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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 5 months ago

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A Quiet Neighborhood - Chapter 2

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader Words count: 4180 Rating: + 18, MDNI Tags: POV second person, reader is female with female genitalia, wears dresses, heels and a bikini, has hair that can be tied up in a bun/ponytail, no other description is given, she doesn’t blush, smut, angst, kissing, dirty thoughts, masturbation, use of a sex toy, mention of infidelity, kinda Desperate Housewifes coded (uh, don’t judge, I love it), easter eggs in secondary character’s names (so you can have fun guessing which series/film they come from 👀), neighborhood dynamics, Carol, Molly and Alice are there. Mention of food, alcohol consumption, mention of poker game, some reader's thoughts marked in italics, swearing, Dave is a fucking menace. This takes place right after Chapter 1. A/N: Dave is finally back! First of all thank you so much for the interest you have shown in this series, I didn't expect it and it made me really happy 🥹 I hope you like this chapter, I was planning to release it earlier but I struggled a little bit with my writing. English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistake. No beta, I reread it myself, I really hope it makes sense. I would particularly like to thank @arcanefox207 , @milla-frenchy and @aurorawritestoescape for their support, encouragement and kindness. Love you, girls ♥️

Chapter 1 | Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Coming out of the bathroom everything feels too loud, ringing voice of people, music, clanging of glasses, it's all too much to bear with when all you need right now is silence to make up with your overwhelming feelings spinning in your head like a carousel gone wild.

“I need to get out of here” you think, heading toward the Horowitz' living room in brisk steps to retrieve your purse.

Jane stops you in the track "Hey, where were you? We're having margarita, would you like some?"

You see him. behind Jane’s shoulder, through the door to the outside. He's back in the garden to his wife, holding an arm around her waist with a relaxed expression on his face, as if nothing has happened.

"I-uh-"

"Just sip this time, don't throw it down like you did before" Jane looks at you amused "I don't want to hold your hair while you vomit in one of Walkers' fancy bathrooms"

You nervously laugh then you look at him again and it's infuriating, the way he just goes on with his life while you feel like you've been hit by a train.

Fucking worthy of an Oscar.

The temptation to go home takes you for a moment but then looking at him smiling seraphically you think, “Fuck it, I don't see why I should ruin my day for him.”

So you follow Jane into the garden to join the others.

“If he can play it cool I can too” you think ”nothing a nice margarita can't fix.”

You walk past him and see that he and his wife are talking to Edie and her new boyfriend.

He doesn't even look at you, as if you are back a figure in the background with the others.

Which actually makes sense; the opposite would be much stranger since in the eyes of everyone you are nothing more than mere neighbors.

“Dave, look, Carol left lipstick on your lips,” you hear Edie say giggling as you sit at the table with your friends, ”you two lovebirds, you're still so cute after so many years of marriage.”

You feel your heart jump into your throat but you try to maintain composure outside and greeting Susan and Emma that just arrived “fuck” you think, cursing Edie and her big mouth “Now she's going to realize it's not her lipstick, God, I'm so screwed”.

You talked to her before but now in your panic you can't even remember what lipstick she was wearing.

You smile quizzically at Gabby who hands you one of the margaritas a waiter just left at your table but you perk up your ears to catch whatever they're saying; for a moment it's all silent until you hear Carol's crystalline laughter.

You barely turn to observe them out of the corner of your eye as you take a sip of your cocktail and see that Carol is wearing a lipstick very similar to yours. You're not a church girl but right now you're literally praying that one stupid kiss doesn't make you the laughingstock of the neighborhood.

Damn you, Dave.

Carol pulls a tissue out of her purse and hands it to him.

Okay, she’s quiet. Or at least she seems to be.

And who would ever connect me and Dave anyway?

You shake yourself out of your thoughts when you hear Jane call your name “hey! are you still with us?”

You smile “yes, sorry, I was thinking about work, you know that presentation I have to give on Monday” and you squeeze into your shoulders “what were you saying?”

Jane rolls her eyes “ugh, work. I was saying we're meeting tomorrow afternoon at my house for poker, are you coming?”

“Of course I'm coming, and I plan to tear you all apart!”

Jane, Gabby, Susan and Emma all say in chorus “we'll see about that!”You laugh and sip on your margarita again trying to appease your nerves, the liquid slide cool down your throat and you savor the citrusy flavor on your tongue thinking "it's good. it's all good. I will cut that Dave bullshit out of my life and everything will be great"

The rest of the afternoon passes pleasantly, you drink another margarita while chatting with your friends, you grab some snacks from the buffet so you don't risk forcing Jane to hold your hair in the bathroom, and you feel like you have regained some mental stability.

Dave is still here, looking like the perfect picture of a man trying to spend quality time with his beloved wife.

They talk to neighbors, they laugh, she holds a hand in his tracing small concentric circles on his back.

All smooth, I can't believe it, you sigh as you finish your second margarita.

Ms. Horowitz goes between tables to tell you that anyone who wants can take advantage of the pool, all your friends thank her saying they will do so shortly, and you reply, “Oh,I don't have my bathing suit with me,” wondering if anyone has ever told you to bring it. From the way Jane looks at you with an amused expression you guess that yes, she had told you but you completely forgot in your frenzy to look good in front of Dave in your new shoes.

Being in a bathing suit in front of him is not something you could afford to contemplate and you can't do it now either so you try to shy away from her invitation as politely as you can, but Mrs. Horowitz presses you, “that's no problem, dear, we have dozens of bathing suits for our guests!”

“Of course. I forgot that if they wanted to they could swim in a pool full of money like Scrooge McDuck.”

At this point you can do nothing than accept.

Carlos and Rafael managed to disengage under the guise of joining Mr. Horowitz and other neighbors in the living room to watch whatever is going to be on the sports channel. And these are the moments when you wish you were someone who knows about sports.

“You can go to the pool house and change there, you will find swimsuits and towels in the closet,” Mrs. Horowitz chirps.

And so you do, you head for the pool house teetering on your new heels, thinking maybe you shouldn't swim at all because you're feeling a little tipsy.

“God, I really don't feel like it,” you say to Susan who is beside you, and she replies, ”oh come on, it will be fun!”

You already hear some splashing coming from the pool as you enter the little house.

It is luxuriously furnished like a real outhouse, there is a huge bed, a small kitchen, and a door on the right side that leads to a bathroom. Someone could actively live in here like a king.

Susan opens the closet that takes up the entire wall in front of the bed and finds dozens of bikinis and one-piece suits. “Jesus, they could open a swimsuit store with all this stuff.”

You laugh, tapping her on the side “make room” Susan pinches your arm “rude!” she sneers.

Emma, Jane and Gabrielle laugh. You choose a swimsuit as they take turns to change into the bathroom.

____________________________________

You walk out of the pool house wearing a black bikini, holding the towel wrapped around you. You chose the simplest model you could find that wasn't a one-piece swimsuit, because you always thought you looked like your grandmother in those.

You don't want to stand out but neither do you want to feel ridiculous at the idea of Dave seeing you.

You hope he has already gone home until you reach the pool and see him diving off the small diving board located on one of the short sides.

By now it's evening so several strings of small lights have been lit and hung directly above the pool like small fireflies floating in the air and scattered over the buffet and beverage gazebos.

There are also several garden street lamps around, but the small lights create an enchanting atmosphere.

Mr. and Mrs. Horowitz really know how to throw a great party.

Dave's back looks golden as you watch him disappear into the water, his muscles outlined by the play of light and shadow that refracts against them. You bury a howl inside as you steal a glance at his butt swaddled deliciously in red swimming shorts.

You sit on a lawn chair, fully intending to stay there, while your friends put their towels down and go for a dip in the pool.

It's still warm for fall, today in particular, so you don't mind the thing itself, but showing yourself to Dave like this? That's a whole other matter.

The whole neighborhood is there but you literally feel like only he can see you, because that's the only look you care about and might feel judged by.

Your friends wave at you from the other side of the pool, even calling your name so you listlessly drop the towel on the deck chair and walk to the edge, wetting your feet in the cool water.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Dave go underwater, you follow his movements, and see him come up right in front of you.

“Fuck” you think

“Hi,” he says in a low voice as you wonder where his wife is. You answer him by mumbling a “hello” as you look around for her. Carol is sitting on a lawn chair, wearing a white one-piece bathing suit and matching sarong, and sipping cocktails with one of your neighbors. She is quite distant and seems very engrossed in the conversation, so you finally allow yourself to look at Dave.

He's still in the water, leaning against the edge below you.

He runs a hand through his hair to pull it back, small droplets sliding down his perfectly chiseled jaw to the column of his neck and down his broad chest until they die at the water's edge.

Your friends call your name loudly as he rests both hands on the edge and rises effortlessly beside you. You don't look at him, you keep your gaze fixed on Jane and the others as you hear the sound of water sliding over his body and falling back into the pool, a few drops hitting you in the process. He is beside you, completely wet, wearing only shorts. You’re petrified, trying to govern your emotions and especially your facial expressions “stay calm stay calm stay calm” you repeat to yourself as you hear his voice whisper “you look so fucking sexy in that bikini. I wish I could fuck you right here right now” just before he walks over to the loungers.

He didn't turn around, he didn't make eye contact with you, no one would say he even noticed you, and he spoke so softly that no one could have heard him but you. You heard him loud and clear, and his rough voice went and settled directly between your legs on your wet pussy.

You hastily dive into the pool feeling your cheeks on fire.

“Fucking Dave and his fucking flirting.”

_________________________________________

First thing you do when you come home is to take off your shoes throwing on the carpet in your living room.

By now you are no longer tipsy; swimming in the pool has definitely helped you get sober again.

And Dave.

Dave who ignored you pretty much the rest of the evening but infiltrated your brain like a disease.

You know you can't get your hopes up, you know that this thing between the two of you will have no future, and you also know that you don't like being a home wrecker.

I am just an escape from his marriage, a sleazy adventure, a little toy to entertain him.

And yet, you still want more.

Your body unfortunately doesn't care about morality right now, it reacts to every image of him imprinted in your mind, Dave is Pavlov's bell and you are the drooling dog.

Lingering in fantasies about him hurts, but there is a desperate part of you that still feels his hips grinding against yours, the taste of his tongue, the warmth of his big hands on you.

And his body next to yours when he got out of the pool, how you could smell the scent of his skin mixed with chlorine, how you could still feel the warmth of his body despite being completely wet, water dripping down his legs pooling at his feet.

You can stay here a little longer, just a little while longer without hurting anyone, before you turn the page.

You shuffle into your room with your head in the clouds, open your night stand drawer almost without thinking, pull out your dildo and lie on the bed. You loop your dress around your waist without even bothering to take it off, just enough to get rid of your bra and your panties.

You let the dildo glide over your body, shivering at the feel of the cool plastic on your tits, brushing against your nipples.

The low rasp of his voice still in your mind, graveling like an echo in your brain “you look so fucking sexy in that bikini”

It was the first time you saw him like that, you happened to see some exposed skin as he mowed the lawn, even lifting up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead once he was done but what you saw today? Nothing compares with it.

His fully exposed torso, the darting muscles of his back as he dove, how his arms flexed as he leaned over the edge of the pool. There is something obscene about seeing people completely wet, a primal instinct awakening, the water slipping and hugging the curves of his body, the droplets of water glistening on his skin, the wet shorts glued to his body that barely suggested the shape of him.

You shut your eyes and suddenly it’s his cock wiping on your hardened buds, tip slapping and teasing, brushing on your skin just right, red and swollen and already leaking.

You can think it’s real, it feels so real, his hand roaming on your body, pulling your dress up, get it out of the way to dispose of you as he wants.

Big strong hand gripping on your inner thighs, his fingers rising higher on your skin, making you whimper in anticipation.

Your cunt aching tremendously, unrestrained and starving.

His big cock grazing your swollen labia, parting them and then sliding entirely over your center, his tip slamming against your clit, mingling your essences in an overwhelming arousal that runs through you all.

And then he pushes inside, deeper and deeper in the most intimate part of you.

And that’s it.

You are fucking away all your bad omens, lying to your hands sinking into the flesh of your thighs, your heart pounding behind your ribcage, your hips swaying against the rubber dildo, pushing them away to suppress them. All frenzy and delirium as it is his cock kissing your cervix, stretching your walls, pulsing and dripping inside you.

You can’t stop, angling the dildo so that it brushes against your swollen clit pumping incessantly into your core, creaming the entire length of your dildo, your legs obscenely spread, your body torn apart by every thrust, your hungry pussy sucking in, contracting, devouring every inch without finding peace.

"I wish I could fuck you right here right now"

Your free hand rises on your tit, your fingers latched on your pebbled nipple, pulling and twisting until you feel your brain leaking from your pussy.

Your orgasm breaks inside you, vibrating in and out of your body, quivering on your sweaty skin, taking your breath away. You come thinking of him completely wet from head to toe on top of you, your flesh colliding, your bodies merging, in a desperate, relentless rush toward the brink.

And you can't get enough, so you don't stop as the first orgasm washes over you, your swollen, slippery cunt keeps frantically gripping around the dildo, your hands keep thrusting it in, torturing your nipples, it's like you're trying to quench your thirst once and for all.

The way he ignored you afterward makes you want to have him even more, to break through his stoicism and trigger an outburst in him as much as your own.

It's twisted, wrong, immoral and you don't care a bit.

You fall into a deep sleep, having come repeatedly, Dave being all that's left in your head.

______________________________________

Morning light flutters on your eyelids forcing you to open your eyes to another day.

You grunt, feeling your incredibly aching pussy, and realize your dildo is still inside you.

The stretch is here to remind you your guilt, the frenzy that took you last night, the feeling of being just one inch away from slipping into something dangerous.

You pull it out cautiously, feeling your essence slip out of you, soaking your inner thigh, the sticky mess of your desire for him dribbling silently over your skin.

Your pussy tightens around nothing, pulsing to the void, deprived of something, swollen and tried.

The dress from the night before is still crumpled around your body, crumpled and damp with your sweat and arousal at the hem. You get out of bed feeling like a rag doll, drag yourself into the bathroom and look in the mirror. Mascara has run down your cheeks, your lipstick smudged, an exhausted and defeated expression on your face.

You look like a total disaster, matching your feelings.

This morning, in the sunlight, you are furious with yourself. Why did you let this married man condition you so much? You spent $350 on a pair of shoes just because he told you they'd fit you, what the fuck is wrong with you?

You have to stop before it takes a turn for the worse and you find yourself crying for him.

There's no way it will end well.

You take off your makeup, take a shower, and change into a pair of sweatpants and an old Pearl Jam T-shirt you got at a concert a million years ago.

You clean and tidy your house, then Jane calls to have your confirmation to meet at 3 p.m. at her house.

Having a fun afternoon with your friend will help, you think.

You don't look out the window toward his house even once, you simply pretend it doesn't exist.

After changing into a pair of jeans and a white top, you head towards Jane’s house at the end of the road, your eyes straight to her house without your usual wandering and sneaking through your neighbor’s windows.

You are able to shut down your brain concentrating on poker and your friend and it all goes smooth until you hear Susan say, “Did Edie call you to gossip about the Yorks?” And you all turn to look at her, you with your heart leaping in your chest like an acrobat.

“Really? Was it only me who had this pleasure?” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Why, what happened?” Jane asks as she shuffles the cards for the next hand.

“According to her, Dave has an affair. But you know how Edie is, I mean-”

"And how can she say that?" Gabby widen her eyes, getting all excited. You love her dearly but she’s almost as gossipy as Edie sometimes.

"She says Dave disappeared at the party and then came back with some lipstick on his mouth."

“What?” you all exclaim, as you try with all your might to feign surprise.

“Yes, and then she says Carol pretended nothing happened but according to Edie there is something going on because you know - she says that lipstick seemed slightly different from the one his wife was wearing”

“Well that also depends on lips natural color,” Jane tries to intervene, usually she's the one who instead tries to quell the rumors. You are thankful that she maintains her attitude even now, all while your other friends cut her off squeaking “oh my God!” And Gabby, who sits right next to you put a hand on your arm “Jesus, can you believe that?”

“Actually no” you shrug “I mean…they seem so close-hearted”

“Well, honey, I'm sorry to tell you but not all that glitters is gold” Gabby scoffs.

“Even if it was true - and with Edie I wouldn't put my hand on it because she was really tipsy and then well...she's Edie” Jane admonishes “it's none of our business”

“God, he would be such a scam though. And to think I kinda considered him incorruptible” Emma sighs and you all nod.

You never mentioned your crush, not even to the friends.

No one ever saw you two talk for more than a few minutes and only of mundane arguments, totally out of courtesy and being good neighbors.

Fuck. It has to end before anyone finds out.

The bullet missed you by a whisker but you know you can't play with fire.

“Then you wonder why I haven't found another boyfriend yet!” You playfully snap, just to look more unsuspicious.

You hate lying to your friends, but you are relieved when you see them nodding.

Jane urges, “Come on let's play, we've talked enough about this.”

The afternoon flows nicely, Jane and Gabi argue over points as usual, you all laugh, and by the end you feel better, really better.

Yesterday was crazy, but I can get through it, you think.

When you get home you order a pizza and eat it on the couch watching a horror movie. You don't think about him for the rest of the evening, until you get under the covers and a flashback of him pushing you against the bathroom tiles flashes before your eyes. You squeeze them hard, trying to banish the image from your mind.

________________________________________

Monday morning at the office hits you in the face, you have a lot of work to do but you've never been so happy to keep busy so you don’t complain. Anything goes as long as you don't think about him.

Your agency has just acquired a big client for whom you'll have to manage a marketing campaign, there's a lot of pressure but by the end of the morning you feel like you and the rest of the team have come up with the right idea, which makes you relieved.

At lunchtime you go out to get a sandwich. It's a beautiful sunny day, there’s a little wind that caresses your face and moves the tree canopies along the road. You're glad you've been able to focus, you really care about doing a good job and making a good impression on your demanding boss in light of a promotion you'd like to get.

You will slowly return to your usual life and what happened will remain a sporadic episode without consequences. That's the best thing for everyone.

You walk into the diner and get in line to order a sandwich.

You greet Sarah, the girl at the counter, with whom you've been chatting since the first day you were hired at your agency.

You order the usual and come out humming and feeling some lightness at last.

You walk the short distance to your office, and the moment you push the door open you feel a gaze on you, like in déjà vu. You turn to look at the street, and see no one, just a black car that takes off quickly, speeding down the empty road. For a moment it looks like Dave's. You blink your eyes and shake your head, feeling lost.

It's like you've taken one step forward and three steps back.

It will take much longer to eradicate him from your mind, and living in the same neighborhood across the street from each other certainly won't help.

You come home tired, you managed to do a good job despite the thought of Dave that kept pounding in your head all afternoon, at least you can be satisfied with that.

You park in your driveway and out of the corner of your eye you see Carol loading suitcases into a cab.

Shit, what's going on? Was Edie right? Did they really have a fight? Is she leaving him?

You start toward your door but then stay on the porch pretending to rummage through your purse for your keys.

You see Dave leave the house with his daughters, he helps Carol with the heaviest suitcase and they briefly say something you can’t hear. You hold your breath for a signal, something that will let you know what they’re doing, but it all seems neutral, calm, no drama, no screaming fight in the middle of the street. Typical of them, you think, they would never do that in front of their daughters anyway.

Molly and Alice hug their father and happily get into the taxi, sitting in the back, Alice holding a doll which she places next to her on the seat.

Carol kisses Dave on the cheek and climbs into the cab with the girls. As you watch them leave your mind is filled with question marks, it didn't seem like a traumatic departure but you know they are the best at keeping up appearances. And deep down, what do you really know about Carol and Dave? What really happens when the doors are closed and they are far from the rest of the world? Are they really the perfect family they pretend to be?

Dave is on the sidewalk waving to the cab pulling away, as soon as it's far enough away he turns to look at you and winks.

Series tag list:

@penascigarette @syd-djarin @almostempty @aurorawritestoescape @joelalorian @milla-frenchy @baronessvonglitter @cas-readsandwrites @sunnytuliptime @foreveratlantica-blog @peppermintfury @drewharrisonwriter @indiegirlunited @darkheartgatita @untamedheart81 @missladym1981 @rosebuds-and-moonlight

If you want to be added or removed, just let me know, thank you so much for reading ♥️

#pedro pascal #dave york fanfiction #dave york x f!reader #dave york fic #dave york x female reader #dave york #dave york smut #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu fandom #ppcu fics

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getmeoutofhell · 11 months ago

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Clowns in the Slasher House

warnings: clowns, body parts & cussing!

a/n: i’ve been wanting to do this so i hope you enjoy this! leave comments and request.

they all have their own separate rooms and floor in house.

you guessed it, they live in the basement. the basement has to be cleaned every damn friday, because if not, it’s gonna smell like ass and dodo.

now, let’s talk about who’s in the slasher house that’s a clown:

art the clown

penny

pennywise

the little girl

art & the little girl are the messiest out of all of them, and i stand by that. i mean, penny is very, very questionable, but art is more questionable.

sometimes they all play hide and seek, and invite you the play as well. penny is the best at it, since he can literally disappear if he so chooses to. but you had to tell him not to because that’s cheating.

pennywise is usually gone so he doesn’t join often with you guys. but when he does, he’s not the best at the game, but definitely not the worst.

art sometimes uses his hands to cover his face, pretending that he’s hiding. you think it’s funny and adorable, and you sometimes play along with it, pretending you can’t see him.

“oh dangit, i have no idea where art could be. i guess i’ll go look upstairs.” you see him giggle like a school girl before going up stairs.

the little girl likes you, and she’s more comfortable around you & art than anyone else in the house. she likes to tug on your pants leg if she wants something. you still haven’t thought of a name for her yet, but you’re working on it.

another thing about art is that you have to remind him to take his dirty ass clown shoes off when he enters the house. they’re covered with mud and other shit (literally) so it’s a constant thing you have to do to protect the rugs and carpet in the house.

you don’t have to worry about the other adult clowns and their shoes because they can make the dirt disappear in a blink of an eye.

art & the little girl make a lot of weird gifts and passes them to everyone. sometimes it’s a dead persons liver, sometimes it’s someone’s big toe that art collected. you’ll never know what you may get with him.

weekly showers. i don’t care how much art fusses his stanky ass is getting in that damn shower. every time you make art get in the shower, the other clowns laugh at him. arts reaction is to just flip them off, so that’s entertaining to watch.

penny likes to scare the others all the time. you can never get used to it because it’s always something different with him all the time. pennywise sometimes joins in on pennys little pranks but often penny does it to pennywise.

water gun fights!! especially since it’s hot out, it’s the perfect time to have some fun outside in the sun. just don’t forget the sun screen. i don’t know if the clowns would wear swim trunks but maybe you can convince them.

how can i forget the board game nights!! well art…he doesn’t like the board games much. but when he does play, he cheats. well, try’s to at least.

let’s say you’re playing uno and you’re sitting by art. you see out the corner of your eye art peek over next to you at your cards. “art don’t you dare.” he smiles before looking away.

the little girl is smarter than most people realize. she knows a lot, and does a lot. she knows when you’re depressed and sometimes will sit next to you as a type of comfort.

they like to play tag and run around the house every damn where and tear up shit.

*glass shatters* “oh my god what broke now?” you say annoyed.

should i do a part 2?

#art the clown #slashers #slashers x reader #pennywise #pennywise x reader #art the clown x reader #x reader #clowncore #art the clown terrifier #pennywise x you

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whiskeyghoul · 2 years ago

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Hi!! I have huge baby fever rn (mainly for Spencer) and was wondering if you would do dad!Spencer or spencer x pregnant reader, just fluff bc I love Reid. Feel free to ignore it you don't want to :)

The playground || [dad!Spencer Reid x f!reader]

A/N: Thanks for the request. Spencer would be an amazing dad so this was fun to write. Though also a bit of a challenge. I hope you enjoy it. Also look at me adding more pictures. Doing the most out here.

Tags: fluff, pregnancy mention, dad Spencer, reader has a daughter, using children to trap your significant other, no y/n.

Word count: 1.2K

It was early spring as you sat on the park bench. Still wrapped up in many layers of clothing to keep warm in the chill of the afternoon. The sun shone with a warm glow, making the exposed skin of your face heat up ever so slightly. A sigh of content escaped your lips as your eyes fell closed for a second. Enjoying the calmness of the moment that was joyfully interrupted by high pitched laughter that was practically music to your ears. Blinking your eyes open they landed on the little, 4 year old girl who was running around the playground structure being chased by the man you called yours. It had been your idea to head out that day to the park and enjoy the first rays of the spring sun. There had also been something keeping you busy. Spending time outside always makes you calm again.

Spencer was slightly bent down, trying to catch your little girl in a game of what seemed to be tag. A smile split your face as you watched his hair get ruffled by the wind as he almost caught your daughter, she skillfully dodged under the slide and out of his reach with a shriek. Samara, who looked so much like her father with the messy brown curls, big brown eyes that you would do anything for, and that smile full of joy. But her nose was yours, and the shape of her face, and oh that personality, she was mom’s girl after all. She took after you in the way she responded to people, she was kind, gentle and smart. Spencer scooped her up and you watched her writhe in his arms while laughing. “I got you! There’s no escaping now.” He laughed before spinning round and round. “No! Put me down!” She called between laughs and shrieks, her small, red scarf flapping around in their wake. You laughed at the sight, brimming with joy and love for them.

Spencer stopped spinning, he looked in your direction and you watched his chest heave slightly with each breath he took. The smile that crossed his face was blinding. You watched him crouch down, putting Samara on her feet and he got to eye level with her before whispering something inaudible to her. She nodded her head, a look of determination in her eyes as she wiped some of the stray curls out of her face. They were definitely plotting something. You got up from your seat with suspicion settling into your stomach. Something in you said it would be better to be upright and standing instead of in your seat. Spencer nodded his head and Samara came bounding over to you with Spencer in tow. There was a matching look on both their faces, one of feigned innocence. “What’s going on?” You asked, giving a sideways glance. “Oh, nothing.” Spencer answered as he snaked his arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek gently. Warmth spreads through your body just from his touch, the butterflies still never left.

He pulled away and you watched him nod towards your daughter who full force tagged your leg, “You’re it.” She grinned as she ran away. Spencer’s arms around you left as quickly as he had pulled you close as he ran in the opposite direction from Samara. You gasped, standing in place as you had realized their plot to envelope you into their game of tag. Spencer being the distraction for your daughter to sneak up and tag without your complaint. “That’s playing dirty!” You exclaimed though the smile on your face betrayed your feigned upset. You quickly ran after Samara, knowing that their tactic of splitting up made you choose between who to go after first. Your daughter, with smaller legs, would be your first target. Already planning how to convince her to join in capturing Spencer later on.

Quickly catching up to the four year old was easy enough, letting her escape a few times to make it more fun for her. She clambered over different playground items, using her small stature to her benefit. She crawled into one of the tunnels, following close behind you finally caught up to her. Once you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close she let out another “Nooo!! Mom!!” while laughing as you kissed her cheeks repeatedly. “You’re it!” You said as you waited for her to stop squirming. The weight of her in your arms was absolutely right. She was getting bigger every week it seemed.

“You want to help me catch dad?” You whispered once she settled down. The competitive streak that you have clearly had rubbed off on her as she nodded her head yes. She clearly didn’t frown upon double crossing her dad if it meant winning at tag. “Do I need to tag dad again?” She asked, eyes big, voice soft and hushed just in case Spencer was close to hear. “Actually, I want you to distract him.” You responded with a smile, “Can you go up to daddy and tell him you’re going to be a big sister?” You asked her in a hushed tone. Samara’s eyes went wide and a grin broke out on her rounder face, “I am?” she asked surprised and excited at the same time. In turn you nodded your head yes.

You had found out three days ago, while Spencer was away on a case and when he had returned last night it wasn’t the right time to tell him. Now, using your first born daughter to tell him and to win a game of tag, that was the perfect time to tell him. “Go on, tell him.” Your arms unwrapped from her and she quickly scrambled out of the play tunnel calling for her dad. You crawled out with some struggle, crossing your arms as you watched as Spencer once again picked up the little girl. You dusted off your pants and jacket as you walked towards the two of them.

“What is it, princess?” Spencer asked, looking quizzically at her perhaps thinking you plotted against him. “I’m gonna be a sister! I’m gonna be a sister!” Samara spoke sing-songey as she settled in his arms. Spencer’s eyes widened and his head shot up to look at you. Eyes full of questions and surprise, the gears in his head going a 1000 miles a minute as he processed the news. Trying to decide whether it was real or not. You walked closer, a gentle smile on your lips as you kissed his cheek. “Are you-?” He asked hushed as you pulled away. “Yes, I am.” you whispered back earning you a kiss on the lips. Filled with joy, happiness and warmth. The butterflies in your stomach would probably not settle for the rest of the day.

You pulled away from the kiss gently, your hand reaching up and you pressed your finger to his chest. “And…” You watched him as he looked at you with baited breath, hanging onto every word that would come out of your mouth. Your lips curled into a smirk.

“Tag you’re it.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #dad spencer reid #pregnant reader

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idunnaldwir · 23 days ago

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Ship Tropes Game

Idunn & Solas

Thank you @wickedviago for this tag (and for teaching me how to do pretty fonts). Loooove it!!!!💜😏 RULES: Pick one of your ships and name 5 tropes that apply to them. For each trope, explain why it fits—not just in terms of dynamics, but what it reveals about your blorbos as characters. Think of it as both ship analysis and character dissection.

Unstoppable Force vs Immovable Object: I think this is their baseline trope. Though it's not fixed for any of them. They both change these two roles between each other, depending on the situation and the things they go through. Solas is definitely both the Unstoppable Force and the Immovable Object and so is Idunn. They somehow meet in the middle and the two forces that push and pull realize that the only measure they can take is to merge with each other.

Birds of a Feather: They are very alike. They have extremely similar wishes and goals. (for more info on her background and why she is like this, here is a link that explains her better. She is my DnD and BG3 OC and what happens in DAV is an AU to her main story - right here ) She is extremely tempted by the tearing of the Veil, despises the way the world is, and thinks what used to be is an improvement. She keeps it a secret though, from both him and the companions, even though Solas senses it. He knows she's tempted and this is one of the main reasons he becomes strangely possessive and addicted to her. She's his only glimpse to the outside world and also one of the few people who understood him. While she sees in him power. Yes, incredible magical power and determination, paired again with someone who truly gets her. She cannot resist it. She realizes though that the risks outweigh the benefits, especially due to the Blight that might escape and destroy everything, so she decides to try stopping him.

Because Destiny Says So: Yeah the good ol' fated trope. It can also be the red thread of fate one. There's just no other way for them than to be together. They're doomed and blessed by it and they soon accept and embrace it. She comes from Toril to Thedas via the Fade/Feywild and he lures her in when he senses her presence simply because he's intrigued by what she is. She ends up working with Varric and hunting him and in the meanwhile he watches her. Then they get unintentionally (or not?) tangled into a Blood Magic binding that intertwines them on levels that he didn't really intend at the beginning. The deeper the connection gets, the more they start wondering if it is real, or just a result of the Blood Bond and they decide they should test this somehow (GeraltxYenn moment yes ;)). They do get to test it but not the way they had intended and yet again unintentionally. Many of the things that happen to them, though driven by their own insatiable thirst for the unattainable, are also accidental and they fall into situations as a rule.

Sun and Moon: Even though they're very alike, on some level they're also opposites. They share goals and ambitions, and especially ideals, but the way they go about achieving them is different. They're complementary, the same, yet alike, and serve a similar purpose, but in different ways, so like the sun and moon. She's insatiable, hungry for life and experiences, wants more and more, and needs to do it all. He used to be like that as well, when he was young but is now tired, worn out, lonely, and all that zest of life that she has, that light and warmth feeds him, alights him as well. When all the tragedy is over and they can move on and finally be together, her main goal is to help him truly live and enjoy every moment of it.

Dark Mirror Lovers The entanglement, oh the entanglement these two have. It isn't only magical in nature, but also theirs, natural and not influenced by the blood bond. She is protective of him because she sees herself in him. When a companion judges him too harshly, she takes it personally because she is like that as well. She has compassion for him, especially after seeing his memories, and is enraged when the companions still don't get it. In the end of the game, in Minrathous she's very eager for the others to not judge him too harshly, and at the very end, in the Atonement ending she orders all the doors of the Palace to be sealed and not opened until his blood is cleaned so that no one takes it and practices some nefarious magic with it. Afterward, while she lives for a while at the Lighthouse (before joining him in the Fade again), she fights to redeem him in the consciousness of the people, working with the local papers to write about the fact that he did ultimately save Thedas from utter destruction. He, on the other hand, is possessive in a slightly different way. He believes that if he doesn't intervene, she'll somehow fail or be killed, and does it a few times when she doesn't really want it. He is also silently jealous of the companions who she might pay attention to, but he thinks he's hiding it well. He doesn't and everyone does know. He also promises he will help her get back home after game events but he doesn't keep the promise because he cannot let her go. In the end they both pine for each other, Idunn at the Lighthouse all alone and depressed and him fighting the Blight and being wrecked by it. He uses the Blood Magic bond to reach out to her and she doesn't answer, but after a while, they meet again.

I feel like I missed some important trope, but that's inevitable because their relationship is seriously curling my brain.lol I tag with no pressure @nananarc @scriberated @the-scarlet-rot @missriggie @litchigaming @solrookera and anyone else who wants to jump in.❤️

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #solrook #dreadrook #solas x rook #rook #rook x solas #otp: eye of the storm #tag tag #ship trope tag #oc: idunn aldwir

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thepseudowoodo · 1 month ago

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Special thanks to @shmuel-ben-sarah-kcd2 for helping me with the Yiddish for this chapter. I dropped into their dms like "Heyyyyyy can I ask for a favorrrrrr?" and they were like, "Oh heck yes" so everyone please give them some love! I didn't think about it until today, but these pieces jump around in the game's timeline and I realized that might be mildly confusing. Currently, Parts 1 and 3 take place post-game. Part 2 (Godwin & Zizka) takes place partly during the battle at Nebakov, and partly during the wait for Henry to return from the Exodus quest. This chapter is also post-game. See also: AN AO3 LINK FINALLY WOOOOOO But I'm still posting here first.

Title: Measured With Blood

Rating: M for themes of canon-typical violence and sexual content

Summary: Hans reflects on his relationship with Henry and how it is viewed by the people around them.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Part 4: Samuel

His shoulder still ached, although the wound wasn’t deep and was, indeed, almost healed. Henry had tended it himself, that first night after the Praguers defeat at Suchdol. He’d been gentle, tender in his ministrations, despite the way his hands shook as he helped Hans remove his layers of armor and clothing to reveal the puncture underneath. He’d checked on it at least once a day since, making a balm to ease the pain and a potion to help keep fever away as it healed. That was actually why Hans was descending the stairs to the ground floor of the Devil’s Den, to search for Henry and see if he had everything he needed to make the new batch of balm for their wounds. It was their evening ritual now, and Hans looked forward to it.

He froze at the bottom of the stairs, though, when Henry’s voice came drifting in to him from outside where the side entrance door had been left open to let in light and a warm breeze.

“-with the Pack?”

Another voice chuckled, although there didn’t seem to be much humor in it. “The adventure with you has been fun, bruder, if you can call what we’ve been through ‘fun’ but I’m not a soldier. This isn’t the life for me.”

“Where will you go, then?”

“To Kolin. My mother is there, and most of my people. We must begin to recover from our losses, and it will take much work.”

“Can I help?”

Hans identified the voice finally as Henry’s brother- friend? brother? companion?- Sam. “Not unless you have several thousand groshen tucked into your saddlebags. No, it will take much work, but it is work we are used to.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

Sam sighed, and Hans heard the creak of wood. They must be sitting on the bench just outside the door. Henry liked to bask in the morning sunlight there when he could. “It doesn’t,” Sam admitted quietly. “But it is the truth of our lives.”

The pair fell silent then, and Hans began to consider whether he should interrupt the peace there and ask Henry about the balm, or if he should slip past the door and head out the front entrance to take a stroll down the road for a bit and return a little later. His thoughts stumbled to a stop when Sam said suddenly, “And what about you?”

“Me?” Henry sounded genuinely confused.

“Yes, you,” Sam laughed. “What will you do now? Have you even considered it, or are you too concerned with taking care of everyone else?”

Hans found himself holding his breath for the response. He and Henry hadn’t spoken much about what would come next for them. His wedding loomed on the horizon, and neither of them wanted to acknowledge it yet. Had Henry thought about it? Until now he’d been so ready to tag along with Hans, but lately he’d been second-guessing that. He knew Henry loved him, and he returned the feeling so wholly it was frightening. But would Henry be able to bear sticking around as he watched Hans get married? Buckle down to bedding a strange woman, siring an heir on her? Hans wasn’t sure he’d be able to, were their situations reversed.

He was so caught up in his own sudden fears that Hans missed the first part of Henry’s response. “-with Lord Capon. I am still bound to his service.”

“His service, eh?”

“Aye. And perhaps now that we’ll be heading back to Rattay, we’ll get a bit of peace for a few days. At least until he gets kidnapped again.”

Hans wanted to be offended by that, but the laughter of the two men rang through so bright and clear to him that he couldn’t bring himself to be upset. He hadn’t heard Henry laugh like that in a long time, and had never heard Sam laugh like that at all. Not that he and Sam had ever had any reason to laugh together to begin with.

“If you ever need a break, you should come visit us in Kolin. My mother would like to meet you properly.”

“I’d like that too.”

“Maybe your feygeleh can spare you after his wedding, hm? Get you away from the mess for a bit.”

“My fay- what?”

Hans would swear he could hear Sam’s eyes roll. “Your feygeleh. Your… your little bird.”

“Hans has a nice singing voice, but I think he’d object to being called a little bird,” Henry said, although the chuckle that threaded through took all the force from it.

“But it is a bird, yes? A Capon? It’s a kind of chicken, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

“I believe so, but also the word carries another meaning.”

“What, Capon?”

“Feygeleh.”

“Oh. What is it?”

The wood of the bench creaked again, and Hans used the opportunity to finally take the final step down onto the floor of the tavern and seat himself on the stairs there. “He is… yours.”

“My… lord?”

“Yes, but he is more than that, for you.”

“Sir Hans is…” Henry sighed explosively. “He’s my best friend.”

“I do not think that is all he is.”

The silence that fell on them, two speaking and one listening, was so entire that Hans could hear the stream across the road burbling gently.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Henry replied stiffly, his voice carefully devoid of tone.

Sam snorted. “I am not blind, bruder. I see the way you watch each other. Your feygeleh, he visits the baths fairly often, but when I go I hear the maids sighing that he does not visit them any more. And has not, since he returned to you.”

Henry must have made some sort of expression, because Sam snorted again. “Do not look like that, I don’t care.”

“Does anyone-”

“Whether anyone else here can use their eyes, I do not know. But I have not said anything about it to anyone. I am not an asshole.”

Hans bit back a snort of his own at that. He had a list of evidence to the contrary. But Henry sounded softer now, as if tension he had been holding was let go with Sam’s gentle confrontation. “I love him,” he murmured.

There was a moment of silence, and Hans could imagine Sam raising an eyebrow at that. Hans, from his place inside, was struggling to keep his breathing even. Sam said, “Does he know? Have you told him that?”

Henry didn’t have anything to say to that, apparently, so Sam went on, “He returns the feeling, I am sure. Me? I think you have bad taste, but who am I to judge? So long as my shvager treats you well, I will not quarrel with him. Much.”

Henry laughed suddenly, and the bench creaked in a way that signaled the pair were standing up. Hans hurried to do the same, suddenly aware of his own compromising position and wondering what to do about it.

“You leave today then?”

“Aye, I was only staying for breakfast, and to say goodbye. I will go to get my things and be off soon.”

“I’m glad we met, I’m glad to know I have a brother.”

“My home will always be open to you. Come visit some time. Preferably when you are not in the middle of a war.”

The two men laughed again, and Hans felt it warming him as if he were sitting out in the sun with them.

“I’m sorry I can’t go with you this time. I’ll miss you, Sam.”

“Abi gezunt, bruder - dos leben kayn men zikh alayn nemen.”

“Abby gadzooks to you too.”

“It means stay healthy, you tongue-tied fool. How you managed to do what you have done with the ears you have-”

They dissolved into laughter again and it faded away quickly, the pair obviously hesitant to say their final goodbyes. “Be safe, Sam.”

“You too, Henry. Now go, make that medicine for your feygeleh. I have to go get my bags.”

The pair split ways, and Hans only just had time to hurl himself up a few steps and turn as if he was just coming down them. Sam stopped just at the base of the stairs, looking vaguely startled at the panicked-looking man who met his eyes with a smile that tried to be casual, but came off more manic.

“Good morning, Samuel,” Hans said, moving aside so Sam could ascend past him.

Sam didn’t move, just stared with narrowing eyes as Hans descended and came level with him. “I do not understand it,” he said slowly, “but if Henry ever comes to complain to me about you, know that I have learned a lot from him on the subject of exacting revenge.”

Hans smiled again, but this time it was in genuine confusion. “I beg your pardon? Was that- Are you threatening me?”

Sam rolled his eyes theatrically and began to climb the stairs, muttering something about goyshe kopp. He was near the top when Hans called out to him, and he paused to turn and squint suspiciously down at the other man.

“I… do. Return the feeling, that is. Henry is dearer to me than my own life. I’ll do everything I can to keep him from harm.”

Sam continued to squint suspiciously, letting his silence drag on for several long seconds before finally saying, “I still do not understand it, but Henry is happy and that is somehow your fault. Do not let that change, and we will have peace between us.” He turned quickly, retreating up the stairs before the look on Hans’ face could get any more soppy with affection for his brother.

#kingdom come deliverance 2 #kcd2 #hansry #kcd samuel

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crazydestinymilkshake · 1 month ago

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Caitlin Clark x Kate Martin Ch 24

Sophomore year, preseason, basketball is back! Grayson is back god bless. NIL coming into the picture & trying to get more into Kate's head :)

NSFW: WLW, Smut, etc.

Disclaimer: This is my first time writing a fic! Any feedback is welcome. Friends -> lovers, Caitlin's gay-awakening. I obviously don't own any of the rights to these characters etc.

The gym lights hummed overhead like they’d never been turned off. Squeaks, breath, rhythm — it all came back faster this year. Five days into November and the pace already felt electric.

Caitlin floated through it.

There were still long meetings and brutal lifts and Jan pausing film to bark you’re late on help again, but it all hit differently now. Her body felt lighter. Her mind, sharper.

The weight in her chest — gone? No. But smaller. Manageable. Like she’d finally figured out how to carry it without limping.

Things clicked.

On the court, she was louder. Looser. Calling switches with her chest open, cracking jokes between drills, pointing mid-play just to watch Gabby laugh while still hitting her in stride. She was giving looks. Teasing. Shit-talking Kate with a grin sharp enough to split the paint. And when practice ended, she didn’t bolt for the locker room like she used to.

She lingered.

Stretched on the floor with her shoes still on. Ate an extra banana. Let McKenna braid half her hair before she realized it was lopsided. Let herself belong.

Off the court, the world kept matching her pace.

She and Kate were synced like planets — orbiting, anchored, pulling each other closer. It felt easy. Physical and funny and steady in a way Caitlin hadn’t known she could trust. Kate didn’t ask much. Just met her where she was and kept showing up.

That, maybe more than anything, made Caitlin want to keep rising.

She didn’t count calories that week. Ate pancakes twice. Let herself laugh like nobody could hear it. On Tuesday night she danced around the apartment with wet hair and no bra, holding a mug of tea like it was champagne. She let Kate wrap her arms around her waist and said, without flinching, “I’m really fucking happy.”

And she meant it.

—------------------------------

It starts small.

A box shows up at the facility one afternoon — no label, no logo. Just a yellow Post-it slapped on top: “#22 approved?” scrawled in thick Sharpie. Inside: six cases of some upstart Midwestern hydration brand. Flavors like Glacier Punch and Crop Duster Grape.

Nobody makes a fuss. Gabby pockets two. Jan squints at the packaging, grunts, moves on. But Caitlin notices the logo. Remembers the brand — a farm-born startup out of rural Iowa. She used to play club ball with the kid who runs their marketing now.

The next day, there’s a crewneck outside her door. Soft cotton. Block letters: Built Different. BORN IN IOWA. No business card, no ask. Just: If you like it, wear it.

She throws it on after practice without thinking. That night, a booster’s niece snaps a blurry hallway pic and tags the brand. It gets reshared five times. No tag on Caitlin. Doesn’t matter. People know.

Then comes the diner moment. Thursday night. Late. She and Kate just wanted pancakes after weights. The owner’s daughter catches a candid from behind the counter. Posts it with the caption: #22 and her teammate 💛

By morning, it’s their most-liked photo. The restaurant DMs Caitlin a $50 gift card.

She doesn’t reply. But something shifts.

She starts seeing it — who hovers after games, who follows her on Instagram, who quietly adds her handle to their bios. A smoothie spot sends a basket to the athletic department — everything yellow. A boutique in Cedar Rapids offers her a “personalized fall drop.” Her old high school coach forwards a note from the town’s credit union — just in case she’s curious about future partnerships.

It’s still early November. No agent. No press. No official offers. But Caitlin can feel it rising. Quietly. Steadily. Her name, gaining weight. Her presence, gaining power. Not just because she scores. Because she matters.

—--------------------------------

By the time Wednesday rolled around, something in Caitlin’s chest had already started to coil.

Not fear. Not exactly.

Just that low, twitchy ache under her ribs — the one that showed up before family dinners, before asking for what she wanted, before letting anyone see too much.

She hadn’t seen Dr. Grayson since April. Since the end of last season — before the summer and the lake and Chicago and letting Kate kiss her in broad daylight. Before the stretch of quiet months where she’d finally stopped flinching every time someone looked too closely.

She wasn’t nervous exactly. Just… unsure what would come out. What version of herself she’d walk in with now that she wasn’t holding her breath all the time.

The sky outside was gray, like it couldn’t make up its mind. Cold pressing in through the edges of fall, but not yet winter. The building was almost empty. Practice long done. Girls off to class, training tables, whatever came next. Caitlin took the back hallway like always. Hood up. Sleeves pulled low. Headphones in, but no music playing.

Just her own breathing in her ears. Sharp and loud.

Grayson’s door was open. Same room. Same couch. New plant on the desk. There was a bowl of peppermints on the table that hadn’t been there last year.

Caitlin stepped inside. Let the door close behind her. She didn’t sit like she used to — all tension and bounce, body angled toward escape. She curled into the corner of the couch, tucked her feet under her, but her shoulders stayed loose.

Grayson smiled. Soft. “I haven’t seen you since April.”

Caitlin nodded. “Yeah.”

“Want to tell me how you’ve been?”

She exhaled through her nose. Not bracing. Just—steadying. “Honestly? I’m kind of disgustingly good.”

Grayson arched an eyebrow. Caitlin grinned.

“Like, actually good. Which feels… somewhat illegal?” She rubbed at her neck. “I’m eating. I’m lifting. I’m sleeping. The team feels amazing. Kate and I are… solid. Like, terrifyingly solid.”

Grayson leaned back in her chair, hands relaxed in her lap. “How does it feel, being in your body like that again?”

Caitlin went quiet. Then: “Weird. Like—like I’m waiting for it to go away. Like I’m wearing something I borrowed and if I move wrong, it’ll tear..."

Grayson let that settle.

“I’m doing all the things,” Caitlin said, voice quicker now. “I’m not spiraling. I’m leading. I’m laughing. Kate says I'm glowing. And I believe her. Which is fucked up, because I’m not used to believing anyone when they tell me I matter.”

Grayson didn’t rush to fill the air. She just let Caitlin’s words land, watching the way her fingers tugged at the cuff of her sleeve. She went on, voice even. “You’ve done a lot of work to feel okay in your own skin. And now, someone else sees that glow and names it—and you don’t shut it down. That's really important, Caitlin.”

Caitlin looked down. Picked at a loose thread.

“It’s not just about feeling good,” Grayson said. “There’s something else under this.” A beat.

“Well there’s this other thing,” Caitlin said. “I keep trying not to think about it, but it keeps coming up.”

Grayson tilted her head, gently. “Try.”

Caitlin’s hands twisted together. “It’s not even anything yet. Just… little things. A box with my name on it. A sweatshirt. A smoothie place that sent me a basket in all yellow. A diner tagged me in a picture with Kate, and it blew up overnight. And now I keep getting these DMs. From people I don’t know. From people who say they’ve been watching me since high school. People asking what I stand for.” She laughed, but it cracked halfway through. “Like I know. Like I’ve figured that out.” Grayson stayed still.

“I didn’t think I cared about that shit,” Caitlin said. “I used to talk so much shit. I said I wasn’t a brand. That I was just a player. That I wanted people to know me as a person, and I do.”

She looked down. “But now I think I might want it.” A beat. “Not the likes. Not the noise. But the chance to build something. To say something. I don’t know what yet. But I feel it. This… opening.”

“You’re allowed to want that.”

Caitlin shook her head. “Then why do the words feel so dirty in my mouth?”

“Say more.”

“It makes me feel like I’m betraying something. Like I’m turning into the version of me I promised I’d never be.” Grayson didn’t interrupt. “I mean, I spent a year telling you I don’t want to be seen as a headline or a highlight reel. And now I’m sketching logos and dreaming about gear drops.”

Her voice caught. “I want it. I do. But I hate that I want it.” She squeezed her hands tighter. “I don’t know how to be that girl. The one who wants loudly. The one who builds something with her name on it and doesn’t flinch when people stare.”

“You’re afraid of becoming someone you don’t recognize,” Grayson said.

“I’m afraid of becoming someone I used to hate.” Caitlin’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“And I’m afraid of being good at it.” That landed. Heavy and honest.

“Because if I’m good at it,” she continued, “then maybe the messy part of me — the one who breaks down in hotel bathrooms with Kate holding my hair back, whispering it’s okay even when I don’t believe her, who doesn’t always want to be strong — isn’t part of the story people want to hear.” She didn’t look up. Just kept picking at the thread on her sleeve like it might unravel the rest of her.

Grayson didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just waited. Let the weight of it echo. Then, softly, almost like a memory: “When’s the first time you remember feeling like this?”

Caitlin’s throat tightened, she looked down, picked at the hem of her sleeve. “God,” she muttered, suppressing a laugh. “This finally the part where we undo my childhood trauma?”

She knew exactly when. That’s what made it so hard to say.

Grayson smiled, dry, knowingly. “Only if you want to.”

Caitlin rubbed her palm hard against her thigh, like she could press the heat into her bones and burn the rest away.

“I was ten,” she said. “It was after this tournament in Mason City. I’d scored thirty-eight. We won by twenty.” She didn’t look up. Just kept tugging at the thread on her sleeve like it might unravel the memory too. “Some reporter came up to me after. Asked what I wanted next. And I said—” Her throat tightened. “I said I wanted to be the best. Like, ever. I didn’t even think about it. Just said it. Because I meant it.”

Grayson didn’t move. Caitlin’s voice dropped. “Next week, there’s this article in the local paper. Front of the sports section. Small-town star with big-time dreams. My dad cut it out and taped it to the fridge.” Her mouth twisted. “I thought I’d done something right. Like, really right. I thought maybe that meant I could keep going.” A beat.

“And then—two days later—my mom sat me down at the kitchen table. Like I’d broken something.” Caitlin laughed once. Dry. “She said I came off arrogant. That people would start thinking I was full of myself. That I sounded ungrateful.” Grayson watched her carefully. “She told me girls don’t get to say they want things like that. That it’s better to let other people tell you you’re good than to believe it yourself.”

Caitlin’s voice went flat, like she was reading off an old injury report. “She said I was lucky anyone cared. That I should be careful not to ruin it.” She blinked, fast. Her face didn’t crack, but her knuckles had gone white in her lap.

“So I stopped talking like that. I stopped saying what I wanted. I smiled and said ‘team first’ and ‘just happy to be here.’ I played the game. I became whatever version of me they’d clap for.” The silence pressed in. “And now people actually are watching,” she said, lower. “Now they want to know what I think. Who I am. What I stand for. And all I can hear is her voice, telling me not to get ahead of myself.”

Grayson stayed quiet. Caitlin’s voice broke—just once. “I think I’m still trying to earn the right to believe I matter.” Then she added, almost too soft to hear: “And I’m scared that the second I start saying it out loud again… they’ll all decide I don’t.”

“You do, matter.” Grayson leaned in, gentle but unflinching. “Caitlin, you’re not betraying your past by growing. Wanting more doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten where you started. It means you believe there’s somewhere worth going.”

Caitlin didn’t speak. Just blinked fast and stared at the floor.

Grayson let the silence hold for a moment, then softened her tone. “Let me ask you something. If a younger version of you — flat ball, grass stains, backyard hoop — if she saw you now, dreaming like this… what would she say?”

Caitlin’s mouth twisted. “She’d probably say I look like a superhero.”

“Something else?”

She swallowed. “And that she’s scared people won’t believe she could grow up to be me.”

Grayson nodded slowly. “Then maybe the work isn’t proving anything to the world. Maybe it’s just keeping her close.”

That cracked something open.

Caitlin let out a shaky breath. “I just don’t want to lose myself in all of it. And I don’t want Kate to think I’ve changed.”

“Have you talked to her about it?”

“No,” Caitlin said. “Not yet. Not really.”

Grayson tilted her head. “Why not?”

“Because what if she doesn’t want that life? What if she thinks I’m chasing something too big? Or too shiny?”

“Do you think she wants you to stay small?”

“No.” Caitlin shook her head. “She wants me to be honest. She wants me whole. But I don’t know if I can be all of it at once — a girlfriend, the leader, the face of something, the messy person who still wants to crawl under the covers on bad days.”

“You can,” Grayson said. “But you have to let yourself.”

Caitlin blinked, caught between belief and doubt. “I think I’m trying.”

“That’s more than enough for today.”

Grayson stood, slow and steady, and crossed to the door. She paused before opening it. “Let her see you,” she said. “Not the version you think she loves. The real one.”

Caitlin stood too, hoodie sleeves still bunched in her fists. “Thanks.”

Grayson smiled. “Let’s build something good, Caitlin.”

—----

Kate lay on her back, arm tucked behind her head, the other lazily draped over Caitlin’s shoulder. The bedroom was dim, warm, still smelling faintly of shampoo and clean sheets. Caitlin lay sprawled half on top of her, cheek pressed to her collarbone, tracing invisible shapes on her stomach.

“You’re quiet,” Kate murmured.

Caitlin hummed. “Thinking.”

Kate smiled. “Dangerous.”

Caitlin smiled. “I went to therapy today. I’m legally required to spend at least two hours afterward overthinking every sentence I said.”

Kate smiled. “How’d it go?”

“Good.” Caitlin tilted her face up, resting her chin on Kate’s chest. “Really good, actually. I didn’t expect that.”

Kate ran a thumb down the curve of Caitlin’s spine. “You talk about us?”

Caitlin rolled her eyes. “You mean did I brag about having the hottest, most emotionally evolved girlfriend on the team?”

“Obviously.”

Caitlin snorted. “A little. I talked about... this. What it feels like to finally not be waiting for everything to collapse.” She paused. “And the weird part? I meant it. Like—I said it out loud and didn’t flinch.”

Kate pressed a kiss into Caitlin’s hair. “That’s hot.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You like it.”

Caitlin hummed, eyes slipping shut again. She shifted closer, pressing her nose into Kate’s collarbone, letting her weight settle fully across Kate’s chest like she’d finally stopped holding herself up.

“You smell like my shampoo,” Caitlin murmured.

“You left it in my locker again.”

“I do that so you’ll smell like me.”

“Mission accomplished.”

Kate’s hand found the soft skin beneath the hem of Caitlin’s t-shirt, slow, easy strokes along her back. Nothing urgent. Just touch for the sake of it.

“I missed this,” Caitlin whispered, eyes still closed.

“We basically live together.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Kate smiled into the ceiling. “I know.” They lay like that a while longer — legs tangled, breath synced, Caitlin’s fingers drawing absentminded shapes on Kate’s ribs. A rhythm of their own. Not perfect. But soft. Steady. Whole.

Eventually, Kate shifted, just enough to look down. “You’re glowing right now?”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious.” She tapped Caitlin’s cheek gently. “You’re kind of radiant.”

Caitlin cracked one eye open. “That’s just because you let me sleep more than four hours.”

“I let you?”

“You bully me into naps.”

“I do it out of love.”

“You do it with threats.”

Kate grinned. “Same thing.”

Caitlin laughed, low and breathy, and leaned up just enough to kiss her — slow and easy, the kind of kiss that didn’t need to prove anything. When she pulled back, her smile was still lazy, her voice barely above a whisper. “I really fucking love you, you know.”

Kate brushed her thumb over Caitlin’s jaw. “Yeah. I know.” Another beat.

“I love you too.”

She didn’t slow down.

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

Three games in five days. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty. The numbers blurred. Her feet barely touched the floor. Everything snapped—passes, shots, rotations. Loose and ruthless, like muscle memory had turned into instinct.

Caitlin smiled when the crowd called her name. Cracked jokes at halftime. Wrapped an arm around Gabby and called her the worst screen-setter in the Big Ten. Let herself be the version everyone wanted.

Bluder said she looked like herself again. Kate said she looked like she was flying. Gabby called her the Iowa Antichrist, and Caitlin laughed so loud it made a freshman drop her protein shake.

But when the gym emptied out and the echo faded, Caitlin would sit in the cold locker room, jersey sticking to her back, and check her phone.

DMs. Reposts. A video she didn’t know had been filmed—tagged by a wellness brand with a caption she hadn’t approved. Her face, mid-laugh. Her name. Capital letters. Built Different.

She didn’t show anyone.

Kate didn’t ask, but Caitlin could feel her watching—quietly, like always. The way she did when Caitlin skipped ice or said she was fine too fast. The way she waited, instead of pushing.

Nothing was wrong. Not really. Her body felt clean. Her shot was falling. Dr. Grayson said she was glowing.

So Caitlin kept going.

—-----------------

After the next game, the apartment steamed from her too-hot shower. Kate sat cross-legged on the couch, a blanket across her lap, mismatched socks and wet hair.

Caitlin dropped into her space without thinking—just leaned in, face to Kate’s collarbone, breathing through the cotton of her sweatshirt. She didn’t say anything. Neither did Kate.

Eventually, Kate touched her hair. Soft. “Long week.”

Caitlin nodded. “I’m good.” She wasn’t lying. Not exactly.

They stayed like that for a while. A show flickered in the background—animated, stupid, easy. Caitlin didn’t watch. She just let her fingers find the hem of Kate’s shirt and hold on. She kissed the curve of her neck once. Then again, slower.

Kate smiled without looking away from the screen. “You’re clingy tonight.”

“Shut up,” Caitlin mumbled. But she didn’t move.

Later, they stumbled into bed. Teeth brushed, limbs tangled. The kind of quiet that felt earned, not heavy. But when Kate fell asleep, Caitlin didn’t.

She lay still. Eyes open. Chest tight.

Her body ached the good way—played-hard, won-big—but something else sat beneath it. Buzzing. Dull. Like her skin hadn’t caught up to her yet. She pressed her forehead to Kate’s shoulder. “I don’t know how to hold this,” she whispered.

Kate didn’t wake. Just exhaled, soft and steady.

Caitlin closed her eyes. Tried to match the rhythm. Tried to believe the quiet could be peaceful.

In the morning, another DM would land. Another offer. Another someone asking who she was and what she wanted to represent.

She wouldn’t tell Kate.

Not yet.

—------------------

It started with a closeout.

Nothing dramatic. No crack, no pop. Just a too-fast plant, a too-sharp pivot, her foot slipping on a patch of sweat near the elbow. Her right knee gave half an inch before it caught again, but that was all it took. Pain didn’t shoot through her body. That would’ve been easier. This was worse: no pain, just that feeling—the wrong one. The kind that lit up an old, cold fear like a flare in the back of her mind.

Kate stumbled, caught herself with a hand on the floor, and popped back up fast.

Too fast.

“Martin,” Bluder called from across the gym, not even looking up from the clipboard. “You’re floating. Stay low.”

Kate nodded. “Yup.”

Caitlin glanced over from the top of the key, mouth half-open like she was about to say something. Kate gave her a nod she didn’t quite feel and ran back to her spot.

They ran the next drill. Then another. Kate hit every closeout, took another charge, drilled a three in transition. She laughed when McKenna called her annoying. She slapped Gabby’s hand after a no-look dime from Caitlin.

And underneath all of it, her leg kept whispering: Something’s off.

It was fine. Probably.

But Kate slipped out of the locker room a little faster than usual after practice. Didn’t stretch. Didn’t meet Caitlin’s eyes when she said, “Wait for me?”

“I’ve got treatment,” Kate lied. “Text you after.” She didn’t wait for Caitlin’s reply.

The training room was almost empty. Just the hum of the old ice machine and a single trainer—Jules, the one who’d been there the year Kate tore her ACL the second time. Who knew how to spot pain even when she didn’t say a word.

She climbed onto the treatment table like it was a routine, like she wasn’t already thinking about what she’d do if it really gave out again. Jules raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t see you come in after lifts.”

“Didn’t do ‘em,” Kate said, forcing a shrug. “Felt something tighten up on a closeout. Probably nothing.”

“Same knee?”

Kate nodded. Peeled down her sock. “Not pain. Just… tight.” Jules crouched, wrapped the joint with practiced fingers. Her touch was firm, but gentle. Kind, but not indulgent.

“Hyperextension?” Jules asked, glancing up.

Kate nodded again. “Maybe. It caught weird.”

“You’re lucky it held.” Wrapping ice around Kate’s knee “You’ve been pushing harder the last few weeks,” Jules added, Not quite a question.

“Preseason,” Kate replied. Shrugged. “Just trying to stay sharp.”

Jules didn’t let it go. “Trying to prove something?”

Kate hesitated. Looked down. “We’re all trying to keep up with Clark.”

Jules arched a brow. “Or maybe you’re trying to prove she still needs you?”

That landed harder than Kate expected. She looked away, jaw tight, fingers curling around the edge of the table. The air in the room felt thicker now—too still, too seen.

“You want to sit out the next game?” Jules asked.

“No.”

“You should consider it. Samford’s not a threat. Wouldn’t kill you to take a week.”

“I’m good.” It snapped out too fast.

Jules sat back on her heels. “Martin.”

Kate exhaled, jaw flexing. “I can’t afford to sit.”

“You’re a starter.”

“Not permanent.”

“You’re a leader.”

“I last time, too,” Kate muttered. “And then I wasn’t.” She closed her eyes. Just for a second.

And there it was. The second tear. The crunch. The silence after the noise. The lights going blurry—not from pain, but from knowing. From the certainty that something had snapped and wasn’t going to come back the same.

Kate flexed her leg. Winced—barely. “I just don’t want to get benched for being too careful,” she said, quieter now.

Jules’s voice dropped too. “It’s about rest. And trust.”

Kate didn’t answer. Her phone buzzed on the table beside her. Once. Then again.

She didn’t move.

The part that hurt most hadn’t been the surgery. It was a slow fade. The rotation shifting. The rhythm of the team recalibrated like she’d never been part of it.

Jules watched her face. Knew the signs. “Are you hiding this from the team,” she asked gently, “or from someone specific?”

Kate didn’t answer. She grabbed her phone after another buzz. Caitlin: hey. Are you okay Buzz. I saw that closeout. Please don’t lie.

Jules followed her gaze to the phone. “Clark?” Kate didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The silence was its own confession.

“I’m not prying,” Jules added. “Just… I’ve been around long enough to know when a player’s playing through more than one kind of pain.”

Kate rubbed a hand over her face. “I mean, come on.” Jules gave her a look. “I see the way she looks at you after drills, the way she waits for you to finish icing, even when she pretends not to. The way your body changes when she’s in the gym.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, "My body does not, change because of Caitlin, Jules."

Jules just grinned. “Don’t look at me like that. You act like I don’t have front-row seats to your gay crisis six days a week.” She continued, “You could win an award for Most Unnecessary Neck Cranes during post-practice stretch.”

Kate bristled. “I’m not staring. I’m literally just checking her form.”

Jules didn’t flinch. “Sure.”

“She over-extends on the quad pulls sometimes.”

“Uh-huh.”

Kate scowled. “It’s not a thing.”

Jules raised an eyebrow, smug. “Didn’t say it was.”

“She was getting her adductors worked and you forgot which leg you were on. I had to tap your calf before you stared a hole through her compression shorts.”

Kate groaned. “Oh my God.”

“You’re not exactly subtle. She smiles at you in spandex and you forget how to stand.”

Kate pressed a hand to her face. “Do you rehearse these?”

“Nope.” Jules pulled the wrap a little tighter. “I’m just a washed-up soccer dyke with two reconstructed knees and enough ex-girlfriends to spot a closeted spiral in under ten seconds.” Kate looked up, caught off guard. “And a trainer,” Jules added, “who’s seen how people carry tension—and how they carry each other.”

Kate huffed. “You weren’t this annoying when you were helping me learn how to walk again.”

“I was,” Jules said. “You just liked me better when you were too drugged to argue.”

That pulled a short laugh from Kate. The real kind. She shook her head. “Wait. Did you actually date someone on your team?”

Jules grinned. “I captained the team and dated two girls on the roster.”

Kate nearly choked. “Two?”

“Not at the same time,” Jules said, then held up a hand. “Okay—there may have been like… a week of overlap.” Kate gaped.

“In my defense, one was emotionally unavailable and the other played midfield like she had a personal vendetta against God.” Kate was stunned. “She got concussed sophomore year, told the trainer I was her emergency contact and her girlfriend. Whole thing unraveled before I could finish a granola bar.”

Kate finally let out a shocked, real, laugh. “You’re a menace.”

“I was twenty and deeply unserious,” Jules said. “Now I’m twenty-seven and tape ankles for lesbians in crisis. Growth.”

Kate stared at her, grinning. “You’re unhinged.”

“I’m legacy, baby.” Jules winked. “Don’t let the compression sleeves fool you.”

Kate shook her head, still laughing, but softer now. The kind that stays in the chest, not the throat. Jules didn’t push. Just leaned against the counter again, quieter now.

Kate’s phone buzzed again. “Does she know how scared you are?” she asked, voice low but steady.

Kate didn’t answer. Her fingers curled into the edge of the table.

Jules waited. “She thinks I’m solid,” Kate said finally. “The one who never breaks. The one who holds.”

“And you are,” Jules said. “Most days.”

Kate laughed once, sharp. “She doesn’t know how often I’m faking it.” Another buzz. Still, Kate didn’t move.

“She doesn’t need you to be perfect,” Jules said. “She just needs you for real.”

Kate looked up. “She’s Caitlin Clark. She walks into a room and people orbit.”

“Yes Kate, she's Caitlin Clark. She stops by after film to ask how Gabby’s ankle’s holding up. She wrote a thank-you card to the nutrition staff for staying late. Nearly cried when her shoes didn’t arrive before Illinois.”

Kate blinked. “You’re making her sound soft.”

“She is soft,” Jules said. “Doesn’t mean she’s not tough. Just means she gives a shit. And she trusts you with all of it.”

Kate’s throat pulled tight. “She’d stay,” she said. “If I get hurt again. If I lost my spot. She’d… carry it.”

“She would,” Jules said. “And you’d hate it.”

Kate looked down. Pressed her palm to her knee. “I don’t want to be the reason she slows down.”

“But she might want you there when she takes off.” Kate didn’t answer.

Jules leaned back, casual now. “You’re not broken, Martin. You’re just spooked.” Kate exhaled, shaky.

“Get your shit right,” Jules said, standing. “Tape, rest, sit out when I tell you to. Whatever it takes. You don’t have to prove anything. But don’t start ghosting the girl just because she sees you.”

Kate didn’t look up. “And don’t make her carry this alone, either,” Jules added. “She’d do it. But she shouldn’t have to.”

Kate nodded once. Small. Real.

“You’ve got this, Martin. You’re a fucking stud. Just don’t forget it.”

—-------

The bedroom was soft with leftover lamplight. The kind of quiet that only happened when neither of them had music playing, when the world outside seemed to agree to pause.

Kate lay flat on her back, hoodie still on, legs bare in boxers under the blanket. She’d showered. Stretched. Tried to shake it. But her knee still felt wrong—just wrong enough to matter. The kind of wrong that made her feel like her whole body was tilted sideways, like she didn’t trust the floor under her feet.

Caitlin curled beside her, one hand on Kate’s stomach, thumb drawing lazy shapes across skin that wasn’t tensed, but wasn’t relaxed either.

“I’m not playing tomorrow,” Kate said. Voice low. No buildup.

Caitlin shifted. “Jules pulled rank?” Kate nodded.

Caitlin’s fingers slowed. “Good,” she said softly. “She should. You need to rest.” Kate said nothing.

“You’ll be back,” Caitlin added, gentler now. “It’s one game. It doesn’t change who you are.” But it did. Even if no one else said it like that.

Kate didn’t respond. Her breath stayed even, but something in her jaw pulled tighter.

Caitlin lifted herself onto one elbow, eyes scanning Kate’s face. “Hey,” she murmured. “Look at me.” Kate turned slowly. “You’re not letting anyone down,” Caitlin said. “Not me. Not the team. Not yourself.”

Kate opened her mouth. Closed it.

Caitlin leaned in, kissing Kate's neck lightly. Then her neck. Her shoulder. Her hand slid under the hem of Kate’s hoodie, fingers splaying across her hip.

“I love your body,” she whispered. “Let me take care of you.” Kate’s breath caught. Her fingers twitched where they rested on the blanket—almost like they meant to reach for Caitlin’s waist, but didn’t quite move.

Caitlin kissed her again, deeper this time. Her hand slid further under the hoodie, fingertips tracing the lines of Kate’s stomach. Kate exhaled, long and shaky. Her eyes fluttered shut. “You’re so beautiful,” Caitlin murmured. “I want you.”

Kate’s throat tightened. But she didn’t pull away. Her legs shifted slightly beneath the blanket, parting just enough to give Caitlin room.

Caitlin moved lower, careful. Her hand skimmed under the waistband of Kate’s boxers—slow, gentle—an ask, not a claim. Kate let out a soft breath, hips rising to meet the touch.

Caitlin kissed lower—her collarbone, the swell of her chest, the inside of her thigh where the ice was on Kate earlier. Each press of her mouth was slow, sure, tender in a way that felt so familiar. Her hand slipped deeper now, palm warm, fingers curling gently against the fabric outside of Kate’s boxers.

Kate gasped—quiet but real. Her back arched slightly. One hand fisted the blanket.

Caitlin came back up to kiss her again, deeper this time, her thigh slotting between Kate’s like it belonged there. Their bodies pressed together—hot, close, just shy of desperate.

Kate pulled her closer with one hand, fingers digging into the curve of Caitlin’s waist. Their mouths met again, sloppier now. Hungrier. Caitlin groaned against her lips. “God, you’re so—” She didn’t finish it. Just kissed her again, rougher now, her hand moving with more confidence.

Kate moaned softly, head tipping back. She wanted it. She did. She wanted to fall into this and let it anchor her. Let it fix whatever had felt loose all day. Let Caitlin’s body remind hers what it meant to feel whole.

But then—something shifted.

It started slow. A pulled thread. A pause too long. A breath held too tight.

Kate was with her—really with her. Breath hot, hips moving, mouth open against Caitlin’s. Her leg hooked around her waist. It felt real. Steady. Wanted.

And then… it started to fray.

Caitlin didn’t notice at first. Not really. Just a hesitation. A moment where Kate’s hands stopped moving, where her grip loosened.

But then Kate's breathing changed. Not heavier—shallower. Her jaw clenched. Her thighs tightened, but not in the way they usually did. Not with want. With tension. She was kissing back, but slower. Sloppier. Like her mouth had stayed in it but her mind had started to slip.

Caitlin slowed. Kissed her softer. Tried to meet her where she was. Kate flinched. Barely. But enough.

Caitlin froze. She pulled back just enough to see her face. “Kate?”

Kate’s eyes were wide. Blinking too fast. Her body locked. Not violently. But unmistakably.

Caitlin softened her voice. “Hey. Where are you?”

Kate’s hands had slid away completely. Her chest rose like she was holding her breath. “I—” She swallowed. “I was okay.”

“I know.”

“I want this. I do. I just…” Her voice broke. “It left. I don’t know when. I just started feeling… wrong. Like I wasn’t here anymore. Like I was watching you touch me from outside my body.”

Caitlin didn’t react. Just stayed right there, grounded. “Thank you for telling me.”

Kate’s breath hitched. And then she folded—gently. Like something inside her gave out. She turned and tucked her face into Caitlin’s neck, hands curling in Caitlin’s shirt like she needed to hold on to something real.

Caitlin caught her instantly. One arm around her shoulders. The other warm against her spine. “I’ve got you,” she whispered. “Right here.” Kate didn’t speak. But Caitlin could feel it—the thrum of shame, the ache of wanting to disappear.

They stayed like that, wrapped up in hoodie cotton and blanket heat. Nothing more. Just holding. Just breathing. And slowly, Kate’s body began to come back to her. “Okay,” Caitlin said softly. “That’s okay,” Caitlin said softly. She rubbed her back, light and steady, grounding her with every touch. Kate blinked. Once. Twice. Her lip wobbled.

“I wanted it,” she said. “I still want it. But my body just…” She shook her head. “It started buzzing. Not in a good way."

Caitlin brushed a hand through her hair, slow, careful. “Thank you for stopping.”

“I feel stupid.”

“You’re not.”

Kate squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t want to pull away from you. Not you.”

“You didn’t,” Caitlin said. “You need something else from me tonight. And I’m here.” She pressed a kiss to Kate’s temple. Stayed there, forehead resting against hers. Kate’s chest was rising fast. Her hands were clenched in the sheets. But Caitlin stayed. Not moving. Not asking. Just there.

Kate rubbed a hand over her face. “I’m sorry. I hate saying no to you,” she said, breath shaky.

“You’re not saying no to me,” Caitlin said. “You’re saying yes to what you need tonight. That’s not the same thing. You’re not ruining anything,” Caitlin whispered. “You’re just asking for care. And I’ll always say yes to that.”

Kate’s eyes welled, just slightly. She didn’t cry. But she looked away. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know,” Caitlin said, resting her forehead gently against Kate’s. “But I don’t need your body to feel close to you”

“I feel like I’m failing.”

“You’re not.”

Kate pressed their foreheads tighter together, one hand clutching the hem of Caitlin’s sleep shirt like she needed to anchor herself. And when Kate finally slept, her hand stayed on Caitlin’s side—not holding on. Just touching. Just here.

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

They didn’t talk about it the next morning. Not directly.

Caitlin woke up first. She made coffee, left Kate’s just the way she liked it—too much creamer, a little cinnamon, mug warmed in the microwave for twelve seconds. She didn’t say Are you okay? She didn’t have to.

Kate drank it slowly. Kissed Caitlin’s cheek before heading to treatment.

Caitlin let her go. But something lingered. Not tension. Not quite. Just… a breath held too long between them.

Before the game, the locker room buzzed with energy—shoes squeaking, music pulsing, the pop of gum, the low shuffle of bodies in motion. Jerseys tugged down. Tape snapped. The smell of sweat and tiger balm hung thick in the air.

Kate sat on the edge of the bench in black sweats, hoodie sleeves shoved halfway up. Her knee was wrapped loose. Not in uniform. Not warming up. Just there.

Watching.

Caitlin caught her eye across the room—half-dressed, laces undone, bun still messy. She crossed the space slowly, sneakers squeaking on tile.

Kate looked up.

“You good?” Caitlin asked, soft.

Kate nodded once. “Yeah. Just not playing.”

“I know,” Caitlin said. Her voice was gentler now. “Still sucks.”

Kate didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

Caitlin crouched slightly, hand brushing over the edge of the wrap on Kate’s knee. “I’ll play like hell.”

Kate gave her a tight smile. “You always do.”

Caitlin looked around, made sure no one was starting at them, and kissed her once—cheek, quick. Then stood and walked away.

Kate watched her go.

Didn’t call her back.

—---------------------

Samford never stood a chance.

Caitlin lit the gym on fire. Step-back threes. A behind-the-back dime to McKenna that made the student section leap to its feet. Her body moved like water, like memory. She was flying. Loose. Loud. Untouchable.

By halftime, she’d dropped twenty-one. By the fourth quarter, thirty-two.

The arena roared.

Kate clapped from the bench. Smiled at the right times. Tapped knuckles with Gabby when Caitlin spun baseline and drew a foul with a smirk.

But something in her didn’t move. Her knee didn’t hurt anymore. But something else did.

She watched Caitlin shine and felt the distance build like static.

—--------

The locker room was buzzing with life. Sneakers squeaked, music vibrated the walls, and the sharp scent of sweat mixed with freshly opened Gatorades. Gabby and McKenna did their usual victory dance, jostling for the best high-fives. Jan was grinning over her clipboard, rattling off praise and tough love in equal measure.

Caitlin wiped the sweat from her neck, body still buzzing from the game. Thirty-two points. The crowd loved it. The team loved it.

But something felt off.

Kate was there—sort of. She was sitting at the end of the bench, knees pulled up in her sweats, ankle wrapped, one sock hanging off her foot. She was present. And yet, there was something in her gaze that wasn’t quite with them. She smiled when Gabby ran past, but it was distant. Quiet.

Caitlin caught her eye and waved, but Kate didn’t wave back. She gave a small nod and looked down at her phone instead. Just long enough for Caitlin to notice.

She’d be back soon. It was just one game. She’ll be fine.

But the thought still gnawed at her. Where was Kate, the real Kate—the one who clapped, cheered, made jokes on the bench, moved like she was part of the team even when she wasn’t on the court?

Caitlin’s phone buzzed in her locker as she started to head out. Another DM, another message from one of the local sponsors asking about next season’s NIL. She pocketed it. She’d get to that later.

A young student met her as she reached the tunnel. “Caitlin Clark—thirty-two points, a killer crowd. Want to chat with Hawkeye student radio station?”

“Sure,” she said with a quick grin. “Give me a second.” She put the headphones on, adjusted the mic, and found herself grinning as the host started asking questions.

“It’s a preseason game and this place was roaring. Did you expect this much attention so early?”

“It’s been great to see the love,” Caitlin said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ve got a team full of fire, and the crowd feels that. It’s electric in here.” The questions flowed easily. A few NIL questions popped up, but Caitlin just smiled and shrugged, letting her team take care of the details.

They asked about the win, her performance, and what they could expect from the team going forward. It was all simple stuff, fluff to make the crowd cheer louder. Caitlin gave them exactly what they wanted.

But in the back of her mind, Kate was still there.

The bench. The empty space where Kate should’ve been celebrating. It gnawed at her, but she pushed it down as the interview continued.

The room kept buzzing around her. Her teammates high-fived her. Gabby pulled her into a bear hug, even though they were both drenched in sweat. McKenna yelled about the pizza they were ordering. The world felt like it was still in motion, even as Caitlin stood frozen, trying to process the emptiness at the end of the bench.

Where did Kate go?

—-------------------------

The gym doors slammed shut behind her as she left the building.

Kate walked through the side entrance to avoid the crowd, feet heavy on the pavement, hoodie drawn tight around her shoulders. The chill in the air did little to ease the tightness in her chest. Her ankle didn’t hurt anymore, but everything else inside her felt… off. Her body didn’t feel like it was hers to control.

Her phone buzzed again, lighting up with a message from Caitlin: You good?

A text Kate didn’t want to answer. Not yet.

She wanted to feel the buzz of the win, to let the crowd’s energy from the game sink into her. But all she could feel was the distance. Caitlin was on fire. Caitlin was soaring. Caitlin was everything. And Kate? She was sitting on the sidelines, unsure of her place.

She shoved her phone into her pocket, walking faster, trying to outrun the gnawing ache in her stomach. The win had been Caitlin’s. The stadium had been full of Caitlin’s presence, her energy, her light. And Kate? Kate had been invisible.

She wanted to call Caitlin. Tell her she was here. Tell her how proud she was, how amazing she’d been. Tell her she was fine, she was okay.

But she didn’t.

Back at the apartment, she found herself standing at Caitlin’s desk, looking for her charger, but her hand froze as it brushed the edge of the drawer. The one that always stuck. She opened it anyway, expecting the usual chaos: gum wrappers, broken pens, that rogue AirPod she could never find.

But something caught her eye.

A thick folder, taped at the edges. No label. Just there She hesitated. Then, without really thinking, pulled it out.

And inside, Caitlin’s brain exploded on full display.

Not game tape notes. Not diary entries. But something else entirely. Hundreds of fragments of ambition talking over each other.

Cut-out headlines. Scribbled lists. A spreadsheet titled NIL PROJECTIONS (personal, don’t laugh). Pages printed and reprinted, names circled, then crossed out. Handwriting in three colors. Doodles, arrows, little hearts beside: girls camp someday?

At the top of one page, bold and underlined in Sharpie: “What if I could be the reason someone else dreams bigger?”

Kate sat down on the bed. She flipped through photos from Nike campaigns, WNBA promos, old camp flyers. Serena. Sue. Dawn. Headlines about NIL, jersey sales, new visibility for women’s sports. One clipping from a local paper: “Girls Just Want to Dunk.”

There were quotes. “You can’t be what you can’t see.”

Taylor Swift lyrics. “Make them remember your name.”

A list, titled: Things I want, even if I’m scared to say them out loud.

My own logo A girls’ camp that isn’t just drills A sponsor that gets me To talk about queerness without flinching To be taken seriously in rooms where no one looks like me To win. Everything. To build something real.

Photos. Fan days, camp memories, screenshots from Twitter. Caitlin had circled faces. Next to each, scribbled notes.

“She wore my jersey. Her dad said she sleeps in it.”“Asked if girls can go pro. Told her yes. Want her to believe it.”

Kate turned the page, heart in her throat. But when she flipped to the next, it wasn’t about Caitlin anymore.

It was about her.

A full stat breakdown. Her stats. Her numbers. Her value.

DEF RATING: 88.2OFF-BALL WORK = INSANESTILL UNDERRATED. STILL DOMINANT.

Caitlin had even drawn a cartoon bottle in a crown and labeled it Queen of Intangibles.

There were more notes, both silly and sharp:

“KM X CC shoe collab someday?? Something real. Something for us.” “We could co sponsor a girls team in Des Moines. Pay for gear. Travel. Let them feel seen.” “This game made me. This game saved me. I want to make it matter for someone else.”

Then, in smaller handwriting:

“Is that corny?” — crossed out, then rewritten beside it: “No. It’s power.”

Kate couldn’t breathe. The weight of it hit her like a tidal wave. Caitlin wasn’t just planning for herself. She was planning for them. For everyone.

Kate flipped through a few more pages—three seasons’ worth of Kate’s stats, all annotated.

“Doesn’t get credit for her footwork.” “Plays through pain. Every damn game.” “14 rebounds this game?? INSANE.”

And near the bottom, scrawled in Sharpie: “When people talk about me, I hope they talk about her too.”

Kate stopped breathing.

This wasn’t just a binder. It was Caitlin’s heart. Her dreams. Laid bare.

Her ears heard it first. Footsteps. The front door opened. The backpack dropped on the floor. Kate felt the tension before Caitlin even spoke.

“You left the game,” Caitlin said, her voice sharp and unsteady. “Why did you leave?”

Kate’s head snapped up. She didn’t know how to respond. A thousand reasons rushed to her, but they all felt wrong. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Caitlin didn’t wait for an answer. “We needed you there,” she said, voice wavering. “You’re the fucking captain, Kate. We needed you on the court with us. Not on the sidelines. Not leaving.” She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “Why did you leave? You don’t just leave me like that.”

Kate’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to feel like this. Didn’t want to disappoint Caitlin. But her throat was thick. Her heart was thumping too loud. “I didn’t want to be in the way,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to take up space when you were flying. When everyone was watching you. I just… couldn’t stand there. Watching.”

Caitlin took a step toward her, brow furrowed. “You don’t think I wanted you there? You think you’re a distraction? I needed you, Kate. We all did. But not just in the game. You’re a part of this team. You can’t just disappear.”

Kate blinked back the sudden rush of tears. “I didn’t want to hold you back,” she said softly, voice cracking. “I didn’t want to feel like… like I’m not enough. Like I’m behind.”

Caitlin stepped closer, her tone softening but still raw. “You’re not behind, Kate. I need you to see that. I don’t need you to be perfect. I don’t need you to always be playing. I just need you there.” She took Kate’s hands in hers, squeezing gently. “But leaving the game? That’s not helping anyone.”

Kate’s breath hitched. She swallowed, fighting the sting in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to make it harder.”

The weight of Caitlin’s words sank into her, and for a moment, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. But then Caitlin pulled her in, a firm, steady hug that didn’t let go. “You don’t have to be sorry. You’re a part of everything. Don’t disappear from me, Katie. Please.”

Kate nodded into her shoulder, feeling the tension slowly start to ebb. “I won’t,” she promised softly. “I’m here. I’m with you.”

And just like that, the tension that had twisted between them slowly unraveled, but as Caitlin stepped back, Kate noticed the binder still on the bed—open, laid out with Caitlin’s most personal pieces just a few feet away.

Caitlin didn’t say anything about it at first, but once Kate saw her eyes flick to the binder and then back to her, her expression changed instantly, tighter now. The frustration that had faded for a moment came rushing back, bubbling to the surface.

“What’s wrong?” Kate asked.

Caitlin’s jaw clenched, her eyes narrowed as she took a few steps back. “You opened it.” Her voice was low, tinged with anger, but she was trying to keep it steady. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Kate’s stomach dropped. She wasn’t sure why, but the way Caitlin was reacting—it made something heavy settle in her chest. “I didn’t mean to,” Kate said quietly, trying to explain herself, but Caitlin was already shaking her head.

“You read it,” Caitlin said again, sharper now. “You went through it. You saw everything.”

Kate didn’t flinch. “I didn’t know what it was.”

“But once you did, you kept going.” Caitlin’s voice cracked, but she didn’t pull back. “You didn’t stop.”

“It wasn’t labeled,” Kate said. “It was under Jan’s scouting report. I thought it was old game tape notes. I didn’t mean to—

Caitlin’s breath came quicker now, and she stepped closer again. “It’s not just some notebook. That’s my mind in there, Kate.”

Kate stepped forward, but slow. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I saw.”

Caitlin’s arms crossed over her chest like she could hold herself still. “You saw what I wrote. All of it. The quotes. The dumb gear dreams. The little gay hearts in the margins.”

Kate stepped forward. “They’re not dumb.”

“They’re not meant to be seen.” Caitlin snapped, then dropped her voice. “Especially not by you.”

Kate blinked. “Why?”

“Because you’ll see it for what it is,” Caitlin said, too fast. “A mess. An ego trip. A blueprint for someone I swore I’d never be.”

Kate stared. “You think it makes you look full of yourself.”

“I think it makes me look fake,” Caitlin said. “Like I’m buying into my own hype. Like I’m trying to be a face instead of a person.”

Kate didn’t speak.

“I’m a hypocrite,” Caitlin said. “I spent all last year saying I didn’t care about any of it. That I didn’t want to be a brand. And now look at me. Drafting slogans like I’m one photo shoot away from selling protein bars.”

Kate’s voice was gentle. “So what if you are?”

Caitlin’s hands tightened into fists. “Because I’m not supposed to want that. I’m supposed to be above it. Pure. Focused. Just basketball.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Who told you that?”

“I did,” Caitlin said. “A long time ago. Because it made everything feel cleaner. Like I didn’t have to explain myself if I said I didn’t want anything.”

Kate didn’t speak.

Caitlin kept going. “But now I do. I want the camp. I want the gear. I want the little girl in Des Moines who wears my jersey to see herself in something I helped build.”

She exhaled. “And that terrifies me.”

“Why?”

“Because if I say I want it, then I can lose it.” Her voice dropped. “And if I say I want it, then people might think that’s all I care about.”

Kate stepped in close. “The people who matter won’t.”

Caitlin didn’t move. Just stared at her hands. “It’s not just the brand stuff. It’s… all of it.”

Kate’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Caitlin’s breath hitched. Her voice came smaller now, more like a secret than a confession. “What if they won’t let me be all of it?” she whispered. “What if I want to be great and gay and ambitious and loud and in love—what if I want the world to see me and still want you, too?”

Kate didn’t say anything. Just reached forward and pulled her in. Caitlin folded into her—reluctantly at first, then all at once, like the moment cracked something loose in her chest.

“What if I want them to know?” Caitlin whispered, voice trembling now, tears falling from her eyes. “That I’m not just a highlight reel. That I’m not just a scoreline. That we have each other. And that I still want to build something huge. I want both.”

Kate’s arms didn’t loosen. But she didn’t speak. Caitlin pressed in closer, her voice barely audible. “I want to be seen. For everything. For all of it. For who I am and who I love and what I dream about at night and what I do on the court. I want the whole fucking world to look at me and still let me have you.”

Kate’s breath caught. “I know that’s selfish,” Caitlin whispered. “I know it’s not safe. I just—what if it doesn’t fit? What if being with you makes the rest of it fall apart? What if I lose something the second I stop hiding?”

The silence stretched. Kate’s hand rubbed slow circles on her back, but her voice didn’t come.

Caitlin let out a shaky breath. “It’s too much, isn’t it.”

“No,” Kate said quietly. “It’s not too much.”

But she didn’t say it would be okay. Didn’t say the world would bend for them. Didn’t promise safety or space or that her dreams wouldn’t get smaller once they were seen together.

She just stayed. Arms steady. Jaw tight. Heart racing against Caitlin’s cheek.

And Caitlin stayed there, curled into her chest, eyes open in the dark, holding the ache of wanting more than the world usually gives.

#wnba#kate martin#caitlin clark#wnba basketball#f/f fanfic#fluff#wnba players#womens basketball#katelin#kate x caitlin#katelinfanwrites#wlw#fanfic#headcanon#smut#wlw smut#uconn wbb#wbb#iowa wbb#iowa hawkeyes#wnba draft#uconn huskies#uconn women’s basketball#paige bueckers#paige x azzi#azzi fudd#paige buckets#iowa women’s basketball#wlw post#wlw nsft

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linny-bloggs · 2 months ago

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HOLE IN ONE! - oldmoney!gojo x golf scholarship!reader

warnings: body shaming, mahito, a little bit of violence(let me know if you think something needs to be tagged)

a/n: most of this is gonna be based off of my knowledge playing Varsity golf when I was in highschool, so if I have any college golfers, and it’s different please let me know, or just have the slightest bit of mercy. (It’s been a while)

this first one they are in highschool still, I have quite a few ideas for the characters and world building and a nice beginning storyline so if this is something people enjoy I’ll dive deeper into it!!

MDNI!!!

golfer!reader who’s school had an agreement with their town’s country club to use it’s course for practice. Every day on the course for hours playing holes, and hitting on the driving range. Though throughout the season you became less and less passionate about the sport, only staying because your best friend wanted to be on the team but was scared to play alone, and you had been playing since primary school so you figured ‘why not?’

golfer!reader who stopped showing up to practices because you hated playing on a team with such good players, while only being considered “average.”

golfer!reader who finally started showing up to practice again after your best friend told you about the guys on the team who wouldn’t stop joking about how she looked in the golf uniforms, making a clear statement to stay away from her when not yelling ‘fore’ after hitting a golf ball at their group.

golfer!reader who meets an arrogant jerk when waiting in line for the bathroom in the clubhouse, hearing a whistle then scoffing after you locked eyes with a pale boy, with blue hair and a few long scars across his face.

golfer!reader who feels the shift in his demeanor, once he realizes you weren’t going to fall at his feet just because he had money. Feeling incredibly uncomfortable when he walks up behind you, his face twisting into a somewhat condescending expression before opening his mouth to say something, Only to be cut off by a different person walking into the clubhouse, calling for the guy, who you now know is Mahito, and telling him to hurry up because their tee time is quickly approaching.

golfer!reader who’s thinks about that moment every time you walk toward the clubhouse, worried of encountering him again, until one day you walk in and see your best friend talking to him, with stars in her eyes, and a completely lovestruck look on her face. His face sporting a shit eating grin the second he sees you, “we should play golf together sometime, you look real pretty in that skirt, and I’d love to see more of it” he whispers to her, just loud enough that you could hear while getting tokens to hit more golf balls on the range. You shot him a look, only making him look more content with his actions before you walked outside.

golfer!reader who ended up getting taken along with on the day she and mahito went golfing, finding yourself in a golf cart with a self absorbed prick, with blue eyes and white hair. Every other shot talking about how amazing he is, even though he shot double par on every. Single. Hole.

You had to watch your friend fall into the blue haired jerk’s trap the whole day because she was so excited about the attention she was getting from him. And everytime she giggled or blushed at a comment of his, he threw you a smug look, acting as if he had just just won some type of game between the two of you.

You prayed to whatever god was there to give you patience, when mahito asked for lessons for him and the snowy haired jerk for a charity event they participated in every year.

This was gonna be a long, long season.

a/n: I’m so so sorry if this is bad!! It’s been years since the last time I was writing for other people, so trying to format this in a good way has been a little hard so far! Please interact if you enjoyed so I can tell if this is something people want!! Thank you!

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk mahito #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk au #jjk #jjk x you #satoru gojo #jjk satoru #hole in one!au

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shadowwolf146 · 2 months ago

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An update on my newest fanfic WIP, "It Ain't Over Til the Mockingjay Sings" where Katniss and Lucy Gray meet each other! (And no I didn't sleep lol, I got inspired and worked on this instead.) I'm making it into its own post separate from the idea post so I can tag and update it easier. Sorry for the confusion!

Let me know if you wanna be tagged when it's all done, (it'll also be cross posted to AO3 with a link back here) or if you'd rather be tagged in all the updates I make, or both! I'm gonna try and re-tag the people I tagged on the first post (and the ones who liked it) just for ease of access/visibility! Please feel free to comment if you do (or don't) wanna be tagged! Thanks, and enjoy the WIP! @gabrielekazlauskaite @thebatliestman @bogwaterrr @akin-toitall @isdango-tan @crowsaresocool @shewhowillrise @nixandtonic @nymph-of-books @boggyblazingmood @eeveeeeeee @thatbritishcanadiangirl @sugarhoneyice-t @crispycomicsscienceeggs @bio415 @jxtghost @insert-clever-username-1133 @the9thring @multiplefandommess

I don't know how long I've been dreaming, but unlike most of them, tonight's off to an odd start.

The girl in front of me is new though, that I know. I don't recognize her from anywhere in the waking world I can think of, but somehow she seems...familiar. I can't remember having seen her anywhere around during or after the Games or the Quarter Quell. And her face doesn't remind me of anyone I've met who's died. Not in the Districts, nor the Capitol. Though admittedly most of my time spent in the latter was not about sightseeing; not even on the Victory Tour did I really get a chance to meet people up close. And if I had met this girl in my waking hours, I don't think I would've forgotten her. She's pretty, in a down to earth kind of way, not like the flash and flair of the Capitol and certainly not the struggling, desperate looks I'd seen on many faces in the lower districts, including 12.

She's got dark hair, loose and long, curly and cascading down her shoulders and back. She's got dark brown eyes, that are currently calmly observing me as much as I am her. I see a sort of fire in them too, a lot like Johanna's, and even scarier, like my own; which is simultaneously a little worrying and somehow, strangely comforting. She's holding some kind of stringed instrument in her lap. But the most eye-catching thing about her is what she's wearing. Her dress is a long, frilly thing, with colors that are vibrant and remind me of Effie's makeup, of the Capitol. It's a rainbow, I realize. Reds and oranges, yellows and greens, all stacked on top of each other, ending in an ombre of blues and purples that would make Cinna's eyes light up.

“Well hello there,” she says, adjusting the instrument so it’s lying face up across her now crossed legs; her voice is calm, curious. She has an accent, one I remember my mother teasing my father about, when Prim and I were small. It sounds like District 12. It sounds like home. “And who might you be?”

She smiles, and despite the light tone, I can see the analysis going on behind her eyes. She’s sizing me up, maybe? Trying to figure me out. Instead of answering right away, I narrow my eyes at her and fire back a question of my own. “What is this place?”

She chuckles, bemused but not surprised by my meeting her question with a question. She shakes her head, sighs, and shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know, darlin’. I’m just as confused as you are.” The girl looks up and around then, at the area where we sit. I, with nothing else to do for the moment, follow suit. Everything around us is a dull whitish-gray, no color outside of our clothes and hair to speak of. No furniture is present, no pictures hang anywhere around. It’s…unfamiliar, detached from reality, even. It seems like somewhere The Capitol would love, the cold sterility and uniformity of the place seems like the perfect place for experiments.

Like hijacking. Some suspicious part of my mind supplies, as the girl turns back to face me. Like what they did to Peeta. Remembering those awful days in District 13, after the Revolution, sends a shiver through me. And then it hits me.

Peeta. Where’s Peeta?

There’s a pit in my stomach, my heart starts to race, and then I remember: I’m dreaming. I sigh, and the girl looks back at me. “Well, we may not know where we are, but we do know who we are, at least, I hope you do. Anyways, my name is Lucy Gray Baird, but most my friends just call me Lucy Gray. Nice to meet you.” She sticks out a hand, and I flinch at the movement, a holdover from, well, everything.

Embarrassment swiftly follows, but Lucy Gray, to her credit, and my relief, says nothing, just nods and brings her hand back to her lap, running it gently over the side of her instrument, a look of understanding passing over her face. My cheeks heat, and I can feel my face getting red, so to distract us both, I finally introduce myself.

“My name’s Katniss,” I say, hunching my shoulders a little, waiting for recognition to dawn, already leaning away from the comments I’m sure I’ll receive when I finish saying my name. “Katniss Everdeen.” I watch Lucy Gray’s face for a reaction, and she surprises me by not giving me one. Is she pretending not to know me? I wonder. Is this some sort of trick? Some sort of ruse cooked up by some higher-ups in the Capitol to get me to reveal myself? I search her face for a few long quiet minutes, barely holding back my discomfort, and then again I remember I’m asleep. This is all happening inside my head. I want to smack myself at my own stupidity, but I’m spared the brain-scrambling effects of my palm against my forehead by Lucy Gray’s voice, saying, “Katniss, huh? Beautiful name. We’ve got plants by that name where I come from. Technically they’re tubers, roots really, but if you cook ‘em right, they’re edible, even good in a pinch, like potatoes. Were your parents farmers, then?”

I shake my head, and then mumble the word: “Miners. My father was, at least. He taught me how to hunt and harvest plants in the woods near our house.” I laugh a little, the sound of his voice coming back to me from what seems like so long ago, it feels like a different lifetime. Lucy Gray is smiling a little, and so I go on, finish the joke. “He used to say, ‘There’s the plant I named you for, Katniss. As long as you can find yourself, you’ll never starve.”

I laugh again, but it’s bitter, bubbling up past a sudden lump in my throat. The one that always shows up when I remember my father, when I remember losing him, and all that happened after. Lucy Gray laughs too, but hers is genuine, and warm. Like my mother, on her better days, before-

“My parents were Covey,” Lucy Gray blurts out, tugging the instrument in her lap upright and close to her chest, hugging an arm over it protectively. “This dress belonged to my mother. This guitar-(so that’s what it’s called)-was my father’s. At least, according to the others anyway. I had some older siblings too, but I don’t really remember them much. I was so young, and they were a few years older, maybe six or seven, by the time I was born.” Her voice takes on a bitter note. “Then, after the Rebellion in the Districts, the Capitol killed my father. By then, my mother had already died while having me, and my siblings must've passed soon after. So, all I have left are my cousins.” Lucy Gray sighs again, the noise wistful and quiet. It goes silent again, and before I can fill it, Lucy Gray perks up a little, a smile curling one corner of her mouth. “But they’re not so bad. We take care of each other, and we’re all related one way or another anyway, either by blood or by bond, so we’re basically a family either way. And besides, nothing to be done about the past, all we can focus on is living in the present, right?” I nod, but my mind has already begun to tune her out, stuck glitching like one of Betee’s propos, repeating the phrase, “After the Rebellion in the Districts, the Capitol killed my father.”

I shake myself out of it long enough to ask what I feel like I already know. “And where are you from, Lucy Gray?”

She smiles again, and says, “Well, Katniss, I’m not really from anywhere in particular. Like I said, my people are Covey. Meaning, we move around a lot, we’re musicians by trade. We used to live like that just fine for a long while, following where the fancy took us, until the Peacekeepers rounded us all up and made us settle.”

I’m not sure why, but my palms are sweating. I’m nervous to know her answer, but it seems that unlike me, she’s a professional when it comes to dodging questions. “So,” I say, curiosity turning into a biting thing under my skin, making me itch. I scratch at my arm absentmindedly trying to curb the feeling. “Exactly where did the Covey settle?”

She smirks, and some part of my mind says she knew I was going to ask her that. And then she confirms what my brain had already realized.

“Well, it wasn’t our first choice, believe me, but after we were all rounded up, the Peacekeepers just kept pushing, until eventually we ended up in District 12.”

——

I don’t really know why I’m so surprised by it. It’s not an uncommon story in any of the Districts, but especially the lower ones. Losing your parents young, being taken in by strangers if you were lucky, or the group home if you weren’t. Seems Lucy Gray was one of the lucky ones, to end up where she did, playing music and travelling around, even if only for a little while.

I think of my days and nights after my father’s death, young and terrified, mad with hunger. Back when the only thing that kept me moving was the thought of Prim wasting away to nothing. My mind conjures up days of empty bellies, of a few lucky breaks of bread or my namesake’s roots and fish, or berries, but mostly nights spent hearing the growl of Prim’s stomach (and my own) echoing off the walls of that house, bigger and emptier without my father’s soul to help fill it; and contrasts it with imaginings of warm fires, surrounded by music, food, and laughter.

I feel a tinge of jealousy, at first, until I remember what those times cost her: the lives of both her parents, and her siblings. Despite losing my father young, and in a way, my mother too, I had support. I had solidarity with (and worry for) Prim, that I wasn’t alone in my hunger. I had a little help, even, later on. From Gale and Peeta. Even during the Games, though that came much later, from Cinna and Effie and even Haymitch, in his gruff, alcoholic ways. They were sort of like my Covey. They helped keep me safe, keep me alive, helped me get back to Prim, to my mother. Helped Peeta and me back to each other. So a part of me is grateful that she was able to have light in her life, going through all of that.

My internal musing must show on my face somehow because she says, “Don't feel bad, sweetheart, you look like you've seen your share of hard times too. Besides, it's not a competition.”

That sounded like Haymitch, I think, with surprise. And then, before I can think about it, I hear myself say quietly, “I'm from twelve too.”

Lucy Gray’s face brightens, then dims. “Oh! Oh. I figured when you mentioned mining, but I didn't want to assume. I'm sorry. If it is-was-” she pauses, shaking her head, the weird liminal space of my dreamscape not really lending itself well to timekeeping. She shakes her head, keeps going. “If twelve is anything like I remember it, we’ve both had it rough.”

For a moment, Gale’s words from what felt like a hundred years ago, but that I know can only be a few years at the most, ring in my head. "Katniss, there is no District 12.”

I shiver again, the memory bringing the cold of that table in the hovercraft along with it, and this time, Lucy Gray notices. She frowns, brow furrowing, and scoots herself a little further forward, closer to me, concern practically written across her face. “You okay, Katniss? I don't think there's any blankets here, but I'm sure we can find something to warm you up.”

#the hunger games #thg #katniss everdeen #lucy gray baird #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #shadowwolf writes #my stories #fanfiction #my fanfic #my writing #fanfic #fanfic wip

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