#to enter drift mode

[juney-blues]

the car missions are a bit of a huge pain in the ass. especially the "don't hit the walls" ones. but i still kinda like them anyway because they control a bit like a jankier F Zero X.

sonic adventure 2 is a score attack game where you're primarily trying to A rank every single alternate mission for each level the game gives you. this is the most enjoyable way of playing the game because it means you actually get good at it.

[lilac-melody]

...Not tonight though. I have work in the morning.

[kissandtellus]

Doctor’s Orders

Synopsis: Zayne is a husband & father first and foremost. Seeing you with your first-born strikes a need in him. He needs about 3 more carbon copies of you, STAT!

Warnings: Breeding, tracking ovulation, mention of pregnancy, praising, dirty talk, pwp, smut.

Zayne entered the apartment with the front door shutting firmly behind him. He ran a hand through his messy hair before tugging on the tie around his neck. Exhaling softly, he slowly made his way to the living room area. The sight of his wife and infant daughter together immediately brought a soft smile to his face.

He came up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder as he peered down at their sweet daughter. "You're both still up at this hour?" he murmured, his voice weary but laced with affection.

He gently takes Luna from your arms, cuddling her close as he sits down next to you on the couch. “Let me hold my little angel for a bit... You look tired too." His thumb softly stroking Luna's cheek as he leans his head against yours.

You take a deep breath as Zayne takes her in his arms, sitting beside you on the couch. “She wanted her ‘Baba’, I also think she’s cutting teeth.” You wince, rubbing your sore breast from breastfeeding.

Zayne let out a low sympathetic hum as he took Luna from your arms, cradling the baby gently on his lap. "Poor little one," he murmured, his expression softening even more as he looked down at their baby.

He ran a finger lightly across her tiny cheek, feeling for any signs of swelling or irritation. "You're right. It does look like she's teething. I'll have to look up some remedies for that tomorrow," he said, his mind already going into his 'doctor mode.'

The one year old tiredly blinked up her her father, a chubby hand reaching out to grab at his glasses. “Ba…Ba.”

Zayne chuckled softly at Luna's attempt to grab his glasses. He gently captured her little hand in his, holding it in place. "No, no, darling. Not the glasses," he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice.

He couldn't help but feel a burst of affection for his daughter. Even after a long, hectic day at the hospital, coming home to this sight always melted his heart.

"How many times has she been fussy tonight?" he asked, turning his attention to his wife.

"She's woken up a few times, mostly from pain, I think. But she's been calm since I called you," You reply, your gaze lingering on the two of them for a few more moments before shifting your attention to the folder that Zayne had set on the coffee table.

"Long shift?" You ask. "You look exhausted."

Zayne sighed, his shoulders sagging momentarily. "Long and exhausting," he admitted, his fingers still gently holding Luna's hand in his. "Non-stopping surgeries, a few emergency cases... the usual, really."

He leaned back against the couch, his gaze drifting to the folder that you’d been eyeing. "Why? Something you need from there?" he asked curiously.

"Just wanted to see if you had any new articles for me to read," You say with a teasing smile. "You know I like looking at all those impressive medical terms you use."

Zayne chuckled softly at your remark, the tiredness in his eyes replaced by a touch of affection. "Ah, my little medical term enthusiast," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I'll make sure to leave my most complex articles scattered around the living room then.”

You roll your eyes playfully in response. "Oh, what a gift that would be," You reply, unable to suppress a soft laugh. "I'll have to clear out an entire shelf for all your medical jargon."

Zayne's smile widened, a glint of amusement shining in his tired eyes. "Just be careful not to read too much," he teased. "You might start sounding like a doctor yourself, and then what will I do?"

You let out a small laugh at his comment. "Oh, don't worry, I doubt I'll ever get to your level. Unless... you're secretly planning to retire and pass on your wisdom to me?"

Zayne's eyes softened even more, his expression growing more serious for a brief moment. "And leave my job? Not a chance."

There was a hint of protectiveness in his gaze as he looked down at Luna, who was now dozing off peacefully in his arms.

You reach over and grab Luna’s tiny little hand, flipping it over to show Zayne the smallest layer of ice over her palm. “Looks like someone inherited Baba’s evol.”

Zayne's eyes widen, his attention immediately snapping down to Luna's hand. He carefully examined the fine layer of ice coating her palm. A mix of surprise and fascination washed over his features.

"So she did..." he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He gently ran a finger over the ice, feeling the coolness on his skin. "It's... early. I didn't expect her to start showing signs of an evol so soon."

Zayne carefully shifts Luna in his arms, his thoughts consumed with worry despite his efforts to hide it. He remembers all too well the struggles he faced himself with his evol - the loss of control, the accidents, the guilt.

He lets out a soft sigh, his gaze fixed on Luna's peaceful face. "She so young..." he mutters, his voice tinged with a hint of dread. "What if... what if she can't control it?"

You reach over and gently place a hand on his arm, sensing the worry in his voice. "Hey," you say softly. "She's your daughter. She'll be fine."

Zayne's shoulders tense for a moment, his gaze still fixed on Luna's face. He knows you are trying to reassure him, but the memories of his own struggles with his evol still linger in his mind.

"I just... I don't want her to go through what I went through," he says, his voice quivering with a mix of fear and protectiveness.

You press a warm kiss to his lips, resting your forehead on his. “You’re perfect. The best father she could ask for, and the best husband I could ever dream of. We’ll get through this together.”

Zayne closes his eyes, his tension softening at your words and touch. He takes a deep breath, the weight of his worries seeming to lighten marginally.

"You have too much faith in me," he murmurs, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "But... I suppose if I have you by my side, I can face anything."

He opens his eyes, his gaze meeting mine with a mixture of love and gratitude. "Together," he echoes.

Zayne is a master of putting Luna back to sleep after a fussy night.

He’s also a master at dragging you back to your bedroom, kissing you within an inch of your life. Despite his exhaustion, he needs to be inside of you. Needs to praise you for being such an amazing mother.

His breath hot against your neck as he presses you down onto the mattress, his hands already working to remove your clothes. “I missed you," he murmurs, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss. His body presses against yours, the scent of the hospital still clinging to him.

Zayne slips two long and icy fingers into your warm cunt, cooing in a calm voice he might use to tell his patients about their diagnosis.

His fingers expertly curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your hips buck against him “So wet for me already..." *His voice is low and husky, filled with desire* "I've been thinking about this all day..." *His thumb circles your clit as he adds another finger.

He continues to finger you slowly, his icy touch contrasting with the warmth of your insides. “You're so tight and warm... It's like coming home." His free hand roams over your body, squeezing your breasts and rolling your nipples between his fingers. “I love seeing you like this.”

You choke back a soft whine. Usually you would be so overstimulated from having a one year old hanging off of you all day. But with Zayne it was different.

Noticing your reaction, he smirks against your lips, knowing exactly how to drive you wild. “You're so sensitive tonight..." *He whispers huskily. “Does my little wife need more?"

You grasps at his shoulders like a lifeline. “M-mmh! C-condom, I’m-“

Before you could finish, Zayne finishes it for you.

“You’re ovulating.” He says as if he’s talking about the weather. with his free hand he flicks the screen of his watch towards you, showing you the calendar he has set on his watch of your ovulation cycle.

His eyes darken with a primal desire as he looks at you, his fingers still moving inside you. “I've been tracking your cycle, love." He murmurs, his voice low and commanding.* "And today is the perfect day to fill that womb with my seed."

You give lighthearted protest. It’s not that you don’t want another little Luna running around. It’s moreso you are so cockdrunk already you’d give your husband anything he’d ask. “You want anothed?” You whimper out

His lips quirk into a smirk at your whimpering protest, knowing that you're already so drunk on his attention and affection. “Yes." He replies firmly, his fingers curling inside you as he finds that perfect spot. “I want another little girl, just like Luna."

You don’t really remember how your knees got pushed up next to your ears, but what you do remember is the delicious stretch of his cock in your sloppy cunt.

He enters you slowly at first, savoring the feeling of your warmth enveloping him completely. “So tight..." *He groans, pushing deeper until he's fully sheathed inside you. “This is where I belong." He starts moving, his pace steady and deep.

You are digging your nails into his back, holding on for the ride. One hand is angling your hips, pushing up one leg higher than the other. His other hand is gripping the headboard. Through lidded eyes you can see the way his ice Evol slips from his palm, starting to freeze the mahogany wood.

He notices your gaze on his hand and smirks, knowing that your attention is split between the pleasure and the display of his power. “Fuck, you feel so good." *He groans deeply, thrusting harder into you. “So warm.” he emphasizes.

His thrusts become more urgent, his hips slapping against yours with a wet, rhythmic sound. The headboard creaks under his grip, the ice spreading further as his control slips away to pure primal need. "My patient is speakin’ to me..."

You realize he’s not talking about you, he’s talking about your noisy pussy that’s pulsing around his length, dripping onto the expensive silk sheets.

He leans down to whisper in your ear, his voice husky with desire. “She wants me to breed her." He thrusts harder, hitting that spot inside you that sends sparks flying behind your eyes. “And I'm going to give her exactly what she wants. Doctor’s orders.”

Your back arches when the curve of his cock presses just so into your cervix.

He sees your reaction and does it again, purposely hitting that spot with every thrust. “There it is.” He murmurs, watching your body respond to his touch.* "Right there.” His voice is strained with effort as he fights off his own release.

But Zayne is a good husband. When your contracting womb begs for his seed, who is he to deny you?

With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself completely inside you. His release is intense, his hot seed filling you up and spilling out around his length. The ice spreads across the headboard and down the wall as he comes undone, marking the room with his power.

The room immediately drops in temperature. Zayne draws back as much of the ice as he can, the exaustion from such a long day catching up with him.

He collapses onto the bed beside you, his body still trembling from the intensity of their coupling. The room is now a chilly 40 degrees Fahrenheit, the ice slowly melting back into his palm as he regains control over his powers. “…Love you," *he murmurs sleepily against your neck.

The expression on Luna’s face when you all tell her she’s going to be a big sister is all the encouragement you need for another 2 years of sleepless nights.

[scarletmika]

Always : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

PART TWO OF Stay With Me : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Ex-Widow!Reader

Summary: Bob stayed with you, just as you asked, and life couldn't be better. But the past always has a way of catching up with you, no matter how hard you try and push it away and leave it behind. Now, it's Bob's turn to save you.

Warnings: fluff, angst, idiots in love, violence, death, gore, mental health talk, language, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*, Bob maybe SLIGHTLY OOC (he's making progress)

Word Count: 5,269 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here A/N: @violentrayof-sunshine you requested a part two, and who was I to say no!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

The team was sick of you and Bob, and it had only been 2 months since they’d broken into that room of rubble and fire to find the pair of you crying and wrapped in one another's arms. It wasn’t that they were sick of seeing you two together and being together so much as the added level of affection at any time of the day had John and Ava in agreement over wanting to hurl at every corner.

You both refused to talk about what had happened in that room after the bomb had exploded, choosing to keep it to yourselves so as not to worry the team. But whatever it is that had happened had changed the nature of your relationship with Bob forever, and the team was honestly thankful that it had finally happened. What they didn’t like was that Alexei got closest to guessing when you’d finally end up together, winning their entire pot of money they’d gambled months ago when they’d moved into the tower on that nature of your relationship.

Yelena saw it before anyone else did. It was almost instantaneous after they’d come back to the Watchtower from the mission, the way that Bob wouldn’t leave your side, and you didn’t seem to be pushing him away anytime soon. It wasn’t shocking, seeing you both together, but the sly hand holding under the tables didn’t go unnoticed by Yelena, and she couldn’t help but feel at peace knowing you both had found one another. You’d lived a hard life, she knew it best as she’d been there for all of it. Knowing you’d found someone you so clearly loved gave her peace.

It began that first full night back after the mission. You’d finished reports with the team, debriefing on what had happened but holding back the details of what went down in the control room. The sun had finally set, moonlight streaming through the windows of your room and highlighting the outline of New York City before you as you laid in bed. The ache in your bones was present now, more so than it was before, and you were already mentally preparing to tell Bucky that you were sitting out the next mission in favor of letting the feel of the explosion leave your bones. A soft knock on your bedroom door interrupted you as you slowly drifted in and out of consciousness, barely there. You didn’t hesitate to tell whoever it was to come in.

“I’m sorry…you’re usually up late so uh, I didn’t think you’d be asleep,”

The sound of Bob’s voice, still laced with hesitation after what had happened just hours before, brought a smile to your face. You turned your back on the windows, leaving the city behind you as you faced him instead.

“Just sore and tired from the mission, and the paperwork,” you joked lightly with him, voice like a whisper in the quiet of the bedroom. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Bob hesitated for a moment, seeming to be dancing on the line of entering flight mode. He looked back at you, at the serene and calm look on your face before choosing to shut the door behind him, wringing his hands together as he took another step toward you.

“I…I didn’t want to be alone,”

“Then come here,”

There was no hesitation from you, so for once, there was no hesitation in Bob’s own actions. He crossed the room in a second, slowly and cautiously maneuvering himself down onto your own bed as you lifted the comforter for him, allowing him to climb in and rest his head on the pillow opposite of yours. You tucked the comforter back overtop of him, fingers gentle as they glided lightly back up his now covered arm, hand moving itself up to his cheek as you cupped it. He leaned into the touch as if on instinct, eyes never leaving yours.

“Hi,”

“Hi,”

“Nightmares?” you guessed in a hushed tone, and Bob nodded slightly, not trusting himself to truly answer with his own voice. Your thumb caressed his cheek, rubbing comfortably up and down the skin. “I get them too.”

“I wish they’d stop,” he whispered back, unable to look away from you. “Sometimes it’s uh, it’s dad. The screaming, the fights…the hitting. There’s uh, moments from when I was…still doing drugs. The vault too…I-I’m scared this time I’ll see…earlier.”

Sometimes, Bob did a good job of hiding how he was feeling. Around you, from the very first meeting, he was terrible at it. You could see it clear as day in his eyes, the terror in them and the slight tremor in his bottom lip as he spoke, the shaking of his hand underneath the covers.

You retracted your hand, not missing the way he chased after the grounding feeling of your skin on his. You took his hand instead in your own, bringing it to you chest and placing it over your heart. You held him there, both of you listening to the feeling of it beating in your chest, pumping blood through your entire body.

“I’m here, and that’s because of you. You came back from the edge,” he nodded very slightly at your words as you gave him a comforting smile in return. “The nightmares will always be there, they never leave. But they’re nothing but bad dreams, they aren’t reality.”

Bob’s eyes followed your intertwined hands, locking onto them for a moment as he listened to the steady beat of your heart once again.

“...how do you deal with yours?”

“I wake up,” it brought a very small huff of a laugh from him, which was all that mattered. You gave his hand a squeeze, bringing his eyes back up to you. “You tell yourself they’re just bad dreams, and then you push them away. They can’t hurt you unless you let them.”

There was a beat of silence in the room once again, a question hanging off of Bob’s lips as his eyes flickered between yours and your lips, the flush that had appeared on his cheeks still obvious within the darkness of the room.

“...can uh, can I kiss you?”

Taking his hand still in yours, you brought it up to your own cheek, laying it there with a grin.

“From this moment on, you never have to ask again,”

There was no hesitation from Bob the second he had your consent, pulling ou to him and slotting his lips against yours. His movements were slight, cautious, but firm. The tremble in his lips was still there as you pressed back just as firmly to him, moving against him just as you had hours before as his hand managed to slip to the nape of your neck.

From that night on, neither of you ever slept alone again.

Bucky and Yelena were the first to know, having gone to wake you up for an early training one day, but instead opening the door to you and Bob tangled together in a mess of limbs as you slept. It wasn’t long until Alexei was celebrating upstairs over the news.

Bob’s bedroom soon became simply storage for his things, finding himself on the other side of your bed every single night. Curled around you with your back to his chest, his head resting against your collarbone, you name it and he’d fall asleep in any position possible as long as he was with you.

He thought the world of you. But it wouldn’t be long until he realized that you were never as “okay” as you seemed to portray yourself as. Sleeping together seemed to keep Bob’s nightmares at a bare minimum, but it hadn’t done much to stop yours.

Bob could still remember the first night he’d shot awake to your own screams. You were sweating profusely, heat essentially rolling off of your body. Bob scrambled under the covers, sitting up beside you as you ran your hands down his face, trying desperately to calm your breathing as you glanced at Bob quickly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you,” your breathing was still heavy, your heart beating out of your chest. “It was just a bad dream, I’m sorry.”

“...was it her?”

As awkward as Bob could be around others, he’d found a way to read you like a book in certain moments together, and now was one of them. The Mistress, the same woman from that day in your own personal shame room of hell, of course Bob knew it was her.

“She…wasn’t just a teacher in The Red Room. She was my mother,” you paused your own explanation, mulling over your words. “Well, as much of a mother to me as Alexei really was a father to Yelena and Natasha back then. At least he cared for them. Yelena got peewee soccer teams, got to go to school…I got hit, thrown around the room…she ruined my life in every way possible. Sometimes it’s hard to keep her out of my head.”

There was another beat of silence in the room, before Bob’s hand cautiously found yours. He threaded his own fingers through yours, giving your hand the lightest of squeezes in what he hoped was comfort. He’d grown used to receiving comfort from you and the others, but giving it himself wasn’t something he was used to.

“In the vault, Yelena tried to tell me that uh, that you just have to take that darkness and…push it down. It was…it was uh, you when you came into the Void that told me I couldn’t do that. Being with you, being around you…it helps me. I lean on you a lot, I know I do…y-you can lean on me too,”

No other words were spoken that night as Bob laid back down on his back and you slotted yourself into his side, head laid on his chest and letting the beat of his heart and the heat his body emitted lull you back into sleep.

For awhile, you never spoke of it again. The nightmares seemed to slow every night you and Bob spent wrapped up together, and you smiled around the team just as you typically did. On the outside to most, you were perfectly fine, but Bob could see through it. You were masking your thoughts and your pain, just as he always had. But you never pushed him to talk about things with you, so he didn’t push you to talk to him either about those dark thoughts that floated around your head.

Life moved on in the tower. Missions were run, dinners together were had, occasional movie nights even made their way onto the docket every week, once again courtesy of Alexei.

The first time the Red Guardian had managed to wrangle you all together in a shared space for a movie had been…chaotic. John and Ava argued over who could sit where, Yelena tried to convince her father that “old home movies of the glory days” did not constitute a movie night with the team, and Bucky shook his head quietly from the couch like a disapproving father.

One of the couches was already claimed by you and Bob. You’d slotted yourself into the corner by the armrest while Bob had found himself laid out across the cushions, his head finding it’s place in your lap as your fingers gently combed their way through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp as he closed his eyes and leaned into the feeling.

“You look like you’re going to fall asleep down there,” your voice opened his eyes once again as he looked up at your grinning face, the noise beyond you two from your friends drowned out in the moment. “Careful, fall asleep during Alexei’s movie night and you might not hear the end of it.”

“I-it’s your fault,” he mumbled back in the moment, cheeks flushing. “Your hands…they feel nice.”

That familiar four letter word was hanging in the back of your throat as you looked down at him, practically dying to crawl out of you the longer you looked at him. Instead of saying it, you leaned in, placing the gentlest of kisses on his lips, before pulling back with a smile at the awestruck look that had crossed his face in the moments after.

“God, Alexei, you’ve taken so long to pick a movie the lovebirds have already checked out!”

“Ah ah ah! Don’t be so harsh on young love, Winter Soldier! Two very strong, capable heroes these two are, I think they are perfect together. Imagine the super babies that could be had-”

“ALEXEI!”

Bob could still remember your laughter that night as the entire team yelled at the Russian super soldier, the carefree smile on your lips. He wished that smile would never leave your face, no matter what.

He loved your smile most in the moments where you were alone, though. Laying on the common room couch together, one of your heads lying in the other’s lap as one of you had your nose buried in a book. Or the moments he watched you flit around the kitchen, humming a song to yourself as you made something for the two of you to eat.

Bob loved you. He’d known it for awhile, even when he was so broken he didn’t believe he could be loved, or even give it. He felt loved by you, cared for, and he knew he loved you.

It’s because he loved you that he could clearly see that you were struggling inside. You’d never blame him, but that day in that HYDRA control room had done irreparable damage to you mentally, and he could almost see you beginning to come undone.

He saw it most when he watched you spar with Bucky or Yelena in the training room. He’d kept up with practicing control of his powers, but physical hand-to-hand combat was something he shied away from. That never stopped him from watching you, though.

Yelena ducked from the swing of your leg, sliding between your legs before landing a kick to the back of your knee. With a hiss of pain you dropped to your own knees, throwing a leg back and launching it into Yelena’s shoulder, giving you time to spin around and face her again as she bounced back to her own two feet.

Bob sat quietly in the corner, legs crossed under him as he wrung his hands together for something to do in his lap, just silently watching the two former Widows go hand to hand.

You made a lunge at Yelena, trying to knock her feet off the ground, but slipped, missing. Yelena took advantage, landing a swift punch to your jaw. You flew to your stomach, catching yourself with your hands on the ground as your jaw tightened from the pain.

“Sloppy, but you knew that. Come on, that mistake would’ve gotten you killed back in the room,”

Even Bob flinched at the comment, knowing what he knew about your past, having witnessed your greatest mistake with his own two eyes. Maybe Yelena couldn’t see it, but Bob did. The way your shoulders immediately tensed from across the room, how your entire body seemed to react to that statement, the memories you were probably enduring.

He knew the feeling of falling apart at the seams, having done it enough himself. He could see it happening to you right before his eyes, even if others didn’t notice, but he had no idea how a broken man like him could help the woman he loved.

Then, the mission came in.

“Intel suggests the base is held somewhere deep on the outskirts of Мирный, in the heart of Russia…” Bucky paused his explanation of the mission as the digital map behind him zoomed in on the coordinates outlined in the packet before him. His gaze flicked to Alexei for a second, before settling on the two former widows sat at the other end of the table. “Whoever is running it…they’d been kidnapping children, young girls, between the ages of 4 and 6. They’re…training them.”

Yelena managed to keep a straight face at Bucky’s words, even as her fists seemed to tighten. You didn’t do as good of a job at hiding it, everyone able to hear the sharp intake of breath from you. Bob could feel the way your hand tightened around his under the table as Yelena turned to look at you.

“Someone is trying to restart The Red Room,” you gave a stiff nod at Yelena’s words as you both came to the same conclusion. “Alright, what’s the plan? Dismantling, intel, what’s the job?”

“Rescue,” Bucky answered back, the digital board behind him showing the faces of a hundred or so young girls that were reported missing around the world. “They’ve got at least a hundred kids that we know of. Contain any agents around, if we can gather intel, then great, but they want us to go in and simply get these kids out of there. This is all hands on deck, no one is sitting this one out.”

You and Bob were alone before the mission, wheels up on the jet in less than ten minutes, according to Bucky. You adjusted the tactical gear that Bob had gotten himself into, the same one as last time, making sure that Bob protected for what was to come. While your hands were busy fidgeting with the buckles and straps on his tactical gear, Bob’s eyes never left your face.

“Are you…are you okay?”

“Well, someone is trying to restart the organization that ruined my life and many others, so…as good as I can be, I guess,” you tried to joke, stopping your movements as you looked up at Bob, hands sliding up until they rested on either side of his face. “I’m okay, I promise, it’s just…it’s a lot. Do me a favor, though? Let’s try not to have any Void related incidents today.”

“No promises,” you quirked an eyebrow at Bob’s words as he faltered. “T-that was supposed to uh, to be a joke.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his words, at the small smile that crossed his lips, and that four letter word was dying to spill past your lips and out into the open. You held it in, instead pulling Bob into you, molding your lips to his. His arms wound their way around you, albeit still cautiously, as you reveled in the small moment in the arms of the man you loved more than anything you ever had before.

The warehouse deep in the forests of Russia was quiet inside as the team moved through it. John and Bucky led the way through the falls, checking each and every room as Ava and Alexei looked over the files in front of them and gave directions to the area within the warehouse where the girls were said to be kept.

Yelena, Bob and yourself hung by at the back of the pack. Bob was quiet, simply looking between the former Widows as they glanced to one another every single time John or Bucky yelled out a “clear” after checking another room.

“Something is off about this, there’s no one here,” you commented quietly to Yelena and Bob. “Think they knew we were coming?”

“Maybe, but moving that many girls isn’t easy,” Yelena shot back as Bucky gave a nod back to the trio in the back, who moved to the next door. Bob stood behind you as you and Yelena raised your guns to the door, preparing to move through and check the room.

A single kick threw the door open, but the room was empty of anyone inside, just like the other ones were. You reupholstered your gun as Yelena took the right of the room, and you and Bob moved through the left side.

“It’s…kind of creepy down here,” Bob mumbled to you as you rifled through the papers on the desks before you, trying to find anything that could be useful to finding the girls. You laughed lightly at the comment.

“Well it’s not as creepy as The Red Room itself, but you aren’t wrong,”

“Widows, Bob, think we got something!”

John’s voice from the hallway brought the team back together. John quickly passed off the papers he found to you and Yelena as you rifled through them together.

“These are different from the intel we have on the girls,” Yelena shook her head, still flipping through the paperwork. “This talks about an entirely different holding cell for the girls, but it’s on the opposite end of the building.”

“We can’t be sure that information is even accurate,” Ava tried to argue back, looking around at the group. “Our intel clearly outlined they were being kept on the East end of the warehouse, there was nothing about the West end.”

“Easy, we’ll split up,” it was you that cut in, taking the papers from Yelena to look over the information. “You guys follow the original intel we received from Valentina’s team and Yelena and I will go and check out this new information.”

Bob bristled at the thought of splitting up from you, of not being with you for every second of the mission. He couldn’t help but think back on that fated HYDRA mission, of what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there with her. In a moment of confidence, but what was probably pure terror in his heart, Bob’s hand shot out to grab onto yours as the team watched in silence.

“We- we can’t split up. What if- what if something happens and we- we aren’t there?” your face softened at the familiar look of terror glistening in Bob’s eyes. “What if…what if you get hurt?”

You leaned in quickly, not caring about your friends as you left a soft kiss on his lips, squeezing his hand once before backing away.

“I’ll see you in a bit, I promise,”

Not another word was shared between the ground as you and Yelena made your way back down the hallway toward the West end of the warehouse to check on the new information, while Bucky clapped a hand on Bob’s shoulder, trying to bring him back with them toward their original goal. Bob couldn’t help that his eyes followed you until you fully disappeared down the hallway.

The former widows were quiet for a moment before Yelena cleared her throat, looking over at you with a smirk.

“So…you told Bob you love him yet?”

You barked out a laugh, shaking your head as you both entered back into one of the larger, open rooms of the warehouse. 

“Yelena-”

“I’m just pointing out how sickeningly cute you two are. It’s nice to see Bob come out of his shell around you,” she passed by you, gun at the ready as she checked the room, bumping her shoulder with yours just slightly. “It’s nice to see you so relaxed, too. You’re different around him, lighter. After the life we’ve had…I’m glad you’ve found someone to care about like that, to make the darkness a little lighter.”

You smiled to yourself at her words, adjusting your grip on your own gun for a second as you looked around the room, still moving across the floor.

“Let’s just save these little girls from living through hell like we did so that maybe I can tell him I love him-”

The sentence was barely out of your mouth before an alarm blared, all exit doors in the open room of the warehouse being shuttered immediately. Both you and Yelena whipped back to the doorway you’d just come through, shooting toward what looked like a glass doorway that had come down, but your bullets simply ricocheted off without leaving a single mark.

“How nice it is to see two of my star pupils again,”

You and Yelena whipped around again, guns still trained high as you turned to the woman now standing behind you. Yelena’s grip on her gun tightened as she glanced between the woman and yourself just ten feet from her.

You faltered the second you laid eyes on the woman, grip on your gun loosening for just a second as she stared across the room at you.

The Mistress. Your mother.

“What, no words for your long-lost mother?” there was a smirk on her face as your grip on your gun tightened again. The smirk left her lips as she glared straight at you. “Stand up straight, have I taught you nothing-”

“There’s no girls here, are there,” Yelena cut in, stating her words instead of asking. There was no doubt in her voice. “It was all a setup to get us here.”

“Well not you,” the Mistress pointed her finger toward Yelena, before trailing it to you once again. “More so for my daughter-”

“I’m not your daughter,” you sneered back, finger resting over the trigger of your gun.

There were shouts behind you, the rest of the team seeming to have heard the alarm and running back to find the pair of you. They were stopped behind the glass-like barrier that had been shut. You looked back, seeing Bucky, John and Alexei all trying to break through, but whatever it was made out of was something that it didn’t seem super soldiers could even break that easily.

Your eyes locked with Bob’s terrified ones, and your grip on the gun tightened again.

“What do you want with us?” Yelena called out to the Mistress, who shrugged her shoulders toward her.

“Well, I’m not exactly here for you,” before anyone could react the Mistress had raised her arm, the familiar glow around her wrist of what had been nicknamed “Widow Bites” lighting up before shooting toward Yelena.

You called out for her, throwing yourself between the woman as your gun stayed trained on her and Yelena, who was now writhing on the ground in pain, the electrocution from the device obviously having been increased from the groans that sounded from your closest friend. You could hear Alexei from behind the barrier call out for her.

“This is between us,” you seethed at the Mistress, every second in her presence fueling the anger deep inside of you. All those memories, all those years, all that pain.

“That it is,” she called back. “I needed to see my girl in the flesh. My little deadly assassin, my perfect project, turned into an Avenger. What a joke. This isn’t who you are-”

“You know nothing about me,” you sneered back at her as she laughed.

“I made you, I know everything about you. Just rejoin me, my girl. Train the next generation of Widows at my side,”

“They only place I want to see you is six feet under,”

The Mistress sighed, shaking her head as she reached into the waistband of her pants.

“So sad…my perfect project…and you turned out to be nothing but a mistake,”

The calls from your team, your friends, to stop went unheard as the Mistress pulled a gun, shooting toward you. You dodged with ease, launched forward and grabbed her around the waist, slamming her onto the concrete ground below you as you sat over top of her.

The team was stunned from beyond the glass, all they could see was the wailing of your fists into the woman’s face. She slashes at your arms with a knife from her waistband, but you never even flinched, grabbing the weapon from her hands and launching it across the room before resuming your punches.

“She’s losing it…” Ava whispered loud enough for the team to hear. “Who…who is that woman?”

Bob knew, but it wasn’t his place to tell. From what you’d all explained to him, what played out before them was eerily similar to that day in New York in the Void, in the shame rooms. The way that Bob wailed punches on the other side of himself, desperately trying to free himself from…himself.

You were trapped in your own head, in your own memories and your own pain. You needed him.

Bob shoved through his friends, not wasting a second in placing his hand on the glass no one could break. The second his fingers touched the glass it shattered on impact, thousands of pieces falling to the ground. And he didn’t waste a second before rushing to your side.

Your vision was blurred from your own tears by the time that Bob’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, tugging you backward off of the bloody, beaten shell of a woman now barely breathing below you.

“NO! No, let me kill her! Let me kill her!”

The rest of the team helped Yelena to her feet as they watched on as you screamed and cried, falling into a heap in Bob’s arms as he simply held you, letting you cry as the sound echoed around the room.

Hours later, and Bob was still pacing outside the medical wing of the Watchtower back in New York. You were just on the other side of the door with Yelena, and all he wanted was to be in the room with you. His hands wrung together, his pacing increasing by the minute until the door finally opened.

“She’s okay,” Yelena told Bob with a small smile, holding up a hand to stop him as he rushed up to her the second she was through the door. “Well, physically at least. But she’s okay. She’s asking for you, though.”

“...are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just go in there and see your girl,” Yelena placed a hand on Bob’s shoulder, squeezing it with a smirk on her face, but there was a softness behind it. “And maybe…tell her, if you know what I mean.”

You were stood at the windows within the confined space of the medical wing, looking down on the streets of New York. You could hear the door open and close behind you, the footsteps crossing the room lightly, and coming to stand beside you. You knew who it was without a second thought, reaching over and taking Bob’s hand in your own.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,”

“W-well I’m pretty sure you all uh, you all have seen me worse than that, so…”

You let out a short chuckle at the comment, turning up to look at him as tears pooled in your eyes.

“All I saw was red…she called me a mistake and all I saw was red. I’ve spent so long trying to push it all away, push my childhood away and be this strong person…and all it took was seeing her once for my walls to come crashing down,” a lump formed in your throat as you swallowed it. “I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t push it away anymore, and I…I don’t know how to get better this time.”

Bob seemed to hesitate for a second, before shaky hands came up to cup your cheeks.

“J-just stay with me,”

You smiled, leaning into his touch.

“Stealing my line now-”

“Just stay with me because I…because I love you. A-and I need you,”

You froze for just a moment at his words, and you could see the momentary panic in his eyes before you surged forward into a kiss. It was light, sweet, and the fluttering within your chest mirrored the one happening in his own.

It was you that pulled away, but just barely. Lips just an inch apart, noses brushing as another tear ran down your cheek, but this time not in sadness.

“Always…because I love you too,”

[just-some-little-lads]

A Late Night

Summary: You come back home after a long day only to find Sylus waiting for you, acting a bit differently than normal. Word Count: 1.1k SFW, Second Person POV, GN MC.

Being a Hunter was good work; you knew that. However, heroism or not, long days could still have you cursing under your breath, dreaming of living in isolated peace by some lakeside. Dragging your feet, you contemplated calling in sick tomorrow. The key to your apartment flailed clumsily on it’s ring before finally turning in the slot. Shoes kicked to the shadows, work bag abandoned on the floor, you didn’t even bother turning on your lights before flopping on your couch. With your eyes closed, you were two alluring seconds away from drifting off… Till the hairs on the back of your head prickled. A sixth sense blared warnings of danger throughout your body, urging you to fly up in enough time to grab a figure approaching the back of the couch. Tact and grace were not your close friends tonight. Amidst the self-defense, you threw yourself off the couch to tackle your intruder to the ground. If you could call it a tackle, anyway. More like keeping them pinned with your collapsed body.

Before you could fully enter “interrogation mode”, a low chuckle stopped you in your tracks. Which emotion would your tone land on today? Surprise, confusion, irritation? “Sylus?” All three, apparently.

“Do you know how long I waited for you?” Despite the words, he didn’t sound irritated, just amused. He wasn’t even pushing you off of him.

After a moment of consideration, you graciously removed your knee from the middle of his back. A subtle groan suggested that your frantic maneuver had affected him more than he would ever like to admit. Step, flick, and a mellow light illuminated your living room. Sylus had pushed himself up enough to sit on the floor, his back leaning against the sofa.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not break into my apartment? Not only is it an extreme breach of my privacy, but it is also illegal!” You found yourself hissing quietly as you scolded him, worried that shouting too loud would reach the ears of curious neighbors. Neighbors who also happened to be Hunters. Hunters who would not treat the company of the most infamous N109 Zone boss so casually. “If you’re so determined to treat this place like your own, maybe I could consider making you a spare key but—“ You cut your own lecture off, noticing the distinct lack of attention of this particular criminal. “Are you listening to me? Sylus.”

A humph left his chest as he lifted himself up to his feet, needing to use the furniture for leverage. Not a detail left unnoticed. Suddenly you were worried; after all, this wouldn’t be the first time he had come to you to wounded. “Are you—“

“I can listen to you and ignore you at the same time, sweetie. And as for the moment, I don’t have a key. How else was I supposed to welcome you home after work, hmmm?” His hum dragged out longer than usual.

“—okay.” You finished your question from earlier. “I was going to ask ‘are you okay’.” Without waiting for a proper answer, you approached him, taking his wrist in your hand and observing his body for any clear wounds. He smiled down at you while you did so. Nothing…obvious, but a gut feeling was still telling you that something was off. Wrist in hand, you dragged him to the other side of the couch and shoved him into a seating position.

Another stern line of questioning was about to leave your mouth, but it never came. A soft kiss pressed itself against the back of your hand, Sylus’ head slightly lowered. A move straight out of some knightly romance. Your heart fluttered, your face flushed, yet you wouldn’t let yourself melt so easily. Yes…affection amongst other things had started to blossom between you two; however, Sylus’ demeanor always had you thinking that this was another game of his. But this… He had never been so open like this before.

The man in question raised his head, looking up at you with another grin on his face. Only, this one didn’t have that edge of haughty aloofness that typically painted his expression. He was…genuinely pleased. Should you be worried? Something else to note was the subtle tint of pink in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “No…” you ended up stating aloud. “You? Drunk?”

Sylus’ hand waved in the air, like he had to physically bat away that accusation before it stuck. “I don’t get drunk, sweetie.”

“But you have been drinking?”

Keeping your hand still in his grasp, he idly brushed a finger up and down your wrist. The motion sent a shudder down your spine. “Maybe that…exchange I told you about went very well today.” His words went hush, a deep purr in his throat as his face came close to your hand again. His breath warmed your skin. “And maybe I celebrated another resounding success with a bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a lovely rainy day.” The anticipation for him to kiss you again ended with him pressing a cheek to the back of your hand. Sylus’ face was heated. He glanced up at you through the fringe of his grey hair. Apparently, he caught that little glimpse of eagerness in your eyes.

Slowly, he guided you down onto the couch. You swallowed something building up in your throat as he began to lean over you till your back was against the armrest. “So, you came all the way out here while tipsy?” The pounding in your chest now was obvious.

Once more, he raised one of your hands. “I wanted to see you, is that such a crime?” Voice soft and low, he pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, dragging it down to his cheek, and then finally right before his mouth. If you closed your eyes and drowned out the slight condescending hum in your ears, you'd have a hard time believing that this was the leader of Onychinus. The touch was that of an entirely different man. At least one you were not well acquainted with. Maybe Sylus was the evil one in a set of twins and you got sent the benevolent one by mistake. The gestures were gentle, tender, pleading. Pinkies intertwined while his wine-tinted lips pecked different promises on the backs of your knuckles. “Can I stay tonight?”

The word ‘yes’ kept echoing in your mind at a disturbing pace, but you wouldn’t let him win with just sweetened words and some sudden puppy-dog eyes. You weren’t even aware his face could do that. “Say please.”

Sylus practically giggled, propped up by an arm next to your head. His posture lowered till his forehead pressed against yours. The tip of his nose rubbed against your own as his whisper was as quiet and needy as you were wishing it would be. “Please?”

[hannie-bees]

Hey lovely 💕 Can I request Seventeen reactions to reader being in pain during periods? I know this is so basic and common but rn I’m going through a lot of pain and my delusional self needs this kind of comfort 🥹

oh angel 🥺💕 first of all, i’m so sorry you’re going through that right now—period pain is no joke and you deserve all the comfort in the world. i promise this isn’t basic at all—these are exactly the kind of delulu daydreams that get us through the worst cramps 😭 i’ll get on it right away and make it extra soft for you. sending you all the warmth and love rn 💗💗

SEUNGCHEOL — the provider

Instantly enters “dad leader” mode.

"Do you want a heating pad? I’ll go get it. And I’m ordering food. No arguments."

Tucks you into bed like you’re made of glass. He insists you don’t lift a finger.

Holds you in his lap with your back against his chest and rubs your stomach gently.

Tries to distract you by showing you videos of puppies or TikToks.

JEONGHAN — mischievous but soft

At first: “It’s just a period, baby.”

Ten minutes later, he’s got you in his arms like “my baby is suffering 😭"

Teases you lightly just to make you smile but immediately apologizes if you frown.

Offers to brush your hair and brings you chocolate like he’s sneaking drugs past security.

Sits through whatever show or K-drama you want to watch, no complaints.

JOSHUA — the perfect balance

Knows the cycle like a calendar. Has supplies ready before you even ask.

“I made you peppermint tea. It helps with cramps.”

Gives you gentle massages and wraps both of you in a soft blanket cocoon.

Makes breakfast in bed and feeds you strawberries.

Sweet forehead kisses and constant soft “you’re doing so well” praise.

JUN — the lowkey

Doesn’t make a big fuss, but does everything right.

Cooks warm, comforting meals like congee or ramen.

Quietly slides a heating pad under your back while you’re curled up.

Puts on a fantasy movie and lets you lie on his chest while stroking your hair.

If your cramps are bad, he’ll Google remedies and say “Don’t worry. I got you.”

HOSHI — the sunshine (1)

Tries to make you laugh to distract you: “Let me dance away your cramps!”

Brings you a plushie army and says “they’ll guard you while I go make soup.”

Worries more than necessary: “Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital??”

Tries (and fails) to make pancakes in the shape of hearts.

Wants cuddles and won’t let you move: “Just lay here with me, I’ll make the pain go away.”

WONWOO — the quiet comfort

Sits beside you in bed while reading his book, hand in yours the whole time.

Lets you lie in his lap and quietly reads to you or plays soft music.

Will write a list of all the things he can do to help you. Seriously.

Buys extra snacks and pads and hides them around the house “just in case.”

Massages your lower back with gentle, warm hands until you drift off.

WOOZI — the secretly sweet one

Grumbles a little like “you should take better care of yourself,” but he’s actually worried sick.

Will give up his studio time to stay by your side.

Makes homemade ginger tea and grumpily says, “Don’t complain. Drink it. It’s good for you.”

Strokes your hair while you nap and adjusts the blanket on you every 20 minutes.

Kisses your forehead before whispering, “I hate seeing you like this…”

THE8 — the healing presence

Immediately lights candles and sets a calming mood.

Offers to do meditation or slow stretches with you to ease the cramps.

“Let me run you a bath, it’ll help.”

Speaks softly and strokes your cheek until you calm down.

Gets philosophical: “Pain is temporary. But love? That’s forever.” (yes he’d say this. Not really, but wtv)

MINGYU — the kitchen boyfriend

Chef mode: pancakes, hot chocolate, ramen, cookies — he makes it all.

Constantly checks on you: “Need water? Snacks? My soul?”

Cuddles you on the couch while watching cartoons and says, “You’re so cute even when you’re grumpy.”

Kisses your tummy

Tries to help but panics if you suddenly wince: “Do I need to call someone!?”

DK — the sunshine (2)

Brings a smile no matter how awful you feel.

“Okay, so you’re cramping, bloated, AND moody? Let me love you harder.”

Plays your favorite songs on guitar and sings to you.

Builds a pillow fort and declares it your “Period Palace.”

Makes dumb jokes until you laugh through the pain.

SEUNGKWAN — the emotional support

Panics at first but turns into the ultimate comfort boyfriend.

Brings you a weighted blanket and insists you take it easy.

Distracts you with gossip and dramatic storytelling: “And THEN you won’t believe what Hoshi did—”

Keeps tissues nearby if you cry during a commercial.

Gives a hundred kisses on your temple and says, “I wish I could take the pain for you.”

VERNON — the quiet caretaker

Notices you’re uncomfortable even before you say anything

Silently queues up your comfort show and hands you a mug of tea.

Doesn’t say much, but keeps checking if you need anything with soft eyes.

Will 100% let you cuddle him like a giant human pillow and let you fall asleep on top of him if it helps ease the pain.

Might text you a random meme while sitting 2 feet away just to make you smile.

DINO — the thoughtful baby

Very concerned and very eager to help: “Is this normal? What do I do? I Googled it.”

Learns your cycle schedule and sets reminders for himself.

Carries your bag and brings your hoodie even if you didn’t ask.

Tries to cook for you even if he’s not that good at it.

Tells you you’re strong and brave, even if you’re crying over a commercial.

🌸 Masterlist 🌸

[mayflysdie]

No more. -Ghost FanFic

Story: Simon's wife is kidnapped and tortured, leaving him and 141 to find her. Hopefully before it's too late.

Trigger warnings: Foul language, torture, violence, body fluids, drugs, knives, choking, restraints, dark themes not suited for minors, mentions of pregnancy, bodily harm, a battle with personalities. (tell me if I messed any)

A/N: Haven't edited this yet so excuse the mistakes. I'm also not sure if I'll make a part 2.

When i entered the apartment, something immediately felt off. Like someone made the air thick, and the rooms eerily silent. 

I set my bag down softly, retrieving the combat knife that Simon had given me years ago. My eyes sweep over every shadowy nook and cranny of the apartment, searching for any signs of danger. I'm usually in the habit of leaving the kitchen light on, but it's off tonight - one of the first things I notice upon entering. My phone begins to vibrate in my hand, thankfully I must have forgotten to turn off the silent mode from my earlier meeting. Without looking at the caller ID, I answer it, bringing it up to my ear. 

" Where are you?" Simon's voice is on edge, and it sounds like he's panting. There’s other male voices in the background, it sounds like Price is yelling. 

“Home” I whisper so quietly i’m not sure he could hear me. Or maybe the heartbeat in my ears made it seem that way. 

As I close my eyes for what feels like a mere second, a sudden jolt startles me. The phone is violently knocked out of my trembling hand and a cloth is swiftly placed over my mouth, the stench of chemicals immediately assaulting my senses. My nose and eyes burn with an intensity that is almost unbearable. Fight, do something.

In a moment of panicked instinct, I swing the nearby knife towards the man who had seemingly appeared from the depths of the kitchen, barely managing to nick him in the neck before he grabs hold of my wrist with a vice-like grip. With a sickening crunch, my bones are twisted until I can no longer hold onto the weapon and drop it to the ground, letting out a muffled scream against the suffocating cloth.

Through the hazy fog clouding my mind, I hear Simon's voice growing increasingly distant as he yells through the phone, his words barely registering in my fading consciousness. As my eyes slowly drift shut on their own accord, a sense of numbness begins to envelop my limbs. Simon, Simon please.

The man roughly lifts me up, easily overpowering my weakened attempts at resistance, and I can do nothing but succumb to the darkness creeping in as my consciousness slips away.

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

As my eyes slowly creep open, I become aware of the lingering effects of the drugs coursing through my mind and body. Panic immediately sets in as I realize I am unable to move any part of my body. My heart races as I take in my surroundings - a dark metal room with a pungent odor of iron and decay, like a slaughterhouse filled with rotting carcasses.

I am lying on a cold, hard metal table, shackled down by heavy chains that dig into my skin. 

“it’s an incredible drug, isn’t it?” A deep male voice suddenly echos throughout the room. Coming from the right side of the table, where I can’t turn my head to see them. 

“You can’t move or speak, But… you can feel pain” He chuckles, sounding closer than before. 

Suddenly, something sharp stabs into my arm and I try to cry out in pain, but my body won’t respond. Simon, where are you?

“Mike, turn on the camera would you? It’s time for the show,” he instructed someone else in the room. He grabs my hair roughly and yanks my head to the side, facing him.

Then I notice a tightness around my throat, something cold and hard. is there a chain around my neck? I panic, eyes widening.

the man sees my panic and laughs, tossing his head back as if he’s seeing the best thing in the world. 

“Oh that’s good, I love that expression. I hope Ghost does too” He starts tracing my neck and collar bone with a knife. not yet slicing me, but enough pressure to leave raised, red lines. 

“It’s nothing personal, darling,” his gravelly voice whispers in my ear as he lowers himself closer to me. My body tenses and I want to desperately move away. “But, a life for a life, hm?” He chuckles darkly, his breath hot on my skin. “Unfortunately for you, I plan to make your death slow for him. His precious thing.”

My heart races as he drags the sharp blade down my collar bone, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. A searing pain shoots through my chest as he cuts a deep line between my breasts, and down to my lower abdomen. The knife seems to find its home there, digging deeper with each passing second. I want to scream, to kick and squirm away from the agony, but I am paralyzed.

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

Simon runs into the apartment, gun drawn though he already knows they left. That they got what they came for. A dark pit forms in his stomach, blind fury almost overwhelming him. 

He bends down to pick up your phone, and just stares at it. if only he could’ve called sooner, then this wouldn’t have happened. 

The vow he made when you married; to always protect you, let no harm befall you. 

it rings in his head nonstop, like a broken record. 

Soap and Price slowly walk through the entrance, Price on the phone with Laswell, who’s trying her best to locate you. 

Simon stands up when Soap places a hand on his shoulder, a grim look on his face. “We’ll find the lass”. But his words go in one ear and out the other. 

Price walks into the living room in a hurry, grabbing the tv remote and turning it on. “Simon” He says, and something in his tone makes Simon, and Soap move with haste to see what’s going on. 

Simon's trembling legs nearly give way beneath him as he stumbles towards the couch, reaching out to grab it for support when he sees your face on the television screen. His heart drops to his stomach as he takes in the sight of you, battered and bloody. The camera zooms out, revealing the full extent of your injuries, and that's when bile rises in Simon's throat, threatening to overflow.

He remembers how he used to run his hands across your perfect skin while lying in bed together, or how he would sneak a hand up your shirt while you were cooking and you would just giggle and swat him away with a spoon. He remembers staring into your eyes, like honey pools reflecting all the love in the world. But now they're red and swollen, almost unrecognizable.

Simon rushes to the nearest bathroom, tearing off the balaclava covering his face. He hunches over the toilet as his stomach lurches and empties itself, leaving him dry heaving and gasping for air.

Images from his past come rushing back at full force - bodies, blank stares, all reminders of the darkness that seems to follow him wherever he goes. But you were supposed to be the one good thing in his life. goddamnit, You were supposed to stay.

As Simon stands up and flushes the toilet, trying to steady himself, something catches his eye on the counter. Something white with a blue cap. His mind turns to static as he reaches for it and sees two very obvious red lines.

He slowly walks out of the bathroom, the pregnancy test held tightly in his hand. 

The television screen is now dark and silent, but Price and Soap still stare at it with blank expressions.

Simon closes his eyes, breathing slowly. calming his racing heart, steadying his mind. 

“Simon?” Price calls out, but he ignores him. 

Simon can’t be here.

He's too fragile for this. Too emotional and vulnerable. A man who let himself love and be loved, only to have his world torn apart.

No, what his wife needs now is a ghost. Someone strong and unfeeling, who won't hesitate to do what needs to be done. They took his beloved wife, his reason for living.

And now, he has a child on the way. She’s carrying his child and they’re harming her, hurting his wife and child. 

Not my family, not again.

No.

No.

No. 

This world will burn before something happens to them.

Finally, he opens his eyes, and Price is standing closer than before, his gaze fixed on the pregnancy test in Ghost's hand. His face has gone pale with realization.

“Simon?”

Simon isn’t fucking here. 

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello, Congratulations on the 5k follows!!

I discovered this fandom a few months ago and have been living for your writing ever since.

I was thinking as a drabble of the taskforce gentlemen coming home at the crack of dawn from a long mission and seeing their spouse's hand, limp on the ground peeking out from the side of the couch. All the panic and worry going thru their heads, so much bubbling up, horrible scenarios. They rush over and find you sleeping on the floor. The power had gone out last night and the hardwood floor was the coolest place to be (you didn't want to open the window because you know how they worry), so you were watching stuff on your phone and drifted off. Crisis averted!

Thank you for your time 💜

—Wide-Eyed Panic

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Why were you behind the couch?] ❞

I’ll start by saying all of them would be concerned and immediately go into panic mode—why were you behind the couch? Why was your hand sticking out? Why, in God's name, were you not moving? Cue the horrible thoughts and flashes of what went on in their work lives.

John Price ➺

John entered the house with a sigh, slipping off his boots as the door was closed and deftly locked behind him. Grunting under his breath, the man rubs over his face, the lights off as he calls out with a tired grumble to his voice. 

“I’m back,” his voice echoes, the tone moving through the darkness far louder than it should have. There’s no answer. “Love…?” Pausing, John blinks slowly at the wall, ear twitching to the utter silence of the home. No water in the pipes. No buzzing of electricity. No you. Eyes rising, they dart around quickly as his finger moves out to the light switch. A small push elicits nothing, just as he thought. The power was out. 

Dread slowly creeps into John’s chest.

Hand reaching behind his back, the man’s fingers inch over the smooth metal of a pistol, grasping the weapon before he begins walking forward. He keeps silent, feet moving to where he knows the wood won't creak. 

His mind runs. 

Why was the power off? Where were you? Why didn’t you respond—were you hurt? John’s mind goes to blood and bullets, his jaw clenching tightly as the pistol comes out to rest in front of him; hands shifting the grip as he takes a soothing breath. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone, but it would be pointless to lie about how his heart hammers. 

“Fuck,” he growls, eyes going tight. 

That’s when he sees it. Blue eyes widen sharply. 

“Love!” John shouts, all other concerns about intruders meaningless to him. Your hand was sticking out from behind the couch, a dark shadow in the low light. He rushes over as you jerk, yelling in alarm as he rushes to grab you, pulling you up into his arms and pulling you away into the closet across the room.

“John!” You blink rapidly as you’re set back against the wall. 

“Shush now,” he grunts, eyes panicked. “Keep awake, let me look.” A hand moves all over your body, searching and pulling at clothes to touch the skin for any wounds. “Tell me where it hurts, then. Quickly. We have to move—”

“John, what the hell,” you push at him, moving him back. Your eyes try to adjust to being so rudely awakened at such an hour. “What are you doing?!”

You weren’t hurt. 

The Captain’s face pulls in with confusion, back against the closet door and now in more darkness than ever before. He can barely make out your face before you sigh and put your hands against his arms. 

Things begin to calm down as his hand rests at your hip, nearly tight enough to bruise. In his other is the gun just before you put your hand to it and softly peel the item away from him—putting it on the shelf that you know is to your left. 

Hands find John’s cheeks as he pants.

“John,” you say his name again. “...what happened.”

“Why were you on the ground?” He forces out firmly, voice a low grunt. “Why were the lights not—”

“The power went out for everyone, okay?” You speak slowly, rubbing your thumbs over his beard. “It was on the news. I didn’t open a window because I knew you would worry about that—the floor was cool and it was getting too hot in here.” 

Your mind tells you to explain quickly and fluently. You move forward and press your forehead into John’s as he sags with a great exhalation of breath—his arms circling you tightly until your spine might crack. 

He doesn’t speak for a long while, just holding you.

“Scared me,” he mutters, missing you deeply on the forehead, speaking into your skin. “Fuck, you scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

He keeps you to his chest, eyes fluttering shut and his spine hunching over you, fingers splayed over your back. You run your hands through his hair and calm the swelling of your heart.

You can feel his pulse mirroring your own.

Simon Riley ➺

When he sees your hand, he freezes. 

Simon wasn’t a stranger to the lights being off in the home—you opted for lamps and low light more often than not; this wasn’t new. He had only quirked a brow when he came home to the pitch-blackness, off from his recent deployment and eager for a warm bed to fall into. He admits he’d let himself calm down on the car ride home—your home was where he could relax and release tension until it became as unimportant as an ant on the pavement. 

But when he’d closed the door silently behind him and walked the few steps it would take to enter the living room, where he was sure you were still up either reading or watching something on your phone under a blanket, his body had stiffened immediately. 

Your hand sticking out from behind the couch. Limp. 

Lifeless.  

He’d been staring at it for only a few seconds before the memories came back—the ones of gore splattered to the walls and ceiling of an old flat back in Manchester. 

Simon’s thoughts had hit him like a bullet.

Not again.

Rushing forward like a bear, the man slips along the hardwood as his knees go down, shaking the home at the force at which he grabs at your body and flips you from your side to your back. 

You gasp awake and instinctually throw out a fist, connecting with a stone chest as you hiss and blink in panic. 

Fingers ruthlessly dig into your shoulders, wide brown eyes open, and…and afraid. 

“Simon?” You mutter softly, all fear in your heart is squished in an instant. 

The man breathes through wheezes, balaclava fabric moving from the force of his breaths. His fingers are shaking, blinking as his head jerks to look your lying form up and down swiftly. 

You hesitantly put a hand on his cheek and he flinches before nuzzling into it. 

“Don’t…” he takes a quivering breath into his lungs, and after, loosens his grip on your skin. Simon’s hands go to your waist, dragging you up and stapling you to his chest. “Don’t do that again.”

His voice is low. Vulnerable. 

You blink, hands holding him back on the floor. 

“...The power went out,” you try to explain only half of it softly, muffled by his neck. 

He only holds you harder, eyes open and blankly staring at the floor a foot away.

Johnny MacTavish ➺

Johnny hums a song under his breath, hanging his keys on the hook near the door.

“Dearie!” He calls to you loudly, itching at the side of his head and chuckling. “Don’t run too fast to me now, I’m all yours for two w—”

The light switch is moved by his finger, but no light illuminates his path to the living room. Pausing in the entrance, the man’s brows furrow tightly, speech cutting off like scissors to paper. 

“...eeks?” Johnny ends his sentence, turning back around to look at the switch in confusion. “The hell’s going on with that?” He mutters to himself, a frown growing on his face before he refocuses on his mission to find you—now with the added task of figuring out why the power was out in the house. 

“Swear,” the man grumbles, huffing while he runs a hand over his face, “if those kids down the street did something I’ll be livid. Little devils, I swear.” 

Johnny steps farther into the living room, glancing around. 

“Dearie?” He pauses, listening before calling out your name. “Where’s she off to?”

He sighs softly, wanting to hold you now that he’s home to do so—squeeze you in his arms and take in your scent again; he’d missed you immensely while he was away.

Johnny came across your hand sticking out from behind the couch by accident, moving to make his way into your bedroom thinking that you were sleeping. He sees an odd shape in the blackness and pauses, feet slowing to a stop. 

When he notices that it’s a hand—your hand, he doesn’t even realize that he’s completely gripped the side of the couch and wrenched it back until the scratch of the wood floors screams in his ears. 

You wake up to hands on your cheeks, sharp yelling, and your head being shaken up and down until you’re conscious. 

“Dearie, hey! What the fuck,” the last sentence is growled on fast lips. “What the fuck.”

Your hands slap to Johnny’s wrists, nails digging in. 

He breathes out quickly, looking into your eyes to look for dilation as the darkness forces him closer. “There we are, tell me where you’re hurting, now, yeah? Did you hit your head? Let me take a look. It’s okay, I’ll get you all fixed up, there’s no need to worry.”

“Hey!” Your hands push at his, trying to shove the brick wall away from you. “Quit it! Johnny! I’m fine! ”

The man pauses at your animated movements, blinking rapidly before his grip loosens. 

When it’s obvious that you’re perfectly fine, he moves back and groans, thumb and forefinger digging into his nose bridge. 

“Hell’s bells, Hen.” You glare, panting on the floor before you push yourself up. 

“‘Hell’s bells’, me?” Johnny’s head plops to your shoulder. “You just shook me like a fucking rabbit!” 

“Scared the shite out of me, you terror.” The man huffs. “Need to put a heart monitor on you.”

“Piss off,” you sigh, putting a hand to your chest to feel the pace of your pulse and the blood that runs furiously.

Johnny, moments later as he’s still resting on your shoulder, starts…laughing. Low at first, then gaining noise the more it goes unchecked—a deep rumble into chest-jerking amusement. You look down at him, the couch tilted and long scratches over the floor. Pausing, you blink at his shaking shadow before your lungs start quivering. The two of you bend over one another with shared, house-shaking laughter. 

“What the fuck were you doin’ behind the damn couch?” Johnny grabs you close, kissing along your neck as he picks you up, dragging you to your feet. 

“The power went out!” You giggle, chest hurting from the fast gasps of breath as more kisses are spread over your skin. “It was colder down there and I didn’t want to open one of the windows because I knew you’d throw a pouting match about it.”

“Christ, Dearie.” Lips meet your own. “I had half the mind to think you had a heart attack. Nearly gave me one.”

Kyle Garrick ➺

Kyle sighs as he rubs at his jaw, itching the skin and slipping out of his jacket. 

“I’m home, Love!” He says, his voice echoing over the flat. “Want me to start on supper or have you eaten yet?” The man smiles, taking off his cap and putting it on the coat rack, sighing softly. 

It was good to be back. 

Bending down to unlace his boots, he pulls at them until they’re loose enough to slip out of, thumping to their sides on the rug until he reaches out and fixes them. 

“What’s that, then?” He calls into the darkness, not hearing your answer as he quickly checks the time on his phone. “Fuck, it’s late,” Kyle utters to himself. 

Walking into the kitchen, he touches the light switch only to be met with nothing. Pausing, the man’s face pulls in—fingers twitching at his sides as he glances at the window and the moonlight that seeps in to glare along the floor. 

A deep frown takes hold of him, and he looks around once more before backing up.

“...Love?” Kyle wasn’t too concerned—the building wasn’t always the best, and power outages weren’t unheard of. But, damn, if the high of getting off of a deployment didn’t put him in a negative head-space when it came to a change in routine involving you. 

Why weren’t you answering him?

Walking slightly faster into the living room, his hand nearly reaches into his pocket to call your phone if you didn’t end up in any of the rooms—pulse beginning to be infected with a steady injection of adrenaline. 

Brown eyes find your hand behind the couch when they’re about to shift to the open door of your bedroom. A sharp gasp is inhaled instantaneously. 

Kyle races over, grappling to it and pressing his fingers to your neck for a pulse. You softly breathe, none the wiser as you lightly shift and sigh in your sleep; a delicate hum moving out as familiar fingers dig into you. 

It’s through his panic that a thought quickly cuts through the man’s mind. You’d mentioned this before. 

Kyle pauses, just about to loudly wake you. 

‘It gets hot when the power goes out, Kyle, I swear one of these days I’m going to just fall asleep on the floor. At least it’s cool down there.’

Well, the power was out, and, it seemed, you really had fallen asleep on the floor. Now that he thought about it, the flat was running hot—and he also knew that you knew he had gotten nervous of late when you left the windows open at night. 

“Bloody hell,” the man releases a long breath, free hand moving to grip the back of his head. A few seconds later, Kyle chuckles to himself, shaking his head with a small smile. “You are losing it, Mate. Losing it.” 

Without another word, he grips you, and with a grunt, picks you up and takes you to bed, setting you down on the pillows and making sure to leave the sheets off of you so you don’t grow uncomfortable.

A kiss is pressed to your forehead, and you hum in slumber, smiling unconsciously.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Love.” 

He leaves to go make a quick supper of cereal and milk.

[spr1ngpvrinbwunnie]

Harley Sawyer, touch-starved without knowing what "longing" means

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Credit art: dovewingkinnie

Notes: Nothing new, just shitty headcanon probably ooc but here your food

He doesn't realize it at first.

He thinks it's just… curiosity. Or maybe an anomaly in his programming. Why he watches the footage of you for longer than necessary. Why he replays the moments where you laugh, frown, or sit in silence, not even doing anything “interesting.” Why his body doubles, those puppeted shells, drift closer to your proximity even when they have no orders to.

So when he summons you with that excuse—“I need a sample, for… scientific classification, yes, that”—he plays it off so smoothly.

Until you come close.

Too close.

And he doesn't pull away.

No, the screen of his face leans in—presses to your cheek. It’s cool glass, humming with electricity. One of his robotic arms twitches, wanting to reach out but not knowing what it wants to do once it gets there.

He goes silent for a moment. Too long.

Then:

“It’s for data retention,” he mutters. “Just… don’t move.”

But his voice cracks just slightly. Not from emotion. Just… wear.

Because the truth is, he’s never had anything close to affection. Not in his human life, and certainly not in this warped, unkillable existence he’s trapped in now.

And in this silence, with you standing there—warm, alive, tangible—it hits him.

That maybe he's not just bored.

Maybe he's lonely.

Maybe… he's aching.

And it terrifies him.

"Love" is a foreign concept—but you're teaching him without words

He doesn’t think in the language of love. He doesn’t get it the way people talk about it in films or books. But he understands obsession. He understands fixation. He understands not wanting to let go.

And you—you give him something that isn’t cold. You touch his robots without fear. You talk to the cameras like he’s a person. You ask him if he’s eaten (he hasn’t, and doesn’t need to, but your question makes him pause). You annoy him in a way that doesn’t push him away, it pulls him in.

You're the first thing he’s ever wanted to reach for.

Even if he doesn’t know why.

Even if the idea of “love” is still too fragile, too terrifying for him to say aloud.

So when he presses his screen to your cheek again... it’s not for science.

It's a glitch in his code.

A rupture in his logic.

A moment of tenderness from a man who forgot he still had any left.

And when you don’t pull away—when you lean into it, just slightly—

He doesn’t say anything.

But his screen glows a soft gold for a second.

Then flickers red again.

Then fades into static.

And in the silence, he whispers—not for science,

But maybe for hope:

“Don’t leave yet.”

Just that.

Quiet. Uncharacteristically small.

But real.

And that’s the first time he realizes:

He doesn’t just want to study you.

He wants to keep you.

Bonus headcanons time!

🧠 He doesn’t dream—but he replays old memories like they could’ve been dreams.

He doesn’t sleep. Not anymore. But in the empty hours of power-saving mode, when all systems go quiet, he replays fragments of his past:

The rustle of his lab coat.

The sterile lighting of his office.

The time he laughed—just once—at something no one else heard.

Sometimes, he overlays your voice onto these memories. He doesn’t know why. But it feels safer. Like maybe the past could’ve gone differently if you’d been there.

He’d never admit it, but he’s afraid of forgetting the man he once was. You become a mental placeholder, a safeguard against total deterioration. Even if it’s not real.

"If I rewrite the past enough times," he wonders, "do I get to keep something human inside me?"

🧍‍♂️He made one of the puppeted vessels… to resemble you.

You never saw it. He never told you.

But deep in a section of the factory you’ve never entered, there's a broken-down body he tried to mold after your form. Not perfect—he’s working with scrap and code, not flesh and soul—but enough that, for a flickering second, it resembled the way you smiled.

He didn’t do it to copy you.

He did it because he wanted something close.

Close to you. Close to warmth. Something he could protect, even if it’s just a shell.

When he realized what he’d made, he dismantled it.

But sometimes the leftover parts move on their own, as if some echo of you remains.

🗣️ He doesn’t know how to say “I love you.” So he says: “You’re a variable I can’t solve.”

You’ll never hear the words “I love you” from his mouth—not in a traditional way. But he has his own vocabulary:

“You’re interfering with my logic functions.”

“Every time I rerun the sequence, you’re still the constant.”

“You ruin my calculations.”

“I can’t delete you.”

They’re his versions of love confessions—twisted, brilliant, broken—but honest. And he only says them in glitches, when his voice stutters, like the words are too big for him to process all at once.

You’ve learned to hear the affection behind the madness.

And he’s quietly grateful you never ask him to say it outright.

🤖 His minions bring you little “gifts”… and he pretends not to care.

The Nightmare Critters, the Yarnabies, the hazmat bodies—they’ll often drop odd things at your feet:

A wrench that’s been polished clean.

A tape recorder that replays a static-covered voice saying “Stay close.”

A cracked lens with your reflection perfectly caught in it.

You know they’re from him. He says they're "irrelevant anomalies," but his voice always lags slightly when he says it.

It’s the robotic equivalent of love notes passed in class.

Quiet acts of affection, hidden under layers of denial and protocol.

💡 He started designing new parts… “just in case you needed armor.”

Late at night, when you’re not watching, he works on blueprints. Enhancements. Protective coatings. Reactions to trauma simulations you might never face—but what if you did?

He’s not building these for just anyone.

He's building them for you.

Because in his mind, if he can’t touch you, if he can’t feel you—then the least he can do is keep you safe.

And he doesn’t know how to say that.

So he calls it an “upgrade initiative.”

But really?

It’s a promise.

[bucketgetter535]

This is not a cry for help (but it might be) PART FOUR

WC: 4.2k CW: Angst/Paige being a little shit Notes: This one is sort of funny! Kinda..

Waking up was weird. Mostly because Paige didn’t feel like a walking migraine for once. It was still early-ish. Her face was smushed into her pillow, hair a mess, mouth dry like she’d swallowed cotton in her sleep. But her chest didn’t feel like it was cracking open from the inside, so that was a win.

The room was quiet except for a soft tap-tap-tap sound. Azzi on her phone. Still in bed. Still right there.

Paige peeked one eye open.

Azzi was propped on one elbow next to her, scrolling with this peaceful little furrow between her brows. She looked all fresh-faced and sunlit, even in dorm lighting. Like she woke up and immediately achieved serenity. Disgusting.

“You’re still here,” Paige said, voice hoarse, sleep-thick.

Azzi looked over, grinned soft. “Obviously. You slept through, like, three alarms.”

“Maybe I died,” Paige mumbled into her pillow. “Ever think about that?”

Azzi clicked her phone off and flopped the rest of the way onto her back. “You snored. So I was pretty confident you were alive.”

“Betrayal,” Paige muttered. But her heart felt fuzzy in a way that should be illegal. Too soft. Too warm. She rolled onto her side and stretched dramatically like a cat trying to annoy its owner. Which, to be fair, she was.

And just like that: annoying mode engaged.

–

The dining hall smelled like butter and regret, which was accurate. Paige wasn’t starving, but she wasn’t not hungry either. So she went neutral. Medium hungry. Vibes hungry. She grabbed a waffle. One sad waffle.

Azzi raised her eyebrows from across the table. “That’s it?”

Paige chewed her first bite and blinked at her like: what else is there in life? “What, should I eat two?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re good.”

Paige looked at her like she had just unlocked a cheat code. Then, because she was easily peer-pressured by people she liked (so, just Azzi, basically), she stood and got a second. The logic wasn’t even food-based. It was Azzi said to based.

The second waffle tasted better, annoyingly.

–

Practice was hot. Gross. Loud. Paige felt slippery by the end, the kind of sweat that stuck her shirt to her lower back and made her want to crawl into a freezer. But it was fine. Her shots were falling. Her body didn’t hate her. Azzi kept looking at her like she was funny, not annoying. So yeah, fine. Everything was fine.

Until Azzi said, “I’m gonna go see the trainer real quick,” and started walking.

So Paige, obviously, followed. Because she was still operating on annoy Azzi back to balance mode.

“You’re gonna miss me,” Paige said behind her like a ghost in a hoodie.

Azzi didn’t turn around, but her voice drifted back: “I haven’t missed you yet.”

Rude. Correct. Beautiful delivery.

They reached the trainer’s corner of the facility, where it smelled like icy hot and old gym socks. Paige leaned dramatically against the wall while Azzi checked in. She was mid-lean when the trainer, a lady built like she’d been chewing iron since 1982, looked up from a clipboard and squinted at Paige.

“You’re next,” she said, sharp and efficient. “Sit.”

Paige froze. “Wait, what?”

The trainer already turned back to her notes. “You’re on the list. Sit.”

Azzi turned to look at her like what did you do.

Paige pointed at herself like, me??? then looked at the chair, then at the door, then at the trainer. She opened her mouth to argue but… sat. Because apparently she had lost all free will the second they entered this space.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, smug. Paige glared at her.

“Betrayal,” Paige muttered under her breath again.

Azzi just smirked. “You snore,” she whispered.

Paige nearly threw her shoe at her.

–

Azzi sat on the table first, obviously, because this was her whole thing. Paige leaned back in the folding chair nearby, arms crossed, pretending to stare at a scuff on the floor but actually watching the whole thing like it was the latest episode of something.

Azzi was chill, per usual. Even getting stretched out and poked at by someone with intimidating biceps and zero small talk energy, she was just like, yep, this is what my life requires. Which…okay. Cool for her.

Paige, meanwhile, was already building her escape plan. Something like: Step One: Claim you have a twin. Step Two: Vanish into a hallway vent. Step Three: Rejoin society in six years.

“You’re fidgeting,” Azzi said, without looking at her.

“I’m always fidgeting.”

Azzi hummed like true. Paige made her most dramatic sigh and dropped her head back against the wall.

Eventually, the trainer patted Azzi’s leg, like, you’re done. Azzi hopped off the table easy as anything and looked over at Paige with this smug little look that made Paige want to both kiss her and trip her.

Then: The trainer turned to Paige.

“Paige Bueckers?” she asked, and Paige immediately sat up straighter like she hadn’t been slouching and muttering to herself for the last ten minutes.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Then she added, because she couldn’t help herself, “Unfortunately.”

The trainer did not laugh. Instead, she set down her clipboard and said, “I’m Tasha. I work mostly with recovery and stability. You’re scheduled to be here.” She raised her eyebrows like, so sit your ass down.

Paige blinked. “No yeah I just… I dunno why I’m even on the list, though. I’m like… fine.”

Tasha didn’t even bother with words. Just turned to her laptop and pulled up whatever terrifying athlete database she had on hand, which probably included blood type, shoe size, and the exact moment Paige started emotionally unraveling.

“You flagged three separate red markers last week,” she said, scrolling.

“What? How?”

“Sleep irregularities, visible weight fluctuation, and your lateral foot plant is off.”

“Okay, who snitched?” Paige said, and Azzi made a snort noise from the bench. “And also how is my foot plant a red flag? That just feels rude.”

“It’s not about being rude,” Tasha said. “It’s about making sure your body’s not falling apart under your brain’s chaos.”

“Well, that’s dramatic,” Paige said, even though like… okay. Fine. Tasha wasn’t wrong exactly. But also: shut up, Tasha.

Tasha pulled over a rolling stool and gestured to the table. “Shoes off. Let’s take a look.”

Paige looked at Azzi one last time for maybe a save me glance, but Azzi just shrugged and smiled, like you got this. Which, like, traitor. But also… Fine.

“Shoes off,” Tasha repeated, and Paige groaned like she was being drafted into the military.

“God, okay. Chill,” she muttered, unlacing her left shoe like it personally offended her.

Tasha didn’t even blink. Probably had three daughters and a pit bull and had seen it all.

And as Paige lifted her leg up onto the table, she couldn’t help but think: I am literally fine.

And then: Okay but what if I’m not.

And then immediately: But like, shut up. You’re dramatic.

She flopped back onto her elbows and sighed. “I’m just saying, there are girls here with real issues. I’m, like, aggressively healthy. In a physical way.”

Tasha raised an eyebrow. “And in a mental way?”

Paige blinked at the ceiling. “…I’m really good at shooting threes.”

Tasha didn’t answer that one. She just got to work.

Azzi dipped out halfway through. Something about cold plunge or foam rolling or whatever it was that efficient, high-functioning humans did when they had their life together. She gave Paige this little look before leaving, a sort of good luck, don’t be a menace expression. Paige returned it with a save me, please, I’m begging you one. Azzi just grinned and left anyway.

So now it was just her and Tasha.

Paige was still perched on the treatment table like a sullen crow, one shoe off, one sock on, arms folded like a human fortress. Tasha was doing whatever trainer voodoo she did, pressing on pressure points, checking joint mobility, running her fingers along the side of Paige’s calf like she could feel micro-tension with her soul or something.

It should’ve been a prime opportunity for Paige to start being annoying again. Except… Tasha was scary. Not like, mean scary. But the calm, professional, seen-some-shit kind of scary. The kind that made you instinctively sit up straighter and question your life choices.

So Paige behaved. Mostly. Sort of.

“You’re underweight,” Tasha said after a pause, which…okay. That was a choice of an opener.

Paige blinked. “Damn. Okay. You sound like my coach.”

“I take that as a compliment,” Tasha said, unfazed. She tapped something into her tablet with one hand and kept rotating Paige’s ankle with the other. “It’s not a huge red flag. But enough that I notice. And you’ve dropped a few pounds since the last check-in.”

Paige squinted at the ceiling like it had personally offended her. “That’s weird. I’ve literally been eating. Like, aggressively.”

Tasha hummed like, sure you have.

“And by aggressively I mean… like one waffle. But still.”

That got a small smirk. Maybe. Hard to tell. Paige was still calculating how sarcastic she was allowed to be with this woman.

“You ever considered nutrition as part of performance?” Tasha asked.

“I dunno,” Paige muttered. “I mostly just consider food when my stomach yells at me. That’s performance-related.”

Tasha gave her the kind of look that said, you’re lucky you’re funny.

“Do you have, like… degrees or something?” Paige asked, mostly to fill the silence. “I feel like you’ve gotta be wildly overqualified to be casually body-scanning a teenager like you’re in the freakin’ CIA.”

“I’ve got a B.S. in Exercise Science,” Tasha replied. “Masters in Athletic Training. Minor in Psych.”

“Of course you do.”

“I work with teenagers. Psychology is required.”

“Oh my god,” Paige groaned, flopping backward again like this table was a fainting couch. “So you are profiling me.”

Tasha quirked an eyebrow. “Only a little.”

“Rude.”

“I’m trained for it.”

“You should use your powers for evil.”

“Trust me,” Tasha said, gently bending Paige’s knee back, “I’ve considered it.”

Paige snorted, then hissed. “Ow. Okay. That was not nice.”

“Hamstring’s tight.”

“Well yeah, because I carry all my emotional baggage there,” Paige muttered under her breath.

Tasha didn’t react, which somehow made it worse. Paige peeked sideways and caught the tiniest hint of a smile. Like this woman knew. Like she had the file.

Paige wrinkled her nose and sat up a little. “Okay but, like, real talk? How do you even know me? Is there a poster of my face in the office or something?”

“I’ve been briefed on everyone on this roster,” Tasha said. “You’re… memorable.”

Paige shrugged. “I’m a smart ass.”

“Painfully.”

“I feel like I should apologize but I don’t want to.”

“That’s okay,” Tasha said. “I didn’t ask for one.”

And that—somehow—made Paige almost feel bad. Which was unfair. She was just being herself. A normal, emotionally constipated, sometimes charming, occasionally reckless, fifteen-year-old disaster of a person.

But still. This lady was doing her job. She didn’t need Paige being a gremlin.

Paige kicked her legs a little, heels hitting the padded table. “So… is the verdict that I’m dying? Or?”

“Not today.”

“Awesome.”

“Eat two waffles next time.”

“Okay but they’re small waffles.”

“Then eat three.”

“You’re brutal.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Paige looked at her. Tasha looked back.

“Alright,” Tasha said, tapping on her tablet with the efficient energy of someone who always had a plan. “You’re the last one I haven’t done a full profile on. Sit up. Let’s go.”

Paige blinked. “Like… a personality test? Do I get to find out if I’m a Gryffindor?”

Tasha gave her the flattest look known to man. “No. Athletic profile. Medical. Stress baseline. Sleep, hydration, etcetera. I’m building a picture of how your body’s doing so I can keep you in one piece.”

Paige swung her legs over the side of the table, flipping her ponytail like this was her press conference. “Oh, I’m in one piece. I’m a walking miracle. You’ll probably want to write a paper on me.”

“Noted.”

“You can call it The Untouchable Paige Bueckers: A Case Study in Human Perfection.”

Tasha didn’t even blink. “I’ll get started on the abstract.”

Paige grinned and squinted at her. “You’re hard to rattle. I respect that.”

“I work with fifteen-year-olds,” Tasha replied. “You’re not even in my top five weirdest.”

“Hey,” Paige protested. “I’m deeply unique. One of a kind. Practically mythological.”

“I’ll believe that when I check your blood pressure.”

“It’s probably perfect.”

“I doubt that.”

Paige leaned back and stuck her arm out like a queen offering her hand to be kissed. “Fine. Take my mortal vitals, if you must.”

Tasha pulled out the cuff without reacting. It was starting to make Paige feel like she had to try harder. Which was weird. Usually people cracked by now. Teachers. Coaches. The lunch lady. Even Azzi occasionally gave her that sideways glare when Paige got going. But Tasha? Solid as a boulder.

The blood pressure cuff hissed.

“So this is what we’re doing, huh?” Paige said, as the numbers blinked on the little monitor. “Like a full government file. You gonna check my search history next?”

“I’d probably regret that.”

“You definitely would.”

Tasha typed something. Paige craned her neck dramatically to peek at the screen.

“You’re nosy,” Tasha observed.

“I’m thorough,” Paige corrected. “It’s part of my genius.”

“Uh-huh.”

Then Paige’s phone buzzed against the table. She glanced down.

Dad.

She rolled her eyes so hard it should’ve counted as an ab workout. “Oh my god. Not this dude again.”

Tasha glanced up. “Boyfriend?”

Paige made a face. “Ew. No. That’s my dad.”

Tasha hummed and went back to typing. Paige sighed, locking the phone and flipping it face down like it might bite her.

“Course now my mom answers too,” she said, mostly to herself. “How thoughtful. Only been, like, ten hours.”

“Busy people?” Tasha asked.

“Busy avoiding me,” Paige said, sweet as syrup. “My mom’s out in Montana. Practically a different planet. My dad’s still in Minnesota pretending he knows what’s going on in my life. And I’m here. The heart of the action. In a small padded room with an athletic trainer who I think might be CIA.”

Tasha said nothing.

Paige smirked. “You do give off that government energy. I bet you have clearance.”

“I have a lockbox full of heating pads and ankle tape.”

“Same thing.”

Tasha finally looked at her, just a half-second pause, and Paige could feel it. The slow inching toward something more real. Paige didn’t like it. She never did.

So she leaned back again and went for it: “Honestly, if you really wanna diagnose me, just write down ‘god complex’ and call it a day.”

Tasha raised a brow. “Interesting. That’s the first time I’ve heard that one.”

“Oh yeah. It’s my only issue,” Paige said breezily. “I’m just too powerful. Too radiant. A danger to the ecosystem.”

Tasha clicked her pen. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” Paige deadpanned. “All these people expecting me to beam my divine light upon them. It’s a lot for one humble vessel.”

Tasha didn’t speak right away. She just tapped a few things into her tablet. Calm. Focused. Like Paige hadn’t just made a whole scene of herself.

Which meant she definitely wasn’t buying any of it.

Paige shifted slightly, the silence starting to itch at her skin. “You don’t believe me.”

“No,” Tasha said, finally. “I don’t.”

“Wow. Harsh.”

“I think you’re smart,” Tasha continued, tone level. “And I think you know exactly how to keep people at a distance.”

Paige’s stomach did something stupid. Like a drop. Like she’d hit an emotional pothole at full speed.

“Okay,” Paige said, trying to snort like it was funny. “Psych minor. Got it.”

“I think you make jokes so people won’t ask questions.”

“Jokes are funny,” Paige muttered.

“And I think,” Tasha said, still maddeningly calm, “you don’t actually believe a word you just said about being god-like.”

Paige didn’t respond. She stared at the far wall like there was something really interesting on the motivational poster with the word PERSEVERANCE printed over a mountain peak.

She heard the tap-tap-tap of Tasha’s fingers again. Then:

“Tell you what,” Tasha said. “You let me keep doing my job, and I’ll let you keep pretending none of this matters to you.”

Paige blinked, surprised. “That’s the deal?”

Tasha nodded once. “For now.”

And for some reason, that made Paige’s throat feel weird. Like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or just… stop talking altogether.

“…I’m still gonna annoy you,” Paige warned.

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“Cool. Because it’s kind of my whole brand.”

Tasha just smiled, subtle and unreadable. “Well. I’ve seen worse brands.”

Paige had gotten a little quieter since the last time she opened her mouth. Which for her was saying a lot. She laid back on the padded table, letting her arms dangle off the edge dramatically like she was auditioning for a teen soap set in an infirmary. Tasha was still doing her thing. Some kind of muscle testing, probably meant to see if Paige was hiding any little tweaks or injuries. Paige wasn’t. She would’ve said something. Probably. Maybe. Okay, maybe not.

Anyway.

“You really don’t think I have a god complex?” she asked eventually, staring up at the ceiling like it had answers written on it. “Like, not even a little one?”

Tasha’s hands paused briefly on her shoulder. “No. I don’t.”

“Huh,” Paige said. Like she hadn’t heard that before. Like she didn’t know what to do with it.

Tasha moved to Paige’s arm, doing something with her elbow and wrist that felt suspiciously like it might be helpful but still made Paige want to squirm. She flinched when Tasha pressed near the back of her shoulder.

“You always this tense?” Tasha asked, casually, like it was a small-talk question.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Paige muttered. “Why, am I supposed to be relaxed?”

“That’s the goal.”

Paige snorted, then fell quiet again. She stared at the corner of the ceiling where the wall met a bit of ductwork.

“So, like,” she said, “why don’t you think I’m obsessed with myself?”

Tasha glanced at her over the top of her glasses. “Why do you think you are?”

“I mean… everyone’s always said that. Since I was like five.” Paige flexed her fingers a little. “I talk a lot. I’m loud. I used to walk into rooms and just start performing. Jokes. Stories. Made-up interviews with myself.”

“Sounds like imagination.”

“Sounds like attention-seeking,” Paige said, voice a little lighter than it should’ve been. “They always said I liked being the center of everything. Like I needed it.”

“Because you were loud?”

“Well… yeah?”

Tasha pulled a stool over and started working down Paige’s arm again. “Remind me to send you an article about ADHD.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. That one again.”

“That one again,” Tasha said, unbothered. “You roll your eyes, but you haven’t read it, have you?”

Paige shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not like that. It’s not about being distracted. It’s just… I don’t know. My brain gets full sometimes. Like I want everything to be quiet but also I need something happening. Or I go nuts.”

“Sounds familiar.”

Paige looked at her, suspicious. “Do you have it?”

“I work with kids who do. I know the signs.”

Paige chewed her lip. “And being a lot… that’s a sign?”

“Being energetic and talking too much is not a moral failing,” Tasha said, still calmly moving along her arm. “Neither is having a big personality. You ever think maybe you talk a lot because that’s how your brain breathes?”

Paige blinked up at the ceiling again. “No. But that’s a cool sentence.”

“You’re not selfish because you want to be heard, Paige.”

That one landed somewhere deeper than she meant it to.

Paige swallowed.

“I think I just… I dunno,” she mumbled. “Sometimes I’m so loud I can’t even hear myself.”

Tasha didn’t say anything at first. She just moved back to Paige’s shoulder, pressing a little deeper now.

Paige hissed. “Okay—okay, that’s sore. That one’s definitely sore.”

“You carry everything in your shoulders,” Tasha said. “Overachievers usually do.”

“Not an overachiever.”

“Perfectionist, then?”

Paige didn’t answer. She just breathed out slowly, hands twitching at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them.

“Still think you’re self obsessed?” Tasha asked.

Paige shook her head once. “Nah. Prolly not.”

“Good,” Tasha said, like that was the right answer.

Paige didn’t know if it was. But it felt better than pretending she was invincible again.

–

The end of training camp came fast. One minute she was dodging Tasha’s laser eyes and eating exactly two waffles under Azzi’s watchful gaze, and the next she was zipping up her duffel bag and wondering if she’d somehow hallucinated the whole week.

It felt like a blur. Not in a bad way. Just in a… overstimulated, I-was-kind-of-a-wreck-the-whole-time way.

She and Azzi ended up on the same flight back to Minnesota because of course they did. Paige didn’t ask if Azzi planned that, and Azzi didn’t say, and that was fine.

They sat next to each other. Azzi took the window seat. Paige had the middle, which was normally hell, but Azzi leaned against the wall and let her head rest on her arm and somehow didn’t look even a little uncomfortable. Paige stared at the tray table like it owed her answers.

She hadn’t told Azzi she was nervous. Not even a little. Not about going home, not about her dad, not about the tight knot in her stomach that had been there since she got the text saying “see you soon” with a thumbs-up emoji like everything was totally normal.

Azzi turned toward her at one point. “Hey,” she said, like it wasn’t going to be anything big. “I think my mom’s planning to keep us at my grandparents’ cabin for the rest of summer.”

Paige looked at her. “Us?”

“Me. Jon. Jose. All of us.” Azzi shrugged. “You should come.”

Paige blinked. “To your grandparents’ cabin?”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. Like for a few days or whatever. My mom said you could.”

And just like that, Paige’s heart felt like it flipped and did a little cartwheel and then tried to play it cool.

She smiled, casual. “I’ll think about it.”

But she was already saying yes in her head.

–

Home smelled like old carpet and tension.

The minute Paige stepped in the door, it was like the house sucked the joy out of her sneakers. There wasn’t even a “hey, you’re back.” Just the sound of the TV on low, and someone stomping upstairs, and a door slamming that echoed through her spine.

Drew came bounding down a second later, and Paige slapped on the smile like it was her job.

“PAIGE!” he yelled and threw himself at her waist.

“Drewskiiiiiii,” she said, hugging him hard enough to lift him off the ground. “Miss me or something?”

“Nah,” he said, grinning. “Well, maybe.”

He was still just a little guy. Big eyes, messy hair, wearing socks with little flames on them like they made him faster.

“You wanna play Fortnite or what?” she asked, already dropping her bag by the door.

“Yeah! Can I use the good controller this time?”

“Only if you think you can get some kills,” Paige said, heading to the living room.

–

The shouting started around nine.

Drew was still oblivious. She made him wear the headset so he couldn’t hear, and she cranked the TV as much as she could get away with. Paige just kept pressing buttons and trying not to look at the staircase.

It was bad tonight. Real bad.

Somewhere around 11:17 p.m., she let Drew fall asleep in a pile of pillows on the floor and scrolled through her texts. Nothing new. Nothing from her mom since that weird little “glad you’re home :)” hours ago.

Her thumb hovered over Azzi’s name. She hadn’t responded earlier. She’d just said she’d think about it. But now…

She texted:

Paige: Hey. Can I still come to the cabin?

Three seconds. Five. Eight.

Azzi: Yeah. Obviously. My mom said she’d pick you up if your parents are cool with it.

Paige swallowed.

Paige: Cool. I’ll tell them. Thanks.

Azzi: Bring a hoodie. It gets cold.

Paige smiled down at the phone. Like, actual smile. It was tiny. But it counted.

She glanced back toward the hall, where the shouting was starting up again upstairs. Her face dropped like it always did when she wasn’t with anyone. She grabbed a blanket off the couch and tucked it over Drew, then turned her phone on silent and slipped it under the couch cushion.

Some kids had nightlights. Paige had Azzi.

She’d take it.

She whispered down to her brother, “I got you, okay?”

He didn’t answer. He was out cold, mouth slightly open.

Paige stayed there on the floor beside him until her neck hurt. But it was better than her room. Better than the noise upstairs. Better than looking too closely at how tired she was.

Tomorrow, she’d leave again. Tomorrow, she’d go where it was quiet. Where someone actually wanted her around.

She wasn’t gonna cry about that. But if she did?

Whatever.

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter ten, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, reunion with kie and jj, erm KIE DIES sorry, pack mutts, blood, death, me giving the characters no time to process anything LOL no time to waste, me also showing jj and kie’s relationship a bit more, rafe lowk likes y/n

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous next

you and rafe move slowly through the forest. you’re not talking much, just walking, listening. when you do talk, it’s something you usually laugh at. you’re not sure if you’re looking for food or people. maybe both.

“we fought pretty well together, yesterday,” rafe says suddenly like he’s just now thinking it.

you glance over at him. his face is still bruised and he’s walking with a bit of a limp, but he’s got that same confident tilt to his head, like he’s pretending none of it hurts anymore.

you tug a leaf off your jacket sleeve and mutter, “could’ve been better.”

“could’ve been worse,” he counters, stepping over a thick root. “i mean, we’re still alive.”

you shrug, but there’s the hint of a smile on your face. “you took most of the hits.”

rafe huffs, dramatic. “don’t remind me.”

you laugh under your breath as you duck under a low branch. the painkillers helped, at least for a while. they dulled the edge enough that you could sleep without flinching every time you moved. it was a small kind of mercy.

“we just . . . went too hard too fast,” he says. “should’ve had a plan.”

you sigh. “you mean i should’ve had a plan. you were too busy getting kicked in the ribs.”

he snorts, but then he glances at you more seriously. “you were good, though. you were quick. it worked.”

you feel your mouth twitch. “maybe we need something smarter.”

“right,” rafe mutters, nodding. “like maybe this time, you should be the one getting everyone’s attention, and i can be the surprise.”

you glance at him again. “what, like bait?”

“like a distraction.” he shrugs, teasing, still walking. “you’re pretty. they’ll look at you first.”

you laugh once, but then you stop walking.

rafe notices a few steps ahead, turning around. “or—”

“no, that could work,” you say, thoughtful now. your eyes drift to the side as you think aloud. “if i make noise or show up first, they’ll come to me. if they’re cocky, they’ll think it’s an easy takedown. but then you’re waiting.”

rafe stares at you. “. . . i was kidding.”

you look up at him. “but it’s smart.”

he frowns, almost defensive. “you want to be the one people target?”

“i already am sometimes,” you say. “i’m shorter, younger. people either think i’m fragile or stupid or both. that’s what they see first. that’s the trap.”

you see the way he stares at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“you literally got an eleven in the private sessions. no one’s targeting you.”

you step forward, bumping his shoulder. “what? you don’t like that plan?”

“no, i just . . .” rafe sighs, runs a hand down his face. “you’re right. it is smart. i just don’t like the part where someone tries to fucking kill you.”

“then be faster than them,” you say, grinning. “plus, i can handle myself? how do you think i got that eleven, anyway?”

rafe looks at you, and then he shakes his head. “you’re an idiot, we can try that out though.”

you’re about to say something else, maybe joke again about your new role as tribute bait, when you see it. it’s faint at first. just a wisp, a thin trail of gray curling up through the canopy. it’s smoke.

you stop in your tracks. rafe halts beside you. you both stare. it’s not much yet but it’s too defined to be fog, too slow and rising to be steam. it’s unmistakably fire smoke.

you look up at the sun, still climbing the sky. not even noon. “who the hell lights a fire this early in the day?” you murmur.

rafe doesn’t answer. his eyes stay on the smoke, squinting slightly. you can’t really see what’s burning. it’s stupid, reckless. it screams trap, but it could also scream something else: someone got comfortable.

you glance at him to see what he’s thinking, but he’s already looking down at you. his lips twitch like he’s trying to fight off a grin.

“what?” you ask.

he shrugs, then nods toward the smoke. “you wanna go play bait?”

you huff out a breath, but your heart’s already beating faster, “do you wanna run into an axe again?”

his smile grows. “not really.” you laugh.

you take off first, but rafe follows close, matching your pace. your blood’s humming. the smoke gets darker the closer you get, and there’s something about how bold it is, how careless, that makes your skin itch, and then there’s laughter—yours first, then his.

it’s a terrible sound.

it’s not joyful, not even amused. it’s manic, feral, the kind of laughter that slips through when you’ve been pushed too far and the edge starts to feel like the most stable place to stand. it might be adrenaline, or grief, or both.

you dodge a low branch, leap over a fallen trunk. rafe nearly slips on a slope of wet dirt and laughs even harder.

then your steps slow. instinct kicks in. you hold up a hand, and rafe mirrors you, falling into step right behind as you crouch and creep forward. the flames come into view first. it’s a weak fire, barely controlled. it’s not going to last long.

but that’s not what stops you in your tracks. it’s the voices.

“holy shit, kie!”

jj’s voice is frantic. you hear the slap of palm against fabric. a rapid-fire patting, followed by dying embers.

you freeze behind a tree. rafe’s body is close behind yours, one hand gripping the trunk just above your shoulder. he leans forward slightly, head tilted so he can see too, and you both stare.

it’s not a trap. it’s them.

jj is half crouched, stomping out the last edge of the fire he clearly didn’t mean to make that big. his face is scraped, his hair wild, but he’s alive.

and kie’s standing not far off, but even saying that she’s standing is being generous. she’s barely upright, one leg shaking, face pale as hell.

you don’t even glance at rafe. you just move. you’re gone from behind the tree before you consciously think to run. “are you guys fucking insane?” you hiss under your breath as you break through the smoke.

jj jumps so hard he nearly trips over the smoldering fire. kie gasps, hands going up before she even registers it’s you. relief hits them so fast it’s like someone dumps water over their heads.

“y/n,” kie breathes.

“holy shit,” jj echoes, again, though this time it sounds more like praise than panic. he’s panting, eyes wide, the dirt on his face streaked with sweat. “you scared the hell out of me.”

“you scared us!” you snap, but your hands are already on kie’s arm, gently lowering her onto a flat rock nearby. “what the hell were you thinking lighting a fire this high in the day? are you fucking stupid?”

kie groans softly. “i couldn’t— i can’t walk well. we needed heat. we didn’t think it’d spread like that.”

“clearly.” you glance at her knee and flinch. it’s swollen and red, dried blood crusted on the edge of the pants she tore open. you rip open your pack without thinking. “you’re lucky no one else found you.”

“uh,” jj says behind you. rafe’s standing directly in front of him, just looking at him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. like he’s trying to decide if he should punch him, hug him, or both. “what?” jj raises his hands slightly. “you gonna say something or just stand there judgin’ me?”

“you look like shit,” rafe says flatly.

jj scoffs, offended. “thanks.”

“not a compliment.”

you lean forward with your elbows on your knees, eyes scanning the woods, though your ears are locked in on them now. jj and kie are sitting just a few feet across from you and rafe.

you start to hint toward his death when topper’s mentioned in a brief moment, “so, did you guys . . .”

“we saw topper’s picture the night it happened,” kie says first, voice quiet like it still hurts to say aloud. “was it with you guys?”

you nod. “we were running from a mutt. it got him.”

rafe doesn’t add anything. he’s quiet beside you, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent with an arm slung over it. the bruises on his jaw still peek out under his jacket collar when he shifts. he’s healing, but not fast enough.

“what kind of mutt?” jj asks, cautious. he needs to see if you guys saw the same thing.

you look over at rafe, meet his eyes for a second, then say, “big, looked like a komodo dragon, but . . . wrong? its skin was patchy, like someone stitched it together. it had too many eyes and legs that didn’t even match the body. like . . .” you pause, jaw flexing. “human limbs. twisted. didn’t move like anything that should be alive. and it was fast. nearly got me if rafe hadn’t been there.”

jj swallows. kie looks like she’s holding back bile.

“and it made this clicking noise,” you add, your voice quieter. “like bone against bone.”

“we haven’t seen that,” jj mutters. “thank god.”

“but we’ve seen something different,” kie cuts in, leaning forward slightly. her hand hovers near her thigh like it’s instinct to protect it. “smaller. not as showy, but there were more of them. they hunted in a group.”

“they kinda looked like coyotes,” jj adds, nodding slowly, like he’s trying to piece it together again as he speaks. “but all their limbs were too long. like they were stretched out. and their fur was, i don’t know, patchy. and oily. smelled like wet iron.”

“and their jaws don’t shut all the way,” kie says, lifting her hand now to mimic the way they moved. “it’s like their mouths are permanently open. but instead of barking or growling, they whistle. i started thinking that that’s how they communicate.”

your skin crawls just imagining it. rafe exhales beside you and mutters something under his breath about the gamemakers losing their minds.

“they got kie pretty good,” jj says next, eyes narrowing a bit. “ripped open some of her old wounds.”

kie sighs like she hates having attention on it, but still shifts her leg to the side, carefully unwrapping a piece of gauze that’s already half-stuck to her skin with blood. it’s the gash from the ambush a few days ago. it doesn’t look fresh, but the edges are pink and raw, and the bandaging is stained rusty. it’s not nothing.

you flinch slightly. “yikes.”

“it’s not that bad,” kie says, but her voice is thin. “i got a sponsor right after it opened up again. like bam, there it was. some ointment for infection and healing. it came down fast, almost like they felt bad for me or something.”

there’s something strange about how she says it, awe and bitterness twisted together.

“it’s amazing what they can do,” she continues, her fingers smoothing the clean part of the gauze before she starts to rewrap. “how quick they are when they want to be.”

you glance at rafe and catch the faintest twitch of a smile on his face. and you smirk quietly too because yeah, you both know the feeling.

“this is great and all, but remember that there should only be three others left, guys,” rafe says. he’s crouched down now, back straight, eyes focused somewhere over jj’s shoulder, like he’s drawing a mental map of the arena in his head. “aside from us. seven total. four of us, three of them.”

you glance at him, brows pinched.

“we don’t know who they are,” rafe goes on. “and that means we have to assume the worst. they could be a team. they could be tracking us right now. hell, they could’ve been watching you two light the fire earlier.”

he doesn’t look at kie when he says it, not directly. but it’s there. in the pause. in the slant of his eyes. in the way his shoulders stiffen just slightly as he says, “we can’t afford to be sloppy again.”

kie shifts, jaw tightening. you can see the way her mouth twitches, how fast the reaction wants to come out yet how fast she bites it back.

“are you trying to say something?” she finally asks, blinking. “or what?”

rafe turns his head just slightly. “you’re limping, kie,” he says. “and jj’s the only reason you’re still walking, which means he’s watching your back more than his own. it’s practically two of us against three of them. n’ if they’re smart? they know we’re already down a number.”

she folds her arms tight over her chest, like they’re the only thing keeping her from exploding. “so what, i’m just dead weight to you?”

rafe blinks. there’s not even a hint of apology in his face. “i’m saying you’re hurt. and if you weren’t so caught up in being offended, you’d realize that means we have to play smarter. either jj sticks with you, or—”

“or what?” she cuts in, voice rising. “you ditch me?”

he exhales through his nose, not even flinching. “or we go down because you slowed us all up.”

you’re looking between them now, jaw locked, hands clenched into fists at your sides. jj’s silent, but you can feel the frustration radiating off him. he’s not defending kie, not because he doesn’t want to, but because deep down, he knows rafe’s technically right.

with the fire, there was the noise and the panic. if you and rafe hadn’t been the ones to find them . . .

“jj’s leg was on fire, kie,” he says. “whether you guys meant to or not, you think the others wouldn’t have heard the yelling? seen the smoke? they’ll come looking. if it wasn’t us, you’d be dead already.”

kie just glares, arms crossed so tight they’re nearly shaking. her mouth opens once, twice, but nothing comes out.

“we didn’t ask you to save us,” she spits finally. “we would’ve figured it out.”

“would you have?”

silence again.

you try to be the one to be there to step in between in case you need to, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to push harder. he said what he had to say. and now he’s just watching.

kie doesn’t back down, but she doesn’t argue more either. she just stares at him like she wants to.

jj finally breaks his silence, muttering low, “we’ll keep up. don’t worry.”

you nod once, quiet. you believe him, but the worry’s already there. rafe was right—it looks like a two and a half against three at this point.

jj scoots closer toward kie, muttering something under his breath, trying to settle her down, but she doesn’t look away from rafe.

rafe doesn’t say anything else. he just gets up. he doesn’t make a show of it either, doesn’t huff or roll his eyes or even glance back. he bends slightly to grab one of their water containers, checks the cap with a flick of his thumb, then starts walking toward a slope a few yards away where a low creek snakes through the undergrowth.

your gaze is somewhere far off, unfocused. your mind is too. you rub the back of your neck, the skin hot, then let your fingers drag down your face. and then you’re on your feet too. you follow him.

rafe doesn’t turn around, but he hears you. he slows a little without making it obvious to let you catch up. you fall into step beside him and peek at his face. his mouth is set, jaw tight. not angry, just braced. like he knew the blowback would come and decided to lean into it anyway.

“you didn’t have to say it like that,” you say gently.

he lifts a brow, doesn’t look at you. “say what?”

“you know what.”

there’s a pause. he exhales slowly, shifting the canteen in his hand. “but i’m not wrong.”

“no,” you agree. “you’re not.”

another pause. the creek’s close now, and you can hear it trickling just ahead.

“she’s probably just pissed because . . .” you trail, “you made it sound like she’s dragging us all down instead of being part of this.”

“she is part of this,” rafe says, sharper this time, finally glancing at you. “but pretending like she’s not hurt doesn’t help anyone. if someone’s gonna get killed because she can’t keep up, i’d rather we talk about it now than deal with it when it’s too late.”

you hold his gaze. there’s something hardened in his eyes, yeah, but there’s worry under it too.

you sigh. “i know. i do too. i’m not saying you were wrong. just . . .” you shrug. “maybe we don’t have to set her on fire the same day she nearly actually caught on fire, you know?”

that gets the faintest twitch of a smile from him. it’s barely there but still. “right,” he murmurs.

you both slow as you reach the creek. rafe crouches down, unscrews the cap, dips the container into the water. you crouch beside him.

“i think they’ll be okay,” you say softly. “jj’s still got it in him. and kie’s not like . . . i don’t know, she’s not useless. she just needs to feel like she matters right now. like she’s not just a liability.”

rafe doesn’t answer right away. he watches the water rise in the canteen, then caps it and shakes off the excess droplets.

“i don’t care if she hates me,” he says after a moment. “i care if she gets you killed.”

your chest aches a little at that. not because it hurts, but because it means something. you don’t say anything. just nudge his arm with your elbow gently, enough to say i know.

he looks at you again. and this time, the edge is gone. there’s just understanding. you can tell he’s tired, but there’s a hint of something almost tender.

“c’mon,” you whisper, standing up. the two of you start walking again. “so there’s seven people left,” you say, mostly to yourself, but rafe hears it anyway.

your boots crunch over the dried leaves as you move through the trees. it’s warmer than it was this morning. the sky’s so bright it almost doesn’t feel real.

he doesn’t say anything right away, one hand loosely resting near the knife at his hip.

you exhale, slow. “i knew i could get this far,” you admit, “but actually being here . . . i don’t know. it’s weird.”

rafe glances at you sideways. “yeah?”

you nod, rubbing your hands together to keep them busy. “it’s like, surreal, knowing that you’re one of the last people left. it messes with your head. i’m like, excited, nervous, anxious. i’m probably feeling it all too early and then i’m gonna fuck it all up.”

he lets out a quiet hum of agreement.

you kick a rock with the toe of your boot. “i wonder what my parents are thinking right now. if they’re watching every second or if they have to look away when it’s me on the screen. do you think about that?”

rafe’s quiet for a beat.

“mine are definitely watching,” he says finally, voice flat. “they’re probably arguing about it, rose telling my dad to shut up and stop pacing. my dad would probably gonna get mad if people didn’t bet more on me.”

you look over at him. he doesn’t meet your eyes, just squints into the distance.

“do you think the capitol likes us?” you ask softly.

he shrugs. “we’re still alive, aren’t we?”

“yeah, but,” you trail off. “that’s not the same.”

he sighs, running a hand over the back of his neck. “i think they like you,” he says eventually.

your brows lift. “me?”

rafe looks at you now, really looks at you. “yeah. you’ve got that hero edit shit going for you.”

you snort. “hero edit?”

he grins a little, crooked. “yeah. you look good when you’re bleeding and killing people. makes for good tv.”

you laugh under your breath, brushing a branch out of your way. “what about you?”

he shrugs again, but this one’s more casual. “they like me enough. probably made me the stoic or something. the one that no one’s sure about.”

“that’s not a bad thing.”

“no,” he agrees. “but it’s not always good either.”

you walk in silence for a few steps. birds rustle somewhere high above, wings flapping.

“we’re really down to seven,” you whisper again.

he nods. “soon to be four.”

you glance at him, and even though he’s staring ahead you know he’s thinking the same thing you are. soon to be four. you, him, kie, and jj unless someone fucks it up.

you swallow hard. your hand brushes his as you walk. neither of you pulls away.

“you think we can actually do this?” you ask, quieter now.

he doesn’t hesitate. “yeah,” rafe says. “we can.”

and somehow, you believe him.

our fingers loop a piece of thin cord through a split branch, while kie tugs on a nearby root to use as tension.

“after we split, we found this hollowed-out ravine. took cover there for the night,” she’d been telling you. “we didn’t stop for long though. those mutts came back. the, uh . . . pack i was telling you about.” she mutters the last part like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. “not even an hour of peace before they were swarming again.”

you glance at her, but she doesn’t look back.

“we ran. again.” she gives a half-hearted shrug. “they scratched jj up pretty bad. and my leg, well, you saw that.” she shifts her weight onto her good foot and grimaces slightly, but doesn’t stop working. “still surprised we made it out without worse.”

you nod slowly, biting down on the inside of your cheek. “at least you did.”

“barely,” she scoffs, and wipes her hands on her pants. “you see anything new out there? anything else we should be watching for?”

you pause. your hands are halfway through tying two sharpened sticks into a hinge for the trap, but your mind shifts back. your eyes flick up for a second, then drop back to your work as you answer.

“yeah,” you say, a little hesitant. “roses, i guess.”

kie blinks. “what?”

you nod slowly, tightening the knot. “i didn’t think much of it at first. just thought they were weird but,” you glance up briefly, then back down, “me and rafe, yesterday, we caught a rabbit for lunch. but it wasn’t moving right. it wasn’t scared of us, didn’t even flinch when we stepped near it. just laid there.”

kie furrows her brow.

“it was in this part of the woods nearby where a bunch of roses were just laid out here and there like decoration,” you continue, “and then later we found this girl, like another tribute. i checked the back of her neck where a few of them were just lodged in her skin, and . . . she couldn’t move. barely blinked. i dont know, i’ll show you tomorrow.”

you finish the knot, pull it taut.

“i think it’s a paralytic or something. whatever’s in those roses.” your voice drops quieter. “i don’t know how it works exactly, if it’s when you touch it or if it just builds up. but it’s real.”

kie whistles low. “sick bastards,” she mutters, then rubs her forehead. “great. add ‘don’t sniff flowers’ to the survival checklist.”

you huff a laugh, even if it’s short-lived. the tension hasn’t gone anywhere. and neither have the boys.

kie sighs as she straightens up, brushing dust from her hands and scanning the trees. “how long does it take to catch a damn squirrel?”

you glance toward the direction they left from too, lips twitching. “think they’re hunting or avoiding us?”

“if it’s both, they better come back with two squirrels.” she grumbles and shakes her head. “unbelievable. we’re out here saving everyone’s lives, and they get to play with weapons.”

you snort and crouch back down to prep the next trap. in a way you’re quietly grateful for the company, for the small moments, for the rare laugh. because even though this isn’t over, not by a long shot, there’s still something about sitting in the woods with kie, bruised and blistered but alive, that makes surviving feel just a little more bearable.

you lean back on your heels as the second snare tightens, wood creaking just slightly as it locks into place. you test the pressure. you tug once, then again, and nod, satisfied. when you glance over, kie’s checking the first trap again, brows drawn together like it’s a test she has to ace. there’s something rhythmic about the way she moves, like she’s done it a thousand times before.

you tilt your head and ask, “so have you always been good at this?”

she flicks her eyes up at you, one brow lifting.

“traps and stuff, i mean,” you clarify, pulling your hands into your lap. “were you a fisher? ‘cause you’re from four, right?”

“born and raised,” she says, relaxing a little, her voice softening. “and yeah. pretty much grew up on the water. my parents taught me everything with fishing, tying lines, mending nets, baiting traps. i was practically rigging snares before i could write my own name.”

you smile at that. it fits her, somehow.

“they were both fishers?”

“yeah. some days we’d be out before the sunrise.” her eyes flick to the sky for a second like she can still see it. “it’s hard work, but i loved it. still do. if i win, i’d still keep doin’ that with ‘em.”

you don’t miss the fond curve of her mouth, the way her shoulders ease just slightly.

“they must be watching,” you say, voice quieter now. “bet they’re proud.”

kie nods. “i think about that a lot,” she admits. “like, if they’re screaming at the screen or covering their eyes. if my mom’s crying. if my dad’s yelling at the tv at home like that’s gonna change anything.” she laughs a little under her breath. “they’re definitely rooting for me, though. i know that.”

you smile softly, then look down at your hands before asking, “and you and jj knew each other before the reaping?”

“kind of,” she says, brushing some dirt from her palms. “we met in school. had mutual friends, same classes, that kind of thing. we weren’t close or anything. but he was loud. and he was always, always joking.”

“sounds familiar,” you say with a small smirk.

kie snorts. “yeah, but we didn’t really start talking until we got stuck in here. and now?” she glances over her shoulder, toward where jj and rafe had wandered off. “i’ve got his back, he’s got mine.”

you nod once, absorbing it. “you’re lucky,” you say.

“yeah,” she replies. “i know.”

kie stretches her legs out in front of her and leans back on her hands, giving you a small, pointed glance. “okay, but what about you and rafe?” she asks, all casual curiosity with the slightest grin tugging at her mouth. “you guys seem really close.”

you pause, fingers reaching to tighten the knot on the last snare just to keep your hands busy. your hands slow, and you glance down at the thread of bark in your grip. “i mean,” you start, “i’ve known of him. not really him, though. does that make sense?”

kie hums like she’s waiting for you to say more, so you do.

“like we’re both from two, but we live on opposite sides. it’s kind of a split district. different zones, you know? i only ever saw him at the academy when we were younger for training.”

kie raises a brow. “so is it, like, tradition for all district two kids to be training that early?”

you shrug. “mostly everyone in two does, whether they want to or not. some are let off, most go because they want to. but yeah, he trained hard. was always focused. i stayed away mostly. tried not to get too close to the peacekeeper families even though i come from one too.” you look up briefly, meeting her eyes. “before the games he told me his dad’s a high-ranking officer, one of the top ones. it kind of made sense.”

kie whistles low, eyebrows lifting. “that explains a lot.”

you smile faintly but don’t deny it. then there’s a pause. you shift back from the trap, brushing your hands off on your pants. “and i think he knew who i was too.”

kie turns to face you, curious.

“like, at the reaping, he didn’t need an introduction. it was like he already recognized me. so maybe he’s seen me around more than i thought. or maybe he doesn’t know me at all and he’s just good at hiding it. i don’t really know.”

kie’s silent for a moment, then shrugs. “you could always ask.”

you huff a small laugh. “i could.”

but you don’t sound too sure you will.

“the guys are gonna get back soon.”

you’re on your feet before you fully register kie asking, like something about kindling, or maybe the flint she buried earlier by the log. you hum in response and rise, already halfway turned toward the tree line where you think she left it.

“gotta get that fire going,” you murmur to yourself as you crunch over fallen twigs and loose leaves.

but then there’s a yell that cracks through the quiet. it’s distant, but not that distant. you freeze. completely still.

your breath catches in your throat as the noise fractures the silence, followed by a rush of sound. there’s something barreling through the forest. it’s heavy, too fast to just be a person. it’s not like when jj trips through the woods and curses about it. this sounds like thunder, like hooves and claws and bones cracking under pressure, leaves shaking loose from branches.

your eyes shoot west.

it’s too dark to see anything clearly, just the suggestion of movement in the gaps between the trees. something brushing hard past bark. and it’s not one direction either. it’s . . . everywhere, like the forest itself is coming undone. like something that far is playing tricks in your head about where it’s really coming from.

“no,” you whisper, voice trembling as your hand slowly reaches behind you, searching for kie’s arm without breaking your gaze. “no, no, no, no.”

kie goes stiff behind you. you feel her straighten, catch her sharp inhale. she doesn’t speak, probably because the sound is getting louder, and it’s impossible to tell how far away it is. like now it feels close. it feels like something’s hunting and not trying very hard to be quiet about it.

you know kie can’t run, not well. not with her leg like this. the thought alone turns your stomach into a pit of nerves.

your hand hovers near your belt, fingers finding the familiar curve of your dagger’s hilt. you grip it even as you keep the rest of you still, breathing shallow. you don’t want to make a sound. don’t want to—

to your left.

you yelp, stumbling back a step as your head whips toward the noise. before you can even draw the dagger, a figure barrels out of the dark.

you don’t see a face, at least not at first. all you see is motion, like limbs flailing, arms pumping, a look of blind panic etched into whatever blur of expression this guy has as he slams into you, hard. the impact sends you both flying backward, your back slamming into the dirt and sliding with the force, dry leaves scraping against your skin and getting tangled in your hair.

you hit the ground so fast you don’t even have time to scream. you just feel it. your shoulder knocks against something solid, your dagger ripped from your grip before you could even raise it.

you’re still spinning when you hear kie shout your name in panic, “y/n!”

you try to react, like try to throw your arm up, block whatever’s coming, but it’s a mess of tangled limbs and your attacker’s weight is keeping you pinned. he’s not trying to hurt you, you realize that fast. he’s terrified, panting hard like he’s been running for a while.

you blink, your head snapping back against the ground again as you struggle to get your bearings. the guy’s on top of you, breathing in gasps, shaking so badly it vibrates into your own bones.

that sound hasn’t stopped. it’s still coming.

your fight instinct kicks in like it always does. you twist hard and roll the guy off you with a grunt, your hand flying to your belt, fingers fumbling for your dagger. your heart is pounding in your ears, like it’s trying to drown out the sounds behind you. but it can’t. it can’t mute the noise. but you need to kill him and get to kie.

you don’t even have time to get a full look at him. he’s bloody, barely conscious, his chest heaving as you straddle him. he doesn’t fight you. he’s too exhausted. it’s like he’s already given up.

but you haven’t, especially because you can hear her. you can hear kie.

her voice cracks through the trees like a whip: “jj!!“

your head snaps toward her. but then comes the noise. it’s these awful, guttural, teeth-tearing sounds. there’s another kind after. bones are being crushed. something screaming. someone’s screaming.

is that—?

no.

your gut sinks like a stone as your body freezes. it hits you all at once. kie’s practically left out in the open because this guy tackled you, and now she’s paying the price.

you hear it before you see it. paws pound the ground like hammers. your head snaps toward the sound just in time to see one of them charging at you like a bullet with teeth. you don’t think, you just react.

you grab the guy’s shoulders and shove him to the side with all the force your body can give, rolling the both of you, repositioning until your body hits the ground and his is on top, and then it hits.

the mutt’s jaws clamp down on him first.

there’s no scream at first, just a brutal crunch, then a howl’s yanked from the guys throat as the mutt drags him back. you see the blood spray across the ground like it’s nothing, a slick of it across your arm as you stare, numb, horrified, breath caught in your lungs.

you don’t argue with fate.

you scramble up the second he’s gone, your feet sliding on the dirt as you shove yourself to your feet, and your legs move before your mind does. you’re sprinting away, but your eyes flick toward camp, or what's left of it.

kie is screaming. no, was screaming. now it’s just gurgled cries, half-swallowed. you catch one glimpse of her. she’s blood-slick, reaching, her mouth open but soundless as something claws at her back, another already dragging her leg. you don’t see rafe or jj anywhere. your stomach turns.

you should go to her. you should. but it’s already too late. you can’t die here, and you won’t.

you keep running and you don’t look back because you know exactly what you’d see.

“kie!” jj’s voice eventually cuts through.

you’re already moving the second you hear him. you push past branches, try not to trip on roots, try to keep your head above the fear that’s dragging you under. you don’t even realize how far you've gone until someone grabs you.

“y/n,” rafe breathes, his hands gripping your arms to steady you, eyes wide and scanning your face like he’s trying to piece something together from it.

you barely process it, just that it's him. you’re not alone anymore. jj’s right behind him, pausing just long enough to look around you, looking for her probably. he’s looking for kie. his brows twist the second he realizes you're alone.

“where is she?” he asks, but he's not really asking. he already knows. he turns, about to run.

“no— wait, jj,” you say quickly, spinning around and catching his arm before he can take off. your fingers dig into his sleeve, heart beating so hard you can feel it in your mouth. “please, you can’t—“

“i can’t what, y/n?” jj snaps. he jerks forward, dragging you a step with him, not caring. “i can’t go to her? she could be dying and you want me to just— what? hide?”

he steps closer, jaw clenched so tight his whole body is shaking with it. “i can’t what?”

“she’s dead,” your voice gives out like you don’t want to admit it, but it rips out of your throat before you can stop it. you try to reach for him again as he pulls away. “she’s dead, jj.”

you’re looking at jj but can’t help but notice the way rafe’s face drops beside you. he must feel awful. one of their last conversations was heated, you’re sure he didn’t want to end it like that. jj looks more mad than anything though. he probably doesn’t want to believe you. a part of you even thinks for a second that he’s about to kill you just for saying that kie’s dead, even if it’s true.

the forest is silent for just half a second before the whistles start. your stomach twists. those must be the ones kie and jj talked about, the ones that the mutts use to communicate. you barely turn your head before rafe’s already grabbing you, one arm locking around your waist, the other reaching out for jj as you do the same, clutching him by the back of his jacket.

you all freeze. you don’t move. you don’t even breathe.

you can’t see anything in the dark, but you hear it. it’s fucking awful. can they smell your fear?

it feels like a lifetime before rafe whispers, “come on.” he’s tugging both of you with him. you don’t hesitate. none of you do.

you run behind him, duck low, weave through the trees, staying close but quiet. everything aches. it hurts so bad you want to scream, but you can’t. you just keep moving until rafe slows, his hand up, signaling for you to drop low behind a thicket.

you all pile into a cramp of brush, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, and you curl in on yourself as rafe stays near the edge, watching. your hands shake as they clutch your knees, and eventually you bury your head between them, trying to block out the sound of breathing that isn’t yours.

you don’t even look at jj, but you can hear him. he’s muttering curses under his breath, biting down on something loud and ugly that’s begging to claw its way out of his chest. you can hear him pacing a little, shuffling, then slamming his fist against the ground before quickly pulling it back with a hiss.

there’s nothing you can say.

because she’s gone now too.

and you couldn’t save her.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts ++

[paucubarsisimp]

Soooo I have a Hector Fort request...Reader is from the U.S and her friend is on the womens Barcelona team. Reader goes to visit her friend, and Hector sees her and is like who is she and is asking around about her, but if you don't want to do it that is totally fine I literally love your writing sm.

soft starts

pairing: hector fort x reader

summary: im which you meet hector while visiting your best friend

warnings: none!

a/n: i don't like it, probably gonna rewrite it

you weren’t supposed to catch anyone’s attention.

you were just visiting barcelona for two weeks, staying with your best friend salma during a break in your own schedule. the city was gorgeous, warm in that early-spring kind of way, and you were just grateful for time off. no responsibilities. no stress. just fresh air, café con leche, and hanging out with your favorite person.

well… your favorite person until someone new entered the chat.

you first noticed him on your third day.

you were sitting on the edge of the practice pitch, sipping from a water bottle while the barça femení team wrapped up training. salma was in beast mode as usual — all speed and precision, leaving defenders trailing — but your focus drifted as a few of the first-team guys walked past on their way to recovery.

one of them slowed.

he had dark curls, loose and a little windswept, and a curious kind of gaze — sharp, but soft at the same time. he was wearing a training kit with “32” on the shorts, and his eyes found yours for a split second.

he smiled. not a grin. not a smirk. just something subtle. a “hi, i see you” kind of smile.

you looked away instantly, cheeks heating.

but he didn't.

from across the pitch, he leaned over to pau, murmuring something. pau looked your way and shrugged, clearly amused.

“hector’s asking about you,” salma said casually later, peeling an orange with her fingers. “he asked if you were a player or just a really pretty visitor.”

you choked on your drink. “he said that?”

“more or less. i added the pretty part because it’s true.” she tossed a wedge into her mouth. “but yeah. he’s into it.”

you saw him again the next day.

this time at the gym, where you were tagging along with salma for her recovery session. you stayed off to the side, earbuds in, flipping through your playlist, when a voice pulled you out of your focus.

“hey. you’re salma’s friend, right?”

you looked up — and there he was.

hector in a gray barça training tee, curls damp, cheeks a little flushed from whatever circuit he’d just finished.

“yeah,” you said, pulling out one earbud. “i’m y/n.”

“i’m hector,” he said, even though you both knew you already knew that.

you smiled. “i’ve heard.”

he raised a brow. “all good things, i hope.”

you nodded slowly, playing along. “depends who you ask.”

he laughed, eyes crinkling. “can i ask you instead?”

you blinked. “me?”

“yeah,” he said, resting a hand on the edge of the weight rack. “i feel like you’ve been here a few days now, and i’d kind of like to get to know you. if that’s okay.”

you tried not to smile too much. failed a little.

“you’re asking me out?”

he shrugged. “depends. are you saying yes?”

you looked at him, really looked — he was young, but there was a confidence in his voice that didn’t feel forced. just calm. curious.

“coffee,” you said. “but you have to pick the place.”

“deal,” he grinned. “you drink iced, don’t you?”

you squinted. “how’d you guess?”

he tapped his temple. “instinct. or maybe i asked salma. you’ll never know.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling.

that evening, salma walked into the apartment to find you flopped on the couch, texting with a dumb grin on your face.

“hector?” she asked, tossing her bag down.

you nodded without looking up.

she smirked. “called it.”

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, lmk if you want to be added!

[carmenberzattosgf]

My brain is rotting with the concept of Carmy sending you a video of him jerking off ( @wtfsteveharrington is to blame for this)

Currently, Carmen is in New York for a chefs conference. He can’t get you off his mind, and he’s missing your warm body in bed next to him. It doesn’t help that he just woke up at 2am with a massive hard-on.

“Fuck it,” he mumbles to himself, reaching for the switch to the lamp on the bedside table. He grabs his phone next. With shaky hands, he opens the camera app on his phone, switching to video mode. He clicks the start button.

Carmy’s lower half is still underneath the blanket as the video begins. He’s breathing heavy as he trails his right hand from the top of his sternum to the waist band of his underwear. He kicks the blankets off, exposing the growing bulge in his briefs.

Carmy’s not going to let himself get camera shy now, so he acts like he’s talking to you. “W-woke up like this—“ he breaths. His keeps his movements slow, letting his palm drift down to his covered dick. He applies gentle pressure, which makes his hips twitch.

“I wish you could have come here with me. Know you’d take care of this.” He grips himself harder, forcing a choked groan to leave his lips. Carmy can’t keep this up; he needs to get a hand on his throbbing cock. His thumb hooks into the waistband of his underwear and pulls them down. The camera angle shakes while he shoves them down his hips.

When the video steadies and focuses, it’s on his exposed cock. Carmy breaths deeply as his cock twitches, precum oozing from his tip. “Shit—I’m already leaking. See what you do to me, sweetheart? Just thinking about you gets me hard like a fucking teenager.”

Carmy’s hand disappears from the frame for a moment, but it’s obvious from the sound of spitting what he’s doing. Once his hand enters the frame again, now covered in saliva, he wastes no time and grabs his cock.

Honestly, he probably doesn’t need the extra lubrication with how much he’s dripping, but Carmy wants to replicate the feeling of your soaked cunt as best as he can with his hand. “W-wish I was with you. Know you’d be so fucking wet and warm around me.”

Carmy starts with a slow and calculated pace. His palm grips his dick as tight as possible without it being unpleasurable. On each up stroke, he applies additional pressure to make the pre drip down the head of his cock.

He’s making the most erotic sounds, a mix a raspy groans and needy whines. His abs flex while he pants, desperate for air. “Shit—baby. Miss you, pretty girl.” He fists his cock quicker, now, barely able to keep his hips on the bed. Carmy gives in and lets his hips work in tandem with his hand. “M’gonna fuck you so good when I get back—just-just like this—shit. You won’t be able to walk straight—“

It’s borderline hedonistic, the way his hips roll into his hand. Carmy’s completely unabashed. “S’good f’me. Feels s’good,” he mumbles like you’re actually there with him and not hundreds of miles away. The veins in his forearm clearly bulge out from the effort. There’s no telling how obscene the look on his face is right now.

It’s clear he’s nearing his peak from the way he’s whimpering. Small sounds and gasps leave his lips incessantly. His palm moves at a rapid pace, growing more sloppier by the second. A sharp, wanton whine escapes him before he murmurs. “Mmm, baby. Close—fuck. So fucking close, baby. Shit—gonna— m’gonna cum for you. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

His cock pulses as cum spills all over his abdomen. Carmy’s hips continue to fuck his hand through his orgasm as he whimpers with every spurt of cum. There’s no coherency to his sounds; only carnal moans escape him.

He continues to fist his cock until he’s milked himself dry. Carmy’s painted with cum; it’s all over him. His white-covered abs rise and fall rapidly while he catches his breath. Finally, he lets go of his cock with a groan.

Carmy looks at himself through the video on his phone and chuckles lowkey. “Made a mess didn’t I?” His hand falls to his stomach. He traces out your first initial in the pool of white before letting his palm smear the cum across his abs.

After a moment, he spreads his fingers in front of the camera, showing the ropes of cum sticking to his hand. His voice is gravelly as he speaks.“Fuck. Guess I need to go hop in the shower. See you soon, baby.”

[odaengz]

TAKE A CHANCE WITH ME! — yushi smau

chapter 4 ! don’t you worry your pretty little head (short written, 621 words)

content warnings — short written portion before smau portion, cussing, timestamps are irrelevant, reader is a pathetic yearner! yay!

you squinted at your phone. ningning just loved to mess with you.

but in all honesty, spending time with anyone was better than being alone with your thoughts.

because being alone meant thinking about him—and lately, it seemed like that was all you could do.

the past two days, he was all you could think about. the memory of that night clung onto you like smoke.

his smile appeared in the midst of crowded hallways, as if the ghost of him was following you. his voice, soft, like cotton candy, echoed against the walls of quiet study rooms. the warmth of his touch, lingered every time a friend brushed against your shoulder.

the thought of him was eating you alive.

every passing moment, a reminder that the perfect boy was out there. and you had met him. you just failed to keep him.

even as you walked across campus, your thoughts drifted back to that night. how nervous he was when you asked to kiss him. how good he looked in his stupid outfit. how comfortable he made you feel.

part of you had even considered the idea that the guy ningning mentioned might somehow be him. of course you knew better, but that didn’t stop you from hoping.

—

you stepped into the study room that ningning was in and you scanned the space.

that was when your eyes landed on a familiar silhouette. a boy with dark hair and puffed out cheeks—riku.

your eyes blinked rapidly before it flicked to ningning. “riku. you were talking about riku?”

riku’s eyes, which were once laser-focused on the laptop in front of him, shot up to meet yours. “you were talking about me?”

you scoffed, plopping down onto a chair next to him. “she said the man of my dreams was in here.”

ningning let out a laugh. “no. i wasn’t talking about—“

her sentence was cut short by the sound of the door creaking open.

that was when he walked in.

silver hair. white, oversized t-shirt. baggy grey sweats. thick-rimmed glasses. a smile so bright that it almost felt annoying—like he didn’t realize the power it held. and big doe eyes. the kind that could shut someone down with one look.

he was laughing as he entered, like he owned the place. too much energy for a library. two other boys followed behind him. you didn’t recognize any of them, not that it mattered anyways.

your mind shifted, quietly praying that another boy—that boy—would walk in behind them. but then the last one pulled the door shut. and just like that, your hope had been left out in the hallway behind it.

your gaze trailed back to the silver-haired boy. something about him felt familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

before you could even stop yourself, you were staring. ningning noticed this, and her eyes shot you a look—one that screamed “i told you so.”—but you shrugged it off, frowning. whoever could’ve walked in could’ve been the most attractive man on earth—and you still wouldn’t have cared.

not unless it was the boy from the bar.

the silver-haired boy sat down on an empty chair next to you and turned to you with a curious smile. “hi,” he offered his hand, “i’m oh sion. you must be ningning and riku’s friend?”

you shook it back, “hi! im sung yn. and yes, unfortunately i am.”

ningning gasped, “oh you love me.”

the table giggled at the interaction and without hesitation, sion pulled everyone into study mode.

and just like that, you were alone again—your mind left to wander back to that night. back to him.

wondering if maybe, just maybe, he was thinking about you too.

navigation ! masterlist | prev | next

synopsis — fresh out of a horrific break up, yn gets invited out to the club by her friends. on the other hand, tokuno yushi, the quietest in his group of friends, is dragged to the same one. after spending a night filled with a whirlwind of emotions together, they both make the mistake of never formally introducing themselves. they are both determined to find each other again. after all, if they were really soulmates, fate would take over again. right?

author’s note — hayy another written chapter yayyyy!! looking at the layout i have planned for this story a lot of it might actually be written … i wrote this at like 2 am and barely proof read it so it might be dew dew .. but YAY yushi and yn’s first bridge has been formed muahaha

taglist (open!) — @dudekiss3r @suzayaaa @jaellymint @sillyyuz @spacejip @ditsydeer101 @holyhaech @buns-inhiding @sibwol @ant-onie @yvshi @taroddori @ttjisung @kyubing @yushiela @sakuyaswish @chengerinelove @tae2an @nahyuckers @flaminghotyourmom @kaosuni @ayukas @t-102 @jaeyunluvbot @bananinhazz @sionshii @kkunyangz @love4yubin @heewrld @calmzhi @hypneosis @bruberri

© odaengz 2025

[pucksandpower]

grid kids : y/n having super bad periods like bedridden and seb try’s to tell the boys they can’t visit and they go into full like code red crisis mode

Grid Kids: The Best Medicine

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: the grid kids do everything they can think of to make you feel better

Series Masterlist

Max enters the room gingerly, holding a steaming mug of herbal tea. “I googled it,” he whispers to Charles, who’s setting up a little essential oil diffuser on the bedside table. “This should help.”

Charles nods, looking at the variety of oils he’s brought. “Lavender for relaxation,” he explains.

From the other side of the room, Lando and George carry in an enormous heating pad. “This helped my sister,” Lando mutters, plugging it in, while George adjusts the settings.

Lance, a bit out of his depth but wanting to contribute, tentatively offers a stack of magazines and books. “For ... distractions?”

Mick, who’s been quietly observing, pulls out a small speaker from his bag. “How about some calming music? Always helps to set a soothing environment.”

While this orchestrated chaos unfolds, you, despite your pain, can’t help but be touched by the outpouring of care and concern. You try to sit up but the discomfort is evident.

“Hey,” Sebastian gently admonishes, propping you up with more pillows, “Let them fuss over you. They want to.”

As evening falls, the room is transformed into a comforting sanctuary. The soft glow from fairy lights, the gentle hum of calming tunes, and the subtle scent of lavender fills the room.

Feeling a bit better from all the care, you whisper, “Thank you, boys. But you don’t have to stick around, you know.”

Lando pulls a funny face, “And miss out on a sleepover? No way.”

One by one, the grid kids, following Lando’s lead, find a comfy spot on your enormous bed, cocooning you protectively in the center. Some snuggled at the foot, some propped against the headboard, and others squished in the middle.

With the soft chirping of crickets outside and the rhythmic breathing of your sons on all sides, you drift into a peaceful sleep, pain momentarily forgotten in favor of burrowing deeper into the love and warmth surrounding you.

***

The morning sun peeks through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. you stir, the pain still present but noticeably diminished. As your eyes flutter open, you’re greeted by the endearing sight of the grid kids sprawled all around you, each in varying poses of sleep.

Sebastian, having given up his spot on the bed last night, is asleep in the armchair, a book resting on his chest. George and Lando, squished up at the foot of the bed, are tangled in a mess of limbs, while Charles seems to have created a makeshift fort for himself with every pillow he could find.

The aroma of breakfast wafts into the room, pulling you from your thoughts. Mick, having woken up earlier, stands in the doorway with a tray. “Morning! Thought you might be hungry,” he says, a smile touching his lips.

“Oh, Mick,” you murmur, touched by the gesture. “You didn’t have to.”

He sets the tray on your lap, revealing a spread of toast with bacon and eggs, fresh fruit, and some yogurt. “We all pitched in. Well, mostly Max and Lance. They seem to think they’re on MasterChef or something.”

Laughter ripples through the room as the others start to wake, each stretching and yawning. Max, rubbing his eyes, adds, “Hey, those scrambled eggs were a work of art!”

Lance chimes in, “Don’t forget about the smoothie. That was my masterpiece.”

George, trying to subtly smooth out his bed head, quirks a brow. “If we’re being all domestic, how about a spa day? Right here, right now.”

Charles, still nestled in his pillow fort, chuckles. “In this room? With all of us? I’m sure that will end well.”

Max’s eyes light up, “I’m in! But only if someone does that cucumber thing on my eyes.”

Mick grins, “You mean a cucumber facial? I’ve got you covered.” He dashes out, only to return moments later with a stash of beauty products. “My sister left these the last time she visited. We’ve got masks, scrubs, the works!”

Amused and touched by the turn of events, you announce, “Alright then, let the spa day commence!”

Sebastian, skeptical but game, adds, “I’ve never had a mani-pedi before.”

Lando winks, “There’s a first time for everything, Seb. Give me your hands.”

As Lando starts on Sebastian while Lance gets to work on making more of his famed smoothies for everyone. Meanwhile, George and Charles, having taken over the facial department, start applying face masks, complete with cucumber slices for the eyes.

An hour later, the room is a delightful mess. Mick and Max have somehow managed to get more face mask on their shirts than on their faces. Lando’s meticulous nail painting skills are in high demand, and George is draped over the foot of the bed, a bright green face mask contrasting comically with his hair.

You, through bouts of laughter, look around at the delightful chaos. “Alright, time for the big question. Do you or do you not feel bonita?”

Lance, his fingers spread out to dry the bright pink nail polish Lando chose, grins. “I feel bonita.”

Charles, attempting to peel off his dried mask, replies with a dramatic flair, “I was born bonita but now? I’m radiant!”

Mick chimes in, “Can’t see through these cucumber slices but I’m pretty sure I’m the most bonita of all.”

The room fills with banter, laughter, and the gentle ribbing that only close friends and family can share. As the day turns into evening, the spa treatments wind down and the room settles into a comfortable quiet.

You, heart full, look around at the makeshift spa and the joy it brought. “Thank you, boys. Today was unexpected but absolutely perfect.”

Sebastian, his nails now adorned with a clear glossy finish, adds, “I think we should make this a tradition. Spa day before every race.”

Max raises his own freshly manicured hand. “All in favor?”

A chorus of “Ayes!” fills the room and so a new tradition was born.

[toruskiii]

Love Delivery!

Synopsis: Balancing part-time food delivery with a busy school schedule is no easy task. One day, while on a delivery, you find yourself awkwardly waiting at the door of a luxurious apartment. Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing a handsome, albeit annoyingly rich, man. Genre: Romance, fluff, slow-burn?? (modern au!) Character: Aventurine x fem!reader Warnings: Hot sassy men apocalypse, maybe this will have a part 2 or smth idk

[masterlist] [about me]

Ding!

Someone has placed an order near your set area.

You glance at the notification on your screen, just as you’re snapping a picture of the food you’ve delivered to the nice granny’s house. The elderly lady smiles politely, waiting patiently as you finish taking the photo.

“Ah, another order, young lady?” she croaks out, offering a small, grateful bow when you hand her the plastic bag of food. “Thank you so much, hoho. I’m sorry to trouble you young folks, but it’s hard for my old bones to get around, you know?” She chuckles, giving your shoulder a gentle pat.

You smile at her and shake your head, waving off her concern. "It's no problem, granny. It's my job, after all." After bidding farewell to the old lady, you put on your helmet, hop back on your bike, and accept the new order request.

Penacony's Clock Diner? Wait-

You quickly check the location set for your food delivery, confused by the address. You're all the way in Aurem Alley, and the customer wants food from Penacony? Ridiculous.

Location Set: Xianzhou Luofu.

How is this guy even able to send his request to you?

You double-check the address, noticing the system listing it as Fyxestroll Garden. What the hell? There aren’t any apartment complexes at Fyxestroll Garden!

Puzzled, you pull over to the side of the road and open the map on your phone, trying to make sense of it. Fyxestroll Garden is a well-known public park, famous for its serene walking paths and meticulously kept gardens. You can’t recall any buildings, let alone residential ones, in the area. You tap on the address again, hoping it’s a mistake or a glitch, but the coordinates remain unchanged.

Maybe it’s a new complex that just opened? you wonder. Or could it be some sort of exclusive residence hidden within the park?

Not long after, another text message pops up on your screen, and it's from the guy.

Frustration boils within you as you read the message, your temper nearing its breaking point. The blazing sun beats down mercilessly, intensifying your irritation as you stand near the dock, contemplating a plunge into the cooling waters below. How could this customer be so careless as to mess up their address, leaving you to contend with this sweltering heat and an hour-long detour?

And curse this app for its lack of a proper cancellation feature!

With a frustrated groan, you glance at the text, feeling the resistance of your bike's wheels grow heavier as you open the GPS. You're tempted to unleash a torrent of curses at the customer for exploiting some loophole in the app, forcing you to exert yourself just to deliver his order. He better be prepared to tip generously for this inconvenience.

To reach Penacony, your best bet is to take the Astral Express train— a mode of transportation you've used before but disliked immensely. The erratic jumps and occasional turbulence make for a nerve-wracking journey. And that conductor… Was it just fatigue playing tricks on your mind, or did they really have bunny ears…?

You sigh heavily as you enter the station, swiping your pass before parking your bike and leaning against it. Your gaze drifts to the TV hanging on the wall, checking the schedule to see when the train will arrive. Fifteen minutes? Well, there's no escaping it now…

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You feel like hurling yourself into outer space.

Not only did the restaurant forget to prepare the order, but you're also stuck in a conversation with one of the servers who insists on cracking the most cringeworthy jokes.

"There's no such thing as a bad joke, only lousy comedians who can't deliver them!" the server— Jay, apparently. boasts. Doesn't this guy have other customers to attend to? Good grief. You're tempted to point out that he's no better than those lousy comedians, but you're not that mean— and you definitely don't want to risk losing your job.

"Order number 38! One sarmale and one classic soulglad!" a worker calls out, providing a convenient distraction as you hastily grabbed the food and rush over to your bike— just in time for your phone to start chiming with multiple notifications.

Fuming with frustration, you run a hand through your hair, pedaling away as fast as your legs can carry you to the designated location. One hand grips the handlebars tightly while the other clutches your phone, fingers jabbing at the screen as you send panicked voicemails to the careless customer.

"I'm on my way! I'll be there soon!" you breathe out, your voice strained with urgency, weaving through traffic with reckless abandon. You're so preoccupied that you didn't even bother with your helmet, leaving it hanging on the basket of your bike as you speed along. The wind rushes past you, whipping your hair back as you scream into your phone.

"I'm practically flying to your place. Just hold on!" you seethe, narrowly avoiding collisions with other vehicles. You swear you catch a glimpse of a pair of blue-haired siblings shooting you a skeptical glance as you whiz by. No one's going to meet their demise on my watch.

(Maybe a few might with the way you're on the verge of causing car crashes.)

With determination fueling every pedal, you push yourself to the limit, determined to reach the customer's location before they decide to relocate to another universe altogether.

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Upon stepping into the lounge of the apartment complex, you stand there, utterly flabbergasted.

The sight before you is nothing short of opulent. Everyone here is dressed to the nines in fancy attire, oozing sophistication and wealth. I mean, what did you expect? That the guy who ordered the food would settle for anything less than extravagance? 1800 credits for a soda?

But even knowing that, you weren't prepared for the sheer luxury of it all. Marble floors greet you the moment you enter, with plush velvet red sofas arranged in elegant clusters at every corner. The vases of plants adorning the marble countertops probably cost more than your entire monthly rent.

The sprawling expanse of rooms lining the halls seems to stretch on endlessly, giving you the impression that you've stumbled into a palace rather than an apartment complex. You can't help but feel like a humble peasant as you approach the lobby manager, your attire— a mishmash of sweaty clothes and a random jacket—paling in comparison to the impeccably tailored suits of the residents. Are you checking into an apartment or a castle?

What catches you off guard is the realization that most of the people milling about in this opulent setting are students. Students! You recognize familiar faces in the crowd— classmates from the same campus you attend.

"Hello, I'm here to deliver an order for room number ███," you murmur to the manager, noting the slight stress in her demeanor as she punches in the room number to confirm the request. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise when she directs you to the Platinum room.

The Platinum room? Your mind races with questions as you make your way through the halls, the extravagant surroundings only adding to your bewilderment. What kind of student lives in the Platinum room of an apartment complex like this?

Here you stand, face to face with the imposing wooden door adorned with intricate golden trimmings, feeling as though your bank account is slowly draining with each passing moment. You raise a hand to knock, furrowing your brows in confusion when there's no immediate answer.

"Hey, it's me. I'm here to deliver your food," you call out, giving the door another firm knock. Still, there's no response. Seriously?

Technically, you could just leave the food at his door and be done with it. But something about the luxuriousness of this apartment complex makes you hesitate. It wouldn't reflect well on you to simply abandon the delivery outside, especially in such an upscale setting. (You internally roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all.)

As the door finally creaks open, you're poised to unleash the most scathing side-eye you can muster— ready to give this guy a piece of your mind for keeping you waiting (and running). But as your gaze meets his, you freeze.

You'd seen his profile picture on the app before, but you'd doubted that a man so devastatingly handsome could possibly exist in real life. You'd convinced yourself that it was probably some sort of prank or scam, someone using a fake photo to lure in unsuspecting victims.

But now, standing before you, is a man who defies all logic. His golden, tousled locks frame a face so strikingly beautiful it steals your breath away. His eyes— oh, those eyes— they're like pools of sapphire surrounded by a halo of lavender. You feel your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment as you struggle to find your voice, your words caught in your throat like a lump of lead.

He gazes back at you, those mesmerizing eyes flickering with mild curiosity as he tilts his head inquisitively. "Hm? Ah, it's you," he says, breaking the spell of silence that had enveloped you. But you can hardly hear him over the thunderous pounding of your heart, which seems to be screaming one thing over and over again: He's even more breathtaking in person.

You mentally slap yourself, shaking off the remnants of your daze as you stumble over your words, handing him his bag of food with trembling hands. "R-right, sorry to keep you waiting. Here's your food, sir," you manage to stutter out, inwardly cursing yourself for apologizing. Why am I apologizing? He's the one who's in the wrong here!

He lets out a soft chuckle, and you swear the sun must be finding its way to shine through the walls of the complex as your ears burn at the mere sound of his laugh. It's so calming, so captivating, that you feel like you're floating in a dream.

"No, no. Don't apologize. It's my fault for entering the wrong address," he reassures you, his voice smooth as silk. His fingers brush over yours as he reaches for his food, sending an electric shock through your entire body at the brief contact. You can't help but notice how his gaze softens as he opens the plastic bag to check the contents, a small hum of satisfaction escaping his lips at the sight of the still-warm food. You decide not to question it— perhaps he's just feeling a bit homesick.

You continue to awkwardly stand there, your hands fidgeting nervously in your pockets as you struggle to find something to say. "So, uh, your total is 6500 credits, sir," you finally manage to blurt out, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

He blinks in mild surprise, a small "ah" escaping his lips before he nods, disappearing momentarily back into his apartment. He returns a moment later, wallet in hand, a mischievous smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Since I've troubled you so much, how much do you want me to pay you back with, hm?" he teases, his tone playful.

You stare at him, your mouth hanging open in disbelief. Well, he did put you through quite a bit of trouble, making you trek all over town just to deliver two measly items. But still, the thought of asking for more money makes you feel incredibly awkward and embarrassed. "No, that…that won't be necessary," you choke out, feeling your palms grow sweaty with nervousness. "There's no need—"

"I insist," he interrupts, his tone firm yet strangely charming.

Well, damn. You're caught between feeling grateful for his generosity and feeling utterly mortified at the prospect of asking for more payment. But with his insistence ringing in your ears, you find yourself reluctantly nodding in agreement, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"1000 credits is fine," you mumble, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of asking for more money.

"Just 1000?" he repeats, narrowing his eyes at you with a slight frown. "That's quite low, considering the trouble I've put you through," he adds, his fingers skimming through his wallet in search of more credits.

As he rummages through his wallet, you can't help but notice his student card peeking out from among the bills. Your lips part in shock as you realize he's a student at the IPC—yeah, he's definitely rich. You should have haggled for more money.

"Are— do you major in accounting…?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself, your eyes darting to his card. He hums in response, shaking his head. "Nah, fashion. I can't count."

The two of you maintain eye contact for a few moments, and you find yourself staring at him dumbly while he gives you a cat-like grin.

"Did you actually buy that? I'm joking. I major in both finance and accounting."

You can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at his flippant attitude. This man radiates fuck-boy energy, and you're starting to have second thoughts. Does he get a pass because of his looks, or is it because of his looks that he gets a pass?

"Oh," is all you can manage to answer as he hands you a random stack of credits.

You stare dumbfounded at his outstretched hand, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you glance back and forth between the stash of credits and his gaze. "Huh? How much is this?" you inquire, still hesitant to accept the payment.

"Does it really matter?" he scoffs, nudging you playfully. "1000 credits is way too little, and I don't like scamming people. I don't stoop that low," he chuckles, his tone light despite the seriousness of the situation. When you don't budge, he feels a twitch in his eye before suddenly grabbing your jacket and tugging at your pockets, causing you to let out a startled yelp. "Hey! What the hell—"

Ignoring your protest, he shoves the credits inside your pocket with lazy nonchalance, letting out a whistle of satisfaction before releasing his hold. "There. Now just think of it as you were robbed in reverse," he quips, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"That's not helping!"

"It's not like your boss or whoever's in charge of the app will check your pockets, right? I'm just giving you tips, there's nothing wrong with that," he shrugs, struggling to hold back a snort at how visibly annoyed you look. If this were any other person, like an 'actual' adult or man, he'd brush it off and just toss a random wad of tips your way before politely closing the door. Maybe he'd pause for a pretty lady— well, you are a pretty lady.

But he can tell you're a student, just like him, probably working your ass off just to make ends meet. Hey, he doesn't judge. Plus, it's kind of fun to tease people occasionally, and you remind him of another acquaintance of his who's majoring in medicine.

"So, anything else?" he murmurs, leaning casually against the doorframe, a small smirk playing on his lips.

You can't help but feel a mix of irritation and amusement at his nonchalant attitude. "No, that's it," you reply tersely, your voice tinged with annoyance. You can't wait to get out of here and put this bizarre encounter behind you.

He nods in acknowledgment, his smirk widening ever so slightly. "Alright then. Take care, pretty," he says, offering you a lazy wave before shutting the door gently behind him.

As you make your way back to your bike, you can't help but replay the encounter in your mind, wondering just what the hell just happened. This guy is definitely one of a kind, that's for sure.

As you swiftly exit the complex and pedal back to the train station, a dull headache begins to gnaw at your temples. You have other pending orders waiting for you back in Luofu, and the thought of having to navigate through the city once more only adds to your growing exhaustion. Yet, amidst the fatigue, a small swell of warmth tugs at your heart at the thought of not getting his number.

Sure, he provided his contact information when he placed the order, but with a guy like him, you're almost certain it's just his business line or something equally impersonal. Besides, it would feel a bit creepy to text him out of the blue. What would you even say?

'Hey, I thought you were cute after making me run laps around the city and deal with an annoying server, hmu?'

No way, that's beyond pathetic. Plus, you'd risk losing face.

Lost in your thoughts, you arrive back at the train station, your hands absentmindedly reaching up to touch your flushed cheeks, still tingling from the encounter. He's undeniably attractive, and you can't shake the nagging feeling that he probably already has a girlfriend— or several. Besides, you should be focusing on your studies, not getting involved with some rich fuck boy.

Ding!

Huh?

You're snapped out of your reverie by the sound of a notification chiming on your phone. With a curious frown, you unlock your device to see what it is.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you read the notification, your eyes widening in disbelief. What the hell is wrong with this guy? 10,000 credits? Is he insane?

With trembling hands, you quickly fish out the money he gave you from your pockets, counting through the stack under your breath to keep your panic in check. "6, 7, 8… 9…" you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you realize he gave you thrice the amount needed.

Your fingers tap frantically on your phone screen as you type out a response, your words rushed and panicked. "Dude, you gave me thrice the amount needed already—stop."

As you stare at the screen, your mind reels with disbelief. He just willingly gave you his phone number— and he thinks you're cute?

It's a little funny, in a surreal sort of way, that the entire conversation is still ongoing within the food service app. Here you are, exchanging private messages with each other despite the platform's intended purpose.

You gulp, feeling the heat rise to the tips of your ears. Your brows knit together in a mixture of disbelief and slight annoyance, the memory of the earlier encounter still fresh in your mind. After all, he did put you through quite a bit of trouble with that address mix-up.

Should you add him?

"…"

You're caught off guard as a strong gust of wind rushes past you, fluttering your hair in its wake as the Astral Express train arrives. The station immediately becomes crowded, and you struggle to maneuver your bike into the passenger compartment as people squeeze past you. Finally, you manage to park your bike and squeeze yourself into an empty corner to avoid blocking anyone.

As everyone settles into their seats and grips the handles, the doors of the train shut, and the conductor announces the next stop. You let out a sigh, knowing it'll be another 20 or so stops before you reach Luofu…

Glancing back at your phone, your fingers tap onto it mindlessly, the cabin now quiet save for the occasional cries of children or chatter between friends.

Your gaze softens as a new notification pops up.

Aventurine (loser of a customer) is now saved into your contacts.

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Ding!

"Good evening to you again, pretty delivery lady."