#+ its not the SAME JOKE OVER AND OVER AGAIN

[caitified]

Hihi really love your fics. Its my first ask haha. Was maybe thinking if you could do a fic of CC and a teammate, teammate can be either a rookie/vet but is kinda cold to CC (really just kinda awkward with new people). When CC gets shoved roughly on court, reader gets all up in the opps face and protects CC and their relationship deepens from there?

Thank you!

rookie season

caitlin clark x reader

warnings:none, i got carried away so you’re getting their entire backstory sorry 🙊

the first time you and caitlin clark really crossed paths was in the championship game during your senior year at lsu. she was the face of iowa basketball, and you could tell from the moment you saw her on the court that she had something special. she was confident, fierce, and competitive—just like you. but in the end, your team pulled ahead, winning the title in front of a packed crowd.

as the final buzzer sounded, you couldn’t help but catch her eye. there was a mutual respect, but there was also that playful rivalry. on the court, you were opponents, but off it, you could tell you had a little bit of a thing for each other. you knew that fire in her eyes. it mirrored your own.

after the game, you shot her a quick text. “close, but not close enough. see you soon clark,” you wrote, the taunting light in your words meant to sting just a little. but it was all in good fun.

caitlin stared at the message for a long time, a frown tugging at her lips. she was already upset about the loss, but this—this was a challenge, and she couldn’t ignore it. she hated losing, but she hated being underestimated more. her fingers hovered over the screen for a few seconds before typing out a response. “i’ll get you next time. count on it.”

the rivalry continued through the years, even as you went your separate ways. after graduation, you entered the wnba, getting drafted to the indiana fever, and had an incredible rookie season. caitlin, meanwhile, went on to dominate her final year at iowa. but despite her skill and talent, she couldn’t overcome south carolina in the national championship. when she lost, you couldn’t resist—sending her a cheeky text. “looks like you came up short again. better luck next time.”

you expected her to get a laugh out of it. it was playful, just like before. but caitlin’s reaction wasn’t what you expected. she stared at the message, hurt more than she’d care to admit. the loss had stung, and your words felt like salt in the wound. still, she didn’t reply. she couldn’t. not yet.

then came the 2024 wnba draft. when caitlin’s name was called and the indiana fever picked her, now you were on the same team. and things only got more awkward from there.

every time caitlin interacted with other players, like katie lou or aliyah, she noticed something. you were always friendly, always smiling, always making an effort to bond with them. it was easy. natural. but with her, it was different. you barely spoke to her beyond the bare minimum, and every time she tried to start a conversation, you gave short, one-word responses. it confused her.

“why doesn’t she like me?” caitlin thought, watching you laugh with katie lou as the team played cards in the lounge after practice. “i don’t get it.”

every time you teased or joked around with your other teammates, caitlin felt the sting of your coldness. it was like she was invisible to you, even though you were teammates now. it made her question herself. was it because she lost that championship? because of how things had gone down in college? did you still think of her as just an opponent? the thought ate at her.

then came the game against one of the toughest teams in the league. caitlin had been getting pushed around, more than once, and the tension on the court was palpable. you could see her jaw clench, her shoulders stiffen. when the opposing player—a notoriously aggressive forward—got in caitlin’s face, pushing her and swearing, caitlin didn’t back down. but it was obvious she was starting to lose control.

you didn’t even think about it. you just reacted. before anyone could stop you, you were between them, your body protecting hers. you stood tall, staring the other player down, your voice cold but firm. “you don’t get to do that to her,” you said, the words leaving no room for argument.

caitlin stood behind you, a mixture of shock and gratitude on her face. she didn’t expect you to step in. she’d always been the one to fight her battles, but something in the way you had defended her made her heart race. it was different. personal. and for the first time, she realized just how much she needed that support from you.

after the game, when everything had calmed down, caitlin found herself alone in the locker room, her thoughts swirling. she hadn’t expected you to protect her like that. it made her feel something deep, something she couldn’t put into words. and she wanted to know more. wanted to understand why you acted the way you did around her, why you kept your distance.

you were sitting by your locker, wiping down your sneakers when she walked up to you. the silence between you two was thick.

“why didn’t you say anything before?” caitlin asked, her voice soft but edged with curiosity. “you’ve been so… cold with me. i don’t get it. i mean, you’re nice to everyone else, but with me… you act like i’m invisible. i just wanted to know why.”

you looked up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time with something softer in your gaze. the rivalry between you two wasn’t there anymore. not really. “i didn’t know how to be around you,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended. “in college, you were the one i had to beat. and then you got drafted here, and… it felt weird. like i didn’t know how to treat you.”

caitlin blinked, processing your words. “you didn’t know how to treat me?” she repeated, her voice catching slightly. she had hoped for something else, but hearing you say it made her understand. maybe she had been too focused on trying to prove herself to you. “so, you’re not… mad at me?” she asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

“no,” you said with a small smile. “not mad. just… confused. i didn’t know if we could be something else after everything. i guess i wasn’t ready to let go of the rivalry.”

caitlin let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, her shoulders relaxing. she smiled, a genuine one this time. “maybe it’s time we let it go.”

from that moment on, things changed. you and caitlin started to talk more, really talk. you found common ground, sharing laughs, teasing each other, and slowly, the barriers you had built up started to crumble. the more you got to know her, the more you realized there was more to her than the fiery competitor you once knew. and maybe there was a lot more between you two than you had ever expected.

not me lying and saying i was gonna post a few days ago. i’m so sorry i’ve been so busy. enjoy. REQUESTS R OPEN

part two? let me know

[koiiiji]

it's occasionally, cupcake

author's note ; awfully mediocre trope and ooc, and kinda lovesick Jason Todd. but we all like it sometimes right? 🥹

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

the city was wrapped in its usual blanket of gloom, a frozen, gray morning where every breath turned to mist. Gotham’s skyline disappeared into the low-hanging clouds, and the streets glistened with a thin layer of frost. it was the kind of morning that made leaving the warmth of your bed feel like a cruel punishment.

Jason was no stranger to mornings like this. Gotham’s chill had a way of seeping into your bones, a constant reminder of how harsh and cold this city was. as he pulled the door to his apartment shut, he heard the faint click of your door across the hall. turning, he saw you locking up, your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, shielding your face from the bitter air. you offered him a small smile, one he returned with a nod.

“morning,” you said, your breath visible in the cold air.

“morning,” he replied, his voice a little rough from sleep. the two of you stepped into the hallway together, your footsteps echoing faintly on the tiles. Jason’s heart thudded just a little too fast — a reaction he’d never admit to anyone.

the elevator dinged as it arrived, and the two of you stepped inside. it was a small, creaky box that always seemed like it might give out at any moment. the silence between you was comfortable, but Jason couldn’t stop glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. you were scrolling through your phone, seemingly oblivious to his presence, but he was hyper-aware of yours.

“cold out there,” he said, breaking the silence.

you looked up and smiled again. “yeah. makes me wish i could call in sick.”

he grunted nervously. “Gotham doesn’t really do snow days, huh?”

the elevator doors slid open, and you stepped out. “have a good day, Jason” you said over your shoulder,smiling softly at him, as you headed toward the lobby doors.

“you too,” Jason called after you, watching as you disappeared into the gray morning. the warmth you left behind lingered, and he stood there for a moment longer, awkwardly scratching the back of his head and covering his face with his palms, emitting an exhausted moan, before heading right into the cold of the Gotham streets for his own day.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

Jason’s mind wandered as he patrolled the city later that night. he couldn’t help but think about how you occupied his thoughts more and more. he remembered the first time he saw you move into the same building he lived in. your arms were full of boxes, and you were clearly struggling. honestly, he wasn't happy about new neighbors back then, and had offered to help just because he passing by and didn't want to seem rude. and he remembered the way you’d smiled at him — bright and genuine — had stuck with him ever since. over time, you’d settled into a quiet rhythm as neighbors, and Jason can't be more happy about quite neighbor! the last thing he needed is a loud next door neighbor who wouldn't let him sleep after rough night.

he remembered how sometimes, when the elevator in your shitty building was broken, he’d help you carry your groceries up the stairs without a word of complaint. he didn't want to be rude. right? no silly crushes. but each small interaction chipped away at the walls he’d built around himself, and though he’d never admit it, he started looking forward to those moments.

it wasn’t long before he gave up and realized he had a crush. well… Roy wouldnt stop making joking and taunting him. he hated the word crush actually — it sounded too juvenile. what the actual fuck 'crush' even means?

but he couldn’t deny the way his heart raced when you were near, or how he caught himself hoping for an excuse to talk more with you. yet, every time he thought about asking you out — even just for coffee — his courage failed him. what could someone like you see in someone like him? who he even was in everyday life? who he was aside the Red Hood? so, he settled for proximity, for stolen glances and brief conversations in the hallway.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

the sound of gunfire snapped him back to reality. Jason’s jaw clenched as he pushed himself harder, his boots pounding against the icy roof surface. he and Roy had been tracking a gang member that had dare to managed to steal some of Jason’s weapons and percentage from the latest deal with a gang. it was more personal now, and Jason wasn’t going to let him get away.

he rounded a corner and went down into the alley just in time to see the thug veer off, darting toward the residential district.

Jason followed, but his adrenaline spiking when he saw you. you were crossing the street, bundled up against the cold, completely unaware of the chaos barreling toward you. before Jason could warn you, the thug slammed into you, knocking you and him to the ground. the thug quickly came to his senses and cursing under his breath, crawled up to you, pressing your back against his chest and pressing a knife to your throat.

“stay back!” the man shouted, his eyes wild as he tightly held your both hands behind you and pressed knife harder.

Jason froze, his chest tightening. the sight of the blade so close to your skin made his blood boil, but he forced himself to stay calm. he raised his hands slowly, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

“let her go,” Red Hood said, his tone low and dangerous.

the thug laughed nervously. “stay back, or i —”

he didn’t get to finish. with one sharp movement, Red Hood pulled a pistol from behind his back and a bullet whistled right by your ear. blood splattered on your face with a thin red drops and the man fell dead behind you. you froze, not daring to move, the shock of having a knife held to your throat a second ago still raging in your blood.

“you okay?” Jason asked, his voice muffled by the helmet as he glanced back at you. you were sitting on the ground, wide-eyed but unharmed.

“y-yeah,” you stammered, your breath hitching as you tried to process what had just happened and who actually stood in front of you.

Red Hood glanced down on you, offering a gloved hand to help you up.

you took his hand, your fingers trembling slightly. “thank you… Red Hood, right?”

“that’s me,” he said, smirking under the helmet. “c’mon. let’s get you home,” trying to sound nonchalant, Jason let go of your hand.

the walk to your apartment was quiet, save for your occasional sniffles as the cold air stung your face. you still were processing what just happened and who accompany you on your way home.

Jason, in his turn, tried to keep his composure, but under the helmet, his face was burning. his heart pounded as he stole glances at you, praying you couldn’t hear how nervous he was.

when you reached your building, you turned to him, offering a nervous small smile despite the night’s events. “thank you… again. i-i don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

Jason shrugged, trying to play it cool. “just doing my job.”

you hesitated, then added, unsure and ready to be shooted in same second “isn't you… a criminal…too?.. or s-something.”

Jason’s heart stuttered, but he forced a confident chuckle and said. “it's occasionally, cupcake”

with that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, the cool night air doing little to soothe the heat on his face. under the helmet, Jason was grinning like a fool.

[wassupmygays]

im always thinking about sodapop "he feels everything so much" curtis

listening to jason schmidt talk about how soda feels is just. so perfect to me.

"i used to tell ponyboy about sandy in la jolla, but the lines got cut on broadway and i think that makes so much sense, because i dont think he *knows* how to talk about it. if he tries to talk about, he just loses it, so he has to try and deflect and move on to something else to talk about"

thats a bit paraphrased from this interview and i just think about it all the time. and you can see that character work on jason's face in that scene. when pony asks about sandy, you see soda's face drop. and you see him process and think about what hes gonna say next. you see him decide that its not worth it to try and talk about right now, its not worth it to start crying over something thats already done and gone. its not worth it to start bawling in front of his brother that he needs to stay strong for. so, he just tells ponyboy that he's tired, because he is, and he tries to go to bed so he doesnt have to think about it anymore.

and then the same thing happens when they talk about their parents. the train whistle sounds and each brother reacts to it like it sends ice through their bodies. soda tucks his head into his pillow, like hes trying to hide away. he listens to pony talk about his dream, he listens to pony try and process his own emotions about this. part of me wonders if soda wishes he could talk about it like pony does. he watches him sooo sadly. and then when pony asks about his own dreams, soda opts to make a little joke, to lighten the mood. to divert the atmosphere away from all the despair they've been feeling. because, again, if he really truly talked about any dreams of his parents he might have? he'd cry for days. the emotions would come out of him like a wave he couldnt ever stop

and (in the boot's ive seen) jason plays this so well. its such subtle character work but it adds so much to everything he does as soda.

[venomwrites]

Despite the fluff this is a ficlet written purely because I 100% believe Vi would leave lipstick prints on Caitlyn before Caitlyn would leave them on Vi. Also on Ao3

“Violet.”

Vi is caught off guard enough at the sight of Tobias standing in the doorframe. The two of them have a fragile sort of truce going. One she’s happy to keep going. It’s centered around Caitlyn, who needs them both. Usually when he comes to get her, it’s for something Caitlyn needs. Tobias looks at her with that tight, sad expression he always makes. Vi is stunned he doesn’t ask her about her intentions with Caitlyn. But she guesses it’s pretty clear what those are since she’s here. She’s given up the expectation he’s going to tell her to get out again. It’s become clear that he actually didn’t have the right to do anything more than question her presence. The house isn’t his. It’s Caitlyn’s. But he doesn’t ask anymore, he just nods when she helps Caitlyn in a way he can’t and she does the same when the tables are turned. But now it’s just the two of them staring at each other. 

“There’s talk of rationing electricity,” he says, “we need to preserve the candles.”

Heat creeps up her neck but she refuses to give into it. She opens her mouth to point out the rations definitely wouldn’t apply to the Kirammans. And besides she’s been rationing candles for seven years. She knows how to get soot from her eyes and not ruin them. When they start rationing matches they can talk. Tobias’s throat works and then he shoves a bag at her. 

“Cassandra always kept a supply. Caitlyn needs something more specialized now,” when she doesn’t move he puts it in her fingers, “goodnight.”

Then he vanishes as quickly as he came leaving Vi standing there with a bag, a blush and not much of an idea of what to do with either. Behind her there’s a shift of weight as Caitlyn tries to see what’s happening. She’s condemned to the right side of the bed where the IV hook was already set up from Vi’s own time there. But that puts most of the room out of her field of vision unless she turns her head. It’s uncomfortable on the best days right now so Vi tries to do everything in her field of vision. She walks over to where Caitlyn is laying and watches something flicker in her visible eye at the sight of the bag. 

“Your dad—“ Vi says holding it up, “said it was your moms.”

Caitlyn offers an almost mischievous curve of her lips and Vi looks down to see the bag is full of that fancy tissue paper stores up here use. Caitlyn taps the side of the bed and Vi walks over. Of all the injuries, the jaw might be the worst for Caitlyn. Vi looks over at the pad as she scribbles what the wires won’t allow her to say. 

Sorry. Didn’t think you’d take it otherwise. 

Vi shakes her head at the apology. Only Caitlyn would feel the need to apologize for something like this. She nods and Vi moves away the paper. Inside are a ton of small boxes. She’s quickly learning nothing in Piltover just comes in its natural state. Especially not stuff you buy. Caitlyn is looking hopeful so Vi tries to smile and tips one of the boxes into her hand. She has a feeling she knows what it is. The candle scolding was kind of a give-away. She braces the black box against her casted arm and slips her thumb under the top flap. There’s a sticker on the bottom of a pinkish red that makes Vi’s heart skip even though it shouldn’t. The world ended. This seems so irrelevant. But her fingers in the cast itch as she tips the container over and the silvery tube spills out. It’s heavy with a band of gold denoting the seam. When she pushes with her thumb, it slides up to reveal a bullet of color. 

One of us needs two eyes.

Vi laughs. The sound strange after all the grief in this room. But it’s the first joke she’s seen on the pages and when she looks back, Caitlyn actually looks pleased. She nudges the bag closer and even though Vi wants to say one is enough. That she doesn’t even need one, she doesn’t want to do anything to take away the pleased look on Caitlyn’s face. Caitlyn motions for the bag and extracts a black case that expands like magic. There are hooks for a mirror, but someone has thought to tuck it away. She opens box after box until the bag is full of them and the case is full of tubes and compacts. Vi wonders if there are any cosmetics left in Piltover, but she’s learned there is always more up here. These are hers. It’s a dizzying array of colors, ones that exist in paintings. Not ones you cobble together out of whatever pigments you can find. The feeling in her chest is strange as she looks at them. Not bad, but not one she’s used to. 

“Thanks, Cupcake,” she says touching the tubes. She goes to close the case but Caitlyn stops her. Strokes her thumb across Vi’s knuckle and looks at the case, “later,” Vi promises. 

Caitlyn gives her a look that needs no words and with more strength than Vi thought she had, she tugs the case towards her hip. Vi watches as she flips it open. Her fingers move towards the mirror and Vi darts forward. They’e not there yet. Caitlyn’s not there yet. But she’ll put herself through it to help Vi. And Vi can’t stand the thought. She tries for something confident as she looks back at the endless array of tubes. 

“Come on, Cupcake, you think we had mirrors in Stillwater?” She says, “I could do this blindfolded.”

Caitlyn gives her a half exasperated look as Vi looks between a forgiving nude and a deep berry. Opting for the latter she thumbs the tube open and glides the color along her lips. She’s known she could do it blindfolded, but there’s still something satisfying about running her thumb under her lip and it coming away clean.

“What do you think?” She asks. 

Beautiful.

The word stings but Vi lets it. The lipstick feels nice against her lips. Better than anything she’s come up with. Definitely better than the greasepaint she was using in the pits. Her lips feel softer than they have in a long time. It’s strange to think that in the life ahead of her, they can be soft and colored whenever she wants. Without her having to barter or decide what she’s willing to sacrifice for a bit of comfort and autonomy. It’s just there. She doesn’t know how to voice that in a way that doesn’t make her sound insane. Or, worse, would make Caitlyn try to push herself to help Vi feel better. It’s a good feeling. Jus not one she’s used to. But Caitlyn is Caitlyn, so Vi is only mildly surprised when a tissue is handed to her and the notepad comes into view. 

Another?

“Oh I see,” Vi says, “you just want a preview for when we’re both better.”

Caitlyn flashes the thumbs down that means no but Vi ignores the insidious voice that says she’s being honest. Vi waves her away and Caitlyn frowns. Vi gets it, she has no idea how any of this will work when they’re more whole. It should be the last thing either of them are thinking about. But she wants to figure that out with Caitlyn. She wants to figure out a lot of things with her. Maybe it’s not fair to put that on her, on their bond, but in her worst moments when she can’t hug Caitlyn it’s the only bright spot that keeps her going. Caitlyn still looks a bit perturbed but it’s in that fond way she seems to reserve for Vi. So Vi finds the darkest color she can and draws it across her lips. Caitlyn swallows but her eye focuses only on the dark bruise of Vi’s lips. 

“Too oil slick?” Vi offers. 

It takes Caitlyn a moment to respond.

Thumbs down. 

No.

Caitlyn taps on the paper. 

Beautiful.

“You can’t say that with every one,” Vi says, “then you’re just being—“

Hot

Vi swallows the word nice as Caitlyn holds the pad up. She’s not as pale as she was, but the flush of color on her cheekbones still makes something warm start in Vi’s belly. Fortunately the smart little case has several pockets in the lid. Vi takes the tube and tucks it into one of them. By the end of the night it’s joined by a nude rose color and a berry tone. Caitlyn falls asleep with a faint smile on her lips as Vi looks down at the case in her hands. It’s hard to wrap her head around it. There’s a dark part of her that points out the frivolousness of the products. How the money could be better spent elsewhere. How no lipstick was going to remove the cast from her arm or bring back anything she had lost. But the rest of her feels something much closer to happiness. Something like when she woke up wrapped in Caitlyn’s embrace before they both fell apart. When she kissed her and Caitlyn kissed back. This was orchestrated by her, but there’s something profoundly selfish in the tubes laid out in front of her. 

They are just for her. 

Even though it’s late, Vi finds herself rifling through for one of the longer sticks. She eases the cap off and drags it across her eyes. She uses the edge of a finger to find the places she wants the pigment to go and then drags it along her waterline. That part is always the easiest. She figured it out first, taught by another prisoner who showed her how to make sure things were clean enough. The pigments now glide smoothly along her flesh, so smoothly she nearly jams the point into the side of her nose. She drags the line across the other with more care. The usual stinging is lessened by the quality of what she’s been given. But it makes her feel better when she presses her eyes shut and feels the slight tack as the lines come together. 

Before she can overthink, her fingers flip open one of the compacts. 

It’s an odd thing to be excited by your own face. To be excited you recognize your own face. She feels impossibly different, but she knows the features that look back at her. More importantly she sees the choice on her face. She’s chosen what to put on her eyes. What color to make her lips. That was the advice of the other prisoner who showed her the matches. The world would take most of your choices, but if you could choose what you put on your face it was a good day. This feels like the start of one. Somehow it feels easier to crawl up to the pillows and lay down next to Caitlyn. There’s a pillow between them to help Caitlyn sleep straight, but her hand usually drapes on it. An invitation Vi hasn’t known how to respond to. This time she picks up Caitlyn’s hand and brings it to her lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

When she wakes, Caitlyn is smiling at the back of her hand in a way that sends a warm feeling though Vi’s core. She keeps her breathing even and closes her eyes as Caitlyn very carefully puts her hand back on top of hers. When she truly wakes up, it’s time for bandages changes, liquified breakfasts and all the things that keep them going. Well, mostly keep Caitlyn going. After the latest bandage change Caitlyn goes distant, like usual. But unlike usual, Vi has an idea of how to reach her. She fiddles with the darker tube before swiping it across her lips, picking up Caitlyn’s hand and pressing them to it. It shocks Caitlyn out of her stupor as Vi considers the lip print. Caitlyn stares at her, eyes wide. Vi rifles though the case and picks a different tube. She paints her lips and then presses them to the base of Caitlyn’s thumb. Caitlyn swallows tightly as their gazes lock. Vi nods towards the notepad and Caitlyn gives the barest shake of her head. So Vi picks up another tube and this time kisses her fingertips, brushing something pink and sweet to them. 

By the time she’s done she has no idea what color her lips might be, but Caitlyn’s hand is covered in color. Everything except red. She can guess there’s enough red in Caitlyn’s head when she looks at her hand. So Vi kisses every other color there instead. When she lets Caitlyn’s hand go, Caitlyn brings it against her chest and cradles it close. There’s no scribbled note, but there doesn’t need to be. The soft look on Caitlyn’s face tells Vi everything she needs. And for the first time in a while, Vi feels like she can hear it. 

So she keeps it up. 

Sometimes just the one. 

Sometimes the whole rainbow. 

But there is always a print somewhere on Caitlyn’s hand. It seems to make things better in a way Vi can’t quite explain. But it’s working, so she doesn’t care about anything else. Even though it’s the longest few weeks, it’s still hard to wrap her head around helping Caitlyn into a paper bonnet so her jaw can be freed. They can’t jostle anything else so they want her to be out. She looks at Vi who smiles encouragingly and presses a kiss to her knuckles. Caitlyn pulls her hand to her chest and nods, relaxing as they take her away. Vi sits with her after. Her face is still puffy, but when she shifts her head and her lips part, Vi can see her tongue move. 

“Hey,” she whispers, coaxing Caitlyn back into the waking world. Caitlyn looks at her hazily and smiles.

“Beautiful,” she whispers, sleepily raising her hand to inspect her clean skin. A soft thing she would hate to call a pout comes across her lips, “Vi?”

She has to be gentle as fuck, but Vi leans over and finally gets to brush their lips together. Caitlyn inhales softly into the kiss, her hand steadying Vi’s cheek. When she pulls back, she touches her fingertips to her lip and smiles at the pigment that clings to them. 

“I was hoping you’d do that,” she murmurs but still holds up her knuckles. 

Vi is only too happy to press a kiss there as well.

[theflyingfeeling]

conversations

~

just a plotless little Olli/Allu something I wanted to get out of my head because it's been keeping me up for several nights now. similar in style to this weird little fic, but not necessarily in the same universe (unless you want it to be)

~

i.

[by the fire]

The crack of the wood burning in front of them. The remains of a friends’ get-together, empty cans and half-finished bowls of crisps on the coffee table. A guitar resting in the corner because Tommi told them to call it a day already. Olli’s quiet breathing and his unreadable eyes, fixed on the fire, reflecting its warmth (or perhaps it was the other way around). 

“Do you ever…” Olli shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“No, tell me.” 

Olli’s eyes close and open again, his lips part and close, the fire swallowing whatever he’s going to say, it seems. Aleksi wants to grab the poker and prod it down to mere embers.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if things were… different.”

Aleksi dares not to guess what it and things were.

(He fears he’s wrong, and what might happen if he isn’t.)

“You know, if you had made different decisions. Or if you had… met someone at a different time.” 

Olli’s voice is hardly louder than the wintery silence around them, but Aleksi clings on to every word. 

Drowns in them. 

(Wishes they’d mean what he needs them to mean.) 

Dark eyelashes rest on rosy cheeks. A hand moves closer to Aleksi’s on the downy rug. Almost rests over it, hesitates, then does it anyway. 

Aleksi’s walls cave in and it’s hard to breathe when wet eyes find his own. 

“Do you know what I’m trying to tell you at all?”

Can I say no but still expect you to see through my lies? That’s all you seem to do these days.

Can I say yes and still have you hold my hand in yours like this? I might crumble if you let go.

“Maybe.” 

They hold hands as the fire burns out. They hold hands and the silence mocks their cowardice. They hold hands and Olli’s t-shirt is soft against Aleksi’s cheek, his chin quivering on top of Aleksi’s head. 

(From the cold that has fallen into the room, Aleksi decides.)

ii. 

[in the tourbus] 

A drummer snoring in the bottom bunk. Someone tossing and turning and grunting in their sheets. A thick curtain staring back at Aleksi on the other side of the narrow aisle. 

His phone buzzing. 

I miss you.

Aleksi glances at the curtain. It’s motionless, expectant. 

I’m right here?

There’s a barely audible sigh.

No, you’re not. Been absent all day and I miss you. 

Aleksi could beg to differ, but he’d have nothing to defend himself with (knowing Olli is right). He could agree, but what if Olli asked him why (knowing he can’t tell him why)? 

A compromise, Aleksi later convinces himself, to choke off the sound of his guilt and shame screaming slander at him for not knowing better. 

Aleksi does know better, but acts against such wisdom nevertheless. 

Come over here then.

A quiet whoosh of a curtain being pulled aside, then another, then something warm and soft crawls to him in the dark and wraps around him. 

A comforting scent steals all the air from Aleksi’s lungs (how could he smell so good even when living off truckstop showers?). 

A nose roaming over Aleksi’s neck brings pathetic whimpers to Aleksi’s mouth (does he not remember where they are?). 

Fidgeting fingers at the hem of Aleksi’s shirt make him tremble until they settle on his waist (and melt into the skin there like butter even though they’re ice cold there are shivers running along Aleksi’s spine). 

Lips tracing unspoken words on Aleksi’s skin where his collar bones meet (the shivers pass). 

Want you, Aleksi reads from the lips (in comes the ache in his chest). 

You can’t, Aleksi writes on Olli’s hairline, above his temple (his favourite spot). 

But I do, is the soundless response. And you do too. 

(And Aleksi did too.)

iii.

[in the studio]

A forgotten project on a laptop screen. A finished bottle of merlot. A joke that was a little too funny (or not at all funny) for them to forget themselves like that.

A nose to a nose, a pair of lips almost touching another. 

Olli’s eyes are unfocused, drifting between Aleksi’s eyes and mouth. 

“Should we… go back upstairs soon?” 

I shall make my speciality, she had promised them. The twinge of remorse is not enough to move Aleksi from the couch. 

“We should,” he says just in case, so that later he can fool his conscience and say had tried. 

A scented candle flickering by the laptop, yet all Aleksi can smell is Olli’s cologne. All that wine, yet Aleksi is drunk on something else entirely. It’s shameful, and Aleksi does feel ashamed for it, does beat himself up for it, but when Olli is right there on his couch and softening his brain like booze, Aleksi drops all his weapons to fight against it. 

There is no sound judgement in what they’re doing, nor even an ounce of self-preservation by this point. The further they go each time, the closer they come to being caught red-handed, and in a way, maybe that’s what they’re both waiting for. 

For a bandmate to walk in and beat the shit out of them, so that they’d maybe come back to their senses.

For a girlfriend to suspect something, anything, and force the truth out of them, so that they can put an end to it all, either for good or for worse. 

A ping sounding from Aleksi’s phone informing them of dinner is all they get instead. It’s enough to startle them, but not enough to completely lead them away from temptation.

iv.

[in the studio, scene 2]

[[inside him]]

The wall feels cold and harsh against Aleksi’s back, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He can still taste his girlfriend’s praised curry off Olli’s lips, but even that’s not going to stop him from pushing Olli towards the couch. 

Olli below him is nothing like the cold and harsh floor, but instead velvety and radiating such heat that goes right through Aleksi’s bones. The taste of Olli is nothing like the spicy dish they had upstairs, but sweet and soothing, yet it leaves Aleksi hungrier than he was before dinner. 

They don’t talk. They don’t need to, not out loud. Instead, they have an entire conversation without ever making a sound, without speaking a word. 

Do you want this as much as I do? Aleksi’s fingers ask at the waistband of Olli’s trousers. 

Yes, Olli’s hips answer as they lift off the couch so Aleksi can take the trousers off. 

Am I hurting you? Aleksi’s thumb on Olli’s cheek asks. 

No, Olli’s tongue inside Aleksi’s mouth replies. 

Like this? Aleksi’s hardness moving inside Olli asks. 

Yes, like that, Olli’s entire body responds, arching, glowing, trembling.

They still don’t bother breaking the silence that fells in the room afterwards, when they’re all done and spent, lying in their own sweat and cum.

What are we going to do? Aleksi’s eyes ask.

What are we doing to do? Olli’s dark gaze echoes his question. 

Aleksi wishes he knew. 

Aleksi wishes he could find the answer in Olli’s mouth. 

v.

[under a birch tree]

The sky was white and blue and pink, and the last band of the day just got on the stage. Olli’s finger is still bleeding from when he scratched it on something during Balboa. It leaves a stain on Aleksi’s hand when Olli grabs it. Olli is drunk, but somehow his steps are anything but unsteady as he leads them behind the village of blue Bajamaja stalls. Maybe Aleksi is tipsy enough himself to not notice or care. 

“Olli, what–” and then he’s being pressed against a white tree trunk, deprived of his right to speak with his bottom lip in between Olli’s teeth. His teeth sunk in too deep, so that they’re both bleeding now.

Drowsy eyes stare up at him. Olli is drunk, but not in a tipsy way that makes him giggly and stupid, nor in the trashy way that has him scream-singing along to a song he doesn’t know in one moment and throwing up on Tommi’s shoes the next. He’s drunk in a gloomy way instead, one that sometimes had him sob against anyone’s shoulder, for no reason and for all the reasons at the same time. 

“Stay at mine tonight,” Olli begs him, his lips never leaving Aleksi’s, his eyeliner running down his cheeks. ‘Mine’ (‘yours and hers’) is just some five kilometres away, and Aleksi’s hotel purposely on the opposite side of the city. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

As if any of it had ever been. 

“She’s not home.” 

As if that somehow makes it any less wrong (but it does explain the regretful frown that’s been stuck on Olli’s face the whole day). 

“Still.”

“Then I’ll take you here.” 

The foolishness of it would make Aleksi laugh if he was sober enough to think that rationally, and if he didn’t feel as if they were running out of time, and if it wasn’t Olli.

“You can’t.”

The shakiness of his own voice would not have convinced himself either. 

“Aleksi, I want you.” A wet mouth is leaving its tracks all over Aleksi’s neck. 

“We’re in public,” Aleksi almost sobs and hates how the alternative to do it in private will tarnish yet another home. 

“Aleksi, mua panettaa.”

The worst thing is…

…Aleksi knew from the start he was gonna give in.

vi.

[in the studio, scene 3]

[[alone]]

A poorly-working radiator. Bottles of Pepsi that have been keeping him awake (and company) all evening. A pillow and a duvet on the couch in crumpled Moomin sheets, brought down from upstairs. 

Gonna be late ‘til I finish the project. Wouldn’t want to wake you up when I come back, he had explained.

Do as you please, she had said, never once lifting her gaze. Neither would Aleksi, if he was her. 

He could barely look at himself in the mirror these days. 

The radiator and the woolly socks he had found wrapped up under the Christmas tree were nowhere near enough to keep his blood circulating, nowhere near enough to comfort him so that he could fall asleep. 

He grabs the phone and hopes he’s not the only one still awake. 

Olli picks up within seconds. 

“Why aren’t you sleeping yet?” Olli asks him. He’s wearing a black hoodie and an ever blacker expression. 

“Why aren’t you?”

Olli looks down to hide whatever emotion he was almost about to reveal. 

“I was gonna call you. I wanted to ask you something.” 

Aleksi waits. 

“Do you… do you remember that one time in… I can’t remember actually. Somewhere in the Midwest maybe. That one time it was thundering real loud. 

And you woke me up to listen to it with you?

“Yeah, I think I do remember.”

“Do you remember how the rain was coming down in buckets?”

Yes, and your eyes were as dark as they are now.

“And do you remember that one morning in Colorado? When it had snowed overnight and the bus was freezing.” 

And you crawled in my bed again, slid your hands under my shirt again. 

“And that one freaky hotel in… was it Amsterdam? Where they had that strange shower thing.”

And where you fucked me for the first time (yes, even in that strange shower). 

“And… and do you remember when we were in Tokyo. It was so beautiful there.”

I only remember the early mornings and you biting my thighs to wake me up, and you riding me when we couldn’t sleep, and you showing me that vibrator you had bought. 

I only remember how shy you looked all of a sudden, and how the shade of your cheeks matched the shade of that toy when I pushed it in. 

“I wish we could go back.” 

The tear-choked confession brings Aleksi back to the present. 

“Back where?”

Olli shrugs. “Anywhere. Tokyo, maybe.” 

Kissing under an out-of-bloom cherry tree. 

“Me too,” Aleksi says. 

Maybe that’s what it would be like. 

If things were different.

~

authors note: the Finnish word panettaa is not the easiest to translate but it means that one is feeling horny. a more direct translation would be something along the lines of "I feel like fucking" or "I want/need to fuck"

[spikrock]

thinking soooo fucking hard about how dirty "and another thing..." does random

the book acts like "angsty goth teenager" is her entire character. at page 16 it quite literally lists off the things random would understandably be angry about, but despite this the book acts like shes crazy or immature for being upset with trillian

the way arthur berates her at the end of the sixth book?? the way he tells her she needs to just move on??? that trillian 'just left random with her dad for a week'?? the book is going against itself when it says this. it made that up and it drives me up the WALL!!!!!!!! trillian didnt JUST leave random for a week shes been doing it since random was born!!!!!!! what!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

picking up the sixth book i was so excited to have a whole book with random in it but she ended up being my least favorite part because it was so painful to see how everyone, including the book itself, treated her

(also, i am not saying that i think random shouldnt have faced any consequences or that i cant handle a few teenager jokes. if you havent read the book in a while and you dont remember there being THAT many then you are so incredibly mistaken because theres some teenager joke almost every time they talk about her. stop undermining her with the same jokes about her rolling her eyes or being moody)

[averageludwig]

Goodnight kiss ✧

[joifee]

"Have you heard?"

do you know they are changing cake vaults? iskall and etho are such a fun duo

[tubbytarchia]

So I think my perception of Grian's reasoning for enabling the horrible Jimmy ecosystem and also my perception of his character as a whole has been turned on its head completely and I feel really bad for him after watching Kingdom of Valor and it's like bad roleplay but it's. it's done things to me and I've never ever felt this much for Grian not even in my sadboy Grian Desert Duo phase. I don't know what to do about this

SA word under cut

Episodes 6 and 10 (like the entirety of it) for context. :( . :(. But like major warning if you watch those episodes, especially 10, because um they didn't use any disclaimers

[genericpuff]

lord give me the wisdom to not actually attempt watching all this

[alpacacare-archive]

its DESTINY

[spaciebabie]

yall who are not simps have GOT ta stop commenting on clearly simpy posts and acting like the people who are having fun are weirdos. i swear ta god its annoying and rude and im tired of going inta my notes and seeing those comments on my posts and on my mutuals posts. have some respect.

[nomadic-star]

the downfall of tumblr user mylas-stash

[falmerbrook]

Average comment section on any morrowind related post with an argonian in it, jokey or otherwise :/

(From my dunmer/argonian oc animation)

[rafyki]

I was thinking about this scene in the first episode

And of course it's meant to foreshadow everything that happens with Rosé, right? He's just joking here, of course, and in fact he backtracks right away after saying it

I think it's so funny that just a few days after he has this conversation with Ama, Jack meets his potential rich girlfriend and doesn't bother to even look at her twice.

But anyway, yes of course this foreshadows what happens later with Boss forcing him to marry Rosé, but at the same time, if you think about it.

The same day he meets Rosé, Jack also meets Joke - so, he also meets a potential rich boyfriend.

And yes, i know, when they meet again five years later and get together, Joke isn't actually rich anymore, but!! That's not the point! The point is that Joke is still a rich boy who helped Jack!! And, also, now that Joke is on good terms again with his family, we can assume they'll also help him financially, so!!

Anyway, yes. Jack got to have his rich boyfriend (soon to be husband!) in the end, and I'm very happy for him

[ratatatastic]

"Can I say something real quick though? I was worried a little bit on both of you guys going to the plate and throwing out the first pitch... 'cuz I evaluate that and a lot of people do too. And you've seen some guys that just—they don't know how to throw a ball!" "Yeah." "And they're unbelievable athletes and they don't know how to throw a ball! You guys both did the same time, you did a good job on that! But I was kind-of worried." "So I actually threw out the first pitch in Miami two years ago and I hurt—it was right after I was traded. And I had a shoulder injury, like, during the year before and first, like—we're athletes. Hockey players are great athletes! But very rarely are you, like, going out there and throwing the ball like you were with pops when you're, like, 5 years old! You don't do that anymore! So I had a shoulder injury and I'm like, 'I'm an athlete, right? Like I'll just go up to the mound and just chuck one in there, you know put a little sauce on it, whatever.' I tried to throw a little, like, oomph into it and, like, I didn't even get it to the plate from the mound! Like it's—when you don't practise and it's the first time throwing a ball, like, it was a hundred—" "Where was that?" "It was in Miami!" "Were you getting chirped?" "No, I wasn't getting chirped!" "At the Marlin's game? Nobody was there!" "It was—it was—" "No one was there, nobody saw it! It's not—" "No, I wasn't getting chirped! It was—" "You can tell everyone that it was a strike right down the middle!" "No! Somebody saw that! Some of the guys saw that and were probably like, 'Errgh...'" "It was—Yeah, whatever! But, you know, who cares! But I actually before the St. Louis one... I didn't know the setup if I was gonna be from the mound or not but I will admit that in the morning I went out in the backyard and just, like, threw 5—" "Oh, you have to!" "—just to loosen up. I'm way healthier than I was two years ago but it was just like, you know—it was fun! It was a great day!" "Did they—" "When your shoulder gets messed up though, man..." "I can't imagine these pitchers that throw so much in a year. Like they gotta be—I have a lot of respect for them. I used to be like, 'I pitch one every five days if you're a starter like whate—' If you're chucking in one hundred pitches and all your warmup and stuff like that's a tough supposed to do that—" "I don't think your shoulder is supposed to do that..." "No! And they snap it in there! Very impressive! And—" "That's why they get paid a lot of coin~ Dude, let's go 250 schmillions—" "I was gonna say that's why—yeah. Good for them!" "I know you do pretty well—" "It was cool seeing Ohtani hit a home run!* I think he's awesome! And driving around in the car before with Jayson [Tatum] like—that Ohtani's a big man."

Cam & Strick Podcast | 8.27.24 (x)(x)(x)

*funny that matthew mentions that he thought it was cool to see an ohtani moonshot irl the cardinals telecast was actually zoomed in on him in the stands before it happened so they had to cut from him to shohei trotting around the bases so its nice to know he enjoyed the sho as much as we all do XD