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outsideratheart · 8 months

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Sweet Nothing (Alex Scott x reader)

You were a blue through and through. The whole world knew it, you were captain for heaven’s sake but that didn’t mean you were immune the charm of a red, a gunner and her name was Alex Scott.

You were never one to mix business with pleasure which meant you didn’t pursue a relationship when she was still playing. At that point it was only a crush. Besides your were focused on forging your legacy at your childhood club.

But everything changed the day Alex asked to interview you one on one for her documentary highlighting woman’s football and the role you played in it. That was almost 3 years ago and you could count on one hand the amount of people that knew about your relationship.

First to find out besides your families was Fara. The Euros was one of the best nights of your life and no way was you going to do so without your girlfriend. Alex was up in the studio with the rest of the BBC team and even though she saw your ‘I’m coming to you’ text message she didn’t think you meant now. You locked the door to the dressing room or at least you thought you did. Fara’s face was priceless as she walked in to find Alex on top of the table, dress pulled up to her hips, legs wrapped around your waist kissing you as if the world is about to end and this was the last chance she’ll get to feel yours lips on hers.

The two of you knew you needed to be more careful.

“Alex I’m telling you that Leah knows” you said whilst brushing your teeth.

Your girlfriend was at St George’s Park to cover how England are preparing for the Finalissima. Right now you are in her room at the Hilton on the grounds.

“What could possibly give her the idea that we are dating?” Alex asked innocently as she leaned against the doorframe in nothing but a robe.

“I have few ideas and the first one is that. You keep looking at me like that” you point at the knowing look that is plastered on her face “and then there’s the fact that you were ogling me during the photoshoot that you shouldn’t have been at in the first place and after you slapped my arse in the hallways when Leah was right behind you”

Those three things happened in one day and would be the moments that started the suspicions of your relationship. Leah was like a dog on the hunt for a bone and luckily for you she only wanted to interrogate Alex.

Your night to slip up came when Alex had been presenting SoccerAid. The dress she was wearing filled your head with less than innocent thoughts. It’s why you sent her a text demanding that she come to your apartment straight from the game and you made it crystal clear that she was not to get changed.

The problem came when Sam turned up at half time stating that she got bored at home and thought the two of you could watch the second half together. Your night turned into a military operation. You had to get Sam out of your apartment with enough time to tidy up before Alex arrived.

The match ended and Sam was taking her time leaving. She suggested that you play a game of FIFA and after one check of your watch you knew you had time only one game turned into two and before you knew it you heard a knock on your door.

Alex looked beautiful, more so than she did on the TV. She didn’t give you chance to say hello. Alex’s lips crashed into yours with a hunger that was shared. You pressed her against the door as your hands roamed her body. The tightness and thin material of the dress allowed you to feel every inch of her. She was intoxicating, it blurred your surroundings and for a moment you forgot that you weren’t alone in your apartment.

“Well well well what do we have here?” Sam says rather smugly.

You pull away abruptly. As you turn around Alex does her best to hide behind you, her hand covering her mouth due to the shock of being caught.

“Sam” you wanted to explain what exactly your club team mate has just seen.

“I was just leaving. You two have fun but not too much fun. Remember we have training tomorrow. Bye Alex” the smugness doesn’t leave until Sam does.

You went straight back to what Sam had interrupted but Alex pushed you away. Your eyes widen because you didn’t understand what was going on.

“Y/N”

A small chuckle escaped your lips but very quickly stooped as it became clear that Alex did not find it funny, not in slightest.

“It’s Sam. She won’t tell anyone. Look at Fara she has known for months and she hasn’t said a word”

Your words weren’t enough to comfort Alex. She was worried about people finding out even though you both knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

“We need to be more careful. Remember what we said at the beginning lovers in private—“

“Friends is public. Alex take a look around, we are in my apartment which is basically our apartment at this point. This is private, it’s our home and I will kiss my girlfriend if I want to” you steal a quick kiss to prove your point.

After that night you were on your best behaviour as was Alex but it was getting harder and harder to hide your feelings for the older woman. You were reaching your anniversary and you loved her more now than you ever thought possible. Feelings that strong are impossible to hide.

It was during the champions league trip to Barcelona when Alex told you that she didn’t want to hide your relationship but that she also wasn’t ready for the world to know. You were ok with this as it meant no more hiding in bathrooms when unexpected guests turned up at your homes and at events the two of you didn’t sit on opposite sides of the table, you sat side by side. Alex didn’t flinch or panic when she felt your hand on her thigh.

The night before the London Derby Alex laid in bed actively trying to wind you up about the following days game. She was confident that her mighty Arsenal would beat your blues. It wasn’t going to happen and when your girlfriend offered up a bet you knew that you would do everything you could on the pitch to make sure she lost. It’s safe to say when Chelsea won 4-0 you were more than happy to go do pitch side media.

Alex, Fara and Karen stood analysing in the game when you snuck up behind them. You playfully pinch Alex’s waist. After greeting the other two presenters you take your place by your girlfriend’s side.

“And joining us now is Chelsea captain Y/N Y/L/N. I imagine you are happy with today’s result” Fara asks already knowing that you would be in an untouchable mood.

“More than happy. I think we showed today why we are running away with the league. It’s always a good day when we come away with three points. The fact it’s Arsenal who we took those points off make it that much better” you turn and she her shaking her head. “Alex?”

“London is blue” Erin comes in shouting with Millie, Sam and Guro not far behind her.

“I can’t” Alex ignores the new company as her focus remains on you. Her eyes begging you not to make her do this live on TV.

“Are we missing something?” Millie asks.

“Yes you are. You see Alex here was so confident that I would be beaten today that she made a very interesting bet, one which she now has to pay up”

You take the microphone out of her hands and place it on the table in front of you. The women around you watch and wait for the bet to be revealed. A huge hint comes as they see Alex taking off her coat and you taking of the rather sweaty match worn and winning Chelsea shirt.

“I made a bet with Y/N that Arsenal would win today and the bet was whoever lost has to wear the other team’s shirt”

“I wonder when this was made” Sam whispers behind you “Whilst she was in your bed, I think so” Her last comment earns her a elbow to the ribs.

“You can’t welsh on a bet Alex” you hand her your shirt and take her coat for her.

Your girlfriend smells your shirt and to anyone else the sweat might be enough to put them off but all Alex smells is your perfume.

You cannot take your eyes of her as you watch her put on your shirt. She had worn your England shirt numerous times but seeing her in blue did things to you.

Once the shirt is on she makes grabby hands for her coat but you shake your head. She wasn’t allowed to cover the badge. Alex had to wear this shirt until the moment she walked through the door to your apartment where you would take it off her, that was the bet.

“The things I do for the woman I love” It slips out before Alex realises what she has said. Fully aware that she is live on TV she does everything she can not to react to her confession. Luckily she wasn’t holding a microphone so she hoped that her words wasn’t picked up.

The people watching at home may not have heard her but the 4 Chelsea players near you sure did. When the camera cut the two of you were subject to a hoard of questions, all you vowed to answer at training but on the one condition that they remain tight lipped and to your shock they did.

This moment did make Alex realise that this luck wouldn’t always follow her and she asked if you would be happy for your friends to know, to which you said you were.

The rest of the world didn’t find out till a couple of months later when the final whistle was blown at the World Cup final in Australia. Just as she was for the Euros, Alex was in the small studio within the stadium covering the game for the BBC. It was your mistake that lead to the Spain’s one and only goal, the one that would go on the win them the coveted trophy and the all important star on the shirt.

She was live on TV when she was shown you sat on the pitch refusing support from your team mates. She could tell that you were crying and it was confirmed when you pulled you shirt down from over your face. Your eyes were red and she could feel your pain.

The rest of the punditry team was talking about the game but Alex remained quiet as she watched the monitor, mentally begging someone to stay by your side and refuse to leave. Alex realised she is being spoken to when she hears your name get brought up.

“You know this team, you know Y/N. She’s the captain of this team. What do you think is going through her mind right now?” Jonas asks her.

“She will blame herself for this. Y/N comes across as this stoic player but she had the biggest heart and this will be killing her inside” Alex turns to look down at the pitch to see you all alone and even from a distance she can see your body is racking with sobs.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I need to go” Alex takes out her ear piece and hands it to one of the producers.

Nobody asks any questions as the former Lionesses walks out of the studio without saying another word.

You couldn’t believe what you had done. You, the captain whose job it was the lead the team to victory, had cost the team and the country the greatest accomplishment a national team can achieve. They had been playing the goal on the screens so you got to see your mistake over and over again. You deserved it, it was your punishment. You were never an emotional player but this defeat hurt more than any other in your career. Once again you find yourself pulling your shirt up to hide your tears.

“Look at me” you know that voice.

“I can’t. I can’t look at you Alex” your hands cover the shirt that covered your eyes.

“Please” Alex reaches for your hands expecting to be met with a fight but you didn’t have it in you. You had nothing left, no fight, no energy.

When you see her you break again only this time Alex is there to hold you. She pulls your up and into her arms, holding you tightly as your tears soak the shoulder of her pink stripped blazer. She lets you have your moment before trying to talk to you.

“This isn’t on you Y/N. You girls are a team. You win as one and you lose as one”

“But—“

“No buts. You lead this team to a World Cup final and that isn’t something to look over just because the game didn’t end how you wanted. You” Alex gently pokes your chest “will use this moment and come back stronger”

“I will” you voice is quiet but there is a hint of conviction in what you are saying.

Alex leans in to kiss you but you stop her as discreetly as you can.

“Look around, don’t do this here just because we lost” you divert your eyes to cameras that are around you.

“Who cares Y/N. If I’m not here for you now then I don’t deserve to be with you at all”

You nod you head. The game had broken you and there wasn’t anyone else you wanted to put you back together. Alex was it for you, public be damned.

“We were never the best at hiding were we?” You asked.

“No Y/N we weren’t but maybe that was the point. We wanted the world to know, we just didn’t know it at the time. Now let’s go, there’s nothing left for you on this pitch”

Alex drapes her arm around you shoulder pulling you in close. Your head rests on her shoulder as the two of you leave the pitch and into the changing room.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #alex Scott x reader #alex scott imagine #Alex Scott one shot

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greenorangevioletgrass · 3 months

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fever pitch (b.b.) - part three

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soundtrack: don't blame me - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: you and bradley spend the night, but the road to heaven is full of obstacles; some are external, others are self-inflicted. warnings: language, public scrutiny (will be a recurring theme in this fic ha!), bradley is a stand-up guy all round, fluff, smut (d/s elements, praise kink, bit of a bratty side?, fingering, oral [f receiving], dirty talk, size kink, bradley is PACKING, protected sex) notes: i'm back! life has been crazy since i posted the previous chapter, but i just wanna say thank you so so much for your patience and your kind words about the fic so far! big shoutout to @gretagerwigsmuse and @teacupsandtopgun for being absolutely GEMS in brainstorming ideas-- this wouldn't have happened if it weren't for y'all <3 happy reading!

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The Langham, Sterling Suite. Ask for Holly Golightly ;)

Bradley smiles at your text, and the cheeky “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” reference. He shoots up a quick reply as he makes his way out to the lobby, fighting hard not to be grinning like an idiot to any unassuming passersby, until—

Click-click-click-click! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

“Hey, it’s Bradley Bradshaw!”

“Oi, Bradley! Give us a smile, mate!”

“Bradley, did you get to meet Y/N inside?”

“Did the boss let you out on a school night, Bradley?”

”How are you feeling about the Sunderland game this weekend?”

It’s a meager distance from the steps of Annabel’s to the curb where the valet has brought out his car, but holy shit. It doesn’t usually get nearly as crazy as this. He’s partied here with Harry Styles, and nobody bat an eye when the guy stumbled out drunk with his left tit out. But maybe it’s because Harry lives in London sometimes, or maybe because he was on a break… unlike Miss Americana on her world tour right now. It makes him pause and rethink how careful he needs to be.

Bradley gets into his car and drives off, trying to tread between the fine line of quick and careful. He can’t help but look over the rearview mirror more often than normal. Fuck, is this how you feel like all the time? He’s no stranger to the spotlight, but rather than the occasional run-ins, nobody has ever been interested in where he went to dinner on a random Tuesday night.

The Langham is barely a mile away, but Bradley sees photographers parked across the hotel with their long-lens cameras and disgusting disposition, and he keeps on driving. Thinking. Restrategizing. Hoping that his vintage aubergine Ferrari isn’t causing suspicion for driving by the second and third time.

He finds a basement parking lot behind the building and pulls up, hoping it’s the right entrance to the hotel. The attendant looks starstruck as he nods and points the way, sending him off with an eager ‘Come on you Gunners!’. And just like that, he makes it into the lobby out of the pap’s sight.

Be cool, he reminds himself, you’re only as suspicious as you seem to be. He comes up to the reception desk, and the girl behind it greets him warmly.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Langham. How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Ms. Golightly at the Sterling Suite,” Bradley says smoothly. “Holly Golightly.”

“And who am I speaking with, sir?” The girl looks at him like he seems familiar, but can’t quite place him.

“...Paul Varjak,” he states, unable to bite back the smile. Oh, the thrill of giving out a fake name with the very real possibility of getting called out on his shit.

But she nods and grabs the telephone, dialing into your room. Blissfully ignorant of the pseudonym he just gave her.

Good.

Let this inside joke be the two of yours alone.

The elevator ride up is peaceful—too peaceful that he can hear his heart beating and his palms sweating. Even the carpet mutes his footsteps towards the double door. Before he even presses the bell, a bodyguard opens the door for him.

“Mr. Bradshaw,” he nods curtly. It’s one of the guys from the restaurant earlier. Middle-aged, stout and rather short, sporting a permanent scowl and a vibe that indicates he’s seen some shit.

“Hi. Sorry, I haven’t got your name…?”

“Guy,” he deadpans.

Bradley wonders if that’s his real name or he’s just saying it so Bradley would get off his case, but smiles anyway. “Nice to meet you, Guy.”

Guy hums gruffly and ushers him into the foyer, an identical hallway of the hotel, with a room on each side. “Through here,” he leads him towards another set of double doors at the end of the hallway.

Meanwhile, you are full-on freaking out in your living room. Should you get changed? You’ve taken off your heels, but getting everything off feels so premeditated… You don’t even know if he wants things to go that far. Maybe you can break your little rule and bring out the wine for liquid courage? Gosh, nothing feels right. And it’s been so long since you’ve last done this that you’ve actually gone rusty.

And before you get to decide—in the long, wasteful twenty minutes or so you’ve been pacing, you hear a knock on your door.

“Coming!”

You rush over to get the door and there he is, coming out victorious through the hurdles, smiling at you.

“Thanks, Guy. I’ll take it from here,” you dismiss your security a little too quickly, nodding over Bradley’s shoulder. You’re sure Guy is rolling his eyes all the way back to his room over your lovestruck teenager behavior.

But it hardly matters when this man before you is looking at you like the sun.

“Hey, you.” Bradley beams at you from his spot. As if afraid to invade your space somehow.

And so are you. This feels like that night in the garden all over again. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t some pocket of a park you stumbled into; this is your hotel room.

Quiet.

Private.

Safe.

“Come on in.” You let him cross the threshold, closing the door behind him the warm foyer light cast golden upon his face. You’re not sure if it’s the fact that you’ve ditched your six-inch heels, or that there’s no one else, but Bradley looks even taller than you remember him. Broader. More… imposing.

“I’m sorry for taking so long. There’s cameras everywhere and I had to—”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him. It feels rude to ask if he got caught on camera, but at this point, you had to ask. “Did you… Did they…?”

Bradley quickly shakes his head. “No, I took the basement entrance, out of sight. We’re good.”

”I’m, uh… sorry for the fuss.”

”Hey, it’s no trouble at all… Ms. Golightly,” he tilts his head, grinning at your chosen pseudonym.

”Yeah, it changes every time. My last stop in Tennessee, I was Clarice Starling,” you admit, making him laugh. “Although I’m glad you got the reference… Mr. Varjak.”

He simpers, very proud of himself. And with that, he takes a step closer to you. Towering over you. Crowding you with his smile, his scent, his body heat… and neither of you makes the first touch. You’re painfully aware of how his gaze keeps dropping to your lips. Bodies drawn towards each other but tied in place for some reason. It seems like despite all the flirting you did at the restaurant, everything goes out the window once you’re alone.

You’re just two strangers, caught in a thrilling game of push and pull. Too scared to tip over and just… fall.

“Can I kiss you…?” Bradley breathes out. He feels foolish for asking, but it’s the only way to make sure he’s not ruining the entire evening.

But you sigh in relief and nod your head yes, and it gives you the push you need to close the distance from him. You don’t know which one happened first; touching his lips with yours, grasping his arms for balance, or standing on your tiptoes on his shoes. He keeps you there, his strong hands securing your waist.

“You’re making me feel like a kid…” It makes you giggle into the kiss, and he can’t not possibly fall in love with the sound of that—with the feel of your lips pulled up right against his.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing…” Bradley runs his hands down your sides gently. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“All night? You mean you’ve been thinking about making out with me while I tell you my life story?” you gasp, feigning shock and offense.

He laughs again. “Maybe for a moment or two there, I’ll admit.”

“I thought you were a gentleman!” you give him a playful smack on his behind, and there’s a flash of… something in his eyes. A spark, or a darkening. You’re not sure what it is yet, but it sends butterflies into your stomach yet again.

Bradley tucks some loose strands of your hair behind your ear. “I’m still a gentleman.”

“Really? I don’t believe that…” you sway his hips lightly, “I think you’re very… very bad,” you purr out, your lips barely touching.

He meets you halfway, and it feels like less of a shock this time. You gladly lose yourself in him, knowing you’ve crossed the line now. You finally notice how his mustache scratches your skin in a nice way, how he holds you flush against him, how he just melts into you in the kiss… enshrouding you in his warmth and lighting you on fire at the same time.

Bradley pulls away, barely just. His forehead is still pressed against yours, your noses are bumping, and his breath melding with yours. He licks his lips and you swear you can almost taste it. “You’re making it really hard for me to be a gentleman, kid…”

You can’t help but chuckle at the nickname. It’s not one you expect, but it sounds right somehow. “I didn’t invite you all the way here to be a gentleman.”

The twinkle in his eyes darken. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him. “Is that right?” Bradley’s hands slide down your hips, finding the swell of your ass and giving it a firm squeeze.

The air catches in your throat, and you swallow lightly. “Mm-hm.”

Instead, you lead him into the bedroom. Bradley is right behind you, barely a step behind. His hands have found a home on your hips and he seems adamant to stay there for a moment. Insisting to hold onto you because he worries he’ll get ahead of himself before you’re ready. But gosh, you’ve been ready all night and you’re practically twisting your arms around trying to reach the zipper on the back of your dress.

“Come here, I got you,” he rasps, his heart skipping as he drags the zipper down your back. He’s not sure which one he loves more; the dip of your spine that he wants to trace with your tongue, or the way the dress falls to the floor and reveals what’s underneath that prim and proper pink dress.

A tiny scrap of lace held by a black strap on either side of your hips, framing the swell of your ass perfectly.

And he swears, for a split second, he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

“Fuck…” he breathes out.

You can’t turn around fast enough. It might be a good ‘fuck’, but what if it’s a bad one? “What’s wrong?”

Bradley just blinks at you, for no other reason than how your nipples are poking out the side of the skimpy triangle of your bra. And that your lipstick is smeared on the edges from kissing him.

But of course, your mind is already racing from the lack of response and you’re already thinking, oh no this was a bad idea I shouldn’t have worn this—

“Hey, hey…” he sees your face fall and your arms come up to cover your chest and he immediately steps in. Holding you close, hoping to give you comfort. “Is this all for me?”

Oh, shit. Maybe if you close your eyes tight enough, you would melt to the floor. “I know, it’s a little much—”

“No, that’s not what I asked…” Bradley tilts your chin up, making you look him in the eye. “I said… Did you put these on for me?”

Your breath comes up short, and you nod ever so slightly. You don’t even trust your own voice not to betray how much you want him to like it. How much you want him.

“It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you.” He smiles into your lips, kissing you there. Spelling out how he feels with his hands on your ass, his mouth on yours. “Such a good girl…”

That flips a switch in your brain and he can see it. Your eyes go wide, your posture changes, and all of a sudden, you look so… small in his arms. So vulnerable, so beautiful. So perfect.

Suddenly, he’s holding the world in his arms. The sexy little thing you call panties is a pesky little nuisance now, and he can’t wait to get it off of you. His broad shoulders are keeping your legs open, his nose nuzzling your pubic bone as he looks up at you.

Bradley lowers you down on the side of the bed, settling on his knees before you. Committing every inch to memory by touch, from your ankle to your knee, up the inside of your thighs. When he reaches the scrap of fabric at your core, he feels it slick. He smirks. “What do we have here?”

Your face heats up. How the fuck are you supposed to answer that? No words are coming to your head—not when he’s drawing patterns over your pussy, making the lace glisten all over. And when your panties are positively ruined, he draws his hand back and licks the offending fingers in earnest.

And all it takes is a taste to send him into a frenzy.

“Fuck honey, need to taste you…” he murmurs between feverish kisses all over your legs. “Can I?”

You nod fervently, feeling like he’s got you under a spell.

“Use your words, kid.” He grins, playfully biting the inside of your thigh.

The sharp sensation makes you yelp, and you grip his hair in reflex. “Yes, want your mouth on me, please…”

“Good girl, asking so nicely…” he chuckles, satisfied with your response. Then, he pulls you to the edge of the bed. That dainty scrap of lace you call panties is a pesky nuisance now, and he couldn’t wait any longer to get it off of you. With your legs hiked up on his broad shoulders, he dives into you.

A taste, as it turns out, is an understatement because what Bradley does is devour.

“Oh, fuck…” you gasp sharply at the contact.

With one hand pinning your thigh open, he laps you up in earnest, figuring out the many ways he can make you squirm. Time ceases to exist because it feels like he makes you come in no time, but also he’s been down there forever. But he goes on and on and on until his name comes out in a desperate chant of lust and need.

“Bradley Bradley Bradley…” she grinds shamelessly into his mustache now, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation on your part. “Please, I’m gonna…”

“I know, honey. I got you. It’s okay.” It’s an oddly wholesome thing to say in a moment like this, but maybe you’re a hopeless romantic at heart, because sweet nothings get you off.

Your orgasm strikes like a thunderbolt, and you find yourself arching into his mouth. The more you take, the more he gives—or is it the other way around?— It seems like he takes as much pleasure in it as you do. Maybe even more, as he holds onto you as you squirm away overstimulated.

“Bradley… wait.” You grab a handful of his hair, trembling breathlessly.

His mustache glistens when he comes up for air, and he finally (finally!) takes off his suit jacket as he stands up. He eases up on the throttle and lets you breathe for a second. He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, watching you spread out like a feast for him. Legs open, bra askew, hair fanned out on the pillow… God, he’s so lucky.

When he returns on top of you, you’re eager to pull him by his belt buckle, but he brushes your hand away. You frown in protest. “But I wanna touch you—”

“It’s not your turn yet, honey,” he chides you teasingly.

“You just had your turn!”

He shrugs, nosing your cheek. “Well, it’s still my turn, so…” Bradley closes the gap again and kisses you openly.

The taste of your arousal on his tongue makes you dizzy, but it can’t distract you from the buzz of his fingers rubbing your devoured pussy, sending shivers down your spine. It’s entirely too much, and you keel over from the contact.

“Somebody’s a little sensitive, huh?” He grins, easing the throttle a little.

“Fuck you…”

“Well, if you say so.” He slides his middle finger in.

“Ohhh… Bradley…” you buck up your hips and moan. But in comes another finger, and you swear it feels like all of him.

He’s wound differently this time, like a man on a mission. With his fingers crooking and stroking your silky walls, beckoning you to come closer, while you grip his shoulders, willing yourself to hold on. But his teeth yanks the edge of your bra to set your nipple free, and his sly tongue finally gets a taste… all resolve goes out the window.

“Come on, honey. I know you got another one in you…” he breathes out, undoing the front clasp of your bra so he can suck your tits with all his might, willing you to come.

And frankly, who are you to say no?

The burst of pleasure hits you from your core to your fingertips. If he wasn’t pinning you down on top of you, you would have probably floated away. But you’re firmly laid on the mattress and feeling everything. Your eyes blink back into focus as you come down from your high.

You pant, staring at him in disbelief. Nobody has ever put that much attention on you in bed before even taking off his clothes. “You got a baseball bat in there or something?”

“Something like that.” He rolls his eyes playfully. Jokingly, you assume.

You take his arm, kissing his wrist, “Can I touch you now?” sticking your tongue out to lick his digits clean of you. Putting on a show as you suck his fingers. “Please?”

He throws his head back and groans. “Fuck.” He can’t resist that doe-eyed look you’re putting on, nor can he resist you undoing his shirt buttons. He can play dominant all he wants, but he knows that the truth of the matter is, he’s all wrapped up around your little finger. “Okay, okay. You win.”

It’s a mess of unbuckling pants, kicking off shoes, and tossing clothes to the floor. Your hand reaches out to trace his gleaming skin, every ridge of his abdomen. You’ve seen the Calvin Klein campaigns and the Men’s Health covers— and gosh, he looks like a dream. But when that thing just springs up to his stomach when he pushes his boxers down…

You didn’t expect him to manifest straight out of your wet dream.

“Holy fuck, you weren’t kidding about your baseball bat,” you breathe out, head tilted as you stare at his thick cock. The vein that runs along the side, the way it curves slightly to the right, the length that makes you clench at the mere thought of it… Fuck, it’s pretty.

Bradley chuckles sheepishly. He knows how big it is, he’s heard all the jokes in the locker room, but hearing it from you hits different. “You scared?”

You should be, a little. But without flinching, you bite your lip and look him in the eye. “Nah, I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

Gosh, he loves you. He’ll have to remember not to blurt that out too early. “Okay, big girl,” he chuckles, kissing you one last time before rolling off of the bed.

His sudden disappearance out of sight makes you frown. “Where are you—” you prop yourself up on your elbow, seeing him fish out a packet of condom from his trousers pocket, “Right. Safety first.”

Bradley nods, tearing the packet open with his teeth and rolling it on. There’s something so hot about how a man looks just before he fucks someone. “Mm-hm. Gotta make sure we’re both covered.”

“Do I need goggles and a helmet, too?”

He pauses as he straddles your hips. “Maybe next round,” he cheekily quips back. The idea of you wearing nothing but a helmet and safety goggles weirdly makes his cock stir, too. But you’re already lying naked under him, and he doubts that much will deter his hard-on.

Bradley pushes himself into you a little, and your eyes water as you whimper out in a blur of pain and pleasure. And here you thought two of his fingers felt full…

He stops in his tracks, trying to gauge your reaction. He nearly lost his mind over how tightly you’re clenched around him, but he doesn’t want to presume. “Too much?” He asks softly, stroking your cheek.

Your breaths run ragged as you look up at him, almost in awe. “You’re just… so big…”

He laughs breathlessly. He hates to brag, but it’s true. And as much as he’s enjoying the way you flutter under him, he has to ask, “Want me to pull out?” Please say no, please say no, I don’t think I can handle it…

“N-no…” you wrap your arms and legs around him, clinging to him for dear life. “But I don’t know if it’ll fit.”

Bradley smiles at what has to be the most adorable look he’s ever seen from you. He kisses your forehead in reassurance. “I’ll go nice and slow, okay? I promise.”

Feeling this small and vulnerable so soon after meeting someone would usually set all kinds of alarms in your head. You never know how a guy would take it. But in this moment, nestled in the crook of his neck, among the mix of his perfume and aftershave and his natural musk… all you want to do is stay. “Okay,” you nod softly.

“Let’s try again then, hm?” He kisses your temple and whispers in your ear, “Open up, love.”

With a deep breath, you bite back a whimper as you take him deeper, still not quite all the way in. “Hurts…”

Bradley stops again, his concern fully taking over now. “You sure you want me to keep going…?”

“Yes!” You surprise yourself with how quick and desperate you answered him. Your eyes shut, trying to offset the warmth setting over your cheeks, as you make the dirty admission, “I… I like it when it hurts.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Bradley has to remind himself not to come on the spot, because holy shit. He wouldn’t go this hard on a woman so early in the game, but… his head is dizzy from how innocently you said it. He takes a breath to pull himself together. “Tell me if it’s too much, alright?”

The air is heavy. The room is silent. You can hear the shift in the tension as you smirk, “Yessir.”

There you are, you little devil. Bradley simply grabs you by the hips and bottoms out inside you. Your face goes slack while your cunt tightens around his cock, and it blows his mind.

He starts out slow, torturously so. Stuffing himself inside your crevice and dragging himself out, willing you to feel every inch. Every ridge. Until your body loosens up and twists around in the throes of passion. Your mouth falls open, your little gasps and moans coming and going as he pleases.

The unhurried pace is nice for a few minutes, when you’re still adjusting to his size. But now that he’s snug inside you, you’re simply aching for more. Your hips arch up into him halfway, a little more urgent, disrupting the rhythm with a pleasant stutter.

He notices this and smiles. “So eager… what’s the rush, hm?”

You answer with a groan. He has a penchant for asking you questions you can’t answer, this man. “You feel so good, baby…” you murmur headily, hands desperately grasping on him—his arms, his shoulders, his back…

”You feel even better.” He nips at your pert nipple, relishing in your angelic little filthy cry. Fuck, he can feel the exact motion of your pussy tightening for him. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that…”

”Then don’t.”

His eyes flicker onto yours immediately. You’re gonna be the death of him, he swears…

You grab his hair by the fistful, keeping his gaze. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

”Oh fuck—” he doesn’t stand a chance. His body reacts faster than his brain could compute, and he holds your hips flush against his as he buries himself as deep as he can. Every twitch of his cock sends you reeling, and your pussy clenches and unwinds in your climax, following him down from his high to yours.

Free falling, hand in hand.

Bradley rolls off of you and you would complain, if it weren’t for the way he immediately pulls you into his chest. Thank fuck. You’re not quite ready to untangle from him yet. Not when your breaths still run a bit ragged, as if accidentally catching each other’s. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and it feels unlike your regular out-of-town hookup. No, this one’s different. But not a word is said between you on that for different reasons— each of you holding your cards close to your chest, as close as you’re holding each other.

#nowhere to go but up from here on out folks!!#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #footballer!bradley #footballer!bradley x popstar!reader #top gun imagine #top gun au #ava writes #fever pitch

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updownlately · 10 months

Text

‘cause all that you are (is all that i’ll ever need)

| alessia russo x reader | some angst and some fluff | 3.3k | inspo: kiss me by ed sheeran & tenerife sea by ed sheeran | a/n: so this req was a long time coming, thanks for your patience amigo! hope you like it! idk how to feel about this one but ima get this out for now and if i need to re-do it later then ill be more than happy to!

~~~

Late training sessions were definitely not on Alessia’s list of favourite things in the world, especially not when all she wanted to do was escape the rainy Manchester weather and cold. It was safe to say really, that if she could change any one thing about her football career, past, present, and future, she’d limit the number of evening practices, especially those on rainy days to near zero.

Being soaking wet after a practice, the number of times she had fallen no doubt a contributing factor, the chill in the air seemed to send a continuous shiver in her bones, one that not even a shower post-practice could abolish.

So albeit showered and freshened up, all the blonde really wanted to do at seven in the evening on a Tuesday was take a hot shower at home and curl up beside you; dinner, a movie, and unlimited cuddles the only things things on the cards for the night.

But that plan required many things, one of which included you being free, something you likely weren’t.

Caught up in all your coursework for your degree, you had recently been swamped with a never-ending to-do list, something which pained Alessia almost, if not more, as much as it pained you.

Entering your shared apartment, Alessia gently dropped her kit bag and paused for a brief second to try and decipher where you might be. Hearing nothing that would give any indication of your location, she kicked off her shoes before haphazardly placing them on the rack and heading in to find you.

With finals season upon you, you had been hiding away from Alessia to finish your work a lot more, conscious of how her mere presence distracted you, had you contemplating why you wanted to finish your degree this year when you could instead cuddle up with her on the couch and put on a show to watch.

However, the tiredness of the day was finally catching up to her and the Gunner wanted nothing more than to find you and drape herself over you, cuddles galore, her heaven on earth.

Quickly peering into the kitchen and then the dining area before checking the living room, Alessia wandered through the living space, not wanting to shout for you lest you be on a call of some sort.

Walking towards your office/makeshift study space, she started to take her wet hair out of its bun, hoping that she could get you to agree to plait it for her as you normally would.

Between rainy English weather and the nearly two years of you two dating, it had become a sort of ritual between the pair of you- countless nights of a dimly lit living room, a brush in your hands as you sat on the couch with the footballer on the floor between your legs, you working ever so carefully and gently to untangle and braid her wet hair into a somewhat manageable braid.

It had started when you had realized that Alessia would leave her soaked, post-shower hair in a messy bun until it would eventually dry eons later, making everything her head came in contact with during the meantime a damp mess.

After the fourth time you had to change out of a wet t-shirt post cuddling session, you had finally given up on trusting the striker to do her own hair, instead taking matters into your own hands.

Since then, it had become normal for the Englishwoman to find you after most practices or games, silently taking seat between your legs or in front of you with a towel, brush, and blow-dryer in hand.

So Alessia made a quick stop to your shared ensuite, grabbing the aforementioned items in a breeze before continuing on the remainder of her short walk to you office next door.

Well aware that you may be on one of your numerous zoom calls with a course mate or advisor of some sort, the blonde knocked gently before slowly turning the handle and peeking her head inside.

Eyes just barely adjusting to the dimly lit room, Alessia sighed, already being able to tell you had barely left your study space for a while, the countless dishes piled up on the table beside you a worrying sign.

Stepping in and choosing to make her presence known, the blonde walked over to where you were sat at your desk in the back corner of the room, eyes focused intently on the screen in front of you.

“Hi…”

Coming to stop right beside you, your girlfriend teetered from one foot to the other nervously, waiting for a reaction.

You barely looked up from your monitor as you hummed in response, a disastrous number of tabs open on the screen and the laptop beside you, mind nearly as scattered.

Wringing her hands, her voice came out soft, nearly a whisper, heart already tired from the long day she had.

“Could you please plait my hair when you get the chance?”

Had you been paying attention to the blonde one your left, you would’ve taken in the tiredness in her eyes, the defeated weight on her shoulders, and the nervousness thrumming in her body as she fiddled with the hairbrush in her hand.

But you weren’t.

Eyes not leaving the screen for a second as you took notes on your iPad without looking down, you inhaled sharply.

If you had known better, you wouldn’t have reacted as you did. Would’ve separated your frustration with your paper from your love for the striker.

You didn’t however.

Instead, you let your frustration seep through, a gruff exhale escaping you.

“Less I’m busy. Just do it yourself yeah?”

Not waiting for an answer, you continued with the task at hand, flipping between another website and copying and pasting text into your notes document.

Beside you, Alessia quickly shut her eyes, straightening her back in an effort not to become upset at your sharp answer.

She knew you were stressed, this degree something you had been working on tirelessly to achieve. She knew this frustration wasn’t aimed at you, more so at the tight deadline coming up, the need for perfection that you craved. So why did she feel like shit now?

Taking a deep breath, she figured it would be worth a shot to ask you about dinner, aware that you likely hadn’t eaten- your habit of hyper focusing a common obstacle when it came to taking care of yourself.

“Before I go, do you want anything in particular for supper? I was thinki-”

“Anything’s fine. I’ll eat later. I really need to finish this up.” Your voice cut in, not bothering to wait for her to finish.

Eyebrows furrowing at your interjection, Alessia’s shoulders deflated, well aware that any time spend together was likely off the table for the night. As if this night couldn’t possibly get worse.

Sighing near silently, the Arsenal forward turned on her heels, making her way out of the room quickly as to not disturb you any further.

It was only when she had fully made it out of the room, door shut firmly behind her, that Alessia let the weight of the day crash on her.

As a handful of silent tears of frustration came barrelling down her face, the striker made her way back into your shared bedroom, haphazardly throwing the items from her hands onto the bathroom counter before wiping away the tears and throwing her hair into a bun once more.

Deciding that tonight was not a night where the blonde wanted to be cooking, at least not anymore, not since you very likely wouldn’t be joining her, she reached for her phone, eyes scanning the numerous apps through her blurred vision before finding the desired delivery app.

Quickly ordering comfort food for herself and your usual order from the restaurant she had chosen (she wasn’t heartless, could never be towards you), the striker threw herself onto the bed, arms coming to wrap around her own midsection in a vain attempt to provide herself with some comfort.

And when the ordered food finally arrived, bag somehow soaked from the pouring weather, the Englishwoman knew that the universe was playing a cruel joke on her, maybe even getting her back for jumping on Leah when she had been soaked after practice earlier.

Clenching her jaw, Alessia quietly plated her food before taking a seat at the island, dim lights and the soft murmur of the world outside the only company for her on the lonesome night, the empty stool beside her mocking her as she ate, a pounding headache growing due to the bun she wore, food lukewarm, and heart alone.

What a lovely night…

~~~

You were proud of yourself.

It had taken nearly a week but here you were, essay nearly done, on the brink of submission a handful of days early, qualification for graduation just a few clicks away.

All that was left was to proofread it for the fourth time, you well aware that you were being nit-picky, the perfectionist in you making itself known.

But that could wait. That could most definitely wait. Because all you wanted to do right now, aching neck, tired eyes, and growling stomach in tow, was to relax with your girl for a bit, a well deserved reward should you say yourself.

Pushing yourself away from your desk, your eyes flickered over to top corner of your monitor, a place you tended not to look often in an attempt to not intimidate yourself with the passing minutes.

Now though? Now you wish you had looked at the clock earlier.

Cursing yourself for being so caught up in your own mind that you had tuned out the world most important to you, you hastily got up from your seat.

The bright digits glared at you as quickly started cleaning up your desk- 9:47 pm- much much later than you had anticipated.

Exiting out of now useless tabs and turning off what needed to be shut down, your quickly grabbed your mountain of dishes, precariously balancing them as you tucked your nearly dead phone into your pocket and scrambled towards the door.

Less couldn’t be asleep right? Not yet at least…surely?

You silently prayed that the blonde was still awake, the pattering of the rain outside and darkness filling the empty corners of the apartment as you made your way to the kitchen.

The silence in the apartment was eerily haunting, a reminder- no- an indication of just how selfish you had been.

Entering the threshold, your eyes fell on the sticky note left on the counter, space barely illuminated by the streetlights.

Gently placing your dishes in the sink, letting warm water run over them, you backtracked, picking up the yellow post-it and reading the message- once and then again, heart sinking at the unsaid words.

‘Supper’s in the fridge. Went to bed early.’

The lack of words told you everything you needed to know. You had fucked up.

No 'I love you', no 'I'll be waiting for you', none of that. Just eight direct words, saying everything that Alessia didn't voice.

Swallowing hard, you contemplated your options, wondering whether it would be worth the risk to potentially upset Alessia more than you already had.

It wasn’t a secret to you that the blonde hated late practices, especially on days like today, where there were double practices, afternoon and evening. Add the pouring rain that had brought you comfort the past few hours, hours that Less had likely passed around waiting for you, hair no doubt a mess, a headache likely from the cold, stuff you usually helped her prevent post-practices, you knew you had messed up.

In your blindside to free yourself up early, you had ignored the one you loved. Just fucking great.

Deciding then and there to make amends, you made your way to your shared bedroom, taking the gamble to see whether Alessia had fallen asleep or not, hoping you could rectify your earlier actions.

This time, it was your turn to nervously enter the room, turning the knob nervously and slowly stepping in.

In front of you lay the taller girl, frame looking small on the bed, her back facing you, the dark room doing nothing to help your uneasiness.

Stepping forward, you reached out, pulling up the covers on your side of the bed, you sliding in after.

Holding your breath, you strained to listen to Alessia’s breathing, trained in being able to identify whether the blonde was on the brink of sleep or not, years of being together aiding you immensely.

Finally exhaling when you realized the blonde was still awake, you took your chances.

Keeping your voice soft, you let it carry, the weight of your words hanging in the air.

“I know you’re still awake…”

You could feel the mattress move before she did, the blonde shuffling further to her own side of the bed, nearly falling off the edge with how much space she left in the middle.

“Less…”

Silence being your only response, you tried again.

“I’m sorry for being an ass.”

This time you heard a slight huff. Not the best response but a response in the least- a positive in your eye. You chose to continue, hoping you could dig yourself out of this hole.

“I’m sorry for being huge dickwad. You didn’t deserve me snapping at you like that.”

And as Alessia’s hoarse voice responded, your gut sank with guilt, jaw tensing.

“Just the snapping? I asked you about supper and whether you could take just a few- a few- minutes to plait my hair like always, and you got upset with me.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I really am. You were only trying to help and you were tired yourself and I was dumb.” Surging forward, you reached out tentatively, slowly placing your hand on Alessia’s shoulder, pulling her into you.

“You really were.”

Placing a kiss on the back of her head once she was close enough, you murmured against her scalp. “Can I make it up to you? Let me braid your hair?”

“That doesn’t excuse your behaviour…”

Nodding in agreeance, you let your arms wrap around the taller girl’s waist. “It doesn’t, but I’ll get there, I promise.”

Alessia sinking backwards into your grasp at your words gave you the answer you needed, you holding her for a few more minutes before quickly rising up and getting the items you needed.

Turning on a lamp as you returned, you settled behind the footballer, plugging in the hair drier and undoing the bird’s nest on your lover’s head.

Silently working, you meticulously dried the blonde’s hair enough that her pillow wouldn’t get any more soaked, teasing out the kinks and knots gently before braiding her hair loosely.

Finally pleased with your work, you set the comb and hair drier aside, pulling Alessia back against your front and wrapping her up in your hold, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder and lingering for a second.

“I can’t promise I won’t be stupid again, but I can promise you that I’ll try my best to never do that again.”

“No more ignoring me no matter how busy you are alright? Just let me in your head…tell me your plans so that I’m not left here waiting for god knows how long, as you snap at me when I try to care…please?”

“I promise. Solemnly swear in fact.”

Feeling the blonde smile at your words, you let a grin take over your own face.

“Now, I know you already ate, but would you fancy joining me for dinner? It could be our own little date? You, me, a little Love Island, and ton of cuddles?”

And as Alessia turned in your hold, burying her face into the crook of your neck, you kissed the her crown, holding her just a tad bit tighter.

Only making a move to get up when your stomach grumbled loudly, you shot a sheepish smile to the angel in your arms before loosening your hold.

And as the pair of you exited the room, hand in hand, you made sure to grab the softest blanket you could, her comfort blanket, settling the striker on the couch before rushing into the kitchen to make yourself a plate of food, getting an extra helping, well aware that your girlfriend would munch with you.

Nearly sprinting back to the living room, food in hand, the pair of you got comfortable, the blonde resting her head on your shoulder, blanket wrapped around you both as the tv illuminated the living room, the rain now setting a comforting tone to the night.

Feeding the Gunner small bites as you ate your food, the two of you managed to finish off the plate quite quickly, setting it on the table before sinking together, a few more episodes, a handful of minute more spend cuddling.

Mindlessly tracing your fingers up her arm, you pulled the tired woman into you, body shuffling to lay across the couch, Alessia's head resting on your chest as the other girl whispered out little comments at every turn in the show.

It was only when you could finally feel the taller girl’s body growing heavier a bit more with each passing minute that you decided that it was a good time to head to bed.

Skimming your fingers up and down her spine, tracing the ridges of her back, you slowly, just barely, pulled Alessia out of her lethargic state, silently pulling her into a sitting position.

Moving to get up, you wrapped the blanket around her, ignoring her groans of protest at her own personal space heater walking away.

Convincing her you would only be a minute, you ran and put ur dishes away before coming back to usher a somewhat sleepy Less to your bedroom, the blonde slightly waking up a bit more at the movement.

Walking both yourself and your sleepy counterpart through brushing your teeth, you pulling silly faces randomly before splashing the taller girl with some water to tease her, you eventually managed to get the two of you back into bed, you on your back and the taller girl resting her head on your chest, sleepy yawns escaping her as she got comfortable once more.

Taking her now dry hair out of its braid, you loosely combed your fingers through it, nails scratching her scalp in a successful effort to soothe.

“Tell me about your day?” Your voice was quiet, just barely audible, not wanting to rouse the girl in your arms any further.

“Well my girlfriend was kind of an arse to me…”

Shaking your head as your chest rumbled with silent laughter, you gently hit Alessia’s shoulder.

“I mean it...I wanna listen dork.”

And as the blonde recited her day to you, you could feel her breathing get heavier, the tiredness finally catching up to her.

Placing a gentle kiss on top of her head, you murmured another quiet apology as Alessia’s voice died down, you tightening your hold, mentally vowing never to let yourself get consumed by school or work so immensely ever again.

Unbeknown to you, the striker was just barely awake, her whispers of ’never again’ making her conscious state known.

Agreeing, you repeated the words, whispering an I love you, the sentiment returned before Alessia’s breathing finally evened out, body completely relaxed in your hold. Finally letting yourself unwind, the tension from studying earlier totally seeping out of your body, you let a smile spread across your face.

Well aware this was all you really needed, you let the warmth spread through your body.

Here, your lover in your hold, silent breaths puffed against your neck, the weight of your love hanging comfortably in the air, you followed Alessia’s lead, letting sleep overcome you, everything that really mattered to you in this world, here, in your arms.

#i hope this was okay #not properly proof read- im sorry #fic req #catya #angst #fluff #my writing #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso community #woso

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theitgirlnetwork · 2 days

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Earn It

Ch. 7: Heaven's Happiness

Note: As always, the love this story receives amazes me. Thank you so much for reading. Thank you for the notes, the reblogs, the comments and messages. Interacting makes this so much fun! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. There will be a lot more time skips from here on out! So you'll all get to know the gang as adults. I will ask that if anyone wants to use my story as inspo for one of your own, or anything else, you let me know, it's more fun that way. I also don't post this or any of my other stuff anywhere else. Once again, hi to my best friend who now reads this story, love you miss girl <3 Anywayyy, I hope you all enjoy! Thanks for reading <3

Taglist:@spookystitchery@anehkael@fkaams@butterflyybabe@sun2flower @holierthancunt @silkenthusiasts @wolflover384 @liziihorta @summerssover @jackierose902109

Warnings: Some strong language

“She’s very gifted, Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock. The best I’ve seen at this age in my career. You could have a professional dancer on your hands.”

The three adults watch from the observing window as Heaven demonstrates Grand Adage for a group of her peers. Her little back straight and stomach tight as she accomplishes the move with a stern discipline that many adults struggle to achieve.

“We know. So why is she playing Clara?”

“Beatrice-”

“I’m just wondering, Luca, I mean I just believe it’s our right as her parents to ask Madame Sidorov why our 9 year old daughter is teaching the snowflakes that are twice her age the dance she doesn’t get to be a part of.”

Madame Sidorov swallows hard as she brings her clipboard to her chest. She’s been running her youth dance company for over 20 years. Many of her dancers have gone on to be successful, working artists. But she’d never seen talent like Heaven Whitlock. The girl came into her studio at the age of 6, excited to show her that she already knew how to go en pointe even though children really shouldn’t and normally couldn’t do it until they were 11. Madame Sidorov had been overcome with excitement. She had a star on her hands.

The older woman also learned that Beatrice Whitlock also knew what she had. The teacher has dealt with gunner parents before, but none like the stern young woman who trailed in behind her prodigy daughter with her nose in the sky and demands on her tongue.

“Mrs. Whitlock, Clara is the lead role in the Nutcracker-”

“Bullshit, Sidorov, we both know that the prima dancer role is the Sugar Plum Fairy and the arguably most complicated dance is the Waltz of the Snowflakes, the dance you had my daughter demonstrating yesterday. So,” Beatrice’s heels click as she shifts her weight from one leg to another, hip jutting out. “Why is your best dancer playing the dumb little girl who spends most of the ballet watching everyone else dance?”

“I think my wife is frustrated because we all know our daughter is talented. So we’re having a hard time understanding why those talents aren’t being showcased.” Luca cuts, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist in an attempt to calm her.

“Heaven is only 9. We need to allow the older dancers to play the more advanced roles-”

“Then they should be better.” Beatrice interrupts, swinging her purse over her shoulder, pushing her shades up onto her head. “How about this, until your priorities are straight, we can take Heaven somewhere where things are fair and you can dust off your pointe shoes and start teaching again instead of using my child.”

“But, all of my friends go there.” Heaven whines as they speed their way down the highway for the hour drive back to their home. “I don’t want to find another studio.”

“I know, Stellina, but we want you to have every opportunity. Wouldn’t you want more chances to dance?”

Heaven is stubbornly silent in the backseat, her step father softly pats her foot, reaching back from the driver seat. Her mother turns to face her, a noncommittal look on her face. “Baby, when you came to Mommy a couple years ago, what did you say you wanted to be when you grew up?”

The younger girl bites her lip, tugging irritably at her seatbelt. “A ballerina.”

“Just a ballerina?”

Heaven huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, looking away from her mother. “The best ballerina ever.”

“The best ballerina. Ever. And Mommy and Papino have worked very hard to make that possible for you, yes? Practice everyday, paying for lessons, buying you everything you need. But you’re a big girl now. You’re going to have to learn how to work very hard too if you want to be the best, baby. We can only take you part of the way. You need to think super hard about whether this is what you want. You need to think about if you’re going to earn it.”

Beatrice’s voice is soft and kind, but her words are harsh. She turns around, not waiting for a response from her daughter, satisfied that her whines and complaints had quieted to obedient, stifled little sniffles.

Heaven stares down at her hands through wet lashes, her bottom lip wobbling as she smothers her sadness. She does want it. She wants to be the best ballerina ever. She is going to be the best ballerina ever. And she’s grateful. Papino and Mommy had given a lot. And she won’t disappoint them. So she’d go to a new dance studio. She would make new friends. And if not, that wasn’t what she was there for.

Luca Whitlock frowns as he drums his finger on the steering wheel, looking forward at the traffic ahead of them. “How about some ice cream, Stellina? Might cheer you up?”

Identical sets of brown eyes meet in the rearview mirror. The little girl in the backseat simply sinks against the leather, forcing indifference into her voice. “No thank you, Papino, I’m…not hungry.”

“And you have your, um,” Heaven scratches her head, mentally scrolling through the list of items Tashi would need at home. She was going to spend the first few weeks post-knee surgery with her parents. Heaven had stayed with her girlfriend for the days following the injury, lying to her school and telling them she had a death in the family that required her to take some time away. She just wanted to get Tashi settled before she headed back to UCLA.

The dancer had assumed that their boyfriend would emerge out of the shadows, and use his charm to weasel out of an apology, ultimately taking over Tashi’s care since he had the most free time.

Unfortunately, he continued to disappoint her. So, instead, she lingered. Slept in Tashi’s bed with her, unwrapped and rewrapped her knee. Cleaned her dorm, brought her any work she missed. The girls in the athletic dorm thought she’d moved in. But now, Tashi’s parents were here to take her home for a little while.

“I have everything, Hev, you made sure of that.”

Her heart aches. Tashi sounds so tired. So down. Heaven is so frustrated. She’s ready to move past this part. She wants Tashi to just be better. She tells herself over and over that the surgery would fix it. That once she got the treatment she needs and a little physical therapy, she’d be back to where she was, ready to take over the world with her.

“I’ll see you when we open, right? You’re still gonna come?” Heaven rocks on her feet, careful not to bump Tashi’s crutch. “You don’t have to, you’ve seen me do most of the dances and I know it might be hard to travel-”

“Babe, I’ll be there. Okay? I need to go.” Tashi lifts Heaven’s chin, giving her a halfhearted peck before turning to climb into her dad’s truck, gesturing for Heaven to stop when she goes to try helping her into the high seated vehicle. “I’ll call you. Why don’t you have Art help you get your stuff from my room? He probably wants to say goodbye.”

“T, are we gonna talk more about that-”

“I told you,” Tashi shrugs, hand on the car door handle, her pajama pants poorly covering the large brace on her knee. “M’not mad. It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. Heaven isn’t stupid. Ever since Tashi and Patrick found out that she’d done…stuff with Art, Patrick has been radio silent, and all Tashi does is encourage Heaven to spend more time with Art who she was decidedly avoiding. She’d gotten…caught up in the infirmary. The combination of the heightened emotions and Art’s soft attention and care caused another moment of weakness. She’d accidentally said something that she’d been denying to herself ever since, and thanking the good lord above that Art had apparently missed. She was determined not to tempt fate for a…fourth time?

Which is why she’d gone back to Tashi’s room and started packing her stuff and straightening up without alerting the blond tennis player who’d been haunting her dreams as of late. And it’s also why she almost pissed herself when he’d somehow materialized in the dorm room doorway, rapping his knuckles against the light wood, in a failed attempt not to startle her.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, but, um, Tashi texted me and said you might need some help getting this stuff to your car.”

He looks good. She can’t ignore that, but she can refuse to get caught up in staring at him as he leans in the doorway, muscled arms on full display as he leans in the frame, a poorly hidden pout on his face.

“I’m good.” Heaven shrugs, slinging her bookbag over her shoulder, trying to lift her purse and her other two bags at the same time, only to have all of her belongings fall out of her purse. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, let me help you.” Art bends and starts grabbing the miscellaneous items from her bag.

“I can do it-”

“It’ll be quicker-”

“Art.” She huffs, tucking her hair behind her ears and sitting criss-crossed on the floor. “I meant it, when I said that I was done…Tashi might be trying to teach me a lesson in some kind of twisted way, and I’m sorry you’re getting mixed up in it, but I’m…I can’t be around you and be with her at the same time. Clearly, I can’t handle boundaries.”

“So…so what does that mean? Not talking at all? Is that what you want?” He asks, shoulders dropping, eyes filled with hurt as he inches closer. “Heaven-”

“Sure. If that’s what it takes for it to get you to get I can’t do” she gestures between them. “This, then fine, let’s say that’s what I want.”

Art clenches his jaw, blinking quickly as he tries to think something he could say. Anything to change her mind. “Heaven, please, I’ll…we’d be friends. We can just, I can’t…please don’t.” he finishes, giving up on trying to articulate his thoughts through his panicked haze. Through all of this back and forth, chasing and running, he’d forgotten the chance that once Patrick was out of the picture, that he might get written out too.

His eyes scan her face as she shakes her head, shoving the last of her stuff back into her purse and standing. “Art, it’s not like I don’t wanna be around you. But stuff is getting too complicated. This shit is just too much. I haven’t been back to my school in days, Tashi’s leg is fucked and I don’t want to make things any harder for her, Patrick is just fucking gone and I really can’t handle anything more. So when you say we can be friends, I need you to mean it. I need you to tell me we can do that.”

Art finds himself in between a rock and a hard place. He wants to be honest. He wants to acknowledge that he can’t see himself getting over her within the foreseeable future. He wants to tell her that he’s glad she’s probably not with Patrick anymore, and as bad as he feels about Tashi’s leg, he quite frankly does not understand why it has to change anything between them.

But he’s desperate. Art is humiliated to admit it to himself but, he would do anything to keep the line of communication between him and Heaven open so if he had to appease her by saying that they would be platonic despite the fact that he quite literally gets dizzy standing next to her, fine. Like he’d told himself before, he was playing the long game, collecting the points that matter. So, offering her a tight smile, Art sticks his large hand out to her, encasing her smaller one and jumping to stand at his full height. “Friends. But, friends don’t ignore each other for days, Hev.”

Heaven bites her lower lip, choosing to ignore the blue-brown eyes that drop to her mouth before looking back up at her and shaking his hand. “Okay. Yeah.” The pair slowly pull their hands apart, Heaven shivers as she feels the calluses on his palm slide across her hand. “As my friend, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Is,” the girl rolls her eyes to the ceiling, releasing a heavy sigh. “Is she done? You saw it, and you obviously know more than me…is that something she can keep playing with her knee like that?”

He can’t bring himself to dash the hope she was clearly harboring on the behalf of Tashi but the girl’s recovery is…unlikely. Art tucks his hands in his pockets, tilting his head as he chooses his words carefully. “Tashi’s strong, and really fucking good, if anyone is going to recover from that kind of injury, it’s her.”

“So…no.” Heaven sits down on Tashi’s bed, staring forward at the wall that’s littered with pictures of some of the best tennis players in the world. A shaky breath leaves her as she stares at the professional posters, accompanied by the posters Adidas had made with Tashi on them.

“You’re a really good girlfriend.” Art whispers.

“I cheated on her with you. I’m pretty much the worst girlfriend ever.”

“No, I mean, you’re really invested in her. In the thing she loves, like you care about tennis the same way we do, f-for her.”

Heaven smiles softly to herself, grabbing Tashi’s pillow and hugging it to her body. “I fell in love with Tashi watching her play tennis. Just like everyone else does.” she jokes, poking Art’s leg with her toe. “When I’m watching her, it’s like I’m getting to witness something. It’s…corny but tennis is her calling. She goes to some other little world when she’s playing, and, even though I’m not a tennis player, she takes me with her. It’s this feeling of closeness that I can’t get anywhere else, you know?” Or at least, nowhere else I’m willing to talk about.

He does know. Art does know exactly what she’s talking about. He felt it. Once, when he and Patrick sat and watched Tashi play for the first time. It’s an all encompassing feeling. He was so caught up in watching her every move that he hadn’t looked anywhere but at Tashi. If he’d just looked three rows in front of him he’d have seen the girl in front of him now.

The second time, the feeling was more intense, more of a sensation than a mere feeling. It was when he was sitting in an empty theater, watching Heaven dance, just for him. Art had never felt the things he’d felt before. He’d never had the thoughts he thought. He’d held his breath for the entire minute and 26 seconds that she gave him. He sat on the edge of the red, fabric auditorium seat, scared to blink and get left behind. He wanted to capture the feeling and keep it forever. And he has. He’s kept it. And everytime she gives him another taste, a smile, a kiss, a laugh, a touch, he goes back to being alone in the theater, experiencing euphoria for the very first time.

If that’s the feeling Tashi gives Heaven, then he’s very jealous. And he wants it.

And that’s another new feeling the girls introduced him to. He’d never wanted something like her…or…uh them.

Jealousy. Longing. Needing.

Art knew exactly what Patrick was talking about when he said he liked seeing him fired up about something. Because, as much as he loves tennis, it didn’t make his blood boil. It didn’t make his stomach muscles clench with intensity. He didn’t feel that satisfying nervous burn. Not until…

Art needs to test a theory.

He scratches the back of his head, looking down at his sneakers before clearing his throat. “Uh, so, Hev, I’ve got a match this afternoon. And, I know things are weird right now, so you might think I’m a dick for even asking-”

“Arthur.”

“Come watch me play.” He blurts. Heaven’s eyes widen and he finds himself taking a tentative step forward as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “I don’t know, I just figured…I mean, you might miss watching someone play, with Tashi taking a break and Patrick being…himself.” When Heaven continues to look unsure, Art puts himself out there again, trying to entice her the way he knows how. He moves to stand in front of where she’s seated on the bed, crouching to be just below her level. “When I win it will be for you. I’d like you to be there.” Art carefully tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, before grabbing her chin between his thumb and index finger, moving her face around playfully. “As a friend.”

As a friend. That’s exactly what Heaven repeats to herself, over and over when she carries her bags over to the tennis courts, placing one foot onto the metal bleacher and opting to sit in the seats down on the front to rows. Just so she can see better. And it’ll be easier to slip out before the match is over. Besides, she couldn’t bring herself to sit with the women’s tennis players towards the top. All she could think of when she saw them was that it should have been one of their legs cracking instead of Tashi’s and it didn’t exactly make her feel like a great person.

She slips into the seat and crosses her legs, struggling as she pushes her overnight bag under the low seat.

“Hey, let me help you.” A blonde girl crouches beside her, pushing along with Heaven and getting the back underneath.

“Oh,” Heaven offers her a bright smile. “Thanks, I have to head back to my school after this so I have all my shit with me, didn’t think I was gonna come.”

“No problem,” the girl chirps, plopping down into the seat next to Heaven. “Sara. Myles’ girlfriend, he’s playing after this first match. Whose girlfriend are you?”

Tashi’s name is on the tip of her tongue. She swears it is. But the girl is clearly talking about the players that were starting to filter in, with their red shirts that Heaven could see fitting Art perfectly from her seat. His blond curls flopping as his head moves side to side, she knows he’s looking for her. Heaven gives a soft wave to catch his attention and can’t help but match his smile when he spots her, waving back. “I’m not dating a player.”

“Well these are girlfriend seats, so don’t let anyone else hear you say that.” Sara says lightly, pulling her shades down over her eyes.

Heaven turns to look at her, tearing her eyes away from Art stretching. “What the hell are girlfriend seats?”

“They’re seats…where girlfriends sit?” The girl sits up to get a pixelated picture of her boyfriend on her razor. “You know, the players’ girls sit, so they can see them. No wonder I don’t recognize you, you’re a plant.”

“I’m Heaven, I don’t go here, I’m just watching my friend before I go back to UCLA.”

“Oh, shit,” Sara’s eyes widen in realization. “You’re Donaldson’s girl right? Myles’ cousin Kyle, trust me I know the names kill me too, but he was saying how Donaldson brought his hot girlfriend out with them the other night and was dick trying to show off for her.”

“Again, we’re friends, m’not his girl.”

“Hey, Hev!” Sara ducks her head, watching out of her peripheral as Art jogs over, racket in hand, pushing up onto the fence so he could be eye level with Heaven. “Match is about to start, kiss for good luck?” He grins, holding his racket handle out to her. He playfully pouts until she gives in, leaning forward and pressing her glossed lips to the handle, looking at Art through her lashes. The blond wets his bottom lip and pulls the racket back. “Eyes on me, okay?”

“Whatever, just remember you promised me a win.” Heaven giggles, crossing her arms as she settles back into her seat. Art beams even wider, hopping down off of the fence and jogging backwards back to where the players sit. “And spit out your gum!”

Faintly, she could hear Art’s teammates reprimanding him for ‘making the rest of them look bad’ and she smiles to herself, bringing a hand up to play with her name chain.

“Girl.” Sara snorts.

“Just friends.”

“Yeah sure.” the blonde girl shrugs, pushing her shades back down. “Don’t tell me, tell Donaldson.”

Art delivers a win, as promised. It wasn’t hard, really. One thing Patrick had gotten right was that college kids weren’t really much competition. And maybe he had some very good motivation sitting out in the crowd with her eyes locked on him. So he showed off a little, served a little harder, made the other guy run a little bit more than necessary. He could always explain that away as wanting to impress his coach and any possible reps looking to endorse him. And sure, he might’ve looked over at her for each point he wrenched out of the poor guy from Temple’s hands but…well he didn’t have an excuse for that other than it gave him a rush knowing that she is sitting pretty, legs crossed, perched with the other girlfriends, watching him, rooting for him, breathing heavy for him.

When matchpoint is declared his, Art smiles cockily, strolling up to the net and shaking hands with his opponent before making his way over to Heaven again, this time climbing completely over the fence, leaving behind his tennis bag on the opposite side of the court. This time she stands, catching him a little as he lands in the small space in front of her and the fence. “Well?” he pants, lifting his hat to adjust his hair before placing it back on his head.

“Well, what? You want me to say congratulations?” Heaven grins, sweeping some sweat that dripped from his forehead off of his cheek. “Congratulations, Arthur.” she hums.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah,” Sarah calls from her seat, smiling smugly up at the pair. “Good job, Donaldson. Why don’t you try to pass some of that mojo to Myles, huh? Getting kinda tired of coming out to these things just to watch you play.”

“I’ve got a lucky charm, that’s all.” Art nudges Heaven, wrapping an arm around her waist so she doesn’t stumble too far away from him.

“Yeah, so, lucky, or the other guy sucks and Art is good-”

“No, I think you’re my lucky charm, don’t try to ruin it-” Art laughs, taking his hat off again, his messy blond hair falling all over as he places it on Heaven’s head, holding her to him as she squirms.

“Ew, Arthur, it's sweaty!”

“It’s the fruit of my labor, Hev, that win was for you!”

Sarah scoffs, shaking her head as she watches the pair, leaning away to avoid getting hit when Art lifts Heaven, swinging her to the opposite side of him to help her get to the steps before grabbing her bags. As she sees him guide her by her waist down the bleachers, both of them cheesing as they chat as if no one else was there and she realizes that Art is leaving the courts before his fellow teammates play, Sarah commends her own instincts.

And then she makes a note to herself to start saving the returning girlfriend seat next to hers for Heaven. The other girls were sort’ve bitches, anyway.

“So, I should head back.” Heaven leans back against the driver door of her car, clasping her hands together behind her. “But, this got my mind off of things for a little, so thank you.”

“It’s what friends are for.” Art laughs, stepping in front of her, hand behind his neck.

“Pft, you’re such a dick. Aren’t you supposed to be the nice one?”

“I am nice.” he smiles, rocking on his feet, feeling his chest tighten as Heaven bites her rose petal bottom lip again. His eyes soften as he stares down at her delicate features and thinks about how right things feel when they’re together. How he hasn’t felt this good in…ever. “So nice, I’m not gonna say what I want to say. I’m just gonna say,” he takes her hand gently, toying with her fingers, pushing her thumb with his own, “goodnight.”

Heaven’s lips part, and looking up into his eyes, how kindly he looks down at her. What she can see in them almost does it. She almost got lost, just like that. But a buzz in her jacket pocket has her grabbing her phone and the message has her taking a small step backward and placing her hand on her door handle. “Goodbye, Art.”

“One two three, one two three, and Peter please keep up with Heaven, Heaven a little less hatred on your face, thank you, two three and up, I want her in the air-” Madame Fontaine claps her hands to the pace of the movements she wants from her two leads, following them as they move across the floor. Heaven holds her breath as she’s lifted into the air for two counts before she’s slid down Peter’s body, draping herself across him romantically as he kneels to accommodate her. “Yes, that is exactly it. Now kiss.”

Heaven feels herself wince, squeezing her eyes shut as she feels Peter’s lips press against hers.

“Still doesn’t look good, Madame.” Fallon calls from her seat.

“No, no it doesn’t, does it? You two, what’s the issue, tu veux m'humilier et me faire me suicider ou quoi?”

“No, Madame,” Heaven huffs, swatting Peter’s hand away from her waist. “We don’t want to humiliate you or make you kill yourself, I don’t understand why we have to do the version with the kiss, there are plenty of variations without it-”

“You understood her?” Peter squints at the girl next to him before huffing, “Fine, whatever, MacMillan intended for there to be passion between Romeo and Juliet, and you curl your lip up everytime I kiss you.”

“I don’t like doing it.” Heaven shrugs. “I’m a professional dancer, not a porn star, and I’m playing a 15 year old girl, I don’t know why any sane, adult audience would want to watch me lay on top and kiss a grown man and then kill myself to be with him-”

“We open tonight. We are doing the ballet as we rehearsed, you two will kiss and you will tolerate it. Practice if you must, pretend he’s someone else, take a shot before you do it, I don’t care.”

“Madame, we’re 19.”

“Oh please.” The older woman storms off, her assistant behind her and the two dancers are left side by side.

“So…should we practice?”

“Absolutely fucking not, thank you very much.” Heaven pushes past Peter, snatching her dance bag from the floor. “You’re gonna practice until your knees bleed for the next hour and then you’re gonna soak in the athletic building so you’re actually ready for tonight and I’m gonna go…I don’t know, pray.”

As Heaven storms away, dramatically slamming the theater door behind her, she can recognize she was in a bitchy mood. She felt like she had a lot of shit to be annoyed about and was frankly pissed to feel her world collapsing around her on the first night of her first college role in which she’s the fucking prima.

First, she once again demonstrated to herself that she has absolutely no fucking self control when it comes to Art Donaldson, a truth that she’s learned about herself that really agitates her. She discovered this as she struggled into the routine of only responding to the blond every couple of days and found herself sitting up in the privacy of her own dorm, reading and rereading every message she sent, the bright light of her phone shining brightly on her shame.

Second, she still hadn’t heard from her boyfriend (ex?), Patrick. She’d watched a couple of his matches while she was on the treadmill at the gym and as he does, he wins the first two rounds only to lose in the third. He found time to get lazy in his tennis playing but failed to pick up his goddamn phone and call either of his girlfriends.

Which leads to the third thing haunting her. Tashi is fucking irritable as shit. Apparently, surgery does not agree with her, because Tashi had been crabby for the last few days. It started with the day of Art’s match when she’d sent her perfectly timed message. 'Did he win?' It was like she was taunting her. Like Tashi knew Heaven couldn't stay away. It pisses Heaven off even more that she was right. Then Tashi had moved on to venting about how Patrick was absolutely wasting his talent, how the fact that he’s not winning pisses her off even more now that she can’t play. How she’s going pro as soon as she gets the chance because if this injury told her anything, it was that there was no time to wait. How now that she’s got time on her hands, she’s been thinking more about her plan for her life and Heaven’s.

And lastly, the real kicker, what had Heaven gritting her teeth as she did bar warmups this morning, was that fucking phone call. The one from her mother that she received at 5:00am when she was stretching. The one where her mother said she wouldn’t be able to make it to her first night of her first ballet in college in which she’s the fucking prima. And when she expressed her disappointment, Beatrice responded ‘It’s just a school ballet, I’ll come to your first professional one.’

So, yep, she was in a shitty fucking mood.

But she wouldn’t let all of that stop her debut as an adult dancer. She was going to be a pro, she was going to do it her way, even if the 5 seats she had reserved in the front row were empty.

So, she sits at the vanity backstage, putting her hair into Juliet’s first hairstyle. She listens to music that reminds her of when she was 15 to get into the right headspace as she puts blush on her cheeks. She offers Peter a soft smile when she sees him in his costume and forces herself to try to look at him the right way. Because the things that are pissing her off don’t matter right now. Right now, all there is is Juliet.

It doesn’t matter if Heaven’s smile is fake as the lights shine down on her when she first prances her way onto the stage. Juliet’s smile is real. It’s meaningless if Heaven’s tears are real when she squints and sees that her mother’s seat is indeed empty, her stepfather attempting to send her a thumbs up to distract from the woman’s absence. And so what, if Heaven can’t go to her happy place as she solos because she sees both Patrick and Tashi’s seats are empty as well. As long as she can still breezily get through her motions, as long as it looks beautiful for the crowd, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter.

And it definitely doesn’t matter, that as she came out of her fake balcony in her sleep gown to blow everyone’s minds with the most loving, fucking passionate pas de deux they’d ever seen, she accidentally caught eyes with Art in the audience, staring up at her intensely.

So she doesn’t have to feel guilty that when she kissed Peter, she envisioned him with curly blond hair and heterochromatic eyes. Or the fact that Madame Fontaine told her when she stepped off stage to change into her next costume that it was the most romantic, realistic kiss she’d ever seen.

Does Art know he's stupid? Absolutely. He's never dared call himself intelligent. He didn't need the little voice that sounds like Patrick calling him pussywhipped. He knows. But, he still found himself on the highway, traveling at a breakneck speed, eyeing the bouquet of flowers that he has placed in the seat.

He'd known Heaven was serious about this whole friend thing. She's so good, and kind. And she cares so much about Tashi and Patrick. But Art knows he can treat her better. He's sure of it. Despite what he knows to be true, Art refuses to pressure her...anymore. He'd just rely on the fact that if they were supposed to be together like he believed they should be, they would be. Eventually. Soon. Hopefully.

So he came fully ready to play the dutiful friend. He was gonna stand politely by as Heaven leapt into Patrick's arms after the show. Art was gonna smile politely as she and Tashi shared kisses and exchanged giggles as they talked about inside jokes that they only understood. But then he got there. He'd been directed to the front where the two premier dancers families were arranged to sit and found three empty seats separating him from a man with peppered hair and smart looking glasses who had his own bouquet of flowers across his lap and a Chanel gift bag next to his feet. As he inches into his seat the man looks at him with a smile.

"You must be Patrick. I'm Heaven's stepfather, Luca Whitlock, I'm sorry I missed you at her birthday." The older man holds his hand out to Art with a kind smile. "Nice to meet you."

Art offers him his own awkward grin, accepting the tight squeeze of the man's hand. "Uh, no, I'm Heaven's friend, Art. It's really nice to meet you Mr. Whitlock."

"You as well." The man lifts his wrist to check his watch. "Show is meant to start in a few minutes, hopefully he will be here shortly. Stellina won't like for her boyfriend to be late.

Art shifts uncomfortably again, checking his phone. Patrick had reached out to him a couple days after Tashi's injuries. Mostly to make insults thinly veiled as jokes, clearly still pissed that he yelled at him. Art responded with short, one worded messages.

It's the least they'd ever spoken since they'd met.

The guilt he feels for his part in this fight they were having is very real. But it was currently heavily outweighed by his annoyance at the fact that his friend was seemingly punishing Heaven by not showing up for her big night. He knew Patrick didn't deserve her, and he was only proving his point.

"Is Tashi with Mrs. Whitlock or..."

"Oh, my, my wife couldn't make it. And Tashi is still...healing. Her mother called right before I was supposed to pick her up."

Oh. "Oh."

As much as he's glad he could be here for Heaven, he knows that Tashi and her mother being there would mean more. His heart aches for her as he settles back into his seat and the lights dim. The pain he feels for her only intensifies when he sees her step out onto the stage. She's beautiful. The perfect Juliet. If anyone would make a man fall in love within a few glances, ready to die at the thought of not being with her, Heaven would be it.

Her eyes are sad as she eyes the empty seats, using them as a tragic point of focus as she completes her expert turns. Behind him he could hear people whispering about how gorgeous the girl playing Juliet was, how talented she is. All Art can think is that they have no idea. They don't know how she's managing to be so elegant, so beautiful, so perfect, even as she's in the type of pain she's in.

Art would do anything to bring the light back into her eyes so they would shine the way the rest of her was.

He loves her.

He knows it. He feels it as her eyes finally make their way to his seat and her smile is a little more real. A little bit of light slips back into her eyes. She dances even more beautifully, more genuinely than before. And his mind is filled with the same thought.

Yes baby, that's right. Eyes on me. I'll make it better. I'll make you happy.

And he means it. Friends or not. Lovers or not.

It's on Heaven's first night of her first ballet in college where she's the fucking prima ballerina that Art makes a vow to himself.

He was gonna dedicate himself to Heaven Whitlock's happiness. No matter what that meant.

3 Years Later (California)(Age: 22):

Tashi shakes her head to herself as she watches Art pace in the kitchen. She brings her coffee to her lips, blowing at the smoke slowly as she observes him from the couch, taking a small sip before setting the mug loudly on the glass coffee table. She rolls her eyes when he doesn’t stop his steadily paced steps across the floor. “You good?”

The blond finally pauses to look at her, jaw clenching and unclenching before he opens his mouth to speak. “This is just different, you know?”

“How? It’s still tennis.”

“It’s pros, Tashi, I’m just nervous.” Art says, running his hand through his blond curls. “These guys are good.”

“You’re fucking good.” She asserts, crossing her arms. “Look, I can’t make you believe in yourself. If you can’t do this, please, let me know now, because I need to know if you’re not going to make this happen. We have a deal.”

Art sighs, planting his hands down on the counter, staring down at the scattered marble with a frown as he tries to get out of his head. Suddenly, he feels a hand slide across his back and an envelope lands on the counter between his hands, into his line of sight.

“Something for you to consider while you decide if you’re gonna fuckin’ play like I know you can.”

With that, Tashi storms out, heels clicking on the hotel room floor and the door beeping as it slams shut behind her. Art stares down at the envelope, reading and rereading the name of the sender.His heart both clenches and races as he thinks about what the 4 little words on the small, insignificant piece of paper could mean for him. How those 4 words and whatever they’re hiding behind them will ruin his life.

The Paris Opera Ballet

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sunnynwanda · 1 year

Text

Turn of events

The bullet ricocheted off of a shiny copper teapot going through Villain’s shoulder.

A fucking teapot.

Where the hell did that thing come from?!

Hero’s blood froze in their veins. Villain wasn’t gonna be happy about this. In fact, they were gonna be pissed beyond imagination for a week. At the very least. Hero did not even mean for this to happen. The bullet was supposed to hit the window and shatter the glass. It was supposed to be Villain’s way out. They were trying to help. For heaven’s sake, why did Hero have to be such a loser?

Villain hissed, throwing an “Are you fucking serious?” glance at Hero and aiming their gun at the ceiling. The moment the lights were gone, Villain vanished in the dark.

Hero wasn’t going to hear the end of this. Ever. Shit.

The officers turn their torches on, scanning the room and running out to the backyard, but Hero knows Villain’s gone. They command the officers to finish up and bid their farewell before hopping on their motorcycle and driving home as fast as they can.

The hallway greets them with deafening silence. Hero is done for. For good. And that’s a fact.

They take a deep breath, bracing themselves before walking into their kitchen.

“Very helpful, thanks,” Villain’s tone is sarcastic. They are seated on the counter, washing the blood off the cloth, and then pressing it against their wound again. “What are you gonna do next? Shoot me in the head so I escape from the goddamn morgue?”

“Baby, I’m sorry,“ Hero starts, their countenance pitiful as they approach. “It wasn’t supposed to...“

“Oh shut up, I know you’re a shitty gunner,“ Villain smirks, allowing their partner to take the cloth from their fingers and examine the wound. ”You only grazed my skin. Aim better next time, and you might have a chance to kill me.“

“God, I’m so sorry,“ Hero whispers over and over again as they tend to the abraded tissues. Villain is quiet most of the time, perhaps still processing the situation. Hero swallows. Their voice is small when they speak. “You can shoot me next time if you want.“

“Why, so you don’t feel bad?“ Villain’s voice is calm in the most unsettling way. A chill runs down Hero’s spine. “Nah, I’d rather have you feeling guilty and looking like a lost puppy every time you catch my eye.”

“Believe me, I feel like shit as is,“ they look up, eyes glazed with tears because the realisation of the possible outcomes starts sinking in. This could have gone wrong in so many ways. They touch Villain’s shoulder with their fingertips, hands trembling. So many ways.

Villain can cope with the pain from the gunshot. They can cope with the discomfort from the wound. They can cope with anything really. Except for that devastated look on Hero’s face. They shake their head, chuckling lightly to ease the tension.

“Cause you couldn’t kill me?” Their tone is mocking, but Hero catches the concern in their eyes.

“Villain, please,” Hero pleads as they finish bandaging Villain’s shoulder and help them off the counter.

“What? I’m injured here, and you’re the one complaining?” Villain retorts, yelping when Hero picks them up bridal style, walking towards the living room of their shared apartment.

“I didn’t mean to shoot at you,” Hero states like it wasn’t painfully obvious to Villain. They place their injured nemesis on the couch, then fetch a blanket.

“Yet here I am dying at my lover’s hands,” Villain presses the back of their hand to their forehead, ever so dramatic. “You know, you could have come up with a better demise for me, out of respect for my brilliant villainous past.”

Hero bites their lip to suppress a grin that’s threatening to spread across their face. “Show off.”

“You love it,” Villain responds with a cocky smile. “Now go get me a coffee. You still gotta make it up to me.” Hero nods, leaving for the kitchen.

Come to think of it, this wasn’t such a terrible turn of events, Villain must admit. They don’t have to go to work, the whole Hero vs Villain gig could use some downtime, and, most importantly, they get to boss Hero around.

By the time Hero returns from the kitchen with a matching pair of steaming coffee cups, Villain has come to the conclusion that this was, in fact, a perfect turn of events. Hero sits down next to them, leaving a feather-light kiss on their temple, and Villain can’t fight the temptation of demanding a back rub. They deserve some pampering. After all, they’re injured.

Masterlist

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theresattrpgforthat · 1 year

Note

(To clarify, I don’t have any preferences on genre or tone here, just budget. Or lack thereof I guess.)

THEME: Free TTRPGs (2/2)

I’m so so glad that you posted two asks because holy shit do I have recommendations. This is the second part, once again organized into different pieces of advice!

4. Unofficial games based on a licensed IP.

Yeah, people do crazy things for the stuff they love, including designing an entire roleplaying game and then releasing it for free! Here’s a few that I’ve found.

Unofficial Hollow Knight RPG, by HKRPG Team.

Vast kingdoms, ancient mysteries, and adversaries far beyond reckoning await you.

The Unofficial Hollow Knight RPG is an original tabletop role-playing system inspired by Team Cherry's hit indie title. In HKRPG, players take the form of daring bugs going on adventures in the strange and wondrous world of Hollow Knight and its insect-populated kingdoms.

What a labour of love this game is. This TTRPG feels dungeon-crawly, which makes sense considering the game it’s designed after. Each bug has hit points, stamina points, and Soul, referring to their magical reserves. Inventory is also tracked, using a pool called Stash. There are three Bug templates available for you to choose: Small, Average and Large, with different benefits and drawbacks for each template. There’s over 100 pages of character traits and abilities, spells, charms and rituals, items and obstacles, which allow for complex character builds.

On the GM side, there’s links to info for settings and NPCs, as well as Lands Beyond, a supplement that allows you to create your own insect kingdoms and gives you four random roll tables to aid you in this creation. If you want to replicate your own little traumatized bug adventure, this game is absolutely for you!

Skyfarer, by Failbetter Games.

Queen Victoria has brought London into the heavens. The High Wilderness stretches out ahead of you; cruel, unwelcoming, and filled with opportunity. Here you make your living as a Skyfarer, working on board a locomotive jury-rigged to fly through these cold skies and raging winds. Your captain has taken you to the Reach, a frontier on the edge of civilization, in search of fame, fortune and adventure.

You will change out here, where the Empire’s light falters and casts deep shadows, where rebels stake their claim on fragments of sky-rock riddled with fungus, where pillagers dig into ruins built by the now-dead sun.

Players form the crew of a spacefaring steam locomotive. Gunners, quartermasters, engineers, signallers – even mascots – are brought to the fore as the Captain is struck down by misfortune and the crew must band together to get out of (or into) many surprising kinds of trouble.

Using a simple dice-based system, Skyfarer allows players and game-masters to easily tell stories set in the Fallen London universe with plenty of climactic moments, tense stand-offs, and grim decisions. As characters risk life and limb, they’ll accrue Peril – the more Peril they have, the greater the chance of them meeting a grisly and permanent end.

This game uses both d6s and d10s, and leans more towards the narrative side: your character qualities are descriptive, and your abilities are abstract representations, titled Iron, Mirrors, Veils and Hearts. You’ll collaboratively come up with your starting situation, and include details like who your Captain is, what the current crisis is, and what kinds of Allies and Antagonists are involved.

One thing that’s really unique about this game is that there’s a character that the GM must play - the Captain, someone who gives orders to others, but for the purpose of this game, can’t carry out their normal duties for some reason or another. Once you set up your characters and determine what your starting scenario looks like, you’re good to go!

5. Playtests.

Sometimes the playtest of a game is released free of charge, with all of its editing errors and without any art. These games won’t be perfect, but they contain rules, as much of the setting as the creator has managed to flesh out so far, and the spark of creativity that can pull you into a fantastic community. Get in early on a playtest and you might find yourself holding the early stages of something truly great - and you’ll get a sense of warmth knowing you got to be part of it.

Aeronauts: Flight After Fall, by Electric Purple Studios.

The world is covered in purple mist, the legacy of some cataclysm long past. Through the haze have risen several powerful city-states, built where the mist is thin enough that they are not constantly besieged by the fog’s lurking horrors. Now airships fly above the mist, and a new era of trade and conflict has begun to bustle in. The city-states, previously only in contact through small trading caravans, are now forced to face the reality of different cultures, different ways of life, and the possibility of war.

Aeronauts: Flight After Fall is a TTRPG of grand quests and small moments, of journeys from the tops of the clouds to the depths of the darkest tunnels. You and your friends tell the story of the crew of a small airship, trying to make their way in a world that is rapidly changing around you. Are you diplomatic envoys endeavoring to build connections, or are you a group of ragtag scoundrels simply trying to survive? It’s up to you.

Aeronauts uses a 3d6 system, and emphasizes narrative role-playing, similar to games like Apocalypse World and Blades in the Dark. When you roll, you add up your dice - a 15 is a critical success, 10-24 is a partial success, and a 9 or less is a failure. You will have access to a pool called Focus, which can add a bonus to your check, as well as tokens, which can be gained using certain actions and spent to alter certain types of rolls. Finally, there is a tool called Kismet, which allows characters to establish details within the narrative, either for their benefit or just to put their own personal stamp on part of the story.

The rules as put out here are simple, but the ways you can use them and your characters go into much more detail, taking up 198 pages in total. There’s rules for different kinds of combat, examples of how to use certain parts of your character sheet, a delve into the lore, and pre-made characters who want to pick up the game sooner rather than later. There’s also a community Discord advertised in case you want to find other players, talk about the game, and get updates about changes as they happen.

The Modern Eldritch, by Moondog Gaming Press.

The Modern Eldritch leads you into a world run by mega-corps headed by eldritch horrors who demand brand loyalty over blood sacrifice, wizards who believe themselves better than worldly governments, and non-profits who leverage vast intelligence networks to find donors. Players take on the roles of average citizens who have had their lives shattered by these systems, and now must journey through this world to fight for some sense of normalcy.

The Modern Eldritch utilizes quick character creation, which revolves around crafting motivations and backstory; a wide skill set and freeform magic system which encourage roleplay and creativity to tackle obstacles; and a unique exhaustion system that invites players to gamble with their own sanity to increase their odds of success.

This PDF starts off with a quick introduction to the world and an outline of some basic concessions that the group should agree on before getting ready to play. Character abilities are ranked from a d4 to a d12, and character skills are ranked from 1 to 5. You’ll be rolling dice pools, and adding up the results to determine whether or not you succeed. You’ll also assign positive and negative elements to your character, to flesh them out and give them exploitable weaknesses - this is an eldritch horror game, after all.

This game is also supported by a Discord server, and also provides a link to a Playtest Survey, where you can send in your feedback for future edits! My only complaint is that the PDF takes a little bit long to load - it takes patience!

6. SRDs - write your own game!

Maybe you have the perfect idea of a game in your head. Maybe you have a setting that you absolutely adore - you just need rules to tell you how to play a character in that setting. Maybe you really really like filling all of your free hours with matching character tropes to game stats and putting together character sheets and writing random tables…. maybe I’m just calling myself out here.

SRDs are tools to help you design your own game in your own setting using rules that have already been sorted out. They will contain advice about the kinds of games that were in the creator’s mind when designing the rules system, and steps through what a character will need. Creators often offer them up for free, out of the kindness of their hearts and the desire to see just how far people can take their rules and bend the genre.

Caltrop Core, by titanomachyRPG.

Ever wondered how to make your own TTRPG? Welcome to v1.0 of Caltrop Core, an introductory game design system using the humble and sharp d4! It's extremely simple and bare bones so anyone can make a game with it, regardless of your experience level! It can have as much or as little complexity as you like.

This game is extremely beginner friendly, and familiarizes you with the core dice-rolling mechanic before introducing you to character building blocks, ways to communicate genre and tone, and optional elements that help characters change the narrative. There’s also an entire collection of Caltrop Core games for you to check out (some of which are free to download!) that really show off what this system can do!

Titanomachy has also released Caltrop Core EX, which they refer to as a “director’s cut” of the regular SRD, and EMERGE8, an SRD that’s designed to help you create your game as you play it. It uses a d8 dice mechanic that takes inspiration from World of Darkness dice pools, as well as a few other tips and tricks that encourage collaboration between players and GM.

VRBS SRD, by David Garrett.

VRBS is an ultralight system for creating highly improvisational role-playing games that reward creative, heroic action. It has a universal conflict resolution mechanic that requires a single six-sided die. In VRBS, characters are defined by what they do, not by abstract statistics. Characters can attempt anything that a creative hero would be able to reasonably accomplish and they either succeed or grow in the process.

The VRBS SRD is easy to understand and is excellent for games that need a tight session with an easy-to-predict end time. It uses only d6’s - the easiest-to-find dice - and sets up your characters to move through three scenes, plus one scene through each member of the group. Throughout the game, they will draw on a pool of Energy. If you finish the final Scene without depleting your Energy, you are sucessful! Run out of energy, you go home. Try again tomorrow.

Full disclosure, I have designed a game using this SRD before - Mischief by Moonlight, a game about small gods getting up to shenanigans inside a museum where their relics have been trapped. (Go ahead and download it for free!)

Finally…

Games I’ve recommended in the past!

Mothership, by Tuesday Knight Games.

IronSworn, by Shawn Tomkin.

Straight to VHS, by Lost Cat Games.

#dnd #tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #asks #free games

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princewatercress · 2 years

Video

youtube

Rapid Reload/Gunner’s Heaven Sony PlayStation 1 Round 6

#PrinceWatercress #let's play #Rapid Reload #Gunner's Heaven #gaming #retrogaming #PS1 #PlayStation 1 #Sony PlayStation 1 #PSX #PlayStation #Sony PlayStation #part 6

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jeanbie · 11 months

Text

LABYRINTH ★ masterlist.

pairing: tolya x reader

warnings: sick mentions, one-sided love, romantic relationships, character death that's a little bit lazy, angst | wc: 6.3k | ♬

note: all mentioned legends are things i briefly looked up and belong to chinese history (specifically the tale of the white snake). hanahaki is a made up disease but you can read more about it here! apologies for mistakes, if any!

★ thank you anonymous for the request!

⏤ Tolya wasn't sure what to be more upset about—the fact that he was suffering with the Hanahaki disease, or the fact that this meant whatever feelings he had for you you didn't reciprocate.

Tolya and Tamar's mother had told them countless Shu legends growing up, so many that they both had their favourites. Tamar always liked the tales of the white snake—her ability to transform into a beautiful human, but to bask in serpent seduction and harbour magical talents. As she grew up, her favourites consisted of battalions and bravery, but Tolya always liked the peaceful tales of kindness and faith, good fortune and health, the beauty of the world stuffed into stanzas and poetic folktales to send him to dizzy sleep and bright dreams. More than his sister, Tolya liked most legends and tales, but he had to confess that some of them scared him—tales of suffering and woe and heartbreak, tales of sickness, tales of misery.

His mother said that learning about all of these legends were as good as life lessons. As a child, that hadn't bore much meaning on his life, not until he grew up a little, lived his life according to his own needs, wants and desires, and consequently threw up two or three white petals.

Tolya knew all about the Hanahaki disease, for it had been one of his least favourite stories. Not once had he ever imagined it would plague his health, but he should have seen it coming when he met you. When Tolya and Tamar joined Nikolai on his pantomime performance as Sturmhond, he hadn't anticipated that you'd play a larger role than the Volkvolny's gunner, agile and quick, passing by in a blur. He wasn't sure exactly when he'd started looking at you differently (after a visit to Shu Han), although Tolya supposed it didn't quite matter anymore.

He was hunched over, staring down at the petals by his feet. They were oval, like lily petals, and for a second, he wasn't sure what he was looking at. Perhaps he was delirious, sleep deprived and seeing shapes in his own sickness. One seaman behind him popped his head over Tolya's shoulder with a bucket to give, but frowned at the white pool of flowers.

"Where'd you get those on here?" they asked. Tolya offered no answer, and it was fortunate that the seaman begged no answers to any more questions. Inside of his chest, Tolya's heart hammered nervously.

How could this be? He wasn't sure what to be more upset about—the fact that he was suffering with the Hanahaki disease, or the fact that this meant whatever feelings Tolya had for you you didn't reciprocate?

A bitter tang lined his mouth, and he knew that the rising sensation in his gullet belonged to vomit this time and not petals. Arching his head over the rim of the bucket, Tolya coughed up the nerves from his stomach, cringing away from the sick as he stared once more at the clean petals between his feet. A splash of seawater trickled through a crack above his head, drowning the petals in a frothy puddle. Tolya stared, willing the petals to disappear into the foamy white of the ocean, but even as the water drained to the next deck, the petals remained, white and damning.

The sky overhead was grey, clotted with storm clouds that ceased to move. Tolya twisted his head up with a frown, wincing as the first spots of rain dripped down onto the deck, sliding down the curve of his forehead.

Unfortunately for the Volkvolny, the storm in the heavens was the least of everyone's concerns—a thick mist sat on the surface of the ocean, cut into by the waves as they lapped up the sides of the ship. Tolya felt like he'd been at sea all of his life, and he stood almost still while other members stumbled over their feet as the vessel turned into the water, fighting the ocean's snarl as it advanced into the mist, where unexpected dangers waited.

The difference between pirates and privateers was the licence, and all the fancy stuff that Tolya didn't understand or care about. Nikolai was always very adamant about the difference, but he likely knew that other ships cared little for the distinction. All they saw was a ship, grand and foreboding on the horizon.

For weeks now, the Volkvolny had been on course tracking a slaver ship. It was immoral to steal children from street alleys and harbours, but this particular ship had a fine collection of booty on board that made the eyes of his friends glisten. Tolya had seen your eyes sparkle too—as a gunner you'd get your fair share of booty, and Tolya felt certain that anything given to him would be inherited to you anyway, simply because you wanted it more than he did, and whatever he did he did to make you happy.

"Steady as she goes," came the gentle warning from above. Nikolai had emerged from below, his eyebrows curled into a tight frown. Tamar busied herself up ahead, fiddling with ropes, meanwhile Tolya searched the deck for the sight of you. He found you standing behind Nikolai, looking equally concerned.

"If the mist gets any thicker, then we're in trouble," you warned. Tolya had arrived by your side as you stared towards the heavy hanging mist. "There's really no way we can stall?"

Nikolai pressed his hand onto your shoulder with a sullen smile. "Believe me, if I could shift the mist myself to make this easier, then I would." His hand tightened in good spirit, and Tolya couldn't help but zero in on the gesture. He turned to him after giving you a smile, and Nikolai observed the displeasure on Tolya's face. "What is it?"

Tolya blinked. You were looking at him too, your worry permanent. "Nothing," he said finally. "I just think that Y/N's right."

Nikolai smiled and looked forward. "You would."

"I'm being serious," Tolya continued. "We've been hunting the Swallow for weeks. By now, they must know we're close behind. They might use this as a way to—"

"If they attack, we'll have the upperhand," Nikolai said. But his voice sounded wary, as if he said the words to convince himself more than anybody else.

Tolya didn't feel like it had convinced him, and judging by the look on your face, it hadn't worked on you either. Nikolai pushed ahead towards Tamar and the others, assisting with the rope to make his presence all the more useful, meanwhile Tolya shuffled closer to you and placed his own hand above your head gently. You looked up while biting your lip.

"What is it, little duck?"

You huffed, pushing into his touch. Feeling your head soften into his hand made Tolya's heart twist with an ache. He knew that you loved him in your own way, but knowing that you didn't love him the way he loved you made the gentle moments with you feel unkind. You'd been his friend since he first stepped on this boat, taken by the wind and the merchant tales and the vast, reckless seas.

When Tolya first realised he loved you, he thought there had been a slight chance that you felt the same. He knew that his presence in a room made you smile the brightest, and you always sought him out in a storm or a row, tucked into his arm safely, protected by his source of life. You belonged in the crook of his neck, in the gap in his hammock. You belonged in his arms, in his hands, in his heart. But Tolya belonged to you in moments, and he knew you cared about him, just not in the same way. Tolya thought the world revolved around you and you alone—you were the entirety of his life, and he was just a part of yours.

"I don't like this," you told him. "Not one bit, I don't like this."

"The storm?" he pried. Tolya knew you didn't enjoy the stormy seas, as much as you loved the ocean and the life of a seaman. You were born to live on the sea, but that didn't make the colossal waves and thunderous crashes any less scary.

You shook your head, moving free from his touch. Tolya let you leave, feeling a tug to follow. "Not just that. This race—the mist is too perfect. I'm not saying it was conjured by them, but they will use it to their advantage." You huffed with irritance, "I told Nikolai about these slavers. Their ship is painted grey to match the storms, they can approach you like a ghost, never seen until it's too late. He's stubborn, he's young. He doesn't know everything."

Nikolai had dreamt of the sea and its open promises of freedom. Unlike you, who had been raised in ship harbours and in boats, Nikolai had been fed with a silver spoon in Ravka and took the sea as his calling. He was good at it, and make no mistake, both you and Tolya loved and respected him, but even Tolya had to confess that in moments of danger, most of the seamen looked to you for support. Nikolai—Sturmhond—would come first, but should he ever fall, you were his next best successor, his heir, his unmentioned mentor.

More than that, you were Tolya's left-hand, second to only his sister. Tolya couldn't picture his life without you in it, which he supposed only made the churning in his chest even more pathetic.

Knowing there would be nothing he could say to ease your worries, Tolya settled his hand on the nape of your neck and rubbed the nerves away. He watched quietly as you leaned closer to his hand, closing your eyes with a calming exhale through your nose and then pushing forward in Nikolai's direction. He watched you leave in silence—what was worse? The fact that he loved you and you didn't love him back, or the fact that he had to hurl flowers as an eternal reminder until either you changed your mind, he found a medic somehow willing to cut him open and take the flowers out, or until one of you died?

At the mere thought of the latter, Tolya shuddered and felt the breeze kiss goosebumps up his skin. The gesture was almost comforting, romantic; he watched the deck fill with seamen attentive to the looming mists and fell to his position, hoping the business of his job would keep him distracted enough that he wouldn't feel the need to cough up anymore white petals.

But to no avail.

Very narrowly avoiding Miradi on his way across the ship, Tolya lifted himself up over the side of the Volkvolny and allowed a flurry of petals to lift up his throat and out of his mouth, spilling into the ocean with the seafoam and seaweed. He hoped it would sink with the current, out of view of anyone nearby, but he should have suspected that Tamar would be close behind, concerned by his sudden sickness.

"Since when are you seasick?" she asked accusingly, patting him on the back. As if out of morbid curiosity, Tamar arched over the side to peer down at his vomit, surprised by the sight of nothing but sea. She had the idea to turn away until Tolya spoke next.

"I'm not. I just—" Out came another wave of petals. Tamar stared with shock at the white stream hitting the surface of the waves with a spit, and then she looked over at her brother with wide eyes. He coughed, heaving the dryness of his throat and then looking over at Tamar with an almost guilty expression on his face. "I—"

"How long?" Tamar asked.

Tolya stayed quiet, drying his mouth with his saliva and catching his breath. "Not long."

"Days?"

"A couple of weeks."

Tamar gawked. "Weeks?"

Tolya sniffed. He'd done a pretty good job at keeping his affliction hidden from just about everybody on board the Volkvolny. Tamar was the safest person to know, but it still made it more real, more serious.

"It's fine," he said weakly, hoping that Tamar might spare him the humiliation and leave it there.

For a second, it looked like she might, but then she bit her lip and looked up at him worriedly.

"Is it…" she started, trailing off. "Her?"

Tolya knew who she meant. He glanced in your direction briefly and then back at Tamar: "You can't say anything."

Tamar looked wounded. "It might help. In all the stories our mother used to tell us, they—"

"The last thing I want is for her to like me out of pity, Tamar," Tolya replied quietly, gently too but stern enough to keep her quiet. "And I don't think it works like that. The feelings have to be natural. And she doesn't like me like that."

"You don't know tha—"

"I wouldn't have Hanahaki if she did," Tolya said firmly, and Tamar silenced, mostly because he was right.

It didn't matter if he went up to you and proclaimed his love, mentioning he was suffering with Hanahaki because of your unreturned feelings. The choice to be in love with someone, with him, was yours to make, and forcing your hand wouldn't chase away the petals. He didn't think there was anything he could do now to change your feelings, not unless he died, maybe. But if he died, then it wouldn't make any difference. Tolya just wished none of it had happened in the first place. More than anything, he wanted the petals to go away, to wither and die in his lungs. He wished he'd been more on guard with his feelings, only dishing them out to those who could give it back.

Loving you was a game of self-hatred, but it wasn't like he could turn those feelings off, either.

After a pregnant pause, Tamar spoke again. "What're you gonna do?"

Tolya sighed again. "Ignore it. Endure it. No medic in their right mind will do the surgery to get rid of them—Saints, even I didn't think this was real until I coughed up my first petal. So, I'm just going to have to live with it somehow."

"They might," Tamar offered, but Tolya supposed she was just trying to be supportive, trying to lessen the blow somehow. "We could tell Nikolai. There might be someone in Ravka, someone trustworthy—"

"I just want to forget about it," Tolya said. Suddenly, he amended it, "and not through some sketchy surgery. Look, we've got work to do. Nikolai wants to push into the mist to find the Swallow within the next day. We shouldn't slow him down."

Tamar nodded slightly. She wanted to say more, but she knew it would be pointless. Even if there was someone in Ravka to do the job, it could seriously alter Tolya's feelings for you in general. Even if you didn't love him romantically, you loved him nonetheless.

The surgery, from what Tamar gathered from those stories long ago, not only rid the petals from the lungs but it also helped wipe away any unwanted feelings. The stories never covered those parts—what if Tolya's whole opinion on you changed? What if he didn't even want to be around you anymore? Somehow, she knew that would be worse to Tolya than him dying or it just not working.

She cast another short glance to the waves and then pushed herself from the sides and back towards the buzz of life, craning her head to hear the waves lapping under the vessel, the voices of the boat so quiet that her thoughts took initiative.

Tolya threw up a total of eight times through the night as the Volkvolny pushed deeper through the thick and wet mist hanging in the distance. He wasn't sure how long he could keep up the bad stomach act to keep the crew at bay, not forgetting you as you trailed after him worried about his condition. The last thing Tolya needed was you seeing the flowers—you'd know, or you'd think he was in love with someone else, both equally awful possibilities.

Around twenty minutes ago, the Volkvolny crept silently through the cloud of mist and was now completely surrounded. The mere sight of you pacing near the front of the ship made his insides churn, and he barely managed to stumble over the sides to release the new load of flowers. Tamar had done her best to shield him from view, but thankfully, everybody seemed preoccupied in the still cover of the mist, silent and alert for signs of the Swallow.

The Swallow was unlike any other ship they'd gone after. Painted white and silver and decorated with a litter of stolen gemstones and booty, the Swallow liked to go invisible under heavy rain clouds, perfect for storms that frequented the channel they sailed through. Nikolai had heard rumours of its dodgy dealings, and its insane stories of trafficking and slavery and expensive booty, but finding it was a challenge in itself. Now, they could be anywhere, beyond or behind, and the thin visibility did nothing to ease the anxiety of the crew on board.

Tolya spared a glance at Nikolai. Even he looked nervous—maybe he was wishing he'd listened to your warnings. Back at the front of the ship, Tolya spied your pacing figure and approached slowly.

He closed in with a gentle hand on your elbow, and you turned with a jump. He tried to smile, but the worry on your face had his eyebrows knitting together.

"Fear not," he said gently, rubbing small circles across the bone of your elbow. "We'll be fine."

You nodded slightly. "Yeah." Although you didn't sound convinced.

Tolya's eyes scanned your face, mapping out your features and concerns. Just looking at your face made his heart leap, a fluttering sensation digging deeper within. Becoming aware of the feeling made it more real, and only brought the flowers up faster; Tolya swallowed thickly and looked away.

"How are you feeling?"

Then, he looked back at you, feeling his heart in his throat—or was that flower petals?—at your pointed concern for his well being.

"Not bad," he said in reply. "Just under the weather."

You smiled at that. "Then go below."

"No, I think you need me to protect you from the mist and the Swallow," Tolya said.

Your smile widened. "Oh, definitely. I'm a damsel, I couldn't be here without the surety of you coming to my rescue, should I be kidnapped."

"Not that I'd ever let that happen," Tolya grinned.

"Alls well," you replied, angling away with a feisty bounce, widening Tolya's grin. "I'd die before anyone could steal and auction me off somewhere."

The smile faltered on Tolya's face. Just the thought of you being dead was enough to raise the petals to his throat, where he could feel them sticking to the walls of his gullet. He couldn't throw up now—not now, not here. He twisted away, half stepping to the side of the boat where he leaned over once again, hoping to remove the evidence before anybody could witness it.

He kept his eyes open as he spewed the flowers, watching them disappear into the ocean, sucked down by the pull of the water. Tolya felt his heart hammering in his chest when he felt your hand on his shoulders, coaxing him back to the world. His eyes rolled, his body light—and more flowers came up, spilling from his lips, pooling in the water.

Tolya knew you'd seen. There would be no hiding it, no denying it. There would be no prolonged suffering, no secrets, and there would be no way to disappear to avoid confronting it. Tolya let the last few petals tumble out before he looked up, far into the misty nothingness that surrounded the Volkvolny, until he had no option but to turn to you and await judgement.

The surprise on your face was blatant. With wide eyes, you stared at Tolya in confusion.

"What just happened?" you asked, confused. It struck Tolya, then, that you had no idea what Hanahaki disease was. It didn't exist in your bedtime stories, nor in your nightmares. Tolya considered lying.

He could try and convince you that you saw wrong. Maybe the mist was getting to your mind, warping your vision; Tolya didn't want to lie to you, though. It's not like lying would make the problem go away. Questions would remain, heartbreak prolonged. At least if he was honest, the issue might become more manageable. He wouldn't have to tell you who or why.

"It's a Shu story, or, well, I guess it is actually real," Tolya began to explain. "It's called Hanahaki disease. And I—"

"I know of it," you replied quietly, surprising him. "Some Shu pirates shared these stories when we visited for the light shows last autumn. It happens when you love someone who doesn't love you back…" and then, the words died in your mouth. You fidgeted from foot to foot, staring at him almost awkwardly. "You—?"

"Yes," he replied right away.

"Who?" you asked breathlessly. Tolya had himself convinced that he heard jealousy in your voice. But, he knew that couldn't be true, otherwise he wouldn't be throwing up flowers every day.

Tolya wrestled with the truth, offering white lies. "Someone from my childhood. I saw them again in Shu Han."

"You've had this all your life? Or since the last visit?"

His stomach twisted. "Since the last visit." It wasn't a lie—the flowers had only appeared after they left Shu Han, although it had nothing to do with a childhood sweetheart. He examined the look on your face, the twist in your features. "Why…do you look angry?"

There was a small stretch of silence before you spoke. "I don't know." Then, you glanced at the sea.

"Are you…" Tolya sucked in a breath, as if baiting himself into disappointment, "...upset by that?"

You continued to look out across the sea. Then: "I don't know how I feel about it."

His heart dropped, like it had just landed from a towering wave onto the sea below. Hanahaki was a bedtime story just a few weeks ago, and he reckoned there was more to it than what his mother might have said when he was little. It was blatantly clear that you did not love him back, hence the flowers, but why would you be jealous if there was nothing there at all, no spark you felt for him?

Tolya's mind raced. You were jealous, maybe, or even upset at the thought of Tolya loving somebody else. It was too late to amend the lie. Tolya, at once, thought of all the things this might mean: maybe you were just jealous that Tolya might one day leave the Volkvolny for this imaginary childhood love, or maybe you just didn't want him to settle with anybody, had an unspoken hatred for love and all things related. Maybe you had unestablished feelings for him that you didn't understand, ones that weren't powerful enough to be love but not insignificant enough to make you feel strange about him being with someone else? If that was the case, then could the disease be cured? Could you learn to love, eventually return the feelings, without him ever being honest about his unrequited love? Or maybe your jealousy was platonic, a fear of losing him, or familial, a fear of whoever he loves not being good enough?

Tolya was so lost in thought that he barely heard the call of the seamen behind. A scrawny seaman in the nest above had called something, but he didn't know what. He blinked, watching you scurry away across the deck and up to the poop deck, transitioning into your role. Ship spotted. He looked over the horizon, almost missing the outline of another vessel sailing across the sharp sea. The Swallow, looming closer.

The squaller's onboard hurried to tend to the sails, meanwhile Tolya positioned himself alongside the deck, Tamar flanking him. The ship leaned dangerously to the right, and he stumbled to keep balance as someone caught hold of the wheel. He tried to focus on your voice calling commands to those on the deck, occasionally hearing you poke your head below to the two seamen positioned near the emergency cannons. Nikolai never liked making use of his cannons, not when he had other amazing gadgets and weapons to utilise, but as the Swallow crept closer, you commanded the cannon operators to their positions, measuring out exact amounts of gunpowder.

The upper decks were chaotic, and the Swallow was fresh in sight. Tolya's heart stammered, but he slowed it down with heavy breathing, trying to locate you in the crowd of the ship. You were gone, out of sight, and his stomach churned again. With the impending attack of the Swallow inching closer, he put his mind off the idea of throwing up and looked at the closing danger.

Around them, the wind whipped, water splashing over the sides and onto the deck, pooling around Tolya's boots. The Swallow was now virtually at the Volkvolny's side, and he heard your faint voice shout, "Fire!" and the applause of cannon fire burst out. Decked with top-of-the-range Grisha tech, the cannons sounded like machine artillery, rapidly bursting into the side of the Swallow. It veered from left to right on the twisting ocean surface, teetering closer and closer to the Volkvolny. It clinked the side, and within minutes, enemies poured in.

"All hands engage!"

Tolya jumped into action, putting his mind off trying to find you and instead trying to focus solely on the task at hand. Busy with the task of evading his crew from capture or death, Tolya poured himself into his efforts, but thoughts of you prevailed. He could tell your heartbeat out of everyone else's, hammering, a reminder of your life. He felt like he couldn't breathe at the idea of you being away from him, somewhere beyond his vision, and the petals threatened to rise up from his lungs again.

The ship lurched with the force of the enemy's cannon, sending splinters of wood into the air, barely skidding across the surface of the deck. Nikolai scowled from his post at the audacity of another ship trying to destroy his own—luckily the Volkvolny was in dire need of a makeover once this matter was dealt with, but it didn't make the situation any less stressful and frustrating.

As if by command of the Swallow, the ship teetered in the wind from left to right, the wind so strong it had Tolya looking from side to side in a daze. Mountainous waves swept over the two ships, the storm brewing over their heads. There was no room for retreat, and with his heart in his throat, Tolya surged forward to thwart enemy invaders in their tracks onboard the Volkvolny. Nikolai's arsenal of weapons emerged in full, a choir of noise and anger, and Tolya barely ducked in time before catching a glimpse of a razor sharp arrow cutting through the air past his ear. It burrowed itself in the neck of a man just a few steps away.

Biding time, Tolya ducked out of the way as thick, black smoke crept along the deck, and he frantically searched the expanse of the ship searching for you. For a moment, he mistook Nadine as you, moving forward, until he spotted you jump past him in a hurry, calling orders to several other seamen at your command who seemed all the more eager to race into battle. He felt his heart throbbing in his gullet, the petals close to the surface—he swallowed them down.

The Volkvolny's crew advanced to the Swallow, crossing narrow planks and fighting poor balance as sharp and jagged hooks pushed from small windows on the side of the ship and into the unsuspecting Swallow. Knotted together, with nowhere to run, it would be now or never for the Volkvolny to put an end to the Swallow's unlawful ways. Tolya saw you cross enemy lines and without hesitation moved to follow, shadowed by several other seamen. A squaller appeared amongst enemy lines, sending a gust of sharp wind in your direction, and without thinking, Tolya raised his hands and with the flick of a wrist, the squaller was choking up, feeling the air crush in their lungs.

He needed to find you. More than anything, Tolya needed to be near you, ensuring your safety. He didn't care if that put him in the firing line.

An enemy crewmember attempted to manipulate the sails to wrench away from the iron clasp of the Volkvolny, but Tamar put him out of action with a grunt and shove of her long spear. Heartrending was hard work at the best of times, and she gave Tolya a warning stare, having noticed him crush the ribs and lungs of someone just moments before. It wasn't his way—she knew he was doing it out of protective instincts, but sometimes, instincts made you sloppy, protectiveness made you weak.

Shrouded in mist, Tolya felt the Swallow buck against the water, sinking slowly. Nikolai's master craftwork had punctured holes in the belly of the ship, water flooding into the lower sections of the ship. Foamy waves filled each cabinet, each floor, until it was swallowed whole. It gurgled like a drowning man, and Tolya's eyes flickered up to where you'd last stood, and he saw nothing but empty space. His heart raced, and with a cough, he spat out one single petal. He didn't even have time to feel sorrow about it, instead just stepping over it and heading through the smokey ruins of the Swallow.

A yell from behind him signalled that Nikolai and someone else had captured their captain—whatever else the seamen were doing could halt. The Swallow would succumb to the hungry ocean, becoming a decoration for the fish below, food for the salty mouth of the big and expansive sea. There was no need to fight, and no need to prolong the violence. Tolya stood there, breathing heavily, as his eyes scanned the deck. Through the thick coverage of smoke, he thought it would be impossible to see you, until he did.

He choked at the sight. As you pushed off an enemy, you stumbled, falling face first on the watery deck, choking on the salty liquid that filled your lungs. Not one enemy, but two—Tolya made quick work on the one snaking a hand around your foot, pulling you to the slanted edge, as if prepared to throw you over. Tolya heard his heart slowing as he put an end to the man dragging you away, and as you spluttered out the water with a desperate gasp, the other enemy grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you back, a blade against your throat. Everything happened in flashes; Tolya couldn't breathe.

The blade dug into the front of your neck, and Tolya saw blood spilling around the edge as he, without any hesitation, pushed his hands forward to cut off the beat of the man's heart. He choked, gasping for air, feeling the pressure of his heart squish into a flat surface, and Tolya thought that would be the end, that everything would be fine. As the man began to fall, the blade slipped across your neck, cutting into the flesh and opening up a flood of blood, pouring out like a waterfall. Tolya didn't even have the ability to scream.

"Man down!"

The roaring call of a seaman nearby had three or four Volkvolny crew members surging forward to pick you up, appearing out of nowhere like angels. Tolya staggered forward, his mind racing, his footwork sloppy. With Tamar guiding his arm, Tolya made it across to the Volkvolny, seeking you out on the deck you were laying flat on. Without meaning to, he shoved past the forming crowd, immediately falling to his knees and pressing his hands against your neck, as if to prevent the blood from spilling out.

Your eyes were wide, bloodshot and scared, and Tolya blinked several times in shock. There was nothing to say—nothing adequate. He could say you were fine, but you blubbered, unable to speak, unable to do anything but look at him, afraid and ready to die. Tolya cried once, his voice hoarse as if his own throat had been cut, and he applied greater pressure with one hand to make up for the other pulling away and stroking your hair. He didn't know how much longer he had, you had, until death arrived. He stared at you, horrified, guilt building up in his stomach. The petals fluttering like wild butterflies, uncontrollable, the tickling sensation stinging his insides.

"Oh," he managed out, lost for words. When he said he wanted all of this to end, he never meant like this. How could this have happened? And so fast, so soon, like a cruel joke? "Oh, Saints, oh—" He closed his eyes, feeling his body start to tremble. You gargled again, and he looked back at you immediately. What could he possibly say?

He sniffled, his heart in his mouth around the words, "It's you. It was always you, it will always be you."

Tolya hoped you knew what that meant. There was no notion of understanding in your eyes, no expression at all; nothing but nothingness as the life vanished from your face, your eyelids still and half-lidded, your whole body limp across his knees as the water lapped across your hair, hungry to take you to your bed of coral and darkness, a home calling you back as Tolya held you close, unable to say goodbye, unable to accept that you were gone. One moment you had been there, under his hands, all nervous smiles, clueless feelings, and the next moment you were gone, empty and covered with blood, a phantom on the Volkvolny ready to dance into the mist.

As several others prepared your body for the funeral at sea, Tolya could do nothing to keep his sickness down. He did more than spew petals, gradually only throwing up his breakfast, whatever food he'd been forced to eat by Tamar, and stomach bile and acid that sat on top of the eerily still water, refusing to be washed away. Hours and hours he spent hunched over the side of the ship, or over a bucket in Nikolai's quarters. The sight of his own hammock made the knots in his stomach tighten, and the only place he found solace was here, staring out of the smashed window in this little office, thinking of everything and anything.

Tolya hadn't thrown up petals in a few hours. He didn't want to acknowledge the lack of flowers in his vomit. Literally only yesterday, Tolya had wished the flowers away, but now he wanted nothing more but for them to return, to still be blooming across his lungs, smiling up from a puddle between his feet. The flowers were a reminder of your life, that you were still here, alive and well. He'd rather be throwing up petals and pining over you as you busied yourself on the ship. Now, his chest felt hollow for more than one reason.

As the Volkvolny advanced in silence back towards the mainland, Tolya felt like none of it was real, too preoccupied with his thoughts to even respond to questions, to think about the reality of his life. How could he begin to adjust without you being there? How could Tolya get back up on his feet and live, knowing that you wouldn't be nearby, seeking him out in a storm? Sooner or later, someone would inherit your place as gunner, and he'd be searching for you in their commands, looking for you in the darkness. Suddenly, he felt sick—the pool of vomit showed no signs of flowers, and another wave of sickness followed.

Tamar dropped by to tell him they were ready. Tolya almost didn't respond, but if he missed it, he'd never forgive himself. He stood silently like a ghost behind the solemn crowd, doing his best not to look at your body, dressed in black and grey and decorated with flowers that had been found somewhere on board. The sight of them as he dared a glance reminded him of the flowers, or lack of, growing inside of him. He felt a burning sensation behind his eyes.

The Volkvolny had never lost a member before, marking your death as the first burial at sea. Nikolai had mentioned it would be the right thing to do, to send your body back to the Holy Mother that was the ocean, yearning for your return. You always said you were born from coral, born for the sea—now, you'd be returning, wrapped in pretty clothes and decorated like a present. Tolya felt sick—a burial at sea, your body following them on their voyage, but no headstone to visit, no grave to put down flowers. Two cannon masters wanted your burial on land, and Tolya's heart twisted at the gesture.

"It wouldn't be what she'd want," Nikolai said.

It was true—you'd want a proper sea burial, cannons firing and all, the water wrestling you down until you lay to rest on the seabed to become one with the reefs. Later, he would be able to spot you in the shape of the water, the whisper of the wind over the waves; he would feel your spirit protecting the ship through wild passages. But he'd never get to lie beside you in the event of his own death, he'd never have a place to go to find you intimately.

As the cannons fired, your body sent to the calm ocean waves and into the slight warm orange sun, Tolya felt his stomach churning, insides rippling and curling and he moved to the side, feeling a rise in his throat. Out came a pour of vomit, hot and sour, not a petal in sight. As your body swept away in the welcomed embrace of the sea, Tolya came to terms with the newfound cure to his sickness. The flowers were gone, Hanahaki cured, the memory of you to remain.

#𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 ✧*。#tolya yul bataar x reader #tolya x reader #shadow and bone tolya #tolya #tolya yul bataar #tolya imagine #tolya yul bataar imagine #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #sturmhond #nikolai lantsov #tamar yul bataar #shadow and bone angst #tolya angst #tolya fanfic #hanahaki disease #jeanbie

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thewapolls · 1 year

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The WILD ARMS Hero Tourney

Look I'll be real with y'all: I wanted to be super clever and evenhanded about these match ups, and not just pull names out of a hat. I had a whole schema in my head about how to balance shit and keep obvious fan favorites on opposite sides of the tournament, while also preventing any one game's cast, or even specific recurring archetypes to all be in the same bracket... and then I threw all that out because it got real complicated real quick....

And so I bring you instead this 4 division set up of mostly hand-picked match ups, only loosely curated, sometimes thematic, sometimes absolutely not, because to hell with balance!

More detailed posting schedule under the cut...

Each of 4 Divisions is made up of Two opposed Brackets, each Bracket(except for one) is headed by a Wild Arms primary protagonist. I will run each batch of polls for FIVE DAYS before clocking results (a single day still feels like way too little time, but a full week would take us forever and I'm not up for a months long commitment to curate this right now, sorry...) Despite my fiddling, it really doesn't look like there's any version of this that's "quick" that doesn't involve just an stupid number of concurrent polls running at the start... so I guess this is just gonna take a while...

So to clarify, that makes the schedule thus:

WEEK 1 - Division 1 PRELIMINARIES Round 1: (5/15)

Rudy -v -Jet, Maya -v- Clarissa, Marivel -v- Mirabelle, Carol -v- Soleil

Ashley -v- Lombardia, Zed -v- Kresnik, Mariel -v- Guy, Jessica -v- Gallows

WEEK 2 - Division 2 PRELIMINARIES Round 1: (5/20)

Virginia-v-Labyrinthia, Jane-v-Rebecca, Clive-v-Greg, Arnaud-v-Chuck

Jack-v-Sigurd, Magdalen-v-Todd, Anastasia-v-Alicia, Kanon-v-Raquel

WEEK 3 - Division 3 PRELIMINARIES Round 1: (5/25)

Jude -v- Levin, Tim -v- Alfred, Hanpan -v- Shady, Luceid -v- Tony(?)

Dean -v- Asgard, Ruka -v- Emma, Brad -v- Ragnar, Loretta -v- Mercedes

WEEK 4 - Division 4 PRELIMINARIES Round 1: (5/28)

Sheyenne -v- Maxi, Felius -v- Euclid, Cecilia -v- Alexia , Avril -v- Irving,

Britney -v- Kiel, Lilka -v- Isaac & Jerusha, Yulie -v- Feel, Axel-v- Ingram

WEEK 5 - Division 1 & 2 PRELIM. Round 2 (5/31)

Rudy -v- Maya, Marivel -v- Carol, Ashley -v- Zed, Mariel -v- Gallows

Virginia -v- Jane, Clive -v- Arnaud, Jack -v- Todd, Anastasia -v- Kanon

WEEK 6 - Division 3 & 4 PRELIM. Round 2 (6/9)

Levin -v- Tim, Hanpan -v- Luceid, Asgard -v- Emma, Brad -v- Mercedes

Sheyenne Rainstorm -v- Euclid, Cecilia -v- Avril, Britney -v- Lilka, Yulie -v- Ingram

WEEK 8 - ALL DIVISION SEMI-FINALS (6/12)

Rudy -v- Marivel, Ashley -v- Gallows, Virginia -v- Clive, Jack -v- Kanon

Tim -v- Luceid, Asgard -v- Brad, Sheyenne -v- Ceclilia, Lilka -v- Yulie

WEEK 9 - ALL DIVISION FINALS (6/15)

Rudy -v- Gallows, Virginia -v- Jack, Luceid -v- Brad, Cecilia -v- Lilka

WEEK 10 - GRAND SEMI-FINALS (6/18)

Gallows -v- Luceid, Virginia -v- Cecilia

WEEK 11 - GRAND CHAMPIONSHIP (6/21)

Gallows -v- Virginia

Luceid -v- Cecilia (3rd place runoff)

#Wild Arms #wild arms 2 #wild arms 3 #wild arms 4 #wild arms 5 #wild arms xf #wild arms twilight venom #wild arms flower thieves #gunners heaven #rapid reload #armed fantasia #the post i need to keep coming back to

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radioactivepeasant · 11 months

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Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

As determined by the randomizer, the two prompts I was working with were "Final Fantasy 7" and "Sick Day". Been a while since I played with FF7 characters, so I'm a little out of practice, but here we go!

The grashshrikes shouldn't have been a problem for a mercenary like Cloud. He'd fought worse -- these things weren't even sentient! It was way more of a pain to deal with Shinra gunners! But just a split second of distraction was enough to slip up where grashshrikes were involved.

Cloud fumbled for a Cure and shot a dirty look at Barrett as Jessie put down the last monster. Was it really worth it, working for this guy? Sure, it kept a roof over his head, but Cloud was pretty sick of being the target for the guy's hatred of Shinra.

Well. Currently he was pretty sick period.

"Ugh."

Cloud tipped his head back and let it smack against a wall of sheet metal.

Out of Cure materia, and all he'd done was lower the poison from "debilitating" to "knocked out for the next 24 hours". He really needed to get his hands on a Cura. Or a Curaga, but that sounded too optimistic for the way his luck tended to run.

(Had his luck always been this bad? Sure, he had some misfortune as a kid, but what about during his time as a SOLDIER? Barrett had a point: shouldn't he be able to remember?)

"Hey, you okay, bro?" Wedge crouched next to him with a worried frown. "You don't look so good."

"'M fine," Cloud growled.

The second he let on that he was still poisoned, they'd probably drop him. And then he could say goodbye to any chance of getting paid.

"Barrett, something's wrong with Cloud!" Wedge called over his shoulder, "He didn't even tell me to stop calling him bro!"

Barrett looked equal parts irate and sheepish -- decidedly unsettling in combination on his face.

He stomped over and squatted in front of Cloud to glare at him.

"What's wrong with you, merc?" he demanded.

"Nothing." Cloud rolled his eyes and shoved down the wave of nausea that produced with gritted teeth. "You've never seen someone sit down before?"

"You let that thing sting you, didn't you?"

With a jerk, Cloud stood upright. For a moment, the world tipped on its side.

He was grateful that he hadn't eaten breakfast that morning. If he'd had anything in his apartment worth eating, it all would've made an encore appearance as he tried to keep his footing.

The humiliating levels of concern on the AVALANCHE members' faces -- even Barrett -- made it clear that he wasn't going to be able to fool them.

"So do you normally try to distract people during monster fights?" he asked Barrett pointedly, "or am I just special?"

Jessie snickered. "Oooooo," she sang, "Tifa's gonna kick your butt, Barrett!"

"Knock it off," Barrett fired back, but secretly he agreed.

The middle of a fight with four grashshrikes really wasn't the place to be interrogating the kid about Shinra policies, he did know that. But the surly mercenary's penchant for brushing him off with "how should I know?" type answers was grating on his nerves. All things considered, retorting "what, you don't remember?" shouldn't have been that big of a deal -- at least, it wouldn't have been for one of his team. But Cloud wasn't one of them. And something about Barrett's irritable comment had made him literally stumble mid swing, allowing an opportunistic grashshrike an opening to sting him in the side.

And unfortunately, what with how Tifa felt about her home -- the one Shinra destroyed -- Barrett suspected that saying Cloud was responsible for his own injuries wouldn't pass muster with the formidable Miss Lockhart. And anyway, regardless of how Barrett felt about the merc, he was Tifa's friend -- Ancients only knew why. The kid had lost enough for one lifetime. No reason to add her friend to that list.

"Well at least that was the last of 'em," he grunted, then he heaved himself upright and dusted off his knees.

"Jessie, Wedge, you go turn that job in and collect the pay. We'll meet you at the 7th Heaven to divide it."

He waved his machine-gun hand at Biggs.

"C'mere, you're making sure Junior here doesn't drop dead on the way home."

Cloud didn't mind Biggs, not really. But with the way his head was pounding, and his shirt felt like sandpaper against his chest, the idea of anyone "helping" him was both unappealing and embarrassing.

"Don't touch me," he snapped, pulling away quickly.

That was a mistake, as it turned out. The world started spinning again, and having an empty stomach didn't seem to matter after all as bile ejected from his mouth.

"Eesh." Wedge scrambled back. "You know what you need?"

"Five minutes' peace without all of you running around like broody chocobos?" Cloud asked dryly. This was ignored.

"You need a gingerbeer and salted crackers," Wedge said sagely. "Once that poison's cured, anyway."

"Leave me alone," Cloud groaned.

(Don't leave me alone! I don't want to be alone!)

"Just give me a Cure and I'll be fine."

"You need a Cura, idiot," Barrett chided him, without the usual bite. "We've got one at the bar."

Without a second of hesitation, the big man threw one of Cloud's arms over his shoulders and began walking. Cloud struggled to extricate himself from Barrett's grip, but doing so just made the nausea worse.

"I can walk!" he insisted.

"Like a drunken moogle, sure," Barrett snorted. "Listen kid, Tifa will have my head if I let you go back to work in this condition. You're lucky she wasn't there to see that, or we'd both be dead men. We're goin' home."

Cloud bared gritted teeth. "I'm going to throw up on you," he threatened.

Barrett just tightened his grip and rolled his eyes.

"Like I've never been puked on before?"

On Cloud's other side, Biggs gave him a weird look, and Barrett harrumphed a little.

"My daughter, knucklehead. You never burped a baby at Leaf House?"

"Ohhhh, gotcha." Biggs looked chagrined. "Kinda thought you meant bar patrons or something."

"You honestly think Tifa would let somebody get that drunk in my bar?" Barrett shook his head almost grimly. "Who needs a bouncer when you've got her?"

Cloud wasn't sure how they got from the edge of the slums to a ratty fold-out couch in the AVALANCHE headquarters after that, honestly, but at some point Biggs deposited a Cura on his chest with strict instructions to "play nice".

Cloud had been more confused about the direction than his sudden change in location...until he turned his head and found four year old Marlene wearing a children's Mage costume, holding a toy Bouncy Materia.

Bouncy Materia? That was a thing?

"I," said Marlene with all the solemnity a preschooler could muster, "am a mage. I'm gonna heal ya. Say aaaaahhhh."

Cloud blinked at the tiny figure incredulously. "....what?"

"Say aahhh!" Marlene repeated. "Daddy said to make sure you didn't get outta bed while he makes us lunch. Biggs said you had a tummyache, so I gotta make sure you don't have a bad sick like the flu."

"....how're you going to tell that by looking at my throat?" Cloud croaked.

The little girl shrugged. "I dunno, that's what the doctor does! She looks in my throat and then she knows why I feel sick."

Cloud pondered this.

"Well," he said at last, "I don't know enough about doctors to prove you wrong. Carry on, I guess."

He began to regret that when the sparkly stickers shaped like bandages came out.

All six sheets of them.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #free day thursday #ff7 #ff7 remake #biggs and wedge #barrett wallace #marlene wallace #tifa lockhart #cloud strife #Cloud needs adult supervision. Cloud is not adult supervision.#sickfic #Barrett is making chicken noodle soup for Cloud but if asked he'll insist it's because Marlene asked for some. she didn't.#dadBarrett #does he realize he's acquired another kid yet? if he does he's in denial

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