#better together chapter 100

[currentlyverytired]

`better together' - Chapter 100

Chapter 100 is just chapter 1, however the numbers go down instead of up. this is in Naomi's pov. TY AND TRY TO ENJOY :D

The delicious aroma of the freshly baked muffins wafted up to me, and I took a deep breath in, admiring my work. This is perfect. I’m sure they will all love it.

“Naooooooooomi! Are you done yet? I can smell the muffins all the way from out here, they smell delish!!!” I laughed at Leo’s enthusiasm, equally excited to show them my newest recipe.

“Yup, nearly done, bringing them out right now!” I made my way to the back yard and was immediately greeted by cheers and hoorahs. “Finally, a feast is on its way!”

“Haha, calm down Leo, they aren’t going anywhere.”

“Says you, Xav, you were literally just as excited as Leo. Well, as excited as you can get with that lazy ass of yours.”

“Alright guys, let’s just say that we are all pumped up to try out Mimi’s muffins, ‘kay?”

“Ezra, don’t call me Mimi… you know how much I hate it.” I lamented, pouting at my best friend.

“Awww but it's such a cute nickname!” Ezra smiled, her perfect teeth gleaming in the bright sunlight. I frowned at her for a few seconds before breaking out into a smile. It was impossible to stay mad at Ezra.

“If you don’t let us try then we will all call you Mimi for the rest of your life! Pleaaaaaaaaase!” Leo jumped up and down, his face lit up in anticipation.

“Alright, alright. Treat yourselves!” I set down the plate of the muffins and Leo leapt at it like a starving tiger, quickly followed by the others. I smiled to myself, carving this precious moment into my memory.

“SO GOOD!!!” Leo exclaimed, his mouth full with the muffin, crumbs spraying out. Beaming, I bent down and ruffled his strawberry blonde hair, appreciating his constant compliments. I grasped one of the muffins and took a bite, hoping that it was as good as Leo said. The spongy texture collapsed under my tongue and the mild sweetness of the blueberries balanced the sourness of the lemon juice.

“Hmmm, not bad.” I stated, admiring my work of ‘art’.

“Not bad?! This is amazing! You really improved from last time. The flavors match a lot more and it looks a lot more aesthetically pleasing!” Ezra encouraged, and held up her hand for a high-five. I accepted it and cheered, knowing that if Ezra gave her approval, it was honestly good.

“What about you, Xav?” Ezra questioned, turning toward the eldest boy with a smile.

“Good enough that I would rather stay awake and eat them than go to sleep.”

“Hoorah! That’s a yes from him! I guess that this means the recipe was a success?” I asked.

“Definitely!”

“Without a doubt!”

“A success indeed.” All my friends chimed in, their joyful faces beaming at me. We laughed, filling the great nature air with our pleasant conversations about the times we’ve been through together, and the times yet to come. We chatted until the sun descended through the forest trees and the dusk light shone over us, the birds quieting their daytime melodies for the peaceful night ahead. We made our way back home together, the grass crunching softly under our bare feet. Waving goodbye to each other, we parted ways. All these special memories I share with my precious friends are as valuable as gold and diamonds to me.

I never want these times to end.

[queer-omens-in-the-archives]

Rumination (3/7)

Third instalment in our series of 7 Matt/Mello/Near drabbles written for @dnrarepairweek! :3 Prompts: successors, pining.

Near was left behind.

Rarepair: Matt/Mello/Near Other tags: The Kira Case, Wammy’s House

[read on AO3 or below] [series on AO3]

There have been no new enrollments since L and Watari’s deaths. With Matt gone, the room is nobody’s now.

Near often goes there to think.

Sometimes it’s about the Kira case: the clues he is gathering, what he will do to catch Kira.

Sometimes he hugs Mello’s pillow and inhales deeply, imagines he can still smell dark chocolate. Once or twice, he does the same with Matt’s, which has kept the scent of cold tobacco.

Sometimes he pictures different things. L not dead, Mello still here, Matt still glued to him, Near creeping in-between the two of them and staying.

[tasmanianstripes]

Amazing how it took the developers of Poppy Playtime two whole chapters to finally make a bare minimum of a functional game

[darkstaria]

Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul animal Au.

Chapter 8:

Summary: You awake in the manor, to the horror of yourself and the delight of others. What will happen to you now..?

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7.

Happy April fools!!! The joke is my writing schedule!

----

You were surrounded by a cloud. Soft, fluffy sheets swarmed you in its embrace, tugged you down into a gentle slumber.

You could barely make out a few words under the haze of a fever

“..... our… mate…!” One voice whispered, a trace of devotion in its words.

“Calm… vitals………to….okay.” This voice was grounded, trying to comfort.

In comparison to theirs, your own voice was weak, muffled. But you tried anyway.

“What…?” You muttered. The faces turned towards you. You squinted.

“Who…?”

One of the faces reached out. A hand rested on your cheek, stroking it, before moving to touch your forehead.

“Increase…dose.” Was the last you heard.

----

You woke up in a daze. Everything was hazy, and it took you what felt like several minutes to regain any sense of what had happened, let alone where you were. A subtle warmth nested close to your body, like that of a teddy bear. You pulled it closer.

Your head felt like it had been stuffed full with marshmallows. It was a weird mental image, but all you could think of. You reached out, feeling the texture of bandages around your head.

Well. You thought to yourself. That's not good. Your eyes snapped open.

Swiftly, you shoved the sheets off yourself, inspecting for injuries. The only bandage on you rested on your leg. You decided to leave it alone. There seemed to be some cuts and scrapes, which was expected. They were all treated though, which was not expected.

What was even less expected though, was the teen lying next to you on your bed. Strong features were softened by the pull of sleep, from whom you could only guess was Damian Wayne. The both of you were seemingly surrounded by bats and birds. They were all there, all six of them. Wait.. six? Didn't you have seven soulmates? You turned around in confusion, and made direct eye contact with the bat that rested on a nearby desk.

Ah. So that’s where Batman’s soul form went.

You froze, unsure of what to do with this new development. The bat just stared, watching.

You didn't run. You didn't hide. It was paralyzing, that stare, freezing you down to your very bones. What could you do in the face of eyes that saw all?

In the end you decided to gently tug yourself out of Damian Wayne’s clinging arms, inch by inch. It took longer than you wanted, but the method worked. You didn't look at the bat anymore, it scared you.

Done with your self inspection, you turned forward, finding yourself in an ornate room, about twice as big as the room you lived in at home, and triple as expensive. You slowly stood up, beginning to gaze around the room.

Shelves were lined with your hobbies, your favorite books lined the shelves, hell, they were even collector editions. You picked up a plushie that was lying on your bed. You twisted it around some.

“What the…?” You whispered.

It was completely identical to the one you had at home. Every mark was identical, down to the stitches and stuffing. How did they make them the same? …Were they the same plushie?

The worst part of it all was… the room felt like you. It felt familiar, as if it was you that had put it together, that you had designed it. Every detail, down to the colour of paint, felt like it had been designed by you. Just 100 percent more expensive. Well, except for one detail.

There were golden bars on the window.

They were the darkness in the familiar light that was your room. Out of place, as unnatural as the teen resting on your- The Bed. A part of you urged to investigate, the other wary of who you were rooming with. In the end, you came to a simple conclusion. It’d be better to leave the room.

You slowly slunked over to the opulent door, inch by inch, step by step. Your heart began to hammer, increasing its beat with every decrease of distance to your salvation.

You didn't look back. There was no point.

It was only when your hand rested on the handle, ready to pull it down and escape that you relaxed. Muscles unclenching, breathing deeper.

“You’re awake.”

Only to tense right back up. You turned around.

Damian Wayne was awake.

And… so were the soul animals. Or maybe they were already awake, just watching, staring.

His stare was piercing, hiding an emotion you couldn't quite comprehend. He wanted something, something you weren't sure you could give to him.

There was only one thing you could do, at that point.

The door slammed open. Short tight breaths kept you company as you escaped, deep into the darkness that is Wayne Manor.

----

Wayne Manor was a maze. It was a giant, sprawling beast, lined with corridor after corridor, hall after hall. You'd suck into one room to check if there were any escape routes, only to find more barred windows. The next room gave the same result.

These efforts began to tire you, the adrenaline fading out, leaving you alone with the aches and sores developed by the past few days. You blinked away the sleepiness. You couldn't stop now.

Or… Maybe you could actually, as you opened the door and came face to face with what could only be Wayne Manor’s butler.

“Good Evening.” He stated, giving no reaction whatsoever to your disheveled appearance, nor your horrified face. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth. I am the Wayne family’s butler.”

Ah… You paused for a moment. Well that confirmed it, didn't it. Batman was Bruce Wayne. Or at the very least closely tied. For him to be telling you this…Batman must think you'll never get a chance to reveal his identity. You weren't a threat.

You're in too deep. The shallow water you were born in has finally started to drag you down.

You're sinking.

You struggle to focus on what the butler is saying, but you remember some of it. Something about lunch..?

“I.. um, actually Alfred.” You pause, thinking of the right words.

He pauses too, taking a moment to observe you. “Yes? What is it?”

“I was wondering actually, if you wouldn't mind showing me to the exit? I don't think I should be here.” You fake a laugh, as if you could just wave the situation away.

“Ah. I do think that is something you'll have to talk to Master Bruce about yourself. If you'd like, I'd be happy to show you to his office.”

His office?

“Haha….” You smile. It feels as fake as you feel. “No thanks, I'd rather just go to.. um, lunch, was it? I wouldn't want to bother him anyways.”

“I rather suspect he’ll be coming down to see you anyways, now that you're awake.” The butler replied, matter-of-factly.

“...Actually I'm not hungry.”

The butler just raised an eyebrow.

You gave an awkward smile, turning away just as an awful stomping sound rang out, and a body collided with yours.

Your name was shouted, in such a gleeful tone, arms tightening around your waist in a collapsing hug.

“You’re awake!” The face of who could only be Dick Grayson greeted you, his soul animal fluttered down to your shoulder and rubbing its face against your cheek, just as clingy as its owner was.

“Ah. Hi.” You attempted. Oh god.

“I'm so happy to see you!” You attempted to grapple out of his grip, but it was like wrestling with an octopus, he perfectly countered every attempt you made with a grin, until he managed to pin both your arms to your back with a single hand.

“I was so worried for you! You’ve always been an expert at avoiding attention, but even the Joker isn't just someone you can avoid. You aren't still hurt anywhere, are you?” Grayson maneuvered you around a bit, checking you over in all different places. Even the robin was contributing, peering deeply to look for any ‘injuries’. You put a stop to it once he attempted to lift your shirt.

“Excuse me!” You protested. “Can you please stop pawing at me, we just met! And mind you, shouldn't you be aware of any injuries given that I've been treated for them here?!”

He paused, staring at you. You continued.

“Look, I'm sorry for shouting, but I've had a really bad night, and I'd greatly appreciate it if I could just go home.” The end of your sentence turned into a sort of a plea, desperation you were loath to reveal sneaking through.

If you played your cards right, perhaps they'd let you go home. Maybe with extra security or some nonsense, but you could still remain disconnected from this hellish family. That was what you hoped.

“Oh, little one, I'm sorry.” Dick Grayson replied, even more concern seeping into his face. “But you don't have to worry any more. After all…You are home.”

You stared at him for a moment.

“Haha.” You stated.

“You meant I am at your home, right?” You were breaking down. Denial was all you had left.

“No silly!” He replied.

“This is where you belong, where you've always belonged. You were always going to be with us, just as you should be. Otherwise, why would we have your soul animal?”

He smiled. It was a brilliant, searing sun.

It burned.

You teared up. You sniffled.

“Awww, baby.” He cooed, warmly stroking your cheek. “Don't worry. You'll always be with us now. Now and forever.” Soft condescension was reflected in his eyes. You couldn't bear it.

He rested his head on yours, eyes closed with a warm grin. His hug was tight.

The bandage on your leg throbbed.

----

You were not enjoying lunch. Oh sure the food was delicious and the view inside the manor was immaculate but that wasn't that problem.

It was the company.

‘I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home.’ You silently chanted in your mind, feeling sweat go down your cheek.

You had just barely managed to extract Grayson from you, as a matter of fact he was currently sitting right next to you, chair far too close to comfort with a beaming grin.

The atmosphere was very awkward, at least you would say so, as you were currently being stared down by some very eager faces. To your relief, not everyone had shown up yet (although if the butler was to be believed they would all be arriving very eagerly for dinner).

At the table was obviously Dick Grayson, but also Bruce Wayne, and… Tim Drake.

You didn't want to look at him, to face his betrayal, so you kept looking away, although that didn't stop his insistent gaze. Unfortunately your own turning away came with a caveat that was instead locking eyes with Bruce Wayne, which was somehow even worse. You silently wondered how noticeable your shaking was. Grayson’s hand sneakily grabbing your hand from under the table told you that it was very.

You managed to dodge any questions by simply pointing to your food whenever you were asked, an effort that the butler supported you in. It wasn't polite to talk with your mouth full, thank god.

You barely managed to eat enough of the food, it's delicious flavours landing like lead in your stomach.

“I’m finished. Can I be excused? I need to use the bathroom?” And hopefully find the nearest window to launch myself out of, you silently added.

“I’ll take you!” The joint voices of both Grayson and Drake called out, to their own surprise and subsequent glares.

‘Oh boy.’ You silently thought.

“Boys, boys.” The rich voice of Wayne called out, disrupting what was the beginning of an argument. “We can all go, I'm sure it's about time we take them to their room anyways.” Great, you officially had your own room. At least that meant you'd have some expectation of privacy… right?

The walk was just about as enjoyable as lunch.

So it was horrible.

Wayne Manor was an abyss, a dark void that stretched on and on and on. How any of the residents navigated it on any consistent basis was a complete mystery to you.

What was worse was Grayson’s insistent questions and rambles, often countered by Drake’s own questions and counters. It felt less like a conversation and more like a tug of war. It even became a literal tug of war for a bit, as Grayson’s tugging at your hand prompted Drake to do the same to your other.

Thankfully, you arrived at The Room before things got too out of hand.

You stared at it. It was right beside the room you woke up in the morning. That was not a good sign.

Grayson flung open the doors, shouting out a joyous “Welcome home!” that you tried your best to ignore.

The Room was beautiful, was your first thought.

It was like some sort of bird paradise. Countless places for birds to land, pillows lining the room. In the very middle lay a gigantic bed, lined with what looked to be the softest cushions you had ever seen in your entire life.

But the windows were still lined with golden bars. Just like the room you awoke in.

And beside that bed, was Damian Wayne. But for once, a Wayne family member’s attention wasn't fixated on you, instead, it was on his arm, where a little, fluffy, bird rested.

It was a dove.

----

Reader's soul animal reveal AYOOOOO yes I planned it to be a dove from the start, isn't that cool, also the bars on the windows are golden because reader is quite literally a bird in a gilded cage, please clap.

Where was Damian during the whole lunch? Keeping Dove Reader company as well as the other birds. Bruce didn't want to overwhelm and Damian is always particularly concerned with the welfare of animals, so it's like getting two birds with one stone (okay that's admittedly an odd metaphor in this context).

Heyyyyy. So uh, I guess I took a while?

Okay I'm sorry.

I have three excuses. I'm very recently dealing with very unfortunate family matters that sucks. Also, I kinda just fell out of the fandom for a bit because I got sucked into a different one (dude why does Zelda have so many fanfics). And finally I just had writers block, I invested so much time into thinking about the journey of getting kidnapped forever that I just didn't think too much about the aftermath haha.

But! I did write other short Batfam stuff! And I really wanted to post that, but I felt it wouldnt be what everyone wants, so I held off. Now that I've updated, I'm free to! So you hopefully that's fun.

And I think I'll make a short separate post for this, but I'm not going to add any more people to the taglist. It's very difficult for me to manage, and I'll shortly be sorting out my ao3 so people can get update notifications without any faff.

Thank you to everyone who reached out, I am in fact okay, and very happy I managed to write this chapter.

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx @hadesnewpersephone @neerathebrightstar @mel-star636 @jaythes1mp @rosecentury @lov3vivian @gaozorous-rex-blog @victoria1676 @vrsin @silverklaus @ryukyuin @kurai-hono-blog @thisisafish123 @isawyourbrowserhistory @ain-t-no-way-bsfr @realifezompire @lunaluz432 @nickey-diano @sukiiluvs @sara0055 @alleakimlala @kdidgg @paperhermits @alishii @emmbny @sirenetheblogger @fantasy-angelo @andrasia @vinnvinnvintage @nyra-42 @armystaysatnct @beyond-your-stars @starsdotalk @adeptusxia0 @jailbimbo @yandereheros @sxftiebee @i-have-three-feelings @toast-on-dandelioms @lyl-3 @sitepathos @pato-spoiler-27 @ghostdoodlen @phoenixgurl030 @problematicreblogger

@sociallyakwardpanda @imaginarydreams @zanzie @yuyuzi-ling @soriansick @f1lover4ever @kiikkey @elizzsush @raincxtter @luoyi85 @yune1337 @erikasurfer @thekingofsimps @chaosbeanuwu @snowy-violets @nommingonfood @yandere-enthusiast @nb-babygirl @demonqueen-1 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @winter67890-blog

[evilgwrl]

Neighbour!Simon Riley x Reader

Girl Next Door (Three)

CW: Someone breaks into your garden but nothing violent occurs (beside Simon having a gun), u share a bed (nothing happens yet sorry...), simon also has very perverted thoughts about you and wants to act on them very badly!!!!

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

Note: sorry I haven’t been posting as much I’ve been out 24/7!!!!! I will make up for it 🥲 sorry if this is bad

Your fingers coiled into a tight fist, ramming against the door with obscene force. You weren’t even 100% sure what time it was, or if he would answer but you were desperate and scared. Simon’s eyes jolted open at the disturbance, groaning in annoyance as he rolled out of bed. His body was clad with loose checkered sleep shorts, his hip bones peeking out as he etched towards the noise.

Beady pools of brown leaned into the peephole, the sight of you nearly sending him into anaphylactic shock as he took in your appearance. Your cleavage was plush against the silken material, nipples pearling under the twilight. His cock chubbed as he took you in briefly before he opened the door, your eyes wide with… fear?

“Simon, I’m so sorry, I’m-“ You stammered over your words, rushing frantically back and forth as you rubbed your arms anxiously, your hair raised with the static of consternation.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” His tone was curt, almost confused as he took in your frantic state. What on earth could you need him for at this time of night?

“There’s someone in my backyard.”

Simon looked at you briefly, taking in what you said before reacting, pushing you inside as you stumbled to the couch. He moved with urgency, grabbing you by the arm and leading you to his bedroom as he ordered you to stay put, digging around in his nightstand before feverish hands wrapped around carbon steel, the all too familiar feel of a gun sending his body into over-drive as he slammed his door shut.

You panted, your heart exceeding against the walls of your rib cage, creasing through every crevice as your throat wound up, not only at the intruder but how it was almost second nature for Simon to protect you, to kill for you if needed. Were guns even legal here?

Your back was flush against his singular pillow, your thighs nestled together before a small gasp left your lip. You weren’t even wearing panties. Jesus Christ. You were in your hot neighbour’s house, in his bed, panty-less. You almost laughed at how cliché it was, and if the timing had been better, maybe you wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable by it, but you were scared.

What if the man next door was a serial killer and he took out Simon and was coming for you next? What if he was out to get you? What if the police don’t come in time and he gets away? Simon wouldn’t let that happen, you thought to yourself. Who were you kidding? You barely knew Simon.

Your hands pooled with sweat as you rubbed them together, your head now caged in by his pillow. The silence was perpetual, almost suffocating, the hairs in your ear tickling your nerves as you closed your eyes, praying for the sound of sirens or even yelling.

You felt like you had been here for hours, your muscles locked up, spine tense with perturbation, nails drawing blood at the flesh of your exposed thigh, the light patter of hair standing up straight as you listened to the sound of your breathing, the agitation and struggle behind it.

It was soft but you heard it — the normally dreadful sound of sirens, etching closer and closer by the second as your taughtened limbs relaxed slightly, the sound of Simon’s voice calling out to you, almost as if he was permitting you to move. Your bare feet padded against the floor; your arms self-unconsciously wrapped around your chest as you were greeted by bright, blaring lights.

You watched as a man was handcuffed, his skin a deep olive, arms littered with tattoos and a deep scar that ran from his wrist to elbow. His eyes were almost violent, a putrid green staring into your soul, almost swallowed whole by his pupils. You felt chills as he turned to face you, pointy canines lashing out of his thin lips, the stained colour glistening with spit as his voice sounded out to you, “I’m sorry Ma’am, got the wrong house, you see. Didn’t mean you any harm.”

He was ushered into the back of the cop car, your throat parched as your eyes narrowed in on the intruder, your breathing still shallowed as you felt a cold hand placed on your shoulder. Your body reacted, skin crawling with fear as you turned to look at Simon. You took in his face, the tone of pink that flushed his lips, the blonde lashes that concealed his bistre eyes, the slight imperfections in his skin that made him more masculine.

You read his lips, your ears ringing with a deafening tone as you grounded yourself.

“Y’ alright?”

“I- Uh, I guess. I don’t know. It was scary, I was- caught up in something and I looked out the window and just saw a figure. I’m sorry for d-“

“Don’t apologise. I’m glad you came to me, I’m sorry if I scared you.. with the gun and all. I, uh, work in the military so it’s kind of second nature to me.”

You were right. He did work in the military. You smiled, almost too softly, the crease of your cheeks barely evident but he noticed it. His eyes milked in how nervous you looked, how frightened your body stood and how thankful you were that he was able to help you. Simon didn’t join the military to protect neighbours, even the pretty ones, but he was sure glad it gave him the ability to do so.

The night dragged on, a female cop with rugged eyes grabbing a statement from you before they finally deemed it okay to go, patrolling the man off for further questioning. You felt almost relieved. You should feel better now. It was over and you were safe but the reaction your body felt towards the man wasn’t normal, the way your skin crawled, almost as if infested internally, bugs burrowing between your veins.

Simon’s voice cut your thoughts off again, his hand on the small of your back as your eyes connected. He could read the fear in them, the way your irises dilated, and your lashes burrowed into slick eyelids.

“Y’ gonna be alright tonight?” He asked, his body standing tall as he looked down on you. He felt like shrinking, his spine folding so he could feel less intimidating, to seem more caring, compassionate even.

Your tongue stilled, tying a knot in your mouth as you stuttered over the pools of spit that coiled between your teeth. “I think so.” Your tone was hesitant, your legs shaking against the porch as you rubbed your arms with both hands.

“Do you- Do you wanna sleep at mine tonight? I’ll take the couch.”

Your eyes met Simon’s, lapping in the sincerity that rattled between each syllable he spoke. “Oh no! I couldn’t possibly put you off anymore, I don’t want to cause any more disturbance, you’ve done enough.”

“I promise it’s no effort, it would make me feel better anyway if I thought you were more comfortable here.”

“Are you sure?” Your voice was small as you shuffled nervously. Surprisingly, he smiled, pushing his front door open further as you huddled in. You took in the atmosphere once more, noting how clean it was, how untouched. He set up his room for you, offering you another blanket to which you politely declined, your body felt like molten lava, pure heat scorching through your skin as you settled onto the mattress. You watched the way his body contracted, finally being able to admire the way his muscles flexed, arms stained with a plethora of drawn ink. His back was rough, detailed with a litter of scars, supported by his burly physique.

“Simon,” you called out as he began to shut the door. His eyebrow perked. “I feel bad about you sleeping on the couch. I- I don’t mind sharing, I don’t want to be weird, I just feel like I’m taking away your bed.”

“Just want you to be comfortable, love, that’s all.”

You patted the sheets next to you, offering him a smile, the light rosiness of your cheeks visible in the soft shimmer of the moonlight. Your body curled to the side, your back to him as you whispered a soft ‘good night’. It was strange. You had shared a bed with previous partners, but it never felt like this. Maybe it was the taboo of it all, your body heat melting into the sheets of your neighbour who you had only properly met yesterday.

Your thighs knocked together, settling at the edge of the bed as you shut your eyes, lashes flickering open occasionally when you were greeted with the eerie sight of the man who broke into your backyard.

Simon struggled to sleep too, his cock throbbing as he faced you. He took in the way your hair fell softly against the apple of your cheek, and the way your eyes would open on occasion which he assumed was due to nerves. He took in the way your nightgown had ridden up the back of your thighs, your legs coiled together in an attempt to not break his personal space.

He almost felt like flushing up against you, letting you feel the ache of his member, the way his tip leaked with pearly pre-cum, staining his sleep shorts. His fingers nearly reached out, pulling your legs apart to rock his tongue into your bare cunt, fucking your entrance with vigour as you soaked his muscle with your slick. He wanted to split you open on his cock, let his length stain your walls with every vein that flushed his shaft, spilling his hot seed into your womb as you begged him for more.

But he didn’t. He just turned around.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS in Hogwarts AU

AN: Hi anon, thank you for requesting. This was an awesome one to write. Some of these could be multi chaptered but alas I am a woman of few words and even meagre attention span.

Request: a request!! harry potter au :D love and deepspace and harry potter are my two favourites ^^ thank you!!!

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader

Ingredients: 100% Fluff (damn, this is rare)

My Fav: Sylus and Caleb...this is a trend (tell me which ones you like pls)

Xavier:

He is the legacy Slytherin. Pureblood prince of a faraway kingdom, the kind with a family vault older than the castle and buildings named after them.

He sleeps through class but still scores the highest. Doesn’t take notes, but his potions always come out textbook perfect, somehow even better than the textbook.

Even Snape, ever the grump, seems to favor him.

He was your enemy. At least, he was supposed to be.

The nepo baby. The one who walked into Hogwarts with an heirloom wand and a last name that made professors stand up straighter.

You, who ran away from home for magic, scraping together acceptance letters and scholarships, walking into the castle with nerves and nothing else. You, who earned your place.

You hated him. Hated how the system seemed built for boys like him. How Slytherin’s points climbed every time he so much as blinked. How he didn’t fight for the respect he got. He just had it.

And worst of all? He was nice.

Quietly. Gently. Infuriatingly nice.

He held doors open without thinking. Helped carry books for first-years. Always paired with the struggling students in class because, “Well, they need a win, don’t they?”

He never rubbed it in. Never gloated. Never treated you like you were less, which made it worse, somehow. Because you wanted to hate him. Needed to.

But then he looked at you, really looked at you, and smiled like you were someone worth smiling at.

And that… was the beginning of the end.

Rafayel:

You sighed when yet another chair was dragged next to yours at the Hogwarts staff table. At this rate, they might just push you off the end completely.

But alas, such is the fate of a muggle-subjects professor in a school where “Calculus” might as well be a curse word. You’re used to the disinterest, the disapproval. The dark arts will always win over derivatives.

You’re halfway through mentally drafting your resignation letter when the new professor takes his seat, by replacing his legs with an enormous siren tail and dramatically splashing half your legroom away.

"Hello," he says, smiling with too many teeth. "Rafayel. Art professor. Lovely to meet you."

You stare. Shake his webbed hand. Stammer your name.

And then it hits you.

Arts. No magic.

Another outsider. Well—not quite the same. But close enough.

To your complete dismay, Rafayel’s subject is met with none of the disdain yours is. Students flock to his class like he’s handing out enchanted paintbrushes dipped in prophecy. Somehow, he’s the cool muggle professor.

You want to be mad.

But he keeps bringing you snacks during staff meetings. And drawing you in charcoal between grading.

So maybe you forgive him. A little.

Zayne:

“Classroom windows need to be elevated above the two-foot mark,” the man drones, leading you through Hogwarts like he built it himself.

The Ministry has to be trolling you. There’s no other explanation for sending him again.

Zayne. The most regulation-obsessed official alive. The man who’s turned passive-aggression into an Olympic sport.

“Yes, of course, Zayne,” you smile with false sweetness. “Filch and I will get right on it.” (Translation: I will do it while Filch glares and mutters about unions.)

He ignores you. Of course he does. Groundskeepers aren’t worth Ministry time.

Then he stops, turns, and hands you a thick folder. “Every storage hinge in the castle needs to be updated to a new spell protocol. Instructions inside.”

You want to hurl it at his head.

Instead, you smile. “Got it.”

What you don’t know: Zayne spent weeks compiling that list. Researching every obscure policy he could dig up.

All just to have an excuse to come talk to you.

He even bribed Filch to stay out of the way.

So that later, when you’re elbow-deep in cursed cabinet screws, he can show up with dinner.

Professionally, of course.

He’s not an amateur.

Sylus:

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was… a piece of work.

Many a student, mostly girls, a few brave boys, and one very dramatic portrait on the third floor, called him a work of art.

You agreed.

Which was fair, considering you hired him.

Sylus. Your oldest friend. Keeper of far too many of your secrets. Former war general, occasional assassin, and man bound by an ancient oath not to die. Because of course he is.

Was it an HR nightmare? Absolutely.

Did it matter? Not even a little.

You’re the principal with the most peaceful term Hogwarts has seen in decades. No cursed classrooms. No dark lords. No goblin incidents in the West Tower.

They can’t afford to question your hiring decisions, not when it’s working. Even if “working” currently includes the students placing bets on whether the two of you are dating, dueling, or doomed.

There are whispers. Screams, really. Squeals in the hallways every time Sylus leans a little too close during staff meetings. Every time he calls you, by your name, letting go of the official address, with that knowing smile that turns half the seventh-years into puddles.

You pretend not to notice. You also pretend not to see the doodles left behind in your healing arts studies classroom, little hearts drawn in ink, a chemical formula twisted cleverly into your ship name.

"Ten points to Ravenclaw," you murmur with a smirk, holding up the notebook for him to see.

Caleb:

They called it the sweetest story in Diagon Alley.

The Quidditch coach who kept showing up at the same little pub after every match, “for the butterbeer,” he claimed.

(He absolutely couldn’t handle it. Turned red after two sips. Giggled after three. Once tried to do a victory dance and knocked over an entire broom display.)

And the innkeeper, you, who always kept a room open. “Just in case,” you said, as if he wasn’t the reason you looked out the window every Friday night.

Together, you became the unofficial mom and dad to every half-injured, half-homesick player who passed through. Post-win snacks. Pep talks before tryouts. Holiday dinners for those who didn’t go home.

You weren’t just a couple. Your relationship was a blessing.

So of course, when Caleb finally proposed, it had to be with the team. After a big win. Pub packed, cheers echoing off the enchanted ceiling.

He slipped the ring into your butterbeer. A cute idea, in theory.

But you’d just taken a deep sip when he got down on one knee.

Cue: choking, gasping, sputtering.

Half the league panicked. Someone shouted, “She’s dying!” And Caleb, red-faced and frantic, performed the Heimlich in front of two full tables of junior league athletes and at least one reporter.

The ring did come out. Eventually.

You said yes, coughing.

He cried anyway. Ugly, happy, overjoyed tears.

[theliteraryarchitect]

5 Reasons NOT to Use Multiple Point of View (and What to Do Instead)

I've been meaning to make this post for a long time. As a developmental editor, I see a LOT of manuscripts that use multiple point of view (where each scene or chapter is from the perspective of a different character), when they really should be using a classic single character POV. Over the years, I've come to the conclusion that writers see multiple POV as a solution to problems that really shouldn't be solved that way. Basically, they're using it for the wrong reasons. And when that happens, instead of making the story more awesome, multiple POV can actually weaken it.

Here are five of the most common reasons writers choose multiple POV (and why those reasons might be a problem). Don’t worry—I’ll also share what to do instead.

1. You Don’t Know What Your Story Is About

Sometimes, when writers aren’t 100% clear on their story’s main conflict, theme, or plot, they reach for multiple POV. It feels like a fix—after all, why focus on one perspective when you can try out a little of this and a little of that?

Here’s the thing: multiple POV actually requires you to be more clear about your story, not less. Readers will naturally look for a thread that ties all the perspectives together, and if that thread isn’t there, the story will feel scattered or aimless.

What to Do Instead: Take a step back. If you’re feeling unsure about what your story is really about, try some journaling or outlining. Ask yourself:

What’s the main conflict?

Who’s the central character?

Why am I telling this story?

Often, writers discover they actually have one protagonist, and a limited third or first-person perspective would work better. If you still feel like multiple POV is the right call, go for it! Just be sure to periodically revisit your outline to make sure the story hasn’t “gotten away” from you. (Multiple POV has a sneaky way of doing that.)

2. You Haven’t Developed Your Characters

Multiple POV doesn’t work unless each character is fully developed. Every POV character needs their own voice, journey, and reason for being in the story. If they can’t stand on their own, readers will notice.

What to Do Instead: Before assigning a POV, ask yourself:

Is this character compelling enough to hold the reader’s attention?

Do they add something essential to the story that no one else can?

If the answer is no, it might be better to stick with a single POV. Sometimes less is more.

3. You Can’t Decide on a POV Character

This one is common, especially in early drafts. You’re still figuring out your story, and it’s hard to choose whose perspective should take center stage.

What to Do Instead: Experiment! Write key scenes from different characters’ perspectives. Often, the strongest voice will make itself known as you go. And remember: just because you write a draft with multiple POV doesn’t mean you can’t narrow it down later.

4. You Need to Share Information Your POV Character Doesn’t Have

Ah, the classic "But how do I show this thing the protagonist doesn’t know?" dilemma. This is probably the most common reason I see writers reach for multiple POV. It’s tempting to throw in a chapter or two from another character’s perspective just to share that extra bit of information.

The problem? Those chapters often feel disconnected from the rest of the story. Every POV character needs to carry their weight, and dropping in a random narrator just for convenience can leave readers feeling unsatisfied.

What to Do Instead: There are other ways to get information across. Here are a few ideas:

Educated Guesses: Let your main character speculate. (“Iris kept tapping her pencil on the desk. Was she nervous about the meeting earlier?”)

Show, Don’t Tell: Use actions, dialogue, or other clues to reveal what another character might be thinking.

Bring in a New Element: Introduce a third character, a conflict, or even an object that reveals something important.

Overhearing or Spying: Yes, it’s a little cliché, but when used sparingly, it can work in a pinch.

5. You’re Looking for an Easy Way Out

Let’s be honest: multiple POV can feel like a catch-all solution to tough storytelling problems. Need to fix pacing? Add another POV! Can’t figure out how to make the ending work? Add another POV!

But here’s the truth: multiple POV is actually harder than other POVs. You’re not just developing one character—you’re developing several, and you have to tie all their perspectives into a cohesive whole.

What to Do Instead: Focus on nailing the story with a single POV first. Once you’re confident the core of the story is solid, you can decide if adding other perspectives will truly enhance it.

In Summary

Multiple POV is a powerful tool, but it’s not a shortcut. It requires careful planning and strong execution. If you’re considering it, ask yourself:

Does every POV character bring something unique to the story?

Am I clear on the main conflict and theme?

Could this story be told just as well (or better) with a single POV?

Sometimes, the simplest route is the best one.

Hope this helps!

/ / / / / / / / / / /

@theliteraryarchitect is a writing advice blog run by me, Bucket Siler, a writer and developmental editor. For more writing help, download my Free Resource Library for Fiction Writers, join my email list, or check out my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers.

[wombywoo]

do you have any ghostsoap favorite fics, perhaps?

boy do I....

I should preface this by saying that I'm pretty...particular with what types of fics I enjoy reading (I only like certain character interpretations/tropes/writing styles, etc) so bear with me...

These are all mostly canon-compliant, non-AUs, ones that I regard highly~

Seasons--by StinglessWasp: This is pretty much my go-to fic rec for anyone into CoD and ghostsoap in general. It showcases everything I love about these characters, in a setting that feels as authentic to the games as possible, while also exploring the depth and sincerity hidden under the surface. So well-written and paced--the dialogue and military references all contribute to that 'feels like a mission out of the game' experience. Plus, I just love this interpretation of our boys--the humor, the inner struggles, the intimacy--Wasp 100% *gets* these characters and it's a joy to read <3

Except You, You Can Stay--by Iravaid: While this one isn't *technically* ghostsoap until the last chapter, in my opinion, it's required reading for anyone who gives a shit about Simon Riley. This is *the* character study--an intimate dissection of Ghost's past that seems so realistic and grounded, you forget how ludicrous those comics really are. Ira takes such care in treating these heavy topics with delicacy and effectiveness. Each chapter has you going 'oh wow, this is even better than the last', but as a whole--it's a stunning, fleshed-out glimpse into Simon as the character he was always meant to be. And the final chapter which eases you into his relationship with Johnny is so authentic and sweet, it just makes perfect sense that they should be together, and that this poor poor man deserves some goddamn love <3

bleeding in the house of god--by revolvermonkcelot: This is a really great 'missing scene' fic, a perfect opportunity to explore the in-between moments that the game so carelessly chooses to gloss over. I can't praise Monk's writing enough--it's slick and crisp and very tasty; the imagery just jumps off the page and you can practically feel the sweat. Plus, the dialogue exchanges between our two boys are so well-timed and in-character--love all the slang and British references~ This whole fic reads like an addition to their mission flirting, and I'm all for it! You can truly tell this author has such deep understanding and experience with this franchise (winkwinkwink, this is a joke) Read it--it's good!

The Dead are all Living--by Kabbal: This fic blew me away when I first read it. It's such a unique take on the retirement trope, I just adore this interpretation of Simon as an aging recluse while he builds his home. I tend to lean towards more subtle, grounded characterizations of Mr Riley, and this really fits the bill. All of these glimpses and fragments into his post-military life contribute to an overarching love story; the scenes with Johnny are so poignant, it's like you're pining alongside them both. I love how not-perfect they are; flawed and difficult and real. There are some moments and lines that just....struck something in me so deeply. I'm sure I'll still be thinking about it for a long long time <3

Portrait of Taction--by a_platypus: Another Simon-centric fic that I absolutely love. The character voice in this is off the charts, I can hear him so vividly in all of his inner dialogue and stunted attempts at conversation. Simon is so endearingly dense in this fic, you're just waiting for him to finally get his act together, but the clumsy, oblivious steps he takes in his relationship with Soap are truly a treat to read. I love this version of Johnny too--confident and considerate, but still hopelessly crushing on his superior. It's comedic, well-written, and the paragraphs describing Soap's journal give some of the best insights into his character I've seen <3

come on, haunt me--by flyby2: This was a really good long fic that I took my time savoring. What could have been a typical 'on leave' fic instead took time to develop a unique spin on the backstories as well as throwing our boys into some wholesome encounters. Both Soap and Ghost felt very true to character, and I appreciate the exploration of PTSD and the subsequent struggles that come along with...all that. There was a really nice balance in having their romance spread across the chapters, and I can promise a very sweet, happy conclusion <3

in the mess of it all--by flowersferns: A lovely one-shot that exhibits some of my favorite aspects of these two characters. I'm a sucker for 'one of them is hurt, the other is freaking out, they are both idiots in love, etc'. There are some really great dialogue and character moments in this, plus the overall prose hits hard. Love this take on their romance--the mutual trust, the familiarity of their bond. And just the general theme of impermanence--the inevitability of what this relationship means for them--two soldiers, willing and ready to sacrifice their lives at a moment's notice, still clinging to each other because...god...that's all they have---big fan of this :'D <3

Lapsus--by Lisbetadair: Another really great one-shot and 'missing scene' fic. The authenticity in the writing is spot-on--it's like you can feel Soap's pain right off the bat. I love how smoothly the banter flows between the two, and the attention to detail and references all help lend to that 'hardened military man' exterior. Ghost smelling like flowers because of a face wipe is such a delightful addition, plus the scene where Soap is, ah, donald-ducking it in just a t-shirt with his jewels out is such a funny mental image, I still think of it fondly from time to time. It's funny, it's surprisingly cute, it's very in-character. Stick around for some awkward but adorable cuddles <3

I'm sure I have more to recommend, but these are the ones I can personally endorse for now~

[missnxthingg]

𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬, 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑳𝑫 . (𝑺𝑴𝑨𝑼 𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵) - 𝑇𝐻𝑅𝐸𝐸

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 - Little throwback to Lando's win in Miami for the sake of the story. I think we all Lando girlies need to relieve this for a moment 🧡 raise a hand if you miss this moment (bc I surely do).

original chapter | series masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

yourusername

London, England

yourusername Enjoying some time with my best friend at home 💖

landonorris wonder who gave her that dollhouse 🤔

landonorris my pretty girls, i miss you

↪ yourusername stop whinning and go enjoy ur trip, dickhead (we miss u too) ↪ landofan4 friendship goals fr

ln4stan Ollie is the cutest omg

yourmomusername What lovely ladies! I love you

↪ yourusername we love you, momma

username1 we need to see this duo with lando again

f1gossip

f1gossip Lando Norris is enjoying King's Day with his friend, Martin Garrix, in Amsterdam, and ended up getting his nose injured. What do you think happened?

username1 did he get into a fight????

username2 for fuck sake, we have a race in a week!

username3 omg bless y/n so she can try making his image better for the media in miami

username4 i NEED to know what happened with him

username5 @.yourusername mother, feed us with info, please! 🥺

yourusername added to their stories

Caption: He's well and alive, might kill him later for the scare (just a glass cut, no fighting)

landonorris added to their stories

Caption: This is an apology for making her so concerned about a nose cut

landopriv added to their stories

Caption: Gave her the scare of her life @.yourusername and made up to her after a cuddling afternoon, brunch, NBA game and tomorrow the beach

↪ yourusername replied to your story: all forgiven after the pampering 💘 ↪ landopriv: love you, idiot

yourusername added to their stories

Caption: Who let this idiot bring a camera along with him? Keep him away from me. Every time I blink: FLASH!

↪ landonorris: you're no fun 🙄

yourusername

Miami, Florida

yourusername Miami on film 🏖

landonorris you're as hot as miami, baby

↪ username1 OH MY FUCKING GOD ↪ username2 boy is down bad for her 🥵 ↪ username3 Lando can't even pretend he isn't in love with her anymore ↪ yourusername police he has escaped again

username4 do you guys think he took the photos or that she stole his camera?

↪ username5 he definitely took them! we saw him carrying the camera everywhere and they were at the beach earlier

f1

f1 LANDO NORRIS WINS HIS FIRST GRAND PRIX

landofan HE DID IT GUYS!

mclarengirly OMG I CAN'T BELIEVE

ln4bitch oh man we just know he's gonna party HARD

yourusername I've never been more proud 🥺

↪papayafan y/n please tell lando we love him! 🧡 ↪lanfan4 give him the biggest kiss and the tighest hug for me

landonorris

landonorris WWE FUCKIJG DID IT. P1

username1 WE DID IT LANDO!

username2 Longest time coming! Congratulations, Lan 🧡

username3 My man!!! LFG

yourusername I AM THE PROUDEST

yourusername love you so much, you idiot. P FUCKING ONE! 🧡

↪landonorris i love you more, muppet ❤ ↪username4 your honor, i love them ↪username5 MOM AND DAD ARE GIVING PDA

f1gossip

f1gossip Lando Norris and his best friend, Y/N L/N, partying together in Miami after his win. Some people that were at the party reported on our DMs that they didn't keep away from each other all night and were missing from the party for a while. Do you think they celebrated it in a more special way? 💋👀

username1 Lord, I'm ready for them to be a couple

username2 i saw they leaving the club hand in hand last night, guys! they were alone and very much in a hurry to get out of there

↪username3 how do you know if you're telling the truth? ↪username2 you can check my profile, i was at the paddock today and after the gp, my friend and i followed them around town to party too!

username4 i saw this dude that swore they were kissing in the back of the club ln, but it's not something i can 100% confirm

↪username5 Can we please stop speculating on their friendship? They both have expressed they hate when people start forcing a relationship onto them.

username6 at this point, i'm just waiting for y/n's special post for lando on insta

yourusername

Miami, Florida

yourusername I knew you were special on the first time I saw your muppet face in my office. I've been your biggest fan ever since; rooting and praying for this day to finally come. I've never been so proud of you, Lan. Longest time coming to this moment. I love you so much, my grand prix winner – even though you got me so drunk we missed our flight today. Now enjoy some podium pics I took yesterday + a cute one from the hottest duo in Miami last night.

tagged: landonorris

landonorris I love you so much! Can't imagine life without my partner in crime. You being there made everything even more special

↪yourusername Stop or I'll cry again ↪landonorris Will be an honour to make you cry for me twice 😂

username1 GUYS WAKE UP Y/N POSTED ABOUT LAST NIGHT

username2 name a prettier friend duo, i'll wait

↪landonorris me too ↪yourusername me three

yourmotherusername Olivia has been non stop since the finish line! She can't wait to see her favourite uncle ❤ Congratulations, Lando

↪landonorris thank you so much, mrs l/n ❤ and tell ollie uncle lan loves her very very much ↪username3 now we're gonna have to wait until ollie and lando reunion after miami 😭 ↪yourusername promise to come back with pictures

⋘ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 // 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋙

[umbrelladripdrop]

DPxDC Idea 2

This one I've actually attempted to write at one point but only got a lil over a chapter done before I moved on and while I do want to write it, I'm also being realistic when I say I probably won't so for a compromise I'll post it here:

Basicly after DP canon has run its course (sans phantom planet obviously) Danny is just chilling with Sam and Tucker when suddenly there's a snag in the conversation that Danny just can't handle. They've all been working together and been there for each other through all the crazy that's happened after the 'portal incident', but at the same time, Sam and Tucker, and even Jazz, can't quite be there for Danny for everything. More specifically, when it comes to the fact that Danny actually died and the effects that has on him.

In my attempt at a fic it came up with Danny complaining to Sam and Tucker about Jazz being overprotective, even if she has been getting better at not being so bad about it all the time, and Sam ends up actually agreeing with Jazz. The friction comes from Sam and Tucker saying how they wish Danny didn't have to be a hero which hurts Danny because he needs to help, he needs to protect the town, and yet his friends are saying that they wish he didn't. It's a bit of a miscommunication sure, but it's also that Sam and Tucker just can't get it and Danny does eventually realize this but not before he storms off and flies all across town.

And on that flight, is where he says those dreaded words:

"I wish that I could just- just talk to someone who understands for once!"

And *boop*! In a sparkle of green dust pops out a real confused Red Hood stranded on a rooftop that has now been thouraly left in Danny's dust as the teen said the words while flying at least 100 miles an hour and therefore did not see the sudden appearance of a person who was not there five seconds ago.

Yep, Desiree is here but literally only for plot stuff as she's the jumping-off point for this fic. She's like the 'big bad' if you want to call her that, but only because they need to fight and defeat her to undo the spell but other than that this would be a pretty chill fic with some nice Jason and Danny (and even Tim and Danny) bonding and shenanigans.

The premise is that, after this wish and first instance of Danny accidentally summoning someone, it keeps happening. After Jason finally meets up with Danny (Red Hood finds himself in a new area so after like a day or two of research and no contact with the bats [ghostly/GIW caused radio black out or something] he does the smart thing and seeks out the towns resident hero) he gets flashes of why he's here and now he knows he's here cause both he and the kid share the experience of death so yeah he's helping this kid now. After that he and Danny (and Tucker and Sam cause they all made up now) find out that anytime Danny states a fact about his life that's weird or slightly traumatizing, he ends up summoning someone who shares that experience with him. Some examples/possibilities I came up with are:

"Who else fights eldrich horrors and what are essentially God's on the regular?" Cue John Constantine popping up, taking one look at Danny, and giving an emphatic fuck this and teleporting out.

"Well- uh- I bet no one else has had their DNA stolen by a freaky billionaire who's weirdly obsessed with them and then cloned them!" Cue Clark showing up frazzled until he sees Jason and just sighs in acceptance of the Weird Bat Shit.

"No! I refuse! There's no way in hell that someone's had to go and fight their future evil self because they came back in time to stop me from making it so their timeline never comes to pass!" Oh and now Tim is here, now him and Jason can start planin on how to fix this mess (and Tim and Danny can start to be friends too. All the bat bonding).

Those are just the first few back to back ones that Danny spews out in his denial that this is even happening after that initial meet up and explination with Jason. Clark ends up dipping with a promise to tell Bruce that Jason and Tim are alright an are just on a mission now I guess, they're not stuck since both Clark and Constantine could leave but it's not like they were just gonna let this shit slide, so yeah they're staying to help out.

Cue plot/shenanigans/accidentally trauma dumping since the spell makes Danny more suseptible to spewing his guts that way the spell can work more by summoning more people. The summons are based off proximity in a sense because they pull in the person closest that can relate to whatever Danny said.

This leads to Jason and Tim end up getting re-summoned again with a few other points like:

"Getting kidnaped by some old creep on the regular is not a fun time." Tim gets teleported back to Danny and they just... stare at each other because didn't this already happen? Aka this is when they figure out the summoning can apparently stack.

"Yeah like I was supposed to know that getting kidnapped by a ‘father figure’ for ‘my own good’ and wanting to strangle said father figure on multiple occasions was a universal experience." Jason who was sitting in a chair ten feet away is now only two feet away and no longer sitting in a chair and falls to the ground with a waterfall of swears.

"None of you get what it's like to have an older sibling as overbearing as jazz!"Jason teleports again and absolutely flips his shit and goes to fucking gag the twirp because this is the third god damned time Danny!

After Jason's 3rd teleportation, they pause the search for what's happening in favor of trying to figure out why he seems incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Literally. Even Danny says that he doesn't know why he's saying all this. They head down to the lab, which leads to this:

"Oh yeah we can go down here all the time, comes with the territory of borderline neglectful parents." Tim who wasn't on the stairs is suddenly now on the stairs (Jazz was leading the way and therefore farther away) and tips head over tea kettle which makes Jason laugh his ass off all while going how does it feel now?!

There's a potential for so many more summonings and accidentally trauma dumping shenanigans/emotional comfort opportunities but these were just all the ones I could come up with.

The day is eventually saved when they trick Desiree back but Jason and Tim end up staying in touch with Danny and end off with everyone being friends cause I'm a sucker for good endings and fluff. Again I might get to making this an actual fic but I'm already working on a big one (and slacking on it a bit my bad) so who knows? But I at least wanted to get the idea out there somewhere in case someone else wanted to play with the idea.

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Season 2: VIII

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: We actually made it to the last chapter???? I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did!

Masterlist, Latibule 2.VII

“Are you not going to stop them?” You asked in exasperation at the extremely relaxed Kim Seokjin despite the violence you knew was occurring several floors down, or also known as Yoongi’s torture chamber as per Taehyung.

He was staring down at his phone, lounging on the sofa while browsing through expensive baby clothes you knew your son would just grow out of in a few months.

“Does baby Yoongi like pink? I think he’d look dashing and adorable in this,” he asked nonchalantly as he showed you his phone. Meanwhile, you only gave him a blank look. “Ah. Right. I forgot you’re almost a 100% blind. My bad.”

You groaned at the unmovable man in front of you. As soon as Namjoon declared the two of you married, Yoongi softly asked you to take the baby from Hoseok and before you knew it, he punched the aforementioned man too hard that blood trickled down his busted lips. You knew Hoseok was insane, you just didn’t know he was insane enough to laugh at Yoongi while he was dragged down the basement. Namjoon was sighing as he followed them down, together with Jungkook and Jimin.

On the other hand, Kim Taehyung opted to stay here because he claimed that he would only be bored there. He was just sat there on the sofa, intently watching a documentary on poverty. His gaze never wavered from the face of the journalist. You supposed her voice was strong and her way of telling the story was both compelling and evocative.

“What about you, Taehyung? Shouldn’t you stop them?” you implored as you grasp his surprisingly hard arm.

Taehyung didn’t even tear his eyes off the journalist. He pouted as he shook his head. “No, noona. Sorry. I’m busy watching my future-”

“Future what, Taehyung!?” Seokjin suddenly quipped up, his eyes sending daggers of suspicions at the younger man’s direction.

Taehyung blinked owlishly as he turned to his hyung. “Hmm. I haven’t gotten to the part yet. I just know she’ll be in my future.”

“I cannot emphasize this enough, Taetae. But we absolutely do not need another Yoongi in this family who ran rampant when he lost her-” Seokjin said as he pointed at you.

“Then do we need another Namjoon hyung?” he asked innocently.

“You mean that lunatic who relocated his secretary’s ex-boyfriend to the afterlife and claimed their child as his own? No!”

Taehyung nodded thoughtfully, “What about another you, hyung? You know, someone who sabotaged doctor noona’s transfer to other hospitals but still ended up losing her after being together for several months who also moved her to his house one week in dating and now cannot find her and is desperate enough to-”

“Anyway!” Seokjin cut him off before sighing so deep you thought he lived three lifetimes and was already tired of it. “Don’t worry about Hoseok. That bastard is an idiot, but he is also intelligent as fuck. He will come out of it alive. Yoongi just has to make him bleed.”

“But what if he kills him?”

“Then he doesn’t deserve to be a Bangtan if he can’t come out of that alive.”

“Come on, fucker, also known as Satan’s competitor to the throne, is that all you got?” Hoseok asked amidst the busted lips and beaten and bloodied body of his.

Yoongi was not fairing any better. He was just as bruised as Hoseok but the devil didn’t even care. He was smirking even as he got hit by Hoseok, and even laughing loudly as he hit him back.

“He really is crazy,” Namjoon commented as they watched the two beat each other to death. “No. They are both insane.”

“At this rate, they’re going to end up both dead,” he added when a new batch of blood drops on the floor.

Jungkook watched from where he was standing, his eyes following the pair’s movements. Sure, they were both doing this to inflict pain to each other, yet he noticed something peculiar. All of Yoongi’s attacks was to end Hoseok. On the other hand, that man was attacking to just to inflict pain on him. Interesting.

“Shouldn’t we stop them? They’ve been going at it for a while…” Jimin brought up in concern, biting his lower lip. This was a thing that he always did when he was anxious, a habit he never outgrew.

“I should stop th-” Namjoon was about to step forward when Jungkook spoke.

“Let them, hyung.”

“Jungkook!”

The aforementioned man looked at them with his doe eyes. “What? Hoseok hyung deserves to hit Yoongi hyung just as much as he deserves to hit Hoseok hyung.”

“What the fuck is that logic, Jungkook?!” Jimin asked in exasperation as he turned to the youngest.

“Well, Yoongi killed noona-”

The aforementioned man pushed the bloodied Hoseok down to the ground, their breathings hard as he stared down at the Hoseok. “This was the reason?”

Hoseok spat down the blood to the ground before he wiped the side of his mouth. He was now sneering up at Yoongi. “What else would it be, fucker? You killed the only person I love! You ended her when you knew doing so would end me as well! I thought you were my brother! I treated you like one!”

Yoongi scoffed up, his eyes clenched shut. “You fucking idiot,” he whispered. “She was our sister. Why would I fucking kill her?”

“Stop fucking lying, Yoongi!” he screamed as he stood up, facing the man head on with renewed anger in his eyes. “I saw you that night!”

The thing that was the most peculiar was that despite Hoseok’s blazing anger, Yoongi only now reciprocated it with his cold and calm demeanor. “And what exactly did you see?”

13 years ago

The mansion was in chaos.

Everything was on fire.

The war they waged against Seokjin’s father was not without any casualty. The soldiers took sides; the younger ones sided with the mafia prince, as well as those that wanted a change and those that were fed up with the senseless battles the mafia king was leading them on. On the other hand, the traditional and older mafias that were higher in hierarchy didn’t want the change. Why would they want it when they benefited the most from the current leader?

But they underestimated Kim Seokjin. They underestimated the monster they raised.

And that night, as the mafia prince watched the mansion burned down with a satisfied smile on his face, Hoseok was desperately looking for her. He lost track of her amidst the battle. He knew she could hold her own, having trained alongside the brothers. He didn’t doubt her ability. But damn it, he had a bad feeling about it. And so he braved the fire, he braved the unbearable smoke and went inside the blazing mansion.

He just wished the bad omen he was feeling was nothing.

But alas, it was a wishful thinking. He barged into the main office, desperately calling out her name, just in time to see Yoongi pulled a knife from her shoulder. The squelching sound of blood was sickening, the look on her face as she gasped from the pain was a nightmare. The fire illuminated the scene, and the suffocating smoke was thick, curling through the air, choking every breath with its acrid sting.

“Yoongi hyung?” Hoseok asked with a small voice. What…what happened? Why was Yoongi holding the knife?

Yoongi turned to him slowly, looking like the devil he knew he was, the fire surrounding them made him looked like one. The fire emphasized and illuminated the scar in his eye.

“W-what happened, hyung? Did you hurt her?”

“Hoseok.”

Hoseok turned to her and saw tears slipping down her face. It was the face he loved so much. He loved her so much and now she was dying.

“What did you do?” he asked in disbelief, his feet moving before he could even think of the danger. He was so near her, he could have saved her, but the ceiling gave in.

He would have died had Namjoon decided not to follow him.

He would have followed her had Namjoon not pulled him back just in time.

When he woke up in the hospital, he learned that everyone was safe.

Everyone was okay, except her.

Even the fucker Yoongi who was last seen holding her survived. How could he survive when she didn’t?

There were whispers that she was a spy…but surely, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t kill her over mere whispers, right? They grew up together. There was no way in fucking hell that he killed her over it…right?!

Moreover, there was no way she could betray him. She wouldn’t. Hoseok refused to believe she did.

Because if she could easily betray him, that meant that she never truly loved him. Not like he did.

“You know what I saw.”

“But did you know what you really saw that night, Hobi-ah?”

Jungkook turned to Jimin who was listening just as intently as he was. “What mental gymnastics type of shit is hyung saying?”

He was quiet for a moment, and Jungkook would have believed he wouldn’t answer when he finally did. “In this case, I’d like to believe it’s nothing but the naked truth,” Jimin responded, never taking his eyes off the two men. The way Yoongi pulled back when he heard of Hoseok’s belief was enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I saw you. You pulled the knife from her! She bled in front of you. If you didn’t kill her, why then were you the only one that survived when you were with her?!” At that point, Hoseok’s vein was protruding, his words got louder and louder. They never saw him act that way. They never saw him lose control.

They should have known he only let go when it came to her.

Maybe, he should have done this long ago. Maybe then, he wouldn’t house the decade-old hatred he had been feeling in his heart. Maybe then, they could have the brother he used to be.

“So you tried to kill my angel because of that? You tried to kill her. You tried to kill me. And when that wasn’t enough, you stole the life that should have been mine. You stole my son away from me. You did all those things because of that?”

“And those were still not enough to atone for killing her!”

Yoongi sighed and shook his head. He turned around, walking away from Hoseok and to the chair before he slumped down on it in weariness. His white shirt was bloodied, and no way was it salvageable. His dark hair was disheveled, and the eye that did not house the scar was shut close from the swelling. He regarded Hoseok for a moment as though deep in thought.

“I agree. Those aren’t enough. You should have done more,” he conceded as he leaned back on the chair.

“Hyung!” Jimin protested.

“Why? He’s right. All those things won’t be enough. If I really killed noona knowing full well that she was the center of this moron’s world, then what he did to me was simply not enough. Right? Oh wait…” he trailed off before a smirk graced his busted lips. “Except that I didn’t kill her.”

“That’s enough, hyung! I saw what happened,” Namjoon quipped, wanting nothing but for all of this to have the conclusion it deserved. Everything was in chaos, and the Bangtan itself was in the brink of collapse if this would not be fixed.

“You saw me pulled the knife. You’re a fucking attorney, right, Namjoon-ah? Then answer me this. Is what you saw conclusive enough for you to decisively say that I put the knife in her?”

“You fucker. What the fuck are you saying?” Hoseok asked in disbelief.

“I didn’t kill her, Hobi-ah.”

“You did!”

Yoongi laughed. He laughed for such a long time before he stood up and calmly walked to the door. He was so relaxed as though he wasn’t trying to kill Hoseok mere moments ago, or that he just didn’t drop another perspective from what Hoseok religiously believed in for the past 13 years. He was to the door when he stopped laughing.

“You know what, now that I think about it…I’m not entirely even sure she’s fucking dead.”

The elevator dinged, announcing Yoongi’s presence.

You were sick in worry. It had only been more than two hours since he dragged Hoseok down, and you felt every ticking second of it. No one would tell you anything. The two men with you were completely useless and they couldn’t have been more disinterested even if they tried to. The hatred between Yoongi and Hoseok was more than a decade deep. From what you gathered over the years, Hoseok was retaliating over something that Yoongi committed. And now, Yoongi was retaliating for what Hoseok did to them.

It was a never-ending cycle. You just hoped that it wouldn’t end with either of them dying for it to stop.

The elevator door opened. Min Yoongi was staggering as he walked to where she was. He was using the walls for support, his other hand clutching his stomach.

He was drenched in blood, his immaculate face covered with bruises and wounds. He was obviously hurt, and yet, the sight of you trembling with tears in your eyes was what pained him more.

“Why are you crying, my angel?” Yoongi asked in concern as soon as he reached you, his hand cupping your face gently as he looked down at you with worry in his eyes. “What happened, my love?”

You grasped his hands, feeling the cuts scattered on them. “Y-you need treatment. You-you’re hurt-”

Yoongi pulled you softly to his chest, encircling your crying form to him securely. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being alive,” Yoongi whispered. “For giving me a family. For existing the time as me. For…loving someone as twisted as me.”

But most of all, he wanted to thank her for coming back to him.

At that time, Yoongi wanted to believe that he did the right thing. Removing noona from Hoseok’s life was what was necessary back then. It was the right thing.

But was it really?

He took the fall for noona’s absence. His naïve, younger self surmised that it was better to not say anything, that his silence was enough. He thought everything would go away with enough time, that Hoseok would eventually move on. He couldn’t have been more wrong. He suffered the consequences.

And you… yousuffered the consequences, too.

He was foolish to think that his love for noona was something that would dwindle in time. That love such as Hoseok’s, or rather, his obsession, was not heavy enough to do all this. But now that he had you, he knew better.

Yoongi was wrong.

“Eomma?”

The events of the day had surely exhausted the toddler. Despite the chaos and Seokjin’s annoyance when Yoongi pushed him out of the penthouse after he treated him, he slept soundly. Now that he was awake, his curious eyes observed his surrounding, taking in the unfamiliar place in silence.

“Hi, my love,” you greeted him, reaching for him. His smell calmed you. You hadn’t seen him for what felt like forever. You wanted his life to be better, for calm to reign for the rest of his life. And yet, you were back to where you started.

All those bad thoughts vanished when he wrapped his little arms around you. “Eomma!” he squealed excitedly. He was giggling as he hugged you when the bedroom door opened.

Yoongi was freshly showered and sported a black cotton shirt and comfortable pants. His hair was damped. He was a confident person, yet when his son turned to look at him, he seemed to not know what to do.

"Eomma, who?" Your son asked, his little lips pouting as he glanced up at you, wide-eyed and full of curiosity. He looked so much like Yoongi when he was younger—his expression, the innocence in his gaze, even the way he furrowed his brow when he didn’t understand something.

You were quiet for a moment until you extended your hand to Suga. It was all he needed. He reached for your hand and sat beside you in the bed. His pale skin was just like his son’s. He wanted to hug the little boy, but he knew he was nothing but a stranger to him.

“That’s appa,” you answered with a smile. Your son tilted his head to the side, the way he always did when he was thinking hard, his brows knitting together in the sweetest frown. Yoongi’s heart clenched at the sight. His son.

"Yoongi, meet Jiwon," you said gently, your voice barely above a whisper. You said his name with such tenderness, as if bringing him closer to Yoongi with just the sound of it.

“Jiwon,” he muttered, saying his son’s name for the first time. “Min Jiwon.”

The little boy blinked, still not fully understanding the significance of the man beside him. He regarded Yoongi for a long moment, brow furrowing again, but then a soft smile appeared on his face, the kind of smile only a child could give—pure and uncomplicated.

“Owwie?” Your son asked, pointing at the bruise on Yoongi’s face, his voice filled with concern. The small frown still creased his forehead, a mix of innocence and empathy as he tried to make sense of the man’s injury.

Yoongi smiled, holding the small hand that was pointing at his face.

His son.

He was finally holding his son.

“Not anymore, my son.”

“Owkay I kiss to heal!” he declared earnestly, his face brightening with the simplicity of his gesture, his little lips pressing gently against the wound.

Yoongi froze for a moment, his breath catching in his chest. He couldn’t believe it—this tiny child, this little person who had never known him, was offering him a piece of innocence and love that he didn’t deserve. He had always imagined this moment, but he never could have predicted how much it would pierce through him.

Yoongi blinked, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. He smiled, though the emotions swirled inside him, raw and unspoken. "Thank you, my son," he whispered softly, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Thank you, my wife,” Yoongi looked at you with tenderness in his eyes.

You gave him more than he deserved. You gave him a family.

Yoongi’s eyes snapped open.

It was late, much later than Yoongi had realized. The stillness of the night wrapped around him, the only sound being the steady breathing of his family beside him. He could hear the soft inhale and exhale of your chest, and Jiwon’s tiny, rhythmic breaths between you and him in the bed. It was the first night he had spent with his family, the first night he could legally say that his angel was now lawfully his. A feeling of warmth spread through him as he watched you both sleep soundly, Jiwon nestled safely in the crook of his arm.

It should have been peaceful, this night. It should have been perfect.

But Yoongi’s instincts were screaming at him. A sudden prickle of unease skittered down his spine. Something was wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

He smelled danger.

Every muscle in his body tensed. He needed to divert the threat, to keep you both safe, no matter the cost. His training kicked in, adrenaline flooding his veins as he silently slid out of bed. Every movement was practiced, swift, calculated. He stepped lightly on the cold floor, his feet making no sound as he crept toward the door.

He could hear it now—three sets of footsteps. Slow, deliberate. They were methodical, careful, but not quiet enough.

Yoongi’s lips curled into a barely perceptible sneer as he made his way to the door. He slipped out into the hallway, his footsteps just as silent. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. It was no different than the shadows of his past—quiet, lurking, hiding danger.

He knew the layout of this place better than anyone else. He had memorized every corner, every blind spot. Crouching down behind the table in the hallway, his hand grazed the knife he had hidden there, the cold steel meeting his palm like a promise.

They had no idea who they were dealing with.

Yoongi exhaled slowly, his heart pounding but steady. His grip tightened around the knife, eyes trained on the shadows at the far end of the hallway. They were still a few steps away, but he knew time wasn’t on his side.

Three men?

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, mixed with a bitter, cynical edge. Who was this asshole who sent only three men to eliminate him? Seriously? Was that supposed to intimidate him? It almost felt like an insult.

The first man rounded the corner, his shadow barely visible in the dim moonlight streaming through the window. Yoongi’s fingers flexed around the knife’s hilt, his breath steady. The man was just a few feet away, and Yoongi knew he couldn’t hesitate.

With a swift motion, Yoongi darted from his hiding place, slamming the knife into the man’s side before he even had a chance to react. The man crumpled to the floor, gasping as Yoongi pulled the knife free with a quiet flick of his wrist. Blood stained the floor, but Yoongi didn’t even flinch.

One down.

The second man was already drawing his weapon, but Yoongi anticipated his movements, lunging forward with lethal precision, using the table as leverage to knock him off balance. The sound of the man’s body hitting the floor echoed in the silent house, and Yoongi was already on top of him, pressing his knee into the man’s chest and twisting his wrist until the gun slipped from his grasp.

Two down.

The last man was quicker, his eyes darting frantically between Yoongi and his fallen comrades. But he was already too late. Yoongi’s hand reached for the gun in his waistband, bringing it up in a single fluid motion as the man tried to raise his own. Yoongi fired once, twice, the shots ringing out sharply in the quiet night. The man’s body jerked with each bullet, before he collapsed, lifeless.

Three down.

Yoongi stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, his gaze scanning the hallway. It was over. But the danger wasn’t gone—not yet. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, then slipped the gun back into his holster. His heart was pounding, but his movements were calm as he wiped the knife clean with a cloth.

Quietly, he fished the phone from his pocket and mindlessly took a picture of the scene and sent it to their group chat, prompting for an emergency meeting at the Bangtan’s headquarters. Next thing he did was dialed for Jimin. He knew what to do.

The first to step through the door was Park Jimin, his presence commanding, his eyes scanning the scene with practiced precision. He barely glanced at the bodies on the floor before his gaze locked onto Yoongi, a silent understanding passing between them. Behind Jimin, the rest of the crew filed in—armed, alert, ready to take action. The air thickened with the weight of their presence. Yoongi knew the drill. The storm was only just beginning.

The troop saluted at him and they were quick to assess the situation, recording and preserving the evidence of the crime. They couldn’t allow this to slide, not when the chief of police, Min Yoongi, had been targeted. The idea of him being a victim? Unthinkable.

Jimin gracefully walked to where he was standing. Yoongi stood apart from the chaos, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling around his face like a shield. His anger was palpable—his body rigid, his eyes narrowing as the team moved around him. He was barely holding onto the thin thread of sanity that had kept him grounded. His hands were steady, but his mind was a storm. His family was safe, on their way to the headquarters now with the army of men he trusted, but the unsettling calm in his chest only made his rage more dangerous.

“Reporting this to the police?” Jimin's voice broke through the silence, a smirk tugging at his plump lips as he approached. His footsteps were light, almost graceful, as he surveyed the room, his eyes flicking over the men as they worked. “Bold move, hyung.”

Yoongi scoffed, his gaze flicking to Jimin, but he didn’t move a muscle. His fingers tapped the side of his cigarette, the ember glowing in the dark. The sarcasm in Jimin’s voice didn’t faze him. “I’ve already been beaten up by Hoseok earlier, so I’ll just tell them those three assholes did this to me. Self-defense, you know? Trespassing. I’m sure the story will hold up fine.”

Jimin chuckled, shaking his head, but the amusement in his eyes faded as he studied Yoongi. The older man’s expression was cold, a warning to anyone who dared to underestimate his resolve. The anger simmering beneath the surface was a storm just waiting to break free.

Yoongi’s lips curled into something between a grin and a snarl, his eyes sharp as they narrowed on the scene. He tossed the cigarette aside, grinding it into the floor with his heel, and turned toward Jimin. “You know what’s even better?”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, his expression cautious but curious. “What’s that?”

Yoongi’s voice was low, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Call the reporters. I want this shit to be known throughout the country. Making an unprecedented attack on the chief of the police? And his family? His wife that is blind? And his young son? Guess whose sympathy the public will side?”

Jimin blinked, clearly surprised by the request. But Yoongi’s eyes were steely, full of something dark and dangerous. His gaze flicked to the team, who were still working meticulously in the background.

“They need to know who fucked with the wrong man,” Yoongi continued, his voice a low growl. “And the first person who reacts? The first one who does anything different… will most likely be our fucking enemy.”

Jimin's smirk faltered, replaced by the same steel in his leader’s eyes. He didn’t need to ask who Yoongi was talking about. He understood. It wasn’t just about the attack anymore. It was about sending a message—a statement. Whoever was behind this wasn’t just after the chief of police. They were challenging the entire fucking empire.

Jeon Jungkook was the last to enter the room. He held his hand up, silencing the comment Seokjin was clearly about to make on his pajamas.

“It’s 3 in the morning. Don’t, hyung,” he stated, placing his trusty laptop down on the table.

All of them were gathered there, their faces that of seriousness except for Taehyung who was just playing on his phone as though the situation was not grave enough to merit his attention. But the situation was bigger than they initially thought. Someone was foolish enough to go after one of the leaders of Bangtan. An attack to one was, and should be, considered an attack to all.

This ends now.

All of them was there…well, except for Hoseok who they hadn’t seen since the confrontation. However, to what Namjoon divulged, Hoseok was in his own mansion.

Yoongi sat at the head of the table, the whiskey glass in his hand the only thing that betrayed his seething anger. He didn’t speak, but they all knew that a quiet Yoongi was the most dangerous of them all. The air around him seemed to hum with unspoken rage, his silence more ominous than any outburst.

Jungkook sighed, rubbing his eyes. He’d barely slept, and now this. As if things weren’t already complicated enough. He didn’t have the energy for the usual banter. Seokjin, on the other hand, was pouting dramatically, his voice whining as he complained about how the stress of Bangtan’s messes was taking years off his life.

“JK,” Namjoon called for his attention before smiling at him. “Tell us about what you found.”

He nodded before quickly tapping on his laptop. The hug screen in front of the table reflected his findings. “Among our known enemies, as well as people who have been acting strangely lately, these three are the main suspects. First, the one we blew out the ship last year. Second is the-”

Jungkook nodded and immediately began tapping away on his laptop. The large screen in front of the table illuminated as his findings were projected for everyone to see. His fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard, and soon the list of suspects was clear.

“Among our known enemies, as well as people who’ve been acting strange lately, these three are our main suspects,” Jungkook said, his voice steady despite the overwhelming tension. “First, the one we took down last year—the one we blew out of the water in the shipping deal. Second—”

“It’s the third one,” Taehyung interrupted suddenly, his bored eyes finally lifting from his phone to the screen. His voice was casual, as if he wasn’t dealing with the aftermath of an attack on their own.

“What?” Jimin asked, his eyes narrowed in curiosity. He looked at Taehyung, confused by his nonchalant interruption.

Taehyung rested his chin on his hand, the playful air about him from earlier gone as his expression became serious. “It’s the senator. The aspiring president in the upcoming election.”

There was a brief silence before Jimin spoke up again, his brows furrowing. “The senator?”

Taehyung nodded, his tone unchanged, still calm as ever. “He’s been in our pockets for a long time. We’ve been backing him for years, keeping him in line, helping him with his ambitions. But suddenly, we told him we wouldn’t be supporting his bid for president anymore.”

Jungkook looked up from his laptop, his expression now tense. He knew where this was going.

Taehyung continued, his voice growing colder. “The only dirt he has in his ledger? Us. The Bangtan. If we don’t support him, then we’re supporting the other guy. And that’s the last thing he can afford. Losing our backing would destroy everything he’s been working for.

And they all know what happens if they lose our support.”

“Taehyung-ah, that’s a heavy accusation. Do you have any proof?” Seokjin asked.

He nodded, showing his phone to them wherein it showed how he messaged several people with one sentence.

You messed with the wrong people.

The only one who didn’t answer? The senator.

“And well, my sources tell me he’s on the move right now. The fucker is on his way here. So…should we keep going with this pointless meeting or should we head out for war? Because, you know, this is getting honestly boring.”

Before anyone could respond, a loud explosion rattled the walls of the headquarters. The sound of glasses shattering echoed through the room, sharp and continuous, as the windows cracked under the force. Instantly, all six men were on their feet, instinctively reaching for their weapons and preparing for what was about to come. The tension in the air now felt like static, crackling with violence.

The senator had moved first.

Fucking politics.

Yoongi sneered as they all moved to action. “If you get out of here alive, Namjoon-ah, I’m making you a fucking senator!”

“Hyung!”

Well, they did need a political backing. And who better to do that than Namjoon?

The sound of another explosion came, followed by distant gunfire. The senator’s men were already here. They didn’t have time to waste.

Jimin’s sharp eyes narrowed as he pulled on his jacket, his hands readying his gun. “What a fucking foolish man,” he muttered angrily, his voice low but carrying the weight of experience. The last time a chaos with this magnitude was unleashed was when they overthrew Kim Seokjin’s father.

Jimin was already up, moving fluidly, shooting back with precision. His aim was flawless, every bullet finding its mark. The others moved with the same deadly efficiency, but Yoongi’s mind was already a step ahead. His eyes darted to the monitors, where enemy positions were flashing in real-time. He knew the layout of his headquarters inside and out, but it was clear: the senator had come prepared. This wasn’t just a raid—it was a full-on assault.

The next blast came from the front entrance, a massive explosion that blew the doors off their hinges, sending fragments of concrete and wood scattering across the hallway. The force of it sent Yoongi stumbling back, his ears ringing. He recovered quickly, shaking off the disorientation, and rose to his feet.

“Stay alert! They’ll breach the back soon,” Yoongi ordered, voice cold and commanding. He was already heading toward the armory. This wouldn’t be over quickly.

"Taehyung, take the right flank. Namjoon, the left. Jimin, Seokjin—get to the control room. Jungkook, you’re with me. We take the front. Clear?"

"Clear," Taehyung responded, his voice low and focused as he sprinted toward the hallway.

Jimin didn’t need to be told twice—he was already moving. The rest of Bangtan didn’t hesitate either. They were soldiers in their own right, and they knew what was at stake.

Gunfire erupted in the hallway as the attackers advanced. Bullets ricocheted off the walls, but Yoongi was already moving with ruthless precision, his weapon blazing. He took out two men in quick succession, his face impassive as he executed the moves he had perfected over the years. Jungkook was at his side, equally efficient, his gunshots timed perfectly with Yoongi’s.

The sound of the explosions and gunfire seemed to blur together, the chaos intensifying as more men poured into the building. Bangtan’s headquarters had become a battlefield.

Yoongi’s eyes scanned the area, taking note of the positions of his enemies. Every move was calculated. He ducked behind cover, reloading his gun, then came up again, firing without hesitation. The senator’s men were aggressive, but they were no match for Bangtan’s precision and training.

In the distance, the unmistakable sound of a helicopter's rotors beating against the air told Yoongi that their enemies weren’t just coming on foot. The senator had everything planned. It was a full-scale operation.

"Hyung!" Jungkook’s voice cut through the noise, and Yoongi's gaze snapped to him. The younger man was taking down enemy after enemy with ruthless precision, but his face was set in a grim expression, his tone heavy with urgency. "You have to take noona and Jiwon away from this! We’re being surrounded! Backup is a good ten minutes away. You have to keep your family safe!"

Yoongi’s throat tightened at the mention of you and Jiwon. The very thought of you being anywhere near this madness made the blood in his veins run cold.

His eyes flicked to the doorway where you and his son were hidden, safe for the moment, but Yoongi knew that wasn’t enough. He could feel the pressure mounting, the walls of the building seeming to close in with every passing second. The helicopter overhead was a clear indication that the senator wasn’t messing around. This was orchestrated. This was personal.

“We’ll survive. Noona needs you more than us,” Jungkook repeated, his voice a low growl as he fired off a few more rounds, taking out two more of the senator’s men who were sneaking up behind Yoongi.

He hesitated only for a moment, before his jaw set in grim determination. His eyes darted toward the hallway where he had last seen you and Jiwon, the precious little family he thought he could protect.

“Go. Take care of yourself, hyung,” Jungkook said before dashing off into the fray, moving with the precision of a seasoned soldier, disappearing into the shadows as he fought off another wave of enemies.

Yoongi didn’t wait. He moved quickly, every muscle in his body tense as he pushed his way through the chaos, his gun at the ready. As he passed the hallway leading to the room where you and Jiwon were, he felt his chest tighten with a sense of urgency. He couldn’t afford to hesitate.

"Stay low. Stay quiet. Don't make a sound," Yoongi ordered as he approached you, his voice calm but sharp, like steel wrapped in velvet. His gaze was burning, determined. He could feel the weight of his promise to protect you.

He found you in the small, dark room where you were trying to comfort Jiwon, who was clutching a stuffed bear to his chest, eyes wide in confusion. You looked up, your face pale, but there was a quiet strength in your expression. You already knew. You could feel it, too.

Yoongi moved to you quickly, kneeling in front of you. He cupped your face gently, brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek, and locked eyes with you.

“We’re leaving now,” he said softly but firmly. “Stay close. Don’t look back.”

You nodded, your grip tightening around Jiwon. There was no question in your eyes. The world outside was in chaos, but you trusted Yoongi, and that was all that mattered right now.

With one last glance at his son, Yoongi turned and led you down the hallway, his mind racing. He wasn’t just fighting to protect you—he was fighting to keep his family whole. And no one—no one—was going to take that from him.

The getaway car was so nearby. He moved his family as quickly as he could, but with you being almost full blind made it difficult. As they rounded the corner, a sharp noise shattered the air. Yoongi’s heart lurched as three masked figures emerged from the shadows, blocking their path. Their weapons gleamed ominously in the dim light. Yoongi’s blood ran cold, but his movements were swift—he spun, instinctively pushing you and Jiwon behind him, using his body as a shield.

Before he could even point the gun at them, three successive shots pierced through their head and their bodies fell down with a thud, revealing Hoseok.

Hoseok lowered his gun, his expression unreadable, his stance calm yet deadly. The hallway, once filled with the sounds of chaos, was eerily silent now, save for the heavy breaths from Yoongi and the distant crackle of the fighting outside.

Yoongi blinked, the shock of the sudden shift in the situation still gripping him. Hoseok? He had barely registered his presence, too focused on the danger ahead.

“What? Are you not going to hurry?” Hoseok’s voice was light, almost amused, but his eyes were hard. There was no room for hesitation, no room for weakness. He was the last person to show any sign of mercy, but right now, there was a flash of something in his gaze that told Yoongi everything—Hoseok had no intention of letting anything happen to his family.

Yoongi didn’t waste time on words. His instincts took over. With a sharp nod, he motioned for you and Jiwon to move faster.

Once Yoongi had secured his family in the car, he took a moment, standing still in the chaos that surrounded them. Without a word, he stepped closer, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing away the tears that had fallen. His gaze was soft but filled with a sorrow that hurt more than anything. And then, as though time itself had stopped, Yoongi leaned down and kissed you deeply.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It wasn’t just a goodbye. It was everything he couldn’t say, everything he couldn’t protect you from. It was the way his lips moved against yours—slow, desperate, full of meaning. It was a kiss that burned with the intensity of his love and his fear. He kissed you as if he were memorizing every sensation—the way you fit against him, the way your breath mingled with his, the way your heart raced in sync with his own. This moment, this fragile piece of time, was all they had.

You clung to him, your sobs breaking through as you gripped his hands with a desperation that mirrored his own. “Come back to me, okay? Come back to us,” you cried, voice trembling, raw with fear and love.

Yoongi’s chest tightened. He smiled, but it was the kind of smile that felt like it could tear him apart. Instead of answering you, he whispered those three words that had always meant everything between you two, but in this moment, they felt like a promise, a plea, and a goodbye all at once.

“I love you.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before he pulled back, his eyes never leaving yours. But there was no more time. He stepped back, heart breaking with every second that ticked by. His gaze flickered to Jiwon, and without hesitation, he reached for his son. Pulling the boy into his arms, Yoongi hugged him tight, pressing his forehead against his son’s.

“Be safe, Jiwon,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Then, with one last lingering look at you, he straightened up, his face hardening into a mask of resolve. There would be no time for hesitation. He turned and walked away, each step more purposeful than the last. He knew what he had to do. But with every step, the ache in his chest only grew.

Hoseok looked at Yoongi who was marching to him instead of inside the car. “What the fuck? We have no time. You have to leave–”

Yoongi threw him the keys. “You take them to safety. You get them out of here. You get them to safety, no matter what happens. You take care of them, Hoseok. Don’t let anything happen to them.”

“H-hyung,” Hoseok muttered in confusion.

“You’re the better driver between the two of us. Keep them safe, Hoseok. Keep them safe, and I’ll take you to noona myself.”

Yoongi had five minutes.

Five minutes until backup arrived, and he had to make every second count. His heart pounded in his chest as he rushed back to the scene, every step calculated, every movement with purpose. His family was safe—for now. You and Jiwon were miles away from the chaos, out of harm’s way, but Yoongi knew this fight wasn’t over. Not until every last enemy was on the ground.

He weaved through the wreckage, his men fighting tooth and nail. The sounds of gunfire, shouts, and explosions filled the air, but Yoongi moved like a shadow—silent, swift, and relentless. The tide of battle had already begun to turn. His team, the Bangtan, were forces to be reckoned with. Their enemies were dropping like flies, overwhelmed by the sheer precision and ruthlessness of the Bangtan army. They’d been underestimated, and Yoongi intended to make sure they’d never make that mistake again.

There was no hesitation now. Victory was within their grasp. Yoongi could feel it, in his bones, in the tension of every muscle, in the pulse of adrenaline thrumming through his veins. He was going to win this. He would make sure of it.

But just as Yoongi allowed himself to believe victory was imminent, it came—the sharp, searing pain of a bullet tearing through his shoulder. His body jolted, the force of the impact sending him crashing to the ground.

The battle was still raging, but it was quieter now. The enemies’ numbers were dwindling. Yoongi knew they were on the verge of ending this. He had to keep fighting.

Meanwhile, miles away, a car sped down the road, the tires screeching as it rapidly approached the getaway car. It was coming for you. Hoseok’s eyes narrowed as he watched the car in the rearview mirror, knowing that the danger wasn’t over yet.

In a split-second decision, Hoseok swerved the car, taking a sharp turn that threw everyone inside off balance. The vehicle came directly into the path of the oncoming car, his body bracing for the impact. His mind moved faster than his body, and in that moment, he knew what he had to do—he had to take the hit. His team, your family—they were more important than him.

The crash was deafening. Glass shattered, metal crumpled, and Hoseok’s body jerked violently from the force of the impact. But he didn’t care. All that mattered was that you were safe.

As the world around him fell into chaos, Yoongi’s world came to a halt. His pulse raced, but his vision began to darken. He had to finish this, he told himself. He had to finish it for you, for Jiwon, for his family, and for the legacy of the Bangtan.

But in that split second, everything stopped. The roar of battle, the screeching tires, the pounding in his ears—everything faded into the background.

Epilogue

[glowettee]

you don’t need "motivation" to get things done (and how to prove it to yourself) ✧˖°

post 1 post 2 post 3 post 4

okay, can we get one thing straight?: waiting for motivation to magically appear is like waiting for a text back from someone who’s obviously not that into you. sometimes it shows up when you least expect it, and sometimes it just... doesn’t. but here’s the thing: motivation is overrated. you don’t actually need it to get things done, especially when finals are creeping up and you just can’t afford to procrastinate. i'm going to break down why motivation isn’t the key and how to actually start working without it.

𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕 ✧˖°

motivation is unpredictable. it comes in waves, like when you suddenly feel inspired to plan your entire week at 2 a.m. or when you’re pumped to study after watching one (1) academic vlog. but motivation is an emotion, and emotions change. one minute you’re ready to conquer the world, and the next, you just want to lie on the floor and scroll through tiktok.

instead of relying on something as inconsistent as motivation, focus on building habits. habits don’t care if you’re feeling inspired... they just happen because you’ve trained your brain to do them automatically. the secret is to make productivity a routine, not something that requires hype.

𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 ✧˖°

➼ make your to-do list tiny and non-threatening honestly, sometimes just looking at a long list of tasks is enough to make you want to give up before you even start. break it down into the tiniest steps possible. instead of “study biology chapter 5,” write “open biology textbook,” “read the first paragraph,” “highlight one sentence.” sounds silly, but your brain loves crossing things off, no matter how small.

➼ the 5-minute rule tell yourself you only have to work for five minutes. that’s it. no pressure to finish an entire chapter or write a full essay, just five minutes. most of the time, you’ll end up continuing because getting started is the hardest part. but even if you only do those five minutes, that’s progress.

➼ set up your workspace like a ritual this might sound weird, but romanticizing the setup makes it easier to get into the zone. light a candle, put on some lo-fi or classical music, make a cup of tea. your brain will start to associate that vibe with “okay, it’s time to work.” the more you repeat this little ritual, the easier it becomes to just start without overthinking it.

𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 ✧˖°

➼ pair tasks with habits you already have habit stacking is genius. pair a new productive habit with something you already do every day. for example, if you always have a cup of coffee in the morning, make that the time you do a quick 5-minute review of your notes. your brain will connect the two activities, making it feel more natural.

➼ use environmental cues change your environment just a little bit when you need to focus. even just moving to a different corner of your room, putting on your glasses, or wearing a specific hoodie can signal to your brain that it’s time to study. it’s kind of like tricking your mind into productivity mode.

showing up, even when it’s messy ✧˖°

you don’t need to have your life perfectly together to be productive. i promise you. everyone has days when they just feel off. but the difference between people who get stuff done and those who don’t isn’t motivation, it’s showing up regardless.

➼ stop waiting for the “perfect” moment there’s never going to be a moment where you feel 100% ready. you’re always going to have some stress, some doubt, or some distraction. just start messy. give yourself permission to do a half-hearted job at first. it’s better than not starting at all.

➼ focus on progress, not perfection your brain will always convince you that if you’re not doing something perfectly, it’s not worth doing at all. challenge that mindset. doing a messy 20-minute study session is still better than not studying at all. make it a rule to aim for progress, not perfection.

𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 > 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ✧˖°

people make discipline sound like this harsh, almost militaristic concept, but it’s actually just about consistency. it’s not punishing yourself; it’s respecting your own goals enough to follow through, even when you don’t feel like it.

➼ create a non-negotiable routine instead of asking yourself, “do i feel like studying right now?”, because the answer will probably be no. create a routine that you stick to no matter what. for example, set a rule that every day after lunch, you study for 30 minutes. don’t think about it, just do it.

➼ don’t make productivity an event treating productivity as something monumental only makes it scarier. it doesn’t have to be a whole thing. just showing up to your desk and doing something, even a little, keeps the momentum going.

𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ✧˖°

you know that feeling when you don’t want to go to the gym, but once you’re there, you’re like, “okay, i’m here, might as well work out”? same thing with studying. prove to yourself that motivation isn’t required by just showing up and starting. once you’re in it, it’s way less daunting and scary.

➼ celebrate tiny wins even if you just read one page or write a single paragraph, acknowledge that. the more you reward your brain for even the smallest efforts, the easier it becomes to do it again tomorrow.

➼ journal about your progress keep a small log of what you did each day. it could just be one sentence like, “studied chem for 15 minutes.” looking back on that list will make you realize you’re actually doing more than you think, which is super motivating on days when you feel stuck.

𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚢’𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚜 ✧˖°

➼ find your “why” remind yourself why you’re doing this. not just the surface-level stuff, but the deeper reason. is it to feel proud of yourself? to secure your future? to make your family proud? put that reason somewhere you can see it when you’re working.

➼ treat yourself like you would a friend if your friend was struggling to study, you wouldn’t call them lazy. you’d encourage them. be kind to yourself. sometimes just showing up is enough. give yourself credit for trying, even if it’s not perfect.

𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 ✧˖°

motivation might be what gets you started, but discipline is what keeps you going. stop romanticizing motivation as the key to success, it’s way too inconsistent. instead, focus on building small, consistent habits that don’t rely on feeling inspired. remember, you just need to start.

[mionemymind]

Chapter 1: Second to You

My Rival Series

Summary: “I hate Wanda Maximoff. I hate her face and the way she hides her freckles. I hate her smile and how perfect she laughs. I hate how smart she is and how she knows everything. I hate her.” Y/n complained. 

But how could she hate the girl that always took #1 in everything? How could she hate the girl that captivated her mind 24/7? How could she hate the girl she would willingly be #2 for?

Or the time where Y/n Y/l/n and Wanda Maximoff were academic rivals that fell for each other.

A/n: Gif credits to @aftertheglitterfades

Warnings: Rivals to Lovers, Obvious Feelings, Stubborn Reader, Cursing

Word Count: 4.1k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

One Month - Spring Semester

“Please be a hundred - please be a hundred.” The brown eyed girl silently pleaded under her breath. Her hands were clenched together, easily covering her mouth. She couldn’t, actually wouldn’t, give her the satisfaction of seeing her nervous. 

With her dark brown hair, quick green eyes, and pretentious smile, Wanda Maximoff already had a lot going for her, something Y/n could easily list out. ‘So god forbid, please humble her for one moment’ Y/n thought to herself. 

Trying her best to not seem so obsessed, Y/n carefully studied Wanda’s reaction. While the rest of the class seemed upset over their grades, seeing Wanda’s smile among the crowd of frowns ticked something inside Y/n. ‘Oh please, not another 100.’ But there went that fucking cocky smile, one that brought Wanda’s dimples out, and Y/n knew the answer. 

Looking back at Professor Hathaway, the older woman gently smiled at Y/n as she handed her test backwards, careful to not expose her grade. Once she passed, Y/n slowly flipped it over, eyes squinted as if it would help lessen the blow. 

‘Oh god - a 99.’ Y/n tried to steel herself from any reaction. She knew Wanda would be looking at her like a hawk. Taking a peak past the paper, Y/n could easily spot those green eyes anywhere in a crowd. And just as Y/n expected, Wanda was looking. 

“Okay class, this week's test was better. We currently have a class average of 65. There were two outliers that have caused the average to bump up. For those that need help for next week, please feel free to reach out to see where we can improve. No homework due but please try to review the remarks I’ve made.” 

Everyone was quick to start packing up, especially those that barely scored a passing D. But for Y/n, she packed quickly to avoid Wanda. Hearing Wanda talk about another perfect score would only rile her up and considering she still had to study for the managerial accounting test, talking to Wanda was the last thing she wanted.

But Y/n never got what she wanted. When a classmate accidentally bumped into her backpack, causing the contents to spill, Y/n couldn’t help me internally curse at her luck. “I’m really sorry about that Y/n!” 

Y/n didn’t dare focus on the feeling of Wanda getting closer, she didn’t even need to see to know she was only a meter away. “It’s okay Katie. Just be careful next time.” The blonde meekly smiled as she walked off to her next lecture, leaving Y/n behind to pick her stuff up. 

Just as the final book was stuffed into her bag, Y/n rose up from the ground, ready to grab her test, but Wanda was quicker. Holding back her distaste, Y/n watched as Wanda’s smug smile grew seeing the 99 plastered right at the corner. 

“Better luck next time, Y/l/n,” Wanda proudly stated as she held up the perfect grade written on her test. Holding back her profanities, Y/n snatched her test and shoved it at the bottom of her backpack. “And messing up a simple year for Renoir’s paintings, my my, this is easy at this point.” 

Y/n slung her backpack and started to walk out of the lecture hall. Usually, no response and the sight of someone leaving would give a normal person the idea that they don’t want to talk. But Wanda wasn’t normal by any means. 

She walked at a similar fast pace beside Y/n, enjoying the silent treatment she was receiving. “Not gonna talk? Ya know, I could help you study in case you need it.” 

Y/n scoffed as they exited the humanities building. ‘The nerve.’ Y/n thought. 

It was a nice spring at Evergreen University. The weather was at a perfect 75 degrees. People were out on the lawn, enjoying themselves, hanging out with friends, having picnics, overall having a great time. But none of that was something Y/n hardly got to experience nowadays. 

For the majority of the first month of the spring semester, Y/n had either been stuck at her dorm, the library, or some other student’s dorm, helping them study. The luxury of having fun was something Y/n could hardly afford. Not when Wanda Maximoff was a constant reminder of your failure to beat her. 

“99 is still good, Maximoff, in case you forgot.” They passed by a couple of people that knew Wanda, but that didn’t deter the brunette at all. She waved at them with her perfect smile which irritated Y/n even more. 

“She speaks! Didn’t know you were settling for second place now. You must’ve lost your confidence. Afraid you can’t beat me?” Y/n grumbled something that Wanda couldn’t hear. 

With Y/n’s dorm hall getting closer, the brown eyed girl quickened her pace, hoping that Wanda would stop. “More like I don’t want to humble you. Princess might get hurt if I actually try my best.” 

Wanda feigned hurt, dramatically placing a hand on her chest. “Going for the ego jab? What will I ever do?” Wanda laughed, a laugh that came from her chest, one that was wholehearted, and god did Y/n hate it. “Takes more than that to hurt me.” 

Stopping right before the entrance, Y/n halted infront of Wanda, the two almost colliding.

“Oh yeah? Then-” 

“Y/n, can you help me with accounting?” Y/n turned around to her savior. It was one of her classmates from her managerial class. Her name was Holly. 

“Sure thing.” Unbeknownst to Y/n, Wanda rolled her eyes at the pathetic excuse. Holly was a smart girl, one that hardly needed to study. This was all just a lame excuse to hang out with Y/n, something Wanda easily saw through. 

Adjusting her backpack, Y/n walked towards Holly, holding the door open. Looking back at Wanda with a frown, Y/n remarked, “Next time, I won’t go easy.” 

Midway - Spring Semester

“Are you going to come with me to the party?” It was a Saturday night at Evergreen University. Parties were a typical thing especially since the campus had a large selection of greek life. 

However, today was not a typical Saturday. Midterms were finally over and the majority of campus was out for the night, trying to enjoy a little stress reliever. 

“Can’t Natty. I gotta study.” Y/n said hunched over a book. While Y/n did receive well above passing grades, none of them could compete with Wanda’s. It’s like no matter how much Y/n studied, there was always one small detail that would prevent her from being perfect.

“You’re always studying. Can’t you give me at least one night away from all of this.” Natasha looked around the room, Y/n’s side was filled to the brim with various books, journals, and papers. It was an academic mess. 

“You know I can’t.” Natasha sighed at Y/n’s response. She walked towards her bed, giving Y/n a tight hug. Having been roommates since freshman year, Natasha knew how Y/n was when it came to her academics. 

“At least I have senior year to try.” Y/n laughed, knowing that she’d never really go to a party. She had nothing against them, but the idea of pretending like you’re having fun was exhausting for her. 

“Text or call me if you need me to pick you up, okay? I’ll have my ringer on the highest volume.” Natasha grabbed her phone and keys, blowing a fake kiss to Y/n. 

“Thanks love. Stay up till 1:00 am for me? If I don’t text you by then, go to sleep. I’ll have a ride.” Y/n gave a thumbs up as Natasha left. 

Looking back at the time, it was only 10:00 pm. The dorms hardly muffled the loud music playing on the floor above. And knowing the RA on the floor, they’d simply dismiss it until 2:00 am. 

Shaking her head, Y/n grabbed the nearest bag and stuffed the essentials she needed. A night trip to the library wasn’t going to hurt. 

“Accounting can literally go fuck themselves,” Y/n uttered. She was currently tucked away in a far corner on the fourth level of the library. This place hardly had any students around and with midterms being over, not a single soul was in the library at this time, well besides Y/n. 

“I need a break.” Pushing the chair back, Y/n stretched her legs and arms out, releasing out a weird primal groan in the process. Tapping her phone screen, it was a quarter past twelve. Her body was stiff and desperately needed a walk. 

“How the hell am I so stiff?” Y/n cracked her neck, hands, and knuckles, a very bad habit she developed at a young age. 

Grabbing her wallet, Y/n walked away from her spot and traversed through the long aisles of books. She eyed a couple of interesting subjects on the way to the vending machine, saving them in her head the next time she needed a new book to read. 

It didn’t take long before she spotted the bright fluorescent machine. Eying the choices, there wasn’t much. To play it safe, she got a Pepsi and quickly started to drink it. 

‘I really need to start drinking more water.’ The thoughts on being healthy always came around this time, among other things. So to distract herself more, Y/n walked around the floor, hoping to do some exploring. 

She was hardly a couple of meters away when Y/n saw her. Asleep on top of her books and notes, mouth slightly parted, and slightly shivering was Wanda Maximoff. The sight caused Y/n’s breathing to hitch. The grip on the bottle tightened, feeling already irritated and Wanda hadn’t even said a word. 

Looking around for anyone nearby, Y/n grumbled knowing that no one else would be studying on a weekend this late at night, but of course the only two people on the campus that would be are herself and Wanda. 

Y/n wanted to leave, everything from her mind and body told her to walk away and act like you didn’t see her. But how could Y/n ignore the way Wanda’s body shivered from being under the a/c? How could she ignore the way her lips twitched from reacting to a dream? How could Y/n ever ignore her? 

Betraying all logic, Y/n walked to Wanda’s table. Although she wanted to wake her up, which would’ve been the nice thing to do, the large part of Y/n didn’t want Wanda to know she could be kind to her. 

They’ve been at this stupid ‘race’ or ‘competition’ since freshman year ever since they took the intro to biology together. A lot of the people in the class had struggled, especially those that were not pursuing a STEM major. So when the professor made a light comment that Wanda was always first place in the class and Y/n was second, something inside them changed. 

Maybe it was the way Y/n noticed how much Wanda thrived under praise or how she loved answering the professor’s questions. None of the characteristics really bothered Y/n at all and she certainly didn’t care to be second. But then more exams came and Wanda was always first and Y/n was always second. 

Next came the light taunting from her friends, saying Wanda has never been beaten academically that it started to rub you the wrong way. And then came the fateful day, where Wanda had come to Y/n after class ended and asked, “Do you want help with biology?” 

The question was supposed to be harmless, but it was the fact that Y/n was around with her friends who then started to chuckle and taunt the question. It felt embarrassing especially since she didn’t even suck at the subject. 

So with a sore ego and hurt pride, Y/n mumbled a no and walked away as her friends howled even more. Ever since then, the two have been at it. And by the looks of it, it was not going to stop. 

‘Just walk away and let her deal with it.’ The thoughts in her head were convincing. Wanda would eventually wake up and be fine. She would get up, go back to her dorm, and probably act like nothing happened. 

Turning back around, Y/n almost walked away but her heart couldn’t. Sleeping alone in this lonely part of the library was not something Y/n wanted for Wanda. Looking around the table, Y/n spotted Wanda’s phone past all the humanities notes. 

Grabbing it, Y/n was surprised to find that there was no passcode. ‘Maximoff, you really need to change that.’ 

Looking through her contacts, Y/n finally was able to find Pietro. Sending a quick ‘pick me up from the fourth floor of the library’ felt harmless. Especially since it sounded like something she would say. 

Placing the phone back in its original spot, Y/n felt satisfied enough to walk away. But Wanda just had to whimper in her sleep, still shivering from the cold. 

Y/n would never admit it outloud but she would have cursed Evergreen University for making their libraries so cold. Taking off her flannel, Y/n shook her head as she placed it on top of Wanda. She had plenty more in the closet, so losing one was not going to hurt. 

‘I fucking hate her.’ Y/n convinced herself as she finally walked away from Wanda. The brown eyed girl got back to her table. It was useless to continue to study. Wanda was all she could think about right now. 

Sighing, Y/n grabbed her phone. It was getting close to 12:30 and there was still no text from Natasha. Packing her stuff up, Y/n walked out the library at a slow place. Within a block away from the library, Pietro had jogged past Y/n, not even recognizing the girl with how dim the streetlights were. 

No one else witnessed this, and once again Y/n would never admit it, but she did smile knowing Wanda was going to be okay.

Pietro could hardly make his way through the library. If we’re being honest, he kind of forgot that this library was 24/7. After scrounging through the fourth floor, he finally found Wanda asleep at her study table.

Muttering curses under his breath, he walked to her, ignoring the flannel that covered her. ‘I didn't even take that long.’ He thought to himself. Pietro had only taken around 10-15 minutes to get to her. How did she manage to fall asleep? 

“Sestra.” Wanda woke up from the constant tugging on her shoulder. Grumbling a few incoherent words, she sat up, barely awake. Yawning into her hand, Pietro shook his head at the sight of Wanda. “You fell asleep studying, again?” 

Wanda shrugged her shoulders, too tired to even respond. “Let's get you back to your dorm.” 

As Pietro helped Wanda pack her stuff up, the brunette finally noticed the flannel on her shoulders. She snaked her arms through it, enjoying the warmth and comfort it provided. 

Too tired to think, Wanda followed Pietro out of the library and to her dorm hall. It didn’t take long for them to arrive. Thankfully, Wanda didn’t have a roommate, perks of having rich parents. 

Pietro had muttered a goodbye as he dropped Wanda’s bag near her desk. He flipped the lights off and closed the door. 

Wanda easily slipped under the covers, flannel still on. The cologne was distinct, something her body already knew who it belonged to. But having been too tired to think, Wanda simply thought it was Pietro’s flannel. 

But had she actually paid attention, she would’ve noticed the only person using this cologne was Y/n. Had she been paying attention, she would’ve noticed how much her body enjoyed having the flannel on. Had she been paying any attention, she would have noticed that the flannel was slightly too small to fit on Pietro. 

And if Wanda had a bit more energy, she would have noticed that her subconscious didn’t fight the feeling of Y/n. 

Almost a week has gone by since the library situation. Y/n was certain that Wanda had figured out her stunt. I mean the flannel had her initials written on the underside of the tag. But when Wanda walked into class, flannel surprisingly on, it shocked Y/n. 

‘Does she seriously not know?’ During the whole lecture, Y/n could not focus. All her undivided attention was on Wanda Maximoff. The way the flannel hung off her shoulders or the way she would purposely cover her hands with the sleeves. 

Every single detail was not left unnoticed. And as class ended, Wanda came over with her usual smug self. She made a comment or two, but Y/n hadn’t heard a single thing. Not when her flannel was still being worn by Wanda Maximoff. 

And by the looks of it, Wanda didn’t know. It literally took Natasha shoving Y/n for the brown eyed girl to even respond. “See ya, Maximoff.”

Y/n had panicked and blanked hard. She left in such a hurry that even Wanda was confused. 

“What’s up with her?” Wanda asked Natasha, but even she didn’t know. 

“Okay, this has been like the 10th time you’ve looked at her in this past conversation. What’s up with you?” If Y/n could, she would leave the country at the moment. Feeling so embarrassed, Y/n thought about denying Natasha’s comment, but god she was being so obvious about it. 

“I-,” Y/n sighed with her head in her hands. “I did something nice to someone I usually don’t do anything for.” 

Natasha hummed as she ate her banana. She carefully looked back and noticed Wanda talking with some of her friends out on the lawn. They were too far away to even notice the pair, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. 

“So you were nice to Maximoff? What’s the big deal?” It irritated Y/n that Natasha could be so nonchalant about everything. Couldn’t she clearly see why it was a big deal? 

“I guess…” Y/n looked over at Wanda once more. Her smile was radiant even if she was a little far away. And the way her body tilts back every time she laughs, Y/n could have sworn that she could hear it from her spot. Or maybe it was the way her mind remembered everything about Wanda. 

“It just made me think what if we were actually friends rather than…this.” Natasha could easily see this was a big deal to Y/n. However, their whole situation was rather odd. The banter and competition was just a children's game to her. No harm really came out of it. 

“Well I think there’s still time to make up. Why don’t you go over there and just try to talk to her?” Y/n scoffed at Natasha’s absurdity. 

“Yeah - over my dead body.” 

“We’re partners.” Y/n wasn’t dead but it certainly almost felt like she was as she choked on Wanda’s comment. Quickly gaining the attention of other classmates, Y/n waved them off and regained her composure. She wiped the water from her lips and stared at the piece of paper that Wanda shoved in her face. 

Team 7 - Y/n Y/l/n and Wanda Maximoff

“I told the professor that you and I could easily do this project alone, but he wasn’t having it. Apparently we need to improve our teamwork skills.” Y/n looked up and easily saw how displeased Wanda was. Using all her acting skills, Y/n did the same. 

Before Y/n could say anything, Wanda commented, “Just come over to my dorm after math club. It’s at Bourbon Hall. Dorm 321.” And just like that, Y/n easily forgot all about her kindness as Wanda walked away. 

The day was almost over. All Y/n had to do was enjoy another meeting at math club, be civil with Wanda, and then go to sleep. Although she didn’t necessarily want to do it in that order, duty called. 

Y/n was about to enter the room for math club until Lily stumbled in front of her with urgent eyes. “Hey Y/n, Dean Holloway wants to see you.”

“Do you know why?” The Dean never had random meetings with students. Generally, students would pop up to him with issues. Not the other way around.

Lily shook her head no with a small frown. “Sorry, he didn’t say.” Looking over the math club, Y/n could see that Wanda had already arrived. There was never an instance where Y/n wasn’t at a meeting, but knowing Wanda, she could handle it like a pro. 

“Okay, can you tell Wanda that I’ll be late and to start off without me?” Y/n adjusted her backpack.

“Sure thing, I’ll let her know.” Y/n gave Lily a small smile before walking away. 

Their banter was supposed to be a children's game, simple, harmless. Nothing was supposed to come out of it. But the look in Y/n’s eyes told a different story. Her thoughts flooded with insecurities as the conversation she had with the Dean replayed. 

“Thank you for coming at such short notice Y/n. I wanted to see you before your current meeting with math club.”

Y/n hadn’t gone back to attend math club. It meant seeing Wanda, the very last person she wanted to see at all. She knew that the brunette would already be pissed at her being late, but it was better to avoid that conversation entirely. 

“I’m going to cut to the chase since you’re a very busy student. By the board, new requirements have been added to your scholarship effective immediately.”

“What are they?” There was no letter or notice coming from the school about her scholarship so this must have been a very recent decision. The Dean was unable to look Y/n in the eye as he recalled the meeting. He looked stiff and strained, something that was easy to notice. 

“For the upcoming math club state competition, the school is requiring that you and your group must achieve first place. There is no tolerance for anything less than that.”

Y/n could remember the silence being deafening. She didn’t know what to say. The whole reason she was even at Evergreen University was due to her full ride. And for the board to randomly put that on the line felt so targeted. 

Y/n tried to beg for an explanation as to why the board decided this. Wasn’t she a great enough student? Regardless, Dean Holloway was useless. He couldn’t give her a single reason as to why they decided to implement this. Essentially making Y/n deal with it herself. 

For a minute, Y/n allowed herself to dream about first place. It felt plausible, but as her phone buzzed in her bed, reality came back. Right on the screen it said Wanda Maximoff. Not wanting to speak, Y/n let the phone ring until it hit voicemail. Before she could have her moment of peace, a harsh set of knocks were at her door. 

Figuring it was Natasha forgetting her key again, Y/n slowly got up. “Coming - coming.” Not bothering to check the peephole, Y/n opened the door, her eyes landed on her.

The girl who knew every answer to every question. The girl who hasn’t left Y/n’s mind since freshman year. The girl who was the reason she was second. 

“Not going to the meeting is one thing, but ditching our plans is another.” Wanda passed Y/n up, allowing herself to enter without permission. She sat down at Y/n’s desk, immediately spouting out ideas about their project. 

But as Y/n stared at Wanda, she couldn’t help but think, ‘You’re the reason I will never be first.’ 

And that made it real. It was no longer a children’s game. This was a competition. And Wanda Maximoff was going to have to lose. 

Chapter 2

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[melancholicstation]

GOD BLESS AMERICA AND ALL THE BEAUTIFUL WOMEN IN IT —HUSBAND!JACK SCHLOSSBERG COMFORT HEADCANONS 𓍼 𓇢𓆸

jack schlossberg fan fiction is for the lovers

WIFE!READER returns and is the orion carloto archetype, who balances modelling and writing, and i imagine her making tiktoks in the same vain of alanabananaxox (she's been my no.1 tiktoker since 2021) and sotce on tiktok.

taglist: @candyneckl6ce @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl

no matter the stressor husband!jack literally treats it as a top-priority emergency

immediately goes to start a bath for you in your gorgeous copper bathtub (cause of course you have a copper bathtub ... duh) with some suzzane kaufman bath salt's that he picked up down in greenwich after a meeting with vogue's magazine department.

husband!jack is a freak for baths and it's rubbed off on you ... seriously like that man takes baths multiple times a week, on top of daily showers

if he had to be out on a day you were particularly anxious for whatever reason he would come home with a laundry bag of new tasteful yet cute stuffed animals from loewe and never tell you the prices cause he knows you'd crash out

is great at being a body pillow and has no shame just laying in silence together for hours

would try to make you feel better by getting the overpriced (not in your opinion) criterion subscription just so you could watch vintage halloween movies without running a risk of getting hacked on some third-party sketchy website

would 100% let you live in his clothes while he was out of the house so you could feel comforted even if he wasn't physically near

would absolutely try to distract you with light comedy, despite his cockiness he is indeed a funny guy so it helps slightly

husband!jack would be such a proponent of a healthy mind is a healthy body so he'd make you go do jump rope with him (cause why does jump roping have to be so humiliating) or even worse takes you out to paddle board, like imagine your knee-deep in that melancholic state where you only read plath novels and listen to unreleased lana and your boyfriend drags you out to go paddle boarding???? like cmon now

you do feel better afterwards but you would never tell him that

if you guys owned any pets together he would without a doubt tell you he's going to be out for a couple of hours and come back with one of those portrait paintings of house-pets to cheer you up (editors note: vang olsen mimi does the most delightful pet paintings if your in greenwich!)

he would absolutely NOT be above trying to self-medicate your problems (within reason) by smoking w*ed with you or sharing a cigar being the chicest couple ever!

would 100% smother you in delightfully soft cashmere blankets in the pattern of gorgeous tapestries

would earnestly read poems (robert frost, emily dickinson, and shakespeare) to you to get you to sleep on the especially hard days

is a devout optimist and routinely talks you out of your doom scrolling

always holds space for whatever emotions you are feeling but always wants to provide solutions to your problems

and when he encounters a problem he can't so easily fix he invests time into getting your mind off it and plans steps you can take to lessen the hold whatever your stressing about has on you

writes mini impromptu love letters/pep talks on the empty spaces in your agenda notebook (wife!reader would totally own more than 1 of these louise carmen organisers in an apropos shade of autumn scarlet )

encourages you to do self-care rituals with your staple skincare products by letting you do the exact same steps on him

while husband!jack cooks for you both you read him your favourite chapters of "democracy" by joan didion in the kitchen every night and it remains a pillar in your routine despite the tumult

during your hard times jack is serving peak husbandry doing the washing, cooking and cleaning

when he's on his lunch break at the office you get text messages like this:

always makes sure that you take your medication (if you take any) at the exact times its supposed to be at and has little alarms on his phone

husband!jack would increase his acts of service to 1000% like that man would be taking your row boots into the cobbler for a new sole

would bring home flowers without a special occasion, just cause

would without a doubt bring out those STELLAR accents just to see you smile

disclaimer: this is all obviously fiction and i do not know this man nor how he calms anyone down, this is all for some fun distraction in these trying times.

to anyone struggling with the results and its ramifications (same here) i would really encourage you to read this beautiful (free) essay from alanabanaxox on patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/i-miss-dancing-115580140?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_fan&utm_content=web_share

[loafysainz]

the parent trap (remake) | CS 55

cast: carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: 100% fiction, remake, and this chapter lil bit longer

chap 1, chap 2, chap 3, chap 4, chap 5

PART 4 THE RIPPED PHOTO

All the campers marched like soldiers along the long forest path. Matheo and Mattia, the two boys facing “punishment,” trudged behind, clearly over it. At least the sun wasn’t blazing through the pine trees.

“Alright, everyone else can get back to your activities!” Mr. Hamilton yelled into his megaphone.

The campers cheered and bolted down the road. Mattia and Matheo stayed behind, exchanging annoyed looks as Mr. Hamilton pointed to their destination: a creaky old cabin that looked one strong wind away from collapse.

“Isolation cabin,” Mr. Hamilton declared.

“This place better not have ghosts,” Mattia muttered, adjusting his sunglasses.

Matheo rolled his eyes. “If there are ghosts, they’ll probably be more fun than you.”

***

The cabin creaked ominously as the boys settled in. Matheo unpacked with exaggerated flair, sticking Real Madrid posters on the walls. Mattia ignored him, focused on his card game.

“What are you even playing?” Matheo asked, squinting at the cards.

“Uno. Against myself. I’m winning,” Mattia replied without looking up.

Matheo rolled his eyes, then moved to open the window. A strong wind blew in, scattering his posters everywhere.

“Ugh, help me close this!” Matheo groaned.

Mattia stood, reluctantly helping. Together, they managed to shut the window.

“Thanks,” Matheo mumbled.

“No problem,” Mattia replied, sitting back down.

As they gathered Matheo’s scattered posters, Mattia raised an eyebrow at a particular one.

“What is that?”

“It’s Real Madrid merch,” Matheo said, clutching the poster protectively. “And this guy is Kylian Mbappe. He is my favorite player. Don’t judge.”

Mattia smirked. “Whatever makes you happy, buddy.”

Later, Matheo rummaged through his bag and pulled out a snack.

“Want some chips?”

Mattia shook his head. “I only eat chips with Nutella. You wouldn’t understand.”

Matheo froze. “Excuse me? I eat everything with Nutella. Even fries.”

“No way,” Mattia said, his jaw dropping.

Matheo grabbed a jar from his drawer triumphantly. “Believe it.”

Mattia stared. “Okay, now I trust you a little more. Just a little.”

The two laughed, dunking chips into Nutella like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Whats your dad like? I mean, is he the kind of father you can talk to or is he one of those workaholic types, who says I'll talk to you later, honey. But you know never really does. Well i hate that" Matheo asked casually with his expressive face and eating his chip.

Mattia chuckle a bit seeing Matheo face,

"I don't have a father, actually." he said with a bit bitter face.

"I mean, I had one once, I suppose. But my parents divorce since I was baby. My mom never even mentioned it. It's like he evaporated into thin air or something." Mattia said it with his voice getting quieter.

Matheo face shocked, his eyes widen, and his posture straightening, "Scary the way nobody stays together anymore."

"Tell me about it."

"How old are you?" Matheo asked.

“I'll be 10 on December 15th,” Mattia replied. “Why?”

Matheo froze. “That’s my birthday.”

Mattia raised an eyebrow. “Weird.”

***

The rain finally stopped, leaving behind that fresh, post-storm vibe. Matheo leaned against the cabin door, his hair slightly damp from the drizzle earlier. “Oh, hey, it stopped raining. Want to get a popsicle or something?” he asked casually, glancing at Mattia, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, lost in thought.

“What’s the matter?” Matheo pressed, noticing the faraway look in Mattia’s eyes.

Mattia sighed, tilting her head back. “What’s your mother like?” he asked suddenly.

Matheo blinked, caught off guard. “I never met her. She and my dad split up when I was a baby. Maybe even before—I’m not sure. He doesn’t like to talk about her.” He paused, fidgeting with his hands. “But I know she was really, really beautiful.”

Mattia squinted at him. “How do you know that?”

“Well,” Matheo said with a sheepish smile, “my dad had old picture of her hidden on his room. I’d always look at it, like, all the time. He finally caught me and just gave it to me.”

"Look, I’m thirsty. Sure you don’t want to hit the mess hall and grab something to drink?”

Mattia frowned, folding his arms. “Will you stop thinking about your stomach at a time like this?”

Matheo scoffed, hands on his hips. “A time like what?”

Matheo’s eyes widened. “Don’t you realize what’s happening?”

Matheo rolled his eyes dramatically. “No, Mattia, please tell me.”

Matheo hesitated, then shook his head, changing the subject. "Listen, I only have a mother, and you only have a father. You've never seen your mom, and I've never seen my dad. You have one old picture of your mom, and I have one old picture of my dad. But at least yours is probably a whole picture. Mine's a pathetic little thing, all crinkled and ripped right down the middle, and...

Matheo stood in stunned silence, the coincidence weighing heavily in the air.

“What are you doing in your trunk for?” Mattia asked, voice curious but edged with disbelief.

Wordlessly, the other pulled out a crinkled photograph, holding it up with trembling hands. “This... it’s a picture of my mum. And it’s ripped, too. Right down the middle.”

The first stared at the photo, their breath catching in their throat. Their voice was a whisper now. “Right down the middle.”

“Okay, this is freaky,” they said, their tone shaky. “On the count of three, we’ll hold them together. Deal?”

The other nodded, their hands still trembling. “Deal.”

“One... two... three.”

As the halves of the photos came together, the ripped edges fit perfectly. The faded image revealed a couple smiling brightly—Matheo’s father and Mattia’s mother. The realization hit them like a thunderbolt.

“That’s... my mom,” Mattia said, his voice barely audible.

“And thats my old man,” Mattia replied, unable to look away.

Their eyes locked, the truth settling in like a jigsaw finally completed.

[millenianthemums]

I wanted to share the official playlist I made for this fic! I always make playlists for stories of mine, but I honestly really like this one and wanted to share it. I went way overboard on the cover, but it was still fun. I’ll probably reuse it when I post the first chapter of the fic, which I’m hoping will happen in the next couple weeks!

tracklist under the cut! the songs don’t map directly onto the plot or anything, they’re just vibe-based. there’s a lot of cheesy pop and angsty stuff right next to each other, because i feel like that’s gonna be the tone of the fic in general.

* Ruler of Everything - Tally Hall

* The Saga of You, Confused Destroyer of Planets - Lemon Demon

* Kiss Me, Son of God - They Might Be Giants

* Beady Eyes on the Horizon - Jukebox the Ghost

* The Next Dimension - Lemon Demon

* Look Who’s Inside Again - Bo Burnham

* Hollywood Baby - 100 gecs

* Problems - Mother Mother

* Something Glowing - Lemon Demon

* The Guide to Success - Joe Iconis / Eric William Morris

* Flap Flap - Patricia Taxxon

* Hot Air Balloon - Owl City

* Baby One More Time - Britney Spears

* Cilantro - Patricia Taxxon

* Shooting Star - Owl City

* Mamma Mia - ABBA

* Swear To God the Devil Made Me Do It - The Front Bottoms

* Teenagers - My Chemical Romance

* Big Wheel - Patricia Taxxon

* Fine - Lemon Demon

* Perfect - Marianas Trench

* Alone Together - Fall Out Boy

* Modern Day Cain - I Don’t Know How But They Found Me

* Bloodeater - Girls Rituals

* Against the Kitchen Floor - Will Wood

* Kill All Your Friends - My Chemical Romance

* Scare Me - Ludo

* September - Earth Wind & Fire

* Wow Wow - Neil Cicierega

* Have It All - Jason Mraz

* I’m Still Here - John Rzeznik

* Yellow Horse - cats millionaire

* Honest - Patricia Taxxon

* Son of a Gun - Joe Iconis / Eric William Morris

* Peach - The Front Bottoms

* …well, better than the alternative - Will Wood

* Candy Store - Heathers

* When the Chips are Down - Hadestown

* Aurora Borealis - Lemon Demon

* Goodbye - Bo Burnham

* Twin Size Mattress - The Front Bottoms

* Dumbest Girl Alive - 100 gecs

* Killer in the Mirror - Set It Off

* A Sadness Runs Through Him - The Hoosiers

* Bad Guy - Set It Off

* My Alcoholic Friends - Dresden Dolls

* SAD - Lemon Demon

* Happily Ever After - He Is We

* True Kinda Love - Steven Universe

* Everything Stays - Adventure Time

* I Bet on Losing Dogs - Mitski

* Love Love Love - The Mountain Goats

* Goodbye to a World - Porter Robinson

* King - Lauren Aquiliana

* Stand By You - Rachel Platton

* Ready Now - Dodie

* Seventeen (Reprise) - Heathers

* Gone, Gone, Gone - Phillip Phillips

* Time To Pretend - MGMT

* Die Young - Kesha

* Good Time - Owl City

* Anything For You - Ludo

* Monster - Adventure Time

* You Love Me - Kimya Dawson