#the second to last one is very old so i wouldn't be surprised if someone has already used it for them but i simply had to. it's them

[gellavonhamster]

One Piece + Tumblr text posts, 1/?

[ateliersss]

Oh, take me back to The Night we met

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: 1936, eighty-eight years ago, you met him, the creature that changed your life in a way that goes beyond human imagination. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: Attempted Rape, SA, Murder, English isn't my first language Word Count: 10.162 After the Blooming Family series

⇨ Surprise! I hope you are surprised because I was starting to doubt myself. I actually believed I wouldn't even finish it this year. Anyways, I wrote the finishing 6.800 words in the last seven hours and my brain is mush. I hope it didn't affect the pace or logic of the plot. If so, I will edit it in a few days. Comments are always appreciated.

⇨ Also, if you tell me I wrote an unrealistic reaction to seeing a Yautja's face for the first time, let me tell you, you and I wouldn't be here if I hadn't reacted the same.

1936, Earth

"Thank you, ma'am." The soldier in front of you returned your identity card, the national animal printed on it facing you.

You returned his bright smile with a tight one. You were already used to identifying yourself to patrolling soldiers after work. It was for "safety measures", according to the government.

While you were busy putting away your identity card, the boy looked nervously over his shoulder to his comrade who nodded back to him, encouraging him to finally man up and just tell you what he had rehearsed a dozen times already to eventually make a move on you and ask you out.

"A-And thank you for your service, ma'am!" He blurted out, louder than he intended to, with a soft blush covering his cheeks.

You closed your purse and looked up at him in confusion.

The boy, you now noticed, had to be at least five years younger, probably around the same age as your younger brother, Emil. And you recognized him now, too. He was patrolling around this area two to three times a week.

At your confused face, he gestured a little awkwardly to your uniform, the white dress and blue-grey blouse underneath it. "D-Doctors and nurses are in desperate need in times like these a-and saving lives is a remarkable job!"

"Oh." You looked down at yourself before you pulled your coat tighter around your body and smiled softly at him. "If that's all, I'll take my leave now. Have a good night, gentlemen."

He visibly deflated at your words and mumbled a quick "Have a nice evening, ma'am." but you barely got half of it when you turned around to continue your way back home. The second your back was facing them, your smile dropped.

You hated it, hated this, this so-called life you and everyone around you had to live. Horrible and disgusting things were happening, but no one dared to speak up. You were all trapped, too scared to act, too afraid to do something.

And the people could feel it, the tension that was stretched so tautly that was just waiting to snap. The whole world was holding its breath, deferring that one moment when the match would ignite and reduce everything and everyone to rubble and ash.

Meanwhile, your brother was beaming with pride as he was now considered old enough to join the army and could finally fight for his country. On the other hand, your father, the only other family you still had in this world, was far more reluctant when it came to the plans of the government and his son's naive blindness of patriotism.

No one was talking about the horrifying wrongs your home country was doing for years now, but everybody knew, everybody saw. And if someone even dared to utter a word about it, they disappeared.

That didn't stop your father from ranting about it behind the closed doors of your home. He did so, of course, in Emil's absence. He was family, yes, but nowadays blind obedience could manipulate even a brother and son to go against his own kin.

You loved your brother dearly. He was a good guy and he only held a very strong pride for his home, his people, and his culture. But sadly that was the only thing he acknowledged around others. He denied the "rumors" of a genocide going on and overlooked unintentionally the more sinister motives of others in the world of politics and the military. He was truly and utterly blind, but you couldn't condemn him for that. Not really.

The Great War ended when Emil was three years old and you remembered him crying when your father told him he couldn't participate in it anymore. Ignorant of the horrors that happened at the Front, he and a few boys from around the neighborhood would play war and were disappointed when they were told it was over. The worst part was the elder men sitting on benches near their battlefield, telling them their people were the superior power since they had been able to hold their own against three opposing countries in the end.

You sighed and started to fumble around in your purse for your keys as you reached your destination. After a quick look into the mailbox — the usual evening newspaper and another flyer that encouraged men between the ages of twenty and forty-five to sign up for the military — you made your way up to the first floor and poked around in the lock with the key, a little distracted by the newspaper as you were searching the headlines for anything concerning. There was another report about a skinned man found hanging upside down from a church tower. Unbelievable. At times like this and there was a maniac running around, killing people in the most grotesque way for fun.

"I'm home!" You called into the dimly lit hallway, knowing your father was sitting in his usual spot in the living room.

After dropping your purse next to the wardrobe, toeing out of the white pumps, shrugging off the coat, and hanging it on the coat rack, you walked through the corridor and past five doors. The ones leading to the bathroom and the kitchen were open as always, just like the door of Emil's bedroom. Although it hadn't been inhabited for a few months now, you would always leave it open after cleaning. It was false reassurance, but that way it seemed as if he was still home.

"How was your day?" Your father asked gruffly from his spot on the wing chair, the morning newspaper still in his hand before it got replaced by the evening issue you handed to him with a kiss to his temple.

"It was…"

Screams.

Blood.

Wails of a newborn.

A cold body.

"…long."

"Mhm." Your father hummed, his eyes scanning the front page before turning it. "Hah! Sightings of another black cloud of smoke and the authorities tell the public another farmhouse burned down. Do they think we are stupid? Unbelievable these people! Think they will get away with it, hiding it from the public eye, and no one would notice!"

You weren't entirely sure if he had even listened to you, but you didn't care. You weren't very eager to start a conversation with him anyway.

"I'm in my room. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

Though you didn't expect a response, you waited a few seconds — maybe today he would ask if his son had finally sent a letter — before you turned around to retreat to your room.

Since your father had lost his legs in a bomb attack at a munitions factory where he had worked during the Great War, he had changed. A lot. Before, he was quite a gentle and jovial man who worked hard and never shied away from showing how much he loved his family. Nowadays, he was resentful and bitter towards everything happening around him.

It was exhausting, not only listening to his complaints day in and day out but also being nothing more than a maid and caregiver to him. You were the sole breadwinner in this house. You worked yourself to the bone in a business that was equally about life and death but gave you more grief than joy. At least it made the medical care of your father a little easier. The surgery, the medicine, and the wheelchair would have cost you a fortune.

When you would get off work, more would await you at home. Taking care of the household was your responsibility for nine years now since your father wasn't capable of doing it anymore. After the first week of dusting and sweeping, washing the dirty laundry and ironing the clean ones, going grocery shopping and cooking, as well as taking care of your father like washing him, helping him get to the toilet, and such, you cried yourself to sleep with the thought of quitting and running away.

But you didn't.

You were miserable, yes, but you stayed. You stayed with the hope of a better life in the future. Maybe you will be married to a nice man in a few years like your girlfriends already were. You had experience with men, sure, but none of them you would consider fit to be your husband.

In your bedroom, you quickly got rid of your uniform until you were only in your undergarments, a baby-blue silk panty that flowed around your mid-thighs and an uplift brassiere of the same fabric and color, both with a lacy hemstitched design. You were about to throw the white and grey-blue dress into your other dirty clothes when you noticed red speckles on the left sleeve.

Yes, the day had been long, too long for your taste, and when your shift did end, you felt hollow once more. You could still see her in that bed, screaming and crying.

Watching her, you had wondered if you would ever end up like her.

You shifted in your place, second-guessing before you finally turned and looked at your reflection in the mirror that occupied one corner of your bedroom. You hesitantly lifted your hands and placed them on your belly.

No. Your job showed you women struggle and in pain every day. You would never do that to yourself. Being a mother was not worth the probability of taking your last breath during labor, giving your own life while granting another to your child.

Today was another reminder of that.

The girl in the delivery room, Johanna, was sweet and lively. You met her occasionally on a monthly check-up when you assisted the doctor who took her into his care. She would tell you about her and her husband trying for this baby for years and how excited she was.

You bit the inside of your cheek when tears once again started to well up in your eyes when you thought of how helpless you had felt when you stood in that room. Your colleague, an older and more experienced woman, was holding the crying newborn in her arms. The doctor was doing his all to save the unsavable while Johanna's body got colder as the dark red spot grew bigger on the white linen of the bed.

Today had shown you once again that you would never let something like that happen to you.

"You have to incise into her abdomen."

Not ever.

"No!"

Not in a million years.

"No, Mi'ytiar… you have to, you have to."

You would never put someone else's life before yours, not even the one of your never-going-to-happen baby.

"Save our baby. Forget me… ju-just save our son… please."

Sighing, you got ready for bed. You were far too tired this evening to get anything done. The laundry had to wait until tomorrow and your father probably already had eaten, so there was no need to get to the store. For now, you needed to stop thinking.

A whole week passed and you had followed your everyday routine like every other day. Occasionally, when you walked past the room where Johanna had delivered her baby and made her husband a widower, you paused and stared. Instead of the freshly made bed and the stark white linen, you saw her dying as she bled out. You saw the doctor, yourself by his side and the nurse holding the baby at the foot of the bed.

You jumped when you felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned to see said nurse smiling pitifully at you.

"You are still there, right?" She asked softly, her eyes scanning your face.

You swallowed and nodded. "It's like that every time I come here. I don't know why. She's not the first I watched dying during childbirth."

The elderly woman patted your cheek and guided you away from the delivery room by the crook of your arm, pulling you away from the sorrowful abyss before you could drown any deeper in it.

"You liked her, that's why." She started, "I had a Johanna, too. A long, long time ago. Although she was a lot younger, she was just as excited to be a mother. Poor thing died just like her baby."

You gasped and now it was you who looked with pity at her. "Why?"

"The baby was stuck." The older nurse sighed, "She pushed and pushed and tore. By the time the doctor started to cut her open, she died of internal bleeding." She had to clear her throat before she continued, "The baby died with her. A little boy. He got himself tangled up in the umbilical cord."

You turned your gaze from her face down to the ground and watched your feet walk an unknown route. Swallowing down your tears, you forced yourself to concentrate on not stumbling over your own feet.

You did like Johanna. You had empathized with her, even though children would never be part of your life. She had just wanted a baby, a part of her and the man she loved united in one body, and all that she got was death. She hadn't deserved it. At least the thought that she might be together with her baby in heaven now, thanks to her belief in God, soothed your heart a little.

"Go home, (Y/N)." The elderly nurse interrupted your train of thought.

Looking up, you saw her holding up your purse and coat. Apparently, she had led you to the lounge where the doctors and nurses spent their lunchtime.

"But I still have six hours to go." You tried to argue but bit down your lower lip when she shook her head.

"If someone should ask for you, I will tell them you didn't feel well and that I sent you home. There are certain benefits as the head nurse." She winked at you, pushed your belongings into your hands, and shooed you in the direction of the exit.

"I promise I will feel better tomorrow." You called over your shoulder and waved at her, giving her one last smile before you shrugged on your coat and left.

Thirty-two minutes later, you got off the bus and turned around the corner into your street, your purse dangling back and forth on your wrist. With your extra five hours, maybe you could finally start that book on your bedside table if your dad wouldn't find any reason to turn your attention to him.

Feeling slightly more cheerful, you walked a little faster, already searching for the key. Like always, you checked the mailbox — nothing again — before you hopped up the one flight of stairs to your apartment, the sound of your heels on the wood filling the otherwise silent staircase.

The noise seemed to attract the woman living across from you because you barely reached the top of the stairs when she ripped her door open and stared at you with wide eyes.

You paused and looked at her in concern. "Mrs. Walter? Is everything okay?" You asked and carefully inched closer to her.

For several moments, you didn't get an answer. Only when you opened your mouth to ask her again did she slowly lift her trembling arm and point past you at something you could not see.

Strange. The only thing back there was your apartment door, so…

The slamming of Mrs. Walter's door barely reached your ears when you turned around. All you could hear was eerie silence, not Mrs. Walter quickly putting her distance between her and the door, not the dog barking from above you that got awakened by the slamming door, not the traffic noises outside.

The door that you diligently locked every morning before you got to work and unlocked every evening when you returned home hung on its hinges. In quick strides, you reached it and ripped off the note that was nailed into the wood under the peephole. Your eyes scanned over the words as you pushed the door open and entered the apartment.

A search was carried out here due to a tip-off of a conspiracy against the country and its people. All residents are requested to report immediately...

Tears clouded your view and made it impossible to make out the rest of the words. But there was no need to. You already knew what you needed to know. Your father was dead, no questions asked, no evidence to prove that he was innocent or guilty, no interference by the judiciary. He had dug his own grave since he started to badmouth and criticize the current sins committed by the government.

You slowly navigated your way through your destroyed home, your hands supporting yourself against the wall, careful not to get caught in something with your pumps. You had to duck under the big shelf close to the entrance of the living room. It was tilted to the side so that the upper part was now leaning against the other side of the wall. Everything that had ever been placed onto it — pictures, plants, certificates, and other little knick-knacks — was now scattered on the floor.

It got even worse in the living room. Everything had been turned upside down. Your father's chair was thrown to the side just like the couch and the coffee table. The books from the huge bookshelf that covered the length of the smallest wall in here were pulled out and tossed on the floor, pages ripped out and strewn on the floor. Pictures were taken from the walls and the glass crunched as you stepped over them. Dirt was covering the floor as if someone had been digging in the soil of the potted plants. The carpet was overturned, partly thrown onto the couch, and revealed the wooden floor it usually covered.

Your living room had been thoroughly searched and you doubted the rest of your home looked any different.

In a daze, you carelessly let your purse drop to the floor and shuffled to your bedroom. Opening the door, you were greeted with a view you had expected — your bed was tilted to the side, clothes from your closet were now scattered on the floor, and your mirror was lying face down on the floor.

When you saw the pictures of you and your family carelessly thrown into the corner, you couldn't hold the sob in any longer. You sank to your knees, curled into a ball, and cried to your heart's content with your eyes squeezed shut.

You lost your mother at a young age, lost your father for the first time after his accident, lost your brother to the country, and now lost your father for the second and final time. Now, you were wholly and utterly alone. Not for long, though. If you didn't come forward and turn yourself into a possible fair trial in the next sixteen hours, you would be taken just like your father and die the same way he did.

Your breakdown had been apparently so nerve-wracking and tiring that when you opened your eyes, it was dark inside your room and outside your window. Groggily, you propped yourself up and looked around, disappointedly ascertaining that you hadn't been dreaming at all. Your eyes scanned your room, still a little out of it, until you spotted your clock on the wall, surprisingly intact. 9:24 PM. Now you had less than ten hours left.

How would you spend your last ten hours in freedom? You didn't know, but you for sure wouldn't do it in here. You needed to leave.

As quick as you could you switched your nurse uniform to a skirt and your favorite blouse, fixed your make-up and your hair to look less like a mess and more like the respectable woman you usually were, and left the apartment after putting on your shoes, coat and grabbed your purse. At first, you strolled around with no real destination in mind, but the darker it got the higher the risk of being stopped by a patrolling soldier.

You had enough money with you to occupy yourself with a few drinks, so why not enjoy yourself, let a little loose? You never really got the chance to try it out. Your job unironically prevented you from unnecessarily damaging your liver and you had the responsibility to take care of your family. Your girlfriends always invited you on girl's night, but sadly, you had to decline almost every time, be it your father or another night shift forced upon you. They had another planned on the weekend in a few days, the first one in a very long time you would have had time for. Not anymore. When they would sit around a table and share the newest gossip, you had already started to rot away in a mass grave.

You entered the first, non-shady-looking bar and plopped down on one of the bar stools on the right. When the bartender finally took notice of you, all he needed to do was to take in your gloomy figure pitifully slumped in your seat to grab a glass and fill it with a brown liquid. No words were spoken — you didn't feel like it and he noticed that — as you grabbed the glass, tossed the liquor back, and placed the now empty glass back down. The alcohol, whatever it was, burned like hell and you couldn't help but cough, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. The bartender, meanwhile, wordlessly filled your glass again and without any hesitation, you emptied that one too.

You spend almost four hours like that. Losing count after your sixth shot, your head started to feel funny, like the world around you was spinning too fast. You mused what your life would have been like if your mother hadn't died when you were just nine years old, if your father hadn't lost his legs when you were seventeen, if your brother had chosen a normal job at your current age. You could have grown up like any normal girl, could have joined your friends more often to hang out, could have started going on dates again after your last boyfriend dumped you for neglecting him.

And what about your future? What about the man you wanted to marry in a few years? Every day, you daydreamed of someone who would just sweep you away in his arms and take you far, far away from here. There had to be a place somewhere where you could live your life in peace without a brewing war and the constant fear of death. You waited for someone who would make your life easier than it currently was, who would take the weight from your shoulders and not add some more on them every single day. Someone who loved you passionately and would spoil you after nine years of labor where you worked yourself to the bone. Someone who would take charge and let you rest when you needed it. Someone who was the other half of your soul that hopelessly awaited to be rejoined with its counterpart.

When you reached out to your glass for the nth time, a hand softly clasped your wrist. Looking up, you saw the bartender giving you the same pitiful look you had received for God knows how often today, from your colleague at the hospital to some of the other patrons who entered and left the bar during the last few hours.

"I think you should get home." He said firmly and pulled his hand away.

No longer being hindered, you lifted the glass up to your lips and emptied it in one go. "I no longer have a home." You dully answered, your speech a little slurred.

"We close in a few minutes." He tried another route, anything to get you to stop drinking.

He may not be interested in what personal business you have to drink yourself under the table, but even he wouldn't let a young woman like you do that to herself.

"Fine." You mumbled, grabbed your purse, and searched for the money that was stored somewhere in there. You hummed when you finally found it and without looking at it, you dropped it down on the counter. "Here."

You held onto the sleek surface of the bar to lift yourself up and from your seat, supporting your whole weight with one hand while you needed several attempts to grab your coat. Not bothering to put it on, you turned to leave and even you were surprised that you could still walk in a (more or less) straight line.

"Hey, you paid too much!" The bartender called from behind you.

Not bothering to stop or turn around, you simply proclaimed, "Keep it. Where I go I won't need it." and pushed the entrance door open.

Outside, you tilted your head up, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath of the cool night air. It instantly freshened you up and cleared your mind a little. Looking left and right along the sidewalk, you decided to take the left and began strolling wherever it was taking you, once again with no actual destination in mind. You had no idea what time it was, but you guessed you had around five or six hours left. If you're lucky and didn't get held up by some patrols, you could visit the park one last time where your parents, Emil and you would hold a picnic every summer when you were younger. It would only take you ten minutes on foot. It wouldn't hurt to visit the place that held so many good childhood memories and bask in them in your final hours.

You were walking for a mere two minutes when you heard a whistle from your right. Halting your steps, you turned your head to the side and looked over to the source. There, on the other side of the street, were two men sitting on a bench and two standing around them. One was holding a beer bottle while the others were smoking their cigarettes.

"Hey, pretty lady." The one with the beer bottle called over to you and lifted it to toast to you.

You quickly snapped your head back forward and continued on your way, your strides bigger and faster to create as much distance between you and them as possible.

When you thought you were safe, you felt a hand clasping your wrist whose owner pulled you back and against his strong chest.

"Hey, hey, hey." The voice of the man with the beer bottle breathed against your ear, sending an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. "Don't be shy. We were just celebrating my friend's promotion." To your horror, he put his hands on your hips and turned you both to his three companions who had seemingly followed him, all of them wearing leering grins. "Why don't you join us, hm? We could need a little entertainment." He murmured against your neck, his breath reeking of alcohol.

Before he could place his lips anywhere close to your skin, you struggled out of his grip and stumbled a few steps away from him. "I-I'm sorry, but I need to go home. I'm already late."

The man who seemed to be the leader of the bunch stepped closer to you, smirking when you accidentally walked right into one of his friends. The guy immediately held you against him, keeping you in place.

"I think you could spare a couple of minutes." The leader said firmly and reached for your blouse.

Fear seemed to be a great way to quickly sober one up because the next thing you did was stomp down on the foot of the man that was holding you, your heel hitting his toe perfectly, causing him to let you go with a cry in pain and a curse. Next, you rammed your knee into the crotch of the man in front of you and when his body doubled over, you pushed him to the side and bolted down the sidewalk.

Not daring to look back, you sprinted as fast as you could, but the alcohol made it hard to keep balance, not to mention the nausea that bubbled up in your stomach. But you ignored it and tried to keep it down when you heard their calls from behind you, coming closer and closer.

This was not how you wanted to spend your last night, this was not how you imagined it. Tears clouded your view and you narrowly escaped the grabby hand of whatever guy that was closest to you when you ducked down and sharply took a left turn into an alley.

Unbeknownst to you, you were being watched.

The next thing you felt was hard concrete as you fell forward when a heavyweight collided with your back. You cried out in pain when you hit your head, then hysterically screamed in panic when you felt hands on your skirt and you started kicking around, not caring if you hit something or not. You heard a grunt when your heel finally made contact with the shoulder of one of them, but you barely had time to bask in your little victory when a punch to your face almost knocked you out cold. Your body went instantly slack, a long-winded groan leaving your mouth.

"Move your ass and hold her down." The voice of the leader sounded from somewhere above you. "And turn her around. I like to watch their face when they give up."

Hands turned you on your back as your screams and cries accompanied your attempts to fight their hands off.

"No… please no." You begged as your wrists were pinned above your head by a pair of rough hands. "No!" You screamed louder, in a high-pitched, panicking voice when your blouse was ripped open, your brassiere following suit, and your chest got groped by a calloused hand.

You squeezed your eyes shut when you felt an eager mouth around your nipple, harshly sucking on it while your breasts were still in a painfully hard grasp. You tried to gather your last strength, the drinks earlier and then the hit to your head from the fall tempted you to just fall unconscious, but you bucked your body up in hopes you could throw whoever was above you off of you.

Only you couldn't move. Someone was straddling your thighs, hindering you from moving.

You finally forced yourself to open your eyes and the blurry image of the leader pushing up your skirt presented itself in front of you.

"Stop, please! Help!" You started screaming again, causing the leader to sigh in annoyance.

"Could you please shut her up, for fuck's sake? I'm trying to enjoy myself here." He growled at the guy who was holding your hands down, his patience growing thinner with every passing moment he wasn't able to force himself inside you. "When I'm done with her, you get what's left of her."

"No, no, no..." You wailed when you heard the clinking of his belt and a zipper being opened, but you soon got silenced when a palm pressed down on your mouth.

Rather than keep watching him, you closed your eyes in defeat, now only feeling how he moved closer to your crotch, his fingers pushing your underwear aside, and positioned himself against your entrance.

A dull thud behind your attackers stilled them for a moment, but a raging roar got them to whip around. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see whatever feral animal was going to maul you and those men.

A scream, something wet splashing on you and something, someone, heavy landing on top of you got you to finally open your eyes again. You stared right into a gaping hole where the head of a person normally should be. Maybe it was the shock of almost ending up left on the ground in this alley, covered in bruises, blood and bodily fluids after they were done with you, that kept you from screaming.

In a daze, you pushed the corpse off of you and looked down at your body. It was covered in blood, parts of a splattered brain, and white fragments that had been the skull of the leader of the group. His head had burst into pieces. No animal could have done that and no human either. There was no weapon on earth with that much destructive power, so what…

With slow eyes, you looked up from your soiled legs. The guy now lying dead next to you had been obscuring the view of a large creature standing no more than three meters across from you.

Whatever it was, it seemed livid. Its body was heaving with wrathful breaths and its long fingers were twitching, clenching into fists before relaxing them again. Its massive form was hidden by darkness and you could barely make out its silhouette.

It felt like an eternity with you just staring at the creature and it (probably) staring right back. The other assaulters, two of whom had fallen to the ground in shock with the sudden attack on their leader, hadn't dared to move a muscle. Maybe they were in a trance just as you were, not for the same reason, of course.

"H-Hey!" The fourth guy squeaked, breaking the tension that seemed to suffocate the whole alley. "Wha-"

In a practiced, seemingly effortless movement, the creature whipped out its arm, and something silvery shot out of the darkness. It wrapped around the throat of the man, choking him and sending him to his knees. He was clawing his neck and tried to remove what seemed to be a whip made out of sleek silver and grey material. 

You watched him as he desperately tried to free himself and blood started to flow from where the whip was wrapped around his neck down to his shirt, turning the light blue fabric deep red. Your eyes then traveled along the bladed chain, you now noticed, to the other end of it, and found the large creature moving towards you.

If you would have been able to make a sound, you would have, but you were still too out of it that no noise escaped your bloody lips when you were finally able to distinguish your savior. 

It was indeed huge, a massive body that was dwarfing any human being you could think of. Its appearance was bizarre. Its feet and calves up to its knees were in unusual boots made out of metal instead of leather with an interesting design. You wondered if it was the skin of the creature or if it was wearing a net-like cloth that was visible on every body part that wasn't hidden beneath armor like the chest plate that bled over into a full sleeve of its arm. It was covering the left side of its chest but not enough to conceal a rather fit upper body. You found yourself staring a lot longer at the well-defined, almost sculpted abs of it. It was no doubt a male.

As you were eyeing the creature up, he yanked on the whip. You were only aware of a dull thud when the bladed chain cut off the head of the man who had been in its hold. 

You didn't register when more blood sprinkled on you as you were too busy trying to imagine a face underneath that strange mask. With his green, brownish, and beige reptilian skin, the long black tendrils sprouting from the head, the long claws, and the animalistic posture, he was, without a doubt, not human. 

An arm wrapping around your throat from behind, preventing you from breathing evenly, brought you back to reality. You immediately put up a fight, scratching it and pulling on the arm in hopes he would let go.

It was one of the attackers that had fallen to the ground when the creature had appeared. He must have scrambled over to you when his last companion was foolishly enough to run up to the murderous beast, trying to do something quite laughable, only to be impaled by a spear and was now hanging on the wall to the right like he was a portrait above a chimney, the spear rammed through the brick of the apartment building.

The idiot behind you thought the creature would let him go if he was holding you hostage as if he wasn't going to kill the both of you just like his buddies. So foolish, you internally sighed.

"S-S-Stop! I'm warning you!" He screamed at the towering figure which was closing in on you. "I will… I will kill her!"

The creature stopped a few steps away from you and reached behind his back. Quicker than your eyes could keep up, his hand shot forward and he threw something of the size of an orange at the man.

Yelling, the man loosened his grip, his instincts kicking in to fight against whatever was sticking to his forehead. In his struggle, he fell on his back and started rolling around on the floor when the little device made a strange wiring noise. His body went stock still when he was engulfed in a net, restraining him. Then the man screamed bloody murder when the wiring noise grew louder and the device pulled the net tighter around him.

You turned to him, only to see the strings cutting into his skin, drawing blood, until only pieces of his body were left of him, leaving him unidentifiable to whoever would find him and his friends.

Now, it was only you in that alley. You, the beast that saved you and the bloody massacre, turning the place into an image of horror.

You were going to get sick if you stared at what had been a living and breathing human once any longer. Rather than wanting to face the creature when it was going to kill you, you turned back around and then startled back. Said beast was crouching in front of you, the head cocked to the side.

He reached out a clawed hand and you closed your eyes, preparing yourself for whatever gruesome death he had planned for you. You thought back to everything you had achieved in your life, every person that was still dear to you, said goodbye to every place you loved to visit, to the movie you had wanted to watch in a week with a friend, to the unread book on your bedside table and every dream you had wanted fulfill — you had actually planned to do that in a few hours. At least he was going to give you a quick death and not whatever the authorities had done to your father.

Something poked your cheek.

Your eyes snapped open and you were met with a closer view of the strange mask covering the creature's face. His hand was outstretched and a finger was prodding your skin. A strange noise was coming from behind the mask, something you could only describe as a rumbling purr. 

You stayed still, afraid if you would only move a muscle, it would set the creature off and let him drag his clawed finger up to your temple where a trail of blood had started to run from the wound you got from the fall. You hissed in pain when the pad of his thumb stroked — probably unintentionally hard — over your lower lip, the rough skin touching where it was busted. He pulled its thumb away only to replace it with the back of his pointer and middle finger to caress your jaw and down to your throat. The touch caused you to swallow which he most likely could feel. Only when you felt the scaly sensation on your skin dip too deep, too far beneath the ripped remains of your blouse, you gripped his wrist.

The creature's head snapped up where it had followed his exploration. You flinched back at the sudden movement and quickly loosened your hold on his wrist, pulling it away like you had burnt yourself.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, your voice hoarse.

What if you had just signed your death? What if you touching him like that had triggered him? What if he thought you were a threat now? What if he thought of it as highly offensive? What if he was going to kill you now? What if-

A low thump caused you to flinch when he hit the left side of his chest with his right fist. With parted lips, you looked from his fist up to his masked face and then back again, confused, both at the gesture and the lack of aggression towards you. Almost as if he could understand the look on your face, he repeated the action with a little more determination after he inched closer to you. You were more focused on his sudden closeness, daring not to move back, but you hastily turned your gaze down to his fist. It was a little hard to concentrate on what he was trying to tell you after the vast change of demeanor — from murdering in cold blood to trying to… communicate with you?

"You?" You tried hesitantly.

It really was your best guess on what he could mean.

A soft growl reached your ears from underneath his mask, making you tense up but relaxed in relief the second his attention turned to his forearm. You watched in curiosity as his clawed pointer finger ghosted over the armor-like wristband that started flashing in a bright red and made strange beeping noises like when a caller on the other line hung up before you could. Your mouth opened without you even noticing. You had never seen something like it, probably no one ever had. How was it functioning without cables like your telephone and radio did?

"Are you telling me you are married?"

You jumped back a little when a male voice chimed from his wristband.

"To a cup of tea, I will never say no."

"I can't believe you put the jar in the oven!"

You looked at him in astonishment as more voices sounded from his forearm. Human voices.

He kept repeating the same three sentences, but they seemed to get shorter with every replay.

“-telling me you are… telling me… me.”

"-a cup of tea… tea."

“-you put the jar in the… you put the jar… the jar… jar.”

He seemed to be satisfied as he let out a deep, low-pitched chirp before he played the cut and put together word snippets to you, his head facing you now.

“Me-tea-jar.” He hit his chest once again before playing the word again. “Me-tea-jar.”

"Meetja?" You tried the word, tried how it felt on your tongue.

He let out a deep grumble before he played the same word again and leaned even closer to you.

“Me-tea-jar.”

"M-Meetiar. Mi'ytiar."

With his head slightly cocked to the side, he tilted it forward in a one-movement nod as if to say, "Now you got it." and his fist hit his chest one last time.

"You. Mi'ytiar. T-That's your name?" You asked and hoped you put the puzzle pieces together correctly.

Another nod before he pointed at you.

"Oh." You softly said, shifted your hips slightly, and nervously placed a hand on your own chest. “(Y/N). I'm (Y/N)."

“(Y/N).” Your voice sounded from his forearm when he touched his wristband. “(Y/N).”

You couldn't help the small smile and you nodded. "Yes. (Y/N)."

The creature — Mi'ytiar — lowly grumbled in appreciation and you breathed out the air you had been holding in your lungs with a laugh. You couldn't believe you talked, more or less, to something that undoubtedly didn't belong on earth while you were surrounded by death after being spared from something that would have scarred you for life just because you had been out drinking to have one last night in freedom until you would follow your father in an early grave. Your life really had taken a strange turn in just a few hours.

"What are you?" You asked him and tilted your head to the side.

"Hunter." He communicated with the help of his wristband.

"Where do you come from?"

"Sky."

"Sky." You repeated the child's voice and looked up.

So he came from the sky. You wondered if he meant the clouds or maybe the moon. It could be the stars for all you knew. Was he the only one living there, or were there more? Maybe one like him lived on each star the night sky had to offer.

As you were looking up in thought, Mi'ytiar took his time to admire you. You were, what you humans would use, adorable. He didn't hunt humans very often as they weren't much of a challenge, but sometimes he would visit earth out of curiosity. Your kind was interesting and his ancestors had been quite fond of them when they used them to breed their prey centuries ago. Humans have continuously developed from then to now, so it was fascinating to watch.

Like he watched you now. He admired your wide eyes, the curve of your nose, and your rosy cheeks that displayed the dried tear streaks of panic and fear. He admired the shape of your lips and the cut that had caused you pain when he touched it. He admired your shiny hair that had once been pulled up in a neat bun but was now hanging loosely and messily around your face, framing it like it was a piece of art. He admired your small, shaking hands that were desperately holding the ripped-open blouse together, protecting your modesty and the naked skin of your trembling shoulders when the fabric had slipped down to your biceps. You had been so incredibly warm and soft when he had touched what you were hiding now.

A quiet hiss got you to look back at him and you watched with uncertainty as his fingers first pulled on the one tube that was connected to his mask and then the other before he removed it anxiously slow. You mentally prepared yourself for the most horrific sight of your life, but when the top half of his face was laid bare, you sucked in a breath. It wasn't the foreign shape of his head, the texture of his skin, or the spiky triangle-shaped bumps that circled the sides and the back of his head like a crown, clearly dividing where the roots of his hair ended and his face started. It was his eyes, though an abnormal orange, that was salient and captivating you. They didn't look like what your wildest fantasies had to offer, but they somewhat seemed almost human — a black pupil surrounded by an orange iris. And not just any orange. It was the kind of orange that stretched across the sky at every sunrise and sunset. The only difference you spotted from your own eyes was that he had a black sclera instead of a white one.

You would have gotten lost in them if he hadn't removed the mask fully, so his lower face was showing too. You wouldn't exactly describe it as terrifying, but the sight of his mouth was, to say it simply, unnerving. It was hidden behind four tusks that represented his mandibles. You were fascinated when he suddenly made a clicking noise but were taken aback when he extended the fleshy texture to reveal two rows of teeth. It was like he had two jaws, one when the mandibles were retracted to his face and one when they were extended and showed his actual mouth. His upper jaw held three teeth with two larger fangs on each side, his lower jaw held the same amount only were they a little thinner, so his fangs wouldn't hinder his mouth from closing.

Even after the initial shock subsided, you wouldn't exactly use the word pretty, but there was something about him. Thrilling and particular, astounding and intriguing, but also alluring.

The longer you looked at him, at Mi'ytiar, the more accustomed you got to his appearance.

Another clicking sound reached your ears and you stopped mapping his features with your eyes, only now realizing how he looked down at you with his head tilted to the side. When you mumbled his name, almost as if it took all your courage, he straightened up and his eyes snapped to your hand that had loosened its grip on your blouse. He followed its movement, getting closer to his face, and when you turned your hand so your palm was facing him, his own hand reacted fast and grabbed your delicate wrist.

Bad idea, real bad idea, you thought. He wasn't exactly hurting you, but his grip wasn't exactly soft.

Instead of tugging against his hold in an attempt to free yourself that would obliviously fail, you let your arm go slack. Instead of panicking, you remained calm. Instead of screaming at him to let you go, you kept your mouth shut and waited for his next move. If you triggered him in any way, he would surely kill you.

Mi'ytiar, on the other hand, was amazed by you and in awe. He wouldn't be the first Yautja to be enthralled with a human in this kind of way, sure, but he hadn't expected to be one of them one day. You were extraordinary in the way you looked at him, didn't mind the proximity he had put you in, and apparently seemed to seek for it.

Contrary to what you believed, he pulled your hand closer to his face by the wrist, causing you to move from your side-sit on the floor to get on your knees. Your lips parted in surprise when he pulled his mandibles in and he himself brought your hand up to his cheek.

The sensation underneath your touch was unusual and new. His cheek wasn't like that of a human when you would press the fat until you could feel the jaw bone. It was springy, considering it was only a fleshy layer that covered his mouth. You moved your hand down to his outer jaw, which consisted of his mandible, and followed its length with your palm. You could feel the firm muscle and bone and gave it a gentle, experimental squeeze. Almost automatically, he made a soft purring noise like that one of a cat and you blushed at the possibility that he was enjoying the caress.

You, of course, had no idea that you were touching a highly sensitive part of his anatomy and would be alive to tell the tale afterward.

Just as you were curious about him, he was eager to explore you as well. Carefully, he reached out and through the ripped-open front of your blouse. Seconds later, his palm made contact with your stomach and he could feel how you tensed up. He looked up into your eyes, but when he found nothing that indicated that you despised his touch, his hand ran along to your waist and down to your hip, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your belly. It was strange how you could feel his thumb near your navel and, at the same time, his other fingers on your lower back, taking the width of your hip like it was nothing.

The both of you were too busy in your explorations that you had grown ignorant to your surroundings, so when a scream filled the previously quiet alley, you grabbed his extended arm, not to push it away but to hold onto it in panic, while Mi'ytiar whirled his head around to the two outlines standing near the street at the end of the alley. Your body was hidden by his massive one, so it looked like a monster was kneeling among his freshly killed victims, basking in the glory of his crime.

Mi'ytiar's mandibles flared and the guttural roar that left his lungs made you cling to him in fear. Not of him, but the consequences that you would have to face if those who had stumbled upon this scene without context would call for the patrolling soldiers. You heard more screams and hastily retreating footsteps as the couple ran as if their lives depended on it.

Large hands grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you up on his shoulder, causing you to squeal in surprise, and you had barely time to hold onto him before he started climbing up the metal scaffolding of the balconies of the apartment building, jumping up and landing on the roof. With an arm secure around your waist, he jumped and ran further and further away.

And you let him.

2024, Yautja Prime

"What you smiling for?"

And all of a sudden, those purred words were taking you from your past life to your current one. You hadn't even noticed you had stopped drawing random figures and forms on Mi'tyiar's naked chest. At some point, you had started daydreaming with that far-away look in your eyes and a smile slowly making its way on your lips as you were lying on him, between his legs.

"Just thought of the night we met." You drawled lazily and rubbed your cheek against his reptilian-like skin. "My hero in shining alien amour."

"My amour does not shine."

Now you had to laugh. Sometimes, you couldn't help yourself when he was so bluntly clueless. Humans and their analogies were oh-so confusing.

"It's a human saying, my love." You explained as you crossed your arms on his wide chest and rested your chin on them. "A male who saves a female from danger. A male who would sacrifice himself so the female can get away without harm."

Mi'ytiar reached towards your face and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheek before he dragged it over your lower lip. You were dreamingly looking up at him, basking in his loving touch. You were placing your hand on his and turned your head to the side so you could pepper his palm with light kisses.

He couldn't help his body's reaction, he just couldn't. He was starved of your touch.

You suddenly stopped your sweet kisses when you felt something big poking your stomach. You looked down, although you could only see how your breasts were pressed against him, before you looked back up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You are insatiable." You smirked and hoisted yourself up after placing one last kiss between his pecs.

You straddled his midriff but left enough space between you and him so you could reach underneath your body and grab his semi-hard cock. Even at this size, you had a little trouble fully embracing it and getting your fingertips to touch.

You hissed when you felt the familiar sting of his sharp mandibles and teeth digging into your skin. You tilted your head to the side and offered him more access. Mi'ytiar let out a feral growl when your blood finally hit his tongue. He relished in it, tasting so sweet, just like the rest of you.

Grasping your hips with both of his hands, his claws scratching your delicate skin, he pushed them down to his crotch.

He needed you again, needed to be so deep inside you, so he could see the bulge of his cock forming in your tummy. Just the thought of it made his hips snap up, barely missing your entrance and dragging his cock through your sopping wet folds that were covered with your combined releases from your last mating moments ago. It elicited a whiny moan and a wiggle of your hips.

"Stop teasing, tanhì. Put it in." You groaned and started rubbing yourself up and down his rock-hard cock, coating it with your mixed cum that was still leaking from your hole.

Mi'ytiar wrapped a large arm around you and started to get up, his other arm supporting himself to manhandle you on your back to be on top. The second your hazy mind registered what he was doing, you placed both of your hands on his chest and pushed him back down. You preened when his body immediately went slack, allowing you to do as you pleased with him.

He was staring up at you with flashing eyes. You didn't take the lead very often, preferring it to be dominated by your mate, but when you did, he was gladly giving you the power you wanted.

The first time you had tried to be on top, it had gone from steamy to ugly pretty quickly. You had been on your back when you tried to push him and switch your position, but since he had been unmovable like a rock, you had untangled yourself from him and told him to lie back. You were straddling his hips, humping his hardening cock for exactly thirty seconds before he flipped you over and on your back again. You had then mewled and tried to push him back once more, causing him to growl. For your attitude, he bit roughly into your throat, hoping it would keep you submissive. You let out a cry and hit his chest with both of your fists. This time, Mi'ytiar showed you his displeasure more vocally when he slammed his flat hands next to both sides of your head and roared right into your face. Safe to say, it scared the living daylights out of you and caused you to escape his caging arms. He, of course, followed you quickly and tried to amend his outburst with purrs and snuggles rather than words.

The next time you were on top, he vehemently focused on staying seated on the edge of your nest with you on his lap as you rode him with his helping hands on your hips. His eyes strayed from the spot where his cock was disappearing inside of you, to the bulge in your stomach that grew and shrunk with every movement, to your bouncing breasts, to your pleasure-contorted face.

After that, he couldn't get enough of you being on top.

The same was the case now as you slowly inserted his throbbing cock into your-

A wail broke the sensual atmosphere, causing the both of you to jerk your heads to the doorway connecting the room to the rest of your home. With your maternal instincts kicking in, you practically jumped up from your mate, his half-inside cock slipping from your tight heat, and ran to the room where the sound was coming from.

Mi'ytiar slumped back with a displeased grunt. He loved his pup dearly, truly he did, but he hadn't been able to mate with you for an eternity — five months, double the time the healer had advised you to keep from being intimate with each other after the pregnancy because a certain someone had been overly cautious with you — and his cock throbbed painfully at that sorrowful thought.

He got up from the nest and followed the direction you had run off to. Your five-month-old pup was sleeping alone in his room for only a short part of his life. Before that, his crib had been standing next to the nest in your room, quickly accessible and in reach should he need any sort of attention. Now, he was sleeping in his big brother's former nursery, which you had lovingly prepared when you had been pregnant with Akail, your first pup.

Mi'ytiar watched you standing in front of the crib in the middle of the room, your back to him, as you rocked the whiny pup in your arms. The wholesome thoughts of his beautiful mate taking such good care of his youngling quickly turned into an animalistic need to breed you once more when his eyes trailed over your curves that had gotten bigger after bearing his second son. They fixed on your legs where trails of semen were running down your skin from between your inner thighs.

He was faster by your side than you would expect from a being of his size. He pressed his bare body against your own, hands on your hips pulling you closer, his cock digging into your back. Mi'ytiar bent down to snuggle his face into the crook of your neck, purring lowly.

"He was just hungry." You whispered as you watched your pup falling back to sleep.

Bending over, you placed your little one back into his crib, careful not to disturb him. You had to bite your lip when you felt Mi'ytiar pull you back against his crotch to rub himself against your ass. All you needed to do was push your ass back into him for him to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and turn to leave your son's nursery.

Giggling, you looked back to the pup's crib and whispered, "Dream of the stars, my little Toyah." before you got carried back to your nest.

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Don't Bite Your Lip - Lando Norris

<word count - 2524>

Another night, and another stream. This was how you had met Lando, but he had slowed it down once F1 was back up and running. Of course, he didn't really have much time to play games with George, Charles, and Alex anymore.

Today, you had been recommended a game by a few followers as well as a few friends. 'Don't Scream'. The game premise was just the same as the title, you had to get to the end of the game without screaming. If you made any noises that the program deemed too loud, you would have to restart.

"OK chat, I haven't looked at the game, I haven't watched any clips, I didn't want to take away any of the scare factor from it," you explained, watching the rapid replies of the chat come through as they filtered into the stream.

From the other room, Lando was watching on. He always enjoyed your streams, even if he got to see the real thing practically every day. Something about seeing you play games and chat with people was oddly comforting to him.

As much as he wished he could join you and play games together, he had team emails he needed to sort through, and he wouldn't get any of that done if he was watching you. He left the stream on his phone off to the side, just so he could hear the soothing tones of your voice while he worked.

"So, here we go," you said after calibrating your mic so that you could still talk to the chat in quiet whispers, but screaming would kill your character. "I've got to last 18 minutes, without screaming," you whispered, navigating around the map for a little bit.

Lando smirked to himself as he heard, his mind instantly taking you back to the last time you had visited his parents. He just couldn't keep his hands to himself, practically pinning you down on the bed in his old room the second the door was closed.

You had told him to stop, since you didn't want anyone (especially not his family) to hear any activities of that sort. As usual, Lando made promises that he did not intend to keep. Said he'd go steady, said he'd be gentle, but he got carried away.

You spent the whole time with his hand clapped over your mouth as you used every ounce of self restraint you had not to bite into the flesh of his palm. Lando thought it was one of the best nights you had together, but he wasn't a moaning, quivering mess, so you disagreed.

Shaking his head to snap out of his far from innocent thoughts, he glanced over at your stream to see that you had gotten 2 minutes into the game, the lights still on as you explored the site of the plane crash.

You wandered into the cockpit of the plane, trying to click on the tape recorder in the center console. Lando found the slight way that your nose scrunched up and your eyebrows came together in confusion as one of the most adorable things he had ever seen.

"Well that isn't worki-" you said, being cut off as you turned around and some form of monster ran at you. You let out a small squeak of surprise, and your character fell over and died. "Right, so that's how the game works. Got it." you said, slightly annoyed.

The jumpscare was cheap, it was basic, but damn was it effective. Both you and Lando could see the chat laughing at you and making fun of you for getting scared at such a minor thing. Someone sent through a super chat, with a small message of 'Y/N, Charles in a banana costume is scarier than that'.

"Charles in the banana costume was funny, not scary. That was scary. But now I know for next time," you laughed, entering back into the game. You manoeuvred back through the map, back through the plane, holding your breath as you turned around and endured the jumpscare again.

"I did it that time, I did it. I think I just need to try and not talk, because then I'm not making any noise to start with. That would make for some very boring content though," you whispered, continuing your way through the game.

The daylight turned to night, and you took your hands off the keyboard. "This is where shit gets scary," you said, subconsciously biting your lip so that you wouldn't let out any noise. Lando spotted the action out of the corner of his eye, his attention instantly averted from his emails to the stream.

"Emails can wait," he mumbled to himself, swapping off the tab of his emails and logging into Twitch so that he could watch the stream on his laptop instead of his phone. You looked tense, ready for something to happen at the drop of a hat.

"Is something supposed to be happening? Nothings happening," you quietly ranted, still walking through the forest. "I can hear weird noises but there's nothing going on," you continued, the only sounds being some faint sirens in the background.

"Chat stop saying my game is broken? Is it actually broken?" you asked, and Lando could hear the slight tone of panic in your voice. "I'll keep going, I can see a building."

"I really don't wanna go in the scary building. But fuck it," you said with a burst of confidence, sinking your teeth back into the soft flesh of your lower lip. You pushed your way through the shop, taking in your surroundings as you waited for something to happen. 

"Hanging bodies, how cheerful," you mumbled, scared to speak in case something popped up and you were mid sentence. Some form of skeletal monster jumped up from the bottom of your screen, and you leant back and bit even harder into your bottom lip.

"That nearly got me, but we've gotta power through," you whispered, and Lando could see the reddish-purple marks that your teeth were leaving behind in your skin. A pang of concern rippled through him, not wanting you to hurt yourself too badly. 

Yes, he loved it when you bit your lip in that way, but not in the way you were currently doing so. He could see the way your jaw tensed when you bit down harder when you thought something was coming, or you heard a noise in the background. 

'Baby don't bite your lip so hard, you'll start bleeding.' Lando messaged you, and it popped up on the corner of your desktop. 

"OK, sorry," you said, and chat was confused. "Lando just texted me, don't worry about it," you explained, and they were all asking you to bring Lando in. "Guys he's busy, maybe he'll make an appearance later." you told them, and Lando giggled to himself in the other room. 

He was supposed to be busy, but he was currently occupied with making sure you didn't make yourself bleed. 

You took yourself out of the shop and back out into the forest. Every small rustle made you flinch, but you were focusing more on not chewing on your lip than the actual jumpscares in the game. "Who is she and why is she stood there?" you questioned, looking at the lady in white with black hair that was stood in the forest.

As you took a step closer, she disappeared along with a blood-curdling scream. You had to hold a hand over your mouth and push your chair back from the desk to make sure the mic didn't pick up any noises you made or the sounds of your very heavy breathing. 

Lando found it extremely amusing, though he could tell you were biting your lip to stop yourself from making any noise, even under your hand. His suspicions were confirmed when you pulled your hand away and the faint teeth marks on the skin were darker and slightly more pronounced. 

'Bite that lip one more time and I'll be right in there to make sure you don't hurt yourself, got it?' he texted, the urge to burst into your office proving to be very strong indeed. He saw as your eyes drifted to the corner of your screen, and he knew you had read his message. 

"How the fuck have I still got 7 minutes left?" you complained, chat finding your reactions funny as hell. The next few minutes were fine, and you were nearly on your way to beating the game. You had gotten through 4 minutes of some pretty bearable jumpscares, and your chat was telling you that now the game just throws them at you without many breaks. 

There was more rustling, then footsteps, then silence. You didn't even care about Lando being annoyed at you for biting your lip, you cared more about not losing the goddamn game. You carried on walking, until you heard the footsteps coming at you in quick succession, not allowing you to compose yourself before the jumpscare happened. 

You saw a woman running at you from the shadows, and everything happened way to fast. "Oh fuck!" you yelled as your character died. Lando heard your shout from his place in the other room, yet he was more bothered at the sight of you biting your lip again. 

As you released it from between your teeth, his eyes narrowed and a hint of frustration crawled through his veins as he saw the dark indents they had left behind. He knew it was scary, but he didn't like you doing that to yourself. 

"God I was so close to the end as well. Fuck, that's annoying," you bloviated, leaning back in your chair as the main menu to the game popped back up on scream. "Give me a sec, and then we can go again chat, whew," you said, taking a deep breath.

"I'm going to go and get a glass of water, don't be getting up to any shenanigans while I'm gone." you told them, staying for a few seconds with the replies of 'we'll be good'. You hopped out of your chair, making your way down to the kitchen.

Lando made sure you were gone before slipping into your office, sitting down in the space you had vacated. Chat lost their minds as he appeared, the comments playfully berating him for pretending to be busy when he really wasn't.

"I was busy, but now I am not, so I'm here," he explained to them,. "She hates horror games, so I don't know how you talked her into playing this, but well done to your guys. It has been thoroughly entertaining."

'Lando I thought you were working, but you're watching the stream?' one comment said. 

"Yes, I was working and watching, I can multitask very well, thank you." he chuckled, hearing your feet coming back upstairs. "I was never here, OK? Don't grass on me." he instructed, but he knew chat would undoubtedly grass on him for his impromptu appearance. 

Lando hurried out of the room and back into the room next door, hoping you hadn't spotted him. Sitting back down in your chair, you saw all the comments screaming about Lando. "Lando isn't here, I don't know what you're on about."

The barrage of comments telling on Lando and talking about Lando continued to flow in, and you were getting more confused by the second. "Guys I do not know what you mean, Lando wasn't here. He's still working." you told them, and Lando was trying to keep his laughter quiet in the other room as he watched on. 

"Lando?" you called out, his ears pricking up at the sound of your voice. 

"Yeah?"

"Can you come in here for a sec?" you asked, and he moved from his position and came into your office. "Right, have you been in here at all today?"

"No, I haven't. Why do you ask?" he cheekily grinned, looking over at chat and seeing the replies. 

'This man is trying to gaslight his way out of it smh' was a response that caught his eye. 

"I am not gaslighting, I wasn't here," he kept up his act of innocence. "Do I get to sit down or do I just have to hover awkwardly here?"

"Pull up a chair, my old one is in the closet," you told him, watching as he moved over to your cupboard and opened it, wheeling it out to be by your side. 

"Well shuffle up, you can't hog all the frame," he lightheartedly jibed, pushing you over. "Come on, we're playing again. No biting your lip this time, that looks like it hurts," he repeated, leaning in to look at the fading marks on your lip. 

"Yeah yeah, whatever," you rolled your eyes, starting up the game again and going through the motions. The scares got you less, but Lando was watching you like a hawk. As you returned to the shop, your lip somehow found its way between your teeth again. 

"Baby. Lip." Lando scolded in a whisper, and chat were dying at his commands. You listened and managed to not tug at your lip for the next 15 minutes, but, once you had reached the end, new scares that you hadn't seen before were popping up one after the other after the other. 

All you had was one minute left. One more minute and you could be done with the stupid game and go back to your chilled out, cozy streams of games that didn't make your heart rate spike through the roof. One more minute until-

"Don't bite your lip like that!" Lando chided a little too loudly, causing the game to react and kill you just before you had reached the end.

"Lando for fucks sake I was nearly there!" you exclaimed, looking at him with eyes of thunder. "My lip would've been fine for just 30 more seconds."

"Don't blame me, you could've just done what I asked, but no." Lando returned, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair.

The comments were all along the lines of 'Oh shit, mum and dad are fighting again.'

Before Lando could get another word in, you told chat that you were going to call it a night, the both of you saying your goodbyes and shutting down the stream. Lando went to get ready for bed while you shut off your computer and your equipment, before turning off the LEDs in the room and leaving.

The second you walked through the bedroom door, Lando tugged on your wrist and pushed you down on the bed. You had no time to respond to his actions as he crawled over you, holding himself on top of you with a hand at either side of your head.

"You bite that goddamn lip one more time, I'm going to be pissed, got it?" he lowly said, his tone firm with a slight hint of mischief. 

"Mhm," you hummed, nodding. If you were going to listen to him at any time, now was sure as hell that time. Lando could be one ruthless bastard, but you were always one to answer to his demands. It ended better for you that way, anyway. Much, much, better.

A/N - Seriously you lot, thank you so so so much on the love you've been giving my stuff recently. I really hope that I don't get shadowbanned again, and I hope you enjoy this little ol' Lando thing I whipped up last night. Also... lmk in my comments or inbox (if the fucking thing starts working because Tumblr really needs to get on that) if y'all want me to get back into writing smut... because I've been considering it recently. I have 2 or 3 things started that I just never finished because I hate the way I write it, but it's gone down pretty well before, so I'll let you guys be the judge. Sorry for rambling, have a wonderful day/night, love y'all! 💖💖

|masterlist|

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Veni, Vidi, Vici | Michael Gavey x fem!reader

Summary: Things finally come to a head following the last of Michael's exams | Word Count: 3.2k~ | Warnings: p in v sex, virginity loss, somewhat tipsy sex

Part One : Quid Pro Quo Part Two : Carpe Diem

A:N: let's just ignore the fact this has been in my drafts since December 😘 And yes, I didn't come the first time either, it happens okkkk. Sorry if this is all over the place, I wrote half of it like four months ago and the other half last week soo

Every single time she saw his username pop up on her computer, an involuntary smile spread across her face, and warmth pooled in her belly with the memory of that evening still fresh in her mind. She isn’t quite sure what she enjoys remembering more, his flushed cheeks and glasses askew or the way he was trying to adjust his cargo trousers to somewhat hide his erection by the end of their second tryst.

After that short interaction though, she was surprised at his restraint, if not a bit impressed. She’d at least managed to avoid the irresistible pull of his company in time to finish the last of her exams. And as for Michael, were it not for the odd text message or the ‘active’ icon next to his username in MSN, she would have thought he dropped off the face of the planet.

Part of her can imagine him now, bent over his desk, twirling a pencil between his fingers, mind working like freshly-oiled cogs and pushing his glasses up his nose. Completely concentrated. And yet, he was still on his computer, with the application open, as if to test his own restraint.

And to be fair to him, he never cracked, not once. For the entire time since their last meeting and now, he never messaged.

With her own exams out of her way, she spent most of her time with Priya (albeit at the pub, with glasses of wine emptied as well as the details of every meeting she’d had with Michael Gavey).

“Oh my god, as if you are into nerdy little white boys!” she laughed with a cigarette perched between her two fingers and proclaimed far too loudly so that the entire pub heard.

“Shut u-” she retorted with a slap to her arm, “besides, not so little, if you know what I mean.”

“It’s like I hardly know you. I love it.”

“Stop it,” she retorts, sitting back in her chair with a flush to her face, “he's genuinely nice.”

���That's not what I heard,” Priya snorts, “I hear he had a hissy fit on like the first day ‘cos someone wouldn't ask him a sum.”

“He's very passionate.”

“Hm,” she widened her eyes, “let’s hope it translates.”

She presses her lips together to keep herself from smiling. Watching Priya’s mind tick will never get old.

“Oh my fucking god, is he a v-”

“Yes, Priya!”

She gasps in mock surprise, “you absolute gremlin. So you've not…?”

“Not yet,” she replies with a shake of her head, “told him we could after he's done his exams.”

“And you're making him wait for it? I had no idea you were so cruel.”

She shrugs, biting back a smile as her eyes drop to the table. Excitement bubbling in her belly.

Priya leans in, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, "So, spill it then. What's the plan for the big night?"

She chuckles nervously, swirling the remnants of her wine in her glass. "I don't know, Priya. I've never been in this position before. It's like uncharted territory."

Priya's eyes widen with exaggerated shock. “My queen of confidence, feeling nervous? This I have to see."

She rolls her eyes, but there's a playful glint in them. "Oh, shut up. It's different when it's someone you actually like."

Priya nods understandingly, but then her expression turns mischievous. "Well, just remember to relax and enjoy yourself. And if all else fails, there's always wine."

She laughs, shaking her head. "Thanks, Priya. I appreciate the pep talk."

Priya grins, raising her glass. "To new adventures and nerdy white boys!"

As they continue chatting, her phone buzzes with a new message. She glances down at the screen, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks. Priya notices her reaction and nudges her playfully. "Ooh, speak of the devil?"

She nods, trying to suppress her smile as she reads the message. "Yeah, he's just about to go in for his exam." 

Priya winks suggestively. "Maybe he's hoping for a sneak preview of what's to come? You know, for luck.”

“Ha ha,” she rolls her eyes, typing off a quick reply of good luck, “remind me to never tell you personal shit ever again.”

“Mate, it's the suit. You're gonna see him in it and jump his di-”

“Priya!”

“What?!”

She should have known better really that wine tends to have this loosening effect on Priya. And she'd barely finished her own glass before it was time to hop off and meet Michael after his very last exam. It was the perfect day for it, with the sun blaring, everyone was in a good mood, with an electrifying and exciting atmosphere light in the breeze.

As she waited with the other groups of friends waiting to cheer on the examinees, she felt that pleasant roll of nerves in her stomach, biting her lip to contain her smile.

She thought that with some level of embarrassment, she was really really falling for this guy. Or this ‘nerdy, white boy’ as Priya so eloquently put it.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling when she saw his lanky, suit clad form saunter out of the exam hall. Her chest ached pleasantly when he hopefully scanned the crowd, watching others join their friends in celebration. And for a moment, she thought she detected the slightest hint of fomo.

But nothing compared to when he finally spotted her.

Though Michael tried to hide it, a thin lipped smile spread across his face, fiddling with the cap he held in his palms, looking down as if to hide his expression.

Her hands found the front of his suit, affectionately running over the material, “Hey. You look nice.”

He nearly rolled his eyes, “can't wait to get out of it. Too hot for this.”

The excited squealing and shouting stole both of their attention for a moment, particularly Michael's. He glanced sideways at the Felix Catton, with his newest toy, smiling and laughing without a care in the world.

She furrowed her brows, patting his chest, “who's that?”

Michael blinked behind his glasses, throat bobbing as he remained quiet for a moment, “No-one. Come on, let's go.”

As they settled by the tranquil riverbank, the gentle murmur of the water providing a soothing backdrop, they both relaxed into the moment. The weight of the exam stress began to lift, replaced by the lightness of shared laughter and companionship.

Sitting side by side, their feet dangling over the edge, they clinked their bottles together in a silent toast before taking refreshing sips. The sun cast a warm glow over them, painting the scene with hues of gold and amber.

Leaning back on their hands, they watched as birds soared overhead, their graceful movements adding to the serenity of the afternoon. Occasionally, a playful breeze would ruffle their hair, prompting soft chuckles and playful swats.

“So, have you decided yet?” 

She glanced at him over her shoulder, “what?”

He fiddled with his tie that he'd long taken off in somewhat of a nervous gesture, “it’s been 142 minutes.”

She furrowed her brows, trying not to look amused, “since what?”

He chuckled, trying to hide his nerves. “You said you'd consider being my girlfriend after exams.”

Her smile widened, a fondness evident in her gaze. “Oh, that? Well, I guess it's been 142 minutes too long then, hasn't it?”

She could see the way he was trying not to look too relieved. “Really?”

“Really,” she confirmed, leaning in to press a tender kiss to his lips. “But only if you promise to stop counting the minutes.”

He cocked his head, a breathy laugh falling from between his lips, a faint flush rising to his cheeks at the brief moment of contact. “No can do.”

She hummed a laugh, the lightness of the situation making her stomach flip, “Are the Carol Vorderman posters non-negotiable too?”

He threw his head up to the sky, “Fucking christ, I don’t have-”

“I know! I know!”

Had Michael seen himself months ago, he wouldn’t have imagined it, walking back to his dorm with a half-empty stomach and the alcohol to replace it with a tipsy waddle, and a girl’s hand closed in his, swinging at their sides.

Whereas campus was usually rife with busy students, toing and froing between the library, lectures and their dorms, today was calm, clear. And it felt as if for once, Michael could loosen the reins on the anticipation that had been building in preparation for his exams, and relax into the soothing company she offered. 

She laughed as he tripped over the threshold to his room, the tiniest drop of fruity cider still at the bottom of her bottle. Michael flushed and immediately went to unbutton his shirt, looking somewhat apprehensive.

“Leave it on, if you want,” she smiled coyly, watching the way a blush crept up his neck, his wide blue eyes beneath the frames of his glasses all shy with anticipation.

“...you sure?”

She nodded immediately, trying to calm his nerves. Though she could hardly blame him, she'd felt the same flutters in her belly when it was her first time. She was sure he was no different.

“Course, looks good on you anyway,” she mused, her fingers gently swatting his hand away playfully to undo only the top few buttons. Michael shivered at her touch there, sending waves of pleasurable nerves through his body.

They stood there for a moment, taking each other in, and as she set her bottle down on the desk, she couldn't help but lean in to press one, two, tipsy kisses to his neck. If she could see his face, his eyes had long since slipped shut, lips parted as if not knowing what on earth to say.

“I've…never done this before.”

“It's okay,” she whispered, breath hot on his skin, “I'll look after you.”

The cheeky smile she gave him made his heart almost stop dead in his chest. But his confession, and her calm receiving of it, seemed to bridge the gap between them, and when she turned her head to look at him, he captured the surprised gasp between his lips, and worked up the courage he'd built the last two trysts of intimacy into this one tender moment.

It was gentle at first, hesitant. But as their mutual desire overcame their initial shyness, it deepened in no time.

Her hands found their way to the back of his neck, careful fingers threading up over his nap to the sandy, blonde hair that had formed a subtle wave from the humidity. His own hands settled on her waist, pulling their bodies flush. And the softness of her lips and the anticipation of his hands drifting lower to the hem of her dress, had his stomach doing backflips.

They moved to the bed by sheer instinct, their kisses growing more urgent as she gently pushed him down and straddled his lap, all while his hands roamed her back, waist and lower towards her thighs, exploring the contours and curves of her body above him.

She pulled back slightly, her own face flushed from heat, feeling his hardness already between her legs where she was placed on top of him, “trust me, okay?”

Michael nodded, the bob of his throat betraying how nervous he was, “I do...”

She smiled, her own confidence calming his nerves, and guided his hands to the straps of her dress, showing without words that there was nothing beneath it. Michael himself let out a strained whimper when her hand crept up his thigh, and massaged his erection through his suit trousers, squeezing up his shaft to the sensitive tip.

“We can do it like this, if you prefer..” she whispered, wanting to do things the way he wanted for his first time.

He nodded, looking up at her with an expression that said everything, relief, “yeah, please..”

Her hands were tender and slow, undoing the heavy buckle of his belt and popping the button, each movement making the air feel hot in his chest. And emboldened by their intimacy, his own hands slid up her thighs, rolling the hem of her dress up to her hips, sighing against her lips and smirking when she whined at his grip.

“Fuck-” 

It was her turn to grin when she finally wrapped her hand around him, pulling him from the confines of his boxers and teasing him with her touch. His eyes dared to look between them, at her slender fingers around his cock, drawing both delicious pleasure and sending sparks up his spine. 

Her hips lowered, to grind herself on his length, and Michael nearly lost it there and then, even thinking about being inside her. To be honest, it was part of the reason he wanted to stay clothed, because he'd finish too quickly if he saw her completely naked.

“You okay?” She asked with a pleased smile, knowing her answer without needing an answer.

“Y-yeah…do I need…”

“It's up to you,” she reassured, “I'm clean, and I'm on the pill so…”

He nodded, secretly a little mortified at the idea of having his first time without protection on his part. It had always been drilled into him that, in truth, he was a little apprehensive, but the knowledge that she was careful, made him feel better about it.

“Do you want me like this?” She asked quietly, her lips at his jaw, pressing tiny gentle kisses, “me on top.”

“Yeah, yeah…”, Michael nodded quickly, his hands tightening at her hips. In truth he just wanted to do it, too wound tight and excited to care about the position.

She shuffled closer, trailing her lips down his neck as she pulled her underwear to one side. Truthfully the alcohol, as little as it was, had made her a bit needy for him the second he walked out of the exam hall. And being his first time, it was probably just as well he didn't feel the need to prepare her, assuming it'd be overwhelming for him.

Slowly she lowered herself onto him, the initial stretch stealing the air from her lungs for a moment. She could feel his breath come in ragged gasps. His grip tighten. And as soon as she felt him tense, she stopped and let him decide when he wanted to continue.

She was so warm and tight around him, Michael couldn't help at first but think it was uncomfortable. But once he took a breath, he could feel her silky walls envelop him, closing in with a desperate hold. It was hard to stay still. And that initial discomfort ebbed into relaxation.

She was about to ask if he was okay, but she let out a strained moan, as his hands pushed her hips down to meet his as he pushed up, pulling her on top of him so that she was flush to his body.

Her hands held him tight, he felt utterly different inside her than she had imagined. The stretch of him was a pleasurable pain at first, but once she'd relaxed and adjusted around him, after months of no sex, she felt herself grind on him slightly.

“Jesus fucking Christ-”

She smiled at that, leaning up to face him, “you okay?..”

“God, yeah, very okay-” he manages.

“Do you want me to-”

“Can I…” he asks, “please.”

“Y-yeah-” 

His hand slipped behind her neck, tugging her lips down to his, while the other slid down her back, pushing her down on him to meet him halfway with every tentative thrust into her. From this position, with her chest nearly flush to his, her breasts rippling over the top of her dress rhythmically, she could feel him deeper. And the sensation had her unable to form any coherent thought.

She knew he wouldn't last long. Judging by the way he was moaning lowly against her lips and how his hips stuttered as they moved.

She also didn't expect any kind of orgasm from the experience, fully wanting it to just be comfortable for Michael and nothing else. But when he pulls her down, his hands snaking around her waist tightly, and the cooling sensation on his glasses against her shoulder as he buries his head there, she finds that, whether he intended to or not, he brushes against her sweet spot.

Michael groans as she tightens around him slightly, each push inside of her fuels the numb, simmering sparks of an orgasm, slowly building, and she is powerless to stop it.

“Fffuck-”

And yet she can feel him losing momentum. He's worn himself out too early she can tell. So pushing herself off his chest, she sits up on top of him and does the work herself. Her thighs burn and she feels a bit self conscious being in full view like this, but it feels too good for her to care. She grinds her hips down on his length, looking down at Michael and watching his appreciative expression, his glasses skewed slightly.

His jaw goes slack at the renewed pace, and his hands remain on her waist as he throws his head back, brows furrowed, the tell tale sign he's nearly there. So concentrated on moving on top of him, she knows she won't come, but it still feels nice nonetheless.

And as she pushes her hips backwards and forwards on him, nudging her sweet spot more forcefully, she cries out, causing Michael to look down between them and watch the way he disappears inside of her, moist bodies slapping together.

“Oh fuck, fuck, I'm-”

Michael would be ashamed to say how much he's touched himself to the thought of that first night with her, when she knelt between his legs in the common room. Of course, it felt good. But finishing inside her, with her smooth, velvety walls sucking him in, fluttering around him, feels so entirely different. It's like being on another planet.

His hips give a few final mini thrusts up into her, before he stills, riding out his high and letting himself descend from heaven. He is only brought back, when she leans down to kiss his neck, trailing up to his jaw.

“You okay?...” She asks, her voice ragged and quiet.

Michael swallows through breaths he sucks in, “yeah…” he answers simply, glancing up at her and smiling through foggy lenses. “You?”

She laughs breathily, her fingers drawing patterns on his chest, “More than okay.”

“Even though you didn't…?”

“Don't worry about me. Tonight was for you,” she smiles, sliding off him to his side, and pulling her dress down slightly. “You did great, you know.”

He chuckles, tucking himself away, slinging an arm around her, “guess all that practice watching Countdown paid off.”

She snorts a laugh at that, the atmosphere lifting, “yeah, remind me to send Carol Vordermann an official thank you.”

Michael grins, feeling more relaxed now. "You think she'd respond? Maybe send me an autograph for my wall?"

She laughs, nudging him playfully. "Oh, I'm sure she'd be thrilled to know she had such a positive impact on your life.” she smiles at him, tucking herself beneath the covers, “anyway stop talking about other women around me, I get jealous.”

“Sor-ry,” he smirks. Michael's grin widens as he pretends to ponder deeply. "Well, as long as you're teaching, maybe you could help me with all the different positions... in grammar, of course."

She laughs, her eyes twinkling with amusement as he rolls on top of her, her legs parting instinctually. "Oh, absolutely, but I must warn you, I'm very thorough."

Michael replies, voice low and warm, his hand stealing between them both to slide his fingers between her thighs. “Good thing I'm a quick learner then.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch

@castellomargot @emmaisafictionwhore @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @primonizzutto

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[stupidphototricks]

Death as Bill Door, getting a life.

"Are you decent, Bill Door?" said Miss Flitworth's voice in the darkness. Bill Door analyzed the sentence for meaning within context. YES? he ventured. -- Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

Bill Door was no good at reading faces. It was a skill he'd never needed. He stared at Miss Flitworth's frozen, worried, pleading smile like a baboon looking for meaning in the Rosetta Stone. -- Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

Was that what it was really like to be alive? The feeling of darkness dragging you forward? How could they live with it? And yet they did, and even seemed to find enjoyment in it, when surely the only sensible course would be to despair. Amazing. To feel you were a tiny living thing, sandwiched between two cliffs of darkness. How could they stand to be alive? -- Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

The child stared distantly at the landscape for a while and then said, "I've got new socks." YES? "You can look, if you like." A grubby foot was extended for inspection. WELL, WELL. FANCY THAT. NEW SOCKS. "My mum knitted them out of sheep." MY WORD. The horizon was given another inspection. "D'you know," she said, "d'you know... it's Friday." YES. "I found a spoon." Bill Door found that he was waiting expectantly. He was not familiar with people who had an attention span of less than three seconds. -- Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

Death knew that to tinker with the fate of one individual could destroy the whole world. He knew this. The knowledge was built into him. To Bill Door, he realized, it was so much horse elbows. -- Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

SOMETIMES PEOPLE CHALLENGE ME TO A GAME. FOR THEIR LIVES, YOU KNOW. "Do they ever win?" NO. LAST YEAR SOMEONE GOT THREE STREETS AND ALL THE UTILITIES. "What? What sort of game is that?" I DON"T RECALL. "EXCLUSION POSSESSION," I THINK. I WAS THE BOOT. -- Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

Bill Door felt very old. In fact he was very old. But he'd never felt it as much as this. -- Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

"What the hell have you been doing, Mr. So-Called Bill Door?" I AM TIRED AND IT WON'T STOP. Bill Door clutched at his skull. ALSO SPIGOT GAVE ME A HUMOROUS APPLE JUICE FERMENTED DRINK BECAUSE OF THE HEAT AND NOW I FEEL ILL. "I ain't surprised. He makes it up in the woods. Apples isn't the half of it." I HAVE NEVER FELT ILL BEFORE. OR TIRED. "It's all part of being alive." HOW DO HUMANS STAND IT? "Well, fermented apple juice can help." -- Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

JUST BECAUSE SOMETHING IS A METAPHOR DOESN'T MEAN IT CAN'T BE REAL. -- Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

I'VE NEVER BEEN VERY SURE ABOUT WHAT IS RIGHT, said Bill Door. I AM NOT SURE THERE IS SUCH A THING AS RIGHT. OR WRONG. JUST PLACES TO STAND. -- Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

IF PEOPLE KNEW WHEN THEY WERE GOING TO DIE, I THINK THEY PROBABLY WOULDN'T LIVE AT ALL. "Oh, very gnomic. And what do you know about it, Bill Door?" EVERYTHING. -- Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

"Have you got any last words?" YES. I DON'T WANT TO GO. "Well. Succinct, anyway." -- Terry Pratchett, Reaper Man

(Now I'm honestly wondering if Russell T. Davies read Terry Pratchett??)

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny slowly lowered himself down onto Luther's newest death machine thanks to his bat themed grappling hook. Making special care not to let his heart beat or his lungs take in breath lest Superman hear him and intervene, he used his intangibility to sink into the machine itself to steal its parts.

Yeah, so a full white outfit wasn't the best choice for stealth, but it was better than dressing like a traffic light. Plus the black gloves and boots made him feel nostalgic. It had been only seven months since the accident that took his life, so much has happened since then.

Biting his lip as he smiled as he began gathering up parts and wires with his intangibility and placing them into his bag. Lastly he grabbed the power source, which-surprise, surprise, is kryptonite.

After he grabbed what he wanted he quickly stuck a note on the maintenance panel of the machine for when someone opened it and discovered it now had a large hollow space, then simply sank down through the floor and flew to freedom.

Danny sighed once he was clear. Or, at least he thought he was.

"Young man." Crud. Danny turned around to see big blue floating behind him in all his red underwear glory. Great. "I believe you have something that doesn't belong to you." The Kryptonian said, looking pointedly at the large chunk of kryptonite Danny held under his arm.

Instead of an excuse, Danny got an idea. "Uh, hello? Recognize the mask?" He said, gesturing to his face.

Superman narrowed his eyes, staring at his face for a few very long seconds and just as Danny was about to cut his losses and book it out of there, a look of recognition graced the heros face. Sweet. "Thats Nightwings mask."

"Yeah. Just smaller."

Superman nodded, then asked, "Why aren't you wearing a bat symbol? I wouldn't have thought you were a thief if I knew you were working with Batman." Danny had to fight to keep his face neutral.

"I haven't decided what symbol I want on my suit yet." And that was true. Danny wasn't sure he wanted any symbol at all. The mark of the bat would mean that he belonged in the batclan, and Danny was a lone ghost. A wandering spirit if you will. He didn't belong anywhere.

Some small part of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Jazz said that might be one of the reasons he's been behaving so poorly lately, but he brushed it off. Superman just nodded sagely. Danny doubted he actually knew how Danny felt and was just nodding along to appear sympathetic. Adults lie, and they lie often. Danny kinda hated them for it.

"Well, I'm kinda on a deadline, so I should get going. Crime to fight, goth furry to annoy, you know how it is." Danny said, waving the arm that wasn't carrying the kryptonite around in the air before using it to readjust the bags strap on his shoulder.

"Alright," superdude smiled warmly, "Tell Batman I said hi." Danny grinned back at him as he jogged away, "Will do!"

That went better than expected. Thank you, Nightwing~! The boy thought to himself as he ran off into a secluded area and turned invisible and flying away.

Just imagining Supermans face if- no- when Batman finally breaks and tells the Justice League about the little menace thats been stealing all his and his sidekicks stuff for the last few weeks nearly sends Danny into hysterics.

Danny still has Robins sword mounted above the fireplace in his favorite safe house in Costa del Sol. Red Hoods "favorite" motorcycle was in its garage and Red Robins wrist computer and chest harness thing were mounded in a glass case next to the first thing he stole from them:

Batmans utility belt.

Sure, its a pain to remove all the tracking stuff from them, but man is he proud of those accomplishments.

Still. Its better to leave Metropolis after he got caught by Superman. Its only a mater of time before someone finds out about the old switcheroo he pulled at the last museum robbery and that combined with the bodies of those creepy rich guys he had killed (human trafficer buyers) well, surely Batman has noticed he had been gone for a while and would pick up on the matching M.O. in Metropolis.

Time to bounce.

[arilevenatz]

Ideal Trip

Pairing: San x reader

Genre: Action, fluff

Word count: 15.2k (💀)

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah me and dad thought it was bullshit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What. The. Hell.

The bell rings. The freaking bell.

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

Beside you, someone stirs.

“Wake up,” you mutter, shaking her.

“Five more minutes,” she grumbled.

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

“School?!”

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

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

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

“Yeah, let’s go.”

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

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

“Surprise, motherfuckers,” you announce.

“Ah!”

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

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

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

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

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

Stepping outside, you’re greeted by chaos.

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

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

And suddenly, you’re alone.

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

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

A chill runs down your spine.

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The shadow turns to face you.

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

And then, it bolts toward you.

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

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

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

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

It’s here.

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

This is it.

And then, it happens.

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

When you dare to look up, your eyes widen.

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

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

Then your gaze travels upward.

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

But the most jarring detail is his hair.

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

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

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

Your savior turns, his piercing gaze finally meeting yours.

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

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

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

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

He doesn't stop.

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

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

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

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

There, gripping your ankle, was a dismembered hand.

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

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

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

Again.

And again.

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

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

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

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

“Wait!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. Is he high or something?

“What?”

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

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

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

“Yes, but—”

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

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

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

He didn’t answer.

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

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

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

“I don’t know what that means!”

His eyes raked over you, up and down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hesitated.

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

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

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

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

“Huh? Oh, the men’s bathroom is—”

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

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

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

You hesitated. “Me?”

“Yes.”

Reluctantly, you stepped closer.

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

“What? Why?”

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

You swallowed hard. “who are they?”

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

You shook your head, confused and unnerved.

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

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

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

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

Before you could protest, he was gone.

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

What if you never got out of here?

“Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, he could go back to his family.

Well, a makeshift family, but a family nonetheless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was it. Just like that.

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it washed?” I asked skeptically.

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

“Well, yeah,” I muttered.

“Do you want it or not?”

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

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

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

"Bro, I think San has company."

"What the fuck do you mean?"

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

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

"Geez, stop eating while working, Wooyoung."

"I do what I fucking want, Yunho."

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

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

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

“What the fuck do you mean, bro?"

"Don't believe me? Just watch."

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

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

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

"True..."

"Hello, hello."

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

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

"Ask the maknae."

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

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

"Yes," Jongho replied proudly.

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

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

"Wooyoung, calm down!" Yunho scolded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me what?"

Speak of the devil.

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

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

"San has some company," Wooyoung blurted out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, then I’ll—"

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

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

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

"Hello?"

"Oh, hello San! Got company?"

Straight to the point, just like his best friend.

"Kinda, yeah."

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

"A girl."

"OoooOooo—"

"Please shut up wooyoung"

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

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

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

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

---

Ugh, I hate waking up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

"This world is a post-apocalyptic world."

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

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

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

"...no music or dance."

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

"No… music?" I asked, my voice timid.

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

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

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

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

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

"What kind of help?"

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

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

"I’m not whiny."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, he buried the guilt and steeled his resolve.

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

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

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

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

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

And that meant he needed you.

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

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

You nod your head.

San looked relieved “That'll make things easy”

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

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

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

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

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

“Library, maybe?” you suggested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not for long,” San muttered.

“Huh?”

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

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

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

“Wait—what are you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were back.

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

“San!” you screamed, backing up instinctively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, they came.

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

San didn’t even flinch.

“San!” you gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

“Run!” he commanded, pushing you forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wooyoung, not helpful,” Yunho interjected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

San smirked faintly. “Fair deal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone ignored yeosang.

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

Back in the main area, the conversation continued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded quickly. “I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked at him. “What?”

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

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

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

You tilted your head. “What’s that?”

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

Your eyes widened. “San, I can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[resident-idiot-simp]

Idea

Laura taking a job that Wade said she's be good at. So she takes it but it catches either (and these are two different options we could take.)

The Avengers or the X-Men's attention. (Or you could also do both 🤔)

The Avengers try to catch her (It doesn't go very well) but eventually with enough of them they manage to detain her. They ask what she's doing and she just shrugs and tells them where the gold card is on her. She explains she just doing a job and that she's just cleaning up scum.

They demand her name and she just rolls her eyes at them. "Laura." She gets blank stares, "I don't know what last name you want I have many."

"How so?" Tony asks.

"Well legally it's Kinney, but I'm also a Howlett and most recently Wilson has been added on top of that." She answers with a shrug.

"The databases say you don't exist." Tony told her and she nods. "That's because I'm also x23 I'm just scientific experiment gone wrong." Again she sounds unbothered but everyone else shares looks.

"What kind of experiment?" Steve asked.

Laura just smiles and shows far too sharp fangs. "A clone of the perfect weapon hence my second name."

"Howlett." Steve offers.

"You know him." Laura shot back.

Everyone looked between the two in confusion. "I know him?" Steve asked skeptically.

"Good old." She snorted to herself, "old." She muttered to herself with a smile before continuing, "Lucky James."

Steve's eyes went wide, "No he's dead that was in the war." He dismissed.

Laura raised an eyebrow at him and Steve started to look at her closer and sure enough they looked so similar. "Please you think 70 years will slow him down? He's well over 200 that's more than double your age. Besides he wouldn't be the perfect soldier if he was anything but nigh invincible."

"Are you trying to tell us your cloned after someone who's practically immortal?" Bruce asked dubiously.

Laura just shrugged, "He was weapon X."

Tony could confirm that yes they were documents on a 'Weapon X' and it was...gruesome to say the least.

"Wilson?" Clint asked hesitantly like he already knew the answer.

She reared back and smiled with all her teeth. Clint flinched back at that, "I think you already know." She said simply and Clint looked horrified.

"Your to young for him " Clint said with conviction and Laura looked disgusted at the insinuation. "Hell no, he's my pop." She answered with a shrug.

Clint seemed more scared at that. Steve turned to him and asked, "Who are you talking about?"

"Deadpool." Clint breathed. Everyone shot back around to look at Laura. "I'm taking this job on his suggestion, but don't freak out too much Papá also knows so it's not like he's going to find out and flip as well. You only have to worry about the fact you captured me."

This did not placate Clint or now a nervous looking Natasha.

"Just let me go and we don't have a problem, I have nothing against you and as long as I make it home before Al goes out for bingo no one will cause an issue."

"let her go Tony " Natasha ordered.

Tony blinked surprised down at her, "Are you serious that's all it takes to let her go?!" He is genuinely astounded, he had never seen Natasha this rattled.

"You don't mess with Deadpool and he doesn't mess with you." She said simply and Tony now desperately wanted to meet the man who frazzled the spys so.

Tony opened the cell and Laura stepped out glancing over them all, "Pleasure doing business with you." She nodded before waking over to the man she had been hunting and with a slash she took off his ring finger. Everyone in the room flinched eyeing the claws wearily.

She put the finger in a ziplock bag before walking off.

A few minutes later a echoing laugh caught their attention. Clint and Nat flinched before looking around. Out of the dark walked a man the size of a tank in red and black. Deadpool.

"Your lucky she knows me so well or one of you would be in pieces right now." Deadpool told them in a flat voice. It seemed to put the spies on edge even more.

"We didn't know we're sorry." Natasha apologized honestly, Deadpool crossed his arms and nodded. "What confuses me is what would The Avengers be going after Mr. pedophile over there? Because that's not your job unless of course you're going after mini?"

Silence.

"Humm what about her is so intriguing to shield because let me tell you one government group got her already and that will never happen again. Mark my words I'll die before that happens." Deadpool is still eerily calm.

Tony suddenly understands why Clint and Natasha seemed scared.

"If they come sniffing around again." A small chuckle, "They can find out the hard way just like so many others what happens when you hurt what's ours." Deadpool finished with a shake of his head.

Suddenly a low growl emanated from behind them they jumped around. This man was shorter but built like a linebacker or bull and he wore yellow and blue. He had the same sharp teeth and looked so similar to Laura it was unmistakable who this was. He even had the claws only there were three instead of two.

Steve couldn't believe his eyes. Laura wasn't lying there he was still alive. But he barely gave Steve even he passing glance as he assessed everyone that was in front of him.

"I've destroyed a government facility ones by myself I can easily do it again." He growled and Tony could easily confirm that with the information he had found out.

Deadpool walked around them and leaned himself over the order man. "And don't count me out I've done my fair share of government facility takedowns. The Weapons X off shoot went boom too."

The Avengers nodded their understanding, Deadpool clapped "Wonderful now we went to go home to are daughter, dog , and blind Coke addicted roommate. Toodaloo." He clapped at the end with a joyous tone before spinning on his heel and leaving. Logan following behind after giving one last glare

(I could do the other two options later if you are interested also I think this count is a drabble so I'll probably post it tomorrow to AO3)

Avengers and X-Men

[d0zuki]

“True Beauty” -"remember to know your own limit"

⋆˚࿔ Comfy pj from Kuro𝜗𝜚˚⋆ :: a pj to watch a movie

― ʚ summary ɞ ― day 13 of fluffprill Movie night

― ʚ words ɞ ― 654

― ʚ warning ɞ ― designer found no danger in her creation

― ʚ author note ɞ ― the designer has nothing to say

Caine decided to have a very simple adventure today and actually take somewhat of a part, the adventure was watching movies many types actually Caine was probably also the one most excited for it truthfully and not just to be the perfect show host, even though he didn't tell anybody what the adventure is he told them to come with their PJS, when everyone arrives Caine tells them the adventure and everyone is well... They think Caine isn't telling them about everything about this adventure that seems too relaxing, especially since Pommi was acting a bit more normal but to put it simply everyone just decided to stay for the movie night which happened in daylig- oh never mind Caine changed the time to night... Well guess you will have a 15 hours night maybe even more

The first movie Caine wanted to play was a comedy, and to put it simply Kinger liked it a lot and officially got called old by Jax(he isn't wrong) but Kinger wasn't the only one Caine also liked it

The second one was Horror, which to put it simply half of the cast didn't like, except Jax honestly nobody was surprised it's Jax he's the horror in their eyes

The third one was romance, which Gangle and Ragatha liked, though Gangle probably liked it the most and Ragatha just found it cute

The fourth one was a documentary, which not everyone liked except Kinger even Caine wasn't a fan

The fift one was Drama, people who liked it were Gangle and Zooble, Gangle liked it because of potential fanfics someone could write and Zooble because their life already is a drama in the digital circus

The sixth one is historical, which once again only Kinger liked and even started saying some random events that never happened, probably

The seventh one and last one is action, which Jax,Pomni,Caine,Zooble enjoyed, Jax liking because a lot of scenes could be turned into pranks, Pomni liked it because it had enough action to her not too much not too little, Caine liked it because Caine and by that I mean why wouldn't he? And Zooble there is a lot of action already so they find it relatable

Oh but don't think I forgot about you dear reader

if you enjoy comedy then Jax will certainly call you old(even if you are really young)

If you like horror then the others-Jax might be concerned about you, I mean horror is scary and you like it?! Though Jax will certainly like you in a friendly way

If you like romance Gangle will enjoy talking to you about it, maybe even watch more with you or some kind of romance anime, as for Ragatha she will also talk to you about the movie if you can continue watching movies and the TV won't go poof she won't mind watching more with you though no more then 2 movies a day or else you get an addiction

If you enjoy documentaries well then welcome to the boring gang with Kinger, though he 100% appreciates you for liking it

Now if you like drama, Gangle will recommend some shows she saw on the TV that suddenly appeared, and some anime too! Just don't tell Caine that the reason the TV disappears suddenly is because Gangle took it, as for Zooble if you talk to them about it they will answer but if you won't then they won't either

If you like historical movies,then once again Kinger appreciates you liking them, and will appreciate you even more if you listen to his out of nowhere rambles about historical events except everyone is bugs

And lastly if you like action then, congratulations half of the digital circus likes you, and Pomni actually has a reason to talk to you either to just do it or get more information about digital circus

[miawastaken]

Sir?

synopsis : boss!Grayson x secretary!reader

Reader's last name is mentioned for my brain's sake (its 2 am I need sleep)

tw: none

【🎱　🪐　🎸】

ty @lyrakanefanatic / @lyrakanefanaticwriting for the idea

Most kids get jobs working at an ice-cream parlour or walking dogs over the summer.

Me?

I was interning at The Hawthorne Foundation. For a Draco Malfoy knock-off we call Grayson Hawthorne.

I thought, going into the job that I wouldn't come out alive.

And to my surprise I was wrong.

Grayson Hawthorne.

The second Hawthorne brother, heir apparent, and second oldest grandson to Tobais Hawthorne.

He wasn't exactly meant to be the friendliest person, but you'd think being his secretary I'd know the truth huh?

Wrong.

The bastard barley ever spoke to me.

In all fairness I'd been told to keep my head down and mind my business. Because how could an 18-year-old girl look Grayson Hawthorne in the eye?

【🎱　🪐　🎸】

I walk into work and I see a blur of a person standing in front of my desk.

He's tall, he's wearing a suit, he's blonde, he's-

"Grayson Hawthorne?"

He's staring at me now. Its like I'm on trial for something.

"Ah, Ms. Caddel!"

"Can I help you... sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Rabbit seems to be out of office today, I'm the only one working on this floor and no one, including Oren has the keys."

"Well I'll have to apologise sir but I'm afraid I don't have them either." I apologise.

He looks once at the door and then back at me.

"Well, no matter, I'm sure the 3rd floor has a master key, I'll find it."

"Oh I can do that for you sir-" I offer.

"No, no, it's no trouble, and please call me Grayson."

"Ok uhm... Grayson, are you sure it's no bother?"

"Yes quite, thank you,"

He turns around towards the elevators and turns back last minute.

"Nice pants."

My eyebrows shot up.

"Thank you, sir."

"Grayson!" He calls back.

"Grayson." I murrmer.

【🎱　🪐　🎸】

I hear footsteps down the hall and see someone approaching.

"Ms. Caddel?"

"Yes, sir?" I ask upon realising it was Grayson.

"What're you doing in office this late?"

"I could ask the same, sir."

The corner of his mouth twitches and he says:

"Finances don't manage themselves. You?"

"Uni tuition doesn't pay itself."

He raises a brow. "You're a student?" He asks.

"Yes, well, I've gotten into NYU but I was offered this job for the summer and I wasn't about to pass up money I desperately need."

"What about your parents? Can't they help?" He asks.

"Sir please dont take this the wrong way but not all of us have families that could buy the Empire State Building."

He shrugs. "Fair enough."

There's a moment of silence before he speaks again.

"May I walk you to your car?"

I nearly laugh.

"I don't have one."

"How do you get around then?"

"I either walk, take the subway or taxi."

He seems to be appalled by the idea of me going home by any of those means of transport at 11 pm at night.

"I'll drive you home." He offers.

"Sir I-"

"Wasn't a suggestion sweetheart, come on."

【🎱　🪐　🎸】

"So what're you studying at NYU?" He asks.

"Political Science and Philosophy."

He seems taken aback.

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm,"

"They're both very tough subjects."

"Really? Didn't notice." I reply.

He smiles at that as he pulls up next to my apartment.

"Well, this is me." I smile at him. "Thank you sir."

"It's Grayson, sweetheart."

"Grayson... thank you Grayson."

【🎱　🪐　🎸】

Thanks for reading, feel free to give me feedback! <33

[moonlightkitties]

You are your fathers daughter - Red Dead Redemption Reader Insert (Part Three)

Summary: After you get shot at the O'Driscoll camp, you get close to two of the newer members of the gang.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: None

Part One Part Two Part Four

Who knew how strict Miss Grimshaw was whenever someone was injured?

You sure didn't until you got shot last night and have been bed ridden ever since. Here you were, laying down, in front of the fire trying your hardest not to bite the next person who asks "How're you feelin?"

You tried feeding Whisky this morning, nope, go back inside and lay down. Sitting up? Sure, just don't try to pick anything up with your bad arm. It was annoying. You hated being stuck inside when there were chores to be done.

Oh, and you've been so busy with your migraine and bullet wound that you haven't notice that there's a new member of the Van der Linde Gang.

A Mrs. Sadie Adler.

Apparently when we first got to Colter, Dutch and Arthur went out to find Micah and John. They only found Micah and he showed them a homestead that, not really surprising, was already occupied by O'Driscoll boys. Well, Micah found her hiding in the basement, and then had the bright idea to terrorize her and burn her house down on accident. She was a miserable poor thing , always crying and hardly ever sleeping. You hardly slept too so she was good company. The pair of you would stay up late, talking. About the gang and the members, her husband, your mother and why Dutch wanted revenge. In a way Sadie was very much like a female version of Dutch. She was very keen on getting revenge as much as Dutch was about Annabelle.

Until one night, when your arm was feeling a bit better she asked "Is there someone special in your life?" you froze, your cheeks going red in embarrassment "Not really" you shrug, leaning your body into the fire, trying to get warm. "Really?" she asks, surprise in her voice. "Not even a small crush?" she teases, knocking her shoulder against yours. Your cheeks turn redder, although it wasn't noticeable because of the fire. "Well, there is, but he's back in the Blackwater jail."

"Oh?" she asked, her interest perking.

"Sean, though you wouldn't know him."

Your mind went to the red headed Irishman you were talking about, he was twenty-one, and although Dutch thinks he's "too old for you" he still managed to get you on small jobs with him weather it was robbing a homestead or keeping watch over camp with him.

It was a stupid schoolgirl crush but you noticed he was taking a liking to Karen so you never had the guts to confess your feelings to him.

A silence went over you and Mrs. Adler as you thought.

"My Jakey" she began, after a few moments of said silence "Was the most kindest, patient, understanding man I've ever met" her voice trailed off so she could let out a quiet sob, your heart ached for her. You never wanted to feel the pain of loosing someone you hold close to your heart. You couldn't bear the thought of never seeing Arthur, John, Dutch or even Hosea again. You were a family with them, your two old dads and two miserable wet dogs that you call brothers. You rubbed her back as she sobbed, and after a few moments she put her hand on yours.

"You're a good kid, (y/n), I never wanted kids but if I did, I would want them to be just like you."

Your heart swelled at her praise, you hardly got any and when you did it was usually from Hosea which, you weren't complaining, but it was hard growing up without being praised for things, big or small.

"Thanks" you mumbled, your voice going shy.

"Well" she said, getting up from her chair "I think I'm gonna head to bed" you gave her nod of acknowledgement and she went to her space on the other side of the cabin and laid down. You sat there for a few more seconds before your mind trailed to the O'Driscoll boy that saved your life a few days ago. You felt guilty at dismissing his plead for you to vouch for him but you knew it would only make his situation worse.

You overheard Dutch talking to Arthur about how he was "bound to speak soon" since he "hadn't ate in days" and that made you feel even more guilty so you pulled your coat over your underclothes and snuck out of the cabin, making sure to not wake any of the other women up. Pearson should have at least a few things out, right? You made your way to the area where he was prepping the food. And yes, you felt awful stealing but you couldn't just let the O'Driscoll starve, well you could, but he saved your life! You grabbed a can of the nearest fruit you could find and made your way into the barn where he was tied up.

The barn doors creaked and you cringed at the sound "No.." the O'Driscoll whimpered in fear "I don't know anything else!" the barn doors shut a little too fast for your liking and made a loud noise as it did. Lets just hope that didn't wake anyone up. The O'Driscoll looked up, his face bruised from being beat and his cheeks hollow from being starved. His eyes widen "You" he began "I saved your life and you didn't even help me!" he exclaimed, his voice, rightfully, angry.

"I'm sorry" you began, opening the can of fruit "I couldn't just call my dad out in front of everyone" you told him "Then do it in private" he spat out. You sighed, annoyed "I can't, why would I tell him an O'Driscoll saved my life? He would never believe me!"

"I ain't an O'Driscoll" he muttered, looking away from me.

"Do you want the food or not?" you asked, getting really annoyed at his pouting.

"Yes.." he mumbled. Once you brought the can of fruit to his mouth he started lapping at it like a dog. A cute one at that. The way he lapped at the fruit juices made you think…unspeakable things. He was cute, a shy look crossed his face once you realized you were staring at him. "Oh! Sorry" you let out an awkward laugh. He looked down, his face turning a bright pink. "Well I should get going" you tell him "But I'll come back tomorrow night, I promise." As you turned to leave you could hear snow crunching from the outside of the barn. You panicked and looked for somewhere to hide but you were too late and the barn door opened. Your heart stopped as John's figure came into view. He narrowed his eyes at you and glanced between the O'Driscoll and then you. "What are you doin in here, kid?" he asked, an annoyed sigh leaving his mouth. You stood there, not knowing what to say "Uhm" you began "I just…I felt bad so I came here to feed him." John let out a chuckle "Feed him?" he repeated "He's not some type of lost puppy we found" John told you, taking a step towards you "He's an O'Driscoll" he spat out "And I can't believe you of all people are showing him mercy."

"What do you mean you of all people?" you asked, glaring up at him. John scoffs "I mean, you're Dutch's daughter, if he catches you being nice to an O'Driscoll, he's gonna have your ass." You grumbled, who cares if I was Dutch's daughter, it's not like I was some innocent lamb that needed saving. John sighed after you didn't respond "Just…come on, you're not even supposed to be out of bed, you're arm is still hurt."

"No, it's not" you snapped "I feel fine!" John raised his hands up, surprised at your outburst "Alright! Sorry! Yeesh!" nevertheless, you still followed him out of the barn and back into the cabin.

"Aren't you supposed to be resting too, scar face?" you ask him, his eyes roll at your nickname for him "I had to get away" he shrugged "Between Abigail's griping and Arthur's complains I just had to find somewhere to relax."

"I don't know why you're complaining" you tell him "If I was Abigail I would have left you long ago." John gave me a warning glare "Don't you start" he huffed "No, because you left without any warning" you snapped "You left Abigail and Jack like they were nothing." John clenched his fists at your words "You don't understand" he told you through gritted teeth "You were fourteen when I left, you knew nothing about what I was going through."

"I was young, but I still knew what was going on. Abigail was counting on you and Jack needed his father in his life." you argued. John huffed "I'm not talking to you about this." As he walked off you felt a tingle of guilt, you didn't mean to make him upset, it's just you saw how much his absence hurt Abigail, but not only her, his absence hurt you and Arthur as well. It was like he forgotten all about you. You were four when he first joined the gang and you grew up with him. Arthur was, and still is, a good older brother too, he was the one that taught you to ride Whisky once she was old enough.

The sun was about to rise and you walked into the cabin to find most of the camp awake. Karen eyed you suspiciously but didn't say anything as you sat in front of the fire. You slept almost all day yesterday so you weren't tired, even though you were up all night talking to Mrs. Adler and John. Reverend Swanson took your bandages off and let out a grunt "What's wrong?" you asked, noticing how concerned he looked "Nothing, your shoulder looks better than it did the first night, I was just worried the infection got worse."

"So, I'm all good to start chores?" you asked, getting anxious for his answer "Yes, but take it easy" Swanson replied, standing up from his chair. Finally. You were good to go back to chores instead of laying around all day. You walked out of the cabin, your shoulder was sore but you wanted to work today. Most of the work was inside the cabin since it was still freezing outside, so you spent the day washing clothes, doing dishes, even helping Pearson prepare the food.

When night came around, you were exhausted, going without sleep and working all day did something to someone. You noticed the men mounting there horses and walked over to Arthur "What's going on?" you asked, patting his horses muzzle. "Were doin the train job" he replied, gruffly. "Really?" you ask "That was today?" Arthur nodded at your question "Yep, Dutch wants us to rob the train and then get us out of here before were caught." Your head turned to Dutch who was busy talking to Hosea, they both looked annoyed with each other and when Hosea stalked off you knew he didn't approve of this plan.

"Come on gentlemen!" you heard Dutch yell "Good luck" you say to Arthur "And be safe, please" Arthur ruffled your head and gave you an affectionate chuckle "I always am kid." you give him a grin "Not always" you say "There was that job with the wagon, that job with the bank and that time you nearly got caught by that bounty hunter." Arthur rolled his eyes "Yeah, yeah, don't remind me" he chuckled.

As Arthur and the others left, you were left outside. You longed to go with them but you knew you were unexperienced and Dutch would force you to stay anyways. The O'Driscoll boy was still tied up in the barn so you made a mental note to stop by there once you checked on Hosea, he was starting to grow on you a bit. You opened the door to the cabin where Hosea was and you found him in front of the fire, busy writing something down.

"Hosea?" you asked and made him jump "Sorry!" you said, putting your arms up "Ah, (y/n), what's wrong sweetheart?" he asked, patting a chair beside him so you could sit. You shrug "Nothing, I just noticed you and dad arguing and wanted to check up on you." Hosea waved your concerns away "I'm fine, your father just" he lets out a sigh as he trails away "Your father is a very stubborn man and won't listen to anyone" he rambled "I thought we were supposed to be lying down but when there's money to rob he jumps on the chance like a cowboy at a rodeo" Hosea finishes his ramble with a huff and a rub to his forehead.

"Just, please, don't end up like your father, (y/n), for my sake" he was teasing, but his eyes told you that he was being serious. You looked like Dutch, a lot, your facial features, your dark hair, you even notice you're starting to sound like his mannerisms as well. "I'll try" you tell him. Hosea nodded "Now was that all?" he asked "I need to get some sleep. In case this job goes well we'll be leaving in the morning" you nodded "Yeah, I just wanted to check on you." Hosea pulled you into a comforting hug "You're a good kid" he told him, kissing your head, something he always did ever since you were a toddler. You melted into his embrace and stayed like that for a little moments longer. You missed these moments, you missed Hosea, it seemed like you could never see him.

"You know I'm always here for you right?" he asked and you nodded "I know…I just don't want to let you down." he chuckled "You could never let me down, you have some fire inside you and I don't want to see it burn out."

His words clung to you that moment as you walked towards the barn. The men were gone and half the camp was asleep. The O'Driscoll was sleeping when you walked towards him and jumped when you tapped his shoulder. He calmed down once he knew it was you "Hey" you said "uh hey?" he said, confusion in your voice.

"I um, I never really did thank you" you said "For saving me" the O'Driscoll shrugged "It was nothin really" he mumbled "What's your name?" you asked "Or do ya like O'Driscoll better" you smirked "Kieran" he said "Kieran Duffy."

Kieran.

"Well, Kieran, do you have a family?" you ask, trying to get to know him "Why?" he asked, suspicious "You goin ta kidnap and tie them up too?" he asked. You scoffed "No, I'm just trying to get to know you that's all."

"Well, uhm, I-I don't, my parents died when I was young, from cholera" he explained "Oh, sorry about that" you told him and he shrugged "It's alright, it was a long time ago."

As you spoke with him he mentioned he was from Ireland and that he and his parents immigrated from there to America when he was little. He also told you he joined the army but it "didn't work out" and that he joined a gang way before he met the O'Driscoll's. In the end you knew a lot about him and you told him that being Dutch's daughter demanded a lot out of you and how stressed you were about following your father's footsteps like he oh so wanted you to. You thought about the conversation that night and how much you really wanted to talk to him more. He was good company and heat rushed to yours cheeks as you thought back to the way he was nervous and squirmed around you.

Maybe, you could grow to be something more.

[lookingformoondrop]

NAJDNWKKRKW U WRITE FOR THE COFFIN OF ANDY AND LEYLEY?

You're the first person I see writing to themmm I'm so happy. Can I ask Something with leyley ? If not, No problem, I accept anything

Ashley Graves (Leyley) x Reader

TW: Everyone has a foul mouth and Ashley is a little shit (oh, really?), mentions of the devil's tango (sex, gasp!), Ashley is manipulative (remember kids, never stay with someone if they act like this during arguments, even if they're goth mommies).

♥︎ I'm not sure if the people crave X Reader or just headcannons with the Graves siblings, so if this isn't what you had in mind, you're always welcome to shoot me another ask. I'm so sorry this took so long to write ;-; Thank you for your patience!<3 ♥︎

♡1,287 WORDS♡

If you ever asked about 15-year-old Ashley Graves, you'd be told one of these three things;

"She's a little psycho. I'm pretty sure she'd choke out a teacher if they looked at her brother wrong."

"She's always the odd one out. If only she was nice like her brother, she wouldn't be such a lonely freak."

"Pretty like the devil is sly."

These comments always alluded you. Ashley was by far the prettiest girl in class, and even if she was a bit curt to the teachers, she had these blossoming eyes and rich smile whenever she walked by.

One day, after watching the girls mock Ashley for the second time that day, you decided to walk up to Ashley.

Ashley's gaze out of the window quickly turned towards you as you sat down on the other side of her desk. She slowly eyed you up and down.

"Uh, I'm Y/N," you offered weakly.

"Is this about my brother?" Ashely held her face in her hand with a bored stare. "Because if this is about my brother, know that he's already called for..."

You quickly shook your head, "Don't take any offense, but I don't really care about who your brother is...I'm more interested in you."

Ashely looked startled by this statement. A small blush dusting her cheeks. She had spent a lot of time making quitters and hussies run from her marshmallow-spine brother who didn't know any better, and if she learned anything it was that they would say and do whatever it took to get closer to him.

Ashley scoffed and looked out the window again, "Yeah, right, you're probably just saying that so that I'll let you meet him."

You sighed and laid your head in your arms,

"I want to play with you... not your dumb brother."

Ashley gave you a quick glance. She chewed her bottom lip as she thought about it.

"Fine. But if I catch you trying to hang out with my brother, I'm going to punish you!"

You shrugged off that last part and nodded passionately.

Ashley didn't know what it was about you that made her laugh easily, and force the malice out of her body, but it pissed her off.

Day after day, you'd run after her with some sort of treat, present, or a friendly smile that made her day.

One day, you had come to school with a surprise;

"Jesus christ Ashley, did you fish that out of the dumpster?" Andrew walked into the laundry room and saw Ashley standing in front of the washing machine with a very deformed and crusted teddy bear in her hands.

"Y/N gave em' to me," Ashley pulled her hand away, a sticky substance connecting her hand to the deformed bears head.

Andrew was taken aback and quickly snatched the bear from Ashley's hands with a simple (grossed out) finger.

"Fucking gross Ashely! Why the fuck would she give that to you?!" He made a move towards the trash bags in the shelve, but Ashley took back the teddy bear before he could do anything.

"Don't snatch things from other people's hands, you jackass!" She held the bear close to her chest despite shivering from the unknown wetness the bear had.

Andrew visibly cringed and searched Ashley's face for some sort of explanation.

"Y/N had won this at a carnival she went to over the weekend and thought I'd like it," Ashley dangled the bear from paw to paw.

"Well if it came from a carnival then why does it look like it was gangbanged-"

"I'm getting to it!" She sighed with annoyance.

"I had thought it was some stupid ploy to get to you, so I might have...thrown it down a sewer." She shrugged that last part like it was naturally the most obvious reaction to a gift.

"While it was down there, I think the rats decided to have a piece of Teddy's face and stuffing and well... the sewer, too." At the word 'sewer', both of them looked at the drenched teddy bear that dripped ominously with disease.

Andrew put his head in his hands and sighed into them, "Why are you like this? Y/N tried doing something nice, and you...let it be beaten to death by rats."

Ashley shrugged and observed the gross teddy bear in her hands, despite it being jizzed up it was cute with its (seemingly darker...) brown fur and button nose. On its chest was a pink stitched heart that read, "I told the stars about you ☆."

Maybe it was a little dramatic to throw it in the sewer, but she wasn't about to admit that. After all, she had to get this damn teddy bear back somehow, and that was enough to convince the next guy over she regretted it.

"Do you want me to clean it?" Andrew mumbled from his hands.

"What?" Ashley hadn't realized she was zoning out.

"I said, do you want me to clean it?" Andrew looked at her with tired eyes.

Ashley thought about it for a moment and then reluctantly handed the bear to Andrew, who pinched its ear to minimize the most physical contact with the dumpster fire.

That night, while Ashley was lying in bed, she thought about why you had decided to give her the bear. Maybe it really was a ploy to get closer to her brother... but Ashley couldn't help but have fun with you. Maybe, just maybe, she could enjoy this friendship a little longer.

For the next couple of weeks, you and Ashley would hang out in spots around the city.

You'd go to the movies, window shopping, clubs (mostly to get thrown out by the bouncer), food joints, and greasy taco trucks.

Ashley would come home with a pleasant smile on her face. Oftentimes, being teased by Andrew, who said he was "finally glad Ashley found a friend."

However, this didn't mean that you were safe from Ashley's tantrums. Whenever you talked to Andrew for too long or made plans with other friends, Ashley would start crying.

This became increasingly obvious when you started becoming more acquainted with Andrew.

"I thought you were my friend Y/N! I should've known you just want Andy all to yourself! I knew it! You don't care about me at all!"

"What!? No! I was just trying to ask the time-"

"I knew it! You're fake, fake, fake!! You're only hanging out with me because of my brother. You're so selfish! Well fine, since you like him so fucking much then leave! And while we're at it, why don't you just fuck him since that's all you're good for anyways!"

Ashley laughed as she dug her fingernails into your shoulders, "Everyone is just slutting around for my brother! Including you! I should've known! I should've known!-"

In a moment, your lips were on Ashley's, instantly shutting you up.

When you pulled away, Ashley stood there shocked. Her fingernails were no longer digging into your skin but rather grazing your shoulder blades.

"Would someone obsessed with your brother do that?"

Ashley opened her mouth to speak but closed it instead. She looked down and shook her head.

"I love you, Leyley, but has anyone told you you're exhausting to be with?"

Ashley nodded and rested her head on your shoulder, "You're the one that talked to me first, Y/N. You don't get to complain."

You sighed and wrapped your arms around her. Clicking your tongue as you took a moment to process all the foul things Ashley said in the heat of the moment.

"You know, everyone was right. You're kind of a psycho." You looked at Ashley's face.

"And?" She scoffed,

"It doesn't bother me."

Ashley smiled into your shirt, "You're stuck with me,"

"Forever~"

Thank you for the ask!<3

[gabessquishytum]

Modern arranged marriage AU. (CW death threats)

Dream is a prince. Not the heir, but he's the prince of THE royal family, and with so many scandals tied to his name, he's got an ultimatum. Either he marries and settles down in privacy somewhere far, far away, or they send him far, far away on a "mission" to "help", and if he happens to die out there, well, the family can be publicly very sad about it.

Hob has joined the army as soon as he possibly could, while he was practically still a boy, due to being an orphan and wanting somewhere to fit in. He's been whisked from one modern war to another for years. He retired from the army at one point when his wife, also from the army, was expecting their second, but we all know what happened to Hob's family. Alone once more, he shamefully returned to the army.

When Hob finally earns a high enough rank and enough medals and rewards to retire for good (it's not like he ever LIKED the army), he earns himself one last medal, given to him by queen Night herself. Night sees a great opportunity in this still quite young (going on his 40's) retiring soldier. She asks him to marry her son and offers a large sum of money and a mansion as a competition. While Hob thinks it's fucked up, he's still a protector and hero at heart and accepts the offer just so the prince doesn't have to marry someone not as kind as him.

You know what? I'm making this omegaverse because I want to. Turns out they are true mates. They find out at the wedding ceremony - Dream goes crazy for Hob's scent (he's been a soldier for so long that he smells like gunpowder, sand, and protection) and Hob almost pops a boner at his own wedding ceremony when he smells Dream (old books, dust, softness). Dream has one last scandal when they pounce on each other in the car right after the ceremony and don't arrive to the reception, but then they are allowed to live in privacy happily ever after.

- 🚒

I do love a true mates story, and this is really absolutely adorable - I love the idea of older, slightly grizzled and world weary alpha!Hob stepping up to protect the younger omega prince.

When Dream was informed that he'd basically been sold off to some old war hero, he despaired - he was imagining some horrid old creep like Lord Burgess. So he's pleasantly surprised at the sight of Hob, who stands nervously in his old ceremonial uniform. He's got lovely brown sun-drenched skin, greying hair, and kindly eyes. Dream’s heart softens even before he catches Hob’s scent - that's when he goes a bit weak at the knees. Dream has had many lovers of all kinds (that's why he's being married off) but he's never felt such an urge building within his body. He might actually be in love, and he hasn't even made eye contact with the man yet.

During the ceremony they touch hands, and Dream has sneakily removed his gloves so that he gets to touch Hob skin-to-skin. He almost moans. Hob’s hands are big and warm and rough, and Dream actually has to hang on tight just in case his legs do actually give out. Hob winks at him cheekily, and squeezes his hand when they walk together back down the aisle.

They do pounce on each other in the car, but not before Dream feels the need to hurriedly come clean about all his shortcomings - how he's not a virgin, he's not sure if he wants children, he's prone to terrible mood swings - of course Hob just smiles and kisses him very softly. He wouldn't mind if Dream was the devil. They're true mates, and Hob is hardly perfect either. He just wants a chance to be happy.

The sex in the car is very good, as demonstrated by the way the vehicle rocks alarmingly back and forth while all the windows steam up. The video clips circulate for days, and honestly? The public are pretty damn thrilled to see Prince Dream and his dilf husband getting their fairytale ending <333

[the-kr8tor]

Parallel Cut

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (Hobie is taller than r though) , TW violence, CW injury, CW food mention, suggestive content.

My Navigation

Thread the Needle Masterlist

CHAPTER 10 >>> EPILOGUE

You walk through aunt Janet's shop, eyes adjusting to the lights. The smell of the store wafts through your senses, the old carpet smell, rows and rows of fabric displayed on the shelves smelling of chemicals and dye. There's a faint smell of leather lingering in the air, reminding you of Hobie. Trainers squeak briefly on the floor, waking you up from your zombie like trance.

When did you even get here?

Your mind has been noisy since yesterday, you've mostly been on autopilot, muscle memory guiding you to your destination. Rubbing your tired eyes, barely sleeping last night, you had the urge to knock on Hobie's door to help soothe your screaming head. You feel a throbbing pain behind your eyes, temple aching in a stabbing headache.

You make your way towards the register, finding it empty, you ring the call bell.

"I'll be there in a second" Janet's voice answers. You have no energy to reply back.

Bouncing on the balls of your feet, fingers fiddling with your ring, its red beady eyes glaring at you, you turn it around so that it faces your palm. Clutching your hand into a tight fist, you're sure it leaves a spider shaped indent on your soft skin.

You already know you're not gonna take the offer so why are you feeling this way? Is it because you're afraid of telling Hobie? If you did, what would be his reaction to it? Whatever it is, you won't accept the job. You only have one Hobie, there'll always be another job, right?

Exhaling, you scratch off a bit of your nail polish, it falls on the floor like snowflakes. Janet finally makes an appearance, cane thumping against carpet, face lighting up when she sees you.

"And here I thought you wouldn't pick up your order" she chuckles, eyes staying on your leather jacket. "Nice jacket, wonder whose that is?" Janet gives you a teasing look, eyebrow raising knowingly.

Giving her a shy smile, you bite your lip. "He made the move– well it was a team effort for the both of us" chuckling, your eyes twinkle when talking about him.

Janet claps her hand, you jump slightly at the cracking sound. For an old woman she could clap really loud. She grins widely at you, smile lines prominent.

"Oh my days! Finally!" She clutches her pearls, "oh so proud of you, sweetheart. Tell me, How'd it go? Only if you're comfortable of course"

"Well he made this really dramatic entrance at the show, running late of course" Janet hangs on to every word, eyes flickering to your tired ones. "After he walked on the runway he just upped and kissed me" you say still in disbelief, happy that you've finally told someone else in person.

Telling Yuri and the others on the phone wasn't as satisfying as you thought it would be. Still, their happy screeches and between 'told you so's'– It left a very giddy look on your face while Hobie rolls his eyes at Yuri telling James he owes her money. Ned was yelling the entire time, chanting 'I did that!' On the speaker, so loud in fact you thought he was gonna break it.

You didn't even mean to tell them at first, but when you answered the phone, Hobie's phone at three am, voice hoarse, sleep still in your eyes with Hobie tangled around your body, telling you in his sleep deprived voice to drop the call, it's safe to say your eardrums almost burst out with (a very drunk) Ned's surprised screech followed by (an equally drunk) Yuri and James. There goes keeping it a secret for a while till you two get the hang of things.

Despite that, your past thoughts linger in the back of your head, hammering loudly, threatening to break down your defensive walls.

"But you don't look too happy" Janet pipes up after your retelling. She looks concerned, lips turning into a thin line. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I'm really happy" Voice quiet, surprised that she saw through the cracks. You're really happy but the offer has your very being torn in half. Occupying your thoughts, eating you inside.

"Honey, I have five children and eleven grandkids, trust me I can tell." She sighs, eyes softening. "You don't have to tell me, but if that boy did something–"

Shaking your head, you're prepared to defend Hobie with your life. "It's not him." With a wobbly breath, you ask her for advice. "Did you ever have to leave someone you love because it'll be better in the long run?"

"Depends, better for whom exactly?" She turns around, grabbing your order from the shelf behind her. "And why would it be better for them?" Bringing the rolls of fabric on the counter with a thump.

"Nevermind, it's nothing" you retract your previous words. Palm aching from how hard you're clenching your fists, giving her a tight lipped smile.

Janet nods, genuine concern on her face. "I don't want to push you, but if you still want my advice just ask." She rings up your purchase.

"Thank you" paying for the fabric, you walk away from the cashier. An idea pops up wherein you don't have to directly ask, because if you did, it would make it real.

"A friend of mine was offered a job" biting your lip, you're technically not lying to her since your classmate Hannah got offered the same thing as you.

Walking back to the counter, Janet listens intently. "And uh, she's worrying about leaving her friends because the job requires her to move away," you pause for a brief second. "Really far away. And she hasn't told them"

"Give your friend my congratulations then." She smiles at you, "Was it a good offer at least?"

"Yeah, they gave m–her a lot to consider. It's a great opportunity for her," with all the numerous visits at her shop, you've grown to trust Aunt Janet with her wisdom in life, not to mention you're quite similar to each other. You value her opinion.

"But she's anxious because she wants to stay with her friend?" You nod at her question, knowing exactly what she's implying. "Well, ask her what was her initial reaction to the news, that usually gives a lot of information on what she truly feels" remembering your excitement and happy first reaction, you try to cover it up in your mind.

"She really doesn't want to leave him behind" your eyes start watering at the thought.

"Does she love him?"

"A lot, she loves him so much it hurts sometimes." You inhale at the confession, feeling guilty that you're dumping it all on Janet.

She takes your clenched hand that's been shaking on the counter, unclenching it, your nails leave half moon indents on your palms.

"Just talk to him, tell him. He'll help her figure it out, better than this old woman can" Janet squeezes your hand. You nod, taking her advice.

"Thank you, I'll tell her that" smiling at aunt Janet, you blink away the tears pooling in your watery eyes.

"Do you want to have a cup of tea? My daughter just sent me a batch from India. I think you'll like it." Janet asks, determined to help ease your mind off of things.

"Okay, sure" accepting, she leads you behind the counter into the back of the store.

—

You wave to Janet goodbye, stomach full of tea and biscuits. Opening the door, you stop in your tracks.

Hobie leans on his bike, grinning widely as he sees you come out of the store. He gives you a look that sweeps you off your feet, feeling like you're back in school having a crush on your best friend. Your heart sings in his presence, a giddy smile on your lips, practically skipping over to him.

"Hi, what are you doing here?" Your smile turns into a frown when you spot a cut on his lip. "Holy shit! What happened? Who did this to you?" Anger settles in your chest. Hands carefully cupping his jaw, scanning for more injuries. You grit your teeth, winching at the thought of him getting hurt.

"It's nothing I can't handle, you should've seen the tosser who tried to take me on" He holds your wrist, calloused fingertips massaging the tensed muscle.

"Are you okay? Any pain?"

"I'm fine, I can barely feel it now" it's how he finds out about his enhanced healing, thanks to the ability, he healed it in no time. The injury looked much worse before coming to you. Still, he savors you doting on him, "Gromit, I'm fine, yeah? Don't worry"

You let out a breath you didn't notice you were holding. Hand sliding down to his neck, fingers fiddling with his necklace. "Are you sure? Let's just go home for today, then you can tell me who I need to beat up" pulling back, your eyebrows knitted together.

"Nah, c'mon. I feel better now that you're here" Hobie pats the seat of the motorcycle. Noticing that you haven't moved, he tilts his head, giving you his most convincing smile. "Gromit, love, cherry" He calls every nickname you have until there's a shy smile on your lips, he even calls your most embarrassing childhood nicknames, "little worm, pebbles, guppy" you hide behind your hand.

"Okay, enough" you laugh, embarrassed at the names, especially that you're on a semi busy street. Taking your hands away from your face to cup Hobie's mouth. He smiles underneath it.

"There she is" Hobie brings you closer, pulling you by the sleeve of his jacket.

"I hate you" you grin through it, eyes flicking down to his lips, worried that you might exacerbate his injury if you kiss him right there and then.

He chuckles deeply, "You love me though" Hobie shuts down your apprehensiveness, lips a breath away from yours.

Sighing, you act exasperated but your love struck smile betrays you. "Unfortunately, I do" you quip back, words stitched with fondness. Closing your eyes, he guides you into the kiss. Hands flying to the back of his neck, deepening it further.

The nagging feeling stays, whispering and taunting. You push it far back in your mind, it gnaws and claws, begging to be let out.

—

You whistle out at the breathtaking view in front of you, clutching the bag of fish and chips in your arms, Hobie helps you take off your helmet. The cliff overlooks the city's landscape, sunset turning everything around you in an orange glow. To your right is a dozen or so picnic tables, moss clings to the wood, still it stands tall. Behind is the woods, thick enough to get lost in, curved oak and pine looming like giants. Birds chirp in the background adding to the calm scenery.

"Do you take all your women here?" You ask teasingly half seriously.

"Only the ones I've pined for since childhood" he joins your side, shoving you with his hip lightly. Hobie takes the bag from your arm in exchange for his hand. Intertwining his fingers with yours as heat rises to your cold cheeks.

You and Hobie are the only ones in the place, save for a few birds and critters hanging around. Cold air nips at your neck, the sun making it warm enough to enjoy the weather.

Hand in hand, he guides you towards one of the tables. Sitting down, you inhale the fresh air. Hobie gives you your share of chips, you smile at him appreciatively.

"So, who do I have to beat up?" You ask, cracking your knuckles for added effect.

Hobie chortles, "hell, I'll even help you"

"What happened anyway?"

He sighs, frustrated. "We got blocked, they knocked down one of us for no reason. Things escalated" Hobie saves you from the violence. "Fuckin' Wilson Fisk still sits pretty up in his ivory tower" his frustration barks back. "Sorry" He exhales, unclenching his fists.

"Don't be, I should've been there. I'm the one who should be sorry" You take his hand, squeezing it three times.

"If you were there, you could've gotten hurt. Don't think I can handle that" The thought of you almost getting trampled back in the pit still weighs heavy in his mind. He brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a quick yet affectionate kiss over your skin. "Everyone's fairly okay, we got out early. We'll try again though"

"I'll be there next time, are you sure it's not hurting anymore? Once we get back home, I'll put some betadine over it" the thought of you on his lap, cooing and cleaning his wounds fills him with affection.

"I'm sure, love" Hobie exhales. "Let's eat, it's starting to get cold" you nod, still concerned for him. Hobie watches your eyes roam around the greenery. "D'you seriously not remember this place?" Sitting next to you, he sips at his drink, avoiding his cut lip.

"Why? have we been here before?"

"Yeah, school field trip. Our classes had the same schedule. This is where we ate lunch, remember now?"

"Oh, shit!" Recognition flashes on your face. "Where we got left behind by the bus!"

"Mm-hmm" He points at you with a mouthful of chips.

"We got left behind because you were too busy snogging what's her face behind a tree to remember the call time"

"No, I wasn't," he shakes his head. "You gotta get your memory checked, love"

"Nuh-uh, I remember it because it was what everyone was talking about"

"We got left behind by the bus because I was lookin' for you" his face turning serious.

"What?"

"I never snogged anyone here" he scoffs, "wankers were stirring up rumours 'bout me again." Hobie scoots closer to you, "I got back to the bus after going to the toilets. I watched your bus get filled up but I never saw you get on. So I came back out to look for you"

You nod, trying to recollect the memory.

He walks you back to that day. "I looked around, asked your classmates. No one saw you. I was starting to panic, thinkin' you got lost in the woods, tempted by a ghoul or somethin'" you snort at his joke. "Found you ten minutes later, crouched on the grass, drawing a fucking flower"

You hide your face in embarrassment, remembering exactly why you hid there. Memory brings you back to that day.

Hobie finally finds you, he feels like he can breathe again. Sitting quietly next to you, his eyes linger on the side of your face. Clutching your sketchbook and pencil in a tight knuckle grip.

You sat there in silence until you forgave yourself for loving him.

"Oh fuck" voice muffled by your hands. "We were stuck here for like three fucking hours because I was such a dramatic bitch!"

"Well, it was a pretty flower" he tries to make you feel better.

"That was not my best moment" you chuckle, "I remember running there because I heard about you kissing someone. Guess I've got a penchant for running away huh?"

"No matter, I'll keep trying to find you whenever you do," you smile sweetly at his words. "Or just catch you before you do"

"You're implying that there's going to be something for me to run away from" you joke, Hobie goes with your bit.

"I don't think there's any more crude rumours of me out there. Think you're good, love." You shake your head with a playful roll of your eyes, cleaning a crumb off his cheek. Hobie gives you a peck on your finger tip as a thank you.

A comfortable silence blankets you both, your mind takes the quiet to its advantage, it goes back to Janet's advice. Mrs. Williams' words echo around you, layered on top of Riley's offer. Heart beating fast, the plastic spoon snaps in half as you grip it too tightly.

Hobie's head turns towards the crunching sound, "you alright? Let me see, you might have splinters"

"I'm okay, just flimsy plastic"

"Here, you can share mine."

"Thanks"

Silence permeates the air once again.

"I need to tell you something" you and Hobie say at the same time.

"Age before beauty" He pokes your side with a chuckle.

You bite your lip, gaze lingering somewhere other than his face. Eyes moving at the gaps of sunlight on the trees. Maybe you shouldn't tell him, you're gonna stay with him anyway, what's the point? You find It painfully difficult.

Because if you did tell him, it would all feel sickenly real. A gut feeling fluttering restlessly, mind predicting the outcome of the conversation.

Hobie notices your apprehensiveness, he calls your name tenderly. Encouraging you to speak your mind.

"Do you remember that bloke back at the fashion show?" Bravery taking over with a shaky voice.

Humming in understanding, Hobie moves his leg over the bench, straddling it to look at you fully.

You fake a smile through it, "well he offered me a job"

"Bloody good on you, love!" He pats your arm, hand staying on it. "Well deserved!"

You smile bashfully at his reaction. "Thanks, but I'm not gonna take it" you bravely look at him, focusing on the slow knit of his brows.

"Why not? 's a good opportunity" his hand slides down your arm, landing on your thigh, unmoving, tethering you to him.

"It's just that– they want me to move to the US for it." Sighing, "so, I'm not taking it" you watch as Hobie's smile fades, the cogs in his head moving rapidly, jaw clenching, wrapping his mind to what you just said.

"Sorry, what was it you're gonna say?" Trying to change the topic, Hobie takes your hand in his.

Heart lodged in his throat, Hobie stays quiet for a minute, for you it seemed like forever. The only sounds are the leaves blowing in the cool air, birds happily chirping as if they're mocking you. Faint traffic beeps from below, it might as well be right next to you with how deafening the silence is. The food you ate sits weirdly in your stomach. You try to even out your breathing as Hobie finally opens his mouth to speak.

"I fell for you right here, did you know that?" He squeezes your hand. You did not expect for him to say that, shaking your head, your heart beats a thousand times per minute.

"You gave me a sandwich– made me one, actually" he continues as you listen on. "Because you know I wouldn't bring my own lunch. You cared for me when no one else did. Then you upped and disappeared that day and–" Hobie releases a shuddering breath. "I just panicked. Then that turned into relief when I finally found you."

Stray tears slide down your cheeks. "As I sat down next to you, realizing that I was panicking because I loved you. And was afraid you were already gone without knowing how much loved you were"

A sob breaks through when you see his watery eyes, something you would've never thought of ever seeing from the strongest person you know and love.

"Hobie–"

"Take it, take the offer" he says woefully.

You shake your head like a child throwing a tantrum. "No, I'm not leaving you," your voice breaking. "I can't"

"You've wanted this since–before you've even met me." Hobie chuckles humorlessly. "I don't want to hold you back" softly, he cups your face in both hands, afraid of what he'll do next. "Do you want it? I won't hold it against you, I want you to fulfill your dreams" even if I'm not a part of it.

You nod your head slowly, answering his question, soft hands holding his trembling ones tightly. "Please, just say the words and I'll stay." You sniff, acting brave. "Please say it!" Balling his shirt in your fists. You hope, wish that he changes his mind. That he would tell you to stay with him. But you know him better, Hobie's a lot of things, selfish isn't one of them.

He stares at your glimmering eyes, watching his own face contort into sorrow. Killing the part of him that wants you to stay.

"You need to go" sobs wracked your body when he utters the words. The ground would've swallowed you whole if not for his hold on you. But it'll be okay if it did as long as you fall with him.

It's love in its most painful form.

His heart breaks for what he's about to do. Hobie takes out his favour card from his pocket, punching out all the remaining logos. You can barely see through your tears while he does it, the card looks bare in his hands. Small circles of logos taken by a gust of wind. He calls your name softly with no malice or resentment in his voice.

Nothing remains on the piece of paper.

You want him to scream and curse at you, make him feel something else instead of sadness. Instead, Hobie hugs you through it, shoulders shaking, hands wrapped around you protectively. Your hands cling to his vest like it's your lifeline.

You hate that you broke his heart after filling it with love.

In between weeping, you mumble 'sorries' love overflowing for each other, cups filling to the bream.

"I'm sorry," you look at him through the tears, cheek on his broad chest, he shakes his head, rocking you slightly in his arms. You feel his racing heartbeat.

"Do you regret this?" Us? You ask tentatively, sniffling. You don't want him to resent you for stringing him along just to leave him right after.

"No, never. I'll do it all over again if I have to.'' He doesn't regret loving you or even confessing, the only thing he grieves over is that it took him too long to do so, he would've had more time with you.

He resents himself.

"I'll wait for you" he blurts out through the tears.

"Please, don't. You don't have to"

"I've waited for you for as long as I could remember and I'll wait for decades more if I have to." He wipes your cheeks, you savour him with every touch. Hobie asks the dreaded question, "when are you leaving?" Whispering it to you so that the world doesn't know. Just you and him on that park bench, bodies in a tight embrace, love pouring out from every pore.

"In two months" you answer with a frown, tears still flowing freely.

"It'll be the best two months of your life then" he captures your lips in a solemn kiss, memorizing every detail, engraving it into his brain.

—

Hobie kept his promise, those two months were the best you've ever had. You and Hobie did everything you've ever wanted together. Moved in with him on that houseboat you've briefly called your home.

Bodies joined together on his sheets you've mended, love and laughter lit up the entire house. With every caress and whispered confessions sends you two reeling over the edge.

Still, your parting looms over your heads. Tears wiped away as soon as they started, reminding you that you won't be truly apart when your very souls have been intertwined since the beginning.

With tearful eyes and sad smiles you part with the love of your life. Promises of late night calls and hand written letters falling on both your lips. Kisses lingering, touch fading as you fly off to your new life.

Hobie takes your photo with him on every patrol, tucked safely inside his leather vest, fingers gliding over the seams you've stitched together.

You look at the polaroid of you and Hobie before bed as you end your call with him, his voice anchoring you. Looking at the moon on your small window brings you comfort that the same one watches over him.

He wakes up alone, sun beaming down on his face, smiling fondly, the thought of the same sun bearing down on you fills the hole in his heart. Reminders of you stays in his home, *your home. Throw pillows on his lumpy couch, your slippers in the bathroom, mug sitting next to his. He leaves it where you last put them, waiting for you.

You endure.

Slowly but surely you grow accustomed to your new life, getting used to the empty space beside you. You meet like minded friends, they help you get out of your shell.

You find yourself, the same one you've lost years ago.

Both of you try to make time for each other even with the time difference and busy schedules. You write letters sprayed with your perfume, a piece of fabric from your newest design is taped inside, words filled with adoration and content. Hobie replies immediately back, with blood stained knuckles he writes quickly. He leaves a dried flower inside the envelope, his letters always ending with the same three words.

After a rough battle, Hobie finds himself recruited to some society full of people with abilities like him. He doesn't seem so lonely anymore. A heavy weight lifted off his shoulders.

You see Spider-Man on TV one day, smiling as the reporter tells the audience that Wilson Fisk is finally out of power thanks to the spandex and leather clad hero. Even with the grainy footage, you recognize Spider-Man's vest.

You dream of each other, dreams getting blurry every night until it's foggy and muddy, turning into a dreamless sleep.

Hobie sees your familiar face, a version of you at least, he doesn't run to her or talk, just watches with a faint smile on his lips. Glad that you're happy in every dimension. He harbours no sadness or even guilt, just love. He'd always miss you but his happiness for you would always win over the emotion.

With each sunrise he wakes up to, satisfaction flowing through him, knowing he chose well. One day he looks next to him without sadness blooming in his chest, just a fond smile under his mask.

He's proud of you and you're proud of him. Sometimes that's enough.

Your love for each other never waned, it stood dormant in your hearts, waiting and yearning for the day you finally reunite.

Until you thread the needle again.

A/N: AHHH!! IT'S FINALLY DONE! From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading, and interacting with my lil story! And thank you for sticking around this long ❤️

Until next time, lovelies (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

(Please read the epilogue when it comes out ily)

[aflamboyanceofflamingos]

So I've been dealing with a really bad fever for the last few days, and apparently i had written something i have no recollection of writing so here it is:

~~~~~~~

Tim had dug himself into a hole.

To anyone that knew him, that fact wouldn't be too surprising. Tim had always been a very capable individual, but every now and then he became too in love with how capable he was and he would trip over his own ego. Usually the boy could get out of the messes he created, the sudden humbling giving him a clear head, but this time, he didn't think he could climb his way out on his own. 

The first shovel of dirt of this metaphorical hole came over 4 years ago, lining up with the first shovel of dirt of a literal hole. 

Jason Todd had died. Robin had died. 

Batman was in shambles. 

And 13 year old Tim Drake thought that because of the knowledge he had, it was his responsibility to fix him. 

Batman needed a Robin, and despite what Nightwing had implied, Tim was nowhere near cool enough to be Robin. 

So what would make Batman get his own sidekick? If his enemies had one! Batman would be forced to find someone else to deal with the sidekick while he dealt with the actual Rouge. 

The Joker was obviously out. Beyond the fact that the Joker was horrible, Tim may be joining up with a villain but that didn’t mean he wanted Batman to hate him. 

That meant he needed to find someone Batman didn’t enact a lot of violence on. That got rid of the Scarecrow and the various crime bosses (Black Mask, the Penguin, etc.). Bruce had been close to Harvey Dent, but a 50% chance of death was a percentage that was just a little too high for Tim (oh how that would change). Most of the lower tier Rouges (Kite Man, Mad Hatter, etc.) had gone under after the got wind of Batman's fury, not to mention that Tim really didn't want to spend his days smelling like ketchup. Poison Ivy and Killer Croc were cool, but their skills weren't exactly ones Tim could replicate. 

That left Mr. Freeze, Catwoman, Harley Quinn, and the Riddler. 

The Mr. Freeze was more gentle with kids, their “villiainly” being based on the actions of adults, and the latter three were in it for their own interests rather than the purpose of killing or invoking fear, Catowman wanted shiny things, Harley wanted chaos and fun, and while the Riddler didn't share the same soft spot for kids, he respected intelligence. 

Tim chose Catwoman; the least lethal, and the closest with Batman. The skills she could teach him would also be more helpful in other situations.

It took about a week from the day he knocked on Selina Kyle's door to convince her to train him, but soon enough, a couple days before his 14th birthday and a few more calls to 911 about petty thieves left in the wake of Batman’s grief then Tim would have liked, “Stray” entered the scene. 

And his plan was working! 

The first time Batman had seen the second pair of cat ears he had paused mid ass-kicking of a carjacker and followed the duo, leaving the guy with more teeth then the others.

Slowly but surely, as time went on, the punishments the Batman inflicted started to fit the crime. By the time Tim was 15, he even thought he had seen a small upturn at the corner of Bruce’s mouth as he witnessed a bit of friendly banter between the two cats!

This was when the young villain had started to become a tad bit overconfident. In his defense, he had managed to keep his identity hidden from even Oracle! Lifts in his shoes, a voice modulator, make-up to disguise his facial features, along with a set of the same goggles Catwoman had kept and physical information from being revealed, and Tim Drake never interacted with Selina Kyle so there was no reason that anyone should have suspected him.

That overconfidence is what led him to replicate his plan. If one Rouge sidekick had benefits, then two Rouge sidekicks would mean double the benefits!

Solving riddles wasn’t too hard for the young boy, being able to see double meaning and red herrings was a skill taught to him by Janet Drake, and he took to the escape-room-esque plans for his heists quite easily. The thing he couldn’t figure out was creating riddles of his own. Mother had taught him that knowledge was power, you only reveal it if there was something to be gained, so purposely revealing information about his intention, helping his opponent was not something Tim was accustomed to, not bound to the compulsion to always tell the truth.

If the boy truly wanted to replicate the Riddler, then he would have to learn from the man himself.

Convincing the enigmatic man to teach Tim was easier than it had been with Catowman, the impressive display of bypassing the puzzles that hid the location of the game-playing criminal certainly helping.

Now, 15 years old with an unexplained skill boost in his AP Lang class (the lessons on wordplay were a definite help), The Riddler’s protege, ‘The Puzzler’ became the newest addition to the Gotham Rogues. He resented that name by the way. It was supposed to be Sibyl or Sphinx, they were on theme because they spoke in riddles and though he would deny it, the use of greek figures were his own little way of mocking Oracle, who still couldn’t figure out his identity. But apparently Poison Ivy and the Riddler had brunch once a month (something about being the green Rouges?) and she had heard the Riddler refer to him as “the little puzzle piece” when he was talking about his apprentice and the puzzle theme stuck despite how uncreative the name was.

This is when things became a bit hectic. Not only did Tim have to hide his nightlife from Batman and his parents, now he had to keep his two mentors from realizing that their mentees were the same person. 

He managed to convince Selina that the reason he was so busy lately was the AP classes that came with sophomore year, and while it wasn’t a lie, it certainly wasn’t the full story.

Nygma was easier to deceive. Tim had refrained from sharing his actual identity with the man (just because he would tell the truth in his puzzles for the sake of theme didn’t mean that he would be sharing personal information if it wasn’t needed. The only reason he hadn't hid it from Selina was to gain her trust, something that wasn’t needed with the Riddler) so just saying that he was busy was enough.

All the effort was worth it though. Things kept getting better.

Nightwing was seen in Gotham more often, and Spoiler (someone who Tim initially thought was trying to steal his thing by being a sidekick of the Cluemaster, only to realize she was working against him) had been seen fighting alongside the Batman one or twice. 

On an unrelated note, Stephiane Brown suddenly had her tuition for Gotham Academy paid for in full by the newly created Jason Todd Foundation.

Since things were going so well, he decided to push his luck a little further.

Unfortunately for Tim, he would soon realize the reason he was known for his bad luck in the future.

It started off like other times. Tim convinced Harley Quinn to take him under her wing, and “Ace” made their debut along with Tim’s 5 in AP Psych (Thank you Dr. Quinzel).

Steph and Tim happened to share a few classes together, and went from study buddies (Tim helping her in Chem, and Steph helping him in American History) to close friends.

Spoiler officially joined the Bats, and there were rumors of another bat joining the clan as well. Well there were no actual rumors, but the newest Wayne kid, Cassandra, had started joining him and Steph at their lunch table so her becoming a new bat wouldn’t be too surprising.

Soon enough though, things went to shit.

To start off, the first time Spoiler met Ace, she threw a brick at his head.

Second, His parents had caught him sneaking out and had grounded him, meaning that he now had to wait until they did their last check on his room at 12:00 to sneak out. 

The lack of sleep was starting to catch up to the highschooler. Handling 3 separate nightlife identities was hard enough, but doing so while exhausted was even harder.

After pulling an all nighter to study for a test the night before, he had gone to Selina’s apartment dressed as Ace, and had both costumes not been mostly black he would have been undoubtedly caught before he managed to fix his mistake.

Puzzler once spent a whole night sounding like Stray, and he didn’t think that his “sore throat” lie was all that believable.

Tim accidentally made a cat pun instead of a bat one when engaging in vaguely flirty banter with Spoiler as Ace and Harley had set him down to have the talk, stating that she would love him no matter who he liked and she would be happy to serve as a wingman for him and Catwoman’s protege. It would be funny if it wasn’t so embarrassing.

Third, Cassandra Wayne definitely knew something.

Tim’s “rumors” were right. 2 weeks after Cass had first joined their table Black Bat made herself known. By pinning Puzzler to the ground.

The next day Cass spent the entire lunch period staring at Tim. When he attempted to throw her off by invoking a mix of Stray and Ace’s mannerisms she stopped staring, instead choosing to freak Tim out more by smiling knowingly. At his wide eyes she mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key only throwing Tim off further. Cass was too smart to not have known, but there was no reason she wouldn’t tell if she did know, right?

Last, but not least, and the worst of all:

Jason Todd was alive.

~~~~~~~

I have no clue where i was going with that last line, but i see a vision, so I'm hoping it will come back to me, but if not, any suggestions or constructive criticism (or a better puzzle themed name for tim) would be helpful

[darklinaforever]

Just because Emma D'Arcy says Daemyra is grooming doesn't mean that's the case. The actor, in the same interview, was literally wrong about Rhaenyra's age in episode 4.

Emma D'Arcy is an imperfect human being who can say stupid things. Especially today, many people use big words without knowing their real definitions.

I will add that even if Emma was talking about grooming, they did not agree and still did not find the scene where Daemon strangled Rhaenyra coherent, and rightly this time. Emma also said that they reads Daemyra fanfiction. So that basically means that they ship despite the problematic aspect. I wouldn't call it a victory for the antis.

Essentially, Emma D'Arcy seems neutral on Daemyra.

Also, Emma D'Arcy is an actor, paying to say certain things in interviews. Who's to say they's not just following the writers' stupid agenda ?

Then, I have already explained countless times that no, Daemon is not a groomer, notably in these posts, where I have also for some addressed the case of Emma D'Arcy and they grooming statements :

Moreover, even if the writers seem obsessed with a non-existent story of grooming between Daemyra, they do not seem to deny that it is a romance either. These people, and even HBO, obviously still have their ass between two chairs :

I will add that no, Daemon is not a pedophile either. Go to @nrilliree to get the definition because I'm clearly too lazy to explain again :

Especially since if you give me the example of the young prostitutes (which the antis also love to pass off as younger than they probably realistically are, like under 13 years old, just to make it really disgusting) when Daemon was in his 20s, know that they were all maidens.

“Maidens” is a term they use to refer to young unmarried women. In brothels these maidens were most likely between 15 and 17 or higher do to the lack of nutrition of the peasants. A bad nutrition causes someone's period to come later.

So no, they weren't little girls. This was for the time of young women literally according to society's of Westeros marriageable age.

The worst you can say about this case of prostitutes is that Daemon had a fetish for virgin maiden for a period in his younger years. (And even if it's obviously not great, I'm not sure #irony that we can put it on the same level as a groomer, a pedophile and a rapist... Yes I'm making an insituation in Aegon II for the last 2 points. We're getting there...)

Aside from that, Daemon was in a relationship with his then favorite, Mysaria, an adult, he also married Laena later, also an adult, and also married Rhaenyra when she was an adult (all according to our modern standards), although yes, he courted her when she was 14. But I remember that Rhaenyra had reached the age where she could marry and had already been courted by men. It's not surprising in the context that Daemon courted her. Especially since there is no evidence that anything sexual happened between them at that time. (One talking about sex is Mushroom, and we know to what extent he is obsessed with it and therefore that his testimony is almost worthless, and the second is Eustace, pro greens. And I remind you that the greens were already making up bullshit on Rhaenyra's sexuality before Daemon's return)

Basically, Daemon has always slept with maiden, and always of varying ages. (which is completely wrong with the definition of pedophile)

Limit, you can talk about ephebophile, but as @nrilliree already said, there is no evidence on this subject, especially since Daemon has also been with adult women several times (Mysaria for a little more than 1 year, Laena for 5 years, and Rhaenyra for 10 years), and this by our own standards modern.

Also, what makes me laugh is that these same people who will claim that Daemon only likes young girls who are essentially minors according to our time (because obviously they will look at age only according to our time, which is an error given that the historical context of this universe is completely different from ours, but in short), claiming that Daemon only married Rhaenyra for power and striving to say that Laena was 15 / 16 years old like in the HOTD show when he married her, while no, she was 22 in Fire and Blood. Well these same people will come and tell you and claim that Daemon did cheat on Rhaenyra with Mysaria, in addition to Nettles, during the dance.

An event whose veracity we also cannot prove and which seems somewhat strange when we take a closer look (so you will guess that I don't particularly believe in it either). See @horizon-verizon posts for that.

Why do I say it's funny ?

Well because Mysaria is an adult woman, much older than Rhaenyra and Laena.

But tell me... if Daemon is so obsessed with underage girls... why would he have slept with a former lover of his, who was already an adult at the time, and even older at this point there ?

We see that what really interests them is more to say bad things about Daemon whoever he is, rather than having any real consistency in their comments and accusations. (And if anyone dares to say that Daemon was sleeping with Mysaria to ensure he got her on his side... wtf ? Rhaenyra is the queen. She pays Mysaria and assures her safety. Why would sex with Daemon be the only way for Mysaria to ensure her loyalty to the team Blacks ? She literally hasn't seen Daemon in over 20 years I think. What would she care about him sexually or otherwise at this point, except perhaps for personal revenge ? And then, if Daemon really was with Mysaria to ensure her loyalty to his side... Well he's a bit much of an idiot if he really slept with Nettles after that. These people love to say that Daemon is a great master manipulator who places his pawns well in advance, especially when it comes to women, except that... Daemon does not seem to have been very intelligent if we follow this belief that I have already seen among antis, which is once again inconsistent with the speech Daemon was a master manipulator of women... I mean, according to their point of view, Daemon knew how to pretend for 10 years with Rhaenyra. Why couldn't he have lasted longer to play the charade with Mysaria ? Once again, the consistency of their words does not interest the antis. They only care about saying bad things about Daemon !)

And don't come for talk to me about Nettles, because I've already made some rather long posts on the subject, go see them if you want :

As well as I highly recommend the extremely in-depth analyzes of @horizon-verizon.

Basically, the story with Nettles could never be proven, and I personally don't believe it.

On the other hand, Aegon II is a character who could be described as a pedophile (by Westeros standards and ours) in Fire and Blood, having been with a girl (= child for Westeros. There is no adolescence in this society. Only childhood and adulthood. As a girl and not a maiden, a woman having her period and therefore marriageable, the individual with whom Aegon II was therefore indeed a child), and not a maiden, from precisely 11 / 12... And he's being also reported as having several inappropriate behaviors / touching towards women, strongly insinuating that he is a rapist (by the own maesters being on his side). And no, Eustace never denied the girl's age, and continued even though he referred to her as girl and tried to downplay the scandalous event.

And why am I talking about Aegon II fans ?

Because it's systematically them who come to me to tell me the bullshit about Daemon being a groomer and a pedophile while sometimes maintaining that their little favorite is not a rapist, and a potential pedophile.

Which is still pretty damn cheeky...