#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

[rxc]

vent cw and self harm mention in the tags

i hate this goddmn hellpit of a world and i particularly hate men. like jesus fucking christ they ALL REALLY think they are just. better than me.

[dmumt]

genuine question is having a flatmate ever a pleasant experience

[hacash]

No, actually I'm not done with talking about Outie Mark and how well they've portrayed his grief on Severance, because the writers have done such a good job of showing that grief can be ugly and aggravating and painful and difficult to watch. Because Outie Mark isn't actually that fun to watch, a lot of the time! He's not soulful and romantic and dealing with his grief in a palatable manner: he's all hard edges and very dark humour! He cries loud and ugly! He picks fights! He's rude to his (admittedly aggravating) brother-in-law; he's a bit of a shit date to Alexa! He's very apathetic about what's going on at work, when quite frankly if he picked up the pace a little, we as the audience could find out more about what's going on! He has genuine substance abuse issues going on and spends a lot of his screentime just lying in a stupor in front of the TV! He's a compelling character but he's not fun to watch!

And I love how they've done this deliberately - I think the fact that at times the writers have been deliberately making Outie Mark deliberately hard to watch, at times because of his awkward humour and at times because he just is trying to avoid doing anything, and that's a deliberate choice because of his grief! The reason he takes so long to get shit done is because this man is literally paralysed by the grief he feels for his dead wife! He is so emotionally disconnected from the world that he spliced his brain clean in two to get away from the pain! He's choking on her ghost! Of course he's not eager to give himself the hope of believing she's alive only to go through that pain all over again!

(Also why the fuck did he of all people have to tell Gemma's students about her dying? Where the hell is that college's HR department.)

And it's not that Outie Mark is an unlikeable character, I'm really enjoying his arc at the moment, but I think they've made some really deliberate tweaks to show just what grief can do to someone and I am loving that they've deliberately made it ugly and painful to see.

[lologoinsolo]

Cats and Their Men Masterlist, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

You can’t seem to think without debating over what you said to Kyle. Needless to say, you feel like you got in your head over it. Maybe he meant it and it wasn’t a pity ask or maybe it was. You don’t know. Kyle doesn’t seem like the type to do that to a lady. He’s sweet, and genuinely funny and handsome and kind an—

“Dude,” Jess comes from the grooming salon as you bang your head against the reception table. You were cold calling but your mind had other ideas. “You look like shit.” Normally you’re more focused on your work but it’s just Kyle, Kyle, Kyle— Remember what you said to Kyle?

Sighing defeatedly, “gee, thanks.” Hitting your head again and again on the firm table. Your forehead throbs when you finally give it rest. “I feel like shit.” You’ve been a zombie at work, you don’t speak much about your home life. You try to keep that separate from the job because you don’t want to drag it in here. It’s not your fault that a stupidly handsome man with an equally stupidly charming smile looked at you the way he did. So why do you feel so hung up about it?

“So…” She asks after a moment of far too much silence. “How’s the calling going?”

“Oh, it’s going.” Groaning softly, “not many people are answering. Some said they wanted to come in but not for today.” Some even started bitching about their previous grooms but you muted them until they finished and still asked if they wanted to come in for an appointment. Funnily enough, they said no.

“Surprised it’s slow for a Saturday.” One of the pains of a grooming salon is that it’ll be filled with clients or it’ll be deader than a western movie scene of a tumbleweed blowing in the wind. “You wanna leave early today?” Nudging you a little as she asks maybe to brighten you up. You’ve been a little cloud of gloom and the other groomers are getting worried.

You think it over, maybe you can ask Connor to let you take a shift on the floor? They still haven’t hired anyone but it would be nice to get home earlier than you usually do. Kyle hasn’t come back… maybe you did fuck yourself over. Wouldn’t be the first time you shot yourself in the foot. His warm brown eyes flashes through your mind's eye and you stand up quickly. Jess quirks a brow and you give a weak nod, “yeah… yeah, I’ll clock out.”

“Alright, clean up and get going.”

She leaves you to your thoughts, cleaning up some kennels and hurriedly clocking out before one of the groomers can even ask you to bathe one of their dogs. Heading straight for the breakroom and shoving your hoodie back on. Rubbing over your face again when you see your reflection. You do look tired. Why does this bother me so much? Walking out and stuffing your wallet and keys into your hoodies pocket. “Oh wait,” you bite your lip slightly, a man’s voice can be heard milling over the different litters the store sell. The Scottish notes to his voice barely heard when you think about those cats around your apartment that you’ve been feeding. “I could to buy another bag.” Blame your grandma for your love of cats, that woman is THE old cat lady and you love that for her.

You waltz down the familiar aisle, looking from the 25 pound bag to the 50 pound bag… It might be best to get the smaller one since you ride the bus but the big one would feed the cats longer. “hmm, alright,” you go for the heavier one after weighing your options. Heaving it onto your shoulders, you wobble a bit when you bend back too far. Shit… Shit! Your world starts to flip and you’re bracing for a hard fall.

“Woah!” A hand settles heavy on your back and steadies you. “Ye need help, lass?” Sparkling blue eyes look down at you. He doesn’t even wait for an answer as he pulls it over his shoulder with ease.

“You— hey!” He doesn’t let you take it from him even when you try to reach for it. In fact, he steps back towards his cart that pokes out from behind him. “I can handle it.” You’re just tired and sluggish, you can lug those things in your sleep.

“Nearly took a tumble,” he winks and you get a better look at him as your lips purse. He’s handsome in a charming, farmer boy way. His hair’s cut into a mohawk and you’d make fun of it if it didn’t actually fit his appearance. There’s a jagged pink scar that’s hard not to notice on his face, your stomach churns at what he must’ve gone through to survive that. The other thing that worries you is that he’s wearing no jacket or hoodie and his face, arms, and hands look like he’s been run through a human sized blender.

“I’m— are you okay?” You point to his arms first and he looks down. He grins something wild and you take the tiniest step back.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “this one just needed some convincing.” You tilt to the side and nearly squeal when he pulls his cart to his side. A bundled up cat in a thick, dark blue jacket is nestled over some litter bags. Orange fur poking out to the fluffiest extent and what’s something of a coincidence… The cat looks like they got an orange looking mohawk of their own. “Bugger didnae want to be caught.”

You blink once and then twice, “oh… oh?!” He laughs a little when it starts to make sense on those cuts of his. The cat doesn’t look like they’d do that from where you’re standing though. They’re sitting quietly in the jacket save for the tiniest flicker of its orange fluffy tail. Slowly blinking their eyes as if the noises from your conversation has woken them up. “They did that?” Gesturing to him once more, “really?”

He nods, doesn’t seem strained at all with how he still holds your bag of cat food. “He’s been around my house for the longest. Took a lot of convincing to grab him.” And you can see the effects of that convincing. Poor, little guy he must’ve tried so hard escape the Scot’s arms from how beat up the man looks. Wait… Scot?

“Johnny?” You blurt and his shoulders tense. His smile drops, the blue of his eyes switches to something sharp. “I— sorry, are you Johnny?” Stammering a little as he eyes you up and down.

His eyes squint and he stands a little more in front of his cart, blocking your view of his cat. “Aye, that’s me,” his accent thicker and just a bit on edge. “Have we met?” No… no you have not and he knows that.

“No, I— uh, Kyle? Are you friends with Kyle and John?” Stammering out your words.

It starts to click in his head and whatever tense moment that was there is gone immediately. “Bonnie?!” You flinch at his boom, “I ken who ye are,” puzzles all connecting finally in his head now, “boys been yappin’ about ye, was wonderin’ when I’d met this cashier of theirs.” Boys? Plural? Theirs? “Can ye help me, lass? I’ve an idea on how to take care of my boy but m’not against asking for help. Been told ye ken what yer doin’.”

The complete 180 is a whiplash, he acted like you were gonna hurt him. Like you could, all the men you’ve been meeting recently look like they can easily hold themselves alone in a fight. “Yeah,” shuffling around, the boys he mentioned are probably the three you’ve met already. Small world… “I can help you out. I don’t mind.” You smile and he returns it happily, granted you are off the clock but… you have a feeling he’ll need some pointers. Damn your heart of hearts. “I can hold tha—“

“Nonsense,” waving his hand with a shrug of his shoulder when try once more to grab the bag. “I’d never let a bonnie thing like ye lift anything heavy. S’what these are for, yeah?” He flexes his arms and you try to not ogle at the muscles. “Mind pushing the cart though?” You nod and step closer to push. His cat seems to not even care at all about the movement. Just sits and stares, calm as can be despite the terror he must’ve caused Johnny.

“He’s a pretty fluffy cat, I’d recommend a good comb.” Cats can get matted and knotted despite being self-groomers, you’ve seen some get groomed at the salon. Usually longhair cats like this one. His paws are big, ears pointed more, “I think your boys a maine coon cat.” The lion’s mane also helps in your thought process. “At least he could be?”

“I think so too,” Johnny looks positively happy in his capture. He worked hard to catch and chase. “He’s been eating what I’ve been leaving out, I checked for a collar but found none.” Though… you doubt he’d care about that from the way he’s speaking. “Guess he’s all mine, Kyle owes me money.” You perk up at the mention of Kyle.

“Poor lad, seemed sad the other day.”

You deflate a little, looking away and you miss the knowing look that Johnny gives you. “Yeah…” you mutter and leave the cart to pull items for his cat. If you had his number then maybe you could talk to him. Or maybe you wouldn’t… “here,” you come back with a cat bed and some toys. You’ve yet to figure out what to say to Kyle when— if. If he comes back. You hope he comes back.

“Careful, hen,” Johnny says worriedly as you put your hand in the cart. Johnny makes a move to grab your arm but it’s too late, your hands already placing the toys down in the cart. There’s a brief pause before his cat tilts his head and moves to sniff as best as he can despite being burrito’d in the jacket. “Oh?” His eyes widened slightly, “I see how it is, hmm? Ye scratch me up but allow the pretty lass to be near ye.” Turning rather green with jealousy as you laugh at his envious expression. To add insult to injury you pet his boy some more and he purrs. Loudly.

“Well…” you pet away at the purring cat, rubbing from his nose to the top of his head. His ears flickering when you thumb over his head to then scratch at his chin. “You did chase him.” Cooing down at the baby, not an ounce of spiciness in those big eyes of his. “Poor boy, you were just scared? Weren’t you?” Baby talking the cat as if he can understand you. “Big scary man came grabbing at you, poor baby.” You’d probably freak out too if Johnny came after you… the man looks like he can definitely toss you around.

“It was for his own good,” Johnny rolls his eyes with indifference. “I couldnae leave ‘im out in the cold.” You flick through the cat’s tufts of hair on the top of his head. Standing them up so it looks more like a mohawk to match his dad’s hairstyle. “He’s too smart, tried to box’im but he ken what I was doin’.” There’s a growing of a smile on his face as he watches you. Can’t be bothered to stay displeased, not with how sweetly you are eing towards his cat. He’s starting to understand the appeal.

You feel eyes on you and you lock eyes with him once you look up. He doesn’t turn from you even as you pull back. The cat doesn’t seem happy about the loss of pets when he tries yet fails to get out of the jacket. “I,” clearing away at your throat and that makes him blink finally. “Well… how did you get him?” A bit curious but it falters when Johnny grins wolfishly. “Oh no, what did you do?”

“Built him a cat house with one of those nice heaters. Only,” he leans closer like he’s telling you a secret, “I made it to where it would shut once he stepped in.” Rolling his shoulder slightly once he stands straight so the bag sits better. “Hardest part was getting him settled cause once I managed to get’em out of it. He ran all around the house knocking things over.” He chuckles, “had to wrap my jacket ‘round him. Clawed me up good.” — ouch! Aw ye stupid wee man! M’tryna help ye, stop bitin’! No, John, m’fine. Finally got my boy.— “He seems calm,” those blue eyes of his squint, “for now.”

Snorting a laugh, “yeah, he does. Just shaken up.” Pivoting on your heel, “come on, need to get you some more things for him. Hope you don’t mind?” He’s already got the litter and the litter box, even has the cat food.

“Not one bit, lass, not one bit.”

You take him around the store to grab what’s needed. His cat is snoozing the entire time, only waking up when a bump gets hit or you laugh a little too hard from Johnny’s jokes. Turns out, the Scot really is bad at naming things. “Firewatch is not a name, Johnny.”

“Ye sound like John.” He muses, cocking a brow at you.

“It’s the truth.” Saying it like a judge’s final answer on a case.

“An Cheddars any be’ter?” Tilting his head down, he’s long since put your bag of cat food in his cart. He would’ve held it longer had you not pestered him so. He liked how flustered you became when he asked if you’re always so worried or if it’s just for him. “Startin’ to think ye donnae ken how to give names.”

“Hey,” looking highly upset that he’d doubt your superior naming abilities. “I can name a cat, you just don’t like any of the names I’ve mentioned.” You’ve both listed off names. Cheddar, Bomb, Apollo, Firestick, Jackie, Blaze, Riley— now that on one, he seemed vehemently against. You don’t know why and he refused to give his reasonings behind it. “What about… Oliver?” He goes to say something but pauses once he chews on it.

“Hmmm,” he looks from your and then downwards, “Oliver, huh? Better than Riley that’s for sure.” Somewhere a big man in a mask that sneezes, “alright,” Johnny concedes, “I like it.”

“Could call him Ol’ Riley for short?” Wiggling your brows.

“Oh, now ye are pushing yer luck, lass.” Pushing the cart to the front to get to paying for everything you told him he’d need. He doesn’t mind the price, pays for it without doubting your knowledge. Even pays for the cat food that you planned on buying much to your surprise. He simply smiled when you tried to offer him your discounts, “s’fine, hen. Least I could do since yer not workin’.” Your cheeks warm a little, those butterflies start fluttering around once more.

“Okay, but, next time?” God, will there be one? “I’m paying for you.” Not taking a no for an answer on the matter.

“S’bad manners if I let ye pay for me, hen.” shaking his head once he walks with you to the exit. “Do ye need help taking this to yer car?”

“What? Oh,” shaking your head no, “I uh,” thinking of a quick excuse. “I need to talk to my manager, gott speak with him on somethings.”

“Ye want me to stay then?” His arms cross as he offers, “I can load it up for ye once yer done.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Coming close and petting Oliver one final time, you reach right for the big bag but Johnny’s hand wraps around your wrist gently to stopping you.

“Ye sure?” You take in a quick gasp, he’s nearly at your side. He’s warm, like a furnace, burns hot even when there’s a chill outside. “S’pretty heavy.”

“Y-Yeah,” tugging back from his grasp, “I’m sure,” you pick it up and he helps settle it on your shoulders. Distributing the weight for you so you don’t have to. “You should get home. It’s too cold out to not be wearing a jacket.”

“Donnae worry yer pretty head, lass.” His hand lands on his hip as he watches to make sure there’s not a wobble to your legs. “I’ll see ye?” Though it doesn’t sound like a question, sounds more like he knows he will sooner rather than later.

“Okay,” watching as he finally leaves to load up his car. You hide in the grooming salon till you think he’s gone and then make the trek up to your bus’s stop. Plopping the bag down and you sit to take a deep breath. There’s sweat on your brow despite the cold but your bus should be coming any minute now. Wiping at your brow, you pick up your phone to look on tiktok to pass the time. Once you hear the hiss of the bus stopping you heave the cat bag up and over your shoulders. Trudging along inside and sitting back in your usual spot.

You don’t notice the pair of eyes thats been watching you from a distance. Taking note of your exhaustion from where he observes you, “hm...” He leaves once your bus gets on moving down its route. It takes you straight home as always.

[livmightlive]

DONT GET ME WRONG- I am a huge advocate on the Wild and Hyrule being bffs front BUT I think it would be so so SO funny if they hated each other at first.

Wild and Hyrule

The similarities between Wild and Hyrule are genuinely poetic, I mean botw is literally a spiritual successor to Zelda 1. Their friendship was written in the stars.

But their differences… I think in the beginning Hyrule would envy the shit out of Wild. Both of their eras are in severe decline but Wild’s is green. Everyone in the chain knows that Wild’s memory is lacking. They know that one day Wild woke up with no memories and answered the call to be a hero, just like that. Everyone thinks it’s highly admirable to choose to be a hero without even knowing what you’re saving, just being innately good. But Hyrule doesn’t think so. If he woke up and saw a world so beautiful… There isn’t even a choice in defending that.

He’s also jealous that Wild can just… fuck off if something gets too dangerous. When they’re in Wild’s era they learn that he can use his slate to teleport anywhere he wants as much as he wants. If Wild accidentally disturbs a Lynel he can literally disappear to a sunny beach, get a drink, and lay out. He even has a map that updates as he moves. If he got lost, even with his slate not working, Hyrule has no doubt Wild would just run into an apple tree, a clean spring, and venison. He can scan an object to tell whether or not it’s poison. It didn’t matter how young, sick, or tired Hyrule was, if he stumbled upon a Lynel it was either him or it. He had to learn the hard way what he could or couldn’t eat. If Hyrule got lost there was no way his maps could save him. His era was mostly one huge bruise of dry grass and dying trees. Food and landmarks were scarce.

Because of that, Wild gets to goof off. He’s impulsive. He’s loud. He’s everything that should’ve gotten him killed years ago.

What he doesn’t know is that Wild is also jealous of Hyrule. Hyrule is just so… competent with so little. Hyrule never needed the master sword. In fact, Hyrule still uses the same sword he’s had since he was 10. Hyrule doesn’t break things. Hyrule doesn’t need people to find him when he’s lost, he doesn’t need maps. Hyrule doesn’t complain when all they have to eat is hard tack and water.

Hyrule could find a needle in a haystack without even burning it down. He’s just… everything that Wild can’t be. The shrine of resurrection healed as much of Wild as it could but the brain is a complicated thing. He wonders if he was always so impulsive, if he used to miss social cues, and if his memory had always been awful. Flora said something about damage to his frontal lobe but unless he looks up the definition in his slate, Wild can’t remember what that means.

Wild feels so embarrassed having had to use so many tools in his quest. Everyone calls Legend the hoarder but Wild quietly knows that it’s really him. Just standing next to Hyrule makes Wild look bad. It’s like the guy glows.

So they both resent each other at first, Hyrule for what Wild has and Wild for what Hyrule has.

I think if they were both teens, 17??, they would take this out on each other by being relentlessly petty. I think aside from Wind, they would be the youngest in the chain. At least in this scenario. Wild holds his breath praying that Hyrule will fuck up at some point. Hyrule “accidentally” keeps sabotaging Wild’s attempts to sneak off. Whenever the other gets lectured they get a sick feeling of accomplishment.

The chain picks up on the fact those two don’t like each other. Most of them don’t get it, two teenage kids, the same age, both heroes with a love for adventure and sneaking off. Why wouldn’t they get along? Wild and Hyrule never do actually fight though, until they do.

It starts with little things, Hyrule being annoyed after being asked to patch Wild up. Wild under or over seasoning Hyrule’s dinner portion just to test how far he can push him. Just little things to push at each other’s buttons.

And then they finally do fight, maybe after months of it brewing. And GOODNESS if it’s not a glorious fight. It doesn’t matter who started it. Hyrule has a fist of Wild’s hair. Wild throws sand into Hyrule’s eyes. The chain doesn’t even know what to do by the time they finally get them split up.

Well, Time does. Time makes the two of them start doing EVERYTHING together. Patrols, skirmishes, chores. The only way they’d be closer is if they were tied together. They hate it.

But it’s because of this they get captured together after a portal splits up the chain. Maybe they’re lost, arguing when cultists, a sick combination of both Yiga and the Eyes of Ganon scoop them up.

I think that while the Eyes are hyper competent they’re not necessarily cruel. This is a means to an end for them, they believe the death of the hero will save their families. For that, the hero doesn’t need to suffer. Slitting his throat will do. The Yiga are cruel but not very competent. They want to string the hero up, humiliate him. Torture him if they can get their hands on him… These two forces combined make something both competent and cruel.

So Wild and Hyrule are united in their shared terror. Hyrule and Wild finally start talking, trying to collaborate when they realize the cult wants to toy with them both before ritualistically sacrificing them. Through this, they finally understand each other.

Hyrule learns how insecure Wild is and why. How Wild’s era failed him and pushed him into something when he literally didn’t even have the mind to do so. That Wild is struggling to cope in a world that he barely understands.

Wild learns that Hyrule never got to cope, that his entire life has been one big chase. That Hyrule also didn’t choose to be a hero but had to be. Hyrule never catches a break. Hyrule never had the chance to get to break something.

Through their impromptu sleepover and some light torture, they grow close in the span of 72 hours before they escape their captors hand in hand.

They reunite with the chain who are shocked to see them arms around each other’s shoulders like brothers. Laughing, and more concerningly bleeding, at new inside jokes.

From then on they become a dangerous force. Time almost wishes they didn’t get along so well bc the new trouble they’re getting into is much more stressful than the old isolated incidents. They learn each others anxieties and weaknesses and do their best to uplift each other. They’re besties 💕💕💕

Hehehe sorry for the long ramble but I think about these two a lot. I think it’s so cool how their games are related but they’re also kind of opposites in some ways? This is probably ooc but I had a lot of fun writing. Lmk any thoughts!!

[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)

[hotchscoffeecup]

those things will kill you

pairing: javier peña x dea!reader

tags: gun violence, broken glass injury, bullet wounds, blood, no y/n

word count: 5k

summary: attacked in a public bar, javier takes you back to his apartment to get you cleaned up and tend your wounds. an almost kiss leads to an exploration of feelings neither of you were prepared for.

as always, big thanks to muffin for always being willing to help beta my fics <3

The bartender places a bottle of beer, sweaty with condensation, in front of you on the bar top.

After uttering a short thank you in Spanish, you leave a couple of bills on the counter and twist your fingers around the neck of the bottle. The beer is cold and slides down your throat easily, but it tastes bitter in your hollow stomach.

You run your tongue over your teeth and tsk, shaking your head wondering how you ended up in this mess. Everything seems like it’s going to hell in a handbasket and all the government wants to do is tie your hands and everyone else’s in the search for Escobar.

You hate how it all keeps you up at night; the cat and mouse. For every inch you eked closer, Escobar always seemed to be a mile ahead. Even when he is right under your nose, he evades capture and disappears without so much as a trace of evidence.

You think too far too deeply about Pablo Escobar and you know it affects your work. How can the same man who built homes and schools for the poor of his hometown be the same man that would blow up a city street full of school children and their families a week before school starts? The thought of it keeps you awake at night because you genuinely cannot fathom how such a disconnect can exist in the human mind. He is a drug lord. A killer. A criminal. But he was also someone’s child, someone’s husband, someone’s father. Could he really justify all of this cruelty and malice? You wonder when enough stopped being enough for him. You wonder if a reality existed where he was just that, a man of the people. A family man. In another life, maybe he could’ve actually maintained a seat in the Colombian congress. In all his posturing and speech making, he really did exude all of the makings of a good politician that wanted to see a better and more prosperous Colombia. Instead, he became that which instilled fear in the hearts of those that called the great nation their home.

The clipped click of a lighter snaps you out of your own mind and the sounds of the bar pull you out from under the sea of thoughts you’d lost yourself in.

“Real sharp instincts there,” Javier jabs as he drags on the cigarette between his lips and settles into the seat beside you. “Glad I’m not a sicario. Getting the jump on you would be all too easy now, wouldn’t it?”

“Fuck off, Peña, I’m not in the mood.”

“What happened? Get in trouble with the ambassador or something?”

You direct a hard stare in his direction and that seems to speak for itself.

“It’s an adjustment for everyone. He’s definitely more of a tight ass, but he’ll get used to the way things operate down here. Give it time.”

You scoff. “Easy for you to say. All you and Murphy have to do is posture and dick swing your way into his good graces. It’s not that easy for me.”

The bartender nears your end of the bar and inclines his head towards Javier. He gestures towards the drink in your hand with his cigarette and says, “Lo mismo, por favor.”

With a drink now in hand, he turns towards you and levels his deep brown eyes on yours.

“Cut the crap.”

Your brow arches toward your hairline. “Excuse me?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle as one side of his lips quirks up. “I’m not buying this ‘I’m-a-lady-so-I-have-to-work-twice-as-hard’ bullshit. You’re a damn good agent and that’s why you’re here with me and Murphy. Ambassador knows that. So, why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

He takes a swig of his beer and swallows hard. Pointing the bottle at you he says, “and to be clear, I’m not swinging my dick around for anyone.” His eyes flicker over your face and a glint of mischief enters his gaze. “Unless they ask nicely of course.”

You drop your chin and shake your head. “Just when I thought you were being genuine.”

“Hey, I am genuine,” he protests. He pops the cigarette between his lips and grabs your shoulder, the warmth of his palm pressing through your jacket. “C’mon, what’s really eating you?”

You grab the bottle in front of you and swirl the pale liquid inside, forming a small tornado when you still your hand. “I just haven’t been sleeping, that’s all.”

Javier drops his hand from your shoulder to take the cigarette from his lips and blows out a puff of smoke, angling his mouth away from you but the acrid smell still manages to burn your nostrils.

“Those things will kill you, you know?”

Javier smirks and you hate how good it looks on his smug face. “We work in Bogotá. A lot of things can kill us.”

“No need to tempt fate.”

He moves from side to side as if weighing his options. “Cigarettes, alcohol, working too hard trying to prove ourselves that we don’t sleep at night…we all have our vices.” His eyes linger on yours and you suddenly feel vulnerable being called out like that.

“Consider the reasons I don’t sleep, Javi.” You drain the last of your beer and push the bottle away from you.

You press your hands against the edge of the bar, but before you can push yourself up and off of the barstool, Javier claps a hand over one of your wrists, stilling you.

“You can talk to me, you know?” The browns of his irises flicker as they bear into yours and the hollow pit in your stomach widens. You know you can talk to him. Steve too. It’s just hard to be too vulnerable down here though when there’s so much pressure coming down from all angles. If you even look like you might collapse under the weight of it all you’ll get rotated back to the States so quickly, you won’t even get the chance to say goodbye. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for you and you can’t squander it. So, it stays easy to lock it down, despite the consequences.

So, you do just that and lock it down. Forcing a smile you know doesn’t reach your eyes, you shake off his hand and zip up your jacket. “I’m fine, Peña. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He presses his lips together, but doesn’t say anything more. He nods his head in farewell and you turn to leave.

You take two steps before your name rolls off of his tongue and you roll your eyes. “Peña, I’m—” The words die on your lips as you turn, eyes drifting past Javier to the pair on the motorcycle beyond the glass window that makes up the external wall of the bar. The man on the back of the motorcycle aims an automated weapon in Javier’s direction.

“Everybody get down!” You cry out as all hell breaks loose.

You’re airborne as the glass shatters and the explosive sounds of gunfire fill the space. You collide with a thick wall of muscle and hit the ground hard, covering your head with one arm and shielding his body with the other. The gunfire stops almost as soon as it had started and the sound of tires squealing on the pavement echoes off the street.

Patrons scream and cry out as they scramble over one another to evacuate the space. You roll onto your side and groan as shards of glass cut into your arms through the thin windbreaker you have on.

“Javier,” you groan as you reach for him. He’s moving so you know he’s alive. You lean over him and his shocked visage. “Javi, are you with me?”

He blinks hard out of whatever stupor he’s in and sits bolt upright. “Which direction did they go?” He turns his head to look over his shoulder and the gaping frame where shards of glass poke out of the windowsill like jagged teeth.

“They’re gone,” you say on an exhale. “Are you alright? Did you hit your head or anything when I tackled you?”

He breathes out a short laugh and you fear he might be in shock. “Did I hit my head? No, I didn’t—” He stops and shakes his head like he’s trying to clear away a fog. His brow pinches as he looks around at the damage. Tables and chairs are upended and cast aside. Broken bottles line the floor where they shattered upon impact off the shelves behind the bar and litter the ground. You’re surprised to find that, miraculously, no bodies littered the ground in the wake of the attack.

A hand cups your chin and you reflexively reach for the gun tucked into your waistband.

Peña raises his other hand in surrender. “I think you might’ve hit yours though.” His eyes shift just above your field of vision and that’s when you feel the hot sticky substance drip down onto your lashes. You raise a hand and touch it, surprised to find a smear of red staining your fingertips when you look at them.

“I think that’s just from the glass. It’s all in my jacket.”

Javier clambers to his feet and dusts off his jeans. Bits of glass hit the floor as it rattles off of his leather jacket, a much heartier material that you wish yours had been made from.

He extends a hand towards you and you take it, wincing as he pulls you to your feet. With a grunt, you tug the zipper down and shrug out of your jacket. There’s no saving the ripped and bloodied material so you drop it on the floor.

“Fuck, you’re hit.”

The words don’t register as Javi closes the gap between the two of you and the smell of cigarettes and cologne envelops you in a strange, yet almost comforting cloud of, well, Javier.

He scrubs a hand over his face as he hesitates to touch you. You hear him muttering to himself, but the words don’t quite register. Funny how a moment ago you were worried about him going into shock.

A sharp sting of pain brings you back to your senses as Javier presses a folded up bar towel to your shoulder. “Hold pressure on that,” he instructs. He turns and reaches back to take your hand in his. “Come on, I’ll get you out of here. I need to get you taken care of.”

And that’s how you find yourself in the passenger seat of Javier Peña’s Jeep with blood seeping through a dirty bar rag onto the upholstery of his passenger seat. At some point he reaches over you and retrieves the satellite phone from within the glove box to call in the attack.

“No, Murphy. I’m fine. She’s fine. Minor wounds it seems. No—no, don’t wake Connie. I’ve got a kit at my apartment. Yes, I’ll keep an eye on her. I’ve already called the Ambassador and Martinez. Yeah, yeah. Ok, goodnight. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

By the time he pulls into his garage, the adrenaline wears off and the sharp sting of pain in your shoulder becomes glaringly obvious. Javier gets out and moves to open the door for you. He places a supporting hand under your uninjured arm as you maneuver your way out of the car in the confined space. Your body brushes against the firm plane of his as you do and you don’t miss the way he stiffens in response.

“Let’s get you inside,” he murmurs and drops his hand to the small of your back to guide you towards the door.

His apartment is simple, built in the same style as yours and Murphy’s. They all share the same furniture and simple decorations, though yours doesn’t have quite the number of liquor bottles perched on various surfaces and vaguely remember what he’d mentioned about vices at the bar. The smells strongly of him, of his earthy cologne and cigarette smoke. You’ve grown used to it from sitting across from him at work for the last six months. There’s something oddly comforting about it even though the amount he and everyone else smokes bothers you to no end.

“Why don’t you sit down?” He says, gesturing toward the couch.

You do as he suggests and sit on the couch, only on the edge though. You don’t want to ruin the upholstery like you’d done with his car. Plus, you’re fairly certain there’s still small shards of glass embedded in the skin of your back and the idea of pressing those in any further makes you queasy.

Javi disappears into the bathroom, muttering expletives under his breath in English and in Spanish. He returns with a small red first aid kit, a couple of wash clothes, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

He climbs onto the couch and perches on the back of the sofa, his legs spread on either side of your body. “Hold these,” he says, and doesn’t wait to dump the items into your lap.

With gentle hands, he peels the bar rag up and off your shoulder. “Good,” he sighs. “Bleeding’s stopped. Let’s get you out of this shirt.”

You turn your head over your shoulder to look at him from beneath an arched brow and he immediately doubles back. “So we can clean this properly and make sure there isn’t any more glass. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Funny, I thought you liked it there.” Your lips curve into a wicked smile. “I know what you meant, but it is fun to watch you squirm.”

Javier shakes his head and you turn back around to pull your tank top up and over your head. You try to do it with one arm to avoid aggravating your shoulder, but the movement jostles the joint and you hiss between your teeth. Javi catches your hand as you try to pull it over the injury and takes over guiding it up and over the wound. He discards your tank top on the ground and sucks in a breath.

“What, Jav? You see women in their bras, or without them, all the time. Relax.”

“No, it’s not that. Wait, what—”

You smirk to yourself. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s just on second thought, I think we ought to move to the kitchen. There’s more light there and there’s still some glass stuck in and around where the bullet clipped you.”

He gently lays the towel back down over the open wound on your shoulder and you follow him to the kitchen and drop your keys and gun onto the counter before perching on one of the bar stools. He kicks the nearby waste paper basket next to the empty stool beside you and arranges the first aid items onto the counter, opening the kit and withdrawing gloves, tweezers, gauze pads, and roller bandages. He zips the kit shut, determining he has everything that he needs and places it in his lap as he sits down.

A strange silence settles over the two of you as he snaps on the pair of latex gloves and sets to work. He removes the soiled rag from your shoulder and drops it into the trash. The pinch and sting of him pulling glass from within and around your injuries dulls over time and you watch as the tiny pile of red stained shards grows on the counter next to you.

“You know there wouldn’t be so much of this if you hadn’t fallen directly on top of me.”

Javier scoffs. “You’re right. Next time we’re in a firefight, I’ll let you fall on me.” The tweezers lock on to another small shard and you grimace as he pulls it free. “I think that was the last one.”

He unscrews the plastic cap from the bottle of rubbing alcohol and soaks a washcloth with it. “This is probably going to hurt worse, but we gotta get this cleaned up.”

You nod. “I know, go ahead.”

When he’s cleaning the dried blood from off and around the skin, it just grazes over small cuts and scrapes that feels more annoying than anything else. It’s when he passes over the open wound in your shoulder that a curse slips past your lips and tears well in your eyes.

“Fucking shit, that hurts.”

“I know,” Javi says apologetically. “We definitely don’t want you to get any infection though.” He swipes the cloth over the injury three more times and just when you start to wonder if he’s a sadist, he finally declares he’s finished and drops the washcloth into the trash. The cool air blowing from the nearby AC unit dries the alcohol and relieves the burning sting. He replaces it with a fresh gauze pad and holds it in place with his left hand while his right works the roller bandage into position. He works quickly and quietly as he winds it around your shoulder and bicep. After securing a knot in the bandage, he sits back and nods affirmatively, content with the job he’s done.

“Now let me see your forehead. We oughta get that cleaned up as well while I’ve got you here.”

You’d almost forgotten about the cut above your eye with the adrenaline wearing off and the pain in your shoulder growing more severe. You reach up absentmindedly and brush your fingers against the now dried and flaking blood stuck in your eyebrow. Javi spills some alcohol onto a gauze pad and your breath catches when he touches the tips of his opposite hand beneath your chin to tilt it towards the overhead light.

He swipes at the dried blood and scrubs it free from your eyebrow. When he passes over the shallow cut, you wince and he apologizes. When it’s clean, he peels open the wrapper on a butterfly bandage and uses the tips of his fingers to try to place it so it’ll pull the cut closed. A small smile tugs at your lips as you watch him press his tongue to his bottom lip as his fingers tremble ever so slightly as he makes sure the small ends of the bandage don’t tear.

“There,” he whispers when he’s sure it’ll stay put. His face is so close to yours and the breath catches in your throat when his eyes drop to yours. “Just like new.”

Time slows to an absolute standstill and you feel yourself inextricably drawn to him, as if there’s some tether pulling you towards him and you really start to wonder if you did hit your head harder than you thought in the chaos because you’re pretty sure he’s also leaning in towards you, which would be crazy because he’s your coworker, but he’s also tilting his head and his face is incredibly close to yours…

Reality snaps back into place like a rubber band against skin when the first aid kit resting on his thighs clatters to the ground. You immediately pull away and drop down off of the stool to pick it up and Javier immediately chastises you doing so.

“Dammit!” He curses and your name sounds sharp on his tongue. “You’ve barely stopped bleeding, don’t jerk yourself around like that.” He snatches the first aid kit from you and splays a hand under your elbow to pull you back up to a standing position. He tosses the kit onto the counter and stalks off into the living room leaving you at the bar wondering what the hell is driving this one-eighty in behavior as he paces back and forth across the carpet.

“Damn, Peña. I’m not going to bleed out on your kitchen floor.” You smirk. “Your jeep, maybe,” you suggest, trying to make light of the sudden tension in the room.

Javier either doesn’t or chooses not to hear you. He loops his thumb through one of his belt loops as he shakes his head and mutters under his breath. “I don’t need this right now.”

Your brow pinches and you hate the heat that rushes to your cheeks. You shuffle your weight from foot to foot and suddenly feel like you’re taking up too much space in the small apartment as he increases the space between you and him. This errant behavior is giving you more whiplash than when you’d taken him to the ground and you’re about to call him out on it, when, without another word, he turns and ducks into his room.

Irritation quickly replaces whatever vulnerability you’d just been feeling. “What the hell does that mean?” You ask, your words clipped and demanding. You walk towards the sounds of him rummaging around inside drawers and come to an abrupt halt as he strides out of his bedroom and presses a ball of fabric into your chest. “This,” he says by way of explanation and takes a dramatic step away from you.

“And by this you mean what exactly?” You know exactly what the this in question is, but you want to hear him say it. Frankly, you’re just as surprised by whatever just happened between you and him, but you’ve worked with each other long enough now to know when the other is severely bullshitting their way through a situation and you have no intention of letting him get away with it.

The smell of his detergent wafts up around you from the shirt in your hands and you take the opportunity to try to awkwardly shrug into it without aggravating the freshly dressed wound. It’s hard to start an argument and be taken seriously when you’re standing toe to toe with someone and you’ve only got on jeans and a black lace bra after all.

As you fumble with the buttons on his shirt, he takes a resigned step backwards and collapses onto the couch. He gestures vaguely at the space between the two of you. His voice is softer when he speaks, tired. “All of this. God.” He runs a hand through his hair and falls back into the cushions. “You,” he says, eyes briefly meeting yours and then at the ceiling.

Your fingers pause mid-fastening. “What about me?”

Javier shakes his head. A wry smile pulls at his lips, rife with disbelief, and it fades as quickly as it comes. “You nearly died tonight.”

You arch a brow and direct a knowing look at him. “Javi, not sure if you were paying attention but we both nearly died tonight. I mean, things moved a little quickly for me to break out my calculator and add shit up, but I don’t think all 30 or 40 of those rounds were meant just for me. I think they were aimed at both DEA agents and they didn’t give a fuck who else got caught in the crossfire.”

“That’s not the point,” he responds resolutely.

“Then tell me what is.”

He doesn’t answer, but sits up and pulls the half crushed pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and slips one between his teeth. As he rolls his thumb over his lighter, you feel your already short fuse ignite. Without giving it a second thought you step forward and snatch the cigarette from between his lips.

“Hey!” He protests, nostrils flaring.

You snap the stick of tobacco in front of him and toss it to the floor. “Enough of the theaterics, Peña.” You stare directly into his eyes, refusing to let him get away with ignoring you. “Quit bullshitting me and tell me what’s really on your mind.”

The sound of the wall clock ticking fills the space and the silence is unbearable, but you refuse to be the first to break. Fifteen more uncomfortably strained seconds tick by before he drops his gaze to the floor and scrubs a hand over his face with a heavy sigh.

He slides over on the couch and pats the cushion next to him. “Sit down, will you?”

You do as he asks and situate yourself at an angle towards him with one leg pulled up across your lap.

“Here,” Javi says as he pulls a throw pillow out from behind him and wedges it gently between you and the couch. “I don’t want you to go and tear open anything I got closed.”

You huff out a quiet laugh and thank him, glancing down at his haphazardly buttoned shirt you’ve got on. You notice you’ve completely misaligned what you’d managed to fasten. Ignoring that for now, you kick at his shin and incline your head towards him. “You done with all the tough guy shit?”

Javier presses his lips together and nods. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what happened. I just—”

“Just what?”

He lifts his eyes to yours and you watch the way his coffee colored irises flicker in the lamplight. “There's just some lines you shouldn’t cross.”

“This is Bogotá,” you say, mirroring his words from earlier. “There’s a lot of lines we shouldn’t cross.”

“I’m serious,” he responds brusquely, eyes darkening as he shuts you out once more.

You sit up straighter, undeterred by his obvious attempts to push you away. “Yeah, well tough shit, so am I.”

The way he speaks your name is laced with frustration and uncertainty. He’s holding back and your own frustration mounts. You’re tired, you’re in pain, and frankly, now you’re just feeling plain stupid. You’d heard rumors of Javier’s extracurricular activities with women. Did you really want to be another notch in his bedpost?

You let out a low, wry chuckle and shake your head. “You know what, Javier?” You push yourself up and off the couch, wincing as you do so, and look down at him. “Give me a call if you figure out what side of the line you stand on.”

You turn and swiftly move towards the door, swiping your keys and gun off of the counter as you do so. You use your good arm to shove your sidearm into the back of your jeans and unlock the deadbolt on Javier’s front door.

You’ve barely pushed the door open when Javier appears at your side and yanks it closed. Before you can protest, he pushes you up against the door and presses his lips to yours in a devastatingly desperate kiss.

You can’t control the moan that rushes from your mouth into his as you kiss him back. He tastes like mint and menthols and you suddenly can’t remember why you hate the smell of cigarettes so much. The cuts along your back and shoulder blades sting as the wood rubs up against the shirt Javier gave you, but with his hands pressed against the expanse of wall on either side of your face, you decide it’s bearable.

That is until you reach up unthinkingly to tangle your hand into his hair and a sharp sting of pain reverberates from your shoulder all the way down to your fingertips.

Javi abruptly breaks off the kiss and his eyes flicker across your face, shining with concern. “Fuck, I’m sorry! I just got caught up in the moment. Did I hurt you?”

You place a placating hand against his chest and feel the erratic beating under your palm. “I’m fine, Jav. Really.”

He licks his lips and you already miss the way they felt against yours. He presses them together and nods. “Good.”

“Good,” you echo. “I guess I should head home though, get some rest. God knows the ambassador is going to want a report on all of this.”

“You got shot, the ambassador can get fucked.”

“Fucked, is what we’re both going to be if we can’t figure out who targeted us.” You sigh and shake off the thought. “I better get going. It’s late.”

Javier stops you from turning to leave. “You’re not walking home alone this late at night.”

“It’s down the street, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not walking alone.”

“Then walk me home. Your strong male aura will keep danger at a bay,” you add sarcastically.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what do you suppose I do?”

“Simple, stay here. I’ll drive you home in the morning.”

“And sit on all that blood? No thanks.”

“Okay fine, I’ll walk you home in the morning.”

You consider the implications of that and choose the safest route. “S’pose I could sleep on the couch.”

Javier shakes his head. “I’m not gonna make you sleep on the fucking couch. You’ll sleep in my bed.”

“And you’ll sleep where?”

“Next to you,” he says smoothly. “If you’ll let me.”

You arch a brow. “And we’ll just…sleep?”

Javi shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and shrugs his shoulders, his smile smug. “Tonight, yes.” He steps forward and takes a hand from his pocket to cup your face gently in his wide palm. He places a tender kiss upon your lips. “Tomorrow night might be a different story.”

“I think I’d be quite interested in reading that,” you respond playfully.

“It’s different than what I’m used to,” Javier says and then adds, “but I think change might not be a bad thing.”

You give him a once over and nod. “I think you’re right about that.”

He smiles, somewhat sheepishly, as he says, “I’m sorry for being such a dick.”

The corner of your mouth quirks as you shrug your good shoulder. “I’m not sorry I pushed your buttons like that. It’s about time you open up and actually let yourself feel your feelings.”

He rubs his thumb across your bottom lip and then drops his hand to curve around your hip and rest on the small of your back. “Let’s get some sleep, huh?”

And that’s how you find yourself lying in bed next to Javier Peña of all people, wearing his shirt to sleep while he snores softly beside you; and you can’t help but wonder how many things had to happen for you to end up here at this moment. His arm drapes over your waist, pulling you in against the steady warmth of his skin and you find that you quite like the way you fit so perfectly against the crook of his body.

In the comfort of his arms, you drift off into an uninterrupted sleep and for the first time since you can’t remember when you don’t dream of Pablo Escobar.

[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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[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.

[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 (😈)

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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!

[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]

[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