#down with reader insert fics

[alive-gh0st]

˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

…..ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨..ـ...

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⛨ summary: you’re not sure what’s worse—his fake injuries or the way he keeps looking at you like he means it. like every visit is a reason to linger. like he wants you to see past the bruises and the bad lies and into something soft he’s trying to hide. he keeps showing up. you keep letting him. and eventually… one of you might break.

⛨ contains: sfw. slow burn tension at an all-time high. hospital flirting™. jealous glances. workplace drama. late-night phone calls. hand-hovering intimacy. emotional constipation (again). patch-up scene of doom. reader being flustered over a waist. mark being a tease. romantic yearning disguised as sarcasm. supply closet violations (almost). contact name crimes.

⛨ warnings: mild language. blood & injury treatment. bruises. longing. accidental touching. slow descent into horniness. future boyfriend antics. emotional walls. one almost-kiss. reader going feral over abs. mark’s v-line. reader’s vices.

⛨ wc: 4808

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: i fear reader is down bad in ways that violate at least three hospital policies and one moral code. but like… have you seen mark’s waist? i wouldn’t have survived either. chapter four will be worse—stay safe out there.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You’ve seen a lot of stupid injuries.

People impaling themselves with forks. A guy who tried to ’karate kick’ a vending machine. That one time someone walked into the ER because he thought his left eyebrow felt ’possessed.’

But this?

This is getting ridiculous.

Because standing in front of you—again, for the third time in two weeks—is him.

Mark Grayson.

Wrist wrapped in a pitiful excuse for an ice pack, wearing a hoodie that probably used to be gray but now lives in that existential space between ‘charcoal’ and ‘regret.’

And offering you the same crooked, annoyingly charming grin you’re starting to see in your sleep.

He lifts the ice pack with a wince. “I think I sprained it.”

You blink.

Then you blink again—slower this time.

You don’t even respond at first—you just grab the chart, grab the gloves, and hope no one notices the way your jaw clenches so tight it could crack.

“Room four,” you say.

He follows you.

Of course he follows you.

“Doesn’t really hurt that much,” he says casually once you’re in the room, like that’ll make it better.

“I mean, I can still move it a little. Mostly came in to make sure it’s not, y’know, falling off or something.”

You give him a look that should legally count as malpractice.

He shrugs, sheepish. “Okay. Bad joke.”

You ignore him. You’re professional. Clinical. Efficient. The exact opposite of how your heart is acting right now—beating like it just clocked into overtime.

The glove snaps around your wrist with more force than necessary.

“Left wrist?” you ask flatly.

He nods, holding it out like a peace offering. You take it—gently, despite everything—and start checking for swelling, bone displacement, range of motion.

You do not notice how warm his skin is under your fingers.

You do not notice how his eyes are watching you the whole time, like he’s waiting for you to laugh at his pain or say something sarcastic.

You do not notice how close he is.

How human he looks. How normal he acts, even though every part of your gut screams that he’s something else entirely.

Still. You say nothing.

Instead—

“How’d it happen?”

Mark pauses.

Too long.

“Uh… tripped. Over a… rug. At a friend’s house.”

A beat.

You raise an eyebrow. “A rug.”

“Yeah. Big one.”

Your stare is surgical. “Right.”

He clears his throat. “You probably had to be there.”

You don’t laugh. Not even a smile.

But your lips twitch.

You hate him.

The chart says ’minor sprain.’

Your notes say ’watch for re-injury.’

Your brain says, he’s lying through his teeth.

You hand him the discharge slip and turn to leave, already planning your lunch break that will now include exactly two Tylenol and one existential crisis.

But then—

“Thanks, by the way.”

You pause. Glance over your shoulder.

Mark’s still sitting on the exam bed, eyes soft. Voice softer. “For not yelling at me this time.”

You look at him. Really look at him.

His smile is lopsided. Wrist still slightly swollen. Hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows like he’s trying to look more pathetic.

You exhale. “Next time, make it believable.”

He grins. “That a promise?”

You’re already walking away.

You don’t see it—but Mark watches you leave like he wants you to look back. Like he’s hoping one of these visits will make you stay just a second longer.

Maybe next time.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

It happens again.

And again.

And again.

At this point, your coworkers don’t even ask for his name. He walks in, waves a little, and someone—usually Nurse Carla, with a look that says you owe me lunch—just hands him a clipboard and sends him your way.

“Room nine,” she tells you one night, like it’s the weather forecast. “Your favorite repeat offender’s back.”

You don’t look up. “What is it this time? Terminal idiot disease?”

“He says shoulder strain. Won’t shut up about a ‘kitchen incident.’”

You sigh. Loudly. Aggressively.

And go.

“Let me guess,” you say before the door even finishes clicking shut behind you. “Rug attack again?”

Mark’s seated on the exam bed, hoodie sleeves rolled up, one hand gingerly rubbing at his shoulder. He perks up when he sees you.

“Oh, hey. Nah, kitchen accident this time.”

You squint at him. “Did the fridge try to fight back?”

“I slipped on a rogue piece of ice. Could’ve died.”

You stare.

He grins.

You want to throw a scalpel.

You don’t. Mostly because there’s paperwork involved. And prison.

Instead, you grab a pair of gloves and walk over like you’re not already halfway spiraling.

The diagnosis is, once again, technically valid. Nothing torn. Just overuse. Strain.

But the frequency is… suspicious.

Mark Grayson is either the most accident-prone civilian on the planet or—

No. You’re not going there.

You’re not paid enough to unravel the chaos behind that stupidly warm smile and suspiciously nice arms. You’re here to treat the shoulder and move on.

That’s it.

So you press a little harder on the muscle and maybe enjoy it a little when he winces.

“Sorry,” you say, not sounding sorry at all.

He hisses. “Revenge?”

You tilt your head. “For what?”

“For existing.”

You pause. “That’s not a denial.”

He smiles again. “If this is your version of flirting, it’s medically inadvisable.”

You blink.

And then you’re laughing—short, sharp, a little horrified.

He lights up like it’s the first time he’s ever made you laugh, and it’s Christmas morning.

That’s when it hits you.

He’s not coming back because he’s hurt.

He’s coming back because of you.

And that’s a problem.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Everyone knows.

It’s not subtle. It’s not secret. It’s not even slightly professional.

Mark Grayson has been in this hospital more times than the janitorial staff this month, and everyone has noticed.

Receptionists wave at him like he’s a returning sitcom character.

Orderlies call him “Crash Boy” behind his back (and sometimes to his face).

The lab techs have started taking bets on what his next injury will be.

You don’t participate.

You’re above it. You’re focused. Clinical. Efficient.

Totally not spiraling.

Totally not hearing the group of nurses whispering near the vending machines with wide eyes and hushed giggles like they’re in a goddamn K-drama.

“She’s totally into him.”

“Did you see the way he smiled at her?”

“If that was my patient, I’d fake a fall too.”

You walk faster.

You’re fine.

You’re great.

You’re professionally ignoring it like any emotionally stable adult would.

Even Carla’s in on it.

And she doesn’t say a thing.

Just watches. With those all-knowing eyes. That judgmental smirk. The silence of someone who is absolutely clocking your entire life.

You’d honestly prefer if she just made fun of you. That would be less terrifying.

But the worst moment?

The moment that breaks you?

It happens at the nurse’s station on a Tuesday.

You’re just finishing up paperwork when he strolls in. Casual. Bright-eyed. Smiling like he belongs here.

He chats with a few nurses. One of them—you don’t know her name, she’s new, she’s probably still in school—laughs too hard at something he says.

Her hand lingers on his forearm. She tosses her hair. Her scrubs are—unfairly flattering.

You’re not looking.

You’re definitely not glaring.

Okay, maybe you are.

But then—she slips him a piece of paper. Probably with her number. In front of you.

You nearly rupture a blood vessel.

Mark looks confused at first. Then a little smug. And then—he looks over.

Sees your expression.

The twitch in your jaw. The vein in your forehead. The pure murder behind your eyes.

And he chuckles.

Chuckles.

Like some teenage fanboy who just realized you’re jealous.

You want to disappear. Or commit a minor crime. Or both.

You choose to dramatically slam a clipboard and walk away before you punch something.

You do not look back.

(You do.)

And he’s still watching you. Grinning like he just won a game you didn’t know you were playing.

You hate him.

So much.

(You don’t.)

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Your day off is sacred.

It’s the only time you can collapse onto your couch, wear pajamas that should be considered a war crime, and pretend your job doesn’t exist.

So when your phone buzzes mid-coffee sip, you glance at the screen with the enthusiasm of a corpse.

✆ Unknown Number:

hey. quick q—how long is soreness supposed to last after a shoulder strain?

You blink.

Stare.

Frown.

Then sigh like you’ve just aged thirty years.

Because of course it’s him.

A few seconds later, another text follows.

it’s mark btw. grayson.

didn’t wanna bother you but i also don’t wanna die of arm failure sooo

You roll your eyes. Hard. So hard, your soul might’ve left your body for a second.

You type back.

That depends.

Did you slip on another ice cube or fight a blender this time?

There’s a pause. Then—

wow.

harsh.

i’ll have you know the blender and i are in a good place now.

You shake your head, but your fingers move before you can stop them.

ice it 20 mins on, 20 off. stretch it lightly.

if it starts throbbing, go in for imaging.

A pause.

so you do care

You close your eyes.

unfortunately.

That’s how it starts.

Little check-ins. Random questions. Half-medical, half-ridiculous.

✆ Unknown Number:

is it normal to be this tired after walking up stairs?

or am i dying

✆ Unknown Number:

asking for a friend—what happens if you take tylenol on an empty stomach but also 3 gummy worms

✆ Unknown Number:

totally unrelated but like

hypothetically

if someone wanted your coffee order

what would that be

You don’t save his number.

You don’t need to.

You know it now—by the rhythm of his texts, the way he never uses caps, how he spells “definitely” wrong every single time.

He’s just there.

Sitting quietly in your phone like a secret. A quiet, buzzing, annoying little constant.

And maybe…

Maybe you start looking forward to it.

Even when you pretend you don’t.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

It starts with a simple text.

✆ Unknown Number:

you up?

No context. No greeting. No injury.

Just that.

You stare at it for a long minute, thumb hovering, debating whether to throw your phone across the room or call 911.

Eventually, you settle for the less dramatic option.

You call him.

The line clicks. He answers on the first ring.

“Hey.”

His voice is soft. Like he didn’t expect you to actually call. Like he’d already braced for rejection and is now wildly unprepared.

You roll your eyes. “If this is about a medical emergency, I swear to God—”

“It’s not.” A pause.

“I just… couldn’t sleep.”

Your mouth opens, then closes again.

You’re in your kitchen. Hoodie. Slippers. Lights off. Phone pressed to your ear like a lifeline.

“What do you want, Grayson?”

He breathes a laugh. “Dunno. Talk? You don’t have to, obviously. I just—thought of you.”

Silence.

Then—“…You always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Say things like that. Like you’re not trying to ruin someone’s night on purpose.”

He chuckles. “Only yours.”

You’re going to kill him. Slowly. Lovingly. Maybe with a pillow.

Still—you don’t hang up.

You lean against the counter instead, phone wedged between your cheek and shoulder, arms crossed over your chest.

“What did you do today?” you ask, voice quieter than you want it to be.

He hums.

“Got yelled at by a coffee machine. Ate cereal with a fork. Thought about texting you like eight times before actually doing it.”

You snort.

“Your turn,” he says.

You shrug, even though he can’t see it.

“Saved some idiot’s leg. Again. Almost killed Carla with a clipboard. Avoided committing a felony.”

“Proud of you.”

A breath.

Then another.

You don’t talk for a while after that.

Just… exist. Two quiet people sharing the same silence. The same phone line. The same heartbeat pacing slow and low under your skin.

He breaks it first.

“You always sound tired,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

You close your eyes.

“You always sound like you’re hiding something,” you say back.

That shuts him up.

Not in a bad way. Just… in a way that says he wasn’t expecting that. That maybe you’re both too honest right now.

Or maybe not enough.

The next thing you know, your head’s on the pillow.

The phone’s still pressed to your ear.

His breathing is slow. Steady.

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until you wake up the next morning and see the call log.

Call ended: 4 hours, 57 minutes.

You stare at it.

Then lock your phone.

You don’t say anything.

But the next night?

He texts you again.

✆ Unknown Number:

up?

And somehow, it’s already part of the routine.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You don’t see his name on the intake board.

Which would be great.

Except—he’s here anyway.

Mark Grayson. Not limping. Not bleeding. Not holding an ice pack or pretending to have an invisible concussion.

Just… standing.

In the waiting area.

Smiling at the front desk like he owns the place.

You spot him during a chart pickup and physically pause. Like your body’s buffering. Like your brain is trying to update to the latest version of What the Hell Is He Doing Here 2.0.

He catches your stare instantly and waves. A little too enthusiastically. Like this is a surprise party and not a professional workplace.

You approach slowly. Warily. Already drafting an internal HR complaint in your head.

“You’re not even bleeding this time,” you say by way of greeting.

Mark shrugs, like you’ve just asked him what he had for lunch.

“I was in the area. Thought I’d stop by. Y’know—check on my favorite doctor.”

You stare at him.

“This is a hospital,” you say flatly. “Not a Starbucks.”

He gasps. “Wow. You wound me.”

“I’ll do more than that if you don’t get out of my hallway.”

He grins.

You really hate him.

(You don’t.)

All you can try to do is simply ignore him.

Really, you try to do so.

But he’s too tall. Too warm. Too smug. He somehow makes the break room coffee smell good, which should be physically impossible.

He chats with a nurse his age. Then another.

You watch it unfold over the rim of your clipboard with all the restraint of a saint and the rage of a woman one bad laugh away from murder.

One nurse touches his arm.

Another giggles—like really giggles.

You swear one of them actually twirls her hair.

And that’s it.

You corner him in the supply closet six minutes later.

Mark blinks as you slam the door shut behind you.

“Okay,” he says slowly, “this is new.”

You don’t even let him finish.

“You can’t just hang around here like this is a date,” you hiss.

“A… date?”

You wave a hand at the closed door.

“Talking to people. Smiling. Giggling—God, someone giggled. Do you know how hard it is to get people to even smile around here?”

Mark blinks again.

Then says, “Are you… jealous?”

You short-circuit.

“No,” you say too quickly. “Obviously not. That would be insane.”

“Right. Totally insane.” He nods, mock-serious. “Because it’s not like you dragged me into a closet or anything.”

You open your mouth. Then close it. Then try again.

“I’m trying to keep this professional.”

Mark takes a step forward.

You immediately take one back.

He keeps going.

Another step. Then another. Until your back hits the shelf and he’s right there. Not touching. Not crowding. But close.

Too close.

His arms cage around you—not touching, just braced on either side of your head. Heat radiates off him like a furnace.

His voice drops to something low. Steady.

“I didn’t come here for them.”

You don’t breathe.

His eyes scan your face, softer than you’ve ever seen them. “I’m only here for you.”

You want to say something.

Something scathing. Something sarcastic.

But the words fumble on your tongue and disappear altogether when his gaze drops to your mouth—just for a second.

Just long enough to make your pulse stutter.

You hate him.

So, so much.

(You don’t.)

This is completely unprofessional. Entirely against hospital policy.

And for some godawful reason?

You don’t want him to leave.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Mark’s been a lot of things lately.

Tired. Sore. Bad at lying. Worse at staying away.

But mostly? He’s confused.

Because this—you—were never supposed to matter this much.

It started as curiosity. That’s what he tells himself.

Just some random hospital visit. He hadn’t been hurt, not really. Just enough to limp in as a civilian and sit through the fluorescent light misery like everyone else.

You’d been there.

Sharp. Efficient. Not a hint of softness in your tone. Told him to sit down and shut up like you hadn’t even noticed his face. Like you didn’t care.

He’d been hooked instantly.

You didn’t even blink.

And Mark couldn’t stop thinking about it.

So… yeah.

He came back.

The first fake injury had been dumb. He knows that now.

Sprained wrist, lame excuse. He’d tried to play it cool. He’d tried to be casual.

You didn’t buy it for a second.

But you also didn’t call him out. Not really.

You examined him like a puzzle piece you weren’t quite sure how to hold. Cold hands. Precise words. Steady fingers on his skin.

He’s never had to try this hard just to be noticed.

And it’s not even about the attention.

It’s about you.

He loves the way you frown at your clipboard. The way your voice drops when you’re tired. The way you say his name like you’re chewing on it, like you’re deciding whether it’s worth swallowing.

You think he doesn’t notice, but he does.

Every time your stare lingers.

Every time your fingers hover a little longer than they need to.

Every time your lips twitch when you’re pretending not to laugh.

It drives him crazy.

But there’s a problem.

You don’t know who he is.

You know Mark Grayson. College kid. Chronic klutz. Occasional insomniac.

You don’t know Invincible.

Not really.

Sure, you saw him twice—that version of him. But you hadn’t seen his face. You hadn’t put the pieces together. And he hadn’t given you a reason to.

Because if he tells you—

If he lets you in—

You might leave.

You might stop talking to him. You might look at him like everyone else does—too bright. Too strong. Too alien.

You might stop smiling at him like he’s just a guy.

And he loves that.

God, he loves that.

He loves being just a guy with you.

Not a hero. Not a name. Just a stupid, reckless twenty-something who texts you too much and doesn’t know how to say what he’s feeling without turning it into a joke.

He wants more.

He really does.

But he wants this even more—the late night calls. The sarcastic banter. The look on your face when you think he’s full of shit but don’t hate him for it.

So he waits.

And waits.

And waits some more.

Because maybe, one day, he’ll tell you everything.

But for now?

He just wants to hear you say his name again.

Just Mark.

Just yours.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You don’t expect to hear your doorbell.

Not this late. Not on a night like this.

So when it rings—once, then again, a little longer—you groan from the couch, hoodie half-on, takeout half-eaten, dignity fully gone.

You don’t rush. Just shuffle toward the door like a zombie. Ready to murder whoever it is with a spoon.

But then you open it.

And—

Oh.

It’s him.

Mark.

He’s leaning against the frame, hood down, hair a mess. His face is pale. His lips are tight.

And there’s blood—real blood—trickling sluggishly down the side of his abdomen, soaking into his shirt.

“Hey,” he rasps, voice thin.

“Think I… might actually need medical attention this time.”

You stare at him.

Then blink.

Then stare harder.

“…What, no blender story?” you say automatically. Your tone is flat. A reflex. Something to hide the sudden weight in your throat.

He gives you a half-smile—weak, lopsided. “Didn’t wanna disrespect the blender.”

And then he sways.

You catch his arm before he can stumble. It’s instinct. It’s muscle memory. It’s terrifying.

“Jesus,” you mutter, hauling him inside. “You’re such a goddamn idiot.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, the faintest laugh. “But I’m your idiot, right?”

You don’t answer.

You just lock the door behind you. Lead him to the couch. Grab the med kit without thinking. Your hands are already in motion before your brain can catch up.

Because it’s not a joke this time. Not some bruised ego or imaginary fracture. It’s real.

He’s hurt.

And for some reason, that makes your chest ache more than it should.

You kneel in front of him, snapping on gloves with a sharp snap that sounds a lot more confident than you feel.

“Lift your shirt.”

Mark blinks. “Buy me dinner first.”

You glare.

He winces, lifts it anyway—slowly. Hesitantly.

And holy fuck.

It’s worse than you thought.

A deep gash across his side, jagged and angry and still bleeding sluggishly. Bruises blooming along his ribs in shades you don’t want to name. A few smaller cuts littered across his chest. There’s dried blood on his collarbone.

He exhales when your fingers ghost near the edge of the wound.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says quietly. “Didn’t want to go in. Not like this.”

You say nothing.

Because now? Now it’s not funny.

Not even a little.

You dip gauze in antiseptic, press it to the worst cut. He hisses.

“Sorry,” you murmur, but your voice sounds strange—tight.

Small.

Mark watches you. Watches your hands. The furrow in your brow. The tension in your jaw.

He doesn’t say a word.

You clean around the injury carefully. Work in silence. You try not to notice how warm his skin is.

How his breath stutters every time your hand brushes too close to his ribs.

You fail.

Utterly.

“You’re not the first moron to bleed in my hands,” you say after a long pause.

He huffs something like a laugh. “But your favorite, right?”

Your eyes flick up to meet his.

Mistake.

He’s looking at you—really looking at you.

His eyes burn into you like he’s memorizing you. Like he already has.

Something in your chest tugs.

You go back to patching him up like it’ll distract you. Like your hands aren’t shaking a little. Like your heart isn’t beating faster with every inch of exposed skin.

He closes his eyes briefly when your fingers graze a bruise. You feel his stomach twitch beneath your palm.

“Sorry,” you whisper again. Your voice is breathy this time. Too soft.

“You keep saying that,” he murmurs.

“You keep showing up like this.”

His lips tilt—not quite a smile. “Can’t help it. You make a damn good doctor.”

“Flattery won’t stop me from punching you.”

He opens one eye. “You’d patch me up after, though?”

You don’t answer.

You’re too busy staring at the cut. At the curve of his waist. At the way he breathes when you touch him.

You don’t mean to react. But God, he looks too good.

His waist—narrow and stupidly defined—tapers in like he was sculpted on purpose. Abs tight. Skin flushed. There’s blood, yes, and bruises, but all your traitorous brain can focus on is how good he looks like this.

Cut-up and pretty.

Which is horrifying.

You are a medical professional.

You are a grown woman.

You should not be getting distracted by the slope of some twenty-year-old’s V-line while he’s actively bleeding out in your living room.

But when his breath stutters under your touch, when his abdomen flinches ever-so-slightly with a soft, involuntary sound—

Yeah.

You absolute freak.

You try to focus. Really.

But your fingers keep brushing the edge of his hipbone, your eyes keep catching the way his chest rises and falls—and every time he winces, there’s a noise. Barely audible. Low and quiet and fuck, why is that attractive?

You press gauze harder than necessary.

He exhales sharply, jaw clenching. “You trying to kill me?”

“Stop making noises like that.”

“Like what?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because now you’re flustered. Because now you’re too aware of the silence. The tension. The way your breath hitches in tandem with his. The fact that your hands won’t move away.

You’re not patching up just any idiot.

You’re patching him up.

And his voice? His waist? The heat rolling off his skin?

It’s all getting to you in ways it shouldn’t.

Not here.

Not like this

It’s too much.

Too quiet.

Too close.

Your hands still.

Your breath catches.

And suddenly, he’s looking at you again—like he’s about to say something. Like he’s about to do something.

The air goes heavy. Thick. Tense enough to cut with the scalpel you dropped ten minutes ago.

His eyes flicker down—to your mouth.

You feel it like a jolt. A pulse.

Your heart stutters.

You lean in—

He does too—

But just before your lips meet—

He pulls back.

So do you.

Silence.

You don’t know what to say.

Neither does he.

Mark exhales shakily. Pushes his shirt down. Winces when it brushes his side.

“I should go,” he says.

You nod. Even though part of you wants to scream don’t.

He stands. Slowly. Carefully. Walks to the door. But before he opens it, he turns back.

Eyes soft. Voice even softer.

“You always make it hard to leave.”

Then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him.

And you’re alone again.

You stare at the empty space where he stood. Unlock your phone. Open your messages. Type something out.

You okay? Text me when you’re—

Backspace.

Don’t be stupid next time—

Backspace.

I meant it. Don’t apologize—

Backspace.

You lock the screen.

Let it fall to the couch beside you.

And sit in the dark with your heart pounding, your hands still smelling like antiseptic and something else you can’t quite name.

Something you’re afraid to acknowledge.

And you know exactly what it is.

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⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚❤️‍🔥˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌He sees it by accident.

Sort of.

Mark’s at your place. Fifth time this week. You said you only allow it because he brings ACTUAL food. Does he care? No.

He would bring you anything and everything if you only asked.

Right now you’re tossing your phone between hands while half-asleep on the couch, scrolling aimlessly as you mumble about discharge paperwork and Nurse Carla’s espresso addiction.

He leans over to look at something—your screen lights up, message preview glowing.

“Unknown: you up?”

And it’s his message.

He blinks. Frowns. Stares at it like it’s personally betrayed him.

“Wait—hold on,” he says, sitting up. “You still have me saved as… Unknown?”

You glance at him, unfazed. “What else would I save you as?”

“I don’t know. Mark. Grayson. Hot guy who keeps bleeding in your ER. Something with a little dignity.”

You shrug. “Didn’t feel like changing it.”

He gapes. “Wow. Cold.”

You just smirk, stretch like a cat, and toss your phone aside as you get up to grab water.

And that?

That’s your mistake.

Because the second you’re out of the room—he pounces.

Grabs the phone. Unlocks it with terrifying ease. Scrolls straight to his contact entry like it’s a goddamn rescue mission.

’Unknown.’

Unacceptable.

He deletes it on instinct. Then pauses, thinking. Fingers hovering.

What would annoy you the most?

What would make you roll your eyes?

What would make your heart do that little stutter thing he’s started to notice, way too often?

He grins.

And types—

’Future Boyfriend’

He stares at it for a second.

Then adds a heart.

Then deletes the heart.

Too soft.

Then adds it back anyway.

Perfect.

He sets the phone down just as you return with a glass of water, eyeing him suspiciously.

“What did you do.”

Mark smiles. Innocent. Almost saintlike.

“Nothing.”

You squint. Then pick up your phone. Check your messages.

Pause.

Your brow furrows. And when you tap into the contact?

Your whole face goes still.

“…Are you kidding me?” you mutter.

He shrugs. “Thought it was more accurate.”

You glare.

He beams.

You shake your head. But then—you sigh. And your fingers curl around the phone like you’re not actually planning to change it back.

Your lips twitch.

Just barely.

But he sees it.

And when you don’t delete it—when you toss your phone back to the table like it’s nothing, like he’s nothing, even though your ears are a little warm—

Mark just leans back, smug as hell.

Victory tastes a lot like your name on his tongue. Like your laugh. Like the future he’s trying so hard not to beg for.

And he’s starving for more.

For you.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ongoing TAGLIST: @pickledsoda @f3r4lfr0gg3r @bakugouswh0r3 @katkirishima @delusionalalien @bellelamoon @monaekelis @feminii @sketchlove @lilacoaks @cathuggnbear @forgotten-moon94 @lalana1703 @smikitty @barbare2 @sleepyzzz3 @sunspl0tionjuice @maki-rollsss @angelbelles @scarletdfox

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[layce2015]

Stranger Things (Steve Harrington x Female!Reader)

Chapter 1: MadMax

My Masterlist of my other fics/ Next Chapter / Masterlist of this fic

”(y/n), there’s no need for that attitude.” Mom said and I scoffed. “Just because you married him, mom, doesn’t make him mine or Max’s dad.” I said, in a bit of an angry tone, and mom looked like she was about to argue but Neil raised his hand to her, making her close her mouth and look down. Neil takes a step closer to me and gives me a stern look.

”I get it. The move has been rough on you but just so you know, it’s been rough on all of us…” Neil said, in a firm tone, but then I interrupt him. “We wouldn’t have to move if your dumbass son hadn’t broken Nate’s arm and if you weren’t too scared for him to face the consequences.” I spat and Neil’s eyes looked like they were about to bulge out of his skull, his face turning red alittle. 

“You listen here, missy. I’m gonna let that pass, it’s a stressful  day right now. But if you ever try to disrespect me again, you and I are gonna have a talk.” Neil said, in a firm tone but I could hear the anger in his voice. “Whatever.” I grumbled as I turned around and head into our new house.

Neil’s my stepdad, if you couldn’t tell, and we don’t necessarily get along. After Mom and Dad divorced sometime ago, my mom just started dating around and went through four different guys before she met this asshole from work back in California. I honestly don’t know what mom sees in this guy. Hell, I don’t know why she divorced Dad. 

I sighed as I walk into the house and walk by one of the bedrooms, glancing over to see Billy in his room putting stuff away. Billy is Neil’s son and I’d say he is just as bad, if not worse, as Neil. Billy is one of those guys that you don’t know what is gonna happen next. He could be calm and happy one moment but the next, he could explode into a rage that was unpredictable.

I probably hate Billy more than Neil, mainly cause at least Neil doesn’t lay a hand on me or my little sister, Max.

I walk into my new room and set the boxes down on the floor before letting out a heavy sigh. I place my hands on my hips and look around at the incomplete room before I get started on it.

After about two hours of unpacking and making this empty room into my living space, I then head over to Max’s new room to see her door was open. Inside I see her sitting on her bed, fixing her skateboard. I raise a hand, knock on her door and she looks up at me, the look of annoyance disappears once she sees it’s me. 

“Hey, I finished unpacking, you wanna go out and check out this small town?” I asked her and Max sets aside her skateboard. “Sure. Any excuse to get away from step-ass.” She grumbles and I scoff out a laugh at her nickname to Neil. I go to grab my purse as Max grabs her jacket and we start to head out of the house.

We pass by Billy’s room and start to head into the living room to get to the front door, when a voice said behind us. “And where are you two going?” Max and I stop and we turn to see Billy behind us. “What’s it to you?” I asked, annoyed a bit. “If you go out, I’m gonna be the one stuck dragging your asses back here.”  Billy argues and I roll my eyes.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, we won’t be out long. Just gonna check out the new town.” I sneered. “You ain’t taking my car.” Billy stated. “We don’t need your stupid car. We can walk.” Max sneers and Billy looks between us before he huffs. “Fine, but you better be back before it gets dark. I got crap to do and I don’t need to add looking for you two shitbirds to my list.” He said and I scoff as I place a hand on Max’s shoulder, turn her around and we head out the front door.

”He such a dick.” Max grumbles as we walk out of the house and walk down the streets. “Yeah, I know.” I said. “Why did mom even marry that asshole?” Max asked, frustrated. “You know mom. She’s desperately lonely and needs companionship.” I said and Max scoffs again as she folds her arms across her chest.

”But hey, I promise, one day I’ll get my own place and you can live with me. Away from Billy and away from Neil. Just the two of us against the world.” I said and Max looks up at me and smiles alittle. “Well, hurry up and graduate.” Max said to me and I laugh. “I’m trying.” I said as we continue to walk down the street.

The last couple of hours, Max and I spent walking around town and getting to know our surroundings. Eventually, we came upon an arcade and Max was interested in it and asked if we could go inside. We walked in and saw several kids, some of them were young and some looked about Max’s age, gathering around various game machines.

The music and sound effects and the sounds of kids yelling filled the air while Max was looking around then starts to walk forward. I follow her and see her go up to the DigDug game and she digs in her pocket, pulling out some loose change. Once she found her quarters, she puts a couple in the slot and jumped into playing the game while I stood and watched her.

DigDug was one of her favorites back in California, I mean there was a time I couldn’t get her away from that machine until I told her I was gonna leave her at the arcade and never come back. 

Afterwhile, Max got the high score of the game and put her nickname, MadMax, in it. “Jeez, we haven’t been here for a day and you’re already trying to clean house?” I asked her, confused but also impressed. “Well if this Dustin guy wanted to keep his top score, he should’ve played harder.” She said, a snarky smirk played on her lips, and I chuckled and we start to look around at the other games.

Eventually, it was getting late and we decided to head back home before Neil could send Billy after us.

The next day, it was time for our first day at our new school, Hawkins High for me and Billy and Hawkins Middle for Max. Billy, being the show off, revs up his engine as we pull up to the school then finds a parking spot. Billy gets out just as I do then pull the passenger seat forward so that Max could get out.

She grabs her backpack and skateboard and climbs out of Billy’s car. She starts to walk away but I place a hand on her shoulder. “Hey…” I said and she turns to me, looking really moody. “Try to have a good day.” I tell her and she gives a slight nod before she sets her skateboard down, jumps on it and skates towards to the school.

I let out a heavy sigh then Billy and I start to head to the high school. “Try not to embarrass me.” Billy mutters to me and I scoffed. “Trust me, you do that all on your own.” I sneered back at him before I walk a bit faster ahead of him.

“Alright, students. Looks like we got a new student today.” Ms Click, the history teacher, addressed the classroom while I stood at the front, awkwardly. Just smite me now. I said to myself as Ms Click stands next to me. “Please welcome, all the way from California, (y/n).” She said and a few kids looked at me like I had grew a second head, a couple kids clapped and some just muttered a hello. 

“You can take a seat over there by Ms Buckley.” Ms Click tells me and I walk down the aisle of desks, walking to the empty desk next to a girl with jaw length light brown hair and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever see. I also took noticed to the boy that sat in front of the girl.

He had the typical pretty boy face, brown eyes and his brown hair was styled up, probably with tons of hairspray. But I gotta admit, he is good looking and I’m sure he has the girls here eating out of the palm of his hand. He looked up at me and gave a small smile to me and nods, so far the only person that didn’t look at me like I had grown a second head.

I take the empty seat and sit down in the chair as Ms Click resumes her lesson. “Hey.” A soft female voice greets to my left and I look over to the light brown haired girl. “I’m Robin.” She introduced and I give her a small smile. “(Y/n).” I greeted, awkwardly, even though Ms Click just introduced me in front of the class.

���Alright, class. I have a worksheet for you to do for the rest of the hour. You can find all the answers in your book.” Ms Click tells us then she looks over at me. “Ms Hargrove, since I don’t have any extra books for you to use, you may borrow from Ms Buckley’s book.” Ms Click said and my jaw clenched when she called me Ms Hargrove. I don’t want to be associated with that last name but…what can I do?

I just nod as Ms Click hands each student in the front row stacks of paper and the kids in the front row would grab one paper and pass the rest back and the cycle began til every paper was passed out to every kid.

Once all the papers were handed out, everyone opened up their books and looked over their worksheets while Robin scooted her desk a bit closer to mine, so that I could look at her book. “Thanks.” I said as I reach out for her book to open. “Whoa.” She mutters and I look at her then noticed she was looking at my left arm. I look at it and see the sleeve had been pushed back, revealing a dark purple bruise around my arm that resembled a handprint.

”What happened there?” she asked me and I pull my arm back and pushed the sleeve down to cover it. “Nothing. Just an accident.” I tell her, quickly, but I could tell by the look on her face she didn’t believe me. Luckily, she didn’t push it and we started to look over the book.

”So, California, huh?” Robin asked me, in a hushed voice. “Yeah.” I muttered. “So, what brings you here in little ol’ Hawkins?” She asked me and I shrug alittle. “Stepdad moved us here.” I said. “Ah, gotcha.” She said then Ms Click shushes us and we go back to doing our work.

After the bell rang, all the kids got up from the desk and headed to the next class. “So, uh, what’s your next class?” Robin asked me and I pull out my schedule from my pocket. “Looks like Math class.” I said. “Oh great! I have that too. I can show you the way there.” She said, excitedly but also a bit nervous. I was kinda liking her.

I nod and gesture for her to lead the way and we walked out of the classroom and out into the hallway. “So, what’s to do around here?” I asked her, curiously, and Robin shrugs, slightly. “Not much. Aside from the theater and arcade. You kinda gotta make your own fun.” Robin replied. “Small town huh?” I said, in a bit of a sarcastic way, and Robin chuckles. “Yeah, pretty much. Though there is a mall being built on 10 Old Highway 77.” She said and I make an impressed face.

”Wow, finally moving on up.” I joked and Robin chuckles again and at that point, we were coming up to a set of lockers and I see the pretty boy running up behind a girl with curly, bushy hair. She squeals at this then turns to him and I hear her call him. “Steve.” Meanwhile, this other guy with straight messy brown hair looks between them before he walks off as Steve and the girl start kissing.

“Oh, that’s Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington.” Robin tells me as we walk past them and I turn to her. “The hair?” I asked, confused. “Referring to his hair as you could tell.” Robin said, rolling her eyes. “He’s a major douchebag.” She mumbles. “Aren’t all pretty popular boys docuhebags?” I asked her and Robin laughs again. “True.” She giggles and I smiled.

”And I’m gonna guess that’s his girlfriend?” I asked her and she nods. “Yeah, Nancy Wheeler. She’s a bit of a priss.” Robin said and I snort a bit at this. “Wow, sounds like you don’t like anyone here.” I said. “Only the popular ones.” She said as we continue down the hallway.

Later, I was in line in the cafeteria, waiting for the lunch lady to give us our food, when I heard a voice next to me. “Hey, you’re the new girl, right?” A female voice said and I turn to her and see a pretty dark brown haired girl next to me. “Yeah…” I said, unsure. “My name is Tina and I noticed you walking with that very cute guy this morning….” She said and I almost threw up in my mouth. Billy, attractive? Gross.

”Is he your brother?” She asked me. “Step-Brother.” I replied. “Well, I’d like to invite you and him to my…” Tina said as she digs in her backpack then pulls out an orange paper sheet and hands it to me. “Halloween party that is tomorrow night.” She said as she hands me the paper and I take it and read it to see it advertising the party with the tagline Come get sheet faced. I chuckled a bit at this and look at Tina. “Nice pun. Yeah, sure…we’ll try to be there.” I tell her and she smiles as I fold the paper up and pocket it. 

Finally, I get my food and try to find a place to eat. I look over a table and see Robin waving to me to come over and I smiled as I go over to her. “Only been here half a day and already invited to a party.” I tell her as I set my tray down on the table next to her and sit down. “What?” She asked me as I pull out the invite. “Wow.” She said, impressed, as she takes the paper and looks at it.

”But I feel like it’s more to get to know my stepbrother.” I said as I take the paper back. “Is he the one that did that?” Robin asked as she nods to my left arm, referring to the bruises she saw. I bite my lips at this and sigh. “I don’t want to talk about.” I said and Robin nods. “Sorry. I know we don’t know each other very well but you seem cool and I just…I don’t know…” she sighed and I smile alittle. “Thanks.” I said to her, appreciatively, then I pick up my milk carton and hold it up.

”Here’s to a new friendship.” I said and Robin smiles as she picks up her milk carton. “To friendship.” She said and we clink the milk cartons together as if they were wine glasses and we take a sip out of our milks then start to talk about our classes and Robin gives me the rundown on our classmates.

*3rd Person POV*

That afternoon, Dustin and Lucas were staking out the arcade, looking for Max. Pretty much throughout the day, they, Mike and Will took an interest of the new girl as they figured she was the one who beat Dustin’s high score on Dig Dug. They pretty much almost always followed her throughout the school until she basically dropped a note in a trash can, which told them to stop following her.

Lucas and Dustin were crouched behind a car as Lucas was looking through his binoculars, looking for any sign of Max. “Still no sign?” Dustin asked Lucas. “Jack shit.” Lucas grumbles and Dustin looks down at his watch to see that it was getting late. “Oh! Damn it. My mom's gonna murder me..” he sighs. “So go home. I'll radio if she comes.” Lucas tells him as he lowers his binoculars to look at him.

“Oh, yeah, nice try. You just want me out of here so you can make your move.” Dustin accused as Lucas looks through the binoculars again but lowers them to look back at Dustin. “Oh, 'cause you're such a threat.” Lucas said, sarcastically. “That's right. She will not be able to resist these pearls.” Dustin said, smiling, before he purrs and Lucas shakes his head.

Dustin looks over and sees Billy’s car coming in. “Ten o'clock.” Dustin said. “What?” Lucas asked Dustin hits his arm. “Ten o'clock.” Dustin said a she points ahead and Lucas sees Billy’s car screeching in the parking lot. The passenger door opens and the boys see an older girl, that shared similar looks to Max, get out before she turns around and pushes the seat forward for Max to get out.

“Oh wow! She’s got an older sister?” Lucas asked, surprised, as Max gets out of the car then she turns around as they hear Billy yelling at her. “Yeah, she’s kinda hot.” Dustin said and Lucas rolls his eyes as (y/n) sets the seat back up and gets back inside as Max and Billy continue to yell at each other then (y/n) joins in the argument.

“They're arguing. They're arguing.” Lucas exclaims. “Oh, my God. I see that. I don't even know why you need those. God. You're so stupid.” Dustin said, in an annoyed exasperation, while Billy yells at (y/n) then yells at Max before (y/n) shuts the door and Billy takes off. Leaving Max behind as she flips Billy off and heads inside the arcade.

Lucas and Dustin make their way inside and see her playing Dig Dug like a pro. “She's incredible.” Lucas said as he and Dustin sit down and lean against a wall. “She's...” Dustin said as he smiles. “Mad Max.” The two boys said in unison. 

[unnatural-happenings]

The Magic Behind the Psychic

TDLoSK!Various x Magical!Reader

Characters: Reader/Insert, Saiki Kusuo and friends

Notes: First person perspective (I/me), Reader/Insert referred to with they/them, no use of y/n, there's immediate spoilers for The Disastrous Life of Saiki K if anyone cares but it is a comedy so like—

Words: 5267

At a young age, I was gifted with magical powers… For a price—the low low cost of sometimes having to fight horrific beasts to keep the supernatural world hidden. The hard part is trying to keep it hidden from my friends.

[AO3 Link] | [Next Part]

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"He fucking left me behind again I can't believe this damn psychic—"

My feet move as fast as I can allow myself as I bolt out my front door and down the street, trying to catch up to my pink-haired neighbour. It's the first day of school and he's yet to tell me if he's finally allowing time to move forward or if we're going back to year 2, so his attempt to avoid me is a little annoying.

Turning a corner I finally see him around halfway down the block and pick up the pace.

"Kusuo!"

I jump with my arms stretched in front of me, ready to latch onto him, only for him to suddenly bend to the side and making me fly past him. Before I could even register I missed and hit the pavement head first, he catches me by the back of my uniform, yanks me into a standing position, then continues walking on without me.

I'm completely baffled for a moment, taking a while to process what just happened. When I finally get my head straight and see Kusuo way ahead of me, I rush over to walk next to him.

"Hey stop leaving me behind!"

"I don't want you following me."

His monotone voice pierces my skull as he starts speedwalking trying to get away from me. I speed up to stay next to him, but he only walks faster until we're both going much faster than a normal person and even I start to struggle to keep up with him. Not wanting someone to see and blow both of our covers, I try to think of something that would get him to slow down and walk with me.

"Well… What if I told your mom you were ignoring me again?

He stops moving on a dime and snaps his head my way so quickly, I'm sure if he wasn't so powerful he would've snapped his own neck. His irritation and disproval made evident in the look he's giving me.

"Stop using my own mom against me."

I stick my tongue out, just glad he finally stopped running away from me. He doesn't dignify me with a response outside of a roll of his eyes and continues onward at a normal pace.

Rude, but fair.

I skip next to him now that I'm not running for my life and can ask him what's going on with the year.

"So what? We doing another round of year 2 or are we moving onto year 3? You still haven't told me anything."

"You'll see when we get there."

I huff, getting annoying again at his lack of answer. He keeps his head facing forwards and his face is as deadpan as usual, but I have a feeling he's enjoyed not telling me for this long.

"Dick."

"Witch."

"Warlock."

"That's not even—"

"Buddies!"

Out of nowhere, a beefy arm from someone with a lack of self control and personal space slides around my neck and pulls me into their chest. They've nearly cut off all air supply at how hard their holding me, and despite clawing at them trying to pry their arm off of me they still hold on with an iron grip. Glancing towards Kusuo I notice him in the same situation, but with less fighting back and more standing there irritated beyond belief. For him to also get caught, that can only mean the one person to latch onto us is my favourite moron.

"Hey Nendo!"

He looks down on me, his face a little closer than I would've liked, but there's no way to avoid that when he refuses to remove me from under his arm.

"Hey buddy!"

"Let go of me."

We both ignore him and continue to talk to eachother. He keeps asking to go out for ramen and I have to remind him each time that school hasn't even started yet, when we suddenly hear the sound of someone huffing like they were dying behind us. I glance at Kusuo wondering if it's anything to be worried about, but he only looks more annoyed. The answer comes soon when the person behind me speaks up.

"Nendo don't just leave me behind like that."

I light up and escape Nendo's grasp to turn towards the boy. His light blue hair sways as he struggles to catch up to the rest of you. I can hear Kusuo sigh behind me, but his opinion is irrelevant right now, so I pay him no mind and grasp onto Kaidou's hands so he doesn't fall.

"Hi Kaidou! How're you doing?"

Seemingly getting all his energy back, he stands up straight and turns bright red while stumbling over his greeting. He snaps out of it when Nendo teases him, then quickly falls into his Jet Black Wings persona afterwards.

"Will you be joining us in year 2? I hear Dark Reunion tampered with peoples grades and held a plethora of students back a grade."

My face falls and I tune out most of what Kaidou said, only being able to focus on the very first thing he said. Year 2.

Kusuo glances in my direction, and I swear I saw a smirk show on his face for s split second.

"What is it?"

I think I'm going to strangle him.

Before I can follow through on my thought, Nendo pats me on the back and nearly sends me into the ground.

"We passed last year with flying colours, this one'll be no problem."

Kaidou rounds up on Nendo while I'm still stuck wondering how my will is going to survive the year.

"What do you mean?? You are not on their level at all, you nearly failed!

Once PK Academy comes into view I just about crumble into the floor.

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The assembly drones on and on while I glance blearily around the room. The principal has been yapping for almost half an hour now and multiple kids at this point have stopped paying attention. Eyes glaze over and heads fight to loll to the side, someone nearly does fall asleep towards the back of the room. I myself am also fighting to stay awake for my life, swearing if he doesn't shut his yap in the next five minutes I'm going to die of boredom.

"It's not that boring, you're just impatient."

I flinch hearing a certain psychic's voice ring throughout my mind. Some of the kids around me try to see if I'm alright, but I wave them off with and tell them it's nothing to worry about. It's not like I can tell them the pink-headed freak across the gymnasium is talking to me via mind powers.

"I can still hear you."

Boo-hoo I thought up the most simple, bare-bones insult. I'd say that's what you get for scaring me and making me look like a weirdo in front of these people, but that implies I thought something worth getting mad about.

"What kind of reverse bullying is this?"

I make sure to picture myself giving him the middle finger.

And this assembly is boring as fuck! I've heard this same speech three times now because of you! No one else here is exactly wide awake either so why are you getting on my ass??

Before Kusuo could reply with what I'm sure was going to be another insult, he's thrown off guard when Nendo sneaks up behind him and covers his eyes. I'm to far to actually hear what Nendo is saying, but I can't imagine it's anything that engaging with the glare Kusuo sends at me after the hands are dropped from his face. A snicker manages to escape past my lips watching Nendo continue to talk Kusuo's ear off despite him not even looking in his direction.

"Why didn't you tell me Nendo was coming?"

I had to resist the urge to shrug to not appear insane to the people around me again.

Like that would've done anything. Suck it up.

Out of the blue, some kid I can't be bothered to remember the name of collapses onto the floor. It startles everybody to break up the ridged lineup we were in, and further separate when the ape starts screaming his head off. I watch as he runs over to the kid and—What the fuck is that brute doing??

After screaming in that poor kids ear Nendo starts shaking and punching him so hard I fear he's going to make his face cave in. I was honestly about to step in once he started doing what I think is supposed to be CPR and not act out the final scene of Romeo and Juliet, but then a teacher finally steps in and tells him to go bring the kdi to the nurses office.

Unluckily for Kusuo, the teacher turns and asks him to join Nendo since he didn't trust him to get there on his own. I have to hold in a laugh not to seem insensitive, but Kusuo can of course hear my thoughts and knows I'm laughing at his situation anyway.

He quickly looks my way with a pleading glance, probably hoping I do something about it.

"Please take my place."

Nah man, the teacher asked you to do it. Sucks to suck.

With that interruption, I hope the assembly will finally end. Everything that's being said everyone already knows, and someone actually might have possibly died out of the sheer nothing this assembly was giving us, but it unfortunately drags on after the three of them leave the room.

I'm genuinely debating tearing my hair out in a manic episode just to further add to the aburdity and get this to end, when a sense of dread slowly crawls over me. I look sporadically across the room, taking in the faces of those around me along with every inch, corner, and shadow in the area, but nothing stands out. If everything's normal, why does it feel like something's about to go horribly wrong?

Kusuo?

His reply is instantaneous, but his response is anything but reassuring. If anything it would be infuriating had it not been for my current state of turmoil.

"What? You don't want to be bored, I'm only helping."

A shiver runs through me as my eyes dart around the gym once more, my body desperately trying to find what's causing me to feel like I'm about to get jumped, despite my mind now knowing the source of the matter.

You're such a bitch Kusuo.

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He had left me to stew in that sense of foreboding until he was able to get away from the ER and back to class. I stared daggers into the back of his head for all of homeroom, but he refused to acknowledge me with even a quip. Even once break rolls around he continues to ignore my very existence. Knowing how stubborn he is and not wanting to waste all of break staring at him, I let it go and take out my notebook.

I try not to eavesdrop on the conversations happening around the class as I write, but my ears do pick up on a few kids near the back of the class talking about a snake breakout. Then Kaidou comes up nearly demanding attention as he goes on about Dark Reunion being behind the escape and are planning an animal attack. It's so baffling I can't help but listen to the rest of what he has to say, but everyone else quickly grows tired of him and walks away.

Soon Kaidou's walking over to where Kusuo and I are seated and roping both of us into his elaborate story.

"Once again the fate of the world has fallen into our super powered laps eh guys?"

Even without vocalizing it, it's clear Kusuo could not care less about the dramatics Kaidou was about to spew. I didn't know if I currently had the energy do deal with this either, but I didn't want him to feel like I was ignoring him, so the least I could do was play along.

"Uh, sure man."

Kaidou continues to talk about the snake and give it an elaborate backstory, but gets interrupted by some classmates nearby mentioning how some preschoolers found and whipped it around till it was dead.

"That's one weak ass murder snake."

I have to keep myself from laughing so I don't make Kaidou feel any worse than he probably does. The other students don't have the same mercy, teasing him about Dark Reunion and laughing in his face.

I grip one of his hands in mine, trying to offer him some physical comfort, and a small smile I hope is reassuring.

"Maybe next time Kaidou."

His face lights up red as he goes to wipe the tears from his eyes with his other hand. He gives me a wobbly smile, then gently takes his hand back from mine and turns around with enough force for his uniform jacket to whip behind him.

"Go ahead and laugh. This is the calm before the storm."

The next words out of his mouth are too warbled for me to make out before he rushes out of the classroom. I'm about to turn to Kusuo and ask what Kaidou just said, but he answers before I can get a word out.

"He's going to the bathroom to cry. Though you helped him get over it a little."

I let out a sigh of relief, glad what I did helped him the tiniest bit. Some of these people have no empathy, though I also can't blame them for not wanting to participate in his constant role playing.

I'm startled out of my thoughts when Kusuo suddenly stands up from his desk and makes his way out of the classroom after Kaidou. My mind starts to wander trying to figure out what the hell he's suddenly left the room for when I notice someone's sleeve start wiggling.

"There's another snake. It's in one of the kids uniforms and it's going to fall out any second."

Thanks for ditching me.

Just as he said, a snake drops out of the sleeve of the kid I was staring at and everyone starts screaming. People start knocking over everything and jumping onto desks to try and get away from it. The room has turned to chaos so quickly and it's made everything more dangerous than it should be.

"Whata bunch a dorks."

I huff as Nendo insults the others for panicking about the poisonous snake in the room. I try to think of a way to catch it subtly and without putting myself in too much danger, when the snake launches itself and bites down on Nendo's crotch. Though he doesn't notice until the others point it out for him.

What a fucking idiot.

Now the only thing I can think of is to yank the snake off of him, but I don't want Nendo to lose his balls in the process.

"It didn't bite through the fabric he'll be fine."

Glossing over how hearing his voice made me jump, I mentally thanking Kusuo for that tidbit. I take the opportunity while it's there and rush up to the brute, grasping the end of the snake to pull it away from Nendo. Before it could turn around to bite me in my shin I grab its neck with my other hand, effectively trapping it in my hold.

The room quiets down for a moment before erupting into cheers. Some kids running over and bowing down in front of me, while the rest start chanting away like I saved their first born.

"You're our saviour! Thank you! Thank you!"

I try to smile, but it comes out wobbly with the snake trying to escape my hold on it.

"It was really nothing. Though if someone could call the Zoo, or animal control or anything really that'd be great. My hands are currently full so I can't do it myself."

That seemed to be enough to get everyone snapped back to reality and remember there was still a snake in the room, captured or not. A couple kids quickly took out their phones to call who I asked. Some of them were still a bit zealous, so I informed everyone I'd head outside just in case so it couldn't cause another catastrophe.

Though as I make my way to the door, that's when Kaidou bursts through it himself, scaring the crap out of me. Unfortunately that was all it took for me to lose control and have the snake slip out of my grasp. It doesn't take long for everyone to start panicking again, but I'm at a loss when I hear what exactly they're yelling.

"It disappeared!"

"Magical snake!?"

"What has the Zoo been doing to them??"

"What if it's invisible and waiting to bite one of us!"

Everyone instantly jumps onto the nearest desk again while I'm left completely confused cause I can still see the snake. I follow it with my eyes as it glides around the room and hisses every so often. Kaidou tries and fails to drag me onto the desk he's on, so out of pity for his arm strength I hop on next to him. I ignore his babbling about Dark Reunion and watch as the snake slithers up the side of some poor girls desk and gets ready to lunge at her. I would've warned her about it, but I let my curiosity get the better of me since no one had yet to notice where the snake even was.

I watch, prepared to listen to a girl scream as soon as it makes contact, only for it to fly through its target and back onto the floor. Taking note of everything that happened, everyone saying it's become invisible, me apparently being the only one to see it, and the snake itself passing through organic matter, the mistake I made is obvious. I can't help but groan realizing I sent the snake to alternate space.

With everyone freaking out I'm not able to even touch the floor without everyone panicking, so I can't get close enough to bring the snake back—Not without help anyway. At some point Kusuo did come back from wherever he was, but when he opened the door and everyone proceeded to yell at him he walked right back out and shut it behind him. So he's worthless.

I huff realizing the only thing to do is to wait for the Zoo people to show up and in the commotion bring the snake back for them to catch. With my classmates constantly shouting and Kaidou mumbling about Dark Reunion in my ear, it's going to be a long wait.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✁━━━━━━━━━━━

After animal control came and took the snake away after a song and dance, the rest of the school day went on without any interruptions. Kusuo ditched me again at the end of the day, so instead of walking home alone I decided to detour and get myself some well deserved treats for enduring the day.

Once I've finally got my hand on my glorious food and start window shopping on my way back, I hear someone calling out my name behind me. I turn around expecting Kaidou, maybe Yumehara, but my mind nearly crashes when I find Teruhashi standing not to far from me. I pray to every deity that she wasn't the one looking for me, but my wishes are ignored as the crowd parts to let her walk right up to me.

Why, oh why, is she trying to talk to me? She's never bothered me every other year so why is she starting now?

"Hey, have you seen Saiki anywhere?"

Oh, she just wants information… about Kusuo? There's honestly no reason I can think of that would make her want to talk to him either. Not that he's not fun to annoy the hell out of, but she wouldn't know that—she also wouldn't do that anyway since she's too nice to bother random people like him.

"Nope, haven't seen him! So uhh, good luck I guess."

I turn back around and continue on my way home. I thought she'd leave me alone once she got her answer and see me walk away as fast as possible, but to my utter disappointment she tries her hardest to keep up with me.

"Wait!"

I hold in a groan as Teruhashi rushes to my side, trying desperately to walk in step with me despite me making no effort to slowdown for her.

"You're friends with Saiki right? I noticed you two are often together!"

That has me stop to look at her. She takes this moment to catch her breath while I try to figure out her motive. This whole this is so suspicious. Not once have I noticed her try to get to know the people around her better, they just come up to her and tell her about their day. Neither of us have ever talked to her, so maybe she's genuinely just trying to be a nice classmate and learn more about us? I guess I could tell her something we did together.

I wave her off as I start talking, but I can't help the smile that grows on my face the longer I go on.

"Friend is a strong word, but we do hang out a lot. One time I came over to his house to play this really shitty co-op game—don't bother asking what it was you wouldn't know and I don't remember anyway—and it was one of the silliest things I think I got him to play! It's kind of like playing the Penguins of Madagascar but not really. SO we're both penguins and are job is to succesfully complete a heist, but crossfire combined with the jank ass physics engine makes it so dumb. There are multiple times where—"

"That sounds like fun! Maybe I could join you sometime!"

She interrupts me off with a smile on her face, but that doesn't stop me from spiraling. Like god why'd she cut me off? Was I rambling? Not making any sense? Does she not play games or just doesn't like what I was talking about? If she doesn't care about penguin committing heists then we have nothing in common, how am I supposed to talk to this girl? Why did she even ask to join? Maybe she's so nice she felt bad not offering?

"Oh uh, maybe? I don't know. It's kinda something for me to do with Kusuo, I don't really like the idea of someone barging in. Not that you are, thanks for asking, but… yeah."

There, now she doesn't have to play a game she doesn't care about and can live guilt free. I start walking away again at the same pace as before, but she still continues to follow me and try to hold up the conversation.

"That's okay! We could figure out something else to do, like—"

Something fly's past my view and completely checks me out of whatever Teruhashi was about to say. A beast the size of a truck, with the body of a lion, the head of a goat on its back and a snake for a tail, charges through the crowd—spewing fire at everything in its path.

No one else notices it, and Teruhashi never stopped talking.

Something that shouldn't be is running around the alternate space.

My eyes never leave the Chimera as it jumps around and unsuccessfully tries to cause as much carnage as it possibly can. I guess it's time to get ready for my night shift.

"Sorry to cut you off Teruhashi, but I bought a couple groceries that really have to go in the fridge sooner rather than later, so I gotta run home."

"Oh! I can—"

I'm still not looking at her as I watch the Chimera run around the corner. Not wanting to lose sight of it I start to chase after it while waving goodbye in Teruhashi's general direction.

"Yeah I really gotta go, sorry, bye!"

Rounding the corner I see it try to bite someone's head off before climbing one of the buildings in the area. I can already feel the aches I'm going to get once I encounter this thing.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✁━━━━━━━━━━━

"Are you going out tonight?"

I flinch and nearly cause my tower of snacks to fall all over the floor. No matter how many times he's popped out of nowhere, I don't think I'll ever get used to it.

As soon as I got back home I instantly set out to grab everything I needed before I head out tonight. Food, coffee, multiple kinds of knives I hopefully won't have to use, my phone, more food, and one half of my prized knuckle dusters—the other I'm already wearing. Now all I have to do is fit all of this into the bag, something that Kusuo almost made me have to spend more time on.

"Why don't you send a text every once in a while? Y'know, like a normal person? What you're hoping to be??"

"Just answer the question."

I roll my eyes and go back to packing my bag full of gear and snacks—preparing for all the running around and the potential fight I was about to get into. If someone other than Kusuo saw what I was doing they'd probably think I'm going out to commit a murder.

"I saw a Chimera jumping around earlier."

That's all I give him as an answer. It's all he should need.

He doesn't immediately respond afterwards, so I know he did.

The next while trying to make everything fit inside the bag is spent in silence. Kusuo doesn't say anything, but his presence is still felt even without him physically being here. Once everything is eventually shoved into the bag, I take out my knife that's always attached to my thigh—a blue spinel tipped M-9 Bayonet—to tear open a large portion of the fabric of reality and toss the bag into the alternate space. I stand and stretch, ready to step through myself when Kusuo finally speaks up again.

"Don't die while you're out."

I wave my hand dismissively, knowing he's probably watching me with his powers from his room.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be careful. There's no need to worry."

"With your impulsiveness I can never be to sure."

Not knowing where he's looking at me from, I point a middle finger at the ceiling and picture it in my mind for good measure.

"See you tomorrow Kusuo."

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✁━━━━━━━━━━━

Jumping through the city has always been the highlight of this job. Racing atop buildings without fear of anyone spotting me and sprinting through the air by creating floating platforms to stand on gets my blood pumping like nothing else. Especially while my bag of goods floats after me without fail.

The outfit change that happens whenever I enter this space I could do without, but at least it makes me look great while I fight beasts from other worlds. Which just so happens to be one of the only good things when fighting them.

Often times it's enough to just talk to whatever creature I spotted during the day. Usually they either want someone to talk to, they need something that can only be found here, or maybe even just want to look around at new scenery before leaving on their own accord. Unfortunately, that Chimera didn't look remotely willing to hold a conversation.

While jumping from platform to platform treading back to the area I last saw the beast in, the platform I was about to jump on bursts into flames, causing me to freak out and fall onto the roof of a building. I curse as I pick myself up, the Chimera landing in front of me with a growl.

"Would you be willing to talk about our lord and saviour?"

It spews a fireball in my direction without hesitation. I jump to the side, barely avoiding the heat and almost falling of the edge of the building. Righting myself, I call for one of the knives in my bag—a beautiful topaz encrusted Mini Bo-Kri, and throw it towards the beast without hesitation.

The knife cleanly lodges itself right above the Chimera's paws and it cries out in pain. With a snap of my fingers, the damage is furthered as the knife combusts into a flaming pyre. Before the Chimera could pull it out, I tear open a portal with my Bayonet to send a flying kick to the beasts head.

"If not, then kindly get the hell out of my city."

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I carve a portal home as soon as I send the Chimera back to where it came from. I'm covered in cuts, bruises, and a little bit of soot, but otherwise completely fine. The fight didn't take that long, so the little cuts I received were so worth it. Though I can already hear Kusuo chewing me out for getting injured.

Creating another tear, I exit the alternate space and almost immediately get thrown onto the couch with my bag. I end up landing on my back and irritating the wounds on my back I can't help but wince. Soon a familiar mop of pink hair enters my vision and eyes are glaring at me from behind a pair of green glasses.

"Didn't I tell you to be careful?"

I give him a glare of my own before sitting up with a hiss, making the psychic need to back up lest he want to get headbutted.

"You only told me not to die, which I didn't, so don't get pissy with me."

"Don't get up."

Kusuo carefully tries to push my shoulder to get me to lay back down, but I swat his arm away to stand and get something to deal with the pain.

"Outta my way. I said I'd see you tomorrow man—"

Kusuo shoves you back into the couch with his psychokinesis, further irritating my injuries which I'm sure he did on purpose to prove a point.

"Don't get up."

No matter how much I try, I'm unable to move out of his hold on me, so I sigh with a glower.

"I don't need your help."

"And I don't want to hear you complaining tomorrow."

It's obvious he's not going to let me go until I let him help me, so I relent and stop fighting against him. Once he's sure I won't try to do anything stupid according to his own logic, he goes to grab the first aid kit. With all the magical nonsense I've left inside of the kit, it doesn't take long before it looks like I stayed home and slept the whole night and didn't go out to brawl a raging Chimera.

"Thanks Kusuo."

Despite not wanting him to have bothered healing me in the first place, I'm not so stubborn to not acknowledge he did afterwards.

"Don't mention it."

He takes a seat next to me, then suddenly coffee jelly and a slice of cake come floating from the kitchen and into our laps. We both sit in silence for a while eating our respective sweet treats and just enjoying the company. It's a level or normal we often can't afford due to our shared friends, our powers, and especially his family. Kusuo only speaks up again long after we've finished our food and he's about to leave.

"Teruhashi was trying to get you to say 'oh wow' by the way."

Oh.

…

What?

[iceemochaa]

IFFFF you are doing a paddy fic - i think one where the reader is a medic/nurse brought in by Eve would be interesting. bc ik those boys do not give a shit abt their wellbeing (flashback to the open sores scene in season one) and there’s like a particular tension between the reader and paddy bc that man will NOT let her treat his wounds right (honestly this feels more slowburn, from a mutual dislike to a temporary truce to quiet friends to MORE, but you get the concept)

You know what? I love your brain and want to eat it. 😫 Follow Along with me bestie:

Reader who sticks around as the nurse under David’s command. It’s odd at first, being the only woman within a group of men but eventually you get used to it. Unfortunately you do catch the eyes of a few. You expected it, truly. What you didn’t expect was the growing tension you have with the rough Irish Men. He gives you the stank eye whenever he’s close by. He recites poems that talk about a lone widow that gets eaten alive by wolves, he always does it when your walking by. (kind of have to side eye him majority of the time)

Worse of all, when you're left alone with him to patch his wounds. He likes to stare a little too long at your lips.

- Anon If I could kiss you, I would ❤️

[miffysrkv]

The safehouse is dim again.

Another mission behind you. Another file decrypted, another corpse left bleeding behind some government curtain.

You’re still in your torn undershirt. Ada’s lipstick is smudged. And Leon?

Leon sits on the edge of the couch, legs spread, bloodied gloves off, watching you both like a man barely holding the leash.

“You two think I didn’t see the way you were looking at each other all mission?”

You and Ada glance at each other.

A smirk played on both of your lips

“You gonna punish us?” Ada asks sweetly, already undoing the zipper of her dress

Leon just growls, head tipping back as he leans into the cushions. “On your knees. Now.”

You drop first.

Ada follows beside you, kneeling gracefully on the hardwood like a predator resting before the pounce. You sit thigh to thigh, your shoulder brushing hers as you both reach up at once—hands tugging Leon’s belt open, zipper down, pants shoved low on his hips.

His cock is thick, already flushed, twitching with need.

You glance at Ada.

She smirks. “Ladies first?”

But you both go in at once.

Your tongues meet first—on him. You lick up the underside of his shaft while Ada sucks his tip into her mouth, humming low. You moan into the base of his cock, licking where he’s hottest. Ada bobs her head slowly, one hand pumping him, her other curling in your hair to guide your mouth to his balls.

Together, you worship him.

Leon groans—loud, guttural—his head falling back, a hand tangling in each of your hair. “Fuck. You two—look at you.”

You blink up at him, your mouth wet, tongue tracing his length as Ada slides off with a pop.

“She’s messy,” Ada teases, licking a drop of spit off your lip.

“She’s mine,” Leon growls.

And he grabs his cock—grips it tight—and slaps it against both your tongues.

Once. Twice.

“Open.”

You and Ada open your mouths, side by side. He slides in—deep—into Ada’s first, fucking her throat slowly. Then pulls out and feeds it to you, groaning when your lips seal around him and your throat flexes to take more.

You’re both drooling. Eyes shining. Desperate.

Ada strokes what you can’t reach, whispering in your ear, “You’re so good at this. Look at you, dripping.”

You whimper around Leon’s cock.

He’s shaking above you now, hips starting to thrust, losing control. “Fuck, you two—too good—keep going—”

You and Ada take turns.

Kissing his shaft between your mouths. Sucking his tip together. Cleaning up the mess together.

One team. One target. One goddamn beautiful downfall.

Leon chokes on a breath.

“Where do you want it?” he rasps.

Ada licks her lips. “She earned it.”

He grabs your jaw, cock twitching, and groans through gritted teeth as he cums across your tongue, his load hot, thick, spilling down your throat and over your lips.

You swallow.

Ada leans over. Licks the rest from your chin. Kisses you filthy.

Leon watches, dazed, destroyed. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You both smile up at him like angels with blood on your hands.

Ada tilts her head. “Again?”

-

Now you lie upside down across a crate. Your back arched, legs over the far edge, head dangling off the side.

Mouth open. Throat exposed. Waiting.

You feel Ada’s fingers slide down your cheek, curling under your jaw to tilt your head just right.

“You look divine like this,” she purrs.

Leon steps between your parted lips.

His boots creak on the concrete floor. You don’t need to see him—you feel him. The heat of him. The tension radiating off him like a live wire.

He brushes the head of his cock along your lips—wet already. Heavy.

“She’s shaking already,” Ada whispers. “Use her. Slowly.”

Leon eases inside your mouth.

Gravity helps. Your throat opens on instinct. You gasp around him, hands grabbing at the sides of the crate for stability as he sinks deep, the angle forcing your muscles to stretch and submit.

Ada strokes your hair as you gag.

“Good girl,” she breathes. “Breathe through your nose. Take what he gives you.”

Leon starts to move.

Short thrusts at first—testing, building—before growing bolder, deeper, until your throat is flush with his cock, spit pouring from the corners of your mouth and down your cheeks.

He groans above you, hand braced on the crate. “Fuck. She’s swallowing me—just like that.”

Ada crouches beside your face now. Watches your lips stretch around Leon’s cock. Watches your lashes flutter as you try not to choke. Watches spit string and fall to the floor.

“She’s crying,” she says gently, fingers swiping a tear from your temple. “So beautiful like this. Ruined just for us.”

Leon thrusts harder now. Controlled. Feral beneath the surface. His hips slap lightly against your lips, cock slamming down your throat in smooth, punishing strokes.

You can’t breathe properly. But you don’t care.

You want to be used like this.

You want to give him everything.

Ada leans in, lips brushing your ear, voice like sin.

“Don’t you dare cum until I tell you to.”

You whimper around Leon’s cock, body shuddering. Your thighs rub together at the other end of the crate—soaked, dripping, desperate. You're not even being touched, but the pressure is unbearable.

“She's twitching,” Ada muses. “You're wrecking her.”

Leon grunts, hips stuttering. He’s close. Again. You feel it—thick, heavy, pulsing on your tongue.

“She gonna take it?” he pants.

Ada kisses your temple. “She’ll take every drop.”

Leon drives deep one final time, hips flush to your lips, cock buried in your throat.

And he cums.

Hot. Sudden. Brutal.

His seed floods your mouth, thick and hot, and you gulp—again and again—refusing to let even a drop spill.

Ada watches you with dark, hungry eyes.

“That’s it. Don’t waste it. Swallow him like you’re starving.”

You do.

Your throat aches. Your mouth is numb. You can barely breathe.

And you’ve never felt more alive.

Leon steps back. His cock slips free from your lips with a slick, messy sound.

You lie there upside down—dripping, wrecked, mouth still open, throat fluttering around the ghost of him.

Ada leans in, gloved fingers dragging gently down your throat.

“You didn’t cum,” she whispers.

You shake your head, dazed, obedient.

Her smile sharpens.

“Good girl. Let’s fix that, shall we?”

She disappears from view—and then, warm fingers slide between your thighs from the other end of the crate.

Finally.

[imagine-you]

Waiting For the Sun to Go Down chp. 12 [Eric Northman/Reader]

Summary: You thought vampires coming out of the coffin was the most excitement you would ever experience after you moved to Dallas, but it turned out to only be the start. Between your friendship with Godric, your reluctant move back to Bon Temps after your grandma's passing, and a serial killer on the loose, you were beginning to wonder if your life would ever be anything approaching normal ever again. Of course, you also never expected that once you met Godric's progeny, Eric Northman, you would also find yourself falling in love. Chapter Word Count: 6.1k Author's Note: I am so sorry for being gone for so long! As an apology, I wrote a snippet from Eric's POV that takes place at the end of the chapter. You can find it HERE.

Chapter Twelve

Taglist: @mysticalfuncollectorus @nightsbite @virginalsacrifice @maliceex59 @stilestotherescue @princesssterek

[theproverbialpen]

HEY, YOU! PERSON WHO KEEPS LISTENING TO RUTHLESSNESS ON REPEAT:

Do you sometimes skip through Epic just to hear any song Poseidon is in in? Is Steven Rodriguez’s “Like You Mean It” probably going to be on your Spotify wrapped this year? Have @neal-illustrator’s animatics permanently altered your brain chemistry?

First of all, let me recommend “Devil Wears Lace” by Steven Rodriguez cause damn that song is good.

Second of all, let me also shamelessly plug my fanfic for those of you who have also found yourself with a carnal need for the Dark-Haired King himself:

“No, my lord—I beg your mercy, please.” Gods, it was one mistake! One stupid, stupid decision made in the throes of lust. To think your kingdom, your home, would be punished for your one lecherous act had you spiraling all over again, chest constricting like a vice. Why, oh why did you have to anger the most mercurial of all the gods?!

Poseidon did not respond immediately, the stillness bordering on pensive. You dared not breathe, lest your wheezing further enrage him. When the silence stretched onward, you were just about ready to start begging for your life again. You opened your mouth, prepared to let epithets and apologies flow forth like libations, when he finally answered you.

“Fine,” came his stern concession. “You want mercy? Why don’t you prove to me you deserve it?”

“How would I do so, my lord?” you quickly inquired.

“Well, I believe you were in the middle of something, weren’t you?”

So yeah! If that sounded somewhat appealing to you, you can read the whole thing on AO3. This will be a threeshot with a follow up story (or two) because man the hyperfixation has been activated. Hope y’all enjoy, and thank you for taking the time to read :)

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

“Can you cry on command?” you ask with interest, eliciting a bashful smile from your co-star, HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN.

After some internal debate, knocking his head back and forth when he searches the ceiling for his answer, he finally gives it to you. “Yes, I can.” It’s surprising, because he always manages to perform that perfect single-tear-fall cliché on camera. It’s so improbable that you’re sure it’s eyedrops. So you goad him to disprove your hypothesis.

You incline in his direction, engaging him. “Show me.”

His brows pinch, but his grin never falters, glancing over his shoulder. “Right now?” He’s not ashamed of the talent, but he doesn’t want someone to worry over him if they walked in without context.

“Yeah. Do it, c’mon. Bet you can’t.”

He moistens his lips, exchanging a look with you before he bows his head to concede. "Alright, alright. Talk to me about something, whatever you want." Out of the corner of your eye you see how he adjusts in his seat, rolling up his sleeves to lean his arms against the surface of the table you both sit at.

Your story that you relay to him is so pointless and inconsequential. What essentially consists of a laundry list of your dealings at a Lowe's store has his face gently twisting in anguish. His brows furrow into a defined frown, and he glances down at the table with a defeated shake of his head, knuckles rapping on the surface. His lower lip quivers. The sight of it shooting straight down to your core, yet you power through.

"... and they didn't even have the fixtures I wanted!"

"No," he croaks in disbelief, passionate over your unfortunate circumstances, "not the fixtures." The keen of his voice catches you off guard, how it cracks under the weight of that thick coating of a throat when it closes. It signals his imminent breakdown. The sheen appears on his eyes.

At first this was a joke, now not so much. Your phrasing slowing with each response, your acting skill faltering as you shift in your seat, subconsciously seeking out friction. "Yeah, I couldn't believe it. After I called to check too."

"Yeah- Yeah, after you called to check." he nods, showing you he's listening to you, that's upset on your behalf. Finally, that well overflows, and two perfect tears drop from his lids one by one, wetting his eyelashes. "God, baby, I'm so sorry." An apologetic and soothing palm strokes your arm, and you glance between it and him.

It renders you speechless, swallowing hard as you stare at his display. Why is this doing something to you? His large hand wipes down his face, sniffing.

"Can't believe it." he muses, filling the silence as you chew your lower lip. All of a sudden, other contexts in which to make him cry open up to you. A delicate pink blooming onto the tip of his nose and the buds of his cheeks, and you feel like fucking him within an inch of his life just to see it again. Overstimulate him until he sobs for real.

[charophyte]

if people don't start marking/tagging the reader's gender/pronouns in their x reader fics then I'm gonna start putting live wasps in your house when you're not looking until you start

[alive-gh0st]

˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

.….ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨.ـ.. .

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⛨ summary: you’re not obsessed with him. you’re not. but the world clearly is. strange articles. sneaky algorithms. and a voice in your head that won’t shut up. meanwhile, invincible’s got his own problem: he can’t find the girl who called him out like a scrub tech on a bad day.

⛨ contains: sfw. nurse carla’s mischief. media-induced annoyance. early emotional foreshadowing. reader in denial. mark being haunted by words and mystery. parallel narration. bonus scene chaos.

⛨ warnings: mild language. internet stalking (light). stubbornness. minor delusion. no real threats—just a very determined destiny.

⛨ wc: 2146

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: fun fact—i lost half of this chapter mid-edit because my wifi decided to flatline like a soap opera character. dramatic gasp, hospital monitor beep, the whole deal. one second i’m tweaking a paragraph, the next i’m staring at the void where 800 words used to be. i almost fought my router. bare-fisted. anyway, here it is—risen from the ashes, caffeinated, and slightly more unhinged than originally planned. enjoy my suffering.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

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The universe has a sick sense of humor.

You know this. You’ve always known this.

You work twelve-hour shifts surrounded by people coughing on your scrubs and trying to die inconveniently. You’ve stitched up knife wounds caused by things described as “accidents,” told grown men they’re not, in fact, dying from a sore throat, and once had to remove a Lego from a place no Lego should ever be.

But lately, it feels personal.

There’s been a shift. A pattern. A very specific, very annoying theme threading itself through your life like the world’s most persistent pop-up ad.

It’s not love. It’s not fate.

It’s him.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You tap your phone’s screen with more passive aggression than necessary, holding it to your ear even though you know your (only) friend won’t pick up.

Beep.

“Okay, listen—I’m not spiraling. I’m not.”

(Pause. Sip. Another pause.)

“But if one more news article, thirst edit, or random merch featuring that man—shows up in my general vicinity, I will commit a felony. Probably a creative one.”

(Beat.)

“And no—before you say it—it’s not a crush. I don’t have time for crushes. I have sleep deprivation and a spine held together by caffeine.”

(Silence.)

“He’s not even that hot.”

You hang up.

Regret it. Immediately.

And that’s when it hits you—

You’re not obsessed with him.

You’re not.

You’ve been into people before—celebrities, coworkers, a random guy who pronounced your name right on the first try—but this isn’t that. You’re not delusional. You’re tired. You have a full-time job, a chaotic sleep schedule, and at least two stress migraines scheduled for the week.

You’re not obsessed.

The entire world, on the other hand, clearly is.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

It starts with a newspaper.

A real one. Paper and ink and everything. You’re halfway through your first sip of coffee (not bad, not cursed) when you spot it, splayed open on the front counter like it tripped and fell into your line of sight.

’Invincible saves subway commuters in mid-derailment battle.’

There’s a photo. Midair. Bloodied knuckles. Hero pose. That obnoxious blue-yellow suit.

You blink at it once. Twice. The espresso tastes more bitter somehow.

“…Carla,” you call out, slowly.

A soft shuffle from the break room. “Mhm?”

You tilt your head toward the paper. “Is that yours?”

“Nope,” she chirps, far too quickly.

You squint.

Carla reappears moments later with a tea mug that says ’I am the storm’ in passive-aggressive font and absolutely does not make eye contact as she walks past you.

She hums.

The kind of hum that implies dark intentions.

You stare at the paper like it personally insulted your scrubs.

That’s strike one.

Strike two comes via TikTok. Or… Instagram Reels. Or whatever godforsaken app the algorithm has you trapped in.

You’re lying on your couch on your one night off, a warm takeout container on your lap, the lights dimmed just enough to make it feel like self-care. You open your phone to zone out. Maybe scroll through food mukbangs. A few raccoon videos. Rewatch that one clip from ’The Bear’ for the emotional damage.

Instead, the second video to pop up is a slow-motion fan edit of Invincible. Set to a remix of a 2000s ballad.

You stare at your phone in silence as the hero who bloodied his way through your afternoon is now being thirsted after by teenagers in the comments.

You swipe up fast enough to sprain something.

Then another pops up.

And another.

And—oh, good god. This one’s tagged #invincibae.

You throw your phone facedown on your stomach like it’s contagious.

You’re not angry. You’re not even annoyed.

You’re just trying to have one singular crumb of peace in this godless world, and the masked himbo you verbally body-checked in the middle of a disaster won’t stop invading your downtime.

You eventually find a rerun of ’House MD’ and watch a patient nearly die from licking envelopes, which feels more comforting than it should.

You’re not obsessed.

(But maybe you do glare at a passing bus with his face on the side. Just a little.)

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

By the end of the week, it gets worse.

You’re at the pharmacy grabbing gauze, extra gloves, and the least offensive granola bar in existence when you see the merch.

Merch.

A corner display stacked with shirts and water bottles and pins. There’s a plushie. A plushie. Of him.

You pause, granola bar halfway to your basket.

A kid next to you picks up the Invincible water bottle and turns to his mom. “Do you think he drinks from this too?”

You visibly clench your jaw.

At that exact moment, your phone dings.

You pull it out with the practiced grace of someone who lives and dies by their calendar app—only to find a suggested article on your lock screen.

’Why Invincible Might Be the Most Relatable Hero Yet!’

You could scream.

Instead, you mutter, “I patched up his concussion while inhaling drywall dust. He was seeing double and still arguing with me.”

The cashier stares at you.

You move on.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

The final straw?

A patient brings him up.

Middle of a wound check, nothing dramatic. A few stitches, topical numbing, your hands moving on autopilot. You’re explaining aftercare, bandage changes, when the patient—maybe fifteen, maybe sixteen—smiles at you and says:

“You kinda remind me of Invincible, y’know? Like, you’re calm under pressure and.. kind of badass.”

You blink.

Smile politely. “Cool.”

Inside, your soul shrivels.

You are not him.

You don’t throw punches. You don’t fly. You don’t have a theme song or fan cams or merchandise.

You have an overtime shift on Sunday and a stress knot in your shoulder that’s starting to feel like a second spine.

But the universe doesn’t care.

You’re not obsessed.

You just can’t escape.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Mark doesn’t remember your face.

Not clearly, anyway.

The smoke had blurred the details, painted you in silhouettes and urgency. You weren’t the loudest voice in the chaos—just the sharpest. Crisp, cutting, sure of yourself in a way that made his head spin more than the actual concussion.

But your voice?

He remembers that like it’s stitched into the inside of his skull.

Low. Stern. Half-sarcastic and half-soothing. It sounded like someone who didn’t have time for bullshit, which—given the circumstances—made sense.

He was bleeding from the ribs. The city was literally burning.

Still, the memory echoes:

“Don’t say fine.”

“You’re favoring your left.”

“You shouldn’t be flying.”

Mark exhales hard, slumping deeper into the worn couch. The TV’s on but silent. Some old action movie flickers in the corner of his vision. It’s supposed to be background noise.

But nothing is loud enough to drown you out.

He doesn’t know your name.

Doesn’t know what you do, where you’re from, if you even survived the aftermath unscathed.

All he knows is that you made him feel—briefly, dangerously—human.

Not a symbol. Not a name in headlines. Just a guy who was bleeding too much and doing too little.

And he can’t stop hearing you.

“You’re zoning out again,” Debbie says from the kitchen.

Mark flinches, barely registering the sound of the fridge opening.

“Sorry. Just tired.”

Debbie hums skeptically and tosses him a cold can of soda. “You’ve said that every day this week.”

“I am tired.”

“You’re also muttering to yourself like a haunted Victorian widow. Anything I should know?”

Mark cracks the can open with unnecessary force.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares ahead like the wall is going to give him divine guidance.

“I met someone,” he says finally.

Debbie doesn’t react. Just leans against the counter, raising a perfectly arched brow. “Okay. And?”

“She yelled at me.”

Still silence.

“And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.”

There it is.

Debbie snorts into her cup. “That’s it? That’s what’s got you acting like a sad poet?”

He shifts. “It’s not just that. She—she saw right through me. In like, five seconds. Called out every injury I hadn’t processed yet. Told me I wasn’t fine before I could even lie about it.”

“And this was… romantic?”

“No!” Mark frowns. “I don’t even know what it was. I don’t know anything about her. I couldn’t even see her face.”

“Okay, now it’s giving Victorian ghost story.”

“She saved a kid.”

Debbie blinks.

“In the middle of it all. Ran straight into debris and smoke. People tried to stop her and she looked at me like I was the liability.”

He doesn’t mention the way your hands shook but never stopped moving. Or the way you lied—beautifully, horribly—just to keep that child alive a few seconds longer.

He doesn’t mention how it made something in his chest ache.

“She sounds amazing,” Debbie says, more gently now.

“She was,” he mutters. “And now she’s just… gone.”

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

The thing is, Mark’s not usually like this.

He gets hit, he gets up. He saves people, and he moves on. Faces blur. Names fade. It’s how he copes.

But this? This isn’t fading.

It’s getting worse.

He’ll be flying over the city and see a flash of hair that looks vaguely like yours—and he’ll nearly crash into a billboard turning to check. His neck has started clicking. He’s going to need chiropractic help and therapy.

He doesn’t even know you, but he’s half-convinced he’ll know when he sees you again.

He’s waiting for it.

And that thought alone is ridiculous.

Because he doesn’t wait. Not for danger. Not for hope. Not for anyone.

Except now, apparently, for you.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

More than once, he’s hovered outside hospitals and urgent care clinics on patrol. Just a few seconds. Just in case.

He makes excuses for it, of course:

• You never know when you might be needed.

• Some med centers don’t have enough security.

• Maybe he’s being responsible.

But then he hears a nurse’s laugh and it isn’t yours.

And he flies off like a coward.

Not even a few minutes later there’s a robbery in Midtown.

Small-time. Two guys. One has a crowbar. The other trips over his shoelace trying to run.

Mark’s on it in sixty seconds flat.

It’s easy—should be, anyway—but his timing’s off. He lands too hard, shoulder twinges wrong. The guy gets one good swing in before Mark sends him flying (not too far).

It’s done in under a minute.

And still—he’s breathless. Not from the fight, but from the feeling.

The missing.

The what if you’d seen that and thought I was sloppy kind of missing.

He doesn’t say anything as he lifts the guy’s dropped phone and hands it off to the store clerk. They thank him. He nods.

Flies away.

He doesn’t go far.

Just lands on some apartment roof, crouches by the ledge, and lets his hands tangle in his hair for a minute.

The city stretches below him, loud and alive.

But all he wants to find is a blur in the chaos that isn’t there.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Later that night, he lies in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like it might offer closure.

It doesn’t.

It’s just drywall and shadows and everything you saw through.

His notebook lies half-open next to him—not forgotten, just untouched, like a question he doesn’t know how to answer yet.

It’s not a journal—he doesn’t do feelings that way—but sometimes, when his head’s too loud and his hands need something to do, he sketches. Nothing fancy. Just lines. Shapes. Impressions.

Tonight, it’s you.

Or, what he remembers of you. Which isn’t much.

Your face is a blur. Hair? A vague impression. Maybe dark. Maybe not. But your hands—he remembers those. Quick, steady, smudged with ash. Your posture. How you stood slightly in front of the child like a shield, chin up, like fear was something for other people.

He’s drawn the same half-profile six times now. None of them are right.

He sighs, drags a hand through his hair, and flips the page over.

Maybe he’s not trying to get it right.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to forget.

He closes his eyes.

But the voice stays with him.

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⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚❤️‍🔥˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌Clinic break room. You. Tired.

You sneeze—violently.

Again.

You rub your nose with the heel of your palm, the tip of it already reddish from overuse, and a dramatic groan leaves your throat as you sink into the unforgiving plastic chair.

“This is some kind of karmic punishment,” you mutter to no one in particular. “Like, I must’ve offended a witch. Or touched something cursed.”

“Maybe you’re getting sick,” offers a random nurse from across the room.

You glare at her. “I’m immune to sickness.”

Then of course, Carla appears behind you, perfectly timed as always.

“Maybe someone’s thinking about you,” she says, casual as rain, not even glancing your way before walking off.

You blink. Deadpan.

Then sneeze again.

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taglist sign up: 𓉘here𓉝

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[sodaneko]

heartbreaking! one of your favorite artists makes fun of y/n fics!

[vyeoh]

The "x female reader he leaves you for a man" memes have ruined me because everytime I see a x reader I open it thinking it's the meme and then it's actual x reader and I get 1000000000000000000 psychic damage

[geesecanon]

Evidence in the Epistolary (Chapter 4)

read on ao3 Rating: Teen & Up Type: Multi-chapter Chapter: Intonatically Yours (4/10) Tags: Ford Pines/Reader; Strangers to Penpals; Strangers to Disgruntled Peers; Strangers to Vague Respect to Oh-No-They're-Hot; Gender Neutral Reader; No pronouns used (as any accurate descriptor); Inaccurate Technology for Sake of Plot; Additional Tags to be Added; Lab Mishaps; Mistaken Identity (Kind of); Miscommunication Summary: "That’s, what, two abrupt left turns in your life in the past month? A third one would make a right… right?"

[erytherion]

Reading the webtoon and…

Does this imply that Kim Dokja also tried to write a questionnaire for her to fill in since she wouldn’t speak to him, that either he 1) never gave her in the end (especially if he couldn’t find her after she was released) or 2) gave it to her and she STILL refused to answer?

Because that is so so so so awful. It was already bad but if he tried so many ways to get her to speak and she still gave him no response, regardless of her reasoning… isn’t that still directly choosing to cut herself fully out of his life? Why in the hell did she lie for his sake and allow him to visit her if she wanted to never speak to him again?

I know everyone claims Kim Dokja is just like her in sacrificing himself for loved ones, but at least he tries his best to stay with them and to keep them in his life. He still chooses sacrifice, but it’s not because he intends to never return. He always returns (even if much later than planned).

The only time this differs is with 51%, when he STILL tried his best to stay with them - at least as much as he could.

I sometimes like Lee Sookyung, but I am mostly still SO mad at her for completely ignoring her child since he was 8 years old. Especially when he must have looked like shit any number of times from being mistreated and bullied by family, friends, army, employers.

But maybe that’s just the fragment in me being eternally pissed with her. She DOES love him, but like he says in the webtoon in this chapter - maybe such truths are painful enough to be false anyways, because they’re just SUCH bullshit. That’s not how affection should work, if you actually care about someone and want them to be happy.

[imagine-you]

Waiting For the Sun To Go Down chp. 11 [Eric Northman/Reader]

Summary: You thought vampires coming out of the coffin was the most excitement you would ever experience after you moved to Dallas, but it turned out to only be the start. Between your friendship with Godric, your reluctant move back to Bon Temps after your grandma's passing, and a serial killer on the loose, you were beginning to wonder if your life would ever be anything approaching normal ever again. Of course, you also never expected that once you met Godric's progeny, Eric Northman, you would also find yourself falling in love.

Chapter Word Count: 5.7k

Chapter Eleven

taglist: @mysticalfuncollectorus @nightsbite @virginalsacrifice @maliceex59 @stilestotherescue @princesssterek

[s0ulja-g1rl]

Puppy Love

Zak Saturday x Female!Reader | Fluff | 900+ Words

Zak had faced cryptids, villains, and near-death experiences without so much as a flinch—but nothing had ever prepared him for you.

You weren’t just a friend. No, that would be too simple. You were his best friend, his partner in adventure, the one person outside his family who got him. And, unfortunately for him, you were also the one person who could turn him into a complete, blushing mess with just a smile.

Which was exactly what was happening now.

"Zak, come on!" you called, reaching for his hand as you ran ahead. "You’re so slow!"

Zak blinked, torn from his daze just in time to see you turn back and grab his wrist, pulling him forward. Your fingers wrapped around his, warm and soft, and oh god he was going to die.

"I-I’m not slow!" he protested, voice cracking slightly. "I was just—uh—analyzing the terrain!"

You snorted. "Sure, nerd. Come on, I wanna show you something!"

His stomach flipped as you dragged him forward, deeper into the dense forest that surrounded the Saturday family’s latest cryptid investigation site. The evening air was cool, carrying the distant sounds of chirping insects and rustling leaves. Zak should’ve been focused—there was always a chance of running into something dangerous—but all he could think about was you.

The way your hair bounced when you ran. The way your laugh sounded in the open air. The way you still hadn’t let go of his hand.

Get a grip, Zak! his brain screamed at him. You’ve faced giant monsters. Why is holding hands so much scarier?!

You finally slowed as you reached a small clearing, bathed in golden light from the setting sun. In the center stood a cryptid pup—small, furry, and looking up at the two of you with wide, curious eyes.

Your grin widened. "See? I found him earlier while you were busy nerding out with your parents. Isn’t he cute?"

Zak swallowed, forcing his brain to reboot before he embarrassed himself again. "Y-Yeah! Super cute." He cleared his throat. "Uh, what is it?"

"Some kind of young Canis Cryptid," you said, crouching beside it. "He’s not dangerous. Just lost. I thought maybe we could help him find his way home?"

Zak knew he should be looking at the cryptid. Studying it. Taking notes. But no, his eyes were locked on you.

The way you gently scratched the little creature’s ears, smiling down at it like it was the most important thing in the world. The way the golden sunlight hit your face, making your eyes shine.

The way his heart was slamming against his ribs like it was trying to escape.

"Zak?"

Crap. You were looking at him now, head tilted in curiosity. He must’ve zoned out again.

"I—uh—yeah!" he blurted, too loudly. "Let’s get him home! Teamwork! Cryptid-saving! Totally on it!"

You giggled, and Zak felt like he’d ascended to another plane of existence.

"Alright, dork. Let’s go."

The two of you spent the next hour trekking through the forest, following tracks, checking trees, and occasionally stopping to let the tiny cryptid sniff around. It was… nice. Peaceful. Just the two of you, no stress, no missions, no world-ending threats.

At some point, the cryptid pup had curled up in your arms, completely content with being carried. Zak watched in quiet awe, stomach twisting into hopelessly tight knots.

"I am so screwed."

"Hey, Zak?"

He snapped to attention. "Y-Yeah?"

You slowed your pace, shifting the little cryptid in your arms. "Do you ever think about the future?"

Zak blinked. "Uh. Like, in general? Or in the big ‘what am I doing with my life’ kind of way?"

You laughed. "I dunno. Just… what comes next. We travel so much, chasing cryptids and saving the world and stuff, but do you ever think about what you want? Y'know, outside of all this?"

Zak hesitated. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it, but… well, his whole life had been cryptids and danger and adventure. It was hard to imagine anything different.

But then his eyes drifted back to you.

And suddenly, it wasn’t so hard at all.

"I…" He swallowed, looking away. "I think… as long as I have the right people with me, I’ll figure it out."

Silence.

Crap. That was so cheesy. He was going to DIE.

Then you smiled. Soft. Warm. Perfect.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I like that."

And just like that, Zak Saturday officially became the biggest lovesick idiot on the planet.

By the time the two of you found the cryptid pup’s home, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in deep purples and blues. The little guy yipped happily as he scurried off to join his family, disappearing into the underbrush.

You sighed in contentment, stretching your arms. "Mission accomplished. Good job, partner."

Zak scratched the back of his neck. "Y-Yeah. We make a pretty good team."

You turned to him then, closer than he expected, and his breath hitched. The soft glow of the fireflies around you reflected in your eyes, and for a second, he thought—

Is this it? Is she gonna—?

But instead of a kiss, you just grinned and—

Flick!

Zak yelped as you booped his nose, giggling as he stumbled back.

"Tag, you’re it!" you declared before taking off.

Zak stood there, dumbfounded, before his brain finally rebooted.

"Oh, it’s on."

With a burst of energy, he chased after you, laughter echoing through the night.

He didn’t know what the future held. But right now? With you?

Yeah. He had a feeling everything would turn out just fine.