#text to clipboard trigger

[1d1195]

Pucking Rookie III

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8k words

From me: oops, more slow burn

Warnings: I have a feeling you will all be requesting a much FASTER update. Angst, fluff, shitty ex-boyfriend, the usual. Some violence which could b triggering. Please be kind to your mind.

Summary: Harry hates Kael. To be fair, most everyone hates him.

“Did y’bring your skates?” Harry asked. He was taking shots into the net for about an hour and a half at the time she had arrived. She was just a little over half an hour early to their practice. He paused to skate over to her. She was putting water bottles into place, clipboards, and other things that her uncle needed for a successful practice. Once everything was where it was supposed to be, she took her camera and took a practice shot of the ice behind Harry littered with pucks.

She frowned and looked away at her camera using it to divert his attention ever so slightly. Her cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. “They’re in my car...”

Her unease wasn’t lost on Harry. “Do y’want t’go get them and I’ll help y’for a bit before practice?” He asked, leaning on his stick propped against the board.

She shook her head. “No thank you.”

He tilted his head at her. “C’mon, Rookie. You’re not going t’learn if y’don’t try.”

She sighed. “It’s not that... it’s just...” she looked up at him. “I’m still pretty embarrassed about it and I don’t want to do it here in front of everyone and everyone try to help...” She explained. “Like Uncle Charlie will give his two cents and honestly, I’ll be overwhelmed and I’m already nervous about it. The whole team watching would be even worse.”

Harry hadn’t really thought of that. But he wished he had because that meant that he could have a private lesson with her. One-on-one time with her was easily his new favorite thing. It happened a little more frequently since the night he followed her home. When he brought the used skates to her, she ordered pizza, and they played several rounds of Cribbage together. On a morning off from practice, he happened to be going by her place (of course going out of his way to be nearby) he did yoga with her before ordering breakfast to be delivered to her. Evenings where she worked at Louis’ he placed himself at his regular table and smiled at her as she came and went from kitchen to fluttering around the room waiting on everyone.

But on game days, whether they were home or away, she stayed her distance. He suspected she knew about his habits and his hookups. Which made him feel bad in a way he hadn’t worried about in ages. Harry was very comfortable with his sexuality. He liked having sex. He enjoyed making someone else come and yeah, he enjoyed that aspect for himself too.

But since he met the pretty photographer, he didn’t like it as much. Didn’t find it nearly as satisfying. Even though he wanted to.

Harry had a pond out behind his house. A pond that was very frozen in this chilly winter air. She hadn’t been to his place yet. Her pretty being all over his house seemed like a brilliant idea. It made him want her more.

Harry never wanted a girl the way he wanted her. For him it was always a one-night stand at their place, so he had the freedom to leave. They knew what they signed up for. But she invaded every little part of his mind. Thoughts of camera flashes and smiles. His picture on her fridge. The picture she texted him of herself that he saved as her contact photo. Her wearing Niall’s jersey. The cookies she made for her neighbors. Her rundown car. Her piece of shit ex.

“Would y’want t’come t’my place? I’ve got a pond out back.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Harry,” she admitted. Her voice was quiet, but she made direct eye contact with him. She always did, even if the conversation was difficult.

He frowned. “Why?” He asked.

“Because... you’re... you.”

“What’s that mean?” His eyebrows pulled forward as he tried to think through her logic before she said it.

“It means...” she looked at the ceiling like the answer would appear there. “I am not going to be seen with you at your place when you’ve never brought a girl home.”

He blinked. “How do y’know that?” She shrugged but busied herself with her camera taking pictures of the bench. She took Harry’s gloves from him and put them in a specific place. He felt utterly annoyed when he realized why she might have known. The frustration came over him before he could stop it. “Did your stupid ex tell you ‘bout m’reputation or something? Is that it? S’why y’don’t let me in fully? Y’think m’a piece of shit too?” He asked quietly. It sounded a little too accusing. He didn’t mean to. But it was unfair. Plus, he thought they were friends. The kind of friends like he was with Niall.

Because honestly, Harry didn’t think he could be good enough for her. Maybe he was projecting what he felt. She deserved a good boyfriend who would be able to devote all his time to her. She didn’t deserve someone that got a crummy five months to be in a relationship who had to worry allthe time about him because he had never had a steady girlfriend before.

She brought the camera from her face down to rest against her stomach on the strap around her neck. Once more, she looked him straight on. It was intoxicating. Brave. Beautiful, of course, always.

“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit, Harry Styles,” she said very clearly.

He blinked. “You don’t?”

“Why would I think that? Because you sleep with women who clearly want to sleep with you? You’re entitled to whatever you want with whomever you want as long as they fully consent, Harry. I don’t really give a shit. I just refuse to date a hockey player because an actual piece of shit cheated on me for who knows how long which I did not consent to. It’s obvious you’re charming, talented, intelligent, and very handsome,” she paused briefly, took a deep breath. “Any girl would be lucky to have you, Harry Styles. I just won’t be her.”

She brought her camera back to her face. She seemed unaffected by his stunned expression. He swallowed and it felt like a rock was in his throat. “That was an awful lot of compliments, Bunny,” he hummed. She continued taking pictures, but Harry saw the way her cheeks turned another shade of red under his gaze. He leaned closer towards her. “You think m’handsome?” he teased.

“A blind person would know you’re handsome, Harry. Don’t be a dick about it.”

“Charming?”

“Are you getting off on this or something? Is your ego not big enough?”

“I just didn’t know you thought that ‘bout me. I thought y’jus’ kinda tolerated me and m’overbearing presence.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why would I hate you?”

“No reason.”

But he answered too quickly. It was the reason that hung in the air over and over. She turned from her camera and caught his gaze again. “You’re nothing like Kael, Harry. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel that you were,” her voice was extremely gentle, like she was speaking to someone with a baby napping in the room. It made him feel all over. Every cell in his body vibrating with emotion.

The breath he released was more relieved than when he found out he was being drafted to the Chargers. Harry wanted her all over his house. Wanted her in his room and not even for sexual reasons. He just wanted to see her there after any game. Wanted her to wear his jersey. Teach her to skate better. Hang any of her photographs in his house like a museum paying tribute to her talent. More than that he wanted pictures of her in his house—so many pictures of her.

*

On nights when the team had curfew because of early morning practice or a game the next day, she did not of course. Harry broke curfew almost every single day after learning where she lived. He asked her to move in almost every time he followed her home ensuring she got home safely in her crappy car.

You shouldn’t break curfew. You’ll get a big fine. Marc and Michael keep an eye on my arrival.

It’s fine. I have the money.

Harry was territorial about her and especially her safety.

Look, I don’t want to be weird, but we’re friends... Evander said you... had plans tonight with someone...

Harry wanted to kill his teammate. Who? He tried for the funny remark so he wouldn’t lose his fucking mind at the thought of her thinking about his late night hook up.

You’re ridiculous.

Making sure you get home safe is more important than having an orgasm.

...

Sorry, FRIEND. Thought we could talk about orgasms.

R I D I C U L O U S

😇

Go puck yourself Harry.

God, you’re hilarious Rookie.

Good night, Harry. Thanks for worrying about me. It’s... actually kind of nice.

Yeah, of course. Good night, Rookie.

Harry didn’t have plans that night. Not unless pining over his coach’s niece in the privacy of his own bed was a plan.

*

Charlie was currently taking his anger out on the guys, which was extremely unfair because they had no idea it was because of her. She wished she could have been surprised. Instead, she quietly took pictures, feeling bad for their poor lungs. They were breathing hard and heavy as they struggled with the conditioning drill.

“Five minutes!” Charlie snarled.

They all collapsed on the ice in their spots. Players on the bench were slumped and moaning in pain and they were already on a rest. She glared at her uncle holding two six-pack water bottle carriers as she stepped onto the ice. She nearly slipped twice. Harry didn’t even move to help her, which meant they were in really tough shape.

“Thanks Sweetheart,” Asher heaved.

“Coach, is something wrong?” Niall asked, chugging his water. Off to the side of the rink Callie was throwing up into a trash can. A quiet ‘pussy’ came from an equally green-looking Lang. Only Niall could get away with asking because he was the nice one of the group. But even still, Uncle Charlie silenced him with a glare.

“He’s mad at me and taking it out on you,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry guys. Uncle Charlie, can you stop punishing all hockey players on my behalf?”

“Sweetheart, don’t,” he shook his head once paying no mind to the team that was half dead on the ice before him.

She sighed heavily. “You’re being mean, Uncle Charlie. It’s not their fault!”

“It’s the reputation they’ve given the game,” Coach Wheeler agreed.

“What reputation?”

“Uncle Charlie is mad he picked me up from my apartment. He’s not keen on where I live.”

“It looks like a meth lab.”

“My apartment is not a meth lab.”

“You have a drug dealer living on the first floor.”

“Michael is super nice! He watches my car and—”

“Jesus,” Niall murmured. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t even bother, Horan. I tried everything. She is insistent, she doesn’t want a single hand out from anybody. Which is why you’re all paying the price. What kind of asshole makes someone as sweet as her—”

“Uncle Charlie, can we not air my relationship out in front of the whole team?”

“If we’re doing suicide sprints because of fucking Kael Crowe I want to be moved to the Lightning,” Callie groaned referring to the minor team affiliated with the Chargers. “What the hell, Coach!? Take it up with Crowe!”

Exhausted agreements resounded from the ground. “You all better treat women with respect. There is zero tolerance for it,” Coach Wheeler grumbled.

“Sweetheart, do something please,” Lang begged standing to where Callie was previously, vomiting promptly into the trash.

“Uncle Charlie, can you cut them a break? They didn’t cheat on me.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Asher moaned. “Permission to cross-check when we play him?”

“Permission granted,” Uncle Charlie shrugged.

“Jesus,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead. Harry was still breathing hard, but surprisingly didn’t say anything. She was certain he would have something to say about Kael or her stupid choice. Everyone seemed to.

“First one’ll be for you, Sweetheart. Second one’s for me,” Asher winked.

“Why’d he pick y’up?” Harry asked quietly. It was interesting, it was the first thing he said after all the time spent trying to remember how to breathe. It was like he already knew the answer. He also didn’t rat her out for knowing beforehand about where she lived. Although she suspected he knew the punishment would be far worse if Charlie found out that Harry knew where she lived and said nothing.

“Car wouldn’t start,” she shrugged handing him a bottle of water. “It’s a piece of shit, but it’s all I can afford,” she admitted quietly. The conversation was just for the two of them. “I’m on a budget,” she reminded him.

Harry liked how open she was with him. When she told him and Niall that she couldn’t skate and that she got nervous about it, it was vulnerable in a way he didn’t expect. He liked how she said she wouldn’t date him (even though it broke a piece of him) and still managed to compliment him. Each time she mentioned she wasn’t swimming in cash made him feel like she trusted him. He thought of her cold apartment, her used skates, and her broken down car.

It was a shame she wasn’t going to like him as much after her next comment.

“Coach, if I let her borrow one of my cars while hers is in the shop, can we call practice early? I’ll drive her to and from games. Won’t let her out of my sight until she’s safely in the building.”

“I’m not convinced it’s a safe building.”

“Jesus Christ, Sweetheart, where are you living?” Niall sighed.

When Coach said the name of the building and the street just into the bad side of town, everyone moaned again. She shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s the right price and no one bothers me. I use you all as a threat.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Callie groaned. “Coach, we’ll take shifts, anything. Make it stop,” he begged. Lang returned from throwing up in the trash can and took water from her.

“I don’t need shifts of you guys watching me,” she rolled her eyes. “No one bugs me, they know I work for the team and that I could have twenty scary hockey players there in a matter of minutes.”

Harry smirked. It was obvious he liked the sound of that. “Coach?” Harry prompted.

“Harry, I’m not taking your car, for God’s sake!”

“Oh you don’t have a choice, Sweetheart,” he snorted.

“Uncle Charlie! You’re not getting one of your players to babysit me!”

“Then you’re responsible for their lungs bursting.”

She pouted, glared at her uncle, and marched off the ice. Snagging her camera from the bench as she did. It was childish, petty, and made her look like an idiot, but she was too mad to care. Harry sighed. “Coach, she’s a grown woman... y’could have at least asked her if she was okay with that...” Harry reminded him. Charlie leveled Harry with a stare.

“She’s the best person I know,” Charlie explained. “That piece of shit Crowe never deserved her. It kills the whole family that she doesn’t see her own worth. We watched her take care of him and put her life on hold for him. She doesn’t let people take care of her. Maybe because she doesn’t know how,” he shrugged. “So if she needs tough love to do that, then so be it.”

Harry followed her off the ice. He walked slightly awkwardly on his skates but found her outside one of the offices sitting on a bench, putting her items away in her bag. “You’re not giving me your car,” she grumbled.

“Rookie,” he sighed.

“I don’t need you saving me! This is just like when you yelled at Kael.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “We’re friends, right?”

She glanced at him. “...yes,” she said tentatively.

“Y’know how y’always worry ‘bout me drinking water? Making sure I eat dinner? Texting me t’make sure I get home after following y’home?” She didn’t look at him and fiddled with the laces of her boots. “Y’can ignore me all you want, but s’what friends do. We care ‘bout you and want t’do all the nice things y’do for us.”

It looked like she was piecing together what he was saying. But not fully wanting to accept it. “You’re really going to let me borrow your car?”

He smiled.

“I guess I could... have a skating lesson... assuming your car is at your house?”

Somehow, he managed to smile wider. “Yeah, Rookie? Great... I’ll go change and tell Coach. Be out in a minute.”

“Don’t be weird about it, Harry. I don’t want anyone to think you’re my favorite. Because you’re not.”

He chuckled. “Sure thing, Rookie.”

*

Harry hurried to her side of the car and opened the door when they arrived at his house. She grabbed her stuff from the back—it was everything she had to pull out of her car and toss into her uncle’s when he picked her up. Harry grabbed his duffle bag, as well as a small bag of groceries of items she needed to make the hot chocolate she promised after the skating lesson. “M’gonna put this stuff away and sharpen your skates,” he said holding the pair by the laces tied together as he opened the door. “Here’s the key if y’want t’throw your stuff in the car,” he grabbed it off the hook near the doorway and then headed further into the house. With the key in hand, she headed back outside and unlocked an extravagant car she would never be able to afford. Sighing, she put her stuff in the trunk, locked it, and headed back toward the equally luxurious house.

To be fair, it wasn’t a mansion. It was a nice home. It was clear Harry took great care of it—or paid people to take great care of it. Following the sound of something scraping against the blade, she found Harry in his kitchen, sitting on a breakfast bar stool at the island. The kitchen was stunning. Marble countertops, white backsplash, black hanging light fixtures, white cabinets with black hardware. There were green curtains in the window. The appliances were all black. It belonged in a magazine. It was practically pristine.

The only thing she found interesting was Harry’s sink was filled with dishes. The dishwasher looked clean, it was open and completely full as well. How many dishes did a person living by themself have? She spun the key on her finger as she approached him, setting it on the counter. “When’s your birthday?” He asked randomly.

“February eleventh,” she blinked.

Harry smiled that really beautiful way of his. The one that made the dips in his cheeks deepen. His eyes seemed brighter. “S’near mine.”

“I know.”

“You keeping track of me Rookie?” He was full-on beaming.

“No, but I added everyone’s birthday to my calendar after Ray’s. Figured I would make treats if I had the time,” she explained. “I remembered yours because it’s in February like mine.”

“Can’t y’jus’ let me believe y’like me?”

She ignored him. “How do you do it?” She asked pointing to the skate.

He held the little tool out to her—a little rectangle with a space for the blade to slide between. “They don’t sell skates unsharpened, even used ones. So they’re already pretty good, but I feel better doing it myself. I wouldn’t want t’put y’on skates I haven’t ensured were good to go,” he explained and waited until she lined up the blade with the tool. “Jus’ stroke the blade in the same direction a few times. You’ll feel a little resistance. S’how y’know it’s working. The duller the blade the more resistance you’ll feel.”

“Like this?” She asked making sure she didn’t mess up her new skates.

“Yup, that’s good,” he monitored the motion.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly.

“Course, Rookie. S’what friends are for,” he shrugged simply.

But it wasn’t that simple. Kael would never sharpen her skates for her. Wouldn’t even offer. It’s why she basically stopped skating—didn’t bother to continue because he didn’t care. He never asked if he could help teach her. There was no way he would willingly give his car to her either or offer to follow her home from a game. Most of the time they were at the same arena he didn’t go home with her. In case he wanted to go out with friends.

She felt the emotion building in her throat because she knew Harry had plenty of options. But she didn’t want to be an option. It wasn’t Harry’s fault. Honestly, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just wasn’t... the right time. She was too broken and fucked from her ex. Harry was too talented and charming to deal with a steady girlfriend and he shouldn’t have to. He was young, handsome, and had ample time in his career and life to have fun before he settled down.

“Ready?” He asked interrupting her sad thoughts. Harry was sweet—really sweet. The kind of sweet she always wanted Kael to be. She shook her head to rid herself of thoughts of how nice it would be to be Harry Styles’ girlfriend. It wasn’t going to happen. He replaced the guards on her blades. “Pond’s out back,” he told her gesturing to the back slider that led to a porch.

“Your house is beautiful,” she told him.

“Thanks, Rookie, love,” he smiled. “Mum was insistent it be my first investment,” he explained.

“Smart lady.”

“The very best,” he affirmed.

Nope, she wasn’t going to fall for a man who was kind and adored his mother. Not one bit.

The back deck overlooked a decent sized yard, but it was the pond that was by far the feature of it. She could picture beautiful sunsets, and she wished she brought her camera with her. There was a layer of light snow on the ground, the bare branches. It was like a Christmas movie scene. It left her a little breathless and Harry paid no attention to it. Totally used to the beauty of his own yard.

“Y’okay?” He asked over his shoulder. He noticed her pause as he continued walking toward the little pond. Harry kicked his boots off and put on his skates while sitting on a little wooden bench. They weren’t the pair he wore at the rink. These looked a little more worn in and scuffed. Well-loved, was the best description. He laced them quickly and expertly. It must have been second nature to him. With the guards still on his blades, he stood in front of her. “Put these on,” he handed her a pair of socks from his sweatshirt pocket. They weren’t the ones he bought her, which meant they were either his or another set he had bought her just for the occasion.

Nope. Not falling in love with him. Not at all.

“Your backyard is beautiful,” she said. “I wish I had my camera.” She untied her boots and stuck her feet in the skates. Almost immediately, Harry carefully hoisted her left skate between his thighs. He held her foot in her new-used skate (with the guard still in place) and tied the laces tightly.

“I can grab it after the lesson,” he offered and worked on the laces. “S’that feel good?” He asked. “Or is it too tight?”

“No, I don’t like my ankle to move.”

He chuckled. “Y’want it t’move a little, Rookie.”

She shrugged while he tied the other skate. Once done, he pulled the guards off and held his hands out for her to take. She took a deep breath and tried not to think about how large Harry’s hands were and wrapped around hers so easily. They were warm and comforting. He bent and took his own skate guards off. “I know y’can skate a little, so I don’t want t’push you,” he headed for the ice. “Jus’ do what feels comfortable.”

She barely skated at the rink. Skating on a pond seemed like a bad idea. Sitting on that little bench watching Harry? Maybe taking pictures of him as she did? That seemed like a good idea. Comfortable, to his point. “Is the pond deep?” She asked tentatively.

He frowned and waited at the very edge as she stood just off the ice. “Bunny,” he hummed gently. “I would never let y’get hurt, so no,” he promised. “S’not deep. S’very safe,” he assured her. “C’mon,” he held his hand out. Tentatively, she took it. Fortunately, she was used to him holding her elbow while she walked or skated around.

“Harry, I really don’t want to embarrass myself,” she warned.

“M’not going t’make fun of you, Bunny,” his voice didn’t have any teasing in it. Harry was dressed in a pair of black pants and a gray sweatshirt. He looked cozy and pretty as always. His voice was too soft and made her feel safe. Which wasn’t a bad thing except for her heart. “Jus’... take little steps. M’not going t’let you fall.”

It was becoming increasingly clear that it was too late for that.

She listened, taking small steps. Harry skated backwards while facing her, holding his hands out for comfort but not holding onto her. “You’re leaning too far forward, Rookie. Y’want t’keep your weight over your skates while y’step. S’going t’change a bit when y'take your steps but s’what you’re trying to maintain,” he explained. He watched her feet as she adjusted to what he said. “Don’t stare at your feet,” he offered kindly. “I know s’hard, but it’s tough on the balance,” they glided silently for a few minutes. “Y’okay,?” he asked glancing at her face. She nodded. He smiled gently. “Okay,” he took hold of her hands again and tugged her gently. “When y’stop, just tilt your foot inward just a little,” he used his own feet to demonstrate. “You’re doing great, Rookie,” he promised. “Feel easier on the figure skates?”

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s definitely easier to balance.”

He grinned, excitement covering his features and all she had done was take fifteen little steps or so. “Okay let’s keep going. We’re jus’ going t’focus on keeping y’comfortable today. Getting used to the balance and stopping,” he continued facing her and skating backwards as he pulled her.

“How do you skate backwards?” She asked.

“You gotta walk before y’can run, Rookie,” he chuckled knowingly. She rolled her eyes.

“I meant you, Harry.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been skating m’whole life.”

“Since you were three and before you could walk?” Most every hockey player she knew had the same story. Skating was more important than walking. It was romantic in a way. A first love of sorts. Harry seemed no different in that respect.

He nodded with a shy grin. “Something like that.”

“You’re very graceful.”

“You’re so forthcoming with the compliments today, Bunny. S’nice,” he pulled her toward him. She wasn’t really skating since Harry was just guiding her, but it felt nice to be on the ice without fear of making a fool of herself. “Try stopping.”

“I’m supposed to be skating not stopping Harry.” He smirked and looked at her pointedly. So she executed her little stop and Harry’s smile brightened.

“Lovely, Rookie. Do you want t’try on your own?”

“Sure,” she sighed feeling defeated before starting but it was the only way she’d get better. Harry let go of her hands but stayed the same distance from her (which was no more than five inches away). She took little steps moving at a glacial pace. She really wondered how she could have been using the wrong skates for so long. It felt so much safer and easier to be on the figure skates than it ever had been on hockey skates.

“You’re doing great, Rookie,” he assured her. She felt embarrassed because she was in her late twenties and Harry was treating her like a child. Not his doing, though. It was in her head it felt that way.

But they skated for a while quietly, just listening to the gentle cutting of the blades on the ice. Harry put his hands out just in front of him as a gentle reminder he was there, letting her have the comfort of grabbing him if she needed.

Naturally, her toe hit a divot in the ice at that moment which made her lose her footing. Harry snagged around her waist quickly to keep her upright. “Whoops,” the entire front of his body was pressed to hers. “Y’okay?” She nodded, not wanting to think about how nice Harry was and how warm his body felt. She pulled away as quickly as she could once she regained her footing. “The ice doesn’t get resurfaced like the rink,” he admitted shyly. Like it was his fault.

“You don’t own a Zamboni?” She gaped. “I can’t believe it!”

He chuckled, moving away from her slightly. She couldn’t believe how much colder it felt even though he only held her for no more than forty seconds. “Do y’want t’keep skating?” He asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. Because honestly? She didn’t want to leave just yet.

*

Eventually, they got off his little ice rink. She didn’t fall thanks to Harry catching her two more times around the waist. Each time she sent an electric current right through her heart. He was gentle, kind, and encouraging. Imagining him doing the same thing with his baby niece made her ovaries ache so much she had to think about anything else.

“Did you have a dinner party?” she asked pointing to his sink.

“No,” he sighed. “I jus’ hate dishes,” he shook his head.

“Do you want—”

“Don’t you dare,” he glared at her and headed down the hall toward another room. She smiled and shook her head.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to make hot chocolate with a mess in the sink,” she called.

“Don’t make it then!” He sounded far away. She couldn’t believe he stayed at her tiny little apartment when she could hardly hear him from a few rooms away. “We can go out t’get some or we y’can jus’ stuff from the dishwasher, Rookie. But don’t touch the sink!”

She rolled her eyes and shifted, through the clean dishes, pulling a sauce pan from it. Harry returned with a bag. “Can you get me chocolate chips, sugar, and cocoa powder? I don’t want to dig through your cabinets—what’s that?”

He looked at her pointedly. “Y’can go through the cabinets,” he shrugged. But it was starting to feel a little too domestic. Now they were at Harry’s house which meant she was done for. At least when they were at her place, she wasn’t subject to the overwhelmingly intoxicating scent of Harry. He found the ingredients and placed them on the counter. “Open it,” he shrugged.

It was a large bag from the pro shop at the arena. She peered in and then looked up at him. “Harry.”

“S’not a big deal, Rookie. Don’t make it a big deal,” he suggested. “What do y’need for whipped cream?”

Inside the bag were jerseys. Langford, Calloway, Asher, and Styles. Her heart felt too warm. Her eyes stung a bit over the thoughtfulness yet again. Skates, jerseys, socks. Harry was too sweet. He wasn’t fighting fair. “Sugar, vanilla, and heavy whipping cream...” she mumbled. Swallowing the emotion she felt, she opted for a joke. “No Horan?”

“He already got his turn,” he grumbled slightly bitter.

She looked at the jersey brushing her fingers over his last name. “It’s too much, Harry.”

“I get a discount,” he shrugged. “On behalf of the team, throw out all your Glacier Wolves stuff,” he grabbed the next set of ingredients and eyed her from across the kitchen island. “What?”

“Even the sweatshirt I’ve worn so much I’ve got it to maximum comfort?” He pressed his mouth into a line and stared at her pointedly. “Alright I’ll throw it out, you’re so bossy.”

He smirked and turned to the stove, turning the dial to light the burner. “Okay Rookie, time for my lesson. Show me how t’make hot chocolate.”

*

It felt like Harry was becoming her very best friend, which scared her. Kael took up so much of her life it left her very little room for friends. The friends she did have... ended up not liking her and talking behind her back. “Hey Rookie,” Harry smiled entering the locker room to drop his stuff for game day photos. “Ugh,” he sighed looking at her jersey and the smile melted.

“Hi, Harry,” she waved with an impish grin.

“Hi Sweetheart,” Asher greeted. “You look beautiful today,” he cooed.

“Shut the fuck up, Asher!” Harry yelled from the other side of the door. Asher winked at her and headed inside the locker room.

“He’s so jealous,” Callie shook his head. She smiled, shook her head, but she could feel her cheeks heating up with color. “Nice jersey, Sweetheart!” He shouted, no doubt enjoying his number on her this time. Only she knew that Callie would be more extra about it than Niall ever could be.

“You can shut the fuck up too,” Harry growled from near the door.

“He must not think I look beautiful,” she laughed quietly.

“Oh Jesus,” Lang snorted filing inside.

“What did she say?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” Lang chuckled.

“Those are fighting words, Sweetheart,” Niall chuckled heading in after his team.

After the game day pictures were posted to the appropriate social media outlets, she headed inside the arena. She filed down to her spot near the other media. She smiled and waved to people she had been chatting with regularly. They all greeted her as if she was a real media presence and not just the coach’s niece with a camera.

She took a few pictures of the empty ice adding it to her mental portfolio of this sports series she was looking to do. It was peaceful for a moment, the images forming in sequence, her ideal lighting. The way everything would come together to tell a story. It was something she was really excited about—

“Hey, baby.”

She didn’t turn immediately. Surely, she misheard. Her body felt a wave of anxiety run over it. She didn’t flinch, didn’t turn. For several seconds, she focused on her breathing and nothing else. A minute. She just needed a minute to collect herself. Turning slowly, she smiled politely.

“Kael.” His feet were on top of the seat in front of him. Some of his teammates were milling behind, a few rows back of him. He looked relaxed and uncaring of how fucked up it was that he was there. Coming up to her while she was alone. “You guys are in town early,” she stated.

He nodded, standing up and heading to her. She busied herself by inspecting her pictures making sure they looked okay on the screen. Her hands were shaking. Not because she was worried about what Kael might do but because she was angry. Kael was her least favorite person and he made her uneasy because of all the fucked-up things she let him do to her. “Nice jersey. Sleeping with Calloway?” He asked, sweeping his hand across the top of her back. It made her want to crawl out of her skin.

“No,” she clenched her jaw. She wanted to leave as little to the conversation as possible. But she couldn’t. Because Kael didn’t own any part of her privacy anymore. Part of her wished she was sleeping with Callie if only to rub it in his face. But she couldn’t pretend that any more than she could say she didn’t have a crush on Harry. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Right, sure...” he smiled slowly. “You look beautiful, baby. Even in an ugly jersey.”

She loved this jersey so much. The only jersey she would love to wear more than Callie’s, was Harry’s. Not that she would ever say that. “What can I say, orange and blue just wasn’t my color,” she shrugged. “And Kael? Stop calling me baby.”

He put his hands up. “Just wanted to say hi... I’m in the area today... tomorrow and the following day, too... thought you might want to catch up.”

“Sweetheart!” Uncle Charlie called.

She turned looking at her uncle, Ray, Callie, Niall, and a couple of the younger players staring at her from across the ice. “That’s my cue,” she said making her way back the way she came.

“You work for the team?” He asked, surprise evident in his voice.

“Yup.”

“Good old Uncle Charlie helped you out?” He wondered.

“Uh-huh.”

She walked around the edge of the ice noting every pair of eyes of The Chargers following her.

Kael followed her as well. “Do you want to get dinner, love?” He asked.

“I have to work tonight; thanks though,” she said over her shoulder wishing she could have cut across the ice. It would have been nice if she could have shown him that she could skate a bit now.

No thanks to him.

“What about tomorrow after the game?”

“Working again,” she shrugged.

“Lunch?”

“Busy.”

She was much closer now to her uncle and the guys. Their gazes felt warm on her, so she looked at her camera as she walked.

“C’mon, baby. You’re the one that wanted to talk.”

“To get my stuff back, Kael,” she sighed without looking at him. God she wanted to be done with the conversation. Why couldn’t he take a hint?

“Technically it’s my stuff.”

Ugh. That would do it. She spun on her heel. He was right behind her so now they stood only inches apart. This was the guy she seriously saw herself marrying because they had been together for so long. She was going to have children with him. So many days and nights spent at his arena wearing ugly orange and blue. Taking care of his every need and not asking for anything in return. All the other things that she didn’t even want to think about let alone speak into existence. Putting her life on hold for him because he deemed himself more important than her hobby. Now, he was going to continue holding her stuff hostage? Just for some weird power trip?

No. Not anymore.

“I don’t want anything you bought me, Kael,” her tone was biting. Teeth clenched. “I want my stuff back.”

He snorted. “Then go to lunch with me, baby,” he grinned sweetly.

“Hey Kael, we need her for pre-game pictures,” Charlie came up behind her putting a hand on her shoulder gently. She shrugged it off, she was independent, goddammit. She didn’t need her uncle or a hockey team to defend her in front of Kael. He already thought she was weak. She didn’t need to prove him right.

“I am not negotiating for my stuff,” she told him, her tone still angry.

“Sweetheart,” Charlie grabbed her shoulder a little more securely.

“Hey Charlie, sorry. Just trying to catch up with our girl here,” he smiled charmingly at her uncle. She rolled her eyes and marched around Charlie, toward the tunnel back to the locker room. “Tell Callie he’s a lucky man, baby,” he shouted.

“Fuck you Crowe!” Callie was immediately moving toward him as she pushed past. “You’re a piece of trash!”

“Hey!” Ray yelled. The other players yanked him back and away from one person who could fuck up the simplest of things with just a couple words. Kael smiled walking back the way he came. Like he didn’t cause a scene or anything.

*

Callie got three penalties in the first period. Lang had to talk him down because he wanted four. But that would have been bad for the team, and they weren’t even playing Kael.

Harry was fuming, bouncing his knee as he sat seated in front of his locker. “I hate that stupid prick,” Callie growled. She was seated on a chair outside the locker room looking at her camera. It didn’t seem to bother her much that Kael was around. Or maybe she was just continuing to be brave. It was kind of hot the way she stood up to him outside the ice rink. He wished he had known. He would have loved to have punched Kael. He was lucky Harry didn’t hear until he heard Callie yelling.

They lost the game one to nothing. No one blamed Callie because the goal wasn’t even during his penalties nor when he was on the ice. “I can’t wait for the game tomorrow,” Asher sighed. “Still allowed to cross-check?” He asked looking at Charlie and Ray.

Ray shrugged. “If you must.”

Harry wanted to strangle him. The moment he heard one of the younger players say Crowe’s name, he wanted to run to her, shove her behind him, and punch his stupid fucking face. “Harry?” Niall asked quietly from beside him.

“Yeah?”

“You good?” He asked.

“Yup,” he nodded.

“Look, he’s just trying to get a rise out of her,” he explained. “Maybe you.”

“He doesn’t know I like her,” he mumbled.

“You do like her?” Niall chuckled. “I knew it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Everyone decent?” Her voice called.

Harry perked up hearing the voice of the sweet girl he was falling for rapidly by the second. She entered holding a hand over her eyes. “You’re good, Sweetheart,” Lang assured her.

“Bummer,” she muttered dropping her hand. Harry smirked despite how mad he was as a quiet chuckle sounded throughout the room.

“Gross, Sweetheart. They’re my players,” Charlie shook his head.

“Well, you and I have the same taste in men then, Uncle Charlie.”

Another round of laughter. “You okay?” Charlie asked leaning against his office door.

Harry was staring, Niall beside him staring as well. The whole team was watching to be fair. “Yeah... he was just... hovering, signing autographs and stuff...”

“Fuck him,” Callie growled. She glanced at him briefly. Harry wanted to kill him for getting her attention today in the form of his jersey on her. It shouldn’t have been such a concern for Harry, but it was. He liked her so much and it was so unfair he wasn’t good enough for her. At least he was the one that bought the jersey for her.

“It’s not a big deal,” she shrugged looking anywhere but someone else’s eyes.

But it was a big deal, Harry was fuming in his seat. His leg still bouncing.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head.

“Sweetheart, if—”

“Can someone walk me to my car?” She asked.

“I can!” Callie chirped.

She frowned. “Callie, really, any other day. But... with the jersey—”

He frowned. “I hate Crowe.”

“Join the club,” Charlie said.

She sighed. “I’ll walk you out,” Harry quickly tossed a sweatshirt over his practice shirt and a pair of sweats on over his compression shorts.

They didn’t speak as they walked to her car. Harry’s car. She put her belongings in the back seat. “I took the night off. I’m pretty exhausted,” she told Harry leaning against the driver door. “So you don’t have to worry about me.”

But he did. Because it seemed to be the only thing he did. “Oh. S’nice,” he murmured. “Are you… do y’want company or are y’jus’ going t’bed?”

“Probably just bed,” her voice was tired. “Maybe Marc and I will watch a game so he can study.”

At least there was one man in her life he didn’t have to be jealous of. “Well, we have an early curfew anyway,” he mumbled. “Do y’want me t’follow y’home?”

She shook her head. “No. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Rookie,” he gave her arm a squeeze. “Let me know when you’re home,” Harry ushered her into the car and let her go on her way. He headed back for the arena feeling fairly defeated. But at least she was safe.

*

Eliana lived close by and expected very little of Harry. She was a nice person. She was a nurse at a local hospital and had hours that lined up with Harry’s every so often.

Harry was a fucking mess.

“Are you okay?” She asked

No. He wasn’t. He wanted the pretty photographer. Wanted to know she was home safe. Wanted to go to her apartment and wake Michael and Marc up and murder them for not protecting her when they said they would. Even though she was in all reality probably fine.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m gonna go,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “It’s not you.”

She smirked. “I didn’t think so, Harry. I hope you’re alright.”

 “Jury’s out.”

She rolled her eyes, pulled the covers up to her neck. “Just lock behind you please.”

Harry tried calling her. Not even caring how ridiculous he was. He was past the point of caring. He couldn’t even sleep with someone else, and he’d done nothing more than hold her hands or her elbow. He refrained from cuddling her at their sleepover beyond feeling the heat of her body while she slept.

Harry had called her every hour since he walked her to her car. Hopefully she was just asleep. She did say she was exhausted. Maybe if he drove by and saw her car, he would feel better?

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. He couldn’t follow her like that. It was different that first time. He never intended to follow her into her apartment building. His rationality left him because he was so worried about her. Now that he was okay with her living arrangement, he didn’t want to look insane.

A drink. One drink and he would be home by curfew. Something to take the edge off. Make him forget about his worry.

Harry parked in the first available spot at The Locker Room. He waved to the regulars, said hello to some fans, and headed to his usual table. Force of habit. “Hey Harry,” Louis smiled bringing Harry a drink. “Didn’t know you were coming in; she figured you had curfew.”

He tilted his head at Louis, his thumb pausing on her name in his message threads once more. “Hmm?” He hummed. “She’s... here?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Louis pouted slightly. “She’s been here since five,” he hummed like it was obvious.

“Hey, Louis!” She called from the other room. Her voice hitching slightly in alarm.

Why would she lie? Louis raced to the other room. Harry followed quickly because the apprehension in her voice was enough to bring all his worry immediately back to the forefront of his mind and he expected the worst truly. Because she didn’t seem to be very scared of anything. She lived in a seedy part of town and worked with violent hockey players.

So what could be in the main room that would make her sound so worried? A drunk guy who was getting into it with another person? A handsy guy who thought she was pretty? A girl who didn’t like her decision to cut her off?

None of his thoughts had considered it might be Kael. Who had her wrist pinned to the top of a table, his hand wrapped tightly around it keeping her in place.

Harry’s vision turned red.

She gaped meeting Harry’s gaze. “Oh fuck,” she whispered.

-- general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionvoid @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissinthekitchen @boopookie @indierockgirrl @stylesfever @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @mads3502

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine

@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl

@emmie2308 @fruity-harry @somebunnybaby @avas-queen-black @mema10

@tulips4harry @sturnrc @sassamanda77 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @mp-269

@jmp1494 @fangirl509east @sideboobrry11 @drewrry

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[womshame]

Clinical Obsession

Synopsis: Y/N enters a renowned clinic seeking recovery, but finds herself under the obsessive care of Dr. Gabriel Hayes—a man who sees control as compassion and obsession as love. As the line between treatment and captivity blurs, Y/N must navigate a twisted version of care where freedom is the final price.

Trigger Warnings (TW):psychological manipulation, Obsessive and possessive behavior, Emotional abuse, Medical gaslighting and confinement, Non-consensual drug administration, Identity control and isolation, Yandere themes.

The clinic sat just outside the city, nestled in a grove of silver birch trees that whispered secrets in the wind. It was beautiful in a sterile, immaculate sort of way—white walls, muted tones, the faint scent of antiseptic ever lingering in the air. Patients came here for peace, for healing. At least, that was the promise.

Y/N didn’t remember signing up for a stay.

The first time she saw Dr. Gabriel Hayes, he was standing in front of a sunlit window, clipboard in hand, dressed in pristine white. His eyes, a sharp grey-blue, skimmed over her chart like it held sacred text. His voice was calm, smooth. Almost hypnotic.

“Y/N,” he said softly, offering a reassuring smile. “You’ve been through a lot. But you’re safe here now.”

She blinked, her head still foggy. “Where… where is this?”

“You had a fall,” he explained, stepping closer. “There was a concussion. Some confusion is to be expected. But don’t worry. You’re in my care.”

He said it with such gentle conviction, such finality, that it was hard to argue. It sounded… true.

But as the days passed, that truth began to feel thinner.

The room Y/N stayed in wasn’t locked, but every time she opened the door, there was always someone outside. A nurse. A quiet orderly. Someone who smiled just a little too much.

Her meals were timed. Her vitals checked every three hours. When she asked for her phone, Dr. Hayes tutted gently and told her stress could interfere with her recovery.

“I’m only doing what’s best for you,” he’d say, brushing a strand of hair from her face during one of his daily evaluations. “You trust me, don’t you?”

He always asked that. Like he needed to hear it. Like it wasn’t enough that he already had full control.

The clinic wasn’t on any map. No visitors ever came. And though she didn’t remember arriving, the place began to feel like a maze she couldn’t leave. A white-walled purgatory.

Sometimes she’d catch Dr. Hayes watching her when he thought she couldn’t see—his expression unreadable, somewhere between awe and calculation. As if he were studying the most delicate specimen. Or a beloved doll.

He knew things about her she hadn’t told anyone.

“You haven’t been sleeping well since the breakup,” he’d said once, unprompted. “Your heart rate spikes around 3:00 AM. Nightmares. Emotional dysregulation. It’s understandable. But I’m monitoring it closely.”

She hadn’t told him about Liam. About the sleepless nights. About the way her chest still ached sometimes with phantom longing.

“How do you know that?” she asked, voice trembling.

He smiled again. That calm, clinical smile.

“Because it’s my job to know everything about you, Y/N. Your body, your mind, your pain. All of it. I’m here to help.”

But it didn’t feel like help.

It felt like surveillance.

Like possession.

Gabriel’s office was the only room in the clinic that wasn’t sterile.

Books lined the walls—medical texts, psychology manuals, and odd things that didn’t quite fit, like Baudelaire and Rilke. A small phonograph played low, vintage classical music whenever she entered. The scent of cedarwood hung in the air, and his desk was always meticulously organized, except for one object: her file.

It was always there.

Opened.

Studied.

Annotated.

“You’ve made progress,” he said one afternoon, tapping the page with a fountain pen. “Your heart rate has normalized. Appetite returned. You even smiled twice yesterday.”

“You’ve been counting?”

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation. “Everything matters.”

She sat stiffly on the chair across from him. These “check-ins” were daily. He called them therapeutic. She called them interrogations.

“I want to leave, Dr. Hayes.”

He looked up slowly, folding his hands. “You’re not ready.”

“I feel fine. I’m eating. I’m sleeping. I want to go home.”

“There’s no need to rush.” He leaned forward. “You were unstable when you came here. Detached from reality. Emotionally vulnerable. If I release you prematurely, the consequences could be—”

“I’m not crazy,” she snapped.

He blinked at her outburst. Not startled. Just… intrigued. As if documenting a reaction.

“No,” he said gently. “You’re not crazy, Y/N. You’re just fragile. And fragile things…” He rose from his chair and walked around the desk until he was standing behind her. His fingers brushed her shoulder lightly. “They break so easily.”

Her blood chilled. She stood.

“I want my phone. I want to call my brother.”

“I called him for you,” Gabriel said smoothly, returning to his seat. “Told him you needed rest. He agreed not to disturb your treatment. Everyone wants you to get better.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying.”

“I never lie.” He met her gaze, and for the first time, there was something sharp behind it. “I observe. I analyze. And I intervene when necessary.”

⸻

That night, she tried to find an exit.

She wandered the halls during medication rounds, feigning a headache to avoid her sleeping pills. The hallway past the staff station led to a heavy, locked door—no handle on her side. Cameras were mounted in every corner. No windows opened. Even the ventilation grates were bolted.

She was inside a cage with velvet walls.

When she returned to her room, there was something new on her nightstand: a bracelet.

Not jewelry. A medical tracker.

Heart rate monitor. GPS enabled.

Gabriel’s voice crackled through the intercom.

“Try not to run next time, Y/N. Your stress levels spiked dangerously. I had to adjust your dosage remotely.”

She stared up at the ceiling, realizing: she hadn’t been alone for a single second.

The bracelet was snug around her wrist.

It pulsed faintly with every beat of her heart—discreet but inescapable. Gabriel had assured her it was “non-invasive,” but to Y/N, it felt like a collar.

She stopped arguing with him after that night. Instead, she listened. Nodded. Smiled when required. All the while, she watched.

And waited.

On the fifth morning after her “incident,” Y/N was escorted to the garden for supervised fresh air. That’s when she saw him.

He was tall, lean, a little too pale for someone who spent time outdoors. Sandy hair fell into his eyes as he hunched over a bench, sketching in a worn notebook. A patient, not staff—he wore the same soft grey lounge clothes she did.

She wouldn’t have spoken to him if he hadn’t spoken first.

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

“Kind of,” she replied cautiously.

He turned his head, and there was a small flicker of something in his expression. Not flirtation. Not pity. Just awareness.

“Name’s Theo,” he said. “Been here six months. Maybe more. Hard to tell.”

She sat on the bench across from him, the orderly watching from a distance. Theo’s sketchpad was filled with charcoal drawings—some messy, others hauntingly precise. Faces. Hallways. A set of double doors that looked eerily familiar.

“You draw the clinic?”

“Draw what I can’t say out loud,” he said with a half-smile. “Not like anyone listens anyway.”

Y/N hesitated. “Do you remember how you got here?”

Theo’s pencil slowed. “Not clearly. I was at the hospital. Woke up here. They told me I was having delusions.”

“Were you?”

“No,” he said flatly. “But they stopped asking after the pills started.”

She looked away. The bracelet on her wrist itched suddenly.

“You shouldn’t talk to me,” Theo added, his voice lowering. “The doctor doesn’t like it.”

“Which one?”

He gave her a sharp look.

“You know which.”

⸻

That night, Dr. Hayes didn’t ask about Theo.

He didn’t have to.

Instead, he changed the subject during her session. Shifted back to “treatment plans.” Said her progress had stalled. That emotional instability was common in patients who resisted routine.

“You’re disconnecting again,” he said, placing his hand lightly on her pulse. “Withdrawing. Is someone influencing you?”

“No,” she lied, keeping her eyes down. “I’ve just been thinking a lot.”

“Thinking can be dangerous without proper guidance,” he murmured. “But that’s why I’m here. To filter what’s harmful. Keep your mind clean.”

His touch lingered too long.

Later, she found one of Theo’s sketches slipped under her pillow. It showed the layout of the clinic’s west wing—complete with an exit marked behind a concealed door.

He had written just one sentence on the bottom:

“You’re not the first girl he’s ‘treated.’ But you might be the last.”

The sketch haunted her all night.

Y/N couldn’t stop staring at it—tracing the lines with her eyes, memorizing the angles. The hidden door was behind the storage ward, beyond the west wing. It looked like nothing more than a janitor’s closet, but the blueprints Theo had drawn were detailed. Too detailed to be invented.

She burned the paper in her sink the next morning. Just in case.

“Sleep well?” Gabriel asked during her check-in, as he poured herbal tea into a delicate porcelain cup—his ritualistic show of hospitality. She nodded.

“You seemed restless on the monitor,” he said lightly. “Increased heart rate. Agitated REM cycle. Nightmares?”

She paused. “Just memories.”

He tilted his head. “Of what?”

“Of people who pretended to care.”

His eyes didn’t narrow. His smile didn’t slip. But something in the air shifted. Almost imperceptibly.

“I understand,” he said after a pause. “It’s hard to trust again when the world has failed you. That’s why I built this place—to create a space where you’d never be hurt again.”

Where I control the pain, she thought, but didn’t say it.

Instead, she asked something dangerous.

“Why did you become a doctor?”

He looked surprised. Then wistful.

“When I was a child, my mother suffered from something undiagnosed. At least, that’s what the doctors told us. She would… disappear inside herself. Stop speaking. Stop eating. And no one helped her. They said she was fine. That it was all in her head.”

Y/N didn’t move.

“So I watched,” he continued. “Every hour. Every expression. Every change in her skin, her voice, her breathing. I wrote it all down. I catalogued her suffering better than anyone. But it wasn’t enough. One day, she just stopped breathing.”

His tone didn’t change. But his hand trembled on the teacup.

“I promised I’d never let that happen again. Not to anyone I loved.”

Y/N swallowed. “I’m not her.”

He smiled. “No. You’re better. You respond to treatment. You’re still salvageable.”

⸻

She found Theo again two days later during a group therapy session. Gabriel hadn’t told her about it—another nurse had invited her.

Eight chairs arranged in a circle. A facilitator reading prewritten prompts. Patients murmuring generic answers. Except Theo.

“I think Dr. Hayes is the only one who belongs in here,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

The facilitator paled. “Theo, we’ve discussed this.”

Theo turned his head toward Y/N. “How much has he told you? About the last girl who stayed in your room?”

Y/N stiffened.

The facilitator pressed the panic button. Two orderlies arrived. Theo didn’t resist. He just looked at her one last time.

“She figured it out too late,” he said. “Don’t make the same mistake.”

⸻

That night, she wasn’t allowed out of her room.

The bracelet blinked red. The intercom stayed silent.

Until 3:17 AM.

Gabriel’s voice, low and calm: “I’ve scheduled a more intensive session tomorrow. You’ve been exposed to stimuli that could jeopardize your recovery. I need to reset your emotional state.”

Reset.

Like she was a machine.

She turned toward the ceiling and whispered, “You’re losing control, aren’t you?”

There was no answer.

But she felt it.

The session room was colder than usual.

Y/N sat in the reclining chair, wrists resting on the armrests, the subtle hum of medical equipment vibrating beneath her skin. Gabriel stood beside her, gloved hands calm, eyes unreadable.

“This will help,” he said softly, preparing a syringe.

“I don’t need sedation.”

“It’s not sedation,” he said, almost tenderly. “It’s calibration. Your system is in distress. You’ve been compromised. But I can fix it.”

She looked up at him, her voice a whisper. “And what happens if I don’t want to be fixed?”

A flicker of pain crossed his features. Not anger. Not threat. Just grief.

“You don’t mean that. You’re confused. It’s Theo. He’s feeding you delusions, making you doubt what we have.”

“There is no we, Gabriel.”

He inserted the needle gently into the IV line. The fluid moved slowly, glittering faintly under the light.

“You’re saying that because your brain is dysregulated. Your heart tells me something else. Every reading I’ve ever taken of you—every reaction, every breath—you reach equilibrium only in my presence. Don’t you see that? You’re already mine.”

She closed her eyes. The chemical warmth spread up her arm.

She wasn’t going to die. No. That wasn’t his goal.

She was being rewritten.

⸻

She woke up two days later in her room. The light outside was soft and gold. Her hands were free. Her heart rate was calm. The bracelet was gone.

The door was open.

A nurse entered with folded clothes.

“Dr. Hayes said you’re ready for discharge.”

Y/N blinked. “I’m… leaving?”

“Yes.” The nurse smiled. “He says you’ve finally accepted treatment. He’s very proud.”

⸻

The car was waiting just outside the gates—a black sedan with tinted windows and a polite driver who offered no words.

Y/N sat in the back seat, fingers tracing the edge of the seatbelt. Everything felt dreamlike. The sky was too blue. The world too sharp.

She looked at her reflection in the window.

She smiled faintly.

⸻

Three Months Later

The apartment was small, clean, full of light. A plant on the windowsill. Soft music playing. Y/N sat at the kitchen table, pouring tea for two.

Across from her, Gabriel unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them to his forearms.

“You’re adjusting beautifully,” he said, voice full of quiet pride. “No more panic attacks. No more sleepwalking. You even laugh now.”

Y/N smiled. “Because you made me better.”

He reached across the table, gently brushing her hair behind her ear.

“I preserved you, Y/N. You were drowning. And now you’re whole. You belong to yourself again. But…” He paused. “Also to me.”

She nodded. Her voice was calm, but her eyes held something strange. Not fear. Not love. Something quieter. Deeper.

Dependency.

“I know.”

She poured more tea.

And in the corner of the room, unseen by guests or friends she no longer had, a small red light blinked steadily in the wall vent—monitoring every word, every motion.

Gabriel didn’t need a clinic anymore.

She was right where he wanted her.

[mikaylathenerd5]

Open Arms + Chapter 5

Previous Chapter ৹ Masterlist ৹ Join My Taglist

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Black Fem OC (Isla Sage Navarro)

Content Warning: The chapters of this story may contain NSFW, profanity, potential violence, age gap, and themes that may be triggering. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Intended for mature audiences only.

Author's Note: Please be aware this is kinda a slow burning romance between Isla and Roman (Joe).

Song Inspo: "Open Arms" by SZA

Word Count: 6.3k

Joe slumped on a locker room bench at the Spectrum Center, black gear stretched tight across his chest, the Undisputed WWE Universal Championship belt heavy beside him, its gold edges dulled under flickering fluorescents, scratched from three years of relentless battles. His phone lay face-down on the bench, Six Flags pics with Isla tucked in the clear case—her shy grin caught mid-laugh under the Ferris wheel’s glow, his smirk softened by the sticky haze of cotton candy, her panda prize clutched in his hands, a fragile thread woven from Atlanta’s fleeting peace. Hair yanked back in a tight bun, he rubbed his hands slow, calluses rasping against each other, dark eyes fixed on the chipped concrete floor, stained with years of boots and sweat. The belt’s weight bore into him—three years of wars, all he had left after Lena walked out two summers ago, her silence a ghost haunting the empty corners of his apartment, a tether he’d bleed to keep from snapping.

Isla lingered near the door, headset dangling loose around her neck, clipboard clutched tight against her ribs, sneakers scuffing faintly against the floor as she shifted her weight, her breath shallow in the thick air laced with leather, sweat, and the faint edge of his sandalwood cologne. Joe’s text—“Locker room. Now.”—had pinged her phone an hour ago, still humming in her chest, a tangled pulse of nerves and a quiet thrill she couldn’t shake. She watched him, his broad shoulders hunched under an invisible load, sweat beading on his neck from a pre-show gym session, a man carrying more than the gold beside him—Jey’s scripted turn, Kyla’s creeping shadow from Atlanta, a reign balanced on a knife’s edge.

“You holdin’ up, babygirl?” Joe’s voice cut through the stillness, rough and steady, a lifeline tossed across the room as he lifted his head, dark eyes pinning hers with a flicker of warmth piercing the strain, his jaw tight but his gaze softening just for her, a rare crack in the Tribal Chief’s armor.

“I’m good, Joe,” Isla said, her voice snagging on the edge of her nerves, heat creeping up her neck as she gripped the clipboard’s edges, its corners biting into her palms. “I’ll be at the monitors, watchin’ your back like you wanted. Didn’t expect you’d pull me in here first—your space, before the storm hits.”

He stood, slow and deliberate, his bulk filling the room as he crossed to her in measured strides, one hand landing warm and firm on her shoulder, fingers curling gently against her jacket, sending a shiver racing down her spine that she couldn’t hide. “You’re family now, Isla,” he said, voice low and gravelly, thumb brushing her collarbone in a steady, grounding sweep. “Out there, I’m the Chief, belt’s mine to defend—but it’s all I’ve got left after her. Keeps me sane, keeps me fightin’ through the noise. Tonight’s heavy—Jey’s script, Kyla’s mess—need you close, keep me from losin’ it. You in?”

“Always,” she said, softer now, her voice finding its footing as she met his gaze, his trust sinking into her like roots cracking through stone, steadying her trembling hands. “What’d she take from you—Lena? You never talk about it, Joe, and I—I just wanna understand.”

He stiffened, jaw twitching, a shadow crossing his face—Lena’s empty closet flashing in his mind, her last cold glance as she walked out—then softened, eyes darkening with a pain he rarely let surface. “Too much, babygirl,” he said, quieter, raw, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he leaned closer, the weight of it pressing the air between them. “Peace I didn’t know I had ‘til it was gone, time I can’t get back—left me with this—” he nodded at the belt, its gold glinting faintly—“and a whole lotta nothin’ else. She gutted me quiet-like, and I let her. But not you—not what we’ve got here.” His hand slid from her shoulder, brushing hers, then locked tight, rough fingers threading through hers, holding firm as he stepped into her space, his breath brushing her cheek, warm and steady. “Stay with me out there,” he murmured, voice a gravel whisper, holding her gaze with an intensity that made her chest ache, his thumb tracing her knuckles slow, deliberate, a silent vow carved into the touch.

“Yeah,” she breathed, squeezing back, her heart skipping hard—Six Flags flashing vivid in her mind, his deep laugh as he handed her that panda under the arcade’s buzzing lights, her fingers brushing his in that fleeting, electric moment, a memory echoing this one, charged and fragile. “More than okay, Joe—I mean it,” she added, a shy smile breaking through, her pulse racing as his grip tightened, warm and unyielding, his calluses rough against her softer skin.

“Good,” he said, smirking faintly, a flicker of relief softening the strain in his eyes as he squeezed her hand again, his voice dropping lower, softer, a thread of vulnerability woven through it. “You’re my anchor tonight, babygirl—don’t forget that. Jey’s storyline’s twistin’ my head, Kyla’s noise is clawin’ at me, this belt’s ridin’ me hard—but you’re here, and that’s somethin’ I can hold onto, somethin’ real.”

“I won’t forget,” she said, voice trembling but sure, her hand still locked in his, his warmth seeping into her as she stepped closer, needing him to hear it, to feel it. “I’m not goin’ anywhere—not tonight, not ever, if you need me. You’ve got me, Joe, all the way.”

“Need you more than you know,” he said, his smirk fading into something real, unguarded, his eyes searching hers for a beat longer, a crack in the Chief’s stoic shell showing just for her, a glimpse of the man beneath the gold. “Let’s roll then—this night’s gonna bleed out there, and I ain’t facin’ it alone.”

He tugged her gently toward the door, their hands still entwined as they stepped into the hallway, the crew’s pre-show chaos erupting around them—headsets crackling with urgent calls, boots stomping past in a hurried rhythm, voices barking orders over the hum of tension. Joe’s stride cut through the bustle like a blade, steady and unyielding, her smaller fingers nestled in his rough palm, his thumb brushing her knuckles in a steady, absentminded rhythm that kept her grounded. Crew guys darted around, heads down, oblivious to the quiet tether between them, but she felt every brush of his skin, every sidelong glance he shot her—dark eyes steady, a quiet promise flickering in them as they wove through the maze of cables and crates toward gorilla position. The roar of the crowd pulsed faintly through the walls, growing louder as they neared, and he held her hand until the last second, the curtain looming ahead like a black void. He let go with a final, firm squeeze, his fingers lingering near hers as he murmured, “Stay close, babygirl,” before stepping forward, his silhouette swallowed by the shadows and the deafening surge beyond, leaving her skin buzzing where his touch had been.

The Spectrum Center erupted as SmackDown kicked off, Joe’s music slamming through the air, a deep, menacing pulse that shook the stands from floor to rafters. Isla stood at the monitors backstage, headset snug over her ears, clipboard gripped tight in her hands, the crowd’s roar crashing over her like a tidal wave—thousands of signs thrusting high, “Acknowledge Me!” clashing with “Yeet! Yeet!” in a loyalty war thick as the Charlotte heat. A crew guy sidled up, voice low under the din, “Press pass chick’s floatin’ around—got a bad vibe, heads up,” and her pulse kicked up, unease prickling her spine like static on a live wire. Joe strode down the ramp, belt slung over his shoulder, gold catching the blood-red lights slicing through the haze, sweat glistening on his arms from the gym, Jimmy and Solo shadowing him with tight jaws and coiled steps, Heyman scurrying behind, his smirk twitching nervous under the weight of the night.

Joe hit the ring, snatching the mic from Heyman’s sweaty grip with a sharp yank, raising a hand slow and commanding, the crowd’s noise choking off into a tense, electric hush that buzzed in Isla’s bones. “Charlotte,” he growled, voice slicing sharp through the arena, thick with menace that reverberated off the steel rafters, “you’re lookin’ at the Head of the Table. Three years I’ve owned this game—every fight, every scar, every drop of blood I’ve spilled to keep this.” He slapped the belt hard, the smack ringing out like a gunshot, gold glinting under the spotlight as he held it high.

Cheers surged, a wave of sound crashing against the boos clawing back from the upper tiers, the air crackling with division, fans leaping to their feet, fists pumping. “Jey Uso thinks he’s main event now?” Joe snarled, pacing the ring, sweat gleaming on his brow under the harsh lights, his voice turning cold, bitter, each word a fist slamming down. “My little brother—runnin’ wild since we were kids—pins me at Money in the Bank for the story, turns his back in the script? SummerSlam, Tribal Combat—I’ll break him down, snap him in half, make him scream ‘Chief’ ‘til his throat’s hoarse and he’s crawlin’. We built this together—beers, late nights, big plans—now he kneels in that ring, or he’s gone.”

The crowd split wider— “Yeet!” chants surged loud from the east stands, drowned by “Tribal Chief!” roars rolling from the west, signs flashing Jey’s grinning face against Joe’s stoic reign, a war of ink and noise splitting the arena down its spine. “Jimmy, Solo—you hearin’ me?” Joe snapped, stopping mid-ring, glaring at his brothers at ringside, their faces stone-still, eyes unreadable under the flickering lights. “Step outta line in the story, you’re next—don’t test me. Cross me—anybody out there—and you’re ash under my boots. This is my ring, my war—nobody takes it, not Jey, not a damn soul.”

The arena quaked, fans split down the middle, Isla’s grip white-knuckled on her clipboard, her heart pounding as Joe’s fury filled every corner, his presence a force that bent the air itself. He paced once more, mic gripped tight in his fist, sweat dripping off his jaw onto the mat, the belt gleaming like a crown he’d kill to keep, his eyes burning with a fire that promised blood and redemption. A monitor flickered beside her—Kyla, pink jacket stark against the sea of faces, smirking from the third row, phone up, filming Joe like a predator sizing up prey, her lips curled in a taunt Isla could feel across the distance. Dread sank cold and heavy in her gut, a chill racing down her spine as Joe’s music dropped hard, the segment slamming shut, leaving the air raw, charged, and teetering on the edge of chaos.

Backstage churned with frantic energy, crew shouting over the chaos—“Cody’s promo—five minutes!”—as gear clattered against the floor, cables snaked across the concrete, and footsteps echoed off the walls like a drumbeat. Isla stood at gorilla, headset dangling loose around her neck, pulse still hammering from Joe’s fire, his words—“my war, nobody takes it”—ringing in her ears like a battle cry that wouldn’t fade. Bayley stormed up, grabbing Isla’s arm with a quick, firm yank, her eyes blazing with purpose, Naomi flanking her, braids swinging as she scanned the buzzing hallway with a predator’s focus.

“I caught her—pink jacket, third row, smirkin’ like she owns the place,” Bayley snapped, voice cutting through the noise like a whip, her grip tight on Isla’s sleeve as she pulled her forward. “We’re not waitin’ around for her to slink closer—she’s not touchin’ the Chief, not after that X post crap in Atlanta callin’ you out. Let’s move, Isla—now.”

“Outshine her ass, Bayley,” Naomi said, smirking, leaning in close, her voice dropping low and fierce as she matched their pace. “Heard her braggin’ to catering staff ten minutes back—divorce dirt, loud and proud, like she’s got gold. Talent entrance—we hit her there, catch her cold.”

“Corner her,” Bayley growled, a dark grin tugging her lips as she released Isla’s arm, her stance shifting like she was itching to lunge, her boots scuffing the floor with restless energy. “Make her spill whatever poison she’s cookin’—every damn word—then she’s gone. I want her sweatin’, trippin’ over her own lies before security drags her out.”

“We’ve got you, Isla,” Naomi said, her hand landing firm on Isla’s shoulder, steadying the jittery shake in her bones, her grip warm and unyielding like steel wrapped in velvet, her eyes locking with Isla’s for a beat. “She’s been too damn close—press pass or not, she’s done slippin’ through. We’re endin’ this tonight, no question.”

“Let’s end it,” Isla said, her voice settling into steel, Kyla’s “sidepiece” jab from Atlanta burning fresh in her mind, Joe’s hand in hers minutes ago fueling her spine with fire that wouldn’t quit. “She doesn’t get near him—not after everything, not now.”

“Bloodline don’t bend,” Bayley said, nudging her side with an elbow, her eyes glinting with a fierce kind of pride, a smirk flashing quick as she straightened. “She’s about to learn—mess with us, you’re dust on the mat.”

“Talent entrance—she was there twenty minutes ago,” Naomi said, voice low, all business, her hand flexing like she was ready to strike, her gaze darting down the hall as she took the lead. “We move quiet, catch her slippin’—no noise, no heads-up, just us.”

A crew guy shuffled past, tray clattering in his hands, muttering under the noise, “Pink jacket—Kyla—laughin’ it up with Wrestling Insider near catering, thick as thieves.” Isla’s gut twisted tighter, the words sinking like lead as they started walking, steps syncing into a steady, purposeful rhythm through the maze of crates and cables stretching down the corridor. Ahead, a flash of pink darted around a corner—Kyla’s jacket cutting through the shadows like a flare—and her laugh sliced the air, sharp and taunting, a sound that set Isla’s teeth on edge, her fists clenching at her sides until her nails bit into her palms. A crumpled note lay half-tucked by a crate, “Joe” scrawled in red ink, jagged and bold, like a threat scratched in haste, its edges curling from the damp concrete.

The talent entrance stretched narrow and dim, crates stacked high along the walls, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, casting jagged shadows that danced across the concrete floor. The crowd’s cheers for Jimmy and Solo’s tag match rumbled through, a low pulse vibrating under their feet, syncing with the tension coiling in the air. Kyla leaned against a crate, pink jacket glaring under the flicker, smirking down at her phone, lip curling as she typed fast with one hand, her posture casual but coiled, a snake waiting to strike, her green eyes glinting cold and sharp in the half-light.

“Well, look at this—press princess herself,” Bayley said, stepping up slow, voice dripping venom, arms crossed tight as she planted herself in Kyla’s path, her boots scuffing the floor with intent, her shadow stretching long across the crates. “Takes some guts showin’ up here, Kyla—real guts after you tried draggin’ Isla through the mud on X. What’s the play—more chaos with that pass, huh?”

“Hey, Bayley,” Kyla shot back, cool and cutting, dangling her press pass between two fingers like a taunt, her smirk widening as her gaze flicked up, sharp and mocking, her voice laced with a smug edge. “Just here for the show—all legal, signed and sealed by management. Joe ghosted me—fan signing, ‘22, walked right past me like I was air, ignored my DMs for months after. Guess I wasn’t hot enough then—now he’s gonna pay for it.” Her eyes sliced to Isla, narrowing cruelly as her smirk twisted tighter. “Still sore from Atlanta, huh, wallflower? Clingin’ to him like he’s yours—he’ll remember my name this time, not yours.”

“Cut it,” Isla said, stepping forward, voice hard as steel, clipboard creaking under her grip as she squared up, her pulse hammering loud in her ears, Joe’s hand in hers a burning memory fueling her spine. “You don’t touch Joe—not after everything he’s carried, not after Atlanta. What’s with the note—why’s his name on it? Talk, now.”

“Caught that little breadcrumb, did you?” Kyla laughed, cold and jagged, leaning closer, her breath brushing Isla’s face, her smirk curling into a sneer that bared her teeth. “It’s a gift for your precious Chief—just wait ‘til SummerSlam. I’ve got somethin’ that’ll hit him where it hurts, and you’re way outta your depth, sweetheart—go back to your clipboard and your sad little dreams.”

“Shut your damn mouth,” Naomi snapped, lunging forward, slamming Kyla against the crate with a hard thud that echoed off the walls, her hands pinning the pink jacket tight, eyes blazing like coals in the dim light, her voice a growl that vibrated with fury. “Isla’s us—you’re trash, slitherin’ where you don’t belong, and you’re done.”

“Easy, Nao—hold it,” Bayley barked, grabbing Naomi’s arm, pulling her back with a quick jerk, her voice tight with control, glare locked on Kyla like a hawk sizing up prey. “Let her dig her hole deeper—keep talkin’, princess, let’s hear it.”

“I’ve got Lena on tape,” Kyla hissed, smirk twisting wider, brushing off her jacket like the shove was nothing, her tone dropping low and vicious as she leaned forward, green eyes glinting with malice. “Caught her in Tampa—sobby mess, cryin’ about Joe breakin’, fallin’ apart after she left him. SummerSlam, I drop it—his reign’s done, his whole damn myth crumbles. Got more too—divorce papers, whispers he’s losin’ it—watch it burn.”

“You don’t,” Isla said, voice rising, stepping closer still, heat flaring in her chest as she faced Kyla down, her hands trembling but her stare unflinching, Joe’s “you’re family” echoing loud in her skull. “He’s stronger than you’ll ever know—he’s fought for this, bled for it, carried more than you could dream—you’re nothin’ to him, nothin’ to us!”

“Sidepiece’s got bite now,” Kyla mocked, leaning in, her words dripping venom, green eyes glinting cruel as she bared her teeth in a taunt that cut deep. “Joe don’t care about you, sweetie—you’re a fling, a distraction, just like Lena was ‘til he broke her and left her cryin’. You’re nothin’—a warm body ‘til he’s bored, and I’ll be the one he can’t shake, the one he sees when it all falls.”

“You don’t say that,” Bayley roared, lunging this time, snatching Kyla’s arm and yanking her forward hard, fury sparking in her eyes like a live wire, her voice a snarl that bounced off the crates and filled the tight space. “You don’t know shit about him—or Isla. You’re finished here—done, you hear me?”

“Get your hands off me!” Kyla snapped, wrenching free with a sharp twist, glare darting between them, her cool cracking for a split second, a flash of panic flickering under the bravado before she steadied herself, brushing her jacket again. “You can’t stop what’s comin’—his reign’s ash when I drop this, and you’ll all choke on it, every last one of you pathetic losers.”

“You’re wrong,” Isla said, voice steady now, tears prickling hot but held back, staring Kyla down with everything she had, her spine straight, her fear burning into fire as she stepped into Kyla’s space, close enough to feel the heat off her. “Joe’s tougher than you’ll ever understand—he’s fought through worse than you, bled for this family, this belt, this life. We’re tougher—me, him, all of us—and you’re done breaking anything. SummerSlam’s ours, not yours, and you’ll be the one forgotten.”

A security guard rounded the corner, boots heavy on the concrete, radio crackling sharp in the tight space, his shadow stretching long across the floor. “Trouble here?” he asked, voice gruff, eyeing the standoff, hand hovering near his belt, his bulk filling the hallway like a wall cutting off Kyla’s retreat.

“She’s out,” Naomi said, pointing at Kyla, voice cold and final, her stance rigid, no room for argument, her eyes locked on the pink jacket like it was a target painted in neon.

“This ain’t over,” Kyla hissed, backing toward the exit slow, her smirk strained as a USB slipped from her pocket, hitting the floor with a faint clack—red “K” stark against the black plastic, glinting under the buzzing light like a dropped blade. “He’ll curse the day he met me,” she muttered, low and venomous, her eyes darting to the USB with a flicker of panic before she turned, bolting around the corner, the guard trailing her shadow with a grunt, his boots echoing after her into the dark.

“We’ve got it,” Naomi said, crouching quick, scooping up the USB and turning it in her hand, eyes narrowing at the “K” like it was a loaded gun primed to fire, her fingers tightening around it as she stood. “Lena’s voice on this? We crack it—now, before she doubles back with worse.”

“You held your ground out there,” Bayley said, hand landing on Isla’s shoulder, a firm squeeze cutting through her adrenaline haze, her voice softening just a notch with pride as she gave a quick nod. “You faced her down—damn proud of you, girl. Tell Joe—she’s not sneakin’ up on him, not with us in the ring.”

“SummerSlam’s her move,” Naomi said, slipping the USB into her pocket, voice dropping grim and certain, her eyes flicking to the hallway where Kyla vanished, her braids swinging faintly as she shifted her weight. “She’s got Lena cryin’ on tape, pushin’ Joe’s fall—Joe needs this tonight, before she twists that knife any deeper.”

Joe sat in the locker room, elbows braced on his knees, wrists freshly taped, jaw locked tight as the promo’s high faded into a slow, gnawing unease, the belt a heavy shadow beside him on the bench, its edges scratched from years of battles he’d won and lost. The door swung open with a creak—Isla stepped in, clipboard hugged close, Bayley and Naomi trailing her, their steps echoing sharp off the concrete walls, the air thick with tension and purpose that settled over the room like a storm cloud rolling in.

“Joe,” Isla said, voice low but urgent, stepping closer, meeting his eyes with a mix of fear and fire, her hands trembling around the clipboard as she stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his frame. “Kyla was here—backstage, right under us. She’s got Lena on tape, says it’s droppin’ at SummerSlam—meant to gut you, break you down.”

“What’s her angle?” Joe growled, rising slow, his voice a snarl as he pinned them with a look that could cut steel, hands flexing at his sides as he stepped toward her, his bulk shrinking the room, his eyes narrowing sharp and dangerous.

“Talent entrance, flashin’ that press pass like it’s a damn crown,” Bayley said, arms crossed tight, tone sharp as she leaned against the wall, her boots scuffing the floor with a restless edge, her jaw tight with barely contained fury. “She’s got Lena cryin’—caught her in Tampa, sobbin’ about you breakin’ after she left. Wants to blow it up at SummerSlam—turn your scars into her spotlight.”

“She’s got no damn right,” Joe snarled, fists clenching, Lena’s name hitting like a fresh bruise, her quiet exit two years back flashing in his mind—the empty apartment, the silence that cut deeper than any blade—his voice dropping darker as he glared at the floor, the concrete blurring under his stare. “That’s mine—my life, my pain—not her plaything to twist.”

“She dropped this,” Naomi said, stepping forward, holding up the USB, red “K” glaring under the fluorescent light, her fingers steady as she held it out, her voice grim and unyielding. “Lena’s voice is on it—she’s got Wrestling Insider tied in too, some reporter named Travis ready to run it. She’s loaded, Joe, and she’s aimin’ straight.”

“She’s turnin’ my past into a damn circus,” Joe said, snagging the USB from Naomi’s hand, rolling it between his fingers slow, voice low and dangerous, like a storm rumbling closer, Lena’s ghost twisting in his gut with every turn of the plastic. “Lena on tape? Cryin’ about me? She’s dust when I’m through—dead in the water.”

“I should’ve stopped her,” Isla said, her voice breaking, tears spilling hot down her cheeks as she stepped closer, hands trembling around the clipboard, her eyes searching his, wide and raw with guilt and fear. “Kept her away from you, from this—I let her get too close, Joe, and I hate it.”

“Nah, babygirl,” Joe said, his hand sliding to her neck, warm and firm, grounding her as he pulled her in, thumb brushing her jaw in a steady sweep, his voice softening but fierce, cutting through her spiral. “You fought for me out there—stood up to her, faced her down. That’s more than I could ask, more than enough. I missed her comin’—Atlanta’s on me, her X post, her games—not you.”

“I’m not lettin’ her cut you,” she said, voice trembling, raw and open, gripping his arm tight, her fingers digging into his sleeve, needing the anchor as tears streaked her face, her breath hitching. “Not after everything—the belt, Jey’s story, all you’ve carried—I can’t let her hurt you more, Joe, I can’t.”

“She won’t,” he said, pulling her closer, his hand cradling her neck, holding her gaze steady, his voice a quiet vow in the dim light, fierce and unshaken as he pressed his forehead to hers for a fleeting beat. “We’re locked in, you and me—through this mess, through all of it. She don’t get to touch us—not you, not me, not what we’ve got here.” He pulled back, turning to Bayley and Naomi, tone hardening again, all business. “We break this open—now, together, figure out her whole damn game before she swings again.”

“Nao’ll burn right through it,” Bayley said, smirking, leaning off the wall to cut the heaviness with a quick jab, her arms uncrossing as she stepped closer, her eyes glinting with fight and a flicker of mischief.

“Before you yeet her out an airlock,” Naomi fired back, a quick grin flashing as she crossed her arms, leaning into the banter, her stance easing just a fraction under the tension, her fingers tapping the USB in her pocket.

“Tech guy’s our next move,” Naomi said, voice steady and grim, her eyes flicking to Joe with a nod as she straightened, all focus again. “She’s still out there, reloadin’—we need this cracked tonight, Joe, before she gets another shot off.”

“You good?” Joe asked Isla, voice dropping quieter, stepping back but keeping his hand on her neck, eyes searching hers, checking for cracks under her tears, his thumb brushing her skin slow and steady.

“Yeah,” she said, a shaky smile breaking through, steadying under his look as she wiped her cheek with her sleeve, her voice firming with resolve as she met his gaze. “I’m good—I’m all in, whatever it takes to stop her, to keep you whole.”

“You’re gold, babygirl,” Joe said, smirking faintly, his hand grazing her arm slow as he stepped back, pocketing the USB with a tight grip, a flicker of pride in his eyes that warmed her through. “Tougher than she’ll ever know—tougher than me some days, and that’s the truth.”

In catering, a TV looped Joe’s promo on mute, the “Acknowledge Me” chant a faint hum through the walls, the air heavy with coffee and the faint tang of sweat from passing crew. Isla sat alone at a folding table, laptop open in front of her, USB plugged in, the “Tribal Chief” folder staring back—locked tight behind a password prompt that mocked her every attempt. “Lena_Tape.mp3” glared in red text, “Access Denied” blinking after each failed guess—Reigns2023, Bloodline, Chief, SummerSlam—each miss a jab at her resolve, her fingers hovering over the keys, steady but tense, her glasses slipping down her nose from hours of strain. Kyla’s “Lena’s tears” echoed loud in her skull, a dagger twisting, but Joe’s hand in hers, his quiet trust over diner coffee in Chapter 4, the panda he’d won her at Six Flags—those lit a fire she wouldn’t let die. She’d rip this open for him, no matter how deep it cut, no matter how long it took.

A crew guy shuffled by, tray clattering in his hands, muttering, “Main event’s wrapping—ten minutes,” and she glanced up, the clock ticking past 10 p.m., the night stretching long and heavy over her shoulders. She typed another password—Lena2021—watching it fail, her jaw tightening as she leaned closer, the screen’s glare burning her eyes until they watered, her hands curling into fists on the table, nails biting her palms. Kyla’s smirk from the crowd flashed in her mind, phone up, filming Joe like she owned him, and Isla’s breath hitched sharp, a surge of defiance flaring in her chest—she wouldn’t let her win, not Joe, not the crew, not this fight, not after everything they’d built together.

Production hummed as SmackDown wound down, the main event—Drew, Kevin, Sami vs. Judgment Day—fading out with a roar that shook the walls, crew packing gear into crates with sharp clangs that rang off the concrete. Joe leaned against a monitor, arms crossed tight over his chest, eyes distant but sharp, the USB a weight in his pocket, its red “K” a taunt he couldn’t shake. Bayley and Naomi flanked him, quiet but alert, their presence a steady wall against the chaos, their shadows stretching long under the overhead lights that buzzed faintly. Isla approached, laptop tucked under her arm, the USB’s echo heavy in her mind, her steps slowing as she neared him, her throat tight with what she hadn’t cracked yet, her glasses fogging slightly from the heat of the packed space.

“Anything?” Joe asked, voice tight, straightening as she got close, stepping into her space, his eyes locking onto hers with a mix of hope and strain, his jaw clenched under the weight of the night, his breath faintly audible over the crew’s clamor.

“I tried,” Isla said, voice steady now, holding his gaze as she set the laptop on a crate beside him, her hands steady despite the ache in her chest, the sting behind her eyes. “Folder’s ‘Tribal Chief,’ file’s ‘Lena_Tape.mp3’—locked up tight. Need my college tools, more time—couldn’t break it yet. I wanted to hand you something solid, Joe—I’m still diggin’.”

“You’re solid,” Joe said, hand resting on her shoulder, warm and sure, cutting off her doubt before it sank, his voice firm but soft as he squeezed gently, his fingers pressing into her jacket. “You got us this far—put a name to her game, gave us a target. That’s more than I had when I walked off that ramp tonight.”

“Lena cryin’ on tape?” Bayley growled, leaning in, voice low and pissed, her arms crossing again as she glared at the floor, her boots tapping restless against the concrete. “That’s cheap—even for her. What’s she sayin’?”

“Wrestling Insider’s her gun,” Naomi said, arms still crossed, eyes sharp, stepping closer to the monitor, her voice cutting clean through the noise. “She’s got this Travis guy locked in—means she’s loaded, Joe, not just talkin’. Lena’s voice, divorce dirt—she’s got reach, and she’s aimin’ to bury you.”

“She’s turnin’ my scars into clickbait?” Joe snarled, rolling the USB in his hand again, jaw tight, Lena’s exit twisting into a knot he couldn’t untangle, his voice rising with a dark edge that silenced the crew chatter nearby. “Lena cryin’ for her mic? She’s over—done, outta moves when I get my hands on this, and she’ll wish she never stepped in my ring.”

“I’ll crack it at the hotel,” Isla said, stepping closer, resolve hardening in her voice as she met his eyes, her hand brushing his arm, a quiet promise in the touch as she straightened her glasses. “Get my software, dig in—I’ll get it open, Joe, I swear it. Whatever’s on it, we’ll know before she can use it, before she gets another swing.”

“Bet on it,” Joe said, smirking faintly, his hand lingering on her shoulder a beat longer, thumb grazing her jacket as he held her gaze, pride flickering in his eyes like a spark catching flame. “You’re covered—we’ve got your back, babygirl, same as you’ve got mine.”

“Tech queen’s risin’ up,” Bayley teased, nudging her side with an elbow, a quick grin breaking through her scowl, lightening the air for a split second as she leaned back against a crate.

“Who’s feedin’ her—Travis?” Naomi said, voice firm, already plotting, her hand flexing like she was ready to hunt, her eyes darting to Joe with a sharp nod. “Wrestling Insider’s just the mouthpiece—someone’s talkin’ to him, givin’ her this ammo.”

“We’re locked in,” Joe said, voice hard, eyes sweeping them all, landing on Isla last, steady and fierce, a quiet fire burning behind them that made her chest tighten. “She swings at us, she’s hittin’ the ground—hard. We don’t bend, don’t break—not for her, not for anybody, not tonight.”

The Charlotte Marriott room sat quiet, city lights filtering soft through the curtains, casting faint stripes across the carpet that stretched toward the bed, the hum of the AC a low drone against the silence pressing in heavy after the night’s chaos. Isla perched on the edge of the mattress, red silk pajamas catching the dim glow, glasses slipping down her nose as she hunched over her laptop, the USB plugged in, its red “K” a taunt in the corner of her eye that wouldn’t quit staring back. The “Tribal Chief” folder mocked her, “Access Denied” flashing after hours of failed passwords—Reigns2023, Bloodline, Lena, SummerSlam, Chief2021—each miss a bruise on her resolve, the clock ticking past 11:30 p.m., her eyes burning from the screen’s relentless glare, her hands cramped from typing, fingers stiff and aching.

A knock broke the stillness—11:47 p.m., sharp and steady against the quiet, cutting through her spiral like a lifeline snapping her upright. “Isla, it’s me,” Joe called, voice muffled but warm through the door, a sound that pulled her from the edge, her heart tripping over itself. She padded over, barefoot on the carpet, the cool floor a shock against her soles as she cracked the door open—his hoodie hung loose over his broad frame, hair free from its bun, spilling wild over his shoulders, eyes soft but tired, flickering over her silk set with a quick, approving glance that made her flush, heat blooming under her skin.

“Still grindin’ away, huh?” he said, stepping inside, smirking faintly as he leaned against the wall, arms crossing casual over his chest, his presence filling the room like it was made for him, his voice a low hum that eased her frayed edges, cutting through the silence with a familiar steadiness.

“Yeah,” she said, pushing her glasses up, gesturing at the laptop on the bed, voice quieter now, frayed at the seams from hours of failure that gnawed at her. “File’s locked tight—can’t get in yet, no matter what I throw at it. I wanted to crack it for you tonight, Joe—give you something real to fight with, something to hit her back with.”

“Stop that right there,” he said, cutting her off, stepping closer, his hand lifting her chin gentle but firm, thumb swiping a tear she hadn’t felt fall, his eyes locking onto hers with a steady warmth that sliced through her doubt like a blade. “You’re a fighter, babygirl—Kyla’s the rat here, not you. You’re killin’ yourself over this, and you don’t need to—not for me, not for any of it. You’ve done enough tonight.”

“She can’t hurt you,” she said, voice breaking, tears spilling faster now as she stepped into him, her hands fisting his hoodie, dampening it with her fear, her glasses pressing into his chest as she pressed closer, needing his solidity. “Not after everything—the belt, Jey’s story, all you’ve been through—I can’t let her cut you deeper, Joe, I can’t stand the thought of it.”

“She won’t,” he said, pulling her in tight, one hand cradling her head, fingers threading through her hair slow and deliberate, his breath warm against her scalp, his voice a quiet vow that wrapped around her like armor against the dark. “We’re iron, you and me—she don’t stand a chance, not against us, not against what we’ve got goin’. Lena’s on that tape? Let her cry—I’ve carried worse, and I’m still standin’. She’s got nothin’ that breaks us, babygirl—nothin’.”

“Got it,” she mumbled, voice muffled against his chest, clinging tighter, his heartbeat steady under her cheek, a rhythm she could sink into, her hands trembling less with every thump, his warmth chasing the cold from her bones as she pressed her face closer, breathing him in—sandalwood, sweat, safety.

“You’re haulin’ too much on your own,” he said, easing her back toward the bed slow, sitting against the headboard with a groan, guiding her down until her head rested on his chest, silk brushing his hoodie, his arm settling around her, heavy and safe, his hand stroking her back in lazy circles that melted the tension from her spine. “Family’s got you—let it go for tonight, huh? We’ll hit it fresh tomorrow—together, like we said, no rush, no weight you gotta carry solo.”

“Thanks, Joe,” she whispered, her voice fading as her eyes fluttered shut, tension bleeding out under his warmth, his hand steady on her spine, a silent promise in every touch that she wasn’t alone in this, that he wouldn’t let her fall.

“Anytime,” he murmured, voice soft, barely above a breath, his lips brushing her hair as he reached over, sliding her glasses off with care, setting them beside the USB on the nightstand, the red “K” glinting faintly in the dark like a distant warning. “You’re enough—just like this, just you.” He shifted, pulling her closer, his arm tightening around her as they drifted off, tangled together in the quiet, the city lights soft outside, a truce holding them in the dark, the fight paused but burning bright for the morning.

🏷️ @trippinsorrows @zoeroxiie @pittieprincess22 @beccalynns-world @duhitzkay380

@keyera-jackson @trentybenty @li-da-savage @sharmelasworld @isabella-2025

@jaded-human @lov3rla03 @sheaabuttaababyy @justazzi @fearlesschimera

[ask-the-critters-survival-au]

So anybody feeling rather nosy today?

Well I finished Kickin’s entire diary a few weeks ago, and since Hoppy never really got the chance to read the entire thing, I thought I’d share it here!

Please note, on the following dates

November 4, 1997

March 10, 1998

September 4, 1998

Kickin does write down some s*icidal thoughts, that may be triggering to some people. I’d advise you to skip past those if they are triggering for you. I’ll mark them with bold text so you know.

Diary is under the cut! Have fun snooping!

August 26, 1995

I found this notebook by one of the kids’ beds. He didn’t use it at all so I figured it was alright to take it! Not that he is here to stop me anyways. I decided to start writing stuff in here! Just whatever I’m thinking, whenever I feel like it, I guess. Whenever I feel like it. God, that is a WEIRD sentence to say. Or write. But it’s true! It’s my life now! Whenever I feel like it! No more stupid employees here! Haha, get wrecked! Losers. Oh, Hoppy’s calling me. I’m gonna go! I’ll write in you again later! I promise! Wait, why am I promising a notebook that I’ll do something?

October 2, 1995

Okay so I kinda forgot about this thing. Oops! Anyways, I’m getting bored. The soccer ball is starting to deflate and we can’t find the pump. This SUCKS dude. Like, I get the prototype is busy doing whatever, but if he’s all powerful like he says can’t he give us some entertainment around here? Like sheesh! There’s nothing to do. I’m so bored.

October 16, 1995

I’m thinking of growing my hair out. I mean, Crafty is doing it! And it’s getting annoying constantly cutting it. It grows back really fast. Maybe I’ll go for a mullet type look! Just maybe though.

October 29, 1995

DogDay’s missing. We don’t know where he went. We tried searching for him but CatNap told us not to. It’s always what CatNap says. Stupid. I’m going to keep looking anyways. I’m gonna find him.

October 30, 1995

Never mind.

January 1, 1996

Hey, new year! It kinda sucks though. We did absolutely nothing to celebrate. Also, big problem. Bobby found out about my secret crush. Oh I hope nobody ever reads this thing. Don’t tell anybody, but I think I like-like Hoppy. She’s just so cute and pretty and funny and spunky and cool and I love it when she talks about outer space it’s so interesting!!! She’s so fast too, like crazy fast! I think she’s too fast though. She beats me at literally EVERYTHING. That’s okay though! I’m gonna keep getting better until I can win! But yeah. Bobby found out. I’m terrified for my life.

January 23 1996

So we’re starting to run out of food. Catnap said to trust in the prototype and that he’s gonna save us and stuff. I call bull. We need food, not a savior! But he said the prototype has a plan, so I guess we’ll be fine. Still though, I’m getting tired of eating moldy salami.

February 6, 1996

Crafty’s starting to lose it. She started nagging me nonstop because she keeps running out of red marker. I’m gonna avoid her from now on. Her drawings are getting weird. Really weird. Like borderline creepy stuff. She’s going bonkers man, I’m telling you.

May 16, 1996

We ran out of food. Woke up this morning to Picky scoring through the rest of our god damn supply. I swear I am going to SCREAM DUDE!! So what if she’s always hungry?! She’s not the only one who needs food to survive! Unbelievable. What the hell are we going to do now?

May 17, 1996

So that was CatNap’s back up plan. Oh my god. I don’t want to even think about what I’ve done today. I recognized him. Who I ate. He was there when I first woke up. Taking notes in the corner of the room on his clipboard. I feel sick to my stomach. How long are we going to have to do this for?

June 2, 1996

Today feels special. I don’t know why. It just does. Also I’m sorry I haven’t been writing in you as much. I’m just scared of getting caught writing in this thing. What if someone reads it? What if CatNap reads it? Will he get mad at me for what I wrote a few months ago about the prototype? Maybe I should erase it. No I can’t do that, I wrote it in marker. I’m going to keep this thing hidden inside my zipper pocket for now, until I find a better spot.

July 22, 1996

There was a freaking execution today. I’m so disturbed right now. It was one of the tiny DogDays. I’m not really sure what he did, but CatNap made us all watch as he ripped the poor guy apart. He said that’s what happens if you are a heretic. That’s what happens if you speak out even the slightest against the prototype. Bubba told me that he thought one of the other minis had tattled to CatNap about what that tiny DogDay did. That’s insane. I can’t imagine any of my friends doing that to me. Would they do that to me? No, I’m being an idiot. They’d never do that. Regardless I can’t let him find this thing. I don’t want to end up like that mini.

August 8, 1996

It’s officially been a full year since the Hour of Joy. It’s weird to think about. How many full humans have I eaten by now? Maybe eight? Ten? Twelve? Twenty? I lose count. I don’t feel anything when I eat them anymore. It’s easier to imagine them without faces. I always cut off the head so I don’t have to see it. On the bright side, we finally found the pump for the soccer ball. Hoppy and I can finally start playing again. I don’t really think either of us want to though. At least not right now.

September 12, 1996

Hoppy and I had another fight today. I’m writing in this thing because Bobby made us separate. I don’t like being mad at her. I want to apologize but I’m scared to approach her right now. I miss DogDay. I don’t write about him much but I miss him. His name is kind of forbidden to even speak nowadays. Picky thinks he abandoned us. I don’t think he did. He’d never do that. But if he did I want him to come back. Everything’s falling apart without him.

January 12, 1997

I’m sorry it’s been awhile. I don’t really know what to write about today though so I’m gonna end it off here.

February 7, 1997

Sometimes I wonder if I should name this journal something. But I’m not very creative when it comes to names. Crafty is though. She’s been really different lately though. She’s gotten really cheerful for some reason. But say the wrong thing and suddenly you’re on the ground. I’m scared of her. I don’t know what’s going on with her but if she doesn’t get that fixed soon she’s going to get herself killed. Or kill someone else. Either of the two. Maybe even both.

April 25, 1997

Nothing to write about today. I’m just not going to. I don’t feel like it. My hand hurts. I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.

June 2, 1997

It’s the weird day again. The one that feels like it should be special. I don’t know what that feeling is. I asked Bubba about it. He knows a lot, I thought he’d probably know that too. He didn’t though. He said he got that feeling too, sometimes. But neither of us knew why.

June 19, 1997

We ran out of food. I didn’t even know that was possible. There were so many humans working in this factory, how did we run out of them? The entire Playcare was in panic today. CatNap calmed us all down. He said not to worry, because the prototype always has a plan. Okay. If the prototype always has a plan, what is it? Because I’m tired of this whole stupid mess! I want to know what it is! Why can’t I know what it is? This is so dumb! The prototype is so dumb! It makes me want to tear all my feathers out!!!!

September 19, 1997

IM SO HUNGRY SO HUNGRY SO HUNGRY SO HUNGRY I DONT KNOW WHAT TO EAT THERES NOTHING I HAVENT EATEN IN SO LONG I NEED FOOD I NEED FOOD. IM HAVING THESE SCARY THOUGHTS NOW I WANT THEM GONE! I DONT WANT TO HURT ANYONE BUT I NEED TO EAT I NEED TO EAT I NEED TO

September 19, 1997

I did it. I needed to eat. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Picky told us how to find food. There’s plenty of it in the Playhouse. Like livestock, just waiting to be slaughtered. CatNap was so mad. But we have food now. And we all know he’s been eating them too. I feel like a monster. They were like us. But Bubba told me it was necessary. We were all going to die if we didn’t. I’m still sorry though.

November 4, 1997

Bubba got gassed. Badly. I’m so worried about him. We don’t even know why, we just walked in the room and there he was, laying on the ground with scratch marks all over him. How could CatNap have done such a thing? He’s sick. Just sick. I’ve been taking care of him now. I don’t want to leave his side. I’m worried that if I leave for a moment that something will happen to him. Hoppy’s been making me stay active. Sometimes she’s the only reason I keep going on. It’d be so easy just to end it all. She’s there for me though. I love her. God, I love her. I never want anything to happen to her. But I know something’s going to happen to her. That something’s going to happen to all of us eventually. When it happens to her though, it’s gonna happen to me next. I promise it will.

November 14, 1997

I found a boombox today. It’s really cool. I’ve been playing it for Bubba recently. He’s still asleep. I hope he wakes up soon. Did I ever mention in here that I like to dance? It’s really fun. It makes me forget about everything that happened. I lose myself in the movements. I don’t really even know how I know how to dance. I never learned it as a toy. I think I’m gonna go do it now though.

December 3, 1997

THAT JERK! THAT HORRIBLE STUPID DISGUSTING DUMB JERK! I HATE HER! I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE HER! HOW DARE SHE DO THAT TO BUBBA?? WHEN HAS HE EVER BEEN ANYTHING BUT NICE TO HER???? BUT NOOOOO, I GUESS KINDNESS MEANS NOTHING IN THE EYES OF PICKY PIGGY! ALL SHE CARES ABOUT IS HERSELF AND HER APPETITE! I WOULDVE RIPPED OFF SOOO MUCH MORE THAN HER EAR IF I COULD! BUT THEN HOPPY AND BOBBY HAD TO COME IN AND RESTRAIN ME! STUPID! STUPID STUPID STUPID! IM GOING TO KILL HER WHEN I GET THE CHANCE! AND ITS GOING TO BE SLOW AND BRUTAL AND ITS GOING TO HURT!

January 1, 1998

Yay. New year. Yippee.

March 4, 1998

Something bad happened today. I knew it would happen eventually. I think we all did. Crafty finally lost it on the wrong person. She attacked CatNap and then he ripped off her hands as punishment. I could hear every. Single. Agonizing second of her screams. I thought I was used to screaming by now. I guess I was just telling myself that. I hope she survives. That was a lot of blood.

March 6, 1998

What do I do. What do I do. What do I do. Hoppy’s leaving. She just told me she is. Hoppy, Bobby and Crafty are leaving Playcare in a week. They can’t leave. They can’t. CatNap’s going to kill them. He’s going to kill them brutally. And even if he doesn’t, who knows what’s outside of Playcare? Plenty of toys who would be willing to hurt them for food. Hoppy told me to come with them. I can’t go with them. I don’t want to die. But I don’t want them to die. They can’t leave. I don’t want them to leave. But I can’t change Hoppy’s mind. She’s leaving with or without me. How could she do that to me? Just leave me here, all alone with Picky? Bubba’s still asleep. She’s the only one I’ll have to talk to. I don’t want to talk to her. I’m scared. I need to stop them.

March 8, 1998

what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done what have I done

March 9, 1998

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so so sorry. I messed up I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry please forgive me. I keep seeing her. She talks to me in my head now, telling me she won’t ever forgive me, no matter how much I grovel and beg. Sometimes I don’t even think it’s in my head. Am I going insane? You don’t deserve to stay sane. You’re right. I don’t. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

March 10, 1998

The blood won’t come off. It stained my hands. Maybe I deserve that. You do deserve that. You’re right. You’re always right. I deserve it. I haven’t moved from my bed since it happened. I’m hungry but I don’t want to eat. I don’t deserve to eat. Bubba needs me though. At least if Picky tries eating him again there’s nobody to stop me from making her pay this time. I don’t know why I don’t just give up. I should. I made a promise that I would once Hoppy went. Maybe it’s Bubba. Or maybe I’m just making excuses. Maybe I’m just too scared. I’ve never felt so alone before. I deserve to feel alone.

March 24, 1998

I’ve been seeing her a lot lately in my dreams. Always the screaming and then the ear. And then she tells me it’s my fault. I know it’s my fault. But I still don’t understand. Am I selfish for not understanding? Yeah. Probably. But all I ever wanted to do was protect her. I don’t understand why this happened. I don’t understand. Picky’s been avoiding me. That’s fine. I don’t want to see her either.

April 12, 1998

You know what? No. I’m done. I don’t care if CatNap catches me going into the Playhouse. I need to see what’s inside. Maybe she’s inside, and that’s why we aren’t allowed in. I’m going to find her. I’m going to make things right with her. I refuse to believe she’s gone.

July 16, 1998

July. It’s already July. I took that long to recover? Seriously? That was three whole months. Well, I guess loosing an eye will do that to you. I’m still surprised that Picky took care of me while I was hurt. I tried to ask her why but she didn’t respond, so I guess that was that. That doesn’t matter though. He’s alive. He’s alive. DogDay’s alive! He’s been here this entire time, sitting right below our noses and we had no clue! If I can just figure out a way to get him out then he can save us all from this mess! I know he can! I just need to find a way.

July 20, 1998

Bubba woke up. He finally woke up! Oh my god, he finally woke up! It’s been how long, eight months? I’m so thankful. He’s really scared though. He must’ve been through hell. I know from experience the nightmares that stuff gives you aren’t pleasant. I can’t imagine going through that for a whole year. Poor guy.

July 21, 1998

Bubba’s been having trouble walking lately. His legs give out whenever he tries. I guess that makes sense. He hasn’t used his legs in a while. I wish I knew how to give him the proper treatment he needs. Actually, there’s an idea. I should check inside of the school. I’m sure there is something in there about comas.

July 22, 1998

OKAY SO THAT WAS A HORRIBLE IDEA. Not only did I find absolutely NOTHING, but I almost got my head bashed in with a freaking mace! That biology teacher has gone wack. Completely wack. Then again, she’s not the only one. I still hear Hoppy. She still visits me. I’ll be in the middle of something and then I’ll just see her. I think I’m starting to hallucinate. I know that’s really bad. But I enjoy seeing her. Even if all she does is cuss me out. It gives me hope. Hope that she’s not Never mind. I shouldn’t be thinking about that. Bury that nice and deep along with the other scary thoughts. She’s not dead. She’s not dead she’s not dead she’s not dead she’s not dead.

August 8, 1998

Third year anniversary. Or is it the fourth? I don’t feel like doing the math. Bubba can walk again now, but all he does is sit against a wall. It feels like my effort was wasted, if I’m honest. He doesn’t like eating. Or sleeping. He hates sleeping. I tried to give him some books to read that I stole from the councilors office, but he ignored them. Some days he refuses to sleep so badly to the point where I have to knock him out for him to get a little shut eye. I feel bad for him. He doesn’t deserve this. If I could take his place I would in a heartbeat. Maybe if it was me instead of him I wouldn’t have messed up so horribly.

September 4, 1998

It’s one of those days where the hallucinations are bad again. Sometimes I wonder if it even is a hallucination. Am I actually seeing her? She’s looking over my shoulder right now. Watching me write. She looks so real. And the stuff she says feels so real. I want her to be real. I want to hold her in my arms. She just told me if I ever try to do that she’s going to push me off the cloud I’m on. I think she knows I wouldn’t save myself.

September 18, 1998

Bubba’s been getting better. He’s started talking again. Only sometimes though. And he never says much. It’s a start though.

November 10, 1998

I think I just saw Picky chasing Hoppy away from the councilors office. I must’ve just been hallucinating again. She was carrying something though. It looked like a computer? I’ve never seen that before. Probably just another hallucination.

[wisecrackingeric-2]

‘Lulu’

Summary: One morning, when Luis is being especially difficult to get out of bed for work, Leon decides to take it upon himself to give his boyfriend an embarrassing nickname. Hijinks ensue as more and more people start calling Luis ‘Lulu’. Three-In-One style fic

I wrote this fic as apart of a trade between myself and @alitan99 based off of a moment from André Peña’s (Luis Serra’s voice actor) Twitch stream on the 16th July, 2023!!! Alita wrote and preformed a song, and I wrote a fic!!! I took a lot of inspiration from their song in particular, so please please PLEASE go check it out!! It’s SO GOOD!!!! https://m.soundcloud.com/alitanightsbane/lulu-serra-original?ref=clipboard&p=i&c=1&si=C86CE333D8EF4106B7232ADDD32C114F&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

Trigger warnings: Canon-typical mentions of blood and guns, brief description of a deer being injured in the final story

A/N: The first ‘Story’ was written when I had MAJOR writers block, so it came out as being very clunky and not up to my usual standards. I was planning on scrapping and rewriting it, but I didn’t want to waste anymore time!! So please ignore how poorly written the first part of this Fic is, I promise it gets better the final two stories!!!

Also, this isn’t proofread, and I don’t actually know a lick of Spanish, so please feel free to correct me if anything is out of place!!!

——————————————————————————————

“Luis?”

Luis didn’t wake up.

He had a special knack for that; pretending to be asleep when he was needed. He called it a talent, Leon called him a nuisance.

“Luuuiiiss?”

Luis felt Leon’s hand press against his side through the double-layered duvet covers, nudging him as gently as possible for any sign of life.

Unbeknownst to his partner, though, Luis was grinning wolfishly against his pillow- burying his nose further into the cold fabric and unconsciously curling up into himself, bringing the blankets along with him.

Leon gave a defeated huff at the sight of his unmoving partner, only just being able to spot the top of his messy hair poking out between the blankets and the mountain of pillows.

As much as he knew it was impractical and only further aided in his procrastination, Luis couldn’t force himself to unfurl from the cocoon he’d crafted, no matter how hard he tried. Besides, how was Leon supposed to expect him to get up at 5-goddamn-30-AM in the morning? Especially when his pillow was just oh-so soft enough for his head to practically sink straight down into, and the duvet covers that engulfed Luis in a small, triangular cavern reminded him of being a little kid in a blanket fortress again. Dark, quiet, and protective.

(Besides, it was cold. And the sheets were just so warm. Probably from Leon sleeping in them overnight.)

All jokes aside, however; Luis genuinely wished he was able to show his gratitude towards Leon for giving him a second chance in a more meaningful way than just wasting his so-called ‘precious time’ playing around like this in the mornings- not that Leon ever minded these small moments of domesticality, though.

It was one thing to save Luis from a knife to the back- literally- but it was an entirely other thing for Leon to have graciously opened his home, his love, and his affection towards the man he’d met on a whim in nowhere-Spain. And Luis had no idea how to repay Leon in a way that felt equal to his gratitude.

Even just being able to wake up in a warm, comfortable bed, safe next to a person he loved like he was a kid again; it was a luxury Luis hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. Not since his Grandfather passed away. So he treasured these moments as best as he could, and let Leon know as much, too. The blonde reassured him countless-a times that he expected nothing in return, though; he just appreciates Luis’ love.

And Luis appreciated his love in return, too.

Leon repeated another loud, dramatic sigh as he shifted his weight off of the bed. Luis couldn’t help but let out a quiet and involuntary giggle at the sound of his characteristically melodramatic boyfriend.

It must not have been quiet enough, though, because he could practically hear the smirk in Leon’s voice as he began to speak;

“I can hear you, y’know. I know you’re not asleep”

Ah, caught red-handed. And here Luis thought he was a professional.

The sound of soft footsteps muffled by his own pillow were followed by the metallic screech of their clothing rack, and Luis swore he could hear Leon hum a little tune from above his duvet-cocoon as the blonde undoubtedly started to pick out his work clothes for the day.

Leon had work- sporadic hours, and been more sporadic dates- that early Sunday morning. And although Luis wasn’t obliged to go to the Lab on weekends.. He’d prefer to make a good impression on the U.S government. Especially after they had so graciously (Said internally with plenty of sarcasm) lent him his freedom in exchange for his knowledge in their laboratories.

Luis had no choice but to agree, even though he hated it. It felt like he was just being put into yet another inescapable work environment with an unending quest for knowledge and power. One he was all-too familiar with at this point.

Regardless, though, Luis- ever the linewalker- still tested his luck by making one request; He’d be allowed to follow Leon around on his missions in exchange for his expertise.

Leon had called him crazy, but Luis just pointed out that he was still rolling with him regardless.

Leon would playfully call him helpless, and Luis would point out he had his own Príncipe to save him if the situation ever called.

A comforting, reassuring, regular back-and-fourth.

“I’m gonna leave for work, soon, love, soooooo….”

“Mmmmno,”

Luis finally spoke up, but wasn’t totally ready to expose his fully-awakeness just yet.

“No te vayas… Mí amor…”

His feigned sleepy-voice must have worked, because from above him, Luis heard Leon huff a sympathetic laugh from his nose.

“Luis, doll, I’ve gotta go into work.. n’ so do you, I think”

No matter how put-together Leon made himself out to be, Luis could still occasionally catch those moment of vulnerability and tiredness in his voice. He’d hear it after especially rough missions, or just after a long day at work. And now he heard it here, too. Truthfully, neither of them wanted Leon to go into the office.

So Luis just shook his head in response, letting out a series of displeased noises instead of words. And judging by the sound of the floorboards creaking slightly, he could guess Leon had crouched down beside the bed. And his suspicions were confirmed the moment a familiar hand tangled his way into his long, messy hair.

Luis hadn’t gotten a haircut in… god, how long was it now? His hair easily reached almost to his shoulders (In his own defense, though, having a hole in your lung and not being able to walk for two months didn’t exactly leave much time for a routine haircut). Usually, Luis prided himself on his appearance; it was one of the few things in his life he had control over, and gave him self-confidence in. He was a good-looking guy and he knew it. But around Leon, he could let his guard down. He still liked dressing up pretty for him, sure- but he wasn’t as uncomfortable with letting the blonde see him purposefully messy and sleepy. Luis trusted Leon, and he could tell Leon appreciated it.

“Loooooeeeessss…”

Luis’ grin widened as he heard the purposeful mispronunciation of his name from under the blankets. He squeezed his T-Rex positioned hands closer to his chest, trying his hardest not to laugh and give into the feeling of Leon gently playing with his hair.

“Lewis?”

Still no response.

“Looooow-eez..?”

Again, just teasing silence.

When Luis was met with stillness, he assumed he had one the war of attrition- outsmarting his partner and earning himself just a couple more minutes of warm, blissful rest. Maybe he could even convince the Lab that he was sick and needed a day off, who knows. But regardless, Luis smiled victoriously against his pillow; shuffling down further into his sheets just to rub his own win in.

At least, he thought he had won.

“Alright, then,” Leon let out the words in a faux, breathy sigh. The sound of his work jacket being slipped over his shoulders followed.

“I guess I’ll just have to go to work…-“

Luis was about to mentally reward himself, until…

“-Without you, Lulu.”

Lulu??

“Lulu?!” Luis made a weird noise that sat in-between a snort of laughter and genuine shocked surprise. Without even realizing he’d just given up his only chance at sleeping in, Luis practically shot up out of his spot under the covers in surprise. He blinked like a newborn deer at Leon, who had a giant, victorious grin plastered on his face.

Luis wasn’t sure wether to laugh to be mad.

“Where the hell did Lulu come from?!”

“Ha, so you are awake. Knew it” Leon just continued to give him a toothy smile, buttoning up his collard shirt and jacket all the while ignoring Luis’ question. Who had now resorted to pouting cross-armed on the bed.

“What about me, a grown man, screams the nickname ‘Lulu’ to you, Sancho?”

Leon looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if he was genuinely considering his answer. Luis knew he was just faking it, though, and continued to mentally curse himself for giving up his position so easily.

‘‘Lulu’. What a dumb nickname. Not that I’m embarrassed by it, or anything. Nope. I just.. Hope it doesn’t stick.’

“Hmmmm, well… I dunno actually,” Leon winked at him, so nonchalantly and easily it made Luis blush a little. Oh how the turned had tables, or something like that.

“I just think it’s cute, I guess. It suits you.”

“It does not!,” Luis shouted back defiantly, his face now definitely a shade darker than before. “Not in the slightest! Esto es una blasfemia!!”

“Uh-Huh. Whatever you say, Lulu”

Leon rubbed the embarrassment even further in when he leaned over to kiss his partner on the crown of his head, ruffling the Spaniards hair up for the added effect. Luis begrudgingly kissed him back on the lips before he heard the blonde mutter under his breath;

“Hah. Lulu. I like it.”

“Don’t you dare keep calling me that,” Luis growled playfully, giving his partner as much of a grumpy glare as he could muster. Internally, though, his heart was fluttering; it took every ounce of strength in him to not smile at Leon’s teasing. It wasn’t often he was so forward, even if Luis hated the reason as to why. It was nice to see.

“If you make that stick, I’ll start calling you… uh… Déjame pensar…”

As Luis stammered over himself and tried desperately to come up with an equally as insulting nickname, Leon held his unbreaking eye contact; so nonchalant and languid with it all the while.

It was almost painful, the way he waited so patiently and expectantly with a little smirk on his face- Luis couldn’t even make eye contact back at him he was blushing so hard. But at the same time he wanted to kiss that smile off of Leon sooooooooo badly.

“Go on?”

Oh ese bastardo.

“U-Um- Scotty. Yeah. I’ll call you Scotty”

Luis knew the ‘S’ in Leon’s name (unfortunately) didn’t actually stand for Salmonella like he’d joked about, and that most people probably didn’t even know his middle name was ‘Scott’ at all, not even his close friends.

So Luis hoped that by calling Leon a name he hardly identified with, it would provoke at least some kind of equal reaction.

But, of coarse, to no avail; his attempts were just met with a bark of laughter from Leon.

“Scotty?! Seriously?? Yeah, sure, let’s see how that one goes down with everyone at the Lab. I’m suuuure it’ll stick”

Luis’ voiced lowered to a playful growl, “Sancho, you’re not implying what I think you’re implying, are you?”

“What if I am?,” Leon leaned into Luis, pressing his hands on either side of him on the bed. The brunette tried his very best to keep his composure and not back down. But it was getting increasingly difficult.

“What if I, very nicely, and in private, asked Rebecca to start calling you Lulu from now on, hmm? Would you be upset?”

“You wouldn’t”

The thought of Leon quietly sneaking up to Luis’ coworkers- who he had dedicated so much time and effort into getting to even like him, let alone respect him- and asking them to call him ‘Lulu???’

If it was any other situation, he would’ve laughed and said; ‘Go right ahead, Cariño. Let’s see where that gets you’, but his dignity was on the line, ¡por el amor de Dios! And Luis certainly wasn’t about to give Leon the satisfaction of a smile or a laugh. It would only encourage him.

“Oh I would, Lulu.”

Leon reached back and grabbed Luis’ hand, pulling him up onto his feet with a dissatisfied grunt. He wanted to complain about the cold, and the fact that he’d just been forced out of bed- but the second Luis opened his mouth to speak, Leon’s lips were on his own in a heartbeat.

Luis didn’t have enough time to register what was happening and kiss Leon back before the blonde had already pulled away. Staring him up-and-down in such a way that made his heart beat up into his throat chaotically.

“Um- y-yeah, no, I, uh-“

“My, my, call me crazy, but I think you like being called Lulu, don’t you?”

Luis tried his best to scoff indifferently at the statement, maybe even roll his eyes a bit- but it just came out looking like he couldn’t make eye contact from the embarrassment, and his ‘scoff’ sounded more like a sheepish giggle than anything else. He bit his lip in desperation,

“Nooooooo, I do not like being called ‘Luu-Luu’, thank you very much”

Leon placed his hands on his hips.

“Nuh-Uh. Look at your face. You totally do”

“You’re de-lu-sional, Muñeco”

This finally caused Leon to break his composure, letting out a genuine laugh as he gave Luis a more gentle kiss on the lips. The brunette felt his chest warm up as he couldn’t help but chuckle along involuntarily. The more time they’d spent together, the more he’d been fortunate enough to hear Leon genuinely laugh. Not just that weird, half-chuckle he did to impress politicians or to make his rescuees feel better about themselves, no; his real, honest-to-goodness, full-body laugh. It was beautiful, at least to Luis.

And Luis secretly made it his life mission to get Leon to laugh as often as he could. Wether that be with bad flirting or with equally as bad jokes, it didn’t matter. Even if it meant he had to be called ‘Lulu’.

Which he was slowly growing to both despise and appreciate at the same time. Luis couldn’t tell which it was.

“Well, I’m gonna be late to work if I don’t go now, soooo….” Leon began to recollect himself, coughing as he awkwardly sidestepped away from their interaction and brushed down his expensive suit.

“Oh, and remember that mission to Papua New Guinea we were scheduled for in a couple days?”

“Sí?”

“Let the Lab know that that’s been pushed to later this evening, cuz the DSO wants us gone earlier. For some godforsaken reason.”

Even though his back was turned at this point, busy putting his shoes on- Luis could hear the tiredness in Leon’s voice. The Government was far too lax with their times and dates for missions and departures when it came to the DSO’s-Golden-Boy, at least in Luis’ humble opinion. And it meant Leon was often thrown around countries without warning like a ragdoll.

He made the conscious effort to not complain about the sudden time-change, though. It was difficult for him, yes, but Luis knew Leon often carried a lot of guilt for ‘dragging him around’, in his own words. (Even though he had, on multiple occasions, reassured Leon that it was in fact his choice to stick by him)

And Luis was proven right once again when the blonde finally turned around to give his boyfriend the biggest, most sappiest puppy-dog eyes he had ever seen on a single human being ever.

“I’m sorry, love..”

“Don’t be,” Luis gave him his signature, lopsided grin, cupping Leon’s cheek in his hand. He tried to keep his voice steady as Leon closed his eyes and gave his palm a light, apologetic kiss.

“What do you Americans say, again? ‘It is what it is’?”

“Something like that,” Leon huffed a dry laugh and pried himself away from Luis, much to his dismay. The blonde snapped his work watch on and finally turned to leave.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Lulu. I love you.”

Luis just rolled his eyes and smiled. “You too, Cowboy. Te amo”

—————————————————————

Luis hadn’t even noticed Rebecca entering the Lab at the crisp hour of 6:30 AM. He sat hunched over at his desk- completely fixated on the task at hand- with his hair falling over his face like a curtain as he methodically drummed the tip of his syringe into a small glass plate. This was Luis’ fourth attempt at trying to examine the fluid inside of said syringe, but everytime he went to dab a droplet onto the glass plate, he always seemed to squeeze just a little too much out and cause it to overflow.

Luis chalked it up to his hands being cold and shaky as he let out a defeated sigh, once again squeezing the liquid out too fast and causing the glass plate to turn a sticky-yellow color. ‘Gracias a dios no soy cirujano’, he thought to himself as he cleaned off the glass and repositioned the needle back over again.

Luis had no idea Rebecca was practically sneaking up behind him, totally unaware that she’d slipped her oversized lab coat on just to add a bit of height as she stood directly behind him. Biting back her grin as best she could.

When Luis still didn’t acknowledge her presence, totally engrossed by his own failure- Rebbeca took it upon herself to cough comically loud, before saying;

“Good morning, Lulu!”

“¡MIERDA-!”

Luis kept about three feet into the air out of fright, instinctively throwing his arm up to cover his face protectively. The needle he was holding clattered loudly against the glass plate, and Rebecca made a winced face at the sound.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!! I didn’t see you were working!!”

“Nonono, está bien, está bien, you just gave me frig- wait a minuite,”

Luis’ clutch on his own pristine white Lab coat loosened as his beating heart slowed down. He was used to being jumped- a little more than the average person- and was accustomed to the quickened heart rate that followed.

Usually, when somebody snuck up behind him, Luis expected to hear his name being cursed with a fervor so unmatched with an honestly decent reason to hate him. But this isn’t what he was expecting. Like, at all.

“Señorita, I think I misheard… Did you just call me Lulu?”

“Mmmhmm!” Rebecca pressed her lips into a smile, the corners of her tired eyes crinkling as she nodded her head and hummed.

“Leon called me on the way to work and specifically asked me to call you that today. I’m not sure why. Oh, he also told me not to tell you he said that”

Luis felt his heart drop to his feet.

‘Leon, que hiciste…’

He immediately tried to save-face by laughing Rebecca off, waving his hand languidly and collecting the dropped medical equipment scattered over the table.

“Oh, psssshhh, please, Lulu? Seriously? Señorita, I wouldn’t have picked an esteemed scientist like yourself as the nickname type. Much less something like L-“

“I think Lulu’s pretty cute,” Rebecca smiled, completely unaware of Luis’ plight. She wasn’t taking his hints, and the scientist wasn’t about to spell out his own embarrassment for her to take advantage of. ‘How many people has Leon told so far??’

“It suits you”

“So I’ve been told” Luis grumbled. The microscope was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world to him as he tried not to meet Rebecca’s eye contact. But that was becoming increasingly difficult as she fluttered around him like a curious moth to a lamp.

“Oh, ‘So you’ve been told??’ Is this, like, an inside joke between you and Leon, or something?”

“Let’s go with that, Mariposa” Luis didn’t mean to sound so dismissive on purpose, but the further Rebecca tried to pry, the more his walls were starting to break down.

Nobody ever said he was resilient! Just persistent. At least that’s what Leon said. And a lot of other people, too. But those people hated his guts so it didn’t count.

Rebecca clearly wasn’t taking ‘No’ for an answer, and if Luis had eyes on the back of his head, he would have definitely seen that she had the biggest, most cheekiest smirk imaginable on her face.

“Oooooooooh, I get it. It’s a cute little nickname, huh?”

“Ah-ah, I see what you’re trying to do,” Luis swiveled around in his office chair, waving his index finger at the brunette with a sheepish expression. “You’re trying to get me to embarrass myself. Well, sorry to disappoint, mí amiga, but I’m not admitting anything to you”

“But you just did,” Rebecca folded her arms and rested her weight on one foot, cocking her head a little like it was obvious.

“I never even said anything about embarrassing you. You just outed yourself, smartass!”

Luis loudly and dramatically gasped to try and distract from the fact that his face was now definitely two shades darker than it was before, grasping at his lab coat like he’d been mortally wounded.

“I did not! I was framed! Set up for disaster, even!”

“By who?”

Luis immediately went silent.

Caught red-handed. Again.

Rebecca’s smug grin turned into a full-faced smile as she practically strolled across the room with a self-satisfied stride, shoes clacking obnoxiously loud against the ceramic while shaking her head and tutting ‘Leon, Leon, Leon…’ under her breath all the while.

Luis kind of wanted to tear out the concrete beneath them and dig himself a hole to live in forevermore from the sheer embarrassment of it all. He tried his damnedest to return back to the task at hand- ‘¿Qué estaba haciendo? Ah yes, testing!’- but no matter how busy he made himself out to be, the Spaniard would still occasionally catch Rebecca’s knowing smirk from across the room. Chin placed on her hand, she’d sigh wistfully like a damsel lost-in-thought every now and then.

This was appalling! Blasphemous, even! Luis Serra Navarro had been called many-a things- some words were probably best left unsaid- but his name being boiled down to a cutesy nickname like Lulu was not going to be one of those!! He could ignore a one-off, sure; retort back with a flirty remark, a wink, and a smile- but it was purely just the way Leon had held it over his head the way he had that got Luis acting so….

Bashful? Flustered? No. Totally not. Never. The fine knight Don Quixote did not get ‘Embarrassed’. He was a smooth-talker, a self-proclaimed ‘ladies and gents man’, and he had a reputation to uphold.

But that ‘reputation’ seemed to be slipping out of his fingertips like molten gold the longer Rebecca was around. Luis downright adored her at the worst of times, but Dios mío she was determined to get Luis as out-of-his-comfort-zome as humanly possible that afternoon, it seemed.

“Lulu, can you pass me the butterfly syringes while you’re up? I’m trying to count something and I can’t- oh wait nevermind I lost count anyways”

“Hey, Lulu, do you still have those reports from our last extraction, by any chance? I lost mine”

“Oooooooh Luuuluuu!!! I got you some coffee!! You said you like it with cream, right?”

“Alright, Lulu, we’ve gotta focus now,”

Coming up eleven whole hours later and the pair of them were still the only people alone together in the Lab. Which made sense, considering it was a Sunday and all- but that meant they were working overtime, which also meant Luis’ back was especially sore (more than usual, at least), his head ached from just how hard he’d been focusing, and Rebecca was still calling him Lulu goddamnit!!

He thought by now she would’ve given up on it, but nooooooooooo- everytime Luis gave her the silent treatment, it just encouraged her more.

She reminded him of Leon, in that way.

Man, he really missed Leon. ‘Me pregunto cómo está…’

“Terrasave told me this was their last sample of the blood cells they found in Papua New Guinea, so we can’t screw this up- Lulu, are you even listening to me??”

“Wh-huh- ¿Qué fue eso??”

Luis blinked out of his window-staring induced trance to face Rebecca, who was unsurprisingly faring no better than he was- dark circles painted her lower eyebags and her eyebrows remained permanently scrunched. The pair of them stood in front of a robotic, almost dystopian-looking machine; a pin-perfect needle was controlled by a metal arm, one that was positioned carefully over a small, round glass plate.

Luis would have offered to do it by hand, but Rebecca pointed out that inhaling zombie blood probably wasn’t good for either of their health. If Leon was there, he’d probably disagree.

The pair of them had been working on a new type of vaccination for a few common Virus’- Luis cringed internally at the fact that such horrific stuff like the T-Virus were now considered common- that could be redistributed through oral means like water or food, rather than injections. Sure, injections were easier, but screaming

children terrified of them were not. (And, again, much to Luis’ dismay- children being infected were also becoming a lot more common).

“Lulu, I need you to focus,” Rebecca sighed, resting her arms on the inactive keyboard in front of her.

“I don’t wanna have to explain to Terrasave that we ruined their last zombie blood sample”

Luis just sighed back and rubbed his tired eyes though his glasses, which at this point had slipped down the bridge of his nose. He stretched and yawned out loud;

“It’s kinda hard to focus when you’re still calling me ‘Lulu’, señorita”

“Wow, Rebecca really did commit to my request, huh, Lulu?”

Luis instinctively whipped his head around to the entrance of the lab where the voice was coming from; only to be greeted by a very familiar, smiling face.

“Leon!!”

Completely throwing all self-awareness to the wind, Luis practically ran across the lab to engulf Leon in the biggest hug he could manage without hurting him. It might’ve just been his tired brain making him feel sentimental, but seeing a familiar face he loved after a long day of work made him soft. Leon rarely ever stopped by to say hi at the Lab, their break schedules simply just never aligned- so this was more than a welcome surprise.

Luis buried his nose into his partners shoulder, ignoring the fact that he was probably wrinkling his nice expensive work suit in favor of the feeling of a warm hug.

“¡Dios mío, te extrañé tanto!” He felt Leon wrap an arm around his waist, squeezing him back as tightly as he could manage and giving the top of his head a quick kiss. The blonde chuckled dryly,

“Ha, looks like I’m not the only one whose had a long day at work, Lulu”

From across the room, Rebecca shouted;

“You have no idea, Leon! Lulu over here has been asleep on his feet for two hours now!!”

Luis felt his cheeks and the back of his neck heat up at the sound of the two’s back-and-fourth banter; again, he thought that by now, one or the other would’ve forgotten about calling him that embarrassing nickname! But ¡no, claro que no! Luis resorted to unintentionally burying his face further into the crook of Leon’s neck to save himself from facing the two of them with a madly blushing face; but that only caused Leon to laugh and coo at him.

“Awwwwwe, what, is my Lulu getting all shy on me now? You still don’t like my nickname?”

From over his shoulder, Luis heard the crackle of a phone speaker;

“Oh my gosh, is that Luis?? Wait wait wait hang on- Hiiiiiiii Luluuuuuuu!!!!!”

“Is that Ashley?! Dios mío…”

Leon just laughed at the disappointed sigh Luis left out when he heard Ashley calling him that nickname, too; he forced himself out of Leon’s arms for a moment to look at the caller ID on his partners old work phone.

Sure enough, ‘Baby Eagle’ was shown off front-and-centre.

“Leon,” Luis tried his best to sound intimidating, but it fell flat.

“How many people have you asked to call me…”

“Lulu?” Leon finished his sentance with a grin.

“Only Rebecca and Ashley, I swear on my life”

Leon was notorious for being a horrible liar. So Luis was almost immediately able to tell he was telling the truth, but still; he wasn’t about to let Leon get away with it Scott-free. He snatched the phone out of the blondes hand in one swift motion,

“¡Mí Señorita! ha sido tan largo, how’ve you been? Rebecca says hi,”

“Hi Ashley!!” Rebecca waved from across the room.

“Hiya Miss Chambers, hiya Lulu!! I’ve been good! Sorry I haven’t been able to visit you, I’ve got, like, extra bodyguards or something and they’re reeeeeeally annoying”

“It’s for your safety, Ashley” Leon huffed a half-laugh.

“So Leon’s tricked you into calling me that nickname too, I see?”

“Tricked me? No!! I’m calling you Lulu voluntarily!! I think it suits you!”

Luis groaned in defeat, hiding his face in his hands both out of sheer embarrassment and tiredness.

“¡¿Por qué todos dicen eso?! It does not suit me!!” He threw his hands into the air for extra emphasis, “I’m a grown man! What about me gives off ‘Lulu’ vibes?!”

“You’re cute,” Leon pointed out flatly with a smile on his face.

“And ‘Lulus’ cute”

“You have a short attention span!,” Rebecca shouted from across the room, “You probably need a nickname to keep focused anyways!”

“You have the soul of a Grandfather. And I feel like ‘Lulu’ is the kind of nickname I’d hear from, like, my Grandma in the White House or something”

“O-Oh yeah, Mí amiga? Well, if you all want to call me Lulu…” he practically had to force the nickname out of his mouth.

“Then I suggest you all start calling Leon Scotty from now on”

This, thank god, actually got a loud laugh out of Rebecca and Ashley- and Leon clearly wasn’t far behind, biting his bottom lip desperately to keep himself from letting even the slightest noise out. Luis felt his grow warm with a little sense of pride- He’d managed to make Leon laugh. Almost, at least. But that was good enough for him.

“N-No offense, Luis,” On the other end of the line, Ashley sounded like she was trying her damnedest to keep her voice steady after her burst of laughter

“But Scotty doesn’t suit him as much as Lulu does for you”

“Besides, it’s weird calling your friend their middle name!” Rebecca was equally as doubled-over with laughter, clutching the side table with her red hand that wasn’t covering her mouth in a balled fist.

Leon gave Luis a look that screamed ‘I told you so’

“Well, fine then. Dios Mío you three are persistent. But I will not be entertaining this nickname, I will simply be ignoring you”

“Whatever you say, Lulu” Leon smiled, taking his partners hand and bringing it up to his lips for a kiss. Luis really needed to stop being so blushy for ten seconds please.

“All jokes aside, though- Rebecca, I’ve gotta steal Luis for that mission….”

“Damn, you’re leaving me high-and-dry already?” Rebecca did her best to give the two men a confident smile, but Luis could practically see the exhaustion in her eyes. Not to mention just how generally disheveled she and the rest of the lab looked- the brunette man winced at the realization that he’d be leaving her all alone to finish their assignment and to clean up the entire laboratory.

“Mí Mariposa, I’m so sorry-“

“It’s fine Lulu, honest,” Rebecca gave him a genuine smile, the corners of her tired eyes crinkling. Luis felt his own guilt claw at his chest like nails against a chalkboard.

“I know better than the both of you how these missions are set up”

“At least let me help clean up!”

“There’s no way we’re just gonna leave you to do… whatever you're doing all by yourself,” Leon added, backing his boyfriend up. Even if he had zero clue what kind of ‘sciency-nerd-stuff’ (His words, not Luis’) the pair of them got up to during the day.

Luis looked back-and-fourth between Rebecca, Leon and the mess that was the Lab tables. Books, computers and medical equipment were scattered around as far as the eye could see- but Rebecca just shook her head and shooed him off.

“Like I said, It’s fine you two. I’m probably just gonna grab a late-night coffee and head home anyways. The students coming in tomorrow can clean all this up. I’ll call it work experience” the brunette gave him a wink as she began to practically shove the pair out of the lab.

“Now go! Vamos! Before the president or whoever gets mad at you or, something”

“My dad would never!” Ashleys voice crackled defiantly over the phone. Leon just shook his head and laughed as Rebecca dragged the pair out the doors almost by force.

“Oh trust me, he would”

—————————————————————

The loud, shrill screech of the helicopter propellers combined with the rumbling vibrations against Luis’ back were the only things keeping him upright at this point.

Luis was exhausted; beyond that, even. How he was even sitting up straight, let alone how he had his eyes open at all was a complete miracle. The thin helicopter seats underneath him left no room for relaxation, and forced Luis’ back up against the curved edge of the metal chopper walls- sending uncomfortable rumbles down his spine adjacent to the feeling of resting your head on a bus window. Only this was a full-bodied experience.

No matter how many times he did it, Luis never got over the feeling of flying in a helicopter- the first couple times he was practically ecstatic, staring out of the window as the ground beneath him shrunk into an oil painting-like splotch of greens and browns. The sudden jerk and lift-off never became familiar to him, either; he lost his stomach everytime, without fail.

Overall, kind of a miserable experience once Luis got used to the six-hour long trips filled with nothing but loud rumbling that left his ears ringing for weeks. Not to mention, it was cold. The BSAA’s Donation helicopters were, much to his surprise, nothing fancy on the inside; just cold metal as far as the eye could see. And metal got cold easily, believe it or not.

Luis sighed defeatedly as he did his best to shuffle into a more comfortable position- with no luck- and resorted to just hunching over himself. Screw future-Luis’ back problems, he was tired, damnit.

The only thing keeping him awake was Leon sitting right beside him. Arm-in-arm, the blonde was doing just as bad as he was. Worse, even.

Their trip to Papua New Guinea went… Not to plan.

They were instructed to go undercover with fake names and try to infiltrate a container ship supposedly full of T-Virus samples- but they were ambushed. Not by human beings, no; rather, a giant, fleshy, still-beating creature clawed it’s way out of the Oceanside jungle, unhinging it’s jaw to let out a loud, grotesque screech before launching itself at the pair of men.

It reeked of something Luis could just barely recognise as coming out of a Lab most likely, and it’s eyes- or more accurately, it’s three eyes- glowed a bright, fluorescent orange that screamed ‘Hey! I was a totally normal guy before I most likely injected myself with some miscellaneous alphabet-organized named virus and turned into this ugly creature!! Which means you have to kill me now, teehee!!!’

Luis looked down at his own bloody hands shakily at the memory. Neither him nor Leon had gotten the opportunity to change before they evacuated.

He rubbed the flaky, dry blood off of his hands as rigorously as he could. The smell stinged his nose still.

Him and Leon, by some miracle, had gotten the upper hand; the container ship was large and void of people, which meant they could spend as many hours as needed running around the small, shallow halls to avoid their oncoming attacker- who was much too large to fit within the confines of the many engine rooms they traversed.

But it was never that simple, as Luis had learnt. The Bioweapon had practically teared the container ship in two, and despite it looking like it’d have- at max- maybe three brain-cells, it still efficiently snatched up Leon and crushed his rifle under its feet within seconds, hoisting the blonde up into the air and crushing his body agonizingly slowly.

The pair of men were strictly instructed to not shoot the Bioweapon- the man underneath all those mutations, a Doctor Emmet Rupert Brown, was still showing clear signs of sentience and could theoretically be reverse-engineered back to his normal state.

But in that moment, when Leon was on the brink of death and without a weapon to defend himself…

Luis had no other options.

And the guilt of his actions ate away at him each passing second on their helicopter journey home.

Luis knew what he was signing up for when he joined Leon on his missions. He had heard tall tales about the kinds of monsters Leon S. Kennedy had faced bare-handed, and even saw plenty of them himself in Spain-

But what he wasn’t expecting was to be met with the harsh, cruel humanity that lay underneath those Bioweapons.

Luis turned to his partner, whose eyes remained unfocused and foggy, toeing the line between asleep and wakefulness.

‘Díos mío, how does he do it….’

In that moment, with the sound of the helicopter whirring drowning out any other outside noises; Luis remembered an experience he had while he was still living with his Grandfather in Valdelobos.

The late afternoon air was crisp, and Luis felt his small chest tighten from the cold. His legs sunk almost up to his knees as he struggled to keep up with his Grandfather. Huffing and trotting along behind him in a snails-trail.

Luis held a large hunting rifle with both of his hands- the sheer size alone engulfing almost half of his body.

In front of him, his Grandfathers shadow blocked the reflection of the sun against the blinding-white snow, letting Luis walk along with larger, more confident steps.

The Village Priests truly were right; Winter silenced everything.

There were no songbirds fluttering about Luis’ feet, no echoes of children playing just beyond the woods- nothing. Just the his own heavy breathing and his Grandfather's heavy footsteps. He was tired. They’d been walking in circles for what felt like hours, looking for anything to bring home to the table.

Luis was practically ready to fall asleep on his feet, the silence filling the air like his own lullaby, until…

SNAP!!

Luis almost lept out of his skin in fright as his Grandfather instinctively raised his gun up to his eyeline. They stayed still for a moment, before the sound of groaning followed the air.

Luis couldn’t see his Grandfathers expression, but instead was met with a familiar whistle-call that meant Luis was being told to follow him as closely as possible.

He wrapped a tiny hand around his Grandfathers coat sleeve, following every large step deeper and deeper into the woods until….

“A deer,” His Grandfather pointed to a large, brown lump lying in the snow.

“It’s gotten caught in the Bear traps. Stay there, Lulu”

Luis did as he was told and waited as quietly and stiffly as humanly possible- as if any sudden movements would break the watch below him.

He watched as the deer began to struggle and wail the closer his Grandfather got to it; he heard the older man murmuring a familiar lullaby, resting a hand on the big animals face. Even from so far away, Luis could see it’s terrified expression; wide, white eyes and a quickly rising-and-falling chest. He felt his heart crack a little in sympathy.

In one, swift motion, Luis’ Grandfather unbuckled the Bear Trap and the deer was gone within the blink of an eye; spraying up snow as it honked and wailed loudly into the silent air. Slipping around on its own gangly legs as it flicked snow straight into the older man’s eyes. Luis felt his chest loosen with relief as his Grandfather just laughed, watching the deer run off into the distance.

“Grandfather, why didn’t you kill the deer?” Luis asked, confidently trotting up to his side to investigate the Bear Trap.

His Grandfather kneeled down to his level, which only meant one thing; Whatever he was about to say next was extremely important.

“Because, Lulu, killing that deer while it was already mortally wounded would be a dishonorable murder. The Bear Trap wasn’t laid for it, so it shouldn’t have died by its jaws.

Understand this, Lulu; you only ever kill when it’s absolutely necessary and honorable. The most morally reprehensible action a knight can preform is taking a life while they’ve already been beaten down. Do you understand?”

Luis had held that sentiment with him his entire life.

Through working with Umbrella, experiencing the horrors of the Nemesis project, all the way to fighting against Krauser- Luis did his best to uphold his Grandfathers wishes.

But life wasn’t always a fairytale book.

And how Leon was able to live with that kind of guilt… He had no idea.

“…MmmLuuuis?”

As if reading his mind, Leon lulled his head over to face his partner with a slightly concerned expression. The little wrinkles on his forehead exaggerating as he forced his eyebrows up higher to keep himself awake.

“Are y’alrght?”

“I’m fine, Mí amor,” Luis reassured him, hoping his voice was audible over the roaring of the helicopter. He leaned over to kiss Leon on the sides of his temples,

“You, however, don’t look fine. You should be asleep, Cariño”

“Can’t,” Was all Leon was able to mumble out, his eyes dipping slowly.

“You’re still ‘wake…”

Looking at just how exhausted Leon was seemed to be contagious, because Luis’ own fatigue creeped up on the corner of his mind like weeds in no time. His entire body ached, his head throbbed, and the clothes against his skin felt itchy. Luis could have sworn right then and there that that was easily the most tired he had ever felt in his entire life; every limb was like lead, yet at the same time, his bones felt as liquid-y as jello. And every tiny cut, scar and bruise they had gotten from the mission seemed to be exaggerated in pain by 10000%.

But, once again, Leon just looked so much worse altogether.

Besides, Luis would feel a whole lot better knowing Leon had gotten some rest. Maybe he’d even join him later on if they were still up in the sky, who knows.

“Leon, I insist you fall asleep”

“But whu’ if we land…?”

“Then I’ll wake you up,” Luis did his best to smiled before running his free hand up through Leon’s stringy blonde locks to encourage his head down onto his shoulder. He played with his locks a bit before moving down to caress the bridge of his boyfriends nose, gently laying a kiss against his wrinkled forehead and eyelids.

“Ve a dormir, mí amor. I’ll protect you, I promise.”

That seemed to be the final straw for Leon. Luis felt his chest glow with warmth as the blonde sighed contently and finally shut his eyelids, head bouncing occasionally from the helicopters’ movements.

Luis could easily watch Leon sleep like this for ages, no matter how uncomfortable the conditions were; it was rare he ever got to spy moments of pure relaxation from Leon like this. So he well and truly appreciated it.

And although Luis had promised he’d stay awake for Leon…

The exhaustion, guilt and general jet-lag of their whole journey caught up to him in no time.

Luis surrendered to his own blissful rest, letting his long, dark locks fall over his eyes as he rested the side of his head against the top of Leon’s.

He was just on the verge of sleep, until…

“Goodnight, Lulu…”

Luis laughed.

Over the coarse of the last three days, he had totally forgotten about Leon’s little nickname for him. And he just assumed Leon had forgotten about it, too.

But clearly not.

And, hell, he couldn’t even stay mad at Leon for it.

In fact, Luis was indeed starting to warm up to the nickname Lulu after all.

He kissed the top of Leon’s head,

“Goodnight, Cowboy…”

[jxckyx3]

[ BTW I fucked up the socials in the pic, they're switched (⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)]

I love rare Kyle pairs. Can't you tell?

(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

💜🖤💜

__________________________________

Fandom: South Park

Ship: Kyle x Jimmy & Clyde

Top(s): Jimmy & Clyde

Bottom: Kyle

AU: Highschool

Setting: School / Kyle's house

Type: Fluff / Comfort

Warning ⚠️: The chapter that you're about to read contains swearing, mention of death, sexual humor, dark humor and other mentions or situations that may disturb, trigger or offend the viewer. Viewer's discretion is advised.

__________________________________

Jimmy's pov -

"Alright and uh... Kyle Broflovski? Is there a Kyle here?" The substitute asked, looking up from his clipboard to glance around the room. Nobody said a word, silently looking around themselves. I glanced at the door, waiting any moment for it to burst open and in run a flustered redhead.

Yet, he didn't come.

"Alright then, guess he's not here." The teacher sighed to himself, marking something down with his red pen. I frowned at that, snapping my eyes back to the seat next to Stan, where Kyle usually sat. It was unusual in itself that he wasn't here. He was never absent. And when we was, Stan would always tell the teacher the reason why, substitute or not.

There would be times where Kyle was tardy or times where he'd come in, out of breath right before the bell rung. He was a person who always loved to do things right the first time and always be on time. But he couldn't do those both at the same time. He'd often be late because he'd work too hard or too thorough on a project or something. It was admirable, but I could tell it was exhausting.

Regardless of that, Stan always knew.

But now, Stan looked confused as well. But I didn't need to ask him now and get caught by the teacher, since I noticed he was already on the case. I watched as he slowly reached into his open backpack that was leaning against his desk, pulling out his phone to the side and turning it on.

I flicked my eyes to the teacher, making sure he was engrossed in whatever the hell he was teaching before looking back to Stan. He quickly typed with his left hand, looking up every now and then to make sure he wouldn't be caught.

Honestly smart. Most people that text in class keep their eyes glued to their phone in hopes of typing faster. I felt a tap on my shoulder, turning to my left to see Clyde giving me a questioning look. I lifted my hands, doing a quick typing motion before gesturing to Stan.

He nodded in understanding, doing the same as I was doing by flickering his eyes between Stan and the teacher.

It was easy to understand what eachother were talking about. Having developed a way to speaking without words. It consisted of gestures more than anything, but simple eye exchanges were put in as well. They were harder to read, but when the situation was obvious, it was easy to understand.

The reason for this wasn't only because we were close friends. It was because we both had eyes for the same person. Kyle, to be exact. It was honestly a surprise when me and Clyde figured out we both had a crush on Kyle. Well, more than a crush. But we wouldn't admit that out loud.

It was nearly back in fourth grade when I realized my feelings. I had always had a certain draw to him, but I never really questioned it. That was until Kyle had started to hangout with Tolkein more. It drew him closer to our group, and it was easy to figure out then and there that I had a thing for him.

It confused me at first, because I've never been attracted to guys. Sure I would admire them, but I never wanted to be with them or anything like that.

And it was only a good month ago when I found out Clyde also liked Kyle. We had been ditched by our friends who were on a double date. Craig went with Tweek, and Tolkein had gone with Nichole. So they left us in our own single-life misery. That night, Clyde had came over and we drank a few, ate a few edibles and just talked. It wasn't anything special. Just two guys bored out of their minds and wishing they had someone to hang on their arm.

Clyde had dated Bebe for a while, but it didn't really work, so he was at the same stage as me. I myself dated a few girls, but after the third breakup, I just stopped trying. It was when he brought up his type, that I had put the pieces together.

'Firey, red head, pale skin, oh! And feckless! God I love freckles. Green eyes too, they're real pretty. Nice ass, slim, pretty smile. That's, my type dude.', is what he had said, in his exact words. It wasn't hard to figure it out. The only girl that looked that was, was Red. But she didn't have green eyes or freckles, so it was easy to turn her away.

Honestly, I'm not sure how I still remember any of this. I was high our of my mind. But I do recall him saying something about 'adorable nerds with anger issues' and that was enough evidence for me. I had straight up asked him if he liked Kyle, and if he was sober, I bet he would've responded with sputters and curses at me. But instead, he had simply nodded his head to confirm my suspicions.

The next day he was begging me not to tell anyone, but I just came out to him and revealed that I also like Kyle.

It was something stupid to bond over, but in a way I guess it made us feel less lonely about being single. I had asked him when the first time he knew he was in love, and surprisingly, he was more than happy to share.

His story, was that back in sixth grade, nobody gave him anything for Valentine's day. He did get a couple of cards but none came with candy or any love letters. Just a simply, 'Happy Valentine's Day!' and that was it. Clyde was an emotional kid. He still is sometimes, so it wasn't a surprise when he told me that he broke down behind the bleachers in the gym afterwards.

Kyle had been the one to find him, comforting him and telling him nice things. Supposedly Kyle had shared half his candy with him since he was diabetic anyways, and the two just sat talking. Clyde told me all about how he loved the way Kyle's lips curved at the top when he smiled, almost like a cat. Or the way his nose scrunched up whenever someone said something stupid. I had to admit, those were some of my favorite parts about Kyle too.

I heard a sigh from Stan, loud and relived. I put my attention back on him, watching as he slid his phone back away. I narrowed my eyes at Clyde, getting a shrug in response. I nodded, leaning back in my chair.

Guess we'd just have to ask at lunch.

I did feel weird at times whenever we tried to check in with Kyle. Even if he himself didn't know we were doing it. But it was hard not to look out for his well being with Cartman still around. He had dragged Kyle and the other two in a lot of shit as kids, and only when we started freshman year did we all realize how fucking insane it all was. It was a miracle how were all still alive at this point.

Less intense stuff happened now. But it was still relieving to check up on him every now and then. If not for him, then us, because we worry too much.

***

"Did you guys notice that Kyle wasn't at school today?" Clyde asked, all of us sitting down at our table. Our table was two over from Stan's, which was weird considering we were all basically friends, but Craig got annoyed by Cartman and Stan easily, so the distance was fair.

"Hm?" Tolkein hummed, chuckling afterwards with his eyes glued down to his phone. I rolled my eyes as he lifted his hand, blowing an air kiss to seemingly nowhere. But I knew better. He was texting Nichole again, flirting with her even when they were across the room for eachother. It was almost embarrassing.

"Kyle, he wasn't here." Clyde tried again, pouting when he wasn't given a response this time. Craig was too busy trying to calm Tweek down about global warming, and how it was going to kill us and at this point, Tolkein wasn't even paying attention.

"Dude, y-you're more in l-l-love than me." I teased, laughing at the glare I got as Clyde's face burned red. The guys knew of our crush. It was easy to tell anyways. Clyde talked day and night about Kyle, and though I was usually annoyed whenever someone talked about someone they loved for so long, I couldn't ever find it in myself to shut him up. Because I completely agreed with him. With everything he said.

Kyle was just so cute and so amazing in every way possible. I couldn't even shoot down a conversation about Kyle. Why would I?

"Shut up, you've liked him longer asswipe." Clyde huffed, thudding his elbow on the table as he reached for a fry off his plate. Munching furiously, but only managing to look like an angry chipmunk.

"I fell f-f-first, you fell h-harder." I shot back, only earning an eyes roll, because he knew it was true.

"Did you have time to ask Stan yet?" He asked, quickly changing the subject. I chuckled at that, getting a look from him but didn't tease any further.

"No n-not yet. I was hoping to do it some- sometime during l-lunch." I explained, taking a sip from my water bottle. Clyde hummed, trailing his eyes after Stan as he got up to the vending machine, suddenly standing up and tugging me with him.

"Well then we should do it now. I don't wanna ask with Cartman or Kenny around." He said, helping me grab my crutches before we were standing up and heading over. I laughed again at his eagerness. But I completely agreed with him. It was probably better in the long run if we asked Stan alone. If we asked around Kenny, he'd make a remark about us wanting to fuck him, and Clyde would only break and reveal our secret. if we asked with Cartman around, he'd do anything and everything in his power to find out why we asked, and he'd most definitely find out.

But Stan was sorta slow, and gullible. He'd believe anything long as it doesn't involve himself, or getting someone he knew dragged into something bad.

"H-hey Stan, w-what up?" I asked, me and Clyde moving to stand behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, shooting us a quick smile before he moved his attention back to the machine.

"Hey guys uh, nothing much. Just getting some chips because the lunch today sucks. Plus, I think Kenny's enjoying it more than I am." He chuckled, gesturing back to his table as he slipped in a bill. Me and Clyde turned out heads to look at his table, Kenny happily stuffing his face with overcooked chicken nuggets and gooey mashed potatoes. The food wasn't bad here, but it did have funny textures.

I laughed at that, turning back to look at Clyde. But instead of laughing, he was just smiling nervously and blushing.

Yeah, he's not focused on anything but Kyle.

"Hey, Stan..." He started, and I mentally face palmed with how nervous he sounded. He had always been pretty shit at hiding his crushes. But Kyle was a friend of ours, so it was even harder than just an ordinary crush. I'm honestly surprised he hasn't been caught yet.

Especially with how much he stares at Kyle in class.

"Yeah Clyde?" Stan asked, cursing to himself when the bag of chips got stuck on the edge of the slot. I hissed in sympathy as he pulled out another dollar bill.

Those thing were definitely rigged.

"By chance, do you know where Kyle is? He wasn't here this morning so I'm assuming he didn't come to school." He said. The hesitation was clear in his voice, but at least he wasn't stuttering. Though honestly, it probably would've been better if he had a natural stutter like me, that way he could hide his nervousness a lot better.

My speech had gotten better after my parents let me take classes for it, but I did stumble every now and then. Something I'm still trying to work on, but it's always more difficult when I'm near Kyle.

"Oh yeah, he's in sick. He got the flu or something? I dunno, he's been burning up all morning." Stan said, sighing when the chips finally fell down and hit the bottom of the vending machine.

I hummed in understanding, nodding my head. It kinda did make sense for him to be sick. He had been looking extra tired lately. Most likely from overworking himself again. He tends to do that a lot.

"Shit, he okay?" Clyde asked, sounding very concerned. More concerned than a friend would normally be, but I couldn't entirely blame him. His mother died from a toilet for fucks sake, anything's possibly at this point.

"Yeah dude, he's cool. He may be small, but his immune system is strong. I'm surprised he even managed to get sick at all." Stan said, ripping his chips open and immediately eating a handful with a satisfied hum.

"W-well, at least that's g-good to h-hear." I smiled, shifting a hand to grab my wallet from my back pocket. That way it seemed we had an obvious reason for coming over here.

"Why?" Stan suddenly asked. I froze, blinking at him a few times as he stared at us blankly. Sometimes in moments like this, he reminded me of Craig. When Stan was curious, his face would drop all emotion, and he'd just stare and wait for answers. It was kinda unsettling.

"W-what?" I asked, confused on what he was asking about.

"Why did you guys want to know?" He asked specifically. There was no hint of anger nor suspicion in his voice, but he definitely looked like he was confused. Just from the tiny frown between his eyebrows. It was almost invisible.

I shared a quick glance with Clyde, who in turn was also looking at me to awnser. Fuck. We're both clueless. We should've really thought this through. I wouldn't be surprised if Stan pointed out Clyde's nervous sweating.

"O-oh! Just curious." He then said, shrugging nonchalantly. But his shoulders were stiff when he did so, and his flickering eyes didn't help him whatsoever. He always did have a tendency to avert his gaze whenever he lied.

Damnit Clyde.

"Curious?" Stan questioned, now tilting his head and fully frowning in confusion. At least he was showing emotion now, but how the hell do I get us out of this one?

"Oh, a-and because we have a p-proje- a project to do. I need his h-help to look over the sch-school paper I finished and make a-a few revisions." I quickly added on, shrugging the same way Clyde did, just more natural. Clyde gave me a small smile in gratitude, quickly looking back to Stan before he saw our exchanged glance.

Clyde did this often, where he would screw up with speaking whenever the topic changes to Kyle. It wasn't often, but if we were near someone who Kyle was going to tutor and they mentioned it, I would have to pinch Clyde or glare at him in order to stop him. Because if I didn't, he would go on and on about Kyle without realizing his mistake, and I would have to cover it up with lies. It wasn't the best system, but it had worked for a whole month so far.

I didn't notice it before I knew of Clyde's crush, but I think him and I sharing the same interest on it, made him open up more about Kyle. Which was more a bad thing than good, because he's gonna get us caught one day, I swear.

Stan seemed satisfied with the awnser, fixing his face back to it's usual subconscious friendly smile. He never used to smile like that. Especially with everything that happened in his life so far. What with his parents and Wendy and all. But after Kyle made helped him start taking his meds on time, Stan became much better in the sense of health and emotion.

Sometimes it makes me jealous of how much Kyle cares of him. How much he cares of everyone.

"Oh cool. Well I'm sure he'll let you stop by. He'd take any reason for his mom to stop hovering over him." He rolled his eyes jokingly, causing us both to laugh.

"Right, we'll do that. Thanks again dude." Clyde said, moving aside as Stan turned to leave.

"No problem." He said, smiling in return before heading back to his table. I waved him off, only dropping my smile once he fully turned away.

"Clyde, seriously." I said with a slight chuckle, not needing to emphasize on what I was talking about for him to understand. He groaned softly, ripping a few bucks from his back pocket and shoving them into the machine like it was the reason he almost exposed us.

"I knooow dude, I suck at this." He whined, smacking the buttons hazardously like he didn't care what he got.

"Jesus man, how have y-you even lasted this long?" I went on, only earning a middle finger in response. I laughed at that.

Clyde's pov -

I listened to the snow crunch underneath my shoes each time I took a step forward, trying to pay attention to that more than the way my heart was practically having a fucking disco party in my chest. My ribcage almost hurt.

"Are we really doing this?" I asked, lifting my head to look at Jimmy. He scoffed at my words, narrowing his eyes as we continued to walk.

"What, gonna chicken out? P-pussy." He grinned, flashing his teeth at me teasingly. I glared at him, lifting my hands to push him slightly. He cursed under his breath, catching himself on his crutches before he could fall.

"Asshole." He hissed, smacking the side of my ankle with his crutch. I yelped at that, staggering over and grabbing a nearby traffic sign in time to fix my balance. I shot him a glare back, wanting to wipe that smug look right off his face. But it would only delay our time, and we didn't have much of that.

"Whatever, I'm not a pussy. I'm just...this isn't a thing I'd usually do." I admitted, rolling my eyes in embarrassment as I stuffed my hands into my pockets. My ankle did ache a bit when I walked, so I was definitely gonna bruise, but I ignored it. For Kyle, I could deal with a little pain.

"Same here, but you don't see m-me forming my own b-b-bubble. If we're gonna go through all this t-trouble to see him more, then we're gonna have to ac-actually approach him." Jimmy stated, making a rather good point and I hate that he's always right about these things.

We've been watching Kyle for so long now, that it's actually embarrassing that we've never asked to hangout with him one on one. It's not like we stalk him or anything, but we do stare, we do listen, and we do pay attention.

By this point, I know what kind of music he listens to, what his favorite food is. I know that he likes to tie his hair up during basketball, how he sometimes likes to paint his nails. Sometimes red, sometimes green. And on Saturdays, he's always in a rush to drop Ike off at hockey practice even when he's more than capable of doing it himself.

Sometimes I felt weird for knowing all this stuff. It wasn't like I asked Kyle or anything, I simply just know from conversations over the years and watching the smallest things he does.

I thought I was just being a creep, but the guys assured me that it was normal to do those things whenever you had a crush. Craig had even told me that he studied the way that Tweek made coffee just so that he'd always be able to know it just right. But honestly, that just sounds more romantic than what I've been doing.

And Jimmy is right, we never approach Kyle about hanging out, just the three of us. Or even just him and I. Anytime we do interact for a long period of time, it's either because both of our friends groups are going out together, we're all at a party, were put in a group project, or if we find ourselves chatting. But the last one is never planned, and always short lived.

I'd like to think I'm close to Kyle. As close as he is with Tolkein I'd say. We weren't the bestest of friends but I'm pretty confident that were on the same level of 'good friends since elementary '.

But this was something new. Me and Jimmy had never just gone to Kyle's house without asking or texting him beforehand. We've never even been around him without someone with us like Stan or Kenny.

Kenny had gotten closer to Craig and I, as well as Stan. We smoked from time to time at Stan's farm or behind the school, so Kyle appearing was more often than it used to be. I shouldn't feel nervous to be going to Kyle's house. We were friends after all, and I'm pretty sure that Stan and even Cartman did it themselves. I even recall Kyle fussing about how Eric just let himself in nowadays.

Although they are on a whole different level of friendship. Maybe this was a bad idea? I'm not sure, but I-

"Clyde, stop walking." Jimmy said, ripping me from my thoughts.

"Huh?" I asked, looking up at him with confusion. He sighed, shaking his head with a small smile.

"We're here, idiot." He pointed out, tilting his head to the side. I glanced over, feeling my heart beginning to beat even harder just from the sight of the tall house. Which, was actually only two stories tall, but for some reason it felt so much more scary.

I lowered my eyes to the driveway, seeing the car parked in front of the garage. His parents were home, so I sorta felt more relived. God knows how panicked I would be if it was only Kyle, Jimmy and I in the house. I would make a fool of myself.

"Right...right, okay. So we just...knock?" I asked, following close behind as Jimmy made his way over to the door, using his feet to kick over bigger clumps of snow in the walkway. He had gotten numerous surgeries since middle school, so his legs mostly worked, but he needed the help of his crutches every now and then. He's still going to the physical therapy for it, and in a few years he'd be able to walk more properly without the crutches.

"That's the plan, b-buddy. Got another one?" He snickered over his shoulder. I huffed at that, not saying a word. He knew how hard it was for me to so much as speak whenever Kyle was near or if he was on my mind. I was usually loud and obnoxious, but when it came to my stupid crush, I just turned to mush.

It was a thing the guys liked to take advantage of and make fun of, but thank God they weren't like Cartman and attempted to blackmail me with it.

I flinched as Jimmy knocked on the door three times, shooting me a smirk as I visibly stiffened. I swallowed nervously, snapping my eyes to the door and taking a small step behind Jimmy as I heard heavy footsteps approaching.

I almost flinched when the door opened and Kyle's dad stepped into the doorway. Looking down at him - because he was a tad bit shorter than me - , I felt like an eight year old all over again. Knocking on my friend's door to ask their parents if they could come out and play. With Craig's dad, I had nearly pissed my pants every time seeing how tall the fucker was.

And though Kyle's dad was of normal height, and I was taller than him by at least two or three inches now, Gerald still looked like the most intimidating father in the world.

It was close to the same feeling I had when I stepped at Bebe's door and asked if I could have her hand in marriage. I was only ten then, and I nearly passed out when he gave me a narrowed look.

But Gerald was a different story, because I wasn't dating Kyle, but I sure as hell wanted to be. I sure if I even spent two minutes with the guy, he'd know I had a thing for his son. He'd know my undying love for him and he'd beat the ever loving fuck out of me for it. And if he hated me enough, I know he wouldn't think twice about putting a fist-shaped hole through my gut, because Gerald was crazy.

Probably crazier than his own son, but I knew if I started to date Kyle, that Gerald would only be round one. Then there was Ike, as overprotective as he was of Kyle despite being four years younger, and then there was Sheila. And God forbid I even have to face her wrath, so I might as well get on their good sides before it's too late.

I know Jimmy was, because he was an outstanding student with good humour and a charming smile that parents loved. But I was a jock that went to parties and got drunk off my ass just for the fun of it. I might be social, but I was way too damn emotional and it sometimes scared people off.

Regardless, I had to play it safe. Be myself, and don't be too overwhelming.

"Oh hi boys! Kyle's friends, right?" Gerald asked, smiling brightly as he opened the door for us to come in. I gave him a small smile in thanks, me and Jimmy stepping into the warm house. It was always so cozy in the Broflovski residence.

"Of course! And h-how are you, Mr Broflovski?" Jimmy asked, always so innocent to parents. I almost wanted to scoff but he was doing this for the both of us, so I should just take the pass and go.

"Oh, just call me Gerald, but I'm fine thanks! You here to see Kyle?" He asked, looking rather hopeful. I nodded at that, humming in confirmation.

"Yes, actually. We heard he was sick, so we came over to check up on him if that's okay." I said, rocking back on my heels. I wasn't the best with first impressions but if there's anyone I know how to impress, it's parents. Jimmy may look charming, but I can be a pretty decent gentleman when it was necessary.

Jimmy shot me a small glance, and from the corner of my eyes I could see the end of his lips tug upwards into a small grin. He always thought it was so funny whenever I played coy. He said it made me look like one of those guys with 'the boy from next door' kinda vibe. Which, should be flattering, but it's just embarrassing.

"Oh thank God. I was hoping at least Stan or one of them would stop by because his mother has been up there all day coddling him like a child. I can tell that he hates it, so I'm glad you two came." Gerald sighed, rolling his eyes at the mention of Shelia being an overprotective mother, but he still had a loving smile on his face.

Okay, maybe he wasn't so bad. Intimidating, but nice.

"Well it's n-no problem sir." Jimmy said, straightening his posture as if he was proud of himself. I snorted at that.

"Sheila, there's some boys here to see Kyle, can you come down here?" Gerald said, giving us a quick smile before rolling his eyes again at the silence he got in return.

"She'll come down in just a second, do you boys want anything to drink?" He asked, already moving for the kitchen. I quickly put my hands up, shaking them to decline.

"Uh- no that's okay. We had a big lunch." I chuckled. And it wasn't a lie. Jimmy had literally watched me spend nearly fifteen bucks on the vending machine as I stress ate my worries away.

"Well alright then. But do ask if you need anything." He said in response. Just as he said that, Shelia came down the stairs holding multiple bottles of medicine and wearing a worn smile to greet us. It was a lot smaller than her usual greeting smile, but I guess you could expect that from someone who's worrying for her son.

"Afternoon boys, it's nice to see you." She said, handing the bottles to Gerald who immediately took them and headed back to the kitchen.

"You too, ma'am. Uh, we don't wanna b-be a bother but we were hoping to see K-kyle?" Jimmy asked politely, putting on a hopeful face to guilt trip her into letting us, even though we both knew she was nice enough to say yes.

"Oh, you're no bother at all. My little Bubbala's a little sick, so try to keep a safe distance, alright?" She smiled, using that same nickname that Kyle is always embarrassed about whenever his mom uses it around us, but we all know he loves it.

"Absolutely. We'll try not to take too long, we just wanna talk a bit." I said, balling my hands into fists in my pockets.

God, the anticipation was killing me.

"No worries you two, you kids can stay as long as you want. Just as you remember to wash your hands before leaving, I don't want you two getting sick." She shook her head, giving us small head pats before moving to join Gerald in the kitchen.

Okay, maybe she wasn't as bitchy as Cartman made her out to be. She'd probably make a really nice mother-in-law...

Shit. I'm already getting attached to his family.

Me and Jimmy headed up the stairs in silence, shooting knowing looks at eachother. He had been all high and mighty when we first started heading here, but now that we were in Kyle's house, I could tell that the nerves were catching up to him. He was usually the bold one. He had to be for the both of us, but this was something we've never done, and I was honestly a tad but scared.

I know that I'm just overreacting and that Kyle wouldn't think much of it. But he had always been really observant and caught onto thing that most people wouldn't.

When we finally reached his door, it all became so much more real to me. I mean, I've been in his room countless times over the years, spoke to him so uncaringly and effortlessly since I could remember, and gave him small friendly touches like I did with the rest of the gang. But those were the days that I hadn't realized my feelings, and now it's all coming back to me in a rush.

Jimmy poked my arm, gesturing to the door with his eyes. I nodded slowly, licking my lips and raising my hands to slightly fix my hair before I knocked softly. Jimmy rolled his eyes at the quick appearance fix, but quickly ran a hand through his hair himself.

Hypocrite.

"What do ya want now ma?" Kyle said from the other side of the door. I laughed at that, shaking my head at the slight Jersey twang that came out with the annoyance. He was so cute.

Third pov -

"Oh nothing Bubbeh, I just came to put this thermometer up your booty and check your temperature schnookums." Clyde said in a high pitched, atrocious attempt at Shelia's voice, peeking his head in to the room

Kyle frowned, snapping his head over to the door to see the two brunette's holding back laughter. He flushed at their teasing, pushing his lips into a pout.

"Oh, you guys are assholes." He said, but he couldn't help the wide grin that appeared on his face. They laughed at that, walking in and shutting the door behind them.

"She doesn't even call me shnookums. That's Cartman's nickname from his mom." Kyle huffed, pulling himself up to sit against the pillows. Jimmy let himself plop on his back right into the bed, dropping his crutches in the process as Clyde moved to occupy the chair in front of Kyle's computer. Sitting on it backwards to rest his arms on the head of it.

"Oh, s-so you deny that, but not th-the part about the thermometer up your a-ass?" Jimmy asked, turning his head to look up at Kyle. The redhead flushed even darker, but still held a positive smile.

"Fuck off Jimmy, she doesn't take my temperature that way." He scoffed, attempting to flick the other in the forehead, but he was much too weak to do any real damage.

"What are you two doing here anyways?" He asked. But there was no heat behind the words, he was just curious why the two so suddenly showed up. And without warning as well.

"Stan told us you were sick. We figured since he can't come to shoo your mom away because of his farm chores, then we'd do it. Plus, we came to drop off your homework." Clyde said, leaning over to dig in his backpack for the work sheets.

Kyle blinked at that, taking the papers that were handed to him.

"Oh, thanks you guys. Any projects?" He asked, shuffling to look through the assignments. Jimmy rolled his eyes at that, finding it funny how Kyle was already thinking about work.

"Naw, you're fine. Mr. Garrison is taking another vacation trip w-with his hus-husband, so we won't g-g-get any big assignments till next m-month." He explained, turning on his side and resting his cheek on the soft blankets.

Kyle's comforters were always so soft. The few times that Jimmy had been close enough to smell them, were years ago when they had their last sleepover with the guys. He certainly missed those days, but he relished now in the nostalgic smell that invaded his senses. It smelt like cinnamon and flowers...like Kyle.

"Nice...and about my mom- I mean, I love her and all, but she can be really overprotective of me and Ike all the time." Kyle giggled, knowing damn well that his mother had said something to them down there.

"I don't b-blame her. You s-s-seem to get in t- in to trouble a l-lot." Jimmy said, mentally cursing himself for letting his stutters start to slip out more.

Kyle made a noise of offense, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back into his pillows.

"That's not true...okay, possibly me. But not Ike." He said, quickly correcting himself. He couldn't just bypass all those life-risking years of his childhood and not say he hadn't done anything to get him into trouble.

"Dude, Ike and I literally ran away to be pirates and Cartman almost fed you to sharks. I would know, I was there." Clyde deadpanned, grinning at the way Kyle averted his gaze slowly.

"Touche." He mumbled, making them all laugh. And despite their calm, casual attitude around the redhead, they were internally freaking out.

It had been ages since they've been alone with Kyle, and seeing him out of school and out of his usual work-hard-play-hard demeanour, they couldn't help but to admire how chill this side of him was. So uncaring.

He wasn't dressed in his usual clean, outfit. He was dressed only in a baggy t-shirt from what they could see, and hoped to God he had pants on or they wouldn't be able to control themselves. Where his green ushanka hat was, was instead his mess of curly red locks. They weren't brushed out, they were knotted and tangled up, which for some odd reason made them seem more soft and fluffy. His face was already flushed, his nose being the most tinted as he sniffled every now and then. His lips were red and chapped, seeing as he had to breath through his mouth since it was easier than through his nostrils.

Everything about him was messy and so undone, so unlike his public self that's always subconscious around people at school and how he looked. Both in appearance and how his public image was.

And the fact that he didn't immediately shoo them out to make himself seem more presentable, made them realize that he trusted them. He trusted them to see this side of him, and he felt comfortable enough to not care.

And they loved it. It made them feel special.

But even looking so tired and sick in bed, he was still the most beautiful guy they've ever seen. Green eyes as bright as ever, lips ever so inviting, and a laugh that was so damn contagious that even someone as apathetic as Craig would smile back.

The trio chatted away like they had no worries in the world. Talking about whatever came to mind. It was nice for Kyle to chat with other people that weren't his usual friend group. Almost refreshing in a way.

Don't misunderstand, he loved the guys. He really did. But sometimes he just didn't want to deal with Cartman's unnecessary jokes or Kenny's unhealthy amount of flirting. And Stan was great, but Kyle didn't always want to cling to his side like a lost puppy. He knew Stan needed space every now and then, and he didn't really want to be a bother to anyone else.

So this was a nice change of familiarity. He was able to talk to the two brunette's about things that he wouldn't normally be able to talk about with the guys.

They talked about classes, what new upcoming movies they were most excited about and they even talked about D&D. It seemed like Clyde and Jimmy were big nerds, a thing that Kyle thought was adorable. The rest of the guys had fallen out of those things sometime when they entered middle school, so he was more than happy to agree when Clyde invited him to a night of board games with him sometime.

Just the three of them.

Halfway through their talks though, Kyle's sickness was starting to set back in. His mom had given his some cold medicine before they got here, but it had been an hour since then, and he could feel the symptoms coming back.

He didn't want to interrupt them and make his pain known, because he didn't want them to leave. He was sure they'd do just that if they sensed him feeling sicker, so he tried not to show it.

But only three minutes after his first stomach cramp, he felt a sharp pain in his gut and he couldn't help but to wince loudly in the middle of Jimmy's sentence.

"Geez, you sure you're okay? Have you talked to a doctor?" Clyde asked, politely waving his hand at Jimmy to stop talking for a second.

"My ma already did. He said it's just a cold and stomach pains, but it feels like I'm dying on the inside." Kyle tried to joke, but wincing when the nervous chuckle caught in his throat.

"Here b-buddy, lay back down." Jimmy said, sitting up abruptly to help Kyle lay down properly. The redhead flushed from the sudden closeness but let Jimmy adjust his pillows so he rested easier.

"Want us to do something? I get sick all the time, I'm sure we can make you feel better." He said, still leaning over Kyle as he said this. His words had been so confident that he didn't even realize he hadn't stuttered. Let alone realize how fucking close he was until he looked down at his friend.

Kyle was mostly frozen, eyes wide as he looked up. And it didn't help either that Jimmy had big arm muscles from years of pulling himself along and it was definitely giving him some sort of gay panic.

"I-i...um, wait- no, you don't have to do that. I can take care of myself." He stuttered out, trying his hardest to hide his disappointment when Jimmy pulled away, seating himself on the edge of the bed.

"No shit you can, but a little help won't hurt. Here, I'll be back. Just lay here and rest." Clyde then said, standing up from the chair and heading to the door without another word. Kyle didn't have time to say much, because once Clyde was gone, Jimmy was leaning back over and brushing his hair out of his face.

The taller teen pressed the palm of his hand to the other's cheek, Kyle mentally freaking out because his skin was most definitely clammy, and it would definitely feel gross on Jimmy's hand.

"Huh, you're kinda hot...I-i mean, your skin of course." He said, quickly correcting himself. Kyle snorted at that, lightly smacking Jimmy's hands away.

"Well, i-i guess i-in both ways too." He the said, earning him a full out laugh from the redhead. Jimmy smiled, glad that he was able to draw such a beautiful laugh from such a wonderful person.

"Shut up, you sound like Ken." Kyle giggled, scoffing at the shrug he got in response.

"Where d-do you think I learn it f-from?" Jimmy grinned. Kyle snorted at that. And not a short sound from the nose. But a full pig like sound that sent him into more because he was laughing at the way he sounded.

"I'm sor- you can't just- Jimmy!" Kyle giggled, hiding his face in his hands in embarrassment as he tried to calm himself down. The joke hadn't even been that funny, but it was the way he said it and with the face he made that triggered Kyle's hidden laugh.

And Jimmy was more than pleased with the adorable reaction. He'd never heard Kyle laugh like that, and he was falling in love with the redhead for what felt like the hundredth time again.

"Yo, I'm back. What'd I miss?" Clyde asked as he stepped back into the room, holding a tall glass of cold ice water.

"Kyle turned into a pig." Jimmy deadpanned.

"I did not!" Kyle retorted, burning red as the two laughed at him.

"Anyways, I asked your mom for a cup of water. Lift up your shirt." Clyde said, taking his seat back on the swivel chair, using his heels to roll himself to the side of Kyle's bed.

"W-what?" Kyle asked, tensing up as Clyde set the cup down on the nightstand and reached for Kyle's Tshirt himself.

"Don't worry, my mom used to do this all the time when I got stomach aches." He said, slowly moving his hands to the bottom of Kyle's shirt. That way, if he wanted to deny the action, he could. But he didn't seem to be bothered by it. A little confused and a little flustered, but not bothered. So Clyde grabbed the end, and slowly lifted it up to his chest. He didn't expose Kyle's nipples, because God forbid, but he did slip it high enough to the middle of his ribcage.

The two brunette's stared intensely at the new exposure of skin. Of course, they'd glanced at Kyle in the locker room for time to time, but they were always too scared to actually admire him. Now, they could see every freckle and scar on his pale stomach. A tiny happy trail of ginger peach fuzz that formed under his belly button, and a four inch faded scar near the left side of his stomach where he had gotten his kidney transplant years ago.

He was so God damn perfect in every aspect and every way. It was totally unfair how gorgeous he was to them.

"Sorry." Kyle said, ripping Clyde out of his thoughts once more. He swears, he keeps getting trapped in his own thoughts whenever it comes to Kyle.

"No it's alright. It doesn't make me emotional anymore, but thanks anyways." He said, shrugging at the look of sympathy he got. His friends always avoided topics of his mother, but nowadays he could care less. Don't get him wrong, he loved her. But she was kind of a bitch sometimes.

Kyle hissed again, groaning in frustration at the pain in his stomach. Clenching his hands slightly.

"Got any lotion?" Jimmy asked, glancing around the room as if he'd be able to spot some.

"Uh, top drawer." Kyle said, pointing over to the nightstand. Jimmy snorted at the obvious, not saying a word as he leaned behind Clyde to reach past him.

"Why do you have lotion in your drawer and not in the bathroom?" Clyde asked, taking a small drink from the water before setting it back down and grabbing a cube of ice out with his fingers.

"W-why do you think, Clyde? To jerk off, obviously." Jimmy said, causing Clyde to choke on his spit and nearly drop the cube from his hands.

"Hey- no!" Kyle exclaimed, looking at Jimmy in offense as the two burst out laughing.

"Stop laughing! I just get really dry hands when it gets cold!" He went on, feeling a hundred degrees as they were practically hunched over, gasping for breath.

"Mhm, whatever y-you say." Jimmy chuckled, uncapping the bottle and squeezing a small amount on his palm.

"I'm being serious guys! Look!" Kyle pouted, throwing his hands up to show his flushed hands. Fuck, it seemed evey single part of him was blushing in embarrassment. Jimmy rolled his eyes, taking a hold of one of the outstretched hands and cradling it with his own.

"Sure Kyle, sure." Clyde smiled, hearing a huff in response that was soon to cut off with a gasp when he grazed a corner of the cold ice onto Kyle's stomach.

"Wait, that- that tickles." Kyle laughed, his belly fluttering as Clyde drew small circles with the ice. The two boys laughed at his reaction, laughing along with him slightly as he enjoyed the cool feeling on his heated stomach.

Jimmy continued to massage small movements into Kyle's hands, distracting him from the pain and the abnormal temperature his body was suffering.

"Feel any better?" Jimmy asked, loving how small Kyle's hands were in both of his. Literally everything about the redhead was small. Something that was both charming and adorable in its own way.

"Mnn, yeah, actually." Kyle responded, fluttering his eyes closed as he hummed in satisfaction. Jimmy and Clyde shared a quick look, smiling in accomplishment. They were making their crush happy, and that was enough to make them feel like they won some sort of game. A game that they didn't need any trophies for, because seeing Kyle smile was enough of a reward for them.

The smaller teen enjoyed the unfamiliar sensations, humming or sighing softly every few seconds. He didn't mean to be vocal, but he could care less because it felt too good. With Jimmy's firm fingers pressing into the nerves of his hands and wrists, and the light swipes of melting ice swiping across his warm skin. It was euphoric.

But his noises were much too...hot. And before Clyde knew it, he was popping a stiffy. It was funny, considering Jimmy was the one that got awkward boners more often. A thing he'd suffered with since the third grade.

But Clyde didn't have time to worry about that. He had to worry about himself and what to do. He didn't halt his hand movements, knowing it would probably draw attention from the person who caused him the boner.

He made sure Kyle still had his eyes closed before tapping Jimmy on the knee, earning his attention. He blinked his eyes at his friend, trying to hint his situation. Jimmy didn't understand at first, raising a brow and tilting his head in confusion. Only when Clyde grit his teeth and flicked his eyes down to his crotch did the other teen realize, really trying his hardest not to fall into another fit of laughter.

"Hey Clyde, you sh-should probably go re-wet this." He said, grabbing the damp rag that rested on Kyle's pillow that he had noticed a few minutes ago.

"Y-yeah man, sure thing." Clyde choked up a bit, dropping the ice on Kyle's stomach and taking the rag. He shot a grateful look to the other, giving Kyle a small smile when he realized the redhead had slightly opened his eyes. He turned away before he stood up, doing so to hide the tent in his pants.

Clyde rushed to the bathroom down the hall instead of the one in Kyle's room, leaving the two alone once more.

Jimmy chuckled softly, shaking his head before he switched his attention back to the smaller male. He reached one of his hands to do Clyde's job. But instead of ice, he just used his fingertips to gently trace over drying water marks, the ice already having melted in a small puddle of water leaking off the side of Kyle's hip bone.

The redhead shivered at the light touches. A thing that Jimmy found very alluring to watch.

"He okay? He seemed a little tense." Kyle asked, his voice slightly thick from all the coughing he had been doing earlier before the guys showed up. He had even accidentally coughed and sneezed on them a few times, which ultimately embarrassed him.

"Heh, yeah. He just got a c-c-call from a little f-friend of his." Jimmy said knowingly, stopping the ministrations of his left hand to instead intertwine then with Kyle's, letting the other continue drawing small circles.

"Call? Huh, I didn't hear a ringer go off." Kyle mumbled, ignoring the way his heart fluttered when he looked at their hands weaved together.

"Yup, he got a call. A rather sudden one at that." Jimmy laughed, loving the clear confusion on the other's face.

"From Craig, I'm assuming?" Kyle pressed on, not wanting to seem too nosey but he was curious. The taller teen could only just barely hide his chuckles, shaking his head softly.

"N-no, someone much thicker." He said, his voice tight from how hard he was keeping in his laughter.

"Uh... Cartman?" Kyle tried again, and this time Jimmy couldn't help but break. Laughing freely in amusement from the whole situation. Clyde with a boner, and Kyle being completely clueless for once in his life.

"W-what?!" Kyle demanded, frustrated by the fact that he didn't know what was going on. He can usually read his friends like open books but Clyde and Jimmy were just so different from everyone else. It was much harder to pinpoint things about them.

"N-nothing, nothing." Jimmy snorted, waving it off and just downright admiring the way Kyle's face pushed itself into another pretty little pout. In that exact moment, Clyde came tumbling back into the room, his face looking a bit flushed as he held the damp rag.

"Sorry, I needed to piss too." He excused for taking a bit longer than needed. Jimmy chuckled softly at that, but didn't look up from his work at tracing Kyle's skin. It was hard to look away anyways. What with his star shaped freckles and his curvy frame. It was too mesmerizing. He wasn't sure when he'd get another chance like this, so he embraced it.

Clyde shut the door behind him yet again, not wanting to explain to any of the Broflovskis why two of his friends were hovering over Kyle and caressing him like a China doll.

He stepped back to the edge of the bed, sighing as he took his former seat. He reached over to the redhead, pushing a few of his bright locks away from his face. Clyde chuckled at the small noise of complaint he got at the action. Kyle never really liked when people touched his hair. Let alone saw it.

Clyde carefully placed the rag on his warm forehead, making sure it didn't drip into his eyes. Kyle let out a small sigh of relief, chills running down his neck at the coolness.

"Ugh, it's freezing." He mumbled, gripping his blankets tighter.

"Huh, the window's closed. Need me to ask your m-m-mom for more blankets or something?" Jimmy asked, glancing towards the sealed windows. Kyle lightly shook his head at that, closing his eyes that suddenly felt droopy. And the feeling of Jimmy's warm fingertips on his belly weren't helping.

"No it's okay. I don't think blankets will help anyways." He sighed, feeling a wet trail of water slid down his temple from the rag. A thing he hated most about being sick, was the constant half-hot, half-cold feeling. He seriously despised it.

"I...have an idea." Clyde suddenly said, humming in approval to himself as he stood back up. Kyle looked over to him in question, watching as he clumsily took off his shoes and tossed them on the floor.

What Kyle least expected, was for when Clyde walked back up to the bed and started to climb in, crawling over his body and plopping himself right behind him. Kyle couldn't find the words to use as Clyde wrapped his arms around him, Jimmy shrugging to himself and doing the same.

The redhead flush matched his hair, and though he was way too flustered to even curse the two out for being so bold, the comfort did feel nice. Nicer than what they were doing before, and he hadn't thought that was even possible.

"Y-you guys! You're gonna get sick!" He eventually managed to splutter out, refusing to smile when Jimmy's hand found his once more.

"It's f-fine. I get over it easily." The latter explained, smiling ear to ear as he snuggled his face into Kyle's chest. And he was sorta disappointed that they hadn't just taken Kyle's shirt off in the first place, because he would love to have skin to skin contact. But this was nice regardless, so he wasn't too unhappy.

"Same here. Plus, I kinda like being sick. I always get pampered." Clyde grinned, pulling Kyle closer to his chest without thought. He had been hesitant to come here in the first place, but now he was completely satisfied with the decision he had made to stay and not pussy out.

"Is that why you guys are being so nice to me? Because your parents do this to you?" Kyle asked, raising a brow as he slightly turned over to look at Clyde.

"Ew, if my dad ever cuddled me, I'd leave the toilet seat up for him." The brunette gagged, the other two laughing at the unexpected dark humor. They weren't entirely sure that the same death of his mother could happen to a male, but it was still a messed up, funny thought.

"Anyways, no. I just like cuddling, and you seemed like the perfect size for a body pillow." Clyde explained, nuzzling his face into Kyle's hair for emphasis.

Oh how he had always wanted to do that, and the softness didn't dare disappoint.

"...did you just indirectly call me short?" Kyle asked, causing Clyde to freeze in his movements. Kyle always hated his size. Going as far as to beating up someone for making fun of it. Cartman uncoincidentally being the only one to suffer that wrath, but it was clear enough to make a point to others.

Clyde fell into a nervous silence, and not being able to see Kyle's face just made him feel even more paranoid that he had fucked up.

"Uh...Jimmy, help me on this one." He tried, tightening his grip on Kyle again to make sure he wouldn't lash out and punch him in the face.

"Sorry, y-you're alone on this one pal." Jimmy snickered, hearing the genuine fear in his friend's voice. Clyde cursed, the other two laughing at him. But surprisingly, Kyle didn't seem mad - or even annoyed for that matter - so they weren't too worried about him kicking them out.

"Thanks guys, I really appreciate this all. I'll make sure to repay the favor when you get sick." Kyle said, rolling his eyes as he shifted his legs to get more comfortable. His bed wasn't small to him, but with two much taller and wider boys by his side, it definitely did feel like it went down in size.

"Who said we'll get sick?" Jimmy teased, simply enjoying the smell of his crush so up close. He felt like an absolute weirdo, but he just couldn't help but indulge in it.

"Jimmy, you guys are literally in my bed, cuddling with me, and I already coughed on you like, three times. I'm pretty sure you guys are gonna get sick." The redhead giggled, carding his free hand through Jimmy's hair. He smiled at the feeling.

"W-worth it." He admitted, snuggling impossibly closer.

"Agreed." Clyde said, doing the same as the other boy and pressing his body as close as he could get. Which wasn't very much because they were already back-to-chest.

Kyle just rolled his eyes for what felt like the tenth time, smiling never the less at the fluttery, warm feeling seeping into his chest. And not the bad kind like his sickness offered, but a pleasant kind. The kind that he felt multiple times in forth grade but stopped feeling after he realized relationships weren't his thing. He has stopped trying.

But this was nice. And he found that he wouldn't mind feeling it some more. He'd never felt it often with boys more so girls, so it was strange that he felt this way for Jimmy and Clyde. But in all honesty, it made sense. They were nice, sweet, and really caring when they wanted to be. It made sense for him to like them this way.

He snuggled back, feeling the edges of sleep pull him in. Usually he wouldn't dare let himself fall asleep near his friends unless it was Stan, but even then Kyle was hesitant. But he had a feeling he could trust these two. They'd showed him this much care so far, so he wasn't gonna second guess himself.

***

A few days passed and Kyle was able to go back to school. His sickness had only lasted two days, but it felt like forever to him before he was allowed to go outside again. It turns out, Clyde and Jimmy hadn't been there.

It was strange considering they had visited him and kept him company on the days he had been on bed-rest. Bringing him homework, giving him snacks they bought. It wasn't later from Tolkein that he found out, they had gotten sick.

It was funny, really. How they insisted they wouldn't get sick even though they had cuddled him for hours at a time and he had sneezed on them more time he can count. But, he had made a promise. So after school, he went straight to Shakey's to grab a few to-go milkshakes.

It would be difficult considering the two lived in different houses, but he'd find a way. They had done enough for him, now it was his turn.

He smiled at the thought, humming to himself happily as he walked down the street, shakes in hand. He could feel that weird tingle in his chest again just at the thought of them. A weird tingle that he knew of and what it was, but something that he never really listened to. But now, he really wanted to listen to it, because he felt like this time would be better than any little fling he tried in forth grade. A thing he messed up with Nichole, with Rebecca, with Leslie, with Bebe.

But he was sure he could give love a try again. Just this once, for Jimmy and Clyde, he could make an acception.

10, 282 words

__________________________________

I honestly don't know where I was going with this one, but I really like the ships, and the awkward tension, so here ya go.

😂

Stay safe, stay healthy, stay beautiful!

Until next time my loves!

💜🖤💜

- Jxcky

__________________________________

Featured or mentioned characters:

Main -

Kyle Broflovski

Jimmy Valmer

Clyde Donovan

Featured -

Stan Marsh

Craig Tucker

Tweek Tweak

Tolkein Black

Gerald Broflovski

Sheila Broflovski

Mentioned -

Kenneth Mckormick

Eric Cartman

Bebe Stevens

Wendy Testaburger

Ike Broflovski

Rebecca

Leslie

Nichole

[aspenforest732]

Libertias aut Mortis Chapter 36: Kurogiri Heist

Summary:

tw: hospital, psyche ward, blood I had to revisit this so many times to remove contractions XD

Notes:

‘text’ JSL Text thoughts Page break text page break Finding their way

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Akira crept along the rooftops with Hawks and Kikuko. Each carried their usual weapons in addition to a handful of vials of Somnambulist passed along through a small flock of Anima’s pigeon friends. Between fuzzy memories and blackouts, they could not entirely be sure when she officially threw her lot in with the PLF, but she refused to leave her students in the middle of this dystopian nightmare. And finals.

Hawks slipped coverts in through cracks in the windows, just big enough to warn them of threats without being immediately obvious to onlookers or cameras. Kikuko started whispering in a Musutafu accent as they dropped to the street in “borrowed” uniforms from the hospital. Shift change in three, two, one, enter. 

“There you are!” The head nurse waved them over impatiently, rushing them through security. “This generation and punctuality. Can you ever be in the building ready to clock in when your shift starts?” she grumbled, pressing the access badges into their hands as she stormed off towards the nurses clocking out.

The poor residents shuffled out, ducking under her waving a clipboard about as they did not even bother to give the team a second glance. Sympathy flitted across Akira’s mind, but everything was in order. The most she should get is a slap on the wrist. Martial law technically would not affect Kurogiri yet… but the Commission was hardly known for honoring technicalities not in their favor. Spinner would damage control. She would be fine .

Hawks motioned to the right as Kikuko talked about fleeting nothings to keep her appearance up. The weather, her new scrubs, interesting names they passed… if there was one thing she was good at, it was talking your ear off. And interpreting, of course. They finally emerged from the Emergency Department, the hospital opening into a large atrium with a three-story ikebana arrangement incorporated into a softly babbling water feature at the center. A small cafe tucked in between the gift shop - what hospital has a gift shop? - and a wide hallway leading away from their goal.

Hawks coaxed the group around the arrangement, avoiding the couple tiny damp spots from splashes. The moon faintly reflected in the water, casting silvery rays about the still bright room. Classical music faintly drifted through the atrium and hallways, breaking just enough of the silence without interrupting the serenity of the space.

Hawks signaled them down a hallway just before the skybridge. Akira hesitated briefly at the near-open space stretching across nothing before following. Crossing the skybridge was a completely unnecessary step and one that could expose them for not coming from the right section. They passed the first pair of Commission guards, who barely spared a glance at their pastel blue scrubs before tiredly waving them through. 

Akira and Hawks shuddered as they passed the intake area and a subtle sense of calm washed over them. Kikuko did not seem to notice, or at least did not show anything for it. Sure, Eraser warned them, but the invasiveness of the staff member’s quirk still brought their senses to sharp clarity. 

They dipped into patient rooms separately as they went, a feather ever present tucked out of sight into Akira’s scrubs just in case something triggered a program or Galatea made an appearance. They knew. They knew it was needed, that there was no way for them to gain trust back with Galatea looming over their head. But… would they even be on this mission if it were not for the original?

I would not be alive if it were not for the original . Akira shook their head, quickly moving on from the room as they realized they lingered precious moments longer than they meant to. Of course, none of them would actually do anything to the patients. The actual shift would be discovered safe and sound after they escaped.

The trio converged as they reached the checkpoint for high-security patients. Three guards with black uniforms and threatening auras stepped up to meet them. “Name, ID, and patients,” he gruffly demanded. 

Akira warped just behind them, carefully unstoppering their vials and tipping them into the guards’ coffee cups. They slipped the closure back down before matching their clone’s movements and warping into it almost perfectly. One of the guards squinted at them but rubbed his heavily bagged eyes and shook it off. Ah, good ole sleep deprivation.

“Do you ever shut up?” one of the guards muttered as he pat down Kikuko. 

She just smiled brightly up at him. “Nope!” and continued.

The guards waved them through, taking a sip of their coffees without comment. A guard stood outside each patient’s door, peering at them as they made their way down the list. Finally, they neared Kurogiri’s door. Three outside, two in from Eraser’s intel. The door stood out more from the walls than the others but was at least painted the same shade. 

“Alright, you know the drill,” one of the guards drawled as they approached. “You can either submit to a full-body scan and pat down or have a strip search by a guard of your preferred gender. Declare anything you think may be confiscated, and we’ll hold it for you. If we find something on your person, you will be detained until the Hero Public Safety Commission is certain of your intentions.”

“That sure seems like a lot for a patient who isn’t a threat to himself or others,” Kikuko tilted her head, putting a finger to her chin. Akira warped as she stalled, distributing the vials to each clone since the cloned gas would merely dissipate. Each held an invisible vial just far enough under the guards’ noses to mostly avoid the risk of bumping into them.

The guard sighed, lids growing heavy as the concentrated mist drifted up his nose. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we have to follow orders. You know how tough they are on this sort of thing.”

The middle guard looked around, sniffing as his brow drew in confusion. Shit .

“Muraoka, Seto, do you smell that? It’s like someone baked cookies in here.”

“I don’t smell anything,” one of them started slurring, and Akira backed up as middle started to move more sporadically. 

Not ideal, but… Akira knocked middle in the back of the head and stuffed the vial practically halfway up his nose as they forced his head back. A feather muffled his shout, and the other outer guards were too far gone now to draw more attention. 

Muffled shouts rose from inside Kurogiri’s room as Hawks tapped a pass, Akira bouncing on their toes as they waited. Could not trust the likely energy drain was contained to the door. What else would they put around a warper’s cage?

Hawks already disposed of the two inside, blood slowly but steadily oozing from a couple slashes and large bumps on the back of their heads. Unconscious but stable from the looks of it. Akira reluctantly turned to their target, not sure if they would ever be ready to face him.

Kurogiri sat frozen cross-legged on a slightly nicer than they had seen here bed, mid-page turn in a surprisingly thick book. Just as Eraser described, the black and purple mist now curled about the top of his head in an approximation of Oboro’s hair. One eye a slightly glowing bright yellow, the other back to the pale blue ghost of who he once was. Taupe scars gouged deeply across what deeply tan skin they could see peeking out from a loose Present Mic shirt and cat fleece bottoms.

“Are you… a rescue party?” Kurogiri hesitantly smiled at the admittedly odd trio. “When Sho said be ready to move tonight, I thought he was just talking about a lower security level,” he awkwardly chuckled, pulling himself off the bed with some effort.

“Do you need some help?” Hawks fluttered closer, more feathers accumulating around him now that the easy part was over.

“Nah, now I know I put those somewhere…” he cast about the edge of the bed, ducking and nearly toppling off before a portal deposited him next to Hawks. “Oh. Welp, that works,” Kurogiri popped the p, doing a double-take at Akira. “You… oh, of course. Never mind that.” 

Kurogiri limped back to the bed, lighting up as he spotted a stylized wooden cane on the other side. “They say I need something more, but come on, this is so me .”

The pieces clicked into place as Akira ducked their head. Of course he was different. Not quite Kurogiri or Shirakumo. At least from what little they knew of the latter. ‘ You don’t have to pretend for us, ’ they signed once he faced the trio again. ‘ You’re also pretending you’re more Loud Cloud right now. ’

His smile fell slightly, features pinching a moment as his gaze darted over them. “Okay, that’s… fair. Oh, I think ‘ Soft Cloud ’’ is a bit more fitting now, if that’s okay.” Kuro- he facepalmed, wincing slightly at the motion before adding a few things to a go-bag and scooping it onto his shoulder from under a small desk. “Right, should probably ask the base Akira that. No offense,” he offered.

What? Did he get the broadcast? Why would that be his first thought? Unless… Akira shrugged, more than willing to put off that conversation until they were back at the compound. He was not technically wrong, just had the wrong creator. 

“Okay, I think that’s everything. Oh!” He plucked a cat Oboro plush off the bed, because of course they got one for him. “Can’t forget my son.”

Kikuko burst out in a short laugh as Hawks snorted. Akira ducked their head, merely adding, ‘ Wait till you see Twice’s dragons. ’

“The coordinates, if you will?” he asked, adjusting the strap with fingers at not quite the right angles. Like someone tried to set them too late.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Hawks shifted, stiffening as his eyes snapped to the hallway. “The Doctor can Warp us back if we need it.”

He stiffened, pain and anger fighting on his face as he closed his eyes for a moment. “We can do a few stops if we need to. 80 km if we want to be well within limits.”

Akira sharply nodded, part of them relieved free-fall through the void would be brief. Well, not quite void. He closed his eyes as he focused on the coordinates Hawks rattled off, feathers now shooting back towards the little group. The lights shifted from a slightly yellow-tented white to silver as an alarm kicked on.

A speck of black in front of him spiraled outwards into a rippling doorway edged with the same purple of his mist. Akira passed through first, curiosity pulling their gaze through what was maybe never a void. Darkness enveloped them in its cold embrace, guiding their fall as amorphous shapes shifted in the realm beyond.

In a flash, they stumbled into the Showa temporary safehouse next to a couple of their soldiers. Low-level not much more than goons, they at least could take the risk of waypoints. Already on their feet, hands on weapons, they eased back at seeing Akira and the others step through, him last. They had to get his new preferred name at some point. Maybe once they met back up with the League.

“How’re you feeling, kid?” Hawks asked, a half step closer as his now free wings fluttered anxiously. 

“Kid?” He looked up, free hand still at his side with a pained, amused grin on his face. “Pretty sure I’m older than you, pretty boy.” 

‘ Careful, he’s taken, ’ Akira watched his body language, willing to give him a chance to recover on his own before stepping in. They and the original knew that feeling all too well at this point.

“Oh? Did dark and brooding finally get his stuff together?” Pain flashed in his eyes as he tapered off slightly, but he stood straighter. “Just gotta get used to it again, that’s all.”

‘ You don’t have to, ’ Akira offered. At his strange look, they continued, ‘ We’re taking you back for your safety. You’re not obligated to run support with Spinner. You’re not even obligated to stay if you want to abscond somewhere else at least until we finish this. ’ He started to brush them off again, but they interrupted, ‘ That’s coming from the whole League. Think about it, everyone will support what you decide. ’

Hawks peered at them, keeping up his smiley facade for him but sizing them up. Was that the wrong thing to say? They pushed down the uncertainty. Everyone left in the League expressed that opinion at one point or another. Sure, they had not “officially” come to that decision, but surely if everyone was behind it, what would block it?

They spent a few hours there, reporting their progress back to the League and making sure he was ready and physically well enough to make the last doorway. Akira retrieved their crutches, comparing their construction to his cane and looking over the carvings he did. Little cloud motifs lined the wood, simple cats and music notes intertwining in a dance, joining and leaving the clouds across the design. Towards the bottom, the carvings trailed off, unfinished.

“Didn’t feel right completing it before this chapter is over,” he murmured, fond nostalgia mixing with a slight shake as the mist pulled tight around soft coils.

Akira looked to Hawks. It felt like something should be said, but they had no words. No encouragement, no appeasement, no reassurance everything would be okay. Even if they could, did they want to? The end of their story would come far before the others even if all went well.

“Anyhow, I’m ready,” he abruptly stood, swaying slightly before balancing on his cane. “Thank you, for waiting for us,” he turned slightly to the soldiers, smiling brightly at them and making it reach his eyes even if they were not quite right.

The final doorway brought the same exhilarating drop as Akira caught a slightly more distinct shadow turn towards them before they landed on the countertop. Oh no . They rolled off, carefully avoiding the sink handles and drawer knobs on their way down.

A flail of limbs dropped through, Hawks managing to catch him before he hit the ground too hard, Akira grabbing his cane just in case. “Oops,” he turned in Hawks’ arms to grin at the League. “Not my finest entrance, but I do believe introductions are in order.” He tilted his head back and batted his eyelashes at Hawks, much to Dabi’s consternation. “Be a dear and put me down, will you?”

Hawks squeaked and set him down as Akira handed him his cane. “My name’s a work in progress, but I do quite like ‘ Soft Cloud ’ as a sign name if Akira approves. For now, Giri or Oboro is fine. Now, there are some new faces and some missing,” Giri trailed off as he took in og’s state, mist shrinking then rippling and twisting about his head. He looked to Shigaraki, who was already half out of his chair but now stood frozen. “Tomura, what happened?”

Notes:

Is this modeled after Yale Children’s Hospital? Yeah. That’s the only big hospital I’ve been in, and I’ve got some structural memories of the place. We volunteered there in high school for a bit. Always got a white mocha latte with 3 extra shots of espresso cause our shift started at like… 8 am? I forget what we considered early back then. I like the headcannon I’ve seen in a couple places but my favorite being Yueei Survival Guide where Kurogiri/Oboro’s body wasn’t really healed properly since he was just going to be a nomu. Things aren’t as severe in this, but they were still pretty bad before they could get to the mental health aspect. Is the Kurogiri shadow thingie a relic of a failed fanfiction idea? Maaaybe. But I’ve loved the idea of shadow realms existing as sort of an interconnected dimension to base reality ever since I saw Rise of the Guardians. Does it have that? No, but a cool fanfiction that took a really weird time travel turn did. Sadly it’s been discontinued, there was a soft reset that probably made things too complicated to write around.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[youreavicioustrollop]

S3 E4: Triggers

the SQUEAL i let out at Buck bopping along behind Bobby with a clipboard. He's fire marshal?? (when this was referenced in fic i didn't take it seriously) this is amazing. incredible. an excellent choice.

"I learned one thing from that tsunami it's that i don't quit. i fight." buuuuuuck. <3 bobby saying he's enjoying it too much. lol. (i can only lol about this because i know this is all bobby's fault)

aaaaaaaahhhh maddie getting triggered by a broken plate :(((((

buck still looking out for the 118! and eddie saying that buck doesn't have math. which will be his excuse. and here's lena! and the taped over nameplate!

nooooo chris having nightmares! but he's in therapy!!! and he's doing pictures! "buck tried to shield him for most of it, but they were separated a long time" :(((((

more maddie DV trauma :((((((

this is such a skeevy lawyer! HIS UNION! HIS UNION SHOULD BE PROTECTING HIM!!!

okay, yes, the city is not a corporation. "there's nothing stronger than family" buck i get your point, but you know "Family" should probably not be the load bearing word for you. even though i know you mean found or chosen family. it makes me understand why some queer people don't like the phrase 'found family' and instead use "community" or close friends and the like. or some thing i haven't heard of.

anyway, i like this rescue scene. very technical, very competent. possible moment of chim relating to that little boy saying 9 is too young to not have a mom. :(

awwww, maddie why are you bringing work home with you. :( getting athena to do extra work. :(

buck at dinner with bobby and athena!!!! and buck is so endlessly optimistic and bubbly !!! he's going to be crushed, this is devastating. "i'm the dumbass" YEAH bobby, you ARE. a dumbass. "i thought you were on my side" :((((((( Buck is such a good egg. very specifically thanking athena. especially after he very maturely turned down something that might be bad for him!

omggggg maddie has anger issues! killing doug wasn't enough, she still needs to Deal.

aaaaaaaah, buck at the skeevy lawyer. no texts, no calls, no communication with the station or people tangentially associated with it! BUCK THINKS HE'S ALONE IN THIS FIGHT. THAT THEY HAVE NOTHING TO SAY TO EACH OTHER :((((

and a cut to eddie! who's working through things with lena about christopher. she does give good advice, though.

all these sibling pairings this episode.... kind of annoying how they're setting them up as all oppositional.

oh noooooo maddie is kind of stalking this couple.

chimney being the best bf!!!! lookit him!!!! and maddie definitely lying right to his face!!!

hen and karen being cute!!!!!!

"tuck these feetsies in" sooooooo cute. soooooo dad. and going through his drawings to figure out it's his mom! chris doesn't wanna make his dad sad! !!!!!! :((((((

buck looks so sexy looking so tortured.

"i told you i wouldn't stop fighting... even if it means fighting you" YEAH BUCK, GOOD JOB BUCK!!!!!

it should be via the union instead of a skeevy lawyer, but YEAH. i am camp "The lawsuit is/was justified."

[sceaven]

Devlog 24/11/2024 -- Miscellaneous November Wrap-up

Hello! It's already the 24th...! The month has felt very fast for me...

My work on Scarred By Heaven over the past few weeks has been more of the same for the most part--a lot of menial spritework and cutscene code--so this is probably going to be a short post covering a few random noteworthy topics.

Story Progress

I've managed to make significant progress on the first chapter's cutscenes and battles, so here are a few screenshots and a clip from that:

It feels a little like I'm trying to animate an action movie in RPG Maker sometimes, but I'm happy with how they look so far. :)

Downtown Map

I've also managed to confront and create a gameplay-friendly draft of the 'Downtown' area of the overworld. Here's the before and after:

It's mostly generic placeholder buildings at the moment, barring the ones with unique designs, but I'll eventually get around to replacing them with more interesting and colorfully designed ones. I'd prefer to wait until I have some more of the game's sandbox-y side content implemented and fleshed out before I start doing that so I can design buildings that accommodate certain sidestories or minigames.

Animation Debug Tool

I also made myself another small, janky debug tool--this time for testing out different cutscene and battle animations in-game!

Most animations in SBH work on a simple 'event' system that triggers certain 'events' like sound effects or pauses at certain frames of animation. Previously whenever I'd want to tinker with animations it'd involve recompiling the entire game every time to adjust for changes in the event code, which was very annoying. This debug mode, however, just lets me load animation code as plain text from the clipboard, and converts it into the correct format to be used as code, allowing me to test out minor changes very quickly during runtime.

It probably isn't that exciting to anyone except me, but it's been a massive improvement to my workflow.

---

That's about all for now. I've been talking a lot more about graphic design than game design lately. Hopefully I'll have something more exciting to show off in the next post...

If you want to read more, I've also finally made a website character page for Leon, which you can check out here.

Thanks for reading! | - HSTopaz

---

(Cross posted from my website!)

[technologyrentaluk]

Exploring macOS: Hidden Features Every MacBook Pro Owner Should Know

MacBook Pro users often rely on their devices for productivity, creativity, and entertainment. While macOS is known for its user-friendly interface, it also houses a variety of lesser-known features that can significantly enhance your experience. From time-saving shortcuts to advanced customisation options, here’s a guide to hidden macOS features every MacBook Pro owner should explore.

1. Quick Look for Instant File Previews

Quick Look allows you to preview files without opening them in their respective apps. Simply select a file in Finder and press the spacebar. This works for images, PDFs, and even videos. You can navigate through multiple files using arrow keys while Quick Look is active.

How to Maximise It:

For more functionality, use Quick Look to add annotations to PDFs or trim video clips without launching Preview or iMovie.

2. Split View for Multitasking

Working on multiple tasks? Split View lets you use two apps side by side, boosting productivity. To activate it, click and hold the green full-screen button in the top-left corner of a window, then drag it to one side of the screen. Choose another app for the opposite side.

Why It’s Handy:

Ideal for comparing documents, referencing research while writing, or attending a video call alongside note-taking.

3. Spotlight Calculator and Conversions

Spotlight is more than just a search tool. Press Cmd + Space to open Spotlight, and you can perform quick calculations or unit conversions. For instance, type “50 GBP to USD” or “10 kg to pounds” for instant results.

Bonus Tip:

Spotlight can also search for specific file types or locations using terms like “kind” or “folder.”

4. Customisable Hot Corners

Hot Corners transform your screen corners into triggers for specific actions. Go to System Settings > Desktop & Dock > Hot Corners. Assign functions like starting a screensaver, locking your screen, or displaying your desktop.

Best Uses:

Set up Hot Corners for quick privacy during work or rapid access to mission-critical files.

5. Text Replacement for Faster Typing

If you frequently type the same phrases, macOS has a built-in text replacement feature. Navigate to System Settings > Keyboard > Text. Add shortcuts like “omw” to expand into “On my way!” or “sig” for your email signature.

Pro Tip:

Combine this with customised keyboard shortcuts for seamless writing across applications.

6. Universal Clipboard for Seamless Copy-Pasting

Copy text or images on your iPhone or iPad and paste them directly onto your MacBook Pro. Universal Clipboard works across devices signed into the same Apple ID with Bluetooth and WiFi enabled.

How It Enhances Workflow:

Perfect for transferring content quickly without emailing or using cloud services.

7. Automator for Task Automation

Automator helps you automate repetitive tasks, such as renaming large batches of files or converting image formats. Open Automator from the Applications folder, choose a workflow type, and drag the desired actions into the workflow panel.

Examples of Use:

Set up a workflow to resize images for specific project needs or create custom alerts for calendar events.

8. Screen Time for Mac

Screen Time isn’t just for mobile devices. On macOS, it helps monitor your app usage and set limits to avoid distractions. Find it in System Settings > Screen Time.

Stay Focused:

Create App Limits to restrict time on social media or set Downtime for uninterrupted work sessions.

9. Safari Reader Mode

For a distraction-free reading experience, Safari’s Reader Mode strips away ads and clutter from web articles. When you’re on a compatible webpage, click the Reader button in the address bar or press Cmd + Shift + R.

Additional Perks:

Customise Reader Mode by changing the text size, background colour, or font to suit your preferences.

10. Secure Notes with Passwords

The Notes app lets you lock sensitive information. Select a note, click the Lock button in the toolbar, and set a password. This ensures that private information stays protected.

Best Practice:

Use this for storing personal details, secure project notes, or financial information.

Final Thoughts

These hidden macOS features can transform your MacBook Pro experience, making your workflow more efficient and your tasks more manageable. Whether you’re a creative professional or a business user, mastering these tools can help you unlock the full potential of your device.

For those considering upgrading their setup temporarily or for specific projects, a MacBook Pro rental is an excellent way to experience the latest macOS features without committing to a purchase.

[foibles-fables]

For the soft cozy fic prompt: Control, Jesse/Emily, 15-Bed warm. They need some cozy times with all the chaos they’ve been through

I wrote this weird stream-of-consciousness thing on the plane today--hope you enjoy!!

EDIT: Posted to AO3 today!

--

Jesse’s nightmares are hazed in red. They come rushing in with a hollow fear that punches a swift and heavy-dense hole straight through her sternum.

Stars blown away, none left to guide her. Just emptiness, emptiness, emptiness, and a looking glass. It’s all a matter of perception. Glancing sidelong (never head-on, too much, recoil) presents an image—a face that matches hers by a measure of half, bare scalp and calm-frenzy scarlet eyes and a sharp smile that twists and twists as he stares her down.

The mirror is a poster. Peel it back and see the same. Their names are etched in concatenation with a designation that follows: P[6/7/6/7/6/7]. The numeral is not text but it compels, it vacillates. Like a seizure. Like a film projection, distorted.

This was by chance. This was by design. Two lives and two outcomes. Snap your fingers to transmute.

That's all it'll take.

And when Jesse opens her mouth to whisper, to scream, to bid it to stop, she’s drowned by a discordant babel of affirmation in voices that are all her own.

I want to listen. I want to dream. I want to smile. I want to hurt.

I don’t want to be.

There’s a soul-deep glimmer of warning behind her closed eyes—they snap open stinging as Jesse wakes with a start, wakes without a sound. Laid out flat on her back and soaked in cold shiver-sweat, she spins into substance from the periphery and inward, halting around the through-and-through void gaping at her chest. When she breathes it's shallow and ragged, uncontrolled, and all the air she takes won’t fill it in. Her hand aches. First finger feels bone-sore from the Service Weapon’s trigger. She chose this.

She chose this but it's not here. It's not here. Find something else to reach for.

Find it before they find you.

"Jesse?"

Her name, spoken on its own, sounds broken-off. Vestigial. One of two parts, half of the not-hers dream-name, left to exist alone.

But her name is also a gentle and groggy question spoken by a husking voice that soothes. In comes a surge of context. Naked. Bare skin against scratchy linens, water stains on the ceiling, motes of dust floating with enviable aimlessness through curtain-cracked sunlight. The ring of an untouched bell chimes over crackling radio music.

One hand and a light-switch cord, three pulls—one hand holding another’s with purpose, fingers laced.

"Jesse."

Less of a question.

She scrapes up the capacity to turn her head and finds Emily lying beside her in the motel bed, watching, gaze drowsy but intent. Her blue eyes pale to silver in the slats of perpetual daylight strewn across bedding, across exposed skin. Emily's is as bare as her own. The sheets pool at her waist. No HRA—the Hiss haven’t touched this place and Polaris’s protection isn't needed.

Or maybe her protection has just—extended.

Jesse looks at Emily and considers this and her throat goes dry.

But she also breathes. Deep and satisfying.

"Hey," she croaks on the labored exhale, still finding her voice. "Sorry, did I—was I, uh, making noise?"

"A little." Emily touches her, hidden from view: a stroke of her thumb on the inside of Jesse's wrist. "Are you alright?"

What follows is a lie, but only just. "Yeah. Yeah, I—woke up and didn't know where I was, for a second."

The corners of Emily’s mouth quirk into a tiny smile, and Jesse knows what’s coming.

“To be fair,” she says, all eagerness, Head of Research minus the clipboard (she holds Jesse’s hand in a loose grip instead), “we don’t really know where we are. In dimensional euclidean terms, at least.”

The Oceanview Motel and Casino is a Place of Power in ways beyond the obvious and the obscure. A dreamscape that offers a moment of reprieve in transit. A liminal sanctuary for this new ritual they’re establishing when the shifting gets to them: visit together, share each other, be.

Jesse gets another breath. Her skin thrums with remembering and she wants to be closer—wants to reach and cling and bury her fingers to the knuckle in the roots of Emily’s short-cropped hair.

“Just kind of feels like Nevada to me,” she says instead, squinting against the sunlight while keeping her gaze fixed on Emily’s long lashes. Doesn’t want to know what she might see if she looks away.

“Could be.” Emily’s fingertips trace up to the curve of Jesse’s bicep. Dream-logic as physical contact. It’s calming in a way Jesse hasn’t let herself grow used to, but she’s trying. “We’ll learn. For now, though, it’s kind of exciting. That for all that we’ve seen, there’s still so much left to fathom.” Her grin broadens, brightens, cracking the corners of her eyes. Jesse’s pulse kick-starts, erratic. Polaris, knowing, resonates smugly, if smug is a thing extradimensional sentient frequencies can be. “Don’t you think?”

Emily has a way of seeing what’s there. All the rest falls away—all of the complications, all of the tangles, all of the clouded context.

And Emily has always seen Jesse. Chalk that up to synchronicity too.

“Yeah,” Jesse says, wanting to be a part of that so badly she aches. “Yeah.”

Emily’s smile softens. “You look so tired.” A palm, then, smoothing across Jesse’s neck, her cheek. A bodily tether in all of this liminality. “Turn over? We can stay here a little longer, if you’d like.”

There are no words and there is no lack of understanding. Jesse capitulates—turns on her side, facing away. Bed-warm and soft and so quiet, Emily moves closer to curl against her back. Her hand flattens against the valley between Jesse’s bare breasts. The space between Jesse’s shoulder blades feels like it was made for the press of Emily’s mouth.

Somehow Emily transcends her own limits. Fills empty spaces. Maybe that’s just another reason why Jesse was led here.

They both breathe with the rhythm of sleep. Jesse's empty hand splays out over Emily's.

Jesse chose and Jesse chooses. Over and over, she chooses.

Jesse wants to be.

Jesse is glad to be here.

[hopelesshaidys]

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING FOR SLIGHT MENTIONS OF HOSPITALS, BLOOD, AND DEPRESSION⚠️

You sit in your car smiling at your phone, sure your friends drive you crazy but you wouldn’t have made it this far in life without them.

A year ago today you were laying in a hospital bed watching the same “Friends” episodes that aired on the small TV that sat in front of you. You had gotten into a small car accident, thinking the worst of it was just a concussion, but you were proven wrong when your doctor walked in the room with a clipboard and a frown on her face.

“Ms. L/N, it seems you have a genetic disorder that we didn’t know about. It turns out you have Hemophilia, which is basically a disorder where your blood doesn’t clot normally and when you injure yourself it’s very easy for internal or even external bleeding can occur. Now, it can be treated easily but you have to be careful…”

Those words never left your brain, constantly ringing in your ears. You never thought you’d be the same. Taking on a physical illness like that caused you to struggle mentally as well, struggling to get back in the swing of things. The constant doctor visits, parents calling every day, random relatives texting you, it was exhausting. You were exhausted.

However, you had the best group of friends, who supported you no matter what. They gave you a reason to get out of bed, and even giving you a reason to go to bed when it was an appropriate time. Yes, the journey was hard but you had family and friends right next to you, and that’s all you had to think about. In order to get through the bad, you have to get to the good.

That’s how you ended up here, sitting in the parking lot of the most packed out studios in Los Angeles. That’s also how you got to working again, finally summoning up the courage to put your résumé back out there, and to your surprise getting hired almost immediately.

“I dunno Toshi, it just happened so suddenly I didn’t have any time to adjust to take it in or-“

“n/n I swear to god if you don’t accept this, they are literally the top modeling agency of LA. This is an opportunity of a lifetime.”

You sighed and sat back down in your rolling chair, watching your best friend stare at you from your bed disapprovingly.

“Okay. Okay fine. Whatever I‘ll take it.”

You slowly look up at your best friend who is grinning back up at you.

“I knew you had it in you.”

You walked in through the double doors, showing the receptionist your ID, and finding your way around the building. Eventually you met the agent that you spoke on the phone with. It was refreshing to see she was as kind looking as her picture on the website, but you couldn’t for the life of you remember her name. She immediately jumped up to greet you.

“Good Morning Ms. L/N! Thank you so much for coming in today. I knew as soon as I saw your name on my list of possible photographers I wanted you here ASAP. I love your perspective and the way you capture models flawlessly, There was no way I was going to deny you!”

Taken aback by the sudden energy and kindness that this modeling agent had offered, you smiled and chuckled along with her as she rambled. She walked you through the main hallway and then finally into the main photography unit. It was even bigger than you remembered, many different corners of the unit being used for different sets and shoots. Some ridiculous, like come cologne add with a shirtless cowboy and some majestic, like a mermaid photoshoot.

“Before we start,” the agent stopped suddenly causing you to stumble, but you quickly picked yourself back up and you rose your eyebrow at her.

“My client is a bit…moody. He is beautiful and capable of anything you throw at him, but because of his…attitude…you have to be hard and confident. He admires that.”

She smiled at you like what she had just said was normal, then continued walking.

You no longer wanted to look at the other shoots, now trying to muster up as much confidence and professionalism as you could. What did she mean moody?! You groaned internally, regretting getting out of bed and putting on jeans for the first time in weeks.

“All right! Here we are. Bakugou! Meet your new photographer! She’s the one I was talking about the whole way here, I mean she is just incredible and-“

Suddenly, all the air got punched out of your lungs. That was him. That was the bad kisser that you made out with for an hour and a half at that stupid party! God you hated alcohol, why did you even go?! Why are you even here?! You should run, you should run as fast as you can and never come back.

Instead, you swallowed back your emotions and stuck your hand out, flashing a smile that you hoped didn’t make you look like you’re constipated.

If he recognized you, he didn’t make it obvious, although there was a slight twitch in his left eye, something you remember him doing when you lowered your hand down his stomach and down his-

“Pleasure to meet you! I’m excited to have the opportunity to work with you.”

He kept our eye contact, which both made you uncomfortable and a little excited. He was wearing a tight black shirt that had a slight v-neck, hickeys being showcased beautifully on his skin. You now remembered why you jumped him in the first place, that fire in his eye, beautifully sculpted muscles, a jawline that could kill, and those prominent lips that made you want to pull him close all over again. No wonder he’s a model he’s fucking perfect.

He hesitated before taking your hand in his, shaking it slightly, giving you a brief flashback of those very hands on your waist just two nights ago.

“Yeah, can’t fucking wait.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but instead of lingering on the moment you let go of his hand first, and turned your body to the agent again.

“I have all of my equipment with me, so just give me a second to set up and we can start!”

The agent beamed at you once more before running to get the rest of the crew. You shot a quick glance at Bakugou before smiling gently and walking away. You didn’t want to look at him long for too long, scared you might get too distracted. You were here for a reason, you had to be confident and most importantly professional. You’ve worked with hundreds of models, he wasn’t any different.

You’ve been in the photography game since you were 15, slowly building up your skills. You had done so many graduation photos, weddings, family pictures, and that was all before you were 18. By the time you graduated high school you had enough money to leave your home town and start going to a college that fit you just right in LA. That’s how you met Hitoshi, and through him all the rest of your friends. Ever since then you’ve been slowly building up your career and you have a newfound pride in yourself. Not a lot of people are lucky enough to be in a stable career they love in their early 20’s.

You bent over to plug in the last wire, before turning back around to find Bakugou’s agent. Cursing when you realized you didn’t see her, your eyes quickly found Bakugou, who was looking at himself in the mirror fixing his hair. You sucked in a breath and quickly walked over to where he was standing. You lean on the desk to catch his attention, and thankfully he seemed to stop what he was doing and turned his body towards yours.

“What’s you agent’s name?”

He stared at you for an uncomfortable amount of time before he grunted, looking away.

“Some professional, can’t even remember your fucking client’s name.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms to show you didn’t appreciate his answer.

“I’m gonna ask you again. What is your agent’s name.”

That seemed to do the trick, because he looked back into your gaze, almost challenging you. You kept your stare, having years of staring contests with Hitoshi up your sleeve. However, you were taken aback when he smirked, causing you to glance at his lips for a split moment before returning back to your stance.

“Allison Marks, now don’t forget that.”

You smiled politely and uncrossed your arms.

“Oh I won’t, even when i’m drunk I always seem to remember things when it comes to you.”

You chuckled, watching a small blush creep on the tips of his ears, before he rolled his eyes looking away.

“Damn right, no one could forget me in a million years.”

You scoffed, starting to walk away from him, but he grabbed your hand before you could fully leave.

“And L/N, don’t get too distracted, we have a job to do.”

His face was neutral but his eyes told you everything you needed to know. His eyes was clouded with confidence and lust, leaving your brain to wonder back to that night again.

He let go chuckling and you walked off in a trance.

Fuck. This was gonna be a lot harder than you thought.

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

gold rush

hello my dearest followers/readers! if you’re just now reading this welcome to Wildest Dreams, the Model!Bakugou Katsuki x Photographer!Reader, and if you’re coming back oh boy did i have fun writing this😈

i literally haven’t posted fan fiction since my watt pad days, whew. also ummmm i didnt proof read this so…have fun with that…love you!!!

fun facts! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

- no matter the gender y/n always says “yes ma’am” in response so someone asking her to do smth (unless the other person is uncomfortable)

- i got the idea of the blood disorder bc my sister has smth similar so i know a bit abt it, however do not be scared to correct me or tell me any information about the disorder!

- can u tell idk what a studio unit thingy looks like😀😀😀no like all i can think about is those scenes in New Girl back when Cece was a model and they showed where she worked…that’s it

- sho used to be SUCH a dry texter but after a couple of years the gang got him to be more expressive and energetic

- the convo at the beginning of katsuki’s texts is actually inspired by a real convo my friends had 🤭

←Prev˚✧ Next→

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ updates every wednesday and sunday! happy wildest dreams wednesday ✧.*

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ TAGLIST IS OPEN just message or comment: @iiilovemilfs @0anodite0 @bakugouswh0r3 @amethyst123 @nijirosz @bakugoukatsukiwifiu @allnamesredacted @ch3rryhaze @ectoplasmictoast @cathwritestragediesnotsins

[tinyangryeddie]

your finger on my hairpin trigger (Reddie fic!)

An Explicit Reddie fic by yours truly.

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Word Count: 10,598 words

Tags: AU - No Clown, AU - Strangers, Meet-Cute, Doctor/Patient, Smut and Fluff, Texting, Flirting, Bottom Richie, Confident Eddie - click through to see more!

Read here on AO3!

Luckily, only another twenty minutes pass before another knock comes to the door.

“Come—” Richie starts before a short, brunette man with a thunderous brow, a white coat and a clipboard shoves his way into the room.

“Tailbone injury?” he says, staring at the clipboard. Richie squints over at Stan. Stan nods.

“Mhm, yep. That’s a’ me, doc.” Richie exaggeratedly points to his mostly-uncovered backside, then sort of wants to crawl out of the room in shame. Luckily, Dr. Angry Twink seems to be barely paying attention.

“Your x-rays show no sign of a fracture, which is lucky for you,” says the doctor, then sets down his clipboard and shoves his hands onto his hips. “It’s most likely a dislocation. We’ll do a physical exam to confirm and then set it back.”

-

Or: Richie busts his tailbone and Eddie is his doctor. Hijinks ensue.

[lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love]

Btw Im bored and Im craving an angsty fic. Somehow I managed to be on your blog knowing your good at it. Anyway could you do part two of avenger cast x teen reader wherein the reader have cancer and got remission but rhis time the cancer is back. The cast and fans know about it and they are all supporting to your battle. When the cancer got worse the reader thought of giving up but the cast still encourage to fight. Its up to you if you want the reader die or not. (But for me I wanna more super angsty that I wanted reader to be dead lol)

So that's all hope you can make it and make my heart in tears heheheh. Anyway have a good day and be safe.

Notes: I’d like to thank @huntective-kyeo for the request!! I hope you enjoy it.

I mean no disrespect by writing or posting this, and in no way do I take the themes and topics discussed in this story lightly. So if you’re triggered by any of this, I suggest not reading it.

I would also like to apologize for any cancer treatment misinformation in this story. I will gladly change anything I get wrong.

I don’t own any of the gifs/pictures used.

Warnings: Some angst probably, mentions of cancer, depression, mentions of cancer treatment, spelling/grammatical errors, medical inaccuracies, cliffhanger, a really bad cliffhanger, anything else I failed to mention ⚠️

Characters: Vague mention of Marvel cast, possible mention of doctors and family members, anyone else I failed to mention

Part 1: Click Here

Masterlist: Click Here & Here

Word Count: 1305 (give or take)

You’re in bed, staring at the ceiling. The early signs of emotional numbness is beginning to take root, drowning the overwhelming emotions within you. Your brain refuses to process the information you’ve been told, which only makes the whole situation worse. Cause who wants to hear that their cancer came back? After fighting so hard to be in remission, it comes back at full force. Who wants to hear that? You recognized the signs that you were beginning to feel unwell, so you went to your doctor. They ran their tests, and you waited.

The somber tone in your doctor’s voice was all you needed. Unlike last time, you hadn’t caught it in the early stages. This comeback had been faster, a little more aggressive. It hadn’t progressed enough that it couldn’t be treated, but precautions were made to ensure your full recovery.

Your doctor recommended you begin treatment immediately, so you did. It was also recommended you let your work know, and you hesitated. You agreed that you should let them know, since they were fully aware of your last battle with cancer. Of course, they were only made aware once you were in the clear. And you’d been on a break from filming and promoting, so that gave you plenty of time for treatment and resting. Now... Now, you’re going to start filming in a matter of days.

After muddling over the topic, you chose to let the producers know. You sent them a quick text explaining the situation, and anxiously awaiting their response.

=================================

You’d been met with understanding from the producers, who were more than willing to put your scenes on hold until you recovered. While grateful for the accommodation, guilt began to flood you. How long are they willing to wait? The last time you had cancer, it took a long time before you fully recovered. Maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to the accommodation. Maybe you should’ve just sucked it up and done your scenes.

Fuck.

A knock snapped you out of your thoughts. You took a second to realize your doctor, Alanis Baker, was standing in the doorway to your hospital room. A small, but comforting smile was on her face, a clipboard in hand as she approached you.

During your first diagnosis, you’d been recommended to Alanis, having been told she was the one of the best in her field. It didn’t take long for you to see why. Her honest, personable behavior made it easy to get along with her. You came to realize that even though Alanis hated delivering bad news, she had to do it regardless of how it made her feel. She wasn’t known to sugarcoat anything; and while her bluntness may not be everyone’s cup of tea, you appreciated it. You needed it.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Alanis starts, a small smile on her face.

You mumble out a morning.

“We’re going to run a few tests,” your doctor explains. She’s giving you an almost apologetic look. “Just to see how everything’s going so far.”

You nod. Your heart feels like it’s jumped in your throat. You expected this, and you’re anxious to see how you’re progressing. It feels like you’re improving. You can only pray the test results match.

=================================

You’re… not improving. The cancer is seemingly getting worse. Still treatable, but it’s not reacting to the chemotherapy like the doctors had hoped. So that meant surgery. Probably multiple surgeries.

Alanis tried her damndest to inform you of all the benefits that come with surgeries, but you just couldn’t understand. You couldn’t understand why the cancer wasn’t going away with chemo. You couldn’t understand why it was getting worse. It didn’t make sense to you. Nothing your doctor, or any doctor could say would make you understand.

Part of you had to wonder if surgery would even do anything. If it progressed to the point where Alanis was attempting to sugar coat it, in her own way, then maybe you shouldn’t…

No, you think, snapping back into reality. You can’t give up, not now. You beat this before, you can do it again! You have to keep trying.

But is it worth it?

=================================

Your first surgery was fast approaching, and you were on the verge of throwing up. You knew it was important. You knew it was necessary to improve your health. But you were nervous. What if something went wrong? What if you didn’t wake up? What if it didn’t do anything?

What if you got worse?

“You feeling okay, kid?” Your ears perked at the voice. It was Robert. Him and a few of your co-stars had come down to visit you. The production crew let you have time off in preparation for your surgery, which was nice. But you needed something to keep you distracted. That’s where your co-stars came in. If they’d finished their scenes for the day they’d visit you or call or FaceTime—whatever they could do to stay in contact.

“Same as always,” you sighed. You didn’t tell them about how you were feeling. You didn’t want to hear what everyone else was saying. You’ll get better. Just keep fighting. You’re so strong, you’ll get over this. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. You were numb to the comfort they intended to bring.

Robert nodded, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through,”—here it comes—“but don’t let it control you.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean,” you asked.

“Don’t let your thoughts control you,” he said, giving you a gentle look. “You’ll have your ups and downs, and those downs will feel like they’re suffocating you. Don’t let them take over. You’ll get better, you will.”

You knew there was truth in his words. Robert had his own struggles, his own ups and downs. He was speaking from his own experiences.

“I’ll try,” you said. “I can’t make any promises though.”

“Do what you can.” He placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll be here for you every step of the way.”

==================================

The day of your surgery came faster than you thought. Robert’s voice rang in your head, and you tried to focus on that instead of your nerves. Your family, after wishing you well, was escorted to a waiting area.

After all the necessary preparation, you were put under.

==================================

It felt like only minutes later that you woke up. You were groggy, your mind hazy from the drugs. Was the surgery successful? Deep down, buried under the disappointment and growing cynicism, you hoped it was. You didn’t want to be sick anymore.

You heard voices. They sounded muffled, far away. Turning your head, you saw the door to your room was slightly ajar. You squinted, but your vision seemed blurry. After what felt like a lifetime, your family walked in with the doctor behind them. They were smiling but there were tears in their eyes.

“How’re you feeling?” the doctor asked.

You hummed softly. “’M fine,” you slurred. “Tired.”

The doctor smiled. “We’ll make sure you get lots of rest, okay?” You nodded. “You’ll stay here with us until you’re well enough to head home, how does that sound?”

You mumbled a ‘fine.’

“Okay.” The doctor’s smile looked almost strained before looking at your parents. “I’ll give you all a minute. Call us if you need anything.”

Your mother nodded. She was trying her damndest not to cry.

“What’s wrong?” you mumbled.

“Nothing,” your mother said, her voice soft but shaky. “We’re just happy you’re awake.”

You hummed and nodded.

“You did great today, (Y/N),” your father remarked. His voice sounded strained. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”

You smiled and nodded. You were starting to fall back asleep. Maybe once you’re more cognizant, you’ll ask about the surgery. And why your parents seemed so upset.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

@ceciele

[melikefish]

Brave browser is no longer trustable

TLDR: Brave is manipulating what your browser does to profit the developers personally, sacrificing your security, privacy, bandwidth, and computer resources…. Again

u/Materidan on r/ios came upon a interesting discovery (https://www.reddit.com/r/ios/comments/14fdadr/brave_browser_may_be_compromised/)

To quote the post

> Brave Browser may be compromised.

> Really not sure where to post this, especially during the current API chaos in most subs.

> At any rate, I run a small informational website and had a message from someone complaining that whenever they tried to post using Brave on their iPhone or iPad, my adult filter would be triggered.

> So I downloaded Brave from the App Store onto my iPhone, tried it out and... same thing. Digging deeper, it turns out that if you have an input box using an HTML WYSIWYG editor such as CKEditor, a 36kb block of HTML set as invisible is being added to the bottom of anything submitted. This does not happen on plain text inputs.

> The block is full of links to adult sites, scam sites, referral links, trackers and so forth. This is the block I saw being added:

> https://controlc.com/353fb266

> To state the obvious, this is not happening on any other browser I own mobile or desktop, and the user was able to post fine using Safari. So the issue seems to have something to do with Brave. Take it for what it is.

> EDIT: I think I've found a way for anyone to confirm this. In Brave Browser (for iOS), go to:

> https://surveyjs.io/form-library/examples/custom-widget-ckeditor/angular

> Put something in the form, then hit COMPLETE. It will show you at the bottom what was submitted. There's even a button to copy it to clipboard, since on my iPhone I can't see much. But I end up with that huge block of HTML.

u/Asleep-Dingo-19 recorded the process described in the edits (in a comment) and uploaded it to imgur (https://imgur.com/gallery/o16w9CA).

I would also like to note that Brave already has a history of manipulating browser functions for their own benefit. For example when they made specific URLs redirect to the developer’s affiliate links in 2020.

What does this mean for you?

It means that the developers of Brave, have 2 times now manipulated the browser’s functionality in a attempt to profit themselves.

This is not the first time they have done something like this, and most likely won’t be the last time.

If the devs have done this two times, the next time may be even worse, and more privacy reducing then the prior attempts. Even spyware chrome doesn’t do this kind of thing. To give you a idea of how bad this is, if the devs chose to, they could theoretically log your passwords right as you enter them. Though I do not think that they would do something extremely illegal like this, they will definitely find in the future even more ways of profiting themselves (not even the company, just themselves) at your own loss.

I am afraid to say that I, personally, no longer trust Brave and won’t be recommending it to anyone, and I think that you should stop using it too.

[bogusboxed]

Boxtober - Day 27: “History Repeats Itself.”

Day 27: - Brian Thomas X GN!Reader “Reunion” x “That’s not why we’re doing this.”

-I do not own “Brian Thomas” and do not take credit for him.

-

Notes: I apologize for any grammar issues! :D

- TRIGGER WARNING(S): Angst, Toxic relationship

-

You didn’t know why you were listening to the message sent to you. You didn’t understand why you had this sense of determination to follow it to the ends of the earth. You felt like a moth to a flame, just begging to be burnt alive. It had been early in the morning when you got a text from an unknown number saying to meet you at this Ihop, so, without any hesitation, you made it your mission to go. Although this is how your life has been for a while. You constantly followed the bare minimum signs to try and get the answer to what the operator was. You needed to know. You had the urge for knowledge, and when an unknown number texted you something like that, you had to go for it. because everything in the world always seemed to lead right back to the operator.

You muttered to yourself against the frigid weather, desperately trying to fight back the cold touch it had on you. You entered quickly, pressing your hands against the tampered, cold glass, your breath fogging up the door. You could feel the warmth of the breakfast place melt you instantly. The entire restaurant smelt like pancakes and various other breakfast foods as you huffed. Upon fully entering, you could feel your phone vibrate in your jacket pocket as you reached for it. As the screen lit up, it had one new message from the unrecognizable number. You could feel your anxiety mixed with excitement as both spiked to combine. You unlocked your phone, unconcerned that you appeared insane.

And the only thing stated was "Booth 3; I’ll be there soon." the text processed in your mind.

You realized you beat them there. How determined were you to do this? You slowed down, feeling worried as you read the numbers of the booths. As you made your way through, you could see and feel the gazes of others, seeing as you had been so sudden in the way you did things. You looked at each window passing by, seeing a few cars parked as you eventually made it to a corner booth with the label of three. The chairs were made out of red leather with a complementary wood color holding them up. You sat down as you fidgeted with your hands, not knowing what to expect. You still didn’t know who you were meeting up with, considering you hadn’t talked to anyone in a while. The last person you could recall formally speaking with was Tim, but that was before he went missing. You could remember Tim talking to you about Jay and Jessica as he later told you goodbye. You hadn’t been involved with the entire Marble Hornets propaganda until further on when you researched it when Tim left.

Then, you got dragged right into the middle of it all. You picked up where Jay left off, but you didn't record any of it like he did, since you didn't want the internet stalking your every move. You hadn't seen the operator directly, but you knew these were real people's lives, and Tim was missing. Then, to prove it further, your friends died from it. There was no possible way it wasn’t real and you needed to finish it. Well, at least that’s what you told yourself. But, arguably, the worst part was that one of your closest friends, Brian, had died in the process. The entire ordeal was something you struggled to come to terms with, and it just pushed you further. Soon, a reasonably tall, fair lady came to your booth as she held a small clipboard.

"What can I get you?" she smiled sweetly as you sat there awkwardly.

"For now, I'll just have a water, waiting on someone," you explained, as she didn’t bother to write it down, memorizing it with ease.

She nodded as she turned from your table, leaving. And as you sat there, you could hear the wind suddenly enter the building. You knew just by that noise that it was the person. You sat there anxiously waiting, not knowing if you should be excited or not. It’d been a while since you’d had a strong lead, plus you’d get to talk to someone other than yourself. As you sat there, resting in the leather booth, you could hear footsteps coming from behind you.

"[Name]?" an oddly familiar masculine voice muttered as if they hadn’t used their voice in a while.

But, just by the tone of their voice, you could tell they'd missed you even if you hadn't a clue who it was. Though it sounded like they were holding back from something.

"Yeah", you answered, and before you could face them, they sat down in front of you.

As you process them, sit in the chair in front of you. You could tell it was a dark-blond-headed man with a dark tan hoodie. He had dark eye bags underneath his hazel eyes as he glared at you with a puzzling look. A look that you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

"Brian?" You looked at him as your mouth went agape and before you could ask him a million questions, he nodded in disappointment.

Why was Brian here right now? He is dead, at least from your knowledge.

"Aren’t you supposed to be dead?" you asked him as you stared in disbelief.

"Look, you need to stop," he interrupted you as you pulled back from confusion.

You could tell this was going to be a lecture and not something that you could benefit from. You should've left, but you didn't. You missed Brian, and you felt he did too. It was nice to see him, even if the only words he spoke were passive-aggressive threats.

"This is going to get you killed," he added, as he practically read your mind.

"What about the—?" you tried once more, but he stopped you.

"That’s not why we’re doing this.' 'This isn’t an interview. I’m here to stop you from ending up like Jay," he answered, looking you dead in the eye.

"Brian, I—" you exclaimed, looking to the ground as the waiter came back again.

It forced both of you to stop temporarily. Her shoes clacked against the floor as she looked at both of you.

"What can I get you both?" she asked as you sat there in internal confusion, uncomfortably shifting in the leather. You got the message. But why couldn't he see your angle? Or maybe he knew what you thought and he'd seen how that mindset ends up.

"Two coffees," Brian answered for you as she placed your previously ordered water on the counter. She wrote it down before taking off again. You watched and heard her shoes fade into the not-so-far distance.

"I don't understand," you said, tilting your head at him, unsure why he was acting so aggressively.

"I’ve already been over this with Jay." I thought I could help him and then get him out, but we both know how that ended," he muttered as he watched you.

But, I-" you didn't even understand why you were trying to speak because he always cut you off.

"I’m asking you as a friend to quit this now." He sharply inhaled as if he remembered something that he didn’t want to do.

"Why come now?" You furrowed your eyebrows as his sight came back to yours.

"Because I knew if I got involved, you’d only go further.’ ‘If you stop now, this doesn’t have to happen again”. His breath shook just for a moment.

He seemed as if he didn’t want to be there. Maybe he didn’t want to have it happen again. Maybe he didn’t want you to end up insane. Or maybe he didn’t want to see you dead. Brian sat there for a moment before rummaging underneath the table. You could hear the cap come off of something as he took something. As he tilted his back, he swallowed the white tablet. You both sat there in silence as you still questioned if he was there. If Brian Thomas was still alive, did that mean Tim was still alive? You could feel him accidentally giving you something to work with.

He looked at you for a moment, noticing that particular glow and sparkle in your eyes. That same spark of curiosity that Jay had that determination was something he could detect. He could remember it from a mile away.

"Whatever you're thinking, don't," he said, appearing less tense than when he first arrived.

"Did you get here by walking?" you asked, as he seemed taken aback by your question, expecting something on the arg.

He didn’t answer your question, not wanting to give you any more than he had to. He didn’t want you to pursue the goals you had in mind. You took a second as an unwilling smile made its way onto your face as you just sat there. You chuckled slightly to yourself as he glanced. You broke the silence.

"I need to finish this." Your smile dropped as you pulled his heartstrings just by the tone of your voice.

You knew he’d be displeased with this answer, and you’d know he'd try to say something, so you stopped him yourself.

"And whatever you do, it's not going to stop me. I don’t care if I end up like Jay," you told him, looking him in the eye as your voice shook at the pure mention of Jay mourning your friend.

You could feel his gaze soften in the worst way possible as if he was hurt by what you’d just said.

"[Name], please don't," his voice cracked as he tried to raise his tone more menacingly. He tried to intimidate you, but it wasn’t affecting you.

And before either of you could speak again, the waiter came back, placing two mugs of a familiar hot liquid on your shared table. You both stopped again, not wanting to drag anyone else into it. As well as not wanting to cause more of a scene than you had to. But, you knew at that moment, Brian would say something to change your mind and you'd listen. You needed to get out of that building. The waiter seemed to notice the depressing atmosphere but left a receipt on the table.

"Okay, once you’re done, you can pay upfront, either in cash or other payment types. Make sure to use the pin pad to complete the transaction." The sweet older lady faked a smile as she left the two of you alone.

You got up from your seat as you picked up the receipt to pay and leave as Brian stopped you.

"Don’t do this," he warned you in the most desperate and genuine tone you’ve ever heard. You pulled away from him as he stood there for a moment.

"Why won’t you listen?" He was cracking up as you tried to ignore him.

You could feel everything swirling up, but you couldn't just stop it for him. "I’m doing this because I love you." He stopped everything you were doing as you froze.

His words had shifted from various tones into this one. You could tell he was trying to guilt trip you, but it felt right.

"I love you, damn it," he muttered as you turned to him, not knowing what to do. You could feel various emotions overwhelming you, and a part of you wanted to apologize. But, you didn’t. Instead, you pushed on.

"Why after all of this time?" you asked him, feeling tears swell into your ducts as you could tell he was crushed by the sight.

"I don’t want you to die," he answered, not wanting to lie anymore, not wanting to try and put up any more walls.

"Then, don’t let me." you sighed, turning from Brian as it took everything to walk away from the poor man behind you.

He was falling apart, which was to be expected when you die and come back. Then, to see his only alive friend who hadn’t turned into a motionless mask pull this probably crushed him. Though it seemed to get to him that he couldn’t stop you, it wasn’t going to stop him from trying. It was happening again, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. But, he swore he wasn’t going to let the operator have you, and he didn’t.

-