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sushiwriterhere · 1 year

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new rules

summary: "Don’t pick up the phone, he’s only calling because he’s drunk and alone. Don’t let him in, you’ll have to kick him out again. Don’t be his friend, you know he’s going to wake up in your bed in the morning. If you’re under him, you’re sure as hell not getting over him." rating: explicit (18+ mdni) pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x f!reader word count: 8.5k (this got away from me sorry y'all) warnings: angst (lack of communication!), idiots pining, PiV (unprotected), oral (f receiving), hangman x phoenix (blink and u will miss it), no use of y/n. notes: thank you to @waklman for letting me bounce ideas off you! im very nervous abt this one, i feel like its dif from my other stuff so pls pls let me know what u think! my other works are here

Friends with benefits is maybe an inaccurate way to describe what’s going on between you and Bradley. Friends? Sure, since he asked you if you were using that bench at the beach and then he’d introduced himself. With benefits? You’re not sure if they really could be classified that way.

Bradley’s almost always a perfect gentleman.

He doesn’t ignore you in the daylight, but the two of you never talk about the way he finds himself in your bed most nights rather than not, drunk or sober.

It had started one night when you’d turned down an invitation to go to the Hard Deck, instead choosing to do a night of self care. You’d spent too long doing your eyebrows and managed to get a sheet mask to fully cover your face for once. You lost count of how much time you spent in the shower as an indulgence, and threw on the comfiest clothing you owned. Then, you sat yourself down in front of your TV to numb your mind with some perfectly trashy reality television.

Around 11:30, your phone had rang. Picking it up and squinting at the brightness, you saw Bradley’s face grinning back at you, the picture from one of your many beach days since you’d met.

Despite your best instincts you’d picked up. What if he was stranded? What if something had happened? You’d steeled yourself for the worst.

Instead, Bradley had just opened with a simple, “Hey.”

“Bradley? Is everything okay?” You could hear the noise of the Hard Deck in the background, but it had been yelling and there weren’t any sirens.

“Yeah,” His sigh had come over extra loud through the speakers, “Just uh, was just thinking about you.”

“Okay,” What the hell? You remember mouthing the words to yourself as someone on screen had thrown a drink in someone else’s face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He hadn’t responded to your question, instead he’d just said, “Are you at your apartment?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Bradley is everything–”

“I’ll see you soon.” And with that, he’d hung up with a definitive click.

You’d stared at the dimming screen of your phone for probably almost five minutes. Surely he couldn’t have been that drunk–god, was he planning on driving? Calling him during that was probably a bad idea.

Great, leave it to Bradley to stress you the fuck out on a Friday evening when you’d been aiming for peace. You’d tried to refocus on your show, but you weren’t even paying attention to the words.

No more than five minutes later, there had been a knock at your door. You’d stood slowly, not sure that this was actually happening.

You’d opened the door to a Bradley with flushed cheeks and a glint in his eye, leaning against the railing outside your apartment. It was only after a moment of silence that you realized you were wearing an old Navy shirt of his, loaned to you at the beach a few weeks ago. You could feel the way his eyes started at your legs and dragged up your frame, taking everything in.

“Bradley?”

He’d pushed off the railing and backed you into your apartment, letting the door swing shut behind the two of you. You’d backed into the living room til your back hit a wall, your heart in your throat. You couldn’t look away from him, not with the way he’d been crowding into your space, leaning into you.

“Hi, sweetheart.” His voice was a tone he’d never used on you before, and you remember the way your heart had hammered in your chest.

He’d been so warm and so close, setting all of your nerve endings on fire. It wasn’t that you hadn’t realized that Bradley was attractive–the man’s whole job was to stay in shape and be clean cut. He was beautiful. But you’d kept that to yourself, afraid of crossing that line, afraid that you’d ruin something that was turning out to be one of the strongest friendships you’d had in years.

You still feel that fear, despite all the lines that have been crossed since that moment.

The way he’d kissed you had wiped every thought from your head. His hands had slid up your thighs to grip at your waist under his shirt hanging loosely on you. His mouth had moved smoothly against yours, making you sigh and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

By the time the two of you had made your way into your bedroom, he’d lost every piece of clothing but his briefs and his dog tags. They’d dug into your sternum as you’d pressed yourself against him, the cool metal warming quickly between the two of you.

The way your blood had been rushing in your ears from adrenaline had drowned out the way he’d murmured to himself as he’d kissed down your body. He never did pull his shirt off you. He’d simply maintained his grip on your hips, lifting your thighs over his shoulders as he’d pulled your panties down and licked desperately into you.

Your hands had gone to his hair out of reflex. He had been rocking you steadily and you think you’ll always remember how you felt when you’d realized it was because he was grinding his hips against the bedframe, so turned on from getting his mouth on you.

He’d eaten you out like a man starved, his nose bumping into your clit as his tongue fucked you. It had been messy and loud but you hadn’t cared about the neighbors or your dignity, not with the way his fingers had finally curled into you.

“Bradley,” You’d gasped when you finally came, back arching and fingers tightening in his hair to the point where your knuckles ached.

He’d held you through it, had let you rock your hips against his face and not complained at all. In fact, he’d seemed delighted by the way you’d let yourself just feel, pleasure wracking your body and consuming your mind in a haze.

Kissing his way up your body, he’d slid his hands under the shirt and groped you gently. You remember the way your mind had stayed cloudy and you’d floated, tethered only to the real world by the way his thumbs flicked gently at your nipples.

“I’m here, I’m here,” He’d panted into your mouth as you whined when he’d sat back slightly to kick off his briefs and hitch your thighs over his waist, “I’ve got you.”

The first time Bradley had ever slid his cock into you, you knew you’d never be the same, that you’d never be able to go back. Not when he’d kept himself hovering over you just barely, propped up on his elbow, with his lips still brushing yours and his dog tags catching in the sheen of sweat along your sternum. Not when he rocked into you inch by inch, making the world around you blur into nothingness.

You’d let yourself fall apart under him, let yourself sink into the mattress and just take whatever he was willing to give you. He’d fucked you deeper and more gently than anyone before–to this day, you’re not even sure you can classify it as ‘fucking’, that always felt too vulgar for the way he’d brushed his lips over your cheekbones and murmured sweet nothings.

But saying Bradley had, and still does, made love to you means trying to find something from nothing, means discerning some sort of level of connection he’s never made clear. You’re not trying to break your own heart more than you already are.

In spite of that, you can’t forget the way he’d held you like you were precious, like you were everything to him. He’d cum inside you with a guttural moan, a punched out gasp at the way you’d clenched around him. It had made you realize that was all you’d ever wanted, Bradley warm around you and inside you, him making you feel complete in a way you hadn’t known you weren’t whole before.

He’d been a perfect gentleman when you’d both come down, easing out of you so he could clean up. He’d massaged your thighs and hips where you were sure you would’ve been aching the next morning if he hadn’t, had apologized under his breath at the fingerprints now dotying your hips. He’d thumbed at the collar of the Navy shirt where it had stayed on your frame the entire time, looking pensive but never saying anything.

You’d woken up alone the next morning, a sticky note on the bedside table reading–Had to run for work. Thanks for having me over. A messy heart and a hastily scrawled Bradley closing off the message.

And so it went. So it goes.

During the day, you and Bradley are the paragon of good friendship–he’ll send you memes when he gets access to his phone in between flights and lessons, you’ll pick him up after work to go to the beach. The two of you don’t talk about it–because what is there to talk about?

No words are ever exchanged about the way that Bradley clears out a drawer for you at his place, you just find a few of the things you’d left at his place in there one day. You never give back his Navy shirt, not when you find yourself wearing it more often than not. Nothing is said about how you start picking up his favorite flavors of ice cream and his preferred brand of coffee creamer, you just make a habit of throwing them into your cart when you go to the store.

And everything is fine. It really is. You disregard the side glances from Phoenix and Bob as they see you leave with Bradley on Friday and Saturday nights, you ignore the way Hangman wiggles his eyebrows at you when Bradley insists on paying for your drinks. Just friends, is all. Just friends.

They can make their assumptions, whisper while you’re out of ear shot, but they don’t see the quiet, comfortable domesticity that you and Bradley engage in when the two of you are alone. You go back to his after beach afternoons since it’s closer to your favorite spot, and the two of you will shower (separately) and make dinner together. Sometimes you’ll sleep over if you’re working remote the next day, sometimes you’ll go home.

On weekends, Bradley picks you up in the morning, trunk holding a cooler full of drinks and snacks, and you two will go to the beach again or go on a hike. Sometimes Phoenix or Bob or the whole crew will come along, sometimes they won’t.

Just friends. And it’s fine.

Until everything isn’t fine.

Bradley and you have been at this for a few months now, and you can feel yourself cracking. You’re reaching out to kiss him when you do wake up together, before your brain is awake enough to stop you, reminding you that that’s not what you two do. On an outing to a boardwalk teeming with life and populated by those games you can win stuffed animals at, you resist the urge to press him against the railing of the pier and lick the taste of your shared gelato cone out of his mouth.

When the dam finally breaks, it begins like any other night. You have a margarita and a half in you, some concoction that Phoenix insisted you try that’s actually good. Bradley’s already done a rendition of My Way at Penny’s request, but for now the jukebox is blaring some 80s hit Hangman picked out.

You can feel yourself swaying to the beat, just letting the warmth of the moment sink in as you’re surrounded by your friends, the people you love.

“Hi,” Bradley breathes into your ear as he sidles up next to you, his arms coming to settle around your waist. You can feel his warmth through the flimsy fabric of the dress you’ve got on.

“Hi Brad,” He hates it when people call him that–lets you get away with it though. “What’cha doin’?”

“Waitin’ for you.” He leans his entire body weight against you, making you slump against the table you’re standing next to.

“Ah! Bradley, stop it.” You try to stand, but the way he’s laughing makes it hard to shake yourself from his grip, “What do you mean you’re waiting for me? I’m waiting for you.”

The grin he shoots you is electric, and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, right here in the middle of the Hard Deck, with all your friends around and in Penny and Mav’s line of sight. That thought makes your heart skip a beat.

“Come home with me?” He whispers, just barely letting his voice rise above the background noise, and when you don’t respond immediately, “Or let me take you home?”

That’s all it takes, really, for you to agree. The way he’s so willing, so malleable, for you. You’re leading him out by the hand without responding to his questions, making your way to the Bronco that’s parked in the back corner of the lot.

Bradley keeps the foolish grin on his face the entire time he drives back to your apartment. The warmth radiating from him doesn’t abate when he licks into your mouth once the two of you are inside. One of his palms rests against your heart, the other working its way up your thigh and inside your panties that are already damp.

“You’re so good to me,” He murmurs, dipping his fingers below your waistband and brushing through your curls, feeling just how slick you are.

All you can do is whine as he picks you up and makes his way to your bedroom. For once, he doesn’t trip or stub his toe on anything, and it somehow heightens the intensity. Normally, you and Bradley seek comedic relief of some sort, something to cut the tension and keep it from making your chest tighten in a way that feels like a warning. This time, you aren’t granted any such reprieve.

He undresses you slowly and deliberately, letting his fingertips drag lightly up your sides and over your shoulders. He shrugs his Hawaiian shirt off easily, and lets you yank his wife beater over his head without complaint.

Then, the two of you are just staring at each other, both panting lightly. You’re propped up on your elbows, staring up at him only in your panties. Bradley’s got one hand about to pop the button of his jeans, but he’s frozen. You feel like you can’t move but also like something might be changing.

You don’t want it to change, you don’t want to lose Bradley in more ways than one. If this is what he’s willing to give you, you don’t want this to change.

He nearly falls over when his foot gets stuck in his jeans, and even that doesn’t break the tension. Once he’s climbing over you, enveloping you, kissing up your stomach and neck, you forget all about decorum and keeping up appearances.

The whine that echoes around the room is pathetic and high pitched, but it’s the only way you think to communicate to Bradley how bad you need him in that moment. His hips are rocking gently against yours and you want the layers gone, you need to feel him.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” And his hands are around your hips, dragging your underwear off you unceremoniously.

Although he makes a good attempt at going down on you, you don’t let him. You dig your fingers into his shoulder and yank at his hair to keep his face level with yours and kiss him desperately.

“I want to eat you out, please?” The depth of his voice sends a shiver through you.

Normally he wouldn’t even have to ask, but you don’t want that right now. You just want to feel him inside you.

“Need you in me, please,” You take a heaving breath before the pleading spills out of you, “Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

He shushes you as you scrunch your face up, not knowing how else to convey your desires in that moment, “Okay. I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

You almost wail in protest when his fingers slide into you. You can’t figure out why you feel like you’re burning up from the inside out, why you feel so fucking needy.

“Sweetheart you gotta let me prep you somehow, just–”

You feel like the embarrassment might kill you when you keen at the feeling of his fingers inside you. The way you’re trying to be good, you really are, because he does have a point. Plus, you have to be fair to Bradley, this isn’t just about you.

So you hold still, let him work his fingers in and out of you as you pant and clutch at his shoulders like a lifeline. His mouth presses against yours, works its way over your cheeks and down your throat. He sucks a mark gently into your collarbone, and you ignore the way your brain reminds you about having to cover that up for work.

He doesn’t shut up the entire time, just keeps telling you how good you’re doing for him, how good you feel, how he’s been thinking about this all night. The world seems to go right-side up again when he pushes into you.

You whimper at the way he rocks his hips ever so gently before pulling out. He kisses you again and again, only letting his lips leave yours so he can kiss your forehead or cheeks. The motion of his hips is a steady tempo, he keeps time with your breaths that turn into moans when you start feeling that telltale coil in your stomach.

He runs his tongue along your teeth and you’re done for. You clench down on him and dig your nails into his skin, bucking your hips up as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave.

Bradley fucks you through it like every other time, yes, but this time there’s something about the way he stutters out a moan and his hips match the faltering rhythm as he finishes right after you. The shallow rocking of his hips continues and you try to ignore the prickling of tears at the corners of your eyes.

Something tells you that this time, you shouldn’t have let Bradley take you home. When he pulls his face back from yours and he rolls the two of you onto your sides without pulling out, he’s got this look on his face that screams unspoken words. He cups your face and strokes your cheekbone with his thumb without saying anything.

The two of you are quiet as he cleans you up, as you dress yourself in another one of his shirts.

When you wake up the next morning, Bradley isn’t there. It doesn’t shock you necessarily, sometimes he stays, sometimes he has to leave to be on time for work.

What does send a terrible feeling trickling down your throat and into your stomach is the post-it, all four square inches covered in sloppy hearts. Bradley had signed his name in the bottom left corner, characteristic chicken scratch labeling it as him even if the name wasn’t enough.

This has to end.

Don’t pick up the phone, he’s only calling because he’s drunk and alone.

You last about three rings before you cave in, waiting for the sound of his voice to echo around the apartment. You’re holding your breath.

“I knocked.” Is all he says before you’re on your feet, making your way to the door.

There he is, and although you know he isn’t really drunk, you know he’s got a beer or two in him from the way he doesn’t try to hide how he looks at you. You hate the way you’re weak for him.

You’ve been caving to him more than once a week since that first night, since Bradley had knocked your world off kilter. Though you’re in bed together almost every night, whether at his place or yours, you don’t have sex nearly every time. Part of you thinks that might make it worse. It really had been fine at first, but the first morning you’d cried at the sight of that sticky note covered in hearts, you’d known you had to try and put an end to this.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” He tries, a crooked grin splitting his face as he walks toward you, but you know he doesn’t mean his words at all.

“Bradshaw, have you been drinking?” You want to not want this, want to not want the way his gaze pins you down, the way the length of his body against yours just feel so right.

Let him being drunk and you being sober be the excuse, you beg silently. You can’t manage to force out that maybe he should go home, sleep this off in his own bed. You can’t find it in yourself to tell him to leave, to reject his advances. Watching as if outside your own body, he shuts the door behind him and walks up to you.

Your chest aches with unconfessed feelings when he takes your face in his hands and lets his forehead rest against yours. His lips are soft and warm against yours, his mustache tickling you lightly when it brushes against your face. The whine you let out matches his soft groan, and the two of you stand there making out for a few minutes, almost as if you’re both content to just drink each other in without further motives.

“I’ve got you sweetheart, I’ve got you,” And he’s picking you up.

You yelp at the way you’re suddenly lifted from the ground and you bury your face in his neck. You hate heights, your feet off the ground anything more than a few inches sends you spiraling in short order. But it’s Bradley who’s holding you, and some part of you knows he’d never let you fall, never let you crash into the ground.

The way you two fall into your bed is too natural, it makes your stomach churn. His fingers find their place on your hips, around your thighs. It’s all too easy. You wish it would be a bit more awkward, that the chemistry could be imagined or false–instead you’re confronted by the way your bodies flow with one another’s all too easily.

Again, somehow, you’re in nothing but his Navy shirt.

Maybe I should give it back, the thought flits through your mind and you feel guilty immediately. Bradley always seems to take a special sort of pleasure from fucking you in his shirt, and you selfishly want to keep that bargaining chip, to have something that tethers him to you. If he won’t come back to press you into your sheets, then maybe he’ll come back one last time to get his shirt when this inevitably unravels.

“Sweetheart,” He groans softly when his fingers reach the way you’re embarrassingly wet between your legs.

It takes everything in you not to jerk back from his touch–you still don’t know how to confront the way you’re so responsive to his touch. His mere presence.

“I missed you.”

It slips out before you can stop yourself, your lips part and you breathe the words before you can do anything about it. He chooses that exact moment to dip a fingertip into your fluttering, but empty, hole, and you arch your back and moan. Instead of responding, he kisses you hungrily, all pretense gone.

This isn’t something entirely tender, not anymore. He’s searching for something, a certain reaction, with the way he adds and then curls his fingers inside of you. He finds it when you jerk underneath him at the way he pets at that spot inside you you can never seem to reach on your own.

He mumbles against your lips, “There you go,” As you squirm under him, the press of his fingers inside you relentless.

He works his fingers in and out of you, not taking anything in return. It’s all you can do to hold on to him and whine pitifully. Every sensation feels amplified, feels electric because it’s him.

The two of you settle into a familiar rhythm for as long as it takes for Bradley to make you cum the first time. You’re rocking against him through the aftershocks and you can feel the way he’s hard against you through his clothes.

He’s still dressed. The realization sends a bolt of shame through you, but it doesn’t linger long.

He’s shoving his jeans down his legs, not bothering with wiping his hand clean and you shiver at the thought that he’ll have to put them on again, you streaked across them. He makes quick work of his boxers too, and it occurs to you that he must’ve lost his shirt somewhere along the way when he presses his bare chest against your still clothed one.

“Bradley, Bradley,” You chant, “Take off my shirt.”

It’s the most demanding you’ve probably ever been with him, but he laughs at you anyways. There’s a glint in his eye as he sits up, his hard cock bobbing between his thighs. The sight of his naked form between your spread legs makes you swallow hard and your mouth water.

“I like you in my shirt.” There’s something unsaid there, something about claims and ownership that isn’t truly possession, but a reminder of who belongs to whom regardless.

You pull it off your head in protest, and grab his wrist to drag him back down to you. You let yourself indulge in trailing a hand down the firm planes of his body down to where he’s smearing precum against your thigh. He’s heavy and pulsing in your hand and a light hiss rushes through his clenched teeth when you grip him tightly and twist with your wrist.

“Fuck, fuck, not gonna last if you–” Bradley cuts himself off with a groan as you swipe your thumb over his head.

It’s your turn to laugh, “You just got here.”

“Well, have you ever had sex with yourself? It’s tough out here–give a guy a break.”

The both of you dissolve into giggles at that, as you try to imagine how you would look sprawled under yourself. You can’t picture it, but the image of Bradley under or over you makes you think you might understand.

He lines his hips up with yours once you’re both done making fools of yourself at the thought of you having sex with yourself (it reminds you of a drunk hypothetical you’d spent thirty minutes on with Hangman once–would you have sex with a clone of yourself?).

The first push of him inside you cuts through the lighthearted mood immediately. It always shocks you how perfectly he fits inside you despite his size, how incredibly full you feel when his hips meet yours. The gentle friction of the neat curls at the base of his cock against your clit always provides a stimulation that makes your brain go fuzzy.

The snap of his hips against yours is more intense this time, a sort of rhythm that makes you briefly think about the way the headboard might start knocking against the wall. But all thoughts, really, fly out of your head when Bradley brings a hand up to your nipples, the steady stroke of his fingers over the swell of your breasts as practiced and knowing as everything else he’s doing to you.

All you can do is run your hands down his back, scratch your nails against his skin ever so often when he brushes against something so sweet and perfect inside you. You clench around him just to see the reaction it’ll get, and you’re rewarded with a broken groan.

“You’re not fighting fair,” He gasps, and he hitches one of your thighs up so he can press more insistently into you.

You have a clever comeback somewhere in you–something about how you weren’t aware that the two of you were fighting, but it’s swallowed as he presses his lips into yours again. He seems absolutely intent on showing you exactly how you make him feel because the sensations of pleasure become overwhelming.

“Fuck sweetheart, you feel perfect, god you’re so wet for me,” He’s rambling mindlessly, but you let it happen, clinging to any expression of emotion, any sliver of dedication in his tone that you can hold on to til the next time you find yourself in this position.

You know he’s close when his grip on your thigh tightens forcefully and the strokes go from long and deep to slightly shorter and stunted. He’s grunting and gasping, but it’s all the best thing you’ve ever heard.

“Come for me Bradley, I want to feel you,” And at that, he follows your orders, listens to you for once in his life.

Everything is hazy as he keeps himself hovering over you and continues to rock his hips. You start to try and tell him he can pull out before his fingers find your clit and he dives back in to kiss you passionately.

Bradley is a perfectionist at heart, an overachiever. You suppose it isn’t entirely ridiculous that that extends to his performance in the bedroom–he’s insistent you finish every time, and always more than him. Feeling the way he’s still warm and heavy inside you, his lips firm against yours, brings you over the edge more quickly than you’d like to admit.

Still, you heave a shuddering gasp and let the pleasure wash over you. It’s overwhelming and all consuming, but he’s there through all of it til you feel yourself come back into your own body.

You think he might be writing something on your skin, the way his finger loops and dips softly over your hip bone as he kisses you gently. He’s softening inside you and you can feel the mess the two of you made under your hips, except he isn’t moving, not yet at least, to rectify that situation.

For once, you don’t push him to go clean up or scold him for another set of ruined sheets, you just let yourself bask in the moment as you imagine a world where the two of you will talk about this in the morning. You think of a timeline where this is where you end up because it’s where you’re meant to be, not because it’s something you’re choosing despite how it hurts you every time. You think of a place where Bradley is yours and you are his, wholly and completely.

Don’t let him in, you’ll have to kick him out again.

“Didn’t you have a date tonight?” You breathe into his mouth.

Bradley just hums in response, brushing his lips over yours, down your jawline and your throat. His breath comes in warm puffs over your collarbones before he pulls back.

Hands pinned above your head, you squirm under his gaze. There’s something so intense about the way he’s looking at you, but you can’t bring yourself to squeeze your eyes shut to avoid it. Both of you lost your clothes somewhere on your way to the bedroom, and you’re thinking about how to persuade him to be the one to pick it all up when this is inevitably over.

He smells like expensive cologne, and he’s got some product in his hair that made it difficult for you to brush your hands through it earlier. Plus, Phoenix had been dropping unsubtle hints earlier in the week (Hangman had affectionately called her out, a little sigh following— “You’re being such a shit stirrer.”)

“Bradley,” You try again, this time with a slight whine.

Did he seriously ditch some girl that’s probably been waiting on their date all week for this?

He responds by whispering your name back to you, the same tone undercutting the way he says it, “That doesn’t matter, I’m here now.”

The urge to keep complaining rises in you but he preempts your worries by licking into your mouth when you open it.

He presses you into the mattress, weighing you down as he kisses you languidly, as if he’s trying to taste every part of you, as if he’s trying to memorize the sounds that escape you when he does. The warmth of his body makes your mind fog, and for the time being, everything else but this goes quiet.

Distantly, you know that in the morning, he’ll have to leave. At the very least, he’ll have to go back to his to grab his stuff for the beach, a change of clothes. It isn’t kicking him out, but watching him leave again and again has started to build this pit at the bottom of your stomach.

It would be different, you think, if the two of you were together. Because then, him leaving wouldn’t mean much where there would be an implicit promise and understanding that he was going to come back. Every time he closed the door behind him, you swallowed the fear that that would be your final memory of him.

You’re selfish though. And you want to focus on the feeling of his touch instead of thinking about how you may never get to have this again.

He makes it easy. Bradley pulls his shirt off and his dog tags make a gentle clinking sound as they hit each other and then finally come to rest on his chest. He looks like a god, backlit by the setting sun coming through your windows.

This is how you want to remember him. Smiling down at you as he dives back in to kiss you breathless, twitching when you skim your fingertips up his sides because he’s ticklish.

He makes short work of your shirt and sleep shorts, then his jeans are discarded. He stops briefly when his fingers reach the waistband of your underwear, a silent question that you answer by lifting your hips and letting him pull them off you.

Every time he’s between your legs, he has this reverent look on his face, and it makes your chest twist at the fact that this time is no different. He holds your thighs open gently but firmly, and he presses his face into your pussy. Then, his tongue is darting out and licking up your core, flat and wide.

You’d asked him once, if he likes going down on you. With a gleam in his eye, Bradley had said it was second only to being inside of you. You think of that as he eats you out enthusiastically, as you bury your hands in his hair and pull.

He slides his tongue in and out of you, curls it around your clit and sucks in a way that makes your back arch and your thighs clenched around his head. Then, he’s slipping a finger inside and fucking you slowly with it. It makes you shiver as you realize how close you are.

“Sweetheart, fuck, you taste incredible,” He murmurs, more to himself than anything else, pulling back briefly to make eye contact and you feel the way your breath quickens at the intensity of his gaze.

It only takes a few more minutes of him licking into you, tonguing at your clit, and adding another finger before you feel that familiar swooping in your stomach, before you’re choking out his name. Your back arches so much it aches, but it’s all you can do as the pleasure is all consuming. Bradley works you through it like every other time, holding you and letting you take what you need from him.

Then, he’s on you in an instant, kissing you furiously and sliding his hardness up and down you, covering himself in your slick. It’s filthy and sloppy but neither of you seem to mind. He lets himself rut against you til you’re hooking your legs around him and digging one of your heels into his back.

“Alright, alright,” He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but you know he’s more affected than his light tone lets on.

The first push into you is always the most intense, but you suck in a deep breath that you force out through your teeth.

“I know, I know,” He croons, pressing little kisses all over your face as you adjust to him.

Bradley inches into you slowly, inch by inch. The initial stretch subsides til it’s replaced by the sweetest feeling of fullness, the way you can feel all of him.

If there’s one thing the Navy’s good for, it’s the sheer strength Bradley possesses and has to maintain. You feel it in the way he fucks you, his back muscles rippling as you hold on for dear life. You feel it in the way his hips press into yours, shunting you slightly up the mattress.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are his hips meeting yours and the slick between the two of you. Momentarily, he pulls away from kissing you to look down to where he’s disappearing inside of you, that ring of you collecting at the base of his cock. His groan is guttural and broken.

“Fuck, Bradley, it feels so good.”

He leans down again to kiss you sloppily, and the simple action of him burying a hand in your hair and twisting his wrist makes your heart skip a beat. He always knows exactly what you need when you need it.

“C’mon, come for me, sweetheart, let me feel you.”

And because you’ve never been able to deny him anything, there you are, hurtling over the edge again. He’s everywhere around you, inside you, and his tongue in your mouth is the last thing you need to feel that wave crest inside of you. Bradley’s moan is deep as he feels you bare down on him and he follows you shortly after.

The moments after, when the glow is still settling and your mind is still hazy, are your favorite. Your mind is too foggy to focus on the fact that you know he’ll be leaving, but present enough to feel the way he doesn’t stop pressing kisses to your lips. You’re cognizant of how he cleans you up tenderly and presses his fingers into the skin of your thighs and hips just to watch it dimple.

In those precious few minutes, that’s all that exists to you.

Don’t be his friend, you know he’s going to wake up in your bed in the morning. If you’re under him, you’re sure as hell not getting over him.

You’re trying to ignore him, you really are. You start going to the beach an hour earlier than you usually do, hoping that he’s maintaining his schedule. Every tall brunette jogging across the sand sends your heart into overdrive.

You still see Bradley when you go to the Hard Deck for a drink, but you keep a respectable distance between the two of you. If Phoenix mentions a round of pool, you jump at the chance, while asking Bob and Payback if they’d like to be the opposing team. You ignore the way your heart jumps into your throat when you can feel his eyes on you.

Every note of Great Big Balls of Fire feels like a stab in the chest, and you hold back tears of frustration when you see some girl wrap her arms around his neck and rock along with him as he belts out the lyrics. You’re a fool.

You’ve been ignoring his calls about Saturday morning beach runs and the memes he sends during the day go unanswered except for the little reactions iPhones let you send. You suppose it’s only fair that he gets to ignore you a little bit too.

Your little charade doesn’t last long, not truly in the grand scheme of things. Bradley doesn’t put up with you skirting his advances for long–he knows what he wants and he’ll be relentless til he gets it. And right now, he’s trying to corner you.

And you’re weak for him. You should’ve known from the start that you wouldn’t be able to resist him. You can’t even now, even when you’re only getting him in pieces.

It’s not exactly your bravest moment to be hiding slightly behind Phoenix so he can’t see you (if you can’t see him, he can’t see you, right?) while she stares at you with an endlessly amused expression in her eyes. She doesn’t move to expose you, though.

“What’cha doin’?” Her tone is light, but you can tell she means business.

The two of you are friends yes, but she’s known Bradley for a million times longer. There’s some girl-girl solidarity, but if you were in her shoes, you might have a few bones to pick about potentially throwing Bradley to the wolves on this one. You wonder for a moment if he’s been talking to her about all this, but again, is there even anything to talk about?

“Just uh, trying to see where Hangman’s at?” You sound like you’re asking her a question, and she quirks an eyebrow.

She stretches the syllables of her next word out, letting it hang in the air, “Right. Even I don’t look at Hangman with that sort of intensity.”

That’s not entirely true, but you don’t really feel like getting into a competition with Phoenix of all people, over who’s looking at whom how.

“Sweetheart? Can we talk?”

You’d let Phoenix distract you for just a split second, and there he is, in all his glory. Bradley is beautiful, yes, but he looks tired. His sunny’s are hanging haphazardly from a floral button down that looks like it’s maybe seen better days, and he’s got dark circles marring the perfect tone of his tanned skin.

This time, Phoenix just side-steps you and lets Bradley into your space.

His presence is just as affecting there, in the middle of the Hard Deck, as it was the first time you saw him on the beach. Even with how tired he looks, he’s still glowing just slightly in the evening sun.

“Hi, Bradley,” You breathe, not daring to speak louder, as if that would make the moment real.

You can feel Phoenix’s eyes on you, the way that Bob and Payback are starting to let their attention drift to from the game of pool. This, you don’t want anyone else to be witness to. This is something between just the two of you. You don’t really need the whole world to witness your imminent heartbreak.

“I don’t want to do this here, is my place okay?” He looks so nervous, as if you’re going to push him away. It’s funny really, what you know is about to happen, and yet he still looks like this is about to break him entirely.

Nodding, you let him lead you out of the bar. It feels like deja vu, how however many weeks ago you were tracing these exact steps but making your way towards a very different fate.

The two of you are silent in the Bronco, and Bradley doesn’t bother turning the radio up to belt along to the 80s classic on the radio. Everything feels like you’re underwater, like the world is out of focus. You think you might start crying, but you try and swallow it down, be an adult.

Pulling into the driveway, it’s silent in the car when he turns the engine off. Neither of you go to get out, but you know you can’t sit here forever. This had to happen at some point, had to come to a close. That doesn’t make getting out of the car and waiting for Bradley to unlock the door any easier, though.

You toe off your shoes and let him get you a glass of water. Then, you’re standing on opposite sides of his kitchen, the pristine shine of the countertops and appliances making him feel a thousand miles away. You two are usually tumbling in, mouths locked together, or walking in with groceries, prepared to spend a comfortable evening cooking and watching a movie. This is everything coming apart at the seams.

“Bradley,” You start, not really knowing where you’re going, but just wanting to break the silence.

He looks distraught and your stomach drops with guilt.

This is your fault.

He says your name once as he settles back against a countertop, and it hangs in the air between the two of you, til he starts speaking again, “I’ve been trying to figure out where I went wrong, what lines I crossed, and I guess at some point I realized it was all of them. I shouldn't have pushed you, I shouldn’t have–”

“I thought that that was all I could have of you, so I was selfish and I took it.” You say, the words tumbling out of you before you can stop yourself from interrupting him, but still unable to tear your eyes away from him, “But I was hurting you. I still am, and god, Bradley, I’ll make it up to you somehow, I’m so sorry.”

It’s almost funny, really, the way you’ll look back on this moment a year from now and laugh at the way the two of you are talking past each other, unwilling to acknowledge that your deepest desires could be attainable. But for now, all you can feel is the guilt in your veins, your heartbeat pounding your chest.

“What?” He’d looked at the floor for a moment, but when you finish speaking he’s looking at you intently. “What did you say?”

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and start from the beginning, “I thought that you coming to me, like that, was the only way I could have you. And, and maybe it was me taking advantage because you were sometimes not super sober, but I would never–”

“I was always sober. Every time. I would never do that to you. What do you mean that was the only way you thought you could have me?” Bradley’s standing fully now, not leaning.

“I thought you drank before, to, y’know, make it tolerable.” You regret the words as soon as you say them, “Sorry, that’s–you’re not that kind of person.”

He smiles ruefully, “I’m still focused on the part about that being the only way you could have me.”

Here it is.

“I love you, Bradley. And not just as a friend, but more. But I didn’t want to push that on you, and so I thought–”

“You love me?”

A beat.

“Yes.”

Then, he’s laughing in that hysterical way when people are so overcome, the only way it’ll escape them is if they double over in giggles. But he’s trying to compose himself as quickly as he started.

“I tried to tell you so many times how I felt, I left you all those post-it notes, god, I thought you were seeing them and just didn’t feel the same.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“The hearts. That’s how I,” He heaves a shuddering breath, his voice thick with unshed tears, “That’s how I told my parents I loved them before I could really write. I was saying it to you every time I left.”

“You love me?” You’re crying now, and he squeezes his eyes shut til tears run down his cheeks too.

His laugh is bitter but you know that’s not directed at you, “Was the sticky note covered in hearts not clear enough?”

You feel the way your cheeks warm and your stomach churns as you try and defend yourself, “You were thanking me for letting you sleep over?”

At that, he laughs, genuine this time, breaking the sadness that has been building in the air. Finally, he makes his way across the room to you and crowds into your space, wrapping you in his arms and pressing his forehead to yours. His eyes are closed.

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning, a plea, and a prayer all in one. “I meant every heart, every I love you, from the very first one I left.”

“I kept them all. In my bedside table.”

Then his lips are on yours. The kiss is salty, reminding you of all the emotion that’s been building for the past few months, every moment you didn’t confess, every moment you assumed the worst, it’s all there. But you don’t want to dwell on that now, now that you’ve heard him say something plucked from your wildest dreams.

“Say it again,” You whisper when his lips leave yours ever so briefly as the two of you are stumbling to the bedroom.

And he does. As he’s undressing you, he says it. He mumbles it against your lips and into your mouth.

He says it against your bare skin as he presses you into his bed, the sheets smelling like him before he puts on cologne. It’s muffled momentarily by the way he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, but you feel the way his jaw works anyways as you cup his face. You let your legs fall open around him and feel the way he slides his fingers into you.

When he’s pressing into you, he’s saying it. I love you, I love you, I love you.

In those moments between start and finish, when the world falls away and all you know is the warmth of his body against yours, the slight slick of sweat on your skin, that’s when you think you realize that he means it. The motion of his hips is deep and insistent, as if to try and leave a permanent reminder that he was there.

You’re crying, you realize. And he’s kissing the tears away like it’s the most natural thing in the world, pressing his forehead to yours as his lips keep forming the words. At some point, you’ve started saying them back to him too, choking them out despite everything so that you know that he knows that you love him.

When you finish, it feels like a supernova exploding inside of you. It starts in the center of your body and pushes its way to your fingertips til you’re gasping for air and he fucks you through it. Bradley cums moments later, filling you with his warmth in a way that’s both familiar and still thrilling.

He rolls gently off you, and you hiss as he slips out. That’ll be a mess to clean up.

But he’s looking at you, brushing your sweaty hair from your face, and his eyes are shining so brightly that it feels like looking at the sun. You want to look away, but you think that losing your vision in return for staring at the way his eyes crinkle in genuine happiness is well worth the price.

I love you, he mouths. And you believe him.

You whisper it back.

tagging: @sebsxphia @roosterbruiser @bradshawburner @gretagerwigsmuse @sometimesanalice @joaquinwhorres @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @bradshawsbitch @seresinsweetie @notroosterbradshaw @genius2050 @peachystenbrough @rhettabbotts @theharddeck @wkndwlff - tagging ppl either by request or whom i feel like are horny for bradley soooo pls let me know if you'd like to be added/removed

#bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #top gun: maverick fanfic #top gun: maverick fanfiction #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fic #rooster fanfic #rooster x reader #no use of y/n

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marigold-hills · 22 days

Text

june 2: oyster | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 502

PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

“Alright there, Moony? Looking a bit pale,” Sirius asks in between inhaling his breakfast and reviewing what sparse notes he made for the Potions NEWT.

Remus looks up from his mug of tea (gripped between large hands like a lifeline). There are shadows under his eyes: another late night, then. Exams are upon them, and the way Remus studies has become obsessive.

“You need food too, mate,” James piles bacon onto Remus’ plate, ignoring his grumbles – almost growls, since it’s only a week until the full moon and the lines blur a bit in those days. “Yes, you’re very big and very scary. Now eat your breakfast.”

I should have done that, Sirius thinks because something in him believes the job is his. He’s never been good at caring for anything, hanging onto James even for his own needs, but it’s different, somehow, with Remus. There is a duality: being thankful for James’ care and resentful of it.

The owls come as they do every day, a flurry of wings and feathers. It’s a bright, clear day and they disturb the sun rays as they swoop through the Great Hall.

Remus gets the newspaper (something obscure about literature) and a beautiful, haughty looking owl lands in front of Sirius, raising a dignified foot with a small parcel for him to unwrap.

“What did you get?” James asks as the owl takes off, scoffing at Sirius’ offering of a sausage.

It’s an oyster shell, gold encrusted with an artisan's precision. Inside of it a marble eye, a shade of green which reminds him of autumn and of something else. He finds comfort in the colour - it’s why he chose it – a memory of warm fires and long cozy nights, of the happiness he feels when, as Padfoot, he’s surrounded by pack.

Sirius clips the silver chain the oyster is attached to around his neck “It’s an oisrí feiceálaí,” he hopes he doesn’t butcher the pronunciation, glances at Remus to make sure, “I’ve come across them when researching for my dissertation.”

“What does an oyster have to do with ancient runes?” Remus finds his voice at the bottom of the tea mug.

“Well… nothing. I just thought it was neat. It’s the symbol of fifth dimensional vision.”

“Sure you didn’t accidentally study Divination?”

“Hilarious, Prongs.”

Something catches James’ eye across the Great Hall – more likely someone – and he shoots up with a harried I have to go, see you at the exam!

Remus leans across the table, with a careful hand reaches for the necklace. Studies it, turning it around in his fingers. They oyster looks small in his grasp, the silver more pronounced against the golden skin.

“Very pretty, Sirius,” he says, and Sirius feels the sentence like it means something else, “Will you tell me more about it, after the exam?”

Remus looks up from the oyster, straight into Sirius’ face, eyes reddened and shiny from the lack of sleep and –

- well, Sirius knows what the green reminded him of.

NOTES:

this is part two of a 30-part series of shorts: I’m aiming for them all to be readable as standalone but are a part of a bigger story (better read together and in order, in my opinion)

oisrí feiceálaí, to the best of my knowledge, means seer oyster in Gaelic. It’s not actually a thing but I came across this and thought it was pretty and ostentatious enough for Sirius to wear ALCHEMICAL OYSTER PEARL

Remus is always autumn to me - by that logic Sirius in Winter, James is Summer (self explanatory, really). Peter is Spring I suppose. But I don’t ever write him into my fics so who’s to say

speaking of Peter - let’s say he’s already at the venue for the potions exam, absolutely shaking from stress and desperately cramming last minute revision

@lightningmonarchda3 @bowielover420 @tealeavesandtrash @digital-kam

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged in next parts)

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders era #marauders #microfiction #wolfstar microfic #remus x sirius

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to-thelakes · 2 months

Text

hot water bottle

pairing; luke alvez x fem!reader

summary; you always struggled to sleep and you hated luke knowing but he wakes up and does his best to help.

warnings; pure fluff, just pure fluff, implications of reader having insomnia

notes; i feel like this one-shot truly exposes my britishness, a proper kettle, hot water bottles? i feel like there's something quintessentially british about how reader acts in this but i might just be insane. either way, i wrote this super self-indulgently so i hope u can all still enjoy <3

masterlist

It was another one of those nights. You hadn’t had one in a while but after you and Luke had gone to bed, you couldn’t sleep. The two of you had decided to sleep, curled up against each other but at some point as you tried desperately to drift off, Luke had rolled away from you. You were glad really because you didn’t want to wake him up. You knew that he wouldn’t mind and he would want to know but you also wanted him to sleep. A case could pop up at any minute and you didn’t want to be the reason that he wasn’t feeling his best.

If you didn’t feel your best, that was on you and you knew how to deal with it. But it was exhausting, constantly shuffling over and trying to sleep. You were somehow cold and yet a perfectly normal temperature and when you kept your eyes closed for too long, your world felt like it was spinning.

But you wanted to make a hot water bottle. You had noticed it earlier that day when you and Luke had sorted out the bottom of the closet. You hadn’t used it for months and now, you wanted it. You wanted the warmth against your skin and the comfort. It was all you could think of to maybe help you fall into sleep.

It probably wouldn’t help but you could try.

So, as silently as you could, you slipped from under the covers and padded over to the dresser where you had abandoned the hot water bottle earlier. Once it was in your grasp, you headed downstairs. Despite your best attempts, Roxy had noticed you moving and she lifted her head, looking up at you. You sent her a soft smile in return before slipping out of the bedroom.

It was clear that she didn’t sense anything was immediately wrong and so, she settled back into her bed. You were glad. You didn’t want to confuse her and you honestly weren’t sure you could hold it together if Roxy was walking around with you. The soft little nuzzles and her big eyes had a way of breaking your walls down even though she couldn’t say anything. It was a small mercy.

You took the stairs down to the bottom floor and slipped into the kitchen, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water before flicking it on. You unscrewed the top of the hot water bottle before shaking any excess water out. Once it was cleared out, you placed it on the side. It was just a matter of waiting for the kettle now.

You rested back against the counter as your eyes scanned the kitchen and living room. You hadn’t bothered to switch any of the lights on and the moonlight meant you could manoeuvre around with ease. It just seemed unnecessary and would unnecessarily wake you up which was the opposite of what you were aiming for.

You must have zoned out because when you heard a soft call of your name, the kettle had finished boiling and Luke was standing in the doorway. Your eyes refocused on him and you sent him a quick smile before you flicked the kettle back on again to make sure it’d be hot enough.

“What are you doing awake?” Luke’s voice was hoarse and groggy, thick with sleep. Your gut churned with guilt and he noticed the hot water bottle, “Have you got cramps?” He asked as he walked over to you. You shook your head.

“No, I’m okay. Just wanted a hot water bottle,” You dismissed as you glanced at him over your shoulder. The kettle flicked off and you began to count in your head to 30.

1, 2, 3, 4.

Luke wrapped his arms around you.

5, 6, 7, 8.

His face nuzzled into your neck.

9, 10, 11, 12.

You picked up the hot water bottle.

13, 14, 15, 16.

You began to fiddle with the stopper as Luke pulled you against him.

17, 18, 19, 20-

“Am I allowed to know what’s going on?” He asked, interrupting the tick of numbers through your head. Realistically, it would probably be fine now and so you leant forward and picked the kettle.

“Just couldn’t sleep,” You dismissed as you began to pour the water into the hot water bottle. He watched you, chin rested against your shoulder but you could feel the worry radiating off him, “I promise, I’ll be okay,” You said, placing the kettle back down. You then put the stopper back in and waited a moment before untwisting it and letting the hot air out. Then you twisted it and slipped it under the waistband of your pants, resting it against your stomach. Your body had done it on automatic but you didn’t have cramps so instead you slipped it back out and pressed it against the side of your chest.

“Shall we go back to bed?” He asked. You nodded and the two of you headed back upstairs. Luke slipped back under the covers and you stared at the bed for a moment before sighing. The thought of crawling back under the sheets just made you want to give up. The bed had been the bane of your life for the past four or so hours. Luke watched, concern etched across his features, “Hey, look at me,” He let out the soft demand and you flicked your gaze up to his face.

“Don’t give me that look,” You muttered before you crawled onto the bed and knelt in front of him. He gently tugged you into his lap and you curled your head against his bare chest, “I know you think that there’s something else going on but there isn’t. I just can’t sleep and I don’t know why and yeah, maybe it’s anxiety or it’s just because I’m really overwhelmed right now but that’s not what’s on my mind and keeping me up. I just can’t sleep,” You rambled. You wanted him to understand that you felt okay. You didn’t feel amazing because you’d be asleep if you did but it wasn’t something that you could talk about with him. It was just something keeping you awake.

“I believe you,” Luke responded, “What bothers me is you didn’t wake me up,” You sighed and slipped the hot water bottle to rest between your two bodies before you slipped your arms up to wrap around his neck.

“Sorry,” You mumbled. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, “I just wanted to make sure you got good sleep,” You admitted against his skin. He shifted his hand to run across your back, running patterns along your skin.

“I’d sleep better knowing you were okay,” He whispered against your ear. You sighed and tilted your head down, the guilt churning in your stomach, “Let me help you get some sleep, okay?” He asked. You nodded and he shifted so that you were both lying down. You rested on top of him, cheek resting against his pec and you could hear the thump, thump, thump of his heart beating. It was a soothing sound and you let your eyes close.

“Can you talk to me?” You asked, “I just wanna hear your voice.” Luke moved his hand to stroke across your arm.

“Okay,” He said and then he began to talk. It wasn’t about anything in particular, he switched from talking about the hike he and Roxy had gone on to his favourite thing to bake and then how much he loved to see you happy. You weren’t sure what it was but listening to his voice, the soft thump of his heart and his hands against you seemed to soothe your agitated mind.

It wasn’t an instant fix but your eyes were closed and stayed closed. You didn’t feel the need to force them back open and your world seemed to stay stable for the first time all night. He continued to talk, switching to talking about his mom and the recipes that she used to cook and how much she loved you and Luke could feel how the tension released from your shoulders the more he spoke.

Knowing that you were starting to relax made him feel better. The tension and worry in his gut seemed to slip away as he continued to talk until you stopped making your little intermittent mumbles of agreement and small questions. He could feel the even breaths you let out, your eyes closed and when he stopped talking, you didn’t say a word. It seemed that you were asleep, finally. He smiled and slipped his hand under your sleepshirt, resting his hand against your bareskin. He wanted that closeness as he let himself drift back to sleep too.

#queued #luke alvez #luke alvez x reader #luke alvez x you #luke alvez fluff #luke alvez x reader fluff #reader-insert #reader insert #criminal minds #fic #fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff

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thistledropkick · 11 months

Text

Last year, Kasai Jun was interviewed as part of the interview project DEATH, which interviews various people about death in order to find a better understanding of how to live and appreciate life.

I thought it was a fascinating interview, so I decided to translate it.

Please go visit the original interview - the photography accompanying it is absolutely gorgeous.

Also, please don't repost this whole translation elsewhere. If you want to quote an excerpt of my translation for something, please make sure to also credit the original team behind this interview and link back to the original interview.

Deathmatch Fighter Kasai Jun - 4/27/2022

“It’s not a deathmatch until you return home alive” The reason this 47 year old Charisma Wrestler continues to shed blood in the ring

Within pro wrestling, there is a genre called “deathmatch.”

An extreme set of rules that allows deadly weapons and has no disqualifications. Brawls with fluorescent light tubes, and dives onto barbed wire boards. Without hesitation, wrestlers stab their opponents in the head with fistfuls of bamboo skewers. When wound-covered bodies violently collide, shards of glass and sprays of blood shower the ringside seats.

Upon first seeing it, surely everyone thinks “Why are these people hurting each other like this?” “What the hell am I looking at?”

This is the world of the man known as “Charisma,” professional Wrestler Kasai Jun of the independent promotion Pro Wrestling Freedoms.

In November of 2009, he had a “razorblade board plus alpha deathmatch” against Ito Ryuji in Tokyo’s Korakuen Hall. Kasai, 35 years old at the time, dove from the second floor balcony, a fall of 6 meters, onto a table, aiming for his opponent Ito.

Afterwards they continued to fight with various weapons, in a match that concluded 15 seconds before the 30 minute time limit. That year, this match was awarded the Best Bout award. And Kasai, the winner of that match, became a living legend overnight.

12 years have passed since then. Kasai is now 47 years old, and he continues to rule over the world of deathmatch wrestling. Under the weight of many literal life-or-death battles, Kasai’s body no longer moves the way it did when he was young. Even so, why does he continue to set foot in such a dangerous place?

We asked “Charisma of Deathmatch” - a man who makes the crowd go mad in the space between life and death - about his views on death and on life.

Desiring to truly feel alive

- Normally, people try to avoid pain and suffering. Kasai, why do you continue to shed blood in the ring?

Hahaha. From an outside perspective, you must really wonder “Why do you keep doing something so painful” huh? That’s a normal way to feel. But from the wrestler’s perspective, it’s completely different.

In your normal daily life, do you ever feel like “Ahh, it’s so glorious to be alive”? You’d almost never unconsciously blurt out something like that.

But in a life or death battle in a deathmatch ring, after you step down from that ring, that’s exactly what you feel. “Ahh, I’m alive. I’m so grateful to be alive.” Because of that, I can’t quit.

Mountain climbers and stuntmen probably feel like this too, don’t they. Stepping into a situation where their life could end, and returning home safely. I wonder if they’re searching for that feeling of being “truly alive.”

This feeling is passed on to the audience too. Fans often tell me “Watching Kasai Jun’s deathmatch gives me the strength to continue forward.”

They say things like, “I’m being bullied at school so I wasn’t going to go any more, but now I feel like I can keep going.” Or, “It’s exhausting to keep going to work, but after seeing Kasai persevere while shedding blood in the ring, I can persevere and keep going to work.”

Recently I can’t do this much because of covid, but in the past when I’d sell merch, fans would often say things like this to me.

Because of this, it seems to me that deathmatch wrestling is simultaneously a way for wrestlers to feel truly alive, and a way for those who watch it to feel more positively about living.

- Because of the sensational way “death” is shown in the ring?

Probably, yeah. Because it looks like we’re doing something really painful.

But don’t get me wrong. We aren’t in a particular hurry to die. And we aren’t wasting our lives either. What I always say is, “It’s not a deathmatch until you return alive.”

[Note from me - this phrase (生きて帰るまでがデスマッチ) is a play on a well-known Japanese phrase 家に帰るまでが遠足 “The field trip isn’t over until we return home.” This started as something a teacher would say to students in their care, and Kasai has altered it into his motto towards both himself and other deathmatch wrestlers.]

- It’s not a deathmatch until you return alive.

If you get in a ring where you might die or get seriously injured, and you do die, or you do get seriously injured, you’re no different than a rank amateur, right? But a guy who dives into a deadly dangerous situation and returns from that ring unharmed, he’s the absolute greatest and the absolute coolest.

Like a stuntman, right? If he returns home alive, people say “amazing,” but if he dies, he’s no longer a pro.

At 35 years old, his view on life did a complete 180 during a match

But, when I was young, I thought about it completely differently. I never thought “I’m grateful to be alive.” In the ring, I did dangerous stuff and defeated my opponents. I just thought of it as my job.

The more dangerous stuff I did, the more people said “Kasai is amazing!” That felt really great. Every time I stepped into the right I thought, if something goes wrong and I die I guess that’s how it goes. I thought “Deathmatches should be a memento mori.”

- What caused such a big change in your values?

That match against Ito Ryuji in Korakuen, in 2009. It changed my mental state by 180 degrees.

The truth is, I went into that match thinking “This is my last match before I retire.” Because it was my last match, I would do everything I wanted to do. Win or lose, I went into the ring thinking “I’ll retire.”

But during the match, my feelings completely changed. I thought “If I quit like this, I’ll be half-dead.” There’s nothing else I want to do, and I’ve never felt joy like this anywhere else. It was just too much fun.

So, after the match ended with 15 seconds remaining, I announced my decision to continue wrestling. “I was thinking of retiring but, I’m gonna keep going.” That’s what changed.

- Since your values have changed so significantly from when you thought it’d be good to die in the ring, what’s your “ideal death” now?

Spending the day with my family as I always do, watching tv with an after-dinner drink as I always do, getting comfy in my futon as I always do, and passing away. That’s the best death, isn’t it.

I’ve said it before but, people who say “It’s my ambition to die in the ring” are just trying to look cool. For a pro, it all comes down to returning home alive. And so, I believe that when the life of Kasai Jun the human being comes to an end, Kasai Jun the wrestler will die as well. I want to be a pro wrestler until I die. That’s how I feel now.

When I was young, I thought the best time for a wrestler to retire was when he could still move, when people would say “It’s a shame, because there’s still more he can do.” But if that’s true, I’ve already missed my best time to retire.

Since I’ve come this far, maybe it’s better to keep doing this until my death. Since around the time I turned 40, I started thinking this way.

Gaining years = leveling up. I’ll reach my peak just before death.

- Since you’ve been doing this for so long, it’s inevitable that your body has become weaker. Kasai, how have you dealt with aging?

The word “elderly” is a concept created by human beings, isn’t it? Since that’s the case, I believe it’s something we can absolutely overcome. I don’t think increasing in age is the same as becoming elderly.

Look, it’s true that my physical stamina has decreased and my muscles have gotten weaker than they were when I was younger. But my will and my spirit have continued to grow. Instead of just breaking even, I think I’ve leveled up. 47 years old is level 47. I now see growing older as a positive, like leveling up every year.

Because of that, my peak has yet to come. I’ll reach my peak just before I die. I’ll be at my strongest just before my death. That’s the ideal I envision for myself.

There was a time when I felt insecure about my age. When I hit my mid 30s, I hated that my body was becoming weaker.

But then, while drinking at home and watching a documentary on TV about (rock musician) Yazawa Eikichi, I realized something. “If you think about it, uncool young people are uncool, and cool guys are cool even if they’re old.” Since then, my way of thinking changed. I started calling getting older “leveling up” at around that time.

[Note from me: Suzuki Minoru also refers to getting one year older as “leveling up” in the exact same way. They are friends, so I assume Suzuki got it from Kasai.]

- I'm surprised that a pro athlete who uses his body as a weapon would think of aging in that way.

Pro wrestling and deathmatch are unique among sports. Unlike say, track and field, or swimming, it isn’t a competition where every second counts. I can’t move the way I could when I was young any more, but through my facial expressions, pauses during matches, and so on, I have many ways to express myself.

A guy can be handsome, macho, with great muscles, and completely suck as a wrestler. In contrast, a guy like me who’s ugly, short, and middle-aged, can get support from the fans. It’s a completely different genre, and that’s what makes pro wrestling so interesting.

- What about your emotional struggles? In your documentary film you said you were having some difficulty maintaining your motivation, which you described as “Deathmatch Erectile Dysfunction”

Yeah, well, that can definitely be a problem. When you’re young, you’ve just got piles of hopes and dreams and things you want to do. But as the years go on, and as you accomplish those things, you can kind of get lost.

What’s helped me increase my motivation has been the existence of people who make me think “I absolutely don’t wanna lose to this guy” or “I don’t want this guy to take all the best stuff for himself” In my case, for example, that’s been (fellow PW Freedoms deathmatch wrestler) Takeda Masashi. Or, although he’s from another organization, New Japan Pro Wrestling’s El Desperado.

That’s why for the past 3 or 4 years, I’ve been asking people to “stimulate me.” I want intimidating people to keep approaching me. Well, on the other hand, if they take the most delicious part for themselves, that’s a problem.

A fear of death led to a “selfish life”

- Incidentally, perhaps it’s too late at this point, but do you worry about being injured or dying?

I said it already but, “It’s not a deathmatch until you return alive.” Since I’m a pro, I have the skills required to do this without death or injury.

But, it’d be a lie to say “I’m not afraid.” Even now, for several days before a match I get so stressed that I can’t sleep. Despite how I look, I get plenty scared. Much of my life has been driven by a strong fear of death.

- How do you mean?

It sounds silly, but when I was in grade school I believed in “The Prophecies of Nostradamus.” Have you ever heard of it? “In the year 1999, all of humanity will be destroyed.” Every night I shook with fear in my futon, thinking that my life would end at the age of 24.

Propelled by that fear, I concluded, “If the earth is gonna get destroyed anyway, I should quit studying. Instead I should use the rest of my remaining lifetime to do stuff that I like.” I completely quit studying, and instead spent all my time watching pro wrestling, which I loved.

Conversely, my fear of death also led me to become a pro wrestler. After graduating high school, I got a job in Tokyo as a security guard, but I gave into temptation and visited brothels daily. One day I happened to be reading a magazine with an HIV checklist inside, and almost every item applied to me.

At that time, I still thought “AIDS = death” so I thought “Oh, this is AIDS.” “Oh, this is how I’ll die.”

Luckily, when I got tested the result was negative, but after preparing myself for death, I thought “I really should do what I want” and knocked on the door of Big Japan Pro Wrestling. My life has always been influenced in this way.

- I get the impression that many wrestlers die at an early age. Since then, your fear must have increased.

Nah, that’s not really true. I’m surprisingly practical about the deaths of others. I just accept it, like “That’s the kind of life you lived.” I suspect my fear of death isn’t a fear of death itself, but a fear of becoming nothing.

- A fear of becoming nothing.

I’m no (actor and spiritualist) Tanba Tetsuro, but if after you die, you go to the spirit world, and cross the Sanzu river, that’s not all that scary is it? I wouldn’t go so far as to say “it’s fine if I die” but there’s some kind of hope or meaning. But if “After death, you become complete nothingness” “After death you feel no joy or sadness” I think that’s really scary.

But these days, I don’t experience that fear of death as much as I used to. If after this interview a dump truck hits me and I die, I wouldn’t have any regrets. I could say I did what I wanted to do.

Pro wrestling is a business where you depend on your popularity with an audience, but I’ve never tried to flatter the audience to get sales or support, or thought about how to increase my popularity. Ultimately, Kasai Jun puts himself first. I’m my own number one.

To die without regrets is to win at life

- But, if someone wanted to imitate your way of life, I think most people would be profoundly afraid of not getting by financially, or of being rejected by society. Why do you think you remain stoic in the face of such fears?

What’s there worth imitating about me? If you’re selfish like me and you can change it, you should want to!

But, this is probably related to that “fear of becoming nothing” I mentioned earlier. Ever since I was little, I’ve thought stuff like “This whole world isn’t real” and “Maybe all of this is just a dream.”

Nothing in this world is certain. Since that’s the case, all you have are your own body and your own feelings. In short, I don’t believe in anything but myself, so I put myself first.

- So in order to “feel truly alive” you throw yourself into the painful world of deathmatch wrestling, which leads us back to where we started.

That’s right. I guess you could say that pain is the only thing I believe.

But when I was young, I did understand the fear of not making enough money to survive. When I was around 30 and my son had just been born, I was seized by that fear.

Really, I was broke, and I couldn’t even pay into the National Pension Fund like I was supposed to, so I went to the ward office and said “I do intend to pay, so please wait a little.” I thought to myself, “Living is so expensive and so difficult.”

- A deathmatch fighter scary enough to quiet a crying child, with such an everyday problem.

Three years after my debut, when I was around 27, I was badly injured. I quit Big Japan, and after a year’s absence, I transferred to a different group called Zero-One.

Zero-One was founded by ex-New Japan Pro Wrestler Hashimoto Shinya, and the pay was good compared to Big Japan, and they held a lot of shows, so I could wrestle frequently. The environment there was very pleasant.

But, due to the policy of the organization, I couldn’t do the deathmatches that I love. During that time as a “salaryman wrestler,” I survived, but I think deathmatch fighter Kasai Jun, pro wrestler Kasai Jun, was completely dead.

“I really should do the pro wrestling I want to do,” I thought, and I quit Zero-One, and persisted with the pro wrestling that I love. Maybe that’s why I feel like I can now “die without regrets.”

Ultimately, if you live your own life as you wish, and think “I have no regrets” when you die, you win. Maybe people today have lost sight of the essence of what it means to live. It’s fine to work hard at your job, but if you’re spending every day miserably, is that kind of life really okay with you?

I’d rather live for 20 years and laugh every day than live for 100 years and never smile. If you’ve lived for 100 years and never laughed, that’s the same as being dead, isn’t it?

写真：本永創太 ~ Photographer: Motonaga Souta

執筆：鈴木陸夫 ~ Author: Suzuki Atsuo

編集：日向コイケ（Huuuu）~ Editor: Hinata Koike (Huuuu)

#kasai jun #jun kasai #pw freedoms #pro wrestling #deathmatch #my translation #This is definitely the longest thing I have ever attempted to translate!#I've got nobody checking over my work or anything like that so as always apologies for any typos or errors that I didn't catch

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theresattrpgforthat · 3 months

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Any RPGs about being an unethical mad scientist or being a mad scientist's creation? Like creating an orangutan with buzzsaws for hands, a horribly mutated two-headed crocodile, grafting a rocket launcher onto a demon's back, giant biomechanical monstrosities, etc.

THEME: Mad Scientist’s Paradise

Hello, so I have a few games that seem specifically tied to mad science, but I also found some games about mutant animals that are a bit more focused on a post-apocalypse. I hope they are still close enough to what you are looking for!

Metamorphosis BX, by Tragos Games.

Metamorphosis BX is a post-apocalyptical MiniBX hack in which you'll roleplay a hybrid survivor in an ever-changing world in which a cataclysm fragmented time and space. It is light both in mechanics and tone, aiming to be fun above all.

This is one of the games where your strange mutations and abilities don’t necessarily come from mad science; but I think they could, if you wanted them to. This is a game that employs the use of roll-tables and gives your characters both benign and malign mutations, with different sized pools of different size dice for your hit dice. What is interesting is that you have a list of different dice pools on what is called your hit dice double-helix, aka HDDH - taking your highest dice from your dice pool every time you take a hit. This encourages your characters to end fights quickly, or avoid them when you can - and it also makes for a highly lethal game.

Mutants in the Now, by Julian Kay.

In the ‘80s and ‘90s, they ruled the streets, kick-flipping off of villainous faces and slipping into the shadows. Then, they vanished from the world of tabletop gaming.

But they’re back. And ready to KICK BUTT.

Mutants in the Now is a retromodern retake on the mutant animal role-playing games long past and left behind by licensing. Mutants fight to survive, thrive, and make the world better for themselves and humanity.

I’m not entirely sure what the origin of your mutation is in this game, and it seems that’s the point. The source of your mutations is meant to be a mystery, although big tech corporations, alien conspiracies, and psychic ninjas are all on the list of potential bad-guys. The game itself has a multitude of good reviews, with a lot of praise for the flexibility available to you at character creation, and a large amount of love for the random tables.

If this game sounds interesting but you want something a little less scienc-ey, you might also want to check out the Mutants in the Next supplement, which adds in cryptids, mythical beasts, and a post-apocalypse setting to throw at your characters.

CyberRats, by Alex Rinehart.

You are genetically engineered Operatives addicted to Biotech, a glowing gel that gives you superhuman powers.

The world is being invaded by extraterrestrials known as Interlopers. You have been employed by a megacorp to ensure that the aliens don't win, and that if they are stopped, it's you who does it, and not some rival corporation.

Winning won't be easy. But it also won't be enough. The right corp must get credit.

Can you stop the aliens? Will you sabotage the military to steal equipment and defense contracts from your competitors? How many Operatives will you lose before you taste victory?

Cyberrats, an illuminated RPG.

Here’s a game all about being lab rats - literally! Cyberrats is a fast-paced shoot-em-up about genetically engineered rats addicted to the substance that gives them super-human powers, up against a terrifying alien threat. Your characters can be altered biologically, but also cybernetically, so I have a feeling rocket launchers and exo-suits are on the table here!

If you want to hear what this game plays like, you can check out the Cyberrats Radio Hour, a 30-minute episode full of alien combat and explosions.

Bio-Drones & Cryo-Clones, by ChrisAir.

Bio-Drones & Cryo-Clones is a 48pg biopunk facility-crawl for Mothership RPG, inspired by the body horror of Cronenberg’s The Fly and a twisted take on Metroidvania “save stations.” This zine is the first installment of The Sleeper Crew Adventures zine series.

PCs wake up in the Mountain Forces R&D Facility, dropped smack center into the plans of a scientist gone mad in her love for the dead despot that once owned the world. Players must gather clues, navigate NPC motivations, evade monstrosities before they Become the Mutants.

This is less of a gonzo scenario and more built for fans of horror, putting the player characters in a hostile lab environment and threatening them with a number of mutations as they try to find a way to stop the mad scientist big-bad of the adventure.

This isn’t a standalone game, but rather a module for Mothership, which is a game set inspired by Alien and has many, many different kinds of modules that you can run in many different horror scenarios. This module looks rather extensively developed, with printable maps, a set of VTT tokens, and art for all of the listed NPCs and Creatures. If you want a game full of suspense and horror, you should check out Bio-Drones & Cryo-Clones!

The UPLIFT, by Kurt Potts.

The Uplift is a tabletop RPG about cybernetically uplifted animal heroes saving the galaxy with superpowers! Think Guardians of the Galaxy, but you're all playing Rocket.

You awaken to find you are both less and more, you are both old and new.

You play animals who've been cybernetically uplifted by some mysterious company or lab. Through your adventures you may get the chance to learn why this was done to you, but by then it may not matter anymore. You're a hero and the galaxy needs saving.

Describe yourself in four steps, and let the GM describe to you the situation the crew finds themselves in. You roll 2d6 for pretty much everything you try, with modifiers for advantages and disadvantages. Each character will have one super-power that allows you to add a third d6 to certain rolls, to increase your chance of beating the difficulty score. You can risk personal injury or busted implants on a failure, and then spend downtime later to fix yourself up.

I like that the designer of this game took the basic rules of WSCA games and combined them with tools like clocks and downtime, which are commonly seen from Forged in the Dark games. It allows the players to deal with bigger setbacks during play, because you know you’ll have a chance to fix them down the road. That being said, you can still choose to die a heroic death if you still want to!

Science & Sabotage, by Live Real Press.

You are a team of evil mad scientists, hell-bent on creating a doomsday device that can bring the world to its knees.

Unfortunately, there is competition for the honor. You must finish your device before they finish their device.

You don't have time to play fair.

This is a game where you actually get to play the mad scientists, rather than their creations. It’s built off of the famous Lasers & Feelings structure, so you just need a d6 or two to play. Race against a rival team of mad scientists to be the first one to destroy the world - or at least, to threaten the world with destruction. This is probably good for a single one-shot, or perhaps, if you want to combine it with one of the other games here, you might want to use this game as a set-up for the event that destroyed the world, or perhaps your scientists are instead racing to be the first to cause mutations on a global scale!

Blister Critters, by stillfleet.

Pick your favorite varmint, grab your dice, and roleplay as a cartoon animal on a radiation-blasted Saturday-morning show!

The humans are gone just like the ozone layer, and the world they left behind is overflowing with danger…

In this innovative and surreal game, you play as a small animal who can wield bizarre mutations called Blisters as well as physics-bending Nonsense powers. These strange abilities—artfully developed within the Grit System—will help you survive in a vast, cruel suburbia populated by fellow Critters and their feral counterparts, Beasts.

The sun will mutate you and give you special powers as you scavenge the piles and piles of loot that the humans have no more use for. The tone of this game is very much like a Saturday-morning cartoon, but you can also turn up the gritty dial and make it about the harshness of this new world if you want to. Blister Critters uses a number of different polyhedral dice, with larger dice assigned to traits you’re good at and smaller dice assigned to traits you’re… not so good at. Your character also has two pools that can diminish: Health and Grit, which represent your hit points and your energy respectively. Your Grit can be spent to power the special abilities given to you by your Blisters, so the course of gameplay will likely require balancing your resources as you work through various obstacles.

The Kickstarter has finished for this game, but you might want to keep an eye on it so you can see when the final product is published. In the meantime, you can also check out the Quickstart, as well as the entries to the Critter City Crawl Jam.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #indie ttrpg #mad science #mutations

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imagine-that-100 · 6 months

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Will We Talk | Part 4 ~ Teaser

A/N: I'm hella sorry that it's not the full part besties, I truly am. But I'm giving you a good chunk of it to give you something to look forward to. I'm aiming to post the full thing before the end of the month. I've just checked im up to 10.9k words, and this tease is 2.3k of it for you xxx Thank you for sticking with me and I hope you enjoyyyyy x

~*~*~*~

I need to speak to you

You text the singer as you’re walking home from Katie’s. You thought about just leaving it but you know if you keep what you're feeling bottled in it will just make you go back into your shell when you’re around him, and that’s the last thing either of you want.

Thankfully those thoughts don’t have enough time to fester because about 2 minutes later Alex texts you back.

Christ

Am I in trouble? x

His response makes you roll your eyes as you can practically hear him asking you. You know for a fact he will have snorted when he got the message through and when he typed that one back to you. So you keep him in limbo for a bit.

You’re not funny

Phone me when you’re free.

Thankfully you’re not waiting for ages for the call. Your phone starts ringing as you turn the corner and head down your road. It’s a little embarrassing how excited you are to get back in your house for a bit and just relax until the party later.

After greeting him, Alex gets straight to the point, “What’s up Y/N?”

“About this holiday,” You start, “Katie told me she wants me to come and I want to know how you feel about that before I start to spiral.”

You can already sense the panic in your chest as you feel like you’re at a bit of a stalemate. You don’t want to let Katie down but you’re also definitely not going to go if Alex wants a break from you. You don’t want to intrude on his holiday. Especially one that’s for his birthday.

“Don’t spiral.” Alex begs, and you swear he’s also outside as you can almost hear the way he takes a drag of a cigarette before he says, “The last thing we need is you spiralling and questioning everything again.”

You can picture the smile tugging at his lips as he says that. So much so that him finding your panic amusing means that you silently want to scorn him.

“I’m well aware of that.” You say a little bit too bluntly, so you attempt to soften the blow when you follow up with a rhetorical, “Why do you think I asked you to call me?”

Alex definitely mutes a laugh, covering it by him pretending to clear his throat. To make sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble he distracts you by asking, “What’s panicking you now?”

“The holiday.” You take a deep breath before you start to vent your worries, “Apparently it’s for your birthday, I don’t know if you want me there with what’s going on with us. The fact that you’re apparently paying... I don’t want you paying for me if I come.”

“I did tell Katie to invite you if she wanted to.” Alex reveals.

“That’s not the point. Do you want me there?” You ask him directly, “I don’t want to intrude on a holiday that’s for your birthday.”

Alex takes a second to answer that, not because it’s a difficult answer but mostly because he wants to know, “If we weren’t sleeping together would you come?”

You think about it for a second and realise that you probably would, but not without speaking to him and asking Katie at least 30 times if you were actually welcome. Not to mention trying not to interact with him much when you were out there. And you certainly would not be allowing him to pay for you.

“I still would have double checked with you first, or got Katie to. But that doesn’t matter, it’s different now,” You start talking about your reality again, “The dynamic has changed.”

“Y/N, we were friends anyway,” Alex sighs and you’re glad he can’t see the way your face contorted in disagreement. “The only thing that’s different this time is that we’ve seen each other naked.”

You almost scoff.

You’ve done a lot more than see me naked, sir.

Feeling flustered at the memories of him fucking you flooding back to your mind, you just get back to the point, “So, do you want me there or not?”

And you listen to his response as you unlock your front door and get into your house. Feeling the absence of the chill from outside makes the singers answer all the more bearable.

“I just want you to do whatever you want to. You can come and have a holiday. I don’t expect anything from you if that’s what you’re worried about.” Alex says sincerely, before adding, “And I am paying.”

“I don’t want you to pay Alex,” You whine like a child not getting their own way. But you add honestly, “It makes me uncomfortable.”

And it’s not even just because you’re fucking him, although that is your main concern. It’s the fact that you’ve barely known him properly before now (and you still wouldn’t say you were all that close in any way but physically), you can’t in your right mind let him spend thousands on a skiing holiday for you.

“Y/N, I didn’t invite you to make you feel uncomfortable.” The singer sighs, feeling like you should know this already.

He’s not ever excluded you from something before and he’s certainly not about to start doing so now. And he’s not letting you pay for yourself when everyone else who is coming is paid for already. Christ, he doesn’t really know why this is even a conversation when everything has already been sorted and paid for in advance.

You feel like you’re whining when you again admit, “I know that’s not the intention but I still feel it Alex.”

“Well It’s up to you.” Alex shrugs, hoping to convey how much he’s unbothered by the fact he’s paying for a holiday, but he doesn’t want to pressure you. “You’re very welcome to come and I’m paying for everyone, not just you.”

“But-“ You start but then stop yourself.

Alex immediately questions, “But what?”

He would rather know what’s going on in your head rather than be left guessing. He needs to know how best to reassure you otherwise you both will just regress. And he doesn’t think that wanting for your honesty is too much to ask.

You can’t bring yourself to say it. So you just leave him with silence.

But that silence speaks volumes.

“You worried that if I pay for you to come I’m expecting you to shag me?” A few beats of silence pass and as you don’t dismiss him entirely, he already knows it to be true. His question is entirely rhetorical, “That’s it, isn’t it?”

You can’t even confirm it for him. It’s embarrassing to admit, but that is a worry of yours.

“Y/N.” Alex sighs, knowing he’s right because of your silence. “I don’t expect anything from you, you know that right? You can come away with us and we don’t have to do anything.”

“It’s not compulsory, even when we’re home. Y/N/N, you’re Katie’s best friend, you’ve been around for 10 years.” He backs up his point some more, “You came on the last holiday we went on, this is going to be no different to that. My birthday just happens to fall on a day whilst we’re there.”

“You didn’t pay for me last time Al.” You argue in a slight huff, already feeling like you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Hey, listen to me.” Alex persists, “I’m paying for everyone to come, not just you, and I’m not expecting a huge orgy all week.”

You can help the laugh that escapes your lips at that. It’s a full giggle that the singer can’t help but grin at as he takes another drag of his cigarette.

“There’s that laugh.” He hums, enjoying the sound even more purely because it’s him that’s caused it.

Only after your laughter subsided, do you ask, a lot calmer now, “Are you sure you want me there?”

“Yes, sweet.” Alex assures you. And just to convince you some more, he adds, “I need someone to entertain Mrs Cook when I pull Jamie away for a pint anyway. Think you fit the brief.”

“Ah yeah, I think I could do that for you.” You chuckle a little, but then you’re serious in a soft tone, “I still feel bad that you’re paying though Alex. Skiing holidays are a lot of money.”

“I have a lot of money that I’ll never need.” The singer tells you, and you try not to think about the way anxiety in your chest dissipates when he says, “I’d rather treat my friends to a week away.”

You're his friend. Something so simple shouldn’t make your heart swell. Especially when the other night he tongue fucked you until you came, twice.

“Well I’m buying you food and drinks whilst we’re away then.” You counter, finally readying yourself to admit defeat.

“We’re going all inclusive but thanks.” You can almost hear Alex’s smirk.

You sigh, dropping down onto your settee and leaning back to try and get comfy, “Well I’m assuming we won’t be staying in the hotel for your birthday. They’ll be pubs and cafes I’m sure.”

He counters, “I’ll take a drink at the airport before we go.”

“Okay deal.” You accept but know you’ll find ways to do more than just that, “Thank you Alex. You really don’t have to do this.”

“Well I want to.” Alex smiles, and his tone is full of amusement as he says, “And I can’t have you spiralling.”

You hum in a silent laugh at that and let your eyes close as you take a deep breath. You’re about to tell him that it’s just how you are but you’re okay now you’ve spoken about it. But he takes your attention again.

“You know that this goes both ways right, Y/N/N?” You’re about to ask him what he’s on about until he continues, “If I text you asking to come over, you can say no and I’m not going to be offended by it. I understand that it’s not going to happen every time.”

He’s talking about fucking you. And trying to make you feel more at ease about your situationship.

Alex finishes off by saying, “I just ask on the off chance that you’re up for it.”

“I am always up for it.” Are the words that slip from your lips, and when you realise what you’ve said, your eyes shoot open.

Oh my god woman, you sound so needy. Backtrack now. Now!

You sit up as you begin to pathetically backtrack, “Well. I mean, I- when you say you are, I, I- usually am too.”

“Good to know you’re always up for me, sweet,” You can hear Alex's smirk then, but thankfully he doesn’t tease you more for it he just carries on to say, “It seems like I’m texting you all the time asking to come over but you can text me. You’re allowed to get horny too.”

You try and fail not to flush at hearing him say that. Especially when you can feel the ghost of his touch as you’re sitting on the settee he had you ride him on a week ago.

“Alex, you’re over twice a week, if not more... It’s not like I’m without relief for long.” To drive the point home you say, “It’s not a ten month wait again.”

In your little meetings you’d discussed when you’d both last been with someone else. Yours was a guy you were seeing at the beginning of the year who turned out to just not do it for you after you dated him for a few months.

Alex’s last fling was another rebound of his after the French girl he cheated on Taylor with. Turns out Alex hadn’t been with anyone in the last 5 months which did surprise you a little. But who are you to presume he’d just become a slag after his break up?

“Still. We started this for a reason.” Alex drives the point home, wanting you to fully understand, “You can say no and you can call me whenever you want too.”

You nod even though he can’t see you, “I know.”

“Maybe this holiday can just be the friends you’re so persistent we’re not.”

You frown, confused, “What?”

“Your rule, ‘no sex while we’re away’.” Alex smirks, but he’s sincere when he says, “To make you feel more comfortable.

“I don’t wanna seem like a prude Alex I just don’t…” You fail to continue your sentence, Wanna seem like a prostitute.

“I think of all people, I’m not the one who’s going to think of you as a prude, sweet.” The singer can't help but tease, finding himself funny.

You take a deep breath, trying not to let your amusement or embarrassment show, “So where are we going?”

“The Alps.” The singer tells you almost smugly, “Where else?”

You decide that you may as well ask him for the details if he’s sorting everything out, “When do we go?”

“Early morning of the second, we need to be at the airport for like four.” He tells you after a moment of thought.

You hum, finally letting the excitement for a holiday bubble in your stomach, “Okay.”

Alex is smiling already hearing you finally sound at ease about the holiday, but he can’t help but push his luck a little more, “You free tonight, sweet?”

“No and neither are you,” You almost laugh, the amusement clear in your voice, “We’ve got Katie’s New Year’s party.”

Alex is grinning as he comes back with, “I mean at like three in the morning.”

“You’re a horny fuck.” You can’t help but tell him as you shake your head.

You’re entirely unable to stop your face from flushing, making you very grateful he can’t see you. All you hope is he’s picturing you with a completely unbothered yet

“You’re the one that just said you’re always up for me.” Alex counters and you have to bite your tongue.

Idiot Y/N.

“See you later Alex.” You immediately dismiss him, not wanting his teasing right now.

Alex laughs loudly, “See you later sweet.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: Are they gonna make it to the end of the holiday???? Who knowwwwssssss... Also I need your helpppppp, what stuff at a bar could Alex or Sweet do that would make the other jealous? Even if its just something subtle??? Let me knowwww x (Can't promise all suggestions will go in because I need to get this out to you but any ideas are welcome, please let me knowwww xoxoxoxo)

#wwt tease

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the-wip-project · 8 months

Text

SloMo WriNo: Setting Word Count Goals

For your SlowMo Wrimo the first thing to decide is your daily word count goals. And as Mo the Wrino says, they need to be achievable.

My initial promise was that you can write a complete novel in a year. When I say that I’m talking somewhere in the vicinity of 70-80k, which is in the zone for most YA, Romance and Mystery. Fantasy and Science Fiction can run longer, but if you’re writing in those two genres I’m going to encourage you to aim for a word count on the lower end of things, just to keep it doable within 12 months.

Now anyone with a calculator can see that if you divide 80k by 365 you get 219.

So if you write 219 words every day then presto, you’ve written your novel!

Which is true! But I don’t think it’s reasonable to assume it’s possible to write every single day, with no days off for an entire year. I know some writers do manage that long term, (or at least claim to!) but if you’ve been struggling to get words out, it’s not an achievable plan.

Instead I want you to create a series of Mini-Maxi goals.

That is, have a baseline minimum, but also hold yourself to a maximum allowed. This is a term drawn from construction standards.

For example, if you’re hanging drywall, there are rules in building codes about how many screws are required per sheet. The lower limit makes intuitive sense to most people. Yes of course when you hang something from a wall there should be a minimum amount of screws. You need enough to keep that thing in place.

But there is also often an upper limit. If you put in too many screws, you will compromise the structural integrity of the drywall, or even the wood framing behind it.

So how does that apply to writing?

The idea of setting a minimum word count goal is pretty widely understood. That’s usually the method most people go into Nano with. A plan to write a minimum of 1667 words a day.

For many people that’s hard enough to reach, let alone exceed, so the idea of maximums doesn’t really enter the picture.

However for this challenge I want you to commit to a far lower daily word count, something you can accomplish in fifteen to twenty minutes. Because even if your schedule is very busy, writing for fifteen minutes most days is achievable.

But that begs the question. What if it’s Sunday afternoon and I have a few hours to write! Oh joy! I shall binge write several thousand words!

Here's the problem with that. Overdo it and we’re back with the same burnout and creative exhaustion issues that brought you here in the first place.

So I want you all to set a safe maximum word count too.

My recommendation is that you go no higher than around 5x your daily minimum. Or approximately what you can write in 1:15 to 1:30 hours.

But what if, you say, what if, after that alarm goes off at 1:30, my brain is still teeming with ideas?

Good! Make some brief outlining notes and then go do something else! You will be all the more refreshed and excited to write tomorrow.

The goal here isn’t to wring every drop out of your creative well in a single session, but to create a long term writing practice.

Like that piece of drywall, you don’t want to compromise your overall creativity by overdoing things.

So, to summarize, your task for today is to select a comfortable minimum daily word count, (an amount you can easily write in 15-20 minutes) and a safe maximum binge-writing word count. (5x your minimum)

If you don’t know how fast you write, do a series of timed sessions over the next few days, and find out. You might be surprised at how much you get done in a short focused session.

Coming up next: Managing your writing time, taking breaks, and sticking with it for a whole year.

Maree

P. S. If you'd like to join the challenge, make a post! use the tag #slomowrino. If have any questions, please shoot us an Ask either here or on the discord.

Links: SloMo Wrino Intro The Discord Server

#slomowrino #setting writing goals #writing advice #mini maxi

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jenna0rtega27 · 3 months

Text

I love you Vada Cavell

Masterlist

Vada x F!Reader Summary: Y/n walks through the school hallways during class while a gunman prepares to enter the school to kill students. Warnings: School shooting, blood, gunshot, murder Number of words: 1341 Send me your requests here or anonymously. I love reading you!

Pov Y/n: I walk through the empty corridors of the school. For what? Quite simply because I don't want to meet Vada. So I've been skipping all math classes for a month now. You see, Vada and I were the best of friends. But obviously, like the gay girl that I am, I had a huge crush on this girl. But Vada stopped talking to me overnight for no reason. So I never got to tell him that I loved him.

Now seeing Vada hurts me because 2 weeks after she stopped talking to me, she was dating stupid Logan. Do you know the popular rich boy at school? Well it's him. I don't even see what Vada sees in him. He's ugly, stupid and fucking stupid. Every girl would like to have him in their bed. Please note, I do not include myself in all his girls. Because I only want one person in my bed.

It's now been about 10 minutes since math class started and I'm wandering the halls of this stupid school. I say she's stupid because there are no supervisors in the hallways or if there are supervisors, they're not even monitoring because they're either in the moon or on their fucking phones.

20 minute skip

It's been 30 minutes now and I'm honestly starting to get bored. But suddenly, while I'm walking down the halls, I hear a loud sound and screams of fear. I immediately cover my ears and start to panic. I hear 2 more shots and more screams. I start to run but with the panic, I don't really know where I'm going.

I turn right to go to the other corridor and I see the horror. I see two students lying on the ground with lots of blood on and around them and not moving. Which tells me they were killed. I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming and tears flow down my cheeks. I'm shaking from head to toe.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps coming towards me. The fear of being killed goes to my head.

“You move and I’ll kill you.” » A man's voice said behind me. But like the bitch that I am, I turn around and find a man with a shotgun aiming at me.

“I’m telling you not to move, bitch. » The man insults me and pulls me in my stomach. I fall to the ground in pain and cry. The man leaves to I suppose kill another person.

I look at my wound and a lot of blood is coming out of my wound. I put my hand on my wound to try to stop the blood from flowing but nothing works. Too much blood is flowing.

I try to get up while keeping my hand on my wound. " Whore. » I swear, gritting my teeth in pain.

I walk to a nearby bathroom. I open the door and fall straight to the ground. I can see there's already blood on the bathroom floor leading to a stall and I see 6 feet there but I'm too focused on my wound to notice who was in the stall. I continue to moan in pain with tears streaming from my eyes.

I hear police sirens and then no more shots. So I think the shooter was either arrested or killed. After about 1 minute, the three people come out of the cabin and I hear someone almost screaming but my wound hurts too much to notice who it is.

“Y/N!? » I turn my head and see Vada, Mia Reed and Quinton Hasland. Quinton was bloody but he looked good so it wasn't his blood.

“Oh my god Vada are you hurt? I ask immediately, checking to see if Vada was hurt but she didn't seem to have any injuries. Which makes me breathe in relief but I immediately grit my teeth in pain.

“No, but you are injured. » Vada said worriedly. She sits on the floor and takes my head and places it on her knees.

“Don’t worry about me. I say with a smile as I start to feel dizzy from the lack of blood in my body.

“I will always worry about you. » Vada said to me looking into my eyes with teary eyes and running one hand through my hair and the other pressing on my wound to stop the blood. But the blood still comes out. I don't want to die, but I feel like it's my destiny. But I am grateful that I die with the image of the love of my life. Even if it's not the image I would have wanted.

After a few seconds of not speaking, Vada decides to speak.

“I’m so sorry Y/n. »

“Vada, you don’t have to apologize. »

“No Y/n you don’t understand. If I stopped talking to you it’s because I was afraid. » Vada told me with tears streaming down her cheeks.

" Afraid of what? » I ask confused wiping her tears but more is falling. “I was afraid of my feelings. » Vada whispered to me.

“I was scared because I love you Y/n. I have always loved you. But I thought you didn't love me like I love you. So I stopped talking to you and started dating Logan to try to get you out of my head. But you were always on my mind. » Vada told me while crying.

I feel like my heart wants to come out of my chest. I've been waiting for his words from him for so long.

I place my bleeding hand on his cheek and caress his cheekbone with my thumb.

“Vada, I have always loved you. I loved you the first time I saw you. » I say as my own tears roll down my cheeks. “I am in love with you Vada Cavell. » I say as I cough. I start to see blurred and black spots appear in my vision.

“I’m in love with you too Y/n L/n.” I regret so much that I didn't confess my feelings to you. » Vada tells me as her lower lip trembles.

“But at least you did it.” » I said weakly with a smile. I feel myself slowly leaving. But before I leave I want to do the thing I've wanted to do for so long. " Kiss Me. » I say to Vada. And Vada doesn't wait and immediately places her lips on mine. Our lips move slowly in sync. His lips taste of cherry. My new favorite taste that I unfortunately won't have the chance to taste again.

Vada pulls back and places her forehead on mine.

" I love you. » Vada whispers against my lips.

" I love you too. » I say as I feel my eyes weakening and wanting to close.

I look at all of Vada's features for the last time before she slowly dies in her arms. I look at her freckles for the last time, her brown eyes, her lips, her nose, her brown hair.

I never want to lose his images. I love him and I will love him endlessly. Vada has always and always will be my person, my soulmate.

" Do not forget me. » I say as I feel myself getting closer and closer to leaving.

" Never. » She responds by placing her lips on mine for one last kiss that tastes like cherries mixed with tears. The kiss represents the love that could never be demonstrated.

“You were my best moments. » I say as I close my eyes. The last thing I hear before leaving for the next world is me too with a last kiss on my lips which unfortunately I was not able to return.

I thank the Earth and the sky for bringing this girl to life. To have had my kiss with her. Although it was short, my best moments were with her.

I love you Vada Cavell.

#jenna marie ortega #vada cavell x reader #vada cavell x you #jenna ortega x fem reader #jenna ortega imagine #the fallout #mia reed

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chiefdirector · 9 days

Text

Skiving | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Act Two| Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32

cing at his feet. “I saw your car outside.”

“Through here,” (Y/N) called back, moving to great him halfway. “What are you doing at home? You didn’t get fired, did you?”

Tim laughed as he shook his head, leaning down to kiss his wife. He only managed a split second of affection before Talia coughed, announcing her presence.

“Bishop? What are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same, Bradford.” She rebutted, crowing her arms.

“It’s my house.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.” Talia moved past the couple, reaching down to five Kojo a quick pet as she headed towards the door, stopping before she crossed the threshold . “I’ll let you know if I found out anything else. It was good to see you again.”

(Y/N) returned the sentiment as Bishop saw herself out, her attention only flickering back to her husband once the door shut. “She had some information on why Regina Diaz did what she did. Angela asked her to look into it. But you never did answer my question… why are you here?”

“I spoke to Grey and Caradine. We both got the rest of the day off. So after your appointment, I’m taking you out. Speaking of which… aren’t you meant to leave soon?”

(Y/N)’s eyes flickered across to the clock on the wall. “Crap- yeah like ten minutes ago. I can meet you back here?”

“No need. I’ll drive you.” Tim held up his keys, gesturing for (Y/N) to lead the way to his truck.

————

Tim jolted awake as he heard the passenger side door slam shut. Instinctually he reached for his duty belt, only to find himself in his civilian gear. As he did so, he whipped his head to the side, looking for any sign of activity, only to find (Y/N) looking at him somewhat sheepishly.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, belting herself up.

“Don’t worry about it. I should get used to it. You have less grace than an elephant.”

(Y/N) let out a noise of indignation as Tim chuckled, slotting his keys back into the ignition.

“I’m going to ignore that.” She said, looking at the window as Tim pulled out of the parking lot. “Where are you taking us?”

“Depends.”

“…On what?”

“On how romantic you feel right now.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow as Tim spoke, keeping silent as she tried to figure out where exactly he was taking her. It only dawned on her when she saw his familiar smirk as he turned the truck into a familiar road.

You know, the shooting range is not quite what I think of when you say ‘romantic.’” She said getting out of the now parked truck, meeting him in front of the vehicle.

“Hey, I think this is very romantic.” Tim defended, holding (Y/N)’s hand as they walked down the dreary corridor, company assigned equipment in hand. She tried not to pay attention to the flickering lights but the compulsion to comment took over.

Reaching the end of the corridor, he opened the door open to allow (Y/N) to enter the shooting room. “We had our first date here after all.”

“I remember. I was so flustered I could barely shoot straight.”

“No,” Tim laughed, heading into his assigned area loading his off duty weapon the second he stopped moving. “You just have a crap aim.”

“I do not!” She defended, reaching into her own boot to retrieve her own weapon.

Tim smirked, relishing in the knowledge that his teasing tactics still worked. “Wanna bet? 20 bucks says I shoot better than you.”

(Y/N) raised her weapon, aiming it at the paper target before her. Carefully, she held her sim, pulling the trigger and sending the bullet flying directly into the head of the paper man. “You’re on.”

————-

(Y/N) rolled her eyes as she passed Tim the folded up bill. Quickly, he snatched it from her hand before she could change her mind. He had been floating since they had left the range, and now they had arrived back home, he didn’t feel like stopping any time soon.

“It was by two points!” (Y/N) said, annoyance running in her voice. “You’re not better, you distracted me.”

“Sounds like someone's a sore loser.” Tim teased. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you pick the movie. Consider it a participation trophy.”

“Consider it a participation trophy.” (Y/N) mocked under her breath as she sat down on the sofa, Kojo cuddling up beside her. Tim looked mildly offended by Kojo’s favouritism as he moved to sit on (Y/N)’s other side.

“What was that?” He laughed

“Nothing!”

Tim hummed in acknowledgment, silently dropping the subject. Quickly he pulled out his phone to see how long the DoorDasher would take with their food.

“Thank you,” (Y/N) said after a moment, bringing Tim’s attention back to her. “For today. I had a great time.”

Gently, he leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead. “You never need to thank me for spending time with you. It will always be my pleasure.”

(Y/N) leaned back, resting her head on his chest. Snuggling down, she pulled a blanket over the two of them as Tim fished the remote and opened Netflix.

After another silent moment, (Y/N) quietly spoke. “But if you ever cheat at the range again, I will divorce you.”

Tim’s chuckles vibrated through his chest, “Okay, baby, whatever you say.”

Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @agentred27 @hufflepuffwhore13 @tessalynni @anaferreira-4 @starstruckchopshoptyphoon @alessiamargaux @rexit-mo @ladespedidas @omg-its-vixen @agentcable @rookietrek @fluentmoviequoter @wonderland2425

#the rookie #tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #the rookie x reader #chiefdirector #tim bradford imagine #bottom of the river #anonymous #the rookie imagine #my fic #the rookie fanfic #kojo #the rookie spoilers

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dark-angel-of-muses · 8 months

Text

The Lipsick Bet

AO3 Link

“Hmm, red or purple today?” Legend opened his medicine cabinet, perusing the assorted lipsticks strewn about the third shelf.

“Dude, you’re going out with Ravio today,” Wild laughed as he grabbed the blue from over Legend’s shoulder.

Legend blinked. “What about it?”

“Are you kidding? You two can’t go five minutes without kissing. It’s like your mouth gravitates to his neck. Use gloss so you don’t get your lipstick everywhere on each other within 30 minutes of leaving the house.” Wild smacked his lips, tilting his head to admire his cupid’s bow.

“We have self restraint!” Legend argued, hot in the face.

“50 rupees says you don’t,” Wild smirked, moving onto applying eyeshadow to match his lipstick.

“Make that 50 rupees for each of us, and you’re on.” Legend picked up the red lipstick, angrily smearing it on thick.

“Fine, but then I get 100 rupees when you lose.” Wild finished his makeup, then pulled out Legend’s plum lipstick. “I’m gonna go give this to Ravio and explain the bet. Expecting to see it on you, so make sure to pick some clothes that go well with the color.” Wild waved the stick tauntingly, then sauntered out of the bathroom with a laugh.

Screw him! Legend wasn’t that shameless. He could go one day without kisses, and he’s sure the promise of rupees would have Ravio jumping on the bet like a rabid dog. Free money for the both of them, and free pride when Wild was proven wrong after acting so smug.

Ok, well, this was an unforeseen complication. The plum lipstick Wild had chosen for Ravio looked absolutely stunning. Legend found himself leaning automatically, aiming to plant a kiss on the corner of those pretty lips.

“Rupees, remember?” Ravio laughed, gently pushing Legend back with the tip of his finger.

“Right, right,” Legend grumbled. He caught Ravio’s eyes lingering on his own lips, but greed won over affection and the merchant staunchly held himself at bay.

“Well, we’re not going to spend this date sitting on the couch, right? Let’s go see if the farmer’s market has any new deals!” Ravio pulled Legend up with him, holding both his hands and almost raising a knuckle to kiss before he caught himself. The merchant blushed sheepishly, then pulled Legend along towards the front door. Legend found himself nearly pulling Ravio in for a quick “Let’s be off” kiss, digging his nails into his partner’s scarf to avoid bringing his hand to his mouth and ruining his lipstick.

This may have been a bit more difficult than he anticipated.

Legend is astounded by how much he thinks of kissing Ravio. It’s getting to the point where he wonders if he really is as affectionate as Wild claimed, or being denied permission is making his brain run in circles around the topic. He can’t help it though, Ravi is too cute! There’s a sparkle in his eye when he’s haggling, hands moving all over the place as he talks through pricing and trades. He has the most adorable tic of twirling his scarf around his finger when he’s thinking, and his tongue sticking out just a tiny bit as he does the mental math on coupons.

Oh, and can’t forget he’s cute as a bunny kit.

“Ledge, look at these earrings! They’re little carrots!” Ravio held up the offending items in front of his ears. The little green toppers were holographic, matching the strange shine his eyes took on. Legend wasn’t sure if that was a Lorule thing, or if Ravio just had very pretty eyes, but he found himself staring often.

Trying not to stare at the beautiful plum mouth just below those eyes, Legend forced his gaze over to the jeweler’s wares. They seemed to be focused more on cute shapes and colors, selling images of Cuccos, Keese, grasshoppers, and-

“I need these.” Legend found his own pair of earrings, tiny hoops with a yarn impression of death mountain made in the middle. There were even speckles of red beads in the fabric to represent the lava at the peak. Legend held the item up to his ears, using the store’s table mirror to see how they fell against his face. Hmm, on the bigger side for earrings, but the material looked lightweight. Then, a hint of purple caught in his peripheral vision, and he saw Ravio in the mirror.

The merchant had both hands over his mouth, green eyes squeezed shut. Did it really take that much self control not to go for it? Legend thought for sure the promise of any amount of rupees would be way more appealing than him. He still wasn’t entirely sure if Ravio wouldn’t sell him for three green rupees and a corn chip.

And now he wants to kiss him again to tease the little miser, which of course he can’t do because-

Why again?

Oh right, Wild. His pride. A dumb bet. How much is 100 rupees, really? That’s fifty each, and if he considers how fast he can recoup that from monster-slaying…

No, he has to do this! To prove he can! Wild acted like a smug little bug, like it was a foregone conclusion Legend couldn’t go a day without kissing Ravio. He had to prove he wasn’t so predictable or helpless! Even if Wild was cheating by making Ravi look extra kissable today, he was still going to play this game and win.

“Here’s your food, sirs.” In hindsight, spaghetti probably wasn’t the best food to order when you were trying not to mess up your makeup, but the plate had been brought out and Legend was hungry. Ravio, as per usual when they went to this restaurant, started shoving breadsticks into the sleeves of his robes.

The first time they had come here, Legend stared in abject horror and confusion at the merchant squirreling away food. Had he planned on just taking the food and leaving? Was this not actually a date? Then Ravio excitedly explained, “They have free refills on appetizers, and take-out is ok! Quick, shove some into your hat so we can get extras to eat at home!” Legend had to wrangle his blue cap away from the greedy little thing. Their food hadn’t even come yet, and he was not getting butter on his favorite hat.

Legend learned quickly that nothing excited the merchant more than saving a rupee, and learned to bear with the embarrassment that came from leaving restaurants with Ravio’s clothes looking like an overzealous chipmunk. It was actually kind of endearing since he would get so excited, and the merchant had the good graces to stop when asked by staff.

“Sheerow is gonna be so happy to have these as snacks. They’re deluxe bird feed, especially when properly ripped up!” Ravio was finagling with one stick, trying to get it to sit evenly in his scarf without falling out when he moved.

Goddesses above, Legend wanted to kiss him.

When their pasta finally came, Ravio was properly padded out with breadsticks, looking happy as a clam. Legend barely paid attention as he wound a noodle around his fork, taking in his beautiful boyfriend as Ravi tried to maneuver without dropping food like a Zirro with its bombs.

Legend slurped his noodle slowly, until it hit a snag and wouldn't go any further. He looked with the pasta plate, then at the noodle hovering above it. One end in his mouth, the other around Ravio's fork. Oh, this was fun. Half the reason they ordered spaghetti to share was to get in these little tug of wars, fighting until they got closer and closer, each claiming more of their noodle until.

Dammit Wild, screw you and your stupid bet! Legend bit through his end of the noodle, letting it fall limply onto the table. Ravio gave him sad puppy eyes, disappointment clear.

"Rupees, remember?" Legend whined miserably.

Ravio's eyes widened. Clearly he had completely forgotten about the bet. His face screwed up in frustration, before he slumped the remainder of his noodle in resignation.

They went through the rest of dinner without talking, stewing over the perfect missed opportunity. Additionally it was growing increasingly hard to remember why they couldn't kiss the longer they looked at each other, so they were awkwardly avoiding making direct eye contact. The waiter raised an eyebrow when he came to hand over the check.

Legend was going to use his 50 rupees to buy Cucco eggs to crack over Wild's head.

When evening fell, the town painted in oranges and yellows as the sun set, Legend was at his absolute limit. His mouth itched, his heart was doing uncomfortable flips of longing, and Ravio was even more gorgeous with black hair haloed by the light of the evening skies.

Thankfully, Sheerow was able to take the spoils of free breadsticks so Ravio wasn’t walking around in a suspiciously lumpy robe. He still smelled a little bit of garlic, but it was manageable. If it were any other day, Legend would surreptitiously hand them both breath mints so they could continue their business without their breath offending the other, but there was no need for that today. It was truly a tragedy.

“Do you want to walk through the castle gardens? I’m sure the flowers would look lovely this time of day,” Ravio offered with a shaky smile. If there was any solace in this, it was Ravio seeming to be in as much pain without kisses as Legend was.

“Sounds fun. Maybe we can hit the night market after we’re done?”

Legend moved to agree, then thought about it. The night market had those beautiful luminous stones, and it was the time when magicians and fortune tellers would come to sell their services. In the past, seeing Ravio with the wisps of nebula magic flowing through his hair from the different magic stalls trying to advertise was breathtaking. If he saw him surrounded by the glow of aquamarine jewels, little fairy barkers sparkling glitter dust over his beautiful hair…

“Maybe not this time?” His poor heart can’t take much more of this.

Ravio grimaced, but nodded in assent. Yeah, they both needed not to test their resolve any more than this. He absently traced a thumb over his lip. The pretty plum color had dried enough that it didn’t come off on the finger. Hm, they probably need to reapply, especially after eating. There were days where Legend would notice and, to be cheeky, would put the lipstick on his lips and apply to Ravio via kissing, but obviously, that wasn’t an option today. Even if mixed red and plum lipstick would be so pretty.

No! The sun is setting, he’s almost done! Then he can go and throw Wild’s stupid accusation of having no self restraint back in the Champion’s dumb face. He hopes the champ’s blue lipstick stained his shirt. This was torture.

The gardens were beautiful, as usual. Zelda’s retinue was excellent at keeping a rainbow of different blooms in peak condition, perfectly trimmed and set along the swooping metal fences. Legend traced the soft petals of a bellflower. It was just the right shade of violet, a little more red than blue in its hue, to match Ravio’s makeup. Ugh, could he stop thinking about Ravio’s perfect lips for three damn seconds? His brain was proving Wild right!

“Look at the hyacinths, they’re changing!” Ravio pointed excitedly to the bushels of blue, pink, and purple blossoms, shimmering in a gradient. Those flowers changed their color based on the magic in the soil, and thanks to the strong concentration of magic in Hyrule castle, they would change color in hypnotic waves.

Legend caught a twinkle in the corner of his eye, then smiled as he reached towards a bushel of daisies. “Looks like the Minish left us a gift.”

Ravio squealed happily as Legend presented him a red rupee. He didn’t have the Minish back home, so stray rupees could only be found near monsters that were hoarding spoils. He was so delighted to find out Hyrule had rupees for free, and Legend took special delight in finding the spares in grass or pots to present to the merchant.

“Oh I could kiss you right now!” Ravio swooped in, barely remembering to stop himself in time as he found himself nose-to-nose with Legend.

“Rupees, remember?” Legend said, voice pained.

To his surprise, Ravio didn’t back down. “I have Rupees right here. So why can’t I?“ His voice was husky, desire clear in his tone.

“C’mon Ravi, the day is almost over. We’ll go home after this and win.” Legend held his breath, clenching his fists.

“C’mon. Our lipstick is dry anyway. Wild never has to know.” It wasn’t an actual argument, just an excuse. But with the merchant being so close, and the sunset glowing beautifully red against his face, in the privacy of a high-walled flower garden. Well, Legend didn’t have a will of steel.

Wild cackled as he collected his rupees, Legend and Ravio shamefully bowing their heads. No matter how dry your lipstick was, a full blown make out session was going to leave a mark. And considering the plum lip imprints all around Legend’s face and neck, matching the red on Ravio, they had certainly left marks.

Worth it.

#raviolink #ravio #ravioli #ravio x link #lu legend #linked universe #loz ravio #lu ravio #muse writes #muse's ravioli week #fanfic #albw ravio #ravio zelda

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sl-walker · 1 month

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Preview...

...from the next yet-unposted chapter of Stardust.

“I could eat at least three horses right now,” Booster said, looking over his array of plates and bowls, completely undeterred by the fact that it wasn’t even seven in the morning yet and the only people as awake and ready to go as him were the various geriatrics in the IHOP getting an early-bird special. The way he saw it, caffeine existed for a glorious purpose and while he hadn’t needed any to get moving today, he had been in an insomnia-hangover himself a worrying number of times and therefore he held no mercy (and only conditional compassion) for those who were dawdling on waking up. “Maybe three and a half.”

“Oh no, Secretariat goes cannibal and destroys his brethren in his haste to fill the empty pit of his stomach,” Ted fired back, though it was with laughter in his voice as he clutched his mug of coffee like he’d shank whoever might try to take it. “Thoroughbreds everywhere react to the scandal tonight on CLTV in a stunning exposé!”

Brenda, Paco and Jaime were all nodding over their plates, looking like they hadn’t even actually woken up to roll out of bed. Even then, Brenda picked her head up and squinted blearily at Ted. “Aren’t thoroughbreds the high-strung horses that keel over if you look at them cross-eyed?” she asked.

“I literally just asked that myself yesterday!” Booster said, pointing at her with his fork and well-speared sausage. “Gotta say, I’m not sure how I feel about being compared to a critter that dies so easily.” He was, however, a little more worried that the ‘high-strung’ part might be too on-target for his comfort.

“S’okay, I might have to kill you for being so awake right now,” Jaime mumbled, teetering over sideways until he was tucked halfway between Booster’s shoulder and the back of the curved booth. “And so happy about it.”

“It’s not my fault you stayed out so late.” Still, Booster set his fork down long enough to reach across himself and lightly ruffle Jaime’s hair in something like a mixed apology and commiseration. “C’mon, today’s gonna be great.”

“You were out running by 5:30, ese, humans don’t do that,” Paco said, before shoving his plate of bacon and eggs away so he could fold his arms on the table and drop his head down onto them. “Not normal, sane humans.”

All things being equal, Booster was an early-riser by nature, if not always factually; that he’d slept as well as he had the night before meant he felt pretty amazing right now, though. “In fairness, Paco, you were still awake when I left to go running.”

Paco groaned and shook his head against his arms. “Only ‘cause you were channeling Maria von Trapp in the kitchen.”

Booster opened his mouth to ask who the hell that was, but Ted shook his head with a grin and held up a finger before pulling his phone out and aiming at them. When Booster raised his eyebrows in question, Ted mouthed, ‘Bianca,’ then took a shot of him and Jaime, the latter of whom might have fallen back asleep in the less-than-a-minute since he’d last spoken. Booster made sure to beam for the camera, though, because he knew it would make a funny contrast to the probably-asleep teenager using him as a blackout blind and pillow.

Whatever Bianca texted back must have made Ted happy, because he smiled.

“Who’s Maria von Trapp?” Booster asked, before diving back into his breakfast.

Brenda finally managed to rally enough to drag her coffee close and start into her pancakes. “Who hasn’t seen the Sound of Music?”

“I don’t think they have whimsical anti-Nazi musicals in his time,” Ted said, sliding his phone over, presumably so Booster could both see the picture and Bianca’s response.

Booster dropped his fork again just to snatch it; the picture was admittedly very cute. Bianca’s string of emojis in answer was every bit as cute. Booster quickly sent the picture to his own phone and then slid Ted’s back to him. “I wouldn’t be against watching some whimsical anti-Nazi musical,” he said, on a delay.

“If you show him that, we are never, ever, ever getting back together,” Paco said, rolling his head to the side towards his-- maybe girlfriend? Ex? Who even knew, Booster couldn’t keep up with it, it seemed to change by the day. “We would never stop hearing it.”

“Oooh, incentive,” Brenda snarked back. Then, casual as can be, she wet a fingertip in her mouth and stuck it, wiggling, into Paco’s ear.

The subsequent shriek made every single person in the vicinity -- regardless of their hearing aids or lack thereof -- jump half out of their skin. A line cook in the back swore something that sounded Eastern European in origin. Jaime jolted out of his hiding spot and Booster was certain the reason the kid didn’t armor up and have a cannon cycling, ready to go, was because both Booster and Ted immediately reassured him that it was safe.

Brenda had turned fire-engine red. Paco was glaring at her while swiping at his ear. Jaime was looking around with his mouth hanging open, clearly having lost the plot.

Ted chewed his bottom lip, obviously about to bust up, even as someone managerial-looking started in their direction, IHOP nametag glinting menacingly in the sun.

Booster put on his most charming smile and said, “Perfect timing! Can we get the check? And some boxes?”

#michael carter #ted kord #jaime reyes #brenda del vecchio #paco testas #booster gold #blue beetle #stardust #the only really neat thing i took away from booster's camero #in harley's books #is that he has a good singing voice and is shameless about using it #which-- yes actually he totally would channel maria von trapp

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lnmei · 1 year

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How I Approach Figure Drawing

Got asked about tips for figure drawing and...I have a lot to say! I thought to just catalogue what I’ve been doing to build up my figure drawing knowledge and habit, so hopefully this is a useful reference for anyone interested in figure drawing :)

make it a habit (but take it easy!)

This is probably the most important and most annoying tip ever lol I’ve been figure drawing for 7-8 years (on and off! I don’t pressure myself if I have other things to do) so it really just takes time. Given that, my biggest tip for figure drawing is to figure out how you can have fun on this forever journey, so everything below is what I do to have fun and maintain the necessary enthusiasm to persist at it.

warm-up before a figure drawing session of myself figure drawing at my desk:

be bad at it on a regular basis

kind of just the principle of drawing....but with figure especially you draw so many of them that it’s important to let your drawings be bad to free yourself of pressure, and good ones will come out just from the brute force repetition of the skill.

Whenever I feel myself hitting a wall I intentionally revert to letting go of the desire to make a good drawing and try drawing in different ways even if it looks or feels bad in the moment. Some of my favorite drawings are the result of this, it’s awesome how that works out lol

For example, if I’m frustrated by my line work, I’ll start drawing thicker lines than usual and more cartoony (by my standards at least...) to loosen up:

set small goals for figure drawing

The main thing with figure drawing is that to get good, you have to draw hundreds and thousands of figures over time...so to keep that from being repetitive I change up my goal regularly so I can exercise different ways of thinking and keep it fresh, and my drawings look different based on what I am aiming for

Goal of practicing for cleaner lines and using line variety (5 min each):

Goal of drawing the lines neatly to color after (10 min each):

A typical progression I’ve seen is to build from drawing nude models to clothed models which is what I did, but honestly just start with what you want to learn the most and you’ll figure out what you want to work on.

copy other people

When I used to go to live figure drawing, I’d peek at what people sitting all over the studio were doing and copy their method or look. I look at artists online and pull up their work while I draw. I like sessions where there’s an artist demo because I can see what they’re doing (zeet does this). Figure drawing is great because everyone draws the same thing in their own way so it’s cool to see the variety, and it goes so fast that no matter what your references are, it still retains your habits so it’s actually your drawing even when you copy lol

Figure drawing done with heavy reference to Greco-Roman pottery art (4 min for lines):

traditional vs digital media

I switch between drawing on paper and drawing digitally for variety. The material constrains how you draw so it makes each session different from the last and you’ll gain different techniques and discover effects you like over time.

Colored pencil figure drawings with the prompt to draw the model as an animal (5 min each):

Brush pen, ballpoint pen, and felt tip pen figure drawings (1-2 min each):

Also draw at different scales. Try drawing on big paper, try drawing a single pose big, or compose a big page with many small figures.

drawing time

again, variety! Switch up how long the figures each take and how long the overall sessions are. See how your approach and outcomes change based on how long you have to draw. I do long sessions of 3 or more hours less frequently with short 20-30 minute sessions more frequently (I like these short ones lately).

I think persistence and stamina are important for figure drawing, so building up your tolerance for long sessions is a good goal if you are looking to improve. Also, long poses and short poses present different problems to solve, so try them all.

I tend to treat super long poses as paintings so sometimes I’ll color them live (this is a 25 min pose):

short poses I color after the pose ends if I even color them (3 min poses)

line quality

try drawing with a soft line like pencil vs a hard line like pen, different brushes, etc.

Also try drawing with the constraint that you cannot retrace a line

try drawing with and without an under sketch

how much anatomy do I need to know?

I hate studying anatomy lol I would say you only need as much as you feel like you need so don’t stress over it, but pick up little bits of knowledge and apply them whenever you can.

That said, I thing the biggest help to anatomy for me (other than directly studying it) is to attend nude model sessions in person. Seeing the figure in real life and having to translate the 3D form to paper clarifies what the important forms and connections are to make a clear drawing. These are studies of live models from 2020 after I’d been doing nude models for ~6 years

My figure anatomy big 3 concepts have been

1) construction/proportion – how and where different body parts connect and overlap to form the whole

2) balance/weight – where is the figure applying force, stretching vs. compressing? if the model is stationary, how is the poses stability maintained? If the model is meant to be in motion, what are the directions of force?

3) anatomy from top down – start with very basic anatomy forms like cylinders for the upper and lower arm, egg shape for head, ball and socket for shoulder joint, etc. and build your understanding of anatomy up from there. I get tied down by too much detail so it’s worked out better for me to start with a very dumb anatomical understanding and learn to add nuance over time.

Here’s an example of points 1 and 3 using Teen Titans Slade Wilson (homework for a class I took lol). Break down the proportion, how parts connect, and the basic shapes of body parts and assemble them like a doll. You can do this for any style you want to learn from, and for realistic human figures. This is the basics of “figure construction”.

Internalizing a model that you’ve deconstructed and can reconstruct from memory is the basis for building a “general model,�� which is just a generic human body that you can use to figure draw so you don’t have to think about how the body is constructed and can focus on expressing the pose, character, gesture, while maintaining accuracy to a human figure. Here are poses I constructed from imagination once I broke down and understood how to draw Slade.

A lot of this stuff is specifically applicable to animation character drawing but it’s been helpful towards figure drawing for me.

how things look vs. how things feel

I like to switch my focus between drawing for accuracy/correctness (studying the pose, anatomy, etc.), and drawing to capture how the figure physically feels even if it breaks the anatomy. I like to do the pose myself to feel how the model feels, where the stretch and compression of the pose is, and how it feels to exaggerate the pose, and then drawing from that experience.

Some of these legs don’t work anatomically but they feel right and look cool. These drawings came out very twisty and fluid after I copied the model’s pose and exaggerated how the shoulders, waist, spine, etc. were tilted based on how they feel in my body.

drawing the model vs. drawing a character

Sometimes I get bored of drawing just what the model looks like, so I will use the figure drawing as a live reference and draw something based on the model but as a different character instead and make up new clothes, appearance, etc. It exercises your decision making about what’s important to grab from a pose reference and also trains you to design instead of copy.

These are Gallery Girl LA sessions where I drew the model with a new design:

invent another character to draw a character dynamic (left chara is invented):

Random tips

I tend to prioritize the pose and full body and leave the head for last or after the session is over so I can spend time making it look nice.

Avoid drawing a perfect vertical or horizontal unless it is important as a design element (if the model is stand straight up and down for example, try to re-balance the pose in your drawing so it has some variety of line direction)

Be choosy about drawing straight lines on the body, save those for silhouette lines, and for internal lines figure out which way the body is bending, moving, or twisting and express that.

Like in this sketch, I tried to add subtle tilts and leans to the model who was posing upright with a mannequin (which I drew as a character):

If you wanted to know about my color process for figure drawing, here! I color after I finish the drawing session and picked out a few drawings to color.

That’s all I got for now! Have fun and draw lots!

a traditional colored pencil sketch where I changed the model’s clothes and expression/body language while drawing it, then photographed and digitally colored it after:

#my art #process #sort of?#TL;DR is u just have to draw a lot of figure drawings and keep doing that forever lol but make it fun for yourself so you can keep at it #this is probably way overkill for what ppl wanted to know but i don't know how to be short i love talking about drawing lol

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wibixthecowboy · 1 year

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Play the Song: Part 10: Hope

Task Force 141 needs a new sniper and despite their complaints, they're assigned Flash, a joke-making, ABBA-listening, 20-year-old sharpshooter with better aim than the whole team combined. In other words, Ghost is practically handed the love of his life but he needs time to adjust because she's a firecracker.

Warnings/Tags: !graphic depictions of panic attacks!, references to suicide attempts (no descriptions), references to SA (no descriptions), Age gap (20/30-32), gore, descriptions of injury/blood/wounds, justified angst, tooth rotting fluff, slow burn, protective ghost, family dynamic, big brother soap has an attitude problem, father figure Price, wholesome brother Gaz, touch starved Ghost, eventual smut, praise, choking, thigh riding, unprotected (wrap it up people), size kink, oral f receiving, ghost will do anything to get his dick sucked, idk I’m sure it will get dirtier as I go, shifting POV

A/N: Hello!! I am back! Thank you all for being so patient and amazing, I present to you, Chapter 10!

I will be adding warnings/tags as I upload new chapters so do me a huge favor and double check before you read! Nothing too bad YET but just make it a habit! They will always be added at the top of the list.

Words: 6k

Side note: All of these characters are fictional! Please don’t be weird about their real life actors, leave them out of this and be respectful!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Tag list: @urfavsunkissedleo @butskii @abbiesxox @itsasecrets-things @thatonewriterthatnooneknows

★Flash

The knife squelches grotesquely when Ghost pulls it from the man's neck, and it's casually wiped on the waist of his button-up. Red blossoms over the white cotton and despite knowing it's not from him, Flash can't help the small hitch in her breath.

It's presented to her hilt first, just inches from her face, but she's frozen in shock. The man's body lay awkwardly in the gravel, like a puppet whose strings have been cut, blood pouring from the now open wound at his neck. His chest stutters in an effort to pull oxygen into a pair of failing lungs. She can see the glowing reflection of windows in his wide, dark eyes, and moments later, the slow loosening of his facial muscles as he dies.

Ghost is watching her, and she can hear a faint mumble. Her name?

"Flash. We need to go" Ghost's words ring through her head like a bell and she snatches the knife from his hand before sliding it under her dress and into the sheath.

He moves quickly, throwing the limp body over his shoulder with ease before walking to the car and popping the trunk. Flash's eyes are glued to him as he drops the body in. The thud when it lands is deafening. A hot flash washes up her spine and she tries not to think about how casually Ghost closes the trunk and wipes his hands clean on his trousers.

Not quite knowing how to help, Flash walks over to the small patch of blood and kicks at the gravel. It doesn't do much, just creates a dusty sludge that bleeds into the soft velvet of her heels. Not that it matters though, the man's radio is already going off, a muffled and rather irritated voice calling out from inside the trunk.

When she's satisfied with the muddy brown concoction, Flash jogs over to the passenger door and slips inside. The door barely clicks shut before Ghost is speeding out the gates and swerving around a rather annoyed looking valet.

Flash watches over her shoulder for any sign of disturbance but instead notices Ghost's wolf mask tossed haphazardly on the back seat. In all the chaos, she'd missed him swapping them out. His usual balaclava has been pulled back on, hiding the strawberry blonde curls she'd had her hands in just minutes ago.

Flash's head thuds against the seat when she's finally sure no one is coming after them and she sags further down into the plush leather.

"Holy fuck." She breathes out and swallows what could either be vomit or a laugh. "There's a body in the trunk."

"Yes."

"You just killed him."

"I did."

"How did you-"

"Flash?" He interrupts her, eyes not leaving the road as he speaks. "Be quiet."

She glares at him and turns to make an off-hand comment about him being an ass but stops when she sees how rigid he is. Maybe she'd pushed a bit too far tonight. Maybe she hadn't pushed him far enough.

"How do you know he's not innocent?" She speaks softer this time, hoping she could sweet talk him back into the charismatic James she'd spent the night with.

"No one there is innocent Flash." His voice is cold and distant and entirely fed up with her pushing. She's on thin, thin ice.

"You could at least let me know next time. That really wasn't a fair warning."

It's petty. She doesn't need his warning, it's their job. But her mouth seems to be speaking on its own accord.

The ice cracks, echoing through the cavernous silence between them, and right as she's about to slip into the frigid waters, a life raft is thrown her way.

'What's your status?'

Price's static voice stops Ghost's response and he snatches the radio from where Flash had tossed it in the cup holder.

"Heading to the med bay now. Single casualty."

'Got caught up at the end then?'

"Somethin' like that."

The rest of the ride to the med bay is spent in silence. Flash stroking her fingers down the velvet nose of her mask and not thinking about ways to flay Ghost.

_____

The cold concrete of the barricade seeps through the thin silk of Flash's dress and into the marrow of her bones. Despite Las Almas being a sauna during the day, its nights are shockingly cold, and in the middle of the desert with no buildings to block the brutal midnight wind, she is freezing.

"How much longer is this going to take?" Flash speaks into the cupped hollow of her hands. The warmth of her breath does practically nothing to stop the shivering.

Ghost had radioed into the med station a few minutes before their arrival to announce that they'd have a 'drop off' and to call in another car for the two of them to take back to the base. When they'd gotten there, Flash was immediately tugged through the main bay and into a blindingly white room that smelled so strongly of disinfectant, her nose still burned. She was patted over by a female nurse, given a curt nod, and pushed back out the door and towards a waiting Ghost. He'd mumbled something about waiting for a car and then walked them outside to a small retaining wall near the entrance.

"I don't know."

"Can't you just call them?" Flash asks, kicking another piece of gravel across the lot. The kicking had started as an attempt to scrape the congealed dirt and blood off her heel, but it only resulted in a thin layer of dust that covered both their shoes and a small hole.

"Call who Flash?" Ghost sits half hunched on the wall, arms supporting him on either side, legs crossed at the ankles, and looking utterly defeated.

"I don't know? The guy who's bringing the car?" She kicks a particularly large rock and it skitters across the pavement and bounces off a metal barrel, making a satisfying ring, so she does it again.

"I don't have-" His voice cuts off as she kicks another rock. "Jesus fuckin' Christ. Could you stop?"

"Don't be so fuckin' rude." She mumbles, and just to piss him off more, kicks another rock. Hard enough that when it hits the barrel, a small dent is left behind.

Flash watches through her periphery as he heaves a sigh, drops his head into his hands, and roughly rubs at his masked face.

She only lets herself feel guilty for a moment. He was the one ruining it. She'd been having fun at the gala. Despite the less than stimulating conversations, watching Ghost woo the various partygoers of Las Almas had been rather intriguing. Not to mention the dancing. Jesus Christ the dancing.

While the banter with the rest of the team had never gone as far as fucking her for god's sake, they certainly weren't holding church sermons. Price had chided her more than once for distracting the team while they were on the field and she was resting comfortably on the couch, radio in hand.

As soon as the words had left her mouth though, muttered into the silken hollow of his collarbone, she knew they were true. As much as he frustrated her, there was something about his presence that activated something primal inside her. That same primal feeling that had surfaced when she'd had him pinned to the ground and wheezing beneath her. It was addictive and dangerous.

"I'm sorry."

The words are spoken into the palms of his hands and although they sound forced, they seem genuine enough. She breaks from her all consuming thoughts and tugs at the hem of her dress in hopes that it would somehow extend to cover the bare few inches of skin that press into the cold concrete.

"Just don't be so uptight all the time." Flash bumps his shoulder with hers and offers him a small smile. "You'd be surprised how much better your life would be if you stopped all your huffing and puffing."

"You don't know shit about my life." The words are meant to be sharp, to ward her away from prodding further, but he speaks to his dust covered shoes.

"So tell me."

This stops Ghost's fidgeting. Flash thinks for a moment that he'll get up and walk away, leaving her to freeze to death alone. But he eventually drops his hands to his lap and raises his head to stare at the dark horizon.

"It's a lot."

Flash, despite his hunched frame and tired eyes, bumps their shoulders again.

"I don't see the car, and you can see for- I don't know," She peers dramatically down the road, "about ten miles."

"Ask Soap. He's a better storyteller than me." Ghost words are shortening, and Flash can see the wall she'd so carelessly blown through rebuilding. He's evading, and if she doesn't save it in time, who knows how long it will be until he's talking to her again.

"But I don't want to hear from Soap."

"You don't want to hear it from me either."

Flash sighs and then redirects. "What's your biggest fear?"

Ghost stills next to her, but this time she can see the hard set of his eyes softening, reluctance slipping away into indulgence.

"I thought you wanted to know about my life." He comments lightly, and Flash can't help but feel accomplished for recovering what little progress she'd made.

"I think fears tell a lot about a person." She hums, hoping her last-ditch effort at having a conversation sounds at least somewhat inquisitive.

Ghost's head tips up towards the sky, brow furrowed in thought.

"Throwing up."

"That's your biggest fear?" Flash doesn't have to ask to know that he's humoring her.

"What? Did you expect somethin' worse?"

There's a beat of silence, and then Ghost is speaking again.

"What's yours?"

"Dogs."

Silence again.

"Like pugs? Or-"

Flash shoves his shoulder and laughs loudly. "No you asshole. The big ones."

Despite the topic, a whirlwind of butterflies erupts in her stomach and the sound of their fluttering reaches her ears, filling them with a low hum. Then he's laughing. Not the small huffs from their usual teasing, full-stomach laughs. The whirlwind turns into a storm. It ravages her mind, twirling the sound into a song and repeating it over and over.

Flash stares at him, speechless, afraid that if she speaks, the storm brewing inside her will somehow escape and drench the both of them in things she'd rather leave unsaid. She wants to tell him to never stop, to ask exactly what she'd said that was so funny so she could repeat it every day for the rest of their time together. To peel off that damn mask and watch every minuscule movement of his face.

Ghost doesn't seem to mind the lack of response though. When his amusement has faded to a small smile under his mask, his head lolls to his shoulder and he closes his eyes.

They wait the rest of the time in silence. Ghost unmoving and still resting his eyes and Flash unabashedly staring. Even though she knows that the idea is ridiculous, he seems to be warming the space between them. The ice that she'd so carefully tread on before melting away.

He doesn't open his eyes until the car rolls up in front of them and a casually dressed man tosses the keys in his direction. Ghost catches them in his hand and stretches languidly when he stands, revealing a small sliver of skin along his waistline. With his back turned to her, Flash stares at the strip, burning it into her memory.

"You can kick rocks all night," Ghost slips his hands into his pockets and starts a slow, casual walk towards the car, "but you're not going to get what you want."

"And what's that?"

Flash's question is meant to be coy, to push yet another button. But the song left playing in her ears softens her words, they come out quiet and searching.

"A reaction." He punctuates the last word by kicking a rock at the barrel. It hits the small dent that she'd made and ricochets back to land just a few inches from her feet.

"Asshole." She mutters and steps over the rock, ignoring the urge to pick it up and chuck it at his head.

Flash bites her tongue when the thought of teasing him about their dancing comes up. She'd most definitely gotten a reaction out of him then. But she instead follows him and slips into the passenger seat of the small truck.

It's certainly a downgrade from the Porsche. The smell of dust and sweat fills her nose and she debates waiting outside until the med team is done clearing the other car. But Ghost is already buckled and turning the key in the ignition.

"Who's car was that?" Flash asks while pulling a worn seatbelt over her shoulder.

"Alejandro's."

She can't help but laugh at his response. They'd most likely be getting an earful upon their return. It doesn't take a genius to see that he takes care of his car.

The truck, despite running just seconds ago, is just as cold as the air outside. When she jams her finger into the heater button, the vents remain stagnant.

"Shit." She huffs and resorts to shoving her hands under her shivering thighs.

Ghost, seemingly without thinking, tosses her his suit jacket.

"Here, stop whining." He's back to his gruff, nonchalant manner of speaking, but it lacks its usual stiffness.

"You aren't cold?"

"No."

"I guess you are built like a fuckin' polar bear." The words slip out before she can stop them, but Ghost just shakes his head, still sporting the small smile from before.

"Do you ever have any consequences for what comes out of your mouth?" Ghost's question is spoken as a sigh. He props an elbow against the car door and leans his head against it, steering with one hand. The motion is achingly domestic.

"No." Her reply is muffled as she burrows herself into the jacket, warm from being stuffed under Ghost's arm while they waited.

It's true. There's very little that she could say or do that would get her in any sort of trouble. She's a hot commodity, and it didn't take much for people to realize. Ghost just hasn't had a chance to see it yet.

"One of these days, they're going to come back and bite you in the ass."

"Oh, you'll scare them away." She looks up at him through her lashes, but he's focused on the road.

"I'd let them get a few good hits in. Then maybe."

Flash's grin is hidden beneath the coat, but she's sure he can hear it when she speaks next.

"You wouldn't protect me?" Her question is coy. She knows it and he probably does too.

"You don't need me to protect you."

"But if I asked you to?"

There's a pause, and she watches his side profile shift as he clenches his jaw. His fingers tap against the steering wheel. Once, twice.

"Yes."

_____

They're nearly back to the base when she slips back onto the ice and into the freezing water. This time though, there is no life raft.

"I'm dropping you off." Ghost is exacerbated, clenching the wheel with both hands now. "You're not missing out on anything."

"Then why does it matter if I go or not?" Her question is a half yell, quieter than her first complaint, but louder than necessary.

Their easy back and forth, borderline flirting, conversation only lasted a few more minutes before Ghost mentioned he'd be dropping her off at the base before meeting the rest of the team at a local bar to 'celebrate'.

He'd told her, not asked. Told.

The not so quiet rage that had been building over her last few weeks stuck at the base rears its ugly head. Apparently pinning him to a mat didn't make it clear enough. She's tired of decisions being made for her.

"Because you aren't needed there."

Ghost's words bleed through her like a freezing wind. She grapples to hold onto the song in her ears, but the fluttering in her stomach increases and this time it's deafening.

"You know, for how much you mope. You put a shit ton of effort into ruining your friendships."

It's a low blow. But the anger burning hot in her stomach scorches the fluttering and thrums through her veins. She wants to hurt him.

"There's nothing there to be ruined."

The words are empty. A shell of his earlier reprimands. And Flash knows it's a weak strategy to push her far enough away that he can rebuild his wall in peace. But that doesn't stop the words from burrowing deep into the space between her ribs and wrapping around her lungs. It fills them with a cold air and the jacket still wrapped tightly around her shoulders does nothing to fight it.

"Okay." Flash bites back the flurry of emotion driven insults threatening to pry their way out of her mouth. If it were anyone else, she wouldn't hesitate to rip them to shreds, but she knows Ghost is lying.

The rest of the ride to the base is a painful silence. Flash can see his jaw working in her periphery, he wants to say something, but he remains quiet and focused on the road ahead of them. She glares at him and then turns to stare out her window.

When the car whines to a stop in front of the depressingly dark outline of their base, Flash doesn't bother saying goodbye when she slips from the car and drops the suit jacket on her seat. She's just about to shut the door when he finally speaks up.

"Hope."

"What?" Flash's voice is bitter and unrelenting.

"You asked what my biggest fear was." He doesn't look away from his grip on the wheel. "It's hope."

The furrow of her brow softens for a moment and sympathy begins to ebb away at the rejection burning in her stomach. But his words ring through her head 'you aren't needed' and any expressions of comfort beginning to form die on her tongue.

She watches his face for a moment, waiting for him to turn. When he doesn't, she lets the sour words slip from her mouth. Simple but effective.

"I think you're just scared of yourself." She doesn't give him time to respond before shutting the door and walking towards the base, trying her best to ignore the burning behind her eyes.

_____

Flash's next few moments are a whirlwind. Swapping her dress for the sweats and t-shirt flung on the floor that morning, jogging back to the kitchen to look at the grocery list style of numbers on the fridge, and calling Alejandro.

If he was with them at the bar she'd just have to stew in her room until Gaz came back. Although he'd probably be intoxicated and an easy target, she needs some way to dispel the hurt and anger pulsing through her veins.

Much to her surprise, he answers within the first few rings and twenty minutes later he arrives with a bottle of wine in hand and Valeria tow.

"Rude of them to leave you to celebrate your success sober." He had murmured while pulling a container of strawberries from their fridge. Gaz would kill her for eating them, but consequences seemed nonexistent at the moment.

She's leaning against the counter now, watching the way his forearms move while expertly slicing the strawberries. Valeria stands next to her speaking in a low tone.

"So," She starts, turning her chin resting in her hand to face Flash, "how did you end up here?"

Flash shifts to lean her hip into the counter, reluctantly peeling her eyes from Alejandro's smooth movements, and wonders what version of her story she wants to give.

"Same as everyone else. A fucked childhood that left me with no other option."

It was a half truth. Starting a conversation by telling someone she'd won scholarships to nearly every advanced military school in the country by climbing to the top of the performance ranks in less than a year isn't something that people could relate to. Childhood trauma on the other hand is a jackpot.

"Ah." Valeria's smile softens and she turns to look at Alejandro, who's now pouring the wine into three glasses that have seen better days. "We've heard that one plenty of times haven't we Ale."

When he nods his head, Valeria turns back to Flash with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Now tell me the truth."

Flash accepts a glass from Alejandro and stares into the deep maroon of the wine before answering.

"I'm good."

"That's it?" Alejandro's laugh is loud and echoes through the empty room. "You've made it this far by being good?"

"I'm better than good." She offers, still not looking up from her glass.

Warm fingers slip under her chin and bring her gaze up to meet a pair of enveloping brown eyes.

"Don't be shy." Valeria's words are a quiet murmur. "You weren't so quiet earlier, what changed?"

Flash's jaw clenches, who was Ghost to make her feel small? Her gaze holds Valeria's when she speaks next and although her words are quiet, they're more confident than before.

"I'm the best you'll ever meet."

"There's my Pantera."

Valeria drops her chin, scoops up her glass and the bowl of cut strawberries, and slides so gracefully onto the couch that Flash wonders how she's not the one being named after a panther. "Come, sit."

Alejandro leads the way and claims the opposite side of the couch, leaving Flash to sit between them. It's a comfortable arrangement, there's enough room for them to sit and not be crammed together, but the weight of both their gazes makes the space seem impossibly smaller.

"What do you usually talk about while celebrating?" She asks, leaning over to grab a small handful of strawberries from the bowl Valeria left on the coffee table. It's a poor conversation starter, but the silence between them has Flash shifting on her cushion. And from the smile on Alejandro's face, they know.

"Do you really want to know?" He continues lowly when she nods her head. "We debate who we want to take home for the night."

Valeria tuts at him, "Don't be so brash Ale. We talk about other things too."

Flash brings her glass of wine up to her mouth in an attempt to cover her shocked expression but realizes that this means she actually has to drink it. Without giving her brain enough time to overreact, Flash tips a mouthful in and swallows. The taste is horrendous and she doesn't bother hiding it.

Alejandro laughs loudly at her expression and Valeria just shakes her head with a small smile, "It's meant to be sipped, darling. Not swallowed."

Not wanting to embarrass herself further, Flash just sets the glass down on the table and returns to the fruit in her hand.

"You could have said that." She mumbles against a strawberry pressed to her lips. The tart of the berry is a sweet reprieve from the rotten taste of the wine. The two sitting opposite of her seem to have no problem with the taste, leisurely sipping as though it's something to be savored.

"So Flash," Alejandro's eyes dance with dangerous excitement. " Are you a virgin? "

She chokes on a half-chewed berry, "Excuse me?"

"Just general questions. I ask everyone." He gestures behind her. "Right Valeria?"

"Right."

Flash remains silent, rubbing the cool of the strawberry against her lips and willing the blush away from her cheeks.

"Have you ever been kissed before?"

"Yes!" She blurts her answer out and all it does is set off a round of laughter between the two of them.

Her first kiss had been with a- for lack of a better term, boyfriend at the academy, Jake. A twenty three year old recruit who'd got a little too excited when she'd pinned him. He never did more than peck her on the lips though, arguing that anything else would distract him from his work. She broke things off three days later.

"Have you ever had someone's tongue in your mouth?" His blatant question catches her off guard. Although the pink hue of his cheeks show the effects of the wine kicking in. She's spent enough time with Alejandro to know that this is just the way he operates, on a 'better to ask for forgiveness than get permission' basis.

Flash shakes her head lamely, giving up on the stoic, unresponsive act. It clearly wasn't working.

He sets his glass on the coffee table and crooks a finger at her, smiling devilishly.

"Come here, let me show you something."

She sets her handful of strawberries back in the bowl and glances back at Valeria who gives her an encouraging nod. Flash uncrosses her legs and leans forward, expecting him to give her a quick peck.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

She's about to ask him what he means when he brings his hands down to her waist and pulls her up to straddle his lap.

"What are you doing?" Her voice is breathy and light and her stomach rolls with nerves. Although it's not what she expected, she's not one to complain.

"Relax Rubia." His face is just inches from hers, "Do you want me to show you what you're missing out on?"

Nerves race through her veins and the heat of Alejandro's hands on her waist burn straight through her skin and into the heat of her stomach. What's the worst that could happen? Gaz had talked about having sex with other team members, surely a kiss wouldn't hurt. All she can muster is a short nod of her head.

Alejandro is the light at the end of her tunnel of pent-up frustration and by god is he bright.

"Words." He chides.

"Yes."

Although she's given permission, his advance is painfully slow. The hands gripping her waist, guide her to sit back on his thighs, and brush her hair behind her ear in one smooth movement, before resting gently against her cheek.

Warm lips press softly against hers and she practically melts in his hands. He's surprisingly gentle, pressing two light kisses to her lips before nosing at her cheek and placing another over the burning skin.

"She's a Pantera Alejandro. I'm sure she can handle more."

Flash jumps at the sound of Valeria's voice. She's moved to sit next to them, lounging on the cushion and watching with a cocked head. She smirks at Flash's surprise. She didn't even see her move.

"Slow Valeria." He chides. His low voice is spoken into the soft spot below her ear, words caressing her skin and whispering down her spine. "We don't want to spook her."

Lips part against her neck and the hot press of his tongue is followed by a cool stream of air. Flash chokes on her next inhale and swallows down the ragged moan threatening her ego. Nothing Jake ever did felt this good.

"Did you like that Rubia?" Alejandro's voice is light and teasing.

"Yes I-." Before she even finishes her answer, he's doing it again, this time following the lick with a quick nip of teeth. Her response turns into an embarrassingly loud half-whimper.

"You're a tease." She bites out, pausing on the last word as he mouths his way back up to her ear.

"Ah, but you like it. No?"

Flash doesn't have to see his face to know he's smiling. It's taken him less than a minute to turn her into putty, and now he's happily kneading.

When he presses his lips to hers this time, the hot slide of his tongue at her lower lip parts her mouth in a gasp. He wastes no time. Weaving one hand into the hair at the back of her head and the other squeezing at her waist, Alejandro kisses her fervently and without abandon.

The room spins beneath her, weakening her knees. If she wasn't held fast to Alejandro's lap, she'd probably be on the floor. The taste of strawberries and wine fill her senses and twirl her into a daze.

The hands previously resting at her side slide up the muscular length of his arms and into his hair. It's not quite as long as Ghost's but her fingers still easily grip at the soft waves. Ghost. A pang of guilt threatens to pull her from her reverie, but Alejandro quickly snatches her attention back by taking her lower lip between his teeth and biting down.

A defensive flare burns up her chest and she bites back harder. Alejandro groans into her mouth, the sound burns down her chest and settles low in her belly. The hand that was gripping at her waist slides up and to the small of her back, arching her into his chest. She presses close and can feel the hard muscle of his abdomen through the thin cotton of their shirts.

When he breaks the kiss, there's a strand of saliva connecting their mouths. He doesn't hesitate in pulling her back to drag a slow lick up her parted lips. Jesus fucking Christ. Dark eyes watch her closely when he pulls back and Flash is seconds away from begging him to do it again when a warm hand at her waist pulls her attention to an impatient looking Valeria.

"My turn." She murmurs, voice soft and low. "Can I kiss you?"

Flash, despite Alejandro's earlier insistence, can only nod in response.

She is identical to Alejandro in her slow start, dragging a soft hand over Flash's brow bone before swiping her thumb across slick lips. Fingers pinch Flash's chin and pull her forward. Valeria's lips are soft but her kiss is anything but. The hungry lick of her tongue gives Flash little time to adjust, but when she does, a delighted tremor wracks her body.

Warm hands slide beneath her shirt and then Valeria is pulling her down to grind against Alejandro's thigh. A moan is pressed into Valeria's mouth and electricity courses hot through her body.

Alejandro is quick to stop them. Large hands close over Valeria's on her hips and hold them still. She wants to pull them off, to give in to the warm sensation Valeria's hands are creating. He's persistent though.

"Valeria." Alejandro's words are a clear warning but his voice is thick and heady. If she didn't know better, she'd say Alejandro was enjoying this just as much as her.

Much to her disappointment, Valeria listens to his one-worded order. She rolls Flash's bottom lip between her teeth before placing one more kiss against her mouth and settling back.

Flash is left in a daze. Half-lidded eyes watch as Valeria straightens the hair that Flash had been pulling at just moments before.

"Just touching Mi Amor." Her words are breathy and the apples of her cheeks glow a soft pink.

"I was just showing our Rubia here what she's missing out on. I am not looking for a death threat."

Alejandro's words have her turning back to gaze at him in confusion. Although the lustful tint to his eyes is still present, he seems to have pulled himself together a lot quicker than Flash.

"Death threat?" Her voice is wrecked and Alejandro smirks at the sound. Whatever scrap of ego she had left lay tattered on the ground.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed." He caresses the side of her face, proving to be an awfully good distraction from their conversation.

"Noticed what?" She breathes and turns to Valeria for an explanation. The woman just smiles and tilts her head to the side in an artful manner.

"You seem to be haunted by a certain ghost Flash." She tuts at her. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

"You mean Ghost?" She rushes, still recuperating from the mind numbing kiss that she'd gotten from two different people.

"Yes, Flash." Alejandro laughs it away like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"That man doesn't care about anyone other than himself." She says and swings her leg back to sit in her spot. Suddenly, sitting on Alejandro's lap isn't as exciting as before, and the once warm feeling in her stomach turns heavy.

"And that's where you're wrong." Valeria swirls a finger along the rim of her glass before gazing up at Flash through dark lashes. "We just had to dip our toes in before you're off the market. God help the bastards that try to trespass."

Flash flinches at her metaphor, "I'm not a piece of property." She glares at the two of them and their shockingly calm demeanor. Speaking as though they didn't just have their tongues in her mouth just minutes before. Her heart still beat wildly in her chest, and the cold taste of the strawberries did little to cool the heat of her cheeks.

"Honey," Valeria reaches out to stroke her calf, "the moment you signed that contract you became a piece of real estate."

She's saved from responding to another cryptic metaphor by the familiar sound of doors slamming shut. Not wanting to be barraged by questions from the rest of the team, Flash grabs the bowl of fruit, mutters a small goodnight to the pair staring at her from the couch, and rushes off to her room.

So much for blowing off some steam.

_____

Flash is sitting cross-legged on her bed cleaning the blood flecked knife with a polishing cloth when a knock sounds through the room.

"Come in!"

She doesn't have to ask who it is. The stumbling and laughing are telling enough.

"Stop." Gaz's giggle sounds easily through the thin wood of the door. "I got it!"

The door swings open to reveal a relatively drunk Gaz and Soap. Hair mussed and cheeks pinkened, both look like they've had an eventful night.

"Hello gorgeous." Gaz drawls. "Wiping away the evidence of your most recent murderous rampage?"

Flash can't say she's not impressed at his coherency. She almost lets him off the hook. Almost.

"Don't make me have to start over." She points the knife at him and then gestures at the door. "Out."

A half hour ago, she would have welcomed the playful banter and taken it as an opportunity to wrestle him to the ground. But the weight of the day has her pinned to her bed.

"Aw, she's so mean." Gaz's head drops to Soap's shoulder and he doesn't shove him off.

Flash thinks back to Gaz's earlier confession and eyes the point of contact before glancing down at the relatively small space between them. Interesting. When she looks at Soap though, his eyes are trained on the knife balanced in her hand.

"Ghost let you borrow one of his knives?" His voice is incredulous and he takes a hesitant step forward.

"What?" She looks down at the silver case in front of her. She hadn't even noticed. The case was nearly identical to the one that was always neatly polished and tucked carefully into his breast pocket. "No, he bought these for me at the market."

"Oh." His mouth tips down and she recognizes the familiar expression of rejection. He's usually pretty good at keeping his emotions in check, she has no doubt it's the alcohol coursing through his blood that's giving them front row seats to his inner turmoil

Gas buts in oblivious to Soap's pouting, "So he's buying you two matching knives? Seems like it's getting pretty serious. Are you sure you're not fucking?"

Flash chokes on her next inhale. She'd have to get better at locking her door if this was going to become a regular occurrence.

"You know." Gaz looks at her with a devilish smile. "Just because Price went dark during your guy's little dance doesn't mean we did."

Oh fuck.

A/N: I’m currently dying (maybe that’s a tad dramatic) in bed with the flu and am in desperate need of entertainment. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to leave them in my ama! <3

#Ghost x reader #Ghost x female oc #simon riley #Cod Fic #simon ghost riley #Alejandro vargas #Valeria #modern warfare 2 #Ghost stories #john soap mactavish #mw2 #mw2 headcanons #john price #gaz garrick

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