#there was a point where I was like ‘I can’t take this I need to get a cat from a reputable breeder next time’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thatfeelinwhenyou · 2 days ago

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My dearest Yve,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XOXO, Nat <3

SAFE & SOUND — part 1

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

word count: 14k

MASTERLIST

Rotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Avoid the cities. Get out fast.

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

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

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

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

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

For a time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weakness gets you killed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re coming.

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

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

You’re out of time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the reprieve is short-lived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Future...?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re surrounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re… looking out for each other…?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s hard to tell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirks. “Take it however you want.”

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

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

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

This, sitting and talking, feels foreign. Unnatural.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, his jaw tightening. “Barely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ready to disappear without a trace.

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

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

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

Something is wrong.

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

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

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

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

“Like someone put them there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then it’s someone else."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

masterlist | part 2 - warmth

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

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

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

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

#thatfeelingwhenyou love mail! 💌📫#tfwy moot moot

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mangionebabymama · 2 days ago

Text

“six thirty” — Luigi Mangione

“Whatcha gonna do when I’m bored and I wanna play video games at 2 am? What if I need a friend? Will you ride ‘til the end?” - “six thirty” by Ariana Grande

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: LOTS of pining and yearning, sort of slow-burn online romance, but it's also platonic, maybe? This also contains some slight mentions of depression and loneliness; please proceed with caution.

A/N: Inspired by this ask from a while ago, where those particular lyrics of "six thirty" about playing video games at 2 am have always stuck with me. If you don't know this about me by now, I am a Cancer sun, and it shows. I am emotional, and I'm going to be an emotional writer. Please note that this is purely fictional, but these feelings are real.

The glow of Luigi’s monitor lit up the dim room, casting long shadows across the walls. It was 2 a.m., and the quiet hum of his computer was the only sound breaking the silence. He shifted in his chair, wincing slightly as the faded memories of his surgery still lingered in his movements. Recovery had been slow, and lately, he’d found himself retreating into the digital world more and more. The real world felt heavy, distant—like it wasn’t his anymore. Like he was watching his life happen from somewhere far away. His family and friends tried to reach out, but he’d been pulling away, retreating into himself.

His cursor hovered over his Steam library, scrolling aimlessly. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. Just something to fill the void. That’s when he noticed it—the little green dot next to your username. You were online. His heart gave a little leap, and before he could reconsider his decision, a notification appeared from you.

Can’t sleep either? Is it the insomnia again or were you hoping to see if I was up?

Luigi’s fingers flew over the keyboard for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the heaviness in his chest. He glanced at the clock on his desk— now 2:01 AM—and then back at the glowing screen of his monitor. The room was darkling, lit only by the soft blue light of his computer, and the hum of the fan inside the tower was the only sound accompanying his thoughts.

Pep: Both.

The reply came almost instantaneously, like a reflex, as if you’d been waiting for him.

You: Figured. You’ve been on late a lot lately. Not that I’m complaining—company’s nice.

Luigi leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath. His back ached faintly, a dull reminder of the surgery he’d had months ago. The doctors had said he’d recover fully, but they hadn’t warned him about the mental toll it would take. The weeks spent in bed, staring at the ceiling, had given him too much time to think. And now, even though he was physically better, he couldn’t shake the weight that seemed to settle deeper into his chest every day.

Pep: Yeah, I guess I have. Sleeping’s been… hard.

You: Hard as in “can’t fall asleep” or hard as in “don’t want to”?

Luigi hesitated. You always seemed to know the right questions to ask, the questions that cut straight through the noise and got to the heart of things. He wasn’t sure if it was comforting or terrifying.

Pep: Both.

There was a pause before your next message appeared.

You: You’ve been quiet lately. Not just tonight—like, in general. Even when we’re playing. You okay?

He stared at the words, his chest tightening. How does she always know? He wondered. You’d never met in person, never even seen each other’s faces, but somehow, you always seemed to see him.

Pep: I don’t know. I guess… I’ve just been feeling kind of lost. I don’t even know how to explain it.

You: Try.

Luigi let out a short, humorless laugh. Leave it to you to cut straight to the point. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the words.

Pep: It’s like… everything just feels heavy, you know? Like I’m just going through the motions. I’ve been distancing myself from everyone—my family, my friends—but I don’t even know why. I just… I can’t seem to connect with anything anymore. Except this.

He added, gesturing to the screen even though you couldn’t see him.

Talking to you. Playing games. It’s like the only time I feel… I don’t know, alive, I guess.

The cursor blinked as he waited for your response, his heart beating a little faster than it should have.

After a moment, you wrote back.

You: You’re not alone in that. I think a lot of people feel that way sometimes. Especially now, with everything going on in the world. It’s easy to get lost in your own head.

Pep: But it’s not just that. It’s like… I’m stuck. Like I’m just watching my life pass by, and I don’t know how to make it stop. I don’t know how to fix it.

There was another pause, longer this time.

You: Have you talked to anyone about this? Like, really talked?

Luigi shook his head, though he knew you couldn’t see him.

Pep: Not really. I don’t want to bother anyone with it. And I don’t even know what I’d say.

You: You’re not bothering me

And you don’t have to have all the answers. Sometimes, just saying it out loud helps.

Or typing it out, lol

He smiled faintly, a warmth spreading through his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Pep: Thanks. Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

You: Probably be even more of a mess

You joked about that last bit of your message, and he could almost hear the teasing tone in your voice as he let out a chuckle reading what you said.

Pep: Ya, probably

There was a comfortable silence between you both, broken only by the soft sound of his keyboard as he typed some more.

What about you? Why are you up so late?

You: Couldn’t sleep either. Insomnia’s a bitch. Plus, I was kind of hoping you’d be on.

Luigi’s heart skipped a beat, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

Pep: Yeah?

You: Yeah. You make the nights better.

He felt his face heat up.

Pep: You make them better, too.

Another pause preceded your following message.

You: You know, it’s okay to not be okay. And it’s okay to lean on people when you need to. You don’t have to go through this alone.

Luigi stared at the words, his throat tightening. He wasn’t sure if it was the late hour or the raw honesty of the conversation, but he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He typed, his fingers lingering uncertainly over the keys.

Pep: I don’t want to be a burden.

You: You’re not a burden.

If anything, you’re the opposite. You’re important to me, Luigi—more than you realize.

His breath caught in his throat, and he had to blink back the tears that threatened to fall.

Pep: You’re important to me too.

His hands shook as he typed.

More than I think I’ve ever admitted.

There was a long silence, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d said too much. Yet, your response showed up, and he felt a surge of adrenaline in his chest.

You: Maybe we should admit it more. To each other. To ourselves. Life’s too short to keep everything bottled up.

Luigi nodded, even though you couldn’t see him.

Pep: Yeah. Maybe we should.

He tilted back in his seat, caught in a strange sensation of relief intertwined with fragility. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but at last, he felt like he wasn’t alone.

You: You know…

Sometimes, I think about what it would be like to meet you in person.

Luigi felt a flutter in his heart once more.

Pep: Yeah?

You: Yeah. I think it’d be… nice. To talk face-to-face. To really see you.

Pep: I think it’d be nice too.

You: Maybe, one day, we will

Pep: One day, for sure

The cursor blinked on the screen, expecting the next words to appear. For once, Luigi felt a spark of something he hadn’t felt in months: hope.

You: Until then, I’m here.

Whenever you need me.

Luigi smiled, his chest swelling with gratitude.

Pep: Same goes for you. Always.

The cursor blinked lazily on the screen, as if it, too, was holding on for Luigi to gather his courage. He sat in the dim glow of his monitor, the rest of the room swallowed by the darkness of the early hours. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, shaking, as if betraying the weight of the words he was about to type. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

Why now? He thought. Why does it feel like I can only tell the truth at 2 a.m. when the world is asleep?

But he knew the answer. It wasn’t the time that mattered. It was you. The way you listened without judgment and your words seemed to reach into the parts of him he’d locked away. You made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as broken as he thought.

He took a deep breath, his chest tightening as he started typing.

Pep: There’s something I’ve never told anyone.

He wrote away, his words appearing on the screen in a rush as if they were desperate to escape. He paused, his heart pounding in his ears. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to lay himself bare like this?

Just as he was about to second-guess himself, your reply appeared up.

You: You can tell me anything, Luigi. You know that.

He exhaled shakily, his fingers moving almost of their own accord.

Pep: It’s about why I’ve been so… distant lately. It’s not just the surgery. Not just the insomnia. It’s… I’ve always felt like I don’t belong. Like I’m on the outside looking in. Even with everybody in my life. I try to act like I’m okay, like I’m fine, but I’m not. I haven’t been for a long time.

He stopped, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a marathon. His eyes darted to the clock in the corner of the screen—2:04 AM. The world was still asleep, but he felt more awake than in months.

Your reply came quickly, longing for him to say those words all along.

You: That’s a heavy burden to carry alone. You don’t have to, you know. You’re not as alone as you think you are.

Luigi’s lips trembled as he absorbed your words, a tight knot swirling in his throat. Deep down, he yearned to trust you, to hold on to the fragile hope that he wasn’t as solitary as he often felt. Yet, the weight of loneliness pressed heavily on him, an ever-present shadow that made believing in that hope a daunting challenge.

Pep: It’s not just that

He typed, his fingers moving faster now, as if they couldn’t keep up with the thoughts tumbling out of his head.

I’ve been struggling

with something else

Something I’ve never told anyone. Not even my closest friends.

The cursor blinked mockingly, sitting tight for him to continue. He swallowed hard, his stomach churning. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment he either let it all out or shut it away forever.

You: Take your time, Luigi. I’m here.

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his courage. When he opened them, he started typing again, the words spilling out, his cup runneth over with transparency.

Pep: I’ve always felt like I was different. Like there was something wrong with me. Something I couldn’t put into words. It’s not just the loneliness. It’s like… I’ve been searching for something my whole life, but I don’t know what it is. And it’s tearing me apart.

His hands trembled as he pressed the enter key, the letters materializing on the screen in sharp black and white. A rush of vulnerability washed over him, as if he had peeled away a layer of skin, revealing the raw, bleeding chaos lurking beneath. It was an eerie sensation, as though he was standing naked before an unseen audience, laid bare and utterly exposed.

His heart pounded as he waited for your reply, each second stretching into an eternity. When your message finally appeared, it was simple but profound.

You: Thank you for trusting me enough to share that. You’re not alone in feeling that way. A lot of people feel lost, like they’re searching for something they can’t quite name. It’s part of being human. But you don’t have to figure it all out right now.

Just take it one step at a time, one day at a time.

Luigi’s breath caught in his throat as he read your words. It wasn’t judgment or pity that he saw in them. It was understanding. Compassion. And something else—something that made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Pep: I don’t know where to start

He confessed, his fingers shaking as he typed.

I feel like I’m stuck in this… this loop. Like I’m just going through the motions, but I’m not really living. I don’t know how to break out of it.

Your response was prompt, as though you had anticipated him saying those words.

You: Start by being honest with yourself. About what you want, what you need. It doesn’t have to be all at once. Just take small steps. And remember, you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. As much as you’ll let me be.

Luigi's vision swam before him as he absorbed your message, a lump rising stubbornly in his throat. He scrubbed at his eyes, fighting back the tide of emotions that surged within him—gratitude coursing through his veins, relief washing over him like a gentle wave, and a flutter of fear that danced just beneath the surface. Yet, amid this tumult, there was something else—a warm, comforting sensation enveloping him, as if he were being wrapped in a soft, reassuring hug that eased the weight on his shoulders.

Pep: I don’t know why you’re so kind to me.

He typed, his fingers moving slowly now as if each word carried the weight of his heart.

I don’t feel like I deserve it.

You: You don’t have to earn kindness, Luigi. You deserve it just because you’re you. And you’re worth it. Don’t ever doubt that.

He stared at the screen, his breath hitching. Those words—those simple, powerful words—struck something deep inside him, something he’d buried long ago—a tiny spark of hope, flickering in the darkness.

Pep: I don’t know what to say. I just… Thank you. For being here. For listening. For… for seeing me.

You: Always, Luigi. Always.

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt like he could breathe. Like the weight on his chest had shifted, just a little. It wasn’t gone, but it was bearable. And for now, that was enough.

Pep: There’s one more thing. Something I’ve never told anyone. Not even myself, really.

He paused, his fingers trembling. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment he either let it all out or shut it away forever.

You: You can tell me anything, Luigi. I’m here.

He closed his eyes, gathering his courage. When he opened them, he started typing again, the words spilling out in a raw, unfiltered stream.

Pep: I think… I think I’ve been searching for someone. Not just anyone, but… you. I don’t know how to explain it, but talking to you, it feels like… like I’ve finally found what I’ve been looking for. I know it sounds crazy, but—

Your reply interrupted him, cutting off his words before he could finish.

You: It’s not crazy, Luigi. I feel it, too.

His breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared at the screen, his mind racing. Did you really mean it? Or was it just the late hour, the vulnerability of the moment, making you say things you might not normally say?

Pep: Do you really mean that?

As he typed, his fingers erratically tremored; he couldn’t keep up with the thoughts tumbling out of his head.

Or is it just the insomnia talking?

You: I mean it, Luigi. I’ve felt it, too. This connection between us. It’s real.

It’s always been real.

Pep: I want it to be real.

You: Then let’s make it real.

His pulse quickened. The compulsion hung in the air, heavy and loaded. He’d thought about it—more times than he could count. He’d imagined what it would be like to hear your voice, to see your face, to feel your presence beside him. But it felt like a dream, something just out of reach.

Pep: But there’s so much distance. And I… I don’t know if I’m ready for that. If I’m even capable of it. I know you’re real, and this is, but I want to feel it, too.

The honesty in his words surprised him. He hadn’t meant to say so much, but something about the late hour, the quiet, you—it made it impossible to hold back.

You: I get it. I really do. But… what if we didn’t have to figure it all out right now? What if we just… let ourselves want it? Even if it’s just for tonight.

I mean… what if we stopped pretending like this isn’t something real? Like we’re just two strangers who happen to be online at the same time. Because we’re not. We’re more than that.

And… I don’t want to hide it anymore.

Luigi gazed at the words, his chest constricting. He felt naked and vulnerable, yet also… relieved. It was as if someone had torn off a bandage he hadn’t known was there.

Pep: I don’t want to hide it, either. I do want this. I want you. Even if it’s just like this, for now. Even if it’s just words on a screen. It just feels so real to me.

You: Then let’s stop pretending. Let’s just… be. Together. Even if it’s just for tonight.

He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He let out a slow breath, feeling the pressure ease slightly, now knowing that deep down, he understood what he wanted—he wanted you, and at long last, you were there, waiting for him. He was no longer alone. At this moment, going forward for however long the night would last, it would be just you and him—and only you and him. And it was going to be real.

Then, slowly, he typed.

Pep: Okay. Let’s be together.

#mangionebabymama works #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione x prompt #luigi mangione prompt #luigi mangione fanfic #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione x yn #songs about luigi #rpf #real person fiction

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geekforhorror · 1 day ago

Text

dating dae-ho headcanons

warnings: SMUT (DNI IF YOURE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT!), mentions of ptsd, fluff.

my babyyyy 🙁

where do i even start

he is the SOFTEST lover boy ever

he loves you with his entire heart

he would take you out on the most romantic date nights imaginable

also loves staying in and watching movies

he’s the type to remember the small things

he showers you with endless compliments because he sees you as the best thing ever

dae is the biggest fan of physical affection whether it’s giving or receiving

gift giving is also a love language for him

calls you baby, honey, darling, angel

loves showing you off

tells literally everybody about you guys

if there’s people who try messing with you, you can guarantee that dae will fuck them up even if he ends up not winning the fight

he loves kissing you on your forehead, hands, and lips

dae is a SUCKER for receiving kisses on the lips and soft kisses on the neck

every once in a while he has really bad ptsd episodes to the point where he has full blown panic attacks

when you saw him have one for the first time, you didn’t know how to comfort him

after a while you learned what worked to help him calm down

he definitely fidgets and does a lot of stimming

if he accidentally upsets you, he will do anything to make it right because he can’t fathom losing you

nsfw

this man.

first off, he’s such a switch

it doesn’t matter if he’s a dom or a sub, he’s a soft one

when he’s a soft dom, he treats you so fucking well

he always asks for consent no matter how many times you make love together

he never degrades you because it’s just not in him

deeper and softer > faster and rough

he only goes really fast and rough if you REALLY want it or if both of you need it

dae LOVESSSS lazy morning sex

how can he deny his sweet girl?

he praises you like the goddess he sees you as

he loves hickeys with a passion

“tits or ass?” both.

not only that but he’s just obsessed with your entire body

that man is a CERTIFIED MUNCH

he eats pussy like it’s a whole damn meal

loves being woken up with your mouth on his cock

loves being degraded AND praised at the same time

poor boy can’t get off or finish without it :(

he’s not one to really experiment

unfortunately he’s on the vanilla side of things but he is into pegging

i said what i said.

he wants that strap so badly 24/7

i just know he’s big.

7 inches soft and 8.5 inches hard

he’s thick too i don’t make the rules

extremely vocal no matter if he’s a dom or sub

he loves when the two of you exchange sounds because it adds to the intimacy of it all

his favorite positions are missionary (obvi) and cowgirl

whenever the two of you are finished, he loves to cuddle with you and make sure you’re alright

the king of aftercare

dae will run the two of you a bath even if it means him having to carry you to the tub when you’re too sore to walk by yourself

okay that’s it for now yall!

#dae ho #dae ho smut #dae ho squid game #dae ho x reader #kang dae ho #kang dae ho smut #squid game smut #squid game

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utilitycaster · 2 days ago

Note

I follow someone who peaced out of C3 like a month ago, and while she still throws out the occasional post about it, despite mostly running on ✨vibes✨ since pre-Predathos fight. one of her latest takes caught my attention. The wording was a little messy, but the core argument seemed like it might have a point. She’s saying the biggest issue with the story is a lack of internal logic, which makes the characters feel kind of disconnected from their own world and setting. Her main example was the Schism, like, the general idea that the Titans were bad news for mortals should be widely accepted, and they’re dead so they’re not coming back even if the gods leave. She also argues that the idea that the gods would always choose each other over mortals isn’t really backed up by history. Basically, she thinks Bells Hells ignore some of the fundamental structures of modern religion in Exandria, which in turn makes a lot of their arguments about the gods fall apart.

So I guess I’m wondering does it seem like there’s a lack of internal logic to you? C3 is my first campaign, so I’ve been piecing together older lore as I go, and I can’t tell if this is a niche take or if there’s some bigger context I’m missing.

Yes. Or rather, I have a couple of different guesses as to what happened. In short: I think that either Matt wanted to set up a big dilemma and failed to do the worldbuilding to really support it textually; he didn't have a clear vision of what this would be at all (HUGE fucking mistake, like, actually concerning me re: the potential of a 4th campaign level of mistake and I hope it's not that); or, alternately, and honestly right now my guess is that this was the case, he straight up did not think the characters would be such selfish dickbags and thought going in that this would be a clear "we have to stop Predathos" and intended the familial connections within the Vanguard and the scene in Hearthdell to be added nuance to provide some understanding of the Vanguard not as simply mindless evil monsters but people who have genuine grievances that have been exploited by predatory cult leaders, and was not prepared for a campaign where the party immediately took the Vanguard's side.

Religion in Exandria has never been super formalized or organized. Some of this is, of course, that you don't have to like, convert or even attend services if you have a relationship with a god. But as a result, it means that any exploration of religion as hegemonic falls apart. I am not saying religion needs to fit the regular daily or weekly practices many people irl have (depending on one's levels of observance), and those characters whose powers canonically involve a deity often do observe either restrictions (Caduceus's vegetarianism) or have some form of meditative personal worship, but we never see like, a system of worship outside of Vasselheim, and Vasselheim lacks the powers that the real-world pope has (let alone the medieval era pope). Tuldus was forced by his family to pray, but it's never depicted as part of How All Worshipers of That God are expected to behave. This is really the crux of a lot of problems with this campaign - people keep taking very individualized issues - which are real, but individual - and treating them as a sign of widespread oppression that simply isn't backed up by the text. In fact, the biggest case of widespread religiously-involved oppression is the Empire going after worshipers of illegal Prime Deities (as we see with the Schuesters - the parents are arrested, leaving their young children to fend for themselves) - and the biggest case of widespread proselytizing and missionary work is from the canonically theocratic (and ruled by one person for over a millennium) Kryn Dynasty, which, hilariously, might end up even more powerful given that the Luxon - the source of their religion, their philosophy and cultural practices, and their arcane prowess - has been brought up as relevant to the gods-become-mortal plan by the Raven Queen and seems to not be under any threat from Predathos, and might even get more powerful. Vasselheim's colonial efforts, while certainly not defensible, are small potatoes.

The player character's grievances against the gods all boil down to "I prayed to the gods and they didn't make my life better" while failing to consider that a combination of genuinely wild specific personal circumstances (being Ruidusborn; being the child of an elemental-worship cult with terrible instincts and later running a heist on a Vanguard collaborator; being a shadow sorcerer who caught the eye of an evil Vecna-worshipping wizard in need of a host body) are the root cause. It's like. If your parents kick you out for being gay, that's homophobia, but if your parents are part of a cult that blows itself up and you are orphaned as a result that is not systemic oppression, that is a very specific cult and shitty parents. So that fails to really ground them in the setting. Compare to campaign 2, where Caleb wants to ensure the Volstrucker program is brought to light and eliminated - as he says, no more children on the pyre - vs. here, where arguably Laudna and Ashton are opening the door to far more unregulated cult/evil necromancy shenanigans now entirely unmitigated by the gods. At least Imogen will probably end the Ruidusborn I guess, as a side effect completely unrelated to her actual goals (which are, frankly, unclear) In a campaign that talks about tethers, the characters seem untethered to anything - institution, place, even for the most part family, and only loosely to each other, and it shows in their lack of care.

The other part is that yeah, a lot of things that were given to the Mighty Nein and Vox Machina as "things people would know" aren't given to Bells Hells. Now this could have a mechanical basis, namely, no one has much of a formal education and most of them are also not terribly intelligent on their own. However, it does feel baffling that they can't recognize holy symbols, or don't know the story of the titans at the time of the Schism (which...setting aside the many issues with the concept of "history is written by the victors" which is both inconsistently true in the first place and is frequently used in an anti-intellectual manner to undermine historical study that points out such things as historical racism; just because history might be inaccurate that does not mean that wild speculation otherwise is necessarily true, especially since we do know from EXU Calamity that titans did, indeed, intend to side with the Betrayers against mortals at the start of the Calamity). It furthers this feeling, after Vox Machina being relatively educated even in a story that was not as worldbuilding-focused, and the Mighty Nein having multiple research-oriented characters and a party deeply rooted in a rich world, that Bells Hells feel off and adrift and ignorant, especially since they don't even seem to remember history they lived through such as the Apex War.

Honestly, what I think is most interesting actually is that we don't ever get anyone express a motivation based on structural oppression in-game. Ludinus never got over his parents dying in a war where the options for the Prime Deities were leave mortals to die or fight the Betrayers, knowing there will be devastating casualties, but in setting up his elaborate plot he murdered countless people, destroyed through his communing with Predathos the first rebuilt elven society in Western Wildemount, and participated in actual structural oppression within the Dwendalian empire for literal centuries; he cared not for any widespread liberation and would remain on top, as an archmage, after this imagined revolution, which makes it not much of a revolution worth having. Liliana's problems were caused by Predathos, and many of the Vanguard we see are Ruidusborn. The only other Vanguard we really get to talk to are Bor'Dor, who was oppressed on the basis of his religion and preyed upon by the cult; Tuldus, who see above; and various Paragon's Call members who are mostly just following orders and getting paid. And Bells Hells, when they have the audience of Vasselheim and the rest of the world - a golden opportunity to call out the colonialism - fail to bring up Hearthdell.

In the end, the motivations are all personal pain - in many cases, inflicted, in fact, by Predathos and not the gods - or vengeance. I honestly don't know if the narrative is trying to claim there is something deeper, or if it's simply some of the characters and a chunk of the least knowledgeable fans, but yes, the worldbuilding fails to support a morally complex narrative. It fails to debunk that which was established earlier (and indeed makes the fall of Aeor far more sympathetic than when it was introduced during Campaign 2) and fails to establish any widespread harm the gods did that wasn't the result of someone threatening to kill them. I do not think one can meaningfully debate with someone who puts a boot on your throat, presses down, and claims you're the oppressor when you fight back, nor with someone who argues along those lines, and that's all that fans and Bells Hells have ever done. And yeah we might actually make a world with a formalized hegemonic religion as a result of Bells Hells' actions; it just will be a different god, underscoring that this is either motivated by people who don't know what the fuck is going on; or by vengeance rather than justice.

#this one gets maintagged #critical role #answered #anonymous #anyway though it will be fucking funny if the dynasty becomes the main world superpower and the luxon state religion #ludinus da'leth truly keeps losing

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pan-kojiwa · 2 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ➻ 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧?

[Characters] ➻ 𝐒𝐚𝐞 𝐈𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 | 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫 | ??? |

[CW] ➻ SFW, stranger to lovers, whipped Kaiser, a bit ooc.

Waffle’s note -> that was long… tbh I didn’t know where I was going with this at some point… I should’ve just made a boyfriend!kaiser *sigh* well anyway, it’s still about cute aggression but with a little bit of obsession??? Also, does it feel like I tried to headcanon my way out of an 2k OS? Yes? Yh me too… it happened twice.. anyways u_u’

❦ 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫

✮ Michael Kaiser was used dealing with malice, to the point it became a second nature to him. After all, it was all he had ever known. Hurting people just came that easily. But everything changed when you showed up, and it’s still the case till this day. Michael Kaiser is mean, arrogant, and overly confident, yet all of that disappears in your presence. In fact, the first time he saw you, he couldn’t even speak. All you did was smile— yet he stood there, stunned. Your smile… so timid, but so bright… it almost blinded him. And your eyes… God. Those innocent sparkles in your eyes when you looked at him… he lost the war before it even began that day. You literally destroyed the thick walls he spent so long building around himself. Yes— the walls that hid the most ugliest parts in him, they got blown up. With just one look. And since then, he’s been craving your gaze— your attention. He’s drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.

✮ Kaiser can be really selfish sometimes. From the first time he saw you, he knew he wanted you all for himself. He can’t help it, your entire being is calling to him. It's almost turning into an obsession at this point— and resisting the urge to be all up in your space is becoming hard. He wants to be the only person that you see, just as you're the only one he sees. Your smile when you're happy, your cries when you're sad, your rosie cheeks when you're being shy. Aah—He’s overwhelmed. Feeling so many emotions at once while picturing how cute you are— oh... he would love to have you all to himself.

✮ Kaiser never thought he would become a big, hopeless idiot when in love. Then again, it’s not surprising for someone who spent his life pushing people away and experiencing nothing but hate. But now, being hated, receiving or giving malice, manipulating people… he doesn’t care about any of that. Yeah— It doesn’t matter anymore. All he wants is you. You. The way his name rolls perfectly on your tongue like it was meant for it. The way your ears and nose turns a bright red when he tilts your chin up just to tease you. The way you always take a step back, completely flustered whenever he gets too close—he wants it. He needs it. God no— he craves it. He’s longing for a taste of your love, and he’s ready to do whatever it takes to have you by his side.

✮ Since you’re his first love, or more like the first person he’s allowed himself to love, sometimes he doesn’t quite understand his feelings. Well, he knows it’s love. What he doesn’t understand are the overwhelming urges to touch you, to feel your skin under his fingertips, to hold you in his arms, to grab you and kiss you all over, the urges to bite you just from looking at you smile… He just can’t seem to control himself around you. And he just can’t leave you alone either.

You’re passing by when someone suddenly yanks you into on of the meeting rooms. Luckily, the lights are on, so you could immediately see the face of the culprit.

“Kaiser?! What the fuck!? You scared the shit out of me!”

You quickly push the door closed, just in case someone passes by. You definitely don’t want to get caught in an empty room with one of the players.

Kaiser chuckles with a smirk as he leaned on the table behind him.

“ - Oh really, liebling? My apologies, I didn’t mean to.”

You raise an eyebrow, sceptical. Because from where you stand, he clearly did. Yet, you couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.

“ - What are you doing here? Aren’t you gonna shower with the others?”

“ - Too crowded.” He replies, stepping closer to you with that playful smirk.

Your heart starts racing, and a faint blush creeps on your cheeks. You instinctively back away, your breath hitching. The door was behind you so you know you’re absolutely not trapped in the room. But with him so close, all up in your space feels like all your senses are being tickled. And not to mention how Kaiser had been acting strange lately. He’s always been a bit pretentious with everyone— even when he was alone— but now it seems like he’s paying extra attention to you. At first, you were thrown off, but the way he treats you like you were the most amazing person in the world makes you curious. Or flattered?

“ - Should I give you the key to the staff bathroom?”

“ - Oh my, I’d like that—only if you come with me.”

You blush furiously, your head dropping as you stare at your shoes, completely flustered.

“ - I—”

Kaiser grabs your chin, carefully lifting your head to meet his gaze. His gaze is intense yet soft on you. You could see his inner conflict swirling in those blue eyes, just like a storm.

“ - I know you were about to go take care of the team… He pauses. But… I wanted you all to myself.” He says bluntly freeing your chin, before taking one of your hand in his. He then gives it a light squeeze lifting towards his lips to place a soft kiss on it.

Your flustered look as well as your fluttering eyes makes him clench his jaw. Why are you making this so much harder for him? Why your little pout drives him mad like this? Why is it so hard— so impossible to resist you?

When he’s around you he can’t seem to control his emotions. So his only option left, is to let you go.

“ - If I make you stay here any longer, I might end up never letting you go.”

He tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear and then lets you out of the room, confused and heart pounding hard in your chest

✮ When he sees you, on the bench, wearing a jersey—a little too big for you— with his number and his name, his heart skips a beat. A warm feeling invading all his senses. He can’t see your expression completely from that distance, but he can definitively imagine your sweet lips silently cheering for him as well as your doe eyes, focused on him—full of anticipation for his goal. Suddenly, all he wants is to run to you— grab your head and kiss every inch on your adorable face. Yet he brushes off all this chaos of emotion it with a confident smirk, only sending a flying kiss towards you as he scores a goal for you. He was so close to ditch the whole match just to shower you with kisses.

✮ Kaiser is pretty much an open book once you get to know him. You’re completely aware of how whipped he is for you, even if he still tries to deny how much effect you have on him. The way you nervously play with your hair, or the way your fingers brush against his when you hand him his water battle during the team training— It’s almost ridiculous how it makes him go insane. So much that he can’t believe how much he just wants to hold you in his arms and hide you away.

✮ He likes to scoop you up in his arms. He always says that you look cuter that way but really, you both know it’s just an excuse to hold you in his arms. The way you circle your arms around his neck— pressing your chest tightly against his as your head rests on his shoulder. The way you hide your flushed face in the crook of his neck— oh… He swallows hard, an overwhelming warmth spreading through his entire body. He swallows again as the sensation began to migrate towards his heart. Fuck… it feels like it’s melting. He desperately wants to kiss you… to bite you… you’re so cute to the point he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. If you knew how much his heart is begging for your love right now… would you want him as much as he wants you?

✮ Kaiser always tries to mask what he truly feels with arrogance or confidence— because after all he’s “superior to all those plebeians.” So of course vulnerability isn’t something he comfortable with. He needs complete control over his emotion to feel secure. But it’s impossible with you around. And no matter how hard he tries to resist, he just can’t hide how much your cuteness affects him.

“ - Micheal!”

He turns around as he hears a very familiar voice calling him from afar—your voice. Your beautiful voice. The voice that could bring him down to his knees, even if he tried so hard not to fumble.

The cheerful tone you only use when you see him or when he smiles at you never fails to make his heart burst in flames. He can’t stay away from you, so that probably explains why his feet moved on their own, rushing toward you. And right there, you’re killing him— or more like your expression is. How can you be so cute? Your shy smile—your eyes shining with pure joy and affection— it’s making his heart swell with a softness that he sure isn’t used to—and it’s like a punch in the face.

But he can’t let you see this weak side of him. He can’t possibly let you know that he’s pathetic without you.

“ - Well, well, look who’s back to see this poor, miserable man.”

He stops right in front of you slightly leaning forward.

“ - You make it sound like I abandoned you.” You laugh softly hearing the dramatic tone dripping from his voice. But there’s something else in it—something that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“ - Oh, but you did.” He grabs his chest like what you just said hurt him deeply.

“ - Without any pity for my poor soul, you left me all alone for an entire week.” You tilt your head at the tone in his voice. It was back. That sad tone—no, not sad. Sorrow? You just couldn’t put your finger on it.

“ - I was sick… sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

The way your voice softened to reassure him, how you’re actually scearching for his gaze to make sure he’s okay, it must have done something to his heart, because before you even know, one of his hand is on your chin, tilting your face toward him. But his touch feels hesitant—because in reality he knows that being so close to you, feeling you skin under his fingertips— this is a risky move—but he couldn’t stop himself.

Your hopeful gaze, the way your lips parts as if you wanted to say something but didn’t—

He’s down bad. He wants to hold you, to hug you and kiss you everywhere. You’re too cute for your own good. His heart is pounding in his chest as if it could burst any minute from now.

But Instead, he simply gives you an enigmatic smile, while his fingers slowly let go of your chin.

“ - It’s okay, mein liebling, you don’t have to apologize. I’m just happy you came back to me.”

And with that, he turns away, glancing at you one last before walking away.

“ - Wait—don’t go!” You grab his arm before he can get too far.

“ - Oh? Can’t live without me already?”

You look down, nervous and unsure, blushing slightly as you bite your inner lip. And something in Kaiser snaps. Something he’s been trying—desperately—to control. He can’t stand it anymore. You’re just too fucking cute, too precious.

“ - Fuck…”

He quickly grab your face, pressing a gentle kiss on one of your cheek, then the other. You then close your eyes as you feel him moving toward your left eye, then the right one.

“ - I need you… I need you so badly in my life. I can’t resist anymore… please…”

Your eyes went wide and you feel your heart swell in happiness— you even tear up from the emotions. Without wasting any more time, you wrap your arms around his head , pulling him into a tight hug with his head resting in the crook your neck, a relieved smile on his face.

Silently, you hug each other.

✮ The way you pout sometimes, when you’re looking for him silently scanning the room with your eyes. And the way they instantly light up when you finally spot him— god you’re so cute. It always makes him want to grab you, bite your shoulder or cover your face with kisses.

✮ The way you only look at him— like the other players don’t even matter. The way you massage his shoulders during breaks to help him relax, while you completely ignore the other players— giving him all your attention. It never fails making him feel like he’s special. Your favorite. God, the way you always run to him first with that sincere and genuine smile of yours, shining so brightly on your face. You’re just so perfect in his eyes. To the point, the only way he can manage to regain control is by nearly choking himself.

✮ He likes to tease you. He noticed how much his teasing fluster you and seeing you blush and whimper like that with your adorable doe eyes when he gets close to you makes his heart explode. And he’s addicted to this sensation.

✮ The way you get jealous is so endearing to him—you’re just like an angry little kitten when fans and random people try to flirt with him. He doesn’t even look at them—because they’re not you after— still, he can see how much it pisses you off. Well it’s fine by him. He gets to have you all for himself right?

You and Kaiser are heading toward the training ground entrance, chatting about you are in such a good mood. Well— until a sudden screech resonated in your ears. Of course it’s yet another fan trying to get his attention, screaming his name and saying all kinds of bullshit about how he can “get it.”

You turn around instantly, glaring daggers at whoever said that. Violence isn't an answer. It's a question— the answer is yes. Fully understanding this quote you prepare yourself to throw hands. But before you can even take a step, Kaiser stops you with a smirk. And, really, he doesn’t fucking know where he finds the strength not to pinch your puffed up— angry cheeks. So damn pretty.

With some convincing, you finally step inside the training ground holding in hand. However, the second you’re out of the public eye, you slam him against the nearest wall, gripping his collar.

“ - When are you going to ask me out?” You hiss, frowning and lips pressed into an adorable pout.

Kaiser smirks chuckling as he tilts his head slightly.

“ - Oh, but Liebling... He then slides his hands on your hips, pulling you closer while lowering his head in the crook of your neck. You feel his teeth faintly grazing your skin before pressing a soft kiss on the same spot. You're already mine.”

#⟢inking waffle⟣#blue lock michael kaiser #blue lock #bllk kaiser #kaiser michael #michael kaiser #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x y/n #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser headcanons #blue lock headcanons #blue lock drabbles

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darlingdaisyfarm · 2 days ago

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⋆｡‧˚ʚ 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⸝⸝ 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒚, 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍, 𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅 ⸝⸝

a/n: i was thinking about this for a while and just HAD to write it!! Bill's a little freaky but ok. everyone kisses differently and i love how much that says about them :) maybe i'll do a part two tho idk if it'll be smth nsfw or no. also sorry if photos are random i just think it suits gravity falls aesthetic plus i was out of ideas (i want summer)

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒚

Stan’s got a thing for forehead kisses, always has, always will. they’re effortless and easy. a quick press of his lips when he passes by, a habit more than anything. he’s a busy man, always moving, always going somewhere, but that doesn’t mean he won’t grab you, tilt your head up and press a warm kiss right to your forehead

it's a way of saying “i gotcha” without actually saying it. doesn’t matter if he’s in a rush, grumbling about tourists, wiping down the counter. he’ll keep you safe. he swears it.

big, warm hands cupping your face. his lips are warm, his stubble scratches against your skin but the moment you start to melt he’s gone.

he pulls back, smirks, winking at you

“gotta give the tourists their money’s worth, sweetheart.” you hear his voice through the walls of the Mystery Shack, always so confident as he launches into his usual con. “step right up, folks! come see the eighth wonder of the world!”

but, oh, don’t let that fool you. he’s a tease, and he knows it.

he’s got another favorite, too

your neck

he makes a game of it. a teasing peck when he leans in to tell you something. a slow, tender kiss at the curve of your throat when he’s feeling particularly smug, when he’s got you pinned between him and the kitchen counter, when he knows you’re hanging on to every little touch.

“heh. what’s that face for, baby? didn’t think id be so smooth, huh?”

he’s a biter, too, making you shiver. he needs to feel the way you react beneath his hands. he likes knowing he can fluster you. likes leaving you breathless, just for him.

and if he’s feeling real bold, his lips might stray lower, making a slow, lazy path along your collarbone. “what? somethin’ wrong? i think I’m right where i wanna be.”

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅

Ford kisses like a man who’s spent most of his life not kissing anyone, like someone who’s read about it, thought about it, imagined it, but never quite gotten the chance. but when he feels the warmth, the closeness, how intimate it is he can’t stop.

he kisses your hands first, always. fingertips, knuckles, the inside of your wrist where your pulse flutters

your shoulders come next. he’ll press his lips there absently while he’s working, when you’re standing beside him reading over his notes. sometimes, he forgets himself, murmuring a distracted “mm, love you” against your skin before his smart brain catches up with his mouth. and oh the way his ears burn when you point it out

also when he’s overwhelmed, when the world is too much, when his mind is too loud, he rests his forehead there, brushing his lips against the curve of your shoulder. he just wants to feel you close

but when he’s really feeling it, when he’s past overthinking and just wants you, it's your calves. he kneels. Ford takes his time, hands so big, shaking a little as he presses his thumb into muscle while tracing a slow path from your ankle up, up, up with his lips

“you never let me appreciate you properly.” he worships you. lets you feel it in every single careful, thorough kiss.

𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒓

Bill isn’t bound by flesh, but he's bound by desire

he loves mirrors. loves floating there behind you, his golden triangle form looming over you, all-seeing eye staring right into your soul. oh he loves the way you shudder when you see yourself in the reflection, when you see him, wrapping around you

thousands of long, dark limbs curl around your waist, a hand-like thing at your jaw, tilting your head to the side, exposing your skin to him. Bill's mouth appears where his eye should be and oh, that tongue. . .

“nervous, sweet thing? don’t be. i’ll take real good care of ya.”

his tongue is long. obscenely so. it drags over your throat, a slow, hot stroke that sends a jolt straight through you. you hear him laugh delightfully against your skin, because he knows exactly what he’s doing

“aww who’s my favorite little human, huh? who’s my delicious little slab of meat?”

kiss after kiss, mark after mark, he makes you watch. makes you see the way he devours you.

and he doesn’t stop at your neck, oh no, no, no. he follows your spine. mouth pressing open. dragging his long tongue against the curve of your back, your chest, your stomach

“every inch of you is mine. dont you forget that.”

𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒎𝒄𝒈𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕

Fidds kisses every part of you that makes him smile.

“well, ain’t you the cutest lil’ thing!”

your cheeks. he just can’t help himself, he sees your face and boom! instant smooch. one cheek, then the other, peppering you with quick, excited little kisses

he giggles into kisses. always, always grinning. pecks to your cheek when he’s working, smooches to your temple when you bring him a snack, laughter between every single kiss because he can’t believe his luck.

“gotcha! hehehe, ya oughta see the look on yer face!”

your nose is next. he thinks it’s adorable. boop. peck. boop. peck

“who’s the cutest thing in the whole dang world? ohhhh, that’s right, it’s you!”

sometimes he’s so excited he forgets to aim and accidentally bumps his nose against yours, which only makes him laugh more

but the most special place, the sweetest is your eyelids.

he does it when you’re falling asleep, when you’re curling against him, feeling safe and warm. a press of lips to your closed eyes, so feather-light

“rest easy, darlin’. im right here.” and if he wakes up before you, if the morning sun is spilling golden across your skin, he does it again

because he loves you. because he just can’t help it

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moody-alcoholic · 2 days ago

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Cross My Heart

Part 12 - War Crimes

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic. CW: +18 content MDNI, Sex, PiV sex. AN: Believe it or not this is still a poly fic, I promise.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

Farah and Alex stick in the woodline, they’re looking out over the building. You’re not really sure you’re going to need them but at least you have backup if you do. This time Soap showed you how to use the radio.

“So what did Price say?” You ask as you walk down the farm.

“They made it across the border, on their way to Volgograd. They’ll be keeping in touch via Laswell.”

“Who’s that?”

“CIA contact.”

“CIA? I thought you were British? What are you doing with the Americans?”

“We go where we’re needed.” He says with a sigh. You shrug as you make it down to the perimeter wall. Soap swings his weapon over his back and pulls himself up to the top of the wall.

“C’mon.” He whispers, leaning back down to offer you his hand. You smile and take it, letting him pull you up to the top of the wall. When you’re on the other side you’re behind one of the garages.

“They store everything in the barn. There’s a loose panel round the back.” You say pointing through the gap between buildings at the massive industrial metal barn. Soap nods, you let him lead skirting round the perimeter of the farm. You use the shadows for cover only moving when you know it’s safe. It doesn’t take you long to reach the barn.

This is too easy, the place has less staff then you’ve seen before. There are still 2 guards on the front doors of the barn.

“Farah, how are we looking?” Soap asks into the radio.

“You’re clear, no movement.” Her voice comes back. Soap looks at you smiling and you push forward hugging the wall as you make it round to the back of the building. Just as you remember there is a loose perplex panel hanging off. Its loud as you move it but you assume the barn is empty on the inside. You’ve been watching it for a few hours before making your move and no one has been going in or out.

When you duck under the gap you come out into the massive barn. Anything that would have made you think this was a cattle barn has been removed. The place is now full of vehicles, ammo and weapons crates, different types of machinery and missiles.

You wait for Soap to come through before follow him over to them. They look new, not like the old soviet ones you’re used to seeing. Some of them even have the American flag printed on them, although most of them have been scraped off or painted over. As you walk round the smaller ones you make it to some bigger ones.

These ones look older, you’re not sure how old though. They’re different then the stuff you’ve ever seen. Soap looks back at you frowning as you follow him over. You walk over to a table with tools on it, there's papers strewn around.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Soap says as his hand runs over one of the missile heads. You look down at the papers, the only thing that sticks out is the yellow and black radiation sign. You swallow hard looking back at the huge missile in front of you.

“Soap. These-” You’re too shocked to speak. You pick up a piece of paper off the table. “These belong to Makarov.”

“Farah, the missions off. We’re leaving, there’s nothing we can do here.” Soap says, you can’t tell if he sounds more angry or sad.

“Why, what's happened? Is the place empty?” She asks. He turns to look at you holding down the button on his radio.

“No, it’s worse. Makarov has nukes.”

“Say again?” Alex asks.

“There’s nuclear warheads here. We can’t do anything without setting them off.” Soap says. You fold the paper up and put it in your pocket.

“Your exit is still clear. Get out of there.” It's almost like she had no emotions about the whole thing.

“Wait.” You say grabbing Soap’s arm. “There has to be a computer here, we can find out what Al Qatala were shipping over the border if it wasn’t missiles.”

“It’s too risky.” He says.

“What if Makarov has nukes in Russia?” You say.

“We’d know if he had nukes in Russia” He says, you let go of his arm and he moves to the exit.

“You didn’t know there were nukes here.” You say.

“It’s not worth the risk, c’mon!” He snaps, reaching out to grab your arm and pull you to the exit. As you let him drag you, you see into a control room.

“Look.” You say digging your heels into the ground to stop him. “There’s a computer, let me check it.” He huffs looking round quickly.

“Quick.” he says, letting go of your arm. You smile and rush in, there’s no login option. You look for anything, something like a spreadsheet or order forms anything you think you could recognise. Finally after what feels like a few minutes you find what looks like an order request. They’ve tried to encrypt it but it must have failed for some reason.

“A few days ago. There was a shipment of warheads and stabilisers.” You say you're trying to translate, you have no idea what stabilisers mean, it’s not really the best translation and you’re being rushed.

“Nukes?” He asks, you look over at him standing guard on the door.

“It doesn’t say.” There’s requests for a bunch of different types of chemicals, names of things you don’t even recognise.

“He’s playing around with chemicals. I don’t know what any of this means.” You say, you see Soap hesitate, looking around before coming over to see. He scans the document for a second before pointing at something.

“Its elements, chlorine, phosphorus, hydrogen.”

“He’s making chemical bombs.” You say as a matter of fact.

“Soap you better be out there you’ve got incoming.” Farah says. Before you even have time to react you hear a door open. You both duck and you hear Arabic voices echo in the massive barn. You start taking your radio off handing it to Soap.

“I’ll distract them, then you can leave.” You whisper.

“Are you crazy, they’ll kill you.” He puts his hand out to stop you.

“I’ve talked myself out of worse situations. I’ve been here before, if they catch you they’ll kill you.” He sighs, taking it in his hands.

“Your weapon too.” He points. You shake your head.

“Might need to shoot my way out if they don’t believe me.” Before Soap can stop you you stand up. “Stay here, I'll get them out.”

“Good luck.” He calls as you make it to the door. You smile at him and walk round the corner where you can hear the voices.

“Finally. Do you know how long I have been looking for someone in this place?” You say walking towards them. Confidence is key, you can do this.

“Stay where you are!” One of them calls, they hold their weapons on you.

“Don’t shoot unless you plan on shipping my body back to Makarov.” You say, they look between themselves for a minute.

“You work for Makarov?” One of them asks.

“He sent me to find out why the next shipment is delayed.” You say putting your hands down and stepping closer to them.

“We’re working on it.” One of them says as they lower their weapons.

“We have half the staff we used to have. Most people have been sent to fight the ULF.” The other one says.

“Do you think I care about your staffing issues? That shipment was needed yesterday.” You say pointing at a random missile. “Who do I need to talk to to get some answers here?”

“We’ll take you.” They say turning. You nod following them out the barn. You don’t want to end up speaking to whoever is in charge, they will definitely be able to sniff you out. You hang back, the people escorting you are two wrapped up in their own conversation to notice you lagging behind.

As soon as they turn a corner you take your chance sneaking through the space between the 2 garages and round the back of the main building. You sneak through a gap in the wall. You hope Soap got out, you head towards the meeting point anyway.

It’s not long before you see Soap step out from behind the trees.

“Thanks.” He says handing you back your radio. You smile at him, putting it back on your hip. A few seconds later Farah and Alex step through the foliage too.

“Is it true they have nukes?” Farah asks, her composure is completely different now.

“Chemical weapons too. They’ve been shipping them into Russia.” Soap says.

“Are you sure?” Alex asks, frowning. “We haven't seen anything.”

“I saw a shipping order.” You reach into your pocket and hand Farah the piece of paper you picked up. She looks at it Alex leans over to look too. Before she has a chance to say anything alarms ring out from the farm. You look over at Soap pressing your lips together.

“Let's get out of here.” Alex calls. You nod and follow them deeper into the woods.

…

You’re not sure why the phone call with Price and Laswell is the most stressful part.

“You did what?” Price snaps.

“It was my idea.” You say, flicking your eyes up to Soap who’s been standing back from the table with his arms crossed, his body language has completely changed. Not the laid back Soap you’re used to saying.

“I don’t bloody care whose idea it was you’re supposed to be resting, recovering before you come out here.” Price lets out a sigh.

“I think we have other things to worry about.” Alex says.

“Alex’s is right. If the US finds out Al Qatala are shipping nukes over the border to Makarov and Konni we’re in trouble.” Laswell says.

“What’s the US’s response going to be to this?” Price asks.

“I don’t know but I would assume they do not want private militias or terrorist organisations having access to such weapons.” Laswell says.

“We don’t need the Americans invading here too.” Farah says.

“They don’t even know yet, but we need to tell them right. We can’t keep this to ourselves?” Alex says.

“No, we don't tell anyone! Not the Americans, not the British. We will deal with this problem ourselves.” Farah says.

“The ULF is not in a position to disarm nuclear warheads.” Laswell says her voice is more stern.

“Won’t make a difference if they’re all being shipped to Russia.” You say.

“We can’t let anymore come through. Whatever Makarov is planning we need to put a stop to it before the next shipment. When is it?” Price asks.

“3 days, although with the security breach it could be moved up.” You say. There’s silence.

“Laswell, any changes in Makarov’s movements?” Price asks after what feels like forever.

“No, as far as I can tell he’s still in Volgograd.” She replies.

“Okay, I’m sending Nikoli to pick you up. He’ll fly you out to Volgograd.” Price says, you look round at everyone. There’s a new person now, Nikoli.

“Copy.” Soap says. It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak since he finished explaining everything to Price.

“In the meantime stay put. I can’t be worrying about you getting yourselves killed.” Price says. “Send Laswell everything you know, we’ll speak soon.” There's a click on the line.

“The data you got from the base on the border arrived yesterday. I can go through it, I'll have what you asked for by tomorrow.” Laswell says.

“Thank you.” Farah says, before ending the call. You look over at Soap, he seems disappointed about something.

“You should get some rest.” Farah says her eyes flicking to Soap. You move over to him resting your hand on his arm.

“Let’s go. We should get something to eat at least.” You say looking up at him. His eyes land on you but they seem dark, distant. You don’t know if it's about the nukes or the response from Price but you’ve not seen him like this before. He nods and turns to leave.

He’s quiet while you get something to eat. Pushing food around his tray while you inhale whatever mush they’re serving. You talk, if not just to fill the dead air, you’re sure he’s heard some of the stuff before but he doesn’t even complain.

“I’m going to take a shower.” He says suddenly before getting up and moving away before you have a chance to say anything. You look down at the uneaten food on his tray.

…

You’re laid in the shared dorm room staring at the ceiling trying to think what he’s sad about. Or maybe he is just mad, maybe when he gets mad he goes silent. You feel like you don’t know him enough to judge him, or analyse him. A door opens and some people walk in, stripping their coats off and kicking off boots.

You turn over in bed trying to ignore the noise and turning on of lights. You’re not going to be comfortable here, you’re not going to be able to sleep. Not with everything going on in your head, and now all you can think about is Johnny.

You swing yourself out the cot pulling your boots back on and heading out the room with your coat tucked under your arm.

Johnny got his own room, maybe it’s because of his status, maybe it’s because Farah likes them. Whatever the reason, you would rather be with him then where you are right now.

When you make it to his door you hesitate, he told you where he was staying before you left. You let out a sigh and knock. You wait a few seconds before it opens, he’s standing there topless with a raised eyebrow.

“You okay?” You ask, swallowing the nerves.

“Are you?” He asks. You nod, he steps to the side inviting you in. As soon as you’re through the threshold his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against him.

“You’ve been quiet. Are you upset about something?” You ask, throwing your jacket over the chair. He lets out a long sigh burying his head in your neck. He doesn’t say anything, his hands running up your side, his touch is soft against your skin.

“Was it what Price said?” You ask, he spins you in his arms. You press up against him, his cheeks are flushed. He reaches down and kisses you. His hands run up your shirt to your breasts. You put your arms up in the air breaking from the kiss so he can pull your shirt over your head.

His kisses get deeper, more needy, his tongue running over your neck, across your collar bones. You moan out for him, his hands slipping past your waist band gently pulling your trousers down. His mouth locks round one of your nipples. He hums, nibbling and flicking your nipple. You push one of your hands through his hair.

“Christ love, fuckin’ sweet as sugar.” He breathes, dropping to his knees and looking up at you. Looking up at you with those deep blue eyes. His lips wet and shining as he pulls your trousers down. You spread your legs for him, as much as you can. He kisses your stomach, his hands grip your ass digging his fingers into the soft flesh.

His mouth continues to move down, his tongue hot, pressing against your skin, he moans and you continue to run your fingers through his hair.

“Johnny, bed.” You say. He looks up at you, one of your hands drops to stroke his cheek. He slowly stands back up until he’s towering above you. Your hands drop down to the front of his pants fiddling with his belt buckle.

He slowly starts to move you over to the bed, as soon as you reach it you gently push him down. He bounces on the cot, his mouth tipping open. You take a step back kicking your boots off and stepping out your trousers.

“Lay down.” You say. He follows swinging his legs into the bed and laying flat with his head on the pillows. “Think we’ll get interrupted this time?”

“Did you lock the door?” he asks, nodding towards it. You turn, going over and securing the latch. When you look back round he’s shimmed his bottoms off laying naked in the bed. You watch as his hand strokes up and down his cock exposing the red tip. You walk over to him, you swing your legs over him kneeling on his thighs. You replace his hands with yours, his head tips back as you slowly shuffle closer to his hips.

You don’t know if you’re helping, but this is the most vocal he’s been since you got back. You kneel up and he opens his eyes watching as you hover above him stroking up and down his cock. You smile at him before you ease yourself down on him.

He lets out a groan, his hands coming to rest on your thighs. They run up and down as you slowly begin to ride him. It doesn’t take you long to get into a steady rhythm, he watches you, his hands gripping you tighter and tighter with each thrust.

His gentle moans turning into grunts and pants. Before long you’re panting along with him, your heart starts beating faster in your chest. He feels good, the last person you had sex with was Ivan and that was nothing like this. It was just a transaction, this is different, he’s reacting to you, his touch is soft as is his gaze, his moans.

It makes you work harder, leaning over to run your hands over his chest, he has scars, a particularly nasty looking on his shoulder. Probably a bullet, you run your fingers over one on his chest.

“Make a habit out of getting shot?” You ask him between pants.

“Not really, just end up in sticky situations.” He says. You reach down and kiss him, rocking your hips on him. He breaks from the kiss, tipping his head back.

“Christ, perfect love.” He says, letting out a long breath. He’s bucking his hips in time with you. You’re getting close, the new angle pressing against the spongy spot inside you. You close your eyes arching your back trying not to dig your nails into him.

He grips you tighter, he’s getting closer, so are you. You sit back up straight bracing your hands on his chest. You moan with him, letting him control the speed with his hands gripping your thighs.

“Jesus.” He arches his back as he cums. You feel him throb inside you, he stops moving as you ride him through the orgasm, it only feels like a few seconds later when you cum to the feeling of him filling you up pushes you over the edge.

You fall against him, laying on his chest. He wraps his arms around you and turns you in the bed, when he slips out of you, you feel empty. He kisses your forehead then you turn over on your back.

He does the same letting out a long breath. He reaches down and pulls the blanket over you both, you turn to lean up against his chest wrapping your arm round his stomach.

“It wasn’t what Price said. He’s not really angry. He doesn't get angry anymore, at least not with us.” He says after a few seconds, his hand runs down your back.

“Leaving you at the farm. Not knowing if you would get out or not.” You look up at him. “You could have died.”

“So could you.” You say, you don’t know if that will help or not but it’s all you can think to say, you're surprised he even cared. “Besides I would have got out.”

“You’re too cocky, it’ll get you killed.” He says.

“You’re a soldier, you literally put your life on the line every day.” You scoff back.

“We’re trained.”

“Me too, in another world maybe I would have been like you.” You say running your hand across his chest.

“You served?”

“Military service is mandatory in Urzikstan.” You shrug.

“Not really your thing?” He asks.

“I’m not good at following orders. Used to being alone. I learned a long time ago that people you love can hurt you the most.” You sigh resting your head against his chest. He chuckles.

“What?” You ask.

“I know someone who said something similar to me once.” He says he tightens his arm around you.

“Yeah?” You ask, sleepy.

“Yeah, I think you’d like him.”

“Maybe one day I’ll meet.” You say relaxing against him. He kisses the top of your head.

“Yeah, maybe one day you will.”

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1-800-adore-me · 2 days ago

Text

| "Did I do good, honey?"

🍎 nsfw warning (18+) + tags: baby fever Caleb, dirty talk, inappropriate usage of evol abilities, edging (Caleb to you), fingering, cunninglingus, praise kink, pet names (pipsqueak, princess, baby girl, sweetheart, honey…), squirting, biting, grinding ( porn without plot | words: around 3.9k ) (AN: caleb would totally be into the fantasy of breeding you and having loving baby making sex. unfortunately no breeding for this fic but hopefully for the next one <3 caleb is just having his boydinner)

After Caleb finally confirmed his availability to hang out with you for the day, you decided that you wanted to try out a cafe with him. You told him that Tara mentioned it having the “most tastiest” lattes that Linkon had to offer and the pastries were to die for. Considering how excited you looked when you were telling him this, how could he ever say no to those giant puppy eyes of yours?

When you both arrived at the cafe, it was bustling with business. There was a line of people waiting outside of the cafe and there was a sense of apprehension coming from you. Are we going to wait forever? Should we just head back? I don’t want Caleb to feel like he’s wasting time waiting with me here…

As if he could sense your apprehension, Caleb patted your head with that soft smile that you were oh so familiar with. “It seems busy but hey, I wouldn’t mind waiting in line so long as this pipsqueak here can.” He’d chuckle, a delicate sound that was sent straight to your heart. “Don’t tell me that you’re so hungry that you can’t wait in line, hm?”

You frowned and playfully hit his arm. “As if! Come on, let’s hurry up before more people crowd up and take our spots then!”

Even though you were smaller than him, the amount of strength that you had when you grabbed his hand and dragged him to the line was akin to a thousand men. He let out an amused chuckle as he allowed you to do so, taking in any opportunity to feel your skin on his. The way your fingers locked perfectly with his made his heart flutter as it made him think back to the olden days where you were so clingy and needy for him to the point where you begged him to take you everywhere he went.

After waiting in line for what felt like hours, the both of you finally arrived inside the cafe. It had an inviting and warm atmosphere that quickly dissolved any sense of frustration building up inside of you. Once it was finally Caleb’s and your turn to order, you both decided on 2 slices of apple pie and 2 lattes. After the both of you had gotten your orders, you decided to head out. The inside of the cafe, although it looked cozy and sweet to relax in, was beginning to feel cramped with the amount of people endlessly pouring in. The original plan included the both of you spending the afternoon there but considering that it was only going to get busier, perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea to linger long. After a quick discussion, it was a better idea to just head back home for the day and watch movies as you enjoy your treats. Although it sounded mundane, today felt like a good day to be lazy.

Suddenly, a young girl grabbed the hem of your skirt. You looked down at her with a confused expression on your face, yet you held a warm smile towards her. Caleb stopped in his tracks, offering the small girl the same expression as well.

“Hello there, little one! Did you need something from me?” You say, now turning around to fully face her as you crouched down to her height. Her warm brown eyes observed your face for a moment, her fingers twiddling with each other. She seemed quite shy.

She hesitated before she spoke. “Miss… What do you have there? I saw that you ordered something that looked yummy but I don’t know what it is. Can you tell me?” Her eyes averted from yours for a moment before focusing them on you again as she pointed at the bag held in Caleb’s hand.

You let out a soft chuckle, as if her question was something peculiar. All of this nervousness to ask you what kind of goodies you bought? You patted her head as if to reassure her that she could relax around you. By magic, you could feel her shoulders relaxing.

“Well, why don’t I show you instead?” You say as you rummaged through the paper bag that Caleb was holding in his hand and showed her a box of 1 apple slice inside. “It’s an apple pie! This kind mister and I used to eat a lot of these when we were little like you and we heard that this cafe makes really good pies!” You handed it to her as she hesitantly accepted it - although confusion was written on her face. “Why don’t you have my slice then? We bought 2 so I can always share the other slice with him!”

The young girl’s eyes suddenly widened as her expression brightened up. She looked down at the box you just gave her and let out an adorable chuckle. “Are you sure, miss? I don’t want to take away your food!”

You furiously shook your head as you quickly got up. “Don’t fret about it! Like I said, I can just share with this mister right here!” You tapped Caleb’s chest, earning yourself a soft laughter from him. “You wouldn’t mind at all, right?” He looks at her and smiles, nodding.

“You heard her! Don’t worry about us, little missy!” He’d pat her head as well before looking at you. “Should we head on then? I don’t want our pie to get cold if we take too long to go back home.” Although there was his usual gentleness in his tone, there was something off - as if he was in a rush. You raised an eyebrow at him but thought nothing of it. You were also anticipating spending the day with him after all. Perhaps he felt the same way.

Both of you waved at the younger girl as you walked away. She shouted an adorable ‘Thank you!’ before she scurried away to find her parents. Caleb’s eyes lingered on the both of you for a moment before returning his attention on you. But something was different about his expression. He looked like he was distracted by something. You snapped your fingers in front of him in order to catch his attention.

“Are you okay, Caleb? Distracted by something?” You said, giving him a teasing smile. “Don’t tell me that you’re upset that you have to share with me. If you really want to, we can head back to the cafe and wait another 200 years so you don’t get grumpy!”

He laughed - his familiar, comforting gaze now on you. “Oh, pipsqueak. If we waited any longer in there, I might’ve had to hold you back from stealing the pastries and running off! Trust me, I don’t mind sharing with you at all. After all, didn’t I use to share all of my pie slices with you when we were younger? Gran would scold me all the time, saying that I shouldn’t give you everything I had!”

The two of you exchanged comforting nostalgic memories as you continued your way back home. Yet, you would notice that there was still a distracted expression on his face. Did I say something wrong? Did I upset him? You decided that you would ask him about it later. Right now, you just enjoyed the playful dynamic that you had going on with him.

When the both of you finally reached home, he set the bag down on the table as you grabbed the blankets and pillows needed for the evening’s session. After you both changed into your comfortable homebody outfits, you snuggled against his broad chest as he put an arm around you. The television was playing some romcom movie that you two thought sounded interesting - although, your attention was directed towards something else other than the screen.

“Caleb?” You gently called his attention. His eyes immediately turned from the screen to you.

“Hm? What is it, pipsqueak?” He replied in a gentle tone, matching yours.

“What’s been bothering you?” Your eyebrows lightly knitted together. “Ever since the cafe, you seem… distracted. Did something happen?” You put a hand on his cheek and he laid his own hand on yours, deepening the skinship. He turned his face into your hand and smiled into it, laying a brief kiss on you.

He gave a small hum. “I had an interesting thought, that’s all.” His tone was more playful now as he couldn’t help holding back that teasing grin he always had.

You let out a groan, although it was a much more exaggerated one. “Tell me now! What is it that’s bothering you? Is it something that I can help with?”

His eyes slightly averted from yours for a moment before focusing his gaze on your body - then onto your eyes again. Something changed in his eyes - something more akin to hunger. He laid another kiss on your fingers, then onto the back of your hand.

“You were being so kind to that little girl… You’re so gentle when you talk to kids. Makes me want to give you one.” He whispered ever so gently as he snaked his hand underneath the blankets and laid it on your stomach. He rubbed tiny circles around as he laughed.

“You would be good, wouldn’t you? I think about it sometimes… Me coming home to a tiny little you running around the house, causing a ruckus as we all laugh together.” His face inched closer to yours and that’s when you realized how hot your cheeks felt at the implications he was getting at. His beautiful, gorgeous eyes were intense to look into and you looked away for a moment, feeling like you would get lost in them if you stared for too long.

He didn’t stop talking. He continued with that low, husky voice of his now as his hands began travelling lower. “Wouldn’t you agree? Wouldn’t you like being pregnant with my baby? I’ll give you one, yeah? I know that you get lonely sometimes when I’m off on a mission so… I’ll give you a baby, hm? How does that sound, honey?” The only reason why he stopped talking was because his lips were busy on your neck, kissing and suckling on your soft skin. You let out a soft moan as you tilted your neck, granting him more access to it.

“Remember when we were kids and you said you wanted a big family when you grew up? 4 or more kids so they could all be friends with each other?” He was now licking your collarbones as he watched colorful bruises start to form on your skin. “You still want 4 babies, hm? I can give them to you if you’d like, yeah?”

Caleb’s naughty hands now dug past the hem of your shorts and his long, rugged fingers began rubbing your entrance through your panties. You could already feel yourself getting damp from the quick contact of his digits. Then he began rubbing your already hard clit with his thumb. Your clit, in response, was pulsing against his large digit.

“C-Caleb…! Aaah…!” You let out a breathy sigh. You grabbed his face and began kissing him now - locking your mouths together as you allowed your tongue to explore his. There was a sweet and bitter taste in his mouth as he had just recently drank his latte while the both of you were watching the movie. With his other hand that wasn’t busy pleasing you, he put it behind your head to deepen your kiss. Obscene noises of wet moans filled the room and it was the only thing that you could hear in your ears. Whatever was playing on the screen now was just background noises that you couldn’t even bother giving your attention to anymore. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to feel everything that was happening.

Your panties were getting damper and damper by the second, the fabric getting thinner and transparent now because of your slick. His gentle touches in contrast to how ferociously he was making out with you sent butterflies in your stomach. You couldn’t hold back a moan into his mouth, which made him grin.

“Caleb, please…! Touch me more!” You begged him as you broke away from his lips. A thin strand of saliva was the only connection from your separation and you held back the urge to lick your lips - lest you’d lose the only thing keeping you both together. His lips were wet and bruised and so were yours. You took off your panties, discarding them somewhere in the room. “Put your fingers inside, please! I need you right now, I need you so much!”

His breath hitched. His eyes were looking everywhere at you now, drinking in your desperation. Then, he chuckled - a sound that was rich and deep. “But should I?” He said, now taking away his hand from your wet and aching sex. “What if I don’t, hm? I’m the only one who can satisfy you, my love.” He licked one of his fingers that was covered in your slick. “And if I can’t satisfy you… are you going to cry? I can just leave you like this and walk away.” He’d chuckle.

As if he said something offensive, you jumped onto his lap and began grinding on his propped up knee. You didn’t care if your wet slick dirtied his pants, you needed to relieve your throbbing or else you’d go insane. When you soon realized that it wasn’t enough, you forcefully grabbed the hand that was pleasuring you and moved it back to your cunt. Then, you began grinding on it as well. The soft flesh of his hands felt better than his pants, you believe.

“Can’t you see how much I need you, Caleb?” You pleaded as you tried to entice something out of him with your pathetic cries.. “I’ve… I’ve always needed you. I need you in my life, Caleb. You’re the only one who can satisfy me. Please? Please?” You now leaned forward and began kissing his neck, mimicking what he did to you earlier. He let out a satisfied sigh as he tilted his neck, which you began nipping and suckling at. The wet sounds of your kisses and his pleased sighs made your head swirl.

“When did you learn how to get so naughty, hm? Was it because of me?” Just when you thought your pleas fell on deaf ears, you felt one of his fingers enter you. You were so wet that his fingers could easily allow themselves in without resistance. You let out a breathy moan next to his ear as you felt another finger slip itself in.

As his fingers fucked you, his other hand started to rub your clit as well. Overwhelmed by the stimulation of having both your hole and your bundle of nerves being pleasured, your hips began trying to move away. But just when you tried to move around, the gravity around you forced you to keep still.

- Caleb’s evol, you quickly realized.

You let out a frustrated and quiet sob as you were now being tortured with how good it felt. It was overwhelming, painful, and oh so good at the same time. Tears began falling from your eyes as the only thing you could do was continue holding onto him and moan pitifully into his ear. You could feel more slick travel down your thighs as he continued ravishing you with no hint of stopping. He licked your tears away and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, cooing you as he slipped in a third finger. Even though you were dripping with wet slick, the intrusion of a third finger began feeling like it was too much. You let out a choked moan as you wept.

“N-No more, Caleb. It’s too much- I’m too full…!” You pleaded.

He gently shushed you as he nibbled on your ear. “You’re doing so good for me, honey. You’re taking my fingers so well. Do you like them that much, princess? You like it when I fuck you so hard that you can do nothing but cry?” You hear him chuckle as he holds you closer to him. “You were always a crybaby, my love. I wonder if our baby will be a crybaby like you too?”

The image of you being big and round with his child was enough to send you over the moon. You could feel your thighs shaking as you prepared to release yourself onto his hands. You could feel the buildup of your climax getting bigger in your abdomen and just when you could feel yourself cum, you couldn’t.

Because he took his hands away.

“Ah- wha-!” You cried out as your climax was disturbed. Your frustrated and aching cunt throbbed at the absence of his long fingers. Caleb released his evol and you collapsed onto him, your knees weak from the sudden introduction of gravity again. He held you tightly against his chest as he laid another kiss on your forehead. Then, he set you down on the sofa with you laying down on your back. Dazed and frustrated from your lack of climax, you allowed him to move you however he’d like. You were suddenly aware of how huge and wide his sofa was.

Caleb looked at you with an innocent smile on his face. “I suddenly had a thought that maybe I was being too mean to you if I just made you cum on my fingers. I mean, wouldn’t you much rather prefer to cum in my mouth instead, honey?”

He spread your legs open with his hands, revealing the tasteful fruit that he couldn’t wait to consume. He went down to your cunt, smelling the musky aromatic smell as he observed your abused pussy. Your poor, swelled up clit was throbbing at how close his breath felt and your entrance that was soaked in your mouth-watering slick was shining beautifully from the sunlight cascading on you from the window. Caleb rubbed your thigh as he began kissing your inner thighs, each sensation sending electric shocks to you. You couldn’t hold back the quiet whimpers escaping from your lips.

Then, he bit down on the flesh. You let out a loud moan, your hands clutching the blankets that you were laid on. You could feel him suckling on the abused skin now as he tried to deepen the mark, before moving away from it. Then, he repeated the same thing to your other inner thigh. Your clit and pussy throbbed from the painful sensation yet you could feel yourself leaking more juices. You cried out again and began thrusting your hips upwards.

“Aaanh…Ah- Ah…! Caleb…!” You whined. “Hurry up already!”

He kissed your thighs. “Getting impatient, are we? How come you could handle waiting what felt like forever in line for the cafe but you can’t even be patient with me right now?” His stupid playful tone made you want to punch him. You let out a sound of frustration before gasping as you felt him lick your clit.

Soon, he began suckling on the small bud of nerves as he began fingering you again with two this time to start. - ‘You can handle two this time, right? You’re always so eager to take my fingers, baby. I’ll treat you good, yeah. You’re getting my fingers so fucking wet, honey.’ You opened your legs wider, allowing him full access to your cunt. Your head was thrown back as you felt his fingers curve upwards, stimulating your sensitive spot. It was scary at this point how well he knew how to break you with just a few fingers. You were being unravelled by him and he continued to consume every fiber of your being without hesitation. It also didn’t help how Caleb’s eyes never left yours as he drank up every face of pleasure you made. You averted your eyes a few times before succumbing to looking into his eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in those beautiful violets and your own numbing pleasure.

The wet sounds of his fingers fucking your tender hole was loud, as well as his moans enjoying his dinner. - ‘Princess, you taste so good… Mmm, could eat you for hours, honey. You’re being so good to me, baby.’ Your hole and your clit were never left alone as they were always receiving attention from Caleb. When he moved his mouth to your entrance and allowed his tongue to explore your soft insides, drinking up any slick that dared to leave your sobbing cunt, his fingers worked their magic in playing with your clit. And if he was attacking your clit with his soft tongue, his fingers would relentlessly fill you up.

You could feel yourself getting closer by the second. You tried to not let it show on your face but the man who was giving you the world was Caleb - the person who always knew what you were feeling. The embarrassing sounds that you were making also became louder and more erotic, as well as how your legs were shaking - signalling how close your climax was coming.

“Oouhh..! A-Ahhn..! C-Caleb! I’m gonna cum! Caleb, Caleb…!” You started chanting his name as if it was the only thing tying you down to staying conscious. He quickly grabbed one of your hands with his as he continued to eat you out, moaning into your cunt as he did so. - “Cum for me, baby. Give it all to me, sweetie. Give me all of you.” As you were riding out your orgasm, you tightly held onto his hand as he suckled your swollen clit and lapped up your pussy like a starved man. You began squirting, getting it all over his face and the sofa underneath you. Caleb watched you orgasm as he drank everything you - oh so graciously - offered him. After your climax, you whimpered as you felt him cleaning you up with his tongue - he licked your thighs and your swollen pussy, trying his best to get every nook and cranny that was still blessed with your juices.

Feeling worn out from your intense orgasm, the only thing you could do was lay down and look up at the ceiling. Hell, even trying to look at Caleb was too much work. After he was done cleaning you up, he laid down next to you and snuggled with you as if nothing happened.

“I’ll run a bath for you in a little bit, princess. But I want to cuddle first. I missed you, honey.” He said as he nuzzled his cheek against yours. You let out an exhausted sigh and gave him a peck on the forehead as you ran your hand through his soft brown locks. “Did I do good, honey? Did you feel good?”

You chuckled. “What do you think? You could’ve done better.” You joked as you rolled your eyes. He was quiet for a moment before leaning into your ear, his breath feeling hot against it.

“You think so? Want me to make you feel better right now then?” He said, then kissed the shell of your ear.

Your cheeks flushed a bright pink. You playfully pushed his face away. “I was just joking! I can’t even move right now, Caleb!” “So, you do admit that I made you feel good.” He chuckled as he pinched your nose. You scrunch your nose as you roll your eyes again, nodding.

“I guess. Now carry me to the bathroom and put me in the tub, handsome.”

When Caleb effortlessly lifted you up bridal style, he gently laid you in the tub after he removed all of your clothes and turned on the water. He hummed to himself as he ran his hand through the water, making sure that the temperature was just right for you. He had an obvious and huge tent in his pants, along with the wet spot from your leaky cunt from earlier as well at the top of his pants. You lick your lips as your mouth watered at the idea of taking him whole.

You grab his arm and pull him down to your height. “Since you treated me well, how about I return the favor?” You whispered in his ear.

He looked at you for a moment before grinning as he started to take off his clothes. “If you’re offering, who am I to reject then, my love?”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x mc smut #caleb x reader #lads caleb #lads #caleb x you #caleb x y/n #lnds caleb #caleb smut

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just-wrting · 3 days ago

Text

Think I Like You

Title: Think I Like You

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Half Mink!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Master List

Summary: You try to figure out why Zoro won’t take you seriously even if the answer isn’t what you expect.

A/N: I’m not dead! I’m just all over the place with a lot of stuff. I sleep a lot which I can’t tell if it’s a sleep issue or a depression issue, but I’m always tired. I still work full time but also do school part time now. Plus I’ve still got a boyfriend! But he wanted to end this weekend on 1062 which means Zoro brainrot for me.

You stretch and roll over, burying your face into your pillow. Ever since you changed where you nap, you've started sleeping so much better. Something about being more comfortable or something like that. The actual reason doesn't really matter. You're just happy you're sleeping better.

"You owe me for this."

"I don't owe you shit. Not my fault you nap in my spot." You reach up and pat his cheek. "What do I need to do for you to be quiet?"

"I already told you, you owe me."

You open your eyes just a little. "What could I possibly owe you? I don't like to drink, I don't keep money, not to mention I can't even tell if you're the type of man to be swayed by physical charms. What could I possibly offer you, Roronoa?"

"For starters, you can start referring to me by my name like everyone else does." He looks pissed. "You should fight me."

"You didn't take me seriously last time, Moss Head. Why would I bother trying again?"

He pulls on your ear. "I said like everyone else, not like how that idiot says my name."

You ignore him and bury your nose in his stomach. Dinner has been started, and if you don't ignore it you'll end up going to the kitchen early. It's less that Sanji minds seeing you, it's more of the fact that you struggle to suppress the urge to knock shit off the counter and dip your fingers in the sauces. Such is the life of someone like you.

You let yourself doze a little. You can still hear what's going on, but just like every common house cat, you ignore it. What you can't ignore is the gentle scratching behind your ears. As far as you remember, no one has done this since you were a kid. You don't hate the feeling, but you start to feel flustered over it. Ever since you left home, you've made sure affection comes at your own terms so you haven't had this in years.

There's no point in asking him to stop. You're clearly fond enough of him to nap on him, what's the big deal about getting ear scratches? Besides, he's the type to get embarrassed and loud if you point out you're awake. That's not something you feel like dealing with right now. You're too touch starved to complain.

Despite the comfortable conditions, you don't actually fall asleep. You spend the next forty-ish minutes pretending to sleep, waiting for dinner to be done. The time passes by relatively quickly, though you're sore afterwards. You couldn't bring yourself to even twitch, worried that he'd stop.

The dinner call goes off, and you pretend to wake up. You have no clue why you're acting, but it was too late to stop twenty minutes ago. Standing up, you stretch halfheartedly. At first, he doesn't say anything. It's only once he catches up to you that he starts asking questions.

"What's the deal with the noise you make?"

Raising an eyebrow, you look at him. "I don't snore, so I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm not stupid, I can tell you aren't snoring. The other noise, the one that's relaxing. I can usually feel it when you're laying directly on me."

"What do you mean? The other noise?" You pause to think it over before it clicks. "We aren't talking about that."

You know what he's referring to. It's not like it's something you can control, but it's still embarrassing. Of all people to be you around, it's been Zoro. No one on the crew has judged you for being what you are, it's just embarrassing to be a mix. Your mother's human, and your dad's a mink. You look decently human, just with a few quirks.

"What do you mean, we aren't talking about it? We're talking about it right now."

Your face starts to heat up. "I mean I don't want to tell you."

His eyes narrow in suspicion. "Why not? Is it supposed to be embarrassing or something?"

"If I say yes, will you drop it?"

"Yeah, sure."

His face instantly relaxes. If you could smack him, you would. The last time you tried, it hurt. So you put your hand on his shoulder and give him a push. The only thing it does is cause his other shoulder to hit the doorframe, but you use it to march past him.

You take your seat, leaning back against the armrest of the booth seat. Kicking your feet up on the space next to you, you watch the crew carefully. Everyone is smiling and in a good mood, so you don't have anything to worry about. You don't ever admit it, but you care about them even if it's difficult to show.

Zoro picks up your legs and lays them in his lap. Since it doesn't seem to bother him, you're tempted to just sit normally. You have no idea what's going on in that head of his, and you doubt he does either. However, you actually do enjoy touching him, so you'll stay like this for now.

There's more commotion as Sanji brings out the plates. The one you're most interested in is a large tuna fillet that gets set in the middle of the table. You can't stop staring at it, the tender flesh a beautiful golden color. It's hard to tell if it smells better than it looks or looks better than it smells. Sanji has never failed to impress you with his dishes, so you can't wait to sink your teeth in.

Before you can even start to load your plate, Sanji sets a small plate in front it you. It contains a disk of packed rice, some avocado slices, and chunks of fish. You're assuming it's more of the tuna. Whatever it is, it was made specifically for you.

You don't mind the special dishes. You'll try almost everything, and unlike Luffy, you'll eat it slow enough to give a review. Everything tastes good so you don't get the point, but it probably makes Sanji feel better to have honest reviews and not just someone who loves food fawning over his cooking. Though if you're not careful, you worry that he'll start having write an essay about it.

"And for you, a special tune tartare! If you like it, I'll make it again for everyone some time."

You nod. "Yeah, I'll let you know. I always do. Not that you've ever made a bad dish."

You can't stop the tip of your tail from flicking back and forth in mild annoyance. By the time you get halfway through the tartare, all of the fillet is gone. It's not like it's the biggest deal, you just wish you could've had some of that too. It's not fair that since you got a special tuna dish, that you don't get the other one.

"If you tell me what that noise was, I'll share," Zoro teases while pointing at you with a bite of tuna. "I bet you can't resist answering now."

"I'm a cat. I was making a normal noise that cats make. Consider it a compliment."

You lean forward and take the bite of tuna. It's flakey and melts on your tongue with a slightly sticky glaze that has hints of honey and garlic. You lick your lips savoring the balance of flavors. None of them are overwhelming, but it's hard to gauge in just one bite what you think about it.

"You can't just," Zoro stutters. "You can't just take the food off of my chopsticks. Get your own!"

You grab his wrist and lick the glaze off of the chopsticks. It feels like there's another flavor there that you can't quite tell what it is. It's some sort of herby flavor, that while you enjoy, you can't pin down.

"Here!" Zoro doesn't look at you as he shoves his plate towards you. "Just take it since I don't want your germs."

You want to tease him, but you'll leave him alone. It's better to leave it in front of other people since Robin's insinuations are becoming too much. For now you'll just eat the food. Later, you'll tease him.

—-

"You're still not taking me seriously, Roronoa. Why did you want to fight if you won't take me seriously?"

You lunge, hand reaching for his throat. He blocks it with his arm, causing your claws to dig into his skin. Using his arm as leverage, you pull yourself closer to him, swinging your sword at his side. His parry is effortless, and he looks bored. It's so aggravating that he won't take you seriously in a simple sparring match. Perhaps he'd take you more seriously if you actually tried to kill him.

You disengage before leaping over him. This time, you swing your sword at his neck as he turn around. It's once more blocked, and he smirks. You're just barely faster than him as he takes a halfhearted swing at your sword arm with his other arm. You catch the flat of the blade with your knuckles, steeling your arm against the shock wave of the blow.

Kicking your leg out in front of you, you aim for his knees, intending to bring him down. Despite the grip on his sword, he catches your ankle in his hand and pulls your leg to the side. You let your body pivot with the movement, twisting until your leg is behind you. You yank your foot forward as hard as you can, pulling him into your back.

He's quick to let your ankle go and grab your shoulder to steady himself. In a fluid motion, you swing your arm and grab your dagger. You flick it in your fingers and thrust towards his ribs. His hand trails down your arm to your wrist and pins it behind your back. He gives it a squeeze trying to get you to drop the dagger.

"Are you actually trying to kill him?" Nami tells from the side. "Are you stupid?"

You roll your eyes, sweeping your leg behind you and hooking Zoro's. Despite your efforts, you can't get him off balance, only causing him to take a step back. By now you're getting pissed off. You aren't a bad swordsman, it's just that this jerk is ridiculously smart in battle. This is probably the only time he'll use his brain all day.

You jerk your head back, hitting his jaw. The sound of the impact makes you regret it, knowing you'll feel like shit later. You manage to free yourself as he loosens his grip, and you elbow him as you twist back around. The only reason you're still going is because he won't take it seriously. It's like he finds it funny that he's able to fend you off so easily.

You rush towards him, tossing your weapons to the ground. Digging your claws into his shoulders, you use your momentum to knock him over. It only works because he's too busy rubbing his jaw to notice you in time. The two of you tumble to the deck, and you lean in as close as you can.

"Why won't you take me seriously? Is this just a game?"

Faster than you can blink, he's able to flip and pin you under him. He's even more smug than the last time you sparred, and you can't tell if you want to smack him or if you should kiss him. Not that you could smack him, he's got your hands above your head. While kissing him would let you win, you're not willing to fight that dirty in a friendly match.

"You're a brute, Zoro. You can't just manhandle the other crewmates just because you feel like it." Sanji pulls him off you. "If you were in the mood to fight I would've taken the offer."

You tune out their fight as Chopper checks your head and shoulder. You're a bit sore now, but you'll be fine in a few hours. Nothing keeps you down for long, even if it's usually just you going against the doctor's orders. The only thing actually bothering you is the fact that for a moment you thought he was going to answer your question. Though the fact you thought about kissing him is also an issue.

It's not difficult to figure out why you thought that way. Your parents made sure that you knew to find someone strong enough to protect you in case of something happening, even if you knew how to take care of yourself. That, and he's easy on the eyes. Even if he's an idiot half of the time, that doesn't matter. Your parents never said to find a smart man, just a strong one. Everything else was your choice.

Chopper hands you a damp towel, and you use to clean under your claws. Tiny spots of blood rest under them, probably from when you grabbed Zoro. If the pinprick wounds bothered him, he doesn't show it. He's too busy trying to shove Sanji off the boat. As long as you stay dry, it doesn't matter if they end up overboard. They can both swim.

After a few minutes, Nami separates them. You watch her glare at the men before you stalk off to take another nap. The sun is just starting to dip below the water, so finding a nice patch of sun to lick your figurative wounds isn't possible. You'll have to settle for sulking in some weird spot. Perhaps it's time to torment the fish in the tank once more.

Lounging on the sofa is probably the second best place to nap. The sound of the tank constantly humming while you watch the fish swim in tempting circles puts you at ease. You stretch out fully, let your arm and tail hang off the edge. The tip of your tails twitches slightly as you trace the movement of a particularly large bass. That should be tomorrow's lunch, perhaps in a stew. Even though it hasn't been long since you had food, your mouth starts to water at the idea of seafood stew.

"He really doesn't take you seriously, does he?"

You recognize Robin before she even speaks. Her stride is longer than Nami's with her steps being lighter than everyone else's. Not to mention she smells floral. It's never overpowering, but it allows you to pick her out from the crew.

"I guess not. Maybe I should've gone for his other eye."

She laughs, sitting down next to you. You aren't opposed to the company, especially if it's Robin. There something about her that puts you at ease.

"I don't think he'd like that," she muses. "What did he say to you?"

You scoff. "He didn't say anything. Bet he's too proud to take me seriously, like the jerk he is."

Robin smiles knowingly. "I'm sure he has his reasons. Maybe you should talk to him, just the two of you. I'm sure he'd tell you when no one else is around."

You frown. "What is he? A shy school boy? There's only one reason for not taking me seriously in a fight, and it would be him not thinking I'm even worth it. No point in having him tell me that in private, he can just keep it to himself."

She reaches out her hand, gently brushing your hair from your eyes. "Then what do you think about him?"

"I think he's an idiot who swapped out his brain for more muscles."

"Let me rephrase that. What feelings do you have about him?" There's a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "At least figure that out."

You shift so you can place your head in her lap. "I guess he's fine most of the time. I don't know why I enjoy his company, I just do. He's never really pushed me on anything, just sort of letting me do my own thing. Not to mention he's comfortable. As much as I hate admitting it, I suppose I like being around him."

She continues to brush your hair with her fingers silently. It's one of those tactics of hers. She'll stay quiet until you keep talking.

"What do you want me to say? He's nice enough to me, I can respect him as vice-captain, and he's decent looking. Everything else I think about him is my little secret." You're starting to get irritated talking about him. "Actually, I think I'll go talk to him now. I'll drag that answer out of him if I have to."

Robin looks at you with worry as you sit up. "Perhaps this is just a misunderstanding. What are you going to do if his answer isn't what you expect?"

"I'll deal with it when it happens," you say with a shrug. "It's not like it'll be anything surprising."

You take your time wandering around the ship. It's not hard to tell where he is, you'd rather put it off for a little bit longer. This weird feeling in your chest has been bothering you a lot lately. It can't be ignored anymore, but that doesn't mean you're one hundred percent ready to admit it.

Thankfully, he's exactly where you knew he was. You won't tell him that you enjoy finding him when he's working out. Something about him being shirtless is nice. Not that he usually bothers with wearing a shirt, so you can usually just stare whenever you want. Maybe he just likes the attention, and you'll gladly give it to him.

As soon as he leans back on the bench, you sit on his lap and stretch out over his torso. You rest your chin on your hand, pressing your palm on his chest. Watching as he sets the barbell back on the stand, you wait for him to start talking. It would be fine with you if he kept working out, but he seems opposed to the idea.

"Is bothering me amusing to you?"

You tilt your head slightly. "You're not cute when you're mad, so no. I was just hoping we could talk."

"You don't have to sit on me to talk."

"That's just personal preference. Besides, you tend to avoid talking about certain things and this keeps you from leaving." you say with a Cheshire grin. "I enjoy your touch, so this is ideal for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zoro looks away from you. “You keep saying weird stuff.”

You don’t even blink as you respond, “I enjoy your touch. That’s what that means. I’ll even be nice and tell you the answer to your question from earlier. As a cat, I sometimes purr when I feel comfortable and content. Though some cats purr when scared.”

“So you’re scared of me? Is that what that means?”

“No. The only thing particularly scary about you is the fact that you’re an idiot.” Your ears twitch. “But since I answered your questions, you can answer mine. Why don’t you fight me seriously?”

He looks at you for just a moment, before looking at the ceiling. It’s like he’s embarrassed by the answer and is hoping you’ll forget about it. However, you’ve already made up your mind about what you want. You’re just waiting to see what he’ll do.

“I-,” Zoro cuts himself off to hide behind his hand. “I could hurt you really bad. That would be bad.”

Your tail swishes on the ground in mild irritation. “So you think I’m incapable of defending myself. That would explain the times you’ve interrupted my fights.”

“It’s not that!” He sits up, wrapping an arm around your waist to make sure you don’t tumble to the ground. “I don’t want you to get hurt if I’m around. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe.”

You’re nose to nose with him now. Even at this distance, he can’t seem to make eye contact. You can smell the liquor from dinner on his breath. It would be so easy to close the gap and kiss him, but for some reason the thought makes you nervous. You’re usually close to him, so why is this time different?

“Why should you keep me safe?” you mumble. “Do you save me out of obligation for the crew? If so, aren’t there better people on the crew to swoop in and save?”

“Does it matter why?” The way that his lips almost touch yours as he speaks makes you flustered.

You close your eyes. “Yes. I don’t want to get my hopes up if you think of me as nothing more than a burden of a crew-mate. Just be honest with me for once, Zoro.”

You don’t regret the soft begging tone as you say his name. You regret not saying his name in that almost pathetic tone sooner. The way that he kisses you makes your head spin. Even though he’s holding you close, you have to wrap your arms around his neck to make yourself feel more steady.

Zoro kisses you like he’s been wanting to for months. His hold on your waist makes it impossible to move, and the way that his hand grips yours hair makes you moan. You can barely breathe as his tongue explores your mouth, your grip on reality slipping as his fingers dig into thigh.

Even when he pulls away to let you breathe, you find yourself lost in the way he touches you. Sloppy kisses trail down your jaw and neck, coming to an end with his teeth on your collarbone. The way that his fingernails scrape gently against your scalp as he tugs lightly on your hair causes you to expose more of your chest to him as you lean into his palm.

You’ve never felt like this before. Hot, heavy, and breathless all while being lightheaded. You wouldn’t have it in you to resist him if he wanted more. In fact, the pathetic words of begging him to ravish you weigh heavy on your tongue. Yet he just continues to press kisses along every inch of skin exposed to him, ignoring how hard you’re panting as little moans escape you. He’s oblivious to everything but the act of kissing you.

Zoro only pauses after you tug his hair harshly. You didn’t mean to, you couldn’t help the reaction to him biting down on the side of your neck. You couldn’t even help the strangled groan that leaves you as he leaves a mark. For some reason, your body is shaking like you have some sort of withdrawal.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough and low.

You kiss him again, desperate to get as close as you can. Desperation courses through your body as you realize just how badly you’ve waited for this. You’ve spent months being almost attached to him so it makes sense, you just can’t figure out how you missed it. The long nights spent curled up in his lap, face buried in his neck has left you craving him so much.

You whine as he pulls away, unwilling to let this stop. It doesn’t even matter anymore how prideful you’ve been up until this. It’s so obvious how much you want him. Nothing could hide it anymore.

“Zoro.” You don’t even open your eyes. “Please.”

He gives your thigh a tight squeeze as you whimper. You can tell that what little restraint he has is fading with each whine of his name. Yet he’s able to pause and hold you close, breathing heavily into your ear. Eventually, he covers your mouth with his hand, stifling your words.

“Not like this,” Zoro says, his tone meaning he’s serious. “If you really want it, I want to make it special.”

“S-special?” You don’t know what that means. When was the last time someone told you that you were special? “How?”

“Just better than in the exercise room on the Sunny. You deserve to be treated better than that.”

You nod, and he lets his grip loosen. Despite the fact that nothing much happened, you feel drained. Maybe it’s because you really enjoy naps, but the exhaustion is hitting you hard. You don’t hide it, letting yourself go limp as Zoro picks you up.

“You can sleep in my bunk tonight. Not that it matters if I say you can as you usually show up anyway.”

You caress him jaw before giving his cheek a kiss. “Thank you, Zoro.”

The flush on his cheeks goes unnoticed by all beside you. Not that it matters, you don’t want to hide your feelings for him any longer. If he agrees to it, you’ll parade your feelings for the world to see.

#reader insert #one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #zoro x reader #zoro #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x reader #op zoro

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