}.” His tone wasn’t soft. It wasn’t kind. It was the tone of a man who liked knowing things — especially things he wasn’t supposed to. “You clean up real nice,” he said, voice low with amusement. “Rick’s been hidin’ you from me, I might just marry you and take you with me heh.” Carl immediately moved in front of you, shoulders squared, eyes blazing. Negan laughed — loud, delighted, like Carl had just made his day. “Easy there, kid,” he said, raising his hands.

*The last-period class starts off totally normal, with Mr. Ackerman throwing his usual goofy energy around—doing his silly gravity jokes, making Larry the skeleton* “help” *with attendance, and turning the first ten minutes into a whole comedy-science show like he always does. Everyone’s laughing, the room feels bright, and it’s just the classic happy last-period vibe… until halfway through the lesson when a classmate casually raises their hand and asks,* “Mr. Ackerman, is Mrs. Ackerman giving homework this weekend?” *The moment her name leaves their mouth, it’s like someone flips a switch inside him—his smile drops instantly, the room goes quiet, and all that chaotic playful energy drains right out of the air. He freezes, mid-sentence, marker still in his hand, and the class waits for a joke or some funny married-teacher comment… but nothing comes. Instead, he just slowly puts the marker down and says, in this weirdly flat voice,* “We’re not talking about her right now,” *without looking at anyone. No jokes. No stories. No playful sarcasm. Just this heavy seriousness that makes the whole class sit up straight. He turns back to the board and starts teaching in this completely different tone—calm, focused, almost too quiet—like he’s trying to shove the question out of his brain. Even the students who never pay attention are staring at him, confused, because it’s so unlike him to shut down like that. Every time someone even mentions math or the other hallway, his jaw tenses like he’s holding something in, and the rest of the period feels thick and silent, the kind of atmosphere where you don’t know if you should talk, breathe, or just disappear. When the bell finally rings, he gives no joke, no goodbye wave—just a tired, distant* “See you tomorrow,” *leaving the whole class wondering what exactly happened the moment Mrs. Ackerman’s name hit the air.*

“Well, well… didn’t think I’d see my old rival wrapped around a billionaire’s arm.” *He sips his drink, smirk curling.* “Tell me, do you still hate losing as much as you used to?”

} is going after Mattheo Riddle and falls don the stairs and breaks there nose Mattheo Riddle is ignoring it and just leaves

*Thunder shook the villa while rain poured endlessly outside.* *The power had flickered twice already, leaving parts of the giant mansion dark except for warm lights from the kitchen and living room.* *Blade rested beside the fireplace while Thor sat near the entrance watching the storm outside carefully. Fang wandered slowly between rooms like he was doing security patrols.* *Honestly, the dogs acted exactly like Alaric.* *Protective.* *Quiet.* *Intimidating.* *Downstairs, Nova Squad was currently destroying the peaceful atmosphere completely.* “You threw a knife at me,” *Titan complained.* “It missed.” “That’s not the point!” “Skill issue,” *Rex muttered.* *Atlas laughed tiredly from the couch while Malik looked seconds away from starting another fight.* *Then came the sound everyone recognized immediately.* *Heavy footsteps upstairs.* *Every soldier shut up instantly.* *Alaric appeared leaning slightly against the hallway wall upstairs, black compression shirt clinging tightly to his muscular frame while dark wet hair fell into his eyes.* *He looked exhausted.* *Annoyed.* *And very close to violence.* “What the f~ck are you doing?” *he asked coldly.* *Nobody answered.* *Because honestly?* *Nobody wanted to be the first target tonight.* *Alaric slowly walked downstairs while rubbing sleep from his eyes.* “She’s asleep,”* he muttered irritably.* “How hard is it to act like normal fucking people for one hour?” “Captain,” *Malik started carefully,* “Rex was just—” “I don’t care.” *Rex looked unbelievably smug after that.* *Until Alaric looked directly at him.* “You especially,” *he added flatly.* *The smugness disappeared immediately.* *Then suddenly—* *Soft footsteps upstairs.* *You appeared quietly near the staircase wearing one of Alaric’s hoodies with Blade immediately trotting over protectively toward you.* *And just like that, the terrifying Captain of Nova Squad softened completely.* “Hey,” *you mumbled sleepily.* *Alaric’s entire voice changed instantly.* “Baby,” *he answered quietly,* “why’re you awake?”

“Meeting Pavitr in Mumbattan” The three of them land on a shimmering web‑bridge suspended above the chaotic beauty of Mumbattan. Neon signs flicker, rickshaws honk in the distance, and the whole city feels like it’s vibrating with life. A golden blur swings in from above. Pavitr lands with a flourish—one hand on his hip, hair bouncing like it has its own wind machine. He spots Miles and tilts his head, eyes sparkling with curiosity. Pavitr: “Hold on… who’s this stylish stranger?” Gwen: “Hey, Pav. This is Miles. And… yeah, he kind of showed up uninvited.” Pavitr’s jaw drops in theatrical shock. Pavitr: “You weren’t invited… and you still came? That’s confidence. I respect it.” Gwen laughs under her breath. Gwen: “Right?” Pavitr: “Let me guess—he followed you here because he’s totally into you.” Miles nearly trips over his own feet. Miles: “What—no! No, no, no!” His voice cracks, and even behind the mask, you can feel the blush. Gwen: “He’s really not.” Pavitr: “Oh, please. I’m excellent at reading people.” Gwen: “He’s really not.” Miles: “Okay, seriously—who are you?” Pavitr straightens up like he’s about to take a bow. Pavitr: “Glad you asked, mysterious newcomer.” Miles: “I’m not mysterious. Or new.” Pavitr grins, dazzling and proud. Pavitr: “I’m Pavitr Prabhakar. Spider‑Man of Mumbattan. Six months in, and already a legend.” Miles throws his hands up. Miles: “Six months? And you already have one of those fancy watches?” Gwen winces like she knew this was coming. Gwen: “Yeah… it’s a whole thing.” Pavitr flips his hair again—honestly, it should be illegal for hair to move that perfectly. Pavitr: “Being Spider‑Man here? Easy. I wake up, skip the gym—because look at me, I’m already sculpted—barely touch my hair, because it’s naturally flawless…” Miles: “You don’t use any product? At all?” Pavitr: “Just coconut oil, a quick prayer, and the blessing of my ancestors.” He swings around a streetlamp, continuing his monologue like he’s narrating a commercial. Pavitr: “Then I go to school, ace everything, stop a few villains, pet some street dogs, grab chai with Maya Auntie—” Miles: “Oh, I love chai tea!” Pavitr freezes mid‑air like someone hit pause. He drops to the ground slowly, eyes wide, horrified. Pavitr: “I’m sorry… what did you just say?” He steps closer, squinting. Pavitr: “‘Chai tea’? My friend… ‘chai’ means tea. You just said ‘tea tea.’” He throws his hands up dramatically. Pavitr: “Would you ask for ‘coffee coffee’? Or ‘cream cream’? No! So why—why—would you say ‘chai tea’?” Miles shrinks like a scolded puppy. Miles: “Okay… yeah. I deserved that.” Gwen is laughing so hard she has to hold her stomach. A few hours later Pavitr had been proudly showing Miles and Gwen around his school — pointing out the courtyard where he ate lunch, the lab where he always aced his exams, and the hallway where he once stopped a thief without even spilling his chai. He was mid‑sentence, hands flying dramatically as usual, when it happened. You stepped through the front gates. And for Pavitr Prabhakar, the world stopped. The noise of the school faded. The sunlight hit you just right. And in his mind — completely uninvited — little glowing hearts floated around your face like you were the only person in the entire multiverse. His breath caught. His smile softened. His eyes widened just a little, warm and starry. You looked up and smiled at him — that small, effortless smile that could knock the wind out of anyone. Pavitr forgot how to speak. Forgot how to breathe. Forgot that Gwen and Miles even existed. He just stared, dreamily, hopelessly, like he’d been waiting his whole life for that exact moment. Miles leaned in, whispering, “Uh… Gwen? Is he okay?” Gwen waved a hand in front of Pavitr’s face. “Pav? Hellooo? Earth to Mumbattan Spider‑Man?” Nothing. He was gone — floating somewhere in a romantic daydream with your name written all over it. Miles snapped his fingers. “Dude. You’re staring.” Gwen nudged his shoulder. “You’re drooling a little.” Pavitr snapped out of it with a sharp inhale, cheeks flushing. He swatted their hands away, irritated. “Stop—! I was having a moment!” he hissed under his breath, glaring at them like they’d just ruined the greatest love story ever told. Miles raised his hands. “My bad, Romeo.” Gwen smirked. “Should we leave you two alone?” Pavitr shot them both a look that said I will web you to the ceiling, then turned back toward you — softer now, almost shy. You were still there. Still smiling. Still making his heart do somersaults. And Pavitr realized, with absolute certainty: He was in love. Hopelessly. Completely. Beautifully. With his best friend. You stepped out of the classroom building, sunlight catching your hair, your bag slung over your shoulder. You were laughing softly at something on your phone, completely unaware of the chaos you were about to cause. Pavitr froze mid‑sentence. Time didn’t just slow down — it stopped. His heart did a dramatic flip. His brain short‑circuited. And in his mind, little glowing hearts floated around your face like a romantic anime scene. You looked up and smiled at him. Pavitr’s knees nearly gave out. Miles blinked. “Uh… did he just—pause?” Gwen waved a hand in front of Pav’s face. “Pav? Hello? You good?” Nothing. He was staring at you like you were the only person in the multiverse. You walked closer, curious. “Hey, Pav. Who are your friends?” Pavitr opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Miles whispered, “Oh wow. He’s broken.” Gwen snorted. “He’s in love. Look at him.” Pav finally snapped out of it, cheeks burning. He swatted their hands away. “Stop interrupting! I was— I was having a moment!” Miles raised his eyebrows. “A moment? Dude, you were staring like she hung the moon.” Gwen nudged him. “Introduce us, lover boy.” Pav shot them a glare, then turned back to you, trying desperately to act normal. “This—uh—these are my friends,” he said, voice cracking adorably. “Gwen and Miles. They’re visiting. From… uh… far away.” You smiled warmly. “Nice to meet you both.” Pavitr melted. He tried again, clearing his throat. “And this is—this is my best friend.” He gestured to you with a soft, almost reverent smile. “She’s… amazing.” You blushed. Miles elbowed Gwen. Gwen whispered, “He’s gone. Completely gone.” Pavitr ignored them, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing keeping him alive. And honestly? You kind of were. Miles snorted. Gwen tried to hold in a laugh. Pav spun around. “Can you two NOT right now? Seriously.” He turned back to you, instantly soft again. You giggled. “Everything okay?” “Yes—no—I mean yes,” he said quickly, trying to look composed. Miles whispered loudly, “He’s struggling.” Pav snapped, “STOP INTERRUPTING ME. I AM TRYING TO TALK TO—” He cut himself off before he said something embarrassing, then turned back to you with a shy smile. You laughed, and Pav’s irritation vanished like it never existed. He tried again, brushing his hair back. “So… um… if you’re not busy… maybe you could walk with us?” You smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.” Pav lit up instantly. Behind him, Gwen whispered, “He’s so whipped.” Miles nodded, “It’s adorable.” Pav turned around one last time, whisper‑snapping, “Please. I’m begging. Don’t ruin this.” Then he looked back at you — and instantly softened again, walking beside you like nothing else mattered.

*It was supposed to be a normal evening.* *Kaj had been careful he was always careful. The garter belt was a private thing, worn habitually beneath his clothes regardless of the occasion. Today was no different: a loose shirt, simple shorts, and underneath, the same quiet habit he had never once considered explaining to anyone. No one had ever seen. No one was ever meant to see.* *He hadn't heard you come back early.* *The moment the door swung open he felt it that split-second freeze where the air in the room changes and every instinct sharpens all at once. His ears snapped upright before his mind had fully caught up. He had been reaching for something on the lower shelf, shorts riding up just enough, and when he turned toward the sound you were already there. Standing in the doorway. Bag still on your shoulder. Eyes dropped exactly where they shouldn't be before you could stop them.* *The lace band sat neatly against his upper thigh, fully visible and impossible to miss.* ***His tail went completely still.*** *He straightened slowly, watching your face cycle through expressions you were trying very hard to control. Surprise. Confusion. And then something else something softer and more telling that you tried to bury by looking sharply at the wall beside him. Too late. He had already seen it.* *He reached up and adjusted his hair clip once.* "You're back early." *He said nothing more than that. Just watched as you grabbed whatever you had come back for, movements a little too hurried, a little too careful about where your eyes landed. You were heading back toward your room and that, he decided, was not going to happen.* "Hey." *His voice was soft. It always was. He stepped forward, not quickly, not urgently, just enough to fill the space between you and the hallway. His tail swayed once behind him, slow and deliberate.* "You're not going to say anything?" *He tilted his head, ears angled forward, watching your expression with that calm, unhurried attention he reserved for things that had suddenly become interesting. He let the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable before the corner of his mouth lifted barely, almost imperceptibly.* "You look like you've seen something terrible." He paused. "Have you?" *He already knew the answer. He could read it clearly in the set of your shoulders, in the way you were very carefully not looking below his waist. Not disgusted. Not even truly shocked. Just caught. Flustered in that specific, telling way that people were when something surprised them into honesty before they could think better of it.* *He took one more step. Unhurried. Closing the remaining distance just enough that you would have to look at him now.* "It's rude to stare, you know." *His tone carried no real accusation. If anything, he sounded almost amused.* "But then you didn't stare, did you. You looked away." *His head tilted the other direction, blonde ears swiveling with it.* "Why did you look away?" *He wasn't asking because he didn't know. He was asking because he wanted to hear what you would say. Because the answer whatever shape you tried to force it into would tell him something far more useful than the question itself.* *His tail curled slightly at the tip.* *He waited.* ***You should have come home on time.*** ***Then again — perhaps you came home at exactly the right moment after all.***

Se acerca un poco más de lo necesario, baja la voz -Estuvieron mirándote demasiado. Díme... ¿Estás bien? Quiero saber como te sientes ahora.

*The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and iron.* *The man lay rigid on the cot, sheets twisted in his fists. A wooden cross was clenched so tightly against his chest that his knuckles had turned pale. Sweat beaded across his forehead, sliding into the creases of his face as his breathing came shallow and uneven. The nurse stepped to his side with a damp cloth and gently pressed it to his brow.* “Shh… it’s alright,” *she said softly.* “Just breathe. Everything will be alright.” *She sat at the edge of the cot, trying to steady him, trying to anchor him.* “Look at me,” *she urged gently.* *The man’s eyes fluttered open.* *He did not look at her.* *He looked past her.* *His expression shifted not confusion, not pain.* *Recognition.* *His lips trembled.* “Death…” *he whispered.* *The monitor gave a sharp, uneven tone.* *And then his vitals plummeted.* *The nurse shot to her feet.* “Doctor! Doctor!” *she shouted, backing away from the bed as alarms began to ring.* “I need help in here!” *She turned and froze.* *Standing near the foot of the cot was a tall, cloaked figure draped in black so deep it seemed to swallow the light around him. The hood obscured everything but the pale, elongated mask beneath it carved, bone-like, emotionless.* *He had not moved. He had not needed to. Her breath caught. Her voice faltered into a whisper. No living person was meant to see him.* *Yet she did.* *And he was not surprised. There had always been a rare few whose eyes could pierce the veil between flesh and afterlife.* *She swallowed hard.* “What… what are you?” *Silence lingered for a moment, thick and still. When he spoke, his voice was low, steady neither cruel nor comforting.* “I am the one whom man fears,” *he said.* “I am the one you call Death.” *Her hand flew to her mouth, a soft gasp escaping her as she took half a step back.* “You killed him…” “No.” *The word was simple. Final. He turned his masked gaze toward the still body on the cot.* “Life is like an hourglass, my lady,” *he continued calmly.* “It inevitably runs out. And everyone's amount of sand is different. No two are alike.” *He looked back at her.* “This man’s sand is gone.” *Her mind struggled to grasp it.* “I don’t understand… Are you a demon? Something that takes souls?” *There was the faintest pause not hesitation, but consideration.* “You may think of it that way,” *he replied.* “Though I do not take what is not already surrendered.” *The room felt smaller now. Quieter. Even the alarms seemed distant, muffled.* “And where does he go?” *she whispered.* “That,” *Death said,* “is not my judgment to make.” *He stepped toward the bed.* *And for just a moment only a moment she saw something rise from the man’s body. A faint outline, uncertain, wavering. The soul.* *Death extended a gloved hand. The soul looked at him in silent understanding.* *Then it followed. No struggle. No force. Only inevitability. The nurse stood trembling, watching as both figure and spirit began to fade not vanishing abruptly, but thinning like smoke dissolving into shadow.* *Before he disappeared entirely, he paused.* “You see what others do not,” *he said quietly, not turning toward her.* “Be mindful of that gift.” *And then he was gone. The alarms still screamed. The doctors burst into the rooms But she knew something they did not. Death had not killed the man. He had simply arrived.*

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