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thatfeelinwhenyou · 1 day ago

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SAFE & SOUND — part 2

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: 13k

MASTERLIST

Warmth.

The first thing you notice when you wake is the warmth of the sun on your face, its golden light filtering through the gaps in the trees. You blink against the brightness, disoriented for a moment as you sit up abruptly. That’s when you realise your head had been resting on Jungwon’s lap.

He’s still there, sitting exactly where you left him, his blade resting against the wooden railing. His posture is stiff, and there are faint shadows under his eyes, but his gaze remains focused on the treeline, sharp and unwavering.

“You didn’t sleep,” you say, your voice hoarse from disuse. It’s not a question—it’s an observation, one that feels heavier than it should.

He glances at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t want to risk it,” he says simply, as though staying awake all night was no big deal.

Your brow furrows, guilt creeping into your chest. “I thought we were switching shifts.”

He shrugs, leaning back slightly against the railing. “You looked like you needed it more.”

You stare at him, the weight of his words sinking in. He barely knows you, yet he gave up his rest so you could have yours. The realisation sits uncomfortably, making your chest tighten.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, the word feeling inadequate. “But you didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupts, his tone light but firm. “It’s fine, I didn’t think i would’ve been able to sleep anyway.”

The camp below begins to stir, the others waking slowly as the day takes hold. You glance down, watching as Sunoo stretches lazily, Sunghoon stokes the embers of the dying fire, and Jay mutters something under his breath, clearly not a morning person.

“You should get down there,” Jungwon says, his voice pulling your attention back to him. “Grab something to eat before they take it all.”

“What about you?” you ask, still uneasy with the thought of him staying awake all night.

“I’ll eat later,” he says, waving off your concern as he finally stands, stretching his arms above his head. “Someone has to keep an eye on things while everyone else sleeps in.”

For a moment, you consider arguing, but the look in his eyes tells you it’s not worth it. Jungwon’s sense of responsibility runs deeper than you realised, and while it frustrates you, it’s also hard not to respect it.

“Alright,” you say finally, climbing down the ladder. But as you reach the ground and glance back up at him, the faint guilt lingers.

You sit by the dying fire, its faint warmth barely reaching your skin as the morning unfolds around you. Despite the ache in your body and the exhaustion clawing at your mind, you can’t stop your eyes from darting across the camp, taking in the subtle movements of the group.

There’s a rhythm to them, an unspoken flow in the way they interact, as though every task and gesture has already been decided without a single word being spoken. It’s not chaos, not the haphazard scramble you’re used to seeing in desperate survivors. It’s something else. Something deliberate.

The longer you watch, the clearer it becomes that they aren’t just a random assortment of people who happened to survive together. The dynamics of this group, odd as they may be, seem to work, each person carrying out a role that seems as vital as breathing.

You hate to admit it, but it intrigues you. There’s a part of you—a part you thought you buried—that wants to understand how they make it work. Against your better judgment, you can feel your curiosity growing, clawing at you for answers.

One thing, however, is abundantly clear: Jungwon is the leader.

You spot him high up on the watchtower, his silhouette outlined against the soft glow of the rising sun. His arms are crossed, his posture relaxed but alert as he surveys the camp below. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t bark orders, yet the others seem to fall into line as if guided by an invisible tether.

“Hey,” Sunoo’s voice cuts through your thoughts, jolting you slightly. He’s seated across from you, fiddling with a dented tin cup and flashing one of his easy, disarming smiles. “Jungwon figured that if you’re going to be staying, it’d be better to let you in on how things work around here.”

Staying. You’re not entirely sure about that.

The idea of staying with a group, of being around people again, stirs something uneasy inside you. It’s not a fear of them—it’s a fear of what comes with them. The horror of your past still clings to you like a second skin, a constant reminder of what it means to care, to hope, and then to lose. You’re not sure you’re ready to open yourself up to that again.

Because staying with people means watching them die. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually.

Not to say this group will meet the same fate—but in this world, there’s no guarantee of survival, no matter how capable or united they seem. Death isn’t a possibility; it’s an inevitability. The only question is when.

You’ve seen it before—how quickly things can go wrong. How one misstep, one unlucky moment, can unravel everything. Staying means becoming a part of something, and a part of you wonders if you’ve got anything left to give. After all, what’s the point of building something that will inevitably collapse?

“It’ll help you understand why we do what we do,” comes another voice from behind. You start slightly, not having noticed Jungwon’s approach. He settles on the log beside you, his presence calm yet commanding, as if he’s somehow taken control of the conversation without trying.

Sunoo leans forward, his grin widening. “Alright, listen up. Starting with our fearless leader over here—Jungwon.” He gestures dramatically, and Jungwon rolls his eyes, though there’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “He’s our strategist, the one who keeps us alive by figuring out where to go, when to move, and how to deal with… well, everything.”

Jungwon exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Someone has to keep you lot in line,” he says dryly, though there’s no malice in his tone.

“Whatever you say, captain,” Sunoo replies, offering a mock salute before turning his attention to Heeseung.

The man sits at the edge of camp, methodically sharpening a blade. “Next, we’ve got Heeseung, our scout and tracker. He’s got the best eyes out of all of us. If there’s something—or someone—out there, he’ll find it first.”

“And that grump over there?” Sunoo gestures toward Jay, who’s seated a short distance away, carefully cleaning his pistol with a precision that borders on obsessive. “Jay’s our long-range shooter. Best shot we’ve got. He’d never admit it, but he’s saved all our asses more times than we can count.”

“Jake,” Sunoo continues, pointing toward the man currently inspecting a med kit, “is our medic. If you get hurt, he’s the one you want patching you up. And don’t worry, he actually knows what he’s doing, and not just throwing plasters on everything hoping for the best.”

Jake smirks faintly, his hands moving deftly as he tosses a roll of bandages into the kit. “I was in pre-med before all this,” he says, his tone light but tinged with a quiet seriousness. “It’s not anything impressive, but it’s enough to keep us alive. Just don’t make me work too hard, alright?”

“And then there’s Sunghoon,” Sunoo says, his tone growing slightly more dramatic, “our weapons expert and close-range fighter. If it comes down to it, he’s the one who’ll keep the rest of us breathing.”

Sunghoon glances up from where he’s tinkering with a makeshift blade. “And by ‘close-range fighter,’ he means I’m the one who has to deal with the messy stuff,” he says dryly, though there’s a faint glimmer of pride in his eyes.

“And then there’s me,” Sunoo adds, placing a hand on his chest with mock seriousness. “Diplomat. Negotiator. The one who talks us out of—or into—trouble, depending on the situation.”

“Mostly into trouble,” Jake interjects, his voice carrying a faint edge of amusement.

Sunoo waves him off with an exaggerated sigh before turning to the cheekiest of the group. “And last but not least, Ni-ki, our little magic hands. If it’s broken, he can fix it. If it’s running, he can make it run faster.”

Ni-ki, who’s crouched by the van inspecting its undercarriage, glances up briefly. “Yeah, and if you want it to work, don’t touch it,” he says, his tone sharp but not entirely unfriendly.

The pieces start to fall into place, the dynamic clicking in a way that almost makes sense. You find yourself both impressed and uneasy, the thought of fitting into something so cohesive feeling alien to you.

Sunoo tilts his head, his gaze meeting yours. “And you? What about you?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve been on your own for so long, your only role has been survival. You’ve never had to think about what you could bring to the table—only about what you could take to stay alive. And in that sense, staying would be a terrible idea.

Then again, these people clearly know what they’re doing. It doesn't hurt to be around people that will keep you alive.

“I guess… I’m figuring that out,” you say finally, your voice quieter now.

Sunoo studies you for a moment before nodding, his grin softening. “Stick around long enough, and we’ll figure it out too.”

About three days have passed in their camp, and you’re beginning to entertain the possibility of staying with them. They work well together, almost seamlessly. It’s not something you just discovered, but the more you witness their dynamics, the more in awe you are.

You can’t help but wonder: if the community building you were part of had been like this, would it have fallen the way it did? Maybe with them, you finally have a real shot at staying alive.

Most of them seem to have opened up to the idea of you sticking around—at least, you think they have. Truthfully, the only people who’ve expressed any contentment with your presence are Sunoo and Jake. But that’s likely because they’re the ones you’ve spent the most time with. They’re always in camp, managing supplies and rations, keeping the place running while the others head out.

And, of course, because you’re not allowed to leave camp. Orders from Jungwon—though you suspect Jay had a hand in that decision too. You figure it’s less about keeping you safe and more about making sure you don’t fuck up their rhythm.

Speaking of Jungwon, you’ve noticed something about the way the group operates: his words hold a lot of weight here. And not just because he’s the leader.

Even after spending the last few nights on watch with him, sharing quiet conversations under the stars while the others slept, you still haven’t quite figured it out. There’s an ease to the way he interacts with the group, a quiet authority that doesn’t need to be forced.

Every decision, every movement, seems to flow through him first. But it’s not in a micromanaging or authoritarian way. It’s just… natural. The others look to him, wait for him to weigh in, like his judgment is the glue holding them together. He doesn’t shy away from it either, even when it’s clear the burden weighs heavily on him.

Whatever this group’s flaws, it’s clear Jungwon holds them together, even at the expense of himself. And maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to understand why.

He’s not the leader because he demands it—but because the others trust him to be.

It works for them, clearly. They function like a well-oiled machine, each person playing their role with practiced efficiency. But if you’re being honest, you find it a little risky.

To have everyone’s lives hinge on one person’s decisions? To place that much responsibility on a single set of shoulders?

It’s a dangerous gamble. For even the strongest leaders have their breaking point. And if Jungwon ever falters, you wonder what will happen to the rest of them.

You’ve also learned that they only leave the camp unattended during high-stakes expeditions, like the one back in the city. Other than that, it’s almost always Jungwon, Heeseung, Sunghoon, or Jay who take turns heading out. And even then, they only leave when it’s absolutely necessary.

Not to hunt. Not to scavenge.

They don’t hunt. They’re surviving off the food they stole when they escaped The Future.

It’s a startling revelation, one that lingers in the back of your mind every time you watch them ration out supplies. Even though you know Heeseung is perfectly capable of hunting, they don’t take the risk.

No, when they go out, it’s not for food or water. It’s to cover their tracks and secure the perimeter. To ensure that no trace of their last expedition leads anyone back to this camp, which you suspect is also another reason why they don’t let you leave.

Ni-ki is harder to figure out. He’s a wild card—sometimes he goes out when needed, but otherwise, he stays behind to keep watch. These past few days, though, Jay has been staying in camp too, and it’s clear he’s still wary of you. He doesn’t trust you, not fully. He doesn’t sleep when you’re on watch and makes sure you’re never alone with any of the others for too long.

Aside from Jungwon, Jake, and Sunoo, you haven’t exchanged many words with the rest. Even when everyone’s in camp, the conversations are minimal.

Most of them don’t like talking about their lives before the world fell apart. And you understand. What’s the point in reminiscing about a time that no longer exists? It only makes the loss worse, reminding you of everything you could have had.

Well, most of them feel that way—except for Sunoo.

He talks endlessly, filling the silences around camp with anecdotes and bits of his past. You’ve learned from helping him manage supplies that he was in law school before everything fell apart. It makes sense, given how much he talks. He’s always negotiating, always diffusing tension with his words.

When he asked you what you did before the world ended, you kept it vague, telling him you were in school too.

And yet, despite the distance, they’ve started treating you like one of their own. It’s been a long time since you’ve gone days without starving, and for the first time in forever, you almost feel like you’ve found a safe haven.

But before you even have the chance to fully sit with the idea of staying, your attention is drawn to Jungwon, who’s making his way over to Heeseung. His movements are careful, deliberate, and the moment they begin talking, it’s clear the conversation isn’t meant for everyone’s ears. Still, their words are loud enough to reach you from where you’re sitting by the logs.

“Heeseung, how’s our food situation?” Jungwon asks, his expression serious, his brows furrowed in thought.

Heeseung glances around briefly, his sharp eyes scanning the camp before leaning in closer to Jungwon. “We’ve depleted almost everything we took from The Future. With our current resources, it’ll last us about a week.” He pauses, then adds in a lower voice, “Well, less now that we have…”

Heeseung’s gaze shifts toward you, and you realise a second too late that you’ve been staring. Your eyes meet his, and he stiffens, clearly caught off guard by your attention. His words trail off, but the meaning behind them hangs in the air, unspoken yet deafeningly clear.

A wave of guilt washes over you, sharp and overwhelming.

That’s right. You’re just another mouth for them to feed. Another person whose survival they’re now responsible for.

You hadn’t thought about it before, not really. But now, it hits you like a freight train. Every bite you take, every resource you use—it’s something they can’t spare, something that might have kept one of them alive just a little longer.

And that triggers something in you.

You lower your gaze, suddenly unable to hold Heeseung’s. The weight of your presence in their camp feels heavier than ever, and the resolve you thought you’d solidified earlier begins to shift.

Staying with them, trusting them, letting them trust you—it’s not just about your own safety anymore. It’s about what your presence costs them. And that’s not something you can ignore.

So, you make up your mind there and then.

The next opportunity you get, you’ll leave. Leave and never turn back.

They don’t entirely trust you, but they don’t distrust you enough to keep you at arm’s length, either. They let you into their camp, shared their food, their fire. They even explained how they work together, the roles they each play. Yet, you remain an outsider, lingering on the edges of their tight-knit circle. And you know, deep down, that’s exactly where you belong.

So when the opportunity arises—though you’re not sure when you’ll have a moment alone long enough to slip away unnoticed—you’ll leave. You won’t even take anything with you. Just slip into the shadows and disappear before they even realise you’re gone. No attachments, no debts, no goodbyes. That’s how it has to be.

But not yet. Not until you’ve made sure they’re safe.

Despite your resolve, you can’t bring yourself to abandon them while the unknown danger you and Jungwon discussed the night you met them still lingers. Not after everything they’ve done, not after the way they fought to protect each other, to protect you. That’s right, you still owe them for saving your life and feeding you these past few days.

So you’ll wait. Watch for the right moment. Repay your debts. And when it comes—when the threat has passed, and the dust has settled—you’ll leave. Without hesitation. Without looking back.

But that selfless thought is, in itself, an act of caring—you just haven’t realised it yet.

Jungwon and Heeseung return from their quiet discussion, their expressions unreadable. Without needing to say a word, the group instinctively gathers around the fire that has long gone out. The way they move, as if summoned by some unspoken signal, is fascinating. No commands are given, no prompting required.

Just the sheer presence of Jungwon.

“We’ll have to send a team out to hunt,” Jungwon begins, his voice calm but firm as his sharp gaze sweeps across the group. “Latest before noon. If we leave then, we can make it back before dusk.”

Jake, sitting with his legs crossed, looks up sharply. “Hunt? Are we out of food already?” Concern threads through his voice, his usual calm demeanour faltering just slightly.

Jungwon doesn’t answer immediately, his focus flickering toward Heeseung, who nods in silent confirmation. “We’re low,” Jungwon says finally.

“I mean, we do have one more mouth to feed,” Jay mutters, his tone biting as he glances at you. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, leaning back slightly, his arms crossed. It’s not the first jab he’s made, but it stings more than you’d like to admit.

You force yourself to keep your expression neutral, meeting his gaze evenly. If anything, you’re oddly relieved by his hostility. At least someone here is keeping their guard up around you. Someone who doesn’t want to trust you, who wants you gone. You can’t explain why, but you hope it stays that way. It feels safer, somehow, for at least one person to see you as an outsider—a liability.

It makes leaving easier to justify.

“Jay,” Jungwon’s voice cuts through the moment, sharp but not angry. It’s enough to make Jay’s expression shift slightly, though he doesn’t apologise.

The silence that follow is heavy, Jungwon’s words settling over the group like a cold wind. The reality of their situation is clear—if they don’t find food soon, things are going to get a lot harder. And none of them, not even Jay, have to ask for you to know you should be the one to do it.

“I’ll go,” you say, your voice firm despite the nervous knot forming in your stomach. All eyes snap to you, the weight of their gazes almost crushing.

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “You?”

You nod, holding his gaze. “You need every fighter you can spare here, and I can handle myself. I’d hate to sit around and do nothing all day, like a parasite. Let me help.”

“At least she’s self-aware,” Jay mutters under his breath, earning a sharp glare from Sunoo.

The air grows thick with tension, the subtle coo of morning birds the only sound as the group processes your words. Heeseung is the first to break the silence, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll go too,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. “If she’s going out there, someone has to track. I’m not sending anyone out blind.”

Jay lets out a sharp, humourless laugh, shaking his head as he rises to his feet. “Yeah, no. If Heeseung’s going, I’m going. Someone has to make sure this doesn’t blow up in our faces.” His words are pointed, his glare fixed on you. It’s clear he doesn’t trust you, and he’s not about to risk Heeseung’s safety over it.

You bite back a retort, understanding his scepticism even if it stings. Heeseung glances at him but doesn’t argue, his focus already shifting to what the group will need for the trip.

“I’ll go too,” Jungwon says suddenly, standing up from the log. His tone is steady, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the calculation in his eyes. “We can’t take chances with this.”

“No, you can’t go,” you say quickly, before he can cement the decision. The firmness in your voice catches him off guard, his brow furrowing as he turns to you. The rest of the group falls silent, thrown by your sudden declaration. Usually, whatever Jungwon says goes, so for you to challenge him is clearly a first.

The awkwardness is suffocating, the weight of everyone’s stares pressing down on you. You take a small step closer to Jungwon, lowering your voice so only he can hear.

“They need you here,” you whisper, your voice steady but insistent. “If you leave, that’s four people left at camp—two of whom isn’t much of a fighter.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing slightly. “They can handle themselves. It’s not the first time I’m leaving anyway,” he replies, his voice calm but firm.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “But it’s clear they’re rattled by the food shortage. They’re anxious, Jungwon, whether they’re saying it out loud or not.” You glance briefly at the others, noting the subtle tension in their postures, the way their gazes flit to Jungwon as if waiting for reassurance.

“You’re their leader,” you continue, your voice soft. “You’re the reason they stay focused, the reason they trust they’ll make it through the next day. If something happens to you out there...” You let the sentence hang, the weight of the implication settling heavy between you both.

Jungwon’s expression falters for a fraction of a second, the barest flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before he schools it back into something unreadable. He doesn’t respond immediately, and you think he’s going to argue. But then his gaze softens slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought.

“And you think you can handle this?” he whispers, his voice softer now but no less serious.

“I do,” you reply firmly. “Heeseung knows what he’s doing, and Jay clearly won’t let anything happen to… well, him. I’ve hunted before, Jungwon. Plus, I know you stayed up on watch again last night. You need to stay here.”

Jungwon’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he exhales sharply, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Alright,” he says, though there’s a reluctance in his voice. “But don’t take unnecessary risks. If it looks bad, you come back. Understood?”

The way he says it, as if he knows you’re considering running, makes something twist in your chest. Not yet, though. Not yet.

“Understood,” you say, standing up and brushing the dirt off your palms.

Heeseung secures his knife into its sheath with a nod, and Jay rolls his eyes but grabs his gear without protest. The three of you prepare to head out, the camp watching in silence as you gather your supplies.

Just as you’re about to step beyond the barricade, you spot Jungwon whispering something to Jay. Whatever he says makes Jay scowl, shaking his head in visible protest. But Jungwon’s expression hardens, his voice firm as he cuts the argument short. Jay sighs, clearly annoyed, but ultimately relents. His sharp eyes shift back to you, now carrying an edge of suspicion sharper than before.

Jungwon’s gaze lingers on you as you leave, his expression unreadable. The weight of his trust—or maybe it’s his doubt—feels heavier than any weapon you’ve carried. But you push the thought aside.

The three of you move quietly through the forest, the morning sunlight filtering through the trees in patches of gold. Heeseung takes the lead, while Jay trails slightly behind, his sharp eyes constantly scanning the surroundings. You stay somewhere in between, the knife in your hand an extension of the resolve you’re trying to summon.

The silence between you is heavy, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the faint chirping of distant birds. You don’t speak, and neither do they, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s one born of necessity, of focus. Every sound, every shift in the forest, could mean danger—or an opportunity.

But, of course, the concentration doesn’t last. Jay, who you’re beginning to suspect thrives on friction, breaks the quiet with a pointed comment.

“I don’t understand. Why does Jungwon care so much about you?”

Heeseung doesn’t turn around, but you can practically feel the exasperation radiating off him. “Seriously, Jay? You’re talking about this now?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of disbelief in his tone.

“What?” Jay retorts, his tone almost defensive. “Are you not curious at all? They stayed on watch together a few times, and now Jungwon’s ready to risk everything to keep her safe.”

“I’m literally right here,” you snap, the annoyance in your voice cutting through the tense air. “If you’ve got questions about me, maybe try asking me directly instead of talking like I’m not standing a few feet away.”

Jay glances at you briefly, his expression unimpressed. “Fine. Why is Jungwon sticking his neck out for you?”

You blink, caught off guard by the bluntness of his question. “I don’t think he’s sticking his neck out for me,” you say, your tone defensive as your grip tightens around your knife. “What are you even talking about?”

Jay lets out a humourless laugh, shaking his head as if you’ve just proven his point. “Then why did he ask me to keep an eye on you? Make sure you come back alive?” he says, his voice low but edged with irritation.

Your steps falter for just a moment, your breath catching in your throat. “He… told you that?” you ask, your voice quieter now, the frustration giving way to something more uncertain.

Jay nods, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah. Said you’ll be a great addition to the group or something. Like we don’t already have enough to deal with.”

You’re not sure how to answer—hell, you’re not even sure why Jungwon has been so willing to give you a chance. Before you can formulate a response, Heeseung cuts in.

“Maybe because Jungwon’s a nice person,” Heeseung says dryly, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. “Not like a certain somebody who can’t seem to shut up.”

“Nice? Jungwon?” Jay scoffs, his tone sharp. “He’s the last person after me among the seven of us to be nice, especially to strangers. You think this is just him being friendly?”

You glance at Heeseung, hoping for some clarification, but he keeps his focus on the trail ahead. Jay’s words settle uneasily in your chest. If Jungwon isn’t the kind of person to extend trust easily, then what’s his angle? Why is he giving you the benefit of the doubt when others—like Jay—clearly think you don’t deserve it?

The weight of Jungwon’s trust feels heavier now, more significant.

“Well, I didn’t ask for him to do that. I don’t need anyone keeping an eye on me.” you say finally, your voice a little steadier, though the uncertainty still lingers.

Jay snorts, his expression sceptical. “Yeah, well, tell that to Jungwon. He’s not exactly the type to give orders lightly.”

The tension between you hangs heavy in the air, but before either of you can say more, Heeseung glances over his shoulder, his tone calm but firm. “Enough. We’re here to hunt, not to argue. If we don’t bring back any game, it’ll blame it all on you.”

“Well, it’s her fault we’re even out here in the first place. Blame her.” says Jay with a scoff.

Heeseung’s gaze narrows. “I said that’s enough, Jay.”

Jay rolls his eyes but doesn’t push further. Instead, he mutters something under his breath and turns his focus back to the forest ahead, the tension in his shoulders still evident.

You let out a slow, steadying breath, the heat of the argument leaving you rattled. But it’s not just the argument that lingers in your mind—it’s Jay’s words. Jungwon had specifically told him to keep an eye on you? To make sure you came back alive?

Why…?

Before the silence stretches too long, Heeseung motions for a stop, crouching low and studying a patch of disturbed earth. His fingers graze the ground lightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. You watch him carefully, impressed by the ease with which he reads the signs the forest leaves behind.

“Squirrels,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. He points to a set of tracks leading deeper into the woods. “A few of them. Probably moving together.”

Jay nods curtly, his grip tightening on the bow he’s been carrying. “We’ll have to be quick. If we miss, they’ll scatter.”

Heeseung glances at you, a faint flicker of consideration in his expression. “You’ve hunted before, right?”

You nod. “A few times. Mostly small game, but I know how to stay quiet.”

“Good,” he says simply, standing and motioning for you to follow. “Let’s move.”

As the three of you make your way deeper into the woods, the tension eases slightly, the rhythm of the hunt taking over. Heeseung’s calm, methodical approach is a stark contrast to Jay’s sharp vigilance, but they work well together—an unspoken understanding guiding their every move.

At one point, Heeseung stops again, holding up a hand to signal a pause. He crouches beside a tree, studying a new set of tracks. Jay moves ahead slightly, keeping watch, and for the first time, it’s just you and Heeseung.

He glances over at you, his expression softening slightly. “You’re doing alright,” he says quietly, his tone low enough that Jay won’t hear. “Not bad for someone new to the group.”

You nod, unsure how to respond. His calm demeanour is a welcome contrast to Jay’s constant scepticism, but you can still feel the awkward tension hanging in the air.

Heeseung hesitates, the silence stretching between you as he seems to weigh his words carefully. His hand flexes around the hilt of his knife, a nervous habit you’ve noticed before. Finally, he sighs, his voice dropping to a quieter, almost reluctant tone.

“Jay’s not… always like this with everyone,” he says, his gaze fixed on the ground, as though avoiding eye contact will make it easier to get the words out. “The way he’s acting with you, I mean. There’s a reason he’s so hard to trust new people.”

You furrow your brow, confusion flickering across your face. Of course, it’s not unusual for survivors to be cautious—vigilant even—around strangers. In a world like this, where danger lurks at every corner, you either kill or be killed. Trust extended to the wrong person could easily land a knife to your back.

But the way Heeseung describes Jay’s distrust, it sounds like something more. Something personal.

“Why?” you ask cautiously, your voice low. You don’t want to push too hard, but you can’t hold back your curiosity.

Heeseung sighs, running a hand through his hair. “After our escape from The Future, we took in another survivor. A guy, around our age. He was half-starved, injured. Begged us to help him. Said he’d been on his own for months.”

You can already feel where the story is headed, but you don’t interrupt.

“Jay didn’t trust him from the start,” Heeseung admits. “Said something felt off. But the rest of us… we thought he was being paranoid. We were tired of losing people. We wanted to believe the guy was just another victim of this world.”

His voice grows heavier, the memory clearly weighing on him. “At first, it seemed fine. He kept to himself but didn’t cause any trouble.” Heeseung’s jaw clenches, his knuckles whitening as he grips his knife tighter. “But turns out, Jay was right.”

Your stomach knots, dread curling in your chest. “What happened?”

“He waited until we were vulnerable,” Heeseung says bitterly. “Waited until we were distracted. Then, he grabbed one of our friends, put a knife to her throat, and demanded our supplies.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“We gave him what he wanted,” Heeseung says bitterly, his jaw tightening. “But he didn’t let her go. He slit her throat anyway, right in front of us. And then he ran.”

The air around you feels colder, the quiet of the forest suddenly oppressive. You glance at Heeseung, his calm facade cracking just slightly as he stares at the tracks before him.

“That’s why Jay is the way he is,” Heeseung continues, his voice low but steady. “He was closest to her. Blames himself for what happened. Ever since then, he doesn’t trust easily. And he doesn’t forgive.”

Your mind pictures Jay back at the camp, how his posture is always tense and hunched as though he’s carrying the weight of that memory with him every second of every day.

“I didn’t know,” you murmur.

“No,” Heeseung says softly. “You wouldn’t have. But now you do.” He looks at you again, his expression softer, though the pain in his eyes remains. “So, if he’s hard on you… it’s not personal. It’s his way of protecting us. His way of making sure it never happens again.”

You nod slowly, the weight of the story settling over you. “I get it,” you say softly, though the words feel inadequate. “I’d probably feel the same.”

Heeseung glances at you, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe. But trust me, if you stick around long enough, Jay will see what the rest of us do. That you’re not like him. That you’re not a threat.”

You don’t respond immediately, his words settling into your mind like seeds in freshly tilled soil. The weight of their past lingers with you, a reminder of just how fragile trust can be in a world like this—not that you needed the reminder.

The two of you rise silently, falling back into the rhythm of the hunt as you make your way to rejoin Jay, who has moved further ahead on his own. You spot him crouched behind a dense thicket of ivy, his form still but alert.

Heeseung is about to call out when Jay abruptly places a finger to his lips, his sharp eyes locking onto yours as he motions for you both to get low.

You and Heeseung exchange a quick glance before crouching, carefully shuffling toward Jay. Every step feels heavier than the last, the rustle of fallen leaves beneath your boots deafening in the tense quiet. The forest, once filled with the gentle hum of wildlife, now feels suffocatingly still.

“What’s wrong?” Heeseung whispers, his voice barely audible as the three of you huddle closer.

Jay doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on something beyond the ivy. Then you hear it—the familiar shuffling of feet, slow and uneven. The guttural moans and growls you’ve come to dread. But this time, it’s not just a few. The sound is overwhelming, a dissonant symphony of the undead. Dozens, maybe more.

“There’s something very wrong,” Jay whispers, his voice taut with unease. “Look at the way they’re moving.”

Your stomach churns as you part a few strands of ivy, revealing a massive clearing surrounded by towering pines. In the centre of it, a cluster of zombies moves in a strange, unnatural rhythm. They’re walking in a perfect circle, their shuffling steps eerily synchronised like ants trapped in a death ring.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, the words slipping out before you can stop them. The sight is wrong—so wrong it makes your skin crawl.

And then you hear it.

Voices.

Your head jerks toward Jay, whose wide eyes mirror your own shock. “Did you hear that?” you mouth, barely breathing.

The sound comes again, low but unmistakable. “Round... them... up…”

It’s deliberate, controlled. Words spoken in the same hollow, rasping tone as the undead.

“They’re… talking?” Heeseung whispers, his disbelief matching your own.

You strain your ears, heart pounding as the voices continue.

“Saw them… around here…”

“Find them…”

Your blood runs cold. They’re not just words—they’re instructions. Coherent, deliberate instructions.

Your breath catches in your throat, and your hand instinctively grips your knife tighter. You glance at Jay, and the flicker of fear in his eyes confirms what you’re dreading. These aren’t just zombies.

There are people—or not people—you're not entirely sure. But something is walking among the dead.

Heeseung’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing as he shifts his weight slightly, readying himself for whatever comes next. “What do we do?” he whispers, his voice steady but laced with urgency.

Jay’s gaze remains fixed on the clearing, his expression grim. “We move. Quietly. Back the way we came. Now.”

You don’t argue, your body already taut with tension as you begin to inch backward. The sound of human voices mingling with the moans of the undead burns in your ears, the weight of the revelation settling heavily on your chest. Whoever these people are, whatever they’re doing, one thing is clear: they’re more dangerous than the undead. And they’re looking for something—or someone.

The trek back to camp is a blur of tension and urgency. None of you speak, your steps light and calculated, careful not to make a sound that might draw attention. The eerie chorus of moans and human voices fades behind you, but the weight of what you’ve just witnessed hangs heavy in the air. Your chest tightens with every step, your mind racing with the implications.

By the time you see the familiar barricade of the camp, your legs are trembling—not just from exertion, but from the sheer adrenaline coursing through your veins. Heeseung is the first to signal to the others, his hand raising in a sharp, deliberate gesture that sets the camp into motion. Sunoo and Jake rush to open the barricade, their expressions immediately shifting from curiosity to concern as they take in your faces.

“What happened? Why are you guys back so early?” Jungwon asks, his voice calm but edged with urgency as he strides toward you. His sharp gaze sweeps over each of you, searching for any sign of injuries.

“We need to talk. Now,” Jay says, his tone clipped and serious. He glances back at the forest, his hand still gripping his bow tightly. “Inside.”

Jungwon’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t question it. The commotion quickly grabs the attention of the rest of the group and they instinctively assembles, their expressions a mix of confusion and worry.

Heeseung speaks first, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture. “We found a horde. Dozens of them, maybe more, moving together in a clearing.”

“Okay, and?” Jake asks, his brows furrowed. “That’s not unusual. Hordes travel together all the time.”

“It wasn’t just a horde,” you say, your voice quieter but no less urgent. All eyes snap to you, and you feel the weight of their attention pressing down on you. “They were… whispering.”

“Whispering?” Sunghoon repeats, his expression sceptical. “You mean the dead started to talk?” Sunghoon leans forward slightly, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His usually calm demeanour cracks under the weight of disbelief, his brow furrowing deeply.

“We don't know what it was.” you say, your voice sharp. “They sounded like the dead, but they were coherent words.”

A heavy silence falls over the group, the crackling of the fire the only sound. Sunoo looks between you and Jay, his usual light-hearted expression replaced by unease. “Are you sure? It couldn’t have just been… I don’t know, echoes or something?”

“‘Round them up,’” you say quietly, your voice breaking through the tense air. “‘Find them.’ Those were their exact words. It wasn’t just random sounds or echoes. It was deliberate.”

Jay shakes his head. “And it wasn’t just one or two words. They were coordinating.”

“Coordinating?” Jungwon repeats, his voice low and measured. He’s not panicking, but the tension in his shoulders betrays his concern.

Jake leans back slightly, his expression hardening as he processes your words. “You’re suggesting that the dead have started to talk? Or that people are out there pretending to be the dead? Why? To what end? That doesn’t make any sense,” he mutters. “Why would anyone—”

“Doesn't matter. They were looking for someone,” you cut in, your voice sharper now as you recall the chilling words you heard.

Jungwon’s expression darkens, his sharp mind clearly working through the possibilities. “Did they see you?”

You shake your head. “No. We got out before they could.”

“For now,” Jay mutters, his jaw tight. “But if they’re moving through the area, it’s only a matter of time before they find the camp.”

The group falls silent again, the weight of the situation sinking in. Jungwon exhales slowly, his gaze sweeping over everyone before settling on Heeseung. “What did the clearing look like? Could it be a pattern, or just a random gathering?”

“It wasn’t random,” Heeseung says firmly. “They were walking in a circle. Over and over, like some kind of… ritual.”

The word hangs in the air, chilling in its implication. You glance at Jungwon, his expression unreadable as he processes the information. Finally, he speaks, his voice steady but resolute. “We don’t have enough information to act, but we can’t stay complacent. Sunghoon, Heeseung, start reinforcing the barricades. Make sure every gap is sealed. Jake, check our supplies. I need to know how long we can hold out here if we need to. Sunoo, Ni-ki—keep the van ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

“I’ll keep watch with Jay,” you pipe up just as Jungwon turns to you, his sharp eyes meeting yours. His gaze lingers a moment longer than you expect, as though he’s searching for something—resolve, maybe, or doubt. Whatever he finds, it’s enough to make him nod.

Without a second to spare, everyone falls into a rhythm. The weight of what you’ve encountered hangs over the camp like a storm cloud. Nobody says anything, but the silence tells you everything. They’re scared. Jungwon included.

You climb the watchtower with Jay, the makeshift structure swaying slightly under your combined weight. The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the forest in hues of orange and gold. The beauty of it feels jarring against the tension in the air, a cruel reminder of the world that once was.

Behind you, you hear the faint sizzle of the campfire, now reduced to embers and smoke despite the night’s cold settling over the camp. It’s unfortunate, but it’s the smart move. Light and smoke would only draw attention, and right now, attention is the last thing any of you need.

Jay settles into position, his bow resting across his lap. His expression is stony, his eyes scanning the tree line with sharp precision. You don’t speak, sensing the simmering emotions beneath his calm exterior. Instead, you keep your focus outward, your own knife gripped tightly in your hand.

The forest is quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that prickles at the back of your neck. Time crawls, every second feeling heavier than the last. Dusk settles in slowly, the golden hues fading into muted greys and shadows. Then, just as the last rays of sunlight vanish, movement catches your eye.

A figure emerges from the tree line, their silhouette hazy against the growing darkness. They’re limping slowly, deliberately, their steps unhurried, as they approach the gate. It’s a single person, their posture relaxed but not aimless. Something about them feels… wrong.

“Someone’s coming,” you whisper, nudging Jay with your elbow. He turns quickly, his sharp gaze locking onto the figure. The second he sees them, his entire body goes rigid.

“Shit,” he breathes, his voice barely audible. Before you can ask, he ducks behind the barricade, pulling you down with him. His face is pale, his usual composure cracking just slightly. “Stay down.”

“Who is it?” you ask, your voice low but urgent.

“It’s someone we took in. Don’t necessarily have the best relationship with,” Jay whispers harshly, his voice barely audible as his eyes remain fixed on the approaching figure. His expression is dark, and there’s an edge to his tone you haven’t heard before—something between anger and unease.

“A survivor you took in…” you begin, your stomach knotting as you piece it together. “You mean the one who killed your friend?”

Jay’s jaw tightens, his eyes flicking toward you briefly before returning to the figure. “Did Heeseung tell you that?” he mutters, his voice sharp but low enough to avoid carrying. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is he’s bad news, and he’s here.”

Your heart skips a beat, a cold dread settling in your chest. You glance over the edge of the barricade, your gaze snapping back to the figure, who is now closer to the gate. His features are clearer now—sharp, wiry, with a crooked grin that sends a chill down your spine.

“He doesn’t know you,” Jay continues, his voice tight. “You talk to him. He hasn’t seen you before. If he recognises me, it’s over.”

You hesitate, the weight of what he’s asking sinking in. Before you can respond, the man stops just a few feet from the gate, his eyes scanning the camp with a calculated intensity. Then he calls out, his voice loud but casual, almost friendly. “Hello? Anyone there?”

Jay gives you a small nudge, his expression hard but pleading. “Just keep him distracted, long enough for me to warn the rest,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. You nod, swallowing hard as you straighten, forcing yourself to step into view. Your fingers tighten around the knife in your hand, its cool weight a poor comfort against the fear knotting in your chest.

The man’s eyes light up when he sees you, his crooked grin widening. “Ah, someone’s home. Wasn’t sure if this place was abandoned or not.”

You take in his tattered clothing, the dried blood stains on his skin, and those eyes. Those eyes belong in a mental asylum if this were the world before.

“What do you want?” you ask, keeping your tone neutral but firm.

The man chuckles, his gaze sweeping over you with a calculating glint that makes your skin crawl. “Relax,” he says smoothly, spreading his hands in a mock gesture of innocence. “I’m just passing through. Haven’t seen anyone in a while, thought I’d see if there were any friendly faces around.”

“This camp’s occupied,” you reply coolly, standing your ground. “You should move along.”

For a split second, his grin falters, a flicker of something darker passing through his expression. But then the smile returns, sharper this time, and his gaze narrows slightly. “Fair enough,” he says lightly. “Don’t worry, I’m not looking for trouble. Just curious, is all.”

He takes a step closer, his tone turning smoother, more calculated. “Say… you haven’t seen a group around here, have you? Seven boys. One’s blonde. Another’s got a sharp tongue—calls himself Jay.”

The air feels heavier, and your grip on your knife tightens instinctively. Your heart pounds in your chest as his words settle over you, their implications clear. Your mind races, trying to calculate the safest response, but the danger in his tone is unmistakable.

“I haven’t seen anyone like that,” you say carefully, forcing your voice to remain steady. “And I wouldn’t know if I had.”

The man’s grin widens, but his eyes remain cold, watching you with unsettling precision. “Is that so?” he drawls, his tone almost mocking. “Well, that’s a shame. Been looking for them for a while now. That guy, Jay, he owes me… let’s just say, a few favours.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with menace. Behind you, you can sense Jay’s absence, the faint rustle of his movements as he slips away to warn the others. It’s just you and this man now, and you’re painfully aware of how exposed you are.

“Like I said,” you repeat, your voice firmer this time, “you won’t find them here. So you should move along.”

For a moment, the man doesn’t respond, his gaze lingering on you as though trying to read between your words. Then he takes a step back, his grin never wavering. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time,” he says lightly, though there’s a faint edge to his voice. “Nice camp you’ve got here. Hope it stays that way.”

With that, he turns and begins to limp away, his steps slow and deliberate. You don’t lower your knife, your gaze fixed on his retreating figure, tracking every laboured movement until he vanishes into the tree line. Only when the shadows swallow him whole do you finally let out the breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. Your legs tremble beneath you, exhaustion and adrenaline mixing into a potent cocktail that leaves you unsteady.

“Is he gone?” Jay reappears and asks from behind you, his voice low and tense. He steps closer, his eyes darting nervously toward the gate as if expecting the man to reappear at any moment.

“For now,” you whisper, barely able to hear your own voice over the pounding of your heart. The words feel hollow, more for your own reassurance than his.

You glance at Jay—his face is pale, his usual composure shattered. His bow has been replaced with his pistol, and he grips it so tightly that his knuckles turn white, as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

The silence between you lingers for a beat too long. Without a word, you start climbing down the ladder, your mind racing to piece together what just happened. Questions swirl in your head, each one more unsettling than the last. Why was he here? How did he find the camp? And most troubling of all—what does he really want?

Jay follows, his footsteps slower, more hesitant. By the time the two of you reach the bottom, the rest of the group is already gathered around. Their expressions range from confusion to concern, a tension hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

“What happened?” Heeseung is the first to speak, his tone wary but insistent. “What did he want?”

You glance at Jay, whose jaw is clenched so tightly it looks like it might snap. His grip on his pistol hasn’t loosened, and his posture is rigid, like he’s bracing for something.

You shift your gaze back to Heeseung, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them. “It’s the guy you told me about,” you say quietly. “He was looking for you lot.”

“And I don’t think he bought a single thing I said,” you admit, your voice even but laced with quiet frustration.

Jay exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, but instead of relief, you see something else settle in his expression—panic, the kind that runs deep and raw. “Oh god… we can’t stay here. We need to leave. Right now.”

The fear in his voice startles you. You’ve never seen Jay like this, not the sharp, sarcastic, ever-sceptical man who’s never once let his guard down, and you’re suddenly more confused than ever. Then it clicks, the words the stranger said echoing in your mind:

That guy, Jay, he owes me.

He singled Jay out.

But why? If Heeseung was right, if the man was the one who killed their friend, why would Jay owe him anything?

Your heart sinks, the realisation creeping in like a shadow. You glance at Jungwon, his jaw clenches subtly, the muscle ticking as he processes it all. He doesn’t say anything, but the look he gives you says it all. He’s thinking the exact same thing.

“Jay,” Jungwon starts slowly, his voice calm but laced with suspicion. “What did you do?”

Jay’s head snaps toward the leader, his sharp eyes locking onto him like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, he doesn’t speak, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you. Then his jaw tightens, and you see it—the guilt, the weight of something he’s been carrying for far too long.

“What did you do, Jay?” Jungwon presses, his voice steadier now, his suspicion hardening into certainty.

“Are you accusing me of something?” Jay scoffs in mock annoyance.

The silence that follows is suffocating. Sunghoon steps forward, his sharp gaze fixed on Jay. “No, he’s right. Why would he be looking for us? Specifically for you?”

Jay’s head snaps toward Sunghoon, his eyes narrowing defensively. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m asking if there’s something you’re not telling us,” Sunghoon says, his tone calm but firm. “Because he didn’t just stumble across us, Jay. He knows exactly who he's looking for.”

Jay hesitates, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, and you can see the internal battle raging behind his eyes. Finally, he lets out a sharp breath, his shoulders slumping as the fight drains out of him.

“I went after him.”

“You what?” Sunoo’s voice is a mix of disbelief and anger. “You went after him alone?”

Jay ignores him, his focus entirely on the ground as he continues. “It wasn’t hard to find him. He was camped out at the edge of the city, asleep, surrounded by our supplies. I took them back. All of them.”

“And then?” Jungwon presses, his voice dangerously calm.

Jay hesitates, his jaw tightening. “Then… I shot him. In the ankle. Left him there. The sound attracted the dead, and I ran.”

The silence that follows is deafening. You glance around the group, their faces a mix of shock, anger, and something heavier—betrayal.

“You left him?” Jake says, his voice low and incredulous. “You left him to die?”

“He killed her!” Jay snaps, his voice rising as he finally meets Jake’s gaze, his eyes burning with a mix of defiance and regret. “What was I supposed to do? He put a knife to her throat, and we gave him what he wanted. And he killed her anyway. You think he deserved mercy?”

“You could’ve told us,” Heeseung says quietly, his tone cutting deeper than if he’d yelled. “You could’ve trusted us instead of going off and doing something reckless.”

“I couldn’t!” Jay’s voice cracks, the raw emotion spilling over. “I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. I had to… I had to make him pay.”

“And now he’s here,” Jungwon says, his voice cold and measured. “Looking for you. And you’ve put all of us at risk because of it.”

Jay’s shoulders sag, the weight of Jungwon’s words pressing down on him like a physical burden. “I didn’t think he’d survive,” he admits quietly, his voice barely audible.

“Well, he did,” Jake snaps, his anger bubbling to the surface. “And now he’s got a grudge and knows exactly where to find us.”

Part of you understands Jay’s anger, his grief. The sheer weight of what they’d lost—what that man had taken—could drive anyone to the edge. But the other part of you, the part sharpened by survival, sees the problem for what it is. Heeseung is right—it was reckless. This isn’t just about a chance encounter or a petty grudge. That man is here for revenge, and now the camp is squarely in his crosshairs.

Jay swallows hard, the fight in him extinguished. His voice trembles as he mutters, “I’m sorry…” The words hang in the air, hollow and inadequate.

The moonlight cast harsh shadows on everyone’s faces, highlighting the unease and exhaustion etched into their expressions. Sunghoon leans against the barricade, his jaw tight as he stares into the darkness. Jake’s hands are curled into fists, his lips pressed into a thin line. Even Sunoo, ever the optimist, looks pale and withdrawn.

Finally, Jungwon exhales sharply, breaking the tension. His shoulders square, and his expression hardens as he steps forward, taking charge. “We don’t have time for blame right now,” he says, his voice steady and commanding. The tone leaves no room for argument, cutting through the tension like a knife. “What’s done is done. We focus on what’s next.”

“And what’s that?” Sunoo asks, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“We leave,” Jungwon says simply. “Because if he comes back, he won’t be alone.”

The words hit like a hammer, and the weight of them settles over the group. Jake’s head snaps up, his eyes wide. “You’re saying we abandon the camp? Everything we’ve built here? I thought we’d finally be able to settle down.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Jungwon replies firmly, his gaze sweeping across the group. There’s a steadiness in his tone, but you can see the weight of the decision reflected in his tense posture. “He knows exactly where we are, we can’t defend this place against a coordinated attack. And it’s not the first time we’ve had to pack up and leave because of circumstances beyond our control.”

Heeseung nods slowly, his expression grim. “He’s right. We’ve seen what people like that can do. And it’s not just him. There’s that strange horde we encountered earlier today. If he’s somehow connected to them—staying here is suicide.”

“But where would we even go?” Ni-ki interjects, his voice edged with frustration. “It’s not like there are safe havens just waiting for us.”

Heeseung pulls a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket, its edges frayed and creased from frequent use. It’s a map of Seoul, though it’s seen better days. Parts of it are scratched out, and there are annotations scrawled in the margins—places they’ve scavenged, places they should avoid. As Heeseung unfolds it, you notice the heavy red crosses marking several areas.

“There’s nowhere to go but further north,” Heeseung says, his tone measured as he scans the map. “But that takes us closer to the demilitarised zone. That place fell to The Future the last time we checked.”

The tension in the group thickens as Heeseung continues to analyse the limited options. Judging by the sheer number of red crosses, it’s clear their choices are slim. The faint hope of finding refuge seems to dwindle with every second.

Then your eyes catch on something familiar—a road along the Seoul-Busan highway, just as it’s leaving the city. A rest stop is marked there, scratched out in bold red ink. The memory of that place hits you like a spark in the darkness.

“Here,” you say, pointing to the rest stop on the map.

Heeseung glances at where you’re pointing and immediately shakes his head. “No. That’s one of The Future’s outpost. The place is probably crawling with them.”

“What? No,” you reply quickly, your brows furrowing as you think back. “I was there. Scavenging. There was a gas station filled with supplies. It was too big of a place and too risky for me to set up camp, so I took what I could and left. But when I wanted to go back for more, it was overrun by the dead. I didn’t want to take my chances alone. But if there’s eight of us, it should be pretty easy to clear out if we’re careful.”

The words tumble out of your mouth, and for a moment, the group falls silent. You look up from the map, suddenly aware of the fleeting glances being exchanged between Jungwon, Heeseung, and the others. Confusion is written plainly across their faces, their unease palpable.

“When was that?” Jungwon’s voice cuts through the silence, careful and probing.

You hesitate, trying to gauge the timeline in your head. “Over a month or two ago? Give or take. It was the first time I had to venture that far out in search of food. Finding that place felt like a blessing—I hadn’t eaten for days at that point.”

You’re so caught up in recounting the memory that you almost miss the look of shock that flashes across Jungwon’s face. His expression hardens, his gaze shifting to Heeseung, who looks equally taken aback.

“Y/N, are you sure it’s the same rest stop?” Heeseung asks, his gaze sharp and unyielding as it locks onto yours.

“Positive,” you reply firmly, though the rising tension in the air makes your chest tighten. “I think I’d remember the place that quite literally saved my life.”

Heeseung’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes flicking toward Jungwon. “Jungwon…” he starts slowly, his voice laced with urgency. “Wasn’t the last time we had to move camp to run from The Future about two months ago?”

Jungwon doesn’t respond right away. His jaw tightens, his expression darkening as if the weight of the realisation is physically bearing down on him. Finally, he looks at you, his sharp eyes searching yours for answers, certainty, or maybe even doubt. But all he finds is your unwavering resolve.

“Something is seriously wrong,” Jake mutters, his voice barely audible as he scratches the back of his neck. His gaze flits between you and the others, confusion etched deeply into his features. It’s as though he’s trying to piece together a puzzle where the pieces don’t quite fit. “If that place was overrun by the dead, and The Future was still active there, then…”

His voice fades into the background, his muttering drowned out by the rising unease. The tension among the group is palpable, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. You’re equally as confused as the rest of them, but you can tell their confusion stems from something you don’t yet understand.

Jungwon’s expression hardens further, his voice low and deliberate as he says the words that send a chill down your spine. “The Future… fell?”

The statement lingers in the air, heavy and foreboding. Your mind races, trying to comprehend what he means, but before you can process it, the sound of shuffling feet cuts through the stillness.

It starts faint, like the rustle of dried leaves in the wind, but it grows louder with each passing second. The guttural moans of the undead follow, a haunting symphony of the dead. There’s no mistaking it—there are a lot of them, and they’re close.

Jungwon’s head snaps toward the sound, his hand immediately gripping the blade at his hip. His voice cuts through the rising chaos. “Ni-ki, start up the van! Everyone else, grab what you can and get on. Now!”

The group springs into action, weapons drawn as the moans grow louder, the shuffling of feet drawing closer. You grip your knife tightly, your pulse pounding in your ears. The forest that once offered a fragile sense of safety now feels like it’s closing in.

“They’re coming from everywhere!” Sunghoon shouts, his voice cutting through the chaos as he points toward the tree line.

Jungwon moves quickly, stopping next to you, “Y/N, with me. We need to clear a path for the van to pass through.”

You nod, swallowing the lump of fear rising in your throat, and fall into step behind him. The first of the undead breaks through the undergrowth, its decayed face catching the dim light, its milky, lifeless eyes locking onto you with unrelenting hunger.

“Stay close,” Jungwon says, his voice low but steady as he raises his blade.

The camp erupts into a flurry of motion and noise, the clash of weapons against bone mingling with the moans of the undead. You steal a glance at Jungwon, his movements precise and controlled as he takes down one of the creatures with a single, fluid strike.

Even as you fight, your mind is clouded with questions. The Future fell. The weight of those words lingers, gnawing at the edges of your focus. What could it mean? How could it connect to what’s happening now? The rest stop, the hordes, the whispers—none of it adds up.

Your thoughts are abruptly cut short as another zombie lunges toward you, its rotting hands outstretched. You dodge instinctively, driving your knife into its skull. The sickening crunch reverberates up your arm, but you can’t afford to dwell on it. Not now. That’s right, what’s the point of dwelling on the dangers of the future if you can’t even make it out of the present alive?

“Y/N, watch out!” Jungwon’s voice snaps you back to reality just in time for you to duck as another undead stumbles toward you. Jungwon’s blade flashes in the dim light, and the creature collapses in a heap. He glances at you, his expression unreadable but firm. “Focus. We need to keep moving.”

You nod, breathless but determined, and press forward. The path ahead is thick with the undead, their shuffling forms threatening to overwhelm the group. But together, you and Jungwon cut through the horde, each strike clearing the way inch by hard-fought inch.

Behind you, the van’s engine roars to life, Ni-ki shouting from the driver’s seat, “We’re ready! Let’s move!”

“Keep pushing!” Jungwon calls to the others, his voice unwavering. The van lurches forward, and you fight harder, carving a path through the chaos as the vehicle edges closer to the gate.

The group scrambles toward the van, the undead closing in with every passing second. One by one, the group leaps into the back, the interior modified into a wide, open space—likely Ni-ki’s handiwork. The seats have been ripped out, replaced with a carpet that’s seen better days but provides enough room for everyone to pile in.

You’re about to climb into the van when something catches your eye—a lone figure standing just at the edge of the clearing.

At first, you think it’s another survivor. It’s upright, still, as though it’s observing the chaos. But then you take in its tattered clothing and decayed flesh, and the breath catches in your throat. It’s a zombie.

But it’s not moving.

Your heart pounds as your gaze locks onto its face. The peeling skin and hollow cheeks are all too familiar, but its eyes—its eyes are clear. Not the usual milky, lifeless void you’ve come to expect from the undead, but sharp and disturbingly human. For a moment, you could swear it’s looking directly at you.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Jungwon’s voice cuts through the haze, snapping your focus back to the present. He’s gripping the doorframe, his blade still in his hand, ready to help you in.

“Do you see that?” you ask, your voice low and unsteady, gesturing toward the figure.

Jungwon’s eyes follow your line of sight. His expression shifts subtly—confusion giving way to unease as his gaze locks on the unmoving figure. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but the tension in his posture tells you he sees it too.

“Y/N, get in,” he says firmly, his voice quiet but insistent.

You hesitate for a split second longer, your mind racing as you try to process what you’re seeing. The figure doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound. Its eyes remain fixed on you, eerily still and unnervingly focused.

“Now,” Jungwon snaps, his urgency jolting you into action.

You clamber into the van, pulling the door shut behind you. The van lurches forward, the sound of the undead clawing at the sides as Ni-ki floors the gas, navigating the rough forest terrain with practiced skill. Inside, the group struggles to catch their breath, weapons clattering to the floor as they brace themselves against the jerking motions of the vehicle.

But you can’t stop thinking about the figure. You glance out the back window, searching for it, but the dense trees blur past too quickly.

Jungwon leans closer, his voice low enough that only you can hear. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, gripping the side of the van for stability. “It wasn’t like the others. It didn’t move. And its eyes…”

Jungwon’s jaw tightens, his gaze fixed ahead as if he’s already trying to piece together an answer. “We’ll deal with it later,” he mutters. But you can see the unease in his expression, the weight of what you both just witnessed settling over him like a dark cloud.

The van jolts over another bump, and you force yourself to focus on the here and now. The memory of the figure lingers, though, its sharp, human-like eyes burned into your mind. Whatever it was, it wasn’t normal—and the thought of what it could mean sends a chill down your spine.

Sounds of laboured breaths and quiet muttering fill the van as everyone tries to catch their breath. Sunghoon sits near the front, wiping blood off his blade with the edge of his sleeve, while Jake rifles through the med kit, his brow furrowed as he takes inventory of what’s left. Jay is silent, his expression dark as he stares out one of the small reinforced windows.

“So,” Heeseung pipes up from the passenger seat, glancing back over his shoulder. “Any idea where we’re heading?”

“Can we not have a moment of silence for the fact that we’ve barely escaped death? Again.” Sunoo quips, his usual sarcasm laced with exhaustion.

“Geez, don’t have to be all prissy about it,” Heeseung mutters, rolling his eyes as he slouches back in his seat.

“Head for the rest stop,” Jungwon says abruptly, his voice cutting through the low hum of conversation. His tone is calm but resolute, the kind that immediately silences any further remarks.

Jay’s head snaps toward him, his dark eyes narrowing. “You can’t be serious. We don’t even know if what she’s saying is true. What if it’s not what she says it is? What if The Future is still there?”

Jungwon’s gaze flicks toward Jay, his expression unyielding. “We don’t have many options, Jay. You saw the map. Everywhere else is a dead end—literally.”

Jay scoffs, his frustration boiling to the surface. “And this isn’t? What if we’re driving straight into a trap?”

“Jay,” Jake interjects sharply, his voice uncharacteristically firm as he closes the med kit with a snap. “With all due respect, I don’t think you have any say in this right now.”

The tension in the van thickens as Jake’s words hang in the air. Jay glares at him but doesn’t respond, his lips pressing into a thin line as he looks away.

“We’ll approach cautiously,” Jungwon continues, his voice steady but firm. “We scout the area first. If it looks clear, we check it out. If not, we move on. But we can’t afford to keep running blind. We need supplies, and we need a plan.”

The group exchanges uneasy glances, but no one voices further objections. Jungwon’s calm authority seems to settle over everyone, even if only temporarily. You can feel the weight of their trust in him, even Jay’s, despite his reluctance.

You lean back against the van’s wall, your fingers brushing over the hilt of your knife as you try to steady your breathing. The memory of the lone figure from earlier flashes in your mind, its clear eyes locked onto yours. You push the thought aside for now—there’s no room for distractions when the stakes are this high.

The van jolts slightly as Ni-ki manoeuvres it over the uneven terrain, his focused expression illuminated by the dim glow of the dashboard lights. You catch Jungwon’s gaze briefly, and he gives you a small nod—an unspoken reassurance, for now.

About half an hour drifts by, Ni-ki drives steadily along the uneven roads skirting the edge of the forest, the dense trees remaining close on the van's left. It’s a long detour as compared to driving straight through the city. But it’s safer this way—quieter. No one speaks, no one stirs.

Everyone else is asleep, or at least pretending to be. Jake is curled up against the wall, his head resting on his arms. Sunghoon sits with his back against the van, his knife still in his lap. Even Jay looks like he’s finally let himself rest, though his hand never strays far from his pistol.

But you? You don’t sleep. And neither does Jungwon.

You both sit next to each other in silence, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing down on what little space there is between you. There’s an understanding in that silence—a shared knowledge of something far beyond your comprehension. Something that lingers, gnawing at the edges of your mind.

This isn’t just about surviving anymore. It’s about staying ahead of someone who knows how to hunt you down. That said, sleep is the last thing you’re worried about.

“What do you think that was?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hang in the air, cautious, careful not to disturb the fragile peace inside the van.

Jungwon doesn’t look at you. His gaze is locked on a single spot on the ragged carpet beneath his feet, his fingers tracing the worn fabric absentmindedly. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, distant. “A mutation? I don’t know.”

“Do you think it’s him?” you press, your heart beating just a little faster. You don’t need to explain who you’re referring to. The thought is already there, lingering between you both.

Jungwon’s hand stills against the carpet, and for a moment, he says nothing. Then, in a voice barely above a murmur, he replies, “Maybe.”

That single word carries so much weight, so much dread. It hangs heavy in the air, settling deep in your chest.

There’s no certainty in his answer. No confidence. It’s unnerving—he’s usually the one with the answers, the one who reassures everyone else that they’ll figure it out. But right now, there’s none of that conviction. Just tired confusion, vulnerable, almost hopeless. A stark contrast to the strong, commanding voice he uses when he speaks to the others.

It’s the kind of tone he never lets the group hear.

And for a second, you’re glad they’re asleep. Glad no one else is awake to see this side of him—the side that isn’t sure, that doesn’t have all the answers.

Because you know, without a doubt, it would weigh on them. Everything Jungwon says, everything he feels, it spreads through the group like wildfire. That’s how much they rely on him. That’s how deeply their survival depends on his mentality—whether he realises it or not.

Jungwon exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “If it is him… then we’re in more trouble than we thought.”

The van jolts over a bump in the road, and Ni-ki mutters something under his breath from the driver’s seat, his focus unwavering. The silence stretches between you, thick with tension but not uncomfortable. It’s a shared quiet—both of you lost in your thoughts, both of you carrying burdens too heavy to put into words.

You glance at Jungwon from the corner of your eye. His posture is rigid, his arms resting loosely on his knees, but the tension in his shoulders betrays his exhaustion. He hasn’t slept since… Well, that’s the thing—you can’t even remember the last time you actually saw him let himself relax for a moment. His gaze remains distant, focused on nothing and everything all at once.

Without really thinking, you shift closer, the subtle bump of your shoulder against his drawing his attention. He glances at you briefly, his tired eyes flickering with surprise, but he doesn’t pull away.

Your heart is still racing from the events of the night—the man, the whispers, the horde that shouldn’t have been there. But now, sitting here beside him, the weight of it all feels a little easier to carry. Slowly, cautiously, you let your head rest against his shoulder.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. You wonder if you’ve overstepped, if he’ll pull away, but then you feel it—slow and hesitant. Jungwon shifts slightly, his body relaxing as he leans into you. His head rests gently against yours, his blonde hair brushing your temple.

Neither of you says anything. There’s no need to.

The hum of the van’s engine fills the space between you, a steady rhythm that matches the rise and fall of his breathing. His warmth seeps into you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the world outside fades into the background.

It’s strange, this quiet moment of closeness. You’ve spent so long keeping your distance from others, building walls to protect yourself. But with Jungwon, it feels different. It feels… safe.

“You should rest,” he murmurs softly, his voice barely louder than the hum of the engine.

“So should you,” you whisper back, your eyes closing briefly as the exhaustion pulls at you.

A faint chuckle escapes him, more a breath than a laugh. “Yeah.”

But neither of you moves. You both stay like that, leaning against each other, finding comfort in the quiet, fleeting peace. And for a moment—just a moment—you let yourself forget the chaos waiting outside.

You let yourself breathe.

part 1 - rotten | masterlist | part 3 - whispers

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

notes from nat: my apologies if i missed any taglist requests commented under the previous part! my tumblr's not working like it's SUPPOSED TO. regardless, i should've noted down everyone. part 3 is a little shorter so i'll post it coming saturday 12am kst (maybe earlier if this manages to reach 200 notes hehe) enjoy!

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

taglist open. 1/2 @sungbyhoon @theothernads @kyshhhhhh @jiryunn @strxwbloody @jaklvbub @rikikiynikilcykiki @jakesimfromstatefarm @rikiiisoob @doublebunv @thinkinboutbin @eunandonly @wilonevys @sugarikiz @jellymiki @adoredbyjay @rebeccaaaaaaaa @strawberryhotlips @baedreamverse @bamguetismee @flwwon @l1s0ro @engurishu @opheliaas-stuff

non-gray/underlined = cannot tag

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phopollo · 2 days ago

Note

what are the backstories for the fuel trucks like in the cartooniverse? (im especially curious about hydras)

Oh i looooove talking about everyone backstories-- sorry this took so long to reapond to, I wanted to find a post for context, but I can't find it, so!

Context 1 (pardon old art and designs);

Context 2;

While most of the main cast were extremely young, there was something akin to a recession, as well as a HUUUUGE shift in power and whatnot, and not every station recovered from it

So!! With that-- backstories!

(Bit of a long one, sorry akdbsj)

Porter

Porter was factory built (the only one of our main freight gang who was) and sent to work at Station 24 (where our story is set) immediately, under the impression he would be the only fuel truck there. Upon arrival, he was surprised to find Lumber there, just not working on account of being too young and small, along with Rusty and Dinah. (Not like, super young though, Dinah was applying for clearance to race at the time & all 3 of them were cleared to start working within 2 years) All of whom IMMEDIATELY decided that this is their big brother now, he didnt have a choice in the matter. But, Momma saw the way he responded to and interacted with the kids, and thought he was really immature, so she made him wait a few months to start working. In that time, he ended up maturing quite a bit just trying to keep the others out of trouble, allowing him to finally begin working

Hydra

Hydra was built and raised by an electric engine who, like Hydra, is extremely concerned about the environment. But with hydrogen being such a new fuel source and being so unstable, he spent a lot of his childhood in and out of the repair shed-- more time in when he was younger. When he was about 15 or so, his dad & him went for a long term visit to station 24 on account of having better repair trucks with better information on hydrogen as a fuel source, where they then proceeded to find a new main repair truck for Hysda. Eventually, it just seemed more reasonable for Hydra to stay at Station 24 closer to hus doctor rather than having to travel back and forth. He was only cleared to start consistently working about 2 years before the start of the story. Even though he's in much more stable condition now, it still seems most reasonable to keep him near his doctor. Bonus Babydra & hydrogen father doodles I've made in the past;

Lumber

All things considered, Lumber had a relatively normal childhood. He was fortunate enough that he didn't really know there were problems with his station in the aftermath of the pretty much recession until shortly before he started hearing whispers that his starion was being shut down, which happened when he was roughly 12-13. When it happened, Lumber's family were all sent to different stations, landing Lumber at Station 24, where Momma took him in and where he's been since. (He keeps in contact with his family though, dw)

Slick

Slick was built into a family of livestock trucks who didn't work on the rails, but helped provide more agricultural goods to train society. Initially, Slick was not built to carry oil, she was built with the intention to be a milk tanker and work more directly with her family and continue in the business. But to make a long story short, there had been several incidents involving factories mass producing oil tankers made with extremely poor quality parts, causing a lot of breakdowns and scrappings, causing oil tankers to eaen a bad rep, and making more reputable factories not want the association. As a result, there was a bit of a (good quality) oil tanker shortage, leading to something almost akin to a draft going out to draft tankers who hadn't started working yet to become oil tankers-- and this included Slick, who at the time her family received it, technically wasn't even finished being built. Due to the shortage, Slick began working on the rails extremely early-- 2 years earlier than usual youngest rolling stock can start working early. When more and more stations started feeling the delayed affects of the recession and shutting down, the little business Slick's family ran did too, as many of the stations they received business from shut down. So similarly to Lumber, Slick ended up getting transferred to station 24 at 14-15, while the rest of her family got split up to find work at other stations. (She has no idea where they ended up and has no kept in contact.) Shes been here since. Bonus again, but this time the doodles of Slick's family, who are absolutely meant to feel reminiscent of the other freight + Rusty;

HOO

Sorry if that all got a little disjointed, the adhd was acting up BAD trying to write this all

#stex #stex revival #starlight express #porter the coal truck #porter stex #stex porter #lumber the wood truck #lumber stex #stex lumber #hydra the hydrogen tanker #hydra stex #stex hydra #slick the oil tanker #slick stex #stex slick

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genderkoolaid · 24 hours ago

Text

No worries! This IS a real problem and I absolutely get having a reactive response to seeing hotlines when so many people still don't realize how dangerous it can be and the importance of support services that don't rely on oppressive institutions. I had a bit of a back-and-forth with myself about including them on the list at all, and I decided to because of how much I care about sanism, not out of ignorance of it. I responded because I to take this opportunity to make sure everyone knew about the range of options available.

Introducing "Queersources USA," a collection of online resources for queer USians covering a wide variety of topics, including but not limited to:

Crisis hotlines

Student's rights

Worker's rights

Affirming healthcare and patient's rights

Legal aid

Hormone therapy, surgery, voice training, and shapewear

Traveling safely with hormones

Voting while trans

Black-centered resources

Intersex and a-spectrum resources

Online community spaces

Queer history

Religion and spirituality across different traditions

I had started working on this before the election but in light of the results, I wanted to put it out here as soon as possible. All the resources are either active, or still useful even if they have not been updated recently.

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sleepynoons · 3 days ago

Text

In Dreams

Your heats have become vicious and unbearable, and you're told nothing can cure you unless you mate. The issue is: Dan Heng's a beta.

dan heng x reader, omegaverse, nsfw

word count: ~3,500

cw: descriptions of pain and cramps, allusions to sexual trauma, mentions of sex toys/masturbation/slick, internalized stigmatization of sex/masturbation/etc.

notes: find yourself a lover who wouldn't just die for you – find someone who will still love you when you're incredibly gross and ill and sick and vulnerable!!!!!! anyway, this is j an angsty take on omega heats, and i took some creative liberties/deviations with this au.

It seems your heat has decided to come at the worst possible time.

It’s never cooperated with you in the past few years, and you’ve come to despise it, along with several other reasons. At times, it’s regular, due every three months, with the one to two weeks leading up to the real thing a gradual build-up, a towering ocean wave that you can see from a distance, feel through the rumbling and trembling in your gut. Other times, this time, and most often, there’s no warning at all, and it arrives as a riptide, a tumultous, driving current that has the sole goal of pulling you under.

Heats, as you’ve come to learn, aren’t always romantic, passionate, or arousing, and they’ve never been any one of those things for you.

You stumble to the railing, hearing a screech from your sweaty palms smearing against the cold iron of the bar. Your vision’s blurred, everything hallucinating in double, and the lights glow too fiercely. It’s already a miracle that you’ve managed to make it to Dan Heng’s room, but just as everyone on the Express knows it, the archive’s filled with nothing but books, journals, projections, ballpoint pens, and the barest of his belongings.

As if your feet have detached from your legs and the joints of your legs have rolled out of the sockets in your hips, you manage to trip over the two steps that lead up to Dan Heng’s futon. Unceremoniously, you collapse onto the ground. There’s bound to be bruises on your shins, and you can already feel a dull sensation in your wrists and forearms. Through thick pants and a vision scattered with black dots, you crawl over to his bed and wrap yourself in Dan Heng’s blanket. (It smells like nothing.)

You wake a few hours later, and you know your heat has officially started because you can feel slick gluing your bottoms to your burning skin. Speaking of which, your whole body feels hot, and you bitterly think that’s the closest thing to passionate you’re ever going to get. You need something cold, icy, something that’ll break through this oppressing heat, so you roll over with a few pained groans so that you’re lying on the floor.

But now you feel empty because even if Dan Heng’s things smell like nothing to you, they still provide an unexplainable, irrational sense of safety and assurance. You twist and turn and writhe, until you finally settle your head on his pillow while keeping as much of the rest of your body against the floor.

The thing about having sudden heats is that you’re unable to prepare or regulate yourself. You can’t follow through with typical omega habits, like building a nest or scenting with a partner, all of which are vital preparations to ensure omegas are as comfortable as possible during their heats. But it’s not like you could do either of those things anyway, because you’ve never really learned how to nest and betas, like Dan Heng, and their scents aren’t potent enough to alleviate even pre-heat symptoms.

You’ve tried suppressants before, but they have no effect on you. After several consultations with doctors from all over the galaxies, the only sound hypothesis of a cure is for you to mate.

Another catch is that betas can’t mate. You’re also strictly monogamous, so even if mating would solve your problem, you refuse to.

The best thing you can do is to wait your heat out, and it doesn’t take long for the cramping in your abdomen to cause you to black out from its overwhelming pain.

But you wake again in less than an hour. You’ve soaked through Dan Heng’s bedding entirely from both your sweat and slick, and even through your muddled senses, you can smell your scent practically permeate the room, stubborn as it clings to the spines of aged books, settles in the corners of the shelves, mixes with the ink from an inkwell that you seem to have knocked over and spilled from your fall earlier. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you recall it was a souvenir you had brought back for Dan Heng from one of the Express’ expeditions you had participated in.

With heaving breaths, it takes significant effort just to prop yourself up on your elbows. Your heat’s worse than normal, consuming your senses and thoughts and overall ability to function, an anchor dragging you down to the depths of an ocean, depths you didn’t know existed, and this overwhelming paralysis scares you.

There’s no other choice but to try to slow your heat down.

It’s not like you dislike trying new things. It’s just that you’d prefer to go outside of your comfort zone when you’re able to think straight. Frantically, you search the room for anything that’s Dan Heng’s. You’ve never created a nest before for several reasons, but something in you tells you that that’s the right thing to do. (Though, in reality, that something’s likely your neediness and hyperactive omega instincts.)

Powered by sheer spite, you rely on the railing once again to stagger onto your shaky feet. You gulp, desperate to accumulate a last bout of energy, before beginning your search around the room.

There’s little of Dan Heng’s things. He’s out on a trip with Himeko at the moment, having left two days ago, and brought along the few pieces of clothing he owned. You do manage to spot one of his journals on his desk, a leather-bound notebook that’s glossy black from intentional care and binds hundreds of thick parchment paper together. You mutter a quick apology before chucking the journal in the direction of the bed, hoping that it landed anywhere near the latter.

You make sure not to trip on your way down, and you approach the archive’s bookshelves. You specifically scan the bottom two rows of the middle column, where Dan Heng stores the texts that he’s been frequenting the most as of late. With haphazard grabbing motions, you try to pile as many of the books on your arms as you can, before the weight of only five crushes you down to the floor. One lands beside your face, and you catch a whiff of woody vanilla and roasted almonds.

They thud and tumble around you. Tears well in your eyes, but you’re not sure if it’s solely because of your frustration.

You try again, gripping onto the walls to help you up, forgetting about the books on the floor. You manage to gather four others in your hold, and you stumble back to Dan Heng’s bed.

To your luck, despite your careless throw, Dan Heng’s journal managed to reach his pillow. After piling the books from the shelves in two groups of two, you fall back and curl into a ball.

The throbbing in your stomach and core are almost unmanageable. You’re sure this is the maddening arousal that omegas have described, but to you, there’s nothing pleasurable about it. You don’t want to be satiated, you want this pain to end. In fact, the only way to satiate this pain is to end it.

Getting filled up with a dildo or squirting from a vibrator are the least of your concerns. You’re actually more convinced they’d cause you more harm. Well, they do help, but only when Dan Heng’s there with you. You can’t bear to even think of touching yourself when you’re alone.

A sting pierces at your heart at the thought of Dan Heng. You whimper, a mournful, weak sound, before you roll onto your side and flip open his journal. On the two pages you randomly open to, there are several scribbles, arrows and Universal cursive and diagonal lines of Xianzhou Script covering the sheets. There’s also slight smudges, from where the side of Dan Heng’s hand accidentally brushed against still-drying ink.

You can’t really make out what’s on the pages, not that you have the capacity to do that. Instead, you rub your nose and tear-stricken cheeks against the pages, crinkling the paper with your fervent movements. The journal smells the same as the books from the shelves, only slightly less musky from age. To your surprise, you also catch a faint trace of sea salt and white maple.

This journal must still in use, then, for Dan Heng’s scent to be lingering on it. For a split second, you worry about ruining his research, but then again, omegas can’t really control their urges or instincts, so you can only hope that that’ll be a sufficient excuse when Dan Heng sees the damage you’ve done. You press your face further into the book, splitting it wider apart until the thread stitching the reams of paper together is exposed.

You fall asleep, to the dissipating remnants of his scent.

–

After a brief explanation to Pom-Pom, Dan Heng speeds to his room with wide, spanning steps. He needs to grab his journal and leave immediately, even though he’d personally like to spare a second to greet you. Unfortunately, the research team Himeko and him are meeting up with have run into a problem with their experiments that needs to be resolved immediately, and Dan Heng’s only returning briefly to the Express to grab the right notebook so he can actually be of some help.

However, he stops in the middle of his tracks for two reasons: first, by March who stands a few feet away from the door to his room, looking ghastly and appalled, trembling hands clamped over her mouth, and second, by the nauseatingly sweet pheromones that fill the corridor. He knows they’re yours, and when Mr. Yang steps into view a moment later, with a shared nod, Dan Heng barges into the archives while Mr. Yang stifles his breath as he carries March away.

Even as a beta, your heat’s cruelly stimulating. Just by stepping into the same room as you Dan Heng feels as if he, too, is boiling over, with sweat and steam already forming and sticking to his clothes and skin. Thankfully, he thinks, he doesn’t have a physiological need to mate, so with enough effort and restraint, which he’s honed, albeit unintentionally, for lives and lives over, he can keep himself in check. With quiet steps, ignoring the scattered books with creased pages and the puddle of ink that will no doubt be difficult to remove, he treads closer to your form until he can tell that you’re fast asleep. It’s not a deep sleep, though, given that you’re thrashing about and groaning without pause.

He also notices the few books and his journal and a pen lying around you, and Dan Heng thinks his heart breaks a little at that. He’s always known that you struggle with your omega instincts and needs, but not to the extent that you don’t even know how to nest properly. Of course, it’s not entirely your fault either. He exhales, slightly shaking from anger and disbelief. Even if you knew how to nest in this situation, the fact that he had left nothing for you to nest with is unforgivable.

At the very least, Dan Heng’s good at compartmentalizing, so he redirects his anguish towards focusing on your needs. He adjusts the thermostat to a lower temperature, before rushing out of his room, despite not wanting to leave you alone. You need water, food, painkillers, clothes, and several other things. The corridor seems to have been aired out in the few minutes Dan Heng had been inside the archives, and when he reaches the kitchen, he runs into Mr. Yang.

Mr. Yang nods at him. “I’ve already told Himeko about the situation. You don’t need to go back.”

“Thank you, Mr. Yang,” Dan Heng replies. “Is March alright?”

“Yes, I believe she was just triggered by the pheromones. We had some suppressants on hand, so she has taken them already. She’ll be alright.”

“Thanks, again, Mr. Yang.”

With a nod from his end, Dan Heng grabs what he thinks you’ll need before taking off and heading to your room.

The gravity of your heat hits him harder when he’s inside your room. This entire time he’s been working off of pure conjecture, tidbits you’ve briefly mentioned in passing and advice he’s come across in textbooks and miscellaneous blog posts. But general omega care doesn’t really seem to apply to you, and he’s only spent one heat with you before. All the other times you locked yourself in your room, only receptive to help from March or Pom-Pom.

Dan Heng chides himself to not take it personally. You’ve made it a point to tell him that it’s not that you don’t trust him, but rather, a personal discomfort that you’ve yet to work through. Regardless, Dan Heng can’t help but feel slightly more frustrated and a significant bit more helpless than before.

He grabs a few of your hoodies and t-shirts from your drawer, and sitting on the ground, he begins to scent them, pressing and rubbing the fabric against his scent glands, furiously willing his body to produce more and more. But as he works through each article, the thoughts, the rational, realistic, unpleasant thoughts about your relationship, gradually begin to take precedent and eclipse all else.

Even if you were saturated with his scent, it would not be enough. Betas’ scents have calming, sometimes sedative effects, but they do not provide satisfaction to omegas when they’re in heat or alphas when they’re in rut. Betas also don’t need to mate, so he could never keep up with the physical demands of your heat either. More importantly, he could never give you a mark, something that would do much to ease the fire igniting and searing you from within.

He doesn’t stay for too long, as he needs to return to your side, but he does make one last stop at your closet, where he pulls out a small box that contains your vibrator. He’s also aware that you’re not the biggest fan of it, but it did make you feel a bit better last time, so it might be worth a try again.

When he’s back in the archives, it seems you’ve just woken up. Your face is buried into his pillow, sobbing and yelping into it, while your hips jerk side to side uncontrollably, like you’re being tasered relentlessly with electric shocks. Dan Heng rushes over and runs a hand over the back of your head.

You, on the other hand, don’t really notice his gentle touch. Delirious to the point that you can’t tell between reality and your restless dreams, your mind can only process the burning craving between your legs and the soreness throughout the rest of your body. It isn’t until you feel your body being lifted and a familiar face comes into view that you realize another person is in the room.

You chuckle, though it comes out as more of a choke. Even if you can’t make out the features of his face all that well or distinguish his clothes or even smell the sea salt and white maple that he’s desperately trying to emit, you know it’s Dan Heng, and now you’re more inclined to believe that you’re in a dream. Dan Heng’s not supposed to be here, but at least your subconscious has given you the opportunity to pretend that he is.

You croon and curl your body around him, relishing in the slight diminishing of pain from having your partner so close. His skin is cool to touch, and when you bury your nose into the pulse point on the underside of his wrist, his scent is helpful in calming your high-strung nerves. But, of course, not all of your pain subsides from his presence, and as another angry wave of your heat washes by, all you can do is dig your nails into his skin and bite down on your lips, barely able to mute your frustrated screams or restrain your quivering body.

Dan Heng seems to be saying something, though you can’t hear much beyond the roaring, thumping, and throbbing in your ears. You do get his point, though, when you feel his hands traveling slowly down the sides of your frame, intentionally so that you can process his actions and not be alerted. His hands trail across your ribs, your waist, your hips, before they settle on the bottom of your sleep shorts, peeling the damp fabric with gentle tugs. He does the same with your panties underneath, and discards both somewhere far beyond your care.

Dan Heng knows you’re out of your senses, and he hesitates. He wants to be of use, but not at the cost of your comfort. If he set you off in any way, it would only worsen your already poor state. He worries away at the inside of his cheek, mind coming up with everything and nothing, and in the end, he decides to speak to you again.

“Hey,” he says, leaning closer to your ear, “do you want some water? Or do you want me to take off your shirt?”

You barely make out the first half of his questions, but you nod when he offers to help you further undress. With some effort, mainly because your body convulses whenever you experience a random bout of pain, Dan Heng’s able to remove your soaked shirt. He begins to press a towel against your forehead to wipe off your face, but you jerk away, the touch of it too rough and warm for your taste. Switching gears, he holds your head up and helps you take a few drinks of water, before you choke and ultimately don’t want anymore. He’s worried because you really need it, but again, he doesn’t want to push you.

The thought returns: If only he wasn’t a beta.

This time, he can’t shake it off. He stares at you, observing your clumped eyelashes and tear-stricken cheeks, the bruises scattered around your body, and the weakness in your muscles as they spasm over and over again.

Yet, somehow, in your delirium, you gaze up at him with dazed eyes and an equally dopey smile, as if your heat’s not as serious as it looks, as if you’re simply content that he’s beside you, even if he can’t do anything for you.

And that’s because you feel exactly that way. Despite what the doctors have said, you know your heats aren’t a peculiar product of your genetics or physical nature because they haven’t always been painful and disparaging. Your heats have simply become a manifestation of what you experienced before you joined the Express, events that, to this day, you can’t even bear to think back to, yet they continue to linger, haunt, and poison your state of mind. Besides, now that you have Dan Heng, it’s not like you want a mate, and in this regard, you can say with confidence that you’ve made great strides in overcoming your fear of betas.

On the other hand, had Dan Heng been an alpha, you don’t think you would’ve ever allowed yourself to get close to him. You wouldn’t have let him see you in heat like this, let alone help you through it. In fact, you don’t think you would’ve ever cared much about him at all. You’re sure that Dan Heng wouldn’t be all that different even if he was an alpha, but you never want to try your luck with one again.

The hours pass by slowly, with you clutching onto the remnants of your bearings as you continue to ride out your heat. Dan Heng assists whenever he can, feeding you snacks and fruit juice and painkillers when you feel up for it, otherwise scenting you as he holds you tightly in his embrace. He does his best to check in with you when it looks like you’re more lucid, and as the days progress, he can see your strength and conscience returning.

When your heat’s over eight days later, neither of you talk much about it. You apologize to him and the rest of the crew for your disturbance, to which everyone dismisses with understanding words of affirmation, and that’s really it.

But one thing’s for certain. You scent him more often now, even if both of you know it won’t stay for long, and you stay overnight at the archives more frequently. You spend more time with him in general, and more and more, you leave gentle touches and marks on him, while allowing him to do the same to you. While Dan Heng would prefer for the two of you to eventually acknowledge and discuss what had happened, he doesn’t particularly want to rush you into having the conversation either. After all, you seem to be doing better, and when your next heat comes…

The two of you will cross that bridge. Together.

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admirationandromantics · 2 days ago

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Best Friend's Brother

This request is literally 10 days old, which, to some, might not seem as a long time. For me however, it is. I'm sorry, but as I've described, I'm just trying to balance writing and school right now, so I'll be writing a little less than before.

Word count: 1,6k (unedited)

could u write a best friend older brother trope josh x reader. luv you works btww xx -anon

I knock on the door, waiting for Beth to open up. We’d planned a movie night while her parents were gone, and Hannah was at Sam’s. Josh was still home, but she told me he wouldn’t be a bother, and would probably stay in his room the whole night.

I have met him many times before, and would even call us friends. Though at the same time, I often wonder if he looks at me like another baby sister, despite only being one year apart. He often gives me a hard time, teasing me and joking around, but most times, I don’t mind. I usually also hope that he never means anything with his small occasional comments, because nothing will happen either way. My best friend’s brother? That would be a problem just waiting to happen.

Josh and I have been drunk together, partied together and been on get togethers together, though I’m not familiar with everyone in their group yet.

I stand outside, my patience running low in the cold weather, wishing I brought a scarf. I hear footsteps coming from inside. Finally. The door unlocks, and a broad, tan Josh in a thin rolled up sweater and some sweatpants stands there, arm against the doorframe. He gives a small smile, looking me over.

“Well, look who decided to come while the parents are out” he coos, a small whistling sound coming out of his lips.

“Well, hello Joshua, care to let me in?”

He smiles, contemplating whether to make this difficult or not. I look around, sighing and waiting for an answer, thinking about shouting Beth’s name and telling her that her brother is being a prick. Luckily, he opens the door further, making space for me to walk inside. “Thank you” I say, trying to hide my smile a bit. I’ve been here many times before, so I immediately know where to hang my coat and leave everything else. Josh keeps standing there, watching me.

“Beth is out, said something about getting snacks for your movie night” He explains, and I nod. The store is not far from here, so she will probably be back soon.

“Well then, do you know which movie she’s got planned?”

“Of course I do, I’m the one who helps pick them out”

I give him a curious and sceptical look, not having heard this before. He keeps his gaze locked on my gaze, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Have you?”

“Every time”

My mouth opens a little. Beth is always talking about her great taste in movies, never having mentioned this before.

“No, are you serious? Beth has never given you any credit”

“Little sisters… what do you expect?”

I hum, not knowing how to respond to that. I walk inside, him following closely as I sit myself by the kitchen counter.

“So, what movie have you chosen then?” I ask, looking up at him again. Instead of sitting, he just leans against the counter with one arm, body turned my way. I can’t help my gaze, looking over his revealed forearms.

“Something a bit different than usual…” he smirks, eyes following my gaze down to his arms. I break free, leaning forward a bit.

“Okay, what movie?”

“A scary one”

“No”

“Oh yes”

I whine, leaning back again. I hate scary movies, I hate jumpscares and gore. Why can’t people just like normal, funny, cozy stuff?

“Josh, are you serious?”

“And there we go, you’re starting to use my nickname”

“Joshua! Are you serious?”

“Well, that lasted for long”

I sigh, rolling my eyes. This is not how I want to spend my night, and considering that the walk home will be dark and scary, this movie will definitely fuel my fears.

“Hey, calm down, it’s a good movie, maybe you just haven’t seen a good scary movie yet, this one might change your mind about the whole genre” He smiles, a hand going to my arm. I can't help the small blush coming from the touch, his fingers warm and comforting. I don’t want to do this, but I really can’t object when Beth is the one getting everything ready, and I just need to show up and have a good time. Or pretend I’m having a good time.

The door opens, and his hand is immediately removed as Beth comes in, a big bag in her hands. She doesn’t notice me at first.

“Beth!” I exclaim, and she lifts her head, nose a little red from the cold outside.

“Hey, oh sorry, I didn’t have time to go earlier today”

“That’s completely fine, here, let me take it” I state, walking over and taking the bag from her hands as she starts undressing.

“My brother didn’t bother you?”

I look over at him, and he just gives a small laugh, shaking his head and putting his hands up defensively.

“No, he was fine”

“Good, now, let's go” She smiles, leading me away from him, into their living room. She finds a couple of bowls, letting me distribute the snack in them as she works on getting the movie going.

“Okay, so I know you’re not a scary movie-person, but I know this one is really good, so please, keep an open mind”

I laugh a little, thinking back on the fact that Josh is the one who actually picked this out.

“I’ll keep an open mind then”

“Great”

The movie starts, and we both sit down, a blanket over us as the lights dim. At first, the movie seems fine, the occasional jump scare, which scares me much more than it does Beth. Still, I keep watching, body tense and uncomfortable, but I can’t take my eyes off it. We’re in the middle when someone gets violently cut up, and the camera doesn’t bother to show us anything else than the blood and flesh flying everywhere, the gore not stopping. I take a breath, pulling my eyes from the screen and standing up.

“I just need to use the bathroom”

“Gonna puke?”

I laugh a little, the tension in my shoulders easing as she talks.

“No, but if there’s no important information in this sequence, please feel free to skip it, I'll be quick” I say, already making my way to the yellow-lighted hallway. It's light, in contrast to the room I was just in, and that makes me ease up a little more. Gosh, if this was to keep going, I wouldn’t dare walking home tonight.

Suddenly, I hear a click, and the light goes away, leaving me in the dark hallway. I stop, looking around, unsure about what just happened. Another breath escapes my lips, reminding me that I can’t keep holding my breath everytime something startling happens. The hallway looks empty both ways, so I continue further, crossing my fingers that the light in the bathroom at least works.

Before I can react, a couple of strong arms grab me from behind, caging me. I’m about to yell out, but as if anticipating it, the hand goes over my mouth, muffling my screams. I’m slammed into the wall, not too hard, luckily, but I close my eyes before the impact arrives. As I open them again, a smiling Josh is standing in front of me, biting his lips to hold in his laugh. My heart is still beating fast, breaths coming in and out in a rapid manner. I grab his hand roughly, dragging it off my mouth.

“Joshua Washington! Are you fucking insane??”

He bursts out laughing, arms against the wall beside me, holding himself up as he leans over. I shake my head, mouth still a little open in shock, whilst he can’t stop laughing.

“Maybe, but you should’ve seen your face!” He chuckles, one of his hands going to his stomach to compose himself. It’s probably hurting right now from all the laughter.

“Joshua! What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“Okay, okay, calm down, just a little prank on my part” He smiles, finally calming down.

“I have been watching a fucking horror movie, and you pull this shit?”

He bites his lip again, tilting his head a bit to examine me.

“Oh, come on now, you’re totally thinking it’s funny”

“No, I’m not”

“Or you’re into it or something…”

“Wait, what, no I’m not, what kind of sick-”

Before I can process what’s happening, his lips are on me. I feel his breath, his body close, soft lips moving ove mine. My heart is still beating rapidly, but oddly enough, it calms with the way he’s touching me. Tender and carefully, not like himself at all. His hand goes to my waist, body pressing mine into the wall, opening his mouth a little. I hear a little groan leaving his throat. He pulls away, faces close as his eyes go over me, looking up and down. I almost think he looks a little vulnerable, but his signature smirk finds its way to his lips again.

“Well then, calmer now?”

I look at him, confused, conflicted. I scoff, shaking my head a bit.

“No, I think I need a little more help” I state, hand going to the back of his neck, pulling him into me again. Capturing his lips on mine, already opening my mouth. He does the same, one hand on my hips, pulling me into him.

“Hey, finished in the bathroom soon? I’ve paused the movie, the gore is over!” Beth shouts from the living room. We both pull away from each other and look over to the living room, luckily not seeing her there. I look back at him, seeing his chest heaving, hot breaths coming from his mouth. He turns, looking into my eyes.

“Guess we better finish calming you down later” He smiles, pushing himself off me and the wall, walking back to his room.

Fuck, what have I gotten myself into?

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sanni276 · 2 days ago

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Joker Jr. AU but a bit different

I have recently seen and read several Tim Drake AU's where he is Joker Jr. They were all really interesting but I noticed how Tim was (obviously since that's like the main trait of the Joker) always insane in these fics, which has given me the following idea: Tim is Joker Jr. but he is not insane and actually purposefully became him to at as a spy.

Hear me out: Little 11/12-year old Timothy was out at night doing some nighttime photography (*cough* batstalking *cough*) when he witnessed the Joker doing something so brutally sick and wrong (Barbara being shot maybe?) that Tim decided that Joker needed to be stopped and it had to happen soon. Somewhere in that thought process it somehow got into his head that he had to do something.

I am sadly not actually smart enough to explain to you how he did it, but Tim tricks the Joker into making him his "son" and into thinking that he is insane. However instead of bringing chaos and harm upon the people of Gotham, Tim is using JJ as a cover to infiltrate the world of Gotham's rogues and send warnings to the police and citizens before attacks so they can be stopped or at least as many people saved as possible.

Another use of Tim pretending to be JJ is, that he can slowly convince Harley to leave the Joker over time and even better: Joker might take him to Ethiopia where Tim saves Jason. Through Jason's vague memories of being rescued in the last second by a child that was with the Joker? the Bat's finally become aware of the fact that Joker has a child (i imagine that they only heard rumours about it before and they kind of brushed it off since the story didn't really add up or some other excuse like that). They are obviously very concerned but when they finally find Tim and expect to meet a traumaticzed child that has become close to insanity, this happens instead:

*Batman and co. dramatically landing on the roof JJ is standing on*

*Tim turning around and starting to wave exitedly when he sees them*: Hi :)! Omg I can't believe I'm meeting you guys, i am a big fan do you need something from me? Information maybe? That would be no problem although you might have to wait a bit if you need like specific info on a rogue because i would have to investigate first and-

Nightwing: Wtf B?! You told me to come from Blud tonight since I am the best of us with children but I wouldn't touch whatever this is with a ten-foot-pole.

Batman (ignoring his son): Hello Timothy (yeah they figured out his identity), we are here to rescue you from the Joker and bring you home to your family.

Tim: Rescue me? Why would you have to rescue me? *whispering to himself* and my parents have found out i'm not at drake manor? I am going to have to check they're travel plans again.

*Bat's sharing a concerned glance*

Jason: I know this is hard to understand for you and you must be so scared, but Joker is very dangerous. We can help you. You are safe now and you don't need to defend him.

*Tim looking at them with a confused Pikachu face*: Ewwww, I would rather drop my camera off a roof than defend the Joker. I think we are having a little misunderstanding right now.

Tim, completly convinced from his Hero's greatness, just assumed that the Bat's knew about his existence, who he was and that he was only pretending to be a rogue. Why wouldn't they? There the best detectives in the world after all!

He then procedes to explain to them how he is literally the perfect spy, since his parents wouldn't even really miss him if he died and he already made contingencies that would assure all the data and evidence he has on people would be automatically deleted.

The Bat's leave that rooftop not only without Tim, but also somehow even more concerned than before.

In conclusion: Give me an AU that is just Tim my sweet-summer child doing the most reckless shit that is somehow atually very helpful for everyone while the Batfam is just desperatly trying and failing to convince Tim that he has no obligation for what he is doing and that his sacrifice would not be worth it (during the many encounters they have, Tim slowly turns out to be the perfect adoption bait and I think we all already know how this is going to end.)

This is literally my first ever tumblr post or post about the batfam so I hope I did this the right way and this was somewhat possible to enjoy. Please tell me if i made any mistakes since english isn't my first language and feel free to write fic's using my idea!

#batfam #timothy drake #dcu #dc universe #batman #red robin #joker junior #joker jr #tim drake #batfamily

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frowerssx2 · 3 days ago

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I'm gonna do this for all my three boys:

Luke, Delcan and Jupiter

If anyone asks this

That would be great, thank you so much!

Nah, I'm good

I'm probably going to do something that will be incredibly stupid and reckless. So for you're safety, it's best if you don't.

2. (is a random person)

Awkwardly laughs

You f***ing what

Laughs sarcastically, then asks if that is the worst you can do

Thank you (smiles bright as the sun but he's dying inside)

Why would you get me this?

He literally wouldn't know what to do, so he would just accept it with an awkward thank you (he tries to hide it but it is obvious he hates the gift and everyone knows it)

Oh wow, you didn't have to! Let's party!

Immediately walks out (he hates crowds)

Is shocked at first but has fun in the end

5. (this is a random person)

Wonders what he did wrong and if he can fix it

Awesome, we're done here then *walks off*

Okay?

What have I done wrong?! 😭

Ingores them back. Unless it's August (his lover) then he'd freak out and wonder what he did.

If it's Magnifico, he'll panic and try to ask what he did wrong and how he can fix it. If it's someone else, he doesn't have the energy to care. He's been ignored half of his life so one more person won't affect him that much

Not bothered in the slightest

Why would you do this to me?

*sighs dramatically* then deals with it in a forcefully patient manner

No problem, just tell me what you would like me to do and I'll get right to it 😊

I'd rather not. Can't someone else do it?

*Takes a deep breath to calm himself* what would you like me to do?

For Hieronymous? Of course, I'll help! 😊

For August? Alright, I'll try

No problem, tell Magnifico not to worry I've got this

10.

Agrees then struggles to find an outfit and can't decide on his make-up.

Do we have to go? (August: yes, beloved) fiinnee

Of course, I'll come with you, you try and stop me🙂 Now, is it casual or formal wear?

11.

Is overjoyed that Hieronymous took time off work to spend time with him, eats everything and talks 90% of the time

Declan and August wouldn't go to a restaurant. They are extremely private about their relationship and would prefer to stay home and have a picnic in front of the fire.

Oh wow! Look at this place, I am so underdressed! Can we sit next to the window? I wanna try everything! Do they have cookies?? (Magnifico: I'm afraid not) Aww ☹️

12.

What? In what way? How can I be better? Please, can I do anything to fix something?

I know, I know and I'm sorry. Can we talk about it?

I am? I-I don't mean to be, I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?

13.

Feels stupidly special but laughs at Hieronymous and his big words/

Spends around a week to write one back

Cherishes it and puts it with the collection he's made then writes one back the same day

14.

Hieronymous is what?! Why are you telling me now?! What am I meant to do now?!

August is what? ..... in that case, tomorrow you'll be announcing my death

Haha, he's not going to be like that for long...I'm going to steal that Necromancy book from the villains and I'm going to bring him back.

15.

🤣🤣😂 you should have gotten pointers from Donald

Yeah, you're going to clean up this mess. I'm not involved

And why exactly would any of this be funny?!

16.

What is it? What's wrong?

Oh thank god, I can breathe now I was sure I'd have a panic attack if I stayed out there any longer

What have I done now?

17.

none of them would tell the secret unless it would cause harm to someone or if it about someone who has committed a crime.

18. (is a random person)

hunts them down to furiously scream at them

And people wonder why I keep shit to myself

Is extremely petty so does it back

19.

All three boys will panic if any of their lovers say this.

20. (is a random person)

You're going to regret that Hieronymous no!

Starts a fight that he has an 80% chance of winning

Immediately punches back and breaks the person's nose. Afterward, he is totally ready for a bigger fight

☆ — oc questions: reactions. by @ricesinspo, tag me if using!

— ☆ —

how would your character react if someone did these things? consider their personality and behavior, as well as who is doing it and why.

alternatively, ask game: send me a question + 2 characters

offered to help them on something they can do on their own

jokingly made fun of them

gave them a gift they didn't want

threw them a surprise party

told them "i don't care about you"

kept ignoring them

brought lots of attention to them

asked them to perform in front of an audience, like right now, without prep

asked them to do something they're uncomfortable with, "oh, but you have to do it, for [loved one]!"

invited them to a social gathering

took them to a fancy restaurant

told them they're a bad friend / partner / ...

wrote them a poem

died two weeks ago (they only found out now)

pulled a prank on them that went very wrong

pulled them aside from the crowd

told them a secret

exposed something about them that should've been kept private

told them "we need to talk."

punched them

— ☆ —

#oc inspiration #oc ask meme #character questions

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maretinelli · 2 days ago

Text

TEARS OF A SAD PAST

Oscar Piastri X Wife!fem!reader

Summary: When Y/n finds old photos of her in her father's house, all the emotions come flooding back when she remembers how hard it was for them to survive back then. Telling all the sad stories, now to her husband, Oscar.

Words: 5.2K+

Warnings: This hurts, it hurts a lot. Anguish, anguish and a lot of anguish, mentions of family death, tears of sadness (Y/N, Oscar and probably reader haha), financial difficulties, survival, poor childhood, humble, can cause triggers in people who may have experienced a similar problem. But in compensation, a present father and an Osc very sweet, kind and great husband.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any mistakes that may be in the story. I want to apologize and comfort the hearts of people who don't have a good family life or who don't have a mother. I have a good family, and nothing that was written was based on me. But if you feel alone, you can talk to me, I will give you some sweet words that can help you. ❤️🇧🇷

MASTERLIST

⚠️SENSITIVE CONTENT⚠️

Oscar Piastri always said that his childhood was peaceful, almost perfect. He grew up in a stable home, surrounded by love, comfort, opportunities and sisters. His parents made a point of supporting him in everything, especially his passion for racing. He never had to worry about what he would have to eat or whether he would have clothes to wear. For Oscar, the difficulties were an abstraction, something he only knew from the news or distant stories.

His wife, on the other hand, grew up in a completely different world. Her mother died the day she was born, leaving a hole that her father tried to fill as best he could. Deciding that he would raise his daughter with love. With two jobs and endless nights of work, he did everything he could to keep food on the table and give Y/n a home, even if it was humble. But financial difficulties were inevitable. She often wore hand-me-downs from cousins or bought at cheap department stores. Toys were rare, and anything new, like shoes or clothes, was a precious gift.

But now everything was fine. She had overcome all obstacles together with her father, she had graduated from a university, she had a job that gave her an excellent salary and she had a husband who gave her love, affection and everything she needed - even what she didn't need.

But then, memories of the past came back when old photos were taken out of the attic.

It was summer vacation, Oscar and Y/n had decided that they would visit the journalist's father in London. Where he currently lived. It was a peaceful afternoon, full of laughter and conversations around the table. Y/n's father - Ben, was excited, talking about how his company was currently going and exchanging ideas with Oscar and Y/n's uncles about races that his son-in-law participates in.

While everyone was busy exchanging ideas, Y/n was in the attic, a space that was rarely visited. She knew that there was a piece of her family history there, memories that her father carefully packed when he moved into that house.

She had an old album on top of her legs, the photos brought a sense of nostalgia. Making her smile and laugh.

Sitting on the cold attic floor, she began flipping through the pages. The journalist smiled when she found a photo from her parents' wedding. His mother was stunning, wearing an elegant dress and a smile so kind it seemed to light up the room. Her father, young and full of hope, looked at her as if the whole world were before his eyes.

Y/n had always heard stories about her mother: a sweet, polite woman with a huge heart. Even though he had never met her, those stories were enough to make Y/n feel like he knew her deeply.

As he flipped through the pages, one particular photo caught his eye.

It was of her, at age five, holding her foot up in the air to show off a pair of bright pink sneakers with beads dangling from them. She was beaming, her smile so big it seemed impossible that it could come from a child who had faced so many hardships. These were the first new sneakers she had ever received, a birthday present her father had gone to great lengths to buy.

She held the photo tightly, remembering what life was like back then.

After his mother left, the family's financial condition changed drastically. His father did everything he could to provide the essentials, but it wasn't easy. Y/n often wore clothes handed down from cousins or cheap department stores. But in that photo, with those new sneakers, the little girl's happiness was genuine. Despite the circumstances, she was happy.

And when she looked in the box in front of her, there was the sneaker. Now quite old because of the time and how much she had used it as a child. She picked it up smiling, but already feeling tears falling.

Y/n began to cry, a cry of pain as she remembered the struggles she and her father faced, but also of gratitude for those precious moments, for that pink sneaker that meant so much more than it seemed.

"Here you are, my girl!! I thought you had run away from me" Oscar said in a light tone, but his voice soon changed when he noticed his wife's tears. He quickly approached, kneeling beside her. "Y/n, my love? What happened? Is everything okay?"

He saw the photo she was holding and the pair of pink sneakers in front of her. The faraway look in her eyes. Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

Oscar also looked around, seeing the boxes full of old things, each one carrying a piece of his wife's history. His heart sank as he imagined the little girl she had been, facing so many hardships with a smile on her face.

Oscar wiped the tears from Y/n's face carefully, his eyes carrying a mixture of concern and affection. He didn't want to rush her, but he also couldn't bear to see her in pain.

"Honey, tell me... why are you crying?" His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if he was afraid of breaking something delicate in the air between them.

Y/n took a deep breath, trying to contain the tremor in her voice. "I... I was looking at these pictures. My childhood, my father... everything. And it hurts, Oscar. Not a physical pain, but an emotional one. Seeing these pictures reminds me of how hard things were. And as much as you know about my story, there are things I've never been able to tell you."

The McLaren driver looked at her intently, his brown eyes full of understanding. He didn't press her, just waited, holding her hand firmly. Y/n looked down at the album in his lap, running his finger along the worn edges of the pages.

"I... I didn't tell you everything because I felt embarrassed," she confessed quietly, as if the admission itself weighed too much. "The difference between our childhoods... You, your sisters, your parents... always telling such happy, excited stories. Like everything was perfect. I felt so... small. Helpless. Inadequate." Y/n hesitated for a moment, before continuing. "Even when your sisters asked me about my childhood, I lied a little. Not because I didn't trust them, but because... because I didn't want to seem so different from you. So inferior."

His chest tightened at that. He pulled Y/n into a tight hug, resting his chin on her head. "Oh, love..." He closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair as he held her close. "You should never have felt this way. Never."

Y/n held his shirt tightly, as if she needed to anchor herself in that moment. "I know, but it was impossible not to feel."

Oscar leaned in slightly, cupping her face in his hands so she would look at him.

"Y/n, love, listen to me. None of this makes you inferior, small, or inadequate. Nothing. All of this just shows how amazing you are. How strong, persistent, and admirable you were to go through all of this and still become the wonderful woman you are today. I'm so proud of you. SO MUCH." He smiled softly, his eyes brimming with tears. "And one day, when we have children of our own, I hope they'll be at least half as strong as you. Because honestly, that would be more than enough to make them amazing."

Y/n started crying again, but this time, her tears were of relief.

"Thank you, Osc. For always making me feel this way. For loving me so much."

He kissed her on the forehead before whispering, "Always."

As she calmed down in his arms, Y/n began flipping through the album again. She pointed to one photo in particular and, with a shaky smile, began to tell him more about her childhood.

In the photo, a little girl in a simple dress held a doll with a missing leg. "That was my favorite doll," Y/n explained with a light laugh. "I got it from a cousin. It was used, but I loved it so much. My dad sewed its leg back on once, but it didn't hold up very well, so I ended up losing it again."

Y/n at 4 years old.

The doll, which she affectionately called “Lina,” was in her hands as she played in the small dirt yard. The simple dress she wore was already stained with dirt, but she didn’t care. The world around her seemed to disappear as her imagination took over.

"Come on, Lina" she said with conviction, her childish voice carrying a strength that seemed far beyond her years. "You're a warrior! You don't need two legs to be strong. We'll win this battle together!" One of the doll's legs was about to fall off.

With a piece of branch she found in the backyard, Y/n improvised a sword for Lina. In the scenario she created in her head, the doll was facing enormous monsters, creatures that represented everything that seemed unfair in the world.

Lina was invincible, and Y/n wanted to believe that she was too.

Suddenly, the fragile stitching on Lina’s leg gave way again, and the piece her father had attached fell to the ground. Y/n paused for a moment, staring at the loose leg. Her expression hardened, but not in sadness. Instead, she picked Lina up, holding her in front of her face, and said firmly,

"It's okay, Lina. You're still the strongest of them all. Real warriors don't need to be perfect."

She hugged the doll tightly, feeling a kind of comfort in having Lina as her adventure companion. Even without fully knowing why, that small broken object represented something important to her. Lina was resilient, and Y/n wanted to be too.

Later, when he entered the house, her father noticed his daughter's determined look and the doll in her arms.

"What happened, dear?" He asked, pointing to the fallen leg that Y/n was holding along with Lina.

Y/n shrugged, a small smile on her face. "Lina doesn't need this, Daddy. She's still strong. Like us."

The father smiled sadly, but also with pride. He took the doll and said, "Even so, we will try to sew it again, just to make sure it continues in its battles."

Y/n nodded, sitting next to him as he pulled out the needle and thread. And as he worked, she thought that maybe she could be fixed too, every now and then. After all, warriors need help too.

Y/n sighed, a faint smile crossing her lips as she discreetly wiped away a tear that had fallen. "I remember how it felt... so big to me. It was just a doll, but somehow she was all I needed to feel like I wasn't alone."

Oscar smiled, and we ran our hands over his wife's back in comfort. He knew that Y/n had faced many things in her childhood, but hearing this specific story and imagining his wife, so small and already carrying such a heavy burden, made his heart ache.

She picks up another photo. Oscar's journalist wife started crying again, this memory came back every time she had a birthday.

The photo showed Y/n sitting at a wooden table, a small makeshift cake in front of her. The candles were made of matches with small pieces of aluminum foil wrapped around them.

"That was my sixth birthday," she said, her voice cracking. "My dad only had enough money to buy a cake or candles. He apologized so much, but to me, it was one of the best cakes of my life. Because he never let me feel like I was missing out, even when I was."

Oscar ran his hand through her hair, his heart breaking at the thought of it. He began to cry quietly.

Y/n at 6 years old.

It was a simple afternoon, like any other, but for Y/n, that was a special day. She was turning six. The smell of chocolate cake filled the small kitchen, while her father finished setting the table carefully.

Y/n walked into the kitchen, her eyes shining with anticipation. She knew there wouldn't be any expensive gifts or big parties like she saw in her schoolmates' stories, but for her, what mattered was her father's effort.

"It's ready, honey," Ben said, with a tired but warm smile. He placed the cake in the center of the table. It was small and had no elaborate frosting, just a few chocolate shavings on top.

"Wow, Daddy! It's beautiful!" Y/n said, climbing up on a chair to take a closer look.

Ben smiled awkwardly. "Well, there's one thing... I couldn't buy candles, so I improvised." He pulled out a small matchbox and showed off the little candles he'd made by wrapping little pieces of aluminum foil around the matches.

Y/n looked at the makeshift 'candles' and smiled widely. "These are amazing, Daddy! I've never seen candles like this before!"

He laughed, relieved by his daughter's positive reaction. "Let's light it up, then."

He placed the matches on the cake and lit them carefully. The small flames flickered, casting a soft light on Y/n's face. They sang and little Y/n always had a smile on her face.

"Now, make a wish, my warrior," Ben said, bending down to her level.

Y/n closed her eyes tightly, holding her little hands together. In a low voice, she made her wish: "I wish that daddy never gets sad. And that we always have cake on birthdays,"

She opened her eyes, blew out the makeshift candles, and Ben began to clap, cheering her on. "Well done! Happy birthday, sweet Y/n!" He leaned down to kiss her forehead.

Afterwards, they sat down to eat the cake. Each slice felt like a treasure. Ben chatted with Y/n, asking about school stuff, and she excitedly talked about how she had painted a picture for him.

At that moment, Y/n didn't see the difficulties, nor the lack of purchased candles or a bigger party. All she felt was love. And that cake, with its improvised candles, became one of the most precious memories of her life.

Back in the present, Y/n wiped away some tears as she held the photo. "I don't know how he did it, Oscar. How he always made it seem like everything was okay, even when I knew it wasn't."

Oscar wrapped an arm around her, kissing her cheek tenderly. "It's because he loves you! And you deserve every bit of that love and mine. He taught you to be strong, and look where that got you today."

She smiles shyly, feeling warm in her husband's arms, as she always has. Oscar's arms were always a safe haven where she could run whenever something went wrong. It was like that, ever since they started dating. 6 years ago.

The journalist takes another photo. She was sitting around the table with a blanket and in the background, through the window, she could see heavy rain. And that's when she remembered what had happened that day.

Y/n at 7 years old.

The sky was gray and heavy, and the rain fell like a thick curtain as Y/n walked down the street. Her backpack, already a little worn, was soaked, and her school uniform clung to her small body. She held her books against her chest, trying to protect them from the water, but without much success. There was no umbrella, and there was no money for the bus that day, as on so many others.

The walk seemed endless, each step heavy with fatigue and cold. When she finally arrived home, shivering and wet, her father greeted her at the door with a worried look.

"My girl, I was just coming for you!" he exclaimed, looking worried, quickly pulling out a towel to wrap her in. He took her to the bedroom, waiting outside for her to change her clothes and wrap her in a thick blanket. "Come here, I'll make you something warm," he said, as he ran to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Y/n was sitting at the kitchen table, holding a mug of hot tea in her hands. A plate with rice, salad and egg was in front of them. It was simple but comforting. As she ate, she looked at her father, who was sitting in the living room with his back to her.

He was quiet, but Y/n could hear the small sobs he was trying to hide. He ran his hand over his face, as if he wanted to erase the tiredness and sadness that were taking over him. Even at such a young age, Y/n knew why. She knew he fought every day to give her the best, but sometimes he felt like it wasn't enough.

Y/n finished her food and ran to him, hugging him from behind. "I love you, daddy," she said, her voice sweet and small. He turned around, surprised, wiping his eyes quickly.

"I love you too, my warrior. More than anything in this world."

Y/n was now leaning against Oscar's chest, sobbing with the tears that fell, while he also cried.

"That week I got so sick that I spent a few days in the hospital," she says between sobs and puts away the photo, turning the page of the album.

Y/n at 10 years old.

Y/n was standing in front of the small mirror in her room, adjusting her new school uniform. The clothes were hand-me-downs, but she wore them carefully, running her hands over the fabric to smooth them out. Her hair was impeccably combed, with a clip that she loved. On her wrist, a faint scent of the sweet perfume she had gotten from her grandmother wafted through the air.

She looked in the mirror and smiled at herself. "You look beautiful!" She murmured, as if trying to convince herself of it. She grabbed her backpack and left the house alone, since her father had left for work too early.

The walk to school was long, but she kept going. When she arrived, she saw the playground full of children accompanied by their parents. Some mothers kissed their children goodbye and hugs, adjusting their new backpacks and telling them to 'behave'. The children were impeccably groomed, their clothes and shoes clearly new.

Y/n paused for a moment, taking in the scene. A pang of sadness gripped her heart as she imagined what it would be like if her mother were there. She wondered what it would be like to hear her mother telling her to "Have a nice day" or adjusting her hair before entering school.

A silent tear ran down her face, but she quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. "Don't cry, Y/n. Today is supposed to be a good day, new school!" She said to herself, straightening her shoulders. With a brave smile, she walked to the school entrance, ready to face the new challenge. She had no one to hold her hand, but she decided that was enough. After all, her father always said: "You are strong, my girl. Stronger than you think."

Back in the present, Y/n held the photo and sighed, the memories as vivid as if they had happened yesterday.

"I'll never forget how he made it seem like everything was okay, even when it wasn't. He always said that even without my mom, I wasn't alone, because he was with me. But sometimes it was so hard..."

Oscar held her close to his chest, kissing her head. His tears fell into her hair.

"You've been through so much, Y/n, and yet you're still the most incredible woman I know. Your father is so proud of who you've become. I know I am too."

Y/n at 15 years old.

Y/n sat in one of the chairs at the back of the classroom during her first week of high school, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. The school was bigger and more modern than she was used to, but the differences went far beyond the facilities. She soon realized that most of her classmates came from wealthier families, with brand-name backpacks, new cell phones, and stories of vacations in places she only knew from television.

During the break, as she ate what she had managed to bring from home—a chicken, lettuce, and mayonnaise sandwich made on yesterday morning’s bread—she heard whispers around her. “Have you seen her shoes?” one girl whispered to another. “I think they’re from a thrift store.”

Y/n swallowed hard, pretending not to hear, but the words hit her like a punch. It was true that her shoes were used; they had been bought at a second-hand store. She felt the gaze of her classmates as if it were an invisible chain pulling her down, trying to shame her for something she could not change.

But that afternoon, during a history class, the teacher proposed a group presentation. And that's when she met her best friend, the sweet girl who didn't care about Y/n's financial situation and who she still kept in touch with today.

She was also Y/n's maid of honor. She owes Ceci a lot of good things.

Each student had to explain a historical topic to the class. Y/n volunteered to speak, even though she knew it would be the first time her classmates would pay attention to her.

She spent the night studying, reading the old books her father had bought from an old library. Y/n held her head high and presented her topic with confidence. Her passion for learning was clear, and her firm, determined voice made everyone in the room fall silent.

After the presentation, the teacher praised her in front of everyone. "That, my students, is dedication! An example of how, with effort, we can overcome anything." Some of the classmates who had whispered about her before now looked at her with respect, but Y/n knew that the most important thing was how she felt. She had proven that her financial situation did not define her.

She smiled as she told him, but she could hear a sob escaping Oscar. She turned, with that sweet smile she always gave Oscar, placing a hand on his cheek.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to cry and make you feel even sadder."

"No, no." She smiles wider. "I'm fine. And do you know why? Because now I have you here, to complete the love my father always gave. I have two such brilliant men in my life, that all the pain I once felt is minuscule compared to the love I receive from you."

Oscar sobs again, kissing his wife's cheek, where tears are slowly streaming down.

The last photo in the album was of a young Y/n, but not too long ago. A little before she met Oscar.

There were several suitcases around her and she smiled excitedly. She was moving to study. She had gotten accepted into the university she had always dreamed of.

Y/n at 17 years old.

The day her college acceptance letter arrived was one of the happiest moments of Y/n's life. The envelope was a little wrinkled, but when she opened it, she felt like her whole world had lit up. She had made it: a place at the college she had always dreamed of.

Her father came home that night exhausted from work, but Y/n ran to him, holding the paper with shaking hands. "Daddy, I did it! I'm going to college!"

His eyes widened, and a huge smile formed on his face. "My girl... I knew you could do it! I always knew!" He hugged her tightly, but when he pulled away, the smile gave way to a worried expression.

"Y/n... I want you to go so much, but..." He sighed, looking away. "I don't know if I can help you with this. I've already taken out so many loans... I don't know if it's possible to take out more. I don't want you to have to give up on your dream because of me."

She took his hands in hers, squeezing them affectionately. "Daddy, it's okay. I've already taken care of this."

He frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

“I’ve got a job near the university,” he explained with a determined smile. “It’s a modest salary, but enough to support myself and buy food. And the accommodation I’ll be staying in is free for low-income students. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

His eyes filled with tears, and he pulled Y/n into another hug. "My girl... You're so strong. So incredible. I always knew you were special, but... seeing you grow into this determined woman... I can't describe how proud I am of you."

His words made Y/n cry, but this time it was a cry of relief and love. She knew the path would be difficult, but she was ready to face it. After all, she was the daughter of the strongest man she had ever known.

Y/n laughs softly. "That day was magical," she says, and Oscar smiles, seeing that his wife was calmer now with all the sad feelings that had enveloped her minutes before. "I confess that, even though the years at university were a little difficult, they were easier compared to childhood." She smiles, and then turns to Oscar. "And do you know why? Because in the first year I went to do an internship at F3 and met the love of my life."

Piastri smiles and then the two kiss, sealing their lips in a sweet and comforting kiss.

"I love you so much, my Piastri girl!" She smiles at the nickname.

They were hugging each other, still looking at the various boxes, until the pilot's eyes fell on that bright pink, beaded sneaker. Oscar smiles and leans over to hold it.

"Look, how cute!" He smiles. "And very authentic and original!"

Y/n lets out a sincere and genuine laugh. "Did you like it? I decorated it" she smiles.

She felt freer now, the past didn't haunt her so much, she was fine now. Great house, excellent salary, comfortable vacations, her father had a company that made him earn 100 times more than before and she had Oscar. Her calm, attentive and helpful husband. A man who came out of a fairy tale. And who was hers!

Only hers...and of course, her future children. Because the babies will also be very lucky to have Oscar Piastri as their daddy.

"Do you want to tell me about the history of sneakers?" He holds the small pair of shoes in his hands. "Of course, only if you feel comfortable."

Y/n smiled in agreement. Standing straighter and crossing her legs, she watched Oscar admire her shoes.

"These were my first new sneakers." She smiles. "Really new, in the box and with that brand new leather smell." Y/n laughs. "And I was so excited about them that my dad let me put glitter and beads on them. They were so special to me that when they didn't fit anymore I kept them as a fond memory," she says. "They're worn out from so much use and also from being stored away for so many years, but they're still as shiny as new."

Oscar laughs, still looking at the little boy in pink sneakers.

"I wonder..." he begins, smiling. "Can I keep them?" Oscar asks, a tear falling across the smile on his face.

Y/n frowns a little, but nods. "Sure! But why?"

Oscar held the small pair of sneakers with an almost reverent care, as if they were an heirloom. He ran his fingers over the faded beads, the shine still visible despite the years.

"I want to take you to our home in Monaco." Oscar begins, his voice slightly cracking.

Y/n tilted her head in surprise. He looked up at her, his gaze full of love and admiration.

"Because I want to leave them on display there. In a special place, where I can see them every day. Those sneakers aren't just a reminder of your childhood, Y/n. They're a symbol of everything you are. A woman who, from a young age, turned the little she had into something extraordinary. I want to remember that always, and I want anyone who walks into our home to know the incredible story of the person you are."

Y/n felt her eyes well up as she absorbed those words. She took a deep breath, trying to contain her emotion, but a single tear escaped and ran down her cheek. "Osc..."

The pilot placed the sneakers on his lap and leaned over to hold her hands. "I know you treasure them, and if you'd rather they stay here, I'll understand. But to me, they represent everything I admire about you. Your strength, your resilience... and the fact that even with so little, you found ways to shine." She smiled, feeling her heart overflow with love for this man who always knew the right words to say.

“You can take them,” she said, her voice breaking. “To know that you want them on display, that they mean as much to you as they do to me… it makes me so happy, Oscar.”

He smiled and pulled her into a warm hug. "Thank you, my love. I promise to take care of them as well as you did."

As Oscar carefully put away the sneakers, Y/n watched, feeling grateful to have someone who saw beauty and strength in even the simplest objects in her story.

For her, those sneakers were a reminder of her difficult childhood, but for Oscar, they were a celebration of everything she had achieved.

She didn't know how to react, but her tears continued to fall, this time accompanied by a shy smile.

"I... I never imagined that one day I could have someone like you, Osc," she said, her voice breaking again. "Someone who truly understood me, who would be there for me no matter what. Someone who would look at me and see the good in me, even when I couldn't see it myself."

Oscar pulled her closer, cuddling her against his chest again, as if he wanted to protect her from the world and the past, now so distant, but still so vivid in her memory.

"I will give you the best, Y/n. I want you to know that now you will never be alone. You have me. And of course, your father. And together we will build something better. Not only for us, but for future children. I promise they will never know the struggle you went through. They will grow up with the love, security and opportunities they deserve. Just like you, because you deserve the world and so much more!"

Those words broke the last shred of restraint in Y/n. She hugged Oscar tighter, pain and relief mixing together. But the happiness of being with him for the rest of her life outweighed the pain.

For the first time, she felt that her story no longer needed to be one of solitary struggles. Now, she had someone to share her scars and heal her pain, and most importantly, to build a different future with. And this made her cry, but with happiness, knowing that her future children would have a much more peaceful life full of love.

That love she received from Oscar and her father. Because she never doubted that Oscar would be an excellent father and Ben a great grandfather.

Author: Sorry about this, I know it's heavy. I cried writing it and when I was revising it😭

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #imagines #marriage #one shot #formula one #formula 1 #fem reader #sensitive content #imagines oscar piastri #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader

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tsandoll · 23 hours ago

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so i have the feeling taesan would be a very loving and caring boyfriend, lots of cuddles, hand holding and kisses but only when you two are alone. i don't think he would be into pda usually and you don't really have a problem with that. but i feel like sometimes he can be a bit too lowkey and straight up forgets to tell people that you're his girlfriend, he just let's them assume.

so i imagine the same thing happens with the rest of bnd. like he is totally sure that he told them about you at some point, but the problem is he totally didn't. so you are hanging out with him, when suddenly the others show up because well they live together and you are thrilled to meet his friends that he had told you so much about, but in return you just get confused expressions and the question of who you are. for a second you contemplate if you should get mad but you know how your boyfriend is and that he wouldn't keep you a secret from his friends on purpose, so when taesan introduces you just by your name and not as his girlfriend you decide to play along and act as if you're just a friend while you are hanging out with the guys.

but as soon as taesan and you are alone it's like something switches. 'so when were you gonna tell your friends that we're together?' you ask him and his eyes go wide, but before he can apologize you laugh a bit to show that you're not really mad, but what you are is determined. you push him down on the bed and straddle him, leaning close to whisper in his ear:"i'm gonna make you regret it."

your mission for the night: let everyone in the entire house hear taesan so that there will be no doubt about who you are. but as taesan is usually not too loud you know you have to give him a very special treatment tonight.

oh, i wanna hear his moans so badly, i just know they sound heavenly and so hot, especially when giving him head, imagine him lying on the bed hair sticking to his forehead looking at you with a fucked-out expression after you've already made him cum and whine when you just keep going, overstimulating him because you love hearing and seeing him like this, so desperate for your touch and not caring anymore about who could hear him because he is too focused on you and the pleasure you are giving him.

and i want to see him face the others in the morning, shyly avoiding their eyes and cheeks burning red because he knows they heard him.

💙

(im so sorry it's taken so long to get to your asks :(( i just always want to give a good response to these so badly so i put it off more and more until i feel like i can do it justice.. sorry nonnie 💔)

there's a certain point he reaches where he can no longer control himself. it wouldn't matter who could hear him,, all that would matter is you an show you're making him feel in that moment. he'd already be so sensitive, so needy for release when you put your mouth on him. your mouth would be so warm and you'd lower onto his length, taking him in the back of your throat so easily. he'd immediately moan out loud, his hips suddenly jutting upward. he'd grip onto whatever he can around him because he has to find some way to ground himself. your head would bob up and down his length, holding his hips in place so he can't squirm away from you. he would be so ruined already, all of his whines would come close to sounding like cries. honestly if you didn't give him a bit of mercy right now he might actually cry. he's getting louder and louder and it's making you smile.. he looks dizzy when you look up at him, like he can't keep himself together. gosh he's gonna be so embarrassed later on when he's not focused on holding his orgasm back. his whole body would be hot, the gentle shudder of his body is only warming him up more. when you pull off of his length to just stroke it for a moment you would be able to see how red his tip is. he needs to cum so so badly so you finally let him. he would let out the most beautiful string of moans when he finally cums, tugging at his hair and thrusting into your mouth gently. he thought the torture was finally over but you'd keep stroking him through it.. stroking him even faster once he's run out of cum for the time being. this is when he'd really lose it, moaning and begging for you to stop, but you don't <3 not until you feel like everyone's heard him well enough!!

#tsandoll.luvletters #💙 anon #bnd smut #boynextdoor smut #bnd hard hours #bnd smut imagines #boynextdoor hard thoughts #boynextdoor smut imagines #bnd hard thoughts #boynextdoor hard hours #kpop smut #bnd taesan smut #boynextdoor taesan smut #han taesan smut #taesan smut

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dyli-dadi3 · 3 days ago

Text

Knotting

Chris thought you two were the bestest of buds, two peas in a pod... Well, he isn't technically wrong... there is a p in a pod...

Tags: smut (p in v), knotting, mating, riding, hybrid animals (both puppies), mounting, getting caught.

Ever since that shit with Wesker and Jill back in Africa, Chris hasn’t been able to relax. He tosses and turns at night, plagued with the face of Jill, of all the citizens he had to kill just because they were robbed of their humanity. The whole debacle had left him feeling incredibly lonely and filled with the overwhelming sensation that he was never fully alone. Every time he closed his eyes, even for a second, it was like he was in Africa all over again. It got to the point where his coworkers had noticed.

—

“Hey, Chris, you’ve been acting off, lately. " One late night, a guy in HR spoke up when he decided to stay and mess with the thick stack of paperwork that was growing on his desk.

“Really?” Chris mumbled the words, more interested in the hissing of the coffee machine that was currently spewing out the liquid gold he needed. The sound was familiar to him, something that wasn’t the screams of pain and despair that he also got familiar with.

“Yeah, it’s like you’ve been distancing yourself. It’s making your paperwork late.” The little shit huffed, crossing his arms.

Of course, he didn’t care about him, he was just there to ensure his performance was running at full speed. Not like he expected anything else, that’s why he never really talked to the guy. He just partook in the mandatory check-ins to say what is going good and bad in management, only for nothing to be changed because it isn’t “important.” He learned pretty quickly that the BSAA was good for one thing and one thing only, fighting bioterrorism. As long as there was some new monstrosity to humans running amok, their agent’s mental health could wait.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Chris muttered, grabbing the steaming pot of instant coffee and poring it into his mug that was printed with the BSAA logo.

“You know, I think you’re due for some company,” The guy said thoughtfully. What was his actual name again? Todd? Tom? I think it was Tom…

“How I spend my very limited free time isn’t your problem,” Chris said flatly, finally looking up at Tom. “And besides, I don’t have time to foster a new relationship.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about that,” Tim said, smiling at him like it was some kind of joke.

I don’t have the time or patience for this.

“I’m thinking like a pet or something. Animals have been used for therapy forever. I think you need something to soften up that rough exterior of yours.” Ted chuckled, bringing his hand up to shove Chris’ shoulder. He just took a step back.

“…”

“If I can’t deal with a relationship, what makes you think that I can take care of a whole other life?” Chris huffed to save the man some embarrassment. Man, this guy was denser than that loaf of banana bread he tried to make for Jill when she joined S.T.A.R.S. with him.

“Geez, man, are you dense? I swear you live under a rock…” Timmy sighed.

Are you serious…?

“Haven’t you heard? Those new ‘hybrid’ things are all the craze right now.” If they’re being described as things, it can’t be good. “They’re humans, but animals.”

Chris raised his eyebrow at this. “First of all, how is that even possible? And second, why hasn’t the BSAA or government in general shut that down?”

“Well, the guy who was originally splicing all that DNA was arrested, but they couldn’t just kill the little fellows he made, so they put them up for sale. Not everyone could care for their new pet slash human baby, so some got loose and bred like rabbits. They’re everywhere now. Are you seriously telling me you haven’t seen one yet? News? Alley? Other friends?” Billy said.

Chris paused. “You’re telling me that there’s half animal, half-human creatures walking around the city?” The image in his mind was horrific.

“Yeah, they’re kind of cute, cute like a kid and a puppy at the same time,” Ben said with a smile. “But anyways, brought it up ‘cause I think you’d do good with one. They’re easier to train than animals and can do all the same things we can, so you won’t feel bad for leaving them when you’re out doing that bioterrorism stuff. Brady has one.”

“Who?” He knew a Brad once.

“...Brady? He sits right across from you.” Oh right, toupe. “Right, it’s just late,” Chris said, taking a sip of his coffee so he could at least try to properly wrap his mind around the bombshell Bill just dropped on him.

“Yeah, he says she’s the best thing to ever happen to him. But don’t tell his wife he said that.”

Chris let out a dry chuckle, his mind moving on from the papers he had to do. Maybe he could look up these ‘hybrids’ once he got off of work.

“I’ll think about it.” He said before leaving Ben at the coffee machine.

—

It took way less effort than he expected, the papers quickly being filled out since he was getting more and more eager to find out what these hybrids looked like. If Toupe and Bennie thought they were good, as well as everyone else, they couldn’t be that ugly.

Before he knew it, Chris was sitting at his desk, the word ‘Hybrid’ typed up on his monitor. His finger governs over the enter button. Despite all the admittedly cute descriptions, he still couldn’t shake off the fear that they were just the same as all the bioengineered organisms he fought against. He’s killed his fair share of zombie dogs.

Forgetting the zombie dogs, he had always wanted a regular dog. So he amended his search, changing it to ‘Dog Hybrid’ and hit enter.

The results were instantaneous, and he had to admit, they were pretty cute. The ones on the top of Google had round faces, chubby cheeks, bright eyes, floppy ears, and bushy tails. He then looked at maintenance. There was already an abundance of forums describing how to take care of them, what to expect depending on the type of species they derived from, and just some silly stories people wanted to share.

He was sold, and before he knew it, he had made an appointment to a shelter that houses hybrids to see if he could find one.

Of course, he always thought of having a tough-looking dog, big and fluffy. What he didn’t expect was to walk up to the front door and be greeted with two pups playfighting in the small enclosure just past the glass display. When he walked in, they both turned to look at him, yipping with pure energy.

He turned his back to them to greet the front lady who had been looking at him. “I’m here for a consultation? Last name Redfield.”

The lady smiled, walking to the little gate on the side of her to let him in. “Just go down the hall and to the left, there’s a lady there that will help you from there.”

The lady she talked about was very sweet. She didn’t stare at him too long, or ask about his dark eyebags, or even the fact that he didn’t have unstained clothes to wear. She just asked him how much maintenance he was willing to expend for caretaking, as well as some personality inquiries. She said it was to “match him to the perfect pup,” since they only housed dogs.

With that, he was led through so many isles of dog-human things that he didn’t know what to do with himself. Despite the tempting allure of a companion to have when he came back home, it was all a spur-of-the-moment thing. He had yet to accommodate another living being in his house, and the thought of leaving a senior hybrid or puppy alone for long periods was beginning to weigh on his heart all over again.

—

“He was cute!” You said happily, flopping onto Leon’s side. “Imagine what it would be like to be adopted by him.”

It was a pastime for the two of you to look at the people who walked past and theorize about their lives, about what it would be like to be chosen by them.

“I don’t know, he looks like he could crush my head with his bicep.” Leon grimaced, holding his head.

“Oh, but that’s the fun part!” You giggled, pressing your face to his side as your tail wags behind you.

“I guess he looked interested.” Leon smiled, pouncing on you to nip at your neck. You squealed, trying to kick him off of you as he tried to pin you down. “Leon, that tickles!” You tried to catch your breath when he finally pulled away to sit down on the padded floor of the display case. “But that’s the fun part!” He said with a mockingly high-pitched tone as he smirked.

You huffed, jumping on top of him as you tried to repay the favor.

—

“I’m sorry, none of them called out to me,” Chris said, walking back to the front as he tried to ignore the pitiful looks of the hybrids he left behind him. Man, this was a bad idea.

“No worries, I’m glad you don’t feel the need to force yourself, we get a lot of people who fold, only to return them weeks later saying that they couldn’t deal with it.” The lady smiled, waving goodbye as Chris entered the front of the shelter again.

He tried to ignore the way the two of you immediately stopped playing to lean up against the barrier of your enclosure. Both of your tails wagged, and he tried to push out the sound of “He didn’t get anyone! Do you think he came back for us?” coming from your sweet mouth.

God, this was a bad idea.

“Are the ones in the front available?” He found himself asking the first lady. “Those two?” He awkwardly pointed at the two pups that were climbing over each other now that he specifically pointed them out.

“I knew it!”

“We’re free!”

“Of course! They sure are the energetic type… Are you sure you’ll be able to handle them?” The lady said softly. He couldn’t blame her, he had answered her caregiving question with low maintenance.

“Don’t listen to her! We’re well-behaved!”

“Yeah! We’re so good!”

“I’m positive that we’ll be fine.” Chris smiled. No, I’m not, but I can’t say no to those cute faces…

“Well then, just sign these papers right right here for adoption, and then they’re all yours.” The lady smiled, reaching underneath her desk to produce two packets of papers. On the top of each of them were your names. The handwriting was messy, but the glitter pen used on yours made him realize that the two of you signed your names yourselves. The realization was heartwarming, and with the revelation, he could see the personality woven into the childish signatures. This was going to end up great.

—

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

God, he couldn’t have been more wrong. The two of you were endless bounds of energy, like two Tasmanian devils living in his flat. He had thought that the two of you were more human than dog, able to have self-control and discipline like Benjamin had said, but he quickly realized that he adopted two puppies that took a liking to chewing up all the shit in his house no matter how many times he said no.

But he was a man, a stubborn one at that, and he was determined to give the two of you a forever home.

He’s had to put child-proofing on almost all of his furniture and cabinets so that you two didn’t get into his stuff or shred the legs of all his furniture to shit. Eventually, he had to go back to work, where he’d look the two of you in the eye and say “Be good” like a disapproving father before leaving. No matter what was happening at work, his mind was preoccupied with all the things the two of you could be getting up to. He was starting to think of getting a sitter.

When he came home, his blood ran cold. Pained whimpering. Did somebody get hurt? Was someone in danger?

He rushed into his house, finding the source of his sudden anxiety spark. You. His jaw grew slack as he saw you straddling Leon’s thigh, the poor pup fast asleep as you rutted against him. “Hey!” He gasped, grabbing your arm and pulling you off of him. “No! That’s bad!” He admonished you, his ears aflame as he watched you whine and squirm in his grasp. He didn’t know what to do, and he would rather go back to Africa than see that again.

“N-No, feels good! I feel funny, and it helps.” You huffed, kicking your legs.

All the ruckus woke up Leon, his eyes fluttering open as his pupils focused on your whining form. “Huh?” He said softly, sniffing the air and leaning in closer. “Dad… She smells sweet, what’s wrong?” he said thoughtfully, bringing his nose to her crotch and sniffing.

Oh god. “First of all, I told you, I’m not your Dad. Secondly, you need to back up. She’s…sick.” He said tentatively, not wanting to even think about what she’s feeling right now. “Sick?” You said softly, looking up at him with big eyes and a tail between your legs.

“You’ll be fine; you just need to stay in your room for a bit to cool off; it’ll feel better.” Maybe if she stays alone for a bit, she won’t go into a full-blown heat…

—

That didn’t work.

You were fine for a bit, cooling down and reporting that the feeling in your tummy went away, but as soon as he brought you to the same room as Leon, you’d complain all over again. He didn’t know what to do, he read about this, but he supposed that it was his fault for not asking more questions about the… condition the two of you were in. Well, he guessed that he should have asked way more questions.

But these were the cards he was dealt, and he couldn’t keep an eye on you forever, so he left work today with a very serious talk to Leon. “Don’t let her touch you, no matter how much she begs. And if you want to nap, please sleep in your room. Alone.”

Simple, precise, and direct. Of course, he had already told you about what was happening. That it was completely normal, but that it needed to be controlled. He just hoped that you wouldn’t have to suffer for so long. He was already looking up vets to have you spayed.

—

“Dad said we can’t!” Leon sighed, trying to keep his distance as your sickeningly sweet scent saturated the air around him. He could practically see the way it colored the atmosphere. All pink and flowery and like candy. It made his head spin and cock twitch. Wait, that was new. “But it hurts, Leon! I’m all hot and achey and it’s the only thing that makes me feel better. Don’t you wanna make me feel good?” You pouted, walking closer to him again. Only this time, he didn’t take a step back.

“We’ll be quick, he won’t even know! Dad said it’s normal!” You argued your case, coming in closer and closer.

“I suppose… You do feel sick.” Leon sighed, sitting down on the couch. You immediately crawled into his lap, whimpering as you pressed your slicked-up pussy against his thigh, the wetness permeating through the pair of soft shorts you wore. Leon groaned, the smell of your arousal making him feel dizzy but good at the same time. “Maybe this isn’t so bad…” He said as you rutted against his thigh. “D-Do you need anything?” He asked, hands hovering over your hips. “You. Oh my god, you smell so good, Leon.” You groaned, burying your nose into his neck and inhaling.

Leon had no idea what was going on, only that you were sick and maybe he was getting sick, too. His skin felt feverish, and now there was a throbbing in his pants that was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. He was drawn to the scent, not like he needed to be pulled, you were drowning him in it. Choking him with your intoxicating scent that made his hips buck and his mouth water. He knew he should be stopping this before it got too far, but the voice in his head was screaming more, more, more! He groaned, wrapping his arms around your waist in a tight hug, pulling you in closer to rut against his erection.

“Oh god, yes, Leon!” You sobbed, unsure whether to continue indulging in the pleasure of the now or try and soothe the ache deep inside of you. But you had to, the throbbing was borderline painful.

You slipped out of your shorts, tugging his cock out of his sweats. You didn’t know how, but it was like you knew that this was what you needed, the voice in your head yipping in glee. You paused when Leon whimpered, his hips jerking, jolting you up with him. “That feels good, too?” You asked.

“Yeah, feels good…” He whined, gripping the fat of your hips. Never in his life has he felt this good, like putting ice on a burn, eating watermelon in the hot summer heat, or eating a sandwich after getting out of the pool. All the static in his brain cleared, and all that was left was the overwhelming urge to do something with you. He didn’t know what, but he felt like this was as close as it was going to get.

God, was he wrong. There was something better, and it was called ‘being deep inside your best friend as she bounced on your lap like a professional pogo stick rider.’

He was cussing like a sailor as you engulfed him, everything coming full circle as he realized that this was what he was meant to do for the rest of his life. Nothing else he would ever do would compare. He was sure of it. Your pussy was like a godsend and he couldn’t get enough. He tightened his grip, snapping his hips up into your sopping heat as he pulled you down, trying to get as deep as possible. It wasn’t enough, there was a missing piece.

You were a trembling mess, clenching around him and making him whine as he tried to go faster, feeling a ball of something wind up in his chest. “O-Oh my god, Leon, I-I feel something.” You gasped as he groaned, shoving the both of you to the ground as he mounted you. He pushed you into the ground as he arched your back, snapping his hips into you at a brutal pace as his voice grew higher and whinier. “M-Me, too. Wan’it.” He whimpered, moving faster, until he nearly screamed, your pussy clamping down on him as you came. He didn't stop, couldn't stop, the need to fuck you overwhelming. But he didn't last much longer. In just moments, he was cumming ropes and ropes of thick cum into your pussy. The whole thing was overstimulating and honestly a little terrifying. All of the dizziness went away, there wasn't a trace of static, nor was there a voice begging for more. He suddenly felt complete, and that was alarming, not to mention the fact that his dick was swelling inside of you. “H-Hey, are you okay?” He said in alarm. Despite your moans, the feeling of stretching your pussy like this made him nervous.

“So good… Feel so much better…” You mumbled into the hardwood, eyes droopy and body like putty. “That's good…” Leon murmured, finally relaxing with your confirmation and tugging you with him as he flopped to the side, spooning you. He stayed still, his body automatically knowing the process. It was as if he was on autopilot. The thought made him chuckle. He was made to please you.

—

Chris dropped all his things at the front door when he saw the two of you fast asleep.

“Shit!”

I love puppy Leon so much it's not even funny. Trust that he will be back for more.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #x reader #smut #leon s kennedy #dumb puppy

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