitted, heat rising to your cheeks at your admission. Before you could hide, afraid you made the situation weird, Logan cupped your cheek and leaned forward. Neither of you had a chance to make a move before your phone went off, interrupting the moment. You cursed silently at your brother for choosing now to text you. "I should probably get going or Max will send out a search party."

"Yeah, I should probably show my face in the garage." Logan groaned. He didn't want to but knew he had to keep up appearances for the team.

"I'll text you later." You promised him as he walked you to the door. You hugged Logan goodbye and left but not before you bumped into Alex. "Hey Alex."

"Hey Y/N." He called after you. Alex then turned to Logan giving him a knowing smirk.

"We're just friends." Logan said, trying to convince himself more than anything because there was no way he could have a crush on a fellow drivers sister. Alex grinned at his teammate, not believing him one bit.

-x-

Logan was nervous. More nervous than he was before he got into his car on race days. He had no reason to though because you were just friends. That's what he kept telling himself, afraid of embarrassing himself in front of you. You had texted earlier that you were coming over to his hotel room, bringing food with you, and since then Logan was on edge. It felt like a date but you hadn't said anything to suggest it was.

A knock on the door broke him out of his thoughts. He opened the door and there you were, takeout bags in each hand and a grin on your face. It was enough for the nervousness Logan had to melt away. "I heard about this place from Oscar and he reckons its the best food in Melbourne. So if its bad we can just blame him." You said as you walked into his room. "And I know it may be breaking our diet but we can just do an extra lap of the track tomorrow." You rambled on, taking the boxes out of the bag. When Logan didn't say anything you looked up, seeing him softly smiling at you making you self conscious. "I'm overstepping, aren't I? I am so sorry. You probably want to be by yourself now after today. I'll leave you alone now."

"Please don't." Logan pleaded, interrupting your spiraling thoughts. He gently grabbed your hand to stop you from leaving his room. "I enjoy your company. In fact you're making this whole weekend bearable." Logan pulled you close, his nose brushing yours. "So please don't leave." He mumbled against your lips before kissing you. You melted into his kiss, forgetting any worries you had.

[narrycherries]

ivy: an incandescent glow

She just wants to have a fun night out, but Harry has a tendency to ruin things..

[part 2]

masterlist // ivy series

word count: 10.9k

warnings/tags: enemies to lovers, harry x fem oc, angst

Although the week had been quite packed with things at work, Ivy had decided that maybe it would be best if she did go out for the night. It would only be for a few hours, and Niall had assured her when he came over the other night for dinner that it would be a good time. Emma begged a few times, of course, and she didn’t want to admit to giving in to her, but she did.. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to go out, it had simply been a while.

“Is Niall riding with us?” She asked Emma when she popped in Ivy’s room to borrow a pair of earrings that would better match her outfit.

“No, he’s going with Zayn. They usually go early to meet with the owner and stuff.” She explained as she looked in the mirror, slipping the earrings into her piercing holes. “He might ride back.. I’m not going to drink very much, probably just one drink when we first get there. He’ll want to celebrate after and you know how he is.”

“He definitely doesn’t need to be in a driver’s seat.”

Emma sighed. “He doesn’t even need to do that when he’s sober. He pays horrible attention to the road.”

“Your dress is cute. I love the red on you.”

“Thanks! I love your skirt.. even though it covers your ass too much.” She joked with a grin.

Ivy rolled her eyes. “I don’t want my ass hanging out all the time.”

“When it looks that good.. you should.”

“Do I need to change?”

Emma smacked her lips and grabbed Ivy’s hand, knocking the makeup brush out of her grip. “Stop! You look perfect, Ivy, I’m only teasing because your ass is nice and mine is nowhere near as big.” A laugh fell from her lips as she wrapped her arms around Ivy. “You’re hot, girl.”

“Am not.” She huffed back, embracing Emma just as tight. “But thanks.”

“The skirt is hot. The style is cute on you, plus the sparkles on your shirt are going to shine so much in the bar. Like a disco ball.. all eyes on you, sugar.”

Ivy chuckled at Emma’s flattering statements. She was glad to have an encouraging friend like her. Before all the joking, she did have a thought or two about the skirt and the bright orange shirt covered in fake rectangular gemstones. The straps were thin, and the necklace was low but straight across, covering any opportunity for cleavage to show. It was definitely not a shirt someone would wear on a daily basis, but it was perfect for going out.

“Are you wearing heels?” Emma asked, looking down to see her shoeless feet.

“Probably the chunky ones with the straps, the black ones. Are you?”

She nodded back. “I’ll make Niall rub my feet tonight.”

Ivy snickered. “I’ll make you rub mine.”

“I mean, I will. You’re my best friend.. as long as you aren’t sweaty.” Emma’s lashes hit her cheek as she winked.

“Don’t you need to finish getting ready?” Ivy said as she turned back towards the mirror to work on her makeup.

Emma was notorious for being late, and it took everything in Ivy to wrangle her up and out of the door when they were going places together. Niall didn’t give them a specific time to be at the bar, but he did say when the band would start. Emma needed to get ready quick if they wanted to make it on time.

The car ride was full of quick conversations with random topics in between their performances of some of their favorite songs. They had hit a karaoke stage as a duo before, plenty of times, so they were confident in their list of songs. In between the belting and off key singing, they had a few longer talks. Emma asked if Ivy was nervous about going to a bar she’d never been to before, in which she said ‘no, I’m excited’ and then let Emma tell her all about the layout of the place.

“You said something about.. Niall celebrating after?”

Emma nodded as she kept her eyes on the road ahead of them. “They don’t play the entire night. Usually have about two afters until closing. Depends on if there’s any requests.”

“Requests?” Ivy lifted her brows, surprised by the seemingly popularity Niall’s crew had. “They must be really good?”

Although she had seen videos of Niall, she hadn’t seen any of his band. Emma didn’t really use social media a lot, so she never posted anything or shared posts about their shows. Ivy was going to be completely surprised by whatever was to come tonight. She knew it would be good though. If they could continue to book the same venue time and time again, then they must bring in a good audience.

When the silence rose between them, Ivy took the opportunity to look at Emma’s outfit. She was humming softly to the song playing on the radio as she drove, her concentration on the road and not on her friend’s gazing eyes. Emma had such pretty dark hair that Ivy thought was perfectly placed strand by stand on her head. It had a natural wave to it that was easy to style, whereas Ivy had to place heated curls into her long, straight hair whenever she wanted it to look cute. Emma had a slimmer build than she did, her legs were longer despite them being a similar height. No matter how hard she tried not to look, her eyes always naturally fell to catch a glimpse at the gap between Emma’s legs. She never looked at it in a weird way, like she was attracted to her, but in an envious way. When she stared down at her own thighs or burned holes through her mirror, she always frowned and swallowed harshly as her skin pressed together - the inside of her thighs always touching. It wasn’t the biggest deal to her, but it was noticeable in her eyes, so she assumed it was.. noticeable for everyone else. Emma had small boobs, but they fit perfectly on her frame. While Ivy had a small cup size, they didn’t necessarily match her body, she believed. Her hips were wider, her ass fuller - as Emma reminded her often - and her stomach was pudgy. She wasn’t skinny, nor tall and lanky. She was short, plump, and her thighs touched.. She never thought she was unattractive but she figured she wasn’t conventionally attractive, she didn’t possess those things that society craved and demanded of women.

Emma’s outfit tonight was perfectly sculpted to her slim body. The red dress had a satin finish to it as it draped carefully over her cleavage, the swell of her breasts peeking out just enough to keep someone guessing. Her tanned skin was littered with delicate gold jewelry - her signature flower ring on her right hand was accompanied by a few random ones, and a ruby necklace hung over her collarbones, Niall gifted that to her for Christmas.

Ivy was confident in her outfit for the night, she was comfortable in the articles of clothing. She was very used to wearing heels when going out, she believed they made the outfits even better, so her feet weren’t going to be hurting that bad later on. She thought her makeup was done nicely, a dark grey smokey eye with a shimmery white covering her lid and a pink nude gloss over her thick lips. Her lips, that was the one thing she was confident in each and every time she looked at her reflection. They were plump, full, and much thicker than the average person’s. She had been told several times that her lips would do wonders - although, she hadn’t gotten to that with anyone yet. She had kissed a few people, though, and they told her it was heavenly. She took the praise to heart and was proud of it. Her thighs might touch and her hair might dry straight, but she had pretty lips.. that would surely be enough to attract someone one of these days, right?

After a couple of minutes of silence, more than Ivy had realized, Emma spoke up. “Are you feeling okay?”

Ivy stuck her tongue out to wet her lips, smearing her lip gloss in the process. “Yeah. Why?”

Emma shrugged. “You’re quiet.. you seem like you’re thinking about something.”

“I’m fine, promise.”

They became quiet again. She knew that sometimes she became mute when she was anxious or thinking thoroughly about something, and she hated when people noticed or pointed it out. She wasn’t intentionally trying to be that way, it just happened. She assumed it was normal, but perhaps she did it too much?

“Ivy, if you’re worrying about your outfit, please don’t. You look hot. You always do.” Emma suddenly said, a smile laced in her words. “There’s gonna be guys dropping to your feet tonight, like they always do.”

“They don’t drop to my feet.” She huffed, pursing her lips at the thought. “They just want to hook up with me.”

Emma smirked. “It’s your ass, I’m telling you. They love it.”

“Emma, please.” Ivy was fighting back a chuckle.

“I promise, swear on every little thing, Ivy, your outfit is perfect and you look perfect.”

A weighted sigh escaped through her lips as she relaxed in the seat, her eyes shifting to look out of the window. “Thanks, Em.”

While Ivy had never been to the establishment they arrived at, she was no stranger to a bar or club setting. Emma no longer seemed to be worried or concerned about any lingering doubts Ivy might have about her outfit or how the night would go. They strolled to the door, hand in hand with giggles pouring from their mouths as Emma joked about how excited she was for what Niall was going to give her after the show. Apparently, performing gave him a boost of confidence, energy, and testosterone. Emma was not shy about telling every detail and making sure Ivy knew all the craziest parts.

“There’s a good bit of people here.” Ivy said as she raised her brows, looking at the good sized line forming to the door.

“Yeah, it’s always packed out. This is one of the best places around. Decent prices, good djs and bands, obviously.” Emma grinned at her own comment. “And the food is actually great. I never came before I got with Niall though.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda surprised we never popped in here during school.”

Emma’s smile turned to a smirk. “They couldn’t handle our karaoke performances.”

Once they paid the cover charge and made a quick trip to the restroom before getting settled anywhere, they headed to the bar, still hand in hand as they weaved through the crowd of people already dancing. Ivy took notice of the interior as they waited for the bartender to come over to them.

The place was pretty big for what it was. The main room had a large dance floor space, a stage lined the back wall. Apparently, the place always had live performers or guest djs. It used to be a small theater that was renovated - the seating ripped out to transform the venue, but the stage remained untouched. Along the left side of the huge open room were tables with booth style benches shaped in half circles. Most of them were already occupied, but she could tell it was more of a casual thing - instead of a ‘being seated and waited on’ space. There was a doorway close to the opposite end of the bar covered with a long, sparkling beaded curtain. The sign next to the door read ‘VIP’. She pursed her lips at the idea of this place being so popular that they had a special seating area. Her eyes darted to the bartender as she heard Emma start saying her order. Ivy ordered a drink consisting of rum and pineapple juice, intending to get something stronger later once the show started.

“Hey there, strangers.” A familiar voice called out over the music.

“Oh, hi, Niall!” Emma was cheerful as he sat down on the stool closest to them. They had been standing, though, not wanting to claim a seat at the bar. “What are you doing out here?”

He shrugged. “We’ve got a few minutes to kill. Getting started?” He nodded his head towards the drink in Emma’s hand.

“Yeah, just having one.. since you’ll be drinking whatever’s left at the bar later.”

Ivy laughed at their banter, which caught Niall’s attention. “I expect you, missy, to have fun tonight. I want everyone to experience how wild you can get.”

“I told her she needs to have fun!” Emma exclaimed, reaching over to grab Ivy’s elbow and give it a squeeze.

“I’ll have a few.. but I’m not going to go crazy.”

They both gave her a dramatic eye roll, Niall adding a huff to his reaction. “C’mon, Ivy, live a little!”

“Yeah, a little, not a lot.” She smiled back, amused by their mix of excitement and disappointment.

“I’ll make sure you have a few rounds of tequila later. On me, of course.” Niall said, looking from her to Emma. “If you don’t drink yours.. then I’ll take it, babe.”

“Are you guys doing requests tonight?” Emma changed the topic after shaking her head at him.

He slowly lifted his head in a nod. “From what I was told. As long as we know it.. we’ll play it.”

“Do my song, okay?” Emma begged with a pout of her lips.

He shaped a grin on his. “It’s on the set list, baby.”

“What kind of music do you play?” Ivy asked, genuinely curious about it. Emma hadn’t really given her much of an idea about what to expect, just a guarantee that she’d love it and have fun.

“Mostly rock.. We do a lot of nineties.. early two thousands songs. Bunch of classic rock, though. Little bit of grunge, dad rock.. if that’s what you wanna call it. Sometimes we branch out.. but mostly stick to that stuff.” Niall said as he stood from the stool, a sigh following his final words as he ran a hand through his puffed up dark hair.

“Time to get ready?” Emma pouted, her free hand slipping onto his waist.

“Yeah, gotta round up the lads.” He breathed out, his eyes focusing on Emma now. “I’ll be watching you, babe. Make sure ya dance for me, yeah?” He teased with a lick of his lips, which clearly fell downward to meet hers.

Ivy swallowed a sip of her drink and let her eyes move to the floor. She wasn’t grossed out by their display of affection, she just felt like she was intruding. Emma was always so open with her about the things she did with Niall and others before he came along, but she never had those kinds of stories to tell back to her. She had been with one person, the summer before university began, and it was terrible. Aside from that, kissing people was the extent of her experience. She enjoyed most of the times she had almost gone far with people, but it never got to that point.

Emma hugged Niall quickly as he said something about needing to go. When he disappeared in the crowd, Emma turned to face Ivy again.

“Niall might stay over tonight.” She said, taking a sip of her drink. “Just to let you know.”

“Alright, that’s fine.”

Emma slid her gaze around the room, taking in the familiar setting, before looking back to Ivy. “I hope you like the music. There’s a bunch of songs you definitely know on the set.”

“M’sure I will.”

“Are you good?” Emma smiled sweetly, not trying to pry or seem too nosy, but she noticed how Ivy had shied away from her and Niall just before he left.

“I’m fine. You worry too much.”

Ivy sighed lightly as Emma took her hand. “Maybe we can find you a hot guy tonight. I know you know how to use those lips.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Ivy laughed, covering her mouth as her cheeks blushed.

“Kissing, I mean! But I’m sure you can do the other stuff, too.” Emma just smirked, knowing that her attempt at making Ivy feel better was working.

They didn’t have to wait too much longer for everything to start. But as they stood next to the bar, partially resting on the stools, the place filled up to more than capacity. It was like a big name musician was in town. Emma told Ivy about the popularity of the bar again and how it was always sold out and packed floor to ceiling with people. She was very impressed by the crowd that had formed around them, and she wondered how much of that was just from the place’s atmosphere and how much was for the live show.

Just as the guy who was normally over the music appeared on the stage to announce that the show was about to begin, Emma grabbed Ivy’s hand and they shoved their way to the front of the crowd, not quite in the center but close enough. Emma wanted to be in front of where Niall would be standing. The lights dimmed, replaced with flashing colorful lights and white strobing flashes. Emma was cheering with the crowd while Ivy waited in anticipation. She was excited to see Niall perform live, but she was more interested in seeing the rest of the band.

A small group flooded the stage suddenly, instruments in a few of their hands, including Niall’s. The lights were purposely not flashing on to the stage yet, so it was too dark for her to tell. She thought she recognized the person getting behind the drum set, but she wasn't sure. Emma let out a piercing squeal as the show finally began.

Ivy happily smiled and started to sway her hips from side to side as a familiar opening instrumental of a song started to fill the room. The lights on the floor of the stage popped on, lighting up the band as the singer started the first verse of “Come As You Are”. She was nodding her head to the music as she watched Niall pluck the strings on the guitar, he was pursing his lips and seeming to be enjoying what he was doing. His eyes shot up and he gave them a quick grin before focusing back on the guitar in his hands and the microphone placed near his mouth. Emma had told her that he sings backup vocals sometimes, depending on the song. She let her eyes roam over the rest of the band. She kept getting a bright red light shot into her eye from one of the stage lights above them, so it was difficult to see at first.

“Oh, Zayn!” She yelled out over the music, hitting Emma on her arm. She hadn’t told her that he was in the band - in fact, she didn’t know much about the band at all.

There were two other people she didn’t recognize, one was a girl playing a keyboard and a guy with dark blond hair playing a bass guitar. Another gasp came from her as she finally got to clearly see the person tightly gripping the microphone. She truly didn’t expect to recognize more than just Niall and Zayn. There stood before her, in the middle of the stage with two big hands wrapped around the microphone and the top of the stand was a third familiar face. Sweat was already rolling down from his hairline, his long curly hair was messy on his head as he jerked around while singing. A white t-shirt hugged his body, sticking to him like glue, and a pair of dark jeans over his legs. The jet black ink of the snake tattoo stood out against his skin as the lights flashed over it, the creature wrapping perfectly around his arm. It was Harry.

The next song started almost immediately and it was another one that she recognized right off the top of the first note played. Ivy’s dad had a thing for rock music, and she knew the start of “Highway to Hell” like the back of her hand. She was impressed by the vocal range Harry was able to belt out into the microphone. Niall and the other guy she didn’t know the name of were singing the chorus with him. Emma was dancing like it was the actual band performing the song, but her behavior made Ivy more comfortable and soon she was doing the same.

Every now and then, Niall would flash them a toothy grin and give them a nod of his head, approving of their performance and dancing. Ivy was on her second drink, this one they grabbed soon after Niall left them and it was stronger than the first. She was feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks, and not from the dancing or close quarters of the crowd. It had been a while since she went out, so she was starting to feel that sensation flood through her - she wanted to have fun tonight.

For almost an hour, Ivy and Emma danced with each other, screaming out the lyrics they knew to different songs. They would do an impersonation of Niall every now and when he'd look towards them, air guitars and rock star head bangs acted out - all of which made him throw his head back and laugh. Like they usually did when they went out together, they’d grab onto each other and hug while singing or playfully run their hands down each other’s sides. It was all in fun, of course, and the alcohol contributed.

They both let go of their embrace as the music dialed down, twisting so they could face the stage. Niall was guzzling a bottle of water as Harry shoved his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. The bass player grabbed a stool from the back of the stage and brought it to Harry. Emma was familiar with this portion of the show, so she grabbed Ivy’s forearm to get her attention.

“I’m gonna get some water, do you want another drink?” Emma asked as she took a deep breath, exhausted from trying to outdo the performance on the stage.

“Yeah, get me another one of these.” Ivy nodded as she passed her empty cup, knowing she’d toss in the bin for her. Emma disappeared into the crowd to fight her way to the bar just as Harry adjusted the microphone stand and sat on the stool.

He was holding a bottle of water as he leaned into the microphone. “We’re gone slow it down for a bit.” His deep voice rattled through the speakers, a quick smirk shaping to his lips before he put the bottle to them.

Ivy couldn’t help but watch him as he swallowed half the contents of the bottle. It sloshed out, spilling over the corners of his mouth and running down his chin. Water droplets soaked and trailed down the fabric of his shirt. She was still so shocked by the fact he was the singer in Niall’s band. Maybe Emma just didn’t tell her because she knew they didn’t know each other. They met once, but they were strangers. He tossed the half empty water bottle on the ground, some of it spilled out since the top wasn’t screwed all the way on. His eyes roamed over the crowd as he grabbed the microphone. He glanced over his shoulder towards Niall, who gave him a nod and started up the next song.

Ivy had thoughts spinning in her head, the buzz from her drinks wasn’t helping her concentrate on just one thing. She wondered what songs they would do next. What kind of slower songs did they prefer to do? She figured it would be some of the same artists and bands they had covered thus far. Her eyes were glued to the floor, thoughts circling her mind at a hundred miles an hour. Had that second drink really been that strong or was she dizzy from being so close to the speakers?

She lifted her head the moment she realized what song was being played. She shot her gaze to Niall, then over to the bass guitarist. She knew those chords better than any other song that existed. All those running thoughts vanished in her head as Harry’s voice dropped low with the first verse of the song. The way he sang the words just as slow as they originally were done made her heart skip a beat. This song was special to her. This was something she wasn’t even sure Emma knew. She talked about losing her mom quite often with Emma, but her brother was a different story. And as his favorite song was being sung, she couldn’t help but feel a sadness creep over her joyful mood. All the energy she had jolting through her veins like lightning had slowed to a dull pulse. She gulped as she glanced next to her, Emma hadn’t returned yet. Niall was too busy focusing on the chords he was playing to give her any looks. She felt like she was about to pass out, not from the heat built up from the crowd or the alcohol in her system - but from the overwhelming feelings washing through her. Ivy’s strained blue eyes flicked to Harry, and for just a split second he locked his gaze on her. It was gone before she could understand what was happening. She was sure he didn’t notice her, and if he did then he didn’t recognize her or care to remember the glimpse of her face he got at the tattoo shop.

She thought maybe watching Niall would distract her, but witnessing him playing the music she so easily knew was making it worse. She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there with her eyes glued to the floor. The song wasn’t over yet, that’s all she was sure of.

“Oh, this is new! They’ve never done this one before!” Emma suddenly appeared next to her, a smile over her lips as she passed Ivy the drink.

She turned her head, glad to see that her friend had returned but sort of upset that she left in the first place. Emma couldn’t have known what song was going to be next, clearly she was unaware of it, and she didn’t know the intense attachment Ivy had to it. She couldn’t blame Emma for anything.

“Thanks. I’m running.. to the restroom!” She yelled over the speaker that was extremely close to them.

Emma gave her a thumbs up and a quick ‘be careful’. Before Emma could drop her arm, Ivy was pushing her way through the crowd towards the restroom, well she actually wasn’t sure where she was heading. She had to get away from that stage. She had to disappear for a few minutes to collect herself. It wasn’t the performance that bothered her - Niall was amazing, as were the others playing instruments, and Harry was doing the song justice. It was just her mind. Sweaty bodies bumped into her as she elbowed through everyone. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of people. It was so loud in the place that her ears were ringing. She couldn’t even hear the music anymore, she was unaware the song had finished and a new one was being played. She broke through the crowd, sucking in a quick breath as she realized she was free of the constraints of people around her.

The restroom was close by, and she stopped just outside the door to chug the alcohol from the cup Emma had just brought her. It was gone within a few seconds. She didn’t care about the sticky drops landing on her chest or the few rolling down her lips, smudging her lip gloss and tracing light lines in her makeup. The bathroom was cold, arctic cold at that. It was a feeling of utter relief to be free of the music, the crowd, the lights.

She stumbled to the sinks, almost forgetting the height of her shoes. Her hands gripped the cold porcelain of the sink in the farthest corner of the bathroom. The fuzzy feeling in her head hadn’t faded yet. She stared at the sink bowl, the silver lined drain gazing back up at her. Ivy spent far longer in the restroom than she meant to.

After ten minutes of her being gone, Emma decided she was going to check on Ivy. She was in still in the restroom, and after Emma asked her several times if she was alright or feeling upset, they chose to return to the front of the crowd. Ivy convinced her friend that she was just having an upset stomach from the drinks, despite them stopping by the bar so she could get another before they got back to the stage. Emma didn’t think anything of it and just assumed that since it had been a while since Ivy had alcohol, maybe she really was just having a stomach ache.

The band continued on for a while longer, taking a few breaks here and there to drink water and take requests. Ivy considered submitting a song to Niall, but she was hesitant to. Besides, several other songs had been yelled out from the crowd, along with some people pushing their way to the front to the stage to call out a song title. She assumed this wouldn’t be the last time Emma drug her out to one of Niall’s shows, so she’d just request something next time. Instead of waiting around for the final song, she returned to the bar on her own and ordered a shot. The memories of her brother were faded by now, but she was determined to flood them out with alcohol. Tonight was supposed to be fun anyway, not filled with sadness.

Emma cheered loud for the band as they finished their last song and said a quick thank you to everyone. Ivy was perched on a bar stool, her eyes filling with stars as she stared at the bar, trying to stay awake. The usual dj returned to the stage to get the music going for the patrons of the bar. It was obvious that some people only showed for the live music because a good bit exited out the door once the set was over, but it was still a pretty big crowd in the building.

“Hey! There you are!” Emma shouted as she walked to the bar, her hand reaching out to take Ivy’s. “Feeling okay?”

“Yeah. Just got some water.” She presented a drunken smile as she held up the small cup of ice water.

“Good! You need to take a break.” Emma grinned back, glad to see that Ivy was enjoying herself, but wary of how much she had consumed. “C’mon, Niall and the others are gonna be in the back room for the rest of the night.”

“Okay.” Ivy didn’t really have a choice on what to do as Emma yanked her off the bar stool and towards the beaded curtain she noticed earlier. It was sparkling from the lights reflecting on the crystals. “Where are we going?”

Emma gave her a laugh, amused by her obvious buzzed behavior, and just pulled her through the curtain. Ivy smacked a few strands of beads away from her face as they tried to tangle up in her hair. The same music that was playing in the main room was also playing in this one. She was intrigued by the new setting, curious to know what kind of important people would be filling it. Was it just for the bar’s usual customers or did you have to have some kind of pass? She wasn’t sure, the disco ball hanging from the ceiling distracted her and made the thoughts dissipate. Her eyes shifted around the room as she took in the new sights. Heavy velvet curtains dripped from the ceilings, covering the walls but not actually any windows they were simply decorations. There were three big, fancy leather sectionals placed in the room - two in each corner and one in the middle of the wall. Curtains hung to separate them, but they appeared to be pulled back tonight. Glowing purple lights centered on short tables in the middle of each couch lit up the leather, making everything seem magical and ethereal. She couldn’t miss the stripper’s pole that was in the middle of the small dance floor, elevated a few feet off the ground on an even smaller stage.

“Hi, Emma!” A girl appeared in front of them, and Ivy recognized her as the girl who was playing the keyboard on stage. The girl’s natural red hair was glowing under the mix of lights flashing in the room. “Who’s this beauty?”

Emma grinned, letting go of Ivy’s hand so she could gesture to her. “This is my friend, Ivy. We live together.”

“Oh, nice to meet you!”

Ivy mustered up a polite smile and a small wave. “Hi.”

“This is Michelle.” Emma said, glancing at Ivy to make sure she was okay.

“You were awesome on stage.” She said to the girl who’s eyes she found to be pretty, the piercing icy blue lighting up even in the dark room.

“Thank you!” She nodded towards the table in the back corner. “I think we’ve claimed that one for the night if you girls wanna sit.”

“Sure!” Emma followed behind her, which led Ivy to do the same.

Michelle and Emma plopped down on the leather couch, immediately starting up a conversation as Ivy sat next to them, but not as close as they were together. She let her eyes move around the room again, searching for a familiar face. There were a handful of people already in the room, most of which were talking to a girl to place their drink orders. She moved her head a little, trying to see past someone. In that same moment, a security guard pulled back the beaded strings and let a group of people in. By the way they were dressed and how some of them had a smug look on their faces, she assumed these were the higher paying patrons of the establishment. Emerging from behind that crowd, Ivy saw Niall brush past the beads. His eyes roamed around until he spotted them in the back.

“Oh, there’s the guys.” Michelle nudged Emma to get her attention as she pointed towards them.

“Finally!” Emma jumped up as Niall got closer to them, she was ready to pounce on him. Their eyes met and he put on a big smirk for her, just as excited as she was to finally get his hands on her.

“Have you met everyone else?” Michelle asked as she slid over next to Ivy, their thighs touching as she offered a kind smile.

“I’ve met Zayn.” She said with a soft sigh. “Kinda met Harry, but not really.”

“Oh, well, that’s Cory!” Michelle pointed to the guy that walked past Niall and Emma as they hugged and twirled each other around. “He plays bass.”

Ivy gave her a nod, silently letting her know she was paying attention. The guy approached the couch before Niall did, since Emma was holding things up with her pecks to his cheeks and lips. He gave Michelle a smile and shot his eyes to Ivy His brows furrowed and he held his hand out in a loosely pointing gesture towards her.

“Don’t think we’ve met.” He said, his confused look morphing to a smile as he sat in the spot across from her. “Niall told me Emma had a friend coming. Ivy, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” She turned her lips up, giving him a gentle nod of her head.

“Not drinking tonight?” Michelle asked him with a cock of her brow as she noticed his empty hands.

He laughed back. “Harry’s bringing us a round.”

“Oh, of course he is.”

“Hey, Ivy!” Niall greeted her with a loud voice, happy to see that she was finally apart of their small crew. “How was the show?”

Emma took a seat on the opposite side of the coach, letting Niall claim the place closest to Cory. “I think she loved it!”

“It was so good. You guys are amazing.”

“Saw me shredding the fuck out of that guitar, yeah?” He joked, getting a laugh out as everyone rolled their eyes and smiled at him.

“You killed it, for sure.” ivy took a sip of her water, wishing she had more than that was left in the cup.

“What are you drinking?” Michelle asked curiously.

She pushed out a breath. “Just water right now. I.. had a few already.”

“Your outfit is stunning. I love the top.”

Emma beamed as she heard the compliment. “I told you, Ivy, you look so hot tonight!”

“I’ll say.” Michelle teased just as her phone buzzed in her hand, her eyes falling down to check the message.

Ivy felt a bit of uneasiness building in her stomach as she realized she was feeling out of place all of a sudden. Cory was also focused on his phone while Emma had thrown her leg over Niall’s lap and her arm around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. While she wasn’t with complete strangers, she didn’t really know Michelle and Cory. The only other person she knew hadn’t come over here yet, Zayn wasn’t anywhere near that she could see. Emma was distracted with Niall, leaving Ivy to fend for herself. She swallowed a lump that was forming in her throat and ran her hand over the ends of her skirt, adjusting it on the tops of her thighs. She reverted back to those insecure thoughts she had while on the drive here. Michelle was skinnier than Emma was, leaving her to feel even more vulnerable and uncomfortable. She tried to ignore it by picking up her head, wanting her eyes to catch something interesting to stare at for a bit - but instead she saw someone she recognized coming their way, two people actually.

“The party’s here!” Michelle announced as she, too, looked up and saw what was heading their way.

Everyone looked up to see Zayn walking to them, a girl on his arm, and Harry leading one of the bartenders from the front room to the table. The woman had a tray of beers balanced on her palm. Zayn sat down next to Niall, the woman holding onto his elbow sitting beside him. Ivy figured that was Alyssa - Emma had mentioned her several times while telling stories. The bartender sat the tray down and replied as Niall and Cory both thanked her for bringing them out. She disappeared, leaving them to all to reach for a cup.

“Take one, take one. Drink this damn shit.” Harry yelled with a joyful tone as he grabbed a cup before taking the space next to Michelle.

“Shit, I forgot to tell Harry about Ivy.” Niall said with a groan, glancing at Emma as he got them each a cup.

“What?” Harry smacked his lips as he heard his name, not sure what Niall was referring to.

“My friend, Ivy. She was with me at the shop when I got my tattoo.” Emma said, motioning her hand to where Ivy was sitting.

Harry leaned up to look past Michelle towards the person he had only briefly laid his eyes on before. He shrugged his shoulders, seemingly not concerned with her presence.

“I got the usual number, so she’s shit out of luck.” He casually said the harsh words.

Emma stood up to pass the drink to Ivy. “She can have mine! Here, Ivy, I’m not drinking anything else.”

She gladly took it and brought the cup to her lips, taking just a sip. That caught Zayn’s attention. He jolted up, pointing towards her with a grin on his face.

“Hey! I need to see you chug that since you’re so good at it.”

Emma clapped her hands together, remembering that she’s mentioned Ivy’s secret talent to him before. “C’mon, Ivy! Show ‘em how it’s done.”

“No, no. Not tonight.” Ivy let out a nervous laugh and slowly sipped the beer. It wasn’t her favorite drink, but she wasn’t going to be rude and turn down the offer.

Niall let a smirk grow on his lips. “I need to witness this, too. C’mon, we’ll get ya another one.”

She shook her head again. “I can’t, I might throw up. I’ve had a few.”

“What is it, can she chug quick?” Cory asked, leaning his elbow on his knee as he was now curious with the excitement coming from them.

“Fast as fuck, Cory. I swear, she’s insane.” Emma said with a proud smile.

“She’s exaggerating.” Ivy shook her head, trying to hide her flushing cheeks by turning her head.

Niall stood up, his cup still full, and stepped around the table to where Ivy was sitting. He grabbed her hand and yanked her up to her feet, laughing as she stumbled but quickly caught herself. Emma was cheering her on, knowing that Niall was about to challenge her.

“C’mon! Let’s see who can finish first.” Niall said, hitting his cup against hers, the liquid sloshing around in the clear plastic.

She let out a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes at them, aware that she wouldn’t hear the end of it if she chose not to do it. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and nodded.

“Fine.”

Niall boasted with excitement, screaming like his favorite team just won a game. Emma watched with a wide grin, her hands clasped together - she hadn’t seen Ivy have this much fun in a while, so she was ecstatic over it. Cory counted them down from three. Ivy relaxed her throat and let the liquid flow into her mouth. She closed her eyes, trying to dissociate herself so that she didn’t think about drinking quickly. The trick was to forget what you were actually doing and just.. do it. She was fairly good at the trick, seeming to perfect it. Niall still had about a third of his beer left when she dropped the cup on the table, not a single drop let.

Michelle jumped up and raised her hands high, screeching loud as she felt like she witnessed a miracle. Emma was laughing hard at the drop of Cory’s jaw and the impressed smirk on Zayn’s face.

“Fuck.” Niall choked out as he finished, his hand covering his stomach as he felt the beer rushing down his body.

“It’s all in the throat.” Ivy joked as she gave him a playful shove.

Niall chuckled, patting her on the back as if she achieved something so great. “M’glad you’re better with your throat than I am with mine.”

“Wait, wait. Now I’m feeling competitive.” Cory said with a laugh, glancing at his own drink that was still full.

“I can do one more, but that’s it.” Ivy said, her stomach bubbling from the contents filling it.

“Here. I barely drank any.” Michelle offered up her beer, more focused on the entertainment than drinking it herself.

“C’mon, let’s do it.” Cory jumped up, ready to put his previous years of being in a fraternity to the test.

Niall led the count this time, and as soon as the word ‘go’ left his mouth, Ivy had her lips on the rim of the cup, tipping it back into her mouth. Everyone watched again with amazement as laughter and cheers filled the space they shared. Well, all but one let out a joyful noise. Harry was sitting against the back of the couch with his arm over his chest, watching but seeming to not be amused by it. He thought Cory was being a flirt and Niall was just weak because he couldn’t get it down quicker than this girl.

“Damn, you’re good.” Cory couldn’t even finish his drink, he just gave up.

Ivy sat back down next to Michelle, who was definitely her newest cheerleader. Michelle had heard some positive things about Ivy, so she was glad she was enjoying her company.

“I told you she was good.” Emma said with a smirk as if she had placed bets and won.

“Got a throat on you, for sure.” Cory sighed out as he fell against the couch, his gut churning.

Harry scoffed to himself. “Throat like a whore.”

Niall heard the comment, but he wasn’t sure who else did. He shot Harry a stern glare, but he obviously didn’t care. Michelle slid her arm around Ivy’s back and tightly gripped her shoulder, pulling them closer together.

“This girl is a champ.” She declared. “Welcome to the group, Ivy. You’re officially one of the girls.”

Cory lifted his hand in a pretend toast. “It was an honor to get my ass kicked.”

“That’s a talent right there.” Zayn added, having not said that much tonight but he was definitely paying attention.

“That’s kind of gross.” Harry added to the conversation, a cocky smirk on his lips as he looked away from Ivy.

She furrowed her brows lightly, catching what he said this time. “You’re probably just scared I’d beat you, too.”

It was most definitely the alcohol that was causing her to speak so freely to the person she knew the least about in the group of people surrounding her. Sure, she was confident in herself when she wasn’t sober and she wouldn’t let a rude comment slide by unnoticed, but she was ready to spit out another line if he tested her patience.

Harry snarled his lip up, not liking that she was speaking to him in that manner. “Please, you wish.”

Michelle was never one to shy away from talking back to Harry, so when she added a few words, Ivy was pleased to know she wasn’t fighting this battle alone. “You’re such a douche. You’d probably cry if she out drank you.”

Harry shot her a glance, but he wasn’t concerned with his friend’s comment. He wasn’t too content with the idea of some random girl he didn’t know coming into his circle of friends and grabbing all the attention. Maybe he was jealous, or maybe he really was just a douche.

“I wouldn’t be braggin’ about a loose throat.” He sat up, his elbows hitting his knees as he eyed Ivy with a cold stare. “Probably take down dicks faster than beer.”

Ivy didn’t feel comfortable with him staring at her like he wanted to throw his fists into her body. She pursed her lips in an effort to let it go, not wanting to start any unwanted drama among her newfound friends - well, some of them were friends. Emma nudged Niall and mumbled to him about controlling his friend, but Niall knew there wasn’t much he could do.

“Give it a rest, Harry.” He sighed out, knowing that if he didn’t at least try then Emma would be upset with him.

Harry let out an unamused laugh. “Truth hurts, Horan.”

“Y’don’t have to be a dick about it, Harry. Give the girl some respect.” Zayn added, taking a sip of his drink after. He was staring at the table, not even wanting to give Harry the extra attention of a spared glance.

“All m’saying is it’s not that impressive.” Harry shrugged, standing up so he could make an exit from the group and go occupy himself with something else. But before he walked away, he stopped in front of Michelle and let his eyes fall down to the girl he knew nothing about. “Does your mother know you drink like a grown man?”

“Har-“ Emma tried to quickly intervene, but it was too late. Ivy was already responding to him.

“My mom’s dead. So, no, probably not.” Her cold tone and narrowed eyes made

Harry gently furrowed his brows. He heard exactly what she said, but he didn’t seem to care. Niall got up to grab his elbow, knowing that he should do something before any more hurtful comments were made.

“C’mon.” He pulled Harry away from the seating area, mumbling something about him needing to relax.

“Sorry about him.” Cory was the first to apologize as Niall and Harry disappeared into the small crowd.

Ivy fell back against the couch, her arms crossing over her chest. She licked her lips and nodded to him, not wanting to talk for fear of losing control of her emotions. Michelle gently rested her hand atop Ivy’s thigh, not wanting to be too overbearing but hoping to give her some comfort.

“I’m sorry, Ivy. I told Niall to make sure he was nice tonight.” Emma frowned, knowing that the comment Harry made would haunt Ivy for the next few days, if not longer.

“Yeah, he’s a bit of a dick.” Michelle said, a disappointment expression covering her features. “He doesn’t do well with change and.. I guess you being here is changing things. But it’s not your fault.”

“It’s fine. I.. I’m just going to ignore it.”

Ivy felt a burn in her chest that wasn’t from the drinks she downed minutes ago. This was a type of feeling erupting from the insults she caught. She was so upset with what was said to her, not just the thing about her mother, but more than that.. she was confused as to what she did that warranted that sort of treatment. Had she been rude to him by not greeting him like she did the others? He was so standoffish though, he didn’t appear to want to be spoken to. He acted like she wasn’t even sitting there when he walked up, even though he looked at her when he saw her next to Michelle. Was something said about her to him from someone else that he didn’t find appealing? Had Zayn not liked her when they met the second time, perhaps he made a comment to Harry? No, she shook that thought off. Zayn seemed to enjoy her company.

Cory mentioned something about getting a few shots, to which Ivy just nodded and agreed that it would be fun. He left the girls and Zayn alone, which made Zayn start up a conversation. Ivy was listening, but she wasn’t contributing. All she could think about was the rude behavior Harry displayed towards her. Surely, there must have been something she did to him. She couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Over towards the beaded curtain that was rattling from the vibrations of the music pounding through the building, Niall stood in front of Harry with a clearly irritated look on his face. Harry leaned against the wall, listening with a blank stare as Niall scolded him.

“Are you fucking serious? Why are you so rude?” Niall spat out, throwing his hands up in the air as the disbelief stuck in his mind. “Emma invited her out, you have no right to be such a dick to her.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know the chick.” Harry shrugged, not caring to listen to Niall’s parenting but he knew he couldn’t escape just yet.

“It doesn’t matter, Harry. I told you she was going to be here tonight and to be fuckin’ polite to her. At least treat her like she’s a person and not a piece of garbage.”

Harry huffed and moved his eyes to Niall’s. “I don’t know her. I don’t care about being polite to her.”

Niall shook his head, not believing what he was hearing. “Get to fuckin’ know her then. She’s not going anywhere, that’s Emma’s friend. Act like you have sense.”

“Look, I didn’t fuckin’ know her mom was dead.”

Niall wanted to wring his neck, he wasn’t getting the point. “It doesn’t matter! Act nice. Pretend to have a fuckin’ heart for once.”

Harry pushed himself off the wall, the conversation now boring him. He gave Niall a wave before deciding it was best if he just found a distraction for the rest of the night. Niall couldn’t quite understand why he was being so rude to Ivy, but there was nothing else that he could say. If his words worked, then that would be a miracle.

Ivy sat there quietly for a handful of minutes, ignoring the small talk that was going on around the table. Her eyes were roaming out through the crowd that had thickened since Niall stormed off with Harry in tow. The pole fixed to the ceiling was now occupied by a dancer in a lace bodysuit, strategically placed rips and holes scattered on the fabric. She seemed to have some of the people’s attention. One person she didn’t have, though, was Harry, and Ivy took notice of that only because she saw him with his forearm secured around some woman’s waist. He had pulled her close to him, smirking and biting his lips as the woman spoke to him.

Ivy wasn’t intending on finding him in the crowd to gaze at him, it just sort of happened. She was unfamiliar with the surroundings, so her eyes fixated on something she recognized - even if it wasn’t the nicest person she’d ever met. He was completely unaware of anything happening around him, all he was concerned with was what lived between that woman’s legs. The sight of him groping her ass and leaning down to whisper things in her ear left a nasty taste in Ivy’s mouth. She found it unpleasant to witness. That sort of thing should be private.

Michelle suddenly interrupted her trance with a pat to her leg before she stood up. “Do you wanna dance?”

Ivy looked up and let out a nervous laugh. “I think I’m okay sitting here for a bit.”

Michelle groaned and grabbed her hand, tugging her up with all her strength. “C’mon! Let’s go have some fun!”

She couldn’t stop Michelle from dragging her into the crowd, so she just let it happen. Emma gave her an encouraging cheer before they vanished from the table. The girls were shoving between people to find a more open spot on the dance floor, and once Michelle was pleased with where they ended up, she turned towards Ivy and grabbed onto her waist. She decided it was best to just let all those thoughts about the things Harry said and the way he acted go. Tonight was meant for fun, not dwelling. She relaxed her body and began swaying to the music with Michelle.

“That ass!” Michelle teased in a loud shout as Ivy shook her hips to the song that was blasting through the ceiling.

All she could do was laugh as a layer of blush covered her cheeks. The music was rattling the building and the alcohol was still cycling through her veins. She was enjoying herself again, no longer fixated on that song or those comments. It wasn’t long until Emma and Niall appeared next to them. Emma turned towards them while Niall placed himself behind her, hands secured on her waist. The three of them danced and sang along with the music while Niall mostly laughed and kept his hands on Emma.

Ivy had been nervous about going out tonight - not only going to a new place, but meeting a group of new people. She was worried that her first impression wouldn’t be good, that they wouldn’t like the energy she brought. It was obvious that all of them, aside from Harry, actually enjoyed her company. Even though she didn’t get a chance to talk to a few of them, like Alyssa, the way she did Michelle, she was confident that her impression was well made. The pulsing of the music through her ears pushed out the thoughts regarding Harry. Maybe he was just in a bad mood, or maybe he was just a bitter person. She didn’t know for sure, and she didn’t care that much anymore.

Niall disappeared to get himself a beer, leaving Emma to take Ivy’s hand and lift it in the air, jumping to the beat of the song and screaming the lyrics. Michelle was thrilled to have another girl to be around, and she hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other. She knew she’d have to beg Emma to let her and Ivy get together again. Ivy wasn’t surprised by Emma’s energetic, sober performance. She didn’t need alcohol running in her system to enjoy a good song. The night was starting to feel endless and free, in the best way. That wouldn’t last too long, though.

At some point, her eyes were absentmindedly looking over Michelle’s shoulder and were pretty much out of focus until her brain registered that familiar face again. Harry. She tried to look away, but she couldn’t force herself to as she saw that same woman he was with earlier place her lips on his. Something deep inside of her gut churned and she furrowed her brows at her own thoughts. She shook her head lightly and cut her eyes away from them. Almost as if there was a gravitational pull she couldn’t stop, her eyes shifted back to him after a few seconds.

His hair was slick with sweat, his curls shining under the flashing lights. The sweat on his skin shined like diamonds as the woman ran her hand down his forearm. Her nails scratched over the tattoo he showed off at the shop, veins popped out and skin tight around his muscles. It was like she noticed every single thing about him. Someone got in her way, blocking her view entirely. She huffed and looked towards Emma, who was still singing happily to the song playing.

Ivy was genuinely confused as to why she was thinking about him so much. Why did she care what he was doing? Why did she care who he was with? She hardly knew him. She rolled her eyes to herself and lifted her head in time to see Niall walking up, three drinks in his hand. He offered one to her and one to Michelle. They cheered together, laughing as Niall stumbled his way back to Emma. She jumped back into the song and started singing again, enjoying herself for the rest of the night.

—•—

When morning rolled over, Ivy didn’t move an inch in her bed until well after eleven o’clock. She knew Emma would sleep in with Niall, so she didn’t bother trying to be up before them. Niall stayed over every now and then, and of course he always requested a meal be made if the girls were up for it. Ivy was put on breakfast duty since Emma said she’s better at it. Niall slurred a quick beg to her last night before Emma drug him to the bedroom to get changed and tucked in. Ivy agreed to it, despite knowing her head would be pounding in the morning.

And it most definitely was. She groaned as she squeezed her eyes shut, the sunlight peeking through the curtains was enough to blind her. There was no point in sleeping any more of the day away, so she reluctantly got out of the bed after taking a few minutes to compose herself. Her arms stretched high above her head, her back popping as she twisted slightly. She sighed in relief, a weight was lifted from her as her body contorted with her stretches and groans.

Her trip to the bathroom presented her with a horrific reflection in the mirror. Her makeup had not been properly removed before she fell into her bed last night, and her hair was a wreck. She debated on taking a shower, but eventually decided it would be best to get it over with. Emma and Niall were still passed out down the hall, so she wasn’t worried about waking anyone or not having the food done in time. Niall would definitely still want breakfast no matter the time.

After her quick shower, she got changed into a set of loungewear and headed to the kitchen. She gathered all the items from the refrigerator and the cabinets, staying mindful of Niall’s large appetite. He did say he would throw in some money on their next grocery run, so she wasn’t concerned with rationing any particular item. She wasn’t in there very long by herself. Emma strolled in after a few minutes, having smelled the food starting to cook.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Ivy smirked as she saw Emma’s tired expression and tangled hair.

“Morning.” She mumbled back. “Niall slept like an animal last night.”

“Did he move around a lot?”

Emma groaned. “A lot? He moved constantly. Usually he doesn’t. I’m so tired.”

Ivy held back a laugh and just smiled. Emma sat down at the dining table, her eyes focused on what Ivy was doing. She just watched in silence for a while, too tired to say anything. They were by themselves for the majority of the cooking process. The bedroom door opened down the hall, but the bathroom door shut moments after. Niall spent a bit of time in the bathroom, which made Emma groan and hope that he wasn’t throwing up or suffering a bad hangover. He had quite a few drinks.

Eventually, almost the same time the food was ready, he walked in the kitchen with a smile on his face. Emma rolled her eyes as he tried to give her a kiss and a hug, and an apology about sleeping so roughly. Ivy let out a chuckle as he threw his hands up in defeat.

“Thanks for cooking, Ivy.” Niall said once he fixed his plate and sat down at the table with them.

“You’re welcome.”

Emma looked up from her plate and gave Niall a stern glare. He was confused at first, but when she shot her gaze to Ivy, he miraculously remembered the conversation they had in the middle of the night when he woke Emma up complaining about his head hurting. It took them a while to fall back asleep, so they just talked for a bit.

He cleared his throat after taking a sip of his water. “Um, Ivy.”

She looked his way. “Yeah?”

Niall took in a deep breath and slowly pushed it out. He seemed a bit hesitant at first, but he was trying to figure out what to say. He licked his lips and leaned back in his chair, forgetting the food for now.

“I want to apologize to you.”

Ivy dropped her brows, spared Emma a glance, then looked back to him. “What?”

He lightly sighed. “Harry.”

She was still unsure what Niall meant for a few moments, but suddenly everything came crashing back into her mind. She adjusted herself in the chair and started picking at the pancake with her fork, not really wanting to bring it back up but knowing she can’t avoid it now.

“It’s fine, Niall.”

“No, it isn’t.” Emma said, just as embarrassed by the situation as Niall was.

“He said some shitty things to you.. and I’m sorry. I.. I didn’t want that to happen, none of us did. Zayn sent me a text this morning telling me to tell you he was sorry, too.”

Ivy a wallowed gently, surprised that someone else had reached out about the situation. She thought what happened was unfortunate, but she didn’t think she’d receive such a reaction from them. Emma had a frown fixed on her lips as she kept her eyes on Niall, waiting for him to continue.

“The last thing Emma and I wanted was for you to think our friends didn’t like you. They do, they really do. I can’t speak for him but.. the rest of us are sorry.”

“Niall, it’s not that big of a deal, I promise.” Ivy tried to sail past it, but it wasn’t going to go down that easy.

“Yes it is, Ivy.” He breathed out. “He’s an ass and he says some messed up things. We’re all used to it.. and you aren’t. You shouldn’t have been spoken to that way.”

For a second, she was just ready to ignore it all again, but she changed her mind. Niall was genuinely upset and trying his best to make up for it, and she could tell Emma felt the same way. She remembered how everyone reacted when Harry said what he said last night. She thought about the way she saw Cory pinch his nose and shake his head in disbelief, and how Alyssa smacked Zayn’s arm in an attempt to get him to intervene. She remembered all the little things each of them did and how they all seemed to be in shock, embarrassed, or annoyed with it.

“Okay.. I accept the apology.” She finally said, trying to give him the best smile she could. “I promise, it’s okay.”

“I’ll beat his ass if he says something like that to you again.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

Niall couldn’t resist laughing at her, and Ivy quickly joined her. Although the previous night had a rollercoaster of events, she was glad that she had this new group of people to consider as her friends. For now, she’d just forget about Harry and focus on the positive memories she was able to create. As far as she was concerned, she would be perfectly fine if she never saw him again.

[a/n: I’ve been very sick these past few days but I wanted to get this out so pls ignore any spelling mistakes and all that, I’ll fix them later. if you want to be on the taglist, let me know! anyways, hope you enjoy this! love uuu! Also just a reminder that while this is lhh, he’s older in this series than actual lhh was]

** if you’re here for a reread, i did change this character to an oc so she has a name now!!

taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @victoriasigaard @ariiscringe @harlowsgirl l @lomllover @haniaaa04 @sideboobrry11 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @fangirl509east @fruity-harry @sassamanda77 @lizsogolden @prettygurl-2009 @boopookie @mypolicemanharryyy

[gyu-tori]

Beneath the Bite | C.BG

Pairing: non-idol!beomgyu x fem!reader Genre: Angst, Romance, Apocalypse

Summary: In a world where the dead don’t stay dead, Beomgyu has mastered the art of survival—alone and emotionally guarded. But that changes when he discovers Y/N, there’s something different about her. She’s resourceful, determined, yet there's one problem that changes everything: she’s been bitten.

Bound by an uneasy alliance, the two navigate not only the dangers of the undead but the fragile trust growing between them. As Y/N tries to hold on to the last bit of humanity she has left, Beomgyu begins to question the walls he’s built around himself.

How far would you go to save someone who might already be lost? And in a world teetering on the edge of ruin, can hope survive alongside love?

Warnings: zombie apocalypse, survival, blood, injuries/wounds, zombies, gore, descriptions of killing, let me know if I missed any!

Word count: 13k

The fluorescent lights of the abandoned hospital flickered, casting eerie shadows across the desolate corridors. Beomgyu moved through the hallways with practiced stealth, his backpack slung over one shoulder and a makeshift weapon gripped tightly in his hand. His breathing was shallow, each step careful to avoid the debris scattered across the cracked and bloodied tiled floor. The world had fallen into chaos, and this hospital, like so many other remnants of civilization, had become a graveyard—a silent monument to what once was.

Months of survival had stripped away Beomgyu’s optimism, leaving behind a man hardened by loss and desperation. His sharp eyes scanned every corner, his ears tuned to the faintest noise. He’d learned to live moment by moment, scavenging for supplies and avoiding the ravenous undead that now outnumbered the living. His mind was a steel trap, blocking out memories of his family and the life he’d once known. To dwell on the past was to invite death.

The hospital, eerily silent, held an unspoken threat. Every room was a gamble—empty or infested. Beomgyu moved with precision, his steps muted by his worn sneakers. The familiar weight of his crowbar brought him some semblance of comfort, though he knew it would only be useful against a few of the creatures at best. The undead didn’t tire, didn’t hesitate, and didn’t feel fear. A mistake here would cost him everything.

As he pushed open the door to the hospital’s pharmacy, the stench of decay hit him like a wall. Shelves were overturned, their contents long looted, leaving behind a wasteland of shattered glass and torn packaging. Beomgyu covered his nose with his sleeve, his stomach churning at the rancid smell. 

He crouched down, sifting through the debris. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, brushing aside broken vials and expired medications in search of anything useful. Just as he found a small stash of unopened bandages and a bottle of antibiotics tucked behind a counter, a faint sound stopped him in his tracks.

A cry of pain.

Beomgyu froze, his muscles tensing as adrenaline surged through his veins. The sound was faint, almost drowned out by the distant groans of the undead outside. His grip tightened on his crowbar as his eyes darted toward the door. He strained his ears, heart pounding, as the sound came again—a low, guttural moan mixed with the unmistakable note of human suffering. 

Against his better judgment, he stood and crept toward the source of the noise. The hospital was a maze, its once orderly layout now a chaotic ruin of overturned furniture and shattered glass. He kept his footsteps light, his weapon raised, as he followed the sound down a dimly lit hallway.

The noise led him to a room near the end of the corridor. The door was slightly ajar, the flickering light casting distorted shadows across the floor. Beomgyu hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to turn back. He’d learned the hard way that curiosity in this world often led to death. But something about the sound tugged at him—a reminder of the humanity he’d buried deep within himself.

He pushed the door open slowly, his breath hitching as he stepped inside.

Y/N sat slumped against the wall of a makeshift shelter she’d crafted from hospital curtains and overturned furniture. Her arm throbbed with pain, the crude bandage she’d wrapped around her bite wound soaked through with blood and pus. She’d been hiding here for days, fighting off the infection with whatever scraps of medication she could find. But it was a losing battle.

Her body burned with fever, her vision swimming as she struggled to stay conscious. Her hands trembled as she clutched a piece of metal piping, the only weapon she had left. She’d heard the moans outside the room, the shuffle of feet, and now footsteps—steady and purposeful—approaching her hiding spot. Whoever it was, or whatever it was, they weren’t stopping.

The door creaked open, and Y/N’s grip on the pipe tightened. “Stay back!” she croaked, her voice hoarse from dehydration and disuse.

A man stepped into the room, his silhouette sharp against the flickering light. His eyes, dark and calculating, scanned the room before settling on her. He looked like he belonged in this world—worn clothes, a weapon at the ready, and a demeanor that screamed survival. But he wasn’t undead, and for that, Y/N felt a small flicker of relief, quickly drowned out by suspicion.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice low but steady. He took a cautious step forward, raising his free hand in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture. “Let me help.”

Y/N pressed herself harder against the wall, the effort sending a wave of pain through her injured arm. “I don’t need your help,” she hissed, her tone defiant despite the weakness in her body. “I’m fine.”

The man’s gaze flicked to the bandage on her arm, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You don’t look fine.”

“I said I can handle it!” she snapped, her voice cracking. But as she tried to raise the pipe higher, her strength gave out. The makeshift weapon clattered to the floor, and she slumped forward, barely catching herself before hitting the ground.

The man hesitated, his own instincts warring within him. He could walk away. Leave her to her fate. It wasn’t his problem—nothing in this world was anymore. But as he looked at her, pale and drenched in sweat, something inside him softened. Against his better judgment, he crouched down, keeping a safe distance.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, his voice gentler now. “But if you don’t treat that wound, you won’t last much longer.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered with mistrust, but she was too weak to argue. After a long pause, she gave a small, reluctant nod, her head dipping forward in exhaustion. The man moved closer, his movements deliberate as he reached for her arm. He worked quickly, unwrapping the bandage to inspect the wound beneath.

His expression darkened at the sight of the bite mark. It was deep, the edges inflamed and oozing. He’d seen this before. He knew what it meant. But he didn’t say anything, his mind already racing for a way to help her.

“What’s your name?” he asked as he reached into his bag for supplies.

“Y/N,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “And you?”

“Beomgyu,” he replied, pulling out a small bottle of antiseptic. “This is going to hurt.”

Y/N let out a weak laugh, the sound hollow. “It already does.”

Beomgyu couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, though it quickly faded as he focused on cleaning the wound. Y/N flinched, biting back a cry of pain as the antiseptic burned against her skin. Beomgyu worked quickly but carefully, his hands steady despite the chaos around them.

As he finished rewrapping the bandage, he sat back on his heels, meeting her gaze. “You’re lucky I found you,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “This place isn’t safe.”

“No place is,” Y/N replied, her voice stronger now but still tinged with exhaustion. “But thanks.”

Beomgyu nodded, rising to his feet. He offered her a hand, and after a moment of hesitation, she took it. Her grip was weak, but there was a spark of determination in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Let’s get out of here,” Beomgyu said, his voice firm. “Together.”

For the first time in days, Y/N allowed herself to hope.

The hospital walls felt like they were closing in, the air thick with the stench of decay and despair. Beomgyu and Y/N moved cautiously through the hallways, their steps echoing in the oppressive silence. Beomgyu took the lead, his crowbar at the ready, while Y/N followed close behind, clutching her injured arm. The fever had sapped her strength, but she refused to slow them down.

They paused at a junction where the corridor split into two directions. Beomgyu held up a hand, signaling for Y/N to stop. He tilted his head, listening intently for any signs of danger. The distant groans of the undead were ever-present, a haunting reminder that they were never truly safe.

“This way,” Beomgyu whispered, pointing to the left. He glanced back at Y/N, noting the paleness of her face and the sheen of sweat on her brow. “Can you keep up?”

Y/N nodded, though her legs felt like lead. “I’ll manage.”

They pressed on, weaving through the debris-strewn corridors. Beomgyu’s eyes were constantly scanning their surroundings, his grip on the crowbar firm. Y/N couldn’t help but admire his focus and determination. He moved with the precision of someone who’d survived countless encounters with the undead, each step purposeful and calculated.

“How long have you been on your own?” Y/N asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Beomgyu glanced at her, his expression guarded. “Long enough,” he said simply. 

Y/N frowned but didn’t press further. She understood the need to keep certain things buried. In this world, memories were often more painful than comforting.

They reached a stairwell, the metal steps leading both up and down. Beomgyu hesitated, weighing their options. “The roof might give us a clear view of the area,” he said. “But it’s a risk. Zombies could be up there too.”

“And downstairs?” Y/N asked, her voice tinged with exhaustion.

“Could lead to an exit,” Beomgyu replied. “Or a dead end.”

Y/N leaned against the wall, catching her breath. “You decide. I’ll follow.”

Beomgyu studied her for a moment, then nodded. “We go up. If it’s clear, we can rest for a bit.”

They ascended the stairs, each step creaking under their weight. The tension was palpable, every sound amplified in the oppressive silence. Beomgyu reached the top first, pausing to listen before cautiously pushing open the door. The rooftop was empty, bathed in the pale light of the setting sun. 

“It’s clear,” he said, holding the door open for Y/N. She stepped out onto the roof, her breath hitching at the sight of the ruined city stretching out before them. Buildings stood in various states of collapse, their skeletal remains silhouetted against the fiery sky. Smoke rose in thin columns from scattered fires, and the distant moans of the undead carried on the wind.

Y/N sank to the ground, her back against the low wall surrounding the rooftop. Beomgyu joined her, setting his crowbar aside as he rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a water bottle, handing it to her without a word.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a grateful sip. The water was lukewarm, but it was a welcome relief against the dryness in her throat.

Beomgyu leaned back, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “What were you doing in the hospital?” he asked after a long silence.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers tightening around the water bottle. “I got separated from my group,” she said finally. “We were scavenging for supplies when we got ambushed by a horde. I ended up here, hoping to find something to help with this.” She gestured to her bandaged arm.

Beomgyu’s jaw tightened. “And the bite?”

“Happened during the ambush,” Y/N admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been trying to keep it from spreading, but…” She trailed off, her eyes glistening with unshed tears but she quickly blinked them away. Her survival instinct had long since overtaken any remnants of vulnerability, but the reality of her situation was starting to sink in. 

Beomgyu watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he reached into his bag again and pulled out a small, battered notebook. It was clear from the wear that it had been used frequently, though its pages were mostly blank. He flipped it open to a page with a few hastily scribbled notes. 

“I’ve been on my own for a while too,” he said quietly, his fingers tracing the faded ink. “The first few days, it was just panic. Trying to find my family, trying to understand what happened. I’ve lost a lot since then.” His voice caught slightly, but he quickly masked it with a tight exhale. “But... there’s always this small part of me that keeps thinking if I just push a little harder, if I just survive a little longer, I’ll find something worth holding onto.”

Y/N turned her head toward him, the weight of his words sinking in. It was something she understood all too well—the constant pushing forward, driven by the hope of a future that didn’t seem to exist anymore.

“I know the feeling,” she murmured, taking another slow sip of water. “I keep telling myself that if I just survive, if I just make it through today, maybe tomorrow will be better. But... I don’t know if that’s ever going to happen.” Her gaze dropped to the bandaged wound on her arm. “Sometimes, it feels like it’s already over.”

There was a long silence as the city stretched out before them, silent except for the occasional moan of the undead and the distant sounds of fires crackling. Beomgyu remained still, deep in thought, but his mind was far from the immediate danger surrounding them. The words shared between them felt heavier than the building tension in the air. 

Y/N’s hand trembled slightly as she placed the empty water bottle on the ground beside her. “What if... we don’t make it out of here?” she asked, the question heavy with unspoken fear.

Beomgyu’s eyes softened as he turned to face her, the weight of the question sitting between them. “Then at least we’ll have each other’s backs until the end,” he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with a rare, unspoken promise. “Maybe that's enough.”

Y/N blinked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. In a world where trust was a luxury most couldn’t afford, the offer of even the smallest measure of support felt like an unexpected lifeline.

She nodded, though her throat tightened at the thought. They were both out here for different reasons, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Survival had become a shared goal. And for now, it was enough to know that they didn’t have to face it alone.

The sound of shuffling feet below broke their reverie, and both of them stood up in an instant, ready to face whatever new threat might appear. Beomgyu gripped his crowbar tightly, scanning the horizon for signs of movement. Y/N’s hand instinctively went to the pipe by her side, her muscles aching with the effort but her resolve unbroken.

“Get ready,” Beomgyu whispered, his voice calm but urgent. “We don’t know how many are out there, but we’ll need to move fast.”

Y/N nodded, pushing herself to her feet despite the dizziness threatening to overtake her. She didn’t have much strength left, but she wasn’t about to let that stop her. She wasn’t going to be the one to slow them down.

The two of them moved cautiously to the edge of the roof, watching as a small group of undead shuffled aimlessly through the street below. It wasn’t a horde, but they were numerous enough to pose a threat if they drew attention. Beomgyu’s eyes narrowed as he assessed their options. 

“We need to find another way down,” he muttered, scanning the area. “Too risky to go through them.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her mind racing. “There’s a fire escape on the side of the building. It’s not ideal, but it’ll get us down without alerting them.”

Beomgyu’s eyes flicked over to her, his gaze calculating. “You sure?”

Y/N gave a small nod, though the tremor in her hands betrayed her uncertainty. “We don’t have much time. If we wait here too long, we’ll attract more.”

With a shared look, the decision was made. They both moved toward the edge of the roof, crouching low to avoid detection. As they reached the ledge, Beomgyu carefully lifted the fire escape ladder, testing its weight to ensure it would hold. Y/N hesitated for only a moment before climbing down after him, her injured arm flaring with pain but ignored in the rush of adrenaline.

The moment they reached the bottom of the ladder, the silence shattered as the first of the undead moaned loudly from above. It was a warning that they couldn’t afford to ignore.

“Let’s go,” Beomgyu hissed, motioning for Y/N to follow as he darted into the alley.

They sprinted through the dimly lit streets, their footsteps barely audible over the noise of distant shuffling. Every corner was a potential trap, every shadow could hide an enemy. The world had become a labyrinth of danger, and every step felt like a gamble.

Y/N felt the strain of exhaustion pulling at her, but she pushed it down, focusing on the sound of Beomgyu’s footsteps ahead. They moved as one, two survivors clinging to the hope that they could escape the nightmare that had consumed their world.

For now, that hope was enough.

The world was an endless expanse of decay, and every corner they turned seemed to offer only more ruin. The distant groans of the undead echoed through the streets, a constant reminder that nowhere was truly safe anymore. Beomgyu led the way, his footsteps light but determined as he navigated the crumbling cityscape. Y/N followed closely behind, her breath ragged, but her resolve unwavering.

They had been running for what felt like hours, weaving through alleyways and abandoned buildings, always listening for the telltale shuffle of approaching undead feet. The fire escape had provided a temporary reprieve, but they both knew it was only a matter of time before they ran into more danger. The constant pressure was like a weight on their chests, never allowing them to breathe easy.

But in these moments of relentless survival, small victories meant everything.

Y/N’s injured arm throbbed with each movement, and the fever burning inside her was becoming more unbearable with every passing minute. Her body was losing the fight to the infection, but she refused to acknowledge it. It wasn’t just her life at stake anymore. Beomgyu had become an unexpected companion in a world where trust was a dangerous luxury, and that bond—fragile as it was—meant survival.

She glanced at him as they paused for a moment in the shelter of an old, collapsed storefront. He was scanning the area, his eyes sharp despite the exhaustion lining his face. Beomgyu had been the one to keep them moving, always a step ahead, always focused. His ability to remain calm in the face of danger was something she envied. But there were cracks in his armor, moments where his steely exterior faltered. She’d seen it when he looked at her bandaged arm, and she’d caught the fleeting flash of regret in his eyes when he’d taken the water bottle from his bag and handed it to her without a word.

She knew he wasn’t invincible. Neither of them were.

“Do you think we’re getting any closer to a safe zone?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she leaned against the remnants of a brick wall.

Beomgyu didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took a slow breath and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his eyes distant as he stared down the alleyway ahead of them.

“It’s hard to say,” he finally said, his voice low. “The whole city’s been overrun. There’s no telling where you might find a safe place anymore. Most of the military zones have fallen, too. I heard a rumor once that a group of survivors managed to hold out at a high school on the other side of the city, but... that was months ago. Who knows what’s left?”

Y/N’s heart sank at the mention of the military zones. She’d heard the stories too—how the government forces had initially tried to contain the outbreak, but eventually, they’d been overwhelmed. There was no hope left in those places now, just memories of a world that once felt like it could be saved.

“We keep moving,” Beomgyu added after a long pause, shaking off the thought. “At least we’re alive for now. That’s enough.”

Y/N nodded, though the exhaustion gnawing at her body made it hard to keep her focus. Her head felt fuzzy, her vision wavering at the edges. The fever was beginning to cloud her thoughts, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she could no longer ignore the infection eating at her. She just needed to survive long enough to get somewhere safe... wherever that was.

"Let’s go," Beomgyu said, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. "We’ve still got a ways to go before we can find cover for the night."

With a grunt of effort, she pushed herself off the wall and followed him once more into the abandoned streets. They passed through another alleyway, the shadows growing deeper with each step. Every creak of a broken window, every distant thud sent her heart racing. The fear of being discovered was constant, gnawing at her every step.

Beomgyu led them through another series of alleys, his sharp gaze scanning the rooftops and windows as they moved. They came to another intersection, and he paused, raising his hand. His eyes flicked left and right, searching for movement.

“Stay close,” he said quietly, his voice tense.

Y/N did as he instructed, staying just a few steps behind him, her hand tight around the metal pipe. She couldn’t remember the last time her heart wasn’t hammering in her chest. Every sound, every creak and groan felt like a threat, like the world was conspiring to tear them apart.

Beomgyu’s sharp eyes darted to the left, and his posture stiffened.

“They’re close,” he whispered, barely moving his lips.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she turned her head toward the sound. Through a broken window across the street, she could make out the silhouettes of a small group of the undead moving slowly, aimlessly, through the rubble-strewn street. They were close—too close.

Beomgyu gestured to the right, motioning for Y/N to follow him. They both slipped into a nearby doorway, their bodies pressed against the cold stone of the building. The undead were barely thirty feet away, unaware of their presence.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she held perfectly still. She could hear the rasping breath of one of the creatures, the groans as it shuffled aimlessly past them. It was like a nightmare, the way the monsters just wandered, unaware of the world around them. Every step felt like a ticking clock. It was only a matter of time before they noticed something amiss, and when they did...

Her mind raced. They couldn’t afford to be spotted. They couldn’t risk a fight with this many.

Beomgyu looked at her, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he raised his finger to his lips in a silent command for her to stay quiet. She nodded imperceptibly, then turned her attention back to the group of undead.

Minutes felt like hours, but eventually, the creatures drifted past without so much as a glance in their direction. Beomgyu exhaled slowly, his posture relaxing just a fraction.

“Let’s move,” he whispered, stepping out of the doorway cautiously.

They continued, more cautiously now, slipping through the deserted streets. The sun had dipped low in the sky, casting long, skeletal shadows across the landscape. The air was thick with dust, and the distant hum of the undead was never far behind. Each step was a risk, but they didn’t have a choice. They had to keep moving.

After what felt like hours of walking, they came upon an abandoned store. Beomgyu motioned for Y/N to follow him inside. The shelves were bare, but the place offered shelter. A few broken windows let in the fading light, but it would do.

“We’ll stay here for the night,” Beomgyu said as he dropped his bag by a corner and began to scan the room for anything useful. “We need rest.”

Y/N nodded but didn’t sit down. Her legs felt like lead, and the pain in her arm had become a dull throb, but there was no time to rest. She needed to keep her guard up, needed to make sure they were safe before allowing herself the luxury of sleep.

Beomgyu noticed her hesitation and gave her a look. “You’re not fooling anyone. Sit down. I’ll keep watch.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself. She was too tired, too weak to argue. With a small, resigned sigh, she slid down against the wall, wrapping her arms around her knees.

“Thanks,” she murmured softly, closing her eyes for just a moment. "For everything."

Beomgyu didn’t answer, but she could feel his gaze on her. His silence was enough.

The night was their only reprieve in a world that never stopped hunting.

The faint sounds of the world outside seemed to grow distant, as though the city itself was slipping into an eerie silence. For a moment, the only thing that remained was the sound of Beomgyu’s steady breathing and the soft rustle of Y/N’s clothes as she adjusted her position against the wall. Her body ached, and the fever burned like fire from within, but she forced herself to focus on the here and now. Her survival instinct was the only thing keeping her tethered to this crumbling world.

It felt strange, sitting in the stillness of the store. For so long, her days had been defined by constant motion—by the pursuit of food, shelter, safety—anything that could prolong her life just a little bit longer. Now, with nothing to do but wait, it was as though time itself had slowed. A dangerous kind of stillness, one that could only mean one thing: They weren’t safe, not truly, not yet. But exhaustion was creeping into her bones, and no matter how hard she tried to stay alert, her body betrayed her.

She glanced over at Beomgyu, who was seated at the far end of the room, his back against the wall as he surveyed the room with a look of quiet vigilance. His eyes flicked to every corner, every shadow, his focus razor-sharp despite the fatigue written all over him. His crowbar rested against the floor next to him, his fingers occasionally tapping the handle in a rhythmic, almost absent-minded way.

"How long do you think we'll stay here?" Y/N asked quietly, her voice hoarse from the strain of the day.

Beomgyu’s gaze shifted slightly to her, and for a moment, the hardness in his eyes softened. "We leave before morning," he replied, his voice low but resolute. "We can’t afford to stay in one place too long."

Y/N nodded, her eyes drifting to the cracked window that let in the last of the fading sunlight. Night was creeping in, and soon they would be submerged in complete darkness, with only the sounds of the undead to keep them company.

“I don’t want to keep you waiting,” she said, forcing herself to speak through the growing fog in her mind. "But I need a moment…"

Beomgyu didn’t respond at first. He just continued watching her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a slight nod, a rare gesture of understanding that made her heart skip. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for her to feel a quiet comfort settle over her.

She leaned her head back against the wall, letting her eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, too tired to keep them open. For the first time in what felt like days, she allowed herself the luxury of rest. Even so, her mind remained alert, always calculating, always prepared for the worst.

Minutes passed. Or was it hours? Time seemed irrelevant in a world like this. The shadows shifted, deepening as the sun disappeared behind the horizon, leaving only the pale light of a dying world. The noise outside was still there—faint moans in the distance, shuffling footsteps. But it was far off, at least for now. They were safe, at least for the moment.

Suddenly, the sound of shuffling footsteps broke her fleeting peace. Beomgyu was on his feet in an instant, his body tense, his hand gripping the crowbar with practiced ease. His eyes darted to the door, alert, listening.

Y/N’s pulse quickened. She rose to her feet with a grimace, pain shooting through her injured arm, but she held back a gasp. Every part of her wanted to rest, to ignore the world outside, but the reality of their situation couldn’t be ignored.

Beomgyu motioned for her to stay quiet as he moved toward the door, crouching low as he peered through the cracks in the old wooden panels. Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest, her breath shallow as she held her position. Her eyes searched the room, but all she could focus on was the sound—the unmistakable shuffle of undead, growing closer.

Minutes stretched out before Beomgyu slowly withdrew from the door, signaling for Y/N to remain still. His face was set, his jaw clenched. He looked back at her, his eyes sharp.

“They’re close,” he whispered. “We’re not alone in this building anymore.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. They hadn’t come all this way just to be cornered now. The shadows in the room felt heavier, and the stillness only made the threat more palpable.

"We can’t fight them here," Beomgyu continued, his voice low but firm. "We need to get out. Now."

His words jolted her into action. Y/N nodded quickly, pain flooding through her as she grabbed her weapon—the metal pipe—and moved toward the back exit with Beomgyu in tow. They had no time to waste.

But as they turned the corner to make their way to the back, a deafening crash echoed from the front of the store, followed by the unmistakable sound of low, guttural growls. The undead had found their way in.

Y/N’s heart leapt into her throat. She could hear the scrabble of their feet against the floor, the sickening sounds of their teeth gnashing. She had to focus. They couldn’t let themselves be trapped again.

“Through here!” Beomgyu barked, pointing toward the back exit that led into a narrow alley. He didn’t wait for her to respond, already sprinting toward the door. Y/N followed, pushing through the pain in her arm, willing herself to keep up.

Just as Beomgyu reached the door, it suddenly crashed open, and the first of the undead spilled into the room.

“Go!” Beomgyu shouted, barely turning his head as he swung his crowbar, knocking the creature back into the pile of its companions.

Y/N sprinted toward the exit, ignoring the burning in her legs, the weight of her injury. She had to get out of there. The sounds of pursuit were getting louder—she could hear the shuffle of footsteps, the sickening moans, but there was no time to stop. She couldn’t afford to look back.

They spilled into the alley, the city streets stretching out before them, darkened by the encroaching night. Beomgyu kept a sharp eye on the surroundings as they ran, pushing her ahead of him, making sure she didn’t fall behind. She was struggling now, her strength slipping away, but she refused to stop. She couldn’t. Not when they were so close to escaping.

Behind them, the undead were closing in, the shuffle of their feet a constant reminder of how much danger they were still in. But the alley was narrow, and the buildings crowded together, creating shadows that could offer them a momentary reprieve.

Beomgyu’s voice broke through the pounding of her heart, sharp and urgent. “This way!” He turned sharply, heading toward a set of crumbling stairs that led to a rooftop access.

Y/N’s mind was barely keeping up as they ascended, her legs threatening to give out with each step. But the urgency in Beomgyu’s movements kept her going. She wasn’t ready to give up—not yet.

As they reached the top, Beomgyu gestured toward a large metal door. “We can secure this—at least for a while,” he said, panting.

Y/N nodded, stumbling forward. She was barely able to focus, her vision blurring, but her determination remained unwavering. She just needed to rest. Just for a moment.

Beomgyu was already securing the door, blocking their only way out with whatever he could find. The noise of the undead grew faint, and for a fleeting moment, Y/N felt something close to safety again.

She collapsed onto the ground near the edge of the roof, finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been clawing at her for hours. The sky above them was dark, but the city below was alive with danger. Still, for a brief, precious moment, they had found a sliver of peace.

Beomgyu crouched down beside her, watching her carefully. His face was tense, but there was something softer in his eyes now.

“We’ll make it through this,” he said, his voice steady.

Y/N nodded, even as she felt the fever burn hotter in her veins. She didn’t know what the next day would bring—if they’d make it out of the city alive or if their fight would come to an end here.

But for now, she was alive. And that was all she could hold onto.

The cold night air was a harsh contrast to the feverish heat coursing through Y/N’s body. She could feel the sweat on her brow as the wind tousled her hair, and the sudden chill made her shiver despite her exhaustion. The rooftop offered them a temporary haven, but it also felt like a precarious perch—like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall could come at any moment.

Beomgyu paced back and forth, his figure silhouetted against the city’s dim skyline. His eyes scanned every movement in the shadows, every flicker of light that passed beneath their vantage point. The tension in his posture never eased, as if he was always expecting something to go wrong. Y/N could sense it too—the constant, gnawing anxiety that something worse could be lurking just around the corner.

She had to fight to stay awake. Her limbs felt heavy, like weights attached to her body, and the dizziness kept threatening to pull her under. Every breath was a struggle, each inhale sharp with the sting of pain. Her arm, the bite wound, was burning, feverish, the skin around it hot and swollen. She hadn’t been able to tell Beomgyu the truth about how far the infection had spread. He was trying to help her, but there was only so much he could do.

Beomgyu stopped pacing and crouched next to her, his eyes softening as he watched her struggle to stay upright.

"Hey," he said gently, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "You need to rest. We’ll keep watch, but you have to take care of yourself. If that infection gets worse..." His words trailed off, but they didn’t need to be said. They both knew what would happen.

Y/N shook her head weakly. "I’m fine. I can keep going. We need to stay moving."

"Resting doesn't mean you're giving up," Beomgyu countered, his voice firm, yet there was something in it—something that spoke of a quiet understanding. "You can’t help anyone if you’re dead on your feet."

She met his gaze for a long moment. There was no argument in his eyes—only that steady, silent insistence that she take care of herself. She wanted to protest, to argue that they needed to move now while they still had the advantage of surprise, but the exhaustion was overwhelming. The fight drained out of her, leaving only the raw need for rest.

She nodded finally, leaning back against the cold stone of the rooftop wall. Beomgyu moved away, continuing to keep watch, but now at least Y/N felt the weight of the world ease, just a little. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the uncomfortable throbbing in her arm, the heat of the fever. She tried to focus on the sound of the wind, the distant groans of the undead below, but her mind kept wandering to places she didn’t want to go.

Her family. Her old life. She had to push it all away.

But it was impossible.

A sharp pain cut through her thoughts, and she winced, her breath catching in her throat. She had never felt so vulnerable—so alone.

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, trying to block out the images, trying to force herself into a deep sleep. But it was no use.

The hours dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. The night was still, but the air was thick with the tension of uncertainty. Beomgyu was still vigilant, but his movements had slowed, and Y/N could tell the fatigue was starting to take its toll on him too. His eyes were darker, clouded with something deeper than just exhaustion—something she had come to recognize in survivors. It was the silent weight of everything they had lost, the things they had done, the choices they had made.

She could feel the change in him. He wasn’t just a man surviving; he was a man shaped by the world they were living in—a world that had stripped away everything but the will to survive. She could see it in the way he moved, the way he responded to every sound and shadow, like a hunter tracking his prey, even when there was nothing to hunt.

And it terrified her.

Still, the exhaustion dragged her down. Despite her best efforts to stay alert, to stay on guard, the world around her began to blur and fade.

Beomgyu didn’t look at her as she slipped into sleep—he knew better. There was no need to watch her, no need to ask her how she was. He knew what the infection meant. He had seen it before.

But he couldn't help it—he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. Y/N had been so strong, so defiant, and yet now, she was becoming quieter, slower. Each hour that passed seemed to drain her of more life, until she was barely a shadow of the woman he had met hours ago.

Still, he watched her for a long time, torn between the brutal truth and the desperate hope that somehow, she would pull through.

Y/N awoke to the feeling of something soft against her forehead. At first, she thought it was the wind. But as she stirred, she felt Beomgyu’s cool fingers brushing the sweat from her brow. His touch was gentle, as if he were afraid to hurt her, and for a moment, she wondered if this was all some kind of dream.

When she opened her eyes, he was crouched beside her, his expression unreadable.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

Her throat was dry, but she tried to swallow, her voice coming out cracked. “I’m... I’m alright.”

Beomgyu studied her for a moment, his eyes lingering on her bandaged arm. The wound had become worse in the few hours that they had been resting—she could tell by the way his jaw clenched when he glanced at it.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. "For slowing us down."

He shook his head quickly. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re not slowing us down. We’re in this together.”

There it was again—the unspoken bond between them. A strange, fragile connection formed not by words, but by necessity. In this new world, alliances weren’t born from trust. They were born from survival.

Beomgyu stood up, his posture still tense, but there was a softness in the way he looked at her—like he was trying to decide if it was time to say the things that needed to be said.

“I think it’s time to move,” he said, after a long pause. “We can’t stay here much longer. But we can’t head back the way we came either. There’s a secondary exit in this building. It leads out toward the outskirts of the city.”

Y/N nodded slowly, the fog of sleep still clouding her mind. "Alright."

She didn’t have the energy to argue, not with the exhaustion that weighed on her, not with the knowledge that there was no safe place anymore. The world had become a cruel game, where survival meant never resting, never letting your guard down.

She slowly pulled herself to her feet, Beomgyu offering his hand to help steady her. Her legs trembled beneath her, but she pushed through it.

They had no choice but to keep going.

The descent from the rooftop was swift but cautious. Every step they took brought them closer to the unknown, to whatever awaited them in the darkened streets below. As they navigated through the narrow alleys and abandoned streets, the sounds of the undead grew fainter, as if the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for something.

For the first time since they’d met, Y/N allowed herself to look at Beomgyu with a bit more clarity. Despite the harshness of the world, despite the bleakness that surrounded them, there was a steady resolve in his actions that made her believe, just for a moment, that there might be something worth fighting for. Something beyond the next meal or the next step.

They had each other.

And maybe that was enough.

The city stretched out before them like a labyrinth of destruction, a silent witness to the horrors of the world. Buildings loomed like skeletal remains, casting long shadows under the pale moonlight. The streets were littered with debris—shattered glass, abandoned vehicles, signs of life long gone. 

Beomgyu led the way, his movements sharp and deliberate, while Y/N stumbled slightly behind him. The fever had taken a heavier toll on her since they left the rooftop, her head spinning with each step. She felt like her body was betraying her—her legs were heavy, her mind clouded by exhaustion. She clenched her jaw, refusing to show weakness. She couldn’t afford to. 

They reached the back entrance of the hospital, a side door barely hanging on its hinges. Beomgyu motioned for Y/N to wait as he carefully nudged the door open, peering into the hallway beyond. It was dark, the dim glow from flickering emergency lights casting unsettling shadows on the walls. 

“Clear,” Beomgyu whispered, stepping inside. Y/N followed closely, her footsteps echoing softly in the empty corridor. 

The air inside smelled stale, like death and decay. The walls were cracked and peeling, remnants of a once functioning hospital now reduced to a crumbling shell. The silence was suffocating, punctuated only by the distant moans of the undead somewhere outside, drifting through the broken windows.

They moved quickly, navigating through the building with practiced precision. Beomgyu’s eyes flicked from shadow to shadow, always alert. Y/N tried to focus, but the dizziness was overwhelming. She couldn’t ignore it anymore. Her body was starting to fail her.

After a few minutes of winding through empty halls, Beomgyu stopped at a door marked “Stairs.” He opened it cautiously, glancing up and down the stairwell. 

“Down,” he said. “We’ll get out through the basement.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. Her mind felt heavy, and the faint ringing in her ears made it difficult to concentrate. She wanted to protest, wanted to suggest another route, but she knew better. There was no time to argue. She pushed forward, forcing her legs to move, each step feeling like a mountain to climb.

Beomgyu led them down the stairs quickly but quietly. The basement was supposed to be an exit, but it was also a place of danger. The shadows here were darker, the air thick with dust and dampness. The faint glow from Beomgyu’s flashlight barely illuminated the path ahead, casting eerie shapes across the walls.

Y/N’s breath quickened as they reached the bottom. The walls here were lined with storage shelves, some toppled over, others empty. The floor was scattered with broken crates and debris, remnants of the hospital’s past.

“We need to move fast,” Beomgyu whispered. “There’s a service tunnel just ahead.”

They made their way deeper into the basement, the space growing colder with each step. Y/N’s mind was becoming foggier, her body losing its grip on reality. She could barely keep her feet beneath her, her vision swimming in and out of focus. The wound on her arm throbbed, sending waves of heat through her body.

“Beomgyu...” she said faintly, her voice barely audible.

He stopped, turning to face her. His expression was tense, his brow furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I... I don’t feel so good,” she muttered, her voice slurring slightly. “I can’t... I can’t keep up.”

Beomgyu’s heart sank as he saw the distress in her eyes. Her condition was worsening, faster than he had anticipated. She had been so strong before, so determined. But now, she looked like she might collapse at any moment.

He moved toward her, his face softening as he reached for her arm. “Hey, we’re almost there,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re not alone. Just a little further.”

Y/N shook her head weakly. “I don’t know if I can make it.”

“You’re going to make it,” Beomgyu insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He couldn’t lose her—not now, not after everything they had been through. “We’ll make it out together. I won’t leave you.”

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes clouded with uncertainty. She could see the resolve in his face, but she couldn’t help the doubt creeping into her own heart. She was tired—so tired—and the infection was spreading faster than she had expected. Her vision blurred again, and her knees buckled beneath her.

Beomgyu caught her before she hit the ground, his grip tight as he lifted her up. His heart was racing now, his mind spinning with the possibilities. He knew the risks, knew the chances of survival were slim if they didn’t move quickly. But he couldn’t let her go—not like this.

“Come on,” he urged, his voice a soft command. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

Y/N’s head lolled against his chest as he supported her weight. She was barely conscious, her breath shallow, and he could feel the heat radiating from her body. The infection had taken hold, and there was nothing he could do to stop it now. He could only keep moving.

They reached the service tunnel after what felt like an eternity, and Beomgyu pushed open the heavy metal door using his body with a grunt. The tunnel was narrow and damp, the air heavy with the smell of mildew and decay. It stretched into darkness, an unknown path toward freedom—or death.

“We’re almost there,” Beomgyu said again, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure her or himself. 

He moved quickly through the tunnel, his footsteps echoing against the concrete walls. Y/N’s breath was growing more labored, and he could feel her body growing heavier in his arms. The tunnel felt endless, the air oppressive, as though the walls themselves were closing in on them.

Suddenly, a noise from ahead made Beomgyu stop dead in his tracks. His grip tightened around Y/N  as he slowly turned to face the darkness ahead. The distant shuffle of feet reached his ears, the unmistakable sound of the undead closing in on them.

Beomgyu’s heart raced. He wasn’t sure how many of them there were, but there was no time to waste. He had to keep moving.

"Y/N, stay with me!" he shouted, his voice fierce.

But there was no response. When he looked at her, Y/N was barely conscious, her head hanging limply from his shoulder. Her body was growing cold, her breathing shallow and uneven. Beomgyu’s blood ran cold as he realized just how close they were to the brink.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice desperate. “Not now. Not like this.”

He scanned the tunnel ahead, his mind racing for a plan. He couldn’t fight them all. There was no way they would survive another encounter with the undead in their current state. But he had to get her out—he had to keep moving.

Without another thought, Beomgyu began to run, his legs burning with the effort. He moved through the tunnel as fast as he could, the sound of the undead growing louder with each passing second. They were closing in.

Finally, the tunnel opened up into a small utility room, its door cracked open just enough to slip through. Beomgyu wasted no time, pushing the door open and stumbling into the room. He found himself in a dimly lit alleyway, the city streets stretched out before them. 

But even as he stepped into the open air, he could hear the shuffling footsteps behind them, drawing closer. He wasn’t sure how much longer they could keep running.

Beomgyu’s heart thudded in his chest, each beat a relentless reminder of how close they were to the edge. His breath came in short, frantic gasps as he pulled Y/N further into the alley, her limp body weighing heavily in his arms. He glanced back, the sound of shuffling feet growing louder, the unmistakable groans of the undead inching closer. 

“Come on, come on,” Beomgyu muttered under his breath, willing his legs to move faster, to outrun the nightmare closing in on them. The alley was narrow, the walls of crumbling buildings on either side a silent witness to the chaos that had consumed the world. There was no time to lose.

His gaze darted around desperately, looking for an exit, a safe place to hide. But all he saw were empty streets, abandoned cars, and the dark silhouette of a world that had already fallen apart. There was no refuge here, only the looming threat of death.

“Just a little further,” he said softly to Y/N, even though he wasn’t sure she could hear him anymore. Her head lolled against his chest, her breaths shallow, each exhale a painful rasp, and her body was growing colder by the second. He had to get her out of this, he had to find a way to keep her alive.

He pushed forward, but the sound of the undead grew louder, too close, too close. He rounded a corner and nearly collided with a rusted dumpster, his instincts kicking in as he ducked behind it, pressing Y/N’s limp form against the cold metal. 

The distant groans of the undead were now close enough that Beomgyu could almost feel them, their presence suffocating. His grip tightened on the crowbar in his hand, and his mind raced. There were too many of them, and he was too exposed. The only choice now was to wait, to hope they wouldn’t notice them. 

Beomgyu’s heart pounded as he tried to steady his breath, every muscle in his body tense with fear. His eyes scanned the street, flicking from shadow to shadow, searching for any movement, any sign of danger. He couldn’t let them find them here. He couldn’t let them find Y/N.

Time stretched out like an eternity, the tension unbearable. Beomgyu could feel the weight of the world pressing down on him, the weight of survival, of responsibility, of the life in his arms that was slipping away.

The shuffling grew louder. The undead were almost upon them. Beomgyu’s pulse thundered in his ears, his grip on Y/N tightening as he readied himself for a fight that he knew he might not survive. He wasn’t about to let her die here, not after everything they had gone through. 

“Stay with me, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice raw with desperation. “Please. Stay with me.”

But there was no response. She was barely conscious now, her body trembling in his arms as if it were fighting against the infection that had taken root in her. The infection had taken her voice, taken her strength. She was barely holding on.

Beomgyu’s breath hitched as a low groan echoed from around the corner. He stiffened, his grip on the crowbar tightening as he listened. His heart skipped a beat when the shuffling sound came closer, the unmistakable moans of the undead growing louder.

He could hear them now, the scratch of their rotting feet on the pavement, the clicking of their jaws as they searched for prey. They were here. 

A figure appeared in the distance, its ragged, decaying form barely visible under the dim streetlights. Beomgyu’s stomach turned as he saw more figures behind it, their grotesque forms stumbling forward, aimless and hungry. He could count at least five of them, maybe more.

He had no choice. He couldn’t stay hidden forever. 

Beomgyu moved, crouching low to the ground as he slid his arm around Y/N’s waist. He didn’t have the luxury of thinking. His mind was a blur of instincts and adrenaline as he darted out from behind the dumpster, moving toward the nearest building. The undead weren’t close enough yet to notice them, but the moment they did, it would be over.

The alley was a dead end. But the building ahead of them had a door—half open, a glimmer of hope. Beomgyu’s breath came fast and ragged as he sprinted toward it, his legs burning with the effort. He reached the door and kicked it open with a force that echoed in the silent night.

Inside, the building was dark, its windows boarded up and the air heavy with dust and decay. The sound of the undead was still there, close, but muffled now. Beomgyu didn’t hesitate. He pulled Y/N inside with him, slamming the door shut behind them. 

For a moment, they stood there in the darkness, the only sound the frantic pounding of Beomgyu’s heart and the ragged breathing of both him and Y/N.

Beomgyu pressed his back against the door, his breath shaky. He couldn’t hear the undead anymore, but that didn’t mean they were safe. They had to keep moving. 

Y/N’s weight sagged in his arms as she slipped into unconsciousness. Beomgyu’s heart dropped. She couldn’t survive much longer without proper care. He had to do something, anything to help her. But what?

He looked around the dark room, his eyes scanning for anything that could be of use. The space was abandoned, nothing but old furniture, broken shelves, and discarded items. But his eyes landed on something—a faint glow from the far corner of the room. 

A small, flickering light illuminated the corner of the room, casting long shadows across the floor. Beomgyu moved cautiously toward it, his body tense. As he got closer, he saw a makeshift camp set up in the corner. It looked like someone had been living here—an old cot, a few scattered supplies, and a small lantern.

Beomgyu’s mind raced. Whoever had been here wasn’t around anymore. But they’d left behind supplies. His fingers trembled as he rifled through the abandoned camp. There were medical supplies—bandages, antiseptic, a few vials of antibiotics. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now.

He grabbed what he could carry and hurried back to Y/N, who was barely breathing now. Her fever had spiked, yet her skin was cold to the touch. Her once fiery spirit seemed to have drained from her body.

Beomgyu quickly set to work, cleaning the wound on her arm and applying the antiseptic he had found. Her body jerked slightly as the alcohol stung, but she didn’t wake. He wrapped her arm as best he could, doing everything in his power to fight the infection. But even he knew this might not be enough. He could only hope it was.

As he finished, Beomgyu sat back on the floor, cradling her head in his lap. He brushed a damp lock of hair from her face, his thumb gently stroking her cold skin. His chest ached with the weight of everything he couldn’t fix. 

The moonlight shone through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, casting an eerie glow across the room. Outside, the world was falling apart, and inside, Beomgyu held onto Y/N with everything he had. The fight wasn’t over, not by a long shot. They had no way of knowing what the future held.

But in that moment, as he stared down at her pale face, he realized one thing.

No matter what happened, he wouldn’t let her die alone.

Y/N’s condition deteriorated rapidly. The night had been long, and the silence in the abandoned building had been oppressive, broken only by her occasional, shallow breaths. Beomgyu sat beside her, his eyes never leaving her fragile form as she lay on the cot he had managed to make for her from scraps of cloth and discarded furniture. He had done everything he could to help her—the wound was cleaned and bandaged, and he had given her water when she could take it. But it wasn’t enough. The infection had taken root, and it was spreading like wildfire.

By dawn, her breathing had become ragged, her body trembling uncontrollably. Beomgyu sat up straighter, the rising panic in his chest threatening to swallow him whole. He’d seen this before. He’d watched people he cared about slip away, their bodies ravaged by the same virus that was now threatening to claim Y/N. The fever was high, and her skin had taken on an unnatural pallor. It wouldn’t be long now.

But then, something changed.

Y/N’s eyes shot open wide, her body jerking as a scream tore from her throat. It was guttural, animalistic, and filled with pain. Beomgyu lunged forward, grabbing her shoulders to steady her, his heart hammering in his chest. Her eyes were wide, dilated, filled with terror as she fought against the convulsions overtaking her body.

“Y/N!” Beomgyu shouted, his voice frantic. “Y/N, look at me! Stay with me!”

But she couldn’t hear him. She was caught in the grip of the infection, her body twitching and convulsing as if the virus was trying to tear her apart from the inside. Beomgyu held her down, trying to keep her still, but she was too strong, too wild. He could see the change happening in her eyes—a blank, hollow look that he knew too well.

“Please… Y/N, fight it!” he begged, his voice breaking. His own heart shattered as he watched her struggle, his mind racing for any solution. Anything that could help her.

It was then that the memories came flooding back. The rumors he had heard, whispered in the darkest corners of the city—talk of a lab, a research facility, where scientists had been working on a cure for the infection before everything collapsed. The lab was a long shot, but it was the only hope left.

Beomgyu gritted his teeth, his determination flaring as he glanced around the room. Y/N was fading before his eyes, and there was nothing left to do but find that lab. He had to go. He had to try.

“I’ll be back,” Beomgyu said, his voice steady despite the rising panic. He pressed his forehead against Y/N’s for a brief moment, feeling the heat of her fever against his skin. “Stay here. I’ll find something to help you.”

Her hand reached up, weak but insistent, grabbing his wrist. Her fingers were trembling, but there was still strength in her grip. She looked up at him, her eyes clouded with pain and desperation, but she managed a whisper.

“Beomgyu…” Her voice was hoarse, barely audible, but the words hit him like a punch to the gut. “If I don’t make it… thank you. For everything.”

Beomgyu’s throat tightened, and he blinked back the surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. “You’re going to make it,” he said firmly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I won’t let you go. I swear it.”

Reluctantly, he pulled away, his heart breaking with each step as he moved toward the door. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time. There was a chance—a slim one—but it was all he had.

The world outside was a shadow of its former self. The once-thriving city had become a decaying husk, swallowed by the chaos of the apocalypse. Beomgyu stepped through the remnants of what was once a bustling metropolis, moving with purpose despite the growing panic gnawing at him. His only focus was Y/N—her life slipping away, and the antidote that might save her, locked away in the ruins of a laboratory somewhere in the city.

The path ahead was fraught with danger, but there was no choice but to push forward. The air was thick with the putrid stench of decay, mingled with the faint scent of burning rubble that lingered in the aftermath of past fires. The streets, once filled with the laughter and chatter of the city’s inhabitants, were now eerily silent—save for the distant groans and guttural growls of the infected.

Beomgyu gripped the crowbar tighter, the weight of it both comforting and heavy. He knew the stakes all too well. Every step he took could be his last. And yet, he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when Y/N’s life hung in the balance.

The rumors he had heard were all that kept him going. Whispers of a research lab, hidden in plain sight within the city, where scientists had been working on a cure for the infection before the world had crumbled. It was said to be somewhere near the heart of the city, though no one knew if it still existed. The collapse of the government, the destruction of institutions, and the rise of the undead had made finding such a place a near-impossible task. But Beomgyu had to try.

His thoughts flickered back to the moment when he had left her. Her grip on his wrist, her voice weak but filled with gratitude, still echoed in his mind. She had been so certain, so willing to accept her fate if it came to that. But Beomgyu couldn’t accept that. Not when there was a chance, however slim, that he could save her.

He couldn’t afford to fail.

The road was treacherous, but Beomgyu moved swiftly, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He was used to danger, used to fighting for his life, but today felt different. Every shadow felt like a threat, every noise felt like an omen. He had to keep his wits about him, and yet, the thought of returning to Y/N empty-handed was almost too much to bear.

As Beomgyu rounded a corner, his eyes caught sight of a group of zombies stumbling aimlessly through the street ahead. Their clothes were torn, their bodies decaying, but the hunger in their eyes was unmistakable. His stomach clenched in dread. 

Without hesitation, Beomgyu ducked behind a nearby car, holding his breath as the zombies shuffled past. The tension in his body was unbearable, but he kept himself still, waiting for the group to pass by. His grip tightened on the crowbar, his body poised to strike if any of them ventured too close.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly. Finally, the zombies continued on their path, oblivious to Beomgyu’s presence. He let out a quiet sigh of relief, but there was no time to waste. The lab was still a long way off.

He slipped from his hiding place, moving quickly but quietly, the weight of his mission pushing him forward. 

The cityscape grew more desolate with every step he took. The streets were littered with abandoned cars, some overturned, others left in disarray as if the occupants had fled in haste. The destruction of the city wasn’t just physical—it was a visual representation of the collapse of society, the sudden loss of everything that had once been normal. People had abandoned their homes, their lives, in search of safety, only to find that no place was truly safe anymore.

Beomgyu glanced around, his eyes scanning the surrounding buildings. There was a slight flicker of movement ahead. He froze, holding his breath as he pressed himself against the side of a nearby building. Another zombie. Or perhaps more. He couldn’t tell yet.

His heart pounded in his chest, every muscle tensed, ready to react. The sound of footsteps, slow and unsteady, drew nearer. Beomgyu’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the area. The buildings on either side of him were empty, their windows shattered or boarded up. The street was an obstacle course of debris, but he couldn’t afford to be caught in the open. 

The zombie shuffled closer, its broken and bloodied body dragging itself across the street. Beomgyu gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on the crowbar. One wrong move, and he would be the next target. 

The moment the zombie was almost within arm’s reach, Beomgyu sprang into action. With a swift motion, he swung the crowbar and slammed it into the side of the zombie’s skull. The creature collapsed instantly, its body crumpling to the ground in a heap of flesh and bone. 

But there was no time to rest. Beomgyu didn’t wait for the body to hit the ground before moving on. He could hear more of them now—more groaning, more shuffling, more approaching footsteps. They were getting closer. He had to move faster. 

The journey felt endless. Every step forward felt like a mile. Beomgyu pushed through the wreckage of the city, his mind fixated on one goal: reaching the lab. The streets became more desolate, more dangerous as the days of chaos stretched into weeks, then months. The abandoned buildings were nothing but hollow shells now, echoes of a time long past.

As he neared the center of the city, Beomgyu found himself in an unfamiliar neighborhood, the streets narrower, the buildings taller. He could see it now: a high-rise building in the distance, its once-pristine surface now cracked and scarred from years of neglect. This had to be it. The lab had to be inside.

But as Beomgyu approached the entrance, he saw something that froze his blood in his veins. A group of zombies stood near the building’s entrance, their numbers greater than he had anticipated. It wasn’t just one or two. There were at least ten. Maybe more. And they were all clustered together, making any attempt to slip past them nearly impossible.

Beomgyu’s eyes darted around the street, looking for an alternative route. But there were no alleys, no side streets. The only option was to face them head-on.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled his jacket tighter around him and moved forward. He could feel the sweat gathering at the back of his neck, the adrenaline already coursing through his veins. His pulse raced, but he didn’t let himself falter. There was no choice. He had to fight.

With a low growl, he stepped into the open, brandishing the crowbar. The zombies turned toward him, their eyes blank and hungry, their groans filling the air. Beomgyu’s heart thundered in his chest as he charged forward, swinging the crowbar with all his strength. One after another, the zombies fell. His body moved on instinct, each blow a desperate attempt to clear his way to the building.

But there were too many. No matter how fast he moved, how hard he swung, they kept coming. And with every zombie he took down, it seemed like two more appeared in its place. Beomgyu’s muscles screamed in protest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His vision blurred with exhaustion, but he couldn’t stop. Not now.

The end of the fight seemed like it would never come. His crowbar was slick with blood, his arms heavy from the constant strain. But he fought on, knowing that Y/N was depending on him. He had to finish this.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last zombie crumpled to the ground. Beomgyu stood panting, his body covered in sweat and blood, but he had done it. The entrance to the lab was clear.

The interior of the lab was a wreck. The once-sterile environment had been ransacked, the shelves now bare and the equipment broken or missing. But Beomgyu didn’t care about any of that. His eyes were fixed on the lab’s central table, where a collection of vials and syringes lay, scattered amongst piles of notes and research papers. 

His heart skipped a beat as he scanned the table. Among the chaos, he found it: a single vial of what appeared to be an experimental antidote. The label was faded, the text smudged, but it didn’t matter. This was it. 

His hands were trembling as he grabbed the vial, but he didn’t hesitate. He shoved it into his bag and turned to leave, his mind already racing ahead to Y/N. She was waiting for him. He couldn’t afford to waste a second more.

The return journey was a blur. His body was battered, his energy spent, but his mind was laser-focused. Nothing would stop him now. Y/N was waiting. And he would be damned if he let her slip away.

Beomgyu smiled faintly, his eyes full of determination. This wasn’t over. Not yet.

And with the antidote in his possession, they still had a chance.

The sun hung low over the horizon, casting a sickly, orange glow over the ruins of the city. The days and nights had blurred together, a cycle of death and survival, where every second felt like an eternity. Beomgyu was exhausted—his body bruised and battered from the constant battles with the undead. He had been running on sheer willpower, driven by one singular thought: Y/N. 

His heart pounded as he trudged back through the desolate streets, the vial of antidote clenched tightly in his hand. It was a long shot, an act of desperation. But it was all they had. She was running out of time. 

The building was eerily quiet as he pushed the door open, wincing at the creaking sound. The last thing he wanted was to attract any unwanted attention. His eyes scanned the dark interior, and there she was. Y/N. Still lying motionless on the cot. 

His stomach twisted in dread. 

He rushed to her side, his footsteps light but frantic, and knelt beside her. Her skin was colder than before, her breathing shallow, and the sight of her frail, trembling form nearly shattered his resolve. Her once-strong presence was now nothing more than a shadow of herself. 

He wasted no time, grabbing a syringe and filling it up with the antidote. There wasn’t much in the vial, but he made sure that not a single drop was wasted. With a deep breath, he injected the antidote straight into Y/N’s bitten arm. All he could do now was wait and hope, as he stared down at her pale and weak frame.

"Y/N..." he whispered her name, his voice cracking with emotion.

Her eyelids fluttered open, but her eyes were unfocused, glazed over in a way that sent a chill down his spine. 

"Beomgyu…" Her voice was so weak it barely reached his ears, but there was a familiarity to it—a comfort, despite the rawness and the pain behind it. "I don't know how much longer I can hold on."

Beomgyu’s throat tightened at the words. He could see the fear in her eyes, the fear that was mirrored in his own heart. How many times had he seen this happen? How many people had he watched slip away, their bodies ravaged by this curse of an infection? Y/N was different. She wasn’t just anyone. She was everything.

"No." His voice was firm as he leaned closer, brushing a lock of hair away from her forehead. "I won’t let you go. Not like this."

Her hand weakly grasped his, and her fingers trembled against his skin. She tried to sit up, but the effort was too much, and she slumped back, gasping for air.

"I never wanted this for you," she whispered, the words jagged as if every breath was a struggle. "You’ve done so much for me already. You’ve been through so much. If I—"

“Stop,” Beomgyu interrupted, squeezing her hand tighter. “You don’t get to say that. Don’t ever think you’re a burden to me. I promised I’d protect you. And I will keep that promise, no matter what."

Her lips trembled, and she closed her eyes, a faint, sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I know you would. But I don’t want you to lose yourself over me. We’re running out of time… the world’s already taken too much."

Tears welled up in Beomgyu’s eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Not now. Not when she needed him to stay strong. He had to. For her.

“No,” he said again, his voice fierce with determination. “I won’t lose you. We still have a chance.”

Y/N’s eyelids fluttered, and her grip on his hand weakened. He could feel the temperature of her skin rise and fall in a sickening pattern. The antidote wasn’t working fast enough. He cursed under his breath, desperation overtaking him. He had to do something. He had to fix this. He had to—

Suddenly, Y/N’s eyes snapped open, her gaze locking onto his with an intensity that sent a shock through his entire body.

“Beomgyu,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but urgent. “The antidote… it might not work. The infection—it's too advanced. It could… it could make things worse. You have to let me go.”

Her words pierced through him like a blade, but he refused to accept them. She couldn’t be serious. He wouldn’t let her be serious.

“No,” he repeated, his voice tight with emotion. “You’re not going anywhere. Not on my watch.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes searching his face, trying to read him. There was a long, tense pause between them, both of them knowing what had to be done and yet unwilling to face it.

Beomgyu pressed his forehead to hers, his breath shaky as he whispered into the silence that followed. “I’m not losing you. I won’t ever lose you.”

For a moment, Y/N simply lay there, her body still trembling. Then, as if making up her mind, she lifted her hand to his face, her fingertips brushing lightly over his cheek. Her touch was soft, fragile, like a whisper of a dream that threatened to slip away at any moment.

“Beomgyu,” she said again, her voice barely audible now. “If… if we don’t make it through this… promise me you’ll keep fighting. Keep fighting for the people who are still left.”

His heart clenched painfully at her words. She wasn’t giving up, not really. She was asking him to be strong, to carry on, even if she couldn’t. He didn’t know how he would go on without her. But he had to. For her. For both of them.

“I promise,” he said, his voice breaking with the weight of it. “I’ll fight. And I’ll never stop loving you.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the faintest spark of relief seemed to flicker across her face. She closed her eyes, her breath evening out, and Beomgyu held his breath as he waited for the antidote to work its magic.

Minutes passed like hours.

Then, slowly, ever so slowly, her body began to relax. Her hands, which had been trembling so violently, went still in his. Her chest rose and fell in a more rhythmic pattern. The faint sheen of sweat on her skin began to fade. Beomgyu couldn’t believe it. He dared not move, afraid that if he did, the fragile miracle that was unfolding before him would slip away.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to her forehead, his tears finally falling.

“I’m here. Always.”

The sun had risen again, and the world outside remained broken, a ghost of its former self. But inside the small room where Beomgyu sat, holding Y/N’s hand, there was a quiet peace. A tenuous sense of hope that neither of them had dared to dream of until now.

Y/N was awake, though still weak, her breathing steady. The antidote had worked—at least for now. She wasn’t fully recovered, but she was alive. And that was enough. It was everything.

Beomgyu had stayed by her side for hours, watching over her like a hawk. He wasn’t about to let her slip away again. Not after everything they had been through together.

Her eyes fluttered open once more, and she looked at him with a quiet smile on her lips. It wasn’t the radiant, full smile that had once been so familiar to him. But it was something. It was enough.

“You’re still here,” she said softly, her voice hoarse but filled with warmth.

Beomgyu chuckled, his heart light despite the chaos surrounding them. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ll have to kick me out if you want any peace and quiet.”

She laughed weakly, the sound soft and fragile, but it warmed him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

“I think I can handle your company,” she teased, though the fatigue was evident in her voice. “But I’m serious. Thank you. For everything. You saved my life.”

Beomgyu shook his head, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. “No. You’re the one who saved me. Every day, you keep me going. Even when everything seems lost.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she reached up, cupping his face with her palm. “I love you, Beomgyu. Always.”

And in that moment, in the midst of a ruined world, surrounded by death and uncertainty, Beomgyu realized that the promise of love was enough. It was the one thing that would keep them fighting.

“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet reverence.

They sat in silence, holding each other close, finding comfort in the warmth of the other. The world outside may have been broken, but together, they had found a way to survive. 

And that was all that mattered.

As long as they had each other, they would keep fighting.

© all rights reserved ─ @gyu-tori 2025

Rei's Notes ✎: That wraps up my first ever fic!! I never thought I would write my own stories, I was always just a lurker in the shadows, reading fics 24/7, and here I am now, sharing my first fic with you guys. English is also not my first language and this might not immediately be the best fic ever but I still had fun writing it and I hope you guys have the same amount of fun reading it too.

I was very much inspired by raya or @dawngyu so make sure to check them out too. I would love to here your thoughts and opinions after reading this so don't be afraid to comment or reblog!!

Taglist: @dawngyu @frankghgr @yunverie @usuallyunlikelyfox @woncheecks @yogurttea @beomsdoll @lonelylandofan @binluvsu @ahniboom @virtaideen @blossommi @whatblop @hhoneyhan @papichulomacy

[burningembers91]

Escape Plan - Hwang Jun-Ho x Fem!Reader

Tagging: @snixx2088 @bananaminn

Follow up piece to:

Sleeping with the Enemy The Gangster's Wife

Please note that this storyline will deal with situations depicting domestic violence.

Synopsis: Your life is danger, and Jun-Ho needs to act quickly. But with no backup and no plan, how far is he willing to go to save the woman he loves?

A/N: This fic deals directly with the aftermath of domestic violence, although I have kept details vague

Hwang Jun-Ho hadn’t slept for days. He hadn’t heard from you since you sent the text message, confirming his worst fears; your husband knew you were cheating. How much he knew was unclear, every phone call and text message going unanswered. He paced back and forth across his apartment, his hands running through his hair as his mind raced with the worse possible scenarios.

He never should have let it go this far, should never have given into his feelings. His inability to keep things professional had put you in danger. For all Jun-Ho knew, you were already dead. If any harm had come to you, he would never forgive himself. As much as he tried to tell himself that your relationship never should have happened, he knew he was powerless to stop it. The day he met you was the day he fell hopelessly in love with the most beautiful woman. He couldn’t have stopped it even if he’d wanted to. He prayed to a God he had never believed in, prayed that whatever entity protected the universe would extend their good graces to you.

Jun-Ho had no choice but to tell his boss, to explain that he’d fallen for the woman he was supposed to protect. It went down about as well as he’d expected, the chief’s yells reverberating off the walls of his office as he screamed in Jun-Ho’s face. He was suspended, stripped of his badge until further notice. He was given strict instructions that he should, under no circumstances, try and find you. Any attempt Jun-Ho made to interfere with the investigation would result in his arrest.

Jun-Ho had never been one to stick to the rules though. He knew you weren’t his colleague’s priority; your husband was. If Jun-Ho wanted to save you, he’d have to go in alone. He parked outside your house, crouched low down in the driver’s seat, watching the front gate for any comings and goings. Men came and went throughout the day, each bearing the dragon tattoo that represented your husband’s gang. Your home was a constant hive of activity, and yet there was no sign of you.

He kept watch on the house from dawn till dusk, his anger boiling with each passing moment. His boss had texted him, asking where he was, but Jun-Ho didn’t bother to reply. If his colleagues had any sense, they would been storming through your door to save you, and yet he seemed to be the only one concerned with your safety. He could feel a growing sense of unease churning in his stomach, his heart racing with each passing second. He couldn’t sit around any longer; he needed to take action.

He'd never been to your house before, had no idea of the layout, but he couldn’t allow himself to do nothing. A quick scale of the property alerted him to a brick wall to the rear of the house, one that was climbable, if a little tricky. He vaulted over, landing silently in the backyard. As he approached the house, he could see your husband sat round the dining table with his men, bottles of beer and baggies of drugs strewn across the oak table. His fists balled; his teeth gritted as he wondered how the man who’d sworn to love you could party after no doubt taking his rage out on you. How could he have so little regard for the life who the woman he’d married? Jun-Ho swore to himself that once he found you, he would make your husband pay. That man would live to regret the day he put his hands on you.

Your house was large, set over two floors, and he had no idea where to start. It would have to be a case of eliminating each room one at a time, but that was risky. With no other option, he climbed in through the downstairs bathroom window, sneaking out into the hallway. He could hear men laughing further down the hall, the floor thumping with the bass from speakers as music started to play. Carrying on down the hall, Jun-Ho made his way silently up the darkened stairs. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he checked each room, not daring to turn the lights on in case he alerted anyone to his position. Each room was empty, the dark silence torturing him. He was running out of options, running out of hope.

When he reached the last door on the right, he pushed it opened, spying your feet sticking out from behind the bed. His stomach dropped, bile rising in his throat as he hurried to you. You were silent and unmoving, but you were still breathing. Your beautiful face was covered in crusted blood, your eyes swollen from the punches your husband had rained down on you. Your dress was bloodstained, you soft whimpers tearing his heart in two. “I’ve got you,” Jun-Ho whispered, “it’s ok. You���re safe now.”

His thumb caressed your cheek, tears brimming in his eyes as took in your broken body. It was too dark to survey the damage properly, but he knew that the daylight would reveal the devastating truth. Jun-Ho needed to figure out a way to get you out without alerting anyone. You were too weak to walk, too weak to even stand and as he wrapped his arms around you. As he picked you up off the floor you stirred, opening your eyes. “You came,” you smiled, tears staining your cheeks. “Of course,” Jun-Ho smiled back, “I would never leave you. Just relax, ok? I’ll get you out of here.”

The journey back down the stairs towards the bathroom window he’d entered through was precarious. You were dead weight in his arms, and Jun-Ho would have nowhere to hide if he was spotted. By sheer luck, he made it back to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. he’d have to push you out of the window, the drop only a few feet, but it still broke him that he’d probably end up hurting you. “I need to lift you out of the window,” he whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks as he looked into your swollen eyes. “Do you think you can catch yourself?” You nodded, your resilience and strength putting even the strongest man to shame. “I love you,” he told you, hoisting you up onto the windowsill. You smiled weakly, pushing yourself off the side and landing with a thud on the grass below. Jumping down after you, Jun-Ho half dragged, half carried you to the car.

He knew you wouldn’t have long to get out of the city. Your husband would notice your absence soon enough, and his boss would no doubt catch wind of his unsanctioned rescue. He needed to get you far away from Seoul, somewhere you could rest, and he could plan your next steps. He drove through the night, keeping one hand clasped in yours as he swapped the highway for back country roads.

“I will never let go of you,” he whispered to your sleeping form, his fingers tightening around yours. He would keep you safe, give you the life you so desperately deserved. Jun-Ho knew things were far from over, he knew he’d be hunted by your husband and the police. But he would journey to hell and back to keep you safe. And if it was a fight your husband wanted, it was a fight he would get.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ your girl ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo held your hands carefully, his fingers scarcely brushing the raw, incensed marks from the rope burns. the reddened skin stood out against your pallid complexion, making the injuries look worse than you tried to let on. you flinched slightly when he turned your palms upward, his touch so delicate it made your chest ache. “it’s not so bad,” you murmured, your voice light, though the sting was anything but mild. you glanced up at him, hoping your slight smile would ease the worry etched into his exhausted, weary features.

˚ ༘♡ his brows furrowed together, your futile consolation doing little to calm him. his thumb drifted near the worst of the burns, as if he wanted to soothe the pain but didn’t dare. “i’m sorry,” he spoke, his voice desolate and tormented, as if it was meant for your ears alone, the others no concern of his. he shook his head, his jaw tightening. “if they’d given us water or even a cold drink, it might’ve helped. don’t put too much pressure on your hands, okay?”

˚ ༘♡ you gazed at him, surprised by the softness in his tone. “sang-woo, really, it’s nothing. we all got burns from the tug of war game,” you replied, your countenance softening as you glanced down at your scorched hands. “i’ll be fine.” the sincerity in his cloudedngaze made your heart burn with adoration, although the sting from your injuries grounded you.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond right away, his dark eyes lingering on your hands like he could will the pain away by staring at it long enough. for a split second, it seemed like he was about to say something, something you weren’t sure you were ready to hear, but instead, he let out a quiet sigh and bit into the corn cob the guards had distributed to the surviving players as meal rations. the stiffness in his shoulders stuck around, an indicative sign of his unease.

˚ ༘♡ “and you, babe!” mi-nyeo’s voice cut through the air, loud and exaggerated, she was player 212, who had been on their team for the last game. “three steps forward, huh? so cool.” her giggle was thick with flirtation as she strutted closer to sang-woo, clearly angling for his attention.

˚ ༘♡ but he didn’t so much as glance at her. not a single flicker of acknowledgment crossed his face. instead, his gaze flickered back to you for the briefest of moments, his lips pressing into a thin line when he saw your discomfort. you shifted uncomfortably beside him, your fingers curling slightly against your lap, but his knee brushed yours, whether intentional or not, it was enough to send a reassuring warmth through you. gi-hun, noticing the awkwardness brewing between everyone, laughed, his tone cheerful. “hey, sang-woo’s got a girlfriend already, so give it a rest.”

˚ ༘♡ mi-nyeo froze fora beat, her playful smirk disappearing. her eyes darted toward you, sitting stiffly next to sang-woo. she blinked in disbelief, her gaze flitting between the two of you before settling on you. “the foreign girl?” she scoffed, her voice rising. “seriously? come on, sang-woo, you can do so much better…”

˚ ༘♡ you opened your mouth to speak, but sang-woo beat you to it, his voice slicing through the tension. “why don’t we eat in silence?” his tone was cold, sharper than you’d ever heard it, and it left no room for argument. his dark eyes narrowed on mi-nyeo, making it clear he wouldn’t tolerate another word from her.

˚ ༘♡ a small tinge of satisfaction warmed your chest as mi-nyeo’s face fell, though you kept your expression neutral. she paused for a moment, clearly trying to think of a way to regain control of the conversation. eventually, she shrugged, her grin returning with a sly twist. “if that’s what you want,” she declared, drawing out her words before sauntering away with an exaggerated sway in her hips.

˚ ༘♡ the minute she was gone, you let out a slow breath, the tension in your chest easing slightly. sang-woo hadn’t moved, his posture rigid and his dark eyes fixed on the ground, though his tensed muscles revealed his lingering frustration. you glanced at him, hesitant but apprehensive. “you didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, your voice soft enough to be carried away by the air around you.

˚ ༘♡ his head turned toward you, his dark eyes meeting yours witha strength that brought you to stop speaking. “yes, i did,” he said, his words hushed and certain, as if it were the most evident notion in the world. “she doesn’t get to talk to you like that.” his manner of speech carried a modest intensity, the kind that didn’t need to be loud to make an impact.

˚ ༘♡ you blinked, surprised by the tenderness of his response. “it doesn’t bother me,” you said, though the strain in your voice betrayed the pitiful lie. you wanted to brush it off, to convince him, and maybe yourself, that it didn’t matter with how dire the circumstances were. yet he didn’t look away, and the way his eyes searched yours made it unthinkable to hold the facade.

˚ ༘♡ “it should,” he said quietly. his gaze went to your wounded hands again, fixated on the burns as his fingers twitched, as if he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should. “you don’t deserve that insolent mockery and those rude insults.”

˚ ༘♡ the raw honesty in his voice made something inside you ache. you swallowed hard, your heart catching at the way he looked at you, in a way that betrayed that he cared more than he was willing to admit. “we all deal with it,” you said gently, the words feeling inadequate even as they left your lips.

˚ ༘♡ his expression didn’t change, but his voice softened just enough to make your chest tighten. “that doesn’t make it right,” he mumbled, almost to himself. he leaned slightly closer, his tone faint enough that it felt like the world around you had fallen away. “if i could make it easier for you, i would.”

˚ ༘♡ your breath caught in your throat, the unexpected affection of his words settling solemnly in the little distance between the two of you. for a brief period of time, neither of you spoke, the solitude stretching out in a way that felt strangely comforting. you could feel the unspoken significance of everything he wasn’t saying, everything he couldn’t put into words, and it was enough to make the misery of the desolate world seem distant, something nonexistent.

˚ ༘♡ “thank you,” you finally whispered, your voice barely able to be heard but carrying more meaning than the mere words could communicate.

˚ ༘♡ he gave the smallest nod, his lips pressing together as if to keep himself from saying more. the short-lived instance of genuine affection had ended, but the feeling it left behind stayed with you, lingering, quiet, and comfortable in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

a/n: a more lighthearted cho sang-woo fanfiction! let me know if you have anymore requests for him as well as your thoughts! 🤍

[nxlx96]

The Boy Saviour - Oscar Piastri x Reader (she/her)

Hi, this is my first time writing x reader, and the idea came to me at 3am a few nights ago while i was trying to sleep and hasn't left me live ever since. This is also my first time posting on tumblr so bear the simple format.

Trigger Warning: Non-consensual drug use, as in, reader gets roofied in a bar (Not by any named character nor any of the drivers, so rest assured on that sense). There is also recreational alcohol consumption and a bit of off-camera violence.

WC: 8381

Also, this is more of a pre-slash story rather than a romantic one. That's all I have to say, I'll shut up and let you read.

Please let me know what you think!

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Post race driver parties are not an uncommon thing, although it is much more frequent in the European leg of the season; when everyone is in the same country or near enough they don’t care for a few hours of commute -Today's crowd was composed of Charles, Oscar, Max, Lando, Alex, George, Pierre, Carlos and as a star guest, Daniel-. These parties were often the perfect way to try and unwind from the pressure of the season and to smooth out whatever incidents happened on track. A few passive aggressive interchanges, three shots and everyone’s usually back to laughing and buzzing along.

Tonight they had followed Charles’ recommendation and gone to a club in the more residential area of Monaco, away from the yacht club and the casino. It was still tightly packed with people dancing on the dancefloor and the bar was busy as the drinks kept on coming, but the people there didn't care much for them and they were able to enjoy themselves without worrying about having too many eyes on them.

They had a booth in the second floor alcove, allowing them an almost full view of the dance floor if anyone cared to look down, but they were too busy roughhousing and laughing. She’d gotten used to it, of course, having grown as a girl in motorsports it’s simply part of the package. But sometimes she still needed a break when they were behaving like that, because while they recognise her as a proper rival, a true competitor despite gender bias, being drunk they sometimes forget they have size and strength to their favour while having their fun, and their brawling and heavy shoulder slaps felt a tiny bit too annoying while tipsy. Overwhelming.

So she excuses herself to the bar, shaking the glass that now only tinkers with half melted ice cubes. She gets a few nods and a stray thumbs up but the chatter continues like before.

The layout of the club had the bar as the centerpiece gemstone, the first thing you see when you come though the main entrance across from the massive dance floor. The dance floor’s design is full of different height platforms, similar to those at Jimmy Z. Their booth on the second floor has a perfect view of all the first floor, except for the public entrance, which is right underneath it.

Coming down the stairs, she followed the platforms' paths that led her to the bar once again, choosing a stool to sit and wait for the bartenders to take her order. 

On the wall to her left, the DJ booth rises itself over all the platforms in its own little block, colored lights sprouting from the base towards the right of it, in the corner between the bar and the DJ there is the smaller door they were escorted through, directly from the parking lot behind the establishment. On the opposite wall there's a hallway that leads to what she assumes are the bathrooms, judging by the long queue of women she can see standing in the hallway.

A tap on the countertop brings her attention back. The bartender asks for her order in French, and her basic understanding of the language allows her to order a raspberry mojito without spluttering too much. A sweet enough concoction to help smooth out the straight Vodka shots they downed back at the table. 

In no time, a new clear plastic cup was placed in front of her. A tall cup full to the brim with rum and sparkly water. A mix of raspberry puree, lemon and mint sitting at the bottom. She grabs the straw and starts mixing the cocktail, but the ice floating on top, and the decorative mint leaves that float at the top threaten to overflow the cup when she does, so she has to take another bitter sip of almost pure liquor before actually enjoying the sweetness.

She rested her elbow on the bartop and her chin in her hand, alternating between swaying to the music, looking at the bartenders preparing fancy and complicated cocktails and looking around the crowd dancing on the floor. It wasn’t exactly a quiet place, but it did provide respite from the boys’ rowdiness. Occasionally there would be people who sat in the barstools next to her. Some of them made some sort of small talk while waiting for their drinks to be ready, but no one lingered in her space for too long, allowing her to unwind on her own.

♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ 

As a woman in life, you learn to know when to follow your instincts. Call it bad omen, gut feeling or sixth sense. Sometimes you subconsciously register danger before you see or hear something. In this case, she felt a tight coil in her stomach -looking back it might have been more of a natural reaction than not a bad omen-, her adrenaline spiked like she’d been in the car after miraculously avoiding a collision. Her hands trembled a bit as she sneakily tried to look around. There was a couple at the bar two seats to her right, too engrossed in each other to be the source of panic. As she swiped to the other side, her hand caught the straw of her cup, pulling it from inside. She tried to catch it but it rolled over the edge of the bartop, falling to the ground. 

Fucking breathe!

Straw forgotten, she grabbed the cup and twisted around in her stool, swiping the room with her gaze. To her other side there was a group of friends rowdily chatting, no different from the drivers’ table upstairs. He made eye contact with one of them, a guy not participating in the conversation. He seemed embarrassed to have been caught staring as he turned red and avoided eye contact. Too shy, too far away, probably not that either. She started scanning the crowd on the dancefloor with her heart almost at her throat.

Without a straw, she was left to swirl the whole cup to stir its contents. No one in the vicinity was particularly close to her bubble, or paying special attention to her, but the sensation didn’t go away. Some movement from the group at her side made her tense up, but it was a small part of them that walked towards the dancefloor. Shy boy included. The ones left at the bar were immersed in conversation, crowding together to hear themselves over the music. So she relaxed again.

She’d been tilting the drink to her lips when she finally realised that her nearly melted ice cubes had sunk to the bottom of the cup, and the whole thing looked cloudy. Her heart stopped in her throat, closing her airways.

I’ve been drugged.

The realisation sinks in, but it feels unreal.

Is this really happening to me?

The glass is on her lips, and she tilts it back, but keeps her mouth sealed; knowing that whoever did it must be keeping an eye on her. Her jaw is clenched so hard it’s almost difficult to breathe. Her first instinct is to throw the whole thing on the ground, but it’s less than half full now. Whatever they put in it has been in her system for long enough. Her next thought is to notify the bartenders, but she hesitates before turning around. There had been no one near enough on her side of the bar to get close to her drink, and she’d kept her hand over it at all moments; but of course the rim was wide and there were gaps between her fingers where someone could have dumped something in. For now the bartenders are also suspicious. Twisting her arm, she sets the drink on the table behind her; uncaring now to leave it unsupervised. 

The damage has already been done anyway. She figures.

Her heart rate does nothing to slow down, and her thoughts do not help at all. She is in imminent danger with no way out. She’d left her purse at the booth upstairs, and doesn’t have her phone at hand. She looks up in the direction of their table. Under the strobing lights she can see the crowd of drivers has dwindled down. She can distinguish Alex, George, Carlos, Max and Lando sitting up there; the rest of them might be somewhere in the dancefloor. The idea of trying to get the attention of the guys up there was also discarded, since it will alert her assailant too, and she has no guarantee it’ll get the guys’ attention. Trying to find the others in the crowd sounds just as impossible a task as to find a needle in a haystack. 

Her hands shake. The safest alternative that comes to her mind is to run to the women’s bathroom. The crowd queuing in the halfway has reduced, and the hallway looks dark; but it’s her best shot.

Over the corner of her eye something catches her attention. A white button up shit that looks almost fluorescent under the black lights. The figure skirts around the dancefloor, following almost the same path she took to get to the bar, but it’s clear his destination is not the same, since he doesn’t slow down and seems to be aiming for the bathrooms instead.

“Oscar!” She yells before she realises. It might have sounded a bit too strangled, a bit too panicked, but it catches his attention. She’s reaching a hand out to him, and he extends his arm for her to grab as he gets close to her stool.

“Oh hey,” He looks sort of confused, and she doesn’t blame him. They do gravitate to the same groups, But they’re not particularly close friends, so her calling out feels awkward for both of them. “Didn’t realise you came here.” He gestures awkwardly to the bar, but she’s too relieved to have found a safe person she doesn’t even hear what he’s saying. 

She jumps from the stool, holding onto his wrist. “Come dance with me!” 

He hesitates “... You know I’m not-” She’s still not listening, she hesitates between abandoning her cup at the bar, but grabs it at the last second and turns back to him.

“Just one song, come on!” 

“I was going to-” He tries again, but this time she digs her nails into his skin, and desperately tugs him with a trembling hand. He doesn’t put any more resistance, simply trailing behind her as she tries to find a pocket of space for them among the moving bodies. As she walks she feels her blood rushing to her head. She’s feeling too tipsy and woozy for the amount of alcohol she’s consumed; and whatever hopes the whole thing had been in her head crumble like sandcastles at the sensation of her bambi legs. But she has her way out caught in a deathgrip by the wrist, she can still get out unscathed.

As soon as she finds space for them, she stops and turns around to face him, getting close in his space to be heard over the loud music. She wraps Oscar’s arm she’d been tugging on, around her waist, in hopes he can hold her up in case her legs give out and wraps hers around his body too.

She can feel Oscar’s hand in her back, blindly trying to find a patch of fabric to settle on top of. His avoidance of the naked skin of her back settles a minute worry in her mind. Yes, he is a man. Yes, she would probably feel more comfortable coming to her own teammate for help. But Oscar is still safe, he won’t take advantage of her. He is safety.

“Are you sober?” Is the first thing that comes out of her mouth once they’ve settled their positions and start to loosely sway to the beat of whatever song is playing.

Oscar is looking more and more confused at the sudden serious tone of her voice and the way it contradicts the easy smile on her face. She’s still acting up like nothing’s wrong. “Uhh yeah, I came in my car.”

Oscar you blessed man.

“Great! I need you to take me to the hospital right now.” Oscar freezes completely and she tries to keep the easy smile on her face. “Someone put something in my drink and I think I’m going to pass out soon.” His face does something complicated, and one of his hands tries to go for the cup on her hand, but she moves it out of his path, tripping over her own heel in the process. He catches her before she can stumble.

“Why are you still-?” He looks tense in a way she hasn’t seen him many times, he instantly understood the seriousness the situation entails. She’s so glad he believed her, a worry she hadn’t even processed having.

Her confidence starts waving, there is not much time to explain and her voice shakes as she tries to fill him in. “You have to take it- I- I don’t know what they put in- The doctor can… I don’t know-” She feels like she's twelve again, trying to explain to her mother that she accidentally broke her favourite mirror and cut her hand. “They can analyse it or whatever,” she finishes lamely. 

She can see it more clearly now, he’s not just tense, he’s angry. At her or on her behalf? She doesn’t know him well enough to be able to tell the difference.

“You’re so…” Careless. Irresponsible. Stupid. Her eyes fill with tears and he feels like a scolded child. “... smart.” He says instead, not following the script in her mind.

“I kno- Wait what?” He shakes his head, moving past the topic. His voice holds urgency now. 

“Do you know who did it?” He’s looking past her, scanning the crowd behind her.

“No I- There was no one near except the bartenders… I-I didn’t know if they-  A-and I didn’t know who to ask for help!” She sniffs, and clears her throat, swallowing around the tightness in her throat.

He notices her trying to maintain her composure, and smoothes out his expression. “It’s alright. You found me, and I will help you, okay?” In a very unlike-himself moment he wraps his arms closer to her, holding her in a loose hug. Maybe it’s the relief that comes from Oscar’s reassurance that makes her body relax, loosen up. She takes the moment to really get a deep breath, trying to regulate her heart rate, knowing an accelerated heartbeat will only speed the effect of the drug. The music is already hard to hear even with how the deep base thrums in her bones. She lets her head fall forward onto his shoulder and Oscar’s arms tighten around her like a vice, but when she stays standing up he relaxes. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah?” She’s pretty sure she just gave him a small heart attack, but she can’t really find the strength to apologize, so she simply takes another deep breath, this time taking in the smell of his cologne, and nods her head. 

She steps back, trying to maintain balance on the small heels of her shoes, and allows Oscar to grab her arm to guide them through the crowd. It’s a bit scary, how fast she seems to be falling under the effects. What would she have done had Oscar not been there? 

Oscar is aggressively polite as he makes a path for them towards the exit, loudly excusing them as he pushes through. She walks behind him, gaze set on his broad shoulders. They’re almost out of the crowd when she feels a hand closing in on her arm. She flinches and removes her arm before they can grasp her, and steps even closer to Oscar, almost stepping on his heels. “Oscar-” She manages in a squeaky voice, but he must hear her because he holds together and broathens his stride. The hands do not follow, only shoulder bumps as they make their way though. 

They get out the doors in no time. The space outside is deserted, late enough that everyone is either at home asleep or inside the club. Oscar turns to her, scans her and points toward the side street that she assumes would lead them around the building towards the private parking lot. “My car’s this way.” She briefly looks back to the doors, but they stay closed so she nods. Maybe the hand was her imagination, or a simple accidental brush of a hand. 

Her steps are still mostly steady but Oscar still keeps a hand on her left forearm, the warmth from his hand is a stark contrast to the cold air of the Monegasque night. The sweat that had layered over her body is cooling off rapidly as they round the building and by the time they’ve walked the length of the side street and caught sight of the actual parking lot, shivers have started to rack her up.

Oscar briefly lets go of her arm to fish the keys from his pocket and she instantly misses the warmth. Now untethered she slows her walking, paying a bit more attention to where she’s placing her feet. He clicks off the alarm and the navy blue McLaren Artura at the other end blinks its lights at them. “There’s our ride.” Oscar is smiling as he looks back, extending his arm for her again, but his eyes stray over her shoulder and the expression freezes in his face. 

A hand wraps on the arm that Oscar hadn’t been holding and it feels nothing like the Australian's careful and grounding hold. It burns as it takes a bruising hold of her and tugs her to the side. She stumbles with the force of it, body already feeling too close to a ragdoll to comfort. Her voice is strong but not steady as she demands, “Let me go.” She tries to back away from the foreign body, but her ankle gives up and twists painfully. She stumbles but holds her stance and tries to push away from the nasal french voice speaking at her in a sultry voice. The arm that had been trying to push away from the tall man gets caught from the wrist. The drink sloshes and some of it spills over her fingers and onto her dress. 

Just as he’s starting to use his weight against her, a body steps in between them. She collides with Oscar’s shoulder a bit, but her right arm is freed, and she pulls it back towards her. “Get your fucking hands off.” She has never heard him sound so angry. His accent has deepened like she’s never heard before. But he is still gentle as he wraps a hand firmly on her left arm. She can feel him pulling the guy’s hand and prying his fingers open to release her. She uses his back to support herself as she helps pull her arm free from those thick fingers. 

Once freed she stumbles back again, but the Aussie has a firm hold on her and keeps her upright. The guy tries to go around Oscar to get her again, and over the driver’s shoulder she looks at his face for the first time as Oscar pushes firmly with his forearm to keep him away. Tan complexion, prince-y dark hair and a well groomed beard. 

In any other circumstance she would have said he was attractive, but now she can only feel nauseous at the fake nonchalant smile the guy is sporting. With her muddled brain she half understands he’s trying to excuse this as a misunderstanding. He catches the words ‘friend’, ‘together’, ‘mine’ and ‘drunk’. She has no idea if Oscar even understands what the guy is saying, but he seems set on getting him away from her. 

After a more forceful shove that makes the assailant stumble back, Oscar looks over his shoulder and lets go of her, pushing her towards the parking lot. “Get in the car.”

She nods dumbly as she turns in the direction where the lights flashed earlier. The parking lot is only mildly illuminated, but it’s enough for her to be able to locate the Artura among the other luxury cars parked there. There are more confrontation sounds coming from behind, and what sounds very much like a hit, but she doesn’t look back. All her attention and remaining brain power is going to try to reach the car at the end of the parking lot. Her right ankle throbs painfully with each step, and the uneven terrain makes it three times harder, because when the fuck did the pavement turn to gravel?

She leans on a pink Porshe 911 as her legs buckle, the McLaren is right there. There’s the sound of another car starting up, more yelling but she’s already rounding it from behind towards the passenger door. The sound of angry screeching tyres spinning out without traction in the gravel grinds her head and the pain in her ankle is too much; her right leg gives out completely, the other one follows shortly and she’s going down. She tries to drag her hand on the car to find a purchase on something but there’s nothing other than the squeak of her sweaty hand on the polished paint. Her knees take the brunt of the impact, and it stings.

The angry car has sped off, and she’s pretty sure she hears it clip the wall of the sidestreet. She takes a deep breath and lets herself fall seated against the car, knees to her chest, back to the door. Dumly, she notes that the cup still has some liquid on it, its red is just as dark in the low light as the small pinpricks of blood on her knees.

She registers footsteps getting closer to her, and for a second her heart rate speeds up again until she hears her name called by a worried Australian. She bangs her head against the door, willing herself to keep her eyes open as she answers back. Oscar’s footsteps speed up and in no time he’s kneeling in front of her, warm hands on her biceps as he looks over her body. He brings a hand to remove stray pieces of hair from her face and she can see a hint of blood on his knuckles.

“Are you okay?” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎

Oscar cannot believe his ears. “How am- Are you forreal?” An incredulous chuckle escapes him because this girl, shivering on the floor with scraped knees and blown out pupils, who almost got kidnapped by a stranger in a foreign country, is more worried about him than about herself. He shakes his head and wipes his knuckles, showing her the unbroken skin. “I’m alright, see?” Her eyes scan his hand for a second too long before nodding. Her head bobs in a sleepy manner, and he knows he has to hurry. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” She’s breathing heavily, but Oscar can’t be sure if it’s an after effect of whatever drug the asshole put in her drink or the exertion of the situation. “My ankle hurts,” He looks down at her feet, still clad in heeled slippers with a complicated ribbon. Neither of her feet looks particularly swollen or bruised for now. “I’m scared…” Her voice is much softer, almost a whisper, but in the emptiness of the parking lot at night, it almost seems to echo. 

He grabs her arms again, rubbing up and down “It’s okay, it’s over now.” She keeps shivering under his arms and Oscar doesn’t know if it’s the cold or shock starting to settle in, “Can you walk?”

Her eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head in a terribly adorable gesture, “Walk where?”

“We need to get you into the car”

“But-” She slaps the back of her hand against the car, “I’m here”

Oscar can’t suppress the smile, “Yeah, but unless you’re planning on driving, we need to get you around the passenger side.”

“... Fuck.” 

“Force of habit, yeah.” He grabs onto her forearms. Her skin feels cold and sticky with dried sweat. “Come on, let’s get you up.” She pulls alongside him, but as soon as her right foot is firm on the ground, she makes a face and he takes more of her weight as she falters, her other leg not cooperating much. 

“Oscar” The slugginess in her voice makes the R in his name sound much breathier. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“Alright, well-” He bends down and swipes her legs off the floor, holding her in a princess's carry. She makes a strangled sound and her arms come to grab at his shoulders. The cup tilts dangerously but she rights it just in time. “Much easier this way.” He makes his way over to the passenger seat and bends his knees to open up the door, depositing her in the seat. “Ah look!” Wedged right in between the seat and the door, is a hoodie he’d abandoned maybe a few days ago. He pulls it and sets it on her lap, taking the cup from her hand. “Think you can get it on by yourself?”

“Mm-hm”

“‘kay, you do that while I figure out where to keep this.” He closes the door and rounds the car again to his seat, looking around the small space to find a safe place to place it without spilling what little liquid remains on it. As his companion wrestles with the fabric, she kicks an abandoned water bottle. “Bingo.” He leans down to grab it. A small shake reveals to still have stale water he poured out of the window before pouring in the remaining cocktail into it. He screws the lid back on and keeps the cup too, just in case. He drops both items in the footrest of the passenger before looking at the occupant. She’s relaxed into the seat, and her eyes are closed. Fear creeps in for a second, “Ready to go?”

thumbs-upHe gets a thumbs up in response. Still conscious it seems. He reaches over and pulls her seatbelt on, knowing he will ignore all speed limits to the hospital. After a second of consideration, he shakes her arm until she’s blinking up at him. “Try to stay awake, yeah?” He grabs his phone, to call Lando. It hasn’t been longer than 10 minutes since he left their table, but he needs someone to call the police on the guy, and let Lando know he needs to get a new ride. He looks at his companion, she’s looking at his phone as it rings in his lap. “If you feel like throwing up let me know, yeah?” He says as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“m’not throwing up.” Her angry eyebrows are back. 

“Okay, then you can help me explain to Lando-” Just then, the Brit’s voice comes through the car speakers.

“Heeellooo? Mate did you get lost on your way back or what?” He’s half yelling to hear himself over the music. It’s a miracle he even heard his phone ring.

“No, I’m taking the Alpine princess to the hospital.” He sneaks a look at her as he accelerates down the narrow monaco streets. She’s still awake, biting her lip as Lando processes the words.

“You what! What happened!? The fuck Oscah?”

He’s about to start explaining, but she speaks up “Some guy spiked my drink, I found Oscar and he got me out.” He has to keep his eyes on the road, but he can see out of the corner of his eye how she cuddles up into the seat. “I’m alright… Pinky promise.”

“Lando, listen, I need you to get Charles to call the police.” The traffic light up ahead has turned yellow, but Oscar doesn’t slow down. It’s the middle of the night and there are no other cars around, so he floors it right as it turns red. “I’ll give you a description, and his license plate. I need you to report him to authorities.”

“Fuck.” He says, eloquently. “Yeah I-” There’s a bit of silence from him, but the music is still humming loudly in the background. “I think I see Charles upstairs, I’ll go get him now.” Oscar can hear him speaking to someone, but it’s muffled like he lowered the phone. Almost a full two minutes later he speaks up again. “Kay, got Charles and Pierre here. They want to know if you’re really okay, sprout?”

Oscar is slowing down for a curve. Because as much as he would love to go as fast as during the actual race, he doesn’t know these streets as well, so he has to be careful. The silence stretches for too long, and as he turns to look at her again, he finds her completely asleep. 

“Shit, she passed out.” He presses harder on the gas pedal, Lando curses too. “He tried to grab her when we were getting to the parking lot. She twisted her ankle and scraped her knees, but other than that, she’s physically alright.” Streets and buildings blur as he speeds by. “Asshole was as tall as George or Alex. Lanky and tan. Dark hair, beard. I broke his nose, and probably his cheekbone before he ran away.” As he approaches a speed bump, he throws his hand over her chest to prevent her from flying around. 

This time it’s a new voice, Charles “He took off running?” 

“No, in a car. Porsche 911 Turbo S, Dark green.”

“Did you get the license plate?”

Of course I did, who do you think I am? 

“M3T9. He busted a backlight as he drove off, if that helps.”

“I will get on it, do not worry he will not get away.” Despite the noise, Oscar can hear how dark Charles’ voice becomes, and he remembers that Charles is a very prominent figure here; the prince of Monaco who is friends with the actual prince of Monaco.

“I’ll leave you to take care of him, then.”

“Yes yes, I will get him. You just get the petite poupée to the doctors, yes?” He has no idea what that means but it sounds like an affectionate nickname.

Oscar nods to himself in the car, “We’re already here, she’ll be alright” He can see the URGENCES sign of the Centre Hospitalier Princesse Grace. He eases his foot off the pedal, as he turns into the mostly empty parking lot.

“Keep us updated!”

“Will do.” 

The call disconnects and he’s left to pick a parking space that isn’t reserved for ambulances. Once he’s turned everything off, he turns to her and shakes her arm, calling her name to try and wake her up, but it’s futile. She’s breathing deeply, sound asleep. He rounds the car and opens her door. He leans over her legs to grab the bottle and scoop under her knees and in the process he discovers she did not manage to get both her arms though the sleeves of his hoodie, and that her right is still tangled inside. He almost huffs a laugh at that. Almost.

Picking her up again feels different than when he did it 10 minutes ago, because her body is too lax, too malleable. This time she makes no sound when he hoists her up, and her head lulls back, stretching her neck over the arm he has under her shoulders. She looks and feels like a ragdoll in his arms as he stands up and uses his elbow to drag the door down and closed; he quietly seethes at the thought of her being like this in the hands of such a vermin. 

How anyone could find such an unresponsive body attractive is a question he doesn’t even want to think of. Instead he stops to adjust her neck, letting her head rest on his collarbone instead of the previous uncomfortable position and fixes the hood over her head to cover up her face. It is the middle of the night, but he has learnt that every wall has eyes and that everything can and will be posted online. He has nothing to hide his face with, but protecting her identity in a moment of such vulnerability is his only priority in his mind after getting her help.

He’s careful of pushing the doors with his shoulder. The reception is empty except for the receptionist behind the desk. He sighs inwardly at that. The woman looks up and stands up immediately upon his arrival at the desk, his French skills are nonexistent, so he wholeheartedly hopes she understands English. “We were at a club and someone put drugs in her drink.” The woman nods once, so Oscar takes that as a sign that she does and continues. “She passed out in the car while driving here, like five minutes ago.” He’s not as oblivious as to think he looks innocent holding a dead looking girl, and the face of the woman, carefully stoic, sets his nerves on fire.

“Did she say what was put in it or who did it?”

 “No, but she asked me to bring what was left of the drink, because she said you could analyse it to treat her,” He sets the bottle on the counter and hikes her up in his arms. “She’d thought it was one of the bartenders, but as we were getting to the car the guy came and tried to take her by force.” He omits the part where he punched him and instead lets his trump card subtly show. “My friend Charles has already called the police to report the assault.” Despite how common it is, the name must register in her mind, because she makes a double take, between Oscar’s face and the face half hidden in his chest. “Please help her,” 

“Of course we will help.” She shakes her head like the thought of them refusing attention was a personal offence. She presses a button behind the counter and rounds the desk to take a better look at the girl in his arms. She produces a penlight from a pocket and gestures towards her. Oscar twists to allow her to get closer. “How long ago did she consume the drink?”

“Uh…” The nurse opens one of her eyelids and flashes her light, studying pupil reaction. “I have no idea, she found me around 15 or 20 minutes ago, she’d already realised by then and didn’t drink the rest of it, but I don’t know how long it was.” He can hear footsteps from behind, another nurse is coming from the personal hallway. “She started shivering too, but I don't know if it was cold or shock. I gave her my hoodie and it has stopped now, at least.”

The woman nods, and as the new nurse comes closer, she starts -hopefully- translating what he’s said in rapid French. It’s like watching Charles, Pierre and Lance gossip during drivers’ parade. The bottle is handed too, and when the exchange ends, the new nurse takes a cursory look, stops at Oscar’s face and mumbles something back before continuing their path towards the next hallway.

“We will get a room set up for her, do you want me to bring a wheelchair in the meantime?”

“No, I’m alright.” She’s deadweight, but not as heavy as Oscar would have imagined, he’s also trained enough during his life, he can hold a few more minutes. The receptionist goes back around the desk and starts asking questions about her for what Oscar assumes is a registry sheet. A new concern sparks in his mind, and he accidentally interrupts one of her questions with his own request. “I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to stay with her, but could you at least make sure she doesn’t get a male doctor?”

Her serious and stoic facade falls at that, and for a second she reminds Oscar of his own mum. “I’ll make sure of that, and I do think you might be able to stay with her. It’ll help her to see a familiar face waking up.” She gives him a reluctant smile and resumes asking if he knows her blood type. 

The other nurse comes back just as they’re finishing, and leads him to a room where they’ll be treating her. As he lowers her from his arm, he remembers to mention a detail he’d forgotten. “Hey, uh- Her ankle… She said it hurt, and might have twisted it.” 

The nurse nods, and answers in a much more prominent accent. “We will take x-ray of it. Your hand is okay?” 

Oscar looks back to his hand. There’s redness on his knuckles and a bruise is starting to form around the bones, but he flexes his fingers a couple of times and it only stings a bit. “No, I’m okay, thanks.”

“Okay, now you wait outside, I call when ready, yes?”

“Yeah, thank you.” 

He closes the door behind him and walks to a nearby bench, using the time to update Lando via text. In return he gets told that Charles stormed off the bar, Pierre, Carlos and Daniel in tow. The rest of them are deciding how to carpool home; and that everyone will keep the situation under wraps, including whoever Charles has contacted. He says that Alex will be stopping by the hospital soon, to drop off her forgotten bag and phone and whatever else she’s left at their table.

The receptionist nurse passes by Oscar in the way to her room and lets him know they’ll take her for an x-ray; and that after that, he might wait inside her room if he wishes, in turn he lets her know he will jump out for a second because another friend will bring her stuff from the bar. The woman nods and gives him the number of the room they will take her after the x-ray for him to come back. 

His phone rings just as they’re rolling her bed out. He only catches a glimpse of an IV line connected to her arm before they wheel her down the corridor, he too turns away. 

Alex is waiting with his emergency lights on. When he sees him come out of the doors, he gives him a tired smile. Oscar leans against the door and they stay in silence for a while. It’s colder out now, or at least it feels like that now that adrenaline is no longer coursing through him. The light sweat he’d worked up earlier is drying cold against his back. He raps his knuckles against the blue paint of Alex’s car, bringing the Thai’s attention to his bruised hand.

“I heard you broke his nose?” Alex’s tone is teasing, if maybe a bit impressed.

“Got a couple hits, yeah.” Oscar closes his fist, the skin tightens over his bones. The memory of a bone cracking under them probably shouldn’t feel as satisfactory as it did. “Should’ve done more.” 

It comes much more bitterly than he’d expected, and Alex places a hand over his wrist, patting him “You did more than any of us, don’t beat yourself up.” He reaches to the passenger seat and pulls a small handbag and Oscar spots a jacket hung behind the seat. “You cold?” Alex must have seen his eyes stray, and as he pulls it from its perch Oscar notices the Williams logo on it.

“Nah mate, I’d rather be cold.”

“Ah, come on I can’t let the boy saviour freeze tonight.”

“No, no, never in a million years you’ll catch me wearing Williams merch,” He grabs the handbag and steps away when Alex tries to push the jacket into his arms too. They’re both laughing as the jacket falls to the ground and Alex is left half hanging off his window to grab it. Oscar watches him struggle for a second or five before deciding to have mercy; so he grabs the jacket and stuffs it in Alex’s face, turns on his back and starts walking back to the doors so he can’t attempt to hand it to him again.

“Oscar!” Alex calls between fabric and laughter, and Oscar turns just in time to catch a juice bottle headed straight to his face. A second one follows right after, he fumbles with it since both his hands are occupied, but he manages not to drop it, Alex snaps his fingers in faux frustration at that. “Take care of her!” He says as he starts his car again.

“Will do, mate.” He watches as Alex drives away until his tailgate lights disappear behind a wall, just then he turns back into the hospital. As he makes his way back, he rearranges the stuff in his hands; he holds the purse under his arm since it doesn’t have any straps, and studies the bottles. Alex had gotten orange and apple. 

Which one would she prefer?

He has no idea, really. He always sees her drinking either water, isotonic drinks, or energy drinks. Apples or oranges? There is a new receptionist at the desk, and when Oscar rattles the new room number, he is directed to the elevators with instructions to the second floor where lower grade emergencies are treated.

He only has to wait around 10 more minutes before she’s wheeled back in. The initial receptionist seems to be the one assigned to her, as she is the one that stays and explains to Oscar that there isn’t any fracture in the ankle. It seems like just her soft tissue was affected and she’ll get by with wearing a brace and sports tape for a few days. The lower half of her body is covered by the sheets while his hoodie covers the rest. One of the sleeves has been pushed up to make space for the IV, and Oscar can see that her foot is resting on a couple of pillows to keep it raised. Her shoes are in a little cubby under the bed, cubby to which he adds her purse.

He gets told there isn’t much they can do about the drug except keep her hydrated and let her body work it though, because it has already been absorbed by her bloodstream, along with the alcohol she’d consumed. But that the sample analysis revealed it to be non-threatening, it’ll just leave her with a nasty hangover. Despite the slight pessimistic tone, the information leaves him relieved, and he relaxes into the chair he’d sat to wait. He thanks the nurse and watches as a new person in different colored scrubs, carefully and efficiently wraps her ankle in neon blue sports tape.

Before long, he’s left alone with her, with instructions of pressing the call button if anything happens, but to try and rest because it could be hours before she wakes.

He tries to keep himself busy whilst keeping an eye on her. He messages Charles with the name of the drug that was put onto the drink, and the only answer he gets is a demon emoji, a fist emoji, hands clapping and another fist. Confused, he simply reacts with a thumbs up. He updates those who have messaged him to ask about her condition, but doesn’t go further than that. He settles on drinking the orange juice, and leaves the apple one in the bedside table next to her bed, scrolls through social media for a while and checks up on her again, but it has been a long and eventful day, and when his eyelids become too heavy, he doesn't fight them very hard.

🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎

Waking up feels like a heavy G crash. There's a pounding in her head that goes at the same tempo as her heart, and it takes conscious effort to take a deep breath. There's a slight throbbing on her bicep, on the wrist of the opposite arm and a sharper throb on her right foot.

She's laying sideways in a soft enough bed and there is little light from what she can see through her eyelids. 

But it doesn't smell like her bed at all.

Instead there's the smell of a different laundry detergent, artificial minty eucalyptus shampoo and a herbal mix. It smells distinctly like men, and the unfamiliarity of it makes her heart race, worsening the pounding of her head.

There's a blank in her memory when she tries to remember the previous night. She knows she was going out with some of the Monaco based drivers, and that she'd abandoned the table at some point. That's where everything starts to get fuzzy. 

There are flashes. 

A body close to hers in the dancefloor. The cold air outside the club. Falling into the gravel. Hands roughly grabbing at her, and a french accent. Falling asleep in a car.

Panic really does settle in at this point, and tears blurry her vision when she opens her eyes; but the room is nothing like she expects it to be. She's in a single bed, and there is a heart monitor that is displaying her rabbiting heartbeat. A saline drip that is halfway empty connected to the back of her hand.

A hospital?

The light is warm and dimmed, seemingly coming from a lamp behind her. She looks down at herself and finds a hoodie that is not hers, and totally is the source of the smells; but looking under it’s collar reveals the same dress she wore last night.

She slowly turns her head, still wary of the raging headache. The overhead lights are off, and her foot is propped on a pillow under the blankets. She wiggles her toes and twists her ankle. A sharp pain sparks, but it's not unbearable.

The other side of the room is half hidden by the glare of the lamp that makes her blink before her eyes adjust to the light.

A figure is sitting in a chair, sound asleep and covered with a blanket identical to hers. Oscar’s arms are crossed across his chest and his neck looks like it will hurt when he wakes up. 

More memories rush to her mind as she turns fully to that side; Lando's voice over the speakers of the car, Oscar's worried face in the dancefloor, his broad back as he pushed another man from her. The light is low, but she can see a bruise forming on the hand where Oscar is holding a half full bottle of juice. 

Slowly, she registers the smell of stale car and something so uniquely Oscar that brings tears back to her eyes.

“Oscar?” Her voice is low, croaky and shaky, full of tears when she speaks. But the reaction is immediate, he's awake in a second. His head snaps back into the right orientation and he clutches the bottle in his hand. Maybe she should feel guilty for waking him up, but that is a too complicated emotion to think of right now, instead there is a pool of relief as he meets her eyes, and an immense amount of trust as he whispers her name and detangles himself from the blanket to get close.

“You're okay, you're okay.” It's obvious he doesn't know what to do about tears, his hands move around uselessly and he looks so constipated it's almost funny. “Are you hurt anywhere? I can- I can call a nurse?” His hand finally decides to hover over a call button at the side of her bed, but she claps hers over his instead, and attempts to dry her face with the other.

“No, it's okay. I'm- I'm okay,” She hiccups again, and his other hand comes to rub up and down her arm; an action that also feels familiar and warm. “Thank you, Oscar.” Her voice is still choked up, but very earnest. She squeezes his hand and he squeezes right back. 

“You don't have to thank me,” She wipes her eyes again and looks back up at him, he's giving her a half smile that pushes a dimple into existence. It's such an adorable new discovery that she can't help the rush of emotions that comes. She lets go of his hand and sits up to pull him into a hug.

“The fuck you mean i don't have to thank you!?” It sounds half muffled against the fabric of his white shirt. “You saved my fucking life, Oscar” His hands come to wrap around her back and tears spring up again at the thought of what could have been. “He could've-”

“Shhh, let's not think about that, yeah? You're alright and that's what matters.” His hands rub circles between her shoulders, “Charles took care of everything else.”

“What’s that mean?” She sniffs, trying to keep the tears from soaking up his shirt.

“I have absolutely no idea, but he knows people who can hide his crimes, I'm not worried about him.” I'm worried about you, “How are you feeling?”

She takes another deep breath. The smell of eucalyptus and laundry detergent is stronger when it comes from the source. She lets go and wipes her face again with the sleeve of her -his- hoodie. “My head hurts and my ankle stings, but I'm alright,” Thanks to you. “I just feel very hungover.”

“Here,” She hears the shake of liquid, and upon removing her hands, Oscar's is offering an unopened bottle of apple juice. “Alex got us these.”

She grabs it and pouts at him, “It's my favourite. Thank you.” The last line comes out more charged than intended, but that's alright because she doesn't think she'll be able to stop thanking him anytime soon.

Oscar simply smiles like he knows, he lightly shakes his head and starts filling her in on what happened after she “fell asleep” as he says. She has no idea what time it is, but there is no rush right now, she's safe and in good hands, and when sleep starts lapping at her feet, she lets herself be swiped by the tide because she trusts Oscar to be there when she wakes up again.

The end.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · 𖥸 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

well, if you got here, i want to thank you for reading this the whole way through. as i said earlier, this came to me at 3 am and did not leave my head again, so i had to bring it to life. i hope you enjoyed despite the slightly dark topic.

from my research, i learned that not some drugs are undetectable to the naked eye, so always be aware of your drinks and who is close to you. i hope this story stays as a fictional thing and that none of you ever have to deal with something like that.

taka care and thank you again for reading!

Love,

Nini.

[suuooe]

piercing | suo hayato x gn!reader

✧ "Did it hurt when you pierced your ears?" "Want to find out?"

✧ content: esrablished relationship, fluff, biting (there's one bite.)

✧ a/n: another suo drabble cause I can't get him out of my mind please help me. the overall layout of the drabble might be a bit too much, can't really edit it right now as I'm on vacation, but if it's too blocky I'll fix it once I'm back (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

He mentioned that they were antiques...

You're stricken with the same trivia Nirei had provided you of Suo's earrings whenever your fingers twirl against the numerous golden tassels hanging off the red orb. Careful to not use too much force when you manage to wrap one tassel around your finger in case it were to harm Suo.

The aforementioned man, you notice - is a very pliant lover. Maybe you've picked up on his habit of people watching and observing, but the longer you've been together, the more you notice the small habits he does around you.

Becoming incredibly pliant to your every move and gesture involving him was the biggest habit he's donned. Bending down slightly when he sees your hand reach further up than normal towards him, immediately intertwining your hands when he feels the slightest brush and a recent one you noticed.

"Did it hurt when you pierced your ears, Hayato?" you questioned, your lover opening his visible eye to glance towards you, head still angled while you kept toying with his earring.

He always tilted his head slightly to the side to give you more room to play with his earring, sitting completely still to let you do such for as long as you please.

Suo only straightened his head back up when he felt your fingers leave his ears, instead turning his body slightly to come closer to you. Not that you weren't close from before already, having the habit of sitting directly next to him with a hand between his legs to get as comfortably close as possible.

"Hmm, I got them pierced when I was relatively young so I don't remember. Why, you plan on getting your own pierced?" he mutters, raising his own hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear to look at your un-pierced lobes.

"It would be a bit of shame though to pierce your ears..." he whispers briefly to himself, absentmindedly brushing his thumb against your lobe, pressing slightly at the unscarred skin.

"Mm..!?"

Suo's eyes widen slightly at the surprised noise you make, whilst you yourself hurriedly grab onto the same ear he had just pressed - instinctively pulling yourself a bit further away from your boyfriend. Your lover however is quick with his hands, already having a secure hand behind your back to prevent you from jumping away further.

You don't like how his slightly widened eyes were also mixed with a hint of mirth. "It just tickled a bit, that's all." you hurriedly say in defense, Suo only humming in response which makes your already reddened cheeks deepen further.

"I'm pretty sure though.." he starts, effortlessly lifting you up from the floor to make you straddle his lap, his hands resting on your lower back whilst your hands grab his shoulders to stabilize yourself, "That whether or not it hurts, depends entirely on the person." he finishes, looking slightly up at you with a mischevious smile now that you're more elevated than him.

"Want to find out?" he asks in a whisper, and before you can process what he truly asked, you feel the slight tickle of his hair strands brush against your cheek, immediately followed by a slight exhale against your ear. But before you can ask what he's planning-

Chomp

"Hmn?!" you let out another surprised sound, nails digging into his silk shirt in surprise as you jump up. But Suo keeps a firm grip on you, settling you down back on his lap as you feel the tip of his tongue prod against your lobe before he blows against the area he had just bit. "H-Hayato?" you exclaim in surprise, trying to push yourself away to make eye contact.

You feel his whole body shake in restrained laughter before he finally eases his hold on your waist, leaning back a bit to instead cradle your cheek and give your lips a brief kiss. Separating just far enough to talk, but still close enough for his lips to occasionally make contact with yours if he were to speak. "So? Did it hurt?"