#hell there were some little kids (like 10 or something) and they were quiet too

[a-chaotically-small-lunta]

Me going to the Fnaf movie laughing at parts and enjoying the film.

The end of the film rolls and the tombstones FNAF song plays during the credits.

Me: *starts singing it*

The girls in front of me

[arilevenatz]

Ideal Trip

Pairing: San x reader

Genre: Action, fluff

Word count: 15.2k (💀)

Warnings: San is kinda not a nice man at first, but then he is!, blood, monsters getting mutilated, but it's for like 5 seconds so don't worry.

AN: I legit had a dream of this. This dream happened after crazy form teaser pics dropped and I had this in my drafts for that many days. I hope y'all like this as well. Please consider liking and pls reblog as it motivates me to write more!

The school that we are currently standing in front of is called 'The Ideal School'. Literally, that's it's name. Talk about overestimation. Even though it is called so, it is nothing like your average good school.

You see, it's an old school. Older than I can remember. Heck, my father was a student at this school.

And we came here to give an exam, a Mock test in particular. Some of our friends applied for this. Well, their parents did. And me you ask? I was here because, and these are my mom's words, "you will give the exam because all of your friends are giving it".

Yeah me and dad thought it was bullshit.

But as both of us are scared of her shouting and making the house a circus, I decided to give it.

And so here we are, sitting inside one of the classrooms on the ground floor. My classmates were there, as well as students from other schools.

The walls here are really old, covered in writings that stretch across the walls, doors, and windows. It feels so different from my school, and I can’t help but find it a bit strange.

Time passed and we were just chatting when all of a sudden there was this commotion in the corridor.

Us being curious little kids we went outside. We somehow got to know that a boy has been found sneaking in the canteen and going through the food stash.

I don't know why, but all of us went there. Why? To see the commotion there? Tsk, kids.. where is the canteen?

Reaching the canteen, we saw that the child who had dared to sneak in was being scolded. The teacher was saying something about punishing the kid. The kid, no older than 10, looked traumatized by the screaming teacher.

They are pretty strict with this" I asked one of my friends.

"I wouldn't last a day here" she replied with a chuckle.

I heard one of my other classmates say something but before that a high pitched sound pierced my ears.

My hands instinctively flew to my ears as black spots began to creep into my vision. And then, everything went dark.

Aw come on I came here to give a test not to pass out. Get up you weak ass bitch.

You do wake up, but not where you expect. This isn’t The Ideal. It’s your school. The one four stations away.

What. The. Hell.

The bell rings. The freaking bell.

You try to calm yourself, but panic bubbles up. You’re in your classroom, lying on one of the benches. Groggily, you push yourself up using your elbows and glance around.

Beside you, someone stirs.

“Wake up,” you mutter, shaking her.

“Five more minutes,” she grumbled.

“This isn’t your house! We’re at school!”

“School?!”

She bolt upright, eyes wide and frantic, looking more like a confused puppy than anything else.

The two of you quickly realize you’re in your classroom. Familiar, but something about it feels… off.

“Should we go out?” she ask softly, looking at the door.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

You peek out first. The hallway is unsettlingly quiet. Too quiet. Something feels very, very wrong.

The two of you head to the neighboring classroom, where your other friends sit cluelessly at their desks.

“Surprise, motherfuckers,” you announce.

“Ah!”

“So, what’s the deal?” you ask, ignoring their startled expressions.

“The stork?” one of them jokes, earning her a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

You sigh. "We need to figure this out. Let’s go.”

As the defacto leader of your little group, your friends all look at you for guidance. You don’t remember volunteering for the job, but it’s become second nature by now.

The layout of the school flashes in your mind—there’s the main building, the field, the stage at the far end, and the smaller two-story building beside it, home to the singing room. It’s always been your favorite spot.

Stepping outside, you’re greeted by chaos.

No, worse than chaos. Something you can’t explain.

Students, rows upon rows of them, march silently across the school grounds like lifeless puppets. Their faces are blank, their movements robotic.

And suddenly, you’re alone.

You whirl around. Where are they? Your friends who were just right here. You rack your brain, desperate to remember, but all you get are fragments: the classroom, the field, the students, their uniforms.

But the uniforms are wrong. These kids aren’t wearing your school uniform. They’re dressed in plain white—head to toe.

A chill runs down your spine.

You look down at yourself. Your uniform’s still intact: white shirt, blue skirt, tie. No jacket, though. Why the hell didn’t the school provide winter coats? It’s freezing.

Your breath comes out in shaky puffs as you call out for your friends.

Nothing.

The silent students turn to look at you, their blank faces unnerving.

“What are you looking at?” you mutter, backing away instinctively.

Before you realize it, you’re standing in the middle of the field. How did you get here? Your legs feel like they’re moving on their own.

Your mind races. This has to be a nightmare. Right?

Your feet carry you toward the singing room, up the stairs of the two-story building. Maybe it’s your love for music—or the connection you’ve always had with the music teacher—but something about this place feels… safe.

The door to the music room looms in front of you, larger than usual. Slowly, you push it open.

Inside, your teacher sits at the piano, but something is horribly wrong.

He’s completely black. Not in a racial sense—his entire body is an inky void, like a shadow brought to life. The contrast is so stark it makes your chest tighten.

You stagger back, trying to be as silent as possible, but the universe seems to hate you. Your shoe scrapes against the floor.

The shadow turns to face you.

Your breath catches. For a moment, it doesn’t move. Slowly, you back away, step by step, until you’re near the stairs.

And then, it bolts toward you.

Your legs carry you down the stairs, sprinting as fast as they can. The ‘krt krt’ sound of the thing chasing you sends shivers down your spine.

You run across the field, not daring to look back. The students don’t react, as if this is all normal to them.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you collapse onto the stairs, exhaustion seeping into your bones. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shield your face as if it’ll protect you from whatever is coming. The sound of your own ragged breathing fills your ears, but it’s soon overtaken by another noise.

It’s faint at first—a low, guttural growl, followed by the unsettling ‘krt krt’ sound that echoes in your mind. Your chest tightens. You don’t dare look up.

It’s here.

You brace yourself, every nerve in your body screaming for you to move, but your muscles refuse to obey. Your breath catches as the sound grows louder, closer, until you swear you can feel its presence looming over you.

This is it.

And then, it happens.

A sharp, metallic sound slices through the air, followed by an agonized screech that makes your blood run cold. You flinch, instinctively pulling your arms tighter around your head. The screeching stops abruptly, replaced by silence so heavy it feels like the world itself is holding its breath.

When you dare to look up, your eyes widen.

There, standing a few feet away, is someone you’ve never seen before.

The first thing you notice is the knife in his hand—long, sleek, and dripping with blood. The blade glints faintly under the dim light, a cruel contrast to the dark substance staining it.

Then your gaze travels upward.

His silhouette is sharp and commanding, radiating a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. He's tall, with a posture that exudes confidence and danger all at once. But it’s his face that steals your breath away—delicate yet fierce, almost otherworldly. His features are so striking it’s hard to tell if he's beautiful or terrifying.

But the most jarring detail is his hair.

Bright fiery red with black highlights, with contrast to his pale face, the colors clash in a way that should look ridiculous but instead feels hauntingly perfect. The contrast is mesmerizing, drawing your eyes like moths to a flame. You don’t even like red, but on them, it feels… powerful.

He glanced down at the lifeless black figure sprawled across the ground, his expression unreadable. Blood pools beneath it, the deep crimson stark against the pale concrete.

For a moment, it’s like time itself has frozen.

Your savior turns, his piercing gaze finally meeting yours.

It’s only for a second, but it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs. His eyes—sharp, unyielding—cut through you like the blade they wield. There’s something chilling about the way he looks at you, as if he's staring straight into your soul.

You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

Before you can process what’s happening, he turns away.

“Wait!” you call out, scrambling to your feet despite the ache in your legs.

He doesn't stop.

You stumble forward, your mind racing with a thousand questions. Who is he? How did he know you were here? What even was that thing he just killed?

But before you can take another step, something cold wraps around your ankle, yanking you down with a force that sends you crashing to the ground.

The floor wasn’t soft, and neither was your chin. Pain radiated through your jaw as you lay there, groaning. “It hurts like a bitch,” you muttered, clutching your face.

When you glanced down, though, any complaints about the fall evaporated.

There, gripping your ankle, was a dismembered hand.

Cold, pale fingers dug into your skin, unmoving, yet somehow alive.

A guttural scream tore from your throat, raw and uncontrolled. You kicked instinctively, but it held firm. Panic rose, choking you, as you clawed at the ground to pull yourself away.

Before you could react further, like a thunderbolt, the guy reappeared. He raised the blade high and brought it down with a sickening crunch.

Again.

And again.

The hand was reduced to a mushy, unrecognizable mess as he hacked at it relentlessly. Blood splattered across the floor and your legs, and the wet, squelching noise made bile rise in your throat.

“Stop! Stop, it’s gone!” you wanted to scream, but your voice refused to come.

Finally, he crouched down, prying the mangled remains from your ankle. His fingers worked quickly, efficiently, peeling the cold digits away.

He stood up, wiping the blood from his hands on his pants, and turned to leave without a word.

“Wait!”

Your voice cracked, desperate, but it was enough to make him stop.

He froze, mid-step, but didn’t turn around.

Scrambling to your feet, you dusted yourself off and stumbled after him.

“Excuse me, mister!” you called, your voice trembling. “Can you please tell me how to get out of here?”

He turned then, slowly, and his gaze locked onto yours. He was taller than you by at least half a head, and his dark eyes bore an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

“You…” His voice was deep, rough around the edges. “How are you talking?”

You blinked. Is he high or something?

“What?”

“And your clothes,” he continued, as if you hadn’t spoken. “They’re different. Have you… escaped the process?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snapped, your frustration mounting. “I just want to get out of here.”

“Are you from this school?” His tone sharpened, almost accusing. “Answer me.”

“Yes, but—”

Before you could finish, his hand shot out and grabbed your arm.

His grip was like iron, unyielding, and he started dragging you forward without hesitation.

“Hey!” you yelped, tugging at his hand. “Let me go! What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled against his hold. “Listen, mister! I don’t know what’s going on, okay? I just woke up here, and I don’t know what the hell happened! Please, let me go!”

He stopped abruptly, spinning around to face you. His piercing gaze made your stomach churn.

“So…” He spoke slowly, as if piecing something together. “You haven’t been processed.”

“I don’t know what that means!”

His eyes raked over you, up and down.

Did he just check me out? you thought, outraged. Whoop, whoop, that’s the sound of the police!

“Follow me,” he said curtly, turning away.

You stood your ground. “No. How do I know I can trust you?”

He chuckled, the sound low and humorless. “Do you see anyone else here you trust more?”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Damn. He had a point.

“My name is San,” he offered. “What’s yours?”

You hesitated.

“It’s fine if you don’t trust me yet,” he added, almost kindly. “But if you want to survive, you’ll follow me.”

Against your better judgment, you nodded. Your questions could wait—surviving took priority.

As you walked behind him, you glanced down at your legs and winced. Blood streaked your socks and shoes, the sticky warmth making your stomach churn.

Noticing your hesitation, San spoke without looking back. “Where’s the nearest bathroom?”

“Huh? Oh, the men’s bathroom is—”

“Does gender matter?” he interrupted. “Just tell me the closest one.”

You sighed and led him to the bathroom in the main building. He pushed the door open and strode inside, heading straight for the sink.

“Come here,” he said, gesturing at the ground in front of him.

You hesitated. “Me?”

“Yes.”

Reluctantly, you stepped closer.

“Take off your shoes and socks,” he instructed.

“What? Why?”

“They’re covered in blood,” he said simply. “And if ‘they’ track us by your bloody footprints?”

You swallowed hard. “who are they?”

His lips quirked, almost amused. “You really have no idea, do you?”

You shook your head, confused and unnerved.

“Take them off,” he said again. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

Grumbling under your breath, you crouched down, slipping off your shoes and socks, your fingers trembling slightly. San grabbed them and rinsed the shoes under the tap.

“The socks are ruined,” he muttered, tossing them aside.

He straightened up and glanced at you. “Wait here.”

Before you could protest, he was gone.

As the silence pressed down on you, the weight of your situation finally hit. You slumped onto the edge of the sink counter, your legs weak.

What if you never got out of here?

“Are you okay?”

San’s voice startled you, and you looked up to see him holding a pair of sneakers.

“They’re not your size, but they’ll have to do,” he said, handing them to you.

You slid off the counter and slipped them on. They were too big, but at least they were clean.

“Let’s go,” he said, heading for the door.

Something about him felt off—his protectiveness, his calm demeanor in the face of chaos. Why was he helping you?

You didn’t know, but for now, you decided to trust him. You didn’t have much of a choice.

San was overjoyed. Even the strongest word for happiness couldn’t capture the overwhelming elation surging through him.

He had found a human. A real, living human—someone other than himself. And not just any human, but a student from the very school they stood in.

Finally, he could go back to his family.

Well, a makeshift family, but a family nonetheless.

A group of people who had taught him that the blood of the covenant truly was thicker than the water of the womb.

He cherished them, loved them, and would do anything to protect them. Most of all, he missed them.

Every fiber of his being screamed for him to grab this girl and force her to unlock the path. He could taste freedom—it was right there within his grasp.

But San was no brute. He prided himself on being patient and calculating. He’d use this girl the right way, ensuring they both got out safely.

Still, a pang of guilt gnawed at him. She wasn’t just a tool; she was just as lost as he was, maybe even more so. Her confusion and fear were written all over her face.

But a man had to do what a man had to do.

“Hongjoong hyung,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible, “I’m coming home. Just wait a little longer.”

The sound of his own voice brought a small chuckle to his lips. Damn, I must sound like a lunatic, talking to myself like this. But it didn’t matter. He had a plan, and nothing would stop him now.

---

I had been walking for what felt like an eternity. Either this guy was playing some elaborate prank on me, or he really did live on the other side of the universe.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, we stopped in front of a room.

I recognized it immediately—this used to be the teachers’ lounge.

Now, though, it looked like he had claimed it as his own.

The room was cluttered but strangely organized. In one corner, several of those stark white uniforms the kids outside were wearing hung in neat rows.

The shelves, once filled with papers and notebooks, were now stocked with weapons and strange equipment I couldn’t identify.

A large table occupied one corner, covered in maps, papers, and a small computer that looked like it had been swiped from the computer lab.

On the opposite side, there was a pile of clothes and a small mattress on the floor. A mattress. Since when did our school have those? Where did he even get it?

“It’s getting late. You should sleep,” he said, his tone casual.

I stayed rooted at the doorway. The thought of sleeping in the same room as a man—a man I had just met—made my skin crawl.

“I don’t want to,” I replied, crossing my arms.

“Okay, then don’t,” he said, shrugging as he made his way to the mattress.

And that was it. Just like that.

Feeling slightly foolish, I shuffled over to a chair by the table and sat down. That’s when I realized just how cold it was. My legs were freezing, and my arms weren’t faring much better.

I curled up in the chair, hugging my knees in a futile attempt to stay warm.

I just wanted to sleep—sleep and maybe never wake up.

“You can wear my jacket,” his voice broke the silence.

Startled, I glanced at him. He wasn’t even looking at me, his arm draped over his eyes as he lay on the mattress.

“Is it washed?” I asked skeptically.

He let out a low chuckle. “Seriously? That’s your first concern? You’re freezing, and you’re worried about whether it’s clean?”

“Well, yeah,” I muttered.

“Do you want it or not?”

“Fine, I’ll take it,” I said, too cold to argue further.

Wrapped in his jacket, I was finally warm. The thick material cocooned me, and the lingering scent of something earthy—him—filled my senses.

It was so comforting that, before I knew it, I had passed out, slumped over the table with my arms folded under my head.

"Bro, I think San has company."

"What the fuck do you mean?"

Inside a makeshift room—cramped and chaotic with tables, equipment, holo screens, and all the clutter that a group of overgrown boys would gather—two figures were hard at work.

One of them, silver-haired and deeply focused, sat hunched over his task. Across the room, a black-haired guy with glasses was multitasking, eating a chocolate bar while working with one hand.

"Geez, stop eating while working, Wooyoung."

"I do what I fucking want, Yunho."

Yunho rolled his eyes, muttering a quiet "whatever" before cupping his hands around his mouth like someone yelling into a canyon.

"I think San has companyyy!" he sang in a childish tone.

Immediately, there was the sound of something crashing. Yunho looked up to see Wooyoung scrambling over boxes to get to him.

“What the fuck do you mean, bro?"

"Don't believe me? Just watch."

Wooyoung peered at the hologram and saw it: a red dot labeled "San," but beside it, another red dot marked "Unknown."

"You think it's a processed kid?" Wooyoung asked hesitantly.

"Doesn't seem like it. If it was processed, San wouldn’t let it stay in his room for long."

"True..."

"Hello, hello."

The two boys turned toward the door, where two figures entered the room. The first, a man with brown hair in a suit, strode in confidently. Behind him, a taller man with black hair streaked with light brown highlights followed, also suited up, both with guns in hand.

"Did you kill them, Mingi?" Yunho asked.

"Ask the maknae."

"For the love of god, hyung, I’m old enough! Stop babying me," the younger one whined, despite his protests sounding anything but mature.

"Jongho-ya, did you kill them like Hongjoong hyung asked?" Wooyoung teased, giggling.

"Yes," Jongho replied proudly.

"Aww, our Jongho’s all grown up! Come here and give hyung a hug!" Wooyoung exclaimed opening his arms and skipping toward the youngest.

"Nuh-uh, hyung. I’ve got a gun in my hand. I will rat ta-ta-ta you up."

"Wooyoung, calm down!" Yunho scolded.

While the three bickered, Mingi moved to the hologram and stared at it.

"Um, I don’t know much about your holo stuff, but I’m pretty sure someone’s in San’s room right now."

The three of them stopped, looking at him in disbelief.

"What? Am I not allowed to be smart?"

"No, it’s not that, hyung. It’s just...you were never smart to begin with," Jongho muttered, earning nods of agreement from Yunho and Wooyoung.

"Wow, the disrespect! I just helped you kill those players!"

"Okay, but jokes aside," Yunho said with urgency, "San really does have someone in his room. Should we tell Hongjoong hyung and Seonghwa hyung?"

"Tell me what?"

Speak of the devil.

Hongjoong entered the room, light brown hair slightly tousled. Though shorter than the others, his aura made it impossible to underestimate him. He was flanked by Seonghwa, the group’s oldest and de facto mom, and Yeosang, who had green hair with black stripes. Although he looked like a Greek statue, his strength is not to be underestimated.

"Tell me what, Yunho?" Hongjoong asked again, his voice firm.

"San has some company," Wooyoung blurted out.

"Ooh, really?" Yeosang chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Yes," Yunho confirmed, walking toward the hologram and shooing Mingi aside as the others crowded around him. "If you look at this red dot, you’ll see it says 'Unknown,' which means there’s an unidentified entity with San. It could be someone processed, but honestly, I doubt it. San’s not that reckless."

"I mean, he kinda is," Seonghwa remarked dryly.

"Aren’t you all?" Jongho muttered, earning glares.

"Enough, everyone," Hongjoong commanded. "Let’s focus. Wooyoung, Yunho, can we contact San right now?"

"We could," Wooyoung said hesitantly, "but wouldn’t that alert the other person?"

"Wooyoung," Hongjoong said slowly, "our priority is to ensure San comes back safely, whatever it takes. Let’s not overthink it."

"Okay, then I’ll—"

A sudden piercing sound emanated from the hologram. Yunho’s fingers flew over the controls as he opened a new tab, revealing San’s face. He was trying to contact them.

When San woke up, it was dark outside. He looked around, and the girl was still fast asleep, slumped over the table like a rock.

He walked toward the table and sat across from her, then grabbed the computer and started typing away quickly. He had recently found a way to communicate with his family, but it was only for a limited time.

"Hello?"

"Oh, hello San! Got company?"

Straight to the point, just like his best friend.

"Kinda, yeah."

"Who is it, San?" came the voice of the leader, one of his hyungs.

"A girl."

"OoooOooo—"

"Please shut up wooyoung"

"San, why do you have a random girl in your nook?" Seonghwa, the oldest, asked, his voice stern.

"Hyung, guys... she’s from this school."

A brief silence followed. No one spoke, waiting for their captain's response. Soon, a sinister grin spread across the captain's face, sending an eerie vibe through the room.

"Well, tell me more about her, San."

---

Ugh, I hate waking up.

I stirred awake to the sound of rustling clothes. Looking up, I saw, surprise, surprise, that guy again.

San. I still don’t trust him. At least he didn’t do anything while I was asleep.

He was rummaging through the white outfits stacked in the corner.

He suddenly turned, as if he could sense me watching him. "You should wear this," he said, holding up one of the outfits.

"What’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?" I replied, feeling petty.

"Sure, if you want to get attacked by a processed, be my guest." He put the outfit back in its place.

Ever since I met this guy, he’s been going on and on about these “processed” things. What the hell even are they?

"I mean to ask… what is this processed thing you keep mentioning?"

He stared at me for a few seconds, then said, "Wear this. I’ll tell you as we venture out."

---

The outfit turned out to be surprisingly comfy. It was flexible and looked good too.

It was basically a white shirt, with a white jacket and a hood over it, paired with white trousers. Pretty neat.

We were walking down the stairs when he suddenly started speaking.

"This world is a post-apocalyptic world."

Well, that’s one way to start a conversation.

"The government wants to create emotionless puppets to work for them. This world is basically full of puppets—no talking, no expressing, and most importantly..."

I looked at him, waiting. What was he going to say?

"...no music or dance."

If this was a text conversation, I would’ve sent the crickets emoji. There’s no way in hell this man just said that.

"No… music?" I asked, my voice timid.

"Yes, no music. No dance either. My family and I have been trying to bring fun back into this world. But because of some technical issues, I had to stay here."

"So, you’re staying here for a reason?"

"Yes," San said, the lies sliding off his tongue. He didn’t have a choice. To go back, he had to lie. For his plan to work, he had to lie. Did he feel bad? Who knew. The process had almost taken his emotions away, but he escaped at the right time. "And since you’re here alone, why don’t you help me with my task?"

Okay, so he sounds sketchy, but it makes sense. Damn, this is harder than choosing which album to buy, and that shit is hard...

Okay, maybe he’s starting to become a little more tolerable.

"What kind of help?"

"For now, stop being a whiny kid and listen to me."

I take back everything I just said—this guy is still a bitch.

"I’m not whiny."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

I looked around and realized we were on the ground floor, near the gate of the field. It felt so strange to see it so empty.

The emptiness of the field stretched out before you, its silence almost deafening. The once-familiar grounds now felt like a foreign, lifeless expanse, devoid of the chatter, laughter, and energy that used to fill it.

San kept walking ahead, his posture straight and his steps confident, as though he had a destination in mind. You, however, lingered near the gate, staring at the field, a strange ache forming in your chest.

"Keep up," he called over his shoulder, his tone clipped. "We don't have time to waste."

Reluctantly, you followed, your footsteps echoing against the eerily quiet surroundings.

"So," you began, your voice breaking the silence. "This whole 'no music, no dance' thing... It sounds ridiculous. How does anyone even live like that?"

"They don’t. They survive," San replied without looking back.

The words hit harder than you expected. "What do you mean?"

He stopped abruptly, turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes seemed to hold a depth of pain that made your stomach churn.

"I mean exactly that," he said. "The processed aren’t alive. They’re shells of people, controlled, used. No thoughts of their own, no emotions. Just... tools."

You shivered, though it wasn’t cold. "That’s horrifying."

"It is." His voice softened, just slightly. "That’s why my family and I were trying to change things. Music and dance... they’re not just entertainment. They’re freedom. Expression. Resistance."

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. For the first time since meeting him, you saw a glimpse of something more—a passion, a purpose that made him seem less like a cold, calculated stranger and more like someone who truly cared.

"But why you?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. "Why stay behind? Why not someone else?"

San hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer.

"It wasn’t supposed to be me," he admitted quietly. "But plans don’t always work out. Someone had to stay, and I was the only one who could.”

San lied straight through his teeth, the words slipping out with practiced ease. But deep down, a twinge of guilt gnawed at him. He hated deceiving you, especially when you looked at him with cautious curiosity, as though weighing whether to believe him.

He justified it to himself—he didn’t have a choice. If he told you the truth, that he was here because of a mishap, because things hadn’t gone according to plan, you’d never trust him. And trust was what he needed from you. Without it, his chances of getting back to his family, his real purpose, would slip away.

So, he buried the guilt and steeled his resolve.

You didn’t notice the flicker of hesitation in his gaze as he spoke, his voice steady and unwavering. "Helping me is the only way to survive here," he said. "Together, we can fix this world, bring back what’s been lost."

He sounded convincing, even to himself. And when you nodded, still wary but willing to listen, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

But as the two of you walked through the quiet expanse, San’s mind drifted back to the faces of his family, their smiles, their laughter. He thought of the nights spent planning, dreaming of a world where music and dance weren’t forbidden.

He clenched his fists. Lying to you wasn’t just for him—it was for them, for everything they were fighting for. He couldn’t afford to feel guilty. Not yet.

San’s mind was racing as he led you through the eerily quiet halls of the school. He knew one thing, which was informed to him prior by the captain. The principal’s office held the item he needed—the key to returning to his realm, to his family. But there was one problem: he couldn’t enter it himself. The rules of this world were annoyingly rigid—only a student or a staff member of the school could access the office.

And that meant he needed you.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye as you followed, your expression a mix of confusion and determination. You had no idea how critical you were to his plan. Yet, despite his guilt over using you, there was no other choice.

“The principal’s office…” he began, breaking the silence. “Do you even know where it is?”

You nod your head.

San looked relieved “That'll make things easy”

You look at him, gesturing around. “Half of here looks like it’s been taken over by… whatever you call those things.”

“Processed,” San corrected. “And they’ll make reaching the office more complicated.”

You stopped walking, folding your arms as suspicion flickered in your eyes. “Why do you even need to go there? What’s so important that it can’t wait?”

He hesitated, weighing his words carefully. “It’s something that could help us. Something that might give us a chance to survive in this place.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either.

After a few minutes of standing in silence he breaks it “We need to go somewhere to get a little information first. It's for me if you're wondering”

“Library, maybe?” you suggested.

“Good idea,” he agreed. “But the library is likely crawling with processed. We’ll have to be careful.”

The path to the library wasn’t easy. Shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally along the walls, and faint, distorted murmurs echoed through the corridors. San moved with sharp, calculated precision, motioning for you to stay close.

At one point, you almost stepped on a loose tile, but San’s arm shot out, pulling you back just as a processed shuffled by, its vacant eyes scanning the hall. The two of you froze, your breath shallow as you pressed against the wall.

The position was simply vulnerable. San’s back pressed against the wall, while yours was pressed against his chest. His one hand wrapped tightly around the front of your shoulders. Another hand held onto the knife.

Once the danger passed, you whispered, “How do you know so much about avoiding them?”

San hesitated for a moment, then replied smoothly, “I’ve been here long enough to learn their patterns. Stick with me, and you’ll be fine.”

Finally, you reached the library. The massive double doors loomed before you, slightly ajar. Inside, the faint glow of flickering lights revealed rows of dusty shelves and scattered books.

But you both knew it wouldn’t be that simple. San stepped forward, scanning the room. “Stay alert,” he warned. “The processed aren’t the only thing to worry about in places like this.”

“What else is there?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Let’s hope we don’t find out,” he muttered, his hand subtly resting on the dagger strapped to his side.

The moment you entered, the library twisted into a neon-lit maze of mirrors, the air turned cold, suffocating, like the maze itself was alive and hostile. The mirrors stretched endlessly, reflecting an infinite number of you—and none of them felt right.

“San?” you called out, panic lacing your voice.

No response.

“SAN!” This time, your voice cracked, raw and desperate.

Then you heard it—a low, guttural hiss, like the sound of something primal awakening. Your heart leapt to your throat as a shadow shifted in the reflection, something dark and unnatural slithering behind the glass.

The black void creatures emerged, their shapeless forms twisting grotesquely as they crawled from the reflections into your reality. Their hollow, inky eyes locked onto you with an intensity that froze your blood.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, adrenaline flooding your system. You bolted down the corridor of mirrors, each step echoing with a deafening clarity. The neon lights flickered erratically, casting jagged shadows of the creatures chasing you.

Behind you, the whispers started—low, distorted murmurs that seemed to claw at your sanity. They grew louder, overlapping, forming a cacophony of voices that sent shivers down your spine.

The maze twisted and shifted with every step you took, the mirrors rearranging themselves as if mocking your attempt to escape. You turned a corner and nearly collided with a reflection of yourself. But it wasn’t you—it was something else, something hollow-eyed and smiling eerily.

You screamed and turned the other way, but the creatures were gaining on you, their movements unnaturally fluid, like shadows dragged against their will.

“SAN!” you screamed, your voice cracking as tears streamed down your face.

“I’m here!” His voice rang out, faint and distant, but it was there.

Your chest heaved as you pushed forward, your feet pounding against the mirrored floor. You glanced back and instantly regretted it. The creatures were right behind you, their forms flickering and writhing like living nightmares. One of them lunged, its clawed appendage slicing through the air just inches from your shoulder.

A burst of neon light blinded you as you stumbled forward, crashing into a mirrored wall. The surface rippled under your touch, distorting your reflection. You turned, back pressed against the glass, as the creatures closed in.

The largest of them, a towering mass of void and shadow, loomed over you. Its hollow eyes burned with a hunger you couldn’t comprehend. Its whispers turned into a deafening roar as it lunged.

“NO!” you screamed, bracing for the impact.

But then the mirror behind you shattered, and an arm shot through the jagged shards, yanking you back with a force that knocked the breath out of you.

You tumbled to the ground, landing hard on the other side of the mirror. The air was different here, colder but less oppressive.

“Got you,” San’s voice came, low and fierce. His grip on your wrist was unyielding, and his eyes burned with determination.

“San!” you gasped, tears blurring your vision.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, his tone sharp and commanding.

The creatures weren’t done. They began slipping through the shattered mirror, their forms reforming with a horrifying fluidity. San pulled you to your feet, his gaze darting around, calculating.

“We’re not safe yet,” he said, his voice tight. “Run!”

He pulled you along as the creatures poured into the new corridor, their shrieks echoing through the maze. You ran as fast as you could, San leading the way, his grip never faltering.

Suddenly, you both turned a corner and saw it—a door at the far end of the maze. Relief surged through you, but your hope was quickly dashed. The door wasn’t ordinary; it was made entirely of thick, reinforced glass.

San stopped beside you, his face set in grim determination. "We’re almost there. Keep moving!" he barked, grabbing your wrist and pulling you along.

The creatures shrieked behind you, their distorted forms growing closer with every second. You both skidded to a halt in front of the glass door, and San quickly examined it.

“It’s locked!” you gasped, panic rising in your throat.

“Not for long,” San muttered.

“Huh?”

Without hesitation, he stepped back, his fists clenching. Then, with a guttural yell, he slammed his fist into the glass. A web of cracks splintered across its surface, but it didn’t shatter.

The creatures were nearly upon you, their whispers turning into a deafening roar. San didn’t stop. He struck the glass again, this time with everything he had, and the door exploded into shards with a thunderous crash.

“Go!” he shouted, grabbing you by the waist.

“Wait—what are you—”

Before you could protest, San lifted you effortlessly and hurled you through the opening. You landed on the other side with a thud, scrambling to your feet just in time to see him climb up the jagged edges of the broken door, the neon lights behind him casting an almost heroic glow around his figure.

San leapt through, landing in a crouch beside you as the creatures clawed at the shattered remains of the glass. He grabbed your hand and pulled you up.

“Run,” he commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Together, you sprinted away from the maze, the sounds of the creatures fading behind you as the two of you finally escaped its horrifying grasp.

Both of you stumbled out of the maze, panting heavily. The moment your feet hit solid ground, the mirrors behind you shimmered and collapsed inward, dissolving into nothingness. The silence that followed was deafening, the only sound being the ragged rhythm of your breathing.

San slammed his fist against the nearest wall, his jaw clenched tight. “Damn it! We failed!” His voice echoed through the empty library.

You flinched at his tone, but you didn’t blame him. After everything you had been through, it was hard to come to terms with failure.

San ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. “All of that, and we still don’t know what I needed to know. We’re wasting time we don’t have!” His eyes darkened, a rare glimpse of despair flashing through them.

You were about to try and console him when something caught your attention—a slight weight in your pocket that wasn’t there before. Your hand slipped inside, and your fingers brushed against the edges of a piece of paper.

“What the…” you murmured, pulling it out. It was old, almost fragile, the edges yellowed as if it had existed for decades. Strange symbols and scrawled writing adorned its surface.

“San,” you called softly. He didn’t respond, too busy pacing angrily.

“San,” you repeated, more firmly this time.

“What?” he snapped, turning to you, his eyes sharp.

You held up the paper. “I found this in my pocket.”

His expression shifted from irritation to confusion. He stepped closer, snatching the paper from your hand and scanning it quickly. His eyes widened as he read, his grip on the paper tightening.

“This… this is it,” he breathed, almost disbelieving.

“What is it?” you asked, peering over his shoulder.

San pointed to a phrase written in bold near the bottom of the page: “The Key to Realms: Chromer.”

“It says the key we’re looking for isn’t a traditional key. It’s a sand clock,” San explained, his voice filled with sudden urgency. “A sand clock called Chromer. And it’s in the principal’s office.”

Your brows furrowed. “A sand clock? Why would something like that be the key to anything?”

“It’s not just any sand clock,” San replied, his tone deadly serious. “The Chromer is a relic that connects dimensions. It’s what I need to go back to my realm. This is the information we were searching for.”

You both stared at the paper, the weight of its significance settling over you.

“But how did it get in my pocket?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

San shook his head, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know. Someone—or something—wanted us to have this. Whatever force controls this place isn’t done with us yet.”

The two of you exchanged a glance, the reality of the situation sinking in. The journey was far from over. If anything, it had just begun.

The hallways stretched endlessly ahead, dim and cold, as if life had been sucked out of the building. The air felt heavier with every step, and the faint echoes of your hurried footsteps reverberated eerily. San walked ahead, his shoulders tense but his movements calculated and sure.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop glancing nervously over your shoulder. The memory of those void-like attackers from the maze haunted you, and your gut told you they weren’t done yet.

“Stay close,” San said over his shoulder, his voice low.

You nodded, clutching your jacket tighter as if it could shield you. Suddenly, a shiver ran down your spine—an unnatural chill that made your skin prickle. Before you could react, a guttural sound tore through the silence.

They were back.

Out of the shadows, black void-like figures materialized, their featureless forms surging toward you. But this time, something was off. They weren’t even glancing at San. All their focus was on you.

“San!” you screamed, backing up instinctively.

San turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. “Why the hell are they only after you?” he muttered, stepping in front of you.

One of the figures lunged, and he swatted it away effortlessly with his arm. “Just stay behind me!”

“I’m trying!” you yelled, dodging another swipe from one of the creatures.

Despite his best efforts, they kept finding ways around him, their movements unnervingly quick and calculated. San could only defend so much, and his frustration was mounting.

“You need to fight back!” he barked, slashing through one of the attackers with a weapon he’d conjured from seemingly nowhere.

“I don’t know how to fight!” you snapped, ducking as another creature swiped at your head. Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of your chest.

“Then run smarter!” San shouted, his voice strained. “Don’t just run blindly—watch their movements!”

Easy for him to say. You scrambled to your feet after nearly tripping over yourself, your breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. The creatures weren’t slowing down. One lunged at you from the side, and you barely managed to dodge, crashing against the wall.

“Damn it!” San growled. He lunged forward, grabbed your arm, and yanked you toward him. “Stay close—closer!”

He practically dragged you down the hallway, his speed making it hard for you to keep up. His movements were fluid, each strike precise as he knocked away the attackers that got too close.

Still, they came.

Another void-like figure lunged directly at you, faster than the others. You couldn’t move in time. But just as its claws were about to reach you, San spun around, shielding you with his body. The creature’s attack hit him squarely in the back.

San didn’t even flinch.

“San!” you gasped.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, slashing the creature to nothingness. “But you won’t be if you don’t stop being a damn target.”

“I’m not trying to be a target!” you shot back, the fear making your voice crack.

San sighed heavily, glancing at the path ahead. “We’re almost there. You just have to survive a little longer.”

“That’s not very comforting!” you hissed.

He didn’t respond, instead focusing on cutting a path through the swarm of attackers. The principal’s office was just up ahead, its door faintly illuminated like a beacon.

“Run!” he commanded, pushing you forward.

With every ounce of strength you had, you sprinted toward the door. The attackers closed in, but San was right behind you, clearing a path and yelling for you to keep moving.

You reached the door, slamming your hands against its cold surface. It wouldn’t budge.

“It’s locked!” you shouted, panic surging.

“Move!” San barked, his voice sharp. He didn’t hesitate, driving his fist into the glass pane. It shattered instantly, the shards spraying everywhere. Without a second thought, he gripped you around the waist and hoisted you up.

“Go through!” he demanded, lifting you through the broken opening and onto the other side.

You scrambled over, your heart still racing. San quickly followed, vaulting through the broken glass. He landed beside you, his chest heaving.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the chaos behind you finally falling silent. Then San glanced at you, his expression unreadable.

“You’re alive,” he said simply, his tone more relieved than he let on.

“Barely,” you muttered, collapsing against the wall.

He smirked faintly, brushing glass dust off his clothes. “Good enough.”

Your legs felt like jelly, your lungs burned from the constant running, and every part of you was screaming to stop. The fear, the chaos—it was all too much. You pressed your back against the wall, glaring at San as he dusted himself off like nothing had happened.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you snapped, your voice trembling with exhaustion and frustration. “This is insane, San! I’m not some fighter, I’m just... I’m just a student who got stuck in this nightmare!”

San turned to you, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, as if weighing his words.

“I didn’t ask for this either,” he finally said, his voice calm but firm. “But we don’t have a choice. You’re my only shot at fixing this mess, and I’m your only shot at surviving it.”

You scoffed, throwing up your hands. “Great pep talk, really. But I’m done, San. I can’t keep running and almost dying every five minutes!”

Instead of arguing, he pulled out his watch. The faint, flickering blue light of the device illuminated his face as he fiddled with it.

“What are you doing now?” you asked, exasperated.

“Calling my family,” he said simply, his tone uncharacteristically soft.

The watch buzzed faintly, then a holographic screen popped up, displaying blurry but familiar faces. You recognized one of them immediately—the leader, Hongjoong, with his sharp eyes and commanding presence.

“San,” Hongjoong’s voice came through, clear and steady. “You’re still alive.”

“Barely,” San muttered, glancing at you. “I’ve got her with me. We made it out of the maze, but things are getting worse. The attackers are targeting her now.”

“Why her?” Seonghwa’s voice chimed in, his tone calm but laced with concern.

“I don’t know,” San admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But it’s making everything ten times harder.”

Another voice cut in—Wooyoung’s. “Maybe she’s got something they want? Or maybe she just smells like fresh prey.”

“Wooyoung, not helpful,” Yunho interjected.

You felt scared. Being in the mercy of these unknown and certainly shady men. He can do whatever he wants to you. It all came down like a mirror shattering. Ironic

“Look,” San continued, ignoring the bickering, “we’re on our way to the principal’s office. We think the key—the Chromer—is there. But it’s getting harder to move without drawing attention.”

“You need to keep her safe, San,” Hongjoong said, his voice firm but an underlying meaning present. “Whatever it takes.”

San’s jaw tightened. “I know that, hyung.”

You sat quietly, watching the exchange. It was clear that these people weren’t just his team—they were his family, and their concern for him was genuine.

“San,” a new voice broke in, deeper and more commanding. It was Jongho. “Do you think she can handle it?”

San glanced at you, his eyes searching your face. “She’ll have to.”

Your heart sank at his words. He wasn’t wrong, but the weight of it felt crushing. You wanted to argue, to tell them all that you weren’t cut out for this. But something about the way San looked at you—determined yet oddly reassuring—made you hold your tongue.

“Stay in contact,” Hongjoong said. “And don’t do anything stupid.”

The hologram flickered and disappeared, leaving you and San in the dim light of the hallway.

He slipped the watch back onto his wrist and turned to you. “I know this is hard,” he said quietly, his voice softer than before. “But we’re almost there. Just a little longer, okay?”

You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt. But all you saw was determination—and maybe, just maybe, a hint of trust.

“Fine,” you muttered, pushing yourself off the wall. “But if I die, I’m haunting you forever.”

San smirked faintly. “Fair deal.”

As San and you finally found the door to the principal's office, you both stopped in front of it. The door was large, dark, and imposing, a heavy weight hanging in the air as you both stared at it.

San’s eyes locked onto you, his face tense. “You need to go in there. The Chromer is in that office, and it’s the only thing that can get me back to my realm. You have to do this.”

You hesitated, feeling the fear creep into your chest. “I... I can’t, San. What if something happens to me in there? I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not like you. I can’t fight.”

San’s frustration was palpable, his fists clenching as his tone grew more urgent. “We don’t have time for hesitation. You have to go in there and get it. Do you understand?”

You took a step back, heart pounding. “I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough. I’ve never been strong enough.”

Before San could reply, the watch on his wrist buzzed, and Hongjoong’s calm voice came through.

“Hey,” Hongjoong said, his tone reassuring yet firm, “we know you’re scared. But you have to do this. San needs you.”

Next, Seonghwa spoke up, his voice gentle but steady. “You might not think you’re strong, but you are. You’ve already done more than most people could ever imagine. You’ve come this far, haven’t you? That’s strength.”

You felt a sense of warmth from their words, but the fear still held you tight. Then you heard Jongho’s voice, clear and strong, cutting through the fog of doubt in your mind.

“Listen to me,” Jongho said, his voice carrying that same unwavering confidence. “You’re not alone. We’re all right here, cheering you on. I know it’s scary, but I believe in you. We all do.”

A slight shift in San’s demeanor caught your attention as he stared at you. His frustration softened, replaced by a look of understanding.

"Jongho's right," San added, his voice quieter now, tinged with sincerity. “I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t believe in you too. You’ve got this.”

The weight of their words, their unwavering belief in you, was enough to start dissolving the fear. You didn’t want to disappoint them—especially not San.

Yeosang’s voice cut in next, surprising in its warmth. “You’re stronger than you think. You can do this. We’re right here with you. One step at a time. Just trust yourself.”

Mingi chimed in with his usual confidence, “And if you need any backup, we’ve got your back. We’re with you every step of the way.”

Wooyoung added his usual teasing tone, “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, trust me. Now go show us what you’ve got.”

With each of their voices echoing in your mind, you felt the weight of your fear start to lift. You weren’t alone in this. They were all behind you.

You took a deep breath, summoning the courage you didn’t even know you had. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice steadier than before. “I’ll do it. I’ll go in.”

San’s expression softened, a quiet gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

You gave him a small nod, looking back at the door. The fear was still there, but now there was determination too. You weren’t just doing this for yourself—you were doing it for San and his family. And that made all the difference.

You stepped up to the door, your hand shaking slightly as you reached for the cold handle. Before you could second-guess yourself, you turned it, pushing the door open slowly. With one last glance at San, you stepped into the unknown, ready to face whatever waited inside.

San and you stood in front of the principal’s office. It looked imposing, with dark, heavy wooden doors that had a strange energy about them. The air felt thick, as if something was lurking just beyond those doors.

San, his face tense with anticipation, turned to you. “You have to go in. We don’t have time to waste.”

You took a step back, shaking your head. “I can’t... What if something happens to me? What if I get caught?” Your heart raced, fear creeping up your spine. You didn’t want to be the weak link, but the thought of stepping into that office alone was overwhelming.

San’s jaw clenched, frustration flickering in his eyes. His patience, usually so steady, was starting to crack. “We don’t have a choice! You’re the only one who can get in there. You’re the student. I’m not allowed in.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you muttered, looking away, unable to meet his gaze.

The tension in the air thickened. San’s hands clenched at his sides, his fingers twitching as if he was on the verge of snapping. But before he could say anything, his watch buzzed to life, and the voice of his captain echoed in the silence.

“San, calm down,” Hongjoong’s voice came through, cool and authoritative. “Let her breathe. You know she’s scared.”

San’s eyes hardened as he spoke through clenched teeth. “But we need this, hyung. We can’t afford to fail now.”

“I know,” Hongjoong responded. “But you can’t push her. You’ve trained with her, you know what she’s capable of. Give her a moment. We can’t force her to go in, but we can help her understand why it’s important.”

San's gaze softened slightly as he looked at you, seeing the fear written all over your face. He let out a slow breath and then spoke, his tone more gentle this time. “Look, I know it’s terrifying. But you’re not alone. We’re all here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. You just have to trust me, and trust yourself.”

You felt the weight of his words, but still, doubt lingered in your mind. “What if it’s too dangerous?”

Hongjoong’s voice came again, more insistent. “It is dangerous, but do you want to know what’s even more dangerous? The alternative. We don’t know how much time we have. You’re the key to all of this, and you can’t let fear stand in the way now.”

San stepped closer, his eyes unwavering. “We’ll get through this together. But you need to go in. Do it for us. For you. And for what’s right.”

You hesitated, but then San’s words sunk in. He was right. The fear that had held you back was still there, but so was the determination. You had come this far. You couldn’t turn back now.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

San’s expression softened with relief, but there was a hint of pride in his eyes. “Thank you.” He stepped back, his eyes fixed on the door. “I’ll be right here. Just get what we need.”

With a final look at him, you reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly as you pushed it open. The darkness inside was almost suffocating, but you stepped in, ready to face whatever came next.

As the door clicked shut behind you, you could hear San’s voice, faint but comforting, echoing through the hallway. “You’ve got this.”

You pushed the door open, the sound of it creaking in the silence. Inside, the room was dimly lit, with rows of old bookshelves lining the walls. A desk stood in the center, cluttered with papers and objects that looked ancient and important. The air felt heavy with a strange energy, the kind that made your skin tingle and your heart race.

Your eyes scanned the room, and that’s when you saw it—the sand clock, sitting on a pedestal in the far corner. The chromer. It glowed faintly, its sands moving impossibly slow inside the glass.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath as you walked towards it. Each step felt like it was pulling you deeper into the unknown. This was it. This was the key. You could feel its power, like it was calling to you, urging you to take it.

You reached the pedestal, hesitating for just a moment. Was this really happening? Was this how you were going to help San? You had no idea how this sand clock worked, but you didn’t have a choice. You picked it up gently, feeling the cool glass under your fingers. The sand inside swirled, almost like it had a life of its own.

Just as you turned to leave, you heard a faint creak of the floor behind you. Your heart skipped a beat, and you spun around, instinctively clutching the chromer tighter. But it was only the wind. There was no one else in the room, nothing to worry about—at least, for now.

You breathed a sigh of relief and made your way back to the door, keeping a sharp eye on the room around you. With one final glance at the sand clock in your hands, you pushed open the door and stepped out.

San was standing there, his back to the wall, waiting. His expression softened when he saw you holding the chromer. Without a word, he walked towards you, his hand outstretched.

“We did it,” you said, holding it out to him.

San nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though his eyes were full of concern. “You’re alright?”

You nodded back, still a little shaken but relieved to be out of there. “I’m fine.”

He reached for the chromer, taking it from your hands. As his fingers brushed against it, he let out a quiet sigh, as if the weight of the moment had finally caught up with him. “This is it,” he said softly. “With this, I can go back.”

You both stood in the hallway, the weight of your mission heavy in the air. It wasn’t over yet, but at least you had what you came for.

San gave you a long look, his eyes filled with gratitude. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

San’s arms suddenly wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. You gasped, your heart racing as you instinctively tried to push away, but his grip was firm, secure.

“Wait—San!” you stammered, panic rising in your chest. “What are you doing?! Put me down!”

His smile was wide, his eyes shining with pure relief and joy. “We did it,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m not letting you go yet. You helped me get this, and you’re going to be safe with me.”

You squirmed slightly in his arms, but the more you tried to pull away, the tighter his grip seemed to become. The sensation of being carried—of someone else having complete control over you—was overwhelming, and you couldn’t quite figure out why it made you feel so vulnerable. You had always been independent, had always taken care of yourself. No one had ever carried you before.

“San, I—” You trailed off, trying to calm your racing thoughts. His steady heartbeat echoed against your back, reminding you how close you were to him. “Please, I’m not used to this.”

He slowed his pace slightly, as if sensing your discomfort, but he didn’t stop. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

Despite his words, a knot of unease twisted in your stomach. Your chest tightened, and your hands instinctively gripped his jacket, as if trying to steady yourself. You couldn’t explain it—the way he was holding you felt so... foreign. So intimate.

You swallowed, attempting to push the discomfort aside, but the fear still lingered. The feeling of being completely at his mercy, so exposed in his arms, made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

“San, I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice small.

His steps faltered, and he looked down at you, his expression softening. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll get you to safety.”

But the truth was, you weren’t just scared of being in his arms—you were scared of what this might mean. You weren’t sure how to handle the feeling of being cared for, of being protected in such an overwhelming way.

You didn’t know what to say, how to react to all of it, so instead, you stayed quiet, allowing him to carry you. You didn’t want to seem weak, didn’t want to burden him with your confusion.

And yet, despite your unease, a part of you felt comforted by his hold. Part of you felt... safe.

San adjusted his jacket as he stood in the middle of the chromer's glowing circle. The energy buzzed around him, and his mind was calm yet excited. This was the moment he'd been planning for days. He was going to ensure everything was set right — that you would go back to your world, and he would return to his with his friends.

As the chromer activated, the world blurred and spun, the familiar hum of its power resonating in his chest. Then, everything stopped abruptly. He felt solid ground beneath his feet, and as his vision cleared, a grin spread across his face.

He was back. The comforting sight of his realm and his friends standing nearby filled him with relief. "Finally," he muttered, stepping forward. But then, a small movement behind him made him freeze.

He turned his head slowly, and there you were, standing wide-eyed and just as disoriented as him. San’s smile faltered, replaced by a mix of confusion and disbelief. His friends, who had started to approach him with cheers of welcome, suddenly stopped in their tracks. Their gazes darted between him and you, their expressions mirroring the bewilderment in his heart.

“San…” Wooyoung was the first to break the silence, his tone tinged with disbelief. "Who’s… she?"

San opened his mouth, closed it again, then ran a hand through his hair in frustration. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to be here. He had been sure the chromer would teleport you back to your world, far away from his chaotic reality. But somehow, you were here, standing in his realm, right next to him.

“I—uh—this wasn’t supposed to happen,” San stammered, glancing at you and then at his friends.

You looked at him, your voice soft but steady despite the strangeness of it all. “San… why am I here?”

Before he could answer, Yunho stepped forward, his tall frame imposing but his tone kind. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me this is the girl you’ve been talking about?” He gave San a knowing look, a sly smirk tugging at his lips.

San groaned inwardly. “Yes, but—listen, this wasn’t the plan. She wasn’t supposed to come here.”

“Well, she’s here now,” Seonghwa chimed in, crossing his arms. His gaze flickered to you, assessing but not unkind. “What are you going to do about it?”

San’s mind raced. He turned to you, his tone softening. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how this happened. I thought the chromer would send you back to your world.”

You blinked, taking a hesitant step closer to him. “So… this is your world? Your realm?”

San nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. He could see the questions swirling in your eyes, but what caught him off guard was the faint flicker of awe. You weren’t panicking; instead, you were looking around with cautious curiosity.

“Okay, hold up,” Wooyoung interrupted, stepping between the two of you with a playful grin. “This is kind of amazing. She’s here, Sannie. Isn’t that… good?”

San shot him a glare. “That’s not the point.”

“So what are we gonna do now?” Mingi piped up, his voice heavy. He gestured at you dramatically, “we have a child with us”

You look at him with an offended face “I'm not a child. Just because you got an extra 1ft up your butt doesn't mean I'm a child”

San sighed, rubbing his temples. This was a problem. But atleast his friends were enjoying this more than they should, but deep down, a part of him couldn’t deny the strange sense of relief. You were here. With him. It wasn’t what he had planned, but maybe… just maybe, this wasn’t a bad thing.

“I don't know,” San muttered, glancing at you. “You’re here now. We’ll figure this out together.”

“i don't trust any of you, just take me somewhere safe”

San flinched slightly at your blunt tone. His friends exchanged amused glances, but there was a hint of curiosity in their eyes as they sized you up.As you walked, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of their gazes—some curious, others amused—but it was San's quiet presence beside you that gave you a strange sense of reassurance. Maybe, just maybe, you could trust him. For now.

"Safe?" Wooyoung echoed, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. "You wounded me! We are the definition of safe."

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure. If safe means being surrounded by a bunch of guys who probably argue over who gets the last slice of pizza."

Wooyoung gasped in mock outrage while Yunho let out a deep chuckle. "She’s not wrong," Yunho admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

"Guys, can we focus?" San snapped, rubbing his temples again. He turned to you, his expression softening despite the frustration evident in his voice. "Look, I understand this is overwhelming. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. But I promise, no one here is going to hurt you. You’re safe with us."

You glanced around at the group, noting the mix of playful energy and genuine care in their faces. Still, the situation felt too surreal, and trust wasn’t something you handed out easily.

"Fine," you said reluctantly, though your posture remained guarded. "But if anyone tries anything funny, I’ll…" You trailed off, looking down at your empty hands. "I’ll… figure something out," you finished awkwardly.

Seonghwa smirked, his voice calm and teasing. "Noted. No funny business."

Behind you, Mingi whispered loudly to Jongho, "She’s feisty. I like her."

San shot him a glare over his shoulder. "Not helping, Mingi."

Hongjoong and yeosang, who had been quietly observing from the back, finally decided to chime in.

Hongjoong adjusted his captain’s hat and gave a dramatic sigh. “So, let me get this straight,” he said, stepping forward and crossing his arms. “San accidentally brought you here, and now we’re babysitting?”

"Not a child," you snapped again, glaring at him.

Yeosang tilted his head, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the chaos around him. “She has a point,” he said simply. “But the bigger question is, what are we going to do now? We don’t even know how she fits into this.”

You frowned, feeling like you were being talked about like some kind of puzzle piece. “I’m standing right here, you know. Maybe ask me instead of acting like I’m some sort of problem.”

San sighed, clearly at his wit’s end. “Hongjoong, Yeosang, can we not make this worse? She’s already stressed out enough.”

“Worse?” Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “You mean worse than accidentally dragging someone into our realm? Yeah, okay, San, sure. Not worse at all.”

Yeosang shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Well, she’s here now. Might as well make the best of it.”

You glanced between them, trying to gauge if they were as unpredictable as the others. "Are these two always this cryptic?" you asked, pointing at Hongjoong and Yeosang.

“Cryptic?” Yeosang repeated, almost amused. “No. I’d say I’m more… realistic.”

“And I’m the strategist,” Hongjoong added, smirking. “Which is why I’m asking the important questions. Like what exactly you plan to do while you’re here.”

You sighed, exasperated. “I didn’t plan anything! I didn’t ask to be here!”

San, sensing the tension rising again, stepped in quickly. “Okay, that’s enough. We can figure everything out once we’ve all calmed down.”

Hongjoong shrugged, falling back into step with the group. “Fair enough. But don’t think I’m letting this slide, San. We’re going to need answers.”

Yeosang gave you a small nod, his calm gaze meeting yours. “You’ll be fine. We’re not as bad as we look.”

You weren’t entirely convinced, but something about Yeosang’s steady demeanor was oddly comforting. Still, as you followed the group deeper into the unknown, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much bigger.

The tent was much larger on the inside than it seemed, a testament to the strange realm you’d been dragged into. The small room San and Wooyoung led you to was simple but cozy—there was a bed with neatly folded blankets, a small wooden table, and a lantern casting a soft glow across the space.

“Here,” San said, gesturing toward the bed. “It’s not much, but you’ll be comfortable.”

Wooyoung grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Don’t get used to the royal treatment, though. We’re only doing this because someone—” he threw a pointed look at San, “—messed up.”

San rolled his eyes, clearly ignoring Wooyoung’s jab. “Get some rest. We’ll figure everything out tomorrow.”

The two of them left, closing the door behind them. You sat on the edge of the bed, sighing as the muffled voices of the group reached you. They were having a meeting about you, their tones ranging from curious to concerned.

It was only then that you noticed something odd about this room. It felt… lived in. A small detail here, a personal touch there. Then it hit you—this was San’s room.

The realization was confirmed when you heard Wooyoung loudly teasing San outside.

“You’re really giving up your room for her? You’re softer than I thought,” Wooyoung said, cackling.

“Shut up,” San replied, sounding exasperated. “I brought her here. It’s my responsibility to make sure she’s okay.”

“You could’ve just given her my room,” Mingi’s voice chimed in, indignant.

“No way,” San shot back. “She’s my problem. I’ll crash with Yeosang.”

“I didn't ask for this, why does my consent not matter?”

Everyone ignored yeosang.

You blinked, surprised by the admission. He was going out of his way to make you comfortable, even at his own expense. Despite everything, a small part of you felt… touched.

Back in the main area, the conversation continued.

“So, what’s the plan?” Hongjoong asked, his voice sharp and commanding.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” San said firmly. “She’s been through enough for one day.”

“You’re taking this pretty seriously,” Yeosang observed, his tone neutral but laced with curiosity.

“Because I’m the one who messed up,” San replied.

You lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was strange being in this world, surrounded by people who were so different yet oddly familiar. You couldn’t help but wonder how long this would last—and what San’s words really meant.

As the muffled voices outside the room grew louder, it became apparent that San's friends were thoroughly enjoying the situation at his expense.

You soon realised that wooyoung guy would not leave San alone about the fact that he has brought you here.

"San," Wooyoung's teasing tone cut through the chatter, "what’s the deal with you and the girl, huh? She gets your room and your undivided attention. Should we start planning a wedding?”

San groaned audibly, likely rubbing his temples again. "Wooyoung, shut up."

Mingi jumped in with a laugh. "Nah, but seriously, you’re awfully protective, don’t you think? I’ve never seen you this flustered."

“Maybe San has a crush,” Seonghwa chimed in, his usually composed voice dripping with amusement.

“I do not have a crush,” San snapped. "I’m just trying to fix my mistake. That’s it."

Hongjoong chuckled, crossing his arms. "You know, San, your ‘mistake’ is starting to feel less like an accident and more like fate."

Even Yeosang, who rarely joined in on teasing, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You did seem pretty quick to give up your room for her. Very... gallant of you.”

Jongho grinned, leaning back against the tent wall. "Should we be worried? What if this becomes a thing? Next thing we know, he’s ditching missions to hang out with her."

“Guys,” San groaned, his voice rising in frustration, “I swear, if you don’t stop—”

“San and the mystery girl sitting in a tree—” Wooyoung started singing obnoxiously, only to be interrupted by Seonghwa laughing so hard he had to lean on Mingi for support.

“Alright, enough!” San finally snapped, his face undoubtedly red from a mix of anger and embarrassment. “She’s not a child, she’s not my crush, and she’s not my girlfriend. She’s just—she’s here because of me, okay? I’m taking responsibility!”

His declaration only earned him a chorus of exaggerated "ooohs" and smirks from his friends.

“Whatever you say, Romeo,” Hongjoong said, winking.

From inside the room, you couldn’t help but overhear every word. You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. These guys might’ve been a handful, but there was something oddly comforting about the way they teased San. And for some reason, knowing he was defending you—even against his friends—made your heart flutter just a little.

The next morning, the sound of a light knock on the door pulled you from sleep. As you groggily opened your eyes, Jongho stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his usual stoic expression softening ever so slightly.

“Get up,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “I’m in charge of you today. San’s orders. We’re starting with shooting practice.”

Still half-asleep, you blinked at him. “Shooting?”

Jongho nodded, walking over to a corner where a small handgun rested in a holster. “This world isn’t safe. You need to know how to defend yourself. If you’re going to stick around, you can’t be useless.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you muttered under your breath, dragging yourself out of bed.

Once outside, Jongho led you to an open field near the camp, where targets had been set up against a cluster of trees. He handed you the gun, explaining the basics of safety and handling in his usual no-nonsense manner.

“Okay,” he said, stepping back. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Aim at the target.”

You took a deep breath, gripping the gun tightly and lining up the shot. To your surprise—and his—you hit the target on your first try.

Jongho raised an eyebrow. “Not bad,” he admitted, a flicker of surprise in his tone. “But your stance is all wrong. You’re gripping it too hard, and your feet are too close together.”

Before you could react, you fired again. This time, the recoil sent you stumbling backward, nearly losing your balance. Jongho caught you by the arm, steadying you with ease.

“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” he said, his expression softening just a little. “You’ve got good aim, but if you don’t fix your posture, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

He stepped closer, adjusting your grip and positioning your arms with surprising patience. His hands were firm but careful as he guided you.

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” he instructed, nudging your leg with his boot. “And don’t lock your elbows. Let the gun’s recoil flow through you, not against you.”

You followed his instructions, firing again. This time, the shot landed perfectly, and you barely felt the recoil.

Jongho nodded approvingly. “Better. Keep practicing like that, and you might actually survive out here.”

A small smile crept onto your lips. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

As the morning went on, the two of you continued practicing. While Jongho’s usual stoicism remained, you couldn’t help but notice the faint glimmer of pride in his eyes every time you improved. Despite his tough exterior, there was something reassuring about his presence, and for the first time, you felt like you could truly hold your own in this strange, dangerous world.

Later that day, as the group gathered around their makeshift campfire, Jongho casually brought up the morning’s events.

“She’s good at aiming,” he said simply, crossing his arms as he leaned back against a log.

Yunho immediately seized the opportunity, his face lighting up with a mischievous grin. “Oh, I bet she is. She already pierced San’s heart.”

The group erupted into laughter, a mix of playful jabs and exaggerated gasps.

“Classic Yunho,” Mingi chuckled, nudging San with his elbow. “You gonna deny it?”

To everyone’s surprise, San didn’t snap back or brush it off like he usually did. Instead, he glanced down at the fire, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“I—” he started, but then shook his head, letting out a small, almost shy laugh. “I’m not even going to argue with you guys.”

The laughter paused for a moment as everyone processed what he’d just said.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Wooyoung leaned forward, his eyes wide. “Did San just admit to something? Did I hear that right?”

“Mark this day,” Hongjoong said dramatically, pretending to jot something down. “The day San didn’t deny his feelings.”

Yeosang smirked, his usual quiet demeanor replaced by a rare glint of amusement. “Looks like someone’s getting soft.”

San groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re all insufferable.”

“But you love us,” Seonghwa teased with a knowing smile, earning more laughter from the group.

Jongho, watching the chaos unfold, couldn’t help but smirk. “All I said was she’s good at aiming. You guys took it and ran.”

“Yeah, but you have to admit,” Yunho said, still grinning, “jongho said she hit the most important target without even trying.”

San rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. As much as his friends teased him, there was no denying the truth they’d managed to uncover so easily.

As you sat on the edge of the camp, your eyes drifted to where Wooyoung, San, and Yeosang were huddled together. The way they bantered and laughed, their easy camaraderie so natural, made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

They were teasing each other relentlessly, Wooyoung doubling over in laughter while Yeosang calmly delivered a comeback that made San groan dramatically.

You sighed, pulling your knees up to your chest. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Not because you didn’t like them being close, but because you wished you had something like that—best friends who knew you so well, who could make you laugh even in the most stressful situations, who felt like home.

The loneliness you’d carried for so long suddenly felt heavier. You tried to push it away, but the thought lingered. What would it feel like to be part of something like that?

Wooyoung caught your gaze first, his playful smile faltering when he noticed your expression. Nudging San with his elbow, he nodded in your direction.

San followed his glance, his brows furrowing when he saw you. Without hesitation, he stood up and motioned for Yeosang and Wooyoung to follow him.

“Hey,” San called out as they approached. “What are you doing all the way over here?”

You shrugged, forcing a smile. “Just sitting.”

Wooyoung plopped down next to you, resting his chin in his hand. “You looked like you were deep in thought. Care to share with the class?”

Yeosang sat on your other side, his calm presence immediately grounding. “Something bothering you?” he asked softly.

You hesitated, not wanting to admit what you were feeling. “It’s nothing. Just… thinking about stuff.”

The conversation earlier left you feeling a little lighter, but not entirely. As the evening rolled in and everyone busied themselves with their tasks, you retreated to the small room San had given up for you. Sitting on the bed, you stared at the wall, lost in thought.

A soft knock on the door broke the silence. “It’s me,” San’s voice came through. “Can I come in?”

You hesitated, then called out, “Yeah, sure.”

The door creaked open, and San stepped inside, closing it gently behind him. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. “I’m fine.”

San raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You didn’t seem fine earlier. You’ve been quiet ever since. What’s going on?”

You looked away, gripping the edge of the bed. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t pull that with me,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “You can talk to me. I won’t judge you.”

Something about his sincerity broke through the wall you were trying so hard to keep up. With a sigh, you finally admitted, “I felt jealous earlier. Watching you and your friends… I don’t have anything like that. I never did.”

San’s brows furrowed as he moved closer, sitting down across from you. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “I don’t have those kinds of bonds. Not with my family, and definitely not with friends. I’ve always been… on my own. Watching you all laugh and support each other just made me realize what I’m missing.”

The room went silent for a moment. San’s gaze softened, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more serious. “You’ve been carrying that around all this time?”

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve managed this far.”

San shook his head. “No, it is a big deal. You shouldn’t have to feel that way.”

You looked down, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just how it is. I’ve learned to deal with it.”

San reached out, gently placing a hand over yours. “You don’t have to deal with it alone anymore. You have us now. You have me now.”

His words made your chest tighten, but this time, it wasn’t out of sadness. It was the comfort you hadn’t realized you needed.

“You really mean that?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

San smiled, a warmth in his eyes that made you feel a little less alone. “I do. We’re here for you. And I’m here for you, no matter what.”

San's words lingered in the air, heavy with sincerity, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fully accept them. You’d heard promises like that before—words meant to comfort, to soothe—but they rarely held up. People always said they’d be there, and yet, when it mattered most, they disappeared.

You offered him a faint smile, hoping it was enough to convince him you were okay. “Thanks, San. I appreciate it.”

But deep down, the wall you’d built around yourself refused to budge. You couldn’t afford to let it down, not when experience had taught you that trust came with consequences.

San tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Your breath hitched, but you quickly shook your head. “It’s not that. I just… I’m not used to this. It’ll take time.”

He frowned, leaning forward slightly. “I get it. I can’t change what’s happened to you before. But I want you to know I’m not like that. None of us are. When we say you’re part of this now, we mean it.”

You wanted to believe him, wanted to let those words sink in, but the scars of broken trust ran too deep. Instead, you nodded, giving him another polite, distant response. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

San’s shoulders slumped slightly, like he knew he hadn’t quite reached you. But he didn’t push further. Instead, he stood, looking at you with a quiet determination. “Alright. Take your time. I’ll just have to prove it to you.”

You nod your head hesitantly. Doubts still circling your mind.

“You keep saying that, but I know you’re not gonna. You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I wish you would.”

For a long moment, the room was silent. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to do this, San. Trust people. Believe that they’ll stay. I’ve been let down too many times.”

San’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “I get it. I do. But… not everyone is going to hurt you. Not me.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “How can you say that? You don’t know what the future holds. People change, San. They leave.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his tone steady. “But I’m here now, and I’m not planning to go anywhere. I mean it.”

You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. There was none. Still, you shook your head, your walls refusing to come down. “You don’t understand, San. I’ve heard those words before.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, then stood and extended a hand toward you. “Come with me.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

“Just… trust me. For tonight,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips.

Hesitant, you took his hand. He led you out of the room and through the quiet camp, eventually stopping in a small clearing lit by the moon. The rest of the group was nowhere in sight, leaving the two of you surrounded by stillness.

“I wanted to show you something,” San said, letting go of your hand and stepping back. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, worn object—a charm.

You tilted your head. “What’s that?”

“It’s something my mom gave me before I left home,” he explained, his voice carrying a mix of nostalgia and warmth. “She told me to hold onto it whenever I felt lost or unsure. And I wanted you to have it.”

Your eyes widened. “San, I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer. “You’re not alone anymore. And even if you don’t believe me now, I’ll keep proving it until you do.”

The sincerity in his voice, the vulnerability in his eyes—it broke something in you. Tears welled up despite your efforts to hold them back.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Because you matter to me,” he said simply. “More than you know.”

The walls you’d built so carefully began to crack. Slowly, you nodded, accepting the charm. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try. For you.”

San smiled, his relief palpable. “That’s all I ask.”

As the night stretched on, the two of you stayed there, talking quietly under the stars. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a spark of hope—a belief that maybe, just maybe, you’d finally found someone who wouldn’t leave.

In the weeks that followed, something began to shift. San kept his promise, showing up in ways you hadn’t expected. Whether it was a warm cup of tea when you couldn’t sleep, a steadying hand during training, or simply sitting beside you in silence when you needed it most, he proved his words with actions.

The group noticed, of course. Wooyoung teased San relentlessly, while Yunho and Mingi exchanged knowing looks. Even Yeosang, usually reserved, smiled faintly when he caught you two sharing quiet moments.

Slowly but surely, you found yourself opening up—not just to San, but to the rest of the group. Hongjoong taught you about navigation, Jongho helped you refine your aim, and Seonghwa shared stories of his childhood that made you laugh until your sides hurt. For the first time in your life, you felt like you belonged.

One evening, after a long day of training, you sat with San on a hill overlooking the camp. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, the sun dipping low on the horizon.

“You’ve changed,” San said softly, his gaze fixed on you.

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Oh? How so?”

“You’re smiling more,” he said, his own lips curving into a grin. “And I think you’re starting to trust us.”

You looked out at the horizon, the warmth of his words settling in your chest. “Maybe I am,” you admitted. “It’s… nice, having people to rely on.”

San chuckled, leaning back on his hands. “Well, you’ve got us now. And we’re not going anywhere.”

You turned to him, your heart swelling with something you hadn’t felt in a long time: gratitude. “Thank you, San. For everything.”

He met your gaze, his eyes soft and sincere. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad you’re here.”

As the sun set and the first stars began to appear, you realized something profound. This wasn’t just a group of people who had taken you in. They were your family now—a family you’d fought to find, and one you knew would stand by you no matter what.

And as for San? Well, maybe—just maybe—he was your beginning, the start of a life you never thought you’d have.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking back at what you’d lost. Instead, you were looking forward—to a future filled with hope, laughter, and the people who made your heart feel whole.

[venti-venus]

baby driver - j. m x reader

summary: after a failed study session with dean forester, jess and y/n decide to get a little innocent payback.

𐌕Ꮤ: hating on dean forester, accurate gilmore girls banter and drama, not spellchecked, first jess fic yippie ! ¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸ ¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

"Mariano," Y/N whined, stumbling into Luke's Diner. She dragged her feet across the floor and dramatically plopped down on one of the bar stools. " I feel like my face is about to fall off and I'm blaming it on you."

Jess rolled his eyes as he wiped down the counter, "Good morning to you too, Y/N. I get the feeling you didn't just come in here to complain."

"And you would be right!" Y/N smirked, "I'm here for the doughnuts. Chocolate, please." She jokingly batted her eyelashes before yawning. "Ugh, get me a coffee too."

"So, why are you up at eight o'clock in the morning," Jess poured her some coffee and handed it to her, along with the doughnuts. "You don't wake up until at least two. Special occasion?"

"Oh yeah, Dean Forester is real special. I'm supposed to meet up with him to go over our English assignment. I doubt he'll actually focus on the work though. I swear he's been so obsessed with Rory it's actually suffocating my last braincell."

Jess laughed at your comment, "You wish that was you or somethin'?"

Y/N threw a crumb of her doughnut at him and gagged, "As if! Dean doesn't even like Bowie, there's no chance him and I are gonna be anything more than friends."

"Very true," Jess smirked, "Any hater of David Bowie should be locked up and studied. I'm glad you're staying away from the freaks of the world, Y/N. Very proud."

"Yeah well, I better get going. Dean said he would pick me up from here and drive us to the lake so we can focus or something." Y/N sighed, "Wish me luck, Mario."

"Hey, do not call me that. Put some respect on a poor kids name, will ya?" He joked, "At least you get to ride around in his car. Pretty nice one if I do say so myself."

"Pretty car, pretty annoying boy." Y/N took her coffee and doughnuts and gave Jess one last smile before she headed out to wait for Dean and his car. Surely he wouldn't be too long..

"H-Hey, Jess," Y/N's shaky voice spoke into her phone, "Can you come pick me up? I'm at the lake and it's raining and Dean left an-"

"I'll be there in 10." Y/N could hear a door slam and a car start on the other side of the line. Jess hung up and Y/n waited as he drove to come get her.

The study session had gone alright, but it was what happened after that which led to Y/N now being stranded. She hid under what little over a close by oak tree had and waited until Jess pulled up.

“Get in.” Jess handed her a towel as Y/N got into his car. His knuckles grew white as he gripped the steering wheel, not saying anything else as he drove off.

“Thank you, Jess.” Y/N sniffled, “I could’ve walked but my house is too far with the rain and all.” She looked over to see the brunette focused on the road.

She decided to stay quiet as he drove her to her house, using the towel Jess gave her to dry off as best she could.

"The hell do you mean he kissed you?" Jess yelled from the living room, arms crossed on his chest. His eyebrows were so creased, they were practically conjoined. He was sitting down on the couch while Y/N was in the kitchen, trying to dry off and get water.

"I don't know! He told me he was finally dating Rory and everything was fine and then out of the blue," Y/N threw her hands up, "And then I freaked out because, hello, he just said he was with Rory!"

Jess huffed. "And then what happened?"

"He got mad at me for some stupid reason and yelled at me." Y/N got quieter, "I swear Dean makes no sense. One minute he's normal and the other he's... I'm sure there's some reference I could make but I can't think of one, but you get what I'm saying. He totally flipped."

Y/N opened her refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water. "Oh, and then," She scoffed, "He had the audacity to tell me that he actually liked me the whole time. He was 'too scared' to tell me though because-. (because he thought I was dating you.)" Y/N paused and quietly mumbled, "That's not important." She frantically walked over to the living room and sat down next to Jess.

"Does he even like Rory? Or is he just leading her on now?" Jess was confused about the whole situation.

"Everyone likes Rory, Jess." Y/N rolled her eyes, "But I don't think he wants to get serious with her. I just can't believe he would do something like that to me."

"That tall freak has some serious paying up to do," Jess got up. "Go get changed into something dry. I have an idea."

Jess and Y/N got into Dean's Ford F-150, muffling their laughs as best as they could.

"Wait, you know how to drive, right?" Jess teased as he buckled his seatbelt.

Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing as she pulled out of Dean's driveway. Rory had picked him up earlier after Jess pulled a few strings, so his car was free and available for a little joy ride.

"I got my license last year, Jess. I'm practically Richard Petty." She pulled out of the driveway and turned on the radio.

"Okay, baby driver." Jess laughed as the two of them began to drive, happily using Dean's car for the night.

¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸ ¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

[softfem-dom]

paola // 20 // she ! her // spanish // aries MAIN MASTERLIST !!!

X MEN BOT LIST : (my proudest works 🫧)

og logan howlett [1,]NOTHING TO COME BACK TO -logan has the bad habit of disappearing for months to go on his solo missions. however, this time it seems like he almost had nothing to come back to. [tw : attempt]. [platonic!]. [2,]HIS CUB -logan presumed of having his 'animal instincts' under control, but all that big talk flies out of the window when some stupid guards try to harm his cubyou. [platonic!]. [3,]LIKE A CRYING BABY -everyone knows logan is not good with kids. But when you, the sweet thing that wasn't aware he regenerated, started bawling your eyes out for him, he realized he had a soft spot. [platonic!]. [4,]LIKE A WILD ANIMAL -when logan realized you had the same mutation as him, he pushed you away to ensure you wouldn't turn out like him. At the end, you ended up just like him just because he left when he was needed the most. Who's the dangerous weapon now, huh, Logan? [younger!reader / not strictly platonic] [5,]BAD TIME TO COME AROUND -logan just wants peace and quiet while his body recovers from a mission, but you're hurt too and just want to spend a bit of time with your fave old man. [platonic!]. [6,]GLITTERY LOVE 🫧-logan is a bitter old man, and you're a ray of sunshine. charles is totally aware of this and that's why he forced him to spend time with you as therapy for his burdened mind. [platonic! / sunshine!reader]. [7,]TEST TUBE BABY 🫧-both logan's and wade's DNA has gotten mixed up to create a brand new weapon x, you. Lucky you, one of your 'fathers' found you and now logan's stuck with cooparenting you. [platonic! / kinda daughter!reader]. [8,]CAN'T STOP LOOKING AT HER T-T-T-T-FACE 🫧-even as gruff as he is, logan is still just a man, and having a coworker with such nice titties is sure as hell distracting. [9,]MATING SEASSON KINDA STUFF -logan hates his animalistic instincts for putting him through this strange rut, but he definetely doesn't hate that you're the one taking care of him. [10,]FLYING PROBLEMS -logan and flying don't get on too well, and you're seated next to a far more grumpy and stressed than usual Wolverine when turbulences hit. [11,]LIKE STRAY CATS -a weapon-x war veteran and a child-supersoldier experiment. can they get along? [platonic!]. [12,]JUST. ONE. NORMAL. NIGHT -there hasn't been a calm night, a normal night, in your life ever since you joined the x-men. with a knock upon your door, you prepare yourself to another announcement for an emergency mission, only to be met by a restless logan that can't sleep. [13,]LITTLE TROUBLEMAKER -logan is always walking around with a cigar in his mouth and faking to be annoyed by everything. what will happen when he catches the certified comic relief troublemaker of the school running around past curfew? [platonic!].

+[14,]DADDY'S FARMHAND 🫧-cowboy!au. your father has hired someone to help him out in the farm and, of fucking course, it had to be this hot man that seems to take joy in the way your eyes wander whenever he's around.

[15,]KITTY CAT, KITTY CAT RUN 🫧-logan just woke up in a strange white room full of medical supplies, the last thing he remembers is getting attacked by some guys that were trying to bring him back to the lab. Believing he is back to be experimented on, he flees the scene, only to bump into somethingsomeone soft. And he doesn't even know what happened, but just at the scent of the mutant he collided into, his claws retracted instinctively and he felt a "mhrp"ing sound building at the back of his throath like the sound kitty cats make when they see something they like [16,]IRON DEFICIENCY PRINCESS 🫧-logan thought that being a part of the X-Men meant just going on missions whenever required, but it turns out that he's stuck playing the tired and concerned father figure of the girl with the lowest iron in the whole damn world. That and the fact he has to visit the infirmary at least twice a week to make sure you ain't dying after fainting while going up the stairs.

old man logan

[1,]ACHING BONES AND WARM HANDS 🫧-he's getting old and his bones are aching, but you're young and your mutation makes you run warmer, so.. how about you help your old man out, bub? [2,]OLD MAN WITH ANGER ISSUES -everyone has a different way of dealing with grief. while you're one to drown in it, logan burns with it, irremediably burning everyone in a close range due to his own anger. [platonic!].

worst wolverine

[1,]A JOKE TO HIM -when someone who isn't your wolverine discovers a you that isn't his you, thinks can go downhill very fast. especially when you've seemed to fail at everything his version of you had accomplished without a sweat. [platonic!]. [2,]WADE LIKES HIS MERCH 🫧-when, after the 'worst' version of logan moved into your appartment, you wake up in pyjamas you certainly didn't go to sleep with, you're forced to get out of your room with 'wolverine's babygirl' written on your ass. [3,]MOMMYPOOL -after falling into the void, logan discovers that maybe not all deadpool's are that bad. not when he's got the hottest one paying attention to him. [4,]THAT TIME OF THE MONTH -just logan realizing how much wade babies you when you're in that time of the month. +wade wilson [platonic!]. [5,]"I CALL DIBS ON THE KID!" -it seems that, while trapped between grumpy logan and yapper deadpool, you're not going to get any sleep at all during this flight.. +wade wilson [platonic!] [6,]"SORRY, MOMMY?" + "WADE STFU" -since sending wade and logan alone and togheter to a mission is the recipe for murder, they decided to send you to make sure they got the mission done instead of fighting all the time. +wade wilson [7,]GOD'S BEST JOKES -bascially the scene of the angry speech in the car, but instead of yelling at wade he's yelling at you (angst-oriented). [8,]GIRL INTERRUPTED SYNDROME -wade had rambled to logan about everything in his life, so logan is damn near confused as heck as to what the fuck is wade doing bringing inside a girl that looked pulled right out of the 'girl, interrupted' movie. [platonic!] [9,]DRUNKEN RUTS -logan can't remember going into a rut ever since his young days as a womanizer, trauma response he guessed. However now that he is in a safe place and surrounded by trusted people, he finds his first rut in decades hitting him like a train. what a sweet torture is to have you by his side through it.

wade wilson (earth-10005).

[1,]ROOKIE WITH A MOUTH -out of the whole X-Team, wade wilson seems to be the one that talks the most. a yapper, rambler, however you want to call it, he runs his mouth day and night. yet, there seems to be only one thing that shuts him up: you. [2,] ELEVATOR PROBLEMS 🫧-basically the elevator scene from xmen wolverine: origins, except instead of being stuck during a mission the whole team is stuck after one. You just all want to take a shower and crash on your bed, but you can still feel Wade oogling you while he runs his mouth. [3,] GUESS 🫧-nothing could've prepared you and the rest of your team for the wild ride Wade and his big mouth were going to throw you in. Seems like the rookie has been daydreaming about the colour of your panties when you catch him staring. [4,] CLOSER -Wade has a big problem with keeping it in his pants whenever he sees you fighting, maybe it's because you let him give you a ride into poundtown anytime he asks (just for the sake of shuting him up). But the way you've just squashed a dude's neck with your thighs has him wanting to fuck you like an animal. [4,] BRAT 🫧-if something is clear about the young mercenary in your team is that he is a brat. what will happen when William pairs you up with him and he starts messing up your plan just to get your attention?

[1,]HANLDE HIM 🫧-after weapon xi, probably the most dangerous experiment in the base, kills his handler. Your boss decides it's you who'll handle him. [2,]NOT JUST A WEAPON 🫧-after logan joined the school, he managed to convince charles of sending an 'expedition team' to the Project X base he escaped from. However, he is met by an old friend that was supposed to be dead and rotting, and that now is stuck to your side like the clingy merc he remembered him to be only.. less chatty.

wade wilson

[1,]SCAR FOR A SCAR -wade seems completely adamant on not showing you his face, while most of the people at the X-Mannor (colossus, negasonic, yukio, and even logan) have seen his face he refuses to let you see it. so, when you're now the one with nasty scars that you won't show him, he pulls an offer to the table "scar for a scar, eh, pumpkin?" [platonic!] [2,]PUSHED TO THE LIMITS (WOLVERINE #22) -after seeing with your own eyes the way wolverine dismembered deadpool to only half-chest and an arm, you the teen-age apprentice of deadpool, spend the whole next night watching him regenerate out of sheer anxiety. [platonic!] [3,]"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE KID SAW IT?!?" -deadpool 2. after waking up on the X-Mansion couch with colossus towering over him, wade finds out the one to ditch on him about blowing himself to pieces had been you. And now you're as traumatized by the stunt he pulled as to not want to leave your room. well, sucks. [platonic!] [4,]THAT TIME OF THE MONTH -just logan realizing how much wade babies you when you're in that time of the month. +logan howlett [platonic!]. [5,]"I CALL DIBS ON THE KID!" -it seems that, while trapped between grumpy logan and yapper deadpool, you're not going to get any sleep at all during this flight.. +logan howlett [platonic!] [6,]"SORRY, MOMMY?" + "WADE STFU" -since sending wade and logan alone and togheter to a mission is the recipe for murder, they decided to send you to make sure they got the mission done instead of fighting all the time. +logan howlett

+[7,]A SURPRISE VISIT -marvel future avengers oriented. after getting attached to you since you'd always open the door of the tower for him so he didn't have to break a sweat in avoiding the security system, deadpool comes to ring the door once again only to be met with iron man instead of you. [tw: attempt] [platonic!]

[jtargaryen18]

Hounds of Hell MC 4: Ryder ~ Available today!

I’m not the settling type, but she’s in my heart. I’ll protect her from the Mafia or die trying…

Margot -- I've loved Ryder since we were kids, but he's never been the type to stick with anyone for long. Being a deputy sheriff means I see the world differently--by the law. He’s the opposite. The Mafia took my father from me. When they return to threaten everything I care about, including Ryder, I realize the line between right and wrong isn’t so clear. If we’re going to survive this, I’ll need Ryder’s strength. Maybe this time, we’ll face danger together.

Ryder -- Margot’s been right in front of me for years, but I’m the guy who never sticks around. Commitment? Not for me. Now she’s all I see. When the Mafia comes after the Hounds, everything is at stake. Margot’s not just a deputy sheriff -- she’s the woman I’ve always needed. The woman I love. I’ll die before I let anything happen to her.

Buy it @ Changeling Press

You'll also find pre-order links for Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords & Vivlio where it will be available on 10/31!

Enter my October Giveaway! (If you select 'fanfics' you'll get a newsletter with all my published titles but you'll also get updates on my fanfics and you'll get the chapters before they post here or anywhere else. Also, planning to do some extras like deleted scenes, extra scenes, and more!)

Excerpt

With the efficiency of a SWAT team, she ordered lunch, paid for it, and had them tucked away at a small table in the corner, enjoying burgers and fries.

“What’s that?” Ryder pointed at the tall, covered cup.

“Strawberry shake. They’ve always had the best shakes here. You want one?”

“Nah,” Ryder said. “Just a little concerned, is all. You’re starting with milkshakes. Milkshakes lead to donuts. Next thing you know, you’re going to lose your girlish figure and you’ll be stuck running radar out by the interstate.”

Margot laughed, a high, lovely sound. “Don’t worry about my girlish figure.”

“I like your girlish figure,” Ryder said, grinning.

“Since when?” A little of the humor faded from her expression at that. “I’m probably the only non-relative female you haven’t slept with in a hundred-mile radius.”

“More like a 50-mile radius,” Ryder said.

But he hadn’t been lying when he said he liked her figure. Margot was just about perfect. Nice rack. Great ass. A killer smile made all the more adorable for her dark eyes and the freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Margot had a good head on her shoulders, too. He enjoyed talking to her, their playful banter. He couldn’t imagine a world where he couldn’t have these light-hearted conversations with Mercy’s newest deputy sheriff.

“It doesn’t bother you to be having lunch with a biker?” He couldn’t resist asking.

“It doesn’t bother you that you’re having lunch with a cop?” Margo eyed him. “How did you get to town?”

“Rode my bike,” Ryder said. “Might not have been my best idea. I mean, I was okay getting here. Not sure how getting back is going to go.”

“How long are you going to stay?” Margot’s dark-eyed gaze stayed on him.

Shrugging a shoulder, Ryder finished off a French fry. “I’d like to finish the day out,” he admitted. “But now that I’m sitting here, I’m feeling pretty fucking tired.”

It was the truth and he’d never been good at keeping that from her. His friend’s gaze was knowing.

“Why don’t we take you home after lunch? I’d be glad to drive you back.”

Ryder knew she would. But he would disappoint himself if he left after lunch to go home and climb back into bed in that lonely, quiet house. Shaking his head, he ate another fry, thought it over.

“I’m tired. Just not sure I’m tired enough to go back to the house and hang out by myself.”

More concern bled into her expression. “At least take a nap in the lounge or something. No one’s going to give you shit for it. You almost died.”

He had. Axel and Hero both cut him worried looks the entire time he’d been there, working on that engine. Margot had a point.

“Well, with me getting back on my feet, let me know if you need help with anything at the house.” He meant it. “Clyde was as bad as you about never wanting to bother anyone. If you need help with anything, I’m right here.”

Margot nodded, eating her burger. After a moment, her gaze met his. Her dark eyes were glossy.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone, Ryder,” she said quietly. “No warning. Just gone.”

Reaching across the table, he covered her hand with his. Some emotion flashed in her eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“He loved you more than anything,” he said. “Clyde was so proud of you.”

A tear spilled down her cheek at the words. “I know he was. It’s just… I worked so hard to find a job back over here in Mercy so I could be with him, help him as he got older. And now he’s gone. Shot by some mafia asshole like he was nothing.”

Swiping at her tears with her free hand, Margot tried to regain her composure.

“Clyde didn’t deserve that. And I wish my brother had been able to take that asshole out. Slow. But Sawyer was there and now the bastard’s in jail.”

That stopped her cold. Carefully, she moved her hand out from under his, shaking her head. “Don’t say that. He’ll pay for what he did in the system. Spend a long time in jail. He’ll think about what he did.”

“Will he?” Ryder asked. “He’s part of a criminal organization, Margot. They have a lot of resources. Maybe he’ll go to jail, but he won’t think a second about your father. He won’t be sitting up in some jail cell regretting his crimes either.”

He didn’t like the way her confidence waned, but he had to say it. “He’ll be trying to find a way out of there. And when he does, he’ll be looking for some payback and he’ll have his entire crime family at his back.”

Margot’s spine straightened where she sat, meeting his gaze squarely. “I have faith in the system. That man will pay for what he’s done.”

Ryder wasn’t so sure about that. He didn’t give a shit about the system. “He will pay,” Ryder said, hoping that he’d be the one to mete out that retribution. What he wouldn’t give to have a shot at the sons-of-bitches who killed Clyde Donner and Morgan Davis. Who tried to kill him.

He had faith in Margot. She’d been through the training, worked in the next county over. Margot knew what she was doing. But she was new enough that she still thought the criminal justice system infallible. Had she ever had dealings with big crime families? Did she understand what she was getting into?

Worse, he worried that the loss of her father would cause her to make a decision that would put her in harm’s way.

“Okay,” she said, her dark-eyed gaze on him. “If you won’t let me drive you back home and you insist on trying to stay at the garage, I’ll make you an offer. If you’re too tired to ride back to the country, you can crash at the house. I don’t have a spare key on me. But I have one. I’ll leave it under that old stone squirrel my dad loved.”

Always looking after him. What would he have done all those long weeks after he’d gotten out of the hospital without her? Axel had been the one to help him change his bandages, got him in the shower. Margot took care of most everything else from changing his bedding and keeping up the house, to bringing him groceries and leaving him meals he could warm up and eat. She’d taken care of him, her daily visits something he looked forward to.

What he’d done to deserve her, he didn’t know. Maybe she needed to stay busy to deal with her own loss.

“Sounds good,” Ryder said after a moment. “In case I haven’t told you, thank you. For everything. I’m not sure why you took it upon yourself to take care of my dumb ass but I’m grateful.”

Soft pink darkened her face. “You’re welcome.”

Something occurred to him. “Wait. You’re working the day shift,” he pointed out. “Where are you going to be later that you need to leave me a key?”

“Tonight’s my first class,” Margot reminded him.

“That’s right,” he said. “Your self-defense class.” She’d been so excited about it, telling him about what she had planned over the last few weeks. “I think Sadie signed up for it.”

“She did,” Margot said, smiling. “I think it will be good for her after everything she’d been through. And I was surprised. The day we got you back into the hospital, she came with Axel. We had a minute in the hall, and she was just… apologizing to me for my dad. She was blaming herself because it was her ex that killed him. But it wasn’t her fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Ryder said. “I think your class will help her.”

Something about the smile she cut him had his heart skipping a beat. Margot was a pretty woman. He’d always thought so. Unlike most of the girls he went around with, Margot didn’t do a lot to emphasize her natural beauty. Her nails were unpainted and short, and she wore only a hint of makeup most days. Her hair was put up in a precise bun, glossy and neat. Her uniform always pressed.

Yeah, sure. He’d seen Margot many times in her street clothes. She always favored jeans and simple tops. Her hair was usually pulled back into a ponytail and those days she didn’t wear any makeup. Not that she needed it. She was clearly comfortable in her own skin without all the paint and other enhancements women used to boost their femininity.

Her confidence was sexy as hell. Funny, considering Margot didn’t see herself that way. She didn’t realize she had the cutest ass, and her confident stride showed it off. What would Margot look like in a bikini, stretched out on a towel on the beach?

Shaking his head to clear it, he grinned. “Thanks for the offer of a place to stay,” he said. “Might take you up on it.”

Margot smiled. “Please do.”

The flirty little way she said that had him thinking thoughts he had no business thinking about his best friend.

[scary-grace]

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 20) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 20

“Sorry about the clothes,” Spinner says as the two of you walk down the front steps of the hospital. “Himiko picked them out.”

“It’s fine,” you say. As long as you have clothes that aren’t bloodstained and torn to pieces, you don’t care what you look like. You’re just glad to be headed home.

Nobody exited the near-apocalyptic conjurer fight in good shape, but some of you were worse off than the others. Nemuri was almost blasted apart trying to defeat the giant, and although she survived it, collecting the shreds of her essence back together is apparently a slow process. Keigo took a pretty sizeable hit protecting the kids, while Aizawa had to deal with a beastlike Nomu chewing the hell out of his leg before Hizashi blew its head off. But you and Tomura were by far the worse off. You’ve been in the hospital for two days. Tomura will be in for another three at least.

Most ghosts are healthy when they permanently embody themselves, but apparently it’s different for ghosts who use their own conjurers to do it. Tomura is starvation-level thin, with severe contact allergies to almost every type of medical equipment in the hospital, and the injuries he got from the fight and the rescue from the world between were bad enough to land him in the ICU at least temporarily. They had to put him in an induced coma, too. He’s had meltdowns or panic attacks or some kind of fit every time he’s woken up.

“He’ll bounce back quickly,” Mr. Yagi assured you when he came to visit. “I did.”

That was how you learned that Mr. Yagi embodied himself from his conjurer, too – except she gave him permission to do it, when she realized she was going to die of cancer anyway. Mr. Yagi’s permanent embodiment involves chronic issues with his lungs and his stomach, all of which you’re familiar with after working as his assistant for years. Chronic, but manageable. Sometimes over the past two days, it’s seemed like Tomura’s allergic to the entire human world.

Spinner told you that permanent embodiment creates complications, but you didn’t realize just how severe those complications would be. There’s no legal record of Tomura’s existence. He doesn’t have ID or health records or health insurance. There’s no next of kin who’s empowered to make decisions for him while he’s under heavy sedation, dead to the world. Hizashi’s working overtime to forge some kind of documentation for him. The doctors have been hinting that they won’t release him without it. Legally, you don’t have any right to be involved in or updated on Tomura’s medical condition, but he managed to identify you as somebody important before he went under, which means you get a little more information than you would have gotten otherwise. The doctors have been referring to you as his girlfriend. Apparently he called you his human.

Tomura might not have a next of kin, you do, and the doctors called your parents when you were too doped up on painkillers to stop them. You managed to talk them down from coming to visit, mostly by lying and then promising that they can come visit you soon. The last thing you need is for them to come here right now. Things are too chaotic. It’s hard to think that anything normal will ever happen again.

Like today. Jin and Spinner are picking you up from the hospital and driving you home to a house that, for the first time since it was built, doesn’t have a ghost in it.

When you and Spinner make it down the steps, Jin’s idling the van near the curb with Atsuhiro snoozing in the back row. Jin bursts out laughing at the sight of you, ignoring Spinner hissing at him to shut up. “No wonder Himiko wouldn’t let me see what she picked! Ready to get out of here?”

“Yes.” That’s not quite true, though. The sharp pain in your chest as the hospital vanishes around a curve in the highway tells you that you’d rather have stayed until Tomura could come with you.

You’ve been there, the few times they’ve tried waking him up. He’s promptly freaked out each time, and while your presence settles him a bit, the fact that he’s now in a human body, experiencing the world as a human does, is way more than you can calm him down from. Luckily for you and Tomura, the embodied ghosts stepped in to help. Since last night, there’s been one of them stationed in his room at all times, ready to corral him, ready to explain, so nothing else in his hospital room goes up in dust. Tomura lost a lot of his ghostly powers, but he’s still got more than enough left to raise hell.

You don’t want to leave him there. You want to stay there until he wakes up for good, and not leave until you can bring him home. But your health insurance won’t pay for more than the two nights you already spent in the hospital, and you have a bad feeling about who’s going to be on the hook for Tomura’s hospital bill. You have to go home. You’ll be back to visit tomorrow after work, but tonight you have to go home.

“How did he look?” Spinner asks Jin. Spinner came to get you, while Jin brought Magne for her shift in Tomura’s room. “You saw him, right?”

“He looks like hell.”

“He looks like he’s looked the entire time,” Atsuhiro says sleepily from the back row. Then, to you: “They mentioned removing the feeding tube in two days. His body is burning calories rapidly, and if he doesn’t have enough in reserve, he’ll have a heart attack when he starts moving around.”

“Great,” you mumble. “Did he wake up at all?”

“Not perceptibly to the staff,” Atsuhiro says. Ghost stuff. Again. “I was able to tell him that you were being released today.”

You sort of wish Atsuhiro hadn’t done that. Tomura’s going to think you’re leaving him, and based on the conversation you had the day before things went to hell, he didn’t want to embody himself for anything less than a sure thing. You’re a sure thing. About as sure as it gets, given that you were ready to get sucked into the world between along with him rather than let him go. But he’s not going to know that until the two of you talk. And you can’t talk to him while he’s got a feeding tube down his throat.

When you left the neighborhood three nights ago, you left it in the back of an ambulance, so you didn’t get a good look at everything that happened. Now it’s daylight, and what you see isn’t pretty. A weird fog still hovers over everything. Almost every plant on the block is dead, courtesy of being flash-frozen a dozen times over, and the pavement and asphalt on your end of the street is pitted and ruptured and cracked, courtesy of the giant. Nobody’s house escaped getting knocked around a bit, but you know yours took the largest amount of damage – window smashed, porch roof caved in, fence down, yard chewed to bits – so when you get out of the car and make your way closer for a look, you’re expecting the worst.

What you’re not expecting to see is a new fence, in the process of being painted greyish blue. You’re not expecting to see Himiko and a girl you vaguely remember meeting at her birthday party painting it. And you’re definitely not expecting Izuku to pop out of absolutely nowhere, hands smeared with dirt. “Hey, you’re back! Are you okay?”

He waits long enough for you to confirm you’re not about to keel over, then pivots. “Tell me everything that happened.”

“We already told you what happened,” Spinner says. “Don’t bug her.”

“You did tell me! It was great,” Izuku says. He refocuses on you. “But you spent the most time with the conjurer, didn’t you? And you got away from him! How did you do it?”

It occurs to you, sort of suddenly, that you haven’t told anybody exactly what happened. Everybody’s clear on the important details – kidnapped by conjurer, tortured by conjurer with the intent of Nomufication, escaped, rescued by what Jin inexplicably decided to call the Vanguard Action Squad. Nobody’s asked you more until you right now. And you should probably tell somebody, just to get it on the record. “Um, it was –”

“Izuku! Leave her be,” Inko scolds, stepping out onto your front porch. You should have guessed that at least one of Izuku’s parents would be present, but you’re still surprised to see her. “I’m sorry to startle you. We were hoping to be gone by the time you got back so you’d have a quiet house.”

A quiet house. A house without Tomura in it. “It’s okay. Um – why are you here?”

“We’re helping patch things up,” Izuku says. “I’m filling in the footprints in the yard – Toga says there was a huge Nomu here – like, building-sized –”

“Bigger,” Himiko says. She looks over at the other girl, who looks worried. “I didn’t fight that one. I did lots of other fighting.”

“And Toga and Uraraka are fixing the fence,” Izuku continues. You forgot that Himiko picked out a different last name than Jin’s when she embodied herself. You’re not sure why. “Mom was keeping an eye on the guys who came to fix the window and the roof and Dad and Kacchan are in the backyard clearing out your dead plants! There are a lot of them. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t do it.” You step through the gate, barely avoiding putting your hand in wet paint. “The fence looks really nice, Himiko. You guys didn’t have to do this.”

“The old fence matched Tomura’s new hair. We had to fix it,” Himiko explains. “Now it matches his old hair.”

“He has new hair?” Uraraka asks.

“Yeah, it’s white now. He looks like an anime villain,” Spinner says, and Himiko giggles. “I didn’t know your fence was supposed to match your hair.”

“It’s not. That’s why we’re fixing it.”

“Thank you,” you say to Himiko and her friend. “And – thanks, Izuku. I’ll tell you about all the stuff later.”

He beams at you, then goes back to filling in a massive hole in your yard. You thank Spinner and Jin for the ride home, and Atsuhiro for sitting with Tomura, then make your way into your house. The last time you were here, you could barely walk. You were oozing blood everywhere and you were in agony, but you remember seeing Tomura on the porch and stumbling into his arms and feeling for just a moment like everything would be okay. Everything is okay. But just like Aizawa said of you being turned into a Nomu, this came at a cost – and you weren’t the one to pay.

There are a few bloodstains on the front porch steps. You collect some varnish from your hall closet and come back out to paint them over.

“My dear.” Mr. Yagi’s feet appear in your field of vision and you look up at him. He looks miserable, his mouth trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“You were taken from the parking lot. I knew the conjurer could be near. I knew you were in danger. And instead of ensuring your safety I allowed you to –”

“You weren’t responsible for my safety. I was,” you say. You’re pretty sure nothing could have stopped the conjurer. If he hadn’t grabbed you from the parking lot before work, he would have grabbed you when you went outside on your lunch break or when you headed home. “The bracelets you gave me helped me get away from him. I wouldn’t have escaped without them.”

Mr. Yagi looks surprised. “Is that so?”

“When he noticed them, he broke one. It released all this energy and threw him across the room. That’s how I got out. And me and the ghost who helped me escape used the other one to blow up the building we were in.”

“My master must have known he would break them,” Mr. Yagi says. He smiles slightly, sadly. “She was a master tactician. And speaking of her – I suppose it’s no longer relevant, but I brought over the notes Izuku and I took from her journals, if you’d still like to read them.”

“I’d like to.” You’ll need something to do tonight, when you’re here all alone for the first time. “Thank you.”

The two of you sit together on the steps until the varnish dries and the smell of food begins to drift out of the kitchen. You go to investigate and find that Inko’s turned your kitchen into some kind of industrial cooking facility. “This is for tonight,” she says, gesturing to a pot simmering on your stove. “I’ve made things for the next four days also. The list on the counter is a list of common food sensitivities, in case Tomura picked up anything during his embodiment. And if you have any questions about anything, please call me.”

You feel a lump growing in your throat, making it hard to swallow. “I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Inko says. She smiles at you. “I would have liked someone to talk to, when it was me.”

You nod a few times, manage to thank her. Then you excuse yourself to the bathroom, so she won’t see you struggling not to cry.

You’re not sure why you’re so miserable, why it’s so hard for you to hold it together as everyone heads home for the evening. The only thing that helps even slightly is when Phantom comes home, brought over by Shinsou and Hizashi, who’ve been keeping an eye on her for you. She’s so happy to see you that she leaps a full three feet off the ground and knocks you over, which hurts. You hug her close even though you can tell she’s dying to zoom ecstatically around the house and look up at Shinsou and Hizashi from the floor. “Thanks for looking out for her. I owe you.”

“That’s the closest I’m gonna get to getting a dog until I move out. It’s great,” Shinsou says. Aizawa and Eri are committed cat people, but Shinsou’s said multiple times that he likes both. “So you got out of the hospital. Are you, like – good?”

“Great,” you say. It’s a good thing you and Shinsou aren’t ghosts, because if you were, you wouldn’t have a prayer of getting away with the lie. “It’s nice to be home.”

Hizashi nods impatiently as you pick yourself up off the ground and Phantom goes tearing off to inspect the house, Shinsou in hot pursuit. He has a folder tucked under one arm, and he holds it out to you. “Here. ID and birth certificate for him. I’m working on the rest.”

The ID is right on top, complete with a photo. “How’d you get a photo of him?”

“Took it in the hospital. Fixing the background and photoshopping his eyes open was a bitch.” Hizashi looks pretty proud of himself anyway. “I made him the same age as you. He looks it at least. The birthday is an approximation of his summoning date. I couldn’t use his embodiment date. I didn’t want the doctors asking too many questions about how he had the worst birthday ever.”

“Thanks.” You inspect everything a little closer, then nearly drop the folder in shock. “Shigaraki Tomura? You gave him his conjurer’s last name?”

“I couldn’t think of anything else,” Hizashi says. “It flows pretty nicely, right?”

You guess it does, except for the part where you’re going to think of the conjurer every time you use Tomura’s new full name. “Thank you,” you say again, uselessly. “I don’t know what I’d do if you hadn’t helped.”

Hizashi looks as uncomfortable being thanked by you as you are doing the thanking. “Don’t worry about it. His shit’s a lot easier to forge than the Nomus’.”

Shinsou and Hizashi stick around for a little longer, checking out the repairs and marveling at all the food Inko cooked, then head home. You shut and lock the door behind them, and all at once you’re home alone. Just you and Phantom, like you thought it would be when you bought this place. Phantom is wandering from room to room, greeting you when she passes by but very much looking for something. Looking for Tomura.

“He’ll be home soon,” you promise her. She knows who you’re talking about. She whines. “I miss him, too.”

You feel aimless, and you feel sick. You should probably eat something. You fill a bowl from the pot Inko left on the stove and settle in on the couch to pick at it, staring at nothing if you’re not looking into the bowl itself. It tastes good, but you’ve got no desire to eat it. You eat it anyway. If you’re going to be miserable no matter what, you might as well do it on a full stomach.

Part of you thinks it’s normal to feel wrecked after everything that’s happened. You were kidnapped and tortured. You watched your ghost die in front of you nineteen times. You almost got force-fed a ghost and almost turned into a Nomu and almost watched your house be destroyed and almost killed somebody and almost lost your ghost to the world between. Only a crazy person wouldn’t be upset. But at the same time, it’s a whole lot of almost. It could have been so much worse. It almost was. What is there for you to be upset about?

Your phone rings and you pick it up just for somebody to talk to. It’s your mom. “When I called the hospital they said you’d been discharged today. Why didn’t you call?”

“It’s been a lot. I just got home.” It’s probably not good that your default is to lie to her. “Everything’s fine.”

“Everything isn’t,” your mom says severely. “I raised you. I know you. Even over the phone, I know that tone in your voice.”

“How do you know me, Mom? We barely talk. We barely talked even when I was a kid.” You shouldn’t say this. Now’s not the right time to say this, but you’ve started, and you can’t stop yourself. “Everything’s not fine, and I don’t want to talk about it. Not with you. Not with anybody! The only person I want to talk to about it is Tomura, and he’s –”

In the hospital, in an induced coma, with a feeding tube down his throat that they won’t remove for two more days. Your own throat closes up, and your mom is silent on her end of the line. You brace yourself for her to blow up at you, to talk about how you never let her in, how the distance between the two of you is your fault. Instead: “You must be really worried about Tomura,” she says. “How is he doing?”

“He’s – they think he’ll be out in three days,” you say haltingly. “It’s – it’s worse for him than it was for me. I was healthier to start with. But they said he’ll be home in three days.”

“Are you going to visit him tomorrow?”

“I want to,” you say. “I have to go back to work, too. My boss said he’d give me as much time as I need, but I need to save it for when Tomura’s home.”

“When he’s home,” your mother repeats. “You live together?”

Oops. “Yeah. For a while now.”

“So it’s serious.”

“As serious as it gets,” you say. For a moment you’re overwhelmed by the memory of clinging to his hand as the world between dragged him in, refusing to let go even if it meant you’d be pulled in, too. “I’m – this is it for me, Mom. He’s it. I’m not leaving him.”

“I would never ask you to leave him,” your mom says, surprised. You shouldn’t have said that, should have known that the weight behind it wouldn’t make sense to her. “I’m looking forward to meeting him, once the two of you have recovered from all of this. You still haven’t told me what happened.”

You haven’t told anyone. “It’s hard to explain,” you say. Your phone begins to beep again, signaling an incoming call, and your stomach lurches when you see Magne’s caller ID. “I’m getting a call from the hospital. I have to go. Sorry –”

“Go,” your mom says immediately. “I’ll call back later. I love you.”

You manage to mumble that you love her too, then end the call and accept Magne’s. “What’s happening? Is he okay?”

You hear Magne speaking to someone else, but you can’t hear what she’s saying, and then her voice is there again, right in your ear. “Tomura’s awake,” she says. “They’re trying to sedate him again, but he’s a little upset. You can imagine.”

You can imagine. “Can I talk to him?”

“That’s why I called you, honey.” Magne puts you on speaker, and you hear her voice from a distance. “You’re right by his ear. Go ahead.”

“Tomura,” you say, and you hear a strangled sound. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Nobody there wants to hurt you. They’re just trying to help.”

You imagine him arguing that it hurts anyway. Probably also that it’s not helping, and he still feels like hell. “The sooner you get through this, the sooner you can come home,” you tell him. “That’s where I am right now. Me and Phantom are waiting for you. We’ll be here when you get back. Three days, right?”

“Right,” a doctor confirms from somewhere in the offing. “The wounds are healing well. The nutritional deficiencies are the main concern now.”

“You’ll be home soon,” you promise. “I’ll come visit you tomorrow.”

He’d be protesting if he could talk. Probably saying that he’ll be asleep tomorrow if he lets them sedate him again. “I’ll be there,” you say. “You’re fun to hang out with even when you’re asleep.”

You wonder if he’ll hear what you’re calling back to – all those months ago, when you were trying to keep him out of your bedroom at night. “I love you. I’ll be there tomorrow. Tomura –”

“He’s out,” Magne tells you. She laughs quietly. “We all knew you had him wrapped around your finger, but it’s really something to see in action.”

You close your eyes. “Thanks for sitting with him. It would be harder if you weren’t.”

Magne says something about how it’s not a problem, even though it is, and you thank her again and hang up the phone. You wish you were there with Tomura in the hospital. Even if you can’t talk to him, you can hold his hand. You could get used to the warmth of his skin and the new rhythm of his pulse and the sight of his white hair, before he comes home to you for good. You finish your soup and lift Phantom into your lap. She was with you at the start of all this, before all of this. She’s the only thing right now that feels like home. She lets you hug her and licks your face a few times, and for some stupid reason, that’s when you start to cry.

[vinff7]

This update got me looking at and editing some of my Head canons, so posting those here. HC for how Gortash started worshiping Bane. And other ‘young Gortash’ HC

The game gives us very little hints about how and when Gortash started worshiping Bane. (Except for that one draft of a biography that seemed to place it in his adulthood, but doesn’t mention Hell? I think that might have just been when his Bane worship got more pronounced and noticed by that author not when it really started)

So I’ve made my own headcanon as I’ve seen multiple different versions around.

For me I think he started worshiping Bane in the House of Hope. Not right off the bat. I HC that Gortash likely was enslaved down there around the age of 10. Obviously a very difficult transition for a child to start living in Hell. But I think he eventually got to a point where he was aloud to wander somewhat and read in the library to educate himself. But was also taught by the Walock that brought him there to start (In-between him getting tortured and abused because I love whump to much to not imagine that there were horendious things done to him)

During this time around age 11 I like to think that he caught the attention of an awful demon/devil that would take torturing him really far, citing how amusing it was to get Enver to cry.

I also like to HC that young Enver had really bad anxiety and fear around crying. Like when he was in baulders gate his parents would get furious and yell at him to shut up. So if he noticed he was getting close to crying he would panic, which would pretty much ensure he would cry. And it would be a fun awful spiral of self hate thoughts at himself to be quiet and stop crying making his crying worse.

Anyway, awful torture keeps happening to the kid in between him needing to work and learn. And then Enver’s warlock teacher misses his lesson, and the next one. So Enver is hiding out trying to avoid the houses inhabitants when he finally spots his Walrock teacher and approaches them. Tries to figure out when his next lesson would be. Only to get dismissed with a wave. His mentor tells him The devil that had taken an interest in him has a habit of killing and breaking prisoners and he out ranks the Warlock, so the Warlock is giving up teaching Enver since trying to argue that he should be left alone would be more trouble then it’s worth.

Outright tells an 11 year old “Yeah, maybe not today, but I bet by the time 6 months has passed he’ll have tortured you to death. So there’s not really a point in teaching you anything anymore. No matter what you or I do you’ll end up the like mindless tormented souls soon.“ seeing how terrified Enver looked he says “Best you can do is try convince a god to fish your soul out of here after that devil gets bored or reckless enough to torture you to death.”

Which uh, def fucks with Enver’s head. So he does start deep diving into the Gods and trying to figure out if he can find any he aligns with enough that they would take him. And during this search he finds books about Bane and I fee like Bane’s philosophies is something he would immediatly relate and cling too.

Bane started as a slave and became a God. Bane teaches that the world is truely an Evil place by default, and pretending it isn’t is a lie. Someone who has only seen the worst the worlds have to offer must feel so validated reading that. To me Bane teaches so much about Self Disciple and self Control that some of his books written by worshipers must go into methods of self control. I can see young Enver finding a book of Worship with mantras to repeat when feeling weak or when needing to focus and clinging to those like a life raft.

Repeating phrases like mantras over and over in real life can have mind altering properties. Add a religious one to a word with magic and maybe there is an added Boost that actually works for getting in the zone via worship.

I don’t think Bane answered or noticed Enver at first, at all. I don’t think this discouraged Enver at all, the mantras helped and he figured he needed to do more to earn his gods favor so he worked at it. The focus on his self control helped. He could endure toruture quietly more and some of his tormentors lost interest in the now more stoic boy. Learning to master himself became a thing he could control to keep himself sane in Hell through the torment.

Obviously things didn’t ever get kind in Hell. But I also imagine after a few years of contactless worship Bane does notice Enver since getting prayer pings from Hell is not the most common. I doubt he would often interveen. Enduring torture is good training for a Banite.

I do think the first time they speak is an intervension though. Gods are able to see the future when it comes to things under their portfolio and so I imagine he could see that Enver has a LOT of potential. But he notices that the potential vanishes if all is left with nothing changing which gets him to interveen.

In my head the violent devil that started all of this does decide he want’s to break Enver during a point where Raphael might have been out of the house. Bane notices looking into the future that the torture they have planned for Enver would shatter him, and while Bane approved of discipline, he knows the difference between being weak and being put through so much agony that it’s unreasonable to expect discipline to cary someone through.

So I imagine Enver getting dragged from his cell, trying to fight down panic and start praying as a devil taunts him about his up coming torutre then, vision starts getting very dark and far away as Bane reaches in and just puuuulls his soul away. Bane is able to posses his followers so in my mind he does that for Gortash and pulls him away for a private chat.

I imagine being possesed by Bane is a bit like The Sunken Place from Get out. There is a viewing window you can look out to see what you body is doing, and otherwise Bane sponsored darkness. I feel like they had a short chat, nothing huge for Bane but life altering for a kid, someone actually caring for him enough to help. I feel like Bane would make an agreement with Enver that he will make sure Enver will never have to go through anything so bad that he would not be able to overcome it, which is a huge boost of self confidence for Enver. Now anytime he’s getting tortured in the future he has the promise of ‘My God knows this won’t break me’ going off in the back of his mind.

Bane also tells Enver that he won’t step in to free Enver, Enver needs to free himself, but he will grant him power if needed so that Enver can rise up as long as Enver loyaly serves him.

And so that is how they meet and Enver becomes even more loyally tied to Bane in my HC! I also have a couple ideas I’ll toss here at the end about him escaping since I’m already rambling.

I like to think that once he was older Enver was able to escape by using the Helldusk boots since he has those in game. My though was somehow the boots magic was used almost like a magic key? So he stole those, wards noticed the boots and figured whoever had them must be aloud to be there else why would they have them, so they helped him get past some magic locks and escape.

I did see in a fic about Enver leaping through those portals that could cause insanity and just giving a ‘hey help me out’ prayer to Bane to help him survive which worked and I always liked that idea.

Last Gortash ~ Bane idea that I like is that once Gortash escaped from the House of Hope Bane gave him his approval and told him like “You’re a Watchful Brother in Bane’s church, now you’ll never be called a Slave again.” And got to skip that ‘rank’ in normal Baneite hierarchy.

[blacklegsanjiii]

More RLS!siblings cause i'm obsessed- what if Sanji had photographic camera during the timw was with Robin and Law before the storm?

He gets it some weeks after being saved by R and L, and one afternoon he just looks at it from outside some store but don't mention how much he liked the camera, but the two older noticed either way.

So one of them buy this and gift Sanji the camera. After this, every time they get to have at least a little bit of peace and fun, Sanji takes a photo. Sometimes other person do it.

(I hc that the RLS stayed together for two years, so the storm happen and Sanji stop directly in the rock) The picture they like the most is from Sanji's 10 years-old birthday, and is also the last one they took.

Law stayed with the camera and decided to get all the photos in a box hidden in his bedroom. Only Bepo, Sachi and Penguin know about it.

After Wano, Law give a copy of their favorite photo to Robin and Sanji, and let's them look at the photos in the box.

(Luffy, of course, drags himself and his poor brothers to look at the photos too)

Amazing. Your glorious brain is glorious. It is also absolutely heart wrenching to know they only had each other for two years.

They're walking around a town a few weeks after getting Sanji and he keeps seeing snail cameras and Robin and Law keep sharing looks. Sanji is so quiet and doesn't talk unless answering questions. He just follows suit. So of course they surprise him with it and smile softly and hold him at the tears that fall. They know he's been through hell, they all have, but his is still fresh.

Sanji takes photos of whatever he deems important, mostly of his new siblings and the rare peaceful moments. Robin and Law take photos of him as well because otherwise there would be no photos of little Sanji. There are photos of the three of them. Their first boat, random slow nights camped out somewhere. When they found Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin, everyone's birthdays.

I feel like it's Shachi, Bepo, and Penguin who make them celebrate birthdays. The last one they all celebrate together would be Sanji's because fuck him I guess. We're going to hurt this kid. The party is just for the six of them. Robin some how acquired a cake which Law scrunches his fifteen year old nose at but does eat a small, I mean small, slice of. Robin used her fruit to take the photo of the six of them with Sanji in the middle being held by Bepo as Shachi and Penguin look jealous of the bear. Robin and Law are smiling, actually smiling, as Sanji is laughing as Bepo is nuzzling Sanji.

Then the storm happens and they're gone. Law is staring blankly at the camera for a couple weeks in his depressive state before getting the film developed. Bepo frames the photo of the birthday party and hangs it in Law's room. Then on the Tang it is glued to the wall. Law frowns at Bepo as Shachi and Penguin sit on his bed and go through the photos and coo.

During the dinner with ASL because this has to happen at the same time truthfully. Robin mentions offhandedly about how sad it is they don't have the photos anymore and Sanji agrees. Luffy is sad they don't have photos anymore because little Sanji has to be as cute as big Sanji and Robin hums and mentions that Sanji looked like a little skeleton with a soft smile and calling him adorable. Law mentions he does have the photos and shambles them birthday photo off his wall and goes and gets the box from under his bed. He comes back with them as they all look.

"Ah, my tenth birthday, our last good memory." Sanji laughs at the picture as Robin shows it to the table.

"I like how this is one of three photos we have of Law smiling." Robin agrees. They go through the other photos and reminince. Luffy whines that he and his brothers should have done something similar growing up bu they didn't. Robin says she assumed they were lost in the storm as well but clearly not. Law holds up a photo of Sanji looking like Robin said, a little skeleton, being held by Robin as they look at the stars.

A few weeks later a box arrives on the Sunny from the Tang, copies off all the photos and the birthday photo in a frame, and a camera. So now Robin and Sanji are showing everyone else the photos. Telling the stories behind them and their time together as the first members of the Heart Pirates.

Photo exchanges happen all the time now, much to Law's dismay.

[somedayonbroadway]

Okay so in one of my rps, Race is from an abusive family (Mom died when he was 4, dad was abusive as hell) and he ran away one night to avoid getting killed and Albert (With his dad, he was like, 10, Race was 8), found him curled up in an alleyway sobbing. They took him in. Can you maybe... write a lil on it?

Of course, my love!

Here we are, let me know if you like it!

Race was shivering by the garbage can. He was wrapped up in an old tarp that someone had thrown out. It smelled like old bananas and cheap cologne. He knew it was about to start raining. The clouds were swirling over him and he cuddled up even more, whimpering when he felt his broken wrist again. He sniffled and began to cry again, wishing his daddy would come and find him and apologize. Maybe he would take him home and give him a nice warm blanket and the soup that mama used to make.

But the poor child knew that would never happen. He just wanted to be warm and safe and now he was terrified the monsters in the dark would come and get him. Just swallow him whole like he was nothing.

So he just started crying. Daddy said crying was for babies. He said Race shouldn’t be crying because he had things other kids didn’t. But the boy couldn’t stop, hiccuping and fisting at his cheeks.

The poor kid tried to close his eyes, but he sobbed even harder when he remembered the way his father had looked at him. The way the man had charged at him with that broken beer bottle, how the eight year old had to climb out the window to get away. He knew something bad would’ve happened. Something really bad. Still, for some reason, he wanted to go back. Maybe he would at least be warm.

He wished he could watch his favorite television shows, where the kids always went home to the parents who he couldn’t ever see the faces off, but they’d always scoop up the kids like him and hug them and the kids were always so happy. Instead, he was sure the darkness would come for him as the rain began to fall.

But someone tapped on his tarp, making him gasp and scramble away. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he wailed. “I’m sorry, I’ll be quiet!”

“No, no,” another boy assured, his flaming red hair sticking to his forehead because of the rain. “It’s okay! I'm sorry… I’m Albert, who are you?”

The little boy shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered again.

“No, what’s your name? My papa and I saw you and we thought you needed help, can we help you?”

Race stared at him with wide blue eyes, his pale face made the color even more haunting and vibrant. “H-help?” he asked.

The man behind Albert shushed him and took off his giant jacket, taking Race’s tarp off of him and sighed when he found the child in only a pair of ripped underwear. He gently scooped the boy up and wrapped him in his jacket, holding him in one arm and keeping a hand wrapped around Albert’s to guide him home.

The little blond boy was too tired to do anything but cry and cuddle into the warmth. He whimpered and gripped tightly at the jacket. And before he knew it, he was in a warm bath, the water making his skin feel tingly as Albert rushed in with too many bath toys and the old man with the fading red hair gently washed the boy. Race yawned as Albert splashed a rubber duck around in front of his new friend. “This is Spongie! He loves water! And this is Klive, his arch nemesis! You wanna play?”

Race stared at the duckies, barely even able to understand the words being spoken to him. He was too relaxed at the hands massaging shampoo into his golden curls. He was wearing swim trunks that he didn’t recognize and he felt cold and hot all at once. “Daddy?”

“Don’t worry, a leanbh,” the old man whispered in a thick accent Race had never heard before. “We can get you back to your daddy, do you know where he is?”

“He was real mad at me,” Race whimpered as more tears started to fall down his face. “He hurt my arm…”

The old man nodded. “Yeah, I can see that, don’t try to move it. We’re gonna call some very nice people who can help us.”

Albert began to put on a whole story for Race. “And then Klive goes like this!” And Race laughed tiredly, leaning into the old man taking care of him. “Yeah, he’s goofy. You like him?” The littler boy nodded.

“Yeah… can we play again?” Race asked as his eyes began to slide closed.

Albert frowned. “Is he okay, Pa?”

The old man nodded. “Yeah… he just needs some rest. It’s okay, now,” he whispered. “Close your eyes, child.”

Race couldn’t fight against that soft command. He let his eyes close, hoping that he would wake up and be warm.

[twothpaste]

finally took some notes to iron out whatever the hell is going on with fuel's mom & nana's parents in the 2thpaste cinematic universe. dropping 'em below the cut in case anyone's curious

-

Fuel's mom is Lisa. She and Lighter had an affair before Nichol & Richie were born, it was a whole disastrous awkward scramble. Stuff like infidelity wasn't supposed to happen in Tazmily - it rattled their utopian fantasy, and perhaps threatened to shatter it. In an effort to preserve the peace (read: the impossible illusion of a forever perfect happy town where nothing unpleasant ever happens), Thomas & the rest of the villagers agreed to sweep it under the rug if Lighter raised the kid. Unspoken tensions lingered nonetheless. Lighter still carries some shame over it, Thomas might still hate Lighter's guts, lmao. Despite the accidental circumstances of his single fatherdom, Lighter rises nobly to the occasion, and turns out to be a great dad. Nasty rumors may have circulated on the downlow when he was little, but Fuel's affable, upstanding, hardworking nature earns some respect back for both him and his father.

Fuel isn't exactly ashamed of how he came into the world, but he's got an understated complex where he feels like his mere existence creates burdens for others. :( The events of the game reinforce this, as he unwittingly holds up the search for Hinawa, blames himself in part for Lucas & Claus losing their mom, takes up useless space on the sidelines while the kid who's been through worse saves the whole goddamn world, and so on, and so forth... He also feels guilty when he contrasts his motherlessness with the twins'. Thinks he's got no right to wish he'd had a mother in his life, when his situation was just a socially unacceptable blunder on his parents' part, rather than something gruesomely traumatic. Fuel had a very distant and awkward relationship with Lisa growing up. Only spoke to her as briefly and politely as he could manage, despite bein' friends with his half-siblings. Graciously, he & Lisa make an earnest effort to reconnect at some point postgame, and are on good terms by the time he's an adult.

-

Nana's mom is Betsy. Her dad's name was Jensen Ketch, and he actually adopted her. Jensen very much wanted a kid, Betsy n' Jackie had an unwanted pregnancy, they gave him the baby. In postgame retrospect, they recall Jensen's dearly beloved wife had died while pregnant on the White Ship. He'd always yearned for another chance to raise a child, but could not bring himself to remarry, even with his memories being wiped. He and Nana were very close. He adored his eccentric autistic transgender daughter, and raised her with far more care than any of his neighbors (or even her blood parents) probably would've.

Jensen's amnesia began coming undone when Nana was 9 or 10. He was plagued by strange dreams, and envisioned a world beyond Nowhere, somewhere past the horizon. (The villagers now rumormonger that, aside from him bein' a generally odd dude, it's 'cause he lived right by the ocean, on the far edge of town. Perhaps the waves sung louder, to him, than Leder's bell.) Troubled and captivated by the sea's uncharted mysteries, he built a sailboat, left Nana with Betsy & Jackie, and departed on a solo survey mission. It was only supposed to last a couple weeks. He sent letters home via pigeon. The last was lovingly poetic, enamored with the beauty of the sun and the sea, eagerly telling Nana he hoped one day she could see it for herself.

(There's a quiet horror in Jensen's fate. He either died at sea, in bright-eyed pursuit of a past that would've mortified him - or really did make landfall on some destroyed continent, succumbing to the inhospitable terrors of the world he'd left behind.)

When his letters stopped coming, the villagers, unable to comprehend such a soft and dubious loss, assured Nana he'd be home any day. She became more reserved in his absence. Before they could start to get too doubtful, Hinawa's death threw everything off the rails. Most folks sorta forgot about Jensen & Nana as the village modernized. She and Lucas lowkey relate deeply to one another, even though her tragedy was so comparatively subdued, folks hardly even acknowledged it.

[blindrapture]

SUNDAY JUNE 5TH, 2011 (WOMP WOMP)

4:30 AM I’ve slept plenty. Now I’m ready to go and do shit.

4:36 AM I’m gonna take a walk around this town, see what’s there to see.

5:29 AM Hello, handsome. I found a mirror in a shop. A big mirror. Y’know, I didn’t realize I looked so damn good in this white suit. The actual jacket is more of a light-blue colour, but I guess it’s to set me apart from most white-suit folk. I think Mistress really thought this outfit through. It’s like.. a proper disguise. After all this killing, nobody’s gonna recognize me because I’ll be wearing all black and carrying a guitar controller! I gotta try not to get blood all over the suit.

5:41 AM …no way. You have got to be shitting me, this can’t possibly be real. This is a fucking CD shop.

5:53 AM Sunsetters’ No Entry, Genesis’ Abacab, and I decided to give Bonnjo Vjonsped’s experimental years a try with Womp Womp. I dunno, it looks interesting. Luckily, in Rapture, there’s no worry about paying for shit. >w>

5:59 AM Went back to my car. Gonna listen to this shit on that music player, so I can play it super-loud and not wake people up. Let’s try Womp Womp.

6:19 AM WOMP WOMP WOMP WOMP WOMP WOMP WOMP WOMP WOMP WOMP Take the bass Rock the place Kick the space In the face With a taste Of your case Of Bud Lite taste AND THE PARTY GOES WOMP WOMP WOMP WOMP 7:10 AM Okay, that was about as close to the music of the gods as anything could get without being progressive rock. That was legitimately amazing. I’m tired. I’ve been dancing too much. I’m gonna go back to the hotel.

7:28 AM There’s that little kid again. He’s just sitting, cross-legged, in the hallway. He’s looking at me, and he’s smiling. It’s an innocent smile, but I can see something behind it. Like he knows something. And he’s just.. waiting. ..I’m gonna wait in the bar.

7:31 AM Bar’s fairly quiet, no doubt because it’s this early.

7:47 AM Ferdinando came in. He’s sitting nearby, minding his own. I don’t think I’ll use my crowbar for this. I’m gonna take a glass. Tall glass. ..fuck, I don’t know how the hell I’m gonna make it out of this. I do not look forward to it.

8:25 AM I was so barbaric He wasn’t a monster and I was so barbaric

9:56 AM Hiding. Found a house. Hiding. Oh god, I must have gotten the whole town after me. I think Ferdinando was the messenger they were sending to Manresa. I’m gonna.. I’m just gonna rest a bit. Just a bit.

12:03 PM ..motherfucker where’s my car where is my car No no no nooo oh god no, all my prog was in there I’m.. no. No, just no no, no please, I can’t do this, my prog. ._. Oh god.

12:07 PM …false alarm, I just remembered I took all my CDs into the house with me. BUT STILL. My car! Looks like I’m back to walking.

12:34 PM Like before, I have no idea where I’m going now. I mean, I know I’m going to Manresa, but I have no idea where that is. I guess I’ll just keep following this road.

3:01 PM God, it’s getting hot.

5:22 PM I’ve noticed that there have been a lot less crazy monsters ever since I left Blackpool. I almost miss them. It’s better than all this boredom.

8:49 PM I’m getting very tired. I’m just gonna.. stop in this house here. And sleep.

8:57 PM FUCK RUN RUN OH GODDD RUN RUN RUN

9:14 PM There were people there, oh my god. They answered the door with a shotgun. And said “Dios mio, el bufon blanco!” I guess that’s my name now. The white buffoon.

9:32 PM Another house. I’m gonna try this one.

9:40 PM Empty, completely empty. Perfect. I’m gonna get some shut-eye, then. Hopefully tomorrow will be better than today was.

(Attached: “While Womp Womp wasn’t the first instance of dubstep in the music world, it was probably the funniest. Bonnjo Vjonsped are the world’s dumbest metal band. Their name is pronounced ‘Bon Jovi on speed,’ a pronunciation that literally makes no sense when you look at the way it’s spelled and think about it for a second. They spent most of their years in obscurity, though Womp Womp was met on release with a warm reception since no one had heard of these guys so the critics assumed the album was a parody. The cheesy lyrics were quite serious, I assure you. I’ve met the guys.”)

[PREV LOG] [TABLE OF CONTENTS] [NEXT LOG]

[passthroughtime]

15 People, 15 Questions

tagged by @sunlightfeeling <3 thank youuuu

1. Are you named after anyone?

no. my mom hated my name actually, because of her acquaintance with my very name. but dad liked it way too much for some reason lol

2. When was the last time you cried?

the first thing after i’ve woken up today. today’s dream brought back bad memories lol

3. Do you have kids?

nope. don’t plan to, either

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

i’ve tried playing volleyball in 5th grade. it’s fun, but i’m not a sporty person at all

5. Do you use sarcasm?

everyone does at least once in their life 😔

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

hmmm. their voice? i don’t really pay attention and thus remember anyone’s appearance to the point that i can forget a face, clothes, EVERYTHING of the person who i just met. it’s confusing and a problem when people ask me to keep their place in queue... i have to purposefully pick one distinct piece of clothing to remember, even if all that i remember of it would be its colour

7. What’s your eye color?

i like to answer this question as “hell if i know” <3 the colour shifts between grey, greyish blue and dirty green

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

happy endings. i’m a big baby and easily scared

9. Any talents?

i don’t believe in talent :) © a talentless person

well, i’m regarded as a rather smart person? i was jack of all trades during school. nothing really stood out. though people also tend to say that i have a knack for (learning) languages

10. Where were you born?

a small town in irkutsk region :) i’ve left it when i was around two y/o though

11. What are your hobbies?

experiencing stories. i’ve read tons of books during my childhood and early adolescence, then i’ve switched to tv shows till i was around 20, and now i mainly play video games. but the core part is still stories, and it stays the same whatever media type i prefer at the moment

and all this time i have been writing my own little stories too

12. Do you have any pets?

yes, a kitty named peach. he is grumpy, quiet and likes being left alone, but still can be cute and even ask for scratches

13. How tall are you?

160 cm. i’m the smallest in my family

14. Favorite subject in school?

maths and english mainly, though i liked almost everything

15. Dream job

the one where i can Make The Difference lol. i have this kind of a job now, even if it’s the smallest difference that i’m making right now. still, it’s nice knowing i can change something for the better

but also i’d like to write. it isn’t a job worth doing (financially), so i do it as a hobby (and i’m content with this)

--

tagging uhhh. whoever wants to be tagged, i’m not really in the mood to be annoying, but want to hear answers from everyone who sees this post :)

[redphienix]

Got the late night blues so let me take this opportunity to instead focus on something genuine, joyful, and heartwarming for myself.

I've taken a few scant opportunities to talk about various things my dad has done that make me happy- that add up to a small part of why I love the guy, and for my 30th birthday he did another one that really touched my heart.

The thing with my dad is he's not a particularly externally expressive emotion kinda guy. Like think of a generic physical labor tough guy dad type and you've got the idea- not particularly expressive, sometimes he's grumpy, that kinda person- at least as far as he's expressed to me all these years.

I've seen him at some emotional break-points, he's not so stone cold that I've never seen him cry and I've certainly seen him laugh or joyful- but most of the time he's kind of plain-faced and quiet about it. I'm giving a touch more of a 'grim' implication to him, it's more accurate to say he's got like a 10% happy 40% hard-ass 50% present attitude to him. He usually feels pleasant but quiet unless he's telling a story.

So you wouldn't really think to get particularly heartfelt gifts from the guy, and usually you won't. He's said many times ever since we were kids that he can't pretend to know what we'd actually want, so he gives money. That's his gift, that's what you get, he loves ya and here's 50-200 bucks or whatever. Happy birthday/christmas etc.

A few times he's broken this, either because someone else pushed him to, or because we ask for something specific, or because he gets an idea- and these moments- especially the last one- always catch me off guard.

That's how you get him painting a giant pikachu on my wall as a kid, or helping paint a skyline with birds across a different childhood room, or the pendant he gave me a few years back that I'll always guess my step mom pushed him to get but the fact he did still makes me smile-

but for my 30th he did something that caught me off guard so much it took me a few hours before it really hit me and damn near made me cry because I find it sweet.

When I was a kid my dad used to take me to a giant kentucky flea market that happened like once a year. We went a good handful of times together, it was a big deal for us, it was like up to a week we'd spend just me, him, my grandpa, and usually an uncle or cousin along for the ride, and we'd work a stand and explore the market.

So here's what he got me:

Some of you will know, others might scratch your head- the thing is for a moment I was the latter.

This looked so FAMILIAR but it escaped me.

Then I was reminded why it looked so familiar. They are honey sticks.

A treat I used to beg for constantly whenever we went on our trips.

There was a stand where a bee-keeper (or not hell if I know) would sell tons of flavored honeys they had- I remember begging to get big jars of the stuff with combs inside- what I had forgotten until I saw these was just how many of these little sticks I had eaten over my many years visiting the market.

I used to get these all the time!

But the thing is.

My dad remembered.

Of course he did, he was older than I was at the time, but also, he didn't have to remember. It isn't like we talk about that time too much, I wouldn't expect a sentimental memory like this.

But the time we shared was important enough to remember. He remembered kid me loving these silly little treats and begging for them and how many I tore through while we ran the stall, and he picked some more up to celebrate my 30th.

Just typing it has me tearing up pretty bad. I love that mother fucker.

I've only eaten one so far, but it brought back so many memories of our time there.

I just. I love my dad. And the fact he sat there and thought of me, remembered me, and got me something that only I would find meaningful due to our shared experience, it got me pretty fucking hard, man.

Hilariously enough. To cap it off he got me a little money. Because he's my dad. He doesn't know what I'd want, so you get money, and that'll do.

[alyjojo]

October 🌹 2024 Monthly - Gemini

Preshuffle: There’s a situation that’s caused pain in the family or in a living situation before, you’re finding out something regarding this that wasn’t previously known - clarity & truth 💡

Meditation: Wow. So Taurus’s message had The Empress’s garden, and yours has that same garden but at night-time, you’re like “The Night Watch.” I’m seeing bright lights around everything, like museum displays, and little cameras right next to the lights, because you’d have to look into the light to even see the camera, and no one will. Could be dealing with a Taurus, especially family. Or…surveillance?

Main energy: 10 Cups

What’s going on in October:

9 Wands, 9 Cups rev, Page of Pentacles, The High Priestess & The Wheel of Fortune rev

Your reading made me laugh a little. With Marriage highlighted, or solid relationships, there’s a blip on the radar. You’re showing up as the more practical & stable of the two, whereas your person may shoot from the hip or go overboard in some way or another. You’re used to it. I’m seeing a woman at a bar order ten Jell-O shots and her guy/girl behind her ordering some waters, because “he knows where this is going.” You’re the logical thinker here, the one that’s always prepared. Probably because you love the hell out of this person - Queen of Pentacles, I’m hearing they’re your Queen/King, you could even use those as pet names. I’m also hearing “acts of service,” you could be the kind of person that likes to make sure everyone else is comfortable before you sit down. Or they’re normally that person - but you like to be that for *them* specifically. Cater to their needs, it’s a very sweet, loving, and generous energy from you.

Oh snap...the next row has drug abuse for someone, not all, there are painful truths about this being communicated by someone showing up as The Hierophant. I’m seeing pills 💊 Could be a doctor or a counselor. If not abuse, something missed with medicine, a mix-up even, could be literal pain pills with 9 Wands & 9 Cups rev, I’m hearing “Xanax”. Pain could also be caused because of some kind of medical mix-up. I don’t think this is you, it’s definitely a spouse or the like, for someone that has one. I’m also seeing ADHD medicine for someone with children in school, you could be hearing something from a school counselor even, about that. Or it could simply be your kid has a headache in school and they won’t give them medicine without a doctor’s prescription, even Ibuprofen. Tarot can sometimes make things sound extreme, but I’m getting some lesser drama stories too. On the spectrum of what I’m saying here, and I’m also hearing “on the spectrum” apply to someone. Could be ADD/Autism but that’s not the only story…not the only diagnosis? It’s all I’m getting specifically. Note: I’m not a doctor, I read cards and hear shit 👍

Whatever news you’re hearing is heartbreaking for you to hear, this is someone you work with closely or even helped to do something in the first place. Like you bought the prescriptions or were involved in a supportive way, but never knew they were taking too much or somehow doing this incorrectly…it feels like family. Or you just want to give them what they want but can’t because of your better sense and whatever this Hierophant is saying - feels like a teacher, other parent, doctor, expert of some kind. You have to listen to this, they’re an authority or something. A very specific message - if someone around you has abused medication or something before - they have not quit, or “learned their lesson,” and are keeping this a secret. Or rather, with The High Priestess, you know what’s up and even help & enable them. This could all be switched for someone too, someone may be getting into trouble for you, or because they’ve helped you.

The High Priestess is what you know, what you’re quiet about, and that is pressure from the law, a boss, father, spouse, the rules. You were aware of the problem before being officially notified, basically. You know this is a difficult cycle and there’s nothing you can really do about it, or you’re seeing the consequences for your actions. Or someone else’s but they’re your spouse/person, so you’re stuck with them too. Some kind of consequence is blocking you from progress, or blocking your person from what they want, for now.

Advice for Gemini: The Moon and 9 Swords

So if The High Priestess is what you do know, this is saying you should be worried about what you don’t know 💯 This is also showing if you or they are going for underhanded solutions or keeping something in the dark, there is or should be worries around this. Sounds like a warning. With Confidence and Trap at the bottoms, things are definitely not what they seem in this situation or with this person.

Signs you may be dealing with:

Heavy Pisces, Sagittarius, Capricorn, Aries & Gemini

Oracle: ✨

Marriage 💍

Sweet Love - Couple - Dependency

Saving 💰

Preservation - Collection - Meanness

45 Collaboration

Creative people can be impaired by sharing and stimulating creativity in others.

We enter into October as:

Electric Blue Moon 🌚:

“If I don’t take care of it, it’ll never happen.”

It is not time to force an issue. If something feels important to you, you may be jumping the gun. If you are impatient, you may block something wonderful from coming to you. Now is not the time for a rushed decision, even if you think you’ve given something “plenty” of time, give it more. You have made your needs known to Spirit, now leave it alone. If you try to force a situation, you may bind yourself to something you could come to know as a hinderance. Allow right action to happen in its own time.

What is to be learned in October:

Kelly the Green Dragon 🐉:

“The tempter is as guilty as the thief.”

When the need for something outweighs our desire to maintain integrity, we are out of balance. There are several factors to consider, first, are you being honest with yourself? Are you really giving everything you have to give in this situation, or are you just giving up? Are you expecting things to just come easily to you? Consider the motives behind greed, what has left you feeling cheated? Are you sure others let you down, or did you have a sense this was going to happen and ignored the signs? Have you mislead yourself? No matter where we are, we need friends. It could be time to cultivate some new friendships, things may be easier if you ask for help. Don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t come from where you want it to. Often, assistance comes from somewhere we least expect.

Green may be a lucky color 💚

[gomzdrawfr]

Im having thoughts about Ghost's kid, a lil guy who's the exact copy of him—same brown eyes, same pale hair, same quiet demeanour, same knack for appearing out of nowhere, scaring the hell out of him on more than one occasion. But most concerning part is how the kid can disappear without a trace too.

He looked away for one second and boom, fella's gone. "Kid?" Ghost would call out, walking through the house, feeling his heart rate spike as he scanned the rooms. He swears he never had this much adrenaline and anxiety flowing through his blood even during his active years with the 141.

Then, sure enough, the little menace would pop out from behind the couch, staring at him with the same judgemental stare Ghost always have. Blinking innocently but with a small hint of challenge behind those big brown eyes. Ghost comes to realize this lil shit likes to rile him up for some reason.

Something had to be done (for the sake of his blood pressure). So, in true Ghost fashion, he did what any resourceful parent would—

He tied a cowbell necklace around the kid.

If they were out in public, sometimes he’d switch it up and tie a balloon to them—the leash idea was never entertained, he didn't want to make the little one feel like an animal, or a dog.

When the cowbell got boring, he'd switch it up with jingle bells, something more festive (have you guys seen those jingle bell necklace?) The kid didn’t mind, adding their own flair to it like beads and ribbons. Often Ghost would sit down with the lil one and have a small DIY session, and he's thankful that the lil buddy doesn't immediately yank off the necklace and disappear again. The kid who doesn't back down from a challenge like him.

Plus, there was something hilarious about hearing the soft jingling every time the little guy tried to sneak around the kitchen, thinking he was just as invisible as his dad, the unmistakable huff and disappointed pout when Ghost turned around before the little one could sneak up on him made it even better.

"Gotcha, mate," Ghost would say, hearing the silent grumbling as the little one’s feet pattered away in annoyance with the jingling intensify, no doubt already plotting to sneak up on him again within the next 10 minutes.

having thoughts

Ghost's kid thoughts

[rukunas]

—BABYSITTER WANTED! CALL 1-800-TOJI IF INTERESTED! a feature in a cursed kinktober!

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

warnings: daddy kink, slight misogyny, dacryphilia, brat taming, male-receiving oral, deepthroating, swallowing, choking, cunnilingus, fingering, size kink, smoking, (legal) age-gap, name-calling, slut-shaming, use of phrase “good girl”, dumbification, impact play (spanking, slapping), creampie (no condom), breeding kink (if you squint), overall mean toji

a/n: if ur a dilf, plz hit my line.

Toji has made a mistake.

He’s just so busy all the time. Work, Megumi, and his constant flings are so hard to manage when he doesn’t have a pretty little wife at home. Why not post up an ask for a babysitter? He’ll take the first person he can get.

He really shouldn’t have.

Because when you come knocking on his door, skirt swishing behind you and a frown pressed on your face when you catch the scent of cigarette smoke on him, Toji almost groans.

You’re exactly his type. Easily annoyed, bratty, pretentious little girl who needs to be put in her place.

Fine, Toji laments. Let’s see if he can break you in.

There’s something about Toji Fushiguro that just pisses you off.

Sure, he pays well for you to babysit his son— too well, honestly. Who the hell is willing to give out $100 for watching a quiet kid for an hour?— but that is his only pro. Not even the fact that he is mildly— okay, fine, extremely— attractive to look at makes up for the hell he forces you to go through.

It’s almost like he likes to piss you off.

First, there’s the smoking. A constant plume of smoke lingers around him, a stick clenched between his perfect rows of teeth as he rests on the porch and waits for you.

"It's disgusting."

Contempt drips from every word you spit at him, which just makes the corner of Toji's lip twitch. It's all so amusing to him, really, watching this little girl shove a finger in his chest, rambling on like you're a spokesperson for some PSA. You have no idea that he's too busy staring down your shirt— your tits look absolutely precious from here. He can just barely make out the pointed tips of your soft nipples.

"Mister Fushiguro—”

“Toji.” He corrects but you continue to ramble on.

“—you have a son. What the hell are you going to do when you're on your death bed in 10 years?"

That makes Toji lift a brow, smirking openly now. "Didn't know you were so worried about me, sweetheart."

You frown. "I don't care about you. I care about Megumi, and all you care about is filling your lungs up with—"

Toji grabs you by the front of your shirt, watching your eyes widen as you stutter over your words, absolutely frightened in his shadow.

Poor thing.

Toji leans into your face, just hovering over your face before exhaling, a steady plume of smoke hitting you. He watches with sadistic glee as your eyes water, as you cough and squirm in his grip but he doesn't let go, not until his lungs are clear. He laughs as you find your composure, stumbling back and into his house.

"Fuck you."

Toji pops the cigarette back in his mouth. "You speak like that in front of my son?"

"Ugh!"

You slam the door behind him.

Then, there’s the unnecessary parenting. You still remember seeing the deep crease on his forehead when he opened the door that one day.

“The hell is that?”

“What?” You follow his line of vision— your skirt? “Is there a stain?”

“Your father let you leave the house like that?” He scowls, moving to the side to let you in.

“Mister Fushiguro.” You feel your anger spark as you step around him. “I’ll wear whatever the fuck I want to. Besides…”

You glare up at him, almost faltering when you see his bored expression.

“You aren’t my father.”

“Ah.” Toji fights his urge to grin. “But you are standing in my house.”

He takes a step forward, effectively cornering you into the wall and dousing out your flame. You find yourself holding your breath as you really look at him— the dangerous aura he carries, the deep scar on his lip that makes you shiver. He’s so close— you can smell his sharp cologne, his sweet aftershave. His stubble just grazes your cheek as he bends down towards your ear.

“And when I tell you that you look like a little whore in that skirt, you listen. Understand?”

In his shadow, you’re a lot less confident, a lot less brave. You part your lips in hopes to retaliate but your voice is lodged in your throat.

He’s breaking you in.

Toji doesn’t bother hiding his grin now. “I asked you something.”

“O— okay.” It comes out as a whisper.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay… sir.”

He laughs at you, hand coming up to pat your cheek, slightly harder than a love tap. “Close enough.”

Toji presses off of you, turning to leave. “Curse in front of me one more time and you’re over my lap.”

He closes the door softly behind him.

Toji likes to test your patience by coming home late, hours after he promised, and always with a woman by his side. A different girl each night, too— all dressed up in pretty make-up and tight dresses while clinging onto Toji’s arm like supersaturated eye candy.

“Watch Megumi for 30 minutes longer, yeah?” He drawls while lipstick prints are stamped onto the salty skin of his neck, giggles and moans carrying up the stairs.

Thank the heavens that Megumi is always asleep and tucked into his bed whenever his father comes back. You alone are cursed into hearing the creaks of the bed, the pornographic squeals of Daddy, and the deep octave groan that follows as the finale.

You wish you could bang your head on the wall. Find the disgust in you to sneer at his actions. Pop in your headphones and ignore it all.

Instead, you find yourself creeping down the hall. Soft tiptoes patter down the hall, up to Toji’s bedroom door, your ear pressing right up against it—

“Oh, fuck me harder, Daddy!”

It should be cringeworthy, the way that women call out for him. But a gravely chuckle always rips from the back of his throat every time any of his flings calls him that, a laugh that makes your panties drench. You bite your lip to catch his next words—

“Wanna be my good girl?”

You always find yourself nodding along, eyes clenched with a hand stuffed down your panties.

You’re a pervert.

More than he is, you think, your dainty fingers dipping into your slick hole. Your head hangs back, hitting the door as you imagine that he’s right here, guiding his thick digits inside you.

“Whore.” He’d jeer you, just like that one day. You wish he’d really take you across his knee, spank you until tears brimmed your eyes, until you couldn’t sit for days. “Need to put you in your place, don’t I?”

You can’t even fully picture the fantasy, already cumming around your fingers at the thought of his authority.

The shame in you blossoms as his hookup makes her own walk of shame down the steps and out the door. It grows even more as you wait alone in the living room, Toji walking down with just a pair of sweatpants and his wallet. You look away, not wanting to ogle at his thick, corded muscles, or the outline that is clearly visible at his crotch, or the—

“Here. For being a good girl.”

You blink up at the $300 sticking between his fingers.

“Mister Fushiguro, I can’t—”

“I’m telling you to take it, aren’t I?”

Just take it. Your hand lifts before you find yourself hesitating, eyebrow creasing, gears turning. Your mouth opens before you can stop it:

“I’m not fucking taking that.”

There’s a moment of tension that hangs in the air, both of you equally stunned by your words. You swear you see his green eyes darken before he utters out a simple command:

“Stand up.”

This time, with his voice steady and low, your body is forced to listen. Shakily, you lift up from the couch, head still raised in a pity attempt of defiance. It doesn’t matter anyway— his hand reaches out and wraps around your neck, crushing any sort of boldness in you.

Breaking you in.

“You think you’re fucking smart?” He squeezes you in his hold, enjoying the way your eyes widen. “Wanna be a brat, huh? I’ll show you what happens to brats here.”

You nod, gasping. “P-please, M-Mister Fushiguro—”

Toji pulls you close, his lips brushing yours. “You’re gonna get on your fucking knees, understand? Every time you disobey me, that’s one more strike on your pretty little ass.”

The moment he lets go, you sink into the floor, eyes roving around his form. Toji would tease you more about how you’re practically drooling, but his cock is too hard for him to waste time. He tucks his thumb into the waistline, tugging down and letting his dick slap against his abdomen.

The way you react to his size is priceless. If he hadn’t broken you in earlier, he definitely has now.

“It’s not gonna suck itself, sweetheart.”

Swallowing, you lean forward, lolling your tongue out to simply swipe the tip against it. Toji takes your lips parting as a sign to fist your hair and thrust right into your mouth.

He only gets a few inches in before you start sputtering.

“Fucking take it. You talk like a big girl, why don’t you take a cock like one?”

You mumble something around him, but Toji just takes it as an opportunity to shove you down deeper.

“Gotta clean that mouth out, ha? Don’t worry, baby, I got just the thing.”

Tears trickle from the corners of your eyes, mouth sore from accommodating his wide size. Your poor thighs tremble and desperately tighten for any sort of relief down there, but you’re too afraid to touch yourself in front of Toji’s greedy gaze. But it isn’t long before he’s throwing his head back, groaning out a “Fuck!” as he cums, his seed pooling in the back of your throat and forcing you to swallow.

“Let’s see it.” He impatiently taps your cheek while you gasp on sweet air. “C’mon, say ahh.”

When you stick your pink tongue at him, deplete of any trace of him, Toji’s scar twitches. “Who knew you had it in ya?”

He pulls you up, hastily pulling your shirt off of you while you are still dazed. A shove to your back and you flop over the arm of the couch, toes just barely pushing off of the floor and leaving your ass in the air.

Toji peels back your skirt, scoffing when he sees the innocent white panties you wear underneath it. A tell-tale sign of your arousal grows in the plush outline of your pussy.

“Fucking soaked down here.” He smacks your ass— it nearly sends you flying down the sofa, but his arms have a heavy grip on your thighs. “What’s got you all worked up?”

“Y-you, Mister Fushiguro.”

“I don’t wanna hear that ‘Mister Fushiguro’ bullshit. Say my damn name.”

It takes only a moment of hesitation from you for him to lay another slap on your cheek. Your eyes water from the burn— he wasn’t kidding about his spanking.

“Daddy.”

It’s whiny and awkward when it comes out of your mouth, but his reaction is worth it. He sticks his face right into your cunny, laughing while you squirm at the feeling of his stubble and nose rubbing up against the most sensitive parts of you.

“Atta girl. You stay quiet while Daddy has his fun, alright?”

Your teeth embed themselves in your plush bottom lip as Toji rips your panties in half, his tongue immediately probing your folds.

“O-oh, Daddy.”

His fat thumbs come to spread you open, immediately noting how your hole clenches and glistens. He pops the tip of his middle finger inside, just to see the way you’ll spread around him. It earns a sweet moan out of you, but he quickly pulls back, gleaming at the way your hole puckers back up.

Tight as hell.

“Want something in there, don’t ya? Go ahead and tell me what you want.”

“I- I want…”

Toji pushes in two more fingers without warning, making you jump.

“Gah!”

Smack! Your poor ass must be red by now. “Be a big girl f’me and use your words.”

“Cock! Your c-cock, Mister—”

Smack!

“—ah! Daddy! Please, Daddy, want your cock—”

“Needy little thing, huh? Daddy’s gotcha, don’t ya worry.”

You shiver as you feel his shadow tower over your bare back. The heat radiating from his body does nothing but remind you of how empty you are, longing for his touch.

“Daddy—”

“Shh. Promise me you’ll be quiet. I’ll stop if you wake Megumi.”

You open your mouth to promise, I promise Daddy, I won’t be loud… but then he’s pushing himself inside of you and it takes every bit of self restraint to not scream at the size of him.

Stars line your vision, black spots dotting the outskirts. He’s not just big, he’s massive— he just has to be splitting you in half. There’s no way he hasn’t broken you, there’s no way, none, not at all—

“Fuck, sweetheart. So fucking tight— don’t tell me you’re a virgin.”

You can’t tell him anything, tongue lolling out in pain and bliss as he makes his first solid thrust, tip smushing right against your cervix.

“D-ah! Daddy, fuck! F-feel it in my tummy!”

“The fuck did I say?”

He leans forward, fingers hooking around your cheeks and resting on your tongue.

“Whores like you just don’t fucking understand, ha? He taps your temple. “Got nothin’ up there? Don’t worry, sweet thing. My good girl doesn’t need to think. Just suck my fingers and I’ll fill you up. Make ya feel so good, baby.”

You want to cry, curl up and bawl like a baby but you suck away at his fingers like they’re a pacifier— what the fuck happened to you? The back of your brain is begging for an ounce of self control, but this feels too good, he feels too good. The authority in him is everything you ever wanted, and you finally, finally give in.

Salty tears drip down your cheeks, but Toji licks them up, moaning at the taste.

“Shit, baby. Gonna cum, gonna fill you up, gonna teach you a fucking lesson, hah? And you’re gonna take it, yeah?”

Your empty little head nods along to what he says. “G-good girl!” You try your best to say it around his fingers, but it ends up sounding all muffled.

“Wanna be your good girl!”

You cry out, perfectly timed with the way you clench around him, signifying your climax.

Toji loses himself right as you do, his mouth pressing right against your shoulder to muffle his own groan, sharp teeth coming to prick your soft skin. You feel him fill you up, warmth spilling in and out of you.

Soft pants fill the room as the two of you desperately catch your breath— you more than him as he continues to lay his weight on your back. Toji gently pulls up, pressing chaste kisses on the purple bruise bubbling on your shoulder. It’s uncharacteristically gentle— maybe there is a sweet side to him, a part that he only shows to people he truly likes—

“You said you wanna be my good girl?”

You tilt your head towards him, puffy eyes going wide before nodding shyly.

Before you know it, you feel his teeth sink back into your skin, a hand slapping over your mouth to stop you from yelping. A gravely chuckle reverberates in your ear, a laugh that makes you wet.

“You’re gonna have to earn that privilege, whore.”

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