#so if you have any heavy metal concerns it should help too

[eggie-toast]

i guess turmeric is a really good natural chelating agent so imma double up and also have some ice cream 💅

[sugoi-and-spice]

Taking Care, Taking What's Mine - A "Play Nice" Commission

Summary: A Play Nice AU Chapter, in which, rather than taking the high road and trying to build a real relationship with the girl he's been sextorting for weeks, Tomura Shigaraki baby-traps her instead.

CW: Quirkless!AU, Dub-Con, Smut, Extortion, Baby-Trapping, Forced Pregnancy, Love-Bombing, Manipulation, Power Play, Possessive Shigaraki, Yandere Shigaraki, Morning Sickness, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

AO3 Link

A/N: Happy fucking Father's Day readers!! Lmao! I got this AMAZING commission a while ago to write an AU of my AU (a fanfic writer's dream come true honestly), of Shigaraki baby-trapping MC and well, while it took longer then I meant it to to come out, I'm so glad that I could post it on Father' Day of all days lmao.

Anyway though, this was so much fun to write. Shigaraki has been on the journey of bettering himself for so long in Play Nice now, it was a total blast returning to form and writing him nice and scummy again.

I'd love to do more of these honestly, so as a reminder: I give discounts on Commissions that take place in my AU's.

Play Nice, Burnt Bridges, Step by Step -- all of them. They're super fun for me to write and most of the heavy-lifting of ideating and plotting has already been done for them, so I'm happy to write fics like this for cheaper. :)

Anyway, enjoy some forced parentification on this day of dads. xD

“Hey, hey— are you alright?”

She lifted her head from where she’d been resting it against her gym locker, the coolness of the metal being the first thing to even remotely ease the headache she’d been fighting for the last three days. 

“Yeah, of course,” she tried to force a weak smile as Nejire approached her, clearly concerned, “Why do you ask?

The captain was dressed in her practice suit. And she quickly realized that so were all the other girls, most of them already making their way out the doors to the pool deck. She was the lone straggler who hadn’t even managed to undo her uniform tie yet. Nejire looked over at these girls, and then back to her, wordlessly demonstrating why that should be obvious.

She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head, “Okay, I guess I’m feeling a bit under the weather today…”

And that was the understatement of the century. She felt like absolute shit . Piling on top of that stubborn pounding in her head were a pair of really sore tits, a lethargy that stuck with her no matter how much vending machine coffee she chugged, and cramps that had shot straight out of hell and directly into her uterus.

But to be honest, she couldn’t complain too much about these ailments. In fact, she was pretty damn relieved. These were all her tell-tale signs of PMS. They were a little worse than usual this time around sure, but if that was the tradeoff for the relief of not being pregnant, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Her period was only one day late at this point and it had all but paralyzed her with fear.

Of course in retrospect, the fear did seem a bit silly. After all, Shigaraki’s creepy family doctor had warned her there might be some changes.

“I never start patients new to birth control immediately on a Long Acting Reversible Contraception,” he explained, “Especially not teenagers.”

“Why not?” she demanded, “It’s reversible, right? It’s not like you’re tying my tubes or anything.”

“No, but you never know how your body is going to react to the hormonal shift. You could develop acne, weight gain, hair growth—”

“I don’t care about that superficial stuff.”

“... Migraines, blood clots, depression,” he continued, looking at her pointedly.

She looked away, feeling a bit stupid for interrupting him now that he’d listed the more serious side-effects.

“I’m not saying you have to stay on the pill forever. But give it a few months, see how you feel on it. It can help us better determine which long-term birth control is best for your body without any unnecessarily invasive procedures.”

She shuddered at the very thought of being stuck in this set-up with Shigaraki for months. She hoped he’d get bored of her sooner rather than later.

Well, on the brightside, at least this sketchy-ass doctor seemed to be as interested in looking under her skirt as she was having him down there. However, this still left the ever so pertinent issue of:

“Okay, but there’s still the issue of getting the pills. No pharmacy is going to give me these without signed parental consent.” She had the always convenient Japanese purity culture to thank for that.

Ujiko simply smiled and pulled out a wheel of birth control pills from his medical bag right then and there.

“Consider these the same as this appointment,” he said, cupping his hands over hers and placing the wheel firmly into her palm, “ Off the record. ”

And then the rest of the “appointment” had descended into one of extremely thinly-veiled intimidation that bizarrely enough, she’d relied on Shigaraki of all people to save her from. By that point, she’d been scared so shitless she had very little argument left in her to try and reason him into just giving her the damn IUD.

The regret of not standing her ground on the issue did hit her later that night on the train home. Particularly when she thought over the fact that the way they were keeping these pills off the record was by having her pick up her refills through Shigaraki. The idea of giving him even more power over her like that made her feel sick to her stomach. And yes, while logically she knew that he had just as much motivation to keep her from getting pregnant as she did (she had a feeling All for One would not take too kindly to his star successor knocking up a lowly commoner such as herself), she still just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

So she’d resolved herself on her first refill day to completely lay into Shigaraki for any level of tomfoolery he may get up to in this situation. There would be no forgetting, no being too busy to pick up the pills for her, absolutely nothing. She was ready to rain full fire and brimstone on him if there was even a hint of bullshit.

But to her surprise (and relief), she hadn’t even crossed the threshold of his bedroom before he was tossing a new pack to replace her wheel with. Simple and nonchalant, and then he was just as quick as always to badger her about getting her clothes off already, get on the bed already, break up with your boyfriend already.

It was the same old, same old — for better or for worse. Even if she couldn’t trust Tomura Shigaraki himself, that action had at least ensured that she could trust his own desire for self-preservation.

And that was better than nothing she supposed.

Back in the locker room, Nejire asked her, “Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

She smiled at her friend, joking, “Nothing I don’t come down with every month.”

Nejire tilted her head in confusion for a moment before the lightbulb visibly lit up in her head.

“Ohhhhh,” Nejire nodded sympathetically, “Yeah, Aunt Flow can be a real meanie sometimes, huh?”

She laughed, then winced as the action worsened the throbbing in her head,  “Damn it— you can say that again.”

Nejire’s brows furrowed and she brought a hand to the small of her friend’s back, “Hey, why don’t you take this afternoon off?”

She looked back to her, surprised, “Oh no, I couldn’t…”

“Sure you could!” Nejire chirped, “And honestly, you probably should. We’re working on our weakest strokes today. I had you down to work on your fly.”

Visible dread filled her as she thought about doing that much undulation in her current state.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Nejire laughed, “Seriously, go home. We’ll miss you, but we love you too. So we want you to take care of yourself.”

She debated a little more internally, one other loose thread dropping into her mind’s eye.

“If I do… Do you mind—”

“I’ll let Mirio know,” she shot her a wink as she clarified, “ After practice. I’ll let him know you just need the peace and quiet.”

She smiled at Nejire, genuinely grateful. This. This right here was what made all of the bending over backwards she did to fit in and please others worth it. To be cared about by such a good person. 

The warmth of that care stayed with her all the way out to the school gates, where she was then immediately filled with dread upon realizing that she’d need to go in one of two directions depending on where she was going after school: the train station home, or the walk to Shigaraki’s.

And just which direction she was scheduled to go today.

She let out a long groan, anguished and loud enough to startle a couple members of the going home club that passed her. For once though, she didn’t care about her reputation, she was too focussed on what a goddamn nightmare she was falling into.

She pulled out her cellphone with a sigh. Yes she knew the effort was probably futile, but damn her if she didn’t at least try.

Yup. She could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. She sighed as she shoved her phone back into her bag and started the very slow trek over to Shigaraki’s. 

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Shigaraki said as he looked her over his doorway, “You look like shit.”

She shot him a wholly unimpressed look as she shoved past him into his bedroom.

“Yeah, I fucking told you.” 

Shigaraki, surprisingly, didn't have anything to say about her tone, even with her brusqueness towards him being more than usual. He just watched her drop down face first onto his bed and curl her legs up into her chest.

She sighed at the slight relief the position gave her. While dealing with Shigaraki’s antics was about the last thing she wanted right now, she supposed that at least she could be grateful for how much closer his apartment was to her school then her own home was. It saved her a good fifty-minutes of white-knuckling a train stanchion to keep down her groans of pain. Now at least she could get the relief of laying down much sooner.

If only for a little bit.

“What’s going on?”

She bristled at Shigaraki’s voice, the unwelcome reminder that she wasn’t going to be able to truly relax right now. And while there didn’t seem to be any entendre or even impatience in his question, the fact that his voice was getting closer to her was enough to make her suspicious.

“My head aches, my back aches, my boobs ache — everything aches,” she grumbled down into his sheets, “And I feel like I’ve been donkey-kicked straight in the uterus.”

“You start your period or something?”

He didn’t sound sarcastic when he asked it, not that typical boy way of asking any time a girl did something they considered “moody”. It was a genuine question. But it irritated her all the same. 

Everything seemed to be irritating her these days.

“About to,” she answered, “It’s like a day late, but it’s definitely coming.”

She felt the bed shift a bit as he sat next to her.

“Are you nauseous at all?”

Her brows furrowed, a bit confused by the interest.

“I guess a little,” she answered, because even though it was mild, there was a certain turn in her stomach that wasn’t unlike motion sickness, “But honestly, I think it’s just from the pain. This has been going on for like three days.”

“Have you taken anything for it?”

She could’ve laughed if she wasn’t so annoyed by the reminder of all her futile attempts to alleviate this. Because of course he was looking for a quick fix so they could fuck already.

“I’ve taken everything for it,” she groaned, “Nothing’s working.”

He just hummed in response, and then she could feel the sheets behind her dip a bit as he repositioned himself. Into what orientation, she wasn’t sure. She was about to turn her head back and ask him what he was doing when she felt his hand featherlight across her hip.

And between her legs.

“No, Shigaraki please,” she whined, pulling he knees closer into her chest, “I’m not kidding, I’m seriously in a lot of pain—”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Tell that to your hand then,” she snapped as his fingers tried to wiggle their way between her clenched thighs.

“I mean I’m not doing anything for me. This is for you.”

“Oh is it now,” she deadpanned.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he insisted, more irritably this time, “Orgasms help with cramps, right?”

She stilled, sufficiently stumped by that particular statement. Because yes, she could say from experience that they absolutely did. She’d spent many a nasty period with her fingers latched to clit to chase that particular path of relief. 

…but why the hell did Shigaraki know that?

She gasped as she suddenly felt the gentle roll of her clit under three fingers. Apparently, in her moments of distracted deliberation, Shigaraki managed to push his hand past the plush lock of her thighs and under the hem of her panties.

“Sh-Shigaraki…” she whined, pushing her elbow blindly and weakly back towards him.

He caught it gently in his free palm and, rather than trying to pin or strain it in whatever which way he desired, like usual, he just held it there. Didn’t even hold it in place really, just shielded himself against its determined path towards his ribs.

“I’m serious,” he said, uncharacteristically soft, “I’m trying to help you.”

She finally mustered up the strength to — despite how much her aching abdomen hated her for it — turn and glower at Shigaraki.

“No funny business?” she pressed.

He settled his own flat expression on her, “When have I ever been funny?”

More times than she’d like to admit honestly, but she got what he was saying here. He was a pretty serious, straightforward person on principle. He didn’t bullshit, he didn’t pull cheap tricks, and, shockingly enough, he didn’t typically lie. Frustrating as it was, Tomura Shigaraki was pretty much always unapologetically himself and he always did what he wanted.

So if he said that he was doing this to help her, then she supposed that she didn't actually have a lot of reason to distrust him.

Plus, his fingers hadn’t stopped their soft, but affective ministrations between her legs, and the pleasant sparks of heated relief they were sending through her were undeniable.

She turned back onto her side with a sigh that was half-exasperation, half pleasure.

“Fine,” she said, throwing back quickly before he got too victorious, “But fuck around and I’ll kick you.”

Shigaraki just chuckled, a soft throaty sound that shouldn’t have sent the chills up her spine that it did, “Yeah, yeah…”

In one motion, careful not to jostle her too much, Shigaraki both pulled her back and scooched himself closer, until her back was nestled snug against his surprisingly firm chest and her head laid in the crux of his bicep.

With this new closeness he was able to be a bit more deliberate with the angle and pressure he used to rub at her swollen sex. And, while she hated to admit it, the increased blood flow between her legs was causing the pressure within her to build quite a bit faster than usual. Enough so that it had her letting go of the tension in her neck and joints — the automatic stress reaction she had to any of Shigaraki’s displays of intimacy — and letting the weight of her head drop fully into his embrace.

A shuddering sigh left Shigaraki at that clear relinquishing of control, of the way she truly let herself lay back and relax into him. It gave him the encouragement he needed to enjoy her to the fullest extent that he wanted her as well, burying his nose deep into her hair. 

He started to stroke wider circles around her, the flats of his fingers never leaving her clit, but now allowing the tips to dip softly into her entrance. He didn’t push them in at all past his first knuckles, just enough to catch some of that growing wetness and spread it all across her fluttering lips.

“A-Ah—” she gasped out, “Sh-shit…”

“Like that?” he rasped, hot against her ear.

She bit her lip, nodding needily, “Mm— Mm-hmm…”

He groaned at the response, doubling down on that motion as he started to stud long, hot kisses down the back of her jaw and neck. The feeling, so gentle and intimate and good in combination to the way he worked her sex, had her unconsciously rocking her hips into his touch, and back into his own.

Vaguely through the haze, she could feel the familiar outline of his stiff cock against the cleft of her ass, but shockingly he didn’t try to grind it against her for relief. If anything actually, when her own hips moved unconsciously back against it, he actually shifted his own hips away, anglind them down so his erection pushed into the bed instead. As if he didn’t want her to feel it, that he was concerned about her feeling pressured by its presence.

She didn’t have the chance to think too much into that though, not when his fingers were coaxing her closer to the edge by the second. The mess between her legs was obscene at this point, through teary eyes she could see the overflow of it spreading wide across her thighs and pooling down in the sheets. 

“God look at you, so fucking wet,” he groaned, lips having made it down to her shoulder and staying there so that he could have a better view of her writhing under his touch, “You needed this, huh? Fucking needed me…”

She buried her face into his arm to muffle her moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but also not wanting him to stop.

By some act of God, Shigaraki didn’t push for that answer either. She wasn’t sure why he’d abandoned his typical demands and taunts, didn’t threaten to stop until she gave him the verbal submission and begrudging praise he always wanted. Nor did she stop to think about why, she just let the gratitude course through her, spurred further and wider by the waves of heat rushing through her body, threatening — promising — to overflow.

Shigaraki could feel that axiomatic tension in her body, the boiling point it promised, and sped up his hand to stoke the flames.

“You’re close aren’t you? Oh yeah, you’re close…” his kisses turned to nips at her neck between progressively more demanding growls, “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

Fuck, hearing those last words spill from his mouth should not have done what it was doing to her. But it was speeding up her peak, and it was speeding it up audibly.

“Yeah, yeah that’s good, really good. Let it go. Go ahead, be a good girl and let it go.”

She cried out, her arching back forcing her face forward and mouth unmuffled as finally, finally her body went blissfully loose, the pain of the past few days overtaken by waves of heat and pleasure. One after the other, her hormone-driven sensitivity wrung out multiple orgasms, and his frantic fingers were happy to work her through each one until she was begging him to stop.

“Good girl, yeah, yeah, just like that. That’s a good girl,” he continued to praise, returning time and again to that phrase he could feel her getting unconsciously excited over, “That’s my good girl…”

It was just a few blurry moments of consciousness after that. She was pretty sure she whined something like “too much” to him at some point, and he whispered back something that she was sure was just utterly debauched right back. Or maybe it was sweet nothings, he had really favored those by the end of this escapade after all. 

Whatever it all was, she supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered in those seconds of labored breaths and fluttering lashes was the beautiful bliss and relief that finally overtook her body. That allowed her to immediately fall asleep in his arms.

Shigaraki held her there for a long time after. He raked his eyes greedily across her body, letting himself carve every detail deep into his memory. He knew he didn’t need to, not anymore. Her boyfriend, her parents, hell, whether or not she got into Todai with him, it was all a non-issue now. There was no reason for him to lose this anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere in life without him. He was going to be able to revel in this sight for the rest of his life now. And he just couldn’t believe how lucky he was for that.

He chuckled a bit at that. Well, maybe lucky wasn’t the right word. This was all by design after all, weeks of very deliberate planning and deception. It was just like he’d always been taught. It didn’t matter what hand you’ve been dealt — and Tomura Shigaraki had certainly been dealt a shit hand in a lot of ways — a real winner made his own luck. 

Sensei would be mad, Shigaraki knew that much. Everyone would be mad in fact, but he didn’t care. He was just following the fundamental lesson Sensei himself had instilled in him the day they met. 

Take whatever you want, and fuck all the rest.

Several minutes into hearing those sweet deep breaths of unconsciousness from the beautiful girl in his arms, Shigaraki finally peeled his fingers away from her cunt.

And slid a wide hand up to cradle her tummy.

It was dark when she woke up, not a single one of Shigaraki’s many monitors or television lit the windowless room. That was odd for a couple of reasons, the first of which being that the overhead lighting had definitely been on when she’d dozed off. The second of which was that any time Shigaraki wasn’t preoccupied with helping her study or studying her, he was chronically attached to at least one screen, if not multiple, so it was more than a bit odd for him to have zero on. The reason for the lack of blue light however became quickly apparent as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.

Shigaraki wasn’t here.

She was totally alone in his room, alone and tucked into his bed. Had he gone to the bathroom or something? But then why would all the lights be off? It seemed like he’d probably been gone for a while. Weird…

She threw off the covers and flipped her legs around with much more ease than she’d done anything over the last three days, much to her relief. However long she’d been out, the sleep had clearly done her some good. The pounding in her head and pelvis had finally ceased, perhaps just in time for her to actually start her period. She did feel some dampness between her legs after all. Although…

Her face heated up as she remembered the much more likely cause of that.

Damn it, she thought with a groan, dropping her head into her hands. She couldn’t believe that she actually let him do that to her, for her. He was going to get entirely the wrong idea from it. The idea that she might actually like him and want to spend time with him, that there was some kind of connection between them that extended past the time she was required to spend with him to keep him satisfied. And she absolutely could not deal with that.

Being his little sex toy was one thing. A demoralizing thing, yes, but a manageable one. She’d seen the way Shigaraki treated things he objectified — games and magazines and the like. He got bored of them quickly. And if she was one of those things in his eyes, then eventually he’d get bored with her too and she’d be free.

If he was attached to her though? Had found connection in her and a desire to keep her in his life? She didn’t even want to consider that nightmare scenario.

She made her way out into the hallway, looking up and down from the empty bathroom on one end of the hall to the top of the staircase on the other. She didn’t have to contemplate the lack of presence on this floor for long though, when she heard Shigaraki’s voice echoing up from downstairs, talking emphatically to Kurogiri, she assumed. 

She couldn’t hear exactly what he was talking about, but whatever it was, he was being particular about it. “Don’t overcook” and “perfect” were a few of the words she managed to catch, so it was about food, maybe? The accompanying sounds of sizzling pans and clanking cookware would certainly support that. As would the smell that suddenly hit her.

It wasn’t an unpleasant smell by any means. In fact, it was salmon, one of her favorites. But for some reason at that moment, the smell hit her with a particular intensity that made her feel overwhelmed.

And really fucking nauseous.

She just barely made it to the toilet at the end of the hall, not even fully down to her knees by the time she was emptying her stomach into the bowl. It wasn’t just a brief moment of sickness either. The bouts were loud and long, she was sure that it echoed throughout the entire apartment. It left her red-faced, skin covered and hair clumped with sweat, not to mention still gagging long after she had nothing left to gag on.

A hand she barely even noticed came to rest on the small of her back in the midst of it all. It was only in the aftermath, spent and dry-heaving that she could process the fact that it was Shigaraki, kneeling at her side, patiently stroking small circles into her clammy skin and encouraging her softly.

“Let it out. Just let it all out.”

She groaned once she finally seemed to have a solid thirty seconds of dry, steady breath. And Shigaraki used that respite to nudge a glass of water into her hands.

“Here.”

She didn’t argue or agree, just took it from him with shaky hands, tossing half of it just into her mouth to swish around and spit the remaining bitterness from her tongue.

 “Drink some of it too.”

She nodded shakily, still too drained and disoriented to be irritated with his telling her what to do, or suspicious of the fact that he was being so nice. 

And still, as she took entirely too long to finish the rest of her water with timid little sips, he just knelt on the ground with her, moving the hand on her back to rest on her knee, thumb rubbing circles into the spot where a bruise would undoubtedly form. 

Finally, after a long, silent stretch, she managed to croak out, “W-What time is it?”

“Only seven,” he answered, “Kurogiri’s got dinner almost ready downstairs. Seared salmon, brown rice, avocado salad—”

She whined, shaking her head roughly at the very implication of food.

“Don’t like salmon?”

“I-I do… It’s just—” she gagged a little as she remembered that smell that had set this all off in the first place, “Th-The smell right now. It’s too much…”

“Oh yeah…” he nodded understandingly, muttering something to himself that she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded kind of like, “Heightened” and “Read about that…”

Her brows furrowed a bit, frustrated and confused. She was getting the feeling that he was really not telling her something.

“W-What?”

Shigaraki just waved her off, “No, that’s fine, that’s fine. Salmon’s not the only thing he made. There’s sauteed spinach, wakame tofu soup, toasted—” 

Jesus Christ, was Kurogiri cooking for an army down there or something? 

Well, whoever it was all for, and as delicious as it all sounded in theory, imagining those foods in practice right now was making her feel sick all over again.

“Mm-mm, Mm-mm!” she whined, shaking her head again.

She didn’t want to risk opening her mouth right now, lest she blow chunks all over the front of Shigaraki’s shirt. Although wouldn’t that be a nice little serving of karma for him…

“You need to eat something,” he insisted, more lecturey than she’d ever heard him, but with a strange gentleness to his voice as well, “And you need to drink some more too. You’re totally dehydrated.”

She shook her head more emphatically at that, which only resulted in her falling forward into his chest. 

He caught her before she could fall any further, scolding her not too harshly, in fact, a bit whimsically, “Is this how you’re gonna be the whole time?”

She pulled her head back to look at him, a confused furrow in her brows that brought the corners of his lips up.

“It’s not a bad look on you to be honest. All weak and petulant,” he brought a hand to pinch lightly at her cheek, “It’s kinda cute actually.”

Her eyes narrowed, finally feeling her stomach steady enough in her to be annoyed. He chuckled, just as amused and endeared by this look as the last. 

“Well how about okayu?” he offered with a patronizing little lilt, “And maybe some ginger tea?”

He clearly wasn’t going to let this go. And infuriatingly, he was right not to. She definitely was in no shape to go home on this empty stomach. 

She sighed.

“Yeah… Yeah okay.”

Going at her own shaking, snailish pace, Shigaraki helped her up onto her legs, pulling her immediately into his side as he led her back towards his bedroom. Normally she’d protest, stick an elbow right into his ribs and storm on ahead of him, but honestly she needed the help right now. So she sucked it up and let him lead her back into his bed. 

But that didn’t stop her from eying him suspiciously as he propped his pillows up behind her and tucked her back in under his comforter, the overall way he doted and fretted over her, even stopping to look back at her one more time from the doorway before he returned downstairs to give Kurogiri the new marching orders.

She dropped her head back against the pillows when finally alone, a bad feeling settling heavier and heavier in her stomach. This was beyond weird, the way he was acting. Sure, the guy was overbearing and constantly demanding of her attention, stupidly needy even. But doting? Not only willing but eager to put her needs ahead of his own? Caring deeply about her actual well-being and not just what he wanted to be her well-being? This was all way too out of character for him.

“…You can tell me. If he bothered you, I mean. N-Not just the Doctor either… If um… If anything’s bothering you.”

She sighed at the memory. Alright, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit. He’d shown at least some capability and even interest in her wants and well-being, he wasn’t a complete monster.

But still, all of this? The cooing and the caring and the, erm, servicing even that he’d done? It felt like too much. Like she was missing something really key about it all.

Like something was wrong .

Whether she ended up getting lost in that train of thought for long, or Kurogiri had already had some okayu whipped up downstairs, she wasn’t sure, but she was startled by how quickly it seemed that Shigaraki returned with a breakfast tray in hand. She cocked her head as he set it up over her lap, this was a lot more robust than she was expecting, and, she realized as she examined everything on the tray, a lot more stocked as well.

There was okayu, front and center for her, yes. But also on the tray was another small bowl of soup (looked like the wakame that Shigaraki had mentioned, a thing of plain yogurt (the really fancy kind that came in the glass jars), a glass of orange juice…

And a little dish of four pills. 

Painkillers or antiemetics maybe? They looked more like vitamins…

“Go ahead and start with the okayu if you want,” Shigaraki explained as he climbed up into the bed next to her, “But I want you to try and get some of the wakame and yogurt down too…”

As he settled down, his legs flush with her own, he continued to rattle off instructions and explanations for the rest of her tray, sending her mind completely spinning, faster and faster, like a goddamn Gravitron.

And she was ready to get the fuck off.

“...if nothing else though, take the vitamins. You need the folate, calcium, iron, and the omega-3 especially, since you don’t want the salmon—”

“Okay, stop, stop, stop !”

Shigaraki paused, having the audacity to look at her like she was crazy for snapping. 

“Jesus—what the hell are you even talking about Shigaraki?!” she demanded, “What’d you say, folate? What? What is all this?”

He cocked his head, clearly playing innocent. Whatever this was, he was clearly enjoying the slow unraveling of it all.

“What’re you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” she snapped, “All this attention and doting and food stuff! What the hell is this all about?!”

He just smiled back at her, taking in how pretty she looked, even when mad (especially when mad sometimes), God, to think that this really was his forever now. He wondered if they had a girl, how much she’d look like her. He hoped a lot…

“I just want to make sure you’re getting all the vitamins and nutrients you need…”

He reached over then, spreading his hand flat against her stomach.

“ Both of you .”

She froze.

No.

No, he couldn’t mean—

She tried to speak, tried to ask what the ever-loving- fuck he was talking about, but her mouth had seemed to go dry. She tried several times to open and wet it a bit, but every time she did, it felt like her throat was closing too. It took at least four desperate attempts for her to finally force out one rasped:

“... what? ”

Shigaraki’s grin widened, and he started to rub circles gently across her belly.

“You’re gonna look so cute, all big and round with my kid,” he giggled suddenly as he remembered something, “Oh, and your tits too. I wonder how big they’re gonna get…”

She stared at him, unblinking, unbreathing. Everything but un-fucking-existing.

He couldn’t be serious. He was fucking with her. He had to be fucking with her!

“Th-That’s not funny.”

His grin evened a little, not disappearing outright, but settling away some of its blissful excitement into something more coyly victorious.

“I said it already,” he reminded, “When have I ever been funny?”

She shook her head in disbelief.

“N-No. No, no, no this isn’t— there’s no way—”

“I’ve got the tests ready when you need to pee, but I think it’s pretty clear. These are all the symptoms I read about.”

“No!” she insisted, “N-No, no— this is, it’s my period! It’s just a day late, it’s not—!”

He chuckled, “I know the symptoms can be similar, but come on. When’s the last time you’ve hurled like that thanks to your period? And the sensitivity to smell? You know this is different.”

Crumbling, every argument she could possibly think of was crumbling to dust before she could even get the thought fully formed. And cruel, vicious reality was more than happy to take its place.

“B-But my birth control pills…”

“Fertility pills,” he explained, his splitting-grin returning in full, “I would’ve preferred to get Clomid from the doctor, but it looks like the over the counter stuff and tracking your cycle worked just fine.”

Her stomach dropped. Pieces of memories, peculiar behaviors and nagging thoughts she’d had over the last two months falling into place. How there were stretches of times where he’d cancel their sessions, only to insist they make them up a few specific days in a row. How he wanted to go multiple rounds a lot those days. How he’d stopped wanting blowjobs from her entirely. How he seemed to only want to fuck her from behind or with her knees pressed hard into her chest, positions he could fuck her the deepest in.

And how he’d have her stay still with his cock buried in her after he came. 

Back then, she just thought he was being weird and pervy. And in a way she was right.

Horribly fucking right.

Shigaraki shifted his legs away from her so that he could bring his head down to her lap, laying his cheek blissfully against her belly. 

“Was so easy,” he hummed against her skin, “Like your body was just waiting for me to knock you up. Waiting for me to make you mine…”

His hands moved across her body, one coiling behind her back so that he could pull her tighter into him, the other lacing his fingers through her own. The fingers on her trembling left hand.

“Both of you, forever,” he growled happily, a predator who had finally and definitively sunk his teeth into his prey, “All mine.”

[theus-what-are-you-doing]

DAY 29: FEAR

So this is my addition to @cinderellaboyincorectquotes Last week of October Challenge and their anonymous submitter. I thank you both for the prompts!

Unfortunately, I wasn't aware of it until now, so I'm just doing the latter days before Halloween while I can. This entry comes with an angsty short story too, the first fic I've actually written for Cinderella Boy, so I hope you all enjoy~

=================================

FOUND THE BOY

Cinderella Boy OneShot || 850 Words

It was just one of those nights... another book closed, another day wasted, spent chasing after two boys as they tried to awkwardly stumble their way through a narrative that should have been simple to follow. Yet…

It went as well as it usually did, chaos with a twinkle of misbehaving antics and comedics. Not that Buddy minded all of these changes, mind you. It was getting him out of the shackles back in his cell after all, and he even found each experience to become a little more enjoyable than the last. But as the two left the book as they always did, Buddy could already feel the weight of the harsh metal pressing down on his wrists and neck once again, his key starting to glow, signifying it was also his time to go. He heard the faintest voice upon his ears, telling him that they shouldn't go back, almost begging, and yet he knew they had no choice, they never did. Buddy tried his best to comfort both the voice and himself as he breathed out shakily, bringing a purple key from around his neck, the one once hidden under his flamboyant costume, and held it close in the palms of his hands. A vibrant violet hue lit his eyes up from the glowing gem in the centre, soon snuffed out as he muttered those important words

“Send me back, please, Violet...”

With that, he was thrown backwards, even with Violet’s gentle attempts to not be so harsh when pushing him from the book, a flash of white and then a sinking heaviness soon following. The book dropped down before him just as someone’s hands clamped around his sore wrists and pulled him from the table, being quick to snatch the key hanging from around his neck and keeping it from him. A shadowy figure, all too familiar, stood before him, cane in one hand as the other lifted Violet to their face, eyes lit up while their face remained in shadow. Their rough voice pierced the panting silence.

“Hmm, that was more than last time… You seem to be rather enjoying yourself, Two.”

Buddy didn’t dare lift his head, rather making a noise akin to an affirmation. It still felt so weird to hear himself being referred to in such a way, growing a little too used to being called “Buddy” by the blonde starlight he had grown so fond of over the past year or so. ‘Two’ just didn't fit him any more, even if it had been all he had ever known

“Ah well, more for me to use when they are rightfully returned to us. Have you got any updates on your search?”

His shaking head was met with a subtle grimace, the other’s nose scrunching momentarily with their eyebrows knitting together, yet it was soon replaced with a snarky smirk, lips pulled up in a way that didn't seem quite humanly possible.

“Nevermind, despite your lack of verbal information, You have still managed to help us.”

That’s when Buddy’s eyes finally flickered up, staring through the parting strands of his dark hair, eyebrows furrowing in a mix of confusion and concern. What did he mean, help them? He didn’t want to help them! His confused look didn't go missed by the looming figure, giving them some sense of satisfaction. So they were right…

“Ah well… Thanks to you, number two…"

An insufferable pause followed, like the figure was dragging the revealing information out in some sadistic game of withholding, clearly taking some sick pleasure from the pained look on their prisoner's face. They finally spoke with a casual tone, almost treating it as if the information was nothing to be regarded, when it was quite the opposite to Buddy.

“We’ve finally found the one boy holding three of our beloved keys.”

Buddy's face fell and his hand reached up to grasp his increasingly beating heart, feeling it slowly race more as he started to comprehend the words. A gentle ‘What..’ almost left his lips as the other approached, reaching out and forcing his head upwards to face them in a snapped motion. He lip quivered with anxious fear as the other continued.

“I must thank you, truly, dear Two… I can not wait to have my precious keys back in my possession… nor to punish the one who has stolen them from me. Perhaps I will even reward you for your efforts.”

A loud and horrid laugh passed their lips, abrupt, as if they couldn't hold it in any longer, an unreadable glint behind their eyes. They dropped Buddy's face in disregard, wiping their hands on their waistcoat with a twinge of disgust lining their features. It wasn't long before they started to walk over to the reinforced door to the furthest side of the room, picking up the book Buddy had previously left as they did. They flicked through the pages idly, shutting the book with a slam once done.

“Perhaps I will let him visit you before he meets his punishment… Wouldn't that be a bittersweet ending to this chapter?”

[fanged-fanfics]

I love what you did for my last request. So if it's ok, can I add an extra on it?

In this, it's still optimus and ratchet, but when (Y/N) doesn't get better, it seems to get worse. They do scans on them. Turns out, (Y/n) has a broken bone that didn't heal right, and now it's starting to make her sick by releasing bacteria in her blood stream, and the only way to fix it is by surgery. Pretty much, forcing the bone to be together to stop it being a problem.

How will they act, how will they find out, and will they help (Y/N) recover? Thank you again and if it's to long, I am sorry!

☆ Caring and Curing Pt 2 — TFP Optimus and Ratchet x Sick!Fem Reader ☆

Genre: Fluff || she/her pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 After quite a few days of you being sick, worry spread through the base a bit more. Ratchet did what he could to monitor you and change little things in routine to see what helped, but nothing was helping quite as much as it should be

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The bots once again consulted the humans, and convinced you to go to a human doctor. They personally drove you, waiting outside and trying to stay hidden as possible as they waited on results. Optimus and Ratchet talked between themselves on their concerns over you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Once you came back and news of surgery was revealed, Optimus began researching whatever he could about what humans needed to recover from such an event to see if he could help, and Ratchet modified your resting nest to accommodate the new needs you'd have post-operation

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Once you have the surgery completed and you're safe to come back to base, the two mechs fret over you more than before. You didn't think it was possible, but Optimus and Ratchet begin curling around you more often and keeping bots under strict information on how to be careful with you, including disallowing any to come too close

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Anything you need immediately gets handed to you. Sometimes you don't even have to ask, as their research pays off and they stock up on even the littlest of medicines or snacks you may need. They might have a few less than solid hacks they found on human websites that don't make sense, but they're doing their best

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Optimus straight up carries you whenever you need to go somewhere. He's worried about you falling or aching while moving, so he holds you in his servos carefully and takes you wherever you need to go, even offering to complete every task for you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Ratchet makes sure you're following the care guidelines you got from the doctors on what to do post-op. He keeps the list on him at all times, and will be strict on you taking medicine on time as well as keeping bandages or casts clean

ᯓᡣ𐭩 They seem very worried and nervous whenever they're helping you, moving with great gentleness and care. They become very conscious of how small you are in comparison, and take extra precautions to be sure their heavy metal frames never hurt you

[robolvrr]

Hi I just finished reading your Pharma fic and I must ask for more like this but maybe some more torture? If that makes you uncomfortable then feel free to not do it!

debt collector. *. * ·

pharma x reader warnings: nsfw. mentions of medical torture. dark content. a back-alley doctor of all trades gives you deals too good to be true.

three knocks.

do you have a death wish?

the silence makes you wince. this night is bitter and your nose is ruddy, two moons overhung in the black beauty sky. gloved hands gingerly rub for friction, last ditch effort to gain some comfort. you know once this rusted door slides open, you won't be at ease and he will be there, watchful as a vulture's vice.

there should be no surprise when your miracle doctor is summoned, though you suppose the sizable difference in height and build is a factor. his smirk is a permanent fixture and what he lacks in pupils he offers in personal intrusions, crowding you inside with a croon of baritone greetings.

several mechanisms relock themselves. the mask covering the lower half of your face rolls down your chin, his colossus hands so precise, so tender, slipping your limbs free of a winter coat.

"my favorite patient. i do hope those.. prescriptions i've suggested you have been doing the trick."

originally, you had come here for the medical services. simple check-ins, an health examination every once in awhile. his rates were cheap and you had no insurance, so knowing a cybertronian of all things - billions and billions of years old no doubt with just as much field knowledge - quelled most of your concerns.

most of them.

pharma was an interesting mech. if he were a man, you're sure you'd fumble your tongue more. he has a funny way of getting you to agree with him.

"dear. i do adore our shared moments of silence just like any other, but i asked a question. how else am i to know my efficiency if you get all shy on me, mm?"

his grin tears some more seeing you squirm, mumbling an apology and turning your head as if he won't catch the warmth on your cheeks in the opposing mirror.

"sorry, pharma. to be honest.."

"yeees?" pharma sounds like he knows exactly what is bothering you.

"the medications.. they've been making me anxious. i think. i see things more than usual out of the corner of my eyes. i hear a thump and suddenly my heart is racing."

"no better than an alley cat, it seems." a grumble leaves your pout and he, still smiling wide and knowing, tuts in false concern.

"doctor, please. i know you told me these methods of yours were experimental. i'm organic. our biology is different, at its core. but i just need to sleep. that's all i need."

"all you need?"

his digit slips something gritty and round in your mouth. you swallow like the good patient you are, even though the flavor cakes your throat and makes you gag. it helps when he cups your throat, tickling the column of your neck.

he has such a way with touch. you forget you're frustrated.

"yes. i just want to sleep."

with a note of finality, his servos clap together, urging you to stay still. it may have been a few minutes, or hours, though it's unclear. there are no clocks down here. your head feels so heavy.

with a thunk, you are falling and with a grandiose hum, he is catching, placing you atop his table like a frankenstein doll.

sluggish muscles make way for well-crafted pins. acupuncture just edging discomfort, or is the fuzziness at the trim of your blank expression a sign of the end?

"then sleep you shall."

his voice echoes loud and glorious. an angel's choir - an angel of death.

the drilling pain kisses you again, fleets. you whimper, but he doesn't miss the jolt of your legs, or the shaky breath you gift his audials.

"i can gift you peace, sleeping beauty. i promise. however.. the subject of payment has been on the table for too long. i must collect."

schlick.

squishy and wet. hardness swelling where it shouldn't, nestled in your praising stare. lashes graze metal.

"speechless? you'll feel better after, sweet thing." in a corner of your mind dozens of atmospheres away, your sense of survival is thrashing in fear. it is not strong enough to pierce this hypnotic veil.

"in fact, you won't feel much at all."

pnk!

-

this room is warm and this table is cold and his hands, his hands, so big and perfect and familiar.

pharma's thumb slowly drags up along your cheek, before escaping back into his intake for him to taste-test. you think wearily that it's bright and tangy, just like the hues of his opulent frame.

"that's it. sink."

you smile.

a/n: thanks for the request! if i did get into darker stuff, like descriptive gore, i'd end up making a sideblog. also a giant prose writer so i like to leave things to the minds eye so to speak. if you can't tell, pharma and his versions of "romance" aren't sweet. will u match his freak? ;)

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Lost in Ikea. || John Price x Reader

For @glitterypirateduck's “O, Captain!” writing challenge! I used prompts:

4. Lost in an IKEA

41. Price and Reader run into each other (literally)

48. A character tries to hide that they are crying or upset

Rating: E Words: 1.3K cw: period/menstruation + symptoms, feelings of inaddequacy?. Tags: afab!reader (bc menstruation), you/your pronouns but no Y/N, crying, hurt/comfort, strangers. Summary: Reader is just having a bad day and John is a kind stranger. a/n: I just needed a little hurt/comfort for the soul. This isn't too serious. Also the 'lost' part of Ikea is more emotional than physical. ALSO ALSO, OFC I HAD TO DO THIS PROMPT, my screen name is literally Ikea.

Should you have gone to Ikea while on your period, when you’re in pain and light-headed and in a mood to kill a man? No.

Here’s the thing, you wanted a specific little bear plush they sell there (DJUNGELSKOG). And a meal from the restaurant. And maybe a new lamp. And a new set of bed covers and pillows. And honestly, you could use a little trolley for your craft supplies. And since you’re there you might as well no longer postpone buying that shelf you need-

You walked around the store for over two hours just looking at everything and, steadily, filling up your card with more than you expected. Little knick-knacks, a new set of cups for the kitchen, a picture frame, etc. etc. 

You took your time, moved at your own pace, slowly observing all the room displays… Maybe got lost at one point, but that’s neither here nor there.

Once you found a storage trolley you liked, as well as a shelf, you advanced through the warehouse, pushing your large cart along.

The trolley came first. It was small and light enough and after checking that the box said White, you found yourself perfectly able to drag it onto the large metal warehouse platform cart.

But then the shelf- you crouched down and tried to get a grip on the box and pull, but the bitch was heavy. You huffed and struggled, but it wouldn’t budge. It probably didn’t help that both your womb and your lower back were throwing a rager of cramps and all your muscles were sore.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come on your period. Another weekend, any other weekend, and you’ve been strong enough to get the box with the disassembled shelf off its perch… But you wanted to do it today! 

You wanted to feel like you got something done. You wanted the sense of accomplishment… You wanted to feel like you persevered through the pain! 

You had the whole day planned out: You got out of bed, you showered, you had proper food and a desert, you cleaned your house, you went outside, and you finally completed something you had been putting off!

You couldn’t leave without the last one! You had to get it out! You wanted to take the stupid shelf home with you!!!!

Tears start pooling in your eyes, your lip beginning to tremble. You’ll blame it on the hormones and the frustration.

Stomping your feet, you walk down the aisle, abandoning your cart and turn the corner intent on pushing the box out from the other side-

Then you smack into a person and it knocks you so off balance (you were already sort of light-headed either way) that you drop onto the linoleum floor.

If the day wasn’t already bad enough and you weren’t already crying, taking a hard seat on the floor in front of a stranger only made you feel that much worse.

“Christ, you alright?” A man’s concerned voice comes from above you. You wince and close your eyes hard, trying to conceal the tears in them.

“Y-Yeah. Sorry. I was in a hurry and wasn’t paying attention.” You murmur and turn to the side, using the floor and the industrial shelf next to you to pull yourself up to your feet.

“No, I’m sorry, I was walking fast too.” He replies. “I wasn’t fast enough to catch you. Might be getting old. My reflexes aren’t what they used to be.” His tone sounds playful, like he’s trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, haha.” You try to laugh it off. You still haven’t properly glanced at him and he can tell that you’re trying to conceal your redened eyes as you look off to the side.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Didn’t hurt you, did I?” He checks, his voice a lot more gentle.

God, you feel pathetic. Crying in front of a stranger in the middle of an IKEA warehouse. 

“I’m fine… Just… having a bad day.” You reply and for a moment you finally look over at him.

Great. On top of making a fool of yourself in front of a stranger who happens to be super kind, said stranger is also older and hot, definitely a dilf. Great, just great. You really should’ve stayed at home today.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” He replies softly as he peers at you with bright blue eyes under thick brown eyebrows.

“It’s fine. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make this whole thing awkward. I’m sorry.” You turn to return to your things. Fuck the damn shelf, you’re going home and never coming to this IKEA again.

“Wait. Hey!” He says as he calls after you. Turning to look at him, your face twists into an upset, embarrassed look.

“You don’t have to apologise for having a bad day or having a cry, it’s alright.” The man says as he approaches you again when you’re already at your cart.

As he speaks, you notice there’s no pity in his tone, or some sort of cringe-riddled sentiment of awkwardness that comes to normal people when a stranger suddenly overshares. He’s just… kind.

Your face softens a bit more and you quickly turn to look away. Instead, your eyes find the stupid box with the shelf you want, still on the industrial shelves, and you start crying more.

“I just want that bloody shelf and it’s… it’s too heavy and I can’t get it into the cart and- I can’t believe I’m crying over this!” You complain and gesture vaguely to the space in front of you as you find yourself sniffling.

“Alright. Hey, it’s alright.” He assures you and gives you a friendly tap on the back, on your shoulder, over your hoodie. “How about I get it for you?” He asks.

You find yourself looking up at him. “I don’t wanna bother you.”

“Not at all!” He says with a friendly smile and a nod. “I’m plenty strong and I’m already here! Plus, imagine me walking away now after offering?” He jokes.

You can’t help the chuckle the escapes you amidst your broken sobs. “Would’ve been proper rude.”

“Of course it would. And my mum raised me right.” He adds playfully, causing another chuckle to rise out of you. “That’s the smile I wanted.” He cheers.

John moves forward and crouches, helping to slide the heavy box off the shelf with a mighty grip of his big hands, sliding it onto the bottom of the metal cart with the rest of your shopping. “There it is.”

“Thank you…” You murmur as you seek for tissues in your pockets, grabbing one to dab away your tears.

“It’s alright.” He assures you again. “And, for the record, there’s no shame in crying. If you would’ve asked me 3 days ago what I was doing, I’d tell you I was having a good sob in my car after going to the supermarket because I was so tired and overwhelmed.” He admits and chuckles.

“You?” You ask, not quite sure if he was being sincere.

“Oh, yeah. I cry all the time, me.” He tells you and winks one of those blue eyes at you, making you chuckle again.

“Well, thank you, erm…” You trail off, realizing you don’t know his name.

“John.” He says while reaching a hand forward for you to shake. You return the introduction with your own name.

“You think you’ve got this? Or are you gonna need help getting it into the car?” He gestures at your entire cart.

“Oh, shite, you’re right… Need to get this into the car…” You groan and facepalm yourself.

“Tell you what-” John says as he looks at you. “You wait for me while I get the rest of my things-” He takes a list of paper with scribbled reference numbers on it from his pocket. “And we’ll go through checkout together, and I’ll help load this up into your car?”

His offer is so sweet and sincere and kind, you find your eyes clouding with tears again. Then, you nod eagerly and dab away the tears with your crumpled up tissue again.

[ O, Captain! Masterlist ] || [ My Masterlist ]

[bad-wolf-blue]

Reflections

10th Doctor x fem!Reader

Description: the reader is kidnapped and has a clone made of her. (Fluff, ANGST)

Word Count : 3,251

The TARDIS spun in a whirl of colors and sounds, the familiar hum vibrating through the air, You stood beside him, watching as the glowing time rotor descended with a low, reverberating groan. The Doctor, as ever, was bouncing on his toes, a grin already tugging at the corners of his mouth. You, however, couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease as your eyes scanned the scanner’s readout.

“Another uncharted planet, another mystery,” he said with a gleam in his eyes, his voice brimming with that insatiable excitement you knew so well.

You sighed, folding your arms as you leaned against the console. “Mmm, right. But something about this place… it doesn’t feel quite right.”

The Doctor paused mid-step, raising an eyebrow at you. “Oh, come on! Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I have an adventurous spirit,” you replied dryly, “but I also have instincts. And they’re telling me we should maybe take it slow on this one.”

He waved off your concern, tapping a few buttons on the console with practiced ease. “That’s the thing with your instincts—they’re not always right”

With that, he threw the TARDIS doors wide open, and before you could protest, he was already out on the alien world’s surface, breathing in the strange, almost citrus-like air. You followed him, a reluctant smile on your face, ready for whatever was about to unfold.

You found yourself in a dense jungle, the trees towering high above you with thick, bioluminescent vines draping down like glowing ropes. The flora was unlike anything you’d ever seen before—large flowers in every shade of blue and purple, leaves that shimmered and pulsed with life, and an almost overwhelming sense of the world holding secrets just beneath the surface. The Doctor was already leaping from one stone to another, his mind racing with excitement as he analyzed everything in sight.

But you stayed back a bit, letting the surreal beauty of the place sink in. The warmth of the atmosphere was comforting, even if the strange, almost electric hum in the air made your skin prickle with a sense of anticipation.

Everything felt too still.

The air seemed to warp—an unnatural crackling noise followed by the sudden appearance of figures from the trees. They were too fast, too silent, before you could even process what was happening.

Hands gripped you from behind, pulling you off your feet before you could make a sound. Panic surged in your chest, but your body was already heavy, weighed down by something unseen. Your legs went limp, and a sharp, searing pain shot through your skull. Everything went black.

The next thing you knew, you were awake, your head throbbing, and your vision blurry. The faint smell of chemicals hung in the air, thick and sterile, a stark contrast to the vibrant jungle outside. You tried to move, but something cold and unyielding restrained your arms. Your body was bound to a chair—metallic, hard, the kind of chair that made your skin crawl. Panic set in again as you tried to push yourself upright, but the restraints held firm.

You could barely make out the dim light above you, flickering, casting strange shadows across the cold walls. There were no windows, no sounds of the outside world, only the feeling of utter isolation. The only other noise was the soft hiss of machinery humming around you, and the occasional whir of unfamiliar devices.

A door opened with a mechanical hiss, and you tensed, muscles aching as you pulled against your restraints. The figure who entered was tall and thin, with unnervingly smooth features and gleaming, reflective eyes. There was no warmth in their presence, no indication of any human emotion. The creature’s form was almost alien—too long, too lean, and the way it moved was more like a machine than a person.

“You’re awake,” it said, its voice dissonant, lacking inflection. The words were simple, but there was something cold in the way it spoke, as though your suffering didn’t matter to it at all. “The procedure is complete.”

“W-what procedure?” Your voice came out weak, but it was enough to provoke a response. You had to understand what was happening. Why were you here? What had they done to you?

The creature didn’t respond directly. Instead, it leaned closer, studying you as though you were nothing more than an object on display. “You are the key. The data we have gathered from your body will allow us to proceed. The replication is complete.” It turned on its heel and walked out of the room, leaving you alone with your rising dread.

Replication. You understood the meaning immediately, though it chilled you to the bone. They hadn’t just captured you—they were trying to replace you. Your mind spun, and you tried to recall every bit of training you had, every moment of your life where you’d learned to survive in these types of situations. But the knowledge felt distant, as if the fear was slowly overriding everything else.

Meanwhile, back outside, the Doctor’s mind was a whirlwind of panic and confusion. One moment, you were right there beside him, exploring the strange alien landscape, and the next—gone. It didn’t make sense. He had turned around, just for a second, to adjust the settings on his Sonic screwdriver when the familiar hum of your presence disappeared. His hearts stuttered in his chest.

He quickly activated the scanner settings, his fingers flying over the buttons, but the readings made no sense. There were faint traces of energy, too faint to be human, but unmistakably connected to something unnatural. It was like an invisible thread had been cut, and now he was lost in the wake of it.

His gut was screaming at him. Something was terribly wrong. He activated his Sonic screwdrivers more advanced sensors, focusing everything on one singular mission: find you. His eyes flicked rapidly from readout to readout, before something caught his attention—a faint but distinct energy trail. Not far. The path seemed to pulse with an odd frequency. It wasn’t just random interference—it was intentional. Someone was hiding something.

Without a second thought, the Doctor sprinted towards it, the wind whipping through his hair as he followed the trail that now seemed to grow clearer with each step. His mind raced, calculating, interpreting. He wasn’t sure what—or who—he would find at the end of this path, but he had no doubt that whatever it was, it had something to do with you.

After a few minutes of hurried searching, he found the source: a tall, forbidding building, almost camouflaged against the dense jungle around it. The structure was sleek, dark, and eerily silent, a perfect match for the alien architecture he’d seen before. The Doctor didn’t stop to think—he just ran toward it, adrenaline pushing him forward.

He reached the entrance and paused for only a moment to assess the situation. The door was sealed tight, and the faint hum of machinery buzzed within. His mind didn’t waste time on hesitation.

With a quick twist of his sonic screwdriver, the door slid open, and the Doctor bolted inside. The alarms blared to life, sharp and shrill, but they were little more than background noise to the man already diving headfirst into danger. His hearts raced, his eyes darting around the sterile, metallic interior. No matter how much noise the alarms made, none of it mattered now. All that mattered was finding you.

He had to get to you.

Then, as he turned down another narrow, dimly lit corridor, something caught his eye. The air around him shifted, cold and wrong, like stepping into a different world. At first, he didn’t know what it was—just a feeling, something instinctual—but when he took another step forward, his gaze locked onto it, and his blood ran cold.

It was you. Or, at least, it looked like you?

He knew—instantly. A Clone

The figure that had appeared in your place stood tall, Had it not have been for the Smell in the air giving it away. You would never have guessed. It was perfect.

The Doctor didn’t even need to think. His instinct kicked in. He’d seen this before, and he wasn’t going to let it happen again “Where is she?” he demanded, his voice low, dangerous.

The clone’s expression didn’t change. “She is safe. The procedure is complete.”

“Not good enough.” The Doctor grabbed the clone’s arm, his eyes blazing with fury. “Take me to her. Now.”

The clone hesitated for just a fraction of a second—enough for the Doctor to know it wasn’t quite as perfect as it wanted to be. He dragged her through the facility, his mind already working on a plan. He could feel you—the real you—just a few rooms away. And he wasn’t leaving without you.

When he finally saw you, lying unconscious on a cold metal table, his breath caught in his throat. Your face, your hair—everything was the same. But the cold, lifeless stillness of your body, the absence of your spirit… it tore at him. This wasn’t you.

His heart hammered in his chest, and before he could even process what was happening, he was already rushing into action, pulling the wires off your body, yanking you from the table, his voice a frantic whisper, “Come on, come on, please wake up. You’re going to be fine…”

The Doctor could hear the footsteps of the guards drawing closer, their weapons ready. The urgency in his chest burned hotter. There was no time to waste. With a sharp, decisive movement, he lunged into action, his body moving with a precision born of years of experience. His hands flew across the controls, his sonic screwdriver buzzing through the air, disabling the guards one by one with swift, calculated strikes. It was almost effortless, the chaos of the fight flowing around him like a storm, but his focus never wavered.

But in the whirlwind of his movements, the clone—your clone—was caught in the crossfire. A stray blast of energy hit her, knocking her to the ground in a crumpled heap.

The Doctor’s breath hitched. Time seemed to freeze for a moment, his heart skipping a beat as the clone’s body lay still on the cold floor. Her form, once moving, now lifeless

The Doctor tried not to look at it. He couldn’t. His entire focus was on You. His breath ragged, he lifted you into his arms, trying to wake you once again.

“Please,” he murmured desperately. “Wake up.”

You stirred. Slowly, your eyelids fluttered open, and the grogginess of unconsciousness faded away. But what you saw when your eyes focused on the room was the most horrifying thing you could have imagined.

The clone lay there, motionless but still alive, her eyes—your eyes—staring back at you. There was something eerily unnatural about it, seeing yourself lying there, pale and unmoving, yet still struggling to breathe. It felt like the world had tilted off its axis, and nothing made sense anymore.

The clone’s hand weakly reached out toward you. Toward the Doctor. Her fingers barely lifted from the cold floor, but the gesture was desperate. She wanted something—some kind of connection, some form of life—yet her body betrayed her, too exhausted to even make the movement whole.

You froze. Terror gripped you as you realized what you were witnessing. This wasn’t just a reflection of yourself—The clone had been made from you, it had all your feelings, memories. but it wasn’t you. And it was dying.

The sight was more than you could handle. Your stomach twisted with a combination of horror, confusion, and a deep aching sadness. How could this happen? Your breath caught in your throat, the image of the clone’s weak, trembling hand stretching out toward you burning into your mind.

Then, with a final exhale, the clone’s hand fell limp. Her eyes closed, her body relaxed in surrender, and the life drained from her face. The last flicker of motion went out, and she collapsed fully, lifeless.

The clone was dead.

“No,” you gasped, your voice trembling as you backed away. Horror and disbelief consumed you. You couldn’t take your eyes off the sight—the broken, lifeless version of yourself. The Doctor was at your side immediately.

You couldn’t move. Your body trembled, your mind unable to process what you had seen—the grotesque, haunting reflection of yourself, dying and abandoned on the cold, metallic floor.

The Doctor's grip on your arm tightened, his voice low and commanding, though there was an undercurrent of tenderness. “Don’t look at it,” he said, his words laced with urgency. “It’s not real. It’s just a clone. It’s not you, Please… don’t look.”

But it was too late. The moment your gaze fell upon the figure lying on the floor It—Her—You couldn’t tear your eyes away. It was you lying there, lifeless, pale and unmoving. The clone, the reflection of yourself, left you frozen in place. The air around you thickened with a kind of suffocating horror, and your chest tightened. A sickening feeling spread through you as you stared, unable to comprehend what your mind was desperately trying to deny.

“Please, don’t…” The Doctor’s voice cracked, his hand gently pulling at your arm, trying to guide you away from the sight, but you were still rooted to the spot, your body trembling as the world blurred around you.

The Doctor’s face twisted with sorrow, but his tone was sharp, his voice demanding. “We need to go. We’re not safe here, and you’re not safe if you stay. Come on, we have to leave.”

With a desperate breath, the Doctor wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you away, guiding you through the narrow corridor and back out into the jungle. His steps were fast, unsteady, almost as if he, too, needed to escape the suffocating weight of what you had seen. His hand never left your back, urging you onward.

What should’ve been a short walk—fifteen minutes, maybe twenty at most—felt like an eternity. The thick foliage of the jungle pressed in on you, the humidity heavy in the air, but you barely noticed. Your mind was trapped, replaying the horrifying image of yourself, the reflection of your own death, again and again. Each step you took felt like it carried the weight of a thousand thoughts you couldn’t escape. Every shadow in the jungle seemed to hold something sinister, every rustle of leaves sent a fresh wave of panic through your veins.

The Doctor noticed. He noticed how you stiffened with every step, how your breath hitched, how you couldn’t seem to focus on anything except the horrors you had witnessed. His brow furrowed, worry lining his face, though he didn’t press you for answers. He knew you needed time. He could see the toll it was taking on you, the way you were unraveling, slowly, silently.

He didn’t speak as he led you to the TARDIS. Once inside, the familiar sound of the TARDIS doors shutting behind you, the comforting hum of its walls, should’ve felt like a relief, but it didn’t. You barely registered the surroundings—the blue walls, the spinning time rotor, the familiar glow of the console. All you could see, all you could feel, was the weight of what you’d just witnessed.

And then, before you even knew what was happening, your legs gave way beneath you, and you collapsed to your knees, the cold metal floor of the TARDIS grounding you.

Tears fell freely, without warning, without control, staining your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath. The sight of yourself dying on the floor, the fear and confusion that it stirred in you—it was too much. You couldn’t process it. You couldn’t speak. Your voice had abandoned you, your words locked behind a wall of trauma that you couldn’t bring yourself to break down.

The Doctor was there, kneeling beside you in an instant, his presence a calming anchor in the storm that was threatening to swallow you whole. He cupped your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears, though more came—too many to stop. His voice was a soft whisper, filled with all the care he always had for you, but now there was an edge of worry, of desperation. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re here, with me. It was just a clone. It wasn’t you. You’re real. You’re alive.”

His hands moved to pull you closer, gently wrapping his arms around you, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the universe, as though his very presence could shield you from the horrors that had invaded your mind. “You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you, ever. I promise.”

But you couldn’t answer. You could only cling to him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, letting his voice, steady and sure, try to reassure you, though the images of your own death still haunted your mind, refusing to let you go.

And somehow, as his words wrapped around you like a blanket, you believed him. Just for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that with him, you might just be able to forget what you had seen.

But the fear and the trauma would linger, a shadow that wouldn’t fade as easily as the Doctor's promises. It would take time. But as long as the Doctor was by your side, you knew you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

[eelnoise]

unexpected comforts

law x gn reader, fluff, overworked and sleepy law

a/n: been watching wano and law is just too bbg. had to write some fluff for this man. law 100% has doctor's handwriting btw. also i'm bad with titles so ignore that

You groan as you wake, rolling over onto your side in a groggy, hazy state of mind when you're met with what could only be the fabric of couch cushions in your face.

Weakly, you open your eyes and force yourself to sit up. One hand rubs at the back of your neck in a feeble attempt at soothing the ache there, your reward for once again falling asleep on the sofa arm. You're not even sure what time it is, and the dark, deep water from beyond the lounge's porthole window doesn't help with approximating any time of day.

With a sigh, you scour the room. Memories from the hours prior run through your mind as you look over the now long abandoned drinks scattered around the table in the middle of the room, the rest of the Heart Pirates having turned in for the night without wanting to wake you.

Whatever mild inebriation that still flows within you isn't enough to keep you from cleaning up after their mess. You're fully aware that your crew didn't mean any malice behind their leftovers, so you're content with doing a bit of chore work before you too tuck yourself in for the night.

Getting to your feet with a stretch and a yawn, you begin gathering the various glasses and bottles of whiskey left over and take them to the kitchen to dispose of properly. You wash the drinkware in the sink and set them aside to dry before tossing the empty bottles in the bin on your way out of the room as you head for your bunk.

The cold interior of the Polar Tang and its metal walls had been something you'd long grown used to, though when the main areas of the submarine lay as dormant as it did now - it did feel a little eerily quiet. You shuffle down the main hallway in your socks, feeling somewhat thankful that you'd left your boots in your quarters for fear of waking the rest of the crew up with heavy footsteps.

As you near your destination, you pass by a very specific door that's just slightly ajar and have to retrace your steps in a double take. A faint light from within the room bled into the dim hallway, and, unable to keep your curiosity in check, you peer inside quietly.

You're greeted with the sigh of your captain, his head flat on his desk, discarded hat next to him. It was quiet enough for you to hear that he'd also fallen asleep in a less-than-ideal position. You knew that he overworked himself to the bone, so his current circumstance did little in the way of surprising you. Nevertheless, you feel your face soften at the sight before quietly sliding between the door and making your way over to him.

At first, you're unsure how to wake him - or if you should even wake him. You figure that you should at least try, especially considering how your neck feels after waking up on the sofa awkwardly, let alone face down on a desk.

"Captain." You say softly, using your hand to lightly touch his shoulder and gently shaking him. When you're met with silence, you do it just a bit harder. "Law."

With a slight mumble, he begins to stir. "Hm?" Law's low, tired voice makes your ears ring, and suddenly you're not sure if this was a good idea after all. He sits up and turns to see who had roused him from his sleep, and when he sees you there with a concerned look across your expression he feels his jaw tense.

Out of each of his subordinates, it had to be you here waking him up. Law didn't have any regrets when it came to choosing his crew, and that includes you.

But he hated that he found you alluring - hated that his heart beat fast in his chest when you got even remotely close to him. Law can't wrap his head around why you make him so dizzy, so uncharacteristically infatuated each time he watches you do even the most mundane of tasks around the sub.

He's thankful that his room is dark enough to hide the obvious warmth in his cheeks.

"Captain," You say, your tender voice meeting his ears and making his stomach churn with nerves. "Sorry for waking you, but surely sleeping on your desk isn't what you want for the night." You smile down at him, though your expression is laced with concern.

Law briefly studies your face as if processing exactly what you said. He looks down at his work strewn out along the desk in front of him and sighs. "I've… got a lot of work to do." He mumbles, wishing beyond hope that you'll take him at his word and leave him in peace, for his own heart's sake.

You shake your head, and the hand you have on his shoulder falls back to your side and god, does he miss the warmth already. "If you're set on working through the night, could I get you something to eat? At least a glass of water?"

You were too good to him.

Law wants to say 'no', to wave you off to bed with a nod, but the words fail him. "Some water would be nice if you don't mind." He says, tone low and groggy. "Sure thing." You hum, your fondness for your captain dripping in your words. And you've gone in a flash, Law watches as your shadow fades away in the corridor before leaning back in his chair, rolling his head back, and closing his eyes with another deep sigh.

Before he knows it, you're back with a smile on your face and a glass of ice water in hand, offering it out to him. Law takes the glass with a small smile, humming his thanks before taking a very long and much-needed sip of the water.

"You know this, but you really should sleep, Law." His name from your lips tightens the thick knot already in his chest, and he has to force himself to keep his eyes on his paperwork lest he falls into your soothing aura once more.

He doesn't answer immediately, and you decide that it's your cue to leave him for the night. "Goodnight, captain." Your words are barely louder than a whisper, and as soft as any pillow. When you turn to exit, you've barely taken a step before you hear Law speak from behind you.

"Y/N-ya, wait."

You freeze on the spot and turn around with a curious tilt of your head as your eyes meet his once more. "What's up?"

Suddenly, he's not sure if he can do this. He swallows, clearing his throat to buy himself even seconds of time to find his voice. Law finds himself not wanting you to leave. Your sweet expression, your eyes peering over at him from beyond your pretty eyelashes, the small smile on your lips, even down to the faint smell of whatever soap you used upon your skin - it was almost too overwhelming. Almost.

"Will you stay?" He asks, letting the query hover in the cool air.

"You don't think I'd be a bother?" You ask, shuffling your feet together in a nervous twitch.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't think so."

A fair reply, one rewarded with a smiling nod from you. "Of course. I'll hang out." You were the only two awake, after all. Law smiles, just slightly enough for you to notice, and you take a seat at the edge of his bed, just across from where his desk is.

You're not really sure what to say, knowing full well that your captain wasn't the keenest about being interrupted with his work, but as you watch him slide his lithe hands across the pile of notes in front of him, you can't help but be at least somewhat curious as to what he's up to.

"Captain-"

"Law."

You flush. Even though you use both terms interchangeably, this was the first time he's ever corrected you. "Law," You begin again, finding yourself feeling warmer than before. "What's keeping you up so late?" Law doesn't look toward you - he can't. "Research notes." He says as he scribbles down a messy note in handwriting nigh impossible to read.

"Ah, so doctor stuff." You hum, crossing your legs under yourself. "Shit I don't understand." A small laugh escapes your lips, and Law clenches his jaw at the sound.

"Nothing you need to understand, thankfully." He replies, and you swear you can hear a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Are you stressing out over it?" Your question is laced with concern, though it's followed by a lengthy yawn from deep in your gut. Law turns to you then, his gaze softening at the sight of your sleepy form. "I'll be alright." He says. "Make yourself as comfortable as you need."

You nod at him, his gentle gaze surprising you considering it's rarity. "I can't promise that I won't doze off." Law lets himself chuckle, that little hint of a smile appearing on his lips again before he turns back to his work. "Like I said, make yourself comfortable."

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a while - at least until he hears your heavy breath from behind him, undoubtedly asleep. He fights some reluctance as he turns back to you, and the sight of your sleeping form, long curled up on his mattress, nearly stops his heart.

Law rolls his desk chair around fully, quietly admiring just how peaceful you look. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he watches you for a while. Your hair has fallen into your face, and with each exhale the strand covering your nose blows softly around. It's an alleviating feeling, the one you're unconsciously giving him - one that fills him with a sudden compassion. He wants to reach forward, to brush the hair from your eyes so he can see your pretty face again.

Your sleeping visage seems to do enough for him to finally close his notes, spellbound by the amity you emanate. Law yawns and stands from his chair after what feels like hours, he trudges over to his bed - far too tired to even change out of his jeans - and lies next to you.

One long, tattooed arm wraps around your middle after gently tucking your stray hair behind your ear, and he pulls you close. You hum in satisfaction in your sleep, clearly content with his weight at your side. The position is intimate, its soothing nature flooding his mind with the realization of just how much he wanted this feeling - how much he needed it. The stress of the day seems to melt away as he holds you tightly, burying his face into your hair with a satisfied sigh.

Law closes his eyes, allowing sleep to properly take him again, knowing that waking up next to you in the morning will feel far better than finishing his notes tonight.

[leggerefiore]

haii!! for spooky reqs, how about giratina!volo chasing his s/o in distortion world,, yandere type beat,, s/o tryna escape but volo is so much more powerful and always aware where s/o is at any given time so he just sees this as a "game"

cw: yandere, giratina Volo, unhealthy relationships, dark content

pairing: Volo/Reader

The eeriness of the Distortion World was something that simply could not be misunderstood.

From the moment one stepped foot into the world parallel to the normal, sane one, it felt like passing through a thin layer of membrane like that just beneath the shell of an egg. Then, after pressing through, one goes breathless. There is nothing yet followed by everything.

The endless pulsating of violet void and the harsh, rocky terrain that floated around the space at all manner of angles, how the plants grew upward no matter said angle, and the waterfalls and pools beneath them… Everything was not as comprehensive and logical as the world one knew previous. The air was stagnant and stale, yet odourless somehow. Sound felt as if echoed forever, on and on, until nothing but a heavy silence weighed upon the impossible lands.

And… it swam around this world as its horrid core.

The ominous glow of crimson eyes and bathed in shadow…

Its humanoid form was arguably pleasant, however. Yet, still eerie with the black wings that spread like tendrils from his back and the golden metal-like protrusions guarded his neck and face. His hair, just as golden as the potrusions and a beautiful face, were more distracting. Something dark burned his eyes, however.

You foolishly pitied him. A being cursed to an existence of loneliness and exile in such a labyrinthine world. His story was sad. Desperate for his creator's attention but rejected and then acting out like a child would for it. You only stroked his hair as he laid his head in your lap and recounted it all.

It should have been a clue to his true nature.

He was possessive.

Horribly so.

Whenever you left his dimension, he was visibly unhappy about it. Volo tried to tell you that the normal world was not safe and that he worried about you too much when you were away, but you somehow always managed to shrug off his concerns and leave the Distortion World for a while. No matter the length of the period you spent away, he always seemed irritated and desperate when you returned.

The short while after was spent in a nearly suffocating embrace while floating through the seemingly endless space of the Distortion World.

Another warning of what was to come.

Your chances to leave the odd dimension grew less and less as Volo seemed to shift into something more needy and demanding. He refused to acknowledge your questions and demands for the portal, simply saying that he was too exhausted or busy to make one. You would be fine, he would reassure you. Time did not pass in this world as it did your own, much like how space functioned so strangely as well.

You foolishly accepted it.

After all, you had become his “mate” at that point.

He was just worried about losing his lover and only companion… You convinced yourself that. Volo would get over his strange feelings and let you go free. He just needed to adjust. His tender moments of just holding you to him or speaking with you endlessly about his interests made you feel conflicted. You wanted to believe everything would normalise eventually.

Until, you could not.

It was difficult, fleeing through the non-euclidean architecture of the Distortion World. Your breaths felt more difficult to take in thanks to the oddity of the world. Running was strange, as the force felt all the more consuming to move, but you did not dare stop. An exit had to be somewhere. There had to be one. You refused to accept that there was not.

Volo was lurking somewhere around, you knew.

He had snapped when you demanded an exit and claimed that time apart would be helpful. The pleasant, amicable smile with soft, crimson eyes were gone. Shrunken pupils and a sinister grin replaced them. He towered over you, a height greater than that of normal humans. “... No, I won't let you go,” the Renegade pokemon had said, “You are lucky, you know? To be around a being such as myself. Most humans don't leave my realm with their life.”

Those words finally spurred you into fleeing from him.

What you were unaware of was the fact that this entire world was almost nearly an extension of Giratina's form. No matter where you went, Volo simply would know. He had known the second you stepped foot in here, and he would know every single step you took.

Volo thought it was a nice change up, however. There had been little time to spy upon humans and their realm while still planning his revenge on Arceus with you there. Were you not just so lucky to obtain the affection of him? The blond truly loved you. So desperate to make him happy and be his company during his forced isolation… Too sweet, too foolish. The human world was filled with cruel people. They would destroy you and take you from him.

He floated along casually, fully aware of the plants you were trying to hide within. Did you know how dragons became about their mates, he wondered. Did you even know that he was a dragon, alongside being something akin to a ghost? Ah, probably not. If only you had listened more carefully to his ramblings about mythology, then you would have been fully aware.

You held your breath when he stepped near the plants. How cute. A snicker came from him as he pulled you out. A cry left you as the legendary pressed you to his body. Adrenaline coursed through your veins desperately as you struggled against the grip of Volo. “My, I gave you plenty of warnings and chances to never return,” his head shook with mock pity on his face, “Did you listen? No. You must truly care for me, then.”

His cold hand came to hold your chin. The shiny golden horns on his head broke apart from the colour of his hair. “I love you, too, of course,” he reassured you, “Truthfully, I can't even say I would not have hunted you down had you not returned.” His tendril-like wings came to curl around you, locking you further in his grip. “Give up,” he hissed unexpectedly, “Just stay here. You cannot ever hope to escape without my help, and I will not ever let you go.”

His lips pressed against yours before you had a moment to argue back with him.

Your stomach twisted as you felt the sincerity in his final words.

Giratina was the god of this realm.

This entire dimension was its own to do as it pleased.

You were an unfortunate denizen of this world now.

Your eyes were bleary as Volo pulled away from the kiss. His gaze back to its normal state. “Worship me,” he ordered.

This request was what would completely seal your fate to be with the Renegade pokemon for the rest of time.

[tumbleweed-writes]

Scorned: Chibs Telford X Reader. Chapter Seven

PREVIOUS CHAPTER HERE

Chapter Seven: Concern and a Golden Opportunity

One major thing Y/N had been forced to learn when it came to dating the President of SAMCRO, was that plans were not always concrete, even dinner plans. The disappointment in response to a canceled dinner date was not quite as palatable as it should be. The concern she felt easily overpowered any sense of disappointment.

A sense of concern was all she could focus on as she found herself sitting up on her sofa with a hot cup of herbal tea in her hands.

The television was on, but her mind was not focused on the film she’d absentmindedly turned the channel to. Her mind was too focused on one person in particular.

It was late, far past midnight now, and her boyfriend was still out taking care of urgent club business assisting some brothers who had ridden in from the Reno, Nevada charter quite early this morning, right around sunrise.

She stared down at the cup of green tea in her hands, her mind a muddled mess as she recalled the phone conversations she’d had with her boyfriend earlier in the day.

Y/N had held the phone up to her ear, her stomach forming tight knots as she listened to Chibs Telford’s voice on the other end of the line. “We might have to take a rain check on dinner plans, Love. Some shite came up, Reno club rode in this morning and I’m needed here.”

She cringed the words escaping her lips before she could stop them. “I’m guessing this visit from Reno isn’t a social call?”

“Aye, not quite.” Chibs replied, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.

She leaned back against the service counter in her antique shop, her eyes cutting across her salesfloor knowing that the store was dead. She was the only one here to witness this conversation. She was free to be blunt. “What’s going on, Filip? Do I need to be worried?”

She felt her stomach knot up all the tighter at the response she received. “Nah, no need to worry, Sweetheart. Reno jus’ needs SAMCRO’s assistance trackin down a missing brother. Dumb fuck disappeared with a big chunk of cash belonging to the club. His brothers aren’t too happy with him at the moment and they need SAMCRO’s help trackin him down. It’s jus club protocol, they’re in our town so we have to help out.”

Y/N felt bile rise in the back of her throat, a voice in the back of her head taunting her about just what the MC planned to do with this missing brother once they tracked him down. “What makes them think he’s around here? Wouldn’t hiding out so close to the mother charter be a dumb move?”

“Aye it is a dumb move, but so is stealin from yer brothers.” Chibs commented, Y/N rolling her eyes in response, she hated that he had a point.

Chibs spoke again, not shying away from giving her more details. “Reno’s club Pres thinks their missin brother has some ex-girlfriend out in Lodi. He mighta run to her, or at least she might have an idea of where he’s hiding.”

Y/N felt a slight weak smirk cross her lips, unable to stop herself from saying it. “Guess you better hope she’s one pissed off ex if she’s willing to give up where he is.”

“Aye, that’s what we're hopin fer. Don’t wait up fer me tonight, Love. Don’t know how late I’ll be comin to yer place.” was the reply she was given. She was unable to stop herself from speaking the anxiety evident in her voice.

“You promise you’ll be careful, Filip?”

He was so fast to speak up, reassuring her. “Aye, I’ll be jus fine, Love. Don’t ye worry bout me. I’ll be safe. I’m always safe m’love.”

He was quick to speak again clearly trying to get her mind off of worrying for his security “Ye should do somethin fun tonight. Go out with Venus and Brooke, have a girls night, aye. Our dinner plans’ll have to move to next weekend.” 

Y/N had tried to follow Chibs’ suggestion of having a fun night.

She had gone out with Venus and Brooke and gotten her nails done choosing a metallic silver that she had found pretty for her fingernails and a pale blue for her toenails. She’d gone out to dinner with the girls enjoying sugary cocktails and sushi.

She could not shake the sense of dread that had settled down into her gut though the emotion feeling like an unwelcome house guest.

Y/N could not shake the worry for the man she loved despite his reassurances that he would be safe.

She had to imagine that this Reno brother SAMCRO was helping to track down was desperate and afraid. Fear and desperation made people stupid. Stupid people were dangerous especially if they had nothing to lose.

Another emotion had joined along with the worry, the emotion feeling like another unwelcome guest. It was an emotion she had a difficult time explaining.

It felt like a sense of apprehension or fear. It was an unshakable sense of unease. 

If she was truly going to psychoanalyze herself she might conclude that perhaps she was having a difficult time coming to terms with the knowledge that the man she loved was most likely out doing something quite violent tonight.

She hated to admit that it was difficult to reconcile that the man she loved had a side to him that was capable of such brutality.

Chibs Telford had never lied to her about what he was capable of. At least she could say that when she’d worked up the nerve to ask more questions about SAMCRO that he’d never been dishonest about who and what he was. Chibs had been honest with her when it came to the cold hard truth about acts he had committed both for the cause in Belfast and the MC both in Ireland and in California.

He had told her that it was only fair that she understood the harsh reality of what he was. He had chosen this path for his life a long time ago and anyone who wanted to be by his side had to understand that there was no leaving this life for him. 

Chibs had told her that there were only two paths an ol lady could take when it came to the club.

One path would involve her knowing nothing. She could choose to be locked away from the truth of what acts her man might have to do for the club. She could live on the outside of the Club not having any questions answered. She would have to learn to accept white lies and keep content with not knowing the truth of the reality she lived in. 

The other path involved knowing everything. It was a path where there were no secrets; only the cold hard truth no matter how disturbing that truth might be. This path would not be an easy one. It would mean having to accept the horrors and heartaches of this life. This path would involve having the truth but knowing that this truth could feel awful at times.

Chibs had warned her that the path of knowing nothing usually was a recipe for disaster. Being kept in the dark about the club would more than likely just build up mistrust which would lead to resentment. Living a comforting lie was no way to build a lasting relationship. This path would mean that she would always have questions knowing she would never know the true answers. 

Chibs had been around long enough to see what happened to ol ladies who chose to remain in the dark about the club. Ol ladies who choose to stay on the outside, when it came to to club, usually always were left feeling distant from their partners. Eventually the burden of carrying the life and living a lie would break the Son. The distance between a Son and his ol lady created a sense of bitterness and the relationship crumbled.

Being kept in the dark when it came to the club was a sure fire way to have a relationship fail. 

Taking a path of total full disclosure might not be a pleasant path to take, but Chibs had told her that from what he’d seen, it was the only path he was willing to take with her.

He knew that ol ladies who knew the truth could crumble under that truth, but he was willing to fight as hard as he could to keep Y/N from breaking under his reality. 

Y/N had agreed to know everything no matter how horrible it might be. She had decided to ignore every reservation she had about just what Chibs Telford may have done in the past and what he might do in the future, and trust him.

She hated to admit that it felt difficult to wrap her brain around the knowledge that the man she loved so dearly was capable of terrible things.

When she thought of Chibs Telford her mind did not automatically turn to brutality.

She thought of the man who had spoken so sweetly and fondly of his daughter upon the first interaction Y/N had ever had with him.

She thought of Chibs Telford as being the man who had so carefully selected a pretty purple bracelet for his daughter. She thought of a wonderful man who had been such a doting loving father when Kerrianne had come to visit Charming months before. 

Y/N thought of the surprisingly romantic man who brought Y/N gorgeous orange marigolds because he remembered that they were her absolute favorite flower. She thought of how Chibs would never tell her exactly how he managed to get the flowers to her on his bike without them getting wrecked, only giving her a cheeky smile and insisting that it was his little secret.

She thought of the caring and sympathetic man who had so gently listened to her open up about her past with her ex husband and had so sweetly promised that she would never have a thing to fear again.

She thought of the thoughtful man who brought her cups of tea in the mornings. She thought of how Chibs so lovingly made her a rich mutton, carrot, and barley stew when she was feeling under the weather, insisting it was his mother’s own recipe and would cure any ailment. She thought of the man who drew her baths after she spent the day doing inventory in her shop.

She thought of how Chibs rolled the perfect joint and taught her to throw darts. She thought of the man who took her on long rides on his bike. She thought of the man who had kissed her so softly and gently after their first date. She thought of how Chibs had seemed almost shy the first time he’d asked her on a proper date that night on the roof of the clubhouse. She thought of the man who looked at her with such adoration and worship the very first time they’d made love.

She found it so strange to consider the man who she thought of with such adoration was capable of horrible acts.

The man who kissed her so sweetly was capable of causing harm if the need called for such acts. Intimidating and at times brutal President Filip Chibs Telford and her sweet and caring boyfriend Filip Chibs Telford were the same man.

It was not as though some dark spirit washed over Chibs when he committed horrible acts for the club. This was part of who he was. 

She knew deep down that Chibs Telford was capable of savage acts, just as he was capable of acts of love.

It was a harsh reality she knew she had to accept. Human beings were multifaceted. No one was 100 percent good nor bad. 

A tiny part of her had to contemplate if there was something deeply wrong with her to be so willing to love a man who was capable of horrible acts though.

A cruel voice in the back of her mind taunted her that her ex husband had truly done a number on her if she found love with a man who was willing to be King of the local outlaw bikers.

A softer gentler voice seemed to speak a little louder than that cruel voice though. This voice told her that while Chibs might not be innocent, that he loved her. In fact she was certain Chibs Telford loved her more than any man had ever loved her. There were times where she was almost certain that he loved her more than any man had loved a woman, though she told herself that the thought was probably egocentric and childish. 

This kinder voice also told her that she had not felt this happy in her entire life, at least not since she was quite young, back when her parents were still alive and the world still seemed so kind and trusting.

Life had shown her that the world was not kind, but Chibs Telford made her at least feel as though she had a chance at finding some joy in the cruel world.

She knew that the only way to possibly maintain her sanity was to be willing to choose love over fear when it came to living in Chibs’ world.

A sense of relief washed over her exhausted mind as she heard the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock of her front door. There were only two people who had spare keys to her apartment and Y/N highly doubted Venus Van Dam was letting herself into Y/N’s apartment this late unannounced.

The door creaked open, the man she’d been wide awake and lost in thought over entering the room.

His tired eyes gazed upon her a tight smile crossing his features that she noted did not quite reach his eyes. “M’love, ye didn’t have to wait up fer me. I told ye not to.”

“And you should know me well enough to know I don’t listen.” She managed to reply as she stood up from the sofa, hoping any strain was not evident in her voice.

She felt her stomach turn as she took notice of a bruise forming around his right eye, a sign of an impending black eye. She did not have time to question the injury as Chibs spoke up. “I’m sorry I left ye waitin up so late.”

“It’s fine, I can never sleep when you aren’t there.” She admitted biting back questions about the source of the blackened eye forming across his features. She had a feeling she’d know the full story at some point. There were no secrets between them. 

“Let me get cleaned up, love. Ye settle down in bed, aye.” He responded, pressing a quick peck to her temple as he passed by.

She poured her now cool tea down the kitchen sink before locking the front door and obediently making her way to her bedroom.

She did not find herself settling down entirely; she able to hear the shower in her small bathroom running the noise clear even down the hallway.

She laid back in bed, her mind too awake to truly settle into sleep.

Chibs’ shower did not last too long; it was clear he was eager to get to bed after the long day he’d had.

She watched as he entered her room, dumping his clothing and damp towel in the laundry basket before slipping on a fresh pair of boxers.

He settled down into bed beside her, the words she wanted to say all getting tangled up in her throat.

She took notice of his knuckles spotting signs of bruising the skin clearly cracked and scabbed over in a few places. She felt the words escape her lips as she reached out her hand brushing over his cringing at the slight hiss that left him. “Oh, Filip.”

“It looks worse than it is.” He attempted to reassure her.

“Hold on a moment.” She was fast to reply, getting up from bed before he had a chance to stop her.

She returned a few moments later with a tube of neosporin and an ice pack wrapped in a washcloth.

He sighed but did not protest as she treated the cuts with disinfectant ointment and pressed the ice pack to his knuckles knowing she would need to alternate it between his hands to keep the swelling down. 

She felt the words leave her knowing she was getting her full disclosure out of him. “What the hell happened?”

“Ran into a wee bit of trouble, nothin to worry over. We found the lad and he had a few friends to back him up but we managed. If ye think I look rough ye should see the other lads.” He attempted to soothe her a weak smile crossing his features.

“Not funny. It looks like something to worry over.” She remarked rolling her eyes ever so slightly as she kept the ice pack pressed to his hands.

Chibs shook his head he fast to reassure her. “I’ve been hit before m’love. Had far worse injuries than this.”

She let out a soft sigh having very little doubt about that. She took a deep breath working up her nerve to ask. “I’m guessing everything turned out?”

“Aye, Happy is assistin’ Reno in takin care of shite.” Chibs remarked keeping the answer vague; it was clear he was not entirely willing to go into too much detail. He had the feeling she was smart enough to fill in the blanks without him saying the words.

Happy’s involvement in helping Reno was enough of a hint into how Reno had taken care of their problem.

Y/N felt her stomach turn, proving Chibs right that she was smart enough to fill in the blanks. She sighed once again debating if there was something deeply wrong with her given that she had no desire to bolt from this bed and this man upon knowing what she knew.

She pushed the thought from her mind knowing she would drive herself insane if she psychoanalyzed every reaction she had to the harsh realities of the life the man she had fallen in love with led. 

She was smart enough to know that while SAMCRO tried to mostly stay on the right side of the law these days, that this was still the nature of the world they lived in. 

She had chosen to take on this life when she’d fallen for Chibs. She had to learn to roll with the punches. 

She hated to admit that she was relieved as Chibs changed the subject somewhat away from what Happy may or may not be doing at this moment. “Sorry I had to cancel on our dinner plans, Love.”

“It’s fine, it couldn’t be helped.” She reassured him doing her best to give him a soft smile trying not to cringe at the bruise along his features as she debated pressing the ice pack there as well.

“Aye, I know, but I also know this a hard time of the year fer ye.” Chibs provided the comment making her heart ache with adoration for him as it hit her just what he was hinting at.

She took a deep breath knowing that she was nearing the second anniversary of her grandfather’s death. 

Y/N had always held the silent opinion that her family history was filled with tragedy on both parents sides.

On her father’s side the first death had been her father’s twin brother who had been hit by a drunk driver and killed on his bicycle when he was twelve. The year after that her father’s mother had taken her own life not able to cope with her child’s death and unable to see that she was leaving one other child and a husband behind. Her father’s father had thrown himself into work and Y/N’s father had thrown himself into photography.

Her father had not known happiness until he’d met her mother.

The loss of his brother had hit him hard and he'd carried that grief with him. Y/N could remember her father commenting that had she been born a boy she would have been named Edward for the dead uncle she had never met.

Her father had turned his grief to his photography chasing adventure as a way to cope with loss.

Her mother had shown him that there was more to life than running from grief.

Marion Y/L/N came from pain as well. Her mother had died in childbirth but unlike her husband’s father, her own father had been loving and attentive. She had been positive and optimistic enough to brighten her husband's life.

Y/N was sure when her father had met her mother that they had thought that the future was bright. They had never envisioned that death would find them.

Their own death had been tragic and sudden leaving Y/N an orphan taken in by a grieving but loving grandfather.

Her grandfather had been all she’d had and she was all he’d had. This fact just made her feel worse when she thought of how he’d died alone.

She pushed back the sense of grief dancing around in her chest. “I know I've said it a million times before, but I still feel awful for not going home for the funeral.”

Chibs pressed a hand against her cheek caressing the side of her face quick to offer her reassurance. “I think he’d understand why ye couldn’t go home, Love. Yer safety was more important to him than ye goin' to that funeral. He's somewhere far past that, Love. I firmly believe that.”

She let out a shaky sigh remembering the words she’d said to Chibs to explain exactly why she couldn’t go home for her grandfather’s funeral.

Going home would mean being in the same little town as her ex husband. Being in the same little town as her ex husband was too terrifying to comprehend. She was certain that if she ever stepped foot in her hometown again then she would never leave alive. Ezra would make sure she was his again or he would kill her so that she never left him again.

“I know he’d understand and that almost makes it worse. I mean, I keep thinking about the fact that I was all he had. I feel like I owed him showing up for his funeral, but I stayed hidden away like a coward after everything he did for me when he was alive.” She admitted hating the tears that had begun to pool up behind her eyelids she closing her eyes attempting to stop them.

Chibs wiped at a few stray tears that managed to sneak their ways past her eyelids he fast to respond to her. “I think he loved ye enough to know it was safer fer ye to stay away. I don’t think he woulda viewed ye owing him a thing, Love. He did what he did fer ye because he loved ye.”

She opened her eyes a shaky breath leaving her she unable to stop herself from leaning into his caress. “He really did love me. I think I kind of resented it when I was younger…that’s part of why I married Ezra, I felt smothered by my grandfather. He clung on to me so desperately after my parents died. I didn’t understand some of the choices he made were really meant to protect me, not until I worked up the nerve to leave Ezra.”

She swallowed back the words knowing that Chibs already knew the entire story.

She spoke again, a tight smile crossing her features. “My grandfather was a good man, one of the best men I ever knew. He didn’t have a greedy or selfish bone in his body. I can’t think of many people who would look at that much money and not be tempted to even take one cent.”

She cleared her throat, always feeling awkward at the mention of her fortune.

She hated even thinking of it as a fortune.

She’d resented people’s reaction to finding out about her massive trust fund. In her opinion, no one ever considered just why she had millions to her name. She had always viewed it as blood money.

Her parents' life insurance policies had shelled out more than enough money to last her a lifetime. 

Her grandfather had only added to that fortune when he sued the manufacturer who had made one of the mechanical parts that had been in Y/N’s father’s plane. The part had been faulty and it had been argued that it had aided into just why her father had crashed his plane. Apparently it had been true and a settlement had been reached between the manufacturer and her grandfather.

Needless to say, Y/N’s trust fund had grown fat. She had enough money to her name to never have to work a day in her life. She had enough money for her children and her grandchildren to never have to work.

Her grandfather had touched not one cent of it. He’d set it up for his granddaughter so that she would be the only one allowed access to her money. He’d even forced Ezra to sign a prenup stating he’d have no access to it. It was Y/N’s money alone.

Her grandfather had raised her humbly. She’d worked in the greasy diner he’d owned. She’d been rolling silverware for as long as she could remember. She’d bussed tables and when she was old enough she’d been trusted to bring drinks to patrons and waitressed.

Her grandfather had not spoiled her despite her fortune. He’d taught her to work hard and live below her means.

She had been hesitant to share the information about her financial situation with Chibs almost certain he’d have the same reaction most people had.

To be honest, she’d realized that she truly did love him given what his reaction was.

He’d remarked that he imagined it must be difficult being without her parents, that fortune did not make up for what she’d lost.

He’d been able to voice what she had always felt; that she would much rather have her parents than even one cent to her name.

She felt her throat grow tight needing to say the words. “He’d probably have liked you.”

“Aye, ye sure bout that mo chiridhe? Ye don’t think he’d be unimpressed with me bein such an old bastard not to mention my less than stellar reputation? Ye don’t think he’d take a look at the company I keep and get ye away from me before I corrupt ye too much?” Chibs teased the comment at least working a laugh from her the sound feeling heavenly after the day he’d had.

She rolled her eyes giving his shoulder a nudge as she finally pulled back the ice pack from his hand placing it on the beside table. “Okay, well, he’d probably not be too psyched about either of those things. He’d like how you treat me at least”.

He managed to lean in his lips sliding along hers a small smirk crossing his features. “Aye, I treat ye how ye deserve, Love.”

He pulled his hand from her cheek running it along her side resting it against her hip as his lips continued to slide along hers.

He pulled back from the kiss his words soft against her lips. “Ye think I can show ye jus how I like treatin ye? Make up fer that canceled dinner date?”

She felt the giggle leave her lips as he coaxed her into his lap, she straddling his hips. “Oh, I think you can find a few ways to make it up to me.”

His lips slid across hers all thoughts of the awful day he’d had and the muddled mix of emotions she’d been wrestling with all night too far away to grasp.

She had a feeling that he’d definitely find a way to make amends for their canceled dinner date.

==================================

The tiny town of Stubbs Pass, Alaska was not much to look at. It was close enough to the coast to offer an industry rich with fishing. The Whitlock family had long operated the only canning operation in the town and had supplied the town with employment for a huge portion of the tiny population.

There were a few diners, a couple of tiny hotels that catered to the occasional tourist passing through on the way to one of the actual tourist destinations in the Great North, a tiny post office, one school that catered to elementary through high school, a few churches, and some small modest homes….aside from the Whitlock home which was impressive.

There were also a couple of bars. 

Tonight, young Officer Joseph Adams found himself nursing a beer at one of those bars.

Brown Moose Tavern was not the nicest establishment but it was loved by the locals. It was a good place to grab a cold one after a long day at Whitlock Cannery.

Joseph Adams found himself thinking back to the conversation he’d had with one Sheriff Althea Jarry a few weeks prior. 

He’d done his best to discreetly get in touch with a few people from Y/N Y/L/N’s past, encouraging them to give Jarry a call, but he was certain not many people had taken up the offer.

Most people around town didn’t care much to think about the past at least when it came to Y/N. Some of the local population thought of Y/N with pity remembering the tragedy of the loss of her parents at such a young age. Or they thought of her less favorably aware of her fortune, her troubled marriage to the heir of the town’s biggest employer, and her poor grandfather who had died alone without her.

It seemed that most people from Y/N’s past had no desire to bring up that past especially not with some sheriff from California.

Joseph had decided to pay a visit to the tavern hoping his older brother might be willing to at least humor him by reaching out to Sheriff Jarry. Gordon Adams had been in the same grade as Y/N after all, he’d been best friends with Ezra Whitlock. He had to at least have some memories that might be helpful.

Joseph cringed as Gordon let out a scoff followed by a belch, the man never having the best table manners. “Why do I give a shit?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Joseph insisted, a frustrated groan leaving his lips.

Gordon rolled his eyes not above calling out his younger brother. “You mean it’s a great career boost for you?”

“It could be…but if this sheriff is right and Y/N is caught up in something…it would be right to help her any way you can.” Joseph offered cringing at the more selfish reasons he may have been agreeable to helping out Sheriff Jarry in her vendetta against the MC in her town.

If she was right then this might open the door for the authorities in Alaska to go after the Sons charter here. If Joseph was involved this early into the investigation then this might be his ticket into a larger force in a bigger town than Stubbs Pass.

Gordon parted his lips to reply but did not have a chance as someone else who was quite familiar with Y/N entered the bar.

Ezra Whitlock had always made Joseph feel uneasy. He was an attractive man, dark hair and eyes, a five o’clock shadow across a chiseled face, a nice jawline, a healthy complexion, and handsome enough in a blue collar good ol boy kind of way. He was physically fit and dedicated to the gym. He attracted plenty of attention from women. 

He was quite typical of most of the men who lived in Stubbs Pass, aside from the fact that he had long been considered the town’s golden boy. Everyone liked him and if you hated him you pretended to like him. 

His money bought plenty of popularity and respect in Stubbs Pass. 

There was something about him that made Joseph feel the slightest sense of unease though.

Perhaps it was just that Ezra had taken joy in giving Joseph such a hard time along with Gordon when Joseph was younger.

Gordon smirked, apparently seeing this as a good chance to once again give his little brother shit. “Ezra you won’t guess what Joey here thinks he’s got started?”

Ezra let out a huff sitting down in a bar stool and pulling out a wad of cash slapping it down on the bar. The bartender moved quick knowing not to leave Ezra waiting for his beer. “What?”

Gordon smirked all the more ignoring Joseph’s slight squirming in his seat. “He’s been talking to some hot shot Sheriff out in California, She thinks Joey here can help her out on her case?”

Ezra gave his companions a sideways glance raising a brow at this information. “What could he know that could help out some cop down in the lower 48?”

“Oh it’s who he could know.” Gordon replied, the smile growing all the more apparent on his features.

He paused for dramatic effect before speaking again, the information definitely catching Ezra’s attention. “Your ex wife.”

Ezra tightened his grip on his bottle, his words holding an edge that made something in Joseph’s stomach turn. “What does she have to do with this?”

Gordon spoke quick to repeat what Joseph had told him, making Joseph cringe. “Apparently she’s settled down in some little town out in California and hooked up with some big bad outlaw that this cop buddy of Joseph is wanting to bust. Joey here is trying to get his foot in on the investigation. Wants me to tell this cop what I know about Y/N. Can you believe that shit? I mean, I knew she had issues when she ran off and did what she did to you, but Christ.”

Ezra gritted his jaw at the comment.

To say he was still hung up on his ex might be an understatement. He knew it had been almost a decade now since the divorce, but he was still not pleased with how things had ended.

He could admit that from time to time he may have tried to track Y/N down. He’d scared off a few guys who had shown interest in her too. 

He could admit he was pissed that she’d left him. In fact he’d spent most of their marriage pissed off. It wasn’t his fault she pushed his buttons and made him lash out more often than not. 

It was her fault really; he resented her. She always did think she was better than him even when he was buying her beers back when she was a teenager. She always was convinced she was better than she was. She didn’t understand the pecking order in Stubbs Pass. 

Ezra hated that Y/N technically had more money than him, that was for sure. Her damned grandfather had forced his hand in signing that prenup insisting he’d not allow the marriage if Ezra refused. Y/N was stubborn enough to listen to the old bastard and Ezra had reasoned that it was in his best interest to play along.

He’d told himself that on paper she was at least a worthy wife of him. Her fortune meant she was desirable enough to marry into the Whitlock family. Her youth had made it easy for Ezra to feel as though he had the upper hand. He had made sure she knew how lucky she was that he’d chosen her. 

He resented that even after the marriage though that Y/N remained the wealthier spouse. He had made sure to remind her that he was the provider in their home. She couldn’t just be happy to sit at home and be the wife she was supposed to be though. She always had a big mouth and he found that she set off his temper.

She was not grateful for what he provided for her. 

Then she’d had the nerve to leave him over one little mistake. He hadn’t meant to hurt her as badly as he did and she had not been able to forgive what he had done. He had tried to win her back but then she’d had the nerve to divorce him.

That had set him off of course, and yes he’d reacted poorly. He could admit his temper had gotten the better of him. 

His parents had forced his hand in the divorce in the end. They told him to divorce the bitch or they were cutting him off. They cleaned up the mess he’d made in lashing out at her and his thank you to them had been to divorce his wife.

He had not divorced her on his terms. He loved her still as much as a man like him could love someone he guessed.

He felt like a child who’d had his toy taken from him. It wasn’t fair. 

He had become determined after that to make Y/N’s life hell or win her back.

He’d come close more than once, tracking her down and trying to romance her. He’d hoped that he could soften her heart and win her back.

He’d never loved another woman the way he loved her. He had not moved on from her despite the fact that women in Stubbs Pass threw themselves his way.

 Y/N was his and that was that. No other woman would satisfy him. 

He was sure that one day he’d win her back or make her pay for humiliating him by leaving him. No one left Ezra Whitlock or made a fool of him.

He took a deep breath pushing back his irritation telling himself that this was a golden opportunity. His ex wife had settled down in California and found some trouble it seemed.

Perhaps she had found herself in deep enough shit to have a wake up call and remember how good she’d had it with him.

He took a swig of his beer playing it cool as he spoke. “Pass on that number to me Joey. I bet I could tell this cop friend of yours a thing or two about my bitch of an ex wife.”

============

FIC MASTERLIST HERE

[insert-witty-user-name-here]

WIP Wednesday

Hello, it’s me- the angst fairy- back again with something needlessly angsty. I was reminded recently about a scene I’d deleted from an old fic of mine. No regrets about deleting, it was the right decision, but I was sad to cut it. B-15 deserves more character analysis. So sharing it now.

Tagging just a few folks who I don’t think will mind the angst but anyone else who sees this and wants to participate in sharing their art or writing- please do! 💚 (And please tag me in your posts so I don’t miss it) @loki-is-my-kink-awakening @lgwilt @dewdropreader

Deleted scene from a fic where Mobius is trying to ignore his trauma but the memories of those he’s pruned keep on coming. B-15 helps him through it. (I noticed on B-15’s Funko Pop that she tracked her kills on her helmet and decided, as I do, there’s an angsty story there.)

Verity stopped and opened a small door to their left, pulling Mobius inside an empty room.

“I thought you said we were running late to another meeting?”

“There’s no meeting,” she said. “Just looked like you needed a break from the briefing. Take a minute.”

Mobius nodded and let his head fall against the door behind him, relishing the feeling of cool metal against his skin. It was quiet. There were no glaring lights, no beeping machines, no questions he didn’t know the answer to. Mobius took a few steady breaths until the headache pounding in his head subsided. He opened his eyes to find Verity watching him closely.

“Thanks,” Mobius said, pushing himself from the door and straightening his tie. “I feel better. Don’t tell Loki he was right. He warned me that a meeting on numerical code methodology for new timelines would put me to sleep.”

He turned to share a laugh with Verity but her face didn’t show any amusement. Instead, she looked concerned.

“I don’t think this was as simple as you falling asleep in a meeting,” she said carefully.

Mobius stilled. He had hoped his episodes weren’t noticeable but he should have known he wouldn’t be able to keep them from Verity. She was smart. It’s why he named her Deputy Director.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked after a few moments of silence.

Flashes of a park on a sunny day, a couple laughing, a timestick in his hand, a scream of terror, and a case file— variants eliminated— sped through Mobius’ mind before they were gone.

“No… I don’t remember what I was thinking about,” Mobius answered honestly. It was probably for the best he didn’t remember.

Verity frowned. “You shouldn’t repress your memories.”

Mobius slumped back against the door with a groan. She was right. While they still didn’t quite understand what the TVA had done to them, they were beginning to understand how they could heal their broken minds. Mobius knew the steps a TVA worker should take when they felt their memories resurface —he’d help write the protocol— but it was time consuming. For an organization that existed outside time, Mobius sure felt they were constantly running out of it. He didn’t have time to practice the techniques he’d taught others.

“There are too many cases that need my attention right now,” Mobius said.

“You need to offload some of those. I keep telling you-”

“I know, I know. I will. I just need to get through this Mandarin case first.”

“And then?” Verity pressed.

“And then I’ll take a few days off and sort through some of this… stuff.

Verity gave a disbelieving huff.

“I will.”

A heavy silence fell between the two agents and Mobius looked at the room around them. They were in one of the storage rooms that used to hold confiscated variants’ possessions. Without the stolen artifacts filling the shelves, the room seemed hollow. Purposeless. Mobius didn’t know what he was supposed to do with it in the reallocation.

“You’re not the only one who’s struggling,” Verity whispered. Her voice was soft, so soft that even in the silence of the abandoned room Mobius hardly heard her. At first, he wasn’t sure she intended to speak the words out loud.

“That’s how I knew you were having an episode,” she continued, twiddling with the cufflinks on her new suit in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “I get these… headaches sometimes. Everything blurs together and I can’t remember where or when I am. It’s like I’m lost in my memories or, no, it’s like I’m trapped… trapped by him again… like we never escaped.”

Verity clenched her eyes shut with a sharp inhale of breath as if she were trapped inside a memory right now and Mobius reached out, taking her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. He knew how terrifying it was to be stuck in your memories, to feel like you were back under his control. They may have defeated He Who Remains but he was still here. He always would be. There was no amount of running they could do to escape him entirely. It made Mobius feel weak. He hated thinking Verity felt the same.

“Did you know I used to track kills on my helmet?” Verity asked.

Mobius nodded. He remembered. His memories might be splintered but he remembered enough. He remembered what they were a part of.

“I hated that thing,” she scowled. “I hated that number printed on the side. The paint was fresh when I started but sometimes I swore I could see the etchings of another number. The number of whoever I replaced when they were deemed ineffective. I wondered how long it would be before they replaced me.

“I thought if I marked my helmet as my own, if I made it look different, I would feel better. They wouldn’t paint over it so easy. I thought if I pruned more than anyone else, I could prove to the Timekeepers that I was better than everyone else in my unit. That I would feel useful, good, like what I was doing mattered but-” Verity’s voice cracked and Mobius squeezed her hand tighter. “I only ever felt more angry. So, I pruned more hoping that feeling would go away. It never did. It just kept getting worse and worse and worse until…” Verity trailed off.

“Until Sylvie,” Mobius finished.

“Until Sylvie,” Verity agreed, wiping her eyes and pulling back with a soft smile on her face. “Sylvie showed me everything I lost and suddenly it all made sense. I knew why I hated that number. I knew why I woke up furious at the world, looking to punish anyone who got in my way. It’s because that number wasn’t my name. Who they made me wasn’t me.

“They took everything from us and while we can’t travel back in time and change what was done, we can change our future. We have the opportunity to fight for something we believe in now. Sylvie and Loki gave us that.”

Warmth spread through Mobius as the mention of Loki’s name. He looked down at the ring on his left hand and smiled, running his finger along the band again. He would never understand how he’d gotten so lucky; he would do everything in his power to be the man Loki believed him to be.

“You gave us this opportunity too,” Verity added. “When we burnt down our old TVA, you built a new one and you didn’t dictate a new purpose but rather showed us what a new purpose could be. We chose to follow you. We choose this life. And…” Mobius felt Verity give his hands a gentle squeeze. “You don’t need to carry it alone. We want to help you.”

Mobius carefully untangled his hands from Verity’s and took a step backwards. “I know.”

“Good,” Verity nodded with an air of finality. “At least let Loki help you. I don’t know what’s going on between you two but he’s started helping me with my cases.”

Mobius snorted. He could only imagine how that was going.

“It’s not funny, Mobius. He’s driving me nuts. You need to let him return to smothering you otherwise I might just send him to the Void without his TemPad.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Mobius chuckled at Verity’s hollow threat. “I’ll talk to him. Now, come on. I think we both deserve a little treat after all this. Let’s see what Processing confiscated today.”

Verity hesitated. “Mobius, I don’t care how many different variations you force me to try, I’m not going to like any timeline’s Josta.”

“What?? After all that talk about hope and change. One day I am going to find you a Josta you like. But no, I actually wasn’t talking about Josta this time. I heard Processing just got back with a case full of strawberry margarita mix. If that interests you.”

Verity’s face lit up in a brilliant smile. “Now, you’re speaking my language. Lead the way, Director. Josta aside, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

I’ll follow you anywhere.

Mobius’ steps faltered as he swallowed over the lump of fear in his throat at the words. Verity and the entire TVA would follow him. They were depending on him to show them the way, to fix things and Mobius couldn’t let them down. He wouldn’t.

Okay, I’ll write something fluffy and cute for next time. I promise I do know how to write sweet things 😅

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

What You Need pt. 2 (Echo x reader x Hunter)

Summary: Echo returns, and brings Hunter with him to see you.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. afab!reader with she/her pronouns, fem-coded pet names, and female genitalia described; PWP; FwB; servicedom!Echo and dom!Hunter; cock worship; oral (m receiving); forced orgasms (kind of); fingering; cum-eating; facial; I think that's most of it? lmk if I missed anything glaring! <3

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Heheheh I wasn't expecting to post this so soon but I could not get this out of my head so here we are! Enjoy you whores (affectionate)

Part 1 | Part 3

The next few weeks pass with excruciating slowness. During the day, you try to stay out, either running errands or helping friends move or working odd jobs at the spaceport for extra credits. At night, you pick up extra shifts at Cid’s, your empty apartment serving only to remind you of the absence of Echo and his brothers. It’s only after work that you return home, stumbling through the front door, nearly asleep on your feet, and collapse into bed. Rinse and repeat. 

It’s not that you don’t think about Echo. You do. He’s on your mind nearly constantly; you can’t help but replay your conversation the morning that he left again, picking it apart, looking for clues, grasping at a hope that you don’t feel you deserve. Kriff, maybe you should have actually had a conversation about the status of your relationship.

But tonight, Cid insisted that you take time off—not out of any concern for your mental well-being, but because she didn’t feel like paying you for an extra night when it was guaranteed to be slow. She said she’d handle the bar herself. Despite not wanting to spend time by yourself at home, your body, exhausted from two weeks of nearly non-stop days, begged you to accept the quiet night in. 

So here you are, leaning back against the countertop in your small kitchen while a scoop of popped corn kernels heat over the stove. You had showered after you got home from errands, smoothed lotion into your skin, and prepared for a relaxing evening. You’ve put on your comfiest pajamas—loose shorts and a spare pair of Echo’s blacks that you’d snagged a while ago, lit a vanilla candle, and queued up your favorite holodrama that you’ve fallen behind on. If you’ve got the night off, then you’re at least determined to enjoy it to the fullest. 

You settle into your couch after the popped corn is ready. Tucking your feet up underneath you, you sink into the deep cushions, sighing in contentment. Butter explodes across your taste buds as you shovel a fistful of the crunchy snack into your mouth; you hadn’t realized you forgot to eat lunch today.

You’re about to press play on the holodrama when there’s a knock on your door. Frowning, you set the remote down, glancing over your shoulder at the front door. 

“Who the kriff...?” you mutter. Perching the bowl of popped corn on the caf table, you rise and make your way to the door, calling, “Be right there!” as another bang-bang-bang! sounds.

Typing in the keycode to unlock the security protocol, you tug open the heavy metal door after it beeps, trying to keep your body mostly concealed, wary of who would be knocking at your door this late at night.

Only to gasp and fling the door all the way open at the sight of Echo.

“What— When— Hi!” you rush, breathless.

“Nice to see you too, cyar’ika,” he says, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “Hope you don’t mind that we stopped by?” 

We? Your brow furrows in confusion, but then Hunter moves into view, clearly having been leaning against the wall where you couldn’t see him. Something in your core simmers to life, something hot and heady and wholly depraved.

“Um,” you say smartly, “no, not at all. Please, come in.” 

You stand aside as the two men shuffle into your apartment. Echo, at home in your small abode, begins unclipping the upper half of his armor and stacks it neatly under the side table by the door. As you relock your front door, you try to catch Echo’s attention—except he’s focused on his armor, and instead, Hunter meets your gaze. His gray eyes soften, eyebrows raising as if to ask, You okay? Heat rising to your cheeks, you gesture weakly at Echo’s stack of armor.

“Please, Hunter, make yourself comfortable.” You clear your throat. Tugging at your shirt, painfully aware of the fact that you’re wearing nothing beneath your pajamas, you give a flat-lipped smile. “I’ll, uh, I’ll make you some drinks. Just let me put something better on.”

Echo catches your arm as you try to shimmy past. His golden brown eyes are warm and buttery in the light from your living room, reminiscent of the popped corn melting over your tongue. That simmering heat bubbles up into a smolder.

“We’re intruding on your night off,” he says. “Please, don’t let us stop you from being comfortable.”

Glancing at Hunter, whose back is now turned to you as he slowly, almost hesitantly, works his armor off, you swallow thickly and nod. “Yeah. Alright. D’you want anything to drink?” 

“I know where everything is, cyar’ika,” Echo says with a warm smile. “Don’t worry about us.”

You can only gape at him for a moment more. When the kriff did he become so familiar with your home? Not that you’re upset—quite the opposite. You want Echo to feel comfortable here, want him to take ownership of this space. But Hunter’s presence is throwing you off. Try as you might, you can’t get the memory of Hunter’s face the last time you’d seen each other, the wide-eyed shock as he registered your naked body.

Echo presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before spinning you around. He gently nudges you back toward the living room. “We’ll join you in a minute.”

As if in a daze, you shuffle back to your couch. Settling at the edge, you fold your hands in your lap, waiting for them. Nerves roil in your stomach, butterflies the size of bats spawning to life and beating against your ribcage. You trust Echo, and you trust his brothers. So why are you so on edge?

Hunter takes a seat at the other corner of your couch, sighing in contentment. Immediately your anxiety calms. Hunter’s your friend, and you’re happy to provide him a comfortable space to relax. Even if that means he’s doffed all of his armor and currently five feet away from you in nothing but his blacks. You press your thighs together as subtly as you can. 

“Tough mission?” you ask. 

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound from deep in his chest. “You could say that.”

“Well, you’re back now.” You offer a half smile. “And presumably all in one piece?”

With a nod, he shifts, tucking one leg under the other. “As in one piece as we can be.”

Incrementally, you feel your body relax, the couch practically begging you to slouch back into it again. Scooting back, you mirror Hunter’s pose, tucking your left foot below your right knee.

“Popped corn?” you offer, holding the bowl out for him. 

He hesitates for a moment before taking the bowl. “Thanks.”

As he raises a few pieces to his mouth, you take a moment to study him under the pretense of ensuring he enjoys the snack. The bags under his eyes are darker, more pronounced than you can recall seeing them before. Stubble poking through, his hair is wild and unkempt, just barely contained by the ever-present red strip of fabric he wears. In a word, he looks exhausted. But a smile threatens to spread over your face as you take in the way his body molds into the couch cushions, boneless and relaxed. 

Echo emerges from the kitchen precariously carrying three glasses in the crook of his arm. You shoot to your feet and hurry to him, taking two of the glasses with a murmured ‘thank you.’ Passing one of the glasses to Hunter, you hold the other against your chest, praying the chilled glass will soothe away some of the heat burning in your core. 

As you turn away to reclaim your seat, Echo’s scomp arm wraps around your middle and pulls you back. You squeak in surprise. 

His lips claim yours in a brief but passionate kiss, stealing your breath. You forget, for a moment, that Hunter is right there, his eyes probably perfectly level with your half-visible ass; forget why you’ve been nervous since they arrived; forget your own karking name. When Echo pulls back, giving you a devilish smirk, you flutter your eyelashes at him. 

“So good to see you, mesh’la,” he says.

As you shuffle past Hunter to return to your corner of the couch, you’re painfully aware of the way his eyes follow you. You risk a glance—his lips quirk into a teasing grin when you meet his gaze. If he’s at all bothered by Echo’s very forward display of affection, he’s very good at hiding it. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he enjoyed it. 

Echo falls into the couch next to you. “What we watchin’?” 

You blink at him, mind still hazy from the kiss and Hunter’s lingering stare. “Um.”

“What I think Echo meant to say,” Hunter says, leaning forward to meet your gaze as he jokingly punches Echo’s shoulder, “was that we went to Cid’s first. She told us you had the night off.” 

“Right.” 

“We can leave if you want, cyar’ika,” Echo says. His entire demeanor changes from his playful, smug facade to the soft, sensitive, sincere man you’re so fond of. “If you’re not comfortable.”

“No, you’re fine,” you rush to say. “I just— well— you’re gone for two weeks, and suddenly show up at my doorstep without even a comm to let me know you’re safe, or back, or—” You cut yourself off, suddenly very aware that the sentiment you’re expressing is not one you’re entitled to. “Sorry. You’re more than welcome to stay.”

“Don’t apologize for feeling how you feel, mesh’la,” Hunter says. His use of the nickname, one that Echo had explained the meaning to many moons ago, makes your heart skip. “We should have let you know. Next time, we will.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “‘Next time’?”

He smirks against the rim of his glass. You can’t help the way your eyes trail to his throat as he swallows the amber alcohol.

“Only if you want,” he says.

You look to Echo. With a comforting smile, he sets his glass in his lap so he can rest his hand on your bare thigh. His thumb rubs comforting circles on your skin. In his eyes, golden brown wells of affection, you think you understand what he’s saying. You’re in control. This is about you.

With a steadying breath, you nod and relax back into the couch once more. Pressing ‘play’ on the remote, you nurse your drink as the opening credits of the holodrama roll. It’s some soap you’re sure your mom would love, overly dramatic and very cheesy, but it’s been a guilty pleasure since the very first season finale.

The familiar burn of the alcohol helps clear your head. You wonder if you’re reading too much into Hunter’s presence; just because you continue to nurse a crush on him doesn’t mean he feels the same. The looks he gives you sometimes makes you wonder if your feelings aren’t one-sided; but his expression always closes off, a mask sliding back into place when he realizes you’ve caught him staring. You want to know his thoughts when he looks at you like that. Which inevitably makes you feel guilty, especially when Echo is always within reach, his face always so open in conveying his fondness for you.

Thankfully, the holodrama does exactly what it’s supposed to and eventually quiets your thoughts. When the main character and his side piece nearly get caught by the side piece’s girlfriend, all three of you are jeering at the screen, just buzzed enough to get lost in the drama. And when the next episode ends, you realize you’ve caught all the way up, much to Echo’s dismay.

“How long until the next episode?” he demands. 

Giggling, you pat his thigh. “A week. But after that we have to wait a few months ’cause it’s the mid-season finale.”

Pouting his bottom lip, Echo huffs. “Kriff.”

You laugh, tossing your head back, unable to contain your mirth. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you’d get so hooked.”

“Certainly an experience,” Hunter agrees. He stands with a groan, stretching. “Where’s your ’fresher?”

You point toward your bedroom. “Through there. If my room’s a mess, no it isn’t.”

He chuckles. As soon as you hear the bathroom door lock, you sigh, leaning your head on Echo’s shoulder.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I really am sorry,” he murmurs. “For not giving you a head’s up. Especially after our last conversation.”

You take a moment to consider your words. “It’s okay, Echo. We...this whole situation.... Kriff, I don’t know what I’m trying to say, except that it’s okay. I’m just glad you’re okay. That you’re all okay.”

He hums. “And you’re sure Hunter being here isn’t a problem?”

“Should it be?” You raise your head to meet his gaze, searching there for any hint of jealousy, insecurity, anything that might clue you into his thoughts. But you find only the same steady adoration and affection that’s always there. 

Shrugging, he sighs. “No. Just checking in on you.”

“Can I ask why he’s here?” you venture after a moment. 

Echo tilts his head at you, studying your face like he’s searching for something. “He and I talked about it. All you need to worry about right now is that you can trust him. Trust me. I’m just tryin’ to take care of my girl.” 

Your stomach flops at those final words, your curiosity at the rest of his statement immediately forgotten. Breath catching, your eyes flick down to his lips. “Say it again.” 

His lips curl into a smirk. “My girl?” 

You groan and crash your lips against his. He cradles the back of your head, tilting you for better access. Licking his bottom lip, you whimper as his tongue flicks yours. His mouth moves against yours, insistent and rough, fanning the flame that sparked as soon as he and Hunter stepped over your threshold. 

Hunter. 

You pull away from Echo with a gasp, chest heaving. Past Echo’s face, leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom, Hunter swirls the last of his drink, eyes dark when they meet yours. You can’t help the small whimper that falls from you as Hunter raises his glass and, without breaking eye contact, swallows, his throat bobbing.

Echo follows your line of sight and gives you an easy grin. “You okay, baby?”

Embarrassed, you duck your head against his chest, only able to nod. 

“Gotta use your words, sweet thing,” he says. His scomp tilts your head back up so you can meet his eyes, and then Hunter’s, where he still leans against the door.

“I-I’m good,” you say, voice quavering.

“Good,” Echo husks. He tugs you fully into his lap. “I’ve been wondering where this shirt went. Looks good on you, cyar’ika. Doesn’t it, Hunter?”

“Like a dream,” Hunter says. 

You’re panting, body flushed with both arousal and embarrassment. Squirming, you can’t avoid grinding your core against the bulge in Echo’s pants.

“Kriff, baby,” he groans. “Safeword?”

“Meiloorun,” you say without hesitation. “Yours is Kamino.” 

“Hunter, yours?” Echo calls, eyes never leaving your face. 

There’s a moment of silence while Hunter thinks. “Kamino is fine for me, too.”

That taken care of, Echo wraps his scomp arm around you again and pulls you flush against his body, all hard lines and lean muscle. His kiss is feverish, desperate, demanding; you whine against his mouth. His hand squeezes your hip. Gently rocking you back and forth, he guides you to grind on his cock. 

“Sith blazing hells,” Hunter mutters from his place along the wall.

In a fit of confidence, you pull away from Echo’s mouth with a salacious pop to smirk at the other man. “Like what you see, Hunter?”

Smack!

You yelp. The impact of Echo’s hand on your clothed ass is more surprising than it is painful. Pouting, you look back at him. 

“What was that for?”

“Manners, cyar’ika, manners.” He kneads your ass, chasing away any lingering sting. “Try that again.”

“Yes, sir,” you say. Meeting Hunter’s eyes again, you squint, trying to figure out what honorific fits him best. You already have a ‘sir,’ so you need something else for Hunter. “...daddy?” 

Hunter’s face flushes a handsome shade of red, but he chuckles. “Interesting choice. But not the one I want to hear right now.”

“Good guess, though,” Echo murmurs. He tugs you down a bit to mouth at your neck, his tongue leaving a wet trail across your skin. For a moment, you struggle to remember what it is you’re trying to think of.

“O-Oh, fuck.” You groan as Echo latches onto the sensitive patch of skin near your collarbone. “I-I don’t know!” 

Hunter raises an eyebrow. “You’re smart. You can figure it out.”

Wracking your brain, trying to ignore the warmth that muddles your mind, you really do try to think of the best honorific. Eyes drinking in the way Hunter exudes confidence, every lean line of his body filled with palpable certainty, the inkling of an idea wriggles at the base of your skull. Still, with Echo’s mouth sucking hickeys into your skin, it takes longer than you’d like for the title to pop into your mind.  

“S-Sarge,” you rasp out. 

“See?” Hunter’s eyes darken. “Such a smart girl.”

“Yes, sarge,” you whimper. 

Echo brings your lips back to his own, resuming your movement against his hard length. By now, wetness coats the inside of your shorts—thank the Maker you’d decided tonight was the perfect night to really relax and go without underwear. The friction against your aching clit is divine, sending zings of electricity across your entire body. You haven’t touched yourself at all since they left the last time, knowing it wouldn’t be anywhere near as good.

Echo bites your bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth. “You wanna cum, pretty thing?” 

“Yes, sir,” you pant. “Please. Want to cum for you.” 

He hums. “I know you do. But I think you need to earn it, show us that you deserve it after forgetting your manners, don’t you?” 

“Y-Yes, sir.” You don’t think you’d disagree even if you really did. You want to know what he has in mind, and you’re certain that whatever it is, it ends with you fucked out and sleepy. 

Without effort, Echo hooks his arms under your ass and stands. Wrapping your legs around him, you tuck your face into his neck again, kissing his skin as he carries you, presumably to the bedroom. You lick up to his ear and draw his earlobe into your mouth, catching it with your teeth, relishing in the way that his breath hitches. 

“Feet down, cyar’ika,” he orders. 

You do as you’re told. Standing on shaky legs, you grip onto his shoulders just long enough to ensure you won’t fall on your ass.

Hunter lounges at the edge of your bed, his cock very obviously straining against his pants, but he seems in no rush to do anything about it. You bat your eyelashes at him, earning you a smirk.

“Strip,” Hunter says. 

You lick your lips. “Yes, sarge.”

You shimmy out of your shorts first, hooking your thumbs in the elastic waistband, slowly, very slowly, drawing them down your thighs. The crotch sticks to your wet pussy. A string of slick pulls away with the fabric, and all three of you groan at the sight. Stepping out of the shorts, you reach for the hem of your shirt and, just as slowly, drag the black fabric up over your skin. Your breasts bounce as you pull the shirt up and over your head. It, too, gets discarded.

Now you stand, fully nude, in front of the two most delectable men you’ve ever encountered. Chest rising and falling with every labored breath, you can’t help but preen just a little at the slack-jawed expression on Hunter’s face, the way his eyes roam your entire body. His hands clench into fists. Like he’s physically restraining himself from reaching out and touching you. You swallow, breathing coming faster now.

Echo, despite having seen you like this many times before, still looks just as hungry for you as the first time. He murmurs, “Isn’t she gorgeous?” 

“Stunning,” Hunter agrees. “Twirl for me, princess.”

You moan out an affirmative and spin for him, jiggling your ass for both of them. Hunter’s strangled groan goes straight to your cunt, making it throb. As you face them both again, your eyes hooded, you give a small smirk.

“Like what you see, sarge?” you ask again, breathless.

His eyes snap to yours, dangerously dark, his chest heaving. “She’s got a bratty mouth, Echo. You didn’t tell me about that.” 

“She doesn’t use it very often with me,” Echo says with a shrug. His arms cross over his chest. “You gotta earn her respect if you want that to stop.” 

The way they talk about you, like you’re not even here, makes your skin burn with arousal. Fuck, should this be this hot? Your knees shake again.

Hunter gestures for Echo to continue leading the scene. Your eyes drift to Echo. Recognizing the hard glint in his eyes, you know you’re about to learn what punishment he has in mind. Pussy clenching around nothing, you squirm under his gaze. 

“On your knees,” he finally says. 

Once you sink to your knees, you rest your hands, palms down, on your thighs. This was one of the first poses Echo taught you, and you know it’s one of his favorites. He grips your chin, forcing you to keep eye contact as he stalks behind you. Craning your head back as he lowers himself behind you, you can’t suppress the shiver that dances up your spine. His legs cage you in. Hand leaving your face, he trails down your burning skin. He nudges your thighs open just a tad wider. 

“F-Fuck, please, sir,” you moan. His fingers graze over your throbbing clit, his touch feather-light. Nowhere near enough. 

“Please what?” he husks in your ear. 

Goosebumps erupt over your body and you shiver again. “P-Please, I’ll be good, please make me cum, sir.”

“You can cum,” he says, pressing against your clit. You cry out as the molten cord in your belly snaps tight. Moaning, you grind against his hand—but he immediately withdraws. “You can cum,” he repeats, “only after Hunter does.”

Peering up through your eyelashes at Hunter, you know you look absolutely debauched. Naked, panting, dripping wet, you must be a sight to behold. He gulps, his eyebrows raising a fraction as you stare at one another. After a long moment, he stands to his full height and closes the distance between you. His fingers, long and thick, tug down his blacks just far enough to free his cock and balls.

You moan at the sight of him. He’s bigger than Echo—thicker, longer, heavier—and you salivate at the mere thought of having him in your mouth. Flushed red, the tip is only a few inches from your face, bobbing in time with his heartbeat. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out and flick it through his slit. Bitter precum coats your tongue, and Hunter groans, hips stuttering toward you.

“Kriff, baby.” He rests a hand on top of your head. “Suck it. Show me what that bratty mouth is good for.” 

Obedient and pliant, your mouth falls open and you take him into your mouth. His skin is velvet against your tongue, hot and soft and so heavy. You moan, heat throbbing in your cunt. You make it only halfway down his length before your gag reflex kicks in, and you have to pull back. Hollowing your cheeks, you settle into a rhythm, never breaking eye contact as you suck him off. The curve of his tip catches against your lips every time you pull back, obscene wet sounds echoing off your bedroom walls. You catalog every time Hunter’s abs flex under his blacks, the microexpressions that cross his face that betray how good this feels for him. 

You forget about Echo’s hand between your legs until he begins circling your clit again. Keening, your sounds are muffled by the cock in your mouth. Pleasure crests in you, threatening to drown you. Echo knows your body too well, though; every time you feel yourself getting closer to the edge of your orgasm, he pulls back. 

“One more thing you should know, cyar’ika,” Echo says the third time this happens, lips brushing your ear. “Hunter aced commando training.”

In your cockdumb, frustrated state, his words take several moments to process. When they do, your eyes widen, still locked on Hunter’s. Sure, he’s got heightened senses—something you’d been banking on being to your advantage—but of course he has control over them. He smirks when he sees the lightbulb turn on over your head.

“That’s right, mesh’la,” he says, voice rough and thick. “Let’s see who breaks first.”

You whine. But you got yourself into this, you know, and you’ll get yourself out of it. As Echo returns pressure to your cunt, you do your best to ignore the heat that pulses in your core. Instead, you relax your throat, squeeze your thumbs in your fists, and take Hunter as deep as you can.

Tears dew at the corners of your eyes as you bob your head, the blunt tip of his cock brushing the back of your throat. Both Hunter and Echo groan at the sight. Gently, letting you know you can pull back at any moment, Hunter cups the back of your head to hold you down on his dick for as long as you can manage. You try to breathe through your nose—but he’s so big, and you gag, jerking your head back, spluttering. 

“So good for us, baby,” Echo praises. He kisses your shoulder. “Doing so good, taking it so well.”

“Hun- sarge, please,” you whine. Flattening your tongue, you lick up his length and swirl your tongue around his tip. “Want your cum in my mouth.”

He groans. “Earn it, mesh’la.”

Nodding, you prepare yourself again, and take him back down your throat, swallowing against his tip. He moans, abs flexing so hard that he bends over you for a moment. A flash of triumph surges within you, but then he regains composure. You whine, spit dripping down your chin to your chest.

In reality, you’re not upset at all by this punishment. All the edging that Echo is doing is going to make your orgasm feel that much better. Each time he presses and withdraws, you feel yourself winding higher and higher. Besides, Hunter’s cock is truly gorgeous, thick in all the right ways, and the vein that runs up the underside makes itself known against your tongue. His skin tastes and smells almost exactly how you had imagined: musky and smoky, yet simultaneously clean and fresh.

But even you have your limits. As you bob your head and twirl your tongue and deepthroat him to the best of your (admittedly good) abilities, your jaw aches and tears run down your cheeks. You know he feels good, that your wet, hot mouth is steadily driving him closer to cumming, but not fast enough. 

Pulling off of him with a sloppy pop, you pant heavily, peering up at him. Your face is wet with spit and tears, but you don’t care. You want him to cum for you. You need him to fall apart for you. Eyes drifting down from his for the first time, an idea occurs to you as you watch his dick twitch. 

Ducking your head, you press hot, open-mouthed kisses to the shaft of his cock, but your goal lies elsewhere. You gently blow air over Hunter’s balls, watching in satisfaction as they tighten for a moment, before suckling one into your mouth. 

“Oh, k-kark!” Hunter grunts above you, his hand tightening at the back of your neck. “Fuck, that f-feels— ohhhh.”

You lick one of his balls, massaging it with your tongue, before paying the same attention to his other one. His cock rests hot and sticky against your face. When his blunt fingertips dig into your skin where he grips you, you know you’re about to get what you want. 

Echo’s fingers nimbly dance over your soaked folds, gathering your wetness, before circling your clit once again. You whimper.

You nuzzle Hunter’s cock as you pull away from his balls. Taking him back into your mouth, you spit down his length, and take him deep one more time. You have to strain, but, nose nestled into the bed of tight curls at his base, you’re able to stick your tongue out and just barely lick his balls. 

That’s what does the trick. Hunter yanks your head back and, letting your mouth hang open, cums over your face with a deep groan. His seed is hot and sticky where it coats your skin, salty on your tongue. Echo’s slim, practiced fingers rub your clit and a moment later, your own orgasm rips through you like a speeder. Pussy spasming around nothing, you moan breathlessly, unable to form coherent words.

“Such a good girl for us,” Echo praises, kissing the back of your neck. “So good. You deserve to cum again.” 

He doesn’t let up on your pussy, even when you whimper from oversensitivity. Instead, he hooks his scomp under one of your legs and tugs. He pulls you into a sitting position, your legs spread, dripping pussy bare to both him and Hunter. Then he plunges two fingers into your cunt and, hooking them up, rocks his hand against you. 

You stiffen under his touch, crying out. “Yes sir, yes yes yessss!” His fingers press against the spongy spot in your walls, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit, and without any space to recover, your orgasm coils tight in your belly once again. Entire body tight, you pant, squirm, moan brokenly as he finger-fucks you closer to heaven.

“I’m gonna—” 

“Cum,” he rasps, voice directly in your ear, and you have no choice but to obey, tumbling over the edge of your second orgasm. You feel like you’re falling apart, your cunt clamping down around his fingers, throbbing, as waves of pleasure wash over you again and again and again.

Dimly, you’re aware of Echo speaking to Hunter, of Hunter leaving the room for a moment, and returning with a glass of water. It takes you longer than usual to come back to your body. Both men stroke your hair, your skin, press sweet kisses to your temples, tell you how good you did for them. 

At last, you feel strong enough to reach for the glass. “Th-Thanks, Hunter.” 

“Of course, mesh’la.” He helps you hold the glass as you sip. The liquid helps your parched throat. “Are you okay?” 

You give him a lazy grin. “Never better.” 

He smiles in return. “Alright. Here, I’ll get you a second glass.” He pushes the water into your hands before kissing your forehead and leaving again.

Echo’s hand rubs up and down your arm. “Are you sure you’re good?” 

Twisting in his embrace, you peer up at him. “Yes. Really. I... it wasn’t what I expected, but I’m glad it happened.” 

“Good,” he says. Then, chuckling, he turns his head away to shout, “Hunter, bring a wet cloth, too!” 

Confused, you frown up at him. 

“You still have cum on your face,” he explains. 

“Oh.” You bite your lip. Then, on impulse, you gather a drop on your fingertip and suck it clean.

“Holy—” Echo groans, biting your shoulder. “Baby, you can’t be doing that without warning.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because,” he says, “I won’t be hard again for at least an hour.” 

You giggle, and then your eyes widen in realization. “You came?” 

He nods against you, hiding his face. “Like a horny teenager.”

“That’s so hot,” you breathe. “An hour, you said?” 

Hunter chuckles as he crouches in front of you again, damp cloth in one hand, full glass of water in the other. “Give or take. We don’t have to leave again for a few days.”

Body heating up again, you eagerly accept the cloth to wipe your face clean. “Well, then, you boys should make sure you hydrate, too.” 

Taglist: @the-hexfiles @littlemissmanga @iwannalickyoutoomuchbaby @wings-and-beskar @theogfulcrum22 @jedi-hawkins (if you'd like to be tagged in future parts please let me know!)

[roll-for-gaslight]

redamancy

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59292709

Tags:

Kristen Applebees & The Bad Kids, Kristen Applebees & Gorgug Thistlespring, Kristen Applebees, Gorgug Thistlespring, Wilma Thistlespring, Digby Thistlespring, Figueroth Faeth, Adaine Abernant, Fabian Aramais Seacaster, Riz , Gukgak, Mentioned The Bad Kids (Dimension 20), The Bad Kids Are Good Friends (Dimension 20), This is an au where the thistlesprings adopt kristen, So it's very gorgug & kristen heavy and the others are mostly just mentioned, Kristen Applebees-centric, POV Kristen Applebees, Good Friend Gorgug Thistlespring, Religious Guilt, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Fix-It

Summary:

redamancy (n); the act of loving one who loves you, a love returned in full

OR

Kristen Applebees has her first real sleepover her freshman year of high school. She has a lot more that come after it.

OR

The day Kristen Applebees dies, there’s a friend who dies alongside her. She dies in a high school cafeteria on the first day of her freshman year. She meets god, and he sucks. Her parents crowd around her the second they arrive, pulling her into bone-crushing hugs, and she wishes more than anything to not have to go home.

Note:

Surprise! Yet another Kristen Applebees fic! I want to study her under a microscope lmao

Thanks again to my wonderful betas, Symph and Fawn! I could not do this without you guys <3 <3 <3!!!

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

The day Kristen Applebees dies, there’s a friend who dies alongside her. She dies in a high school cafeteria on the first day of her freshman year. She meets god, and he sucks. Her parents crowd around her the second they arrive, pulling her into bone-crushing hugs, and she wishes more than anything to not have to go home. 

Gorgug catches her arm gently before she can make it to the car and she excuses herself from her parents and their suspicious stares. Once they’re somewhere private, she looks up at him with concern. 

“Are you alright? Do you still need healing or something? I think I have some spells left—” she says, but he cuts her off quickly. 

“No! Sorry, no, I’m okay, I actually just wanted to make sure you were okay. Dying was really scary for me and I know you probably want to just head home, but I wanted to check in,” he says, his words coming out quiet and quick. It takes her a moment to readjust for the unexpected conversation. 

“I’m okay, I think,” she answers after a few moments. “Thanks for asking, though. I really appreciate it.”

Gorgug flushes slightly. “It’s no problem,” he says, and then he pulls a small metal flower out of his pocket. “Here, you can have this if you want it. My parents gave it to me to help me make friends.”

Kristen smiles brightly as she takes the flower. “Thanks, Gorgug. If you ever want to talk about the whole dying thing or anything else, you should text me. I have to go back to my parents, but I really appreciate the flower. It’s pretty.”

Her parents question her on who that weird, orcish boy was, but she doesn’t care. She tells them the truth, that he’s her new friend. 

When she does finally make it home, she’s surrounded by all of her Helioic decorations and knickknacks. For the first time in her life, it’s uncomfortable in a way she can’t place. She holds the small tin flower in her hands, the cool metal her only comfort. 

— — — — — 

Kristen has her first real sleepover her first week of high school. She doesn’t want to go home in the wake of everything going on, so she crashes at the Strongtower Luxury Apartments, but she can’t help feeling bad that they’re all crowding into Gilear’s apartment. She’ll have to go home tomorrow. 

— — — — — 

Over the next few weeks, she couch hops a bit. She goes home a couple days a week, but does her best to avoid it. She stops going to church, and she stops her daily prayers. She meets Tracker, who raises questions for her that make her friends too uncomfortable for her to get any answers. 

It’s after one such awkward conversation that Gorgug pulls her aside when no one else is paying attention. He glances around nervously before speaking, then places a careful hand on her shoulder. 

“Do you maybe want to come over tonight? I know you’ve kind of been crashing with Fig and Riz a lot, but there’s room in the tree. Plus my parents have these binders-” he cuts himself off abruptly, flushing with embarrassment. “They just may be able to actually answer some of your questions you keep asking.”

— — — — — 

The Thistlespring Tree is huge, but tiny on the inside. It’s clear the ceilings have been raised several feet to accommodate Gorgug’s height, but most things are still scaled down pretty small. The things in common areas that are for Gorgug stick out like a sore thumb, like the armchair big enough that both Digby and Wilma would sink into it entirely, or the bookshelf full of binders half as tall as the two gnomes, or the larger-than-average plates big enough to hold dinner for a still-growing half-orc barbarian. Gorgug’s parents greet Kristen excitedly, already putting out snacks. 

“Hiya, Kiddo! This must be one of your new friends you mentioned. You’re Kristen, aren’t you?” Digby asks, and Kristen sends a quick, questioning glance to Gorgug. He looks away, clearly embarrassed by how much he must have told them. Kristen’s smile only gets brighter. 

“Yes, sir!” she says. “Gorgug is awesome, and I really appreciate you guys letting me stay here tonight. I hope it isn’t any trouble.” 

Wilma smiles softly, glancing between Gorgug and Kristen for a few moments. “Gorgug, sweetheart, why don’t you go make sure the guest room is made up or at least that Kristen has a place in your room if you two want to stay together.” she says, and Gorgug nods quickly. He grabs Kristen’s shoulder in that sweet, comforting way he seems to do a lot before he leaves, giving her a reassuring smile.

Kristen is immediately anxious when he’s gone. It’s one thing to meet her friend’s parents. It’s another thing entirely to be left alone with two nonbelievers strangers. 

(“Nonbelievers are dangerous,” her traitorous, horrible mind hisses. The Thistlesprings have been nothing but kind to her, but she finds herself relying on old, repeated mantras from her parents in her moment of stress.)

“We just wanted a chance to say this without embarrassing Gorgug— we’re so happy that you’re here,” Wilma says, her rushed words tearing Kristen away from her thoughts and back into the current moment. “Gorgug’s never really brought friends around, but he was so excited when he met you all that he hasn’t stopped talking about you. We’re happy to have you here, Kiddo, so make yourself at home and our door is always open to you and all your other friends, okay?”

Kristen feels tears sting her eyes as Wilma speaks, and she scrubs them away. “Thank you, ma’am. I really appreciate that, and I’ll pass on the message.”

Gorgug returns, faster than expected. “I set up a pallet for myself in my room, and Kristen can sleep in my bed, if that’s fine with you guys?” he asks. His parents exchange a look, he sighs in exasperation as they go towards the shelf of binders. 

“Now, you two kids are welcome to make whatever choices you’re going to make tonight, but first you should know that losing your virginity—” Digby is cut off abruptly by Gorgug’s interruption. 

“No! No, Dad, Kristen and I aren’t like that at all. She’s just a friend, and I don’t think either of us are interested in anything other than that.” they glance over at her to see her nod in the affirmative before he continues. “Kristen does have some questions, though, that her parents won’t answer, and I kind of thought she might like the binders.”

Wilma absolutely lights up, moving to pull the very first binder off the shelf. When Kristen takes a peek, the first page says “GIVING THE TALK AND OTHER INTRODUCTORY SEX ED '' in a bold and colorful font. She glances at Gorgug, and he offers an encouraging smile before putting his headphones over his ears. 

“What are your questions, Kiddo?” Digby asks, a kind smile in his face. 

— — — — — 

From there, it's not a big leap for Kristen to start hanging around more. She's spending less and less time at home, and she starts spending the night in the guest bedroom instead of Gorgug’s room. The Thistlesprings make dinner for her, and they don’t make her pray before she touches her plate. 

Then the door of her church is ripped up, and they have to kill Daybreak. They find out that the members of her own faith were trying to sacrifice her on the first day of school to open a hellmouth, and she decides she’s never going back there. 

Gorgug sends her a worried look after the fight, a deep frown on his face as they interrogate Ragh. Fig approaches her before anyone else has the chance. 

“Hey, since your parents are definitely shitty, do you want to stay at my place tonight? We could do a real sleepover, stay up all night partying?” she asks, and Kristen feels an equal mix of loving fondness for Fig’s affectionate tendencies and dread shoot through her at the idea of doing anything other than going back to a warm tree and a familiar bed. She glances at Gorgug over Fig’s shoulder, and he thankfully intervenes before Kristen accepts to be polite.

“I already asked my parents to make sure the guest room is ready for you to come over,” he interjects as he approaches. “Maybe we could all do a big sleepover another night? That was a tough fight.”

Fig lights up at the idea of a big group sleepover. “Yeah! That sounds awesome, dude! Maybe Riz and I can host over at the apartments! It’ll be a blast!” she says, grinning wildly. She pulls Kristen into a tight hug for just a second, giving her the quickest kiss on the forehead. “All right, Kristen Applebees, just text me if you need anything at all. I’ve got you."

— — — — — 

The moment they’re home, Gorgug guides Kristen over to the dining table. “I’m going to make some hot chocolate. Do you want some?” he asks, and she nods. He moves around the kitchen quietly for a few minutes, making cocoa for both of them, and in the meantime his parents come in. 

“Hi, Kristen!” Wilma says as they both take seats at the table. Gorgug glances over at them. 

“Cocoa, anyone?” he asks, and his parents accept his offer with soft smiles. 

“Hi, Mr.-and-Mrs. Thistlespring,” Kristen says. 

Digby offers her a small, sad smile. “Okay, sweetheart. You know we love having you here, right?” he asks her, and she only nods in response even as an ice-cold wave of panic crashes through her. “Good, because we wanted to talk to you about something. Wilma?” he prompts, and his wife nods. 

“Kristen, are things unsafe for you at home? Gorgug said he’s pretty sure your parents have been hurting you.” she asks gently, and Gorgug presses the mug of hot chocolate into her hands. 

Her first instinct is to shake her head no, so she does. After a few moments, the motion slows and becomes a nod. 

“Okay! Well then, we believe it’s in your best interest to move out of your parents’ house once and for all. And, since you’ll be needing a place to stay, we’d like to offer for you to stay here. How do you feel about that, bud?” Digby asks, his words coming out soft and slow as though she might startle. Kristen is immediately overwhelmed with tears, streaming down her face before she can even think to stop them. Gorgug abandons his task to wrap his arms around her tightly. He rubs her back gently as her tears devolve into full-on sobbing, and he stays just like that until those sobs become careful, shuddering breaths.

— — — — — 

Here’s the thing: Kristen has been a big sister her entire life. She doesn’t know a version of herself that hasn’t been responsible for her little siblings. She’s always been proud of the way she looks after them, and she’s recently realized it’s just about the only part of her childhood she doesn’t regret. 

It just also means she was less monitored, less taken care of. She’s never been fretted after because by the time she was six she could heal herself. No one had to worry about if she fell out of a tree again or tried to jump out of the swing or hit her head in the pool when they weren’t watching because even if she didn’t heal herself, she was Helio’s chosen and he had a penchant for stepping in if any real danger happened. No one ever needed to fuss over her, and she was fine fixing herself up. 

Being a little sister is vastly different. 

The Thistlesprings fuss. Kristen thought, at first, that it was just because she was new and they wanted her to feel welcome, but it’s been a few weeks now and she’s still seeing it. Her and Gorgug get in the car together at the end of the school day or come into the tree after a fight and Wilma starts handing out snacks and tending to wounds and asking about homework. It’s sweet, and Kristen kind of likes the feeling, but she doesn’t know how to react or why they worry so much. They do it to Gorgug too, and he just smiles and lets them do as they please. 

After a particularly long week of classes and the fight at the Wallace house with Adaine’s sister, they stumble in late at night. Digby and Wilma are asleep on the couch, and despite her appreciation she lets out a sigh of relief. 

“Goodnight, Gorgug. Love you,” she whispers, but he’s quick to put a hand on her shoulder and stop her from leaving. 

“Not yet! I know we’ll feel better tomorrow, but for right now we should do some first aid. Do you want tea or anything?” he asks, grabbing the first aid kit from the coffee table in front of his parents. 

Kristen raises an eyebrow at him. “I think I have another healing word or two in me if you need it,” she offers, somewhat confused. She was pretty sure she had healed him already, but maybe she missed him. 

Gorgug shakes his head. “No, no, I’m fine. I meant that gash on your arm, Fig didn’t have enough spell slots left to heal it. Sit down, I’ll clean it and wrap it up,” he says, his tone assuring and warm in a way that mirrors his parents. She sits down, laughing softly to herself.  Gorgug laughs, because he’s one of those people who always laughs when his friends do, and Kristen thinks it’s sweet. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks after a moment. 

“You’re just like your parents,” she says, “You guys worry a lot.” 

Gorgug blushes slightly, ducking his head slightly to hide it. “Yeah, I guess we do. It’s just…” he hesitates slightly. “They told me once that both of their love languages are acts of service. It’s why they never mind fixing stuff when I break it, and it’s why they want to fix us up after fights stuff like that. I think I feel kinda the same way. Like I like getting to help my friends, and most of the time that means hitting things or breaking down doors, but sometimes it means bandaging you up or reaching the top shelf, y’know?” he explains. He speaks quietly, occasionally glancing over to the couch to be sure he hasn’t woken up his parents. Kristen’s heart melts at his words. 

“That’s really sweet, Gorgug. I always liked taking care of my brothers, plus I’m a healer so I obviously love taking care of you guys. It just feels a little different when I’m the one being taken care of, I guess.” she says, smiling. 

Gorgug’s head cocks to the side not unlike a confused puppy, and Kristen giggles until he asks his question. “I mean, other than your parents, right? Like, they sucked, but did take care of you, didn’t they?”

The second the words are out of his mouth, he looks like he wants to apologize. Kristen remembers the Harvest Festival; she remembers the searing, oppressive heat sitting heavy on her sunburnt shoulders, and she remembers staying on her feet until she can’t stand it anymore. She wakes up alone in a dark room, magically healed. Her brothers are excited to see her when she finds them, but her parents are already asking how her prayer went, if she communed with Helio the way she sometimes did. No one asked if she was okay. 

Kristen shrugs. “They did some things, but probably not as much as they were supposed to. I’m a healer, that kind of thing has never been an issue. And then I guess I always did more of the taking care of my brothers stuff.” 

They sit in silence for a few moments, then Gorgug pulls her into a tight hug. 

“I’m glad you’re with our family now. You deserve to be taken care of.” he says softly, and Kristen feels tears spring to her eyes. She buries her head into Gorgug’s chest, her breath coming in quick, wet gasps due to an inability to control her tears. He makes no attempt to pull away. 

— — — — —

When they get the pictures on Johnny Spells’s phone of their homes on fire, she can admit privately that she’s more worried about the Thistlesprings than her own parents. A bigger part of her feels guilty for feeling that way, and even with that feeling she’d never abandon her little brothers in their time of need. 

When Gorgug takes off, there’s a moment of hesitation before he does so, a glance back at Kristen where he expects her to follow, but then he just gives her a quick nod and a reminder to stay safe before he’s gone. 

When she gets to their house and finds everyone fine, she finds herself calling Gorgug without waiting to explain to her parents. She’s already running down the street, down towards Little Branch and the Thistlespring Tree. Gorgug answers on the first ring. 

“Are they okay?” she asked immediately, surprised by the ragged quality of her own voice. Somewhere far off behind her, Adaine is chasing her down, shouting after her, but she doesn’t care. 

“They’re alright, Kristen, they broke out the tank and took care of everything before I even got here,” he assures her, and that’s all it takes for her to finally slow to a stop, chest heaving. “I think they’re going to fight Fallinel’s army, though? I’m not really sure, but they’re okay, I promise.”

— — — — —

When they’re looking for Riz, Adaine narrowly stops Gorgug from killing her in a vicious rage. She doesn’t explain her vision immediately, but mentions it offhandedly later. Kristen sees the way Gorgug’s shoulders fall slightly. She waits a while, catching him alone that first night in the van just before he manages to fall asleep by slipping into his area of the moon haven and resting beside him the same way they often lay on his bed at home on difficult nights. The nightmares that follow an adventure like their freshman year are easier to handle with company. 

She pokes him in the arm a few times while he opens an eye to peer at her curiously. There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip at her prodding. 

“Are you alright, Kristen?” he asks softly, and she nods. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she responds, “I’m more worried about you. Adaine’s vision, the one from Riz’s office, it seemed to really bother you.”

Gorgug looks surprised, but he reaches out to ruffle Kristen’s hair affectionately. “I’m okay. It’s just– My parents raised me in a very particular way.” he admits quietly, frowning and taking several long moments to parse through his thoughts. “They love me, and I know that, and they don’t mind that I’m too big for their house or that I eat more than both of them combined. But they always wanted me to be super well-adjusted and they taught me all these ways of channeling my feelings into other things so I didn’t hurt anyone, and I can’t help but think that… Maybe I’m letting them down by being a barbarian. I thought that as long as I could use my rage to protect you guys it wouldn’t be a problem, but according to what Adaine saw I could have killed her today. I just feel like maybe I haven’t made the right choice.”

Kristen thinks for a while about what Gorgug was saying. “I don’t think you’re letting them down, or that being a barbarian means that you’re not doing what they raised you to do. I don’t see how it’s any different from when Adaine or Fig or I cast spells on people, really, it’s just the best way you can protect the people you care about. I think… Digby and Wilma care that you’re a kind, happy person, and I can vouch that you’re one of the kindest people I know,” she says softly. “Are you happy?”

Gorgug smiles softly, then pulls her into a hug. “Yeah, I think I am. I think I want to try and get better at some other stuff too, but I’m really happy that I get to protect you guys,” he says. Kristen settles into the hug, basically in his lap for a few moments before they both pull away. 

— — — — —

Kristen is dead again. This is the second, but technically the third time if you counted what happened at prom. She doesn’t tend to. 

It happened very quickly this time. It wasn’t some kind of fight; she didn’t even know her and Fabian weren’t alone. But, sure enough, there’s a sharp pain in her chest and then she’s gasping for breath, reaching up to grasp the thing— the horn , she notices belatedly — speared through her, sticking a solid six inches out of the front of her chest. She hears someone screaming, and she thinks it’s Fabian and then there are more voices shouting and then everything gets fuzzy. The next thing she knew, all her friends were gone and she… she wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t alive either. But that’s not really the point. 

The point is that right here, right now, as she’s running through the forest and doing her best to stay moving. It’s hard, though, and there’s a part of her that desperately, desperately wants to just give up. She’s all alone, and her new goddess (maybe?) can’t help her, and Tracker’s gone and her friends are gone and it would be so much easier to just give up. 

(She thinks it would be different for the others. It would be different if Fig were in her place, with seven parents to grieve if she dies, or Fabian, when Hallariel just started getting her shit together for him, or Riz, who’s the only person his mom has in the whole world. 

“At least if it’s just me,” says those same terrible whispers in the back of her mind, “no one will care. I don’t have any family left who cares.” )

At that thought, her right foot catches on her own left heel, and she goes sprawling across the forest floor. She feels the squish as the blood on her shirt sticks to the leaves below her, and tears well up in her eyes. She takes a slow, deep breath, doing her best not to cry for a few moments though she can’t help it when the first small sob escapes her lips. It’s then that she hears it, the familiar voice in the back of her mind. 

It’s Gorgug. Keep going. 

His voice is warm and strong, and it’s almost like she can feel him beside her. It’s like they’re hugging, his voice rattling her head where it presses up against his chest. She remembers that night a year ago when Digby and Wilma offered her a home, the smell and taste of hot cocoa as Gorgug hugged her tight, like she was precious and loved. She remembers the small tin flower, the cool and comforting feel of the metal under her fingertips. She remembers that last time she was truly dead, he was too. She remembers they both came back. 

It’s Gorgug. Keep going. 

Kristen pushes herself up with the palms of her hands, a sharp rock digging into the calloused skin. She stands up. She can do this for Gorgug. For her family. 

She keeps going. 

— — — — —

When she’s alive again, he hugs her for real. His arms are at least three times the size of her own, and he lifts her off the ground when he does it. 

“Gorgug!” she says, scared and sad and shell-shocked and ecstatic to see him, “I died again!” she finishes with a laugh.

He gives a soft, exasperated huff of laughter at her bluntness, but she can tell it’s tinged with sadness. “I know,” he tells her, tightening the hug just a little bit, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

She feels it, in that moment, just how hurt he would have been. She hugs him tighter too. 

— — — — —

When they get home, Digby and Wilma are excited to hear how everything went. When Kristen tells them she died, they both burst into tears she didn't expect. They pull her into a hug that Gorgug joins a moment later, wrapping his arms around all three of them. 

“We love you so much, Kiddo,” Digby says softly, “I don’t know what we’d do if we lost you, if we lost either of you. You’re our babies.”

For the first time since she’s been alive again, Kristen cries. Wilma’s hand moves up to gently pet her hair. 

“Shhhh, it’s okay, Kiddo. Just let it out. You’re home now, and everything’s going to be okay,” she assures her. 

— — — — —

When they get home from the Night Yorb quest, Gorgug is greeted with a box of stuff from Zelda’s and Kristen is greeted with academic probation. According to Wilma, Jawbone had hooked them up with the information they needed to try and fix this. They’re perfectly kind and understanding, and Digby offers to help her study like he apparently did with Gorgug a few years ago when he struggled in middle school. 

“Are you sure?” Kristen asks, “Because I’m—” she pauses. If she says something too negative about herself, Digby and Wilma will sing the positive self-talk song and try to cheer her up, and it’s four in the morning, so it’s easier to just do it right the first time. “I mean, I’ve never been good at school, and I’m not easy to teach. Plus, what I’m having trouble with is cleric stuff. Isn’t that a little outside your wheelhouse?” she asks kindly, hoping not to hurt his feelings. 

Digby just looks more determined. “No one is unteachable, Kris. And even if it’s not necessarily something I’m good at, I can help you research what to do and help you get started. We’ll figure it out together, Kiddo, I promise. We’ve got your back,” he says, and WIlma nods in agreement. 

Kristen feels a warmth deep in her chest as she looks at the two of them, “Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mom. I would really appreciate that.” she says softly, and there’s tears in all of their eyes as they go to bed that night. 

— — — — —

It’s for her sake that they take the Last Standard exam. They’re told it will kill them, and that they have to rely on Helio’s light Buddy Dawn to bring them back to life. The thought of it makes Kristen feel like she’s suffocating, like she’s burning from the inside out. 

It makes her feel fourteen years old, standing in the Aguefort cafeteria choking on the taste of holy corn, the hot, sticky blood oozing from the back of her head where it hit the ground. 

When she goes to bed the night before, Gorgug appears in her doorway. 

“You okay?” he asks softly, just shy of actually stepping inside the room until she invites him, scooting over to make room on the bed. He joins her quickly. 

She shrugs in response at first, unable to find the right words to respond with. There’s nothing that comes to mind. 

“Are you scared to die again?” she asks finally, surprising even herself. Gorgug wraps an arm around her shoulders, leaning his head on top of her own. 

“A little,” he admits softly,”But can I tell you something?” he asks, and she nods. “I think I’m more scared that I won’t be able to protect you guys,” he says. Kristen thinks of how she wasn’t alone on the cafeteria floor, how Gorgug apologized last time for not being there for her. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Kristen says, and he squeezes her tighter. “But I’m more scared of not being able to heal you guys.”

— — — — —

When they’re fighting in the stadium the next day, they stay up defiantly. Gorgug is not some freshman barbarian with no friends going into his first rage and trapped in hell. Kristen is not small and frail, but seventeen and strong because she worked like hell for it. Gorgug remains the only line of defense between the party and the purple wyrm, strong and steadfast as always. Kristen peers into the unknown and catches Buddy Dawn’s murderer in the act. She heals her party with Cassandra’s sacred twilight, and no one goes down. 

— — — — —

Seacaster Manor is flying through the air, the storm swirling around them. The boat careens from side to side as dragons surround them Gorgug and Kristen are the last two on the deck for right now. Fire rains down on them, and Kristen feels it when she dodges a little two slow, flames licking up her back for a few moments as she ducks behind a pile of rigging and supplies. She looks over and can just make eye contact with Gorgug, who’s steering them to the best of his ability. His attention zeroes in on her for a moment when they lock eyes, and he lets out a somewhat manic laugh at the severity and ridiculousness of their situation. 

“Remember when we died?” he calls out, laughing and dying and scared and still going. Kristen’s eyes light up as she realizes the joke he’s making, shocked laughter falling from her lips as well. 

“It might happen again!” she shouts back, and they’re both still laughing when she casts a healing spell over the party, bringing him back up as much as she can. 

They’re not dying today. 

— — — — —

The twilight forest is cool and comforting. Kristen settles in nicely, but she still feels like she’s waiting for something. That final piece settles into place when Gorgug approaches, and he’s smiling. 

“You look better,” he says. 

Suddenly they’re fourteen again, but they’re not dying on the cafeteria floor. They’re standing in front of Aguefort Adventuring Academy, and she just saw Fabian punch him in the stomach, and she’s asking if he’s okay. She’s Helio’s Chosen and he’s the least angry barbarian just looking for his dad. 

They’re not dying on the cafeteria floor, he’s checking in, in the after. They’re different than they were before. 

They’re having dinner together in the Thistlespring tree. They’re in the van, huddled between blankets. They’re in the Nightmare King’s forest, and they’re still going. They’re doing homework with her legs thrown across his lap on her bed, heavy metal playing in the background. They’re fighting dragons. They’re defying death.

They’re seventeen in a twilight forest. The fight is over. She’s Saint Kristen Applebees, Prophet of Cassandra. He’s the world’s first barbarian artificer, clever and inventive and strong enough to survive it all. 

“I know, so do you!” she says, and then they’re both laughing as he pulls her into a tight hug. 

[lcstkey]

@diademreigned | Koana Cont. From Here Warning: Dawntrail Spoilers

After finishing escorting and reuniting a Mamool Ja child to their surviving parent, Selena found her way up the Resplendent Quarter to offer aid for the civilians there. As she circled around, word of the previous Dawnservant's death reached her ears.

Feeling the shock settle into her bones, she stopped what she was doing and shut her eyes, inhaling and exhaling. The keybearer recalled the Mamool Ja's mother laying lifeless in the Bayside Bevy markets. Her mind then plays a much earlier memory, her own mother in the snow, vacant eyes staring up at the furious skies while her own blood slowly turned the surrounding ice a deep scarlet. She frowns as her brows furrow with worry.

After she reopened her eyes, Selena ran up the stairs to reach the palace, only to slip on a step, but regained her bearings with a grimace.

Selena sprinted to the palace. The Landsguard were preoccupied and spread thin. Despite this, she wasn't fully certain if they would allow her inside Sunperch when they were so vulnerable. But to her surprise, the lone guard at the door to the Sunperch allowed her in with a single nod.

She took a few moments to catch her breath and let her racing heart settle before pushing the heavy door open. The keybearer caught sight of the Reason of Reason staring down at a certain area of the floor where she could only presume was where the previous Dawnservant, his father, passed.

Koana... Not wishing to startle him, Selena took a steady pace in her approach and stopped when she is a single step behind him as he addressed her. A part of her is relieved that he is hale and whole but...

Something is wrong. It's too quiet. Why is he alone?

The metallic cylinder that the Mamool Ja child entrusted to her weighed heavily inside the pouch. It can wait... Selena decided at that moment and silently lifts her hand to place on his shoulder, It can wait.

As the Vow of Reason spoke, the keybearer remained silent and her grip firms up. He responded in kind and looked back at her with a smile. Koana would have seen the worry knitted into her brow and her lips pressed into a firm line.

"Aye...They're rightfully hurt, confused, and in shock over what just happened," Selena answered quietly, playing the memory of the invasion in her mind. The mechanical soldiers that she and the Landsguard fought appeared nothing like the magitek or any technology she'd seen previously.

He's trying to be strong at his own expense... She realizes, using the moment to take the step and stand beside him. Her eyes soften, watching with concern and blinking in surprise as he asked to walk and being glad of her company.

"Koana, wait."

Before the keybearer realizes what she is doing, Selena pulls him in by the shoulder into an embrace with one arm across his shoulder and the other hand gently cradling the back of his head.

For a brief moment, Selena internally wished that someone found and hugged her like this when she first woke up on the strange new world as the scared young girl who had unknowingly lost the world she knew all those years ago.

"Koana, please know that you don't have to carry the weight alone," Selena starts softly, closing her blurry eyes, "You have Wuk Lamat, your people, and your comrades to help you bear it should you let them."

"We're here to support you," the keybearer quietly reiterates then reopened her eyes. After waiting a full minute, she breaks the hug to pull herself away at arm's reach. With a shaky breath, Selena anxiously scratches her right arm and then rubs her eyes.

"I'm sorry for overstepping...I...I thought you should know that you're not alone."

[jackoshadows]

Sorry to send you a sansa ask lol I was just wondering if you could help me out. I'm trying to understand why people say sansa is a literal child right now but they also want her to be queen in the end. Are they assuming we will have a big time skip? I mean, if she should be excused for being dumb because she is a child then why do they want her to be queen, wouldn't that make her situation worse?

Welcome to Schrodinger's Sansa!! It's an asoiaf fandom phenomenon where the character of Sansa Stark is simultaneously many things at the same time.

No, they are not expecting time skips. They are arguing that Sansa is simultaneously both very smart and also she's a little child unable to understand when adults tell her things.

Exhibit A:

Linking to this essay because it's often send to me in discussions about Sansa being very smart.

But there’s no reason the readership should share those views. Sansa is a very clever individual who makes increasingly good use of several skills she started the series with, and develops greatly as an observer and an actor over the course of the story.

Same person then writing about Sansa pushing the Maester to drug SweetRobin with the dangerous SweetSleep despite the Maester warning her that it has long term consequences for SweetRobin's health:

I’ve said before that I don’t think Maester Colemon is doing nearly enough to actually explain the problem with sweetsleep to Sansa, so I’ll have none of that either, thank you. She’s thirteen with no grounding in any sort of natural science whatsoever;

More broadly, do we expect thirteen-year-olds to be able to take full responsibility for another’s medical care? Do we expect them to have a sophisticated understanding of, say, heavy metal poisoning, or prescription drug abuse? Even with modern resources? Sansa, who cannot head off to wikipedia and start researching for herself, is in a situation where she doesn’t know what she doesn’t know.

Sansa does not have wikipedia and therefore cannot double check on what a doctor is telling her about a drug is still one of the funniest things I have read on here about the character 🤣, right up there with Sansa being the 'embodiment of hope for the future' and 'flames coming off the side of the face' for a bnf when a blogger called out Sansa for bullying and mocking Arya's appearance.

Again, keep in mind that Maester Coleman is Westeros' version of a physician, a doctor who treats the sick. This doctor is telling Sansa all this in the text:

Give his lordship a cup of sweetmilk,” she told the maester. “That will stop him from shaking on the journey down.”

“He had a cup not three days past,” Colemon objected.

“And wanted another last night, which you refused him.”

“It was too soon. My lady, you do not understand. As I’ve told the Lord Protector, a pinch of sweetsleep will prevent the shaking, but it does not leave the flesh, and in time …”

I try, my lady, yet his fits grow ever more violent, and his blood is so thin I dare not leech him any more. Sweetsleep… you are certain he was not bleeding from the nose? I must speak to the Lord Protector. This feast… is that wise, I wonder, after the strain of the descent? Lord Robert mislikes strangers, you know that, and there will be drinking, noise… music. Music frightens him”

“This descent… my lady, it might be safest if I mixed his lordship some milk of the poppy.

And then when he gives her a final warning, she threatens him with Littlefinger because 'father and I have larger concerns' than SR's health and well being.

Very well.” They paused at the foot of the stairs. “But this must be the last. For half a year, or longer.”

“You had best take that up with the Lord Protector.” Maester Colemon cares only for the boy, though. Father and I have larger concerns” - Alayne, AFfC

This is what happens when fans self-insert and project onto a character and rely on fan made headcanons instead of actually interacting with the canonical text. They want her to be flawless, therefore she's a naive, innocent little baby. The same consideration is never afforded to the other children, even Arya who is two years younger to Sansa. And yet if one looks at their character endgames, Arya is always an assistant to Sansa, there to give her the information while clever Sansa puts together and uses the information to rule.

They want Ned Stark and Maester Coleman to explain stuff to Sansa like this for her to understand what they are telling her:

And yet she is also the smartest, most cleverest character in the series - smarter than Jon, Dany, Arya, Bran, Tyrion, LF etc.

One of the reasons for why we get so many of these bnfs thinking that 'Sansa Smart' will be queen/lady of WF and at the same time arguing that Sansa is naive/innocent/a little child is because they see her as this flawless symbol of kindness and compassion.

I already wrote about this here that in fandoms like asoiaf, virtues like compassion and kindness is seen through the lens of white, western liberalism and traditional femininity. I wrote that long ago and now with the rise of tradwives, it's even more relevant to this discussion.

It has always baffled me that the character trait most often highlighted in fandom for classist and sexist Sansa is kindness and compassion simply because fandom thinks that being polite and having good manners = being kind and compassionate.

This results in posts like this where they argue that Sansa is actually being kind to Jon Snow by treating him like a bastard when the author through Jon Snow is actually being critical of the character!!

Remember this is the quote from the books!

He missed his true brothers: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet; Robb, his rival and best friend and constant companion; Bran, stubborn and curious, always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but “my half brother” since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant. And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. - Jon, AGoT

We also have a bnf chiming in and agreeing that yes, Sansa was indeed being considerate of Jon's feelings here!

Even Jaime Lannister has had moments of kindness, where he tries to help Pia. And yet the only character in the series on whom these character traits are constantly pushed onto is Sansa Stark.

Sansa can actually be an interesting character if her fans let her be one. She's not a little child who does not understand what Ned and Maester Coleman tell her. She does understand and chooses to ignore it for her own selfish reasons - marrying Joffrey, whom she loved, and becoming queen or wanting LF's plans in the Vale to succeed. That's why she feels 'as wicked as Arya' when she goes and tattles all of Ned's plans to Cersei. That's why she thinks that while the Maester cared for the boy, she and LF had larger (more important) concerns.

Sansa is interesting in the way she deflects and refuses to acknowledge the unpleasant truths before her and lives in this alternate reality where everything is fine. She ignores Joff's sadism because it clashes with her idea of noble, beautiful princes. She ignores what is being done to poor SweetRobin because she thinks it is essential to her own survival that LF's plans succeed.

The reason her stans refuse to dig deeper into the character other than extremes of naive, innocent child and smartest character ever is because Sansa would then be as flawed as Jon, Arya, Dany, Bran etc. and they don't want that for her. They want her to be special in some way and this is it.

Arya killed the guard to survive - and she's portrayed as too damaged to ever live happily with her family. Jon and Dany face hard choices of doing the pragmatic or the morally right thing and are often called out on those choices, especially Dany. Pretty much most of our protagonists engage in morally grey actions.

And yet Sansa fans insist on her being this flawless character- it's everyone else' fault except hers. It's Ned's fault, it's Coleman's fault - they didn't explain properly. It's Arya's fault for trying to help Mycah, Arya should have tried to build a relationship with Sansa. Suddenly it's Sansa who is the outcast in Winterfell and Arya the favorite. Suddenly Sansa is Ned like and Arya 'bites people like Catelyn'.

This leads to her being interpreted as this idiot who cannot understand when a doctor is telling her a drug is dangerous. Which then clashes with their essays about 'Sansa Smart' and how she is going to be the best queen ever and change the system and bring about women's rights and all that.

It's the same with this 'pawn to player' stuff they write for the character. They expect her to be this smart player of the game and at the same time remain this good, idealistic, 'kind and compassionate' leader... How?! LF and Varys did not get to where they are by being good people. Sansa has to get her hands dirty, be ruthless and often times not be concerned about the well being of others - just as she does with poor SweetRobin. And yet her fans think she will become LF level of game player and do it while being kind.

Especially baffling because GRRM is deconstructing all these tropes of good knights and kind ladies. Brienne of Tarth is the embodiment of the perfect knight and yet she is not what one would expect a knight to be. This was part of Sansa's arc of growth - where she sees and experiences up close the brutality and lack of morals of these knights in KL.

The Northerners are loyal to Ned Stark, not because he was some beacon of kindness and compassion or because he had good manners and said please and thank you but because he ruled according to the laws of the land and enforced those laws in a just manner and was therefore an honorable Lord. He beheaded those who committed crimes, he put down rebellions, he took child hostages and he also kept the peace of the land.

And Ned Stark was as flawed as all the other characters. So this insistence that Sansa has to remain this caricature of 'kindness and compassion' - even if it's canonically untrue considering bigotry is not kind - is bizarre and one of the main reasons for why we have Schrodinger's Sansa. I can't wait to see all the excuses and justifications bnfs will come up with if we get TWoW and Sansa is doing all sorts of morally grey shite and going along with LF's plans.

[kinesthetic-aesthetics]

chapter 1.1

Stevie slid her hand down the center of her stomach and flicked off a river of sweat. She could feel her pulse beneath her hand — a fast, almost violent pace. Yet it’s tempo and strength did not concern her. Heatwaves rose off the red track and green turf. The dry morning air flooded her lungs. And under this summer sun, Stevie was clocking in consistent 16 second timed strides. Her heart should be pounding. Her aorta should be sending fresh blood down to her now dimly aching legs.

Stevie walked across the end line of the field. She focused on slowly breathing out, her right hand now resting on the center of her stomach. When she reached the corner of the field, she pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. She looked down the sideline. How many of these had she run again? Was it six, or eight? She hoped it was eight. She was quickly becoming fatigued. She still had her hurdle walkover’s and calisthenics.

As she stepped up to the white end line and crouched down, she reminded herself that she always struggled with resilience during the first cycle of summer track practice. It was difficult for her to break through the inertia that settled about her during her rest month. But she had to keep pushing away the veil. So she breathed out, then sprang forward down the line.

“Nice and easy,” called August as Stevie strode past him, her gate open and loose.

August, Stevie’s track coach, was setting up hurdles at the end of the straight. He usually completed her summer workouts with her, but today he was recovering from a vicious three day fever he’d caught on his family trip to Portugal.

At the steady sound of his voice, Stevie leaned slightly forward and tried to relax her brow and jaw. She opened her hands and remembered to dorsiflex so that she landed squarely on the ball of her foot. As she neared the center line of the field, her breath started catching in her chest. Her legs grew heavy. She felt her center of gravity falling.

But the summer heat of the high plains is always forgiving to the athlete that pushes towards a current or distant limit. For within her environment of sustained light and heat, her muscles shortened and lengthened with ease, her lungs relaxed as they expand and contracted within the clean air, her blood rhythmically swelling and surging.

High up in this endless blue, grace is always accessible. Even as her body faltered, grace was always accessible.

As she reached the end line, August approached her, watch in hand.

“You are getting faster each stride. I know it’s less awkward for you at a quicker pace, but — "

“But I was supposed to have two more and now I can’t because I went too fast,” cut in Stevie.

“No, you can do them” said August, unfazed by Stevie’s interruption. “It won’t make any difference. You just don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Stevie ran her hand through her short hair and looked over at the red, metal hurdles that waited for her in a neat line.

“You are not supposed to have a lot of rest between reps though,” said August with a grin. When he smiled at her like that, Stevie couldn’t help imagining him when he was her age, always playful between his own moments of earnest and demanding athletic pursuits.

Stevie walked back to her bag and sat down on the turf. She took out her Gatorade and took a long drink, the liquid now lukewarm but just as refreshing in her dry mouth. She then slid on her shoes — she ran most of the initial running workouts on the turf barefoot to strengthen them and prevent future injuries — and laced them up. With a sigh out she pushed herself upwards, then walked over to meet August at the hurdles.

But before she stepped onto the red track, someone called out her name from across the field.

That someone was Ella, Stevie’s best friend. Ella usually yelled hello at Stevie and August as she left swim practice at the school’s natatorium. But today, she stood and waited behind the chain link fence. And today, she wasn’t alone.

Stevie looked at August who nodded back. He didn’t seem to be in a rush today. She held up five fingers at him, then jogged across the turf towards Ella and unfamiliar companion.

“Hi. Just wanted to you to meet my new teammate, Blake. She just moved here,” said Ella with a smile.

Stevie reached out her hand over the fence to shake Blake’s hand. She quickly studied her figure — wide shoulder’s like Ella, a narrow waist like Ella, steady and warm hands like Ella — then met her soft yet astute gaze.

“I was telling her she should come with us our diner after practice next week,” said Ella, fearful of a possible awkward silence. “Speaking of food, mom says you should come over for pizza night. Your dad’s invited too, of course,” she continued before Stevie could cut in with a “so how are you liking Fieldridge so far?” to Blake.

As Ella spoke, a small smile spread across Blake’s thin, chlorine-dried lips. She brushed back her wet hair with her hand, then shifted her blue duffle bag so that it stopped digging into her shoulder. She still wore her school practice suit underneath her oversized sweats. The bright aqua blue contrasted against her sun-devoured skin. Stevie wondered if, like Ella, she swam laps outside most days.

“It was nice meeting you,” said Stevie to Blake. She was suddenly aware of how little clothing she had on, and how sweaty she was between her breasts and face. Her hot body emanated the ripe, sweet scent of her odor that then got trapped in her spandex and sport’s bra. “I’m sure I’ll see you around soon,” she continued, mirroring Blake’s small, curious smile. She then turned to face Ella, and as she began to walk backward said, “yeah I’ll come for dinner. I don’t know about dad, but I’ll head over after practice.”