six7
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Chance could pay off his debt whenever he wanted.
That’s the problem.
What starts as a simple overdue balance slowly becomes the only consistent thing in his life — the late-night calls, the warning emails, the strangers on the other end of the line who remember his name long enough to be frustrated with him. In a penthouse too big and quiet to feel lived in, Chance finds himself staying awake just to wait for the next notification.
He tells himself he’s avoiding responsibility.
In reality, he’s terrified of being forgotten again.
Chance hasn’t slept properly in months. Not because he’s broke, not because he’s in danger, but because paying off a debt means losing the only people who still look for him.
Bookmarked by six7
07 Jun 2026
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Yawning, Chance blinked the sleep out of their eyes as a loud, annoying beeping rang throughout their room.
“CHANCE. TURN THAT OFF, PLEASE!” Guest boomed from the other room, probably cooking breakfast.
Why do they even have an alarm? They can just go back to sleep and wake up at like, two in the afternoon. Then they could probably go to the casino and gamble their day away, earn some decent winnings and head home-
Oh shit. They have a job.
Bookmarked by six7
01 Jun 2026
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If Only, If Only... by th4t_1_w3ird0
Fandoms: Forsaken (Roblox), Work at a Pizza Place (Roblox)
02 Jun 2026
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If the events of Forsaken hadn't happened...
OR
Elliot and Chance become friends (and then more) through sheer luck without being forced into an eternal hell.
Bookmarked by six7
31 May 2026
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When was this living hell going to end?
It’s been months. Months since we’ve seen our families, friends, people.
Maybe in the end,
It wasn’t worth it.
And before any of us could turn around,
It was to late.
The clock had already ticked.
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there will probably be grammar mistakes, sorry!!
this fic is just a hobby of mine, meaning that chapters will come out randomly.
Bookmarked by six7
26 May 2026
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Guest's eyes fell to their hands, watching as they attempted to hide a shake and pale fingers. Gosh darn his good Sarmatian heart. At the very least, Guest could beat them in a brawl. They looked like the wind was going to pick them up and whisk them away.
He sighed, long and heavy. He massaged between his thick brows and along the bridge of his nose. "Stomp your boots. Don't get snow on my floor."
"Thank you! You wont regret it, I swear on it." They practically clicked their heels as they walked into the house, thankfully remembering to brush off the snow.
Guest grunted, propping his rifle against the wall and padded back into the kitchen to serve himself — and apparently a city rat— a warm meal.
OR
Guest gets a knock on his door in the middle of a snow storm. He lets the stranger stay, and becomes deeply troubled with how much they're alike.
Bookmarked by six7
16 May 2026