#worst workout mistakes

[mercvry-glow]

Hey Lover

parings. jack abbot x younger!reader

warnings. age gap (jack late 40s, reader late 20s/early 30s), hospital setting, reader has a sprained ankle, reader isn't treated the best by the ed, nothing too serious overall, reader is considered to be bratty, some suggestive parts but it’s just comments between reader and jack, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. I love jack and younger reader, I felt there was a lot of me in this one lol! since so many of you requested this hopefully y'all don't find her demeanor annoying, I read it as the reader is a bit scared and defensive knowing that the ed doesn't particularly like her for whatever reason. but as always please enjoy and feedback is appreciated as always!

wc. 2200+

You could admit you weren’t the easiest person to get along with.

You liked your oat milk lattes extra hot, your lip gloss to match your water bottle, and your schedule planned down to the exact minute. You didn’t do chaos. And people around here—meaning, this godforsaken hospital where your fiancé worked twelve-hour trauma shifts—tended to mistake that kind of organization for being high-maintenance.

And Fine. You were a little high-maintenance. But you weren’t mean… And you definitely didn’t deserve to be sitting in some back hallway of the PTMC ER with your hair still in a claw clip, mascara running down your cheeks, and one ankle the size of a grapefruit.

You sighed dramatically, shifting on the gurney. Your baby blue workout hoodie was streaked with tears and did little to hide the shame you felt in this very moment. Your phone was cracked. And worst of all—your favorite pilates socks had blood on them.

Today was not your day.

“I’ve been here for forty-five minutes,” you muttered, crossing your arms and wincing when your movement tugged your wrapped foot. “And if one more person tells me to ‘just wait,’ I’m going to scream.”

The nurse behind the little desk—tight bun, tired eyes, and feeling high and mighty—didn’t even look up. “Ma’am, we’re triaging other trauma patients—”

“I am also a trauma,” you said, gesturing at your foot. “Just because it happened in pilates at 5am and not a bar doesn’t make it less traumatic. I heard a crack.”

From across the nurses’ station, someone mumbled, “No wonder Dr. Abbot keeps her a secret.”

You froze. The room spun a little, but not from the injury.

Jack.

You blinked hard, biting down on your tongue. You knew what they thought. What they always thought. That Jack Abbot—with his calm voice, sharp eyes, and salt-and-pepper curls—couldn’t possibly be serious about you. That you were too much. Too loud. Too shiney. Too young.

But he’d never made you feel like that. Not once.

You tucked your phone tighter under your arm and exhaled through your nose, preparing to wait another hour—until the door to another room swung open into the hallway.

There he was.

Jack in a white long-sleeve under his scrubs, his stethoscope around his neck, and his hazel eyes already scanning the room. When he saw you—half-dressed like a ladies health magazine, clutching a cracked phone and looking entirely out of place—his whole face changed.

“ Are you serious right now?” he muttered, storming toward you. “Why didn’t anyone tell me you were here?”

“She didn’t ask for you,” someone muttered.

Jack didn’t even look at them. He was crouched in front of you already, gently brushing his hand over your shin, checking the wrap someone had done.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you said quietly, lip wobbling just a bit. “It’s just an ankle. And, like… mild humiliation.”

His jaw ticked. “It’s not just anything if you’re hurt.”

“I fell trying to do that stupid split thing you like—”

He gave you a look.

“Okay, gracefully collapsed trying to do the split thing. And my instructor screamed, so then I screamed, and I cried in front of a room full of strangers.”

“Sweetheart.”

“I ruined my socks.”

Jack sighed and kissed the top of your knee, just above the bandage. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Take me home? Get me out of this place in a timely manner?”

His laugh was quiet but real, and he kissed you again, this time on the forehead.

Behind him, someone coughed pointedly. He stood, slowly.

“She needs a reevaluation. Now.”

The nurse gave a half-hearted “x-ray is backed up” shrug.

Jack’s tone turned colder than ice. “Then she’s priority after critical. Or get someone who cares and tell them why I’m walking my injured fiancée to get care, myself.”

That got people moving.

Jack helped you up, one arm tight around your waist. You clung to him dramatically, batting your lashes like you weren’t totally milking the attention—but under it, you could feel his heart racing.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing up.

His voice dropped low. “Not until you are.”

You smiled, a little smug. “Told you pilates was dangerous.”

He just shook his head, holding you closer. “I should’ve never let you sign up.”

“You didn’t let me. You said, and I quote, ‘try not to flirt with your instructor this time.’”

“Yeah, well. Next time I’m going with you.”

“You in pilates?” You snorted. “Please. Your hips are too tight.”

“I have very flexible hips, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Bed's ready,” a night shift nurse called.

You smirked at Jack. “To be continued.”

He groaned. “This is why they all hate you.”

You winked. “They only hate me ‘cause you love me, other than that I don’t know.”

And by the way he looked at you—like he’d walk through fire just to kiss you again—you knew you were absolutely right.

The space they gave you wasn’t fancy, but it was private. Probably borrowed from someone in observation or cleared just for Jack’s peace of mind. He didn’t say a word as he helped you onto the bed, tucking a blanket over your legs like you were made of glass.

“I’m not dying,” you said, wrinkling your nose as he fussed with your ankle.

“You’re really annoying,” he muttered. But his hands were gentle, steady as always, checking your range of motion and rewrapping your foot with crisp, even lines.

You watched him work, the little furrow between his brows, the tiny flecks of gold in his hazel eyes that always showed up when he was worried. His curls were a little messy, probably from running his hand through them a hundred times today, and his sleeves were pushed up, exposing the veins on his forearms you’d once drunkenly referred to as "your Roman Empire."

“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.

“You’re so hot,” you replied simply.

Jack huffed but didn’t argue.

He finished taping your ankle and stood, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s a sprain, not a break, but you need to stay off of it for at least a week. Actually stay off it, not your version of resting.”

“Which is?”

“Pilates in a boot.”

You grinned. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“I’ll cancel your gym membership myself.”

You gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I pay for it, try me.”

You didn’t win that stare-down. He kissed your forehead again instead.

“Get some rest. I’ll check in after I get off here in a few.”

You pouted. “You’re leaving me?”

Jack gave you a look. “I’m an attending. I can’t just disappear mid-surge.”

“Tell Robby I said please, I saw him walking around.”

That got a faint laugh out of him. “No more sass. Be good.”

You made an angelic face. “I’m always good.”

He was halfway out the door when you added, “And please ask someone if they can bring me an ice water! Or tell them you’ll do it.”

“I just said—”

You batted your lashes.

Jack muttered something under his breath and disappeared into the hallway.

Twenty minutes later, Jack was standing near the lockers, hands on hips, when Robby stepped in with two bottled waters and a raised eyebrow.

“Your girl okay?” he asked, handing Jack one.

Jack nodded, cracking the lid open. “Sprained her ankle trying to impress a pilates instructor, apparently.”

“Sounds like her.” Robby sat beside him, stretching his legs out with a sigh. “She looked like she was about to throw hands when the nurse offered her ice chips.”

Jack huffed out a quiet laugh. “That tracks.”

“She really hates being fussed over, huh?”

Jack shot him a look.

“Okay,” Robby amended, hands up in mock surrender, “unless it’s by you.”

Jack didn’t argue. He leaned back against the wall, letting the silence hang a minute before Michael spoke again—more careful this time.

“She’s got some… strong energy going on today.”

Jack didn’t respond right away. Just glanced down at the bottle in his hands, then back up. “You don’t have to pretend you like her, man.”

“I’m not trying to judge,” Robby said, more gently. “You know that. I just… never pictured you with someone so… you know.”

“She’s also the first person I’ve met who makes me laugh like hell and still checks if I’ve eaten when I forget to eat. And she always puts me first. Even when it costs her.”

Robby’s brow creased slightly, more thoughtful than anything. “I get that. I do.. She always asks if I’m looking after you, like I’m the one keeping you alive.”

Jack’s lips twitched. “You kinda are.”

“Okay, but—” Robby pointed a finger at him. “She brings you little smoothie things and reminds you to call your sister and randomly knows what you need on your worst days. I see that. Doesn’t mean I fully get her, but I’m not against her.”

Jack finally relaxed, his shoulders dropping a bit.

“She’s not always easy,” he admitted. “But she’s real. And when it’s just the two of us? She’s… soft. Like, the kind of soft I didn’t know I wanted. She brings out all this stupid shit in me.”

Robby tilted his head. “You’re kind of a sap.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Jack deadpanned.

Robby smirked, bumping his shoulder. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Just then, a nurse poked her head around the corner, clearly amused. “Dr. Abbot? Your fiancée says she can’t find her lip balm and her lips feel like they’re about to crack. She says quote—‘You know the one I mean.’”

Jack didn’t even blink. “Little pink tube, side pocket of her purse. Tell her I’ll grab it.”

The nurse grinned and ducked back out.

Robby blinked slowly. “You really do know her inside out.”

Jack shrugged, already standing. “She’d do the same for me.”

As he disappeared down the hall, Robby watched him go, still smiling. He might not fully understand your dynamic—but he didn’t have to. Jack was happy, the girl loved him, and honestly? That was more than enough as a friend. 

A bit later you had barely settled into your space—fluffy blanket over your lap, perfectly stacked hospital pillows behind your back, and a comically large cup a nurse had left on the tray—when a soft knock hit the doorframe.

You glanced up, lip gloss freshly reapplied despite the fact you were still in the hospital.

Michael leaned in with his hands in the pockets of his blue hoodue, looking not nearly as judgmental as you were expecting.

“Hey,” he said, voice lower than usual. “Jack’s finishing up his last consult, so I figured I’d check in. How’s the ankle?”

You gave a bright (but very practiced) smile. “Swollen, hideous, and humiliating. But I’m surviving. Thank you.”

Robby chuckled lightly, stepping further in. “Well, the good news is you’ll walk again.”

“Oh, thank god. I was already mentally rearranging my living room for crutches.” You paused, then added, “I promise I wasn’t being dramatic earlier. I just… hate being in here. Even not as a patient, hospitals just freak me out.”

His brow lifted slightly. “You hang around one enough.”

“Yeah, but usually I’m here with iced coffee and lunch for my fiance, not a bum ankle.”

He smiled at that, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “You really do come in like a hurricane when Jack’s on shift.”

You looked down, suddenly fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Yeah. Sorry if I’ve been too much. I know I’m not exactly… subtle.”

Robby tilted his head. “You’re not.”

You blinked, and he quickly added, “But you clearly care about him. And that counts for a lot.”

You looked up again, surprised.

“I wasn’t sure at first,” he continued, more thoughtful now. “You’re different from what I imagined for him. But then I saw how he talks about you. How he looks at you.”

You felt your face heat up.

“He’s a lot lighter with you around,” Robby said simply. “Which is wild, because I didn’t even think that was possible.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “He’s not really the warm-and-fuzzy type.”

“No, but he’s yours,” Robby said with a small shrug. “And that seems to be working out.”

You stared at him for a second, then leaned back against your pillows. “So… you don’t hate me?”

“I never hated you,” Robby said honestly. “I just didn’t know you.”

You let out a soft breath, genuinely touched. “Well. You’ve officially been upgraded to my favorite of Jack’s coworkers.”

“That’s a low bar,” he quipped. “But I’ll take it.”

The curtain rustled suddenly and Jack poked his head in, curls messier than beforer and his hazel eyes immediately scanning you.

“You good?” he asked.

“She’s fine,” Robby said before you could speak, already backing up toward the door. “Being brave. And dramatic. But mostly brave.”

Jack gave you a long, warm look. “Dramatic is her default.”

You stuck your tongue out at him.

Michael was already halfway out the door. “Later, lovebirds.”

Once it was just the two of you, Jack pulled up a chair beside your bed and took your hand.

“You okay?”

“I will be,” you said softly. “Especially now that I know your work bestie doesn’t think I’m a total disaster.”

Jack smirked. “You are a total disaster. But you’re my disaster.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“Shut up and kiss me, Dr. Abbot.”

And he did.

mercvry-glow 2025

[literaryavenger]

Obsessed

Summary: Your crush on Bucky may be getting out of control.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Warnings: Dramatic Reader. Language. Angst. Fluff. My poor attempts at being Funny.

Word Count: 1.4K I'm physically incapable of making anything short.

A/N: I wrote this in like 2 hours and I don't even know what this is, just... Yeah.

Masterlist

This is terrible.

This is the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

This is the worst thing that's ever happened to anyone. It's just the most horrible, dreadful, awful thing that could’ve ever happen to yo-

“Would you stop staring at him for fuck's sakes!” Natasha's hissed words make your eyes snap to her and finally away from the metal armed Supersoldier lifting weights. Shirtless.

You don't know when Bucky stopped feeling self-conscious enough to allow him to workout in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, but it has become literal torture for you.

Needless to say, Bucky's current level of undress is making it impossible for you to concentrate on the stretching you're supposed to be doing before your sparring match with Natasha.

But your very thoughtful and not at all exasperated friend makes sure to keep your attention on her during the entirety of our match by thoroughly kicking your ass.

What a lovely best friend you have.

Anyways.

Your entire mood shifts with one not intentionally overheard conversation. Steve enters the gym and goes straight to Bucky, who was putting his weight set down.

“She’s here!” Is all the blonde says to his friend and your heart stops at the way Bucky’s face lights up with a smile, not needing any more information before following Steve out of the gym.

She’s here? Who the fuck is she? Does Bucky have a girlfriend? And most importantly, she’s here? In the Compound?

Natasha can almost see the gears turning in your brain as you make no attempts to move from the mat after she knocked you on your ass for the hundredth time today. You didn’t even seem to notice her hand offering you help to get up, your eyes still looking where Bucky was just a moment ago, staring at nothing in particular while your brain drowns in your overthinking.

Natasha sighs and decides to end the match here, kneeling down in front of you and placing her hands on your shoulders, shaking you gently to snap you out of it.

“Don’t overthink this.” She tells you when she’s sure she has your attention. “It’s probably just a friend visiting.” She tries to comfort you, but you both know that’s highly unlikely. 

Bucky has no other friends outside the team. He doesn’t know how to talk to civilians anymore after everything he’s been through, and gave up trying to after the hundredth time he saw fear in a person’s eyes just by recognizing him. So his friend circle now includes the team and the agents of SHIELD that are not intimidated by him. Point is, every friend he has already lives in the Compound.

So who the fuck is here just to see him? 

Natasha can see that this is a lost battle, your eyes barely concentrating on her as you start drowning in your mind again. All she can do when you’re like this is try to distract you and keep you out of your head. So she takes your hand and helps you up, leading the way to the common room to watch one of your beloved romcoms together, because that’s how much she loves you.

Big mistake.

“Y/N! Y/N!” The excited high-pitched voice came just seconds after you set foot in the common room. And that’s about the only warning you got before the excited 5-year-old jumped on you, your reflexes thankfully quick enough to catch her.

“Hi, Maguna!” You say while chuckling as the little girl hugs you. “You seem excited today. Did you get into the sugar cabinet again?”

Morgan giggles at your joke and shakes her hand before taking your face in her little hands and dramatically saying, “No! A princess came to visit uncle Bucky! A real princess.”

You frown, confused at what she’s talking about, before you look around the room and finally notice everyone else in it. Pepper and Tony are on the couch, looking at you lovingly as you interact with their daughter.

You love Morgan, she’s like a little sister. You never miss an opportunity to babysit her and you spend as much time with her as you can. She also loves you, out of all the Avengers you’re her favorite, much to everyone’s dismay. She calls them all ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’, but you’re just Y/N. You’re her big sister, you don’t need a title. Which is why you're the only one other than Tony allowed to call her 'Maguna'.

Then you notice the other people in the room: Steve, Bucky and… Shuri. The fucking Princess of Wakanda, standing in the common room of the Avengers Compound and just smiling at you as you carry Morgan.

You’ve never met Shuri, but you know she played an important part in deprogramming the Winter Soldier out of Bucky, and you’re grateful to her for it. She’s important to Bucky, and you can’t believe you forgot Bucky has Wakandan friends.

You put Morgan down on the ground again and the little girl takes your hand and aggressively steers you towards where Steve, Bucky and Shuri are standing, clearly thrilled to be in the presence of a real life princess.

“Hi, I’m Shuri.” She offers you her hand when you get close enough and you shake it with your free hand while introducing yourself.

There’s a bit of an awkward pause and you’re about to say the first thing that pops into your head when Morgan thankfully saves you by pulling on your hand, making you look at her. She tells you to come close and, chuckling, you kneel beside her so she can whisper conspiratorially in your ear.

“She’s a princess and she’s really pretty, but I still like you better.” She whispers and you can’t help but laugh.

God, you love this little girl.

You smile brightly at her and launch a tickle attack, her adorable giggles filling the room as everyone looks at you two with warm smiles.

Your attention is solely on Morgan, until you unintentionally hear the whispered conversation between Shuri and Bucky.

“So, this is the girl, huh? She’s pretty.” Shuri says and your heart skips a beat. 

You glance at them as discreetly as you can while still tickling Morgan, only to find Bucky looking at someone behind you. You turn around less carefully and see Sharon just entered the room, and she's also looking at Bucky with a smirk. You quickly return your attention to Morgan, but your mind is going a thousand miles a minute.

Of course he’d like someone more like Sharon. She’s pretty, she’s talented, she’s a total badass and she’s not afraid to go after what she wants.

She’s not a mass of anxiety in the shape of a woman that overthinks everything and becomes a flustered mess every time she’s even near Bucky.

It’s time to admit it to yourself: Bucky just doesn’t see you like that and you need to move on. 

Natasha is right, your obsession with Bucky needs to end.

What you don’t see is Bucky almost glaring at Sharon because he knows damn well why she’s smirking. She came in just before Shuri whispered to Bucky, when he was very intent on looking at you with heart eyes as you played with Morgan.

Just before you looked at him, Bucky noticed Sharon and he had to hold in a groan at her because he knows that she’s never gonna let him live this down.

Both Sharon and Steve have tried really hard to convince Bucky that you like him back and he should make a move on you. But Bucky, being as stubborn as they come, never believes them.

He obviously makes you uncomfortable, you’re always stuttering when he’s around and you avoid eye contact whenever possible. He’s just glad that you can stand his presence enough for the two of you to work together when necessary and to hang out with the rest of the team without problems.

So he just enjoys looking at you from a distance. He loves watching you play with Morgan and his thoughts always run wild with images of you playing like that with kids that are yours and his.

But he knows that’s never going to happen. Why would you like a damaged, PTSD ridden soldier that can’t even make it through the night without waking up from a nightmare? No, that’s definitely not your type.

Bucky accepts the truth: He doesn’t deserve you and you don’t see him like that anyways. 

It doesn’t matter that Sam thinks he’s obsessed, that won’t stop him from looking at you whenever he’s lucky enough to get a glimpse of his little ray of sunshine.

Requested taglist: @vicmc624 @matchat3a @nerd-without-a-cause @sapphirebarnes @cjand10 @mostlymarvelgirl @julvrs @blackhawkfanatic @lillianacristina @armystay89 @imdoingbetternow @spookyparadisesheep @elizalexwil @aceofhearts25 @dontworryboutitsweetheartxx-blog @justab-eautifulmess @buggy14 @thedonswife13

[supercap2319]

“Joaquin Torres? Meet Y/N Maximoff. Y/N Maximoff? Meet Joaquin Torres.” Sam introduced, as a small smile plagued his face. Sam had been trying to round up any remaining Avengers that weren't retired, dead, off world, or just plain ignoring his phone calls and text messages.

Ever since the whole incident with Ross, Stern, and the Celestial Island, Sam had been thinking of ways to prepare Joaquin for the worst of it, when it comes to being an Avenger. Getting shot out of the sky was bad enough, but there were far worse things that could happen if Joaquin didn't have all his bases covered. Enter Y/N Maximoff.

Joaquin smiles as he stands there in a dark green wife beater and black workout shorts. He had secretly been hoping that Sam would loosen the reins a little bit, and give Joaquin another chance to prove himself in the field. He might have messed during the F-18s battle, but he learned from his mistakes.

“Maximoff, huh? Like Scarlet Witch Maximoff? Because that's pretty cool.” Joaquin said, leaning the weight rack. He was trying not to sound like a total geek, but he was failing miserably at it.

The young man in front of Sam and Joaquin chuckles lightly. “I guess it's pretty cool, but probably not as cool as you, Joaquin Torres. At least, that's what Sam's says.” Y/N smiled.

“I don't know if I should be happy or offended by Sam talking about me behind my back.” Joaquin said. He gives a narrowed look at the Cap, who just smiles at him. As if to say, ‘Who me? I would never talk about you when you're not present in the room.’ Which is a total lie. Joaquin decides in his head.

“Sam was just telling me about your last mission, and how it didn't go the way you planned.” Y/N explained. Joaquin frowns at that. He knew that he messed up. Tried to do too much at once, but his heart was in the right place. That should count for something, right? “It wasn't an ideal situation, but I pulled through and gained a new perspective on how to better prepare myself.”

“I am so happy you said that because I'm gonna have Y/N here show you the ropes. Give you even more insight.” Sam said.

“So, we're gonna be working together?”

“Training. Working. Eating. The whole nine yards.” Y/N said. “It'll be fun. Especially, in the presence of the new Falcon. Green is definitely your color.” Y/N winks.

The new Falcon felt his face heat up at that action. He knew Y/N was just messing around, but Joaquin couldn't help the way his stomach clenched, and his heart fluttered. He flashed Y/N a cocky smile to mask his nervousness. “Yeah, obviously. In the presence of all this.” Joaquin gestures towards his body.

“Alright you two. Am I gonna have to get you guys a hotel room?” Sam jokes.

“Only if it comes with the honeymoon package.” Y/N said.

Oh, Joaquin was definitely going to like this guy.

[reidsglasscs]

COULD YOU MAKE IT ANY MORE OBVIOUS?

✸ pairing: rockstar!percy jackson x ballerina! reader

✸ synopsis: you and percy jackson are absolutely, totally, by no means dating … as far as the public knows

✸ warnings: none!

✸ notes: THIS WAS THE CUTEST IDEA EVER, I LOVE IT SM!!! i’m down to do more parts if anyone wants… 👀 requested! also, pls understand the reference in the title 🙏

exhausting was the only word for it, your life. and as of lately, there was so much going on that you could barely see straight.

your ballet company had always had long hours, but now that the performance that you were not only in, but the star of, was quickly approaching, it was chaos in sparkles and pointe shoes.

wake up, rehearse, workout, rehearse, meetings, rehearse, costume fittings, rehearse, sleep, repeat.

you had just finished up with your final rehearsal for the night when your manager called you into an impromptu meeting and shoved a screen in your face.

eyes blurry from lack of sleep, it had taken a moment for you to see the image clearly, but when you did, your heart dropped all the way down to your sore feet.

a screenshot from a news article in some random pop culture tabloid with your name plastered across the caption along with another you knew: percy jackson.

international rockstar and lead singer of the sensational boy band, greek symphony, percy jackson was all the talk in gossip magazines and blogs, a modern-day heartthrobs for girls to go crazy over.

he was a troublemaker at best, holding the worst record yet best reputation among his band mates. he was dangerous, mischievous, and so undeniably hot. and therefore, so totally off limits.

in the world of shoebiz, the two of you fell on opposite sides of the spectrum. you were a peaceful black swan, whereas he was the thunderous wave that disturbed your peaceful gliding across the water’s surface, sending your world into a frenzy by a mere touch.

but as off limits and unlikely of an idea as he was, he also happened to be confined to the same home city as you in new york. could they really blame you if you said things just … happened?

“what is this?” you asked, looking dead at a photo that you knew was definitely you.

apparently, you and your clandestine lover hadn’t been as careful as you usually were and a photo had been captured by a rouge paparazzi.

luckily, it was dark and showed none of your face and about half of his side profile, and therefore, easy to play off as a mistake.

“according to the article, it’s you scurrying about with the rockstar percy jackson,” your manager told you, a sour look on her face.

“percy jackson? are you kidding me?” you gasped, lips twisted in a disgusted frown. “i’ve never even met that guy, much less been scurrying around the city with him!”

two lies in one sentence, you were on a roll.

“well, according to just about every celebrity news outlet right now, you’re his latest victim,” said the head of your pr team, piper. “and this picture is their proof.”

“that’s not me!” you argued. it was you.

you could pinpoint exactly when and where that photo was taken, actually. it had been last week, when you and percy had to sneak out the back of his apartment to avoid his bandmate, leo valdez, seeing you all piled up in percy’s arms while watching pride and prejudice.

apparently, paparazzis liked lurking around the backend of apartment complexes.

“yn.” said piper, giving you a pointed look. “are you sure?”

“i think i know what i look like, pipes,” you scoffed. “he may be running around with some girl, but it’s not me. please, make sure everybody knows that.”

at your words, your team got started on damage control, while you snatched up your things and headed home to your apartment, right where the very boy you’d just convinced everyone that you had never met was waiting for you.

you dropped your dance bag to the floor the second the door to your home closed, exhaling a deep breath as the anxieties and physical abuse of the day hit you all at once.

as you leaned against the closed door and blew a tuft of hair from your eyes, the familiar face of your boyfriend rounded the corner.

“there she is!” he grinned, wielding a spatula as he threw his arms out dramatically. “dinner’s almost ready. how’s my favorite girl?”

“exhausted,” you sighed with a smile. “sorry for being so late, something came up.”

“ah, don’t worry about it,” he told you. “i put the spare key back, by the way.”

you already knew that, of course. he put it back where it belonged every time he used it, but never failed to let you know.

six months you’d been doing this— sneaking around behind the backs of your friends and the media, falling further in love with someone you weren’t even supposed to be acquainted with inside the private four walls of each of your apartments and secret meeting spots.

you followed him into your little quaint kitchen, where he went to flipping a final pancake on the stovetop.

“looks good, honey,” you smiled tiredly. “but—“

“oh no, no buts,” he whined.

“but,” you insisted. “we have an issue. someone snagged a picture of us last week and today it was published. my team’s already working on getting it down, but it’s done some damage.”

you pulled out your phone and showed him a picture of the article as he turned the heat off on the stove. he took a moment to squint and it and evaluate before saying,

“okay, that’s not as bad as i expected. jase called about an hour ago and told me all about it, but he said he denied that it was me to mr. d.”

thank the heavens above for jason grace (the bassist in percy’s band and member who had a better head on his shoulders than the other three of them combined).

“i dunno perce, it’s a pretty good shot of you,” you told him.

“i think all shots of me are pretty good ones, if i do say so myself.” he smirked, closing the already small gap between the two of you as he leaned a hand against the counter on either side of you, trapping you in.

“i bet you do, rockstar,” you replied, looking up at him through tired lids and half-smudged mascara. “I remember it being a pretty good view, personally. except for leo screaming his head off inside.”

percy chuckled, his breath fanning across your cheek. “the price we pay for privacy.”

“apparently not private enough,” you sighed, the headline of the article seared into your mind. gosh, you could already see yourself getting dragged on twitter. “oh, what’re we gonna do if people do find us out?”

percy could see the creases between your brows and the doubt swimming through your irises, a light, almost unnoticeable path of lilac underneath your eyes. you were worried and tired, and he couldn’t be having any of that.

“i don’t think it’d be so bad,” he shrugged, his hands closing in to rest on your hips. “i mean, i know both our bosses would be out for blood, but it’d be worth it for people to know i have you.”

“you want people to know you have me?” you asked, a small, trace of a smile creeping up on the corners of your lips.

“do i want people to know i have a beautiful, smart, sweetheart ballerina for a girlfriend? hell yeah, i do.” he answered. “eventually, y’know.”

your smile appeared now, reaching up to your eyes and hiding away the tiredness in them. percy loved that smile.

“how soon do you think eventually is?” you asked, draping your arms over his shoulders as his face leaned closer to yours.

“as soon as you want it to be, pretty girl,” he answered. he then leaned all the way in, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that melted away all the tension in your muscles as he pulled you in close.

when he leaned away, you chased his lips and landed another peck to the corner of his mouth and then another to his nose, just for good measure.

“now,” he smiled. “let’s forget about the stupid public for a little while and eat, yeah?”

[sunsets-and-crows]

I Wanna Be Yours - Chapter 1

Pairing: Sylus X Reader

Words: 4.8K

- - -

Tasked with infiltrating the life of Sylus, the most wanted man in the N109 zone, you're torn between what is right and feels right, blurring the line between duty and desire. As danger escalates, you must decide whether to carry out your mission or succumb to the magnetic pull of the man you're meant to destroy. In this game of power and obsession, betrayal could cost you everything.

Content warnings ⚠️

Dark Themes, Yandere! Reader and Yandere! Sylus! Power play. Violence and Gore. Smut (in later chapters). Stalking/surveillance. Reader slowly losing her mind maybe. Sylus being hot and a menace.

If you feel there’s any other warnings I need to add then please reach out and let me know!

You’d woken up too early. One of those mornings where your eyes snapped open and your brain decided to start doing laps well before the sun even bothered to show up. Anticipation thrummed under your skin, buzzing through your veins like static. There was a charged suspense hovered in the air. Everyone at the Hunter’s Association could sense it. Something big was coming. 

Captain Jenna had pulled you aside before you left work the night before, quiet voice and sharp eyes. “Come and see me first thing tomorrow morning. I’ve got new mission details for you.” This was not a suggestion. It was an order, one that came wrapped in secrecy and spelled out nothing good. 

So you did what you always did when nerves got the better of you: breakfast, workout, shower. All before sunrise. You’d regret it later when you were half-asleep at your desk, but at least the routine helped. 

Now, sitting across from Captain Jenna, in the dim glow of the ops room, you weren’t so sure.

She didn’t speak at first,, just scrolled through her data pad, the flickering blue light casting harsh shadows across her face. Her expression was unreadable, as always, but her gaze had a new edge, sharper than usual, more assessing. 

You were used to mission briefings, had gone through so many in the past, but something about this one felt different, heavier. Dangerous. 

Finally, she spoke. “The N109 zone.” She didn’t look up. “What do you know about it?”

You blinked. “Uh… I've heard rumours, mostly. I’ve read reports, but I’ve never been there.”

Jenna hummed. “It’s not a place people walk into and survive. Especially not outsiders.” 

You sat up a little straighter, fingers twitching in your lap. “I think I understand how it all works out there. The risks.”

“You don’t.” She tapped the pad and a projection flared to life between you. The N109 zone.  Sprawling clusters of decrepit structures, flickering neon lights and seedy underground hubs all compiled together in a city whose streets more resembled veins than roads. It looked almost abandoned but everyone knew that the N109 zone was far from empty. 

“This is where we’re sending you.” 

Your stomach twisted. Reports and projections weren’t necessary to know what the N109 was about. Everyone in the Association knew. It was the underworld’s favourite playground. Smugglers, mercs, traffickers. The worst of the worst. And at the centre of it all-

“Sylus Qin,” Captain Jenna said, like she’d read your mind. “He runs the zone like it’s his personal empire. And we want him.”

You froze. 

Sylus Qin. 

You’d heard stories, of course, everyone had. He had the type of reputation that entirely preceded him. Brilliant. Brutal. Untouchable. He was the reason for countless operations that turned south and why some hunters categorically refused to even enter the N109 zone. 

“We’re assigning you to bring him in,” Captain Jenna said. 

Everything in your head jammed to a stop. “Me?”

She switched off the projections and fixed you with a steely gaze, one betraying the seriousness of the conversation, as if you had at all misunderstood. 

"This is a high-stakes operation. The Hunter’s Association has been trying to bring Sylus in for years, but he’s too careful. He doesn’t make mistakes. He keeps his allies close and his enemies firmly in check. No one’s managed to get near him. We need you to do what others couldn’t. Get close, make him trust you enough to come willingly." 

It was a death sentence. 

You were sure of it. 

Your hesitation must have shown on your face, understandably so. 

Jenna sighed, her eyes softening a touch at your clear hesitance. “You were personally recommended. By me.”

It didn’t help, but you nodded anyway. 

“He’s not careless,” she continued. “He doesn’t let people get close. Beautiful you can… earn his trust. Get him comfortable. Make him want to come in. That's the mission.”

A laugh had to be stifled at the implication. “You want me to seduce him?”

“I want you to survive,” she said flatly.”if that’s what it takes to make that happen, then… yes.”

Dread, or something worse, crept down your spine. 

“He reads people like books,” she added. “So you better be a damn convincing character.” 

You schooled your features into something resembling calm, even as your brain scrambled for solid ground. “Right. And once I’ve got his trust… I lead him to an extraction point? We arrest him?”

“Exactly. Quietly. Cleanly. No backup. No heroics.”

“No pressure,” you muttered. 

Jenna didn’t even blink at the tone in your voice. “Sylus has outplayed every trap we've set. He’s dismantled teams mid-mission, burned entire networks to the ground and decimated his rivals in inconceivable ways. But he will never see you coming. That’s the angle here.” 

You rubbed a thumb over your palmtrying to smother the nerves crawling under your skin. “And what happens if he does see me coming? If he figures it out, I mean?” 

Her gaze sharpened. “Then you die. Plain and simple.” 

A lovely little motivational poster, that.

She stood, shutting down the data pad and any chance at trying to convince her this was a bad idea. “You’ve been assigned an alias. Equipment’s prepped. Mission begins tomorrow.”

“Why me though?”

“You’ve got a history of slipping into tight spaces and making people trust you.” A pause. “And you’re one of the few who hasn't been on his radar. Yet You’re adaptable. You’ve been at the HA for a long time, never failed in a covert mission and that’s been noticed. By people higher-up .” 

“The Association is sure this will work?" you asked.

Jenna narrowed her gaze, her lips pressed into a hard line. "No. But it’s the best chance we’ve got. The truth is, Sylus is too dangerous to let his network grow any further. The higher-ups have made it clear, they’d prefer him alive. Alive and arrested. If you succeed, this will be the biggest takedown in recent history. You’d be rewarded of course.” Her implication is clear, the promotion you'd been after for years.

You nodded, doubt creeping in. "And if I fail?"

"You won’t." The steel in her voice was unyielding. "Failure isn’t an option. Sylus doesn’t give second chances, and neither do we. You know that.”

The silence suffocated. The mission’s weight crushing the air from your lungs. For a moment, you questioned whether you were truly ready for this,  whether anyone could be. 

“I’ll bring him in,” you said, steady enough.

Jenna gave a short nod. “See that you do.”

You weren’t sure why you’d come out, honestly. Distraction?Denial? Probably both. The bar was buzzing. Neon lights, the low hum of music and the accompanying murmur of too many hunters half-drunk and half-broken. You’d earned a few hours to pretend. 

Back in training, after gruelling missions, this was where your cohort came to breathe.

Tara slid into the booth beside you, like she owned the place, draping  her arm around your shoulder, a drink in her hand. A mischievous smile tugged at her lips as she pulled you in tighter. "You’re going after Sylus freakin’ Qin! I still can’t believe it," she hissed into your ear. 

You gave her a side-eyed stare, barely suppressing a smirk. “Could you say it a little louder, Tara? I don't think the entire bar heard.” 

She snorted, an inelegant but simultaneously adorable sound that only she could pull off. “Oh, puh-lease. Like half the people in here aren’t already gossiping about it.”

You sipped your drink, hoping it’d dull the creeping anxiety. 

“So much for confidential,” you said simply. “Nothing stays a secret long around here.” 

You breathed out a laugh. “I’m not even sure why they picked me for this.” Despite Jenna’s recommendation, others were more experienced. So why you?

Tara gave you a playful shove, your drink sloshing around and threatening to spill as she did so. "Are you kidding? You're a total badass! If anyone can take that on and come out alive, it’s you." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Besides, I heard Sylus is ridiculously hot.”

You choked slightly. “Tara!”

“I’m just saying!” she continued, giggling loudly and brightly. “If you end up in close-quarters, you know really up close and personal, I expect details.”

Xavier, sitting across the table and pretending not to listen, let out a loud cough as he choked on his drink. 

“Oh my god, don’t start. It’s really not like that.” You muttered, trying to drink your grin away.

"But it could be!" She leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a teasing whisper. "Think about it. A tall, sexy man. Dangerous, brooding, probably smells like gunpowder and leather…"

“Please,” you groaned. “You’re projecting again.”

Tara wiggled her brows. “I’m manifesting.”

Before you could shut her down again, Xavier’s voice cut through the banter. Quiet , even, but with that unmistakable edge that always made you look twice. 

Xavier finally looked up from his drink, eyes cool but a little too focused. “You know the N109 zone’s not like your other missions, right?”

You didn’t answer right away. His worry scratched at something in your chest.

"Just… be careful."

You looked over. He was still holding his drink, staring at it like it held answers. Eyes lowered, jaw tight. 

“You won’t have backup, and Sylus… he’s a different kind of threat."

His words were thick with an unspoken heaviness, like something else was riding on them. Xavier had always been like this. Quiet concern, wrapped up in something softer, something harder to name. 

"I know,” you said. “I’ll be fine. Captain Jenna wouldn’t have assigned me if she didn’t think I could handle it.”

Tara scoffed, leaned back in her chair with a dramatic eye roll. "Please, Xavier. She’s not a rookie. She’s a grown ass woman. She can handle herself. Besides, she’s not going to let some psycho in a leather coat throw her off her game, even if he does have a jawline sharp enough to perform surgery."

You chuckled under your breath, the edge in your nerves blunted just a little. 

But Xavier’s frown only deepened. "I just don’t like the idea of you going in alone," he said, refocusing his attention on you properly. “I’d feel better if you had some sort of backup."

You sighed, thumb circling the rim of your glass. "It’s a solo mission, Xav. That’s part of the deal. I’m supposed to gain his trust, remember? How can I do that with you hovering around in the background or Tara creaming herself at the mere sight of him?" You tried to lighten the mood, but Xavier’s expression didn’t change. 

“I would cream myself,” Tara uttered cheerfully, not even ashamed. "Actually, gaining his trust…" she added, suddenly humming under her breath. "Mama, I’m in love with a criminal…"

You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable.”

Tara grinned, proud at her attempt to lighten the mood. “Someone’s gotta keep this place entertaining.” 

Xavier didn’t laugh. His gaze said too much without saying anything at all.  "Just… don’t do anything reckless, okay?"

You met his eyes. That thing, whatever lived behind his concern, was still there. Hovering. Waiting. 

He’d always been protective. Maybe a little too much. You appreciated it.But it made you bristle. Like he was waiting for you to break. He should’ve known you better by now. 

"I won’t," you said, keeping your voice level even as the air between you shifted.

Tara, clinked her glass against yours with a grin. "Cheers to you! The only person brave enough to flirt with death and hopefully get felt up in the process of bringing down the most wanted, sexy criminal!”

You laughed, letting the pressure crack for a moment. "You’re impossible."

"And proud of it," she quipped right back. 

The conversation drifted after that, skimming lighter waters. You let yourself get swept up in the celebration with the music from the bar filling in the gaps between conversations, for a while, you let yourself forget about tomorrow. About the N109 zone. About the fact that you might not come back. 

But then you caught Xavier watching again. Quiet and unreadable. Something still unsaid, still sitting behind his eyes. 

You swallowed, the words falling out like a reflex.

"I’ll be fine," you said again, quieter this time. Almost to yourself.

Xavier didn't push. Didn’t argue. He just raised his glass, his voice soft and steady. "To your success,” he said. “And your safety."

Tara beamed, “To the girl who’s gonna take down the galaxy’s hottest criminal and live to give me every filthy detail.” 

You clinked glasses. Smiled, and tried not to let the unease ruin the taste of victory.

Your first day in the N109 zone was, in a word, disastrous.

The unease started before you even crossed the city line. Slow and cloying, like humidity that stuck to your skin and refused to let go. The air was thicker here. Tighter. Charged with tension, secrets and the kind of danger that stays quiet. Street lights flickered with erratic pulses, casting shadows that writhed and pulsed across cracked pavements. The sky above was bruised and murky, tinged with the threat of a sunrise that would never happen. 

You’d read the files. Done the prep. But none of that could’ve prepared you for this. 

You pulled up the map on your Hunter’s watch, keeping your head low as you moved deeper into the district. The glowing display lighting-up in the half-dark, acting almost like a torch lighting your way. 

Information flowed like a murky river in the N109 zone, and every face you passed felt like a mask hiding something sinister. Their eyes slid past, knowing looks, cold, dismissive. You didn’t belong. 

The first few contacts led nowhere. Dead ends. One after the other that led deeper into the seedy underbelly of the district. Conversations fizzled into silence, doors slammed before a word left your mouth. No one wanted to talk, and even fewer wanted to talk about him. 

You lingered outside a rundown bar, trying to recalibrate. You were drowning in it, completely out of your depth. 

“Hey, you new around here?” a rough-looking man asked, eyeing you as he lingered in the doorway. His crooked smile didn’t reach his eyes. 

You didn’t flinch. “Just looking for information.”

He chuckled, the sound sending spit flying in your direction. “Yeah?” he said when he finally collected himself from the hilarity of the conversation so far. “Then you’ll wanna stop wearing that.” he gestured lazily to your clothes. 

You bristled at the implication. This could go bad fast. He chuckled again at your clear discomfort. “You stick out like a bright, shiny cop.” 

Relief crept in as the threat passed. Your shoulders eased. You looked at yourself. HA issued boots, jacket, gear just subtle enough to pass in a normal area. But this wasn't a normal area. It was the N109 zone. 

“Duly noted.”

“And what information are you looking for anyway?” he asked, his tone turning casual. 

You paused, mulling over your next words carefully. “Sylus Qin.” 

His expression shifted the second the name left your mouth. The amusement vanishing. His jaw tightened. “Don't say his name like that,” he muttered. “He’s not the guy you wanna be messin’ with, sweetheart.” 

You stiffened, but stayed silent. 

“Best advice you’re gonna get today?” he turned to leave. “Stop asking about him.”

Then he was gone, swallowed by the never ending shadows. 

You stood there for a moment, frustration bleeding through your mask. This wasn’t working. You needed to be smarter. Subtler. Starting tomorrow, you’d change everything. It was time to ditch the uniform, blend in, move like the locals. All black. No insignia. Eyes open. Mouth shut.

Because what the files could never tell you about this place, was that the N109 zone wasn’t just dangerous. It was alive. It hated outsiders. And the beating heart of it was Sylus Qin

By the time night fell, your nerves were frayed and your instincts were screaming at you to get as far away as you could. So you cut your losses and made your way back to Linkon, head down, heart racing. 

You leaned against the wall of your living room and stared at your watch, willing the day to make sense. It didn’t.

The mission felt less like infiltration and more like walking into quicksand. 

The darkness of the N109 zone was not just a backdrop, it was an entity that clung to you, whispering of your inexperience and vulnerability. 

The days that followed weren’t much easier, just quieter. A strange familiarity began to wave into your routine. You stopped trying to push and started watching instead. Listening. Adapting. 

This is what you were good at. 

A strange sense of routine began to weave itself into your days. Slipping into seedy businesses where no one asked names and everyone was armed, became your norm. The subtle nuances of the district's unspoken rules and underhanded dealings revealed themselves little by little. And slowly, you learned how to navigate the complexities of the very top layer of the N109 zone. 

You tried to blend in, just enough to rouse a few glances, never suspicion. You honed your investigative instincts. 

Eavesdropping in beat-up coffee shops, letting yourself fade into the background, until slowly, the district started to shift around you. Not welcoming exactly, but less hostile. You learned the rhythm of the place. Where not to walk. When to keep your eyes down. Who to avoid. 

And the whispers started to take shape. 

Shipments. Deals. Power shifts. Him. 

“It’s near the old foundry,” a waitress murmured one afternoon, passing a coded envelope to a greasy looking regular.  “He runs things from a compound, in one of them old manor houses. He keeps to himself mostly, but you’ll know it when you see it. Just follow the road past the southern docks.”

That was all you needed. 

Your pulse spiked, a rush of determination thrumming through your veins. You wanted to run out and chase down the new lead, but you kept your composure. Keep it casual. You sipped your drink, stood up slowly and made your move. 

A first move on a chessboard that you hadn’t even discovered yet. 

You found the estate easier than expected.

It stood, proud and tall, just beyond the southern docks, like something from another era. A manor really, an old stately home, refurbished but not flashy. Its structure loomed tall against the decay around it, its wrought-iron gates polished, its exterior immaculate in a way that felt… deliberate. A calculated flex. 

The house seemed to hum with unspoken arrogance. I don't need to hide. I own this place. 

This was Onychinus’ base of operations. And the home of Sylus Qin. 

You watched from across the street, half-shrouded in shadow, your breath catching in your throat as movement stirred near the gate. 

Finally, you saw him. 

Sylus. 

No confirmation needed. You just knew. 

He stepped out from a side building, blazer draped over his broad shoulders like a goddamn magazine cover. His silver hair tousled in that perfect, reckless way that made it look like he either didn’t care or had killed the last person who tried to touch it. His red eyes scanned the streets. No urgency. No paranoia. Just… command. 

He walked like a man who never needed to run. There was nothing in the galaxy that could challenge him, so why would that ever be needed. 

Too tall. The kind of height that shrank everyone around him, physically, psychologically, spiritually. And it wasn’t just the height. It was the way he moved. Fluid and calculated. Each step made with deliberate grace and dangerous intent. His steps were quiet, but you felt them. Measured. Controlled. Dangerous. 

His presence, even from such a distance, was commanding. 

Your eyes betrayed you. 

Blame Tara and her thirsty little fantasies.

They trailed down. To his arms, his sleeves rolled up just enough to show the tension in his forearms. Veins, tendons, lines that shouldn’t be distracting. The shirt was slim-fitting, the material clinging to him like it was lucky to be there. 

Your brain short-circuited at his proportions. Broad chest. Narrow waist. The ratio alone should’ve been illegal. Every line of him was sculpted like some bored deity decided to make a man too attractive for his own damn good. You blinked hard, tried to reel it in. 

And then… his hands. 

Strong. Elegant. The kind of hands that could probably dismantle a gun in five seconds flat, or dismantle you in half that time. Hands like those had always been your weakness. You could imagine exactly how they’d feel, tracing your- nope. You shut that thought down immediately. 

He was a criminal. A warlord. A manipulative psychopath with a kill count longer than your resume. His hands, as beautiful as they were, had more blood on them than you could ever imagine. There was nothing innocent about them.

And yet… you couldn’t look away.

No one could. He walked in a room and people reacted, it wasn’t in fear or reverence. It was gravity. A directional pull of people towards him. 

Your eyes snapped back up. 

His face was angled slightly away, but even in profile, you saw enough. Sharp jaw, cleanly shaven and skin so smooth it would’ve made Greek statues cry at the injustice of the perfect marble. Lips full and infuriatingly kissable. You physically clenched your jaw at the sight, curing the heat that rose in your cheeks. 

This was bad. You were in trouble. Not because he was dangerous, you already knew that. But because your body was betraying you. Heart racing. Mouth dry. Thoughts swirling in very unprofessional directions. 

You thought of Tara, and her endless teasing. “Tell me if he’s hot.” she’d said. She had no idea. 

You’d tell her the truth later. Maybe. Or maybe you’d lie. Maybe you’d say he looked normal. Plain. Not like someone who made you forget how to breathe for a full sixty seconds. 

You forced yourself to focus. You had a job to do. There was no time to be mentally writing fanfiction about your target. 

But then… 

He smiled at someone. A soft, beautiful thing that made something in your chest twist, hard. 

Shit.

Now you’d found him, you kept your surveillance as tight. As tight as you could manage. 

It started small. Quick glimpses as he moved through the N109 zone. You tracked his movements, noted down his patterns and filed away every minute detail into reports. That was the plan. That was the job. 

But he kept…surprising you. 

One morning, early, you saw him pull up in a sleek, matte black car. Expensive. Exactly the kind of car you’d expect a power-hungry kingpin to flaunt. You figured he was off to conduct shady dealings. Intimidation, a shakedown, smacking an orphan or two. Standard Sylus behaviour. 

Except, he opened the trunk and it was full of…tuna. Dozens of tins, stacked neatly like a pantry haul. You blinked. Then just stared, dumbfounded as he carried them into a narrow alleyway and crouched before a rusted pipe. A swarm of stray cats sat, waiting for him like worshippers at an altar. 

And he fed them. All of them. 

There was no rush to his moments, it clearly wasn’t a chore. His precision betrayed the ritual of it. And it tugged at something deep in you. 

One of the cats, a scruffy tabby with half an ear, nuzzled his boot and he reached down, petting it oh so gently. 

You heart fluttered and you hated it.

Get a grip. None of this erased the man’s body count, but it did make you forget it momentarily. 

Still, the way he knelt, getting his trousers dirty without a second thought. The way his fingers curled and caressed the soft ear of the little animal… it didn’t match the man in the reports.

It didn’t line up. It clashed hard  with every story you’d heard. The blood. The warnings from Captain Jenna, Xavier, everyone. 

And it was messing with you. 

A few days later, you saw him outside a rundown school on the edge of the zone. The building was a husk of its former glory. Cracked windows, crumbling paint, the playground rusting into the dirt. Still, resilient as ever, kids ran circles around each other, laughing, playing, like they didn’t know the world wanted to chew them up and spit them back out again as hollow shells. 

Sylus approached the headmaster and handed over a thick envelope. It was a quiet exchange. The headmaster’s eyes misted as he opened it. Sylus just nodded and walked away. 

You wrote it down anyway. Not for the Hunter’s Association. For you, because your brain wouldn’t let it go.

Why would he do that?

What was the angle?

The lines blurred a little more every day. You watched him meet with an array of men and women. Suits, shadows, finery, tattoos. Every kind of person. There was no shouting. No threats. Just…smiles. Handshakes. Laughter, sometimes. He talked with people like a leader, not a tyrant. 

You knew what he could do. But watching this version of him, soft, almost kind, it rattled something loose.

You tried following him on foot once, just to see where he went after these meetings. But his stride was relentless. Long legs. Unbothered pace. You couldn’t keep up without making it obvious, and you hated how much you appreciated the sight of him. 

Eventually you gave up and fell back on your surveillance equipment instead. Cameras, drones, audio links. Cold tools that didn’t care how attractive he looked in low light. 

The problem wormed its way into your mind, taking root there and niggling just enough to have you thinking. 

Who the hell was Sylus Qin really?

The question followed you home. Haunted you into the morning. Even as you prepped your gear and checked your optics.

Your professional mask slipped, just a touch. The feeling of being lost, chasing your own and his tail, gnawed at you. 

A few days later though, for once, you were ahead of him. 

You’d overheard it in passing. Just a sliver of conversation between two dealers in a grimy back alley cafe. Names dropped too casually. A location. A time. You hadn’t expected it to mean anything, but instinct told you to follow it up. 

And once you were situated in the steel rafters of a warehouse, it was clear that your hunch had been right. 

For once, you weren’t chasing him. 

He didn't even know you were there. 

The space below you was empty save for the people that Sylus would be meeting. The air was still, speckled with dust that shone in strips, lit by old industrial lighting that buzzed irritatingly overhead. Exposed brick walls stretched upwards, rusted metal beams crisscrossing like the ribs of something long-dead.

It was quiet, but not calm. There was a tension that stretched, taut. Raising the hair on the back of your neck, twisting low in your tummy. Like something was waiting to snap. 

You adjusted your position quietly, setting up the mic, eyes scanning. 

He wasn’t here… yet. 

You pulled out your data pad, creating an entry for the meeting. 

8:45 pm 51.49217141714811, -0.19296825975441936 Matthew Halbard - 43 Y/O (see file attached) Details: MH and associates present. High-grade weapon components and altered protocores visible.

Matthew Halbard was a weapons dealer in the N109 zone. The Association already had a file on him, one that was rather comprehensive. 

He was a mid-level player, with a top floor ego, dressed like money but stinking of desperation. He’d clawed his way into the outer edges of power in the N109 zone by making all the right friends and screwing over all the right enemies. Until he started believing his own hype. Extortion, tech trafficking, suspected murders. None of it unusual for the line of work he did. 

You folded away the data pad and stored it as you heard a set of footsteps that you recognised. 

And there he was. 

No fanfare. No armed guards. No announcement. Just Sylus, walking in like he owned every inch of ground his boots touched. And he probably did. 

He was flanked by two men in crow masks who left after a discreet nod from Sylus himself. He dismissed them.

The light hit him differently here. Harsher. His blazer still hung off his shoulders with that effortless sort of confidence, but the softness you’d seen in daylight hours was gone. Here, under this fractured lighting, he looked sharper. More angular. And somehow older than his 28 years. 

Halbard waited for him, surrounded by armed men and a few low-rank enforces, all posturing and arrogance. 

None of them spoke at first. They both just stood there, seemingly sizing each other up. 

You trained your scope on Sylus. 

He was calm but alert. His stance was loose in the shoulders, shifting his weight from heel to heel. Each movement precise. Minimal. Tense beneath the surface, like bowstring being pulled back just right.

Eventually, they exchanged pleasantries. Discussed the trade. 

Halbard must have taken Sylus’ stillness for acceptance or compliance.

He started posturing. Gesturing too wide, talking too loud, spinning some bullshit about pricing, loyalty, supply chains. You couldn’t catch every word but the smugness carried just fine. 

You waited, watching for any sign of tension from Sylus. And then, something shifted. 

You weren’t sure when, but suddenly, you could feel it. The moment things turned. The way the tension in the room thickened, the way Sylus’ posture changed by a millimeter. 

You leaned in close, heart picking up speed. 

They must have felt it. Sylus’ instincts had to have been sharpened over the years right? He had to know that something wasn’t right. That Halbard had something other than trades and deals on his mind. 

The smallest twitch. A hand going for a concealed weapon. 

One of Halbard’s men. 

Stupid.

Sylus exhaled. 

The man who reached for his weapon froze mid-motion. Strands of red and black wrapping around his limbs and jerking him unnaturally. His limbs seized. His breath came out shaky and tight, like he was being grabbed by the throat and spine all at once. His feet lifted off the ground, body hovering for half a heartbeat.

And then he crumpled. 

Literally.

His body folded in on itself with a sickening crunch, bones snapping like twigs as his chest caved under the pressure of the energy. 

Sylus’ evol. 

It wasn’t showy or explosive. 

Just precise, silent. Inescapable. 

The others reached for their own weapons with barely enough time to process what they'd seen before Sylus moved. 

He was armed, of course. But he didn’t draw.

He grinned, something sinister and sardonic that had fear stabbing through your body. 

He dismantled their attack with brutal efficiency, each movement deliberate and lethal. A force of nature with his fists and evol working together. His knuckles glowed with the same red light that crushed Halbard’s man. Each hit resonated in the space, a thunderclap echoing through the metal beams above. 

His Evol sliced through the air with deadly accuracy. 

Every strike was purposeful. No movement wasted. Sylus tortured them, calmly, decisively, acting as both judge and executioner in a single breath.  The executions were brutal. Calculated. Each one more grotesque than the last. You wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Every death was horrific, yet undeniably earned. They’d  underestimated him. And maybe… so had you.

This wasn’t a fight. It was a culling. 

Halbard made a break for it. Coward. He bolted toward the loading bay doors, already yelling something about betrayal. 

Sylus turned.

Raised his hand. 

And Halbard stopped.

Just stopped mid-stride, frozen in place. 

Sylus closed his fist, the red tendrils tightening around Halbard’s body. Reminiscent of how snakes constrict around their prey. 

Halbard gasped, hands flying to his throat as his feet left the floor. His body dangled a few feet off the ground. Shaking. Twitching. Held in place by those ominous red and black strands.

Sylus walked slowly towards him. His evol flickering and pulsing, thrumming with energy. Steady and controlled. 

He stopped just short of Halbard’s feet and spoke in a soft hush. You couldn’t hear the words but their effect was clear. Halbard sobbed. Something deep and guttural tearing from his between his lips. A plea maybe.

Sylus tiltedhis head and without so much as a flicker of emotion, he lowered his hand. 

Halbard dropped like dead weight. Alive, but broken. 

Dust curled around Sylus’ boots as he stood over him. And then, he smiled. 

The same smile you’d seen when he fed the cats in the alley. Warm. private. Unsettling. 

He looked up.

Your blood ran cold as his gaze swept the ceiling. Not frantic. Not searching. Just… checking.

You stilled completely. Didn’t so much as breathe. Your mic off, hidden in the shadows. Thankfully, you were completely hidden.

He couldn't see you. 

It was the perfect time to make your escape. 

And that you did. As soon as the coast was clear you were gone. The adrenaline thundering in your chest urging you to go fast. Faster. 

Sylus’ lips curled upward in a smirk as he snapped his fingers. 

“Mephisto.”

The dark bird on a distant beam tilted its head towards its master. The lenses in its eyes shifting with a mechanical whirr, like it was listening. 

 “Keep an eye on that one,” he murmured, an amused smirk curling his lips. “Let’s see what she does next.”

 In your apartment, everything felt… off.

You showered. Changed. Poured yourself something strong and tried to ignore the slight shake of your fingers that made the bottle rattle against your glass. You told yourself that the tightness in your chest was just adrenaline wearing off. 

But the images wouldn’t stop replaying over and over again in your head. 

You paced. Got up again. Watched the footage from the warehouse, then turned it off five seconds in. 

The crunch of bones..

The way his evol moved like an extension of his will. Of him. 

And his face. 

His beautiful, un bothered face. Focused and so serene. 

You leaned your forehead against the windowpane, the glass cool against your skin. The lights from Linkon twinkled lazily outside. The trees swayed in the summer winds. Cars on the road. Normal things. 

But you didn’t feel normal.

You felt on edge. Like his eyes had followed you home, like you were an exhibition.

How could it be that this vicious predator was the same Sylus that you saw feeding stray cats and donating to schools? The same man that you had begun to almost romanticise as a misunderstood, misrepresented, soft-hearted man.

You shook the thought off. You were jumpy, understandably so. He hadn’t seen you. You were careful. You’d been careful. Everything was clean, untraceable. You’d covered your tracks.

You knew you had. 

You turned away from the window, reaching for your drink to clear your head. Two piercing eyes stared back at you from the balcony’s edge, making you almost scramble backwards in fear. 

It was a bird. 

Large. Unnervingly still. Feathers black as oil slick, eyes sharp and glassy. It didn’t twitch. Didn’t caw. It just… stared at you. 

You took a step to either side, growing more unnerved as its gaze followed you. Too smoothly. Too deliberate. 

You squinted at the thing. “What a strange…bird,” you murmured. 

It cocked its head, as if acknowledging the comment. And, as if realising that you were uncomfortable, the bird gave a soft, mechanical click. Its wings stretched once. Then it launched into the night and vanished.

Gone.

You stood there for a long moment, pulse thrumming, hand clutching at your chest. 

Sylus leaned back in his chair, the soft glow of a dozen surveillance feeds reflecting in his eyes. The bird cawed and flew to land on its perch in the corner of the room.  “Mephisto,” he chuckled, a spark of amusement lighting his carmine eyes as he leaned back in his chair, focussing entirely on the footage of you in your apartment. 

The bird let out a soft caw, feathers ruffling in something that almost looked smug.

Sylus chuckled under his breath, reaching for the glass of whiskey on the table beside him.

“That’s her, then,” he murmured. “Curious little kitten.”

He brought the drink to his lips, eyes fixed on the screen as you reappeared. Nervous and unsettled, pacing like someone being hunted.

“Maybe you ought to be a little more subtle next time,” he drawled lazily to the bird. “We don’t want her to know we're onto her.” 

Mephisto cawed in response. Its orders received. 

“Let her think she’s winning,” Sylus said softly, mostly to himself. “Let her think she’s safe.”

He smiled.

“That’s when hunters are the most interesting.”

I hope you enjoyed chapter 1! Please let me know what you think ♥️ reach out. Let’s talk! 🌹 I've finally re-written this chapter! It was a labour of love but I'm so hapy with how it's turned out! Let me know what you think pleeeeaaasseeee!

[makethemhoesmad]

ignore it

pazzi again🥰🥰🥰

it’s quite a bit sadder than normal so good luck but you can blame @patscorner and their upsetting new fic

@imaginespazzi is the reason a part two might be achieved

—

when you first fall in love with your best friend, you don’t realize it. because really, you’ve loved the older girl a little bit more every day since the two of you met. but you’re young, so you ignore it.

when you realize your best friend might, someday, love you back, something inside you leaps. outside, you let her think you’re happy for her in a best-friend way. but only because if you acknowledge the part of you that wants to shake her shoulders with joy and kiss her on the mouth, she’ll leave and you’ll never get to think of that again. so you ignore it.

when you kiss your best friend for the first time, your stomach swoops up and down in the same way it does when you’re on a roller coaster. it feels like the moment will never end, while at the same time being devastatingly fleeting. and when she stops, you get that feeling in the pit of your stomach, like when a roller coaster finally drops, leaving you weightless and screaming. but you were both drunk, her more than you, so it probably meant nothing. so you ignore it 

a few years later, you don’t know if “best friends” is the right thing to call you anymore. all best friends fall asleep holding each other, because they can’t sleep any other way, right? all best friends make out every time they’re drunk, and sometimes when they’re not, right? all best friends have, more than once, strip down to nothing for the other and let them explore, right? all best friends get a little jealous, a little sad when the other has a date.its normal. so you ignore it.

you tell yourself its normal enough times, you start to believe it yourself. you start to believe that there’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing, that no one will get hurt because it’s a normal thing.

you were wrong. this time, you can’t ignore it.

you can’t ignore it when she’s on her knees in front of you, crying this time. telling you that you mean more to her than you could ever know. you tell her you know. you say it multiple times, running your hands through her hair as she lays her head on your lap. you let her fall asleep, and then you leave. quietly. you text her, from your car, that you feel the same. that you always have. but the two of you won’t work now, maybe not ever. you have too much, she has even more, riding on her career to give it up for each other. you would do it in a heartbeat, if it was just hurting you. but it isn’t. so you take your aching heart, smashed in two with your own shaky hands, and you ignore it.

the funniest thing about being in love with your best friend, spending years wishing she felt the same, is that when you know she does, you don’t speak. 

that’s a lie. you still talk, just not like you used to. you play for the same team, after all. even though your heart is split in two, one half left on the couch in her apartment, the other beating as hard as it can, crying for its other half, your chemistry is perfect. like calls to like, and even though the people running the bodies like to pretend they hate each other, the broken souls reach out to try, just try, to see what it’s like to feel whole again.

but you. ignore. it.

something you’ve learned while not being in love with your best friend is that it’s really amazing to have someone to talk to that knows your everything. another thing you’ve learned is that it’s not so amazing when that person isn’t your person anymore. but you can’t fix it anymore. you know she’s probably moved on, she seems great. so you ignore it.

it’s a tuesday when you can’t ignore it anymore. you had the worst workout of your life in the morning, making mistakes you hadn’t made since high school. then, you went home and showered, feeling better again, cleaning up to go on a date for the first time since, nevermind. then the date’s a horny gold digger so you leave, but instead of ending up at home, your car takes you to her place. you hadn’t been here since your erratic flight that night, almost half a year ago. 

half a year ago.

you see a light on in her window, so against your better judgment, you knock on the door. you think you hear giggling as the knob turns.

you did hear giggling. not from her, though. she only ever giggled with you. 

no, this is someone else, giggling and hanging off her arm.

she looks shocked to see you here, but before she can open her mouth, you’ve turned away, fleeing to your car like you did the last time, not crying until you get there. but then you remember how you were on a date today, she’s allowed to see other people too. you aren’t together. so, even though it hurts you, you fucking ignore it.

you zoom in on a picture of her, holding a girl tight, publicly on instagram. she’s in the wnba now, she can do that, you remind yourself. you look closer, thinking of how her smile doesn’t quite seem to reach her eyes. it’s the same smile she would give girls who would playfully ask for her number. the friendly head shake was normally punctuated by a sneaky wink in your direction, which you would blush at, nudging at her, back when it was easy, acceptable. you’re probably imagining it though, so you just ignore it. 

when you only have a certain amount of time together, it’s important you use it correctly. the incorrect way to use the time you have with the best friend you happen to be in love with is to deny it for years, then perpetuate it in a way that only harms the both of you, and then when it could finally go your way, end it yourself out of fear. the thing is, you only realize it’s incorrect when you look back at it, much later, and you see all the things that could have been. but, you can’t fix it now, so all you can do is ignore it.

you go to bed that night, after coming to that conclusion that should be heart shattering, but barely caused a dent in the super-glued mass you call your heart. you wake up the next morning, you brush your teeth, you pick up your phone. you glance at your phone briefly, then snap your eyes back to it like snapping a rubber band on the soft skin of someone’s leg. starting back at you from the too-light screen is a text from someone you thought would never text you again.

Paige Bueckers

Heard you were in the city. Want to grab a coffee? I have a few things I’d like to clear up.

[the-cauldron-witch]

Protecting his peace

Prompt I came up with: Raph protects everyone else's peace, but who protects his when it comes down to it?

Set in the bayverse TMNT

This past week had to have been the worst Raph has had since Shredder tried to take the city or Krang taking the world. It was just one thing after another, it felt like there was no rest or reprieve from each event. The botched surveillance mission was the beginning of this shitstorm, April had caught wind of some rogue scientists that had managed to find some left-over technology from the Krang’s invasion attempt. What exactly it did and what exactly they wanted to do weren’t clear, so they set out to the supposedly abandoned warehouse for more information.

Emphasis on the word ‘abandoned’ as in, abandoned for so damn long that when Raph went into the rafters one of the beams had rusted too much to hold his weight. He came crashing down into the enemies, blowing their cover entirely and sending most of them scattering, ultimately ruining the mission. Some scientists made off with equipment in the fray. No amount of apologizing or explaining convinced any of his brothers this wasn’t done out of impatience or defiance, despite how hard Raph tried to convince them. Leo even benched him when they went to find out where their next hide-out would be. That really pissed Raph off.

Being in the lair and being forced to stay there were two different things. If he was willingly in the lair it was home, but when he wasn’t allowed to leave it felt like a prison. Turning to his punching bag was one of two outlets for his anger, which he felt the need to use immediately once his brothers finally leave. Just before the three left to follow another lead, Donnie decided to test out an upgrade for the grappling hook. It would make scaling vertical buildings with flat surfaces much quicker.

The force? Perfect. Velocity and precision? Flawless. Donatello’s aim and self awareness? Lacking, as the grappling claw was launched directly through Raph’s punching bag, sand spilling out in a small pile on the floor.

“Oops...” Donnie squeaked.

This mistake ultimately sent Donnie back a few weeks of work as Raph broke the cable entirely from the gun. It was going to be difficult to find another cable the same length and strength. 

Turning his anger to the gym was his second best option, Raph tripling his workout routine and doubling the weight on each machine. The burn and sweat on his muscles helped seal the rage at how completely unfair his situation was, focusing on the work out rather than deal with it.

His sanctuary was unfortunately going to be short-lived thanks to his youngest brother. When Raph put his weights down and headed to the kitchen, wanting to grab a quick power snack before moving onto his next workout, Mikey set to work. Sneaking into the room whilst his brother was busy Mikey set to work on yet another one of his pranks. He had found a recipe on Donnie’s computer for a paint-bomb, one that was actually pretty powerful and took a minute to detonate. This was going to be his best one yet, having made it a bit bigger than the previous ones.

Returning to his spot in the common living space, pretending he was listening to his music the whole time and didn’t notice Raph returning to the weight room, Mikey eagerly waited for his plan to unfold. Biting into the quick sandwich he threw together, Raph stood in the middle of the room for a moment debating on what equipment he wanted to use next. Before he could make a decision or even take a second bite there was a resounding BOOM! Sending bright neon pink paint everywhere, covering far more than the previous bombs.

The previous ones had about a two or three foot blast radius, just enough to make a mess and startle the target while still being manageable for clean up. Not this one. From the ceiling, to the standing mirrors, to every barbell and piece of workout equipment inside the room- himself included, were covered in a fairly thick layer of paint. Spitting the sudden foulness out of his mouth Raph scraped the paint off of his face, his sandwich completely obliterated out of his hand in the blast. Hawking onto the floor, Raph took a long stunned moment to collect himself and register what was happening.

“Oh, shit...” Mikey muttered from the entrance of the gym, wide eyed and a bit taken aback himself. He had not intended for the blast to be THAT big and messy, just enough to startle Raph, maybe a little paint on his dumbbells and a little bit on himself. Right now, it was so pink it looked like it was Barbie’s personal gym. Letting out a guttural snarl Raph was across the room before Mikey had time to get a safe distance away, unable to stop his older brother from blackening his left eye.

Today, two days later from the paint bomb, Raph had absolutely had enough. He screwed up a mission by accident and no one wanted to believe him, now both of his best outlets are completely in disarray. The mostly empty sandbag hung like a chicken on a hook, swaying back and forth gently. Neon pink dried paint still clung to every surface in his workout room, which he demanded be cleaned the previous night. That started off the day's argument.

“This is fucking bullshit!!” Raphael roared, kicking the coffee table over as he stormed out of the common living area.

“Jesus Christ, Raph. Will you calm down?” Leo growled in annoyance, having had enough of his awful mood.

“Your attitude is getting out of hand, Raphael-” Master Splinter chastised, entering the living area with a tap of his cane. He wasn’t pleased with what little good furniture they had being abused.

“Are you shitting me, how the fuck am I the one in trouble?!” Raph exploded in disbelief.

“Do not use such language with me-”

“FUCK THIS!”

Walking tenderly into the lair you listened with caution as voices grew louder and angrier, your boyfriend's voice loudest of all. You had already known about the events of this week through many curse filled texts and phone calls. Talking him down from his heated state took some gentle words and reassurance of returning to the city after visiting family soon. You cut the trip a day short and returned early, you didn’t even bother going home to drop off your things and simply parked it in the usual safe spot you used.

Fury had completely blinded Raph as he stormed off, shoving Leo roughly out of his way as he headed for his room without noticing you entered. The silence was heavy once Raph’s door slammed shut, an uncomfortable aura hanging in the air as you were slowly noticed. No one really said anything to break the tension, so you decided to.

“I’m going to go talk to him,”

“Good luck,” Mikey scoffed from his seat on the couch, his left eye half lidded and swollen. Ignoring the snide comment you continued down the hall to the sound of what could be described as a bull kicking up a tornado. A loud smash and clatter of broken wood could be heard from the other side of the door followed by a few more snarled curses from the infuriated mutant turtle within. Taking a second to let one or two more items be hurled across the room before you reached out and knocked firmly.

Footsteps vibrating from behind the firmly locked door shook beneath you, but didn’t intimidate you in the slightest. The second the door is ripped open and nearly off the wall Raph opened his mouth to roar demandingly just who the hell had the audacity to try and talk to him right now, only for his gaze to fall on you. Immediately his demeanor changed, his shoulders relaxed and face softened from being so tense just seconds ago. You didn’t need to ask permission to come in as Raph side-stepped out of the way and closed the door gently behind you as you entered.

The debris scattered about his room was hard to identify, you were pretty sure the wood was his nightstand and some of the plastic was a game controller, the rest you couldn’t identify. Silent and sulking Raph trudged over to his bed and sat at the edge, his elbows digging into his thighs heavily and gaze secured to the floor. Had he known you had made your way into the lair, he wouldn’t have gotten so loud and angry, that wasn’t a side of him he wanted you seeing and you knew it.

Stepping around the debris you made your way to his bed quietly, normally you would have slipped off your shoes and left them at the entrance but the many broken pieces scattered around the floor made that difficult. The only sound you could hear was the low, deep growl under his breath and the unmistakable grind of his molars as he chewed on his emotions so he could swallow them back down.

He didn’t lift his head as you came to stand directly in front of him, his gaze now at your feet. Palms gently taking either side of his face, you gently lifted his gaze to meet yours, his face was scrunched with clear frustration.

“Talk to me, baby” Leaning over you pressed a kiss to his forehead, letting him know it was safe to let it out. He was still just a moment before taking a deep breath and letting out a long, slow sigh. Wrapping his massive arms around your midsection he pulled your form to his, calloused hands pressing you flush to him as he rested his head on your shoulder and buried his face into your neck.

“I...They...mmph” Tripping over his words Raph sucked in a breath, using your scent to center himself and his thoughts. “It’s like...it’s like I’m not allowed to make a mistake, like as soon as I do somethin’ wrong more shit goes wrong just to beat me further...like I’m not allowed to be angry about how unfair this shit is!”

He huffed frustratedly, pulling you directly into his lap as he began scooting backwards until his shell met the wall with a small thud. The rage in his voice was dwindling, but did not extinguish, not that you could honestly blame him. In your opinion he had every right to be angry, especially since he was genuinely innocent this time. You might not have been there, but by the genuine hurt of not being believed in his eyes made you believe him entirely.

“You’re allowed to feel mad about this, it is completely unfair” You sympathized with him, one palm still cupping his cheek with your thumb gently stroking the softer part of his skin. “Honestly I’m upset for you, you shouldn’t be ganged up on over just one mistake. Everyone makes mistakes, you don’t deserve to be ganged up on for it”

The way his eyes soften at your words made your own anger rise. Raph’s temper may burn the brightest, but that shouldn’t overshadow his own emotions. Swallowing thickly he didn’t respond at first, allowing the rest of his emotions to finally settle. Hurt, disappointment, invalidation, each emotion bubbled and slowly revealed itself as you quelled the rage.

“Like they didn’t screw up too,” He grumbled angrily, “My punching bag basically got disemboweled and my work out room is still covered in paint ‘cause a Donnie and Mikey, but I’m the one getting yelled at for being mad about it!”

“Is that what all that yelling was about?” You questioned gingerly, raising an eyebrow to him.

“I was telling Mikey his ass needed to go and clean my fuckin’ workout room! He had the audacity to tell me to wait ‘cause he was playing some game like it ain’t been two days,” Throwing his free hand in the air in exasperation Raph let it drop onto your thigh, his fingers firmly digging into your flesh and pulling you closer somehow. “I told him if he didn’t clean it ASAP I was gonna crack his shell, then Master Splinter starts in on me and gettin’ mad cause I’m pissed off”

It was strange voicing the emotions slowly simmering in his chest instead of lashing out and covering them up or working them out with weights, all of his focus on scorching them into nonexistence. With your coaxing and genuine care, Raph slowly started talking them through and understanding them more, which unfortunately made him feel them more.

“I’m sorry baby. Did he even say a word to Mikey or Donnie?” Squirming in his lap to get comfortable you slipped your pinned arm under his, pressing your cheek into his collar where his plastron met skin. Tears stung and pricked the edges of his eyes, threatening to spill over and be absorbed by his mask. He didn’t want to cry, that felt like admitting defeat, but he couldn’t stop the overwhelming amount of emotions he was feeling now that you opened the floodgates. It was all overwhelming for him now.

“Tch, hell if I know, probably not. Like he or any’a them care, he didn’t even believe me either when I told him about Leo’s bullshit-”

“Are you seriously still on about that?” A scoffing demand from the eldest intruder as the door somehow opened unnoticed. Fire returning to his core Raph audibly gnashed his teeth together, outrage immediately returning to his very being.

“Oh wow, he’s actually crying too” Mikey commented as his own head poked in.

“Get the FUCK out!”

The loud and demanding bark shockingly did not come from Raphael, but yourself. It even came as a shock to you, but seeing the two offending brothers flinch back granted you some unforeseen vigor in you. Releasing you from his grip Raph watched with astonishment as you crawled from his embrace, unsure of how to react to you exploding on his brothers. You had known all of them for some time now, where friends before starting a relationship with Raphael, never had you taken such a tone with any of them.

“You are being completely and totally unreasonable! How are you going to keep dogging on Raph after a mistake like you’re something perfect, huh?” Your heels stomped on the floor with each step you took towards the door, eyes locked with the eldest. There was no response from Leo even as his mouth opened to speak. He didn’t know what or how to respond. With no retort coming, you decided to continue this tangent on behalf of your boyfriend. If they weren’t going to listen to him, they damn well were going to listen to you now.

“And then you come in here and make fun of him for being upset over all this?” You turned yourself to Mikey, who had taken a few paces back when you began shouting. “Especially when his weight room looks like that! It’s like it came out of a damn pepto bismol commercial”

His eye ached when Mikey winced at your comment, the guilt finally digging its claws in. In all honesty the paint bomb wasn’t meant to be that messy, but Mikey had apologized for it...right? Now he was second guessing himself as he felt his eye throbbing.

“Not to MENTION what happened to his punching bag!” You decided to add quickly, not wanting to lose momentum on this running train.

“Sorry...” Came Donnie’s small voice from in front of his desktop, the sincerity in his voice tugging at your chest a little. Given the state of the hollow bag hanging in its spot still, you didn’t feel too bad for calling him out.

“A little late, Donnie!” You huffed in indignation, “You all ganged up on him when he did something wrong and expected him to fix his mistake somehow, but you all made a mistake and you won’t even apologize for it!”

There was an unmistakable static in the air now as you waited for someone to speak up. Swallowing thickly Leo continued to hold your intense glare with his own, normally he would have spat something back with what Mikey would call his ‘leader voice’ in regards to questioning his leadership- but he wasn’t your leader. You were a long time and close friend, so maybe your words worked a little differently.

“Look, maybe we did make mistakes, but we’re not the ones disturbing the peace and lashing out at everyone!” Leo couldn’t think of any other counter argument at this moment. Was there any other argument, though? He wasn’t wrong, Raph had lashed out, but you still couldn’t blame him.

“Well, you know what? I’m protecting his peace now, because he feels none of you give a shit” Your voice was curt and harsh but not as raised as it was. Taking a step back you grabbed the side of the door, “He’ll talk to you all when he’s ready!”

Swinging the door shut firmly you didn’t give anyone a chance to speak further, the slam of the door effectively sending the lair into silence again. Raphael’s eyes never left your frame, stunned silent at your words. Protecting his peace. It was a strange feeling, he was normally the one protecting himself and those around- he saved the city twice in his lifetime alone. Not since he was a child did he feel like he needed protection, yet somehow here you were doing just that for him.

Beside the door taped to the wall was a Vin Diesel movie poster of one of his many films, pinching the untapped corner of the paper you gently pulled it up to reveal the keypad underneath. Keying in the specific code, which was really just Raphael’s given birthdate, there was a hiss and shudder from within the walls as you activated the security system. The door was now locked tight, the only person that could even hope to enter now was Donnie- if he steeled his nerves enough to make the attempt to enter the dragon's den now. After everything that you had said, you had no intention of letting his family back in his room.

There was a power in your step as you strode back over to the bed, heels crushing whatever litter was scattered across the floor instead of carefully stepping around the mess as you had earlier. A small stone formed by guilt sat uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach, you’d never even had a serious argument with them let alone all the things you had just said. But you meant it, you were protecting his peace when he felt no one else cared about it.

The way he opened his arms to you, beaconing you to come back to him, made your heart hurt some. With the anger washed away finally left behind only hurt in his green eyes that begged you for more comfort silently. Crawling across the messy bed spread you climbed back into his lap, burying yourself under his chin as he dipped his head and held you close to him.

“Thank you...” Was all he murmured, a tear unintentionally spilling from pure frustration. Kissing his cheek you held him the best you could, given the size difference it was the best you could do.

His peace deserved protecting just as much as anyone.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 118 (The Calm Before)

Life continued for Heather and Conrad after their eventful trip to the city. Conrad couldn't be the one to canvas his old apartment building in San Myshuno, but he made arrangements with his partner, Detective Spangler, before he, Heather, and Ash had even returned to Brindleton Bay.

He believed they would find Ximena there, but they had to be discreet, and his team worked with San Myshuno PD to watch the Arts Quarter and confirm their suspicions.

They felt life at home might soon return to normal, so Heather started to think about that wedding and kept up her workouts. Spring would come soon enough, and she'd be able to go for jogs with Gord once the weather warmed, too. Gord couldn't wait for that, either.

Conrad would be able to turn his focus to Rafa and George Brindleton without the threat of Ximena breathing down their necks. While officers worked behind the scenes, the Nesbitt-Gordon household buzzed with contentment.

With the family always happy to see him, River paid a visit to talk with Hazel about her break up. Heather wanted to help, but she had to admit to herself that she was disappointed in Hazel for cheating.

Only 'Old Man River' could find the right words to express disappointment without a hint of judgment, and when he walked into the bedroom, Heather got up to make herself scarce.

River glanced at his younger sister with concern. He could see she was beating herself up and wanted to hear her side of things.

"Why didn't you leave your wife before you called Suri again?"

"I think a part of me wanted to hurt Nicola for how she treated me," admitted Hazel. "I know how terrible that is, but she made me dread coming home some nights, and we kept talking about trying to make it work, but we never did. She was too high maintenance and trying to meet her needs was costing my sanity. I think, more than anything, I was just mad at her, but I feel sick about how much I hurt her. I left town, but she's stuck there trying not to hear everyone whispering about her."

"I wouldn't worry about Nic," River said. "I ran into her mother at the Crumpleclones' flower stall yesterday. She took a sabbatical from the school and Mike's class will have a substitute teacher until she's back. If she comes back. I guess she's going on a show called Dating Deanna that starts filming in Tartosa soon."

Hazel reeled. "Nicola?! On a dating show? Does she know they usually put contestants through their paces and people...people cheat?"

"Maybe she thought her usual ways weren't really working for her anymore."

Hazel considered this with a nod. It was suddenly all too clear why he'd come to see her. "I hope Nic finds someone who makes her happy."

"And is Suri a rebound? Or are you really interested in her?"

"I don't know. I really like her and we have more in common than Nic and I did." Hazel shrugged. "I hope it's real, but we're giving each other space right now, after everything fell apart so publicly."

"That might not be the worst idea, but don't punish yourself and miss out on something that might be really good. You made a mistake and you have to learn from it; it's really that simple, but you're not a horrible person." River offered his little sister a hug, and Hazel accepted it willingly. "Maybe one day you and Nic can get closure for the way everything broke down, but you're on different journeys now, and you both have a chance to find happiness and really discover who you are. That's what really matters."

"Thanks, big bro. I know I'd deserve it if you were all mad at me."

He shook his head with a warm smile. "No you wouldn't. You didn't do anything to us. Just Nic. Maybe Suri, if you dragged her into this for nothing."

He stayed for dinner before heading home, leaving Heather dancing to the aerobics channel on his way out.

Lavender loved to be outside, and if her mom focused too long on her exercising, she'd usually sneak outside with her coat on to play around in the snow. One evening, she found a snowman Ash had built and promptly destroyed it - much to Ash's chagrin.

"I worked hard on that snowman!" he cried, pulling a frightening face to try to scare his little sister. Lavender peeled back in surprise.

"I sowwy, Ashy."

Ash scowled, but he couldn't stay mad at her, and immediately pulled her in for an autonomous hug. "It's okay, Lava. Just try not to do it anymore."

"I'll twy."

The next day, Ash invited his friend Arron Kalani over after school, excited to show off his brilliant new invention. "It's a remote control that will melt the snow!"

He pressed a button. Arron glanced outside the sliding patio doors in the living room and frowned at the white powder that had coated the town since the start of winter. "I don't think it works."

"It's solar powered. When the sun returns in the spring it should power up easier."

Arron turned up his nose in confusion. "What's the point of it working in the spring when the snow will be melted already?"

Lavender sat on the couch and giggled happily. "Ashy took ice-chippy!" she tattled.

Arron chuckled as Ash laughed at his oversight. "It's still pretty cool," Arron insisted. "I bet your next model will work better."

Life was always good, but the Nesbitt-Gordons couldn't help but feel as though things had never been better. For once, they weren't afraid to be hopeful. Heather kept working hard at Buttercup Pet Clinic, and Conrad focused on some other cases at work.

He had just finished looking over Officer Adler's notes on the recent Mercury Gratz assault case when the text they'd all been waiting for came in from Detective Spangler.

"We got her, Lieutenant. She was booked at San Myshuno PD first thing this morning." ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Arron is the son of Zoe Patel and Mitchell Kalani, and he has younger twin siblings Isabelle and Xavier.

Thought I'd end the year on a high note with Ximena behind bars! The second batch of year-end favourite screenies comes tomorrow before the story continues on New Year's Day, but the last one could rival any of the last 25, in my opinion.

[theyluv1moowa]

‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆ hottest people in blue lock

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

team z's training goes by in a blur. you're too exhausted to even remember half of it, only that kunigami looked like he was about to pass out at one point, bachira was still annoyingly energetic, and isagi was way too focused on whatever strategy he was cooking up in his head from the workout you left them, as their athletic trainer

but honestly? that's not what matters today.

because today, you get dragged into hell itself.

it all starts in the hottest people in blue lock group chat.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

🔥 THE HOTEST PEOPLE IN BLUE LOCK

shidou: yo losers 😛😛😛. we're doing something tonight. bachira: OOHWHATSTHEPLAN otoya: don't call me a loser when you didn't even last five minutes at the club shidou: FUCK YOU 😛😛😛😛😛🙏🙏🙏🙏 karasu: what's the plan then?? shidou: TRUTH OR DARE chigiri: this is gonna be a disaster. otoya: count me in. nagi: no. reo: yes. nagi: fine. sayuri: wait why am i only just seeing this sayuri: absolutely not yukimaya: absolutely yes bachira: YOUHAVENOCHOICE

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

and that's how you find yourself in a dimly lit lounge room, sitting in a circle with the worst group of people imaginable.

karasu, chigiri, shidou, kunigami, isagi, reo (who, of course, forced nagi to come), otoya, bachira, and yukimaya. all of them.

the air is thick with anticipation. you can already feel the impending chaos.

"alright, let's get this started," shidou grins, leaning forward with a look that can only mean trouble. "i'll go first."

no one protests, because honestly, he was probably going to take the first turn whether they wanted him to or not.

his eyes land on otoya. "truth or dare?"

"truth." otoya replies smoothly.

shidou smirks. "have you ever used football as a way to pick up girls?"

otoya doesn't even flinch. "obviously."

you snort. "you didn't even try to deny it."

"why would i?" otoya grins, shrugging.

next, it's kunigami's turn. he picks dare, as he seems brave like that.

"kunigami..." shidou smirks, and that's already a bad sign.

kunigami, bless his soul, tries to act unfazed. "yeah?"

"i dare you to kiss chigiri." shidou says, far too gleefully.

silence.

kunigami and chigiri both freeze.

"...what," kunigami says.

"huh?" chigiri blinks, staring at him.

"what's the matter, sunshine?" shidou grins, leaning forward. "scared?"

kunigami scowls. "no."

"then do it," otoya smirks, eyes flicking between the two of them.

bachira claps his hands together. "ooh, now this is good."

chigiri looks over at kunigami, shocked beyond his mind, as he suddenly looks down.

kunigami hesitates.

which is a bad idea.

because the second he shows an ounce of nervousness—

shidou pounces.

"OH, HE'S NERVOUS!" shidou howls. "HE'S NERVOUS! KUNIGAMI'S GOT A CRUSH!"

"I DO NOT!" kunigami snaps, face burning.

chigiri, to his credit, looks mostly unfazed—except for the slight pink dusting his cheeks. "if you don't wanna do it, just say so."

"i didn't say that." kunigami grumbles.

"so then do it." nagi yawns.

"fine," kunigami mutters, looking away. "let's just get this over with."

"oh my god," reo grins, shaking his head. "this is amazing."

"WAIT—" bachira brightens. "DO IT ON THE LIPS."

"NO!" kunigami immediately protests.

"YES!" shidou cheers.

"no," kunigami repeats, firmly. "cheek. that's final."

shidou groans dramatically, flopping against otoya. "booooring."

but kunigami's already turning toward chigiri, who's still watching him with that unreadable look.

and, for some reason—

this feels like a bigger deal than it should.

his heart is pounding.

but he doesn't hesitate this time.

he leans in—

and presses a quick kiss to chigiri's cheek.

it's over in seconds.

but the room?

erupts.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH—"

"THEY DID IT!"

"OH MY GOD!"

"THEY'RE BLUSHING!"

"SO CUTE!"

kunigami groans, covering his face with his hands. "i hate all of you."

chigiri, though?

he simply looks down, frozen like a statue.

kunigami makes the mistake of looking at him—

and chigiri smiles at him.

he's going to die.

"ohhh, that was adorable." karasu grins, shaking his head.

"you're so red!" bachira cackles, pointing at kunigami.

"shut up..." kunigami mutters, avoiding everyone's very smug looks.

shidou, though, just grins, eyes gleaming.

"next time," he sing-songs, "we're making it on the lips."

kunigami chokes.

and then.

it happens. it's otoya's turn, and he decides he's not about to waste it.

otoya leans forward again, his grin absolutely wicked.

"sayuri."

your stomach sinks.

"truth or dare?"

you hesitate. you know whatever he has planned is going to be bad. but a dare from shidou sounds way worse than a truth.

"truth." you say reluctantly.

his grin widens. "if you had to date someone from blue lock, who would it be?"

your heart stops.

you knew he was going to pull something like this. he still wasn't going to let it go from last time, apparently.

immediately, the entire room goes silent.

every single pair of eyes locks onto you.

you hate this. you hate that they're all watching you, waiting for an answer, knowing that anything you say will be used against you.

your mind races. you could lie. you should lie. but you know they'll see right through it.

so, you try to make it casual.

"karasu," you say, forcing a small laugh. "i mean, we're close, he's a gentleman, and he's one of the few people here who isn't entirely insufferable."

the moment the words leave your mouth—

karasu freezes.

it's not obvious, at first. he's good at keeping his expression neutral, at making it seem like nothing phases him. but you're close enough to notice the way his fingers twitch against his knee, the way his jaw tenses ever so slightly.

his usual smirk? gone.

and for a fraction of a second, something flashes in his eyes—something sharp, something unreadable.

then, before you can process it—

he stands up.

"i'm getting water." he mutters, his voice quieter than usual, before abruptly turning and walking out of the room.

dead. silence.

for a long, long moment, nobody moves.

then—

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH—"

it's shidou who starts it, but everyone joins in.

"OH MY GOD."

"HE LEFT."

"HE FUCKING LEFT."

"HE SHORT-CIRCUITED."

"HE RAN AWAY FROM HIS FEELINGS."

"OH, THIS IS TOO GOOD."

bachira is cackling. otoya has his face buried in his hands, shaking with laughter. reo is pointing at the door like he's just seen an actual ghost. nagi—who has not cared about a single thing all night—actually sits up.

chigiri? he just leans into kunigami, laughing so hard he nearly falls over. kunigami, poor thing, looks like he has no idea how to handle any of this.

"you guys are OVERREACTING!!!" you snap, even though your face is burning.

"NO, WE'RE NOT," shidou howls. "HE GLITCHED. HE FULLY GLITCHED."

"you broke him," otoya wheezes. "holy shit."

"i did not," you argue, but your voice is weak. because, deep down, a tiny part of you is screaming the same thing.

karasu—who never takes anything seriously, who always teases and laughs things off—just left.

why?

why did he react like that?

"ohhh, this is huge," reo grins, shaking his head. "this is history."

"you guys are ridiculous," you mumble, crossing your arms.

"no," otoya smirks, "we're just right."

"i hate all of you," you mutter.

"no, you don't," chigiri smirks, finally recovering from his fit of laughter. "but you do love karasu~."

you choke. "I DO NOT—"

"ohhh my god," shidou throws himself onto the couch dramatically. "this is better than the club."

bachira grins, rocking on his heels. "you should probably go check on your boyfriend."

"HE'S NOT—"

before you can even attempt to get up, shidou grabs you by the wrist and yanks you back down.

"ohhhh, no you don't," he smirks. "you are staying right here."

"shidou," you warn, "let me go."

"nuh-uh," he shakes his head, grinning. "not happening, sweetheart."

"he literally just needed water..." you insist.

"nooo, he needed to go outside so he wouldn't explode in front of all of us," otoya corrects, smirking.

"he's so gone for you!" yukimaya singsongs.

you groan, dropping your head into your hands.

"you guys are—"

"—completely right?" reo finishes.

"—the worst." you grumble.

but the warmth in your face refuses to go away.

because no matter how much you deny it...

karasu left.

and you have no idea why.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

after that tiring game, you immediately set out to find karasu.

you search everywhere—the lunch room, the staff room, the pitch, even his own room. but he's nowhere. a lump forms in your throat as realization sets in.

you feel guilty.

you didn't mean it.

how were you supposed to tell him that?

your feet move faster, your chest tightening. you shouldn't feel this panicked, but you do. you have to find him.

then, finally—

you spot him by the water fountain. he's filling up his bottle, shoulders relaxed, gaze distant. you swallow the lump in your throat and step forward. "i'm sorry, karasu, i—"

"were you serious about what you said?" his voice is calm. but something about it makes your stomach twist. he looks ahead, something almost woeful in his eyes.

your breath catches as you freeze in place.

you don't know what to say. your lips part, then close. your face heats up.

it was a joke, right? why was he taking it so seriously?

karasu turns to you, the evening light catching his features perfectly - his thick eyebrows, beautiful pale skin, thick eyebrows, almost giving him an ethereal look. 

"don't play with my feelings like that, sayuri." karasu mutters, in such a way that is so intimate you feel the heat becoming more prominent. you don't know what to do.

his feelings?

did he have feelings for you too...?

you can't respond. you can't think straight. all you can think of is how beautiful he looks, his 'feelings', everything about him, his eyes, his nose, his skin, his lips- before you know it, you're suddenly leaning in towards him.

his breath hitches, just barely—so faint you might've imagined it. but he doesn't pull away.

your heart pounds. your fingers twitch at your sides. every muscle in your body feels locked in place.

then, finally—

your lips touch.

it's soft at first. tentative.

but then—karasu moves.

he cups the side of your face, thumb brushing against your cheek, and deepens the kiss.

his lips are warm. gentle. but there's something behind it—something more. like he's been holding this back for a long, long time.

your hands reach for him before you can stop yourself. one gripping the fabric of his shirt, the other curling against his shoulder. you feel the heat of his skin through the material.

he tilts his head slightly, pressing in just a little closer, and your knees nearly buckle.

you don't know how long it lasts.

it could've been seconds. it could've been hours.

but when he finally pulls back, your lips are tingling, your chest heaving, your mind spinning.

karasu stays close, forehead nearly brushing against yours.

his hand lingers against your face, thumb trailing lightly over your cheek.

he exhales, a breathless sort of chuckle, dark eyes searching yours.

"so you were serious." he murmurs.

you swallow hard. "i..."

he smirks, tilting his head. "speechless, huh?"

your face burns. "shut up."

he just laughs.

and this time—

when he leans in again, you let him.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

[dudadragneel]

Hey guys! It's me!

How are you?

It's been some time but I finally managed to finish one of the requests 😅

🍋, I hope you'll like it!!

🍋

Picture, if you will, Chan waking up in the middle of the night bc his tummy hurts and he's beginning to feel sick to his stomach. He doesn't want to get up and wake people up, so he just lies there and breathes through the nausea as best he can.

Eventually it reaches a point where it's too much, and he burps quite loud. But it's one of those sicky burps right before someone throws up and he knows he's fucked.

He'd make a dash for the bathroom, hit the floor and bend over the toilet with another sicky burp before he's heaving and retching louder than he would like. Of course this would wake at least 1 person up and they would come to see what in gods name is taking place at the unceremonious time in the morning, which is Chan with his arms folded across the toilet while he spills his guts into it.

It would be so cute, them holding his hair back, or even putting it in a little ponytail, and rubbing his back/belly to soothe him and help him feel less ill. Getting him water or medicine, trying to convince him to go back to bed with

a bucket and him refusing because he feels too sick to move from the bathroom floor.

Chan wouldn't even try and hide that he was sick, it would be a rare time he actually admitted to being unwell and not try to go to work. He would let himself be pampered and cared for while his body fights the stomach bug. I hope this is what you're looking for

Unexpected midnight wake-up call

Packed schedules, intense practicing and exercises meant a huge appetite for any idol.

A specific outing, a moment that was meant to be relaxing after a packed week, turned out to be one of Chan's worst nights, more realistically, worst week.

They went to a nearby restaurant, one they tended to go to a lot because the food was delicious, the atmosphere was cozy and relaxing, and quite honestly, the price was good. And a plus, the restaurant owners had a liking to them and they knew how they needed that time to relax, so they did their best to give them privacy.

Everything was good, the food was tasty like always and they used that time to unwind and chat about the past week and what they were gonna do during the short break that was coming. Despite being tired, they were in high spirits like always.

Chan was particularly hungry, having changed his workout routine along with Lee Know and Changbin, his apetite was twice bigger than before. And he saw a dish on the menu that caught his attention as well as Lee Know's, so he didn't hesitate to order.

But oh, was that a mistake.

The dish did taste good and it was definitely one that would enter his list of options whenever they went to that restaurant again.

After finishing their meal, they continued to chat a bit so the food could settle before they walked back to the dorm.

However, Chan was feeling like it wasn't siting as well as he thought but he had to admit it, he had eaten quite a lot so he just attributed it to that.

He'd soon find out that was far from being the case.

The walk back was relaxing and they were taking their time to enjoy the peace and quiet of the street and chilly air. It was a nice walk for everybody, except for Chan.

He was interacting with the boys, laughing and all but there was a strange feeling in his stomach that was starting to bother him.

But then again, he thought it was just a case of overeating and that the walk and maybe some medication would help with the feeling.

It would not, though.

Once in the dorm, they all just threw themselves on the couch or on the floor, completely drained of their batteries and almost entering a food coma.

Chan went to the kitchen and decided to take his medication so it could work on his body as he washed up for sleep.

But one of them noticed it.

- Hyung, what are you doing?

Lee Know asked coming up behind Chan and resting his chin on his hyung's shoulder, like a curious cat.

- Oh, Minho-yah. It's just something to help with digestion, guess I ate too much hahaha

Lee Know just hummed, seemingly satisfied and convinced by Chan's answer and left.

Chan decided to take a shower first and go straight to bed, because in addition to feeling full he was extremely tired and he was almost sure he'd fall asleep standing up.

The hot water felt heavenly, helping relax his aching muscles and distract him from the discomfort in his stomach.

He put on a comfy change of clothes and walked out of the bathroom for one last duty as a leader before he called it a night.

- Kids, go take your showers before you fall asleep on the floor. Come on.

He said gently, nudging each one of them who were already dozing off. When they were all up and deciding who'd go first, Chan retreated to his bedroom for a much needed and deserved rest.

- Good night, kids.

- Good night, hyung.

When he lay down, he felt himself sinking into the mattress, feeling all the pressure of the day slowly dissipating.

He barely managed to pull the blanket before he was fast asleep.

But that relief was short lived. Although he did manage to sleep like a rock, it only lasted maximum 1 hour before he was woken up by the way his stomach starting to twist.

The discomfort from earlier had morphed into a rapidly increasing nausea and he could hear his stomach gurgling really loudly.

It was twisting and turning, its contents sloshing around. He was lying down in his comfy mattress and yet, it felt like it was made of water and that it was swaying continuously.

The world was tilting as if he was moving when in fact he was lying perfectly still.

And the nausea just kept on building up.

He broke into cold sweats, his heart was racing, his mouth started to fill with saliva and he kept on swallowing it until his mouth was completely dry.

But it insisted, the saliva came back and with it his stomach churned and he felt the urge to vomit increasing. But he didn't want to get up, he knew that moving would be one of the worst decisions he could make.

So when his stomach contracted and the amount of saliva increased, he started to swallow convulsively, desperate to keep it at bay.

He covered his eyes with his arm, clenching his fist while his other hand gripped the sheets until his knuckles turned white in an attempt to control his body.

For a brief moment it worked. And he thought that was it. But it was almost as if his body was pranking him, because the moment he relaxed and let out a shaky breath, his stomach jumped once more and he felt something coming up.

An air bubble, so he decided to burp to feel some sort of relief. However, the moment he did so, that burp came out louder and wetter than he intended and brought something with it.

He realized that this time, no effort would keep the disaster from happening, there was no holding it in.

He sat up, way faster than he'd like and it just worsened the feeling.

He had to get to the bathroom in record time, or else he'd vomit on the floor of his bedroom and the thought of having to clean it later was enough to make him even more nauseous.

When he stood up from his bed, the nausea reached its peak and he gagged, clamping a hand to his mouth and heading towards the bathroom.

By the time he reached the bathroom, he was barely holding it together. In fact he could feel something starting to escape his mouth.

He hurriedly closed the door behind him, which made a rather loud noise and he could only pray it didn't wake up any of the kids. And then he basically fell to his knees as he lost the battle against his stomach, part of the first wave getting on the ground and the edges of the toilet.

The vomit was thick and chunky, barely digested, straining his throat and making him cough in the process.

The consistency was so thick, it was being hard to get it out. He kept on gagging and coughing, trying to bring more up but the difficulty in doing that was making him retch even louder.

Loud painful retches filled the bathroom as he tried so desperately to will his stomach to cooperate with him.

Although it was kicking and twisting while he was in bed, constantly sending signals that he was gonna throw up, now it seemed to be pulling a prank on him by not bringing anything up.

Or really just making it so difficult.

The loud retching continued and the amount of effort he was making and the little amount of vomit coming up was starting to make him stressed.

The strain was so much, he had tears this close to streaming down his cheeks, his face was red and his neck's veins were popping.

He was so dazed with the whole situation, he didn't even notice when one of the members entered the bathroom. His brain only registered the presence of someone in there with him after they called his name a couple of times.

It was Changbin.

The younger rapper not only woke up due to the loud noises but also because Lee Know had told him earlier that he saw Chan taking something for his stomach. And that information didn't quite leave his mind.

Chan was more prone to have stomach issues so they kept an eye on him whenever he ate spicy food or when he was overly stressed. Because, normally it meant he'd get sick later.

- Hyung? Chan-hyung?

Changbin called out, trying not to speak too loudly and risk waking up the others. He knew Chan was already stressed with the fact that he popped up in the bathroom and they hadn't exchanged one word yet.

Chan was basically hugging the toilet retching loudly and barely getting bile to come up and then lifted his head a bit and realized Changbin was inside the bathroom.

He let out a frustrated groan and hid his face on his arms.

Great. Now one of the kids was up and worried about him.

Changbin knelt down next to his hyung and proceeded to rub his back.

- What's going on, hyung?

Chan spat out a thick amount of saliva  before burying his face in his arms again and answering Changbin.

- I don't know... I guess I just ate too much...

The sheer mention of food was enough to trigger his stomach again. Before he knew, he was gagging once more, a sequence of painful unproductive loud retches.

Changbin kept his hand on Chan's back, rubbing it up and down as he desperately tried to get something up.

- Fuck... nothing's coming up...

- Do you want me to help you? Or maybe some water to see if helps?

Chan was already feeling bad that his misery woke up Changbin and the idea of being so vulnerable to the point of needed that kind of help made him feel angry at himself. So he settled for the water.

- Water would be good, I guess....

- I'll be back in a minute

The younger rapper said already leaving the bathroom.

Chan just slumped back, leaning against the tub, taking a deep breath and resting his head between his hands. And his mind was spiraling with thoughts.

He had cut short Changbin's peaceful sleep, when he knew everyone needed that rest.

And he was getting annoyed over the fact that his bedroom didn't have a bathroom of his own so when these type of things happened, he could have more privacy.

After a while Changbin came back with a glass of water and gave it to Chan. And also a towel to clean up the mess.

- Thanks....and sorry...

He took a sip and grimaced at how his stomach reacted to it, as if he had drank a shot of vodka and churned but not enough for him to throw up.

Changbin sat by Chan's side, rubbing his back in soothing circles. He didn't know whether Chan wanted that or not, but he didn't complain or anything.

That was when Changbin noticed how his hyung's back was soaked in sweat and he felt kind of hot. He placed a hand on his forehead and confirmed his concern, he was running a fever.

- Hyung, I think you have a fever. I don't think this is a case of overeating...

Chan just let out a frustrated sigh, ducking his head.

The last thing he needed was a stomach bug, not when they still had some work to do before their break.

- Hyung, you good?

- No...my head is throbbing...

He said gripping his head and squeezing it, in an attempt to ease the pain.

- Hyung, why don't you go back to the bedroom? We can leave a bucket there just in case.

- No, I don't wanna leave here. I'm dizzy and my body feels heavy...

- I'll help you.

That sentence, Chan didn't like that sentence not one bit.

He was the oldest of the group, the leader, in his mind he wasn't supposed to be helped but the one helping. There were very rare times where he allowed himself to rest and let the kids take care of him, but it took a lot convincing.

- There's no need to, Changbinnie. I can do it myself.

And there it was. The stubborn leader. The same stubborn leader Changbin found leaning on the side of his bed puking his guts out once.

- You're really stubborn, you know that?

Chan just chuckled and tried standing up. But his body betrayed him.

As soon as he motioned to get up, his stomach lurched and he barely had time to reach for the toilet again before a torrent of thick chunky vomit gushed out of him hitting the toilet with a sickening sound.

Changbin winced and was by his hyung's side in a flash, rubbing his back and holding his hair out of his face.

- Aigoo~, there we go, let it all out, hyung.

His stomach contracted again making him retch another wave before he was left dry heaving, but his stomach didn't stop contracting and it was starting to hurt his abdomen.

- Oh my god, hyung.

It was contracting so intensely that the dizziness amplified tenfold and for a brief moment he blacked out, slumping backwards but Changbin caught him, letting him lean on his body.

- Hyung, you with me?

Changbin asked concerned and nudging Chan slightly.

- Yeah...sorry about that...

Only then Chan realized just how sick he was, he couldn't hide or deny it anymore. And deep inside his mind, his thoughts were divided 60/40.

40% of him was getting anxious at the thought of having the kids take care of him and not being able to work.

The other 60% was feeling bad enough to the point where he didn't wanna work and just stay in bed.

- Changbinnie, I really don't feel good...

Chan admitted, completely defeated, resting his head on Changbin's shoulder.

He was known for cuddling and hugging the members all the time but this time it was different.

This was him acknowledging he wanted and needed comfort and help, and that broke Changbin's heart and also made him increasingly worried.

- I know hyung. What do you say we get you to the bedroom so you can lie down?

- I think I'll take you on that offer now....

Changbin carefully placed his arms under Chan's and gently helped him up.

He swayed, feeling the floor sinking beneath his feet but Changbin steadied him.

- Hyung, I'll stay with you in the bedroom, okay?

Chan just nodded, too tired and too sick to protest. Even to his own surprise, he wanted that comfort, he wanted someone with him, he wanted to be taken care of.

Once Chan lay down on his bed, he noticed how exhausted his body was. He felt like he was boiling from the inside, he was shivering like someone who was left on Mount Everest, his stomach was in knots and it felt like there were heavy weights pressing down all over his body.

For a moment he wasn't sure he'd even be able to move again.

He just groaned trying to shift his position a little to see if he could get more comfortable.

- Do you think it was the food?

Changbin asked sitting on the edge of the bed next to Chan.

The older suppressed a gag and groaned softly before managing to answer.

- Yeah, I think so....I started feeling weird as soon as we finished eating—

He barely finished his sentence when another gag surged. But he managed to keep it down. But not for long.

He covered his eyes with his arm and took deep breaths, trying to calm down his angry stomach.

In the meantime Changbing quickly went to the kitchen to fetch a bucket.

And he got back to the bedroom just in time.

Changbin noticed how Chan was gripping the sheets, his jaw was clenched and he kept on swallowing convulsively.

- Hyung, if you need to throw up just let it happen.

Chan didn't know why, but for some reason most of his walls were completely down.

He really didn't have the energy to move a muscle so Changbin carefully helped him sit up and placed the bucket in front of him.

Chan leaned over spitting out a thick stream of saliva and groaned at the awful sensation all over his body.

He spat out more saliva a couple more times before his stomach heaved again forcing up another thick torrent of vomit.

Changbin stood by his side, holding his hair and rubbing his back up and down as his hyung continued to empty his stomach.

It felt like the organ was trying to turn itself out, purging itself from everything inside.

A harsh contraction sent more content up at the same moment Chan tried to take a breath and he ended up choking, breaking into a coughing fit.

Changbin quickly changed his approach and started patting his back, trying to help dislodge whatever got stuck. A few seconds later, Chan managed to cough up another chunky stream of vomit.

The stench was filling the room and the bucket was getting full way too quickly.

- Hyung, I think you've got a stomach bug...you wouldn't be vomiting like this if it was only a case of overeating. Plus, you're running a fever, which seemed to have gotten higher.

Chan just groaned in response, spitting out and rinsing his mouth with the water Changbin gave him and then slumped back into the bed.

- I'll check your temperature, okay?

The older boy just nodded covering his eyes again, the lights piercing through them and stinging his head.

- Changbinnie, can you dim the lights a bit? My head feels like it's gonna explode...

- Sure.

Changbin did as his leader asked and then grabbed a thermometer.

- 39.5°C, hyung it's pretty high. We need to bring it down. Do you think you can stomach some medicine?

Chan gagged and leaned over the side of the bed in time for a thin stream of bile to come up and out.

- I guess that's a no... Let's take a quick bath then, it might help a bit, okay?

- Okay...

- I'll help you, come on.

Changbin gently helped Chan sit on the edge of the bed, holding him steady as he squeezed his head trying to get rid of the dizziness.

- You good?

- Yeah, just...dizzy...

- Do you think you can walk?

- Yeah, I think so...

But he couldn't, even though Changbin helped him, his knees buckled as soon as he was up. The young rapper quickly grabbed him, steadying so he wouldn't fall.

He wrapped an arm around Chan's waist and guided him to the bathroom.

Once there Chan leaned over the sink, the nausea coming back after that little walk from his bedroom to the bathroom.

- Do you want to throw up again?

Chan just nodded, ducking his head and leaning himself on the sink trying to take deep breaths to calm down his churning stomach. Changbin stood by his side rubbing soothing circles on his back, trying to provide what little comfort he could.

But it was no use. He started dry heaving, his stomach contracting forcefully but nothing was coming up, even though Chan felt like there was still something needing to get out.

And it was starting to get too much.

- Changbinnie, can you help me...?

- Sure, hyung.

Changbin seemed to understand what Chan wanted so he didn't say anything else.

He changed his approach.

Instead of rubbing circles, he started to rub Chan's back from his lower back to in-between his shoulder blades, trying to stimulate his body.

And he used his other hand to press on Chan's stomach, even though he himself knew how that was uncomfortable.

- Hyung, it'll be uncomfortable but bear with me, okay?

- mhmm

Chan was feeling miserable and he needed help, he even asked for it. And Changbin's touch was comforting, making him feel relaxed and not care that much about being vulnerable.

Changbin kept pressing on his stomach, doing it a little harder every time until Chan's stomach reacted to the stimulation.

A sick wet burp brought out another wave of putrid vomit that splattered on the sink. He barely managed to catch his breath when another one came up, so strong it made him sway slightly but Changbin kept a firm grip on him while still rubbing his back.

A few minutes later, Chan was just dry heaving again, his stomach continued to contract but there was nothing more to come up but bile.

- Hyung, try to breathe, okay? Come on, straighten your back a little.

Chan tried to do as he said, gagging again at the movement but pushing through it.

Once he was straight, he closed his eyes and instinctively grabbed Changbin's hand to ground himself and started to take deep breaths.

Changbin kept rubbing Chan's back all the time until he felt stable enough to proceed with the bath.

- Wanna try taking a shower now?

- Yeah...

- Do you want me to stay in here with you?

- No, there's no need to. I think I can manage...

Chan answered, not sounding very convincing. But Changbin knew he wanted his privacy and even though he was afraid of letting Chan alone in the bathroom, he would never cross the line with his hyung.

- Okay, I'll be right outside. Don't lock the door, hyung and yell if you need anything, okay?

- I will...

With that Changbin left the bathroom and sat by the door, not trusting Chan's body to cooperate with him.

Inside the bathroom Chan had a little bit of difficulty to take off his clothes, the fever making his muscles ache and his body feel heavy.

When he was out of his clothes, he sat on the edge of the bath tub before he could actually take his shower.

It was supposed to be relaxing but the lukewarm water, although helping his aching muscles, made the room stuffy and he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him and it brought the nausea back.

He was too weak, in fact, he was afraid of moving too fast and risk falling. An injury on top of a stomach bug was not on his wishlist.

So when the nausea grew stronger and sent something up his chest, he braced himself against the wall leaning over the drain as another wave of vomit poured out, the water quickly washing it away.

Changbin must've heard the sound of retching from outside because Chan soon heard a soft knock on the door.

- Hyung? Is everything okay?

He asked, not daring to open the door and take Chan's privacy away.

- Y-Yeah...don't worry...

Chan took a few minutes to recollect himself before he managed to finish his bath without further incidents.

By the time he was done with his bath, he was running on fumes. He barely managed to put on the clothes Changbin left on the bathroom before his body gave out making him sit on the edge of the bathtub again and refusing to move.

And again, Chan didn't want to deal with all this alone. During the bath he wanted his privacy, sure. But now that it was over and he was dressed?

He really wanted Changbin to come back and help him.

- Changbinnie...you can come in....

He said weakly, praying that Changbin heard it because he didn't have the energy to shout.

And he did, thankfully.

- Hey, hyung. Is everything okay? I heard retching...

- yeah, I....I just felt sick again... Can you help me back to the bedroom? My body won't move....

He managed to say with a weak chuckle.

- Of course. Let's go.

Changbin positioned himself in front of Chan to give him a piggyback ride to his bedroom and noticed his body temperature dropped a little, which made him feel relieved.

Once in Chan's bedroom again, Changbin gently lowered him down and Chan just sunk into the pillows. His eyes were barely open.

- I'll check your temperature again, hyung.

Thankfully the fever had lowered a bit, and it was good enough since Chan wouldn't be able to stomach a pill and that bath would have to do the trick.

- How are you feeling now, hyung?

- Dizzy, nauseous, my head hurts...and I'm tired...

- Do you think you're gonna be sick again? Like now?

- No, seems settled for now...

- I'll leave the bucket here just in case. It's a stomach bug, this will be needed.

Changbin said playfully, earning a chuckle from Chan. He then left to grab a cold cloth for him and then placed it on Chan's forehead in a way that it also covered his eyes.

- Woah....this feels good...

And apparently, it helped soothe some of the discomfort Chan was feeling because Changbin noticed how his body instantly relaxed.

- Can...can you stay...here?

Chan asked, barely conscious.

Changbin would be lying that he didn't find it cute or that his heart skipped a beat at the sudden request.

- Of course hyung.

It wasn't always that Chan let the kids take care of him, it was pretty rare for him to let himself be seen in such a weak state. So Changbin took that opportunity to make sure he was as pampered as he deserved.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @robobbin for this adorable commission of Mafiafell Sans caring for their OC sick at home. You know I can't live without big scaryboys absolutely melting when their darling is unwell <3

---

“hey sweetcheeks.”

You looked up from your position nestled on the couch, a flash of hot confusion and embarrassment momentarily awakening you from your feverish stupor. That... wasn’t the voice you expected to hear, coming through your front door. You lifted your head up a few inches- movement in inches was all you could manage right now.

... It was Sans. Sans was in your house. He had a nice, pressed red shirt and black pants- your spare keys hooked onto a claw, two plastic bags over one of his big arms, and an unreadable lilt to his shark grin.

“... Sans?” You mumbled, eyes widening into saucers. You felt your cheeks immediately get even hotter. 

Your fever hadn’t improved, as you’d hoped it would. In fact, it had only gotten worse as the hours wore on; moving and thinking had grown increasingly impossible. In a total mess, you’d called Papyrus, asking if he could bring over something for you to eat... though you didn’t actually recall what he’d said back to you, most of it just blurring together in your head.

... You’d been expecting Pap. Pap knew you, he'd already seen you weak and gross before. Pap had carried you home from the gym, once, after you made the mistake of trying to keep up with his workout.

You were not anticipating the arrival of his hot brother, whom you had a massive crush on. 

Despite feverishly sweating, you pulled the blanket further up over you. You felt embarrassed to be seen like this.

“sorry, i know you were expectin’ boss.” He put both of the plastic bags down onto the coffee table, crouching beside the couch to be closer to your eye level. You twisted your hands in the blanket, his proximity making your heart thump. “he’s swamped with work, so i’m droppin off the emergency goods instead. though i’ll be sure to let him know you missed him.”

“... O-oh.” Your mind was fried. You stared- he looked great. It felt like the longer you knew each other, the better he dressed, it was amazing how his presence could simultaneously make you feel so much worse but also so much better. “N-no, it’s okay. I’m... fine. You’re fine.”

He chuckled, musically, eyelights warm. His voice felt good in your painful chest. “i’m fine?”

“N-not like... fine as in hot. Fine as in okay.” Your cheeks were just on fire at this point. The fever had removed any and all barriers between your head and your mouth, so words just waterfalled out. “Not that you’re not hot. You are. You’re very hot. You.. uh,”

... Shit. Again, that little edge to his smile. You wanted to sink between the couch cushions and die.

Rather than make fun of you, Sans just gently reached over you, placing a cold compress against your forehead. He was so close you could smell him.

“you’re burning up. and ya look terrible. i’m gonna stay over and watch you.”

"N-no-!!" You blurted, nearly sitting up. The guy you liked, staying and seeing you completely out of it, at your absolute worst? No???

He grinned. "sorry, pet. not gettin' rid of me until your fever goes down."

... You covered your face with both hands. This was mortifying. Were you glad he was here? Absolutely. You didn't want to be alone right now, and his insistence on staying despite your protests felt good. But you still wanted to die.

“pap really went nuts with the food when he found out you were unwell. y’know he’s got a list of all your allergies? let’s see...” You could hear him start unpacking the bags, placing things onto the table. “some funky soup. saltines, popsicles, iced coconut water. ginger candy... whole bunch of herbal teabags. you ever had sea tea?”

You kept one hand on your face, gesturing randomly with the other. “Soup. Soup please.”

“soup comin’ right up, gorgeous.”

You tried to say thank you, but just a weak grumble came out, the room was spinning again. You heard him move into the kitchen... so you just let yourself sink back into the couch, comforted by another person’s presence.

...

You didn’t know how much time passed, he eventually returned. You could smell something nice.

"hey. can ya sit up a lil, for me?'

... You didn’t really respond to his query. Curled in blankets like a feverish squirrel, you merely made a sound in the back of your throat to acknowledge him. The fever was getting worse.

... Big hands, on your body. There was movement... Sans shifted you, everything spun. You were vaguely aware of him sitting you up, supporting you with one big hand- you did your best to just watch his face, focus on his lovely red eyelights.

"c'mon. soup’s ready. here comes the airplane."

... Despite the state of you, that made you giggle. And judging by the smile that filled your wobbling vision... he liked the sound.

///---///

...

... He was probably enjoying himself a little too much.

Sans shifted his legs into a slightly comfier position from his spot in front of the couch. This definitely wasn’t what he thought he’d be doing today. He’d been planning on going out for a drink, maybe crossing some names off a list while his blood was up- the usual stupidity he filled his free time with.

... Then he got Pap’s call about you. And instantly, it had felt like nothing else in the world mattered.

Now, here he was; in his crush’s house, spoon-feeding her warm soup, trying to keep a nonchalant face while wrestling with an (emotional) noisy Soul.

... i haven’t felt like this in a long time.

You were so cute. His nasal ride wrinkled, and he pinched the soup spoon a bit tighter, restraining the urge to grab your cheek- he felt bad for not being able to stop thinking about how cute you looked, when you were so unwell. But he couldn’t help it. All snuggled up in blankets, hair frizzy and unkempt, glasses askew, flushed and warm... you had a twinkly, glazed look to your eyes, not too dissimilar from the look people got when they were drunk. He’d been fighting the urge to ruffle your hair this whole time.

...

Sans bit his tongue. This was mundane, compared to his normal life. Some might even consider it a chore. But... he hadn’t felt this nice in so long. He felt... useful. Wanted.

When was the last time someone had been openly, willingly, weak around him? When was the last time someone was in a state of fragility, and wanted him nearby?

Mushy feelings filled his chest. Soft. Overprotective. He was hyper-aware of how sick you were and he didn’t want to leave your side, not even for a second, not even to go home. Even just acknowledging those emotions made colour rise to his cheekbones... he hadn't felt anything like this level of protectiveness since Pap was just a babybones.

... But damn... it felt good to be needed.

...

Warm fingers curled around his hand.

He very nearly jumped out of his fucking seat at the sensation- he fumbled the soup spoon, mumbling out a little ‘shit’ as he broke out of his thoughts, turning to look at you. 

... Your tiny hand was wrapped around two of his phalanges. Sparkly eyes peered up at him.

fuck. His Soul thudded in his throat. don’t look away from me.

"... h-hey. c'mon." His voice was shaky. "that ain't fair."

"Huh?" Came your bleary reply. so fucking cute. stop it.

"you've stolen my hand, doll."

... You looked to his captured hand, slowly. Like you only just realised you had it.

...

"... Mine now." You mumbled.

...

He tried to muster up a quick joke, like always. Tried to come up with a sharp-witted response. Something with swagger, something with a flirtatious edge, something with confidence that would show you how cool and collected he was. 

...

Nothing came out of his mouth. It was like trying to start an empty car.

“... o-oh.”

...

"... You're great." You said, eyes fluttering closed.

"... huh?"

"Great guy. Handsome guy. Nice to me." It didn't sound like you intended those thoughts to be said out loud. He felt his eyelights flare- his Soul was thumping against his ribs.

Words banged at his tongue, but the only sound he managed to get out was a tiny shaking hum of affirmation.

You drew his hand up toward your face, he absolutely had the strength to stop you but he felt like he’d been flashbanged. All he could do was watch... as turned on your side to get cosy, pulled up his hand to your face... and happily nuzzled the back of it.

“My big guy.” You murmured.

...

Just like that, you were asleep.

...

Sans used his free hand to cover his face. His whole skull was carmine red, glowing like a campfire. It made him look almost as feverish as you.

...

i never want to leave.

[adventuringblind]

Picking at my Sins

Oscar piastri x reader

Genre: Angst, smut?

Summary: Reader comes from a religious background and struggles with self worth. Oscar is there to pick up the pieces.

Warnings: religious trauma, alluded to SH, panic attacks, talks of sex

Notes: mmmmmm definitely not self projecting or anything

Masterlist

The one thing nobody teaches in church is that innocence is simply a construct in the human mind. No one is ever truly innocent. Especially those who you expect to always love and respect you. The ones who preach to always follow the rules.

They turned their back on her. A mistake that wasn't even hers led to her entire church turning their backs on her. She was left to fend with nothing. Her parents were facing the same issue, only they were the ones who started it.

It was for that reason she left.

She wouldn't call herself innocent. Simply inexperienced. She knows what she would like to try but hasn't been able to do so.

She was alone for so long. A new place makes it hard to make friends. Especially since she has a religious background, people tend to immediately think the worst.

She met Oscar in October of 2022. It was cold and rainy that evening. She needed something from the store, and she didn't have a car, so she'd settled for walking in the torrential down pour.

Alcohol. She needed alcohol after a lengthy conversation with her mom that didn't end well and a ten hour shift at a job she gets minimum wage for. Then, to feed her depressed mood, she went to the nearest park with a pretty view, sat on the bench, and drank straight from the bottle.

She's not sure how long she'd been here, but it was long enough that she was shivering and drenched. The liquor barely touched. How had religion touched that, too? Why does she feel sick at the idea of putting her mouth to the bottle?

The park is deserted, and she assumes that it'll remain that way. It doesn't. And at some point, a male comes running towards her. He's probably just out for some kind of workout he can't pause even for the weather.

She assumes he'll run right by her. He doesn't. Imstead he stops to make conversation. Then he sits with her. Then they walk together to somewhere out of the rain.

That is how she found herself talking to the Australian any moment she got. It's how she made a friend who didn't care that she couldn't stomach eating food at times because it could cause imperfections. A friend who let her rant about her ridiculous situation.

Then, a friend became a lover. He asked her out in January. He asked her to that same park which they had met months earlier. He told her they didn't have to do anything quickly. That he was willing to help her figure it out. He truly saw her for who she was and wanted to continue having stupid conversations and finding weird locations to explore.

She worked through things slowly. Many panic attacks were had. The first time she dyed her hair, she cried. Her first time wearing clothes that revealed more than they should have, she also cried. She couldn't even wear them out due to the sheer amount of overwhelming feelings.

Then she left to travel with Oscar. He dragged her around the world with him. Asking nothing in return aside from loving him unconditionally and being his pillar through the stress of a rookie season.

He was so gentle through everything. Honest with her about every misconception she had about life. Reminded her daily that being herself wasn't a sin.

The one thing she hadn't been able to get past was intimacy. It is the most taboo subject to speak about in a church. Aside from hearing that it's bad unless you're married. If it happens any other way, then you'd be punished. Shunned by all. Labeled as wicked and disgusting.

Hand holding was the first step. That came pretty easy while they were friends even. Then he kissed her and she kissed back and even though she was clumsy it was amazing.

The kiss was followed by the first of many panic attacks. A nasty thing that had her wailing and clawing at her skin.

Eventually, she got past that. Though she picked up new habits that probably weren't the best. Oscar made it a point to keep her hands occupied in more productive ways. Even if it felt childish like coloring in a colorbook. They went through three of them in a month. It became a way that they both relax.

She felt herself getting more comfortable with touch after that. Even getting far enough to get clothes off.

And then she wanted to have him completely. He was so gentle through the entire thing. Always asking how she felt. The girl felt utterly clueless and fumbled with everything, but she didn't panic. Maybe it was the overwhelming feeling of love that kept those dark thoughts out of her brain.

It was a month later that it all came crashing down. Her parents had found her. They showed up at her flat while Oscar was there.

She'd never seen the Aussie so defensive. He'd always been so laid back. Until she watched him tell her parents to get out in a horrifyingly stern voice.

It didn't matter, though. The damage had already been done. They'd already yelled about how awful she'd become. The female had just hung her head and listened. It came like muscle memory.

Oscar did get them out eventually. They left in a flurry of shouts as Oscar closed the door and locked it. Then he started from square one again.

That's when the panic attacks during sex started. She couldn't stop the thoughts. They snuck up on her. One second, she was in bliss, and the next, she was trying to claw her skin off her body. The overwhelming disgust with herself seemed to set in after that.

But Oscar was there, every time. He would hold her. Get her cleaned up. Place bandages where her nails had managed to rip skin. Then he’d occupy her mind with anything far away from the topics of intimacy and sex. He’d let her initiate contact so he didn’t scare her.

Sometime, he gets asked by friends (Lando) about his personal life. Why the two aren’t often see going out together. Why she prefers to do a shot then drink mocktails for the rest of the night.

And Oscar always gives the same over used response. “Cause I’d rather see her smiling then picking herself apart over make believe sins.”

[choikanghuening]

i wasn't sure if I should talk about the whole soobin and txt situation, but lemme contribute with my two pennies on this subject

first things first, I'm new to kpop -so forgive me if im talking shit- and one of weirdest shit to me is how hectic their schedule is.

txt released 3 mini albums this year, besides their solo projects (ggum, workout zzang, academy reincarnation, hyuka wants to start a band and my bias bias), their world tour and lots of appearances on TV shows, fashion shows and soundtracks, comebacks etcetera blah blah blah, we all know this and that's not exactly the point

im bringing this up because i just can't normalize all of this. The guys simply won't stop working. Whenever we see news about txt, it's never something like "they're taking a break now bc they'll rest a bit" no, it's always a new project, a new song, a new apparition, a new something and ofc health problems

in, idk, 5 months? beomgyu, kai and now soobin had health problems, and we may add yeonjun here, my man was extremely overworked while preparing his mixtape, also taehyun had his wisdom tooth out and 3 days later was performing on weverse con, besides other things.

im not gonna dwell on this and say that the industry is getting more and more competitive (no shit Sherlock, welcome to the capitalism), but people are not talking about how toxic and even deadly this is. we've seen enough of artists getting burnt out - at best, let's not even talk about the worst scenarios - and things still haven't changed.

ive been around for some years now and ive seen what happened with lots of artists (i think the most recent one was Liam Payne and I'm still traumatised by everything, I was a huge directioner) and nothing ever changed and I've had enough of this situation.

they are rich and famous, yeah, but they also need your empathy, cause they're humans, just like you and me.

we, as fans and as consumers, need to rethink our consumption of entertainment. we need to talk about this, to take some action, to pressure the companies: they MUST take care of their artists.

"oh, but that's capitalism, it's how it works" oh, fuck you. this needs to stop, all this exploitation of artists, who can't even date in public (!!!!!), they only work, work, work

this pattern really needs to change and if it'll take us fans to make some noise, we sure will not only scream but also put fire on everything

i really hope yeonjun, kai, taehyun, beomgyu and specially soobin are fine and will have time to rest and get better. i love their work, their art, but i love them as people even more ("oh, but you don't even know them in person"-fuck you). so im just praying they'll be fine.

sorry for any mistakes, im honestly so worried and absolutely pissed rn im not even thinking straight.

[call-me-a-simp]

No One Hates You More Than I Do

Talk It Out (Part 6)

Enemies to lovers (Rhea Ripley x fem. Reader):

You're a well known wrestler in WWE and Rhea is your worst enemy. You hate each other in and outside of the ring. Rhea always flirts with you, not that she means it, she just knows it makes you furious and wants to annoy you. But one day everything changes and you start to feel like all of this isn't a joke anymore and that there might actually be something between you two.

You get ready for work and head out the door, grabbing an energy drink from the nearby grocery store on your way. It was a pretty chill day, only a few interviews and more prepping stuff for the upcoming show where they plan to reveal you as the new member of The Judgement Day.

That evening after work you decide to attend the local gym as you didn't have time for you daily workout yet. You don't notice the person following you in your tired state. You probably wouldn't have noticed them at all if they wouldn't have let you known they're there during one of your breaks between some reps.

Rhea's eyes follow you the whole day, noticing your tired expression and weak body from the lack of sleep and proper food. She doesn't even try to deny her being worried about you. So after you left work she decides to follow you. Keeping a safe distance with her car until she sees you enter the towns local gym. She parks her car in a nearby parking lot where she is able to see if you would leave the building again or not.

Sitting there in silence she thinks about her feelings towards you and your reaction when she told you. It made her wonder if you secretly felt the same and just also had difficulties expressing that. After about twenty minutes she finally worked up the courage to confront you with her thoughts and theories so she gets out the car and walks over to the building you're in.

It doesn't take her long to find you since it's a fairly small area with quite few people being there at that time. She waits until you're taking a break to speak to you.

"Hey" you hear a familiar voice and look up. It was Rhea. "What do you want? Can't you see that I'm busy right now?" you attack her annoyed. "Sorry to bother you.." she raises her arms in defence and looks hurt at your reaction, which makes you feel guilty almost immediately. "I'm sorry, I'm just very tired." you mumble and sigh. "What is it Ripley? What are you here for?" "I just wanted to talk about.. some uh.. thoughts of mine.." Rhea admits and blushes.

"Fine by me, want to tell me while I finish my reps?" You ask her. "I'd prefer to wait until we're alone, but I can spot you and maybe give you some tips until then?" Rhea responds in a questioning tone. You shrug and nod.

About half an hour later you're walking out of the gym together. "My apartment is almost right around the corner, wanna meet there?" You turn to look at Ripley. "Bet I'll be there first!" Rhea playfully smirks at you and runs off to her car. You didn't notice you were smiling at her actions until you accidentally saw your reflection on the car window. You quickly replace it with a neutral look and shake your head at your behaviour. Why were you smiling at her stupid jokes?

Five minutes later you unlock your front door where Rhea was already waiting for you. Opening it you begin to question yourself if this might be a mistake, if Rhea was just acting nice to land a critical hit on you. You brush it off as your normal overthinking and hold the door open for your guest.

"I haven't cleaned today or anything so please don't mind the mess.." you mumble more to yourself than to her. Rhea hums and follows you to the big main room, consisting of living room and kitchen at the same time. "I'm gonna order some pizza, you want something too?" You ask without turning around to her. "I'm good, thanks" she denies your offer. She then patiently waits until your done with the phone call before speaking up again.

"So uhm.. like I said I wanted to talk about some of my thoughts with you because i feel the urge to clarify some things but now that I'm actually here it's harder than I originally thought.." your counterpart admits awkwardly.

"Tomorrow's a holiday which means no work which means we've got all night" you shrug and turn around to her with a little smile that's meant to reassure her. Your eyes meet and you can see her relax a little more. You smile at each other and you walk over to the couch, signaling Rhea to come sit next to you.

"Maybe it'll be easier if we don't start with it right away and instead focus on something else. For example finally getting over our egos and start working together for real this time." you say with a serious undertone in your voice. Rhea nods but avoids looking directly at you.

"You're right" she eventually says and lifts up her gaze, meeting yours. "I'm sorry for treating you bad all these years, even after I thought we got over our problems. I somehow couldn't help but spread rumors about you, which again, leads us to why I wanted to talk to you so bad" she sighs.

"I know.." you whisper. "And to be honest.. I kinda feel drawn to you too.." There's a few moments of silence until you continue. "It just confuses me because I never felt this way with another woman before. Does that mean I'm a lesbian now?"

Rhea breaks out laughing and you can't help but chuckle too. "If you're still attracted to men then no, it does not make you a lesbian" Ripley laughs but then gets serious again. "So you do like me back?" she wants to clarify, praying she didn't interpret your words the wrong way.

"I- I don't know, like, the sex we had was pretty damn good I have to admit, and I wouldn't complain if we did it again.." you shyly look at her, nervously chuckling as an attempt to calm the anxiety a little. Seeing her eyes lighten up at those words and the little smile that sneaks into her face makes you feel a certain warmth and ease inside. "I.. guess we could try.." you whisper, breaking eye contact as you can feel the heat rush into your cheeks.

"So- uh.. you're saying you think you do like me back and that you're willing to date me, like.. seriously?" Rhea asks completely overwhelmed. "God damn it, yes, you idiot!" You exclaim and wrap your hands around her neck kissing her.

You both smile into the kiss and you lean back, pulling Rhea on top of yourself as you lay down. "I still fucking hate you for what you've done, just to be clear" you murmur against her lips and she chuckles in response. "And what do you want me to do about it now.." she then teases you. "Maybe fuck you so hard you just forget about it?" she smirks at you. "Mmh.. maybe?" you whisper and smirk back at her.

Rhea kisses you again and begins to trail kisses along your jawline and down to the crook of your neck. Slipping one of her legs between yours, she presses her body down against your own, creating a friction that makes you moan softly.

But before it could go any further the doorbell rings, and you push Rhea off of yourself with a grin. You liked that you were able to make her horny and now she got to wait. She looks back at you pouting, but eventually smiles at you as she watches you come back, already with a mouth full of pizza.

"God I just can't be mad at you" she sighs and guides you to sit between her legs with your back against her chest. "I'll turn on a movie okay?" she says softly and kisses your temple while reaching for the tv remote.

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

I AM SO INCREDIBLY SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING Y'ALL FOR SO LONG!!! I don't know what's going on with me at the moment myself or I would have explained it to you, but ye, hope you enjoy and I'll try to write more now :)

Taglist: @specialinterestshows @butterfly12347 @billiewherearetheavocados @lomlrhea @hatdog96 @plk-18 @babybatlover @wiccanpriestess @kagome2909 @domlynch

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Star-crossed in the Crosshairs (John Price x Reader)

Chapter 2: I've Said Too Much

Fic Summary: This mission is the pinnacle of your efforts for the past three years. Your whole team and yourself have worked countless hours, slaughtered hundreds, risked life and limb for scraps of intel, and now it all boiled down to pairing up with another taskforce to get this job done and dusted. An unexpected spanner in the works comes in the shape of your former best friend, now also a Captain and somehow resurrected from his KIA status, John Price.

You can’t afford to let feelings - old and new - get in the way of your purpose. No matter how much you’ve missed, wished for, loved him, and no matter how much he might feel the same.

Content Warnings: Usual COD content (violence, torture, death, guns), mutual pining, back from the dead, friends to allies to lovers, Reader is GN, some use of Y/N.

Chapter 1 // Masterlist // AO3 Version // Chapter 3

You were dropped off like kids at school, waving off the heli as its blades cast pulses of air across the natural landscape, your uniforms rippling against the swift tide. Your ride floated back into the air and swivelled back the way it came. Fading fast, your ears still strained to hear its farewell whilst you adjusted your vest strap so that it was tucked away and irritating you no longer.

Thus began the hike. You thanked your workout regimen that you were able to power-walk up an incline whilst carrying a heavy duty rucksack and replying to any remark made your way.

Any other day, you’d probably appreciate a walk through these forests. Pine trees thick and brusque, blocking anyone from spotting your team but preventing you from seeing them as well. Overcast clouds of the early evening aided your cover into night and meant you didn’t have to carry around sunscreen, force it on your teams whilst they squinted and whined about it, bunch of babies. Another saving grace was your boots, broken in enough that you never received blisters.

One of Čiernik’s lieutenants, an arm’s dealer called Markovič that he’d collaborated with more and more frequently over the past two years, was rumoured to be at this location, and his identity had been pinged crossing the border. Your first step was to reach the safehouse, an apartment in the town Fraleni, where Markovič was known to frequent, and intercept him on his biweekly visit to the only bar (called Los Gatos) tomorrow night. That was the worst thing to do as someone who wanted to remain under the radar: follow a strict routine.

“Makes you wonder what level of stupidly confident they are,” Crash muttered when you revealed this yesterday.

You had to agree, but not without its own warning: “As long as you don’t make the mistake of acting the same.”

Of course you were suspicious of this routine. Whether it was a trap or not, that remained to be seen. But you were prepared for that potential outcome – as prepared as you could be. Ever the restless beast, your mind ran with every outcome it could come up with.

After two hours, you let someone else lead the way – they’d read the maps, checked their compasses. Meanwhile, you played tail end Charlie for the next hour, watching how the two teams were becoming one. Soap and Bronze were directly in front of you – a few feet ahead, chatting about scars on their arms and their sources. Gaz and Crash, as expected, were next up but included Chance in their talk, occasionally reaching Ghost near the front. Price was leading the way now.

Respite from the growing risk assessments let you wonder when Price had adopted this new kind of hat. He’d had a baseball cap not unlike yours and Garrick’s. As a matter of fact, he borrowed one from you the last few missions you had together. You collected it from his bunk the day he was designated KIA, weeping on the bedsheets with it clasped to your chest as if it could reach and heal your heart, bring him back so you could annoy him into giving it back. It now sat folded and burning a hole in your back pocket.

“How do you know Price?”

Ghost, in your little thought tangent, had drawn back to step beside you. His strides were still longer than yours but you could sense his deliberate hesitation to go at full-steam ahead.

“We worked together, ‘just under a decade back. How’d you two cross paths?”

“Met him being assessed to become a Sergeant, then he brought me into the 141 four years ago.”

“Ah.” You didn’t really know what else to say, nor did you want to add anymore. In your brief time with the Lieutenant, and having pieced together pieces of his reputation, you figured he’d probably appreciate your mutual silence.

Not so mutual, it seemed.

“You’ve been after Čiernik for two years?”

“Three, five if you count the theory crafting.”

“I do.”

“Five it is.”

“That why Price didn’t get you on 141?”

A nervous itch began to whisper that Price had talked about you to the 141, and up until yesterday you’d been a name without a face.

“You’d have to ask him that,” You replied after that brief sabbatical into your thoughts.

“Hey Ghost!” Soap was walking with his head craned around as he yelled back, “You playin’ nice?”

“On my best behaviour,” Ghost replied, his Mancunian accent adding a natural humour to his words.

Soap barked out a laugh at that, and Chance followed up with: “Is that so, Captain?”

“Hmm, he’s gonna get a gold star for his manners,” You said.

Just as this steepness was causing you to break a sweat, your team found the vehicle left for you by an ally, a van with tinted windows. A view from the ridge revealed Fraleni nestled at the foot of the hill, with more modern amenities spreading over and out of the bowl of the valley, miniscule windows glowing in the dusk.

Gaz volunteered to drive, letting the rest of the team fight over the passenger seat, then the rest loading up into the back whilst Bronze enjoyed his seatbelt privileges.

“Last time I got in a car with Ghost at the wheel, crushed two guys with the truck bed and almost gave me whiplash,” Soap said to you, his grin boastful.

Ghost blinked slowly at this short story, “Got us out alive.”

The pride in Soap’s smile was still bold as brass, “You sure did.”

And even you could tell that Ghost was likely smiling beneath the balaclava. It vanished when the van bounced like a see saw, everyone letting out noises of distaste to drown out Gaz’s apology.

Backroads and their bumps brought you into the town. Tiny pavements kept the residence confined to it, and no one paid any mind to your vehicle as it weaved around under Bronze’s directions until it turned straight into a garage, the shutters locking in almost immediately after. Efficient, just the way you liked it, and exactly how you filed into the apartment above, scouting just in case. Plaster was spread across the walls like buttercream on a decorator’s first cake. Sparse decoration made the space feel less homely than if everything was bare, the thick layer of dust giving the safehouse apartment a haunting air. The only thing you could appreciate were the ornate rails at the windows, creating two Juliet balconies that perfectly overlooked

Los Gatos was populated with outdoor seating and a wall of glass that folded to leave it open to the unevenly paved street. The food looked miles better than the MRE awaiting your digestion; the smell wafted up across to your building, knocking on the glass. A foolish part of you suggested going down and grabbing some for the team tomorrow.

Satisfied with their initial survey, everyone gathered in the living room.

“Ghost-”

You stopped immediately, because someone was talking over you. Saying the exact same thing in fact. Price was mirroring your expression, his jaw ajar from cutting you off. The team flicked between you and Price like they were watching a discordant match of tennis, waiting for one to let the other score or take the point for themselves.

Within the following second, Price shifted his weight from one leg to the back with an apologetic expression, his hand gesturing to the team, “Your op.”

Why did him passing the mantle back to you feel so irritating? Childishly you wanted to disagree, offer the reply of “your team”. But it was technically your operation, not the polite Olympics. Last thing you needed was your team – now technically both Banshee and 141 – getting the wrong idea about chain of command out here. It was your call.

You started over: “Ok, Ghost, get on the radio to Laswell and update her. Crash and Bronze, set up the perimeter. Gaz, set up sightlines by the windows for where we’ll take watch in slots. Soap, Chance, check the house’s layout for the exits, any dead ends. Once that’s done, we’ll get started on the MREs and organise a schedule for taking watch.”

Murmurs of “yes, Captain” and “on it” followed, bags dumped in the centre of the room before they scuttled off to fulfil their orders. You counted them as they went and landed back on Price who was adjusting a familiar knife handle on his right shoulder.

“What about me?” He asked, still with that relaxed manner meant to appease.

“Come check the plans with me.”

Upon the tiny island countertop, you spread out the plans that had been hiding in your bag’s front pocket. Price stood beside you, and you didn’t ignore how he leant in just a little before speaking.

“I think I owe you an explanation.” His voice was low, his eyes on the others in the room and if they were close enough to hear him. Only you were; a few inches between you and the brim of the boonie left you feeling both discomfited and desiring to lean in further. For fuck’s sake.

Though Price’s words were vague, you knew he was referring to your “unfinished business” – not the mishap over leadership just then, the fact that he’d been KIA in your mind longer than it was a misprint on official documents. Even if the desire to do so was there, you gave no time to playing coy or dumb, especially after such a hike and with so much ahead.

“You don’t need to tell me anything. I read what happened,” You said as you pulled out the blueprints of Los Gatos.

“You did?” Price’s expression and tone were a cross between incredulous and amused.

You remained as neutral as possible, “I requested your file, amongst your team’s. I like to know who I’m working with.”

Ok, that was unintentionally scathing. As you felt the words cross your lips, you felt an edge appear in the final few words to pass judgement on the man in front of you, the kind of man not to tell his best friend he’s not actually dead.

Price’s voice softened, “You’re angry.”

You were four days ago, reading that file of his, redacted areas held up to the light, a stiff drink cooling your palm and soothing your raw throat.

“I’m fine.” Weariness was slipping into your body language, out of the mask, so you adjusted and straightened up your posture. “I’m ready to go over the plans and get this sorted.”

“It’s long overdue, but-” A soft sigh popcorned in Price’s lungs. He must still be a smoker “-I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

That was at least partly true. His capture wasn’t his fault. The last time you heard him being a cry of pain in your earpiece then static wasn’t his fault. Your final moment replaying over and over in your mind, torturing you with every instance you could have intervened, possible or otherwise whilst knowing it was impossible to change it, that wasn’t his fault.

But the years between his return to the SAS and this moment were his fault. What you read about him doing in that span, those were his fault. Most of them were good things: preventing worldwide panic, catastrophe, terrorist attacks. But that long list of achievements and commendations did not report his decision to not reach out and relieve you of the pain you were in. Never sending news of his return, never inviting you to join the 141, never asking you to be a part of his life again.

And, again, you weren’t angry. You had been, and you’d also been devastated that you had evidently meant so little to him when he’d meant more than the world to you. But your head was clear, now that you had missed and mourned for Price longer than you’d known him. The whole ordeal put to bed from your point of view; you just wish he would do the same, for both your sakes.

Price didn’t press for whether you accepted or dismissed his apology, just let you have it and continue with the task at hand.

“Gaz’ll do well down there tomorrow, and Bronze too. I want Soap as sniper, just as a precaution. Chance too. You, Crash and Ghost can intercept in these paths should he make a break for it. I’ll be in the car, ready to take him to the rendezvous for questioning, or for back-up should you need it.”

Price’s affirming nods and hums to your plans were welcomed. They weren’t necessary, neither was his perspective on the plans that you knew were fine. Yet you’d asked for them anyway. Something to consider later.

After another quarter of an hour, you released him to join the others, who’d returned with their duties complete, reported to you their findings, and were opening their MREs – which gave Price an excuse to use that daft pair of scissors he insisted on carrying around with him. You stayed at the counter whilst they cooked, updating your thoughts in your ring-binder notepad. Soap did the same, except his was less tallies and more drawings from the brief glimpse you caught in the tattered leather jacket. You didn’t linger on him, busying yourself with your alone time six feet from the hubbub around the makeshift hobs.

It came to an end all too fast but you didn’t enter this profession for alone time. Chance brought you your plate – some kind of curry - which you accepted then followed her back to the group. No space on the sofas (cushions or arms) so you leant against the wall instead. You were still stirring your meal around in your mess tray when everyone else had finished.

“Captain?” You glanced up to see Chance holding up a deck of cards. “Shithead, you in?”

A short smile brushed across your face, “Sure.”

“I haven’t played in ages!” Gaz said in a tone of hushed awe.

Chance sifted through the deck carefully to check all cards were present, “Crash taught us. She can remind you.”

Already ahead of him, Crash eagerly explained to Soap who’d forgotten the rules and Gaz who was just along for the verbal ride. You let yourself get dealt in, joining around the coffee table. Ghost volunteered for first watch; you had a sneaking suspicion he would sweep the floor everyone if he got the chance to play later on. For the three rounds of Shithead, you were safe from embarrassment. Soap was the first Shithead, then Chance twice which she blamed on being sat beside Crash – merciless and high on breaking her four times Shithead streak.

Settling for the night, the team began choosing their spots on the floor, opting for the biggest room together rather than spread out into the minute bedroom. And if anyone opted to sleep on the bathroom floor, you would’ve asked for a psych eval the second you returned to your base.

You were woken up once, and you rolled over away, trying your best not to notice Price having words with Ghost during their shift swap.

Stirring again at what felt like seconds later, your watch quickly disproved this notion and informed you that it was two minutes until your watch. For that first minute, you continued to lay back, your eyes taking turns to be closed to prevent falling asleep again. The second minute started with you rubbing your eyes and pushing up from your sleeping bag. Then you glanced to where your next two hours would be

Price was sat against the wall, one knee bent, the dull light of his cigar softly illuminating his moustache and nose, but nothing more – attracting no unwanted attention from the street below.

“My turn, scoot.” Awoken somewhere in your muscle memory, your boot gently poked him on the ankle.

Price arched his back with a groan, his shoulder blades crunching as he did so. Then he grappled with his knee to stand up and swap spots with you.You restrained the urge to roll your eyes, the way you used to when he used to put on this act, sounding like a grandad getting out of his easy chair. He was fine. Fit as a damn fiddle.

“Nothing to report,” He whispered gruffly before taking your space on the floor.

Your back guided you down against the wall, and you drilled your stare through the glass. Seconds rolled over one another as you stared at the marmalade glaze that emitted from the scattered lampposts and coated the road. A snore arose from one of the many sleeping bags bundled around your fellow officers. Then another. You sighed in time with the third. Long night ahead.

_______________________________________

AN: Thank you for all the love on the first chapter! I saw the MW3 trailer and I’m Stressed™ about it. I just want all my boys n gals to live!!! That being said, it'll probably motivate me to keep writing, so that I can finish this before the game comes out and if Price dies, y'all have content whilst I go into mourning.

Taglist: @mockerycrow

[hopefulromances]

About "Long time coming" delete scenes and their future, can you please write something about the reader getting a call-up to the World Cup (I don't know if the timeline adds up) and Jamie following her Journey towards the final despite the time difference between Australia and England and him comforting her when she comes back after losing 1-0 to Spain, you can ignore it if you want to <3

OMG This is such a good idea!!!!!!!

We're gonna pretend the timeline adds up cause this is such a good idea omg.

A Long TIme Coming drabble

In the year since Richmond had started the Lady Greyhounds, I'd never been happier. When I got the news that I was chosen for England's International Women's team for the World Cup, I just about lost it.

My skills had come back strong, and the whole country seemed to be talking about (Y/N) (L/N)'s amazing season as the captain of the Greyhounds, leading the team to a third place finish in their first year in the league. But even still I hadn't expected to be recognized with a call up so soon.

The first person you'd rushed to tell was Jamie, of course. The men's team practiced simultaneously as the women's. They'd built onto the club to make a locker room and shower for the women but we all worked out of the same place.

After training that day I'd gone over to the men's locker room, running over to find Jamie as soon as I could.

"Jamie!" I called out, running into the room.

He turned and caught me in his arms, excited to see me. "Hey, love! How was training."

He loved seeing her so happy. In all the times she'd been working with the coaches, he'd never seen her so relaxed and happy before.

"Jamie, I was called up for the international team! I'm gonna play in the Women's World Cup!" I told him, smiling from ear to ear.

Jamie's face lit up as he grabbed me around the waist and lifted me up off the floor. The rest of the lads gave me a cheer as well but I only saw him.

"(Y/N) (L/N), you legend!" He squeezed you tight. "I'm so proud of you, kid."

Jamie wasn't able to come with her to Australia, unfortunately. But he kept up with every game. The time difference between England and Australia is 9 hours. Meaning when the game started at 4pm in Australia it was 7am in England.

But Jamie was up already from his workout with Roy and would be at the home watching the game until the last second, then even when he'd gotten to the club, he was checking his phone every few minutes, checking the score.

I only got 15 minutes of play time near the end of the match against the Matilda's and we were already up 3-1 but the Tillies still put up a fight against us.

When I got on the bus after the game, I immediately got a phone call.

"What a match!" Jamie shouted over the phone. I had to pull the phone away as I smiled. Milly, my bus buddy, chuckled as she gave me a knowing smirk. We could both hear Jamie's rambling about the stats and the players and the minutes played. I just blushed and smirked back at Milly.

The worst was when we played Spain. Again, Jamie couldn't come with me. I thought I was going to be disappointed when we won and he wasn't there. But it was worse when we lost. Worse because then I had to wait until we got home to see him and that was almost more unbearable. I could just see him with his sad puppy eyes waiting to comfort me. I didn't want comfort.

I mean I did. But not from him, I was embarrassed. I'd flubbed a pass in my limited time on the field, and I felt the sting of guilt radiating off of me. Though my mistake hadn't directly lead to a goal, I couldn't help but wonder if I hadn't would we have won.

But in the end, Spain was just a better team. They were fantastic, and played extremely well. Jamie didn't call me after the match, he just sent me a text saying how proud he was of me and that he'd seem me when I got home. I was dreading it. The sympathy and pity that would spill out. Jamie Tartt didn't lose games.

Okay, that wasn't true Jamie Tartt had lost a lot of games. But for some reason I was embarrassed that I had lost this game. The car pulled up outside my house and I just had to wait. Forcing myself to stand outside the front door as I worked up the courage to go inside.

The house was weirdly quiet. That was until I walked into the kitchen.

"Surprise!" Jamie jumped out, blowing a noise maker. Above the table, Jamie had hung the same 'Congrats' banner that I'd gotten for him. On the table was a cake and pizza, all the food I wasn't allowed to eat during the season along with a bouquet of all my favorite flowers.

I stared at the set up, all my favorite things, and my favorite person, wearing my jersey. But all I could do was cry. I burst into tears, my bags falling to the ground as I tried to cover my face. Jamie's face fell immediately and he threw his little party hat onto the counter as he raced towards me.

"What's the matter? What'd I do?" he calmed, taking me in his arms. I let out a sob, terrified at the thought that he thought he did something wrong. "Ah! No, it's okay, it's okay, love. What is it? The flowers? I told Roy that you liked daisies and not tulips."

I shook my head, wiping away the tears. "No, no, no, Jamie, no." I reached out and took his cheeks in my hands, needing to feel his skin. "No, you did nothing wrong, you're so amazing. This is amazing."

"I'm just... I was just..." I pouted, the very image of a pity case. "I was expecting you to be all sympathetic and sad for me. And here you are just..." I gestured wildy. "Ready to be excited for me."

"Why would I be sad?" Jamie asked, cocking his head. "England got second in the whole world. That's amazing."

He was right, of course. Here I'd been guilting myself and beating myself up over a lost game. My lip quivered.

"Thank you, Jamie," I said, smally.

He shook his head, chuckling as he pulled me into his chest. I wrapped my arms around his waist, reveling in his strength, the way his arms squeezed me with just the right amount of pressure.

"I'm dead proud of you, really am, kid," he murmured into my ear. "You were bloody brilliant."

And I believed him.