#this is much longer than i intended it to be...

[pbaz7]

FLIGHT 2136: PART 2

paige x azzi

warning: sexual content

word count: 12.8k

A/N: Whewww. This was a little fun but also a little stressful to write. It’s a little different from what I’ve done. I feel like I wanna make this a few more parts lowkey🫣. Please let me know what you think and leave live reacts if you can 🫶🏼🫶🏼 Also I rushed a little so let me know if I made mistakes lol

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3rd Person POV - Thursday

The energy in the gym was steady, the familiar rhythm of shootaround settling everyone into their pregame routines. UConn’s team moved through drills under CD’s watchful eye, the absence of Geno noted but not dwelled upon much. It wasn’t unusual for him to step away, and CD kept everything running just as smoothly in his place.

Azzi focused on her shots, the repetition grounding her as she moved from mid-range to three-point territory. The sound of sneakers squeaking and basketballs bouncing filled the air, teammates calling out to each other as they cycled through drills. It felt like any other game day prep. The energy was great, everyone was excited. Then Geno walked in.

Azzi’s eyes flicked toward the entrance automatically, expecting to see him stride in alone. Instead, he wasn’t alone.

Paige was with him.

Azzi paused mid-shot, the ball bouncing off the rim as her brows pulled together. Across the court, Geno and Paige spoke casually, their body language familiar. They weren’t just exchanging pleasantries—this was a conversation that carried a purpose.

Next to her, KK caught the shift in Azzi’s focus and followed her gaze.

"Why is Paige Bueckers here?" KK asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

Azzi turned her head slightly. "You know her?"

KK gave her a look like the question was ridiculous. "You don't?"

Azzi’s expression remained blank.

KK scoffed. "Girl, boo. I forgot you don’t ever watch the sport we play.” She shook her head before continuing. “Paige was one of the top players in the country in high school. From Minnesota. She could’ve gone anywhere she wanted. UConn wanted her bad—but then she kinda just… disappeared. Didn’t commit anywhere on signing day.”

Azzi’s gaze was still locked on the other side of the court, where Geno and Paige had now settled onto the bench chairs, talking still. Paige was nodding at something Geno said as she stared ahead, seemingly just looking at the opposite wall.

Azzi shifted on her feet, arms crossing slightly. “And now she’s here. With Geno.”

"Right," KK echoed, before smirking. “Maybe she’s your competition.”

Azzi didn’t look away from Paige as she said, “If anything, she’s your competition.”

KK turned to her, eyebrows raising high at the comment. “What are you talking about?”

Azzi finally glanced at her. “She’s a point guard.”

KK gave her a look, silently asking how she knew that.

Azzi just shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips, as if she was saying, Don’t worry about it.

KK scoffed but didn’t press further, turning back to the drill as their turn approached. Azzi followed suit, refocusing on her shot, but the energy in the gym had shifted.

The rest of the team, while going through the motions, kept stealing glances toward the other side of the court. Even CD, usually unshakable in her focus, seemed slightly aware of the presence of Geno and Paige, though she didn’t acknowledge it outright.

Azzi stole one last glance toward the two of them. Paige was leaning forward slightly now, elbows resting on her knees, nodding along to whatever Geno was saying. There was something about her demeanor—poised but entirely at ease—that kept Azzi’s attention longer than she intended.

“Yo, Azzi pay attention,” Ice called, bouncing the ball toward her.

Azzi caught it smoothly, exhaling through her nose. “Yeah, yeah.”

Once shoot-around was over and CD finished speaking with the girls Geno walked toward them with his usual commanding presence, but this time, all eyes were drawn to the taller figure trailing just behind him. Paige moved with an easy confidence, hands tucked into the pockets of her sweats, her expression unreadable as she just stared ahead at nothing in particular.

Azzi barely registered the murmurs spreading through the team when her eyes locked onto Paige’s. And for the first time since their conversations, Paige didn’t wear that usual smirk. Instead, there was something quieter, more measured, in the way she held her gaze. Azzi could practically see the questions flying through her own mind reflected back at Paige—What are you doing here? Why didn’t you say anything?

The confusion hung in the air until Geno cut straight through it. “Paige is here unofficially on a visit,” he announced, his tone gruff, leaving little room for argument. “She’s just here watching the game today since we can’t do anything official with her during the season.”

A ripple of uncertainty moved through the team. Visits happened, sure—but not like this. Not during the middle of the season. And definitely not for someone with the kind of presence Paige had just walking into the gym.

The silence stretched before Nika finally spoke up, respectful but with a tinge of frustration. “Coach, we already have a point guard for next season.”

Azzi���s eyes flickered back to Paige just in time to see her take a deep breath, her shoulders squaring as if she had already braced herself for this exact reaction. She didn’t look surprised though. God Azzi hated how stoic she could be, she can never get a good read on her.

The tension in the gym thickened slightly as Nika’s words settled. Some of their glances jumping between Nika and KK. Paige stayed composed, her expression not changing much, but Azzi noticed the way her fingers twitched slightly in her pockets, as if resisting the urge to react or say something.

Geno didn’t miss a beat in his response. “Nika’s leaving after this season,” he stated plainly, his tone making it clear this wasn’t about to be a conversation up for debate. “We need an older guard to help guide KK next season because she isn’t where we need her to be just yet.

Azzi’s eyes immediately flickered to Nika, whose jaw tensed at the comment. She didn’t say anything—didn’t need to—but the slight shift in her stance spoke volumes. She prided herself on being KK’s mentor, on leading the backcourt the best she could. The idea that Geno thought they needed someone else didn’t sit right with her.

But before anyone could voice anything further, Geno sighed, sensing the weight in the room. “Look, nothing is official,” he added, glancing around. “South Carolina, LSU, USC, Minnesota, and a few others all want her to visit, too. They all jumped at the chance once they heard she was transferring.”

That got a reaction. Some players exchanged looks, while others side-eyed Paige, as if reassessing her entirely. It wasn’t just UConn she was considering—it was powerhouse programs across the country.

Paige, for her part, remained unreadable, her expression neutral as she took the reaction in stride. Her not saying a word the entire time only fueled people’s confusion. But Azzi wasn’t confused. She actually found it kind of funny that Paige had this whole silent thing going on. There was something deliberate about the way Paige stood there, hands still in her pockets, gaze steady.

Geno had a small grin as he glanced at Paige before turning his attention back to the team and let out a clap. “We’ll talk more later,” he said simply. “For now, go do what you need to do.”

Despite the dismissal, the tension lingered. Eyes darted between Paige and Geno, and then toward Azzi, as if searching for some kind of answer from their leader.

Paige, still unreadable, finally exhaled through her nose before offering the team a small smile.

The team started dispersing, but the tension still lingered in the air.

Behind them, Nika scoffed under her breath. “We don’t even know if she’s as good as she used to be,” she muttered, just loud enough for those nearby to hear.

Azzi’s head snapped in her direction, her eyes sharp as she simply said, “Nika.”

It wasn’t loud, but the weight behind it was enough. A quiet warning. A reminder of how they were supposed to carry themselves.

Nika’s jaw tightened, and for a second, it looked like she might push back. But then, she exhaled through her nose, muttering a half-hearted, “Sorry,” before turning and heading toward the locker room.

Azzi watched her go before glancing toward Paige again. If she had heard, she didn’t show it. Her hands were still tucked in her pockets, her posture still easy, but there was something in her eyes—something flickering beneath the surface as she looked around the gym.

Azzi wasn’t sure why, but she felt the need to say something. Instead, she just pressed her lips together and turned back toward the court.

Azzi felt Paige’s gaze linger on her, but she didn’t turn back. She could still feel the weight of it, like Paige was trying to piece something together—trying to figure her out the same way Azzi had been doing since the moment she sat next to her on the plane.

Paige didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. There was a moment, brief but charged as they made eye contact again before Geno clapped a hand on her back, breaking the silence. Without hesitation, Paige stuffed her hands back into her pockets and followed him, her steps unhurried as they made their way toward the tunnel.

Azzi finally let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

She wasn’t sure what had just passed between them.

After shooting around a little more Azzi sat alone in the locker room, earbuds in, her mind wasn’t really on the upcoming game. The energy with the team had been a little off ever since Paige showed up, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that things were shifting in a way she didn’t quite understand yet.

She barely noticed when the door to the locker room opened, only looking up when Geno took a seat in the empty locker next to hers.

Azzi hesitated for a moment before pulling out her earbuds. “What’s up, Coach?”

Geno didn’t waste time. “I need you to make her feel comfortable on this visit.”

Azzi blinked, sitting up a little straighter. She gave him a nod, but Geno could tell she wasn’t fully processing what he was saying.

So he continued. “Look, Azzi. You came here to win a championship right?…We’ve come up short, and I know injuries and everything else have played a part in that. But I think Paige is the piece we need.”

Azzi stayed quiet, her expression unreadable.

“And Lord knows,” Geno added with a gruff sigh, “if one of those other schools gets her, it’s gonna be hell come March for us next season.”

Azzi chewed the inside of her cheek, finally breaking eye contact. She knew he was right. She’d seen how close they’d come before, only to fall short. And she wasn’t interested in going through that again.

Still, she wasn’t oblivious. She knew this wouldn’t go over smoothly with the whole team.

Geno, as if reading her mind, continued, “Some feelings are gonna be hurt. Someone will probably get pushed to the bench. That’s just how this works. But if you want to win.”

Azzi took a deep breath before nodding again, this time with more certainty. “I got it, don't worry about it.”

Geno studied her for a second, making sure the words actually sank in. She met his gaze, and there was something there—understanding, maybe even acceptance.

“I mean it,” he said, his tone softening to the best of his abilities. “She’s been through a lot, and this isn’t exactly an easy situation for her either.”

Azzi exhaled, rolling her shoulders before leaning back against the locker. “I got it, Coach.”

Geno gave a small nod and stood up, but before he left, he paused. “And Azzi?”

She looked up.

“You’re a leader on this team. People follow your lead more than you realize. If you’re welcoming, they’ll follow.”

Azzi let that sit for a second before nodding again.

Geno didn’t say anything else. He just patted her shoulder before walking out, leaving Azzi alone with her thoughts.

Some time later a few players were scattered around the court, lounging around and talking to one another as they passed the time before tip-off. Azzi sat near the baseline, stretching absentmindedly, when her eyes landed on Paige.

Paige had just settled behind the team’s bench, scrolling through her phone, seemingly completely unbothered by the noise around her. She looked comfortable, her posture relaxed, legs spread open as her fingers idly flicked at the screen.

Azzi watched for a moment before making a decision. Pushing herself up, she made her way toward Paige, hands tucked into the pockets of her warmups. She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted to talk to her again. Maybe it was because of what Geno had said earlier. Maybe it was simply because Paige intrigued her.

Whatever it was, Paige must have noticed her approaching because she locked her phone and slid it into her pocket before looking up. She smirked slightly.

“Paige Bueckers, huh?” Azzi said, settling into the seat next to her.

Paige’s smirk grew. “So you know my last name now.”

Azzi shrugged. “You could’ve just told me.”

Paige let out a small chuckle. “Your coach didn’t want me to. And where’s the fun in that?”

Azzi rolled her eyes playfully but didn’t push it. Instead, she leaned back, her tone turning casual. “So, Minnesota, huh?”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you’re leading with?”

Azzi shrugged again. “Just putting the pieces together. KK told me you were one of the top players in the country.”

Paige hummed. “She say anything else?”

Azzi smiled a little. “She said you fell off the face of the earth.”

Paige chuckled, nodding slowly. “I guess that’s not entirely wrong in a sense.”

Azzi studied her for a moment before speaking again. “So, why now? Why transfer?”

Paige exhaled, glancing down at her hands before looking back at Azzi. “I just… needed a change. And your coach thinks UConn might be the right fit.”

Azzi didn’t push for more. Instead, she shifted slightly, her voice lighter. “You know, some of the girls aren’t too happy about it.”

Paige smirked. “Yeah, I picked up on that. He warned me though.”

Azzi gave her a look. “You don’t seem too worried.”

Paige leaned back, mirroring Azzi’s posture. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

Azzi couldn’t help but grin at that. “Cocky.”

Paige’s smirk deepened. “Confident.”

Azzi shook her head but didn’t argue. Instead, she glanced toward the court, watching some of teammates mess around before looking back at Paige. “You’re gonna have to prove yourself, you know.”

Paige met her gaze, something unreadable in her expression. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Azzi held her stare for a moment longer before nodding in approval. “Good.”

Just as she was about to stand, something clicked in her mind. “Wait,” she said, tilting her head. “Didn’t you say you’ve always been a South Carolina fan?”

Paige chuckled, seemingly amused that Azzi remembered. “I did.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “So, are they in the lead?”

Paige hummed, leaning back in her seat. “I wouldn’t say so.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why not?”

Paige shrugged. “Probably won’t be the best fit for me.”

Azzi crossed her arms, intrigued. “But UConn is?”

Paige, still a woman of few words, simply smirked. “Guess we’ll see today.”

Azzi chuckled at that, shaking her head. “The pressure’s on now.”

Paige lifted an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. “I didn’t know you needed to make a good impression.”

Azzi met her gaze, her smirk matching Paige’s. “I don’t.”

Paige held her stare for a moment before letting out a soft laugh. “Touché.”

Azzi smirked, leaning back slightly in her seat. “So, what I’m basically hearing is… UConn has the lead?”

Paige exhaled a small laugh, tilting her head. “I never said that.”

Azzi raised a brow. “Didn’t deny it either.”

Paige shook her head, amusement filling her eyes. “I think you just like hearing what you want.”

Azzi grinned. “Maybe. But I’m just good at reading between the lines.”

Paige hummed, as if considering that before saying. “Or you just like making assumptions.”

Azzi gave a casual shrug. “Only when I think I’m right.”

Paige scoffed playfully, but before she could fire back, Aaliyah’s voice rang out from the court.

“Azzi! Come here for a sec!”

Azzi exhaled through her nose before standing, shooting Paige one last smile. “I’ll find you after the game.”

Paige met her gaze. “Don’t lose.”

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head as she started walking backward toward the court. “Not an option now apparently.”

Paige simply smiled, watching her go.

…

The game was everything UConn had hoped for. From the moment the ball tipped, Azzi was on fire, playing with a confidence that had been building all season. Notre Dame threw everything they could at her, doubling her, trying to trap her at every turn—but Azzi was always one step ahead. She made the right pass every time, finding the open player, setting up easy shots. The crowd at Gampel Pavilion was electric as they watched it unfold.

Azzi’s movement on the court was effortless, weaving between defenders with a fluidity that made it look like the game was moving in slow motion for her. She was every bit the player UConn had hoped she would be when they recruited her, and more. The more Notre Dame scrambled to contain her, the easier it seemed for UConn to build momentum.

Paige, perched behind the team’s bench, watched intently. Her expression remained calm, the competitive fire inside her barely visible. She was invested in every play, every pass, but she kept her reactions minimal, only letting a subtle smile flicker across her face when Azzi nailed yet another perfect assist or hit an impossible shot.

The contrast between the intensity of Azzi on the court and Paige's quiet focus off it. Azzi was in her element, dominating, and Paige was soaking it all in, her quiet appreciation almost as loud as the roars from the crowd. She wasn’t cheering, she wasn’t jumping out of her seat like everyone else, but her eyes—watching Azzi—told a different story. As she watched though, there was no doubt in her mind that UConn needed another leader. Needed a point guard. Bad. If Azzi wasn’t in the game the ball was stagnant, and the offense was choppy. Paige could tell Geno saw it too because within a minute or two he was always pushing Azzi back to the scorers table to check in.

When the buzzer sounded, securing UConn’s win, the crowd erupted into cheers. Azzi’s performance had stolen the show, and as she jogged off the court, a smile tugged at her lips.

After an on court interview Azzi walked over to Paige, her usual confidence still evident, but there was a slight hint of curiosity in her voice as she leaned in. “So?” she asked, arms casually crossed as she leaned against one of the chairs.

Paige glanced up at her, offering a playful chuckle. “You were good.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, clearly looking for more than just a simple acknowledgment. “Good?”

Paige nodded, her smile never quite leaving her face. “Good.”

Azzi, sensing she wasn’t going to get much more than that, gave a small laugh. She leaned back a little, changing gears. “Alright then. You should come out with us tonight to celebrate.”

Paige hesitated. “That’s not really my scene,” she replied, shrugging slightly.

Azzi didn’t let up, her gaze soft but persistent. “You don’t want to get to know the team?”

Paige still wasn’t convinced, and Azzi could see the indecision on her face. She leaned in a little, her tone coaxing. “Come on. If you're genuinely considering coming here, they have to see that you aren’t as bad as they think.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed, picking up on the subtle words at the end. “What’d they say?”

Azzi shook her head, brushing it off quickly. “It doesn’t matter, it isn’t true.”

Paige raised an eyebrow at her, unconvinced. “Is it?” she asked.

Azzi gave a slight, dismissive shake of her head. “No. Not at all. And they can find out if you come out with us tonight.”

Paige let out a soft exhale, thinking it over. Finally, she gave a small nod. “Alright.”

Azzi grinned widely at her success. “Perfect. You can meet us at our dorm when you’re ready.”

Paige chuckled, glancing away. “I’ll just meet you wherever we’re going after I stop by my hotel.”

Azzi squinted playfully, not fully trusting the plan but deciding to go along with it. “Fine, but give me your number so I can text you when we’re heading out.”

Paige gave her a bemused look. “You can just give me yours.”

Azzi shook her head firmly. “Nope.”

Paige laughed. “Why not?”

Azzi's grin widened. “That gives you too much control over the situation. If you’re going to be on my team, you need to learn to let that control go... just a little bit.”

Paige’s laugh was warm, a little more genuine this time. She grabbed a piece of paper off of the scorers table writing her number on it before handing it to Azzi. “There. Happy?”

Azzi took it, her smile broadening. “Very. See you later.”

Paige just chuckled as she watched Azzi walk away.

…

Azzi was sitting at her desk, applying a little mascara in front of her mirror, the quiet buzz of her room filling the space when Caroline’s voice broke through the stillness.

“So, how do you know Paige already?” Caroline asked.

Azzi didn't look up, focusing on her lashes, but her answer was casual. “I don’t... well, not really. She was on my flight from DC.”

Caroline’s gaze flickered a little with suspicion. “On your flight? You guys talked a lot today, though.”

Azzi shrugged nonchalantly. “Geno told me to make her feel comfortable. He wants her to come here.”

Caroline gave a knowing glance, her eyebrow arching. “That’s all?”

Azzi shot her a look, but still replied with a quiet, “Yeah, pretty much.”

Caroline didn’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh. Sure, that’s all.”

Azzi chuckled lightly, shifting in her seat. “What do you mean Car?”

Caroline grinned, crossing her arms. “I mean, you were talking to her a lot today…and she’s your type.”

Azzi turned a gave her a pointed look, shaking her head. “I don’t have a type. I barely even talk to girls these days.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow at her, clearly unconvinced. “That’s because you’re particular. Still, the few you do talk to...you like tall blondes Azzi. Especially ones with the kind of vibe Paige seems to give off.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, trying to brush it off, but didn’t offer a rebuttal. Caroline smirked as she pressed, “You aren’t denying it.”

Azzi took a deep breath, trying to hold back her smile. “She’s just... interesting. That’s all. I’m trying to figure her out.”

Caroline leaned in a little closer. “Yeah, because you want to sleep with her.”

Azzi’s jaw dropped, her face incredulous. “I do not.”

Caroline simply shrugged as her smile grew. “Yes, you do.”

Azzi sighed, exhaling slowly. She opened her mouth to say something but then stopped herself, unsure of what to say next. There was a moment of silence before Caroline spoke again, this time a little more matter-of-fact.

“Look, if you’re going to sleep with her, just do it before we officially maybe become teammates with the girl.”

Azzi was about to respond when the door to her room cracked open, and Aaliyah’s head popped in. “You guys ready?” she asked, clearly eager to get going.

Azzi immediately stood up, thankful for the interruption. “Yup, let’s go,” she said, flashing a grin at Caroline as she grabbed her jacket.

Azzi quickly shot a text to Paige, her fingers flying over the screen. As she sent the address and a simple We’re heading out. She hit send, not thinking much of it, but Caroline caught a glimpse of her phone screen.

"Do it before she's your teammate," Caroline simply said again.

Azzi immediately pushed her playfully, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Shut up,” she mumbled, shaking her head.

Caroline only laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, it’s not like you’ll get another shot after this.” She wiggled her eyebrows, but Azzi rolled her eyes again, determined to ignore her teasing.

“Seriously, shut up,” Azzi repeated, trying to keep her composure, though there was a hint of color rising in her cheeks.

Caroline chuckled but said no more, knowing she was getting a rise out of Azzi. “Alright, alright. Let’s go,” she said, grabbing her keys and heading out of the suite.

Azzi followed behind her, her phone vibrating in her back pocket. She pulled it out seeing a simple bet from Paige.

…

Later that night when Paige walked into Ted’s, Azzi immediately noticed the change in her. The sweats and hoodie she’d worn earlier were gone. She wore bright yellow pants that caught the light and a slightly oversized black t-shirt. The simple glistening chain with a cross around her neck caught Azzi's eye, and the silver rings on her fingers and tennis bracelet on her wrist added to the look. Her hair was pulled back into a bun.

Azzi swallowed a little too hard, her gaze lingering on Paige's figure as she took in the transformation. It was like the girl who had been sitting behind the bench earlier had completely disappeared. This version of Paige was undeniably captivating, and Azzi felt a tightening in her chest she couldn’t quite explain.

Caroline, standing next to Azzi, seemed to notice her moment of hesitation and leaned in with a whisper-sung tease. “Just get it over with.”

Azzi shot her a look, eyes narrowing, but Caroline only grinned, clearly entertained by her friend’s unease. Before Azzi could respond, Paige approached, and the air between them shifted instantly.

Azzi’s smile widened, trying to hide her discomfort. “You made it,” she said warmly.

Paige smiled slightly, that same quiet and mysterjous energy radiating off her. “I did.”

Caroline cleared her throat, catching Azzi’s attention and prompting her to step back into the moment. “Oh, sorry,” Azzi mumbled before gesturing to the two women. “Paige, this is Caroline. Caroline, Paige.”

Paige extended her hand to shake Caroline’s. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice smooth.

Azzi suddenly became hyper-aware of the exchange, watching the way their hands met, the simple contact sending a jolt through her. Something about seeing them shake hands, so effortless, so casual, made her realize just how little physical contact she and Paige had shared. It wasn’t like it mattered—it wasn’t like she wanted to initiate anything—but the realization sent an odd feeling coursing through her veins. Something about the way their hands lingered for just a moment too long in the handshake.

Azzi quickly shook the feeling off, pushing it down, forcing herself to focus on the rest of the group gathered around the bar and away from the tension she felt creeping up between her and Paige. She was overthinking this, wasn’t she?

After the introduction with Caroline, Azzi led Paige around the room, introducing her to some of the team. It was a quick but necessary round of introductions, and the rest of the UConn players seemed to size Paige up in their own way, each offering their hand or a warm smile. Most were welcoming, eager to make her feel part of the group.

First, Azzi introduced her to Aubrey, who gave Paige a friendly nod. “Good to have you here,” she said, her voice upbeat, as she shook Paige’s hand.

“Thanks,” Paige replied, returning the handshake with ease. Her smile was soft but genuine, and Azzi was hoping this would make her a little less tense.

Next up was Nika, who eyed Paige cautiously but still offered a handshake. She didn’t say much, just a short, “Nice to meet you,” before looking away, clearly trying not to make the encounter too awkward. Paige caught the tension, but she didn’t let it faze her. Instead, she just gave Nika a polite smile, nodding.

Azzi caught the brief exchange and couldn’t help but notice the slight distance between the two.

As Azzi watched Paige interact with the rest of the team, she couldn’t help but notice something else—Paige smelled incredible. The subtle yet unmistakable scent of jasmine and vanilla mixed in the air every time Paige moved. It was the kind of fragrance that lingered just enough to be noticed but not so much that it was overwhelming to someone’s nose. Azzi took a deep breath, trying to focus on something else, but it was hard not to be aware of the way the scent seemed to wrap itself around her, settling into her senses in a way that made her feel just a little warmer.

After the introductions were done, Azzi led Paige over to the bar. She glanced at Paige, who was walking beside her with that effortless cool she always seemed to radiate.

As they approached the bar, Azzi’s thoughts were interrupted by Caroline who whispered, “Just get it over with” as she walked by. Azzi shot her a warning look.

“Shut the hell up,” Azzi muttered back, before turning her attention to Paige, who was already ordering a drink at the bar.

Azzi leaned against the bar, the dim lighting of the room casting soft shadows over her face as she watched Paige closely. There was something different about her tonight—something that Azzi couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Azzi leaned in just slightly, her voice carrying over the light music that was playing. “So, what’s been the most interesting thing you’ve seen here so far?” Azzi asked, trying to get Paige to open up, sensing that Paige didn’t volunteer information without being nudged.

Paige, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass, shrugged just slightly. “Not sure. Everyone’s... a lot different than I expected.” Her voice was softer than usual, but it was clear she wasn’t uncomfortable. She was just more observant, taking everything in around her.

Azzi smiled, her eyes narrowing playfully as she took in Paige’s response. “Different how?” she pressed, wanting to hear more.

Paige glanced over at her, her lips curling into the slightest smile. “They’re... more relaxed, I guess. You’d think they’d be more intense, you know? I mean, I know they’re all good, but...” Her words trailed off, her voice almost contemplative. She didn’t finish her thought, leaving it hanging between them as they settled into silence for a second.

Azzi took the opportunity to study Paige a little more closely, sensing that something was off. There was a quiet intensity in her, like she was letting everything wash over her without reacting.

Azzi couldn’t help but feel drawn to it, but there was still something about it that made her curious.

“So,” Azzi said after a beat, breaking the silence that had settled between them. “I feel like you’re a little more hesitant tonight. What’s that about?” Her tone was teasing, but it was laced with an underlying curiosity.

Paige, who had been lost in her thoughts, snapped back to the present moment and glanced at Azzi. There was a flicker of a smile on her lips, but it was subtle. “I’m just listening to what you’re saying,” she responded with a quiet chuckle, her gaze meeting Azzi’s for just a second before looking down at her drink.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, a little taken aback by the response. She wasn’t used to Paige being so... still. There was always this confident energy about her, even when she was quiet. But tonight, it felt like Paige was holding back just a little bit. It wasn’t discomfort—it was something else.

Azzi chuckled softly. “Ah, so it’s all about me, huh?”

Paige smirked, but there was something in her eyes, something that Azzi couldn’t quite place. “I wouldn’t say that,” Paige replied, her tone barely audible, but there was an edge to it—something that felt almost playful, despite the calm exterior.

Azzi leaned back, still studying Paige. “Hmm... well, you’re still quieter than usual,” she said, her smile softening, though her eyes remained curious. “Which, considering you're already a woman of few words, says a lot.”

Paige smiled a little, a flicker of humor in her eyes. “I promise I’m just listening to what you’re saying,” she said again, as though it were a simple explanations

Azzi wasn’t buying it. She noticed how closed off Paige was tonight, at least compared to what she was used to. She leaned in a little, her voice turning more serious. “Can I ask you something?” Azzi’s tone was more purposeful and she watched Paige closely.

Paige glanced at her, a silent invitation to continue.

Azzi hesitated for a brief moment, then spoke, her voice quieter now. “It’s a little personal.”

Paige met her gaze and gave a small nod, giving Azzi the unspoken go-ahead. “Go ahead,” she said, her eyes steady on Azzi’s.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But what happened during your senior year? You kind of…”fell off the face of the earth” in KK’s words.” Her tone wasn’t judgmental, just curious, like she was trying to understand a part of Paige that remained untold.

Paige chuckled lightly, her eyes shifting away as if she were weighing the decision to answer. For a moment, she studied Azzi, considering whether or not to open up. Then, with a quiet breath, she simply replied, “Car accident.”

Azzi’s eyes softened immediately. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice laced with genuine concern.

Paige gave a quick shake of her head, brushing it off. “It’s fine. I’m alive, aren’t I?” she said, her words light, almost like she was trying to ease the heaviness of the moment. She let out a soft chuckle, her eyes flicking to the side briefly.

After a pause, she continued, her voice quieter now, almost reflective. “It wasn’t bad for me. I just needed to stay close to home to help my family out.”

Azzi hummed thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing in admiration. “That’s sweet of you,” she said, her voice softening with a touch of warmth.

Paige picked up her drink, taking a slow sip as she looked over at Azzi with a faint smile trying to shift the conversation. “Is that what I am now? Sweet?” she asked, her tone teasing Azzi a little.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I don’t know... are you?” she replied, leaning back just slightly, her eyes locking with Paige’s.

Paige smirked, her lips curving slightly. “Maybe sometimes,” she replied, the words filled with a touch of intrigue, leaving just enough unsaid to keep Azzi on her toes.

The two of them stood in that quiet moment, the subtle tension between them hanging in the air. Neither of them looked away, letting the silence linger.

Just as the moment grew heavier, a burst of energy interrupted, as KK bounded over to Azzi, her arm instantly slinging around her.

Azzi laughed, shaking her head as she looked away from Paige with a slight smile. “Hi, KK,” she said.

“You over here chatting up my replacement?” KK’s voice was full of playful accusation, but everyone could tell she was joking.

Azzi playfully rolls her eyes as she looks at KK. “She’s a little too quiet to be your replacement KK.”

KK raised an eyebrow and looked over at Paige, her gaze scanning her briefly before she leaned in with a grin. “You quiet Bueckers?” she asked.

Paige let out a soft laugh, glancing at Azzi before meeting KK’s eyes. “I can be. Depends on the person I guess” she said, her tone carrying a hint of amusement, as though suggesting there was more to her than met the eye.

KK smiled, satisfied with the response. “Well, looks like you two are chatting just fine so I’m gonna leave you to it,” she remarked, giving Azzi a wink before moving off to talk with the others.

Azzi turned back to Paige, the energy between them shifting again now that KK had left. Paige took a sip of her drink, her fingers absentmindedly spinning the glass against the bar top. Azzi watched her for a second before tilting her head.

“So, is this what you’re like on a night out?” Azzi asked, leaning against the bar with a grin. “Quiet, mysterious… just sitting there looking pretty in your own head?”

Paige huffed a small laugh, shaking her head as she set her drink down. “Maybe,” she said, glancing at Azzi. “But I think you just called me pretty.”

Azzi smirked. “I did.”

Paige held her gaze for a moment before nodding slightly. “Good to know,” she said simply.

Azzi laughed, the sound warm. “You’re a little hard to read, you know that?” she said, studying Paige like she was trying to figure her out.

Paige shrugged, her expression still tinged with amusement. “Maybe you’re just bad at reading me Azzi.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her smirk deepening. “Oh, I don’t think that’s it.” She let her eyes briefly flicker over Paige slowly before meeting her gaze again. “I think I’m figuring you out just fine. Slowly but surely.”

Paige held her stare, her own smirk forming. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded. “Mhm.” She leaned in just slightly. “Like, I think you like the attention more than you let on.”

Paige’s lips pressed together like she was trying not to smile, but the amusement was evident in her eyes. “That so?”

Azzi’s gaze stayed steady. “Yeah. You pretend to be unbothered, but you’re not as unaffected as you want people to think.”

Paige chuckled at that, shaking her head slightly. “And what makes you so sure?”

“Because,” she said, tapping her fingers against the bar. “You’re still sitting here talking to me.”

Paige exhaled a soft laugh, her eyes flickering down for a second before she looked back at Azzi. She leaned in slightly herself, her voice dropping just enough.

“And you’re still talking to me,” she pointed out.

Azzi felt a small rush at that, the way Paige’s words carried that same challenge had grown accustomed to before tonight. She grinned, tilting her head. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Paige hummed, taking another sip of her drink before looking back at Azzi, a glimmer of something playful—something interested—settling behind her gaze. “Good to know,” she said again, repeating her words from earlier, but this time, her voice was just the slightest bit lower.

As the night carried on, Azzi and Paige eventually drifted back toward the rest of the team. The atmosphere was lively—laughter, drinks clinking, the steady hum of conversation filling the space. Paige found herself next to Ice, who was mid-story about something that happened during practice earlier that week.

Paige listened, offering small nods and the occasional chuckle, but it was clear she wasn’t as engaged as she had been at the bar with Azzi. She was friendly, polite, but there was a noticeable shift—her responses shorter, her posture a little more reserved. She wasn’t standoffish, just… quieter.

Ice noticed. She squinted at Paige, tilting her head. “You always this quiet?” she asked.

Paige sipped her drink before shrugging. “Most times.”

Ice gave her a once-over, a look creeping onto her face before she glanced past Paige—right at Azzi, who was talking to Nika a few feet away. A slow smirk tugged at Ice’s lips as she looked back at Paige.

“Huh,” Ice mused, taking another sip of her drink. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Paige furrowed her brows slightly. “What do you mean?”

Ice smirked. “Nothing,” she said, but the way she dragged out the word made it obvious that it wasn’t nothing. She took another sip before nodding toward Azzi. “Just saying—you seem to talk a little more when you’re over there.”

Paige’s lips pressed together, her grip tightening around her glass just slightly. “Do I?” she asked, her voice neutral.

Ice grinned. “Mhm.” She leaned in just a little. “Don’t worry, though. I think she likes it.”

Paige exhaled a small laugh before shaking her head. “You’re reading into things.”

Ice just smirked wider. “I’m definitely not.”

After a while it had gotten pretty late. Paige exhaled softly, setting her drink down on the nearest surface before turning to Azzi. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

Azzi, who had been mid-conversation with Caroline, instinctively paused, her head turning toward Paige. “How’re you getting back?” she asked, brows slightly furrowed.

Paige gave a small shrug. “I was just gonna Uber to my hotel.”

Before Azzi could respond, Caroline wordlessly grabbed her keys and pressed them firmly into Azzi’s hand. “Azzi can take you,” she said.

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. She shot Caroline a look, but the girl just grinned wider, clearly pleased with herself.

Paige hesitated, her eyes flickering between them before shaking her head. “No, it’s cool, I don’t wanna—”

“I don’t mind,” Azzi finally cut in, her voice coming out a little too smooth, a little too sure. She adjusted the keys in her hand, turning toward Paige now.

Caroline, visibly enjoying every second of this, shoved Azzi’s jacket toward her. “Perfect. Drive safe.”

Azzi exhales, shaking her head slightly before turning her attention back to Paige. “Well,” she says, tilting her head toward the door, “guess you’re stuck with me.”

Paige huffs a small laugh, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Guess so.”

There’s a beat of silence, the air between them charged. Then, without another word, Azzi gestures for Paige to follow her, leading the way toward the exit.

As soon as they got in the car, Azzi adjusted her seat and started the engine, but for the first time that night, she wasn’t sure what to say. Paige had already given her the address when they were walking towards the car. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—at least, not for Paige. She looked completely at ease, her body relaxed against the seat as she gazed out the window. The glow from the streetlights cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the sharp angles of her jawline and the way her silver rings caught the light whenever she shifted her hand.

Azzi stole a quick glance at her before finally breaking the silence. “So, Ice thinks you only talk to me.”

Paige turned her head slightly, a small smirk playing at her lips. “That’s what she said.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, keeping her eyes on the road. “And what did you say?”

Paige exhaled a quiet laugh before looking back out the window. “Didn’t say anything.”

Azzi hummed at that, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. “Interesting.”

Paige tilted her head slightly but didn’t say anything, letting the silence stretch between them for another beat.

Azzi smirked, finally glancing over at her again. “That means you didn’t deny it.”

Paige smiled a little as she looked over at Azzi. “Didn’t feel the need to.”

Azzi grinned at that, her grip on the wheel loosening as the conversation found its rhythm again. “So you like talking to me too, then?”

Paige looked at Azzi, her eyes unreadable, but her lips curved just enough. “I didn’t say that.”

Azzi scoffed, shaking her head as she turned her focus back to the road. “You like being difficult, don’t you?”

Paige smirked again, settling further into her seat. “Maybe sometimes.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe sometimes,” she repeated, stealing another glance at Paige. “You know, for someone as quiet as you, you sure know how to keep me on my toes.”

Paige smirked, her fingers idly playing with the rings on her hand. “That a bad thing?”

Azzi scoffed. “Didn’t say that.”

Paige huffed out a quiet laugh, the air between them was light despite the weight of whatever was lingering beneath the surface.

Azzi tapped her fingers against the wheel, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. “So, if you didn’t say you like talking to me… and you didn’t say you don’t… what am I supposed to do with that information?”

Paige glanced at her, the corners of her lips curling just slightly. “Figure it out.”

Azzi let out a low chuckle. “Oh, I see how it is. You like making things difficult for me.”

Paige tilted her head, pretending to think about it. “Maybe sometimes.”

Azzi groaned dramatically. “Alright, you can’t keep using that answer. It’s a cop-out.”

Paige grinned this time, the most open she’d been all night. “Seems to be working just fine.”

Azzi shot her a look, playful and exasperated all at once. “What makes you say that?”

Paige shrugged. “Because you’re taking me back to my hotel.”

Azzi exhaled a laugh, shaking her head as she made a turn. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

For a moment, there was only the hum of the engine and the quiet city around them, the comfortable silence settling between them again.

Then Azzi glanced over, her voice dipping slightly, her tone laced with something else. “You sure you don’t like talking to me?”

Paige studied her for a beat. Then, with a small smirk, she turned back toward the window.

“Maybe sometimes.”

Azzi’s jaw dropped at this and Paige just chuckled at her reaction as she went back to looking out the window.

A bit later Azzi pulled into the hotel parking lot, shifting the car into park as the engine settled. The quiet between them stretched, not uncomfortable, but filled with something unspoken. The streetlights cast a soft glow over the car’s interior, highlighting the subtle tension that had been building all night.

Azzi was the first to break the silence. “When do you leave Connecticut?”

Paige kept her gaze forward for a moment, her fingers idly tapping against her knee before she answered. “Tomorrow night.”

Azzi hummed in acknowledgment, nodding slightly as she processed that.

The silence returned, heavier this time, until Paige exhaled quietly. She glanced over at Azzi, studying her for a moment before finally speaking again. “You wanna come upstairs?”

Azzi’s first instinct was to hesitate, to say it probably isn’t a good idea, but Caroline’s voice echoed in her head—do it before she’s your teammate—and before she could second-guess herself, she found herself nodding. “I do.”

Paige’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before she simply nodded back. “Cool.”

With that, she pushed open the car door, stepping out into the night without looking back, leaving Azzi gripping the steering wheel for half a second longer before finally following.

The two of them walked through the hotel lobby, the quiet padding of their footsteps echoing against the polished floors. Azzi glanced around, taking in the sleek, modern design. “This is nice,” she commented, her eyes sweeping over the dimly lit lounge area.

Paige chuckled, slipping her hands into her pockets. “Courtesy of your coach.”

Azzi smirked at that, shaking her head as they stopped in front of the elevator. As they waited, she pulled out her phone, sending a quick text to Caroline telling her she was fine before tucking it back into her pocket.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and they stepped inside. The ride up was… a little awkward—not bad awkward, just thick. The tension from earlier hadn’t disappeared, just shifted into something more present, lingering in the small space between them. Azzi found herself hyper aware of Paige standing beside her, close enough that she could catch the subtle traces of her scent again.

Before she could think twice about it, she blurted out, “What kind of perfume do you use?”

Paige turned her head, smirking as she chuckled softly. “Dolce & Gabbana.”

Azzi hummed at that, but didn’t say anything back.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Azzi hesitated for half a second before shrugging. “No reason.”

The elevator doors slid open and the two of them walked down the hallway before Paige stopped at her door. She swiped her keycard against the lock, the green light flashing as the door clicked open. With a small glance back at Azzi, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

As Azzi fully stepped inside, she immediately took note of how clean the room was. Sure, the hotel staff had probably stopped by, but there was something about the way Paige’s things were neatly folded, her shoes lined up on the wall, her duffel bag zipped up in the corner, that made it clear she kept it that way herself. It didn’t smell like a hotel room either—it smelled like her. That same mix of jasmine and vanilla that had been lingering in Azzi’s head all night.

Paige walked over to the mini fridge, casually pulling it open. “You want a water?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Paige grabbed two bottles, tossing one to Azzi before twisting the cap off her own and leaning against the desk. The silence that settled between them wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it carried a weight, like they were both aware of something neither of them wanted to address just yet. Azzi took a sip of her water, eyes flickering around the room before landing back on Paige.

Azzi rolled the bottle of water between her palms, glancing over at Paige, who was still leaning against the desk, watching her with that same unreadable expression she’d had in the car. The silence stretched for another beat before Azzi finally spoke.

“So…” she started, tilting her head slightly. “Why’d you invite me up?”

Paige smirked a little at that, as if she’d been expecting the question. She took a sip of her water before responding. “Did you not want to come?”

Azzi let out a chuckle, shaking her head. “That’s not what I asked.”

Paige hummed, setting her bottle down on the desk behind her. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice light. “Seemed like you weren’t ready to say goodnight yet.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Oh yeah? And what gave you that impression?”

Paige didn’t move, but her smirk deepened just slightly. “I got a vibe.”

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head. “You got a vibe?”

Paige hummed in response, her gaze steady as she just looked at Azzi, unreadable yet somehow still saying something.

Azzi tilted her head. “What goes on in your head all day?”

Paige took a sip of her water before simply replying, “Thoughts.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh. “Well, that’s a miracle.”

Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “You got jokes, huh?”

Azzi smirked, repeating Paige’s own words from earlier. “Maybe sometimes.”

Paige let out a chuckle, shaking her head slightly as she played with her water bottle. “Alright, I’ll give you that one,” she admitted before taking another sip.

Azzi smirked, leaning against the wall now, mirroring Paige’s casual stance. “I’ll take it.”

A brief silence settled between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was charged—like they were both waiting to see who would say something next, who would push the moment just a little further.

Paige finally broke it as she looked at Azzi. “You never answered my question.”

Azzi lifted an eyebrow. “Which one?”

Paige gave her a pointed look. “Did you want to come up?”

Azzi let the question hang in the air for a second, her smirk fading into something softer—something just as teasing but a little more honest. “I think you already know the answer to that Paige.”

Paige held her gaze, her lips twitching slightly like she was fighting back another smirk. “Yeah,” she mumbled, voice just a little lower than before. “I think I do.”

Azzi shook her head as she took a sip of her water. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Paige smirked. “That a good thing?”

Azzi tilted her head, considering. “Most of the time.”

Paige huffed a soft laugh. “And the rest of the time?”

Azzi shrugged. “Jury’s still out.”

Paige hummed at this, licking her lips as she looked at Azzi. The thoughts behind her eyes clear for the first time.

Azzi looked down for a second before meeting Paige’s gaze again. “Can I ask you something?”

Paige nodded and Azzi watched her closely, trying to gauge her reaction. “I’m going to be a little bold with this, so if I have the wrong idea, please tell me.”

Paige chuckled, a glint in her eyes as she motioned for Azzi to go ahead.

Azzi hesitated for only a second before asking, “How many people have you slept with?”

Paige didn’t flinch, didn’t seem caught off guard. Instead, she answered smoothly, “Six.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Recently?”

Paige shook her head. “No.”

Azzi hummed at this, nodding slowly, taking in the way Paige seemed completely unfazed, as if this kind of conversation didn’t rattle her in the slightest.

Then Paige moved. She pushed off the desk, stepping toward Azzi with an almost lazy confidence, the gap between them shrinking. Azzi could feel the shift immediately.

Paige stopped just in front of her, close enough that Azzi caught that familiar mix of jasmine and vanilla. She tilted her head slightly, her voice low, smooth.

“Why do you ask?”

Azzi let out a soft breath, lips twitching. “Just curious.”

Paige hummed, her gaze locked on Azzi. “You always this curious?”

Azzi smirked. “Depends on who I’m talking to.”

Paige’s lips quirked slightly, but she didn’t respond right away. She just held Azzi’s gaze, the space between them thinning ever so slightly, a silent conversation playing out between them.

Azzi swallowed, her voice quieter now. “And?” she asked. “Did I have the wrong idea?”

Paige exhaled softly, her eyes flickering down to Azzi’s lips again before meeting her gaze again.

“No.”

Azzi’s gaze flickered down to Paige’s lips for just a second before meeting her eyes again. “So… when’s the last time?”

Paige let out a quiet breath, something amused crossing her face. “You ask a lot of questions.”

Azzi smirked. “Only when I actually want to know the answers.”

Paige studied her for a moment, then tilted her head deciding to ease her mind. “It’s been a while.”

Azzi let that sit between them for a second before she asked, “Why’s that?”

Paige exhaled a soft chuckle, the corner of her mouth lifting like she found the conversation entertaining. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Azzi didn’t blink. “You could.”

Paige didn’t back down either. “Would you answer?”

Azzi took a small step closer, her voice dipping lower. “Maybe.”

Paige hummed at that, her fingers trailing idly against the rings on her finger. “Maybe I’m just waiting.”

Azzi’s eyes searched hers. “Waiting for what?”

Paige held Azzi’s gaze, her voice smooth as she said, “That depends on you.”

Azzi’s brow lifted slightly. “How so?”

Paige exhaled softly, tilting her head just a little. “We’re probably going to be teammates.”

Azzi tucked that knowledge away as Paige unknowingly let that slip. “We’re not teammates yet,” she countered, voice lower now. “And it’s just one night.”

Paige chuckled, the sound quiet, knowing. “It’ll be more than just one night.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes, intrigued. “You seem confident.”

Paige leaned in just enough that Azzi could feel the warmth of her breath. “You seem too interested for it to be just one night.” A pause, then a smirk. “And I think everything in life happens for a reason.”

Azzi hummed, considering that before simply saying, “You think too much.”

Paige chuckled again, softer this time. “You’re probably right.”

Azzi’s eyes darkened just slightly as she searched Paige’s face. “I want us to stop talking,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, only inches from Paige’s lips.

Paige held her gaze. Slowly, she gave a small nod, her voice just as quiet. “Then let’s stop talking.”

Azzi didn’t need any more convincing. The space between them disappeared in an instant as their lips finally met—slow at first, testing the waters, before deepening. Paige’s hands instinctively found Azzi’s waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of her shirt, while Azzi’s arms wrapped securely around Paige’s neck, pulling her in closer.

It wasn’t lost on Azzi that this was the first time they had ever really touched—no casual brushes of hands, no lingering grazes—just this, a full embrace, lips slotting together like they had been waiting for it. And maybe they had.

Paige’s grip on Azzi’s waist tightened, a subtle squeeze that sent a thrill down Azzi’s spine. In response, Azzi deepened the kiss, tilting her head slightly, allowing their lips to move in perfect sync. They breathed through their noses, neither of them willing to pull away just yet, as if letting go would break whatever spell had settled between them.

Azzi could feel the warmth of Paige’s skin beneath her fingertips, the firm muscle beneath her grip. The moment was thick, charged, and she was already losing herself completely in the way Paige kissed her

Azzi barely pulled back, her lips still ghosting over Paige’s as she murmured, “You’re not gonna ask me?”

Paige’s hands slid over Azzi’s waist, guiding them slowly toward the bed. “Ask what?”

Azzi smirked, her breath warm against Paige’s lips. “How many people I’ve slept with.”

Paige didn’t hesitate. “Doesn’t matter,” she said simply, her tone steady as she guided Azzi back until the bed hit the back of her legs.

Azzi let out a small, surprised breath as she lost her balance slightly, but Paige caught her with ease, steadying her before laying them down gently. The moment stretched between them, thick with something unspoken, as Paige hovered over her, her fingers still resting lightly against Azzi’s waist.

Azzi met her gaze, her smirk forming into a soft smile. “No?”

Paige shook her head, her thumb brushing absentmindedly over Azzi’s hip. “No,” she murmured, eyes flickering between Azzi’s lips and her gaze.

Azzi didn’t let Paige linger too much. She reached up, fingers slipping into Paige’s bun, working it loose until blonde strands cascaded freely around her face. A satisfied smile ghosted Azzi’s lips as she pulled Paige back down, kissing her slowly.

After a while, Paige broke away, standing up as she reached for the hem of her shirt. Azzi pushed up onto her elbows, watching as Paige peeled it over her head. Her gaze naturally traced the lines of Paige’s toned stomach, but then her eyes caught something else—a scar along the side of her torso.

It wasn’t massive, but it definitely wasn’t small either.

Paige noticed where Azzi’s eyes had landed, so she spoke before Azzi could ask. “Car accident,” she said simply, her voice unreadable.

Azzi just nodded, not pressing.

Paige didn’t give her the chance to linger on it. She was back over Azzi in an instant, her hands pressing into the mattress on either side of Azzi’s waist. Their eyes met again, and whatever weight the moment held dissolved as Paige leaned back in, her lips capturing Azzi’s once more.

Azzi let out a slow breath, her fingers tangling in Paige’s hair as Paige’s lips trailed down her jaw, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. Paige’s hands were steady, pushing Azzi’s shirt up inch by inch, her fingers grazing over smooth skin, mapping out the new territory.

Azzi tilted her head instinctively, offering more of herself, and Paige took her time, pressing kisses along the curve of her neck, her breath hot against Azzi’s skin. Azzi’s own breathing grew just a little heavier, her body reacting to each kiss.

Paige lingered there for a moment–kissing, nipping, sucking–reveling in the way Azzi’s body responded to her before murmuring against her skin, “You wanna take this off?” She punctuated the question with a gentle tug at Azzi’s shirt.

Azzi nodded, lifting her arms slightly to help Paige pull her shirt over her head. As the fabric was tossed aside, Paige’s eyes roamed over Azzi’s exposed torso and chest, a slow, almost dazed smile spreading across her lips. She shook her head slightly, a quiet chuckle escaping her.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Paige just licked her lips, her gaze dragging up to meet Azzi’s as she murmured, “You look good.”

Before Azzi could respond, Paige leaned down, pressing soft, lingering kisses against her stomach. The warmth of her lips mixed with the faint scrape of her teeth made Azzi’s breath hitch. Paige took her time, sucking lightly against her skin before trailing back up, her mouth exploring, savoring the taste of Azzi’s skin.

Azzi let her head fall back against the pillow, her fingers instinctively threading through Paige’s hair. She wasn’t sure if she meant to pull her closer or slow her down, but Paige didn’t give her a chance to decide.

By the time their lips met again, the kiss was deeper, slower, like neither of them were in a rush to let go.

Paige’s fingers played with the button of Azzi’s pants, her touch light but teasing. When she heard Azzi’s breath hitch, she pulled back just slightly. “You good?”

Azzi nodded quickly, voice a little breathless. “Yeah.”

Paige smirked. “You sure? ‘Cause for a second there, it sounded like I did something to you.”

Azzi scoffed, her grip tightening on Paige’s bare shoulders. “Shut up.”

Paige chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss just below Azzi’s jaw. “That’s not a denial.” Sucking slightly after she asked.

Azzi exhaled sharply, tipping her head back against the pillow. “You really think you’re something, don’t you?”

Paige hummed against her skin, the vibration making Azzi swallow. “No, I know I am.” She nipped at Azzi’s collarbone before pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “And based on the way you’re looking at me right now… you know it too.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, though the effect was ruined by the way she was gripping Paige’s waist, pulling her back down. “This is probably the most you’ve talked.”

Paige chuckled, finally undoing the button. “Guess you just bring out the best in me.”

Paige started trailing her lips down Aziz’s body again, nipping at the skin and sucking here and there.

Once she reached Aziz’s waist she looked up at her expectedly as her fingers wrapped around the waistband of Azzi’s pants. Azzi lifted her hips making it easier for Paige to slide them and her underwear down Azzi’s legs smoothly. Taking her own pants off when she discards Azzi’s.

Paige settled between Azzi’s legs, her hands trailing slowly against Azzi’s thighs as she hovered over her center. The air between them was thick making it hard to think straight. Still Paige paused before she brushed her lips lower.

She lifted her head slightly, her gaze locking onto Azzi’s. “This okay?”

Azzi, already breathless, nodded immediately. “Yeah.”

Paige didn’t move, just studied her for a second longer, her fingers still tracing slow, aimless patterns along Azzi’s thighs. “You’d tell me if it wasn’t, right?”

Azzi exhaled. “Of course.”

Paige held her gaze for a beat longer, studying her, then nodded, the corner of her mouth tugging into something softer than a smirk. “Good.”

Then Paige was dipping her head between Azzi’s legs and Azzi immediately sighed at the contact, her fingers tangling in Paige’s hair.

Paige switched between licking and sucking as she paid close attention to Azzi’s reactions. Azzi wasn’t outwardly vocal yet. Her breath had grown uneven and her chest rose and fell a little quicker but she hadn’t let out any outward indication of her feelings as she bit down on her lip.

Paige used both of her hands to pull Aziz’s hips closer to her, pressing herself further into Azzi as she put Azzi’s legs over her shoulders.

Azzi’s fingers curled tighter in Paige’s hair, her breath hitching as she let out a quiet, unsteady sigh. “You feel so good,” she murmured, her voice coming out softer, more breathless than she intended.

Paige didn’t respond with words—she didn’t need to. Instead, she hummed against Azzi’s center, the low vibration sending a jolt through Azzi that pulled a quiet moan from her lips. Paige smirked at the sound, her hands gripping Azzi’s waist a little firmer, holding her steady.

Azzi swallowed, her breathing uneven. “You—” she started, but then Paige flicked her tongue making Azzi exhale sharply, her body reacting. Her head fell back against the pillow, her fingers tugging at Paige’s hair, needing something to hold on to. “God, Paige…” she sighed, her voice just above a whisper.

Paige still didn’t say anything, but the way she moved, the way she responded to every little sound Azzi made, was more than enough of an answer. Azzi bit her lip, trying to steady herself, but Paige was making it impossible. “You’re—” Azzi’s breath hitched again, her voice catching. “You’re too good at this.

Paige finally lifted her head just slightly, just enough for Azzi to catch the amused glint in her eyes and the wetness coating her lips before she murmured, “I know.” Then, just as Azzi was about to say something back, Paige was gone again, her actions cutting off whatever thought Azzi might’ve had, replacing it with another soft, shaky moan instead.

After a few minutes Paige pulled back slightly, replacing her mouth with her thumb as she traced deliberate circles against Azzi. She smirked as Azzi shivered beneath her, fingers still tangled in her hair.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” Paige murmured, pressing a slow kiss just above Azzi’s hip. “That’s not like you.”

Azzi let out a shaky breath, her grip tightening. “Shut up.”

Paige chuckled, circling her thumb in a deliberate, lazy motion that made Azzi’s stomach tense. “That’s not very nice,” she teased. “I was just trying to have a conversation.”

Azzi exhaled sharply, her voice unsteady. “You—you’re making that really hard right now.”

Paige hummed, satisfied. “Yeah?” she mused, tilting her head. “You usually have a lot to say. What happened?”

Azzi groaned, her head falling back against the pillow as she tried to collect herself. “Paige.”

Paige smirked, lifting her gaze, her chin resting just barely above Azzi’s hip as she watched her struggle. “Yeah?”

Azzi forced herself to look down at her, her breaths uneven. “You know what you’re doing.”

Paige grinned, adding another finger to her circular motions. “Maybe,” she admitted, her voice smooth, confident. “But I like hearing you say it.”

Azzi exhaled a shaky breath, her fingers tightening in Paige’s hair as she tried to steady herself. Paige watched her eyes dark in a way that made Azzi’s stomach tighten as she had grown used to Paige’s usual light blue eyes.

“You’re…” Azzi started, but her breath hitched as Paige pressed another slow, deliberate kiss to her skin.

Paige hummed, barely glancing up. “I’m what?”

Azzi swallowed, her voice coming out softer than she intended. “You’re—”

Paige dragged her lips over the same spot, teasing as she pressed her fingers more firmly against Azzi. “Come on,” she coaxed. “You’re usually so good with words.”

Azzi let out a quiet, breathy laugh, though it quickly turned into another sigh as Paige traced her tongue along her skin again. “You feel good,” she admitted, her voice nearly a whisper.

Paige smirked. “Yeah?”

Azzi just nodded, her fingers flexing where they rested against Paige’s scalp.

Paige tilted her head slightly, pressing another slow, lazy kiss. “Good enough to make you forget how to talk?”

Azzi let out a shaky exhale. “Paige.”

Paige chuckled against her skin, taking her time. “That wasn’t a no.”

Azzi groaned, her head falling back against the pillow. “You want me to admit it?”

“I just wanna hear you.”

Azzi sucked in a breath as Paige found the perfect pace, her words getting caught in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second before forcing them open, looking down at Paige, her expression unreadable.

“Ask me in a few minutes,” Azzi finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige smirked against her skin. “Mmm, ok.”

Azzi barely had a moment to gather herself before Paige was moving back near her lips, a knowing smirk playing on her face.

Azzi huffed, her breath still uneven. “Suddenly, you’re Chatty Cathy.”

Paige chuckled, tilting her head as she watched Azzi’s every reaction. “I usually just don’t have much to say.”

Azzi gave her a look, her lips parting slightly as she caught her breath. “You do now, apparently.”

Paige didn’t answer with words this time. Instead, she leaned in, nipping at Azzi’s neck, her teeth grazing just enough to make Azzi feel it.

Azzi inhaled sharply, gripping Paige’s arm.

Paige smirked against her skin. “Seems like you do too.”

Azzi was about to roll her eyes, ready to fire back, but the second Paige eased her fingers inside of her, her breath caught. Her lashes fluttered closed, her body reacting before she could think, and Paige caught it immediately.

She pulled back just enough to watch Azzi’s face, her smirk deepening. “That’s what I thought.”

Paige worked her fingers in and out, her head resting in the crook of Azzi’s neck as Azzi fought to keep her composure. Paige hovered just inches from Azzi's ear, her lips brushed against the delicate skin, whispering words that sent a wave of heat across Azzi’s neck. "You feel so good," Paige murmured softly.

"Can you feel how much I want you?" She drew her words out, the vibrations of her voice making Azzi’s pulse race in time with her breaths.

Azzi’s body responded before her mind could catch up, pulling Paige closer as she tried to ground herself in the feeling of her. Paige’s lips brushed against her ear again, the gentle heat of her breath making Azzi shiver. “You don’t have to say anything, just feel it,” Paige whispered, the words hanging in the air between them.

The way Paige’s breath mixed with her words, combined with the pressure of her body and the way she was working her fingers at the perfect pace, kept Azzi on the edge.

When Paige easily added another finger, Azzi’s breath caught, her chest rising and falling faster. She couldn’t help but let her hand drift down, grazing over the soft skin of Paige’s side until her fingers brushed against the scar near her torso.

At the contact, Paige sucked in a small breath, and without a word, she gently took Azzi’s hand, guiding it back up to her shoulder. The subtle movement was almost instinctive, a silent message that carried no discomfort—just a quiet assurance.

Azzi, realizing what she’d done, let out a breathless apology. “I’m sorry.”

Paige didn’t say anything immediately. She simply shook her head, the slight smile on her lips reassuring and seemingly tender. “It’s fine, pretty.” Her voice was soothing, like a calm after the storm, and it melted any hesitation Azzi had.

The words made Azzi’s breath catch, her eyes barely open as they met Paige’s gaze—deep brown eyes locking with Paige’s steady blue ones. Azzi’s voice barely broke through her breath, whispering, “I’m close.”

Paige nodded, her heart quickening, her breath steady as she stayed close, hovering just above her. Her lips brushed against Azzi’s ear as she whispered back, “I got you.”

Azzi’s grip tightened around Paige, her nails curling into Paige’s skin, pulling her even closer. “Can you kiss me?” Azzi asked breathlessly, her voice nearly a plea.

Without hesitation, Paige leaned down, her lips capturing Azzi’s in a passionate kiss. As soon as their mouths met, the kiss deepened, and Paige’s senses swirled—Azzi’s breath, the taste of her lips, the way her body moved beneath hers.

As the kiss grew more intense, Paige found herself swallowing Azzi’s gasps. Azzi was shaking beneath her, the tension building in her stomach. Paige could feel it, her own body responding instinctively, but it was Azzi’s trembling that made her want to hold on tighter. She kissed Azzi even deeper, feeling her tremble and pull at Paige’s shoulders. With every second, the heat between them seemed to double, and Paige couldn’t get enough of Azzi’s lips—of her sounds—of the way she reacted to her touch.

Azzi’s body arched beneath her, and Paige felt the moment before Azzi released over her fingers, her hands tightening once more around Paige. She didn’t break the kiss, her lips staying connected, savoring the moment as Azzi shuddered underneath her, the sounds she made muffled by their kiss that neither of them seemed inclined to stop.

After a few minutes the kiss finally broke, they were both breathless, but Paige stayed hovering above Azzi, her heart still racing.

After giving her a moment Paige moved off of Azzi and settled beside her, she could feel the soft heat of the moment still lingering between them. Azzi, though clearly trying to regain her energy, looked at her with a slight grin as she took slow, steady breaths, still adjusting to the aftershocks of what she felt.

Paige smiled a little, her voice. "Don't worry about it. You can get me next time," she said, her eyes filled with the playful confidence that Azzi had come to expect from her.

Azzi, barely opening her eyes, let out a small laugh, the remnants of pleasure still evident in her expression. "Who said anything about next time?" she asked, her voice light but laced with a hint of challenge.

Paige raised an eyebrow, giving her a look—one that was knowing, confident, and just a touch teasing. Azzi saw the look and didn't bother arguing, instead rolling her eyes as she closed them, her body still trying to find its calm.

Paige got up and walked to the bathroom, the soft click of the door closing behind her was the only sound in the room. She stood in front of the sink, running the water to wash her hands. Her eyes caught the faint scar near her hairline in the mirror, a reminder of a past she usually kept tucked away. The scar wasn’t large, but it was there and she noticed it every time she looked at herself.

Paige sighed softly, her reflection in the mirror a quiet reminder of everything she carried with her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let the moment pass, focusing on the present instead. The warm water running over her hands brought a sense of normalcy, something she could control in a world that often felt unpredictable.

After drying her hands, Paige stood still for a moment, giving herself a final glance in the mirror before turning to head back to the bed. The weight of everything was still there, but it was lighter these days, fading into the background as her mind shifted back to the room she was in—and the woman she had just met, someone who felt entirely familiar.

When Paige returned to the bed, Azzi was still lying there, her eyes closed, her breath steady but soft. The moment between them had settled into a comfortable quiet. Paige walked back to her side of the bed, her gaze lingering on Azzi for a moment longer before she sat down next to her.

Azzi opened her eyes, meeting Paige’s gaze, her lips curving into a small smile. Paige gave her a soft smile in return, one that said everything without words. The air between them felt oddly still.

Paige settled into the bed, pulling the covers up over both of them, her body still warm from their earlier closeness. She could sense Azzi hesitating, her body almost stalling before she moved toward her. Paige chuckled softly, the sound slightly affectionate as she spoke. “We just had sex, Azzi. I can hold you.”

Azzi didn’t say anything at first, but Paige felt the shift in the mattress when Azzi finally moved closer. She rested her head against Paige’s chest, letting out a small sigh as she cuddled into her side. It was as if the world outside of the room didn’t exist anymore, the quiet intimacy settling between them. Azzi’s hand found its way across Paige’s stomach, her fingers gently brushing over her skin.

For a moment, Paige tensed as Azzi’s hand grazed over the scar on her torso, a small but noticeable part of her that she had learned to live with but never truly embraced. Paige’s breath hitched ever so slightly, but she didn’t pull away. She flicked her fingers lightly against her side, a small but intentional movement as she fought her body not to react too strongly.

She willed herself to stay still, to just let Azzi be without any hesitation. Paige took a steady breath, tightening her other arm around Azzi, pulling her in just a little closer. She closed her eyes, letting the weight of the night, of their connection, wash over her as she allowed herself to slowly relax into the comfort of the moment.

Azzi’s breath evened out against her chest, signaling that she was starting to drift off, and Paige willed herself to follow shortly after, the steady rhythm of their breathing a lullaby that eased her into sleep.

[caracalla-dondus]

Suspicious Minds

Pairing: Emperor Geta/wife!reader

Summary: A senator informs Geta about the rumors surrounding his wife

Author's Note: This fic consists of pieces I took out from a much longer fic I had written. After reading what I originally wrote I didn't really vibe with the whole thing and so I took out parts I liked best to create this fic. Idk if it's better or worse because things feel a bit rushed in this fic now and not as cohesive as before but it's good enough I think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I was partly inspired by Fire & Blood where it says that some in court found Queen Rhaenys Targaryen suspicious because she spent time with bards and singers and they were sure she must be having an affair on Aegon I. Also the title is from the Elvis song of the same name because it popped into my head while writing this because it's similar to the plot lol.

~~~

The late afternoon sun streamed through the marble arches of the palace, casting shadows across the floor of the Emperor’s private chamber. Emperor Geta paced restlessly, his jaw clenched tight, his fingers twitching. The rumors had come to him this morning, carried by a senator whose words had been carefully chosen, yet laced with venom.

“She is often seen in the company of poets and bards, my Emperor. Some say perhaps too often.”

The words echoed in Geta’s mind as he strode to the balcony. Below him, others strolled about, oblivious to the storm brewing in his heart. He had always known that his wife had a fondness for the arts. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her. The way her eyes lit up when she heard the verses of a poem she thought was interesting, the soft smile that graced her lips during the final notes of a ballad. She was a woman of intelligence and charm. Perfect qualities to be his empress.

But now those very same qualities and interests had become the source of his unrest.

~

Geta finds his wife out in the garden. “I had hoped to speak with you my wife,” he said, his tone polite but firm. 

“What troubles you, my love?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she stepped closer to him.

Geta studied her, his gaze lingering on her face, searching for some sign of guilt. But she looked as she always did, serene, composed, and beautiful. “There are whispers in the court,” he began slowly, “that your affection for music and poetry has extended beyond mere appreciation.”

His wife’s eyes widened, and then she laughed softly, a sound like the chiming of bells. “Surely you don’t believe such nonsense.”

“I don’t want to,” Geta admitted, his voice low. “But the court is not kind to a woman who spends her days surrounded by other men, no matter how innocent her intentions.”

Her smile faded, and she placed a hand on his arm. “Geta, these men are poets, musicians and artists. They speak to me about the soul, not the flesh. My heart belongs to you, and only you.”

He wanted to believe her. He needed to believe her. But the thought of her laughter, her attention, her admiration being bestowed on another man gnawed at him. “Then why do others speak of you so?” he demanded, his voice rising slightly. “Why do they say you adore Bacchus so much that you have embraced his indulgences?”

His wife stiffened, her hand falling away. “Do you question my virtue?” she asked, insulted that her husband would believe such nonsense about her.

“I question the company you keep!” he snapped, the words sharper than he intended.

She took a step back, her expression conveying her hurt and frustration. “You have always known who I am Geta. I am not a woman content to sit idly in the palace, just simply gossiping my day away. I find joy in the divine chaos of creation. If that makes me suspicious in the eyes of our court then so be it. But I will not apologize for things I did not do.”

Her words hung in the air between them, heavy with emotion. Geta clenched his fists, his anger warring with his love for her. Finally he spoke, his voice softer. “I do not wish to stifle you. But I cannot bear the thought of others questioning your loyalty or your love for me.”

His wife stepped closer, her gaze steady. “Then let me reassure you, my emperor. I am as sure of my love for you as I am about Sol bringing us the sun each morning. But if you doubt me, then tell me what must I do to prove myself?”

He sighed, reaching out to cup her face in his hands. “Stay with me tonight,” he murmured. “Let the poets and bards sing their songs without you for once. Let Bacchus have his revelry elsewhere.”

She smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. “If it will ease your mind, my dear husband then I will stay.”

Geta pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if to shield her from the whispers that sought to undermine them. But even as he held her, a shadow of doubt lingered, refusing to be banished entirely.

~

The grand halls of the palace echoed with the click of her delicate sandals against the marble floor. The weight of her husband’s arm on her shoulder was both reassuring and suffocating. For the past three days, Geta had not let her out of his sight. Where she went, he followed. Where he could not follow, he sent his guards to watch her every step. It was unlike him, and though his paranoia was silent, she could feel it in the way his fingers tightened around her arm, in the watchful, almost desperate glint in his eyes.

She had tried to comfort him, tried to reassure him of her loyalty, but it seemed no words could pierce through the suspicion that had taken hold of him.

During a feast, Geta watched his wife like a hawk as she entertained a visiting nobleman whose son had written a collection of poems. His wife listened to the man intently, her soft smile never wavering as the man recited a verse.

But Geta saw something else. He saw how the man’s eyes lingered on her, how her laughter seemed to light up the room. His fingers dug into the armrests of his chair, his jaw tightening. Was it admiration? Was it mere courtesy? Or was there something more? The thoughts churned in his mind like a storm, dark and unrelenting.

When the man left, Geta wasted no time. He rose abruptly, crossing the room to where his wife stood.

“You enjoyed his company,” he said, his voice low but laced with accusation.

His wife blinked, startled by his tone. “He was reciting his son’s poetry, my dear husband. That’s all it was.”

“You smiled at him,” Geta pressed, his eyes narrowing. “You laughed.”

“Am I not allowed to smile and laugh?” she asked softly, though there was a tinge of frustration in her voice. “Must I always wear a sour expression to please you?”

His hand shot out, gripping her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “You are mine,” he said, his voice trembling - not with anger, but with something deeper, something more fragile. “Your smiles, your laughter, they belong to me and no one else.”

Her eyes softened as she saw the flicker of insecurity behind his harsh words. She reached up, covering his hand with her own. “And they are yours, Geta,” she murmured. “Only yours.”

His grip loosened, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if afraid she might vanish. “I will not lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I cannot.”

~

For the next several days, Geta’s wife’s world shrank. Where she once wandered the gardens freely, now her husband walked beside her, his hand resting possessively on her waist. When she visited the library, he went with her. Her gatherings with poets and musicians were no more, replaced by dinners where Geta sat her beside him, his eyes never leaving her.

She tried to be understanding, but his constant scrutiny weighed heavily on her. One evening, as they sat together in their chambers, she finally spoke.

“Geta,” she began, her voice tentative. “Do you not trust me?”

He looked up from the goblet of wine in his hand, his expression guarded. “Of course I trust you, you are my wife,” he said after a long pause. “It is everyone else I do not trust.”

“You cannot keep watch over me forever,” she said.

His jaw tightened. “You are my wife,” he said firmly. “My empress. And I will not risk anyone else taking you from me.”

“Even if it means suffocating me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Geta flinched, as if her words had struck him. He set the goblet down and rose to his feet, pacing the room. “You do not understand,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I have enemies everywhere. We have enemies everywhere. They would use you against me. They would take you from me. Take your love away from me”

“Who could take me when I am yours in both heart and soul?” she asked, rising to stand before him.

He stopped, his gaze meeting hers. For a moment, he looked like a man on the edge of breaking, his carefully constructed armor of intimidation cracking to reveal the fear beneath. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “But the thought of losing you terrifies me.”

She reached out, cupping his face in her hands. “Geta,” she said softly, “you will not lose me. I love you.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “Promise me,” he whispered. “Promise me you will never leave me.”

“I promise,” she said, though her heart ached at the desperation in his voice.

He pulled her into his arms again, holding her as if his life depended on it. She sighed softly, resting her head against his chest. She understood that his possessiveness was not born of cruelty, nor out of a need to stifle her but it was of a fear he could not truly voice, a fear he could not truly reconcile with, and it had consumed him.

And so she stayed, tethered to him by her love for him, hoping that soon his insecurities would ease and he would see that she was his, not because he demanded it, but because she chose it. But she was not sure how much she could take of this suffocating behavior. Of every move of hers and every interaction being heavily watched.

~

She rarely let her frustrations boil to the surface, but this time was different. As she sat across from her husband in their private chambers, the weight of the senator’s venomous words and their impact on her marriage gnawed at her patience. For days and days now, Geta’s suffocating possessiveness had taken over every aspect of her life, and she could no longer bear the thought that this rift between them had been instigated by a man seeking to undermine her, a man seeking to replace her.

She set down her goblet with a sharp clink, her hands trembling, not with fear, but with barely restrained annoyance and anger. “I’ve been thinking, my dear husband,” she began, her voice calm but carrying an obvious edge to it.

Geta glanced up from his seat, his brow furrowing slightly at her tone. “What is it?”

She met his gaze, her eyes blazing with uncharacteristic determination. “The senator who came to you with these baseless rumors. I believe he must be punished.”

Geta blinked, clearly surprised. “Punished? For what?”

“For daring to speak against me,” she replied, her voice firm, slightly exasperated that he did not already know what she spoke of. “For poisoning your mind with lies and causing this… this chaos between us. He sought to undermine your confidence in me, to cast doubt on my loyalty, to possibly destroy my reputation. That is not something we should let go unanswered.”

Geta leaned back in his chair, studying her intently. “You surprise me, wife. I thought you were above petty revenge. You have always counseled me against such rash decisions before”

“This is not petty, nor is it rash!” she shot back, her tone sharpening. “He sought to disgrace me, your wife, your empress. By doing so, he has disgraced you as well. How can you tolerate such audacity?”

Her words struck a nerve. Geta’s insecurities flared, his mind racing as he considered her argument. She was right. The senator’s insinuations had not only called his wife’s loyalty into question but had also implied that Geta was a weak ruler, unable to control his own household. The thought made his blood boil.

“What would you have me do?” he asked, his voice low.

“Demote him. Remove him from his position. Let it be known that you will not tolerate slander against your Empress.”

Geta narrowed his eyes. “And if others see this as an act of weakness? A sign that I am blinded by my love for you?”

“Let them see it as a warning,” she countered. “Let them know that your loyalty to your wife is unwavering and that you will not allow anyone to sow baseless discord in your court.”

Her words appealed to Geta’s pride, and she could see the gears turning in his mind. After a long silence, he nodded slowly. “Very well. The senator will be dealt with. I’ll ensure his removal will be public and soon.”

Relief washed over her, though a part of her felt dissatisfied about simply just having the senator removed from his position. The senator had meddled in her marriage, made her husband watch every move she made for days now, and he deserved to face more severe consequences for it. The senator has a daughter around her age, she felt certain the senator was likely hoping to get her pushed aside to potentially make way for his daughter to get close to Geta, for her to be the next Empress of Rome. Geta’s wife seethed silently at the thought of someone replacing her, of someone attempting to steal her position. She thought about paying Caracalla a visit and informing him of the treacherous senator in their midst. He would certainly give her the dramatic reaction she wants.

Geta rose from his seat, crossing the room to stand before her. He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze softening. “You are right. I should never have allowed his words to poison my mind. You are my empress, my wife. No one will come between us again”

She smiled faintly, leaning into his touch and calming for a moment. “And I will always stand by your side Geta. But we must stand together, against anyone who seeks to divide us.”

Geta kissed her then, fierce and possessive, as if to reaffirm their bond. She let herself melt into the embrace, even as a small voice in the back of her mind wondered if she should push for more to be done about the senator. 

~~~~

reader can't take out her frustrations on Geta so she will take it out on the senator who started all of this instead lol

[cybrasigilism]

could u maybe do like mutual virginity loss with player 125? like both of them r so shy and awkward,, i think it would be adorable.,.

So Anxious (Park Min-su/Player 125 X F! Reader SMUT)

warning: smut, no way | not proofread | lowercase intended | sub x sub | virginity loss | riding | this is my interpretation of this character, please be respectful even if my opinions of the character differ from your own

character: park min-su (player 125)

A/N: decided to make this one an out of the games kinda post! i absolutely adore the idea of the reader being just as shy and nervous about the whole ordeal as min-su, thank you for the cute request! hope you enjoy :)

MDNI! 18+ content beneath the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

➤ since you were both serious about having you first be with someone special, you guys definitely tried to talk it out beforehand. but you both ended up becoming too flustered to really continue.

“how are we gonna be able to do it if we can’t even talk about it?”

“i don’t know…i still want to though..”

➤ when you guys eventually decided to get to it, you initiated the kiss but pulled away almost immediately, covering your face sheepishly.

“sorry! am i moving too fast?”

“n-not at all!” (he was definitely blushing himself, conflicted whether or not to hide the tent in his pants considering what you two were trying to do here)

➤ at first, you guys tried making out in the typical position— you being underneath him. but, you could tell min-su wasn’t exactly confident like this, so you guys switched up to where you would be straddling him. this drove him nuts of course

➤ once you guys got into the groove of things, your nerves began to calm. sure you were both shaking, but it had a bit more to do with the sheer anticipation now coursing through your bodies each time your lips met. it wasn’t made any better when min-su eventually snuck his hands up your shirt, caressing your bare back with his cold palms. the noise you made startled him, which you felt bad for

“oh, i’m sorry.. was that too much?”

“no! no, your hands are just c-cold.. that’s all..”

“ah, did you want me to stop or-“

you shake your head “feels nice, don’t stop on my account.”

➤ you’re unsure if you should at first, but you start to grind on him, drawing a unexpected moan from beneath the kiss you were currently sharing. you broke the kiss as you started to subconsciously grind harder, avoiding eye contact out of embarrassment at the expression that must have been painting your face just then. you could tell min-su was repressing his voice just as much as you were your own— you were both positively petrified to make any sound at all, in fact. but, some stifled moans made their way past as he shifted his grasp from your back to your hips.

➤ when you guys actually ended up having sex, it was a swift matter for both parties. i mean, let’s be real here. you were both completely inexperienced virgins, you couldn’t be surprised that you guys both wound up cumming fast. however swift it may have been, you enjoyed it nonetheless. he wasn’t too big, so it didn’t hurt too badly, but it was enough to make you feel better than your fingers ever could.

➤ oh yeah, and you guys could forget about masking those moans of yours any longer. the moment you sank down onto his dick, min-su was a goner. you had never heard him make such a sound in all your life, and you even asked him if he was alright initially. sure, you may not have been so vocal at first contact, but as soon as you started moving that completely turned on its head.

➤ after the fact, you both just kind of laid there next to one another. silent. come on, you had just changed the trajectory of your friendship forever, that was a lot to process. after a moment though, you both found that neither of you could wipe those stupid grins off your faces. you had just changed the entire path of your friendship, forever. and you were both okay with that

AAAA thank you so much for this adorable request! i absolutely loved writing some soft smut, however short it may have been :) thanks for reading again, and i’ll see you on the next one!

as always, any advice/constructive criticism on how to improve my writing is appreciated and requested! have a fantastic day/night lovelies 💋💋

tags: @gongyoosgf @strangelife122 @agorsnotworld @luvlyfandoms @putrescentpoet

[s0fter-sin]

pt.3 of my horror au! you can find pt.1 here and pt.2 here!

cw mild horror, fear

johnny opens his eyes

or- he thinks he does

it’s completely black, not a speck of light to be found anywhere; certainly not the lantern he’s started keeping on by his bed or the moonlight that should be coming through the curtains

he remembers falling asleep on the couch; he was exhausted after ripping out the fresh carpet from the sitting room, the pristine thing at odds with the smoke stained walls. it didn’t match any of the carpets or rugs in the rest of the house, too modern compared the vintage fittings and, new or not, that bothered him so it had to go

he just hadn’t been expecting the giant brown stain embedded in the hardwood underneath

he was turning over the pros and cons of buying a floor sander if he ever stopped foot off the property again, promising himself he was only resting his eyes for a moment, and before he knew it, he was out

now he doesn’t even know if he’s awake

“ghost?” johnny whispers. his voice echoes strangely; muted like he’s an in enclosed but long space and bouncing off things he can’t even hope to see

he has no idea where he is. he’s not in the basement, not with how dark it is; even the little cloudy window would be a wellspring of light compared to this. it smells damp too; musty with stillness, like not much air gets to it

johnny sets a hand in the soft dirt beneath him and sits up, some kind of cloth falling off his shoulders. he reaches out with shaking hands, searching for any kind of balance - a wall, furniture, something - and slowly gets to his feet

“ghost, you here?”

his fingers meet nothing but open air and he almost tips over. he has no equilibrium, nothing grounding him; the dark so all-consuming, he might as well have not moved at all

air dances over his cheek and he gasps and spins around when a large hand latches around his wrist and johnny hisses as he’s tugged blindly forward

“ghost?” he asks and the hand tightens

he doesn’t know what to do with the relief trying to warm his belly

“hey, slow- slow down, i can’t see,” he gasps, stumbling over the uneven ground. the whole thing bowed and curved, gravel flicking out into the depths with every step like it was carved out by hand and never smoothed out

johnny swallows hard and clutches at ghost’s arm with his other hand

“ghost, can… can we go back upstairs?” he whispers, futilely pulling at his sleeve. something old and animal in him claws at the inside of his skull, baying and screaming that he not raise his voice; to not break this unnatural still darkness too harshly. “please?”

ghost just leads him deeper into the void

until he suddenly stops and johnny covers his mouth to mute the beginnings of the scream ripping from his throat when he runs into his back. he digs his fingers into his cheek, forcing a slow breath through his nose

“…you want to show me something?” he guesses and flinches as the air in front of him rushes like ghost’s moving very quickly. something scratches, like rock on rock, and he flinches as he takes his other wrist and cups his hands around something big

ghost’s hands fall away and johnny reflexively clutches the thing to his chest

“don’t leave,” he begs. “please don’t leave me down here.”

silence

he runs his dry tongue over his lips. “ghost?”

those same hands close around his biceps and johnny all but melts into the body-warmth at his back. ghost smooths down his arms, covering his hands with his, and pulls the thing away from his chest to eye-level

like he expects johnny to be able to see it

the way he can

johnny frowns, rubbing over the thing with his thumb. it’s heavier than he expected from the sound it made along the ground; smoother than the rocks he’s seen around the property and the gravel he kicked around down here

ghost’s chin drops on his shoulder and he jumps, pausing as he rolls into his neck and he can clearly feel the wide grin on his face

he blinks and something makes him press back into him, to try and see him with his body. there’s a cleft in his top lip he’s never noticed before and he’s practically shaking, rocking against his back like he’s trying to urge him to go quicker

johnny spins the rock around in his hands, trying to feel what it is, what would make ghost so - almost childishly - excited. his fingers catch on a crater, shallow and smooth like it’s been carved away. he drags his fingers down and feels another, around the same size. his frown deepens and his fingers slow as he finds another hole, this one going straight into the rock

ghost shifts behind him, his grin widening against his skin and something in johnny curdles, his hair standing on end

it feels like he’s not breathing, the dark so complete it’s stealing the air from his very lungs as he works his fingers down the rock; stuttering when the texture suddenly changes. he hits a fissure, then another, another; curls his fingers underneath and feels it flatten out. strangely familiar grooves run along it before it changes and becomes thinner, becomes sharp-

johnny screams

johnny screams and drops the human skull ghost placed in his hands

he throws himself away from ghost and runs blindly into an earth wall. he scratches at the uneven surface, screams still ripping from his throat and feels wet heat on his fingers as his nails scrape and break. his voice cracks, almost shrieking when ghost’s arms suddenly wrap around his waist and pull him back into his chest

“let me out!” johnny screams, fighting his arms, trying to run but run where it’s too dark- “please, let me out, let me out, please!”

ghost’s body curls over his, effortlessly holding him in place as he wrenches in his grip and wails and /screams/. he presses his face into the side of his head and johnny strains to get away, to stop touching him, to run-

and falters when he feels the contours of his face

ghost isn’t smiling anymore

“please,” johnny sobs brokenly, his legs going out from under him. but ghost tightens his grip and doesn’t let him fall. “let me out… please, i wanna get out. please, please…”

he keeps begging, mindless and panicked and almost screams again when ghost tugs him back a step, his fingers digging into his clothes. he doesn’t want to touch the skull again, he doesn’t want ghost to leave him, he doesn’t want to be lost in the dark-

ghost’s giant hands grip under his thighs, pulling him up and he slings his legs around his waist, burying his face in his throat as he sobs

his weight tilts and johnny flinches as his back suddenly touches dirt, arching up into ghost’s body to get away from it- he doesn’t want to be underground anymore, he doesn’t want to be buried anymore-

ghost wraps an arm under his back, holding him tight to his body, and johnny shrinks even more at the scrape of dirt and brick against the outside of their shoulders as he crawls them through some kind of hole

his weight shifts again, falling into the cradle of ghost’s hips, and he sobs at the feeling of going up

the arm crawling them forward presses against his armpit and johnny cringes at the screech of metal on concrete as ghost shoves something out of the way, involuntarily peeking out behind him

and gasps in pure relief at the moonlight streaming through the basement window; the dim yet powerful light making his eyes ache after so long in such total darkness

he can’t bear to look away from it, even as his eyes twitch and squint, still clinging to ghost as he crawls them across the basement to the stairs. he gets to his feet, not even stumbling with johnny’s added weight, and he strains to keep looking out the window as he climbs up. only when they reach the top step does he wrench his eyes away, desperately searching for the nearest window

and ghost seems to know it; angling him to look out the dining room into the backyard as he carries him to the couch he fell asleep on

johnny keeps his fingers tangled in his hood as he sets him down, holding him close. he doesn’t even try to pull back and he feels him drop to kneel between his legs, compressing himself down the way a man of his size shouldn’t be able to

his breath stutters on an inhale and johnny forces himself to drag his eyes away from the light, to take his first real look at the source of all his terror; the ghost in his walls…

and he’s just a man

his hair has been hacked at, patches ripped out and uneven, too fine to dread but matted together all the same. thinner patches struggle to grow through shiny scar tissue; some blunt and wide, others looking like burns. but beneath the caked in dirt and years of grease… it might be blonde

his hoodie and jeans sit tight and loose in turn like they were bought for the build of a very different man, hiding dirty skin so pale he didn’t even know it was possible, almost /translucent/; veins bright and bulging beneath his skin like he’s never seen sunlight

and with the size and complexity of the cavern under the basement… maybe he hasn’t

but it’s his face johnny gets caught on

his light lashes do nothing to hide the fine scars dug around his eyes, like he scratched at them with his fingernails and after only his short time in the dark, he can guess why he did it. his pupils look permanently dilated, forcing away the deep brown of his irises; unblinking, desperate to take in as much light as possible. more scars cut through his skin, so old and light they almost blend in, difficult to see through the dirt staining his skin

but none of it, the scars, the filth, the uncanny wrongness…

none of it hides how beautiful he is

ghost slowly reaches up and johnny freezes as he brings his thumb to his cheek, wiping through the sticky tear tracks on his skin. it makes his sleeve fall back and his heart seizes at the thick, ragged band of scarring ringing his wrist

he swallows heavily as ghost brings it back to his mouth, sucking his tears from his skin. it splits the cleft in his upper lip wider, splaying over his thumb. ghost doesn’t look away and johnny’s heart beats loud in his ears as he reaches for his hand, tangling his fingers through his own, and lifts it to his mouth

his hand shakes as he gently runs his thumb over his bottom lip, catching on his chapped skin and the smaller scars splitting it, but ghost stops his hand; moving his thumb up to his top lip

the cleft matches up to a thick scar running up his cheek, just skirting his nose and almost meeting his eye and johnny’s violently reminded of the body’s worth of blood stained into the floor of the sitting room

“the sk-…” he falters, a shudder creeping up his spine as he remembers the feel of it in his hands. “the person downstairs; did they do this to you?”

ghost cocks his head and johnny’s thumb slips into his mouth, caressing his inner lip

“did… did they put you down there? in the dark?” he tries again

he sucks at his thumb, a gentle self-soothing pressure

“the couple who used to live here…” johnny breathes, slow with realisation. the couple who lived here for thirty years. the couple the realtor refused to tell him anything about…

“they were your parents.”

but she never said anything about a child

“your parents put you down there,” he repeats and feels sick with grief for a boy he’ll never know. “was… was it your mother?”

ghost rears up on his knees, crawling above him and caging him in against the couch and johnny gasps as he lets out an animalistic snarl in his face, spittle flying onto his cheek

“sorry, i’m sorry, it wasn’t her- it wasn’t her, i know she didn’t do it,” johnny rushes out, flattening himself against the couch and tries to pull his hand away when he presses into it even harder, his thumb pressed to his eye tooth

ghost pants, teeth still bared in a deranged snarl. his mouth twitches, lips slowly falling to cover his teeth. his tongue runs over his lips, gathering the spit from them and tickling the edges of his thumb

“y-your father…?” he tries and his breath catches as he nods

johnny slowly copies him, still pressed back into the couch

ghost’s eyes flicker up at him like he’s checking his reaction and keeps lapping at his thumb, long almost apologetic passes of his tongue as he works down to his palm. he leans in and johnny’s breath stutters as he laves his tongue up his cheek, cleaning up the spit. ghost lets out a low groan, nibbling along his cheekbone and goosebumps prickle his skin

he sinks back down, mouthing a trail down his throat and he shivers as he bites at his collar, tugging it away with his teeth to expose his collarbone

“ghost…” johnny sighs and he pauses

ghost noses at his sternum and sits back on his heels, nuzzling his forehead into his belly as he pulls something from the front pocket of his hoodie

something heavy tumbles out with it but he ignores it in favour of the bundle of cloth ghost pushes into his hands, wrapping his arms around his hips and sinking his chin into his thigh. johnny’s heart sinks as he gently unfolds it, careful of the unthreading edges and torn holes and has to bite his lip hard

it’s a ragged patchwork blanket; hardly big enough to cover a child. and hand embroidered onto it, in faded and dirtied gold thread is a single word

“simon,” he reads, tracing the once-loved letters

simon perks up in his lap, making a gurgling almost purr in the back of his throat; the closest thing to speech he’s heard from him in the month he’s lived here

“your name is simon,” johnny breathes

he thought he considered everything about how he ended up a prisoner in his own house; a serial killer toying with his food, a stalker he never noticed, a random psychopath chomping at the bit for his next victim and johnny was just unlucky enough to draw his attention

but if this is the only thing simon has left, his only proof of before… he’s been down there, left alone in the rotting dark, for decades

since he was a child

“i’m so sorry, simon,” johnny whispers thickly

but simon just frowns

like he’s never heard an apology in his life

johnny presses his eyes shut for a moment, just for a moment; to let himself feel the pain and the fear and the grief, then refolds the blanket just as tenderly as he opened it. he presses it into simon’s chest and his heart catches at the way he hugs it tight, dropping his chin to nuzzle into the fabric

he flinches as he takes his hand in his, jerking back, but johnny keeps hold of him; gently tangling their fingers together and rises to his feet

“come on,” he beckons, walking backwards towards the stairs

simon’s grip tightens around his blanket. but he follows him, up the stairs johnny sprinted down the morning after he first saw him, across the landing with the vents he counted and dreaded walking past, into his bedroom

where it all began

johnny pushes the door wider and riley pops his head up from his dog bed, tensing and about to jump up when he sees simon behind him

“back to sleep, riley-boy,” he soothes and riley droops and burrows straight back under his blanket, nosing it up over his face until only his ears stick out

he smiles and turns back to simon- but it drops when he sees how he’s frozen in the doorway; quick, wide eyes darting around the room. around the master bedroom, clutching his blanket to his chest like he’s afraid of it being stolen

“it’s okay, simon,” johnny promises, rounding him and takes his other hand in his. “he’s not here anymore; you can come in.”

he slowly steps backwards and with the gentlest tug on his hands, simon follows

but lets out an almost involuntary sounding hiss, squeezing his eyes shut and twisting away from the automatic lantern set up on his bedside table

johnny looks between them, at the warm light that’s been his beacon for the last few weeks, and the man he needed that safety from

he holds his breath

and flicks off the lantern

chills immediately creep up his spine; the encroaching shadows smothering him like waves and it’s only simon’s hand in his, the gleam of moonlight catching his eyes, that keeps him above water

johnny squeezes his hand and brings him to the bed, silently coaxing him under the covers. he’s stiff, holding himself so rigid it almost looks painful, and he leaves the covers around his waist, not wanting to make him feel restricted when he’s already so visually unsure

“just like you did for me,” he murmurs, remembering the scrap cloth of a blanket he woke under

simon’s most prized possession

his only possession

simon cocks his head, that same primitive yet studious look in his eyes as he watches him climb in next to him and tug the covers up to his shoulder. he looks at it then the side over his waist, and pulls it up until it covers him up to the neck

johnny can’t help the smile tugging at his lips and sinks deeper into the bed, the blanket riding up higher

until they match

“we’re safe here, simon,” he promises

simon’s wide brown eyes stare back at him and it’s all to easy to lose himself in them

💀🧼

when johnny wakes up, simon is gone; only a dirt-stained imprint of him left on the sheet and pillowcase

and his phone sitting innocently on the side table, beside the lit lantern

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

SAFE & SOUND — part 5

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

word count: 23.7k

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

MASTERLIST

People.

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

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

But now you understand something even more unsettling.

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

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

And that’s what makes him dangerous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s exactly what you’ll do.

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

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

And hope is stupid.

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

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

And you have something to lose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not to them. Not to hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it’s just Jungwon.

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

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

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

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

And you know. It’s time.

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

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

Freedom.

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

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

“Y/N.”

You freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope.

Not that damned hope again.

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

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

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

But you never did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His next words strike harder than anything else.

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

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

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

Everything.

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

But here? Here, you care.

And walking away makes you a monster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—I didn’t mean it that way—”

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t move.

“You’re the greatest loss, Jungwon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, something is off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s sickeningly methodical. Choreographed chaos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s him. The guy Jay went after.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re moving the horde. 

Towards you. Towards Jungwon. Towards all of them.

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

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

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

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

And that’s exactly why you left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’re actually going to die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because saving them is saving yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you see him.

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

He didn’t tell them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ripple of confusion is immediate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then Jungwon turns to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why does it feel so wrong?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This morning, you left, didn’t you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to deny. You really really want to.

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

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

“That includes each other.”

The lump in your throat grows tighter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not unless you do something.

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

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

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

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

In the end, you chose hope. 

And hope guided you back to them.

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

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

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

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

The horde is too big.

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

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

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

It’s a losing battle.

You know it. They must know it too.

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

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

But they’re trying anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re already counting heads.

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

Your stomach twists.

Where’s Sunoo?

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

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

The world around you stills.

Your breath catches.

Sunoo.

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

Your worst fears are confirmed.

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

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

She’s inside the rest stop. How?

Then it hits you.

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

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

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

The woman doesn’t even spare him a glance.

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

And then she starts counting.

"Ten."

Your gaze flicks to Jay.

What should we do?

"Nine."

Jay’s jaw tightens.

Let’s wait it out.

"Eight."

Your stomach knots.

And what if she shoots him?

"Seven."

Jay exhales sharply, weighing the risk.

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

"Six."

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

She’s bluffing.

"Five. I’m really going to do it."

Your breath catches.

She’s not bluffing.

"Four."

Jay hesitates.

She has nothing to lose.

"Three—"

“Alright, we’re coming out.”

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

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

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

She can’t know that.

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

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

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

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

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

But it’s enough.

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

A stump.

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I know you.”

It’s Jake.

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

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

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

His words send a ripple of confusion through the group.

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

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

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

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

Jake doesn’t react, his expression carefully guarded.

And then her smirk disappears altogether.

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

A chill settles over the group.

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

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

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

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

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

“What excuse do they have?”

No one answers.

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

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

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

It lingers.

Your breath stills.

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

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

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

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

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

Sanctuary. The word makes your stomach churn.

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

Then, her smirk fades, replaced with something colder. 

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

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

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

She’s right.

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

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

But they might as well have.

It’s a sickening realisation.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re no different from The Future.”

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

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

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

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

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

The belief that they’re different.

That they’re good.

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

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

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

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

They’re breaking.

She sees it.

And she revels in it.

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

You need to stop this. Now.

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

Her fingers twitch.

Good.

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

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

A flicker of something shifts through the group.

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

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

Then, she speaks.

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

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

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

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

Because she’s right. They all know it.

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

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

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

There’s only one answer.

Whoever wins.

The only law that exists now is power.

Not justice. Not fairness. Not mercy.

Just power.

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

Survival of the fittest.

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

Because before, losing meant failure.

Now? It means death.

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

You’ll lose.

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

Because nothing from before matters anymore.

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

Because the past won’t save you.

Only the future will.

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

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

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

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

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

Never come back here again…

Soon be one of us…?

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

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

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

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

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

Why? 

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

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

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

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

So they ran.

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

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

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

Your fingers tighten into fists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place can be yours.

They don’t have to run anymore.

Hope is starting to take root.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if she’s the one in control.

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

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

"You’ll understand what I mean soon."

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

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

You can’t look away.

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

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

You’ve already begun losing yourself.

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

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

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

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Sunoo.”

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

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

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

And yet, you left them here. With her.

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

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

“Y/N.”

Jungwon.

“Are you okay?”

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

He still cares.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They stare at you.

Realisation dawns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder if he still feels that way about you.

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

You’re staring at him too.

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

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

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

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

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

But he doesn’t. 

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

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

The silence that follows is deafening. 

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

And the worst part?

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

But now?

Now, you know.

You would have done the same.

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

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

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

No one even breathes.

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

But Jungwon is quiet.

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

And that’s almost worse. 

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

He’s thinking.

Not just about the plan. Not just about them.

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

No.

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

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

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

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

Something like him.

And for the first time, you see it too.

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

He knows it. You know it.

But neither of you say it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is it. 

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

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

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

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

Move. Breathe. Don’t think. 

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

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

"Y/N, let’s talk."

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

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

Jungwon opens his mouth first. "I—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so you do.

Your eyes drift down to the group below.

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

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

Determination.

Resolve.

Hope—

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

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

"And you gave that to them."

His words knock the breath from your lungs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your blood runs cold.

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

Your breath hitches. "Jay?"

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

A weight settles in your chest, heavy and unrelenting.

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t just talking about them.

He was talking about himself.

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

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

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

"Now you do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You weren’t breaking him.

You were keeping him together.

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

You made him feel normal.

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

Just Jungwon.

And maybe you needed him for the same reasons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it means you’re still human after all.

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

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

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

This time, you won’t step away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, without thinking, you move closer.

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

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

So you make the choice for him.

You fall into him.

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

And you let him.

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

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

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

This is enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And somehow, it feels lighter.

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

part 4 - blood | masterlist | part 5 - dusk

♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

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

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

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

[makeitworse]

he’s not me

˖ ࣪✦ su-bong (thanos) x f reader x dae-ho | nsfw dc, mdni

freshly single, you’re out on the town hunting a rebound from your shitty ex. but did you really think he’d let you get away that easy?

c/w: dark themes! drug addiction, very toxic relationship, violence & abuse, choking, possessiveness, manipulation, dub+noncon, cunnilingus, semi-public unprotected sex, degradation, so much angst a/n: sequel to this (or a standalone). this became so much longer than i intended.. there’s alot going on. i intentionally left the ending open. it’s your choice if they do/don’t eventually get back together

it’s your first night post-freedom from su-bong, and you couldn’t be more eager to sink your teeth into someone new.

you walk the crowded streets under fluorescent lights in the tiniest dress you own. the type you’d keep hidden in the back of your closet: su-bong wouldn’t like it. he’d ask who you think you’re trying to impress. well nevermind him. fuck him.

you spare a wink to every man that you checks you out. you don’t avoid brushing against them, you don’t even flinch when you feel their hand lingering a second too long as you pass by. you’re in need of a distraction tonight, and any man will do.

you float through bars, and the men gravitate to you. you’re not really listening when they tell you about their business or their crypto or all the women they have on speed-dial as if you’re meant to cum on the spot. the lines you did before you left the house had made it impossible to zone out.

you were chucking back any shots that slid your way. you were in a rush to drown out the thoughts of your ex creeping in.

you couldn’t hold glasses too long, else you’d remember the shatters that littered across the floor when he threw them. you couldn’t stare at doors too long, else you’d remember hearing his fist denting the wood and blood marking the spots. you said you were done being with him, and he showed you exactly why.

you take deep breaths to ground yourself. attention from old drunks at the bar was a shitty pre-game; you needed someone who could pound the memories of your ex out of you.

back on the street, you were already wobbling with the weight of all the please-fuck-me drinks they bought you - but who’s counting anyway? you bee-lined to the first place booming with flashing lights and music.

you’re leaning at the bar, squinting through the pulsing LED lights to scan the crowds. your breath hitches as a hand lands on your ass.

you face him, hoping to god it’s not you-know-who, and thank fucking christ it’s not. god, you need him out of your head already. this guy’s not hot enough to do the job though.

you tune him out as he talks your ear off, and you continue to check out the selection. your gaze lands on a man sitting at a table with his back turned to you, hair falling down his neck: nam-gyu?

you really couldn’t tell through all this rainbow flashbanging of the lights.

you watch him turn his head to the side, chatting to the person sitting next to him. his face is full with a warm smile, and focusing through all the music you could just hear the gentleness of his laugh. yeah that’s definitely not nam-gyu. but colour you attracted.

you honed in on him.

the few people around the table took notice of you, and not-nam-gyu turns in his stool to face you. he’s gorgeous.

you hadn’t noticed that his hair was actually half-up in a ponytail. strands fell around his face, and he eyed you curiously with that kind smile. you wanted to sit on it.

“don’t i know you?”

he shakes his head gently, seeming almost disappointed in himself for not recognising you back. you bite your lip and feign trying to put a name to his face.

“oh!” you point to him, “you’re the guy who’s taking me to the dance floor.”

whistles and gibes erupted around the table. he glances to his friends, then shyly back at you. your palm opens for him, and with a friend’s nudge to his shoulder, his hand’s on top of yours.

your fingers weave between each other’s as you lead him to the floor. as you squeeze through the dancing crowd, he plants a careful hand on your back and keeps you close to him, pushing through people first to open the way for you.

he turns to you, and your arms wrap around his shoulders. “what a gentleman.”

he just chuckles, cautiously keeping that singular hand on your back. you can’t say you’re used to such restraint for a man.

“i’m sorry, i haven’t asked your name.”

you coo it to him, pulling him in to press your bodies together. he gasps under his breath.

“dae-ho.” he smiles gently, flustered.

you sway together to the music, quickly progressing to jumping and hands in the air. you’re both giggling through the flashing lights. your cheeks hurt from smiling and your throat’s sore from singing - but you’re moving in sync, moving like you were made for one another.

you already felt a flame flickering in your belly, even with such little words. you’d long forgotten your main objective: now you just wanted to keep basking in dae-ho’s warmth. you wanted to know more than just his name.

you brush the tip of your nose against his and catch his breath come out shallow. your hands slowly drag his own down your back, and he almost resists with uncertainty. but you gaze up at him through half-lidded eyes: irises pools of desire. dae-ho succumbs, and his hands rest on your ass.

you loll your head forward, lips grazing his jaw. his chest falls with a deep exhale.

“i’m sorry, gorgeous. we can’t do anything while you’re in this state.”

you furrow your brow with genuine confusion. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear in reassurance.

“i promise i want to, but you’re drunker than i am. it’s not right.”

oh. see, your ex wouldn’t have given one singular fuck about that. (there was one particular instance when you were sobbing after a bad trip, and he had the audacity to get hard.)

you cupped dae-hoe’s blushing cheek in your hand. “then can we see in the morning?”

your voice delivered needy. he notices, and sighs. you were a breathing moral dilemma for dae-ho. his first instinct wasn’t just taking what he wants. not like he would have.

“i shouldn’t let you go home alone like this, anyway.”

you smile together. you chuckle together. you want to kiss him. so you do.

but he pulls you away with a gentle hand on your cheek. you pout.

“i’ll make it up to you once you’re thinking clearly.”

a rough hand locks around your arm and snatches you from dae-ho. you knock into his chest and breathe in the smoke clinging to his shirt. you knew exactly who it was before you heard his annoying drawl.

“babygirllll, i’ve been looking for you.” su-bong squishes your cheeks with his hand under your chin, and you writhe in his grip. “you’ve had me so worried.”

dae-ho tensed upon seeing your resistance. “hey!-”

you watch su-bong stare daggers back at dae-ho. “and who the fuck are you?” he juts his jaw, taking a step closer. “huh??”

heads begin turning at his voice raising, with whispers among the crowd recognising him as a rapper. “fuck you think you’re doin’ all up on my girl, bro?”

“su-bong.” you hiss. he cocks his head ever-so-slightly in your direction, like he couldn’t care less about what you have to say. but you knew what he wanted.

“let’s just go.”

his hand lands on your waist, fingers digging in like he’s trying to break the skin. you don’t hide the fact that you wince. he mutters, “there’s my good girl.”

then he’s dragging you through the crowd, and you can’t bear to spare dae-ho a second glance.

su-bong kicks open a backdoor and shoves you out into a dark alleyway filled with dumpsters. he doesn’t spare you any time to observe your surroundings, because he leeches onto your face and invades your mouth with his tongue.

his knee pushes through your legs to dig up into your core. his long arms kept you in place, hold too tight to writhe free from.

su-bong’s touch seared your skin like acid - but it was a familiar sting. comforting even. you almost missed it.

your body submits to him. you kiss him back, you whine into his mouth. just like he wants. you won’t admit it to yourself, but you’re not even fully acting.

once you feel his grip loosen, you knee him in the crotch, shoving him away as he keels over.

su-bong’s groans of pain blends into a low chuckle. “fuck, you tease.”

“take a fucking hint, su-bong! we’re over!”

“mm,” he hums, like he’s not taking you seriously. he steps to you again. you step back. “you know much i need you. i can’t live without my pretty lady.”

“you’re a fucking cockblocker.”

su-bong bites his lip, eyes scanning over your outfit choice. that little dress that revealed a little too much.

“shit, baby,” his palms carelessly roamed all over your curves, ignoring you trying to push them away. “looks like you were just begging for my attention, huh?”

you scoff. “any man’s but yours.”

you catch the twitch of his eyebrow and clench of his jaw. you recognised well the signs of when he was getting ticked off. but you also caught the moment he cleared his head with a sigh. can’t fuck up his big chance now.

su-bong just shakes his head with a smirk.

“tell me, baby. who’d take you in-,” he pinches your chin. “-after they see you’re just a junkie with a pretty face?”

he makes sure to flick his gaze at you, catch the fleeting shame in your eyes. of course he does. he’s revelling in this shit. like he can save you from yourself if you just run into his arms now.

“it’s none of your business who i fuck. we’re not together anymore.”

“right,” he hunches over with a laugh. “and i guess we’ve both quit drugs too, right?”

you didn’t want to keep getting him off by provoking you, but you just couldn’t swallow down the words stinging your throat.

“like you didn’t get me hooked on that shit!” you spat. “fuck you!-”

you blink, and pain radiates all over your back. you blink again, and su-bong’s pressing into you. it takes a third blink to realise he’d shoved you against the alley wall.

it’s not the bruising grip of his hands on your body or his nails digging into your skin that scares you, it’s his piercing gaze. like his eyes are ripping you open.

“don’t.. even tempt me.”

his voice is hoarse, laced with want. need. he’s itching for a fix.

he brings a delicate hand up to caress your face. “i can be good, baby. i promise. i can do better for you this time.”

he’s planting soft kisses on your neck, goosebumps spreading across your skin as he whispers about how much he loves you, everything he’d do for you.

you shut your eyes as tears gloss over them. there used to be a point in time where you would’ve believed him. and maybe he would’ve meant it too.

but now, the love that binded you was replaced by an addiction: not only drugs, but each other.

the highs were full of screams and bruises and hate-sex. and the withdrawals were even worse. you were dying after every dose. you were killing the other, and yourself.

“we bring out the worst in each other, su-bong.”

“then there’s nobody else for us.”

no two people should ever hold the power to hurt each other like you do. you decide then- not even think, just state:

“i’m going clean tomorrow.”

su-bong scoffs. he doesn’t believe you mean it, and you’re not even sure you do.

“so you’re never seeing me again.”

after a beat, his expression turns solemn. he realises you’re not just provoked, you’re not just trying to hurt him- you’re serious.

his eyes trail off, lost in thought. your body braces itself on instinct. you don’t know what he’ll do to you next. but he just meets your gaze, black pupils swallowing his irises in desire.

“then why are you still here?”

and your lips were on his. your teeth clashed together and his nicked at your lip from the haste, but you kept kissing feverishly through the pain. your tongues twisted with each other’s: su-bong was desperate to reach every corner, taste every last bit of you for the last time. one last hit until you quit him cold turkey.

his hands greedily groped at your tits, your hips, your ass - while your own slid underneath his baggy shirt to claw at his back.

he bit at your neck, you scratched at his flesh. you rolled your hips into his, and he thrusted his hard-on back. he crashed his lips onto yours and kissed you like he was starving to eat you alive.

su-bong keeled over with a moan from the back of his throat as you grasped the outline of his dick through his pants, hot and damp with pre-cum.

in turn he pulled the hem of your dress up. you felt the twitch of his cock in your palm when he saw your pussy dripping- no panties.

“you fucking little-”

you forced su-bong down by his shoulders and he fell to his knees.

“shut the fuck up.”

you push him to your cunt and cry out when he latches on with a hot, open mouth.

he’s lapping at you like a dog. you slouch against the wall as your legs go numb, and su-bong crushes a hand around your hamstring to keep you in place for him. his other splits your cunt open with two digits inside, curling recklessly while he sucks your clit.

incoherent curses at him blended together with your whines. any ‘fuck you’ was lost in a moan when he’d pull his fingers in and out to hit your sweet spot.

he knew you were close with the way your voice went hoarse and your thighs clamped around his head - and that’s when the bitch pulled away.

he propped you up against the wall and tugged his waistband down, his cock springing free with a string of pre-cum.

“shit, baby.” he bit his lip and lined himself up with you. he groaned as his tip prodded your cunt. “you sure we’re over?”

“yes we fucking are.”

you moaned in sync when he thrusted in. for a beat, he stayed there, filling you to the hilt. his heaving body had you pushed up against the wall. he was savouring it. he groaned lowly into your ear.

“hurry up.”

your head knocked back into the wall as he snatched your neck into his hand and started slamming his hips into yours.

the throbbing in your crown was drowned out by su-bong abusing your cunt with his impatient pace, ramming into your cervix and eliciting a cry from you with every thrust.

su-bong was fucking you like you’ll drop dead when the clock strikes midnight. and in a way- the version of you that’d let a man fuck you like he hates your guts will.

su-bong stuck his forehead onto yours, beading with sweat. you saw yourself in his eyes: brows knotted, eyes laced with disgust. and his own were fawning over you, lips panting with a smile.

“you make me fucking sick.” you stammer out, feeling the knot undo with every ram of his dick to your sweet spot.

he presses a wet kiss to your lips that you don’t return. “i’m in love with you, baby.”

you unravelled then. su-bong maintained his bruising pace while your walls fluttered around his cock. he bit down onto your shoulder to smother his moans as his hips stuttered inside of you, and he came following yours.

your bodies slouched together. your hair stuck to your skin with sweat, and you thought you saw the dye dripping from su-bong’s ends.

you wish you hadn’t cum when you did. you wish you didn’t give him the satisfaction of that being the magic words. you wish you could tell yourself it wasn’t because of him.

without a second glance, you pulled his dick out of you with a grunt from him. smoothing your dress back down, you bump shoulders with su-bong as you move to leave. his arm shoots out around your waist to halt you.

and you just shove it off of you.

you keep your head forward, and as the door swings open to greet you with the booming club music, the only thought in your mind is to find dae-ho.

empty bottles of wine collected on the floor next to your side of the bed. futile attempts to ignore the scab your brain kept picking at.

it’s been months, and you can’t go a day without scratching at it to see if it still hurts. if you just left it alone, then maybe you’d actually heal.

you thought you saw him. you don’t even really know if you did, or if you just wanted to. a flash of purple hair amongst the club’s crowd had your throat burning with bile.

dae-ho’s arm snug around your waist felt you stiffen up, and he faced you: tears already clumping in your lashes. him taking you back home went without question.

now you were dozing off as dae-ho stroked your hair, half-lidded eyes full of adoration. he drew over the lines of your face with his fingers, his touch so gentle like you’d crack if he wasn’t careful.

if he was more like your ex, he’d try to see how rough you could take before you shattered. and then he’d pick up every piece to put you back together.

you were warm in bed with your boyfriend cooing you to sleep about how much he loves you, but tonight all you could think of is how he could never compare to su-bong.

dae-ho gets up to slide under the cover of his side. you gravitate to his heat, burying your face in his neck. he jumps when you plant a hand on the front of his boxers.

“hey- let’s save that for the morning, okay? after i’ve made you a coffee.” he chuckles.

he kisses your forehead. but for some reason, your skin seared with.. disappointment.

su-bong would have taken full advantage of you in your boozy state. you would’ve been irresistible to him, so well-behaved. so perfect for him.

..does dae-ho not want you?

you don’t even know why, but suddenly you’re sobbing quietly and staining his shirt with tears. and dae-ho’s comforting you, apologising if he said anything wrong, and none of it feels right. it’s just not what su-bong would do. he’s just not him.

su-bong hovers over the faces of girls in the bar crowd till he finds vaguely what he’s looking for. she’s pretty, probably. she looks enough like you from afar.

a little bit of chit-chat, and he’s thrusting up into her against the wall of the grimy restroom. he doesn’t look at her face, he wasn’t listening when she introduced herself. his eyes were screwed shut to keep his mind in the place he wanted. the place he needed to cum. and it slips from his mouth in a moan as he does.

a few seconds of shocked silence pass before the girl’s shoving him and mumbling cusses. “why didn’t you just fuck her then?!” rings out as the door slams behind her.

for months on end he’d been numbing himself with shit he wouldn’t let you touch - and still none of the harder drugs were giving him withdrawals like you leaving. needing you was hardwired into his brain chemistry. and well, you had been far more addicted than he was.

you’ll get bored of that guy. and the ones that follow him, too. but nothing will come close to the high that su-bong gave you.

and you always know where to find home.

[bubbleggum444]

—❝𐌋ITTLE MIƧƧ AC𝚃IVIST!❞

contents damian wayne x fem!reader, new hero!reader au, fluff + angst (n comfort), 3k+ wc. synopsis he knows all too well what it is like to feel like you don't fit it.

This felt so... wrong. Everything and everyone around ___ was just so frustrating, so difficult to deal with.

She had been an activist for as long as she could remember, fighting for what she believed in. But everything changed when she became a hero.

For better or worse? She wasn’t sure. No—oh great, Starfire just burned another tree down. Just perfect. Yeah, definitely worse.

Time and time again, this path hurt. It pulled at her, tore at her, like two different people were fighting for control inside her body.

One part of her—the old her—was someone who spent hours protesting, climbing trees to protect them, boycotting inhumane brands, and helping the vulnerable.

The other—the hero—was someone who saw, day in and day out, just how much destruction heroes left behind in their wake.

She knew her thoughts must have been tiring to others. Maybe even annoying. But she didn’t care. They weren’t her, and she wasn’t them. No one had the right to tell her how to feel about this.

Still, she could only bite her tongue for so long.

During a mission, Beast Boy casually tossed a used water bottle onto the street.

She hesitated, not wanting to sound like a nag. So instead, she simply picked it up, intending to throw it in a trash can.

Then she heard Garfield chuckle.

"Are you our new teammate or the trashman, newbie?"

Ouch.

Even the other Titans fell silent at the remark.

Her fingers clenched around the plastic, her vision burning. She didn’t dare look at any of them. She was too close to breaking.

So she walked away.

She hadn’t planned to. It was an impulsive decision, but that was who she was—rash, reactive. Always ready to act against injustice, even before becoming a hero.

She kept walking until she reached a park bench and collapsed onto it. The moment she was alone, the tears came. She hated this—hated feeling weak, hated that everything was finally catching up to her. The pressure of expectations, the weight of two halves of herself pulling in opposite directions.

It felt suffocating.

Like the disappointment she had seen in her parents’ eyes when she struggled to balance school and activism. The kind of disappointment that didn’t hurt physically but cut so much deeper.

A shiver ran down her spine as something cold wrapped around her from behind.

Whack!

On instinct, she swung back, landing a solid smack on whoever had just grabbed her.

"Damian?!" Her eyes widened.

"Oh my God, I’m so—"

"No, I deserved that," he admitted, rubbing his arm. "I came after you... I just didn’t know how to approach you."

Her chest tightened.

She hadn’t expected anyone to follow her. Least of all Damian.

She couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears that spilled over, but this time, he was ready. He pulled her into another hug, and she let herself sink into it, gripping onto him like she might fall apart otherwise.

"There’s nothing wrong with being someone who picks up trash," she mumbled, voice still thick with emotion.

"That’s a decent, respectable job."

Damian huffed a small laugh.

"That’s not funny—"

"I know."

He tilted her chin up, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. His green eyes searched hers, steady and unreadable.

"I’ve noticed how much you’ve been pushing yourself, ___," he murmured.

"Stepping out of your comfort zone. Going against things you once believed in."

His hand brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.She held his gaze, her breath catching.

"It’s admirable," he continued, voice softer now. "And... I understand more than you think."

She swallowed hard.

She barely knew Damian. Out of all the Titans, he was the most closed off.

Yet here he was. In a park. In the middle of the night. Holding her. Comforting her.

Was it always this warm at this time of year?

Her voice wavered slightly when she spoke. "Meaning...?"

He exhaled, thumb brushing over her cheek like he was afraid she might break.

"Meaning I’ve been where you are," he admitted. "I know what it’s like to feel like an outsider. To think that no matter what you do, you’ll never truly fit in."

His voice dipped lower, carrying something raw beneath it.

"And it hurt deeply. I rejected those who tried to help me because they were different, yet I embraced the pain from others simply because they were my familiars."

The air between them felt heavy—not with awkwardness, but with something deeper. It was as if their hearts had silently intertwined, speaking in a language beyond words. The weight of unspoken emotions filled the space between them, their rapid beats echoing a conversation only they could understand.

She felt it. The way her heartbeat stumbled, the way something in her chest tightened painfully.

And she could feel his too. Beating, racing—just like hers.

The silence between them was fragile, delicate, like the moment might shatter if either of them spoke.

With one arm dropping to his side, the other wraps itself around her shoulder in a gentle side hug.

"Let’s go get some dumplings," he murmured. "There’s a Chinatown nearby. The vendors stay open late."

Slowly, she let herself relax against him, nodding.

"Okay," she whispered. "Let’s get some pho."

As they walked along the cobblestone streets, ___ let out a quiet giggle.

His cheeks kind of look like dumplings…

She bit her lip to suppress her laughter, but Damian caught it anyway.

His gaze flickered toward her. "What’s so funny?"

She shook her head, smiling to herself.

"Nothing," she said softly. "I’m just really excited for the food."

Damian narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. But he let it go, walking just a little closer to her as they made their way down the dimly lit street.

And for the first time in a long time, ___ felt like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t so alone after all.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

© — ggυɱi '25

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated

ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ

alsooo BB would NEVA be like this. I just needed a "bag guy" for the story :)👌🏻

[paigesbasketball]

The Workout Distraction

Paige Bueckers x Reader Warning: flirting!suggestive

It was just another typical day at the gym for you and Paige. You had recently started working out together more often, and while Paige was always focused on her basketball training, you liked to mix things up with squats, cardio, and a bit of weightlifting. Today, though, Paige was finding it harder than usual to focus on her workout.

You had just started your set of squats, your form perfect as you bent low, pushing back up and repeating the movement. Paige, who had been quietly doing her own workout across the gym, couldn’t help but glance over every few seconds.

Her eyes lingered on you a bit longer than usual. She had always thought you were beautiful, but today, there was something different about the way you moved. The muscles in your legs flexed and stretched with each squat, and she couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly you controlled your body, how graceful you were, how strong you looked. The beads of sweat on your skin, the way your hips shifted with every motion—it was almost too much to bear.

Her thoughts began to wander. Unholy thoughts, as she would later admit to herself. Thoughts she definitely wasn’t supposed to be having while you were working out. She tried to focus on her own routine, but it was hard to ignore the way your body moved in those tight workout clothes. Her mind, though, just couldn’t stop. The more she watched, the more she found herself distracted.

She caught herself staring, unable to look away as you dropped low into another squat. She could see the muscles in your thighs and glutes flexing, and the way your body moved so effortlessly had her heart racing a little faster.

Paige shook her head, trying to snap herself out of it. But it was no use. You were just too distracting.

You finished your set and stood up, glancing over at Paige, noticing her staring at you. You wiped the sweat from your brow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

“What’s going on over there, babe?” you teased, walking over to her.

Paige’s cheeks flushed slightly. She quickly looked away, a little flustered now. “Nothing… nothing at all,” she said, trying to sound casual, though the slight crack in her voice gave her away.

You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms, clearly unconvinced. “Really?” you said, stepping even closer to her, locking eyes. “Because it sure looked like you were really focused on me.”

Paige let out a nervous laugh, biting her lip. “Maybe I was. But, uh, I mean… you look good when you work out, okay?” Her words came out more flustered than she intended, and she immediately regretted them.

You smirked, taking a step closer until there was only a few inches between you. “So, I’m distracting you, huh?”

Paige let out a small sigh, her eyes flickering to your lips before looking back into your eyes. “You have no idea, babe,” she whispered, her voice low and almost too tempting.

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against her ear. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to focus then,” you teased.

Paige’s breath hitched, and she took a step back, trying to regain some composure. “Yeah, right. Easy for you to say…” she muttered, still struggling to shake off the thoughts swirling in her mind. She looked back over at you, and before she could stop herself, she added, “It’s your fault. You’re just too distracting.”

You smiled knowingly and playfully placed a hand on her arm. “I’ll make it up to you later,” you whispered, a glint of mischief in your eyes.

Paige’s heart skipped a beat, her face still flushed from the intense attraction she couldn’t seem to shake. She wanted to kiss you right then and there, but she wasn’t sure if she could keep it together after the way you’d been looking at her.

“Deal,” she said finally, the tension between you thick in the air as she looked at you with undeniable desire. “Now, let’s just finish this workout… before I get too distracted.”

[milkymora]

left ✧ tsukishima kei x fem!reader ✧ smut ending

note: beware of the ending, it sucks. i wrote this at 4am and realized i was making it way longer than intended so i tried to give it a decent end (failing). it’s also not really proofread so beware of terrible writing & hideous grammar too lmao. mdni.

tw: drunk sex. oral (both r! & tsukki! giving and receiving). fingering (r!receiving).

“so,” tsukishima spoke next to you in a low voice, so that only you could hear it, stopping your zoning out.

you turned your head to him, the voice of the others fading into background noise. “mh?” you hummed, with your cheeks still full of food, inviting him to go ahead.

“how did you sleep?” he smiled, perhaps trying to sound somewhat innocent, although you understood immediately what he was hinting at.

playing it cool, you swallowed your bolus.

“pretty good. what about you?” you held the fork in your hand, partly covering your lips; something you had the habit of doing when eating in company of others.

for a moment, you left your eyes wander on his lips as he spoke.

“amazingly.” he responded, shoving a forkful of the pasta on his plate in his mouth. you watch the way his adam apple moves when he takes a swallow, thinking, for a moment, that that’s how it might’ve looked like yesterday, when he had his tongue inside your mouth. your eyes ajar slightly at the memory of how it felt.

though that wasn’t the place, nor the moment, to think about such things. you weren’t alone.

of course he didn’t really give a shit about it.

“everything alright?” he asked you, seemingly amused.

he knew what you were thinking about. it was written all over your face. or perhaps you were like an open book to him.

or, perhaps, he knew it because he was thinking about it too.

you cleared your throat, fixing your position on your chair, that was suddenly so uncomfortable. “yes.” you murmured, unable to hide your shame in being so goddamn obvious.

“huh? couldn’t hear you.” he leaned in to you, a grin from ear to ear that you wanted to smack away like never before.

“yes.”

“y/n, you look a little red.” shimizu pointed out, almost making you jump. you hadn’t notice her looking at you. was she listening to what you’ve been saying?

“ah, am i?” you nervously laugh it off, low key cursing your friend in your head for saying something like that out loud so carelessly.

“totally. here,” she chuckled, opening a bottle of water and pouring some into your glass, “have this.”

“should’ve given me some wine instead.” you laughed, drinking the fresh water in your glass. you weren’t one to drink, but it could’ve helped to ease up a little.

“hah,” tsukishima scoffed, “you? drinking?”

you turned your head to him again. “yeah,” looking right into his eyes, you grabbed the bottle of red wine the waiter brought on the table a couple moments prior, opened it, poured some into your glass and slowly consuming it, never detaching your eyes from his. “drinking, like this. what about it?” you deadpan.

and he didn’t as well. he kept eye contact all the way, until you put the glass back on the table, which made it way harder for you not to turn red. “nothing. can i have some too, miss?” he asked, that arrogant smile never leaving his lips.

“sure.” filling his glass to the brim, you mimicked his tone of phrase. “as much as you want, sir.”

“get a room, you two!”

the both of you whipped your heads towards the voice it came from, finding a little yachi looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “seriously.” she added after seeing your shocked faces, a smirk you’ve never seen on her doll face.

heavy silence fell between you two as you noticed that also daichi, sugawara and shimizu were peering at you with what looked like amusement on their visages.

kei cleared his throat with a cough that sounded vaguely forced and went back to eat, before attempting to change the subject.

you still noticed the subtle blush on his cheeks, though.

apparently, you weren’t the only one who wasn’t expecting the others to have heard your interaction.

“any, uh..” he drank another glass of wine, licking his lower lip, where a drop was starting to slide down his chin, “any new about the team we’ll play against after winter break?” he inquired, a question thrown in the air to be answered by anyone, but he specifically looked at daichi for a response.

“nope, nothing. they’ll let us know on monday or close.” daichi spoke with his typical fatherly voice. “m’kay.” dryly replied the tallest, pouring himself yet another glass of wine.

“woah, slow down, tsukki. leave us some.” yamaguchi chuckled, teasing his friend. “he’s right. at least ask us if we want some as well.” you joined in.

tsukishima huffed. “anyone who wants a sip?”

everyone shook their heads. everyone except you.

“me.” holding the glass between your index and middle fingers, you slid it towards his direction.

he looked at you, and wordlessly filled it halfly. as he was placing down the bottle, you grabbed its neck.

“don’t be stingy.”

an inquisitive stare began showing on his traits, looking at you in such way you didn’t know how to interpretate.

you wanted to ease up. and it was doing the job amazingly. so much, that you didn’t even realize you were slowly getting light headed.

seeing he wasn’t budging, you sighed. “c’mon, just one more glass. i know what i’m doing.”

“do you?” he pried, that tint of concern that made those butterflies dance in your stomach every time.

“mhm.” you pointed your half filled glass with your chin. “don’t be boring. you’re not my dad.”

he kept still a couple more seconds, but, in the end, he gave in, adding another two inches of the fruity liquid, which you wasted no time bringing to your lips to relish it fully.

your throat burned, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.

the others had returned to each minding their business, when shimizu offered to go outside to smoke a cigarette. it wasn’t her habit at all, nobody’s habit in your group, however, just like it wasn’t your habit to drink, she wanted to do that in that social situation.

after all, a cigarette wasn’t gonna kill anyone.

just like another glass for you, you thought.

most of the members got up from the table, basically everyone. shimizu was the only one who wanted to smoke, along with yachi and asahi, but they hall felt the urge to go outside to take a break of fresh air and stretch their numb limbs, that had been sat down for a good hour now.

which left you, tsukishima and other members who were too far from you to be minded at all, alone in that big table.

a sigh flied out of your lips, the afterstate of the alcohol lingering in the walls of your mouth. without thinking twice, you grabbed the bottle once more.

“you shouldn’t do that.” his tone reverberated in your ear, like a warning.

“i’m still doing it–” you began, “then fill mine too.” he interjected before you could finish.

you rolled your tongue on your teeth within your closed mouth to hide the grin that threaten to betray your pokerface you’ve managed to hold for quite awhile.

you filled his glass, after you did with your own.

“cheers.” you lift your glass. he meets it, then a ‘clack’, and you’re both shoving the booze down your throat once again.

“you know,” you start, your inhibitions fading away every seconds that goes by. “i’ve bought you something.”

“me too.” he stated, unfazed, placing down his glass. he shifted his position on his seat to face you, moving his right elbow over the chair and his left one on the table.

“oh?” your heart fastened. “what is it?” you question.

he fidgeted with his black tie. “i’ll show you later.” he murmured.

“what? no, you can’t tell me this after you’ve made me curious!”

“oh, i can.” his foot gets between your legs the moment you move to face him as well. your breath cut short at the gesture, without really opposing to it.

“why?” instead, you ask.

“because. don’t insist.” he slides up his foot, reaching your knees.

instinctively, you close them, squeezing the tip of his shoe between them.

his gaze falls down. “what are you doing?” you question, tightening your squeeze as you feel his shoe trying to move forward. “we’re not alone.” you alert.

your statement makes him go quiet, getting lost in his own thoughts briefly.

“would you let me do it if we were alone then?” his tone cuts short too, his ears turning peach.

“do what?”

it was useless to lie or play stupid anymore. you knew what he wanted to do, god, everyone noticed the sexual tension since the beginning of that dinner.

and you wanted too. still, you needed to hear him say those dirty words. you wanted to see for how long he could keep going, before giving in. because, as much as you wanted, you were not gonna give in first.

“say it.” you loose your squeeze a little, just to make him come closer your crotch. after a couple more inches, you tighten the squeeze again.

his chest rises and falls at the view, unable to unlock his gaze from your thighs, his cheeks now visibly red, a mixture of the alcohol and excitement. “hey, now,” his whisper closer to a whine. a beg.

the sound of a door being opened and voices chatting in the distance made you snap away, pushing his leg away from your body. “uh—” he jumped backwards, gripping the chair’s backrest as to not fall down.

without being given time to realize, your friends had returned to their little outside break. kyoko, daichi, tadashi, sugawara and yachi all went back to their respective seats around you and kei, along with the other guys at the other end of the table.

“my god, you actually finished the whole bottle?” tadashi lifted the empty bottle with his hand, shocked to see not even a drop was left at its bottom.

you raise your face to him, taken aback by his sentence. “i’m so sorry– i’m gonna buy another one for you only, guys.” you looked at the bottle, noticing just then that you seriously finished a whole bottle with him in less than an hour.

“no! no, it’s fine.” yamaguchi laughed, ashamed. “i didn’t mean to actually make you feel bad, sorry.” he scratched the back of his neck, flashing you a sweet, displeased smile.

“i don’t care, i’m buying it anyway... i genuinely didn’t realize.” you got up from your seat, your purse in your hands. “be right back.”

quickly, you pulled your coat over your shoulders, heading towards the bar at the other part of the restaurant, crossing the hall hastily.

you walked up to the bartender, ordering two more bottles, each with a different flavor as to accommodate to your friends’ personal tastes.

as you wait for the barman, who has went to grab the bottles in another nearby room, you feel a pair of hands go to lay on your shoulders.

“sly, smart girl.” tsukishima whispers in your ear.

heath spreads all over your body as his warm breath tickles your ear. you grab his hands and place them on your hips.

“finally noticed, huh.” you whisper back, leaning the back of your head on his shoulder. “took you long enough.”

his thumbs draw circles on your hips, pulling them against his groin, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

your eyes widen when you sense his erection on your ass.

“give it to me.”

and that was all you needed to hear to let go of that last drop of dignity that the alcohol hadn’t taken away from you still.

“there you go!” the bartender returns to the bar, the two bottles you’ve ordered in his hands. but the girl who had come to take the order is not there anymore.

your back hits the cold tiles of the restroom aggressively, legs hooked around his waist as he holds them up in place with his hands, fingers digging into the naked flesh of your thighs.

“hey-” you gasp, out of breath, as his tongue slides up your neck, sucking on its sensitive skin to leave red hickeys all over it, making your eyes roll back in ecstasy. “take those off,” you ask, no, beg, tugging pathetically at his boxers with pure need.

his pants are scattered on the floor, his boner throbbing into his now too tight underwear, rubbing against your covered clit, soaking those poor panties to the point of wetting his underwear too.

his head moves away from your neck in hearing your request, strings of saliva rolling his chin from both corners of his mouth, to watch your face.

“no, you take them off.” is his only reply, dropping you down from his hold and taking a step back, standing still in front of your hyperventilating, messy frame.

your eyes fall down on his bulge, staring at it for so long he begins to chuckle. “first time seeing one?” he asks.

you don’t respond. instead, you take a step closer, kneeling down, so that your face was right in front of it. your hands are shaking mildly, but his legs are as well, so you’re not too bashful about it.

“first time seeing yours.” you murmur, feeling your chin being lifted of a couple inches, his thumb on your lower lip.

“suck it.” he moves his finger upwards, into your mouth. you suck on it for only a moment, feeling it leave your mouth almost immediately.

“no,” he laughs under your confused face, “not this one.”

your fingerstips curl on the fabric of his underwear, as your lips start printing slow and wet kisses on his pube, slipping them down. your hand goes to grab the shaft, while your tongue slides down, beginning to suck on his balls.

you stroke his dick up and down multiple times at a slow pace, before sliding your tongue from his shaft to the tip, finally taking it into your mouth with a hum.

your hands caress his tense abdomen, his thighs, his hips, as your tongue runs all over his veins, your head moving back and forth in smooth movements.

his hand goes on your head, guiding your movements, hissing pleased sighs with clenched jaw, fighting the urge to pull his dick down your throat further.

you take it out your mouth to slap your tongue with it, whilst continuing to stroke it with your hand. when you’re about to start sucking it again, he moves backwards, his back hitting the door.

“i wanna do that to you,” he pants, going to grab your triceps to pick you up from the floor.

you place your hand on his nape, jerking his face towards yours to kiss him avidly, tongue seeking his. he doesn’t pull away for a hot minute, until pushing you on the toilet, spreading your legs and kneeling down between them so rapidly you can’t even think straight anymore.

you watch as he removes the remaining cover up of your pulsating pussy, wasting no time and burying his head between your legs, lifting them over his shoulders and beginning to lick your entrance with such energy you find yourself struggling to stay put.

“fuck,” you throw your head back, your clit swelling up as his tongue stimulates your good orgasms, making you forget everything else, even the public place you’re having sex at.

“feeling good?” he questions, hot breath against your cunt causing shivers to roll down your spine. “yes,” you cry, pushing his head against you, “keep going,” you hiss.

soft moans fill the room as his middle and ring fingers penetrate you, curling into your morbid walls, sloppy sounds so awfully good to hear growing as he fastens his speed, making you go nuts, moaning and whimpering like the slut you were for him.

tsukishima knew you were nearing your climax when your breathing began so fast you sounded like you were crying, begging to go faster, and faster, and faster—

two knocks on the door. then a phrase.

“guys, are you done fucking in there? we’re about to go.”

spoke a voice you haven’t heard well enough to recognize who it belonged to from far behind the door.

you were a total mess, dripping liquids from your freshly fucked hole, with your shaking legs still around his neck.

and he wasn’t any better, being completely naked, crouched in that filthy bathroom floor with the taste of sex in his mouth and his sticky fingers and upright, sore dick.

you looked at the door, then at each other, a mixture of fear and frustration on both your messed up faces.

another voice laughed from behind the door, “y’all did get a room in the end.”

this time, there were no doubts whose voice that was.

✧ previous

[izumkay]

~KNOTTED DESIRES~ |CH-4|

—SATORU GOJO

♡Pairing- SatoruGojo×Fem!Reader (main), Nanami×Reader.

♡Summary- As a new teacher, you step into the prestigious halls of a modern high school, ready to guide and inspire your students. But your plans take an unexpected turn when Satoru Gojo, a charismatic and self-assured senior, makes a move on you, challenging your boundaries and professional. What starts as a clash of personalities quickly evolves into a forbidden connection, leaving you both caught in a whirlwind of desires.

Gerne/Tags- Age difference(8 years), Student-Teacher relationship, Satoru is obsessed over you, high school setting, Love triangle, complicated relationship, happy ending.

Warnings!- MDNI. Explicit sexual content, angst, mentions of death, blood, fluff, strong language, hurt/comfort.

Wc- 9.1k

Previous chapter!

It was Friday afternoon, and the school library was quieter than usual, the only sound being the occasional rustle of pages turning or the soft tapping of keys from students finishing their assignments. You were seated at one of the long tables, your textbooks and notes spread out in front of you. Gojo sat across from you, a smug look on his face as he pretended to focus on the math problems you had written out for him.

"You know," you said, trying to keep your tone even, "you’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t at least try."

Gojo leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, that signature grin still plastered on his face. "I’m trying," he said, though his posture clearly suggested otherwise. "It’s just more fun watching you get frustrated."

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. It was always the same with him. No matter how much you tried to help, he always found a way to make it harder. His charm, his teasing—it was a constant distraction. You glanced at the clock, wondering how much longer this was going to take.

"You’re not taking this seriously," you said, shaking your head. "I don’t know why you even asked for tutoring if you’re not going to—"

Gojo interrupted you, leaning forward slightly. "I am serious. But you’ve got to admit, I’m kind of fun to be around, right?"

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. "That’s not the point."

"Sure it is," he said with a wink. "But we can get to that later."

You felt your face heat up slightly at his boldness, but you quickly dismissed it. He was always like this, pushing boundaries just to see how far he could go. It was infuriating, yet… somehow, you couldn’t help but feel a small part of you intrigued by it.

The tension in the air was palpable. You tried to ignore it, focusing on the math problems in front of you, but Gojo’s presence was impossible to escape. His gaze never left you, his eyes playful, almost daring you to look at him.

"Alright, Missy," he said, breaking the silence. "What’s next? I’m getting bored."

You shot him a pointed look, but before you could respond, Gojo leaned forward, his voice dropping low. "You know, you look cute when you’re frustrated."

The words hung in the air between you, and you felt a flutter in your chest, quickly squashing it down. You couldn’t let him get to you.

"Stop," you said, your voice a little firmer than you intended. "Focus, Gojo."

He didn’t seem phased, though. He just smiled, leaning even closer across the table, his breath warm against your skin.

"Come on, just one more round of problems. If I get them right, maybe we can call it a day," he teased, his voice low and smooth.

You couldn’t deny that the way he was acting, the way he was looking at you—it was starting to affect you. You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore the rising heat in your chest, the way your body responded to his proximity.

"Fine," you said, your voice a little shaky. "Let’s get through this, and then we’ll call it a day."

Gojo’s smile widened, and he leaned back in his chair again, but the playful glint in his eyes never disappeared. The tension was thick, and you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could keep pretending that everything was fine. How long you could keep resisting the pull he seemed to have on you.

Gojo stretched lazily, his arms reaching high above his head as he let out a dramatic sigh. "I’ve got all day, Missy. But I don’t know if you do." His voice was smooth, laced with a teasing undertone, and the way his eyes glinted only made your heart beat faster.

You ignored the flutter in your chest and turned your attention back to the math problems. "You can’t be serious. Focus."

But as you started to explain the next problem, you felt his eyes on you again, studying you in a way that made you self-conscious. His gaze never wavered, and you found it hard to concentrate on the numbers in front of you.

"I think you’re distracting me on purpose," you muttered, your voice almost too quiet.

Gojo chuckled, his smirk never fading. "What? Me? Distract you?" He leaned in closer, resting his chin on his hand as he stared directly at you. "I’m just here for the tutoring, Missy. Don’t flatter yourself."

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your pulse quickening as the space between you seemed to shrink. The quiet tension in the air felt thick, almost suffocating. It was as if you were teetering on the edge of something, something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

Gojo, noticing your discomfort, leaned back again, but his eyes still held that same intensity. "I’m just messing with you," he said casually, though there was a playful edge to his words. "But seriously, you’re cute when you’re all flustered."

You tried to ignore him, focusing on the math again, but his words kept circling in your mind. Cute. Flustered.

Why was it so hard to focus when he was around?

"Okay, okay," Gojo said, his voice suddenly softer, though still playful. "Let’s actually get through this, then. I’m kind of curious to see if I can impress you."

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Impress me?"

He nodded, that smug grin never leaving his face. "Yeah. Let’s see if I can do this right. Then maybe you’ll finally stop giving me that look."

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at him. "What look?"

"The ‘I’m-so-done-with-you’ look," he said, his voice mocking but playful. "You know the one. It’s cute, but I’m sure I can change it to something else."

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the rising heat in your cheeks. Why does he always do this?

"Focus, Gojo," you said again, though your voice was quieter this time, more hesitant.

Gojo didn’t say anything for a moment. He just stared at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to figure out what you were thinking.

And then, just as quickly, he leaned in once more, his lips just inches from your ear. "I can tell when you’re not focused, you know," he whispered, his voice low and teasing. "You’re thinking about something else. Something you don’t want to admit."

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing. Your heart raced, and your breath caught in your throat.

You tried to push him away, to keep some distance between you, but he was relentless. His presence was overwhelming, his words sinking deep under your skin.

Before you could respond, Gojo pulled back slightly, that damn smirk back in place. "I think I’ve made my point," he said with a wink.

You sat there, heart pounding, mind swirling. You wanted to say something, to scold him, to tell him off. But for some reason, the words just wouldn’t come. You were too caught up in the heat of the moment, the pull between you two growing stronger with each passing second.

You tried to focus on the math again, but your mind was a mess. His voice, his presence, it all lingered in the air around you. You could feel the heat from his body still radiating in the small space between you, and it was making it almost impossible to think clearly.

Gojo noticed the shift in your demeanor and, instead of continuing with the lesson, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on you. "You know," he started, his tone casual, but there was an underlying seriousness in it, "you’re not like the others."

You glanced at him, unsure of where this was going. "What do you mean?"

He grinned, that trademark smirk playing on his lips. "You’re not easily distracted, and you actually care about your job. It’s kind of… impressive." His eyes softened for a brief moment, almost as if he were seeing you for the first time. "Most people would’ve given up on me by now."

You swallowed, feeling your heart beat faster at his words. "Well, I’m not like most people," you said, trying to maintain your professional composure.

Gojo chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the little back-and-forth. "No, you’re not. You’re different. But I’m not complaining."

The way he said it, the weight behind those words, made something shift in the air. It wasn’t just playful teasing anymore. There was a deeper undertone to it now, something more serious.

You looked away, feeling your cheeks flush despite yourself. Why does he have this effect on me?

"Alright," you said, clearing your throat, trying to focus again. "Let’s get back to the math. You want to impress me? Then do this problem."

You handed him a new sheet of problems, but Gojo didn’t even glance at it right away. Instead, he just watched you, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick, almost suffocating, and you couldn’t help but feel the tension growing. You were hyper-aware of every little movement he made, every breath he took.

Then, Gojo finally spoke, his voice low and soft. "I could really get used to this, you know."

You blinked, confused. "Get used to what?"

He leaned forward again, closing the space between you two, his gaze intense. "Spending time with you. It’s… nice. Even if you’re driving me crazy."

You felt your breath hitch, and your mind went blank. "Gojo, we—"

He interrupted you with a smirk. "I’m not asking for anything serious, Missy. Just… some fun. But I’m not going to lie. You’re a little harder to crack than I thought."

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a second, you couldn’t speak. His words, his proximity, everything was overwhelming.

But before you could gather your thoughts, Gojo sat back in his chair, his smirk widening. "So, what’s it gonna be, Missy? Are you going to keep trying to ignore this thing between us, or are you gonna finally admit you’re at least a little curious?"

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and it made your pulse quicken. You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to stop playing games. But you also couldn’t deny that part of you was intrigued.

The bell rang, signaling the end of your tutoring session. Gojo stood up, stretching again. "Well, I guess we’ll have to continue this next time, huh?"

You couldn’t even respond right away, still reeling from everything that had just happened. Gojo winked at you before walking out of the library, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

Gojo walked down the hallway, his mind racing with thoughts of how to get closer to you. Why won’t she just give in? He thought, irritation creeping into his mind. She’s so damn stubborn. But that stubbornness only made him more determined. After all, a bet was a bet, and he never lost.

He couldn’t help but replay the moments in the library, the way you looked when you were close to him, how your breath hitched when he spoke to you. There was something there, he knew it. You were just playing hard to get, but Gojo wasn’t about to let that stop him.

How could I make her crack? He leaned against a wall, tapping his fingers rhythmically. He thought back to his interactions with you, each one more charged than the last. You were always trying to maintain your professionalism, but he could see the way you’d get flustered, the little cracks in your armor.

A wicked smile spread across his face. I’ll just keep pushing. She’ll break sooner or later.

Gojo’s mind shifted to how he could escalate things, keep up the tension without crossing the line—at least not yet. Maybe another tutoring session… but this time, I’ll make it personal. I’ll get her alone again, get her thinking about me. He liked the idea of you being the one who couldn’t focus, who couldn’t stop thinking about him.

But there was still something about you that made him hesitate. He couldn’t put his finger on it. You weren’t like the others. He wasn’t used to feeling this uncertain, and that made it all the more exciting.

"Whatever," Gojo muttered to himself. "I’ll figure it out."

He pushed off the wall and walked toward the exit, a plan already forming in his mind. Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ve got the whole weekend to figure out how to make her crack.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

The next morning, you stepped out of the shower, your skin still damp and warm from the water. You wrapped a towel around your body, wiping droplets from your hair as you moved to your bedside table. As you reached for your phone, it buzzed loudly, interrupting the quiet of your room.

You glanced at the screen, and of course, the name that popped up made your stomach twist. Gojo.

"Hey Missy," the message read. "Can you come over? I'm feeling pretty sick. Could really use your help."

Your eyes widened slightly. Was he really inviting you over? You couldn’t tell if it was a joke, another one of his games, or if he was actually serious this time. The words felt almost too casual, but the thought of him being genuinely unwell made your heart beat a little faster. What’s his game this time? you thought, feeling the familiar annoyance bubble up in your chest.

You hesitated, staring at the message for a moment. You know better than this, you told yourself. This could be another one of his tricks. He’s just playing around again. But despite your better judgment, a small part of you wondered if maybe—just maybe—he really did need help.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Don’t fall for it. Not again.

But you couldn’t help it. The idea of going over there, of seeing Gojo in a different, vulnerable light, was tempting. Still, you needed to stay professional.

You took a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond.

You stared at the screen for a long moment, the silence in your room only adding to the pressure of making a decision. Should I go? You knew it was a bad idea. You’re his teacher. You can’t just drop everything for him.

But Gojo was different. Always unpredictable, always teasing, always pushing you to your limits. And now, he was asking for your help? You couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or just trying to manipulate you once again.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating. What if he’s actually sick? The thought lingered in your mind, but you quickly shook it off. No. He’s playing a game.

You could feel your pulse quicken as your thoughts raced. Finally, with a sigh, you typed back:

"I’m not a nurse, Gojo. What do you need me for?"

The moment you sent it, you regretted it. It felt too cold, too professional, and you were sure Gojo would just tease you for it.

A few moments passed before his response pinged back.

"Just a little company, missy. You wouldn’t leave me all alone, would you? I promise, I’m really sick. Could use a friendly face."

The message was casual, almost too casual, and yet the part about him being "sick" made your heart skip a beat. You tried to push that feeling away, focusing instead on how to keep things professional.

You took another breath, considering your options. The idea of going over there—seeing Gojo in his own space, vulnerable—made you uneasy, but part of you was curious. Was this just another game, or was there something else to it?

Finally, you typed out a response.

"Fine. I’ll stop by. But don’t expect anything more than that."

You hit send, not giving yourself a chance to second-guess. A moment later, Gojo’s reply came through, simple and teasing as ever.

"You’re the best, Missy. See you soon. ;)”

You put your phone down, feeling the weight of your decision settle over you. What the hell have I just agreed to?

You stood there for a moment, phone in hand, staring at the message as if willing it to change. But it didn’t. You had agreed.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

You quickly gathered yourself, forcing the nerves down, knowing you had to stay composed. You couldn’t let Gojo get the better of you again. After all, this was just a visit to check on him, right? Nothing more.

With a deep breath, you changed into something casual but still appropriate, grabbing your bag and heading out. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Gojo, imagining what his apartment might be like, how he would act now that it was just the two of you. You couldn’t help but feel that familiar mix of frustration and… something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

When you arrived at his place, the door was already slightly ajar. Gojo, ever the tease, was clearly expecting you. You knocked once, just in case, before pushing it open.

“Missy! You made it!” Gojo’s voice rang out, far too cheerful for someone who claimed to be sick. He was lounging on his couch, looking as laid-back as ever, a dramatic sigh escaping him as he laid a hand over his forehead, clearly pretending to be exhausted.

“Really?” You crossed your arms, eyebrow raised. “You’re ‘sick,’ and this is how you look?”

He flashed you a grin. “I’m very sick, Missy. You have to help me get better.” He winked playfully, clearly enjoying your annoyance.

You rolled your eyes, walking further into the apartment. “I don’t think I can help you with that,” you said, trying to sound firm. “What do you actually need?”

Gojo patted the spot next to him on the couch. “Well, for starters, some company wouldn’t hurt. Come sit with me. It’s lonely here without you.” His voice was smooth, almost coaxing, but there was something playful about it.

You hesitated for a moment before finally sitting down at the far end of the couch, keeping a comfortable distance between you. "You’re lucky I’m even here,” you muttered under your breath, but he heard it. Of course, he did.

“Lucky? No, Missy. You’re lucky I let you in,” he teased, sitting up and leaning toward you. “Besides, I think you enjoy being here with me. Don’t lie.”

You looked away, trying to ignore the growing tension in the air. He was right, in a way. Despite everything, despite how much he irritated you, there was a part of you that couldn’t ignore the pull. You shook your head, trying to clear the thoughts that had no business entering your mind.

“Well, what exactly am I supposed to do?” you asked, attempting to keep things light, but the words felt forced.

Gojo stretched lazily, still watching you with that smug, infuriating smirk. “For now? Just stay here. You can keep me company, maybe even make me some tea.” He paused. “But, I’ll let you know when I need something else.”

The double meaning hung in the air, and you could feel your heart race slightly. You didn’t know what to expect from Gojo anymore, and that was the problem. You couldn’t let your guard down.

You sat there, trying to remain calm, but Gojo's behavior was grating on your nerves. The audacity he had, acting as if you were there for his amusement. The playful tone, the teasing, it was all too much.

Was he seriously bossing you around like this?

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the irritation built up too quickly. His casual, carefree demeanor only added to the frustration that had been bubbling inside you since the moment you agreed to come over.

"Can you show me some respect?" you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. You had held your composure for so long, but Gojo’s blatant disregard for your boundaries had crossed the line.

Gojo blinked, momentarily surprised by the sudden shift in your tone. He straightened up slightly, but his smirk never faltered. "What? I’m just having some fun with you, Missy."

You stood up from the couch, the tension thick in the air. "I’m not your personal servant, Gojo," you continued, your voice tight with frustration. "I thought you were really sick. I came here because I was worried. But here you are, perfectly fine, wasting my time."

His smirk faltered, but only for a second, before he leaned back casually. "Oh come on, I’m just messing with you. You really think I need a tutor when I’ve got this much charm?" His tone was light, but there was an underlying hint of something more.

"No, I don’t think you need a tutor," you said, your patience wearing thin. "But I thought, for once, you could take something seriously." You shook your head, feeling the anger rise in your chest. "I’ve already wasted enough of my time with you. You’ve disrespected me enough, Gojo. I’m leaving."

You turned to leave, but before you could make it to the door, Gojo’s voice stopped you.

“Hey, wait,” he said, sounding more serious than before. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

You paused, your hand on the door handle, still seething with frustration. You wanted to leave, to get away from him and this ridiculous situation. But something about his tone, the slight change in his demeanor, made you hesitate.

You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You can’t just apologize and expect everything to be okay, Gojo. This isn’t a joke to me.”

Gojo’s eyes softened slightly, the smirk still present, but there was a hint of sincerity behind it. “I know. I just… I don’t know how to handle you sometimes.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to make of his words. “Well, maybe you should start by showing some respect.”

He nodded, finally sitting up straighter, looking at you with something more than just playful teasing. “I’ll try,” he said, voice quieter now. “But you have to admit, it’s kinda fun to mess with you.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I can’t believe I’m still here, listening to this.”

“I promise, I’ll be more serious next time,” he added, his voice now carrying a bit of the charm you had come to expect, but there was a hint of something else beneath it.

You were about to say something, but you stopped yourself. Maybe he was right—maybe you needed to learn to not take him so seriously. Or maybe he just needed to learn how to take you seriously.

With one last glance at him, you finally gave in. “Fine. But don’t ever pull something like this again. I don’t have time to waste on your games.”

Gojo flashed you that trademark smirk, the one that always made your heart race, but there was a quiet understanding in his eyes. "You have my word, Missy."

You walked out of his apartment, the air outside feeling strangely refreshing. Your heart was still pounding, but it wasn’t just from the frustration anymore. You couldn’t deny the pull, the way Gojo had managed to get under your skin, once again.

And now, you had to wonder… how much longer could you keep this up?

You stepped out into the cool air, feeling a strange mixture of relief and frustration. The confrontation with Gojo had left you with more questions than answers. What was it about him that made your heart race and your mind spin? Why couldn’t you shake the feeling that there was more to him than just his teasing persona?

As you walked down the hallway, you replayed the moments in his apartment. His nonchalance, his cocky smirk, the way he could make you feel both irritated and... something else. You were a teacher, a professional. You had boundaries, and Gojo had made it clear he was more than willing to test them.

But you couldn’t deny the pull. Despite your better judgment, there was something magnetic about him, something that made it hard to walk away and stay mad. Maybe it was his charm. Or maybe it was his confidence, his ability to make everything seem like a game, even when you knew it shouldn’t be.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pulled it out, already knowing who it was.

"Sorry for messing with you. Don’t be mad, Missy. Let’s call it even, yeah?"

You stared at the message, biting your lip. It was simple. It was an apology, of sorts. But it felt like he was still playing his game, trying to reel you back in.

"You really think an apology makes everything okay?" You replied.

A few seconds later, his response came through.

"Maybe not. But I think we both know I’m hard to stay mad at."

You rolled your eyes, even though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. He had a way of getting under your skin, but somehow, he always knew how to smooth things over—just enough to keep you from walking away.

You didn’t reply immediately. Instead, you shoved your phone back into your pocket and tried to shake off the feeling of being pulled in by him. You needed to stay focused, keep your distance. After all, you were his teacher, and you couldn’t afford to get caught up in his games.

But as you made your way to your car, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that you were already too deep. And maybe, just maybe, Gojo knew it too.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

Later that evening, as you settled into your routine at home, your phone buzzed again, already knowing who is it from.

"Just wanted to check in. I’m actually feeling kinda bad now. But I’m still hoping you’ll give me another chance to make it up to you. Dinner tomorrow?"

You stared at the message for a long time, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You had already told yourself not to get involved, not to let Gojo’s charm and confidence lead you astray.

But something inside you hesitated. You had a choice. You could say no, stand your ground, and keep the professional distance you’d always promised yourself. Or you could say yes, let him continue to mess with your head, to make you feel like you were just another part of his game.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and typed your response.

"Fine. But no more games, Gojo. Dinner, and then we’re done. Got it?"

The reply came almost instantly.

"Deal. You’ll see, I’m better at this than you think."

You sighed, putting your phone down. You knew you should have said no, should have ended this before it even started. But you also knew, deep down, that it was already too late.

After a few seconds, you immediately regretted your decision.

Fuck, you thought to yourself, your heart sinking. What am I doing? You were his teacher, for God’s sake. How could you be so impulsive? You had just agreed to go out to dinner with him—just like that. What were you thinking?

You ran a hand through your hair, pacing around your apartment. You were feeling a mix of frustration and guilt. You couldn’t let yourself get tangled up in whatever game Gojo was playing. He was charming, yes, and had this knack for making you feel things you didn’t want to feel, but you couldn’t forget who you were—who you were supposed to be.

You sat down on your couch, taking a deep breath and trying to compose yourself. You’d made your choice, and now you had to face the consequences. You weren’t sure what exactly Gojo wanted from you, but you couldn’t ignore the feeling that you were walking into dangerous territory.

With a heavy sigh, you picked up your phone and looked at the message again. His words were casual, easy—like this was nothing. Like he didn’t have any idea what kind of trouble he was causing. Or maybe he did, and that was part of the thrill for him.

You stared at your screen for a while, your thumb hovering over the keyboard, before you finally set the phone down and decided to sleep on it. There was no point in overthinking it now. Whatever this was, you would have to face it tomorrow. And for now, you needed rest.

But as you lay in bed, you couldn’t help but feel that knot in your stomach, knowing that tomorrow night would be anything but ordinary.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

The next evening, you stood in front of your mirror, trying to decide what to wear. You hadn’t expected things to spiral into this when you agreed to help Gojo with his math. The thought of dinner with him made your stomach twist. You had a strong feeling he wasn’t just interested in food or math, but you had to follow through now.

Focus, you told yourself, It’s just dinner. It’s not like anything will happen. You’re just going to eat and go home. Professional.

You finally settled on a simple outfit—nothing too revealing, but enough to keep things professional. You didn’t want to give Gojo the wrong impression, but at the same time, you didn’t want to look too stiff.

As you arrived at the restaurant, you couldn’t shake the nerves building up in your chest. The place was quiet, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air. Gojo was already there, casually leaning against the table, looking like he owned the entire place. He spotted you immediately, of course, and flashed that same infuriating smirk.

"Missy, you actually showed up," he said, voice light, teasing. "I was starting to think you’d bail on me."

You gave him a tight smile, trying to maintain composure. "I don’t back out of promises," you said, sitting down across from him. "Let’s just get this over with."

Gojo raised an eyebrow but didn’t push the issue. He sat down and waved the waiter over, his easy charm apparent as he made small talk with the staff. You couldn’t help but notice how effortless it was for him to slip into that carefree attitude. He had a way of making everything seem so simple.

As the dinner continued, you tried to focus on the conversation. He spoke about school, about his plans for the future, but you couldn’t stop yourself from being distracted. Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing at you, his gaze lingering just a bit longer than it should.

"Are you gonna keep staring at me like that?" you finally asked, your voice a little sharper than you intended.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening. "You’re not as good at hiding it as you think. I can see how you look at me," he said, his voice dropping slightly, almost teasing. "I think you’re enjoying this a little more than you want to admit."

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, you simply stared at him, your heart beating a little faster. He had a way of disarming you, making you question your own feelings. But you had to stay in control. You couldn’t let him get the better of you.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Gojo’s gaze was still on you, his smirk never wavering, and you couldn’t help but feel a little flustered. You weren’t used to being in this kind of situation—alone with a student, especially one like him.

"You really think you have me all figured out, don’t you?" you finally said, trying to break the tension. You couldn’t just sit there, letting him toy with you. You had to stay professional.

Gojo leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looked at you with a more serious expression. "I know more than you think," he said softly. "You can pretend all you want, but I can see through you."

Your pulse quickened. Why is he doing this?

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your mind racing. "What exactly do you want from me, Gojo?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question had been on your mind all evening, and you needed an answer. This wasn’t just about tutoring anymore. There was something else at play here, and you couldn’t ignore it.

Gojo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just studied you, his eyes darkening slightly as he took in your expression. "I don’t think you’re as innocent as you act," he said, his voice low and teasing. "I know what you’re thinking."

Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t deny the attraction that had been building between you two. But that didn’t mean you could just give in to it. You were his teacher, and that line couldn’t be crossed.

"You’re crossing a line, Gojo," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You need to stop."

But Gojo only smiled wider, that confident, unshakable smirk of his never leaving his face. "I don’t think I am," he said, his voice now tinged with amusement. "I’m just having a little fun. Don’t worry, Missy, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want."

You clenched your fists under the table, trying to suppress the frustration building inside you. He was playing with fire, and you couldn’t tell if he even realized it.

"Let’s just finish this dinner," you said, your voice sharp now. "We’re not going to talk about this anymore."

Gojo seemed to sense your shift in mood, his smirk fading slightly. He leaned back in his chair, looking at you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something unreadable.

"Alright, Missy," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "We’ll talk about it later, then."

The rest of the evening passed in relative silence. The tension between you both was thick, but neither of you acknowledged it directly. As the dinner came to an end, Gojo stood up and gave you a look that made your stomach flip.

"Same time next week?" he asked, his voice light again, as if nothing had happened.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. "I’ll let you know," you said, standing up and grabbing your things. "Good night, Gojo."

"Good night, Missy," he said, his voice smooth and almost too casual. "Sleep well."

You walked out of the restaurant, the weight of the evening pressing down on you. What had just happened? What was this strange connection you had with him? You didn’t know, but you knew one thing for sure: this wasn’t over.

As you walked away from the restaurant, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his gaze lingering on you. Your thoughts were clouded, your heart still racing from the tension of the evening. You were trying to push it all out of your mind, but you couldn’t ignore how easily he got under your skin. It wasn’t supposed to be this way—he wasn’t supposed to have this much of an effect on you.

Apologies for the misunderstanding! Here’s the continuation, incorporating your feedback:

But just as you turned the corner to head home, you heard hurried footsteps behind you. You barely had time to react before a familiar voice called out.

"Wait!"

You stopped in your tracks, turning to see Gojo catching up to you. His breath was slightly ragged, but his expression was as carefree as ever. He flashed that signature smirk of his, the one that always seemed to make you feel like you were in the palm of his hand.

"I shouldn’t let a pretty lady like you walk home alone," he said, his tone light but his eyes gleaming with something more intense beneath the surface.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. What was he playing at now?

"Didn’t know you could be a gentleman too," you said, the words laced with slight mocking amusement, though you couldn’t entirely mask the smile that tugged at your lips. It was almost impossible to resist his charm.

Gojo chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "I have my moments," he said with a wink. "But I like to think of myself as a man of many talents."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth spreading in your chest. "You’re impossible," you muttered under your breath, but you couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you.

"I’m serious, though," Gojo continued, his tone now more genuine. "It’s late, and I don’t want you to be out here alone. Let me walk you home, at least."

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to turn him down, tell him to leave you be. But the other part, the part that had been affected by him all night, found it hard to say no. He wasn’t like any student you’d ever dealt with before. He was bold, confident, and—damn it—charming.

"Fine," you said after a beat, giving in despite yourself. "But just don’t try anything funny, Gojo."

He laughed again, the sound light and carefree. "Wouldn’t dream of it," he said, matching your pace as you began walking down the street together.

The walk was mostly silent, but the air between you two was thick with unspoken words. You could feel his presence beside you, the tension palpable even in the quiet moments. And despite your better judgment, you found yourself drawn to him more than you cared to admit.

As you neared your apartment, Gojo slowed his pace, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "You know," he began, his voice softer now, "I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier."

You shot him a look. "Which part?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The part where you said I should show more respect," he said, his voice almost teasing but with an edge of sincerity. "I’m sorry, alright? I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable."

For a moment, you were caught off guard by his unexpected sincerity. You hadn’t expected him to apologize, let alone admit he might have crossed a line.

"It’s fine," you said after a beat, trying to brush it off. "Just... remember your boundaries, Gojo."

He nodded, his expression turning serious for a moment before that familiar smirk returned. "I’ll try, Missy. But I make no promises."

You stopped in front of your apartment building, your heart racing for reasons you didn’t want to admit. "Good night, Gojo," you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

"Night, Missy," he replied, his voice softer than before. He stood there for a moment, watching you, before turning to leave.

You couldn’t help but watch him walk away, the lingering thoughts of the evening swirling in your mind. You’d agreed to dinner with him, and now this? What was happening between you two?

You didn’t have the answers, but you knew one thing for sure: this wasn’t over.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

It was a quiet Monday morning at school, and Gojo and Geto were walking through the halls with no real destination in mind. The buzz of students filled the air, but the two of them were lost in their own conversation, as usual.

"So, did she become your girlfriend?" Geto asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Or are you ready to accept your defeat?"

Gojo’s response came quicker than Geto expected. He had expected Gojo to brush it off or joke about it, but what he heard next caught him off guard.

"Oh... umm, no," Gojo said with a casual shrug, "but does a dinner date count?"

Geto stopped in his tracks, eyes widening slightly as he processed what Gojo had just said. Dinner date? He hadn’t really thought Gojo was serious about it. Sure, Gojo was always full of confidence and loved to flirt, but this felt... different. He was actually pursuing something.

"You’re telling me you went out with her?" Geto asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He was in disbelief. He hadn’t expected Gojo to get so serious about his bet. Not with their teacher.

Gojo’s smirk didn’t falter. "Yeah, I did," he replied nonchalantly. "I mean, I told you I was gonna win, didn’t I? It’s all part of the plan."

Geto stared at him for a moment, trying to process this new information. He had always thought Gojo’s antics were just part of his usual game, but now? It seemed like Gojo was actually invested in something—someone.

"Bro, you’re fucking serious?" Geto asked, his tone a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You went out with her? Our fucking teacher?"

Gojo grinned, leaning back against the lockers with his usual cocky attitude. "What can I say? I like a challenge," he said, his voice dripping with confidence. "And she’s not as untouchable as you think. I’ll have her wrapped around my finger in no time."

Geto couldn’t help but let out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head. "You really are something else, Gojo. You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But you’re playing with fire, you know that?"

Gojo just chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Fire’s my middle name."

Geto rolled his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t be able to talk sense into Gojo. Once his mind was set on something, there was no changing it.

"You’re crazy, man," Geto muttered, but there was a slight hint of admiration in his voice. "But I guess if anyone could pull it off, it’d be you."

Gojo shot him a wink. "Damn right," he said, before turning and walking down the hall, clearly satisfied with himself.

Geto watched him go, a mixture of concern and curiosity gnawing at him. He had no idea what Gojo was playing at, but one thing was for sure: things were about to get interesting.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

Later that evening, you were curled up on your couch, the soft glow of the TV illuminating your living room as you relaxed. Your favorite show was playing in the background, but your mind kept wandering. It had been a long week, and the tension between you and Gojo had only grown stronger.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen, and of course, it was from him.

"Heyyyy missyyyy, can you come over? I miss you sm😔"

You stared at the message, the words feeling like a punch to your chest. How could he always talk to you like that? So casual, so... carefree. It was almost as if he didn’t realize the line he was crossing, or maybe he just didn’t care.

You sighed, feeling your pulse quicken. Your first instinct was to say no. You knew it was wrong, that this whole thing was a terrible idea. But then, there was that feeling—the one that kept pulling you in every time you thought about him. That nagging curiosity, that unexplainable desire to see him again.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. No, I shouldn’t do this. You couldn’t afford to give in. You were his teacher, and he was... well, Gojo. The last thing you needed was to get tangled up in whatever game he was playing.

But your fingers hovered over the screen, and before you knew it, you found yourself typing a reply.

"I can’t just drop everything and come over, Gojo. What’s going on?"

You stared at the message, biting your lip. You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but part of you knew he wouldn’t make this easy. A few seconds later, your phone buzzed again.

"Oh come on, missy, I just wanna hang out! Besides, you know you want to see me :p"

You rolled your eyes at his confidence. He was relentless, and yet, there was something about his charm that always seemed to pull you back in. You set your phone down for a moment, taking a deep breath. You had to focus. You couldn’t let him get to you.

But then the next message popped up.

"Fine, don’t come if you don’t want to. But I’ll be here waiting... :D"

The smug tone in his words made your stomach flip. It was like he knew exactly how to get under your skin. You didn’t want to admit it, but a part of you did want to see him.

You stood up, pacing around your living room as you thought it over. Why is this so hard? You had to admit to yourself—he had gotten under your skin. You were a professional, you knew better than this. But that damn smirk, those teasing words... they kept running through your mind.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, your fingers were already typing.

"I’ll be there in 20 minutes."

You hit send, and as soon as the message left your phone, you regretted it. What am I doing?

But you couldn’t back out now. You quickly got up and grabbed your things, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. As you headed out the door, your heart was pounding. You were doing something you knew you shouldn’t, but it felt like there was no turning back now.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

You arrived at Gojo's place after what felt like the longest 20 minutes of your life. You parked your car and took a deep breath before stepping out. Your mind was racing with thoughts, but you tried to push them aside. You’re just going to hang out. Nothing more.

As you walked up to his door, your heart was pounding in your chest. You rang the doorbell, and within seconds, the door swung open. Gojo stood there, wearing a casual hoodie and sweatpants, his trademark smirk plastered across his face.

“Well, well, look who showed up,” he said, his voice smooth and playful, as if he knew he had you exactly where he wanted.

You tried to maintain your composure, crossing your arms as you stepped inside. “I hope you have a good reason for dragging me all the way over here.”

Gojo just chuckled, stepping aside to let you in. “Of course, missy. I’ve got plenty of reasons.” He shut the door behind you, locking it with a casual flick of his wrist. “But for now, just relax. I thought we could hang out and get to know each other better.”

You didn’t trust him, but there was no turning back now. You glanced around his apartment—modern, minimalist, and somehow very much what you expected from someone like him. He led you to the living room, where a couple of drinks and snacks were already laid out on the coffee table.

“Have a seat,” Gojo said, flopping onto the couch and patting the space next to him.

You hesitated for a moment, before sitting down on the opposite side of the couch. Your nerves were still buzzing, but you tried to ignore them. “So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

Gojo leaned back, his eyes never leaving you. “I don’t know… maybe just how things are going. You’ve been really busy with school lately, huh? I thought you could use a little break.”

You crossed your arms, trying to stay calm, but the way he was looking at you made it hard to focus. “I’m fine, Gojo. I can handle my job just fine.”

He grinned, shifting a little closer to you. “Yeah, I know you can. You’re pretty impressive, Missy.”

His voice was low, teasing, and it made you feel both flattered and frustrated. You didn’t know how to respond to him anymore—every time you thought you had him figured out, he just threw you off balance again.

Gojo’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he leaned in closer. “But I have to admit… I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. You’ve been on my mind.”

You froze, your heart racing. Was he serious?

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing,” you said, trying to sound composed.

Gojo just chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. “I think it’s a very good thing.” He leaned back again, giving you some space, but you could still feel the tension between you two growing thicker by the second.

The silence stretched on for a few moments before Gojo broke it again. “Tell me, why did you listened to me and came here..?”

You swallowed, feeling your throat dry. “uh—...” you didn't know what to say.

Gojo smirked again, clearly not buying it. “I think there’s more to it. You came over because you wanted to see me too. Don’t lie.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was he right? Were you just fooling yourself?

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Maybe.”

Gojo’s smirk widened as he moved closer again, this time brushing his hand lightly against yours. The contact sent a jolt through your body, and you immediately pulled your hand away, but Gojo didn’t miss it. “I knew it,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction.

You took a deep breath, trying to maintain control. “You don’t have to make this weird, Gojo.”

But he wasn’t listening anymore. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’m not making it weird, Missy. I’m just making it fun.”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was exactly what you had been trying to avoid, and now you were right here, in his apartment, with him so close you could feel the heat of his body.

You had no idea what was going to happen next, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t just a friendly hangout anymore.

[blackjackkent]

All right. That wraps up Rakha's story officially. Took much longer than my first playthrough with Hector - partly because I had to take some hiatuses in the middle, and partly because Rakha turned out to be way more complex to write about and I ended up getting very wordy. XD

But I'm honestly deeply proud of Rakha's story and of how she's ended up. I've ended up putting a lot of myself into her (into Hector too, but even more into Rakha), and her coming to a satisfying ending means a lot to me.

Also means a lot to me how many people have followed her story, either all the way from Act 1 or finding her somewhere along the way. The comments, interest, support, suggestions have all meant so much to me and helped me to want to keep writing and developing her character more. I hope you have had as much fun seeing her development and her resolution as I have had writing it. <3

Tomorrow, I will be kicking off a new liveblog with a new character in Dragon Age: The Veilguard. It'll be weird to go (back) to Dragon Age after so much time writing about Baldur's Gate.

I don't intend to stop writing about BG though; I have plenty of fic still in mind, and at least one more playthrough to do in the future. But in the meantime, I hope you will enjoy the other adventures to come.

TY again all for following along and reading my work. <3

To once again pull the same quote from this comic with which I ended Hector's story:

”let’s all keep telling each other stories until the sun explodes.”

[crispyadorablepotatochip]

Well, I wrote a second chapter. 😅 Click below to read it!

Should old acquaintance be forgot

And never come to mind?

Should old acquaintance be forgot

And auld lang syne?

Auld Lang Syne, Robert Burns (1788)

The wind positively howls through the thin, broken window of Elphaba Thropp’s cottage. There’s no point in planning to fix it anymore after Fiyero has moved out. It isn’t something she can complain about and he can deny her fondly, this little push-and-pull song-and-dance they settled into—no longer lovers, but not what they used to be even further back when Elphaba wanted him badly from afar.

Fiyero can’t die, is the issue. The previous month he saw her hips go bad from walking up the mountain path and said: being frank, he cares too much to bear the sight of her growing even older. One day she will slip into death—as if she hasn’t been slipping into death since her very birth, she thinks, and harrumphs. But nevertheless they both understand that if he were a different person, less of who he is and more like who he pretended to be, he might be sitting next to her right now. He might be able to stand the world and not collapse like wet straw under the vast, sheer amount of it. He might love her less. They are both ghosts now, but he will never fade until their very existence is reduced to legend and rumor as transcribed by the Royal Historians of Oz. Who could blame him for skipping the end?

Elphaba flexes her hands. They smell like herbs from the garden even after hours after tending to it. Thyme and rosemary and Lurline-damned dill, which choked out everything else if she didn’t start ripping it out to pickle their vegetables. As could be expected, Fiyero made a horrible excuse for a scarecrow. The crows, in fact, were more likely to start pecking at his button-black eyes than they were to fly away, though the Crows were polite. She can live without him well enough—she can still garden and fetch water and tend to the world in subtle ways where it allows her to. Living won’t be that difficult, until eventually it is.

She doesn’t know what he’s doing that evening. His eventual plan was to escape to the fantasticalistic utopia of Canziss, unseekable except by sheer longing for it or happenstance; under the rainbow or home again. Fiyero left her right as the sun rose. The light fractured over the corners of his little burlap head into golden rays. He lifted his sack over his shoulder with a gnarled stick as a lever—the very image of a pilgrim. And then, like so many times before, he raised his arm for a casual two-finger salute, completely out of code. A last spit in the face to the Gale Force before he was gone.

The wind makes the room cold. Elphaba feels a resurgence of sentiment for when he really left—only for a heartbeat or two nailed into those crossed boards, beaten and broken. What a blessing never to know that feeling again. What a curse that he will, over and over until eventually foot-paths wear the dirt of the world down and it disappears at last.

As always, behind Elphaba’s closed eyes she imagines Glinda suffocating in layers of blue or pink tulle while she waves like a queen to her subjects. Elphaba can’t recall the last time she’s seen a newspaper; the Animals who stumble into her secretive chain of contact tell her that Glinda is less of a figurehead than was probably intended. She hears only trickles of information, too sparse to construct any nuanced understanding of Oz’s socio-political landscape. She knows, at least, that Glinda lowered tariffs on agricultural goods from an independant Munchkinland, formerly their national breadbasket. Glinda outlawed the consumption of Animal meat and reinstated Animal suffrage. She officiated cultural appreciation programs with the Vinkus. And so on. Each of these acts gave Elphaba and Fiyero weeks of discourse to chew on—her sitting close to the fireplace and him in a rocking chair facing the window. She doesn’t expect that he will say goodbye to Glinda before he’s in Canziss. But he will think of her. They both do. Always.

Elphaba cannot remember her dreams by morning, though Fiyero says she has nightmares. Cries out Glinda’s old name in two syllables—Ga-linda—near the dawn, begging her for whatever it is she wants, whether it’s crumpled sheets and sweat or simply her presence, how Glinda used to smile up at her like the sun.

She’s aware enough of herself to have realized that they might have been in love once. Certainly Elphaba is still in love with her; but it doesn’t mean much. What is love? Devotion? They certainly had that, but Glinda was always too selfish to give up the comfort of the world for good and Elphaba was always too selfish to give up the good of the world for comfort. Today she is tired enough to stop worrying about wickedness or goodness, resigning herself to the universal gray fate of moral impurity. So it goes.

There is no-one left except herself, now. She wonders how she can live with such loneliness pressing in on all sides, whipping at her cheeks like the wind. Glinda must be lonely too. In years prior Elphaba and Fiyero could amuse themselves together—but now what? Is she to grow more bitterness like weeds in the place behind her ribs? More sorrow, more heartache? She wishes she were less like Fiyero; she wishes she could bear it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62117947

it’s all coming back to me now by jrm8097 (aka me) featuring Glinda Upland/Elphaba Thropp

Word count: 816

Tags: Grief/Mourning, mainly musicalverse and movieverse but with characterization inspo from the books, Propaganda, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, implied comphet lesbian Glinda, Angst

Fic summary:

“In her hands crumples a poster extracted from inside Glinda’s silk pillowcase. Bold text, red upon green. Bring HER down, it reads. The color is faded in neat divisions where she’s folded and unfolded it over and over again in study. The drawing doesn’t look very much like the Witch, Glinda always thinks. Maybe the nose is sharper? The skin—a sicklier shade, smoother, more wax-like than human? She can’t identify the flaws with any accuracy now. It’s been too many years. But the nails, yellowed, are wrong.”

Or, Glinda the Good is too old for this now.

Press “more” for the full fic!

Sometimes a great wave of forgetfulness

Rises up and blesses me

And other times the sickness howls

And I despair of any remedy

Prowl Great Cain, The Mountain Goats (2011)

—

The palace lies shrouded; after dusk, the etchings in the walls—harsh, angular—send shadows cascading down them in rippled little lines. Perhaps the whole structure really is made of emerald, but Glinda hasn’t ever bothered to ask. And who could possibly answer the question? The details of its construction must have been recorded in rare books somewhere, but as a matter of propaganda, the Wizard enjoyed spectacle. Oz needed its Emerald Palace as a cultural focal point of luxury and power, representing the hopes and wishes of every citizen, etc, so he said—then quoted a man named Jung, whoever that was—and anyways it isn’t like Glinda could threaten it out of him now. The Wizard disappeared in his replica balloon many years ago.

As the nation’s de-facto leader Glinda denounces his tactics publicly, but she has to admit that they were effective. Even after all her efforts, the past remains blurry and vague like hidden through the rainbow sheen of a bubble. She tried to collect the truth of the Wizard’s doings—every motion he passed or secret allyship he formed—but there is so much to do and so little time to do it. Only a few years into her reign, she saw that it was impossible to determine history with any accuracy. She would simply have to go on without it.

The Witch was good at history, she remembers. But the Witch is dead.

Glinda sits on her bed, legs wrapped in the beaded brocade of her blankets, and observes how under moonlight her skin stretches and sags with the weight of time. She feels very old all of a sudden. So far displaced from the bright-eyed student of Shiz or the strained socialite grappling with politics she only barely understands.

In her hands crumples a poster extracted from inside Glinda’s silk pillowcase. Bold text, red upon green. Bring HER down, it reads. The color is faded in neat divisions where she’s folded and unfolded it over and over again in study. The drawing doesn’t look very much like her, Glinda always thinks. Maybe the nose is sharper? The skin—a sicklier shade, smoother, more wax-like than human? She can’t identify the flaws with any accuracy now. It’s been too many years. But the nails, yellowed, are wrong. They got them together at the Emerald City—the other’s idea, of course. Glinda with green gems on hers and the Witch with glittering geometric shapes mimicking the architecture of the palace. It must have been the last time she ever got them done; certainly no-one would service an enemy of the state, and Glinda knows the woman wouldn’t risk being captured simply for the sake of fashion. Although, in retrospect, she probably did enjoy fashion—her black dresses emphasized her shoulders and slimmed down at her waist fetchingly. Before everything happened, the Witch always sported fresh manicures. She had been sketched into collective unconsciousness with outstretched claws.

Glinda closes her eyes and remembers the smooth texture of them, running her hands up and down Elphaba Thropp’s. Elphaba. Elphie. Her mouth presses into a weak line at merely the thought of the name. She tries to avoid it. Most days, so busy with her duties, it’s easy. But at nighttime the shape of the words haunts her head like an echo against an empty cave, trapping it inside to ricochet off her every thought. When was the last time anyone had spoken them aloud? Who was the last person to love Elphie and say it?

She can’t even imagine what it must have been like for Fiyero. In the end, they gave him a state military funeral and dropped all charges posthumously—even though the body was missing, of course. He might have eventually made a life with Elphaba if he hadn’t been killed. Glinda doesn’t know; she used to curse his legacy and think he was stupid for trying. Now she understands she simply isn’t that sort of person. She cannot be perfectly in love. And Oz, that she were perfect.

Glinda’s eyes are dry. She raises the paper up and her mouth goes even more tense. Then, delicately, she presses it to the corner of the picture’s, head tilted slightly. For deniability’s sake, the two mouths—one cold, one warm—do not directly overlap. And suddenly the paper is wetted, uncontrollable, with a surge of emotion so intense and tender that Glinda never wants to name it, wants to shove it away and lock it into a secret cabinet of her mind. She is too old for this.

When she finally draws away it comes with the realization that her tears have pulled streaks in the delicate ink. The single remnant she has allowed herself to keep of the Witch melts. There is nothing she can do about it.

[kaka-iru]

do you, perhaps, have more kakairu fics you’d recommend? :)

-sotf

hello, of course! i'm happy that you enjoyed my previous recommendation ♡ here are some more of my favourite fics, in no particular order (most of the authors listed here have many more fantastic kakairu fics, I recommend checking out their profiles)!

some of these fics are explicit, please read the tags and warnings before reading ♡

KAKAIRU FIC RECS

☆ guess your trajectory by ohwickedsoul

Rating: T

Length: 56k (Complete)

That’s a fucking kid, is the first thing that Iruka thinks. That’s the fucking jinchuriki, is the second. The first thought comes back, even stronger, overwhelming him with outrage, with fury, with a sick sort of disgust, and now it comes out as a shouted, “That’s a fucking kid.”

Tags: Slow Burn; Found Family; Anbu Hatake Kakashi; Umino Iruka Adopts Uzumaki Naruto; Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Wards; Fuuinjutsu; Canon-Typical Violence

☆ a road leading home to you by emlof

Rating: T

Length: 13k (Complete)

There are benches near the gates of Konoha where people wait for their loved ones to return from missions. Kakashi is used to ignoring them; it’s been a long time since someone has taken anything more than a professional interest in his comings and goings.

Tags: Developing Relationship; Hurt/Comfort; Slow Burn; kakashi is maybe a little emotionally constipated but it's fine

☆ not so practiced by leeflet

Rating: E

Length: 14k (Complete)

Iruka is only mildly surprised when he blinks his eyes open against the ache pounding behind them to find a bare face close enough to kiss. He lets his eyes trace along a soft jaw line to the cupid’s bow of thin lips with too big canines peeking out from behind them, and then up along a narrow nose to the scar crossing his eye, and oh. It’s Kakashi.

Tags: Light Angst

☆ in which certain things are crossed out by rokudaime

Rating: E

Length: 20k (Complete)

It's not always about what you say. Sometimes it's all about exactly what you can't.

Tags: Chuunin Exams; Post-Naruto Time Skip | Naruto Shippuden; Slow Build; Friends With Benefits; Friends to Lovers; Accidental Voyeurism; Konoha's jounin are relentless gossips and no one can tell me it's not canon; Eventual Romance; Implied/Referenced Homophobia; Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD; Soldier Life

☆ bring dog treats by kageillusionz & rocketpunchh

Rating: T

Length: 44k (Complete)

Iruka peruses the mission board when he overhears some kunoichi talking about a C-rank babysitting mission. Curious by the rumours, Iruka takes a look.

Mission Rank: C-Rank, Chuunin and above only.

Mission Duration: ???? One week. An arrangement can be made for recurring services if you survive.

Mission Description: Feral baby. Please feed and water. Bring dog treats. He likes those.

Signed: Henohenomoheji.

Iruka untacks the mission brief, walks over to the mission coordinators and asks, “This mission is a prank, right?” Or: The continual well-being of Uzumaki Naruto rides on a C-Ranked mission.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon; Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Found Family; Slow Burn; Slice of Life; Mission Fic; Humor; Fluff; Kidnapping; Major Character Injury; Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Implied/Referenced Homophobia; Adoption

☆ put into words by themidnightguardian

Rating: T

Length: 12k (Complete)

Hatake waved his hand dismissively. “I’m sure it’s fine—” Iruka finally snapped. “It’s illegible! Our cryptology department wouldn’t be able to read this! There are first-year pre-genin with better handwriting. No, there are nin-dogs with better handwriting. And where did the mud even come from? You were supposed to be in Sand!” ***5 times Iruka wanted to kill Kakashi at the mission desk + 1 time he kissed him instead***

Tags: Kakashi's mission reports are a disaster; On Purpose; flirting by way of causing homicidal rage; Iruka is trying his best; but he ends up yelling a lot; Hatake Kakashi is Bad at Feelings; Mutual Pining; if by that you mean Kakashi thinks they're dating; and Iruka has no idea; the whole village knows they're together before Iruka does; Jealous Mizuki; Mission Desk Shenanigans; Misunderstandings

☆ research mission by charab

Rating: E

Length: 250k (Ongoing)

Little did they know what would happen when one puts two male shinobis under the same roof for a month.

Tags: Research; Absurd; Romantic Comedy; Everyday ANBU; Enemies to Friends to Lovers; Slow Burn; Consensual Violence; Medical Experimentation; Near Death Experiences

☆ chasing butteries by averil

Rating: M

Length: 30k (Ongoing)

Iruka wakes up in his younger self's body determined to change things.

Tags: Romance; Drama; Time Travel

☆ table scraps by thehoyden

Rating: T

Length: 1k (Complete)

He's making different excuses now, and all to get back into Iruka's apartment, and more specifically, his kitchen.

Tags: N/A

☆ the worst mission ever by hazelbeka

Rating: T

Length: 21k (Complete)

“Iruka, how would you feel about taking on a solo mission for me?” Sandaime asked. Thrown by the change of topic, Iruka blinked at him. “What do you want me to do?” he asked. “Befriend Hound.”

Tags: Anbu Hatake Kakashi; seals master Iruka; Kid Fic; Found Family; Friendship; Humor; Iruka was raised by ANBU; bickering idiots to friends

☆ my lips, your teeth by wizardinblack

Rating: E

Length: 2k (Complete)

Ahead of their first date, Iruka is shocked to hear a rumor that Kakashi never takes off his mask - not even for lovers - and goes into it planning to leave him high and dry. Except, it doesn't actually happen that way. OR Iruka teaches Kakashi how to kiss, among other things.

Tags: Eventual Romance; Dogteeth kakashi; Never been Kissed Kakashi

☆ exigent circumstances by karaboo

Rating: E

Length: 26k (Complete)

“Are you fucking with me, Kakashi-san?” Kakashi’s eyes widened at the unexpected outburst. He opened his mouth to reply, but Iruka cut him off. “Because if this is some kind of joke and you’re just trying to get a rise out of me, I promise you I will take advantage of your incapacitated state and kill you right here.” His eyes flashed with anger. “No one would know.” -- Wherein Kakashi finds himself chakra exhausted a bit too far from home, but is saved through the work of an extremely competent chuunin sensei and an unlikely forbidden jutsu.

Tags: Competent Umino Iruka; Fuuinjutsu Master Umino Iruka; Canon-Typical Violence; Sassy Pakkun; Sassier Tsunade

☆ taking a break by ohmygoshwhatascream

Rating: T

Length: 47k (Complete)

With Naruto gone, Iruka finds himself left with nothing but loose ends. Lonely, but not quite willing to admit it, life goes on. He takes more shifts at the mission desk, avoids his friends and tries to convince himself that the shadows in his apartment are not growing larger and larger with each passing day. It doesn't help that Hatake Kakashi, a man who Iruka tries to avoid at all costs, is suddenly lingering in each and every corner of his life. No matter what he tells himself, there's something about Kakashi that makes it impossible to stay away. The remnants of an age-old crush that never quite faded offer the promise of something he'd promised to forget and, even when it burns, Iruka finds himself captivated. His back bears the cruel memory of weakness and he knows that this can't last.

Tags: Fluff; Angst; Slow Burn; Past Mizuki/Iruka - Freeform; Mizuki Sucks; Implied/Referenced Past Abuse; Trust Issues; Miscommunication; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Iruka is a bit of a mess; Eventual Happy Ending

☆ fortune hold you (she's not your friend) by alpha_hydra

Rating: Unrated

Length: 28k (Ongoing)

Kakashi hears it first from Genma, who is whispering it to Anko while wringing his hands together. Umino Iruka’s new interrogation technique is pulling Jonin from active duty. They're dropping like flies. Kakashi decides to see for himself what's so ground-breaking about it. AKA: Wherein Kakashi is forced to acknowledge that he's not actually doing okay, all things considered.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Canon-Typical Violence; Canonical Character Death; Anbu Hatake Kakashi; Hatake Kakashi Has Issues; Touch-Starved Hatake Kakashi; BAMF Umino Iruka; Mission Fic; Fix-It of Sorts; Pre-Naruto Canon Era

☆ you belong with (someone better than) me by vulcanhighblood

Rating: T

Length: 28k (Complete)

Exasperated with the ever-increasing number of well-meaning but annoying busybodies who seem to think he needs a man in his life, Iruka finally breaks down and asks Kakashi to be his fake-boyfriend in order to keep the wannabe-matchmakers off his back. The only problem is, Kakashi turns out to be a much better boyfriend than Iruka anticipated.

Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship; Angst; Pining; Mutual Pining; Hatake Kakashi Needs a Hug; Protective Uzumaki Naruto; Idiots in Love

☆ dream alone, dream together by flailinginlove

Rating: T

Length: 2k (Complete)

Iruka finds it hard to get over perfection, even if it had only been a dream.

Tags: Infinite Tsukuyomi; Pining; Angst with a Happy Ending

☆ recommended for admission by pentapus

Rating: Unrated

Length: 25k (Complete)

The war ends. Iruka gets promoted. Things go differently for Kakashi.

Tags: so much ANBU; how to spot a naruto story by me; Everybody Lives; except for the bad guys; (and also sasuke is dead though it's only mentioned in passing)

☆ of riceballs and jello cups by 100demons

Rating: G

Length: 3k (Complete)

Iruka has lunch with the Legendary Sharingan no Kakashi.

It was not not peaceful. In a way, it was rather like having lunch with a chair. A chair that read porn and was also capable of assassinating people with a dull spoon.

Tags: Pre-Slash; Gen or Pre-Slash; First Meetings; Canon Compliant

☆ the mirror wheel eye by pentapus

Rating: T

Length: 31k (Complete)

Iruka saw his first execution barely a year after the Kyuubi. The executioner was a wire thin ninja in combat uniform, one eye covered and his hair almost white in the brutal sun.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; alternate history to canon; Pre-Canon; Ninja Politics; Slow Build; Hurt/Comfort

☆ interested by flailinginlove

Rating: T

Length: 5k (Complete)

Iruka sees Kakashi without his mask and suddenly seems a lot more interested in him than he's ever been before.

Tags: vicious balls of fluff; gigantic crushes; Kakashi Has Issues

☆ venenum by mythoughtbubbles

Rating: E

Length: 32k (Complete)

He would lay waste to the world if Iruka so desired. He would bring Konoha to its knees and kneel in the ashes before Iruka in supplication if only to see Iruka’s smile directed towards him.

Tags: Dubious Ethics; Stalker Kakashi; Non-board certified usage of the sharingan; Iruka worship; Psychological Manipulation; Dark; but not TOO dark; technically there's fluff; Falling In Love; Emotional Manipulation; Dark Hatake Kakashi

☆ foreign tongue by anjelle

Rating: T

Length: 75k (Ongoing)

While on an ANBU retrieval mission, Kakashi triggers a curse seal that leaves him without sight, hearing, or speech. On his own and a week's travel away from the village, he has no choice but to rely on an unknown Konoha-nin that he meets on the road to get him home safely. That Konoha-nin is Iruka Umino, a freshly graduated genin, who may be even more lost than Kakashi is. But at least they're not alone.

Tags: Sensor-type Iruka; Sensory Deprivation; Anbu Hatake Kakashi; Slow Burn; Travel; Hurt/Comfort; Genin Iruka; ANBU - Freeform

☆ you can stand under my umbrella by hazelbeka

Rating: G

Length: 3k (Complete)

Iruka shelters Naruto from the rain. It’s a small kindness, but it’s more than anyone else has shown him. Kakashi vows to follow his example.

Tags: Found Family; Anbu Hatake Kakashi; seals master Iruka; pre-genin Naruto; starts with angst and ends with feel good fluff

☆ honest when it rains by panda_shi & subcognito

Rating: E

Length: 154k (Ongoing)

Kakashi and Iruka wake up hungover in a hotel room together and discover that they'd made some terrible decisions that forever change their lives. --- There are too many broken pieces of him for someone to hold; too much ugliness, and too many scars, and too much blood on his skin that he’ll never be able to wash off. Kakashi doesn’t know what it would even mean to love someone, or to be loved like he’s read in these kind of books. He’s only ever glimpsed what it might feel like in passing, in the looks Minato-sensei and Kushina-san exchanged with one another when they were still alive, and in the way their shadows held hands as they walked down the street together at night. In the smiles and in the laughter of families that live in the light, who don’t smell of dirt and blood and the decay that is the smell of men like him who go to war in the night. Love was never meant for men like him, who don’t even know what it means to be alive.

Tags: Slow Burn; Eventual Romance

☆ spring, neap by flipthebits

Rating: M

Length: 50k (Complete)

Kakashi has captained hundreds of missions over the past decade. One random chuunin beneath his command getting injured shouldn’t prompt more passing concern than any of the other casualties he’s witnessed. And yet, something keeps him in his orbit.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Slow Burn; Mutual Pining; Friends to Lovers; Not Actually Unrequited Love

☆ and feeling lost by justdoityoufucker (orphan_account)

Rating: T

Length: 4k (Complete)

Umino Iruka apparently does stupid things while high on painkillers. For example, yelling at the Hokage and his elite guard. Completely hypothetically, of course.

Tags: N/A

☆ b-movie love story by pentapus

Rating: Unrated

Length: 4k (Complete)

Iruka had barely touched the beer in front of him; it was the end of the school year, and he'd had a low grade headache for days. Somewhere halfway through this stack of student papers, the headache had kicked up into dizziness.

Tags: Soul Bond; fluid relationship with fourth war canon

☆ missing by decaf_kitty

Rating: E

Length: 6k (Complete)

Kakashi discovers his ninken sneak off to be spoiled by Iruka... Naturally he wants to be pampered, too.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort; Ninken | Ninja Dogs; Slow Romance; Platonic Cuddling; Sexual Tension; Forehead Kisses

☆ willful concealment by rengonemad

Rating: E

Length: 13k (Complete)

“Are you planning to keep my hair tie?” Iruka asked suddenly, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I’m holding it prisoner for crimes against the citizens of Konoha.” “What are the charges?” Kakashi smiled, twirling the band around his forefinger like a kunai. “Perjury and willful concealment.” Iruka huffed and shook his head, lips thinning in a way that made Kakashi think he was holding back a grin. “You know, if I’d realized you had such a thing for long hair, I would have started wearing mine down years ago.” Kakashi’s thumb caught the hair band, halting its revolution. “Years?” (Or, in which Iruka asks for a single night, and gets a whole lot more.)

Tags: Pining; One Night Stands; Love Confessions; Canon Compliant; Canon - Manga; POV Hatake Kakashi

☆ eye to eye (fist to fist) by terrorfecta

Rating: T

Length: 20k (Complete)

Umino Iruka had never made it a secret that he disliked the last Hatake. Kakashi never questioned why, used to people deciding what he was like before they even met him. Unfortunately for Konoha as a whole, their mutual distaste for each other soon got picked up by the gossip mill and blown out of proportion after a particularly charged discussion at the mission desk. To stop their escalating social war, the Hokage quickly sent the two on a mission to Iron, where the duo are forced to work together whether they like it or not. Kami help them all.

Tags: Enemies to Lovers; Slow Burn; Canon-Typical Violence; inappropriate use of jutsu; Prankster Umino Iruka

[webism]

pornstar!choso has a curated look that throws off a lot of his costars. strong build, straight-set face, hands made to choke and tear… most of those he film with don’t expect to be doted on the entire time.

people joke that pornstar!choso falls a little bit in love with every costar he fucks or gets fucked by. that glossy look that always pulls at his face by the time a scene ends, how his lip trembles with a need to be kissed raw when he cums. he says it's just the bliss of his orgasm—that he gets emotional in the moment, but it doesn't mean anything. well, until he meets you.

pornstar!choso who looks you up before his shoot because your name sounded vaguely familiar when it left his agents lips. he could have sworn you'd fucked before, because when he rolls the syllables of your name on his tongue they're nostalgic and taste like the sweat and laboured breaths of a long night between satin sheets. had you shot a scene together before? or had it been a one night stand?

pornstar!choso who realises that no, he hadn't slept with you before. but the familiarity of your name isn't a coincidence—he's fucked his fist to your videos more times than he can count. your name hits him like lightning, he had typed it into his search bar late in the night, cock hard and in need of instant relief. it's almost scary how well he knows you, what sounds you make when you get close to cumming, how you often arch your back and try to run from the overwhelming pleasure, how your eyebrows knit together when you're feeling so good it almost hurts.

pornstar!choso who realises with a now-red face that you probably don't have a clue who he is, and yet he's cum in time with you for months now. he's pretty sure he's drained his wallet at least twice on your cam shows... what if you recognise his name and piece it together with his username that he donates under? he debates cancelling the shoot, faking covid to get some time at home to hate himself endlessly.

but pornstar!choso realises that this is his chance to get to know how you really feel. he's imagined it so many times, as he fucked fake pussies or his closed fist using spit or his own cum as lube. you'd be warmer, undoubtedly tighter... so much prettier. and he wants to know more: would you prefer to take control and turn him into the toys he so often pretends are you? would you lay back all pretty and let him ruin you on his cock? how deep could you take him he knows he's big but you seem so eager, would you take him to the base with ease or would he have to force it in? bully your pretty pussy until it stretches to his shape?

pornstar!choso who hates the fact that your first, and possibly only, time together would be in front of a production crew and under the unsympathetic lights of a porn set. but he'd fuck on a stage in front of thousands if it means a taste of you.

pornstar!choso who makes it to the shoot before you do, comes ten minutes early to settle his anxieties and get a feel for the scene ahead. the director tells him its a simple shoot, that choso is meant to let you ride him for a while until you pull off and suck his cock for a nice close-up facial shot. the way the director speaks so clinically about sex with you makes choso grimace, he feels pathetic for feeling like this. like he'll be a changed man after feeling you around his cock, which is already painfully hard.

pornstar!choso who hates himself for stumbling over his words when he meets you. he wishes he had never looked you up, though he doesn't doubt seeing your pretty face like this would have wrecked his confidence regardless. you're kind, greet him with a shy smile as if he isn't about to slip balls deep inside of you.

pornstar!choso who, once he has you sitting on top of him on that bed—cameras pointed dutifully as you start to play your role and hike your skirt up so you can sink down on his cock—he can't handle the thought of fucking you like it's nothing, like it's not been the crux of his fantasies in the dark hours at night.

pornstar!choso who, probably to the detriment of his career, pushes you backwards onto the bed and connects his lips to yours in a kiss that surpasses every single fantasy he's had in his mind. you taste good, and he wants more. he speaks against your lips, asks whines a question that makes your stomach coil. 'can i eat you out first? please?'

pornstar!choso who is chided by the production team as he gets his head under your skirt and laps at your pussy in the most desperate act of need he thinks he's ever displayed. those that claim he falls in love with each shoot would be wholly correct in this case: he is in love with the taste of you, with the way your legs trap him in and ask for more. he could eat you for hours, run his tongue from your clit to dip it inside of you in reverence of the goddess he believes you to be. and you laugh at the absurdity of his hunger, at the courage it takes to run off script, and the pure need in which he eats you out.

pornstar!choso who only stops once the director threatens to cut the scene entirely. his cock hurts with how hard it is though, and he thinks the redirection of blood has made him lightheaded, because when he's made to sit back and let you sink down onto his length he swears he meets god.

pornstar!choso who can't help his whines as you ride him, an addiction already laying down roots in his brain. he has to try and think of anything less godly than you to hold on to his orgasm though, because the combination of your body and having subconsciously trained himself to associate you with climaxing is all too strong, and he's a hairs breadth away from cumming prematurely and ruining the scene.

pornstar!choso who realises as you continue, however, that your moans arent the same as he's heard them before, though the speakers of his phone. you're more breathy with him, your moans are less honeyed, more raw—as if coming from your chest rather than your throat. he wonders for a moment if he's not good enough, if you're having to fake your pleasure to save face for the cameras. but you're soaked, and even above the sounds of your shared pleasure he can still hear the squelch of his cock rutting in and out of you.

but before pornstar!choso can question himself further, your eyes are widening and you're latching a hand onto his throat as your pace increases. he can feel the way you tighten impossibly around him, the way your hips stutter and your pupils blow out with lust—you're cumming. and of course he remembers his instructions, to let you climb off of him and take his load over your face... but you're not climbing off of him.

pornstar!choso who understands the pointed look you manage to give him, that it's your turn to bypass the scene direction. you want to be greedy, to feel him finish inside of you, even through the confines of a condom. your moans arent fake, they're the first real ones you've let sound on a porn set—and choso is pulling them from your lungs like a choir's conductor.

pornstar!choso who can't last a minute longer, now with the way you lean in and coax him to climax with your voice, the soft praise that leaves your lips is an aphrodisiac and all too powerful. he sees stars when he cums, full blown galaxies too complex to imagine. call it an out-of-body experience or not, but choso is lost in his orgasm for long enough to warrant you bringing him back down with a soft kiss to his lips. he looks sinful: his hairs come loose, messy and stuck to his forehead. his eyes, though, are what's going to be the subject of a few screenshots taken by his fans: he looks totally infatuated.

pornstar!choso who, after taking a few minutes to settle himself after the shoot, watches as you walk over to him, a very pretty smile pulling at the corner of your lips before you lean down and peck his lips goodbye. he assumes it's the last he'll see of you, that there's no way he's worthy of every tasting you again. that night, he's scared to brush his teeth, to lose the way you linger on his tongue.

pornstar!choso who debates fucking his fist to the memory of you in bed that night. he thinks you've ruined masturbation for him, or sex in general: nothing could quite be the same. and as if its a sign from god that he's done enough good in his life to deserve some positive karma, his phone dings.

a photo of you, a pretty vibrator laid over your stomach. your laptop open in the background, his porn playing on the screen.

attached, a message that makes the poor boy cum in his pyjama bottoms. 'lets meet up again. i want to tie you up and film how stupid you get with a vibe strapped to your cock—a movie just for us, though. no audience.'

pt 2 in the works :p

[ladybeug]

he was stupid after all...

thats romance.

merry christmas!!!! I was thinking recently I don't just draw for fun very much anymore, so I put some time aside as a christmas gift for me.

[honey-flustered]

Loved playing a SULTRY game of WIP word tag Thank you @the-unforgivenn for tagging me. This was super fun! And I look forward to your works 😋🔥Here’s some WIPs from mostly my main page and one from my side blog. I have tons more I haven’t shared here but these are the ones I’ve been bouncing around between so don’t be shy to take a look ❤️

S

“Sweet. Just like you,” Logan comments before whispering into your ear. “But we’re not looking for ‘sweet’ right now, are we? Again.”

You’re taken aback for a moment but you persist, going in for another kiss. This time it lasted slightly longer than the first.

You search his eyes for approval only for him to say, “Again.”

Excerpt from ‘Naughty Lessons’ - OldMan!Logan Howlett x Virgin!Reader

Quick synopsis: You run into the former adult film star!Logan Howlett and ask him to teach you how to be desirable.

U

“…Use me, Breed me. I’m yours. Forever and ever.”

“Sugar…”, is all Eddie could groan out. You’re driving him crazy. He shouldn’t be so eager to fulfill your demands. Use you? Breed you? It’s all too much.

“Please...Mr. Munson,” You whisper hotly in his ear. “Oh, Mr. Munson…”

Excerpt from ‘Along For The Ride 2’ -Older!Beefy!Farmer!Eddie Munson x Mean!Rich!Reader

Synopsis: After the kiss incident, you develop a HUGE crush on Eddie and pretending you don’t is becoming a lot harder to keep up. Luckily for you, Eddie doesn’t intend on denying his feelings any longer either…not even when your father’s on the other side of the door.

L

…“Long as you’re payin’ attention.”

“Since we’re making some observations,” You begin, “I noticed you were a little tense throughout the hour. I hope everything’s okay. I know I can be harsh at times but I’ve got a soft spot for those I can tell are having a bad day. Maybe I can help you. I’ve got some great advice of my own I can share.”

“Yeah and what would that be?”

“Troubles shared are troubles halved.”

Cooper can’t help but chuckle at your indiscreet attempt to learn of his issues. “How convenient. Nice try, honey pie. But I ain’t spilling my guts to the likes of you.”

“Mr. Howard,” You taunt with the dramatic disappointment of a frustrated parent, hands on your hips. “Are you really that trivial of a man that you’d deny me camaraderie simply because I dare to challenge you at times?”

His eyes widened at this. “Challenge me? Lil’ miss, I’ve known you for three weeks and I do believe you're responsible for my chronic migraines. I’ve never had a student quite like you.”

Excerpt from ‘Mr. Howard’s So Hard To Tease’ - Pre-war!Cooper Howard x Virgin!Reader (on side writing blog- usetheeauthor)

Quick Synopsis: Barb Howard hires you to bring the passion back into estranged husband, Cooper Howard’s life.

T

“That’s alright, babe,” The sultriness of your voice hits him hard enough to send a jolt throughout his body. His eyes travel up stilettos, nylon-clad legs, an alluring figure and finally…the face behind the voice. YOUR face. Your smile is so sweet; sun shining from behind you and wind blowing in and around you. You were like an angel sent and he swears he can hear the heavenly violins.

“Will you be dear and hand me that love apple there?” You point at the fruit beside his feet.

Eddie breaks from his trance, retrieving the fruit resting at his feet though perplexed at your name for it. “Th-this?”

“Yes, sir,” You beam. “The French once called the tomato ‘pomme d’amour’ which translates to ‘the love apple’. They believed tomatoes had aphrodisiac powers.”

As you reach for the fruit in his hand, your fingers lightly brush against his and he shivers at the contact.

“I’m inclined to believe they’re on to somethin’,” You quip with a smirk.

Excerpt from ‘I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)’ - Gross!Perv!Incel!Eddie Munson x Older!Professor!Reader

Quick Synopsis: Wayne Munson seeks your services to free his reclusive adult nephew, Eddie Munson, from utter loserdom.

R

Ready to face the world as an item? That’s easier said than done. You’ve never been the center of the public eye before. But here you are stepping into the limelight with your rockstar boyfriend and it’s fucking terrifying.

Excerpt from ‘Cruel Little Vixens 9 1/2’ - Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Journalist!F!Reader

Quick Chapter Synopsis: The tabloids want to know the hottest rockstar’s girlfriend and you’re going to play the part.

Y

“You don’t…” He shakes his head in disbelief, voice trembling. “You don’t love me anymore.”

You swallow the hard lump in your throat, tears prickling the corners of your eyes. “No, Steve. I don’t.”

Excerpt from ‘You Don’t Love Me Anymore’ -MindFlayed!Yandere!Steve Harrington x F!Reader

Quick Synopsis: While on a romantic getaway, you decide to break up with Steve Harrington…big mistake.

No Pressure Tags: @munsonmuses @25bohemianmoons @seatnights @strangererotica @trashmouth-richie @littlexdeaths @ali-r3n

Your Word Is SINFUL

📚 WIP word game 📚

Rules: you will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your WIP(s) that starts with each letter of your word!

Thank you (I think 😏) to the lovely @indulgence-be-thy-name @idontgettechnology for the tag, my word is WANDER (side note: who knew how many sentences of mine would start with S, H or Y???)

W

“What’s going on? Mike and Jane went all… funny, and then just got up and left.”

You don’t know what to tell them, so settle for conveying Eddie’s orders.

“You need to hide. There’s something out there, and you need to get out of sight and stay quiet.”

You pull off Lucas’s blankets and shake Mike’s shoulder, whisper-shouting ‘wake up’ as loudly as you dare to try to rouse Dustin. The teens complain, but when they spy your serious expression and the fear in your eyes, they do as you say. They begin to move the sofa for at least a couple of them to get behind, and start to brainstorm ideas for other hiding places.

From Knock At The Cabin, Part Three

A

And, somehow, you don’t mind it one bit.

You attempt to keep your composure, but your shaking hands betray you and the spoon you're holding clatters to the worktop.

Eyes a richer ochre hue than the coffee you were failing to focus on bore into yours, as Eddie suggests,

“Y’know what? Screw the coffee, Duchess. I’ve got something I think you’ll find far more… stimulating.”

From Good Things (Come In Threes), Chapter 2: Home Alone

N

“Need your words, sweetheart. I need you to tell me.”

You gasp as he places a gentle but firm open-mouthed bite to your covered shoulder, the damp heat of his breath passing easily through the thin fabric. His grip tightens, making you gasp and hold your breath, but you somehow manage to stammer,

“Yes, Eddie. I want this.”

Turning so you can just see him over your shoulder, you add,

“I want you.”

From Damsels & Debauchery: The D&D Chronicles; Part Two: Two Player Game (link to Part 1 as this doesn’t have a series masterlist yet)

D

“Do you… like what you see, Princess?”

Your eyes continue to scan his chest as you hum in approval.

“Oh yes, definitely…”

You bring one of your hands up between you and run the tips of your fingers over the tattoos on his pec. Eddie shivers and inhales a shaky breath, and then whines a little as you flatten your hand over the muscle.

Your other hand traces up his waist and abs, making him stutter out a bashful giggle as you hit a ticklish spot, until both hands come to rest on the upper part of his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your palms. You look over his torso, his neck, his throat, before your gaze reaches his eyes again.

“You’re really pretty, Eddie. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Uhh, nope. No, they haven’t. But from you, I believe it.”

From The Biology Tutor: Lesson Three

E

Eddie wouldn’t choose to come to an event like this, but the money on offer was too good to pass up. The theme is Glitz and Glamour, the assistant who booked him insisting he went all out, a dangerous thing to say to someone as dramatic as Eddie. But, if he’s honest, the opportunity to get super theatrical with his performance was actually really appealing.

As part of the deal, a makeup company has given him a load of free stuff in return for promoting the brand. Way more than he’d use for a single event, and in far too many shades, but, again, he’s not complaining. Free glitter is free glitter.

From Stevie White & The Seven Nerds [working title], WIP for the @strangertales2025 fairy tale event (don’t hold your breath - we have an entire year to write these 😜)

R

Reclining against your headboard and clutching your coffee, you recall how he’d looked as he glanced out of your bedroom window the morning he was due to leave. How he’d peered through the thin blinds and the sunlight had caught his features perfectly and illuminated the ochre of his eyes. He’d looked distant, pensive.

From an untitled WIP about JQ’s unnamed Warfare character, because I can’t find anything else in my WIPs that begins with R 😄. I wrote a blurb after getting this ask about him and people asked for more, but I don’t know if I’ll ever finish or publish this because of the divisive subject matter. I’m absolutely not pro-war (and I have little knowledge or interest in the military as a subject group), but I’m concerned that publishing it will imply that I am. So, for now, a WIP it will stay. Perhaps I’ll revisit it once I’ve seen the movie.

Anyone can join in with this, but I’m tagging @the-unforgivenn @mediocredreams @rebelfell @storiesbyrhi @jamdoughnutmagician @munson-blurbs @joejoequinnquinn @katethetank because you know I’ll go feral for any tiny smidgens you give me (single sentences are allowed) 😉 Your word is HOLIER

Also tagging @airen256 and @80s-addict in case you want to have a gander 🥰