#never had a problem with any of it before

[yey56]

HARLEY SAWYER X PSYCHOLOGIST READER

After Harley being turned into the system of Playtime co

After the hour of Joy, both Sawyer and you got separated and while he was secured to a system and manage to strike a deal with the prototype, you were still human and very much in danger.

After what happened Sawyer became more obsessive, more paranoid. Searching for you through every camera and sending Yarnaby to expeditions to try and find you.

Harley and you were basically the only ones who had interacted with Yarnaby so far so the yarn lion knew you pretty well and was happy to search for you.

But really, the doctor searched for your presence in every camera, every sensor detector. Hell he even started setting traps for Doey because he though he would know were you are.

Of course, you were hiding in places with no camera because of the less amount of toys that lived in that areas. Therefore, much safer.

You would try to go upstairs again to search for food and for Harley, or at least of what happened to him. Of course you found nothing since there was not really that much time for paperwork after your stunt.

You only found a black tape with the title "the doctor" in it but so far you haven't found any system to plug it in so you can watch it.

And Harley, well, unlike you he has all the information of Playtime Co at his very whim.

When he is not searching for you or trying to hunt the remaining of Doeys group, he look at your files. Your photos before entering the company in your curriculum vitae; the ones when you were working in the company, some of which you are accompanied by him and other researchers; and the ones of the recent days before the hour of joy.

Talking about Doey, he also searched for you, scared for your well being. He knew you would go alone and even if he doubt the doctor would purposely harm you, he knew others will.

The children are just worried for their adoptive parent friend

You weren't aware yet of what Sawyer had been turned into. But you were aware that whatever living creature in this factory was a potential threat to you. That's the reason you tried to save every bullet of the only gun you had.

You would sometimes remember some of Harley's habits. Like for example his insistence of not eating sweet pickles. You remembered how, one day you went to get food for the food of you per his request and picked to burgers.

When you came back to the office to eat your dinner and started to bite in the food Harley made a unpleased look.

Do they have pickles in it?- he asked disgusted- I swear I cannot stand this things. So horribly disgusting...

Oh, yeah sorry, I didn't know. You can give them to me if you don't like them. I love them so theres no problem.- you responded, playing down the pickle problem

He loocked at you, frowning. With the plastic fork that was next to him he withdrew the remaining pickles on his burger and gave them to you.

Of course now that Harley knew you in fact like those pickles then he would ask for them in your food when it was his turn to go upstairs and pick your lunches.

Members of the stuff were absolutely amused when they saw Dr Harley Sawyer up on the cafeteria, he almost never ventured to the upper levels. And they were even more amused when he asked not for one but two lunches and one of them with pickles.

After a former assistant of his was fired for adding sweet pickles in his lunch almost everyone in the company new for his aversion for that food.

You didn't knew that then but most of the stuff at Playtime Co just guessed that the second lunch was for you so they assumed you both were dating or seeing each other.

Other thing you didn't know was how, after being turned into a computer system, Harley wouldn't stop asking the other employees for you. What had they done to you, if you had been relocated or if you had been "taken care off"

The only one who responded to him was Leith, who wasted no time bragging about your new relocation and how you were growing in your new job.

Also, Leith made sure to tell the rest of the employees to not tell Sawyer about you asking about him. And of course not to say a word to you about the new "AI" assistant.

Sometimes you felt a little bit dumb, remembering all of this now. Most possible situation was that Harley was already dead. And surely it would be your fault.

But Harley also thought the same thing of the memories he was holding on to. So yeah basically mutual pinning over each other. This is my definition of a long distance relationship.

And addressing the hour of joy... Poppy doesn't really know what yo think about you. Sure you have freed them but why? She doesn't know if to trust you but believes you are a better option than the doctor so if the situations ever comes she could be able to work with you.

When the doctor got himself a body (those robots with TV heads) he felt nude in some way. Even though he was only metal and cables.

To solve this he took some old lab coats to make himself a cover. The only lab coat he kept intact was yours. He found a way to incorporate it on his new coat. The pin with your name still on it.

And strangely you have done something similar. You found Harley's old lab coat while exploring the company searching for food. Resting in his old office chair. You put it on and took it with you. It was bigger than you but hey, long coats never get old. Sure,.you had to roll up the sleeves but nothing that can't be solved.

This one is shorter than usual but I'm working on chap 3 so I wanted to drop this off first. Thanks for the support. All of you are amazing and deserve the best. 🥰😭

-Unedited head cannons-

I made some updates in chap 2 because I wanted reader to spend some time wondering were Sawyer might be

[rebelssvy]

kiss it better ✧.*

bakugo x reader ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

⋆·˚ ༘ *

part one! link here

summary: part one just kissing, this is smutty. bakugo frat guy but he’s lowk bipolar and a woman pleaser

here you were, after a quick trip to the bathroom to clean yourself up, you stood in front of a random frat guys bedroom at a random party you despised being at. your anticipation was overwhelming as you for him to come to the door. as he opened the door you walked in, a complete stranger to him.

“a part of me didn’t think you would show, but then i remembered you rubbing against me like you were my bitch” he laughed out as he closed the door, you didn’t watch him as he walked behind you. thinking of a quick remark to catch him off guard.

“that’s funny because all i remember is you saying that i could be a problem for you,” your words poured out like venom. ignoring the need in between your legs. you stared straight ahead as he walked towards you. he was behind you now, you felt his chest-his buldge, press up against your backside. before he moved around and cleared a way for a spot on your neck. pushing any hair or fabric you had to leave him a spot to kiss on.

“seems like you can’t resist me.” you said as his head dipped between your shoulders, kissing and licking at your skin.

“maybe i can’t.” he said, boldly lips still against your skin. you expected him to insult you, make you feel lesser then him. but it never came. he pulled away before making you face him.

“what’s your name baby?” he asked you while his hands traveled your body, his head going back to its spot on your neck. his tongue sucking and checking on you like candy.

“y/n, and i didn’t know you were such a gentleman”

“i can be… but i can also fuck you like your my fucking slut. which way do you want y/n? wanna be my bitch? or my slut?” he watched as you buffered before picking you up and throwing you on his bed. “i need an answer baby before i make you feel good. please gimme an answer baby.” he begged while he grabbed at his bulge hidden underneath his pants.

“i didn’t know assholes like you-“ he cut you off with a soft kiss, lingering. lacking of lust, only love.

“stop pretending like you hate me and let me make you feel good baby.” making quick work of both of you, your clothes found the floor and you were fully vulnerable to him. you gasped at his body, he was huge in every way.

“my name is bakugo by the way.” he said while looking you up and down. “and i know i was rude to you earlier but i fully intend on taking you on a date after this.” he said while flipping your body into a missionary position.

“what if i don’t want to date you, bakugo?”

“oh you’ll want to date me after this. i promise.” his face had changed to a smile a while back but your just now realizing it.

pushing his length into his hand immediately found your clit, rubbing circles into your gummy folds. stopping for a second to pull his fingers into his mouth.

“fuckkk you taste good,” he groaned as his hands found your clit again. you clenched around his from his words. sheer arousal pouring out of you.

“you like that huh? you like me lovin’ on you lil slut- fuckkk yea you like that” he moved his length in and out of you, his words only made your need for him words. he was so close to you. this was too intimate for a guy you just met. and you yet you were the one that found your way back here. back into his room.

your words were struggled moans as he continued his assault on your hole. fucking into you.

“y/n ah-! fuck your so tight..” he spasmed into you as you neared your finish. all your senses overwhelmed as he fucked you, made love to you.

“bakugo fuck-! ah i’m cummingoh fuck-!” you grinded yourself into him and his hand as you climaxed. you saw white as he fucked you through your orgasm, back arching off the fabric.

you saw him admiring you as you came back to consciousness, kissing every part of your skin “your definitely gonna be my problem holy shit…” he groaned.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

this is a dispointmnt i’m srry

[sheepispink]

lt simon riley x puppy hybrid!reader in which you're forced into his life and he cant handle it, ignoring your existence until you talk to inanimate objects to make up for it. angst ofc

sorry if this is lowkey bad, my writing has been flopping rn, alsp insp by this (it said mdni so i didnt tag, sorry bro i read the summary and was like woah)

Ghost hated it, hated everything that related to the thought, and he made sure everyone knew that. Still, somehow, he ended up with a pretty little hybrid on his couch when he came home. He didn't think twice before walking straight past you, ignoring how you reached your hand out to greet him and locked himself in the bedroom. “Price, I told you—”

“She’s a rescue, just needs a place to stay for a little while. You’re a lieutenant so you’re technically qualified, it won't be long.”

“I’m not the only lieutenant.”

“You’ll have a budget for food and clothing, just let her stay till I can find another.”

Ghost hangs up right there and then, incredibly pissed by anyone and everyone who decided this was a good idea of any sort. But what he hates more is the way you’re sitting outside his door when he opens it again, wide eyes trying to entice him to your outstretched hand. Though unfortunately for you, he just closes the door again.

For the first week, you tried over and over again. He didn't seem to want to talk to you at all, let alone acknowledge that you were in his house. The only instructions he ever spoke was to not leave the house nor damage anything inside the house. It wasn't like you’d attempt to test either rules on purpose anyway. Instead, you tried to be useful by cleaning up where you could, even if you couldn't help but get distracted by how fun sliding across the freshly mopped floors were. Plus, blanket forts were so fun to make, what do you mean they made more mess? You switched to cooking soon after, attempting to make him breakfast except every time you tried to wake up early, he was always already gone. So, you wake up extra, extra early, finding out he wakes at five and so you wake up at four the next day. You decide on sizzled meat rashers, a fried egg and a toaster waffle because you don't really understand how the oven works. It’s not your fault he has so many funny buttons.

Unfortunately for you, his hearing is almost as good as yours, or perhaps he just never sleeps properly. That’s why he walked in just when you were nodding off in a bowl of cracked eggs, the time too early for a young pup like you, even if you were well into your twenties. He left the house with a slam that day.

After that you stopped trying, noticing it to be clearly obvious that he didn't want anything to do with you in the slightest. He didn't even glance at you, or ask if you wanted to eat anymore. The only reminder that you actually lived here were the remnants of your fur on the fluffy pillow that was your bed, and your name written on your pre-bought meals since he didn't trust you in his kitchen anymore. Questions were left to hang in the air, soft whines echoing around the empty room each night and only the dim TV for company.

Ghost had returned early today, a problem in base had left the place in slight disarray and the task force thought it’d be better if they just packed up for the day, maybe do paperwork at home instead. He clicks open the door, surprised to actually hear noise in the usually silent flat, though he’s already dreading whatever mess you’ve cooked up. As he enters the hallway, the noise becomes clearer, sounding like a voice, your voice, actually. “This is a super secret covert meeting, alright everyone? No one can know!” You squeak, and he’s raising a brow, mind already jumping to conclusions of you being a double agent sent to spy on him. He should’ve known they’d pull a dirty trick like that, especially with how Graves has been acting, there’s bound to be others to follow.

But to infiltrate his own home is something that brings him great anger, making him all the more silent when he sneaks around the house, mind running through potential ways he’ll interrogate the information out of you. He's thinking torture if you end up being a little too problematic, maybe even a shock collar if worst comes to it. It's not like he ever like you much anyway, he's almost glad for every neglect he's caused so far. He saved the entire militar--

A double agent was far too much credit. You were just a silly puppy who was sitting on the sofa opposite a tatty teddy bear, a pillow with a messily drawn paper face stuck to it and one last t-shirt that you had draped over a pillow, the cartoon cat staring back at you. They have mugs in front of them, albeit not full of anything apart from your own mug of tea. “Just kidding, let’s order then we can start.”

You hum, pretending to take a list from the bear though it’s actually those takeaway menus that come through the letterbox. He watches carefully as you pick up one at random, eyes squinting as you attempt and almost fail to read the text. Facilities never bothered with educating their hybrids, only intent in teaching them the arts of being loyal and desirable so they’d get their pay. 

“Men….u? St.. art…eer?” It’s near impossible to understand any of it, and eventually you have to put it down, huffing out a complaint. “Okay fine, i can't read at all.” Frustrated, you pull off the t-shirt, leaving the pillow to fall on the floor. You’ve watched countless videos, only with the help of the voice recognition function on the remote control, and have attempted daily for this whole week. “So what have you guys done this week?”

He notices now that you have the tv displaying an episode from those random TV series, you probably don't even know the name of it. You’re almost attempting to recreate the same scene of the friends sitting around the table, eyes flickering at the TV as you eye how they sit. You mimic a squeaky voice, holding the teddy bear by the scruff as you move its head around. “I went to the park with my handler.”

Somehow your eyes light up despite the fact you had made that up yourself, clapping your hands together. “Wow, I love the park! I wish I could chase the squirrels…” Your expression falters for a second, eyes drooped until you shake your head, moving to puppet the pillow in the middle instead. “I went grocery shopping with mine, and we cooked a meal together.”

You smile again, retracting your hand and placing them on your hips. “A meal together?? Um.. It doesn’t matter what I did. We should do something together, but it has to be something easy.. and not too fun because if we leave a mess Simon will be mad.” He almost feels bad, but it’s not his fault, you will make a mess, and he’s already tired enough as it is. What he hadn't expected was what you’d say next.

“I don't think we’ll be able to do these meetups anymore guys.” You mumble out, frown growing on your lips as you puppeteer the bear. “What, why?”

“I-i think I’ll be getting kicked out soon. Or maybe I should just run away.. Should I? I mean, it’s not a totally bad idea and Simon won't have to deal with me!”

You stare back at the two fake people in front of you, the silence hanging heavy in the air until you reach forward, plucking the paper smiley face off the pillow and sticking on a sad face instead. “I know, I know— running away is bad and I'll only get hurt. What else then?”

The silence is long again and for once Simon can feel the distraught look on your face as you clench the hem of your loose sweater, nose wrinkled. It’s clear you’re not feeling too good, especially if you’ve resorted to talking to your own stuffed animals about running away to make him happier. It’s a pitiful sight to say the least but he can't blame you either, he’s purposefully ignored every single one of your feeble attempts to talk to him. It’s not like it helps that you’ve been cooped in a house for two weeks straight, not able to talk to anyone else. Now that he’s forced to notice, forced to think about it, it’s clear he’s torturing you, in some sick unintentional way. You’re locked away, a prisoner, a ghost— someone no one even knows exists despite how much you cry and beg for a sound to be made. 

The small shuffle of your steps is sad, the way you put everything into position perfectly in case he gets annoyed, not that he’d ever express it anyway– sometimes you wish he just would say something, anything. But he doesn't, and you take the tatty teddy bear, hugging it to your chest. Not even your tail can bring you much warmth, the matted fur rough against your skin as you’ve failed to upkeep it’s maintenance the more miserable you grow. 

You wont stay here for long, you’ll be moved elsewhere and grow older, less ‘desirable’ as you look at your puppy cuteness until you’re finally left on the streets, scavenging bins for food like your parents did. A cycle that only repeats for you.

[mutter-official]

Fun fact about this from a current CS student: It's probably not (entirely) their fault.

I work in cybersecurity. I have a professional certification in cybersec at 18 years old. I've spent a significant amount of time learning about cyber—all before I started college.

Why? Because my high school offered it, oh and because most undergrad CS programs don't introduce cybersecurity at all until junior year, if they include it at all. I go to a school where CS is in the top 5 majors by number of graduating seniors each year, and we have zero cybersecurity classes. We have almost no cybersecurity content even within our CS classes. I—an 18-year-old first-year—have given talks about cybersecurity because I know more about it than a lot of the graduating seniors.

Part of the problem is that people willfully ignore cyber. Another part—and I would argue a bigger part—is that folks just aren't taught this shit. It's crazy. It drives me nuts. I feel like I'm going to start gnawing at my hands sitting in classes where we're learning Flask and how to process form data without any consideration of the security implications of those inputs at all. I've had seniors working on capstone projects come up to me after cyber talks and tell me that they'd never really considered the security implications of their capstone project before, but that they were going to now.

I don't know why the field (academically and professionally) has created this crazy division between "cyber" and "programming," as though they're two separate things. It's 2025. We ought to know better by now, right?

Well put. (Source: Writing About Writing Facebook page)

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

SAFE & SOUND — part 5

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

word count: 23.7k

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

MASTERLIST

People.

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

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

But now you understand something even more unsettling.

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

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

And that’s what makes him dangerous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s exactly what you’ll do.

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

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

And hope is stupid.

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

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

And you have something to lose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not to them. Not to hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it’s just Jungwon.

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

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

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

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

And you know. It’s time.

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

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

Freedom.

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

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

“Y/N.”

You freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope.

Not that damned hope again.

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

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

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

But you never did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His next words strike harder than anything else.

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

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

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

Everything.

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

But here? Here, you care.

And walking away makes you a monster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—I didn’t mean it that way—”

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t move.

“You’re the greatest loss, Jungwon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, something is off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s sickeningly methodical. Choreographed chaos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s him. The guy Jay went after.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re moving the horde. 

Towards you. Towards Jungwon. Towards all of them.

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

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

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

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

And that’s exactly why you left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re actually going to die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because saving them is saving yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you see him.

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

He didn’t tell them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ripple of confusion is immediate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then Jungwon turns to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why does it feel so wrong?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This morning, you left, didn’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to deny. You really really want to.

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

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

“That includes each other.”

The lump in your throat grows tighter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not unless you do something.

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

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

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

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

In the end, you chose hope. 

And hope guided you back to them.

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

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

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

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

The horde is too big.

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

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

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

It’s a losing battle.

You know it. They must know it too.

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

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

But they’re trying anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re already counting heads.

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

Your stomach twists.

Where’s Sunoo?

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

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

The world around you stills.

Your breath catches.

Sunoo.

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

Your worst fears are confirmed.

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

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

She’s inside the rest stop. How?

Then it hits you.

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

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

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

The woman doesn’t even spare him a glance.

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

And then she starts counting.

"Ten."

Your gaze flicks to Jay.

What should we do?

"Nine."

Jay’s jaw tightens.

Let’s wait it out.

"Eight."

Your stomach knots.

And what if she shoots him?

"Seven."

Jay exhales sharply, weighing the risk.

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

"Six."

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

She’s bluffing.

"Five. I’m really going to do it."

Your breath catches.

She’s not bluffing.

"Four."

Jay hesitates.

She has nothing to lose.

"Three—"

“Alright, we’re coming out.”

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

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

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

She can’t know that.

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

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

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

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

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

But it’s enough.

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

A stump.

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I know you.”

It’s Jake.

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

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

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

His words send a ripple of confusion through the group.

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

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

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

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

Jake doesn’t react, his expression carefully guarded.

And then her smirk disappears altogether.

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

A chill settles over the group.

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

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

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

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

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

“What excuse do they have?”

No one answers.

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

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

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

It lingers.

Your breath stills.

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

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

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

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

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

Sanctuary. The word makes your stomach churn.

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

Then, her smirk fades, replaced with something colder. 

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

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

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

She’s right.

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

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

But they might as well have.

It’s a sickening realisation.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re no different from The Future.”

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

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

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

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

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

The belief that they’re different.

That they’re good.

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

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

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

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

They’re breaking.

She sees it.

And she revels in it.

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

You need to stop this. Now.

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

Her fingers twitch.

Good.

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

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

A flicker of something shifts through the group.

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

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

Then, she speaks.

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

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

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

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

Because she’s right. They all know it.

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

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

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

There’s only one answer.

Whoever wins.

The only law that exists now is power.

Not justice. Not fairness. Not mercy.

Just power.

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

Survival of the fittest.

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

Because before, losing meant failure.

Now? It means death.

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

You’ll lose.

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

Because nothing from before matters anymore.

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

Because the past won’t save you.

Only the future will.

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

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

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

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

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

Never come back here again…

Soon be one of us…?

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

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

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

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

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

Why? 

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

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

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

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

So they ran.

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

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

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

Your fingers tighten into fists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place can be yours.

They don’t have to run anymore.

Hope is starting to take root.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if she’s the one in control.

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

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

"You’ll understand what I mean soon."

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

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

You can’t look away.

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

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

You’ve already begun losing yourself.

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

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

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

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Sunoo.”

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

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

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

And yet, you left them here. With her.

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

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

“Y/N.”

Jungwon.

“Are you okay?”

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

He still cares.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They stare at you.

Realisation dawns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder if he still feels that way about you.

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

You’re staring at him too.

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

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

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

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

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

But he doesn’t. 

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

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

The silence that follows is deafening. 

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

And the worst part?

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

But now?

Now, you know.

You would have done the same.

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

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

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

No one even breathes.

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

But Jungwon is quiet.

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

And that’s almost worse. 

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

He’s thinking.

Not just about the plan. Not just about them.

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

No.

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

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

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

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

Something like him.

And for the first time, you see it too.

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

He knows it. You know it.

But neither of you say it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is it. 

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

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

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

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

Move. Breathe. Don’t think. 

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

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

"Y/N, let’s talk."

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

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

Jungwon opens his mouth first. "I—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so you do.

Your eyes drift down to the group below.

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

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

Determination.

Resolve.

Hope—

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

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

"And you gave that to them."

His words knock the breath from your lungs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your blood runs cold.

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

Your breath hitches. "Jay?"

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

A weight settles in your chest, heavy and unrelenting.

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t just talking about them.

He was talking about himself.

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

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

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

"Now you do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You weren’t breaking him.

You were keeping him together.

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

You made him feel normal.

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

Just Jungwon.

And maybe you needed him for the same reasons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it means you’re still human after all.

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

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

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

This time, you won’t step away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, without thinking, you move closer.

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

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

So you make the choice for him.

You fall into him.

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

And you let him.

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

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

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

This is enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And somehow, it feels lighter.

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

part 4 - blood | masterlist | part 5 - dusk

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

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

perm taglist. @m1kkso @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @catlicense @bubblytaetae @mrchweeee @artstaeh @sleeping-demons @yuviqik @junsflow @blurryriki @bobabunhee @hueningcry @fakeuwus @enhaslxt @neocockthotology @Starryhani @aishisgrey @katarinamae @mitmit01 @youcancometome @cupiddolle @classicroyalty @dearsjaeyun @ikeucakeu @sammie217 @m1kkso @tinycatharsis @parkjjongswifey @dcllsinna @no1likeneo @ChVcon3 @karasusrealwife @addictedtohobi @jyunsim @enhastolemyheart @kawaiichu32 @layzfy @renjunsbirthmark13

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

[dcxdpdabbles]

#holiday request Hi, I love your writing! Could you please update either "Danny's grill", "Congratulations! It's Triplets!" or "Phantom's number 1 fan"? Please and thank you

Jason is once again reviewing the map of potential areas Alvin could have been operating in when his burner phone rings. He snatches it up before it can pass the fourth ring, pressing it gently against his ear.

He offers no greeting. It's a tactic he uses to ensure that whoever is calling him has permission to do so. If someone attempts to conform his informants' and allies connection with him, Jason is not about to give them away by speaking first.

"Hey Boss," Honeycomb's voice filters through, edged by that familiar overdramatic southern draw she did when working. Apparently, the clients like listening to her use her accent. "I got eyes on that doll you've been searching for."

Jason sits up straighter. "Where and when?"

Honeycomb is one of the working girls who's been with him since his return to Gotham. She was the first to sign up for his protection, long before he did the whole heads in a duffle bag thing, and was one of his best eyes and ears on the street in exchange.

He didn't know her real name or age- but he was sure she wasn't underage. He made it clear he wouldn't allow it. All Jason knew about Honeycomb was that she had run away from her home in the southern states with nothing but her pretty face, blond curls, hazel eyes, and the clothes on her back.

She was feisty and could charm her way out of most problems with her silver tongue. Her manipulation of her clients was almost an art form, and she could get any information out of anyone with a well-placed hand on the air and a sweet little "darling" on her grubby lips. He often thought she would have been a lawyer if life had been fair to her.

"Just now, on Ruby Street. He was with a man in his late teenage to early twenties. About six feet five inches, black hair, blue eyes, and Caucasian. Alvin was wearing black tights and a red hoodie. The man is in jeans and a white zip-up." Honeycomb rattles in one smooth report, the huskiness of her accent making her articulation more pleasant to the ear. "Seems they were doing a photo shoot."

Jason is already moving towards his bike, switching her call to his helmet. His stomach turns slightly as he grunts, "What kind of photoshoot?"

"Not that kind, Darling. Seemed more like a scavenger hunt, according to Alvin. They are finding specific landscapes and making posses that are answers to some riddles." Honeycomb responds. Distantly, her heels clicking against the concrete echo a little louder, letting Jason know she has wandered into an alley. "I approached Alvin when the man with him went up a fire escape to take a picture with a gargoyle. I offered him my service to him as a cover. Once he confirmed his name was Alvin and he was already with a client, I left before he could get the idea I was attempting to steal his work."

"Good job." Jason boots up his bike, flying out of his hideout without hesitation. He was still twenty minutes away from Ruby Street, but if the pair was going to be a moment, he could close the distance between them and find a trail to follow once on scene.

He questions as he flies through two lanes, ignoring the honking of angry divers. "How did Alvin look? He's supposed to be with one of my contacts, so if he's with someone, it might be a John roughing him up."

I'll deal with Victorian later. He mentally swears How dare he not tell me, Alvin went back to the field after hiding out for so long without a ounce of protection.

"The sweetheart doesn't seem hurt, but I can tell his client is one of those problematic kinds." Honeycombs sighs, the edges of unease slipping into her voice. "He looks at Alvin like he's in love."

Shit. It's never suitable for working folks to meet someone who "loves" them. Nine out of ten times, it was just a wacko who became violent the moment the prostitute so much as hinted that this was only a job to them. Jason had pulled out three women's bodies from the Brown River the last time one of those clients fell in love.

Jason pressed harder on the accelerator. "Are they still there?"

Honeycomb hums "The John is on the roof now, but Alvin is waiting for him under the street pole-Oh shit!"

Jason nearly slams into a nearby car at her sudden yell. "What happened?"

She doesn't answer, but he can pick up the sound of her running and her fast breathing. He knows she is getting out of danger because if there is one thing Honeycomb is as a person, she's a survivor. He wants answers but would rather she focus on getting herself safe first.

He meanwhile, concentrates on the phone calls and the vehicles he's flying between.

It's a few minutes before she gasps. "Sorry, Darling, I had to run. Batman was on the roof with the John."

What.

"Batman just appeared out of nowhere and threw a bucket of mud at the john. Alvin didn't seem to notice, but I did. Batman made eye contact with me, so I ran." She concludes, pushing through her uneven breathing. "I have to go, Darling. Hideout before the Bats lock me up."

"That's alright. Stay safe." Jason tells her, taking a turn sharply as she hangs up the call without another word. The second she does, he double-taps his helmet to connect to the Bat communications.

"Barbie. I need to know what B is up to now."

_________________________________________________________

Bruce watches the Fae shake the mud out of his face after he has scrambled down the fire escape. Tim was at his side in a second, using a handkerchief to gently clean up the Fae's face.

There were a lot of whispered words, but based on what Bruce could pick up from lip reading, Tim had no idea he was up here. He just assumed the Fae got caught up in a juvenile prank.

Oddly enough, that was primarily due to the Fae covering for Bruce.

It was rather disappointing the repealing spell hadn't worked, but the Justice League Dark the mixture of John's Wort, primroses, and marsh marigolds mushed together with water socked in iron during the full moon should have made it possible to force the contact with Tim to break down.

Of course, this had been a desperate attempt, seeing as all the JL Dark had been unsure which method was best when he asked how to get a Fae to leave a human alone.

A lot of debate went into finding a solution, but in the end, Bruce had chosen a mixture repellent. He had even decided to use some holy water and trough in blessed soil and blessed iron just to make it extra powerful.

The magic users had all assured him it would work as long as it touched the Fae skin while Bruce chanted Tim's full legal name. It had felt rather ridiculous dragging a bucket half the size of himself through the city, trying to spot where Tim and his companion were, and even more so when he had sprinted across the rooftop screaming.

"Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake!"

The Fae had been in the middle of taking a photo. He set up his camera on a little tripod and, after pressing the time, had run to face the city- back facing Bruce- raising his arms to form a triangle above his head. Based on fact the camera was slightly lower then the Fae's torso, Bruce could deduct her was attempting to capture himself making the triangle top of one of the most iconic buildings in Gotham.

Spear tower.

He waited only long enough for the flash to go off, so by the time the Fae turned around, he had a face full of mud.

It splat all over his front, covering every inch of what should have set Tim free. The silence followed was louder than anything Bruce had ever heard, even as the Fae calmly picked up his camera and scurried to the ground.

Bruce let him go, wondering why he had failed. Thankfully, it seemed Tim and the Fae were getting back in their car- not the food truck for some reason- and were driving away.

Tonight, Bruce would find its lair and get his son home because letting him take a relaxing vacation was alarming to the rest of his children.

He rushed to the Batmobile, climbing into the driver seat and taking off after the pair. As he was driving, he could have sworn Jason just passed by him, moving like the devil was after him.

Bruce wondered briefly if he should check in on his third oldest but thought better of it when he noticed Cass, Dick, and Duke driving right behind Jason on their own bikes. His children had each other backs.

A few hours later, Bruce stood before a large empty field. He had watched the Fae drive into it and vanish from sight. None of his machines could pick up any hint on where they might have gone, but he was reasonably sure there wasn't any teleportation involved.

Sometimes teleportation left some traces in the airwaves. It's how Bruce could track people using the boom tub or find the Flash whenever Barry went on a craze.

Bruce was thinking that this was the Fae's court and his magical home was being protected by supernatural means. He just had to figure out how to get in and Tim out.

As he was considering the field, a soft, distant roar made him reach for his weapons. He turns one hand poise for a throw, his trusted batarangs in between his fingers, only to become surprised when he recognizes the vehicles driving towards him.

It was his spare Batmobile and four bird-themed motorbikes. His children.

"B?" Dick questions after spinning to a stop and sliding right in front of Bruce. He lowers his window, looking at him with apparent confusion despite the Nightwing mask blocking his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Following a lead on the Fae. What are you doing here?" Bruce asks, lowering his arm but keeping his weapon. He could never be too sure this isn't a trick.

"Following a lead on Tim." Dick responds, stepping out of his car. Two other doors open, and out steps Steph and Damian, both looking posed for a fight. Of all his children, those two tend to be the most territorial and have not taken to Tim being a semi-held hostage well. "Oracle was able to track him through the city cameras after he popped up taking photos."

"hmm"

Jason jogged over to them with Cass not far behind. "Wait,, you got a lead on your cases too? We would check in on Victorian and see if he knew anything about Alvin."

He gestures to those behind him, indicating Cass and Duke, but the daytime hero is not paying attention. Duke was staring at the field, mouth slightly open as if in awe. Bruce straightens once he realizes Duke can probably see or at least detect the magical castle.

"Victorian?" Damian asks, crossing his arms. "Who is that?"

"The owner of the giant mansion we're standing in front of. He's one of my contacts."

"Ugh, not to make you feel crazy, Hoodie," Steph speaks up, placing a hand on the crook of her hip and waving her hand to the field. "But there is literally nothing there

"What are you talking about. This place is bigger than Wayne Manor."

Bruce heard about this. Guests who have been here before or have permission to enter can see glimpses of the Otherworld that Fae deals in. However, it is surprising to know Jason has already been in contact with the Fae before and has not been kept.

Did that throw a wrench in his theory of Tim and Alvin being the same person? Why would the Fae ask Jason to find Tim if he was in the creature's home?

Before anyone could say anything else, a giant gate entrance suddenly manifested mere feet from where Bruce stood. A soft creek was heard as it was thrown open, and a glowing woman in an old mail outfit floated just a foot off the ground on the other side. She eyed them all in an eerie, emotionless face before bending her own into a low bow. "Welcome. My King wishes to invite you in."

Well, that's not ominous at all.

His children shared a look between them, silently letting each other know to be cautious as they followed the floating woman. She led them down an impressive driveway that slowly gave way to a massive mansion.

Bruce fought to keep the surprise off his face. Jason was right. This place was more prominent and grander than his manor. It didn't just scream wealth. It screamed nobility; it screamed royalty.

The group walked into the main hall, some muttering thanks to the bowing woman who opened the doors. "Of course. The King stated that his home would always be open to Master Alvin's kin."

She vanished from sight like mist fading away as soon as they crossed the doorway.

Bruce's eyes instantly landed on the figure standing atop the grand stairs. Tim was gawking at them, wearing nothing but a long, seductive black robe with fluffy collars and wrists. The front of the rob was open, displaying a large amount of chest and thigh, but keeping the significant bits out of sight.

Thankfully.

His skin was glowing, his hair tussled stylishly, and a dozen red roses were in his hands. Tim looked like he was planning a romantic evening in his get-up.

"Oh," He said dumbly. "You're not Danny."

"What the fuck is going on" Jason demanded after a long period of silence.

"Um...I was planning on seducing my friend. What are you all doing?"

"Regretting waking up this morning," Damian demands, pressing a hand over his eyes. "Please get decent. My nightmares are horrid enough."

Bruce nods. "You were Alvin Draper and are romantically involved with the Fae. He seems to be treating you well. That's good."

All of his children stared at him for a long moment before the hall erupted with displeased noises. Bruce was taken aback.

Did none of them know any of this? It seemed obvious to him.

[darlingsblackbook]

Between the Lines

Gojo Satoru x Awkward!Reader

Summary : As the new teacher’s assistant at Jujutsu High, Y/N is used to being invisible—quiet, awkward, always on the outside looking in. She tells herself she prefers it that way, but when Gojo Satoru, the school’s most infuriatingly nosy teacher, starts noticing the cracks in her carefully built walls, she finds it harder to hide. He’s loud, he’s persistent, and worst of all… he might just see right through her.

Warnings : Shy!Reader, Awkward!Reader, Introvert!Reader, Lonely!Reader

♡♡♡

I had never been good at introductions.

Or first impressions. Or second impressions.

Or… people in general.

So when the principal of Jujutsu High offered me a job as a teaching assistant, I accepted before I could talk myself out of it. It was logical—stable work, a chance to put my skills to use—but now, standing in front of the classroom door, I was starting to question every decision that led me here.

The job itself wasn’t the problem. It was the social part. The talking. The being around others.

The inevitable awkwardness.

Here I am, standing awkwardly outside the door of Gojo Satoru’s classroom, a bundle of nerves in my stomach.

I have never met him before. Only heard of him in passing. The strongest sorcerer alive. An eccentric man, a little ridiculous but undeniably powerful. I have no idea what to expect, and that made me even more anxious.

I exhaled sharply and knocked before I could hesitate any longer.

“Come iiinnn~”

The voice was playful, stretching the words like taffy. I hesitated for a second before pushing the door open.

The room was not empty. Three students sat at their desks, heads turning as I entered. One of them—a boy with pink hair and a bright, open grin—tilted his head curiously. Another, dark-haired with sharp features, barely reacted. The last, a girl with fiery eyes, scrutinized me with clear interest.

And then, there was him.

Gojo Satoru.

He was taller than I expected, his dark blue uniform neat but his posture anything but. White hair, messy but somehow intentional and a blindfold shielding his eyes. He was the kind of person who took up space without any effort, like the air itself made room for him.

“Oh? A new face.” A grin stretched across his face. "And who might you be?"

I swallowed and tightened my grip on my bag. “Um. I’m Y/N. The principal assigned me as your new teaching assistant.”

For a moment, there was a silence. Then, Gojo’s smile widened. “Ohhh, so you’re the poor soul stuck with me?”

I- I was not so sure how to respond to that.

“I… guess?”

The pink-haired boy snickered. “Welcome to the chaos, sensei.”

Gojo clapped his hands. “Right! Introductions. These little troublemakers are my students. That’s Itadori Yuji—”

“Yo!”

“—Fushiguro Megumi—”

A silent nod.

“—and Kugisaki Nobara.”

The girl flipped her hair. “Good luck surviving Gojo-sensei.”

I gave a small, uncertain nod with an unsure smile. “Thanks…?”

Gojo tilted his head. “So, Y/N! Tell us about yourself.”

Oh no.

Not this question. Anything but this question.

My mind blanked immediately.

I was supposed to say something here. Something normal. Something that would make me seem approachable. But nothing came.

“There’s not much to say,” I finally muttered.

Gojo leaned forward on his desk, grinning. “Come on, there’s gotta be something. A hobby? Fun fact? Favorite food? Deepest, darkest secret?”

I swallowed. I hated questions like this. I never knew how to answer.

My hands curled around the strap of my bag. “I..I mean I like...reading, I don’t know.”

For a second, silence. A horrible, suffocating pause.

Then—

Gojo sighed dramatically. “A mystery woman, huh? Fine, fine, we’ll learn your secrets eventually.”

Something in me tensed at that idea.

But Gojo spared me and did not press. He just stretched lazily and turned back to his students.

I exhaled, shoulders loosening.

That could have gone a lot worse.

°•♡•°

The first few days passed in a blur.

I kept to my work, avoiding unnecessary interactions. The job itself was easy—assisting with lessons, helping with training schedules, sorting paperwork. It was everything outside of that that I struggled with.

Small talk. Social cues. Knowing when to speak and when to stay silent.

I avoided the break room, ate lunch alone, kept my head down. It wasn’t new—I had always been like this. And I had always told myself I didn’t mind.

But Gojo made it difficult to go unnoticed.

He was everywhere. Loud, teasing, impossible to ignore. He had a habit of appearing at the worst moments—leaning over my desk when I was trying to work, suddenly materializing beside me when I was lost in thought.

And he noticed things.

A lot of things.

“Hey,” he said one afternoon. “Do you always stand like that?”

I blinked up at him. “Like what?”

He waved a hand vaguely. “All stiff. Like you’re bracing for impact.”

I immediately stiffened more. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Gojo hummed. “You’re always tense. And quiet. Do I scare you?”

I frowned, caught off guard. “What? No.” I laughed awkwardly.

He gasped, hand over his chest. “So you just don’t like me?”

“That’s not—” I stopped, exhaling. “I just… I don’t talk much.”

Gojo tilted his head, as if considering something.

For a second, I thought he might press further. Ask questions I didn’t know how to answer.

But then he just grinned. “Don’t worry. You’ll warm up to me eventually.”

I wasn’t so sure about that.

But later, when I caught him watching me with something thoughtful behind his blindfold, I realized—

He wasn’t sure about me either.

°•♡•°

Even more days passed, blending into each other like ink bleeding into paper.

I kept my head down, did my work, and kept to myself. It was easy, really. No one expected much from me beyond my job. The students were polite, Gojo was… Gojo, and the rest of the staff had their own responsibilities. I did what was required, answered when spoken to, and let conversations pass over me like waves washing over a stone.

And yet…

Something gnawed at me.

I noticed things. I always had.

Like the way Itadori and Kugisaki bickered over lunch, their insults sharp but affectionate. The way Fushiguro sighed, exasperated but always there, always included. The way they trained together, argued together, shared jokes that only made sense to them.

They belonged.

Even the staff, as different as they were, had their own connections. Yaga’s gruff lectures, Shoko’s dry humor, Gojo’s infuriating yet oddly natural way of slipping into conversations like he had always been part of them.

Everywhere I looked, people had someone.

I didn’t even have a past friendship to reminisce about. No old friend I had lost touch with. No warm memories of sleepovers, of whispered secrets at midnight, of laughing so hard my stomach hurt.

I had nothing.

It wasn’t that I had never wanted friends. I had wanted them desperately. But there had always been something wrong with me—something that made people drift away before they ever truly got close.

Maybe I was too quiet.

Maybe I was too awkward.

Maybe I was just… forgettable.

Even now, at 22, I felt like I had already wasted my entire life away.

Everyone else had stories. Experiences. Things they could look back on with fondness or even regret.

I had empty days and silence.

I never checked my phone much, but sometimes, I left it untouched for hours just to pretend—just to imagine, for a second, that when I finally looked at it, I would see something.

A message.

A missed call.

A notification that was not just a useless app reminder.

But there was never anything.

The ache in my chest was familiar by now, dull but relentless.

I felt like I was missing something vital, something everyone else had but I simply… didn’t.

It was stupid.

I had a job. A roof over my head. A place in the world, even if it felt like I was just existing rather than living.

But still—

Still.

I wanted someone.

Someone to talk to about nothing and everything.

Someone to laugh with.

Someone who would see my name pop up on their phone and be excited to hear from me.

But I didn’t know how to reach out.

Didn’t know how to start.

Didn’t know if it was even possible for someone like me.

If Gojo noticed anything, he didn’t show it.

Not at first.

He still teased, still popped up at the most unexpected moments, still acted like the world was his playground.

But then, I started catching him watching me.

Just little moments, subtle shifts.

His head tilting ever so slightly whenever I hesitated before answering a question.

His focus lingering when I thought no one was paying attention.

At first, I just chalked it up to paranoia. But it kept happening.

The worst part was, Gojo wasn’t the type to care without reason. If he was noticing me, if he was watching me, it meant something had tipped him off.

That terrified me.

Because if he figured it out—if he somehow pieced together how hollow my life really was—I wasn’t sure I could handle that kind of scrutiny.

So I tried harder.

Tried to look normal.

Tried to pretend that I wasn’t weighed down by something invisible, something I didn’t have the words for.

But Gojo was sharp in a way most people didn’t realize.

And even if I could fool everyone else,

I couldn’t fool him.

The days continued to pass, each one blending into the next. I had fallen into a routine, and while there was a sense of comfort in that, there was also something else—something heavier, something I tried not to think about too much.

I wasn’t unhappy, exactly. I had a job, I had a purpose, and I wasn’t struggling. But the silence of my own life had become deafening.

At Jujutsu High, I was surrounded by people, but I had never felt more alone.

It was during lunch that I felt it the most.

I always sat outside, away from the busy chatter of the cafeteria, where students and staff alike gathered in their little groups.

It wasn’t like anyone had told me to sit alone. I had just… done it.

It was easier that way.

Or at least, that was what I told myself.

I had taken to watching the students from afar. Not in an obvious way, but just enough to see the ease of their friendships. The way Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi existed in a way that I had never known myself.

“Oi, Megumi, say ‘ahhh’—”

“No.”

“Come onnn, I made it with love!”

“I literally watched you drop that on the floor.”

Nobara pouted dramatically, only for Yuji to swoop in and eat whatever it was she had been trying to force on Megumi. The two of them laughed at something he said, and even Megumi, who always tried to seem indifferent, looked somewhat amused.

I turned my gaze away with a slight smile, focusing on my food.

It shouldn’t have made me feel like this.

It was such a simple thing—friends joking around, sharing lunch, teasing each other. It wasn’t as if I had ever expected to be part of something like that.

And yet.

I let out a quiet sigh and checked my phone.

Zero notifications.

The same empty lock screen. The same stillness.

I turned it off quickly and placed it back on the table, pushing my food around with my chopsticks.

“Not hungry?”

I looked up, startled.

Shoko had appeared beside me, a cigarette dangling between her fingers as she leaned against the bench. Her sharp eyes flickered to my barely-touched food.

“Oh,” I hesitated. “No, I just…” I trailed off, not really knowing how to finish the sentence.

Shoko hummed. “Gojo giving you trouble?”

I blinked. “What?”

She smirked, exhaling smoke. “He’s been staring at you a lot.”

My stomach twisted uncomfortably. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just gave a weak chuckle and shook my head.

“I think he just likes messing with people.”

“That’s an understatement.” Shoko stretched, then took another drag. “He’s nosy, though. If he’s paying attention to you, he’s probably noticed something.”

I swallowed, suddenly feeling even more self-conscious.

Shoko didn’t push. She just glanced at my food again, then nodded toward the cafeteria. “You should eat with them sometime. They wouldn’t mind.”

I smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Maybe,” I lied.

She didn’t call me out on it. Just gave a lazy wave and wandered off, disappearing into the school.

I should have expected it.

I really should have.

But when Gojo’s voice rang out, disrupting my fragile moment of peace, I still nearly choked on air.

“You eat like someone’s forcing you,” he remarked, plopping down onto the bench beside me without a single care.

I froze.

He was too close.

I wasn’t used to people being this close.

Gojo didn’t seem to notice—or, more likely, he didn’t care. He leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him, his arms sprawled over the back of the bench as if he owned the whole world.

I forced a weak chuckle, gripping my chopsticks tighter. “I eat fine.”

“Debatable.” He tilted his head toward me. “You’re all stiff. Like a scared little rabbit.”

I gave him a look, but I knew better than to actually argue. Gojo thrived off reactions.

Instead, I let out a breathy laugh and looked away.

He wasn’t deterred.

“So,” he continued, tapping his fingers against the bench, “why do you always eat alone?”

I nearly dropped my chopsticks.

The question caught me off guard—not because it was unexpected, but because it was so blunt.

My throat felt tight. “I just prefer it,” I murmured, staring down at my food.

“Really?” Gojo drawled. “Because I think you just don’t know how to ask to sit with someone.”

I swallowed, gripping my chopsticks so hard they might snap. “That’s not—”

“C’mon, am I wrong?”

I didn’t answer.

Gojo sighed dramatically, turning to face me fully. “You’re a weird one, you know that?”

I let out a nervous laugh, feeling my entire body lock up under his gaze.

“And you’re loud,” I mumbled before I could stop myself.

He grinned. “I am loud. But I’m fun, too.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I just nodded weakly.

He tapped a finger against the table. “Seriously, though. You’re always off on your own. No friends? No tragic backstory?”

I blinked rapidly, caught completely off guard. “I—”

“Oh my god, do you have amnesia? Are you secretly a lost princess? A government experiment gone wrong?”

Despite myself, I let out a small laugh. It was quiet, but it was real.

Gojo grinned like he had won something.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“I know,” he said smugly. Then, after a pause, his voice turned softer—quieter. “But really. You okay?”

The question hit harder than I expected.

I stared at my untouched food, feeling my throat tighten.

I didn’t know how to answer.

Because I didn’t even know what ‘okay’ meant anymore.

Gojo didn’t push.

He just sat there, waiting, as if he had all the time in the world.

But I wasn’t ready.

So I did what I always did.

I laughed awkwardly. Nodded.

And said nothing at all.

Gojo let out a hum, tapping his fingers against the table again.

He knew.

Maybe not everything, but something.

And that scared me more than anything.

[asleepymonster]

When I needed to bind, before I got top surgery, I was never physically affected by my binders. I had very good advice from my physician and from fellow trans people I knew, especially older ones. Back then there was no "common knowledge" that binding would hurt, I didn't know ANY trans men who thought this. The consensus was if it hurts, stop! You're doing it wrong. I'm going to repeat that because it's important.

If your binder hurts, STOP! You're doing it wrong.

I'm going to recommend Underworks because the binders are both pretty good quality and affordable. Both the tank and chest varieties range between $30-40 depending on size (I recommend the tri panel variety, the front is stiff and the back stretches). Make sure you measure yourself, but in my case I only had to go one size up. I personally recommend the tank, especially if you're bigger, because it helps distribute the weight better. I wore this brand for years and I was never in pain, never had any problems breathing, and never had marks from the binder itself.

If you want a really cheap way to start, a good strong sports bra will do wonders. They range from $6-25ish, though you'll be replacing the lower end ones often. You can also search for compression shirts for men in any store that sells clothes, you just will need to go a size or two up.

Do NOT believe lies that binding is supposed to hurt, that's absurd! Our bodies tell us when they're in pain for a reason, listen to your body.

THINGS I NEED TO FUCKING KNOW: Why every fuckin trans man or nb person I know who binds is like “oh binders are the worst, you can’t breathe in them, I know someone who broke a rib once”,

And meanwhile over in historical costuming, we are fucking eating, sleeping, swordfighting, riding horses, and feeling great like this:

(credit: Jenny La Flamme, The Tudor Tailor, Verdaera)

Like is there NO overlap between people who want to bind and people who care about accurate 16th century clothing reconstruction techniques?

(I, okay, maybe it is kind of a niche interest, but…. REALLY? Anyone who’s made a boned binder, PLS SPEAK TO ME)

Keep reading

[astraeus-tree]

Chapter 3

『The Dark Sea Gets Deeper As You Approach』

Disparities Between Our Souls You're forced to make some decisions you'd rather not do and have a bittersweet goodbye with your aunt Disclaimer(s): N/A

Chapter 2 <- Chapter 3

The silence of the comms held countless unspoken words that piled up over the years you were gone. It was finally interrupted by Cass’s voice.

“As in our [Name?]” Her voice was full of disbelief.

“Yes.”

“Where are you. Damian could hear the urge and hope in her voice through the comms.

“I’m on a rooftop near their aunt’s house. They’ve just gone in with the other supposed-hero and the rogue.”

Finally, Damian heard the sound of Dick’s voice through the comms. “Robin, stay there and follow them if they go out. I’ll come over after dealing with some stuff in Bludhaven. Oracle, alert B when he comes back from his mission with the JL.”

“Copy.” Both Damian and Barbara replied.

“I’m coming over Robin.” Cass spoke up again, determination laced in her voice.

“Red Robin.” Dick called out.

“Yes?” Tim’s voice sounded surprised, like he had been lost in thought.

“You’re in charge of finding any information about [Name] and their partner.”

“On it.”

Throughout the whole conversation, many members of the group stayed quiet. Amongst these people was Jason Todd.

Jason had many regrets, more than he could count. Yet, one his biggest ones was his relationship with you. When you had gone missing, Jason was devastated. He was forced to confront his feelings. Forced to realise how his actions had caused you more harm than protect you, like he intended.

Those who had the misfortune of going against him the first few of your disappearance had instantly regretted it, but they did not have the pleasure of being granted mercy by the crime lord.

He thought he had finally accepted this outcome—you were gone, never to be found and you two would never have the chance to reconcile. This surprise turn of events had disrupted this mindset of his.

Jason didn’t know what to feel. On one hand, he finally had another opportunity to reconnect with you. On the other, he didn’t know how to go with his new-found chance. Clearly, you were not the same person you once were. Not the old [Name] who didn’t have any fighting knowledge. It almost made Jason laugh at how similar you and him were, but this wasn’t the time for that. He had a decision to make, to got or to not, and he had to make it quick.

The three of you of you had been at this for what seemed like hours at this point.

With such little tools and no idea why they were even broken in the first place, no progress had been made in fixing the gizmos. At times like this, you wished you were half as resourceful as Hobie Brown, but unfortunately, neither you, Miguel or you aunt were.

With it still being the middle of the night, you decided it was best for your aunt to get some rest. You did eventually persuade your aunt to go to rest, but not without some reluctance and white lies that you’d also go to sleep soon.

It was now only you and Miguel—excluding the anomaly— in the living room of your aunt’s. The silence made you uneasy, like something would pop out of the dark corners and scare you. With your adrenaline finally coming down from its high, you were left to deal with the overwhelming emotions that it left in its wake.

Mentally, you recounted the events that had occurred in just the past few hours; firstly, you were unexpectedly dropped into your home universe with no way to return to where you were before. Then, you and Miguel find an anomaly. You were ready to open the can of worms this knowledge came with so you moved on. Finally, you met your aunt after not being able to see her for 5 years, a seemingly invisible force stopping you every time you had attempted before.

So many emotions coursed through you that you honestly didn’t know how to feel.

Another problem to add to your pile was your family. You knew it was inevitable for your family to find out about you and your new identity, in fact, they probably already knew you were here, but you just weren’t ready to face them. Your habit of avoiding confrontation was always weakness of yours.

You wanted to stay away from them as much as you could. It wasn’t that you hated them, it was just that you grew to live a life without them and had almost completely forgotten what it was like to be with them and you wanted it to stay that way.

You decided to focus your thoughts back to the gizmo. This was your priority, not avoiding your family. You needed these gizmos working, stat. You and your husband had a HQ to run and an anomaly to send back to its universe.

Speaking of the HQ, hopefully it was doing alright without its leader. “Miguel, do you think the HQ is doing well?”

He nods. “Lyla’s most likely already informed the others of our disappearance. She can handle most of my responsibilities, and those that she can’t will be handled by Spiderwoman and, regrettably, spiderman.” You sighed, you knew you could trust Lyla and Jess with those responsibilities. Peter, maybe not as much, but hopefully the others will keep him in line. “Our main concern right now is to get our gizmos working again so the anomaly can be sent back.”

You felt defeated. All you had was a lack of new discoveries, useless tools and broken gizmos in your hands. Your train of though was interrupted by a familiar sound—distortion, like that of a TV. You swung your head towards the anomaly and then back to Miguel.

Shit.

You had forgotten about the glitching. You knew it was there but with so much happening, you were too busy to even remember that detail. Glitching was a painful experience, and as much as you didn’t like Doc Ock in any universe, you didn’t wish the pain of glitching upon them.

You really were on a time crunch now, unless you found a way to temporarily stop the glitching. Wait.

You did have one, and it was wrapped around your wrist right now; your gizmo. Although the portals weren’t working, you knew it still at least stopped the glitching. After all, your husband was standing perfectly fine with no glitches. As for you, this was your universe, you wouldn’t glitch at all as a native to the world.

“Should I give him my gizmo?” You stared down at the Doc Ock as you asked Miguel. His brows furrowed almost instantly at your words.

“I’m sorry? Did I hear that right mi vida?” Miguel was flabbergasted, in full doubt of your words.

“I mean, the portals aren’t working, communications are down, we’re in my universe and he’s glitching. I feel like the pros outweigh the cons right now.” You reasoned with not only him, but also yourself. You could see that Miguel was genuinely thinking through this plan of yours. You knew it was risky, but with the two main risks not working, you felt it would be fine.

Apparently, so did Miguel, as he nodded not even a minute later. “Alright.”

You took the watch off your wrist as you walked over to the Doc Ock and strapped it around his. “This’ll stop the glitching for now. Once we get back to the HQ where we can transport you back to your universe, I’ll take it back.” You spoke softly to him.

Although he couldn’t move due to Miguel’s paralysing venom, you could see his eyes light up and you took that as a thank you sign. You nodded at him before standing up again and facing your husband. “We really need to get back home soon.”

“Agreed, but we don’t have the right tools in reach to do that.” You both sighed and stayed quiet for a few seconds, letting each other try to come up with solutions. “Do you think we could go to your-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” You glared at him.

“It’s really our only option right now, corazón. Unless we suddenly had money, our only other choice is to steal. They’ll be able to help us, they’re your world’s greatest detectives, are they not?” Damn it, why did Miguel have to make such a compelling argument.

“I don’t want to talk to them though.” You saw Miguel’s demeanour soften at your mumbled words.

“I know mi corazón, but let’s think about it this way. They’ll be able to help us finish what we need to faster, and after we leave, you won’t ever have to talk with them again. Don’t you want at least some closure as well? How they felt about your disappearance?” You stayed quiet, biting your nails. Your mind was in a war with itself right now. “I’m sure they’ll be relieved to see you alive and well.”

“I hate how you’re probably right.” You slump in defeat, placing your head on his shoulders. You felt his arms wrap around you, comforting in every way and you melted into his embrace.

“I’ll be by your side the whole time. You don’t need to be worried about anything.” You clung to him tighter.

“Thank you my love. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You mumbled, words even more muffled by that fact that your head was still leaning on his shoulders.

“Yo también te amo.” You smiled at the familiar phrase.

…..

The sunrise came far quicker than you liked it to. With it came a new day with tasks you had to fulfil. One of which was the bittersweet goodbye with your aunt.

You waited anxiously for her to wake up. As you did, you walked around the house, nostalgia heavy. You stopped at the entrance of your bedroom.

Your room looked like it had remained untouched throughout the years. You remembered when you were younger, this room—the whole house, actually— was a lot more ruined, with paint peeling and bugs crawling everywhere. As much as you didn’t like Bruce, you were thankful that his money was able to grant your aunt with better living conditions.

You head a familiar pattern of footsteps approaching your room.

“Do you miss it?” Your aunt asked, voice soft.

“I do. I always miss when it was just us two.”

“Me too.” You stayed silent, it felt like she wanted to say more and you were right about that. “When you first disappeared, I was devastated, you know? I would sleep in your bed, letting my tears dry there. I was too scared to touch anything else in this room. This was all I had left of you.”

She put her hand on your shoulder, and suddenly, it felt like you were a little kid again, afraid of what the big world had in store for you. “I know you’re leaving today. Don’t worry about me darling. I know you’re alive and happy and that’s all I’ll ever need.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. She turned you around to face her and cupped your face. “Don’t cry. I’ll always be here whenever you need me.”

You held her hands gently. “I promise to have back to you auntie. I’ll find a way.” You were filled with determination. Once you made it back to the HQ, you would do everything in your power to find a way to visit your aunt without some random rogue portal.

“I’ll be here waiting for as long as that will take.” You smiled at her and she returned it. It hurt you to break apart, but you knew you eventually had to.

You walked to the living room, where your husband was and nodded at him. He stood up, understanding the message. He easily picked up the anomaly and headed towards the front door. You slowly followed, reluctant to leave this place once again, but you pushed yourself.

You turned around to see her one more time before leaving. “We’ll be going now auntie. I’ll see you again.”

“Be careful out there darling.” You smiled and nodded before walking to Miguel who was waiting outside the door. You took a deep breath and stepped outside.

Taglist (open)

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I'm sorry for another late chapter guys 😭

This chapter gave me a lot of trouble, I can't lie. I started getting writer's block and then I started hating my writing so that was fun

I'm also starting to regret starting this story without a proper plot so we'll see how that goes lmao

Also, most of Batfam finally makes their appearance, yippee!!

Anyways, I watched AOT: The Last Attack in the cinema yesterday and oml I was sobbing the whole way through. I won't spoil anything just in case some of ya'll watch it but it was just so sad

As usual, mistakes are free to point out! They will be fixed as soon as possible

This week's song comes from the English translation of Black Sorrow from Alien Stage

Have a great day/night everyone! <3

[gold-onthe-inside]

debriefing

v. def. the systematic questioning of individuals to procure information to answer specific collection requirements by direct and indirect questioning techniques.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: the one where you finally confront the thing between you and spencer content warnings: none word count: 2.5k

You couldn’t sleep, restlessly turning in bed as flashes of Spencer torment you - vaguely remembering his hand on your ankle as he slid your heels off, kneeling in front of you with his hands grasping yours, his firm grip on your arm, his hand on your lower back, guiding you downstairs. “The team knows that my priority is you.”

You feel like a teenager trying to decipher whether a boy likes you. More importantly, you have to go back to work in 5 hours, and if he doesn’t like you the way you think he does, then there’s no point losing sleep over it. A wave of frustration washes over you, stuffing a pillow in your face as if that could remove the imprint Spencer’s made on your brain.

The pillow falls to the side, leaving you staring at the ceiling with a desire to kill or kiss Spencer, and since neither of those were options to you, you did the next best thing. You knocked on the partition between Penelope’s room and the living room. She had dragged you through Lord knew how many thrift stores and flea markets to put together this magical room that was a cross between Turkish royalty and California in the 60s. The woman, your best friend, bless her heart, woke up with a slight grumble, pushing the unicorn kitty eye mask up (apparently it reduced dark circles, and seeing as she didn’t have any while you were left to suffer, it must work) to attend to your distress.

“Honey, it’s 2 in the morning, can we talk about this in daylight?” Penelope asked, her saccharine voice a soft rumble in her sleep.

“It’s about Reid,” you said, hearing how pathetic you sounded, standing on the step to the raised platform that led to her bedroom. But it seemed to perk her up, and she got up faster than you’ve ever seen her wake in the 10 years you’ve known her.

“I’ll put on a pot of tea,” she announced, moving to the kitchen.

“I-I don’t need tea,” you said uselessly to the whirlwind you called your roommate, trudging across the floor to the kitchen.

“Do you even remember the last time you came to me with boy problems?” Penelope asked you, grabbing her teapot and dropping bags of masala chai in it before setting it to boil on the stove while you parse through your memory, coming up empty. “That’s right. Never. Not once in the entire history of our friendship have you ever come to me about a boy,” Penelope continued and you sink into a seat on the bar stool.

“Because there’s never been anyone worth talking about,” you replied, rubbing your face. “God, how did I let this happen?”

“Let what happen?” Penelope asked, sitting next to you.

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “I don’t lose sleep over guys, and it’s like Spencer just… snuck up on me and now he just lives in my brain or something.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes, it’s horrible and embarrassing and—”

“You really like him,” Penelope finished for you, watching your hands fall to the kitchen island.

“I really like him,” you admitted, letting out a disgruntled sigh as you dropped your head into your hands.

“Sweetie, it’s okay,” Penelope assured you, trying not to laugh as she rubbed your back. “And for what it’s worth, he’s a really good guy. A little nuts, but a really good guy.”

“He’s not nuts,” you muttered and Penelope really wants to laugh. The idea of you defending a boy from Penelope’s words was such a far stretch from who you were as a person…

“He also really likes you,” Penelope told you, tilting her head to try and find your eyes. “Seriously, he was hounding me the other day asking if you were into that Jack Ryan-esque new guy or not.”

“He was hounding you?” you asked, looking up with a skeptical brow.

“As in took up residence in my office until I gave it up,” Penelope clarified and you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck as the teapot whistled. You watched as Penelope poured you a cup of tea with a little milk, just the way you like it.

“What if it doesn’t work out?” you asked, taking the cup and slowly spinning it as you waited for it to cool. “I don’t want to have to avoid him forever. Or put you in a weird position with me and him.”

“What if it does work out and you fall in love and have adorable genius babies?” Penelope countered, making you furrow your brow.

“That sounds so much scarier,” you muttered and she sighed.

“Look, sweetie, as much as it pains me to admit it, he makes you the happiest I’ve ever seen you,” Penelope told you. “Seriously, I have video footage.”

“Delete it,” you tell her immediately, putting on your most serious face, but after 10 years, she’s grown immune.

“You’ll never find it,” she sings, sipping her tea. You suck your cheek in, staring at your tea.

“So… what, I just… tell him?” you asked and you looked so clueless that Penelope had to giggle just a little. “Don’t laugh.”

“I swear to God, you two are so meant for each other, it’s written in the stars,” Penelope said, laughing. “Yes, baby doll, you tell him. Because Lord knows he’s not gonna tell you. He’s been dancing around his feelings so long, he could be Kevin Bacon in Footloose.”

“But I don’t want to,” you protested childishly. “Can’t I just ignore it?”

“Not if you want to sleep at night,” Penelope said, tucking a stray hair behind your ear and you pursed your lips.

“I hate this.”

“Yeah, that’s what being in love is,” she replied. “Welcome, it sucks.” You hummed, disgruntled, and sipped your tea.

You’re close to clocking out for the day when Penelope’s heels clack against linoleum, rapidly approaching your cubicle. “The time is now,” she hissed and you frowned immediately, pressing the back of your hand to her temple.

“Are you okay?” you asked and Penelope shook her head.

“Morgan’s setting Reid up on a double date, I couldn’t talk him out of it,” Penelope said rapidly.

“Wait, what?” you asked and Penelope growled in frustration, pulling you out of your desk and towards the elevators.

“You remember the blonde girl who worked with us last year, her father was a serial killer, she transferred to Swann’s unit? Ashley?”

“Yeah,” you said hesitantly. You’d helped Penelope bake cupcakes for Ashley’s graduation from the Academy — and swatted Kevin when he tried to swipe more than he was given.

“Yeah, well, Morgan’s got a date to this Hitchcock Festival, and he wanted to make it a double date—”

“Why? Double dates suck,” you interrupted, completely missing the point and Penelope shook your shoulder.

“Do you hear the words coming out of my mouth? Spencer is going on a date and it’s not with you.”

Passers-by look at the two of you strangely before walking off and you pressed the button to the lift in an attempt to look normal.

“So what?” you asked half-heartedly. “I’m sure Ashley’s a great person.”

Penelope looked like she wanted to pry open the lift doors and throw you down the shaft. “Her father is the Redmond Ripper, is that what you want for Spencer? For his future father-in-law to be a serial killer?” she demanded, the last few words coming out as a hiss and your lips part. Words, you remind yourself.

“It wouldn’t go that far,” you said, sounding weak even to yourself as you both step inside the lift.

“You don’t know that,” Penelope retorted. “Maybe they go on one date, maybe two. Next thing you know, he’s asking Charles Beauchamp for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

You’ve just been following Penelope’s lead, and it doesn’t strike you that you’re headed to the BAU until the lift opens again and you’re standing face to face with half the team. Spencer’s brow furrowed as he recognised you, JJ glancing at Penelope curiously and Derek grinning at the both of you.

“Hey, what are you doing up here?” Derek asked, with a lot more charm and casualness than Spencer could have mustered.

There’s a shove from behind you, Penelope pushing you out as she chirped. “She wants to talk to you,” she said, ambivalent to your horrified expression as she pointed at Spencer.

“Me?” he asked, meek and slightly alarmed, going through every interaction of the past 7 years to check if he’d done something wrong. Derek and JJ shared a glance, with every intention to stay and listen, until Penelope pulled them both inside the lift.

“Bye!” she chirped, immune to your glare, waving as the lift closed. You stared at the lift, your escape route disappearing before your eyes, Spencer’s glued to you. His fingers drummed on the belt of his satchel, lips pursed in anticipation, heart hammering in his chest as you take a breath and look at him. Of course he had to wear purple today.

“Um… Penelope said you were going on a date,” you started slowly, hands sliding into your pockets despite your sweaty palms.

“Yeah, Morgan kind of roped me into it,” Spencer said, his expression turning pained. “We had this practical joke war and the truce agreement means I have to go on a double date with him. It’s a… whole thing, what did you want to talk about?”

You sucked your cheek in, a telltale sign that something was making you anxious. “So… you don’t want to go on the date?” you asked, tentative and Spencer furrowed his brow.

“Not… enthusiastically, but Seaver’s- I mean, Ashley’s nice, so…”

“But you don’t like her,” you reasoned slowly, gauging his responses so analytically that you could have your own desk here.

“I don’t not like her?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling more and more as the conversation went on.

“Right,” you said quietly, having run out of questions. “Cool, so… I’m gonna go. Have fun on your… date?”

He’s never seen you this unsettled, this flustered, especially around him, and cute as it is, it worried him, his hand reaching out to nudge your elbow before you could run off. “Are you okay?” he asked, deeply concerned.

“Yeah, no, Penelope’s just… um…” You closed your eyes, took a breath, and internally went, Fuck it. “If you don’t like her, don’t go,” you said, looking at him again. Bad decision. You really want to kiss him.

“Okay… But I kind of already agreed to go,” Spencer said, shifting where he stood nervously.

“I… I don’t want you to go,” you said, hoping he would extrapolate the meaning, but of course he doesn’t. He just narrows his eyes in confusion.

“You don’t—”

“I’m asking you not to go,” you insisted, your heart in your throat. You might actually cry if he goes anyway. A beat passed, Spencer just looking into your pleading eyes.

“Okay,” he said eventually, moving to press the lift button, and it’s your turn to frown.

“Okay? That’s it? I asked you not to go and you’re not going?”

“Pretty much,” he replied casually, moving to call up the lift. “Besides, Hitchcock movies don’t really have the same appeal after you know who the murderer is. I mean, it’s nice to appreciate the cinematography of the whole thing, but once you know who the killer in Psycho is, there’s only so many times you can rewatch it before it becomes predictable. Now, if it was something like a novel, that’s a different story, because literature can be interpreted so many ways, and Arthur Conan Doyle still appeals after the third or fourth time you read—”

“You’re not going?” you repeated, standing there, completely struck by him and he looked at you, as though puzzled that you were still stuck on it.

“You told me not to,” he said, concerned again. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His hand flitted up to press against your temple and you freezed, his hand drifting down to your neck to check your pulse, which fluttered when he touched it.

“Why would you just… I mean, how can you just listen to me like that?” you managed to ask and he dropped his hand, slightly amused.

“You’re impossible, you know that,” he said, the lift opening and he waited for you to get in first, his arm keeping it open. “I mean, I don’t listen to you, you argue with me. I listen to you, and you’re still arguing with me. Is there any way to win with you?”

You ignored the easy avenue into a catfight, still looking at him. “She could be the love of your life and you’re just not gonna go because I—”

“She’s not,” he said, his voice plain and firm. “Will you get in so I don’t have to hold this forever?”

“You don’t know that she’s not,” you continued, frowning at him. “She could be the woman you spend your life with—”

“She’s not,” he said again, just as firmly as before. Fact. Not opinion. Not doubt. He looked at you intently, your throat moving as you swallow, not that there’s anything there with your mouth completely dried out.

She’s not the love of his life.

The team knows that my priority is you.

Whatever happens next, I am here. I won’t leave, not unless you ask me to.

You have people. Even if you can’t see them.

How many times had he told you how he felt without saying it? “I’m such an idiot,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I have no business calling myself an intelligence analyst when you…” He frowned at you as you trailed off, still holding the stupid lift open. Penelope was right. All along, she was right. You crossed the foot between the two of you. “Spencer Reid, will you go out with me?” you asked, your voice calm, finally finding yourself on even footing with him. “Properly, I mean. On a date.” No more cryptic codes to decipher, no more dancing around each other. Everything had been decoded, deciphered, plain to see.

“I…” He blinked at you in surprise. “Really?” he asked, almost in disbelief, then checked down the hall like someone was watching him.

“Not a practical joke, I promise,” you said, your heart settling back in your chest. “We could get a drink, see a movie, I couldn’t care less what we do, I just… Spencer, I like you. A lot. And if you don’t want to, which, I mean, fair enough, your call, but—”

He crosses whatever gap is left between the two of you, pressing his lips to yours and grasping your jaw and your hands emerge from your pockets, holding his waist as he takes your breath away. His fingers threaded into your hair, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world, and you kissed him back, pulling away only when your lungs ached for air. His eyes are bright and dilated when he looked down at you, lights glittering in his clear gaze. “I want to,” he murmured, a slight rasp. “Very much.”

[wonder-innie]

this is my first time request but i was wondering if you could make a fluff/smut oneshot on reader and lee know being in the same friend group but reader starts messaging him to get to know him once they realise they have a crush on him. he eventually finds out that they have a crush and keeps prodding to find out clues as to who it could be but then reader doesn’t give in so easily. you can give it whatever kind of ending…

so obvious, so clueless

lee know x fem!reader. fluff

word count: 3.3k

a.n: tysm for the request! i loved writing this.

a.n 2: english is not my first language. check my masterlist

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

Lee Know and you had always been part of the same friend group, and making plans one-on-one with any of them was never a problem… except when it came to him. It wasn’t that you didn’t like the idea; it was just that your relationship with him wasn’t as strong as it was with the others.

One night, all your friends got too drunk, except for you and Lee Know. With nothing else to do, the two of you started talking, and to your surprise, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You felt comfortable with him in a way you never had before. At one point, he let out a bright, genuine laugh, his smile practically lighting up the room. You had seen him smile before, but somehow, this time, it felt different, like you were seeing it for the first time. It was the prettiest smile you had ever seen. Before you knew it, you found yourself searching for the best jokes just to make him smile again. You weren’t sure why.

Days passed, yet that moment lingered in your mind, how easy it was to talk to him, how comfortable you felt, and… how handsome he was. You started stalking him on Instagram more often, to the point where you practically had his pictures memorized. Each time you saw his face, your heart raced, and that’s when it hit you. You had a crush on him.

You tried to ignore it, pushing the feelings away whenever they surfaced. What if it ruined your friendship? Worse… what if it affected the whole group? Some nights, when you couldn’t sleep, your mind wandered to the possibilities. If you two started dating and it didn’t work out… would everything fall apart? You didn’t want to be the reason your group broke up.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶���︶︶︶︶

A week later, you wanted to talk to him so badly that you couldn’t help but send him a message, ignoring all your second thoughts. You opened his chat, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure of what to say. After a few minutes of overthinking, you decided to keep it simple.

“Heyy.”

Lee Know replied half an hour later, asking how your day had been. And just like that, the conversation started flowing, just like it had that night. He told you about his cats and even sent you a few pictures of them. They were adorable.

“They took their cuteness after their owner,” you typed without thinking twice.

The moment you hit send, you froze. Your eyes widened as realization hit… you had just sent him a pick up line with him. Unintentionally.

You gasped, heart pounding, suddenly regretting your words. But then, his reply popped up.

A single laughing emoji.

You sighed in relief when you saw that he hadn’t taken it as a serious attempt to flirt. At least, you hoped he hadn’t.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

You and Lee Know had been texting for weeks, growing closer with each conversation. At some point, you even started sending what you both called “good morning selfies” (pictures of each other as soon as you woke up, looking as awful as possible). Well… at least that was the goal. Lee Know looked effortlessly handsome in every single one.

When Felix’s birthday came around, he invited the whole group to his place to celebrate. You felt a wave of nervous excitement, this would be the first time seeing Lee Know face-to-face after all those late-night chats. Wanting to look your best, you put on your prettiest dress and put extra effort into your makeup.

At Felix’s house, you greeted everyone with a hug, one by one. When it was Lee Know’s turn, your nerves spiked, but you didn’t hesitate. He smelled amazing. His cologne was deep, musky, and completely intoxicating. He was wearing a simple shirt and jeans—nothing particularly trendy—but to you, he had never looked better. Why did everything about him have to be so effortlessly perfect?

You didn’t get a chance to talk to him in private until later that night when Felix announced it was “movie time.” Settling onto the couch, you took a seat near the corner. You weren’t expecting Lee Know to sit beside you. It caught you off guard, but you weren’t about to complain.

Felix pressed play, and the movie began…a romcom. You hated romcoms. You always thought they were ridiculously predictable.

A few minutes in, Lee Know leaned close to whisper in your ear.

“This movie sucks.”

You stifled a laugh, turning your head toward him.

“I know, right? But we’re watching it for Felix… so be quiet.” You nudged him lightly before focusing back on the screen.

Of course, Lee Know wasn’t going to just sit there and behave. That wasn’t in his nature.

He suddenly blew softly against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps erupted across your skin.

“Don’t do that!” you hissed, glaring at him.

He grinned. “I’m boreeed. Entertain me.”

You rolled your eyes. “What do you want me to do? Pull a bunny out of my magical hat?”

His soft laughter sent a spark through your chest. “Yes, please. I’ve never seen a magician before.”

You let out a chuckle, shaking your head.

“Fine,” you sighed. “I’ll entertain you by roasting this horrible movie, then.”

He smirked. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

After a brief glance at the screen, you blurted out, “Noah Centineo’s acting is so fucking cringe it makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a damn spoon.”

Lee Know covered his mouth to stifle his laugh, his shoulders shaking. He leaned in closer, eyes gleaming with amusement. “God, I love the way your brain works.”

Lee Know leaned in again, his breath warm against your ear. “I swear, if they make the couple kiss in the rain, I’m walking out.”

You snorted, whispering back, “Oh, you just know it’s coming. Probably with some dramatic speech about ‘fate’ too.”

He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Yeah, because nothing says true love like pneumonia.”

As the movie dragged on, you and Lee Know kept whispering back and forth, throwing sarcastic comments at every overused trope. It was like no one else was in the room.

At one point, the main characters had a dramatic breakup scene, and Lee Know sighed, shaking his head. “Three… two… one… and cue the sad montage.”

Right on time, the screen faded into a heartbroken protagonist staring out of a rainy window.

You stifled a laugh. “I hate how predictable this is.”

“Right? It’s like they copy and paste the same script every time.”

As you both chuckled softly, what you didn’t notice were the lingering glances from your friends.

Felix, sipping his drink, nudged Seungmin with his elbow and tilted his head toward you two. “Are they always like this?” he whispered.

Seungmin smirked. “Nope. This is new.”

Han, sprawled on the floor with a pillow under his head, wiggled his eyebrows. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m sensing some serious chemistry over there.”

Felix nodded subtly, watching as Lee Know leaned in to whisper something else in your ear, making you giggle. “Yeah… they’re in their own little world.”

Changbin, who had been watching quietly, grinned. “Should we say something?”

Felix shook his head. “Nah. Let’s see how long it takes them to notice.”

Meanwhile, completely oblivious to your friends’ knowing looks, you and Lee Know were still locked into your conversation.

Lee Know sighed dramatically. “If they don’t end up together in the dumbest way possible, I’ll be disappointed.”

You smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. He’s definitely about to show up at her wedding and confess his love in front of everyone.”

Lee Know groaned. “God, I hope he gets rejected. Just once. Just for the plot twist.”

You snickered. “You’re asking for too much.”

At that moment, a new song started playing over the movie’s emotional climax. Lee Know made a face. “Oh great. Cue the emotional acoustic song.”

The movie’s final scene cut to black eventually, and the lights flicked on.

You stretched your arms and sighed, ready to make another sarcastic remark, when you noticed something strange, your friends were all staring at you and Lee Know.

You blinked. “Uh… what?”

Felix cleared his throat, quickly looking away. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Seungmin coughed into his fist. “Yeah, just… interesting movie, huh?”

Han smirked but said nothing, exchanging a glance with Changbin.

You frowned, confused, but shrugged it off. Meanwhile, Lee Know stretched beside you, completely unbothered.

The night eventually came to an end. As you were about to leave, Seungmin casually stepped beside you, hands tucked into his pockets.

“So… you like Lee Know, huh?”

You nearly choked on air. “W-What?”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Don’t play dumb. It’s obvious.”

Your face heated up instantly. You glanced around, making sure no one else was paying attention before whispering, “Okay, fine. Maybe. A little.”

Seungmin scoffed. “A little? You were in your own little world with him the entire night.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to brush it off. “Whatever. It’s not like it matters. He probably doesn’t—”

“He does.” Seungmin cut you off, looking at you like you were an idiot. “Y/N, the rest of us can see it. And if we can, you seriously think he doesn’t feel the same?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You think so?”

Seungmin sighed, shaking his head with a small smirk. “I don’t think. I know.”

And with that, he patted your shoulder and walked off, leaving you standing there, replaying his words in your head.

Maybe… just maybe, he was right.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

A few weeks later, your friend group planned a beach day. The plan was to leave early in the morning—around 6 or 7 AM—so they’d be picking you up at your place.

When the car arrived, you climbed in, greeted everyone sleepily, and settled into your seat. You ended up sitting next to Lee Know.

Still groggy from waking up so early, you leaned your head against the window, trying to get comfortable for the long drive. But just as you started to relax, Lee Know nudged your arm.

“So… I heard something interesting the other day.”

You blinked, turning to him. “What?”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Seungmin told me you have a crush on someone.”

Your stomach dropped. That traitor.

You kept your expression neutral, playing it cool. “Oh? And you believe everything Seungmin says?”

Lee Know narrowed his eyes at you, clearly not buying it. “So it’s not true?”

You hesitated for half a second too long.

His smirk widened. “It is true.”

You groaned, turning your head away. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

But Lee Know was relentless. “Come on, just tell me who it is.”

You shook your head. “Nope. It’s a secret.”

He huffed, pretending to be offended. “Why? You don’t trust me?”

You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow. “Exactly.”

Lee Know gasped dramatically. “Unbelievable. I thought we were close.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “We are, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell you everything.”

For the rest of the car ride, Lee Know kept trying to get you to spill.

“Is it someone from our friend group?”

“Do I know them?”

“Oh my god, is it Felix?”

You ignored most of his questions, dodging them with vague answers or simply changing the subject. No matter how persistent he was, you refused to give in.

And by the time you finally arrived at the beach, Lee Know still had no clue who your crush was.

But that didn’t mean he was going to stop trying to find out.

After arriving at the beach, your group got to work setting everything up; planting umbrellas in the sand, spreading out towels, and placing a cooler filled with beers in the middle of your little setup. The sun was already blazing, and the sound of waves crashing mixed with the laughter of your friends as they ran toward the water.

You had worn your bikini under your clothes, so without much thought, you grabbed the hem of your oversized T-shirt and pulled it over your head, quickly slipping out of your shorts.

What you didn’t expect was Lee Know’s reaction.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him freeze. His entire body stiffened, and he quickly turned his head to the side, his ears turning red. He was flustered.

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. Was he really that shy just from seeing you in a bikini? Seeing that reaction made your heart beat faster, looked so cute.

Trying to act casual, you grabbed your bottle of sunscreen and began applying it to your arms and legs. But when it came to your back, you hesitated. Your friends were already running toward the ocean, leaving only one person behind.

Lee Know.

You turned to him, holding up the sunscreen bottle. “Hey… can you help me with my back?”

His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he just stared at you.

“M-Me?”

You nodded. “Unless you want me to ask a total stranger?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes before snatching the bottle from your hand. “Fine, turn around.”

You turned your back to him, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin. A few seconds later, his hands pressed against your back, spreading the cool sunscreen across your shoulders.

You swallowed. His touch was… soft.

His hands moved slowly, spreading the lotion over your shoulder blades, down to the middle of your back. You felt the way his fingers hesitated for a split second before gliding lower, rubbing the sunscreen into your skin with a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

You liked it.

Your heartbeat picked up as his fingers pressed a little firmer, the warmth of his hands contrasting against the chill of the lotion. For a moment, it felt almost… intimate.

Lee Know cleared his throat behind you. “There. Done.”

You turned to face him, noticing the faint pink dusting his cheeks. He quickly handed you back the bottle, avoiding your gaze.

You took it with a small smile. “Thanks.”

He nodded, still refusing to meet your eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t get sunburned.”

You chuckled softly before turning toward the ocean, but you could still feel the lingering warmth of his hands on your skin.

The day went by normally, filled with laughter, splashes in the ocean, and the warmth of the sun against your skin. You and your friends had lunch right there on the beach, passing around sandwiches and drinks as the waves crashed nearby.

And throughout the day, Lee Know kept trying to get information out of you.

Every once in a while, he’d lean in, his voice teasing yet curious. “So… are you sure you don’t want to tell me?”

You’d simply shake your head, smiling innocently. “Nope.”

This game continued all afternoon. Every time he thought he was getting close, you dodged the question. Your friends, however, had started catching on.

Felix, Seungmin, and Han exchanged amused glances, whispering among themselves every time Lee Know tried (and failed) to get you to confess. He was completely oblivious to what was right in front of him.

Then, as the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, Felix suddenly clapped his hands together.

“We should go get more beer.”

The others instantly caught on.

“Yeah, good idea,” Han said, already standing up.

Changbin stretched, “Let’s go before the store closes.”

One by one, they all got up, casually dusting the sand off their clothes.

You blinked. “…Wait, all of you are going?”

Felix grinned, “Yeah, why not?” Then, with a very obvious look between you and Lee Know, he added, “We’ll be back soon. Enjoy the sunset.”

Before you could protest, they were already walking away, leaving you alone with Lee Know.

A heavy silence settled between you two.

For the first time all day, he didn’t say anything.

The sound of the waves filled the quiet space, and you focused on the horizon, watching the sun sink lower. But then…

Lee Know let out a long sigh.

“Just tell me who it is. The suspense is killing me.”

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the ocean. “I can’t tell you, Lee Know.”

“Why not?” He turned to fully face you, his brows furrowed. “Don’t you trust me? I thought we were friends.”

Friends.

That word hit you like a knife straight to the chest.

A mix of emotions… your feelings for him, the pressure he was putting on you, the fear of ruining your friendship, of breaking your friend group… it all exploded at once.

Before you could stop them, tears welled up in your eyes and started spilling down your cheeks.

You quickly stood up, turning away from him as you wiped your face with the back of your hand. You needed space.

Lee Know immediately noticed your shift in mood, and his voice softened.

“Hey… I’m sorry.” His tone was full of regret. “I didn’t mean to push you so much. I just—” He sighed again, more frustrated with himself than anything. “I need to know.”

Slowly, you turned back around, and when he saw your tear-streaked face, his eyes widened in alarm.

“You’re an idiot!” You snapped, voice shaking. “Do you really not see it? It’s so obvious…!”

Lee Know blinked, still clueless. “I must be an idiot then, because apparently, I’m the only one in our group who hasn’t figured it out.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head in disbelief before finally, finally saying the words you had been holding in for weeks.

“It’s you, idiot! You’re the one I’ve liked for almost two months now. Happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

A heavy silence filled the space between you two.

Lee Know stood in front of you, motionless, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Instead, you stared down at the sand, your heart pounding so hard it echoed in your ears.

Then, gently, he reached out and lifted your chin with his fingers.

Your breath hitched as your eyes finally met his. His gaze was intense yet unbelievably soft, filled with something you couldn’t quite decipher.

With the same hand, he delicately wiped away your tears, his thumb brushing against your cheek before resting his palm there. His touch was warm, grounding.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he murmured, “How am I supposed to hold back when you look beautiful even when you’re crying?”

Before you could even process his words, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss took you completely by surprise. Your body froze for a few seconds, too shocked to react. But then—instinct took over.

You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his soft hair. His arms circled your waist, pulling you closer as the world around you seemed to blur.

The kiss was deep, filled with all the emotions that had been bottled up for weeks. The warmth of his lips, the way he tilted his head to deepen the kiss—it all felt so right.

The sound of the waves and the golden hues of the sunset painted the perfect scene around you.

And then…

A sudden burst of cheers erupted behind you.

You both pulled apart, startled, only to find your entire friend group standing there, grinning like idiots.

Felix clapped dramatically. “Finally!”

Han smirked. “Took you long enough.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes. “I told you he liked you too.”

Changbin grinned, raising an imaginary glass. “A toast to the new couple! I better get invited to your wedding.”

You groaned, hiding your face in Lee Know’s chest, while he simply smirked, unfazed.

Without missing a beat, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you even closer, whispering just for you to hear.

“Guess we really were obvious, huh?”

[onlyalittleperverse]

Ran by a dictator that was installed by a republican president....umm, presidents do pick the fbi head, no?

I guess you forget who started the FBI? Who ran it for 48 years? The worst dictator and known racist out of all of them.

Hoover. He was put in place by the democrats, and he was in deep with all the liberals, Roosavelt gave him most of his power.

Lyndon Johnson also loved Hoover, In 1964, he exempted Hoover from mandatory federal retirement when he hit seventy, that allowed Hoover to stay in power throughout the late 1960s and into the early 1970s. Johnson also used Hoover to contain the Civil Rights Movement, remember the Civil Rights Movement? Yeah. The Democrats used the FBI in an attempt to dismantle it, they fought against the Civil Rights Movement the whole time. 🙄

Maybe re read what I said. I said "12 stashes, as in locations" but dating to the 1970s. And this from a man who sat on the committee dealing with just this problem. Typical fucking leftists. 🙄 also typical of you to not comprehend what is written right in front of you.

As for the false documents, you clearly don't even know what you're talking about, because that's not what happened.

Trump was falsly charged, the DOJ went after him for fraud over his arbitrary valuation of mar-a-la-go, on a loan application, for a private business loan, where the supposed victim never complained, or suffered any damages. When pressed by congress to find one single case where such a precedent was ever set, if EVER this had ever happened before, even once....and they could not.

Never had this happend before. this was fraud by the DOJ. This was the crooked dems Prosecuting their political enemies, and yes trump said he would, but never actually did it, he said he'd put Hillary in jail, and he actually could have over her misuse of campaign funds, and the illegal attack campaign, but he didn't. The democrats though, yeah they have it coming now. Now he is going after them, ended foucis security detail, ended bidens security detail, and he's exposing and releasing all the dirt that these nasty trash pandas have been hiding.

Boy, I can't wait. This'll be fun.

Couldn't happen to a shittier goup honestly.

Rapists, felons, and frauds don't get to self-determine their crimes.

[beloveds-embrace]

So, someone may have already thought about this, but after reading the comments from other folks in the neglected!aus of the Dukedom, I'm looking for a sliver of hope for poor Duchess.

What if there is a newly-hired maid who actually gives a shit about Duchess's well-being, but also not one to take bs? When she notices the duchess being treated unfair, she's quick to ask the rest of the staff. They're no help, and John just turns a blind eye to it. "If you're so worried, then why don't you take care of her yourself?" says half-heartedly.

Challenge accepted (with the utmost diligence).

Because regardless of how things are, she's not gonna let The Lady of The House wither and waste away. Anything Duchess needs, Sweet Maid will be the one to take care of it, not accepting any help or pity from anyone. Plus, less problems means less rumors.

The manor was cold.

Not in the way that stone and drafty halls made a place cold, but in the way that loneliness settled into the bones of a home, making it hollow. You felt it in every ignored whisper of your name, in the meals left at your door but never shared, in the glances that once lingered but now flickered away, as if your presence was something to be endured rather than cherished.

You had learned to sit in that silence, to let the days pass with only the ticking of the grand clock to keep you company. No one seemed to mind that the Duchess of the house was wilting. Not the servants who barely acknowledged you, not the man who had vowed to be your partner in all things.

So it was a surprise when a sharp knock interrupted the monotony of your existence.

You barely had the energy to respond. “Enter.”

The door swung open, and in stepped a young woman dressed in the crisp uniform of the household staff. But unlike the others, she did not hesitate in the doorway, did not cast you a wary glance before hurrying off to complete some other, more important task- because you were at the bottom of the list of importance to them.

No- this one marched inside with purpose, hands on her hips, bright eyes scanning the room like a general surveying a battlefield.

“Oh, absolutely not!”

You blinked, fully looking at her. “I beg your pardon?”

The maid- Shirin, you would later learn- looked positively appalled, her gaze darting between the untouched vanity, the dust gathering in the corners, the discarded meal trays with barely a dent in them.

“This is unacceptable!” she declared.

You almost laughed. You had never heard one of the staff speak so freely before, but you didn’t mind. At least she was speaking to you.

Instead, you tilted your head, studying her. “And you are?”

Shirin straightened, her expression softening when her eyes met yours. “Shirin, Your Grace. I’ve just been hired, and let me tell you, I do not approve of how they’ve been treating you.”

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, she was already moving- striding toward the heavy curtains and yanking them open, letting sunlight pour into the dim room.

“Goodness, no wonder you look so sick! They’ve been keeping you in the dark like some tragic ghost.”

You winced at the sudden brightness, but you found yourself watching, entranced, as Shirin moved with swift efficiency. She gathered the abandoned trays and muttered under her breath about the nerve of leaving food for a Duchess like she’s a stray cat, shaking her head in obvious disapproval.

You frowned. “Why does it matter to you?”

Shirin turned, her brows furrowing in genuine confusion. “Because you’re you!” she said, as if that should be obvious.

You didn’t know how to respond to that.

With a huff, Shirin clapped her hands together. “Alright! First things first, we’re getting you properly bathed, dressed, and fed. No more arguments.”

You raised a brow. “I haven’t argued.”

“Oh, you will,” she said knowingly, already heading toward the bathing chamber. “But I’m terribly stubborn, and I always win, my lady.”

For the first time in ages, you felt something unfamiliar flutter in your chest. Something warm. And you weren’t quite sure what to do with it.

Within minutes, Shirin had the bath drawn- hot water steaming as she added fragrant oils with a hum. She returned to your bedside, hands on her hips.

“Well?”

You hesitated. You didn’t even know why- and yet tou hesitated.

She softened, stepping closer. “Your Grace,” she said gently. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

Something in you cracked, and without a word, you let her help you to the bath.

She was kind but firm, helping you undress without making you feel small, washing your hair with a gentleness that made your throat tighten. When you were clean and wrapped in the softest robe, she helped you to a chair before the vanity, brushing creams onto your face with careful strokes.

“See?” she murmured. “Not so bad, my lady.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “No,” you admitted. “Not bad at all.”

Shirin, and you found yourself helpless against the warmth of it. She squealed when she noticed your own smile.

By the time you were settled in fresh clothes, Shirin had already changed the linens, aired out the room, and brought in a meal that smelled heavenly. The warmth of the plate alone almost made you tear up.

She cut the food into small bites- not in a condescending way, but in a way that said she simply wanted to make things easier for you.

You took a tentative bite, and Shirin lit up.

“Oh, thank the stars, you’re eating!” she cheered.

You gave her a look, but there was no real heat behind it.

“I always win, my lady. I told you so!” She reminded you with a wink.

And for once, you didn’t mind losing.

Meanwhile, the rest of the staff had noticed Shirin’s warpath.

She was sweet with you- warm, chatty, the very definition of a doting maid. But with them?

“Oh, no no no,” she had scolded Johnny that morning. “You expect the Duchess to eat this?” She had snatched the meal away with a huff, muttering about standards before personally overseeing a proper one.

And when she had cornered John, her expression turning so positively icy, she hadn’t even pretended to be intimidated.

“If you’re so worried, then why don’t you take care of her yourself?” he had muttered, dismissive, too focused on his work to care about a singular maid taking pity on you.

Shirin had only grinned. Fine. She will take the very best care of you!

[svtswhorehouse]

SVT : the daddy kink line — nsfw

Seungcheol: pls tell us something we don’t know, isn’t this one obvious. this man radiates so much power and authority, his aura practically SCREAMS daddy. you would call it straight off the bat before you two even started dating that he had the kink. the way he presented himself let you know it, but curiosity kills the cat right ??? (the cat being your pussy.) he wouldn’t even have to tell you. the word would just casually slip out of your mouth in a whine mid-fuck and he would stop for a beat before thrusting into you at lightning speed. ever since then, it became a name you would use every time y’all had sex and even if you wanted to let it go and quit using it, you just wouldn’t be able to help yourself from calling him daddy. not when he towers over you and makes you feel so damn good that you’re seeing stars.

Jeonghan: a flipping fucking tease. he would force it out of you for sure. leading up to it he would make jokes and subtle hints about calling him daddy, but you’d never think he would be serious about it. fast forward to you at his mercy laying on the bed completely bare and spread open for him. he would’ve been edging you for hours, his favorite past time — a sly smirk on his face as he holds off on letting you cum undone until he hears the very word escape from your mouth. you would refuse at first. not because you didn’t want to, but rather because you were far too stubborn to give in to him. jeonghan however has no problem with ruining your orgasm over and over again until you reach your breaking point and practically yell out the name with incoherent begs following it. that fucker would smile wide and big before faking sympathy and telling you that’s all you had to say if you really wanted to cum that badly. he would ruin your orgasm a few more times after that, just to remind you that one: he always gets what he wants, and two: to hear you call him daddy a few more times before he finally gives in to your desperation.

Soonyoung: hear me out — this man didn’t even know he had a daddy kink. soonyoung has definitely thought about it before, but pushed it to the back of his mind as he claimed it to be silly. it wasn’t until you were playfully teasing him one day in which the switch just flipped and he was like “damn, maybe i do have a daddy kink.” he would bring it up in the middle of eating you out. you were almost there, just needed a little push over the edge to bring you to an orgasm when he drops what he’s doing entirely. any other day you might’ve laughed in his face when insisted you call him daddy, but that night — the way he said it, he didn’t even ask for it. no, he demanded it. voice rough and stern, you just found the name slipping from your lips so easily in a desperate plea for him to continue his relentlessness on your sopping wet cunt.

Wonwoo: the thought of calling wonwoo daddy would cross your mind occasionally, however he has a sir kink and has never seemed to care about being called anything but. yes sir this and please sir that — but, you just can’t help but wonder if he would mind you calling him daddy. the opportunity arises when you found yourself on your knees infront of him one day, completely bare and ready to be good for him. he would ask you a question and you would answer with a lack of manners that he would remind you about. that was when you would strike. “yes daddy.” he was toast. you could tell he had to hold back a groan too as he was quick to skip everything else he would normally go through and instead get inside of you as fast as he could. “daddy huh?” he would ask, thrusting at an almost inhumane speed, bringing you to your orgasm much too quickly. you wouldn’t be able to do anything, but moan the word over and over again, only pushing him to fuck you harder. from that day on he ditched the sir kink. you awakened something inside of him he wished he heard from you a lot sooner. he was missing out all this time.

Mingyu: hear me out again — he can cook, he can clean, he can take care of you in more ways than one, he’s HUGE. yupppp, that’s a daddy right there. when he cages you in with his big muscular arms and overstimulates you to the point in which you’re teetering on the edge of subspace is when you find yourself calling him by the name. it leaves your mouth in a whine and it doesn’t faze him at all as he hums in acknowledgment and continues to nip at your neck. he becomes so attentive when you call him it, but still refuses to let up, the word fueling his need to bring you to another orgasm even if it would leave your brain even more empty than it already is. it’s not something he genuinely needs to hear whenever you two have sex but my god does it make his cock twitch and fuel his sex drive. once you use it for the night, you can sure as hell bet that you would be calling him daddy for the rest of the time you two spend fucking because when he hears it he won’t allow you to call him anything else.

[crimsonvictory]

Emergency

MINORS DNI

Word Count: 8.2k

Tags: simon riley x reader, self-reader insert, simon riley x you

Warnings: SMUT, p-in-v, overstimulation, pain kink, mature, voice kink, fingering, oral sex, fluff

Looking up at the building's sign above your head, you were starting to think that this was a mistake. Maybe driving yourself to a sketchy address texted to you by your friend wasn't the best idea, and there was the possibility that she may be planning your funeral next week. The tan brick building was old and crumbling, but somehow still standing after all the weathering over the years. You pulled your phone out, double-checking the address from your messages, and yes, 869 Elvie Street was the correct address.

The events leading to this scenario started a couple of weeks ago when you mentioned to a friend that you were having some stress-induced pain due to your job.

"Have you tried getting laid?" was her first question.

After exclaiming to her that not every problem is fixed with sex, she provided the option of possibly seeing a chiropractor or massage therapist. You had gone over the suggestion in your mind, waiting a few days before texting her and asking for recommendations. She had a tried and true place she had been going for years, so you trusted her judgment.

"Now, don't be put off immediately. Simon doesn't have a lot to say, strictly work. Not the friendliest type but I swear he can pinpoint exactly where my pain is coming from and I feel like I'm on cloud nine when I leave his place. He's a private practice, so only one-on-one with him."

The issue with going there was that Simon’s hours conflicted with your work schedule, and it was extremely difficult to get time off. It took you a while to message him, but when you finally did work up the courage, you asked if there was any possible way he could stay a little late to work you into his schedule. You were met with the blunt reply of,

"No. - S”

And that was that. You didn't dare message again, determining that your pain wasn't actually that bad to manage and that you could deal with it. To be honest, you had forgotten all about the text and went back to work, keeping busy for the next several weeks. That is until the sharp pain shooting from your hip down into your groin was unbearable and you could hardly walk. You were never one to call off of work, but there was no possible way you would be able to get through the day in the state that you were currently in. Teeth gritting in pain, you called your friend, begging her to talk to Simon - put in that it was an emergency.

"Can you get yourself there by 10?" she had texted.

You shot a glance at the clock - 8:47. A soft groan left your lips, you had texted a short reply that you would be able to. Maybe you should have thought about it for a moment before sending an immediate reply. Typing in the address that your friend had given you, you were pleasantly surprised that it was only a few minutes down the road from your apartment. Slowly sliding to the edge of the couch, you grit your teeth in pain once again as you try putting your weight on your good hip. The sharp jabbing pain raced like fire down into your groin, causing you to cry out softly. You huffed in annoyance, slowly making your way to the bedroom to get dressed for your appointment.

It took a lot longer than you wanted, the attempt to put on a new pair of pants almost sending you into a fit of hysterics. You limp over to your bathroom vanity, taking a moment to brush your hair and then your teeth. Your eyes are a bit bleary with tears, so you blink them away, attempting to not look deranged. This is the best that you can do in your situation. Taking one final look at yourself, you huff yet again and make the long and painful route (typically a less than 2-minute walk down a short flight of stairs) to your car.

Shutting the door behind you, you lean on your good hip as you lock the front door to your apartment. It's a bit chilly out, the sun is not quite over the clouds this morning. A quick glance at your watch lets you know that you have about 15 minutes until your designated appointment. The familiar wash of anxiety starts from the crown of your head, making you shutter slightly as it passes down your shoulders and into your stomach. Everything would be okay... you told yourself (almost unconvincingly).

The ride over was quiet, opting to not listen to any music as you were already overstimulated. You followed the little arrow on the map, almost missing your turn because your thoughts were elsewhere. A quick parallel park of your car and you throw it into Park, letting out a deep breath before attempting to pull yourself out. You have your keys and phone in one hand, using the other to grab the handle above to use as leverage. Your good foot makes contact with the asphalt, digging in slightly as you hoist yourself up, careful not to jerk too quickly.

You stumble for just a moment, leaning against the now-closed car door before righting yourself once more and slowly making your way over to the sidewalk. Nervousness pulls in your stomach again. A glance to the left and right of your surroundings shows there are no other cars on the street that you're parked on. You tilt your phone up, opening up your messages to let Simon know that you're here.

A few moments go by in silence, and you shift your weight again, taking a look at your surroundings. A bell chiming grabs your attention and you look back towards the front door, surprise etching itself along your features as a man - you are guessing Simon, fills up the entrance. He appears almost out of nowhere, still as a statue as he stands there. He crosses his arms, stretching the grey t-shirt he has on to the point where they might almost bust out of the sleeves.

You blink rapidly, taking him all in. His dark eyes lock onto you, gaze unwavering. Brows furrowed slightly, the only available space you can see are his eyes. The lower half of his face is covered by a black surgical mask. Mysterious. You're at a loss for words, not knowing what to say. His gaze has you pinned to the spot, almost as if you were caught doing something particularly naughty.

A soft grumbling noise comes from his chest, a noise of annoyance as he rolls his eyes and turns back to walk back inside, letting the door fall back into its previous closed state. A frown tugs your lips downward, confusion whirling a spiraling pattern into your thoughts as you slowly hobble towards the door. You push it open, the bell chiming once again before the rush of the wind pulls the door shut quickly behind you, causing you to jump. Taking a look around the office, it's - as expected. Neat, white walls and grey wooden flooring. Nothing is decorating the small area, but surprisingly there are a few well taken care of monsteras by the front door. The air smells like eucalyptus and mint, a relaxing scent that causes your tightly drawn shoulders to droop just a bit.

You're not sure where Simon went so you stay by the front door, not wanting to be caught snooping around the office. He comes back just a few moments later, still silent as he steps forward and crowds your space. You inhale sharply, the faint smell of cigarettes and Earl Grey filling your nostrils. He reaches beside your head, flipping the deadbolt to the left - locking you both inside.

Heart fluttering in your chest, you grip your keys a bit tighter, watching as he turns quickly on his heel and disappears down the hallway.

"Down here, love," he calls, his deep voice reverberating off of the walls.

It takes you by surprise, a warm heat spreading in your belly. You somehow get your feet to move, brain short-circuiting as you try to actively process what the hell your friend got you into.

The room at the end of the hall is much cozier than the front office. Light grey walls and a carpeted floor, shelves full of herbs and salves, a long black bench, and a rack of towels are inside. Simon's sitting on a black rolling chair, legs spread out on either side of him. The soft glow of a lamp casts a variety of shadows in the room, making it a bit hard to see his face.

You are hesitant, but trust your friend and step forward into the room. Your eyes bounce around, taking everything in before landing back on Simon.

"Your friend said this was an emergency?" he asks coolly, eyebrows raising slightly.

You nod, pressing your lips together in a slight grimace, the pain of your hip dully radiating at the moment.

"What's bothering you?" he asks again, eyes flicking quickly over your form before landing back on your face.

You feel your cheeks flush, the rush of embarrassment hitting you quickly. A quick clear of your throat before you answer timidly.

"M-My hip."

His brows furrow for a moment before relaxing back on his face. He didn't pry, which you were grateful for. God only knows the thoughts running through his head at your answer. Simon beckons you closer and you oblige, trying your best not to put too much weight on your leg. He hums softly, almost as if confirming to himself what to do with you. You're standing rather close, the scent of him filling your nostrils again. It makes your stomach flutter.

"Can you sit?" he asks, dark eyes catching your gaze.

You nod, almost dumbly as you shuffle forward, turning and placing the back of your lower thighs flush with the black table. Leaning back slightly, you go to sit down when that flash of pain shoots down your leg again, causing you to gasp sharply.

Simon's hand wraps itself around your waist quickly, holding your weight for a moment while you try to steady yourself. Your brows furrow in pain, tears welling up as you look past him, staring at the wall and willing the moment to pass. Your body trembles slightly and you let out a huff of air, closing your eyes for a moment before opening them again. The moment has passed.

You notice his dark eyes on you again, cheeks flushing with the scrutiny of his gaze.

"Alright?" he asks lowly, eyes scanning your face again for any sign of pain.

You nod slowly and he helps you lower yourself on the table. You're seated now, resting for a moment as you tell him.

"Thank you..."

He hums softly again, the sound rumbling around in his chest. Simon steps forward, pushing himself up from the small stool he was sitting on. You sit there wondering how it manages to hold his weight. A light press on your shoulder from him, wanting you to lie on your back. The plushness of the table is comfortable, and you wiggle for a moment before deciding that you're comfy. It's hard to resist looking at him, large frame taking up your entire field of vision. You can't even see the door anymore.

Your eyes flutter closed, willing them to stop for a moment. Simon’s standing by your side, and you feel his large hand circle your ankle, pushing your knee up toward the ceiling. There's a slight pull again from your hip and you tense, wary of the oncoming pain.

"Relax," he murmurs.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and tell yourself to calm down. Blood rushing in your ears, you hear the familiar whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

"'M gonna try and stretch your hip flexor before I adjust you, alright?" he explains and you nod.

With one hand on your knee and the other circling your hip he starts with a small range of motion, moving your knee towards your chest and back out again. So far so good, minimal pain. His fingers squeeze into the fat of your hip, keeping it stable as he goes through a few motions for mobility. It's only when Simon moves your knee out parallel from your body that you cry out involuntarily, the sharp sensation pulling the breath from you.

You watch as his brows furrow once more and he squeezes your hip gently - an apology. Your breath quickens, eyes widening as he slowly moves your hip back to its original spot before doing it once more. The pain is there again, but not as sudden. You let out a shuttering breath, the anticipation of the imminent pain causing you to sniffle.

"There we go..." he murmurs.

His voice causes a wave of relaxation over your body, and you go pliant in his grip. The motions are becoming easier, less and less of the pulling pain as he stretches your hip out. It's become more of a dull ache, something that you could manage. He moves to your other hip, repeating the motions from just moments earlier. This one causes no problems at all. Your gaze flits up to the ceiling, watching the shadows of the light bounce as it reflects off of his movement. He releases your hip, and you immediately miss the contact. Simon shifts down to the edge of the table, holding both of your feet together as he examines the natural alignment of your hips.

"One's a bit shorter than the other," he explains, crouching down to look at which one to adjust through one squinted eye.

"Good news, it's not the injured one," you hear a hint of a smile in his voice.

You smile back softly in return, watching as his two large hands wrap around your right foot after letting your other leg drop gently to the table. He wiggles your foot slightly, loosening up your hip.

"Relax f'me," he instructs (and how could you with the sound of his voice making pleasure burn deliciously in your stomach).

Wiggling your foot one more time, he yanks back towards himself suddenly, a sharp crack! from your hip filling the room.

"Woah," you gasp out quietly.

He grabs your shoes again, checking the alignment before dropping them gently, satisfied that the adjustment did the job. Simon's large hand reaches out, an offer to help pull you into a seated position. His hands are calloused, but not super rough against your own skin. He gently lets go and whirls around to his shelves of salves, rummaging through before he finds some BioFreeze. It's in a small aluminum tin, the sharp smell of medical tincture burning your nose.

"Apply this once you get home, you're gonna be sore for a few days. Helps relax the muscles," he explains.

You pluck it gently from his fingers, twirling the tin in your own.

"I can't thank you enough..." you murmur, looking down in your lap.

He tuts softly, placing a hand on the small of your back and helping you up and off the black table. You look up at him once more, eyes focused on his mask as you ask,

"How much?"

"Consider it a favor for a friend," he says.

You're walking down the short hallway now, looking over your shoulder at him. He follows you to the door, reaching over to unlock the deadbolt before leaning back at a respectable distance once more.

"I can't just not pay you," you argue softly.

He shakes his head, a soft huff of a laugh falling from his lips.

"Heal that hip up and I'll think about it."

With that, he gives you a wink and opens the door for you, ushering you outside. Your mouth drops slightly, blushing at his words before you click your key fob to unlock the car. You grab the handle, missing it a few times before you finally yank the door open and hop inside, throwing your belongings in the passenger seat. The first thing you do is grab your phone, furiously typing your friend's phone number into the dial box. She picks up in two rings.

"Well...?" she prods, an obvious grin in her voice.

"Well-" you huff, putting your seatbelt on in a hurry as you start to drive, not even fully clicked in before you speed off. "I feel a lot better."

She laughs on the other end. "I told you! He's amazing! And sooo handsome too, even behind the mask.”

You laugh softly at that, nodding your head even though she couldn't see you.

"He wouldn't let me pay," you pout, tapping your fingers against the steering wheel as you drive home.

"Really?" she asks incredulously.

"Mhm..." you answer, thinking back to the conversation. "He told me to let my hip heal and that he would think about it." you continue. "He also-,"

"What? He what?" she prods, so excited it sounded like she was trying to jump through the phone.

"H-He winked at me when he said it," you blush deeply, thinking about his dark eyes staying glued to you the whole appointment.

"Oh my god!" she squeals. "You know what that means right?" she asks.

"No?" you answer, genuine confusion in your voice.

--

What it meant was that he wanted to fuck. Unbeknownst to you, Simon could barely keep himself appropriate when he opened the door to you that day. A client of his, your friend, had practically begged him to get you in. She declared your situation an emergency. It was an emergency all right, the emergency being that he wasn't stuffing your pussy full of his cock at this very second. It took all of his composure not to strip you down in his office and have you begging for more. Your little whimpers and cries of pain turned on that wicked part of his brain that got off on it. He kept replaying them in his head that night, thick fingers wrapped around the base of himself as he bucked into the tight fist he had made. Simon was seriously fucked up. He knew it but couldn't help himself. Couldn't help dipping into the temptation of the possibility of having your soft body underneath his own.

He wanted to know what you tasted like, what you felt like under his rough hands. He'd treat you well. Pulling every last little noise out of you that he could. The thought alone had him crying out hoarsely, covering his hand in the sinful act of imagination.

Good god.

Simon groaned, shame filling his stomach as he rolled off the side of the bed, strolling over to the bathroom in just a few steps to clean himself up.

What was he going to do?

--

The salve Simon had given you was a godsend. As he had told you, your hips were super sore over the next few days, but having the cooling salve helped ease the tense muscles. You had gone back to work, your friend pestering you every second about him. Simon...you sigh, shaking the thought of him from your mind. Something about him...

You had thought about texting him, but that would be weird. There was no absolute reason for you to have to see him again. Your hip was doing better, the overstretched ligament finally healing with the help of his hands. Oh, his hands... You reminisce on the feeling of having his long fingers wrapped around your hips, the gentle squeezes of comfort, the sure way he knew what to manipulate on your body to make you feel better.

God. You were fucked.

--

Things were going well for a couple of weeks until one Sunday evening, you had decided to take a bath and treat yourself to a nice evening. The water was scalding, just how you liked it, as you slid into the water, a long sigh escaping your lips as you soaked your weary muscles. You close your eyes, thoughts drifting to a certain someone... imagining what he would do to you. A soft moan escapes your lips, hand sliding down your torso to gently brush against your clit.

An exasperated laugh left you, applying more pressure at the thought of his hands sliding down your body. Your hips jerked up suddenly, and to your horror, the sharp pain came back instantly. Oh no...

Dread filled your body as soon as it happened, already knowing that you were going to have to message him again. Maybe you could try to get out of the bath...

The sharp pain pulled again, causing you to curse in frustration. Looks like you were stuck for the time being. You grab your phone, open up to your contacts, and send Simon a quick message.

Another emergency.

...

Silence. You huff, knowing that he's not obligated to answer you. It was his day off after all. You might as well enjoy the hot water as much as possible. The warmth envelops your body, providing a little bit of comfort as you relax.

--

You must've dozed off because when you wake, the bath is lukewarm. A groan falls from your lips, rubbing a hand down your face before blindly reaching over for your phone. You blink blearily at the bright screen, looking at your notifications. Simon had replied. Oh shit. Your fingers shake as you open the notification.

Hope it wasn't because of something naughty. ;) - S

You nearly scream, cheeks ablaze with emotion. How the hell did he know?

Ha. Ha. You reply quickly.

You see the ... floating back and forth as he types, thoughts in limbo.

Can you walk? He asks.

You weren't sure, not having tested before because of the pain. Easing up slowly, you're able to pull yourself into a seated position. The water drips down your body and into the water, rapid descent of the drops making a soft tinkling noise. You reach for your towel, slowly starting to dry yourself off and wrapping it around your damp body. It takes a moment, but you're able to pull yourself up and over the tub, staying in a small crouch. If you're in this position, it's not too bad. You grip the counter, sending a quick text back.

Barely.

It takes a few moments for him to respond, and by that time, you have your towel dropped around your feet and are attempting to put on your panties.

I can stop by.

Your stomach flutters after reading his text. Fingers grip your phone as you respond.

I wouldn't want to bother…

Maybe you could make it until the beginning of the week. Tilting your hips back, you push yourself up, throwing an oversized shirt on quickly before bunching back over in discomfort.

Address?

Is all he asks. You huff, knowing you're not going to be able to argue, so you send it to him.

—

He arrives at your apartment in 20 minutes. In that time, you had slowly made your way to the living room so that you could sit on the couch and wait for him. A sharp rap of his knuckles notifies that it is indeed him. You groan when you sit up again, slowly shuffling to the door. Your fingers fumble with the lock, twisting the metal bar to the side before you pull back, allowing the door to open.

It's a bit hard to see him from the angle that you're bent at, but you tilt your head to get a quick look at him.

Simon opted for black scrubs this time, his pants pulling deliciously taut against his thick thighs. His shirt is just a thin white tee, doing little to hide his broad chest. You notice a smattering of ink crawling up his forearm, as it’s closest to your field of sight.

Your eyes catch his, noticing the softness of his gaze. You realize you must look like a wounded animal to him - pathetic.

“Can I come in?” he asks politely, voice rumbling with deep timbre.

“Yes,” you sigh out, catching the way his eyes fall to your lower half.

His mask crinkles up against his face, he's smirking. It's only then that you realize that you forgot to put on pants. How embarrassing. Heat flushes hot up your chest, staining your cheeks pink.

“I’m sorry,” you half apologize. “I couldn’t-.”

“S’okay,” he soothes.

You nod, slowly stepping back and allowing him in. He looks odd in your apartment. The hulk of him taking up most of your entryway. He has to duck to step through the threshold, kicking his shoes off by the door. What a gentleman.

You swing the door shut, mimicking his actions from a few weeks ago, and locking the deadbolt behind you. The air is a bit awkward, mostly due to your own insecurities. You attempt to pull your shirt down farther to cover your bare legs.

“Don’t have to hide from me, lovie,” Simon murmurs. “Let’s get you sorted out, yeah?”

You nod, looking at him for direction. He takes a step forward, crowding your space with his presence. Simon’s paw of a hand flexes at his side, clearly restraining to the best of his ability to not touch you.

“Where’s most comfortable?” he questions, taking a look around your small apartment.

You hum, thinking…the bed would probably be the most comfortable, but also very intimate. The couch could work too, but being only one-sided due to the back of it. There was also the floor…but you didn’t know if you could get back up from it afterward. Bed it was then.

“The bed…” you murmur shyly.

His mask crinkles again, pulling against his face as he smirks again.

“After you,” he gestures with a slight nod of his head.

You turn then, stomach twirling with anxiety as you lead him into the bedroom. Slow, deliberate steps to not flare up your injury. The air is a bit cooler and you shiver, goosebumps crawling up your skin. Your clock reads 0442, the golden rays of sunshine confirming the time.

Your bedroom isn’t messy, but a bit eclectic with the clutter - a few books stacked on your nightstand, a jewelry tray, and a few odds and ends from your purse scattered on your vanity. You always leave a lamp on, along with an essential oil diffuser. Eucalyptus and mint - your favorite.

Simon pads silently behind you, almost forgotten until you catch him out of the corner of your eye. You watch as he takes in the small space, a soft hum as his eyes dance around the room.

You had, for once made your bed today, a fluffy black duvet and a grey throw stretched across the queen size. You didn’t particularly need such a wide space, but it was a luxury of yours, being able to spread out on your own.

Walking (limping) around to your side of the bed, you take it slow when sitting down. You laugh suddenly, imagining what Simon must think of you - an old lady.

“Somethin’ funny?” he questions, a smile in his voice.

“I must look be a sight, hobbling around like this,” you laugh breathlessly.

A slight shake of his head, eyes nearly shut. He’s cheesin’. Simon steps around to meet you, mimicking his movements from a few weeks prior. Two of his thick fingers push into the rivet of your shoulder - a silent plea to lay on your back. Obviously, your bed is much comfier, plush pillows surrounding your head as you sigh. Eyelids fluttering, you look directly up at him, a blush dusting your cheeks as you wait for him to move.

A large hand slides down your side, settling in the crook of your hip. His fingers squeeze at the fat there, stabilizing the joint as his other hand slowly brings your knee up to point to the ceiling. The movements are much slower now, remembering from the first incident that he had caused you pain.

Your body is tense, waiting for the sharp ripple that travels down your thigh - it does, as soon as your hip flexor is tilted to the side.

A sharp cry punches out of your lungs, eyes immediately filling with tears.

“Sorry, love…” Simon murmurs, voicing genuine concern.

You sniffle, taking a deep breath as he makes the rotation back to the first position.

“You’re too tense,” he grumbles, releasing the hold on your knee before sliding his fingers down your bare leg, erupting goosebumps along their wake.

He allows his fingers to unfurl from your hip, pushing the hem of your shirt just above it, so that he can see the bare skin there.

Your eyes flicker down to the exposed spot, desperately wanting to yank your shirt back down.

“Where’s the salve?” he questions.

“Hm?” you hum, thoughts drifting again to his hands.

“The salve?” he questions again, eyebrows raising towards his hairline.

“Oh,” you sigh. “Bedside drawer.” you point to the nightstand to the right of you.

He rummages around for only a moment before the metal tin is in his large hands. Spinning the lid off, he dips two fingers down into the tincture before gently rubbing it into the skin of your hip. You whine softly, the cooling sensation a relief to the flared injury.

Simon huffs softly, eyes flitting over your near-naked form before settling on your own.

“Can’t be making noises like that, bunny,” he warns lowly.

A tingling sensation pulls in your stomach, desire pooling at the base of your spine. Only then do you notice his cock is straining against his pants, clearly turned on by your involuntary noises. You bite your lip hard, turning your head away to not look at him. He was doing you a favor - that was all. A favor for a friend…right?

“Simon,” you sigh softly. “I’m sorry.”

You roll your head back to the other side, blinking before looking up at his face. His brows furrow, confusion etching them into place.

“Don’t apologize,” he huffs, just a faint hint of frustration in his voice.

You can’t tell if he’s frustrated with himself or you. A frown turns your lips downward. His fingers have stopped rubbing the rest of the tincture into your skin, frozen in place as if he’s afraid to touch you again. His other hand is at a fist at his side, fingers clenching together in restraint. Simon’s chest rides and falls languidly as the moment passes, silence lingering in the shared space.

You take a deep breath before you speak,

“Is everything okay?”

His dark eyes flit to yours, pupils dilated to the point where they melt into his irises. Another unblinking gaze makes you a bit uneasy. A familiar flutter of panic itches at the back of your skull.

“No,” he finally answers, slicing the tension of silence with a verbal knife.

“Why?” you breathe out, entranced in his gaze, the rise and fall of your chest quickening.

“Because I want to touch you,” he admits, words so soft your ears are straining to hear them.

Your brain short circuits, a flood of arousal filling your panties. You tense slightly, an unwarranted reaction - before slowly relaxing and letting your legs fall open - an invitation. You’re still mindful of your injured hip, Simon’s fingers still slightly brushing the top of your thighs.

He groans then, a delightful noise that rattles around in his chest before spilling from his lips. Simon places his knee on the bed, slowly leaning his weight forward as he crawls up in between your legs. Your head was spinning, trying to catch up with what was unfolding before you. His touch is featherlight, fingers lightly brushing the bare skin of your calf closest to him. Sitting up on your elbows, you watch quietly, curious as to how this was going to play out.

The sun was starting to set, golden hues splaying across Simon’s form. A particular ray hit his eyes, revealing the brilliant ochre that spiraled within them. He looked like something of a god, on display for you and you only. Simon leans down then, pulling his mask down just a bit to place his lips on your skin. You shutter, the feeling of them erupting goosebumps. They were surprisingly soft, slightly chapped, and full. He slowly moves up your thigh, gentle kisses placed on your skin, nearly afraid of breaking you.

—

You were fragile in his eyes. Something that he wouldn’t dare to shatter. But yet, something in him wanted to, wanted to break and bend and manipulate you with his bare hands. Simon wanted to pull every ounce of pleasure from your body, to take away the pain that was lingering. He wanted to hear your pretty whines, watch your body react, and flush to his touches. Mold you into his own body, fitting the two as one. Dip his fingers into your soaking cunt. He opts for placing soft kisses first, warming you to his touch.

To his pleasure, you’re extremely reactive, soft sighs and hums of approval are music to his ears. His large hands slide up your bare thighs, admiring the smoothness of your skin. You answering your door in your underwear was not on his radar and completely threw him for a loop.

Things had moved quickly and now…now he was wanting to taste you. Mouth watering at the thought. Simon looks at you now, trembling under his touch, anticipation etched onto your pretty face. He’s resting on his stomach, broad shoulders causing you to stretch your good hip out almost near exertion. A slow lean down and…

His warm mouth makes contact with your clothed pussy, tongue flattening against the fabric and sliding up achingly slow. A low moan falls from your lips, head falling back against the pillow. Simon repeats the motion, slowly mapping out your folds to memory. A shudder of pleasure makes its way down your body and you reach a hand out, placing it on his bicep. You give it a light squeeze, fingers curling tight.

Soft moans of yours fill the air, along with the smell of your arousal. You’re dripping wet, soaked fabric of your panties clinging to your folds. Simon hasn’t let up since he began, your slick dripping down his chin. His mask is long forgotten, but his face is hidden between your legs, so you can’t see what he looks like in his entirety.

His long fingers brush against the side of your panties, causing your hips to jerk upwards suddenly. A sharp gasp punches out of your chest, pain radiating down your thigh once again. Tears spring up in your eyes - frustration causing them to bubble up and over onto your cheeks. Your eyes flutter closed and you are jostled by Simon moving. Cheeks burning hot with shame, you turn your face away.

Your lip trembles despite you trying your best to keep it still. This was a mistake, and now he was going to leave. Your hand curls itself into a fist at your bare side.

A touch to your face startles you, causing your eyes to flutter open in shock. Simon is still there, mask placed back on his face as he gazes down at you. He’s half leaning over you, hand placed by the space near your shoulder, eyes glittering with concern.

“Let’s try something different, yeah?” he suggests.

It takes a moment for your brain to process the words, still in shock that he is still here. He still wants to even though you ruined the moment. You nod slowly, still frozen and afraid to move due to the pain. Simon snakes his right hand down to wrap his long fingers around the fat of your hip. He squeezes tightly, holding the aching muscle in place as he climbs onto your bed yet again.

Simon’s straddling your left leg, taking the quick movement to switch your positions in one fluid moment. You yelp, hands flying out to land on his chest as you try to steady yourself. He’s still got a grip on your hip, the pressure keeping it from overextending itself as you sit in his lap. You can feel his length through your soaked panties.

He’s resting comfortably back against your pillows, eyes half closed as they lazily scan down your body. His chest rises and falls languidly, a sound of contentment rumbling throughout. It almost sounds like he’s purring. An experimental shifting of his hips has the tip of his cock brushing against your clit, sending fire licking down your spine.

A pathetic noise crawls up your throat, falling from your lips on its own accord. You watch as his mask crinkles again, eyes nearly closed as he smirks. Simon rolls his hips up towards your own, keeping you locked in place. All you can do is take it, his vice-like grip preventing you from moving. Your stomach flutters with arousal, slick dripping down your thighs as his cock slides against the sticky fabric of your panties.

“Look ‘atcha,” he praises. “Makin’ a mess and I’ve barely touched ya.”

Your lip trembles and you bite down hard, willing it to keep still. His eyes catch your own and you watch his pupils dilate. You can see a blurry reflection of yourself in them, watching your face contort in pleasure as Simon presses up into you. Another whine pulls from your throat, the friction not enough. You needed more - you tried to wiggle in his grip but to no avail.

“What’sa matter?” he mocks, tone almost turning mean. “This not enough for ya?”

You shake your head, a hot flush running down your neck and into your chest.

“N-No,” you gasp as he thrusts his hips upwards again. “I need you, please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” he coos, squeezing your hip lovingly.

Simon doesn’t even bother to move you, just pushes your panties to the side and brushes his fingers through your folds. Your slick pools down onto his fingers, making it easy for him to press two inside. They’re thick, causing you to tense for a moment before relaxing and letting him in.

“‘Atta girl,” he praises again before sliding his fingers back out to the tips before thrusting back in your warm heat.

You moan, releasing your grip on his shoulder as he fucks you with his fingers. His other hand keeps you steady as he lowers you down and back just a bit, almost seated at an angle on his lap. Both of your legs are spread on either side of his hips, hand braced on the bed to keep yourself steady. Simon curls his long fingers towards himself, pressing that spongey spot that has your knees going weak.

“S-Simon,” you gasp, knees buckling inwards towards themselves.

His hand leaves your hip momentarily to push them gently back to their original position, keeping your glistening folds on display just for him. A laugh punches itself out of his chest, almost restrained. It’s a beautiful sound, one you wish you could’ve heard sooner. Simon takes the pad of his thumb and swirls it around your clit. Pleasure burning in your stomach and down your legs, you cry out, orgasm squeezing a moan out of your lungs. You tremble as it ignites your nerves, breath quickening as the pleasure wrecks your body.

He doesn’t slow his fingers, keeps milking every last drop until your body has settled. There’s a slight sheen of sweat on your skin, illuminated by the golden hues of your bedside lamp. A low whistle carries out, faintly hitting your ears as you try to push yourself back up into a sitting position. Your legs are like jelly and Simon laughs again before helping you up.

His fingers absentmindedly brush back and forth on your hip as he hums, giving you a moment to recollect yourself. Pleasure has your joints relaxed, and your hip no longer burning with discomfort. Your eyes roll languidly, almost as if floating in syrup, to meet his own. He’s watching you again, taking you all in. You try to get a good look at him - a slight furrow in his brows, almost as if he’s always in thought. The mask hides most of his face but you can tell his nose is a bit crooked - possibly broken? You fight the urge to reach out and run your fingers across the bridge. There’s a small spattering of freckles peaking out from underneath the mask and you smile.

“What?” he asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, smiling.

He huffs out a laugh, a small smile on his lips as he shakes his head. Hesitantly reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder, you give it a soft squeeze before you slide your hand down his chest and over the tented part of his scrubs. His eyes follow the trail, locking onto where your hand is slowly stroking up and down his length.

A shudder of a breath leaves his lips and his eyes fall shut. Touch-starved and desperate for more, Simon restrains himself from reaching out and flipping the two of you, wanting nothing more than to have you under him. He reminds himself to be careful with you.

You slide your hand into his pants, stroking him through his boxers. He’s fucking huge, filling your hand with his girth.

“Jesus,” you huff out in astonishment, a small laugh escaping past your lips.

“Too much to handle?” he quips, peeking one eye open to look at you.

“No!” you huff, biting your lip as you try to plan on how to begin.

“Here,” Simon sighs, taking both of your hands in one of his own while he shimmies out of his scrubs.

His cock strains against the confines of his boxers for a moment before he pulls them down too, finally letting it bounce against his stomach.

He’s oversized, pretty - creamy skin with a lush pink tip. It curves to the right just a bit and is leaking from being neglected for so long. You want to bend down and have a taste, mouth watering at the thought. Simon still has your hands on his own when he settles back down. You wriggle them free, wrapping your fingers around the base and stroking slowly up to the tip.

A low rumble of pleasure starts low in his chest, so you keep going, swiping your thumb over the tip. He’s super sensitive, length twitching in your hand as you tighten your grip. Simon’s lids are half closed, watching you languidly.

His hips act on their own accord, bucking into your hand to chase more pleasure. You’re transfixed - watching over and over as he fucks into your hand. The action has you clenching around nothing, wetness creeping down your thighs again. A whine creeps up your throat and you roll your hips slowly against his clothed thigh - unable to stop yourself.

“Just can’t get enough, can you?” he laughs, the sound getting interrupted by a moan as you squeeeeze your fingers tight around the base.

“Not fair,” he wheezes softly, hips stilled for a moment.

His thigh twitches, bumping up into your pussy, causing a spark of pleasure to pull in your core. Simon moves then, pulling his mask down and smashing his lips to yours. He leads the kiss, licking into your mouth with slow swipes of his tongue. You moan into his mouth, eyes falling closed and hands coming up to rest on his forearms. He tastes like Earl Grey and lingering tobacco. Simon moves his thigh up and down, the slick from your pussy drenching his pants. You whine against his lips, hips stuttering as pleasure overcomes you yet again.

“You comin’ again?” he asks with a laugh, smirking against your lips.

Your cheeks blaze furiously, tears pricking at your eyes as you come again. Simon kisses down your neck, biting down at the soft flesh above your collarbone. His arms wrap around your back, burying his face into the crook of your neck, and begins rolling your lower half up and down, up and down as you ride out your second orgasm against his thigh. You’re gasping for air, breath stuttering as pleasure squeezes your chest. All the stress forgotten as it washes over your body. You feel euphoric, the overwhelming release causing tears to fall down your face.

Simon shushes you quietly, rubbing soothing circles into your back as you come down again.

“There you go,” he coos. “Good…so good f’me.”

You sniffle, a laugh bubbling up and over your lips.

“Should’ve called you a lot sooner,” you joke.

He laughs loudly - the melodic sound filling the air.

“Mhmm…” he agrees, placing soft kisses on your overheated skin.

You tilt your head back, allowing him more access. Soft presses of lips to skin. It lights you on fire, desire tingling down to your toes. You arch up into his touch, sighing when his large hands caress your skin.

His thumbs brush across your nipples, stiffening them into peaks.

“Needy little thing…” he murmurs, sliding his hands down to the hem of your shirt to pull it up over your head.

Your shirt lays forgotten on the edge of your bed, you, bare except for your panties. A shiver runs down your spine, the cool air biting your skin. Simon shifts slightly, wrapping his hand around his cock and brushing the velvety tip through your folds. It catches on your entrance, slowly sinking into your pussy.

You moan, breath catching in your throat. His size stretches you open, causing your thighs to shake with exertion. Simon’s slow, allowing you to adjust before sliding you down another inch. His large hands keep you steady, squeezing the fat of your hips. There’s a moment of silence and that’s when you notice you’re trembling.

“S’okay,” he soothes, rolling his hips experimentally.

The tip bumps against your cervix - a mix of pain and pleasure.

“O-Oh,” you gasp, grasping at his shoulders for leverage.

Just like earlier, he has you pinned, stuck in pleasure as he slowly thrusts up into you. Your head falls back, arching your chest forward. Simon takes this opportunity to latch his mouth over your nipple. His tongue expertly runs over the bud, stiffening it yet again into a hard peak.

The sound of your bodies meeting echoes in your small room, the smell of sex heavy in the air. You clench around his length, wanting him even closer than physically possible.

“Bunny…” he warns, nipping at your jaw.

You laugh, pleasure blurring your mind’s worry. You can feel him in every thrust, thick cock bullying its way into your cervix. Simon’s pace has picked up, a steady motion of in out in out in out. You know he’s chasing his pleasure, large hands grabbing at your body ravenously. Itching to touch every part of your body, nothing left undiscovered by him.

He flips you quickly, your mind whirling from the sudden change of position. Simon steadies your hip, still so mindful as he pushes back in, the new angle causing your toes to curl.

“Ohmygod,” you cry out, breaths punched out of your lungs with every thrust.

Simon’s pace falters, growing sloppy as he chases his release. You clench around his cock and his hips stutter.

“Don’t ya fuckin’-“ he starts before you ignore him and do it again.

He curses, hips jolting as he comes.

“Fuck,” he moans, filling your pussy full.

You whine, the feeling overwhelming as he thrusts a few more times before slowly pulling out. A mixture of slick and him leaks down your thighs, cooling in the air. You grimace, going to sit up but Simon pushes you down. He gets up, walks to your bathroom, and grabs a washcloth to run under the warm water. It feels good on your skin as he cleans you up. He then grabs your shirt, picking you up to pull it over your head before gently laying you back down.

Your breathing has started to even, eyes closed as sleep threatens to pull you away. A cold feeling on your hip has you yelping - the salve. Simon has placed a generous amount on your skin, rubbing it in gently. Your eyes crack open to peek at him, he has his mask on again and you frown slightly - sad you weren’t able to see his face.

“Rest up dove, you still owe me,” he winks, leaning over and crawling back into bed with you.

As you start to drift, Simon pulls you close to his chest, warmth causing a slight shiver as you shift to get comfortable. He pulls a blanket over the two of you, warmth breath brushing your neck. His mask off once more. You smile, eyes fluttering shut as you snuggle down into the blankets, and the thought of how you were going to explain to your friend suddenly pops up. Shit. You couldn’t hide this from her.

“What should I say if she asks?” you mumble, almost half asleep.

“Hm..?” Simon rouses, nearly dozing himself.

“What do I tell her what happened this weekend?” you ask him.

“Tell her it was an emergency,” he laughs softly, pulling you closer as he rests his face into the crook of your neck.

[callmeizukunotdeku]

In his time with the League, Damian learned to live with a lot but love very little.

He was surrounded by opulence--that was a power play, a demonstration, more than anything. It was Ra's' way of showing that he had power.

The problem, of course, was how easily power can breed envy and just how much can be taken away by someone with nothing to lose.

From a very young age, his mother taught him to think--to look inside and establish what he cared for--what he would fight for and what he was willing to give up.

Growing up in the League meant that he could love very little and know it was all safe. In case of emergency, whether that be a coup, assassination attempt, what have you, he could take very little with him.

Growing up, Damian loved his mother, her stories, and his sketchbook.

He never strayed too far from either so that, should worst come to worst, he wouldn't have to leave either behind.

Richard had done all he could to unteach that lesson along with many others he learned with the League.

That, of course, had made it all that much harder to leave.

He had to close himself off, teach himself, again, to think--what did he really care about?

What was he willing to leave behind?

He got distracted with thoughts of when did Richard become someone I could leave? and ended up leaving with less than he should have.

The first few days at Tim's were spent in space. Tim didn't neglect him--the two of them ate together, lived together, but Tim still had his classes and Damian's admission to a local school hadn't gone through yet, so, while he spent nights patrolling with Tim, he spent his days alone.

Either he slept or he drew. Sleep, though the easier option to chose, did not come as easy as it used to. Drawing was an outlet to him, a way to filter his emotions into something tangible--prove to himself that they were real--but he didn't want to see the emotions he was feeling. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hide them or hide from them, but his thoughts were not welcome guests in his head, which, of course, made sleeping all the more difficult.

He'd close his eyes, take a deep breath, and drift.

He'd drift and he'd think about how, in moving in with Tim, he learned the difference between living near someone and living with someone.

He learned the difference between patrolling next to someone and patrolling with someone.

It helped him see himself more clearly, but it also helped him see Tim.

He'd always known Tim was a unique fighter. When they were still enemies, it was his unpredictability that made him hard to defeat. Damian could see, now, how that unpredictability was the result of estrangement. Tim was not close enough to Bruce to be trained by him.

He had patrolled once, against orders, and then been sent to be trained by a foreign hand.

Damian could see a part of himself in the way Tim fought. Their styles were dissimilar, but muscle memory was hard to unlearn and it was clear to any educated watcher that the two of them did not fight like Bats.

Still, as Damian patrolled more and more with Tim, they learned to fight together. They did not use the same styles, but then, having different styles meant that they had different strengths and weaknesses, all the better for covering each other's blind spots.

Damian grew to understand Tim in a way he hadn't fully let himself before. As he understood, he began to relax--let himself expand into his room, finish unpacking.

Now, Richard and Tim both had different rules, but one thing the two of them agreed upon was that no one was to enter Damian's room without his permission.

It seemed silly to him--the idea that the space he took up was his even when he had no formal claim to it. What was more, however, was the fact that, once he had finished decorating, he had to sacrifice a bit of his pride.

He wanted Tim to see his new room--truly, he did--and if Tim entered and exited when he pleased, he could just...come in and Damian could mention that the room was fully decorated and see how Tim reacted.

Instead, he had to invite Tim--invite his judgment. It left him more vulnerable than he would have preferred, but he trusted Tim, so, before patrol, one night, he asked, "Timothy? Can I show you something?"

"Of course, Dami. What is it?"

"My room. I finished decorating."

Tim smiled, "Lead the way."

He did, showing Tim the little things he'd added to make his room his--a declaration of his intent to stay, as much for Tim as it was for himself.

Tim followed Damian around the room, adding small complements here and there before stopping. "You kept this?"

He was holding the photo.

"Of course," Damian said, "It was a good day."

Tim smiled at the photo before putting it down.

Damian furrowed his brow, "I...forget--why weren't you in the photograph?"

Tim gave him a curious look, "Because I was the one taking the photo."

Bruce comes back from the dead and wants to make things better. Bruce comes back from the dead and Tim was the one who brought him back, so it's obviously Tim who'll know best how to help him reconnect with everyone.

It's Tim who should give him advice on how to bond with Dick. Dick has always been his idol, after all. Tim would know best how to bring him back, and he does. He gives good advice and the two of them begin to get closer.

So Bruce asks about Jason, too. Asks about how to bring his son back into the fold and Tim wished for a brief and brutal moment that it weren't so obvious who the favorite was.

Tim told Bruce to give Jason his space, to loosen his rules, and make it clear that no matter what the Red Hood did, no matter what the Batman believed in, Jason was always welcome. Bruce would always want him.

It worked. Bruce wasn't surprised. Tim was a special sort of bitter.

Bruce asked again for Damian and Tim had to push down his anger. "That boy tried to kill me," Tim wanted to say. "I hate him and I want you to hate him too so that I can remember a time when we had something in common," Tim didn't say, but he got close.

He instead told Bruce how Damian liked art and animals and loved hearing stories of the wonders of Batman.

He told Bruce just how much Damian loved being Robin. Told Bruce to tell Damian what a good Robin he was.

God bless or maybe damn him, but he did and it worked and Tim wanted to start screaming and clawing at something because that would have never worked if Tim tried it and it wouldn't have stopped Damian from cutting his line--something Bruce did not and would never know about.

Bruce asked about Babs. How should he make sure she knew that she was a part of the family? They they loved her and not just for the work she did?

He asked about Steph. How should he make sure she knew that she was more important than his rules and that, if something else should go wrong, she didn't need to run away?

He asked about Duke. He never got the chance to get to know him before leaving--not as well as he wanted to, at least. How should he let him know that he was just as much a son as everyone else? That, whether or not his parents woke up, he'd always be welcome?

He asked about Cass. How should he show her that he loves her even though he has nothing to teach her? How can he convey how much he cares about her, his first daughter?

Bruce gets brought back from time and he makes things better. He brings his family back together by following Tim's advice.

And Tim?

Tim brings his dad back from the dead and Bruce changes, becomes a better father.

Bruce changes, but not everything can.

That, Tim thinks, is why Bruce never calls Tim his son.