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attapullman · 10 months

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Robert From Next Door | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You've lucked out with the perfect neighbor, a kind and overly helpful WSO. He puts up Christmas lights, lends his lawn mower, and grabs your morning paper. But what happens when he's out of peppermint tea one night?

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings & Notes: Robert "Bob" Floyd x gn!reader, extremely fluffy, food mentions, heavy making out, shirtless Bob, only referred to as Robert for the series, unrealistic expectations of next door neighbors, 18+ as always. This idea hit me like a bus while walking the dog (where I almost was hit by a bus) and has been fully unable to leave my brain since then. Cozy, sweet, overly helpful Neighbor!Bob is literally all I want for Christmas. And he's my holiday present to all of you!

robert from next door | if only the neighbors knew

“I have a ladder you can borrow.” You look up from the box of Christmas lights you’re detangling in the garage to see your neighbor standing in the opening to the street. Coffee mug in hand as he watches you loop out another knot. He’d noticed your garage open that morning, too early for a Saturday, and came to investigate or possibly offer assistance. If there is one thing Robert Floyd does best, it’s help his neighbors.

You had moved into the tidy bungalow just under a year ago, placing a potted fern on the doorstep and painting over the dated beige walls. It was finally starting to feel like a home. Now with the holidays approaching (as reminded by the entirely too jolly Santas everywhere in town) you were excited to start new traditions in your humble home. And it started with putting twinkling lights on the house, lights currently tangled in the cardboard box you haphazardly threw them in twelve months ago.

Threading out another knot, you give him a playful smile. “How do you know I don’t have a ladder?”

“Lucky guess?” He’s not going to admit he’s scanned and memorized nearly every inch of your garage.

The day after the moving truck came and went, you were thrilled when your first new neighbor rang your doorbell. While you had expected some middle aged woman with a plate of brownies and a plea for babysitting, you were pleasantly surprised at the man in a flight suit (Lt. Robert Floyd according to the stitching) with the striking blue eyes who stood there instead. He didn’t have brownies, but he happily gave you the lowdown on the neighborhood as you sat amongst moving boxes drinking lemonade out of paper cups.

As the months passed, an easy friendship had developed amongst neighbors. In the morning before making his way to base, Robert would scoop up your morning paper and walk it up the seven steps to your porch. The paper boy always threw it short. And despite numerous pleas to leave it be - you didn’t mind the short walk - every morning when you went for the paper, there it sat neatly on your mat along with any misdelivered mail.

And when he wasn’t saving kittens from trees in his free time, Robert was a shining example of a great neighbor. Driving his truck for a trip to get plants at the nursery, lending his mower when yours broke in the heat of July, cleaning your gutters when the leaves fell…you shouldn’t be surprised he’s now offering up his ladder so you can enjoy your Christmas lights. Looking down at the tangled mess, you hadn’t even thought about how you were going to get them actually on the house. Nails? Did you even own nails?

Not even an hour later you’re standing on the sidewalk facing your home with a hot cup of coffee in your chilly hands. Propped up on a ladder with detangled lights in one hand - and a tool belt around his waist like your personal Mr. Fix It - Robert hums to himself as he hammers nails into the trim before wrapping the first strand of lights in place.

You had accepted his ladder graciously, but mentioned you needed to hit the hardware store first for nails. With a nod of his head he left your garage and you continued on the lights. It was a tedious project, but rewarding once the final strand lay flat against the concrete floor. You were digging around in boxes for tools when your neighbor reappeared. He had a ladder and his tool belt, a full box of nails clutched in his large hand. Cheeks warm, you assured him you would buy your own. He let out a playful pfft.

“Nonsense. It’s Saturday, the hardware store will be packed. Consider them an early Christmas gift.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Let me at least trade you for them? A cup of coffee?”

“Do you still have those Kona beans?” His ocean blue eyes are hopeful.

Your smile widened as you nodded. The overpriced beans you had expensively shipped every month were a favourite of the weapons systems officer. Last month you had hosted the homeowners association meeting (for the first and hopefully only time) and Robert had raved about the coffee you served. He was used to the basic stuff they made on base, his own home brewing not much better. Your coffee was the best.

When you came back to the garage after whipping up a carafe - hot mug in hand - you shouldn’t have been surprised to see your neighbor already up the ladder, deep into the project.

You holler up to him. “Robert, get down! You don’t need to do that!”

But he waves you off, insisting that he had already started and might as well finish the job. He would just drink your delicious coffee once he was done. And so you were relegated to the sidewalk to make sure everything looked straight from the street.

From this distance you could admire him innocently. The military-issue wire frames that catch the morning sun. Broad shoulders under the neat canvas barn coat he recently replaced when the corduroy collar ripped. His strong hands shielded from the chilled wind under his workman’s gloves. Because someone like Robert Floyd follows safety precautions and owns workman’s gloves.

At this angle you can see the slight smile on his lips as he strings lights along your porch. For the next hour you watch him put up lights, him occasionally turning back and asking you how they look.

“Are you sure they’re straight?” You promise him they are, but he meticulously checks his work anyway. He wants your house to look perfect.

The wind has tinged both your cheeks a deep pink and the cold is starting to seep through boots. Robert has nailed the last of your lights to the trim and deemed them faultless. He comes down the ladder and walks to stand beside you to admire his handiwork. Hands on hips - with that damn tool belt still astride his waist - he turns to you beaming at a job well done. It’s impossible not to beam back, thinking how long it would have taken you to do even a job half as good.

“Thank you for putting up the lights. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.” He isn’t sure whether your cheeks are red from the cold or something else. “I’m so lucky to have you as a neighbor.”

His smile is permanently stuck at your compliment. He opens his mouth to make a joking comment about the coffee you owe him - anything for more time together - when he feels the telltale buzz in his pocket. Pulling it reluctantly out after shedding a glove, he sees it’s Phoenix and is only semi-annoyed. They have lunch plans, which he’s running late for. And while he’s sure his front seater would approve of him blowing her off for the neighbor he can’t stop talking about, he’s a better friend than that.

Turning back to you, where you’re enjoying your freshly strung twinkling lights, Robert rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I have to head out…lunch plans. Rain check on that coffee?”

Nodding through your disappointment, you help him gather up his ladder and assure him that coffee is his whenever he wants.

The following morning you pad toward your front door, eyes bleary from a deep sleep. The house was cold and you pull your robe tighter around you. Through the glass panel in the door you can see your paper on the mat, as always, ready for you to consume over coffee and toast. As you open the oak door and scurry to shut it with the paper secured, something - or rather someone - catches your eye.

Robert stands in the doorway of his own bungalow, calmly watching the neighborhood. The thick fair isle sweater covering his wide shoulders looks incredibly cozy, and he nurses a mug between both hands. He exists in that moment without worry, and you’re envious.

His placid expression is broken when he feels your eyes, turning his head to see you, bedhead and newspaper clutched in your fist. His lips turn in a warm smile and he raises one hand in a slow, friendly wave. Your heart flutters, utterly taken away with how surely he carries himself, how sweetly he treats others. An emotion quickly squashed when you realize you are still standing in a bathrobe and knobby socks, flying back inside and shutting the door with heated cheeks.

As you go about working on your Sunday chores, you keep picturing Robert’s face, that small happy smile you can’t get out of your head.

Later that night, after hours of tossing and turning in the sheets unable to find peace, you finally trudge down the hall into the living room, settling under blankets on the plush couch with a cup of chamomile. You’ve lost details of the plot of the movie you started, brain racing as your fingers fidget with the mug.

The faint trill of your phone on the coffee table breaks you from your thoughts.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Bo-Robert…from next door?” You yawn a hello while checking the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. “I just wanted to check if everything was alright? Noticed your lights were on.”

A warm feeling spreads through your chest at his concern. Picturing him peering out his kitchen window with the striped cotton curtains, filling up his own kettle, distressed that your house lights were on so late. You’d like to think he wore tartan pajamas, neatly buttoned. Those would suit him.

You settle back into the cushions as you reply. “Everything’s fine. Just couldn’t sleep.”

His thoughtful nod can practically be heard through the phone.

“Better question is, what are you doing up so late?”

The whistle and clink of boiling water and china crash over the line. A sigh pulled from his lips before responding. “I was going to make myself a cup of tea while I finished some reports, but appears that I am out.”

You glance down at your own mug of tea. It’s late, but not that late.

“What kind of tea do you like?” He muses on about his lack of preference - an equal opportunity tea lover - before admitting he was looking forward to a cup of peppermint. You make your way to the kitchen, phone pressed to your ear as you both open your cupboards. Your voice feels small as you offer, “I think I might have some.”

A silence lingers on the line. An unspoken late night implication that neither of you knows what to make of it. Your fingers flip through boxes of tea that take up too much cupboard space. Pomegranate, green, oolong. You don’t even drink tea that often. But right as you think you have too many white teas, you see the striped box of peppermint tea, one lone bag waiting for its turn.

You empty the box and walk to the window in your kitchen, where you can see the faint light on through his curtains. You clear your throat. “Look out your kitchen window.”

To your disappointment, Robert does not wear tartan pajamas to sleep. Although you are delighted to see his shirtless chest, defined from years of Navy training. He waves at you through your respective kitchen windows, holding up his mug of hot water. You lift up the tea bag, and his face splits into a toothy smile.

Before you can offer to bring it to him, he’s already turning toward his front door, speaking into the phone, “I’ll be over, just a minute. Need to find my coat.”

By the time there’s a soft knock on the door, you’ve turned on the kettle and gotten a fresh mug for him. You open the door, greeted by the tip of his nose and ears a merry red, the cold kissing his features. He’s been outside all of a minute. You usher your neighbor in, watching him observe how you’ve put up garlands and festive knickknacks in the entry since his last visit.

He slips off his boots, bare feet settling on the cold hardwood, and fingers the collar of his canvas barn coat. In his rush to come over he’d thrown his coat on forgetting his bare chest. It feels obnoxious to be half naked in your home, so he keeps his coat on and follows you to the kitchen.

“Peppermint still good?” You tease, the packet of tea leaves in your hand. He nods, slightly distracted by how cozy you look in your soft loungewear and the robe from this morning. Dunking the bag into the hot water, you search for a topic to pass the steeping time. But when you turn to talk to him, words catch in your throat because he’s right there.

Eyes so blue the sky is jealous. Shy smile so friendly it warms the room. Your thoughts dirtily flit to the tool belt around his waist on the ladder, fingers adeptly wielding a hammer. Fingers that brush yours in the proximity. He’s so close and your brain blanks as bodies simultaneously take action.

Your mouths find each other effortlessly, bodies pressing together as if they know the moves the two of you were just figuring out. The low-lying tension building for the past year breaking the surface as the dark of the house gives you both the bravery needed. His hands are cold as they find your waist, your hands too warm on his chilled jaw.

His mouth is all soft lips and hard pressure, the faint hint of toothpaste in his taste. It’s exactly as you imagined, but better.

Lips become more desperate the longer you connect, your back suddenly against the counter as he presses into you. This moment has been building since he’d watched you first walk up the front steps with that too big moving box. A hand slips into his sun-bleached locks he always has so perfectly combed. He moans into your mouth, a sinful noise in the quiet kitchen.

Before sense can interrupt, you’re reaching for the zipper of his coat, revealing every inch of his toned pale chest as the zipper slowly comes down. You slide a hand over the skin, a low gasp slipping out at the strong muscle. You’ve been attracted to his mind for so long, it feels unfair his body should be attractive too.

He shrugs out of the barn coat and follows you to the lowly lit living room, where the couch is softer on your back than the counter edge. Sitting side by side, knees knocking, he’s more hesitant to touch you in this context. Despite his body screaming to explore every inch of his pretty neighbor’s mind and body, he knows he’s basically barged into your home and immediately stuck his tongue in your sweet mouth. You get to set the pace.

“This okay?” His hand encompasses your knee, thumb rubbing smoothly through the fabric. You nod, tilting your head toward him to continue kissing. He’s warmed up now, your home and body bringing him to temperature. Robert smiles into your kiss. You can’t get enough of him, wanting to consume him fully. He’s delicate with you in the most delicious of ways; gentle kisses pressed to your soft lips before sliding his tongue across to politely ask for access.

Your mouth can’t open fast enough.

You place you hand on his hip, enjoying the warm skin and lean muscle beneath your fingertips. Groaning lightly into your mouth, he blindly reaches for your hips to bring you into his lap. His tongue takes its time to taste you, learn every intricacy of your flavor. Administration so thorough your eyes roll back in your head. The sounds escaping you music in the darkened room.

Fingers dance across skin, finding purchase on thighs, shoulders, chests. You can’t get close enough to him, resting one hand on the back of his neck as your swollen lips press harder to his. Robert loves the way your thighs straddle him as he leans against the couch cushions, his warm, large hands along your back bringing you closer to him. Your sharp inhale as one hand toys with the waistband of your lounge pants.

When his lips trail down your neck, praising the delicate skin, you can’t hold back your declaration any longer. “I…I’ve wanted this for a while.”

His lips pause, brow furrowed. “This?”

“You.”

That gratified smile will forever be imprinted along your neck. “I’ve wanted you since the day you moved in.”

The whimpers that rip through you when he nips the thin skin behind your ear have him grabbing your chin and swallowing your sounds. Reveling in the shared passion you’ve both had simmering beneath the surface. Can’t help his hips rutting up into yours, glorious friction he’s been craving satisfied. You giggle through a moan against his lips.

“So, we could have been doing this all year long? What a shame, lieutenant.”

You ground down in his lap, running your own tongue along his lips and savoring his taste. Thoughts of what he tastes like after his peppermint tea have you wrapping your arms tighter around his bare shoulders. Behind his head, outside the window, the faint glow of the Christmas lights he strung up shines in the winter night. How did you find this perfect man, and how is he your neighbor?

You express your gratitude for him with your mouth along his jaw, licking along the skin while he deliciously whimpers in your ear.You can only take so much before you’re sealing your lips over his again, inhaling his every breath.

As lips finally reach exhaustion - brains well past tired as the clock strikes a new hour - Robert and you pull apart with content smiles. Already cold without his warmth, you immediately lean back into him. He’s practically a furnace now under your ministrations. Unspoken words pass between as you invite him to sleep on your couch with you. A throw blanket produced from the nearby chair as the two of you tangle your limbs. There’s something comforting in the way he rests your head upon his arm, your knee upon his thigh. Again, it’s like your bodies know the actions like they’ve been waiting for you to finally figure them out.

You’ve just settled your head upon his warm chest when a thought strikes you, prompting you to lean up to look at those sleepy cerulean eyes. The small curious smile he gives you melting your heart.

“Did you still want your tea?”

He shakes his head with a chuckle, using the last of his energy to tuck the blanket tighter around your body. “It’s okay. I got what I really wanted.”

Your heart feels two sizes too big as he presses a kiss to your temple before sleep takes you both.

When the winter sunrise streams through your curtains the next morning, you refuse to get up. Perfectly warm wrapped up in the thin throw and your neighbor’s arms, you are purely too content. When Robert blinks open his eyes and gazes at your face, he sees the same placid smile he wore the morning before. The same one he’s had since you moved in next door.

Despite both being all too happy to remain entangled on the couch, sharing small kisses on any skin within reach, the responsibilities of Monday morning dawn and you must get up. Reluctantly you release him, watching him fold the throw neatly upon the sofa arm before helping you stand. Warmth blossoms down your spine the more you’re in Robert’s presence, the little things he does meaning so much to you. Especially as he strides through your home shirtless, musing about the whereabouts of his coat on the kitchen floor.

Your eyes flit to the cold mug of abandoned peppermint tea as you offer him coffee. But he’s intent on getting home for his flight suit, the drive to base longer than he’d like. Of course, he would ideally spend the morning drinking your expensive delicious coffee and listen to you go on about the neighbors down the street with the atrocious holiday decorations. If you’d let him, he would spend every morning like that for the rest of time. But his admiral would put him in drills all week if he was any later.

You walk him to the door, robe pulled tight across your chest to keep out the cold. He’s pulled on his boots for the short walk and wraps his arms around you in an intimate embrace, disappointed this perfect night must come to an end. You bury your nose in his jacket-covered chest to enjoy the last of his herbal and citrus scent, hands reluctantly slipping from his middle. He turns to leave and both your hearts pang.

When Robert reaches the end of your path, he bends down and picks up the paper, thrown too short as always. He turns around and retraces his steps, walking back up the steps and straight up to where you reside in the doorway still. Fingers brush as he hands you the newspaper, saving you the walk as he always does. Only this morning he tips his head to press a kiss to your lips.

You’re already adding peppermint tea to your shopping list as you walk back into the house. Just for him.

see what antics happen at the next HOA meeting

taglist: @callsign-mongoose

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loaksky · 1 year

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— 𝘨𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘳, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳

the lowdown — neytiri’s his first love, but you’re his forever…he swears.

the who — jake sully x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 3.2k

the tags & warnings — possible language, she fell first / he fell harder, first love / last love, arguable tension

the notes — based on this request ! ideally this takes place before anyone dies & everyone is happy :)

masterlist

You and Jake have always been a sticky situation.

Because it didn’t always start with the two of you. At first, he had eyes for someone else, could only bear the thought of being with one person in the whole of Pandora, and that came in the form of the clan’s most important daughter. And you watched from the outskirts, watched as lessons in life turned into lessons of love.

To be frank, you don’t know when the adoration started, when the feelings began to bloom. Your heart was arid territory, but the seeds were planted and the roots were festering.

Maybe it was his dedication to the people, spirit one with the village. He was allegiant to Pandora down to every last blade of grass, every leaf, every insect. And he was kind, offered his heart and full efforts to every endeavor.

You admired him silently, learned to love him quietly, even as the passion between him and Neytiri swelled until it was ready to burst.

You hadn’t really realized that he’d noticed you until one day nestled among the trees.

“Is this where you disappear to everyday?”

Your neck swivels so hard, you almost get whiplash. The project you’re working on, another satchel to replace your own, bunched tight in your fists as your eyes scan the expanse of forest floor wildly.

Jake stands a few meters below, hand resting casually on the hilt of the dagger strapped across his broadening chest.

All that sounds in the quiet between you is the bobbing of your throat as you swallow, eyes wide and unblinking.

“You don’t really talk much, do you?”

You suppose you don’t, not when you’re used to blending into the edges, spending your days lounging around village grounds and finding odd and ends to tend to.

“Nothing?” Jake presses, weight shifting as he peers up at you.

“Not everyday,” is your only response, still unmoving from your perch on the branch.

Jake only nods, conversation coming to a painfully quick lull.

“What are you up to?” he prods, shifting again.

“A bag.”

Your cheeks are warm under his unrelenting gaze, mouth dry because you’ve spent months admiring him from afar, watching him slowly meld into becoming one of the people.

“A bag,” he repeats.

You nod.

He lets out a puff of air that sounds an awful like a humorless laugh and he scratches the back of his neck. He’s folding his cards first this time around, unsure of how to trod such uncertain territory with you.

“See you around, ________,” he says, giving you a playful salute as he peels away.

Your heart skips as he saunters off, timbre of his voice sweet around your name.

Jake continues to find you in that spot often.

Graduated from holding brief conversations from different elevations to propping against adjacent branches enjoying your company, he comes to find out that you're awfully shy.

Painfully so. But when he makes you laugh, and you timidly smile with full heart, he feels your facade crumbling.

And as chance meetings after duties turn into promises, you can’t help but wonder what's changed. Every moment with you means a moment unspent with his lover. It makes equal parts pride and dread swell in the pit of your stomach.

Whispers about him ripple through the village, that he’s learning quickly, catching onto the way of the people with great ease. There’s talk of a ceremony, of accepting him as one. It makes something sour, bitter, curdle inside of you in the ugliest way possible.

Because a ceremony means selection and selection means solidifying the relationship he has with the leader’s daughter. It means no more limbo and the time you’ve spent trying to guard your wanting heart is shot to shit.

It considerably dampens your mood, something that takes Jake a mere glance over your body language to read.

“Something’s bothering you,” he observes, head tilting to the side.

You bite the inside of your lip, eyes golden and gooey. They’re the only thing that betrays the stoic expression that colors the carve of your jaw and the curve of your cheekbones.

It takes every ounce of effort to not visibly melt at the way you carry yourself.

He doesn’t know when it started with you, how you could have possibly caught his attention when all you did was wash out in the background, bleed through the edges. But you had. Had captured his attention enough for him to second guess such a fleeting barrage of emotions when it came to the future tsahik.

Neytiri was a force to be reckoned with, but you were a gentle gust of embracing wind. Jake didn’t feel any pressure with you, didn’t feel like he was wearing the skin of someone else. He felt like him.

“Our time will end,” is all you say.

It takes him a moment, but he notices the slick of your lashes, the almost imperceptible hiccup.

His five-fingered hand cradles your chin, and for the briefest of breaths, you want to ease away, want to put as much distance as you could between you and the very one who has the power to nurture and shatter your heart all the same. But something glimmers like liquid gold in Jake’s eyes and you crumple.

“Why is that?” he whispers. “What makes you say so?”

“Do you think I’m a fool?” you ask.

There is no malice in your tone, only a lingering thread of defeat.

“Far from it,” Jake answers, nudging you to meet his gaze when your eyes flicker away. “You are the most intelligent and capable person I know.”

Your breath hitches and you swallow down a petulant rebuttal.

“I hear what they say about you, Jake Sully,” you say lightly. “They want to make you one of us.”

A gentle smile twitches upon his lips, something triumphant flickering over his features.

“You against it?” he asks, eyebrows quirking.

You shake your head, fingers wrapping around his wrist to guide his hand from your face. When you try to pull away, he threads your digits together, tugging you so that you shift closer to him.

“You do great things for the Omatikaya,” you say. “They are very proud of you.”

“Are you?” he presses.

“Am I what?” you ask, voice caught in your throat.

Jake draws you impossibly closer. You can make out the constellations of blemishes on his face, the smattering of glowing freckles across the expanse of his muscled chest.

“Are you proud of me?” he wonders.

It’s a loaded question, one that makes a shiver rip down your spine and your cheeks to warm.

Of course you were proud of him. You’d watched him from afar for far too long, had seen every accomplishment, every failure. Had seen the spectrum of his emotions, every jubilant moment and bouts of discouragement.

“Yes,” you answer simply. “Very.”

The smile that cracks the lush of his mouth makes you swallow hard.

“Good,” he hums. “I’m glad.”

He’s searching your face, eyes glazed as he takes in all of you before him. The silence is thick, pierceable by the bluntest of edges. When you show no intentions of breaking the quiet, Jake speaks again.

“Now tell me,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. “Why is our time ending?”

Your lips purse and something like annoyance shutters over your pretty face.

“The tsahik’s daughter has made her intentions with you very clear,” you say, trying to sweeten the acidic words on your tongue. “You cannot waste anymore moments with the likes of me.”

Jake bites back the widening of his smile, but he can’t help it, not when this encounter solidifies every suspicion he’s had about you and him.

“You’re right,” he says simply. “Neytiri’s asked her parents for their blessing for us.”

You try not to let the disdain cloud your features, try to tamp down the twitch of your frown, but you can’t get anything past him, not when Jake’s favorite subject to study is you.

“I’m sure they are delighted,” you respond, making a move to peel your fingers from his.

Your chest is tightening and your vision is clouding.

His grip squeezes and the film of tears that sheen your eyes makes his heart go soft.

“They do approve,” he adds, pausing to pick his next words carefully. “But…”

Your gaze flicks to meet his again, heart stuttering when you find that his gaze hasn't left your form. His eyes are mapping every one of your features, pausing a moment too long on your lips.

Your cheeks blaze.

“But?” you fill.

“I refused,” he replies thoughtfully.

He could laugh, the way your lips part, brow bones shooting up as your eyes blow wide.

“Why would you–”

“My heart belongs to someone else,” he finally admits. “It has for a long time and it was stupid of me to think that I could ignore it.”

“Oh—” Your breath hitches.

“But I can only act on my heart if she’ll have me,” he says, searching your eyes.

“Do you think she—”

Jake breathes out a laugh, tugs you so that your front presses against his, close enough to feel the fan of his breath against your lips, to smell the delicious spice of bathing herbs clinging to his balmy skin.

“You’re torturing me here,” he groans, throwing his head back.

You see the way his Adam's apple bobs and you fidget in your seat.

“I—”

“Jesus Christ, love, put me out of my misery and tell me you’ll have me, please.”

You only manage a noise of surprise before his hand cups the back of your neck to guide you forward, lips pressing desperately against yours. His mouth is warm and when he leans into you, you taste the sweetness of berries on his tongue.

His hands wander, gliding over the smooth expanse of your flesh like he’s committing every curve and edge of your body to his memory.

“Wait, wait,” you whisper breathlessly. “What about Neytiri? She… She loves you.”

Jake’s dazed, disoriented because the taste of you makes him far more delirious than he’d expected.

He presses his forehead against your own.

“She’s got nothing on you, angel.”

Everything shifts on its axis after that, but there’s one thing in particular that remains—the seed of doubt that had rooted that sunny day under the canopy of the jungle’s oversized leaves.

Perhaps you’re being cynical, a little paranoid, but Jake’s yet to claim you before Ewya despite officially becoming one with the people. And you could stomach it, the idea that maybe he’s just prioritizing a smooth shift into life with the clan, but lately he’s been sneaking around, blowing you off.

You don’t want to give that niggling feeling of insecurity any stock, not when he’s so lovely to you when you two are intertwined, but you happen upon them by chance and you feel stupid. It was silly, really, to expect Jake to cut ties so abruptly when his fickle heart used to all but thrum for the future tsahik.

They laugh on the embankment, sitting a little too close for comfort.You want to look away, tell yourself that you’re being too much, but he hesitantly tucks a braid behind her ear and your breath hitches in tandem with hers.

You can’t force yourself to expel the breath in your lungs, eyes locked on their figures like your pupils are tethered.

You wish you didn’t stick around, wish you’d just continue on in ignorance, because as Jake leans to give Neytiri a closer look at whatever he’s toying with in his hands, the distance starts closing between them.

They look like they belong together, two bodies that perfectly fuse.

“Oh—” You hadn’t meant to make a sound, wanted to escape quietly, but just as easily as the breadth between the two of them had closed, a chasm forms between their lithe bodies.

“________?” he calls, voice layered with alarm.

You turn on your heel, pushing through the curling foliage with blurring vision.

“Hey, ________, wait!” he calls out, feet splashing from the water as he climbs from where he’d been sitting with his ankles plunged beneath the surface.

When his footfalls fast approach and his fingers wrap around the width of your forearm, you quickly dash away the pooling tears before turning to face him head on.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers, cupping your rounded cheeks in his palms.

His fingertips glide down the length of your neck, brushing over your shoulders as he examines you.

You shake your head quickly, forcing down the insecurity that bubbles hot like magma under your burning skin.

“Nothing,” you say, clearing your throat before finally meeting his worried gaze.

“Oh, come on,” he sighs, pushing the hair from your face to take a better look. “It’s just me, ________. You can tell me the truth.”

You lick your drying lips before gently breaking away from him.

“It’s nothing, Jake,” you reassure him with a small smile. “I’m just being silly.”

He opens his mouth to protest, taking a step towards you.

“Jake Sully!” Tsu’tey’s voice thunders through the forest as he claps a hand down on his comrade’s shoulder.

Jake turns a warning eye towards him, mutters that now isn’t the time as he swats his hands away, but when he turns to face you, you’re gone.

You feel guilty.

Guilty because you fear that you’ve blown things way out of proportion, guilty because Jake’s reserved to giving you your space after another failed attempt at coaxing you from your shell. And infinitely so because he holds you close, when your breathing is steady and you drift in and out of sleep. You hear him, like the gentlest of lullabies.

I love you.

It haunts you, those three words. And you guess you’re no better than him. The weight of solidifying your union before Ewya is a heavy one, Jake knows this. But such human words weigh the same to him. And you know that to hear such a lofty sentiment rasp from your soft voice is all he could ever want.

“He is at his wit’s end, you know?”

You pause your laundering, allowing your loincloths and woven tops to sink back to the shallow bed of the river. When you crane your neck to find the source of the voice, you’re surprised to find Neytiri leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree.

Your response is delayed.

“...Huh?”

“Jake,” she says simply, and your cheeks warm. “You worry him.”

You turn back to your chore, spine stiffening when something rustles and Neytiri moves to sit next to you.

“May I?” she asks, reaching for one of your intricately beaded tops.

“Okay,” you whisper, unable to meet her sharp gaze.

“I was hurt when he denied my parent’s blessing,” she says casually, like the thought alone doesn’t make your heart ache for the tsahik’s daughter. You can’t help it. “But I wasn’t surprised.”

Your head snaps up, meeting her eyes reluctantly.

“When I first brought him back to the village,” she says, wringing the corded fabric. “You caught his eye, but you didn’t even glance his way.”

And truthfully, you hadn’t. Dreamwalkers were trouble and you had no intention of ever crossing paths with him. But then you began to see more and more of him, began to feel the weight of his presence on the village and you couldn’t help but give into the fall.

“He started asking about you,” she laughs quietly. “Every time he’d see you. Said that you never paid him any mind no matter how close he got.”

You roll your lips nervously, watching the way she reaches for another one of your garments and washes with increasing frustration. You almost miss the tears welling in her eyes.

“I wished for so long that he would let it go, let you go, but you have a hold on him, ________,” she rasps.

You blink in disbelief, shaky fingers reaching to touch her own.

Her face tilts towards yours and her grip on the fabric loosens.

“Jake Sully is a good man,” she whispers. “Don’t waste something good because you are scared. It will not only be a disservice to him or me, but yourself.”

You swallow, nodding slowly.

“I’m–” you take in a shuddering breath as your head bows. “I’m sorry.”

A wet hand comes up to your cheek.

“Don’t be sorry,” Neytiri coos. “Just be grateful. Be fearless. It is Eywa’s will.”

Jake almost thinks you’re a vision when he sees you making quick strides towards him. He breaks away from the circle of villagers just as you press yourself into his chest and those not privy to his relationship with you watch with widened eyes.

“Hi,” he breathes, combing his fingers through your hair. “Hi.”

You don’t say anything, arms looping around the narrow of his waist as he throws an apologetic look over his shoulder and walks the two of you towards a quiet area outside of the circle.

“Everything alright?” he asks, trying to peel you away from where you’ve buried your face in his chest.

You mumble something unintelligible, something that makes his ears prick hard to hear, but your cheeks are hot and you aren’t sure if you can handle seeing his softened eyes as you utter the words.

“What?” he asks, pulling away enough to see the flush across your face.

“Said Iloveyou,” you murmur.

He freezes, like his brain is short circuiting when he pieces the words together.

“What?”

You steel your nerves, suck a deep breath into your lungs, and find his sunny eyes.

“I love you, Jake,” you say shakily. “I love you and—”

The laugh that leaves him is giddy and you have half the nerve to melt, but he’s kissing you for the first time since that day in the forest and you’re putty in his hands.

“Wow,” he whispers when you break away to stand on your tiptoes and wind your arms around his neck. “I didn’t think…”

You’re kissing him again, fervently, like you’re trying to make up for lost time and he can’t help the tickling behind his navel or the heat that starts from his toes and burns all the way up his chest.

Your skin is plush under the pads of his wandering hands and those three words, spoken into the hum of the surrounding jungle is all the confirmation that he needs that it’s you and him forever.

“Wait, wait,” he sighs breathlessly. “I have–”

A hand snakes between your bodies, fingers digging into the pouch strapped across his broad chest.

You watch with viscous eyes as he pulls what looks to be a gilded ring, tiny in circumference. Two pieces of thin vine cord through either side, beaded with pearlescent stones and smooth gems.

“I…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck as you fall back on the heels of your feet, arms loosening from around his neck to give him the room to hold it up to you. “It’s one of the only things I care about from Earth.”

Your browbones twitch.

“The ring’s been in my family for a while,” he says gently. “But it’s probably too small and I know that Na’vi don’t wear things on their fingers and–”

“It’s beautiful, Jake,” you say softly, palm pressing against his chest.

He grins, sliding the heirloom up your wrist to rest snugly around the flesh of your bicep.

“Perfect,” he murmurs to himself.

And when your eyes swing from the gift to meet his gaze, you find him already staring down at you tenderly.

“I don’t…” you trail off, suddenly shy under such intensity. “I don’t have anything for you.”

Jake barks out a laugh, corner of his lips quirking up in a lopsided smile as he cups your face in his hands and brings his forehead to yours.

“Don’t need to give me anything,” he says quickly, breaths warm and lips a hairsbreadth from your own. “Just tell me you love me again, that’s enough.”

Your face is indescribably warm under his cool touch.

“And maybe another kiss,” he adds coyly, then a hand skims over the small of your back, dangerously close to your tail. “Or more…if you want.”

taglist; @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @junieswrlds , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @neteyamo , @fanboyluvr , @mazemymirror , @theycallmesia , @girlpostingsposts, @athenachu , @hiya-itsamber , @morks-watermelon , @sanfransolomitatm , @lovedbychoi

#jake sully #jake sully x reader #jake sully fluff #avatar #avatar way of water #atwow #avatar the movie #avatar the way of water #avatar 2

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ladykailitha · 8 months

Text

Staking My Claim Part 3

Hey, guys! We're back!

Part 1 Part 2

We finally get the lowdown on what happened. Otherwise known as don't mess with Jeff.

Robin freaks out.

And Gareth is loaded. Or at least his parents are. ;)

I'm also going to try tagging the untaggables separate and see if you can't get you lovelies tagged.

@redfreckledwolf, @mira-jadeamethyst, @itsall-taken, @emly03, @rozzieroos

***

He hurried over to the phone and called Family Video.

“Hello, thank you for calling Family Video,” the soft female voice said. “How can I help you?”

“Robin!” he cried again. “I’m so sorry!”

“Steve!” Robin shrieked. “Where have you been? Are you okay? You’re not in the hospital or jail are you? What happened?”

“I’m not in jail or the hospital,” he assured her. Eddie huffed out a laugh. He whirled around to stick his tongue out at him. “I’m okay. I’m still in Indy. I just landed at some friendly metalheads’ apartment.”

“Wait...” Robin said. “Those friendly metalheads wouldn’t happen to include one Eddie Munson, would it?”

Steve looked over at said metalhead and turned away to hide his blush. “Maybe,” he mumbled into the phone.

“Hell yeah!” she crowed. “Now tell me what happened now!”

Steve pressed his lips together. “Um...to be honest...I’m not one hundred percent sure I know what happened last night. Like I remember bits and pieces, but it all kinda blurs together.”

Eddie walked over and pointed to the phone. “May I?”

Steve nodded and hand it to him.

“Robin?” Eddie asked. “This is Eddie Munson.”

“Hello, Eddie,” she said coolly. “Would you like to explain why my best friend isn’t, I don’t know, home?”

“I would love you to tell you that story if it’s okay with Steve finding out by me telling you?” Eddie questioned, looking over at Steve.

He shrugged and waved his hand for him to go ahead.

“He’s says it’s fine,” Eddie said.

“Noted,” Robin said. “Now spill.”

So Eddie did. He told her about the sleazeball at the bar who wouldn’t take no for an answer. About his daring rescue of pretending to be his boyfriend.

Steve blushed when he heard Robin go, “Awww,” at that.

Eddie grinned at him. Then he launched into the actual fucking rescue. It turned out that Mr. Persistent bumped into Steve to lace his drink with a drug to knock him out.

Steve’s eyes went wide. “He did what now?”

Eddie hummed. “Yeah...it was this whole thing. Jeff even got to punch the guy in the nose. I think the bartender has a crush on him now.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up. The bartender was a thirty something Asian dude with tattoos and piercings. But he supposed it made sense, considering the bar’s general attitude toward that specific portion of the population.

“At least he’ll get free drinks for life, right?” Robin said with a chuckle.

“That’s certainly one way to look at it,” Eddie agreed. “So yeah, this dude bumps into Steve and suddenly our friend is getting tipsy, fast. And I’ve been at many a rager to ply my wares, there was no way Keg King Steve was drunk after two beers, a margarita, and a half of a Cosmo.” The half a Cosmo was from sharing with Gareth.

Steve blushed. He wasn’t proud of those wild days in high school, but it probably saved his life in this case.

“Yeah...” Robin agreed. “I’ve seen him drink men under the table who were bigger and had been drinking longer.”

Eddie nodded even though she couldn’t seen him, but Steve could.

“Then the asshole comes over and starts flirting with Steve again, trying to draw him away,” he continued. “That’s when we really got that Steve wasn’t acting normal. So Brian steps in and tells asshole to leave him alone. But this guy has gone past persistent and into full creep territory.”

“Eww...” Robin hissed. “How did Jeff get his punch in?”

Eddie chuckled. “That’s honestly the best part, so Brian and Gareth take Steve out to my van and I go and get the bouncer. We come back and asshole is trying to get past Jeff to make his escape. So he takes a swing at Jeffy.”

“Bad idea, I’m guessing?” she said with a hint of laughter in her voice.

Steve tilted his head in interest and Eddie fought down a smile.

“Jeff’s dad is a former boxer who taught him how to fight to make the bullies leave him alone.”

Steve’s eyes go wide and Robin said, “Oooh. Please tell me he laid this asshole out! Please!”

“Dude stiffened like a board and went straight down,” Eddie confirmed. “The only downside is that they couldn’t prove anything, so he just got tossed out, but make no mistake, they’ll make sure spread the word around the other gay bars about this guy.”

“That’s good,” Robin agreed.

Steve wandered back over to his food, safe in the knowledge that he was in safe hands.

Jeff and Brian were at the counter grabbing their breakfast so Steve joined them. Coffee was was doled out by Eddie a few moments later.

Creamer, milk, and sugar were placed next to the coffee pot.

“Robin says not worry about coming into work,” Eddie murmured to Steve. “She said she would tell Keith you have the stomach flu. Which according to her will get you at least three days off.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” Brian said. “I don’t think there is anything I could tell my boss short of being in the hospital that would get me even a couple of hours off.”

Steve laughed. “Keith has a weak stomach. You just mention vomiting and the dude turns green.”

“Handy that,” Eddie said with a smile.

“It’s very handy when you’re out drinking and drink too much,” Steve said with a shrug.

“I’ll say,” Jeff said. “I’m just glad we were there, man.”

Steve blushed. “Yeah, me too.”

He dug into his food and was happy to note that while it didn’t necessarily ease the queasiness in his stomach, it didn’t make him want to throw it all back up, either.

He cleared his plate.

“So this is what’s going to happen, Stevie,” Eddie said as he cleaned up the pans from breakfast, “you are going to stay here until I am sure one hundred percent that you won’t throw up on the three hour journey back to Hawkins.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn’t. Right now nothing was coming up, but put him in a moving vehicle and he couldn’t say for sure that breakfast wouldn’t come right back up.

He nodded.

“I gave Robin the address so she’ll be stopping by after she gets off work,” Eddie continued. “I recommend that you get so actual rest, she seems like she’s a lot without her worrying about you, I can only imagine what she’s like when she is.”

Steve blushed.

“We’re going to all stay here,” Gareth said. “At least for one more day. I talked to my mom about it and she would rather pay more for utilities this month then worry about Steve getting worse.”

The other boys nodded their agreement, while Steve blinked at him in confusion.

“What now?”

“You do realize I live in Loch Nora, right?” Gareth asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve shook his head. “My parents were very much exclusionists, dude. I only got to hang out with people that they deemed acceptable. Nicole, Carol, Tommy H. If they thought they weren’t in the right trade or held more liberal views, they weren’t worthy to interact with their son.”

Gareth blinked. “Fuck, that must have been lonely.”

He ducked his head and half shrugged.

“Anyway,” Gareth continued into the now deafening silence. “They pay for this apartment in the city for when we play gigs or need a place to crash after a night of drinking.”

Steve frowned. “You’re not eighteen yet, though, right?”

“No,” Gareth said with a laugh. “But my parents trust these guys to keep me safe.”

Steve thought about Dustin and his mom. That despite all the things that Steve had gotten up to in his high school career that she still trusted him to take care of her baby.

“Yeah,” he said fondly. “I can see that.”

Eddie came over to the other side of the counter. “Come on, up you get. You’ll be sleeping in my room.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “How many rooms does this place have?”

“Three,” Jeff said. “Brian shares with Gareth, but Eddie and I get our own rooms.”

“That’s because you’re both sluts,” Brian said rolling his eyes, “and me and Gareth don’t want to be kicked out of our rooms when you bring someone home.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

“I’ll give you the tour when I steer you back to my room,” Eddie promised.

Steve nodded and allowed himself to be lead back through the apartment and back to the bedroom.

Eddie tucked him back in and put a garbage can next to the bed. “I’ll be out in the front room, holler if you need me.”

Steve nodded and let himself drift off to sleep.

***

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Yeah, I'm sorry, I doubt even a middle class family would buy their very young son (if we hold to the belief that Gareth is OG drummer and was in the talent show with Eddie and Chrissy, putting Eddie in 8th grade, Chrissy in 6th, that would make Gareth in 5th grade) a drum kit.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @lololol-1234 @r0binscript @monsterloverforhire @mugloversonly @live-the-fangirl-life @f0xxyb0xxes @lublix @breealtair @croatoan-like-its-hot @confuseddisastertm @dissociatingdemon @sleepdeprivedflower @thedragonsaunt @jamieweasley13 @hellfireone @dragonmama76

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #corroded coffin #tw under age drinking

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stood-onthecliffside · 4 months

Text

who's gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames? if we know the steps anyway we embroidered the memories of the time i was away stitching, we were just kids, babe i said i don't mind, it takes time. i thought i was better safe than starry-eyed. felt aglow like this never before and never since. if you know it in one glimpse, it's legendary you and i go from one kiss to gettin married still alive, killing time at the cemetery never quite buried in your suit and tie, in the nick of time. you lowdown boy, you stand up guy holy ghost. you told me i'm the love of your life. you said i'm the love of your life - about a million times- who's gonna tell me the truth when you blew in with the winds of fate and told me i reformed you? when your impressionist paintings of heaven turned out to be fakes. well, you took me to hell, too and all at once, the ink bleeds a con man sells a fool a get-love-quick scheme but i felt a hole like this never before, and ever since if you know it in one glimpse it's legendary what we thought was for all time was momentary. still alive. killing time at the cemetery. never quite buried. you cinephile in black and white. all those plot twists and dynamite mr. steal your girl, then make her cry. you said i'm the love of your life. YOU SHIT TALKED ME UNDER THE TABLE TALKING RINGS AND TALKING CRADLES I WISH I COULD UN-RECALL. HOW WE ALMOST HAD IT ALL. dancing phantoms on the terrace are they second-hand embarrassed that i can't get out of bed? cause something counterfeit's dead. it was legendary. it was momentary. IT WAS UNNECESSARY SHOULD'VE LET IT STAY BURIED. oh, what a valiant roar what a bland goodbye the coward claimed he was a lion i'm combing through the braids of lies. I WILL NEVER LEAVE.... NEVER MIND.... our field of dreams, engulfed in fire your arson's match your somber eyes. and i'll still see it until i die. you're the loss of my life.

#q #taylor swift

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wannabehockeygf · 2 months

Text

loml - clayton keller

“You lowdown boy,

You standup guy,

Holy Ghost, you told me I’m

The love of your life.”

summary: when clayton finds out he has to move to utah, something snaps.

word count: 2.9k

pairing: toxic ? ck9 x fem!reader

warnings: some slight manipulation, gaslighting

notes:

this may or not make you extremely upset!

in my massive crush on clayton keller era!

^ happy early birthday king

i’ve also been craving writing some angst and something extremely tragic

self insert because this is how i would react if i was forced to move to utah

^ no offense... it just seems like Alberta but worse.

this is also something i might write a sequel for, so lmk if you’d want that

or send me a request for a different trope with him while I’m still on this kick

I’d also like to dedicate this to the word “fuck” because I used it way too much.

gif creds - imgonnaeditstuff

his hair... hair of all time. absolutely beautiful kells pls never cut it. ***

“Fuck!”

“Oh no, oh fuck no no! Fucking hell no!” Your boyfriend exclaims from outside, causing you to drop the knife you were using to chop some garlic and run out to the pool area, where you knew he was.

His bare back faces you, muscles tensing as he faces out toward the fence, his feet dangling in the water. He holds his phone up to his ear, running a hand through his wet hair as you approach him, “Clay, are you okay? What happened?” You urge him, crouching down so he’s able to see you.

Clayton’s expression is a scowl, furrowing his brows as he stares out into the distance in pure disbelief. His eyes don’t soften at all when he meets your gaze, instead waving you off, “Shhh, shut the fuck up for a second.” He hisses, his eyes zeroing back in on nothing in particular.

You’re in a state of disbelief because one, why is he talking to you like that? You haven’t done anything much to probe him, and two, what’s going on for him to be talking to you like that?

You purse your lips, taking a deep breath as you listen to his demand and stand back up. “Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to you later.” Clayton murmurs, setting down his phone on the damp concrete beside him. He immediately facepalms, running his hands through his hair once again, followed by him balling his hand into a fist and hitting it against the ground on the other side of him. “Fuck!”

“You wanna tell me what’s going on now?” You say, crossing your arms. Clayton turns his head, and rolls his eyes at you, pondering his thoughts for a few moments before letting out an extended groan and turning his head back. “It’s fucking happening, babe, I’m moving to fuckin’ Utah.”

Oh. Oh. When he first heard of the possibility of the Coyotes being moved and told you, you both laughed. How could you not? It was such a ridiculous concept — moving from a great hockey market when they’d inevitably get a new arena soon, right? They wouldn’t be doomed to play at Arizona State forever.

Well, it turns out that the new arena management was thinking, was the Delta Center. In Salt Lake City.

And that was reality right now.

You watch as Clayton’s chest heaves, his breaths shallow and rapid. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows over the pool area, its rays glinting off the surface of the water, creating a fragmented reflection of his tense form.

The tension in the air is palpable, almost suffocating. You can feel the rough concrete beneath your bare feet, tiny grains digging into your skin, grounding you in his moment of disbelief and anger. "Utah," you repeat, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. "You’re moving to Utah."

Clayton doesn't turn to face you. His gaze is fixed on some indeterminate point beyond the fence, as if staring hard enough might change the reality unfolding before him. His jaw is set, his muscles rippled under the strain of his frustration, body taut like a bowstring ready to snap. The deep tan of his skin is darker from the time he'd spent outdoors, contrasting sharply with the red flush of anger now rising up his neck. You watch as a bead of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, disappearing into the damp mess of his hair.

He finally turns to face you, and you saw the anger simmering in his eyes. “Me? I’m moving? You mean us?” He questions, his voice ever so shaky underneath the suppressed rage you’re sure he’s feeling.

The silence stretches between you, a taut line ready to snap. The gentle rustling of palm leaves, the distant hum of traffic, and the rhythmic lapping of water against the pool’s edge do little to soften the edges of your growing anxiety. The world around you remains indifferent, carrying on as if nothing has changed, while your reality shifts on its axis.

“Clayton,” you finally say, your voice barely more than a whisper, yet it feels like it shatters the stillness. “You know I can’t just go with you. We have to talk about this.”

Clayton's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as your words sink in. The muscles in his neck flex, veins prominent against his sun-kissed skin. He stands abruptly, the force sending ripples through the pool, and begins to pace along the edge, his footsteps echoing the tension between you. The sharp scent of chlorine mingles with the earthy aroma of freshly cut grass, creating a heady, disorienting mix.

He paces back and forth, his breaths coming out in harsh bursts. Each step he takes feels like a statement, a physical manifestation of the turmoil inside him. You watch him, arms still crossed, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Clayton,” you begin, but he cuts you off with a harsh laugh, the sound devoid of humor. It’s a laugh that slices through the air, making your skin prickle.

“You know what?” he says, his voice low and shaky. “I should have seen this coming. Should’ve known you’d find a reason not to come with me.” His words are like daggers, each one striking a different nerve.

You inhale sharply, the scent of chlorine mingling in a way that turns your stomach. “That’s not fair, and you know it,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “We’ve built a life here, my job, our friends...”

“Our friends?” he interrupts, eyes flashing. “Or is it just your life you’re worried about? Your job, your comfort zone? What about me? This is my career, my dream. Don’t you understand that?”

You flinch as his words hit home, each one a reminder of the predicament. The sun dips lower, casting long shadows that stretch like fingers across the pool area, adding a surreal quality to the argument. You can feel the sweat on your back, sticking your shirt to your skin, the heat of the day not helping the heat of the moment. “I do understand, but this affects us both!” you counter, your voice rising with your frustration. “You’re asking me to uproot my entire life without even considering how I feel about it.”

He stops pacing, his back to you, and for a moment, you think he might ignore you. But then he turns slowly, his eyes meeting yours. They're dark, intense, filled with a blend of anger and hurt that cuts through you like a knife. “I’m not asking, I’m telling you. I need you with me. Isn’t that what people who love each other do? They make sacrifices?”

The word “sacrifices” hangs heavily in the air, a bitter reminder of what’s at stake. Your throat tightens, and you struggle to find the words for a moment. The world around you feels distant, the neighborhood sounds muted as if submerged underwater.

“Sacrifices go both ways,” you finally manage to say, your voice breaking. “I’ve supported you through everything, but I have dreams too, Clay. And they fucking matter, even if they aren’t wrapped up in a hockey jersey.”

Clayton paces again, his movements jerky and erratic, like a caged animal searching for an escape. His breath comes in ragged bursts, each exhale a testament to the struggle raging within him. He stops suddenly, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity, the lines of his face etched deep with frustration and pain. “You’re making this about you,” he spits out, his voice low but charged with a raw, electric energy. “You’re being so fucking dramatic, self centred and so focused on your little world that you can’t see past it.”

The accusation hits you like a physical blow, the force of it driving the air from your lungs. The taste of salt lingers on your lips, a remnant of the tears you refuse to let fall. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm, each beat a desperate plea for understanding, for reconciliation. The silence stretches taut between you, a fragile thread that could snap at any moment.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to breathe. The world around you seems to blur, the colors of the sunset merging into a hazy smear. It’s as if you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath your feet, and you’re desperately trying to grasp onto something, anything, to stop the fall.

But the only thing falling is your tears.

As the tears spill over, Clayton’s expression shifts, a flicker of regret flashing across his features. He steps closer, reaching out as if to wipe them away, but then hesitates, his hand hovering in the space between you. The distance feels both vast and minuscule, a chasm created by his words, yet easily bridged by a single step.

“Baby, please don’t cry,” he finally mutters, his voice cracking as he takes the step, pulling you into his chest, “I didn’t mean that, I swear.”

You bury your face in his bare chest for a moment, feeling the dampness of his skin and the faint, comforting scent of his cologne. But just as quickly, you rip yourself away to meet his gaze, the tears flowing freely now, “No—fuck, you can’t do this.” You snap.

Clayton's eyes widen, caught off guard by the sudden force of your words. He takes a step back, his hands dropping to his sides, fingers twitching as if they want to reach out but don’t know how. The tension in his face eases slightly, replaced by a mix of confusion and frustration. He opens his mouth, struggling to find the right words, but you cut him off, your voice steady despite the tears.

"You can't just say things like that and then try to take them back," you continue, your voice growing stronger. "You can't just make me feel like I'm being selfish when all I've done is support you.

“You know I didn’t mean it, babe,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper, a heavy sense of desperation in it. His eyes search yours, trying to understand the depth of your pain. “I’m just trying to keep us together. Isn’t that what you want? You’re the love of my life. That’s what you want me to say, right? I’ll say it a million times over for you.”

Your voice, though shaky, carries a steely resolve as you look Clayton square in the eyes. "Clay, love isn't about... this. It's about finding a way to support each other, even when it's hard. This—" you gesture to the space between you, "—this isn't support. It's an ultimatum. I could be the love of your life, but you could be the loss of mine.”

Clayton's face contorts, multiple emotions running past him. He runs a hand through his hair again, a gesture that now seems more like an attempt to ground himself in the midst of this emotional whirlwind. "I'm not giving you an ultimatum," he protests, but the crack in his voice betrays the doubt seeping into his own words. "I'm just... fuck, I don’t want to lose you. I can't lose you."

You stand there, looking at him, heart breaking at the sight of his desperation. Despite the hurt, you can't ignore the sincerity in his eyes. But you also can't ignore the heavy weight of his words, the impossible choice he's forcing on you. Every fiber of your being wants to hold on, but you know deep down, that holding on might just tear you both apart.

Without a word, you turn and walk away, each step feeling heavier than the last. You can taste the salt of your tears as you make your way back into the house, his house, the backyard fading behind you. You can hear Clayton calling your name, but you don't stop. You can't. Not this time.

***

With nowhere else to go, you find yourself in Clayton’s bed that night without having finished cooking dinner or talking to him since he got the phone call.

You couldn’t even imagine eating. Or looking at his face, nonetheless. When the door creaked open, you knew it was inevitable, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t try to ignore him.

Clayton enters the room, the dim light casting shadows on his tired face. He moves quietly, almost hesitantly, as if unsure of his place in the space he once considered safe. The bed creaks softly as he sits on the edge, and he reaches out, his hand trembling slightly, and gently touches your shoulder. The contact is soft, tentative, like he's afraid you'll pull away.

"Baby," he whispers, his voice raspy. "Please, can we talk?"

You don’t respond, your body curled up under the covers, facing away from him as you try to blink away tears that blur your vision. The silence stretches out, a noticeable barrier between you. Clayton shifts closer, lying down beside you, his warmth seeping through the sheets. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you gently into him. The familiarity of his touch is both comforting and painful, a reminder of what you stand to lose, which causes you to jerk away.

"Please, just let me hold you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck. "I want to be close to you, to know you’re still here with me."

Clayton’s always been a touchy guy, whether that be just wanting to cuddle or… other things, and today was no different. It was always the same thing, you’d argue, and he’d leave you alone for a few hours, only to come back and apologize, proclaim his love, and kiss it better.

Rinse, repeat.

You feel a lump forming in your throat, tears threatening to spill over once more. Part of you is intoxicated by the way he fits against you and wants to turn around, to bury your face in his chest, and let him hold you, to forget about the argument and the pain, if only for a little while. But another part of you, the part that still stings from his words, his actions, resists. It's a tug-of-war between your heart and your head, between the love you feel for him and the hurt he caused. The hurt he seems to keep causing.

"Please," he repeats, his voice barely more than a whisper, "Don’t shut me out, I need you. I need to feel you against me, love."

You take a deep breath, the ache in your chest expanding with each inhalation. The tension in your body slowly starts to melt away as you allow yourself to lean back into his embrace. Clayton pulls you closer, his grip firm but gentle, his breath warm against the back of your neck. “That’s it, pretty baby,” he mumbles.

Clayton tightens his grip, his arms wrapping around you protectively, as if trying to shield you both from the harsh realities outside this small cocoon. Like he always used to say, he’d be your protector.

As if he wasn’t the one who caused all the hurt in the first place.

He shoves his face into your hair, inhaling deeply as if to anchor you, your scent to memory, and you feel the tremor in his breath. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice cracking. "I'm so fucking sorry for everything I said earlier. I know I've been a dick. I know I've hurt you, but I can't stand the thought of losing you. You're everything to me.”

His words are a balm to the raw wound in your heart, but they also bring a fresh wave of tears. You want to believe him, to listen to that other side of you, and let go of the pain and anger, but the memory of his past blatant gaslighting lingers, a constant dark shadow over the love you share. You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, but the tears slip out anyway, wetting the pillow beneath your cheek. You don't turn to face him, but your hand reaches up, finding his where it rests on your waist. Your fingers intertwine with his, a small but significant gesture that says more than words could.

Sensing your distress, Clayton tightens his hold on you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder as he squeezes your hand. "I love you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "I love you so much. Please don’t cry, baby. I can't stand it when you cry."

"Clay," you begin, your voice choked from the tears. "This isn't fair."

Clayton exhales a shaky breath, and you feel the tension in his body ease just a little. He shifts closer, his front pressed firmly against your back, as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. His arm tightens his grip around your waist as if by sheer force he can keep the world from pulling you apart. "I know it’s not. I'm so fucking scared," he confesses, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Scared of leaving, scared of what this means for us. I don't want to go to Utah without you. I don't want to go anywhere without you. We can talk to my agent, figure out if there's any flexibility, anything. I just... I don't want to lose you, not like this.”

Clayton’s desperate confession hangs in the air, heavy with raw emotion. The words feel like a fragile lifeline, a tentative reach across the chasm that's opened between you. You squeeze your eyes shut once again, letting his warmth envelop you, and for a moment, it’s as if the world outside doesn't exist.

It’s just you and him, and you don't even know if you can call him the love of your life anymore. All you know is that you'll always mourn how your relationship used to be — and how no matter what, you'll always end up back in his bed, tangled up in his sheets with him, in a web of pain.

A fucked-up love affair.

#nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey fanfiction #clayton keller #utah hc #utah hockey club #arizona coyotes #nhl fic #nhl x reader #ck9 #ck9 x reader #clayton keller fic #clayton keller fanfic #Spotify

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 7 months

Note

If the rumored Met Gala drop did indeed happen in 2018, right before the wedding, then the (rumored) Givenchy dressing room incident could have also been why. No way Anna wouldn’t have heard about that quickly.

I hadn't even thought of that!

Yes, absolutely, 100%. Anna Wintour knows everyone and she absolutely would've heard about what went down at Givenchy. Edward Enninful too. And now that you mention it, I wonder if others in British fashion also heard about it and that may have affected who sent clothes to Meghan. I imagine so - fashion is a small world too. But how many of them believed Meghan when she said it was just wedding stress and she's not really like that. We know Enninful got somehow duped, since he looked pretty chummy with her in all the behind-the-scenes stuff for the September edition she did.

Anyway. For all the new-to-royal watching anons (and a refresher for everyone else!), this is is the the lowdown on the "Givenchy incident."

In November 2018, Camilla Tominey/The Telegraph published a story that Meghan made Kate cry during the bridesmaid fittings. (This is the original article, behind a paywall; I'll post excerpts below the cut. This is the Daily Mail's version of it.)

In March 2021, Oprah asked about this incident in the interview and Meghan revealed that "the reverse happened"; that Kate had made Meghan cry. Later on social media, Camilla doubled down on her sources that it was Meghan who made Kate cry.

About two weeks after oprah, Empress received the original Givenchy tea about Meghan's beyond-bridezilla behavior for the wedding. (Also, this is the post we're referring to by "Givenchy Anon" or "Givenchy tea".)

In July 2022, Tom Bower confirmed the bridezilla behavior and the bridesmaid dress fitting incidents in Revenge. Here is the Daily Mail's report.

In January 2023, Harry wrote about the bridesmaid dress fitting in Spare. This the Daily Mail's article about Harry's version of events. Camilla Tominey again doubled down on her sources via social media. (Also around this time, there was a rumor that Camilla had seen the actual text messages of Meghan gloating that she had made Kate cry and when Kate came to apologize, Meghan had slammed the door in her face after taking the flowers.)

Then the Daily Mail tracked down the tailor who's at the center of the bridesmaid dress fitting r2ow. That story is here. (Here is the exclusive behind-the-paywall version, which was the first story written about the tailor.)

Then in December, Sassy got some follow-up tea about Meghan's behavior around the wedding. The wedding tea is about 2/3s of the way down.

Kate and Meghan: Is the royal sisterhood really at breaking point? by Camilla Tominey, 26 Nov 2018

It was only a matter of time before all eyes would be on Kate and Meghan and how well they did – or didn’t – get on. The royal sisterhood has not been under this much scrutiny since a young Princess Diana and an excitable Fergie joined the household in the Eighties.

But the talk of a growing froideur between Kate and Meghan really ramped up following rumours of an apparent falling out between the pair in the run up to the Sussexes’ wedding in May. The Telegraph has spoken to two separate sources who claim Kate was left in tears following a bridesmaids dress fitting for Princess Charlotte. “Kate had only just given birth to Prince Louis and was feeling quite emotional,” said one insider. The incident happened around the time Meghan was reported to have also “upset” the Queen by asking to wear an emerald tiara instead of the one offered by the 92-year-old monarch. It came after a book by veteran royal journalist Robert Jobson described Harry as “petulant and short-tempered” in the build up to the Windsor Castle wedding. He allegedly told staff with a raised voice: “What Meghan wants, Meghan gets” and when reports reached the Queen, she asked to see her grandson privately and “put him firmly in his place”, Mr Jobson wrote. Rumours of any lingering ill feeling between the Queen and Meghan appear wide of the mark, however. The two women, who share a love of dogs, enjoyed each other’s company at their first solo engagement together in Cheshire in June - even if Meghan did inadvertently break protocol by not wearing a hat. And earlier this month the Queen entrusted Meghan to “look after” Elke Budenbender, wife of the German president during the Remembrance commemorations in a move which saw her separated from the Duchess of Cambridge who was on an adjacent balcony with the Queen and the Duchess of Cornwall. Despite being welcomed into the family fold, the attitude “below stairs” has apparently not been universally positive, with some giving the relationship “five years”.

#ask #brf

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speaknowworldtour · 4 months

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“i tell you that i think i’m falling back in love with you” // “who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames if we know the steps anyway”

“stitching ‘we were just kids, babe’. i said ‘i don’t mind it takes time’”// “and you said you’d come and get me but you were 25 and the shelf life of those fantasies has expired”

“starry eyes sparking up my darkest night” // “i thought i was better safe than starry eyed”

“your touch bought forth an incandescent glow” // “i felt aglow like this never before and never since”

“i’d die for you in the same way, if i first saw your face in the 1500s off in a foreign land… we would’ve been timeless” // “if you know it in one glimpse, it’s legendary”

“and when we go crashing down we come back every time” // “never quite buried”

“you paint me a blue sky and go back and turn it to rain” // “you lowdown boy you stand up guy”

“but it lies and it lies and it lies a million little times” // “you said i’m the love of your life about a million times”

“clear blue water high tide came and bought you in” // “who’s gonna tell me the truth when you blew in with the winds of fate”

“for a moment i was heaven-struck” // “and told me i reformed you”

“your integrity makes me seem small. you paint dreamscapes on the wall.” // “when your impressionist paintings of heaven turned out to be fakes”

“if you never looked my way i would’ve stayed on my knees and i damn sure never would’ve danced with the devil” // “well you took me to hell too”

“and all at once you are the one i have been waiting for” // “and all at once the ink bleeds”

“forever is the sweetest con” // “a conman sells a fool a get love quick scheme”

“you showed me colours you know i can’t see with anyone else” // “but i felt a hole like this never before and ever since”

“i like shiny things but i’d marry you with paper rings” // “and i wouldn’t marry me either” // “give you my wild give you a child” // “you shit talked me under the table talking rings and talking cradles”

“you would’ve been the one if you were a better man” // “i wish i could unrecall how we almost had it all”

“but if he’s a ghost then i can be a phantom” // “dancing phantoms on the terrace” // “my beloved ghost and me sitting in a tree d-y-i-n-g” // “can we watch our phantoms like watching wild horses”

“it must be counterfeit. i think there’s been a glitch” // “i can’t get out of bed cause something counterfeit’s dead”

“in my defence i have none, for digging up the grace another time” // “should’ve let it stay buried”

“the coward claimed he was a lion” // “you said i needed a brave man then proceeded to play him”

“i’m combing through the braids of lies” // “was any of it true?”

“you see me in hindsight tangled up with you all night burning it down” // “our field of dreams engulfed in fire your arsons match your somber eyes”

“and i’m never gonna love again” // “and i’ll still see it until i die you’re the loss of my life”

#so so many today #24 all together #truly this song is top 20 best songs she’s ever made #honestly maybe top 10 #top 5?#ttpdminutes #ttpd lyric parallels #ttpd lyrics #ttpd parallels #ttpd web weaving #web weaving #loml

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boinin · 4 months

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Blue Lock: AO3 statistics and fanfiction meta

Blue Lock (Manga) has more than 13,000 works on AO3! 🎉 The corresponding figure for Blue Lock (Anime) is about 7,900 or so.

Just under 230 works are tagged exclusively as Blue Lock (Anime), while there are just under 5,500 works tagged exclusively as Blue Lock (Manga). As expected, around 7,700 works are tagged under both fandoms.

I'm procrastinating today, so here's a high level analysis of the Blue Lock works on the platform. Given the low number of Blue Lock (Anime) exclusive works, I excluded these and reviewed only works that included the Blue Lock (Manga) tag. I didn't exclude crossovers, due to the aforementioned dual-tagging.

Firstly, here's the lowdown on pairings:

On the left: Works tagged under Blue Lock (Manga), without any additional filtering. NagiReo, KaiSagi and RinSagi nab the top three pairing placements, with NagiReo comfortably leading.

On the right: Same fandom tag, but inputting the search term "otp: true" into the "Search within results" field. This returns works with no more than one pairings tagged (i.e. excluding any works that have two or more pairings tagged). This includes any fics with no pairings tagged, platonic (&) or romantic/sexual (/). This filter yields approx. 8,600 works.

This doesn't affect the top three most-tagged pairings, but it reshuffles the other parings more significantly. For example: we can see that 55% of BachIsagi-tagged works feature other pairings, and it drops a ranking. KuniGiri-tagged works fare similarly, and the split is even more pronounced for RyuSae and NagiSagi.

KaiNess jump from 9th most tagged pairing overall to 5th most tagged amongst fics that only tag one pairing—lapping Kunigiri, and potentially an indicator of a recent boom in works for this pairing. The controversial RinSae goes up one place in the rankings under this filter.

The two searches show that nine pairings remain on top, regardless of whether works tag them in tandem with other pairings or tag them as solo. However, Isagi Yoichi/Everyone falls out of the rankings when the otp: true is applied. This is logical, given this pairing is frequently tagged alongside other Isagi slash tags. Filtering this way reveals that RyuRin is the tenth most tagged pairing in single-pairing works.

More discussion on pairings, ratings and tags, plus a comparison to others sports animanga under the cut!

It's also possible to use "otp: false" to show only fics with multiple (2+) relationship tags, which yields about 4,500 works. The results of this search are below:

Here, BachiSagi just about pips KaiSagi to round out the top three—but if trends persist, the number of KaiSagi works will soon grow at a higher rate, leaving the top three ships in the manga fandom undisputed.

Meanwhile, KaiNess and RinSae drop from the top ten, displaced by Nagi&Reo and Rin&Sae (platonic pairing tags). Not too surprising for the latter—due to taboo, works featuring RinSae tend to be standalone.

With KaiNess, it's simply that the two platonic tags are used more often in multi-pairing works, which makes sense given the relative recency of Kaiser and Ness's introduction, and the fact that they're still manga-only characters. A related search revealed KaiNess would most likely be the eleventh most-tagged pairing in multi-pairing works (296), followed by Bachira&Isagi (platonic pairing).

What about ratings, and the most popular non-pairing tags?

On the left: results for all Blue Lock (Manga) fandom works.

In the middle: results for Blue Lock (Manga) fandom works filtered by "otp: true".

On the right: results for Blue Lock (Manga) fandom works filtered by"otp: false".

To reiterate, the search feature just reports the most frequently occurring tags. Even the most common tag, Fluff, features on only around 15% of works.

There's not too much divergence caused by filtering. One observation is that filtering by "otp: true" returns a higher ratio of explicit works—this is supported by the tags that appear in that respective top ten.

Overall, the most popular tags in Blue Lock works are Fluff, Angst, "No Blue Lock" and "Canon Divergent" AUs, and Established Relationship... not to mention, good ol' reliable buttsecs.

Although not a rigorous (read: percentage tested) exercise, I compared these results to the most frequently occurring tags in other sports animanga fandoms in AO3 with the following observations:

Free! works have higher incidences of Romance, Smut, PWP and Friendship tags than Blue Lock does 🏊‍♂️

Haikyuu!! didn't have any sex-adjacent tags in its top 10, but otherwise reported similar trends to Blue Lock. One exception is a notably high incidence of the "Friends to Lovers" tag 🏐

Yuri!!! on Ice has a frequently occurring fandom specific tag ("Character's Name Spelled as Viktor"), and in additions featured "A/B/O dynamics" among its top 10 most common tags. Otherwise, it most resembles Free! in tagging trends ⛸️

SK8 the Infinity meanwhile mirrors Haikyuu!! in terms of frequently occurring tags, although with more common incidences of "Anal Sex" and "Post Canon" 🛹

In short, nearly all sports animanga including Blue Lock report high incidences of the following tags:

Fluff (and/or) Angst

Established Relationship

Alternative Universe (various)

Hurt/Comfort.

This doesn't tell us a whole lot, given these are popular tags for nearly every fandom. However, they are trailed in popularity by the tags Getting Together, Romance, Smut, PWP, and Friends to Lovers. These are more indicative of the shipping culture in sports animanga, including the fact that character relationships in these fandoms are generally pre-established.

As for ratings, It's hard to make a judgement on whether Blue Lock (Manga) works lean more towards a universal or teen readership, or towards being more mature/explicit in nature. This is due to a high incidence of "Not rated" works. Works may be categorised as "Not rated" for any number of reasons: authors avoiding spoilers, authors relying on tags for identification, or authors not knowing how to categorise their own work, or even opting not to categorise an ongoing fic because they are yet to decide the direction of the work.

That said, filtering by "Not rated" alone didn't yield a higher incidence of explicit tags, like filtering by "otp: true" did. So there's limited evidence that "Not rated" fics trend towards mature or explicit content in excess of general trends. All the same, where in doubt, it's best to refer to a work's additional tags to assess its content, as the rating may not always make this clear.

A long read, catering to a niche audience (read: my nerdy ass) but if you've made it this far, I hope you found it of interest!

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock meta #archive of our own #ao3 #fandom #fandom meta #blue lock fanfiction #bllk fanfiction #sports anime #sports manga #boinin talks bllk #long post #mine

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novaksupremacy · 3 months

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The Veiled Law of Affection- Chapter 5

The Veiled Law of Affection Chapter 5

Word Count: 6317

By PKJ @novaksupremacy

chapter follows the events of S5E20 "Lowdown", angst, smut, lots more angst, SVU talk, HIV scare. sorry it took so long! chapter 6 wont take as long because I'm off Wednesday. That will focus on one of my favorite Casey eps, "Poisoned". <3

Read Part 4

Olivia woke up to the sound of water running from the next room. She stumbled sleepily into the doorway to find Casey standing under the hot water of her stone tiled full walk-in shower. The ADA was leaning with one arm against the wall, staring at the drain as the hot water soothed her aching shoulders. The brunette tossed off her pajamas and snuck in behind her, wrapping her arms around the redhead's waist. "Hey Counselor" she whispered in her ear.

"Mmmm, hey yourself Detective" she reached behind her to Olivia's neck and leaned back, pulling their bodied flush. "I was trying not to wake you." She turned her head to meet her lover's soft, tired lips.

"What are you doing up? Let alone in the shower?" the detective whispered tenderly.

She turned to face Liv, "Are you complaining about being wet and naked with me?" She giggled, draping her arms over the brunette’s shoulders. "I couldn't sleep so I went to the gym." She placed a languid kiss on her collar bone before moving to the other, "I was hoping to climb back in bed before you woke up."

"Is everything okay?" She furrowed her brow in concern.

"Everything is fine, sometimes I just can't sleep. I promise." She kissed her girlfriend deeply and leaned her back against the opposite wall, running her delicate, long fingers up her thigh settling at Liv's center. She rolled the detective’s small bundle of nerves under the pads of her fingers in slow circles, kissing down Liv's throat, leaving a trail, down between her breasts, down her stomach, letting out low moans with each kiss she placed. She gently replaced her fingers that were torturing her detective with the light pressure of her tongue.

"Case," the brunette braced her arms on the shower walls as her breath hitched.

The redhead now on her knees, hot water beating against her back, lifted Liv's legs over her shoulders supporting her weight.

"I thought you already got your workout in tonight" Liv chuckled, sighing again as Casey hit her clit just right. She ran her hands through her girlfriend’s wet curls. She groaned as her cellphone started ringing on the vanity, “Shit!” The brunette stuck her hand out of the shower grabbing at her phone and flipping it open, cocking her head to the side as to not get it wet. “Beh-Benson,” she stuttered as Casey took this opportunity push her tongue down with more pressure. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, YES!” She threw her head back against the tile shower, trying not to moan. Casey was relentless. “I’ll be there soon.” It was clearly noticeable that her breathing was staggered as she spoke. She hung up the phone and tossed it back to the counter, “Casey, baby, I have to go.” She panted, gently tapping her lover’s arm.

Casey groaned and lowered Liv gently so that she was standing again and wiped the corners of her mouth, disappointed she didn’t get to finish what she started. “To be continued?”

Liv smirked, “Absolutely,” she helped the redhead to her feet. “I’m sure it won’t be long until they’re calling you in too. Please try to sleep until then.” She pulled Casey’s damp, naked body tight to hers and kissed her passionately.

Casey melted into her, jelly in her arms, “Please be careful, okay?”

“Promise. I’ll see you soon. If they let me get a few minutes shut eye by the time you get there just come sneak up there and cuddle with me. I’ll miss you by then.”

“I miss you now.”

“Me too.”

******

Elliot met Liv as she pulled up to the crime scene, the rain had finally tapered off, but he wasn’t taking off his cap just in case it picked back up.

“Any ID?” the brunette cop leaned into the car where the victim was found. She studied the condom on the console.

“Wallet and credit cards are missing, but the car’s registered to a Jeffrey York. West Side Address.”

Liv popped her head up in shock and turned towards the coroner’s van. “Hold on!” she shouted. “Let me see the body?”

The MEs unzipped the body bag and as the detective’s face contorted in shock. “He’s an Assistant DA in the Bronx.”

“You know him?” Elliot asked.

“I dated him.” She answered softly.

Liv stopped at the bodega on the corner and picked up an extra-large black coffee for Cragen before heading into the precinct, “I thought you could use this.” She handed him the cup as she and Elliot walked into his office, their eyes bleary with exhaustion.

“I had to wake the Bronx District Attorney at 2AM, that one his ADAs was found dead in his car, on a known prostitution stroll. Please tell me we are not jumping to conclusions.” Cragen said, sternly as he stood up.

“Hookers cut or stab, they don’t strangle. What hooker do you know with upper body strength like that?”

“A man could.” Elliot offered up.

“Look,” Liv stressed her point, “Jeff York wasn’t the kind of guy for street sex, and definitely not transvestites as the evidence is suggesting.”

“Look,” Elliot looked down, “everyone’s got secrets, you know? You think you know someone…” he spoke lightly.

“I knew Jeff.” She retorted.

Elliot sighed, “So what was he doing down there?”

Cragen leaned against the desk staring at the crime board, “York’s an ADA. We have to consider the possibility he was set up.” He ruminated.

“Sometimes its just how it looks,” Fin added pulling some papers off the fax, “Prints match a guy—Kevin Brown. AKA Keisha Brown.”

Cragen looked at his watch, “Go check it out, Fin you go check out the case files for the last three years the DA is sending over. Let’s figure this out and give him some answers.”

“You never mentioned him,” Elliot asked as they recanvased the crime scene.

“It was 5 years ago. He was a nice guy. Just—no chemistry.”

*******

“His partner Andy Abbott seems to think it was a guy they put away recently.” Stabler filled everyone in as he walked across the squad room, “but his alibi clears him.”

“The DA wants to keep a lid on this, they think Jeff was having some money issues, go down to lab and see if Warner has anything.” The captain handed Liv a stack of papers as she and her partner headed back to the morgue.

“He didn’t have sex before he died,” Warner stated, throwing some slides up on the backlight. “Also, the DNA from the semen found in the condom didn’t match Jeff York.”

“The operative word being men.” Liv stated, a hint of surprise still lingered on her voice.

“No wonder you and Jeff didn’t have any Chemistry, he was gay.” Elliot shrugged his shoulders.

*******

Casey walked in carrying a copy of The New York Ledger and caught up with Cragen, “Murdered DA in Gay Sex Slay. The papers are already loving this. Branch wants facts to counter the bad press.”

The captain threw up his hands as they walked towards the bullpen, “All we know was Jeff York was gay and had sex in his car with another man.”

“What about the prostitute angle?” the redhead inquired.

“DNA didn’t match.”

Casey didn’t have enough caffeine for this, “Well, what did happen?” she pointed towards the crime board.

Liv walked over from the coffee machine, she had to do a double take and try to keep her cool, Casey was wearing the black suit she liked with the plunging neckline. She had to keep her eyes forward. “Well, we know what didn’t happen. The wallet was stolen, credit cards unused.”

“So, what’s the motive to kill him?” The redhead pressed for answers.

“This is a well-known lover’s lane,” Elliot pointed at the map, “maybe he picked up a guy for a good time.”

The boss stood with arms crossed, “maybe it was an accident? Jeff liked it rough, and something went wrong. Maybe our mystery man just freaked?”

“Guys, I gotta tell you that Jeff seemed pretty vanilla to me.” Liv interjected.

“Sounds like there’s a lot you didn’t know about Jeff.” Cragen said with a sigh.

“I’m sure people would be surprised to realize they don’t know all about you,” the redhead offered up, then realized what she said and cleared her throat, “or any of us. Everyone has secrets.”

“Why don’t you two go see what you can gather up at Jeff’s apartment. Maybe it’ll give us some insight." The captain gave his orders.

The brunette’s jaw got tense. She knew they what they were all thinking, that she was naïve. She exited towards the back of the squad room.

Liv walked quickly to her locker to grab some mints and deodorant. She was crawling in her own skin both from being awake since last night and the fact that she had been intimate with the vic. It was years ago when she was even less comfortable with herself than now. She still had a tough time owning up to who she was, how being honest could affect her life, her career, but she never lied about it. Jeff did.

“You okay? She heard a familiar rasp from behind her.

“Yeah, fine.” She looked towards her girlfriend, her eyes welling up with tears.

“I’m sorry about what I said, I wasn’t trying to throw you to the wolves, I wasn’t thinking.” She shifted her feet, looking down at the vinyl tile of precinct floor. “I won’t lie either, it’s not easy hearing you get so worked up over someone else.” She choked, “Olivia, I’m sor…”

“It’s fine Casey, it’s not you, I know you didn’t mean it. I gotta go.” She kissed her cheek and threw her jacket on walking out to meet Elliot.

“Everything okay?” Elliot looked at her with a face normally reserved for the victim’s families and his teenage daughters.

“Everything’s fine.” Liv mumbled, “Let’s go.”

********

“All that’s in this book is dinners with coworkers and case notes.” The brunette said flipping through the pages of the day planner.

Her partner held up a stack of papers, “This guy has got an awful lot of medical bills.”

“The night he died, he had drinks with Andy Abbott. I wonder why Andy conveniently left that out.”

“There’s like ten thousand dollars’ worth of bills here. All marked paid in cash.” Stabler started going through the cabinets.

“He had insurance through the DA’s office,” Liv stated, “Why pay cash?”

Elliot pulled out a container full of pills and studied them, “I’m guessing he didn’t use it to pay for this. Its AZT.”

Olivia stared at the bottle. Her face dropped, and her heart sank below her stomach. “He was HIV-positive.”

The brunette felt as if she was going to throw up her breakfast. She could feel her face tingling and her body starting to sweat even though it was cold outside.

“You okay?” the other detective checked in. “Cause if you slept with Jeff—”

“I’m gonna get tested,” she exhaled. She definitely didn’t want to talk about this, she needed to think.

“You don’t want that on the record, we can find a clinic. Look, I can go with you if you want?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” Liv assured him. The last thing she needed was him worrying about her.

“What about Casey?”

“Oh god, Casey.” She really was gonna be sick now.

“I’m gonna tell her as soon as I see her in person again. I can’t tell her that over the phone. Not that I may have offered her a death sentence.” Her voice got quiet.

Elliot leaned up against the sedan next to Liv and folded his arms. “I meant,” he sighed, “that if you didn’t want me to go, you two are close and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind going with you. Although you pretty much just confirmed my suspicions at this point.”

The brunette couldn’t form words she just looked at him, her lip jutted, tears forming.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry if you felt like you couldn’t talk to me. I’d never judge you, Olivia. For what it’s worth I like Casey, and I see a change in you. It’s like a weight was lifted. I know she’s not Al-“

“She doesn’t have to be.” She cut him off. “She doesn’t have to be anyone. She’s just Casey. My Casey- and now she may never speak to me again.”

*****

The arrived at the Abbott household just as they were getting ready to leave for dinner.

“What can I do for you detectives?” Andy asked as his wife went to grab the door for the babysitter.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had drinks with Jeff before he died? Or that he went to dinner after?” Liv asked, her tone bordered on accusatory.

“It must have slipped my mind when you told me the news. We always had drinks after work. I don’t know anything about a dinner, he didn’t talk much about his personal life.”

“Oh,” Elliot nodded, under the ruse of understanding, “So you didn’t know Jeff York was gay?”

Andy’s face dropped, “Are, are you sure? He didn’t give me that vibe. Okay we need to be going, I’m sorry. I left him at the bar and went to my poker game. If you’ll excuse me.”

******

“Why would Andy Abbott kill Jeff York.” Cragen asked, closing the door to his office behind himself, the two detectives, and Casey. “Is there any evidence to prove Abbott was also gay?”

“Wife and kids don’t mean he’s straight.” Liv added.

“Semen on the condom is gonna match.” Elliot said assuredly.

“We don’t have enough evidence for a DNA sample. Even if all of the elements of the murder came from different cases Andy tried, its circumstantial at best.” Casey added in, stressing the need for more information before proceeding.

Cragen picked up the receiver as the phone rang, holding up his forefinger as to motion to everyone to hold on for just a minute. “Elliot, go enlist Andy’s “help” so he doesn’t catch on that we’re looking at him and Olivia, Warner needs to see you at the morgue." They all left the office with their assigned tasks. Benson’s head, still in a fog, trying to make sense of today.

“Hey,” Casey smiled weakly, hurrying after Liv as she headed to the ME, “I hate the way things were this morning when you left the station. I don’t want us to ever leave each other like that. Anything could happen.” She caressed her lover’s arm as they walked. “We’ve already lived through one hostage situation.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It wasn’t about you, but I do need to talk to you.” She stopped and ducked into a dark corner.

“You okay?” the redhead stopped and ducked in too. The worry was starting to peak through on her face.

Liv took her hands and looked at her deep, in her big hazel green eyes. “I don’t know yet.”

“Baby did I do something? Is this about earlier?”

The brunette shook her head no, a tear falling from her eye onto Casey’s hand. As soon as it hit, the ADA tilted her head to keep eye contact and caringly wiped her girlfriend’s tears.

“Baby what’s going on?” The redhead was trembling now.

“Jeff York.”

“What, were you secretly married? Did you love him? Did…Olivia did you kill him?” she dropped her voice to a barely registering as a hush in case someone was listening.

“What?! No, Casey. We were intimate. It only happened once about five years ago but it means I may have been exposed, which means I may have exposed you.”

Casey took a step back. “Oh.”

“You have to know I would’ve never, if I knew.” Liv started to cry. “I would’ve never taken you home or even let you get close. I’m having trouble wrapping my head around this. I’m so sorry.”

Casey was silent for a minute trying to gather her thoughts and get air flow back into her lungs. She took her forefinger and thumb to bring the brunettes eyes back to her.

“Hey, hey. Shhh. I know that. I know of an anonymous clinic on the Lower East Side that a friend of mine works at. Off the record. We can go get tested.”

The detective looked at her lover confused, “You? You don’t hate me?”

“You didn’t do this on purpose babe. How could you have known, you said it was years ago. We’d never even met. Am I scared? Yes of course, but so are you. Have you been carrying this around all day? You must be terrified.” She ran her hands up and down Liv’s arms in an attempt to comfort her. “We can’t un-ring the bell, but whatever happens, we’ll face it together. Okay?” Her puppy dog eyes welling up, her anxiety was through the roof, but she knew in her bones how much this was tearing Olivia apart too. She leaned forward, kissing her sweetly, running the back of her hand along Liv’s cheek.

The brunette cleared her throat, “Warner’s waiting on me.”

“Come stop by my office after, okay?”

******

Warner shut the door behind them before she spoke, “I tested Jeff York’s blood. High viral load. When did you say you dated?”

“Um,” Liv stuttered, “about five years ago, just once, and we used protection.”

“Effective but not always perfect. It only takes one time.” Melinda stated as she went grab some gloves and equipment off her desk. “Come on lets test you.”

“I’m going to go, I just haven’t had time yet.”

“Olivia,” Warner dejected sternly, “How many rape victims have you told to get tested?”

“All of them?”

“Would you ever suggest that they wait?”

The brunette started tearing up again, her nerves bubbling over. She shook her head.

“I’ll do it myself, no paperwork. Sit down and roll up your sleeve.”

Liv moved slowly towards the chair by the ME’s desk and sat down, the panic setting in.

She walked out rolling down her sleeve so no one in the squad would see the bandage from the blood draw. She ran into Huang on her way back to the bullpen.

“You doing okay?” he leaned over and asked her discreetly.

“I guess. Can I ask you your thoughts?”

He nodded.

“Could Jeff have even been positive back then?” she could feel her shoulders tensing up.

“Yes, but your risk of exposure is very low.”

“How could I have missed this,” Liv ran her hand through her hair, shaking her head.

Huang took her by the elbow and pulled her to the side. “Liv, you’re not the first woman to ever sleep with a closeted man.”

She was starting to choke up again, she was tired of crying today. “Maybe he didn’t know?”

“Sexuality is extremely complicated, and it doesn’t mean he wasn’t attracted to you, but you probably know that better than most. You wouldn’t disclose to every man you slept with that you also enjoy the company of other women simply because you’ve gone on a few dates? For men that telling comes with a higher risk of judgement. A higher risk of fear from their peers, their insurance companies, their families. Gay women are branded manly, unladylike. Gay men are labeled virus carriers. All we can do is try to change the conversation.” Wong spoke softly leaning against the wall next to the vending machines.

“This case certainly isn’t going to help our cause.” She frowned. “Also how did you…"

“Liv,” he smiled. “I’m an FBI agent and a psychiatrist. They should pull my license if I wasn’t able to see your body language change every time a certain redhead walks in the room.”

She grinned and reached out for his arm, squeezing lightly, as if to say, “thank you.” She headed back off into the squad room.

Andy had just stormed out after learning they were leaning on him for the case. Fin, Cragen, and Liv all stood studying the facts they had gathered and all of the linked connections they had connected back to both Abbott and York.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Cragen pointed at all of the photos up on the board, “Why are they all protecting Andy?”

Fin nodded, “Maybe all these cats got something to hide.”

“Like what?” the brunette turned towards him.

“I think they on the down low.” Fin shifted his eyes between Liv and Cragen.

“Down what?” the captain asked.

“The down low. Black men having sex with other men.” Fin explained the concept and then put both his hands up, “Don’t look at me, I just know stuff.”

******

“He’s good,” Casey said with exasperation as her and Fin watched Abbott through the interview glass. “I know that football player told you what he witnessed but this story might actually work.”

“The jury will see right through him.” Fin stated, trying to be assuring.

“Will they,” the redhead grimaced. “Handsome, family man gets drunk with a colleague, falls in bed with them and lands in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You of all people know that sometimes, despite where we think our heads at, or where our friends or coworker’s heads are at, we fall into things sometimes. I bet before you started Sex Crimes you didn’t think you’d be falling into the bed you have.”

“The difference being I’m not ashamed of who sleeps in my bed,” Casey stopped him.

“That’s not what I meant. I just meant, we all make it a point not to screw around with coworkers, makes for a messy work environment. But hey, sometimes, shit happens. Sometimes it just is what it is.”

Casey nodded in acknowledgment that she understood he meant no ill intentions with his words.

“McGovern told me no issues, he’ll testify for you. By the way, I like ya hair girl, gives you a little- spice.”

The redhead blushed a little and followed him out as they headed to McGovern’s apartment, she had to admit she wasn’t completely confident with her new cut yet and Fin always knew how to make her feel more like herself again.

*****

“I am NOT testifying,” McGovern protested.

Casey shot Fin a look and then turned her attention towards the football player. “You’d be testifying before the grand jury. Those proceedings are kept secret.”

He scoffed, “I’ve been in the limelight long enough to know things like that have a way of getting out.”

“You got no choice,” Fin raised his voice, “she’ll subpoena you and I’ll haul your ass in.”

“And now I’ll see your ass out.” McGovern slammed the door behind them.

“Well, there goes our case.” Casey griped.

Fin offered her a sympathetic look, “What’s it gonna take to bring it back?”

“Proof Andy and Jeff were lovers.”

“How we gonna do that, Andy’s on the down low and Jeff sure aint talking.” Fin whispered as they were still in earshot of the former NFL’s office.

“Maybe Jeff will talk to Warner,” Casey asserted as they walked out to the street.

*****

Liv was standing by Warner’s door waiting for Casey when she walked up. “Thought you might want some company putting the case back together, Fin told me what happened.”

“I would love that,” the redhead was honestly relieved to see her girlfriend waiting for her, a solace in a long and stressful day.

They walked in and found Warner already going over the evidence. “The dead can speak!” she proclaimed. “I tested York’s blood and then I tested the DNA sample we got from Abbott, he was also positive and the strands match.”

“So, one of them gave it to the other?” Liv asked.

“Very likely,” Warner stated shaking her head.

“Enough to convince a jury?”

“Suggestive, but not conclusive.”

“How suggestive?” Casey inquired. “99%, 95?”

Warner frowned, “I can’t give you a number I’m sorry.”

Casey hung her head, “That’s not enough for a jury.” She walked out, feeling the sting of defeat again.

Warner turned her attention towards Olivia. She leaned in close, “You’re negative.” She put her hand on Liv’s shoulder and nodded.

Liv nodded back and then made her way towards the door. Olivia walked out of the MEs office, the tears of relief free falling. What she wasn’t expecting was for Casey to still be standing right outside. She reached out and grabbed Liv’s wrist as she started to walk past and pulled her tight to her body.

“Hey.” She pushed the detective’s hair away from her face and planted an enthusiastic kiss on her.

Liv knew it wasn’t a clever idea to be kissing right there in the hallway, but she couldn’t help but let herself get lost in Casey’s touch. “Negative,” she whispered in the redhead’s ear and then kissing the side of her head.

The ADA smiled big and nibbled on her own lip. “I heard.” She kissed the crook where the neck and shoulder met. “Negative.” She whispered back. Liv started to pull away, but Casey tugged back so they were still facing each other.

“Case, we’re gonna get caught.” The brunette chuckled.

“Just one more thing.” She ran her thumbs over Liv’s palms soothingly. “I can still go get tested if you want. I want you to feel safe with me.”

The detective quirked her brow, “That many suitors, Novak?”

Casey’s face was flush, she shook her head vehemently, “No, no. Definitely not. I was just trying to make sure were comfortable. I want you to trust me.” Her expression changed, more deadpan, honest. “It’s just you Olivia.”

As they got back to the squad room, Andy’s wife was there ready to ambush them. She started going off about how she couldn’t fathom how they could think Andy killed their friend.

“We have evidence Mrs. Abbott. Credible evidence.” Liv said calmly trying to deescalate.

“More lies!” the distraught woman shouted. “Don’t lie to me again!”

“She’s telling you the truth,” Casey interjected, the compelling need to defend Olivia took over. “Your husband was having an affair with Jeff York.”

“You are sick,” Mrs. Abbott looked at the ADA in disgust, “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to,” Casey shot back, “but for your own sake, get an HIV test. Jeff York had AIDS.”

Abbott’s wife pushed passed them, tears of rage forming, and stormed out of the precinct.

“Should you have done that?” Liv asked concerned Casey may have just have bit off more than she could chew and put her job in jeopardy.

“She needed to know” she answered back quietly. “It wasn’t easy for you, but you made sure to check in the minute you even thought you had exposed me. They have kids, they’re married. If she doesn’t have it, she'll get it. She needed to know.”

*****

“Casey this is a censure. Please tell me you didn’t do this?” Mary looked at the paperwork the redhead handed her as she walked into her office without a word.

“I had to warn her, her life was at risk!”

“You’ll be lucky if you get out of this with your skin,” Judge Clark scolded.

Casey nodded, shaking her head in defeat, “I’m screwed.” she said softly, trying not to give in to the urge to cry.

“You bet your sweet ass you are.” Mary shot back.

“I know how scared she was.”

“You know.” Mary looked at the young ADA quizzingly, “Casey how could you possibly know what that woman was feeling?”

“Because this morning, I was facing the same exact fear.”

“What? You were exposed? Did you sleep with Jeff York too?” Mary quipped, looking up from her desk.

“No,” the redhead took a slow, drawn-out breath, “but Olivia did.”

“Well, what does that have to do with you? I know you two are close, but her status doesn’t. Oh…” she paused, “Oh I see.” She cocked her head at Casey and sighed empathetically, “I always thought you were inclined to…I never wanted to ask. So, everything is okay now, right? The two of you are fine?”

Casey choked back a sob, both from relief and stress leaving the body at the same time. She shook her head yes.

Mary looked up at her “You were acting in this woman’s best interest, right? You wanted to help her? Or was it because you had something else in mind?”

******

The young ADA found herself knocking on the Abbott’s door shortly after her visit with Mary.

When Mrs. Abbott saw it was her standing there, she snapped at Casey. “You shouldn’t have come here, I won’t discuss the case with you.” It was clear she had been crying all day since she left the station.

“Please hear me out,” Casey pleaded, “I’m here to apologize.”

Maryellen Abbott stepped outside.

“I was wrong,” Casey stated, “It wasn’t my place to tell you. I keep asking myself why and all I can say is, if I was in your position I hope someone would tell me.” She tried to show compassion while keeping the personal details discreet.

“You ruined my life,” Maryellen sobbed.

The counselor shook her head, “I didn’t expose you to HIV. Andy did.”

“How am I supposed to tell my girls what their father did? How am I supposed to tell them—that I’m HIV positive.”

The redheads face dropped, “I’m sorry.”

“What am I going to do?”

******

“You’ve gone too far now Casey,” Abbott’s lawyer shouted as she and Mrs. Abbott entered the jail together. “You’ll be disbarred.”

“I asked her to be here.” Maryellen stopped him. She sat down and took Andy’s hand. “I will love you till the day I die, and by the grace of God I will live long enough to see our girls grow up. I forgive you for what you did. But I cannot forgive you if you let us all be destroyed. A trial will drag us all through the mud. Please, be a man and admit what I’ve done.”

Andy’s tears were streaming down his face, “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.”

Casey spoke softly, “Man One, seven and a half to fifteen. He allocutes and only the plea and the sentence go on the record. We seal the rest forever.”

His lawyer agreed, “and we’ll forget about the disciplinary committee.”

“Done.”

******

Casey tossed her coat and her briefcase over the couch. Exhaustion wasn’t even the word. She left the door unlocked knowing Liv probably wasn’t far behind her. She stepped out of her heels and started tossing her clothes off until they were strewn from her couch to the bathroom door. She turned the shower on and sighed deeply as she adjusted the temperature before stepping in.

“This seems familiar,” Oliva beamed, arms crossed against the door frame, admiring every inch of her girlfriend’s athletic body. Every muscle, every freckle, every curve. “I almost half expected to find you in here with someone else the way your clothes are thrown all over the apartment.” The brunette giggled.

The redhead smirked, “I had to make sure you’d know where to find me.”

“Oh, is that why the door was unsafely unlocked while you’re in here. I could’ve been a burglar you know.”

Casey laughed playfully, “You’ve already stolen my heart Detective, what else were you going to steal? My coffee maker? You already drink all my coffee.” She was laughing pretty heartily now.

“That’s how it is?” The brunette throwing her clothes off and getting into the shower. “Hmm? Is that how it is, Counselor?”

Casey’s laugh was low and throaty as she came face to face with her detective, an intimate grin spreading across her face. “Yeah, you gonna do something about it?”

Liv pulled her tight, before she barely had time to finish her question, and kissed her hard. Her hands feeling down her body, pulling at her skin, she wanted her closer. She bit down on the ADAs lip and pulled it towards her as a moan escaped Casey’s throat.

“Fuck,” the redhead whispered. She tried to take control and get her girlfriend back in the same position she had her the night before last.

“Uh-uh,” Liv moaned into Casey’s kiss, “You can finish later. I need to have you, now.” She said low, almost a growl and flipped her lover around pushing her firmly but gently against the wall. She slid her knee between the redhead’s legs and leaned her weight against her. She took Casey by the wrists and brought them up above her head, pinning them to the tile making Casey inhale sharply.

“Mmm, fuck.” she moaned quietly against Liv’s ear. “Don’t tease Detective. You’ve got me, now have your way with me.” She ground herself against the brunette’s thigh, craving contact with her girlfriend’s body. The young ADA wanted nothing more than to run the tips of her fingers over every inch of Olivia’s skin and the fact that she couldn’t was driving her crazy.

Liv kissed and suckled down every pulse point on the redhead’s neck, pushing her thigh more aggressively against Casey’s core. She grinned against her lover’s skin as she dropped her wrists and swiftly grabbed her by the thighs lifting her off the ground.

Casey’s back was still pressed against the cool tile, her legs now wrapped around Liv. Her hands held on to her lover’s neck. Her jaw went slack as she cried out. “Touch me. Please touch me,” her hips jutting forward against the detective's body. “I need to feel you.”

Liv steadied herself making sure she had a firm hold on her girlfriend and slid one hand down to Casey’s heat, exploring her folds and dragging her fingers up and down as the redhead’s arousal started to leak out, the brunette’s hand covered in her slick. She slid one finger in gently and then another and slowly began to pump.

“Mmmm that’s my Detective.” Casey mewled rolling her hips. “Fuck baby.”

The brunette loved being Casey’s detective, she loved that Casey wanted her, the way she looked at her- drove Liv insane. She moaned as she pressed her head against the redhead's shoulder, pumping harder, causing the counselor to bounce up and down against her hand. Casey held Liv’s head tight to the dip in her shoulder with one hand as she used the other to drag her nails across the cop’s shoulder blade.

“Case,” Liv whispered and then cried out as her lover broke skin. “Mmm that’s it, let it go baby.”

She slipped a third finger into the redhead’s heat and continued persistently pumping, making sure to curl them at just the right angle to drive the redhead wild. Casey’s breasts bouncing against Liv was sending her reeling. The friction of her lover’s hardened nipples grazing against her own was turning her on a lot more than she realized. The ADA was whimpering as she bobbed up and down, moaning for Liv.

“Don’t stop. Mmm make me cum.” She needed that release, and she needed it from only Olivia.

She rolled her hips faster to keep up with how the detective was ravaging her. Her breathing was ragged, and she could feel her arousal building to its peak. Her body rising and falling hard against Liv’s hand.

“Come on Daddy, do it for me?” the brunette gave a pleaded whisper against the skin of her lover’s neck.

Casey’s breathing got really shallow, panting quickly, ending in a cry of ecstasy as she tightened around her girlfriend’s fingers, humming with bliss as she came down off her orgasm. Her body quivered as Liv tried to put her down, her knees were weak. Liv enjoyed the taste of cleaning Casey off her fingers as she eyed her lover. She watched how her body was still trembling from what she had done to her and at that moment, she was proud of herself.

“You are— very good at that Detective,” still out of breath, the redhead gave a sultry laugh. “I may have to up my workout routine to keep up.” She pulled Liv back to her and kissed her gently. “What was that you said earlier? That I could finish later?” she flashed a devilish smile and turned the brunette so her back was facing the wall and got down on her knees. “You’re in for it because now I’ve worked up an appetite.” She ran her tongue along Liv’s core slowly and laid a soft kiss on her clit causing her to shiver. “That’s it baby. Good girl.”

Later on, while lying in bed, Casey was reviewing case notes, her head against Liv’s chest. Liv was stroking her hair and watching television.

“By the way,” she kissed the top her head, “I didn’t even get to tell you yet that I love your haircut.”

Casey put down her notes and turned her head towards her girlfriend, she was smiling from ear to ear, “You do?”

“Yeah baby, I do, but no matter how you cut your hair I’m always gonna think of you as the most beautiful woman to ever cross my path.”

She put her hand on Liv’s heart, and she could feel its pace pick up, “I,” she started staring up into the brunette’s eyes, “love,” she paused again, “having you here.”

Liv’s heart shot into her throat, she wanted to say it, she wanted to show Casey they didn’t have to be afraid to say it, why couldn’t she make the words come out?

“I love being here with you too. I sleep better when I hold you.” They closed their eyes and settled into a comfortable position but just as they were about to drift off Liv’s phone started ringing.

She startled awake and picked it up, accidentally stirring Casey. “Benson” she answered in hushed tones. As she did Casey’s phone also started ringing.

“Novak.” She answered sleepily.

They hung up and exchanged looks of exhaustion.

“Well at least we got to shower.”

Read Part 6

#casey novak #svu #law and order svu #olivia benson #casey novak x olivia benson #lgbtqia #olivia benson smut #casey novak smut #law and order smut #svu fanfiction #benovak #olivia benson angst #casey novak angst #the veiled law of affection fanfic

27 notes · View notes

autumnsunshine10 · 10 months

Text

They say keep it on the down-low

Nobody else needs to know

Don't give them the lowdown

It's not their business anyhow

Be human but set apart

Pretend you don't own a heart

Then it can't be broken

Divided into tokens

Inserted at the arcade

Another game to be played

Or a digital download

To keep them busy on the road

Serving up sold-out shows

Under the spotlight glow

A full house eager crowd

Getting so hyped-up loud

While you sit up at home

Waiting by the telephone

Well it's a good time to go

Since nobody needs to know

Prompts: on the down low; human but not; to be divided

123 notes · View notes

loaksky · 2 years

Text

— 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦

the lowdown — the one where you and neteyam are a sure thing.

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 2.5k

the tags & warnings — none other than possible language! this is just really sappy & self-indulgent lmao, childhood bffs2l, both parties are so in love but SCARED.

the notes — based off of this request! got a lil carried away bc i love neteyam <3

masterlist

Everyone would argue that you and Neteyam are written in the stars.

You two had been whispered about far before your coming of age, at the start of your youth when they’d notice that Neteyam was extra soft and you were extra shy. And it had been natural, really. He was the olo’eyktan’s son, and you were the sweet daughter of the olo’eyktan’s most cherished friend and dearest partner in crime.

At first Neteyam had vehemently denied it, cheeks flushing at the mere mention of your name, but after many sweet moments, you’d grown so much on him, he couldn’t hide his fondness even if he tried.

You were charming and resolved growing up, often times spending afternoons reading under the shade of leafy plants near the edge of the village. It’s the same spot Neteyam would pass on his journeys into the forest, unable to contain his smile as he sees the faint indent of where you’d lay outlined in the grass.

You were an eager learner, going through lab materials and borrowed media from Norm and Max who’d visit the village every once in a while. You’d applied a lot of what you learned to your practice, training under Mo’at, Neytiri, and your mother in the chance that one day you’d lead the clan in their spiritual endeavors.

It was one of the things that Neteyam admired most about you, your quiet drive. Your passion and your commitment to your craft. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but feed into it, into you.

He’d hound the scientists in the lab for more content for you, would come back with stacks and stacks of books that would make your cheeks warm. And he’d hand bind you journals, fashion you utensils and smash various fruits and petals to a fine paste for you to compile your findings.

There wasn’t a thing that Neteyam wouldn’t do for you, any lengths he wouldn’t travel just to see you beam up at him with that radiant smile. Neteyam could admit wholeheartedly that he was whipped.

“Thanks, Teyam,” you’d say gently, arms winding around his waist in a crushing hug. “Appreciate you.”

His breath would hitch and he’d just grin.

It didn’t help that you were so achingly beautiful, made his throat bob every time a gleam of sun would refract over your dimpled cheeks. Made his cheeks warm and his body freeze when your skin, soft and smooth, would brush his in accidental touches.

There was only one small little issue.

It was a conversation he’d try and fail to have with you multiple times over the course of your adolescence and into your young adulthood. At first, it was unspoken, he was certain it was the two of you for life, but as you trained and passed your rite, the final piece to your coming of age was fast approaching; selecting someone to spend your time with.

He was a year your senior and the rumor mill was alight with buzz. He hadn’t chosen someone on the night of his feast, had suspended the selection in favor of urging everyone that the timing wasn’t right.

This didn’t deter a number of fine women from the village taking their chances, advance after gutsy advance that would always end with the sound declaration that he was already waiting for someone.

That had only solidified the village’s theory about the two of you, that he was holding out for you, waiting until you chose him right back to claim you as his own. It was a sweet thing, most of them felt, would cast tender looks every time the two of you would interact under their watchful gazes.

But you were a creature of habit, didn’t like being under such prying eyes, yet too nice to let it be known. Neteyam knew, though. Would steer clear of curious glances, would spend whatever free time he had soaking up every moment with you in the shield of the forest.

He was a strong man with only one weakness: you.

He’d thought he made himself clear with that, thought that everyone knew that you were spoken for and it was his mighty word, but he comes to find out that there are many young men who’ve been lingering, waiting for any opportunity.

This much he notices when an especially buff warrior with a narrow waist and broad shoulders emerges from the outskirts and starts hanging around a little more often.

Ku’aro, Neteyam thinks his name is.

It had started off innocent, a small thanks for a healing session Mo’at and your mother let you lead when he hurt himself in a hunting party, but Neteyam knew better than to think that no other man would succumb to your charms.

It continued with bundles of flowers, fruits, little trinkets Ku’aro would surprise you with when Neteyam had other responsibilities he had to tend to. And it wouldn’t have bothered him as much if he’d never seen the little gifts again, but you’re too sweet for your own good, displaying them on the same ledge in your tent.

They take up room next to every one of his thoughtful gestures and the thought of sharing your attention with another man makes him prickle with envy.

But he could live with it if it made you happy, could push aside his pride and keep his irritation mum if the gift-giving was all it was. But now Ku’aro is starting to chisel into his time with you, stealing you away for walks through the forest, swims in the river.

And it makes him absolutely seethe, makes him exceptionally angry every time you emerge from the brush with Ku’aro hot on your heels. His mind races and he can’t help the sick thought of you being with someone who isn’t him seep into every crevice of his brain.

Had you two ever…kissed? You weren’t the type of girl, but things change and he’s not above admitting that he’s as jealous as they come.

“Something wrong, Teyam?” you ask, looking up from your book.

He’s sighed for the fourth time in the hour, fidgeting so uncomfortably that you’ve been rereading the same sentence for the past ten minutes because you can’t concentrate.

His tense shoulders relax when he meets your viscous gaze, lips parting because the forest is darkening with the impending eclipse and you look so soft and glowy.

He clears his throat.

“No,” he coughs. “All good.”

You don’t seem to buy it, head tilting as you inspect your friend carefully, book dog-eared and set off to the side as you shuffle nearer.

The aroma of herbs and spice, the tang of petals, surrounds him as you press a hand to his forehead, the other to his chest.

You have to feel it, the way his heart is pounding audaciously.

“Your heart’s beating fast, Teyam,” you observe. “And you’re warm.”

“S’just a little hot,” he swallows, hands circling your wrists to pry your touch away.

You lean back on your haunches, still in his grasp as you peer up at his pinched expression.

In all your years of closely orbiting the olo’eyktan’s son, you know that something weighs heavy on his mind. He bears a great burden regardless, but something is different this time around.

“We’re friends, Teyam,” you say tenderly. He could literally melt. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Of course he could, you’re the most understanding person he knows, the purest of hearts. But he doesn’t want to spook you, scare you into resignation by interrogating your budding relationship with Ku’aro.

So he treads carefully.

“Your selection feast is approaching,” he says breathily, blinking down at you.

You mull over it for a moment, a smile spreading over your full lips.

“It is,” you agree, pulling away to toy with your fingers.

A few prolonged lapses of silence pass before Neteyam continues to try and fill in the gaps.

“Have you…” He shrugs. “…thought of someone yet?”

Of course you had, you’d know it from the very beginning, no second thoughts needed. It had always been you and Neteyam since the beginning, thick as thieves.

There have been many things you’ve been uncertain of growing up, but there’s one thing that you’re sure of, and it’s that Neteyam is your end game.

“I have,” you hum simply.

He waits with bated breath, eyes unblinking.

You don’t continue and he’s opening his mouth to ask you to clarify, but the brush starts rustling and Ku’aro’s emerging.

He wants to let out the most frustrated groan of disapproval when Ku’aro’s eyes light up. Wants to grill you more but knows that he’ll have to wait who knows how long before he can get you alone to press again.

But what he doesn’t know is that the looming feast is your grand gesture, the occasion you’ve been mustering your courage for for years. You like to think it’s the least he deserves after years of his blatant displays of affection.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Ku’aro asks, holding up a woven bag of what smells like spartan fruits.

Your eyes flit to Neteyam’s and he can see the promise that lingers there as your hands squeezes his gently.

“See you soon,” you say, collecting your things before standing to your feet.

He knows you mean it, knows that you never make a promise that you can’t keep, but he can’t help the feeling of dread that coils tight in the pit of his stomach.

Ku’aro stands a little too close as you two walk through the forest, eating the spartan fruits that he’d picked before he sought you out.

“I have to ask you something,” he says, after a pregnant pause.

You turn just in time for him to nearly barrel into you, strong hands coming to right your stance. You stomach knots when you notice he’s close, eyes gentle and glowing as he gazes down at you.

“Yeah?” you peep, body tense as his fingers skim your biceps, down your forearms and clasp your hands.

You’d held hands with Neteyam countless times, had spent so much time in his space, that the touch of another isn’t lost on you, but this makes you feel queasy.

You ease away.

“I need to be courageous,” he says. “I know your selection feast is approaching and…”

You know what he’s going to say. You’ve dreaded it this entire time, hoped that village gossip and the copious amounts of time you’d spend with Neteyam would be the glaringly obvious sign that you weren’t interested in anything beyond a friendship.

“Ku’aro…” you sigh and his face falls a fraction.

He’s already pieced it together in his head.

“It really is him, huh?”

He’d known. Of course he did. No one was blind to it, just wishful thinking on his part that maybe he could get you to see someone else.

But your heart was locked up tight, an impenetrable fortress that refused to unravel for anyone but him.

“I’m sorry,” you say apologetically, then add, “you have been very kind to me, and a woman will see your great heart one day, but it can’t be me.”

His smile is sad, but he’s known it was a losing battle going in, worth a shot if anything.

His shoulders shake with a defeated laugh.

“He’s a lucky ass,” he says, extending the remaining fruits to you. “My peace offering to him. I know he’s been boiling recently.”

Your walk with Ku’aro couldn’t have been more than a hour, but Neteyam waits for what feels like an eternity. He’s lingering in the same spot you’d left him, spacing out as he paces, waiting for your arrival.

His body goes rigid when he feels a pair of arms circle around his waist from behind, but relaxes when he wafts the familiar scent of herbs and spice.

“Hi,” he whispers, voice hoarse from disuse.

He turns to face you, brushing your hair behind your shoulders to get a good look at your face. And despite wracking his brain for the latter part of the hour you were gone, he tries to get a grip on his composure.

“Have fun?” he asks, insides gooey as your face angles towards his, chin poking his chest as your eyes curve into crescents along with your smile.

“Was okay,” you tell him. “He let me bring back the rest of the fruits.”

Neteyam resists an eyeroll.

“Probably dry,” he remarks quietly and you can’t help the full laugh that leaves your lips at his snarky remark.

You wanted to put it off until the night of the feast, but you can tell there’s an internal warfare that agonizes him. You were shy, not a fool, had known that he was waiting for any concrete evidence that you’d chosen him.

And at first you thought it was obvious, could read him like one of your books. But you hadn’t realized that maybe you weren’t that easy to read, years of growing up learning how to remain composed for your potential role leaving you internalizing every feeling.

“You asked me about my selection feast…” you trail off, making him shiver when you start drawing small shapes on his spine.

“Uh huh,” he agrees shakily.

“You’re curious, huh?” you ask.

“You could say that,” he laughs, but you hear the twinge of uncertainty.

It makes a ripple of sadness work through your veins.

“Well…” you start. “I like someone. A lot.”

The flame of hope flickering in his chest dances, the smile on your face an obvious tell.

“Do you now?”

He should’ve knew never to doubt you, should’ve known with the same ferocity as the other villagers that you two truly were written in the stars.

You hum in agreement.

“You gonna tell me about him?” he bites.

You peel away from him, shy, even though you know that there isn’t a surer thing on the moon. You tilt your head, grin bashful as you clasp your hands behind your back and start pacing.

“Well, the most important thing is that he is kind,” you say, pausing to think for a moment. “And he’s strong, a great warrior and very brave.”

His chest pumps infinitesimally.

“I think he cares a lot about me,” you continue, then correct yourself, “I know he does. He is gracious and so thoughtful, never makes me second guess myself. He is my greatest supporter and makes me want to be a better person.”

Neteyam’s smile is unbridled.

“Most of all, he is my best friend,” you swallow, eyes searching his. “And while I love every person who has made me who I am today, nothing compares to how much I love him.”

His breath hitches at the words, your first official declaration.

“And it doesn’t help that he’s very, very, very handsome,” you add, standing before him.

Your eyes settle on the beadwork of his choker, too sheepish to meet his eyes as you brush non-existent debris off his shoulders.

His fingers catch yours and you look up find that tears are welling in his eyes.

“Teyam,” you coo, a watery laugh leaving your lips at that sight of the usually poised leader-in-training showing far more emotion than you’d seen in the lifetime you’ve known him.

“Don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that,” he chuffs, head bending forward to rest on your shoulder.

You want to tease him, ask him if he’ll say it back, but you already know.

Everybody does.

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ahundredtimesover · 1 year

Text

Belong (05: Post-Credits) | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: exes-to-lovers-to-exes-to-lovers; actress!OC x basketball coach!Yoongi; summer romance; “long” distance relationship; parallel timelines; angst, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, family drama, sport injury; dreams & moving away; allusion to depression; basketball and acting talk; 2014 and 2022 Yoongi; shy and nonchalant cocky whipped Yoongi; almost drowning, sexual content (kissing, oral, penetrative sex) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 5k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series summary: Being an actor has always been your dream. Pursuing it meant many things - leaving the town where you grew up, distancing yourself from your family that had fallen apart, and saying goodbye to the man who made you feel what home was like. When you decide to finally return after being away for so long, you meet Min Yoongi again, and you’re reminded of the summer romance from 8 years ago with the college basketball superstar whose broken dream pushed you away. As you find yourself spending time with him, you’re left to wonder if love changes, if it gives second chances, or if it’s just another illusion that will hurt the both of you the second time around.

A/N: Wrapping up this story and this world now, as I keep its meaning close to me, where this Yoongi was a source of comfort. Thank you to those who took a chance with this one. Please know that in the midst of deciding to stop writing, you told me I could keep going. 😌

It was nice to be able to write about a sport that I deeply love (yes, I am manifesting with the NBA game featured here 🤞🏽) and about a theme I’m personally experiencing. Yoongi told us to live in the present and that we can dream simple, gentle dreams, too. Let’s cheer each other on! 💜

Listen to: For All You Give (feat. Lucy Rose) by The Paper Kites || Playlist 🎶

1.5 years later

You walk past the hallways to head outside the airport, large luggage in one hand and a small one on the other.

Your phone rings and Jimin is on the other end, asking if your flight was alright and if the weather is good. You give him a lowdown of the past 18 hours, including your lovely encounter with a Korean-American family during your Minneapolis layover. Their 6-year old is apparently a fan of yours after you did a stint of hosting her favorite Korean variety TV show, and your heart soared when she told you that she wants to be funny and beautiful like you. You found it amusing that doing cute poses and laughing your way through every episode was entertaining enough for her.

“That’s adorable,” Jimin chirps. “I love how your fanbase gets younger every year. You started with grandparents and now you’ve got 6-year olds under your spell.”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” You laugh. “I just hope these kids don’t watch my latest movie because it’s gonna terrify them.”

“Yeah, at least keep the variety shows to entertain the babies,” he chuckles. “I already told Hoseok that you want to guest-host again. There are a couple of shows that want you onboard.”

“Ah, that’s great,” you beam. “I need as much joy and laughter in my life after that last project. That took so much out of me.”

“It did, didn’t it?” Jimin hums. “But it’s got the media buzzing about you again. So much for that one so-called journalist who claimed that you’re one-dimensional and can’t do anything other than romance because you’re only good at being in love. Let me smack her face with all the good reviews about your latest role so she can shut her one-dimensional mouth.”

You giggle at Jimin’s words, his protective nature soothing you like it always does. You remember when that article about you came out after you starred in a mini-series, a project you had after the show you filmed in Paris, which did turn out to be your biggest break then. Your role in that drama had you falling in love with someone from a rival family, one of the show’s major plot points, and that journalist went off about your supposed versatility being premised on the emotions of being in love. You can’t really do much outside of it, she said, and it was that same day when you got the lead role for a psychological thriller, with the industry’s eyes on you to see if you’re able to handle a character that’s so different from what you’re used to.

And well, it’s safe to say you blew their minds. Even you didn’t think you could do that well, but you pushed hard, not only to prove yourself to them but to challenge yourself, knowing that there’s more to learn and showcase even after 10 years of being in the industry.

The reviews showed that you delivered. Critics praised your acting, saying how disturbed they felt during specific scenes, and that was a compliment for you, knowing that was the goal. The movie was even shown in a recent foreign Film Festival, and the praises are still coming; Jimin’s been the one sending you every article and post he could find, and he’s been nothing short of amazing when it comes to encouraging and praising you himself for another successful project.

It wasn’t without its difficulties though, as getting into character meant you had to immerse yourself in its darkness, in the disturbing themes that ate away at you sometimes. It was Yoongi who’d been the one to bring you out to the light every time - sending you flowers while on set, giving you a bath after every filming so you’re not left in your own mind, holding you close whenever you slept, and driving you out during days off. It was hard but it was worth it, as you felt liberated from all the negative emotions once filming wrapped up.

Yoongi was supportive all throughout - including all the promotions you had to do and the moments of doubt you’d have about your performance. He held your hand during the premiere and took you to the mountains for a weekend to escape it all for a while. Other than the amazing sex you had and the time away from everyone, you both spent those days wrapped up in each other’s arms, easing back to your normal lives that didn’t include you randomly crying at night or losing sleep from your tiring schedule.

You’d just wrapped up your promos for the film in Seoul and you’re also waiting for the next project while working on some endorsements and guesting on the side. But after the exhausting couple of months, you deserve a break, and you want nothing more than to focus on Yoongi, knowing he’s the one who’ll be needing your love and support this time.

Jimin breaks through your thoughts and asks if the car he’d arranged has arrived.

“Not yet, but Yoongi messaged that he’s 5 minutes away,” you respond. “Thanks, by the way. I know you had to arrange all this in such short notice and had to work with Hoseok to push back all my other schedules. I know it was stressful for you, too.”

“And who said I ever minded?” Jimin replies. “I’ve spent enough time with Yoongi to know how much he takes care and supports you, and that also means I know just how much his career means to him. I’m sure you already know but nonchalant and cool he may be, he’s incredibly nervous. I just know having you there is gonna make all the difference.”

“I know,” you smile, feeling emotional at the thought. “I’m just so happy for him. He’s been sending me photos since he got here and I could just see his eyes sparkling. I’m so excited to see him in action.”

“Me, too, at least from here. We’ll be tuning in and I’ll just pretend I know shit about basketball and the NBA,” Jimin laughs. “I guess it’s weird to be cheering for the commentator and not the players but oh well. Just tell him we’re rooting for him; Jin’s gonna host watch parties in his house. We’ll invite Jungkook and Namjoon so there’ll be people who can actually explain to us what’s happening.”

You laugh at Jimin’s rambling. It’s touching to know just how much your friends have come to support Yoongi as well. You’ve to remind yourself that not long ago, they were all wary of him, given the 2 times he let you go. But they’ve seen in the past year and a half exactly what that love you treasure really looks like. You always said it was transformative for both of you in different ways, and they’ve come to witness that, too.

They’ve seen how tough days for you were always made better whenever Yoongi was around, how negative voices were always drowned out by his gentleness and encouragement, how bouts of insecurities were easily mended by his belief in you.

That love got you regularly going home to Daegu to see his dad and to be with yours, and to make an effort to heal the wounds with your sisters.

That love also got Yoongi to be braver, to take chances and to make the most out of every opportunity he could find. It’s that love that supported him throughout the months that he wrote for that online sports magazine, until he became a regular guest at an online sports show. It’s what encouraged him to apply for a sports channel’s basketball analyst position; you remember the smile on his face when he got the job and the first time he appeared on TV to talk about the sport he’s loved for most of his life. It’s your shared love that got him to dream again - maybe coach a professional team in the future, perhaps become a household name in sports media. It doesn’t matter what form, you’d remind him, as long as it was in the world of basketball.

It’s that same love that’s going to hold his hand through the next 2 or so weeks, as Yoongi lives out a dream he didn’t think he’d have. As a 10-year old who’d imagined himself playing for the NBA too many times, he didn’t think that 20 years later, he’d be reporting on it as part of the South Korean media. He thinks it’s just as much a dream as any. This is the sport he loves, and he told you once that he can’t imagine his life without it.

“Oh, I think that’s him!” You tell Jimin, as you spot the maroon car that Yoongi said he was in. “Thank you again.”

“Just call me for anything, okay?” He says on the other end. “And enjoy Boston!”

You bid him goodbye and rush to the car that stops not far from where you are. Yoongi exits and you hug him immediately, falling into the warmth that you’ve missed this past week. You were at a promotional event in Busan when he left Seoul for the US a few days ago so you didn’t get to say goodbye, but it appeased you that you could spend your break with him here.

But more than anything, it’s the fact that you get to be part of his new world this time, and nothing makes you happier than being able to see that sparkle in his eyes that made you fall for him that first time all those years ago. There’s that confidence again, that drive. Yoongi is all kinds of beautiful everyday, but seeing him do something he loves has always been special. You’re glad you get to witness that again.

“I missed you, jagi,” he hums in your ear. How was your flight?”

“Good. I got a bit of rest,” you reply. “And I missed you, too.”

Yoongi smiles and gives your luggage to the chauffeur who loads them in the trunk. You both enter the car and sneak in a kiss for the seconds that you’re alone, and he smiles against your lips before turning to you.

“You seem excited,” he states.

“Of course, baby. It’s the big day tomorrow. Aren’t you?”

“I’m terrified, actually,” he chuckles to mask the nervousness. “But Mr. Chan called earlier to ask how I’m feeling and he’s been so supportive, saying that his sprained ankle must’ve been a blessing in disguise if it meant I get to take his place. I did the reporting the other day during Media Day and he said I did really well, asking the players and coaches really good questions. He said if I sustain this during the entire championship series, I could be well on my way to reporting more big games even in other sports.”

“Baby, that’s huge!” You beam, turning to him to see his shy smile. “You could be reporting on the Olympics, who knows! But the NBA… this is huge for you. The fact that you’re who they thought to replace him is a big deal. It means they really see something in you.”

“I still think it’s a fluke,” he sighs. “If Mr. Chang hadn’t gotten injured, it would’ve been him. It just so happened that the other guys are either on leave or on another assignment and I was… there.”

“Then you just saved their asses! It means you get to show them how good you are, and I know you’re good. I wouldn’t be paying attention to basketball if you weren’t calling it.”

“You’re biased though,” he laughs.

“Duh. Name one other sports commentator who knows his shit, is incredibly handsome, has such a soothing voice, and looks hot talking about people shooting balls?” You exclaim. “No one! Just you! Baby, you’re saving the industry!”

Yoongi thinks you’re adorable when you go off like this. He always knew you didn’t actually pay attention to his games before because your eyes were only on him. Whenever you’d both watch on TV, you’re often curled into his arms, remarking that he does that same jumper smoothly or that the players are either boring or too cocky. You understand the sport, though. He knows you’re interested because you get basic terms and ask him questions. Sometimes he thinks you just want to hear him talk or analyze a play; sometimes you just giggle when he’s pulling his hair or yelling over a stupid call or when his team’s losing, but regardless of your level of appreciation for the sport, he knows you love it because he does, and that means more to him than you’ll ever know.

He gives in though, knowing you feel strongly about his basketball commentary skills.

“Thank you, jagi. I at least know that if I completely fail at this, you’d still think I’m hot.”

“Baby, I think you’re hot all the time. You could even model or act, you know? The industry will benefit from this pretty face,” you wink.

“Let’s say hypothetically, I do act. What happens if I have an intimate scene with someone? What would you do?” He asks, arching an eyebrow because he can almost predict what you’re gonna say.

“I will cry,” you pout, causing him to laugh.

It’s all hypothetical, but he can tell you’ll really be upset even if it’s something he has to live with all the time. It’s something he’s gotten used to, though. He did survive watching your scenes with Pablo where you both cuddled “naked” in bed, although he admits looking away so many times. He also made it through your mini-series where you had multiple sexually tense scenes with your co-star. He admits he likes it when you’re more clingy and affectionate after each filming and episode, and he won’t complain.

But knowing how affected you’d be if the roles were reversed makes him a little soft. He remembers those summers years ago when you’d eye the girls who’d cheer for him during his games and how you always ran to him after to hold his hand and then kiss him intensely in the bathroom or his car. You would deny the jealous girlfriend allegations and he used to just laugh through it. It seems like nothing has changed.

“These lips are for me only,” you say, cupping his cheeks to hold him in place for a deep kiss.

“They are,” he smiles. “And I know at the end of the day, your lips are only for me, too.”

He kisses you again, no longer minding the chauffeur in the car who doesn’t seem to care that you’re being affectionate in his backseat.

“They are,” you hum. “They’re for your neck, and your chest, and—” you palm his cock — “for this.”

“Jagi,” he laughs, already used to your antics.

You’re usually like this after being away. You were apart for a few days and it’s been a while since you’ve been separated for longer than that.

“I just miss you,” you sigh, hugging him now and liking the comfort of his touch as always. “No one would massage my feet after walking in heels for hours and have a bath with me, no one would make me cum to sleep or kiss me goodnight.”

“Nice to know that’s all you miss,” he teases, earning him another pout.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, and I miss those, too,” he hums as he kisses your forehead. “Thanks though, for coming here. I know that Jimin and Hoseok had to push back some of your schedules.”

“No issue at all. I wanted to be here, babe. This is a big deal and I’m… I’m just so happy for you,” you say against his chest.

“You know I wouldn’t have gotten here without you, right?” He replies, emotional now at how far he’s come.

It’s been years but the memory of his injury and his subsequent fallout from the sport comes and goes sometimes, so was losing you in the process. And then losing you again. But he’s here now, with you, the night before an important moment of his young career as a sports analyst, and he’s never felt more secure in his life.

“You’ve always been a fighter,” you look up at him. “And you’re here because of you.” You kiss him softly. “But I can also take credit, that’s fine,” you laugh. “But really, thank you for not giving up on your dream, babe. I hope you know that it gives me courage, too.”

That night, you climb into bed with Yoongi, the exhaustion from the long trip overtaking you. There’s warmth in his eyes when he looks at you, and he chuckles when you try to stay awake. It’s his soft lips against your forehead that bids you goodnight, and you fall into his arms, knowing that this is what you’ll be waking up to in the morning.

The next evening, you walk inside TD Garden, Boston’s sports arena, where Game 1 of the NBA finals between the Celtics and Phoenix Suns are being held. The energy is insane, something you’ve never felt before, and it’s making you giddy and excited. You can only imagine what it’s like for Yoongi, and the thought makes your heart warm.

You did see him taking long breaths earlier after he’d dressed up and prepared to leave, and much as you’d been so tired, you just had to hug him to calm him down and tell him that he’s gonna do great. He’s just excited, he claimed, but he’ll look for you in the arena; knowing you’re there with him will be enough to calm his racing heart.

He had to go earlier to cover the press conference and film for their segment in Seoul’s morning news channel. It’s just him, Hee-soo, and a small production crew but it’s all they need. As commentators, they get to call the game but also interview the players and staff, report it, and then write about it. It’s tough and stressful but it’s the kind of buzz that Yoongi lives for now, you can tell, as you eye him in his designated analysts’ table, looking around and taking in the energy of the arena. His smile is priceless. There’s pride in it, there’s acceptance. It looks like the smile of someone who fought hard to have a new dream, and someone who worked to achieve it.

Yoongi’s eyes go to you and you wave. You’re thankful for the connections you have that got you this ticket last minute, and even if you won’t pay attention to the game as much, being here to witness Yoongi call his first NBA match is too special to miss. You can’t imagine being anywhere else.

The game is an exciting one. You get into it with the crowd even if you don’t exactly have a team you’re rooting for but you cheer just the same. Your eyes constantly flit to Yoongi though, whose position isn’t far from where you’re seated.

You listen through the online channel so you can hear what he’s saying, and the way he describes the energy inside is on-point. He narrates the plays effectively; you could be looking away from the court and still feel like you’re watching because of how good he is. His voice is calm and measured, except towards the end when the game is close and his pitch increases and he matches the excitement of what’s happening. It’s intense and exhilarating, and when the final buzzer sounds, you turn to him and see that smile on his face again.

Tears form in your eyes as you feel overwhelming pride. Perhaps it’s similar to what he felt when he was with you during the recent Film Festival where your movie was shown and the audience gave your entry a standing ovation. He knew what you had to go through for that role and seeing your hard work paying off meant so much to him, as he got to hold your hand and tell you he was proud of you.

That was special, he said. So many times in the past, he wanted to tell you all that, and that you did well, and that he’s looking forward to the next big thing you’ll do, but he never had the courage to. That’s why he’d send flowers, he told you.

He also revealed how that came about - how he’d driven to Seoul for your first movie premiere with a bouquet of daisies but that he’d seen you with someone, and how he decided to leave it at the agency for you to receive. He almost took it back but you seemed to like it so he just continued with the tradition. You cried then, and he said he didn’t want you to feel guilty. But you were emotional because he still looked out for you and his care for you never wavered. The flowers gave you strength, and you’d told him you wanted to be like those daisies for him, too.

Seeing him now gives you that sense of fulfillment, that not long from now, you’ll be able to hold his hand and tell him you’re proud of him, and the chance to do that for someone you love is special beyond words. You’re glad you can finally do that for each other now.

Gentle dreams, you think. This life with him and all the simple things you do for each other and together are some of the biggest ones.

It’s quiet in the car on the way to your hotel, the fancier one you booked for both of you instead of the mid-range one they got for him. Yoongi is focused on his notebook, jotting down notes from his memory that he’ll have to write up later on.

He’s then glued to his device once you get to your room, with him seated on the couch and agreeing to your orders for room service for your dinner. It seems he’s going through the messages of praise from his colleagues and his friends. A lot of people tune in to the channel’s coverage of the NBA, and other than you, no one’s prouder than his dad and his brother.

You watch him from the bathroom door, appreciating the joy he exudes. It’s different from what you’d seen all those years ago. This is a man who went through various kinds of pain and had other people suffer because of it, something he still burdens himself with every once in a while. But he did the brave thing of dreaming again; sometimes you think that’s probably harder than when he gave up on the first one.

Yoongi shows you everyday that courage takes different forms. Sometimes it’s letting something go, sometimes it’s fighting for them. Sometimes it’s loving someone from afar and sometimes it’s flying thousands of miles to a foreign country and asking for them back.

But it’s always picking up your broken pieces and learning to love yourself despite and because of them. It’s finding something or someone you can’t live without and offering what you can, trusting that they’ll take you into their world because you deserve it. Courage is dreaming again, it’s loving again even with the possibility of getting hurt. It’s trusting yourself enough that you’re going to be okay if things don’t go your way.

You hear him call your name. You realize you’ve been gazing at him for longer than you intended, and so you walk towards him as he looks at you questioningly.

“I was just admiring how happy you look,” you say. “It suits you, and I’m just so thankful I get to see it.”

His face softens and he reaches out his hand, one that he kisses and he doesn’t say anything else. He just looks at you tenderly and your heart races at the sight.

You bend to capture his lips on yours, your movements gentle yet wanting. But it builds as time passes, until you feel him undoing the knot of your bathrobe, with him sighing in satisfaction when he feels you bare underneath. Your breath hitches when he cups your breast and you want nothing more than to have him right now.

You pull away then remove your robe, liking the way his eyes roam around your naked form and how he gulps at the position you’re getting into, as you get on your knees and spread his legs apart. His slacks get off first, and then his briefs. He removes the rest of his clothes as you take him in your mouth, his cock heavy and wanting as it reaches the edge of your throat.

You take your time, wanting him to feel good after what he’d done tonight, but he’s the one who pulls away, wanting instead to bury himself inside you. It’s what he does, as he directs you on the couch, entering you from behind while his fingers do their magic on all parts of your body. But he lets you both come together, on the bed as he hovers over you, his head no longer buried in your neck, with his eyes looking straight into yours as you both come down from your highs.

He kisses your lips tenderly as his I love you, and the way he holds you later that night says everything he can’t say.

Loving you is what he wants to do in his life. Loving you is courage.

You didn’t realize just how tiring covering the NBA finals would be. Considering their small team, Yoongi and Hee-soo work double time to get all the information they need to cover the games and write about them within a short period of time. They also have to fly back and forth depending on where the game is and you’ve liked tagging along, enjoying the amenities of your hotel and exploring the nearby area. It’s what you do in Boston and then in Phoenix.

And while a game 7 is great for the league and basketball fans, you can tell it’s taxing for Yoongi. He doesn’t complain though. It’s part of the experience; the first one tends to be very memorable, he says.

Both of you find yourselves in Boston's public garden the afternoon after the final game of the series. It’s been a crazy 24 hours, as Yoongi and Hee-soo had to do interviews and then report and then write about the game. You stayed by Yoongi’s side, attending to his needs and helping whenever you can.

It’s early morning in Korea by now and work can resume later, perhaps right before or during your early morning flight back home, but you’re both at what has become one of your favorite spots in the city. It’s nice and simple and quiet. The garden is also accessible. It reminds you of the park in Paris, the one where Yoongi had come to meet you, and you cried in his arms at the sight of the man you didn’t think you’d be able to be with again, but he braved through his fears to be with you.

“I like it here,” you say, as you walk past one of the many statues.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” He hums. “The pond reminds me of Paris.”

You turn to him and smile, letting him know you were thinking the same.

Yoongi watches you lovingly look at the flowers. Your head turns when you hear toddlers squealing on their parents’ shoulders. And you perk up at the dog that stops to sniff his leg. They’re all simple but they’re so unabashedly you - soft, charming, and everything he needs.

He thinks about all the things he loves about you as you smile and laugh at your surroundings. He’s been thinking about a lot of things, actually, constantly pinching his arm to remind himself that this life he’s created with you isn’t just some dream he conjured in his mind to get over losing you twice. You’re actually, truly next to him, living his new dream with him, as he dreams your dream with you. He doesn’t think he can get any happier than everyday he gets to live like this.

You told him a few times that he’s brave for dreaming a new dream. It’s scary to do that, you’d said, so are other things, like loving again and again, accepting the broken pieces of himself and loving every one of them. You’d said that he was brave for flying to see you and asking for you back, and while he agrees to some extent, he doesn’t think anyone can be braver than you.

You love intensely and genuinely; you love so certainly. You love like you heal, and you love yourself and others so you could heal as well. The way you loved him all these years has been filled with courage - you loved when it hurt, when it didn’t feel like he wanted to fight for you, when it felt like your love wasn’t strong enough to carry his burden. You loved so hard that there would be nothing to regret if the world ended the next day, and your love is so transformative that it created a home in his aching heart so that it could be strong enough to love both you and him after everything.

You turn to him and reach out for your hand as you head towards the exit, and he jogs to where you are and intertwines his fingers with yours - not loosely but securely; he wants you to know he’s never letting you go.

There’s no version of life that he’d let you go another time. And so when he gets a message from the jeweler that his order for a customized daisy ring is ready, Yoongi’s heart soars to know that he could at least give you - ask you - something that will let you know that he’ll choose this life over and over again as long as it’s the one where he gets to live the rest of it next to you.

You’ll both go back to Seoul, in the home you both created, in each other’s arms where you both belong.

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deancaspinefest · 8 months

Text

A Fairy Tale Cliche!

Author: butterflyslinky | Artist: CoyDahlia

Posting on Monday March 18

True Love was never in the cards for Castiel. He is, after all, a Changeling raised by Cave Trolls, raised in the Court of Storms, where tender emotions are not encouraged. True Love was also never in the cards for Dean. They may be under a curse that can only be broken by True Love's Kiss, but nymphs don't tend to settle for one person for life. Too bad none of their friends will listen to that logic.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Castiel did the only thing he could think of and extended his hand. “Would you care to dance with me?”

The nymph stared for a moment. “Are you going to declare your love and ask me to run away with you?”

“No,” Castiel said. “I’m going to dance with you until you don’t want me to.”

“Well.” The nymph put their hand in his. “Guess I can do that.”

Castiel smiled and led the nymph onto the floor. As though by magic…okay, probably by magic…the orchestra started at once and Castiel swept the nymph into a gentle waltz, grateful to Sam and his lessons. He was still clumsy in boots and he didn’t want to step on the nymph’s inadequate shoes.

“You’re a Changeling, right?” the nymph asked after a minute.

“I am.”

“Great. Wanna give me the lowdown on that?”

Castiel didn’t know why, but he found himself spilling his entire story to the nymph, more than he’d told anyone, even Sam. The nymph listened in silence, watching him from behind their mask, and they seemed to relax the longer Castiel spoke.

“So here I am,” Castiel finished quite a bit later. “It’s been a bit of a journey.”

“You’ve barely even started,” the nymph said. “Training with Jo is step zero…you don’t even have your Quest yet.”

“I thought finding my One True Love so I can stay in Avalon was my Quest.”

The nymph laughed. “Please. Like it would be that easy. You can’t really know someone is your True Love until you’ve faced major adversity together. You know, kiss a frog, turn into a swan, what have you. And that’s assuming True Love even exists for you and not just random lust or infatuation.”

“Do you not believe in True Love?”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” they said. “But I don’t go around sharing my story with everyone I meet.”

Castiel slowed slightly. “Just tell me,” he said. “Do you have a True Love you should be dancing with?”

The nymph softened. “Nah,” they said. “Don’t have time for that crap. Though you’re offending an awful lot of people by dancing with me.”

Cas glanced around again. There were indeed quite a few people watching them, and many of them looked pretty unhappy. “Were they on your dance card?” he asked.

“Nope,” the nymph said. “But they feel entitled to me anyway.” They grinned at Cas. “So if you want to take up all my time, I can stay until midnight.”

“If you want me to,” Castiel said. “But I’d like to know what to call you if we’re going to spend the next four and a half hours together.”

“Dean,” the nymph said. “You can call me Dean.”

(continue reading on Ao3 on Monday March 18)

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serve-cunt · 4 months

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HI!!! okay so I’m only three chapters into so what are you waiting for and having a great Sunday morning tbh!!! Im gonna get more tea and crack on but please!! Tell me more about sincaraz f1 drivers who “might be fucking” I’d love to hear the lowdown!!!

AHH I'm so glad you're enjoying!!! it's crazy how that fic took over my life for a good five months, I secretly sometimes still watch tennis and wonder where oscar is LOLL any w a y ....

[[okay hi again @bakingblues I had to private this briefly because I SOO did not answer your question but I have edited in my answer for f1 driver headcanons. I'm going to pretend that I wrote everything with that in mind in the first place lmao here we goOOoooo.... ]]

to answer your wonderful question I feel like some irl sincaraz context might be nice! ;) so let me start there! ;)) I love to completely read asks and not make assumptions!!! ;)))))

SO!! sincaraz. the main players are: carlos alcaraz, 21, spanish, SUUUPER smiley, baby-faced beautiful muscular delight of a human

and jannik sinner, 22, italian, carrot-topped stoic-faced bambi-legged carrot-cult runner

they are both next-gen (new gen??) tennis players, i.e. coming after the era of the "Big Three" — Nadal, Federer, and Djokovic. Carlos was an immediate and breathtaking wunderkind, ranked in the top 35 male players by 18 and beat both Nadal and Djoko at a masters 1000 (his second masters 1000 title) in 2022 like. three days after his 19th birthday. already wild!! THEN he goes on to win the US Open same year!! he finishes 2022 the youngest ever no. 1 ranked ATP player and goes on to win a bunch more titles in 2023 including Wimbledon where he beats Djokovic in a fucking inCREDible match (I watched 30 minutes of that in the pouring rain and then had to escape to a cafe where I made them turn on the tv and had the best day of my life lmao)

carlos initially appears to be very much of the max verstappen mold, i.e. a nerd, fairly single-minded, incredibly talented, seemingly breaking the rules of physics at times. basically by the end of 2023 he's the Guy To Beat, plus everyone loves to watch him ... he's got style and variety and power and he LOVES the game, he smiles the whole time, he has FUN, he's just!! a joy to watch!! he's the elephant in the room at every tournament, he's the "future of tennis," and nobody can talk about anybody else.

Except Carlos.

Because Carlos talks about Jannik.

It's very funny that carlos talks about jannik so much at this point!! like, it's a point of discussion how many times carlos brings jannik up in conversation. very much 'hyping my friend up' vibes. 'oops talked about my crush again' vibes. because Jannik is sort of .. following? carlos at this moment? He's doing well, but he's a year older and only starting to get to the same level of matches as carlos, even as carlos does it himself. (there's a funny clip of jannik making it to the semifinals at wimbledon and the on-court interviewer says: "youngest to do it since 2007!" and jannik says, "yeah but carlos..." and sure enough carlos immediately went on to steal that honor and, in fact, win the tournament lmao)

and also people just aren't talking about jannik in the same way! his tennis isn't as immediately interesting to watch as carlos's because he doesn't come to the net as much, he likes to play from the baseline. also he isn't as reliable as he should be, esp on serve, for somebody not taking those alcaraz-esque risks up the court. but— when he's on he's ON: super clean strokes, super powerful, and he has really excellent movement for somebody so tall. beautiful, dependable backhand. Still, not everyone is like. entranced by jannik in the way they are by carlos. i remember listening to a Tennis Podcast episode as jannik was starting to get serious momentum through the top of the atp rankings and be considered a real next-gen challenge for carlos (for reasons I'll get to) but otherwise kind of flying under the radar, and one of them (Catherine lol) said something along the lines of "I don't really see what other people are seeing in sinner, he leaves me cold, I just don't really like watching him". (Which is SO funny to me. I saw one sinner match in 2021 (miami) and thought "this guy's MINE" lmao)

BUT! by the end of 2023 jannik actually has a winning head-to-head with carlos which is unusual enough to remark on, ALSO, they have a series of incredibly interesting and thrilling matches under their belts.

They meet for the first time in 2021 in Paris, (well on the atp tour anyway. they also met in this challenger match, they're 15 and 17 respectively and so cute and dorky). in paris the match is great, they both seem to have fun, but what's really lovely (and important for The Lore) is that after the match —which Carlos wins— Jannik leans in real close and intimate and says: "I hope we play some more" and Carlos gets uhh. SO supremely happy about it. in his on court interview he says "we will both be in the top" which!! prescient...

From that 2021 meeting they go on to have banger match after banger match, namely the quarterfinals at the US Open in 2022 (which Carlos won) and an insane Indian Wells match in 2023 (which Jannik won). what's really special is that you can see how push-and-pull they are with each other: they learn from each other, they play their best against each other, jannik's tennis is more interesting against carlos, carlos is really tested with his movement against jannik, like he can't just run him around. THIS is why carlos can't shut up about jannik. they play CRAZY tennis against each other, and both of them have FUN. guaranteed good match-up, everyone rooting it for it in every tournament. so even though people aren't talking about JANNIK in the same way as they're talking about carlos, they're definitely talking about the combination they make on court. As is. Carlos. :)))

so if you're delusional like me this is when you start to think about the Shipping Narrative ... like.... look at this....

LOOK AT THAT DOUBLETAKE. insane... and the rivalry they have going at this point... carlos's obsession with jannik ... jannik still trying to measure up to carlos... I mean!! think of the potential ! they are talked about in relation with each other at ALL times (if people aren't talking about carlos v djoko, anyway) and they are nothing but sweet about it.

they're also so cute TT_TT the brain rot begins ... the ship name is formed ... sincaraz is here to stay

okay. So. at the end of 2023 jannik goes through a life changing experience.

he pukes in a bin.

this happens in beijing in Oct 2023, in a match he played against grigor dimitrov. he's looking BAD all match, clearly unwell, and then during one of the changeovers he asks for a bin to be brought out and uh. well. see above

he stands back up, looks a lot better, goes on to win the match and then immediately goes on an INSANE run of victories. this tweet pretty much sums it up but he essentially looks unbeatable for the next five months. he beats djoko three times, only gets beaten by him once. he wins his only match-up with carlos. he wins against a bunch of other top 10 players on his way to several titles. he beats medvedev FOUR TIMES (who was ranked 3rd in oct 2023, currently ranked 5th, sorry meddy :// ) . he wins the AUSTRALIAN FUCKING OPEN.

this is the post-puke sinner era. he wins 16 matches in a row, an astonishing run, and he just. Looks. So. Good. He barely dropped a set to get to the australian open final (one, to djoko) and he is playing beautiful —stunningly beautiful— tennis. his serve is FIXED. now HE is the only person anybody can talk about. new future of the atp, people are WATCHING. his carrot fan club is going insane. who can beat him??? when he looks THIS GOOD??

yup. of course. carlos beats jannik at Indian Wells to defend his own title from 2022, ending Jannik's winning streak and cementing the rivalry for a lot of people: i.e. even at jannik's best, even when carlos is in a bit of a slump, carlos still throws jannik for a loop. it's NOT that interesting of a match overall, honestly, although some great points and a tournament beset with Problems, including ... bees!!! what's most interesting about this match imo is the several lovely moments of sincaraz we got from it, some jumping around together beforehand, jannik doing some fairly atypical showing of emotion, and the famous walking off together during the rain delay (rivals don't really do that???) They're just so cute the whole time, a beautiful day for tennisblr tbh. jannik can be so STOIC and carlos just!! brings out the boy in him!!!!!!!!!

^^ rivals!! :)) enemies even!! :)))

jannik goes on to win the other half of the sunshine double, at miami (does not face carlos to do so), making them the SUNSHINE DOUBLE BOYS and deservedly so.

and that pretty much catches you up on the basics of sincaraz!! basically they are each adorable individually, they are adorable together, and they have a chewy fucking rivalry building that EVERYONE is enjoying rn. tbh my ship manifesto gets a lot less fun from here on account of some inane-making thoughts re: the (un)requited & one-sided nature of this ship but let me rec some fics real fast:

umiltà which is INCREDIBLE

Phoenix which is a wonderful character study for jannik, truly beautiful writing

also THIS HUNGER GAMES AU MY GOD

okay so as f1 drivers

first of all, they HAVE to be in the mclaren car, obviously. to me they are an obvious mctwinks parallel: clearly friends, very compatible, same age, but with some fun mentor/mentee dynamics thrown in

Carlos gets signed first, very young — the lando equivalent! he has maybe one or two teammates before jannik but they're all older and it just doesn't exactly click. he likes everyone, even gets along well with them (as well as the rest of the grid!) but he's not quite at home yet. not helped by the fact that he's in one of the fastest cars on the grid, and wins WDC in his rookie year! (maybe helped out a bit by a few djoko DNFs ... I feel like that could be equivalent to djoko being out of some major matches in 2021/2022 for novax reasons) anyway carlos gets an aura which makes it hard to connect w the others, maybe. he's a lil lonely!!!

Jannik gets signed a year later and they click as a teammate pair pretty well. I see a VERY similar trajectory as landoscar: carlos is much more comfortable with the press, knows the team really well, shoulders much of the burden of marketing etc. Jannik comes in to a team that has a fave driver already, but he's ALSO a good driver, and carlos likes him so so so sosososo much, so the team welcomes him with open arms. At first he performs okay... not great... he has a slower learning curve. He's improving, but incrementally. he and carlos get closer as they share tips about the car and training etc.

Then one day he pukes in a bin. this part is essential. HOW it happens doesn't matter ... he gets food poisoning?? heatstroke??? doesn't matter, who cares, the point is, this is his turning point in terms of hoisting himself up the driver rankings. He starts making it into the top five drivers every race, gets some podiums, wins his first race. carlos is RIGHT THERE NEXT TO HIM. they celebrate together !! they kiss that very night!!!!!!

now they are fighting for WDC. things get tense. this is where I have to stop I get too anxious LMAOO anyway!!

so those are my broadstrokes headcanon re: how would sincaraz work as f1 drivers. I do think about it quite a lot ....... they all live in my brain now probs forever 🤪🤪 sorry to make you read all that. maybe you didn't lol but ENJOY ANYWAY AND THANKS FOR THE ASK ILYYYYYY <3 <3 <3

#ask #sincaraz

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