#genuinely why is it so hard for people to be clean. and take the fucking bins out. and just wipe the table after they get crumbs everywhere

[dmumt]

genuine question is having a flatmate ever a pleasant experience

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

clearly the only solution to the penpal au is you’re supposed to write to ghost but the entire task force hijacks the letters every once in a while. /hj /lh

Price also ends up doing that too once he realizes why the entire team becomes obsessed with writing letters

DUDE YES *smooches your brain*

Simon starts writing to you through a military penpal program Price had all of them in. Ofc, like the rat bastard he is, he drags his fuckin feet on it. Eventually, you manage to get him a little more willing to write back and it seems like he even looks forward to it. He's the first one to grab his letter from the container when they come. He claims it's to get it over with, but the other guys know better.

You'd think the other guys would be the ones more open to their penpals but NO. They managed to be paired with some of, who they call, the most boring people they could have met. Hell, even Price began to drag his feet after the 2nd letter back.

Simon seems to be the only one actually enjoying his exchanges, even if he tries to hide it. Johnny's the first one to get curious, wanting to know what the LT's got that's good enough to loosen the stick in his ass.

While Simon's out of the room, Johnny reads through the first couple letters Simon received. Your sweet words, stupid jokes, and genuine care are a stark contrast from the uninterested and short words he received from his penpal.

He stops writing to his penpal, not that they noticed/ cared, and grew the balls to write you one. He claimed his penpal dropped out, so they had to make do, not that you minded. And God, when you started to write back, he swore it was like he was a schoolboy all over again. Getting excited for the letters, heart racing as he reads your carefully written words, counting down the days till he gets another.

He gets ballsy one night and opens up to Gaz about what he did, not showing a single crumb of remorse. Tells him all about how sweet you are, how you show genuine care for his safety, even giving the idea of sending a care package. He could see that same thought process going through Kyle's mind, contemplating switching to you. He gave Kyle your address and told him to just come up with an excuse.

Now Kyle's a little smarter than Johnny, knowing that if Ghost finds out he's probably fucked. However, at the end of the day, he's a lonely man. He had this sweet thing like you just within reach and he's supposed to not take it? Yeah right.

He gave the same excuse Johnny did, claiming his penpal's schedule became too busy to write back, and just like that you had 3 soldiers wrapped around your finger. He sweet talked you, gave little puns here and there, really became like a lap cat. He wasn't as forward as Johnny and not as refrained as Simon. He gave you music recommendations when you say you like a certain genre, he gave you book recommendations, even sent you photos of him in front of a helicopter (you begged for it when he told you about him falling out).

Now, Simon isn't stupid. He isn't clueless. He noticed that the first couple letters went missing. Then he noticed Johnny being more eager to write. Same with Kyle. He noticed how they seemed to pull away from him when the topic was brought up. He's not a stupid man.

He might even be considered generous (don't say it to his face though, he'll take it as sarcasm). He knows the boys are talking to his penpal, but he'll be kind enough to share. His sweet lil thing. If you can keep up, that is. Your letters seem to boost morale and bring a small light that wasn't there before. They're all hard-working men, risking their lives to keep the world clean. They deserve this, don't they?

Even Price finds himself wanting in on it. If you can manage to bring Simon happiness (again, he won't admit it) and keep the other boys happy, surely you can take on one more. He sends you a letter, as their captain, and thanks you for what you've done. You're such a kind soul for giving these men some hope in their lives (laying it on thick, gotta keep em interested) and how much you've helped their performances.

They all write to you, their unofficial 141 penpal, and it works surprisingly well. The lines begin to blur a bit on being platonic and something else, but it'll be sorted out eventually. For now you're just theirs (Simon came around to it once he realized you had plenty of love to go around). You're the 141's, even if you don't fully understand what that means.

The first picture they send to you, around Christmas^ (I can't find the artist, please tag them if you know who it is)

[trender-official]

Whiskey Burns My Throat | Chapter One

Sevika x Doctor!Reader | 4.4k words

Cowritten with my friend Migi

Sevika is tired of Silcos shit. Why was she wasting her time watching over this stupid doctor? And why is she so hot?

Or, slow burn lesbian romance with our beloved Sevika.

Reader is almost an oc but she has no appearance or name lol

Sometimes, Sevika hated her job. For the most part, she either didn’t mind it, or even outright liked it. Being the right hand woman of Zaun’s widely accepted leader had its perks. The pay, for one, was great. She had slowly gotten used to not having to scavenge and scrap on the streets for any little thing she could get her hands on to sell. Now, she had a permanent residence paid off in full, and she hadn’t gone hungry in what felt like forever. She even had plenty of cogs to gamble away at Silco’s bar most nights. And the brothel, if she really needed to let off some steam.

She never could have imagined this for herself, not in a million years. And Silco, he had a real shot at this, a real shot at making something of this shit ridden city. That was all she really cared about. It was why she left Vander all those years ago, after he’d refused to take a stand against those fascist Pilties. She was still bitter about that.

An added bonus was scaring the topsiders. A smirk formed on her face as she thought about it. It was funny, being able to send them running with their tail tucked between their shitty little legs, quivering with genuine fear. Not just of her, but of what Silco would do to them if he found out they fucked with her. So she was on a power kick, sue her.

But this… She didn’t like this.

She stood outside a tent, looking scary enough- which wasn’t hard by any means- to keep anyone who would start shit away, having a keen eye for those people, unfortunately. But she also kept an eye out for clients, people suffering from shimmer. Shimmer was the drug that Silco started distributing after becoming the unofficial-official leader of Zaun.

When injected, shimmer gives you a rush. A rush of power, and enhanced abilities, as well as that feel good high you’d get from other substances. But… with every high comes a cost. It’s highly addictive of course, and has dangerous side effects, like the creation of deteriorating spores that eat away at your limbs in random spots.

Inside the very tent, was a stupid fucking Plitie prick. A stupid Piltie prick who Silco was making her protect. A stupid Piltie prick who was a doctor, treating the symptoms of shimmer and pollution that racked the citizens of Zaun, keeping them healthy enough to bring in profit- but sick enough to keep coming back. Unknowingly by anyone but herself, for the most part, and Silco made sure of that. It was a cruel joke, honestly. A smart, but dangerously cruel one. She would never admit this, but part of her felt bad for the Piltie. She had no idea she was participating in the repeated cycle of addiction and corruption.

A shuffle came from inside, the tent sliding open. A nother patient slinked out, his legs shaking like he was about to collapse at any second. But his face, that was the real kicker. It was a pale gray in color, sores and bumps growing along the side of it, red and irritated from the cleaning it just got. The doctor followed right after, with her hand helping him along cautiously. “Please, follow my directions. Keep the wounds clean and covered, and try to mix up where you inject it, otherwise it’ll just keep corroding the one spot” she said, her voice sounding almost robotic, mainly because she had said that to every other patient that came in with the same issues.

“I’ll try… Thank you, Ma’am.” The person said with a hesitant smile, voice careful and withdrawn. Most people didn’t say anything, just leaving as fast as they could. Or they’d bite out hurtful and spiteful words, despite the doctors efforts of healing them. They don’t wan’t to believe she was real, that she was fully committed to leaving her Piltover life behind for this shithole. Sevika didn’t. She had to be lying… spying, or something, gaining all the information she can to turn in to the topsiders and ruin everything that they’ve worked so fucking hard for. And silco was just letting it happen!

Her voice snapped Sevika out of her thoughts, the permanent scowl on her face deepening. “Of course. Just be safe. As safe as you can be.” The doctor said, sending him off with a wave and a small bag of things to help for the week. A care package, if you will, equipped with a small pale of water, 2 pieces of bread, and some new socks to keep warm.

The doctor looked up at Sevika and smiled. She didn’t smile back. She looked dejected and disappointed, she wanted Sevika to like her. She wanted most people to like her. It made her feel like she was doing a good job, and fueled her to do even better.

She called the next patient up, her voice a little less confident than usual. She took another glance at Sevika as she turned to walk back in the tent, after allowing the patient in. Sevika rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, continuing to glare at the most suspicious-looking person sitting in the alley nearby. She was already tired of this girl, and they’d only been working together a few days.

This was the last patient of the day, as the sun was starting to go down and the more violent citizens would be coming out now. After the last patient came out of the tent, the doctor nodded to Sevika, letting her know it was good to start dismissing everyone.

“Alright! Time to get going.” Sevika said, raising her arms. “Let’s go! Get!” She said to the few who dared to stay and try to fight it. They didn’t stay much longer.

The doctor leaned against one of the poles, the one Sevika had been leaning against, watching her as she shooed away the crowd. She smiled, though this time not as big. Sevika turned back to her, her scowl not faltering. “Wanna drink?” She asked, holding the tent flap open.

Sevika sighed. She knew she couldn’t leave until she got home. So she didn’t have much of a choice. Sevika had to lean down to enter the tent and stay hunched while inside to fit. She shuffled her way over to the small couch poised in front of a coffee table and a rolling chair. Sevika laid an arm across the top of the couch, spreading her legs.

The doctor pulled out a bottle of whiskey, one too expensive to be found down here, but not expensive enough to be considered good by Piltover standards. “I heard you liked this.” The doctor’s eyes glanced down over Sevika’s body nervously. She bit the inside of her cheek, feeling suddenly more out of place than ever.

“You asked Silco about me?” Her eyebrow raised, “Only other person who can get it here is Silco.” She said, not reaching for the glass. The doctor licked her lips nervously.

“Well…yes. Consider it a gift. I don’t really like the stuff.” She said, handing the entire bottle over to her.

“You bought whiskey you don’t like?” Her voice was flat, void of teasing, of lightheartedness. “What, just to impress me?” Sevika said with a laugh of disbelief and slight secondhand embarrassment.

The doctor turned red and stuttered. “I-I don’t know- I just thought of you when I saw it. Is it so bad to get a gift for a new co-worker?” She felt scrutinized when Sevika turned her eyes back to her, and she was right to.

Sevika scanned her up and down. She frowned. The doctor suddenly felt insecure under her gaze. “I’m not going to like you. You can stop trying to make me.” She moved and crossed her arms, her muscles slightly bulging around her shirt. The doctor swallowed.

“I… I don’t think that’s true. If you got to know me-“ She said, sitting forward in her chair.

“Oh shut up. I already know how you're gonna be. All you Pilties are the same.” Sevika glared at her, making the doctor shrink back into her chair. “You’re all arrogant assholes who think we need you. We don’t. Any of our doctors could do the same thing as you.” She stood up and looked down over her. “I don’t know why Silco wants you here. But don’t think because I’m doing this I trust you. I’m doing this for him. Not you.”

Sevika turned and walked outside, to which the doctor sighed heavily. Her face was red and hot with embarrassment. She looked down at the glass, contemplating. Normally she wouldn’t. She wasn’t a fan of not being in control.

Quickly, she snatched it up and took a fat sip. It burned her throat, feeling foreign on her tongue, but the taste reminded her of how Sevika made her feel.

Outside, Sevika stood over the flap to the tent, casting a shadow inside. She squinted at the sound of racing feet stamping down the alley. She saw the shadow of a person carrying someone before she saw them. “Help! Fuck- Fuck, we need help!” A man shouted as he rounded the corner. Sevika pushed herself straight.

“What’s wrong?” She shouted to them.

“I- I don't know- I found him in a pool of vomit- Please, I know there’s a doctor here, you have to help.” He said as he fell to the ground from the weight of the person on his thin, unmuscled arms.

Sevika ran over and scooped the man up, inspecting the wound, a hole in the middle of his thigh, aligned with purple veins and disgusting bubbles filled with bodily fluid. Shimmer. Of course. She turned to the tent and brought the man over, shoving her way through with her shoulder.

The doctor looked up, alarm on her face. She heard the yelling, but couldn’t understand what they were saying. She had stayed inside in worry of a fight. “What?” She said as Sevika moved the man to be held over her shoulder and swept everything off the coffee table.

“He’s overdosing. You need to be quick.” Sevika said, laying him down as quickly as she could while still being gentle. She stood back, breathing surprisingly slowly, she seemed calm. It didn’t surprise Sevika herself, but the doctor was impressed. She really shouldn’t be surprised Sevika knows how to handle herself in stressful situations. You don’t get where she is not being able to.

“Do you know what on?” The doctor said, not having the chance to see the wound yet, snapping on gloves as quickly as she possibly could.

“No. Probably shimmer…” Sevika stood back, giving her room to work. She hated seeing this, knowing she helped it happen.

“Okay…” she sounded defeated, tired, “get me the Naloxone and a scalpel… please.” She said, having to remind herself not to bark orders out. Before coming down here- before uprooting her entire life, she had assistants and staff; people hired to help her without question or need for respect, as bad as that sounds. She pointed to the place she kept them, on the other side of the tent where there was a small box filled with all the supplies she could carry.

Sevika obeyed, not interested in protecting her dignity over someone’s life. The doctor began to wipe at the tumors growing on his thigh, deemed to be the injection site. The smell was awful… The wounds weren’t bleeding- not actively, there were signs of past bleeding, dried blood, and scabs topping every growth. They weren’t like shimmer growths, they were almost straight black. It was like his body was growing them just for them to rot. The doctor quickly administered the Naloxone, which evened out his breathing somewhat.

She took a deep breath, as well as she could with the thick smell of decay in the air, readied the scalpel. As soon as she cut into the pustule, it exploded, luckily missing her face, but it coated her hand and the table. Her eyes widened, as the smell assaulted her nose and mouth. She coughed, backing away. She knew this smell. She knew what this was.

“Fucking- Shit!” She yelled. “Back up! Get back!” She yelled at Sevika. She rushed to wipe her hands off on a cloth nearby. Just exposure to this could have negative effects on the human body. “It’s fake shimmer! Don’t touch it!”

“What? What does that mean?” Sevika asked, her instincts pushed her to pull the doctor away from the body, but she stopped herself. She seemed genuinely scared- Sevika thought it might be better to listen to her here.

“It means it’s toxic! We need to get him out of here!” She said, ripping off the ruined gloves and retrieving two pairs of new ones. “Come on- You need to help me.”

“Help you what?!”

“Get him out of here!”

“What? No! You need to help him!” Sevika said, grabbing her arm. “He’s your patient. You’re a doctor! This is your job!” She leaned over a little to tower over her, trying to scare her into listening.

“We can’t help him now! That stuff- You can’t bring someone back after they’re too far gone.” She tried to pull her arm away, only making Sevika rip her closer. Her chest pressed up to Sevika’s rib. Sevika’s breasts were almost in her face. She tried her best to not look, but couldn’t help to spare a few glances.

“That can’t be true. You have to do something.” Sevika growled.

“Anything I can do will just make him suffer longer! Is that really worth it?” She yelled back, pushing up. “I’ve done this before, the only thing treatment guarantees is more pain!”

Sevika glared silently and released her arm. Her face tightened once more before she turned away and stalked outside. The man who carried him in looked at her with a scared face. He clearly heard all of that. She looked down and sighed, closing her eyes. She wasn’t one to offer comfort to others.

Back inside the tent, the doctor was rushing to get the new gloves on. She searched her supplies and luckily found a vial of morphine. She bit her lip to hold back tears. It’s been awhile since she’d handled this kind of stress. She pushed herself up and slowly walked over to the patient. She’d give all that was left in the bottle, just enough to cause an overdose. He’d fall asleep, never to wake up again. She took a glove off.

Solemnly, she injected the dose, holding his hand as she did it, letting him feel her skin. She knew he likely wasn’t here already, but he was alive enough to feel pain. No one deserved to go out like this.

After… It happened, she came out, having taken off the button up that had the rot on it, now just in an undershirt. The man looked at her with wide eyes. She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She had taken off the other glove already. She walked over to the man and placed a hand on his shoulder. He himself was not looking very good, tumors from shimmer beginning to appear on his arms and face. His breathing was weezy from the pollution. “You did your best. He was likely already too far gone by the time you found him.” The man shuddered. He didn’t cry. This was the undercity. No one here had their life guaranteed.

As the man left, both Sevika and the doctor went back into the tent. Sevika stared at the body as the doctor retrieved the whisky from earlier. “I’m gonna drink.” She said, an indirect invite to join.

“Give me a glass.”

She nodded and poured two glasses. She handed it to Sevika and she downed it in almost a minute. “What did you do to him?” She asked.

“I gave him morphine. Too much to survive. He wasn’t going to anyway.”

“You could’ve given him a chance.” Sevika frowned, still staring at the lifeless body.

“The only chance he would’ve had is if we stopped him from taking it in the first place.” She said quietly, walking back to the couch. She looked at the body, then back to Sevika. “I did what I could.”

“You- You fuckin’ killed him! You did what you could- Bullshit!” Sevika threw the glass, it shattered against the ground louder than expected.

The doctor jumped, looking like a child watching her parents fighting. “He was going to die anyway! Much more painfully!” She said, standing up.

“You act like I haven’t seen this kind of thing before-“ The doctor defended herself, her cheeks growing warm. She hated conflict, especially the kind that involved being alone with a large woman in a tent that was secluded. Not that she was worried Sevika would do anything. Silco needed her, or at least that’s what he made it seem like…

“But I have.” she finished off, her voice raw and full of heavy emotions. “There’s been nights you weren’t here, where I stayed up for hours monitoring and watching, holding people's hands while they suffered a pain I caused them.. you don’t get to come in here and poke fingers at me when I’m the one who has to end their lives!”

By the end she was panting, her once neatly tied back hair now framed her face from all the excitement. Her eyes were ablaze with anger, grief, and something else that she couldn’t quite place herself.

Sweat dripped from her forehead in little droplets that beaded onto her chest, now more exposed from having to dispose of the contaminated shirt from before. The soft glow of the lanterns lighting up the tent illuminated her face, highlighting the curl of her lips that were currently in a snarl, and the thicker furrowed brows that were slowly returning to their normal resting position as she calmed down.

“You fucking…” Sevika trailed off, her tongue running over her teeth. Her eyes trailed down her body, lavishing over her without care. If she weren’t royally pissed off right now, she may have found her hot. Sevika frowned and glared at her. “Fine. Too fucking late now.” She came closer, observing the body. “How do we dispose of it- of him.” She knew she was too used to people simply being ‘its’.

The doctor shifted on her feet, just now starting to feel the dull ache settle in from being on them all day. She knew exactly how she disposed of them, she’d been doing it for quite some time now. But… she didn’t want to say. It was, frankly, too embarrassing. Too vulnerable.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.” the doctor brought a hand up to her forehead, wiping the beads of sweat from it, cringing a little at the wetness. She stepped back, grabbing the bottle of the now half full whiskey and brought it to her lips, taking a good, 5 second chug. She resisted the urge to cringe at the unfamiliar taste, and the burning that took hostage of her throat. Wiping her lips after, and ignoring the salty taste of her own skin, she placed the bottle back down, steadying herself on her desk.

“That’s enough for you, little girl.” Sevika said with a smirk that said ‘I’m better than you.’ Her attitude switched too quickly to be anything but forced. She had to be fine with death. There was nothing for her but. “Give it here.” She said as she yanked the bottle from her hands with her metal arm, Sevika’s unnatural strength too much to fight. Her arm rotated in strange ways to lift the bottle to her mouth, lips sealing around it as she chugged the rest of it. It took nearly ten seconds to finish. She smiled patronizingly and threw the bottle down next to the broken cup.

The doctor felt her eye twitch, a low growl bubbling from the back of her throat. “I have enough shit to deal with here, I don’t need to add ‘cleaning up temper tantrums’ or pissing contests to my agenda” The alcohol was already starting to take effect, her head growing heavy with a buzz that left her feeling fearless, and unaware of the consequences she might have to face come morning time.

Sevika snickered. “Yeah? Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t.” She smiled, but it wasn’t one that made the doctor feel any better. It was almost sickening. She looked ravenous. She looked like she need to either fuck or fight someone. “But remember, I only take your orders because Silco says I should.” She said, her smile slipping. She turned and started to walk away before turning back. “And watch your mouth. You don’t wanna fuck with me.” She flashed a smirk then left the tent, leaving the mess behind her. Though, she didn’t leave, not fully, she stayed in the area. She wanted to see what she would do with the body, her curiosity too strong to fight. Today, anyway.

The doctor ran a hand through her hair, her other stabilizing herself on the table. A shaky sigh left her lips. Her thoughts were filled with confliction. Anger, frustration, and… attraction. It pissed her off.

With a huff, she turned and grabbed the items she would need to properly… dispose of the body laying next to her. Gloves, a shovel, a wheelbarrow, gasoline, and a match.

She covered herself with a spare coat she had, putting on her goggles, gloves, and a gas mask before she used the shovel to lift his body into the wheelbarrow, holding onto the handles for support after with a pant. Bodies were heavy, and she wasn’t necessarily in the best shape, not like Sevika.

She made her way to the spot she always used, a secluded area at the end of Zaun’s fissure, Sevika in tow, though not to her knowledge.

The doctor tried to be gentle as she dumped the body from the hopper, wincing at the harsh sound his body made as he rolled from it, his limbs limply following in pursuit. She sighed, rubbing her damp forehead with the sleeve of her jacket. She hated this part.

She didn’t have the time to bury him, nor the stamina to dig the hole, so she relied on burning. She sat him up against the giant rock wall, positioning his body as someone taking a peaceful nap, closing his eyes with gentle fingers.

“I’m sorry.” She croaked, shoulders slumped, and tears welling up in her eyes. She didn’t cry normally, not anymore anyway, but tonight, with the mix of emotions and alcohol, she wasn’t in control of her tear ducts.

Sevika would’ve made a noise of disbelief, if it wouldn’t have gotten her spotted. She almost respected the efficiency she moved with, as if she had an ounce of control over herself. Even while drunk or high out of their mind, Zaunites always had to have control, at least over their tears and fear.

Although, there was something almost attractive about seeing a Piltie doing this kind of stuff. Something degenerate and sick, something that came from craving others to go through the pain she did. Or maybe, seeing something once so innocent be corrupted.

The doctor moved back, reaching for the bottle of gasoline, pouring it gently through his hair, watching as it dripped down his cheeks and jaw, and finally down to soak his clothing. Guilt bit at her, even though she knew there was nothing she could do. But surely, there had to be a way, somehow, to save people like him. She just hadn’t found it yet. And that was the worst part of it.

Taking a deep breath, she lit the match using her boot, setting the collar of his shirt ablaze, before putting it out on the ground and stepping back. She couldn’t watch him burn, that would simply be too much, in a way. She turned, shoulders still hunched in a sort of… defeat and shame. Shame that she couldn’t save him, or any of the other bodies she had done the same routine with. And defeat, that she didn’t even know where to start in being able to save those lost people, or any for that matter.

She didn’t think of herself as a healer, as a savior. No, that was bullshit. She knew she was just keeping these people alive until their shimmer addictions inevitably killed them. But what else was she supposed to do? Refuse them? It was all out of her hands now. She just had to trust that Silco was the man he said he was, and got the people of Zaun out of the mess that it was.

With a final sigh as her goodbye, she walked back to her tent, taking off everything she was wearing and throwing it to the ground to sanitize it later. For now, all she wanted to do was sleep. So sleep she did, curled up on one of the cots, wallowing with the scratchy blanket that was left there by one of her past patients. Sleep took her dreamlessly, for once in her life, the alcohol helped with that.

Sevika watched the doctor walk away and finally reach a point where she couldn't see her. She felt herself relax, though not much. She left her hiding space, an overhang area she’d silently climbed up onto, lurching off of the platform and trudging over to the burning body. For a moment, she just stared, her face in a tight scowl.

The fumes burned her throat, but it took her a moment to even notice, waiting until she physically couldn’t take a breath. She put on the mask she carried with her, a cheap one that could fold small enough to hide. The air of the fissures itself usually wouldn't bother her, but she carried one just in case.

She felt her eyes burn with unshed tears of many years yearning to escape, the day- no, the months of grief and anger catching up on her. But she wouldn’t let them fall. Tears were a sign of weakness, and she wasn’t weak.

Slowly, she reached for a compartment in her arm, where she held extra shimmer vials. She opened it, taking one and throwing it into the fire, as some sort of… offering. For forgiveness. She peeled off a piece of dead skin on her lip, savoring the pain and blood, before walking away, already missing the heat of the flames kissing her skin. Maybe she’d replace it with the heat of one of the brothel girls… She needed it.

[cosmopretty]

Little Sister Part Two

Nika Mühl x fem

warnings: angst, smut

Part one: little sister

✦•〰〰〰〰〰〰•★•〰〰〰〰〰〰•✦

“WHAT THE FUCK”

Nika hold her hands up in surrender “Yo Paige let me-“ your older sister lets out a breath and walks towards Nika sizing her up pointing her finger in her face. “She’s my baby sister Nika what the fuck is wrong with you” Paige holds her fists so hard her knuckles start to turn white.

You stand in front of Nika and look at Paige “It’s not her fault” you say. The air in the room shifts and the tall blonde looks down at you.

“She’s twenty two and your eighteen she’s my age Y/n what the fuck” Paige says trying her hardest not to yell at you. She hated hurting you in anyway since you both didn’t argue much at all.

Nika looks down at you before looking back at Paige “She’s old enough to make her own decisions it’s none of your business” the second those words leave her mouth Paige snaps. You watch in shock as Paige shoves Nika before punching her in the face. You shove Paige then Ice and KK run in grabbing Paige by the waist and dragging her outside away from you and Nika. You look down at the girl on your bed and rush to her holding her face in your hands. You caresses her cheek “Are you okay my love?” you ask your voice filled with concern.

Nika nods and bringer a hand up to rub her bloody lip “It’s fine it doesn’t hurt that bad” she says getting up and pulling you with her.

“Are you sure? I’m going to kill Paige I swear she can’t just hit you it’s crazy-“ Nika puts her finger on your mouth shutting you up. You look at her confused “I don’t blame Paige I would do the same thing but at least we don’t have to hide us” she says looking down at you.

You furrow your brows “Yeah and what is us? What even are we?” you ask genuinely confused. Nika shrugs “I like you and you like me so first I take you out on a date then we figure it out because I want you to be mines” she smirks. You roll your eyes at the girl and pull her into your bathroom. She sits on the floor laying her hands on her knees looking up at you as you find things to use to clean her face. You wet a towel with warm water and turn your head before bending down next to Nika and start gently cleaning her bloody lip.

The bathroom is silent as you help her out neither of you knew what to say to one another.

Meanwhile Paige sits in the couch with the girls trying her hardest not to get up and run back into your room. KK looks at Paige “Well at least Nika is better than all the other people Y/n has dated” she shrugs.

Paige looks at KK slowly turning her head just blinking at the girl. Caroline rolls her eyes “Paige let’s be real it was obvious Nika liked her I mean she was more protective of Y/n than you were and you know Nika won’t hurt Y/n so don’t blame her” Paige nods at her words before putting her head in her hands pulling her blonde hair.

“Yeah but that’s my little sister the fact that she’s dating my twin is just weird” she groans not wanting to think about you both together.

Ice rubs Paige’s back “You punched her in the face, the least you could do is apologize but think for a second Nika wouldn’t hurt Y/n and she would be good for her and you know it your just too hard headed to accept it”

You walk into the living room playing with your hands holding a bag of ice “Paige” you say in a quiet voice scared of what’s gonna happen. She looks up at you from her seat on the couch and motions you to sit next to her. The girls walk out of the room and go outside to the backyard where Drew was playing to give you guys some privacy.

You grab her hand and lay the ice over it slowly “I’m sorry” you apologize not knowing why or what you were even apologizing for. Paige looks at you shaking her head before wrapping her other arm around you pulling you into her “No I’m sorry I shouldn’t of hit her just please explain to me what’s going on” she says.

You nod and lay your head on your older sister’s shoulder “I liked Nika for a while now but we didn’t do anything before today I swear. She told me how she felt about me and we kissed for the first time today and I really like her Paige and I think she really likes me. She’s good for me and if you don’t want us together we won’t be but please support this for me” you lift your head from her shoulder and look at her.

Paige thinks for a moment before shaking her head “Fine but no kissing in front of me or any of that lovey dovey shit please” you squeal and hug her thanking her over and over. She laughs and pushes you off her gently before getting up. Both of you walk into the bathroom and Nika gets up when she sees you both walk in. Paige groans “You can date my sister but if you hurt her twin Ima hurt you” Nika nods and daps Paige up and your older sister walks out of the bathroom to go outside with everyone else.

Nika looks down at you smiling “So now what?” you look at her confused “What do you mean?” You ask.

She walks towards you causing you to walk back into your bedroom. You watch as Nika closes your door locking it before looking you up and down. You grab her shoulders and bring her down to kiss you. She kisses you grabbing your waist and you whine into the kiss. She pushes you down onto the bed again your body falling onto the soft comforter as she got on top of you not breaking the kiss.

Nika's hips rolled against yours and a groan fell from both of your mouths. She watched your head dig into the pillows and she leaned forward. Her lips landed next to your ear, her accent coming out strong “So pretty bebo”

Her head moves down you kissing your neck leaving warm opened mouth wet kisses. You grab her neck urging her to keep going. She sucks on the sweet spot on your neck and you accidentally let out a moan.

You cover your face with your hands groaning out of embarrassment. Nika pulls your hands away “Don’t be shy baby I wanna hear you” she smiles holding the bottom of your shirt in her hands “Can I take this off? Please” you nod and she pulls your shirt off your body.

Nika straddles your hips and looks down at you “Your so beautiful” you smile at the girl above you. Your body heating up as you breath heavily “Your the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen Nika” you say honestly looking up at her.

She pulls her shirt off of her body and pulls your pants off leaving you in only your black bra and lacey panties. You thank god that today you wore cute undergarments and not granny panties. Nika goes back down kissing your chest leaving hickeys in places only you would see. She moves her hands to your back clipping your bra off before pulling it off. She looks down at your chest “Jebi se, dušo, ne znaš što mi radiš” she mumbles before latching onto one of your nipples sucking and biting.

You grab her hair and moan as her tongue swirls around you nipple her other hand coming to play with the other one. She kisses down your stomach before hovering over your pussy. She blows on your cunt and your whole body shivers.

“Please Nika I need you” you whine and she moves her hand to rub your cunt over your panties. She nods her head at you “Yeah? What do you want me to do?” She teases you.

She loves how sensitive you were to her touch how your eyes glossed over and all you needed was her and her only.

You groan “I need you to touch me please before someone walks in on us” Nika rolls her eyes and moves her head into your pants rubbing your folds. You bite back a moan at her movements “Your so wet is this all for me bebo” she says her voice husky.

You nod “All for you Nika all yours” you moan as she slides one finger into your hole. She watches your every move and she moves her finger in and out of you slowly before adding another one. Your cunt squeezes around her fingers “F-fuck baby” you moan out trying to stay quiet but your body doesn’t want to be quiet.

You moan loudly before Nika puts her other hand over your mouth “Shh baby we can’t have people hear you can we” you nod and she keeps her hand over your mouth before moving her fingers in and out of you. Her thumb starts to rub your clit in circles and your body jolts at that moment. Nika moves her head down and starts kissing behind your ear “ želiš li svršiti princezu” she asks forgetting you don’t understand her.

She moves her hand form your mouth and kisses your slowly before repeating her self in English “do you want to cum princess” she asks pouting at you. You nod your head fast and she starts moving her fingers impossibly faster.

Your head falls back onto the pillows behind you and Nika looks down at you brushing your hair from your face. You whimper at the feeling building up in your stomach ready to snap. Nika feels you tighten around her fingers “Come on baby let go for me” she whispers.

Your body jolts and she holds your hips down as you cum. She watches your mouth open without any sound coming out of it. You breath heavily and look at Nika who flopped down to lay beside you “Fuck that was wow that was” you don’t finish your sentence not knowing what to say to the girl.

Nika smirks “speechless huh I did good” she says proud of herself. You shove her and turn your body to face her “Want me to make you feel good?” you ask.

She shakes her head no and moves her big hand to cup your cheek “No today was about you bebo but I do expect you ti return the favor soon” she bites her lip looking at you up and down “Did I mention how beautiful you are?” She asks.

You shrug “Maybe once or twice” you laugh getting up in wobbly legs. You Change into a new outfit and hand Nika one of your hoodies. She puts it on and walks over to your wrapping her strong arms around your waist “I really like you” she whispers in your ear. You turn your head and kiss her cheek “I really like you too ma” you whisper and lay a soft kiss on her lips.

“Be my girlfriend? Like officially” Nika asks nervously bitting her lip. You nod your head “Yes of course dumbass” you jump into her arms and kiss her again. She holds you up by your thighs “Don’t get me started again bebo I won’t hold back” she says after she pulls away from the kiss.

You jump down from her arms before turning and fixing your hair in the mirror. You grab her hand and the both of you go outside to hang out with Paige and everyone.

[howtofightwrite]

Most traditional boxing instructors will tell you that if the opponent is taller than you, has longer arms than you, or is heavier than you, you're fucked and you need to stay extremely aware and work really hard to compensate for all the advantage he has over you.

In a recent forensic survey, it was determined that most traditional boxing instructors who get into real world altercations die when they're shot in the head.

This is the problem with a lot of these kinds of arguments. No one practices traditional boxing. At least, no one does so publicly. How do I know this? Because traditionally boxers fought in the nude. Yeah, we're not seeing that, are we? Now, maybe they meant bare knuckle boxing, but really no one does that either, these days. Boxing without safety equipment is not a particularly good idea, for fairly obvious reasons.

The only reason the word, “traditional,” is in the ask is to lend their statement unearned credibility. It's an attempt to make their statement sound more authoritative, without offering any evidence to support the statement.

Who said that?

“Traditional people did.”

Okay, but, 'traditionally,' people cleaned shit off their ass with a stick. So, maybe appealing to Hellenic sports isn't the best gauge of how a fight will play out.

Also, I know I just said it, but, who are these authoritative sports guys? Because they're not named. We're simply told, “most,” of them agree. Which starts to sound a lot like “four out of five dentists agree.” Who are these instructors? What do they teach? Why are the currently in prison for indecent exposure? And how much did you pay them to get their uninformed opinion? Salient questions which may need to be answered, if the original question wasn't invalid on its face.

Why do I say it's invalid?

Because boxing isn't fighting.

Boxing is a sport.

Boxing has rules.

Kick your opponent in the groin, or shin, and you're punished.

Step on their foot, push them, and watch them tumble to the ground before you start stomping on them, and you'll be punished.

Throwing your opponent will be punished.

And of course, as mentioned at the top, pulling out a gun and expanding your opponent's mental horizons is extremely frowned upon.

These are all things that can happen in a real fight.

These are all things that do not benefit from increased height or reach.

There is one genuinely accurate statement. In a fight, you do need to be very aware of what's going on around you. Everything else is the product of someone who's been punched in the head repeatedly until the CTEs got them thinking that boxing is analogous to a real fight in any way. (And, statistically, will probably end their career sitting in a jail cell over an aggravated assault charge, because their emotional self-control was completely destroyed by those same head injuries.)

The rules that boxers need to follow are designed to (somewhat) protect the participants. It reduces the dangers of a boxer being killed in the ring. In an observation that I would hope to be self-evident, those rules don't exist in actual combat.

It's also amusing, because the original Asker had to go so far as to single out an ill-defined, “traditional” boxing, because no other martial art they checked gave them the soundbite they wanted.

And, of course, women box. Historically, you could say, “traditionally,” there were even boxing matches between men and women. It wasn't until the 1880s that women were excluded from competitive boxing in the UK. (I'm not sure of the exact date when women were banned from boxing in the US, though that prohibition lasted for less than a century, before the modern return of women to the sport.)

So, either these “traditional instructors” don't know the history of their own sport... which doesn't sound particularly “traditional” to me, or they're full of shit.

My advice to everyone would be, maybe, don't take the advice of a sports coach about how he's secretly an absolute badass in all the delusional fantasies he's cooked up about how he'd like to inflict violence on others because they wouldn't date him.

-Starke

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[formulauno98]

Yacht Girl Summer - Chapter Nine / Thursday, Four Months Later - George Russell x Reader, Toto Wolff x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Angst!!! 🌶 This one is spicy. 18+ only. This is going to be a slow burn and if you're uncomfortable with the idea of two-timing don't read this.

Author’s Notes: Disclaimer, purely fiction. No use of Y/N and minimal descriptions because I want everyone/anyone to be able to enjoy this.

I do not give anyone permission to replicate or translate my fic.

THURSDAY EVENING, FOUR MONTHS POST-BREAK-UP

Bouncing up and down, straddling the handsome man lying on the bed beneath you, your hips rolled together in unison as he thrust up into you, moaning. His familiar hands held your hips in a vice-like grip, lifting you as he filled you over and over again, each thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Take it.” he rasped, pulling you down for a breathy, passionate kiss as he pressed his cock deeper. You’d never felt so full and it wasn’t long before you were almost there. 

“Cum for me.” he said, “Cum on my cock.”

“Fuck!” you screamed as your companion flipped you over onto your back once more, pushing in relentlessly, leaving you gasping as you shuddered out your second orgasm of the night. The man on top of you wasn’t far behind, expertly pulling out as he too reached completion, splattering your stomach.

“Fuck, that was good,” he said, rolling over to lay beside you, “Why did we not do this again sooner?”

You rolled over to lean on your elbow, your eyes finding his, “Really?” you said.

“A figure of speech.” he said, propping himself up to face you fully, “We should clean up, come and shower with me?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” you said, grinning at your charming lover. This was not how you had expected the evening to go when you’d accepted an invitation to a friend of a friend’s art exhibition. But you were not one to complain. Life always had a funny way of working out.

REWIND TO A TUESDAY AFTERNOON, TWO MONTHS POST-BREAK-UP

Days had turned into weeks that quickly stretched to two months as you tried your best to piece your life back together following your split from George. The pain of the break-up still hit hard but was slowly dissipating with each passing day. It wasn’t easy, the press having gotten wind of the split and done their utmost to link George to numerous other women in the wake of your separation, his photo constantly splashed unceremoniously across the gossip pages. 

To begin with, seeing articles and photos of him with other women had upset you but the saying that time heals all wounds was starting to ring true and the more time passed, the less it was affecting you. You were starting to feel like yourself again, no more worrying about what people thought of you, enjoying being your own person once more, no longer just George’s girlfriend. 

Although brutal, the break-up had brought the clarity that you had long been seeking. Of course, you regretted how it had come about but you didn’t regret it happening. You wished you hadn’t hurt George in the process and you somewhat regretted sleeping with Toto but you couldn’t turn back the clock, you could only learn from your mistakes.

On the matter of Toto, you had felt torn. Despite the clandestine way you had found each other, there was a real connection and you had toyed with the idea of exploring it. True to his word, he had sent you a text asking if you’d like to go for lunch but it had felt too soon so you’d politely declined. A few weeks later, he’d invited you for drinks, but again it felt all too quick. You needed space to heal, to figure out if your attraction to him had been genuine or was just a product of the yacht’s close quarters, fueled by your unhappiness with George.

In a surprising turn of events, Cara had also checked in with you regularly, the older woman sympathetic to your plight. The unexpected blossoming friendship had become a comforting constant, with the two of you meeting every few weeks for coffee or brunch and Cara making you privy to George and Toto’s workplace comings and goings. According to James, their relationship was still frosty but both were professional enough to keep it out of the workplace and the wider team were none the wiser.

You hadn’t heard from George, save for a short text telling you that someone was coming over to collect his things from your apartment. It had been emotional packing up George’s possessions but somewhat cathartic once they were gone. Out of sight, out of mind and it had helped you begin to fully move on.

TUESDAY EVENING

That was until one fateful evening. You’d been invited to a charity auction, auctioning off racing memorabilia for a good cause. You had RSVP’d months ago and forgotten until a reminder popped up in your calendar the day before. It was too late to back out and all you hoped was that George would not be there. 

On arrival you scanned the room, looking out for the familiar mop of brown hair. Breathing a sigh of relief, you saw he was nowhere to be found and milled about, sipping on champagne and chatting with your former acquaintances from the paddock. Ready to grab another flute of champagne, you jumped as a hand suddenly wrapped around your arm, a deep, all-too familiar voice booming from behind you.

“I didn’t know you would be here.” 

It was Toto. Fuck. Your heart skipped a beat, but you steadied yourself, turning to face him.

"Hi," you replied, feeling a mix of emotions. "How have you been?"

"Busy, as always," he said with a small laugh. "And you?"

"Good. Work’s been busy too and I’ve been trying to get out for some hikes every weekend. Take my mind off things, you know?"

There was an awkward pause, a moment of unspoken understanding. "I’m glad to hear that," he said finally. "You look well."

"Thank you, so do you," you replied. "I’ve also had a lot of time to think lately."

"About us?" he asked, keeping his voice low, his eyes searching yours.

"About everything," you admitted. "What happened… it wasn't fair to George, to you, or to myself."

Toto nodded. "I understand. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for my part in it."

"Thank you," you said, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “What’s done is done and we can only move on.”

"I agree," he said, his tone respectful. "And if you ever need a friend, I’m here."

You smiled, appreciating the gesture. "I’ll keep that in mind."

– – – 

As the evening progressed, you felt a sense of closure. The chapter with George and Toto was over and you were ready for new beginnings. Your future was uncertain, but you felt ready to embrace it for the first time in a while. 

You didn’t see Toto again that night and thankfully George didn’t show up. You were able to slip out early, knowing that this was a world you were finally no longer part of. It was cathartic and as you walked into the night, you savoured the promise of new adventures and the lessons learned from your past mistakes.

SATURDAY EVENING

As the days passed following the auction, the memory of your encounter with Toto at the charity event lingered. You found yourself replaying the conversation in your mind, wondering if you should have said more. The closure you felt that night started to feel incomplete and you couldn't shake the feeling that there could be more to explore between you and Toto.

Late one Saturday evening, as you sat alone in your apartment, you decided to bite the bullet and reach out. With a deep breath, you picked up your phone and typed out a message.

"Hey, it was good to see you the other day. Would you be up for coffee? I’ve been thinking a lot and would love to talk."

You hesitated before hitting send, but you figured what the hell. The message was sent and all you could do was wait and see what he had to say in response - if he responded at all. 

SUNDAY MORNING

Fortunately, you didn’t have long to wait when early the next morning, Toto’s reply came.

"Of course. I’m in town today, I can do this afternoon if that’s not too short notice?"

You replied quickly, texting back and forth as you made concrete plans for the location and timing. Your stomach was already filled with butterflies, you weren’t sure what you were going to say to Toto but all you knew was that your heart had thumped at the sight of him at the auction. He was a striking man and a single flash of that dimpled grin had your heart melting once more.

Arriving at the café, you spotted Toto seated at a corner table, looking pensive. He smiled warmly as you approached and you were struck by how natural it felt to see him again, albeit surreal to see him sat down at a regular table, away from the glitz and glamour you typically met him in.

"Hi," you said, sitting down across from him.

"Hi," he replied. "It’s good to see you."

"You too," you said, taking a deep breath. "I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since the auction."

"Me too," Toto admitted, his expression serious. "That week was…something. I’ve found myself missing you."

"Same here," you said, feeling a sense of relief. "Seeing you the other night made me realise that. Maybe, if you wanted, we could see each other again?”

Toto leant forward, his eyes searching yours. "What are you saying?"

"I’m saying that I know this came about in not the best way but maybe we could see where things go?"

Toto’s face softened, and he reached across the table to briefly take your hand in his, conscious you were in public. "I’ve felt the same way. I didn’t want to push you, after everything that happened. But if you’re willing to give me a chance, I’d like that too. Let me take you out to dinner."

You smiled, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. "I’d love that. Let’s start again, no pressure.”

"Absolutely," Toto agreed, his dimpled grin returning, chocolate eyes crinkling. “No pressure.”

THREE MONTHS POST-BREAK-UP

Over the next few weeks, you and Toto spent more time together, enjoying a cosy dinner, a trip to an art gallery and a walk around the park, dropping back into easy conversations as if no time had passed at all. Toto had behaved like the perfect gentleman, not taking things beyond a relatively chaste goodnight kiss following your dinner. He knew that you were still healing and when you were ready to take the next step you’d be sure to let him know.

With Toto now away for three weeks on a triple header, you kept in touch digitally, dropping each other occasional texts throughout the day, Toto calling you on the odd quieter evening. When he did call, you found yourself chatting away the hours, it was easy and you felt as if you’d known him for years.

Although you were taking things slow this time, you couldn’t wait for Toto to return and swoop you up in those strong arms. You craved his touch and couldn’t wait for the opportunity to get close once again.

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, FOUR MONTHS POST-BREAK-UP

The day Toto was set to return had finally arrived. You woke up with an excitement you hadn't felt in a long time, a spring in your step as you went about your morning routine. You texted him good morning, and he replied almost instantly.

"Can’t wait to see you tonight. Dinner at 8?"

"Perfect, Can’t wait," you replied, smiling at the thought of seeing him again. 

You spent the day preparing, tidying up your apartment just in case anything were to happen and spending some time pampering so you looked and felt your best. You were tingling with anticipation at the promise of what the evening held.

WEDNESDAY EVENING

When eight o’clock finally came, you arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, nervously checking your reflection in the window before stepping inside. Toto was already there, ever the gentleman, standing up from the table to greet you with a warm smile.

"You look beautiful," he said, his voice deep and sincere.

"Thank you," you replied, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "You look good too."

Dinner was filled with easy conversation and shared laughter, Toto sharing stories from his action-packed travels and you telling him about the new hobbies you'd picked up during your time alone. There was an unspoken understanding between you, a mutual respect that you knew had not been present in your relationship with George. You found yourself once again falling for the older man’s rakish charm, such a stark contrast from the grumpy persona he seemed to adopt in the workplace.

After dessert, Toto offered to walk you home and you eagerly agreed. The evening was cool, the stars just beginning to peek out from the darkening sky as you strolled through the dark streets. Toto’s hand brushed against yours and you felt a spark return, a connection that was impossible to ignore.

"Can I confess something?" he asked, stopping to look at you, his dark eyes serious.

"Of course," you replied, your heart racing.

"I’ve thought about you every day since that week on the yacht," he said, his voice soft. "I know it wasn’t the best of circumstances, but it is what it is."

You took a deep breath, the honesty in his words touching you deeply. "I feel the same way, Toto."

He smiled, stepping closer and taking your hands in his. "These last three weeks have been torture. All I wanted was to come back and see you. It’s been driving me crazy.”

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief and happiness wash over you. "I missed you too."

As he leaned down to kiss you, the world seemed to melt away. His lips were soft and warm, and you felt a sense of rightness as if this was where you were meant to be all along. When you finally pulled away, he kept you close, his forehead resting against yours.

"Let’s take it slow," he suggested. "No pressure, just us."

"Just us," you repeated, feeling a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in a long time.

As you walked towards your apartment, hand in hand, you knew that this was the start of something new. It wouldn’t be easy, and there would be challenges ahead, but for the first time in a long while, you felt hopeful. More mature than George, Toto was different, the breath of fresh air that you had needed.

THURSDAY MORNING

The next morning, you woke up with a smile on your face, the memory of Toto’s kiss still fresh in your mind. Something about it felt right and you couldn’t wait to see him again.

You rolled over and checked your phone, pleased to already see a message from him.

"Good morning beautiful. Last night was wonderful. Looking forward to seeing you again soon."

You replied quickly, your heart fluttering. 

"Good morning! I had a great time too. Can’t wait to see you again."

Toto was straight to the point, playing no games. He had told you exactly how he felt and you believed him. You had heeded Cara’s warning of him being a playboy but he had given you no reason to fear so far.

As you set about your day, you kept catching yourself smiling for no reason in particular, glowing from your evening with Toto. You had been invited to a friend of a friend’s art exhibition that evening and you were looking forward to spending time with your girlfriends and spilling the details of your budding romance. You hadn’t shared what had happened on the yacht with many but you knew if your relationship with Toto was to grow, you couldn’t keep him a secret.

THURSDAY EVENING

Walking through the doors of the small gallery, the room buzzed with conversations, the walls adorned with large, vibrant pieces. Your friends were yet to arrive so you decided to take a look around. As you moved from painting to painting, you heard a familiar voice behind you. Turning around, you saw George standing there, looking as surprised as you felt. 

“Hi,” you greeted him, a bit unsure of how to proceed, aware that you were exposed in public.

“Hi,” he replied, his expression unreadable. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same,” you said, forcing a small smile. “How have you been?”

“Busy,” he said with a shrug. “You?”

“Good. Just taking things one day at a time,” you replied.

An awkward silence hung between you, and you decided to break it. “This is weird. Do you want to talk somewhere else?”

George hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”

Dropping a hasty text to your friends, telling them a white lie that you weren’t feeling well, you found yourself outside, alone with George. The evening air was cool and refreshing and as you walked side by side in silence through the quiet streets, the city lights cast a soft glow around you.

“I’m sorry, George,” you said, breaking the silence. “I’m so sorry for everything. For cheating on you, for hurting you. You didn’t deserve that.”

George looked at you, his expression softening. “I know I wasn’t the best boyfriend. I got caught up in my career and forgot about us. I’m angry, yes, but I also understand that we both made mistakes.”

You shook your head. “It’s not at all your fault George, please never think that. It was my fault entirely and I just hope we can both move on from this and find happiness.”

“I hope so too,” George said, his tone softening. “I did love you, you know. A part of me always will.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I loved you too, George. I still care about you and I want the best for you.”

He gave a small smile, a hint of the old George you knew. “Same here. Let’s just try to be better for ourselves and whoever comes next.”

“Agree.” you said, “Whoever that is is a lucky girl.”

“I appreciate that,” said George, “And likewise, although I think we both know who that is.”

You raised your eyebrows, George interrupting you before you were able to deny his suggestion, “I know you’re seeing Toto. We’ve spent the last few weeks together and I’ve seen him glued to his phone when he’s not working. He’s been grinning like an idiot.”

Smiling weakly, you shrugged, “We’re just friends. It didn’t feel right to do anymore.”

Looking unconvinced, George turned to face you, “Look, I’m sure we’ll run into each other, I hope we can be friendly?”

Surprised that George was being so amicable, you reached around to hug him, his arms wrapping around you in return, “Deal.”

Stood in George’s embrace, you felt a sense of relief and closure wash over you. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. Sure, George had not been the perfect boyfriend but you would always cherish the moments you had spent together and you could only wish him well.

– – – 

Having bid goodbye to George, you returned to your apartment, feeling lighter than you had in months. As you settled in, your phone rang. It was Toto.

“Hello?” you answered, your heart skipping a beat at the sound of his voice.

“Hey, is now a good time to talk?” he said, a warm tone in his voice. 

“Of course,” you said, thrilled that he already wanted to talk to you again.

“Are you home?” he asked, “I’m close by, I wondered if I can come up?’

Surprised that he was inviting himself over, you looked around, scanning the mess you’d left in your apartment as you’d hurried out the door earlier, “Sure, how far away are you?”

“About twenty minutes.” he said, “I’ll ring when I’m close by.”

“Perfect,” you said, “See you soon.”

“See you,” he said ringing off. 

At that, you bolted from the sofa frantically, chucking the dirty plates and cookware that you’d left in the sink in the dishwasher and running to your bedroom to put the laundry you’d been too lazy to fold away back in your wardrobe.

You’d hardly managed to tidy anything when the buzzer rang. Twenty minutes your ass, Toto needed to work on his timing! You pushed the button to let Toto up, making your way to the kitchen to dig out a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Not long after there was a soft knock on your door and barely containing a smile, you made your way over to answer the door to the older Austrian, mildly embarrassed at your excitement. You took a breath, steeling yourself to calm down and greet Toto normally.

However, nothing could have prepared you for who stood on the other side of the door. It was George, grinning widely, clearly tipsy, holding the largest bunch of white roses you’d seen in your life.

"George," you said, taken aback. "Not that it’s not nice to see you but what are you doing here?"

His grin faltered for a moment, replaced with a flicker of uncertainty. "I know this is unexpected. But after we talked earlier, I felt like there were still things left unsaid. I wanted to come by and see you."

You hesitated, glancing down the hallway, half expecting Toto to appear any second. "George, this really isn't a good time..."

"I won't stay long, I promise," he said quickly, sensing your hesitation. "I just need to say this."

You stepped aside, allowing him to enter and he handed you the roses. They were beautiful, but the timing felt wrong. You placed them on the kitchen counter and turned to face him.

"Thank you for these, but George, we really said everything that needed to be said earlier. We have to move on."

"I know," he said, running a hand through his hair. "But I’ve been thinking too. I realised I never properly apologised for my part in everything. I was so wrapped up in my own world, I didn’t see how unhappy you were. I’m truly sorry."

You nodded, appreciating his honesty. "George, honestly, what I did to you was the worst thing in the world. Unless you were some abusive boyfriend there was no excuse. I’m the biggest piece of shit for doing that. There is no need to apologise.”

He gazed at you, unconvinced, “I don’t know about that. I miss you.”

Your eyes widened, not only were you not expecting George, you certainly hadn’t expected this one-eighty. If things had been the other way around you were not sure if you could have forgiven him.

“I miss you too,” you confessed, “But it’s natural, we spent a lot of time together, good times.”

“Exactly!” he said, his eyes a little crazy, “And I’ve been thinking. I think I could forgive you. I know you’ve been chatting to Toto but c’mon, you can do better than that old man.”

Suddenly well aware that the old man in question was currently en route to your place, you tried to remain tactful, “I appreciate that but I honestly think it’s better if we both just move on. You can do a lot better than me!”

“No. No, I can’t.” he said, his eyes looking saddened, “I’m still in love with you.”

Taglist: @prettiest-at-the-party @noooway555 @annewithaneofthegreengable  @xoscar03 @totowolfffcheco @justzluv @kravitzwhore @bborra @a-beaverhausen@amandadesantasworld

[barbiiecams]

mine

rafe cameron x reader, fighting. this is short but i been thinking ab this a lot..

“rafe im letting you know right now i will fuck her up if she tries me.”

“yeah okay.” he chuckles, not believing you in the slightest. “she won’t try anything baby, leave it alone.”

he took another sip of his drink while you gave him the dirtiest stare. all night his ex, sofia, was staring you down, whispering about you, and giving you dirty looks. she didn’t like you because you came straight after her, and that was fine because you didn’t like her either.

“all night she’s been starting shit. i let her bumping into me slide, but now she’s over there clearly making jokes with her ugly ass friends. does she hate herself or something?” you sat up in your lawn chair.

one thing about it, you were never afraid to get down with someone especially if it was about your man. you definitely weren’t as crazy as rafe himself, but just maybe if you were pushed hard enough.

and this bitch who was now walking up to the two of you new exactly which buttons to push.

“great, now she’s walking towards us.” now you were really sat up, ready to smack some common sense into her if she tried it.

“you summoned it.” rafe jokes as you hit his chest, half jokingly and half not.

as she started getting close enough to the point where you could hear her feet in the sand, rafe pretended to be on his phone.

“hi y/n, hi rafe!” she says in a very unrealistic friendly voice. rafe doesn’t answer, and you just look at her with a look that says ‘why are you here.’

to your dismay, topper suddenly comes up next to rafe. “yo bro, they’re making it snow inside you gotta get some.”

and rafe being the addict he was, plus not wanting be around his ex, he got up as quickly as he could. “be right back.”

you truly should’ve went with him, but you didn’t. you wanted to get up and slap him for leaving you there with her in the first place.

he walks away, and sofia takes this as an opportunity to sit down in rafe’s chair. you weren’t having this tho.

“can i help you?” you ask.

“we can’t just talk? we have all this unnecessary beef.” she says.

“i wonder why.” you mumble as you stir the drink with your hand. the drink that was starting to become indented like a stress ball the way you were squeezing it. you hoped that Jesus was on your side and hers. at any moment you could easily crash out and she would have to deal with it.

“y/n, i don’t hate you.” she says with a smirk on her face that said otherwise.

“well we’re nowhere near acquaintances so you might as well.” you told her. yea, you were on that tonight.

“what’s all the hostility for?” she giggles, “sounds like you know where he’s bound to come back to.

now you know she did not just…

“excuse me?” subtly and slowly, you started tying your hair up.

“i mean come on, rafe with someone like you? it’s not meant to be.” she chuckles.

“and what do you mean someone like me?” suddenly the jewelry on your ears, hands, and neck started coming off too.

“do i seriously have to explain it? im not trying to embarrass you.” she laughs some more while looking you up and down.

now you were standing up, fully out of the chair, thinking about each and every way you’d do some damage to her face.

she got up from her chair as well, trying to match your energy but she still didn’t get what was about to happen.

for some reason, she’s just not getting the hint that you were genuinely about to rock her world in the worst way.

“there’s a reason why YOU’RE his ex. i hope you understand that.” you said. you were trying to actually speak before you did something she wouldn’t like.

“and that’s cool. but soon the roles are gonna be rever-”

she couldn’t even get the whole sentence out of her mouth until you slapped her clean across the cheek.

a few people saw this and immediately went “damn!”.

and when she sat there, just holding her cheek and looking at you as if she couldn’t believe you would actually hit somebody, they started going “nah i wouldn’t take that.”

she regains her composure. “you thought that was cute?” she says before attacking you right back, and now you were in a serious catfight with rafe’s ex.

a crowd forms around the two of you in a circle, people recording and being extremely loud.

you were getting hits in, but so was she, so now you had really no other choice but to maneuver your hands to her hair and drag her.

sofia was on the ground, pinching and gripping your arm that was holding her head while you threw blows to her face repeatedly.

“LET ME GO!” she screamed.

“TOLD YO ASS TO STOP FUCKING WITH ME.” you said while you got your punches to emphasize your words.

many people must not have liked sofia, because aside from your few friends at the party cheering you on, other randoms were even for you.

“DO HER SHIT IN, Y/N!”

“YEA Y/N FUCK HER UP.”

“THATS WHAT TF SHE GETS.”

blood started dripping from her nose, getting all of her face so you definitely weren’t stopping — until you were forced to.

the crowd was getting bigger and bigger, voices were getting louder and louder, but someone must’ve had to run inside and notify rafe that you were in a fight. that man wasn’t stopping a coke rush just to see a fight, let alone some random person.

but hearing that it was you fighting? oh he was on go.

a big pair of arms wrapped around your waist, forcing you to be pulled away while you could see toppers hands forcing the grip you had on her hair off.

you weren’t gonna stop that easy. you fought against their restraints and tried hitting her as much as you could, but in reality the two of them were way stronger than you.

“that’s ENOUGH.” rafe yells.

“yea listen to your man!” sofia says while scrambling to get up.

“at least you finally got the hint he’s mine!” you responded real quick.

rafe’s hold on you was real tight. your arms and legs might’ve been free, but you couldn’t go anywhere even if you tried.

once sofia was up, she was quick to try and charge at you again. “you bum bitch.”

you used your free leg to kick her to the ground, sending her to her ass once again. “WHOS THE BUM HOE?”

everyone gassed up at that as well. you’re not the type to fight like this. you really didn’t even know you had all this in you. but tonight, she pushed the right buttons and sent you over the edge.

rafe wasn’t amused at this at all. “would you stop?!” he yells again, now picking your legs up which forced you into a bridal position.

“RAFE PUT ME DOWN!” you yelled at him.

“you can be put down once you’re calm.” he says while walking away with you in his hands. he had to push through the huge crowd with a bunch of ‘move out my damn way’’s.

topper wasn’t too far behind the two of you, chuckling to himself about the fight he just had to help breakup.

the whole time rafe was muttering to both you and himself. “i leave you alone for 5 fucking minutes.”

rafe brought you inside away from the party and up into his bedroom. once you two were there, he threw you down onto his bed with an annoyed look plastered on his face.

you just sat there in silence looking at him as he then wiped a hand over his face. right after, he spoke up. “what’s wrong with you?”

you make of face of serious offense. “what’s wrong with me? what’s wrong with that bucked tooth ex of yours?”

he let the tiniest smirk crack at your joke but he put it away quickly.

“what did she even say? did she hit you first?” he asked.

“she kept talking shit. so i slapped her.”

“what did she say is what i wanna know.” he huffs.

you sigh. “she kept saying how i’m not pretty enough to be with you, how you’re gonna go back to her soon. it was pissing me off.”

he snorts, “do you genuinely believe that?”

“obviously not-”

“then you had no business to be hitting on her.” he says in his firm dad tone that you absolutely hate.

“um yes i did. and don’t even try to have a talk with me about this you’ve literally done worse-”

once again he cuts you off. “this isn’t about me.”

you roll your eyes. of course he’ll never admit he’s a hypocrite.

“whatever. why are you defending her? maybe she wasn’t wrong after all.” you shrug. you knew this was a stretch, but it was pissing you off how he’s basically saying that you’re in the wrong.

you watch the furrow in his eyebrows form. “what are you talking about? i’m not defending her, but you can’t just be going around almost sending girls in a coma.” he tries to reason.

the only thing you can do is sit there with still an annoyed, and upset expression on your face, adding a pout on that couldn’t help but stick.

he sighs while sitting down on the bed himself and bringing you into his lap.

“i know she makes you mad baby, i get it. and you’re right, i’ve done and probably would’ve done worse if it was me. but i know you, y/n. you don’t fight like that. i don’t want you to get in trouble.” he tried comforting you while stroking your thigh.

“she needed the common sense knocked into her anyways.” you said while snuggling into him.

he chuckles, “that i can agree with. but next time she really does make you feel like you need to attack her, just tell me. if there’s one person that will humble her good enough it’s me.”

this makes you crack a smile, but then both of your phones went off with messages.

opening yours, many people are already sending your fight video to your phone.

your friend then texts you after sending the video to a group chat you’re in with her, and a few other friends.

‘girl you knocked the mario coins out her head she went home crying 😭’

your other friends start responding and laughing at the whole thing in the group chat, and both you and rafe are sitting there, laughing as well.

“shit baby, who knew you had that in you? my girls got some heavy hands on her.” he kisses your cheek while taking out his own phone to text his friends.

“i don’t even crash out like that. but clearly it’s different when it comes to you.” you chuckle while getting up and dragging him with you to go party again.

nobody dares to try this with rafe tho. everyone knows he doesn’t play about his girl.

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: This Confession Has Meant Nothing (Yandere Derek Goffard x Reader)

Title: This Confession Has Meant Nothing [Yandere Derek Goffard x Reader]

For Horrorfest request:

I don't have much of an idea beyond Derek as Patrick Bateman style serial killer. You're his final girl/boy. Surviving his spree.  he hates how fascinated he is with you.

Word Count: 748

notes: yandere, mentions of killing, derek wants to (maybe) kill you; reader is a sex worker

You are one, stupid ugly piece of shit. You’re worthless. Gutter trash. So far beneath him that you’re almost not worthy of killing; not worthy of him scuffing his shoes, handcrafted genuine leather that costs more than rent at your shitty apartment for a year. More, maybe. 

You are nothing. Just some bones and a meat suit, just something to bide his time with, something for him to (maybe) fuck and film and when he’s bored enough, dissect. He even tells you his real name (Derek Goffard, and you looked impressed, and you SHOULD BE) because he’s going to kill you so why not? 

You’re just something to discard with the morning trash, the morning paper, maybe his nice shoes too because he can buy a new pair whenever he fucking wants. An inconsequential speck.

And yet.

He can’t stop thinking about you. 

About the way your lip curled up at him when you realized what he’d done to Susie or Cheryl or whatever her name was. Doesn’t matter. A woman he bought for the night after he bought you, and you were pretending to get along so well that for a moment he assumed your first reaction to seeing her bleeding out from the knife sounds in her torso would be to reach out. Grief. Horror. Shock.

But no. Instead, you’d looked at him… straight at him… like you had the fucking right And you sneered. Actually sneered! With this look of hatred in your eyes that told him you thought you were better than him, that he was shit and you were gold.

You really were fucking stupid, weren’t you? 

But then how--and the thought creeps into his brain and he smacks it out viscerally with his hand--did you get away from him? How did you make it out of the condo, into the hallway, down the stairs (ALL those stairs) and out the front door into the night? How hasn’t he found you yet?

Maybe you didn’t have to be smart to survive. Yeah. That made sense. Animals survive in the wild all the time, don’t they? Not all rabbits are eaten by wolves. Some are just fast enough to scurry off into some hole to hide out in, to live another day, to fuck and breed and repeat the cycle until they are either roadkill or fall prey to an eagle or some shit like that.

You were his rabbit. 

But he wasn’t going to let you get away. He couldn’t imagine you getting away, cleaning yourself up, getting out of the city. You’d get some job that pays the rent and meet someone; maybe you two would have kids, and you’d be a grandparent or something ridiculous like that, decades down the line.

No.

That wasn’t what he wanted for you. Not when he’d killed so many others in the past few weeks. Not when he recognized you for what you were: his, in some way. His to kill. His to finish with. 

Yeah, that would be nice. After he killed you, he’d take a break from it for a while. Maybe see if he could get a promotion at his dad’s business. Find someone to get engaged with--appearances, and all that--and pop out a kid. He could always go back to killing if he felt like it.

That’s the way the world works. He was allowed to kill because he was richer and smarter and better looking. You were going to die because you were nothing beneath his (expensive) shoes. 

He just has to find you first. Oh, and when he does… he presses his face against the car window, breath fogging it up. He can just imagine what he’ll do to you. Hurt you. Kill you. Keep you? All three sounded enticing.

His fingers itch, his cock goes hard, just thinking about it.

The street lights are dim in this part of the city, but bright enough for people to make out the faces on the corners, the curve of bodies standing close to the curb. 

If you ran, you might have run right back here; where you ply your trade and get your drugs and maybe have a few people you call friends. It’s where he picked you up the first time, after all.

And he’s got all the time and money in the world to track you down again.

[icallhimjoey]

Are you still taking requests?

If yes, I’d love to read about pure domestic bliss. Peak Soft!Joey! Things he does for us that make us go all speechless and love him even more. Little things like running us a bath when he senses we had a shit day, takes care of us when we’re home with a cold…things LIKE THAT!

I could really use that rn. <3

um, so, hyper independent reader not used to someone wanting to take care of us in the smallest of ways???? goooooooot it got it got it Wordcount: 3.3K

---

For You

You rarely asked for help.

Didn't need any.

Joe thought hard, but couldn't remember you ever asking him for anything. Or anyone else for that matter. You didn't ask for help in big ways, but also didn't ask for help in any of the small, little ways.

You did things yourself. Didn't bother people and, even though things took time and effort, and were sometimes a real bitch to figure out by yourself, you always did. Eventually.

Sorted through whatever on your own, because that's how you'd always done it. How your childhood had shaped you. What you'd gotten used to. Who you'd become as a person.

You took care of, well, everything. Were organised in ways Joe couldn't even really phantom a person being organised.

"What do you mean you just fixed my washing machine yourself?"

"Was just the little motor inside, I opened it up and it needed a little part replaced."

"What the..."

"Was easy. I watched some tutorial on how to–" you stopped, had to laugh at the face of shocked disbelief and somehow sheer annoyance he made and finished, "There's tutorials for fucking everything online, it really wasn't that hard."

Yea, Joe wasn't so sure.

"All right then, I guess I'll go and cancel the order I placed for a new one."

Because he would have never even thought of opening whatever panel on the back of whatever machine to have a look inside. To look up what he'd be looking at, and to get a screwdriver out to fiddle around inside.

It was out with the old in the the new far to easily with Joe.

Didn't go like that with you.

You took care of shit yourself. Were the person that people would come to for help. Because that's what you did. Took care of your own shit and helped others with theirs.

It took some actual getting used to for Joe.

Girls had never been like that before with him.

They'd ask for shit, would whine at him in a soft baby voice until he'd do whatever they'd asked. Sometimes it'd be cute, but it could be annoying as fuck too. He'd always cave, however, and it would somehow genuinely increase his well-being. To make someone else happy by doing a small task they asked of him. Fed his ego a bit. Upped the self-esteem a little.

And it wasn't that you didn't accept help when it was offered to you.

Not at all.

You just never asked.

It took weeks for Joe to learn that he'd have to figure out for himself what he could do to help. To take care of you sometimes.

It was why sometimes, when you'd be sat doing whatever paperwork needed doing, or answering whatever e-mails needed answering, Joe would silently wander around your flat.

Looking for things maybe he could do.

Things that maybe you'd left for a bit.

Joe wasn't big on cleaning.

Or organising.

But he could pick up clothes that were left discarded on the bedroom floor. And he could shove whatever products were left out in the bathroom into a drawer. Could open the dishwasher, dishes still dirty, but stacked all wrong, not leaving enough room for the rest that were left on the counter still. He could sort that out for you, no problem.

You always thanked him with a squeeze in his side, or soft kisses to smiley cheeks. Made Joe blush a little, knowing he'd found a thing he could do to help, to ease your load and make you happy.

Until one sort of weird Friday afternoon. It had just gone noon, and Joe received a weird text.

"quick q, did you say you had work today?"

Just things he had to read.

"they wont let me leave on my own"

What the fuck?

"Hey, what's going on? What do you mean they won't let you leave on your own?" Joe decided he needed immediate answers, and called in response to your texts.

"I'm fine," was the first thing out of your mouth, quickly followed by, "Don't worry. If you don't have the time, I can see if–"

"Answer my question, please." Joe cut you off.

"I... I don't know, I keep feeling– I'm dizzy. I lost my balance and fell when my foot got stuck on a threshold– I'm not hurt," you were quick to assure, not wanting to worry Joe.

"Did you faint?" Joe was already on his way out the door.

"No, I'm not lightheaded or anything. Just feel like I'm gonna be sick, and like, my eyes won't stay still. It's more annoying than anything else. Mary says I probably haven't slept enough, or something."

You sounded like it too. All annoyed. Frustrated by the way your body was letting you down in the middle of a work day and now had to ask someone to do something for you.

Had to ask your boyfriend to come pick you up.

Like that was the end of the world, somehow.

"All right, I'm out the door." Joe said, coat billowing behind him as his legs rushed him down the street. "Do one thing for me, yea? Don't fucking move."

Not like you could. Moving your head made you want to throw up. Maybe you just hadn't had enough water and were a bit dehydrated. Or a lot hydrated. You didn't know, but thought having water would be a good idea anyway.

You had little sips in the reception area of the office until Joe arrived.

"Hey," 

"You all right?" Joe crouched down in front of you, one hand on your shoulder, then on your cheek. He ducked his head to look you in the eye.

“Yea fine. Just dizzy when I stand. Or move. That’s all.” 

“She hurt her wrist,” Mary said loudly as she walked over.

You did a quick Joe, Mary - Mary, Joe, introducing them to each other. Joe stood up straight and they shook hands, exchanged polite smiles, and then turned their worried gazes back onto you.

“It’s fine, nothing serious,” you gave your hand a twist and turn to showcase how fine you were. When you’d suddenly lost balance, you’d braced yourself with your one free hand. It would maybe take a day or two for it to feel normal again, it had just taken a blow. 

"It'll sort itself out."

"Are you accompanying her the whole way home?"

"Yea, took the tube here, but," Joe looked at you whilst he fished his phone from his pocket. Unlocked it with his face and swiped to find the Uber app.

"We're getting an Uber back." 

Good. Yes.

You were glad.

You would probably feel just as sick in a car, but the hassle of escalators, tunnels, stairs, more tunnels, more stairs, the hot air but the cold winds, and just, other people... even just thinking of the whole process, of public transport, made black and white spots creep up behind your eyes.

Mary seemed glad too, told you to get some actual rest, to take it easy and to feel better soon as Joe helped you onto your feet and guided you out of the building.

You had to lean into him heavily, nausea gripping you by the throat as you walked down to where Joe said you'd be picked up in a minute.

Focussing strongly on putting one foot in front of the other and not moving your head around too much, your mind echoed left, right, left, right, left, right. You felt Joe's grip strengthen around your waist as the world kept pulling you to the side.

"Jesus, do we need to go to A&E?"

This wasn't the time for jokes. You were busy trying to generally survive. The lack of balance, the world spinning and tilting, was disorienting and didn't leave room for humour.

"Have someone look you over?"

Joe wasn't joking, though.

"No," you swallowed. A mistake. "I just need to lie down and be still."

Joe helped you slide into the car, then used his fingers on your jaw to tip your head back against the headrest. Held a palm over your forehead a second, making sure it stayed in place before he carefully got you into your seatbelt and shut the door as softly as he could.

Sitting still like this, it was okay. Head back, sat up right, no weird smells.

This was fine.

You told the driver not to worry. Lied and promised him you didn't feel sick, just dizzy, and prayed you wouldn't actually throw up.

Joe rounded to the other side and slid down the seat to be right beside you. Sat in the middle seat, and after doing up his own seatbelt, attention was back with you.

An arm pushed through behind your neck, curled around your shoulder as you got pulled in.

Resting your head on Joe's shoulder wasn't any better than having it upright and tipped back, but Joe used a large palm that covered most of your scalp and then softly scratched fingers into your hair.

That was better.

You closed your eyes when the car pulled onto the road.

Having the actual world move fucked you up way more than you thought it might do.

The light that moved as you drove still filtered through enough, so you turned your head and hid your face against Joe's arm. Found darkness and peace there, and took measured breaths. Tried to ignore how your brain felt like a carousel. Could still taste the coffee you had about an hour earlier.

"Just crossed the river," Joe softly spoke near your ear.

He was taking you home.

"Five more minutes."

When you arrived, Joe wouldn't let you get out of the car by yourself. Said, "Hang on, wait here," and rushed out to jog around where he opened your door. Then he turned, and crouched down. Got down on one knee, and held out his arms behind him to guide.

"Joe, I can walk,"

You'd never ask to be carried.

"This feels safer. Come on."

But Joe insisted, and so you slid from the backseat right onto Joe's back. Slung arms around his neck and rested your head on his shoulder. Closed your eyes again, which didn't really help the nausea, but it felt nice to pretend you weren't really there.

Joe walked with bent legs, never fully straightening his knees, and you got the smoothest piggyback ride you'd ever had, right into your flat.

Right into your bedroom, where...

"Oh, fuck,"

You looked up, peeked over Joe's shoulder and, you remembered as you saw it.

You'd stripped your bed that morning, threw all sheets and covers into the wash and had planned to make the bed later, when you'd get back after work. Would use the other set that you didn't like the feel of as much, but which looked nicer.

"Okay, sofa." Joe turned on his heel, spun too quick, and made you groan with discomfort.

"Sorry, sorry," Joe stilled completely. Waited a couple seconds. Said sorry again and then walked you over into your living room where he carefully lowered himself and let you slide onto your sofa.

"How are we doing?" Joe checked in, went to close the curtains to get the place as dark as it possibly could in the middle of the day.

"Just need to sleep it off, I think," you said, trying to control your breathing as you bent over slowly to take off your shoes.

Your hands got moved aside by Joe, who moved to sit down in front of you on his knees.

"Sit back,"

And so you did. Inhaled deeply. Exhaled slowly. Accepted that the room was just going to be spinning for a while, nothing you could do to make it stop.

Joe took off your shoes and gave both socked feet a rub before coaxing you to lay back.

Throw pillows got moved into place, a blanket got draped over you, and Joe felt something pang inside of his chest at the sight of you laying flat on your back like this.

You were a side sleeper.

Would always curl up into a ball, would pull your knees up all high that would get Joe in the back some nights. Most nights. Joe always had to turn around and move one of your legs to hook over his hip to omit the uncomfortable press of boney knees into his spine.

Joe had never seen you try to fall asleep on your back before.

"Need anything else?" Joe whispered, still hovering over you, now toeing off his own shoes.

Not like you were going to ask, were you?

If Joe wanted to take care, he'd have to ask you for what you needed.

You hummed, said, "Nothing," slung an arm over your eyes and then followed up with, "Quiet.".

All right.

Joe could be quiet.

It didn't take you long to fall asleep at all, thank fuck.

For a second, Joe thought of going back home. Leaving you to get some rest, ensure your place would actually be quiet. But then he thought of your bed, and decided, might as well make it.

Joe found a set of sheets, but knew it was the one you found a little scratchy. Then he found your washing, transferred it all into the dryer as silently as he could and then thought, yea might as well, when he saw you'd left the bathroom messy.

Joe tidied up.

Decided halfway through he could also cook later. Take on dinner.

What else would he appreciate someone doing if he couldn't move without holding onto a wall?

Lots of things.

He was going to do them all.

Joe moved around with intention, shuffled on his socks, did everything as quietly as he could. Still closed cupboards too loudly, and made himself wince several times. He would freeze and would listen if he could hear you stir, if he'd disturbed you.

Not a peep from you. Not once.

Good.

Joe found the fridge empty, then grabbed your reusable shopping bag and your keys. Would only be a minute.

Downstairs, he checked your mail, opened your little metal post box and found a slip for a delivery that you'd missed, for a parcel that needed picking up. Decided to do that too, because, why not.

When Joe got back and carefully went to check if you were asleep still, he saw that you'd curled up with both your knees pressed into the back of the sofa. Couldn't help but smile to himself.

Nearly three hours later, you jolted awake. Took a look around the room, frowning, squinty eyes, and tried to figure out what woke you up. Why you were on the sofa again. What day it was.

You could hear the oven close in the kitchen, and let your head drop back down onto the soft pillows from the sofa.

You remembered.

And you felt... better. Sort of... just fine. You noticed gravity was pulling at you just right again. Huge difference compared to before, when it got you from all different sorts of angles.

Shaking your head side to side, everything felt solid. Steady. And you were really fucking hungry.

"Joe?" you called, and had to cough right after.

"You're up!" Joe stepped into view, drying his hands on a tea towel and he... Joe looked windswept. Untamed. Disheveled and tousled, face all flushed. All smiley and excited looking.

"How are you feeling?"

The opposite of how Joe looked, but, fine none the less.

"Better," you smiled through squinty eyes.

"Yea? No longer dizzy?"

"I don't think so," you shook your head once more, to check. Felt fine.

"Feel sick?"

"No... I'm hungry."

"Yea?"

"Yea." you looked around, still a little dazed and, what was that smell?

"Good, dinner's in the oven." Joe made his way over, and took a moment to grin at you. Leant down and just grinned at you. You didn't know what was so funny, but Joe made you laugh anyway.

You still felt a little shaky when Joe kissed you. Small pecks. Then a long one. Another grin, followed by a suspicious frown from you, and then, more kisses.

"What?" you asked when Joe wouldn't stop smiling.

"Nothing. Just glad that you're okay. How's your wrist?"

You rotated it. Gave it a little shake.

"Bit sore, but not bad, thanks. And thank you for coming to get me from work, I really couldn't have– I don't know what happened, do people get their balance affected from lack of sleep, do you know?"

"Yea, I googled, and apparently, you can. So that could be it, but it also could be a million other things." Joe shrugged.

Hmm. All right. Well, at least you felt better now. Nausea gone. Vision no longer swimming.

"Want to take a bath?" Joe suggested, and you groaned at the suggestion.

"Yes,"

"Okay, be careful, the water was practically boiling when I filled it fifteen minutes ago,"

You gasped softly, immediately pouted.

"You... you already filled the tub?"

Joe's eyes twinkled.

"Babe, I did so much," he exclaimed all proud, and started going down the list.

Joe had done a massive food shop, picked up a parcel from the post office, cleared out the dishwasher, tidied the bathroom, folded the laundry and put it all of it away, made dinner, made the bed–

Joe had to stop when he saw your eyes blinking rapidly, eyelashes wet. You seemed overwhelmed, a bit.

"Are you..."

A sob wrecked from your throat and you immediately laughed, because you were well aware you were being silly.

"You're crying?" Joe asked, smiling, already pulling you in so you could hide your face into his chest.

"You didn't have to–"

"Stop, I know I don't have to. I wanted to. Believe it or not, sometimes people enjoy doing things for you."

People usually loved it when you did things for them, but, you loved doing things for other people, so you understood.

"You made the bed?"

You knew Joe fucking hated making the bed.

"Yea, used the nice sheets,"

"I put the others in the wash this morning–"

"No," Joe corrected. "I put those in the dryer and used those," Joe pulled back, tilted his head down enough to catch your expression. "The other ones are– they don't feel great, right?"

Joe saw your face scrunch up again and quickly tucked you back under his chin.

"Maybe just get rid of those all together,"

"They were an expensive–"

"I'll get rid of them." Joe said, knowing you probably never would yourself.

Unbelievable.

You didn't deserve Joe.

Joe would disagree and fight you on that, so you didn't say that shit out loud.

Joe held you for a bit longer, his affection pouring over you until it was dripping down the sofa and leaving puddles on the floor.

"Bath's getting cold," Joe eventually murmured into your hair.

"Thank you," you managed to croak out as you accepted the kisses Joe pressed to your forehead before he helped you up from the sofa.

He held wary arms out, ready to catch you if it turned out that standing up was still a task too tricky, but you seemed steady enough. Could walk towards the door without going sideways.

"You know what?" he said, hand on the small of your back, guiding you across the room.

"Get in the bath, I'll join you in a sec,"

You caught his little smirk as he looked at you over his shoulder, stepping closer towards the kitchen.

"With dinner." Joe finished, and, fuck off. That sounded like the best fucking idea you'd ever heard.

"Hey," you said, making Joe stop, and for some reason, you caught a flicker of worry in his eyes before they softened as you smiled.

"Thank you," you said again, this time more earnest than you'd done before.

Joe needed to know you were grateful.

"Anything," Joe started, squeezed his eyes shut tightly to bring his point across properly.

"Anything for you."

the end

---

The Taglisted

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taglist currently full, sorry

[cottonlemonade]

Hello,

May I please order a small cherry lemonade with extra ice for 'samu, please?

Archnemesis

word count: 1066 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: 3rd year rival!Osamu x chubby!Reader

genre: angst, fluff, pining

warnings: swearing, mentions of insecurities, hurtful comments about your weight (but it’s quick and not done by Osamu)

request: angsty, rival Osamu protects you

Osamu groaned when he saw the pitiful little bus pull up and people in black training suits jump out. Trying not to be too obvious he kept throwing glances over to the fast growing group assembling in front of the blond coach. When he spotted you amongst them, easily identified since you were fuller than everyone else, he felt excited but turned away and went back into the building.

Sure, he would be the first to admit that you initially caught his eye while you were blissfully munching on an onigiri and he may or may not have wanted to ask you out so badly that he choked on his water but that was besides the point. You were from Karasuno and therefore automatically the enemy.

Last year, when he first came across the crows it was hard to explain to his captain why he seemed to have beef with a member of the women‘s team of all people but Kita had graduated and wasn‘t their captain anymore, soooo… now he could be petty to his heart‘s content. He enjoyed your little rivalry, because although you may look cute enough to eat you could really dish it out.

While he waited in the lobby for his brother to come back from the bathroom, the Karasuno teams entered and walked stoically towards the changing rooms, ignoring the whispers of admiration and awe. Apparently you decided to become even prettier since the last time he saw you. So that’s how you were gonna play it, huh? Well, fuck you.

Wait, why did they all stop next to him? Why did they stare? You were grinning, so you probably just said something scathing, right? Osamu hadn’t paid attention. Okay, there was a 50/50 chance this would work. “Oh, we‘re gonna see about that.“, he said, attempting and … and failing to return the trash talk.

You looked at him in confusion and the team captains ushered you along.

To no surprise of absolutely anyone Inarizaki won their first rounds with ease and after a victory shower Osamu decided to break your concentration by watching your last match of the day quietly from the sidelines. Menacing. Lurking. You’d get the message. Much like with the little number 10 he enjoyed people‘s reaction to seeing you play for the first time. Initially, they would wonder if someone was grievously injured that they sent „that chubby girl“ onto the field, not knowing what was coming. A grimly satisfied smile played on his lips when he heard the surprised whispers from the crowd when you served four aces in a row. Of course his (completely baseless) archnemesis was strong, what did they expect?

Atsumu and Aran appeared next to him towards the end of the game, his brother holding out a bag of snacks to him, watching with genuine disinterest as the opposing team missed a fake spike.

The next ball seemed to last forever, your receives however stayed clean and precise. But then the roaring cheers changed to a murmur. During a particularly harrowing rally you had jumped over the barricade, just managing to lop the ball back onto the field but crashed into the wall after a harsh stumble, your foot having gotten caught in a chair. You somehow made it back onto the court, receiving the next spike with one hand, giving your setter the opportunity to play to your team‘s ace - but then you didn‘t get back up.

Osamu had grabbed his brother‘s sleeve, knuckles turning white when the medic made their way to you.

He saw you being asked a few questions and then your manager pulled you up, slowly leading you towards the exit.

“Figures that the fatty got injured. Can‘t stop a charging rhino.“

“I‘m just impressed she didn‘t take anyone else down with her.“

Osamu‘s head snapped around to see three guys snickering. His shoulders began to shake with anger. No one - no one - was allowed to talk about you like this. Aran followed his gaze, equally disgusted by the comments, and muttered, “Ugh. We‘re playin’ these jerks tomorrow.“

The older twin‘s eyes went blank - murderous. Good, Osamu thought, together they would make these bastards regret ever choosing this sport.

Osamu turned on his heel and jogged out into the corridor, looking around. He turned pale when he found you leaning against a wall, breathing hard, and a small trickle of blood coming from just beyond your hairline.

Your team‘s manager quickly said something, then ran off, probably to get some help.

As if in trance Osamu walked over to you and without a word knelt down with his back towards you.

“What are you doing?“, you asked in a small voice.

“Get on.“, he said tonelessly, and when you didn‘t move, added, “Come on, the floor is gettin‘ uncomfortable.“

Your answer was barely above a whisper. “No, it‘s fine. Honoka will be back in a second with the doctor. And… and I don‘t want you to get hurt, too.“

Osamu let out a huff, turning his head, “Are ya calling me weak?“

“No, I‘m calling me heavy.“, you mumbled.

“Stop it!“ He hadn‘t meant to shout, he looked to the ground, “Just… shut up and get on.“

Glad you understood that he wasn‘t going to stop pushing, he heard you hobble a step forward and carefully leaned on him.

“Put yer arms around my shoulders, go on.“, Osamu encouraged quietly, his voice much gentler now. You seemed to hesitate again. “Don‘t worry, y/n-san. You won‘t hurt me.“

He froze when he felt something wet seeping through the back of his shirt and realized that you were crying, “I… I can‘t lift my left arm.“ So that‘s why you only received the last ball one handed…

Thinking quickly he pressed out, “Alright, just hold on tight with yer right, then. I‘ll make sure ya won‘t fall.“

Bonus: The next day

Two sharp whistle blows signalled the end of the game and the crowd erupted into cheers. The Inarizaki orchestra began playing their well practised victory song and Osamu used his shoulder to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Wh-what-what happened?“, he heard a guy from the other team stammer.

The foxes had won in two sets, the score telling the story of complete and utter humiliation. The twins grinned.

With a shaking finger, the opposing libero pointed towards Osamu, “This guy is a beast.“

a/n: this was such a juicy prompt! Ugh! I’m sorry it got a bit away from me and I ended up adding fluff and mixed in some taking care of you, too. I hope you like it nonetheless, though 🫠

[part 2]

[thedanniannie]

🖤Uchiha Men dating goth baddies pt.2🖤

Descriptions lean femme

Nsfw mentions

Uchihas mentioned: Madara, Obito, Shisui, Itachi

Madara:

- I know I said in my last post he maybe wouldn't deliberately simp for goth babes like some of these other Uchihas on my list, but if anyone was going to be the token metal head boyfriend to their goth babe, it's gonna be him.

- like common, he's not gonna have a mane like that and NOT fit the metal head vibe okay?? LIKE LET'S GET INTO THIS FANTASY!!

- And this man has NO crafty skills.... so imagine helping him with sewing patches on his battle jackets UUUUUGGGGHHJDJJDJSJXJCHD

- He's the guy to have gone to a couple of shows with Hashi when they were young, and he just stopped going as he got older. But he would absolutely cave if you batted your eyelashes and asked him to take you to one. Also, he's protective as fucking fuck.

- And at a show, if he finds you slowly inching your way to the pit, he will snake his arm around your torso to pull you back and just give you the most firm look that's like "you're not going in there missy"

Obito:

- He'd wear the ghost face mask.... I feel like we already knew this information. Like, he'd be on goth tiktok and already KNOW that the goth girls fall hard for a man in a mask and would just happen to have the mask from a past Halloween costume and just make note to NEVER throw it out lol

- Although he can be freaky with the mask, he will also be unbearably sweet. The second he learns about boyfriends making "boo baskets" for their spooky partners, he gets to cooking on it.

- I actually think Obi would have a lot of fun finally getting to do all the typical spooky couple shit. Because although I see Obi for sure simping for the goth babes, for some reason he doesn't approach. But with the mix of being a sweetie at heart and the deep trauma he has, he could for sure keep up with his love's date ideas.

- But I think his favorite would be going to scare nights and going through mazes with his partner. Like, ofc he lives staying home and cuddling while watching horror films, but there's something he likes about getting to play the protective bf type during all the scares

- his other favorite thing is having to clean off all the black lipstick stains after a night out. He would beg (and probably has) to get some, especially after you saying you don't want it to "bother him"

Shisui:

- He's gonna regularly send the text that all goths want to hear from their partners: "Hey babe, do you want to get dressed up and get coffee and go Halloween shopping?"

- If you tell him that you had a horrible day at work, he will make sure his queen of darkness is well pampered. A dark themed bath will be drawn, with the favorite Halloween seasonal candle lit. And he will end the night by putting on Coraline for the two of you to relax to. Idk he's just a knowledgeable simp like that.

- As I'm writing Shisui, I feel like I'm making him seem really ran through. And I guess KINDAAA, like I think Shisui would REALLY like the goths. But it's never out of objectification, he just loves how much they embrace the darkness, and look so hot while doing it. But he's an Uchiha, and they're serious about love, so I think "ran through" would like, he's genuinely dated two goths and just had so much love for them that he learned a lot.

- Also I could see Shisui as the kind of guy who is alt at heart, but doesn't look it. He probably never really TRIED to be alt, like outwardly that is, not because he doesn't like it but rather is just happy to listen to the music and know the people. And when you first met him, you thought he was some regular guy and wouldn't know anything about the subcultures. Until he drove you to your guy's first date, and his music taste completely said otherwise

Itachi:

- Idk why but something in me sees him as being intuitively intelligent with any DIY or gothy clothing alterations. Like, he is savvy enough to know the cheapest places to get things, how to make shit happen on a budget. That intelligence could get him places in alternative crafts, but I also see him as someone not driven to be creative. He's just smart, so he can at least offer a helping hand with any craft his goth partner wants to do

- he also likes to genuinely visit historic and haunted locations. Tbh, I don't think Itachi would believe in ghosts. But he's not patronizing to his partner if they do, and will happily tag along to visit haunted places. Mainly because I just see him as a history buff.

- gives you regal hand kisses, but at the randomest of times. Like yeah, maybe some here and there when he greets you or says goodbye, which was more so the case before your relationship got more serious. But now it's tradition, so he's just a little playful with it. A soft kiss on the hand before your "goodnight kiss," periodically when watching horror movies. His playfulness is still so poised lol. He's a vampire that's why lol.

- maybe he'll even nibble on your goth ass neck like he's a vampire BUT IDK YOU DIDN'T HEAR IT FROM MEEEE (😈)

.

.

.

I think my first Uchiha x goths is probably my most popular post, so I wanted to make more of it. Although this has been sitting in my notes for like a month, oops. But yall loving my first one gave me the motivation to finish this one, for all my fellow goth Uchiha lovers out there!

[duelacadatoolshed]

it's a bitch convincing people to like you {Evan/Reader/HABIT}

Part 2/4

{ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 }

Summary: Despite all of HABITS's neon red flags, you stay with Evan. On the pros and cons list of your relationship, there's only really one, and yes it's a big one, but you decide that it's worth it. HABIT deciding to start coercing you into being complicit in his atrocities, since his ego doesn't like that you refuse to think he's special, is actually less of a down-side to you than anyone might think, though you'd take that thought to the grave.

Warnings: suturing a wound, violence, HABIT breaks a bone in your hand, arson, mind manipulation, knives, murder, mentions of torture, HABIT typical cruelty & behaviour. Unedited.

A/N: continuing to emhpost in 2024. HABIT is distressingly fun to write. I love HABIT and reader's dynamic, Alexa play No Children by The Mountain Goats. That's not the song for this chapter, but it is the song for their relationship. Hand in unlovable hand. Again, like it if you like it, if you like, or comment, or anything. Print it, shred it, grind the remains to powder that you can cut with coke, and snort it. If you hate it, tape it to a punching bag.

Evan wakes with a start, terror in his eyes, and starts apologising so much the second he sees you that he quickly becomes incoherent. As he scrambled to sit up, your cool facade breaks and you smile at him, taking his face in your hands, assuring him that everything was fine. It seems like he can't quite believe you, forehead pressed to yours as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, still apologising all the while.

The two of you stay like that, on your kitchen floor, for almost an hour until you finally convince him to shower. He spends another hour in there, emerging wrapped in a towel, and you sheepishly tell him you bought him some s sweat pants, thinking something like this would happen. Evan turns pink actually looking a little endeared at that, and he changes in the bathroom before coming back to join you in bed. You ask him if he remembers anything, he admits that he doesn't, that that's why he was terrified to wake up and see you, so scared something had happened to you. He's glad, but still genuinely shocked, to know nothing had. Well, almost nothing. He is quick to clean the shallow knife wound in your back, but grimaces when he mentions that it'll probably need stitches. Again, you hesitate but admit to going overboard with getting medical supplies after researching him and HABIT. Evan goes very quiet at that, before asking what you'd learned.

You hand him the suturing needle and medical thread, and ask if he's okay to do this. Swallowing hard, he tells you he is, that he's done it before for the guys. The rest of EverymanHYBRID, you realise. So you lay on your bed, and Evan sits beside you, taking care of your wound as you try your best to explain your research.

"I'm sorry if I come off like a creepy stalker-" you mumbled softly, but Evan, who'd finished stitching you up and was now dressing the wound, cuts you off.

"I should have told you before any of this happened," he paused, sighing deeply, "I didn't know how. I didn't-" his voice catches in his throat, and his hands still against your back, "I'm sorry," he mutters finally, "it's a fucking miracle that you're alive and it's my fault for being a coward and putting you in that position. We hadn't even been together that long, I - fuck," he hisses, "thank you for taking me in for the night despite everything, I'll get out of your hair tomorrow." Slowly, you sit, getting to your knees, regarding him with a soft smile.

"There's no way I would have believed you if you'd told me," you admitted, "I have no clue how you'd even start that conversation," you laugh softly, and Evan's just looking at you with the saddest little expression, "but believe it or not, this isn't a deal breaker for me; I care about you, Evan." You take his hand; Evan looks at your fingers laced with his like he can't quite believe it.

"You should be running far, far away from me," he mumbled, but you gave his hand a squeeze.

"HABIT, probably. You? No."

For a long moment, Evan just looks at you, wide eyed, disbelieving. Then, all at once, he surges forwards, kissing you frantically. He peppers you with kisses, telling you he loves you, and something eases in your chest when you finally get the chance to say it back.

Later, the two of you curled up beneath the duvet, Evan holding you securely against his chest, he asks you about what happened earlier that night with HABIT. What had you said to end up with only a bruised cheek and shallow knife wound to the back, but alive. So you recount the conversation to the best of your ability, parts of which actually startle a laugh from Evan at your boldness.

"You're actually kind of terrifying," he laughs, grin pressed to your back, "I can't believe you."

"I know I've poked the bear," you admitted softly, "I know he's going to hurt me, probably badly, probably even kill me, but..." you trailed off, "it doesn't feel scary when it feels inevitable. I know we haven't been together long, but I really, really like you, Evan, so a little bit of pain isn't the end of the world. I know your heart is good. HABIT's isn't, but he's not you."

Evan's holding you so tightly it feels like your ribs are about to crack. He has no words in this moment, so you just gently tell him to get some rest. There's more to talk about, but that can happen tomorrow.

For a long time after that, things with Evan are good. Really good. Still, he's adamant that you don't spend the night at his place even if you've been over there countless times. If HABIT wakes you up again, there's far too many weapons around for him to sleep comfortably with you in his arms.

Sometimes he will disappear for days at a time. You know it's HABIT. Sometimes he'll text you during these periods.

[what's your address again?]

[nice try habit. fuck off]

[🥺 PLEASE I HAVE SOMETHING FOR YOU]

[is it a weapon to injure me with?]

[YOU RUINED THE SURPRISE]

[no you're just predictable]

[YOU'RE SUCH A BITCH]

Evan is thoroughly disconcerted by these exchanges whenever he comes back to himself. He always apologises for them even though you assure him he has nothing to apologise for. You help where you can with his investigations while keeping up with your own studies and keeping tabs on HABIT out of curiosity.

Except then there comes a day where you're out with Evan at the museum, and when he disappears for a moment to look at something, HABIT is the one who comes back. You can tell just by looking at him, the way he seems kind of lost, almost confused and disgusted to be here, that it's him.

And the smile that lights up his face when he sees you is a dead giveaway. If he weren't a monster, it might actually be endearing. Instead, you begin to grow a little nauseous, but don't let it show on your face.

"Rabbit, you are a sight for sore eyes," he loops his arm in yours forcefully, voice low in your ear, "were we on a date?" He teases sharply. As you try and wrench your arm out of his grip, he just holds you tighter, tutting disapprovingly.

"I was on a date, with Evan," you spat back icily. His nails dig into your arm uncomfortably as he calls you quaint. When you cut to the chase and ask him what the hell he wants, HABIT sucks a sharp breath in between his teeth, calling you a stubborn bitch under his breath. You elbow him in response and he tells you to watch it.

"Today, you're gonna be my good, little helper, and you're gonna play along, or I'll make you play along."

"Well not to skip the foreplay but I'm not going to play along, so either posses me or piss off," you told him candidly, much to HABIT's ongoing frustration.

"You're such a buzz kill," he actually whined, and you couldn't help but smirk at that, "there's no fun in that."

"I know," you couldn't help but snort, "you should probably just kill me." HABIT is quiet for a very few long moments after that, though he's still steering you both towards the exit, "you're thinking about it, aren't you?" Your tone is teasing, and he makes an amused noise in the back of his throat.

"Making a pros and cons list in my head, except I can't find any real cons."

"So why aren't you maiming me? I know you have no problems causing a spectacle," in the sunshine, you stop, turning to him. By now you know how to play this game, you think you know the answer. It's there in the way he looks at you, like you're a puzzle he's enjoying the game of solving. Except you're surprised by how much you like the way he's looking at you.

"Call it intellectual curiosity."

"Your ego can't handle the fact that I don't think you're special for wanting to hurt or kill me," you counter. This conversation really shouldn't be this light, you really should speak with even a bit more caution than you do. But then HABIT smiles, and your heartrate picks up for all the wrong reasons.

"You are going to be so much fun to break," he murmurs, and you have to fight back your automatic response, because Jesus Christ, why is your automatic response to say something flirty? Really, what is wrong with you?

"Good luck with that," you give a cold smile, and attempt to walk away. Attempt to. HABIT grabs your hand and starts to drag you down the street; his grip is unyielding, and only grows tighter, until you yelp, tears stinging your eyes as you feel the sharp, intense pain of a delicate bone snapping in your hand.

"I didn't just mean psychologically, rabbit," HABIT offers cheerfully, giving another pointed squeeze. An involuntary sob escapes you, and you've never seen someone's attention be drawn so quickly.

"I'm in pain, I'm going to cry," you rolled your eyes, despite your wobbly voice, "the fuck did you expect, you silly bitch?"

"Did you just call me a silly bitch?" It's like he can't believe you're giving him attitude right now.

"If the clown shoes fit -" you have to bite down to muffle your whimper of pain as he squeezes your hand again. Your whole face scrunched up, tears shine on your cheeks in the sunlight, and when you open your eyes, HABIT's regarding you with the most curious expression.

"You get hotter when you cry," he comments idly, "I'm probably biased though, I might just think you get hotter when you're in pain, I think everyone does -"

"You're a sadist, shocker," you say sarcastically, "get hard on your own time; can you focus on forcing me to help you commit atrocities so we can get this over with?"

"You're sassing me right now? With a broken hand? This is like if you stepped on an ant, and when you look under your shoe the fucking ant flips you off despite his mangled ant legs."

"You'll get over it."

"I don't know if I will, rabbit; you wound me," he presses his free hand over his heart, but his smile is wide and incredulous.

"I should be so lucky."

HABIT's smile turns dangerous once more, but the conversation drops, and he leads you on. As you continue on, he tells you about his victim, a conspiracy theorist getting too close to the truth and had to be silenced. When you ask what truth, HABIT's grin is cruel.

"Doesn't matter, not like any of his findings 'll ever see the light of day."

When you ask how he plans to kill him, HABIT sounds almost dreamy when he says he's still figuring that out. Turning down a street in nearby suburbia, HABIT looks over his shoulder at you.

"You're gonna get us inside."

"The hell I am."

"Its not a choice kind of situation, rabbit," he says flatly, but he perks up again, "though I am curious about how your mind works, so I'm gonna nudge you into obeying, but the details are up to you,"

There is suddenly an ice cold presence in the back of your mind, a voice you know is HABIT's true voice, not the one he manages to coax from Evan's throat. It orders you to say thank you, and you do so with a scowl, through gritted teeth. He sighs, shaking his head as if terribly disappointed, and just asks that you at least try and be believable with the victim. Then, he's in your mind again.

HABIT's presence in your mind is sweet, almost eerily seductive as he murmurs for you to figure out how to get them into the house you'd both stopped in front of. The voice is cold but ultimately smooth as it adds, be good for me, rabbit, be believable. It's like your mind and your body are two seperate entities, one desperately trying to revolt while the other turns to HABIT. You ask him to squeeze your hand again; he seems surprised and delighted by this turn of events, and complies. Immediately you burst into tears, and he seems taken aback, but you furiously hiss for him to put his arm around you as you both stumble to the door.

"Hello? Hello is anyone in there? Please help, please- we need help," you sobbed loudly, leaning into HABIT's arms, half collapsed against him.

"Who are you?" Comes a terse, nervous voice from behind the door.

"I- my name's Amelia, sir, please, I tripped and hurt myself, there's something following us," she whimpered, dissolving into tears.

"Someone?" The voice behind the door asks sharply, but before she can answer, HABIT plays along.

"Someone maybe, but it- I don't know how to describe it, sir, it was so tall-" the door opens swiftly, and they're ushered inside. HABIT holds you tightly, even as the man ushers you both into his living room. Locking the door, you both hear several chains being locked after, and he mutters something irritated about Chinese security cameras and shipping time. You're curled up, mostly in HABIT's lap, his arms around you. He's murmuring softly to you, lips against your forehead, telling you it's going to be okay. It's sickening the part of you locked away and still capable of free thought. He rubs circles against your back as you tearfully apologise to the man, babbling weakly about how it could have all been a misunderstanding, but there was something unsettling about the tall figure in the suit you swear was following you. The man goes very quiet, drilling you for any details you remember, interrogating you both. Finally, he asks if you were okay.

"I think I did something to my hand," you sniffled, still holding it to your chest. Nervously, when the man asks to take a look and check, you offer it, but before he can even touch you, every part of you recoiled, burying your sobbing face into HABIT's chest as he curls his arms around you and apologises for how skittish you were. He sounds so much like Evan in this moment you can't help but genuinely start to cry harder.

The victim asks if you're sure you were being followed, and you and HABIT quietly nod. In the next moment, he disappears back down the hall, and you feel HABIT's grin turn wicked against your temple.

"So you do know how to act scared," he muttered. You his for him to shut up, but he just laughs under his breath. The have that had been wrapped around your shoulders moves to your face, fingertips gently caressing your jaw, your cheek, even once stopping with his fingers beneath your chin so he could run his thumb along your bottom lip. It's so bloody innocuous, so why did it all feel so strangely possessive? It's also surprisingly soothing, and despite all odds, you find yourself relaxing somewhat against him as he rambles, "it wasn't exactly a creative solution, but he folded like a sheet. I told you, you get hotter when you cry."

"You're an asshole," you whimpered, "I hate you." With a softness you hadn't realised he was capable of, HABIT holds your jaw, tipping your face up to meet his gaze. He's so much closer than you'd expected, even if you know, logically, that it makes sense since you're all but in his lap.

"Yeah, clearly," he sees fit to mock you, considering the circumstances, how close you still seem to insist on being. How you're looking at him now. Something about the way he's looking at you, the affection in his eyes, it almost reminds you of Evan. If not for the way his gaze burns behind it all. Behind his mask of humanity, HABIT is all razor sharp intensity, trapped inside the visage of your boyfriend. You wonder how many people have gotten this close and lived to tell the tale.

HABIT makes short work of tying the victim up when he gets back, bored of the facade, he explains. Still he assures him that he won't draw this out like he usually would.

"It's rabbit's first murder, I'm still trying to ease her into it -" he explains, and the crying victim now looks to you in a panic.

"I'm sorry," you blurt out; while HABIT hasn't forced you to continue playing along and deceiving the man, he has kept you frozen in place, watching, helpless.

"No she's not," HABIT laughs, undercutting you immediately.

"I am!" You tried to insist, "I don't want this to happen, I don't want to do this -"

"It's like you keep finding new ways to get on my nerves," HABIT snapped suddenly, "go be useful; start as many fires as you can." And your body obeys without your consent, picking up the lightest from the stove. All you can do is disconnect from the process, squeezing your eyes shut while you're body moves around like a puppet, going through the house room by room and clicking the lighter to life every time.

The fire is beginning to chew through the house by the time you get to HABIT, and his praise makes you feel a little ill. The feeling only grows when he asks you to open your eyes, and he's standing before you, knife in hand, covered in blood.

"I've made it easy for you, little rabbit," there's something so sinister about his sweet tone. HABIT places the handle of the knife in your hands, curling your fingers over it, holding your hand steady in his own grip, "at this point, it'd be crueler to let him live," and stepping aside to reveal the horror show he'd made of the victim in that sort time; you feel like you're about to throw up, but you can't move. Except then he's behind you, his chest firm against his back as he wraps one arm around you to keep you secure, while the other once again holds yours as it holds the knife, guiding you.

"Don't make me do this," you whispered, even as the man before you begged for it all to end. HABIT's laughter is warm against your ear.

"There's very few ways to die that are more painful than burning alive," he mutters against the shell of your ear, voice turning into a low, almost pleased growl, "you're a fucking monster."

"I'm not a monster for not wanting to kill someone."

"You're a monster for being too selfish to put this guy out of his misery, making him suffer like that,* but HABIT sounds downright appreciative, and he holds you a little tighter against him. A traitorous, pleased shiver runs down your spine.

The bound man is downright unrecognisable, clearly suffering, praying for you to provide him a swift and merciful end. Honestly, to help him escape enduring another moment with HABIT, even through death, would make you something of a saviour to him in his final minutes, you tried to reason.

But HABIT's no longer in your mind, and the dark little voice that whispers insistently that you'll never get a chance like this again, is entirely your own. An eldritch abomination has decided that you were intriguing, that you were worth the effort of corrupting; HABIT is acting like you're special because you told him he wasn't. Despite your better judgement, you do really find him fascinating.

You tell yourself a million different things to try and rationalise what you're about to do, even lying to yourself that you can still feel the last of HABIT'S supernatural influence curling at the edges of your free will. It's not. HABIT's hands on yours, still holding the knife, is firm but still, he doesn't puppet you into this act of cruel mercy, all he does is still the shaking of your hand. His thumb brushes over your knuckles almost tenderly; you close your eyes.

"I'm so so sorry," you murmur to your poor victim, steeling your resolve. HABIT just laughs.

[weepingtalecowboy]

Four meets the colors

I decided to be absolutely evil so here you go fanfic prompt :

What if four was never capable to combine into link but they didn’t even get the opportunity to take turns because everyone controls different body parts and they have to coordinate absolutely everything together and pulling the four sword back just to be four people again isn’t something they can just do

They learned to live with it but no matter how hard they try to make it look naturally

they still move in a way that feels wrong even when they are trying hard to cooperate

Their feet have slight delay

their hands have trouble gripping stuff in a way that looks naturally and one hand might grip the wrong side of a box ending with nearly dropping it

Their face can show different and several emotions at once and they can sometimes be heard mumbling to themself

And because of that they are perceived as unsettling or unstable by their own village

Their father couldn’t truly understand or accept them because link his child essentially died and they know it no matter how hard he tries to hide it

Their grandpa is getting older and even though he grieved his grandson he still wanted to accept them and when he is gone they would only have Zelda left

And she spends most her time in the castle ruling Hyrule

Shadow is not coming back ever again

And because of that spend as much time as they can on blacksmithing to not have to worry about things

But when linked universe happens they meet a version of them that has everything they could possibly want

Like their own bodies and lives

Shadow is still alive

The village doesn’t fear them

Vio,Blue , Red and Green all get to go by their own names

And four has to go by link

It’s genuinely paining them because it just doesn’t seem fair

Main while the colors hate how four is looking at him

Because they used to think that link would understand and support their decision to stay apart

But obviously link feels to good about himself as the perfect and superior hero of the four sword

And they all start hating him for it because it means that their decision wasn’t approved by the one person it mattered from the most

The chain feels the tension but doesn’t really know how to fix it so they separate both

And when they all get to four’s Hyrule they feel ashamed of how bad they are viewed by their own village

Because the colors are loved but they are not

So they tell them that when they put the sword back they never became one

The colors feel absolutely horrified when they realize the implications

Because four's existence sounds like their worst nightmare

And it makes them feel sick

That a version of them could be so screwed over by their own existence

And shadow isn’t even with them

And their dad doesn’t even want them to exist

Man and they thought they had it rough

Four gets to meet shadow and has a mental breakdown over it

Shadow is also very disturbed by the situation

Also they keep four there is no way hylia can stop them (it still is extremely weird when they interact with their counterparts because they like don’t always have the same expressions )

but also four is all fucked up like red is delusional (he was doing his own thing the entire adventure in the manga), blue has an obsession with keeping things under control(getting frozen and swallowed by a ghost is not fun) (which is why he is so obsessed with cleaning because it gives him a way to control the environment ) , Vio is depressed about shadow,green has a hero complex (he is link if you delete all personality traits except hero)

That combines into a mess of having their own personality but not enough to be their own people (just how they can’t even live without coordinating link's every step)

Yeah that won’t be fun

The colors have it easy in comparison

[sil-te-plait-tue-moi]

When the pawn hits the conflicts, he thinks like a king.

Quick summary: Rust catches you trying to work him.

Word count: 754 words

Warnings: N/A

A/N: Another attempt at trying to get past the astronomical writer's block I experienced after writing The Idler Wheel. This was one of my first tries at a second chapter (in like February T_T), like a little scene, but I didn't like th way it panned out: it felt like they were fighting and I didn't necessarily want them to fight explicitly with each other in the final story. If this feels unfinished, it's because I abandoned it after ten minutes. ENjoy!!!!@

***

“Are you lonely again?” he asks quietly.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think he couldn’t be paying attention to me: eyes fixed on the moon, which is full like a plate, so distant, as if he’s imagining a different life up there; even his body is tilted away from me, like, really, I could burn him. But I do know him. I can’t get it out of my head: I can’t stop interpreting every little thing he does. It started as a pass-time, an excuse to steal glances at the handsome, quiet guy at work. Now, it’s obsessive. No-one knows him, watches him, like I do. No-one else has been with him like I have. There’s a calmness to this fact: in that way, he’s mine. That’s the only way.

Rust angles his head towards me, but he doesn’t look. Maybe I should be glad for it. “You were lonely in the summer, weren’t you? That’s why you wanted me then. Somethin’ to make you feel real.”

Every fibre of mine twitches to disagree with him, to defend myself, my actions—but there’s no way I could do anything without condemning myself. If attachment is a burden to Rust, then how disgusted will it make him when he uncovers just how much I really think about him?

“I don’t appreciate bein’ treated like this sheep you can herd into a pen.”

“I’m not tryin’—”

“Does the intention really matter if the action’s already taken effect?” he cuts off calmly, finally, with an accusing dart of his eyes to shut me up for good measure. When I grow silent again, he continues: “Quittin’ cigarettes doesn’t make a person into what you are right now. You value how people perceive you — that’s how you measure your worth, right? That’s not uncommon. But the way you act out—?” he clicks his tongue, “—well, I didn’t figure that out till later. The way you’re genuine only when you think it doesn’t matter. Makin’ small talk and smilin’ like you do. You’re a well-liked person, know that?” He pauses to take a lazy drag of his cigarette. “But then, when you think the stakes are high, you’re somethin’ different. Some changeling, vyin’ to get what you want, so cunning. Other people don’t see it, but I do. When your niceties stop bein’ second nature; when you have to think about it, plan, strategise. Like you’re almost a person but not quite anymore. Why is that?”

I blink at my shoes, brimming with confusion. For every word that leaves him, I try to scrub it clean to find any inclination of what he’s feeling, only to come away confused.

“I couldn’t blame you when you were drunk,” he confesses. “But I’m glad for this talk — true colours ‘n’ shit.”

What the fuck? My face sours into a dangerous scowl as my hard stare snaps up to bore into the side of his self-satisfied face. “You’re lookin’ to blame me?”

Rust stares off into the dark, shaking his head. “No. But I want to. I tell myself that the only reason you showed up at my door was ‘cause you were drunk and you were lonely. That you missed Brooklyn, or you missed your family. I was the next best thing to offer you comfort: this idea you had of me in your head. You thought, maybe, I’d want to take care of you. And to convince me to do that, you just had to take that first step o’ sleepin’ with me.” He exhales slowly, eyes fluttered shut, and his lithe fingers tremble around his cigarette. “That’s what you’re doin’ now, ain’t it? You’re tryin’ to get me because you’re lonely again, for whatever reason.”

Holy shit, he is one conceited bastard. “Have you ever considered I might just like you?” I hiss incredulously, eye twitching.

Rust tenses.

A dog barks alone in the neighbourhood over.

“Some things aren’t complicated at all,” I mumble, leaning back against the damp brick with a quivering sigh. “You wanna know what it was? I thought you were attractive and would never want to talk to me, so I didn’t. But I liked the way you talked behind my back — Johansson liked you for that, too. And I liked the way you tip at bars. And then, suddenly, people weren’t people. They were all shades of you. A guy smoked like you. And the precinct isn’t where I work; it’s where you work. It’s where I get to see you.”

[mvmnbnv]

Am i blind for not seeing how Caitlyn manipulated Vi? I keep seeing this take and I don’t understand it. She hurt Vi in an inexcusable manner, both physically and emotionally by making classist implications in her anger…

But manipulation? If Caitlyn wanted to manipulate/ guilt-trip Vi into joining the enforcers or killing Jinx all she had to do was say “I had the shot” to Vi instead of her father. But she didn’t bring up the dinner at all or oil & water for that matter. In fact not only did she not blame Vi (initially) or guilt-trip her; Caitlyn blamed herself: “My arrogance led me to take on more than i could handle and she paid the price”. That’s something someone like Vi who always blames herself and takes responsibility for everything really needed to hear so i was happy with it.

I think Caitlyn’s intentions were genuinely good throughout the first episode, both regarding Vi & the undercity but she still had the same flaws from season 1: thinking the enforcers are the ‘good guys’ here and there are just a few bad apples among them (i bet she probs thinks the ones who killed Vi’s parents were just bad apples lol) ; approaching some matters in an insensitive, entitled manner (springing the badge on Vi instead of having a conversation with her first about the reasons why she thinks it’s the best recourse… well at least she apologized for that ig)

I already feel like they pushed Caitvi in a terrible direction that’s hard to come back from in a satisfying way… i think if people willfully misinterpret ALL of Cait’s actions in the worst possible light you guys really won’t be happy w the ending bc there’s a point a relationship really can’t come back from in a healthy way. I doubt even now if it can…

I haven't used the word manipulative just yet because it's a pretty touchy thing with a specific meaning, but apparently you can be manipulative without knowing. She plays on vis emotions a lot, telling her wearing a badge is how she can show that she doesn't support jinx, which just isn't true. She doesn't need to wear one to show that. I'm not gonna blatantly say it's outright manipulative but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth nonetheless. And just blatantly enlisting vi after she explicitly said no and explained her trauma around enforcers is just...bleh. maybe distasteful more than manipulative but regardless it's just icky.

And yeah a lot of people think they're doing right but are actually just awful..."interpreting her actions in the worst possible light". How else am I supposed to interpret what she's done? She undid a ventilation system that gave the undercity clean air, she enlists vi after she said no, saying its easy to hate zaunites, is ready to get jinx even at the cost of a childs life, ffs she hits vi and leaves her there, it's bad, some of it downright corrupt. Apologizing to vi for springing the badge on her doesn't negate her bigoted attitude toward her and the entire undercity, it's not vis job to prove anything to her, especially if it ultimately means letting anyone get hurt at the cost of getting jinx. She sees vi as her possible example of what people of the undercity could be, and even that's fucked up, because once vi doesn't do things the way she wants she thinks she's "no different" than jinx or any other zaunite. I don't think they could have a healthy relationship with all this. I don't even want vi around her after all that tbh. I know it's gonna happen tho so I'll just see what they decide to do

[god-has-entered-my-body]

You said some day we might - M.H x Reader // pt.3

A/N: This one's a bit NSFW (minors please don't interact), also angsty and sad at parts. TW for hard drugs, take care of yourselves! This is loosely based off of my own experience, and I am not trying to glamorize it. Ily my dearest @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff for making sure it isnt shit xx

wc: 4k

part four

Picture a scene: flashing lights all around you, colors blinding as they move through the room, seemingly liquid. Music pounding in your head, almost as if it was trying to force its way into your body. People sweating, dancing up against strangers. You feel alive. 

Matty dances next to you, throwing his hands up into the air. You can hear screams as the music changes, now playing Britney Spears’ ‘Toxic’. He wouldn't admit it if you held a gun to his head, but he loves this song. Your hips sway to the beat, and you can feel arms on your waist. It's not Matty. The fuck? 

You didn't know this guy, but his hands were grabbing at you roughly like you were supposed to. His grin disgusted you. (Not so) politely shoving him off, you dance toward Matty, tapping his shoulder three separate times. That was code for ‘bathroom, now’. He nods, taking your hand and leading you towards the edge of the crowd. The sea of people thins out as you finally spot the glowing sign for the loo. 

“You alright?” He asks as you enter the bathroom. The walls were covered in graffiti, stickers, and the occasional phone number. There wasn't the classic smell of piss and sweat, which is why you liked Sound. It was fairly clean. The sinks were made of metal, and so was everything else. The lights were dim, and the mirrors dirty, lipstick stains adorning the edges. You can hear the faint noise of toilets flushing in the background. 

“I'm fine, I s’pose, just that guy was rubbing up against me all weird.” You fix your hair in the mirror, refreshing your eyeliner before passing it to Matty so he could do the same. You had taught him how to do it himself, saving you a load of time and effort whenever you were getting ready together. Tonight's color was red, both of you were wearing the same shade. 

The stall door flings open as a girl stumbles out, almost falling before she caught herself on the hand dryer. Fixing her bra strap, she wiped the edges of her mouth clean before reaching into her small blue handbag. Out comes a small baggie with white powder in it. You immediately recognise it. Blow. 

While you and Matty smoked copious amounts of weed, neither of you had ever tried anything harder. An exception was the occasional acid trip, and even that was a one off on Ross’ 18th birthday.  

Both you and Matty watch her intently as she starts cutting up lines on the edge of the sink, not caring that both your eyes were on her. She takes out a £5 note, rolling it before snorting the line. Her hair is wild as she lifts her head back up, turning to the mirror to fix it. 

“D’you fancy some, love? I have plenty for you,” she looks over to Matty, flashing him a smile  “and your friend, as well.” 

It takes you a split second to realize her statement was directed at you. Matty turns to make eye contact, before doing something you didn't expect. 

He nods, taking a step towards the girl. You do the same. ‘If you're going to try it’, you thought, trying to rationalize, ‘who better than with Matty?’

She shakes more of the powder onto the sink, cutting two lines for the both of you, and one more for herself. You notice the card she uses is a school I.D. A high school I.D.

She hands you the rolled up note first, and for some reason, you feel calm. ‘This is fine’ you repeat in your head, before opening your mouth to speak. 

“This is blow, yeah?” you ask, looking up at her from your position, which was currently hunched over the sink. It's cold, colder than it was. 

“Yeah, clean shit too, don't worry,” she offers a genuine smile, stroking your hair with her long, black nails. You steal a glance at Matty, who was now sitting on the sink next to you, watching closely. You nod, turning back to the line of white powder in front of you

You take a deep breath before snorting the line. It burns as it travels through your nostrils, and you don't feel anything for a second.

And then, it hits you. 

It hits you fast. Everything feels amplified, and you barely register as Matty snorts his. You feel good, euphoric even. Matty feels the same way, letting out a shout when he does lift his head from the sink. 

The girl was long gone when you exited the bathroom and reentered the crowd. You danced with Matty, the music controlling your movements. Deciding to get a drink, you drag him to the bar. The bartender looks you up and down, before shaking his head. He knew you were on something, but that wasn't a rarity in clubs like Sound. Everyone was on something, so, fuck it! Why couldn't you do the same?

Matty orders for you. A french martini and a glass of Malbec for him. The bartender raised his eyebrows at his drink order. “Who orders wine at a club?” he shouts over the music. Matty rolls his eyes before responding “I do! Why, d’you fancy buying me a drink when you get off?” he winks at him provocatively before taking the drinks from the counter. 

He hands you your drink, bringing his hand up to your face, wiping off the smudged makeup underneath your eyes. That's when you realize how hot it was. ‘Fucking hell’ you thought. ‘When did it get so hot? Jesus Christ, it's like I'm in a sauna’.

Matty had downed his glass of wine in two large gulps, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his your wine red jumper. You rake your eyes over his body, a thin layer of sweat shone on his forehead. His eyeliner was somehow still perfect. 

He was perfect. 

March, 2008 // two months earlier

The mid afternoon sun was beating down onto your skin. The blanket beneath you molding to the ridges of the earth, digging into your back. You were lying in a field, surrounded by daisies and dandelions blowing softly in the breeze, a half-empty packet of crisps on your left. Your arms were sprawled out to the side, with Matty lying peacefully on top of you.

Adam had situated himself on a flimsy fold up chair. He hated sitting on the ground with a burning passion. You had promptly forgiven him for leaving you to fend for yourselves that past weekend, seeing as he promised to pay club covers for a month as an apology. Just you though, seeing as Matty would have abused the ever living hell out of Hann’s wallet if given the chance. 

George and Ross were in the lake located a few dozen meters from where you were sitting, having a swim. The weather was uncharacteristically nice given that you were in Great Britain, land of miserable weather, so the five of you had set out for a makeshift picnic at the last minute. 

It wasnt aesthetically pleasing by any means, with fag packets litering the dirty old blanket Ross had found in an old closet. Ross’ beer bottles were lined up at the edge of the blanket. You grab a pack, presumably Georges, and light up. Marlboro golds, not your favorite, but they’ll do. Breathing in the smoke, you turn your head to get a better look at Matty, who was draped over you, using your chest as a pillow.  

You wore Mattys sunflower shirt, unbuttoned, revealing a black sports bra underneath. He, in turn, wore one of your tops. Specifically, a lavender baby tee with the words ‘dump him’ scrawled across the chest in white glitter. Adam was dressed like a divorced dad, beige linen trousers paired with a Metallica band shirt. You laughed when you saw him, knowing he’d be sweating in under an hour wearing that.

Soft music played in the background, the speaker having been lost underneath the pile of Ross and George's clothes. The air smelled of summer, even if it was only March. You spot the wine bottle in Mattys hand as he tilted his head up, taking a drink. You tap him on the arm, and he hands you the bottle. 

White wine? Matty rarely drank white wine. You brushed it off, it was probably just the cheapest thing at the store. Matty loved expensive red wine, but did not have the money to pay for it, always settling for the bottle with the lowest price tag. Your attention is drawn to George screaming incoherent curses at Ross for throwing a rock at him. Absolute knobheads. 

“D’you reckon we need sunscreen? I don't wanna age my skin anymore than it already has.” he asked, his fingers lingering on his face. His skin was perfect, not a single blemish tarnishing it. “I dunno, I don't think we need to. It's not that hot.” you answer, looking around you. “It's not looking like we have any anyway” you add. 

You could feel Mattys' breath on you, ghosting over your chest. His legs moved, brushing against yours. You were suddenly very aware of the fact he was laying on top of you. It made you feel hot, and not because of the sun. 

He rolled on top of you, now straddling your legs. He was clearly drunk, slurring his words. His eyes stared into yours with such an intensity, you would've thought he was trying to read your mind. His face was bare, but the glitter from last night's adventures still stained his face, giving him a slight shine.

A smile crept onto his face as he brushed his hair out of his face. The blonde highlights had slightly grown out by now, and you made a mental note to ask him if he wanted you to do his roots. 

“Didnt you want to cut my hair?” He asked, and you recognised that look in his eye. Excitement. He jumps up, crawling to get his bag.

“I brought a pair of scissors, d’you wanna cut it now?” He held up pink kitchen scissors, handing them to you as you moved to a sitting position.  

“Are you sure? These are not meant for ha-” “I don't careee, just do it!” he slurred, cutting you off and settling between your crossed legs. He turns and looks at you expectantly, and you sigh in defeat. 

You try your best, snipping away at his hair randomly. Cutting layers into his hair, you try to make the strands around his face shorter. He giggles as it tickles his face, brushing it off his skin. The sun made him appear as if he were glowing, painting him in an orange hue. Trying not to cut it too short, you tug at it to get a good idea of the length. 

A soft groan escapes Mattys mouth, and he tries to pass it off as a cough, avoiding your gaze. A few minutes later, you tug at it again. A little experiment , if you will. This time, the noise is slightly clearer, and his whole body twitches. He busies himself with the bottle of wine in his hands, inspecting the label.  

He admires your work in a little compact mirror you had found in your bag. “So.. do you like it? Or have I completely fucked your hair?” you ask, watching his reflection. Matty grins, slamming the mirror shut. 

“I love it! The layers make me look hot, so you did your job right!” He pulled you in for a hug, kissing all over your face: He was obviously drunker than you thought.

You lay back on your elbows, closing your eyes, letting the sun shine onto your skin. This was nice. You felt truly alive.

—---------------------------------------------------------

Skin against skin, soft moans filled the room. You didn't even know who they belonged to. Desire took over your bodies like a foreign force. The room was dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp just outside, illuminating the space. 

“Fuck- can I?” hands trailed down your chest, toying with the buttons of your shirt. You nod frantically, smashing his lips back against yours. You find his hair, pulling slightly as he lets out a pathetic whimper. You drink in the noise as if it was the very essence of life, tugging even harder at the curls. Curls. Matty.

“Mmh- ah, fuck-” You can feel him against your thigh. You can feel Matty grinding against you. The thought makes your head spin, and you throw your head back, your hair splayed over the baby blue pillows. Mattys pillows.   

“You're so- you’re so beautiful, just let me- i’ll-” he cuts himself off, trailing his lips down your jaw, leaving searing, hot kisses in his wake. His mouth makes contact with your collarbone, biting down. You hiss, your nails digging into his scalp. He groans. Matty

His rough hands rub the tattoo on your hip, you feel his rough calluses. You pull his hair, making him look at you. Your eyes rake over his face, the glitter around his eyes shimmering in the faint light. His hand comes up to push your shirt up, the material bunching up where his mouth had just been. You make eye contact again. 

He grins before licking one long stripe along the expanse of your ribcage, letting out an obscene moan as he did. He was putting on a show, for you. The noise goes straight to your core. 

His fingers snap the elastic of your black underwear, making you jump. A laugh. Teeth graze your hip bone, tracing the tattoo. You can feel him slipping the lace down your thighs, licking and sucking lower, lower, lower…

You jolt awake suddenly, hot sweat running down your back. You turn to look at the time. 2:53am. 

What the fuck was that?

You close your eyes, the dream replaying in your head. Lips, your lips and his. Teeth, kisses down your neck, Matty, Matty, Matty-

You stop yourself, shoving your face into a pillow. This can't be happening. This wasn't real. This was all hallucination and you didn't just have a wet dream involving your best mate. 

Letting out a groan, you lay back down facing the wall. You desperately, desperately needed a good lay. If it had come to you having fucking dreams about Matty of all people, you knew it was time to find a guy and just shag him. That would solve your little predicament, you were sure of it. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

Admiring yourself in the mirror, you hike the ruched material of your dress up even further. Jewelry covered you from head to toe, complimenting the details of your bag perfectly. Hair done up in curls, you knew you were ready. 

You were going out. Alone.

The heel of your shoe clicked nervously against the pavement as you queued, giving the bouncer, James, a nod as he waved you through. “No Matty today?” he questioned, referring to the fact that you were alone.  

“Yeah, I'm out alone tonight. Matty is… sick. The flu.” you lie through your teeth, not wanting to disclose the real reason behind your solo-mission. The plan was to find a guy, any guy, and forget about that godforsaken dream.  

The music was loud, even louder than usual, and you were stone cold sober. Not good. 

Making your way to the bar, you order your usual, a french martini. Tobias, the bartender, handed your drink, and you close out. You didn't want to get hammered tonight. 

Your fingers drum along to the beat as you sip your drink, scanning the crowd. There weren't many people dancing, seeing as it was a Sunday night. Most had work in the morning, so going out wasn't an option. He had asked you if you really didn't want anything else, even offering you a drink in the house. You politely decline with a shake of your head, assuring him it was alright.

Suddenly, a tall man appeared in your peripheral vision. You had seen him a few times before, wandering about, flirting with the female waitresses. Blonde hair, blue eyes. The complete opposite of Matty. His arm rested against the bar, and you could see him flexing his muscles. On purpose. Jesus.  

He strolled up to you with an air of confidence. Turning to Tobias, he asked him what your drink was. “A french martini,” he answered, looking you up and down “and she's only had one the entire night.” The man laughs, “Well that wont do! Let me buy you a drink sweetheart, on me.” 

You nod, turning to face him. A smile makes its way onto your lips. Perfect . 

He introduces himself as David. He works an office job down the road, something something marketing. You didn't really listen to him, only laughing when he paused, expecting it

He seemed solid, and he was 19, so not too old. You really didn't want to deal with another Phillip situation. He had bought you three, quite pricey, drinks, and you knew he wanted more. 

He eventually asked if you wanted to come back to his place for some wine. You agreed, letting yourself be led out of the club by your wrist. James winked at you knowingly as you left.

He had a silver Toyota, the interior a cream leather. It was a big difference to Hann’s beaten up red Kia, but you weren't complaining. He was nice enough, opening the car door for you. 

The inside of his flat reeked of sickly sweet vanilla and cheap cologne. He opened a bottle of wine for the both of you, pouring two glasses. The conversion was mundane, but he was nice enough. You had switched your phone off, not wanting anything to distract you from your mission. He had made a move to sit next to you, his hand trailing up your thigh, inching higher with every word he uttered.

His mouth was against your ear, whispering sweet nothings into it, his other hand finding your chest, pushing you down onto the sofa. You let him move you, twist you as he pleased. It didn't mean anything to you, you just needed to get Matty out of your head. Matty.

His hands were soft, like he moisturized them regularly. You could feel his lips on your chest, leaving bite marks and kisses, but you didn't feel anything. Closing your eyes, you decide to let him do all of the work. You had even worn your only pair of lace underwear, a black number with a little bow on the front of the matching bra. The same pair you had worn in the dream. 

You mentally curse yourself, kissing David deeper, harder than you did before. Forget, forget, forget. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

He wasn't the worst, but at least he tried. You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Laying on his (quite expensive looking) leather couch, you watch him as he gets dressed. He asks you if you need anything, and you answer with a shake of your head. You just wanted to leave. 

A phone buzzes, and you quickly realize it's yours. You pick it up, the screen lighting up. 3 missed calls from Matty, and 4 texts from him as well. 

// Where r you? I’m at your window. 

// Are you well? 

// Answer me for fucks sake, dont do this.

// I hope you’ve died or smth, you’re well fucking me off. 

You sigh, clicking the call button. It rings for a split second before Matty picks up. 

“Now you decide to ring me back? I thought you’d been picked up by a sex trafficker or something. Fuck you, honest,” his voice sounded worried, even tired, if you ignored the nature of his words. 

“Sorry mate, I was out.” You answer curtly, trying to keep your voice steady. Your fingers tap against the glass of the coffee table, and you hear Matty inhale sharply. 

“Out where? And why did it take me three calls and four messages to get a ring back?” he sounded more aggressive this time, and you could tell he had gotten up from wherever he was sitting. This pissed you off. Why does he have the right to know where you are, it didn’t concern him in the slightest, and he wasn't your father. You told him as much. 

“I was out, alright? I'm at David's place right now, and I'll be at yours in an hour, cool?” A moment of silence passes between you two before Matty spits out. “Whos the fuck is David?” The way he said his name made it sound like you had shagged his worst enemy, not some random guy. 

“He's just a bloke I met at Sound, I went to his place. D’you want me over or should I fuck off home?” The second option was just a courtesy, you were sure he’d want you over. You hadn’t seen each other since Friday. 

“Nah, it's alright, go home.” His voice sounded cold, unfeeling. A shudder made its way up your spine. He didn't sound like himself at all. What the fuck? “I have erm.. work to catch up on. You understand.” No you didnt fucking understand. 

You open your mouth to protest, but are rudely interrupted by a faint noise. The dial tone. Matty had hung up on you. Your mouth let out a gasp in disbelief. Fuck him. Fuck him all the way. 

You gather your things. While trying to find your shoes, David comes back into the room. You tell him you need to leave, and he tries to kiss you goodbye. It feels wrong. 

Deciding to walk barefoot, you do the walk of shame at 1 in the morning. Heels in one hand, your purse in the other, you trudge down the pavement. You feel dirty, like you did something inherently wrong.

Cars whizz by you, and you hear sirens in the background. It's cold, and you can feel goosebumps forming on your skin in the soft breeze. Feeling around for your cigarettes, you come across something small towards the bottom of your purse. You pull it out, your eyes widening at the sight. The lighter. Mattys lighter. 

The white letters on the side point and laugh at you. You can hear it. It was even more chipped than it was that night, how did it still work? M.H. Matty. 

In a fit of rage you chucked the lighter onto the ground in front of you. It splinters off, the metal top flying off onto the road. A car drives over it. You were angry. Angry at yourself for even going out alone. For going home with fucking David. You were angry at Matty for being angry at you. You didn't even understand why, but the mere fact he had hung up on you made your blood boil.

The lighter was now in pieces beneath your feet. The white letters, illegible. Feeling powerful, you decide to kick the rest of the plastic off onto the road, hoping a giant truck would run it over. You wanted Matty at your feet like this, pathetic and powerless. You needed him like this, to show him he can't just hang up on you like you're nothing. 

The mental image of Matty at your feet made warmth spread throughout your body. On his knees, looking up at you with glassy, glitter framed eyes. You wanted to take his beautiful hair and weave it between your fingers, forcing him to look up at you. You wanted to hear the pathetic whimpers escape his mouth, just like they did in your dream. 

You feel breathless, staring at the wet pavement where the lighter once was. You keep walking.