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🇧 🇱 🇴 🇬 - 🇮 🇳 🇫 🇴 ----------------------

˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ ꒰ ⌨ ɪɴʙᴏx; 0 | ᴅʀᴀғᴛs; 9 ꒱ | ೃ࿔₊•

sᴜɢɢᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs: ᴏᴘᴇɴ

ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ:

- 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚 𝐗 𝐅 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐲𝐚𝐭𝐨)

- 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒀𝒂𝒏! 𝑨𝒓𝒕 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑵𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒙 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒉 𝑺𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝑪𝒍𝒖𝒃 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑭 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 (part 3)

- ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʟᴏʜᴇɴ x ғ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (part 2)

- Ruggie x reader oneshot

[Feel free to text me any time! I may take long in responding to people due to me opening Tumblr like twice a week. ]

ʜᴇʟᴘғᴜʟ ʟɪɴᴋs:

Masterlist (coming soon)

☻ tags —

☺︎ #muuvie.txt — for random everyday life drables

☻ #sampon.txt — for fandom drables

☺︎ #muuvie.oc — for Oc content

𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎: 𝙼𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚊_𝙼𝚞𝚞

ɪɴғᴏ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʙʟᴏɢɢᴇʀ:

ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴs: (sʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ)

ᴘʀᴇғᴇʀʀᴇᴅ ᴜsᴇʀ: sᴀᴍᴘᴏɴ/ᴍᴜᴜᴠɪᴇ

ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀ ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍs ɪ'ᴍ ɪɴ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ:

ᴛᴡɪsᴛᴇᴅ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ ◉ ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪᴇ ʀᴜɴ ᴋɪɴɢᴅᴏᴍ ◉ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪᴇ ◉ ᴅᴀɴɢᴀɴʀᴏɴᴘᴀ ◉ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋ ◉ ʜᴏɴᴋᴀɪ sᴛᴀʀ ʀᴀɪʟ ◉ ɢᴇɴsʜɪɴ ◉ one ᴘᴇɪᴄᴇ ◉ ᴍᴏʙɪʟᴇ ʟᴇɢᴇɴᴅs ʙᴀɴɢ ʙᴀɴɢ ◉ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ ᴠ ◉ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴇsᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴅᴇᴠᴇʟᴏᴘᴇʀ ◉ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ◉ ғᴏɢʟᴀɴᴅ

I'll mostly post random x reader posts (mainly yandere)

ʀᴜʟᴇs:

▣ This blog contains primarily yandere x reader content, dark themes, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, violence, horror elements, and general toxic dynamics. Fiction is fiction, none of this is meant to romanticise or encourage harmful behaviour in real life.

▣ I may write:

— obsession

— possessiveness

— manipulation

— jealousy

— kidnapping/imprisonment themes

— violence

— unhealthy dynamics

— character death/tragedy

— suggestive

▣ I will NOT write:

— incest

— bestiality

— anything involving children in explicit/suggestive situations

"Hunter’s Collection” one shot (unfinished and no I'm not going to continue it 💔)

Everyone called him observant. Romantic, even.

You thought it was harmless until he started knowing things he shouldn’t, and somewhere deep inside Rook’s room, tucked carefully away like priceless treasures, sat a collection that proved his admiration had long since turned into obsession.

Rook had always been...Intrusive.

He noticed when you switched shampoos before you’d even spoken to him that day. He noticed when your sleeves smelled faintly of rainwater after walking back from class. Once, while passing you in the hallway, he tilted his head with that gentle smile of his and murmured:

“You seem rushed this morning. Did you misplace something while dressing?”

At the time, you’d laughed awkwardly.

Because yes, actually.

You had.

A pair of undergarments had vanished from your laundry basket earlier that morning, and after twenty frantic minutes of searching beneath your bed and inside drawers, you’d eventually convinced yourself you’d simply misplaced them.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Small things at first.

A stocking.

A camisole.

A ribbon you swore you’d left hanging beside your mirror.

The losses became impossible to ignore once you started noticing the strange details surrounding them.

Your room smelled faintly of cologne some mornings- earthy and floral, like damp woods after rainfall. Your curtains would occasionally be left slightly open despite you remembering closing them before bed. Once, horrifyingly, you awoke to find your laundry basket reorganized neatly beside your desk.

By lunch, the anxiety had become unbearable enough that you finally mentioned it.

“I think someone’s been entering my room,” you admitted quietly, poking at your food.

Across from you, Ace blinked before immediately snorting.

“You probably forgot you moved it yourself,” Deuce offered awkwardly, though he still looked mildly concerned. “Or maybe one of the ghosts cleaned up?”

“The ghosts don’t reorganize underwear drawers,” you muttered.

That made Ace choke on his drink.

“You think someone’s stealing your underwear?!” he laughed.

Heat rushed painfully to your face as several nearby students glanced over.

“I didn’t say that!”

“But they are missing?” Ace asked immediately.

You hesitated.

“…Yes.”

Ace’s grin faltered slightly then. “Well,” he dragged out, “if someone is stealing your stuff, we’ll catch them eventually.”

Deuce nodded quickly beside him. “Yeah. Just lock your windows tonight.”

The reassurance didn’t help much when another item disappeared two days later.

This time, it was worse because you knew for certain where you’d left it.

Folded beneath your pillow.

Gone by morning.

The uneasy feeling settled deeper beneath your skin after that.

You started asking more people.

Cater reacted with exaggerated horror before immediately trying to lighten the mood.

“Okayyyy, creepy,” he admitted, leaning across the table. “But maybe you’ve got, like, a secret admirer situation going on? You are cute.”

“That’s not helping.”

“I’m just saying! Nobody’s breaking in to steal math homework.”

Still, he offered to help search your room later that evening.

Nothing was found. No open windows. No signs of forced entry. Nothing missing besides the clothes themselves.

Eventually, someone suggested telling Rook.

And honestly, that somehow made your stomach twist most of all.

Rook listened with complete attention while you explained everything, eyes fixed on you with unsettling intensity the entire time.

At one point, his expression softened almost sympathetically.

“How frightening…” he murmured.

You exhaled shakily. “So you do think someone’s actually doing this?”

Rook hummed thoughtfully, gloved fingers resting against his lips.

“There is little use worrying so intensely before we know for certain, non?” he said smoothly. “The mind can create monsters from ordinary occurrences.”

“But-"

“Still,” he continued gently, “if something troubles you this deeply, I shall gladly assist.”

________________

I always add a little description of some sort at the end but I was actually gonna do this fanfic about ruggie kidnapping ur stuff I might have to do a second one but oh well

Oh and I start playing twst in 2023 or 2022 (I've deleted it as of now though) and I started for Idia and became absolutely enamoured with ruggie, Leona and, Rook unfortunately not the least interested in Idia unless I read a good fanfic 😔✌

But my oh my would I do anything to have a taste of them

And yeah I can't b bothered to finish this one

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒀𝒂𝒏! 𝑨𝒓𝒕 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑵𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒙 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒉 𝑺𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝑪𝒍𝒖𝒃 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑭 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 Part 2 (Find Part 1 here. )

After surviving a brutal training session and an unfortunate water bottle incident, Nagito finds himself walking home with you.

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝒎𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝒔 of 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑘, 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑢𝑙𝑔𝑒𝑠 𝑁𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦. (characters are OOC)

_______________________________________

The sports club had started settling into a routine over the past couple weeks, and unfortunately that routine now included Nagito stumbling through exercises looking seconds away from collapsing while everybody else either mocked him or watched in disbelief.

His stamina remained awful no matter how many drills you forced him through, his form constantly needed correcting, and despite how hard he pushed himself during training, his body still moved with this awkward hesitance that made it obvious he had never exercised seriously before joining.

And lately, you had started getting meaner about it.

“You’re slowing everyone else down.”

“Why are your arms shaking already? "

And every single time, Nagito reacted the exact same way.

A quiet apology then a nervous nod. Trying harder afterward until he looked physically sick.

part of you kept waiting for him to quit. Anybody else would have quit already.

But every morning he still showed up early carrying his water bottle and gym bag with the same strange determination underneath all that nervousness, looking exhausted before practice even began.

The changing rooms after practice smelled faintly of sweat, detergent, and damp fabric drying badly against metal lockers. Most of the club had already left after drills finished, their voices faded somewhere further down the hall now while showers still ran faintly in the distance.

Nagito had lingered behind again.

You spotted him near the benches while pushing open the boys’ changing room door without much hesitation, expression immediately tightening the second he looked up and realised it was you.

“Oh,” he said quietly, visibly startled. “I thought everyone already left.”

“Most people did."

You shut the door behind you.

“You can barely get through warm-ups,” you continued. “Half your push-ups look pathetic and your stamina’s still horrible.”

Nagito lowered his gaze slightly.

“…Sorry.”

The distant sound of water running somewhere behind the shower wall filled the room faintly while Nagito remained seated near the bench, visibly unsure where the conversation was going.

Then finally you pushed away from the lockers and walked closer.

“Do you even really want this?”

Nagito looked up again.

“What?”

“This whole ‘getting stronger’ thing,” you muttered. “Do you actually care about it or are you just wasting my time?”

Nagito swallowed slightly beneath your stare.

The closer you got, the more tense he became. His posture tightened subtly while his hands curled against the edge of the bench beside him, gaze flickering briefly toward the floor before returning back toward you again.

“I want to improve,” he answered quietly.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Something uncomfortable flickered briefly across his expression at that.

“im not lying...”

“Then prove it.”

You glanced toward the open floor space nearby before speaking again.

“Thirty cross-body push-ups.”

His expression blanked.

“…Now?”

“Yes now. You can do those, right?” you asked flatly.

Nagito looked deeply uncertain now, though after a second he still slowly lowered himself onto the floor anyway, hands planting awkwardly against the ground while he adjusted into position.

Even before starting, he already looked nervous.

You crouched slightly nearby, watching.

“Go on.”

The first few repetitions looked manageable. His movements stayed shaky and uneven from the start, arms trembling faintly beneath his weight while his breathing gradually grew heavier with each push upward. By ten, sweat had already started gathering visibly near his temples again.

“You’re slowing down,” you commented.

“Sorry.” Nagito exhaled shakily through his nose before forcing himself lower again.

Twelve.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

His form started slipping.

You clicked your tongue quietly. “Pathetic.”

Nagito’s shoulders visibly tightened at the word.

“Again.”

He obeyed immediately.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

By twenty, his arms looked unstable enough that you genuinely thought he might collapse face-first into the floor. His breathing had become rough now, chest rising unevenly between repetitions while sweat dampened the collar of his shirt completely.

You stared down at him for another second before speaking again.

“Say something.”

Nagito paused weakly mid-rep.

“…What.”

“Say you’re weak.”

His entire face flushed instantly.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

For a moment you almost thought he would refuse.

Then quietly-

“…I’m weak.”

“Again.”

“I’m weak.”

“Louder.”

His arms shook violently beneath him now.

“I’m weak.”

“There you go.”

Nagito’s breathing sounded wrecked at this point.

Twenty-four.

Twenty-five.

His elbows nearly buckled.

You crouched lower instinctively now, watching carefully.

“Keep going.”

By the time he reached thirty, Nagito looked completely drained.

His final repetition ended with his arms giving out halfway through the movement, forcing him down hard against the floor while rough breaths that grounded him against the rubber matting beneath.

For several seconds neither of you spoke.

You stared down at him quietly while he struggled to recover enough air to even sit back up properly. Your hand had just started reaching down instinctively toward him-

Then the changing room door suddenly slammed open.

Fuyuhiko walked in drenched in sweat from practice, towel hanging loosely around his neck while one hand held a half-open water bottle.

The second his eyes landed on Nagito sprawled half-dead across the floor beside you, his expression flattened immediately.

“…The hell happened here.”

“Nagito finally did something useful,” you replied casually.

Fuyuhiko snorted once before tossing the water bottle carelessly toward the bench nearby.

Unfortunately his aim was terrible. And so the bottle clipped directly against Nagito’s shoulder instead before crashing downward across his chest, cold water spilling instantly over the front of his already sweat-soaked shirt.

Fuyuhiko stared. Then shrugged completely unapologetically. “Oops.”

_______________________________________

You immediately told Fuyuhiko to clean up the water he spilled while turning toward him with narrowed eyes.

"The floor was wet already.” He argued while lazily wiping the spilled water across the changing room tiles with a towel using the absolute minimum amount of effort possible.

“Do you have a spare shirt for Nagito?”

“Why the hell would I? "

Clicking your tongue in annoyance, you headed toward your locker instead, already planning to grab your spare PE top until you opened it and realised it was missing.

You searched twice, digging deeper through the bag, pushing aside water bottles, notebooks, spare socks, and loose equipment with growing irritation. Whatever. You would look for it later.

There was no way you were giving Nagito your actual uniform shirt, especially when he was already drenched in sweat and water, so instead you dug through the lost and found until you found an old spare PE top that smelled vaguely like detergent and looked suspiciously tight.

Perfect.

Nagito took it awkwardly from your hands without realising how small it actually was before disappearing into the changing room to put it on.

You waited outside while leaning against the hallway wall, arms folded loosely across your chest.

A few minutes later, Fuyuhiko came out while adjusting his bag over one shoulder.

“You coming or what?” he asked.

“No, I'll leave in a bit."

He glanced toward the changing room door before immediately understanding.

“…You’re seriously waiting for him instead?”

You shrugged casually. “I told him I needed to talk to him.”

“That sounds fake as hell.”

“Leave already.”

Fuyuhiko sighed quietly before walking off down the hallway.

The second he disappeared around the corner, the changing room door slowly opened again.

The shirt looked even better than you expected.

Nagito stepped out looking visibly horrified, immediately tugging awkwardly at the hem of the tight PE shirt stretched across his torso.

His entire face turned red the second he noticed you staring.

“…It’s really small,” he muttered quietly.

You had to physically stop yourself from laughing.

“It’s fine,” you answered sarcastically. “You’re being dramatic.”

You pushed yourself off the wall afterward before turning toward the exit.

“Come on.”

He blinked. “…What?”

“You’re taking me home.”

_______________________________________

The station platform was packed by the time you and Nagito got there.

People crowded near the yellow safety line while train announcements echoed overhead every few minutes, nearly drowned out by overlapping conversations and the sound of trains screeching somewhere down the tracks. Office workers stood shoulder-to-shoulder with students trying to get home before dark, and the entire platform carried that restless irritated energy rush hour always seemed to create.

Nagito looked deeply uncomfortable standing amongst it all. Partially because he always looked uncomfortable in public.

But mostly because of the shirt.

The second you saw somebody glance briefly at how tight it was against him, you clicked your tongue under your breath before stepping slightly behind him near the edge of the crowd.

Nagito looked back in confusion.

“What? You’re standing there looking stupid,” you muttered. “Move properly.”

He immediately shifted closer without arguing.

The train arrived a minute later.

The crowd surged forward instantly.

You grabbed the back of Nagito’s sleeve before he could get separated from you and shoved your way onto the carriage alongside everybody else. By the time the doors shut behind you, there was barely enough room left to breathe comfortably.

Nagito ended up trapped between you and one of the poles near the centre of the train, shoulders tense while trying very hard not to accidentally touch anybody around him.

Every movement of the train pushed people into one another whether they wanted it or not.

“You can relax,” you muttered after noticing how stiff he looked. “Nobody’s gonna kill you.”

“Sorry."

Nagito lowered his gaze slightly after that, fingers tightening around the overhead strap while the train rattled forward through the tunnels.

The carriage rocked sharply around a corner a few minutes later, forcing him backwards briefly against you before he immediately tried correcting himself again.

“Careful,” you said flatly. “You’re gonna fall over."

The shirt already embarrassed him enough on its own, but now every small movement felt painfully noticeable. The fabric clung awkwardly against his skin whenever he shifted, and he could practically feel heat crawling up his neck every time your arm brushed against his accidentally during the ride.

Meanwhile you looked completely unaffected by the situation.

“You seriously got embarrassed over a shirt,” you muttered quietly after catching him tugging at the hem again. “You’re acting like I put you in a bikini.”

Nagito nearly choked.

“I-I’m not embarrassed.”

“You’re literally red.”

A tiny smile pulled briefly at the corner of your mouth after saying it, enough to make Nagito’s chest tighten unpleasantly.

That was the problem with you.

Even when you were being rude, he still found himself staring too hard at every small expression you made.

The train lights flickered faintly overhead while the city blurred past outside the windows in streaks of gold and grey. Nagito kept trying to focus on anything except how close you were standing, but every time the train shifted again, your shoulder brushed his arm or your hand briefly caught against him to steady yourself.

And every single touch stayed in his head far longer than it should have.

He wondered suddenly whether you realised how cruel you actually were sometimes.

The insults.

The way you looked at him.

The way you acted irritated while still staying close enough to shield him from the crowd earlier.

It confused him constantly.

Because if you genuinely disliked him, why were you even here? Why walk him to the station? Why wait outside the changing rooms? Why keep letting him stay close?

The train slowed abruptly.

Nagito glanced up slightly at the overhead stop display-

Then realised your stop had arrived.

Before he could fully process it, you were already stepping away from him toward the doors.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

You looked back once while adjusting your bag onto your shoulder.

“Night.”

The doors slid open behind you.

And just like that, you disappeared back into the moving crowd outside the station.

Nagito remained standing exactly where you left him, still flushed, while the train doors slowly shut again and carried him further down the line alone.

_______________________________________

Nagito: Did you get home alright?

Nagito: I just got back a little while ago

Nagito: Sorry again for earlier

Name: if u apologise one more time i'm blocking u

Nagito: I think I’m slightly scared of your friends

Name : they like u enough

Nagito: Really?

Name: I'm joking dumbass

Nagito: oh, right

Nagito: Sorry I can’t tell sometimes

Name: do u have insta btw

Nagito: I do

Nagito: I don’t really use it much though

Name: give it

Nagito: komaeda_k

Name: accept it before i change my mind

_______________________________________

The second the conversation ended, Nagito sat frozen for maybe two seconds before scrambling upright so quickly he nearly dropped his phone off the bed.

Insta

You had asked for his Insta

Which should not have felt nearly as important as it did, but somehow his chest still felt like turning inside out while hurriedly opening the app again.

The only people he even followed were Hajime Hinata, Chiaki Nanami, Makoto Naegi, and unfortunately Byakuya Togami.

Now though

Your account sat right there in his notifications.

Nagito stared at your profile picture for far too long before immediately accepting the request.

do u think u'll continue with a part 2?👀

SO GLAD U ENJOYED ITTT AND TYSM!!

I'll definitely be doing a part 2 although the only thing is idk what to base it offff like when I started writing it it was because I had an idea and then I got to that bit at the end and had no idea of what to do BUT I'VE GOT IT NOW.

Expect a part 2 of yandere lohen x you in the next 2 weeks 👀 👀 that pervy Nagito x reader (prt 2) fic is gonna take me some time some to write

THIS HAS ACTUALLY BEEN SITTING IN MY NOTFIS FOR A WHILE I'M GONNA CRIE, I'M SO SORRY. I saw this like around December and I never ever responded... I CAN FINNALLY ANSWER AFTER SO LONG.

◉𓆣 𝑀𝐴𝐻𝐼𝑇𝑂. 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑒.

- "How would Mahito be as a yandere?"

Mahito would be the kind of yandere that keeps you constantly off-balance because he doesn’t think like a normal person. One day he’s clingy, dramatic, hanging off your shoulders and acting weirdly affectionate then the next he’s staring at you with that blank smile because you said something he didn’t like and now he’s “thinking.” You’d never fully know which version of him you’re getting.

He’d treat love more like fascination than romance at first. He’d want to poke at your emotions, test reactions, see what makes you cry, laugh, panic, calm down. Half of his affection would feel genuine and the other half would feel like he’s studying you under a microscope. The more emotional you are, the more obsessed he becomes.

- "Would Mahito be manipulative?”

Oh absolutely, Mahito would constantly blur the line between joking and threatening so you never know when he’s serious. If you called him out, he’d laugh it off. If you got upset, suddenly he’s acting wounded like you hurt his feelings.

He’d learn exactly what makes you react and use it constantly. If he noticed you hated being ignored? He ignores you for hours. If he noticed praise makes you soften? Suddenly he’s weirdly sweet and calling you special.

- “What would make Mahito stop loving his darling?”

Honestly? Boredom.

Mahito is someone driven heavily by curiosity and stimulation. If the relationship stopped feeling emotionally intense, unpredictable, or “interesting” to him, his attachment could fade.

But that doesn’t necessarily mean he’d let the person go normally.

Sometimes he’d lose interest because the fantasy in his head got “completed.” Other times he’d become frustrated if someone stopped reacting to him entirely. If you became emotionally numb toward him, he might spiral trying to force reactions again just to prove he still can.

- "Would he actually care about his darling?”

In his own twisted way, yes.

The problem is that Mahito’s idea of caring is completely warped. He might genuinely enjoy your company, want your attention constantly, get jealous, become protective, even get upset if you’re hurt, but none of that automatically translates into healthy treatment.

- “How clingy is Mahito?”

Extremely inconsistent.

Some days Mahito acts like a cat that won’t leave you alone, laying on top of you, stealing your stuff, demanding attention nonstop. Other days he disappears for hours just to see if you’ll panic without him.

- "Would Mahito kill for his darling?"

Do we live on earth?

I seriously doubt he wouldn't, not even in a dramatic "for love situation" if someone is in the way he won't hesitate to.

- “What kind of darling would Mahito like most?”

Someone expressive.

Mahito would get bored with someone emotionally closed-off too quickly. He likes reactions: anger, fear, laughter, stubbornness, anything vivid enough to keep him interested.

- "What scares Mahito in a relationship?”

Being ignored completely.

Anger, fear, crying, he can work with all of that. But someone looking at Mahito with total emotional emptiness would frustrate him badly.

- “Would Mahito ever be unfaithful?”

Not too sure about this one, maybe? but not in a conventional cheating way.

Mahito doesn’t really view relationships with normal boundaries unless he’s become deeply obsessed. Early on, he might flirt with people to provoke jealousy on purpose, or mess with others just because he likes reactions.

The strange part is that he might not even understand why you’d be upset initially.

“But you’re still my favourite.”

If he became genuinely fixated on someone though, his attention would narrow heavily onto them. Not necessarily out of loyalty or morality, but because he gets consumed by whatever interests him most.

___________________________

I love Mahito, this was so fun mostly cuz I love Mahito, once again so sorry for the late reply 😔😔

If u guys have any requests you can go ahead n also check my pinned blog info page for rules ect.

.═══𖠁 !ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʟᴏʜᴇɴ x ғ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ! 𖠁═══.

Part 1

“You’ve Been Sleeping A Lot Lately.”

Ever since Kaeya casually mentioned how exhausted you’ve been looking lately, the fatigue has only gotten worse. Long shifts as a Knight of Favonius, sleepless nights, headaches you can’t explain- it’s becoming unbearable. Thankfully, your quiet, dependable colleague Lohen is always there with warm tea, gentle concern, and something to “help you rest.” After all, nobody understands how hard you work quite like he does…

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒅𝒓𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑲𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒂.

______________

By the time your shift finally came to an end, exhaustion had settled so deeply into your body that even removing your gloves felt like a chore. The headquarters of the Knights of Favonius had grown quieter throughout the evening, the usual noise of footsteps and swords clashing fading into static noise, knights trickled out one by one, eager to escape another long day of duties. Papers still littered desks, lanterns cast dim golden pools of light across the stone corridors, and somewhere farther down the hall someone let out a tired groan that almost made you laugh.

Almost.

Your own body felt dreadful.

Not sick exactly, just unbearably heavy, as though fatigue had seeped into your bones and settled there permanently. Your head throbbed faintly behind your eyes, your shoulders burned from hours spent carrying equipment and reports back and forth across the city, and every step toward the exit felt slower than the last.

You barely noticed Lohen standing near the front entrance until his voice reached you.

“You’re still here?”

You looked up sluggishly, blinking as he stepped away from the wall he’d been leaning against so casually. Even after such a long day, he looked perfectly composed, his clothes neat, expression calm, though the moment his eyes properly landed on your face, something in them softened immediately.

“…You look exhausted again,” he murmured.

A weak laugh escaped you before you could help it. “Is it really that obvious?”

“A little.” His mouth curved faintly, though concern still lingered beneath it. “Darn… that sucks.”

You rubbed at your eyes tiredly. “Today was awful.”

“I figured.” He studied you for another quiet second, gaze flickering slowly over your face as though carefully taking in every sign of fatigue you wore so openly. “You probably haven’t eaten properly either.”

“…Maybe.”

“That means no.”

You huffed quietly through your nose, too tired to argue.

For a moment he seemed to hesitate before speaking again, though when he did his voice remained light and gentle enough that refusing him almost felt impossible.

“There’s a café still open nearby,” he said. “Do you want to come with me for a bit? You look like you’re about two seconds away from collapsing.”

The offer should’ve sounded unnecessary. You should’ve just gone home.

But the thought of walking all the way back to your apartment alone suddenly felt exhausting beyond words.

“…Okay,” you mumbled eventually.

The café sat tucked between two quiet streets of Mondstadt, glowing warmly against the cool darkness outside. The second you stepped inside, warmth wrapped around you like a blanket as you wiffed the soft scent of tea leaves, baked bread, and faint traces of lavender. The atmosphere alone nearly made your knees buckle from relief.

“Sit down,” Lohen said softly, pulling out a chair for you.

You dropped into it with a tired sigh while he went to order.

At first you barely paid attention, too busy staring blankly at the steam curling from other people’s drinks and trying not to fall asleep right there at the table. But after a moment, your gaze drifted toward the counter where Lohen stood speaking quietly with the café worker.

Every few seconds, his attention flickered over his shoulder toward where you sat slumped at the table, fingers loosely curled against your sleeve. Each glance lingered before he turned back toward the counter again. The café worker spoke to him at one point, but even while listening, Lohen’s eyes shifted back to you almost immediately.

When the drinks finally been prepared, he carried yours carefully, setting it down in front of you with almost delicate precision.

“your usual," he said.

The tea smelled sweet and floral, steam rising softly beneath your face as you wrapped your hands around the cup. The warmth alone felt heavenly against your aching fingers.

“Thanks,” you murmured before taking a sip.

The taste melted across your tongue smoothly, sweet without being overwhelming, carrying a faint herbal aftertaste you couldn’t quite place. Heat spread through your chest almost immediately, unfurling slowly through your body until some of the tension lodged deep within your muscles began to ease.

Across from you, Lohen watched quietly while you lowered the cup again, his fingers resting against his own untouched drink.

“So,” he asked softly after a moment, “how was your day?”

You let out a long groan at the question, sinking farther into your chair. “Horrible.”

“That bad?”

“You have no idea.” Another sip of tea slid down your throat pleasantly before you continued, words flowing easier now that the exhaustion clawing at your brain had finally started loosening its grip. “I got stuck reorganizing patrol reports for almost three hours because someone filed everything in the wrong order, and then I got sent outside right after.”

Lohen frowned slightly. “In this weather?”

“Mhm. And it started raining halfway through patrol.” You rubbed your face tiredly with one hand. “Honestly, I think the universe hates me.”

A quiet laugh left him at that, soft enough to blend into the café noise around you.

“It gets worse,” you continued dramatically. “One of the newer knights nearly knocked over an entire weapons rack trying to show off. And Kaeya saw the whole thing.”

Lohen took a faint pause of his fingers against the porcelain cup before they curled a little tighter around it.

You, meanwhile, remained too wrapped up in your story to notice immediately.

“He thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen,” you said, laughing quietly now at the memory. “He kept making comments the entire time instead of helping.”

“What kind of comments?”

You grinned tiredly. “‘Careful,’” you mocked under your breath, poorly imitating Kaeya’s voice, “‘at this rate we’ll need to start issuing helmets indoors too.’”

Lohen smiled politely. But his gaze had dropped toward the table now, thumb slowly dragging once along the rim of his cup.

“And then,” you continued, “he somehow convinced the recruit I was the scary one for yelling afterward.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Right?” You laughed again before taking another long sip of tea, barely noticing how warm your body felt now, how pleasantly light your limbs had become. “Still… he stayed behind to help clean everything up after, so I guess he’s not completely terrible.”

Silence lingered briefly after that

“That was nice of him,” he said eventually.

“Mhm.”

By the time the two of you finally left the café, the streets of Mondstadt had gone mostly quiet beneath the glow of lantern light. Cool air brushed gently against your skin as you walked beside him.

You felt… good.

The exhaustion was still there, but distant now, muffled beneath a pleasant heaviness that made your thoughts slow and comfortable.

Lohen stayed beside you the entire walk home, matching your pace easily while listening to your tired rambling about work and half-finished complaints you barely remembered halfway through saying.

Every so often, his hand brushed lightly against your arm whenever you stumbled slightly on uneven stone.

When you finally reached your door, you turned toward him with a sleepy smile.

“Thanks for tonight,” you murmured.

Lohen’s expression softened instantly. "No problem,” he said quietly.

You were already half asleep by the time you stepped inside.

After changing clothes and collapsing into bed, the warmth still pestered you pleasantly through your body, pulling you down into the mattress with unnatural ease. Your limbs felt heavy as sleep overtook you faster than usual.

The last thing you remembered before drifting off completely was how oddly comforting the taste of that tea still felt lingering faintly on your tongue.

__________

The next morning arrived far too quickly.

Heaviness dragging your body deeper into the mattress while sleep clung stubbornly to your limbs. Your head still felt pleasantly fuzzy from the night before, exhaustion still in your muscles despite how deeply you’d slept. And the pale morning light shond against the curtain, coating your blankets and discarded clothes on the floor.

Then came the knocking.

You flinched awake with a groan, immediately regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

Another knock echoed through.

“Coming-” you croaked miserably, though your voice barely sounded human.

Your body protested the second you forced yourself upright. Every movement felt sluggish as you dragged a hand down your face and tried to gather your thoughts. It took you a concerning amount of time just to realize what day it was.

Friday.

The realization alone nearly brought tears to your eyes.

One more shift.

Just one.

Unlike most of the Knights of Favonius, you actually had the weekend off this time, and the thought of surviving today before collapsing unconscious for two entire days became your only motivation to stand.

Another knock sounded.

More impatient this time.

You barely managed to make yourself somewhat presentable before answering the door. Your uniform half done, and sleep clung stubbornly to your expression as you unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Only to freeze immediately.

“Oh,” Kaeya said smoothly, one visible eye flicking lazily over your exhausted appearance.

You stared at him blankly.

“…Why are you here?”

Kaeya looked entirely too awake for this hour of the morning, leaning casually against the doorway like he hadn’t just dragged you from the dead.

“You’re welcome,” he replied instead.

“For what?”

“For making sure you didn’t oversleep.” He tilted his head slightly. “You’re usually at headquarters before me. Thought I’d check whether you’d finally collapsed somewhere.”

You groaned softly, already regretting opening the door.

“I was gonna wake up in like thirty minutes anyway.”

“Hm.” He smiled faintly. “And yet here you are.”

You narrowed your eyes at him tiredly while he casually stepped past you into the house before you could even process what was happening.

“…Kaeya.”

“What?” He glanced back innocently while making himself comfortable near the window. “I’ll wait while you finish getting ready. We’re heading the same direction anyway.”

You blinked once.

Twice.

“To work?”

“Yes, that tends to be where knights go in uniform.”

“You came all the way here just so we could walk to work together?”

A laugh escaped him then, quiet and amused as he crossed his arms. The morning sunlight caught against the gold details of his clothes while he watched you stand there half asleep in the doorway, clearly entertained by your confusion.

“You should hurry,” he added casually. “At your current pace, we’ll arrive sometime next year.”

You stared at him for another long second before sighing dramatically and shutting the door.

“Don’t touch anything.”

“No promises.”

-------------

You were still trying to wake up properly by the time the two of you stepped outside your building.

Morning air drifted against your skin while you adjusted the last pieces of your uniform, suppressing another yawn as Kaeya walked beside you with his relaxed ease that only irritated you more this early in the day.

“You know,” he mused lazily, hands tucked behind his back, “most people would thank me for rescuing them from oversleeping.”

“Most people didn’t get violently dragged from sleep by someone pounding on their door like the building was on fire.”

The streets of Mondstadt were beginning to fill slowly with morning activity now. Usually, by this point in your walk, another familiar figure would’ve already joined you.

And the realization hit you only a second before you noticed him approaching from farther down the street.

Lohen slowed slightly the moment he saw the two of you together.

His gaze flickered briefly between you and Kaeya before settling back onto your face, something quiet and unreadable passing behind his eyes before it disappeared entirely beneath his usual gentle expression.

“Oh,” he said softly once he reached you. “I didn’t realize you were walking together today.”

Right.

You normally walked with Lohen.

The thought struck you embarrassingly late.

“Oh- yeah.” You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. “He showed up at my house this morning before I was awake.”

Kaeya smiled shamelessly beside you. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t sleep through your shift.”

Lohen’s attention shifted toward him then, polite and calm. For a moment, neither of them spoke until Kaeya extended a hand easily enough, still wearing that relaxed smile of his. “Morning.”

Lohen looked at it briefly before shaking it. “Morning.”

Before the silence could settle too long, Lohen looked back toward you instead.

“How did you sleep?” he asked quietly.

The question alone made you realize how unusually rested you actually felt.

“Honestly?” you admitted, adjusting your bag higher on your shoulder, “really well. I don’t even remember falling asleep properly.”

A faint warmth entered his expression at that.

“That’s good.”

“Mhm.” You smiled a little. “I actually feel less awful than usual for once.

Kaeya hummed beside you then, clearly attempting to wedge himself back into the conversation. “That’s impressive considering the state you were in yesterday.”

You groaned immediately. “Don’t remind me.”

“You looked half dead.”

“You’re so kind to me.”

“I try.”

Lohen smiled faintly at the exchange, though his focus never fully left you. Even while Kaeya spoke, his attention remained on your face, watching the way your expression softened now that you were more awake, the way your shoulders seemed less tense than yesterday evening.

“You still look tired a tad bit tired, ” he murmured after a moment.

“A little,” you admitted. “But manageable.”

His brows knit slightly at that, subtle concern crossing his features again. “You should rest properly this weekend.”

now that he stood closer, you noticed the drink in his hand. A small paper cup, still warm enough for steam to curl faintly from the lid.

His fingers tightened around it slightly the moment his gaze settled on you again.

“I actually brought you something,” he said, a touch too quickly. “ I thought maybe it’d help this morning.”

“Oh?” Your attention shifted toward the cup immediately. “Seriously?”

“It’s nothing special,” he murmured, already holding it out toward you. “Just tea.”

Before you could take it, though, Kaeya spoke beside you.

“Ah, tragic timing.”

Lohen’s hand paused.

Kaeya smiled easily, entirely unaware- or perhaps very aware, of the way the air shifted slightly afterward.

“I already got her breakfast this morning,” he continued casually. “And a drink.”

You blinked. “You did?”

“You forgot already?” Kaeya placed a hand dramatically against his chest. “I’m wounded.”

Lohen stayed very still.

Only his eyes moved briefly toward the cup still held in his hand before returning to you again.

“That’s okay,” he said after a second, voice still gentle despite how tightly his fingers now curled around the drink lid. “You can save this for later.”

Kaeya tilted his head slightly. “Wouldn’t it get cold?-”

“-It’s fine.”

The response came a little too fast.

You frowned slightly. “Lohen?”

And almost immediately, his expression softened again. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I just didn’t want it to go to waste.”

Something about the way he said it made guilt twist faintly in your chest.

“I can still take it—”

“No need,” Kaeya interrupted smoothly before you could finish. His hand settled lightly against the middle of your back, steering you forward down the street with effortless familiarity. “We’re already running late enough as is.”

“Wait- ”

“You can thank him properly later,” Kaeya continued easily, already guiding you along beside him toward the headquarters.

You glanced back over your shoulder just in time to see Lohen still standing where you’d left him.

Even from the distance, you could see the way his jaw had tightened.

Then Kaeya’s voice pulled your attention back again. "Wouldn't want Jean go think her trusted knights would dare be late!"

___________

Okay genuinely dont even know how to continue it but um hope this suffices 🧍

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒀𝒂𝒏! 𝑨𝒓𝒕 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑵𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒙 𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒉 𝑺𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝑪𝒍𝒖𝒃 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑭 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 (Part 1) —> ( Part 2 )

For as long as Nagito Komaeda had known you, you had always felt impossibly out of reach. Loud, confident, constantly surrounded by people while he lingered awkwardly in the background of your class, watching from afar far more often than he should. But becoming the leader of the school sports club has accidentally opened a door for him, finally giving Nagito an excuse to stay close to you. Hopefully, you never realise just how deeply unhealthy his fixation on you actually is.

(Brace yourself this is very long)

𝑰𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝑵𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒇𝒆𝒘 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌, 𝑰𝒗𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝒎𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝒔 of 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑘, 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑢𝑙𝑔𝑒𝑠 𝑁𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦. (characters are OOC)

_______________________________________

The echo of trainers squeaking against polished flooring, the dull thud of feet hitting the ground, and the sharp whistle cutting through it all created a kind of organised chaos that only a PE hall could sustain, especially one as large as this.

The space felt almost split in two worlds on one side, your group dragged themselves through laps under your supervision, their complaints overlapping into a constant low groan, while on the other, a completely separate cluster of students shouted over a heated football game. And in the middle of all that noise, you stood there with arms crossed, posture straight, and expression unimpressed as you tracked every single person slacking off.

"Pick up the pace," you called, “If I see one more person walking, we’re restarting the count!”

A chorus of tired protests followed.

“[Name] we're tired-”

“Shut up and run!" You shot back instantly, not even bothering to look at who said it.

From the sidelines, your friend group lingered, half-participating, half-commentating as usual.

“Y’know,” Fuyuhiko muttered, arms folded as he leaned against the wall, “you enjoy this too much.”

“I don’t enjoy it,” you replied flatly. “I just don’t like incompetence.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s really not.”

Before he could argue further, something shifted at the edge of your vision. A movement that didn’t match the pace or direction of anyone already inside the hall.

You turned your head slightly, eyes narrowing.

"Wait.. "

Fuyuhiko squinted trying to follow your line of sight.

He wasn't dressed for PE, that was the first thing. No proper kit, no energy, no purpose, just a slightly slouched posture, shoulders relaxed like he wasn’t sure where to put his hands, his feet, or even his gaze. His eyes flickered across the room, lingering too long on things that didn’t matter, before eventually and inevitably landing on you.

Then it clicked.

“…Isn’t that-” you started, brows pulling together.

You exhaled sharply through your nose.

“What’s he doing here?” Fuyuhiko muttered.

“No idea,” you replied, already irritated.

Nagito took a hesitant step forward. Then another.

He looked like he was trying to approach you but the noise swallowed him whole. The shouting from the football side, the pounding footsteps, your own voice echoing commands, it all drowned him out before he could even properly speak.

Your eyes flicked past him and immediately locked onto the football flying across the hall straight toward him.

“Oi- !”

Your voice cut out instinctively, sharp and urgent. “Don’t come any closer- !”

But he didn’t react. Couldn't even hear you. Instead, Nagito tilted his head slightly, like he was about to say something, his lips parting.

“I, um- I was just- ”

And then-

THUD.

The sound was sickeningly solid as the ball slammed directly into the side of his head.

Silence hit your side of the hall a second later.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

________________

The nurse’s office had settled back into silence after the initial rush of bringing him in. The room itself was warm compared to outside, carrying the smell mixed faintly with old paper and fabric softener from the neatly folded spare blankets stacked near the wall. Thin strips of pale afternoon light filtered through the blinds covering the windows, stretching across the tiled floor and climbing halfway up the legs of your chair.

You sat slouched slightly beside the bed now, one elbow resting against the armrest while your fingers absentmindedly toyed with the whistle hanging around your neck. Across from you, Fuyuhiko looked considerably less patient, his irritation practically radiating off him as he stared at the unconscious boy lying on the bed.

Honestly, the entire thing still felt ridiculous.

Out of everyone that could have wandered into a PE lesson uninvited, it just had to be him.

The weird art student.

The pale, awkward guy from class who looked like he spent more time staring out windows than actually participating in conversations.

The nurse stood near the cabinets organising supplies, seemingly used to students crowding her office, though every now and then her attention flicked back toward the bed in brief checks to make sure Nagito was still breathing normally. His condition clearly was not severe enough to warrant panic, but the swelling near the side of his head was beginning to darken faintly into a bruise, standing out starkly against his pale skin.

Fuyuhiko clicked his tongue. “Seriously, what kinda idiot walks into an active sports hall like that?”

“He probably got lost,” you replied dryly.

“In a straight corridor?”

You shrugged lazily. “Maybe directions are too athletic for him.”

That earned a quiet laugh from Fuyuhiko, though it dissolved almost immediately when movement stirred from the bed beside you.

At first it was barely noticeable, just the faint twitch of fingers against the sheets before a sharper inhale followed, uneven enough to make both you and Fuyuhiko glance over at the same time. Nagito’s brows pinched together faintly as consciousness slowly dragged itself back across his face. His head shifted slightly against the pillow before he immediately seemed to regret the movement, a quiet breath slipping past his lips as his hand weakly rose toward the side of his head.

He blinked slowly against the fluorescent lights overhead, his unfocused gaze drifting across the ceiling before eventually lowering toward the edge of the room.

Then his eyes landed on you. Recognition flickered across his expression almost instantly.

“…Ah,” he murmured quietly, his voice rough and sluggish from disorientation.

You leaned back slightly in your chair, watching him carefully despite yourself. Up close like this, he somehow looked even more pathetic than usual, pale face still faintly flushed from the impact while strands of messy white hair stuck awkwardly against his forehead.

“You okay?” you asked flatly, though there was less bite behind it than before.

Nagito blinked at you once.

Then twice.

“…Probably,” he answered after a pause.

Fuyuhiko snorted loudly from beside you. “That reassuring, huh?”

Nagito shifted slightly as though attempting to sit up, only for a wince to pull sharply across his expression halfway through the motion. His hand pressed harder against the side of his head while his shoulders tensed faintly beneath the blanket.

“You look awful,” you commented automatically.

“I feel…” Nagito hesitated quietly, eyes lowering for a second like he was trying to find the correct answer. “A little strange.”

“Well yeah,” Fuyuhiko muttered. “You got nailed in the skull with a football.”

Before either of you could continue, the nurse finally stepped away from the cabinets after clearly overhearing enough of the conversation to intervene. Her shoes tapped softly against the tiled floor as she approached the bed.

“Try not to move around too much yet,” she said gently, reaching over to adjust the pillow behind his head slightly. “Are you feeling dizzy at all?”

His shoulders drew in slightly, gaze shifting away from direct eye contact while one hand awkwardly toyed with the edge of the blanket near his lap.

“…A bit,” he answered quietly.

“Any nausea?”

“…Maybe a little.”

“Blurred vision?”

He paused longer that time.

“…Not really.”

The nurse studied him for a moment, clearly aware he was being vague on purpose, though she did not push much harder.

“You hit your head fairly hard,” she explained patiently. “So if anything worsens, you need to tell me honestly, alright?”

Nagito nodded quickly. “Sorry.”

“You don't need to apologise for getting injured.”

That only seemed to embarrass him further.

His gaze dropped toward the sheets again while he muttered another soft apology anyway, fingers curling slightly tighter into the blanket. Beside you, Fuyuhiko looked seconds away from laughing again.

Honestly, you kind of understood why.

There was something oddly awkward about the entire thing, especially seeing someone like Nagito trying so hard to minimise the fact he had been unconscious ten minutes ago.

The nurse eventually sighed softly before straightening back up.

“Well,” she said, turning her attention toward you and Fuyuhiko now, “he seems to be doing alright for the moment. I’ll keep him here a little longer just in case, but you two can head back to class.”

You glanced toward Nagito instinctively.

His posture shifted faintly, lips parting slightly like he had thought of speaking before immediately second-guessing himself. Whatever thought had crossed his mind lingered visibly in his expression for only a moment before he lowered his gaze again.

“…Right,” you said eventually, pushing yourself up from the chair.

Fuyuhiko stood beside you with considerably less hesitation. “Try not to get knocked unconscious again, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best,” Nagito replied quietly.

You grabbed your bag from beside the chair before glancing back toward him one last time.

Then the nurse ushered both you and Fuyuhiko out before the conversation could drag any further.

_____________

By the end of the school day, the entire situation had settled into that awkward category of events you could not decide whether to laugh at or feel slightly bad about.

The final bell rang through the building in one long shrill noise, instantly setting off the usual flood of students spilling into the corridors. Lockers slammed shut, conversations rose over one another, shoes squeaked against polished floors as everybody hurried toward the exits before clubs started.

Outside, the evening air felt cooler than expected, carrying the lingering scent of rain from somewhere far off. Students crowded near the front gates in messy clusters, some already halfway down the pavement while others lingered around waiting for friends.

You adjusted the strap of your bag higher onto your shoulder while stepping down the front stairs beside Akane and Nekomaru, both still loudly arguing about practice from earlier.

“I’m telling you,” Akane complained dramatically, throwing her arms into the air, “making people do that many laps should actually be illegal.”

“You skipped half of them!” you replied immediately.

“Because I was conserving energy!”

“That’s just another word for being lazy.”

Nekomaru let out a booming laugh beside her. “Your endurance truly has gotten worse lately!”

“My endurance is AMAZING,” Akane shot back.

“You got tired tying your shoelaces yesterday.”

“That was DIFFERENT.”

You snorted quietly, shaking your head while the three of you continued toward the gates together.

“Whatever,” you muttered. “Just show up on time tomorrow.”

Akane groaned loudly enough for nearby students to glance over while Nekomaru laughed again, the sound carrying halfway across the courtyard.

“See you tomorrow, [name],” Akane called teasingly before finally splitting off down another street with Nekomaru still lecturing her about stamina training.

You had barely taken a few more steps before you heard hurried footsteps somewhere behind you.

“…Ah- wait.”

You slowed slightly before glancing back over your shoulder.

And immediately blinked.

Nagito stood several feet behind you looking like he had absolutely not thought this through properly.

The faint bruise near his temple stood out darker now beneath the evening light, making him look even more pitiful than he had earlier.

For a second neither of you said anything.

Nagito opened his mouth slightly like he meant to speak-

Then immediately seemed to lose confidence halfway through.

“…Sorry,” he said first instead, quieter than expected.

You stared at him. “For what?”

“I-I mean, for stopping you.”

“…You already did.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Your brows pulled together faintly.

God, he was awkward.

“What do you want?” you asked eventually, shifting your bag against your shoulder.

Nagito visibly straightened slightly at the question before immediately fumbling again. “Ah- well, I just…” He hesitated, gaze flickering everywhere except directly at you. “I was thinking about earlier and I realised it was probably pathetic.”

“…Which part?”

“The unconscious..part."

You snorted before you could stop yourself.

“I don’t think most people train for football impact resistance,” you replied dryly.

Nagito let out a small awkward laugh beneath his breath, rubbing the back of his neck lightly.

“I thought maybe…” He paused again. “Actually, this is probably strange. No, I mean- ” He cut himself off immediately, expression tightening slightly in embarrassment. “Sorry. I’m explaining this badly.”

Another silence settled between you after that.

Students continued passing around both sides of the pavement while Nagito stood there visibly trying to reorganise his thoughts in real time. It was almost painful watching him attempt confidence only to immediately second-guess himself halfway through every sentence.

Eventually he exhaled softly.

“I wanted to ask if…” He swallowed slightly. “If you would maybe help train me.”

You blinked once.

“…Train you.."

“Yes.”

You looked him up and down instinctively.

The answer your brain produced immediately was absolutely not.

Nagito noticed your expression almost instantly and hurried to continue.

“Not professionally,” he added quickly. “Or-I mean, not seriously serious. I just thought maybe if I improved physically then things like today wouldn’t happen again and since you’re obviously very capable and-”

Then sighed slowly through your nose.

“You do realise training with me isn’t easy, right? You looked exhausted walking across the courtyard just now.”

You took another glance at him, looking like you were mentally preparing yourself for the next sentence out your mouth.

“Give me your number.”

Nagito froze.

“…My what?”

“Your number,” you repeated. “I’m not organising training through psychic communication.”

“Oh.”

His face somehow looked even more confused now.

“Oh,” he repeated quieter.

You raised an eyebrow. “jeez don't make a thing about it.”

Then immediately fumbled trying to get his phone from his pocket.

You watched in mild disbelief as he nearly dropped it outright before awkwardly catching it against his chest, visibly flustered now for reasons you could not entirely understand.

“Sorry,” he muttered under his breath while unlocking it. “I just didn’t think you’d…”

You held your hand out expectantly.

After a second Nagito finally handed the phone over, though the tips of his ears had turned faintly pink now beneath his hair.

Weird.

You typed your contact information in quickly before then typing his number down in your phone and then handing it back.

“There,” you said casually. “Now if you die during training at least somebody’ll know who to contact.”

Nagito looked down at the screen for a moment too long.

More like he was genuinely processing the fact your contact information was sitting there at all.

“…Right,” he murmured quietly. "…Thank you.”

_________________________

Nagito had checked his phone so many times within the past twenty minutes that the brightness of the screen had started burning into his eyes.

The room around him felt unbearably cramped despite how little furniture it actually contained, the dim light from his desk lamp stretching weakly across his sketchbooks and loose papers while rain tapped steadily against the apartment window beside him. Usually it calmed him.

Tonight it was doing the opposite.

Because every single thought eventually circled back toward you.

Toward the fact you had actually taken his number.

Toward the fact you had agreed to help him train despite looking seconds away from refusing the entire conversation.

Toward the fact he had somehow managed to embarrass himself repeatedly in front of you and yet you still had not completely brushed him off.

Nagito paced slowly near the foot of his bed again, phone clutched tightly in one hand while his other dragged nervously through his already messy hair. Every few seconds he unlocked the screen despite there still being no notifications waiting for him.

It was stupid.

He knew it was stupid.

You were probably busy.

Or asleep.

Or talking to actual friends instead of thinking about the weird guy who got knocked unconscious in your PE lesson.

Still-

His chest tightened slightly every time the screen remained empty.

Maybe he should text first.

No.

Absolutely not.

Nothing he came up with sounded natural.

"Hi" felt awkward.

"Sorry again" sounded pathetic.

"Thank you for helping me" sounded even worse somehow.

Nagito exhaled sharply through his nose before dropping down onto the edge of his bed, elbows resting against his knees while he stared at the contact screen displaying your name.

Just looking at it made him nervous.

Before he could overthink himself into putting the phone down entirely, the device suddenly buzzed violently in his hand.

Nagito nearly jerked it onto the floor.

His stomach twisted painfully as he scrambled to unlock it too quickly, fingers slipping once against the screen before finally opening the notification.

The second your messages loaded, he froze.

_______________________________________

[Name]: Hii

[Name]: if ur actually serious about training then u should probably join the club properly instead of lurking around sports halls getting concussions

[Name]: practices start at 7 and if ur late I'll personally come and kill you.

_______________________________________

A small breath escaped him before he could stop it.

Then immediate panic followed right after.

He had to answer.

Nagito straightened slightly where he sat, fingers hovering uncertainly above the keyboard while his thoughts immediately became tangled again.

If he answered too quickly he would seem desperate.

If he waited too long it might seem rude.

If he sounded too excited you would probably think he was weird.

Nagito typed something quickly.

Deleted it immediately.

Tried again.

Deleted that too.

His shoulders slumped slightly.

Why was normal conversation so difficult?

After another long moment, he finally forced himself to send something before he lost the nerve entirely.

_______________________________________

Nagito: I didnt realise you were inviting me into the club

Nagito: are you sure thats a good idea??

_______________________________________

The second the message sent, regret hit him immediately.

You probably already regretted messaging him.

Nagito rubbed a hand over his face tiredly before setting the phone beside him on the bed, only for it to buzz again almost instantly.

_______________________________________

[Name]: no not really

[Name]: but watching u nearly die from one football was humiliating for everybody involved so clearly somebody has to help u

Nagito: kuzuryu-san seemed genuinely disappointed i woke up afterwards

[Name]: fuyuhiko is disappointed by everybody thats normal

[Name]: honestly im more concerned ab how bad ur stamina probably is

[Name]: have u ever actually exercised willingly before?

_______________________________________

His fingers hovered awkwardly above the keyboard again while he tried thinking of a response that did not make him sound completely hopeless.

The truth felt humiliating.

But lying to someone who would absolutely notice during training tomorrow seemed even worse.

_______________________________________

Nagito: not seriously

Nagito: I used to walk places more often before

Nagito: does that count?

_______________________________________

There was a noticeably longer pause this time.

Nagito immediately started overthinking it.

Maybe that answer had been too pathetic.

Maybe you were showing your friends the messages and laughing.

Maybe-

The phone buzzed again.

_______________________________________

[Name]: thats literally just existing

[Name]: this is gonna be worse than I thought

_______________________________________

Nagito laughed quietly again despite the embarrassment curling through him.

________________________

The next morning felt colder than usual.

At this hour, the building barely felt occupied at all. The corridors were empty except for the occasional distant sound of a teacher unlocking a classroom somewhere further down the hall, and even the gym lights had only partially been switched on, leaving sections of the large PE hall dim beneath the high ceiling.

You hadn't expected anyone to already be there.

Which was why the second you pushed open the gym doors and spotted a figure sitting alone near the bleachers, you physically paused.

“…Huh?”

The person looked up immediately at the noise, messy pale hair falling slightly into tired eyes before recognition softened his expression.

“Oh,” Nagito said quietly. “Good morning.”

You stared at him for a long second. Then at the clock mounted above the far wall. Then back at him again.

“…Why are you here.”

Nagito blinked once, almost confused by the question itself.

“For practice?”

“It starts in like forty minutes.”

A brief pause followed.

“…I didn’t want to be late.”

You exhaled quietly through your nose before dropping your sports bag onto the bleachers beside him with a dull thud.

“Well now you’re annoyingly early instead.”

“S-sorry!"

“You apologise too much.”

Nagito gave a small awkward nod at that before immediately looking away again.

Up close, he somehow looked even more exhausted than yesterday. Faint shadows sat beneath his eyes like he had either barely slept, and despite the oversized sports clothes he wore now, he still looked painfully fragile sitting there.

The hall remained quiet around you while you started unpacking equipment from your bag, the squeak of your shoes against the polished floor echoing softly through the otherwise empty space.

“You nervous?” you asked casually after a moment.

Nagito hesitated.

“…A little.”

“That’s normal.”

“I’m more worried about embarrassing myself.”

You snorted quietly. “Too late for that.”

A faint laugh escaped him after that, softer than yesterday’s, though it disappeared quickly when you turned toward the equipment room.

“I’m grabbing cones,” you muttered. “Try not to collapse while I’m gone.”

“I’ll do my best.”

You pushed open the storage room door without another thought, disappearing briefly into the cramped equipment space while Nagito remained alone near the bleachers outside.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, the atmosphere around him shifted almost immediately.

The nervousness stayed.

If anything, it got worse.

Nagito’s gaze drifted slowly toward the sports bag you had left beside the bench.

He should not look.

Obviously.

That alone already felt invasive enough.

And yet-

It sat partially unzipped from where you had hurriedly dropped it earlier, the edge of a folded club shirt visible near the top amongst water bottles and training equipment. Just a plain spare shirt. Nothing special.

Still-

Nagito’s chest tightened strangely looking at it.

His fingers curled slightly against his knees.

But the thought had already rooted itself unpleasantly into the back of his mind the second he noticed it, lingering there no matter how hard he tried ignoring it.

Just one shirt.

You probably had multiple.

And it was only because he needed spare clothes for training anyway.

That reasoning sounded thinner every time he repeated it internally.

Nagito glanced once toward the storage room door.

You were still inside.

The sounds of equipment shifting around confirmed it.

Before he could properly reconsider, he leaned forward quickly and unzipped the bag further with unsteady hands.

The shirt came free almost too easily.

White fabric with the club emblem near the sleeve.

Warm still from being packed recently.

Nagito immediately felt his pulse spike the second it was in his hands.

For a brief moment he just stared at it before hurriedly shoving it down into his own bag beneath his notebooks, movements rushed and clumsy with panic.

The zipper had barely closed again before the storage room door opened.

Nagito jerked upright so fast it almost looked painful.

You stepped back into the gym carrying equipment beneath one arm before immediately narrowing your eyes slightly at him.

His stomach dropped instantly.

You stared at him another second then shrugged. “Relax,” you muttered while setting the equipment down. “You look terrified.”

Nagito forced a laugh that sounded painfully unnatural even to himself.

“No, I just…” He swallowed slightly. “I thought you were coming back later.”

Nagito’s hand tightened slightly around the strap of his bag beside him while guilt and something far more embarrassing twisted together painfully in his chest.

And somehow the worst part was that he did not even regret it yet.

_______________

The gym had changed completely within the span of half an hour.

What had once been quiet and mostly empty now echoed with overlapping voices, squeaking trainers, the dull thud of sports bags hitting the floor, and the general chaos that always came with your club arriving all at once. Students crowded near the bleachers while others stretched lazily across the court, still half-awake despite the early hour.

You stood near the centre of the hall with your clipboard tucked beneath one arm, already regretting agreeing to supervise people this early in the morning.

“Alright,” you called loudly, your voice carrying cleanly through the gym. “Warm-ups first before anybody starts whining about drills.”

“Too late,” one of the first years complained immediately.

Across the hall, Akane dropped dramatically onto the floor to stretch while Nekomaru loudly corrected everyone’s posture whether they asked for help or not.

Near the bleachers, Fuyuhiko looked deeply irritated simply by being present at all, though the second his eyes landed on Nagito awkwardly lingering near the back of the group, his expression flattened even further.

“…He actually came,” he muttered under his breath.

And then there was Nagito. Immediately noticeable.

Everybody else blended into the busy movement of stretching and warm-ups naturally enough, but Nagito stood out like somebody had accidentally placed the wrong character into the scene entirely. He slouched near the edge of the formation awkwardly, posture stiff while trying very hard to imitate the others without actually understanding what he was doing.

“Ten minute warm-up,” you instructed while clapping your hands once sharply. “If anybody pulls something during drills because they didn’t stretch properly, that’s your own fault.”

A chorus of tired complaints followed while everyone finally began moving through the routine.

You paused mid-stretch, staring at Nagito from across the line.

“…What are you doing?"

Nagito looked up immediately like he had just been caught committing a crime.

“I’m stretching?”

“No you are not.”

“I thought I was.”

“You look like you’re being exorcised.”

Nearby, Akane burst out laughing loud enough to echo through the gym.

Nagito visibly shrank slightly at the attention.

You exhaled sharply before walking over toward him while the rest of the club continued their exercises behind you.

“Move,” you muttered, stepping directly in front of him. “Watch properly.”

Nagito straightened immediately.

“Your stance is wrong,” you explained while repositioning your own feet against the floor. “And your arms are supposed to stay aligned like this.”

You demonstrated the movement slowly, raising your arms properly before rotating your shoulders slightly.

His eyes followed every movement with unnerving concentration while you repeated the stretch again.

“…Do you get it now?” you asked.

A pause.

“…Sort of.”

You narrowed your eyes.

Nagito attempted the movement again.

It somehow looked worse.

You stared at him in disbelief for a second before finally grabbing his wrist with a sigh.

“No, your arm goes here.”

The second you touched him, his entire body visibly stiffened.

You either did not notice or chose not to care.

“Relax your shoulders,” you muttered while physically repositioning his arms yourself. “You’re tense for no reason.”

Nagito made a strange choking sound beside you.

You frowned slightly. “What.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologising every five seconds.”

His breathing sounded uneven now.

Honestly, it was starting to irritate you.

You stepped around him again to fix his posture from another angle, pushing lightly against one shoulder while repositioning his elbow properly.

“This isn’t complicated,” you muttered. “Why are you standing like a broken action figure?”

Nagito’s face had gone noticeably red by now and entire posture remained rigid beneath your hands while he stared somewhere over your shoulder like making eye contact would kill him instantly.

“…Nagito.”

“Y-Yes?-"

He abruptly cut himself off with another strangled sounding breath.

Your irritation finally snapped slightly after that.

“Oh my god, would you shut up for a second?” you hissed quietly. “You can't do simple stretches and it’s pissing me off.”

Nagito immediately went silent.

Then from somewhere nearby-

A snort.

You turned sharply.

Fuyuhiko stood a few feet away watching the entire situation unfold with an expression hovering dangerously close to tears from suppressed laughter.

The second he noticed you looking at him, he completely lost it.

“NO WAY,” he barked loudly.

Every nearby student looked over instantly.

Your brows furrowed immediately. “What.”

Fuyuhiko pointed aggressively toward Nagito without even attempting composure anymore.

“He’s got a fucking bon-”

“OI.” Your voice cracked through the gym instantly.

Half the room went dead silent.

Nagito looked like he genuinely wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you snapped toward Fuyuhiko immediately before he could finish.

“I’m not the one pitching a tent during stretching!”

“SHUT UP!”

Nagito had physically covered part of his face with one hand by now, shoulders tense enough to look painful while nearby students started laughing in confused horror.

Fuyuhiko still looked seconds away from passing out laughing.

“You were literally touching him all over!”

“I WAS FIXING HIS POSTURE.”

Your face twisted in annoyance before you finally stepped away from Nagito entirely.

“Whatever,” you muttered sharply. “Figure it out yourself then.”

Nagito looked absolutely mortified.

You didn't care anymore.

Instead, you turned back toward the rest of the club with an irritated clap of your hands.

“Everybody else keep stretching before I make this morning worse for all of you.”

Groans immediately followed.

And right on cue-

The gym doors slammed open.

A loud wheezing breath echoed through the hall before Kazuichi Soda stumbled inside looking catastrophically late already.

“Sorry- sorry- my alarm-”

You stared at him flatly.

“Kazuichi.”

He visibly paled.

“You are thirty minutes late.”

“I can explain-”

“You better start explaining while running laps.”

“WHAT?”

“You heard me.”

“I JUST GOT HERE!”

“And now you’re leaving again. Move.”

__________________________________

Hope u enjoued this cuz I had a draft laying around although it's like a chat fic kinda thing in an au where Nagito ur ur clingy ass roommate and u work at an office and kazuichi is interested in you so I thought I might as well repurpose it into this 😛

Took me way too long to write, I haven't even proof read sooo hopefully everything makes sense in the end... I might add a third part of the 2nd part isn't enough but obvi depends

Dental nursing is killing me tho, I got no time for myself so god knows when the next one will drop 🫡🫡

NEXT CHAPTER POLL 👀

A. Nagito tries fitting into the sports club

Awkward bonding, trying way too hard to seem normal, getting bullied by the club members while secretly only caring about getting closer to [Name] + after-school conversations, weird tension, Nagito acting increasingly strange when he gets alone time with [Name]

OR

B. Full Nagito weirdo POV

-> obsessive thoughts, keeping little details about [Name], overanalysing every interaction.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! Cinema worker 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (part 3)

Mahito POV:

I learnt his name by accident.

Not from her, of course. She refuses to acknowledge me properly- as if pretending I’m not standing just a few feet away will make me vanish. Instead, it is the humans who give themselves away so easily.

One of the managers calls out, “Haibara! Can you take over the register?” and he answers with that stupidly warm “Yeah, sure!”

Haibara. What a painfully ordinary sound. It sits in my head like a loose pebble in a shoe.

He’s always around her.

She still sees me every day. I can tell. Her spine goes rigid for the faintest moment, her hands stutter in movement, but she refuses the courtesy of looking. Pretends I’m just another hallucination, a trick of the light between film posters and flickering screens. It was almost insulting at first… but then it became interesting.

Especially when their souls do that.

Moments I couldn’t help but notice- the ones that irritated and intrigued me in equal measure:

When your fingers brushed together at the popcorn counter and your souls flared, twisting toward each other like they wanted to breathe the same air

When he leaned close to explain something on the screen schedule and your soul softened, edges smoothing like warm wax

The way he laughs at your terrible jokes during lunch break, and the faint, golden pulse your soul gives in response

When you’re tired and he offers to finish your shift duties, and your soul flickers… grateful. Safe.

I don’t like that word.

Safe.

It makes my skin itch.

So I stop bothering you, in the obvious way. No more appearing beside you at the sink. No more whispering comments into the quiet aisle of empty seats. Instead, I observe. From corners. Reflections. Dark patches on the ceiling where the light doesn’t quite reach. I watch the way you and Haibara orbit each other like small, stupid planets.

Two simple souls pretending they aren’t pulling.

And then… the sewer calls me back.

It has been a while since I returned here fully, to my true audience. The walls breathe dampness. The air is thick with what remains of old experiments. They turn toward me when I arrive, my transfigured humans. Their bodies frozen in whatever half-thought, half-prayer I left them in.

“Miss me?” I ask lightly.

They flinch. How adorable.

“Haha, come on, don’t give me that look,” I laugh, crouching among them, some taller some short. “You’d think I abandoned you or something.”

Of course, they can’t answer. But tonight I don’t need answers.

“I found something… fascinating,” I continue, tracing a finger through the grimy air. “There’s this girl. And her coworker. Their souls react. In the most irritatingly tender little way.”

My smile stretches wider.

“They don’t even know it yet. That’s the fun part.”

I lean back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling as if I can see through miles of earth to the little cinema, to you handing him popcorn, to him smiling back like a fool.

“I think I’m going to try something new,” I add, voice almost dreamy. “I’m going to recreate what their souls showed me."

My gaze drops back to my silent companions and a few of them shrink back anyway, their bodies reacting on instinct alone.

I crouch in front of the closest one, resting my elbows on my knees, tilting my head as if I’m examining a bug.

“If I can get it right on you…” I murmur, almost fond. “Then I can get it right on them.”

My fingers twitch remembering your soul, warm and elastic, always pulling back when I touched it with my bare presence.

His soul, steadier, brighter at the edges when he leaned close to you.

Annoying.

Interesting.

I reach out and press two fingers into the thing’s shoulder.

There’s a sharp pop.

Like a bubble bursting.

The body caves in on itself instantly, collapsing into a useless heap with a dull, meaty sound. Something slick splashes up against my cheek, warm and sticky, sliding down to my jaw. I blink once, surprised, and swipe at it with the back of my hand, smearing it across my skin.

I stare at the remains.

“…Huh.”

That wasn’t right at all.

I click my tongue and straighten, irritation buzzing under my skin like static. “No, no. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t anything.”

A few of them whimper now. The sound crawls under my skin. I turn slowly, eyes drifting over the cluster, and pick another at random.

This one trembles when I grab it.

“Relax,” I say lightly, fingers sinking in. “I’m experimenting.”

Another touch.

Another pop- wetter this time. Louder. The body ruptures messily, splitting apart like overripe fruit. Something bursts against my chest, splattering my hoodie, the smell sharp enough to make my nose wrinkle. The thing collapses in a twitching mess at my feet.

Still nothing like what I want.

Silence stretches, thick and ugly. The remaining ones press back against the walls, some of them dragging themselves along the floor, others trying (unsuccessfully) to crawl over one another. One lets out a thin, broken cry that echoes down the tunnel.

My smile twitches.

“…Why are you all doing that?” I ask, voice tight. “You’re distracting me.”

None of them answer, of course. They never do. But the fear is loud anyway, flooding the space, crawling up my spine.

Something snaps.

I feel it; that sharp, hot irritation in my chest, twisting, tightening, the same feeling I get when I think of you stepping away from me. When I think of him standing too close.

“Ugh.” I scrub both hands through my hair, smearing grime and gore into it. “This is going nowhere.”

I kick one of the ruined bodies aside harder than necessary. It skids across the floor and disappears into the dark with a soft splash. The sound echoes, mocking me as my breathing picks up. I can feel it now- that pull, that stupid, irritating tug in my chest. I hate it. I hate that it won’t go away. I hate that I can’t recreate it.

“I know what it looked like,” I mutter, pacing around the place, feet splashing in sludge.

My gaze snaps back to the group.

“Stop it,” I snap. “You’re making this worse.”

I grab the nearest one without thinking once again, fingers digging in too hard, too fast. For a moment maybe there’s resistance. A flicker. Something almost holds.

My breath catches.

“Oh?”

I push, trying to guide it, to force that familiar warmth into place but then it collapses.

Violently.

The body bursts apart in my hands, spraying heat and filth up my arms, across my face, into my mouth. I choke on it, staggering back as pieces hit the floor with dull, awful sounds. The stench hits a second later clawing down my throat all thick and overwhelming.

I stand there, dripping, chest heaving as a laugh tears out of me, loud and sharp and wrong, echoing off the walls until the sewer feels too small to contain it.

“This is so annoying,” I huff between laughs, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. “Why won’t you work?”

My laughter dies abruptly, leaving only that buzzing irritation behind.

“…Fine,” I mutter, glare sweeping over the survivors. “I’ll just have to watch more.”

I roll my shoulders, already restless, already thinking of you behind the counter, pretending not to see me. Of him leaning in, smiling, making your soul do that thing again.

“I’ll figure it out,” I promise the dark. “Even if it takes tearing it apart piece by piece And next time,” I add softly, stepping away from the wreckage, “I won’t practice down here.”

! 𝑴𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎 𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ! (Part 2)

(Due to 94 point something of you wanting a second part I thought "hell why not" sorry if this is a late upload ur girl is busy with work! Enjoy! + also made sure to make it extra long) This fanfic will now drop every Saturday! (It's easier for me to manage that was cuz of work and assignments due)

P

⏤͟͟͞͞ --------------------------------

It was late enough that the air inside the cinema had taken on that strange, heavy stillness it always got after the final rush had passed, the kind that made every tiny sound feel amplified. The carpet, usually tacky under the weight of hundreds of footsteps, felt eerily clean beneath your shoes, and the faint, burnt-sugar smell of popcorn clung to everything, even your clothes. Your coworker had been midsentence, rambling on about how underwhelming the last film had been, something about the pacing and the terrible ending, but you’d only been half-listening, nodding absent-mindedly while the other half of your mind replayed the manager’s confused expression over and over again.

'Never seen a person like that before.'

The words had lodged themselves into you like a foreign object. You were so lost in thought that you barely registered when your coworker wandered off down the counter with a sigh, muttering about some idiot who had managed to spill an entire drink on the floor by screen three. You were left alone at the till, hands resting on the cool surface, eyes unfocused on the empty lobby in front of you, the glowing digital boards humming quietly overhead.

And then-

“Yahoo!”

The sound rang out from the other side of the counter, slicing clean through the quiet. Not loud enough to echo, but cheerful enough to make your stomach drop.

You didn’t want to look. Every nerve in your body was telling you not to look. There was no one in the queuing lines. You had checked. You knew you were alone. But slowly, painfully, like you were moving through thick water, your eyes dragged themselves up.

He was leaning against the railing lazily as if watching a hamster on it's play wheel. With his same relaxed grin on his face like this was the most normal thing in the world. One foot was hooked casually around the base of the barrier, his body tilted slightly as he regarded you with open amusement. There were faint kernels of popcorn stuck to the front of his hoodie again, as though he had made no attempt whatsoever to brush himself off since last time, and for a horrible split second you wondered if it was the same popcorn, clinging to him like a reminder of that night in the auditorium.

Your throat dried instantly.

“Oh good,” he continued, tilting his head as he studied you, eyes flicking over your face with far too much interest, “You looked lonely.”

“I-” Your voice cracked, betraying you. You had to swallow before trying again. “You can’t be back here. I told you to leave. You left.”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged, pushing lazily off the railing and stepping forward, each footfall silent against the carpet, “You opened the door for me. That counts as permission, doesn’t it? I even waved. That was polite of me.”

He gestured vaguely and began drifting closer to the counter. Your hands tightened into fists. You could hear the faint squeak of the mop bucket somewhere in the distance where your coworker was still cleaning, blissfully unaware that anything was wrong.

Keeping your voice as level as you could, you forced out, yet once again, “If you don’t buy a ticket, you have to leave. That’s the rule. Everyone has to follow it.”

“Hm.” He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the counter, face now much closer to yours than it had any right to be. His pupils looked blown wide, almost glossy in the dim lights. “Then I guess I’m not a customer, right?”

“Well Obviously not. You don’t want anything, and you haven't bought anything." you muttered, barely above a whisper.

“That’s not true,” he hummed, his gaze dropping briefly to your hands, then lifting again to meet your eyes. “Maybe I want popcorn this time. Maybe I want… conversation.”

You reached for a bag, more on autopilot than anything else, scooping popcorn into it because that was what you were supposed to do. It was easier than thinking.

As you placed the bag on the counter, your coworker’s footsteps grew louder, approaching from the end of the hall.

“You alright, yeah?” he called, already distracted again, probably thinking of going home. “Talking to yourself over here?”

The question hit you harder than it should have.

You looked at him, then at the space where he stood, then back at your coworker again.

“He’s right here…” you said faintly.

Your coworker frowned, glancing around the empty queuing area. The barrier. The floor. The entrance.

“…What guy?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You looked back.

He was still there.

Smiling wider now, shoulders starting to shake as if he were desperately holding something in. And then he laughed. Not the giggle from before. This time it was open, delighted, almost proud, his head tipping back slightly as the sound spilled out of him. One hand clutched at his own stomach like the situation was so unbearably funny he might actually collapse.

Your vision blurred immediately, panic and humiliation and dread crashing together in your chest.

“He’s right there,” you insisted, your voice breaking, pointing shakily in his direction. “He- he’s the one- he won’t stop following me-”

There was nothing. Only the empty air, the carpet, and the smell of popcorn.

You felt yourself unravel.

And through it all, he leaned closer across the counter, voice dropping low, “My name is Mahito.”

The way he said it was soft. Almost affectionate. As if he were giving you a gift.

Something sick and electric passed through you at the sound of it.

“I thought,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he straightened, “you deserved to know that, since you’re the only one who can see me.”

You finally broke a bit.

The words barely made it past your lips before your co-worker was already straightening, concern stamped across his face in a way that made your chest ache.

“Hey- hey, it’s okay. Seriously, if you need a minute, go take one. I’ve got this covered, yeah? You’ve been through it tonight.”

His voice was steady, kind. Real. The kind of normal that almost made you start crying right there in front of the till.

You nodded because shaking your head felt like it would open something you couldn’t close again. “Yeah. I just- I need some air.

“No problem. You can leave early if you want. I’ll just tell the manager you weren’t feeling well. Go sit down for a bit.”

You didn’t even thank him. You just turned, stepping out from behind the counter with your heart hammering against you.

And a not so stranger like voice followed you

“You’re leaving so early,” he hummed. “Did I scare you? I thought you liked talking to me…”

You said nothing, eyes forward, legs almost carrying you on instinct alone. But inside your mind, his name kept repeating.

Mahito.

It sounded filthy. Powdery. Like soot on your tongue even in thought.

“Don’t you want me to say it again?” he teased. “My name? You liked it. I saw your face when I said it.”

Your pace quickened.

He matched it easily, hands clasped behind his back as if you were just two friends taking a stroll after work.

“Say it,” he coaxed. “C’mon. Just once.”

You pushed through the staff-only door, ignoring the soft click as it shut behind you. The hallway was narrow, lit by harsh fluorescent light that buzzed faintly overhead. The smell of cleaning chemicals stung your nose.

The staff room door was just ahead. You nearly ran to it.

Inside, it was barely even a room. More like a glorified janitor’s closet with mismatched chairs, cleaning supplies stacked in one corner, an old metal locker humming faintly. You slammed the door behind you and twisted the lock with shaking fingers.

Your back slid down the wood as your chest began to shudder.

“No… no… no…” Your hands fisted in your hair, breath breaking. “Leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone…”

On the other side of the door, silence. For a second, for a blessed second, you almost believed you were safe.

Then came the slow, soft scrap of movement, like something crawling and the air shifted.

“You humans get so panicked so fast.”

He wasn’t outside the door anymore.

He was inside.

You looked up through blurred vision you could only see what was a figure unfolding back into his full shape, limbs stretching the way they absolutely shouldn’t, like he was peeling himself out of a different form. Though it was probably just the tears cloging your vision.

Your throat closed completely.

He crouched in front of you, head tilted, studying your face with strange fascination as tears spilled down your cheeks.

“Oh…” His voice softened, a note of confusion in it now. “You’re really upset.”

His hand hovered, then settled on your shoulder, too heavy, too warm for someone who wasn’t supposed to be there at all.

“Did I do that?” he asked lightly. “I didn’t mean to break you yet.”

The word “yet” shattered you.

You sobbed harder, curling into yourself, hands over your face.

“I said stop…” you choked. “I said leave me alone…”

He shifted closer, uncomfortably close, his breath brushing your ear. And then, gentle but terrifying, his fingers came up and pressed over your trembling mouth- not enough to hurt, just enough to silence you.

“There, there,” he murmured. “you're too loud.” And for a moment, he almost looked… annoyed. Like your fear was inconvenient. Like your pain was ruining the mood of some private game he’d invented between the two of you.

Then his hand dropped.

He watched you for another long, unreadable moment, and the stillness in him was worse than any of the laughter.

“…You cry too much,” he sighed. “It’s exhausting.”

He stepped back, straightening, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off an irritation. His eyes lifted to the ceiling, listening to distant footsteps outside, normal, unaware life happening only a few metres away.

⏤͟͟͞͞ --------------------------------

By the time you finally stepped out from the warmth of the cinema, the air had turned sharp and cold, the kind that slipped through fabric and kissed your skin with damp fingers. Rain had begun to fall, soft and polite at first, before quickly thickening into a steady, needling downpour. It ran down the back of your neck, and soaked the thin fabric of your uniform in seconds. Although you hadn't registered it, in fact you hadn't registered anything after seeing the humanoid figure who's been trailing you for weeks transform in front of your eyes.

You hadn’t realised you’d left in such a rush until the doors slid shut behind you and the sound of the rain replaced the faint murmur of the building. Your chest still felt tight, breath hitching slightly from everything that had happened.

You started down the pavement, arms folding around yourself more out of instinct than warmth. With each step, your thoughts kept circling back to the same thing.

Just a few steps behind you, hands shoved lazily into the pockets of his hoodie, face tilted up slightly as the rain poured over him. It soaked his hair, plastered strands to his forehead, ran down his cheekbones- yet he didn’t even blink. If anything, he looked… pleased. “Guess you forgot something,” he said lightly. “You walked out without your umbrella.”

“I don’t need one.” Your voice came out more vulnerable sounding than you hoped, trembling at the edges. “Go away.”

“Can’t,” he replied, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Not yet.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times to leave me alone,” you snapped, continuing to walk faster. Your shoes splashed through shallow puddles, cold water seeping through the soles.

“Hey! You forgot this!”

You turned and saw your coworker jogging toward you, holding out your umbrella. His jacket was pulled over his head, sneakers splashing through water as he slowed to a stop in front of you.

“You left in such a rush,” he said, offering a tired but genuine smile. “Didn’t want you catching a cold. Are you okay? You looked… shaken.”

Relief flooded you so fast it almost hurt. “Thank you,” you breathed, taking the umbrella with trembling fingers. “I-yeah. I think I just need to go home and sleep. It’s been… a lot today.”

He nodded, concern knitting his brows together. “Yeah, I figured. Try and get some rest, yeah? Let me know if you’re still feeling weird tomorrow.”

When he turned and jogged back toward the warm glow of the cinema, you risked another look behind you.

Mahito hadn’t moved.

He stood a few paces away, completely still now, rain still sliding off him as if he didn’t feel it at all. His gaze wasn’t on you anymore, but on your coworker’s retreating back.

Something unreadable flickered in his expression.

“Your soul and his soul did a thing just now,” he murmured.

“What does that even mean?” You clutched the umbrella tighter. “Everything you’re doing is creepy. It’s stalking. It’s illegal.”

“Do you like him?” he asked suddenly.

“…What?”

“Your friend,” he clarified, eyes sliding back onto you. “The one who brought you the umbrella. Do you like him?”

“What does that have to do with you?”

His smile faded.

For the first time, he looked almost… disconnected. He stared at the rain pooling around his shoes, then back at you, and something distant crept into his gaze. As though a thought had occurred to him that he didn’t quite enjoy.

The two of you continued walking side by side in silence, the gap between you small but suffocating. Every step you took, you expected his fingers to close around your wrist again, expected him to laugh, to whisper, to do something-

-but he didn’t.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again.

“I’m going to go now.”

Good riddance

He stepped backwards, retreating a few paces, rain swallowing his form more and more with each step.

“…Just for tonight,” he added softly. “Don’t look so relieved. I’d hate to think I made your day better.”

Then, with one last lingering glance, he turned and simply… disappeared into the curtain of rain.

Whatever you and Haibara had just shown him- whatever he’d seen in the shape of your souls. He wanted it.

And Mahito was not the type to let a curiosity go unanswered.

! 𝑴𝒂𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎 𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ! (Part 1?)

The cinema always felt different after hours.

During the day it was kids whining for slushies, teenagers pretending they weren’t sneaking into 18+ movies, and that one lady who acted like ticket prices were a personal insult. But once the last crowd cleared out, the place got… too quiet. The hallways stretched out longer. The posters seemed to watch you. The screen rooms felt like caves.

And lately there’d been noises.

Little things at first. A seat creaking when you walked past. Whispering near Screen 5. A bag crinkling in an empty room.

You chalked it up to:

Teens breaking in after hours

Rats

Or your brain fried from too many double shifts

You even checked the cameras ten times this week. Nothing. Not even a glitch.

But tonight, as you were about to clock out, a familiar low hum rolled through the hallway. The sound of a movie playing. And a faint creep of dampness coated your body.

No one was supposed to be in any of the rooms. All films had ended an hour ago. Managers were gone. Staff too. You were the only one locking up.

You hesitated outside the projector booth, hand resting on the railing. The movie was playing on Screen 7; the biggest auditorium, the one with the deepest echo.

“...this job doesn’t pay enough,” you muttered under your breath and pushed the door open.

You stepped into the projection bay, lights dim, machines silent. Yet below, down the slope of seats, the giant screen glowed. A movie was running in full brightness with some old horror film that wasn’t even on the schedule today.

And there, right in the middle of the theatre, sat a lone figure. Slouched comfortably. Leg crossed over the other. Eating popcorn like he owned the place.

Your eyes narrowed.

Great, a trespasser.

You really do not get paid enough.

You cleared your throat and called out, “…Hello?”

No reaction.

He just kept picking kernels from a giant tub, tossing them in the air, catching some, dropping most. You frowned. Maybe he didn’t hear you over the movie.

“Hey! You can’t be here!”

This time he stopped for a moment, yet still didn't turn his body to face you, and reached lazily for another handful of popcorn.

You huffed, rolling your shoulders back. You didn’t want to go down there, but if this idiot wasn’t going to move, someone had to drag him out. You took the stairs slowly, shoes echoing way too loud in the dark. The massive screen lit his silhouette in pale blue light.

You half-whispered to yourself, “Please don’t let this be some naked lunatic or something…”

When you reached the row behind him, you finally got a clearer look. You’d seen him wandering the corridors before at odd hours, sometimes near the arcade machines, sometimes staring at poster frames like he was reading them, or in and out of crowds.

He never spoke. Never bought a ticket. Never bothered you.

He was young. Around your age. Soft, light-colored hair- messy, sticking out in odd angles like static had caressed him. A thin hoodie far too flimsy for November weather. Long fingers coated in popcorn salt. A few crumbs clinging to his shirt like they owned the place. And on his trousers? …a drink stain. Maybe two.

You swallowed.

“…Hey,” you tried again, quieter now but closer. “Cinema’s closed. You need to leave.”

For a moment, nothing changed. Then slowly- oh so very slow he stopped mid-reach into the popcorn container. His hand froze and shoulders tensed. And then… he stood up.

Popcorn flew everywhere, kernels scattering down the steps like hailstones.

The bucket hit the floor with a hollow thud.

He didn’t turn to face you at first.

He just lifted one hand- the one still dusted with salt- and pressed it lightly over his mouth.

His shoulders quaking now. His eyes, wide and bright and one of them impossibly blue, darted sideways toward you- like they were going to pop out of his skull.

You opened your mouth to speak-

But he giggled. A tiny, little hiccup of sound.

Then again, louder.

Then he inhaled, chest rising like something was swelling inside him.

He steadied himself, bending slightly as if the laugh had knocked him off balance, before finally facing you full-on.

You froze.

He looked at you like you were the highlight of the movie. Like you’d finally stepped onto the stage he’d been waiting for.

“Ah…” he breathed, voice airy and delighted. “So you really can see me.”

⏤͟͟͞͞ ____________________________

For two days, the cinema refused to feel like your workplace.

It wasn’t the usual kind of paranoia either, not the jittery kind that came from closing shifts or the uncanny hum of a too-empty building. It was quieter, deeper, the feeling that a pair of eyes had woven themselves into the corners of every hallway and sat, patiently, waiting for you to notice.

You had slept badly the night after the incident. You kept replaying it: the movie flickering alone in the auditorium, his silhouette so still it could’ve been part of the projection, the bizarre moment when he’d stood up so abruptly popcorn had flown everywhere, and that strange laugh. How it seemed to start in his eyes before his mouth could even catch up.

And then that moment, the one you kept coming back to when you lay awake in the dark:

“You really can see me?”

What the fuck was that supposed to even mean?

When he seemed to approach closer you’d stopped him before he could touch your face, your words tumbling out in a rush, half command, half plea. You need to leave, okay? I’m not reporting it, I’m not making this a thing, just go.

You’d expected defiance, aggression, or at least annoyance.

Instead he had walked out with a strange, drifting gait, turning back once to raise his hand in a tiny, oddly genuine wave. The kind a child gives when they’re not sure what goodbye is supposed to look like and had left through the front doors.

For a moment you’d wondered if you had hallucinated the whole encounter.

But the scattered popcorn on the carpet the next morning told you otherwise.

⏤͟͟͞͞ --------------------------------

The second day should’ve been normal.

You came in at noon, signed the sheet at the staff entrance, tied your hair back, and climbed up into the booth with the hum of projectors and the familiar smell of dust and old wiring. You tried to settle into it, tried to pretend your pulse hadn’t quickened at every creak of the floorboards, tried to convince yourself that the place was just a building. Not a labyrinth. Not a lurking ground.

Just a building.

But the first time you saw him again was when you were cleaning the lip of the projector lens with a microfiber cloth, something you’d done a thousand times before. You straightened up to glance over the glass railing that overlooked the lobby.

And there he was.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, hands tucked into the pockets of the same too-thin hoodie, head tilted back just slightly as if he’d been waiting for your eyes to land on him.

He didn’t wave this time. He didn’t call out. He didn’t try to approach.

He just… smiled. Softly. Curiously?

As if the two days before had been an inside joke between you.

Your grip on the railing tightened. You’d told him you wouldn’t report him, but that didn’t mean you wanted him lingering. The cinema was open now: customers were walking around, chattering, unwrapping their snacks. Anyone could have seen him. Anyone could have seen him staring at you.

You held his gaze for half a second longer than you meant to. And his smile widened just a notch, like he’d taken that as permission.

You moved away from the railing while trying to tell yourself it was fine. People stared sometimes. Weirdos hung out in cinemas sometimes, there's nothing illegal about a smile.

But when you went downstairs later to replace one of the poster frames, he was still there.

Not in the same spot because that would’ve been too easy to ignore. Instead he had migrated closer to the concessions counter, leaning lightly against the side as if waiting for someone.

You didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t look long enough to invite another smile. But even without turning, you could feel his attention sticking to you like gum.

And because you refused to look back, you didn’t see when he tilted his head the other direction, studying you with the kind of focus most people reserved for a puzzle they were determined to solve.

⏤͟͟͞͞ --------------------------------

By the second week of this… whatever it was… you had grown sick of it.

The first few days you had managed to brush him off, chalking his constant appearances up to some weird, very dedicated cinema addiction or the hobby of a bored local with too much time on his hands. After all, there were worse things than a quiet man who sat at the back of Screen 6 every afternoon with a bucket of popcorn he definitely did not pay for. But the fourth, fifth, sixth day, each shift passing with him drifting silently through the corridors, pale hair flickering in your peripheral vision, eyes stuck to you. Your nerves began to wear thin.

By the ninth day, he’d started following you between rooms. Not close enough to touch, just close enough that the hairs on your arms prickled and you had to swallow down the urge to tell him to stop breathing so loudly.

You kept your promise not to report him.

But God, he was making it hard.

That Thursday morning was the final straw.

You were up in the projection booth early, doing routine checks before the first screenings began. The place still smelled faintly of dust and the stale warmth of yesterday’s popcorn. You were crouched halfway up the metal maintenance ladder. One hand bracing the projector, the other adjusting a slider until a soft thunk hit the glass panel in front of you.

Soft. Almost curious. Not a sound that belonged in an empty cinema.

You paused, hand hovering above the panel.

Then it came again- louder, deliberate, right below the projector window.

Your pulse stuttered.

No. No, it couldn’t be him. Not this early. You’d only been upstairs for maybe five minutes.

But the thump came again, followed by the faintest squeak of skin against glass.

You turned.

Pressed right against the glass- flattened nose, wide eyes, mouth squished into a warped grin- was his face.

Not tapping. Not waving. Just smooshed against it, cheek flattened, nose distorted, breath fogging little crescent moons on the surface. His eyes were wide, unblinking, lit from below by the dim emergency lights in the theater like he’d risen out of a campfire story.

For one terrible second, he didn’t move.

TAnd You stood frozen halfway up the ladder, unable to speak, unable to move, staring at him like prey caught out in the open.

He lifted one hand slowly, fingers tracing a lazy line across the glass right where your face would be if you leaned forward. Like he was outlining you.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he stuck out his tongue and dragged it across the glass in one long, obscene stripe.

A shiver shot down your spine so hard you nearly lost your grip on the ladder.

He smiled and giggled- quiet at first, just a tremor in his shoulders, then bubbling through his chest like he couldn’t help himself. Like your horror was the funniest, sweetest thing he had tasted all morning.

He looked at you like a child staring into an aquarium tank, waiting for the fish to blink back. Then mouthed something you couldn’t fully make out- maybe “come down” or “I see you”- and flattened both palms to the glass, spreading his fingers out like he wanted to measure the shape of you through the barrier.

The shock drained your breath. “What the? How did you even get up-?”

You climbed down the ladder fast enough to roll your ankle. “Okay. Enough. Enough of this. You seriously need to stop hanging around here- it’s getting weird. Really weird.”

He followed you down the ladder from the projector room like some oversized stray cat, limbs loose and unbothered. When his feet hit the floor, he tilted his head, strands of messy hair falling over one eye.

“Why?” he asked at last.

The word wobbled in his throat, as if he wasn’t used to saying it.

“Because,” you snapped, rubbing your temple, “you’ve been trespassing, but if you keep doing this, I’m going to have to report you.”

For a heartbeat, he simply stared.

His eyes usually bright with that strange, toy-like curiosity went flat. All the motion drained out of his features, leaving his face smooth and empty, as if his skin had been stretched over a mannequin’s skull.

He looked… wrong. Not angry. Not sad.

Just blank, like someone had unplugged him from reality and was waiting to see whether he’d reboot or crash completely.

The silence stretched.

Then unnervingly slowly, his lips trembled.

A faint quiver, like he was trying to force a smile but his muscles weren’t cooperating.

His eyebrows scrunched together next, knotted with a confusion so sudden it was almost childlike.

His chest expanded in a sharp, shaky inhale, shoulders rising and curling inward-

And then-

“Wait- don’t- ” you whispered before you even knew why.

Too late.

He shattered.

He burst into the ugliest cry you had ever seen in your life.

It was loud and wet and horrifically exaggerated, like someone had taken the idea of crying and overacted it through a broken stage puppet. A choking wail ripped out of him, high-pitched and breathy. Then a hiccuping sob. Then another- ugly, gasping ones that made his whole body convulse.

It sounded like someone was squeezing a rubber toy underwater, air bubbling and squeaking through as he fought for breath.

“Sir- shh- shh, stop!”

You rushed toward him instinctively, hands fluttering in panic.

“People are going to hear you- stop crying, stop, please-"

He was unraveling in front of you, and somehow you were the only person in the world responsible for stitching him back together. He crumpled inward, folding himself around the mess of emotion. His fingers clawed at the hem of his shirt, twisting and wringing it until the fabric warped under his grip and shoulders shook- hard, violently- like a kid on the verge of a tantrum. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears slipping out in messy, uneven lines down his cheeks.

“Please, stop crying,” you whispered again, voice rising as panic gnawed at your throat.

He was pathetic.

Then- just when your nerves threatened to snap like overstretched string-

He stilled completely as if he’d been remotely powered down.

The silence hit you so suddenly you flinched.

His red-wet eyes blinked up at you, eyelashes clumped together in damp spikes.

Then, with a small gasp, he reached out and wrapped long, cold fingers around your hand.

You tried to jerk away but he held on loosely, almost thoughtfully. Not restraining or forcing, just considering.

A small giggle bubbled up from him, unsteady, eerily bright. Then a frown followed by a raise of an eyebrow.

His face tilted, studying your hand in his like it was a new toy he hadn’t expected to receive.

“What do I do with you?” he murmured. Not to you. Not even at you. To himself.

He rubbed his thumb lightly across your knuckles, eyes narrowing as though testing the idea of peeling you open just to see what was inside.

“Do I keep you?” he whispered. “Do I break you?”

“Do I… no, no, no, that wouldn’t work. Maybe if I-”

You didn’t understand a word he was saying. Your pulse roared in your ears. Your mouth went dry enough to crack. You now felt irreversibly uncomfortable.

His face went eerily blank again, mid sentence.

The giggling died.

He stared at your hand for one long, unreadable second then, almost lazily, he let go.

So suddenly that you lost your balance and stumbled backward, hitting the floor with a hard thud that knocked the breath out of you.

By the time you blinked the stars from your vision-

He was gone as if he'd never been there in the first place.

You scrambled to your feet on shaking legs and rushed straight to your manager’s office.

You must’ve looked wild, sweating, trembling- because she immediately spun around in her chair, concern etched on her face.

“There’s- there’s a guy,” you blurted. “He keeps breaking in. He was here this morning. He grabbed me- he touched me- he's been stalking me. I swear, I saw him.”

Your manager blinked slowly.

“…What guy?”

You insisted. You described him. You gave every detail you could dredge up.

She frowned, already skeptical, already assuming fatigue or paranoia. “I’ve never seen anyone like that,” she said. “Ever. There’s no reports. No sightings. Nothing.”

But you weren’t giving up. You grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the security office.

“Check the cameras,” you said. “Please. Just check the CCTV.”

She sighed, humoring you, clicking through feeds and timestamps.

You leaned in close, practically pressing your nose to the screen.

You watched the footage.

You pointed at the hallway where you’d stood.

You described the exact second he cried, the exact place where he grabbed your hand, the exact moment he vanished.

But on the screen it was just you. Alone. Talking to empty air and flinching at seemingly nothing. Then falling backward as if pushed by a ghost.

Your mouth fell open. Your blood ran thin and cold.

Your manager stared at you, concern turning into something else. “Sweetheart… there's nobody there.”

And that was somehow, impossibly, so much worse.

⏤͟͟͞͞ --------------------------------

Loki - fav

Snuffy - like

Lorenzo - like

Lavinho - like

Bunny - dislike/neutral (idk guys I like him but at the same time there's smth about him I don't like)

Exhibit A:

Mahito X Cinema Worker Reader

You start noticing little things around the cinema: missing dummies from displays, mannequins rearranged, popcorn bags rifled through but no one on camera.

One night, during closing shift, you hear someone watching a movie while it's closing time and go check it out.

------

Mahito treats the cinema like his new home, slipping in through shadows, watching you work.

He’s weirdly into you (although I litterally can't think of a reason why)

Eventually corners you in the projector room, crawling out of the dark or you either confront him and he's amazed you see him in the first place.

(Mahito is a curse in this story)

Exhibit B:

Student Mahito x Professor Reader (Mahito Human AU)

He starts off charming and too friendly for a student. Then he snaps a picture of you doing something questionable, or overhears something private. He uses the information not to ruin you, but to keep you close, although it takes a toll on your mental health.

He then starts showing up outside your office hours, following you home, getting territorial with other students.

Not too sure about the ending but I want to make the story feel more emotionally complex (which I prob will butcher but wtv)

Exhibit C:

masochist weirdo Mahito Student x Reader Student (Mahito Human AU)

He starts off “strange but harmless." And then keeps inserting himself into your world and absolutely loves when you snap at him; literally giggles when you shove him away.

“You’re so cute when you’re mean. Can you do that again? Harder?”

Might purposefully get you angry so you’ll 'hurt him.' Gets more intense when he realises you’re avoiding him.

જ⁀➴ ♡

A bonus idea that I have is:

Nurse Reader x Curse Mahito:

He gets obsessed in a weird "I want you to patch me up" way. And keeps injuring himself just to see you.

Was just lazing around and reading an old yandere blue lock x reader fanfic I wrote for myself but stopped writing in, then I stopped and wondered what Gagamaru would be like as a yandere, so heres a post dedicated to what Gagamaru would be like as a yandere.

Anon: what type of yandere would gagamaru even be?? he barely talks??

A: honestly I feel like he'd be a silent devotee with a pang of perv on the side.

he doesn’t shout, he doesn’t threaten (at first), he just acts.

You tell him “i’m going to the bathroom, wait here”

And he sits there EXACTLY like that until you come back.

you tell him “i’m cold”

and suddenly he’s draping his hoodie over you without saying anything.

he’s insanely obedient to you but to anybody else he’s more or less of a wall.

Anon: does he trust his crush?

Ar: yes. He doesn’t think you'd cheat. He just doesn’t trust other people.

Anon: Does he get jealous? If so what is he like when jealous?

A: he doesn’t get mad jealous. It’s more like… him being irritated

If a guy were to flirt with you and you told Gagamaru he wouldn't register it much until he really starts thinking and then ends up repeating the guy’s name later like he’s trying to study an enemy specimen

“who? …Marin? the tall one?”

He'll ask about it later in the most casual voice ever, but his knee is bouncing hard under the table. He will go out of his way to prove he’s better than that guy in the most passive, stupid ways, like suddenly trying to do a trick shot in football or suddenly agreeing to something he normally doesn’t care about

Then later alone he squats in his room, hands in his hair, replaying whatever you had told him about the guy over and over like a torture loop.

anon: how does he confess?

A: honestly he wouldn’t use words. He would start acting like you’re already his. Feeding you pieces of his food. Standing behind you like your shadow. Touching your hair absentmindedly.

Anon: would he kidnap?

A: only if he thinks you’re in danger or if he thinks you’re trying to leave him forever.

he’s not the type to restrict you from moving although if it had to come to it he probably wouldn't use handcuffs or tie a rope too tightly around you, your pain is the last thing he'd want.

he’s the type to carry you off to his room, quietly close the door, curl around you on the bed like a blanket, and just… not let go.

Anon: would Gagamaru TRY to act normal?

A: yes. and that’s what makes him more unsettling. He has that easygoing, half-dazed expression, but his inner thoughts are running like a wild animal.

Example:

you say “bye” and close your door

Gagamaru: walks off, hands in pockets, chill, THEN goes around the back of the building to stare at your window and make sure you aren’t talking to anyone else in private.

Gagamaru yandere profile:

- smiles at things that are not being said

- reads your texts over your shoulder

- collects your shed strands of hair off your clothes like it’s normal

- knows your schedule down to the minute

- listens at your door and breathes slow to not make sound

- stares at your throat when you speak (pulse watching)

- doesn’t care about being caught stalking you— he can make up an excuse, but he doesn’t even pretend it’s wrong, although if anything he will try and at least be discreet about it.

Again inspired by the yandere blue lock x reader fanfic I wrote, this next blog is about yandere ness, who was the main yandere in the fanfic.

Anon: what type of yandere is Ness?

A: definitely the sufforcating type. He's the type to comment on every little behaviour of yours like he’s your personalized algorithm.

he’ll do the “checking in” texts 30 times a day.

he phrases it sweet:

"Just making sure you're okay!"

Anon: would he kidnap his darling?

A: he thinks about it. Oh he imagines it all the time.

but Ness is patient.

he doesn’t snatch you first.

he prefers to convince you with reality and feelings, not force.

BUT.

if you ever seriously chose someone else or were literally about to leave him for another man?

THATS when he becomes dangerous.

And he’d plan it quietly, cleanly. No wild violence. No screaming.

just… a situation where he is suddenly the only safe option. Maybe he stages something, a problem, a threat— and swoops in as your “hero.” Makes you lean on him. Makes you need him.

He wants to be the rescuer so you choose him.

kidnapping is his last card.

but he has it.

and he’s not afraid to use it only if your heart is about to belong to someone else.

Anon: is he manipulative?

A: oh my gosh he is the quiet master of emotional manipulation. He wouldn't threaten but he'd make you feel guilty for hurting him.

“it’s okay… I’ll get over it eventually.”

said in that soft defeated tone.

and suddenly you feel like the monster.

Anon: would Ness be a perv?

A: He’d act embarrassed if anyone hinted at it

“whaaat?? don’t be gross!”

but internally his head is filth. His fantasies are too detailed. He gets flustered because his imagination outruns him constantly.

Anon: ok but WHAT IF his darling had a crush on another Blue Lock member. OR KAISER??

A : this is the one scenario where Ness snaps quietly insane.

if it’s any Blue Lock member:

he’ll subtly sabotage your perception of them.

“he’s just using you.”

“he’s not serious.”

and he’ll be EXTRA clingy with physical proximity, like leaning in, brushing against you, soft touches making it feel so comforting to stay with him.

Or if you're particularly close with the member he'll always find a way to interrupt a conversation with them.

if it’s KAISER?

Ness’s whole brain becomes dark static. He would not manipulate anymore. He would not be subtle.

He would simply say to you:

“Please don’t choose him. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

I think he'd become more frantic, maybe even having massive arguments with Kaiser I genuinely think he'd crumble.

Anon: would Ness stalk online?

A: he already stalks even canonically in the manga style of thinking.

he’d know:

Your close friend list

Your favourite accounts

What comments you leave

Whose posts you like at 2am

he’d scroll your interactions and get jealous over emojis.

Anon: how would he confess?

A: He… wouldn’t.

He thinks eventually you’ll realise he’s already the one. He imagines you’ll come to him one day. He doesn’t plan to “confess.” What actually happens is:

you discover something strange.

You find out he knows a detail he shouldn’t.

You notice he knows a conversation you had in private.

You find his little collection of notes and pictures, or you even catch him mid act of doing something.

You confront him— and he just freezes.

face pale

hands shaking slightly

his voice goes quiet and tiny:

“so… you know.”

there’s terror behind his eyes

because the mask is off and now you see what he is

he thinks you’ll leave.

and when you don’t immediately scream or walk away? He swallows, looks down, and whispers half crying, half relieved and then confesses everything. Everything he's done then he tries to make excuses for his weird behaviour.

That’s his “confession.”

It only ever comes out after he’s been exposed.

Ness’s love is something he hopes you’ll accept not something he believes he has the right to confess.

Yandere ness summary:

- Loving you becomes his entire purpose, not just an emotion

- If you confront him on his behaviour he’ll fold inward: “it’s okay if you hate me, I deserve it”

- fear of abandonment: his biggest panic is the idea of you choosing someone else