#at least half of it is from the last year or two
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⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you show your husband some affection, thinking you two were alone - only to be interrupted by your son.
tags. dad!toji fushiguro x wife!female reader. fluff, suggestive. mentions of toji developing / having a dad bod. & reader having a mom bod. reader gets called ‘princess, mama (by gumi)’. baby gumi waking up bcs of a nightmare. excuse me - not beta read bcs i was half asleep when writing this rt_t
“tooooji,” you smile as you enter the kitchen. you’ve put megumi to bed - finally - and have the chance to spend some one-on-one time with your dear husband. both of you deserve the rest after a hard day of work.
toji has been putting the dishes back in their designated spots whilst you were away. the dark-haired man turns his head to the side once he feels a pair of arms wrap around his waist. a small grin tugs at his lips, “missed me, princess?”
you roll your eyes. even if years have passed since your marriage, toji has not stopped using that specific nickname for you. he loves calling you ‘princess’, because that’s what you’ll always be to him. in his eyes, at least.
“mhm,” you decide to indulge him. you bury your face into his broad back, feeling the muscles he’s worked so hard on obtaining. after megumi was born, toji did let himself go for a bit, but that is a good sign.
it means he’s content with his life - this peaceful life that he’s settled down for with no regrets. no more being reckless, no more battling for money; he’s now got a family to come back home to after all.
“is the little brat asleep?” toji asks while putting the last dish away. he’s visibly enjoying your warm hands that have slid under his shirt. your skin is so soft to the touch compared to his.
you chuckle and nod to his question. “gumi’s sleeping like a baby,” you rub your husband’s stomach gently, feeling the little bumps of his fading abs. you’re loving his new body - just as much as toji loves yours.
toji turns around to face you, desperately needing to return the favor. he can’t get enough of being with you. his rough hands grab your waist and bring you closer against his body, until your chests are nearly touching. he lowers his head to your neck, “that means i can show my wife how much i love her, yeah?”
you shiver at how toji’s voice turns from soft and gentle to sexual and husky. big hands find their place on your tummy, massaging the loose skin with its stretch marks. you can hear your husband’s breath hitch. “fuck,” toji swallows his spit, his fingers moving to grasp your hips.
toji loves how your hips got wider after you’ve given birth to your child. every change in your body, whether big or small, is completely welcomed by him. your body has blessed toji with a son he loves and he’ll forever be grateful for that fact. the least he can do is take his time to appreciate you.
“so beautiful,” toji sighs as he leaves soft pecks on your neck and throat. his fingers are working their way down to your thighs and ass—not leaving a single patch of skin untouched. his lips eventually find yours and you melt into his embrace.
it’s getting heated and the tension is palpable. toji’s about to lift you into his arms when you catch a glimpse of a short figure in the doorway. your eyes widen and you immediately detach your lips from your husband’s.
toji quickly catches on and sighs. he cocks his head to the left, the sight of his toddler standing at the doorway coming into view. “damn kid,” he whispers, nearly pouting because of the interruption. you playfully slap his bicep—a warning to fix his potty mouth in front of megumi.
“h-hey, gumi,” you say with an awkward giggle, walking towards the child. you fix your shirt in the meantime, straightening the material. you crouch down to megumi’s level and pat his head tenderly, “what happened? why are you out of bed?”
megumi stares up at you with teary eyes. he’s clenching onto his dog plushie, hugging the stuffed animal to his little body. you can easily guess that he’s scared—probably because of a nightmare. he’s been getting those more frequently.
though, instead of explaining himself, megumi searches for answers to something else. he points at his dad who’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. the toddler then looks back at you like he’s made some big discovery;
“mama papa kissing!”
you nearly choke on your spit. megumi’s a clever little boy and it shows through his advanced vocabulary. you’re surprised that he’s learnt what that meant already. you try to deny what your child said, “no, uhm, mama and papa were just hugging!”
toji snorts at your half assed excuse. he lazily walks over to you two, hands in his pockets. he bends forwards and looks megumi in the eyes with a huge smirk on his face. “yeah, we were. ‘n you totally ruined it,” he utters without any shame and menacingly sticks his tongue out at the little boy.
you hiss and lightly shove toji—he cannot take anything seriously. you’re trying your best to distract megumi’s attention from what he’s seen his parents do, to what his reason is for waking up.
“did you have a nightmare again?” you coo and pick your son up. he instantly snuggles up to you and presses his face against your chest in search of comfort. you smile and can conclude that your assumptions are right.
you pet megumi’s head whilst softly humming one of his favorite lullabies. toji watches your interaction with his son and his mood softens once more. he silently hugs you from behind—also wrapping an arm around megumi—turning it into a little family group hug.
“y’re all right, buddy,” toji mutters to megumi and the little boy sniffles in response, “mama ‘n papa ‘re right here.”
after a couple minutes, you carry megumi back to his room before putting him down in his bed. your husband stands next to you as you make sure your kid is tucked in properly.
megumi stares up at you with a sniff and you nearly melt at the adorable sight. you brush his bangs out of his eyes and kiss his forehead, wishing him a good night. the toddler nods and hugs his plushie to his chest again, still a bit shaken up from the nightmare. however, he’s doing a lot better after he got comforted by both his parents.
“sweet dreams, gumi,” you whisper and rub megumi’s cheeks with a fond smile on your lips. toji simply stares at you conversing with megumi—his face showing little to no emotion. though, from within, toji is absolutely in awe at your motherly personality. you’re the perfect mother.
megumi gets drowsy and tosses onto his side so he could be more comfortable. he struggles to open his eyes, but manages to look at toji. the little boy pouts and points another finger at his dad, this time drowsily warning him, “papa no kiss mama, ‘kay?”
that comment catches you off guard. you’re embarrassed by the fact that megumi still remembers what he’s seen in the kitchen. you try to clear your throat and explain yourself, but toji’s one step ahead of you. he silently mimics megumi’s words and rolls his eyes—
“yeah yeah, whatever. i won’t,” toji promises his son. the toddler clearly inherited your husband’s protectiveness. you chuckle at the playfulness between the two, enjoying the jokey banter the father-son duo have each time.
megumi huffs in victory and nods. he can sleep in peace now, knowing his dad won’t try anything funny with you. he closes his weary eyes and is asleep within just a few seconds.
you stretch your arms and sigh in content. you can’t help but chuckle once you notice how megumi’s fallen asleep with a tiny smile on his lips. you give the child one last forehead kiss before leaving the room in silence.
toji follows right behind you. now that his son is sound asleep, he doesn’t have to keep his promise. technically— he wasn’t planning to anyway.
“c’mere,” your husband mumbles and grabs your hand. he pulls you into a tight hug, hands instantly roaming your body which he admires so much. he plants his lips onto yours not a second later.
you smile into the kiss, finding it funny how toji couldn’t keep his (fake) promise for even one second. he would die if he actually couldn’t kiss you, and that isn’t even an exaggeration.
toji pulls back after a moment and smirks at you—those bedroom eyes of his very telling.
“so, where were we?”
#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader#toji x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#jjk x you#toji x you#jjk fluff#toji fluff#jjk x y/n#toji x y/n#star divider by benkeibear
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could i request a mark smut 😣😣 where reader and mark just had an intense argument but in the end, they cant be mad at each other for long so they just fck it out of each other 🤐🤐🤐🤐
mad at you | l.mk
“then i try to leave, but baby i just can’t stay mad at you”
💿now playing: mad at you by why don’t we
❯ summary: Mark learns that you’ve made a ‘selfish’ decision that’s bound to put a strain on your relationship. Next thing you know, you're knee-deep in an argument that somehow ends with you sprawled out beneath him; because, let’s be honest, he’s never really been any good at staying mad at you.
❯ pairings: idol!mark x fem!reader
❯ genre: angst, smut, established relationship, make up sex
❯ words: 4.3k
❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, lots of arguing, swearing, reader is lowkey dramatic, makeup sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), nipple play, dry humping, brief clit play, slight needy mark bc i can't help myself, creampie, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader and mark argue and resolve it by fucking.
an: i love writing angsty arguments (testament to my real relationships lol) so thank you so much for this request. it lowkey brought me out of writer’s block.
The honeymoon stage lasts approximately thirty months or two and a half years – which would make sense considering you and Mark were approaching your third year together and have argued more recently than you ever had.
But this time it’s different. You’ve never seen Mark like this, so angry that his face is bordering red and his jaw ticks so hard it might crack as the both of you drive in complete silence from your work dinner. He doesn’t even bother sneaking his usual glances at you when he pulls up at stoplights, the hand he likes to place on your thigh is gripping the wheel instead, and the only noise in the car is his rugged and frustrated exhales.
You could feign ignorance about why he's upset, but you know the reason all too well. And while a part of you acknowledges his right to be angry, another, more prideful part, resists the idea of apologising, especially when you think his reaction seems so disproportionate to your mistake.
So you sit in the passenger seat, arms crossed and body frozen, contributing to the cold silence settling between the two of you. You prepare yourself for the earful of a lecture you’re about to get when he pulls up outside your shared apartment.
He parks the car, slams the door shut, and strides towards your building without a backward glance. You scoff at his pettiness; he's never been so angry that he wouldn't at least wait for you to get out of the car with him. He doesn't even slow down when you trail behind. And when he nearly lets the elevator doors close without you, any chance he has of receiving an apology from you flies out the window, you think.
He does, however, show some decency by leaving the front door open for you as you both step out of the elevator and head towards your apartment – how chivalrous.
The chivalry doesn’t last long because the minute he hears you clasp the door shut, he’s glaring at you, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and you can't help but notice that he's rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt in frustration. If he weren't on the brink of yelling at you, you'd be tempted to make him do more than just roll up those sleeves — you'd want the fabric torn off and thrown on the floor in an instant.
“Paris, Y/N?!” Mark seethes, voice deep and uneven. “You signed a fucking contract to work in Paris?!?”
You pause, attempting to gather your thoughts, but the momentary silence doesn't offer much clarity. Eventually, you settle on, "It's just a six-month gig..." – a statement that seems to send him into a frenzy.
“Just six months?” He rubs his jaw repeatedly in disbelief, “That’s six months that we won’t get to see each other, did you even think about that huh?”
You scoff, “You’re one to talk, need I remind you that your job takes you away from me for months at a time.”
"That's not fair," he protests. "You knew exactly what you were getting into when you agreed to date me. I didn’t agree to not seeing my girlfriend for months because she’s gallivanting away in Paris without me."
Your eyes narrow and your nostrils flare, “So what? If you would have known, you wouldn’t have wanted to be my boyfriend?”
His eyes widen and he shakes his head. His hands fly to his hair and he tugs at the strands as he huffs out a breath.
“How the fuck did you get that conclusion from what I said?” He asks, voice sounding baffled. “The reason I’m so mad is because I like being your boyfriend, but I’m not going to see you for the next six months.”
“You’re being a hypocrite right now.”
He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Right, because I’m always the one being unreasonable.”
“Yes, you are,” you scorn, “This job is my dream, don’t you see how selfish you're being?”
“I’m selfish?” He gasps, “That’s rich considering you didn’t even consult me when making this decision, I had to find out from your smug little co-worker in front of everyone. You were thinking solely about yourself, Y/N.”
You're on the verge of screaming. How is he not seeing things from your perspective? He's usually so understanding, so open to hearing your side. But the razor-sharp look in his eyes tells you that there's no getting through to him. He's convinced you're wrong, and nothing will change his mind.
“It’s for my job, Mark,” you cross your arms and shrug.
“And how many times have I told you that you don’t need to work? How many times do I need to tell you I can look after the both of us?”
“And how many times have I told you that I don’t want that? I don’t want to have to always rely on you!” You snap.
Your teeth grit as the words spit out of your mouth. They seem to hit Mark, deep, his eyes softening for a fleeting moment before sharpening again. He swallows thickly and blinks before running a hand through his hair.
“Then what are we doing, Y/N?” He asks deflated, “What are we if you don’t want to rely on me?”
You're not sure what compels you to say it – whether it's the way you're all worked up, the entire context of the argument, or some inner recognition that you're the one who's fucked up this time despite you both having stuff to apologise for. Still, you escalate the situation from zero to one hundred without a second thought.
“Oh, so you want to break up?”
He shakes his head and tongues the inside of his cheek, “When did I say that?!”
The fight only gets worse after that, the two of you blowing up after every sentence. You run around in circles, throwing accusations and insults at each other to the point the original premise of the argument is lost along the way of a thousand new arguments. It’s like every little thing you’ve both done to irk each other over the last month is brought up; and by the end of it, the two of you swear you’re done with each other.
Sure, you've had your fair share of arguments, but the biting finality of the word "done" as it leaves his lips sends a sharp pang through your stomach – it hurts like hell. You've reached your limit with this endless cycle of back-and-forth; you've had enough of him. Storming past him, you head towards your shared bedroom.
Mark sighs and reaches out for your arm, but you pull away. He doesn't like this, doesn't like the chilliness he feels from you. He doesn't want to end the argument like this; it's never gone this far without a resolution before.
“You can’t just storm away when we argue Y/N, it’s childish.”
“If you don’t like it then leave!” You slam the door shut after you and lock it.
Mark hates this more, not being able to talk this out because you’ve put a wall between the two of you. Then your words register in his mind and he’s the most hurt he’s ever felt. You want him to leave. Fuck that, he thinks. He’s not going to watch his relationship go down the drain over a petty argument.
He knocks on the door a few times, then jiggles the doorknob, calling out your name and pleading for you to let him in. But you remain unmoved, denying him even the satisfaction of hearing your voice telling him to go away. This only adds to his frustration. He's the one you've upset, and yet here he is, begging for you to open up so he can fix things.
After a few more tries he scoffs, your words echoing in his mind once more. Leave. It crosses his mind as he makes his way to the front door of the apartment. He swings it open, ready to clear his head and crash at Johnny's for the night. But just as he's about to step out, he catches sight of a picture of the two of you on the coffee table where he keeps his keys.
It’s from your honeymoon phase when it was easier for the two of you to say you’d never let anything come between you – when love seemed to blind you both. Mark picks up the photo, memories flooding back to the day it was taken. It was the day you met his parents and shared your aspirations of becoming a fashion designer. You reassured them that you had your own dreams and weren't just with their son for his wealth – though his parents wouldn't have minded either way; they would have been content with any girl that made their son happy. And you made Mark happy – you make Mark so fucking happy.
Which is why he can’t believe he’s even considering leaving you in this apartment on your own after a fight. He shuts the front door and makes his way to the couch. He's eager to resolve things with you now, but both of you are too caught up in emotions, spouting shit you'll likely regret in the morning. So he opts to grab a few sofa pillows and a blanket from the storage closet instead. He strips down from his dress shirt and pants, throwing them to the floor before lying back and resting his eyes with a heavy mind.
Regret doesn't hit you until 2:00 am the following morning, when you're met with the chill of an empty space beside you as you reach out to cuddle your boyfriend, only to find him absent. Sure you thought he was overreacting to the news, but you're also painfully aware that your own words were uncalled for. You shouldn’t have asked him to leave – you didn’t want him to.
As you heard the front door open and then close with a clink, a thick lump formed in your throat. The realisation that you had driven him away hit you hard, and you lost all motivation. You lay on your bed, makeup still intact, as you sniffled and sobbed quietly into your pillow. And even now, after tossing and turning from your mind running laps, you’d only managed to sleep for a few minutes.
You stretch your stiff legs and reluctantly leave your bed, unlocking your bedroom door with sleepy eyes. You're taken aback when you see Mark sleeping soundly on the sofa, his breath steady with his eyes closed. You thought he had left, but there he is, covered only by the blanket from the storage closet. It breaks your heart to see him like this; he's likely cold, and he'll probably have a stiff neck in the morning for practice. And you know it's all your fault.
The guilt eats away at you, and without hesitation, you rush to the bedroom to grab his pillows and an extra blanket. Realistically, you should wake him up and insist he sleeps in bed, but the fear of his lingering anger keeps you from doing so. Instead, you kneel in front of him, attempting to swap the sofa pillows for his own bed pillows.
However, your efforts prove futile because Mark is a light sleeper – a detail you foolishly overlooked in your worried state of mind. He blinks as he wakes up once, then twice, appearing confused to find you in front of him in the living room instead of beside him in bed.
“Baby?” He whispers, his eyes hazy as he tries to make sense of what you're doing. It doesn’t take him long once he spots the sofa cushion in your hand to put the pieces together.
You bite your lip and sigh, “I know you're mad at me, but I didn’t want you to wake up stiff in the morning.”
Mark's chest constricts. How could he possibly stay mad at you when you're so cute, fussing over him like this? He notices the smudge of black makeup beneath your eye, and his heart tightens once more – this time with sadness rather than affection.
His hand reaches out to touch your cheek, and you’re shocked at the touch. “You’ve been crying?” He asks and you bow your head.
"I thought you left..."
Mark wants to laugh at the irony. You asked him to leave, and yet here you are, upset at the idea of his departure. He swears if he weren't so in love with you, he'd rant about how much you mess with his head, pushing him to the edge only to pull him back again.
“Would never leave you, baby, you know that,” his voice is soft and comforting as the rough edge of his fingertips finds your jaw.
You can't control it; tears fall freely from your eyes. He's being incredibly considerate and gentle with you, even after you acted like a bitch. Honestly, you almost wish he'd just yell at you instead. But he doesn’t, his eyes widen and he immediately sits up straight letting the blanket fall to the floor as he pulls you up to sit on his lap.
He shushes you, his hands finding your waist where he rubs soothing soft circles into the fabric of your tank top, “Hey, why are you crying? I’m here…please don’t get upset, Y/N.”
His kindness only amplifies your guilt.
"I'm so sorry," you stifle in short sobs, your voice almost cracking. "I should've talked to you about the job offer before signing the contract... I-I didn't mean to act so selfishly. I just... I wasn't thinking."
Mark gives you a half-smile as he runs a hand through your hair. "It's okay, baby... You got caught up in your dream. I'm sorry for not realising that. I'm the one being selfish by always expecting you to put me first."
"No—"
He interrupts you to continue his apology. "You were right, you know. I always expect you to wait for me while I'm on tour. I never considered it from the other side, with me waiting for you... But I will. I'll wait because I know how much this job means to you."
Your face buries itself in the crook of his neck as you cry even harder, and he tuts gently while rubbing your back.
"Please don’t cry, Y/N," he murmurs softly. "I hate seeing you upset."
"Can’t help it," you muffle. "I hate that I upset you…"
Mark pulls you away from his neck, needing to look into your eyes as he speaks. "It's normal for couples to argue, baby. We just need to promise to communicate better, okay?"
His fingers stroke your cheeks again, and you lean into his touch. The warmth of his hand feels so comforting as if he was made to soothe your skin, the only person capable of bringing you relief. You bite your lip and nod against his palm, because you're more than willing to work on your communication if it means never feeling like this again.
"Now, give me a smile. You know, the pretty one I like," he says with a laugh. "If I'm not going to see you for the next six months, I don’t want one of our last moments together to be so... sad."
You smile at him and press your forehead against his with a whisper. "Me neither.”
You’re so close to each other that you’re practically sharing the same breath, if you had said that two hours ago you wouldn’t have believed yourself. But here you are, lips so close that your heavy breathing practically begs him to kiss you.
Mark feels it too, so when he does, it's like the softness of his lips is a bandage, mending the angry tension between the two of you. It patches up the last few hours that have transpired, and when he pulls away, it feels as if nothing even happened.
His hands grip your hips firmly, his fingers pressing down as he guides your body to grind against his clothed crotch. His lips find yours again, accompanied by a groan that escapes into your mouth. It's only when you feel him harden beneath you that you remember he was half-naked on the sofa – clearly after you locked him out of the bedroom.
Suddenly feeling suffocated by your own clothes, you pull away from him to strip off your tank top, tossing it over your head before discarding it somewhere in the living room. You yearn to meet his lips again – the only place you truly feel safe – but Mark wants to savour the way you look. Your clothed cunt eagerly grinding against his hard-on, hips chasing a high so eagerly that your bra strap has slid loosely down your arm.
You're a vision, Mark thinks, one that has him salivating and desperate to fuck you. He almost curses at himself for nearly ruining it all, for nearly walking out on the most beautiful person on the planet, the best sex he's ever had – and not only that but also the funniest, sweetest person he knows he'll ever meet.
He leans into your neck, his nose nuzzling into you as he whispers softly, "I'm sorry... so sorry, Y/N." His hand leaves your hips to cup your breast over your bra, massaging the mound with just enough pressure to elicit soft moans from your lips.
“‘s okay,” you whimper.
Your head falls back as his hand snakes around to unclasp it. He wastes no time brushing his intrusive fingers down your chest, wearing a filthy smirk because he knows just how sensitive you are there. The tip of his finger circles around your nipple until he’s right in the centre, feeling it harden under his touch. He pinches it, and you jolt forward on his cock, making his boxers tighten, and he groans.
He loves how responsive you were to him, watching you writhe over him as he touched you in torturous pleasure. Just the way you arch your back into his touch has pre-cum leaking out of his cock.
He leans in this time, sucking on your nipple and opening wide to get as much of the tender tissue of your breast in his mouth as possible. He holds your waist in place to keep you grinding on him to entice enough friction for him to feel good too.
And when he looks down to see where the two of you meet, he moans when he sees the wet patch leaking through your shorts onto his boxers.
“Fuck, so wet for me, baby. Just for me.”
You whimper, and his hand slips into the hem of your shorts. You’re glad you never wear panties to bed because his fingers find your clit immediately, relieving you of some of the neediness you’ve been feeling from grinding down on him. He rubs small circles as his mouth licks and sucks and nips at your bud.
“Mark…”
“Shhh baby,” he coos, “wanna make it up to you. Please let me make it up to you, let me make you feel good.”
You whimper with a nod of your head, humping into his hand, legs opening wider to give him easier access to the place you’re most sensitive. You let out mild pants, hips bucking more aggressively from the stimulation on both your nipple and clit.
And when Mark notices you getting close, he pulls off your tit to look up at your face. It’s his favourite part — watching your features contort when the bliss is at its highest. It makes his chest swell with pride knowing he’s the one making you cum, knowing his touch is enough to make you shake and moan. And if he wasn’t such a selfish lover, he’d think the sight is something everyone should see at least once.
As you come down from your orgasm, your eyes flutter open to meet him. Mark doesn’t know whether it’s from seeing your orgasm paired with the argument from earlier but he’s the hardest he’s ever been.
You notice it too, looking down and giggling. “Now it’s my turn to make it up to you.”
He lets out a soft huff, and a muscle in his jaw twitches with his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat before he nods. You free his cock from his boxers and shimmy yourself out of your shorts. You let out identical gasps when your bare cunt brushes against the tip of his cock.
Slowly, you sink onto him, fully feeling him inside of you. Your head falls forward, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you take in the size of him, the way he fills you just right — the way he always does.
The stretch as you take him in never gets old, eliciting the same whimpers and whines. You can feel his hands resting on your hips, then slipping to the bend of your waist, silently urging you to move as he presses you downwards.
You lift your hips, slow and steady as you let the sensations wash over you, drawing a low groan from deep in his chest. His grip on your body tightens as you sink back down, blunt nails digging into your skin. The sounds he makes only drive you further into finding a teasing rhythm because his voice is just so pretty. The sounds are soon muffled to your disappointment when his mouth presses into your skin, so his tongue can slide along the top of your breast — making the disappointment fade away real quick.
You let out a breathy cry, hands rising from where they’ve been resting, flattening against his chest, to wrap around his shoulders. The slow pace you’d adopted was becoming not enough. And you could tell from the way Mark is rutting his hips up to meet you, he shares the same sentiment.
Your mouths collide as you pick up the pace, using his shoulders to leverage yourself as you bounce up and down on his cock. When he breaks from the kiss, an unrestrained groan slips past his lips, low and rough, followed by another, and you have to bite back a whimper of your own.
Mark can’t help the noises, he just loves the way you swivel your hips in a way that makes him see stars. He loves watching you work yourself on him for pleasure – he loves when you ride him.
And right when you squeeze around him, he rewards you with a loud, obscene groan, a sound that makes you dizzy and limp. Everything about Mark is intoxicating and downright addicting, and you were in no hurry to kick that addiction. In fact, you craved more of it – needed more.
You grab his hands and guide them across your body. He squeezes them at your hips, smoothing across your thighs, your stomach. His hands were everywhere, eyes dark and desperate, wordlessly begging for you to give him what he needed, the same thing he’d been kind enough to already give you.
So you rock yourself forward, providing a new type of friction that makes you whine helplessly into his skin. Blunt nails mark into the plush of your thighs, a futile attempt at grounding himself. The upward thrust of his hips and the strained catch of his breath tells you that he's growing impatient. You know the pace was slow, but damn it, it felt so fucking good to feel him like this, every inch of him sliding into you, hitting all the spots that makes your brain stop working. It also felt like a sick little way to get revenge...
“Faster,” you hear him say. “Please baby, need it faster.”
You could feel his hips bucking up to meet you. Then his thumb finds your clit, working in circles and making you squeeze around him with a shrill, gasping cry. It was his attempt at bargaining with you, doing anything to make you speed up and shamelessly fuck yourself on his cock. Maybe if he pleases you, you’ll let him cum.
“Please fuck me properly baby, need it,” he rasps, “You want me to forgive you right?”
And then you remember what led you here in the first place. You’d upset him and now you’re teasing him – you suppose it’s only fair if you pick up the pace a little more, fuck him messily and desperately enough to have him dizzying towards his climax.
And once you do, his thrusts grow sloppier, and your thighs start aching. It feels too fucking good so all that you can do is cling to him and let him take the lead, strong hands guiding you as he sucks against your neck. And even though you’re supposed to be the one making him cum, you find yourself buried in the crook of his neck, gasping as your walls clench and nails dig into the skin of his strong back.
The slight stinging sensation is enough to work Mark over the edge, and you feel him twitch inside of you, sending shock waves up your spine as he fucks his cum inside of you with a final powerful thrust. You roll your hips to help him along, taking all you can get from him and he moans his appreciation as you do.
You remain tangled up in one another as you come down from your respective highs with foreheads pressed close. You wrestle to find his hand, lacing your fingers with his as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. He kisses your nose, then your lips, with a tenderness that makes your heart feel like it’s being squeezed.
You don’t want to move just yet, so you release your hands and wrap them around his neck, nuzzling your nose against his before you speak.
"Mark?" You mumble, your voice tired and hazy. He hums in response.
"I’m sorry," you say softly.
You feel his smile against your mouth before he kisses your lips. "It’s okay, baby. I don’t even remember what we were fighting for."
#🏷frompaige#mark lee smut#nct dream smut#nct 127 smut#nct smut#mark lee x reader#nct dream x reader#nct 127 x reader#nct x reader#kpop smut#nct hard hours#nct oneshot
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TEN THINGS F1 DRIVER Y/N L/N CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT — GQ.
— part of my maneater series.
Y/N (throwing her hat in the air with one hand and catching it in the other without looking): see? told you i could do it! not my only party trick.
Y/N: hi gq! i’m y/n l/n, formula one driver and i’m here to show you my ten essentials.
NUMBER ONE: IPAD
Y/N: first, has to be my ipad. this was my first big purchase and seeing my bank account being drained of that money almost caused a heart attack. but this bad boy helps me to organise my life, stops me from being bored on flights, keeps me in contact with my family and lets me write my notes. so yeah, thanks apple. also you guys should sponsor me.
NUMBER TWO: NOISE CANCELLING HEADPHONES
Y/N: i never used to travel a lot. when i was younger, my family couldn’t afford it so flying around a lot was a big shock to my system. obviously as in f1, drivers are required to fly to different races and it means i had to get over my fear of flying. these help a lot with that. these plus a spotify playlist made by my angsty teenage self will make me forget about the fact i’m flying. these are my favourite ones, i have multiple pairs just in case.
NUMBER TWO AND A HALF: MUSIC.
Y/N: i guess this sort of goes off the second one? but music. i keep trying to bribe the engineers to build a blue tooth radio in the car but to no avail. spotify has been my biggest supporter all of these years. i know i’m sponsored by them now but i have been using my account for almost seven years now? so my algorithm is perfection. it truly has helped me so much. i listen to music on the way to races, on the way back from races, in my house, outside my house, cleaning, cooking and even when i’m in the shower. yes, i’m a shower singer. once i get in there, i’m beyoncé!
OFF SCREEN VOICE: what was the last song you listened to?
Y/N: one second, let me see. it was the twilight soundtrack in particular decode by paramore. told you i was an angsty teen!
NUMBER THREE: EMERGENCY BAG
Y/N: okay this sounds bad, it’s not as much an emergency bag as in like medical supplies but more so like extra toothbrush, toothpaste, menstrual products, lotion and other stuff like that. i always carry this with me anywhere in case my suitcase goes missing. it has helped me and my friends out so many times so it’s definitely an essential for me.
NUMBER FOUR: HER CAMERAS.
Y/N: i picked up photography relatively recently and this was the starter camera that the guy in the shop recommended. so this is that camera. for this one, i vlog, which you guys might have seen and this is the camera i use for those videos. i actually don’t record my videos, one of my friends or family or colleagues or whoever will film and i will be in front of the camera. it’s my favourite part when i ask the camera person to reveal themselves and they do their own little introduction. i obviously provide the camera for it. which is this beauty right here.
OFF SCREEN VOICE: who has been your favourite person to film you?
Y/N: i have had a lot of people film me. my most recent being rihanna for my recent holiday vlog! so many people to the point that i genuinely don’t think i could choose a favourite. i mean, i’ve had my sister do it a lot so i guess i can choose her. she knows my angles best!
NUMBER FIVE: LIPGLOSS
Y/N: when i won my first championship and i kissed the camera, the amount of calls from makeup companies my manager received was actually obscene. i think i got so many comments on social media asking what makeup i use and how it stays on throughout the race! to be honest, i don’t always wear makeup but in the original video, i was wearing this fenty gloss. it’s in the shade fu$$y. so, yeah, at least no one can call me a gatekeeper! i always keep it on me. i feel a little more ready to face the world with lipgloss. now, i have my own fenty collection! so check that out.
NUMBER SIX: HER LUCKY SHOES.
Y/N: okay i know i say i’m not necessarily a superstitious person but these shoes have been with me from f3 until now. every race i’ve worn these, i’ve won. so i like having them around. i think they bring luck. i can’t wear them any longer as they’ve worn through the soles now. really annoying but we power through.
NUMBER SEVEN: WINGSTOP BLACK CARD
Y/N: i was really craving wingstop one night. so me and my sister were in london? i think and i vlogged our hunt for wingstop and they reached out to me to give me a black card. i know, isn’t it gorgeous? i was so happy. too bad i have to cut down on what i eat thanks to my nutritionist, but my siblings and friends love this thing.
NUMBER EIGHT: SKINCARE ROUTINE
Y/N: okay, so i’m trying to get more consistent with my skincare but it’s not necessarily working the way i want it to. however, i still stick to the basics. sunscreen, cleanser and moisturiser. i really like keeping my skincare on check as there is this unsaid rule that women have to wear makeup in their jobs and if i keep my skin looking good then i can skirt that rule. i love this cream in particular, it’s moisturising but very light on the skin. best of both worlds.
NUMBER NINE: NECKLACE
Y/N: this was given to me as a gift from my family when i turned eighteen. it was a necklace that i’d had my eye on for a very, very long time. they saved up for so long to buy it for me and it’s become my signature piece. i wear it around my neck constantly. it’s weird having it off my neck to show you.
(she fastens it around her neck quickly)
Y/N: now i feel normal again.
NUMBER TEN: MY PADDOCK PASS
Y/N: i am so bad with keeping my paddock pass on me. for people who don’t know what this is, this allows me access to the garage and things like that. i usually keep it around my neck because if its in my pocket or my bag i’ll forget. my assistant sometimes carries mine. i’m not going to show you my picture because it’s awful. i had woke up really early after no sleep and one of the staff had made me take the picture. now i am forced to wear this monstrosity at work. i keep it hidden as much as i can. last time, lando saw it and laughed so hard he cried so yeah.
author’s note: this was hard as i wanted to keep it as vague as possible so that you can relate it to your own maneater! i’m still taking questions/asks/requests so please send some in!
#jayde’s works ☆#maneater ꕤ#formula one x reader#f1 smau#f1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#f1 fanfic#formula one imagine#f1 texts#formula one smau#formula 1#formula one
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Daisy
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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader
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Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.
But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...
🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼
Chapter 4 "The Plea"
You stretch and groan.
The sound comes out jumbled and is drowned out by the violent vibrating of the washing machine you’re perched upon. You strain your legs, flexing your thighs and working out the sleep from your numb muscles. Your toes squish against the inside of your boots before you relax and rub at your eyes, wiping away the tears your incessant yawns were causing.
You’d seen plenty of pictures of children hollering in front of a fan on a hot summer day, some sort of weird way to entertain themselves because the beat of the fins distorted their voices. It was a good commercial for any fan whenever summer rolled around. Sadly, now when you were free to wander and do as you pleased, much of the mundane experiences you wanted to dip your toes in were impossible to achieve. You were two hundred years too late. You took what you could get though, hence why you’d let curiosity guide you on top of the washing machine once it had started centrifuging.
The steaming coffee mug sat on the L-shaped kitchen counter just next to you and after a moment of being thoroughly jostled around, you picked it up with as much care as you could. Lips latched onto the edge of the mug with haste before you took a big sip, slurping audibly before the coffee could spill out from the violent thrashing causing your arm to quake.
Wet hair clung to your bare shoulders and the aromatic droplets of water dripped and soaked into your dress. It had taken you a good hour to get the ghoul inside the shower after you’d gotten out, all squeaky clean and smelling of lavender soap. How he managed to bear being a grimy crusty prune was beyond you, but as soon as the generator had kicked back to life and restored some power in the vault, you’d jumped at the idea of a nice hot shower.
His clothes were strewn on a dangling cable, as clean as they could get after being worn for who knows how long without a proper wash. Some stains persisted and the washing machine couldn’t do anything about the faded colors, but at least they didn’t smell of death anymore.
He’d dismissed your proposal to launder his rags at first, bumped the butt of his shotgun against your stomach hard enough to make you wheeze and still you hadn’t relented. It was the least you could do, you’d said, begged even. After everything he’d done for you, you wanted to repay him outside of the hefty tato sack stuffed to the brim with bloody Pip-boys and medical supplies and provisions. You’d chewed at his ear until he’d given up with a sigh and hidden behind the shower curtain before tossing his clothes at you layer by layer.
In truth, you just wanted to prolong his departure. Thinking of anything and everything because you didn’t want to be left alone in this haunted vault, you’d come up with ploy after ploy and the power coming back had only aided you in your private battle. So traumatized by the last day that you clung to him even if he was a demented, deadly wastelander probably no better than the raiders he’d slaughtered.
Your sleep had been plagued with nightmares that night; grotesque sceneries of violence and gore were painted in detail over your closed eyelids, making you stir and whimper in your bed. The ghoul was a light sleeper, trained to spring into action at the slightest noise and you tossing and turning and making the bedframe creak gave him all the rights to chuck a cushion at you. He’d scared you half to death with that, but the reminder that he was still there, grumbling on the couch and trying to catch a wink of rest, had given you enough comfort to sleep peacefully for a few hours.
When the washing machine stilled, your reminiscing ended.
You tipped the mug, suckling at the last few drops of sweetened coffee, before setting it aside and hopping on your feet. After pulling the foggy lid open, you drape your socks and your old dress over your forearm and a scowl pinches at the corner of your lips.
Apparently, Abraxo wasn’t strong enough to wash away radroach intestines. You mourned the ruined dress, bitter with wasting the cleaning product for nothing, but decided to hang it up regardless and let it dry.
Who cared for stains anyway? You had bigger problems on your plate.
The screech of the shower tap and a curt whistle have you automatically groping at the ghoul’s clothes.
“Be right there, mister!” you call out and bunch them up in your hands, placing his hat over your head to save space, his coat is still damp but you doubt he’d mind. You skitter to the edge of the shower and leave the pile next to his weaponry before your manners lead you away to give him some privacy.
The half-empty coffee pot caught your attention once you were back in the bright yellow kitchen area. Despite your low tolerance and the apparent twitches in your fingers, you refilled your mug, deciding that adding sugar wasn’t needed this time.
You were free now, you could drink all the coffee you wanted.
Once the rustling of clothes and buckling of belts and straps ceased, the ghoul appeared from behind the wall, finding you sitting on the counter with ankles crossed and kicking your feet rhythmically. You beam at his slightly less disheveled state, eyes darting from him to the full mug waiting for him. He scoffs and accepts your silent offer.
“Feeling better?”
“Like a new man.” he declares with a sense of peace to his tone and leans back against the fridge before taking a long sip from his lukewarm drink.
Cooper was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He’d caught on to your innocent scheme quickly. From the coffee to your constant close proximity, to washing his clothes. The biggest giveaway was you trying to hide your nervousness and biting back victorious smiles whenever he accepted any of your domestic offers. You were kneading him like sourdough, nice and good and gentle, hoping for something in his brain to click and his simple plan of taking his things and leaving to take a different course.
That’s why he fought against melting in the shower and suppressed a genuine smile when he saw the coffee. He kept his guard up, concrete walls so high one couldn’t see the top, locking away whatever humanity was left to rot, untouched and undisturbed. Joy was an illusion, peace was the quiet before the storm.
Nothing lasted, neither would you.
“Take me with you, I won’t be useless, I promise.”
He could almost hear those words twirling on the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill but never being voiced. Like hell, he’d ever entertain that idea.
“So what now, mister?” you ask casually, hiding pouty lips behind your mug and looking up at him in question. “Where you headed off to?”
“Well, – ” he rasps and clears his throat. “ – considering my bounty’s prob’ly dead. Gonna head off to Tillburry.” he nudges his chin at the sack resting by the exit of the suite. “Gonna sell some o’ that, make me some profit.”
Your vigorous slurping stops and you swallow the mouthful of bitterness before cocking your head.
“Tillberry?” you test the unfamiliar word with hesitation. “And that’s…what?”
“Tillburry.” he corrects and rests one foot against the fridge door, the spur on his boot clanking against the metal. “It’s a settlement, darlin’. Quite the big one too.” he mulled over a particular memory, looking down at his drink. “ ’Bout three hundred people last time I checked.”
“There are settlements?” you choke and cough out the spit tickling your throat with a fist to your mouth.
The thought that a good number of people had survived and were thriving enough to start rebuilding was unfathomable. Even if said settlements were based on the ruins and scraps of the cities from the old days it was still such a groundbreaking piece of knowledge.
Considering the raiders and the ghoul, you’d assumed everyone on the surface was deranged and out for blood. A man-eat-man nightmarish hell in which not even the strongest survived for long.
But no, there were people, honest hardworking people, that were coming together to build safe havens and restore some order to the chaos they had been born into. Sure, they had probably seen their fair share of hardships and were rugged and hard-skinned, but if they’d managed to keep the peace and grow towns and develop businesses, they couldn’t be that bad.
You had to see this. You needed to.
“Plen’y of em.” he pipes in, then tips his head and his voice acquires an almost mocking twinge. “Wasteland’s not as dead as you think, sweetheart.”
“Take me there.” you blurt out before even realizing it.
“Pardon?” he’s surprised for only a moment before his demeanor shifts to dangerously sharp and his eyes harden. He moves in an instant, large palms planted on either side of your thighs and you have to jerk back to avoid him smashing his forehead into yours. “Mind your fuckin’ tone with me, missy.”
When you squint and recoil, he eases, satisfied with your reaction.
“Just cuz I been toleratin’ you don’t mean I can’t stuff a bullet in your belly.”
“I’m sorry! Sorry, sir.” you rush to undo your mistake, having spent too much time with him while he was docile to remember that you weren’t dealing with a friendly neighbor. “I meant no disrespect.” with a lowered gaze and a lump in your throat you continue. “I’d just really like to see such a place…”
“And I’d like a fifty-acre ranch to breed horses.” he sneers at you, yellow teeth peeking under his chapped lips. He shifts his weight around, resting from one hip to the other as he pulls away just barely. His fingers still grip the counter, still around you and ready to subdue another fuss. “But we don’ always get what we want.”
“Maybe I could…live there?” you didn’t believe your own words, but you still persisted. Flickering lashes swatted over pity eyes as you stared at him like an expectant street cat waiting to be adopted.
A preposterous idea. You didn’t know the first thing about surviving on the surface, couldn’t tell a radroach burrow from an anthill, and yet however difficult it would be anything would be better than living by yourself in a hole in the ground. Maybe you would have managed if the raiders had just left and the ghoul never crossed your path. But now, after knowing the bliss of company, of a friend who didn’t talk about medicine and made-up cures, now you couldn’t.
You needed him and not just for his skills or his wisdom of living off a toxic land. You needed him for him, just the ghoul, just the man who’d shown you kindness.
“Sweetheart, you needed t’ read the manual before turnin’ on the washin’ machine.” he states in a very mocking matter-of-fact way and snorts with a half-smile. “Twice.”
“But I did it.” you say back, struggling against a lost battle but how could you not when there was a blueish limp hand peeking from beyond the complex exit.
He gives you a once over, considering for a second before shaking the thought away with a bitter glower.
What the hell was he even thinking?
“You don’t really fit in with the common folk.” he counters again and he’s confident that soon you’ll wane. “Don’ think they’ll take too kindly to you.”
“What’d you mean, mister?” you tilt to the side, leaning on one hand with a faint pout.
“Yer too clean.” he mumbles while skimming over you with a judgmental expression, his mouth pursing as he took you in. “Too pretty. Too kept.” he leans back to cross his arms, a half-frown of disapproval glooming over his face. It wasn’t a compliment; it was dry facts that he offered you to get through your thick skull that you’d be in more danger than you realize if you ever managed to reach a local town. “Surface dwellers don’ like your kind.”
“Then I’ll work on it until they like me.”
The back of your boots hit the counter each time you kicked your feet, egged on by the caffeine overdose. You kept your eyes glued to his because you didn’t know of a better way of pleading without sounding pathetic and getting on his nerves.
“You can’t even fire a gun, darlin’.” the ghoul sighs in defeat, not because you’re getting under his skin, but because you fight this ferociously for your demise.
Both of you are aware that you wouldn’t last long outside. You were defenseless and had no usefulness, you weren’t accustomed to radiation, and everything on the surface was soaked in it. Most available jobs either needed you to get your hands dirty or break your back with overtime and you’d nearly passed out after walking half a day in a desert and thrown up at the sight of a dead body.
He’d be damned if he let you abandon a life of comfort and security because you didn’t know what you were asking for. Letting go of constant food and fresh water and hot showers just because you were too scared to learn by trial and error on your own was too much for him. It was stupid and you rebelling against him tooth and nail made it worse.
You weren’t winning anything; you were just giving him a headache.
“Someone would be willing to teach me.” the naivety in your comeback makes him laugh and your brows rise and furrow at his reaction.
“Ain’t nobody gonna do shit for free.” that was his last pushback before he made up his mind on ending your charade. His hat dipped and his tone lowered to an even rasp. “You’ll be just fine here, darlin’.” he takes a few steps back and chugs the remainder of his discarded coffee before grunting in satisfaction. “Good cup o’ coffee…Now be a dear ‘n show me the way out.”
“I could make you more if you stayed a bit longer, mister.”
A drowning man’s attempt to keep from sinking.
You give him a tiny smile and roll your ankles to release some tension. You knew you were pushing it, from his stiff shoulders to his thinned upper lip, but you didn’t want to stay here anymore. Disregarding the steady supply of provisions and the regulated temperatures, the medical supplies and the safety. You wanted to go with him. Wherever he went, no matter the danger, you want to be in his shadow. The radroaches and raiders forgotten, ignorant of just how hostile his world was and selfish by continuing to thrust your life in his hands when he didn’t want it.
“Das enough, darlin’.” he mutters while picking up the supply sack and flinging his bandolier over his shoulder.
“What if – ”
“– Enough!” your mouth shuts at his command. His glare is piercing while he stands by the door with his back turned to you, giving you only a stern side-eye. “Move.”
You slide off the counter without another word and pat down your dress, not that anything could be seen underneath the thick tights but common decency forced you to. He waits for you, motioning with his hand once you're by his side and you walk forward, through the dingy corridor and past the raider he’d gutted the day before.
You try not to look, but it’s difficult when the deep red hues contrast with the metallic white of the wall and floor. It’s an abominable sight. There’s a cut spanning over the entirety of the man’s neck, horizontal and precise, so deep that amidst the flesh and blood, you see bone.
You could almost simulate the pain and you struggled to swallow.
He was a raider… he was a criminal. He was a bad man, he’d tried to murder you and failed by just an inch, the ghoul did what he had to do. There would be plenty more with much the same mindset if he agreed to take you with him. Scenes like this would probably be a daily occurrence, but you wouldn’t be the one doing the killing and still seeing the raider nearly decapitated scarred something deep within you.
Were you really willing to go through this again just to stay with the ghoul?
Maybe, for him, maybe.
“Fuckin’ piss stain…”
You look to him at that remark, then down at the center of his attention. He had one foot set in a puddle of blood and pieces of flesh, both attached to an unmoving vault dweller. He wiped his boot in the corpse’s suit and spat with malice.
“You really don’t like this place, mister?” it’s more of a statement than a question, but your quizzical expression gives him enough room to reply.
You had noticed his visible disdain once he’d first entered the vault with you, but you’d blamed it on him being an experienced bounty hunter who knew better than to let his guard down. Then you’d seen his complete lack of empathy for the dead bodies littering the hallways and even a drop of anger edging his default scowl. He had a personal vendetta against the inhabitants, a distaste that went so deep he’d preferred to sever the wrists of the corpses over just unclasping their Pip-boys and claiming them for himself.
You’d never brought it up because it wasn’t your place, but now you had a reason to, and your curiosity was peaked.
“Vaults ain’t my thing, darlin’, nor vaulties.” he speaks with spite, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips when he raises his gaze to you. Then he kicks the mess out of his way without a hint of shame, splashing the gore over the floor, and continues after you.
“Why?” you peep and it’s so innocent and light because you don’t understand the gravitas of the answer you’re reaching for.
There’s a small pause as you glance at the ghoul with a blank visage. There’s a certain lethargy to your step and a bounce to your slack shoulders because you’re relaxed and clear-minded and you have no idea just what you’re asking him. He could be angry, you’re poking around topics that are beyond your capacity, ones of resentment and shrewd grudges that span over such a long time that you couldn’t even begin to imagine.
But he wasn’t upset, there was no point. You were just a stupid little thing trying to sow a light chat before your paths diverged.
The memories are knocking on the front door of his consciousness, but he refuses to indulge them. Not now, maybe later when he was alone and could recollect everything in peace.
“That ain't none o’ your business.” his words are snippy but his tone is placid, he doesn’t even reciprocate your prying eyes, just stares straight ahead with a tense jaw.
His reluctance to delve deeper and the shift in the air give you a good enough hint to not press the matter further. You would have reached to pat his arm, a benevolence he undoubtedly deserved along with so much more, but refrained from doing so. Despite you having placed him on a golden pedestal for all he’d done for you, which wasn’t much, but enough to leave you with an unforgettable impression, he didn’t see you in the same manner. His life had hardened him both physically and emotionally, he hadn’t even trusted you to sleep together in the same suite, having tucked one of his pistols under his pillow with a finger on the trigger.
You’d seen it, you just didn’t mention it.
He didn’t need your pity nor your good-heartedness, he didn’t care and that’s why you kept from overstepping even if you wanted to comfort the restless beasts pacing somewhere within his being.
“You’ve been nice to me though.” you put forth a honeyed smile and steered the conversation to a lighter note. A small sugary quip to oppose his hardened exterior and alleviate him of his hissy mood.
He chuckles, a raspy chortle that tickles your ear and curls your lips into a grin.
“Ain’t nice, missy, just tolerant.”
Your chirpy chat continues as you pass through the whey field and into another brightly lit tunnel. He doesn’t have to know that you could have led him to the elevator three times already through a shortcut. You like him, harbor such fondness for him in all his gruffness, you might have agreed to lead him out but you never said you wouldn’t take the scenic route. An extended detour while you continuously banter with each other and you always relent because you want him to be happy with having the upper hand in the conversation.
But no matter how long you tried to prolong the inevitable, eventually, you found the way to the elevator. Before it had been your savior, taking you away from those vile people before they could sink their grimy claws in your flesh. Now it was an unwelcome vestige, the last step before the ghoul left and you were abandoned to waste away in an underground prison.
He entered first and leaned against the steel wall, a thumb tucked in his belt and hat tipped over his eyes. You turn your back to him and press the button and it’s suddenly awkward and silent.
You wished the damn thing moved slower, but it propelled up, passing by vault levels within a blink. Such a cruel construct…
Misery didn’t thrive for long, you didn’t let it.
Maybe one day you’d meet him again. You’d learn to shoot a gun, there had to be at least one stashed somewhere for emergencies, then you’d learn to sustain yourself and grow crops, fiddle with the mechanisms of the vault and read every book and article and document regarding medicine. You’d prepare well and one day leave again to explore the world outside and maybe if fate was kind, you’d run into him on your journey.
Maybe he wouldn’t remember, maybe he would, but you’d be happy all the same.
And you’d be different then, stronger and more independent and not useless. Maybe he’d take you with him when you proved that you wouldn’t be a burden anymore. He’d take you on his adventures and teach you how to be a bounty hunter like him and you’d make the best duo the surface has ever seen.
Your self-assurance dwindled when the elevator reached the top level and the door slid open. He walked out unbothered and you struggled to keep the calm façade going.
It wasn’t healthy to form such attachments so quickly, but it happened and you were torn between begging him one last time and giving him the solace he craved. But could you really be blamed when you’d known only solitude?
He stood at the vault entrance and tossed you a slow, expectant look and you fiddled with the Pip-boy. Stiff fingers scrolled through the menus, determined to take as much time as possible while you prayed for a miracle. Your pleas remained unanswered, the time for stalling ended as the gate screeched and rolled to the side. A hot gust of wind crept through, drying your eyes and making your throat scratchy after a few silent breaths.
“Best of luck, vaulty.”
He raised his arm and flicked his wrist in a goodbye after readjusting his hat, boots clinking as he set forth with an even pace. You watched him leave, heart asunder, mouth cracked open but no words came out. Gripping onto the control panel, frustration flaring, desperation so intense it made the hairs on your arms lift up.
Was this really it? Was this the end of it? Was this the last time you saw him? The only friend you had, the only person you knew, the only warmth ever given to you.
He could let go without a second thought, but you couldn’t.
“Go…GO!”
A shaky step, then another.
With each step, the quake in your legs eased, determination overpowering hesitation, and before you knew it you were jogging and then running. The sand wasn’t kind to your shoes, you nearly tripped, wide strides bringing you closer to him because, unlike his tempo, yours held intention.
He knew you’d do this, he knew and he had the common sense to pull out his pistol and threaten you back inside.
You might have tumbled him over if you had the strength, but instead, you splat yourself against his back and drape your arms around his abdomen. His hand faltered, resting on the holster of his gun as you squeezed him and slid your fingers past his coat, grabbing at his vest.
“Please.” you force through a clenched throat, choosing to beg him instead of breathing. Saliva pools in your mouth and tears form in the back of your eyes as you press your cheek against his spine. Your eyes squeeze shut as if cutting off your vision would make you deaf to his answer. “Please…I’ll – ”
He’d taken what he needed, completing your transaction and wanting nothing more, but maybe you could find something else he had use for. He sighs and you’re so regretful, but you can’t let it go without a final push. And he’s fed up enough to maybe just shoot you, but if he was you’d have a chance at bargaining again and keep him around for a few more minutes.
“ – I’ll pay you.” you sniffle back the runny mucus seeping through your nostrils and swallow a mouthful of thick spit, it distorts your voice just a bit. “Please take me to Tillberry. I’ll find a job – I’ll – You can have everything I earn, I just need enough to buy some food.”
“Tillb – ” he grunts and pinches the space between his eyes as they shut.
He wanted to rip you off of him and leave, with no mercy and no care, but you just had to play nice. You had to play house with him and make him coffee and wash his clothes and be soft with him. The sweet gestures and light words did things to him, he was no fool, they reminded him that humans still existed and they were still kind. A peek into the past.
“I won’t be useless. I’ll learn quick and stay out of your way and do anything you ask…Just until the settlement.”
Whines and sobs and sniveling sniffs and chokes, they crawl up his skin like maggots and try to burrow and find an ounce of empathy, but he has none.
“Right.” he whirls around with such force that if it hadn’t been for the iron grip he clasped over your jaw, you would have fallen. He’s an eyelash away from your face, with a fowl snarl carving into his gaunt features and he spats poison at you. He speaks the truth. “Do you fucking know what the hell you’re asking for?” he’s so pissed that his accent dissipates. “You’re gonna fuckin’ die out here. With or without help.”
“Plea – ”
“ – I ain’t no God damned babysitter!” he snaps and forces you back. You stumble and curl your hands over your chest instinctively as he points his pistol at you, forefinger on the trigger. “Now get the hell outta my sight.”
His lips pinch in annoyance when you don’t move.
He didn’t give a damn if you lived or not, but you’d shown him respect and generosity and he repaid you by not shooting you down on the spot. He gave you a chance at survival, exterminated the pests in your home and made sure to leave enough provisions to live off of while you worked out how to take care of yourself. You wouldn’t receive half of what he’d done for you in the wasteland, it was a cutthroat fever dream that no one could wake up from.
Precious things lived in castles, not in the wilds.
But then you finally move. You move and it’s the wrong fucking way.
The tip of the gun glosses over your cheek as you enclose trembling fingers around his wrist and his sleeve is pulled back enough for you to find his skin, marred and leathery and disgusting and safe and wonderful. Your eyes close and press into his glove as the barrel rests against your bare shoulder and all it would take was a click and you’d be dead.
“Please, mister.”
You sink to your knees, bringing his arm down with you.
A lost little dove, fluttering in his palm, trusting and willing and kneeling at the gates of hell because it already knew what heaven was. Or maybe it didn’t, maybe you knew a different hell he was unfamiliar with so you begged for his instead of going back to your own.
“I’ll do anything…”
He’d seen plenty of people beg for their lives, for food or water or help. He’d heard it all, from bargaining to taunting, reverse psychology, and manipulation tactics all in the name of living to see another sunrise. This was the first time anyone had ever pleaded for him.
He should have left yesterday, the moment you’d found the storage unit he should have taken his things and been on his way. He should have tried to find the exit while you were sleeping and never looked back. He should have done more, everything in his power to not be in this damnable situation. You fed something within him, a slumbering behemoth forgotten over time, you sated a need he’d developed so long ago, a need so constant he didn’t realize was there anymore until you.
“Get the hell up.” he grips your arm like the brutish man he is, pulls you to your feet, and spins you around like a puppet.
You don’t fight, drained by both the searing sun and your turbulent emotions, letting him latch his hand to the back of your neck and drag you forward, back to the vault.
Back to solitude. Back to hell.
“Three hundred caps.”
You muster an inquisitive hum and dare to steal a glimpse of his expression. It’s haggard, annoyed, defeated.
“For your safe transportation t’ Tillburry.” he offers you nothing, not even a peak, but his hold on your neck tightens and you wince. “Now use your fuckin’ legs. We’re loosin’ daylight.”
Masterlist
Tag list: @bountydroid @judgementdays-girl @windierhades @ultimatereality @gruffle1 @v3lv3tf0x @fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead
#cooper howard#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#fallout tv series#the ghoul x you#the ghoul fanfic#the ghoul x reader#fallout the ghoul#the ghoul#x reader
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Woe, Crack Baby Shitten au be upon thee.
(@bamsara 's little doodle of Nari being dubbed Cult Babysitter and holding a little lamb irrevocably changed my brain chemistry. So of course, I'm now making it everyone else's problem with the headcanon that Narinder is good with children of all ages.)
A couple of months before Lamb gets captured, they meet another lamb or a very small flock that have to split up very quickly after meeting since there's more chance of the lamb species surviving if they aren't all together. In the meeting, Lamb agrees to try continue the lamb species and gets pregnant via *magic* or afab.
Of course, all of the lambs are captured and killed with Lamb being the last, still a few months away from giving birth.
But then they are chosen and resurrected by The One Who Waits.
Fun fact: a fetus can survive for a few minutes after the death of the carrier. (Also this is a world with magic and gods in it. Logic means nothing to me.)
Lamb starts their cult, crusades across the lands and meets all sorts of allies and enemies. All while quietly mourning their entire species and the child that never would be.
Right up until they go into labour.
The baby is lamb through and through with soft wool, wide eyes, tiny cloven hooves and floppy ears.
But the influence of the crown is blazingly obvious since the baby's wool is jet black and they have three red eyes.
I can't tell which would be funnier. Lamb giving birth in The Lonely Shack or while they are physically in The Gateway just post-beating Leshy. Like they were in active labour right throughout fighting Leshy and had no idea. Either way, it's Shocked Pikachu .jpeg all around. (My fucking KINGDOM for a doodle of this.)
Various dot point shenanigans under the cut
There are two ways to go about this. But either way, Baby is not staying in the Cult. Too dangerous, especially if word gets to the Bishops about there being another lamb. So Lamb can and will speed-run this shit. So it takes them about 4-6 years to fully defeat the Bishops.
Baby stays with Ratau:
Lamb goes and yells at TOWW. They are panicking because they have no idea how to raise a probably-half-god baby.
Narinder has no idea what happened right up until Lamb comes in screaming about him being a Baby Daddy and child support.
Ratau is Grandpa now. This is his fate. He embraces the Grandpa life.
Baby learns how to play knucklebones before they can speak.
Shrumy tries to wager with Lamb/Ratau for the whole Baby. Once and only Once.
Baby's first word is dice. Or die.
Baby worships TOWW, but they are a Baby and don't really comprehend worship so the small shrine gets a lot of flowers, neat rocks and some drawings. Narinder always gives a lot of gold for them. And No, it's not favouritism. Shut up.
Baby knows curses. This is concerning for everyone except Baby.
Baby gets a little TOWW doll. It's their favourite, it goes everywhere with them and washing it is a nightmare for everyone involved.
Baby is jokingly referred to as TOWW's most Devoted Follower because of the doll.
↑ this action will have consequences.
When Baby is not so baby, they make stuff out of their wool for TOWW and for his disciples. Or asks their parent to help them make stuff.
Cue Lamb awkwardly giving the three some very wonky scarves or hats.
Baal loves it.
Aym refuses to take his off. Ever.
Narinder is actually upset cause his doesn't fit. He's too big. He had to wear it like a little ring.
Or Baby stays/is brought to the Gateway ala Aym and Baal situation:
If Lamb gives birth in the Gateway, everyone is getting a free midwifery education and free trauma. The cats want a refund.
Ya know when a baby instinctively clasps their little hand around a finger and it's like a crime to pull away? That but with Narinder's big ass claw that Baby can only barely cling to.
Aym cries the first time he holds Baby.
Baal straight-up refuses to give Baby back for a good hour.
Lamb visits at least once a day.
Lamb also brings baby things since a baby will do what a baby will do.
Depending on how old Aym and Baal were when they were gifted, Narinder is either learning all of this for the first time or is reminded of how challenging baby care can be.
Narinder purrs = a zonked Baby.
Baby's first word is Vessel.
Baby is taught to fight. Lamb doesn't like it but accepts it.
Baby has a little lamb doll. It is only due to the fact the afterlife doesn't have dirt that they avoid the nightmare of trying to wash it.
Baby is jokingly referred to as TOWW's most Devoted Follower since they refuse to be parted with him for long.
↑ this action will have consequences.
Lamb teaches Baby about being a lamb and if Aym and Baal join in, well who are they to deny their child's only friends/guardians this?
Narinder and Lamb figure out how to get Baby to teleport to the Living World and Baby gets to visit Grandpa Ratau.
Post-game shenanigans.
Narinder: Give me back my crown.
Lamb: Ok. Sure.
Narinder: I will now sacrifice my most devoted follower (the Lamb) for my freedom.
Lamb: *Kill Bill sirens*
Lamb somehow doesn't kill Aym and Baal and instead kidnaps them via Indoctrination Circle out of spite/ reluctance to hurt them.
Narinder feels betrayed that the Lamb would refuse like this and kidnap his acolytes. He was going to resurrect them! He can't fully commit to raising a child while being the God of Death.
Lamb feels betrayed that Narinder would want to kill their child. After all they've been through together! After the way they saw him treat Baby with such gentleness and now he wants to kill them?!
This comes out in the very final moments right before Lamb goes to give the final blow.
Narinder: You are a vengeful false idol and a traitor!
Lamb: At least I'm not a monster who wanted to kill my own child!
Narinder: Wait. What.
This devolves into a massive argument with divorced-couple vibes.
Narinder is insulted and a bit hurt they thought he would kill his own child.
Lamb is hurt that Narinder would just demand their sacrifice without even talking to them about the whole situation.
Either way the lesson learned is Narinder needs to be more blunt and Lamb needs to not jump to conclusions.
So they are left with a newly usurped Narinder and a newly crowned Lamb. Oops.
Baby is with Ratau when all of this is going down.
Baby is happy their family is all together properly. Baby is Not Happy about this whole cult thing demanding attention from Their Baba.
The Cult is baffled by the sight of their leader with both a baby and a Spouse? Bitterly Divorced Ex? Estranged Co-parent?! What ever it is, most of them have elected not to touch the whole situation with a 10ft barge pole.
Baby learns what the word Father is and how that word refers to Narinder.
Baby calls Narinder Father/Papa/Daddy. Instant KO.
Narinder somehow gains a small hoard of children that like to follow him. Baby Does Not Approve.
Baby also Does Not Approve of this newly formed rift between their parents.
Cue Parent Trap level of Shenanigans.
Aym and Baal are recruited.
The Hoard of Children are recruited. Baby now Slightly Approves.
Narinder and Lamb have an Actual Conversation after the 18th time they get locked in the confessional together.
This of course evolves into Narilamb.
Bishops are saved from purgatory.
Despite all attempts otherwise, Baby is introduced to them.
Shocked Pikachu .jpeg x4
Maybe after a few more years, not-so-baby Baby wants a sibling.
This got so much longer than I thought but yes. Shitten Shenanigans: Accidental Child Acquisition flavoured.
#cult of the lamb#cotl#Shitten Shenanigans Au#cotl lamb#cotl narinder#narilamb#true devotion#Cotl Aym#Cotl Baal#Cotl Ratau#accidental child acquisition#at least on Narinder's part#long post#I once again do not go here#this got longer than I thought it would#Bam's brain is SO wrinkled and I want to lick it
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WIBTA if I reminded a friend he owes me money?
@aitathrowaway321 for finding later
I (20s, they/them) lent a friend Johnny (fake name. 20s, he/him) about $300 for rent about a year and a half ago. He was panicking because he'd bought a small tattoo that week, and had thought he'd budgeted for rent, but realized he forgot about another bill.
I'd once not had enough for rent and a friend who wasn't well off, without me asking, had offered to lend me the money for rent. It had been an incredibly kind act, and though I'd paid that friend back a few months later the first second I could, I've always remembered it. So I offered to do the same to Johnny (who knew this story) as a sort of pay-it-forward and that he could just pay me back when he was able, no rush at all. I also at the time had an okay job where I made enough to be able to do this, and Johnny's job was pretty awful.
Johnny was very thankful and agreed. At first, he'd bring up the debt a lot himself (I would never bring it up) and continually promise to pay it when he could, to which I'd be like - just as soon as you comfortably can, don't stress! And he mentioned it A LOT. Multiple times every single time I saw him at first. But eventually he stopped mentioning it entirely.
The two of us had this in-joke, and Johnny realized he could buy something related to the in-joke. He swore he'd buy it for me as a birthday gift (I didn't ask) and it would be so much fun, very soon after I lent him money. It would have been a nice gift, but it would've cost at least $200. In my head I decided that if he decided to get me the gift instead of paying me back I'd be happy either way, bc it's nice to be thought of. All I said aloud was that it would be a lot of fun, and it was a very kind thought from him. He would then regularly bring up buying me this gift for months. Then my birthday passed and I didn't get anything at all from him. Which was fine, I didn't ask for gifts! But then he stopped bringing up buying me anything OR paying back the money.
Now it's been almost a year and a half, and he seems to have entirely forgotten he ever owed me. I wouldn't mind so much - times are hard! - and it's not like I'm going to be angry if someone is spending money on nice dinners and pretty clothes instead of saving up for a no-deadline debt to a friend. People need to have nice things to get through life. But he keeps getting new tattoos and piercings (we go to the same parlor, I know they're pricey) and he recently planned and went on a big trip with a friend. It's not as if he hasn't had the ability to pay me back in the last few years. I also got laid off from my job, and $300 is a lot more to me than it used to be.
It's not so much that I want the money back as it is that I'm hurt he spent so much time talking big about paying me, and then when enough time had passed just dropped it entirely. I've had an issue in the past when after I got an okay job, suddenly people who had ghosted me were begging me for money (didn't know my salary but just assumed bc of the job title). And having been in awful situations, I tried to help where I could anyway, but then after getting the money they'd ghost me again. Johnny hasn't ghosted me, but he seems to have decided not to pay me back and pretend it never happened.
We have an event coming up where people will be paying for things and everyone else will be paying them back immediately - just bc it's easier to do things like buy tickets all at once and then pass them out, and easier for a restaurant to have one bill and then people venmo each other after. I was considering having Johnny pay and then tell him he can take it out of his debt to me.
I'm unsure if this is passive aggressive and rude, or if it's a good way to gently remind him he owes me without being a jerk about money - if he is still just struggling financially and hasn't forgotten, I don't want to rub anything in or make him stressed. I don't want money to ruin a friendship, but I'm feeling hurt.
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Part 3: What Then?
This was supposed to be a three part series, but it will probably be 4 or 5 parts. Sydcarmy is a tangled mess of intense care interlaced with anxiety and denial. So they need HELP from their friends and family along the way! Here's a convo with Natalie and Carmen. It takes place just a few days after he found out that he'd made Sydney's best meal ever. Then he inadvertently confessed she's the best part of his day and his heart's dearest wish...j/k, but not really ;)
On a brisk Monday afternoon Carmen rang the bell at Pete and Natalie's home. The doorbell's speaker answered back, with Natalie's hurried voice.
"It's open Bear! Just come up to the nursery."
He entered their home noting the new family photos hanging on the wall leading up the stairs. They were black and white shots with Pete and Nat walking into the hospital, the next just after Baby Angeline was placed in Natalie's arms, another with Pete and the baby, one shot of her curled bitty toes, and the last was all three of them in the hospital bed. Pete had hired a hospital photographer and as antithetical as that was to anyone with an ounce of Berzatto blood, Natalie let him do it. The result was so unexpectedly tender and beautiful that he paused on the stairs to soak it in. Pete is really a good guy. He was made from an entirely different mold than any man Carmy had grown up around.
"Carm?!" Natalie called.
"Coming."
He turned into the nursery to find Natalie bundling up "Angie" and fastening her into one of those baby slings. Then with one fluid motion before he could speak, she slipped the sling over his shoulders.
"Okay, Uncle she's yours!"
"So, how does this work?" he asked, looking down at his tiny niece, his eyes as big as beach balls. Angie blinked back at him extremely unbothered.
Natalie rolled her eyes and chortled.
"It's already working. It's fool-proof! Okay, let me get my coat and we'll head out."
They strolled down the older suburb's tree-lined streets past others pushing babies, walking dogs, and the occasional Amazon delivery truck.
"Carmy, this is really nice and you're welcome to drop by anytime, but what did you want to talk about?" Natalie enquired.
He had texted her the other night asking to discuss something important. He kept his eyes on Angie's blissful little face, swallowed, and began.
"I'd like to split my share of the restaurant with Syd. She's put in so much work, took several months without pay, and even though I'm the EC she's the main developer of at least half of the menu and the weekly specials. When I was sick recently, she ran the place like a pro. She deserves it. Also, I think if I give her a financial stake she'll stay for at least 5 years. We need that. What do you think?"
Natalie contemplated him for a moment.
"Well, part of me agrees and the other part...Carmy, please don't get defensive."
"Nat. How can I not when you’ve said that?"
"Is this a solely a business decision? Because if it isn't I don't think you need to or should do this to keep her. "
Carmy stopped walking, his face falling with frustration and shame.
"Have you been talking to Richie?"
Natalie stopped and took his arm in hers.
"No, I haven't. Look, sorry. What I meant is things are so good between you two."
They resumed walking.
"Yeah, and that's a problem?"
"Not at all. The way you are together...maybe it's the hormones but I've cried sometimes because you are just yourself with her. I've never seen you smile so much with anyone else. Your freakin’ posture is more relaxed when she comes in the room. I could go on, Bear."
"You see all that? What about-what about her? Am I any good for her?" he asked in a low, wistful tone.
Natalie pulled his arm tighter. She paused, to choose her words carefully. She and Camry were no strangers to family interference in their love lives.
"Well, I haven't known Sydney that long, but she tends to spiral, and she pushes through until she's sick or lashes out. Kinda like you do. I noticed that it’s gotten better though. Since we opened, you've been consistently checking in with her, collaborating with her, encouraging her, making her take breaks, and pouring time into her. She's far less doubtful; she believes in herself."
Carm nodded slowly, reflecting on Sydney's growth.
"Well, she deserves that. I promised her that she wasn’t alone in this. My focus was not where it should’ve have been during the reno and Friends and Family.”
He exhaled heavily and went on.
“So, it sounds like she lights up my life and for her, I'm a good boss or even her big brother."
Natalie shook her head, smirking.
" Yeah, you’re a great boss now, but little sisters don't look at their brothers the way Sydney does you. Do you remember when we were all talking in my office and you spilled hot coffee on your shirt? You peeled it off and the poor girl looked at you, as your sister it pains me say this, like she wanted to jump you. When you left to get a clean shirt, she didn't remember what she had been saying."
" What!?!? Okay...." Carm scoffed trying and failing to suppress a huge smile.
"Also, does she ever leave before 11 instead of sitting in those greasy whites with you every single night for how long? One to two hours!?"
She continued.
"My point is if you want to divide your share with her because it's good business and fair, and I agree it is, then let me do it too so we're even. Otherwise, I think you’re already three-quarters of the way there with her. She doesn't need to be bought."
They walked in silence for a few minutes.
"Natalie, I understand, but I still want to split my share. I think it’s the right thing to do. You don't need split yours though."
"First I don't want the largest share of the restaurant and second.... Pete and I may move to be near his parents next year."
Natalie bit her lip and glanced at Carmy worry etched in her brow.
"We think it would be good for Angie. You know, to be close to her grandparents and she'd have young cousins nearby too."
Carm squeezed her arm, missing her already.
"Yeah, I met them at the wedding. They were...Pete’s parents for sure. Angie would have a normal set of grandparents around."
Natalie took a deep breath, a gamut of emotions crossing her face.
"Choosing Pete was the biggest act of rebellion of my life. I honestly felt repulsed by him at first, until I realized that he was real, and I didn't have to be on guard all the time. Angeline should have that from the start."
She bent over to kiss her baby's head which was protected from the cool air by a lilac-colored beanie.
"Sydney's a really good choice too. Businesswise and/or otherwise. So, if you're certain about this call Uncle Cicero. This won't change anything with our loan repayment, but his lawyer could help draft a contract. Then we'll ask Sydney if she wants to accept and if she refuses...just give her one of those Sydney-land stares of yours."
Carmy groaned.
"You did talk to Richie!"
Natalie erupted into a storm of giggles. Carmen dropped her arm.
"Look, he started it. I told him to chill, but that Sydney-land thing...You have an season pass, bro! It’s very cute though.”
Next time on "What Then?"- Sydney's workversary (work anniversary)
#the bear#sydcarmy#sydney x carmy#carmy the bear#carmy x sydney#sydney adamu#carmen berzatto#syd adamu#fan fiction#natalie berzatto#fluff
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"Time & the Trickster"
a Loki/Doctor Who crossover
Epilogue: Goddess of Stories
Time goes by...
CHAPTER WARNING (18+): none, other than I cried again
Previous Chapter
MASTERLIST
The Doctor sniffed the air as he stepped out of the smoking TARDIS. He reached into his pocket and felt the Sonic Screwdriver inside. Taking it out, he pressed a button, grinning when it lit up and proved that it was fully-functional again.
The environment smelled deliciously familiar. London. His native timeline. Approximately…2007 AD?
Looking down at the rubbish-covered sidewalk in front of the alley where the TARDIS landed, The Doctor smiled and picked up a dirty, wet flier that simply read ‘Vote Saxon.’
“I’m back!” he said with a grin. He opened his mouth and breathed in to taste the air around him. “And…hmm…what’s that?”
Beyond the alley, a bit further on, a large skyscraper seemingly brand-new to the London horizon stood, a large sign in the front reading ‘Adipose Industries.”
“Adipose, eh? Now, that’s a bit curious, isn’t it? What are they doing here?” he said aloud to himself, the name triggering The Doctor’s immediate interest. He walked across the street for a closer look. Something strange was brewing here, he could feel it, perhaps something dangerous or even deadly.
And he wouldn’t miss it for anything.
“You heading out, Sis?” Joey called out from the sofa, his head leaning back against the cushions.
You were dressed in a lovely black cocktail dress, hair tossed expertly into a messy bun. The high heels you’d gotten proved to be a bit too much, but you knew you had to make the right impression at this dinner meeting.
“Yeah, don’t wait up,” you replied. “If it goes well, they’ll sign me, and we’ll get a round of congratulatory drinks.”
You sucked in your breath, observing yourself one last time in the long mirror mounted in the doorway of your small-but-cozy house in the northern suburb, purchased with the sale of your first book last year. The novel you’d written about a lonely woman saving the world by returning a god to the stars was an underground hit when you’d first independently published it, and after six months and two reprints to meet demand, Random House was on the verge of signing a three-book deal with you, estimated to be worth at least a million once you chose and signed with the agent you were meeting tonight.
It was your birthday, three years to the night that you’d rescued Loki from a holding cell downtown. The date for this life-changing moment seemed almost preordained.
“You got this,” called Joey half-heartedly. You knew he meant it, but he was already four beers into his night off, and he could only muster so much emotion without exhausting himself. His new bartending job was on a college campus, and he was still adjusting to the busy weekends of ungrateful 20-year-olds demanding to be served.
Neither of you seemed to want to rush into relationships. Joey had never been the type for long-term entanglements of any sort, and the fallout of your whirlwind romance with the God of Stories had left most other prospects lacking. You’d dated in the years since that adventurous summer, but no one stuck in your heart the way Loki had.
You hoped he hadn’t ruined you. Only time would tell.
Your taxi was late, but seeing as it was a beautiful, rain-free spring evening, it was a pleasure to wait under the setting sun for it. It didn’t hurt that you didn’t live in the city anymore. The air smelled better, the ambience was less-frantic, and best of all: you could see the sky at night, which was what you’d told Joey was the most important factor when you decided to continue cohabitation and look for a new place. You could still see the city from your front yard, especially at night when it was all aglow, but the light pollution didn’t extend far enough to obscure the stars.
Almost every night that wasn’t overcast, you spent hours sitting on the low roof over the front door, watching for any sign that what you’d been through, the things you’d seen, and the feelings you’d experienced had all been real. Joey had always been able to assure you that your journey across the sea to restore Loki to his terrible throne had been real.
To keep those feelings close to your memories, you wrote them down and gave them to your brother to read.
“Damn,” he had said after reading your first draft, “you should get these in print…maybe change the names a bit so Disney doesn’t bean you with a lawsuit…”
Taking his suggestion to mind, you adjusted a few factors: turning Loki and The Doctor specifically into original characters who just HAPPENED to share a lot in common with their counterparts. After two furious rewrites, you had a worthy tale that caught a lot of attention. Several books about “The Great Greening” (which scientists had explained away as a climate change phenomenon) had preceded yours, but none read as intimately as what you had to offer. Admittedly, you’d played up the romance and added a bit of wishful thinking (having included an alternate ending to the book where Loki came back for you and Sylvie was tied to the throne forever). It was the sincere passion behind your words that attracted fans.
The final signing was taking place over dinner at the Blue Palm downtown, the only place in Syracuse fancy enough to serve escargot.
You closed your eyes as you stood in your driveway, waiting for your cab (perhaps a car would be your next extravagant purchase). You gently whispered one word into the night:
Loki.
Opening your eyes, you were just in time to see a green streak line the sky before disappearing over the tree line. You went warm inside. Someone was thinking of you and loving you tonight.
“I love you too,” you sighed with a smile. “Forever.”
You knew you would never see him again, yet every time you felt the anxiety rise in your blood, you told yourself one thing: you were in Loki’s caring hands, even if from ‘somewhere out there.’ As long as you could see that green flash in the night, you knew he was real, and that he was watching.
Conscious of a large yellow cab pulling up around the corner, you took in one more brave breath, and rode off toward your future.
Always watching. For eternity. A Time Lord of his own ordination.
All Loki could do was remain tethered to the golden throne, all of time between his fingers, the most powerful creature to ever exist, and also the most powerless. His only consolation was the ability to see within them, like a spectator watching you move on without him.
He could see Mobius play with his sons. He could see The Doctor jetting around history with his ginger-haired best friend. He could see Joey finally become manager at his job. He could see you on your book tour, smiling for cameras and earning enough money to guarantee your security. It seemed you were becoming quite a goddess of stories.
All of you were getting on with your lives in various ways, as it should have been.
Now, he was watching with quiet pride as you accepted the proposal of the good-looking, warm-hearted man you’d met the night you’d signed your first book deal, who'd started off as your agent before you both found your feelings for one another morphing into something more. Loki sent out a green falling star to celebrate your engagement, and to give his blessing to your match.
A tear pricked the corner of his eye. You made all of it worthwhile. It was an honor keeping you alive.
“For you,” he repeated one final time, “For all of us."
Thank you for going on this journey with me. I hope it was worth the trip! ~. Lena
@crashingwavesofeuphoria @kkdvkyya @red-shirt-mania @misschris1412 @salvinaa @marygoddessofmischief @spiderstyles04 @fireflymoonwitch @mochie85 @loz-3 @lcolumbia1988 @lokilurker @eleniblue @gruftiela @starkzdaughter @mrsbarnes-avenger @thedistractedagglomeration @km-ffluv @lokisgoodgirl @holdmytesseract @itsthattimedarling @wolfsmom1 @scully2u @shinisenko @mischief2sarawr @ririsutty73 @lulubelle814 @meg81589 @gloriuspurposeposts @theonetruepotato87 @linllewellyn @wistfulclueless @etherealkistar @tinydancer40 @hardtravelerwizard-blog @fangirlofmanysstuff @krabog @soulpiercing @archivelaurarps @banjo-bastard
#loki#fanfiction#mcu#mcu loki#loki fanfiction#loki x reader#mcu fanfiction#loki laufeyson#loki/reader#adventure#time travel#crossover fic#mcu crossover#doctor who#doctor who crossover#mcu/doctor who crossover#tenth doctor#time stone#tva#marvel loki#loki series 2#loki series spoilers#loki season 2#anti-sylvie#anti-sylki
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by Dion J. Pierre
These organizations have maintained both influential and radical friends, NGO Monitor explained in its new report released on Thursday, noting that JVP — a fringe anti-Israel group that has often joined forces to coordinate events with SJP — has received hundreds of thousands of dollars from the Rockefeller Brothers Fund. Other donors to JVP include the Open Society Policy Center and the Kaphan Foundation, among others.
As for SJP, one of its founders, Hatem Bazian, is also a co-founder of American Muslims for Palestine (AMP), an advocacy group that, according to a landmark report last year by the National Association of Scholars (NAS), “retains ties to terrorist groups operating in the Palestinian Territories.” AMP is a growing power player in the US Democratic Party and has led several legislative initiatives aimed at eroding Democratic support for Israel.
NGO Monitor also named in its report Within Our Lifetime, a New York City-based group headed by a former City University of New York (CUNY) student who once threatened to set a Jewish student’s Israel Defense Forces (IDF) sweater on fire while he wore it. Since Oct. 7, WOL has openly cheered Hamas’ atrocities as the “right to resist zionist [sic] settle violence” and “Resistance in all its forms. By any means necessary” — an apparent endorsement of Hamas’ abductions and sexual violence against Israeli women. The group’s funding is a source of mystery; the public cannot freely donate to it because a link to its donation platform, “Donorbox,” is broken, but it is widely believed that the Westchester Peace Action Committee (WESPAC), a nonprofit based in New York, is WOL’s principal funder.
Another group named in the new report, US Campaign for Palestinian Rights (USCPR), supports a network of allied groups, including AMP, JVP, and WESPAC. USCPR has received immense financial support from the Rockefeller Brothers Fund, which has awarded it at least $355,000 since 2018.
Many of the same groups backing the ongoing protests have also been integral in the growth of the BDS movement. Indeed, a growing alignment of large philanthropic organizations with BDS has been fueling the movement’s growth on American college campuses, as was revealed in the NAS report from last year.
According to NAS’s findings, JVP as of last year had received $480,000 from the Rockefeller Brothers Fund, whose endowment was valued at $1.27 billion, since 2017, and the Tides Research Fund, a sponsor of Black Lives Matter, has given the group at least $75,000 since 2019. Between 2014 and 2015 alone, JVP brought in over half a million dollars in grants. Additionally, Palestine Legal, a lawfare group founded in 2012 to support campus BDS groups like SJP, is the beneficiary of generous funding from Tides Foundation, a pioneer of activist investment that has given over $1.5 million to anti-Israel initiatives, according to figures included in the report.
“Saturation of anti-Israel, pro-BDS sentiment on college campuses is a long term danger to US support for Israel by its simple normalization of demonizing the Jewish state,” NAS said at the time. “Beyond the problem of antsemitism, the importance of academia to the BDS movement’s growth and viability demonstrates the steady erosion of its political neutrality that has taken place over the past two decades.”
#students for justice in palestine#within our lifetime#ngo monitor#rockefeller brothers fund#tides research fund
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cringetober 4 - angel x demon
which of you recognised these poses before scrolling lmao. I was originally gonna go for the tormented half-n-half combo, but then I remembered how much time I spent with these guys, and how they are The quintessential cutesy angel and demon designs in my mind.
I didn't mean for this challenge to be all new millennium-themed so far - the idea of cringe just keeps personally leading me that way!
so anyway to get these guys what you gotta do is hatch 2 chao and let them reincarnate 3 times. then feed them One of Every animal just ONCE (no chaos drives!!!). then you need to take out the sonic adventure disc and throw your console off a building. it will be totally destroyed, but once you get a new one, stick in your memory card and these chao will appear in your garden
#cringetober#cringetober day 4#ocs#kludge oc#gala oc#art attag#yeah TWO days in one day !!! (I drew these over a number of days also we are on day 10)#also even tho it isn't meant to be I just realised my icon already Does look like a half-angel-demon design lol#I only learnt that giving your chao more than one of each animal/any drives does not prevent them from evolving into a chaos last year!#you do have to give them at Least one of each for it to happen#but apparently that was a misunderstanding based on their stats needing to be totally balanced and that's the safest method to do it!
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#I wish I could stop caring as easily as her#but unfortunately my feelings are just going to constantly get hurt over and over forever#when it’s obvious she doesn’t value our friendship as much as I do#I’ve learned to stop texting beyond holidays for the most part because it hurts getting disappointed when I don’t get answers#but it really fucking sucks she saw my insta story about my birthday but couldn’t bother saying anything to me#good to know where we stand#but again: idk why I’m surprised when she has not told me directly when she:#moved to my state from the opposite coast#set a wedding date and also got married#and moved a half an hour away from me#had to find that all out from the internet#so why would my birthday matter? lmao I’m an idiot#like at least she’s remembered in past years and does answer on holidays but#she hasn’t texted me first beyond my birthday last year in like two years#anyway wish I didn’t feel like crying rn#personal#to be deleted#and I feel conceited for caring but I know it’s not#and it extra sucks to still be hurt about another ex best friend that ghosted me years ago that shares my birthday so the sadness is just#inevitable#especially when combined with the fact that my dad’s birthday is in five days#so I’m just kinda sad around and on my birthday every year
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#these past two weeks have been so intense that ive just.. not spoken about it once i got home from work#blocked it all out#my beloved colleague whose desk is next to mine has cancer#breast and uterus. she needs two major surgeries#they just diagnosed her two weeks ago#so we've been trying to deal with that as colleagues and friends#because we love and miss her and i am so deeply sad as well#but i feel like i couldn't process that at all bc two days after the news of her diagnosis i was asked to take on half of her work#on top of my fulltime#which i agreed to do bc i like her tasks and i want to help her and i also know i can do it#but it does feel very off bc i know i don't earn enough money for this workload to be long term and it is def like this#for the coming four months at least#so i did tell my manager that i would like a raise and. that bitch told me to BUY MORE SECOND HAND SHIT.#i seriously thought i saw my life flash before my eyes#then the day after she asked one of my colleagues who's been with the firm for over 30 years whether she was looking for another job maybe?#which caused that colleague to instantly go home in tears and be home from basically a nervous breakdown the past 1.5 week#which is her full right and i support her with all my heart but bc my management sucks it meant that we had to also carry her tasks ofc#i felt soooo spread thin and super super angry actually but i didn't even realise how angry i was until last thursday my colleague w cancer#came by the office. and talked about all of it. and i suddenly realised how sad i was but then also how angry#but i was just blocking it all out trying to stay afloat#bc we told her about what the manager had said and she said “i hope that i get the chance to really tell her how it is someday.”#“because the stress she causes with people can actually kill you. just look at me.”#and the rest of the day i felt so ready to be done with everything actually#but seeing her anger made me see my own anger#and released me of my own pent up emotions bc i had actual leg pains this week and it was purely psychosomatic#i then managed to tell some friends yesterday about what was going on and their outrage spurred me on even more#so today i emailed hr. demanding a raise#doing this amount of work while constantly feeling like the house is on fire while also struggling financially seriously makes me suicidal#and i am not joking#so.. if nothing comes of that im leaving that job and not looking back
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Still not over that awesome possessive whumper piece of yours so here's another one . A whumper has let their whumpee be free for some time for whatever reason , but oh no they aren't able to reach them . They barge into whumpee's house and no sign of whumpee. Did another whumper take them perhaps 👀👀👀
Hi! It’s been 2 years since I got this request and I have now accepted that I will never actually write it-write it. But I need you to know that back when I got this ask, I spent multiple hours being incredibly unhinged w my love @for-the-love-of-angst and outlined this whole thing. So I‘m very sorry you’ll never get the full thing, here is what we had planned, a bit cleaned up
There are honestly no warnings because this is a literal Hallmark movie. Well, maybe pet whump if you squint very hard?
A Christmas Reunion
Establishing shot. A McMansion, absolutely decked out in kitsch christmas decoration. Snow is drifting lazily in front of a big window we zoom in toward. Through it, we enter a large living room, warm and cozy, with large couches in a u-formation. On the sides sit people of every age, including some children. On the middle couch, an old couple, maybe in their seventies, close together, holding hands, smiling at their family. At their feet, a person not much younger, their hands and ankles bound in what looks like Christmas wreaths. They seem annoyed.
Child 1: Grandpa, Grandpa, will you tell us the story again? Of how Cinnamon saved Christmas and this family?
Grandpa Henry: Oh but I’ve told that every year, isn’t it getting boring?
Grandma Violet: I was there and I still want to hear it again! It’s a great story, Henry, love, let's not break tradition!
GH: All right, fine, fine. There was a time when my Violet and I didn’t get along quite as well as we do now-adays. We had been married for a few years, but we were fighting so often. We had made the decision to maybe spend some time apart, but couldn’t quite agree who our lovely Cinnamon would spend their time with.
We focus on GH free hand, reaching towards the hair of the person sitting in front of him. We see Cinnamon’s hair being pet, the annoyed expression on their face.
A dreamlike rippling filter across the picture. We are entering a
FLASHBACK
Another, slightly smaller McMansion. Movers are carrying boxes and furniture outside. A car drives up, parks haphazardly, and a Young Henry gets out, in a business suit, with a business bag, business hair. We understand: YH works too much and is never home. He is important in the field of business.
He runs towards the house and stops one of the movers.
YH: What are you doing in my house? With my furniture?
Mover: Your ex-wife gave us the official court documents. You should have gotten them, too. Didn’t your lawyer contact you to inform you we’d come over today?
YH curses. His lawyer had tried to call him, but he’d been too busy doing business.
YH enters his house. He ignores his stuff being carried out, making his way directly to a door with a small window, but he starts to unlock it without looking through. With a start, he realizes the door is unlocked already. He steps through the door. We see a nice room, cozily decorated. The big window has no unlocking mechanism. From the inside, the door has no handle, only a keyhole. YH looks around frantically. The room is empty. He unlocks his phone and calls somebody.
YH: Violet, you bitch! Where’s Cinnamon?
YV: Don’t talk to me like that! What do you mean?
YH: Where. Is. Cinnamon. I bought you another house, I gave you money, I gave you all my furniture. I get to keep Cinnamon! The court agreed!
YV: But I didn’t agree! And anyway, I don’t have Cinnamon! Are you telling me you already lost our precious darling? I told you you spent too much time at work to care for them!
YH: If you don’t have them, where are they? Their room is empty!
YV: You’re useless. I’m coming over. Search through Cinnamons room, maybe they’re just hiding. They must have gotten scared with all these changes.
YV hangs up. YH starts checking behind the curtains, under furniture. On the bed, almost covered by a pillow, he finds a note. He reads it out, as if he knows he’s in a movie and people might not be watching the screen
YH: ‘You’ve ruined my business deal with your smart business decisions and your wife’s gossiping revealing my affair. From the published court proceedings I know what you fought most about and I’ve decided to take it and destroy it, just how you destroyed my life. Getting them in that box wasn’t easy, but carrying it out, dressed as a mover. I will fit right in. You will never see your precious Cinnamon again.’
YH curses again, running to the door, where he sees YV already running towards him
[Here we enter the part I had never fully planned out, but imagine a full on heist movie with this divorced couple trying to rescue their pet from a sadistic Whumper and falling in love with each other all over again.]
They stand back in their McMansion, empty except for the twig of mistletoe above them, a young Cinnamon still bound and gagged and slightly bloody sitting on the floor between them. They kiss passionately. The camera pans down to YC’s face. We recognize the annoyed expression.
Ripple effect - FLASHBACK ENDS
We’re back in the living room from the first scene
GH: And that’s how we saved Cinnamon and Cinnamon saved us!
Old Cinnamon: I hate you all.
GV: It did break our heart, of course, when we told Cinnamon they could wish for anything they wanted for surviving such an ordeal, and instead of maybe a cozier couch, they wanted a bit more freedom, but who are we to go back on our word.
OC: I told you I wanted you to leave me the fuck alone.
GH: And we do, almost always, do we not! We understand that even family spends some time apart, but the holidays are a time to get together!
OC: You really don’t need to abduct me every year, though. Do you know how embarrassing it is if someone asks you to come over for Christmas and you have to be like “Nah, I’m going to get abducted again.”
Everyone laughs heartily. Cinnamon is struggling against their bonds.
OC: Also, how often do I have to tell you that I go by Monroe now?
GV: Oh sweetheart, you'll always be our little Cinnamon. Now stop struggling against, you'll just hurt yourself again, and you'll have to cut the roast later!
OC: I’ll cut you.
GV: Cinnamon, Christmas is the holiday of LOVE!
OC: That’s Valentine’s day, you dumb fuck.
The camera starts moving back, through the window we first entered through. We exit the McMansion, still shining in warm light, vague Christmas conversation audio going on. The snow falls heavier. The last shot is a person from behind, we see their gray hair and recognize the sadistic Whumpers favourite Christmas sweater. In their hand, a knife
~FIN~
#whump#whump prompt#whump writing#whump request#whumblr#considering i was like oh no i never finished this i am aware i wrote a lot :D#well consider this an apology for it taking literally two years#also i really don't know if this even counts even remotely as whump but consider this#it brought me joy to write so i think it should count#also vee looking through our old chat for this made me laugh so much#and than you again for the names and the help back then#like at least half of the ideas in this come from vee including that absolute slapper of cinnamon's last line#that's valentine's day you dumb fuck still makes me giggle
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Dresses that are nice but they're only made to fit you if you're 5'5 T____T
#tried on THE CUTEST dress in a medium but the waist was too high up and the skirt wasnt long enough#tried a large then and the waist was too big and the skirt STILL wasnt long enough!!#its the kind of style of dress that's supposed to cover like half your knees. and it didnt. blah#always the cutest dresses that are like long flowy and psychedelic that i like are like that#i did get a nice little green velvet victorian/swingin sixties jacket oh it was SUCH a success tho#i always have good luck with tops but dresses. ugh#i can only wear MINI dresses. bc a mini skirt is supposed to be short on you no matter what#medium-length dresses i have the worst luck with. im not even that tall im 5'7.#tales from diana#there's something weird about the black jeans from old navy#i bought two pairs of jeans at old navy in march of last year. the flare jeans are a size 4 and fit amazing#theyre like stretchy but not cheap and extremely comfy. theyre a typical denim blue#then i also got a straight-leg pair of black jeans. the black jean material is just not right anymore. it's extremely stiff#i know old navy mustve changed their sizes bc i have pants from them that are 5-10 years old (since i stopped growing)#and theyre all different sizes. like. i have old navy pants that are a snug 12 or a loose 4. but it was at least consistent at the time#i was trying on black flare jeans and i had to get an 8. i went in wearing THE SAME jeans i bought back in march#same CUT and everything. and even tho im tall the pants are still longer than what im used to#(im also used to my jeans being somewhat short on me) (so i dont mind it) (its more like they just cover the top of my foot)#the waist. bc i got two sizes up (old navy doesnt do odd number sizes for some reason). it like goes WAY up my waist#tho i dont mind that. im glad we're living in a high-waisted bootcut era. GRATEFUL#but still yeah.#the black jean fabric is just so stiff it's harder to squeeze yourself into even if it fits in the other color denim. u needa size up.#i went shopping w my friend (and kaily) (and our mom) (and then we went out to lunch after) bc i wanted to get her some pants#she's like 5'2 and all the pants were too long on her i felt bad. i bought her some sweaters and shoes#the sweaters were clearance only $6 i was like oh i have no problem getting those for u#still i felt bad bc they didnt have petite sizes in that store. like when she asked they were like 'no only if someone returns'#some other time we'll go to marshall's or tjmaxx >:F
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Being a writer is weird.
#it's tough fighting that human visual bias on a platform like this#my queue ran out and i haven't posted any vp because i was trying to crank out that last chapter for my long fic#and like i get it maybe most people aren't interested in reading it#different strokes for different folks#but like the discrepancy between how people interact with photo vs writing posts is wildly disheartening sometimes#and i've been see-sawing back and forth all day about this#riding high and wallowing in the mud#this is literally the creative project that i've been pouring myself into for the past month and a half every spare moment i have#and i've been doing this for the past year and a half#it's weird pouring so much love into something when the vast majority of people won't even give it two seconds#i love writing but it is also a mentally exhausting craft and people don't seem to acknowledge that for some reason#it's why i try to reblog stuff from my writing mutuals when i see it because it's usually the artwork that gets the least amount of love#anyway just felt like getting that off my chest#i'm sure my fellow writers can commiserate too#i'm not mad or anything i just had thoughts and perhaps voicing them is better then stewing on them i suppose#also i feel bad for not reading more stuff from other people but i've got like zero beans to give atm#no need to worry or anything i'm still gonna keep writing and posting my shit#more vp comin in over the weekend#also god the new tumblr ui for desktop is fucking ugly absolutely atrocious#man i really don't want to have to set up shop on another social media outlet it's tiresome#i don't want to keep up i just want to blog in peace
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aaaaaa woke up at 5am for a delivery shift at work and then straight off to the city for a dentist appt afterwards.......... tired!! then I have some errands to run, a shower to have, floor to sweep and this year's annual birthday letter to write for James and then I can finally rest...... aiming to finish P3R tonight while James is at work and I can enjoy it without interruptions, right before FFVII Remake p2 tomorrow (assuming it gets delivered, otherwise it will be a next week job) :')
#busyyyyyyy#a day in the life of kate#between yesterday's early wakeup for physio and today I am so ready for sleep#not keen for this dentist appt because I really fell behind on flossing the past half year#to be fair I didn't anticipate two deaths in the family between then and now!#but I am also terrible at remembering to floss unless I've had popcorn or corncobs lmao#at least I can see the squishable Dr. Plaque MD plush I gave the dentist practice last time!#mum said they put him in the glass cabinet to keep him safe but I can't see it from here yet#honestly considering buying another for myself because the little guy really grew on me haha
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