#finally and about time I did updated this

[kannady]

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 1.9k

a/n: lets just ignore how this chapter took me so awfully long😫😫😫 i really needed time to sort out my thoughts plus this new update had me clawing at the screen. literally used up ALL mydiamonds and still didnt get caleb😭😭 anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter. lemme know your thoughts!

read rest of the chapters here!

IV

You kicked off your heels, letting them clatter to the floor, and dropped your purse onto the table with a hollow thud. The apartment was quiet, the hum of the city outside was nothing more than white noise. You sank into the couch, the cushions swallowing you whole, as if even the furniture could sense the weight pressing down on your chest.

The thought flickered again, what if he had loved you back?

It should have set you ablaze. It should have sent your pulse racing, your hands trembling, your breath hitching in your throat like some lovesick fool. But instead, it just sat there, a dull ember in the pit of your stomach.

You let out a slow breath, tilting your head back against the couch.

If he had loved you, why couldn’t he say it?

The answer was simple. Because he hadn’t. Because he couldn’t. Because there had always been her, her laughter ringing through the halls, her presence like sunlight in a house that had only ever been shadows. You were the alternative. The backup plan. The one who stood just close enough to pretend, but never close enough to matter.

A dry chuckle escaped you.

God, you were pathetic. Getting worked up over this? Over him? This was Sylus. The man who had built an empire out of blood and secrets, who had never once in his life needed saving. If he was in trouble, if, then he would get himself out. He always did. Luke and Kieran would come bursting through the doors, guns blazing, or he’d slip his restraints like they were nothing, leaving EVER’s scientists gaping at an empty chair.

You weren’t even a variable in this equation.

If anything, you were just getting in his way. Taking this too seriously. Making it about you, when it had never been about you at all.

You dragged a hand down your face.

Two years. Two years of rebuilding yourself, of waking up in an apartment that was yours, of walking into a lab where people greeted you by name, where your ideas were listened to, where no one watched you with cold, calculating eyes, waiting for you to slip up.

You were happy here.

And wasn’t that the cruelest joke of all? That the moment you walked away from him, the moment you stopped being his shadow, you finally found something that felt like living?

So why now were you even considering throwing it all away?

And that too for him?

The answer should have been easy. It was easy.

You stood abruptly, the sudden motion sending a sharp pain through your temples. The serum was tomorrow. The stronger serum. The one that would kill him.

Your fingers twitched at your sides.

No. No, you weren’t doing this. You weren’t going back. You weren’t risking everything, your job, your safety, your life, for a man who had never once risked anything for you.

You trudged up to your bedroom, the plush carpet muffling your steps. The closet door creaked as you yanked it open, fingers sifting through the familiar fabrics until you found what you were looking for. Soft, worn sweatpants and an oversized shirt that smelled faintly of lavender detergent. You peeled off your work clothes, tossing them into the laundry basket with more force than necessary, as if you could discard the weight of the day just as easily.

The shower hissed to life, steam curling into the air as you stepped under the scalding spray. The water burned, just shy of painful, but you welcomed it. Maybe if it stung enough, it would drown out the thoughts gnawing at the edges of your mind.

Him.

Of course this was all part of his plan. Sylus didn’t get captured. Sylus allowed it. He’d walked into EVER with his eyes wide open, knowing exactly what would happen, knowing you would be the one to see him strapped to that chair. It was a game. It had always been a game.

You scrubbed at your skin until it turned pink, as if you could wash away the memory of his crimson gaze through the observation glass.

He doesn’t get to do this.

The thought was sharp, furious. He didn’t get to waltz back into your life after two years and upend everything. Not after the way he’d let you walk away. Not after the way he’d never once, not once, told you what you’d so desperately needed to hear.

You knew him. Better than most. Five years at his side had taught you that Sylus was a man who took what he wanted. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t second-guess. If he had wanted you, he would have said it. He would have shown it.

But he hadn’t. And that was answer enough.

The water turned cold, snapping you back to the present. You shut it off with a rough twist of the knob, stepping out onto the bathmat, your skin prickling in the chill. The mirror was fogged over, but you didn’t need to see your reflection to know what you’d find there, the same tired eyes, the same clenched jaw, the same woman who had spent two years convincing herself she was over this.

Over him.

You dragged a towel through your hair, your movements jerky.

This was your life. Your choices. You were the one who got to decide what to do, who got to say no, who got to walk away and never look back.

So why was it that the moment you’d seen him again, every carefully constructed wall had crumbled down?

You knew why.

You’d always known.

Somewhere, buried deep beneath the anger and the hurt, there was still a part of you that remembered the way his voice sometimes softened when he said your name. The way his fingers had lingered on the back of your chair, just close enough to feel the warmth of him. The way he’d looked at you, really looked at you, when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

Maybe that was the worst part.

Not the betrayal. Not the silence.

But the hope.

The stupid, traitorous hope that maybe, just maybe, you hadn’t imagined it all.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your palms against your eyes until stars burst behind your lids.

No. You weren’t doing this. You weren’t falling back into that same spiral.

You tugged on your clothes, the fabric soft against your skin, and padded back into the bedroom. The bed was unmade, the sheets still tangled from this morning’s restless sleep. You didn’t bother fixing them.

Instead, you sank onto the edge of the mattress, your fingers curling into the sheets.

You don’t owe him anything.

Tomorrow, you’d walk back into that lab.

And when they brought out the serum, when they strapped him down and prepared to tear his Evol from his veins, you’d make a choice. One way or another.

***

The alarm blared at 5:00 AM sharp. Your hand slapped it silent before the second ring could pierce the quiet. No hesitation. No groggy fumbling. Just cold, mechanical precision, like every other morning.

You rolled out of bed, your bare feet meeting the cool hardwood floor. The apartment was still dark, the city outside still hushed in that eerie pre-dawn stillness. You didn’t bother with the lights. You didn’t need them. Every step, every movement was muscle memory by now.

The kitchen light flickered on as you entered. Coffee first. The machine gurgled to life, the rich, bitter scent filling the air. While it brewed, you cracked two eggs into a pan, the sizzle loud in the silence. Toast popped up. Butter melted. You ate standing at the counter, barely tasting any of it.

Today’s the day.

The thought slithered through your mind, unwelcome but persistent. Today, they’d administer the stronger serum. Today, Sylus would either escape or die.

Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug.

He won’t die. You knew that. Of course you did. Sylus didn’t die. Sylus didn’t lose.

But the sinking feeling in your stomach refused to fade.

You showered. Dressed. Tied your hair back. Every motion was methodical, practiced, like you were a machine going through its programmed routines. The face in the mirror looked back at you, steady, composed, betraying nothing.

Good.

The walk to the transit station was quiet. The streets were still mostly empty, the occasional early riser passing by with bleary eyes. You didn’t look at them. Your mind was elsewhere, turning over possibilities, scenarios, every damn what-if that had kept you awake all night.

What’s his plan?

That was the question, wasn’t it? Sylus always had a plan. Always. So what was it this time? A distraction? A bomb? Were Luke and Kieran already inside, lurking in the vents like shadows?

The train arrived with a hiss. You stepped on, finding your usual seat by the window. The glass was cool against your temple as you leaned, watching the city blur past.

He wouldn’t let them take his Evol.

That much was certain. Energy manipulation was his lifeblood. Without it, he was just a man. And Sylus had never been just anything.

The facility loomed ahead, its sleek, glass-and-steel exterior gleaming under the morning sun. You swiped your keycard at the entrance, the doors sliding open with a soft whoosh.

Everything was normal.

Your eyes flicked to the security cameras, still operational. The elevators, functioning. The researchers milling about, alive, unharmed, chatting about weekend plans like today was just another day.

No explosions. No alarms. No masked figures storming the halls.

Nothing.

A frown tugged at your lips as you stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for Sublevel 7. The descent was smooth, silent. Your reflection stared back at you from the polished metal doors, calm, collected.

The doors slid open. The hallway stretched ahead, sterile and bright. Your footsteps echoed as you walked, the sound too loud in your ears.

Lab 7’s doors hissed at your approach. You punched in the code without thinking.

“Dr. (Y/N), authorization code Rose-9-White.”

The locks disengaged. Your eyes went straight to the observation window.

Empty. Again.

You exhaled, though you weren’t sure if it was relief or frustration.

Shaking your head, you crossed to your workstation, pulling on your lab glasses and gloves with practiced ease. The logs for the day blinked up at you from the holoscreen, routine checks, data analysis, prep for Phase Two.

Your stomach twisted.

You forced your hands to move, pulling up the files, scanning the data. Numbers. Charts. Cold, clinical facts that didn’t mention the man strapped to a chair somewhere in this building, the man whose blood they’d be siphoning today.

Where is he?

You shouldn’t care. You didn’t care.

But your gaze kept drifting to the empty observation chamber, to the dangling restraints, to the faint smudge of blood still on the floor from yesterday.

What are you planning, Sylus?

The question burned in your skull, unanswered.

You turned back to your work.

And waited for hell to break loose.

The lab doors hissed open, and you glanced over your shoulder out of habit, only to freeze for half a second when you saw Dr. Voss stride in.

Weird. He was never late. In fact, he’d once fired an intern for being two minutes behind schedule. You’d assumed he slept in his office just to avoid the indignity of traffic.

Shaking your head, you turned back to your workstation, fingers flying over the holoscreen as you logged the latest batch of data. 

But then you heard a sharp gasp. Then another. Your head snapped up.

Dr. Voss stood near the observation window, his back rigid, his usually immaculate suit rumpled. He was speaking in hushed, urgent tones to a cluster of senior researchers, their faces paling by the second. One of them, Dr. Cho, actually took a step back, as if physically recoiling from whatever Voss had just said.

Mara sidled up beside you, her elbow nudging yours. "Wonder what’s going on?"

You didn’t take your eyes off them. "If it were anything minor, he’d be screaming by now," you muttered. "He’s never late. If he could, he’d kill anyone who is."

Mara snorted, but her amusement faded as Voss turned toward the rest of the lab.

And that’s when you saw it. The sweat.

A thin sheen glistening across his forehead, droplets rolling down his temples despite the lab’s controlled climate. His hands, usually so steady, trembled faintly at his sides. His throat worked as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing like he was forcing down bile.

Then, without warning, he cleared his throat. The sound was like a gunshot in the sudden silence. Every head in the lab turned. Every breath held.

Voss opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"I–" His voice cracked. He tried again. "I advise you all to start putting away everything and get ready to evacuate. You’ll be getting the notice soon."

For a heartbeat, there was nothing.

Then, chaos.

Gasps. Panicked shouts. The clatter of equipment being dropped, stools scraping back, voices overlapping in a cacophony of panic. The lab had never been this loud. Not even during the fire drill last month.

Mara stepped forward, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "What’s going on? You can’t just come in like that, tell us to drop everything and leave!"

Voss’s gaze locked onto hers. For a long, terrifying moment, he didn’t speak. It was like watching a man hesitate before jumping off a cliff.

Then, finally, he exhaled.

"The subject," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Our subject… he’s–he’s not in the cell."

Silence. Absolute, suffocating silence.

Then Mara, ever the pragmatist, frowned. "So? He escaped. Call security. Lock it down."

Voss didn’t blink. "He didn’t escape."

Your heartbeat was hammering in your ears. 

"The cell’s still locked."

Lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

tags: @nm4565natty, @dysphxriaii, @animegamerfox, @floofycookie, @food4me-always, @dummiebunny, @starllight613, @natashahbarry, @hao-ming-8, @eve-rockin-blog, @sylusgirlie7, @babygirl-panda19, @chaoticfivesworld, @wakeupr41, @poptrim, @brailsthesmolgurl, @seung185, @mimiu3usoft, @theplaid-wearingmoose, @moonchildjae00, @pinksaiyans, @vintag3u, @peachystea, @69-gojos-wife-69, @harusansthings, @dyeinsomniadontwake, @perqbeth, @dramaticalsachan, @dana-nite, @blusterry-bomb, @miffysoo, @his-ocean-emissary, @totallytaurus4, @sleepykittyenergy, @terriblesoup, @mcdepressed290, @ikesimpleton, @meyline, @decaf-nosebleed, @ili6a, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @adeptustemptations, @sylussweetkitten, @roschea-arts, @blipblopblopblip, @eolivy, @coeurdeveea, @sylussplushie, @thestarsaboveme, @cordidy, @bxtchopolis, @sabage101, @stxrrielle, @lighting-and-shadow, @peachhiz, @z3vl, @inara-lumina, @thirstblogforaparchedgirl, @bubbleteakittyy, @sillyfreakfanparty, @inzanekillian, @54fangirl, @lluvia1415, @obeythebutler, @beaconsxd, @raethewargeneral, @vyntheria, @claireeredfield, @velvtcherie, @it-is-tea-time, @babylavinawr, @jaebumspetitegf, @xsammijoanneex, @sikrettt, @lostpsycho13, @junlight, @aboobie, @jaams-backpack, @sh4do3, @nnasv, @lov3vivian, @rosiesareblu, @lemon-seeds81, @sakuraneko-sakupanda-chan, @moth-quasar, @mononlogue, @sofszz, @seungkwansflower, @probably-hyperfixating, @leiaglamela, @idkmanimjusthorny, @anonymousarely, @treeteaofversailles, @lucifer-says-hii, @alwaysawkwardvalery, @king-dynamight, @milkyasteroids

[saffron-slash]

Doomed Baja Blast Masterpost

💥

Disclaimer: This is not a “feral” AU. Do not call it that. Do not describe my Ronin as “feral” (or other words adjacent to it) either, it makes me super uncomfortable for several reasons, so please don’t do that. Cool? Cool. So, anyway—

Premise:

A much older, war-hardened Leonardo Hamato--the leader of the rebel force against the violent and merciless Krang that ravaged the planet for 20 years--finds himself startling awake in a dirty alley in New York. The last thing he remembers is being at the end of the line. He commanded Michelangelo to open an inter-dimensional portal to the past, and watched as it ended his little brother's life. He sent Casey Jones Junior through the portal to rewrite history and stop the Krang. Leonardo stayed behind in the desolate, burning world--fighting, alone, until his inevitable fate. Now suddenly awake in a pre-Krang New York, there is a single, burning question in his mind: Why is he here?

Little does Leonardo know, this world that he has woken in is different. In this world--sometime after the Hamato family successfully defeated the Shredder--all except one of them were killed in a shockingly brutal Foot Clan attack. Michelangelo Hamato is the last survivor of the Hamato clan. He is The Last Ronin.

The Last Ronin is doomed to burn bright, and then burn out. That is how the story goes.

...Can Leonardo rewrite a story a second time?

Credits

Many of the story beats for this AU are co-written by myself and my partner @hollowavarice. 💖

⚠️ Content Warnings for This AU ⚠️

Heavy themes of dealing with grief and loss with a focus on familial death.

Depictions of characters exhibiting symptoms of severe trauma and mental illness, especially symptoms of PTSD such as disassociation, reduced affect display, and hyper-vigilance.

Moderate violence, blood, and burn injury/death. Injuries and excessive gore are never explicit (e.g. I will never make a drawing depicting full, minute details of a wound; it will make both me and [possibly] you very queasy.)

Links

The comics for this AU so far, on tumblr. (This tells an overarching story, so read them in order. If you're having trouble, there's another option below.)

All the comics so far, sorted in order and into chapters, on comicfury.

All the art I've ever drawn for this AU, here on tumblr.

FAQ

How old are Leo (from the bad timeline) and Mikey (The Ronin) in this AU?

Leo is thirty-nine, and Mikey is sixteen.

Why is Mikey (The Ronin's) markings gray and washed out?

They have greyed and dulled from his extensive overuse of fire magic. They are a symptom of the toll these powers are taking on his body.

Why does Mikey (The Ronin) have a bandage wrapped around his chest?

It's mostly a visual design choice on my part, but I did intend for his chest wraps to somewhat resemble a sarashi.

Will you ever depict a flashback that shows how the rest of the Hamatos died?

No. That would be immensely distressing for me. I will drop hints of what happened in conversations and interactions with Mikey (The Ronin) in comics and such, but will never, ever show a complete flashback. At most, there will be snippets that will imply things, but never be explicit.

When is the next comic coming out?

When it's ready. Don't rush me, this is a passion project. 💜

Final Note

Before I finish this post, I want to make one thing clear about this AU: This story is not about pure hurt and suffering. I don't like to create dark, dramatic stories just for the sake of being dark. This story and AU is ultimately about healing and finding the strength to love again, even after suffering devastating loss. The path to healing is never an easy one--but it is never impossible, either.

If you read this far, congratulations! Here's a cookie. 🍪

(This post may be updated in the future).

[seeyouinthespring]

hi everyone! i know ive been super offline (for good reason lol) but i did want to share something on here.

the biggest reason why i haven't been posting is because i've been organizing really heavily with the filipino migrant population in chicago with the tanggol migrante (defend migrant) network that is based in many major cities in the us. we provide know your rights trainings, organize support systems for people with uncertain status, and have an emergency hotline for those detained.

recently, we were made aware of 2 filipino migrants in ICE detention in indiana, which falls under our jurisdiction as the closest philippine consulate is in chicago. one is a 71 year old working grandmother named tita r, who is currently in a clark county facility and has been since march, even though she is a legal green card holder and thus a us resident.

as you would expect, the conditions are horrible. she has been shackled, gone days without her kidney and blood pressure medication, and spends all of her time in a windowless, unsanitary hall filled with bunk beds and other people in detention. the only respite is video calls with her family, which cost $25 for 20 minutes, and is incredibly hard to navigate. at one point, she was being transferred so many different places, her family had no idea where she was.

this week i traveled with fellow organizers to kentucky, where her son and daughter are based. we were privileged to meet with them and offer support during this horrible time. tita r had her master hearing, where it was decided she would have to wait until next month to hear the decision of whether or not she will be deported back to the philippines. tita r has been in the country for over 40 years, and has built her life and raised her family here.

every time i am on a video call with her, i always want to cry, out of both sadness and laughter, because she may be one of the funniest people i have ever met. she calls everyone either boo-boo or bobo, which is always an endearment. she was showing the other people in her facility, look how tall my grandson has gotten! it breaks my heart to hear that she thinks she will die in detention due to the conditions. we learned that at one point, her blood pressure was at 204.

the stories of filipino migrants aren't exactly shared often within the us, where the narrative mostly centers around latinos, especially mexicans. but filipinos are the second largest undocumented population in the us. every day, 7,000 filipinos leave the philippines to seek work elsewhere, because us imperialism has destroyed the country's economy, and idea of sovreignty.

we are raising money for tita r, because the philippine consulate hasn't released funds that her family is ENTITLED TO through the assistance to nationals fund, and as a result her family has had to shoulder the burden of legal fees, on top of the unimaginable situation they are going through. tita r's final hearing is next month, august 7th. we're trying to raise as much money as we can, and collect signatures for a petition demanding her release. i will include links here, but you can also go to @tanggolmigrantenetwork or @migrantechicago on instagram to hear updates on her case, or to even get involved, as there are campaigns running across the country right now.

please share this post. i will make a follow up post about the second detainee, a father named tito e who was detained at o'hare when coming back from the philippines, even though he is a green card holder.

donate & sign

(art by @lycheeluver on instagram)

[opiumwings]

prank'd — megan s. & lara r.

megan skiendiel & lara rajagopalan x seventh member reader – you wipe off megan and lara’s kisses –  1253 words

you had a pretty packed schedule earlier in the day, but now that everything had finally calmed down, you were just vlogging—rambling to the camera about random stuff while lounging around, fully expecting at least one of your girlfriends to show up soon.

you happened to be talking about megan when she strolled into the room.

“hi, bebe,” she said sweetly, wrapping her arms around you from the side and kissing your cheek.

you smoothly wiped it off with the back of your hand.

megan immediately pulled back, laughing. “did you just wipe my kiss off?”

“no, why would i do that?” you said, playing innocent.

she squinted suspiciously, then leaned in and kissed your cheek again. 

you wiped it again, more dramatically this time.

“oh, so you just don’t fuck with me anymore?” she said, giving you a full-on stank face.

“i love you,” you said quickly, turning and planting a kiss on her cheek.

she grinned. “see how i didn’t wipe your kiss off? that’s how it’s supposed to go. it’s called respect.”

“i’m sorry,” you chuckled, pretending to be apologetic. “i didn’t mean to.”

megan narrowed her eyes and suddenly kissed you right on the lips, catching you completely off guard. you wiped that one off, too.

“why can’t you just accept my love?”

“i am accepting it,” you laughed. “you act like i didn’t just kiss you back.”

“you’re acting like my kisses are a rash,” megan pouted.

“my face is just itchy today, okay?” you said, trying to hold in your laughter.

“yeah, okay,” she muttered, clearly annoyed.

just then, lara walked in, spotting the two of you cuddled up.

“why wasn’t i invited?” she asked, already walking over.

“you’re here now,” you said, patting the space beside you. “come show some love for the vlog.”

lara plopped down next to you and leaned into the frame.

“y/n’s been rejecting my love,” megan said, wasting no time updating her.

“what’d she do?” lara asked curiously.

“she wants me to kill myself,” megan deadpanned.

“she’s lying,” you said immediately, glancing at the camera like you see what i deal with?

“they’re always like this,” lara told the viewers, shaking her head like a tired mom.

“that’s just our love language,” you shrugged.

“and lara acts like she’s not just as bad,” megan added.

“i never said i wasn’t,” lara said, flipping her hair dramatically. “but someone’s gotta be the unnie in this relationship.”

“girl, i’m older than you,” megan pointed out.

“might be true,” lara said casually, clearly not caring.

you puckered your lips at lara, and she caught the signal immediately, leaning in to kiss you.

you wiped it off before turning back to the camera.

“the fuck?” lara said, frowning and wiping her own lips.

“so it’s fuck both of us now?”

“she wiped your kiss off, too?” lara asked, glancing at megan.

“yep,” megan said, nodding with fake betrayal in her voice. “now you see what i’ve been dealing with.”

“nah, you’re not just gonna do that to me,” lara said. she grabbed your face with both hands and started kissing all over it.

you kissed her back, but the second she let go, you wiped your face again with the sleeve of your hoodie. both girls gasped in betrayal.

“you’re literally asking for a fight,” megan said, her voice low and playful.

“it’s two of us and one of her,” lara chimed in.

“what is that supposed to mean?” you asked, even though the smirk tugging at lara’s lips already had you nervous.

“i can show you better than i can tell you,” lara said smoothly, her eyes locking with megan’s.

“okay, sounds like it’s time for me to go—” you started saying to the camera, half-standing.

“you’re not going anywhere,” megan said as she grabbed your arm, lara already pushing you gently back onto the couch.

you didn’t even have time to protest before both of them were on you—megan tackling your left side, lara climbing into your lap. soft kisses landed everywhere: your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, even your collarbone when your hoodie slipped slightly off your shoulder.

“try and wipe all of these off,” lara murmured against your skin, her voice a little breathy now.

you tried to hold in a laugh, squirming under the affectionate ambush. “this is not fair. y’all are playing dirty.”

“it’s war, baby,” megan said, giggling as she planted another kiss on your forehead. “you started it.”

“this doesn’t even feel like punishment,” you said as you let your head fall back onto the cushions, breathless from laughing. “i might do it again.”

“oh, we know,” lara said, now brushing her lips against your nose. “that’s why we’re gonna make sure you really learn your lesson.”

“you better never wipe off our kisses again.” megan kissed right below your ear. 

“and what if i do?” you teased, still trying to keep the act going.

“then next time it won’t be just kisses,” megan grinned.

“is that a threat or a promise?”

“yes,” lara said, smug.

you glanced at the camera, trying to compose yourself. “i’m gonna have to cut all of this out—”

“no you’re not,” lara said, taking the camera away from you. “they need to see you getting humbled.”

“hi vlog,” megan said sweetly, leaning in over your shoulder. “we just wanted to document what happens when y/n gets too cocky.”

“she thinks she’s invincible,” lara added, zooming the lens in on your face. “she’s not.”

“okay—okay! i get it, i learned my lesson!” you tried to shield your face with your hands.

“no, you didn’t,” megan laughed, taking the pillow and tossing it aside. “you love this.”

you didn’t even argue because, yeah, she was right.

lara set the camera down onto the table in front of you and settled beside you again, curling into your side. “so… you’re never wiping our kisses off again, right?”

“i mean… probably not,” you said.

“probably?” megan raised a brow.

“okay, okay! never again. i swear,” you held up your hands in defense.

“you better,” lara mumbled, her head tucked into your shoulder now, voice muffled. “we’re watching you.”

you leaned your head against hers, eyes fluttering shut from the comfort of having both of them so close. “honestly, i’ll take getting attacked like that any day.”

“you say that now,” megan smirked.

“but don’t tempt us,” lara added.

you let out a soft laugh, your fingers instinctively finding lara’s and intertwining them. “i’m not tempting anyone, i’m just appreciating the love.”

“appreciate it all you want,” megan said as she stretched her legs across your lap. “but don’t think that means you’re off the hook.”

“what does that even mean?” you asked, smiling despite yourself.

“it means,” she said, poking your thigh with her toe, “next time you act out, we’re doubling the punishment.”

“you’re both menaces,” you groaned dramatically.

“mmhm,” megan said, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “but we’re your menaces.”

“and you love us,” lara teased, lifting your joined hands up and kissing the back of yours.

“unfortunately,” you said, teasing right back.

“wow,” lara gasped. 

“that’s crazy,” megan sat up like she was offended.

“i meant unfortunately i love you too much,” you added quickly, pulling them both close again. “can’t help it.”

“smooth save,” megan said with a nod.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” lara added.

“i know.”

they rolled their eyes at the same time, but neither of them moved away.

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Game Masterlist here

Summary: After the death of your brother and his wife. You find yourself adjusting to a new role in your life. A single parent to your teenage nephew. How do you help him heal? How do you help yourself heal? You're not sure. You don't think you can, until an annoying basketball coach enters your life and turns everything around.

Pairing: Basketball Coach Yoongi x Single Aunt F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Strangers to Lovers,

Warnings: Death Of Parents / Brother/ Family, Car Accident (Cause), Swearing, Explicit Sex, Arguments, Physical Fighting, Past Abusive Relationship, Talks Of Domestic Violence, Unprotected Sex,

A/N: There will not be an update next Saturday. I am going to a concert! I'll try and get it out on Sunday, hangover, depending. Ya girl is a lightweight, lol. I'm still planning on getting my one-shot Love at First Event out on Tuesday. So, hopefully I'll see you then! Have a great weekend!

Walking to the dreaded double doors on Tuesday was not something you had been looking forward to. You had been half tempted all day to text Yoongi that you weren't going to show up for practice. However, you knew that Ara would win, and it would show that you had something to be guilty about if you had stayed away. You weren't one to back down, and you weren't going to start doing it now.

Pushing on the doors, you step inside, and you can feel some of their eyes on you the moment you appear. Letting the doors close, you walk over to the bleachers. You have every intention to take your normal seat next to Mark, but one of the moms that you don't have a name for gives you one of the harshest glares you think you have ever received. It actually makes you visibly falter in your step before finally sitting next to your friend.

“There's a whole group chat without you,” Mark whispers.

“Of course there is,” you reply. “What are they saying?”

“I'm not sure,” he admits. “Once Ara told the group what she saw, I left.”

You nod, but internally, you shake your head. What is with men not knowing how to spy to get information for you. Your eyes go to the doors opening as more of the moms come in. They all look at you before immediately whispering to one another.

Subtle.

Real subtle.

Ara comes in next. Unlike all times before, where she used to ignore acting like you never even existed, she smiles at you. She smiles at you like she accomplished something. It's almost as if she thinks this is finally going to push you out now that your little secret is out. Well, you have news for her. You're not going anywhere.

More whispers break out as Yoongi and Jungkook enter with a large cooler between them. Yoongi's eyes scan the parents, and once they land on you, you shake your head, looking away. You see him give a small nod before he makes his way over to the boys out on the court to start practice. Taking a deep breath, you have to remember, you were not in this fight alone. He was right here with you. Not only that, but he was willing to fight on your behalf. He was willing to take those punches for you. You just hoped that it wasn't going to get to that point.

However, luck was never on your side.

“Did Ara really see you and Coach Min on a date?” Pizza dough mom asks, leaning over your shoulder to whisper in your ear near the end of practice.

“I'm not not talking about that,” you answer, causing another round of whispers and murmurs spread through the stands.

“He didn't take advantage of you in your time of grieving, did he?” Chicken Parm mom asks.

“WHAT!?!” You exclaim a little too loudly and whirl around to face the two of them. “NO!”

“Of course he didn't,” pizza mom says quickly and exchanges nervous looks with her friends. “We never thought that.”

“It's just,” soup mom says, looking between her two friends and you. “Coach Min doesn't really interact with any of the parents. So, it's odd that there are rumors going around that he went out on a … date with one. We're just not sure what to believe.”

You look at Mark, and he nods at you. Opening your mouth to finally spill the truth, the coach's whistles stop you. Turning to face the front, you look at the clock on the wall and notice that they still had about twenty minutes left of practice. Confused, you watch Yoongi round the boys up as Jungkook pulls the cooler toward the doors.

“Good job today,” Yoongi tells them. “Because of all your hard work and the holiday just passed. Coach Jeon and I got you a little treat. Go follow him into the cafeteria and enjoy some ice cream. I'll see you all tomorrow.”

The boys don't question it. They quickly race to leave the gym to get their ice cream, but you think everyone knew what was coming. Yoongi turns to face all of you with his arms crossed, studying everyone with his sharp, unamused gaze.

“If you don't care about my personal life, you can leave and have ice cream with your son,” he says.

The few dads that always show up make the choice to book it down the bleachers. Mark looks at you, and you nod at the door, giving him permission to go if he wants to. Shaking his head, choosing to stick it out right next to you.

Brave man.

“Who wants to go first?” Yoongi asks.

“She is a grieving widow, Coach Min,” chicken parm mom speaks up. “What are you thinking? She is not in the correct headspace to date right now.”

You sigh and look down at your feet.

“Nicky lost his father,” soup mom joins in. “This could be confusing for him.”

Your foot starts tapping as you watch Yoongi purse his lips, nodding along to what the women were saying.

“Yet, we all signed the same handbook,” a mom sitting next to Ara says. “How do you know she didn't pursue him because she's desperate. She knew it was against the rules.”

You chuckle humorlessly at that.

Both you and Yoongi know damn well you didn't read that thing.

“Exactly,” another mom on Ara's other side says. “She's trying to find someone to fill the role of daddy to take care of her and Nicky.”

“I told you he was giving them special treatment,” Ara speaks up. “He lets her break the rules. Giving her kid spots on the team that he didn't earn after he just walked onto the team. It all makes sense now.”

“Haven't we already gone over this whole …. ‘favoring’ issue?” Yoongi asks. “I have not and will not ever favor one player over another. Just because I'm dating Y/N…..”

The moms break out in a flurry of chatter at the actual confession. You and Yoongi look at each other, not sure how to gain control of the situation. Everyone was talking over one another as you look back at Ara over your shoulder. She sat there looking like she was enjoying the chaos that she created. Taking a deep breath, you lightly knock Mark on the shoulder and walk over to stand next to Yoongi. You motion to whistle and plug your ears as he blows his whistle loudly, causing everyone to go silent.

“OH FUCKING MY GOD JUST STOP!” You grit out through your teeth. “Yoongi did not take advantage of me. I'm not looking for a new baby daddy because I have never had one to begin with.”

“What?” Someone asks, but you're not sure who it was.

“I am not a widow because I was never married,” you admit.

“Wait,” pizza mom stands up. “Did you lie to us? Is Nicky's dad…”

“Yes… no…ugh,” you huff. “Nicky's dad… my brother passed away earlier this year in a car accident along with Nicky's mother.” They give you a blank, confused stare. “I am his aunt. I'm sorry I let you believe I was a widow, but I was just really … I don't know. I'm just really sorry.”

“Nicky doesn't like talking about it,” Yoongi supplies for you. “He's working on it, and he's come a long way, but you're strangers. He's uncomfortable with the topic, so they just ran with Y/N being mom.”

“I'll pay you all for the food you gave us,” you tell them. “I felt guilty about accepting it in the first place. I just don't want you to think Yoongi did anything wrong.”

“I'm only going to say this once,” Yoongi addresses them. “From now on. My personal life will not be open for discussion here. Who I date does not affect anything. It's only the blatant jealousy from certain people that is causing an issue. If you have a concern, I suggest reaching out to me privately…”

“Yeah, yeah,” pizza mom says, walking down the bleachers dismissing him. “Are you saying Nicky lost both of his parents … at the same time?”

You nod.

“That poor baby,” she says, putting her hands to her chest. “Mom's, Nicky, and Y/N need us now more than ever.”

“Oh, no,” you say, waving your hands as they descend upon you.

“Do you need more food?”

“I can do school drop off on Monday and Thursday.”

“Great, I can do Wednesday.”

“Please, you've done enough,” you say, trying to back away from them and subsequently bumping into your boyfriend. “Really, we are okay.”

“I guess just let them help,” he whispers in your ear.

Man.

Why do they have to be nice?

You look over to where Ara and her little goon squad was sitting. Her face was completely blank as she sat there looking at you as her friends whispered amongst themselves frantically. You wonder what she was more pissed off about. The moms not caring about you and Yoongi or Yoongi calling her out on being jealous so openly. You probably think it's the latter of the two.

Raising an eyebrow at her, she finally looks away from you. She calmly gets up and heads down the bleachers before leaving the gym without making a scene. It might be premature, but it feels like victory. With only about four weeks left, you hope that thought won't come back to bite you in the ass.

“RAVENS! RAVENS! RAVENS!” The crowd chanted as the boys ran around the court, passing the ball almost effortlessly between them.

“So, all the parents are okay with it?” Elly asks, clapping along with chanting.

“Yeah, for the most part,” you nod, clapping along with her. “Most of the moms are …. way too helping. My freezer is full again, and I think they signed him up for a swim team and possibly karate. I need to check on that.”

You wince as you watch the other team make a basket. Bangtan Ravens were only ahead by three points, and last time that happened, you remembered that wasn't good. Nicky, with the ball in hand, runs down the court with no open teammates once again positions himself to make a shot. Setting himself up, you hold your breath and hope for the best until some little asshole from the other team purposely knocks into sending him onto the ground.

“What the fuck?” You say.

Your mom blindly reaches around to smack you as the parents around you all boo the other team. Yoongi and Jungkook run out to the court to check on Nicky, who was still down and possibly holding his ankle.

“He'll be fine,” your dad says. “The kid's strong.”

“Who's the kid's parents? I'm going to beat both of their asses,” you say, watching Nicky intently.

“Stop,” your mom chides. “This unfortunately is a part of the sport.”

Yoongi and Jungkook return to the sideline as Nicky stands. The parents clap as he takes his place in front of the hoop as several players from both teams flank along the side. This you are pretty sure is a freethrow. It's one of the few things that you do know. You think Yoongi would be proud of you knowing this.

Nicky dribbles the ball.

Once.

Twice.

He shoots, swoosh it goes in.

The crowd cheers. Nicky shakes his hands and looks at Yoongi, who nods, clapping his hands at him. Nicky wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, nodding back at him before catching the ball being tossed back to him. Once again, he takes his stance, dribbling.

Once.

Twice.

He shoots, swoosh it goes in.

You let out a breath that you were holding as the crowd cheered again. Nicky puts his hands on his hips before shaking his foot this time. You see the small grimace of pain cross his face as he does so. You're back to hating this. You know that he will want to play through the pain. His dad always did. You remember all the times he would play with a wrapped ankle or wrist. You know that you wouldn't be able to tell him otherwise.

“He gets one more,” Chris says.

“He's got this,” your dad adds.

Jungkook says something to Nicky this time, making him shake his head. Yoongi calls a time out, and they go to your nephew. Jungkook kneels, taking Nicky's ankle in his hands. The crowd of parents start chanting Nicky's name in encouragement. Fuck, you wish you kind of hadn't given them such a hard time in the begining. You're going to do better. It might be too late this season, but next season. You'll do better next season.

Retreating back to their spots again, Nicky takes the ball one last time. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath before he opens his eyes once more. The crowd goes silent as he dribbles.

Once.

Twice.

He shoots.

The ball hits the inside rim, spinning around.

Once.

Twice.

It spins around the rim a third time….

Swoosh. It goes in.

You and the other parents cheer your nephew on as his teammates clap him on the back, bringing their score up by three points. Yoongi waves him off the court before sending another player in to take his spot. Nicky limps his way over to the row of the bleachers and sits.

Thank you, Yoongi.

Bangtan Ravens Win

Undefeated

9-0

You carefully place Nicky's foot on the stack of pillows you built on the end of the couch. He shakes his head and tosses his phone down beside him, where he lies on the cushions.

“It doesn't hurt that bad,” he comments.

“Okay,” you say. “Move it and let me see.”

“I didn't know you were a doctor,” he sasses.

“What did I say about that mouth,” you tell him, plopping down on the coffee table. Reaching over, you place an ice pack over the swollen appendage. “It's probably a good idea to stay off of it for the rest of the weekend. So, we should probably cancel bowling tomorrow.”

“No way!” He exclaims. “Grandma and grandpa said we can order all the food we want there. Greasy bowling alley food is the best.”

“I can't argue with that,” you admit. “I just don't want you to be hurting the whole time we are there.”

“I'll be fine. I promise,” he tells you, sticking out his pinky which you interlock with your own. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” you answer.

“Did something happen?” He questions, and you tilt your head. “I mean, Uncle Chris and grandpa put cameras outside, and coach has been around more than usual. I don't think he's been home at all this week, and the team even knows about you now. I know I'm a kid, but I'm not stupid.”

“Have the other boys been giving you a hard time?” He shakes his head no, and you sigh in relief. “Look…”

“Don't tell me not to worry about it,” he pleads. “You always say that.”

“Okay, I have someone in my past who wasn't a good person. I saw them around recently, and grandpa just wants us to be safe,” you explain. “You don't have to worry. They didn't see me. They don't know where we live.”

“Was it your boyfriend with the beard?” He asks, and you freeze. “That's who dad hit, right? When he broke his hand?”

“Yeah,” you answer truthfully.

“I can keep you safe too,” he says.

“I know,” you nod, going along with him to make him feel better.

“Can I tell you something?” He asks next, making you nod. “I like having coach around a lot.”

“Oh?” You ask back. “Why?”

You watch him turn red in the face before he looks away from you.

“Because, he reminds me of dad,” he says softly.

“He does?” You question.

“Yeah, he really listens to me and not just about basketball stuff,” he explains. “He looks at you like dad used to look at mom. He takes good care of us.”

“Yeah, he does,” you agree. “Too bad I'm nothing like your mom.”

“Oh, yeah, you're nothing like mom,” he laughs, wiping his eyes.

“HEY!” You laugh. “You're nothing like your mom either. She always knew how to keep a secret, Mr. BlabberMouth. I could tell your mom anything, and she wouldn't tell a single soul. She knew so many of my secrets. I think she knew more than your dad did.”

“Really?” He asks.

“Yup,” you confirm.

“I think mom and dad brought coach into our lives,” he says softly.

“Why do you think that?” You inquire.

“If they hadn't left us, then we wouldn't have moved here,” he explains. “I would still be at my old school, and you would have never met coach.”

You sit there for a moment, staring at your nephew with a furrowed brow.

“What weird shit are you watching now?” You ask.

“Stuff I found on tiktok, but it makes sense,” he defends himself.

The front door opens, and Yoongi, along with Jungkook and surprisingly Jimin, walks through with Jungkook carrying a small medical bag.

“How's the ankle feeling?” Jungkook asks, coming around to where Nicky's foot was resting.

“It's perfectly fine,” he says, making you shake your head. “I don't know why I couldn't finish the game.”

“Let me check it out,” he says.

“I didn't want to risk further injury for next week,” Yoongi tells him.

“So,” Jimin says, sitting next to you. “I hear it's your birthday tomorrow.”

“He lied to you,” you say.

“Oh, really,” he teases. “Then I guess you don't want an early present?”

Jimin pulls out a small gift card holder from his back pocket, causing Yoongi to scoff.

“Did you really get her something?” He asks his friend.

“Of course I did,” Jimin said, sounding offended. “I always get my friends gifts for their birthdays. Don't be jealous that I got her something before you.”

“Stop trying to show off,” he argues. “It better be appropriate.”

“It's from all of us and Yeri,” Jungkook cuts into the conversation.

“Open it,” Jimin says, waving Yoongi off.

Popping open the little cardboard opening along the side, you slide the little card out. Smiling, you show Yoongi the little card.

“It's a gift card to the new distillery in the city,” you tell him. “Thank you, guys.”

“See it wasn't anything bad,” Jimin elbows Yoongi. “We figured the two of you could have a good night out. Unless you want to leave grandpa here at home. I would be more than willing….”

“Yeah, thanks, guys,” Yoongi says, cutting him off.

“OKAY,” Jungkook says loudly. “I taped up Nicky's foot. He should be good to go for about five days with it. I can tape it up again if he needs it after that.”

“Thanks, coach,” Nicky says.

“Make sure he keeps it elevated and ice it,” he tells you.

“I will, thank you,” you tell him.

“I wasn't joking,” Jimin says leaning into your side. “I'm way more fuu….”

“Have a good night, guys. I'll tell everyone you loved it,” Jungkook says, dragging Jimin out the door with him.

Yoongi glares at the door before turning back to you. You just shrug your shoulders at him in return.

“I guess that was nice of them,” you say, playing with the gift card.

“What's a distillery? “ Nicky asks, shifting on the couch once more.

“Alcohol,” you answer. “You'll have to sit that one out.”

“That's fine,” he replies. “You guys don't have to take me everywhere. Mom and dad went out on dates all the time.”

“They did, didn't they,” you agree.

“Yeah, I think grandma would be happy if I spent the weekend with her anyway,” he says.

“We're not trying to get rid of you,” Yoongi tells him. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Nicky nods.

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asks. “Now that sunshine and I are getting serious. You know I care about you just as much as her, right?”

“You do?” He questions.

“Of course I do,” Yoongi ruffles Nicky's hair. “I can't and won't show it on the court. In fact, I might push you a little harder than the rest, but I'm here, especially if you're having a hard time talking to someone else.”

“I am right here,” you say unemotionally.

“I get it,” he assures both of you. “And I'm still okay with you two going out on dates without me. You don't have to feel bad about it either. Grandma spoils me.”

“At least you can admit it,” you say, agreeing with him. You watch him struggle to get off the couch, and Yoongi quickly gets up, helping him. “Where are you going?”

“To my room. I'm tired of this mushy talk. Let me know when it's time to eat,” he says, limping away down the hallway.

You move from the coffee table to the now vacated couch with Yoongi sitting down next to you. Leaning onto him, you close your eyes and kick up your feet across the arm of the sofa.

“You can tell he's your family,” Yoongi chuckles.

“He is much more mature than me,” you say. “He is such a good kid. I think I snuck out of the house for the first time at his age.”

“Where did you go?” Yoongi asks, playing with your hair.

“Down the street to my friend's house,” you answer. “Those were the pre-rebel days. I was just testing the waters.”

“What if Nicky decides to test the waters?” He questions, and you sit up looking at him seriously.

“We nail his window shut,” you answer seriously.

“That's a safety hazard,” he laughs. “What if there is a fire?”

“Fuuuck, I'm screwed,” you say, gnawing on your lip before shaking your head. “He won't do anything. He's too focused on basketball to screw up his life.”

“Wasn't his dad focused too?” Yoongi points out. “That didn't stop him from getting his girlfriend pregnant.”

“Knock it off,” you say, slapping his thigh. “I'm packing him up. He's going to my mom's.”

As you get up from the couch, Yoongi wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you down on top of him. “What are you doing?”

“He's not going anywhere,” he tells you. “ I highly doubt he's going to be out running the streets, causing whatever chaos you did and knocking girls up. However, he's still a teen, and you … we need to keep an eye on him.”

“Thank you for that,” you say. “For telling him that you care for him. I know that means a lot to him.”

“Well I meant it,” he confirms with a nod of his head.

“Good,” you kiss him. “Well, I will get some food ordered, then I will give everyone a call and cancel for tomorrow.”

“Cancel for tomorrow? Why?” He looks confused.

“Nicky's too hurt to celebrate my birthday,” you sigh rather dramatically. “Too bad. We will have to try again next year.”

“Nice try,” he laughs. “He will be fine. He's looking forward to it. Your mom is looking forward to it.”

“Have you been talking to my mom?” You question pulling a face. “Are you two besties now?”

“She's worried you're not going to show up,” he confesses. “Why do you hate your birthday so much?”

“My exes always found ways to ruin it,” you admit. “Most of the time, they would pick a fight with me, and I would spend it crying. So, I just kind of stopped … acknowledging it. If I didn't get my hopes up, then I couldn't be let down.”

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I want to celebrate with you. Hell, even my friends got you a gift.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up about that,” you grumble.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I should have known something was up. Yeri put you on the official birthday calendar after I mentioned my plans for this weekend.”

“Fine, you all win,” you roll your eyes. “I refuse to bowl, though, because I suck. So, I will sit there and cheer you on and stuff my face.”

“Sounds like a good time to me,” he whispers, kissing you.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him close. Pressing his body completely against yours. Smiling against his lips, you slightly pull back from his lips.

“I can't believe you talk to my mom,” you say, pushing him off you as you stand up off the couch, looking down at him. “Do guys have a book club? Trade soup recipes during your chats?”

Yoongi blinks up at you.

“She gave me her lasagna recipe for my smoke brisket recipe,” he says, cheeks turning pink.

“I thought it tasted pretty familiar the other night,” you nod your head. “Are you trying to become her favorite? I don't think Chris is going to like that.”

“Oh stop it?” He taps you with his foot.

“Suck up,” you cough into your hand.

“I'm doing it for you,” he says. “I have to win your parents over.”

“By sharing recipes,” you snicker. “You old lady.”

“Damn right,” he replies. “I can't help it that I am a kind respectful gentlemen that your mother likes.”

“Is that what you were last week?” You ask, cocking your head to the side.

“Did you object to any of that?” You shake your head no to his question. “Then yes, I was a perfect gentleman. I gave you what you wanted.”

“I think my mom would have a different definition of what a gentleman is,” smirking at him, you bend down and pick up your phone. “Let's call her and ask if you taking me to pound town while rawdogging me is gentlemanly.”

“STOP!” He hisses through his teeth as you tap her contact information. “Doll, hang up the phone.” You smile, holding the phone up to your ear and dancing away out of his reach as he extends his arm out for you. “This isn't funny.”

“Mom,” you say when you answer, watching Yoongi throw himself back on the couch like he was dying. “What time do we need to be at the bowling alley tomorrow?”

Yoongi lifts his head up from the couch to glare at you, and you blow him a kiss.

God you love him.

《Chapter 19》

Tagged Readers

@busanbby-jjk , @meelismee , @yoonglez0613 @jajabro , @wicked-game-black-butler

@wobblewobble822 , @damn-u-min-yoongi @mintedagustd , @Granataepfelchen

@yoongiiuu93, @jimeg629 @jincapableoflove , @minghaosimp @redragdoll, @ot72025 @princesstiti14 @seoullove96 @our-cool-jenny @kam9404 , @momma1, @carolineesnell @amarawayne , @militrybarbi , @expired-vibes @haileyborig, @bettytta , @ilikekpop-c @mar-lo-pap , @lattejimin, @butterymin @thelilbutifulthings , @cannotalwaysbenight @notsooperfect @muchwita , @maryhopemei , @rinkud , @misfits1a , @ktownshizzle

[scoutswritingcorner]

How They Would Mourn You

Marvel Ladies x GN!Reader

Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova, Wanda Maximoff, Kate Bishop, and Maria Hill.

TW: Talks about death, angst, crying and grieving.

After a rough mission, the team comes back but there were no more smiles or that energy she loved. You were gone just like that. A stray bullet hit you straight in the heart and you were dead before your body hit the ground. The world dimmed significantly.

Natasha Romanoff:

She was there when it had happened, She saw how your body collapsed onto the floor. She felt the warmth leave your body and so did her own.

She’s silent, too silent. Her usual harmless glares are now not so harmless.

Your stuff is never touched, she’s scared that the last little bit of your warmth will leave her too.

She snaps much more easily. Kills a lot more.

Never forgave herself, she thinks she was the reason you had died,

She visits your grave every week. She talks to you and updates you on the team. By the end of the visit, she’s in tears begging you to come back to her.

Weeks after, she starts to incorporate your jewelry or little trinkets into her normal outfits as a way to remember you.

She moves around constantly now. She can’t force herself to stay in one place too long.

Sometimes stays up to talk to the stars as if she’s talking with you. 

You were always the brightest star in her life.

Yelena Belova:

Much like Natasha, Yelena gets angry. Angry at herself and angry at you for being reckless.

She snaps at everyone who brings you up.

Kills much more ruthlessly now. 

Once her anger passes, she shuts off completely around others.

She can’t even go into your shared room because it hurts too much, so she sleeps on the couch.

Once she makes herself go into the shared bedroom, that’s when she breaks. She cries and screams until her voice is hoarse and she passes out on the bed getting a full nights sleep.

She visits your grave and leaves your favorite flowers. She sometimes sits with you, not saying much but still enjoying being near you.

Wears that one leather jacket you constantly stole from her with pride. She keeps a little trinket or jewelry on her at all times. Secretly keeps a photo of you in her pocket.

When she has sleepless nights or rough missions, she closes her eyes and swears she can feel you in her arms. It might be her imagination but it helps her sleep much more easily.

Wanda Maximoff:

When she feels your life suddenly fizzle out, she screams and breaks down.

She doesn’t believe it at first, she thinks it’s a cruel cruel prank but when you don’t answer her..that’s when she knows she lost you for good.

She locks herself away from the others.

It takes her weeks to even talk to the others about anything related to you.

But that doesn’t mean she won’t visit your grave and talk to you. She still loves talking to you, even if you can’t answer.

She cries herself to sleep at night, holding onto your hoodie.

She won’t let anyone take your things away, she gets violent when they try.

She starts dreaming about you, how your touch felt, how you laughed and it filled the whole house.

Every few weeks, your grave gets your favorite flowers and is cleaned. She won’t let anyone or anything disrupt your eternal slumber.

You both will meet again, one day. She just knows it.

Kate Bishop:

Kate’s first reaction is to think it was a lie. You would get up anytime now and the blood pooling around your body wasn’t blood.

It takes her a few days to process everything, she thinks you’ll still come back at any moment.

It takes Clint sitting her down and actually talking her through everything after the funeral that she finally breaks.

She sobs into him and clings onto him, begging him to bring you back to her.

Lucky knew immediately, he sits at the front door and whines loudly. He never leaves Kate's side at night.

If you had contact with your family, she tells them and lets them take your stuff. But she keeps a few things.

She incorporates a few small things or your jacket into her outfits.

She talks to you when visiting your grave, tells you how Lucky and Clint are or anything she can think of.

She blames herself for not being quick enough to save you. For even dragging you on that mission.

She never forgives herself and she never will. You were her everything.

Maria Hill:

Maria knew instantly when she heard someone had died on the mission. She didn’t want to believe it but she knew, intuition she supposes,

No one said a word to her when they got confirmation that it was you that had indeed died. Not even Fury.

She was the one who handled the funeral. She was the one who contacted any family you had. She was the one who took the blame.

After the funeral, she became more engrossed in work. 

She cried days after when she was alone, or thought she was alone, she had finally lost her drive.

She became colder to new recruits and sharper in how she talked. Especially when they dared bad mouth you.

She rarely visits your grave after the first few weeks. She didn’t think she deserved to do such a thing.

Once she does, she sits there for hours not saying a word until she mutters the words, “I miss you.” and it was like the world felt lighter just for a second.

After that, she slows down at work. She’s still mean and cold but she slows down to appreciate life.

She keeps your things around the house, despite most of them going back to any family you had.

She kept the silly coffee mugs, the jewelry or trinkets, she keeps the pictures up.

She doesn’t forgive herself but she knows you’ll be there waiting for her. Whenever that times comes.

[shuamorollss]

I hate you, in ways I can't even fathom...

✩˖. ˖˙ ❝ As Mingyu sets up a farewell party before his leave for college. He finally gets the courage to have one last chat with the person who he dearly hates and deeply adores. ❝

Established e2l, best friend's brother trope, kinda angst with fluff ending, both of them being an overthinking mess, Gyuri as Mingyu's sister >_< Warnings— confrontation scene is kinda corny but bear w me, Sloppy writing but again, bear with me. + anything else I forgot :P

note — I've written this a year ago and finished it like a few month back portraying another idol(Sunghoon) but I changed it to Mingyu the last minute bc I haven't been updated w Enhypen nowadays and I wanna focus on posting svt-related fics :'( Did some small tweaks here and there since I genuinely really liked how I wrote this fic and thought, "Wow, I should post this." and I did. 😁

note 2 — I'm starting my college year in just a few weeks as psych freshie! Rlly excited for this new fresh of air and I'm already expecting my hectic schedule during this, but since I regained my enjoyment in writing, I might post more from time to time just to relieve my stress after writing countless of essays during my senior year. Actually, I've already been working on a S.coups fic recently and I'm really passionate abt this one! Anyway I'm rambling atp so just... Enjoy this fic! I'm officially back in tumblr nation! :P

© shuamorollss. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.

Mingyu delightfully chatters with the guests, his eyes couldn't stop darting your way as you talk to his sister. The curves of your lips senses the enjoyment of your current conversation, the way your eyes sparkled at whatever his sister was saying, and the way how gentle you sip your drink as your eyes never left on his sister's talky figure. This observation felt odd to him since why would he take notice of you, sipping your drink? And why isn't he paying attention to what his mom's friend has to say?

Even if Mingyu’s eyes are forcing itself to glue onto the nice woman in front of him, the one who stuck mostly is you, in his mind.

He felt devastated, to say the least. The thought of not teasing and annoying you for a long time, and most importantly,

not seeing you for a very... long time.

As the thought progresses in his head, the more his heart sinks at every ounce of your presence dissipating into his life.

Despite that, what he fears right at this moment is you forgetting that very presence of him in your life.

As much as him slowly forgetting you haunts him (which is impossible now considering you have forever been engraved in this man's mind and soul), what trickles him more to despair is that if you forget him, he becomes a nobody into your vision. Possibly his life.

So how? How would he be able to tell you that he doesn't want you to forget him, and that you should be aware that he cherishes you, so much. Maybe even too much.

As the conversation came to its end, relieved that the woman didn't suspect the man's uninterest towards her blabber. Mingyu finally came to an impulsive courage to look for you, tell him how he feels, and probably start a relationship with you? Who knows? He'll make sure to maintain a long distance relationship with you even if things get busy.

As long as he's doing it for you, he won't hesitate for anything.

However, as minutes passed, he looked back to where he last saw you.

You were gone.

Mingyu's house isn't huge, so he might be able to spot you at some corner in no time.

Although he looked everywhere and every corner inside the home.

Still no sign of you.

Where are you? Did you go home?

…

..

.

Did he miss his chance?

Not even daring himself to ask anyone about your whereabouts, his emotions quickly transformed into a gloomy blob, in an attempt to remain wobbled down and never move for the rest of the event too much to his dismay of finally losing you from his life.

Though he couldn't stand the embarrassment of his emotions overcoming his actions.

So, he kept it in.

He explored everything within these house walls without receiving concern on the guests' ends. He knew every room and place by heart from childhood, yet he still had the initial thought that you must've gone home already.

As he felt his heart dripping tears, he made his way outside his house, in hopes to see you outside at the very least, if you left, just leaving, or you might be outside right at this moment. He would wonder if he would make it out in the same nick of time as yours, not wanting to expect your figure already gone so early in the evening.

When Mingyu twisted the knob and pushed the door, he was met with your gasp, "Huh!—” turning your head in a panic from the tense creak of their front door.

Mingyu's heart immediately quickens, a feel of an arrow penetrating his chest as he lays his eyes down on your intense state, sitting down on a stair.

A noise that quickly makes his heart leap. Thank goodness, really.

"I thought you left?" Mingyu calmly, yet his cheeky smile never seemed to fade.

"I was just about to.." You responded, eyes shifting to the other house across the street.

"Oh."

His eyes followed yours as it landed on the same house you were still looking at. Thus, creating dead silence within your bubble area..

The silence didn't seem welcoming to you, as if Mingyu was fed up with your presence. You have always felt that his uninterest for you was always evident. They all felt real, and the way his eyes look at you with pure intimidation gets off with barely ease.

Yes, the silly banters still happen. Yet as time passes by you feel convinced that he progressively decreases his fondness of you.

You only came to realize this when you started to notice every bit of his actions and demeanors.

The way he avoids you, the way his eyes barely look into your way anymore when you tell him a snarky comeback you feel proudest to even say…

And the way he barely even talks to you in general.

Which was already odd to say the least, you would never observe someone this close before.

Yet here you are.

These observations you had discovered within Mingyu completely changed how you were around him. Sure the bickering and playful hatred stayed, yet those times couldn't stop you from overthinking that maybe you have gone too far with your words? Gradually being aware about the peculiar feelings for the man.

You’re still aware, of course. However, you have no idea what you want to be for him.

In some certain aspects, you crave for his attention...maybe a lot. As humiliating as it sounds.

Subconsciously imagining holding his warm hands similar to what happened back to the day you exactly started to overthink how you see your dearest best friend's obnoxious brother.

It's scary. It's dreamy.

It's everything you wish you never wanted.

Despite all this, you figured that anything close to being equals would be impossible to happen now. Since Mingyu seemed to not seek your presence around anymore. Even for just one small talk that consists of nothing but insults.

He was starting to avoid you for weeks, not even saying a word when you attempted to say hello.

It left an unhealed wound inside your heart. Even with this. You still attended his farewell party in hopes to see him one last time, even from afar(Also his sister invited you).

Seeing him again after weeks, makes you feel somewhat… humiliated.

As if every time you land a gaze at his way, you felt like falling to a pit once more. Rock bottom.

"We...Well, I...I should go now." You quickly stood up to your feet with anxious heaves of breaths, not wanting to prolong the awkward air.

He watches you, perplexed. "Huh— what? Already?" Mingyu stutters, his eyes shifting his gaze onto you with faint disbelief.

As he watches you about to take a step out of their porch, Mingyu mutters a word that you hear inaudibly.

You turn around subconsciously to see the man's figure startled as your eyes meet his, as if you had heard him mutter something about you.

"I'm sorry..."

"Huh? What do you mean?" you raised a brow.

"I said that you should go if you want but I also said I didn't want you to go and that—"

"You told me not to go?"

"Kinda..? I thought... you heard me say that…"

Your lips fight to plaster a small smile, still awkward, but still warm. "I didn't."

Mingyu inhales sharply, his heart thudding from the inside, "Well, don't go... just yet. We should talk."

Your body shifted to his direction, endeared by his bashful demeanor despite his body looking utterly intimidating to an outer view. Your chest feels relaxed at the thought of Mingyu finally having the means to talk to you even after his unexplained ghosting.

You joined him, your best friend, who's leaning forward onto their porch ramp beside him.

"Congratulations, by the way." You started, following his gaze into the nowhere streets of the neighborhood.

Mingyu felt the temperature rising in his cheeks, the genuine smile he shows at your greeting sets your heart at bay. Mirroring his sweet smile you always do enjoy and engraved.

"Thank you." He beamed, blinking onto your view beside him, then darting his vision in front.

Silence bloomed over once more. Subtly queasing over the small twists and turns your stomach was doing being just a few meters beside Mingyu.

"Congratulations to you too." he adds, finally dissipating the awkward feeling in your stomach and for what it seemed to be for the both of you. Receiving a questioning look shifting onto him.

"For what?" You laughed anxiously.

"You won't get to see this handsomely infuriating face anymore,"

You rolled your eyes and scoffed at his response. It was typical of him to have thought about it anyway. Though, you’ll miss it. Miss these moments with him.

You fix your composure as you feel your back slightly aching now, maybe the posture wasn't that daring to see when Mingyu went out through the door and met with your figure. But oh well.

“Wow.” You sneak out a short chuckle. You didn't know why but something about reliving the banters with Mingyu just made this whole lighthearted talk quite upsetting.

Mingyu was quick to catch the light flickering out of your tone, just by the forced chuckle alone. It made him… visibly concerned.

He shifts his gaze onto you once more, all while you were set to check up on the cutes-y house down by the road. Watching Mingyu’s beam slowly falter from your peripheral vision.

“Something on your mind?” He asks, sounding genuinely worried that got you feeling all the more gloomy.

You whip your head to look at him with widened eyes. You clearly didn't want to set off that vibe but you did, and the man read that all too well.

“No… I mean, No.” You clarify, laughing off with a slight curve on your lips to disregard the small crack in your heart.

Mingyu scoffed, unconvinced and skeptical, “I know that tone of yours. You're not fine.” He said.

Since when did he know that? You ask yourself, furrowing a brow at him.

You were silent, the air between you was silent, and it only confirmed Mingyu’s assumption.

He heaves out a sigh, darting his gaze to the house across the street, relaxing his shoulders and elbows as he leaned comfortable by the ramp.

“Look, I don't know if you're sad that I’m leaving and all… Since we never really haven't been in talking for awh—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” Mingyu blinked,

“I’m just, sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Cause you're like that!” You exclaimed, raising your brows in defense. You felt a bit of heat rising through your temper for absolutely no reason. You were upset, yes, but in no way was it valid for you to let it all out on the guy who barely did anything to you.

If ever, you should be putting all this anger to yourself. On how long it took for you to realize that you might actually… I miss him too much.

“You hate me, right?” you asked, but the man knew that was a rhetorical question. “You don't like me. In fact, you hate me. You didn't like it when I'm within the walls of your comforting space. You hate it when I’m closer to your sister than you are with her. You hate me because I’m considered as someone who’d only give nothing but bad things to your sister who’s so pure and innocent.”

“And you know, I hate you too. For being so protective and always pulling me down a slippery slope. Calling me names to convince Sophia that I’m nothing but a pot of bad luck. I fucking hated it whenever you steal my favorite spot at my favorite café.”

“And you know… our reasons aren't all that bad. It’s nothing big, you don't hate me cause I made a huge mistake, and vice versa. And then we have our moments when we got along, shared a laugh, and worked together.” She scoffs out a laugh, it seemed sarcastic and demeaning that Mingyu sensed understandably.

“And then after actually getting along. You’d take a step back and pretend nothing happened. Like we’re back to square one of heated arguments and bickering.”

“I should hate you, I really should, but I couldn't. Not when I see your presence and feel myself fumbling through the clouds with a thudding chest. I hate you, but why? Is it because you see me as a bad influence? Is it because of your intended stealing of my favorite seat? Or is it that you made me feel things I don't wanna feel?”

There was another silence. Mingyu couldn't really speak out about his thoughts. It was all too sudden. You were all too sudden.

“And—And now we're here. I’m attending your farewell party and then we’re talking like old pals again.” Your lips curved into a forcing smile, at least you were finding a bright side in all of this. Yet… it still cost nothing.

Mingyu was just there, standing. His eyes staring with confusion alongside a plethora of questions. He understood your outburst well, but his mind is utterly conflicted whether or not you were implying something he hoped you were trying to imply.

“What are you trying to say right now?” Was all the man could muster. He was just as baffled as you are quite frankly.

You knew that quite well, since you also didn't expect those thoughts to become verbal. All for him to hear.

You took a deep breath. “What I'm trying to say is, I like you. I like you so much.” You pause, now keeping the time to gather your thoughts.

“And it kills me slightly that you’ll never see me that way, because all I am to you is that I’m your sister’s annoying best friend.”

Mingyu stares, opens his mouth and closes it once more. He didn't know what to say. The thoughts in his mind were scribbling elsewhere with jumbled letters he couldn't muster anymore.

All he knew was his heart was beating. Fast.

You look down to the wooden floor, then darting up to take a look on his face. A face that’ll confirm your rejection. A face that shows so much confusement and annoyance.

“Do you hate me?”

All that took was for Mingyu to finally hit himself in his own senses by the words left from your mouth. Your breath hitched, eyes glistening with worry and hope.

Mingyu was all the more baffled to have heard such things from you. Your doubts, your fears, your feelings.

It’s new to him. All of this was new to him. He swore to himself that you hated him, and that's what kept himself away.

And now you're here, telling him how you feel, telling him things you wish to have just kept to yourself if you just went home, or just not attend at all—

“I do.”

Crack.

“What?” You mutter, your breath shaking. Startled through his cold answer.

“I hate you. We both know that.” He says, removing the contact of his elbows through the wooden ramp of their porch. His stance facing you as you look at him with curiosity.

“I hate you because you’re always clinging to my sister. You’re always letting her do things she wouldn't normally do. For getting out of her comfort zone." He says, seeping the assumption of him telling a whole list of why he hates you.

It’s only going to shatter you right here, right now.

“I hate you because you're such a know-it-all. You know how annoying you are when you’re like that?” He chatters, taking small steps closer towards you. His eyes pierced through you with intention.

“I hate you because you know how to fight back. Ways so snarky and defensive. Your complaints are pretentious and deafening.” He scoffs. Taking another step closer.

Bit by bit, his words start to dig into your heart. Feeling all walls crash to you each step he has taken.

It’s suffocating, it's baffling.

Though, you couldn't be expecting a good outcome from the man who you never once deemed a friend.

…

..

.

“And honestly, that made me realize how cool you actually are. And that got me jealous.” Another creak on the wooden floor.

“It made me reasonably look up to you.”

One last step. As if you're completely towered by him.

“and worse of all. I hate you,”

and Silence. You couldn't ponder for a more rational approach. Hell, you couldn't even think of anything at this point. All the things grazing in your mind were countless blurs and just incoherence. You couldn't get yourself to speak up and spit a genius counter. All you could do against him was stay silent as he took a deep breath before continuing his words.

“Because it took years for me to finally tell you that I love you. For the longest time.”

That, you didn't expect.

Your eyes whip up to meet his mellowed eyes, staring directly at you. With intentions and wants.

He wants for himself to be closer…and more closer to you.

You could feel your chest pumping rapidly, your breath hitching at the overwhelming feelings stirring up in your stomach. Your mind was fully blurry at this point, nothing in it but him, Kim Mingyu. The menace he is.

You kept your gaze onto him, freezing your expression as he gently held your hand. The contact of his warmth sends shivers down your spine. Slowly holding it up as his head lowers down, his soft lips fervently pressing on the dropped down temperature of her hand.

“Telling you that I love you…the same time I have to say goodbye.” He whispered, adding to his previous confession.

This is where you processed it. The entirety of it. His words, his intentions, his own wants match to your needs.

The need to have him this close, that's what you need right now.

Because after all this time, he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

And that is enough for you to know that whatever this is between you, isn't one-sided anymore. Or never at all at this point.

He holds onto your hand for dear life as he leans closer. His eyes drop down to gaze at your plump lips with fervent need.

“I want you, Y/N.” He whispers. Filled with honeys and sweets and your heart makes mellow beats while you perk up a grin with evident anticipation.

“Please…” He adds, his voice lowering in tone. Shaking almost. Transferring your soft hands to cup the side of his face with ease. Slowly pulling him closer to your embrace.

“Mingyu…” You whisper mellowly, eyes meeting him, desperately seizing you in this distance.

“I have wanted you for the longest time.” He blurts out, interrupting your words for a few seconds until he couldn't get the right capacity in his brain to process any more words of longing as he lunges in and breaks the distance. “More than you think.” His lips have finally met yours in a passionate kiss.

Both mouths mold to each other in complete unison. He moves his hands up to your hips and pulls her even closer to him, pressing his whole body against yours too in order to feel her skin to skin contact.

He pulls back slightly, just so he can get a few words out in between his kisses on her lips. "I need you to be mine." he whispers softly, a slight desperation in his tone as he pulls you close again, kissing you once more. His tongue makes a leeway to explore your own as you feel your mind and stomach daze into wondrous bliss. Body suddenly feeling as if it fell from the clouds landing onto a pile of soft petals of daisies and tulips sending you into utter euphoria.

This is what you wanted. This is what you needed.

Now, feeling breathless under his grasp. You finally managed to inhale sharply, taking the initiative to pull yourself back from the contact with the close distance still intact. Panting from the pressure and brain cloudy from that whole instance. You felt your stomach churning and twisting as you took each breath to process that you really just kissed Kim Mingyu.

There was silence between the two of you. The only noise being the chatter and laughter happening inside Mingyus’ abode as the both of you stare into consciousness.

All you could play in your head were his soft whispers of being yours. He wants you, and you, and you, and you—

“Y/N.”

You snap out of your imaginative trance as your eyes dart up onto his face, looking down at you in another crave to taste your lips once more.

But he refused to dig it himself. Instead, he just held your face. Carefully. His thumbs rubbing your cheeks with soft grace.

“I want you. I love you. I don't wanna leave you.” He chanted almost everything he felt, causing your heart to mellow at his honeydew words. The edges of your lips creeping up into a smile, leaning close to him to have your foreheads touching.

“I don't want you to leave either,” you start, your smile slowly faltering. “But…we both know you have to.” You retort. Your tone lingering with disappointment, kicking back to the reality of it all. “This is huge for you.”

His thumbs began to rub extremely slowly as he muttered the words, “I’ll take you with me.” Causing you to slightly widen your eyes at him, startled.

“Mingyu, you can’t—”

“I know I can't.” He huffs, “Just please, stay with me for now. I’ll leave tomorrow, and I all I want to be with you right now…fuck.” He hissed by the end, transferring his hands as it held your waist. Pulling you into his embrace.

This is the first time you have felt Mingyu’s need.

And it’s solely for you.

Though you have known before that after this, and for the days leading on, you will have to endure the moments without his presence. He’s going to a prestigious university and you are left here with your best friend, who’s also his beloved sister.

One more year wouldn't be that bad.

“I'll come to you after I graduate,” You mumble through the fabric of his shirt, causing him to perk up a smile as he tightens the embrace.

“I promise you that.” You finish with a smile.

…

You and Mingyu finally made amends and had a passionate talk about your own futures and plans with mutual bonds and respect. Both of you finally decided to get back inside the party, with him opening the door for you. Taking a step foot into his home with giggles and smiles then immediately stopping at the sight that welcomed them.

Mingyu raises a brow at his sister alongside almost every guest within the party looking at their way with sly smirks and teasing grins.

“Uhm… Gyuri?”

Sophia widens her eyes, acting clueless. “What?”

“What's going on?” He questions once more. His hand lightly grazed up to hold yours at his back, wanting the people at front to see the contact.

But they already knew what's up.

“Well…” Gyuri widens a beam as she inhales before continuing. “Not only did you get into Harvard… But you also got yourself a girlfriend?!” She broadcasts with evident ecstasy. Causing almost all of his relatives, friends, and family to celebrate and cheer that caused the both of you and Mingyu to stare in confusion.

“Wait, what are—”

“Oh don't worry dear brother.” She grinned slyly, reaching ear to ear.

“I heard everything.”

[azzifudd10]

Silent Strings

Chapter 10: Hostage

A/N: im super bored so double update!!

The email came through at 2:47 a.m.

Paige was sitting on her couch again, feet tucked under her, staring at her phone like she could will it to ring.

When the notification chimed, she opened it immediately — a single PDF file with no subject line.

Her contact had delivered.

She scrolled through page after page of sealed records, suppressed police reports, and statements that never saw the light of day:

— 2015: Assault charge by a fellow resident at NYU. Case dropped after the resident resigned and left the state. — 2017: Complaint of stalking by an ICU nurse. Report withdrawn after she “moved overseas.” — 2018: Suspected of violently attacking a surgical assistant. Assistant was hospitalized, then disappeared before the DA could proceed. — 2019: Police report from an ex-girlfriend. Alleged he broke into her apartment, but she later recanted. — 2020: Missing persons case opened on a former colleague who had filed harassment charges. Case closed after her body was found “with no evidence of foul play.”

Every single line was another stone in her chest.

Paige’s hands shook as she closed the laptop, her pulse roaring in her ears.

This wasn’t just about Azzi’s dignity anymore. This was about her life.

The next morning, Paige brought Jazzy with her to practice.

It was easier than leaving her at daycare, and Jazzy loved running around the gym anyway, coloring on the whiteboards, and pretending to “coach.”

The team didn’t mind — they adored her. Even Ryan plastered on that fake smile of his when he passed by and ruffled her hair.

But Paige didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered just a little too long when they met hers.

Later, as practice wrapped, Paige was tying her shoes on the bench when Jazzy skipped over, holding a juice pouch.

“Mama,” she chirped, climbing up beside her. “Is Azzi coming over tonight again?”

The question was innocent — sweet, even. But Paige’s stomach clenched instantly.

She froze for half a second too long.

Ryan, who had been walking past, stopped.

At the sound of Azzi’s name, his head turned almost imperceptibly.

And in that instant, Paige saw it — the way his smile tightened. The faint glint in his eyes.

Like a puzzle piece finally falling into place.

She forced herself to keep her voice calm as she answered Jazzy. “Not tonight, baby. Maybe tomorrow.”

But her mind was already racing.

Ryan stood there for another second, then kept walking — but Paige could feel the shift.

He knew now.

He didn’t know everything, but he knew enough.

And that was enough to terrify her.

That night, after Jazzy was asleep, Paige stood by the window of her apartment, phone pressed to her ear.

Her voice was quiet but steady.

“We have to move faster. He knows she’s here. He doesn’t know where yet, but… he will soon.”

A pause.

“Yeah. Do whatever it takes. I don’t care who you have to pay or how. Just keep her safe.”

Her fingers tightened around the curtain as she stared out into the night.

Because for the first time since Azzi walked back into her life, Paige felt like she was running out of time.

Azzi’s hands trembled as she unlocked the mailbox outside her apartment.

She glanced around nervously — the street was quiet, the late morning sun casting long shadows.

There was a thin, plain envelope tucked inside, no return address, no stamp. Just her name, written in sharp, precise handwriting.

Her heart hammered as she slipped it into her bag without opening it.

When she got to Paige’s apartment, she sat down at the kitchen table, breathing uneven.

Only then did she carefully pull the envelope out and open it.

Inside were photographs — grainy, black-and-white shots of women she didn’t know.

Alongside them, copies of police reports, newspaper clippings, and court documents.

Women who had disappeared. Gone without a trace.

And then, in the corner of one page, a name Azzi recognized instantly: NYU.

Her breath caught.

This was no accident.

This was a warning.

A threat.

Suddenly, the room tilted.

Her chest tightened painfully, her vision blurred, and panic slammed into her like a tidal wave.

Azzi dropped the papers, clutching at her throat as sobs wracked her body.

The walls closed in, the air felt thin, and every instinct screamed to run.

Paige burst into the kitchen just then, alarmed by the sounds.

She found Azzi doubled over, trembling and gasping, panic fully taking hold.

Without hesitation, Paige rushed to her side, kneeling down and pulling her into a steadying embrace.

“It’s okay, Azzi. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Azzi shook her head violently, tears streaming. “They’re watching me. They know. It’s not just me…”

Paige’s eyes hardened with fierce protectiveness. “Shh, it’s okay. We’re going to handle this. You don’t have to fight it alone anymore.”

Later that evening, Paige sat beside Azzi, her voice firm but gentle.

“You need to take some time off work. Right now, the hospital can’t be your battlefield.”

Azzi bit her lip but nodded, the weight of exhaustion finally crashing down on her.

Paige took her hand, squeezing it tightly. “And I’m hiring heavy security. Not just someone to watch the door — someone to protect you.”

Azzi looked up at her, grateful but scared. “Do you think it will be enough?”

Paige smiled softly, brushing a stray curl back from Azzi’s face. “It will be. Because you’re not alone. Not ever again.”

Every day, Ryan’s frustration grew.

He sat in his car outside the Wings’ practice facility, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, his jaw so tight it ached.

For weeks now, he’d been circling — watching, waiting, listening — but nothing.

No sign of her.

And now…

He answered his phone on the first ring, his PI’s voice already shaky on the other end. “She’s… she’s gone. I’ve checked every hospital she’s licensed at, her apartment, her family — nothing. Whoever’s helping her knows what they’re doing.”

Ryan’s hands clenched the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white. “Gone?” he repeated flatly.

The PI stammered. “Yes, sir. I—she must be staying somewhere else. But I can’t find her without—”

“Then you’re useless to me,” Ryan snapped, hanging up without another word.

He sat there in silence, the faint sounds of sneakers squeaking and laughter echoing faintly from the gym behind him.

His breath came sharp and shallow.

She thought she could just disappear. She thought she could hide.

But Ryan Callahan never lost.

That night, he sat in his apartment, a bottle of bourbon sweating on the desk as he stared at his laptop screen.

He opened a blank document, his mind buzzing with something between rage and euphoria.

A marriage license.

Her name. His name.

All the details he knew by heart — her birthday, her family’s hometown, her mother’s maiden name, even her signature.

He typed it all in methodically, his lips curling into a thin smile.

She wanted to run? Fine.

But soon, on paper — she wouldn’t be able to.

Because she wouldn’t just be hiding.

She’d be his wife.

On another monitor, he opened a blank email draft and started writing something else — an official-looking letterhead with a fake attorney’s name at the top.

When he finished, he leaned back and stared at the two documents.

The marriage license… and the threatening letter.

He wasn’t sure yet which he’d send first. Maybe both.

But one thing was certain.

If he couldn’t find her physically… He’d make sure she had nowhere to go legally.And when she had to come out to fight it — He’d be waiting.

[vmddrawing]

RESummer: Melting Ice Cream

ft. Ada and Luis

prompt from @shymoob 🍦⛱️🌅

Luis insisted it was his treat — something about nostalgia, summer, and making the most of borrowed time.

He was just excited to sit down with the same Señorita he met in Spain a year ago.

The ice cream melted faster than either of them noticed. She wasn’t really there for the dessert anyway.

She stayed for the company.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself stay a little longer than she needed to.

After Ada Posted

Leon didn’t comment. He didn’t like. But after being tagged one too many times, he updated his status with something vague:

"needed some air."

Then he turned his phone off.

Not silent. Off.

Meanwhile...

If you scroll through the RE cast's stories, you'll see Clare's story.

Claire was walking pass the shooting range at HQ and saw Leon shooting rounds.

💬 Replies to Claire's Story

@ jill.v

@ ada.w

@ leon.s.kennedy

He checks his phone later that night, after getting home—probably stopped by that quiet bar downtown first. Notifications piled up. Mentions. Messages. He scrolls past most of them. Then he sees Claire’s story.

Pauses.

Claire didn't even say anything when she saw him at the shooting range earlier that afternoon at HQ. Now it's on her story—with that dumb little caption.

He huffs a quiet breath through his nose.

It's funny.

But it also wasn't.

She saw him and left him be.

Of course she did.

Leon taps the screen and goes to Claire's DMs. Types something...

Backspace.

Types again...

"you didn't have to post that"

Backspace.

"Funny"

Backspace.

Finally he sends:

Uncropped drawing below ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

I wish they could have had more time together...

Cheers to Luis. i hope he enjoyed this Señorita's company ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽

[doubledeadstudio]

So, you guys are probably curious… What is the future of Reanimated Heart in its current state?

I've been quiet about this for a while because I wanted to get a bulk of my work done. Considering I'm working on the last and final Chapter One update, I am now formally announcing that the whole of Chapter One will still be uploaded in public for free.

Considering harassment issues I've experienced, however, I will only be doing it when Chapter One is fully wrapped up. That means that it'll be after the next update and after a final polish. I'm uncertain when I'll be done with all this, but my hope is to put it up in December on the same date the initial demo was posted.

After that, what then?

When I initially created Reanimated Heart, it was with the intent that it was going to be a very longform, serialized thing.

For context, before I started getting into game dev, I was a freelance artist with a background on Language and Literature. I did my best to post art to please an algorithm, but my true passion was writing. I wanted to write stories and novels, but the exhaustion of drawing and vying for some sort of online influence was draining to me.

I concluded that this type of work flow was 1) Psychologically damaging and unnatural, and 2) ultimately, unsatisfying.

Even when I had pieces that would do well, it didn't make me feel good because my heart wasn't in it because I had no time to make the things I wanted to make, I had no time to do what I actually wanted, which was to craft stories about my precious characters that I've had for years and were near and dear to my heart.

And then, I decided to create something that was, essentially, antithetical to this ritualistic pattern of clout chasing I've developed… and that was Reanimated Heart.

Given my background in Literature, I was very fixated on the concept of creating a "visual novel" in a serialized format, like how certain novels used to be published. (For example, Victor Hugo's Les Miserables is only as long as it is because it's a story told in a by chapter format over a long period of time.) I thought that, if visual novels were really to be novels too, then it should be allowed to function in a way novels used to.

I also had this belief that, despite the never ending barrage of corporate shortform content vying for the attention economy, there's always going to be a part of human beings that yearned for something personal, emotionally intricate, and created over a long period of time. People want to invest in something. They want to learn about characters and the settings they live in, follow elaborate plotlines, and watch mysteries unfold. At least when I immerse myself in stories, I want it to really grip my attention like nothing else and have it live in my mind like it has a home there. And so, when I decided to make the game, I decided to stay the course of my original intentions and publish it on a semi-regular basis, with enough content to justify the months of work. I have my update schedule to prove it.

After years of working on RH, my belief has been proven completely correct. More and more people discover it over the long time period, and many of them react like I thought they would… They want to know about the characters, the plot, and the lore. They want more length and more secrets to discover, and I'm more than happy to provide that.

And so, I'll be continuing this update schedule, just in Patreon until the base game's full release in different platforms because, like I said, as much as I want to provide this content for free, its costs and the constant harassment isn't enough to justify uploading it for free.

But, because I've chosen to do this format, I've been asked…

Is this just a grift to get people to invest in your Patreon?

I have been accused of this by many people, including some devs in the so-called "yandere" VN space. Let me make this very clear now…

I am losing more money making this game than not making it.

Before I decided to make this game, I had more time to focus on doing freelance work which earned me significantly more money on a monthly basis. By focusing on gamedev, I've lost a significant amount of my regular clients. Not only that, I also put a significant amount of the budget on other contractors (such as music from Claira, art from Tay, and voice actors) and I've also put other career prospects on pause.

So, why even make something that just loses me money and invites harassment from entitled "fans" anyway?

Passion, as lame as it sounds. This is something that I want to make and earnestly believe in, something that I'll be satisfied with making later in my life. With each update, I'm thrilled by how much the narrative blossoms on the screen as much as you are. I can't keep putting money incentive over my art, because I'll end up right back where I started, which is chasing a number either in followers or my bank account. This isn't even remotely about the money for me. I will keep making this until it finishes or I die randomly.

I want to make something I'm proud of for myself. Signing up for the Patreon is more just about ensuring I can make the highest quality of game possible.

Now that I've made my intentions clear, let me get to some FAQ…

I don't agree with this model you've chosen for the game. It still feels like a grift. How do we know you mean what you say?

Check my update schedule.

I've been consistent and I intend to continue being consistent. When I stop being consistent, then you should react like a responsible consumer and stop supporting the project. If I stop intending to upload, I will make a formal announcement here, in the page, and on Patreon anyway.

If you want the updates but don't want to pay me, there are ways of getting it for free by being active in the server community.

If you only want to pay full price for the game, then wait until it's done.

And if you really don't want to pay anything at all, then don't do it. I am not forcing you to pay anything.

Can I pay only when there's an update?

Yes, that's always allowed. No, I don't think that's scummy. Everyone should be able to do whatever they want with their money.

How long is the time period between updates?

My intent has always been 3-4 months between updates. Usually updates take me a month and a half to write, then a similar timeframe for assets and coding. There are also some stuff irl that I can't help, so I put that leeway there.

Will you let us Subscribe on other platforms?

Yes, but I'm still looking into it. I'm going to do research on what the best websites are for this. I'm going to be looking into Ko-Fi soon.

Will you still be making other games?

Yes! But their uploads will be random and sporadic.

I know there are a lot of people wondering about the drastic genre leaps with my other games (coughs Another Rose coughs), but my justification is that, while I view Reanimated Heart as the novel, my other games are more like… short stories. If you've ever read a Stephen King novel and then get shocked by how random his short stories are, well, that's about the same logic I have. My "other games" are less thoughtful, sprawling stories like Reanimated Heart, and more like experiments for me to break out of my shell and have fun. While some short stories get sequels, others don't. They're pretty non-committal.

Will you ever be opening Reanimated Heart's comment section again?

Yes, I will open it again when Chapter One is finished and uploaded. I only turned it off because people annoyed me so much that I didn't want to work on it. You guys can have discussions again when I'm not releasing updates publicly anymore.

...

I hope this puts a lot of your questions to rest. If there's more, send them to my Inbox and I will add them here.

[arabella-syntax]

Between the Lines

Pairing: Leah Williamson x Y/N

Part 6

Summary: She’s Ellis to the world, Y/N to the ones who matter. Leah is captain, but never in control of what she felt for her.

Word count: > 15k

Parts: Read the previous updates here.

A/N: Almost to the end of the stretch. At this point, there’s so many directions I could have taken — winging it as I go along.

———————————————————————

Leah – London, Mid-January 2026

The reply came at 12:11 a.m. London time.

A single line, no emojis, no punctuation. Just her.

LA’s too bright…for someone who corners in the dark.

Leah read it once. Then again.

Then shut off her phone, placed it face-down, and just lay there.

Not crying. Not hurting.

Just feeling.

Like someone had finally pulled open a window after months of stale air.

She didn’t know how long she stared at the ceiling before her fingers moved again.

No thinking this time. No voice notes rehearsed and deleted.

Just the call button. FaceTime. Ringing.

Her heart was already halfway up her throat before Y/N answered.

The screen lit up in dim amber, warm tones and fuzzy textures.

Y/N’s hair was a tousled mess — fresh from sleep or something like it. Her shoulders were wrapped in a grey hoodie and her voice, when she spoke, was soft like seafoam.

“Hey.”

It was the first time Leah had heard it in months. Her real voice. Not recorded. Not cracked on lyrics.

She swallowed. “Hi.”

A beat.

Y/N tucked her hair behind one ear. “Didn’t think you’d call.”

Leah scratched the back of her neck. “Didn’t think you’d answer.”

Another breath, this one gentler.

There were so many things Leah wanted to say — to ask, to scream, to confess. But now that they were here, the words felt fragile. Unripe.

So instead, she… pivoted.

“You know,” she started, voice dry, “I got tackled by a sixteen-year-old last week. During a grassroots coaching session. Took me out like a human cannonball.”

Y/N blinked, then burst out laughing.

“Did you at least pretend it didn’t hurt?”

“I limped for three days. But yes. I said I was ‘stretching creatively.’”

She smiled then — that old sideways grin — and saw the exact second Y/N’s shoulders dropped an inch in relief.

————

They didn’t talk about the album. Not directly.

They didn’t talk about Switzerland or Sam or truths that arrived too late.

They talked about the things that orbit hurt without touching it.

Leah told her about Christmas with Amanda, David and Jacob — the vegan roast disaster, her mum’s attempts at TikTok, her brother’s new obsession with crypto.

Y/N talked about the ocean outside her window, the slow return of music in her chest, the weird café in Silver Lake that served “emotional support scones.”

Every now and then, they paused. Just… to look. To remember what the other’s face looked like, live and moving.

Leah could feel the ache somewhere beneath her ribs.

Not painful.

Just… known.

At some point, Y/N’s screen dimmed slightly — the hotel’s auto-lighting kicking in. She didn’t bother turning it back up.

Her eyes were half-lidded now. Not out of boredom — just the comfort of it all.

“You still play that stupid game with your cereal?” Y/N asked suddenly.

“What game?”

“The one where you pretend the Cheerios are players and you rotate the bowl depending on which side scores more milk coverage.”

Leah blinked. “I do not—”

“You did. Back in March.”

She smiled again. Quietly.

“Yeah,” Leah admitted. “I still do.”

Y/N let out a slow breath that sounded like something soft melting.

It wasn’t closure. Not yet.

Not forgiveness with bows or finality.

But it was a conversation.

A real one.

And for now, it was enough.

As the minutes crept into hours, neither said goodbye.

Eventually, Y/N just said:

“I should sleep.”

Leah nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

They stayed on the call another five minutes in silence before one of them finally pressed end.

————

Leah didn’t sleep for a while.

She just lay back in the dark, phone on her chest, heart lighter.

Maybe for the first time in months, she didn’t feel like she was spinning.

Just… floating.

Somewhere between the wreckage and the rebuild.

Between what was lost and what might still be possible.

Between the lines.

————

Y/N – London, November 2026

London held a strange kind of gravity.

Every city on the tour had its pulse — Tokyo was neon and reverent, Sydney was sun-drenched and loud, Paris folded into itself like a silk scarf. But London?

London was personal.

A little haunted.

A little holy.

Y/N stood alone at center stage of the Eventim Apollo, her in-ears still hissing with static as the techs adjusted the feed.

“Camden,” she whispered into the mic.

A pause.

“Second chorus.”

The track queued. Her voice — or the version of her voice recorded months ago — spilled through the speakers. She sang along softly, mouth half-formed around words that still clung to her ribs.

I said I’d be fine with silence,

But you stayed in my lungs instead…

————

The rehearsal rolled on — light cues, mic transitions, acoustic guitar handoffs. Her team was efficient, professional. Olivia stood at the edge of the darkened seats, arms crossed, giving quiet thumbs-ups between notes.

But Y/N wasn’t really in the room.

Not fully.

She hadn’t seen Leah in person since Zurich.

Since that night — that kiss that felt like a page ripping in two.

But they’d spoken.

Casually. Softly. Slowly.

A month after her album dropped, she received a message that gutted her more than any review:

I heard it. That’s all. I heard it.

That was all Leah wrote. But it was enough.

Over the next few months, a rhythm formed. Not daily, not planned.

But real.

Sometimes just a text:

Did you see the moon tonight? It’s smug as hell.

Are you sleeping alright on tour buses or nah?

Random: do you still put your phone in the fridge when you’re mad at it?

Sometimes a voice note. One night, Y/N sent her a rough demo from Melbourne — a lyric half-finished and a laugh at the end when she messed up the bridge. Leah replied with a short “That’s beautiful. Don’t fix it too much.”

They didn’t talk about the past. Not directly.

But every message felt like stitching. Slowly, gently.

Now, standing in London again — her boots planted where so much once unraveled — Y/N couldn’t help but feel the tight coil of something inevitable.

————

Backstage was buzzing by mid-afternoon.

Hair and makeup. Lanyards. Pre-show rituals.

Y/N sat in the tall chair, her knees tucked up slightly, eyes half-closed as the stylist worked blush into her cheeks. Olivia appeared beside her, voice low but edged with warmth.

“Hey.”

Y/N opened one eye. “Tell me the ticket sales haven’t crashed.”

“No. Sold out. You’re fine.” Olivia smirked. “But we have company.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Who?”

“Alex and Jess. They’re here. Wanted to say hi.”

A jolt of something soft flared in her chest. “Of course.”

Alex Scott and Jess Glynne still looked disgustingly in love.

Jess hugged her first — a whirlwind of compliments and dry jokes. Alex was more subdued, but her hug lingered. Like maybe she remembered March too.

“You look tired,” Alex noted.

“Yeah,” Y/N laughed. “World tours do that.”

Small talk circled. Setlist chatter. Visual cues. Jess asked if Camden was always going to be the second song or if Y/N might one day lead with it.

Then Alex shifted.

Her voice softened. Her eyes turned serious.

“There’s someone else,” she said, almost too gently.

Y/N froze.

Alex continued, “She’s in a car. Just outside. Has been for twenty minutes.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

“She’s wanted to ask to see you for weeks. Since the tour started. But…” Alex shrugged. “She didn’t know how. So she asked me.”

Silence sat heavy between them.

Jess placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “We don’t want to push. You can say no.”

Y/N stared down at the palms of her hands.

They weren’t trembling.

For the first time in months, they weren’t trembling.

She looked up. Met Alex’s gaze.

And said:

“Yes.”

————

Leah – Eventim Apollo, London – November 2026

She’d been sitting in the car for twenty-four minutes.

Leah counted.

Not that she meant to — she wasn’t trying to be dramatic. But the digital clock on the dash had turned into something cruel. A countdown. A standoff. A question that hadn’t been answered yet.

Twenty-four minutes. And she still didn’t know if Y/N would come out.

Her hands were resting in her lap, fingers curled into themselves, her coat zipped halfway up even though the heater was on. She could hear the thump of distant bass through the brick walls. The crew moved in flashes outside the loading dock. Jess had texted a thumbs up. Alex, nothing since she went in.

Leah exhaled through her nose and whispered to herself,

“Don’t do this if you’re not ready.”

Only… she was.

Or maybe not. Maybe she was just tired of not being ready.

She glanced down at her phone again.

Still no message.

Still no update.

Still—

The side door opened.

Leah’s breath caught before she even looked up.

Y/N stood there. No glam, no lights, just her — hoodie sleeves rolled to the elbow, makeup still half-done. Hair a little messy from the pre-show rush. Her gaze was unreadable.

But she got in.

Quietly. Wordlessly. She slid into the passenger seat and closed the door behind her like she’d done it a thousand times. Like this was normal. Like it hadn’t been nearly a year since the last time they’d been this close.

Leah swallowed. “Hey.”

Y/N nodded. “Hey.”

Silence. Like the kind that happens after the shouting’s done. Like ash after fire.

Leah’s hand itched on the gear shift.

“You, uh…” she started. “You look tired.”

Y/N gave a small laugh. “World tour’ll do that.”

Leah turned to face her. “I listened to Camden last night.”

“I know.”

“It’s good.”

“Thanks.”

A beat.

Another.

Leah stared at the empty road in front of them. “I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“Neither did I,” Y/N murmured. “But Alex said you were outside, and…”

“And?”

“And I didn’t want to be a coward again.”

That made Leah look at her properly. Really look.

The months had changed her — sharpened her jaw, softened something in her eyes. Still the same voice. Still the same girl who once left a voicemail about moonlight and apologised for it five seconds later.

Leah let the moment breathe.

“I wanted to ask for months,” she said finally. “But I figured… maybe I was part of the thing you were trying to outrun.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Leah continued, quieter now. “That night. In Zurich. I know you lied.”

Y/N’s lips pressed together.

“I knew then. I know now.”

“I had to,” Y/N said, voice steady but low. “I didn’t want to hurt you more than I already had.”

“You still hurt me,” Leah said, a little sharper than she meant to.

“I know.”

“I would’ve kept the secret, you know. I never asked you to come out. I never—”

“I know,” Y/N cut in, finally meeting her eyes. “You never asked. But I knew what it meant for you. Being with me, in secret, again. That wouldn’t have been fair.”

Leah felt her throat tighten.

They sat in that shared grief for a while — of what was, what wasn’t, and what might’ve been.

Then, softly, Y/N added, “I’m not with Sam.”

“I figured.”

“We ended the PR arrangement months ago.”

“And the songs?”

Y/N inhaled through her nose. “All real.”

Leah blinked away whatever threatened to rise. “I heard them. I just… didn’t know if they were for me.”

“They were.”

Silence again — but this time not sharp. This time, it held possibility.

Outside, a gust of wind rolled leaves across the pavement. A guitar line echoed through the bricks. Leah turned off the engine.

“I missed you,” she said.

Y/N’s voice was almost a whisper. “Me too.”

They looked at each other. Eyes unguarded. Hands not quite touching.

Finally, Leah spoke, voice cracking just slightly:

“I’m tired of pretending I’m fine.”

And Y/N, blinking slowly, replied,

“Then don’t. Not tonight.”

————

Y/N — Eventim Apollo, London – November 2026

She closed the door quietly behind them.

No security detail. No stylists. No assistant calling out time stamps.

Just the soft click of the latch and the quiet hum of the old radiator in the corner.

Leah stood by the makeup table, eyes scanning the room like it held answers. It didn’t.

But it held a kind of calm.

Y/N turned, slowly. She didn’t know how to begin. The dressing room was warm but felt too big. Her hands rubbed the hem of her sweatshirt like it might anchor her.

Leah looked at her, patient, but not passive. There was something behind her eyes — not judgment, not anger, but something closer to sorrow.

Y/N started, her voice rough. “I didn’t know how much I needed to see you until I did.”

Leah didn’t say anything. Just nodded once.

Y/N let out a breath and sat down on the worn velvet sofa.

“I should’ve done a lot of things differently,” she said. “Zurich. Everything after. But I panicked. Not because of you — but because of everything that came with… being with you. Or being seen.”

She glanced up.

Leah hadn’t moved, but her arms were folded across her chest now, as if holding herself together.

“I signed a brand image and morality clauses,” Y/N continued. “When I was twenty-five. I’m bound not to do anything that contradicts the identity they built around me. You know, the polished, mysterious, ‘straight’ pop darling with heartbreaks that are just vague enough.”

A bitter smile tugged at her lips.

“I signed it because I thought I needed it. That I needed the machine. The reach. The illusion of control.”

Y/N looked up, throat dry. “But I’ve been drowning in it ever since.”

Silence.

Then she added, softly, “My contract ends next month.”

That made Leah blink. Her posture shifted, shoulders pulling back slightly.

“After the final show,” Y/N clarified. “After that, I’ll be free. And I know that’s unfair — asking you to wait. You shouldn’t have to.”

Leah’s voice was soft, but firm. “You think that’s what I care about?”

“No. But I care,” Y/N said. “You deserve more than someone who comes in and out of your life with smoke and music and excuses.”

She inhaled, slower this time.

“I’m not asking for forever. I’m just asking…” her voice faltered, “…if you can wait. A little longer. If you can bear that I’m still scared, but trying.”

Leah crossed the room. She didn’t speak right away. She just sat beside her, not touching, but close enough that Y/N could feel the warmth of her shoulder.

“It wasn’t about waiting,” Leah said eventually. “It was about not knowing if you ever wanted me to be part of your real life.”

Y/N met her eyes. “I always did.”

Leah’s lips curved, just slightly. “Even when you deleted my number?”

A soft laugh escaped Y/N’s chest. “Even then.”

Leah reached for her hand. Not forcefully — gently, like a quiet offer. Y/N took it.

It felt like breathing for the first time in months.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” Leah whispered. “I just need you to be real.”

“I’m trying,” Y/N said. “I’m really trying.”

And then the space between them folded. Leah leaned in, just enough, eyes flickering to Y/N’s lips, her breath. Waiting for permission.

Y/N closed the gap.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss that set the world on fire. It was the kind that felt like home — like turning the key to a door you thought would always be locked. Slow. Unrushed. Honest.

When they pulled back, Leah rested her forehead against Y/N’s.

“No promises,” Y/N whispered.

“No need,” Leah replied. “We’re here. That’s enough.”

And it was.

For now.

————

Leah, November 2026, Camden, London

She hadn’t planned on staying.

Not after the show. Not after the kiss. But when Y/N looked at her backstage, lips parted in the shape of something that wasn’t quite a question but wasn’t quite silence either, Leah had simply nodded.

And stayed.

Y/N didn’t make a big deal of it. No dramatic ushering. No giddy declarations. Just a hand brushing Leah’s as she turned to head back out under the lights.

“Stay close,” she murmured, like a secret.

So Leah found herself behind the curtain, near a quiet cluster of cables and soundboards, the world just beyond the velvet. A place between light and dark — fitting, she thought.

She watched as the music came alive again. Y/N — Ellis, as the crowd knew her — was in full command, and yet somehow softer around the edges tonight. Her body moved the same way it always did, with deliberate grace and a hint of danger, but her voice… it carried a warmth Leah hadn’t heard before. Something rooted. Something real.

When the opening notes of “Truth Behind the Lies” played, Leah didn’t expect the sting behind her eyes. But it came anyway. She looked down, hands in the pockets of her coat, head bowed as if the lyrics might go easier on her that way.

They didn’t.

But she stayed.

————

Later that night, they took a car back to Camden. The Airbnb Olivia had arranged was tucked above a corner florist, its windows just fogged enough to blur out the world.

Leah sat at the kitchen island while Y/N moved around barefoot, hair tied up, hoodie two sizes too big — maybe Leah’s. There was no makeup. No curated image. Just the hush of late night and the sound of eggs cracking into a pan.

“Didn’t peg you for the breakfast-after-the-concert type,” Leah teased.

Y/N snorted. “Well, we burned too many dinners. Might as well try something I can manage.”

They ate on mismatched plates, with mugs that still smelled faintly of cinnamon tea. There wasn’t much talking — not at first. Just glances, small smiles, the kind of silence that isn’t heavy but whole.

Eventually, Y/N spoke.

“I meant what I said earlier,” she murmured. “About my contract. It ends after this tour. I’ve got five more shows. And then I’m free.”

Leah looked at her. “Free… to do what?”

Y/N shrugged, eyes fixed on her toast. “To start again. With the truth. Without hiding.”

She paused.

“I’m not asking you to wait. I know how unfair that is. I just… I needed you to know that what I did back then — the lie, the silence — it wasn’t because I didn’t care.”

“I know,” Leah said softly.

“I thought I was protecting what I built. But really, I was just keeping myself from living any of it.”

She looked up.

“I wanted to be Ellis, the artist. But I forgot how to be Y/N, the person.”

Leah reached for her hand.

“You never forgot. You just got a bit… lost in the middle.”

Y/N smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said. “If it’s too much. If it’s not what you want anymore.”

Leah took a breath. “I wanted you then. I want you now. That’s not the problem.”

Y/N’s voice dipped. “Then what is?”

“I’m just afraid,” Leah admitted. “That we’ll always be looking over our shoulders. That something will break again.”

Y/N nodded.

She exhaled slowly, then added, “Me too. But I’m tired of letting fear run the show.”

There was a quiet between them, neither heavy nor empty — just a pause long enough to feel like something shifted.

Leah stood and reached for her coat.

Y/N walked her to the door, fingers brushing against Leah’s wrist as they stopped just shy of goodbye.

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered.

“For what?”

“For staying.”

Leah leaned in, forehead resting against hers.

“You asked,” she murmured. “And I finally heard you.”

They didn’t kiss again. Not tonight.

But something passed between them — something warmer, firmer than promises. A beginning.

And as Leah stepped out into the quiet Camden street, the air brisk against her skin, she realised breakfast had never tasted more like home.

————

A/N: I swear, next update will be the last for Between the Lines. I think Leah and Y/N has suffered through a lot of emotional roller coasters. Feedback much appreciated. 

[mikaylathenerd5]

NSFW Alphabet ~ YAD Series Edition

*I do not own the gif*

You Already Do Masterlist ৹ Main Masterlist ৹ Join My Taglist

A/N: I know I did an update yesterday but SNME made a girl sad af, so here is something from my drafts I've been sitting on. I do also have a fluff alphabet for Roman and Shiloh as well if you guys want more.

This is my first time posting an nsfw alphabet.

A = Aftercare Roman is all about aftercare, even if he’s still panting with sweat slicking his chest. He talks her through it—"You with me, baby?"—and rubs gentle circles into her thighs while laying kisses to her neck. He’ll run a bath for her, bring water to her lips, and make sure she’s wrapped in one of his hoodies after. He’ll even carry her if her legs are shaking too much to walk.

B = Body Part (favorite) On her: Her hips and thighs. Roman’s hands automatically land there, whether he’s fucking her from behind or pulling her into his lap. He gets feral when they jiggle while she’s riding him. On him: Shiloh secretly loves his back. The muscle, the warmth, the way she can claw her nails down it and leave him gasping. Her second favorite? That damn vein that runs along his dick—it drives her crazy.

C = Cum He always finishes inside. He likes watching it drip out of her, a low growl in his throat as he pushes it back in with two thick fingers. Roman talks her through every orgasm with praise and filth: “Lemme see how full you are, baby. That’s it — my good girl, takin’ all of me.”

Shiloh gets flustered but secretly loves when he talks her through it: “You’re taking me so good, letting me fill you up, huh?”

D = Dirty Talk Top-tier. His voice alone is sinful — low, deep, deliberate. He whispers nasty shit in her ear while keeping eye contact:

“You like how deep I am, huh? Look at you. So pretty tryna take it all.”

Shiloh blushes but it turns her on even more — and he loves teasing her about that.

E = Experience

Roman’s had his fun before Shiloh—but none of it mattered until her. Shiloh’s more reserved, but with Roman, she learns herself through him. He’s gentle and patient, even when he’s rough. He teaches her how good it’s supposed to feel—with no shame, no pressure, just full trust.

F = Favorite Position Roman: Missionary with her knees by her ears so he can kiss her and go deep. Or sitting on the couch with her in his lap, letting her ride. Shiloh: Anything that lets her watch his face as he loses control. She also secretly loves it when he bends her over the bathroom sink.

G = Gratification (Who finishes first?)

Shiloh, almost always. Roman gets off on her pleasure. He edges himself just to watch her fall apart again and again. When he finally lets himself finish, it’s usually with her name in his throat and his whole body shaking.

H = Hair Roman trims, but leaves just enough for a natural look. Shiloh keeps things neat and soft down there—usually waxed or trimmed. Roman doesn’t care either way; he’ll bury his face in her either way and come back messy.

I = Intimacy

Through the roof. Even when they’re slow, it’s heavy. Breathless. Like time doesn’t exist and the only thing that matters is skin, voice, connection. He makes love to her like he’s been starved of softness his whole life.

J = Jack Off

He’ll do it when she’s away, but he prefers to wait. He likes building it up. Shiloh once walked in on him jerking off to a video she sent him—face buried in her pillow, grunting her name. Instead of being embarrassed, he just said: “You wanna sit on it?”

K = Kinks

Size kink (his favorite), praise/degradation mix, mirror play, oral fixation (especially giving), and possessive dominance.

L = Location

Has no shame. Their condo kitchen counter? Done. His private locker room before a match? Yes. The shower? Always. But his favorite is their bed after a long day—dim lighting, soft playlist, and all night to ruin her.

M = Morning Sex

His favorite time. He wakes up hard, lazy, and needy. Slow grinding under the covers. Hand between her thighs. A kiss behind her ear. Her sleepy “mmhm” turns into gasps while he fills her from behind, warm and aching. No rush. Just closeness.

N = No

He will never degrade her in a way that feels unsafe. No slapping, no calling her out her name. He’s not into sharing either. She’s his. Shiloh doesn’t like being fully restrained (trauma-related). Roman never pushes it.

O = Oral (Giving/Receiving)

Roman loves eating her out. Like. Loves it. Pulls her to the edge of the bed, arms hooked around her thighs, making her cum over and over with filthy praise.

Shiloh gets shy giving but he loves it. The way she takes her time, looking up at him with wide eyes? He’ll fist her hair and whisper “You’re doin’ so good, baby… fuck, don’t stop.”

P = Pace

He adapts. Roman can go slow and grinding, or deep and punishing. But his favorite is somewhere in between—enough to make Shiloh moan uncontrollably, but still feel everything. He loves hearing the difference in her breath when he changes rhythm.

Q = Quickies

Only if they have to. He prefers time to worship her.

But if she kisses him right in front of the mirror before a dinner date? He’ll bend her over the bathroom counter in five seconds flat.

R = Risky

Back of the car. On the balcony. Hotel elevators. They’ve definitely done it in a WWE private jet bathroom. And once in the locker room after a match — Roman still in gear, pressed up against the wall, muffling her moans with his hand.

S = Stamina

Endless. Man’s a freak of nature. Could go for hours. He’ll give her two rounds, a water break, then three more if she wants it. He’ll go until her voice is gone and her thighs are trembling. Then he’ll hold her all night.

T = Toys

He’s open to toys if she brings them in. Likes vibrating toys used during penetration or when he’s gone and she needs help. But nothing replaces him. He smirks and says, “Cute little thing. But let me show you what that pussy really needs.”

U = Unusual Turn-On

Roman gets hard when she’s focused — on work, on reading, on anything. That soft concentration, biting her lip? Drives him crazy.

Shiloh? His voice. Doesn’t matter what he’s saying — if it’s deep and low and close to her ear? She’s wet. Instantly.

V = Volume

Roman grunts, growls, moans low. When he’s close? He curses in a deep rasp, sometimes in Samoan.

Shiloh’s soft at first with whimpers, breathy moans—but gets loud if overstimulated. He loves pushing her to that edge where she’s whimpering “Roman, Roman, Roman—”

W = Wild Card

Once, he accidentally made her squirt and they both froze like: “...did that just happen?”

Now? It’s a game to get her there again. He’s obsessed with finding the exact angle, using his fingers and tongue while she begs and curls into the sheets. “You gonna give it to me again, baby? Let go.”

X = X-Ray (Size)

He’s thick. Long enough that she needs to adjust every time he enters. Girth that makes her mouth fall open.

Roman always goes slow that first stretch, murmuring, “Almost there, baby. Just a little more.”

Y = Yearning Roman craves her constantly. He’ll text her while she’s at work like, “I miss you. I need to taste you tonight.” Shiloh’s the only person who makes him feel safe and seen—he yearns for her in every way, physical and emotional. If they’re apart, he’s short-tempered. He aches until he’s inside her again.

Z = ZZZ (Sleep) After sex, Roman holds her tight, fingers tangled with hers, one leg slung over her waist. He knocks out fast, his breathing deep and warm against her shoulder. Shiloh usually drifts off tracing the tattoos on his chest or the curve of his jaw. She sleeps best with him beside her.

[oddsandends58exe]

FINALLY... THE COMPLETE LORE OF ODDS – EXPLAINED!

including her canine traits, her relationship with Kondraki, and everything in between!

I'm so happy to present this to you, since I worked really hard and it's my first time writing something like this in English! your attention would mean so much to me ^_^

her slightly updated ref sheet. odds' lore below👇

Disclaimer 1:

This post contains deviations from the established SCP canon (OOC, OC x canon, or altered canonical events — for example, Iris is in the Foundation's containment not after her boyfriend's death but since childhood). If such changes in a universe where "there is no canon" deeply upset or irritate you, I strongly advise against reading this post. You won't enjoy it, and you'll only waste your time and nerves.

Disclaimer 2:

Aside from Odds, this post also features other original characters of mine (and not just mine). I won't delve into their lore here, as they're meant to have their own dedicated posts (though I doubt I'll ever get around to writing them).

So, what do we have here? Yet another self-indulgent SCP OC with animal traits, who also gets shipped with a canon character. Oh, the horror. If even that hasn't scared you off—congratulations. But how did we even end up like this?

CHILDHOOD AND WHY SHE'S A "MUTT"

Meet Lizochka Krasnova. She was born in 1983 into a fairly wealthy and privileged family. Her mother seems loving at times, even spoiling her, but occasionally acts completely differently — yelling at Lisa and scolding her over trivial things. Unpleasant, but mostly tolerable. Strangely, she often speaks of Lisa’s father as a wonderful, perfect man. Lisa finds this odd: If he’s so great, why do they argue all the time?

Speaking of her father — they rarely see each other, and when they do, he's cold toward her. It's like he's been disappointed in her since birth, though Lisa can't understand why.

Truth is, Lisa rarely spent time with her parents. Most days, she was left with nannies and servants in their big house. She loved when they showed her their "tricks" — stretching their limbs, growing taller or smaller, sprouting fur, spikes, or scales, sometimes even swapping their faces for animal muzzles or monstrous forms. But her father was the best at it: he'd shift into a massive, wine-red beast with sharp fangs, like a wolf or a hound. Usually, they transformed to fight "bad guys" or when they gathered in the grand hall — where Lisa was never allowed. She was curious about what happened there, but also afraid — terrifying sounds came from behind that door. Sometimes, it caused her nightmares.

Still, she thought this ability was incredible. But, unfortunately, she couldn't do it herself. Maybe that's why her father looked down on her, calling her a disappointment and a disgrace. Sometimes he even blamed her mother, muttering that their daughter lacked the right gifts "despite all his efforts."

Then, at six years old, Lisa decided to change things. She wanted to prove herself to her father — to finally earn his approval. She'd just learned to read, so she sneaked one of the "magic" books, determined to learn transformations like him. Through agonizing pain and small amount of blood loss, she managed a partial shift: dog ears and a tail. But the effort drained her, and she collapsed beside the book in a small pool of blood.

She woke up later in her bed. The servants nursed her back to health, but after that, the books were kept away from her. Worse, she couldn’t undo the change — and her "performance" didn’t impress her father. He just smirked and said the look suited her: "Like a mutt, begging for scraps of approval."

GOC

Four years had passed since then. Not much had changed. Lisa still spent more time alone than with her parents, who were always busy. Her father kept belittling her, while her mother continued to idolize him despite their constant fights. Over time, Lisa realized her mother didn't really love her — she just cared out of obligation.

She also learned that her father's "business," which funded their lavish lifestyle, wasn't exactly legal. She didn't know — or want to know — the details, but the knowledge disgusted her. Not that she could do anything about it. From the nannies, she pieced together what this "magic" was that everyone around her seemed to wield. Her parents, she gathered, worshipped some ancient entities that granted them these powers. The nannies rambled about "Karcists" and "the Flesh," but by then, Lisa had stopped listening.

Then, one day, while wandering the woods near the mansion, she heard loud, terrifying noises from the house. Terrified, she hid, waiting for the chaos to end. When silence finally fell, she crept back toward the house.

The scene outside was horrific: blood and corpses everywhere. Among the dead were servants and soldiers —ones she’d never seen before, their uniforms marked with a blue star. Inside was the same — blood, death. She'd seen corpses before, but this time, fear truly gripped her: she was completely alone. Her parents' bodies were nowhere to be found, so she clung to the hope they were alive and would return. Her room was untouched, and she barricaded herself there, waiting.

Less than two days later, new people entered the mansion. More soldiers, but with a different symbol on their uniforms — not a blue star. Lisa braced for the end, but...

SCP-2408-1B

From that point on, Elizabeth (as the Foundation staff preferred to call her) was placed under SCP Foundation containment with the designation SCP-2408-1B.

As she grew older, she learned the truth about her father, Grigory Krasnov —a former member of an anomalous criminal organization and the Sarkic cult known as the "Hunter's Black Lodge." Later, he broke away from the Lodge to establish his own faction, where occult practices played an even greater role.

Beth also discovered the reason for her father's perpetual disappointment. While her mother was pregnant, she had been subjected to rituals and experiments in the hopes that Elizabeth would be born as a "Second Ion" — a figure that would have allowed her father to rally more followers among Neo-Sarkites and solidify his power. Needless to say, the plan failed.

Her father and everyone from her childhood were, in essence, instances of SCP-2408-1. But because Elizabeth was "defective" (unable to achieve a full transformation), she was classified as SCP-2408-1B. Those who could freely shapeshift and revert to their original form were designated SCP-2408-1A.

CONTINUING CHILDHOOD IN THE FOUNDATION

Elizabeth was placed in a standard humanoid containment cell at Site-17, furnished with a bed, dining table, and bathroom. As additional amenities, she was provided with a television and VHS tapes containing films, TV series, and children's programming — including the Garfield cartoon series. It was through repeated viewings of this show that she acquired the nickname "Odds" (after the character Odie), which Foundation personnel subsequently adopted. Elizabeth herself didn't object to the name — in fact, she preferred it, as her real name carried painful associations with her family. By now, she felt nothing but hatred for her parents, blaming them for her current circumstances.

Despite her frequent complaints, Odds' living conditions within the Foundation were reasonably comfortable. She was provided with meals, clothing, basic entertainment, and even a standard education program that included socialization components. However, both her academic performance and social integration were poor. While instructors noted that Odds wasn’t unintelligent, she regularly refused to complete assignments or "forgot" about homework, earning a reputation as a lazy student. For her part, Odds viewed the teachers as hypocrites who underestimated her abilities.

Efforts to socialize her proved equally unsuccessful. Even in childhood, she developed a difficult, antisocial personality. She harbored particular resentment toward Iris (SCP-105), a girl one year her senior with whom she was often placed in shared lessons. Odds' irritation only grew when instructors praised Iris — diligent and capable — constantly emphasizing her "potential" and value to the Foundation. Though Iris herself attempted to reach out, Odds consistently responded with hostility and avoidance. This one-sided rivalry and envy of her more accomplished "colleague" would persist into Odds' adulthood.

Due to her poor socialization and abrasive demeanor, Odds never made friends as a child. She preferred solitude and the laptop gifted to her on her 14th birthday (naturally, with restrictions and monitoring). Her interests in alternative music and anime cultivated a self-image as "mysterious" and "special"—a persona that only further alienated those around her, a trend that would continue well into her future.

BEGINNING WORK AT THE FOUNDATION

After receiving a basic education within the Foundation, Odds' future had to be decided. She was granted Level 2 clearance and assigned to clerical work. Since she no longer required containment as an object, Odds was "evicted" from her cell — only to be relocated to... a repurposed storeroom. This cramped space now serves as both her living quarters and workspace, which she leaves only for hygiene, meals in the cafeteria, and work duties. The meager salary she earns goes toward online shopping, cementing her lifestyle as that of a reclusive "hikikomori", occasionally muttering snide remarks about her coworkers (though quietly enough to avoid being overheard).

Over time, Odds has managed to accumulate her share of detractors. One such figure is Dr. Iceberg, who earned a sharp rejection after an attempt at flirting. This might have been a routine incident for him, had it not been followed by a torrent of insults from Odds. Since then, mutual disdain has festered between them — both view the other as arrogant and self-centered. Iceberg dismisses Odds as rude and stupid, while she retaliates by mocking his failures in both his personal life and career.

Her relationship with the legendary Alto Clef is no better. Though no open conflict has erupted, Odds considers him a detestable, irritating man. Clef, for his part, regards her with indifference — crude remarks from women don't bother him. His opinion of Odds aligns with the general consensus: an arrogant yet cowardly loudmouth.

Despite her misanthropy and "no one appreciates me" attitude, Odds has, against all odds, somehow made friends. Her first ally is Dr. Venera, a cheerful Foundation philologist and her polar opposite. Shared interests in music and anime brought them together. Venera even occasionally coaxes Odds out for walks (during which Odds must hide her canine traits). Over time, Venera noticed Odds' volatile mood swings — from joy to rage or depression, sometimes culminating in self-harm. She discreetly removes sharp objects from Odds' room. Though they often quarrel, Venera recognizes the buried kindness and empathy in Odds, believing she needs professional help. It was Venera who dyed streaks of Odds' hair pink.

Her second unlikely friend is Dr. Nevus, a biologist who once barged into Odds' room unannounced to collect fur samples from her ears and tail. As it turned out, Nevus had taken a keen interest in the SCP-2408 anomaly and decided to study it — and Odds — in detail, conducting an impromptu interview. Odds' initial fury, especially over being compared to a dog during the "interview," as she despises being reduced to an animal, gave way to shock when Nevus apologized sincerely for that — the first time anyone had done so. They soon discovered their personalities aligned: both relish gossiping about disliked colleagues.

But everything changed the day...

ASSISTANT TO DOCTOR KONDRAKI

By age 25, Odds was still shuffling paperwork at Site-17 — but her productivity had plummeted. Noticing her slacking, Foundation management decided to punish her by assigning her as an assistant to Dr. Kondraki. Everyone knew working under him was a trial by fire. Though the 38-year-old researcher had achieved impressive results in his three years at the Foundation, most staff feared him, considering him insane. Leadership hoped his strict oversight would finally whip Odds into shape.

The news didn't thrill her. She'd never crossed paths with Kondraki before, so on the eve of her first day, she gathered intel. Her friends warned her: the doctor was harsh, rude, and occasionally dangerous. This terrified Odds — for all her own rudeness, she feared people stronger-willed than herself. The only silver lining? Learning that Kondraki had once beaten the shit out of Clef, whom she loathed. That earned her respect, but did nothing to quell her dread.

On her first day, Odds timidly entered his office and introduced herself. Kondraki had either forgotten or ignored the memo about his new assistant. At first glance, he found nothing unusual about her — he was used to subordinates treating him with fear or caution. Only her dog ears and tail (which he initially mistook for part of a "furry" costume) and the ridiculous nickname "Odds" annoyed him. He handed her standard paperwork and sent her off. What he didn't expect was that the moment his new assistant left the room... she felt a sudden, inexplicable flutter. His slightly disheveled appearance and commanding voice had inexplicably charmed her. She hoped it was just a passing fancy, but...

Under Kondraki's supervision, Odds did start working harder — at first out of fear, but soon, her motivation shifted. She began striving for perfection, desperate to impress him. The more time they spent together, the more she fell for him — his confidence, his intellect, even his looks. Her infatuation grew so intense she rationalized his most deranged stunts (like riding SCP-682): "The ends justify the means... and casualties happen every day here anyway." A hypocritical take — she'd have crucified anyone else for such recklessness.

But Odds also saw virtues in Kondraki others missed. In his own way, he did care— about anomalies, from butterflies to harmless humanoids. Under his oversight, their containment conditions had genuinely improved. He even supported a three-year-old son from a past relationship, despite the complications. That also earned her respect.

Her friends were baffled. Both Venera and Nevus —who'd clashed with Kondraki themselves — saw him as a sloppy, alcoholic brute and couldn't fathom Odds overlooking his flaws. Their attempts to talk sense into her only pissed Odds off; she took it as unfair criticism.

Soon, everyone noticed her attachment. Iceberg was perplexed; Clef was irritated by her constant presence around his frenemy. Only Kondraki himself seemed oblivious — which pissed off Odds sometimes. Still, he appreciated her diligence and integrity. Unlike others, she neither feared nor resented him. Her behavior stroked his ego: she kept his office tidy, brought him coffee, reported on Site gossip, listened. She indulged his ramblings about fencing, photography, and music, joined him in complaining about colleagues, and never disagreed.

But Kondraki's paranoia couldn't ignore the red flags. Her unwavering support for even his most unhinged ideas felt off. Soon, he began suspecting she'd been planted — to gain his trust... and then eliminate him.

CONFESSION

Kondraki decided to share his suspicions about his oddly devoted assistant with an old acquaintance. He laid out his theory: this had to be a cunning O5 Council plot to eliminate him. His three-eyed companion just stared at him in disbelief — he was certain Konny knew exactly how Odds felt and was deliberately ignoring it. As a longtime friend, he spelled it out plainly: no one had given Odds any secret missions. She was genuinely, hopelessly in love.

The revelation stunned the photographer. If he set aside the paranoid theories, it all boiled down to a simple explanation: his assistant was head over heels for him. Even Kondraki struggled to believe it. Sure, beneath the disheveled exterior, he'd kept some of his looks — in his youth, he'd had no shortage of partners. But now, with his temperament? Behind the narcissistic facade lurked a deep self-loathing. Though he outwardly claimed to deserve better, he knew he was a terrible person. That belief had only solidified when the one person he'd ever truly loved — the mother of his son — left him because of his vile behavior.

On the surface, the solution seemed simple: just tell Odds outright that nothing would happen between them. But Kondraki faced an unexpected problem — he'd grown too attached to her. He knew how fragile his assistant was; a cold rejection could trigger a full breakdown. To his own surprise, he didn't want that. Odds wished him well, and he… found himself reciprocating. Finally, he admitted it to himself: Yes, he was in love too. He'd been certain that after Draven's mother, he'd never love again — that it was for the best, so he'd never hurt someone he cared about. But he'd been wrong, and now he had no idea what to do.

Then, one day, as Odds stood in his office, Kondraki called her over for that conversation. She expected work-related questions, but instead…

He confessed he knew about her feelings and apologized for taking so long to realize. Then he tried to explain why he'd be a terrible partner: the power imbalance, his smoking and alcoholism, his temper, his untreated bipolar disorder. Odds, ever the apologist, brushed off each point with a "nobody’s perfect." Eventually, Kondraki gave in and agreed to give the relationship a chance.

Odds was over the moon — what had begun as an anxiety-ridden talk turned into the best day of her life. Kondraki, in his own way, was happy too. He longed to experience mutual love again, but a part of him still feared how it might end.

IN A RELATIONSHIP

To others, little seemed different — except perhaps that the couple became slightly more tactile in their affections, though both naturally shied away from public displays of romance. They preferred tender moments and whispered sweet nothings in private, deliberately avoiding being "that couples" (though they occasionally used overly sweet pet names as a joke, just to amuse themselves).

Odds' behavior toward Kondraki changed minimally — she simply grew more open about her feelings and even more attentive. The real surprise was Kondraki himself, who shocked everyone by showing unexpected softness. Though not as demonstrative as his girlfriend, he reciprocated her care and — to universal astonishment — even displayed gentleness. Odds' friends, while still wary of him, were pleasantly surprised he wasn’t completely an asshole with her.

They spent more time together, sharing interests. Kondraki introduced her to literature (Odds was particularly struck by psychological horror and postmodernism) and regaled her with travel stories. If they ever got vacation time, he dreamed of taking her somewhere. Odds, though a homebody at heart, loved the idea. In turn, she eagerly shared her music with him. While Benjamin didn’t vibe with all of it, he appreciated some — like select tracks from Aphex Twin, Odds’ favorite artist.

Odds no longer lived in a storeroom but in Kondraki’s apartment, which — thanks to her efforts — was now significantly tidier. She also spent time with Benjamin’s son, Draven. She genuinely tried to make the boy happy, though she worried he dislike her when he grew older. Her deepest fear was that her mood swings might harm him, just as her own mother's instability had hurt her. But Kondraki always reassured her during these moments.

Yet their relationship was not perfect. Like any couple, they had issues. Odds sometimes got pissed off over trivial matters, provoking Kondraki's temper — after which one of them would apologize, and Odds, in tears, would beg him not to leave (even if the thought hadn't crossed his mind). Other times, Kondraki acknowledged her anger was justified — like when he overindulged in alcohol. His untreated bipolar disorder added complications: during depressive phases, he grew distant, making Odds spiral into panic that he'd fallen out of love; during manic episodes, he could be overbearing, grating on her nerves.

They knew this couldn't continue. Breaking up, however painful, felt like too easy an out. They still loved each other deeply. Odds and Kondraki made a choice: if they wanted to stay together, they had to work on themselves. So, gradually — and with the help of long-overdue therapy — they began changing for the better.

And so they carry on. Their love pushes them to become better people.

[gyurilla]

next mistake #11 koz’s golden boy, crumbling?

synopsis: sungho a star volleyball player, who is close to being benched for bad grades. and then you! yn. the top student, who he’s resented since high school, is assigned to tutor him. he makes her life chaotic—she makes him fall in love.

wc; update later

main

the day started off normal. it was friday.

class schedule ran the same, campus coffee line was too long, group chats were buzzing about weekend plans.

nothing felt out of place—until 9:00AM hit.

that was when the school paper dropped. like always.

every friday, without fail, they posted something about the men’s volleyball team. especially after a game. especially when it was messy.

you clicked out of habit. Not even thinking.

but when the homepage loaded, your breath caught.

“KOZ’s golden boy, crumbling?”

front and center.

there it was—sungho’s name in bold under a photo that barely looked like him.

blurry, mid-motion, caught at his lowest. jaw tight. shoulder’s tense. the exact moment he missed that serve. he looked furious—and lost.

“is this the end of KOZ’s star player?”

the article wasted no time.

it picked apart his performance.

called him “unrecognizable,”

said he looked “checked out.”

“not focused.”

even pulled up his stats from last year to show the drop.

your fingers tightened around your phone.

he was probably reading this too.

and if he wasn’t? He would be.

someone would send it. they always do.

your mind raced. not at the article, but at the fact that he wouldn’t defend himself.

he never did.

⸻

⸻

the rest of the day moved like static.

peope whispered. loudly.

in the library. in the halls. in classrooms you weren’t even in. it wasn’t just talk anymore—it was speculation.

“should he even be on the team?”

“he’s been off for weeks. coach should bench him.”

“i heard he didn’t even finish the test that day.”

“jaehyun plays cleaner anyway.”

even the benchwarmers started standing taller, like they suddenly had a shot at the spotlight. it made your skin crawl.

it wasn’t fair.

and not when the girl behind it—the girl who started all this—was walking around with her camera slung over her shoulder like she owned the damn school.

yuri.

editor of the KOZ Daily.

wannabe investigative journalist.

and a petty, bitter girl with a mean streak disguised as “honest reporting.”

you had problems with her before. but sungho?

he hated her, probably more than he hated you.

back in high school, she’d tried to publish hit pieces on him three different times. “too cocky for a team captain.” “golden boy actually sucks?”“rumoured to pick fights after games.”

all fake. all personal.

if it weren’t for leehan being on the school paper as well back then, they would’ve run.

but this time? leehan wasn’t there to block her.

this time, she was able to publish what she wanted.

and now she was back—smack in the middle of the gym the following week, standing courtside during warmups like she hadn’t just tried to drag sungho’s name through the mud. holding her stupid little camera. smirking.

you didn’t storm up to her. you waited.

she was chatting with her little media club friends, laughing at something, probably thinking about what garbage headline she’d run next.

you stood nearby, leaned against the bleachers, scrolling on your phone like you weren’t watching her every move.

and when her friends finally peeled off—off to grab a soda or get a seat—you slipped in.

still smiling.

still calm.

“yuri.”

she turned around and blinked. “oh. you.”

you kept your tone friendly. “i’ve been thinking about that article. impressive reach. almost like you’ve had it ready for a while.”

she smirked, like she’d won something. “maybe people are just tired of pretending he’s perfect.”

you nodded. then said, lightly—

“right. but if you keep posting stuff about sungho…”

a pause.

still smiling.

“…i may just..have to make sure everyone knows what happened during junior high.”

silence.

her smirk dropped so fast it was almost funny. her whole face changed. like she forgot how to breathe for a second.

you didn’t wait for a response. just tilted your head, gave her a sweet little smile, and turned around—

only to freeze.

sungho and riwoo were standing a few feet behind you.

gym lights buzzing overhead.

no expression on his face. just staring.

you couldn’t read his eyes.

didn’t know how much he heard.

didn’t ask.

you just walked past him without a word, cheeks burning.

⸻

you sat back down in the bleachers next to your friends, heart still thudding, hands slightly clammy. they were talking about what to do after the match, but your mind was spiraling somewhere else entirely.

why is he driving me crazy.

why do i care this much.

you hated how natural it felt to defend him. hated how her name in his mouth made you want to throw something. hated how fast you were willing to risk it all just because someone was trying to hurt him.

you weren’t even sure he wanted you to.

but you couldn’t help it.

he was starting to get under your skin—and you weren’t sure you wanted him out.

⸻

⸻

prev | next

ju: ;p

tl; @colorfuleclipse @s0shroe @oowir @suaveee12345 @miyawwn @ilysungho @pinkiwinkiminki @hyunjinslongasslegs @8makes1atom @kazukazukiiii @nujeskz @banez @cosmiicstarkss @aangelll0 @fwaagile @haruharua @leehanette @silv3rst0ne @coriihanniee @bishuambi @jvngw0nlvr @alwaysyeppi @lovenha7 @veerooniicaa @prodkwh @sirenla @starrihan @crazykimkeverose @t4esanlvrr @jsyasubak @w3willris3 @uncasings @tiramiffysu @hainim01 @defnotsanni @woonhakntaesansgf @ceilvia @kaixlix

[literallypyro]

How about a scenario where all of the mercs react to you being in a coma/waking up from a coma? I'm in the mood for angst!

(insert that one scene from the princess and the frog when prince navine and his servant accept the deal with Dr Facilier)

Also.... LOKI PFP SPOTTED‼️🫵

This can be read as platonic or pre-relationship for any of them!

I'm honestly excited to write this one! I hope you enjoy!

I will wait for you

They never expected it. They didn't know about the enemy Redmond had made in the process of trying to take down his brother. None of them knew who they were, and none of them even noticed something was wrong until they had seen the shadow sneaking away from their base.

Nothing was missing, and they couldn't find any evidence of anything missing. Everyone was suspicious, some more than others. However, with nothing evidently wrong, nobody did anything.

The moment they realized the figure wrapped in the darkness of night had nearly doomed them was in the middle of battle. You had been shot. When you crumpled to the ground instead of getting sent to the respawn room, your team panicked.

The BLU team almost didn't listen until their Heavy— the one who had shot you— forced them to stop firing.

It seemed as if your body knew something happened to the respawn room. It clung to consciousness, but it was quickly getting worse.

Your vision was blurred and you could barely process anything you heard.

"What the hell happened?" You could hear Scout with the most distraught tone he ever had.

"They should have respawned by now!" Soldier shouted with an uncharacteristic amount of worry.

"You don't think I know that?" Medic hissed with a venomous tone. You could see him kneeling over you, blocking out the sun and making it only slightly easier for you to see. "Ach, this does not look good. Someone carry them to the med bay. I need to go prepare my things."

°•'~ᴗ͈_ᴗ͈~`•°

Medic rushed off to the med bay with a look of fearful urgency on his face. No one had ever seen him sprint quite like he did then. Scout was the one to pick you up and follow right behind Medic, an obvious choice because he could get you there the fastest.

The entire team could feel a weight in their hearts. For the first time in a long time, everyone grasped how mortal you were, and none of them liked it.

Medic wouldn't let anyone in the room while he operated on you. He needed to be completely alone. He needed to concentrate fully. He spent hours removing the bullets. He was more stressed than ever when his medigun could only patch up the holes but not bring you back to normal.

°•'~ᴗ͈_ᴗ͈~`•°

The team could barely look at you at first while you were hooked up to all those machines. It had been so long since any of them had gotten this close to death.

Sniper felt as if his lung wanted to quit when he saw you. He could only tilt his hat to hide his face and leave the room. He knew others would stay there with you while he processed everything. He could barely process the emotions he had. They were so strong he physically felt them. He spent a lot of time watching Scout when the little ball of angered grief was outside.

Scout felt a surge of anger when he saw you. The kind of anger that makes your organs feel too big to fit in your body. The kind of anger that can only be let out through violence of some sort. Running like he was chasing that bitch who broke the respawn machine, breaking something, using Heavy's punching bag, you name it. Engineer gave him some old useless machines to break with his bat.

Speaking of Engineer, he seemed to be taking it relatively well on the outside. On the inside, though, he wasn't taking it well at all. He lost all motivation to work on his machines. He turned all of his attention to the respawn machine. He spent many sleepless nights looking for what was wrong with it. When he finally fixed it, he spent a good portion of his time drinking with Demoman or asking for updates on you.

Demoman was one of the people the rest of the team went to when they needed comfort. Although he was usually teetering on the edge of being blackout drunk, he always wanted to help his teammates settle their minds. Although he didn't feel very optimistic, he would spend time thinking of good things to help the others.

Heavy was another one people went to when they needed reassurance. He was one of the people handling it the best. He had seen tragedy and hardship his whole life, and while he was still worried sick, he knew how to get through it. He helped the others and gave them some genuinely useful coping methods that fit for each of them. He also asked for constant updates on any progress you made and used any good news to help the team feel better.

Spy was seen even less than before. He didn't let it show around anyone else, but he was one of the ones taking it the hardest. He was going through his packs of cigarettes faster than ever before, and would have three or four glasses of whiskey rather than the one, maybe two that was normal for him. He did the bare minimum to take care of himself, and sometimes, not even that much.

Pyro was also hit devastatingly hard by the situation. They often dissociated. Their most common state was sitting completely still and staring at nothing. Their breathing was barely visible, their chest barely moving from how shallow and slow it was. It was almost impossible to break them out of it, their name having to be called several times before they turned their head towards the source. Heavy nearly had to force feed them just to make sure they were eating.

Soldier was only somewhat himself. When he wasn't standing guard at the door, he was pestering the others to try and find who sabotaged the respawn machine or just sitting in his room and trying to process his emotions. He was actually surprisingly good at handling the emotions of sadness and grief. He may not be smart by anyone's standards, but he actually has a specific type of emotional intelligence that not many quite understand, which helped him a lot while you were in a coma.

If it weren't on Medic's shoulders to keep you alive and heal you, he would be a complete wreck. When he wasn't changing your IV bags, checking your vitals, and maintaining everything you were hooked up to, he was searching for some miraculous cure for your situation. Papers, books, and personal experiments littered his desk. He was rarely seen doing anything but working. He had to fix this.

Nobody wanted to admit it out loud, but they were losing hope after several months of nothing. They all felt the weight of your absence in their daily activities. The base was unusually quiet all the time. The team rarely had the energy to manage anything above a whisper of a mumble.

°•'~ᴗ͈_ᴗ͈~`•°

"Whuh...?"

Scout was the first to find out when he came to check on you. He ran through the halls, shouting of your return to consciousness like Paul Revere. A few of them almost didn't believe him. However, they couldn't deny how all the anger he had was gone and was replaced by subtle tears in the waterlines of his eyes.

The team burst into the room to find you talking with a shaken Medic.

Soldier was the first to step forward, falling back into his usual personality. "How DARE you scare us like that, maggot? The team was falling apart! I've never seen such a sorry display from what is supposed to be an elite group of mercenaries!" Heavy put a hand on Soldier's shoulder to calm him down.

Pyro had to be reminded that you weren't fully better yet so they wouldn't crush you with a hug. You could feel them shaking and hear their sobs finally come out after so long of being completely static.

Scout wiped his eyes, laughing slightly at himself. "Look at me, dude. You got me crying like I ain't done since I was a little kid! Man, I'm just glad you're back."

Some of the team— Sniper, Demoman, Spy, Engineer, Heavy, and Medic— stayed silent and let the others talk to you first. They had the patience. They knew you would still be there when the others were done indirectly fought for your attention.

It took a little over an hour for them to relax and let the others have their turn to talk to you.

Demoman seemed to breathe easier than he ever had before. "I tried to keep the team morale up, but I don't think I did a very good job. They'll be feeling a lot better now that you're awake. I know I am." His voice shook slightly as if happy sobs were fighting tooth and nail to be set free.

Engineer place a hand on your shoulder. His giggles were gone, and you could see how he was tearing up similarly to Scout. "I damn near can't believe my eyes. I was starting to think you wouldn't pull through. Maybe when you get to feeling better, you can come help me out in the workshop? I've fallen way behind."

Spy could barely even think of what to say. "Maybe now that you're getting better, things can return to normal." Though his words would seem underwhelming to anyone else, you knew him well enough to hear the hints of relief in his voice. You understood how he was and could hear how grateful he was that you pulled through.

Sniper had taken off his hat by this point, gripping it as if to ground himself in the moment. "We should probably work on your dodging skills, yeah?" Even though he didn't say much, you could feel the weight of his words. You could see how his face was lit up like it only did when he was completely filled with joy.

Heavy was quick to agree with him. "Da, team would be devastated if this repeated. We cannot express happiness enough you are better."

Medic waited until everyone left for his turn to speak with you. He sat down in a chair next to the hospital bed in which you laid. He took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and rested his elbows on his knees. The exhaustion he had was more than obvious. You could tell from the bags under his eyes that he worked tirelessly for you.

He looked up at you with furrowed brows and a weak smile. "You know... I don't think I have ever had a patient so difficult. It was challenging, but I... I'm glad I was able to help you."

"I think you need to rest." Your voice was soft and empathetic. You couldn't imagine how stressed he must have been. It was clearly enough to make him seem almost completely sane, after all. "Thank you so much for keeping me alive."

"You are right." He sighed and stood up with a stiffness in his bones. "I will check on you in the morning."

You smiled gently. "Sleep well."

[jayjaystupid]

"i will die your son": a fic where Regulus Black is the one who raises Draco

really short summary: Regulus Black survives the cave. And as he tries to destroy the locket, he also does his best to help the Malfoys escape the Dark Lord. Sadly, it doesn't end well for either of them, and the Malfoys die. When Regulus is left raising Draco alone at just twenty, he slowly begins to re-educate himself, to give up his pureblood ideology, views and beliefs. So that Draco doesn't end up growing up a Death Eater at sixteen, like he did.

This is a canon rewrite with character study, especially Regulus' character. I tried to make every character, especially Reg, as morally gray as possible. And close to canon as well. No bashing towards anyone. It's a drarry & moonwater slow burn; past!jegulus appears too because marauders era will also be in the fic. Angst with a happy ending, rated E. The story begins in 1979.

Currently ongoing (6 chapters for now), weekly updates! Next Thursday - finally a chapter about Draco turning 11, going to Hogwarts and meeting Harry for the first time.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66200320/chapters/170639053