#and that EVERYONE felt how fragile his life was | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cinnasite · 1 month ago

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the science of sleeping with your best friend

꩜ pairing: timeskip!kenma kozume x virgin!female reader

꩜ warnings: explicit content, language

꩜ word count: 4.3k

꩜ synopsis: you relationship with kenma has always been understated—quiet moments, mutual understanding, and an unspoken connection. but when you open up about your insecurities regarding intimacy, things take a turn. one kiss, a subtle shift in dynamics, and suddenly everything you once knew feels entirely different. caught in a whirlwind of desire and growing affection, you find yourself grappling with feelings that you've ignored for years. is it too late to turn back or is this the beginning of something far deeper?

You vividly remember the day you moved to Japan. You were eleven, your nervousness amplified by the way the airport had smelled—metallic, unfamiliar, cold. Your mother stayed back in your hometown with your younger brother, and you followed your father across the ocean for his new job… your new life. You told yourself it was an adventure, trembling in anticipation.

It wasn’t. Not at first.

Making friends when you didn’t speak the language fluently and stood out in every classroom turned out to be less like an odyssey and more of a series of long, silent lunch breaks. Teachers tried, some classmates smiled, but nothing stuck. Not until high school.

Transferring to Nekoma High at fifteen was your father’s idea. He’d said something about the school’s progressive curriculum and cultural diversity. You hadn’t hoped for much until, one week into classes, the principal cornered you near the shoe lockers and asked if you’d consider being the manager for the boys’ volleyball team.

“It’s part of a new initiative. We’re looking to build an inclusive sports environment,” he said. “And you have excellent organisational skills from your transcript.” You said yes, mostly out of curiosity. And maybe because it was the first time someone had sought you out, instead of the other way around.

The first practice was awkward, to put it lightly. A room full of sweaty teenage guys and sharp whistles. You stood off to the side, notebook in hand, questioning every life choice that led you there with a resigned sigh. Until Kuroo Tetsurō slung an arm around your shoulders and said, “Don’t worry, you’re one of us now. You’ll get used to these knuckleheads.”

The team protested. You laughed for the first time in weeks. That’s how it all began.

They took you under their wing like a little sister, especially Kuroo—he treated you with a big-brother protectiveness that made the transition less lonely. Lev would tell you outrageous lies just to see you smile. Yamamoto always tried too hard to impress you but meant well. Yaku taught you how to be blunt in Japanese without accidentally insulting someone’s grandmother.

But the one you inexplicably gravitated toward was Kenma.

You were the same age, and the same reserved type, at least at first glance. Though unlike him, you didn’t mind talking. People were drawn to you in a way that surprised you. So, Kenma didn’t intimidate you. If anything, you felt safe around him. He was calm, observant, and never asked for more than you were willing to give.

You’d sit beside him during breaks, leaning over his shoulder as he played on his handheld console.

“You’re always watching,” he’d say without looking up.

“I like watching,” you’d plainly reply.

And when he let you try it out yourself—tentatively handing over his console like it was something fragile—you knew you had earned his trust. You’d talk about things beyond video games. Books. Movies. Your homesickness. His dislike of crowds. The weird comfort of silence. He was the only one who didn’t flinch when you talked about the divorce or missing your mom and brother.

By the end of your second year, you were inseparable. Everyone saw it—hell, even Kuroo made a habit of teasing you about it.

“She’s the Kenma whisperer,” he’d joke. “He actually talks around her.”

You dismissed it. You told yourself it was just friendship, that the small twists in your stomach when his shoulder brushed yours were normal. That the deliberate and soft way he looked at you was just how he looked at everyone.

But somewhere near the end of school, when the weight of the future started crawling into every conversation, you realised you felt something more. And it scared the hell out of you. You didn’t say anything. How could you risk losing what you had when it had taken you so long to find it?

After graduation, the team drifted as people often do. University took everyone in different directions, but you all stayed in touch. Kuroo’s group chats were relentless and reunions became an annual thing, something precious to look forward to.

With Kenma, your bond never faded. If anything, it grew.

Even when you were in different cities, the two of you never changed—late night phone calls, half-asleep messages, and meeting up whenever you could. Both of you still talked like no time had passed. Still knew each other in that rare, bone-deep way. However, you dated around, courtesy of your college roommate urging you to move on and get laid. You had simply nodded, telling yourself the crush was a remnant of adolescence. It had to be. It wasn’t healthy to keep holding on.

Tragically, it never went anywhere with the people you went out with. No one matched the way Kenma understood you without trying. No one matched the genuinity and the slow-burn thrill.

And now, in your twenties, with a stable job and a quiet apartment, you were beginning to admit that maybe it had never been just a crush.

But if that was true… what in the world were you supposed to do about it?

Kenma’s penthouse was everything you’d expect: clean lines, muted colors, and minimalist furniture. Expensive in a subtle way.

He was already curled up on the low couch when you stepped in, barefoot and hoodie-clad, legs tucked under himself like a cat. “You’re late,” he murmured without looking up from his nintendo.

“You’re lucky I even showed up,” you replied, dropping your bag by the door.

“Oh?” His eyes flicked up momentarily, amused. “Is this you playing hard to get?”

You rolled your eyes and sank into the seat beside him, close enough for your knees to brush. “If I was playing hard to get, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

That earned a low hum of laughter. “So self-assured.”

The night unfolded the way it generally did—casual banter, leftover takeout, and dumb inside jokes that had survived since Nekoma. You both sat there, bodies angled toward each other, the city lights painting the walls with a faint gold.

At one point, he turned off the TV, but neither of you moved. There was a falter. A lapse stretching between words. Then, after much thought, you said it.

“Can I ask you something kind of... weird?”

Kenma blinked. “Sure.”

You took a breath. “Do you ever think you’re, like, bad in bed?”

His eyebrows rose. That certainly wasn’t what he’d imagined the conversation would jump to. You winced at yourself. “Okay, wow, that sounded way more self-deprecating than I meant it to.”

“Little bit.”

“I’m serious,” you said, shifting to face him fully. “I’ve dated, right? But it never really went anywhere. And when it did get physical, it just… didn’t go that far.”

Kenma didn’t interrupt. Merely listened.

“I mean, I’ve done stuff,” you continue rambling, suddenly fascinated by the hem of your sleeve. “A little oral. Some handjobs. But, um, I’ve never… had sex.”

There it was. Out in the open. You’d lobbed the confession between you like a live grenade, waiting for it to detonate. Only that it didn’t. The lack of response wasn’t exactly suffocating, though it did make you scream a little on the inside.

Kenma’s voice was gentler than you expected when it came. “Why are you thinking about this now?”

His words made you hesitate. “Because I’m trying to see people again. But every time I get close to someone, I panic. I keep doubting myself—what if I’m not good at it? What if they expect me to know what I’m doing and I don’t?”

A beat.

“And it’s not about being ashamed,” you added quickly. “I just want to feel... in control. Comfortable.”

Kenma studied you. “You could just tell them.”

“I know. But I don’t want it to be a thing. Like, ‘oh no, she’s a virgin, handle her with care.’” You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t want pity sex. Or worse, performance sex.” You dared a peep at him. “Have you…?”

He tilted his head. “Had sex?”

Your ears burned, unsure of whether you wanted to hear the answer. “Yeah.”

Kenma leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. “I have.”

The words sat in the air like smoke. You ignored the tightening of your chest. “Was it good?” you asked. Perhaps, a little too quickly.

He gave you a look. “You really want to know?”

You stammered. “Yes. No. Kind of. For research purposes.”

He smirked. “Of course.”

“Shut up.”

He was quiet for a moment before replying, “Some of it was good. Depends on the person, I guess.”

You hummed, eyes on his collarbone. “Would you ever, uh, be willing to show someone the ropes?”

A pause. “What do you mean?”

You didn’t answer right away. The apartment felt charged, causing your fingers to twist in your lap. Without meeting his gaze, you exhaled shakily.

“I was just thinking… if I ever wanted to figure this out—hypothetically—you’re the only person I’d trust not to make it weird.”

Kenma stilled, lips parting. “Hypothetically?”

“Yeah.”

Another pause. A longer one. “You’re asking me to have sex with you.”

Your stomach flipped. “I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s what you meant.”

You groaned. “Forget it. This was dumb. I shouldn’t have—”

“I didn’t say no.” Kenma looked at you. Not joking, not teasing—just looking. That same sincere care you’d known for years, now sharpened with something else.

Something almost hungry.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, voice low. “Help you?”

Your heart thundered. “Well, I—Only if… you want to.”

He leaned forward. “I want to. Let’s start with a kiss.”

You froze, eyes widening at the abruptness of it all.

“Since, you know,” he added casually, “we’re doing research.” You laughed—nervous, breathy—and nodded. “Right. For the glory of science.”

He moved in leisurely, giving you every chance to pull back. You didn’t. His lips brushed yours once. Gentle and testing, your breath hitching at the sensation. You kissed him again. More assertive than previously. As a result, his hand found your cheek. The angle changed, the excitement deepened.

You realised begrudgingly that your idea had stopped being hypothetical real fast.

Kenma and you grew feverish, your actions slow, then speedy, like you couldn’t get enough. You gripped his hoodie in an act of desperation. His fingers trailed along your waist, reluctant yet calculating. You felt his touch at the hem of your t-shirt and gasped, pulling back.

“I—I need to stop,” you whispered.

Kenma, breathing heavily, nodded. “Okay.”

You sat there, chests heaving, foreheads nearly touching.

“That was…” you began.

“Mhm,” he said, voice hoarse. “It was.”

You didn’t sleep together that night. Be that as it may, something had undoubtedly shifted. Something you couldn’t take back. Neither of you were prepared for what that first sensuous encounter had unlocked.

After the kiss, everything was different. Not in a dramatic, movie-like way, mind you. There were no whispered confessions or next-day declarations. You didn’t even text about it. Not directly, though every message after did have a different weight to it.

gamer boi: you left your ring on the bathroom sink

You: OMGTHANKYOU i’ve been searching for it all day :(

gamer boi: how did you even forget it?? isn’t it your favourite????

You: it’s not my fault someone kept me distracted with his mouth 🙄

gamer boi: don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it

The next time you saw Kenma, you were wearing a sundress with zero intentions of escalating anything. Apparently, it didn’t matter.

You were barely inside before Kenma tugged you in by the wrist, your back hitting the front door with a loud thud. His mouth was on yours again, hands roaming like he’d been starved of touch. His fingers curled around your waist, dragging you flush against him. You let out an embarrassingly needy whimper, arms looped around his neck for balance.

It was supposed to be another kiss. Nothing too intense, nothing too fiery. But soon his tongue brushed against yours—mischievously coaxing. When his knee slid between your thighs, you knew that you were done for.

Your nails dug into his shoulders and he groaned into your mouth.

“Okay?” he checked in, lips grazing your jaw.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Just—you… it’s all very new. ”

He paused. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

“I will.”

That night, you didn’t go all the way either.

But you let him touch you. Really touch you.

You ended up in his lap on the couch, your dress hiked up, his t-shirt discarded somewhere on the floor. His motions were maddeningly drawn out—smoothing over your thighs, teasing under your panties, fingers slicking gently over you until you were shaking. One thing you’d grown to learn thanks to these electrifying escapades was that Kenma neither rushed nor demanded.

Just observed.

He watched you unravel, watched you fall apart with nothing more than his hand between your legs and his mouth pressed to your throat.

You’d returned the favour a week later—kneeling between his knees in that same living room, palms steady even though your mind was a mess. He had gripped your hair, but not harshly—more like he didn’t know what else to hold onto.

And after, when you wiped your mouth and leaned your cheek against his thigh, both of you panting hard, he murmured, “You’re dangerous when you’re confident.”

You smiled. “Guess the research is working, huh?”

His only answer was a smirk.

Life, as it usually does, got in the way. You were swamped at work and Kenma had his own obligations. Days passed. Weeks, even. You didn’t meet up with him, but you felt him everywhere. In your skin. In your thoughts. In the aching, restless emptiness of your bed. And worse: you missed him. Not just the way he touched you—but the him of it. His deadpan humour. The way he’d pause in conversation like he was thinking four moves ahead. The attractive rasp of his voice. The way he drank you in.

You missed your friend. You craved your… something.

You didn’t know what you were to him anymore. In spite of that, you knew that you needed him.

Kuroo’s reunion couldn’t have come at a better—or worse—time.

You’d dressed without overthinking it. Okay, maybe a little overthinking. The black corset hugged your curves like sin. The skirt hit mid-thigh, leaving appropriately enough to the imagination. The oversized leather blazer added a touch of effortlessness you didn’t actually feel. And the platform boots? Tall enough to be seductive.

When you walked into the high-end restaurant, every eye turned. On the contrary, you only looked for one.

Kenma was at the bar, drink in hand, dressed in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His hair was tousled, face unreadable. But when he saw you, he froze. Eyes trailing down greedily, taking his sweet time. He didn’t smile or wave.

Later, after hours of group toasts, dodging Kuroo’s banter, and pretending you didn’t itch with anticipation, Kenma found you on the rooftop balcony.

The city buzzed beneath.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said, not turning around.

He stepped closer, “You’ve been busy.”

“So have you.”

All you hear for a few seconds is the cacophony of traffic and pedestrians.

“You look good tonight.”

You swallowed, your feet carrying you to him. “Yeah?”

Kenma appeared to be just as tormented as you. “Too good.”

“That a problem?”

He didn’t bother with an answer. Reaching for you, he hastily tugged you close. His mouth slanted over yours, hot and aching, weeks (he’d argue, proclaiming ‘years’) of self-control slipping like sand through fingers.

You didn’t even remember getting into the cab.

The moment Kenma’s apartment door shut behind you, it was chaos.

Lips crashing. Hands fumbling. Breath caught between kisses that were all teeth and tongue, no space for thought. Kenma backed you against the wall while you yanked at the buttons of his shirt like you were unwinding every second you’d spent pretending this wasn’t what you wanted. He dragged your blazer off, then your corset. His hands slid up your thighs, underneath your skirt, finding nothing but heat and skin.

“You planned this?” he muttered, strained, against your neck.

“I thought about you,” you whispered honestly.

He cursed, kissing you deeper—ravenous, like the time apart had built a pressure in him he could no longer contain. Soon, you were in his bed. Limbs knotting, bare. His weight on top of you was crushing—so real with almost a decade’s worth of tension, of friendship, of everything unspoken.

His touch skimmed up your stomach, pausing at the curve of your breast.

“I need you,” he said, hoarsely. “Tell me I can have you. Please.”

“I’m yours,” you reassured—just a whisper, but your whole body yearned to meet his. “I want you so bad, Kenma.”

He reached down between your thighs, fingers running through the mess there, working you open. You moaned, legs falling wider to allow him to move inside you better. You were drowning in sensation. His teeth nipped at your chest, hips grinding just barely against yours, and yet—

You wanted this. God, you wanted him. But—

“Wait,” you muttered, voice thin and trembling.

Kenma froze immediately. His eyes locked on yours, reading your face with terrifying precision. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, I—”

Your hand pressed lightly to his chest. “I can’t—I can’t do this like it’s solely physical. Not with you.”

The room shifted.

“I thought I could,” your voice was so low, one might believe you weren’t speaking at all. “I told myself this was just for fun. A learning thing. ‘Research.’ But I can’t pretend anymore.”

You looked up at him, shame creeping in. “If I sleep with you, I’ll fall completely. I already have. It won’t just be sex to me. I don’t think it ever was.” You gulped, words turning rawer. “And if that’s not what you want… then this was a mistake.”

Tranquility. Thick. Cracking at the seams.

You felt your panic rise. “Sorry. I know I fucked things up, god. I should leave—"

“Stop,” Kenma finally spoke. Your blathering halted.

His fingers trailed up your cheek. “You think I’d let you in like this—have you like this—if it was just physical to me?” You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really.

“I’ve been in love with you since high school, you idiot,” he said, and your stomach dropped. “I just never thought you’d want me back.”

You blinked up at him, stunned.

“When we kissed that day,” he continued, reverent, “everything changed. I didn’t want to risk scaring you away, so I thought if I gave you what you needed… eventually you’d see it too.”

He kissed your forehead. “See that I’d burn down the world for you.”

You gazed up at him, shaking slightly. “You’re not serious.”

He kissed your cheek. Your temple. Your nose. “I’m dead serious.”

Emotion swelled in your heart, hand cupping the side of his face. “Kenma…”

He leaned into the touch. “Talk to me.”

“I used to wait for practice to end just to walk home with you. I used to sit in the stands and pretend I was watching the match, but I was only watching you.”

The corner of his lips twitched. His hands ran down your sides.

“I thought I was broken for never wanting anyone the way my friends did,” you whispered. “But then you showed me it wasn’t about anyone. It was about you. It was always you.”

The atmosphere in the room grew charged with something sacred.

“I love you,” you declared, like the words were stolen from your ribs. Like they were always there between the two of you, waiting for someone to speak them to life.

Kenma was silent for one moment—just one—before… “I love you too,” he kissed you like a man reborn. This time, there was no rush.

He moved over you like he was making a vow—hands smoothing over every curve of your body, lips mapping every inch of your skin, like he was trying to memorise the sound of your breath as it caught in your throat.

When he lined himself up and pushed inside, it was slow. Intimate. He didn’t look away once. You clung to him, gaping at the fullness, the sheer gravity of him inside you.

“Alright?” he murmured, brows furrowing in concern.

You nodded, breath shaky. “Better than alright.”

He kissed you again, explosively possessive. After what felt like ages, he moved.

Each thrust was deliberate and claiming. His hand tangled with yours above your head. His other gripped your hip, holding you steady as he rocked into you, building a rhythm that made your back arch.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmured into your ear. “Dreamed about you under me, begging for more.”

You moaned, eyelashes fluttering. “You have me now.”

“Trust me, I’m never letting go.”

Your bodies danced in a symphony that blurred the line between pleasure and worship. You came first, legs trembling. He followed right after, whining your name against your lips, pulsing with everything he felt and couldn’t say fast enough.

While you both lay there—spent and dizzy—you clung to each other. Because you knew this wasn’t the end.

You woke up to sunlight. Golden, slithering between silk curtains and spilling across the sheets in hazy lines.

Next to you was Kenma, his arm draped over your waist. The slight scrunch of his forehead indicated he was still deep in thought even while asleep. The sheets were rumpled around your legs, your body still sticky with sweat and afterglow, and every inch of you ached deliciously.

Oh my god, you thought with a giddy smile.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You reached out, careful not to disturb Kenma, and blinked at the screen.

8 Messages from loser

1 Missed Call

1 Voice Note

You opened the texts, bracing yourself.

loser: where the hell are you?? kenma’s vanished too tf

loser: you better not have left. lev tried to arm wrestle yamamoto and lost. to YAMAMOTO

loser: i swear if you ghosted the reunion i’m kicking your ass

loser: wait

loser: waitttttttt

loser: OH MY GOD DID YOU AND KENMA LEAVE TOGETHER???!!!

loser: TELL ME THIS ISN’T HOW I’M FINDING OUT

loser: ANSWER ME FUCKER

You choked on your laugh, snorting into your palm. Kenma stirred beside you, yawning.

“Mmm… what time is it?” he mumbled, exhaustion evident in his voice.

“Too early for our best friend to be having a meltdown,” you giggled.

Kenma cracked one eye open. “Kuroo?”

You held your phone up. “He’s in panic mode.”

Kenma blinked. Then closed his eyes again and guided you down into his chest. “Ignore him.”

You laughed, cuddling into his warmth. His hair was mussed, bleached strands falling into his eyes. His fingers rubbed lazy circles into your back, like he couldn’t stop touching you in his tired state either.

“I still can’t believe last night happened,” you remarked dreamily.

Kenma nuzzled your shoulder. “I can. I’ve imagined it a thousand times.”

You flushed. “Okay, damn.”

He smirked against your skin. “You think I didn’t spend high school losing my mind over you?”

You were about to answer when his hand slid lower. Then lower still.

“Kenma—”

He rolled on top of you before you could finish. You sucked in a breath as his mouth found yours—inviting at first, then insatiable. Your legs parted instinctively as he settled between them, hardening length grinding slowly into your wetness. His body was still warm from sleep, but his touch was awake. Very awake.

“You’re gonna start something you can’t finish,” you warned.

He kissed your jaw. “Wanna bet?”

You fisted his hair, pulling him back to meet your eyes. “We’re seriously doing this again? First thing in the morning?”

“You’re naked in my bed,” he deadpanned. “If anything, this is on you.”

You were mid-laugh, mid-moan, mid-thigh squeeze when…

“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU—”

The bedroom door slammed open. You both stopped, unmoving.

Kenma’s mouth was on your neck. His hand was on your thigh. Your legs were definitely wrapped around his waist. Kuroo stood in the doorway like a horror movie freeze frame.

One hand still on the doorknob. Jaw hanging open. Eyebrow twitching.

You screeched and dove under the sheets like they could erase the last thirty seconds of reality. Kenma… just sighed. Still completely on top of you, showing no signs of clothing himself.

“Get out,” he said flatly.

Kuroo was pale. In a shocking display, he turned red. If possible, redder.

“I—WHAT—SHE’S NAKED—YOU’RE—WHAT—WHY—"

“By the way, I didn’t give you the code to my penthouse so you could come and go as you please,” Kenma muttered, frustrated.

“I thought you were dead!”

“Kuroo—” you poked your head out, expression absolutely boiling—“I’m begging you to forget this ever happened.”

“Oh no. This is burned into my soul. Wait till the group chat hears about this.”

Kenma finally stood up, arranging the blanket properly to cover you like a true gentleman. Instead of being embarrassed, he looked rather annoyed at being interrupted. Like this was your regular Saturday afternoon in the Kozume household.

Kuroo glanced between the two of you, hands on hips, processing.

Then he scoffed, “I watched you two lunatics dawdle around each other for YEARS. Years. You think I didn’t know?”

“Then, why are you surprised?” Kenma asked.

“Because I thought you’d tell me through a well-structured text, not with your fucking nipples out!”

You screamed in humiliation and retreated into the covers again.

Kenma shrugged. “We were busy.”

“Oh, no need to tell me.” Kuroo turned, still muttering to himself, “I'm gonna need bleach. For my eyes. For my brain. For my…”

The bedroom door slammed shut and it was peaceful for all of three seconds. At the same time, you and Kenma burst out laughing. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your neck as you wheezed into the pillow, your body shaking.

“Never living that down,” you gasped.

“Worth it,” he whispered.

And then he kissed you again—slow and soft—like he had nowhere else to be.

1K notes · View notes

sangunary · 3 months ago

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YANDERE BATFAM x NEGLECTED READER

-Hush now crybaby.

SYPNOSIS: When your family only cherish you after your death.

Warning: Child neglect, bullying,violence, gore, death.

\\ Part 1 // \\ Part 2 // \\ Part 3 //

You were the blood daughter but not the same as how Damian was, you were from a simple one night stand your father had... A mistake.

Ever since your mother left you behind with your suppose Father your life took an unpleasant turn.

Your life with your father was supposed to be colourful and exciting afterall you've been watching the other kids playing with their Fathers in the park. You remembered how envious you were back than, how everybody have a sibling to talk about, but for you? It wasn't that much of a talk on your end and you felt boring.

It broke your little heart when you realised that... Family really suck.

If it wasn't true than you wouldn't be standing alone on the stage while everyone else have their father's by their side.

It was supposed to be a father daughter day.

You inform him yourself even picking out a new dress for the special occasion with Alfred but your Father wasn't even near sight.

You were holding back your tears, gripping onto the end of your new dress looking at the ground.

Each time your heart pounds against your ribcage you could feel the agonizing pain that sent shock throughout your whole body.

The tears in your eyes were filling, dangerously close to bursting out. Yet you tried your best to not spill even a drop of tear.

Everybody called you a crybaby, but you weren't a crybaby just- it's hard to understand why you even cry ay times.

It wasn't your fault your poor heart couldn't handle their harsh word... It's not your fault your heart is fragile, it just needed some love and maybe a tint of understanding to fix it.

"Im sorry kid, I can't bring you to the park on Tuesday, me and little wing made an arrangement that we would go to the museum" Dick words ring inside your ears.

"But you said- you promised me that you'd bring me to the park... last sunday, I ask first" You replied, your hand's wrap around the little bear that you were going to give to your older brother... To thank him for bringing you to the park.

You couldn't help but feel a terrific ache inside your heart.

It wasn't fair, Damian asked today and you already asked last Sunday! And Dick and Damian already went to the museum together last monday...

"Im sorry but... Damian you know how he is, he's just cold and opportunities like this never come often, you have to understand. You're a big girl" Dick reminded you.

You couldn't help but let out a little huff. Damian that Damian this when was it ever about you. Even on your birthday Dick always brought present for him!

You remembered how Dick gave you a silly bunny doll abit chewed on, said it was his dog old/favourite doll... While Damain received a literal book signed by the very author on your birthday!

"You... promised first!" You spit back.

You were on the verge of crying spilling it all out. You grip onto your doll as you looked at the ground a drop of tear fall from your eyes and land on the marble floor.

And that's when you heard the disappointed sigh from your older brother.

The floor was clean enough to the point you could see your own pathetic face... Face red and eyes watery... You look ugly.

"Kid look... See this is why I choose Damian, you're too... spoiled, you can't just cry to get what you want. If you don't change this behaviour I won't go out with you"

"I-"

"No 'I', you're extremely spoiled and Damian isn't. This is why I don't want to go out with you, Damian is somewhat more shameful than you"

You swallowed your Saliva, staring into the marble. Tears began to rain as you couldn't stop them from spilling, you wipe your tears with your hands which wasn't helping.

You sniff and hiccup not daring to even look at Dick.

It was very clear who the favourite was from the beginning. Even if you were to get stab Damian would be the first they check on for any scar or scrab.

Every night you would weep inside your room or bathroom, grabbing onto anything and wrapping it around you to envision the warmth of comfort.

"Jason?" you called out. You only called out because you were on the verge of crying and you could smell the cigarette and you knew only Jason smoke.

"Jay?" you called out again, walking towards the balcony, you're in desperate need of comfort now. It was your birthday yet nobody remembered even Alfred forgot it.

It was terrible, the only thing you asked for was a little family dinner together having fun not everyone forgetting your own existence.

"Ja-"

"I heard you the first time"

Your hand's were twiddling with eachother, showing a clear sing you were somewhat anxious.

"Could you hug me? Please"

You cried out looking up at the older male.

You could never forget to say please cause last time it didn't end up well for you. They called you mannerless and even insulted your mother! You couldn't quite understand what Damian was speaking but he called a shame saying you ruin the perfect blood! to your face! Infront of everybody... Just because you forgot to say something!

"You're too old for one"

"I don't mind, just once please... it's my-"

"not everything have to be about you, princess"

Your smile flattered into a frown, when Jason first started calling you princess you were excited and extremely happy thinking he saw you as an amazing princess... Turns out that he only see you as a spoiled little girl... You heard it yourself.

"Just- it's my birthday and I thought a hug would be a very nice gift"

You spoke bravely again, maybe if you were persistent he might give up and hug you?

"...I don't want to hug you or acknowledge you, I don't want to hurt your little feelings but, do not indulged yourself with me. Is that clear?"

"Yeah... sorry"

Without a word you left the room, walking towards yours... Jason was compared to other's very good to you: he usually ignored your presence which was alright.

Before your reached your room you had to walk pass tim's and he was home but locked up again doing whatever he wished.

You could hear him mutter something from outside and you had a very nice idea.

After abit you knock on his door, your hand's wrap around a cup of coffee which you made yourself!

You knocked again. Nothing happened.

You knock thrice... Not even a sound.

Just than you decided to invite yourself in, afterall everyone in the family can definitely do that. You've never seen them knock to enter Tim's room.

"Tim?" you called out poking inside you check if he was there. Cause last time when you enter his room he went out the window, you found it funny.

The room was dark and the only source of light being the computer in which he was so absorb into.

Without thinking you went inside not forgetting to close the door.

"I made you coffee!" you announced to him.

"Thanks"

"...What are you doing" you asked hoping to atleast have a little conversation with him...

"Adult stuff" Tim was very vague.

"Can I se-"

"Im busy, put the coffee on the table and leave"

"Alright..."

You did as he asked and went towards the door and before you could even leave you watch as Tim throw the whole mug into the bin.

He definitely knew you were still in the room afterall he was smart he should know that. But, you didn't even speak up just suck it up and leave the room.

And as soon as you close the door, from the coner of your eyes you saw Damian. Looking at you directly.

Damian was bold and said lot's of bad stuff to you, as a result you spent half your day's avoiding him and as usual you tried avoiding him but... he stopped you.

"Where have you been?" His tone was surprisingly calm.

"Urm... I- was ugh..." You didn't know what to say? Told him that you were avoiding him and getting grounded or just yourself more of a victim than ever.

"You can't speak now?"

"I... sorry"

"Happy Birthday"

You couldn't even contain your shock face. Damian remembered your birthday? That's odd but very nice.

"Thank you!"

You couldn't help it, Damian of all people remembered your very existence... You felt important and that's all you need.

"There's a gift for you... Inside your room."

"Thanks! Im so... I thank you so much! I'll go check it!"

Before he could speak you ran towards your room all your tears gone now and you were filled with joy and excitement.

The moment you open the door to your room your heart dropped.

"..."

Your room was in ruined... Your heart dropped as you walk inside, your bed was wrecked your clothes were gone... most importantly the only picture of your mother was gone.

"What did you do?!"

You turned back, Damian was leaning against the door frame with that cocky grin on his face.

"Im helping you grow out your crybaby phase."

"What...?"

"See, crying again. Is that your only talent to cry until you get attention? Pathetic"

Without thinking you launched at him, it turn into a brutal fight but with Damian skill you were no match. He wasn't not going to pity you and you knew.

It took atleast two family members to seperate you two and stop the fight.

Jason was holding you by the hair but he wasn't pulling on it just silently threating you.

Everybody else were checking on Damian completely ignoring the fact that Damian punch you so hard your nose was bleeding.

And ever since that day everybody in the family saw you as the troublesome kid and whenever anything bad happened it was always your fault.

Not to mention how they even take a step further in ignoring you.

Every family movie night you would sit alone while everyone else sit in this big couch cuddling and giggling together. Even during Tag they completely forgot about you... Saying you were too old to play tag with them which made no sense...

Alfred was suddenly busy whenever you needed him and sometimes you had to walk home during a cyclone/rain because Alfred was busy.

Bruce become more strick and because of that your friends at school didn't even want to talk to you. Saying that as much as they wanted to be friends it to them it seems as you were ghosting them. You tried explaining even crying and begging humiliating yourself further... They never even dare to looked at you.

Everyday kept getting worse and you didn't even know what you did wrong.

You finally snapped out your thoughts and looked around... The same stage and same faces just- Bruce was still not present.

Salty tears stream down your face as you couldn't hold it in anymore. Everybody just stared at you and before your teacher could even ask you aside you ran.

You didn't know where or what your destiny was, your leg just moved on their own.

And before you knew it something hard hit you and your light were cut short.

From that day you found out you died, unfortunately you didn't went straight to haven and instead forced to stay on Earth.

You watched as your family finally acknowledged you. Always visiting your grave and even crying when nobody were around.

You felt happy, they finnally loved you!

But all it took was your life for them to realise their fault.

This Suck So MUCH.

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snail-day · 3 months ago

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Thinking about babies again, what's new 😮‍💨

Gojo would be over the moon when you tell him you're pregnant (the little freak inside him would show everyone the little piss test and all) pressing excited kisses to your belly, looking up at you like you're the most incredible person in the world. He talks to the baby before they can even hear him, whispering jokes and telling stories. His favorite moments are when he can feel the little kicks, he gets a giddy smile everytime before pressing a kiss to a stretch mark or two.

But then he starts reading. About the risks. The complications. The fragile nature of it all. Suddenly, the strongest sorcerer alive feels powerless. His excitement turns into quiet anxiety, masked behind nervous jokes and late-night research.

The first time he holds them, his breath catches. They’re so small. So soft. So warm. Their tiny fingers curl instinctively around his, and he feels it, the shift in his entire being. A weight heavier than anything he’s ever carried, yet lighter than air.

Anxiety for the first time crawling over him. He’s scared. Terrified, even. What if he’s too rough? What if his touch, so used to battle, isn't meant for something so delicate? His hands tremble the first time you ask him to hold them on his own, a wobbly smile on his lips thats begging you to not hand the fragile creature over. But then, the baby lets out the tiniest yawn, their little face scrunching up before settling against his chest. And just like that, the fear melts away.

He learns. Slowly.

How to support their head, how to sway just right to stop the cries, how to tickle their tummy without worrying about breaking bones. He learns that they love the sound of his voice, giggling whenever he whispers nonsense. That their tiny grubby fingers grab at his blindfold, fascinated by the fabric, and that they light up whenever he enters the room.

Satoru is completely smitten. This small creature becoming the greatest gift. He kisses their chubby cheeks until they squeal, blows raspberries on their belly just to hear their laughter. Learns to appreciate all the slobber kisses that reach his cheeks. The teething phase where they bite on his jacket or his fingers. Carrying them everywhere, showing them off like they’re the most precious treasure in the world. Which, to him, they are. (Oh how he'd brag to Nanami if he managed to have a kid first).

When they fall asleep against his chest, soft breaths puffing against his collarbone, Satoru feels like his heart might just burst. They’re so tiny, so warm, so safe in his arms. He presses a few more kisses to the top of their fuzzy little head, inhaling that sweet, new-baby scent.

As he sits there, holding them close, he wonders - how bad can the twos and threes really be? Because right now, he’s excited for them. For the giggles and wobbly little steps, for the endless chatter, for their silly little thoughts and questions. He wants to share sweets, wants to sneak them treats behind your back with a conspiratorial wink. He wants to play at the park, wants to see them coming running with bugs, snails, and flowers in their hands as that tiny, delighted voice comes calling, "Daddy look!"

Gojo Satoru, the strongest, the untouchable, the undefeatable, completely, helplessly in love with his baby. Maybe being this strong has never felt as important as it does now, with this little life curled up against his heart.

#Rahhh I couldn't decide whether he'd be a girl dad or a boy dad #He'd just be a good dad #Think he'd somehow find a way to retire #Push all his work on Yuta or something #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #Slight angst? Mostly fluff #I just think he'd be really concerned about soft spots like what do you mean their skull isn't formed yet??#Gojo satoru x reader #Satoru x reader #Now I'm thinking about satosugu as dads and ahhh #They'd be hell for poor reader though when she's pregnant..

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naomi-nana · 8 months ago

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✎ᝰ. in the name of you .

in a world where everyone forgot their own religion, it's not wrong for luka to look at your ethereal self and immediately mistake you for a divine being, no?

featuring : luka

cw : female reader, implied stalking(for just a little), luka is obsessed with reader, luka isn't obsessed with hyuna in here for the sake of the story lol🙇‍♀️

a/n : i made a till one, and now i'll make a luka one! i was trying to make it seems as if luka is obsessed with reader, but i was having a hard time showing it, and ended up making it seems like luka had become a better person after meeting reader lmfaoo😭🙏

from the moment humans were taken away forcefully by those disgusting aliens—they all had forgotten about their creators. the one who gave them life, the one who gave them the will to continue living. each day felt like a stab to the heart, it feels as if someone had taken your lungs out of your body, before putting it back inside again.

it feels empty, like a void.

while all the kids run around anakt garden happily, although not genuinely, all luka could do was lean on one of the trees, while holding his knees close to his chest. what can he do? what does people expect him to do? he is a weak child, a child born with diseases, a child unable to live without support from others, including the tree he is currently leaning on. without anything to lean on, to hold on to, what was he supposed to do, weak and dependent as he was?

nothing. he could only weep himself to sleep every day, and it changes nothing. he has heard from the other kids that there is a powerful divine being that could help you in times of distress, how it's called god, how you're supposed to believe in it for it to help you, and he did. luka believed in god for a day, but nothing had changed. his everyday life had remained the same.

like waking up early, even though he doesn't know what time it is because of all the fake painted skies the aliens put in the garden, go eat breakfast with the other kids, with no one else sitting besides—"hey, is this seat occupied?" in the midst of the suffocating silence, a cheerful, almost unreal voice had reached his ears. he had first thought that it was just his imagination, his desperate feelings of wanting to be accompanied by someone. but it wasn't, as the voice echoed in his ears once again.

"uh, hello...? did i catch you on a bad day? i'm so sorry, i'll find another seat then." after what felt like a minute, he finally looked up at the person talking to him, only to notice that they're gone. he clenched his fist in regret. he should've looked up earlier, he should've answered whoever that was, but he didn't. such a shame, he thought to himself.

after half an hour, luka finished his breakfast and was getting ready to leave, before being stopped by someone whose voice was so familiar to him, it almost feels as if he is dreaming. "hey, um... i'm really, really sorry for bothering you earlier. as an apology, i got some bread for you!" that cheerful voice had struck something inside him, his eyes grew wide slightly, and his hand trembles at the sight of you. if he were to believe in the divine, he would immediately get down on his knees and pray for you, an angel.

your soft gaze, your skin that looks almost as delicate and fragile as a glass, and your small fingers offering him the bread you got for him. it took him almost a minute to react, and all that came out of his mouth is just a small gasp, so small that even you can't hear it. "don't tell anyone about this though, but i stole it from someone's unfinished breakfast! so take it, please?" you shoved the bread to his face, which made him raise his eyebrows. but he took it anyway.

he examines the bread carefully, to which you took great offense. "i won't poison you, so there's no need to look at it so intensely!" you pout at him. if you squint your eyes really hard, you can notice the faintest hint of smile on his face, and probably the first time he has ever smile so genuinely.

his everyday routine had consisted of the same, basic thing. but, now that you talked to him, it changed his life forever. it changed his views of the world, of everyone. some kids may have believed in the divine from the moment they were born, but luka just believed in the divine the moment she graced himself with her kindness.

from then on, whenever luka woke up and entered the garden, the first thing—or person he looks for, is you. whenever he went to the cafeteria, the first person he approached is you, and when luka went to his first performance on stage, the first person he looks for in the audience is you, holding a cream-colored lightstick.

whenever luka goes anywhere, the first person he looks for, thought of, and wishes to see first... is you.

his god, his universe.

and if he happens to notice some... imbecile, or other people trying to approach you, he won't hesitate to show them that no one can approach his angel without consequences. no one other than him.

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use,(with or without permission), do not reccommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

#nao.writes #alien stage #alien stage fanfic #alien stage vivinos #alien stage luka #alnst luka #luka alnst #luka x reader #alien stage luka x reader #alien stage x reader #alien stage x you #alnst #alnst x reader #hihihihi

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heliosunny · 5 months ago

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GRAVITY IN CHAINS

YANDERE!CALEB X READER

In the endless void of space, there was no one to hear you scream.

The ship was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made your ears ring, amplifying the soft hum of the engines and the uneven rhythm of your breathing. Caleb was in the cockpit, as always, quietly steering the ship through the vast nothingness. You’d spent the last hour pacing the narrow corridors, your heart pounding with an idea so desperate it almost felt reckless. You had to run. You didn’t know how yet, but the thought consumed you, a glimmer of hope in an otherwise hopeless existence.

But as you paced, fragments of Caleb’s voice replayed in your head—his confessions, his fears, and the memories he used to justify his obsession.

-Years Ago-

Caleb wasn’t always this man. He had been soft, fragile in ways he hid from everyone but you. He was the boy who held your hand too tightly when the storms rolled in, the one who always made sure you were walking on the safer side of the road. His protectiveness had always been there, but it was sweet and tender, not the overwhelming force it had become.

You remembered the day his world shifted.

You were barely teenagers, sitting in the small library of your hometown. Caleb was absorbed in a book about the stars, his eyes alight with curiosity. “One day, I’ll take you there.” he’d said, tracing the image of a nebula with his finger.

You’d laughed, teasing him about his wild dreams. “And what would we do in space, Caleb? Float around and count stars?”

He grinned, so carefree it almost hurt to remember. “No, I’ll keep you safe. Out there, no one can touch us. We’d have everything we need.”

But that dream was born from something deeper, darker. Caleb had lost his family young. His parents were killed in an accident that left him orphaned and alone. You were the only constant in his life, the one person he clung to when the world felt too cruel.

“Everyone leaves,” he’d whispered to you once, years later. You’d been sitting under the oak tree after a particularly bad fight he’d had with one of his guardians “but not you. You’d never leave me, right?”

You had promised, naive and sincere. You’d held his hand and swore you’d always be by his side. You didn’t know then what that promise would mean, how tightly he’d cling to it when the two of you finally left that little town behind.

-Now-

You stopped pacing and leaned against the wall, the weight of those memories pressing down on you. Caleb hadn’t changed overnight. It had been a slow unraveling, his love for you twisting into something suffocating. You thought back to the first time you’d realized how far he’d fallen.

It was months ago, on a crowded space station. You’d been talking to a merchant about supplies when Caleb appeared behind you, his presence almost tangible. He’d glared at the merchant with such intensity that the man had stammered out an apology for no reason at all.

Later, when you’d confronted Caleb about it, he’d brushed it off. “He was looking at you like he thought he had a chance” he’d said, his tone calm but his eyes cold.

It was then you realized how deep his obsession ran. He wasn’t protecting you anymore—he was controlling you.

And now, as you stood in the corridor of his ship, you knew you had to escape.

Your plan was simple, born from desperation. The ship had a small emergency shuttle, meant for short-range travel. It wasn’t much, but it was your only chance. You waited until Caleb disappeared into the maintenance bay, then quietly made your way to the shuttle.

Your hands trembled as you powered it on, the soft hum of the engine filling the small space. You were almost there, almost free—

The door hissed open behind you.

“Going somewhere?” Caleb’s voice was calm, but you could hear the crack in it, the pain he was barely suppressing.

You turned to face him, your heart hammering in your chest. He stood in the doorway, his face pale and drawn. And then you saw it—the blood staining his side, seeping through his shirt.

Your breath caught. “Caleb, what—what did you do?”

He swayed slightly, one hand clutching his side. “I had to stop you,” he said softly. “I couldn’t let you leave me. I’d rather…” He trailed off, his knees buckling as he collapsed to the floor.

You froze, torn between your instinct to run and the overwhelming guilt clawing at your chest. You hated him for what he’d become, but seeing him like this—broken, bleeding—it was too much.

“Dammit, Caleb,” you muttered, rushing to his side. You knelt beside him, pressing your hands against the wound to stop the bleeding. “Why would you do this? Why would you hurt yourself like this?”

His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at you with a faint smile. “Because I knew… you’d come back. You always do.”

Your throat tightened, tears blurring your vision. “You’re insane...” you whispered.

“Maybe,” he murmured, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “But I’d do it again if it meant keeping you with me.”

You stayed. You had no choice.

As you worked to bandage his wound, Caleb watched you with a quiet satisfaction, knowing he’d won. The escape shuttle sat unused, its engines silent, as you remained by his side—trapped by love, by guilt, by the weight of your shared past.

------

Caleb recovered faster than you thought he would. His determination to keep you close seemed to outweigh the severity of the wound, but it bought you time. While he rested and healed, you plotted your next escape.

This time, you wouldn’t make the same mistake. You wouldn’t let him catch you mid-flight, wouldn’t hesitate when the moment came. Caleb’s possessiveness had reached a level that terrified you, but you still believed deep down that some part of him could be saved.

But you couldn’t save him from here. You couldn’t save yourself, either, not while trapped under his watchful eye.

You waited until the ship entered hyperspace, the stars outside the viewport stretching into brilliant streaks of light. Caleb had left the cockpit, likely to rest in his quarters, trusting that you wouldn’t try to run again.

But you would.

The escape pod was your only hope. It wasn’t equipped for long distances, but there were relay beacons in hyperspace that could pick up distress signals. If you could launch and activate the beacon before Caleb noticed, someone might find you.

Your heart raced as you crept through the corridors, the sound of your own breathing deafening in the otherwise silent ship. Reaching the pod, you activated the pre-launch sequence as quietly as you could. The soft hum of the systems coming online sent a rush of hope through you.

This time, you wouldn’t fail.

The pod door hissed open, and you stepped inside, your fingers hovering over the control panel to seal it. Just as you were about to press the button, the air behind you seemed to shift, a faint ripple you couldn’t quite explain.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

You spun around, your stomach plummeting as you saw Caleb standing in the corridor, his face a mask of quiet fury and something else—disappointment.

“I told you,” he continued, stepping closer, his tone steady but cold, “I can’t let you leave.”

Your breath hitched as you backed into the pod, your hand hovering over the emergency launch switch. “Stay back, Caleb!” you warned, though your voice wavered.

He didn’t stop. “You think I’m doing this to hurt you?” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the raw emotion beneath. “Everything I’ve done...it’s to keep you safe. Out there, you’d be lost. Alone. Do you really think anyone else cares about you like I do?”

“I don’t care!” you snapped, tears streaming down your face. “I’d rather take my chances out there than spend another second as your prisoner!”

His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. “Prisoner? Is that what you think you are?” He took another step forward, and suddenly the air around him seemed to thrum with energy, an invisible force pressing against your chest.

“No,” you whispered, realization dawning. “Caleb, don’t-”

But it was too late.

He’d never used his evol on you before, always insisting that he didn’t need to. But now, the invisible pressure around you grew stronger, pinning you against the wall of the escape pod.

“I didn’t want to do this...” he said, his voice trembling. “I wanted you to stay because you wanted to. But you’re not giving me a choice.”

The pressure intensified, your limbs frozen as though gravity itself had turned against you. Your breath came in shallow gasps as Caleb stepped into the pod, his hand reaching out to gently touch your face.

“I told myself I’d never use this on you,” he said softly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

“Caleb...” you choked out, your voice barely audible. “Please… don’t do this.”

He ignored your plea, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheek. “I’ll make you understand” he whispered. “I’ll show you that everything I’ve done has been for you.”

You felt the energy shift again, a wave of warmth washing over you. It wasn’t painful, but it was invasive, creeping into your mind like tendrils of smoke. Images flooded your thoughts, memories of the two of you together, moments of happiness twisted and magnified until they felt overwhelming.

It was him. He was pushing these feelings into you, amplifying your love for him, drowning out your fear and anger.

“No” you gasped, struggling against the invisible force holding you. “Stop it, Caleb. This isn’t real!”

“But it is,” he said, his voice breaking. “This is how it’s supposed to be. Just you and me. No fear, no doubt. Only love.”

When the pressure finally eased, you collapsed to the floor of the pod, trembling and weak. Caleb knelt beside you, his arms wrapping around you as though to shield you from the universe itself.

“It’s okay” he murmured, rocking you gently. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

You didn’t fight him. You couldn’t. The memories and emotions he’d forced into your mind left you too disoriented to resist. Somewhere deep inside, the part of you that still wanted freedom screamed in defiance, but it was a distant echo, drowned out by the overwhelming sense of surrender.

As Caleb carried you back to the main cabin, you realized with a hollow ache that you’d lost. He wouldn’t let you go, and now, you weren’t sure if you even had the strength to try again.

Caleb pressed a kiss to your forehead as he laid you down on the bed, his voice soft and full of devotion. “Rest now, my love. I’ll take care of everything.”

And as the ship continued its journey through the endless void, you closed your eyes, the weight of his love binding you tighter than any chain ever could.

-----

Caleb is backkkk

And Jan 23rd is my birthday so..✨ have fun reading❤️

#yandere x reader #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x you #caleb #yandere #yandere love and deepspace #love and deepspace

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horrorhot-line · 7 months ago

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serendipity

(n.) the occurrence and development of events by chance, in a happy or beneficial way.

➵ pairing: saiki kusuo / immune! reader

➵ word count: 16k

➵ genre: of first meetings and crack

➵ warnings: none

➵ summary: s1 ep 1 & 2. on your first day at pk academy, you witness saiki use pyrokinesis. from that moment forward, you become hell-bent on avoiding him at all costs. it’s easier said than done, especially after you find yourself unintentionally foiling chiyo yumehara’s plans to get close to him.

➵ masterlist (requests are open)

before you read:

‘saiki telepathically communicating with reader.’

‘reader thinking or interacting with saiki through thoughts.’

“saiki talking without moving his mouth.”

“saiki talking using his mouth.”

if you use the above format of speech in your fanfic, please credit as I was the first to come with it, thank you <3

author's notes: this post is a rewrite from my friends to lovers series that I first posted back in 2020, the relaunch you've been waiting for is finally here! it's still pretty much the same with a few changes here and there, hope you all enjoy <3

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Ever since you could remember, the way the world worked didn't make sense. Your fragile child brain, not yet fully developed, was incapable of understanding that the very universe was shifting before you, at the hands of certain psychic no less.

You were 4 when you realised that other's wounds would go away quickly. Scrapes, bumps, cuts, you name it, they would heal almost instantaneously. You didn't possess such an ability, it seemed. All the doctors were curious as to why you would come to the hospital with bruises and wounds since it was unusual that, unlike everyone else, your injuries wouldn't heal after a day. Looking at the MRIs and Ex-rays on the desk as the adults talked, you pondered the same thing.

You chalked it up to you being weaker than others, despite the lingering at the back of your mind that something was terribly wrong. Then again, it was better to stay quiet than address the questions from said adults, questions you didn’t yet have concrete answers to.

You were 5 when you started sprouting neon green hair at the roots, until a few weeks later— the tone began returning to its natural colour. You grew out the ugly patch of lime until you could chop it off. The worst of it was the fact that no one said anything about changing hair colour practically overnight. It didn't sit right with you. Out of all the classmates in your elementary school, you were the only one with what others considered as abnormal coloured hair— and to top it off, you were sure you were the normal one.

That wasn't all that seemed to be amiss. Individuals could knock others unconscious with just a chop to the neck, clothes could be ripped off while the crotch remained covered, and tiny people could be incredibly strong. None of these applied to you; you couldn't do any of it— the reason still a mystery.

Despite being so young, how was it possible for you to notice these things? Well, it was as simple as— every time it felt like a new phenomenon would occur, a splitting headache would hit you. As a child, your body was unable to handle the strain of whatever was happening with the world, and you would develop a fever as a result. It would leave you bedridden for a week, but as you grew, you found it became easier to handle.

You would have ignored all the weird things happening around you— wouldn't have found it hard not to pay any attention to the unusual phenomena. However, as you aged, it became harder to brush under the rug.

You lived life trying your best not to think of the strange occurrences until your 2nd year of high school. A week before you were about to start afresh as a 3rd year, your family asked if you were excited for your second year at school. You hadn't thought much of it, assuming that they had gotten confused. You didn't bother correcting them and continued with your life as usual.

That was until you resumed classes, only to discover that you were still in your second year of high school.

You would have disputed it with the teachers because you were sure you passed the year with flying colours, but you weren't the only one. Your entire class, no— the whole year group itself, were repeating their year again. Not to mention, there were no new first years. That was when you decided things weren't okay. The world was shifting, bending in impossible ways, defying the laws of nature itself, and you were the only one who noticed.

What was more unfortunate was the fact that you couldn't tell anyone. Couldn't breathe a word of your troubles to your friends, fear of word getting around forcing your lips shut. Worst-case scenario— you would be ostracised by your classmates, effectively sentencing yourself to social death and becoming the school's pariah or sent to a mental institute. No one saw the change or acknowledged the difference— you were alone in your findings, so you kept quiet.

Then, answers came to you in the summer holidays after the repeat of your first year, in the form of an old lady at a stall offering tarot card readings. Personally, you didn't believe in the supernatural or magicians and the like. Still, she was persistent, a true salesman at heart, so to speak. Convinced that you were getting scammed, you tried to refuse, but she had already pulled you into the chair behind her stall.

That was how you found out you were immune when it came to the supernatural. The old lady ignored your protests of how you had no money and tried to see into your future, to reveal to you what lay ahead of you, only for her to tell you she couldn't.

After heavy silence and serious contemplation on her side, followed by a barrage of questions— she theorised that you were blocking her from using her abilities on you. The old woman called it 'natural immunity and the ability to nullify someone's powers'. You weren't impressed, but it did feel like her words held some truth as you caught sight of the bright yellow hair under her hood.

That was when you connected the dots since it explained why you were the only one who noticed the changes in the world. You were immune to the phenomenon going on around you. That caused you to wonder who on earth had been messing with the timeline and warping everyone's perception of the world. You weren’t sure you were comfortable with knowing there was a human alive capable of that.

You had asked the old lady if someone could turn back time on a global scale since that seemed to be the only explanation for the year repeating itself. She had brushed it off, laughing at the thought. She had said that if it were possible, it would have to be someone with unimaginable power. The old woman was convinced no human on earth could possess the ability to pull a stunt like that off, muttering something about how 'everyone would have noticed'.

You had left the conversation at that, giving up on trying to make her understand. If you were being honest, you were more curious to learn about your own talents. The old lady was the one who taught you how to manually turn off your immunity when others used their powers on you. "Visualise a broken string between you and me. Then, try to will it to connect."

Closing your eyes, you followed the shady lady's instructions and found that it took an immense amount of your energy to do so. You ended up with a migraine but discovered that she could use her fortune-telling powers on you after the fact.

The old lady had been pleased with the results as she put her cards away, telling you she had just confirmed a sneaking suspicion she had about you. The two of you realised that you could, in fact, turn off your ability (if you could even call it that) when you put enough effort into it.

After your conversation with her, you felt like at least one of your questions had been answered somewhat, but you refused to pay up after she made grabby hands at you. You simply turned on your heels and left, telling her if she was that good at reading the future like she claimed— she would have known you forgot your wallet at home. She had thrown a fit as you walked off, and you had felt bad somewhat, but it's not like you ever wanted the reading to begin with.

You wondered if you could stop your immunity to the weird phenomena around you; ignorance was bliss after all— maybe then you wouldn't be burdened with the knowledge that someone was trying to play some sort of messed up game of chess with the timeline. Then again— what was the point in pondering when you knew you weren't going to try and be the main character and solve the mystery? You'd read enough fanfic to know where that would lead. Major character death with spoilers across the tags; luckily, you had no interest in turning the genre into horror.

The time on earth turned back three times, or that's what you concluded. You weren't sure about the exact number because you stopped counting after the second time you repeated your year. Repeating the year meant that days blended into each other, and you stopped trying to keep track and make sense of it all.

After redoing the academic year three times in total— you assumed, you finally decided enough was enough. You couldn't handle spending another second in the same classroom, with the same people, the same teachers and the same lessons. It drove you insane, so you begged your family to let you transfer. Trying to convince them took a long time, but they finally gave in to your request.

A month before your second year, again, your family moved to a new neighbourhood. You were enrolled at PK Academy, which meant you would start the upcoming school year.

The downside? Free-mixing. The all-girls school was great since there was no dating drama, and mostly everyone in your year just put their head down to study. The horror stories you had heard so far of boys sneaking cameras into the girl's bathroom in other institutions made it hard to see the upside, considering the boys of today might end up being the perverts of tomorrow. Then again, you didn't have a choice— after all that begging, even if you changed your mind, your application form for your new school and dismissal from your old school meant you had to go.

You didn't mind that you had to commute to the school you currently went to before the holidays hit, satisfied that instead of staring up at the ceiling and still unintentionally wondering 'Who done it', you were worried about getting up in time in the morning.

You held onto the fuzzy feeling in your stomach,

see— even your gut was telling you this was one of your finer decisions, one you wouldn't come to regret.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Finding your way to your new high school wasn't too hard when you had the curse and blessing that was your phone. When the direction on your maps changed for the 6th time, telling you to go back the way you came— you gave up, instead opting to tail a group of girls who wore the uniform that matched yours in hopes of not getting lost and finding potential shortcuts, deciding that they would know the way since they went to the same school.

You made it to PK Academy with little to no trouble, using your hands to smooth your shirt down and make yourself look more presentable before you stepped past the gate. Students walked into the school building, chatting amongst themselves. You followed suit, and you wouldn't deny the small skip to your step as excitement bubbled in your veins.

All was good— until it wasn't.

As soon as you stepped past the gate after successfully passing uniform inspection, which you gave yourself a mental pat on the back for, a wave of dizziness hit you, vision fuzzing as you caught sight of something pink out the corner of your eye. You felt nauseous, finding it hard to stay upright. You staggered, soon falling to your knees.

It was all going so well, too...

The rough granite coating the ground scraped your palms, but the searing pain you felt in your head stopped you from processing it. It was like someone had pressed a hot iron to your skull, like gravity was working against you to pin you to the ground— or was gravity working rather too effectively? It didn't matter; now was not the time to be thinking about that!

You heard a teacher shout, the one in a gym tracksuit who had been at the front gates with a ruler in hand, making sure students weren't dressed like delinquents. Your vision swam as you tried to look up at the teacher who seemed to be talking to you. Ringing filled your ears, and you winced at the sound. What on earth was happening to you?

You were panting, finding it hard to hear what the teacher was asking of you. The red of his tracksuit hurt your eyes. "—dent! Can... —walk?" Trying to understand what he was saying became increasingly difficult as you squinted your eyes at him.

You tried to focus on his voice, succeeding after putting in enough effort. "Student! Can you walk?!" You shook your head, no— did it look like you could?! You clutched the strap of your school bag as tightly as you could to try and ground yourself.

You furrowed your eyebrows as another wave of nausea hit you, although not as strong as the last. You felt the need to spill the breakfast you had eaten that morning, all over the floor and maybe some on the teacher's pristine tracksuit. All you could think about was how to ease the pain. Would you have to wait it out, or would you pass out before then? You wanted to curl up on the floor, debating it for a hot minute as you started losing strength in your arm.

You didn't get the chance to, feeling the ground shift beneath you as you were picked up. In no time, you were rushed to what you assumed was the nurse's office. The teacher must have decided to escort you to a somewhat safer place, a gesture you probably should have thanked him for. The only problem was— the pain appeared to worsen the deeper you entered the school building. He should have left you outside.

"Wait here. I'll go find the nurse," The teacher who had escorted you, placed you down on a bed before fetching an ice pack from the freezer. Bold of him to assume you were in any condition to move— but it's not like you were about to say that out loud. "Take this for now." He put the ice pack against your forehead, his arm dropping back to his side when you brought your hand up to hold it.

With that, he took off down the hallway. You would have thanked the teacher for all his help if not for the daze you were in. At least the ringing in your ears had subsided. The headache, however, had become impossible to ignore. You were grateful for the ice pack; its cold helped dull the migraine somewhat.

Great— first day at your new school and you managed to mess it up. You were no doubt missing out on the entrance ceremony— the principal's speech— fantastic! As if things couldn't get better! What had caused you to nearly faint, to begin with? The only time you had felt like this was when weird phenomena would occur, when the way the world worked changed, and you were the only one left to notice. Was there some sort of supernatural activity going on in this school that had caused such a severe reaction in you?

You decided you would try to figure it out later; you were in no shape to play Sherlock. First, you had to deal with the fatigue and nausea. For now, you'd have to focus on getting better— if your condition didn't improve, you'd go home. With a rough plan in mind, at least you had a bit of mental clarity.

Breathing through your nose, you turned to your side to ease the pain you were feeling. You hadn't realised until then that the curtain next to the bed you were on had been pulled, blocking the sight of the door that led to the room. You assumed the teacher had done that, probably to give you some privacy.

Exhaling deeply, you closed your eyes, trying to relax. That proved challenging to do when the peace was disrupted, not even seconds later. You heard a voice coming from afar and ignored it, trying your best to overcome the feeling of nausea that hit you again. Was your condition worsening?

"Huh, is the nurse dead too? That's weird... Guess I'll have to do mouth-to-mouth on you, myself." If you had been in your right mind, you would have laughed, but whoever was speaking just managed to add to your frustrations instead. You furrowed your eyebrows, your eyes still closed. Couldn't these strangers be more considerate so as to not disturb someone who was trying to rest?! Then again, they probably didn't know you were there, so you'd give them the benefit of the doubt.

Your eyes snapped open when you felt the bed shake. Your first thought was earthquake until you saw the curtain move as if someone was right next to it on the other side. If you had to guess, someone had probably slammed into it. You registered the sound of an audible grunt, assuming it was most likely from the stranger speaking before, though you couldn't be sure with the curtain still drawn. Had they fallen, or had someone pushed them?

The noise of water running filled the room. "I don't need mouth-to-mouth, you stupid idiot!" Whoever spoke started to gargle their mouth straight after. You clenched your jaw. Whoever these people were, they were aggravating your headache— and by extension, you "You're better? Well, that's nice to see." Why were they still talking?!

Some luck you had— maybe staying at the nurse's office wasn't a good idea after all. In that moment you wished you had just curled up near the school entrance until an ambulance came to your rescue. "Of course, I'm better! I was faking! Was it worth it, though? Since I got kissed by you!" Was this some backward BL you had been dragged into? You were sure you’d read enough fanfiction to know where this was going... If these people had nothing better to do, you wondered why they couldn't just leave.

You adjusted the ice pack on your head, biting your cheek to stop yourself from getting annoyed further. It didn't work— the mouth gargling continued. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I'm sad too... You were my first kiss." Whoever he was, he whispered the last part as if he was bashful. In any case, you weren't entirely sure that was the best way to go about consoling someone.

You weren't the type to judge over sexual preferences, but why couldn’t they just elope and get married already? Couldn’t they choose a different room to fall over each other and leave you to rest? You rolled your eyes as you gazed up at the ceiling, wondering when they would stop talking and go back to their classes. "Now, everyone's gonna think Nendou and I are in love..."

You nearly snorted at the comment, but not because you found it funny. Typical high school boys with their typical shenanigans. You wished you had stayed home— this was not worth it. No longer did you want to be subjected to listening to either of them go on. You heard someone shuffle angrily across the room. "Hey, you better not tell anyone my fainting spell was a fake! ...Don't tell anyone!"

You decided that enough was enough. To hell with your first day at a new school and good first impressions. You were either going to get those two to leave— or leave yourself and just go home. Whichever was easier in your condition. You sat up and pulled back the curtain roughly, only to realise that there were three people in the room, not two. That's weird; you swore only the two were talking amongst themselves.

The room fell silent as all three boys looked at you in surprise. The one you assumed had slammed into the bed you were resting on, who was still on the floor, had... unique hair. Fashion choice? His mohawk was dyed blonde, while the rest of his hair was weirdly shaved. One of them had referred to him as 'Nendou', that you were sure of.

On closer inspection, you realised he had a scar that ran down his left eye and the most defined butt-chin you had ever seen. It hurt your eyes just to look at him— that's how unpleasant his face was. He resembled a delinquent, but his mannerisms said otherwise. The one you assumed had been faking his sick had green hair and fish-like lips. Both of them were... unsightly, to say the least, and you swore just witnessing them was making you feel even worse.

Your eyes shifted to the one who hadn't talked once the entire time, and the first thing you noticed was his pink hair. Well, that was a new shade of colour you had yet to see. He wore green glasses and antennas on his head. He was the only one who looked marginally attractive, a thought you shoved down the minute you registered it. You wondered how he had managed to get past uniform inspection.

The boy with pink hair was the one who looked the most shocked to see you, his face paling at the sight of you kneeling on the nurse's bed. It was because he hadn't been able to detect you with his powers, a fact still unbeknownst to you.

They continued to stare at you, and you opened your mouth to speak, still holding your icepack against your forehead. "Can you please keep it down? I'm trying to rest—" You didn't get a chance to finish what you were saying, falling silent as you noticed the teacher who rescued you from before standing at the entrance of the nurse's office with a hand on the wall. Said wall cracked as his hold tightened around it, the veins on his forehead popping out in anger.

"I heard it all!" You watched the concrete of the wall around his palm crumble slightly as he shouted, debris falling to the floor. "Matsuzaki!" The green-haired boy spoke first, shocked to see the teacher standing at the door. At least you knew the name of your saviour. "So your fainting was a con job, huh?" The teacher truly was a force to be reckoned with; he looked scary as he— wait, was he growing in size? He nearly towered over the green-haired boy in front of him.

"That's not what happened, sir! It's his fault. He forced me to collapse so he could skip out on the principal's speech, and my sickness is actually a ruse!" The green-haired boy pointed a finger at Nendou before bursting into tears as he cried into his arm. Matsuzaki put a hand on the boy's shoulder to console him before he furiously turned to Nendou.

You watched the scene unfold with a blank face. You should've just pretended to be asleep— maybe then you wouldn't have been subjected to witness such an exchange take place. Was it too late to get back into the bed and pull the covers over yourself? Yes, yes it was.

"Nendou, is that all true?!" So, you were right, that was his name! At least your observation skills weren't failing short because of the migraine. It wasn't his fault, but the green-haired boy had done a pretty good job at acting like it was. He had expertly made up lies to avoid getting into trouble, letting Nendou take the fall for him instead.

Nendou didn't even get a chance to retaliate as Matsuzaki took notice of the pink-haired boy to his right. "Huh? Saiki, what are you doing here?" Come to think of it, you found it weird that the guy had yet to say a word. Was he mute? So, Saiki was his name. The one with antennas only acknowledged Matsuzaki but didn't open his mouth to speak.

Of course, Saiki did reply, but he did so telepathically. Your immunity to the supernatural, without you knowing it, blocked out his ability, which is why you thought he hadn't said anything, even though he had been talking to the others since the moment he had entered the nurse's office.

"Takahashi, is he also a part of this?" Matsuzaki asked the green-haired boy, who you now knew to call Takahashi. Matsuzaki pointed a finger at Saiki, looking at fish lips with an expectant gaze. Takahashi stopped crying abruptly, lowering his arm slightly as he opened his mouth to answer. "Who? Yeah, sure." How was the teacher believing these lies?! You had to question his credibility. You watched Saiki's expression darken at the accusation. This whole situation was getting more and more absurd.

"That's it! I want you both in my office!" How had the teacher, of all people, not realised that Takahashi was faking this entire thing and making up elaborate lies to avoid getting into trouble? And why was the whole exchange going so fast?

At this rate, you were going to get whiplash with how quickly you were looking between the four. At least your headache had died down slightly, just enough for you to think clearly. So long as you didn't get dragged into this whole mess, you'd be just fine. Hah, you wanted to leave.

"Hold on a sec, teach. His feigning is real. Didn't you hear him just say it? Root sickness." Nendou said it so ominously— you nearly believed him. That lasted for a second until you gazed up at the boy in sheer disbelief. Was it possible to be this idiotic? How could someone even be capable of mistaking ruse for roots?

You weren't the only one who thought so, as the other three in the room looked at Nendou in shock and awe. You were sure they felt the same— Nendou was... slow, to say the least. "What? Isn't that right?" Nendou was confident he was correct and— were those stars dancing around him... and, why was he drooling? You would laugh, but you were still trying to process whatever just took place.

"What in the holy heck? What's root sickness— root sickness is a deadly virus that infects the victim through the follicles. Ohh, that one." Halfway through Matsuzaki trying to understand why Nendou brought up such an illness, he started to think out loud before coming to the conclusion that Nendou was right.

Ah.

This whole situation was outrageous! How had you managed to witness such incompetency from a teacher? At least he was reliable in the sense that he cared. You couldn't think too badly of Matsuzaki as he was the one who had gone through the trouble of bringing you to the nurse's office when you fell. He was still as gullible as they come, though.

"Let's take your temperature to see if you have a fever. That's what my mom does for me." Could you leave yet? No one would say anything if you just walked out, right? You weren't too keen on taking a risk, so you decided to stay put for the time being and hope your existence would be background noise. "Are you a new student?" You spoke too soon, Matsuzaki had noticed you.

You stood up from your seat on the bed, staggering slightly as you felt black spots cloud your vision. Maybe getting up abruptly wasn't a good idea. You sighed, wondering what had become of your luck, "Yes, I'm new. This is my first day here." Matsuzaki took note of your confirmation, nodding to himself as he put a hand to his chin. "Do you have root sickness too?"

Not this root sickness talk again— of course you didn't because a disease like that didn't exist. There was no known medical condition dubbed 'root sickness', to begin with. Good luck convincing Matsuzaki of that fact, though. You shook your head, no. "I have a headache, not a fever. I'll be fine if I get some rest." Were you the only one who saw reason in this room? Probably. You did know one thing, and that was that you weren't going to be fooled into believing that you had a made-up illness; you just felt nauseous.

Though the feeling had dimmed, you still wanted to go home to recover. "Is it alright if I take sick leave today? I don't think I'm well enough to stay here." Matsuzaki agreed, muttering how he'd let your homeroom teacher know since he'd already seen you fall like a sack of potatoes near the school's front gates. You exhaled in relief at that, deciding then that you liked this teacher; after all— he was cool.

Matsuzaki then proceeded to get a thermometer from one of the drawers in the room to check Takahashi's temperature. All the while, the boy in question sat at a bench in the corner of the room with one sleeve of his uniform jacket taken off. He was sweating profusely, no doubt because he had been faking this entire time and was about to be caught. Serves him right, you thought to yourself, Takahashi had dug his own grave. Was now a good time to ask for directions?

"98.2 Celcius... Go call an ambulance now!" You quickly turned on your feet to look at Matsuzaki. How was that possible?! That was 40 Celcius too high! The average body temperature for a human was 37! You wondered if Takahashi really did have root sickness. You quickly got rid of the thought, that wasn't possible. Maybe he just had a high fever? No, that didn't make sense either. You let the thought go when you felt your headache return with vengeance.

The ambulance came in record time, with EMTs carrying Takahashi out on a gurney to be loaded into the van with Nendou shouting words of encouragement after him. You watched from the window in the nurse's office, shaking your head. Today had been a disaster. You decided you had had enough of this school for now, turning on your heel so you could head home.

The only other person in the room besides you was Saiki. Surely, he would know the way out of this place, right? You weren't familiar with the layout and didn't feel like getting lost trying to find the main entrance. There was no harm in asking, so why not?

"Do you know how I can get out of here? I'm not sure how since I'm new." Saiki turned to you, his blank face, which was devoid of all emotion, making it hard to read him. This entire time not once had you seen a significant change in his expression. Was he even human?

Silence followed, and the man had the nerve to raise an eyebrow at you. You mirrored his expression, leaning your head forward ever so slightly, expecting an answer. "Hello? Do you know where the main entrance is?" You didn't miss the look of shock that crossed his face. Had Saiki actually been mute like you first assumed? Oh no, how insensitive of you!

Before you could splutter out an apology, he opened his mouth to speak. "First stairs to your left. If you take them all the way down to the ground floor, you'll reach the shoe lockers. That's the way out." You weren't sure what you expected him to sound like, but it certainly wasn't that. Honey— that was the only word that came to mind when you thought of how to describe it. Rich, and smooth, not too deep, but very appealing. You decided you liked the sound of his voice, if nothing else.

You nodded your head, thanking him before you made your move to leave the room. It hadn't even been an hour since you had come to PK Academy, and still, everything had gone downhill the moment you stepped through those blasted gates. You rubbed at your forehead in mild frustration, already missing the icepack you had left in the nurse's office.

Nendou passed you in the hall, moving to walk into the room you had just emerged from. You turned, curious as to why he was going back and that was your downfall. You peeked into the room, and that's when you saw it. Past Nendou's form, which was slightly obstructing your vision, stood Saiki with a thermometer in hand. The same one Matsuzaki had used on Takahashi.

Out of nowhere, it caught on fire in Saiki's palm, and the guy had the nerve to casually crush it in his hand as if the heat didn't affect him. Your body moved before you could think, and you turned to hide. The wall next to the door to the office was enough to keep you from being spotted.

You took note of your heart speeding up in your chest, feeling as though you had seen something you shouldn't have. It hadn't been an illusion. What you had witnessed was not as your imagination. Saiki had set the thermometer on fire with his mind! There was no other explanation. He could use pyrokinesis, the ability to manipulate heat.

This whole situation and the events that took place had set you on edge. Normally, you would have let curiosity get the better of you, which would have led you to confront Saiki about what you had seen, but this time it was different— as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, and you decided this time satisfaction might not be enough to bring it back. Though you weren't a stranger to the supernatural, you had no interest in becoming 'buddy-buddy' with Saiki or even talking to him in the future, for that matter.

You were already surrounded by strange occurrences, and adding to the list of people you knew who could do things others couldn't, didn't sound appealing at all. Better to just leave it. The last thing you wanted was to get involved with someone like him.

Chances were, you wouldn't run into Saiki. The school was big, and there was no way you would be so unlucky as to end up in the same class as him. With that, you began to walk, following the directions you had received earlier so you could get to the main entrance of the school building.

That was how your first meeting with Saiki Kusuo had gone.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

You had to have the worst luck on earth— surely, you did something to throw your karma out of balance because there was no other way of explaining your predicament. Fate, maybe? Everything happens for a reason, after all. Once you attended your classes for the first time, you discovered you were, in fact, in the same class as the pyrokinetic boy from the day before.

You sighed as you laid down on your bed, resting your eyes as you willed yourself to change out of your uniform. You took the time to think back to the events of the past few days.

Your first official day at PK Academy had been just as eventful as the day you went home early. When you entered the class, the first person who caught your attention was the pink-haired boy with antennas, Saiki.

You had frozen mid-step as soon as you realised you were in the same class as him. What had snapped you out of your thoughts was the home-room teacher announcing that you were the new transfer student. After introducing yourself, you took a seat, coincidentally ending up right behind the person you wanted to avoid most.

The school day went on, and you tried to make the best of your situation. Just because you were in the same class didn’t mean you would interact with each other. Saiki didn’t look like the talkative type either. The rest of the morning was spent trying to calm your nerves.

It was reasonably quiet until the first break.

As soon as the teacher left, you pulled out your phone and plugged in your earphones to tune the world out. You had ignored everyone around you, grateful for the fact that no one had come to bother your peace. Quietly sitting at your desk, you decided to do homework because you had time and knew you wouldn’t do it when you got home.

That was until the class started discussing a snake on the loose after it escaped the zoo, and you overheard. Shame on you for not increasing the volume from the start. A student with light blue hair spoke up immediately, claiming that an evil organisation called 'Dark Reunion’ was behind it.

Ah, you had heard of this before, an awful condition where an individual was convinced they had otherwordly powers, like a girl from your last school who claimed she saw ghosts. Then again, who were you to judge when you were probably every bit as delusional as he was? Was it bad that you thought you could take that snake down with ease? Yes, yes, it was.

You couldn’t bring yourself to listen in closely as he went on with his fantasies. Situations like that usually didn’t end well— and you had been correct. Your classmates had made fun of the strange boy until he left the room when they found out the snake was ordinary and a bunch of 4-year-olds had killed it, his voice trembling as he declared that he had tried to warn them. Your guess was that he was going to the bathroom to cry. Wow, high school kids were ruthless.

Saiki left shortly after, to your relief, and that was when all hell broke loose. The class broke out into screams. When you realised it was over a snake that had somehow gotten into the room, you quickly jumped on top of your desk, accidentally pushing off your books and pens in your haste.

The class collectively lost their minds. The students had exclaimed that someone should get the teacher, but no one moved to do so as the snake blocked the door. Nendou, the one from the nurse’s office who was also in your class, appeared out of nowhere and started to make fun of everyone for being scared. You weren’t concerned with his smack talk, too busy staring at his crotch and not for the conventional reason. The snake had latched itself onto Nendou’s family jewels. Poor guy.

Long story short, Nendou got bitten in the balls by the reptile and proceeded to pass out on the floor. The light blue-haired boy from before with the 'Chuunibyu Complex’ returned and tried to protect the class from the snake, willingly putting himself in danger when the snake launched itself at a girl whose face you probably wouldn’t remember in a week. What a sweetheart— with that, you sent Kaidou your blessings, convinced that he was going to meet his end.

Your first official day, and there was already gonna be a death. What had you done to ask for this? Then it happened, he yelled 'Judgement Knights of Thunder!’ and then there was light— well, lightning. It appeared mysteriously, and music seemingly started playing out of nowhere. 'JUDGMENT KNIGHTS OF— JUDGMENT KNIGHTS OF THUNDER!’

For a second, you had wondered if the author was breaking the fourth wall to talk to you. Had your time finally come? Had the day arrived when a divine power would smite you off this mortal coil? That didn’t seem to be the case— no, it was just Kaidou’s theme song playing.

Even after coming home from school, you had yet to get the tune out of your head. What could you say? The song was catchy.

You had figured that Kaidou also had otherwordly abilities. That meant he had been telling the truth when he claimed to have special powers. A pyrokinetic user and a guy who could control lightning, both of them were in your class. What were the chances?

That wasn’t the only thing you had observed. When you went to town to pick up new stationery, you spotted Saiki. It was a mere coincidence that he and you were in the same place, at the same time, seemingly heading in the same direction.

You had silently walked behind him, praying to yourself that he wouldn’t turn around and notice you. You hadn’t actively been trying to follow him, so why did you feel like you were some type of stalker?

What snapped you out of your thoughts was a girl with navy blue hair crossing the street to say hi to the man before you. Were they familiar with each other? Mid-squint, you realised that the girl was also a classmate of yours.

Kokori was it? Koko— Ah, yes, Kokomi Teruhashi. She was quite popular among the boys in your school for her beauty. Personally, you had thought it was overrated. Perfect was boring. Not to mention, you got the feeling that she was somewhat narcissistic.

Having people compliment her and practically drool all over her would surely get to her head, right? Then you shoved the thought down automatically because it was merely conjecture, and who were you to judge? Assumptions were assumptions and just that at the end of the day. You did wonder for a moment if your immunity worked against her beauty, too.

You stopped when Saiki did, as Teruhashi moved to stand in front of him to greet him, and you went into full panic mode. You hadn’t been keen on walking past him, so you had stayed in place. Critical thinking saved you, and you pulled out your phone to make it look like you were checking something, all the while dying of embarrassment because of how awkward you probably looked.

When you imagined yourself from a bird's eye view, just standing there, you prayed a natural disaster would come and save you from this humiliation. What followed shocked you, all thoughts of mortification thrown out the window at what took place. Out of your peripherals, Saiki had bowed before continuing to walk.

You had been just as baffled as Teruhashi, the girl in question still frozen in place. Why did he avoid her? You couldn’t help but wonder. Any other boy would have melted at the sight of her. Was he gay? Was he in love with someone else? You continued walking when Saiki started to move again, watching as Teruhashi chased after him. It got to the point where he stopped acknowledging her in general.

You wished you could turn around and walk the other way, but you had to get home! Why today of all days? Your life was never this eventful before. All you could do was watch on as Teruhashi called after him, to no avail. She had resorted to a different method after that, reaching out to grab him forcefully, only for Saiki to dodge her expertly every time. Did he have eyes at the back of his head or something? You deserved a pat on the back for not laughing once during the whole exchange.

When Saiki entered the crowd, Teruhashi tried to follow him. It proved to be fruitless, as he seemingly disappeared. That wiped the grin off your face, and you stopped dead in your tracks.

Saiki had teleported; there was no doubt about it. Your eyes were on him, and then he vanished. It was no trick of the light, you knew for sure as you watched the debris settle from where Saiki had just been moments earlier. That had sent you down a spiral. You had known then that he had more than one power. He didn’t just have the ability of Pyrokeneiss; he could also teleport. Just how powerful was he?

You kept an eye out for Saiki after that, quietly observing him to see if he had any other abilities.

When the boys were playing dodgeball in P.E., you were in Home Ec, trying to make cupcakes. You had used the better half of the lesson watching Saiki play, nearly burning what you had been baking because of your preoccupied thoughts. After being lectured, you spent the rest of the lesson in the back, ducking to escape the glares sent your way by the teacher.

What had caught your eye was him throwing a ball lightly at the dodgeball cart, only for the whole thing to be destroyed entirely. Your jaw had practically dropped to the floor at the sight, cupcakes all but forgotten in the oven 5 minutes too long as you gawked at his retreating form. If you hadn’t been watching Saiki, you would have assumed it was a meteor that had hit it. He had superhuman strength, too?

It also struck you as odd that anytime the teacher called on him to answer, he would stay silent. Then, the teacher would tell Saiki that he was correct, as if the man in question had replied. Could he also control minds and manipulate them or something? What the hell was happening?

The more you watched him, the more you were convinced that he was an extremely dangerous individual. You had concluded that your decision not to get involved with him had been a good one— you should have stayed put at your last school; coming to PK Academy had been a bad idea.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

The days rolled by until Friday came around, and you mentally patted yourself on the back for having succeeded in avoiding Saiki. You had gotten through your first week without garnering any unwanted attention— too bad no one was around to give you a gold star.

You sat at your desk, drinking from a can of cold coffee you had retrieved from a vending machine, as you half-heartedly listened to the rest of the class prattle on about romance. Did they have nothing better to talk about during their break? Personally, you believed they were all way too young and immature to be in relationships, you included. Then again, you were probably the most mature one there since, technically, your mental age was 3 years more or however many times the year had turned back.

Just listening to them gave you a headache. You shifted your attention, looking up to stare at the back of Saiki’s head. You had noticed that, for the most part, he was alone during the day, save for when Nendou and Kaidou— the light blue-haired boy who struck lightning, would come to talk to him.

You lightly shook your head when you realised your mistake; why were you even thinking about Saiki? You sighed inwardly, clearing your mind before turning to your right to look at the track field past the classroom window. You were bored— terribly bored, if your restless legs were anything to go by. You took the time to relish in the sun’s warmth beating down on your face, closing your eyes to enjoy the moment.

After a while, you faced forward again, your eyes scanning the room. That was when your gaze landed on the girl next to Saiki. If memory served you correctly from when the teacher did roll call that morning, her name was Chiyo Yumehara.

Yumehara was plain-looking for the most part and didn’t really stand out. She had rust-coloured hair at chin length and a simple headband with a bow on top of her head. What had caught your eye, however, wasn’t the girl herself— but the textbook she was doodling in. On closer inspection, you realised she was drawing Saiki. Once you leaned left, hands clasping the sides of your desk so you wouldn’t fall, you finally got a good look. Your face distorted in horror and despair at the crude reimagination of Saiki as some generic princely shoujo manga male lead.

You could assume one thing for sure, Yumehara definitely had a crush on Saiki. Why else would she take the time to sketch his face?

You continued to agonise over how she had drawn Saiki. He looked all mushy, not sharp and rough like he normally appeared. Truly ugly, in your opinion, since Saiki was closer to the 'cold, quiet’ type rather than the 'prince’. Her version of him had tame hair, sparkling eyes, and a soft expression.

How had she strayed so far from the original source material when he was less than a metre away from her? Saiki had unruly hair, blank eyes and sharp eyebrows that made his expression somewhat harsher.

Hold on— why were you paying that much attention to him to begin with? You sighed, rubbing your forehead as you looked back down at your desk to continue completing your homework. You decided then that though you had learnt something new by observing, you wouldn’t get involved. Nothing good would come of it, you were sure.

However, remaining unaffiliated proved to be a challenge.

Walking the halls of your school as you tried to navigate your way to the nurse’s office so you could get a bandage was difficult. Despite having been to the room already, you still didn’t know how to get there by yourself.

You had managed to cut yourself when turning the page of a textbook in class earlier. The pain was tremendous, even though the injury was minor one. You inspected the paper cut on your index finger, squeezing below the wound to see if blood would come out. It did. So you had no choice but to get up and roam the halls to find a plaster lest you stain your books with red.

You sighed in mild frustration, looking around, trying to spot someone you could ask to guide you to where you needed to go. That’s when you caught sight of Yumehara, who looked like she was peering around the corner, waiting for someone. With a nod to yourself, you began to stride up to her confidently.

You faltered three steps in when Yumehara started to giggle to herself. You didn’t feel so bold anymore; the sound coming from her lips kind of freaked you out. Why was she laughing? She was completely alone, too. She looked like a pervert… was homegirl okay?

Despite hesitating, you knew it was too late to turn around and back out, so you settled on walking up to her anyway. You got close enough so that she could hear you before you spoke up. “Hey— uh, Yumehara?” She wouldn’t be creeped out that you already knew her name, right?

Yumehara nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of your voice. She turned around with a startled gasp, bringing up a hand to clutch at her chest. It was then that you noticed she was holding a bunch of papers. She was most likely going to drop them off somewhere for a teacher. Had you stalled her from getting to where she needed to be? …Oh, well, it's not like she had some time limit; class wasn't due to start for the next 10 minutes.

“Mind showing me the way to the nurse’s office? I don’t know where it is— since I’m new and all.” You unconsciously raised an eyebrow at the look of disdain that crossed Yumehara’s face, like she went poking in her ear and you were the earwax she pulled out.

Hey, hey, hey! That was no way to act around someone who was in need. No matter, you’d pretend that she didn’t just give you a dirty look— you did require her assistance to find the nurse’s office after all. A beat of silence passed before she finally responded.

“…Oh. Uhh— sure, I’ll help you.” At least Yumehara didn’t outright refuse you. Guess she wasn’t as heartless as to tell you to look for someone else to help you with directions. You decided it was worthwhile to give her a smile of gratitude. “Thanks. I have a nasty paper cut, and I need a plaster.”

Then came the feeling of dread when Saiki rounded the corner. You froze, and for a moment, it felt as though your soul had left your body. 'Ah.’ Your lips slowly parted into a grimace. Your mind ran at a million miles per hour. Yumehara was trying to get alone with Saiki, wasn’t she? Had you ruined her plans? Had he noticed? The last thing you wanted was for Saiki to pay attention to you. He was dangerous. This was bad. Bad, bad, bad!

You inhaled, then exhaled, telling yourself to calm down. There was no way Saiki could have predicted that Yumehara was trying to bump into him just so she could have a reason to interact with him, right? That meant you were in the clear— there was no reason for you to be worried.

Yumehara watched as Saiki strolled past quietly, gazing after him with longing and disappointment. She sighed, clutching the papers in her arms closer to her chest as she signalled for you to follow her. At your success in not garnering Saiki’s attention, behind Yumehara, you pumped your fist in the air.

What you failed to notice was Saiki watching you do so. You trailed behind Yumehara with a slight skip to your step, completely oblivious.

'L/n… that’s her name, right? She did that on purpose, didn’t she? But why? ...Don’t tell me she has a crush on me, too. What a pain.’

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Somehow, for the rest of the day, you unintentionally found yourself spoiling every part of Yumehara’s plan to get closer to Saiki.

When Yumehara dropped her pink handkerchief on the floor, you had retrieved it for her. You had noticed it fall, and like the good samaritan you were, you decided to give it back to her. What better way to pass the time on your break than collecting brownie points with her after you spoiled her first plan?

Pushing your chair back, you walked behind Yumehara and knelt so that you could pick it up for her. You unconsciously placed a hand on the metal stand that held up the desk next to you, which happened to be Saiki’s, so you wouldn’t fall.

You didn’t notice how she giggled and hummed to herself as she skipped away, too focused on doing a good deed. “Hey, Yumehara— is this yours?” You held up the pastel pink handkerchief and observed it in your hand as she turned around, her expression dropping as she realised it was you who had stopped her. Well, that wasn’t the look you expected to be greeted with when you helped her.

Then realisation hit you as she looked over your shoulder, and you followed her gaze to realise Saiki was right there behind you. Oh… You’d done it twice now. You had gotten in Yumehara’s way again, hadn’t you? And there you were thinking, it was weird when she dropped the handkerchief so aggressively. Ah— she had thrown it.

Had she done it on purpose… solely to get Saiki’s attention? It wasn’t a bad idea and probably would have worked had you not intervened. Saiki would have picked it up or helped her look for it if she asked. He wouldn’t have. You had ruined her chance. Again. Oh, for the love of—

You wanted to ram your head through the nearest wall. Even though you planned not to get involved, you still managed to get in the middle of Yumehara’s budding romance, and you only had yourself to blame.

The girl in question hurried over to you and snatched the handkerchief from your hand before she dramatically ran out of the classroom, clearly upset and somewhat embarrassed. Damn. The least you could do was apologise and say you were sorry after what you had done. “Geez, all I did was pick it up. Hey! We have class in three minutes! Yumehara, wait!” With that, you ran after her.

After you managed to chase her down, you apologised to Yumehara with a cold drink you bought from the vending machine. She didn’t seem too annoyed after that. You inwardly apologised to the girl for ruining her plans not once but twice— saying it out loud would only cause her embarrassment. With how covert she was being, she probably wouldn’t appreciate you rubbing salt into her wounds by bringing up her failed attempt at trying to play Cupid.

As your luck would have it, the rest of the day went by with you stopping Yumehara from getting close to Saiki at every turn— without even trying.

You picked up the ball in P.E. when it rolled over to Saiki’s direction, thinking you were being nice, only to realise later that Yumehara had purposely thrown it that far.

You opened the door to the staff room when Yumehara had too many books in her hands to do it herself. She had hoped Saiki would help her since he was nearby, but you had come to the rescue instead— your efforts were not appreciated.

You offered to help finish the extra cookies she made in Home Ec, successfully stopping her from going to find Saiki. All the while, you had done everything unconsciously, only realising your mistake afterwards. What a disaster.

The last lesson for the day came, and you rolled your neck from side to side, your mental exhaustion palpable. How had you stopped Yumehara’s plans every single time? Why did you have to be around whenever she decided to put her plan into motion?

You hoped she didn’t hate you. Or worse, think you were deliberately trying to stop her because you wanted Saiki all to yourself, which was the furthest from the truth anyone could get. Then again, you wouldn’t be surprised if you were the reason she started her Villain Arc and made you her first target. At least the woman had the patience of a saint; you had no idea how she hadn’t asked to take it outside yet.

You yawned into the back of your hand, waiting for the day to end, eyes trailing to the classroom window when the sound of rain filtered into your ears. There was a downpour.

Despite the weather being sunny in the morning, the clouds had turned grey, and the temperature had dropped significantly. You placed your head on the desk, its surface cool against the side of your face. Shivering at the sensation, you stretched your arms across the table before crossing them to completely hide your face.

The weather managed to affect your mood, making you feel drowsy as you tried to preserve warmth. At least there wasn’t long left till home time. You had nearly fallen asleep during the last period of the day, and thankfully, the teacher never commented.

When the bell rang, signalling that the school day was over, you rubbed the slumber from your eyes. You hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, so you would either have to ask someone to share with you or use your bag as a shield against the drizzle.

You quickly packed up your things so you could hurry to the entrance, hoping you could catch someone to walk halfway home with. Grabbing your bag and placing its strap on your shoulder, you rushed to the shoe lockers. That’s when you caught sight of Yumehara.

She was standing just before the steps outside, the glass door between the two of you. She didn’t have an umbrella either. If you had to guess, she must have forgotten it at home like you did. Slipping your outdoor shoes on with one hand, you walked over to the entrance of the building and stepped through it.

You decided to wait beside her, hoping you’d get lucky and someone would offer to share an umbrella with you. “You forgot your umbrella, too?” You turned to Yumehara, who spoke first. “Huh? Oh— Yeah. I didn’t think it would rain today.” You looked up at the sky. Wow, this was awkward; you had no idea how to keep the conversation going.

The clouds were still grey, and the rain didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon. You breathed in the fresh air; the earthy smell accompanying the weather was always your favourite. Besides the part where you would get wet, you absolutely adored the rain.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, letting the soft patter of the falling water lull you into a sense of calm. You pulled out your phone to check the time. It didn’t look like anyone would offer to share an umbrella with you any time soon. “At this rate, we’re gonna have to walk home by ourselv—”

Before you could finish voicing your thoughts, miraculously, the clouds cleared, and the weather improved. You gaped up at the sun that had appeared out of nowhere. No matter how you looked at it, this turn of events was anything but normal. Was it Saiki?

You quickly shoved down the first thought that came to mind, moving away from the shade the school building provided as you started walking to the main gate. There was no way he was that powerful. Even humans had their limitations, and you couldn’t possibly have been so unlucky as to become classmates with someone with such extraordinary abilities.

You began to make your way home, and before long, you realised unusual things were happening around you. Right before you were about to get run over by a car, the vehicle seemingly defied all laws of psychics and flew over your head before driving off normally.

Then, when a biker nearly crashed into you, it somehow changed directions and swerved to the right, alarmingly close to driving onto the main road. That wasn’t normal, right? You weren’t going insane, were you? When someone bumped into you, causing you to lose your balance, you found that you were standing upright— like you didn’t nearly trip face-first onto the pavement.

What the hell was going on? Was it some long-forgotten ancestor who had taken pity on you? Or was the author apologising for the tremendous amount of bad luck they gave you?

As you looked around to make sense of things, you noticed Saiki. The bane of your existence. How was he everywhere? His pink hair made him easy to notice, even if he was trying to blend in with the crowd. Had he… had he saved you? Wait, that meant— he could use telekinesis?! You had to get out of there as soon as humanly possible. You could not let on that you knew of his powers.

You turned around, preparing to sprint, your grip on the shoulder strap of your bag tightening. “Who sent you?” At the sound of Saiki’s voice filling your ears, your stomach practically dropped to your feet, tensing when the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Why did you feel like you were in some sort of thriller movie?

The last thing you wanted to do was look behind you. In the film industry, that was as good as sealing your fate. Death was looming over your shoulder, and damn it all because you did not want to be the first one to die. Maybe if you pretended that you couldn’t hear— “I know you heard me.” You winced. This was not good. Sirens were going off in your head. Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!

You swore under your breath as you turned around to face the man. You didn't have much of a choice; you’d have to play dumb. “Hm? Oh! Saiki, right? What do you mean by that? I’m just a normal high school student.” You gave Saiki a strained smile. You weren’t lying; you weren’t anyone special save for your immunity to the supernatural.

Huh— was it just you, or was he prettier up close? You shunned the thoughts running through your head; now was not the time! Saiki narrowed his eyes, the suspicion in them clear as day. “Who are you?” Now, you were confused. Did he think you were a spy or something? Had no one else noticed his powers like you had? He wasn’t exactly careful about using them since they had caught your attention early on.

“I— uh, I’m l/n. Your classmate. I sit behind you?” Saiki furrowed his eyebrows ever so slightly, clenching his jaw. There was silence for a moment, and you wondered if that meant you could leave. “Follow me." You hesitated, unsure what to do, as he swiftly turned on his heel to walk away. He paused when he realised you weren't following, looking at you over his shoulder. "Come on.” He wasn’t going to give up, was he?

The seed of doubt had already been planted, and there was no getting rid of it now. You wouldn’t be able to bluff your way out of this one. Maybe confronting him would be better? That way, you wouldn’t have to worry about avoiding him all the time. You fast-walked to close the distance between you and him.

For the entirety of the journey, you wondered where he was taking you. You prayed to whichever higher power was willing to listen that he wouldn’t murder you. From what you had seen, he could easily do so.

“Where are we?” You stopped in front of the house before you. You guessed it must be his house, but asking to make sure was always a good thing. “This is my home.” Oh, boy. You knew one thing for sure; you definitely weren’t prepared for this.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

For a psychic, Saiki’s room was more average than you expected it to be. There was a desk, a bed and a TV. Other amenities, such as the wardrobe built into the wall, a bookshelf and a small planted tree for decor, were also in plain sight. The bedroom of a typical high school teenager.

It was… weird. From what you could tell, Saiki was an esper, so you assumed he would have an extravagant room, at least. That meant that he didn’t use his powers for the wrong things. So you could safely assume he wouldn’t kill you in cold blood, right?

Saiki wouldn’t murder you, would he? He wouldn’t be so careless as to slaughter his classmate in his own house. That would make him the lead suspect in your homicide, right?

His mum knew you were here too, so he wouldn’t use violence to subdue you, no? You hoped so. Mrs Saiki had been cooking when you came in. Saiki didn’t let you see each other but she seemed like the sweetest woman by the way she greeted him, so naturally— her son would have inherited some of her personality traits, right? You wanted to leave already. Being alone with him was hurting your peace of mind— why couldn't he do this in front of his mother?

“I’ll ask again. Who are you?” While Saiki had parked himself on the chair facing away from his desk, looking at you sceptically as he sat like he owned the place (which he did), you chose to stand across from him. Damn, this was awkward. Why had he brought you here again? “I told you, I’m just a classmate.”

You hoped your answer would be enough to appease him. You thought wrong. "…Why can’t I figure you out?“ You raised an eyebrow at that. It didn’t seem as though he was asking you; more like he was talking out loud. Then again, he did deliberately voice his question, so that meant you could pry. "I’m sorry?”

“I can’t read your thoughts. Why is that? Are you stupid? Or did someone send you?” He was blunt, huh? Did he have no manners? Assuming that you were a moron… was kind of mean. You were somewhat offended. Wait— he said he couldn’t read your thoughts. Did that mean he could use telepathy as well?

“Ah… You also have telepathy?” It would explain a lot, like how he could reply to others even though it looked like he was staying silent— but wrapping your head around the fact that he had that many powers was almost impossible. Truly mindboggling. Your brain was hurting.

“Also?” It was his turn to raise an eyebrow at you. Saiki looked at you expectantly, leaning back in his chair as he waited for you to elaborate. Cursing yourself inwardly for not thinking before you spoke, you found interest in the pens on his desk. The cat was out of the bag, so there was no point in trying to hide it. “I might have seen you use your powers. Uh, pyrokinesis, telekenisis and… superhuman strength?”

Silence followed after you spoke, and you stared down at your feet. “I have to get rid of you.” Your head snapped up to look at Saiki, your eyes widening. You gaped at him, your mind running a million miles per hour.

You were right! He was going to murder you! Oh, no, no, no! You still had so many things you wanted to cross off your bucket list— so many sights you had yet to see! This could not be happening!

“Wait, wait, wait— that— that’s too far, man! I have a family— kids, I have kids!” It was true that humans would spout nonsense when faced with imminent death, and you were living proof of it. You winced at the words that were coming out of your mouth.

No, you did not have children, but you would say anything if it meant staying alive. Your lips trembled as you gazed at Saiki with pleading eyes. You didn’t want to die! Not like this!

“Don’t lie. I know for a fact that you don’t.” Saiki shot you an unamused look as he stared you down. You broke out into a cold sweat. What the hell were you going to do now? Only one thing came to mind. “Please! Spare me! I’ll do anything!” You got onto your knees as you begged with your hands clasped together.

Your dignity went straight out the window, and you couldn’t care. You would shamelessly plead for your life if it meant he wouldn’t kill you. “Start by telling me why I can’t read your thoughts and who sent you.”

So, he wouldn’t kill you if you told him the truth? Fine, that was a small price to pay. You’d rat out your own flesh and blood if it meant he would leave you be. You were heartless like that— oh well, survival of the fittest, as they say. You looked up in hope at the man before you for throwing you a lifeline. You could still get out of this unscathed!

“No one! Damn it! I already told you, I’m just a regular high school student… and the thing with the mind-reading— I guess you could say I’m immune.” If anyone walked into the room, they would most likely assume that you were doing something not so family-friendly, but it wasn't like you could move.

Get your mind out of the gutter! You internally cursed at yourself for having thought such a thing. It was too late to get up now; you’d have to stay on your knees. Besides, you didn’t know if you were in the clear yet or not, so you’d remain in place until you were sure. You just hoped Mrs Saiki was the type of parent who wouldn’t walk through the door unannounced; you still had some decency worth saving.

“Immune?” Saiki leaned forward in his chair, showing a slight interest in your words. He tilted his head to the side as he studied you. “Yes. To everything supernatural. Naturally, that means all of your powers don’t work on me.”

Once you were finished with your brief explanation, Saiki brought a hand up to his chin. “…So that’s why… Tell me, have you noticed anything weird with the world?” Saiki moved his gaze from the ceiling down to you as he gave you a blank stare. You looked elsewhere to gather your thoughts. There were so many things you could think of, off the top of your head.

“Uh… Yeah? Do you mean the weird hair colours? The quick healing? Oh, and the chop to the neck can knock someone out. There’s the fact that skinny people can be super strong and how clothes can get ripped off of someone, but their hoo-ha’s are still covered. The worst of it all is the year keeps repeating itself. Did you notice that, too?” You used your fingers to list everything weird thing you’ve noticed before you turned to Saiki.

Finally! Someone who understood your struggles, you'd been graced with an ally with whom you could share your troubles. Silence followed, and your natural response was to overthink. Saiki didn’t speak for a moment, leaving you wondering what you said wrong. “How… How is that possible?” You perked up at his words before looking at him sceptically. “What do you mean?”

“None of my powers work on you. Not even mind control… The weird things around you were all caused by me.”

The air was stagnant; not a single word was exchanged as his words sank in. Then, your jaw nearly fell to the floor at Saiki’s revelation. He did all that? How on earth did he have the ability to pull all that off? Take the crazy hair colours for example— if he was the cause of it, then he had managed to alter human biology down to the genetic level.

Wasn’t this the part where your fight-or-flight response was supposed to kick in? Of course, your body would choose the 'freeze’ option. Staying still wasn’t helping your current mental state. The fact that Saiki had enough power to destroy the world, with just his mind if he wanted to, terrified you. The man before you was the most dangerous human to exist on earth to date. No living creature should be allowed to possess such abilities.

“Huh?! It was— It was you? This entire time? You— What the hell?! …Are you— are you even human?” Your mind reeled, and you struggled to form coherent sentences. Was Saiki the reason you had such a bad headache that you nearly collapsed on your first day at PK Academy? It made sense. Had you gotten used to his powers, then? Was that why you were able to be near him now?

“I’m just a regular high school student.” You looked at Saiki in sheer disbelief and doubt. He was anything but a normal person. He was definitely the most potent psychic you had ever met. You shook your head at his statement. “No, you aren’t. That's— That’s a lie.” You folded your arms over your chest. “I am. If you try telling anyone else otherwise… well.” Saiki brought his hand up before he swiped his thumb across his throat.

The nerve! He was threatening you, and you… you couldn’t even do anything about it! You bit your lip in mild frustration before you sighed. “Y'know what— forget it. Fine, keep your secrets. Just don’t kill me.” There was no other option. You’d have to yield and wave the flag of surrender.

Saiki crossed his legs and placed his hand on his knee, the other on the armrest of his chair. “So, your immunity? Explain it to me.” Why did he have to be so intimidating? Your knees still hurt from sitting on the floor. You’d stay put just in case, though— you didn’t feel like risking your life over a case of sore limbs.

“I'm not sure why, but I've always noticed weird things; I guess I just developed a natural immunity to the supernatural for some reason. The power to nullify other’s abilities when used on me.” You didn't know why you were being this honest. Maybe because your life was on the line? Who knew?

“Can you turn it off?” You halted any movement when your mind finally processed what Saiki said. He couldn’t read your mind; you knew that much, so would lying to him have any repercussions? One look at Saiki’s emotionless face told you that you didn’t want to find out.

You opted to lean back and sit with your legs folded beneath you so your weight would no longer only be on your knees. Damn, you felt like you spent the day working your back at the gym; that was your exercise for the week. You sighed as you looked down at your lap before meeting Saiki’s gaze again. “Er… Do you have to know?” His response was almost immediate, “Yes.”

You internally groaned. Your immunity was your trump card. If you revealed everything, it meant giving up the privacy of every one of your thoughts. You would no longer have the upper hand.

You shook your head; you refused to meet your end here. It was either spill the truth, or it was your funeral. You chose the former. “Well, if I uh— if I put in enough effort, I can turn my immunity off. Would you— um… would you like me to try?” Truly, this was by far the most bizarre encounter you had. You felt like some backwater fanfiction character, stuttering and stumbling over your words.

The silence that followed made you cringe. You couldn’t even distract yourself or break away from your little staring contest with Saiki. It didn’t help that his eyes scared you— like he saw right through you as if he could read you like an open book. It was unnerving. “…Okay.” You didn’t realise that you were holding your breath until he spoke.

You were about to tell him that you needed physical contact to be able to turn your immunity off, and then an idea hit you. It was a bad idea, a terrible idea, and it could get you killed— but if you succeeded, you were sure it’d be worth it.

You weighed the pros and cons before deciding you didn’t care what would happen. Pranking Saiki, if you could even call it that, would not affect him if he was able to predict it with his telepathy. This would be the last time you’d be able to trick Saiki, so why not go for it? You were giving up your ability to think freely, after all. “Let me tell you a story before I turn it off.” You looked up at him with determination.

Saiki was not amused. He stared at you for a moment, then sighed before he relented. “Fine. Hurry up and get it over with.” You weren’t sure if it was a trick of the light, but for a second, it looked like his eyes gleamed with curiosity. You held yourself back from grinning. He was a fool! He’d played right into your hands! You bit your cheek to resist the urge to snicker, lest you give yourself away too much.

Bringing your fist up to your mouth, you proceeded to clear your throat for dramatic effect. “A student trains whilst his master looks on. When the student notices his mentor, he turns to him and enquires what’s wrong. The master replies that his time has come, and he must go.” Saiki looked about as interested as a rock, but from the way he was leaning forward ever so slightly, you could tell he wanted to know more.

You continued, “The student became upset, claiming that he still needed guidance and that he couldn't do it without his teacher. Chuckling, his mentor admits that the student will surpass his teacher in no time, so he no longer needs help.”

You felt pretty good about the fact that you’d roped Saiki in. You decided then that if he chose to hack you to pieces for this, you’d be okay with it. In essence, what you were about to do was equivalent to rickrolling Saiki. “The student denies this and says that his teacher has seen and done everything, so a mere student like himself can’t surpass him.”

You wanted to catch Saiki completely off guard, and you were sure there was no way he’d see it coming. “The teacher says that the student overestimates him. That there are things he has yet to do, sights he has yet to see. The student is now curious, so he asks what his teacher means by 'sights he has yet to see’.”

You could barely keep a straight face, but somehow, you pulled through without laughing at your joke. “The teacher doesn’t have much time left. As he begins to fade away, he says... 'I have never laid my eyes upon two pretty best friends… one of them was always unsightly’.”

You bit your lip, feeling your stomach expand as you held your laugh in until it dawned on him what you were referencing. To rub salt into the wound, you did your best to put on an accent as you continued, “I ain’t ever seen two pretty best friends; it’s always one of 'em gotta be ugly.”

Saiki became visibly distressed as his lips parted in slight disbelief. This was the most expressive you’d seen him all week, and you decided in that moment it was well worth it. “Even now, I can’t escape that godforsaken video… Everywhere I go, someone always has to think of it.”

You couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to. You dissolved into cackles at his reaction, only stopping when Saiki menacingly moved to stand up from his chair. “I may be patient… but I am no saint.” You spluttered, trying to crawl backwards as you looked up at the psychic. “Han— hang on!”

Saiki only stared down at you in mild distaste. "I will cleanse you off this earth.“ You met his gaze with your own incredulous one. "That— That’s not very cash money of you.” Telling him that joke was still worth it. You valued your life, sure, but clearly not enough to practice some self-restraint.

Before Saiki could corner you and do the deed kill you in cold blood, you quickly retaliated. “Hey, wait— wait! If it weren’t for you turning back time every year, I’d be old enough to drive! I wouldn't be slaving away, still trying to pass the same curriculum I know off by heart. Do you have any idea how much you’ve cost me cause you used your abilities?! …Now we’re even.” You huffed once you were finished with your little rant, folding your arms across your chest.

That seemed to do the trick, as Saiki considered your words before taking a seat again on the chair in front of his desk. You raised an eyebrow at his actions. He was easily guilt-tripped, huh? How interesting. As they say, you learn something new every day. That could go in the memory bank for later use.

You put your hand in front of Saiki, palm side up. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Give me your hand.” He looked from you to your hand and then back. His reluctance was clear as day, causing you to exhale through your nose. “Oh, come on! You asked me to show you and turn off my immunity, so give it.” You made 'grabby fingers’ at him, furthering your point. Saiki hesitated for a second before he sighed in defeat. “Fine.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips unconsciously as you waited patiently for Saiki to place his hand in yours. When he did, you shoved down the thoughts that claimed how smooth and warm his hand was. Curse you, your tendency to be a touch-starved heathen and the pretty boy in front of you who was red flags all around. Now was not the time to be distracted!

You regulated your breathing, closing your eyes. 'Inhale, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, hold, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, exhale, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Inhale…’ It didn’t take long for the black that you were used to behind your eyelids to change to an image of Saiki holding your hand. The best way to describe the process was that it was close to an out-of-body experience. All you knew for sure was that you had no control over your actual body.

Despite everything being dark, you could see Saiki and yourself clearly, as if the two of you were illuminated. You turned your gaze downward at where the two of you were connected before observing the man. That’s when you noticed it. Thin strings, thousands— no millions of them, coming from his body and disappearing into the distance.

The maximum number of strings you had seen on a person had been around 3 or 4. You had never encountered someone with so many before. You were reminded in that moment that Saiki was the most powerful human on earth. As if there was any before, but there was no doubt about it after this.

There were so many broken strings between you and Saiki that you were unsure which one would switch off your immunity to his telepathy. This whole process of 'turning it off' was basically a visual guessing game. The only thing you could do was trust your intuition since that worked for you majority of the time.

The thin strings that stuck out of Saiki’s temple caught your attention; there may have been ten or so of them, and a few strings coming through his eyelashes, tangled in the mix. It had to be one of them— your gut feeling told you so. It was now or never, so you willed them to connect with you, for the strings to mend. The process took longer than usual, a given since Saiki was such a powerful esper.

Once you were done and finally opened your eyes, you realised you were clenching your teeth. The headache that hit you was expected, and you were grateful you were on the floor. If you had been standing, you would have fallen already.

You rubbed at your forehead, your fingers trying to lessen the pain by massaging your temples. “There. That should do it. Try using your telepathy on me.” You didn’t notice Saiki’s stare or the look of mild concern he shot your way; too busy trying to ease your migraine.

'Can you hear me?’ You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of Saiki’s voice reverberating inside your brain. The heavy furrow between your brow relaxed somewhat when you realised that your headache was gone. How? You had no idea. 'Wahhh, your voice is echoing in my head. This is weird.’

“So, it does work.” There was a slight difference between Saiki using his telepathy only on you and him using telepathy to speak, the slight echo. It was so minuscule that one wouldn’t notice unless they were looking for it. The only similarity was that both times, he hadn’t moved his mouth. Until now, Saiki’s lips had moved when he addressed you. It was weird, knowing that he communicated with you now without moving a muscle.

You surmised that he was talking to you telepathically now. Did that mean others could hear, too, or was it just one person at a time or something? You got rid of the mental image of Saiki turning to everyone in class to repeat himself until everyone heard, as soon as it appeared. No— they could probably hear him if they were close enough; he was the most potent psychic you’d seen, after all.

Saiki nodded as if to confirm your suspicions. He folded his arms over his chest as he gazed down at you. "I’m talking to you telepathically, but it’s different. Anyone in hearing distance will be able to pick up on the sound of my voice.“ He had read your mind, hadn’t he? He answered your questions without you having to say them aloud.

Having thought it up yourself was one thing, and having him agree with your deductions was another. It was similar to having a theory about a show and then later finding out that it was canon. You landed somewhere between feeling awe and slight shock.

"You're that in tune with your powers? Unbelievable. Do you— Do you have any more abilities?” You were on the edge of your seat because this topic absolutely fascinated you. The sense of danger and fear you once felt when near Saiki was nowhere to be found.

You wondered why since it was only 10 minutes ago that you wanted to get as far away from him as possible. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say, but satisfaction always brings it back, so were you really in the wrong? “I have multiple powers. Telekinesis, levitation, x-ray vision, clairvoyance, astral projection, pyrokinesis, mind control, psychometrics, and invisibility are a few I can name off the top of my head. Only one of which works on you.”

Your lips parted, and you weren’t sure how exactly you were supposed to feel after being bombarded with such information. The number of powers Saiki possessed would explain why you had seen so many strings on him before. “Seriously? Are you sure you’re human?”

“I'm just your average high school.” You would've assumed he was humble, but the way he was adamant made you think he was trying to convince himself, too. To each their own, though. If he wanted to be average, then who were you to fault him?

You wondered if it was your place to say what was on your mind before you abandoned the thought. Why did it matter? He knew what you were thinking anyway. Damn, most people could only dream of the abilities Saiki had, but surely being that powerful came with a price.

You had your powers, and if you hadn't experienced them first-hand, you’d think they were super cool, but you knew the burden. The grass wasn’t always greener on the other side, and the law of equivalent exchange was true. To gain something, something else of equal must be lost. Maybe that was why Saiki was so emotionless, kinda like Mob from Mob Psycho 100.

“How… how do you even live with a burden like that?” You popped the question that had been bugging you. When you took a peek at Saiki, your eyebrows raised in surprise when you realised that this was the most astonished you’d seen Saiki in the time you’d observed him, though he quickly regained his composure. “Burden? …Why would you think it’s a burden?” He patiently waited for you to answer, and you found yourself gazing past his shoulder at the wall behind him.

“Well… if you look past the hype, then isn’t it just troublesome? From how you act, I’m guessing you have no control over your telepathy. Always knowing what others are thinking— even if you don’t want to must be hard, no? I bet it’s spoiled a lot of movies and shows for you. I’m guessing it makes it really hard to make friends, too, since no one can know about your powers.” You listed your reasons one by one. ”Oh.”

For once, you were being honest willingly. You may not have had psychic powers yourself, so you couldn’t be certain Saiki agreed with your guesses, but you could at least try to sympathise. It was the same with you since your immunity had its ups and downs.

You didn’t notice the silence that engulfed the room, too busy stuck in your thoughts. “I’m going to be blunt. Do you like me?” For a second, your mind short-circuited because you couldn’t wrap your head around Saiki’s words. A flurry of questions filled your head. 'How did this happen?’, 'Why did it happen?’, 'Where am I?’, and 'Who am I?’, the norm. 'Get a grip!’ You pulled yourself together before you replied. “What? Huh? Why would you even think—”

Saiki remained stoic, cutting you off so he could speak. “You stopped all of Yumehara’s plans when she tried to get closer to me.” So, maybe after his revelation, you could kind of, somewhat, maybe understand why he would jump to the conclusion that you liked him. It was reasonable if you looked at it from his point of view, but it was the furthest anyone could get from the truth.

You admitted to finding him attractive, sure, but that was because you had eyes that could see clearly. He was pretty; what else was there to say? It didn’t go any further than that, though. You barely knew the guy! “You noticed that? Uh— no. No, I don’t. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time... Multiple times.”

Knowing that he had psychic powers made it easy to understand how he had picked up on your behaviour at school. Saiki nodded, and you guessed that he was indicating that he believed you.

You were at a loss now of what you should do. How was one supposed to continue the conversation in this situation, again? “Don’t tell a soul about what happened here today. I mean it. I’ll know if you breathe a word of this to anyone." You readily agreed to his request, signalling that you’d keep everything a secret; it's not like you went around airing people's dirty laundry anyway.

Before you had a chance to say anything else to Saiki, the sound of a notification from your phone drew your attention. Pulling the device out of your bag, you checked the lock screen to investigate. A text from a family member had let you know that there was a package for you.

'There’s a box full of coffee jelly. Give them out to your classmates so you can make more friends!’

You suspected that they bulk-brought coffee jelly from the supermarket so you could hand it out to your class after the weekend. You sighed; it’s not like you needed it. Besides, what would happen if your classmates didn’t like the desert? You’d rather not be humiliated by rejection.

"Coffee jelly?” You forgot Saiki could read your thoughts now. You lowered your phone to look at the psychic in question, raising your eyebrow. Even if his expression was neutral, his previously blank eyes were practically sparkling.

Did he… like coffee jelly? You decided to take the risk of asking him if he wanted some. It was easier to be rejected by an acquaintance (?) rather than a stranger. “Do you uh— do you want some? I don’t plan on handing them out to people or eating them all by myself. They’ll go to waste… but if you’re willing to take them off my hands—”

“Yes. I’ll take them.” Saiki’s response was instantaneous. You couldn’t stop the slight smile of surprise that graced your lips. You hid it with your phone as you studied him. What a turn of events. There was no sign of the all-powerful esper you were used to. 'He’s much less intimidating like this.’

“Well… do you wanna go to my place, then?”

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

bonus:

Saiki returned to his house after a long day, making his way up the stairs to go to his room shortly after taking off his shoes. He thought back to the day's events, satisfied with the outcome.

Saiki would never admit it, but his favourability for you had sky-rocketed when you offered him coffee jelly. He guessed that it wasn’t so bad that you knew of his powers now since it had ended with him getting his new favourite dessert.

You giving him the treat was enough for him to no longer consider you a nuisance. He would never tell you this in person, of course. He would rather die than let you find out he held you to a higher standard than his classmates now.

'Claiming my powers are a burden when anyone else would praise them… you’re interesting, l/n.’

Saiki decided not to dwell on his thoughts as he changed out of his uniform and got ready to go to bed.

At least now, he could finally read your mind. He no longer considered you dangerous, and with that, another disastrous day of his managed to meet a not-so-disastrous end.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

next part - metanoia

#saiki x reader #kusuo x reader #saiki k x reader #saiki kusuo x reader #saiki k #saiki kusuo #saiki kurumi #nendou riki #shun kaidou #hairo kineshi #yumehara chiyo #teruhashi kokomi #the disastrous life of saiki k.#friends to lovers #x reader #tdlosk

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floatyflowers · 7 months ago

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Please pleaseee more Yandere male Cinderella!!!!

You are from a wealthy noble family, whose family are friends with the Tremaines.

When you saw Elliot's (Male Cinderella/Ella) condition, you felt sympathy at how the Tremaines treats him.

He's soft-spoken and charming at first, after he accept your kind acts, mistaking it for romantic gestures.

"This gift is for me?...but I don't deserve such kindness!"

And he may have a fragile sense of self-worth, making his need for your approval obsessive.

Cinderella's cruel stepfamily could serve as an advantage, showing why he clings to you so desperately.

Or perhaps one of the step siblings develops feelings for you, igniting Cinderellon's jealousy.

But what really sets him off is when you say that you will go to the ball held by the king to have his son, the prince, choose a wife.

Elliot is determined to attend the royal ball to capture your attention, even though his charming intention hides an intense possessiveness, as he vows to not let anyone else dance with you.

When his step siblings destroy his outfit for the ball, he decides to kill them by poisoning their food...and the food of his step mother.

Then a fairy appeared after he buried their bodies in his backyard.

Well, he was going to kill them anyway, so he can have his home and status back.

Elliot believes that providing you with the best life style is what you deserve.

The fairy godmother granted him his wish to go to the ball in the best clothes and carriage.

He also asked for a little something from her, a magical necklace that would enchant you in falling for him.

When he arrives to the ball, everyone was entranced by him, but you were already too focused, dancing with the prince.

He walks over to you both with a gentle smile, before offering his hand to you.

"If you allow me, my prince, I would like to steal my fiancee for a dance."

The prince was shocked as you were, but the prince agreed despite wanting to spend more time with you.

"Elliot...you look different tonight, and those shoes are beautiful."

"I want you to see me in my best as you saw in my worst."

Through the dance, Elliot leans and places his lips against yours, confessing his love.

And you also confessed yours.

Resulting in a happily ever after with him.

Or is it a happily ever after? I mean prince charming seems to also want you.

#tw: toxic relationships #reader insert #yandere #prince charming #prince charming x reader #male Cinderella X reader #male Cinderella #Cinderella #yandere disney #disney x reader

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the-great-kraken · 1 year ago

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you don't understand how insane i am about gorgug in the nightmare forest. he's claustrophobic. he's spent his whole life in a house too small for him. the tunnel is full of bugs. everything and everyone is small and fragile and breakable. he's felt like an idiot his whole life. the only way to beat the puzzle is to give up and admit he isn't smart enough. he loves his friends so much he could send them hope from miles away. sickening.

#gorgug thislespring i could talk about you for hours #rhi rambles #gorgug thistlespring #fantasy high #fantasy high sophomore year #d20 fantasy high #d20 #d20 fhsy #dimension 20

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jose996c · 3 months ago

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Flicker of Recognition

Summery: Twenty years into the apocalypse, Joel Miller thought his soulmate was lost to the world. But a chance encounter changes everything, leading to an unexpected bond, hard-earned trust, and the hope of a life beyond survival.

Warnings: Soulmate au, apocalypse, fluff, infected, violence (gun), age-gap (reader is in her 30's), romance.

Paring: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 4.4k

2023

The wind howled outside the crumbling house, whistling through broken windowpanes and cracks in the boarded-up walls. Rain tapped steadily against the glass like fingers drumming to be let in. Upstairs, in what used to be someone’s bedroom, Joel sat on the floor with his back against a sagging dresser, methodically cleaning his revolver by the light of a flickering lantern.

Across the room, Ellie lay curled in a dusty sleeping bag, thumbing through a battered comic book with pages softened from use. The silence between them was comfortable, familiar now — until Ellie broke it.

“You ever think about soulmates?”

Joel didn’t look up. “No.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, clearly expecting the answer. “C’mon. Everyone’s got one, don’t they? You’ve seen the marks. Can’t just be a coincidence.”

Joel kept working, slow and steady. The oil made his hands slick, but he didn’t mind the routine. It kept him grounded.

“Even now,” she went on, “twenty years after everything went to shit, people are still getting ‘em. I heard someone in a QZ say theirs showed up last year. Like... like the universe still cares.”

Joel’s jaw tensed. He set the revolver down with a soft clink, finally meeting her gaze.

“You had one, didn’t you?” she asked, softer now.

“I did.”

Ellie sat up a little. “What happened?”

“She didn’t make it.” His voice was even, but the words hung heavy in the air. “First day of the outbreak.”

“Oh.” Her voice was small. “I’m sorry.”

Joel gave a stiff nod. “Long time ago.”

They sat in silence after that. The fire’s glow flickered on the peeling wallpaper, dancing shadows across the walls. Ellie eventually lay back down, eyes lingering on Joel a moment longer before she returned to her comic.

Joel picked up his revolver again, but his hands didn’t move. He just stared at it, fingers curling around the grip like it was something fragile.

In the quiet of the room, with only rain and memory for company, he thought of the mark on his skin — the one that never faded, no matter how much time passed. A cruel little reminder etched into him like a promise the world had broken.

She’s gone, he told himself. Even if she’s not, it’s too late now. Ain’t room for hope in a world like this.

Still, something deep inside him stirred — a flicker of warmth, too faint to name and too stubborn to die.

The town was one of those nameless places you could drive through in five minutes back when the world still worked. Now it sat hollowed out, its main street buried under overgrowth and broken glass. Joel led the way with quiet caution, rifle tight in his grip, boots silent on the cracked pavement. Ellie followed just behind, eyes flicking from shadow to shadow.

“This place gives me the creeps,” she muttered. “Like everyone left all at once.”

Joel didn’t answer. He’d felt it too — the odd stillness, the lingering trace of people long gone.

But as they passed a narrow alley, something tugged at his gut. A house at the far end caught his eye. There was nothing particularly strange about it — two stories, faded paint, porch half-collapsed — but something about it made the air feel heavier.

He paused.

“You alright?” Ellie asked, craning her neck to see what he was staring at.

“Yeah,” he said, but it wasn’t convincing. His fingers twitched at his side, just above where his soulmate mark hid beneath layers of worn fabric. It hadn’t bothered him in years. Not since he’d stopped checking it. Not since he’d given up.

Still, the feeling sat there — not pain, not warmth, just a quiet ache. Something… familiar.

Joel shook it off. “Come on. Let’s clear that house.”

They approached carefully. The door was slightly open, the frame sagging. Joel nudged it wider with the barrel of his rifle and stepped inside, sweeping the entryway with practiced ease. The place smelled faintly of smoke and stale food. Blankets were spread out in the living room — fresh, not rotted. A can of beans, half-eaten, sat on the floor beside a small pack. Someone had been here recently.

He held up a hand to signal Ellie to stay close.

Then—

Bang.

The shot rang out like a thunderclap.

Joel ducked and rolled behind the couch just as the bullet splintered the wood beside him. Ellie screamed, dropping flat. The shooter cursed — a woman’s voice — followed by the unmistakable click of a jammed weapon.

“Shit!”

A second later, a figure burst from the hallway — fast, silent, and deadly. She launched herself at Joel before he could react, tackling him back against the ground. He caught the flash of her eyes, wild and terrified. Her hands scrabbled for the gun at his hip, but he was quicker. He flipped her, pinning her down, his own weapon pressed to her temple.

“Don’t move,” he growled.

Her chest heaved beneath him. But she didn’t fight. Didn’t beg. Just froze.

Joel didn’t pull the trigger.

Something stopped him — a flicker deep under his skin, crawling up his spine, settling somewhere just behind his ribs.

Heat bloomed beneath his sleeve. A strange, slow pulse beat in his arm, not painful, just... there. The kind of sensation you couldn’t ignore even if you wanted to. Familiar in a way that made no sense.

He looked at her. Really looked.

And then everything stilled.

The breath left his lungs in a slow, quiet exhale. The world, for half a second, fell away — the broken walls, the storm outside, the sound of Ellie’s frantic movements — all of it gone.

She stared up at him, eyes wide, lips parted like she was on the edge of remembering something too old, too deep, to put into words.

A spark passed between them — something wordless, undeniable.

Recognition.

Not of her face. Not her voice.

Of something else.

Something older than either of them.

Joel’s grip loosened, just slightly. His hand stayed on the gun, but he didn’t press it tighter. He couldn’t. Not when every cell in his body was suddenly pulling toward the woman beneath him.

A breath caught in her throat. Her eyes flicked down — not to the gun, but to the spot on his arm where her own mark must’ve started to burn, too.

Neither of them moved.

But they knew.

And then the sound hit them: the distant scream of the infected.

A horde. Close. Getting closer.

Joel snapped into motion. He grabbed the woman’s hand and yanked her up, already shouting, “Ellie!”

“I’m here!” Ellie called from behind the kitchen counter, crouched low.

The woman pulled away from Joel’s grip, sprinted past him to Ellie, and hauled the girl toward the stairs.

“There’s a cellar door out back!” she shouted. “This way!”

Joel fired at the front window, taking down a runner that smashed through the glass. More were coming. Too many.

He backed toward the rear exit, bullets flying, but they were swarming the front now — fast and screeching, jaws snapping.

By the time his clip emptied, the woman was shouting again.

“In here!”

She was holding open the narrow door to a shed in the overgrown backyard. Joel sprinted across the grass, shoved the door shut behind him, and slammed the bolt into place just as fists began pounding on the outside.

Then — silence.

The pounding of their hearts. Their breathing. Nothing else.

They stood there in the dark, just shadows in the flicker of Joel’s dying flashlight. Rain pelted the tin roof above them.

And the mark on Joel’s arm still burned.

It was pitch black, save for the thin beam of Joel’s flashlight trembling in his grip. Rain pelted the tin roof in a steady rhythm, a wild contrast to the stillness that had fallen between them.

Ellie was hunched in the corner, wide-eyed and panting. She didn’t speak — maybe sensing that whatever just happened between the two adults had nothing to do with her. Or maybe she was just too winded to ask questions.

Joel didn’t look at her.

He couldn’t look at anything except her.

The woman he’d just fought, disarmed, nearly killed — had touched something ancient in him that hadn’t stirred in decades. She stood against the opposite wall, barely a few feet away, one hand braced on the rough wood like she was steadying herself against gravity.

Her eyes met his.

Neither of them said a word.

Joel felt it again — the hum beneath his skin, a pull in his chest like his body had realigned itself without asking permission. The mark on his arm was quiet now, but it buzzed faintly, like a distant signal trying to come back into range.

She reached up, slowly, and touched her own arm — the spot where her mark must’ve been burning just like his. She didn’t look at it. She didn’t need to.

Her gaze never left his.

And Joel — a man who’d spent the last twenty years learning how to bury things so deep they couldn’t claw their way out — felt something raw begin to surface.

Not joy. Not yet.

Just recognition.

The kind that made his chest tighten and his throat ache. The kind that felt like standing at the edge of a cliff you thought had collapsed years ago, only to find the ground still there.

Her lips parted slightly. Not to speak. Just… breathing. Still trying to catch up.

So was he.

Neither moved. Neither blinked.

The only sound was the rain.

Then Ellie coughed — sharp and awkward — and both of them flinched like the spell had been broken.

Joel turned his flashlight toward her, casting their shadows across the warped walls. The silence was back, but it felt heavier now. Different.

No one spoke for a long time.

Eventually, Ellie sank down against the wall, pulling her knees to her chest. She looked between them, brows furrowed, but said nothing. Maybe she didn’t understand. Maybe she understood too much.

Joel stayed standing, arms heavy at his sides. The woman did the same, shoulders still tense, like her body hadn’t caught up with what her soul already knew.

He wanted to say something. Ask her name. Ask if this was real. Ask if she felt it too — if this meant something anymore, in a world where so much had already been lost.

But the words didn’t come.

So instead, he looked at her the way he hadn’t let himself look at anyone in years.

Like maybe — just maybe — there was still something left to hope for.

The rain had softened to a drizzle by the time the pounding on the shed stopped. The infected were gone — for now. But the silence left in their wake wasn’t peaceful. It hung too heavy, like the kind that only followed something life-altering.

Ellie had dozed off in the corner, arms wrapped around her backpack like a shield. Her breathing had slowed. Even in sleep, she looked wary.

Joel stayed seated on a broken crate near the far wall, elbows on his knees, head low. His fingers toyed with the edge of his sleeve, thumb brushing over the spot where the mark was still pulsing faintly beneath his skin.

He glanced up at her again.

She stood by the door now, arms crossed tightly over her chest, like she needed to hold herself together. Her clothes were damp from the sprint. Mud streaked her jeans. A strand of hair stuck to her cheek.

She hadn’t looked away from him in minutes.

Joel rose slowly, careful not to wake Ellie.

He didn’t speak — he didn’t trust his voice to come out steady — and neither did she. It was like they were still afraid that if they acknowledged it, said it aloud, it might all fall apart.

He stepped closer.

She didn’t back away.

In another life, maybe he would’ve smiled. Teased. Said something charming and low like “Took you long enough.” But there was no room for that here. No time for games. Not when everything in his chest felt cracked wide open just from standing this close to her.

She looked up at him, eyes searching his face like she was trying to memorize it.

He reached out, tentative at first, and gently tucked that damp strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath caught. She tilted her head slightly — not pulling away, not moving closer either. Just waiting.

Joel’s hand lingered against her cheek, rough fingers brushing over soft skin. She closed her eyes for a moment — just a second — and in that second, something passed between them again. That silent promise. That recognition that no words could explain.

He leaned in, just enough for her to feel the warmth of him.

Her lips parted — not in surprise, but in surrender.

Their foreheads brushed, and his other hand ghosted up her arm, steady and slow. She didn’t move away.

They were close now — breath to breath, heart to heart — and he swore he could feel her heartbeat syncing with his.

Then—

“Uh—hey.”

Joel flinched back just as Ellie’s voice cut through the thick air like a blade.

She stood in the doorway, blinking the sleep from her eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbled, “but I think we should probably get moving. Don’t wanna stick around if those things come back.”

Joel stepped back immediately, clearing his throat, avoiding the woman’s eyes as he muttered, “Yeah. Right. Let’s go.”

She didn’t say anything either — just nodded once, that same dazed expression still lingering on her face as she brushed past him and followed Ellie out into the wet grass.

Joel stayed behind a moment longer.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaled hard, and looked back at the door she’d just walked through.

He’d spent twenty years thinking that mark on his arm would never mean anything.

Now?

He wasn’t sure if that terrified him more than the infected.

The forest had swallowed the road hours ago.

What was once cracked asphalt had long since given way to a narrow trail swallowed in vines and damp leaves. The rain had stopped, but the air was heavy, humid with the promise of more. Tree branches creaked above them, the wind threading through like whispers they couldn't quite understand.

Joel led the way, as always, eyes sweeping the woods, shoulders stiff. Ellie walked just behind him, dragging a stick along the dirt. The woman — her — brought up the rear, silent save for the occasional crunch of twigs beneath her boots.

No one spoke much.

Joel had tried once, earlier that morning, to ask if she had a name. The words had caught in his throat, and when she glanced at him over the firelight with that same look — soft and unsure and far too knowing — he dropped it.

Now, in the shifting green of the woods, he caught her in the corner of his vision sometimes. Just a flicker. Just enough to make his pulse jump.

He kept walking.

Ellie broke the silence first.

“So… do you two know each other or something?”

Joel didn’t turn around. “No.”

She glanced back. “Really? 'Cause you were gonna kiss her in that shed like, a lot.”

Joel let out a long breath through his nose. “Ellie…”

“I’m just saying.” Her grin was practically audible.

The woman said nothing, but Joel heard her laugh — soft, under her breath. Almost like she didn’t mean to let it slip. It was the first sound she’d made all day.

Joel’s heart did something uncomfortable in his chest.

They reached the edge of a field not long after, where the trees thinned out into golden grass and low ruins of what must’ve once been a farmhouse. The sun was just starting to dip behind the tree line.

He stopped and scanned the horizon. “We’ll set up camp ahead. Get off the trail a bit.”

Ellie groaned but didn’t argue. She kept walking, boots kicking up dust, until she disappeared behind a cluster of overgrown fence posts.

Joel lingered.

The woman came up beside him slowly, adjusting the strap of her pack.

He didn’t look at her.

But he didn’t move away, either.

For a few moments, they stood there, quiet — not in silence like before, but something softer. Like maybe the worst of it had already passed. Like maybe they were both still trying to make sense of it all.

He turned, just barely, and finally looked at her.

She looked tired. Guarded. But her eyes didn’t hold the same kind of sharpness as they had back in that house. It had shifted into something else now.

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

She gave a faint smile, like she understood what he wanted to say and was choosing — just for now — not to make him say it.

Joel nodded.

They walked after Ellie, a little closer than before.

The fire crackled low in the pit — a modest flame, more ember than blaze. Joel had kept it that way on purpose. Too much light drew eyes.

Ellie was curled up on the far side of the fire, using her backpack as a pillow. Her breathing had gone slow, steady. Asleep. Again. The girl could crash anywhere.

Joel sat with his back to a log, elbows on his knees, watching the fire chew through the last of the kindling. His rifle lay within arm’s reach. Old habit. Necessary habit.

She was across from him.

Again.

The woman — his… soulmate, he guessed — hadn’t spoken much since they'd made camp. She’d helped gather wood. Helped cook. Laughed once when Ellie told a story about a “super infected” that turned out to be a deer she’d startled. But mostly… quiet.

Joel glanced at her now, across the glow of the coals.

She was watching the fire, arms tucked around her legs, chin resting on one knee. Tired, but not in a physical way. The kind of tired that settled into your bones and stayed there.

He cleared his throat. “You doin’ alright?”

She looked up, surprised he’d broken the silence. Then gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

Joel didn’t push for more. He just watched her. In the dark like this, with the light flickering across her face, it was harder to keep the distance he'd been forcing all day. Harder to pretend that this — whatever was happening between them — wasn’t real.

He shifted, voice quieter. “Back there… in the house. That mark. You felt it too, didn’t you?”

She didn’t speak. But she didn’t look away either.

That was answer enough.

Joel let out a slow breath and looked back into the fire. “I stopped hopin’ a long time ago,” he admitted, the words like gravel in his throat. “Figured… she died. Whoever she was. World’s gone to hell. Didn’t think I’d ever know.”

She didn’t respond with words. Just moved — slowly — to sit beside him, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.

Joel’s heart picked up. He didn’t pull away.

Her presence wasn’t loud. Wasn’t demanding. It just was. Solid. Familiar in a way he didn’t understand but couldn’t question.

They sat like that for a while, shoulder to shoulder, not talking.

Then — maybe without meaning to — she leaned in a little, her head lightly brushing his shoulder. Joel froze, but didn’t move. After a second, he relaxed into it. Let it happen.

The fire popped softly.

And in that moment, Joel turned his head — just a little — enough to look at her.

She tilted her face up toward him.

Their eyes met. Neither of them smiled.

There was something too heavy, too old, about the feeling between them. Like grief and relief tangled together, impossible to pull apart.

Joel lifted his hand slowly, gently cupping her jaw, thumb brushing the edge of her cheekbone. Her breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut for half a second before opening again — like she needed to make sure this was real.

He leaned in, slowly — slow enough to give her time to pull away.

She didn’t.

Their lips met — tentative at first, like they were afraid of breaking something fragile. Her hand came up, fingers resting lightly over the front of his shirt, anchoring herself there. His hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her in closer.

The kiss deepened — not hurried, not desperate.

Just real.

Soft.

Grounding.

Like two people who had been starving for something they couldn’t name, and had finally, finally found it.

When they pulled apart, it wasn’t abrupt. It was slow — lips brushing, foreheads leaning together, both of them breathing a little heavier, a little steadier.

Joel kept his hand at her neck, thumb stroking gently over her skin.

“I guess this means it’s real,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer, but her eyes were soft when she looked at him again. And she kissed him one more time — smaller, briefer. Just because she could.

They sat like that for a while.

The fire popped softly beside them, and the night stretched quiet around their little circle of warmth. Neither of them knew what tomorrow would look like.

But for tonight, at least — they weren’t alone anymore.

2026

Snow blanketed the streets of Jackson, soft and slow, the kind that hushed the world and made everything feel still. Smoke drifted from chimneys. The clatter of boots on wooden porches echoed gently through the town. A dog barked once, then quieted.

Joel leaned against the wooden railing outside their porch, mug of coffee steaming between his hands. He watched a pair of kids run past on the street below, bundled in layers too big for them, shrieking as they tossed clumps of snow back and forth.

He didn’t smile, not really — but the tension in his shoulders had gone somewhere in the past few months, and it hadn’t come back.

Behind him, the door creaked open. He didn’t turn.

“I told you it’s too cold for that porch,” came her voice, a little hoarse from sleep.

Joel glanced sideways as she stepped up beside him, blanket draped over her shoulders, hands tucked around her own mug. Her hair was mussed, cheeks pink from the warmth of the house behind them. She looked at him like someone who’d done this exact morning a hundred times before — and wanted a hundred more.

“It’s not that cold,” he said, sipping his coffee.

She arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been out here twenty minutes.”

He didn’t argue. Just glanced at her again, slower this time. “Didn’t wanna wake you.”

“You never do,” she murmured, voice softer now.

The silence settled comfortably between them. No pressure. No need to fill it.

It was strange, Joel thought, how easily this had become normal — she had become normal. The shared house. The shared mornings. The way he could reach out and touch her hand and not flinch from it. The way her presence didn’t set him on edge but settled something deep inside him.

This wasn’t the firelight, adrenaline-heavy intimacy from a year ago. This was steadier. Quieter. Something earned.

He looked back at the street.

“We’re patrolling east tomorrow,” he said after a minute. “Up past the sawmill.”

She nodded. “I’ll pack tonight.”

There was a pause, then she bumped her shoulder gently into his. “You and me?”

He nodded. “You and me.”

Her hand slipped into his then, ungloved and cold, but he didn’t let go. Just held it there, rough calluses and all, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for them now—it was.

The woods stretched out quiet beneath a gray sky, branches heavy with melting snow. Patches of brown earth peeked through where the sun had gotten bold enough to push through the clouds.

Joel moved ahead, boots crunching softly in the underbrush, rifle slung across his back. She followed close behind, eyes scanning the tree line, her own weapon resting easy in her grip. They didn’t talk much — didn’t need to.

They had the kind of rhythm you can’t fake. One glance, one shift of weight, and they knew what the other was thinking.

It was the kind of patrol Tommy liked to send them on — mid-range, low risk, just a sweep past the outer farms and along the ridge above the river. Still, the silence of the woods never fully lost its edge. You could go months without seeing a Runner, and then suddenly you’d be surrounded.

Joel stopped at a bend in the trail, holding up a hand. She stilled instantly, scanning the bush. A distant rustle. A bird, maybe — or not.

Joel moved slow, crouching by a fallen log. He brushed aside a bit of snow and dirt, revealing a smeared boot print, half-frozen, deep.

Not one of theirs.

He looked up. She was already beside him, crouched low.

“Recent?” she asked quietly.

“Could be,” Joel muttered. “Too heavy for Ellie. Might be one of the new kids… or someone passing through.”

She frowned. “Could be worse.”

They both knew what worse meant.

Joel stood slowly, eyes on the treeline. The woods stayed still.

“You take the left,” he said. “I’ll swing wide, loop back.”

She nodded. “Don’t get distracted.”

He gave her a look, deadpan. “Only thing distractin’ me out here is you.”

Her smile was quick, crooked. She nudged him once before disappearing into the brush like she’d done it a hundred times before — because she had.

The patrol went quiet again after that. They circled wide, careful, methodical. No fresh signs of infected, no sound beyond the wind and the distant call of crows. Eventually, they met again near the stream, the water running shallow and dark between the rocks.

She knelt, splashing a bit of the cold water over her face, pushing her hair back.

“Clear,” she said.

Joel nodded, but his eyes stayed on her for a second too long.

She noticed. “What?”

“Nothin’.”

“You always stare at me like that when there’s nothing?”

Joel stepped closer, letting his rifle rest against his shoulder. “Just thinkin’. A year ago, I didn’t think I’d ever have this again. Peace. A partner... Someone who’s got my back, and who I can trust with mine.”

She stood, brushing snow from her knees. “You do now.”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at her, steady and warm in the cold.

She leaned in, brushing her lips against his cheek — barely there. Just enough.

He caught her hand before she pulled away.

“Let’s get home,” he said softly.

And together, they turned back toward the path.

Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #oneshot #joel tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller tlou #tlou joel #tlou fanfiction #pedrohub #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fandom #soulmate au #fluff

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dinoandguitar · 2 months ago

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Hey! Can I request reader x seungcheol where their child has just been born and he holds the baby for the first time?

"She's so small.."

New parents! ChoiSeungcheol x Afab!Reader

genre: Pure fluff! (Everyone gets a bit emotional)

warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, childbirth. The setting is in a hospital. Reader has just given birth.

A/N : Thank you so much for the request! Hope you enjoy it :) My requests are open, please feel free to ask away 🫶🏾

Wonwoo ver.

Masterlist

The room was dim and quiet now, long after the nurses had left and the chaos had faded into silence. The only light came from the small lamp by the bed, casting a soft golden glow over the room, wrapping everything in a hush that felt sacred.

You were propped up against the pillows, exhaustion heavy in your limbs, but your eyes stayed open. You couldn’t look away from them. Seungcheol was sitting beside your bed, your newborn daughter cradled gently in his arms. And for the first time in his life, he was left speechless.

He hadn’t said a word when the nurse handed her over. He’d just stared,utterly still-as if even blinking would be too much of a distraction from the moment. Now, his thumb traced the edge of her cheek like he couldn’t believe she was real. His other hand cupped the back of her tiny head, his long fingers careful and reverent, like holding something impossibly fragile.

“Cheol,” you said softly.

He looked up at you, eyes glassy, his lips slightly parted. There was so much written on his face...shock, awe, fear, adoration...it made your heart ache. He let out a breathy laugh, breath shaking.

“She’s real,” he whispered, eyes flicking down to her again. “She’s really here. She’s ours.”

You nodded slowly, reaching over to gently stroke her little arm where it peeked from beneath the blanket. Seungcheol’s gaze followed your hand, then lingered on your fingers like he was still processing everything.

“She’s so small,” he breathed. “How… you just went through so much.. you gave her life.. How did you—” His voice cracked, and he shook his head slightly. “You’re incredible.”

You smiled tiredly, and in that moment, something shifted in him. You saw the awe settle into something deeper. Something tender. He leaned closer, kissing the top of your head without shifting the baby in his arms.

“She’s perfect,” he murmured. “She’s got your nose, you know that?” He gave a soft laugh. “And your stubborn little chin.”

“She has your eyes,” you whispered, and he paused. You watched the way he blinked slowly, as if that thought alone made his heart burst.

His voice dropped even softer. “God… I didn’t know I could feel this much...” His thumb brushed over her tiny knuckles. “She only an hour old yet and I’d give her the world. I’d tear it apart if she ever needed me to.”

You watched him gently lower his head, pressing the softest kiss to her forehead. “You hear that, baby girl?” he whispered against her skin. “You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger already.”

She stirred slightly in his arms, letting out the tiniest sound, and Seungcheol stilled completely. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he just stared...watching her nose wrinkle, her lips part slightly, her tiny brows twitch in sleep.

“I didn’t know I could love someone this fast,” he said, looking up at you again. “But the second I saw her… the second she cried… I was gone. She’s mine. She’s ours.”

He looked down at her again, his eyes glistening. “And you...you gave her to me. I don’t even have words, baby. You-you’re everything.”

You reached for his hand, wrapping your fingers through his gently. He squeezed yours, shifting the baby carefully so he could hold both of you, your hand, and your daughter...like they were two pieces of the same miracle.

“She’s going to love you,” you whispered, heart heavy with emotion. “So much.”

He looked down at your little girl, who was now breathing softly, safely tucked into the crook of his arm. His voice was almost inaudible. “I already love her more than anything. But I don’t think she’ll ever know how much I love you for giving her to me.”

A tear slipped down his cheek as he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, then one to your temple, then your lips—soft, slow, full of gratitude and reverence.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Thank you. For this life. For her. For us.”

And as your daughter stirred again in his arms, curling her tiny hand instinctively against his chest, you knew there would never be a moment quite like this again.

But that was okay—because it would live inside both of you, forever.

A/N : Hope you all liked it.. My requests are open :)

#svt #seventeen #svt fluff #svt scoups #choi seungcheol #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #scoups fluff #seventeen x reader

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solxamber · 9 months ago

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Hello, I love your writing! The isekai fics are so fun, Vil's was my favorite! Can I request the twst boys (+ staff if you have inspiration for it) comforting a reader who just breaks down in tears after the seventh overblot is resolved because they haven't had much support and time to process being in a new world away from everything they've ever known, were basically told to play therapist by Crowley, and have had their life and their friends lives at risk. Lots of angst but mostly comfort in the end! Thank you if you write this!

7th Overblot Aftermath

Characters: All NRC + Staff

hi! and thank you so much 🫶 vil was the first one I wrote I'm glad you liked it. I love this request and I hope you like it <3

The aftermath of Malleus’s overblot felt surreal. The sky had cleared, but the air was still heavy with the weight of what had just happened. It was over. Finally over. You had seen seven overblots now, each one pushing you and your friends to the edge, forcing you to confront darkness that shouldn’t have existed in people you had come to care for.

But this one had felt different. Maybe it was because of the sheer power Malleus wielded, or maybe it was because of how fragile the world around you had seemed as you fought to bring him back. You had nearly lost him—nearly lost everyone. And you were so, so tired.

Your knees gave out, hitting the ground with a soft thud. You stared at the grass beneath you, eyes blurring with unshed tears. Everyone was celebrating the victory, but all you could think about was the sheer exhaustion gnawing at your bones, the burden of playing mediator, therapist, and survivor all at once. You hadn’t signed up for this. You had been thrown into this world without warning, away from everything you had ever known, and you hadn’t had a moment to breathe since.

“I’m so tired…” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

And then it all came crashing down. The walls you had so carefully built around yourself crumbled, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. Quiet at first, but then the sobs came harder, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself break.

You barely registered footsteps approaching until a pair of hands rested gently on your shoulders.

Ace Trappola

"Hey, hey," Ace’s voice broke the silence, softer than you’d ever heard it before. “What’s wrong? You’re... crying.”

You hiccuped, trying to suppress the sobs that wouldn’t stop coming. Ace was never one for emotional moments—at least, not the serious kind. He usually joked his way out of anything too heavy, but right now, he seemed out of his depth.

“C’mon, don’t cry,” he mumbled, his voice awkward but concerned. “We’ve been through worse, right? I mean, we beat Malleus of all people. If we can get through that, we can get through anything.”

He crouched beside you, his hand patting your shoulder in an attempt to be comforting, though he was clearly fumbling. “Just… talk to us, okay? We’re here. You don’t have to keep everything inside.”

You shook your head, not trusting your voice, but the tears kept coming. Ace sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly unsure of what else to say, but he stayed close, his presence enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Deuce Spade

Deuce knelt down beside you, his expression full of concern. His hand hovered over your back, unsure whether to touch you, as if he was afraid of making things worse. He eventually settled on patting your back gently, his voice unsteady but earnest.

“It’s okay,” Deuce whispered, his usual tough demeanor nowhere to be found. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re all here for you. I—I didn’t realize how much you’ve been going through.”

His face was a mix of worry and guilt, as if he felt bad for not noticing sooner. “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. You’ve been looking out for us this whole time, and I… I didn’t see how much that’s been hurting you.”

You couldn’t respond, your throat tight with emotion. Deuce, seeing your tears still falling, gently shifted closer, offering the only comfort he knew how: his presence. “We’re friends, right? And friends help each other. So… let us help you, okay?”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle appeared beside you, his normally rigid posture softer now. He knelt down, placing a hand on your arm, his touch surprisingly tentative. He looked at you for a moment, eyes filled with unspoken regret before he spoke.

“I should have seen how much you’ve been carrying,” Riddle began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’ve been through so much—more than any of us realized. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

His words were measured, careful, as if he was trying not to overwhelm you. “I’ve been so focused on maintaining order, on fixing things after my own mistakes, that I failed to recognize how much weight you’ve been holding on your own.”

He sighed softly, guilt clear in his voice. “You’ve been our support through everything, but you’ve had no one to lean on yourself. That’s not fair to you, and it’s not something you should have had to do alone.”

Riddle stayed close, his hand still resting on your arm, offering comfort in the only way he knew how—through quiet sincerity.

Trey Clover

Trey crouched down beside you, his presence calm and steady, like always. He didn’t say anything at first, just rested a hand gently on your shoulder, waiting for your sobs to slow. He wasn’t one for grand gestures or overly emotional words, but he didn’t need them. His quiet support spoke volumes.

“You’ve been doing a lot for everyone,” Trey said softly, his voice low and warm. “More than anyone should have to. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”

He offered you a tissue, waiting patiently as you wiped your face, though the tears kept coming. Trey’s hand stayed on your shoulder, a grounding weight.

“You don’t have to keep everything bottled up,” he continued, his tone gentle. “We’re all in this together, you know? If you need a break, if you need someone to listen… we’re here. I’m here.”

There was no judgment in his voice, no impatience, just the quiet assurance that he’d be there for you whenever you needed.

Cater Diamond

Cater slid down beside you, his usual carefree smile nowhere in sight. Instead, his eyes were soft with concern as he pulled out a tissue and handed it to you.

“Y’know, it’s okay to break down sometimes,” Cater said quietly, watching as you wiped your face. His voice was unusually subdued, and for once, there was no joking, no lightheartedness to deflect from the situation.

“We’ve all been through a lot,” he continued, “but I think you’ve been carrying more than the rest of us. Crowley’s been dumping all this stuff on you, expecting you to handle everything, but you shouldn’t have to. Not alone.”

Cater leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve been the glue holding us together. But who’s been holding you together, huh?”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to answer, but the tears just kept coming. Cater didn’t push. He just sat beside you, his presence steady, offering you the space to cry without judgment.

“It’s okay to let it out,” he said, his voice soft. “We’ve got you now.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona crouched down next to you, his green eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of your trembling form. He let out an exasperated sigh, as if annoyed by the situation—not by you, but by everything you’d been forced to endure.

“Ugh, this is exactly why I hate people like Crowley,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Always dumping stuff on others and never dealin’ with the mess themselves.”

He placed a heavy, warm hand on your back, his grip firm but comforting. “Listen, you ain’t weak for feelin’ like this. You’ve done more than enough, and I don’t blame you for breakin’ down. Hell, anyone else would’ve lost it way before you did.”

Leona’s tone softened slightly, his voice low and steady. “You’re tougher than most of the idiots I know. So, stop thinkin’ you gotta do everything yourself. Just rest already.” He grumbled something under his breath about humans overworking themselves, but stayed close by, a quiet, protective presence.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie hunkered down next to you, his usual cheeky grin replaced by something much softer. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head lightly. “Sheesh, you really let all that pile up on ya, huh?”

He gave you a light nudge with his elbow, playful but careful. “Look, you don’t gotta carry everything by yourself, ya know? I get it—you’re tough. But even tough people gotta take a break now and then, yeah?”

Ruggie’s eyes gleamed with empathy, his voice taking on a gentle, comforting tone you didn’t hear often from him. “Life’s been a little unfair to ya, huh? I mean, Crowley dumpin’ all that responsibility on you… it’s not right. But you’re here, and you’re still standin’, even after all that.”

He flashed you a small, reassuring smile. “But you don’t gotta stand alone. You’ve got us now. Lemme know if you need a break—I’ll hustle for the both of us.” Ruggie winked, his familiar mischievousness flickering back into his expression, but the concern in his eyes remained genuine.

Jack Howl

Jack’s ears twitched as he knelt down beside you, his tail swaying slowly with a sense of unease. He wasn’t great with words, but the sight of you breaking down hit him harder than he expected. “Hey,” he began softly, his voice gruff but sincere. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

His hand hovered awkwardly for a second before settling firmly on your shoulder. Jack wasn’t sure how to help, but he wanted to—more than anything. “I know you’ve been strong… probably stronger than anyone should have to be. But it’s okay to let it out.”

He shifted slightly, trying to find the right words. “I… I know how it feels to be away from everything familiar. To feel like you don’t have anyone to lean on. But that’s not true. You’ve got me. You’ve got all of us.”

His grip on your shoulder tightened briefly, like he was silently reassuring you of his support. “You don’t have to face all of this alone. We’re here for you. And I’m not gonna let anything happen to you—or anyone else.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul approached you cautiously, his usual calm and collected demeanor faltering as he saw you crumbling under the weight of everything. His steps were slow, calculated, but there was an unusual tightness in his chest. He knelt down beside you, his expression torn between concern and his usual polished facade.

“You’ve… been carrying quite the burden, haven’t you?” he asked softly, though there was a certain edge to his voice, almost as if he was angry—at the world, at Crowley, at everything that had led to this moment.

His hand hovered over your shoulder for a moment before he rested it gently, almost hesitantly. “I won’t lie to you,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always admired how capable you are. But no one should be expected to handle what you have. Crowley’s negligence… it’s unacceptable.”

Azul glanced away briefly, his sharp gaze softening. “But you’re not alone anymore. You have us. You have me. And I promise, I won’t let anyone take advantage of you again—not without consequence.”

There was a sincerity in his words that Azul rarely revealed, a vulnerability hidden beneath his usual polished exterior. “You don’t have to keep being strong on your own. Allow yourself to lean on someone else for once.”

Jade Leech

Jade knelt gracefully beside you, his usual serene smile gone, replaced with a look of quiet concern. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he was gauging how best to approach the situation. “My, you’ve been holding this all in for quite some time, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice as smooth as ever, but with an underlying warmth that was rare for him.

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, his fingers light but reassuring. “You’ve done more than anyone could ask of you. It’s no surprise that you feel overwhelmed.”

Jade’s gaze flickered over your trembling form, his mismatched eyes studying you carefully. “It’s a great deal of responsibility to bear, especially in a world so far from your own. But… you’re not alone.”

There was a softness in his tone that you didn’t expect, his usual composed demeanor shifting. “You’ve been strong for everyone else. Now, allow yourself to rest. Let us take care of things for a while. You’ve certainly earned it.”

He smiled gently, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reliable. “And do not worry. Should anyone try to take advantage of your kindness again, they will have me to deal with.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd approached you in his typical loose, carefree stride, but when he saw the state you were in, his usual playful grin vanished. His steps quickened, and before you knew it, he was crouched down right in front of you, his mismatched eyes widening in genuine concern. “Whoa, hey, hey! What’s this?” he asked, tilting his head as he examined your tear-streaked face.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into a tight hug—so sudden and fierce that it left you breathless for a second. “You can’t cry like this, Shrimpy. It doesn’t suit you,” he said, his voice unusually soft, though still carrying that familiar teasing edge.

Floyd squeezed you tighter, his long arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. “If things are bad, you should’ve just told me. I’d go squeeze the life outta Crowley for you—he deserves it.” He chuckled, but his grip didn’t loosen, like he was afraid you might fall apart if he let go.

He leaned back slightly, still holding you close. “You don’t gotta be strong all the time, you know? You’re my friend, and I don’t let my friends break down alone. So, whenever you feel like this, just come find me. I’ll squeeze the sadness right outta ya.” His words, though playful, carried a weight of sincerity that made your heart ache a little less.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil stood before you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes held a rare softness. “You’ve let yourself reach this point of exhaustion,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not your fault, but you shouldn’t have been forced to carry this burden alone.”

He knelt beside you, his touch gentle but firm as he took your hand. “You’ve been strong for so long, but even the strongest need time to recuperate. Don’t mistake vulnerability for weakness. It takes great strength to admit you need help.”

Vil brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “You’ve given so much of yourself, but now, it’s time to prioritize your own well-being. I won’t let you neglect yourself any longer. Remember, even a diamond can crack if too much pressure is applied.”

Rook Hunt

Rook’s eyes sparkled with emotion as he knelt gracefully beside you, his usual exuberance tempered by an uncharacteristic stillness. “Ah, mon ami, you have been carrying such a heavy heart all this time,” he whispered, his voice a melodic lilt.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch light, almost reverent. “To be in a world so foreign, surrounded by danger, yet still you’ve stood tall… such beauty in your strength. But even the most resilient soul must rest.”

Rook smiled warmly, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “Let us lift this burden from your shoulders, together. You are not alone. I, too, am by your side, always watching, always ready to catch you should you stumble.”

Epel Felmier

Epel crouched down next to you, his face tight with concern. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, not used to comforting others but determined nonetheless. “You shouldn’t have had to go through all this,” he muttered, his country drawl creeping into his voice. “Crowley’s a real piece of work, throwin’ all that on ya.”

He reached out, offering a hand in his own shy way. “You’ve been tougher than most, and I admire that. But that don’t mean you gotta keep it all bottled up. It’s okay to feel this way. We’re all here for ya, and I’m not lettin’ anyone mess with you anymore.”

Epel’s expression softened, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got us, so don’t think you’re alone in this. We’ll face it all together.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim immediately rushed to your side, concern written all over his face. “Oh no! You’ve been carrying all this by yourself? Why didn’t you tell me?” he exclaimed, kneeling down and grabbing your hands with both of his, his usual exuberance tempered by a rare sincerity.

He gave you a bright, reassuring smile. “You’ve been so strong for everyone else, but it’s okay to take a break. You don’t have to do everything alone—you’ve got us! And I promise, from now on, we’re all going to make sure you’re okay too.”

Kalim’s warm eyes sparkled with optimism. “Let’s go celebrate once you feel better! Something fun and happy—just to take your mind off everything. I’ll plan the best party ever, and you can just relax, okay?”

Jamil Viper

Jamil crouched down beside you, his dark eyes watching you carefully, as if assessing your every emotion. He sighed softly, his voice low and calm. “You’ve been under more pressure than anyone should have to deal with, and none of it was your fault.”

He rested a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm and grounding. “You shouldn’t have had to bear all this alone, but you don’t have to anymore. I understand what it’s like to carry more than you should.”

Jamil’s eyes softened, though his expression remained calm and composed. “From now on, you can rely on us. I won’t let things spiral out of control again, and I won’t let Crowley push you to your limits anymore. You deserve to take a step back and breathe.”

Idia Shroud

Idia stood awkwardly at a distance at first, his usual nervous fidgeting even more pronounced as he saw you breaking down. He hesitated before kneeling beside you, keeping his hands to himself. “I, uh… I get it,” he muttered, voice quieter than usual. “Feeling like the world’s too much to handle? Yeah, I’ve been there.”

He shifted uncomfortably but spoke with genuine understanding. “You’ve been through way more than anyone should. And, uh, it’s okay to not be okay. You don’t have to act like everything’s fine all the time.”

Idia’s blue flames flickered a bit brighter as he added, “If you need to… y’know, not deal with everything, I’ve got games and stuff to help you chill out. No judgment. Just… take it easy, okay?”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho hovered closer, his usual upbeat tone shifting to something far more gentle. “You’ve done so much, and I know it’s been really hard on you,” he said softly, his mechanical voice somehow conveying warmth.

He floated down beside you, his small hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “But you’re not alone anymore! You’ve got big brother and me, and we’ll help you through everything. You don’t have to carry all this by yourself.”

Ortho gave you a bright smile, his eyes glowing softly. “Let me help you feel better! We can work together, and you can lean on us whenever you need to.”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus approached you slowly, his imposing presence softened by the genuine concern in his eyes. He knelt gracefully beside you, his voice low and soothing. “You have been through much, more than anyone should bear. It is no wonder you feel as though the weight is too much.”

He extended a hand, his fingers brushing gently against your arm. “You are not alone in this world. I understand what it is to feel isolated, but you have friends, and you have me.”

Malleus’s gaze softened further, his voice almost a whisper. “I am here for you, as are the others. Rest now, and let us share in your burden. No harm shall come to you as long as I stand by your side.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia floated down beside you with a lightness that contrasted the gravity of the situation. His usual playful demeanor faded, replaced by quiet empathy. “Ah, little one,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with affection. “You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

He rested a hand gently on your head, giving it a comforting pat. “You’ve done well, more than anyone could have asked of you. But now, it’s time to let go of some of that burden. There’s no shame in needing help.”

Lilia smiled gently, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “You’re not alone, not anymore. We’ll protect you. You can lean on us when you need to.”

Silver

Silver knelt beside you, his calm eyes filled with quiet understanding. “You’ve been strong for a long time,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing. “But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch steady and grounding. “It’s okay to let yourself feel overwhelmed. It doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means you’ve been through too much.”

Silver’s eyes softened as he spoke. “You have friends here, people who care about you. You can rely on us. I’ll be here, watching over you, so you can rest.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek approached you with his usual fervor but hesitated when he saw your tears. His sharp voice softened, though it still carried his typical intensity. “Human! You have been through much, but you must remember—you are not alone in this!”

He stood tall beside you, his green eyes blazing with determination. “You have shown strength, but it is not weak to ask for help! Lord Malleus would never allow you to suffer alone, and neither will I!”

Sebek crossed his arms, standing like a guardian at your side. “You are under the protection of Lord Malleus, and by extension, my protection! No harm will come to you now.”

Crowley

Crowley fluttered over, his usual flamboyant demeanor subdued as he saw your distress. “Ah, my dear prefect,” he began, wringing his hands nervously. “It seems that perhaps I’ve… placed more on your shoulders than I should have.”

He knelt beside you, his expression uncharacteristically somber. “You’ve done so much for this school, more than anyone could have asked of you. And for that, I owe you a great debt.”

Crowley’s voice softened, uncharacteristically sincere. “But now, it’s time for me to take some responsibility. You’ve more than earned your rest. From now on, I’ll make sure you have the support you need.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel knelt beside you, his sharp eyes softened with concern. “You’ve been through hell, pup,” he said, his voice low but firm. “And it’s no surprise that you’re feeling the strain.”

He reached out and adjusted your collar with practiced precision, as if he could fix your emotional state as easily as he could fix your appearance. “You’ve shown remarkable strength, but even the strongest need a break."

Crewel’s voice took on a more gentle tone as he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not expected to bear the weight of the world on your own, pup. You’ve more than proven yourself, but now it’s time for you to let others shoulder some of that burden. I won’t allow anyone to exploit your loyalty or determination again.”

He straightened up, his steely demeanor still present but tempered with warmth. “You’ve got me in your corner now. If anyone dares push you to the brink again, they’ll have to deal with me. Understood?”

Mozus Trein

Trein approached slowly, his usual stern expression softened with concern as he adjusted his glasses. “You’ve been under undue stress, haven’t you?” he observed in his deep, calming voice. “No one should be forced to handle such pressure alone.”

He knelt beside you, his demeanor fatherly as he rested a hand on your arm. “This world has not been kind to you, I see that now. But you’ve handled it all with remarkable resilience. However, even the strongest minds and hearts need time to recover.”

Trein sighed deeply, his tone softening further. “I will ensure that you are given that time, without further demands placed on you. You’ve done more than enough.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas came over with his usual boisterous energy, but seeing you in distress made him pause. His expression softened, and he knelt down beside you. “Hey, hey! What’s all this about, huh?” he said, his voice a bit gentler than usual. “You’ve been holding up the team for too long, I see. That��s a heavy weight, and it’s no wonder you’re feeling tired.”

He placed a strong, reassuring hand on your back. “You’re tougher than you think, but even the toughest need a break sometimes. You’ve done amazing—really! But now, it’s time to rest up and let others carry the load for a bit.”

Vargas smiled warmly, his usual energy tempered with sincerity. “You’ve earned it, champ. We’re not leaving you behind. We’ll get through this together.”

Sam

Sam quietly appeared beside you, his usual playful smile replaced by something softer, more caring. “Well now, looks like you’ve been carryin’ quite the burden, huh?” he said in his deep, smooth voice.

He crouched down next to you, his hand resting on your shoulder with a firm but gentle grip. “You’ve been strong for everyone else, but you can let that go for a bit. No shame in feelin’ overwhelmed.”

Sam’s eyes twinkled kindly, and he gave you a warm smile. “Remember, you’ve got friends, and we’re all here for you. Anytime you need a little pick-me-up, you know where to find me. No more carryin’ this all by yourself, alright?”

Grim

Grim strutted over, his ears twitching as he noticed the tears on your face. “Oi, what’s this?” he huffed, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly concerned. “You’re not supposed to be cryin’. You’re supposed to be tough, like me!”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to handle the situation, before awkwardly patting your arm with his paw. “Uh... stop bein’ all sad, okay? You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still here, right? And that’s ‘cause you’ve got me, the Great Grim! I mean, you’re my henchhuman, so obviously you’re tough enough to handle anything!”

He puffed out his chest, trying to inject some of his usual bravado into the situation. “I’ll take care of things next time! No need to worry. Just... stop cryin’, alright? It’s weird. I’m supposed to be the one gettin’ pampered, not the other way around!”

Despite his tough words, Grim stayed by your side, his tail flicking nervously. “But, y’know, I guess... if you need to cry, that’s fine too. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Masterlist

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orphicmeliora · 2 months ago

Text

Evermore

PAIRING: Zayne x Non-MC!Reader

SUMMARY: You have spent your life inside hospital walls, your world stitched together with IV lines, late-night alarms, and the quiet acceptance that some things cannot be fixed. You've been passed from one doctor to another, another test, another trial — all chasing a miracle that never came. Somewhere along the way, you stopped waiting for tomorrow.

But life, in its quiet cruelty and unexpected grace, gives you something you never thought to ask for — a glimpse of another world. A different kind of heartbeat, steady and sure, weaving its way into your fragile one. Moments you never believed you could have: laughter, longing, dreams too big for a hospital bed.

You don't know how long it will last. You don't even know if you dare hope for more.

But when the night is quiet and the snow falls just right, you let yourself believe — for one stolen breath — that maybe your story isn't meant to end here.

Maybe, somehow, you are just beginning.

WORD COUNT: 9.5k

You're dying.

For as long as you can remember, you've known more of hospitals than your own house. It's gotten to a point where when you think of home, it's not a cozy living room or the scent of your mother's cooking that surfaces — it's the sterile, cold corridors of Akso Hospital. The beeping machines. The too-white sheets. The antiseptic sting in the air. That's home.

You've been passed from hospital to hospital like a worn file folder, a case study waiting for a miracle. Doctors, researchers, specialists — all curious, all clinical. Some of them smiled too brightly when they poked at you; others barely met your eyes as they dictated notes into recorders. No matter their faces, it was always the same: a child with a heart too fragile for the world she lived in. Congenital heart disease, they'd say, like it was a sentence you had to carry. Words like hypoplastic, cardiomyopathy, degeneration slipped off their tongues without a second thought.

Research papers had been written about you. Trials run, theories floated, hands reaching inside your chest like gods trying to rewrite fate. But there was no saving you. Not really. Only delaying the inevitable.

At some point, death stopped being a frightening monster lurking at the end of the hallway. It became a quiet fact. A gentle inevitability. Like winter following fall. Like the last leaf leaving the branch. Sometimes you even think of it fondly — a release from the endless pricks of needles and the sting of failed hope.

You don't cry about it anymore. You stopped doing that years ago.

Just you, and the slow ticking of monitors, and the muted conversations outside your door.

But there are still things that ache. Things that death doesn't erase.

Like the school uniforms you never wore.

The scraped knees you never had from playground games.

The friendships you only knew from books and half-forgotten fairy tales read to you by bored nurses.

You grew up surrounded by adults: brisk nurses with kind smiles, tired doctors with far-off eyes, other patients far older than you. No childhood secrets whispered under blankets at sleepovers. No first crushes shared during recess.

Today is supposed to be your sixteenth birthday. A milestone for most kids — laughter, cake, maybe even a little rebellion. You asked for so little. Just a single scoop of ice cream. Something sweet, something that would make you forget, just for a second, that you're broken inside.

Maybe your body decided it was too much joy. Maybe it was just bad timing. Whatever it was, the chest pain started fast and sharp, a blooming fire that stole your breath and sent the world spinning. They rushed you to the ICU, alarms blaring, voices cutting through the fog of your consciousness.

Doctor Li was there, of course. He's always there. A steady presence when everyone else felt like passing shadows. You caught glimpses of his furrowed brow, the tightness in his voice as he barked orders you were too far gone to understand. He was fighting for you. He always did.

The world blurred. Faded. You remember thinking — distantly — how strange it was to die with the taste of vanilla on your tongue.

You don't die that night. Not yet.

But something inside you, small and bright and hopeful, dims just a little more.

The next few days bleed together in a haze of machines and murmured reassurances. You drift in and out of shallow sleep, tethered to the world by the soft beeping of your heart monitor and the cool, practiced touch of the nurses adjusting your IVs. Doctor Li checks on you more than usual — lingering longer at your bedside, as if afraid that if he looks away, you might simply vanish.

You hear snatches of conversation sometimes. Fragments that weren't meant for your ears.

It’s strange how even in survival, you feel like a guest overstaying her welcome.

"She stabilized, but barely."

"Should we consider moving her back to the general ward?"

"Give her time. Let her rest."

On the third day, you notice a figure lingering near the doorway. Not a nurse — they’re always in motion, efficient and brisk. Not Doctor Li, either — this figure carries a stiffness to his stance, a sharpness that cuts into the sterile quiet.

You glance over, disinterested. A boy, maybe a few years older than you, dressed in street clothes that look out of place in the hospital’s sanitized world. Dark hair that falls messily into his eyes, a scowl permanently etched across his face like it was born there. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, like he doesn't want to be here.

You recognize the look immediately — resentment barely contained behind a mask of detachment.

You turn your head away. You couldn't care less.

Let him glare. Let him hate. You’re used to people looking at you like that — like you’re an inconvenience, a burden. You’ve spent your whole life apologizing for existing, even when your lips stayed silent.

He says nothing to you, and you say nothing to him.

Good. Silence is easier. Cleaner.

Later, you hear the nurses whispering about him.

You don't understand why any of it matters. To you, he’s just another shadow passing through your world. Another person whose life will keep moving forward, even when yours stands still.

"Doctor Li’s son. Came straight from his graduation. Poor kid."

"Must be hard, sharing your father with the hospital."

"He'll understand someday. Sacrifices have to be made."

You close your eyes and let the steady rhythm of the heart monitor lull you back into sleep.

Tomorrow will come. Or it won’t.

It hardly makes a difference.

Tomorrow comes. And then the day after that.

Somehow, despite everything, you keep breathing.

You're moved out of the ICU eventually, back into the quieter, less urgent wing of Akso Hospital that has become more familiar than any childhood bedroom you never had. The walls here are softer shades of green, the windows wide and bright — an illusion of freedom you stopped believing in a long time ago.

Your days fall into a familiar rhythm: early morning blood draws, midday vitals checks, whispered conversations with nurses who treat you like a little sister they can't protect. You read when you can, mostly battered romance novels left behind by old patients, and sometimes you simply lie there, counting the cracks in the ceiling tiles like they hold some secret map to a life you’ll never live.

And Zayne —he starts appearing again.

At first, it’s just glimpses. A flash of dark hair down the corridor, the low murmur of his voice when he trails after Doctor Li during rounds. He doesn’t look at you. Not directly. He keeps his gaze clipped to charts and clipboards, face tight with the kind of focus you recognize all too well: the kind born from trying to control what can’t be fixed.

You wonder — briefly — why he keeps coming back.

Most people your age would run from a place like this. Wouldn't they? Chase the world outside with hungry hands, desperate to live, to feel something more than fluorescent lights and beeping machines.

But Zayne stays.

He stands at his father's side, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his lab coat, frowning at words too complicated for you to care about. He listens when Doctor Li explains your charts, your declining numbers, the latest tests they want to run. Sometimes he asks questions, voice low and rough around the edges.

You don't bother trying to hear the answers.

You’ve long stopped hoping anyone had any real ones to give.

The way his shoulders stiffen when Doctor Li mentions your heart’s deterioration. The quick, darting glances he thinks you don’t catch when you wince from another IV insertion. The rare moments his mouth tightens in something almost like frustration, or helplessness.

Still...

You notice things.

You pretend you don't see.

You pretend it doesn't matter.

And you — you have always been leaving.

Because it doesn't.

You have learned, through years of slow dying, that getting attached only makes the leaving harder.

It happens on an afternoon like any other.

The kind where the sun slices through the window just enough to make you ache for the world outside — a world you’ve only seen in pictures and half-forgotten dreams.

You’re sitting up in bed, a book resting on your lap, though you haven’t turned a page in what feels like hours. Your IV pole hums faintly beside you, the only real reminder that you’re still tethered here.

You glance up without thinking — and there he is.

You hear footsteps before you see him.

Not Doctor Li’s sure, even strides.

Softer. Slower. Hesitant.

Zayne.

Hovering awkwardly just inside your room, clutching a thick textbook to his chest like a shield. He's not wearing his usual scowl today. Instead, his face is carved into something tighter, more uncertain, as if he isn't quite sure whether he should even be standing here.

You raise an eyebrow, silently daring him to speak.

He clears his throat. It sounds painful.

"I—" he starts, then immediately cuts himself off, glancing away. His hand tightens around the book's spine.

You blink at him, unimpressed.

If he’s here to offer hollow pity or awkward small talk, he can save it. You’ve heard it all before — the forced conversations, the clumsy sympathy from visitors who can't even look you in the eye for long.

You drop your gaze back to your book, pretending he isn't there. Silence stretches thick and heavy between you.

For a moment, you think he’s going to retreat, like so many others have.

But he doesn't.

You freeze, your thumb hovering over the corner of the worn page.

Instead, after a beat of hesitation, you hear him mumble — so quiet you almost miss it —

"…That book’s terrible."

Slowly, you glance up again. He’s staring at the battered cover, expression wrinkling in disdain.

"I mean," he says, awkward and stiff, like every word is being dragged out of him by force, "the plot makes no sense. The heroine falls in love with a guy who literally tried to kill her in the first chapter."

You blink once. Twice.

"Yeah," you say, voice hoarse from disuse, "but it's not like I've got a lot of options."

And then, unexpectedly, a small huff of air escapes you — not quite a laugh, but close.

You hadn't realized how long it had been since someone your age spoke to you like that. Not like you were breakable. Not like you were already halfway gone.

He shifts his weight, looking vaguely guilty now. Like he hadn't meant to insult your sad little world.

You watch him for a moment longer, studying the way he fidgets — a boy trying very hard not to look like he cares, even though it’s written in every line of his posture.

Without thinking, you extend the book toward him, offering it out like a peace treaty.

"Got any recommendations, then?"

He stares at you, startled. Like he wasn’t expecting you to talk back. Like he wasn't expecting you to choose to talk to him.

Slowly, almost warily, he steps forward. Takes the book from your hand, fingers brushing yours for the briefest second—warm and real and alive.

Something small shifts in the air between you.

Barely there.

But you feel it all the same.

But right now—for the first time in a long, long while—you don’t feel quite so alone.

Maybe tomorrow he'll disappear again.

Maybe you’ll still die before you ever really know him.

The next day, you don’t expect him to come back.

People make gestures sometimes — quick, impulsive things born of guilt or pity. You’ve learned not to get your hopes up. You've learned not to expect anyone to stay.

But late in the afternoon, as the sun dips low and the room fills with that golden, aching kind of light, you hear familiar footsteps outside your door. Slower, more deliberate this time. No shuffling nurses, no hurried doctors.

You glance up from your spot on the bed just as Zayne leans into the doorway, one hand shoved deep into the pocket of his jacket, the other holding something behind his back like a guilty secret.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at you, frowning faintly, like he’s annoyed to find you still there. (Or maybe annoyed with himself.)

You raise an eyebrow, a silent question.

He scowls a little deeper — a defense mechanism, you think — and mutters, "You said you didn’t have good options."

Before you can reply, he pulls his hand from behind his back and tosses a book onto your bed.

It lands with a soft thud against the sheets, the cover facing up.

You blink at it, surprised. It’s thick, heavier than the flimsy paperbacks you usually get stuck with, and worn around the edges like it's been read a dozen times. A fantasy novel, from the looks of it — something with sprawling kingdoms and sword fights and impossible magic.

You run your fingers lightly over the embossed title, almost afraid it might disappear.

"I had it lying around," he says quickly, too quickly. "Figured you could use something... less stupid."

You look up at him again, and this time you catch it — the faint pink dusting the tips of his ears, the way he can't quite meet your gaze.

You almost smile. Almost.

Instead, you trace the cover one more time, letting the weight of the book settle into your lap like something precious.

"...Thanks," you say, quiet but sincere.

Zayne shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Like he doesn’t care. But he lingers a moment longer than necessary, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

Finally, he jerks his head toward the book. "Page ninety-seven is the best part," he says gruffly. "Don't skip to it, though. You have to earn it."

And with that, he turns and stalks off down the hallway, disappearing before you can say anything else.

You watch him go, your chest feeling strangely full, like someone had opened a window inside you after years of stale, closed-off air.

You pick up the book, flipping it open carefully. On the inside cover, in faded ink, there’s a name scribbled messily: Zayne Li.

You smile — small, private, and fleeting.

—

Maybe you were wrong.

Maybe not everyone leaves.

You tell yourself it’s just a book.

And every single one of them — every single page — is littered with traces of him.

One book turns into two. Then three.

Each one arrives without ceremony — sometimes left on your bedside table when you’re asleep, sometimes handed over with an awkward grunt and averted eyes. Always worn. Always loved.

Little notes crammed into the margins. Sharp, neat handwriting in black ink. Observations. Sarcastic comments. Underlined passages with a single word beside them — you. Sometimes a whole phrase: this reminds me of you or you'd probably argue about this part.

It’s like Zayne is sitting beside you as you read, muttering in your ear.

The strange thing is — the words, the quiet thoughts he left scattered across the pages — they make you feel something. Something unfamiliar and terrifying. A buzzing under your skin, a pressure behind your ribs, too wild and heavy to name.

You devour the books hungrily.

You savor every messy annotation like it’s oxygen.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. You're just imagining things.

Until the night it isn’t.

You’re halfway through another novel — a sweeping, painful story about a dying girl and a boy who loved her too much — when it happens.

Your heart flutters.

You freeze, book slipping from your hands onto the bed.

Not in the way it usually does — the panicked, stuttering rhythm that sends alarms shrieking and nurses running.

This flutter is different.

Soft. Gentle. Terrifying.

For a second, you can't breathe — not from weakness, but from something that feels suspiciously like hope, like longing.

Within seconds, your room explodes into motion — nurses flooding in, monitors flashing to life, Doctor Li himself arriving in a whirl of urgency.

You panic.

You hit the pager beside your bed, repeatedly.

They swarm you with equipment, prick your fingers, measure your heart rhythms. Voices rise and fall in a symphony of concern.

In the middle of it all, you sit there, dazed and mortified.

Because you realize — slowly, stupidly—you’re not dying.

When the chaos finally ebbs, when the monitors hum their steady, forgiving rhythm again, Doctor Li kneels beside your bed and presses a gentle hand to your shoulder.

Not yet.

Not from this.

"You’re alright," he says, voice warm and steady. "It was just... an excitement response. A little arrhythmia. Nothing dangerous."

You nod, face burning.

You don't tell him it wasn't excitement about life. It was about his son.

It was the first time in your memory that your heart had jumped not from fear, but from feeling something more.

It was a start.

Time moves strangely after that.

You learn him.

Weeks blend into months.

Zayne visits more now — under the pretense of study sessions with his father, but you both know better. He still brings you books, still pretends it's nothing, but sometimes he stays to see which parts make you smile. You argue with him over characters. He rolls his eyes when you get too emotional. You learn the patterns of his dry humor, the sharp warmth hidden under his guarded exterior.

And, quietly, dangerously, you start to want more.

One afternoon, you find yourselves alone. Doctor Li is caught up in surgery. The nurses are busy elsewhere. The hospital is unusually quiet.

Zayne sits slouched in the chair beside your bed, tapping a pen against his knee. You’re thumbing through the latest book he loaned you — a nonfiction this time, something about stars and deep space, endless distances that make your small, fragile life feel even smaller.

For a while, you exist in comfortable silence.

Then, without looking at you, Zayne says, "You know you’re sick. Really sick."

It's not a question. It's a fact, laid bare between you.

You close the book slowly, pressing your palm flat against the cover to keep your hands from shaking.

"I know," you say, voice barely a whisper.

Zayne leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor.

"I want to fix it," he says roughly. "I’m studying to fix it."

You stare at him, heart twisting.

"You can't," you say, almost gently. "Nobody can."

His jaw tightens. His fingers curl into fists against his thighs.

"I have to," he mutters. "Otherwise... what's the point?"

The words hang there between you — raw, desperate, infuriatingly beautiful.

You swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes.

"You don't have to waste your life on me," you say. "You have your own future. Your own world."

Finally, he lifts his head and looks at you — really looks at you.

And in his dark, tired eyes, you see it.

"I'm not wasting it," he says.

The stubbornness.

The grief.

The terrible, trembling hope.

He says it like an oath. Like a prayer.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe — just a little — that maybe, just maybe, you're not fighting alone anymore.

You glance up from your book, startled to see Zayne standing by your bedside, a mischievous glint in his otherwise serious eyes.

A rustle of cloth. The scrape of a chair being quietly pushed back.

He holds out his hand to you — palm up, steady.

"Come on," he says, voice low and urgent. "Before someone notices."

You stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

"I’m not exactly mobile, in case you forgot," you say dryly, gesturing weakly at your IV stand and the tangle of wires monitoring your heart.

Zayne’s mouth tugs into the smallest, briefest smirk.

"I planned for that," he says.

He lifts a second IV pole from behind him — wheels it forward like a grand conspirator revealing his secret weapon. It’s empty except for a few dummy wires and a hastily knotted hospital gown draped over it like camouflage.

You blink.

He actually planned this.

"You're insane," you whisper.

"Maybe," he says. "But so are you for trusting me."

His fingers curl around yours, warm and sure, and for the first time in a long while, you feel something electric under your skin — something alive.

You don’t trust easily.

You never have.

But tonight — with the sterile hum of the hospital around you, and the fierce, reckless light in Zayne’s eyes — you find yourself reaching for his hand anyway.

Carefully, painstakingly, he helps you out of bed, maneuvering your real IV to look as inconspicuous as possible. You clutch his arm for balance, and he doesn't flinch or pull away. He just stands there, solid and steady, like he was built to hold you up.

Together, you slip out of your room and into the dimly lit hallway.

The hospital at night is a different world — softer, quieter, suspended in time. The usual sharp edges of sterile life blur into something almost magical.

Zayne leads you through the labyrinth of corridors, past empty nurses' stations and closed doors, moving like a ghost through his second home.

Eventually, he pushes open a heavy door, and you find yourself on the hospital’s rooftop.

You don't ask where you're going.

You trust him.

The cool night air hits you like a blessing. Linkon city sprawls out below you, lights blinking like a thousand tiny stars scattered across the dark.

Above you, the real stars stretch in endless constellations, faint but stubborn, refusing to be erased by the city's glow.

You stand there, breathing in the night, the IV pole at your side forgotten for a moment.

Zayne leans against the railing, his arms crossed over his chest, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"This," he says, tilting his chin toward the sky, "is the closest I could get to taking you out of here."

You stare up at the heavens, feeling something bloom painfully in your chest.

"You’re not supposed to do this," you whisper, but there’s no anger in your voice. Only wonder.

Zayne shrugs. "Sue me."

You laugh — a small, broken sound — and he turns his head slightly, like he wants to hear it again but is too proud to ask.

Finally, you glance over at him.

For a long time, you just stand there.

Two kids on a rooftop.

One dying, one refusing to let her go quietly.

"Thank you," you say simply.

His mouth twitches — the barest ghost of a smile.

"You’re welcome," he mutters.

Then, after a beat:

"You’re not allowed to die yet, by the way."

You blink at him, startled.

"That’s an order," he adds, looking away as if embarrassed. "Doctor’s orders."

Not if there’s still more of him.

You bite back the emotion swelling in your throat, smiling instead.

Because you realize, deep down, you don’t want to die yet.

Not if there’s still more of this.

After that first night, the rooftop becomes your place.

Whenever the nights are quiet and the staff is distracted, he appears in your doorway with a raised eyebrow and a silent question.

You and Zayne never talk about it.

You never plan it.

It just happens — an unspoken ritual.

You always nod.

And then you're off again — sneaking past monitors, wheels squeaking faintly, IV pole rattling slightly as you creep through the halls like co-conspirators against fate.

The rooftop feels almost sacred now.

Up there, the air smells less like bleach and more like possibility.

Up there, you aren’t just a patient strapped to machines — you’re alive.

You learn more about him — the way he hates instant coffee but drinks it anyway. His ridiculous sweet tooth. The way he grips the railing a little too tightly sometimes, like he’s afraid of losing control. How his smiles are rare but real, and he saves most of them for you.

Sometimes you talk.

Sometimes you sit in silence.

He listens. Really listens.

And he learns about you — the real you, the one buried under layers of hospital gowns and medical files.

He learns you love thunderstorms. That you used to dream of becoming an astronaut before you got too sick to dream at all. That you’re terrified, not of dying, but of being forgotten.

And something inside you, long frozen, starts to thaw.

You start pushing yourself during physical therapy. You sit up longer. You fight to stay awake through bad days just so you can catch a glimpse of him passing by.

You get stronger.

Not in the way that matters medically — your charts still fluctuate, your heart still falters sometimes — but your spirit grows stubborn. Fierce. Hungry.

And even if you don’t say it out loud, you know he wants it too.

You want more time.

You want more nights under the stars.

You want more him.

But the clock is always ticking.

Some nights, the pain comes back — sharp and sudden, clenching around your ribs like an iron hand. Some nights, the monitors scream and the nurses race in, and Zayne isn't allowed to visit until you're stabilized again.

On those nights, you stare at the ceiling and try not to think about how fleeting all of this is.

And then one night, when you’re both on the rooftop again, he blurts it out.

You wonder if he knows.

If he feels it too — the way the future presses down on you both like a heavy, inevitable sky.

"You’re getting worse," he says, voice low and tight.

You don't argue. You don't pretend.

Instead, you lean against the railing, the cold metal digging into your palms, and whisper, "I know."

You expect him to retreat. To shut down the way most people do when confronted with the ugly truth of you.

But Zayne just steps closer.

"You’re still fighting," he says roughly. "Even when it’s pointless. Even when you’re scared."

You laugh — bitter, broken.

"There's no winning this," you say. "No miracle cure. You know that, don't you?"

Then, very quietly:

He says nothing for a long time.

Just stands there, breathing hard, like he’s holding back something too big for words.

"I’m still going to try."

You turn your head, meeting his gaze fully for the first time in what feels like forever.

There’s no pity there. No empty promises.

And for the first time, you allow yourself to lean just a little closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

Only determination.

Only him.

He stiffens — startled — but then, slowly, carefully, he shifts so you fit against him better.

The IV line tugs against your arm. Your heart monitor blips faintly in the background.

But here, in this small, stolen moment, you aren't a diagnosis. You aren't a prognosis.

You're just a girl.

And he's just a boy trying to save you.

The night it happens, you’re both too tired to pretend you're fine anymore.

The rooftop air is thick and heavy, the heat of the day still clinging stubbornly to the concrete. You sit cross-legged on a worn blanket Zayne smuggled from the staff lounge, your IV pole parked dutifully beside you, your heart monitor muted to a low, steady pulse.

Zayne lounges beside you, long legs stretched out, arms folded behind his head as he stares up at the stars.

Neither of you say much.

The sky stretches overhead in an endless velvet sweep, pinpricked with faint light. Somewhere far below, Linkon city hums and breathes without you.

Words feel too heavy tonight.

Besides, you don’t need them.

You turn your head slightly, watching him.

His face looks softer in the dark — the stern lines of his mouth eased, the tension usually buried in his shoulders melted away. You can see the faint smudges of exhaustion under his eyes, the little crease between his brows he probably doesn't even realize he has.

You realize — with a strange, aching clarity — that you want to remember this. You want to burn this version of him into your memory so you can carry it with you, no matter what happens.

Your eyelids grow heavier with each passing minute.

The monitors hum quietly beside you, a gentle lullaby.

Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, your body leans sideways — just a little, just enough — and without thinking, without planning, you drift closer until your head finds his shoulder.

Zayne goes rigid at first — like someone just pulled a fire alarm inside his chest — but after a long, tense second, he shifts carefully, allowing you to settle against him.

You half-expect him to tease you. To make some snide remark.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he stays perfectly still, perfectly steady, like he’s afraid even breathing too loudly might wake you.

You don't remember falling asleep.

But you remember the feeling —safe, warm, suspended in something fragile and golden —as you sink into dreams for the first time in months without fear clawing at your throat.

You wake up hours later to the faintest touch — Zayne carefully adjusting your IV line, his fingers clumsy with sleep, his eyes still heavy-lidded.

He blinks down at you, caught between guilt and something deeper, something raw.

"Sorry," he mutters, voice rough. "Didn't mean to—"

You cut him off by curling a little closer, burying your face in the crook of his arm.

Later, when you’re both back inside, tangled in warmth and silence, the question slips out before you can stop it.

And for once, he doesn't argue.

He just lets you stay.

You’re still curled under your hospital blankets, the faint beep of your monitor filling the room like a heartbeat. Zayne sits in the chair beside your bed, scribbling distractedly in his med school notebook, but you know he’s only half-focused at best.

"Zayne," you say quietly.

He hums in response, not looking up.

"If you could have anything," you whisper, "anything at all… what would you wish for?"

He freezes, pen hovering midair.

The silence stretches so long you wonder if he’s going to answer at all.

Looks at you.

Then, slowly, he sets the pen down.

Leans forward, elbows braced on his knees.

His eyes are tired and beautiful, reflecting every terrible truth you both carry.

You open your mouth — to ask with who, to demand more clarity — but he beats you to it.

"I’d wish," he says slowly, like dragging the words out of his chest hurts,

"for more time."

"With you," he says, voice breaking just slightly on the last word.

Your heart stumbles painfully in your chest — not from illness, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of him, of this.

You can’t breathe.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until he’s there, wiping a thumb under your eye, the touch so painfully gentle it almost undoes you completely.

He just stays.

He doesn’t ask for anything more.

He doesn’t try to kiss you, or make promises he can’t keep.

Because he knows. You both know.

This love—whatever it is, whatever it’s becoming—isn’t about grand declarations or fairy-tale endings.

It’s about now.

It’s about this fragile, fleeting moment where you are still here, still breathing, still together.

And for tonight, that’s enough.

The days that follow feel… different.

It’s subtle at first — a lighter step in your walk, a softer smile tucked at the corners of your mouth — but it’s there.

Hope.

Tiny, fragile, impossible hope.

And it’s all because of him.

You don’t dare speak it aloud — not when your body is still betraying you at every turn, not when your doctors still whisper in careful, practiced voices outside your room — but it grows inside you anyway.

A stubborn little flame.

Because of the way Zayne looks at you now — not like a patient he’s sworn to protect, not like a lost cause — but like a person.

A girl with dreams worth fighting for.

One night, when the hospital halls are unusually quiet and the rooftop is bathed in a silver wash of moonlight, you find yourself blurting it out.

Your secret list.

The things you thought you had buried.

"I want to see snow," you whisper, breath misting faintly in the cold. "I want to dance without an IV pole dragging beside me." A soft, broken laugh slips from your mouth. "I want to eat an entire cake without someone telling me it’s too much sugar."

You glance at him, embarrassed, cheeks hot. "And I want someone to kiss me like it’s the end of the world."

But Zayne just listens — really listens — every word sinking into him like gospel.

You expect him to laugh.

Or worse, to pity you.

And when you fall silent, when you turn your face away to hide the burning in your chest, he steps closer.

You blink up at him, stunned.

"So we’ll do it," he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

"We’ll do all of it."

"Zayne—"

"I mean it," he cuts in, voice fierce and steady. "Whatever time we have — we use it. Every second. No regrets."

You want to believe him.

God, you want it so badly your heart physically aches with it.

Still—still—

But you’ve been burned by hope before.

You know how cruel the world can be to people like you.

The way he looks at you now, fierce and soft all at once —the way he says we —you think maybe, just maybe, it’s worth believing again.

"Okay," you whisper, a little breathless, a little terrified.

He smiles then — not the small, careful smirks you’re used to, but a real, breathtaking smile that lights up his whole face.

"Good," he says, offering his hand to you like it’s a promise.

You slip your fingers into his, and the night folds around you, carrying your fragile hopes into the stars.

Later, back in your bed, curled up under warm blankets and still clutching the memory of his hand in yours, you allow yourself to dream.

Tiny dreams.

Stupid, beautiful dreams.

You fall asleep smiling.

You imagine catching snowflakes on your tongue with him.

You imagine dancing barefoot in a field, laughing until your lungs ache for the right reasons.

You imagine frosting on your nose, stolen kisses, clumsy hands trying to twirl you around.

You imagine living — even if it’s just for a little while — like you were never sick at all.

The night it happens, it’s unbearably hot — heavy, clinging summer air that sticks to your skin and makes the hospital walls feel even more suffocating.

You’re dozing restlessly in your bed when he appears at your door.

Zayne.

"Come with me," he says, without preamble.

His hair is a little messy, his white coat half-buttoned and wrinkled like he’s been moving fast — a little frantic, a little reckless.

He’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed from the sprint through the halls.

You blink blearily at him, confused.

Before you can protest, he’s wheeling you out of the room, fast and determined.

He doesn’t explain. He just strides forward, unhooks your IV pole from the wall, checks the portable monitor strapped to your wrist, and mutters,

"You’re stable. Good enough."

You always have.

Your heart kicks wildly in your chest — a mix of fear and excitement and confusion — but you don’t ask questions.

You trust him.

—

He leads you to the rooftop.

It’s empty, quiet — the city sprawled out below you like a glittering sea.

The sky overhead is a deep, endless blue-black, scattered with stars.

And then —

Zayne closes his eyes.

Takes a slow, steady breath.

And the world shifts.

It starts slowly — a faint chill curling into the warm summer air, the barest shimmer of cold gathering around him.

Then, with a soft, almost imperceptible hum, it begins to fall.

Snow.

Tiny crystalline flakes drift from the sky, swirling in delicate, shimmering patterns.

You gasp — a real, sharp, alive sound — and reach out instinctively.

A flake lands on your fingertip, melting instantly against your warm skin.

"You said you wanted to see snow," Zayne murmurs, voice low and a little shy. "Real snow’s impossible right now, but…"

He trails off, lifting a hand helplessly, as if embarrassed.

As if this miracle he’s created isn’t enough.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

You can't speak. You can't even think.

You just stand there, under the impossible snowfall, heart thundering in your chest like it might break free entirely.

He watches you — watches the wonder bloom across your face — and his own expression softens, the usual tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

And then—

As if the night wasn’t already enough—

He pulls something out from behind a nearby bench.

A small, messy cake.

"I made it," he says gruffly, ears turning pink. "Don’t laugh."

Lopsided.

Clearly homemade.

Icing smeared unevenly across the top.

You laugh anyway — a bright, broken sound — and it feels good, like sunlight bursting through storm clouds.

He steps closer, offering you a plastic fork.

You scoop a big, absurdly sugary bite and shove it into your mouth without hesitation, icing smearing at the corner of your lips.

Zayne chuckles under his breath — a rare, breathtaking sound — and reaches out with a thumb to wipe the frosting away.

The touch lingers longer than necessary.

The world slows down.

Your heart is pounding so hard now it’s probably setting off alarms somewhere inside the hospital.

And you realize — you don't want this moment to end.

You don’t want to forget any of it.

But you don't care.

Because then—he sets the cake aside.

Takes your hand in his.

The snow still falls around you, shimmering under the rooftop lights.

He doesn’t say a word.

He just pulls you into a slow, clumsy dance — his hand on your waist, your IV line dragging along but forgotten, your feet stumbling awkwardly in hospital socks — and you laugh again, breathless and giddy and so impossibly alive.

You sway together, turning in small circles, the city spinning lazily beyond the rooftop’s edge.

You think maybe your heart is breaking and mending all at once.

You think maybe you’re falling in love.

And when the song of the night winds down to a hush, when you’re standing chest-to-chest and he’s looking down at you with that unbearably soft expression —

You rise up on your toes.

Just a little.

Just enough.

And you kiss him.

Soft.

Gentle.

Trembling with all the things you’re too scared to say.

It isn’t perfect — your noses bump, you’re both a little off balance — but it doesn’t matter.

Because it’s real.

Because it’s yours.

Because it’s every wish you never dared to make coming true at once.

You pull back a fraction, resting your forehead against his, breathing in the cold he summoned just for you.

Neither of you speaks.

You don't have to.

Everything you feel is written in the way his thumb strokes over your wrist, in the way your fingers curl desperately into the fabric of his shirt.

You are here.

You are together.

For however long you have left.

And for now, for tonight, that's enough.

The plan takes a week to set in motion.

Doctor Li is cautious, of course — his worry etched in the lines around his tired eyes — but in the end, he agrees.

Maybe because he sees the way you light up now, the way your charts have stabilized just a little, like your heart has found something worth fighting for.

Or maybe because he remembers — painfully — what life is supposed to feel like outside sterile hospital walls.

Clearance is granted. Nurses fuss and fret, loading your bag with medications and emergency supplies, setting strict curfews and contingencies.

But you don’t care about any of that.

Because when Zayne wheels you out the front doors into the bright, wild world, it feels like stepping into another life entirely.

The city is buzzing, golden sunlight pouring like honey over everything.

And the park — oh god, the park! It's huge and sprawling and alive, filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the sound of children laughing.

Zayne’s hand never leaves yours as he leads you through winding paths, under archways draped in climbing roses, past glittering fountains that catch the light like tiny rainbows.

At one point he finds an empty patch of grass, drops a threadbare blanket he must have stolen from the hospital laundry, and you sit side by side under a tree, dappled sunlight dancing across your skin.

You’re breathless with wonder.

Breathless and alive.

For a long time, you just exist.

Breathing.

Laughing.

Watching the clouds drift by like lazy ships.

And then — quietly, almost shyly — Zayne starts talking about the future.

"Our own place," he says, tracing patterns in the air. "A tiny apartment, the kind where you can hear the neighbors arguing through the walls. We'd have to get a cat. Or a dog. Or both."

You laugh, heart aching sweetly.

He grins, warmed by your smile, and keeps going, voice steady and dreaming.

"I'd cook. You'd probably hate it. You’d tease me until I ordered takeout."

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you like a blessing.

"And someday…" His voice falters, softens. "If you wanted — we could travel. Anywhere. Everywhere. Mountains, oceans. I’d show you real snow."

You open your eyes, finding him already watching you.

There’s a look in his gaze that’s almost unbearable in its tenderness.

"You’ll see everything," he murmurs, like a vow. "I’ll make sure of it."

You smile.

You don't say what you’re thinking — that you’d be happy seeing anything at all, so long as he’s standing beside you.

You just tuck the dream away, precious and impossible, into the quiet spaces of your heart.

You spend the afternoon like that.

Eating terrible ice cream from a street vendor.

Dancing barefoot in the grass even when your knees wobble and Zayne has to catch you, laughing into your hair.

Taking blurry, ridiculous photos with his phone — him pulling faces, you struggling to keep a straight one.

You are tired beyond words when you return to the hospital — every muscle aching, your chest tight with strain — but you are happy.

So unbearably, blissfully happy.

For the first time in your life, you feel like you belonged to the world.

Like maybe you could carve a little piece of it for yourself after all.

But happiness, you learn, is a fragile thing.

Easily shattered.

Easily lost.

It starts slowly.

Nothing you haven’t dealt with before.

A missed heartbeat here.

A dizzy spell there.

Nothing serious.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

But soon it’s undeniable.

You don’t want to worry Zayne.

You don’t want to darken the light he’s given you.

You can’t catch your breath after simple movements.

Your fingers tremble when you try to hold a fork.

Your chest burns with a constant, gnawing ache that no amount of oxygen seems to soothe.

Zayne notices, of course.

He’s not stupid.

And he’s terrified.

The night you collapse in your room — monitors screaming, nurses rushing in a panic — Zayne shoves through the crowd like a force of nature, wild-eyed and desperate.

He’s the one who grabs your hand as they work frantically around you. He’s the one who keeps whispering your name, again and again, like he can anchor you here just by speaking it.

"Don’t," he chokes out, voice cracking for the first time since you’ve known him. "Don’t you dare give up. Not now."

You’re so tired.

God, you’re so tired.

Your vision flickers, the world tilting dangerously, but you find his face — blurry, beautiful — and focus on him with everything you have left.

"I’m so close," he says, begging now. "I’m almost there. Just a little longer — I swear — I’ll find a way —"

You smile.

Small. Broken.

You feel your heart weaken again — a tangible, physical slip inside your ribcage — but you hold his gaze.

You don’t have the strength for promises you can’t keep.

But you can give him this:

"I’ll try," you whisper.

It’s the truth.

It’s everything you can offer.

And it’s enough to make his fingers tighten around yours like he can hold you here by sheer force of will.

Like maybe love alone could be enough to save you.

It’s snowing again.

But not like before.

Not like rooftop snow under hospital lights, summoned from Evol and desperation.

This snow is real — thick, heavy flakes falling from a grey sky, the kind you can lose yourself in.

You’re standing in the middle of a wide, open field. Everything around you is blanketed in pure white.

And he’s there.

Zayne.

Not in a lab coat. Not with tired eyes and trembling hands. But whole.

Bright.

Smiling that rare, breathtaking smile he saves only for you.

"You made it," he says, voice warm as he reaches for you.

You laugh — really laugh — the sound echoing across the empty field like a song.

Your body moves easily, no wires tethering you, no weight dragging at your limbs.

You run to him.

You run.

He catches you effortlessly, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off your feet in a dizzying, laughing spin.

"You kept your promise," you murmur against his shoulder.

"I told you," he says simply, "I'd show you everything."

You don’t want to let go.

You don’t ever want to let go.

And so you don’t.

You stay like that — pressed against him, his heartbeat steady and sure under your palm — as the snow falls heavier, swirling around you like a blessing.

You close your eyes.

You dream bigger.

You see it all — the tiny apartment, the noisy neighbors, the stupid cat knocking over potted plants.

Burnt pancakes in the morning.

Train tickets to everywhere.

Laughing on crowded streets in cities you can't even pronounce.

Wedding rings slipped onto shaking fingers.

A life.

A real, messy, miraculous life.

With him.

Always, with him.

And for one shining, impossible moment—you believe.

You believe you’ll live long enough to see it.

You believe you already have.

The world is harsh when it drags you back.

Cold.

Bright.

Noisy.

You blink against the glare of fluorescent lights, the steady beeping of machines surrounding you.

The familiar, sterile scent of antiseptic stings your nose.

ICU.

Again.

You shift slightly — everything aches — and feel the tug of new wires and IVs threaded into your skin.

And then —

Warmth.

A hand.

Wrapped around yours.

You turn your head with effort.

And find him there.

Zayne.

Slumped in a chair too small for him, still in his hospital scrubs, dark circles bruising his eyes.

Sleeping.

But even in sleep, he doesn’t let go of you.

His hand is firm, steady, fingers laced with yours like a lifeline.

You watch him — your heart aching with something too big, too fierce to name.

You don’t move.

You don’t dare wake him.

And that’s enough.

Because for now — for this fragile, precious moment — you are still here.

He is still here.

—

You don’t know how long you just lie there, feeling his hand wrapped tightly around yours, listening to the steady blip of your own heartbeat on the monitors.

Eventually, he stirs.

You’re so tired.

But you're also… at peace.

A soft, broken noise leaves him — like even sleep can’t protect him from whatever war he’s fighting inside.

And when his eyes blink open, dazed and bloodshot, they land on you immediately.

As if he's terrified you'll vanish if he blinks again.

For a moment, he just stares.

As if he doesn't quite believe you’re real.

"Hey," you rasp, your voice barely more than a whisper.

His face crumples.

He surges forward, pressing his forehead against your joined hands, squeezing so hard it almost hurts.

You manage a smile — small, but real.

"You're awake," he breathes, voice wrecked with relief and exhaustion.

"God — you're awake."

"I wasn’t gonna miss your dramatic collapse," you joke, because you have to. Because the alternative — the raw fear in his eyes — is too much to bear.

It works, a little.

A huff of helpless laughter shudders out of him.

"You scared the hell out of me," he mutters against your knuckles, his breath shaking.

"You scare me all the time," you tease, lighter now, though your chest aches with every word. "But I’m still here."

He lifts his head, looking at you like you're something sacred.

"You have to stay," he says fiercely. "You have to — just a little longer —please —I'm so close —I swear—"

Your heart twists.

You wish you could bottle it up and drink it, let it heal you from the inside out.

He’s been saying that for so long.

So many promises.

So much hope.

You reach up, fingers brushing his jaw, feeling the stubble that wasn't there yesterday.

"I know," you whisper. "I know you're trying. I’m trying, too."

Your hand falls back to the bed, too heavy to hold up.

His hand follows immediately, cradling it again like he can shield you from the whole world.

"I can’t lose you," he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it.

His thumb strokes over your knuckles, desperate and tender all at once.

"You won't," you whisper.

It’s a lie, and you both know it.

But it’s a kind lie.

The kind you tell someone when love outweighs truth.

His eyes glisten, wet and angry and afraid.

"You’re going to live," he says, like it’s a fact.

Like he can will it into existence.

You smile again — soft and sad and full of all the things you don't have the strength to say.

"I'll make sure of it," he vows, fierce and breaking.

"I’ll tear the world apart if I have to."

Even now, when your body feels like it’s slipping further away from you with every beat.

You believe him.

You always believe him.

Even now, when you know some promises are too big for this world.

You squeeze his hand weakly.

"I love you," you whisper before you can stop yourself.

It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud.

The first and — you know — maybe the last.

He lets out a broken, shuddering sound, and leans forward until his forehead rests against yours.

"I love you more," he whispers back, trembling.

"I love you enough to move heaven and earth if that's what it takes."

You close your eyes.

You let yourself believe it.

Just for a little while longer.

Just until the morning comes.

The days bleed together in a haze of too-bright mornings and too-quiet nights.

Sometimes you’re strong enough to sit up, to laugh a little when he brings you sweets hidden in his bag, the ones the nurses pretend not to see.

Sometimes you can’t even lift your head.

But he never leaves.

Zayne is there through all of it — a constant, stubborn presence.

He drags a battered medical textbook everywhere he goes, flipping through it with growing desperation between moments spent at your side.

You catch him muttering to himself sometimes — notes, formulas, theories — a language only he and the universe seem to understand.

His eyes never lose that fierce, determined light. Not even when the others — the nurses, the doctors, even his father — start looking at you with that pitying softness usually reserved for lost causes.

Zayne refuses.

Refuses to believe you are anything less than a miracle still waiting to happen.

And for a while, you let him.

You let yourself believe it too.

You dream together — quietly, in snatches of exhausted conversation.

Little things.

You fall asleep with his hand in yours, and for a moment, you almost think you’ll wake up to that future.

Trips you’ll take.

Places you’ll see.

A life waiting just beyond the next sunrise.

Almost.

It happens in the middle of the night.

At first, it's nothing.

A shiver.

A slight breathlessness.

You're used to it. You think you’ll ride it out like all the others.

But then the pain hits.

A blinding, seizing agony in your chest that knocks the air from your lungs.

You’re distantly aware of Zayne shouting — your name over and over—his voice cracking in a way you’ve never heard before.

Monitors shriek.

Nurses rush in.

The world explodes into chaos.

You try to find him — try to reach out — but your limbs are so heavy, your vision swimming.

You catch one glimpse — just one — of him being dragged back by hospital staff, his face twisted in a raw, desperate kind of terror that tears something deep inside you.

But you can’t speak.

You want to tell him it’s okay.

You want to tell him you’re not afraid.

You can’t even breathe.

And as the darkness rushes up to meet you —you think, faintly —

I’m sorry.

He’s still holding your hand.

Hours later, long after the machines have fallen silent.

Long after the nurses have cried quietly behind the curtains.

Long after his father stood at the door, silent and broken, and then walked away because he couldn't bear to watch his son shatter.

Zayne is still there.

Head bowed, shoulders shaking.

Your hand cradled in both of his like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

"Come on," he whispers, voice hoarse and raw. "Come on — you promised. You said you’d try —"

He presses your hand to his mouth, breathing you in like maybe he can still find some piece of you, some lingering spark that he can fan back to life.

"You can't leave yet," he says, broken. "I’m not ready — I’m not—"

The words dissolve into a rough, gasping sob.

It’s not fair.

You were supposed to have more time.

You were supposed to see the world, to laugh and dance and live.

You were supposed to have a lifetime — not just borrowed days.

Zayne buries his face against your cold fingers.

He doesn’t care who sees.

Doesn’t care if it’s undignified or messy or hopeless.

You loved him.

And he loved you.

Enough to move mountains.

Enough to break himself into pieces trying to save you.

Enough to hold onto you, even now — even when the world is cruel enough to have taken you away.

"I’m sorry," he chokes out against your skin. "I’m so sorry — I wasn’t enough —"

It isn't true. You would have told him that if you could. You would have told him he was always enough.

But all that's left is silence.

Zayne stays there, long after the world outside your hospital room forgets.

Long after the snow he once summoned for you has melted away.

Long after the rest of the universe moves on.

Just like you.

He stays.

Because love doesn’t vanish with the heart that carried it. It lingers—stubborn and beautiful and devastating —like the first snowfall on a summer night.

The rooftop hasn’t changed much.

Zayne stands there now, a tall figure in a dark coat, hands tucked into his pockets against the cold.

The same cracked tiles underfoot.

The same rusted railings.

The same battered bench, where once — a lifetime ago — two dreamers sat and imagined a future they could almost touch.

It’s snowing.

Soft, heavy flakes drifting down from a sky the color of mourning doves.

The night he watched you dance in the middle of summer, your laughter lighting up the world more than any stars ever could.

Exactly the way it did that night.

The night he made it snow for you.

His throat tightens.

He tilts his head back, lets the snow kiss his skin.

Lets the memories wash over him — sharp and tender all at once.

The wind whistles softly around him, as if in agreement.

"You'd hate this," he murmurs to the empty air, a wry smile ghosting across his face.

"You always said snow was pretty, but cold was overrated."

He closes his eyes.

He can almost see you — spinning in the falling snow, hands outstretched, that shy, luminous smile you only ever showed him.

Almost.

Zayne shifts, pulling something from his coat pocket — a small, delicate bouquet.

Not flowers.

Paper cranes.

Hand-folded, each one painstakingly creased.

A thousand wishes, a thousand promises.

He sets them carefully on the bench.

A silent offering to the girl who once taught him what it meant to dream — even if dreams don’t always come true.

"I did it," he says quietly, voice rough.

"I kept my promise."

He swallows hard, staring out into the snowy city lights.

"I couldn’t save you," he admits, the old grief still a raw, tender thing inside him. "But I saved others."

Hundreds of them.

Patients who would have died, now living because of the research, the surgeries, the relentless fire you lit inside him.

Because of you.

Always because of you.

Zayne breathes in deep, the cold burning his lungs, grounding him.

"I hope... wherever you are," he says, soft and sure, "you're proud."

The snow falls heavier now, blurring the edges of the world.

Zayne stands there a little longer, letting the silence wrap around him like a memory, like a prayer.

Finally, he turns to leave.

But before he goes, he glances back one last time —and for just a heartbeat —he thinks he sees you.

He doesn't blink.

Standing there in the snow, smiling.

Weightless. Free.

He just smiles back, tears blurring the world into stars.

"Happy anniversary, angel," he says.

And then he walks away, carrying you with him — in every beat of his heart.

Always.

#meliora writes #I cried writing this #love and deepspace #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #zayne x you #zayne love and deepspace #lnds zayne #lads zayne #angst #heavy angst #li shen #li shen x reader #li shen x you #fic: evermore

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