#(safe to say the learning curve is something i need to get used to but i probably don't know what i'm doing)

[melithril]

[Adar] Perspectives

♫ - Safe & Sound - Taylor Swift & The Civil Wars

A/N: For @zanytimetravelcupcake, thank you for the request! I learned so much, so I hope you enjoy! If you all want a good learning curve, go check out kintsugi! <3

Adar did not see the point anymore. Of course, his point was his children. No matter how pointless things felt, he had to survive and be brave for them. To him, they deserved the world, and he would give it to them in every way he could if it meant they would feel as though they belong. Adar believed they deserved that much, that they deserved the happiness that came with having a  homeland, even if that meant it must happen in the absence of his own happiness. 

That wasn't to say Adar was particularly unhappy, though. While he may not be the most content of people, he most certainly had his reasons for that. He had small bits of happiness in his life, however. His children, seeing them grow from little uruks into adults, into warriors who had withstood so much hatred from Middle Earth. Then, there was you. 

You had come into Adar's life when he needed someone the most. You had walked through the door and before long, Adar found himself hoping you would never open it again. At first, he chided himself for feeling such emotions, as he had given up on love a long time ago. Though, as time passed, Adar realised that you were not bad for him, and had actually helped start to heal him. He may never be the person he used to be, but your existence in his life had meant that there was something for him to wake up for, and a reason for him to get through each day.

There were some days, such as today, where existing felt like the worst thing in the world to have to do. Adar bore a lot of weight on his shoulders, the burden of leadership got heavier as the days passed by. He would not show it often, but you could tell when something was not right. 

"Adar?" you questioned lightly, not seeing him at his desk when you entered the room. Instead, he was looking out of the window in his chair leaning on one arm. 

"Ilmarë," he replied with a soft tone, unmoving. Even on his worst days, Adar would never take his feelings out on you. 

Striding over to him, you knelt beside his chair and took his uncovered hand in your own. As you glanced up, you noticed he was more stern faced than usual. Where his features would normally be soft, instead they were harsh, and you knew his thoughts were plaguing him again.

"What is the matter, Adar?"

He sighed, running his hand through your hair and holding your face in his hand. Adar looked down to you, his eyes meeting your own, and you saw nothing but love in the way he stared. 

"Why do you love me, starlight?"

You almost flinched at his question, but from his tone you knew he was not finished. You hated when he felt like this. Not because it was an inconvenience, far from it, but more because you hated him feeling bad when, to you, he deserved everything. Instead of answering, you nodded in response to ask him to continue. 

"Well," he started, his hand back on the arm of the chair and his gaze once again landing on outside. "You could have anybody in Middle Earth, and I do not understand why it would be me that you would choose. I am broken, perhaps beyond repair. But you, you are full of life, my star. So much of it is ahead of you, I believe I would not suit that."

It tore a hole in your heart to hear that. To hear that the one person you loved most in this world thought so little of himself. To look upon him now and see the often stoic and calm lord, now with his eyes glazed over and voice wavering. You knew when you met him that he was vulnerable, and very susceptible to bouts of uncertainty, however little he may show it to others. Trying to think on the spot of how to help, you disappeared into your room and came back holding a small vase. 

"Here," you started, kneeling beside Adar's seat and staring up at him. "I want you to look at this." 

His brow furrowed as he took the miniature piece of porcelain and eyed it, turning it around in his hands. It was a black vase, no bigger than your forearm, and running through one side of it was a sliver of gold lacquer, holding it together as it clearly had been broken in the past. Adar shifted in his chair to face you a little more, inquisitive as to what exactly he was holding. 

"What might this be, my star? Other than a fine piece of work, that is."

You smiled. "I want you to have it. It is a gift."

"Thank you, starlight. Where did you get it?" Adar had yet to take his eyes off the art, clearly enjoying it.

"It is a vase made for me as a child by my mother," you began, grabbing a chair and pulling it up in front of him so you were face on. "It didn't always look like that, though. It was pure black when it was brand new. I kept it clean every day, and it was my favourite possession as I grew up. A few years ago it broke, the corner piece there was shattered."

As you turned the vase in his hands, Adar hummed in acknowledgement, and he ran his fingers over the golden rivers now adorning the broken side. 

"It is lovely, but I fail to see why it is relevant to our conversation."

"Because I thought it was beyond repair when it broke. I thought it was broken for good, and that I would never get it's perfect form back again, which devastated me. An older lady in my village took it in, and I watched her work on it one afternoon. She had fixed the side of it, and I will admit, now it is even more beautiful."

Adar nodded in agreement. You continued to talk, hoping something would click in his head eventually.

"She told me it was an art form, it's called kintsugi. This is where you take something broken, and fix it, and in that you learn to embrace the flaws or imperfections. She taught me that things that appear beyond repair are often more beautiful after the fact. I think you could learn from that too, my love."

Adar placed the vase down on the table, with the cracks facing you both as he took your hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs gently across the palms of your hands. 

"Ilmarë, I believe I understand now. Do you really think that of me? You believe I am still beautiful though I am broken?"

"No, I  believe that you are beautiful in spite of being broken, Adar. I believe in the good in you, I believe that despite all that you have endured, and all that has happened to you, that in this moment you are more beautiful than ever. Though I have known you merely a few years, I think that you are imperfect in the most beautiful of ways."

Adar's piercing blue eyes met your own, and he smiled. You felt butterflies in your stomach; even after all this time, the sight of his smile never failed to make you fall in love all over again. His smile softened his whole face, and it lit up with a newfound warmth. 

"I love you, Adar. I stay because I care so deeply for you, and no matter what I will stay with you for as long as you care to have me. Please never forget that."

Adar leaned forwards and placed a kiss to your lips, and you held his face in both your hands, gently running your fingers over his scars. This was an action he used to flinch at, but now he reveled in your touch every time. Pulling away, you whispered against his lips. 

"Never forget that when you doubt yourself, I am here. You are my kintsugi."

[expvrgction]

(no other thoughts, only beej getting pulled into quake-related shenanigans)

[nkogneatho]

𝑶𝑯 𝑴𝒀 𝑩𝑰𝑮 𝑩𝑨𝑩𝒀 !!

— old bf!toji x young gf!reader

i think toji with a girlfriend that is so much younger than him is so adorable.

before you, he was just a man with a small room that is always so messy because he is rarely home. but, the room feels so much like home now that you have entered his life. he's never bothered to decorate or do anything. his heart flutters when he finds several photoframes hanging on the wall. one of you and him, a few of just his and a lot of megumi.

toji has never in his life ever clicked a selfie. he is not photogenic at all. so when you poke him to click one with you, he's not sure what to do in front of a camera. you tell him to just be himself and he is still confused. you lift the phone and make a peace sign with your hand, your teeth peeking out as your lips curve in a smile. you click it quickly and scan the photo. it is cute. you put a heart emoji with a wink one and upload it on your instagram. soon, your phone is buzzing with notifications. you open them and giggle. toji is so curious so he peeks and finds people calling him "the rock". He snatches the phone to scan the selfie you took earlier. you look so adorable with your cute little peace sign and smile and there he was beside you with a brow raised looking angry. "delete that shit right now," he orders. "are you kidding me? this is gold. it's going on the wall." he can't help but grin at how you find such silly things funny.

toji who is getting used to texting and wants to be even closer to you so he tries to learn some slangs. you are out with your friends when your phone chimes. you unlock it to see the text from toji.

toji: kys

you almost spit out the coffee you were enjoying. what the fuck is he on? what happened? you immediately call him.

"hello," his voice raspy.

"tojii! why the fuck would you say something like that to me?"

"what are you talking about?"

"the text you just sent me. why did you send that?"

"because i care for you, doll." you were even more confused now.

"you told me to kill myself because you care for me?"

"kill yourself? who said that? i sent K.Y.S." he spelled each letter out loud. "it means keep yourself safe." it takes you a few seconds to absorb and then you burst out laughing. he is not sure what is so funny.

"oh my poor big baby. kys means kill yourself."

oh. OH.

"i—i am so fucking sorry, princess. i was just—"

"you are so adorable. when i come home, i need to go through your google search history to know what other slangs you learnt." he is so embarrassed, he bites his lower lip. but he is also feeling so warm and fuzzy because you called him adorable. who would call a man in his late 30s adorable? well, you did. and he is so happy about that. happier that he met you.

[jaehunnyy]

Ateez and how they show their love towards you 🤍

Genre: pure fluff

Word count: 1.8k

Pairing: Ateez x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of food, pet names, possible grammar mistakes?

Taglist: @shakalakaboomboo, @cromerteez, @nebulousbrainsoup, @justhere4kpop, @bluehwale, @bluisheye93, @ssaboala, @i-luvsang, @ad0rechuu

Networks: @cromernet 🤍

Hongjoong - letting you in his studio

☆ Hongjoong treasures you a lot, and he often shows his love through the small things he does for you, more than just using the three magic words.

☆ The one thing he does most is letting you see the process of song producing; having you there isn't stressful for him, but very comforting.

☆ He gives you access to the intimacy of his studio as you two share it—what's his is yours too at this point; you were actually surprised to see that he brought a chair for you to sit on whenever you came, because you would definitely end staying there for hours.

☆ He feels more confident whenever he has you by his side, knowing that you would give him your true opinion on the music he is making you listen to.

☆ He felt like sharing these kinds of moments with you only brought you closer, as you could have a sneak peek of what he is doing for a living.

☆ "I feel like this song could have a bit of a stronger beat, like this one." you said, pressing the button according to the sound, to show him exactly what you meant.

☆ He hummed in agreement, smiling softly as your words seemed to be true.

☆ "Thank you, baby! You're a genius."

☆ "I've learned from the best!"

Seonghwa - kissing your hands

☆ Seonghwa is a romantic guy, everyone would figure it out when they see how his eyes rest on your figure, shining like they held the whole universe in them.

☆ Though there is something he specifically loves, and that is holding and constantly kissing your hands.

☆ You two could watch a movie, cook, clean, anything really, it doesn't matter to him because as soon as he can get a glimpse of you, your hands would be in his, touched by his pink, silky lips.

☆ You can't help but blush and giggle every single time he does that, it's just making you feel safe and loved, and it gives him some boost too, because he is just constantly searching for ways to become a better boyfriend for you.

☆ And when they work, he is the happiest man; he never leaves your side when you need him.

☆ If you're stressed or having a bad day? God, he wouldn't leave you for a second—his lips would be attached to the soft skin of your hand, kissing every inch of it.

☆ "It's okay, sweets. I will be by your side no matter what." he whispered softly, his lips curving into a grin.

☆ "What did I do to deserve you?"

Yunho - dancing with you

☆ Yunho adores dancing, and he is very talented at it as well.

☆ He felt like he dedicated his whole life to make his dream come true, but now, he had someone who closely admired him, and he couldn't wait to grow better under the eyes of the person he loved most.

☆ Sometimes, when coming over from practice, he would find you dancing along to some of their choreographies, and his heart would jolt in happiness.

☆ He would watch you try your best, wearing the proudest smile on his face before he could start moving his body to the music as well.

☆ After that night, it was safe to say that dancing together at late hours, with the breeze of the night engulfing you two became a habit.

☆ Be it strong dances, like Guerrilla or Fireworks, or jumping together when you thought you could touch Utopia.

☆ But what he loved most was when you didn't dance to anything in particular, but you just embraced each other as your bodies swayed along the sentimental ballad he played.

☆ "Let's sleep, Yuyu."

☆ "One more song, starlight?" he pouted—you couldn't say no.

Yeosang - sharing his food with you

☆ Yeosang adores you; adores being in your presence, and loves doing everything he can with you.

☆ For you, he learned how to share—usually, he would refuse to give anyone a bite of his food, especially if it was chicken.

☆ For you, though? he could stop eating only so you could have as much as you want.

☆ You asked him once if you could have a bite of his noodles, and he instantly fed you, a wide smile on his face as you seemed content with the taste.

☆ His members would often ask him why he wouldn't finish his food, or why he would insist on taking some home, and definitely end up teasing him when they find out he shares with you.

☆ Wooyoung would go to him and ask for a taste of his food, and laugh as the older boy would turn his back to him as a no.

☆ Every time he would order something for himself, he would remember to buy you something that you like, so the two of you could share at home while gossiping or watching a movie.

☆ It was just some sort of relaxing activity for him, and also quality time spent with you.

☆ "You didn't have to bring food home Yeo, I have already eaten." 

☆ "Won't you eat again with me, just a bit?" his innocent smile would absolutely convince you.

San - singing you to sleep

☆ You are San's baby; as long as you are dating this man, you won't have to move a finger.

☆ He would make sure you feel safe around him every time, won't let anyone and nothing hurt you.

☆ Despite already being clingy and asking for cuddles in every minute of the day, it's some other thing that he's doing for you.

☆ He adores singing you to sleep, and it's very effective for you as well. 

☆ It doesn't matter whether you are tired or not, his soothing voice lulling you to sleep will always work for you, making you melt into a puddle in his arms as he dedicates the love ballads to you.

☆ Whenever you can't sleep, he would feel—even if you don't wake him up, he would close his eyes, warming his voice a bit as he would start singing for you.

☆ His favorite thing to sing for you is star 1117; it makes you feel loved, and it makes him even more glad that he has someone to pamper, and that someone is you. 

☆ Sometimes he would also sing louder songs, using his raspy voice only to tease you, but it would soon become another ballad he loves making you hear.

☆ "Sannie, you don't have to sing for me every night. You should sleep too." 

☆ "But I will be able to sleep only after seeing my angel dream peacefully." he says, a dimple poking his cheek as he would kiss you good night and start singing.

Mingi - helping you reach things on the shelves

☆ Mingi was tall… he could grab absolutely anything he wanted from every shelf, while you had to struggle—a lot.

☆ It happened like twice that he saw you on your tiptoes, trying to reach the cereals between some scoffs.

☆ He was quick to help you, putting his hand on the small of your back as he grabbed the cereal box with ease and smiled at you.

☆ "Here you go, love." he said before smiling and ruffling your hair.

☆ Something about seeing you struggle every time with the same thing made him just a bit sad—he wished he could be there for you always so he could help.

☆ If not, he would ask you what you needed beforehand and would prepare them in advance, so you wouldn't accidentally hurt yourself or anything when he wasn't home.

☆ Two times were enough for this to turn into a regular thing; you didn't even have to ask him anymore, one look and he would be there, getting you anything you needed as you watched in awe.

☆ Sometimes, he would give you a piggyback ride, showing you what being tall meant.

☆ "Come baby, let's defeat those shelves." he said, and within a second, you were on his back, taller than ever as both of you laughed.

☆ "My dad used to do this to me when I was little." you said, making him smile. 

☆ "Well, it's my turn now," he grinned.

Wooyoung - rubbing your noses together

☆ You were at the beginning of your relationship, two weeks in when Wooyoung first asked you if he could kiss you, nervousness audible in his voice.

☆ You of course agreed, he was so sweet and you truly cared about him.

☆ While you two got closer to each other, your noses suddenly touched.

☆ Wooyo's first reaction was to rub his nose on yours; and as you started chuckling, he swore it was the prettiest thing he had ever heard.

☆ "Was that weird?" he asked, fearing that you didn't like it.

☆ But when you pecked his lips, he was sure you enjoyed it as much as he did.

☆ Since then, he couldn't stop rubbing your nose on yours whenever he had the chance.

☆ Are you two cuddling? He would grab your face softly, trapping you under his strong body as he would touch your nose and shake his head from side to side.

☆ Whatever activity you were doing would be long forgotten, the only sounds coming from your sweet laughter.

☆ If he is feeling extra affectionate, he will nudge his nose further into your cheek or your neck, enjoying your warmth and the way you play with his hair.

☆ It was something about this cute, small gesture that made him fall in love with your relationship even more.

☆ "Thank you for accepting my antics every time, my love."

☆ You burst into laughter before kissing his cheek: "Thank you for choosing me, Wooyo."

Jongho - letting you baby him

☆ It wasn't like you were exaggerating by babying Jongho, you were aware of how mature he was.

☆ But something about his cute face when he was sleeping, or him pouting in concentration whenever he was reading the lyrics of his new song made you want to keep him in your pocket and protect him.

☆ These things made you want to remind him about how precious he was in every minute.

☆ "Honey, do you need help with cooking?" he would ask, hugging you softly.

☆ "No, baby! Go lay down while I get us dinner."

☆ At first you tested the waters, not wanting him to be uncomfortable.

☆ Sometimes you would pet his hair, or squish his cheeks, because you simply found him too cute.

☆ He noticed that, and also saw you trying to contain yourself from calling him your cute bear or anything—but surprisingly, when it came from you, he wasn't bothered by it.

☆ It would actually light his face in happiness a lot, knowing that while you saw him as someone you could count on, you also found him cute and felt the need to show him that.

☆ "I only let you call me cute this often, you know?" he asked, kissing your forehead.

☆ "Well, I guess I'm lucky enough, then."

[kujakumai]

On the subject of being good with children, which characters do you think WOULD be good babysitters?

YUGIOH CHARACTERS AS BABYSITTERS, RANKED

TOP PICKS:

Seto Kaiba runs an entire company dedicated exclusively to safely entertaining children, and unless his parks are getting continually sued I believe he knows how. Your kindergartner is not only safe with him but will probably leave knowing how to play chess and write in C++. He may allow them to play with knives, but only if they're 9 or over, plus he has all the emergency numbers on speed-dial.

Hiroto Honda babysits his niblings on the regular. Can warm a bottle and change a diaper. A level-headed and practical guy. He’ll be fine as long as his friends don't drag him into a horrible game-themed deathtrap. Don't ask why that caveat exists.

Rishid Ishtar is safe, experienced, has dad energy, however he will crumple like wet paper at the first sign of conflict re: ice cream for dinner / no bedtime / blood-soaked cross-country quest for revenge / an extra episode of cartoons over the screentime limit.

Ishizu Ishtar would make a great babysitter. I don't really have a quirky joke here she just would.

"MAYBE"S

Jonouchi used to watch his little sister and I think he'll do about as well as any other teenager you're paying minimum wage, and with a lot of earnest enthusiasm. Your child will be fine at the end of the night, though they will probably have eaten some junk food and played a T rated videogame.

I do not think Atem would know what to do with a baby, and may panic about it, though if you have an older child he will be happy to offer a rousing speech and some deep-voiced mentorlike advice while teaching them to play board games. Not a bad choice, just try not to leave him with anyone under seven.

Yugi knows zilch about kids and often appears a little annoyed by them. Same general rules as Atem--do not leave him with a baby, but he'll probably just teach an older kid to play shogi or something.

Mai Kujaku will put the kid in front of the television and order pizza while she paints her nails. Honestly, though, what more are you paying her for?

Listen, I love Anzu. I do. She’s smart, driven, and big-hearted, but she is also sort of short-tempered and impatient, and patience is like 90% of child-rearing. Please do not ask Anzu Mazaki to watch your children. She WILL say yes because she needs the money, and she WILL go into it with optimism and gumption, and yes, both she and your child will both be in one piece at the end of the night, but it will be clear from both of their frazzled expressions that she lost most of her sanity an hour in after the fifth "Why?"

DEFINITELY NOT

Ryou Bakura would in theory be a perfectly good, if kind of spacey, babysitter, but you cannot trust him to remain Ryou Bakura, and the other guy is definitely not someone you want anywhere near your children.

I don't think Marik Ishtar has ever interacted with a child for very long and the number of people he talks to that are even his own age is in the single digits. And he is definitely not getting spat on or dealing with any bathroom stuff. I'm not saying he can't figure it out but the learning curve is going to be steep.

I have to put Yami Bakura here in principle and yet for some reason I think it wouldn't go that bad? I mean he definitely doesn't care about the safety of your child. And he may enlist them to the armies of darkness. And he's not cleaning anything up. But he's like, a weird socially awkward over-the-top guy? And children love those? Honestly I think they would both have fun. For at least an hour until everything goes horribly wrong.

Please do not summon Zork Necrophades to babysit your child.

[razorblade180]

Inspiration

Ruby:Yo-yo?

Carmine:Hmm?

Ruby:Ren told me you paid a visit to him for some training. Said you did pretty good.

Carmine:Not really. Stances were okay but aura manipulation is weird. Probably won’t rely on it too much.

Ruby:Seems like you’re drawing inspiration from everyone you can. If that the case, I have something for you.

The reapers reveals a long weapon’s case. She puts in the ground in front of her daughter and taps it with her foot, causing it to open up. Two curved blades lay brightly inside. Their detail is so intricate in the engravings and design. It’s obvious they’re meant to combine. Carmine picks them up to find they have little heft to them but are drastically lighter than her own sword. She might as well be holding nothing.

Carmine:Wow, these are crazy looking. Not necessarily my style but I can see how they could be useful.

Ruby:They’re what Cinder uses.

Carmine:…….What? How did y-

Ruby:These are replicas I made and trust me when I say they’re identical. If you put them together then it can fire arrows.

Carmine:Why would you ever make these?

Ruby:Because, my little huntress, I can be as petty and spiteful as anyone else when pushed far enough. Use these on patrol and missions for the next month; study them well. Utility, movement, reach, all that you can.

Carmine:“Know thy enemy” right? I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting this from you considering our differing views on how to handle the situation.

Ruby:I made a vow to you the day you were born that I will be a mom before a huntress when it came to making sure my family was safe. I still plan on finding and taking out Cinder myself, but if for some reason you find her first or she finds you, then by all means, give her every layer of hell you can.

Carmine:I don’t suppose you’ve made me a parasol blade too?

Ruby:If only that’s all it took to learn Neo’s moves. I mean this, just avoid her. She’s at least a three person job and two of them need to hate her.

Carmine:Heh, okay then. Mind if we go a few rounds then?

Ruby:…It’s better if you ask Ren?

Carmine:C’mon. I know you don’t like training me but-

Ruby:No, it not that. I just…I might go too hard if you’re using those.

Carmine:So? Honestly you’d be doing me a favor. Everyone always talks about how intense you can get, all the stories of your passion and hardcore moments. I don’t get to see that. I actually feel weird for never seeing you angry. I get angry all the time!

Ruby:Sweetie, what kind of a parent would I be if I took out repressed rage on my child in a sparring match?

Carmine:…Better than Raven. Better than your mom too.

Ruby:!? Wha-

Carmine:I think you’re pretty cool, despite everything that’s happened. We always try to our feelings out but honestly it never really works well. I get you’re trying to be an example, but it’s okay if normal being a mom doesn’t come as naturally as a huntress. Mix both. I don’t care. I kinda need both. I mean if I can survive you then Cinder would be easier by comparison. Plus…it’s not like I could stop myself from swinging at you seriously either.

Ruby:Did you..are you saying I piss you off?

Carmine:You’re my mom. Every daughter gets pissed at their mom.

Ruby:That’s not…inaccurate. Sigh Are we really doing this?

Carmine:Are my eyes silver? *points blade out* Well, Mrs. Hero? Show me why Cinder is too chicken face you head on!

Ruby:Fine, but name a restaurant first. You may think I prefer being huntsman 24/7 but I’d like to have some regular quality time with my daughter after this.

Carmine:Hmmm, how about your home cooking?

Ruby:…*smiles* Deal.

[janiehellion]

Of Curves & Seraphim

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Finally finding peace in your new home away from Los Angeles, you thought you had left the hurtful memories behind. But when Lucifer returns, his remorse and desire for redemption open up old and new wounds. But, after all, only the Devil himself knows what it means to fall and rise up again?

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X FEM!PLUSSIZE!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: FLUFF / HURT / COMFORT / MILD SMUT

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.309

MASTERLIST

You were home. Your new home.

It was quiet there, like a sanctuary that kept you away from the harsh world outside. You felt safe here, wrapped in a cocoon of loneliness, far from the eyes of hate and whispers that had hunted you, far away from that city that haunted you: Los Angeles.

Your body, which was a battleground for your insecurities, now seemed to have found peace in the silence of this new place. It had taken you months to build this safe haven and to find comfort in yourself, despite the scars of self-hatred that still came out every now and then when you looked into the mirror. The loneliness had weighed heavily on you, but you learned to accustom yourself to it and to live with it, and frankly, in a weird kind of way, you started to love it.

But tonight was different. Tonight, the silence was broken by a voice from the past.

"May I come in, please?"

Lucifer stood at your doorstep, his usual confidence sincere and vulnerable. It had been months since you'd last seen him; since you'd fled the city, you'd fled from memories of him. He was a part of your life then, a part of the pain, someone standing in shadows.

He was very different now from what he used to be. Where was that Devil you had come to know, the one full of power and charm? His eyes were looking into yours, not with their usual confidence but instead with a rather sincere and vulnerable look, and it was impossible to ignore.

"Why are you here? After all this time?" Your voice was neutral, but your heart was racing in your chest.

"I needed to see you," he said softly, his eyes locking onto yours with a look that was almost pleading.

A bitter laugh escaped you. "I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that... I mean, it’s clear that you're standing here because of me, but... you know?"

"I don’t think I understand, my dear," he replied with confusion in his voice.

You took a deep breath, struggling to keep your emotions in check. "You never liked me, Lucifer. Why... why do you want to see me now? Out of nowhere?"

He seemed to be searching for the right words. "You’re wrong. The moment you left the LUX and Los Angeles, I realized and saw you for who you really are, and I regret pushing you away. I was blind."

Your eyes searched his face, trying to find the devilish charm you remembered. But instead, you saw a man stripped of any arrogance.

"That night... that last night," he continued, "when we held each other close, half-drunk, and when we were laughing without any care in the world, I saw something in you that I wanted to get to know better and feel closer to me."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your cheek. "Do you remember that night? The night where you suddenly took my hand and held it? I felt a connection that I had been too proud to even acknowledge."

You nodded, the memory coming back to you. "I didn’t want to remember it. I guess I was just very upset in the end, after all."

"Upset?" He repeated the word with confusion and disbelief. "Darling, you were more than upset. You were breaking apart inside, heart and soul, and I couldn’t even see it. I didn't even notice..."

He stepped closer again, his hand moving to stroke your arm gently.

"Why are you here?" You asked again, your voice trembling with hope and fear at the same time.

"Because of the last event at the LUX," he said, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "I saw you there, and thinking back, it made me realize how much I had lost. I saw the pain in your eyes that night—the way you tried to hide from me and from everyone in shame. And I knew I had to do something. It made me think..."

You struggled to understand his words; your heart was torn between the past hurt and the present yearning. "But you didn't do anything, Lucifer."

He sighed deeply. "Listen... That night? Everything was perfect from the outside, but there was no soul, no fire. It was as if the whole night was fake, and I had missed the chance to actually get to know you and understand you."

Silence fell between you, now only filled by your little and almost quiet sobs.

"You understand me truly," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "No one else ever really has. You saw right through my mask and understood the devil behind the charm. So, let me at least ask you: How did you do it?"

You eyed him as you were looking at the man with a face pitied through all times, hiding behind masks and illusions. "I spent time with you, trying to see beyond your devilish façade. I saw the darkness you hide, and not only the anger, but more the pain you carry within."

He reached out to take your hand, his touch gentle yet insistent. “I have spent so many nights regretting my decisions, wishing I had taken the chance when I had it. But now... now I want to make something right."

He had taken your hand and pressed a soft kiss against your skin. "I want to show you how much you mean to me and how much I have come to desire you."

"What do you want from me, Lucifer?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. "I want you to see yourself the way that I see you."

At that, he pulled you closer, and his lips brushed against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. You felt the heat of his mouth and the tenderness of his touch as he pulled you near, to which you answered with your own lips parting so that his tongue could press against yours.

"You were so beautiful that night," he murmured against your lips once he pulled away a little bit.

You smiled softly, a smile that was half-joyful and half-sad. "No, please don't say that. I... I don't know about that, really."

"No. It was me. I didn’t know," he admitted, his fingers gently stroking your cheek. "But I do now. I want to show you that you are beautiful and that you are worth loving."

His hands moved to your waist, pushing you inside your home, and he soon made you sit down gently on the couch in your living room, his fingers grabbing the edges of your clothing and slowly removing them with care.

When you were finally naked before him, he took a moment to appreciate the sight of your body. "You are perfect," he whispered. "More than I'd ever deserve."

He got down, his lips trailing kisses along your neck, your shoulders, and your breasts. His touch was light but filled with a certain hunger that made you shiver.

"I want to show you how much I need you," he whispered against your skin, his voice a low growl.

Without breaking eye contact, he pushed you back onto the couch and quickly moved between your legs, his eyes wandering over your body, before he leaned in and began to tease you. His tongue licked your clit, and his fingers gently explored your pussy soon after. And he took his time, watching every reaction and every moan that escaped your mouth.

"Are you feeling okay?" He whispered. "Tell me if there’s anything you need. I want this to be perfect for you."

You swallowed hard, and the lump in your throat was almost too big to ignore. "I think... I think I just need you to be here," you whispered back. "To hold me, to show me that I’m not just a burden, that I’m worth something."

He nodded slowly with a small, but somewhat sad, smile. "Darling, I’m here because I want to be here. I want to be the one to show you how much you mean to me and how much you are worth."

His fingers followed the curves of your waist, the curves of your hips, and the softness of your thighs.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Every inch of you is perfect, just the way you are."

You shivered at his words, him being so close and sending a thrill through you. "Do you actually really mean that?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"I do," he said, pulling you closer to him. "You are everything I’ve ever wanted. I see you, not just your body but your heart and soul."

He kissed you again, and his hand cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall from your eyes.

"I’ve missed you so much," he whispered against your lips. "I’ve missed you more than anything."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. "I’ve missed you too," you admitted, your voice sounding muffled against his skin. "I’ve felt so lost without you."

Lucifer began to kiss you again, his lips now going down your neck, across your collarbone, and to your breasts.

"You’re so lovely," he murmured between kisses. "Every part of you is perfect. I want to worship you."

He continued his slow exploration of your body, his hands moving to your stomach, your hips, and your thighs, before he gently moved between your legs again, his hands parting your legs again.

"I can’t get enough of you." He leaned in, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, before he soon enough pushed two fingers inside of you. "You feel so good."

You sighed in pleasure, your body moving in rhythm with his. "You make me feel so beautiful right now," you moaned. "I never knew I could feel like this."

His eyes softened, and he leaned in to kiss you gently on the lips. "I’m glad," he said, his lips brushing against yours. "You deserve to feel loved."

As the time went on, your own movements became slightly more urgent, your body tensing up. Lucifer saw that you were getting close, but he held back from fingering you faster, making sure that your own pace was his main focus.

"Are you close?" he asked softly.

"Yes," you whispered back, your body trembling slightly. "I’m so close."

"Let go," he urged you gently. "Let yourself feel it."

And you did, allowing your orgasm to happen as you clung to him, your body clenching around his fingers that were still deep inside of you while his other hand held you close.

"Just like that," he murmured. "Let it all out."

You gasped, your body arching against him as the feeling overtook you, but as soon as your orgasm slowly ended, you found yourself wrapped in Lucifer’s arms, your body resting against his and out of breath.

"That... That felt incredible," you whispered, your hands stroking his back. "Thank you for making me feel this way."

Lucifer smiled down at you. "Let me take care of you some more then."

He carefully got up from the couch after he pushed himself away from you. "Come with me," he said, extending his hand to you.

You took his hand, allowing him to guide you to the bathroom.

"How about you enjoy a bath?" Lucifer asked.

You nodded, and soon enough, he helped you into a hot bath, the warm water relaxing your body.

"I want you to relax," he said, his voice gentle as he ran his fingers through your hair before he sat on the edge of the tub, his hands gently massaging your shoulders. "You deserve to feel this way," he said. "You’ve been through so much, and you need to know that you’re loved."

His hands moved carefully, not wanting to hurt you, kneading away the knots and tension in your muscles, and his fingers were applying just the right amount of pressure to make you feel calmer and cared for.

"You’re so strong," he murmured. "I know you’ve had to deal with a lot, but you’ve come through it all with such grace, you know?"

You sighed, your eyes opening up to meet his gaze as you looked over your shoulder at him. "It hasn’t always been easy," you admitted. "But having you here by my side again makes everything better right now."

Lucifer smiled, reached for a washcloth, and gently began to wash your body, making sure every touch was soft and comfortable on your skin. "I want you to know that every part and every inch of your body is perfect to me."

Once he had finished washing you, he took a dry towel and carefully patted your skin dry after guiding you out of the bathtub. He took your hand and guided you back to your couch in the living room.

"Let me quickly get something from your kitchen. I’ll be right back," he said, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before leaving the room.

He returned a few minutes later with a tray of treats: fresh fruit, chocolate, and a cup of warm tea, setting it down beside you on the coffee table.

"I thought you might enjoy a little snack, so I robbed your fridge," he said with a laugh. "And don't you dare to refuse the chocolate."

As you reached for a piece of chocolate, you couldn't help but listen to the thoughts that were coming back to your mind.

"I shouldn't be eating this," you mumbled, staring at the chocolate in your hand. "It's no wonder I look the way I do. Disgusting."

Lucifer's eyes suddenly snapped to yours, showing a hint of anger. "Don't say that."

But you ignored him, unable to stop. "Look at me, Lucifer. I'm not like those perfect women you see every day. I'm... I'm fat. Ugly. Who would even want this?" You gestured at your body with disgust.

His jaw tightened, and he sat down on the couch as well. "Stop it."

But you couldn't simply stop. All the self-hatred you had kept hidden away came out. "No! I hate my body! I hate the way my stomach looks when I sit down. I hate my thighs, my arms, and my face. I hate the way clothes fit me or don't fit me. I'll never be good enough, whether I lose weight or not. I'll always be the fat girl that people look at with pity or disgust. The doctors? They tell me I'm all healthy, sure, but others? They don't! They judge me beforehand, and you know what? They're right!"

Lucifer's expression darkened, and he gripped your shoulders tightly to make you look at him. "Listen. You are not disgusting. You are not ugly. And you are not unworthy of love."

You let out a bitter laugh, and the tears are now rolling down and over your face. "And how can I see anything good when all I see is failure? Imperfection? Worthlessness?"

Lucifer's grip tightened even more, just slightly, his eyes burning. "You are human. You have imperfections, but those are what make you human, what make you... you! And I love you for all of it. Every single inch of your body."

"Stop it! You don't love it! I hate my stomach. I hate how it folds and feels. I hate how it looks when I sit down and how it spills over my jeans. I hate my thighs—how they touch and rub together, how they look when I walk. I hate my arms—how flabby and big they are; how I can't wear sleeveless tops without feeling like everyone is staring at them, laughing their asses off!"

You inhaled and exhaled deeply, but the words kept coming. "I hate my face—how round it is, how I have this damn double chin that never goes away no matter how much weight I lose! I hate my stretch marks, my cellulite, and all these fucking things that remind me every single day that I'm not good enough! I hate that when I look in the mirror, all I see is someone who doesn't deserve to be loved! Someone who's only ever been judged and hated because of how they look! And I deserve it!"

Lucifer's eyes narrowed, but he didn't interrupt you yet. He let you get everything out, his hands still holding you by your shoulders.

"And you know what else?" You continued, your voice rising. "I hate that I'm constantly comparing myself to others. I hate that I'm always thinking about my weight, about calories, and about how many I'm actually eating, even though I know that a piece of chocolate won't do me any damn harm! I hate that I can't just enjoy any kind of food without feeling guilty about it! I hate that no matter how hard I try, I always end up back here, hating myself!"

Tears streamed down your face now, and your voice broke. "I hate that I'm trapped in this body. I hate that I can't escape it, that I can't just rip it off and be someone else. I hate that every time I look at myself, I see failure. A worthless fucking loser. Someone who's not worthy of love, happiness, or anything that's good. I hate that I'm always going to be the fat pig. The pig everyone looks at with hate and disgust. Do you know what it’s like to hate every inch of your own body? Of yourself?" You continued while you still held the piece of chocolate in your hand that was slowly melting already. "To look in the mirror and despise the reflection that's staring back at you? You know... worthlessness? It’s not just a feeling; it’s a daily reality to me."

"Stop," Lucifer commanded, but you were too far gone to even listen to him anymore.

"No, you need to understand, Lucifer! I’ve spent my whole life being told I’m not good enough because of how I look! I’m too fat, too ugly, and too much of everything that no one likes! And I can’t escape it."

Lucifer finally let go of your shoulders and clenched his fists, his frustration now boiling over and his true self showing through.

"Enough!" he yelled, the living room seeming to darken due to his anger. "Do you think you’re the only one who knows what self-hatred feels like? Do you think I’ve never looked in the mirror and despised the creature that's staring back at me? The Devil, condemned to eternal damnation, hated by everyone, including myself!"

His sudden angry outburst shocked you into silence, your sobs stopping slowly as you looked at him a bit in fear. And you knew that you truly looked at the Devil for the first time at that moment.

"For millennia, I’ve been the symbol of sin, the embodiment of everything vile! I’ve carried the weight of my Father’s rejection and of my own choices, and it’s left scars deeper than Hell itself!"

He roughly cupped your face. "You need to understand. You’re not alone in this. Your pain, your self-hatred—I get it! I understand it! I’ve lived it, and I still do. And it’s why I can tell you with absolute certainty that you’re worth so much more than you believe!"

You shook your head, still feeling trapped in your despair. "How can you even say that?"

"Because I see you," he whispered, finally calming down again. "And I feel you."

He kissed your forehead, holding you closer now.

"And you know," Lucifer said, "sometimes it takes the Devil to understand what it means to struggle with one’s own nature. Sometimes, it’s the fallen who see the truth of what it means to rise again."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

FLIGHT OF THE WARBLER (XIII)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XIV ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.0K

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, angst, mentions of guns & weapons, gore mentions, talks about shootings, tension, suggestive actions, sickness, vomit, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

In the last week that you had him, Kyle Garrick had proved to be something that couldn’t be attributed to the memories you held of that day. This realization had been brewing for a long time—ever since he’d followed you in that car as you defiantly shoved your way over the landscape of this very base. It wasn’t something you’d call conventional; it wasn’t, and in the end, you couldn’t be. 

That isn’t to say you’d forget. 

Your father was a large part of your life, and even now, you have trouble separating your perception of him from what you’ve learned and accepted. You know they’re the same person—you know—but the mind plays tricks on the body, and sometimes when you wake up in the middle of the night, you like to go along with the trick that he’d be down in his office, working on all those inventory logs. You know he’s not.

The only thing that really helped the ache was the very man who’d been in the room that day. 

“You’re going to run me into a wall,” you comment dryly as the wheelchair rolls along the tiled floors. 

“I am not,” Kyle says, a smirk evident in his tone. “You just like complaining, Love.”

Your eyes turn in your head and you look over your shoulder as military personnel walk past, sending glances at the SAS Sergeant and the woman he pushes safely under him. You wear more comfortable clothes today—a borrowed T-shirt and cargo pants.

“Where are you taking me, anyways?” The pain in your wound had only increased on the second day of consciousness came along; all of that skin piecing itself together one cell at a time. The meds had helped somewhat, but the injury itself produced a pulse of heat and tightness. 

Brown eyes glance down, brow quirking. “Not fond of surprises, then?”

“Not when they’re from you,” you grumble under your breath sarcastically, turning back around. 

Kyle’s smooth laugh makes your face gain a sheen of warmth, and you try to push back against the onslaught of hands that suddenly ghost your skin. You shift in the wheelchair and silently frown. 

“I should be offended,” the man begins, taking a slow turn left, “but I’ve found I’m getting used to your jabs.” His comment goes in one ear and slides out the other, passing through the eye of your confused thoughts. “In fact, I find them enjoyable.” 

You huff, bringing yourself back to reality as your lips quirk. 

“Yeah, okay—” Your body bends forward with a ragged cough, hand snapping up to cover your mouth as your spine curves. 

Kyle stops the wheelchair, looking in surprise before his arm comes to sit on the back of your shoulder blade, one foot moving him closer. Concern immediately grows in his chest.

“Spitfire?” You wave your free hand, continuing on for a few more seconds before your aching lungs take a deep inhale. Clearing your throat, you blink a few times to push away the blurriness of your vision and move back. 

“I’m good,” your lips mutter. You clear your throat again. “Sorry.”

Kyle blinks. 

“No need to apologize.” He glances you over softly as his hand leaves you. “Feeling alright, then?” 

You nod after a moment, the man only hesitates a second before he grips the handles behind you and begins pushing again. A small silence falls between you two, and you brush a hand over your eyes as you feel those brown eyes staring into the back of your head. 

“...I ever tell you about my time with RTI testing?” The comment makes you pause, brows pulling in as you look over your shoulder again. 

“What’s that?” He smiles, nodding at you as he carts you around.

“Resistance To Interrogation.” Your interest gets jump-started, and you continue to watch him as Kyle’s eyes filter back and forth from the hallway to you. The surroundings swirl together as your focus is grabbed. 

“No, you haven’t.” Gaz hums, shrugging. 

“Want to?” 

“Well, you already started talking about it,” you slide him a sly look. 

He chuckles, tilting his head. “Got me there.” The Brit gathers his thoughts in front of you, eyebrows quirking for a moment. He moves his eyes back down to your own, and they lock for a minute—something flashes over his expression, but it’s lost before you can understand it.

“We were a group of ten,” he begins, “my class and I, yeah? All proper blokes.” The wheelchair squeaks slightly as it moves, but it barely annoys you. Kyle’s stories take precedence. “They had us separated—different rooms all over a test sight.”

“Let me guess,” you say, “it was horrible?”

“Bloody horrendous.” You both share amused looks. “You’d think they left that place abandoned for a decade, Spitfire,” Kyle speaks lower as if in secret. “Swear it was haunted.”

“As if,” you laugh, shaking your head and ignoring the muttered words from passing soldiers. 

“I’m not joking,” Gaz says, smiling easily. “No, they made it that way—simulate an actual scenario.” He smirks, teasing. “As I was saying,” you pass door after door, and you’re none the wiser as to where he’s taking you as the minutes grow longer. “Interrogation. So, they had me in a room; tiny one. All of a sudden as I’m working on the bindings, big fellow comes through the door…”

You know what he’s trying to do. 

Trying to make you laugh—smile. He wants you to forget about everything, even if for a little bit. There was no real destination he was taking you to; you’d passed this same door number two times now. He was just…talking to you. Because he wanted to.

You’d never felt as thankful to have someone to do that with than now. 

The story ends as you expected it would, a full success on the Sergeant's part and a final comment of, “You wanna know what I learned? No one can break me, but me.” More and more tales go past as you joke and tease, growing more comfortable as every one waxes and wanes. You even shared some of your own. 

“You wrecked it?” Kyle blinks in shock, laughing in disbelief. 

“I wrecked it,” you reiterate. “But it wasn’t my fault! The dude pulled out in front of me.” Talking about how you had been driving your friend's car near the middle of high school—having gotten into a minor car crash while you never even had your permit. 

“Bloody hell, what did you do?”

“Switched seats with my friend.” You’re excited. You find you don’t mind the feeling. Everything about videos and stolen goods is lost to the two of you—here, now, the only thing that was appeasing was the sound of one another’s voices. A sway and dip of syllables and accents. A push and pull that now felt more like a tug at a sleeve; gentle hands slipping over flesh. 

More than once your body had wished for the man to touch you. More than once you had to stop yourself from getting sidetracked by the smooth roll of his chuckle. 

More than once, Kyle had to do the same. 

“That worked?” The Sergeant breathes, eyes darting away from yours softly before slinking back like a horse to water. His face was hot, and he’d lost track of the time—even his feet were moving on autopilot.

“You’d be surprised,” you stifle a fond chuff on your lips. “You want to hear the one where I snuck onto a train heading into Michigan?”

He looks at you and you can’t help but feel your face heat as you gaze over your shoulder. 

“You’re trouble, you are.” The comment leaves you smiling widely. 

“Did you expect anything different? My father got a rise out of me,” you laugh. “All he’d do was laugh and ask how my day went while my mother fumed from the foyer.” 

“My mum would have a field day,” Kyle adds. “You make it that far?”

“No,” you shake your head a few times, speaking through crinkled lids. “No, I felt bad halfway through the ride and got off at the next station—found the train back and that was that.”  

The Sergeant’s amusement is obvious. You don’t even realize it’s the first time you’ve mentioned your family without feeling that wash of sadness afterward. 

A calm pause moves along the space, and soon after the man gives you a soft question.

“Leg still good?” Brown eyes look you up and down. “I can stop if you want.” 

Blinking, you’d almost forgotten the bullet wound in your thigh, glancing down at it. Small aches travel up your spine when the limb shakes with the pace of the chair. 

You think about lying. 

Talk to me.

But what could one truth hurt?

“Maybe for just a few minutes.” You don’t turn to see the slow smile that peels Kyle’s lips, but as if a sixth sense, you can feel it. 

“Want to go back to your room?”

“No,” you shake your head in thought. A line forms on your head as you shift to ask him. “Any nice places around here?”

You were starting to notice things you hadn’t before—or maybe you had seen them, and just hadn’t been paying attention. Kyle’s smile moved the scars on his cheek, pushing them tight, and when he looked at you, he gave you all of his attention. When he stopped and started walking, it was always with his right foot. At every noise, even if he wasn’t paying it any attention, his head would slightly tilt in that direction.

Everything has become a metaphor, and all you can do is experience it. 

“Not many,” the man admits, brows furrowing as he stares off. A moment later he looks back down with a dog-like angle to his head. “Library?” 

Your soft smile gives him all the answers he needs.

—

This strange comfort went on for the days remaining, yourself being none the wiser while the guilt on the soldier’s side persisted. How could he tell you? There wasn’t a thought in his mind that he wouldn’t tell you what was going on—that wasn’t who he was. He would never up and disappear without a goodbye, but even thinking about it rubbed him the wrong way. 

Who was to say you would take to the next person who gets put in charge of you? It had taken months for Kyle—whoever else would be flayed on a stake at the first appearance of your wrath. For everyone's sake, the Sergeant hopes it will at least be Alex. 

There might be some hope for him, at least.

But the overarching truth was that he didn’t want to leave you here. He didn’t want to go thousands of miles away and join the others…even if he knew he had to. 

His duty, or his soul. He can’t do one without hurting the other. And he knows he has no choice but to join back with One-Four-One. 

On the third day, you got sick. 

Your body lay heaped over the toilet, a trail of vomit and blood leading into the bathroom that a nurse is hurriedly cleaning with a mop and spraying down with disinfectant. The smell of it only makes you retch more.

“Breathe,” Gaz utters beside you, hand rubbing circles on your back. 

Your head spins; throat on fire. Everything you’d eaten today comes up until there’s only acid and regrets. 

“Ow,” you say through saliva, eyes stinging. Your spine shakes and you dry heave, choking on air. 

Kyle’s lips thin tightly to his face, glancing out of the bathroom door as a patient guard would. His fingers at your back give a little more pressure—the tips digging to give you something to focus on. 

The nurse leaves on fast feet. 

“How are we feeling, then?” You’re asked as your eyes clench tight, your abdomen tense and the muscles shaky like a series of rivers under the skin. “Take your time, Love.”

“Like shit, Garrick,” Your head turns with a weak glare, bags formed under your eyes from a restless sleep last night. No matter how hard you tried to get comfortable, pain had been stirring in your chest—different from the one in your thigh and the ache of the now-healed mark on your palm. It was like a dull droning; a precursor. 

Coughing, you groan and dip your head away, a hand coming up and slapping the handle to make the bile swirl and disappear down the pipes. Kyle sighs under his breath, watching. 

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” You resist the inner voice wanting to tell him to keep rubbing your back, only commenting on brushing your teeth beforehand, which you do with the ever-present shadow behind you in case you might fall over. 

Back in the sheets, Gaz grabs another blanket from the other side of the room and brings it over—spreading it over your body until a toasty feeling overtakes the headache that emanates from behind your eyes. 

“M’gonna lose my mind,” your words slur. “This is worse than getting shot.”

“It is not,” Kyle mutters, a small smile on his face. “You just got a stomach bug. Could be from the meds—wouldn’t be the first I've heard of it.” 

He packs the blanket firmer around you and huffs as he moves into his chair, leaning back. Not once do his eyes leave you as your body shifts and curls—moving to face him. 

“This where you read me a bedtime story?”

Kyle smirks, looking away. 

“A long time ago, in a—”

“Shut up.” He laughs and moves a hand out as you restrain a wide smile, one you had to fight hard to keep hidden as your mouth dips under the blanket. 

Kyle chuckles before shaking his head. “But, seriously, do you remember what you ate today?”

“Nothing besides what was handed to me,” you sigh, moving a hand to your head to feel your skin. “A few more shitty coffees.”

“Let me.” Gaz moves and gently pushes your own aside before his limb flattens over your forehead. Your eyelids momentarily move down at the action, but you allow it to continue. At the gentle way he slips his skin over yours, you nearly purr. 

“Hm,” the man leaves and your eyes follow. “Bit hot.” Kyle’s eyes study you. “Your wound isn’t infected, I know that. Just proper bad timing on your part, Spitfire.”

You rub at your eyes. The comment slips out before you can care to stop it.

“Do you think you can stay here tonight?” Brown orbs widen, and the whites, for a sliver of a second, become more visible. 

Your face blazes, embarrassment shifting the lines of your face—expression twisting back up at the lapse in speech that suffocates like a rope. 

“I don’t mean it like…” Your tongue bites at itself, throat clearing as your eyes dart away from blank brown bulbs. “Just, I know my mother comes to visit before I fall asleep, but I don’t want to risk…” 

Nerves make your jaw slam shut like a lock to a hatch. “Forget it—”

“I’ll stay.” 

Eyes lock. Kyle blinked as if he wasn’t conscious enough to know he answered until it was already said. The Sergeant’s hands go up to fix his cap, licking his lips and taping his foot to the floor. He reiterates after a shocked moment. 

“I’ll stay, Love.” After all, this was the only form he’d be able to. “It’s not a problem.”

Your heart constricts, fingers twitching for your coin that’s still back at the mansion. The words leave your tone breathless. “Okay.” 

So that’s how the Sergeant, who prided himself on his high tolerance and tactical awareness, found himself utterly void of all sense. He sat there, idly on his phone and sending glances as the minutes passed—growing longer. The single lamp is the only light to stay on, sitting on the far table with its warm glow. 

When you do fall asleep, mind and body tired, Kyle’s hand reaches over and pulls the blanket farther over you, sighing softly. It’s only after he leans back that he speaks, almost to himself.

“I’ll be here,” he whispers, guilt filling up his eyes like a glass of water. “But I can’t be forever.”

A creak at the door makes his spine straighten, head whipping over and hand unconsciously jerking to where a sidearm would be strapped to his thigh. 

But it’s only your mother. 

“It’s Kyle,” she whispers, glancing at your sleeping body with a glass of water in her hands, “right?” 

“Ah,” the man speaks low, sending a look your way before standing. “Yes, Ma’am. Kyle Garrick.”

“Sorry.” Coming into the room, the glass is set on the bedside table, liquid sloshing over the brim. “I’m horrible with names, that was always my husband’s specialty.” Kyle shares a polite smile as she puts a hand on his arm. “I always had to write them down to keep it all straight—I’m more organized than a filing cabinet.”

“Aren’t you a nurse, Ma’am?” He chuckles, one eye watching you breathe softly; that gentle rise and fall of your chest. 

You looked calm like this. 

Beautiful, even.

Kyle’s thoughts make him blink quickly, fighting to put his full attention on your mother as she speaks to him. 

“What do you think the patient sheets are for?” They share a good few chuffs at that, the Sergeant’s hands going to cross his chest. 

“You know, young man,” your mother utters, looking at you as something swirls behind her eyes. “You’ve really done a fantastic job with her. Truly. Her father…well…” she trails and Gaz’s chest has a concrete block on it.

He knew that the older woman didn’t know the full story, or else she wouldn’t be telling him this. 

“...he would be thankful, I know he would. He loved that girl more than anyone in the world.” A tiny sigh. “She just…fell apart when he passed, you understand.” A wave of a hand moves in the tight vision of those brown eyes. “We don’t speak about it.” 

Maybe you should have. A cut of resentment makes itself known. How much you’d suffered. How much the solitude had left you a shell of someone who was just coming out again—a clock needing a new battery. 

“Spitfire’s strong,” Kyle says, shifting his feet. His face is firm. “Far stronger than most.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” is the response. “Everything that’s been attempted, and here she is.” A little look is sent his way, paired with an inquisitive nod. “Do you care about her, or only the job?”

“Her,” the answer is immediate. “Bloody job isn’t even half of it, Ma’am, you have my word on that.” 

Those eyes watch him for a moment, digging in a way far sharper than Kyle could have anticipated. But woe to the man who gets in between a mother and her daughter. 

“Good.” Your mother moves, going to kiss you on the head and slip past Kyle. “Make sure she drinks her water when she wakes up,” the man watches as she exits the doorway. Her hand sits on the frame as the last bit of advice fades into the hallway before the door closes with a soft click. “She needs to keep hydrated.”

The guard resumes his midnight shift, but he was correct with his previous assessment. 

You did look beautiful, and perhaps he’d just now begun to see it. 

—

Alex wasn’t bad, truthfully. He had that same charm to him that Gaz possessed like a proud poster boy—the main model with the blond Agent soon after on the first page, blue eyes over the top of the text. He didn’t seem to take your prior muteness to him to heart, in fact, when you apologized for it out of your own free will, he’d only smiled and tilted his head in your direction softly. 

“No need to apologize, Ma’am. I’ve had worse welcomes, trust me. A cold shoulder is the least of my worries.” 

You found yourself actually liking the man, as strange as that sounded in the recesses of your skull. But there are worse things than talking to someone who actually answers back. 

“China?” He stares at you from the side of his eye, Kyle sighing from across the space of the rec room. You sit back on the couch, a forgotten book in hand. “You sure?” 

“Chiyou is a Chinese deity—a company coming out of there with the same name would make the most logical sense, don’t you think?” You shrug. “It’s also a country that’s in the middle of Laos and Russia besides Mongolia; hate to break it to you, but I don’t think Mongolia has a port to send goods from. Executions,” you tilt your head, “sure. Ships? No.” 

“Can we be sure that those are the same thing?” Kyle speaks up from this dark conversation. “Drugs and weapons are two linked businesses, but getting directly involved in hits isn’t usually how those types of things go.”

“I’d have to agree,” Alex sighs. Your mother was out helping in the medical ward due to her knowledge of medicine—there was no need for Keller to follow her around with so many reliable eyes on her. For the moment, he’d been relieved to do as he wished. “Not exactly how cells operate unless something happened to make ‘em change their main sources of income. But it isn’t unheard of. So the laptop was entirely those videos?” Blue eyes move back and forth, the Agent’s arms crossed as he reclines into his seat next to the card table. “Nothing else?”

“Didn’t have time to look.” Gaz grunts. “Someone took it out from right under our noses.” 

An eerie silence settles, and you try not to think too hard about it. 

“The best bet for answers is the guy I shot,” you speak after a moment. Two pairs of eyes with different hues share a fast look as you itch at the back of your neck. “He knew Samson, that has to count.” Your voice slips to a mutter. “He knows something we don’t.”

“You feeling any better today, Love?” Gaz changes the subject. You look up, brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Not really, why?” You can’t stand up fast unless you want to black out, and this morning it hadn’t taken long for you to grow sick after trying to take down food your mother brought you. The nurses were at a loss with what to do, seeing as besides a fever, there wasn’t anything wrong with you. 

It was only after your own heated insistence that Kyle had helped you into the wheelchair that sits next to the couch currently, concerned that if you walked, you would fall unconscious. 

Brown eyes watch you now, face stiff. “Just wondering.” 

You blink at him, trying to speak through your eyes. The man shrugs, tilting his head away. 

Alex looks between the two of you, mustache twitching as he eases out casually in reference to your mother, “She’ll be getting off soon. I’ll leave you both here to think over the details.”

“Right,” Kyle utters, prying his eyes away from you. “Be seeing you, Alex.”

“Call me if you need me,” the Agent comments, patting your shoulder as he slips past, giving over a kind smile. “Get better soon, Doll.” 

You hum as he leaves, closing the door behind him. 

Lips start moving at the same time.

“I need to go back home—”

“I’m getting sent back to One-Four-One—”

Wide eyes meet and lock with quick breaths. 

“What?” Your face twists in, again your voice building over Kyle’s instant refusal of your proposal.

“Not a chance.” 

“Whoah, whoah, back the hell up.” You raise your hands, splaying them out—the man shakes his head, a hand coming to itch at his facial scar. “You’re leaving?”

“I’m not letting you go back to the mansion.”

“Kyle!” You bark so loudly that your eyes gain dancing black dots. “What the fuck?” 

“It wasn’t my plan,” he breathes, avoiding your gaze. “I wasn’t thinking clearly when I sent in the reassignment form—Laswell had me placed back with them faster than I could remember to take it back.”

Your face is devoid of blood, your jaw loose, and your gut sinking inside your abdomen like a fishing line had it connected to your ankle. More than once your mouth opened and closed in shock—in betrayal. 

Leaving? He was leaving you here?

“I don’t…” Your words trail off, throat closing. A pain sparks in your heart.

Kyle’s face screws up, jaw clenching as he stands up, walking over. “Believe me, Spitfire, when I say I had every intention of taking it back before this blew up.”

Hands capture the sides of your arms, grabbing at them as he kneels down to the floor in front of where you sit.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle says slowly and sincerely—staring deeply into your eyes as you struggle to keep the contact. “I’ve been beating myself up over it for days now. I…” he pauses. “I was waiting for a good time to tell you, but it just came out. Please, understand.” 

Your eyes slip away, lips thin and skin pulled. 

Kyle’s muscles are wound, nervous about what this could do and how you would take it. In reality, this last week might be the last chance he’ll get to try and fix what he’s done. 

“Spitfire,” he implores gently, hands squeezing you. “Say something. Anything.” 

Your eyes flicker back, face lost. How fast you could go from hating this man to relying on him. “Are…you coming back?”

Kyle’s breath is a shaky exhale. “I…”

He doesn’t know. He can’t answer that.

“When do you leave?” You grow more upset at his silence. Panicked even. How dare he come here and do this to you after all of it? Your heart is pounding, veins bulging with blood that rampages with fast aggression. 

“Soon.” The Sergeant clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I know whatever I say won’t make it any better.” He repeats his apology. “It’s my own fault, and I can’t take it back.”

You don’t know what overtakes you, but before you can stop your limbs, you’ve already snapped your arms around his neck, dragging him into your body. The man, while shocked, goes willingly—returning the embrace tightly. 

His hands curl, cruel warmth overtaking you as Gaz sets his head on your shoulder and lets your head burrow into his neck. A weak exhale leaves your sputtering lungs, and the marks on your palm burn like the space behind your eyes. 

Leaving? No, he can’t leave you here.

Hurt melts with sickness, encased in a film of fear. Fear. He can’t do this. No, not now. Not now. 

Not now that you care about him. 

“I hate you,” you force out, voice warbling. Maybe you were always just a fool. “I hate you, Kyle Garrick.”

“I know,” he breathes, not letting you go—pulling you tighter to his chest as your air caresses his neck like a sea storm; clouds of ice and a sky of fire, the boat battered by ardent winds. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

Words only mean so much, but they help when they’re uttered into the skin of your temple—the British accent rolling off his tongue. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He holds you for a long while, and by the end of it, you say in a hard tone, “I’m going home and grabbing what I need.” 

The man lets his eyelids flutter closed. 

“Okay.”

So that was how on the last day he was here, Kyle brought you breakfast, and soon after you’d finished the plate, not expelling it all to your own surprise, you were both off with an escort squad headed by the Sergeant. You were able to rely on a cane for the time being, feeling better even if the news had your mind in a worse way than it had been previously. 

Your mother had been against it—vehemently. 

“There’s no reason for you to go back,” she had said. “You’re going to get yourself hurt!” 

But it was apparent as the car moved through the blackened gates, which had been busted off their hinges, that the house had been utterly abandoned. Kyle had explained that the group from the town—Firebird, as you recall—had been watching over it and seen no one enter or exit. 

“Are you sure?” The Sergeant was in full gear, sitting in the back with you as the car ambled along up the driveway. 

You don’t look at him. “I’ll be quick.” 

Kyle shifts, the assault rifle over his chest and hat on his head. His eyes were hidden by sunglasses even if you can still feel them on you as the time lengthens. The wheels pull to a stop, and the driver comments that they’re parked and all ready to exit. 

“Sweep the perimeter,” Garrick explains, clicking into his comm line. A volley of copies wafts out like a flock of birds on the wind, and out of the window, you watch the overgrown hedges sway with their dying leaves. Autumn was here, now, and you could feel it in your bones. 

“I can go in and grab what you need—”

“Kyle,” you sigh, shifting to gaze into the reflection of your own visage in his glasses. He frowns delicately. “Please.”

“Just concerned, Love.” He explains.

“I know you are,” you can’t help a flicker of a smile, skin crinkling. “Worse than my mother.” 

“Well,” he smirks, “now that’s an achievement. I get a medal for that?”

“And what medal would you want?” You play along, quirking a brow. It was easy to forget he was leaving when he talked so casually to you. “Unfortunately, I don’t have one that says ‘idiot’ on the plaque.” You liked how his lips moved when he spoke—his fingers twitching over the body of his gun like he was always so deep in thought to control them. His shifting feet. Kyle’s easy air. 

That stupid, bloody, hat. 

“Oh yeah? What else are you going to give me, then?” The Sergeant mirrors you with a raised brow, neck bending, and a wide upward motion to his lips. The tone is a flowing tease that leaves your body tingling, and your legs moving closer to one another.

At a shocked pause, a certain electricity enters the air. Kyle rubs at the back of his neck softly, and the sound of his skin is almost enough for you to shift closer. Blinking, you realize you’d been staring at his lips far too intensely—blind to the fact he’d been doing the same.

“The ability to keep your sanity,” you deadpan, rolling your shoulders as the ache in your wound is dull. “Don’t thank me.”

“Can’t complain about that one.” Kyle shifts his thighs on the seats as he mutters. Soon after the radio opens with a soldier giving the all-clear and you grab the cane from the floor with a huff as Gaz’s door opens and closes.

Hand moving to the handle after you’re situated, the barrier opens to the Sergeant on the other side, his vest strapped to his chest. Kyle smiles teasingly as he reaches out, fingers loose.

“Ma’am,” you roll your eyes but slip your limb into his, the gloves he wears rough against your flesh. 

Muttering as your feet carefully settle to the ground, you look up into his face sarcastically, “Such a gentleman.”

“Well, thank you,” he winks, stubble moving. But he slips back into a sheen of seriousness easily. “Slowly, now.”

You huff, already off to the door—also busted open with yellow tape around the front. The stitches in your thigh pull, but it isn’t something that will make you slow down. You’re here to grab what you need—your jacket, your coin. Answers. 

Shifting the tape away, you move into the foyer, soldiers milling around and talking to one another over the radio. Like ants, they shuffle, moving from one point to another in case of any attack from the phantoms in the air. 

It becomes harder to imagine a family living here. 

Eyes slip over the bloodstains, over the ruined hardwood, and the remains of family history. No amount of money could get the shattered remnants of a childhood back. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Gaz whispers to you, standing as a sentinel beside you as he takes his sunglasses off and hangs them off his collar. He can see how this might go. “There’s no shame in leaving, you know that?”

“It’s okay,” you blink away from the pool of crimson in the shape of a man. Brown eyes meet yours, concerned. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Kyle watches you walk away, his face loose and open before diligently following with a lick of his lips and a downward nod, ordering the two men in the foyer to watch the entrances. His face is hot.

When you’re upstairs, after many exasperated looks from the Sergeant, you wipe the sweat from your brow and move onward to your room. You wondered when you’d grown so used to gore and violence that now the sight of it meant nothing to you, sliding past the large splatters; the holes where Gaz had fired through the door. 

“Here,” you sigh, grabbing your canvas jacket from the bed where it had sat for days on end, balancing on one leg while you put the cane down and push your arms into the article. It doesn’t offer the same comfort it usually does, but it certainly helped. One hand takes back up your aid—the other slips into the pocket, finding that silver disc easily. 

The movement of a shadow makes you pause, looking over. 

Gaz is at your nightstand, and in his hand, he holds a picture. 

You’d forgotten about it, really. Stashed under the gun and hidden away—crumbled up so you wouldn’t have to see the faces printed out on it. You move to stand beside him and explain softly. 

“The day I was born. He had to rush to get to the hospital—he was so frazzled he nearly ran right past the delivery room.” Your dad was holding a small version of you, tears on his cheeks and his face in a wide smile. The hospital background is blurred around the two of you. “He always told that story on my birthday,” you finish, voice nothing but a mutter. 

The house suffocates everything.

Gaz had been watching you the entire time you’d been speaking, your arms brushing periodically.

The Sergeant offers the picture without a word, and you take it, fingers touching as you pause. There isn’t much that can be said about that. Skin to gloved skin, you hold the picture in between you, studying it as if you did, all of your questions would be answered. But the only answer that you know is that the pain of it will never fade—even if you can reduce it to an ache instead. Like the wound in your thigh, it’ll just scar over. 

“When I leave,” Gaz utters, hand moving to capture yours. “I’ll call. Everyday.”

“I doubt that,” your eyes tilt, faces close. “Everyone always says that.”

Firmly, Kyle squeezes your flesh, noses nearly touching.

“Not me,” the words are said so earnestly, there’s no room to deny them. 

You stare into his browns—the only eyes you’ll ever be able to look into fully and for so long, breath caught in your throat. It’s the way they shift; how they darken and lighten with every dip of his eyelids and shift of his dark lashes. He swallows, and you find yourself stuck on that image of his throat bobbing as if in slow motion. Your mouth goes dry as he speaks in a whisper that moves the air in front of your face. He’s closer now, hand holding yours on fire.

“Do you trust me, Spitfire?” 

It’s embarrassing how long it takes you to fully understand what he says, and only after your heavy lips move in the slightest show of speech that you’re stopped.

“We’ve got movement out front. Looks like reporters.”

The both of you jerk back, Kyle taking long steps away and panting as your eyes are wide with shock. Under the skin, twin suns with enough firepower to light galaxies ignite from his and yours’ features, sputtering meaningless words. 

Mouth opening and closing, the Sergeant nearly fractures his wrist bone as he wrenches his hand to his radio, pushing out a quick response of, “Be there soon.” 

He backs up another step as your mind whirls like a storm—good, bad, every thought in between. 

What had just happened? 

“S-,” he rubs a hard hand over his chin. “Stay here.”

And then he’s gone with a flash of gear. 

You don’t know how long you stared at that doorway, hand shaky and still outstretched. The picture in your hand had fallen to the ground moments before, twirling like a leaf. With a violent inhale, your other limb was clenched around the cane so tightly that the knuckles were clearly visible, blood pulsing with intent. 

Where you just about to…No, no that wasn’t what was happening. You shake your head, looking around to distract yourself. No. 

You pick up the picture with some difficulty and put it inside your pocket next to the coin. But it doesn’t stop the flight of your heart. 

Left on the coffee table was your phone, which you take and look at the countless missed calls and texts from Hector—you block his number and limp out of the room across the hall. It’s still damaged, the nightstand on its side and your personal laptop’s shattered screen on the floor. 

That makes you pause. 

Why would only one of the devices turn up missing if the other was still here? Even the man who had tried to steal it didn’t know the correct version. Your lips go thin, head moving around to study the space with a more brightly lit intensity. 

You zero in on the large wardrobe. 

Your blanket was still there, and if you can recall only snippets of what happened, there’s one that sticks out more than the other. You remember kicking the journal with your heel as you had pushed off the ground. Moving as fast as you’re able, you huff weakly as you near the large wooden structure, shifting the blanket aside. 

Nothing. 

“No,” you mutter to yourself, looking at where the wardrobe is held up by its four elegant legs. “Not nothing.” 

Moving one leg so that your knee hits the ground, you grunt and clench your jaw as your stitches pull tightly; letting the other limb follow. Your cane hits the ground with a clatter, but you care little. Going down on your hands and knees, stuck in cobwebs and sitting with some of its pages leaking out, your lock on the form of your father’s journal.

—

The drive back was silent. 

Kyle wouldn’t look at you, sunglasses back on and his fingers still over his service weapon. You didn’t comment, too occupied with the item you keep secret inside of your jacket, stuffed into the lining. 

You hadn’t told him that you’d found it, and to this moment, you still don’t know why you don’t. The thought was perhaps that, since he was leaving, it would be pointless, and on that front maybe you’d be right. This wasn’t his concern, but yours. 

But it was also because of that fact that you’d nearly kissed. 

Kissed. 

Your body is stiff in its seat. 

When you’d met back up with him only seconds after snatching the journal and cleaning off your knees, you’d been told about the reporters outside—journalists and news crews. It cut the visit short to the mansion, and with only a single glimpse of a black cat’s tail among the hedges of the front walkway, strangled amid the flash of cameras, you were back in the car.

There had been some talk about how they had known you were there, but none of it was anything sure.

And now you were trapped back here with him. Kyle. 

Kissed. 

The entire vehicle is suffocating in tension.

You don’t remember how long the ride is, how long it takes for the pounding in your skull to start when you can feel him shifting only a foot away. In your mind, you’re upset, but it’s not for the reason you should be. You can’t stop thinking about his hand on your thigh, pushing and pulling the skin—how he holds you so tightly and breathes into your ear. What was wrong with you? Out of everything he’s done? Him?

You’re not upset that he had tried to kiss you. You’re upset that he stopped.

Sitting in your seat, your gut swirls, an airiness to your brain. 

Without any concept of time beyond the treacherous thought of how his body would feel with its weight on top of yours, the base is already in sight and the car is parked with a silent squeal of the brakes. You snap out of it and ignore how the hair on your arms stands on end, and a low pulse emanates from deep inside of you. 

A tinge of sin to take down like bitter coffee. 

Someone opens your door, but it’s not Kyle. 

You lock eyes with Kate Laswell for three seconds before blinking away, but those three seconds are enough. Your oxygen gets choked up in your throat.

“Kate?” Gaz speaks over you, leaning forward in his seat to look around the barrier that is you. He tries not to linger on the fact that your scent is stuck inside of his nostrils, unable to get out the smell of your flesh. “Problem?”

“Not one that you can solve, Sergeant. You,” she nods her head your way as you go back to staring at her nose, frowning at her sudden arrival. “You’re going to come with me. I have a job for you.” 

“Excuse me?” You sound irritated, even to yourself. 

The woman’s response is quick and firm. “Do you want answers, or not?” That in and of itself renders you as silent as a bug. You didn’t want to admit how much Laswell intimidated you, even all that time back when you’d first officially met. You read her record—it wasn’t thin. Pages upon pages of achievements. “Good, follow me. Quickly.”

“Bit hard on the ‘quickly’ part of it,” you mutter, cane hitting the ground and feet following after. Kyle is swift with his exit on his own side, coming over and reaching out a hand to help. Inches above your skin, he halts with a twitch to his outstretched fingers. 

He takes a slow breath and lets his hand drop, eyes darting away. You don’t comment on it, and even the third member of this emotionally constipated club seems to pick up on something else going on—Laswell’s brow moving a millimeter upwards. 

“What’s this about, Ma’am?” Gaz’s voice is low, his hands up at the collar of his combat vest, trying to act casual. Being near you makes his head light all of a sudden, and it’s only his fault.

Maybe he really did need to leave. For both of you. Whatever had just happened was a massive step over boundaries. 

Kate waves a hand and you follow, eager to put distance between you and Kyle even if it pained you. He stays a good ways away, and the gap isn’t subtle. A pain in your heart joins the one in your thigh—the pressure behind your eyes. 

“Joey Lowe,” the name makes you blink.

“Who,” you ask dryly. 

Kate pushes open the door to the main building. “The man you shot two times. Not bad aim, by the way—internal bleeding and four broken ribs. The surgery took three hours to stop them from puncturing his organs.”

You make a face and Kyle’s confused expression turns to the woman in charge. “What’s he got to do with her? Thought you had him in interrogation.”

“We do,” Laswell is all business, sighing under her breath and guiding the both of you to who knows where. You try to share a glance with Kyle, but he only looks away. “He’s not speaking to us. I took the decision upon myself to find a pressure point.” A pause. 

Kate stops walking and you jerk back, cane slamming to the floor as she pivots and stares deeply into your eyes. You tense and glare into her nose. 

“You.” 

“Me?” You blink wildly. “I’m sorry, are we just forgetting that this dude shot me? You want me in a room with him?”

“Kate,” even Kyle has reservations about this, moving closer in and lowering his voice. “Are you sure this is the best way to go about this?”

“This has already been going on for too long,” the woman says, unbreaking in her conviction. “He won’t speak unless there’s something to push him and we can’t risk him in his current state.”

You don’t want to think about what that last comment implies, but you aren’t entirely opposed to this. Answers were answers, and if it meant this nightmare was over with sooner, you’d do it. Maybe you really were losing your rocker. 

Kyle’s jaw clenches, moving back and straightening his spine. This wasn’t your job, you shouldn’t have to even think about this. 

“Spitfire,” he tries to gain your attention as he sees you in thought, legs shifting him to you. “You don’t have to agree—”

“I’m in.” His heart skips a beat.

“This is bullshit,” Gaz grunts and your eyes widen as they slash over to look into his sunglasses. “You do not have to go through with this, you understand that, yeah? We can get answers another way that doesn't involve civilians.” The last is directed at Kate, who frowns and crosses her arms over her blouse. 

“Any other ways that you suggest we do that, Kyle?” A silence. “If I recall, you’re supposed to be getting ready for take-off. The C-17 is waiting to take you to Russia with supplies for your Task Force.” 

You try to stop the tight inhale, but it slips out like a fish to sea. A head fights itself to not gaze at you. Such dead air settles that you half expect the world to be frozen if not for the occasional soldier that moves past, giving glances over to the tension-ridden group. 

“Kyle?” You ask, voice small. 

He stays well away. “You don’t have to.”

A flare of that stubborn spite gradually fills you back up. The man makes you care about him—nearly kisses you, gives you all of these mixed signals…and then goes cold again? It was rude; cruel. It was…confusing. 

And the best thing you can do when life gets confusing is to cage yourself in. 

“I’m doing it,” you say, voice tiny but sure of itself. Neither of you breathes, and the man pleads with himself to try and fix this before it's too late. Tell you it was a mistake…but was it? Can he lie? 

“...You better get going.” Your mind is made. “You don’t want to miss your flight, Sergeant.” There were a million things that needed to be said—to be spoken about in the long nights and the gentle mornings. But in the minute where both of your eyes could be felt gracing one another’s, brown trapped behind the glare of his glasses and yours, hidden by your own pained will, there wasn’t a word that could be uttered. Not without making things far more harder than they already were. 

“Good luck,” you say, but the ink of the words bleeds.

It’s as if every grand step that this week has taken has been based and reduced down to zero. Kyle opens his mouth to respond, but you’ve already walked past with Laswell, leaving him behind as he stands in the hallway staring at nothing.

He doesn't remember a time when he’d clenched his hands so hard. He doesn't remember a time when he had to restrain his legs from chasing after someone. 

And he certainly doesn't remember a time when he could physically feel his heart break his mind. 

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[woahiwrite]

Hi 👋🙂

I saw that you're taking requests and that you write for Tomas. There just isn't enough of him on this site and I am down BAD for this Smokey Bear ❤️. Could you maybe write about him having a partner who doesn't know how to fight so he teaches her some basic moves? Could go a bit NSFW if you feel it, could be fem or GN reader. Obviously feel free to ignore too!

Tomas Teaching Reader How To Fight (18+)

Warnings: NSFW after a certain point! Minors leave or I'm calling Liu Kang to reset your timeline. The NSFW will be marked with -----. The HCs switch to more oneshot style writing once it reaches the NSFW section. Reader is loosely described as just being smaller than Tomas and is female!

Hello Anon! You're so right, Tomas needs more love. I will feed the Tomas tag as much as your heart desires.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

• Tomas definitely asked you if you knew how to fight

• He was all for protecting you, he loved the thought of it

• Though he wasn't naive enough to think he would always be there to do so

• One thing led to another, and you had set up your own training schedule

• It was flexible, working off of Tomas' own schedule, and depending on how much you were feeling it

• He wouldn't push you to pick up some rough and tumble training regiment, he wanted you to be comfortable

• But he also wanted you to be safe

• Tomas would start out very simple, punches and kicks, blocks and dodges

• You may have asked to learn how to use the karambit like he had, but he turned that offer down

▪︎ "Basics first, then, we can talk about you learning the karambit."

• You were excited to spend more time with Tomas either way, so you were pleased

• As agile and strong as he was, you could tell Tomas was slowing down a lot to help you understand

• Allowing you to see the form, to see how his body curves, and to replicate it yourself

• Ask questions, he will break it down as much as you need him to

• He's quite happy to, actually

• It's about two months of learning the basics at a consistent rate before you start to do anything together

• Of course, he would let you practice on him, but this was a little different

• From now on, you would add some grappling to your training

• What good was knowing the basics if the moment the opponent got you to the ground, you had no idea what to do?

• The first few lessons were simply you watching while Tomas broke it down with another ninja of the Lin Kuei

• Going from showing you what it would be like at more fast speeds, before slowing it down so you could actually see what the hell he was doing

• It excited you to think of getting to learn how to get out of tricky situations

• Also the thought of eventually learning how to flip Tomas was an entertaining one

------(NSFW content: dry humping, almost getting caught)-----

• Though you couldn't say you expected to notice how...different it was to actually be the one performing the different escape techniques

• Watching was one thing, but you wouldn't deny that you could barely focus when it was you participating

• Tomas was saying something

• Definitely important with how his hands were moving as he talked, probably running through the motions

• All you could focus on was the feeling of his thighs on either side of your waist

• The way he seemed so much bigger than he already was from this angle

▪︎ "Are you listening?"

   Bringing your gaze back up to Tomas', you felt your face grow hot at being caught. He seemed amused but also a little shy at your shameless staring, either way he didn't make any comments on it. "Yes, I'm listening." You stated, your hands resting on his thighs as you tried to focus back in on the lesson at hand. Though really, you just focused in on his face the moment he had finished explaining what you had to do to escape from him. The scar that ran over his left eye, the one that ran across his forehead, the most prominent beauty mark that resided just a bit above his lips. It almost felt like they were begging for your own lips to press against them. Which you had before, multiple times, in scenarios not too different from this.

  Slightly adjusting his sitting, Tomas brought one hand down to press against your neck, reaching down to his belt, he pulled out a karambit. "Don't worry, this one is dull." He stated, before positioning his hand as if ready to attack you with it. You swallowed thickly, tongue briefly darting out to wet your lips, and you didn't miss the way his eyes followed the motion. "Try to escape." The slight strain in Tomas' voice almost made you grin, though instead, you decided you should probably actually try your best. You'd been learning this, hands on, for a week, and you'd always fallen short. Needing him to go easy on you so you could successfully get him off.

  You didn't want that this time though. You wanted to show him how much you've trained on your own time. Planting your feet, the moment he began to flex his arm to bring it in for a slash, you drove your knee up into his back. He fell forward, letting out a grunt at the force of it, his hand landing beside your head. Keeping your foot braced on your other leg, you restricted him the best you could from being able to sit back up. Bringing your hands in to bend and push down the arm of the hand that was on your neck, you kept your hands secured around it. Then came the hardest part, Tomas wasn't holding his weight up, keeping you pinned moreso with that than anything else, so you struggled to displace him enough to flip him off of you.

  You kept his arm in place so he couldn't disengage, breaking away your leg positioning quick enough so you could hook your leg over his and try to swipe his foot inward. At first, he simply readjusted his foot, and he began to pull your body up with his as he got the opportunity to sit back up. You huffed, and swiped at his foot harder, causing it to slip and shift his bodyweight to one side. Using that to your advantage, you used all the strength you had left to push him over. You felt excitement rush through your veins when his back hit the mat with a thud, letting out an excited exclamation and completely forgetting you hadn't truly gotten away from him yet.

  "You didn't have to go easy o-" His hand that you had released came up to grab your arm and pull you back down onto him, but instead of being met with further trial, you were met with a kiss. Despite all the built up energy, his lips against yours was soft, the kiss passionate. You relaxed against his hold, eyes closing as you brought your arms down to wrap around his shoulders. When he pulled away, you were left breathless, and when your eyes opened, you were met with a look of pure adoration. You smiled, "Was that my reward?"

  Tomas laughed, pulling your body up with ease to assist with you both untangling your legs from the awkward position you had ended in. "You almost sound disappointed." He grinned, putting down the dull karambit he had been holding, sliding it aside so he could have you in both his arms. Straddling his waist, you didn't fail to feel the press of his erection against you. Taking a gamble, you pulled your hips up before slowly pushing them back down, grinding against him. A shaky breath fell from Tomas' lips, and you felt pleased feeling his hands press against your back, trying to pull you closer.

"Not disappointed..never disappointed." You brought your hands forward to cup his face, pressing your lips to his as you began to cant your hips at a more steady pace. Your shared moans were muffled by the kiss, to be briefly heard by the both of your ears and your ears only. You had almost forgotten you were in the training room, almost.

  The first to hear the sound of approaching footsteps and the voices of a small group, Tomas pulled away quickly. At first, you were confused, thinking you had done too much in a space like this, then you noticed the wide eyed glance Tomas sent towards the closed doors. You had quickly stood up, then, working to adjust your ruffled clothes and just hoped whoever came in wouldn't have an inkling of an idea as to what had happened. Tomas mimicked your behavior, wiping his sleeve over his mouth to rid the lingering glisten of saliva, adjusting his clothes because now you had him almost painfully hard.

  Door sliding open, you were greeted with a few Lin Kuei, stretching their arms as they prepared to practice for the day. "Tomas." They bowed to him as they walked passed, grabbing training weapons of their choice. Tomas nodded his head, bending down to pick up the karambit he had slid aside and place it back on the weapons table. You decided to make your departure quick, lips pursed and trying not to laugh at the struggle of your boyfriend. Tomas was not far behind you, letting out a relieved sigh once out of the suddenly suffocating practice room.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't expect us-"

  "Don't worry about it, you did good today."

  You smiled at his kindness, and gently nudged his arm with your shoulder, "We can stop by your room for a bit..can't we?"

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Totk!Link, about Y/N: You wanna know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was? It was how many times I let them down.

۵♡۵

Yan! Chain, your cult, with additional members is so much more that it’s difficult to wholly sum up. But I will try.

NOT their official hcs for this page, those will be written at a later time.

Tears

I subscribe to the belief that this man is feral. He knew who you were and that you were his guide immediately and fell pretty much immediately. On grounds of sanity, he doesn’t have much. The malice and gloom swirling in his blood did it’s number on his sanity to the point he was already a madman when the chain happened upon him, not that it was readily apparent though. Before, he made the obligation to his forced status as hero. Polite, helpful, strong, silent, You get the deal. But boy oh boy, that shit went down the drain faster than a korok on a rocket. Once his eyes caught yours and he was returned to your side, he could care less of Hylia or the Triforce, let alone Zelda. Link had a new deity, a new purpose, a new person for which he was wholly devoted for. Only this time around, his deity smiled back at him, his reason for living thanked him for his sacrifices and his utter devotion towards keeping them alive was something he yearned to do. To have blood staining his hands as you fall asleep safely within his arms… arm, but that’s aside the point

First

He struggled to remember your guidance, he’d admit. Your kind smiles and expansive wisdom blurred in his memory, like a candle snuffed out. He could see the remanents, those smoky memories proof that your familiarity was well placed…. but he never got to see the warmth that you had. But it was when the flame in his heart was relit that he remembered exactly why he forgot you. And boy was he livid. Hylia stole his life, his freedom, that which he knew. But Hylia also stole his love, bitter that you held it instead of her. And so, you were ripped away from him too soon. And of course, he suffered in Hylia’s wake. Afterwards, he’d do anything possible to stay by your side, to cherish you as you deserved. The goddesses were dead to him, you were far more deserving of that place. He’d worship the ground you walked on if you asked, bring Hylia kneeling before you and strip her of her immortality if that’s what you wished as vengeance. In long and short, no matter the cost, he’d be there.

Fierce deity

He didn’t really know you per say. He knew of you, though. He knew of you rather well. He watched behind his companions eye, learning all he needed to know about you. Learning the planes of your face and curve of your body. The nuances of your personality and tells of your ways. He memorised you, so that even as many moons passed and you became dust, your face would be fresh in his mind. Fierce had grown accustomed to confinement, stuck as another entity lodged within the Hero of Time, spirit locked away within the mask, stuck as nothing more than a war deity no more useful than the lives he could reap. But you made him long for more. To be by your side, to be your safe haven, to be worth more than a tool. He wanted to be yours, for that was far more valuable than immortality.

[thetomorrowshow]

learning curve

empires superpowers au masterlist (not up to date)

this story takes place during chapters 10 & 11 of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: anxiety, blood and injury

~

Scott calls out that he’s home as soon as he arrives, careful to close the door softly.

It’s been nearly a month, but it’s still weird to have another person living in his house. Particularly since that person is Solidarity.

He doesn’t get a response, but he doesn’t expect one. Solidarity is just as quiet as the day he’d arrived. Scott tries not to think about that too much.

Scott’s ashamed to admit that he doesn’t notice for a while. He goes about his afternoon, doing laundry and his post-work stretches and watching TV.

It’s not until he’s getting ready to prepare dinner that he actually approaches the closed door of the guest bedroom, knocking lightly on the door.

“Jimmy?” he calls quietly. “Would you like to help with dinner?”

No response.

Scott chews on his lip. “Okay, um. If you don’t want me to open the door, say something. I’m just coming in to make sure you’re all right.”

After another moment’s pause with no response, he eases the door open, sidles in.

Jimmy’s not there.

It isn’t hard for him to tell—there’s barely anything in the room, all the clothes put away neatly and the bed made. The spot between the bed and the wall that Jimmy likes to wedge himself into is empty as well.

Okay, no need to panic yet. Jimmy’s fairly new to using the home gym, so maybe he’s just checking out the equipment.

A glance in the gym tells him all he needs to know.

Still, it doesn’t mean he’s—he hasn’t been kidnapped. He hasn’t been kidnapped. He’s safe.

Scott heads into the kitchen, checking around for evidence that Jimmy’s been there. And once he’s looking, it isn’t hard to find.

The lunchmeat is out on the counter. The dishes cabinet is open, but there’s nothing new in the sink or the dishwasher. Scott looks around, checks the fridge, the other cabinets, the trash—

There’s something in the trash.

There’s shards of china in the trash, some of them dark with something red and wet.

The pieces fall into place.

Jimmy had broken a plate, panicked, and ran. Scott knows it with a certainty that surprises him, so he checks the shoes by the door just to make sure and immediately notices that Jimmy’s are missing.

His phone is plugged in at his bedside. His shoes are gone. There’s blood on the china in the trash and Jimmy is missing.

Scott’s tearing out the front door practically before his mask is firmly on his face.

It’s luck, more than anything, that at the end of the street he picks the right direction and within minutes can pull up to the side of the road, where a familiar figure in a grey hoodie is curled up against a lamppost.

“Jimmy!” Scott calls out the open window, trading out his mask for a beanie without even checking to see if anyone’s watching. Traffic’s bad at this time of the day, and already there are people angry about having to go around his car, but he hops out anyway and jogs around to the sidewalk.

“Jimmy,” he says again, and he doesn’t grab him by the arms but almost does— “Jimmy, are you all right?”

Jimmy flinches away, his hands curled loosely in front of him—and they’re absolutely covered in blood—

“Get in the car, okay?” Scott says, glancing around. Nobody’s paying much attention to them, they’re still in the wealthy part of the city with less folks out on the streets, but he’s pulled over on a major road so he needs to get Jimmy out. “We can disinfect this and wrap your hands up, all right? You’re not in trouble, I promise. Can you get in the car?”

Jimmy nods after a moment, allowing Scott to lead him back to the car. Scott buckles him in and shuts the passenger door, taking only a moment to rub his face. It’s okay. He found Jimmy. Everything’s going to turn out fine.

He keeps telling himself that on the silent drive home.

“Sorry,” whispers Jimmy when Scott sits him down in the bathroom, snapping open the first aid kit.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s all right,” Scott says absentmindedly, unscrewing the cap of the rubbing alcohol and dousing a cotton ball with it. Jimmy sniffs, eyeing him carefully, his face streaked with tears and his hands still held gingerly in front of him.

“I’m going to clean your hands, then wrap them in gauze. Is there anywhere else you’re hurt?”

Jimmy shakes his head. Slowly, he uncurls his fingers, splaying his hands out for Scott to see.

It’s not as bad as he’d feared when he’d first seen blood streaming down his knuckles. There’s one large gash in the center of Jimmy’s right palm, and a couple of smaller ones with little slivers of china stuck in them, but all the other cuts littering his fingers and palms are tiny and shallow.

Scott disinfects first, telling Jimmy everything before he does it. He’s going to be patting it with this cotton ball first, and it might sting a bit, but it’s going to help, okay? Now that that’s done, he’s going to press a little harder to wipe away the blood. Is everything still all right? Does he need to slow down?

Forcefully, Scott’s reminded of a night from so long ago, when a heavily bleeding and injured Solidarity had collapsed on his doorstep. He’d been less gentle in his administrations, then.

It keeps Scott up at night more often than he’d like to admit. If he’d let Jimmy stay longer, would he have learned more about Xornoth’s abuse? Would he have felt motivated to track down the villain and take them out before more damage could be done? Could he have saved Jimmy so much unnecessary pain, just by being a kinder person?

“I’m going to use tweezers now, okay? There’s some splinters I think I can get out.”

Jimmy nods, and as Scott watches, his face . . . settles, in some strange way. The tears brimming at his eyes vanish, his mouth sets into a determined line.

It’s unsettling, and Scott’s not quite sure what it means, but if it helps Jimmy brave the treatment, he’s fine with it.

Jimmy’s hands flinch back a couple of times as Scott digs into the cuts with the tweezers, plucking out slivers of porcelain until he has a small, bloodstained pile of them on the corner of the sink. Once the wounds look totally de-splintered, he wipes them down again with rubbing alcohol then wraps them in gauze.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy says again when he’s almost done. Instead of his automatic response of earlier, Scott pauses to consider that.

“What are you apologizing for?” he asks eventually, because while he’s pretty sure he knows what it is—breaking the plate—he’s not sure Jimmy understands that it’s something forgivable.

But Jimmy, surprisingly, doesn’t mention the plate. “Lying,” he says, and his face doesn’t break. His eyes don’t water. But something changes in the quality of his voice, some terrified edge to it. “I lied to you. I’m sorry.”

“What did you lie about?”

“I—I told you I could control it,” says Jimmy. “Back at—at the hospital. That my powers—I could control them. But I can’t. I—I wasn’t even touching the plate, it just—I don’t know what happened—”

Scott tapes off the end of the gauze, then sits on the side of the tub, doing his best to look into Jimmy’s eyes without forcing him. Jimmy’s biting his lip, hands shaking, looking for all the world like he’s about to bolt.

“It’s just a plate,” Scott says, trying in some way to convey the fact that he doesn’t care what Jimmy breaks, he’s not going to kick him out.

Jimmy shakes his head, quick and repetitive. “It’s just a plate today. It’s—it’s the doorknob tomorrow, and your car the day after, and then it’s your leg or—or—” he cuts himself off, swallowing thickly. “It’s—it’s nothing. Forget it.”

And before Scott can stop him, Jimmy rises on shaky legs and leaves the room, arms clutched around himself.

-

It’s times like these that Scott really misses Aeor.

He’s never taught anyone this kind of thing. He’s never even seen anyone else be taught—and his lessons in control had been far later than most might receive them.

But he decides to start with Jimmy the same way Aeor had started with him—proving that his mistakes aren’t harmful.

Scott’s hand hovers over the dishes in the cabinet. A stack of nine dinner plates, once ten. Five bowls. Eight dessert plates. Four mugs, four saucers.

He never uses half the stuff, particularly not the mugs and saucers—he’s bought his own, more casual mugs in recent years. And a quick internet search shows him that he could replace the entire set for relatively cheap, though they wouldn’t be identical.

The main issue is that these are dishes that came from Aeor. Dishes that he used.

It only takes a second for Scott to come to the conclusion that Aeor would prefer these dishes be put to use to help someone, rather than gather dust in the cabinet.

So Scott piles all of the dishes in the backyard, just beyond his little flower garden. He’s got a decent-sized backyard with a privacy fence, which he thinks will do quite nicely. If they stand on the patio, the fence isn’t too far away, yet not right in their faces. Still, a bit of protective gear is in order.

He manages to scrounge up two pairs of safety glasses and three pairs of work gloves in the garage, all of which he sets out next to the dishes on the patio. Then he turns the oven on, sets a frozen pizza to cook, and heads upstairs to find Jimmy.

Scott knocks gently on the door. “Jimmy? Can I talk to you?”

What feels like ages passes with no sound. Scott’s poised to knock again, mind racing through various possibilities—did he run again? Is he hurt?—before he hears movement inside.

It’s still another full minute before the door opens, revealing a rather miserable-looking Jimmy.

His hair is all rumpled, like he hasn’t gotten out of bed all day. His t-shirt is half tucked into his jeans, half sticking out under his hoodie. The constant shadows under his eyes have only deepened, ringing the redness that rims them. The tip of his nose is red to match, and he sniffles as he stands there, waiting for Scott to speak.

Scott clears his throat, takes a slight step back (he doesn’t want Jimmy to feel like he has no personal space). “Um, I started on dinner, but I was hoping I could have your help with something? In the backyard?”

It’s an agonizingly long moment that Jimmy takes to think it over, but eventually he bites his lip and nods, rocking back on his heels as he waits for Scott to lead the way.

Scott does so, pausing by the front door so that Jimmy can slip on his shoes, then leads him out the back.

“I don’t want you to ever feel unsafe here, all right?” Scott begins, putting on a pair of safety glasses. Jimmy stares at the glasses, the gloves, and the dishes, before cautiously taking the other pair, eyes flicking up toward Scott every so often.

“I accidentally froze something when I was seventeen, and my parents kicked me out. I always thought that was just the way it was—I had to be perfect with my powers, always, and my lack of control was . . . well, I spent a long time hating myself for those accidents.”

Scott pulls on his work gloves, still stained with dirt from the last time he tended his garden. Jimmy surveys the two remaining pairs before choosing the larger ones, biting his lip as he gingerly pulls them on over his bandaged hands.

“I didn’t figure out until—or, Aeor taught me—” Jimmy flinches at the name, but Scott carries on— “that you’re expected to make mistakes. Nobody knows how to control their powers at first. It’s a . . . it’s a learning curve, see?”

Jimmy shrugs. And that’s fine—Scott’s fairly sure it’s a quiet day. It’s just difficult to work with at the moment. He just barely restrains from pinching the bridge of his nose, remembering at the last second that he’s wearing dirty work gloves. How had Aeor ever managed this with teenage Scott?

“From what I understand,” says Scott, “you couldn’t control your powers until . . . recently. And now, you’re thinking that maybe you can’t, because you used them accidentally?”

Jimmy looks away, throat bobbing. He shrugs again.

“Right. So, first of all, this is normal. It’s sort of like—like you’re going through puberty again, okay? You’re going through the learning-to-control stage for the first time, so you’re going to mess up. It happens. I messed up so many times—I used to freeze over the floor when I was angry. I used to be terrible at control, but I just needed someone to help.”

Hopefully that part of the lesson has gotten through to Jimmy. He’s observed, in the month that Jimmy’s been here, that even on quiet days he’s listening more often than not. Scott sucks in a breath, hoping that some air will loosen the stressed knot in his chest, and picks up a bowl.

“So, mistakes are really common. And, Jimmy, I don’t really . . . understand your power, I guess, but things are going to break while you learn how to control. And I just . . . I want to make sure you know it’s okay. It’s okay to break things, okay?”

And with that, Scott chucks the bowl at the fence at the other end of the yard.

It collides with a smash, shards of porcelain flying apart at the impact. Jimmy takes a startled step back, reminding Scott wildly of a spooked horse.

He acts like he doesn’t notice, though, instead handing Jimmy a dinner plate.

Jimmy glances at him, unsure, as he takes it. Scott smiles in a way that he hopes is encouraging, points to the fence.

“Go for it. Don’t hold back.”

Jimmy’s certainly holding back when he throws the plate, but it breaks anyhow, snapping in half against the fence. Scott hears him gasp, but when he looks back at him, Jimmy’s as stoic as ever.

Scott picks up another dinner plate and tosses it, feeling an odd sort of satisfaction echo through his bones as it breaks against the fence. He hands Jimmy a bowl, and with noticeably less trepidation, Jimmy throws it at the fence.

It’s a weird bonding activity, to be sure. Not the weirdest—Scott can remember some of the bonding stuff the theatre folk he worked with in college got up to—but it definitely ranks up there as something probably socially unacceptable.

He throws the next dish even harder.

“Things are going to break,” Scott reiterates, handing Jimmy one of the mugs. “I broke things. You’ll break things. You’re not going to be in trouble for it—you’re an adult, and I plan to treat you like one, all right? And I plan to help you learn how to control it. You’re not alone in this.”

Jimmy hurls a saucer with all his strength, and Scott thinks he sees a shadow of a smile when it shatters against the fence. He does it again with a dinner plate, then steps back, allowing Scott to throw a few more.

When it comes down to the last dish—a dinner plate—Scott hands it to Jimmy, gestures for him to take a good stance. Jimmy doesn’t hesitate; he sends the plate flying into the fence, and this time he definitely smiles a bit when it breaks.

“Jimmy,” Scott says seriously when the man, panting a little bit, turns back to him. “I want you to know—there is nothing in this house that you can break that will make me stop caring about you. As your conservator—and more importantly, as your friend, I place your health and happiness above anything that I own. I want you to remember that, okay?”

Jimmy nods, and Scott’s struck by the sudden, overwhelming urge to hug him. He doesn’t, of course—Jimmy doesn’t really do well with touch, and that’s fine by Scott. He really, really wants to, though.

Instead, he tugs off his gloves and jerks his head in the direction of the backdoor. “I put a pizza in the oven, it should be done soon. Want to find something on Netflix and just hang out for the rest of the night?”

Of course, Jimmy doesn’t say anything. But he offers a small smile, shakes off his gloves, and places his safety glasses on the patio table. Then he steps around Scott and heads inside.

That night, they eat pizza on paper plates while watching an episode of a new suspense show. When the drama peaks, the light in the living room fizzles and goes out—and while Jimmy flinches hard and hides his face, Scott reassures him that it’s fine until he reemerges, forcing out a raspy apology, but agreeing to finish the episode.

It’s not perfect, but it’s progress. And somehow, Scott feels almost proud—and he thinks, really, Aeor would be as well.

[thelarriefics]

SECRET RELATIONSHIP FIC REC, Part II: Below you will find more fics where Harry and Louis hide their relationship. (Part I)

📖 i found love in you (and i learned to love me too) by @larrydoinglaundry (167k)

After months of battling with his own demons, Louis goes back to get what he once left behind, but Harry's not sure if he showed up in time. A journey of remorse, healing and love that's strong enough to break them down and build them back up again. Sequel to 'love is a word, you gave it a name'.

📖 blue moon by @aquietlarrie (152k)

or the self indulgent 50’s au where i wanted a safe space to explore the culture, history, and sexuality of being gay in a time when it was extremely difficult to do so. includes, lots of questionable dancing, healing your inner child, and one heck of an emotional ride.

📖 Behind closed doors (I got myself in a mess) by @teamlouis2023 (58k)

Louis, a renowned wedding planner, has everything he needs to be happy : loyal friends, a boss that is a little more than just a boss, a job that he loves with all his heart. Tasked with the planning of Gemma and Michal's wedding, he doesn't except to come across the man who had left him five years earlier

📖 Us Against the World by @chelsea-frew (58k)

It's time for the 58th Hunger Games. 18-year-old Louis, the victor of the 56th Hunger Games, is to be mentor to the latest tributes from District 4. It is the worst job in the world. Making it even worse is that one of those tributes is 16-year-old Harry, Louis' secret boyfriend. The stakes are life and death. Can Harry do what needs to be done to emerge as the victor? Can Louis help him from the outside? Against all odds, can these two be brought back together—or will Louis be saying goodbye to Harry forever?

📖 Train Tracks and Porcelain by @jaerie (41k)

The next moments happened in the strange slow motion of dawn. Shadows were forming into people and things and, there in the middle of it, Louis watched the humongous head of an elephant emerge from a box car right in front of his eyes. Or a Water For Elephants inspired AU

📖 Lover Boy by @brightgolden (27k)

Where Louis wants to tell everyone about his relationship with Harry, but his boyfriend clearly thinks otherwise.

📖 Unraveled by @allwaswell16 (18k)

Whilst Harry was prepared to protect the PM with his life, he wasn’t prepared for Louis’ secrets. As Harry helped investigate the attempts on Louis’ life, he found a tangled web of political rivals, possible terrorist attacks, and family secrets as well as an undeniable attraction to the man he has vowed to protect.

📖 Everything's going to be alright - Sixth Form AU by @boufantgirl (17k)

Louis is in sixth form with Harry Styles. A classic story about sixth form, love and coming out. There is some drugs and alcohol use. There are some adult themes. The people in this story are 18. A story about the end of school before going to university.

📖 On Thin Ice by @neondiamond (16k)

As the goaltender for one of the best hockey teams in the world, Harry never expected participating in his second winter Olympics would be so eventful. His hidden long-term relationship with the captain of their biggest rival team may have something to do with it.

📖 getting yourself wet for me by @dreamersdivin-headfirst (10k)

frat boys take on watersports

📖 Curves of your lips rewrite history by @lunarheslwt (8k)

everyone bows to Prince Harry, but in the privacy of his four walls, the one he is bowing and kneeling for is his knight, Sir Louis.

📖 The President and His Captain by @tommokat (5k)

Childhood best friends turn boyfriends Harry and Louis have kept their relationship quiet for almost a year now, so when Harry's basketball coach enforces a no dating rule for the season, they should have no problem sticking to that rule. Right?

📖 Battle Of The Balls by @greenblueish (5k)

the one where YouTubers Harry and Louis play Golf With Friends, go to the pub with Niall and return home six hours after posting the video.

📖 tongue-tied by @liberty-barnes (3k)

the one where OT9 participate in a game of Family Feud, and they really should have listened to Liam when he said this was a bad idea

📖 there are rumors we have to face by @louisandtheaquarian (2k)

In this scene, Harry and Louis are sneaking around in earnest while at the wedding of friends, Zarry's stunt is getting old, and rumors fly.

📖 every night with us (is like a dream) by @darkinfinity (2k)

A look into the life of a professional football player dating a physical therapist.

[kybercrystals94]

hey dude!!! I totally get if you’re busy but I had to ask:

I’m leaving for college tomorrow (11 hour drive babyyyyy) and I’m excited but it’s just. A lot. And one thing I’ve noticed that really helps is kind of thinking about the Bad Batch, and what they’d say to encourage someone in a similar scenario.

And so i was wondering: would you have the energy to write something of literally any length (could be 10 words idc) of the bad batch encouraging Omega to make her decision to join the rebellion?

If not that is A-OKAY dw!!!

Thanks :3

Oof! Long car rides are exhausting —but how exciting! Heading to college to learn and create new memories…I think I could write you something 🫶

“Are you gonna go?”

Omega sits with her back against the curved wall off the house. The night is mild for Pabu in late summer, and a soft breeze brushes by, sifting through Omega’s hair and making the tear tracks left on her cheeks feel cool. “I don’t know, Wrecker. I feel like I should…like I need to…but…” she cuts herself off, wiping the sleeve of her jacket roughly across her face.

“But what?” Wrecker prompts, moving to sit next to her. He moves slowly, on worn joints and aching muscles. Age has claimed his youth so much sooner than it should have.

Omega waits until he is settled before she leans against him and his endless warmth. “What if I leave,” she whispers, “and something happens. Here.”

Wrecker chuckles. A rumbling thing that rattles her. “Nothing’s gonna happen here, kid. It’ll be the same old thing it’s been since we settled here. You’ll come visit, and it’ll be the same as it was, like ya never left.”

Omega smiles. Her brothers have found so much comfort in their routines. Their familiar, comforting routines. Maybe she’ll miss that more than she first thought. Knowing where her brothers are any time of the day simply based on where the sun is positioned in the sky.

But that isn’t what she meant. “What if something happens…to one of you?”

Wrecker is quiet for several long moments. “We’ll look after each other, Megs, you don’t gotta worry about us. Fear shouldn’t be what makes you stay.”

“Hunter doesn’t want me to go,” Omega says, “and Crosshair pretends he’s neutral on the subject…but he’s not. Do you want me to go?”

“Want ya to go?” Wrecker puts an arm around her, holds her tight against him. She’ll always feel small next to him, always feel like the child she outgrew years ago. “Yes and no. Yes, because I can tell it means a lot to ya, and I think what you wanna do is important. No because I’ll miss you. More than anything. But I can’t let my fears make ya stay either, Omega. Neither can Hunter or Cross. They just want what’s best for you.”

“Helping with the Rebellion…I could make a difference. I could use all the skills I’ve learned to help…”

“And that’s what you’ll do,” Wrecker says, voice low. “No matter what, we’re all proud of you. So kriffing proud.”

“Really?” Omega mutters into him, snuggling closer.

“‘Course we are. You’re gonna rattle the galaxy, kid. And we’ll be here waiting when you come home.”

END

I hope you like it, anon! I wrote this little snippet before getting ready for work, so pardon my typos 🥹

Have a safe journey to college!! And thanks so much for the ask! 🫶

[jeanmoreausautismstickers]

tsc spoilers to share the brainrot but just a few small moments for you that are just sitting in my head that I NEED to talk to someone about

- jeans promise to Kevin

- Jean hurting Jeremy during practice “Away, Jean. You’re hurting me.”

- “Now I am not safe with you, Captain” because jer asked about Riko

- jer calling Kevin and asking if Riko broke his hand

- just fucking RIKO oh man we knew he was bad but lordy lordy lord he’s a monster

What do you think of it? How do you feel about Jean? Or Jeremy?

I need you to know that all of things you've noted made me cry. okay anyway

tsc spoilers under the cut xx

Jean's promise to Kevin? I fucking threw up brother. like it just. that whole scene and all the complicated feelings has about Kevin (and Neil) but he's still not breaking Kevin's promise. he still makes promises with Neil. like just that small, almost childish hope in him. he doesn't hate Kevin nearly as much as he wants to say he does now that he's gone and I'm so obsessed with it

oh the "Away, Jean" scenes broke my heart because I have a feeling Nora might use Jeremy saying Jean hurt him in the future. be it Jeremy finally Losing It about something and snapping (unlikely) or Jean using it as an excuse as to why he shouldn't look at Jeremy (very likely). they both break my whole heart with this scene, but I loved watching (well reading) Jean grow as a player and as a person, and start to understand that he can change his little habits. it'll just take time and watching his coaches and captain give him the grace he needs for that learning curve has me nawing on the bars of my enclosure

on top of that, Jean telling Jeremy he didn't feel safe? gagged. the fact that Jeremy, despite KNOWING it was a bad choice, stepped away and respected Jean's (slightly self-destructive) boundaries? screaming and yelling and crying my eyes out. that scene hurt me in so many ways, but the biggest one is the fact that Jean knew Jeremy would respect him if he said it. I mean it was like a punch in the throat, but it created a lot of trust between them based on Jean's boundaries and I cannot be normal about it

I'm not gonna lie, I giggled a bit at Jeremy's absolute rudeness on that phone call. like it was definitely heartbreaking and I want to give Kevin a hug. and Jean. and Neil. but the gall to call someone and immediately ask for their traumatic backstory is crazy. anyway, that scene was sad but other than giggling a bit at Jeremy's word choices, it didn't evoke a ton of emotion in me? i already knew about Kevin's had from TFC-TKM so it didn't surprise me, but I did feel terrible for Jeremy and how he found out. he will be making GOOD use of his therapist in the future I just know it

I HATE RIKO. OH MY GOD. the whole book everytime I say his, or Grayson, or Zane's name I had to say a quick prayer for the murderous thoughts running through my head. I hate him I need to hurt him even though he's already dead

i loved this book so much. once the mental illness about it dies down and I can think of it without my heart crumbling I'm going to reread it. I loved all the characters (minus all of the Ravens of course) and I cannot wait for tsc2 to come out. I'm sooo excited and I hope we get a bit more on Jeremy's family and how he thinks he ruined it. it was such a beautiful book and it makes me so sick to my stomach (in a good way) and I love it like my firstborn

I loved loved loved Jean and Jeremy, both separately and together. the parallels of Jean's family giving him up as a child but Jeremy's family not letting him leave even though he's an adult? Nora is fucking insane and i love her for it. her brain is just so good. I hope they get more of Jean accepting he has a family with Cat and Laila and Jeremy. I hope he starts referring to the house they share as HIS house, instead of calling it Laila's. I know he already called it home but I need him to take personal possession of things other than his notebooks. he and Jeremy deserve the whole world and I trust Nora whole heartedly to give them that after she torments us first ♡♡♡

[piratekane]

7 or 9 for the fic challenge please?

nine: shh, you're safe. i won't let you go.

Ava comes to with a gasp, an ungodly sound that ricochets around the room like a loose pinball. Beatrice hears it rattle in her chest and reaches for Ava immediately, pulling her into her side. Ava goes willingly, already burying her face into the curve of Beatrice's neck.

Ava feels clammy where their skin meets but Beatrice doesn't shy away from it, holding her closer. She can feel Ava's body shiver and she slides a hand into Ava's hair, rubbing at the one spot she knows always seems to calm Ava quicker.

After a moment, she feels Ava relax and their pulse starts to sync - a quiet thud, thud, thud of their hearts. There's a hot exhale against her collarbone and she can see Ava's self-conscious and shaky smile in her mind. She wants to get ahead of Ava's apology but she's not quick enough, still a little sluggish at being woken up so quickly.

"I'm sorry."

Beatrice doesn't linger on it, doesn't want to get into a pointless back and forth where Ava furiously apologizes and Beatrice tries to get her to understand that it's okay.

"Did you have that dream again?"

Ava nods against her. Beatrice's arm tighten around Ava's shoulders. She presses her lips to Ava's temple, breathing in the smell of the shampoo she uses - sweet coconut. Ava's hand slides over her waist, fingers hooking on her hip.

Beatrice waits. She's learned that Ava needs a minute before she's ready to talk about it. She feels it before she hears it, feels Ava's bottom lip graze her skin as she opens her mouth to speak.

"It hurts. It's like thousand cuts in my skin, or-or shards of glass. I feel like I can't breathe, you know? Like each time I try to breathe in, the shards sink in deeper." Ava trembles.

Beatrice holds her a little closer. I'm here, she tries to tell her. I'm going to protect you. "

"You're there, holding me up."

Her grip tightens. Yes, I will always be there.

"But we're too late. It's too much." Ava's fingernails scratch a B into her skin where her t-shirt has ridden up in the night. Their bare legs slide together. She's not sure when the modesty fled them, but she doesn't think hard about it. "I tried to get you to take the Halo but you wouldn't."

Beatrice shakes her head. "I won't."

Ava is quiet for a long minute. Beatrice sits in the silence, not quite uncomfortable with it. They've been stretching out longer lately, the more the dreams persist.

It started a few weeks after they arrived in the Alps. Ava woke, crying and reaching for Beatrice. She had been frozen then, unsure of what to do, how to comfort Ava. But Ava had done all the hard work, pulling Beatrice into a position that didn't require much of her. They'd laid in silence, Beatrice working a hand through Ava's hair in a way that she hoped offered some solace, letting Ava work through her tears slowly.

But it wasn't until the fourth time, when the tears showed no signs of stopping, that she finally said something. Beatrice coaxed it out of her slowly in halting words. The Halo was humming loud enough to drown them out as Ava whispered what happened. But it - and Ava - settled after all of the words were out, after all the tears had dried and Ava had fallen into a dreamless sleep in her arms.

(When Ava woke up, she told Beatrice she hadn't slept that well in forever. It terrified her - she's never been someone like that for anyone, someone who could grant them some measure of peace. Ava must have noticed, because she laughed and pressed a kiss to the apple of her cheek, breathing a thank you against her skin.)

And now, with every dream that comes, Beatrice know what to do, knows to pulls Ava into her arms and calm her with her a steady heartbeat and steady fingers in her hair.

"I was dying," Ava finally says.

Beatrice knows, has heard this before. "You're not going to die."

The first time, Ava had scoffed and nearly rolled away from her. You don't know that, she had said, an unusual edge to her voice. Now she just clutches Beatrice a little tighter.

"The Arc was there. You carried me to it."

I carried you to it. I touched your face. I let you go, her mind supplies as Ava breathes the familiar words out against her neck.

Ava's voice is strangled when she says, "Beatrice."

"Shh," Beatrice whispers, still feeling like she's speaking too loud. She pulls Ava impossibly closer. "You're safe."

"Bea," Ava breathes. There's something hot and wet on her collarbone.

"I won't let you go," she promises. "I will never let you go."

"You do. You will." Ava's words are weighed down with tears. "You have to, to save me."

Beatrice blinks back her own tears. "No," she says firmly. She's certain of this, more certain of anything she's ever been in her life - save Ava. "No, I'll find another way to save you. I'll figure something out. We will." Her heart feels like it's hammering out of her chest. "I'm not going to just give you away."

"You can't promise that."

"Watch me." She leans away, works a hand under Ava's chin to lift her head until their eyes meet. "I will not let you go."

Ava's eyes search hers but she must find the conviction Beatrice feels behind the shaking fear that also exists, because she nods silently and leans back in, burrowing into the hollow space she just left.

Beatrice sets her jaw, a solemn promise to herself that no matter what, Ava is not going anywhere. Beatrice is not letting her go anywhere alone, not letting Ava out of her sight. It's more than her job, this is her mission. Protect Ava. Save Ava. Hold onto Ava for as long as she can and longer even then.

Later, when Ava's dream becomes a reality, when she has to let Ava go to save her, she'll cry hot tears and clutch the pillow Ava would have slept on. She'll whisper liar at the ceiling until she hears another voice in her head, Ava's, telling her to be kind to herself, that this is what had to happen, to save them all. And she'll listen like she's always listened to Ava, and find that same conviction buried in her heart.

No, she's not going to let Ava go.

But for now, she'll smooth fingers across the perfect circle of the Halo, feel it warm under her fingertips, and keep her breathing steady for Ava to follow it, until it lulls her to sleep.

And she'll hold on tight.

[cloudynyims]

A story of a little borrower who has lived in AFC Richmond since Jamie joined the team(the first time). It takes place a little bit after he leaves and returns to AFC Richmond (yknow, once he’s had some character development). Please excuse how it begins abruptly. Also, the team knows about the borrower. Well, except Jamie. (Can you tell who’s asks I’ve been reading too many of?) about 2.4k words!

Things had been rough since Jamie returned to AFC Richmond. Their open lifestyle with the team abruptly halted. They still remembered the day he came back. 

They were waiting in the locker room for the team to finish training. If they weren’t watching the practice with Ted, they waited near Sam’s locker. Sam was always kind and respectful toward them, regardless of what happened on the pitch. However, this time he walked in, he seemed nervous about something. 

“Sam, what’s—“

“You need to get out of here. Now,” He interrupted. They froze, as Sam never acted like this. He immediately noticed the effect it had on them and sighed, lowering his tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lash out like that. But there isn’t much time. Jamie’s back; he’ll be in here any minute. We can talk tomorrow, okay? But you have to go.”

Sam, the team, and the borrower all knew that Jamie finding them would be a terrible idea. They nodded and promptly climbed down the bench to the floor. Wasting no time, they sprinted back into their hole in the walls. Once they were safe, they listened, waiting until they heard Jamie’s voice, confirming the unthinkable. So it was true.

Their mind swirled with conflicting emotions at that moment. Jamie, the one person on the team they thought was gone for good, was back. And probably no different than before, judging by what Isaac had told them about Jamie’s whereabouts since he left Richmond. Apparently, he was on some reality show that got him kicked off of Manchester City. And now he was back here.

A pit formed in their stomach thinking about the last few months. Not having to hide around, not being scared for their life, and not being worried about being vigilant 24/7 were luxuries they had come to enjoy under the care of the team. Now it felt like they were returning back to before. Before the team found them and while Jamie was still here. A life of fear, sleepless nights, and constant anxiety. 

That was about a month ago, and they still were petrified of him, just from everything they heard. From that day onward, they were usually on Roy’s person at all times. The team came to the consensus that they didn’t even want Jamie to know the borrower existed, which they were perfectly fine with. So, they spent a lot of time around Roy, because Roy only put up with Jamie when it was absolutely necessary. 

Getting used to Roy was a learning curve in itself, considering how protective he was. They were often in his pocket while he coached, just so he could ensure that they were safe. Not that they minded, they just missed their autonomy. Frankly, they hadn’t had much freedom or relaxation since Jamie came back. Everyone wanted to keep them out of his hands, so they weren’t roaming around like they used to do when they were bored. 

On another note, they had been in Roy’s pocket a few times when he and Jamie argued. It was unpleasant, to say the least, and the duo always were arguing over nothing. They both spoke way too loud, and the poor borrower's ears always rang for a little bit afterward. Roy usually deaded the conversation pretty quickly when he finally remembered they were with him. Even still, these were some of their only impressions of Jamie, which did not counteract their initial wariness around him.

They were already skeptical of Jamie, even before the team found them. So, after they got comfortable with players, the borrower asked what they all thought of Jamie. Sam had told them a little about what it was like having him as a teammate. Isaac and Colin filled them in on how he treated them, and even Dani had something to say about Jamie as a teammate. Roy, obviously, hated Jamie’s guts, but his criticisms were backed up (for the most part) by the team. None of the reviews were strikingly positive. All of these different and consistent stories solidified their opinion that Jamie was not someone to be found by.

The team only managed to keep them hidden from him for a month or two. One day after practice, Ted called the coaching staff in for a meeting in his office. Roy left them in his office, assuming they wanted some time out of his pocket. He was correct. “Stay right here, Ted wants me for a quick meeting in his office,” Roy said gruffly.

“I’m not a child, Roy. I can go where I like,” They stated, knowing that they wouldn’t leave of their own accord anyway. 

Roy rolled his eyes and started walking toward Ted’s office. “I mean it. I don’t want that prick to find you,” He said over his shoulder before closing the door to his office. And so, they sat contentedly on Roy’s desk, waiting for him to return from that meeting with Ted. 

With nothing better to do, they listened as the team filed into the locker room. The team were slightly more lively than usual, so it must’ve been a good day on the pitch. It made the borrower miss the times when they would watch the team practice from Ted’s shoulder. They saw a new side of the team that they never knew when they lived in the walls. They saw the one passion they all shared for football. 

The room suddenly became tense, and they could only imagine that Jamie walked in. The team still wasn’t very fond of him. Curiosity was testing them, and they wanted to peek out the window but remained on Roy’s desk. They were still curious, but they didn’t want Jamie to see them. Jamie would never willingly visit Roy, as far as they were concerned. So, being in Roy's office was the safest place for them. 

One could imagine their surprise when a few moments later, Jamie sauntered into the room.

“Roy? Where are you, mate? Just want to have a little chat with you, is all,” Jamie said as he leaned against the doorframe of the office. They froze. They weren’t exactly in his line of sight, but they were definitely visible. They watched, eyes wide, as Jamie waited for a response that didn’t come. 

“Fucking hell, I don’t have time to wait around for that bastard,” Jamie muttered under his breath before inviting himself into the room. He glanced around at the various shelves in the office as he slowly walked in. “Won’t even coach me, the ass.” Clearly, Jamie wasn’t in the best mood. Or, he could just be unhappy with Roy. Both were fair guesses. 

But it didn’t matter to them, because they were on the verge of being seen. By Jamie Tartt. Jamie wasn’t the tallest on the team, but his presence seemed so large at that moment. Thinking quickly, they ran behind Roy’s coffee cup and sat behind it, trying to catch their breath. They had never been this close to him before, and it was terrifying. 

Jamie looked around the office space. It was pretty barren of any decorations, so characteristic of Roy. If he was going to wait for Roy to come back from wherever he was, he might as well make himself comfortable. With a sigh, he plopped himself down on Roy’s desk chair. 

He aimlessly swiveled in the chair as he looked around. He leafed through a few of the papers on Roy’s desk before getting bored. He then started drawing on the whiteboard but quickly got tired of that as well and resigned to doing nothing.

Jamie was about to pull out his phone when he noticed the coffee cup on the desk. An idea came to his head. What better way to mess with Roy than to finish off his drink? Was it a good idea considering Jamie came to talk to Roy about coaching him? No, but it was too golden of an opportunity for him to pass up.

With a smirk, Jamie grabbed the cup, and they watched in dismay as their hiding spot was easily lifted away. They were rooted to the spot. They couldn’t move. Jamie was going to see them, and there was no avoiding it. Their mind was telling them to run, but their body wouldn’t listen. They could only watch.

Jamie, on the other hand, wasn’t paying attention. He took a long sip of the coffee only to nearly spit it back out. “Of course, he would drink straight black coffee,” Jamie scoffed. As he went to return the cup to its original position, he locked eyes with them. 

Their mind raced; their heart pounded. Time was at a standstill. They didn’t want to look up at him, but they also couldn’t tear their eyes away. Everything the players had ever told them about Jamie came rushing to the forefront of their brain. 

“No teammate has ever made me feel as bad about myself as Jamie did.”

Sam’s words specifically echoed in their head, along with their panicked thoughts. With all of these swirling in their head, they could barely pay attention to what was going on. He was just so huge. They had grown used to feeling small since being acquainted with the team, but the unease of it all resurfaced tenfold. They had deja vu from the day the team first found me. 

Jamie just… looked at them. His expression was one of confusion, then it morphed into disbelief, and finally curiosity. He blinked a few times as if he was trying to convince himself that they were real. Slowly, he set the cup on a different part of the desk without taking his eyes off them. Now they had his full attention. They shuddered involuntarily.

“What the fuck…” Jamie trailed off. As he gazed at them, he leaned a little closer. His lips were slightly parted in awe, and they could barely feel the breath of his exhales. “You’re just a tiny little thing, aren’t you?” He whispered. If they weren’t so terrified, they would’ve noticed how quiet his voice was. 

They caught sight of movement out of the corner of their eye but didn’t react quickly enough. They could only flinch back as Jamie moved his hand. They tensed up and squeezed their eyes shut, anticipating the unpleasant, sinking feeling of getting picked up against their will. They felt nothing. They peeked up to find that his hand stopped right next to them. “You’re smaller than me hand,” he marveled, still in awe of the fact that they existed.

Jamie frowned, seemingly confused as they shrunk away from his hand. Their reaction prompted him to really look at them, to take in all the emotions littered across their face. “You’re shaking. Are you alright?” In truth, They hadn’t even noticed when they began trembling. But Jamie was starting to see all of their anxious habits: from how they had barely moved since he saw them to how their eyes darted around, searching for an escape.

They couldn’t even form the words to respond; all that escaped was a sharp inhale. Their throat felt tight from the trepidation of the moment. Their body wouldn’t listen to them, even though they desperately wanted to run far, far away. Their silence seemed to perplex Jamie further. If he kept asking questions, there would be a point that they would have to respond. There was no other way out of this scenario. 

His voice dragged them out of their thoughts. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” he said, looking a little bashful. “You… you can understand me, yeah?” They barely nodded, finally giving him a semblance of an answer. He sighed with a gentle smile. “That’s good. If… if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here? In the club, I mean.”

There was a beat of silence. They knew they had to talk to him at some point. They took a deep breath, trying to calm their nerves. “I’m… waiting for Roy,” They mumbled, staring at their hands. Jamie couldn’t suppress a smile as he heard them speak for the first time. Such a tiny voice that fits them so perfectly. A part of him was still in disbelief that someone so small existed. Then he registered what they said. 

“You’re waiting for— You know Roy Kent?” His voice rose a bit, filled with disbelief. They nodded and backed up a few steps, growing a little more nervous. Jamie noticed and immediately softened his expression. Roy wasn’t his favorite person, but he knew had to curb his distaste for their sake. Clearly, it was making them nervous. Given how they were acting around him, he could rightfully assume that they were more comfortable with Roy.

“Does anyone else know that you’re here?” He asked, keeping his voice soft.

They nodded but hesitated before answering, wondering how he would take the answer. “Um… the rest of the team knows,” they said, purposefully avoiding his eyes that were trained on them. 

Jamie sat back in the chair, thinking for a moment. After a bit, he finally spoke. “So, everyone on the team knows about you, except me.” He stated, mostly to himself. “And you’ve been here for how long?”

“Three years, b-but the team only found me last season,” was their barely audible response. 

Jamie was sort of frustrated. He knew earning the team’s trust would be difficult, but for them to hide something like this from him was a low blow. To think that his teammates thought he’d possibly hurt them was the reason they never told him. Jamie knew he hadn’t been the best teammate in the past but, this hurt.

Then he looked back down at them again. They had not only spent the last season with the team but also lived in the club for two seasons before that. His heart twinged as he imagined how terrifying he must be to them. They had seen him at his best and worst. He could see that even though they were talking to him and being somewhat cooperative, they was beyond uncomfortable. 

Their hands were winding around each other in a nervous fray; their body and muscles were tense, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Jamie ran his hands through his hair, contemplating his next words. 

“I’m gonna go,” Jamie began. He could tell that they perked up at those words, but swallowed his pride and continued. “I can talk to Roy later. I don’t want to make you any more uncomfortable than I have. But, I want you to know that I would never hurt you, yeah?”

They tilted their head and nodded warily. “Good.” True to his word, Jamie stood up and made his way to the door. “Cheers.” He walked out of the room, leaving them more confused than anything.

this is heavily unedited so if there are any typos plz let me know :) also, this will probably have a part 2 BUT don't expect it in a timely manner unfortunately. this took me way too long to write argh.