#would you like with me and just forget the world

[militaryapple]

FUCK ME LIKE YOU MAD AT ME, BABY ♡

synopsis. caleb has a bad day at work and you just wanna help him. whats the harm in that? it's not like he's ever mean to you.. right?

cw. fem!reader, exhibitionism, praise, semi angry sex, breeding kink, rough sex, cunnilingus, overstim, calebs a little freak.

add ons. didn't think i could make him even worse then he is but whatv i love u nasty caleb + i didn't proofread so whoops im lazy. 

wc. 1.7k

as you lounged around in your room in skyhaven, you jumped up at the sound of keys jingling and the front door opening. It was caleb, he was home! excitedly, you got up rushing to the door with open arms. you were expecting a big hug with the sweet words “pipsqueak! I’m home!~” with a sort of tune in your boyfriend’s voice— but instead you were met with a pat on the head a soft grunt that could only signal “I’m not in the mood.”

who shit in his cereal today?

you followed caleb to the kitchen as you watched him cook.. and then followed him to the living room as you watched him eat.. and then followed him to the bathroom while you waited outside.. and th—

“what do you want pips?” a sharp, hushed voice snapped you out of whatever trance you were in. he stared at you before snapping his fingers to supposedly bring you back to earth, and you just stared.

“is everything okay?” was all you able to muster out. you were unfamiliar with this caleb. the kind, sweet boy who would pet your hair and tell you how cute you looked today was far gone and all that was left was his outer shell, replaced by some sort of spirit. caleb shook his head and sighed heavily. he brushed you off before pushing his hair back.

“just.. tired. long day at the fleet is all.” he said softly. caleb noticed the visible shift in your attitude, fuck he was slipping. just because he had a shitty day doesn’t mean he has to take it out on you, after all you just wanted to make sure he was okay.

and before he knew it, you both were sitting down on his couch. you prepared some tea and pranced around the kitchen as he watched you closely, like you could mess up anytime and he would have to swoop in and save the day but yet there were no mistakes so there was no knight in shining armor caleb. you settled down next to him on the couch before moving closer and resting your head on his shoulder and oh fuck did that send him over. the faint smell of apple cinnamon and the way your body slowly went up and down as you took each agonizingly long breath. you were a sight to behold, truly— and the dent in his pants couldn’t agree with him more.

oh how he would like to take a handful of your hair and pull it back, to see your pretty face laced with tears he caused. To hear your sweet sounds both your voice and body make, fuck him— was he going crazy? caleb quickly turned his attention on you, with a worried expression on your face that could only make his heart melt for you. forget a bad day, every moment with you could cure a million diseases in the world.

“caleb..” you said, your hand tracing over his arm which could only make him shiver. “i just want to know if you’re okay, you’ve been acting.. weird today. if i did anything—“ he cut you off quickly embracing you as close as he possibly could. his voice was sweet, this, this was the caleb you know.

“oh no pips, seriously, it was just one little bad day, yeah?” he said pulling you away and looking straight at you.

“if it was such a bad day, then can i help you? just to relax is all.”

oh gods. fuck him. bless today. you looked so fucking pretty. was it the way you said it, or the way you looked at him? how your eyes flickered across his body— he didn’t imagine that right? how close you both are and how fucking warn you feel, it was hot. he was hot. was the stove on? no, you wouldn’t attempt to cook— fuck why is it so hot in the house all of a sudden? he needed to contain himself, he wasn’t some wild animal, he was— gentle with you. patient. he liked having vanilla sex with you, he liked having sex with you in general. he was just pent up from the day and, fuck fuck fuckk.

caleb looked at you, his hand finding its way to your face as he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. there was no way he would take advantage of you like this. he wasn’t that type of guy. maybe if he was more level headed he would agree to fuck your pretty fuck stupid, but not when he’s angry and you’re doing your damn hardest to make sure he feels better. he should be happy, happy that you care so much about him to the point your willing to help him blow off stream.

but god he would be stupid to let this opportunity slip.

“it’s fine, pipsqueak. i’m serious, i’m sorry if i worried you with my attitude. it was out of line it won’t happen again.” he said softly, warningly. yet, you didn’t seem to pick up on it.

“caleb, please let me do this for you. let me help you.” you got up and shifted yourself closer to him. you could feel his breath hitch as he scanned your face for anything, any sort of sign to tell him “don’t. you shouldn’t, you can’t.” yet there was nothing there. he quickly grabbed your wrist and flipped you, pushing your hands shoved your head as he leaned into you.

“tell me i shouldn’t pips, tell me I shouldn’t take all of my fucking anger out on you right now.” oh fuck this was bad, he was bad. he leaned into kissing your neck and nibbling softly, his eyes retreating back to yours. your silence was deafening. it was like he could hear your plea for him to proceed, god did he want you so fucking bad.

he picked you up, bringing both you and him to his room and throwing you on his bed. he closed the door making sure to hear a small click! in the back. he got down and kissed you. this wasn’t his simple tender and romantic kisses, no. this was sloppy. nasty. he couldn’t help if his hands went from your hair, to your hips, and then your boob. and he definitely couldn’t help on how he groaned while kissing you, how he pulled you down closer to him so you could feel the dent in his pants. so you can feel how fucking much he missed you at work, and how you are such a tease; even when you don’t intend to be. caleb was swift when it came to your clothes, as he took them off faster than you could put them on.and you were quick.

caleb moved to the bed, sitting you up. your back against his chest as you both faced the mirror across from the bed. oh was this beautiful for him, you were beautiful for him.

“I’ve always wanted to try this” he said cooly as he spread your legs, watching the faces you make. the reactions you give him. “I’ve only just imagined it.. well when I’m at work, but seeing it for real? you look so much prettier.” his hands circling around your cunt and then in and out. oh you were so pretty. so beautiful. so mesmerizing. your sounds were enough to make him cum, and you enjoyed it. he coo’d you as you begged for him to be kinder to your swollen cunt.

“you can handle it baby, yeah? you wanted to help me right? come on, hold out for me a little longer and I’ll give you something better.” oh how he knew which words would rub you right. even if he’s in a bad mood he still knew how to make you feel like the only girl in the world.

caleb soon removed his fingers, sliding out of you before pulling down his pants, and then his drawers. god was he even bigger today. you could only watch in awe as he brought you closer to himself.

“i told you I’d give you something better baby.” he said softly, bending down to kiss your forehead. he positioned himself before sliding in. ohh gods did he fill you up perfectly. you were practically made for him. caleb couldn’t help but grab on your hips and add some friction between you two.

the way his tip kissed your sweet spot so good could only make your face contort. you held onto him as he slammed himself in you. it hurt, but it hurt so good. he wasn’t easing up on you anytime soon but you were fine with that. you weren’t complaining on how his balls violently hit your cunt, or how fucking messy you both were being. how greedy you two were, more than usual almost. if sex was this good if he was angry, maybe you should purposely piss him off more.

“oh- fuck baby, ah, you feel so so good” he groaned. you could only let out moans of approval and pleasure as he hit your spots so fucking good. he put his hand down, right at your pelvic area, feeling himself go in and out of you, he couldn’t help it. you were just too perfect. “im gonna put a baby in you yeah? so nobody touches you ever again, or even thinks about you. so they know you’re mine. yeah?” oh fuck you would love that. “im gonna make you a mommy, please can i? can i make you a mommy, baby?”

oh god oh god oh god. you were close you were so so close. your nails dug into his skin which only made him thrust more erratically. both of your heads were empty, focused on the feeling of sweet sweet release. caleb looked down at you, holding your head up.

“gonna cum? wanna cum for me? yeah? yeah? come on baby you can do it. make me proud.” he panted, kissing you in between, all you could do was whine for him as you held onto him. your legs shook while you saw stars. caleb became slower, with a last couple of thrusts before holding you down on his cock. he looked at you, ditsy and fucked out. he let out a soft chuckle.

“you can’t sleep on me now pipsqueak, you said you would help me remember? im still feeling a little upset.”

this was going to be a loooong night.

[dustofwarfare]

I'm convinced most people have literally never met anyone in a relationship a)over the age of 35 or b)with an age gap of any amount, or the other possibility is that I see this from people who have not met anyone over the age of 35 at ALL. (No shade to the rebloggers, just thinking out loud here.)

My one partner is 15 years younger than me (I'm mid-forties), is a professional, and the only time you notice the age gap is that she sometimes has to explain memes to me and also, we have entirely different music tastes (but that's fun!) and childhood formative literature/cartoons. The horror! *eyeroll*

Also I was way more emotionally stable at 21 than 31 (I had a THING, I'm good now lol) and let people make their own choices! People who are adults are allowed to be adults and make, y'know, adult decisions. Also I have bad news about financial stability and how it's very often a transitory state, and can shift between partners for your ENTIRE LIFE, so. Let's not forget that!

It's like how people meet me and go, "I just can't believe you're in your 40's" and I'm like that's because we aren't actually piles of dust and people have weird ideas about being over 35, I promise you I would go back to no age before about 44 for all the money in the world, I cannot express to you how amazing it is ahhhh <3

can I be so honest. can I be so real. is this a safe space.

I don't actually think that a 21 year old hooking up with a 30 year old is that bad. I don't think it's a problem the way people make it out to be. that's two legal adults having sex, chief.

[malum-forev]

Casual

Summary: a glimpse into your secret relationship with Bucky. The one he threw away.

CABNW!Bucky x Agent!Reader

“This is so, so wrong.” Bucky mumbles against your lips, hands tangled in your hair. 

“But it feels so right.” You counter, looking up at the heaving super soldier through your eyelashes. 

He wasn’t all wrong. It was heavily looked down upon for a senior member to fraternize with a younger trainee. But who cares when the two of you are under the influence of heavy alcohol and worn out from your most recent mission?

It should’ve ended after that. You were supposed to be a one night stand. But Bucky couldn’t get you out of his mind. And what bothered him the most was that you seemed unfazed. 

“Was it not as mind blowing for you as it was for me?” Bucky says in between deep thrusts, the wrinkle between his eyebrow creasing.

“What?” You ask breathlessly. A second ago you were on a mind numbing roll heading toward climax and now, he’s completely taken you out of it with just a couple of words. “What are you talking about.”

He dives deeper, making your eyes roll back. “You’re the best I’ve ever had in decades, and you just acted like I was average.”

You have to stop yourself from laughing. “Didn’t we agree that we were going to keep our little meeting low key?” 

“Low key doesn’t mean forget about it completely.” Bucky says with a huff. 

Your eyebrows raise. “You want recognition.”

“I want you to admit I’m the best you’ve ever had.” His voice is gravelly, his eyes scan your face like he’s trying to catch every single movement in it. 

“And if it wasn’t?” You challenge. 

“Then you’d be lying.” He trails his vibranium arm over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

“How do you know?” You whisper. 

“Because I was right there with you, doll.” He smiles against your lips, driving his hips up. 

A couple of hookups turned into him leaving an extra set of clothes at your place. Supposedly he only did it to make your meet ups more efficient. But you knew that the Sergeant was lying to you, and to himself. Every morning he’d make his way through your kitchen, making two coffees and cleaning up whatever you’d left the night before. 

A few months later, you cleared a couple of drawers for him. And Bucky gladly left his favorite Henley’s at your place along with his infamous leather jacket. 

Neither one of you knew what this was but you were having fun. And that’s what counted, right?

You liked moving up the ranks without having anyone undermine your work just because you’re sleeping with Bucky. And he liked not having to be vulnerable in front of other people. 

But soon, months turned into years. And before you knew it, Bucky was bringing you flowers every Friday and staying over more days than not. 

He’d share his fear of navigating the new world without a clear purpose. And you’d talk about how this job made you feel lonely most of the time. 

Your fellow agents would always try to set you up with whoever they knew. You’d politely decline the blind dates, not missing the way Bucky would give whoever would be your potential date, a tougher routine. 

And Bucky, well, no one was really trying to set him up with anyone. 

But your favorite part was work functions. Galas and charities where the two of you would act like strangers only to go back home to the same address. It was like a game for you two, until it wasn’t. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” you nod your head, ordering a cocktail at the bar. 

He tilts his head. “Agent.”

You should have known something was off, his eyes were dull and his voice sounded tight. But you assumed it was just because of the setting. Bucky never felt comfortable in places like this. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask under your breath.

“Nothing,” his voice is clipped. 

A photographer comes close to you two, holding up his camera and getting a picture before either one of you could object. 

“Delete that,” Bucky snaps. “Now!”

“What’s gotten into you?” You hiss, waving away the innocent photographer. 

“We can’t be seen together.” His blue eyes look everywhere but yours. “It’s not good for my image to be with a former widow.”

Your jaw slacks. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Sure, Bucky had expressed some interest in running for congress but you never thought he was serious. And between constant missions and Bucky staying back, you weren’t quite up to date with the man you’ve been seeing for three years. 

“I hired a publicist,” He shoots a look back to a man standing close to Sam. “He recommends I stay away with my former team. It looks better for my campaign if I focus on the future, rather than the past.”

“The past?” Your breath gets caught in your throat. 

Bucky looks down at the floor. 

“So us…” You couldn’t finish your sentence. 

“Us?” Bucky raises his eyebrows, questioning all those years of you two. 

You scoff. “Drop the act, you know what’s between us.”

“Look, these years have been nice,” Bucky gulps. “But we both knew that we were just playing around.”

“Playing around?” You raise your eyebrows, a knot forming in your throat. 

“Casual.” He shrugs. 

“Was it casual when you chased after me in Bangladesh?” You challenge. “Was it casual when you asked me to stay because you wanted to feel me at night? Was it casual when you said you loved me?”

Bucky finally looks at you. “You have to understand, congress means I can make an impact-“

You finish off your drink. “Listen to me, James Buchanan Barnes, this is the last time I let you speak to me. From now on, we’re strangers—better yet, you’re dead to me.”

“C’mon, it doesn’t have to be like this,” he tries to hold your hand but you escape his soft grip. 

“Good luck, Congressman Barnes,” your eyes get glassy. “I hope you get everything you want.”

You never look back, not wanting to let him see how much he hurt you. 

Author's Note: hihiiii please remember I posted the first chapter of my book All For The Crown, it's on my page. I'd love it if you guys could take a read and leave me a comment! Thanks as always for all the love! My asks are always open!

[burreauxsss]

its over, im sorry

background: y/n a wag for the chiefs who is dating travis kelce of 3 years finds out he cheated on her. she assures herself that she'd never watch the nfl nor date another nfl player, until a convincing quarterback hits her dms.

(all pics from pinterest/ all tweets are fake this is a 2 part series fyi)

notes: posting twice in a day because my x account gets unsuspended tomorrow won't he do it!!! anyways warnings: none??

joe burrow x reader x ex!kelce smau

duexmoi

❤️ 420,494 💬 33,000

Liked by: tmz

duexmoi: ladies!! what do we think?

username_1: bro she deserves so much better.

username_2: i hope she upgrades

username_3: about time.

username_4: i need to hear about her experience with him fr.

username_5: my favorite wag????? seriously!!

*load more comments*

y/n_handle

❤️ 84,100 💬 5,000

Liked by: yourbsf and others

y/n_handle: the world is finally healing.

username_6: wym by that..

username_7: so its healing because of you leaving that man.. oh!

username_8: rule 1, dont date a athlete, got it.

username_9: you deserve better.

*load more comments*

joeyb_9

❤️ 755,111 💬 87,915

Liked by: lahjay10 bengals and others

joeyb_9: keep fighting.

lahjay_10: joey b is back.

bengals: we missed 9.

username_10: yall sucked this week, pull it together against kansas city.

username_11: that man was scared and we all know it.

username_12: who dey as always!

*load more comments*

y/n_handle 📍kansas city, mo

❤️ 82,100 💬 6,987

Liked by: yourbsf

y/n_handle: with yourbsf

username_13: my algorithm is messy since that tweet.

username_14: i wish he wouldve just broke off the engagement and been done with it.

username_15: shes so pretty, he fumbled.

username_16: her friend is a bengals fan, is she going with her to the game this sunday?

username_17: i fear travis is beating himself up about this rn.

username_18: who did he even cheat on her with, thats the million dollar question.

*load more comments*

bengals 📍kansas city, mo

❤️ 900,777 💬 120,337

Liked by: lahjay_10 joeyb_9 and others

bengals: business trip.

username_19: if this business trip doesnt involve a dub then i dont know what.

username_20: joe actually looks nice today.

username_21: hes so fine its unreal.

username_22: chiefs been deadass silent on insta since last week..

username_23: travis talking 💩 on his podcast as usual.

username_24: yk what would be crazy... travis's ex showing up to see travis lose.

*load more comments*

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conversation between joe and y/n on instagram dms

joeyb_9: saw one of your pics, you're very beautiful.

y/n_handle: thank you. 🤍

joeyb_9: i also see you're travis's ex.

y/n_handle: yeah, crazy story. i know you hate kansas city but

joeyb_9: i heard what happened, therefore ive always seen you on tv and loved how well you carry yourself.

y/n_handle: if this is you asking me out, i promised myself i wouldnt date another athlete.

joeyb_9: maybe it is, but i promise you if this "stage" doesnt work you can block me and we'll forget about eachother. deal?

y/n_handle: so basically this is a talking stage.

joeyb_9: i mean we've dmd eachother every once in awhile to congratulate eachother so... we know about eachother.

y/n_handle: deal.

y/n_handle: i need to admit this also, you're very handsome.

joeyb_9: i appreciate it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

y/n_handle posted a story

caption: im here for the orange team. w/ yourbsf

duexmoi

❤️ 350,823 💬 12,920

Liked by: tmz and others

duexmoi: blind alert!! according to a spectator fan at the bengals vs chiefs game cincinnati bengals quarterback joe burrow ended up flirting with travis kelces ex?!?!?!?

now this is awkward after y/n just confirmed the cheating rumors with the engagement speculations.

username_25: this has to be crazy

username_26: she deserves all the love she can get.

username_27: and the bengals won?? oh honey i wouldve hard launched right then and there.

username_28: her bsf is a bengals wag so that might be a connection.

username_29: you could tell travis was pissed as hell that his ex girl showed up lmaoo.

username_30: long distance might be even worse for her..

*load more comments*

y/n_handle posted a story

caption: flirting with the don julio

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

conversation between joe and y/n

joeyb_9

❤️ 667,009 💬 78,403

Liked by: bengals lahjay10 y/n_handle and others

joeyb_9: another week, another dub

bengals: hes him!

lahjay_10: f the chiefs.

username_31: y/n liking this post might be insane knowing whats going on..

username_32: i love jamarr's comment so much lmaoo

username_33: travis kelce crying in a corner rn??

username_34: joe has to have the most insane villain arc ever to be hitting travis kelces ex fiance

username_35: kermit 🤮 who dey!

*load more comments*

note: crazy ending, possible friend zone, possible rejection idek... sike yall know damn well

[goldenroutledge]

don’t you remember

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k

prompts: ❛ you don’t have to keep me company, i’m fine by myself. ❜ & ❛ can you look at me? please? ❜

summary: running into charles at your favorite spot might be fate’s way (or leo’s way) of bringing you back together.

warning(s): some angst but a happy ending!

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

You don’t miss Charles Leclerc.

You don’t miss the constant travel, the way he softly snores on planes, how his head used to rest against your shoulder, subconsciously finding comfort in your presence even in his sleep.

You don’t miss his curt, one word responses when words got sharp and petty arguments grew between you. You don’t miss his forgetfulness, his habit of brushing the important things under the rug, knowing that you’ll still be there to deal with them later. Once upon a time, his carelessness endeared you, like when he’d kiss you no matter who was watching. That trait of his ultimately turned against you.

You don’t miss the sound of him practicing piano, at any hour day or night. You don’t miss the way he poured his heart out to the piano and saved nothing for you.

Nor do you miss the pitter patter of Leo’s paws through the halls when he wakes you up in the middle of the night, curling up at the foot of your bed. Okay, maybe you do miss that a little bit.

You don’t miss how after standing by Charles for years, cheering him on from the start, his one true love means more to him than you ever could; having a real shot at claiming the World Driver’s Championship. It’s the only prize he could keep his eyes on, one that you could never compare yourself to, knowing that achievement would be larger than life for him. Everything, and everyone else, coming in second place.

That’s exactly why you couldn’t spare any more time denying the obvious. Months were spent convincing yourself that it was the right decision, reassured by the common saying that people either grow apart or they grow together. The breakup might have been sudden, but you’d grown so far apart that he was out of your reach, and you had grown out of his. Each of your paths had no intersection in sight.

It’s what led you to bail on him at the last minute, deciding to randomly stay home instead of accompanying your boyfriend to a race weekend. Charles had mastered the art of avoiding tough conversations; you’d only done the same. It didn’t break your heart any less knowing that Charles and Leo would arrive home to an empty apartment come Monday.

Sure the furniture, the decorations, the art work, his beloved grand piano… the material things remained. However your clothes, your belongings, your pictures, your presence, it was all gone. Any trace of the years you’d spent together, gone as if they never existed in the first place. If Charles wanted space, this was the only way you knew how to give it to him. Maybe, just maybe, he’d come to regret it.

Seeing his family around has been hard. His beloved mom and brothers now hesitate to rush to your side and talk to you like they used to. They might smile out of habit, recognizing your familiar face before they remember what’s happened between you and Charles. Like the flick of a light switch, you were strangers, despite once upon a time being embraced as a member of their close-knit family.

Social media doesn’t serve much of a purpose for you these days. Your friends understand that being tagged in countless fan edits and gossip posts about your breakup has got to burn. If the breakup itself wasn’t wounding enough, you’re forced to relive it with each notification. Embracing the new routine has been good for you, offering stability that life with Charles simply couldn’t-

You drop your pen, pausing from writing in your journal as the incessant barking of a dog interrupts your train of thought. The sound grows louder with each one.

You take one glance of your surroundings, and that’s when you see him. Leo Leclerc, barreling towards you as quickly as his little legs can take him. He’s now the reason your face lights up in the midst of a rather torturous journaling session.

“Leo! What are you doing over here?” You can’t help but pet him. His tongue hangs out of his mouth and his abandoned leash drags against the grass beneath him.

You then realize that if Leo got away, Charles must not be too far. You hope it’s his assistant taking the dog for a walk today. Then again, your quiet hideout spot is along one of Charles’ favorite trails to run. The hair on the back of your neck stands up when you hear the sound of his voice, calling Leo’s name in hopes that he’ll reappear.

Leo, none the wiser, gives kisses to your exposed skin and barks out in excitement. You cringe, knowing that Charles definitely isn’t too far away after hearing the familiar sound.

He rounds the corner, and upon spotting his dog, Charles is more relieved than anything else. “Leo! There you-,” ��Until he sees who Leo ran off to find in the first place. “Y/n? Is that you?”

You wave politely, still trying to calm Leo down from his burst of enthusiasm. “Hi, Charles.”

“I, uhh, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Makes two of us. Looks like Leo had other ideas.”

Charles smiles, approaching slowly as if he’s intruding on the moment. “You scare me when you run off like that.” He mumbles to Leo, catching his own breath as he was clearly in the midst of a workout. “I’m sorry, he still hasn’t learned much about obedience.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Your words are melancholy, and you try to keep the smile on your face despite knowing this will probably be the last time you see either of them. Unless this happens again, of course. Talk about irony. It’s almost as if Charles was summoned here as you were writing about him. You close the journal with haste, hoping Charles didn’t see his name clearly written at the top. “I guess Leo’s not as over me as you are.”

You regret saying the words immediately after they come out. Heat rises to your cheeks, luckily the sun is partially to blame. Charles’ expression hardens, unsure of what to say or do. “You have no idea what this has been like for me, finding that note on your nightstand, telling me you were leaving.”

“Forget it, Charles. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, whatever you may think, it could not be farther from the truth.” Instead of bidding you adieu, leaving this awkward moment for your memory to replay before you fall asleep tonight, he sits down beside you. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what happened between us, trying to understand how it happened in the first place. Can you just tell me why you did it? Or tell me what I did to cause it?”

You shrug. “People grow apart, Charles. Nothing lasts forever.”

He laughs bitterly. “Glad to see you’ve turned so cynical. Me too.”

“Not cynical, just realistic. Our breakup has helped me realize a lot of things, actually.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s probably time to move to a bigger place, for one. Where I don’t run into my ex at my favorite sitting spot.” Charles freezes like a deer in headlights, until you nudge his arm with your elbow. “Relax, I’m just kidding. Kind of.”

“And you still have jokes. Good to know.”

Leo has calmed down and snuggled up between you and Charles. By the looks of it, he’s dozing off into an afternoon nap. Your heart warms at the sight of him, and though he’s just a dog, you can imagine that he’s feeling content between the two people that adopted him.

“You can come see him anytime, you know.”

“And that’s not just a ploy to get me back into your apartment?”

“You mean our apartment? It used to be yours too.”

“Exactly, used to be.”

“But it doesn’t have to be like that anymore. We can work it out, we can talk about everything that brought us here. Will you give us that chance?”

Your heart pangs with sadness at the reminder that this is all an illusion. Charles isn’t yours anymore, neither is Leo. He can feel your mood change at the mention of your old life together, and the distance that’s wedged itself between you now. “On second thought, you don’t have to keep me company, I’m fine by myself. You should get back to your workout, Charles.”

Absent-mindedly, you doodle on a blank page, hoping it will convince him you’re too busy for this. There’s no way he can let this conversation fall between his fingers. “Well, I need to rehydrate. So I’m staying.”

“Still stubborn, I see.”

“We spent years together, Y/n. You can’t tolerate me for more than five minutes?”

“You know what Charles? I wanted to be nice, to try to extend some kind of olive branch of friendship but I don’t think I can. We ended things for a reason and we can’t be friends.”

“Ended things? You mean, when you fled our apartment in the middle of the night?”

“Spare me. Things were long over between us. You just never had the balls to end it officially. Or at least wish me a good rest of my life.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n, but you don’t know what you’re talking about. Leo still sits by the door waiting for you. I must be some kind of idiot because I listen for the door, too. Hoping that one day maybe you’ll walk through it and come back home to us.”

“There is no home for me to come back to, Charles.” You mumble, but he’s insistent on finishing everything he’s been wanting to say to you since you left.

“And as for reaching out, you don’t know how badly I have wanted to. How close I have been to pressing send on some things I probably shouldn’t say, but do you know what stops me?”

“What stops you?”

“The thought of you carrying on, of being happy, maybe being happy with someone else who can give you everything you want. I never wanted to impose on your life because you made it clear that you don’t want me there anymore.”

“Are you insane? That’s not what happened at all! You ‘left’ me so you wouldn’t feel guilty about choosing your career anymore. I left because I didn’t want there to be a choice at all. You say that I left you, but it was mutual. You left me first.”

“Well, I was wrong. I could feel us growing apart and I didn’t do anything to stop it.” Charles shakes his head. “But Y/n, if I knew this is where we would end up, I would change everything. I should’ve never let you let me go. I should’ve fought.” You stay still, ignoring a tear that slips down your cheek and splatters onto the hardcover of your journal. “Y/n, can you look at me? Please?”

Leo’s woken up from the sound of Charles’ voice, alarmed at the distress in his dad’s voice, and the sadness radiating from his mom that he hasn’t seen in far too long. You lean down to kiss the daschund’s head before standing up.

“I should go.”

The dog is quick to follow you, and his cries are unmistakable, as if begging you to stay. Poor Leo never did anything to you. It’s a shame that he suffers from the decisions you and Charles made.

“If you won’t stay for me, will you stay for him?” Charles calls out, finally out of options now that he’s said what’s been weighing on his chest. He walks towards you and takes your free hand in his to stop you. His eyes share a similar look to your own, betting it all on one last plea.

“I can’t change the past. I can’t apologize enough for my mistakes. But if you can look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel for me anymore, I will let you go. I will wish you a good rest of your life and never bother you again if that’s what you want.”

“And why would you do that?”

“Because I love you, mon chéri. I always have and I always will. And if you decide to walk away, just promise me you won’t forget that.”

You nod, still teary-eyed. “Fine. I won’t.”

“So what’s it gonna be? Do we have to say goodbye?”

“It’s going to take time, Charles.” You look down at the ground, focusing on Leo walking around you.

Charles’ eyes have watered, and you resist the urge to engulf him into a hug. “However long it takes, I’ll be here. I can’t lose you.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“You are. You’ve always been there for me, even when I don’t deserve it.” Charles takes a deep breath, composing himself. “But that’s going to change. I’m going to be someone who deserves you.”

You smile softly. “You’re not so bad, Charles. For what it’s worth, I shouldn’t have left the way I did. I never wanted to lose you either.”

Charles beams at you with hope in his eyes. He wants to hold you, to remind himself that you’re here in front of him after all this time, but he stops himself.

Instead, you take him into your arms, reveling in his familiar embrace. He wraps his arms around you, and his chest feels lighter. “Thank you.” He murmurs into your ear, wishing the moment to last forever.

You both chuckle as below you, Leo barks happily and wags his tail ferociously. “Me? You should be thanking him. If he hadn’t run off and found me here, we would’ve never ran into each other. We got Parent-Trapped by our dog.”

Charles leans down to pick Leo up, sighing in contentment as he looks between you two with admiration. “I guess we did, didn’t we?”

“But something tells me we were always meant to find our way back to each other. Isn’t that right, Leo?”

Leo barks at the sound of his name, confirming what you’ve both known all along; some things are just meant to be.

💌: thanks for reading! comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated! feel free to request more from my be my valentine blurb event

taglist: @marjorieswrld (add yourself here!)

[traveler-at-heart]

Average

Summary: Natasha and you make an unlikely pair.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

“Describe yourself in one word”

Boring.

No, not boring. You’ve traveled, even if it was to the places everyone goes to when they’re backpacking through Europe.

You have friends, go out to the movies, you love concerts.

Like everyone else. You are like everyobody else.

Average.

“Y/N?” Holly insists, making you snap out of your thoughts.

Right, this is about her dating profile, not an existencial crisis inducing question for you.

You can focus on that while you take your Thursday bath.

“Curious” you offer.

“Like the monkey”

“Adventurous”

“So a harlot?”

“Oh, my God! Difficult, the word you are looking for is difficult” you sigh, crashing against your desk. Your friend laughs, going back to her phone.

“I’m writing down sexy”

—

The question sticks with you as you go back home.

Average height, average hair color. Regular clothes. 9 to 5 job. You’re smart, but not particularly good at anything.

There’s nothing outstanding about your small, normal family life as well.

And honestly? You like it, but if you were to go out with someone tomorrow, would you even know what to talk about?

It’s one of those days, where you aren’t sure if you’re stuck in your comfort zone or happy and fulfilled with what you have.

While you prepare dinner for one and eat in front of the tv, you can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be out of the ordinary.

—

Careful what you wish for.

Flying aliens across New York are definitely out of the ordinary.

When you wished for an exciting day, you kinda hoped to spot a celebrity, or eat something nice out. Not be a first hand witness of the end of the world.

People are running in every direction, screaming terrified. You’re ready to join the mass hysteria, but something makes you look around the street.

There’s a woman trapped under some metal, struggling to free herself.

Aliens blast around you, and you’re torn.

Run.

And you do, except that against all logic, it’s towards the woman.

“You need to evacuate” she says, waving her hand. “Someone come in, damn it”

Judging by her outfit, and the way she places her fingers over her ear, she must be an agent in the field.

The woman probably knows how to protect herself. Maybe she could easily get out of it. Or it’s her job to die to protect others.

Either way, it’s unacceptable for you to leave her behind.

“Come on” you use a piece of a spaceship for leverage, lifting the heavy object that’s trapping her.

“Careful” when she looks up, she sees one of the aliens throwing something at you. Pushing you out of the way, you both stumble down the destroyed street until a tall man comes to the rescue.

“Took your sweet time” the woman complains.

“Sorry. Who are you?”

“A citizen. Take her to safety”

“Wait” you plead, but he’s already carrying you to the evacuation zone.

“I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Steve Rogers”

Oh, well, getting carried by Captain America definitely doesn’t happen to you every day.

Wish granted.

—

It’s been a week and the city is slowly getting rebuilt. It’s not like they have another choice. New York can’t stop, not even for an alien invasion.

So, life goes back to being the same.

9 to 5, cooking, old movies.

Meeting with friends, who were eager to hear your story about being rescued by Captain America. In a few days, they’d forget.

You seem to have a problem with that, because you can’t forget that beautiful woman and her red hair, striking green eyes looking at you while you helped her.

It’s stupid, really. You don’t even know her name.

But as days go by, you remember more things that seemed to be lost in the moment.

That cute little nose, her full lips.

She’s the most beautiful…

“Excuse me”

It takes you a moment to understand someone’s speaking to you. As you turn around, you find the woman, staring at you with a smile.

“Hi” you say, a little too loudly.

“Hello. Glad to see you made it out safely”

“Yes, well, Captain America made sure of that” you nod, fidgeting with your hands.

Now that there’s no aliens or an imminent threat, her attention is on you and nothing else, which makes you squirm a little.

“Can I… buy you a coffee? To thank you for saving my life”

“No need to thank me” you say, hoping she asks again because you’re eager to spend time with her.

“I insist” she says with a smile.

That’s all it takes for you to agree.

She let’s you choose the place, a small café close to where you live.

You finally learn her name when the barista takes her coffee order.

Natasha.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N” she says when you get your own drink, and she pays for the both of you. “Wanna sit down for a bit?”

Of course, you want to know everything you can about Natasha. So you nod, and let her pick a table for you to sit.

“I’m really grateful”

“It’s what anyone…”

“Most people were running away from danger, not towards it. Especially for a stranger” she says, smiling.

You decide that you really like her smile.

“Well, most of my friends wouldn’t believe me if I told them it happened. I’m a pretty average person”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah” you shrug your shoulders.

“Tell me your favorite song” she asks suddenly and you roll your eyes. “What?”

“That’s such a generic question! I have tons of them, it depends on my mood”

“Favorite song to dance to while cleaning” Natasha asks again and this time you nod, thinking about it.

“The Piña Colada song” you say, trying not to laugh. “You?”

“Uhm… Bad Reputation” she confesses.

“Yeah, you look like a Joan Jett kind of girl”

“Is that good or bad?” Natasha arches her eyebrows, intrigued.

“It means you’re a badass and cool. I think, don’t take my word for it”

“No; I think I will”

You sip your drink, feeling intimidated by her intense stare.

“How did you find me?” you ask, remembering she only knew what you look like.

“It’s kind of my job to find people. What’s yours?”

“Something far less interesting” you deflect the question, but Natasha keeps looking at you. “Data analysis”

“Sounds important”

“It isn’t” you say, smiling. “Not as much as saving the world, at least”

You keep talking for a bit, until Natasha gets a call. That’s fine, you know how to take a hint.

While she’s talking, you go up to the counter and ask for another coffee and a sandwich.

“Are you still hungry? We can get something to eat” Natasha says, concerned. You find it endearing.

“No, it’s fine. Thanks for the coffee”

“I don’t think it’s enough to thank you”

“You really don’t have to”

“Let’s go to the movies another time. Would you like that?” Natasha says, smiling as you bite your lip.

“Yeah, ok”

“I think I should get your number, just in case”

You agree with a smile.

And after the short walk home, you hear your phone ping.

Natasha: Wednesday at 7?

Y/N: See you then :)

—

It’s strange, to develop a friendship with someone whose life is the opposite of yours.

Natasha always asks you things about yourself, things that you think are irrelevant. But maybe she does it because her work is all about secrets, and there’s not much to share on anything else.

“Did you go to prom?” she asks one night as you’re walking back to your apartment.

“Yeah, with my gay best friend. We were each other’s beards”

That makes Natasha laugh, but for some reason she tenses a second later, standing in front of you.

“Hey, Y/N” a man says, and you recognise the voice instantly. Your hand goes around Natasha’s wrist, sliding all the way to hold her hand. You squeeze once to let her know it’s ok, and the man in front of you is not a threat.

“Homer, hi” you greet the man who is usually living in abandoned buildings. “Did you get the clothes I left for you?”

“I did and I shared them with Pop, we’re nice and warm now”

“Alright, I’ll stop by later in the week with some food, ok?”

“Much appreciated. Have a good one, ladies”

He’s pretty harmless, but you understand that Natasha has to be on guard all the time.

“I’m sorry” she says, still holding your hand. “I tend to think the worst of people”

“From everyone? Including me?”

“Never you” she shakes her head. “You’re too kind”

“I’m just an average person” you repeat, the same way you’ve done your whole life.

“You’re wrong” Natasha says.

She doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the walk.

—

It’s been a few months since you started hanging out with Natasha. There are times when she’s away for days, or weeks, and you just know she’ll show up after the mission.

You’re always home and you’re always there to welcome her back.

A part of you is still playing dumb, but you know those lingering stares and small touches are becoming a problem. Each time, your heart beats faster, and you find that you spend more and more time wondering what it would be like to kiss her.

There’s gotta be a way to stop these foolish dreams, because Natasha is an agent, a trained spy, and a hero. You are a girl from the midwest, who moved to a big city and still gets lost in the subway from time to time.

Maybe spending less time together could be the solution, but it’s impossible for you to say no to her.

Which is why you’re waiting outside of the theater. You don’t really like ballet, or rather, it’s a little too sophisticated for your simple mind, but Natasha insisted on taking you, and buying you some fancy clothes.

It all sounds very nice, except she’s not here and you’re freezing, refusing to head inside until you see her.

Natasha’s phone is dead too.

After an hour, you convince yourself to head home, and call a cab. It’s too far away to walk with these heels that were also not your idea.

You stop by the café that you and Natasha like, ordering a hot cocoa for you and coffee and a sandwich for another woman who is usually sleeping in the streets.

“Looking like a million dollars” she says, accepting the food with a smile. “Did you have a good time?”

“No, not really. My friend didn’t show” you sigh.

“Is it the girl that follows you around everywhere like a lost puppy?”

You laugh at that. There’s no way the Black Widow acts like a lost puppy around you.

“You mean my friend Natasha? Yeah, she was probably busy with work”

“Her loss” the woman tsks.

“Well, here” you notice the air is cold and the woman’s gloves are basically shreds of fabric. “These will help”

“You’re a doll”

Another hour goes by and just as you’re about to leave and look for Natasha, she rushes to your door, knocking frantically.

“I’m sorry, mission ran long”

Of course you step aside to let her in, because you can never be mad at her for being busy saving the world. But still, you stay silent as you walk to the kitchen, knowing she’ll be right behind you.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you? Of course, you have every right to be. I made you dress up and then stood you up…”

“Nat” you interrupt her, frowning. “I don’t care about that. I’m a big girl, I could have gone inside and enjoyed the show. I just…”

“What? What is it?”

“Well, I was really scared about you” you confess, turning your back to her. “I know enough about your job to understand it’s dangerous, and I just kept fearing the worst. Would it have been so difficult to text me to let me know you were ok?”

You finish your rant with a huff, crossing your arms and turning to look at her.

And Natasha is smiling.

“This isn’t funny”

“No, it’s not. You’re just cute even when you’re angry”

“Not the time to joke”

“Who said I’m joking?” she gets in your way when you try to leave the kitchen, thinking she’s being impossible.

“What are you doing?” you say when she leans forward, placing her hands on your arms.

“Just let me show you” she asks, and then you feel her lips on yours, kissing you slowly. Only when you place your hands on her neck, does she pull you by the waist and deepens the kiss.

“Why…”

“I don’t know if you know this, but I’m in love with you” she confesses when you break apart.

“But I’m just av…”

“Don’t say it” she pulls you against her, your noses inches apart. “The world can be a very bad place sometimes. And you have no idea how hard it is to find someone as kind as you”

“It’s nothing”

“It’s everything” she smiles, kissing you again. “Can I make it up to you for missing our date?”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach when she calls it a date. You nod, smiling.

“Same old dinner and movie plan?”

“Sounds perfect to me”

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

Omg??? Love, I didn’t think you meant a FULL on review??? Thank you so much for putting your time and effort into this! How do I even begin to reply, I’m actually overwhelmed right now 😭 and I don’t even know how to address you! Do you have a nickname you’re comfortable sharing with me?

I’ll try to reply to as many of these as I can and provide insights into my creative process!

YES! People or human beings are always going to be the world’s apex predators, dead or alive. And I might have mentioned this somewhere before, but I’ll just say it here too. Humans are very sentient beings, and I believe, when stripped down to nothing, are capable of anything. Especially in a lawless world, like the one they’re living in—there’s no consequence. There’s only life or death.

Regarding the point if she ever thought it was already too late. I definitely see where this perspective is coming from. It’s like she’s not just fighting the situation—she’s fighting herself, too. The urgency in "now" suggests she knows deep down that if she lingers even a second longer, she’ll lose the will to walk away entirely. For me when I wrote this, in my head, it’s less about just leaving but more about proving to herself that she can still leave, that she hasn’t lost all control. That’s why she’s running—not just from the situation, but from the hope that could betray her.

YES! The contradictions are a very huge part of this chapter. This is also exactly why I mentioned at the start to only read when you’re 100% awake, because it won’t make any sense unless you catch the contradiction of her internal struggles. In that sense, thank you for catching that nuance!

Funny BTS about how I write my stories, I actually brainstorm paragraphs/lines that I think would make great impact and build the scene around those lines. It’s not majority but a good number of the scenes you read in S&S are built off a singular line that I really want to include inside LOL

Exactly. It’s almost contradictory—why commit their faces to memory if you’re trying so hard to detach? But maybe that’s the cruel irony of it all. Leaving doesn’t mean you stop caring; it means you care too much and can’t afford to. And no matter how much she wants to shut it off, to disconnect, she’s still human. It’s like a silent promise that even if she’s walking away, she won’t pretend they never mattered. That their existence won’t just vanish with her absence. Even if she never sees them again, even if remembering them will haunt her. Because forgetting would mean it was all for nothing, and forgetting would mean she never cared, which is not true!!

The contradictions are to express her inner turmoil but also to make the readers question themselves too! I hope it made you question yourself HAHAHA

Yes, exactly. The fear outweighs everything else. Fear has a way of making choices for you before you even realise it. And it’s not just fear of dying or suffering. It’s the fear of what she might become if she stays. The fear that fighting for them will break her in a way she can never come back from. She sees it as a choice between them and herself, and that’s the cruelest part—because if she stays, she might win the battle for them but lose the war within herself. And if she leaves, she’ll carry the weight of it forever.

AAA thank you for appreciating the descriptions of that bus terminal scene where MC finds out about the whisperers. I actually spent an ungodly amount of time on that scene because I was fr struggling…

I don’t think she’ll ever truly understand herself, not completely at least. But I see it as she’s slowly accepting parts of herself, parts that Jungwon and the others completely embrace and love even if she herself doesn’t understand why.

Hehehe the whole conversation with Jay is also one of my favourite parts to write! I’m glad you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. Not gonna lie, sometimes I imagine conversations in my head between the characters. I could be doing literally anything, and I would drop whatever I was doing just to write it down before I forget LOL

In Park Jongseong’s wisdom we trust!!! That whole “Anger, fuelled by hope, becomes determination” bit actually came to my head while I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep. I sat up immediately, opened my Notes app and went crazy. Not to toot my own horn, but I pat myself on the back for that.

Fun fact: the word ‘Hope’ was mentioned 69 times in part 5 alone!

Growing up I read a lot of fiction novels and I always loved how I was able to immerse myself in the world beyond the paragraphs. One of my favourite books that does that for me is Delirium by Lauren Oliver and also every book Suzanne Colins has ever released. So to think I’d be able to do that with my writing is surreal. Thank you <3

About using Sunoo as a hostage. I DON’T KNOW HOW IT CAME TO THAT. It’s not any selective process. I just used Sunoo because he was the one in-charge of taking stock and rations within the group. And thus, is most likely to encounter the lady in the basement 😅

YES!! There’s a line in the part that went “And yet, you left them here. With her.” I don’t even want to begin to imagine how shit will go down if MC wasn’t there with them to mitigate the situation.

I absolutely hate when female main characters are written as useless and needy of a man to solve their problems (of course depending on context). So, that is something I was sure I didn’t want her to be when I wrote her character. That’s why her backstory of surviving alone is so important! It’s because she’s used to surviving alone that she’s instinctively coming up with solutions to solve her own problems rather than waiting around for someone else to come along and solve it for her.

To me, Jake is extra sensitive about killing people because his job is to save them instead! That’s also why he doesn’t see eye-to-eye with Jay—it’s a conflict of interest. But that doesn’t make them love each other any less 🥹🫶

I think a part of why Jungwon is able to know her so well is because he sees himself in her. You know that feeling when you meet someone and you click instantly? Yeah. Jungwon is observant by nature, and so is the MC from her experience in surviving alone. You may notice throughout the entire story that the MC always notices when he’s calculating in his mind. And that’s because they’re always thinking; thoughts always spiraling with the what ifs and what not. And that’s how he knows her so well.

 I need me a Jungwon, ACTUALLY.

“Not only does she make him feel normal and has given hope to the others. All of them have given her something she never thought she would get back—or more like she never wanted it back, because of the fear of getting left behind, or just watching them lose themselves, or straight up lose them—a team.” Took the words straight out of my mouth. I love you, let me give you a kiss 😙

“yes, they did do a lot of damage for the people in there. But they’re doing what it takes to survive.” In my mind, they care so much that they'd do anything to keep the people they love alive. And that's the thing—because when they realise that the collateral damage are strangers who probably have people they care and have people care about them and would do anything to keep them alive, but failed. It fucks with their mind, and it only fucks with their mind because they care. It's fucked up. Also “Crazy lady Kim” IM CTFUUUUU

Okay that’s everything! I know it’s ridiculously long but I wanted to give you back the energy you gave me! Thank you so much for the encouragement and willingness to wait patiently for the next chapter! Work has been picking up for me so it’s harder to find time to actually sit down and write, but it’s because of readers like you that keeps authors like me motivated! So, once again, thank you for this! ❤️

Love, Nat

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

non-grey/underlined = cannot tag

[thxtmarvelchick]

JJ Valentine’s Fic Recs

in honour of Valentine’s Day (weekend bc i’m posting this late), here are my favourite fics of JJ Maybank that made the holiday a little less depressing <3 (this was originally supposed to be all obx characters but i got carried away but trust i have SO MANY MORE for the rest of the pogues (and more jj) so i’ll do a part 2 eventually)

only got the courage to post this because of @tinypinkrobot so this is for them <3

most if not all fics are x fem!reader and some are 18+ (therefore i would prefer minors not to interact with this post but i do not have the time nor the energy to check everyone’s acc), the authors are NOT responsible for your internet consumption (nor am i); be responsible, pay attention, and respect the authors boundaries! (all 18+ fics will be labelled! MINORS DNI)

Outerbanks

JJ Maybank

full length fics+series

His To Keep by @pankowperfection (18+)

smut, kinda dark JJ, oral (f receiving), branding

i first read this fic almost three months ago and i still think about it all the time (i have the link in my notes app im not kidding), this author is so talented go read all their fics tbh they kill it everytime, i go to their account and reread everything all the time

summer lovin’ by @murdockcastleslut (18+ blog)

ongoing series, kook!jj, pogue!reader, if jj was raised by larissa, rafe and reader have some history

look… i will eat up every kook!jj fic that is thrown my way. the way the author writes jj and the interactions between him and reader😩, the plot is so intriguing and im always so excited for every new chapter. ALSO reader is SO jj’s girl like he is so down bad, expect cute petnames (HE CALLS HER PRINCESS ICANYSIAKSKSOSIJWIDISJSKS and then he pulled out a “my darling angel” once and im pretty sure i passed out). honestly go read all of her works bc holy shit every single one of them is fantastic.

teach me please by @mrsriddlenott (18+)

smut, bsf!jj, innocent!reader, oral (m&f receiving), reader overhears someone talking badly ab them (indirect bullying), use of good girl🤭

this is another one i’ve had in my notes app since it was posted, since then the author has written a part two and both parts are so incredibly written. their dynamic and the way you can TELL they’ve been wanting each other for so long is EVERYTHING

love on the island by @papercranesandinkstains

ongoing series, love island!au

if you follow me and pay attention to my reposts you knew this was coming… i have said it once and will say it again this is my favourite SMAU (tied with rhythm&revelry) i’ve ever read and it’s not even finished yet. the amount of time and effort put into this fic truly pays off because WOW. the graphics are beautiful. interactive polls. BANTER. jj is fumbling over himself he is so into reader😭enough said go read it.

Rhythm & Revelry by @darlingchronicles

ongoing series, university au, SMAU

the creativity is simply insane, i can’t even imagine how long it takes the author to do these chapters because she’s truly created a whole world to the point where sometimes i forget it’s not actually an app and is actually a fanfic. the relationships between characters is so beautifully developed and it’s not all romance. you get really amazing insights into the friendships between the reader (nicknamed blue) and sarah, cleo and pope. honestly i can’t even explain in words how much i love this fic. definitely a comfort fic (and i LOVE making up theories in my head as to what happened in the past iykyk). this is a long one so great for passing time (or if you’re me, ignoring your responsibilities and binging the whole thing bc you’re simply too hooked)

Kildare University by @papercranesandinkstains

completed series, two different endings (JJ or Rafe endgame depending on your preference), university au, jj plays football, reader is in band, rafe is readers ex, SMAU

ok i couldn’t just put ONE of her fanfics on here let’s be real everything this author writes turns to gold. immaculate build up, amazing chemistry, the way you can choose who reader ends up with is everything to me bc i might’ve curled up in a ball and died if i didn’t see a jj endgame. BUT everyone can be happy (ADDITIONALLY if you’re a jj AND rafe person you get double chapters sooooo what’s not to love)

narcotic by @thebestjjenthusiast

completed series, SMAU, bsf!jj

you can tell the author has an elite sense of humor bc they have me cackling at 3am. also JJ is DOWN BAD for reader it’s so funny, like expect CONSTANT flirting… this man is practically begging reader to get with him and reader is OBLIVIOUS😭, the flirting has me blushing so hard i have to pause reading sometimes just to giggle into my pillow AND the ending is perfect

summer was my first love by @vampiriito (18+) pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6

ongoing series, shy! reader, reader has social anxiety, READER WEARS GLASSES (glasses girls rise), reader has secretly had a crush on jj for like ever but he’s always been “out of her reach”… or so she thought

the build-up. readers characterization and the depiction of her social anxiety are everything to me. jj is so soft for her and he doesn’t even fully know it or understand why at first. i’ve cried multiple times reading this series AND NOT EVEN BC ITS SAD just because i feel so seen and represented. this author genuinely writes so well i cannot wait for the next part🥹

Biker!JJ Oneshot by @highpope

biker!jj, motorbike stunt

this had me blushing and giggling i’m not kidding. jj is so soft with reader and reassures her when she gets scared. when he called her pretty girl i think i passed out. the flirting in this makes me flustered no matter how many times i read it😭

First Date Oneshot by @jjsloverre

bsf!jj, sweetheart!reader, fluff, mentions of sex but no smut

the dynamic between bsf!jj and sweetheart!reader is one of my favourites. they are honestly everything to me. he’s so sweet and caring towards her (but expect innuendos and cursing bc it’s jj we all know he can’t help it). additionally you have to check out their other bsf!jj and sweetheart!reader fics too!!!

Gossip Girl by @maybejj (18+)

ongoing series, SMAU, pay attention to the trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter

DRAMAAAAAAAAAA. the plot will grasp your attention and not let go and next thing you know it’s 5am and you have class in 3 hours (not at all speaking from experience that’d be crazyyyy id never do that…🥲). JJ LOVES reader and would probably kill for them. readers friendship with kie, sarah and cleo is EVERYTHING, they are truly readers ride or dies.

secret admirer by @voidangxls

part two

kook!reader, pure fluff, jj is DOWN BAD, part of a valentines special

hands down THE CUTEST thing i’ve ever read on this app. jj gets teased by the pogues for not being able to talk to reader😭 the dual pov makes it so interesting bc you can see how in love jj is and wonder how the hell reader hasn’t noticed him staring them down 24/7😭😭 will be rereading everyday.

-blurbs/drabbles/texts (not gonna make notes on these ones but know i have every single one in my notes app and reread them CONSTANTLY, these authors are so incredibly talented <3)

Boy in Love by @everydaydreamer (18+ blog)

pure fluff, valentines blurb

texts with jj by @lillymmb

boyfriend!jj, fluff, jj LOVES reader

breeding kink concept by @moremaybank (18+)

implied but no smut, breeding kink (duh😭)

black cat!reader by @ervotica (18+)

black cat!reader, use of daddy, once again jj LOVES reader, reader is grumpy

texts with jj and desi!reader by @deadpcnned

desi!reader, jj in a kurta😩, established relationship, i just love this

boyfriend!jj by @lovelyjj

“wear whatever you want i can fight”😩, jj can throw a punch, fluff fluff fluff

passenger princess by @rubiehart (18+)

jj being fine, groping, use of “my girl”🤭

valentine’s day with jj by @seasprincess

established relationship, jj saves up to buy reader gifts, pure fluff

[00valentina-writes00]

can we get drunk texts from Abby?

♡♥︎Drunk texts from Abby♥︎♡

Two more drafts to go

Abby (1:12 AM):

hey, i swear if i see one more guy wearing a stupid bandana and pretending like he knows how to fight i’m gonna lose it

Abby (1:15 AM):

also i think i broke a chair… it just kinda collapsed under me… but i’m fine. it was a weak chair

Abby (1:17 AM):

im a fcking goddess of strength who can’t sit on a chair without it failing me. why does everything hate me??

Abby (1:20 AM):

oh and i may or may not have knocked a few things over, but don’t worry i’ll fix it… tomorrow. or later. probably

Abby (1:23 AM):

btw… i miss you and i want to punch something. i think i’m ready to fight another chair if it insults me again

Abby (1:26 AM):

how are you doing? besides being perfect and wonderful as always. no pressure. just wondering

You (1:27 AM):

You’re fighting chairs now, huh? You do have that whole “goddess of strength” thing going for you. But please stop breaking stuff, I’ll have to come down there and fix it all. Also, I’m perfect? Come on, I’m just trying to keep it together while you fight furniture.

Abby (1:30 AM):

you’re perfect. i can’t fight it. i swear i could punch a wall right now and it’d still be worth it for you

Abby (1:32 AM):

you’re amazing. i’m amazing. i’m so strong. i could bench press 10 chairs if i wanted to

Abby (1:34 AM):

i wish you were here. i could use some help with my “powerful chair smashing.” you’d be a great support

Abby (1:37 AM):

ok im not gonna lie, im a lil tipsy and honestly im starting to think this chair was asking for it. and my poor hands… they’re so strong and yet so delicate…

————————————————————————

Abby (1:45 AM):

wait i need 2 tell u somthin

Abby (1:47 AM):

i was thinkin about ur boobs. like… god i am never gonna get over them. seriously. like they’re gods. i think about them all the time. they just—they just r there and they r soooo perfect

Abby (1:50 AM):

i wanna hold them. like. not in a weird way just… god

Abby (1:53 AM):

ur boobs could solve world peace if they wanted to. they are the key to EVERYTHING. i can’t… i’m just thinking about them now and i need to get my life together

Abby (1:55 AM):

but like, pls don’t get mad, okay? it’s just… they’re so soft and perfect and… i swear ur boobs are the 8th wonder of the world, i’m not even joking

You (1:58 AM):

Haha, you’re really something when you’re tipsy, huh? You’re not wrong though, I’m definitely the 8th wonder of the world. But hey, no need to make me blush… or maybe, go on… keep talking about my perfect boobs, I’m listening.

Abby (2:02 AM):

no no no u don’t get it. i could just… touch them all day and not get bored, like, if i could i would just have them in my face all the time, just, ughhhh

Abby (2:05 AM):

im serious tho, like, ur boobs make me feel things. good things. like, i could worship them like… idk some kind of goddess ritual

Abby (2:07 AM):

okokok, forget i said that. it’s the alcohol talking. but still. boobs. gods. u get it right?

————————————————————————

Abby (2:13 AM):

wtf are you doing in my number?? i have a girlfriend, what the fuck

Abby (2:15 AM):

who the hell is texting me right now? i swear to god, i have a girlfriend. like, how are you in my phone, this is weird

Abby (2:17 AM):

wait—wait, WAIT. oh my god… i’m so stupid…

Abby (2:20 AM):

its YOU. how could i be this dumb right now, i’m so sorry, babe. im all over the place

————————————————————————

Abby (2:42 AM):

Ugh i hate this. why am i so drunk. plz come over and help me get my life together, i can’t even walk straight

Abby (2:45 AM):

Wait I’m so sorry i was thinking about your boobs again but like they r just… they deserve a parade or something

Abby (2:47 AM):

Like how do they even do that? they just… sit there and look perfect. HOW DO THEY DO THAT. r they magic??

Abby (2:50 AM):

Also, who taught me how to drink, i need a refund, this is a mess

Abby (2:52 AM):

Like i was just trying to chill and now my life is falling apart over a chair and your boobs and this alcohol

Abby (2:54 AM):

also i might’ve eaten a whole bag of chips and i’m mad about it. like I shouldn’t have done that

Abby (2:56 AM):

NO but listen!! pls come over and make sure i don’t fall over and die from bad chair karma

You (2:58 AM):

I’ll be over in a bit to save you from yourself. But really, the chair?? What’s going on in your world over there?

Abby (3:01 AM):

The chair just… it just attacked me, okay??

Abby (3:03 AM):

I was trying to sit down like a normal person and the damn thing just tipped over like it had a vendetta against me

Abby (3:05 AM):

idk who hurt me more, the chair or the alcohol. maybe ur boobs, tho… I think they could take me out too if they wanted

————————————————————————

[dont-look-its-embarrassing]

Inner Ace pt.2

The Hunting Incident

I'm glad you guys like this idea! Personally, I couldn't really jive well with the image of Feyre just balls to the wall learning how to hunt suddenly and being perfect at it to survive. This storyline was my original bridge for that in my mind, so I am glad that it went well with you all :)

Update right before I post; I'm going to be honest I got EXTREMELY carried away with this one, so I apologize for the length...

Summary: As the time went by and tensions rose between the human lands and fae, the IC have been working tirelessly to try and maintain a balance and a new ally. As The High Lord and Lady cannot be outside their court for long (as other matters must be attended to in preparation for the war), Azriel is designated liaison for reporting back on the movements and whereabouts of the human queens. Having become friends through Feyre, Azriel finds himself spending more time with the human girl, coming to his own conclusion of close friendship and more? Late nights between the two have confusing tensions rise, that is until the Inner court makes a group stop to check in with Y/n before talking with the queens. An accident has not only the IC realizing this bond might go deeper then friends, but a realization within the Spymaster himself as he finds himself gazing at the beautiful woman more often than not.

Warnings: injury, cannon typical violence, fluff, sexual tension, (a little) angst, potential non-cannon faebane workings (ngl some of it is lost on me), non-cannon time (meaning it is a bit longer of a timeline bc wym this all happened in less than a couple years?!), injury, alcohol consumption

Pt 1 Masterlist

WC (I forgot this in the first part, oops): 11,301

The time that Feyre and the males came and went from her home left Y/n's head spinning. Although for a couple days, the relief and warmth within her home was notably missing upon their departure back to their court. Although Y/n understood that Feyre had in fact become an influential power figure within their world, the hole that she leaves when her presence is gone always has Y/n reeling. She wouldn't describe herself as some who is dependent on another person or her friends, but it sure does make the cold nights a bit warmer with the promise of seeing them tomorrow. Y/n had grown extremely close to the bunch within her home. As her status of 'best friend' with Feyre was any sort of key, the rest of the males quickly followed suit with dinners and time spent with each other talking and getting to know about the other party. Although Cassian had to be cut off with some of the stupid invasive questions he asked the girl, it only fueled the bond that they all began to share. It made the goodbye (although not for forever) harder for them all.

"You need to come back and see me." Y/n had eyed the Feyre down, not allowing her to break. "This isn't a request or some sort of bargain that I don't understand. You are going to make time for a sit-down gossip session like we used to have."

Laughing as if this plan would happen within a week, at most, Feyre had embraced Y/n in an all-encompassing hug.

"Of course."

Giving a nod and pulling away, Y/n's eyes had met that of the High Lord, Rhys. Upon a small chat with Feyre, Y/n had been informed that this man, or male, was Feyre's forever bond or something. He had offered a warm smile, one that Y/n sent back easily.

Again, something that the human girl didn't fully understand, but respected none the less.

"Thank you for letting us stay. I know that it was a risk, we won't forget that and are in your debt." The small eye roll that Y/n couldn't hold made him chuckle.

"Relax there, lover boy." A nickname that again, upon hearing about her best friend's lover, was given. It had caused an exaggerated aghast look when Y/n had used it only days ago, which also made her tense in worry that she had insulted him, but the loud laughs that Feyre couldn't hold in let her tension ease.

The chuckle to her right brought her attention to the gentle giant that she now knows as Cass. He was a breeze to get along with to say the least. Although her initial assessment as him being the biggest- thus- scariest was the most far off out of the three. Granted, he was a force to be reckoned with, but amongst friends he was nothing but a pile of jokes, laughs and warmth.

His large stature altered a bit sideways as he folded his large wings into himself further as to not hit his brother, turning towards Y/n.

"I'm offended I didn't get an invite to this gossip session." The human girl laughed while giving a hug into the side of the larger male.

"You can't gossip when the topic of the gossip is there." She joked. Shaking his head, Cassian offered another squeeze to her body before letting go and stepping back a bit.

Then all who was left was Azriel.

The very male that she admittedly harbored a small stupid crush on as his soft shadows continued to swirl around her space. They had had multiple conversations, but also multiple silences, just allowing each other to exist in the other's company. Over these past few days, it was found that they had very similar sleeping habits, finding it hard to find peace to rest and keeping them up to all hours of the night. Initially, the small creek of the Spymaster sneaking out of his room the first night had Y/n shooting up off the couch, throwing the book she had been reading to the ground. Azriel had apologized that night for startling her, but it was also the night they became comfortable within the space together.

"Can't sleep?" Her voice was soft, soft enough to have the spymaster's eyes flutter slightly at the sound. Her silhouette was illuminated by the hearth that still flickered in life, it made the curve of her form warm and inviting to his eye. The setting was oddly, intimate.

"No, sadly." He offered. Y/n nodded while taking ahold of her hands, laying them in front of herself. Azriel realized it wasn't a defensive or uncomfortable gesture, just one that was simply inquiring. Not knowing what else to offer, Azriel attempted to meet her halfway realizing he had stepped into her impromptu 'room' as she had given away her only beds to himself and his court. "Cassian snores."

Azriel winced the moment the sentence came out of his mouth. Never in his life has he felt so inept to talk to a female.

However, nothing could prepare him for the soft bell like sound of a hushed giggle that resonated from Y/n. Her eyes held mirth as she picked up the book from the floor and moved her bedding over on the larger seat, placing herself in one of the corners.

"Well, you are more than welcome to come here for some peace. I normally read until much later." Offering the seat on the other corner of the more comfortable couch Azriel couldn't push down the budding warmth that spread within his chest.

Y/n couldn’t help it. She didn’t know why her nerves settled with this fae in particular, but the dry remark of Cassian snoring had her defensive pacifism towards him dropping like the dead. He looked just as lost and hesitant as she was, she couldn’t help but giggle at it. The image of this tall, dark and handsome powerful being having the same reserves about someone as frail as herself made this whole ‘I should be worried’ thing seem petulant. If he truly meant her harm, she knew she would’ve already been dead.

He stood there for a moment, Y/n assumed he was trying to figure out what to do about the offer.

“There are some novels on the shelf under the stairs.” She offered. “You’re more than welcome to help yourself if you need something to pass the time.”

"Thank you." His tone was soft enough to match Y/n's as he took a step or two over to the desired pages. Assessing the shelf's titles, he grabbed one, grey in color. Brining himself back to the offered seat, Y/n made sure to do one more check to see if he had space to sit and adjust. Upon his weight settling on the cushion less than a foot away from her, she relaxed back into her position.

A soft silence settled over the two as the popping of the fire's light licked at their skin.

Azriel didn't know how much time had passed, he was a good chunk of his novel through, when he glanced back to the human girl. Y/n had been fully engrossed in the story that played before her. Luckily, the binding of the book didn't give way to the soft love story that unfolded within the pages. The glimmer in her eye caught by the Spymaster as a question flooded his mind. Without much thought, he let his inquiry slip through his lips, falling victim to the comforting nature of his company.

"How do you know how to read?" The deep baritone broke Y/n out of her trance. However, the question made an easy sly smile spread on her face. Slowly turning her head to meet Azriel's gaze, Y/n couldn't tell if it was the warmth of the fire that painted his cheeks in a dusty rose, of it he truly didn't think before he spoke.

Azriel wanted the floor to swallow him.

What was he thinking?

How do you know how to read? Really.

The laughs of his shadows taunted him as he swallowed, beginning to try and dig himself out of his never-ending hole.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that-" Scanning her face, that sly smile and raised brows queued him into her train of thought just enough to cut himself off. "You think it's funny." He whispered a deadpan.

"I think this is hilarious, to be quite frank." Y/n closed her book, placing it at her side while returning her attention back to the male. "Out of the two of us, I should be the one stumbling over my words and saying the wrong things."

A sigh followed through her lips; Az fought himself to lean closer.

"But here you are, all of you." Y/n gestured to the bulk of the male on the couch, "Do I make you nervous?"

Azriel allowed his shoulders to fall, melt into the space and even felt his guard lower enough for the girl to peek through.

"I haven't figured that out yet." He offered, placing his book down as well, allowing himself to turn towards the girl. A brief pause as they looked at each other.

"You were asking that because Feyre couldn't, right?" Y/n began. Az nodded a simple 'yes', allowing her to bring her knees to her chest, getting comfortable. "I barely knew myself when I found her, and we became close. I had maybe two, no, three books?" Y/n's eyes had glazed in memory.

"It was always on the list of things to try and teach her, but I could only work so fast." The spymaster quirked his head towards her at that, an elaborative gesture. "Survival seemed more important." Was all Y/n gave him. She had hoped it wasn't received as a 'I don't want to talk about it', but it was simply a sore spot for her. She had faulted herself on all the things she never got to do with her best friend, but truly, some things were more important.

"From when she left, I got better. Taught myself to read more sophisticated books to a degree and attempting to write when I could." Y/n looked down, blush coating her cheeks. "I still can't write very well. It isn't super legible."

Azriel had imagined this was similar to how his brother felt upon realizing the female in front of him was pushed aside on something so vital but simple.

"Would you like to practice? I can help."

"You are only going to be here for a couple days."

"I'll be back." Y/n was surprised at the instancy and promise that laced Azriel's voice. For her, she would be lucky to see Feyre again after this, but now, there is another promise for someone else to come see her. For someone else to care about seeing her.

"Okay." The heat didn't leave her cheeks for the rest of the night as their conversation continued after that, soft and vulnerable in nature. As the rest of the house slept, it would be a little secret of theirs and routine for the following days. Every night, right as Cassian would start to snore within the shared bedroom, Y/n could count on the shadow of wings and a soft hum of blue stones making his way down to the couch, grabbing a book on his way.

"I'll be back." Azriel said, bringing back Y/n the present. His tone wasn't as warm as that night, but the underlying promise still stood prominent between them. A small elbow jab into the side of Rhys had him turning to his mate, clocking the excitement in her eyes as she watched the two.

You are sending him back here upon the earliest opportunity.

Of course, Feyre darling.

Y/n hadn't moved from her spot and Azriel didn't know if he should go for an embrace like his brother or keep his distance. Everything in his being told him closer, closer, closer.

Closer. Closer. Closer. Embrace. She wants it. Embrace.

Or it was just his shadows pushing him towards her. Y/n had noticed during the time they spent together; his shadows couldn't help but flock to the similar nape of her neck like they had done the night they met. Upon its repeated offense, Y/n had assured the spymaster that it was a welcomed experience and to not worry about it. To her, she couldn't quite grasp the whole 'they are a part of me' conversation, so in her mind, every so often the slipped out from his control.

Azriel didn't correct this way of thinking at all. In fact, he indulged in it more than he probably should have. When she had left for the woods, a small cluster of them had followed her without much of her knowledge. Anytime her frame was out of his gaze a small tendril would follow, reporting back to its' owner of any inconvenience or issue that she might come across. It was a precautionary measure for his high lady's best friend, at least that is what he told himself as his mind eased with the quick sight of shadow darting behind her neck.

The brush of wind and breath against Y/n's ear had her shiver slightly. Even without a welcome embrace of the male, this was oddly more him.

As the group funneled out of the door, the promise of aid and help floated in her direction before they had disappeared into what seemed was the wind.

She wouldn't see anyone from that group again until a week or so later when a rapt on her door drew her attention from the meal she was prepping for that night. She hadn't been expecting anyone, her normal buyer for game wasn't set to arrive until next week and her produce hadn't grown in for the month yet to be selling, so Y/n was at a loss.

Hesitantly making her way to the door, she stopped to listen to see if anyone would inquire about who they were or what they wanted. Upon pressing her hands against the door in preparation to crack it open, a familiar breath against her ear made an involuntary smile take ahold of her features.

"You know, it is pretty cold out here. Could you please open the door?" The voice of Azriel came out muffled through the wood.

Y/n couldn't open the door quick enough to grab the male and drag him inside.

A small chuckle rung from him as he followed her in quickly.

"You can't do that!" She chastised, quickly closing the curtains and peeping out the window to make sure nobody was around.

"I didn't want to be rude."

"Ya? Well, be rude. You will get yourself killed otherwise."

"Am I supposed to just winnow in here then?"

"Win what?" Azriel stopped, placing a small sack down on the couch, turning to her with amusement in his eyes. His brow raised in question, asking to continue, it had Y/n nodding.

"Remember when we left?" Y/n nodded again; the motion making the spymaster's chest flutter. "It seemed that we just..." He searched for the word, "disappeared?"

"Yes, I assumed one of you had magic wind powers that no one told me about." Y/n knew she sounded stupid, ignorant even, but this whole experience made her ignorant to what felt like everything. However, Y/n would be as ignorant as she needed to be to elicit the loud laugh that came from Azriel. He was sat down now, all but sprawled on the couch in laze. The two had been comfortable before, now with his return it seemed they had entered a much deeper trust.

"No, that's not-" another laugh, "not how it works." Y/n followed suit, letting herself settle on the nearby seat. She giggled at the situation.

"What? You can't expect me to get that right first guess." Her giggles filled in the space between Azriel's now dwindling laugh.

"It is actually close now that I think about it." Looking to her again he began his short explanation. "It is some sort of magic. Cassian can't do it."

"Ah, I see. Doesn't have the ol' flare that the rest of you have?" The spymaster didn't want to think to clearly about the ease in which this girl pulled a relaxed smile from him.

"No, I guess not." He had continued with his little explanation, Y/n nodding the whole way through. Upon his finale she had adjusted herself to stand again. His eye's grazed over her form as she stood.

"Where are you going?" Her cheeks warmed.

"Just to add some more ingredients for dinner."

"Oh, speaking of which..." Az had reached for the bad he had tossed onto the furniture earlier, prying open the top. Reaching in he had grabbed a handful of a smaller pouch that resided in it. Upon tossing it towards Y/n, her hand instinctually catching it from the air. It was heavy and 'clinked' when it landed within her palm, that familiar weight and sound had the girl's eyes widening. "That is from the court."

"By the gods, this is a little much for a couple months, no?" It wasn't that Y/n was ungrateful, but a pouch filled as much as this one could have her living more than comfortably for a long time around here.

"It isn't that much Y/n."

"Yes, it is."

"Not for Rhys."

"Still, I feel bad."

"Why do you feel bad?"

"Because I feel like I'm using you guys."

"You are not using us."

"Really? Because how heavy this is I would say I'm using."

"Just take the coins Y/n."

"Okay."

Y/n twirled back towards the kitchen, quickly finding her stash of money and hiding it away. The quick banter between the two lingering in the air as a grin still remained on both of their faces. Following through with her plan, Y/n began adding some more portions to the already marinating meats.

The hours passed by quickly, an ease of comfort and warmth enveloping the two while Azriel got his tasks in order for what he needs to find and where he could go to find it. Y/n didn't pry much about his work, obviously seeing the tenseness gradually seeping into his form with each shadow that would return to him. So, as dinner came and went, the girl had made herself busy preparing his room and planning her route for the next day.

When she came back to the living room moments later, Y/n was surprised to see the lack of the hulking male that was once sat on her couch. Picking up her pace, she had quickly cracked the front door to see if he had left by foot. Upon finding no footprints on the snow, she shut the door and returned to cleaning up the place a bit more before his return.

Hours ticked by, Y/n had changed and prepped for bed quietly stepping back into her living room, grabbing the latest novel on her way. She had adorned a simple nightgown, nothing fancy or elaborate like what she had seen the Archerons wear after Feyre's departure, but the garment was divine to sleep in, emphasizing the "gorgeous silhouette" that her best friend had insisted about. She had worn it many times before, but the idea of the Spymaster seeing her in it had her heart skip a beat at the thought.

Y/n had taken her seat across from the fire that cackled, opened her novel, and began to read.

Azriel was annoyed.

He had gotten a whisper from one of his shadows about movement within one of the queen's guards and upon his departure, he didn't even have time to leave a note. Az knew that she wouldn't fret after hearing the summary of winnowing hours prior, but the thought of her looking for him without explanation about his absence struck a chord within his chest. He had been staked out for hours, not moving or even twitching from his position amongst the dark. The whispers continued to circle him, all reporting the same thing.

He had wasted his time tonight, there was nothing substantial going on with the Human Queen.

He let the vein in his forehead throb with the clench of his jaw. He had turned once more, checking the area around himself before settling on the decision to leave. His body almost longed for warmth despite his anatomy making it very hard for him to be actually cold. Azriel stopped his thought before he could dive any deeper on the thought of the specific heat he craved.

Home. Back. Beauty. Soft. Beauty. Leave.

It was a drug he couldn't quit. Without much else of a thought, Azriel had allowed his shadows to take him back to your little house that stood at the edge of the wall. Taking your prior conversation (and as much of a threat as Y/n could conjure towards him), he had winnowed right into the living room, bypassing the door.

Warm. Soft. Beauty. Look. Look. Look.

Azriel's eyes had trailed over to the couch, Y/n's form capturing his attention immediately. His shadows hadn't been lying, the way you laid was that of a spiritual sight. The curve of your body held gently by a soft looking nightdress that she must've put on after he left. The familiar lick of the hearth's light caressing her softly, almost akin to the most attuned lover, kissing her skin and shadows.

I was a sight that Azriel forced himself to memorize, and one that he knew he would see in his dreams to come.

It was obvious that you had been reading, the novel fallen on to the floor with some pages crinkled with its own weight.

Although Azriel didn't want to disrupt the sight of something so vulnerable and captivating, the thought of her sore body the next day from a fitful rest on the used couch made him move quickly. He had prayed to whatever deity that listened that his 'quiet' reputation proceeded him as he took steps on the creaking floor to get to Y/n without waking her. Upon his success, he let out a silent breath.

As effortless as she looked, Azriel had picked her up cradling her to himself as securely as possible without altering her form. Her slight sigh and twitch had him stalling for a moment, checking her heartbeat to ensure she was in fact still asleep. With his confirmation, he began his trek up the stairs and towards her room. He had passed by it multiple times during his prior time with his court, but holding her now as he placed her onto the bed, it stirred that inexplainable flutter in him.

Az had wanted to start helping Y/n on her writing tonight, but the subtle (although meaningless) shift in guard had pulled him away.

Tomorrow night then.

Y/n was ecstatic to have the spymaster around for as long as he did. Although only a couple days, the two had bonded and laughed with each-other. Much to Yn’s surprise, Az had been adamant on beginning her practice with a pen. It was a bit rough in the beginning, but by the end of his stay she was confident in some of the letters and how they flowed.

But sadly as all things do, he had to return home.

It was another awkward goodbye, this time the brush of his shadows lingered, almost matching the lingering gaze he shared with her. Y/n had sworn she almost got lost in it.

He had left her with the same promise as before.

“I’ll be back.” Then the male all but vanished from her door.

The next time he had stopped by it was in a flurry of motion, one that even had Y/n reeling. He had apologized before vanishing away only to be back in the middle of the night. Upon the sun rising, he had left a platter of produce on the table with another small pouch of coins and a note explaining his hasty departure.

It made Y/n smile, although disappointed she couldn’t see him more.

Occurrences like that became common for the two. His stays never lasting more then a couple of days at most before he was gone again. Through Azriel’s increased trips, Feyre had akin him to a letter boy with all of her messages and small trinkets that she wished to tell her still human best friend. As for Y/n? She couldn’t be happier in her life if she tried. Sure, Feyre wasn’t here with her next door and the male she has come to crush on like had their own demons to fight which took their time, but for the first time in a very long time Y/n felt remembered.

Even though the last trip that Azriel had taken tested the waters between the two, and Y/n would be damned if she didn’t stay up at night in embarrassment.

The breath against her ear didn’t startle Y/n anymore. She had become akin to the soft silken caress of the spymasters shadows and even reveled in their touch when they caressed her neck. The snow had officially begun to melt by now, the ground slowly becoming soft as the sky broke away to the sun once more.

“I need to wash the bedding in your room before you retire for the night.” She had twirled around, gentle and soft, adding to the allure of the scent of fruit that she had been cutting prior. There stood Azriel, as beautiful as ever, in her foyer looking over her form. It was a welcome gesture as since as much as she had tried capture his attention, he seemed as fortified as a fortress. Y/n would be lying if she said she didn’t attempt to try and test the boundaries between them. A glance here, accidental brush there, the best of her wardrobe when preparing dinner for herself hoping he would snatch her away.

The last thought was a bit much, but her mind didn’t care.

Az had noted a couple visits prior, sent a compliment towards her and the dress she had managed to adorn through the leftovers of the last coin pouch. It was a frivolous purchase, but she knew she needed to be a bit more open to receiving help as Feyre would have her had (and no doubt Azriel’s) if she didn’t.

“Don’t fret if it isn’t done until later.” The Spymaster assured. Y/n couldn’t help but throw a questioning glance at him. “I have to check something out for a bit and report. Might be a little while.”

“Shall I count you for dinner?” Y/n had hopes he would as she had missed him from his time away. “I’m going to grab some drinks from the market today, I was hoping you would try them with me.”

“I should hope so. If not this will be a long night.” Y/n smiled at that.

“Any specific types of drink you prefer?”

“Whatever you favor.” Azriel did not know much of human alcohol, he assumed there was the standard of wine, but that was as far as he had ventured. It wasn’t worth much to fae as it was not nearly as potent to have any sort of effects.

“Ah, I well then it’ll be a surprise to us both.” Y/n had turned around fully, back to her task, and also to hid the slight brushing of red that dusted her cheeks. She was embarrassed by her lack of experience, but he didn’t need to know that.

Obviously, Azriel figured it out, and quickly at that. Her hesitance with accepting his answer along with the slight rush of her heart and as a dead giveaway. Thinking about it now he assumed that there wasn’t much that this human girl could lie to him about that he wouldn’t catch. Az knew he can read people well, but this was almost effortless, as if he was attuned to those emotions.

He also knew that since her experience was limited, if at all, she would definitely have 0 tolerance.

Even if Az would be caught up in the most perilous situation (he wouldn’t be, but even so) he would make sure to find himself back at this little house by sundown.

As for Y/n, the idea that the male would be there for the experience brought a sense of comfort to her. Yes, it wasn't Feyre like she had hoped as since they had planned to get her 'inebriated' according to her best friend, but it was someone.

Y/n wouldn't be alone.

Plus, the person she would spend the experience with was a hulking dark and handsome male, so that was a huge bonus.

It wasn't long before Azriel had head out, making sure to bid a small farewell and promise to see her tonight. Y/n had taken this opportunity to not only tidy up the house, make sure his room was cleaned and ready, but also to make herself a bit more presentable to head into town. It wasn't often that she ventured this way, most times she was fresh from the forest and outside her house skinning the latest kill for fur and cuts of meat. Occasionally she would venture in with produce and some wheat she could grow year-round, both instances made for dirty work and one that wasn't very presentable.

Now as she ventures that way, freshly bathed, adorning new clothes and smelling like berries; Y/n felt new.

She had missed the glances her way from the men around her, and the warmth she was received with from the elderly women as she walked by. The way she had held herself was that of a below common person, but in the eyes of the people, she was anything but. If they hadn't watched the girl grow up there would be no doubt that she would be mistaken for the very thing they feared most from her beauty alone.

"Hello." Y/n found herself standing outside a small storefront, the walls adorned with bottles. Within the booth, a smaller man sat, a worn cap on his head. He received her with a smile.

"What can I help you with ma'am?" Y/n roamed her eyes over the shelf hesitantly. The different bottle heights, sizes and colors making her indecisive. The shop keep must've seen the nervousness in her eyes as he let out a small chuckle.

"I can give you some recommendations, if you would like?"

The breath of relief was audible from the girl.

"Yes please."

"What is the occasion?" The question wasn't targeted or sly of any sort, more so inquiring for a better understanding of what he should recommend to Y/n, but she couldn't help but nervously ring her neck where a small wisp hid as blush spread over her skin. She had a small hope that (despite not knowing how they work) her hand clasping over the small silken thing would stop it from potentially hearing the conversation.

"I have a friend coming for dinner tonight."

"Do you want something to pair with the meal or for after?" A small amount of mirth entered the man's eyes as he mentioned beyond the food. It made the color darken on Y/n's neck and spread to her ears.

"I'm not sure..." She hesitated; it was so out of her element for her to even think such a thing could happen for her. Yeah, aside a couple nights with Feyre where they wanted to "practice" and learn with someone they were comfortable with (at least some of it), Y/n hadn't been with anyone. The thought of her being entrapped in passion, much like the books she enjoys every so often, with another had her already nervous stomach filling with flutters. It only increased when the thought of the fae male being the one to spend it with. "Both?"

She didn't mean to say it as a question, really. The man's grin widened as he nodded, turning around to his inventory. He reached under the counter, shuffling some things out of the way before grabbing what he desired. Before a second passed, he had placed a short red bottle on the counter. Y/n eyed it carefully as the lowering sun's rays hit it perfectly to see the rose-colored liquid inside.

"Pair this with any sort of fruit or shoot it straight. It can be sipped on or mixed." Y/n nodded, checking the price as he turned around again. She could easily get the bottle and another with the ruminants of the coin purse that Az had brought his last visit. Upon fixing his room up earlier, she had seen another stashed away in his bag with her initial on it. She wanted to give the small delicate fabric bag back to the spymaster as she had felt bad for having it as long as she did, so a little drink would be the perfect occasion to use it on.

"Red or white meat tonight for dinner?"

As Y/n ventured back towards the house, the sun began to officially set beyond the tree line. She had picked up a bit of pace on her way back to make sure she had enough time to put on the slip dress she adored so much. Upon her arrival home, Y/n glanced at the windows (which remained curtain shut as to keep out the eyes of others) in hopes to potentially see the outline of a male. She had left fireplace lit and the candle lanterns around the house going as to make sure he had light if he did come back early. Entering the house however, Y/n didn't feel the presence of the shadows or their master within. Placing the alcohol on the table, Y/n made her way upstairs to change and freshen up her appearance.

Upon her satisfaction she made her way back downstairs and to the table where the drinks lie.

She had taken them out of the bag, placing the wine she had purchased for the meal on the small table. Keeping the smaller red bottle with her as she went to the cabinet, Y/n grabbed two cups.

She didn't have any fancy glassware so this would have to do. She highly doubted Azriel would mind.

Placing the cup she meant for him on the table next to the wine, Y/n couldn't help the wandering eye towards the little red bottle that stood ominously on the counter. The way the fire licked at the color looked taunting, but the continued flutter in her stomach at the thought of the spymaster had an idea popping in her head.

Maybe she should try it. Just a little.

Y/n had to make sure it was good before she served it, right?

Before she let herself think too much on the decision, the human girl had popped the lid off, poured a couple seconds into the glass, and shot it back.

The taste was not something she had expected in the slightest. It was sweet, to a degree, with a smoothness that allowed it to gently slide down her throat. The heat that came with the liquid surprised her. Her chest that had been tight all day with the image of her guest warmed and relaxed, the feeling still lingering, but did not have as much of a hold on her.

Y/n like this liquid, she had hopes Azriel would too. Maybe he would even compliment her for picking it out.

A small shy smile broke onto her features at the thought.

Azriel had watched as the sun receded below the tree line. He had done everything he needed to do with his report and check in, quickly making time to tie up any loose ends while he was there. Nothing violent (luckily, as he didn't want to scare a specific human upon his arrival home) but simple covering of his tracks and finalizing some plans before next month.

Everything was clicking into place perfectly as far as he knew.

Giving a small nod to himself, he felt his shadows pull him back to the small house, eager to see the girl within. He didn't fight them but simply allowed himself to appear withing the familiar foyer. The smell of food was the first thing that he had noticed. For a human, with the limited palette that they possessed, Y/n had somehow crafted her cooking to be palatable by fae standards. It had been a plus of his visits here as he could enjoy his time and not feel like he was starving unlike the trip to the other Archeron's house all that while ago.

The second thing he noticed was the bottle of what looked to be some sort of human wine on the table. Az allowed a small warm smile to spread at the gesture. It was sweet, like her, to pick something out that he knew she had heard him talk about prior when recalling his time with his family. It gave insight to just how much she had been listening to him.

The third thing he noticed was the second, smaller bottle sitting on the table slightly behind the human wine. It had been obviously opened as with his quick assessment Az guessed it was about half empty. Taking a step or two to the table, Azriel had picked up the bottle to examine it.

Upon a small sip of the liquid Azriel found It was strong, almost illusionary with its taste. Even he, as fae, felt the warmth go down his throat and a small heat to fill his chest. Confusion gripped him.

This was definitely not a human made drink. If he had any guesses, he would have thought this was some sort of sipping fae gin infused with some sort of floral to cut the bite.

Half the bottle gone made him notice the fourth thing within the house, Y/n's form on one of the seats reading. If the obvious red on her cheeks was any give away to her status at the moment, her lack of notice when he had entered the house would be the most obvious telltale sign.

Y/n was drunk. Deceptively so as she sat cozied up in the chair, obviously reading some sort of romance book.

Az had placed the bottle down a little harder than he normally would, allowing the small ring to jolt Y/n out of her fantasy.

"Azriel! You're back!" Springing up off the couch with more grace than any sane person who is drunk, Y/n had effortlessly gotten to Azriel and enveloped him into a small embrace. It made the male freeze, unsure if he should wrap his arms around the girl or wait until she removed herself from him.

How desperately he wanted to return the embrace.

So, fueled by the liquor that ran through her veins, he settled his hands just above her waist.

Y/n couldn't believe that he made it back for dinner. She didn't try to stop that joy from spreading to her face as the warmth in her body buzzed through her. She didn't mean to drink as much of the liquid as she did, but once she started, the confidence and buzz that came quickly after felt reliving from her crushing nerves.

"I have dinner ready! I also got some of the wine the man at the stall recommended!" Y/n all but burst at the seams with the male's small smile towards her.

"Did he also suggest the other bottle too?" The question was soft, careful to not seem as if she had done something unknowingly wrong. He wasn't upset or anything with her, just an ounce of concern resided in him for her head tomorrow morning.

"He did! It's wonderful too. Try it!" With or without her knowledge, there was very little Azriel wouldn't do for the look that Y/n gave him. Her eyes wide and shining towards him. Very few times had he every received something like this from someone. Az had watched his brothers receive these looks and vulnerability, but never did he think someone could feel safe enough with him to be worthy of it.

Here Y/n stood, almost toe to toe with the fae, giving the best attempt at 'the eyes' that Feyre had talked to her about when they were younger. It was stupid, she knew this, but it was the best time to try and test her effect with them. She made sure to bat her eyes a couple times to emphasize her request towards the shadow singer until he gave a little chuckle and broke away from the embrace. His scarred hands reached for the red bottle and not to long after he was taking a long draw of it from the cup Y/n had selected for him.

"And? Did I do well?" Y/n fished. Azriel gave in quickly.

"Yes, very well. It is quite good, just like how the food smells." Y/n jumped. "Is it ready?"

"Yes!" Y/n all but bounced over to the kitchen, grabbing a plate and handing it to Azriel who had followed behind her. They had sat to eat, allowing the small talk between them to carry. All the while, Y/n had opened the wine and began to pour for herself and Az. It was different then the red bottle liquid. More drinkable and less potent for her. The stall owner did in fact call the type to pair well as one glass became two, two became three, and soon the bottle was done.

Y/n was surely floating.

Azriel should have stopped her after the first glass. The slowing of her movements, softness within her eye, the normal sharp wit reduced to putty as she gently talked. All of it was also why he didn't. It had been so long since someone talked to him gently, reached for him softly, asked him about little details that would normally never matter about himself.

It was as addicting as the drink she had finished minutes before.

Her standing sent a small shock of surprise through him. Her reaching for his finished plate while holding her own had him slightly panicked. He had made notion to stand and take his own plate to put away, but the soft 'I got it' and gentle ease of her hand putting pressure on his shoulder to sit again kept him stationary. Everything in himself put the idea of her serving him in such a way put his nerves on fire. Maybe it was the gin, maybe it was the fact that he couldn't stop the way his eyes trailed the flow of that damned sleeping gown that had his hands twitching to grab.

"We can go to the couch if you want." She had returned to him and grabbed his hand, something that had Az analyzing her face to determine just how drunk she was. They had some physical contact before, but this was a new level.

Azriel luckily let her drag him over to the sitting room. She had guided him to the softest area to sit while she took position next to the male. Upon her placing herself next to him, all but draped on the furniture she let the drink drive her words.

"Is it cold?" Y/n forgot that the male couldn't read her mind, thus when the questioning look towards her and then the fire made a string of giggle slip from her lips. "When you fly silly."

Right, Az was the silly one right now. However, the inquiry was welcome as he settled into his seat and altered himself to see her more clearly.

"Not really. Only If I go really high, but it's dependent on the weather I guess."

"Really? I always thought it would be cold not matter what."

"I'm also just naturally hot."

"Yes, you are."

Azriel laughed.

"No, I mean physically."

"Ya, I know."

"No." Y/n couldn't help but let the confusion cross her face. She agreed with him, why was he laughing? Sure, she would listen to it any time he would give it to her, but it was lost on her why. "I mean I'm Illyrian, we are warm naturally."

The blush on her face all but multiplied and deepened in color, no longer just the drink affecting it.

"But I am glad you think I'm hot." Y/n tried her best to hide in her hands and hair, only for the male to gently reach for her jaw, tilting her head back for him to see. Y/n didn't stop his touch, nor did she stop her intrusive thought to test the theory of his warmth herself. She had strung her hand around his wrist, guiding his hand against her cheek. She didn't think it felt any different than her own hands., maybe it was because the fire behind Az's eyes distracted her.

She had shut her eyes, pressing his marred flesh into her soft skin.

Azriel was going to combust. He didn't know if it was from the ever growing affections for the girl (that he no longer fought as hard), or the growing issue she was causing if he let his thoughts slip for even a second (that he was fighting for his life against right now).

Y/n opened her eyes again, meeting Azriel's easily as a slow, easy smile spread over her. It was as simple as taking a breath. The comfort of it all was that of her relationship with Feyre, but this felt heavier. It was a welcome relief from all the cold and disdain she caught from her best friend's sisters.

"I'm really happy your here." Y/n dropped her hand, which still encased his. "I'm really happy you come to see me."

Y/n had to blink a couple times to make sure she wasn't imagining the slight color on the tips of his ears that she swore was not there prior. There was no look of surprise, or any sort of telltale sign of his that suggested that he was uncomfortable or upset at what she had said, but the wide-eyed look of his had her moving without her knowledge.

She felt her lips make contact with the shell of his ear before she had pulled away to see them doubled in color. Another giggle of hers bubbled out and into the room. Azriel was a statue under her touch, the only notable difference was his slightly heavier breathing that she caught sight of. Before mentioning it however, her head lulled to where his neck met his shoulder, trying to understand why the room seemed distorted more than it had before.

"I'm tired." It was the only conclusion in which she could come to about her predicament. She had felt the male above her nod and a rush of air. It seemed that the statue shadow singer had been holding his breath. Gently pushing her body off of himself much to her disappointment. He stood before her; however, Y/n gave no inclination to move. Her arms however raised in motion for him to succumb to her wishes as she didn't trust her legs to work. A small huff and chuckle exited him before allowing her to get away with such a behavior.

"Okay there little vixen, let's get you up." Her smile was contagious at the name, but she kept the rather heated comments to herself. As she settled into his arms, her own wrapped around his neck in a feeble attempt to try and make herself a bit lighter for the male, easier to carry. By no means was she a tiny woman, Feyre had gotten all the slim genes between them, and while she wasn't unable to live her life, Y/n had curves. Most of it was muscle from the years out hunting and foraging on her own, but it didn't stop the slight worry that she was in fact a bit heavy to Az as he carried her.

Each step that Azriel took was slow, calculated even. He had to try and control himself as to not scare the human girl staring at him so intently that it warmed him to his core.

He also prayed that if he moved slow enough, she wouldn't notice the problem that currently threatened to make itself know if she moves just a little. It sure didn't help that the flesh of her ass was held so easily against his arm, keeping her stationary against him.

Gods she was addicting, and so, so easy to become enamored with.

Azriel didn't understand how in just a couple of months that a human could be so dear to himself. He didn't doubt that the girl in his arms knew him in more depth than most within his life to this day. He truly believed she saw him.

He loved his family, but this was different.

Her bedroom came into view too quickly for Y/n's liking as she hadn't finished memorizing the feel of his chiseled body against hers. Swiftly, as the bed had come to view under her, Y/n had let go of the male and simply fell back into the comfy blankets and pillows below. Her mind swirled with her descent while the only thing that seemed to be in focus was the male of her affections.

"You can lay down too." Her own voice was foreign to her, no longer did she have control over the words that spilled out.

Azriel stood still, watching.

"I don't bite~"

Y/n had reached out to grasp his hand. Successful in her contact, she gently pulled him onto the bed, positioning him on his back, careful of his wings. Without much else of a thought, Y/n had moved his arm just right, allowing herself to curl up within the space it made against his torso. The warmth radiating from him had Y/n passed out in mere minutes, while the poor shadow singer fought demons to keep his composure and not jump the girl.

The next morning Y/n hadn't remembered the entirety of the night, but she sure did remember the little love-bite she had quickly delivered to his ear. She had apologized profusely if she had made him uncomfortable and swore off the sinning liquid. Azriel had insisted that she would in fact want to drink again, and that he didn't mind in the slightest about her welcome intrusion of his space. Y/n wasn't convinced but still took her apologies and made them breakfast while nursing her head.

Sadly, Azriel had to depart that day for a report he had to make to Rhys. This time however, he allowed himself to embrace Y/n, lingering slightly within her scent.

The most recent time in which Y/n had guests within her home, it was the entire Inner Court (or at least the ones she had met before).

"Y/n!" Feyre had yelled upon exiting the winnow into her house. Loud thuds had been heard from the second story before the familiar sight of the human girl raced past all the males and into the arms of her best friend.

"You're here!" If the embrace was any tighter, oxygen would be difficult to pass between them. The sight had made the males in the room melt as the familiar warmth of Y/n surrounded them. Even Azriel couldn't help the small smile that adorned his features despite the jab to his ribs from his brother.

"I am so sorry for the drop in with no warning, but the timing for our play with the queens seems to be now." Feyre had explained, pulling back to look at her.

"That is more than okay Angel, you're always welcome to come anytime you feel."

From the small amount of explaining and information that Azriel had given to Y/n prior through his visits, the timing of it all had seemed to be the most up in the air. They had enough on their plates and didn’t need another excuse to feel bad about being in her residence for the time being. 

However, despite having the support of the court even now, she did not have enough to plan for when they were gone in a week or so for her stock. Thus, the decision was that she had to go out to the market, and also the forest. She needed to hunt again just so she can tide her stock over and keep her clients that she had built within the market. Plus, Y/n had wanted to make Feyre's favorite from when they were kids, which required a deer.

"Take up the rooms you had last time," Turning to Rhys and Feyre she gave a small smile, "I'll wash everything and change it for you guys when I'm back if that is okay."

"Don't worry about it Ace, is the washing still where it used to be?" the fae girl prompted. Y/n nodded with a smile. "Then I got it, we have to organize our plan here anyway. It'll give us a bit of a break before getting back to work."

"Knock yourselves out then."

After giving a quick hug to Cass, Y/n's eyes settled on Azriel who had taken a couple steps back. Her body gravitated slightly towards him while he brushed the back of his hand against her arm. It gave the human a surge of confidence.

"Welcome back." Y/n had allowed the low tone of her voice to carry a soft undertone which had the spymaster checking to make sure his family wasn't snooping since they had wandered towards their living arrangements.

"I missed you." The softness in his voice made Y/n melt.

"I missed you too."

Grabbing her hunting bow and dagger, she stepped towards the door. Y/n hesitated before opening the door and looked to the stair that led to her old and new friends. As the sun began to set, the obvious specks of light suggested she would not be alone out in those woods. 

"I have to go and grab some things in the market and out..." Y/n trailed off. Azriel had glanced out the window briefly, not able to hide the small flicker of nervousness that showed there. Although Y/n didn't allow herself to let the moment proceed as she broke contact and turned toward the small table that resided near the door. She had taken out the small paper she had picked up some odd weeks ago and one of the pens Az had brought as a small gift. She had been practicing between visits and confidently scribbled the note down.

Out hunting for dinner. Be back soon, stay inside. The town is out.

Deciding that was enough, she strung her cloak over her small frame and headed out the door and towards the tree line, sparing a small glance at the shadow singer on her way out. Admittedly, she hated the forest during this time. There was a false spring that everyone had thought would bring the warm weather to only be hit by one more blow from the mother. With it brought a frigid cold and icy flurries that would no doubt melt by the end of the week. The snow and wind whipped all warmth she had away from her in a matter of minutes and the ever-concerning watchful eye of beasts who long to have her for supper also put her on edge. 

Her body still noticed the absence of her friend that used to go not these little missions together. Although the girl is currently residing back at the house, it still stung for when she would leave. Y/n never really got used to the feeling of loneliness that came with her best friend's freedom. Although it was a selfish thought, she did miss the time they would spend hours together just chatting and getting through this life together. She missed her. 

She was elated to have her back, even to this capacity. She would never stop being thankful for her return.

A cold tear shook her from her thoughts. Shaking her head, she wiped it away and moved on deeper and deeper into the forest. 

Although she pulled the bow closer to her body, she achieved no extra security and for some reason she couldn’t shake the feeling of lurking danger beyond the trees that surrounded her. The wind whipped louder, blocking out the sounds of the forest and any audible cues that would give away a predator or prey. It added to the nerves of it all. It's why nobody should ever have to do this to survive.

As her boots crunched in the snow below her, she allowed her mind to wander as she squatted down into the white below. Here she would stay for an hour or so waiting for a migration or flock to cross her path. Since the snow and wind was so bad however, she highly doubted she could cross many prey, let alone a deer. Predators however were another story entirely, and she was sure she would come across one. Settling down once again, she relaxed the bow and rolled her shoulders, causing the assortment of ash arrows and regular to jumble further. 

Hazel eyes flooded her thoughts as she waited. Specifically of a Fae man with wings that is currently resting within her residence that she had left at the door. One with blue stones and friendly darkness that always wrapped around the nape of her neck, it was almost as alluring as all the riches and security in the world. The night he moved her to the bedroom because he had felt unease about her resting on the couch while she had stupidly trusted a drink, the chance she opened her eyes and smiled at him, and he finally allowed a redness to spread over his face as she had kissed his ear. The late nights they would stay up and read, gentle conversation flowing from the both of them, it was intoxicating. Even more than the drink she is still haunted by.

Without the human girl's knowledge, Feyre had called it, and now Rhys owed her all new paints for her studio. The girl had probably the biggest affinity for the male in such a short time that either of them had seen. Granted it had been about two occurrences that the court had witnessed in person, but the closeness of the two and the flustered avoidance that the shadow singer would insist wasn't happening. It was all so obvious, and the first time that both of them where as readable as a book.

Hearing a snap in the twigs behind her, Y/n's body moved like water as she pulled her bow taught and aimed with a watchful eye to the intruder of her space. Loaded in the string was an ash arrow, until her eyes met with the very hazel she was just dreaming about. 

“It’s just me.” Azriel said with his hands raised, eyeing the tip of the arrowhead. Y/n sighed and lowered the weapon giving a small smile to him. Even with the weather around the two, the male didn’t look even the slightest cold. Sensing the small displeasure of the stare at her arrow she stepped closer and rubbed the back of her neck. 

“Ever since Feyre was almost killed and then taken by a Fae man, I’ve carried these. You never know out here, and I had a feeling if it were to happen again, I wouldn’t be so lucky.” She explained and he nodded slightly. The image of her suffering the same as his High Lady was nauseating but was worse as he knew she in fact wouldn’t be as lucky and most likely killed if she were to run into another enemy Fae. "I had it before meeting you all."

She had attempted to reason, hoping that he wouldn't take offense to her carrying the very thing that could kill him and his family.

Her nerves settled though when he nodded at her and offered a small smile to assure her there were no hard feelings.

“Why are you out anyway? I left a note; the town is out today, and I don’t want you all to get caught.” She poked before sending him a small smile as his shadows seemed to envelop her hands to try and keep them warm. The silken texture felt nice against her digits, as she brought them up to give a slight breath to hopefully add some warmth.

“I was worried.” It was simple and curt but the meaning behind it made flurries and warmth spread through Y/n's whole being. So much so, she felt as if she almost didn’t need the jacket. 

“Oh,” She paused and looked into his eyes again as she hesitantly stepped closer, feeling a heat radiating from the larger male form. It had been a since the drinking incident that they were so close together. Thinking back to that night, Y/n allowed herself to giggle.

“You aren’t even feeling the cold are you.” It was more a statement than a question, and it made Azriel let out a smile and sigh. 

“No. Perks of being an Illyrian I guess.” Y/n shook her head as she took another step into his warmth, allowing herself to fully engulf the memory of that night. He hadn’t stepped back or retreated from her body, so she took this as a chance to not only warm up slightly but also test the waters more openly, without alcohol. His eyes seemed to study her movements as his shadows still swarmed her hands, the curve of her body under the layers of cloth, the way her hair gently blew despite the howling wind, the way the snow reflected off her eyes. Even for a Fae she would be considered ethereal. 

Snap 

Before Azriel could even flinch and his mind could come back from the thoughts of the woman in front of him, Y/n had placed herself around his side with an arrow taught. 

A yell erupted from whoever broke their peaceful encounter as Y/n let the arrow fly. She registered the Faebane soaked sword before the male behind her could and the throwing knife that he let in the direction of the shadow singer. 

The arrow hit before Azriel processed what happened, and the man’s body hit the snow staining it with the familiar crimson. His eyes hardened at the sword that fell into the snow and the rage that permanently covered his face, he also noted the ash arrow that Y/n had buried in his chest with great pride. She was lethal, her abilities honed by pure survival and instinct. Even he was impressed by her response to danger. A pride that would soon turn to panic when the girl he became infatuated with turned towards him. 

“I understand why the inside part was necessary-” He began but shortly cut himself off when his shadows screamed, and his eyes found that very crimson on Y/n. “Shit.” He began. 

Y/n felt the dagger hit; she also knew that if she didn't put herself there it would've stuck the male behind her in the middle of his chest (although she highly doubted it landing as his shadows had coiled around himself without his realization she guessed). Luckily, she knew it didn’t hit anything too vital as it embedded into her shoulder, but it would leave one hell of a scar and at least a month of no hunting for her meals and trades.

“We need to go home.” She ground out. Azriel nodded quickly before scooping the smaller girl into his arms. 

“You know, when I imagined of your size in my arms, I did not have this scenario in mind.” He attempted to joke, but when it landed and Y/n wheezed, it was painful. He cursed again and quickly melted into the shadows to get home.

“You think about that?” Y/n wheezed out. Allowing a small tense chuckle to escape him, he took in the now significantly paler girl.

"More times than I care to admit."

Coming to the familiar door, he rushed inside whilst the few of his family talked over some food and a fire. His sudden appearance had startled the group, and it took Rhys to speak up about the startled and shaken look on his shadow master’s face. 

“Help her.” Such small words and yet the whole of the building into a frenzy. Launching up from the couch, Feyre cursed at the girl as she willed her magic into her smaller body to try and help heal her.

"What the hell happened?!" She exclaimed upon seeing the wound not close as she was intending. Unbeknownst to the group, Feyre had never seen her friend with this much blood on her. Sure, they had skinned and butchered game when they had got it, but it was never hers.

Feyre hated the sight.

Everyone did.

But none more than the male who had carried her back.

Cassian attempted to find any gauze and ointment that could take the edge off of her pain upon Feyre's directions to the cabinet, even if it was a slight improvement. The way the girl forced back her writhe of discomfort was not a welcome sight. Even Rhysand was with his mate tried to aid in the healing but to no avail, much to their shared displeasure. Azriel was on the other hand by Y/n’s face, watching to see any change and trying to comfort the small girl. 

“I’m not dead, just dying if you don’t get this thing out of me and stop the bleeding.” She bargained trying to sit up wincing as she went, but the High Lady of the house pushed her back down. 

“No, we are fixing this. Stay still. Please” Azriel grasped her hand trying to will his own agenda of her staying down and letting them heal her. He knew she would be fine. The wound wasn't fatal in the slightest and hadn't hit anything that would be a long-term issue.

The sight of this female, this human woman bleeding on a table with a throwing knife that was meant for him through his brain into a spiral. The nudge in his chest had begun to feel like the knife had hit him, not her.

“It won’t work.” She coughed. Everyone stopped to look at her as Cassian began unloading the things he found. “It was meant for Az, it’s coated in faebane and ash. Magic won’t work.” 

Scarred hands had grabbed hers, tight and almost pleading. A realization settled over Azriel as he held her steady. A realization that he didn't know what to do with, nor did he ever think would happen.

Almost if he sensed it too Rhys snapped his eyes to Azriel.

Rhysand looked to Azriel’s eyes for confirmation, he nodded and went back to holding her close, unable to think of doing anything else.

It was going to be a long month for Y/n.

Hope you all enjoyed! I got a bit carried away with everything.

Tag list: @rcarbo1 @cherryinsalemverse @kabekusa @hellohauntedturnstudent @optimisticbabydreamer @historygeekqueen @whhyyynottt @love-over-fears @alainabooks143 @ariaaira @snoopyspace @moonlwghts @meritxellao @paintedbyshadows @tiredsleepyhead @annaaaaa88 @willowpains @annamariereads16 @the-onlyy-angie @bbontenswhhore @rahdaleigh @casiiopea2 @littlemissfix-itfic

[anna-mellgren]

A lot nicer than I thought lol 🤍 Ice hockey was a big part of my childhood which is why I love to follow the sport as a fan. It is the only sport I follow. I know most girls don’t like watching sports but it is one of the ways I like to disconnect from this chaotic world & it brings me peace. I like how Mikael Granlund doesn’t have anything nice to say about Sweden despite having the most obvious Swedish last name on the team 😂 Finland played a great game against Sweden. The NHL is the only sports league I follow so I think this new 4 nations concept is fun to watch since NHL players are competing for their countries for once on the international stage which they rarely do otherwise. This is why only 4 nations are playing because other countries don’t have enough NHL players. Russia should be included in the tournament but they are not invited since they threaten WW3 every other week. NHL players rarely make an appearance in the annual Ice Hockey World Cup which actually makes the tournament pointless & is the reason the IIHF rankings are always messed up. I think the IIHF keeps the Ice Hockey World Cup going to get more countries interested in the game & to grow the game. The best way to grow interest is if smaller countries get to compete without getting obliterated by Canada. This is why 4 nations is special because it is the best of the best which rarely happens. Otherwise it happens very sporadically at some Olympics when NHL general managers decide to allow it but there has been plenty of Olympics with no NHL players.

Sweden & Finland are underdogs against the huge nations Canada & USA. I was afraid it would be a bloodbath for Sweden against Canada without Henrik Lundqvist since a goalie makes a big difference in ice hockey. Henrik could have given us 2 wins instead of 2 overtime losses so far in the tournament because he was that good 🔥 I think Sweden held its own well by dragging it out to overtime against a team like Canada. The USA looks VERY strong in this tournament…. the NHL needs to stop growing the game by expanding to more states because now the USA is getting superstars like Auston Matthews who grew up in Arizona 😅 The USA and Canada are huge nations while Finland & Sweden are just two small countries from essentially the same gene pool giving them a run for their money. What 🇸🇪🇫🇮 sometimes lack in skill we always make up in beauty as my best friend loves to say 😂

Update: Proud of Sweden for winning against the USA. 💘 Sometimes you get blinded by the superstars on the opposing team and forget your own team is stacked.

Asking Finland if they can say anything nice about their closest rivals. 😅🇫🇮🇸🇪

via nhleurope ig | 13.02.25

[andy-15-07]

Would you do Pedro Pascal x Racer!f!reader

Pedro was invited to go to SNL 50 anniversary. You on other hand, working as racer. You two secretly dating that chemistry got pretty good luckily. You got text from Pedro, He wants you to be his plus one date. You two couldn’t help it. Few moments later, he came to red carpet himself. Then you arrive, your dress was match as his like brown, very stunning and elegant. Pedro couldn’t help look at you. He was proud and very demure. You two pose like matching brown. He gives you great compliments about your dress and came to him. *fluffiness*

(Hope you will write it, thanks and have a good day mwah)

The Actor and the Racer

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2423| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The buzz of my phone jolted me from a quiet moment in the pit lane just as the afternoon sun dipped low over the racetrack. I glanced down and saw Pedro’s name flashing on the screen—a message that instantly sent my heart into overdrive. “Hey, love,” it read, “I’ve got an invitation to SNL’s 50th Anniversary. I can’t imagine going without you. Will you be my plus one?” In that split second, the roar of engines and the smell of burning rubber faded into the background. I grinned at the thought of this unexpected but thrilling twist, my fingers flying over the screen as I texted back, “Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

That evening, as I prepared for the event in my modest yet meticulously chosen dressing room, I couldn’t help but marvel at the serendipity of it all. My dress—a rich, elegant brown gown—was carefully selected to match Pedro’s style, a subtle nod to the intimate language we’d developed over secret rendezvous and shared smiles. Every detail had been chosen with us in mind: the earthy tone symbolized both the strength of our connection and the quiet, unassuming beauty that underpinned our lives far from the glare of public scrutiny.

Stepping out onto the red carpet felt surreal. The flashbulbs of cameras lit up the night as I made my way through a sea of elegant guests. My pulse quickened with anticipation, each step echoing with the promise of a night that was as much a celebration of love as it was of a milestone event. And there, at the beginning of the carpet, stood Pedro—tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored brown suit that spoke of classic style with a modern twist. His dark hair was perfectly in place, and the moment our eyes met, his smile widened into something both demure and undeniably proud.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he said, his voice low and warm as he reached out to gently take my hand. I felt a rush of electricity at his touch, and I couldn’t help but respond, “Thank you, Pedro. I wanted us to match tonight—it feels like our secret signature.” His laugh was soft and genuine. “Well, mission accomplished,” he murmured, and together we struck a pose that caught the attention of every camera. The flashes created a sparkling mosaic around us, yet all I could focus on was the way his eyes lit up as they roamed over my dress, filled with adoration and a hint of mischief.

As we strolled down the carpet, our conversation flowed effortlessly between playful banter and whispered memories. “Do you remember that charity race where we first met?” Pedro asked, a nostalgic lilt in his tone. I laughed, the sound mingling with the ambient hum of the event. “How could I forget? I nearly ran you off the track, and you swooped in to save the day. I still owe you one for that.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Oh, you owe me plenty. I’m keeping score,” he teased, and we shared a laugh that felt like a secret known only to us.

The crowd around us seemed to fade away as we delved into memories of our first encounter—an almost disastrous collision turned serendipitous meeting. “I was so convinced I’d lost control, but then you were there, calm and collected,” I recalled, smiling at the recollection. “And you, with your fearless driving, reminded me that life is about taking risks,” Pedro replied. “Every lap, every twist of fate—it all led to this moment,” I added softly, and for a brief instant, our voices were the only sounds in a world otherwise filled with flashing lights and murmurs of celebrity.

Approaching the entrance of the venue, we were immediately swarmed by enthusiastic reporters and well-dressed guests. A bright-eyed interviewer stepped forward, microphone in hand. “Pedro, you look amazing tonight. And who might this stunning lady be?” she asked, her tone both curious and admiring. Pedro squeezed my hand lightly and replied, “This is someone who races through life with as much passion off the track as she does on it. Simply put, she’s extraordinary.” I felt a flush of pride at his words, and when the interviewer pressed further about how we met, Pedro’s smile deepened. “It was a bit of chaos at a charity race—a near miss that turned into a perfect collision of hearts,” he said, and the crowd chuckled along with us, caught up in the warmth of our shared story.

Inside the venue, the elegant decor and the hum of excited chatter created a cocoon of celebration around us. We joined a group of guests at a private table, where the conversation quickly shifted from casual introductions to more intimate exchanges. Over clinking glasses of wine, Pedro leaned in and said quietly, “You know, sometimes I feel like life is just one long, unpredictable race. But every lap with you makes every twist and turn worth it.” I met his gaze, touched by the sincerity in his eyes. “I feel the same. The adrenaline of the track pales in comparison to the joy of being with you,” I replied.

Our table soon became the stage for a lively dialogue. A fellow guest, noticing our ease, asked with a playful grin, “What’s the secret to balancing high-speed races with the glitz of Hollywood events?” Pedro’s eyes danced as he replied, “It’s about knowing when to speed up and when to slow down. With her by my side, I always know when it’s time to hit the brakes and enjoy the ride.” I couldn’t resist adding, “And knowing when to shift gears to match the pace of life.” Laughter erupted around the table, and even amidst the clamor of voices and laughter, our words seemed to create a little bubble of intimacy.

Between sips of wine and bursts of shared laughter, our conversation took on moments of vulnerability. “Sometimes, I worry about how much we have to hide from the world,” Pedro admitted softly, his tone suddenly reflective. “The public sees us as a racer and a famous actor, but they don’t know the quiet moments—the late-night talks, the stolen glances that say everything without a word.” I reached out, touching his hand lightly. “Our secret may be hidden from the world, but it’s loud in our hearts. And that’s all that matters.” His eyes softened, and for a moment, the noise of the room receded into a gentle hum that underscored the truth in his words.

The evening unfolded in a series of delightful exchanges and heartfelt moments. At one point, as we walked along a quieter corridor away from the main event, Pedro stopped to look at me with a serious expression. “I have to ask,” he said, “how do you do it? How do you manage to be both this fearless racer and such a tender soul?” I paused, considering the question before answering with a gentle smile. “I think it’s because I know that after every race, there’s a moment of calm waiting for me—like the moments we share. It’s knowing that no matter how wild the ride, there’s always a soft place to land.” Pedro’s hand tightened around mine as he replied, “You are my safe haven, my constant in this whirlwind life.” His words felt like a promise, a vow that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would always find solace in each other.

At one point during the night, our conversation turned playful as we recounted the details of some of our most memorable misadventures. “Remember that time when your engine was about to give out, and I insisted we take a ‘strategic pit stop’ just to cool down?” Pedro laughed, recalling the chaotic moment with a mixture of amusement and admiration. I joined in the laughter. “How could I forget? I was convinced I was about to crash, and you were there, quipping that a good pit stop is like a good conversation—a chance to regroup and come back stronger.” Pedro grinned and added, “And you, my love, are the most thrilling conversation I’ve ever had.” The playful exchange drew smiles from those around us, but it was the sincerity behind our banter that made every word resonate.

Later, as the night deepened and we found ourselves in a quieter corner of the venue, the energy shifted to a more reflective tone. We stepped out onto a private balcony that overlooked the shimmering city below—a perfect backdrop for a conversation that felt as infinite as the stars above. Pedro leaned on the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Do you ever think about what the future holds for us?” he asked softly. I moved closer, my hand finding his in the cool night air. “I do,” I admitted, “and I see us continuing this race together—taking every twist and turn as a challenge we overcome hand in hand.” His eyes met mine, filled with a quiet certainty. “No matter how many laps we run, I promise that I’ll always be here, cheering for you, celebrating every victory, and comforting you through every defeat.” I felt my heart swell with gratitude and love. “And I’ll be there, every step of the way, ready to face whatever comes next,” I promised.

In the gentle quiet of that balcony, our dialogue became a tapestry of dreams, fears, and the hope that only true love can inspire. “You know,” Pedro said after a long pause, “I sometimes imagine our lives as one endless race. There will be obstacles, unforeseen detours, and moments when the finish line seems out of reach. But with you, every lap feels like a win.” I squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his truth. “And every victory, no matter how small, reminds me that our journey is worth every moment of risk.” His smile was both playful and sincere as he whispered, “Thank you for being my co-pilot in this crazy ride.”

Before we rejoined the festivities inside, a final playful exchange ensued as we paused to take one last photo together under the soft glow of the event’s exit lights. Pedro nudged me lightly. “I still can’t believe that my favorite racer is out here stealing the spotlight with me,” he teased. I laughed and replied, “Well, you know what they say—if you can’t outrun them, match them.” His eyes crinkled with amusement as he said, “I suppose matching is what we do best.” Our laughter mingled with the ambient sounds of the departing crowd, a secret melody that carried the promise of many more shared adventures.

The drive home was a quiet, reflective journey away from the dazzling chaos of the red carpet and the limelight of SNL. In the intimate hum of the car’s engine and the soft strains of our favorite song playing in the background, Pedro reached over and brushed a stray lock of hair from my face. “Every day with you,” he said in a low, earnest tone, “is like a victory lap in a race I never want to end.” I looked at him, my eyes full of unspoken gratitude, and replied, “And every lap with you reminds me just how lucky I am to have found someone who makes life feel so exhilarating, even when the world expects us to be just a racer and an actor.”

There was a long, comfortable silence as we both savored the beauty of that moment—the gentle reassurance that despite the whirlwind of public life, our private moments were our true victory. Pedro’s thumb caressed the back of my hand as he mused, “I can’t wait for our next race, for every twist and turn that life throws at us. With you by my side, I know we can handle anything.” I smiled, the simple truth in his words echoing in my heart. “And I promise to be your lucky charm, your partner on and off the track, every single day.”

In the soft glow of the early morning, as city lights blurred past and the horizon hinted at a new day, I felt a deep contentment. Our conversation had been a perfect blend of humor, nostalgia, and heartfelt promises—a testament to a love that was both fierce and tender, wild and beautifully unguarded. Every word we’d exchanged that night, every laugh and every whispered hope, had woven itself into the fabric of our shared story. It was a story that would continue to unfold lap after lap, through races won and challenges met, in a journey that was as unpredictable as it was deeply cherished.

I knew then, as I drifted into the quiet promise of sleep later that night, that our lives were intertwined in a way that transcended the superficial expectations of fame and the fleeting nature of public adoration. We were two souls racing side by side through life—each twist, each turn, every unexpected detour serving only to draw us closer together. And as the soft hum of the engine merged with the gentle cadence of our laughter, I realized that the real magic wasn’t in the red carpet moments or the glamorous events, but in the countless, unspoken promises we made in between: the secret smiles, the whispered confidences, and the tender touch of a hand that said, “I’m here, always.”

That night at SNL’s 50th Anniversary wasn’t just another glamorous event. It was a celebration of our shared journey—a race that had started with a chance encounter and blossomed into a love that defied expectations. And as we navigated the winding road ahead, filled with the unknown and the exhilarating, I held on to the truth that every lap, every finish line, was a step towards a future where our hearts would always beat as one.

In the quiet moments of the dawn, as the city slowly woke up to a new day, I whispered to myself, “Here’s to every lap we run together, to every victory that fills our hearts, and to a love that races on against all odds.” And somewhere in the soft light of morning, I knew Pedro felt the same—a promise that no matter where life’s unpredictable track led us, we would always find our way back to each other, hand in hand, heart to heart.

The journey wasn’t about winning every race or finishing first—it was about sharing every moment, every laugh, every heartfelt conversation that made our souls sing. And in that unspoken understanding, our love story continued—vivid, relentless, and as breathtaking as the open road at sunrise.

[willreigns]

Waiting

Nothing changed Levi, he’s always been like this—broody—not so much the forgetful part. But you loved him anyway, and that was enough for him.

It started with the little things, until Levi forgot to shut off the sink one night, ruining the kitchen floorboards.

CW: Post-war Levi x fem!reader, angst, memory and cognitive decline, major character death

A/N: I cried while I wrote this. Happy late Valentine's Day XOXO ~2.2k words

It started with the little things. A forgetfulness masked by old age, and yet it always felt like something more. 

Levi Ackerman was anything if not prideful, and yet the confusion that dazed him at times forced him to tell you, his beautiful wife, that he was struggling with something deep, so much so that you urged him to visit the doctor.

He hated doctors. He had enough of them after the Battle of Heaven and Earth. Prodding, pestering, painfully pricking at him to ensure he remained alive until adequate care could arrive. Who would’ve known it’d take weeks?

And so, Levi hated doctors—but he loved you, his wife, so much that he’d bear through another annoying visit. If anything to soothe your mind that this is just him in his old age, that this is nothing more than another bumpy hill before he’d get better.

He saw it all his mind, you’d wheel him to the doctor’s office, just so that they’d tell him the war changed him, and that many war veterans face mental struggles. Then they’d charge an arm and a leg for the “prognosis”. You’d happily give payment if it meant Levi’s just fine—as fine as Levi Ackerman could be, but fine was good.

Nothing changed Levi, he’s always been like this—broody—not so much the forgetful part. But you loved him anyway, and that was enough for him.

It started with the little things, until Levi forgot to shut off the sink one night, ruining the kitchen floorboards.

You’d seen Levi swing through trees to face the ugliest of titans, seen him fight through despite the pains in his body, and yet that first harrowing face of forgetfulness stuck with you.

The doctor’s appointment was moved up from next month to next week. 

You wheeled him to the office, hands on the push handles subtly shifting every now and then to pull the graying bangs from his forehead to behind his ear. His hair is getting long, you think. It’s time for a haircut and he hasn’t even mentioned it.

The doctor says that war changed Levi. That many war veterans face many mental illnesses—and yet Levi’s is a strange and unique one, one that the doctor’s heard of but very, very rarely. As if done with the novelty of being “unique”, Levi scoffs at the doctor, limping from the examination table back to his wheelchair.

“Well then, your job is to cure this right?” The doctor’s face is blank and expressionless.

“There’s no cure.”

The walk back to your home is silent, more silent than you think you can bear. Your hands on Levi’s push handles stay put, no longer casting them towards his hair for loving caresses. You don’t want to impose on his boundaries after a conversation like this—Levi wishes you would.

Dinner is eaten silently, deep contemplation overtakes the both of you.

“Screw what the doctor said,” he utters.

“What?”

“I said screw what the doctor said, I just won’t forget. I can’t imagine it can be so difficult.” For some reason, it felt like the easiest solution in the world. You beam at him and the hopeful look in your eyes make him feel warm.

Of course, you think, Levi won’t let you down. Levi who's survived it all would fight this too, and things will be as normal as they can be.

“What’s with the shit eating grin,” Levi asks you one afternoon. You had just come back from the local market.

“I brought you this journal,” and you shove the bound papers into his lap.

“You can write everything you remember, the ladies at the market told me it helps with memory loss.”

“You didn’t—”

“No, I haven’t.”

Levi’s reluctance to let anybody know his illness was debilitating, your friends would definitely care if something were going on. But Levi’s image has already been impacted once—he didn’t want to add another smear to the already imperfect painting.

And so, Levi writes, albeit only in the evenings and when you are fast asleep. He writes of his mother, his friends, his squad, Hange and Erwin.

He writes about you.

Your name, the day he met you, a cheeky soldier with a death wish, as he likes to say. He writes about the day he told he you he loved you and first kissed you, the day he married you. He wrote about it while it was still fresh in his mind, where he willed for it to remain, where he begged for it to remain, for the rest of his life.

Levi forgets your birthday. 

It’s a good thing others didn’t, because neighbors and friends arrived to give you well wishes. He kisses you at the end of the night and you smile at him, and you forget about him forgetting.

Levi forgets about the chicken in the oven.

Fortunately, you arrive on time to salvage dinner, some of the skin burned, but digestible. He apologizes, face red in embarrassment. You tell him it’s nothing.

Every morning you inspect the journal while Levi rests, warm with the memories that still persist. Levi’s fighting, you think to yourself, everything will be alright.

Things remain in limbo for a while, with you picking up the pieces of Levi’s forgetting mind and putting them in their place. It remains like that for a while, you reminding Levi of the things he’s supposed to be doing. 

Suddenly, so suddenly, you come home one morning to find Levi struggling to stand, finding support in the nearby table.

“Levi,” you exclaim, “what the hell are you doing?”

He seems almost startled by you, but he clenches his jaw in defiance.

“Where the hell is everybody? We need to stop Eren, and I’m just sitting here doing nothing.”

Suddenly, so suddenly, it’s like you’ve woken up and are facing reality for the first time. 

The tears slip from your eyes, the hands by your side clenching and unclenching into fists. Levi looks at you with a stern expression, calling your name, but you ignore him as you walk away. You hide in your bedroom.

Levi talks of titans for two days straight, washes the same dishes several times, asks you where Hange and Erwin were, before finally snapping back into reality.

You’re crumpled on your bed and he sinks there with you, head falling into your shoulder. He’s silent in quiet horror, you’re silent in quiet loneliness. He apologizes over and over. You tell him it’s okay.

The frayed edges of Levi’s mind begin to tear at the seams, the gaps in his mind no longer something he can conceal. He wills himself to write. Where there was once lengthy journal entries, now repetitive sentences covered the pages.

We are living in year 86x. The war has ended.

Erwin Smith is dead. Hange Zoe is dead.

The war has ended.

The war has ended.

The war has ended.

Levi forgets your anniversary, Levi forgets to bathe, Levi forgets the route home when he steps out to buy…something—he can’t remember what he was supposed to buy.

To avoid your pained gaze, Levi’s wheelchair permanently lives near the window in the corner of the living room. Away from disturbing you, away from being near you.

Things remain like this for a while. You wait—for what, you don’t really know. You watch Levi scramble day in and day out, until he finally stills, hands in his lap, staring outside the window.

After months, you inspect his journal, wanting to feel hope, wanting to remind yourself that Levi’s fighting, that he’s trying.

The last journal entry was weeks ago. All that remain are scribbles. Levi remembers the routine, but does’t remember what he’s supposed to do. 

The doctor says there’s nothing left to do, and so you watch your husband implode. And oh you wouldn’t wish this on your worst enemy. To watch the man that loves you forget you. To watch as the man you love forgets everything.

Levi’s exhaustion is apparent from where he sits. He holds his teacup, fingers feeling weird where they were. Why does he hold teacups like this?

But only when he forgets your name does your own world implode, the bits and pieces of your self floating, with nobody to piece you together.

He doesn’t sleep in your bedroom anymore, only married people do that. In Levi’s mind, he’s respecting you, an unmarried woman, and so his permanent spot by the window also becomes the spot where he sleeps.

The doctor gives him a couple of more weeks, but it’s months of confusion, months of gazing into nothing, grasping at far away memories. 

Where’s Erwin?

Where’s Furlan and Isabel?

Where’s my mother?

You remind Levi that they’re gone, but that they’re waiting for him. Wherever they are.

You wait. For what, you don’t know.

It’s months of self hatred, before for a moment, Levi finds relief; clarity.

You catch him staring at you one evening, when you’re cleaning the dishes of tonight’s dinner.

“You remind me of someone I used to love,” Levi tells you.

Your heart catches, blood freezing, before you smile, a shaky breath escaping you.

“Yeah,” you respond, “used to?” 

Levi stays silent. You’ve long gotten used to the silence and the quiet contemplation, but for some reason you are compelled to look at him.

You are used to his lost gaze, used to the permanent furrowed brows that are always deep in thought. Is it your lover trying to remember you? The fighter in him, still combatting the destruction of his mind?

You look at him like a teacher looks at their student, the answer at the tip of their tongue, the knowledge in the deepest part of their mind, waiting to be brought out.

You are used to the defeated glance of despair, the quiet confusion that tells you help me.

You are not used to, however, the look that now graced Levi’s face.

Recognition. It startles you. It startles him.

He calls your name and your breath hitches. You can’t help the tears that slip. He says your name, over and over again and you walk over from the kitchen counter to his spot by the window, toppling over his wheelchair in an embrace. Your face falls into the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around you.

“You married me,” he says quietly, “why?”

You’re quiet, not trusting your voice to not fall and break down, but force yourself to speak anyway.

“I love you,” you say, voice hoarse, “that’s why.”

Neither of you say anything else. His face falls into your shoulder and he breathes you in—you smell familiar, look familiar too. Perhaps Erwin and Hange can tell him later who you are and why you’re embracing him. You’re just too warm to let go right now. All he knows is that you’re his wife—his beautiful wife.

For the first time in a long time, Levi wheels himself into your shared bedroom and sleeps next to you. For the first time in a long time, things feel normal.

That chilly evening, Levi left your world.

It wasn’t his world anymore, no—hadn’t been his world in a long time. His permanently furrowed brows have relaxed, and finally his face appeared peaceful. You were glad. Even if you sobbed quietly for him to come back, you were glad.

All that was left was to wait.

You waited.

You waited for death.

Your gray hair swayed with the breeze one fateful morning. Something clicked within you, something about the peace that morning made you smile an all knowing smile. What’s with the shit-eating grin, you could almost hear Levi ask you. 

That night, neighbors and former comrades surrounded you, their children in another room to spare them the pain and grief that came with death. You were glad that they didn’t have to see you. At a young age you had been a witness to countless deaths at the hands of titans and the world, let them salvage their innocence for a bit longer.

You were in delirium. You were drifting, memories and glimpses of your life flashing before you, it all felt so real. Your parents, the scouts, the war. The most prominent moments though were the ones with Levi. It was then you realized that you had almost forgotten what he looked like before his injuries. You had almost forgotten what he sounded like before illness overtook him.

Captain Levi Ackerman. A symbol of hope.

Levi. Just Levi. The man you had fallen in love with.

You smiled fondly as you felt the tendrils of your mortality begin to blur; the feeling of peace filled you, it felt like falling into a deep sleep. And the peace continued to lull you, leading you to nothing and infinity all at the same time. 

You wandered, away from the cries of the world, and suddenly, a silence.

Then, you saw him. Your face broke out into a beaming smile.

“Levi,” you called out to your lover, your feet moving automatically to reach him.

There he was, his vision clear, his limbs intact, not a single layer of exhaustion on him. His face broke out in a small smile and he called out to you; you felt whole again.

There he was. Waiting for you. 

[aheathen-conceivably]

The last rays of daylight were shining across the desert, casting shadows that would soon turn into uninterrupted patches of darkness in the moonlight. Rippling alongside them was joyful laughter coming from a farmyard tucked into the hills. The inhabitants had been outside since midday, when Violette had returned home from school to find two horses waiting for her.

Despite the waning sun or the cooling temperatures, she still insisted they all stay out there, just so she could spend every last minute around the foal she had named Ozma, after the princess of Oz.

As the sun drifted further toward the hidden reaches of the distant orange hills, even the horses began to grow tired. The lively laughter and trotting of horse hooves faded to quiet happiness in turn. Further toward the fence where they were just outside of ear shot, Zelda and Antoine sat looking across the yard and talking quietly. “I take it you still don’t approve?”

Zelda kicked at the sand softly, just as uncomfortable to say anything now as she had been the first time. “It’s not that I don’t approve. I simply wish you would have asked me. I just worry - I worry we’ll spoil her to the real world. How’s a boy supposed to live up to all of this when that time comes?”

“He isn’t. That’s the point. Why would you want her to settle for less than the world?” He cleared his throat, tamping down the protectiveness that was beginning to verge too close to anger. “I’m sorry. I just - I know how hard she’s taken the change - with Jo and I leaving. I had hoped this would help keep her company. But you’re right. I should have spoken with you first.”

Zelda gave him a small nod, glancing back to where their daughter looked the happiest she had in years. Her beaming smile quieted any remaining reservations she may have had. 

Antoine cleared his throat again, as though eager to change the subject. “So have you heard from him? About the grant?”

Zelda lowered her head into her hands, continuing to watch the happy scene play out in front of her as she shook her head. “I did. He wrote to say that his proposal was accepted. He asked if I could meet with him next week to begin cataloguing all his works.”

“Zelda! Why - why haven’t you told me? We should be celebrating you today.”

She shot him a look, as though to tell him to keep his voice down. “Because I’m not going to take it, that’s why. ” She raised her head from her hands, a sense of misplaced conviction in her voice as she gestured in front of her with her chin. “Look at them. They’re happy, Antoine. Happy for the first time in how long? Everything is going back to normal after so much pain and suffering and I can’t ruin that.”

He looked out across the yard with her, although he spoke in her direction to ensure that no one else could hear. "My love. You can’t make choices for everyone else’s happiness your whole life.”

Deep inside the pit of her stomach she swallowed a retort that had crept up the back of her mind. And what about the choices I made for your happiness?

“Hey. Look at me.” As usual, she did as he asked, immediately forgetting the brief nausea that had arisen with her ire. “They love you, alright? We all love you. You won’t ruin anything by doing this. And Gio came out here because he believed in something. You’re a lot more alike than you realize, and he won’t begrudge you for doing what he himself would do a hundred times over.”

He looked at her, sensing the lingering fear behind her distance. “And you don’t have to worry about me or Lottie. We aren’t going anywhere. You deserve a chance to try, just like everyone else.”

Just as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, she moved closer to him and put her head on his shoulder. They both knew that meant her reservations had softened, and his words had worked. As she looked across the yard all she could hope was that she was wrong, and that this change would be good for them all.

Previous / Next

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Falling Behind

Synopsis: The Prefect has ADHD and was medicated for it back in their old world, but when they go to Crowley for help getting a diagnosis here, he brushes them off. They proceed to struggle until finally breaking down. (+ Crewel basically steps up as a father figure)

TW: Pretty descriptive with the negative effects of The Prefect's ADHD, Talk of medication, The Prefect cries, Crowley says the usual things people who deny/downplay ADHD say, Crewel has the "Help me help you talk" with The Prefect, The Prefect cries and is overall just GOING THROUGH IT

NOTE: I went off of my experience as a person diagnosed with ADHD and medicated for it. My experience with it won't apply to everyone else with it, but rest assured this won't be a fic that portrays ADHD like a silly, goofy little quirk. (This is a pretty self-indulgent fic, tbh)

Many people who are diagnosed with ADHD and medicated accordingly have the thought cross their minds everyone in a while of "Do I really need the medicine?" When you're on ADHD medication for long enough, you forget what it's like to not function at the level you do when taking it. The memories of the difficulty focusing can slip away with time and leave you doubting. You were no exception.

Key word is were.

When you got thrown into Twisted Wonderland you learned pretty quickly that the medicine in fact does help and that you in fact do need it.

But how would you even go about getting it here? You'd need a diagnosis and for that you'd need a psychiatrist and for that you'd need money (and an official identity which you did not have as an alien to this world).

You tried bringing it up to Crowley, but he brushed it off. He said the same lines you had heard 100 times before, many of which you found yourself thinking from time to time: "You just need to make yourself work. You're unmotivated." and, while he didn't say it out loud, you could clearly tell that what he was really saying was that you were lazy.

You suppose you should have expected as much. No headmage that gave two hoots about mental health would be running a school that has no student counselor.

After that interaction you had resigned yourself to the fact that you'd have to come to terms with being a student and doing schoolwork with no relief to your condition.

You tried your best, you really did. You sat at your desk for hours on end as you tried to finish a simple homework sheet, but hours passed with virtually no progress being made. You couldn't force yourself to focus. When you did your body protested. Your brain refused to allow a single proper thought to form and your eyes wouldn't focus. If you forced the issue further, it only got worse. Your and eyes felt somehow heavier than usual and sometimes you swore they were slowly liquifying to a goo in your skull.

You didn't bring it up to your friends. You felt weird talking about it with them. One too many times being told you were faking or doing it for attention you suppose.

Your grades began to slip. Deadlines popped up when you could have sworn you had more time. You made little mistakes you chastised yourself for. You knew the material. You knew you knew the material.

. . .so why were you messing up.

Assignments piled up and slipped through the cracks. It's not like your teachers could notice how out of character this was for you. They didn't know how well you typically functioned when medicated, and it's not like you told them about the disorder in the first place.

Each night you held back tears of frustration as you tried desperately to get any work done. You weren't one to cry easily. In fact, you hadn't cried since you got to Twisted Wonderland, and even before that it had been a while since you last allowed tears to drip from your eyes.

But everyone has a breaking point.

You had gotten so far behind on your assignments that it was decided you needed more than to simply stay in the classroom to work during lunch and you were put in after school tutoring (although it felt more like detention).

The first few weeks you managed to keep it together. You taped over the holes that chipped away into your composure and did your best to hold down the storm of emotions that thrashed violently inside of you.

Another day of after school tutoring came around. By now not even Grim was having to stay for these sessions. There were other students that were in them, but they were in a separate classroom. You knew what was happening even if nobody outright said it.

You sat in Crewel's empty classroom for the second week in a row. The clock on the wall ticked impossibly loud. Every sound around you was amplified tenfold and you could feel it wearing on you. Your arms shook in a sick combination of frustration and exhaustion as you tried in vain to get one question done.

You could feel the ugly jaws of your pent-up emotions gnashing away at your already tattered walls of composure.

Crewel sighed as you once again failed to answer the question: "Look, I really do want to help you, but in order for that to happen I need you to cooperate and listen to me. Right now, it feels like you aren't doing that."

You had had this conversation with him before; with all your teachers for that matter. You used to it. YOU WERE USED TO IT.

You chanted the phrase in your head over and over again.

"What do you not understand."

He didn't say it in a malicious way. He sounded genuine, just. . .exhausted.

He didn't know. He wasn't aware of the storm in your stomach slowly making its way to your eyes. He didn't know.

You don't blame him, but when he said those words you finally broke.

It wasn't anything grand or dramatic like you see in movies. A small catch of your breath in a short-lived attempt to hold it together and then tears. You choked on your sobs as you tried to quell them. The only thing worse than crying is crying in front of people.

Your knees curled up onto the bench and up to your chest and you hugged them: trying to hide your face and muffle your sobs.

It was no use. Crewel already saw the tears.

He was momentarily stunned at how suddenly you seemed to break down and could only watch as your whole body shook with the sobs you were trying so desperately to hold in.

When he finally snapped out of it he was still unsure of what to do, so he did the only thing he could.

You felt his large, fluffy coat be draped over your shoulders before he somewhat awkwardly sat a comfortable distance away from you as he waited for you to calm down.

When your sobs finally quieted to small whimpers he apologized for making you cry.

You explained it wasn't his fault and, after a bit of silence, you explained to him what was wrong.

He sat with you and listened patiently as you told him about your ADHD, the trouble you'd been having since you got here, and finally recounted your interaction with Crowley.

He led you to the infirmary not far from his office, telling you he'd be back soon and to rest for the time being.

Luckily for Crewel, the headmage's office was just about as far away from the infirmary as it could be.

He could scream as loud as he wanted without disturbing you.

By the time he returned to the infirmary it was late. He was about to apologize for leaving you there so long but stopped himself.

There on the bed was your exhausted form curled up in his coat and sleeping peacefully.

The next day he asked you a few more questions, and the day after that, he accompanied you to the doctor's office. (you didn't bother asking how he managed to get you registered as an actual person)

You went through suspiciously less steps than you had back in your old world to get the diagnosis, but you just chalked it up to the fact that it was clear by your appearance that you had been going through it.

You got your medicine the same day. Wait. . .did Crewel just tell the pharmacist he was picking it up for his child?

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[sssammich]

fic: if only today had been any other day

hello hello

this is inspired by @ekingston's flash fiction challenge! she was so right tho like i ended up making my wip list worse by adding this on there. but whatever it's off the wip list and now on the complete list, so!

ANYWAY here's what i spun:

genre: tragedy premise: in a fender bender trope: idiots to lovers subject: bandaids

word count: 1000

(LINK TO AO3)

pls enjoy thx love u bye

--

"Kara, there's something I want to tell you."

"Everything okay?"

"Yes. I think so."

"You think so?"

"It's a good thing. I hope."

"Lena, you're—ah, sorry, hang on a sec, I'm getting a call."

"Answer it."

"But—"

"It could be important."

"Lena…"

"It's okay. We have time."

She pushed the dilapidated convenience store door open. Relieved the shelves somehow hadn't been completely ransacked, she only took what she needed, the rest for anyone else who showed up after. She stopped by the makeshift pharmacy shelf, eyeing a first-aid kit that dangled on its broken handle. It couldn't hurt to retrieve it, benefiting from a few extra bandaids. The kit was soon buried under all the provisions she could stomach for the rest of her travels.

Finally she headed to the register, hoisted the basket onto the counter until she remembered.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she knew it wouldn't do to dwell. She retrieved the basket and left.

—

"Come with me."

"Lena."

"Please. Please, Kara. Please."

"I'm sorry, Lena. But I can't leave, not until I know they can't get to you."

—

The accident would have been ruled as a simple fender bender. Unfortunate, yet unsurprising: trudging through slick rain, the car hydroplaning just to slide and crash against whatever was ahead. Incurred damage wouldn't have cost more than a small pittance in her coffers before the fender was fixed anew.

It would have been an ordinary thing.

Except nothing was the same and hadn't been for a long time.

—

"Breaking news: National City has been invaded by an aggressive alien race known as the Daxamites. Supergirl and Superman stand at the helm of the fight, backed by various military forces while officials evacuate as many of the citizens to safety."

—

Her hands shook from the adrenaline more than the impact, glancing at the stationary car in front of her.

She gripped the wheel as she focused on evening her breathing and calming her pulse.

Had anything else happened, the back of that car could have been the last thing she ever saw. Slamming the brakes and bracing for impact could have been the last thing she ever did. Regret wrapped so viciously around her mind, her heart, when she thought instead of what she wished she'd done, what she wished she'd said.

Before it had been too late.

Fat drops of tears fell in succession down her cheeks unable to stop the outpour of her emotions, of her grief, at the world that once was.

—

"You have to go, Lena. There's no time."

"Tell me she's okay."

"She's okay."

"Alex—"

"They have her, but she's alive. They have her and they'll use her to get to you. Please, just—go for now and once we figure out what's really going on, I'll find you."

"How?"

"Because you'll find me first and let me know where you are. Isn't that how this works?"

"…"

"…"

"I never got to tell her."

"Ten bucks says she already knows."

—

She arrived at the sanctuary early the next morning, just after dawn, her body exhausted from more than just the drive. She stood by the side of her car, glad to stretch out the ache in her limbs, her joints. Before her was an old church, stained glass windows bright against the rising sun.

She'd lost her faith somewhere along the way, somewhere around the time a flash of blonde, red, and blue dropped from the sky and failed to get back up again. Somewhere along the thousands of miles she'd traveled all over the country, making herself useful, making herself forget.

She hoisted the small basket of supplies and water from the backseat and took a forward step towards the large wooden doors. She paused when said doors creaked open and out came an empathetic face and a welcoming smile.

"Kelly, hi."

"You made it."

—

"Name?"

"Kieran Walsh."

"Where you coming from?"

"Metropolis."

"A long ways away."

"There's nothing left there."

"Where you headed?"

"North."

"…"

"…"

"Let her through. Safe driving out there, Kieran Walsh."

"Thanks."

—

Kelly gathered up her meager basket of offerings and placed them in the pantry before seating her at the large table with a cup of tea.

"Can I get you anything else?"

She shook her head, satisfied with simply taking a deep breath of the soothing tea and the warmth of a familiar face. Kelly placed a hand atop hers.

"Alex is coming back in a week. Last I heard."

Lena clasped Kelly's hand between hers, anchoring herself in case she dared to hope too much. Too soon. Too fast. "You think she…" afraid to finish.

"I hope so."

—

"I miss you."

—

The rumble of a vehicle startled her awake, having pulled up in front of the church. She rushed from her cot, but lingered by the door when Kelly greeted Alex with a tight hug. Alex pulled away and caught Lena's eye, tilting her head towards the backseat of the black tinted van.

She didn't move, not right away, not until Alex nudged her with a tap on her hand arm and, "You owe me ten bucks, Luthor."

—

"There's a sanctuary ten hours north of National City. Head there as soon as you can."

—

A trembling hand pulled the van door open and revealed a face she'd missed for nine grueling months. After the world had been turned upside down and she'd lost everything she'd ever known and loved while on the lam just to survive.

In the middle of it all was Kara who now sat with her arm in a sling and whose visage bore a long scar that sliced through the right side of her face, shutting her eye permanently. Still, the smile was there, directed at her.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"You wanted to tell me something?"

Lena laughed, despite the anguish and grief that had carved a cathedral inside of her, and simply wrapped her arms around her heart's greatest wish before she kissed Kara soundly on the mouth. A taste of homecoming.