#I need money to move out and I don't know how to make the amount of money I need

[elsecrytt]

you fucking hate your job.

unfortunately, you also need it.

some old money family hires you to play housekeeper for their weird ass son. satoru gojo, you think.

he's handsome. just looking at him is a treat; stark white hair, bright blue eyes, a face like an actual idol.

and then he opens his mouth. illusion ruined.

whatever. you don't care that much about his "wow! you really didn't dress up for work, huh?" and "so, let me guess... no boyfriend?" you’ve dealt with worse.

you'd been excited when you got this job. you're broke. the pay is great. you're ready to do anything to not get fired.

you keep the apartment completely spotless, despite how many candy wrappers and packages he leaves around, the disaster that is his stupid fancy bathroom. 

seriously, who leaves soap and shampoo everywhere like that? who jerks off in the shower that often? throws towels around and knocks bottles and toothbrushes over? it's like he's trying to leave a mess.

you do his laundry, which he just leaves on the floor like a goddamn animal. there's some clothes with gross, crusty white on them.

one time, you'd caught him staring at you while you picked it up, smirking all the while.

this is the guy you’re being paid to look after. and you’re fucking trying! god, do you ever try!

you cook meals from scratch, hours-long, intensive processes. you check his fridge, shamelessly dig through his garbage to see what he likes and try to make things he'll enjoy.

he leaves empty boxes of takeout on the counter, your homemade dinner in the trash, untouched.

it's in your contract. you can't not cook for him. and you can't eat anything, either, not when you're terrified of getting fired and he obviously likes to make you miserable.

and your landlord just informed you last month - rent will be going up. and not by a small amount.

you'd just finished digging yourself out of one hole and life kicks you right back down.

you don't know how you're going to make rent this month. fuck, you don't even know what you're going to have for dinner. if you can afford dinner. if you can even afford to put the heat on tonight.

it's not even a question. obviously the answer is no.

sitting on the plush, luxury couch in gojo’s apartment, you bury your head in your hands, and cry.

maybe you can get another job? but there's only so many hours in the day. you're so fucking sick of working all the time. you already do.

is it too much to ask for life to cut you a fucking break?

"what's wrong?" your least favorite voice interrupts - and a hand on your shoulder, shaking you, none-too-gently.

"don't tell me..." there's that smugness, "are you cryin'?"

"sorry, i just need a minute." you say, swallowing your anger to look him in the eyes. "i just got some bad news. my landlord is raising the rent next month."

"oh?" his tone is only getting worse, "so what? just move out. or get some roommates, or whatever you poor people do."

god, the fucking mouth on this man.

"soooo? sounds like poor planning on your part," satoru says, casually leaning onto the edge of the couch, "i just don't get why you're crying about it. like, that's kinda pathetic, you know?" he snickers -

SLAP

dead silence. a sting on your hand. satoru's face bent to the side. you don't even regret it. not right now, as angry as you are.

"you-" a rant is just about to spring from your lips, and then -

satoru grabs your hands, pulling them into his, right in front of his face.

his cheeks are dusted red. pretty eyes wide and dilated, fixed on you. mouth twisted in a grin.

you glance down to the front of his pants, where a noticeable bulge has formed.

"do it again."

[lesbikaiser]

hi hiiiii can i pls request reo losing the NNN? istg my purple haired rich boy needs more love >< thank u sm!!

hiii hiii my lovely! im glad to be feeding reo stans, he deserves it and so do y'all!

i almost forgot that nnn posts are supposed to be made in november and started writing this one like three days ago or so, i really hope you like it ><

mikage reo who engages in no nut november because he needs to prove you wrong. how dare you say he wouldn't make it to the end because he's used to "getting anything he wants." not that you're wrong though, but what does that even mean? he can't see any connections between having purchasing power and... cumming?

well, he could not see it, not until now. but it's as clear as day for him now that he's knuckles deep inside you, having your pretty body sprawled on his lap as you moan so perfectly against his chest, desperately riding his fingers like your life depends on it as you try and chase your high. it makes all sense in his head now, because watching you makes him so hard, throbbing dick bulging his shorts and the pre-cum leaking from his tip leaving a wet spot on his boxers. god, he would pay any amount of money to be let cum right now.

shit, it's been not even a week since you challenged him.

"reo– oh, reo! reo, reo, reo–! " it does nothing to help him how you call out for him so sweetly, his name like a mantra on your tongue, clammy hands gripping onto his shirt for dear life as your walls clamp down on his fingers, slick all over his palm and lap as your cute, needy cunt makes a mess on him, the way you look up at his face with big, doe eyes and fat tears pricking the corner of them really turns him on, his cock jumping and twitching at the sight.

he wants to fuck you so bad.

"gonna cum, reo–reo! please don't stop, reo..." your voice is high-pitched, thighs trembling around his wrist as your moans only get higher, needier, mixing with the squelching sound your pussy makes every time he plunges his fingers into your hole, reaching so deep and hitting your g-spot repeatedly.

why did he agree to finger you, again? surely he wouldn't be able to watch you falling apart for him without letting it get to him, he knows how much control you have over his body, so why is he doing it? did he really think he could take it?

but how could he ever say no to you when you asked him so prettily to 'please make you cum', with that sweet voice of yours? of course, that's why he agreed. he loves to spoil you.

he watches the way your greedy cunt swallows his fingers in, gripping onto them whenever he slightly pulls out to shove back into you, he can see the way they shine with your arousal, you're so damn wet, he bets he could easily slip his dick into that cute pussy of yours, he could be fucking and creampie-ing you right now and you could be moaning so louder, he would fuck you till you get too dumb to speak, only babbles coming from those pretty lips of yours, too fucked out to even think straight, the only thing in your head being his name...

he can feel his balls tightening at the thought, his body heating up and dick oozing more pre-cum from the tip, his boner is very obvious now and he knows you're too lost in pleasure when you don't notice how his cock is literally poking against your inner thigh, otherwise you'd have already teased him for being so hard when all he's doing is finger fuck you.

but how can he help it? you're definitely a sight to see, tits spilling from your small tank top with the way you arch your back, hips moving back and forth against reo's hand and your own fingers grabbing at anything they can – be it his sleeves, collar or just his shirt at all. he can feel your toes curling atop his thighs, and the outline of your nipples is very clear on the fabric of your clothing when you push your chest towards reo, lips parting to let out the prettiest moans.

he's mesmerized by the shape of your mouth, how your lips are a shade darker than usual because of the way you've been biting onto them, slightly swollen and so inviting, he feels like it's been ages since he last kissed you even though it was just a few minutes ago, he wants to feel your tongue against his, taste your spit mixed with his own. and it's like you've read his mind when you lean against him, arms draping over his shoulders as one of your hands fist his hair, the other caressing his nape so affectionately, he can practically see the heart-shaped orbs in your eyes as you stare at him, noses touching before you press your lips against his.

your tongue nudges his bottom lip before delving itself into his mouth, sliding against his own as you kiss him messily, spit running down both of your chins and your needy whimpers being swallowed by reo, teeth clashing a little due to how sloppy the kiss is.

he can't hold back a groan when you press your body further against his, unconsciously humping your thigh on his over-sensitive dick, his arm looping around your waist to bring you closer to him as his fingers work at a furious pace now, slick gushing out of your cunt and spilling everywhere, staining both of your clothes and it makes you roll your eyes when he curls his digits inside you, soft, warm palm touching your denied clit pushing you over the edge.

"mmph–! " your orgasm hits you like a train, electric waves shooting through your veins making your whole body writhe in reo's grasp, head thrown back and mouth agape with no sound coming out before you lean forward, resting your head on your boyfriend's shoulder as he helps you ride out your high, hand on your hair caressing your strands. you whine at the sudden emptiness in your insides when he pulls his fingers out of your sensitive cunt, slurred words leaving your lips. "love you, reo..."

you say it at the same time he pushes his digits into his mouth, tasting the residues of your cum on them, and that's his last straw. how you whisper so drunkenly against his ear, followed by a wet kiss on his neck and a cute whimper, your taste is so good on his tongue it makes him roll his eyes back, his dick twitches uncontrollably inside his shorts, load bursting on his boxers and soaking everything. he cums untouched, moaning pathetically onto your hair as his orgasm washes over him, not as strong as yours but enough to make his mind blank for a second.

you're too lost in reo's scent to notice anything, basking in the afterglow of your climax and breathing in his cologne, not really seeing the moment he comes down from his high and regains his senses. you giggle when he flips you both over, pinning your spent body down to the couch as his knees force your legs apart. a dumb smile stretches your cheeks when you bring his face closer to yours, arms still around his neck as you kiss him again.

this time though, it's him who shoves his tongue past your lips, licking at your mouth and stealing your breath as he devours you, you whine when your brain registers the taste of your cum, one of reo's hands gripping your thigh as the other pull his shorts down along with his underwear. it's only when you feel his slicked tip nudging your sensitive little clit that you open your eyes, breaking the kiss as you look confused at him. gazing down, you notice his shaft covered in an opaque, white liquid, as it sticks to your folds now that he's sliding his dick through them.

"reo?" the look on your face is priceless. the way your brows knit together, eyes slightly wide and a pout on your lips as you stare at his smirk, voice small when you call out his name. "did you– you came just from fingering me?"

he slaps his tip against your clit, smirk only getting wider when you yelp his name, hips writhing in his hold. "r–reo! what're you doing?" he doesn't even spare a glare at you, aligning his dick with your entrance as he watches your hole fluttering and clenching around his cockhead, desperate to be filled.

"it's already over for me, isn't it? so why not indulge in my wishes anyway? after all, i do get everything i want..." his purple eyes finally lock with yours, they're darker than usual and carry a hungriness you rarely see in them, you can tell how pent-up reo is from not being allowed to cum for the past days.

"and right now, my love, i wanna fuck that perfect pussy of yours."

[deeisace]

.

[getvalentined]

An open letter to @staff

I already submitted this to Support under "Feedback," but I'm sharing it here too as I don't expect it to get a response, and I feel like putting in out in public may be more effective than sending it off into the void.

The recent post on the Staff blog about changing tumblr to an algorithmic feed features a large amount of misinformation that I feel staff needs to address, openly and honestly, with information on where this data was sourced at the very least.

Claim 1: Algorithms help small creators.

This is false, as algorithms are designed to push content that gets engagement in order to get it more engagement, thereby assuring that the popular remain popular and the small remain small except in instances of extreme luck.

This can already be seen on the tumblr radar, which is a combination of staff picks (usually the same half-dozen fandoms or niche special interests like Lego photography) which already have a ton of engagement, or posts that are getting enough engagement to hit the radar organically. Tumblr has an algorithm that runs like every other socmed algorithm on the planet, and it will decimate the reach of small creators just like every other platform before it.

Claim 2: Only a small portion of users utilize the chronological feed.

You can find a poll by user @darkwood-sleddog here that at the time of writing this, sits at over 40 THOUSAND responses showing that over 96 percent of them use the chronological feed*. Claiming otherwise isn't just a misstatement, it's a lie. You are lying to your core userbase and expecting them to accept it as fact. It's not just unethical, it's insulting to people who have been supporting your platform for over a decade.

Claim 3: Tumblr is not easy to use.

This is also 100% false and you ABSOLUTELY know it. Tumblr is EXTREMELY easy to use, the issue is that the documentation, the explanations of features, and often even the stability of the service is subpar. All of this would be very easy for staff to fix, if they would invest in the creation of walkthroughs and clear explanations of how various site features work, as well as finally fixing the search function. Your inability to explain how your service works should not result in completely ignoring the needs and wants of your core long-term userbase. The fact that you're more willing to invest in the very systems that have made every other form of social media so horrifically toxic than in trying to make it easier for people to use the service AS IT WORKS NOW and fixing the parts that don't work as well speaks volumes toward what tumblr staff actually cares about.

You will not get a paycheck if your platform becomes defunct, and the thing that makes it special right now is that it is the ONLY large-scale socmed platform on THE ENTIRE INTERNET with a true chronological feed and no aggressive algorithmic content serving. The recent post from staff indicates that you are going to kill that, and are insisting that it's what we want. It is not. I'd hazard to guess that most of the dev team knows it isn't what we want, but I assume the money people don't care. The user base isn't relevant, just how much money they can bring in.

The CEO stated he wanted this to remain as sort of the last bastion of the Old Internet, and yet here we are, watching you declare you intend to burn it to the ground.

You can do so much better than this.

Response to the Update

Under the cut for readability, because everything said above still applies.

I already said this in a reblog on the post itself, but I'm adding it to this one for easy access: people read it that way because that's what you said.

Staff considers the main feed as it exists to be "outdated," to the point that you literally used that word to describe it, and the main goals expressed in this announcement is to figure out what makes "high-quality content" and serve that to users moving forward.

People read it that way because that is what you said.

*The final results of the poll, after 24 hours:

136,635 votes breaks down thusly:

An algorithm based feed where I get "the best of tumblr." @ 1.3% (roughly 1,776 votes)

Chronological feed that only features blogs I follow. @ 95.2% (roughly 130,077 votes)

This doesn't affect me personally. @ 3.5% (roughly 4,782 votes)

[einaudis]

.

[periprose]

Sweet as Nuka Cola

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Reader

You're an upcoming actress who has a constant flirtation with Cooper Howard. But even if things seem to be off to a good start, a nuclear bomb, a cryogenic pod, and two hundred years of carnage ruins all of it. Is there something to be salvaged from your relationship with Mr. Howard?

Genre: Mutual pining, flirting, slow-burn, angst, friends to kind-of enemies to lovers (no cheating but maybe it's a little murky?)

Word Count: 11k

“Action!”

“Hello. Yes, it’s me.” You wave at the camera, adorned in a classic-red sweetheart neckline dress. “You might know me from ‘Girls Want It All’ or ‘Next Door Babe.’”

Here, you play up your recent bombshell status. As Ed, the director of this advert, keeps reminding you, you need to sell yourself to make customers listen.

You sway in your dress, squeezing your arms and throwing your waist back to plump and push out your chest. The implication of the sex appeal in your movies keeps people watching.

But you’re still a rather new actress, so America might not know you so well. You’re glad Nuka Cola has hired you– if you want to be a star, you need more exposure.

“Do you enjoy feeling refreshed?” You cock your head to the camera, pursing your red lips. “Well, golly, what a silly question. Who doesn't?”

“That's where Nuka Cola comes in.” You lift a bottle out of the cooler next to you, all gentle in demeanour, showing off the logo of the bottle to the camera, in your perfectly manicured hands. “With triple the amount of caffeine found in competitor's bottled cola, it's sure to keep you feeling up for a long, long time.”

“And it's good for you.” Ed whispers, a last minute adlib you did not agree to, but you're a professional, so you add it on with a little wink.

“And it sure as heck is good for you.” You smile, the infamous smile that's won you notoriety to Hollywood execs for being the newest bombshell on the block, and you throw your shoulders back as you really lean into your image. 

“Cut! That's a wrap, everyone!” Ed, wanting to finish early, quickly starts ushering everyone out so not a cent more gets spent. 

You immediately relax out of your practised, professional smile. “Any ADR needed?”

“Don't think so, but we'll let you know.” The director is already moving onto whatever his next project is. Advertisements make more money than anything else these days.

You head over to catering, where you're craving– not a Nuka Cola, considering how much sugar is in that thing it's hardly refreshing at all– but an iced tea. 

You stretch out your ankles in your kitten heels as you prepare it. If you told your Ma back in Mojave that the worst thing about fame would be the uncomfortable outfits, she'd smack you. So you keep it to yourself– you're grateful, you're humble, you'll never be an entitled asshole like those fucking execs.

“Watch out, I'm behind ya.” A man gently presses your shoulder as he walks next to you.

You know that voice. Famous movie cowboy, devilishly handsome, easy to admire. A career worth emulating.

“Mr. Howard?” You turn to look at him, and it is him. Wearing a tuxedo suit, smiling his classic, rugged grin at you.

“The one and the only.” He laughs in a self-deprecating way, as a man tired with his fame and used to mocking it. “Hey, wait, don't I know you?”

You immediately feel your face heat up. “Probably not– lots of people have mistaken me for Lucky Yates so far…”

“No, I do know you.” He points a finger at you, while pouring himself a mug of black coffee. “I told you mister, I'm not here for a long time. Just a good one, and if you can't provide it for me, I'll be inclined to look elsewhere.”

Cooper Howard does a perfect impression of your girly, haughty tone from “Girls Want It All”, and it surprises you that he even knows your dialogue that well. You're not used to this much attention, especially not from one of Hollywood's most notable movie stars.

He says your name.

“Yeah, that's me.” You say sheepishly– even though you know you have to fake that confidence, it's hard when you've been caught off guard. You're starstruck– you don't know how to operate, now realizing that even celebrities are noticing you. “Just shooting an ad for Nuka-Cola.”

“Ah, that’s smart of you.” He leans in�� about to give you a bit of Hollywood advice, no doubt– and you feel yourself turning warm at the attention he’s giving you. “I wouldn’t expect any less from one of Hollywood’s upcoming stars– residuals aren’t enough to make the world go round.”

You know he’s admiring your street smarts, but you have to ask. “Upcoming, really?”

“Miss, I’m not sure many other actresses could’ve delivered that little monologue I just did without, er, pardon my language,” Cooper takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes peering down at you over the perimeter of the cup. “Fucking it up. Pantomiming too much wily, feminine shit  that execs love, without that little edge of real, subtle emotion. I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

You giggle a little. “C’mon, really? I hardly got to act the way I wanted to.”

“That’s how it starts. Little moments, little subtleties where you’re letting your real character shine through– it’s noticeable to the industry. More opportunities come that way. But it’s smart to use, uh…” Cooper swallows, a tiny, imperceptible thing that reminds you of your bombshell image, that he must be thinking about it. “Smart to use such attractive imagery, if you get my drift. The public will eat you up.”

The way he drawls that latter part makes you feel excited, but you keep it down– it’s well known Cooper Howard is a married man, and you are not about to be ruined by an affair. Even if he does sound sort of flirty, this sort of complimenting is so common in Hollywood.

“What are you doing in the advertisement shooting lot?” You ask, changing the subject, and Cooper shrugs, a nonchalant ripple of a movement that tells you his general cool demeanour isn’t just acting.

“Promised my wife I’d shoot an advert for her. Vault-Tec, you know?” He admits, telling you he hasn’t forgotten about his wife, either. “Gotta head to the experimental Vault they’ve set up next door.”

“Yes, of course.” You, like anyone else, have seen the ads of Cooper in the Vault-Tec suit– it’s a rather controversial thing to be partaking in, but you think he knows what he’s doing.

“Well, Nuka-Cola.” He hands you an iced tea– one you didn’t even notice him making for you as you were talking to him. “I’ll see you around.”

/

The Ghoul walks around the wasteland, two hundred something years into the future.

He’s searching for a bounty– Leopold St. West– worth at least 1000 caps, and it’s terribly difficult to find him when every single person claims he’s in all these different locations, not a single one correlated to each other.

So he’s walking around a destroyed neighbourhood, where Leopold was last seen a day ago, if his fellow ghouls are to be trusted. If he had to guess, these are the remnants of China Town– the faux Asian-esque details, the cheesy red colouring, the false authenticity Hollywood loves to portray as “good as the real thing”. God, Coop does not miss some parts of the fame.

He suddenly stumbles over a piece of the broken sidewalk. Coop’s usually pretty agile, nonchalant on his feet– he knows this feeling. He’s going through withdrawal.

“Shit, I need a minute.” He mutters to himself, feeling a bit woozy.

He's only got a couple more vials of drugs, so he can't be using them all willy-nilly. No, he needs to recoup things and go through this carefully.

Shelter is necessary– the longer Coop is out in the sun, the harsher the effects of withdrawal feel. And, if he’s lucky, one of these buildings might have something for him to loot– more drugs if he’s extra, extra lucky.

Coop enters a nondescript building– where a radroach is waiting, and he immediately fires at it without even looking, killing it in one shot– and he sees the sign over the entry way, marking the lobby.

This is some Hollywood executive-owned club. It’s hard to tell– two hundredyears of wear-and-tear will do that for you– but Cooper Howard distinctly remembers this place, maybe in some conversation back then, maybe when he was networking. 

Every single thing has a distinct, thick layer of grime over it. Coop thinks of sweaty strippers dancing, actors cheating on their wives– they’re all probably dead now.

He reaches into his satchel and takes a hit of one of his vials– and hopes he can replace what he uses with something here.

There’s not a single bottle behind the bar, and he jostles through, not seeing a chem or a drug left behind by anyone on the floor or behind the counter, and he’s mildly disgruntled over how every place has nearly everything picked clean by raiders, wastelanders– just other people. Coop will always loathe these other assholes.

He climbs the broken stairs with a lanky, languid stretch, making it over a fairly large hole where a corpse waits on the floor below. A raider who didn’t watch where he was stepping. That tells him there should be loot up on this upper floor– at least a bit of it.

He walks to the one closed door in a less-than-discreet hallway, gold sconces and railings marking the way.

“Ah… private office.” Coop jiggles an ostentatious handle to a mahogany door, that is surely leading to an even more pretentiously ostentatious office, and he finds that it’s locked.

A good sign. Most likely no one’s ever been in there, because it’s probably a difficult lock to pick. 

It surprises him that no one’s ever just forced their way through.

Coop doesn’t waste time on this though– he just takes a teeny gun out of his bag, fires it, and admires the hole in the door where the handle used to be. The door creaks open on it’s own, and he saunters into a well furnished, dusty office room.

“Nope, nope, nope…” He pushes box after box in the shelves next to the wall, and they fall with loud clatter– loaded with panicky, nuclear-war-on-the-horizon type shit, like canned meats and beans and preserved jams and pickles. “Fuck no.”

He pushes off a toy figurine of Vault Boy down with extra gusto.

Coop looks behind the desk, where there’s a dusty placard reading Adrian Amos II. He grins– one of the worst producer bastards of all time is not someone he’d feel bad about stealing from, even if there was still some conscience left in him. No, sir, Adrian Amos the second did not deserve any sympathy, especially after the way he was known for bitching about salaries, abusing PAs, and having a predilection for going after less-than-consenting women.

Coop grits his teeth, remembering that asshole and how terrible and gaudy this club was back then. Not that it was better now– but he’s grateful for one man’s deserved death, at least.

He jostles open where the second drawer is filled with the glass clinking sound of many, many vials.

“Fucking jackpot, Jesus.” Coop stares down at how many there are– at least 40 or 50– a hell of a lot to just be left behind.

Well, based on the other supplies, Adrian Amos got fucked over and either didn’t make it to his vault in time, or forgot to run to his private club before heading in.

Coop doesn’t give a fuck, though. He starts piling the vials into his cases, and then back into his bag.

There’s a sudden whirring sound near him. “Huh?”

To his left, an imperceptible secret door has pushed itself outwards, decorated in the same dark brown wallpaper as the rest of the room.

Coop looks down and under– he’s accidentally pressed a secret button on the underside of the drawer. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t know what would be inside the secret room– assassins, raiders waiting on someone to dupe? Maybe even synths, just meant to protect Amos when he needed it.

Inside the room, it’s dark, and he can’t make out anything. Coop can only draw his gun rapidly when there’s a blue light suddenly emitting out from the inside.

He’s careful as he approaches– last thing Coop wants is an ambush– and as his vision improves, he sees it’s a cryonic pod, all frosted over so he can’t make out who’s inside.

Coop sighs, ready to leave it behind– he’s not interested in waking up Amos– and instead, the thing whirs, heating up it’s insides with extremely hot steam, and then opens up with a mechanical flourish.

Coop instinctively steps back, coughing “Holy shit!” as the air whooshes past him.

A body falls out, just looking slightly frosted– mostly thawed by whatever the cryo tank just did. 

/

You're on set again, sitting in a free lawn chair while others get ready for their take– it's not for a Nuka-Cola ad, it's just a guest appearance on everyone's favourite sitcom, The Grady Group, where you play an overly promiscuous babysitter who has no sense for watching over kids.

It's comedic, it's an easy way to get laughs– plus it actually boosts the shows’ ratings since you've been in movies and all. You’re done filming already, you’re just sitting here watching the rest of the shoot, dragging out your return to your car, and then back home. 

Something about the fictional family you wait on, Gill and Gina Grady, and their kids Gideon, Gessica, and Gwen, it makes you miss having a family of your own. In fact, you have half a mind to call your mother, despite all the bitching she’ll give you about the things you haven’t done yet.

It also doesn't help that Gill and Gina are a couple in real life– named Arthur and Bea Smith, they really, really are in love, and in between takes they're often canoodling with each other.

You're happy for them, if not a little– jealous, despite the fact that you're not interested in dating anyone right now. At least, you thought you weren't, but you find that lately, when you return back to your apartment all lonesome after a shoot, you feel like something is missing.

“Hey. Nuka-Cola.” Cooper Howard strolls over to where you're sitting, and you smile up at him, covering your eyes from the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Mr. Howard. Shooting today?” You ask, and he shakes his head.

“Not at all. Just lounging around, waiting for my kid.” He sits in the lawn chair next to you, leaning back, crossing one leg over the other. “Janey is on a field trip at a museum next door– I thought I’d kill some time before picking her up.”

“Ah, cute.” You grin. Janey Howard is an absolutely precious kid– she shares her dad’s smile, but has a curious nature that you admire. “Is she well?”

“As well as kids can be at that age, running around all the time.” Cooper shrugs. “You know how it is.”

“Kind of. I actually did used to babysit kids, so I know– they can never sit still or mind their business.” You laugh as Cooper grins. 

“So you went method for your guest appearance, huh?” He asks, and you’re mildly baffled.

“How do you know about that?” You squint at him, just being jokingly suspicious.

“Oh, I saw a few clips of your footage. While I was walking over here.” He points over at Stu, the director, standing on the living room set, watching clips on his viewfinder. “Seemed pretty natural to me.”

It almost bothers you that he seems so interested in you and your work, that he always voices support– but he’s well-known for being happily married, for being content in general, unlike you.  

Still, better a friend than nothing at all, that’s what you always tell yourself.

“Thanks. But it’s not hard being around kids, is it?” You reminisce being a kid in Mojave, playing with your friends on your street– and then as a young adult, babysitting new kids that still wanted to play with you. “I still sometimes feel like I’m just a kid pretending to be an adult.”

“That never goes away, darlin’.” Cooper laughs, and you blink. “Being an actor, especially, you’re never losing that childhood sense of wonder, you get my drift?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nod. “I just don’t feel complete, I guess. I’m still waiting for the moment I’ll know I’m an adult– like maybe if I get married or something like that.”

“Being married didn’t change that for me either. Neither did being a dad.” He winces, and scratches at his stubble. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that, but I think it’s all apart of being a human person.”

Your face turns a little more glum at that, and he wonders what he said that bummed you out. It’s not his intention– he wants to cheer you up.

“What’s with the sad, forlorn, ‘I’m-a-pretty-girl-come-comfort-me’ look?” Cooper utters as he leans in, and you laugh a little but silence yourself, recognizing his compliment.

It’s dangerous to flirt with this guy, this taken man who has nothing to gain but a bit of affection he may be missing, but you see that he knows his compliment had effect anyways– and he definitely likes that.

You just choose to assume it’s entirely friendly.

“I just… I like the thought of having a family.” You suck in air,at how foolish and girly this sounds, hardly the cutthroat businesswoman you need to be out here. “This is stupid, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it isn’t.” Cooper taps his arm rest, thinking. “You’re hurting, I can tell. You got that same pissed off look most ladies get when they ‘don’t wanna talk’ but they’re holding tons of shit inside.”

Damn this guy, you think, but you decide to be honest.

“I just didn’t think it’d be so lonely out here. In Hollywood.” You press your palms together. “Like, everywhere I go, I’m surrounded by classic Americana, the nuclear family– and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m jealous.”

“As a bachelorette, don’t you got plenty of options?” Cooper grins. “I mean, are men not lining up to court Nuka-Cola girl?”

“Ah…” You hum, thinking of dates you’ve had here, settling back in your seat. “I don’t know– it’s cheesy but I want more sincerity.”

“In that case, don’t be jealous, marriage ain’t all that.” Cooper tuts, knowing that you of all people should hear about how it doesn’t complete you. “It’s not perfect, it’s not a magical fairy-tale where everything gets solved, it’s a hell of a lot more work than people let on.”

“Oh.” You knew that, deep down– but hearing it from him really solidifies that for you. It’s a silly dream.

It sounds like he’s speaking from experience, so you quiet down. But you’re not trying to get your hopes up about that or anything.

“And you’re not an idiot, Nuka-Cola. Don’t get into something you’re not a hundred fucking percent sure about.” Cooper clicks his tongue. “If you really feel the urge to suddenly go and play wife with someone, just for me, make sure he’s absolutely worth it.”

“For you?” You raise your eyebrows at that.

“I figure you won’t do it for yourself. Love is blind and all that.” He points at himself. “But if I, as your buddy Cooper, hold you to that? I’ll bet that you’ll vet every single guy.”

“Oh, really.” You smirk at him, your nose scrunching a little. “Is that for my benefit, or yours?”

“Uh…” Cooper is truly caught off guard here. He knows he didn’t intend anything by what he said, but it does feel like… he won’t enjoy the fact that if the next few times he talks to you, continuing become close to you, he’ll have to get the approval of some man.

Some man who wouldn’t even know you as long he has known you. He always likes his chats with you, and there’s an urge inside him not to let you go.

He thinks again that you’re a little too spontaneous. Not easy to dupe, no– he can’t just flirt with you for fun because you’ll always pick up on it, even if he did it by mistake.

“No comment.” He finally answers with a raspy, low tone, one that you barely hear but are satisfied by.

/

A few months later, you check your face in your little compact mirror before stuffing it in your purse and heading inside Sebastian Leslie’s home. Exciting, yes, because this is the first time you’ve been invited not just to network, not just because a big name has seen you in the movies and wants to flaunt that they know you tangentially.

No, this is the first time you know someone, you’re actually in with a crowd– you’re friends with the host. You don’t feel nearly as awkward walking into Sebastian’s comfortable home and seeing familiar faces that you’re close with, decor that you already recognize.

“There she is.” Sebastian greets you with a tight hug– for a massive flirt he’s actually rather protective of you sometimes. “Love the dress, by the way– is that a vintage Chanel? Black is very flattering on you, my dear.”

You get the sense he didn’t want you to be involved in this industry sometimes, but other times– he likes that you put work in.

“I saw your newest advertisement on TV yesterday.” He comments, and you giggle.

“Was it good?” 

“Yeah, amazing as usual– but you gotta do more than that.” Sebastian holds your hand as he pulls you into the crowd of other low-level actors, people who could risk showing up, really, and you fix your dress, a black one with a low square neckline. “Look into Vault-Tec– I’ve been telling Cooper here about how our futures are totally going to be surrounded by their products, even though that fucker does not want to listen.”

Cooper’s lounging in a low sofa in the pit of this living room, holding a crystal glass full of amber liquid, black button up shirt half open– he looks dishevelled, hair slightly askew, jaw off-kilter as he presses his tongue into his cheek, thinking. Lost by something, but still put together as celebrities are. Geez, you really need to temper your attraction to him.

It doesn’t help how he looks at you, either– there’s something deep and reverent about his gaze, like he wants to believe whatever he sees when he’s looking at you– but you have no idea if it’s real, or if it’s just an act like with most of these celebrities.

You used to see him a lot more frequently too, over the last few months. Either at set, or at more fancy parties– most of which he’s been perfectly pleasant and kind to you.

“Of course you’d label me as some fucking chairman for them, Seabass.” Cooper slams back half a pint of whisky, and pours himself some more. “Hey, Nuka-Cola.”

“Hey, Mr. Howard.” You smile gently. You’ve heard about his divorce– everyone has, but you’re not 100% sure why it’s happened, why now when things seemed to be going so well for him.

Well is relative, though. You know loads of actors have decried him privately– no one wants to hang out with the man promoting the end of the world, apparently. It must be a tough thing to only be hired for your wife’s advertisements– and even then, you don’t exactly agree with what they’re marketing, either.

You don’t feel so strongly against Cooper, though. Maybe because you do like him– but also because you know what it’s like to have your image connected to something you don’t really promote. Nuka-Cola isn’t healthy, it’s got enough sugar to induce instant death when drank regularly. But you do it for the connections, the money– and you’re sure Cooper did too.

“Cooper is fine.” He grumbles, and you remember his last name is maybe a sore subject right now.

“Sorry.” You do your best to be delicate as you sit next to him, and Sebastian sits on the other side of you. “How’re you, Cooper?”

“Not bad. If you count being divorced as being alright.” He sighs, and you feel terrible that you even asked. “It’s like I never knew her, man– I thought Barb was different. Or they changed her, I don’t fucking know.”

“She had her eyes set on the prize. As did you, Coop.” Sebastian states, and Cooper turns, affronted.

“We’re all interested in money and glory, Seabass. Fuck you if you think otherwise.” Cooper tenses, and you feel a bit awkward listening in on this conversation.

“What did I say that negates that? I’m as money hungry as they come.” Sebastian shrugs. “I only meant that– despite it all, making money was what you had in common, evidently not the world-going-nuclear shit. Maybe you’ve got a heart of gold, a change of mind, I don’t know, Cooper. But throwing away an easy life just to pay alimony must be fucking awful, so I just don’t think you’re in it for the money anymore.”

“You’re fucking telling me.” Cooper sniggers. “I don’t think Barb cares. I’m here with no career, and she’s out there getting promoted in Vault-Tec. As for the heart of gold… any former marine would’ve been against that shit.”

You want to ask what shit, but you don’t want to overstep your boundaries. You get the general fear of nuclear war– but Cooper sounds more personally affected by it.

Cooper glances over at you. “What do you think? Better to be richer than you can spend in a lifetime, or to be out with a good conscience?” 

“I don’t know if I’m that interested in money.” You say honestly, and Cooper raises his eyebrows.   

“Really? Nuka-Cola’s a saint, huh.” He chuckles– he’s clearly a bit buzzed.

“No, I’m not. Of course I want to have a career.” You think about this carefully, so it doesn’t sound insincere. “Making money is nice– but I don’t think I have the right to say it should come at the cost of human lives. You know Nuka-Cola is terrible for you, right? ”

Cooper stares at you for a moment too long, and then looks away. “Yeah… addicting.”

He’s definitely not talking about Cola, but you continue on. “Yeah, so just in that way– I disagree with how much power marketing has. We’ve convinced America that they need this– just so some chairman can make an extra dollar.”

Cooper looks at you, renewed by whatever you just said. “Hell, woman after my own heart. That’s damn true.”

“Yes, yes, you two oblivious flirts– there’s no art in filmmaking anymore, just commercialism. Not like it hasn’t been the case for a century.” Sebastian chimes in, and you bite your lip, pretending not to notice how Cooper’s face is smirking bashfully. “But, babe. You’re going to want to make your money before the world fucking ends.”

“What’s that?” You startle, and Cooper laughs sardonically at your surprise, while Sebastian gets up.

“Let me get myself a drink– I hardly want to tell this story sober.” He leaves, and Cooper has half a heart to glare at him– he knows Sebastian is leaving the two of you alone so he can do the dirty work.

Not like his reputation can ever get better, especially by telling this story again with it’s lurid details, but at least it doesn't hurt that he's with you. 

“What does he mean by that, Mr. Howard?” You wince at your use of that. “Sorry– I meant Cooper.”

“Ah, call me what you’d like.” Cooper takes another sip of his drink, leaning back in the couch to the point where he is practically lying down and against you. “It sounds good coming out of your mouth no matter what you pick, Nuka-Cola.”

Now that’s a suggestive, loaded line, and you feel a little more comfortable flirting with him even if it’s a bit of a rebound for him. The end of the world is approaching, right?

“The end of the world?” You prod at him, and he sighs, leaning against your shoulder. 

“It’s fucking ridiculous, what it is… probably never going to happen anytime soon.” Cooper’s tone of voice is hazy as he examines his last sip of whisky in the glass. “No, no. Just something those fucking commies put in my head. I guess they’re not really commies, are they?”

“Unless you elaborate, I can’t say.” You utter back at him, and he pushes down a smile.

“Alright. Vault-Tec’s been selling this nuclear protective stuff, right?” He says, and you nod, your cheek brushing against the top of his hair. “All I can say is that a few… radicals, if you will, think that Vault-Tec might actually be more involved with it than they say. Like, they might be…”

“Not just protective, huh? More offensive? Everyone’s got that feeling, Mr. Howard. And that doesn't sound like a particularly commie-train-of-thought to me.” You hear the sorrow in his tone, even if he’s trying to make it sound like a rumour. “Did you hear this from your ex-wife?”

Cooper winces here. He still feels slightly guilty about spying on her. A part of him thinks they might’ve not divorced if he hadn’t found out– but he knows he was bound to find out eventually, and he would’ve just delayed the inevitable.

“Maybe, Cola. Maybe you’re just sharp.” He whispers, and you smile and he feels it– your skin is intoxicatingly close right now.

“So, odds are?” You ask, just curious, and he exhales.

“Bad. I have to agree with them.” He admits, and it feels exhilarating to admit this– that Vault-Tec is gonna nuke the world at some point, that the radicals are more like minded to him than he’s wanted to believe in the past. “Even if it didn’t cost my movies, I regret partaking in what they were selling.”

That’s a big thing for him to say– you know Cooper loves acting, he absolutely adores playing a hardened sheriff, the last vestige of goodness in the wild, wild west. All the times you’ve visited him on his set– probably during his last contractual movie, now that you think about it– and he was always so excited to show off the architecture and intricacies of the fictional western town they’d set up, share script details and little character quirks so you could have an insider’s viewpoint. He even donned his cowboy hat on you, saying you wore it like a natural.

He loved being the hero, really.

He lights a cigarette, and takes a puff.

“Most big-name connections refuse to talk to me because of this stuff– I’ve basically been dropped out of phonebooks all together. They think I’m still in on it, they think I’ve only stopped because of backlash–” He stops as you begin to scratch his scalp, still leaning against your shoulder, but getting progressively into your neck area.

Jesus, that feels good. He thinks. He hasn’t been intimate in a while– Barb became increasingly more cold to him over the last few months, as their marriage kept falling apart.

“Backlash, really?” You whisper. 

“Yeah.” He stutters for just a moment, because your eyes are peering into his, and for a moment he thinks you could really make it as just a bombshell if you wanted to– then he takes another puff. “When really, I was just backing out of what I thought was really a massive crime against humanity.”

“Are you only telling me this to validate your poor conscience? Remedy that reputation a little?” You ask, and he presses his lips together. 

“Well, I'll be honest, yeah. Of fucking course I'd tell the one woman who seems to be like me on this.” He sounds so certain of you, sounds so sure that you're on his side.

And you absolutely are.

“The world’s about to end, Mr. Howard. You're not a bad man for not wanting to support it. I'm inclined to agree.” You inhale deeply, and Cooper stares at you– something stirs inside him as he does. 

“Kiss me, then. Humour me– since none of this will matter soon.” Cooper murmurs, lying on top of your chest now, the smoke from his cigarette enveloping your face.

He’s so close you barely have to move to oblige to what he’s said– you're second guessing yourself for just a moment, because it feels like a dream that he'd ask you to do this, so out of the blue, such a picture perfect fantasy that you almost don't care about the impending doom, and you press your lips gently to his in an upside-down kiss, his hair brushing against your open cleavage, but Cooper is insistent and leans upward, kissing you with such intensity that your head is spinning afterwards.

God, now that's a movie star kiss. You think.

He kisses you again as Sebastian returns, drink in hand.

“Oi! You two. Jesus Christ, can't keep your hands off each other, can you?” Sebastian pretends to vomit. “C’mon, if I want to talk to you at my party, I should have that right.”

You attempt to pull away– but Cooper, being a little mischevious, perhaps wanting to show off in a way he hasn’t been able to, sits up right and kisses you again, this time normally, just very slowly and passionately though, slithering an arm around your waist in a way that has Sebastian rolling his eyes. 

“Okay, present.” He says, not pulling his arm off your waist. 

“Thanks.” Sebastian shakes his head. “I was thinking we should take the mood off with some party games…”

/

It's about 2 AM when you've finally left the party. Cooper didn't want to let you go– he's crashing at an apartment for the time being, but you really don't want to waste yourself on being his rebound, if he really likes you.

You tell him as much, and he likes that– you really are rather sharp about things. 

“Well. Gimme a call when you realize I'm not kidding around with you.” He says unabashedly, holding your hand, kissing it as you leave.

You’re absolutely sure he's drunk, and he's being a little too clingy– but you want to believe him anyways. 

You walk back to your car, alone. Thinking about if Cooper is worth the damage it could have on your potential career. But then again– the end of the world is coming, right?

So maybe it won’t matter. And you find that you like this, the secret potential of this option, just hanging out with Cooper in a place that used to be America, no more expectations on you both. There’s also the chance you just both die, though.

You shudder.

You don't notice that there's a man in the backseat of your car when you get in, brandishing a chloroform stained cloth.

/

The Ghoul prods at the body that's just fallen out of the cryo pod.

Oh fuck. 

It's starting to stir, whoever it is, and Coop knows he's ready, if this is really some synthetic android-clone thing, to make their life hell. Get some of his anger out on something that doesn’t matter.

Wait– he recognizes that cherry red fabric. That coiffed hair, frosty after being inside the pod. Oh, Jesus… even the makeup is the same as when he last saw you. 

“Ah… shit.” He chuckles to himself in exasperation, because this is beyond belief. “Nuka-Cola, is that you?”

You tilt yourself to the side, eyes bleary, unable to see clearly. Everything’s dark. But you know that voice, you just heard it a couple of days ago.

“Mr. Howard?” You croak out, and he hisses inwards– nobody has called him that in centuries. Nobody knows who he is… except for you, of course. 

“The one and the same, baby.” He licks the side of his gums, deciding to stick with his identity for now. “Well, maybe a little different. You wouldn't happen to know what a Ghoul is, huh?”

“What?” You don't know how long your vision is going to stay black for, but you don't like the sound of that. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Eyes haven't been opened for… two hundred years. I'll give you some time, Cola.” He sighs; cracks his neck, while you sink back into the floor. “Just imagine the ugliest horror-picture monster you can imagine. Zombie, no nose. That paint a picture for you?”

“...”

“What was that?” Coop can't hear you when your voice is muffled into the tiles of this secret room. He grasps your hair gently, from the root, pulling your head upwards so you'll speak– clearly you don't have the strength to lift up your body. 

“I said, how is that any different from before?” 

“Oh, she's still a jokester.” Coop scoffs– despite himself he snorts– and he lets go of your hair so you land back on the floor with a thump.

“–Ow!” You flinch, and then turn over so you’re on your back. “Still an asshole, huh?”

“Me?” He grins maliciously. Ooh, maybe he can use some misplaced anger on you. “You're the one who didn't call back for several weeks.”

“How could I? You can see I've been trapped in a cryo thing for… however long. Did you say two hundred years?” You flatly ask, and Coop still thinks you're lying.

“Yes, and bullshit. You probably had a couple weeks since I last saw you to call me.” He states, and he doesn’t actually hold a grudge, at least not that much of it in comparison to all the other horrid shit that’s happened to him– he just thinks it's funny to push your buttons after all of that, like looking into a mirror of the past– and you groan.

“No, I didn't. I got in my car after Sebastian's party, and some goon sprayed something in my face, I passed out, and he drove me here.” You start, and you begin frowning in such a way that Coop almost feels bad. 

“Why you, sweetheart?” He shakes his head. “You weren't exactly high up in popularity yet.”

“Exactly. No one would miss me.” You spit out bitterly, remember the end to that night, where you were so unaware of your surroundings, and terrified of being assaulted as you were pushed around into this room, blindfolded.

“Adrian fucking Amos, the fucking Second, thought it would be great if I just became his permanent doll during the apocalypse.” You swallow, and Coop sits down next to you, to listen more clearly. You shift towards his body heat– and to his surprise, he still likes that. “See, his daddy has shares in Vault-Tec, so he decided before nuclear fallout happened, he wanted a guaranteed sex slave from his favourite advertisements.”

“Nuka-Cola.” Coop utters with the slowest drawl, concluding your statement– and you like that.

“Yeah, Nuka fucking Cola.” You grimace. “Then he undressed me, put me in this little number, and threw me in the pod. I barely remember this shit because I was so out of it.”

“Shame. I always wondered why you never called me back.” Coop circles back to his little grudge– but he also feels bad, feels some level of guilt that neither he nor Sebastian had the sense to look out for you back then, and you were practically assaulted (maybe actually so if you didn't remember). 

“Yeah, because I wanted to miss out on that piece of ass. Sure.” You joke feebly, and Coop laughs despite himself. 

“Honey, you're gonna run away screaming when you finally see me. Don't worry about it.” He shakes his head. “The real world's a lot more fucking difficult than would'ves and could'ves.”

“Okay, explain. If you're willing to owe me that much.” You start, and Coop gets reminded of that fateful night a couple hundred years ago, where he was the one to clue you into the impending nuclear war.

Not even three months later, it was all over, and you were nowhere in sight– if his mind ever did drift to you, the what-ifs and who-knows that still persisted– he would always assume you were dead.

Now he thinks you're just unfinished business. 

“Fine.” He taps your shoulder, and you lean a little closer towards him– you touch his hand, and instead of flinching as many people have in the past– you trace the tough, callused skin there.

He thinks there’s something wrong with you. Why do you seem drawn to him anyways? You’re completely fucking up his tough guy, lone-wolf persona by being here, and he wants you gone. He pulls away his hand, ignoring how your face falls for a moment.

Coop inhales, and then starts. “In October 2077, they nuked America, bombed it all to hell. By they, I think we both know what I’m implying.”

“It wasn’t the Chinese.” You interrupt, and he shushes you.

“Yeah, Cola.” He starts playing with his fingers, feeling like you don’t deserve to be here right now. That you should’ve just stayed dead. “Vault-Tec destroyed it all.”

It’s no good. He’s an old man, and you’re still as soft and young as ever. He’s always haunted by his past, like with Barb and Janey, and then Sebastian’s voice in every single Mr. Handy robot he comes by, and then finally, his last couple memories with you.

“The last two hundred something years have been filled with carnage, death, unspeakable horrors that your pretty little mind could never comprehend.” He grits out, pushing past the past and remembering that this is who he is now– a killer– and you stare at him vacantly, because his tone is so much more serious suddenly. “Nothing is the same. Everyone has blood on their hands, water is a fucking commodity, if you’re not watching out for humans to betray you, hideous creatures like me roam the ground, and that ground? Sands, deserts, barely a hint of green. It’s nothing worth coming back to.”

“So you’re saying I’m in hell.” You suddenly inhale harshly, and Coop ignores the urge to check on you.

The last thing he needs is an extra person to take care of– especially someone who doesn’t know the Wasteland. So it’s better now that he just weans you off and leaves you here.

“Yeah, sweetheart. And I'm the devil.” Coop sucks on his teeth again. “If you had any sense, you’d go back into that fucking freezer until some utopia is born four hundred years from–”

You flinch, and he stops. 

“Oh, God, my eyes–”

The sight comes back slowly then all at once. Light everywhere, overwhelming your senses. 

You blink, tears rolling down your face. 

“Maybe it would’ve been better if you stayed blind, Cola.” He stares at you as you rub your eyes, taking in the state of the room. 

It’s a warning, but you look up at him again anyways. And Coop waits for the utter horror, for the sign that he really has transformed into a monster, so he can hurry up and leave– this entire conversation with you is just him finishing Cooper Howard’s past with a bow. A shiny, Nuka-Cola-red bow.

“...” You swallow, and then bite your lip, tilting your head up at him. “Couldn’t let go of the cowboy identity, huh?”

Coop furrows his non-existent eyebrows, disliking how hard you’re making this, how clever you still seem to be– you also seem way too relaxed with him. He has half a mind to fire a warning shot at you. “Yeah, okay, darlin’. You’re just avoiding facing that horrific, bile-inducing sensation in your throat, aren’t you?”

You shake your head, disagreeing immediately. “You might look– a little less like how I remember you, I guess… but you’re still you. I see it, and apparently so do you.”

How dare you? Coop thinks, how dare you intertwine his two images together so easily when he could never be the same man again, when just seeing an old VHS tape of one of his movies pains him?

“Yeah, no thanks. If this is your way to get me to valet you around, I’m not that man anymore, Nuka-Cola.” He resents the way you think he could still be good– just because his western image brings him a little comfort nowadays. “Not a sheriff anymore.”

Your face drops, but you seem to take that information readily. “Yeah, I figured that based on your outfit, the little blood splatters on your pants… if that’s how the world is, then so be it.”

You’re saying things that on paper should be right– but Coop is getting more and more disgruntled with you, and you feel like you need to separate yourself from him. Yes, tough, because to you it’s been all of forty-eight hours since you kissed him– but you can see, no matter how deep the original Cooper Howard is inside this new Ghoul, you’re not going to be able to bring him out.

You stand up, on shaky, bare feet, and motion for Coop to move out of the way. Independent woman to the end, you are, and you want to get your bearings without him.

Coop internally sighs. He doesn’t believe for one second you’ll survive out there– and he really doesn’t need to spend the time seeing you die, so he turns around, and leaves you here.

/

He never did find Leopold St. West, much to his chagrin– you really, really messed up his day. 

It happens. Sometimes he’ll see Janey in another person’s eyes and freak out, and have to boil it down by murdering random raiders. 

But now Coop is just spiteful. He’s always figured that a lot of what happened to the world was just a bunch of rich people picking and choosing a destiny for themselves to the detriment of everyone else, and now he’s aware that included you, too. To casually be grabbed away by some man, just because he was rich… Coop isn’t unsympathetic to how you ended up, even if he treated you quite poorly. It’s sickening.

Two hundred years of quiet, always-dwelling agony, the first few years out of fear for being alone, and the next few years spent conspiring about what could’ve happened to his family– and then here you are as confirmation of his worst theories.

No wonder he enjoys his casket time.

/

Coop sighs.

Vaultie is hard to keep track of. She got away with murder this time at the organ harvesting clinic– so Coop finds it easier to stop working with her, to move when he wants to.

The Govermint (really just Booker’s shitty gang) was rather easy to dismantle. The two sheriffs that he killed required no expertise on his part.

He’s thinking about the fact that since Moldaver is still alive, and apparently that fucker Hank MacLean, then that means there’s a good chance Barb and Janey are too– perhaps he could go and find them.

It’s an odd urge, though. Everytime he thinks about it, he wonders how he’s actually supposed to connect with them again– they’ve been fractured for so long, and he’s changed, and there’s a good chance neither of them would accept him like this.

But you did, didn’t you? You were on the verge of saying yes, you’d accept him– as if nothing had changed.

Coop grumbles. The big, significant difference is that you were infatuated with him, but Barb divorced him, and Janey was too young to make that choice. He considers that it could be a pipe dream, but he still has hope– for Janey, at least.

He thinks you’re probably dead anyways. He hasn’t seen you in several months, since that day where he unceremoniously woke you up– and he hopes it stays that way.

He's chilling in another small, scrappy area of the wasteland. Nobody bothers the Ghoul, not when he's casually fiddling with his gun and and chewing on a toothpick.

A man runs past him, holding a significantly valuable piece of Brotherhood equipment. Maybe worth thousands of caps if he knows his shit, and he does. That’s a fusion core, and they’re not exactly mass producing those anymore during the apocalypse.

Coop points his gun at him, finger on the trigger, seconds away from creating a bloody mess–

A blade thwacks into the guy’s neck, blood spurting as he falls and chokes. A person– a woman– jumps on his back, her face obscured by a deep green bandana . She yanks out the knife, stabs a few more times for good measure– and Coop knows the game, he’s not surprised he’s not the only one to go after this guy.

He’s pretty good at killing casually, and he barely even moves from where he’s standing, aiming the gun at her.

No way is he letting easy money pass by him.

He’s about to pull the trigger extra-quick when she yanks the bandana down, taking a deep breath as she sweats, and Coop actually misses.

It’s you. You stare up at him from where you’re squatting over the body, and your gaze hardens, furrowed brows, dark lashes, intensely dark pupils. You purse your lips, press them together, jaw set in a stern fashion, recognizing him but refusing to hear him out– and Coop doesn’t know why he’s not firing, but he’s almost… enamoured with how you are now, almost taken aback by your new nature.

Not so taken aback that he doesn’t immediately start firing when you take the fusion core and start running.

And Coop doesn’t want to actually kill you, he just wants to incite some damage. See how far you can take it.

You interweave through random gaps in the metal scraps of this little abode, seeking shelter as you do so, and Coop’s gunfire only ricochets off them with cartoony sounding “pings!”

He manages to graze your left thigh through a small window, and you inhale sharply, stopping as you grit through the pain.

Coop grins to himself. This little cat and mouse chase is what he expected, what was predictable from you– you’re smart enough to stay on the defense, but you would probably never attack him, avoiding him because of your sad feelings of the old times, never resort to carnage unless you needed to–

You shove past the walls where you’ve been roaming, and manage one kick against his stomach and he manages to grab you and restrain you, your back against his front.

You grab his own jacket for purchase, and instead of pulling forward– you push back, landing on top of him with a thud that surely hurts him. Coop clenches his teeth, back against the ground now, but you scramble, straddling him. Hands around his throat, knife pressed against one of his tendons. Not outright strangling him, but just enough pressure that he knows you’re seriously threatening him.

Holy fuck, have you changed. Just like Vaultie, maybe you’re showing your honest self– and Coop supposes it may have been his mistake to underestimate you.

“Got a whole new outfit… I like it.” He admires your new leather jacket, cargo pants around your thighs pushing his arms down, a blouse fashioned out of your old Nuka-Cola dress. Tough combat boots dig into his thighs as you push against him. “Don’t fucking start–” You squeeze a little harder and he groans, the tip of the knife pushing in. “With your on and off, hot and cold bullshit.” 

Ooh, it sounds like you have a little bit of a grudge over how you were treated.

“Get over it, Cola. It was centuries ago, whatever we had.” He spits out, and you have a glint of sadness in your eyes.

He knew you were a little too gushy for your own good– not even he adapted that quickly to the wilderness of the Wasteland. He waits for you to make the mistake, apologize, break down– and then he can take the core and get out of here.

But you’re still firm in your grasp of him, your weight pushing him down, blade against him.

You’re not angry about back then. You’ve come to terms with that.

You’re angry at the state of the world. 

“You know what I fucking hate, Ghoul?” You spit in his face, and he blinks, spittle now on his chin. “You are all so selfish. I got left behind, likely for dead, right, and nobody gives a shit, whatever. But instead of me hoping that the leftover crumbs of society would at least try to be, I don’t fucking know, more hopeful and kind, or at the very least, not be so fucking greedy and transparently trying to be the new party in charge.”

“You’re living in a dream world.” Coop interrupts, and he’s rewarded with you carving a small, little cut on his cheek, a rapid movement you hardly think about, and it causes him to inhale sharply, a drop of blood smearing across his face.

“Oh, no. I’m not asking for everyone to hold hands and play family.” You laugh suddenly, and then somehow lean in closer, and Coop finds that in some fucked up way he enjoys the pressure against him. “It’s bullshit, that kind of image making– you and I both know that. But for all this supposed talk against the rich billionaires who ruined our lives, how are we not just emulating them?”

Coop is actually drawn to silence.

“Maybe you actually got fooled by self-image, Cola.” He murmurs. “Or maybe that’s just people’s true nature.”

You don’t like that answer. You don’t actually want to believe that, but the more you think about it, the more it’s probably true. People lie all the time, but the amount of outrage you’ve heard from people the last few months, bemoaning Vault-Tec and all those rich fuckers, you were inclined to believe they wouldn’t act the exact same way.

Just at a different level. Power corrupts all, you guess.

You loosen your grasp a little. “Thank you.”

It’s honest, and Coop doesn’t like how much he does like your nature of trusting him– how even as this new, terrible version of yourself, you still trust him, and you still ask for his advice.

He doesn’t know what to make of this, but he thinks maybe he can get some use out of you yet.

Coop wrangles his arm from out under your thigh, where you’ve accidentally let a gap through, and shoves you over.

You fall with a gasp, hitting the ground, and he stands up and kicks you for good measure, while you screech in pain. 

Coop picks you up by your throat, and you instantly move to fighting– your blade against his stomach, teeth gritted in resolute urge to kill– but he’s got his pistol at your neck, and the way he brushes it against you is almost like a lover’s embrace.

“One thing I hate is a fucking liar, Cola.” He grumbles, and you glare at him. “You’re not some innocent– why else do you got a fusion core in your pocket?”

“I never claimed I was a good woman.” You shake your head. “I just wonder why the Brotherhood, the Enclave, hell, even some of the Raiders… everyone wants the ultimate piece of the pie.”

“Besides, you’re the one who kept saying to survive out here I’d have to be a killer.” You remind him, and he looks down at you, thinking. “The world’s grieving– I don’t blame it for that, I feel the same way.”

You’ve still got a way with words, he thinks, and he was right. He can use you for his benefit.

“Say, Nuka-Cola. Why don’t we take some of those fuckers down?” He stills. “Not randoms. The power-hungry pie-eaters, like how you so eloquently put it.”

You don’t fully trust him again, but you’re into the prospect. You don’t want power, and you know he doesn’t either, but it’s not just looting. No, no, this is something akin to revenge.

“Alright.” You whisper.

“Alright. Okay, I won’t shoot if you don’t cut me.” He speaks softly, slowly, trying to cajole you out of attacking– and you move as he does. 

The threatening air of before is gone now, and the Ghoul has only a odd stare for you, something that makes you feel watched, almost reminding you of two centuries ago. It could be that he doesn’t trust you either– and so you walk onward with a gap between you two, heading to wherever a faction that needs fucking up could be.

/

Coop strolls inside the makeshift bar as you make conversation, staying within the shadows. It’s not on official Enclave grounds, it’s simply a nearby bar where members have been known to hang out. 

He doesn’t exactly mind being the one to pick up the slack of killing people– he can tell you’re good at charming people what with your former bombshell acting techniques, your silly, soft blinks, the way how your skin still looks smooth and untouched.

Was it all a lie with him? Aw, shit, why does he care? He really doesn’t have time to wonder if he’s been manipulated by you– he won’t be manipulated by you now, when he gets rid of many the people who represents obstacles in his way to finding still-existing Vault-Tec members.

Yes, that’s all this is to him. Another step to finding Moldaver, Henry MacLean, then his family if he’s lucky. And you’ll get some rage out of it, so he doesn’t even consider this to be that bad of an evasion of his. 

You laugh at something the guy next to you says. Coop catches a bit of it, of him asking how you look under that big jacket– and you mentioning you’d like to see him without that government get-up, too.

He grits his teeth. He’s not fucking in love with you, or anything stupidly juvenile like that– but he definitely felt something before when the two of you were fighting, or when you had conversations during the long, arduous talk here– you bit into a piece of his jerky when he offered it, and he laughed in surprise that you didn’t spit it out after he revealed it was feral ghoul ass jerky.

He also found that his gaze kept being drawn to you, too. You kept up with him, you were capable of hunting and searching on your own, you took lives when the need arose, and you had his back, even if he didn’t ask for it.

You made him subconsciously draw from the past, reminiscing about a time with you and a future he never thought he’d revisit. And now he can’t ignore that, so he needs to let off some steam.

There’s a splatter of blood across your face as the guy in front of you splutters, a bullet hole shot through his forehead. Little pieces of flesh hit the bar counter as he falls, and you gasp.

Coop is kind of quick with it now– he fires off, and because these “politicians” are unprepared, he’s able to kill off more than half.

You get over your shock quickly and fire your own tiny pistol at random, managing a few kills, but the Ghoul takes the last one and looks back at you, with an intrepid glance that you can’t figure out.

“What the hell was that?” You call out, and he doesn’t respond, instead beginning to pilfer the bodies, looking for shit to take. “Hey, Ghoul…”

“We came here to kill off those guys.” He answers you, but it’s not really an answer.

“Yeah, but I thought we agreed on discussing this shit as we were doing it. What happened to signalling?” You approach him, and as you get close enough, he turns around and stares unnervingly into your eyes.

“I did signal, sweetheart.” He clicks his tongue, lying through his teeth. 

“Bullshit.”

“No, I did.” He points at you. “It’s not my fault that you were too busy schmoozing and flirting to notice.”

“Wow.” You laugh exasperatedly at his antics, while he tilts his head. “You’re really obtuse, you know?”

“Nah. I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re gonna say you’re not jealous–” At that word, the Ghoul snarls, ready to tell you exactly how little he cares for you, and you motion for him to zip it. “But at the very instance of seeing me flirt, mind you, in the most fake way possible, you lost it. You can’t even tell the difference between my genuine flirting and the fakest, schlockiest shit?”

“...” Coop frowns, because you’re right– he did kind of let his mind go wild over nothing in particular. 

Even worse, it means he’s made it apparent to you that he still harbours some feelings for your long-ago relationship. And that’s definitely a potential weakness– he does not want you to believe you can just work him around.

“Fuck you.” He spits, and instead of your face flinching in hurt, you stay neutral.

“I know you think you can come close and then shove me off every once in a while, because you’re fucking terrified of what it means that you’re not as hard as you pretended to be, that you still have a bit of human emotion inside you.” You tiptoe up to his face so he can’t avoid you. “I don’t care. That’s your problem.”

You turn to leave, to continue looting the bodies– and Coop’s hand wraps around your wrist. 

He hates what you’ve said, because it’s absolutely provoking the worst issue he has– he can never just let go. Two hundred years of this has made him a different creature altogether, spiteful; evil, but Coop knows as well as anyone that his transformation doesn’t negate his original nature, buried deep down.

It was a lie on his part– people are not as evil as he made them out to be, it’s the cycle of this situation that perpetuates that shit. Violence begets violence and all that. He can’t seem to say this to you, though, because he can tell you already probably knew that.

What is this fuckery, that you’re able to generate such a sense of guilt in him?

“Show it to me again. Genuine flirting.” he says instead, and he knows it’s stupid as hell to say something like this. “It’s been hundreds of years, you can’t expect me to fuckin’ remem…”

You grasp his arm back, making him quiet.

He’s half expecting you to punch him, but you see something you like– something that finally satisfies you, and you kiss his cheek, where you cut him much earlier in the day. It’s a soft bruise, mostly healed over in the way ghouls heal– but it’s overwhelmingly, embarrassingly hot there now as you pull away.

“I won’t forget the difference next time, Nuka-Cola.” He tips his hat at you in a mockery of his acting as a dashing cowboy once upon a time.

“Won’t be a next time.” You shrug. “I would hate to have to flirt with someone again just to get you to notice me.”

This severely bothers him, like you haven’t been an annoyance in his mind this whole time. And then he wonders if you’re an idiot, like you have no idea the effect you had on him back then, and even now. Hell, even that overly-chaste kiss has him remembering how he felt at Sebastian’s party when you humoured him the first time.

Do you think the only thing he’s burying is some empathy for the human race?

He can’t just let you be this wrong about this, no fucking way. And it’s with this in mind that the Ghoul feels his reserve melt as he tightly grabs your face and kisses you. Not a soft, movie-star kiss of the past, but one more hungry, his lips swallowing yours, pressed sternly, firmly, like he’s not gonna let you go. He parts his mouth ever so slightly, trying to catch a reaction from you.

You’re caught off guard, and he’s glad. He likes that you don’t know what to do with yourself, that for once you’re floundering rather than him, and you barely remember to kiss back until a couple seconds later when your hands grasp the base of his skull. You’re tracing grooves, calluses, skin that’s been eroded by his ghoulishness. You feel like he tastes ever so acidic– perhaps from the radiation emitting from his body– but some weird part of you loves it, and you part your lips as you kiss him harder, wanting to feel his tongue.

Your lips are just as soft as he remembers– but there’s more excitement now, more of an urgency as you kiss him, so he takes your invitation and swirls his tongue around on yours, disgustingly vulgar and perversely fast, yet lingering to enjoy the sensation, and he kinda loves being a corrupting force, being the ghoul who eats up this sweet human girl, and he tightens his grip– it almost hurts you, how tightly his hands weave around your waist suddenly– and then before you know it, he pulls away.

He wipes his mouth, never taking his eyes off of you.

“So. Did I taste like Nuka-Cola?” You joke, and he laughs in your face.

“Nope. Darlin, you haven’t been the Nuka-Cola girl for hundreds of years. They replaced you not long after you vanished.” He smiles widely at how your face drops. “I can show you some of the new girl’s billboards, if you’d like.”

“That would explain the lack of revenue.” You raise your eyebrows. “Then why do you still call me Nuka-Cola, Cola, etcetera?”

“That’s how I remember you.” It sounds too sweet, too nice that he keeps your nickname on tabs, so he twists his lips in a sneer. “Plus I don’t remember your name.”

“Oh.” You bite your lip, finding his insult more funny than anything else, and turn around to take items from the bodies around you. “Okay, Mr. Howard.”

It was the optimal moment for you to joke back, calling him the Ghoul, but in classic you-fashion, you decided to extend an olive branch to him– reminding him that he’ll never just be the Ghoul to you. And even if Coop knows he’ll always remember you by Nuka-Cola, he has a fondness for you that he doesn’t neglect anymore– and he murmurs your name so softly, but just enough that you turn back and look at him, and smile with pleased recognition. 

[yooniivrse]

bouquet | myg

summary. every day with you serves as a reminder that you are, in fact, the best thing that has happened to him

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: established relationsip au, fluff

word count: 1.3k

content: oc buys yoongi flowers / my man is whipped

warnings: none <333

notes: u can find the post explaining how i imagine yoongi and oc’s apartment here (in case u wanna visualise it better) likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so appreciated!! i hope you guys enjoy <333

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main masterlist

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The fresh scent of flowers tickles your nose as you hold the bouquet close to your chest. You can't help but pride yourself in your selection as you admire the pale colours that caress each petal; an arrangement of pinks the same shade as the blush you often find creeping across your cheeks, oranges that mimic the morning sky on a winter day, yellows that remind you of the sunshine that warms your eyelids as you lie in bed during summer, and whites that reflect the hue of the moon.

It may not be perfect, but it's just right for your boyfriend — this you're sure of. Because it's Yoongi who causes your blushes and watches the sunrise with you in his arms despite the chilly weather; it's Yoongi who convinces you to stay in bed for "just a bit longer", until the day is almost gone but it doesn't feel wasted because it was spent with him.

Yoongi illuminates the dark skies that often haunt you, lighting up even your dullest days in his own way. And he whispers sweet nothings in your ear at night as if they're words from the moon itself.

Getting Yoongi flowers wasn't something you set out in the morning intending to do. You had come across the bouquets on your way back home from work, catching sight of them in the window of a quaint flower shop tucked in the corner of a street. It still baffles you how you had managed to not see the building for so long despite knowing the street like the back of your hand.

It was hard to miss too, given the amount of intricately put together bouquets wrapped in parchment paper and potted plants that were displayed on wooden stands just outside. They spilt out across the sidewalk, painting the grey town with the pop of colour it desperately needed.

You don't know what it was, but nothing had felt more right for you to do at that moment. So you marched in and paid an outrageous amount of money without a second thought.

And now, here you were — unable to hide the smile on your face despite the burn on your cheeks — watching the elevator ascend to the floor of your apartment. The pixelated numbers seemed to be moving slower than usual today, but you didn't linger on it for too long.

Eventually, the steel doors part to let you out, and you walk down the empty hallway to your apartment. It's a struggle to unlock the door with the flowers in one hand and your tote bag flimsily slung around your other shoulder, but you manage.

The door opens with a familiar creak and you step inside.

The immediate aroma of food that hits you is sudden, but also mouth-watering. You make your way down to the source of the smell — the kitchen — to find Yoongi working away at the stove.

A short towel hands around his neck, catching the droplets of water that fall from the ends of his hair. A loose, black t-shirt hangs on his figure, along with a pair of grey sweatpants. He hums an oddly staccato tune to himself, completely immersed in whatever he's cooking.

"Hi."

Yoongi's gaze immediately moves from the dish in front of him to you, a smile spreading across his face.

"Hello." He meets your eyes for a brief second before moving down to the flowers. He quirks an eyebrow, lifting his gaze again. "Special occasion?"

"No. I got them for you...just because," you reply with a shrug, walking over to him with the bouquet outstretched in your hands.

"Oh. I- Thank you." You don't fail to catch the tint of pink that creeps across his skin, slowly becoming prominent around the tips of his ears as he takes the flowers from your hand.

He stares at the arrangement for a few seconds, and you feel a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. He would like them, right?

"So, whatcha cooking?" you ask, eyeing the pot of noodles. A small pile of thinly cut cucumber rests on a cutting board just beside the stove, but before you can take in everything else displayed across the marble, Yoongi's lips are on yours.

You melt into the kiss almost instantly. Your heart soars in your chest and the nerves in your stomach wash away, only to be replaced by the erratic flutter of butterflies.

Yoongi tastes faintly of mint and love, and the pressure of his kiss is slightly stronger than usual — as if he's reminding you of who his heart belongs to, even though you're already well aware.

The feeling of knowing that you're loved is almost overwhelming, but you bask in it, unable to stop your lips from spreading into a smile against his mouth.

"God, I love you so much," Yoongi mumbles as he pulls back, tenderly moving a few strands of your hair behind your ear, and you giggle at his words.

"I love you too, baby," you reply. His eyes crinkle into soft crescent moons, and he places another peck against your lips.

"Where do you think we should put it?" He does a quick scan of the room and you follow his movements. The coffee table would've been your first option, but it's occupied by the flowers he got you on your most recent date.

"Hmm." Your eyes move down the room. "I think it should look fine in the bedroom."'

Yoongi hums in agreement. "You're right. I'll put them here for now, 'cause I'm fucking starving right now."

"Oh my God, same," you reply as he places the bouquet on the marble island behind him. "What are you making anyway?"

"Just jajangmyeon. You mentioned wanting it last night, so I thought I'd make it for you. Didn't want you to get food poisoning like last time when we went to that sketchy restaurant."

"You're amazing," you say, loudly kissing him on the cheek. "I was literally craving it all day today."

Yoongi lets out a soft chuckle. "I knew you would be. Don't worry, it'll be ready pretty soon."

"I'll go get changed then. Don't burn down the house!"

"That's rich coming from you," he says with a snort.

You feign innocence with a shrug. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mhm, sure you don't."

As you leave the kitchen, your laughter still echoing in the room, Yoongi lingers by the bouquet. A feeling of warmth blooms across his skin, and he's sure that it has nothing to do with the stove.

Even as he continues to stir the noodles, the only thing he is focused on is the single thought in his head.

You really are the best thing that has happened to him.

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permanent taglist: @petals4bangtan @futuristicenemychaos

[rogueddie]

A gay bar is the last place Steve ever thought he'd be, yet here he sits.

He keeps looking over to Robin- not too much, just enough to keep an eye on her. Make sure she's still having fun. Although, he's sure he doesn't need to be worrying.

The girl who'd caught Robins eye is small, feminine. She looks like a sweetheart and she keeps getting Robin flustered. They're cute together, clearly into eachother, and Steve couldn't be happier.

Even sat alone, feeling completely out of place and a little uncomfortable, seeing Robin able to flirt with someone so openly is… he just feels relieved.

He should have thought to bring her here sooner.

"Hey there." The man smiles when Steve flinches. It's a soft smile, kind. "You wanna dance?"

"Oh, uh, I don't- I mean, uh-"

"Woah, don't panic. It's just a dance, right? You look uncomfortable is all and seeing you sat alone with your big fucking puppy dog eyes is just sad." He gently nudges Steves chin up when he tries to look down, feeling awkward. His finger lingers a little, brushing along his jaw. "You don't wanna have a fun night out? I won't be offended if you say no."

And, ok, Steve's a little tipsy. He's sure he'd never agree if he were sober- it wouldn't have felt fair. The guy is clearly attracted to him, not even trying to hide the way he's eyeing him.

But Steve's buzz is more annoying than pleasant and dancing does sound fun. So he agrees, accepts the hand offered and lets the guy pull him into the crowd.

The guy keeps his distance. Anytime the crowd jolts Steve toward him, he steps back the same amount, keeping a solid foot between them. But he's grinning, yelling jokes over the music, unabashedly dancing like an idiot.

It's great, it's fun. Steve can't stop grinning, stomach starting to ache with how much he's been laughing.

Eventually, a slower song comes on, stronger sexual undertones. The guy (Eddie, he'd leant in to tell Steve when asked, explaining that he knew Steve because they used to be in the same year as in Hawkins) shrugs, pulling an exaggerated face that screams 'what-can-you-do'. He's turning away.

But Steve grabs his wrist, Eddie looking back with raised eyebrows.

"This alright then, pretty boy?" He asks after stepping in close. His hands rest low on his hips.

Steve nods, flushing. He automatically puts his hands on his shoulders, letting Eddie lead him through a weirdly intimate sort of slow dance. And Steve is suprised to find himself… into it? He's not sure.

He feels less tipsy, so he can't blame the easy blushes or the way his stomach flips on the alcohol. There's no excuse for how he's started looking at Eddie either, paying a little too much attention to the way he moves, how his hands feel when they slowly start to wonder.

He gently brushes Eddies hair out the way without thinking, tucking it behind his ear so he can see the tattoo on his neck. Eddie tilts his head slightly, baring his neck a little more. When he glances up, Eddie is watching him, curiously.

"Hate to sound pressumptious," he drawls, taking a small step forward so their chests are pressed together, "but it feels like you're making moves on me, big boy."

"What if I am? What happens then?"

"Maybe I'd ask if you're sober enough to drive or if we need to call a cab." He leans back a little when Steve moves to kiss him. He hums, smirking. "Or maybe I'd ask for your number. I'm a classy lady, Harrington; what if I don't put out on the first date?"

"I've never said no to a challange."

Eddie barks out a laugh, loud enough to startle some of the people swaying beside them. "As if."

"What? You're like... pretty."

"Pretty," he repeats, rolling his eyes. "People know I'm a fag, Steve. Even being seen with me like we're 'just friends' would fucking ruin you."

"Your point?"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wanna put money on that?"

Eddie eyes him for a second, his derision melting into curiosity. "You want to make a bet on whether you'll date me or not?"

"Why not? One of us wins money in a bet, we both score a date, and-"

"I thought you were straight."

"Yeah, me too. But I don't think straight guys think about you like I am, right now."

Eddie steps back, considering. It's a long, tense, moment before he finally sticks his hand out. Steve quickly shakes his hand, grinning.

"You've got yourself a deal."

[casuallyanidiot]

can you please do a surgeon reader with pathetic rich yandere? please and thank you for making so many good fics!

Thanks for the support!

Ooooh a needy, clingy, Yandere patient.... I like your thinking anon.

Tw. For self harm mention

Yandere patient grew up as a rich, spoiled kid with plenty of daddy's money and not enough spine. He's never had someone care about him if it wasn't for his money, even his parents don't really seem to love him beyond the basic obligations of making sure he wasn't dead or feral. His friends are all assholes who are also rich, university students that only seem to like him when he's drinking past the point of passing out, or when he buys them fancy dinners and meals as gifts. He knows that they are just leeches, but he doesn't have anyone else.

Yandere patient who gets pressured into doing a stupid stunt. He was drunk at the time, so he doesn't really remember much about what exactly he did, but he knew what happened afterwards: Broken legs, a spinal injury, a shattered wrist, and 15 stitches on his cherub like face.

You're assigned to be his surgeon, as it turns out. You tell him that since his injuries are so severe, he'll need to have multiple surgeries and come in frequently to ensure he's healed.

He understands, though a bit weary and exhausted.

Through the period of time that's he's kept in the hospital, you notice how no one ever comes to visit him. Yandere patient becomes withdrawn and almost a bit despondent, and you knew you needed to do something. He wont recover if his mentality isn't there, after all.

You spend a lot of time comforting him, spending time with him later in the evenings before you go home, and you chat with him for brief periods of the day.

Yandere patient feels the most affection he's ever received while bedridden in your care. He knows that for once, it's not just about money. Yes, this is your job, but he knows for a fact that you pay more attention to him than you would some of your other charges.

Yandere patient decides to move himself into the hospital until he recovers. There's not real point in being locked away in his gloomy yet opulent room, tucked away in some countryside manor. No, he'd rather be here with you so that he may relish in your constant doting. You are a bit hesitant when he tells you the news with such a bright, beaming face. You don't want to hurt the poor man's feelings since he's been through so much already, but you'd rather prefer to see him getting out a bit more and trying his hand at socializing. Still, you don't press him too much on the issue.

Yandere patient who realizes that whenever he makes a bit too much progress, you distance yourself ever so slightly. It gives him pause, and it makes his heart race in a not good way. He can't have you leaving him. Not when he's already begun to rely on you so much.

Yandere patient who messes up his stitches constantly. He looks up at you with big, watery eyes when you find him covered in his own blood. He feigns his clumsiness, but he can't help the pleasurable shudder that runs up his damaged spine whenever you fret over him.

Yandere patient who starts to try to make you move into one of the many family manors he resides in. He'll pay you an extraordinary amount if you'll let him be your only patient. Plus, it's in the countryside! Fresh air, beautiful gardens, privacy: What more could you want?!

He tries so hard to sell you on it, but you don't budge. He pouts like a child for a while afterwards, though soon he's back to his usually smiling self.

He's figured it out. He doesn't have to ask you! A simple multi million dollar bribe to the hospital here, a scheme to blacklist you there, and soon you'll be happy to only have eyes for him!

Yandere Patient is practically beaming when you show up to his estate, bags in hand. The money, the pain, the isolation... all of it was just a small price to pay for you to never leave his side again.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flirts IV

Mapi León x Reader x Ingrid Engen

Summary: You have to go

It's not that you don't want to be there because you do.

It's that you have to go away for a surgery.

There's some rich woman in California who needs you to operate on her cat. She's paying an extortionate amount for your services and sending a private jet to pick you up.

You love those kinds of pet owners, the ones with enough money to fly in the very best if only because of the clear love they have for all of their pets.

But they're also clients you can't deny.

If someone wants to fly you out for enough money to keep a family afloat for a year, someone with enough influence to make or break anybody's career, you can't say no.

Even if your girlfriend is fighting for Euro's qualification.

"Do you have to go?" Mapi asks, sitting inside of your unpacked suitcase like she was Bagheera in a box.

Honey sits on the bed, head in her paws as she waits, tail wagging, for Mapi to throw her tennis ball.

"Yes," You say, trying to choose between your purple or your blue scrubs," It's a lot of money. Enough for that fancy holiday to the Maldives you guys want to take."

"But it takes you away from us," Mapi whines and Ingrid makes an agreeing noise from over by the door.

"I've travelled for work before."

"You're going to miss my match," Ingrid says and a pit forms in your stomach.

Before this job came up, you and Mapi were meant to be travelling to Norway to see Ingrid's last Euro Qualifiers game before going off in a camper van with her parents.

You'd still make it to the last part, depending on what the labs for this cat came back as but you'd have to miss the match.

You reach out for her, drawing her closer by the waist and resting your head on her chest.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I am, really. I can call up and cancel if you really want me to. I know a guy to recommend instead."

Ingrid sighs, her chin sitting on the top of your head. "No," She says," That cat needs the best care possible. We all know you're the best. Go and be a hero."

"I'd hardly be a hero. It's just surgery."

"Surgery for some woman that clearly adores her pet cat. What you do saves lives. I think that makes you a hero."

"You're so sweet, Ingrid."

"And hot!"

You laugh. "Thanks for that, Mapi. I'm sure she knows that seeing as you tell her everyday."

Mapi shrugs with a smirk on her face. "I'm sure it's nice to be reminded."

Honey whines on the bed and you roll your eyes.

"Throw the ball already. She's getting impatient."

Mapi frowns, waving the ball around.

Honey's eyes dart around erratically to follow it.

"She isn't barking, though?"

You laugh, crossing the space to take the ball and lay a soft kiss on Mapi's lips. "Because she's well-behaved, Mapi. She knows not to bark unless it's an emergency."

You throw the ball up and down to make sure Honey's still watching before you launch it out of the room.

She's off like a shot as Ingrid hauls Mapi out of your suitcase.

You still feel guilty though, through the flight, through the labs, through everything.

The cat is cute one, a little tortoiseshell with an amicable nature and a complete lack of awareness of her surroundings.

You've always been an animal person. You've always loved all of them but living with Mapi and Ingrid has just given you an even newer appreciation for cats.

The checkup happens quickly and the labs are already done and completed by the time you arrive.

Money really does move things along because all the charts are perfect and after what should have been a week long wait to begin, you manage to take a day to get over your jetlag and get to work immediately the day after.

Surgery is simple to you. It's easy and soon enough the cat is halfway to recovery.

You don't quite understand how private planes are hired and sent out, if someone has to book a runway days in advance or if they're open indefinitely.

The original plan had been for you to take a week to do this but now it's all done, you don't quite know what to do with yourself apart from stew in guilt.

You had planned to take your mind off Ingrid's game by throwing yourself into work.

You have no work though and can't help but imagine yourself in Norway with your girlfriends, curled up in Mapi's arms while Ingrid whispers to you.

You swipe away a tear as you head down for dinner, your host gracious enough to treat you to a meal for all your good work.

You've gone radio silent to your girlfriends but neither are surprised.

You're always like that when you go out of the country for work, focused only on your patient. You want no distractions.

Mapi sits slumped in her seat next to Ingrid watching Norway play their last qualifier, sighing to herself as she looks at pictures of the three of you together.

"What's with the pout?" Ingrid teases, running her thumb over Mapi's jutted out bottom lip.

"I miss her," Mapi mutters, feeling a bit like a little kid sulking.

"I know but she'll be here soon and then we go out exploring with my parents before heading back home for preseason. It's not that long of a wait."

"I don't want to wait at all."

"I know but-"

A body slumps down on Mapi's other side and both of them turn.

"I'm not really a fan of this hotdog," You say," It's not bad but I guess I'm not that hungry. Do you want some Mapi?"

You don't get an answer from her because she crushes you into a hug. The hotdog that you regrettably bought squishes between your bodies.

You don't complain though, especially when Ingrid moves into the hug as well, tightening her grip around the both of you.

"I thought you couldn't make it?"

"Money talks," You tease," And the owner felt a bit of pity when I told her that I'd have to watch this match on tv. Chartered a jet for me to come straight here."

"And the cat?" Mapi asks.

"The cat's good. Recovering."

"I'm so happy you're here."

"We're both happy," Ingrid says," So, so happy."

You grin at your girls, the smiling splitting your face.

"I'm happy to be here too."

[certified-bi]

Okay all my thoughts because some people have been saying that not supporting this change is not supporting artist and creators and as an artist fuck that.

1. Audiences owe you nothing. You have to convince them to engage with your creation not the other way around. This is something both the nonprofit theatre I work with recognizes and huge companies realize. It's just part of life. There are so many talented people in the world making amazing art, videos, music, writings, and on and on, and there's only so much time in the day. I'm not saying you shouldn't know your worth, just that being flippant about how little you care about those who can't pay isn't a good move. On that note...

2. PR is everything. If you haven't made a visible effort to push patreon, channel memberships or other avenues of making money, don't be suprised that your creation that was previously accessible to those without extra cash and to those who can't support foreign subscriptions due either to conversions or because it simply doesn't work, being made private isn't popular. There's a big leap from "We want to have more artistic control" to "We can't afford to make our content accessible to most of our audience," and people are smart enough to see this. You either have to make budget cuts or give into sponsors. This isn't unique to Watcher, it's part of literally every production from broadway, to Hollywood, to YouTube. Unless you can fund it yourself or get viewers to pay(which given how many are already strapped for cash...) that's life.

Not to mention they simply do not have enough followers to make the switch to a paid only site(dropping the first epsiode only on YouTube isn't going to draw people in, they're just going to say "oh why start if I'm not going to see the rest" and not watch) especially not one that is buggy and a security risk. Even if the switch had been supported its not going to end well. The only reason services like nebula and dropout work is because of the large amount of series and creators and the fact those creators still are partly on YouTube so new people are drawn in.

3. As for the price, 6 dollars a month is a not a good starting price for only their content and that's as someone who pays for nebula. I'd be paying the same amount for a fraction of the access to others work. Actually it'd be twice as much. And before someone says "it's only a coffee-" that's for you. Not everyone has your lifestyle. And with every other patreon and subscription service that says the same thing, it all adds up and I simply don't think 60 dollars for 48 videos a year on a subscription basis where you don't get to keep the videos if your situation changes, some of which don't appeal to every viewer is a good move. If you were able to buy physical copies of your favorite series they've made that'd be different, but that's not what this is.

4. I do believe that the employees deserve a livable wage. I also did not hire them. It is not on the viewers that they hired more people than they could afford to. They can charge that much if they want to to try and balance this out. They also shouldn't be suprised if not many can or will sign up. They also don't have to be based in L.A. L.A has ridiculous costs associated with it, and quite honestly it doesn't really add much to the content. I'm not saying they need to move to the middle of nowhere Kansas. Simply that living and basing your studio in a super expensive city and then being suprised money is tight is just weird.

5. Something that occurs to me is that they might get more views if their playlists were better set up. Only some series are given playlists. It'd be easier to find all of the series and binge them if they didn't just show off their more popular shows. Honestly the only draw the streaming site has to me is that the series are actually labeled well.

Do I think the weird ass energy towards Steven is necessary? No. He's not the only one at the company and they're all adults. I actually liked grocery run and homemade, and like to see them back. The parascoial attachment to Ryan and Shane is annoying in people's criticisms, but that doesn't make them completely wrong. If you're going to brand yourself as the anti capalist underdogs you can't get away with being dismissive of your poorer fans. The dissonance is what is causing this backlash and makes you look like hypocrites. I definitely think Steven is turning into the fall guy which is fucked up, his statement and the fact dish granted is one of those shows that make people uncomfortable about wealth flexs doesn't help matters.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Taking care of Coryo afte the bombing. He's being stubborn and doesn't want to rest and maybe says something hurtful to reader?

I started over three times...I hope you like it

Warnings: mention on bombing and deaths

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You were sitting by his side when Coriolanus’ eyes slowly opened, stirring from his deep sleep. He shifted in the bed and made a sound of discomfort, his shoulder throbbing. 

‘’Easy, you’re gonna hurt yourself,’’ you said, helping him off his stomach and into a more comfortable position. 

The scene had been horrifying to watch on the screen of the academy. No one knew exactly what had happened as the area wasn’t a very secured place. The screen had turned black after catching some of the explosions, leaving everyone in the auditorium worried for their fellow classmates — and tributes.

You brushed a hand through his hair, looking down at him. ‘’How are you feeling?’’ 

Coryo’s eyes met your concerned gaze. ‘’Lucy Gray, is she..?’’ he asked, a fog enveloping his mind. 

‘’She is okay,’’ you reassured him. ‘’They took all the remaining tributes back at the Capitol zoo.’’ 

‘’I’m guessing they’re still going with the games.’’ 

You nodded. ‘’Do you remember what happened in the arena?’’ 

Coriolanus winced, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. ‘’It’s all a blur,’’ he admitted, his brow furrowing. ‘’Explosions, fire and…people were running and more bombs going off. Lucy Gray and I got knocked down when the first bomb exploded. I tried to get back up, but a piece of the arena’s structure fell on me. She came back for me.’’

You gave a sympathetic smile, continuing to run your fingers through his disheveled hair. You had been so worried when Tigris told you a piece of the structure had fallen on her cousin during the bombing. ‘’They were old bombs some rebels must have placed between the end of the last games and now. The area is not well secure, so they could have gotten in at night.’’

Tigris returned shortly with Sejanus behind her. He was bringing information on the tributes and mentors' conditions. Coriolanus nodded as his friend spoke, absorbing the information while you held his hand, stroking the back with your thumb. Four tributes and two mentors had died. 

‘’Wherever Marcus is right now, he has more chances at survival than in the arena,’’ Sejanus said, still cursing his father for buying his old friend as tribute. It was sick. 

Coriolanus sighed, the weight of the games and the Plinth prize still on his shoulders.  

‘’You should rest,’’ you said to Coryo after Sejanus left. 

‘’I don’t have time to rest. The games are tomorrow. I need to think of a strategy so I can make my tribute win—’’ He tried to sit up, his face twisting with pain. ‘’Fuck.’’ 

‘’You don’t care about the girl! I know you’re doing this for the Plinth prize, but no amount of money is worth risking your health for. You need to rest, Coryo.’’ 

A bitter retort escaped his lips. ‘’Says the one who’s family is bathing in money.’’ He stood, seeking support from the wall as his head began to spin from the concussion. ‘’If I don’t win this money, everyone will know about the Snow family’s downfall. There was an eviction notice on our door last week. Tigris tried to hide it from me, but I saw it. We can barely afford food, how are we gonna pay rent? I need to go to university. I have to support my family. Without the Plinth prize, none of this can happen.’’ 

His state of panic made his head hurt from the heavy thinking. Coriolanus groaned, the pain intensifying, and released the wall to cradle his head in his hands, causing him to lose balance.  Instinctively, you moved swiftly, grabbing him before he could fall, and guided him back on the bed. 

‘’I may not know what it’s like to struggle financially, but don't hold it against me for being born into my family,’’ you said, not allowing him to make you feel bad for your social class. He couldn’t take his frustrations out on you. ‘’I don’t prance around my family’s money like our classmates do, or look down on the less fortunate. If you want to secure this prize, you need to lie back and rest. You can’t make your tribute win if you can’t even stand on your feet.’’ 

One thing you had learned these past years was that Coriolanus was the most stubborn person you knew. His determination could never be underestimated, a trait that often bordered on obstinacy. It was a crucial part of what made him who he was. Fortunately, you were one of the only people who knew how to reason with him and talk him down when he was being unreasonable. It wasn't always an easy feat, considering his unyielding nature, but you had honed the skill of navigating through his stubbornness.

He let out a sigh of defeat, knowing you were right. ‘’What am I gonna do?’’ Fear and desperation laced his voice, pulling at your heartstrings. 

You sat beside him and gently placed your hands on his face. ‘’We’ll figure something out,’’ you promised, letting him know he wasn’t alone. ‘’For now, you’re gonna lie back in bed while I find you something to eat. I can hear your stomach screaming.’’

Coryo managed a faint smile, appreciating your concern. ‘’It’s not that loud...’’ 

You gave him a look as his stomach betrayed him with a loud noise. ‘’I’ll be right back.’’

—

Hunger games / BOASAS taglist: @crossyourmindrights @ziggyneedsabreak @folkloreshorts @runningfrom2am @soulessien @itzfckingreal @creedsofapollo @heart-helmet  @javden @definitelykyles @pumkinnroses @pepperonipastas  @arzua10 @upwritingallnight @cruzgrecia @evelestrange

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3  @Heartsforneteyamsully  @aerangi  @hallecarey1  @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @grxnde-dwt @lexasaurs634 @teeeree13 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @teeeree13 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis@Shasta89 @sierraluvz @specialk6802  @CZARINERA @katherinejess

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Strangers No More

Fandom: Star Wars - The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x GN!Reader

Summary: Weeks after your first encounter, the strange man comes back to your shop looking to purchase something else. This time, he doesn't come alone.

The Stranger in My Doorway

The strange man had left an impression on you that seemed to effect you every day. As each day passed since your first meeting, you were hoping he'd stop by again. He intrigued you and you wanted to know more about him. The days turned into weeks and you eventually stopped looking forward to seeing the man again.

Then appeared in your doorway again right before closing.

"I was wondering when you'd show up again," you say leaning forward onto your counter, "I take it the poison worked?"

"It did, but I'm here for something else," he says as he starts perusing through one of your shelves.

"A stronger poison?"

"A sedative," he responds lowly, picking up a bottle and reading its contents.

You tilt your head in curiosity, "You want to put someone to sleep?"

He places the bottle back and fully turns to you, "A colleague of mine hasn't been sleeping well. They've been having nightmares. In our line of work, it's not safe to go without proper rest. Can make us reckless and unaware."

You nod, "Understood. Well, I have benzodi. Somatoll if they need something stronger. Also have renatyl but I usually reserve that for the bounty hunters."

The man looks at you curiously, "And how do you know I'm not a bounty hunter?"

You shrug, "You didn't give me that impression."

He licks his lips and smirks, slowly approaching you like he did when you first met, "And what impression do I give off?"

You front door suddenly opens and you take a step back from the man. In walks a young woman with a purple hood on and braids cascading down her chest. She looks at you for a moment. Her stare is hard and cautious. Then her focus goes to the man, "Qimir, what's going on?"

The man sighs, "Why did you follow me?"

"You were being suspicious," the young woman stalks towards the man, whose name you now know is Qimir. She eyes him and then looks at you, "You're the one who gave him the poisons?"

You don't answer, looking between her and the man. The man sighs again, "This is Mae, my colleague. Your poison helped her on a mission."

"Why are you here again?" Mae asks Qimir.

"You're having trouble sleeping. Master wouldn't like it that your head and body weren't fully rested."

"I'm fine," she sneers.

"How about hypnocane? It can help ease your mind and stop those nightmares you've been dealing with." You move around the counter and head to some shelves on the right side. You pluck two bottles from the shelf. You scurry back behind the counter and place the bottles in front of you. I have it as pills or in liquid form."

Mae swipes up the pills looking at the contents written on the bottle. Without another word, she pockets them and heads for the door.

"You're welcome?" you say as she walks out.

Qimir pulls out his money pouch, "I apologize for her. She can be...stubborn." He sets five hundred spira onto the counter, "For the trouble."

You take one and push the rest towards him, "It's only worth a hundred spira."

He pushes the money back towards you with a smirk, "Then take the rest as compensation for Mae's behavior."

You can't help but snort, "With the amount of Batuuan spira you seem to have, maybe you are a bounty hunter after all." You collect the chips and pocket them, "Pleasure doing business with you again, Qimir."

His lips twitch up, as if wanting to smile. He nods, "And you, Y/N," he says before turning around and exiting the shop to follow his colleague.

You stand alone now in your shop. Your fingers playing with a spira chip and then you realize...you never told Qimir your name. So how does he know it? Did he ask Batuuans about you? The thought of him asking about you made your stomach do a tiny flip.

There's something about Qimir that just draws you to him. He's piqued your interest and you don't know why. Like before, you hope to see him again. Hopefully, sooner than later.

[charlotteking23]

The Lion's Lamb - Chapter 7 - MV1/33

Max Verstappen x reader

The Lion's Lamb Series: Aesthetics, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6

Over the next few days, the two would meet up casually, either to get coffee at the cafe they met at, going for walks, and even getting casual dinners together.

Their conversations usually surround you, about your life, dreams, and aspirations.

Whenever the conversation switched over to Max, mainly about his line of work, he would always quickly change the subject.

You thought it was odd, but figured it wasn't something he wanted to talk about and he'd open up when he wanted to.

It was Friday evening and sadly Max was pushed into a boys nights with his friends, leaving you to figure out what to do for the night.

You knew Max had told you to text him if you needed him, but you didn't want to bug him, especially if he was around his friends.

You didn't want to be the type of girl that would continuously blow up a man's phone while he was out.

It was around 8pm when Amelia came storming into your room, "you're coming out with me tonight."

"Why do I have to go out?" You asked.

"Well I can't go alone," Amelia said dramatically, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Cant you go out with your friends? I really don't feel like going out tonight."

"You have too! Who knows what will happen to a young, pretty girl like me all alone at a club!"

You bit your lip while nodding your head slowly, feeling guilty if you left Amelia to go out alone and something were to happen to her.

"Great!" We leave at 10:30," Amelia said smugly before happily leaving the room.

By 10:45, the two girls had arrived at the club. You're trying your best to keep close to your roommate as they made their way through the busiest club in Monaco to get to the bar.

It was true that Amelia wanted the girl to go out with her so she wouldn't be alone, but it wasn't the full truth.

She knew how pretty the you were, how your aura of innocence you projected attracted men like a moth to a flame.

You had no idea that your roommate was using you to attract men. You were playing the oblivious wing man.

After ordering both of the girls a drink, Amelia was quick to pull you out onto the dance floor before you could even think about protesting.

While your roommate started dancing, trying to attract men towards her while you sat there awkwardly taking small sips of your drink.

You were uncomfortable with the amount of people surrounding you causing you to feel claustrophobic.

They were on the dance floor long before two men found their way towards to the pair.

One was blonde with brown eyes, average built and height. The other was brunette with brown eyes so dark they could be mistaken for black. But this man was shorter then the other but slightly more built. They were both attractive looking, and just by looking at them, a person could tell they reeked of daddy's money.

While the blonde went over to Amelia and whispered something in  her ear, the brunette stood there, staring at you. The look in his eyes made you nervous and intimidated the hell out of you.

"We're joining them at their table," Amelia interrupted before grabbing you by the hand and dragging you to the two men's booth.

Amelia is moving to sit next to the blonde and the brunette coming to sit next to you, uncomfortably close.

"I'm John," the man stated after an awkward amount of time passed with them just sitting in silence.

"(your name)," the girl responds softly, giving the man a small smile, trying to be polite.

The smirk that rested on John's face told the girl everything she needed to know. He knew he was an attractive man and used it to his advantage.

He knew that any girl at that club would be clawing to get his attention, yet he was intrigued on the one girl who didn't want it.

You continued to talk to him, making small talk because you didn't know any better.

You thought you were being polite and just trying to make it through the night. John took it for flirting.

Little did he know that the only person you were interested in was a blue eyed Dutchman.

"What is a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" John asks while slowing inching closer towards you, resting his arm behind you on the back of the booth.

"My roommate wanted me to come out with," you politely stated, deciding to ignore the compliment and keep it short.

Before John could continue, alcohol was brought to their table. John, his friend and Amelia all were taking shots, the man next to her talking at least 5 in a 30 minute period.

They asked the girl if she wanted some, but you declined, okay with sipping what was left of your original drink.

It didn't take long for John to make his move after that. Thought their conversation, he had scooted closer until his knees were touching her.

His arm behind your back, causing you to be slightly trapped when he leaned in and started to run his hand up your thigh.

"Why don't you and I get out of here baby," he whispered in her ear, his lips grazing her ear.

You quickly jumped back from your seat, trying to get out of his reach.

"No," you stated sharply, but fear filled your entire body. You turned to catch Amelia's eyes to try to signal to her for help, but she was too busy making out with John's friend.

"Come on sweetheart, you wouldn't be here dressed in that sexy little dress if you weren't trying to get someone attention," he said slowly moving closer again, like a predator stalking its prey.

In an instant, you stood up mumbling about having to go to the bathroom. you bolted to the toilets in hopes of escaping the situation.

Max had spent the evening hanging with his friends and playing videos games together.

He hadn't done it in a while since meeting you, but you insisted he hang out with his friends, thinking he never gets to see them because he travels so often.

He was glad he did it because he had time to relax a bit before their next race in Qatar next weekend.

He arrived home close to midnight, and immediately laid down in bed, ready for a good nights rest when his phone sudden rang.

Looking at the caller ID he couldn't help the smile that erupted across his face.

"Hello beautiful," he said gently.

"M-Max," he heard your weak stuttering voice through the phone.

"What's wrong?" He asked, sitting up immediately.

"I'm scared." Your broken words echoed through the phone, leaving an impact on his heart with those two words.

"I-I went out with Amelia, a-and this man started to put his h-hand up my dress and I'm scared."

"Where are you? I'll come and get you right now"

"I don't know," you say softly, "I've never been here before. I don't remember the name."

"Okay love, can you send me your location?" He spoke softly, not wanting to cause anymore fear or anxiety.

"Okay," you mumble.

Max looked at where you were at and luckily the club was only 5 minutes away from his apartment.

"Okay love, I'll be there in 10 minutes. Why don't you go wait outside in front so the bouncers can watch out for you."

"Okay," you stated quickly before hanging up.

The Dutchman quickly bolted towards his front door, scared out of his mind. In his line of work, fear wasn't an option.

If they have fear while driving, they wouldn't survive. For the first time in his life he actually felt fear when hearing your meek voice say those words.

I'm scared

Those words echoes through his brain as he drove to his little lamb. He felt like someone stabbed him in the heart.

He made a promise to himself that his little lamb will never have to feel this way ever again.

You decided you had to grab Amelia and take her with you, or at least have to decency to tell her you're leaving if she refuses to come with you.

Swiftly, you left the bathroom to go back to the booth where you end up finding no one except one person, John.

"Where's Amelia?" You asked with hesitancy, wanting nothing more than to just leave.

"She left sweetheart," he said with a smirk.

"What?"

"She went home with David," he started to make his way closer to her again, his eyes darkening even more than they already were, "Now it's just me and you daring. Why don't we go and have some fun?"

"No," You said, taking a few steps back, "my friend is waiting for me outside."

Without another word, you finally made your way towards the exit, deciding not to give John the chance to keep coming after you.

It wasn't until you felt the cool Monaco breeze on your skin did you actually let out a breath of relief. You tried to even out your breathing, calming herself down but you couldn't.

The loud pounding of the music emitted from the club caused you to slowly make your way down the street towards the street corner.

You started up in the night sky. A wave of peace and calm washed over you as you gazed upon the stars that filled up the dark night sky.

Sadly, this peace did not last long as you felt a hand grip your arm tightly, making you cry out in pain as the person turned you towards them.

John stands before you again, yanking your body closer to him, leaving no room for you to struggle.

You scratched and tried to fight him but he quickly gripped your wrist, tight enough that there will surely be a bruise there tomorrow.

"I've been looked my everywhere for you darling," he whispered close to ear, pulling back with a wicked grin on his face.

"Let go of me," You hoped your voice would come out strong but it came out weak and fearful.

"I can't do that sweetheart," he tilted his head slightly to the side, starting you down like you were a monkey in a zoo, "you're coming with me."

"No!" You shouted hoping that someone would hear you. You need to escape somehow now or else-. You honestly didn't want to think about what would happen if you didn't.

"Stop fighting," John snaps, annoyed at your struggling, but You refused to go down without a fight.

One minute you struggled with John, the next you were being pulled away from him into someone else's arms.

This person wrapped you up in their arms, their firm chest provided you some form of comfort.

You didn't care who this person was, anyone was better than being stuck with John.

"Don't you dare fucking touch her!" The rumble of a familiar voice vibrated through the chest you currently leaned into.

Max.

Taglist: @shelbyteller, @smithieandy, @fangirlforever2000, @herexpertcollector, @vip-access, @genevieve-blr, @a-beaverhausen

[crxss01]

hii! can i request where e42 miles and reader

break up and the reader finds someone new, and miles gets jealous, and so on.

— Dark Paradise

pairing ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ 42! miles morales x reader

summary ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ miles breaks up with you to keep you safe from his prowler business. he expected that you would move on eventually, but that didn’t mean that he had to be okay with that.

warnings ✧˖ ° angst, hurt/comfort, possessivenesses, threatening, miles is a lil toxic, cheating (not on reader and don’t do this to people), breaking up then getting back together, a little suggestive in the end.

m. list, main m. list.

translations ✧࿓☾ bonito: handsome/pretty boy, carajo: shit, (mi) princesa: (my) princess.

a/n . . ◟੭ hey, sweet anon! i love seeing miles following after the reader like a puppy, i hope you enjoy that as well!

"you can't do this to me!" you exclaimed. "to us!"

his face was stone cold and just like the first time you two met, you couldn't read his eyes at all so you didn't know if he really wanted this or if he was doing it for some other selfish reason.

where did it all went wrong? you two were happy together then suddenly he was distant and cold towards you, pushing you away little by little until you finally noticed and confronted him about it and there you were now. him admitting to having loss feelings for you and breaking your heart with two words 'break up'.

"listen, it was all good, i won't lie. but things change, feelings change and i don't want you anymore." miles shrugged.

"this is just so easy for you, isn't it?" you snarled at him, then pointed to the door of your bedroom. "get out." you had refused to shed even a single tear in front of him.

"i don't want to end things on bad terms, ma." miles put his hands up.

"should've thought about it before you said you 'didn't want me anymore' as if i'm some object." you snapped at him. "now, get out of my house."

you started pushing him towards the door of your bedroom and when you pushed him out, you slammed the door shut behind him, locking it in the process. you leaned back against it and slid down, your hands coming up to your face, tears furiously falling down like a waterfall from your eyes, and sobs coming out of your throat one after another.

you sighed at the memory, your emotions had been uncontrollable and you never wanted to go through that again. that hurt like nothing else had hurt you in this world and you hated miles for being the cause of it.

now marked two months of your break up and last week you decided to give relationships a try again, but not before making sure that this guy you were going out with wasn't a stone hearted dumbass criminal that would leave you as if you were simple trash.

"how about this one?" your boyfriend, lucas, asked.

"yeah." you nodded pretending to like the plushie he was choosing to take out of the machine for you, he was so nice and it left a pain in your chest that you didn't feel anything for him.

sure, you liked him but it was a platonic feeling. you tried hard the past few days to at least feel a little spark with him but it was all in vain.

"you don't like it, do you?" he gave a shy smile, scratching his ear. something you noticed that he did when he was nervous or embarrassed. "it's okay, choose one and i'll take it out."

you tried to give him a comforting smile, but it came out awkward. "i like that one." you pointed at the one you liked the most.

lucas nodded and put the amount of money needed in the machine and started guiding the control towards the plushie you chose.

"come on, bonito, you can do it!" you encouraged him, accidentally calling him by the pet name you used to call miles. even though it was an accident you made no attempt to correct it and instead dismissed the thought of miles (or at least tried to).

"carajo!" lucas exclaimed when the plushie fell back down after picking up with the metal grabber.

"move, man." lucas got pushed away from the machine. "let me show you how to do this properly."

"you can't be serious." you deadpanned at miles. "what are you doing here, miles?"

"it's an arcade, mami." miles said innocently. "anyone can come here."

you rolled your eyes, but he was right.

lucas frowned at miles, "if you wanted to use it, you could've just asked. no need to be fucking aggressive."

miles ignored him for a moment, putting money inside the machine, controlling the metal grabber thing and grabbing the exact plushie you had picked out and successfully pulling it out of the machine, bending down to take it out and giving it to you.

"here, princess." he said, but when you didn't take it he just grabbed your arm and put it around the plushie. "remember that you only have one bonito in your life." he told you, eyes going hard a little bit but they turned to complete stone when he looked at lucas. "and you, watch your tone."

"who the fuck do you think you are?" lucas asked, angrily.

"her one and only." miles shrugged and walked away.

his corny ass.

"don't listen to him," you told lucas and started making your way to the nearest trash can, pulling him along and throwing the plushie inside. "let's go somewhere else."

you and lucas had been dating for three weeks now and outdoor dates were impossible for both of you because miles kept showing up everywhere you two went, always finding a way to put some type of claim over you in front of lucas and you could tell that the boy was getting tired of miles since once his sweet soul even tried to talk things out without using violence but it ended with miles punching him and a fight breaking out between the two that miles, obviously, won.

now, you and lucas were hanging outside school waiting for your group of friends to come out so you could all go to the park together.

"we could skate." you suggested when lucas asked for ideas of what to do for your next date.

"that sounds dangerous."

miles would've agreed about skating together, you and him enjoyed doing that a lot. he taught you how to do it and it bought back fond memories.

"what about playing board games?"

"that's boring to do with a girlfriend."

miles enjoyed beating you every single time so he would have agreed to play that with you in a heartbeat.

"oh! how about painting?"

"i don't know how to paint."

miles was an artist, he did graffiti and sketched (sometimes). he had taught you how to draw many things and would've said yes to that idea just to feel the intimacy of teaching you more stuff.

"then come up with something on your own." you rolled your eyes.

"come on, sweetheart." lucas laughed. "are you really going to get mad at me for that?"

"of course, she will." miles suddenly appeared again. "you're boring as fuck, man. which is why she would never be yours."

"miles, don't start." you said, already tired of his ass. but deep inside you even if you didn't want to acknowledge it, you always looked forward to the moment that he would show up.

"hola, princesa." miles smirked, looking at you up and down. "you look good."

he said that even though you were wearing the uniform but it made you feel warm inside.

"can you leave my girlfriend alone?"

"can you stop calling her yours?" miles raised an eyebrow. "she is not yours and would never be. she already belongs to me."

"i belong to none of you, i'm my own person." you said, why the fuck were they talking like you weren't there? like you were some object?

miles chuckled, a deep one that had his head throwing back and he looked at you, a dark glint in his eyes. "you and i both know that is not true." then he leaned in to you, but lucas pushed him away. "see you later, princesa. mi princesa." he added the last bit with a smirk.

"and you're lucky i'm in a hurry, or i would've knocked your ass down." he told lucas then winked your way before finally leaving.

as you laid on your bed, you couldn't help but think about everything that has happened this past few weeks that had to do with miles.

at first after your break up he ignored you completely and it wasn't like you wanted to talk to him, but if he wanted to be on good terms he could have at least spoken to you and apologized yet he didn't.

then the moment you started dating again, he suddenly reappears in your life. acting as if you were an object that he had absolute possession of, and it made you so mad that the only way to get his attention was to be with someone else.

"you dumb bitch." you cursed, slapping your hand against your face. "this whole time..."

this whole time you were just trying to get miles' attention or trying to replace him with lucas, you weren't trying to 'give relationships a try again' it was all bullshit.

you have been comparing every single thing that lucas did to miles, every single decision that lucas had made would make you think of what miles would do in his place. it was like you were wishing that lucas would turn into miles this entire time.

"i have to see him..." you whispered. "now."

you stood up, not even bothering to change out of your pijamas and ran out of your house and into the dangerous night. miles lived two blocks away and you hoped that he wasn't doing some prowler business since it was at this time in which he would normally work.

when you got there, you grabbed the key hiding in the plant pot and opened the door. you left all regrets behind you and stepped in, there was no movement in the kitchen area and the living room so ms. morales was probably doing a night shift.

"miles?" you called out, then made your way to his room. "miles." you stood outside the door of his room and sighed before knocking.

“hey, princesa.”

you jumped and turned around. miles was standing right behind you, head cocked to the side looking at you up and down.

“gosh, you scared me.” you put a hand on your chest.

“you’re the one in my house.” miles said.

you realized that he was wearing his prowler suit so he must have just came back from some mission.

“i want you to tell me what do you want with me?” you went straight to the point.

“i want everything with you. get marry, have kids, die together and all of that corny ass shit.” miles sighed.

“then why did you break up with me?” you asked, hurt clear in your voice.

“i was threaten by someone, this person was way too dangerous and they found out about you and i just couldn’t let you be hurt, i mean you’re everything to me.” miles confessed. “but now, they aren’t a problem anymore. it took time but my uncle and i took care of it.”

“so this person only happened to know about me? what about your mom?” you raised a suspicious eyebrow.

“thankfully, they didn’t know about my mom but the only reason they found out about you was because i made the mistake of going to your house right after a mission.” he explained.

you nodded, not knowing if you should believe him but it didn’t matter. nothing mattered anymore because you wanted miles and his name and face was the only thing in your mind.

“i want you to end things with that little hispanic boy.” miles said after a while of silence.

“you’re hispanic too.” you said with a little smirk.

“i know, that’s why you got with him.” miles grabbed your waist and pulled you in for a kiss which you reciprocated.

your arms came around his neck while one of his came around your waist and the other hand grabbed a handful of your ass making you let out a gasp into the kiss. “mine.” he murmured. “all mine.”

“all yours.” you agreed before connecting your lips with his again.

his lips tasted sweet and you weren’t surprised because they always had that taste on them, making you want more of it and you couldn’t get enough. you needed him to keep kissing you all night long, in the morning, the afternoon and during the night again. you wanted his kisses to last forever.

“who’s the only bonito in your life, princesa?” he asked as he kissed down your neck, biting softly here and there.

you didn’t answer, too lost in the feeling of his lips and the pleasure that they were bringing you which caused miles to let go of your ass so that he could wrap his hand around the back of your neck and pull your face to look at him.

“answer me.” it sounded like an order and knowing miles you had no doubt it was.

“you are.” you told him, a little breathless. “i love you, bonito.”

“and i love you, mi princesa.” miles smiled and opened the door to his room, pulling you inside.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ reblogs are really appreciated!

[universalitgirlsblog2]

🎀🍓⚞🎀・◦・⚟ YOU ARE NOT A VICTIM.🎀🍓⚞🎀・◦・⚟

🍓REALISE THAT LIFE IS A IMAGINATION.

You going to your job. Your job is your bosses imagination. He imagined a company that he wanted to create and then he put it into physical realm. So you are basically working towards your bosses imagination.

Countries are not real. We all collectively imagine a border but it's not real. It's all earth. Everything is earth but we imagine that those countries are separated.

Money is also imagination. It's just a piece of paper. We imagine that the amount of money in our bank is worth that much but it isn't. If tomorrow a big corporation says that the money in your account isn't worth that much or the money isn't in use anymore . It's not.

All this means that we all are living in a imagination. A dream . A game . Matrix. Whatver you want to call it.

We imagine everything we do. We imagine our future and dwell in our past which also doesn't exist. Future and past doesn't exist. Only this moment exists.

🎀REALISE THAT YOU ARE THE CREATOR OF YOUR IMAGINATION.

We can create this imagination or dream however we want it to be.

🍓QUESTIONS TO ASK YOURSELF

How do I want to create my game , my dream ?

How do I want my imagination to look like ?

Who do I allow into my imaginations ?

How do I behave ? Who am I? What does my character look like ?

🎀BEING A VICTIM MAKES YOU FEEL SAFE

Being a victim is the most comfortable thing because you don't have to do much. Your life is a circle. Everything just keeps moving in the same way , in the same circle. But this is comfortable for you. Why ? Because you know what is going in happen in the circle. You don't have to take risks. You don't have to deal with different people.

🍓CHANGING YOUR LIFE AND STOP BLAMING OTHERS

To take a leap of faith , you need to be brave. It takes guts. Everyone wants to blame everyone . At the end you will be left no one to blame but yourself. Your life is shit because of you. People don't care about your victim mentality. You know when they care ? When you get out of it. When your life becomes a success story. David Goggins is not David Goggins without his success. No one would care if he was the same guy before.

🎀YOUR LIFE WILL ONLY CHANGE IF YOU CHANGE

Everyone moves on and you will be left behind. NO ONE IS GOING TO SAVE YOU. WHY ? BECAUSE NO ONE CAN SAVE YOU. The only person that can save you is you. No one is going to make you change.

🍓GROWTH IS : 2 STEPS FORWARD AND 1 STEP BACK.

Everytime you learn something,it's one step forward because you have more knowledge but if you put it into practice, you will be 1 step back because you are not used to it. You still have to continue. If you feel uncomfortable and give up, you will be right back where you started. Stop abusing yourself by being in the same circle that you don't like. Stop abusing yourself by being the same person that you don't like. Look in the mirror , we don't have anyone to blame. As a victim it's easy to run away and be like " I tried I tried", You didn't try and you didn't try hard enough . Try again . Try again until you get there.

🎀REALISE THAT YOU ARE ADDICTED TO DRAMA.

Alot of people when they come out of abusive household , later they will think that it's too peaceful . They will start to attract people that will give them that toxicity again because this is the only thing they knew. Realize that you are the creator of that drama though. You can choose to have a peaceful life. You can choose to have peaceful people around . If you can't find peaceful people , just be peaceful on your own for a while until you find someone that makes you feel peaceful.

Stop creating drama when it was never meant for you. Stop involving yourself in things that were never meant for you. Stop watching things that are so dramatic.

🍓REALISE THAT YOU HAVE CONTROL.

You have control who comes into your life , you have control about who you date . You have control about what you watch , listen to , what you read. You have control over what you put in your mind. Your mind isn't a dustbin.

If you decide to open the news and it's all negative and now your day is bad. Don't blame the news. Blame your eyes and blame your hands for putting that on.

🎀ASK YOURSELF : WHY DO I ALLOW THESE PEOPLE IN ?

"My friend , partner is toxic". Why don't you start looking at why you allow them in ? Don't you have control over who I allow into my life? Why don't you ask yourself ? What is it in you that you don't feel worthy enough of having people that actually respect you ?

🍓WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO FIX YOUR LIFE ?

What part are you playing in life ? You can cry all day about being overweight or underweight . Are you doing something to fix that or are you just crying all day ? What are you doing to fix your life?

🎀WHEN YOU WANT SOMETHING BADLY YOU WILL FIND A WAY

When something wants something badly , they will get it done anyway.

🍓GO FROM COMPLAINING TO GRATITUDE

Turn your mindset around. Set your mind on a plan and focus on it . The more you start going from complaining to gratitude, the more your life will change. If you constantly focus on what isn't there instead of what it is , you create more of that.

🎀REALISE HOW PRIVILEGED YOU ARE

You are privileged and you want to talk about people in North Korea. They won't be able to see liz video or read this post since they don't have access to internet but you do.

🍓WE NEED THE GOOD AND BAD TO KEEP THE WORLD IN BALANCE.

This is how the world works.

🎀PAST AND FUTURE DONT EXIST

Accept your past and start working on yourself. It doesn't exist. You only have now. Don't dwell on the future. What are you doing now ? How you are now will determine your future and not the other way around.

🍓RECOGNISE THE WAYS YOU SABOTAGE YOURSELF.

Everytime something good comes into your life. Do you ruin it ? What in life are you doing that sabotages you ? You have to ask yourself these things.

🎀START TAKING RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR BEHAVIOUR

It's not fair what happened to you but whatver I do with it next , it's on you.

🍓TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF FIRST IS THE MOST SELFLESS ACT

If you don't take care of yourself , you can't show up as the best mother , daughter, employee or boss. You don't feel good . You are depleted and depressed. If you want to perform the best you want to be for others , then you should think about you first and nurturing you first so you are happy. If you don't feel good in your life , it's okay to take a step back from everyone and focus on nurturing you . Put yourself first . No is coming to take care of you.

🎀YOU DESERVE EVERYTHING YOU DESIRE

You deserve everything you want and you can get once you set your mind to it. Stop taking advice from people that you don't want to share lives with ,these people are miserable themselves.

🍓🎀 ⚞🎀・◦・⚟I LOVE LIZ SO MUCH. 🍓🎀 ⚞🎀・◦・⚟