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arilevenatz · 20 days ago

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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.

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seasidesandstarscapes · 5 months ago

Text

Sanguine

Summary: Bobby's been on his own for a while now. Then he meets Don.

Rating: M

Genre: Canon Era, Alternate Timeline, Vampires, Hunters, Enemies to Lovers, One Shot

Warnings: rated M for one (1) fairly explicit sex scene, Can be considered an Unhealthy Relationship

A/N: talk to me about this pls

AO3

It’s the 1930s when Bobby gets turned on his head.

He’s in college. Again. He thinks this time he’ll try his hand at being a lawyer. Being a doctor was fine but he can’t quite get away with his false age of nearing fifty on his records.

So he moves to Seattle, ready for yet another fresh start. One of his new classmates mentions rowing and while Bobby is already busy with fencing, there’s something about the team that pulls him in. He rises through the ranks with ease, a natural at commanding the boys before him.

(He thanks the Revolutionary War for that one.)

Of course, his sage wisdom doesn’t win him any points with Ulbrickson and just as soon as he reaches varsity, he’s kicked off.

It’s fine. Bobby’s used to his losses and doesn’t take it to heart. He’d have died of bitterness centuries ago if he didn’t take this route.

He’s surprised when Ulbrickson brings him back, but as Bobby’s eyes land on one Don Hume, he knows nothing good will come of this.

Don is beautiful at the helm, this steady focus that Bobby falls into. He’s silent and strong, leaving Bobby to wonder what lies under the surface.

On occasion he catches Don staring at him. The gaze is intense, crawling into Bobby’s rotten core, and he shivers despite never feeling the cold.

He tries to be friendly, chatting with Don during practice, but the shell doesn’t crack. Even jokes that make the team roar do nothing to Don. As frustrating as it is, Bobby keeps trying.

He needs to see Don for all he is.

The feelings of confusion twist and turn until Bobby is hit with an ache he hasn’t had in many years. Ignoring it doesn’t help but letting it fester is almost worse.

Childish affection bubbles to the surface until Bobby can no longer stop himself.

He’s alone with Don in the locker room. There’s a stark silence, both men still as statues. Then, Bobby marches forward, corners Don and pulls him into a heated kiss.

For a moment Don reciprocates before he pushes Bobby away. There is a stake in his hand and he holds it at Bobby’s throat.

The pieces click into place and Bobby can only laugh. This only angers Don. The stake digs into Bobby’s neck and he hisses in pain as the wood starts to smolder.

“Why didn’t you kill me earlier?” Bobby teases.

Don’s jaw clenches as he stares daggers into Bobby. The pause drags but Bobby is patient, just giving Don a placid smile.

Don mumbles something, draws back the stake. With a sharp turn he leaves the locker room and Bobby is left to nurse his wound. He should be worried, should be scared but all Bobby can do is grin, his dead heart sparking in his chest.

They’re sitting at the docks, blanketed in the cover of night.

It’s not that the sunlight burns—Bobby can only roll his eyes at all the false stereotypes—but in the dark, he doesn’t stick out as much. Doesn’t need to be something more.

“Why are you a Hunter?” Bobby asks.

In a way he doesn’t really care. Each person has their reasons and when it comes down to the minute details, Bobby understands. So many aren’t like him. Just ruthless killers with no compassion. He’s done his best to be safe, only taking those that won’t be missed. Mob bosses, murderers, the true scum of society.

But he’s still a vampire and nothing he says will change Don’s mind

Don doesn’t answer Bobby’s question, his hands neatly folded in his lap, gaze anywhere but Bobby.

With a sigh, Bobby looks out at the dark water spread before them. “You got some sob story about your parents being killed by vampires?”

“No,” Don is quick to reply.

Bobby watches him, watches Don shift under his gaze. He’s telling the truth, but beyond that he’s not letting Bobby in so easily.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Bobby starts. “But I’ve accepted my fate. If I’m going to be immortal, why not just live it out to the fullest?”

For some reason, Don brings out Bobby’s softer side. There’s something he can trust, as if Don is the only other person who sees him beyond his monstrosity.

“You remind me of a friend,” Bobby says, head tipped up to look at the stars. “He was quiet like you. A good soul. Too good.”

The face in his mind is blurry. If there’s one thing Bobby hates, it’s that everyone starts to disappear. Even his own mother is nothing but a shape. A feeling.

“Do me a favor and don’t let your spirit fade, okay?” Bobby finishes with a small smile.

The corner of Don’s mouth quirks but he’s quick to push it down.

“Might not be so easy with you sticking around.”

The words strike Bobby square in the chest and he can’t help the frown that forms on his face. He wouldn’t dare corrupt Don. Not if he has any say in it.

Curling his knees close, Bobby holds himself, stuck in past regrets and longing.

He flinches when a hand lands on his shoulder but any rebuttal is lost when Don leans in and brushes some stray hair away from Bobby’s face.

Bobby groans into the mattress, his eyes rolling up into his head. He’s so full, the angled thrusts hit just right. His hands twist in the sheets and he comes with a stuttered gasp.

It’s a few more thrusts before Bobby can feel the cum dripping out of him and he bites his lip, moaning as the weight inside starts to leave.

“You’re not going to stay?” Bobby sighs, rolling onto his side.

He watches Don pull on his clothes, notes the little bites he left along his skin. Not enough to break skin, but just enough of a reminder.

Don only shakes his head and leaves the apartment without a goodbye. It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. Bobby stares at the closed door, wishing for Don to come back.

They should sort themselves out instead of playing with the obvious. If this is his final run, Bobby doesn’t mind. He’s enjoyed this time with Don. And despite all his threats, Bobby knows Don cares. Cares so much it’s threatening both their existences.

Maybe he should be the first to draw blood. Then they’d be settled once and for all.

Instead, Bobby shows up at practice the next day and only offers a smile when Don dares to look at him.

They don’t have to rush. Not yet.

Bobby knows he shouldn’t.

This is suicide but Don is dying. His pneumonia has only gotten worse and Bobby’s fear has turned desperate. He doesn’t give a damn about winning gold, about anyone else besides the man in this bed.

All he wants is for Don to be with him. Always.

It’s selfish, it’s asinine. Then Don’s breath rattles in his chest and Bobby no longer cares. He knows death, walked too many battlefields. The doctors won’t be able to save Don now.

Bobby is thankful Don is asleep as he leans in. Otherwise, he’d be turned away for good. Bobby will take a hundred stakes in the heart than to never see Don again as long as he exists.

He smells like honeysuckle and smoke, his blood beckons. How Bobby resisted it for so long is beyond him but now he can finally give in.

Just before Don’s neck, as his teeth graze along skin, Bobby pauses. He should forget about Don, move on to another life. There is no happy ending here.

Bobby’s will is weak. His resistance, hanging by a thread, snaps, taunting him, calling him horrible names.

Closing his eyes, Bobby sighs and he places a small kiss on Don’s neck.

When Don wakes, the look in his eyes hurts. Bobby has seen hatred before but not like this.

It tells Bobby he’s worthless, a corrupted soul that doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He stares at his feet as Don looks over his hand, feels his teeth with a finger.

Don grabs Bobby by the collar, his grip tight enough that Bobby almost chokes. He’s waiting for the slap or maybe even a stake that Don has hidden somewhere.

“I hate you,” Don grits out.

“I know,” Bobby whispers. “I know.”

Don lets go of him then, stares at the ceiling. He’ll need time to process this, to decide what to do next. Bobby gets to his feet, sets to leave until Don stops him with a hand on his wrist.

Here he is, a fearsome predator being reduced to nothing but a shivering creature. He’s slow to meet Don’s eyes, but when he does, Bobby starts to relax.

Don lets out an exasperated sigh, his fingers trace along Bobby’s palm.

How amusing it is that after all this, now Don wants to talk. Well, Bobby is ready to sort this out, no matter how long it takes.

They have all the time in the world after all.

#coxstroke #bobby moch #don hume #bobby moch x don hume #don hume x bobby moch #salix's sideblog escapades

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obsessedwithceleste · 7 months ago

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pls ignore this if this isn't what ur doing but I think ur giving someone who would date them based on their personality?? 😭

I'm 5'3 with straight long brown hair. I'm chubby 🌚

I'm typically the mom friend in friend groups and I always carry bandaids on me either in my phone, pocket, or bag.

I don't rlly think I have a style but I mostly wear bootleg or flare jeans with my ratty old (on the brink of death) converse.

I'm the biggest yapper ever as soon as i get comfortable. I'm a good listener tho if ppl need to talk (or so I've been told)

cat person but I have a crusty old chihuahua 😔 and a 3 month old kitten. my fav color is probably either pink or crimson

I'm a huge swiftie I swear I'm not crazy 😪 or mean 😪 I also love Olivia Rodrigo, Sabrina carpenter, conan gray, gracie abrams, laufey, rauw Alejandro. I mostly listen to indie pop or art pop. But rlly wtv I'm everywhere

I'm not like joke funny but I occasionally either say or do weird things that make ppl laugh but I don't do it on purpose so then I have to pretend like I said it on purpose.

my love languages are gift giving and quality time. I love buying things for ppl even tho I'm broke. It's never anything too special or expensive but like if im at the store and I see smth I remember you told me you like I'll buy it for you.

I also love quality time like for hanging out, I could js go do laundry with you and then go help you do groceries. That's a good day for me as long as I'm with you.

I'm very non-confrontational and I start crying when I argue with ppl 🧍🏽‍♀️.

I'm a sympathy crier. If I see someone crying my eyes will start watering immediately. And I cry over small things but not big things.

I'm very awkward when I first meet people. I tend to say the wrong things so I don't have many friends.

I LOVE LOVE LOVE CHEESE SO SO MUCH

My beige flag is that sometimes after I talk a lot I start dissociating when the other person starts talking and I feel so bad 😭 but it's so hard to care about what they're saying when I'm out of it.

youngest child syndrome

I'm a female november scorpio if you care ab that

I love love physical touch with friends (I've never dated anyone or had any sort of romantically experience 😞) but I always feel scared to initiate in fear that they'll think I'm gross or push me away.

You seem like such a sweetheart omg🥹

Pairing: Theodore Nott

Theo himself is often quite reserved, keeping to his own group, and not really rocking the boat. He has his comfort zone, and he likes it there.

Mattheo does not like Theo’s comfort zone, and often pushes him to expand outside of it, dragging him into many a half-thought out scheme.

The first time you garner Theo’s full attention is after a particularly bad session in Care of Magical Beasts. You had all been working with a flock of bubble gum pink birds that were pretty nasty and Mattheo had, of course, only aggravated them further.

As you were shuffling back into the castle, you noticed Theo’s hands had gotten pretty scruffed up.

Theo was taken aback when you appear by his side, offering to heal the nasty cuts. He’s too shocked to reject your help, watching with wide eyes as the gashes disappear. And then you’re gone.

He finds you again when he realizes that you sit behind him in charms. Turning around he attempts to make idle chatter. (He is not at all the smooth talker he’s often made out to be. Leave that to Enzo)

It’s a bit awkward at first, you both are. There’s a stumble or ten. Uncomfortable lulls. But as the two of you grow more comfortable, so does the conversation. (Sometimes your mind wanders a bit, but Theo never seems to mind. He will tease you about it though)

Eventually your little chats before class become meetings in the library which become walks around the grounds which becomes an invitation to Hogsmeade.

On your walk into town, your fingers brush constantly until Theo works up the courage to grab onto your hand. (There were definitely butterflies for both parties)

Anyway, you spend the day wandering about the shops, batting Theo away when he tries to buy anything and everything that you happen to merely glance at.

When you return to the castle, you produce a small black cat figurine that you saw Theo eyeing in one of the shops.

Theo is stunned. Flabbergasted. He’s used to girls asking him to buy them nice, lavish gifts. But never did he receive anything in return.

The cat barely makes it safely onto the bed before his lips are on yours.

After that you and Theo are connected at the hip. (Or more so than you already were)

Theo really just enjoys basking in your presence, listening to you chatter idly as he reads, grinning bashfully as you help tidy up his dorm (really, what on earth was Mattheo doing trying to stash one of the portraits in their wardrobe?)

Cuddles are also top tier of course

The two of you really just have a disgustingly sweet domestic relationship with you providing a sense of stability and Theo giving you a sense of protection.

#slytherin boys #Theodore Nott #pairing game

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genderqueeradrien · 2 years ago

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ADRIEN AGRESTE BPD CODED? explain pls <- going O.O slash pos

ok so !!! this turned into an ESSAY i'm so sorry i've been thinking about this for ages and haven't put my thoughts on paper together yet so this is me doing that. also disclaimer irl at least in the us people usually cant get diagnosed with bpd until theyre atbut this is a french kid's show about magic superheroes so i'm ignoring a bit of real-world logistics for the sake of analysis. also, i'm starting with things that ARENT kuro neko specific but trust me we'll get to her.

warning: really long post. actual warning: there's mentions of self harm, talk of suicide and metaphorical suicide, and some discussion of canonical abuse + coping mechanisms. generally lots of mental illness stuff

(also in case the readmore breaks at some point im putting this here bc i want to have it saved Somewhere)

ALL THAT BEING SAID!

[blank paragraph in case the readmore eats the first paragraph. i love this website]

some bpd symptoms i see in adrien/chat noir:

identity disturbance, markedly/persistently unstable self-image/sense of self: there's been several times here adrien talks about wondering whether adrien or chat noir is his "true self," which is super interesting to me bc i (dissociative disorder haver) used to angst about that exact thing (though his situation is definitely different on account of being a superhero lol). there's also the fact that he doesn't have any idea who he is or what he wants to do with his future, and his mind goes blank whenever he thinks about it, which aligns with the difficulties in committing to goals/jobs often seen in bpd

potentially self-damaging impulsive behavior: he's always sacrificing himself for ladybug- here's 2 minutes straight of him doing it in timebreaker, dark cupid, zombizou, chameleon, gorilla, and gamer 2.0. he also does it in lies, reverser, and the shangai special, and probably several more. imo as well as showing an intense attachment to ladybug, it also shows a lack of regard for his own health and wellbeing :( not to mention all the times he runs to fight akumas with no plans or tries to fight them on a broken ankle or other general recklessness

suicidal or self harming behavior: i know this is a stretch but this is a kid's show so we're probably not going to like. see any of that onscreen in a literal sense. but i do feel like some of the times where he sacrifices himself over and over could count. because no matter how much he trusts ladybug there's no guarantee she'll be able to fix everything, and he's immediately willing to die/be teleported into a shadow realm/turned into a kissing zombie/despawn/etc despite that. also he tried to cataclysm himself during guiltrip, tho that was bc of an akuma (although akumas do generally amplify preexisting emotions)

inappropriate/intense/difficult to control anger: trying to cataclysm kim because he played a mean prank on marinette is the first thing i think of. i feel like he definitely tends to suppress anger until it bubbles up and explodes, like in representation when he's going off on his dad about his parenting being shitty, which, while justified, definitely put him in more danger of being hurt. also i know it was in an alternate timeline + he was akumatized but he DID kill everyone in the world that one time. i support him though. he's allowed to do that because i love him

a pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships, splitting: prefacing this with i dont think ladybug + chat noir are in an unhealthy relationship, but i do think that sometimes the way he sees ladybug can be unhealthily idolizing, in a way that's very reminiscent of favourite persons in bpd. most of season 4 is him being in love with ladybug but feeling pushed aside, until he splits on her in kuro neko (which i'm getting to i promise. this post is way longer than i thought it'd be). there's also desperada where he spends months in a time loop trying to save her despite presumably knowing he's not the person who should be saving her right now.

stress-related paranoid ideation or dissociative symptoms: tbh i dont know much abt paranoid ideation so i won't speak on that too much, but i do think his worst fear in sandboy being ladybug being upset with him despite having never acted that way before might fall into that category? as for dissociative symptoms, aside from the identity thing i mentioned earlier, i guess the scene in kuro neko where he's sitting on his couch doing nothing except running his video game character into a wall could be him dissociating? also apparently (i havent read/seen this myself but ive heard abt it) astruc said chat noir is resistant to akumas because he's so used to disappointment, which could suggest a level of emotional numbing

when i first was watching miraculous i was kinda thinking abt adrien having bpd but i didn't have anything super solid to explain it. but it's fun for me to analyze characters' mental states and nothing explicitly contradicts it so whatever. BUT THEN. KURO NEKO.

when ladybug snaps at him he immediately jumps to the conclusion that she hates him/is tired of him (splitting, paranoid thinking)

he decides to leave, which may seem contradictory to "frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment," but pushing people away and essentially abandoning someone before they abandon you (whether or not that was actually going to happen) is a super common result of that symptom and it's what he's doing here. he thinks she doesn't need him, so before she can tell him this he leaves

he leaves his miraculous behind where someone couldve grabbed it because he felt rejected (impulsive behaviour)

then he goes home and tries to destroy all the traces of his love for ladybug, getting rid of his pictures of her on his phone and physical pictures as well (splitting, difficulty controlling anger)

when he wakes up he lies in bed, skips school, doesn't change out of his pajamas, and spends his time running his video game character into a wall. to me it looks like he's completely shut down (dissociation)/in a depressive episode

the show from the beginning sets up that being chat noir is an escape for adrien, and the beginning of season 4 really hammers that point home. we see adrien having an awful day and only finally perking up when he gets to see ladybug. so when adrien gives up his ring that's him giving up on not only himself but on a huge part of his life and one of the only parts that brings him happiness. the way he talks about giving up his ring ("i just can't do this anymore. i give up. on everything") sounds like something a suicidal person would say. this is also something he's expressed before, in syren, when he says "no one'll know if I quit. no one'll care!" (not for nothing, this also comes after him feeling rejected by ladybug). to me it feels like he's been balancing on this metaphorical-suicide metaphorical-ledge for a very long time and kuro neko is him giving up, and then realizing that giving up isn't the way to feel better. (suicidal ideation, fear of abandonment)

adrien doesn't hesitate at the idea of completely changing his personality to be who he thinks marinette wishes he was. the need to make himself into whoever he thinks will be wanted has been a running theme through his life (his childhood dream was to be whoever his parents wanted him to be), and it doesn't fully end with kuro neko- the same insecurities about not being good enough are still shown in the later half of season 5, with him telling marinette he's not worthy of her love and telling ladybug making jokes is all he was ever good for (both in revolution). (low self-esteem, fear of abandonment)

catwalker in general makes me go insane. i think a lot of catwalker comes from the persona he puts on when he's acting as adrien agreste, gabriel agreste's golden child. and i think the constant deference is also something he learned from the abuse from his father. he leans into the "fawn" coping mechanism (adapting to an abuser's wishes to appease them, denying your own needs for those of others) because it's what he's learned to do his whole life because of his father.

catwalker is like a personified fawn fear response. he's the personification of adrien's frantic attempts to avoid abandonment. he's loyal to a fault and would do whatever ladybug asked him to just to try and be good enough for her to stay. he doesn't realize that he's already good enough as adrien/chat noir, that ladybug needs him to be himself or her magic literally doesn't work. she can't do it on her own. she needs him but he's so scared she'll leave that he tries to leave first and then tries to mold himself into someone new who she could love. when he was already loved fully the whole time. aough.

some other smaller examples of his low self esteem & desperation to avoid abandonment:

trying to get good grades to impress his father and earn his love

staying friends with people and trusting them for far longer than is logical (chloé and lila)

feeling like he's not worthy of marinette's love or ladybug's partnership, feeling like he's not worthy to be a miraculous holder or that he's not helping the team, etc

the shocked relief in his eyes when ladybug says she won’t abandon him :(

when gabriel says to chat noir that his son is precious and chat/adrien looks at him Like That. yeah .

SO. YEAH. this post kinda got away from me a little bit as i defended my agresteology dissertation or whatever.

TLDR: he's impulsive and loyal to a fault, yet terrified of abandonment to the point where he tries to sabotage his relationships himself. he idolizes ladybug until he feels rejected by him, when he splits on her and becomes convinced she doesn't care about him. he has low self-worth and places a lot of his perceived worth on how (he believes) others think of him and is always striving towards that ideal even when that ideal is something he can't reach, or something that hurts him to try to reach. also i want to give him a hug and some milk and a blanket. he deserves it

#ask #text #analysis #adrien agreste #ml #self harm mention #abuse mention #suicide mention #long post #mine #OKAY TAGS OVER #is this ready to post .i think it is.okay

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seongminiz · 5 months ago

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i’m kinda bad at chatting/small talk but i can try to send some random q’s if ur interested? if any of them ur not interested in answering pls feel free to just ignore!!

1) what is ur dream sonny angel figure?🤭👼

2) if u could only drink one drink other than water for the rest of ur life what would it be? no nutrional repercussions!! just based on taste lol

3) if u were a cat, what colour/breed do u think would suit ur personality most?

4) what is an activity you’ve really been enjoying lately? can be anything as long as it’s enjoyable!

5) if someone came to u and said “i want to stan cravity, help me!” which music video would you recommend them to watch first?

i hope these are okay!! no pressure to respond at all<3

- 🧁 anon

lmaooo sorry i just . fell asleep after i posted asking for asks (? lol)

1) mhhh idk bc theres soooo many but my fav ones r the strawberry one , honestly all the sea creatures ones but especially the seal n the starfish , from the dino collection the brachiosaurus , from the home sweet home collection the baking treats one n the sleepy time one , the bear from the 2023 winter wonderland collection , i already have the red tabby from the cat life collection but i rlly want the lucky pink one ! i also already have the normal rabbit hipper but i like the aries rabbit n the sheep from the hipper dreammind series , also the tangerine from the jeju series !! n the alien from the space adventure collection (thats a lot lmao n theres probably more)

2) mhhh no nutritional repercussions ? tbh i love water a lot like i just like drinking it butttt if there were no health repercussions either maybe the pink monster energy or melon bubble tea lol

3) aaaaa honestly idk bc i just dont know much abt cats ! but just based on looks i'd say one of those big ass cats with a lot of hair that look rlly pretty (ragdolls ? i think ?)

4) mhhh i've been designing some kpop freebies ! mostly for when i see tbz but also for other groups if i just find a pic i like . n also playing a lot of the sims n dress to impress n some minecraft lol

5) OK SO if it was someone who likes brighter songs/concepts i'd say adrenaline , cheese or groovy , if its someone who likes darker concepts probably vvv , megaphone , flame or love or die . n then i'd put them at gunpoint n force them to watch vivid :3

#🍰 seongminiz !#💭 . 🧁 anon !

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outercrasis · 3 years ago

Text

The Monster You Know

Pairing: Monster!Max Phillips x F!Reader

Word Count/Rating: 6.3k / EXPLICIT (18+ only, bye minors)

Warnings: Monsterfucking, some angst, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), cockwarming, some body worship, size kink and lil bit of praise kink

Summary: There's a surprise visit at your office. It doesn't go how you might think.

A/N: I said take monsterfucking and make it soft and emotional. Unbeta'd. Additional notes at the end. Again if you're tagged and this isn't your thing, no hard feelings in the slightest.

Direct Sequel to Low Tier Monsterf*ck + Series Masterlist

You’ve been ignoring the messages on your inter-office chat all morning. There was a kind fifteen minute reprieve before the first one chimed. You'd barely figured out just how deep of a hole you'd need to dig yourself out of with work.

Sami: The prodigal daughter has returned!!

Linsey: With details?

Curtis: 👀👀👀

They’ve been at it since then, a variety of messages and gifs all designed to poke and prod you into spilling info beyond the “I’m alive” text you sent to your group chat the past two mornings as you called out sick from work. As though you would type out the filthy details of your past 48 hours on a work computer. Did they not take the same sexual harassment course as you?

Beyond not wanting to get flagged by HR, you’re also left puzzling another very important question. It hadn’t come up between rounds of getting your back blown out (seriously, there’s a slight twinge in your lower back now) and you’re left wondering if telling other people that Max is literally a monster is something you’re even allowed to do.

Max doesn’t seem to have too many qualms, considering you’re a nearly random woman he revealed that fact to, but since the existence of honest-to-god monsters isn’t the headline of every major news source maybe it is a secret for you to keep. Either way, you’re not entirely sure how to discuss the life-altering sex you’ve been having without bringing it up. The horns and wings, and not to mention his tongue, were half of the fun.

You want to text Max and ask, but it seems like a strange thing to message out of the blue rather than having a one-on-one chat about it. Plus, if the government is tapped into your phone, it might be best to not discuss those details where someone could easily read it. No need to have Max getting kidnapped and tested on weighing heavy on your conscience.

When lunch finally rolls around they’re practically ravenous. Curtis hardly waits for the elevator to close before he asks, “So is he packing? He has to be packing, right?”

There’s a beat of silence before you all erupt into laughter. You pat Curtis on the arm and tell him, “Yeah, man. He’s big.”

“Maax,” you playfully whine. “You have to let me go.”

He has you caged in next to the doorway – his wings creating a little bubble for you both to stand in. It had been a struggle to make it this far. Max has tried every dirty tactic and now he’s busy assaulting the spot he already knows you like on your neck. Perceptive bastard.

He barely raises his lips off of you to reply. “I don’t think I have to do anything, lamb.”

You try to ignore the way he’s shifting his thigh into position between your legs. “Well if you don’t want me to be fired and then homeless, you do. Don’t you have a job you should be at too?”

You hope that turning the tables on him will help. Maybe the reminder of some of his own responsibility will be enough for him to let you go. It fails spectacularly.

“Yes,” Max replies, his large hand sliding under your shirt. “I’ve been working while you sleep.”

He doesn’t sleep. Or at least not much. You had guessed at that with Max being awake every time you reopened your eyes, but you hadn’t actually asked. There wasn’t much of a chance to discuss it anyway between the numerous sexual acts you’d taken part in, as well as the necessities of sleeping and eating. Thinking got a lot harder while your stomach growled during your fifth orgasm of the day.

“Do you work remote?” you ask. Your breath hitches when Max presses his firm thigh just a little harder into you, but you try to act otherwise unaffected. It’s a ridiculous game to be playing with him, but you need to make it out the door. Getting fired or even reprimanded by your boss is not on your preferred agenda for the day.

Max, to his credit, goes right along with your game. Of course he has the fun part while you’re forced to try and act like this isn’t exactly what you want. Not fair in the slightest. You’re already plotting ways to get him back for this. “Not all the time. Doesn’t matter when you’re the boss.”

You don’t have a good comeback for that. “Right, well. Not all of us are bosses and mine isn’t going to believe I’m still sick without going to a doctor. So unless you’re also one of those, you need to let me go.”

Max’s hand that had been slowly inching under your waistband stops. You wish that he could keep going, that you could spend another day wrapped in his big arms and wings, but it’s just not realistic. You’ve already pushed it and you really would like to keep your job. It’s not the greatest, but you have friends who work there and it pays well enough. Even grade A monster dick isn’t worth losing that. Barely.

He’s pouting when he pulls away from you. If it weren’t obvious from the look on his face, he’s even letting his wings droop, like a dog lowering its tail between its legs. One final ploy to get you to stay that very nearly works. If only you didn’t need money to live. Fucking capitalism.

“Sorry, Max. I have to go.”

You move towards the door, watching as Max transforms back into his human appearance. It’s jarring, only having seen glimpses of it over the past few days. You reach out, carding your fingers through his hair where his horns normally cover.

You open the door and leave with a wink. “Bye, handsome.”

You don’t tell them about him being a monster. Not explicitly anyway. When you first sat down at your favorite lunch place you’d had more than half a mind to, but you just couldn’t when it came down to it. Not before talking with Max. It didn’t feel right to divulge his secret, no matter how much you trusted the three people sitting with you.

You find workarounds, little hints to his true nature but nothing overtly saying, yes, he turned into a big monster man and then he fucked me silly for two days straight. The looks on their faces might have been worth that though. Oh well, you can still surprise them with that later.

“No way is that guy stronger than me,” Curtis challenges. You’d just finished telling them how long Max had held you up against the wall for and he’d called bullshit. Said there was no possible way a man could hold any woman up for that long, much less with his dick buried in her. Okay, he’d been less crass about it, but that was the gist.

You shrug. It’s not like you can say it is possible because Max isn’t just a man. “I don’t know what to tell you man, there is a reason I called out for two days,” you answer around a bite of your sandwich. That reason is currently classified, but the wall-fuck certainly factored in.

Linsey pats Curtis’ arm and you feel significantly better about the hit to your friend’s ego. If you know anything about Linsey, she’ll have him feeling like a big, tough man again in no time. Really, Curtis should be thanking you for the no-doubt wonderful evening you’ve just bestowed upon him.

You’re actively avoiding Sami’s narrowed eyes. You know he can tell there’s something more going on, but you’ve already decided against telling them just yet, and if he asks the right question you know you’ll spill.

Maybe Sami is a supernatural creature too with the way he seems to read your mind. The thought pops into your head and you just as soon dismiss it. It’s ridiculous. Just because you met one bona-fide vampire doesn’t mean everyone else around you is some sort of creature too. That’s just absurd.

“Are you going to see him again?” Linsey asks.

“God, I fucking hope so.”

God, it seems, has a funny sense of humor. You’ve spent the last hour and a half since lunch debating on whether or not you should text Max and see if he’s available this weekend when you hear his voice echoing through the office.

At first you think you’re going insane. That somehow your pussy has taken over full operation of your brain and is now making you hallucinate at work. You’re not sure if that’s something that can actually happen, but at this point you’re not willing to rule much of anything out.

You know you’re not going insane when his voice becomes louder, paired with the telling click of your boss’s stilettos and her shrill pitch.

“Oh Max, we are just so thrilled to have you here. I hope you like what you see," Rebecca chirps. You peek up from your desk just in time to see her place a hand on Max’s bicep and squeeze. To think you’d been ready to shame yourself for interpreting her turn of phrase incorrectly when it had very obviously been the way she meant it.

You’re not stupid. You don’t know what you and Max are and a couple days worth of sex does not a relationship make, but your blood boils watching his hand fall over hers, his eyes raking up her body before replying, “So far I’ve loved every inch. I can’t wait to see more, sugar.”

It’s appalling. In more ways than one. You’re not even sure which you’d like to address first – the clear lack of professional behavior, the gross smiles painted on both of their faces, or the fact that he’d been buried in you within the past twelve hours – but all of them have you seeing red.

You can feel Sami’s eyes on you. He’s already figured out what’s going on and is watching to see if his intervention will become required. You’re honestly not sure at this point.

Rebecca’s high pitched giggle is what sets you off. It’s grating to hear and if Max can honestly stand to listen to it that’s his prerogative, but that doesn’t mean the rest of you should be subjected to it. Sami stands up with you, clearly under the impression you’re about to do something stupid. It’s a fair assumption. You’ve been known to do a decent amount of dumb shit.

The moment you clear the cubicle wall, no longer just peeking over top of it, Max’s eyes find yours. He stops in his tracks and you imagine you must look akin to a raging bull – only you’re not the one with the horns in this scenario.

He looks completely human. Of course he does, he’s in a widely public setting, but for a moment you can see him like you did this morning. Shirtless, that teasing strip of hair leading from his belly button to carelessly thrown on pajama pants, his hair ruffled. A few stray longer pieces gently falling over his horns that you couldn’t help but reach out and reposition. He kept his wings out, letting one gently wrap around you, cradling your body closer to his. His eyes glimmered with the ever-shifting flecks of gold, like a star shower that was happening only in his irises. It was the moment you felt like it could be something more than a days long hook-up.

It takes your boss saying your name to make you snap out of the trance you’re in. “Do you know each other?” Rebecca asks. There’s a look on her face that’s more panicked than you’ve ever seen her. At least you know to keep your anger directed at one person and not the pair. You even feel a little bad now that she’s caught in this situation.

“I guess not,” you answer, walking past her and straight for the bathroom. You’re not sure what you’re going to do in there – you went to the bathroom just twelve minutes ago – but it seems better than remaining at your desk.

Your boss and Max continue their tour, considerably less touchy than before. When they head into her office, Curtis pops over the cubicle wall to look for you. He finds Sami and Linsey staring at him instead.

“Uh, wasn’t that-?”

Sami cuts him off. “Yep.”

Your friends are the best. That could be the alcohol talking, but you’re almost certain it’s true when you’re sober too. The role of designated driver is on a weekly rotation and it should be your turn but after the surprise office visit on Thursday, Linsey offered to take it instead. Since she’s a total angel, she didn’t even make you swap with her, just said she’d double up. You very nearly cried. You might now.

“I mean, does he have no sense of decency? He probably didn’t even wash his sheets before moving to his next conquest, it’s disgusting.” You’ve been at this for a while. It’s another credit to your friends that they have the patience to put up with you, but they get it. Your hurt feelings are well within your right.

“Don’t worry about him anymore,” Sami says. “At least you got some good sex out of him and found out he was a piece of shit early on.”

Sami has a point. Both yours and his last relationships had ended with your boyfriends revealing that they were huge tools. Yours after you discovered his texts to his buddies degrading you and being pissed about the amount of hours you were working when you were financially supporting him, and Sami when he gave his boyfriend a surprise visit only to find him balls deep in another guy. To find out early on could be a blessing. It still hurts though.

It’s nearing the end of the night, most of the Friday crowd already having called it quits. Linsey and Curtis are making doe-eyes at each other that’s making your stomach twist and you know it’s probably nearing time for you to call it too. At least they can have a nice night together. You really hope they spill the beans on their relationship soon – pretending to not know is starting to take years off your life.

Linsey and Curtis leave first. You and Sami assure them both that you’ll grab cabs or ubers and let them leave without commenting on the way Curtis’ hand dips into Linsey’s back pocket.

“Do they think we’re that dumb?” Sami asks you, watching the bar door close.

You snort over what remains of your beer. “I really don’t know, man. I’m happy for them though. Curtis has been into her since she started.”

Sami clasps a dramatic hand over his heart. “Our sweet little himbo, all grown up.”

A momentary silence stretches between the two of you. This is not the first time you’ve both ended up here, some of the last people remaining in the bar. The beauty of having a friend with the same shit luck in relationships and a matching coping mechanism.

“I am sorry. You seemed really excited about him at lunch yesterday,” Sami says.

Ah. So you’ve hit that point in the night. The emotional one instead of the bitch about your problems in the hopes they go away one.

“I was,” you admit. It sucks to say out loud but it’s true. To make it even worse, the whole kink fulfillment wasn’t even the reason why. You liked Max. He made terrible lewd jokes, had a far too cocky attitude for how soft he was, and had actually laughed at you when you requested an ice pack for your poor overworked vagina, but you liked him.

Of course he had to be an asshole.

"If it makes you feel any better, you did manage to make Rebecca look like she was going to shit herself," Sami offers.

You can't help but smile. The look on your typically unshakable boss's face had been a treat. "Who knew that even she respects girl code."

Sami, ever the saint, covers your bar tab. He tells you he expects the same the next time he has boy troubles and you hope for both your wallet and your friend's happiness that day never comes.

You're still fairly tipsy when you climb into your uber, waving bye to Sami as he continues to wait for his. Alone with your thoughts, you're helpless as they drift to Max.

You feel like an idiot for thinking there was something more between you. It was obvious now that Max had used you for his own pleasure and when you decided you actually needed to return to your own life, you became unimportant in his. Probably just another notch in a bedpost that's likely been whittled to a toothpick.

Your driver is unfortunately chatty. Some young college kid doing this job to try and make ends meet and doesn't know when to keep quiet. He probably still has the romantic idea in his head that he might be some soothsayer for a downtrodden rider. Somehow he doesn't know that role is only for old men with grizzled beards or weird hippie women.

"What has you so down?" The kid asks.

You want to roll your eyes, potentially tell him to fuck off. Emotions and alcohol get the best of you.

"Found out a guy I slept with didn't feel the same way," you answer.

"How do you know?"

You expected sympathy, not a question like that. It's a little intrusive, but you like his gumption. "He came into my office and was all over my boss."

"Yikes, dude! That blows." Yeah, certainly not a secret paragon of worldwise advice.

You huff. "Tell me about it."

"Man, if I were you I'd be over there chewing him out. Blowing you off is one thing but to go for your boss? Low blow," he says, making a shockingly slow right turn.

"To be fair he didn't know it was my boss," you pause. "That might be worse."

He lets out a low whistle. "Like I said, I'd be tearing that guy a new one."

You consider it for a moment. Realistically, you and Max owe each other nothing. You had a few days of mind-blowing sex with no set plans to see each other again and that was it. He could move on whenever and however he saw fit. Something still burns in your gut though. An anger you know you’ll carry unless you get some answers. Fuck it.

“Could you actually take me to this address?” you ask, holding out your phone for the kid to read.

“Oh hell yeah, lady! Let’s get you some justice!”

On the list of intelligent decisions you’ve made in your life, listening to a college aged uber driver is not high. It is certainly higher than the time you decided to eat an entire funnel cake and then ride the Twister (you were 22 at the time) and higher than the time you tried to work a twelve hour shift on two hours of sleep while sick and hopped up on flu medicine (look, 22 wasn’t a good age for you) – but still, on your list of smart choices, this is not going to be in the top ten any time soon.

You give your driver a 5-star rating and a high five when you get out of the car before marching up to the apartment building’s door. There’s an immediate roadblock. The buzzer.

You blame adrenaline and the remaining effects of booze for you failing to remember this key hurdle. It’s not like you could just buzz Max to let you up. He probably wouldn’t and it would completely ruin your surprise attack.

“Fuck,” you mutter, weighing your options. Your uber has already taken off and you’ve come this far. You need to see it through.

You press one of his neighbor’s buttons. They don’t respond. You try another. Again no reply. Third times the charm? Nope. You try the first one again. Nothing.

You take a deep breath in, trying to calm yourself before you lose it entirely. This always works in movies, why isn’t this working? You try the first one a third time.

This time, a very annoyed voice comes through the speaker. There is a god! “What do you want?”

“Um hi, yeah I need someone to buzz me in.”

“Why?”

Okay, time to think of a good lie. Something to get you inside. “I need to yell at one of your neighbors.”

No! Stupid! Why would you say that? Now they’ll never let you in!

“4C?” the voice from the speaker asks. It takes you aback and you double check Max's address on your phone. 4C.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Go ahead, dude’s a dick. If you kill him though please don’t tell the cops I let you in.”

“You got it.” You don't even remember what apartment button you pressed anyway.

The door lock unlatches, allowing you entry. The stairs look daunting in your current state and you slip off your heels, risking the dirty floors to a rolled ankle.

When you get to his door, you have the thought to message someone where you're at. He didn't kill you last time, but you never know. Things could change.

You send a message to Sami.

You: At Max's. If I don't message by morning assume I'm dead.

It's a little dramatic, sure, but the point comes across when Sami replies almost instantly.

Love of my life😻: What do you mean, at Max's

You: I mean I'm outside his apartment door rn and I'm gonna yell at him

Love of my life😻: If you die I'm telling everyone at your funeral about how you thought a blow job literally meant blowing air on a dick until you were seventeen

You: Fine

It's a risk you're willing to take. If Sami tells everyone that he'll have to include how the guy actually came from that too. It was the best part of the whole story.

You shove your phone back into your purse, taking a moment to collect yourself before pounding on the door. There's a muffled yell from the other side and the telltale sound of approaching footsteps. No turning back now.

The door swings open to reveal Max in a look you can only call Friday night in chic. He's wearing what looks to be silk pants and a large fluffy robe that you had eyed but left alone during your extended stay. You're guessing from the large strip of his chest you can spot that he's shirtless, probably to allow his wings to unfurl. His eyes are wide at your sudden appearance.

"I- you- lamb?"

You push past him, storming into the apartment. The ambiance of the room does not match your energy. It's lit in the soft yellow glow of incandescent bulbs and calming piano music you aren't refined enough to identify lilts through the air. There’s the soft scent of lavender in the air and if it weren't for the book and wine glass filled with what can only be blood, you would think he has company over. Is he wining and dining himself?

The peaceful atmosphere of the apartment throws you a bit, but you refuse to let it distract you from why you came here in the first place. You spin on your heel, turning to face Max. He still seems to be processing your presence and before he can get a word out you yell the question that’s been rattling around in your head since Thursday afternoon.

“What the fuck was that?”

The apparent randomness of your question is enough to jar him. “What was what?”

“Don’t pretend. You were all over her. Sugar? Is that your thing, do you come up with a little nickname for each new partner to make them feel special? That’s sick, you know.”

You hate the look on Max’s face. It’s one of surprise but also intrigue. As though he just had a eureka moment that he’s now going to use against you. His eyes flash gold. “Are you jealous?” he asks.

You scoff. “Jealous? You think I am jealous?”

Unbelievable. Truly. More so than his horns and wings, this turn of events is simply unbelievable. You came here to yell at him for his disgusting and perverse display in a place of business and he tries to turn it around on you.

You watch as some of Max’s features become more monstrous. His eyes shift color, ears becoming pointed once again, and those stupid, ridiculous horns make themselves known. The effect they have on you is infuriating. You’re rooted to the spot, staring at him with open disbelief, waiting for him to say something more.

Max walks towards you, and you can see his body grow larger with each step. Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you wonder why he doesn’t just keep his size at all times. He would certainly be marked as a large man, but nothing too out of the ordinary. As soon as you begin to ponder over it, you admonish yourself. You didn’t come here to wonder about his human disguise. You came here to yell and you aren’t done yet.

“You really have some nerve, you know that? And to think I had just told my friends about you too,” you shout.

Max’s smile only widens, his arm wrapping around your waist while his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. Your jaw is tiny in his palm, easily cradling it entirely while his thumb gently passes over your lips, effectively silencing you.

Your pulse is racing. You want to push him off, tell him that he can go fuck himself in a fit of righteous glory, and strut back out into the night. Instead your breath shudders, letting Max take his time looking at you before he speaks again.

“It’s okay to be jealous, little lamb. Did you think I would show her all of this?” he asks.

You know your eyes give you away. He managed to hit the nail on the head, a truth that you barely allowed yourself to fully process or consider. Max moving on so quickly had only been part of the pain.

What hurt even more was that you had thought yourself special, that for whatever reason, he had revealed himself to you and no one else, only for that idea to come crashing down in seconds. It was stupid and more than a little selfish, but it was true. To think there was even the smallest chance that he would easily reveal himself to Rebecca as he had to you was unbearable.

Max offers you a small pout. You want to bite his stupidly plush lower lip. "My sweet little lamb."

You don't want to give in. You want to hold your ground, yell a bit more, maybe even throw something and yet, you can't help but relax into his touch. His body pressing against yours still feels better than anyone else's ever has and you can feel your resolve slipping.

Max leans down and just before he kisses you he whispers, "There's only you."

You let your purse fall to the floor. Max's lips slot over yours like they're meant to be there, slow and careful. Your anger melts beneath him.

Max's tongue slips between your lips and the kiss grows more heated. Your hands fumble, finding the tie around his robe and pushing it from his shoulders. Once it falls Max picks you up, walking you to his bedroom while trailing gentle bites and kisses down your neck. The bruises he left earlier this week have begun to heal and he seems intent on refreshing them, leaving you marked as his.

He sets you down gently on the bedroom carpet, guiding your lips back to his. His hands slide over your body, pulling at your clothes as though he wants to take them off. For some unknown reason he’s stopping himself and you move back from the kiss. “You can take them off,” you tell him.

“Are you sure, lamb?” Max is looking deeply into your eyes, as though he’s searching for a different answer than the one you just gave.

“Yes.”

He takes his time – peppering kisses between each layer you have on. When you’re left in just your bra and panties, he lays you back against the bed, worshipping every exposed inch. He mumbles gentle words into your skin, ones that you barely catch until he’s lavishing attention along your collarbones.

“So perfect, too good for me, thought I lost you…” The last one makes you pause.

You wind your fingers into his hair, careful to avoid his horns, and gentle tug until you’re able to bring his face back up to yours. “What do you mean, thought you lost me?” you ask. You're gentle about it, trying not to seem judgemental or break the nearly reverent atmosphere.

Max looks embarrassed, like he got caught spilling a secret he didn’t mean to share. He can’t hold your eye when he answers. “I thought you were done with me. That after you left Thursday morning I’d never see you again.”

Your heart breaks a little at his tone, but even more so you’re confused. “Why would you think that?”

You sit up on the bed, cradling Max’s face in your hands. You give him time to answer, slowly tracing a finger over his defined facial features. There’s a knit in his brow, as though he’s trying to puzzle things out for himself.

“You didn’t stay and I never got to ask to see you again. You said bye.”

You’re still not sure you’re understanding. “I had to go to work, Max. You had my number, you could have called or texted.”

Max huffs, sitting up with you. The memory foam dips with his larger weight, tilting your body into his. “Most- most people don’t stick around after. I figured you’d had your fill and wanted to be done with me.”

You can see the hurt on his face. There’s no way for you to know how many people have rejected, rebuffed, or used Max over the years. Hell, you don’t even know how long Max has been alive for, but you don’t need numbers to understand pain. To know what it is to not be appreciated or even somewhat cherished.

You climb into Max’s lap, wrapping your arms around him as far as they will go and bury your head into his chest. The chill of his skin doesn’t bother you, even as his arms fall around your shoulders and wrap you in a frosty hug.

“I’m so sorry, Max.” You know your apology won’t suddenly make things right for him, but you hope that it can at least start to make it better. “I didn’t want to leave. I was already debating if it was weird to text and ask you out for tonight,” you tell him. The honesty feels strange but good, the need to build a wall between yourself and your feelings towards him gone.

You begin to press chaste kisses into his chest and push against him until he falls back against the mattress, your body draped across him. “Max, can I show you just how much I wanted to stay?”

Max nods, shifting his hips to help you as you slide his pants and boxers off. He’s only half-hard and you’re already wondering how you’re going to take him. In your days spent with him, oral was something he never pushed. You had asked at one point, wanting to reciprocate, and he’d redirected by fingering you instead. Well, we’ll figure it out as we go.

You lick a broad stripe up your palm, taking him in hand and start to slowly pump, feeling him harden under your steady ministrations. You keep your eyes on his face, watching as his head tips back into the pillows. He’s still holding onto parts of his human visage and you can’t help but wonder why. If it’s more comfortable that way, like not lying on his wings you understand, but holding the rest of it in can’t be truly relaxing.

“Max?” you say, running your free hand over his brow. “You can let go. I’ve got you.”

Max’s twitches in your hand and you watch as he appears in his full glory before you. He's breathtaking, laid out underneath you like this.

You move down his body, positioning yourself between his muscular legs. Max's eyes remain trained on you as you begin to kiss down his stomach, skipping down to his thighs. You murmur words of affection between each press of your lips.

It doesn't take long before Max is moaning beneath you, beads of precum starting to trail down his cock. When he speaks, Max's voice hits a deep pitch that travels right to your own pooling arousal. "Stop teasing me, lamb."

You move away from him, eliciting a whine that stops short when he realizes what you're doing. You take off your bra and panties, tossing them to the floor, and then swiftly turn back to Max and wrap your lips around his cock.

His hands jump to you in surprise – not forcing you further down, but instead moving your hair out of the way. You swirl your tongue around the fat head, moaning at the slightly salty taste of his precum. You're only able to take half of him before you can feel the edges of your gag reflex giving you warning.

Your hand covers what you can't otherwise fit, pumping him while bobbing your head. The noises coming from Max are sinful. He doesn't even need to breathe and yet his voice is catching, making you wonder when the last time anyone did this for him was.

You can't help yourself. Watching Max fall apart beneath you, knowing that you're the one making him feel this good is getting you worked up. You slip your hand down, gathering some of your own arousal before circling your clit.

Max's eyes widen when he realizes what you're doing and his hips buck, making you gag. You pull off to catch your breath, a line of spit still connecting your lips to his cock. When you go to wrap your lips around him again he stops you, a single finger under your chin.

"Won't be able to last, babe."

You can't help but smile at the compliment. Max's eyes are half lidded, a dopey look on his face that allows his fangs to peek through.

"Come here," he rumbles.

His hands are already inching down towards you as you climb over top of him but you bat them away. You're plenty aroused and you don't want to wait – feeling the stretch of him will be worth it.

You position him at your entrance, taking your time as you sink down onto him. You brace yourself on Max's chest, fingertips digging into his pecs. Max doesn't seem you care, his own hands firmly holding onto your waist.

Once you're finally able to take every inch you pause, taking a moment to feel him inside of you. You lean down, pressing more kisses and praise into him before starting to roll your hips.

"F-fuck, Max. You're so b-big. Handsome."

You push your hand behind Max's head, angling it so that your foreheads press together as you increase your speed. His irises are swirling, reminding you of when glitter is spun in a glass.

Max shifts slightly, somehow pushing deeper into you. You're certain you're leaving indents in his chest from how tightly your fingers flex, but Max only groans with pleasure beneath you.

"Close," you moan, your hips losing their rhythm.

Your vision flashes white, little stars appearing, your legs shaking as you clench down around Max. You can feel that he's close too, and in a haze you pull his head closer, placing soft kisses over every inch of his horns.

The combined sensations of you fluttering around his cock and lavishing attention on his horns is too much for Max to handle. He hardly warns you, not that you have the presence of mind to care, before cumming deep inside of you.

Neither one of you attempts to move. You flop your head down onto Max's chest, mindlessly stroking his bicep. Max's hand is running along your spine, making a chill run through you. He chuckles when your body twitches from it.

You look up towards him and smile. "Do you believe that I want you now?"

He kisses the top of your head. "I believe you, lamb. Give me a few minutes and I'll show you how much I want you."

There's a knock at the door. You're surprised, considering you hung up with the pizza place only 5 minutes ago, but you shrug and go to answer it anyway. You double check the knot on the robe – Max's fluffy one, now yours, before opening the door.

The knocks increase in urgency and you open the door just as the person's fist comes down again.

"Ow, shit!" you yell, holding your head where you were just inadvertently punched.

Max is next to you before you can even look up at your attacker. "Who the fuck are you?"

A familiar voice answers him. "I'm here to make sure my best friend isn't dead, asshole."

The pain is already subsiding and you look to see Sami standing in front of you, looking pissed. Right. The text you were supposed to send. Oops.

Additional note: I am blown away by the response monster Maxie got and honestly I'm having a ton of fun with him. Please feel free to send me asks and questions about him, I would love to add to this silly little series with more chapters, headcanons, whatever!! I want to answer whatever questions you've got

Everything Taglist: @janebby @spideysimpossiblegirl @roxypeanut @paperbag33 @danidrabbles @honestly-shite @sharkbait77 @stevie75 @tintinn16 @doin-stuff @hdghty @salome-c @greeneyedblondie44 @snow30285 @fic-appointment @kirsteng42 @athalien @missminkylove @niki_xie @tothejedi @readsalot73 @castleamc @nakhudanyx @quietpainter @spanishmossmagnolia @kirsteng42 @dihra-vesa @sergeantbannerbarnes @ezrasbirdie @liviiii98 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @justanotherblonde23 @mummifymecaptain @gracie7209 @klara-luise18 @mswarriorbabe80 @just-here-for-the-moment @mimimi-stuff @dumb-npc @showbuckysomelove @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @captain_pikas_world @likes-good-reblogs-even-better @shadesofnerdlygrace @mylovelycomandante @starlightmornings @afootnoteinyourhappiness @girlwholoveswords @my-blink-romance

#max phillips x you #max phillips x reader #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips fanfiction #bloodsucking bastards fanfiction #monster!max #crasis writes

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tasteofdeathao3 · 2 years ago

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(idk if tumblr ate this ask or not?? pls feel free to ignore it if it makes you uncomfy!!) may I propose: izzy avoiding ed like the plague after he eventually accepts stede as a caregiver bc he doesn’t want ed to see him being vulnerable/weak until he has no other choice. misunderstandings & hurt/comfort ensues

I think Tumblr must've eaten this bc I didn't see it before! very sorry!

but yes! There's already a few regressors on board, and once Stede works out that Izzy is also one of those regressors, he's got his heart set on helping out Izzy.

It takes a while, and a lot of conversations with a very cranky Izzy, but eventually he lets Stede take care of him, learns to let his guard down around him and be vulnerable and weak - Stede tells him not to call it that, because 'feeling little doesn't mean you're weak, Israel, don't be mean to yourself'.

But Ed? He can't possibly see him like this. He can let Stede bathe him and change him and read to him and put him down for naps and swap out his knives for wax crayons and feed him weird yummy mush instead of his usual stale rations, but he just can't let Ed see him act so weak and scared, especially after years of being his ironfisted first mate.

Ed had taken care of him, years ago of course, but they'd just stopped one day and that was enough for Izzy. He's too old for this anyway, he can't be the ship's first mate while also being the captain's little nap-needing mush-eating baby boy. It's embarrassing, most of all, for someone as cool and smart and strong as Blackbeard to have to watch his own first mate play with bubbles in the bath.

Every time he slips around Stede, he's completely relaxed and happy until Ed comes in. The second his captain walks into the cabin he quickly flips his drawings over, pushes his crayons off the table, pulls himself to sit up properly instead of flopping and sliding all over the chair.

Ed, of course, notices every time.

Stede had told him when he first thought Izzy might regress, and he'd confirmed it, that they'd used to do that together all those years ago until Izzy had just stopped one day. Stede keeps him updated, because why wouldn't he tell his husband everything?

He wants to look after Izzy, desperately. Stede had described him as being so young, when he'd only felt like a little kid when he'd regressed around Ed all those years ago, told him in detail how cute he was when he was trying to speak around his knuckles in his mouth or with mashed fruit spread over his face.

But every time he goes near Izzy he just goes rigid, goes right from calm and relaxed to almost petrified, gets up and runs out of the room the second Stede doesn't have a hold on him.

It hurts. a lot.

He can't possibly understand why Izzy would avoid him, because now it's not just when he's small, but also when he's big, and now he doesn't know what he's done for his first mate and best friend to avoid him like the plague.

Stede tells him to just try and talk to him, but Izzy will do almost anything to stay several metres away from Ed at all times, it's completely pointless to even try talking to him at this point.

Ed, of course, is moping around everywhere because he thinks his best friend hates him and now he's bringing the whole ship down with his sad songs and laying face down in random places across the deck, but now Izzy is affected too, unable to regress fully because he's so afraid that Ed will pop out around the next corner and see him playing with Stede's yummy bubble bath or acting out stories with his carved wooden statues, and he just can't have that.

Eventually, after Ed refuses to corner big Izzy and just talk to him and Izzy starts crying every time the door to the cabin opens, Stede takes matters into his own hands.

He tucks Izzy up into his cot in his own room, since recently Izzy's been too on edge to sleep anywhere in the cabin - in the bunk, on the chaise, even in the auxiliary wardrobe - and sends Ed down to go have a chat with him.

He knocks on the door quietly and steps inside, closing and locking the door behind him, like Stede told him to, so that Izzy can't get up and run away again.

Izzy presses up against the wall of his cot, tugging the blankets up to his chin in an attempt to hide himself from Ed.

He sits down on the edge of the cot beside Izzy, wringing his hands, and begins reciting the speech Stede had help him practice.

'I don't understand why you're avoiding me', he says, voice cracking a bit, 'But I want- I want you to know that I'm not angry at you or ashamed or anything. I'm just feeling... sad. because I don't know why you don't want to be around me. I love you so much, Iz, I don't want you to leave me. I'm sorry for what I did, I don't want you to be scared of me. You're my best friend, I don't want to lose you.' By the end of it his eyes are wet, voice wobbly, and he's practically sobbing between words.

Izzy is watching him, both nervous because Ed's with him and he's small, but also because big strong cool Ed is sitting on his bed and his crying because he thinks Izzy doesn't like him anymore.

He reaches out to hold Ed's wrist and squeezes very tight, Ed turning to look at him with red eyes and quivering bottom lip.

'Sorry.' He whispers, his own eyes growing damp now. 'Love you too.' he chokes out, voice catching on a sob as he begins to cry in earnest.

'Oh, Iz,' Ed sighs, turning around to take Izzy up in a big hug.

Izzy eventually explains what he's been worried about, and even with his limited vocabulary, Ed manages to get an understanding of what's going on.

'I'll always love you,' he says, cuddling Izzy close to his chest. 'You'll always be my favourite person, my strong first mate and my smart talented best friend. I don't care, I don't care, I just want you to be happy, let me take care of you. Like we used to.'

Izzy nods, sniffling into Ed's collar bone.

'It'll be better now,' he says, kissing Izzy's hair, 'It'll be so good. Me and Stede both love you. We both need you, we both want to look after you,' he pulls Izzy away from his chest to look him in the eye, 'Will you let us?'

Izzy takes in a deep breath, letting Ed wipe his tears and snot away, and nods.

Stede finds them a good few hours later, unlocking the door with his stolen key and watching the pair sleep, cuddled up in Izzy's cot with Izzy pressed into Ed's chest and Ed wrapped up around him.

#sorry for the delay! not sure what happened with the ask box!#fandom agere #agere #sfw #age regression #izzy hands #ofmd #little izzy hands #ofmd regression #ofmd agere #cg blackbeard #cg stede bonnet #cg edward teach #hurt/comfort #ficlet

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missluckycharms · 3 years ago

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can you do a imagine where y/n plays volleyball and she gets hurt and h take care of her?

A/N: hiii! I hope you like this! I also had to look up some details about volleyball as it’s not really that commonly played here in Ireland, if I say something wrong pls ignore it I tried my best. The vaccine is kicking my ass rn, I got my second dose so if this sucks and there’s mistakes pls ignore that also 😭 Enjoy !!

This is college!Harry and Y/N I hope you don’t mind !!

Warnings: talks of smut, strong language and Harry being a sarcastic loveable asshole.

Today was not Y/N day.

First of all, she woke up late, giving her only twenty minutes to get ready and make her way to college, which is usually a thirty minute drive without traffic. She was like a lightening bolt running through her apartment, falling over Harry’s shoes that were just abandoned around her room and trying to find any clean clothes as Harry came over last night and as usual, he distracted her from doing what she needed to do, which was her laundry.

He was asleep while she did all this, her small huffs and puffs picking up his shoes and throwing them into the corner didn’t even cause the lazy log in the bed to move once, his body tucked up under the covers as his face smushed against her purple sheets as he let out small snores, she looked at him and silently wished that was her. She was lucky she packed her gym bag last night before he arrived over, all of her clothes, her ankle braces, her knee pads and her favourite trainers she wears for games all packed into her bag and all she needed to do was pick it up and throw it into the trunk of her car along with her book bag.

She kissed Harry’s forehead and again, he did not even move, he may of given out a slight hum for a grumbled word but Y/N didn’t have time to contemplate what he said, she was rushing out the door wearing clothes that were probably Harry’s as the joggers were nearly falling off her as she ran. She didn’t care though, she needed to be in her first lecture or her grades would go down. She made it to campus with only thirty seconds to spare, she doesn’t know how she wasn’t pulled over for driving faster than the speed limit when she saw the campus come into view. Her body ran through the halls, dodging anyone in her way as she dragged herself to the lecture hall where her professor was probably already starting lesson, his usual morning introduction as everyone set up their laptops or notepads for the hour lecture ahead.

She got a disapproving look from her professor when she slide into a row, flopping down onto the seat and apologising as she rummaged through her bag looking for her laptop. Her professor was already going over what they would be covering today when she realised she doesn’t have her laptop. Then she remembered where it is, it’s in her apartment in the bathroom.

Harry insisted they had a bath last night to relax her after she took some exams in college that day, the pair were soaked under the bubble filled hot water with her laptop propped up on the sink playing a show on Netflix as they relaxed and spoke about their day. She grabbed her notebook and pen and immediately began to scribble down the notes she would have to transfer onto her laptop tonight, if Harry doesn’t distract her again. She knows he might not, he has classes of his own today, his starting later than hers and his classes only being on four days a week instead of five like Y/N, yesterday was his day off, hence why he was being a needy little shit and clinging to Y/N like his lifeline until they fell asleep.

The day dragged out for Y/N, her usual one hour classes feeling like four hours, her notes taking for ages to write up as she tried to keep up with what was being displayed on the board, her lunchtime consisting of her bumming off her friend for a few dollars to get something to eat as she left her purse at home, her friend didn’t mind but she felt awful for asking. When the day finally ended she was relieved, all she wanted to do was get into the gymnasium and play some volleyball with her team to get all the anger she felt today, she was not having a good day and the only things that can help her with that is Harry or volleyball, and because she had training today over their at home game being played next week, she was relieved she could get some stress reliving in before going back to her place where she knows Harry will be — he hates his own apartment as he shares, Y/N only having a one bedroom one that she snagged and Harry being left with a flat thats shared between four people, there’s no privacy there, none.

“You’ve been tense all day, is everything okay?” Abbie, Y/N best friend asks as they begin their warm ups, the two sat on the floor side by side as the stretch their legs and arms getting warmed up for practice.

“Today wasn’t my day, woke up late, forgot my laptop and purse and now I have to go home and type up nearly fifty pages of notes onto my laptop — Who’s idea was it for me to study Biochemistry?” She laughs out, stretching her arms behind her head as Abbie follows suit, the pair watching as the coach shows them what to do, the pair sat at the back to avoid being yelled at for talking.

“I think that was your idea, I certainly didn’t force you to do that. If it helps, environmental studies isn’t easier, I swear I’m constantly writing up lab reports and giving presentations each week” Abbie rolls her eyes, the pair now doing lunges as they continue to chat.

“Shit! I have a presentation next week, I totally forgot” Y/N groans, squeezing her eyes in frustration as she hasn’t even started yet, her mind immediately going to how she has to type up the whole presentation while probably having Harry hang out of her. Harry is studying sports science, in hopes to one day set up his own personal training business. They usually have study sessions together as Harry has just as much work as Y/N, but Harry isn’t as much as a perfectionist as Y/N, he’ll slap together a presentation and call it a night while she has to make it look pretty and aesthetically pleasing.

After a fifteen minute warm up, the girls are already playing a mini match for practice, six players per team, Y/N being up nearest to the net with three other girls. She’s been named as one of the teams best scorers, her jumps are high and her force hitting the ball is something that scares opposing teams when they play competitions. She’s been on the college team for nearly two years now, her whole college course is five years long — she’s aiming for a bachelors degree in Biochemistry, she’s so happy she has something else to do while in here, she knows she would of went crazy if she didn’t have something to calm her down.

They play three games, Y/N’s team wining the first game and the teams tying on the last game due to the positions being switched and she was put to the back to give other players the chance to spike the ball up. She’s back up front on the third game, her body now rested from the small water break they were given in between the games, her body full of adrenaline and ready to play. The game is playing out as usual, Y/N jumping and spiking the ball up and over the net with the help of her team mates, the other team just as good as them as they all battle it out on the court. In the last two minutes is when it all goes downhill, Y/N jumps up to spike the ball, when she lands, she wobbles and falls over, her ankle rolling as she cries out in pain on the court, the coach blowing the whistle to stop the game as everyone rushes around her.

She tries to stand up, she falls back down again, Abbie and another girl holding her up as she shuts her eyes in pain. The coach takes off her ankle brace and sock with her permission, she’s now sitting on the bench as her ankle is iced and checked over by the coach, Abbie helping Y/N by refilling her water bottle when needed, her ankle now propped up on a chair with ice on it as the rest of the team begins their warm downs.

“It’s definitely sprained” Abbie says looking under the ice at her ankle, Y/N wincing when Abbie presses down lightly, jumping when she lets out a small cry.

“Yep, definitely sprained” she says putting the ice back on and sitting down next to her friend as they both laugh a little, the pain easing off with the ice as Abbie distracts her with stories and jokes.

“Y/N, do you have anyone to take you home?” The coach asks, allowing the rest to leave as Abbie stays seated with Y/N.

“I’ll call my boyfriend, thank you for your help” she says as the coach pats her on the back, telling her she can take all the time she needs off while also still being allowed to attend the games to support. She’s devastated about it, but at least she can support her team from the sidelines.

“What happened?” Harry asks running out of his car, the door slamming as Abbie wheels Y/N out in wheelchair given to them by the coach from the injury room.

“Fucked my ankle, doesn’t surprise me honestly, today wasn’t a good day” she sighs s Harry laughs a little, helping her out of the wheelchair and guiding her towards his car that’s parked only three steps away.

“You’re okay now, let’s get you home and rested, yeah?” He says laying her down on the back seat, picking her leg up and resting it on the seat as she winches in pain a little as she adjusts herself on the seat.

“Thanks for all your help, I’ll have Niall come and pick her car up later” Harry says to Abbie, closing the back door and smiling at the girl who’s waving in at her best friend who’s mortified in the back of the car, laughing masking the pain she’s feeling.

“If you both need anything give me a call” she says as Harry nods waving her off as he sits into the car, turning around to look at his girlfriend who’s looking back at him holding in her laugh.

“Only you” he shakes his head laughing as Y/N lets out a loud cackle, knowing he’s right, only her would end up fucking up her ankle even with a brace on it, it’s defiantly a Y/N thing to do.

The car ride home is filled with laughing and a few sing songs as Harry tries to distract her from the pain. He helps her into her apartment by carrying her bridal style up the flight of stairs and placing her down onto the sofa, propping her leg up on the coffee table, raising her ankle up on a pillow as he races to the freezer to find something to put on the injury.

“Okay, all you’ve got is frozen peas” he says placing the green packet down onto her ankle, the picture of peas hilarious as it rests on her skin, the swelling gone down since the gymnasium which is good, as Harry says.

“I’ll run to the store to get you some bandages soon, right now, you need some tea, the sugar will help with the shock you got” he says immediately snapping into Mum mode with her, Y/N smiling at Harry in the kitchen behind her, her head turning and resting on the back of the sofa as she watches him saunter around her kitchen.

“Do you have any homework you need completing? I got all mine done in library period we had today, I’m free to do yours if you have any” he says fiddling with the kettle and switching it on, placing a tea bag into her favourite purple polka dot mug.

“I have to transfer handwritten notes onto my laptop, I can do that” she says as Harry turns around, waiting for the kettle to boil as he looks at her.

“Nope, I’m doing that for you, you need rest! I’m here to help you, I’ll be your nurse” he says turning back around to pour the boiling water into the mug.

“I’m fine Harry, it’s just a small sprain” she fights back, Harry shaking his head as he walks in with her mug filled with warm tea, passing it to her as he sits next to her wrapping his arm around the back of the sofa.

“I’m not leaving you here alone, if you fall what will you do? Get up and walk?” He says sarcastically as she rolls her eyes laughing, resting her head back on his arm as they begin watching the TV before them.

“Also, I expect the same in return if I ever get hurt” he jokes as she slaps his arm playfully, laughing loudly as Harry wiggles his eyebrows at her.

“You’re on top for the next few weeks Styles” she says sipping on her tea as Harry laughs, reaching over to kiss her check.

“I’m always on top, darling” he whispers to her as she pulls back looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Babe, please can you be on top? I had a leg cramp this morning and it might come back” she says lowly, imitating Harry and his deep British accent as he looks at her rolling his eyes.

“I don’t sound like that” he says taking her mug from her and sipping a little from her tea as she takes it back off him with a loud groan at what he just did — he always does it to annoy her, or he’ll dip some biscuits into her tea when she’s not looking.

“Oh yeah, must be what my other boyfriend sounds like” she says riling him up, his head turning to her as she looks at the TV screen laughing behind the rim of her mug.

“You’re lucky you’re injured m’love, if you weren’t you would be over my shoulder and thrown down onto your bed and I’d show you who’s your boyfriend, or daddy as you like” he says wiggling his eyebrows as she groans into her tea.

“It was one time! I said it by accident!” She shouts, turning bright red as Harry laughs loudly, kissing her cheek as she pouts looking down at her mug.

“You know I liked it, it’s okay baby” he says resting her head on his shoulder as she cuddles into him, her empty mug on her lap as she pulls the blanket down from the back of the sofa, placing her empty mug on the floor and throwing the blanket over them both.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you” she says feeling sleepy, her day catching up on her as Harry helps her nurse her injury, his hands fixing the frozen peas on her ankle if they move a little.

“You’d probably break your neck or something” Harry says as she groans looking up at him, his dimples popping out as he laughs at his own joke.

“I’m being nice!” She says as he bends down to peck her lips, their smiles against one another lips as they pull away looking at one another.

“I know m’baby, I don’t know what you’d do without me either!” He says sighing in contentment as she rolls her eyes squishing her face into his chest.

“Harry!”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles au #harry styles one shot #harry styles fandom #answered asks #anon ask #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles prompts #harry styles blurb #writing #imagine

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delicrieux · 4 years ago

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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results).

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be.

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children.

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim.

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do.

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point!

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus.

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping.

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex.

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him.

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red.

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!!

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling.

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!”

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you.

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage.

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her.

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement.

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.”

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fic #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #quackity #dream smp #corpse x y/n #imagine #imagines #reader #xreader

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tobesolonely · 4 years ago

Text

queen anne’s coffee

A/N: hello everyone! I am not D/deaf or Hard of Hearing. However, this was requested more than once I wanted to do my best to provide. In this story, Y/N is a part of the Deaf community. if I have misrepresented the Deaf community in any way or wrote something inaccurate or offensive, then please DO NOT hesitate to let me know (respectfully, of course!) i wanted to fulfill this person’s request and be as inclusive as i could, as i don’t typically see stories with a Deaf!reader. shes short and sweet but i hope you all enjoy anyway! as always, feedback is very much welcomed and appreciated! :)

Summary: Y/N visits Harry’s coffee shop every Tuesday and Thursday and always orders the same thing. Harry HAS to get to know her!!!

word count: ~1.7k

my ko-fi! thank you :)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Every Tuesday and Thursday at exactly 3:50 PM, Y/N placed an online order that consisted of an iced chai tea latte with oat milk and a butter croissant from Harry’s coffee shop, Queen Anne’s Coffee.

Y/N never forgot to add, “warmed up pls! thank you :)” in the section for comments, and she always tipped. She would then come into Harry’s shop approximately ten minutes later, walk up to the ‘pickup’ counter, grab her items, smile at Harry, and promptly leave. Harry never even so much as said hello to her, but he was irrevocably captivated––even if she was a complete stranger.

Harry decided that when Y/N came in today for her usual, he’d finally talk to her.

Business had been unusually slow for a Thursday afternoon but Harry didn’t mind–when Y/N came in, he’d be able to have a proper chat with her without having to rush the conversation along to help other customers. His gaze kept floating up to the cat-shaped clock hanging above the door, anxiously awaiting 3:50 PM when Y/N’s order would come through on the iPad and he got to read the words, “warmed up pls! thank you :)”

Harry didn’t know why he was so nervous to speak to her. As the owner of his very own coffee shop (and it’s only employee), he got to know the people who came in regularly well, even developing genuine friendships with some. It bothered Harry that this beautiful person gave him business two days a week and the only thing he knew about her was her name, which is only because he can see it when she places her order online.

When the iPad Harry keeps plugged up atop the counter chimes, he doesn’t even have to glance at it to know it was Y/N but he does anyway, feelings of excitement bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He was finally going to talk to her! Harry contemplates scribbling his number on the side of her cup as he’s writing her name but decides against it, not wanting to be too forward before they even formally meet.

When Y/N comes in ten minutes later, Harry can immediately sense something is wrong. She hardly looks up once as she shuffles from the door to the counter, hoodie pulled up and drawn tight over her head.

“Are you okay?”

Y/N doesn’t look up or even acknowledge the fact that Harry spoke. Even though there’s only two other people in the shop besides them, Harry figures she might think he was talking to someone else and addresses her by name.

“Y/N?”

She still doesn’t address Harry as she gives him a small smile before hurriedly exiting the shop, the bell above the door signaling her exit.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

When Tuesday comes, Harry’s out of bed before his alarm jolts him from his dreams.

He thought about Y/N all weekend as he impatiently awaited Tuesday’s arrival, excited over the prospect of finally seeing her again. He hoped she was doing better today than she was last week, and he really hoped she was in the mood to chat with him today.

Harry’s grateful the shop is busy today. It helps to keep his mind off of Y/N, and his eyes off the clock. When the iPad chimes at 3:50 on the dot, Harry decides he’ll wait until she comes in to prepare her order. It didn’t take him over two minutes, anyway. He figures this will give him a bit more time to chat with her, at least say hello and see if she’s doing better.

Much to his pleasure, Y/N has a big smile on her face when she bursts through the door ten minutes later. She floats to the pickup counter, then furrows her eyebrows in confusion as she looks up at Harry.

“Sorry, I’m working on your order right now,” Harry grabs a purple marker off the counter, scribbling Y/N’s name on the cup used for iced drinks. “How’s your day so far?”

Harry watches as Y/N cocks her head to the side in confusion, then pulls her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. She quickly types something before holding her phone out for Harry to take.

“I can’t hear you! I’m Deaf.”

A look of realization floods Harry’s face as he reads what she said. He now understood why Y/N didn’t answer him when he tried speaking to her last week, and he’s secretly relieved that she wasn’t ignoring him because she hated him or anything like that.

“I know a bit of sign!” Harry types before handing Y/N back her phone. He watches as her eyes skim his words and she looks up, a toothy grin plastered on her face.

“Great! This is much faster.” Her hands move quickly as she signs. “Did my order work or not? Wi-Fi is bad at home today.”

Harry realizes he doesn’t know as much sign language as he thought he did.

“OK. I am rusty.”

Y/N smiles at this and pulls her phone back out, typing what she just signed to him before passing it back to him. A look of realization floods Harry’s face as he learns she was just asking if her order came through alright, seeing as it was not yet ready. Too embarrassed to tell her he intentionally waited until she arrived to prepare her order, he just nods.

“I’ll have it ready in no more than two minutes… and refund you, too. I’m sorry for the wait.” Harry looks up at Y/N as he passes the phone to her, eyes not leaving her face as he tries to gauge her reaction.

“No!” Her head shakes as she signs. “Happy to pay. Thank you.”

Harry understands Y/N but refunds her, anyway.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“Why do you always come Tuesday and Thursday? Same time?”

“Exams every Tuesday and Thursday.” The look of obvious dissatisfaction on Y/N’s face makes Harry laugh. “Your chai and pastries cheer me up after.”

Harry’s face turns red at Y/N’s admittance, so he instead looks down, pretending he’s distracted by something on the iPad. He decides at that moment that he will no longer charge Y/N for her oat milk latte and croissant. She was a college student after all––if her financial situation was like Harry’s in any way when he was in college earning his business degree, it would probably be beneficial for her to save her money, anyhow.

Ever since Harry and Y/N’s first real interaction, Y/N had been coming into Queen Anne’s nearly every day, school supplies and laptop in tow. She always sat at the table closest to the front counter, directly in Harry’s line of vision so they could sign to each other.

Y/N provided Harry with some much needed (and enjoyed) company when business was slow, and she was helping him brush up on his sign language. Harry learned that Y/N is Deaf; her hearing is completely gone in her left ear and almost completely gone in the right. She’s the only person in her family who is Deaf. She also hated eggs, is lactose intolerant (hence the oat milk), has two older siblings, is a master’s student, and a plethora of other things that Harry had committed to memory.

“Thank you. I’m glad you enjoy.”

“Who is A-N-N-E?”

Harry grins. “My mother. Back in London.”

Y/N’s eyes widen. “London? Amazing! You must have an accent.”

It dawns on Harry that Y/N has never heard his voice before. “Yes. Are you from here?” Y/N nods in response.

“Whole life. Small town, but it’s home.” Her pinched hand moves quickly from her mouth up to her ear.

“Sorry. What?”

“H-O-M-E.”

A look of realization floods Harry’s face as he nods in response, signaling for Y/N to give him a moment as the bell above the entrance jingles. It seems as if the few people who walk through the door act as a catalyst for others to enter, and soon Queen Anne’s is at maximum occupancy and Harry is trying to make several drinks at once while taking orders. He locks eyes with Y/N a few times and she gives him a sympathetic look, not able to do much to help him out.

Harry decides that once business dies back down, he’ll find out if Y/N is interested in a part-time job.

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N was interested in a part-time job.

She was a fast learner and a hard worker. Harry was more than delighted to show her how to make every drink on the menu, and consume her failed attempts. It was nice having someone else behind the counter with him––he wished he’d gone about hiring someone to help him much sooner, but he was glad to now have Y/N by his side.

“So much chai! I thought only I drank this stuff.”

Harry’s gaze lingers on Y/N for a beat too long, causing her to shift slightly. Harry’s hand moves to scratch the back of his neck. “Yes. I like chai. With milk.” His hand forms a ‘C’ then closes to form an ‘S’ twice for the word “milk”.

“Regular?” One of Y/N’s eyebrows raises as she asks her question, setting a hot chai latte atop the “pickup” counter.

“S-O-Y.”

Y/N lets out a quiet snort of laughter as she shakes her head. It was the first time Harry ever made her laugh out loud. After hearing her laugh once, he never wanted to stop––it was music to his ears. “Not surprised!”

Harry’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Why?” His eyes remain on Y/N as she walks around the small area, cleaning up a small coffee spill she had earlier.

“You just are a S-O-Y boy, H. My S-O-Y boy!”

Harry’s cheeks immediately turn pink as they did the first time Y/N said something that flustered him, but he doesn’t look away.

“You’re my O-A-T girl.”

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Thank you everyone for reading!!! This is only the beginning of Y/N and Harry I think <33

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles smut

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andypantsx3 · 3 years ago

Text

LAY LOW (TAKE IT SLOW) | 4 | HAWKS x READER

pairing: Takami Keigo (Hawks) / Reader

length: TBD, est. ~20,000 words / 7 chapters

summary: What even was the right google search for this situation? How do I sew someone back together without passing out? How do I not barf on the pro hero I’m stitching up?

Or, Hawks’ game of double agent lands him in the shaky hands of one (1) very unequipped English major.

tags: romance, hurt/comfort, canon divergence, give Hawks a fuckin break pls

warnings: canon typical violence, blood, medical stuff, eventual smut, manga spoilers

Over the next week or so, Hawks kept healing.

He was a steady presence on your couch, nearly always wrapped in his ugly floral throw. He still slept a lot, and you made sure to keep him in raisins and juice whenever he was awake.

He was unobtrusive for the most part, confined to the couch as he was, but you were still overly aware of his presence all of the time. He watched you hawkishly as you went about your daily things, golden eyes following you as you cleaned, as you cooked, as you video chatted your TAs for the lecture notes you had missed.

You were still missing some of your classes, affecting an illness, and you hardly left Hawks by himself. The few exceptions were to go out and get food, or to restock Hawks’ medical supplies. The pharmacy down the street was becoming a regular stop for you, and the cashier who had eyed you suspiciously the first time seemed only to be growing more and more suspicious with every trip.

You ignored her for the most part, though you couldn’t help raising an eyebrow and aggressively adding even more snacks to your order whenever her eyes met yours. You could damn well buy bandages and seaweed chips in your own neighborhood if you wanted to.

You even went out and bought Hawks a couple changes of clothes—things like sweatpants, a pair of jeans, and loose tees he could eventually shred in the back for his wings when he could finally use them again. You tried very hard not to think of the package of men’s underwear you threw in as well.

Hawks seemed to like everything well enough, and you could admit he looked much better in sweatpants that didn’t look like they were one wrong flex away from giving up the ghost.

Eventually, Hawks passed some kind of threshold where he was awake more often than he was asleep, and it was then that he started to seem a little restless.

“Is it okay if I borrow some of your books, sweetheart?” he asked one afternoon, when you were crammed up at your counter, ostensibly working on a paper, but mostly just laying your head against the cool tile and groaning loudly, while more soup bubbled on the stove.

You looked up, startled. “Yeah, of course, help yourself.”

He made a little noise of thanks. You watched him as he got up from the couch with one hand braced on the arm, making his way gingerly over to your overstuffed bookshelves. He lingered there for a long time, then, seeming lost.

It dawned on you that Hawks probably didn’t have a lot of free time, and you didn’t know if reading was actually one of his hobbies. He always, always seemed to be in the news, multiple times a day, like he was permanently out on patrol. He honestly might not have even had time for hobbies. If it were you, you would probably go home and pass out immediately after a long, intensely demanding shift like that, leaving very little time for anything other than sleep and the occasional protein bar. You could barely manage a day of classes without sometimes needing a fat nap.

“Uh, the ones on the bottom shelf are for class,” you said. “Not many of them are good. I’m doing a course on comparative representations of heroism in Japanese and English literature, though, if that interests you. Those books are on the left.”

Hawks leaned down carefully, with a slow-drawn grunt, golden eyes flickering over the titles.

Eventually he turned back, lifting a very battered copy of The Beggar’s Opera in his hand, raising a fluffy eyebrow. “This doesn’t seem to fit in,” he said. The dandy on the cover, combed and rouged as he was, cut a very stark contrast to the other Beowulf-like volumes that lined the rest of the shelf.

You nodded, grinning. “We just finished that the day before I found you. It definitely stands out. It’s a satire—horrible to read but interesting to think about. The main character is nothing like heroes in most other literature.”

Hawks looked interested. “Yeah?” he asked absently, flipping the volume around to scan the back cover.

“The main character is a thief and a murderer. He’s definitely awful, and he breaks nearly every law in the country,” you recapped. “But you feel strangely compelled to like him, and you can easily end up reading his actions as heroic. The system he functions within is so corrupt and so horribly absent of compassion that you end up rooting for him to beat that system. You also realize he has his own moral code, and he sticks to it, even if it doesn’t align with the legal code of the city.”

Hawks’s eyes flashed up to yours, and he stared at you for a long moment. The corner of his mouth curled thoughtfully. “Interesting,” he said, lightly, although you thought you detected some strange note in his tone.

You almost continued with snippets of the lecture from your class, the idea that a hero is determined mostly through the lens via which he is presented, which was the thesis your entire course was definitely building towards. But Hawks’s gaze was still lit thoughtfully on the back cover of the book, and he was shuffling back towards your couch like he meant to sit down and read it.

You left him alone, returning to your paper.

By the time you finally looked back up from the closing lines of your paper, Hawks was laid out on the couch, back under his flowered blanket, and he’d worked his way through nearly the entire thing. By the end of it, you knew you’d been glassy-eyed and bored out of your mind, but Hawks seemed to be enjoying himself. His eyes tracked over the page, quick and alert, and you watched an eyebrow go up as he met with some interesting passage or another.

And that was the beginning of things.

The Beggar’s Opera was apparently the gateway to the rest of your bookshelf. Over the course of the next few days, Hawks started working his way through the books for your Heroism in Lit course.

It seemed to relax him, taking the edge off of his restless energy, and a lot of the books were long enough or knotty enough that they took up most of his day. You started to be able to return to class, though you taped the lectures more often than not as your thoughts were still a little preoccupied with the pro hero back at your apartment.

The pro hero in question always turned out to be fine, though he was rapidly devastating your stores of shrimp chips when left to his own devices. But it didn’t completely stop you from worrying that one day you were going to walk in, only to find him long gone.

Hawks also didn’t seem to mind you replaying your lectures every other night while you cooked dinner, and one night while you were working through a recording of your Heroism in Lit class, you realized he’d put his book down to listen along with you.

“He’s interesting, your professor,” Hawks said, throwing you a slow, lazy grin over the back of the couch.

You tamped down the hot flush that threatened to wash through you, focusing instead on what he’d said rather than how he’d smiled.

You imagined it was especially interesting to a pro hero, as your professor was ruminating on the specifics of his own profession, the tropes, the narrative framing, and moral questions surrounding heroics and humanity.

“He’s a retired pro,” you said. “Fourth generation quirk user, he said he was pretty low level. But you can tell he’s thought on it for his entire life, and he’s still looking for answers.”

Surprisingly, Hawks looked like he understood completely. “I think these days, a lot of people are.”

It was true. Things were still so unstable, even though Endeavor had stepped up to fill the All Might-shaped hole that had been left in hero society. You could only imagine the kind of pressure someone like Hawks would feel, as the number two hero in a society still freshly-wounded.

For the millionth time, you wondered why he was still here on your couch, instead of getting himself healed up by a professional with a quirk. Why he wasn’t rushing back off to rejoin hero society. And why, as far as you could tell, hero society also hadn’t yet seemed to make significant note of his absence.

You heard a soft thump as Hawks shifted his blanket off of him, and then he was standing, gingerly moving over towards the kitchen. You caught a whiff of your own shampoo as he leaned over you, and your breath caught in your lungs at his proximity. Now that he didn’t need help over to your shower anymore, you’d been doing your best to keep your distance from him, and you’d started to forget the height and breadth of him.

But now, with him so near and so warm, it was impossible to think of anything else.

“What’re you cooking over here, sweetheart?” he asked, surveying all the ingredients you’d been laying out on the counter.

You pinched yourself on the leg, scraping your brains together into some semblance of order again.

“I’m thinking oyakodon with rice and some kind of veggie side, if that’s okay,” you said. “I think it’s time to move on from soup.”

Hawks smiled, another charming grin, slow and easy. “I was beginning to think that was all you ate.”

You gave him a sour look. “It’s good for you. And a couple weeks ago you were literally dying over there, you needed all the dietary help you could get.”

He didn’t argue. “So what can I help with?”

You stared at him. “What?”

“With cooking. Fair warning, I’m a shit cook, but I think if you show me what to do I can manage,” he said.

You blinked at him. “You want to help. With cooking.”

He smiled again, leaning in. His eyes always had that sharp, mischievous tilt at the corner, but he looked especially playful now. “Not like I’m busy with much else at the moment.”

He wasn’t wrong, but the idea still floored you. The number two hero, a man renowned for one of the world’s deadliest quirks, wanted to faff about in your kitchen like a happy housewife. The thought was almost too strange for your brain to fully process.

“Um, sure. Though the recipe is super easy and really only needs one set of hands…”

Hawks shrugged. “Then you tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

And then his hand was on your shoulder, steering you over to the stools at your counter and pressing you down into one. You were too shocked by the casual touch to do anything but let him, your brain rerouting entirely to how strong and warm his hand was.

“Okay, what’s first, sweetheart?” he asked, once you were settled.

You scrubbed a hand over your warm cheeks. “Um, okay. First I was gonna make spinach ohitashi for the side and let it sit in the fridge to absorb. You first need to blanch it.”

Hawks looked mystified, as if you’d just spoken to him in another language.

You stifled a laugh. A shit cook indeed. “It means you need to boil it and then shock it in ice right after, so you’re going to want to boil some water.”

He seemed to find that straightforward enough, and set a bot to boiling on your stove. You directed him to your freezer for ice and a cabinet for a bowl to set it in with some cold water.

While you waited, you also set him to slicing the chicken and onion for the oyakodon, a move which proved a complete mistake. As good as he was at slashing up villains, he apparently had little experience with an actual kitchen knife, and it took a lot of careful instruction on the method and angle to stop him from massacring your dinner.

Halfway through, he turned and brought the cutting board over in front of you so he could chat with you more easily, and resumed his work cutting things up under your watchful gaze. He flashed you another charming grin, pleased, when you finally approved of his technique. You pretended like the sight didn’t make you feel like you might float right out of your own skin.

Hawks managed the rice cooker on his own, which was somewhat of a miracle. He also ate some of the spinach right out of the ice water and sent you a cheeky grin when you chided him from the other side of the counter.

“I’m healing—I need all my nutrients, you said it yourself,” he said, chuckling a little when you gave him your driest of looks. But he dutifully wrung the rest out and sliced it under your direction.

Dinner took a little bit longer and was definitely turning out a little uglier than if you’d prepared it yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. It was kind of fun, ordering Japan’s number two hero around your cramped little kitchen and watching him struggle with the basics. Hawks actually seemed to be enjoying himself, too, in the strange, mildly surprising way he also seemed to have enjoyed your heroic lit books, and it made you wonder again at the strangeness of his life compared to yours.

How had he been living, before you had found him, that reading and cooking were new and interesting experiences to him? Had he had any other hobbies, previously, that he enjoyed doing? Or had he lived wholly for his job, as you were beginning to suspect he had?

Eventually, you clambered down from behind the counter to help him fill two bowls with rice and top with the egg and chicken mixture, and brought out the spinach from the fridge, setting everything up at your coffee table again in lieu of a dining table.

The two of you worked pretty well together, side by side, and you couldn’t help but enjoy how strangely domestic it all felt.

Hawks seemed like he was enjoying it too, his smile a little brighter when you settled down at your coffee table to eat.

“Damn, I could give Lunch Rush a run for his money,” he said after scarfing down his first few bites.

You laughed. Dinner was passable, if slightly overdone, but he looked genuinely proud of himself and you didn’t have the heart to tease him too much.

“And you didn’t even need a quirk,” you said. “Just a whole lot of direction.”

Hawks laughed, and said something fresh back that made you kick him gently under the table. That descended into some good-natured snarking over the top of the food, which eventually evened out into a strangely easy discussion of the books he’d been reading.

It was so interesting, hearing an actual professional hero’s opinions on the curriculum, someone who had lived and breathed and bled the same way the characters on the page had. He’d gone through the same kind of physical and mental trials, saved probably double the amount of human lives at this point.

And a lot of what he had to say was more insightful than your professor’s commentary—Hawks was a very visible, very prominent figure in the public imagination, the same way heroes like Beowulf were, and that gave him perspective that a lower-tier hero might never have.

By the time you realized dinner had long been finished, and that the two of you had just been talking over empty dishes, the way two actual roommates might, several hours had passed and the two of you had talked yourselves almost all the way to midnight.

You gestured Hawks over to the couch to ready himself for bed, and cleaned up the mess from dinner, packing away leftovers into your fridge. You played the end of your recorded lecture while you cleaned, and Hawks occasionally added his own commentary from over the top of the couch.

It felt almost like cheating, having a pro feeding you first hand knowledge, but you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. If you got an absolute fucking nuclear bomb of a final paper out of this, well then that was just payment for all personal space you were losing out on and the shrimp chips that kept mysteriously disappearing out of your cabinets.

You finished up wiping down your kitchen just as the lecture finished. You turned off the lights, and waved to Hawks as you passed through the living room.

“Night, Hawks,” you said, the way you usually did on your way to your room for the night.

Tonight, however, he didn't reply immediately, the way he typically did. There was a long pause, and then something other than his usual good night stopped you in your tracks.

“It’s Keigo,” he said, uncharacteristically quiet, so softly that you almost missed it.

You jerked to a halt, almost banging your elbow off the doorframe. “What?”

Hawks watched you from under his ugly floral throw, those golden eyes fixed on you with an intensity that hadn’t been there over dinner. His fingers ran over the long red feather he always kept at his side.

“My name,” he said finally, like he’d decided something. “My—real name. It’s Keigo.”

You stared at him, floored.

As far as you were aware, Hawks’ real name was something of a mystery to the public. You’d seen a couple reddit threads dedicated to it, and heard it discussed once in passing, but you’d never really thought much on it beyond that. You hadn’t even thought about it as the man himself had been lounging around in your living room, content to just call him Hawks, as that was who he’d always been to you.

So it was a complete shock to hear him say it, to admit to being anyone other than Hawks, Japan’s number two, the pro hero too fast for his own good.

You couldn’t have rubbed two brain cells together, too stunned, so you settled for repeating after him. “Keigo.”

Hawks—Keigo, that was—grinned at you, a flash of sharp white in the dark of your apartment.

“Sounds nice when you say it, sweetheart.”

That snapped you out of your stupor, sending a hot flush swirling through your limbs. You scrambled for words.

“Wha—? You, um, you don’t—I mean, I didn’t mean—you don’t need to—”

Hawks, ever the hero, rescued you from yourself by laughing and cutting off your wild ramble. “I’d like you to use it, but I don’t expect anything if you don’t want to. Good night, sweetheart.”

You rapidly seized on the out he was offering you and threw him a frantic wave, garbling out a farewell. “Right, okay! Good night, Haw—um, Keigo!”

And then you turned and dove for your room, yanking the door shut after you like a shield against Hawks’—Keigo’s—sudden straightforwardness. You stood there, your heart racing for some unknowable reason, like he’d made you run a marathon instead of admitting to having a human name.

It took you a long time to turn out the light and climb into bed, your thoughts still racing with the name: Keigo. Keigo, Keigo, Keigo.

The echo of it in your brain kept you up for a long time, wondering what it meant that he’d told you.

You barely slept that night.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks #takami keigo #bnha x reader #bnha

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