#coop 👍

[mythicalmagical-monkeyman]

These three live free rent in my head so bad haha, I love them sm

under cut like always :3

Summary:

Mateo and Izzie are clothes stealers

Additional Tags:

they’re family. implied Cooper x Mateo. Izzie and Mateo love stealing clothes. Fluff. I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping. No beta we die like me when fruity finds me. Cooper should be allowed to be on the football team me thinks, headcanons. Ficlet

If Cooper had learned anything from his stays at the Garcia household it was that Mateo and Izzie were the biggest clothes thieves he had ever had the pleasure of meeting.��

Gone were his shirts and especially his hoodies. Hell they’d even “borrow” some of his pants, though that was mostly a Mateo thing. Thank whoever that they had yet to touch his socks. 

Granted however society wasn’t exactly accepting of showing up to school in a musty football jersey and Scooby Doo underwear so off he went to scrounge up his missing clothes. 

He checked the laundry first, luckily finding a pair of red sweatpants that had been tossed in there in the first place due to the unflattering mustard stain near the hip area. 

Eh, with the shrug he pulled them on. They’d just have to do for the day. 

Everything else unfortunately seemed to have just been put through so anything else would gave to wait until after school. 

On to the next location. 

Taking the stairs two or three at a time, because heaven forbid a tall neurodivergent climb the stairs like a normal person, Cooper was quick to find himself on the floor of the Garcia home that housed the room of the two thieving siblings. Surprisingly both of them were out in the hall, just outside the bathroom, pointing at each other. Unsurprisingly both of them were wearing one of his hoodies. 

Mateo had his usual one on, a pull over with the illustration of a spaceship on front. Izzie wore one of his zip up hoodie, this one had a simple checker board pattern on the pockets and no hood. 

Thieves! 

By the time Izzie had reacted to his presence and moved her pointer finger over to gasp at him in shock he had already closed the distance between himself and Mateo. 

“MATEO RUN! He found us!” Izzie yelled, darting down the hall and into the sibling’s bedroom, but it was too late. Cooper wrapped his arms around Mateo’s waist and buried his face into Mateo’s shoulder as he squeezed him from behind. 

“No, Cooper let go of me! You smell like deli meat,” Mateo cough as he tried wriggle free. 

Cooper only laughed before responding with a grumble, “That’s because I only have my football jersey as somebody stole my other clothes,” 

Mateo laughed as Cooper nuzzled into his neck, “They’re in my bedroom you stinker,” 

Tightening his grip on Mateo, Cooper hummed as he picked the other up, “IZZIE, I got your thieving brother! And you’re next!” He yelled. 

The boys laughed as their heard a distance scream of “YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!!” as Cooper dragged Mateo over towards the bedroom. 

Well at least one thief was cooperating.  

[oschonseleven]

no wonder I'm going fucking loopy/getting sicker given I haven't had a single night of solid sleep since February bc the cats are in with me most of the time :'))

I think I've had maybe 2? hours undisturbed tonight (it is now 5:30 am, cats didn't settle til midnight) and I swear to god if the evil headache I had on Wednesday comes back im gonna throw shit

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

Guess who finally downloaded genshin

YES

[not-neverland06]

forgotten promises

pt two of broken promises (I know I'm so creative with names)

bodyguard!logan howlett x fem!runaway reader

a/n: SMUT 18+ MDNI they, like, never use protection (don't be silly, sheathe your willy) but I’d like to make it 100% clear now that she has a magic uterus and there will be absolutely NO baby-making. Just rocking unprotected sex 😎👍 If you’re tagged in this, it does not mean that I am permanently adding you to my taglist. It just means I saw you in my comments/reblogs/inbox asking for a part two and this was the easiest way to let you know I made one. If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask.  Summary: Life on the road isn't exactly glamorous. Cramped spaces and too many cheap motels have you and Logan at each other's throats. You feel eyes tracking you everywhere you go but you're afraid to tell him, afraid it will be the end of the road for the both of you. One cheap bar and an explosion later and your whole life is flipped upside down.

“What are you doing?”

You glance over Logan’s shoulder at the register. The man behind it isn’t looking at either of you, just disinterestedly scrolling through his phone. 

“Isn’t this what you do?” You ask, motioning to the pack of beef jerky you’re stuffing down your jacket. 

Logan scoffs and shakes his head. “No, kid.” He takes the bag from you and rolls his eyes. 

“Well, then how do you pay for this stuff?”

“Normally, with the money I get from my jobs. But your dad wasn’t too forthcoming with my last paycheck.”

You feel that familiar burning churn of guilt roiling around in your gut. You’ve definitely added another complication to his life and it makes you feel like nothing more than a burden sometimes. “Oh, Logan, I’m sorry.”

Logan glances down at you. He gives you that familiar appeasing look, squeezing you closer, and drags you towards the register. He tosses the snacks and drinks onto the counter. The guy just barely glances up at you both. 

“Will that be all?” He asks in a tone that says he could care less. 

“Yeah,” you answer, eyes drifting towards the magazine rack. Your face is plastered on the cover of a cheap tabloid. 

LOCAL POLITICIANS DAUGHTER STILL MISSING

Exclusive interview with family on PG. 6

Your eyes go wide and you turn your face further into Logan’s chest. He gives you a confused look before his eyes are snagged by the same thing that caught your attention. 

“Why don’t you go wait in the truck?” You nod and slip out of his hold, being mindful to keep your face away from the security camera near the front. 

That keeps happening. You hadn’t thought you would have made news, but your father was making this a part of his campaign. Claiming you’d been taken by a mutant bodyguard and that he’s been praying for your safe return. “Experts” have been claiming that with no ransom demanded you’re being turned into a message for anyone who goes against mutants. 

Now, mutants despise you and everyone else thinks you’re a martyr. In a few years, you’re sure you’ll be turned into some true crime documentary where people you’ve never met before are crying over your disappearance. 

You slide into the truck and let out a deep sigh. You’d thought running away would be freeing. But even a hundred miles from him, you can still feel the cold grip of your father’s hand around your throat. 

“Twenty on pump seven,” Logan tosses the cash on the counter, eyes drifting to you in the truck. It was instinct at this point, always keeping an eye on you. Especially since one of your father’s more fanatic supporters had spotted you in a shitty diner a week ago. They’d called the cops and tried to bar you and Logan from leaving. 

It hadn’t gone over well for him. 

He’d been trying to keep you a little more hidden since then, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d gotten you out of that house to show you what real life was like, to give you a taste of freedom. 

He felt like he was no better than your father, keeping you cooped up and covered constantly. 

When the kid in front of him doesn’t say anything, Logan clears his throat. He gives him a quizzical look but the boy’s eyes are stuck on the door. 

“I swear I know her,” he mutters. Logan’s eyes drift towards the TV behind the counter and he sees an old news story of you. They’re using the footage of the acid attack, claiming you’ve always been the mutant movement’s target. 

“Can I get twenty on pump seven,” Logan repeats, voice firm. The kid finally looks at him and whatever expression Logan is wearing is enough for him to finally start moving. 

The second the receipt is in his hand he’s rushing out the door. He doesn’t know how long it’s going to take that dumbass to piece two and two together but he can’t risk dawdling. 

He fills the tank up, eyes scanning the gas station the entire time. He’s had a cloying sense of paranoia ever since the incident in the diner. He knows that at some point this little run of yours is going to come to an end. 

He doesn’t know if it’ll end with cops finding the two of you. Or if you’re going to realize the real world isn’t all that fun and leave him behind. He knows that a girl like you, one who's used to the finer things, is never going to be satisfied by the life he can offer. 

But he’s hoping that you come to your senses later rather than sooner. He’s enjoying traveling with you a lot more than he wants to admit. 

He gets in the truck, starts it up, and glances over at you. You smile, the smile that makes him feel things he doesn’t like admitting to himself or you. 

“All good?” You ask. 

He nods, driving off without a word because he doesn’t want to tell you the truth. Doesn’t want to admit what you both know to be a fact. The time you have together has an expiration date and he’s worried it’s creeping closer. 

Logan’s inside some shitty roadside motel. Whatever he’s talking about with the owner is clearly getting heated. You can see the way the anger’s growing on his face. His body is tensed up and he looks like he’s five seconds away from leaping over the counter and taking the greasy man leering at him down. 

There’s a final word exchanged between them and then Logan is storming back towards the truck. He slams the door closed so hard you’re surprised the windows don’t shatter. Normally, you sleep in the trailer. It’s not always the warmest or coziest, but you make it work. 

It’s too cold out tonight to do that and Logan doesn’t have a spare tank for the heating. He’d thought he’d had enough for a cheap room for tonight, but clearly, he doesn’t. There’s a tense silence in the truck as you mentally debate saying anything to him. 

His fists are wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel you can hear it creaking. You shift, sitting up straighter in your seat and uncurling your legs. There’s a stiffness to your joints that has you groaning. It’s involuntary, ripped out of you simply because you’ve been sitting for too long. 

It catches Logan’s attention and he glances over at you. There’s a resigned sort of guilt on his face and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. He’s used to this type of lifestyle, and sometimes you think he’s embarrassed to share it with you. 

You’d never judge him for roadside motels or living off cheap gas station meals. You know you were privileged living up with the wealth you did. But there is something infinitely more satisfying about being poor and happy than there ever was being rich and miserable.

“Look, kid,” he lets out a heavy sigh and you mentally prepare yourself for what you’ve been expecting. You were a fun time, a nice ride, but you’re becoming a burden and he can’t deal with it anymore. 

You let your nails dig into the thin skin of your palms so you can attempt to ground yourself. “I need to make some money tonight, so I just need you to bear with me for a while.”

Like there is every time he doesn’t boot you to the curb, a relieved rush of air expels from your chest almost violently.  “Okay,” you say tentatively, the word dragging out while you try and understand his meaning. 

“I just,” he stops and it looks like he’s struggling to find the words to say to you. You wait patiently for him to finish, or try to at least. “There’s a bar nearby. I’ll find some work there,” his words are ominous. They give you nothing and convey so much. 

Clearly, he’s hiding something from you. You can tell that much from the way he’s avoiding eye contact with you. He pulls out of the motel’s parking lot and turns the radio on. You’ve learned that's his way of telling you he doesn’t want to talk without being a dick about it. 

You want to respect his space because you still feel like an imposter. But it’s hard. He’s being oddly cagey about this. 

The drive is short but it feels like you’ve been transported to an entirely different town than the one you were in before. He takes only backroads and middle-class homes turn into shady shops with barbed fences. Caged dogs bark at the truck as it drives by and you get a sinking feeling in your gut. 

Perhaps it’s a little classist of you to automatically assume a few low-end homes equate to a bad neighborhood. But instinctually you know something is off about this place. 

He parks in front of a run-down bar. Even from here, you can hear loud shouts and jeering coming from inside. You don’t know what’s being said but they’re certainly passionate. Logan turns towards you, the expression on his face so serious you feel like you’re about to be scolded. 

“I need you to stay here. I won’t be gone long, just an hour at most. But you need to stay in the truck.”

Your jaw gapes and you scoff at him. “Logan, an hour that’s rid-”

He cuts you off with a stern call of your name. Your mouth snaps shut and you narrow your eyes at him, teeth gritting together to keep your tongue at bay. “Stay here, I mean it. Got it?”

You nod and he repeats your name, sounding aggrieved. “Fine,” you huff. “I got it.” He lingers for a moment. You don’t know if he doesn’t trust you or is just reluctant to leave you alone. You’re reluctant to be left alone, especially in a shady dark parking lot like this. But clearly whatever is going on inside is worse than whatever could happen to you out here. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he makes this whole thing sound so grave. It makes your brows furrow and doubt churn in your gut. What could he be doing in there that’s so awful?

He gets out and you watch his form under the flickering street lamps until you can’t see him anymore. You sit quietly in the truck for at least three minutes before you already feel the boredom set in. 

You’d thought you’d be able to last longer. You used to go for hours dissociating at your father’s galas. This is different, though. You’re a little afraid to let your guard down here. 

You try to listen to music but you feel bad wasting his gas so you just turn the truck off and huddle under a blanket in the trailer. You try and let yourself fall asleep but you don’t last long. 

It’s too cold outside to really get a good rest and you can hear people moving around outside the trailer. After about an hour of rolling around and frozen limbs, you figure enough is enough. 

As much as you don’t want to provoke Logan or give him any reason to get rid of you, you can’t stay in here all night. Besides, Logan said he wouldn’t be long, you can always just lie and say you were worried about him. 

Satisfied with your excuse you leave the comfort of your blanket behind and slip into Logan’s jacket. You tuck the truck keys in your pocket and walk out into the snowy night. It’s less cold outside than it was in the trailer, you can see why he wanted a motel room for the night. 

A few people linger by the cars, smoking and muttering to themselves. You slip past them, ignoring the feeling of their eyes burning into your skin. You’re sure it's because you look like you don’t belong here. 

The noise in the bar gets louder the closer you get and it reminds you of the night Logan had snuck you out of the house. But you’d had him to lean on, right now, until you find him, you’re on your own. For all the noise coming from the building, the bar is surprisingly empty. 

Only a few old men are sitting around, drinking beers in silence. The bartender cleans glasses behind the counter, sparing you an odd look before getting back to work. There’s not very far for you to look before you figure out that Logan isn’t anywhere nearby. 

“Excuse me?” The bartender spares you a fleeting glance before barely grunting in greeting. 

The floor underneath you tremors and you glance down at it in surprise. You can hear something going on underneath. You figure that has to be where all the noises are coming from. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, mean as hell, he’s got this hair,” you swoop your hands up by the sides of your head, trying to mimic the odd fluff of Logan’s hair. 

“Downstairs.” You nod and move around the bar, trying to get to the door behind him. He reaches out, grabbing your bicep and stopping you before you can get far. “It's a forty-dollar entrance fee, sweetheart.”

Your brow furrows in confusion and you frown as you dig around in your jacket pockets. You’ve come too far to be deterred now. Ignoring the moral implications, you slip Logan’s wallet out of his jacket and give the man forty dollars. 

He nods towards the door and you give him a weak thank you as you slip past him. Opening the door is like breaking a seal. The noises bombard you almost immediately, so much clearer than they were before. 

You still can’t understand what they’re screaming but there’s a violent atmosphere slipping around you as you head down the stairs. The heady smell of cigars and cigarettes threatens to suffocate you. Your eyes water at the smoke in the air. 

You’d think you’d have gotten used to secondhand smoking after being around Logan, but he’s less inclined to hotbox the car if you’re beside him. The second your feet hit the floor you’re being jostled to the side violently by the people around you. 

It’s nearly impossible to elbow your way through the crowd, but you’re determined to figure out what’s in the middle of the cage that’s got them all excited. You can hear the people around you screaming out bets and numbers you don’t understand. 

For one nauseating moment, you think this might be a dog fighting ring, that Logan gambles on it to earn his money. It makes you want to turn around, to shield yourself from the truth. But this is something he tried to keep hidden from you and you need to know the truth about whoever you’re traveling with. 

You can hear the announcer, but you can’t get close enough to see anything yet. “Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?” There’s a resounding NO! from the crowd that makes you jump. 

A booming voice shouts over the throng of voices, “I’ll take him!” 

“Our savior ladies and gentlemen!” You shove through two men, ignoring the way they complain about how their beer sloshes on their sleeves. 

“Hey-” You glance over your shoulder as one of them reaches for you.  You flick your wrist, sending him and his friend tumbling back into the crowd. You roll your eyes and turn back towards the cage. 

Your eyes widen and so do Logan’s as you finally see what exactly is going on. He’s cage fighting, this is what he’d been so secretive about. Honestly, it’s a relief compared to the brutality you were bracing yourself for. 

You can see his lips starting to form the shape of your name but the man from before is barrelling into his side as the bell goes off. You wince, jumping away from the cage as you hear the meaty impact of his fist against Logan’s face. 

The people near you scream, shouting for Logan’s blood. It’s easy to figure out that he’s been beating everyone he’s gone up against based on some bloody faces in the crowd. It’s smart, easy money. He can always heal, and can never really be beaten, not when he’s literally got fists of steel. 

You’re surprised that no one’s ever caught onto this scam of his. You also wonder why he had been so adamant about you not seeing this. Sure, it’s brutal watching blood spray against the mat. But you don’t care. Besides, he’s ridiculously attractive in just his jeans as he pummels into some guy. 

Maybe that’s not a normal line of thinking. 

You shake your head, shelving that for later as the fight dies down. The man is limp on the mat of the cage and Logan is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigar and pointedly not looking at you. 

You feel that familiar twisting feeling in your stomach and wonder if this was a horrible idea. You should have just stayed in the car like he asked. You’re sure it would have only been another hour of tirelessly rolling around before he came back. But you couldn’t help yourself. 

He tells you so little about himself. If you get a chance to learn more, you’re going to pounce on the opportunity. Maybe it was a violation of his trust. You sincerely doubt that he would ever willingly have revealed this sort of lifestyle to you, though. 

He seems to be under the same misguided intention that you need to be sheltered. It reminds you a little of your father. That might be a cruel comparison but it’s the same suffocating feeling of being kept in the dark to suit their needs. 

The guilt you’d been holding unfurls and blossoms into anger. You find yourself retreating away from the cage and rushing back up the stairs of the bar. You don’t want to watch him fight any longer. You don’t want to look at him. 

You just want him to treat you like an equal. Not like some little girl who’s going to run at the first sign of things getting hard. 

You burst through the door of the bar, ignoring the cold laughter of the bartender behind you. He clearly seemed to think you couldn’t handle a little blood. He wasn’t the only one. 

You’re only a couple of feet from the truck when you hear footsteps loudly stomping through the snow behind you. “What the hell were you doing?” You scoff, unbelieving that he would have the gall to shout at you. 

You whirl around on him and it catches him off guard. His right foot slides against the slush as he tries to stop himself from ramming into you. “I’m not a little girl, Logan! You don’t need to hide stuff like that from me.”

He crosses his arms and glares down at you. “I wasn’t hiding anything,” he insists. But the tone of his voice gives him away. He doesn’t like that he was caught. “I don’t need to tell you jackshit about what I do for money.”

You can’t believe how he sounds right now. Why is he getting so defensive about this? “I don’t care what you do for money, alright. I just don’t get why you felt like I couldn’t know about this.” You hate the way the hurt is audible in your voice. You wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you try and cover it. 

In the same way, he’s masking his feelings with anger, so are you. Just with less success. Something draws across his face, some emotion you can’t discern. His voice goes cold and quiet as he shoves an envelope full of cash into your hands. 

“Go back to the motel. Get a room.”

He storms past you and walks towards the trailer. You follow after him, slightly dumbfounded by how he’s behaving. He rips his motorcycle out from the back and rolls it into a parking spot. You watch him do all this with your tongue glued to the roof of your mouth. 

It’s only when he starts to head back towards the bar that you realize he’s not coming with you. “Logan!” You call out, trailing after him slightly. He barely turns back to face you. “Are you,” the words die on your tongue and you can’t find it in yourself to finish. 

Are you angry?

Are you leaving?

Are you going to ditch me at the next bus stop?

Instead of asking any of your ridiculously pining questions, you turn on your heel and storm towards the truck. You rip the door open with more force than necessary and drive off without looking back at him. But you know he watches, know he keeps an eye on you until he can’t see you anymore. 

Your rides with him are normally silent, but this one feels painfully so. 

You nearly get a room with two beds. But you feel like if you do it will be a horrendous mistake. Reluctantly, you give the man behind the counter enough for a room with one bed large enough for the both of you. 

You’re not exactly excited about sharing a bed with him, not after how he behaved tonight. You grumble to yourself as you drag your bag inside and toss it on the ground. You picture putting up a wall of pillows between the two of you, just to be petty. 

It’s as you’re showering that you realize you might not even have to. He might not come to join you tonight. He won’t know what room you’re in. And he’d made it pretty clear how pissed he was at you for sneaking into the bar. 

Maybe you’ve finally pushed him too far. You’ve been toying with the boundaries of his patience for a while. Little tests to determine whether he truly wants you around simply to have a warm body ready beside him. Or if he wants you because he genuinely cares for you. 

You suppose tonight, whether you want it or not, you’ll finally have the truth. 

The thought keeps you awake. You toss and you turn for hours, fighting with yourself. You should be happy, finally figuring out what’s been haunting you. But you’re not. You’re petrified. You’d rather keep living a lie than finally accept that he truly doesn’t want you. 

You throw the covers off, the scratchy material only further adding to your irritation. You stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind you. You turn on the sink splashing some cool water over your face to try and rid yourself of the warmth lingering under your skin. You don’t know if this feeling of being uncomfortable in your own body is from pent-up anger or anxiety. 

You don’t care. You just want to sleep this night away and pretend it never happened. But, of course, the universe has other plans. The motel door creaks open as you’re hovering over the sink, debating whether or not you’re nauseous enough to throw up. 

You tilt your head slightly towards the sound. Growing up in your house, filtering through rooms like an unheard ghost, allowed you to get good at recognizing footsteps. Logan has finally decided to grace you with his presence. 

You listen to him as he creeps silently across the room, landing on the squeaky bed. You press your ear against the door and can hear the way the sheets rustle and he cusses under his breath. There’s worry staining his voice and you figure you shouldn’t drag this on much longer. 

You open the bathroom door and flip the switch, turning the lamps on like a disappointed mother waiting up for her teenager. You cross your arms mutely and lean against the doorframe as he winces under the sudden light. 

He jumps, just slightly, and glares over at you. “Thought you weren’t here,” he accuses. He tries sounding angry, but you have a sudden rush of clarity in that moment. Where you would normally focus only on him being upset with you, you can see the truth of his concern.

Same as you, he doesn’t know where he stands in this whole situation. You doubt he had a clear plan when he rescued you from your tower like some ridiculous storybook knight. He most likely thought that you left, the same way you thought he would. 

You remain silent, though, still a little too flustered to speak coherently. Instead, you examine him. There are cuts and blood all over his shirt. Splatters of it on his face. Though, you know if you looked there would be no physical evidence of him ever being hurt. 

His brows furrow the longer you stare, a wall building between the two of you. “Kid?” He questions, equal parts worried and defensive. Does he really think you actually give a fuck about him fighting?

You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom. You rustle around in the cabinet underneath the sink until you find a washcloth. Wetting it, you bring it back out to him. You station yourself between his spread legs, holding the cloth between you like a peace offering. 

He looks doubtful as he glances between you and it. Finally, he lets out a rough sigh and simply nods his head. But when he reaches for it you snatch it back, much to his chagrin. You offer him a small smile and tilt his chin up towards you, gently wiping some of the dried blood off his cheeks. 

He doesn’t flinch or hiss away from the less-than-gentle fabric. He stares at you unblinkingly, like if he closes his eyes for a moment he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream. “You don’t have to do this, kid.”

You roll your eyes and crane your neck to get a better look at him. “Would you shut up?” You whisper teasingly. 

His lips quirk slightly and you can see his shoulder slump in relief at the sound of your voice. “So, she can talk.” You can’t help the little laugh that comes out of you. He grins fully at that and his hands come up to rest on your hips. 

His thumbs rub soothing circles along the sides of your waist as his hands dip a little lower. “What are you doing?” Your hand drifts down to his neck to wipe some blood off there as well. 

He shakes his head and shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You lift your gaze to his and your lips fall flat, “Logan-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. In one smooth motion, his hands drop to wrap around your thighs. He lifts you slightly and drops you onto his lap. He grins at the slight huff of surprise that rushes out of you. 

His arms go back to your waist, pulling you closer to him and grinding you a little against him. You bite your lip to stop any noises from escaping. As much as you wouldn’t mind what he’s thinking, you need to talk. 

“Logan,” you scold. 

He smirks and tilts his head patronizingly, “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“It’s not happening,” you tell him firmly, hand still working on cleaning him. 

He sighs and one of his arms drops away from you. He cups your hand in his, stilling your movements and forcing you to meet his gaze. Gently, he takes the cloth from you and tosses it somewhere you can’t see. “I’m fine,” he whispers, eyes searching yours. 

It’s hard meeting his gaze. The worry and anxiety from the night still weigh heavily on your shoulders. He repeats himself, fingers tilting your chin up to face him. “Alright?”

“I don’t care,” the words come rushing out of you before you can stop them. His brows raise in shock and he gives a slight chuckle of amusement. A lump grows in your throat and your eyes grow wide. “Wait, I don’t mean-”

You cut yourself off and rub your hands over your face, trying to get your head on right. Logan’s patient, rubbing your back and clearly trying not to laugh at you. You finally take in a deep breath and face him again. 

“I don’t care about the fighting,” you can see his shoulders tense slightly like he doesn’t believe you. “I don’t care, Logan. You do what you have to survive and I’m not gonna judge you for that.”

“What if I enjoy it?” He cuts you off, tone harsh as he glares down at you. There's experience in how quickly he doubts you, how quickly he tries to get you to change your mind about him.

You wonder how many times he’s been rejected just for being a mutant. You’ve only ever been rejected by one person because only he ever knew. Your father. And that hurt enough for one lifetime. 

You can’t imagine going for as long as he has and constantly being called a monster for something he can’t control. Your brows furrow and you lean into him until your lips are brushing. He remains stiff beneath you but you don’t let it deter you. 

“I don’t care,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his before slowly pulling back. You wait for him to respond, physically or verbally, but he’s still looking at you with that cold unfamiliar gaze. 

You wonder if maybe it was a mistake, to bring it up at all. But just as the thought comes he’s surging forward. His lips catch yours, his hands digging so desperately into your shirt you know it rips. 

Your arms go to his neck, holding onto him so you don’t slip off his lap. You haven't been this close for a few days. You think it might have made you both feel on edge. There’s a relief that comes from not just having sex with him, but also just being intimate and close to one another. 

It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, that there’s someone here beside you to be a partner and a pillar of stability. You’ve never had that before. Someone that you can rely on and trust fully. You don’t think he has either. 

He craves you the same way you do him. Each kiss, every shared breath, is treated like it will be your last. You don’t know when your father will finally catch up to the two of you. You don’t know when the police might finally recognize Logan. 

There’s no definitive future for either of you. It’s a real possibility that this could be your last night together. And neither of you wants to be upset with each other. Because you were never truly mad. You were always just worried. 

Your hands drop to his shirt, dipping to find the holes in it from his fight and ripping at the flimsy fabric until you can just yank it off. He smiles against your lips at the eager way you move atop him. But he can’t tease you, he’s already annoyed with the buttons on your shirt. 

He pulls back, glaring down at the fabric like it's insulting him. Without another word, he slices through it, leaving it in tatters on your shoulder. You grin, shrugging the rest of it off. “That was yours.”

He grips your hips tightly and leaves marks where his fingers are as a reminder that he was here. He flips you over, leaves you breathless as he hovers over you. “I really don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.”

You’re addicted to his voice. How breathy and desperate it is when he’s with you. It’s a level of vulnerability you rarely get to see from him. He can’t hide himself when he’s with you like this. He wants you just as badly as you do him. 

It gives you a confidence rush like no other, makes your ego grow ten times its size. If you can make a man like this fall to his knees from nothing more than a kiss, then you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for. 

But you don’t want that tonight. You reach for him before he can go much further, grabbing him by his hair and tugging until you know it stings. He nearly fucking moans at your rough touch, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. The green of them has been wholly consumed by his desire for you and it makes you ache for him. 

“Not tonight,” you tell him. There’s no room for argument in your tone. As much as he might want to taste you, devour you, all you want is to be as close to him as possible. You want to be covered and filled by him in every way you can be. 

His head falls against your thigh, a rough groan tumbling from his throat at your words. You drag him towards you, pulling him up your body until you’re face to face. You smile softly up at him, lifting your head so you can meet his lips again. 

You’ll never get enough of kissing him, of tasting him. Sometimes you have to stop yourself from reaching across the seats and kissing him while he drives. You’ve nearly made him wreck a few times and forced him to pull over so you could both have some fun in the back. 

Addiction isn’t the right word for what you feel for him. It brings along its own negative connotations. The taint of dependency and toxicity. With addiction, it’s a parasitic relationship, hurts you but makes you feel good. 

This is just goodness. This is a kind touch for the first time in your life and finally feeling safe in someone elses arms. This is opening yourself up to him fully and not once feeling like you need to mold yourself into something else to make him happy. It’s accepting him as he is, a broken dog who likes to fight to punish himself. You don’t want to change him or make him “better.” You just want him to be happy. 

You use your powers to help yourself, flipping him over and straddling his hips. You drag his jeans down his legs and flick your wrist, sending them flying somewhere across the room. He watches you with eyes filled with awe, hands drifting over your curves like something to be worshipped. 

You know he’s waiting for it, for you to sink yourself down on him and finally be filled. But you wait, hover over him even as the muscles of your thighs tremor. “You don’t hide things from me anymore,” you warn him. You’re not asking, for once, you’re demanding what you want. 

He doesn’t look angry like you’d been expecting. Instead, it only seems to turn him on more. “Ya know,” his hands drift to your hips, dragging you down and over his cock until it’s wet with your want. Your nails dig into his chest until there’s blood beading under them and you’re trying not to let your noises slip out. 

“I kinda like it when you’re all bossy like this.” 

“Logan,” you grit his name out. It takes everything in you not to look as affected by him as you feel. “No more hiding shit.”

He leans up on his elbows. His hand drifts to the nape of your neck and drags you down until your lips are nearly touching his. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”

Like a taut rope being cut, you sink into him, your hips finally drop and he guides you down every inch of him until you feel like you’re so full you can’t breathe. He lets you linger for a moment, and get used to this feeling while he steals the very air from your lungs. 

He’s greedy with the way he touches you. His hands always moving like he’ll never fully be satisfied with how much of you he can feel. He’s always reaching for you like he needs to make sure you’re actually real and not just something he’s dreamt up. 

Even with how impatient he is, you’re always the one that moves first. You roll your hips over him, moaning at how he feels inside you. It’s like he’s perfectly molded you around him. He always manages to brush against the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

The second your hips begin to roll, he’s wrapping his heavy arms around you, grinding you down into him. He keeps you trapped in place, using you like a toy as he bounces you on his lap. Your mind is fuzzy, every bad thought and feeling shoved out while he makes you go dumb on his dick.

You love how boneless you go. You don’t have to think now, don’t have to worry. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, shifting yourself further on top of him until you're practically burying yourself under his skin. 

Not thinking always comes with its own consequences, though. Your powers slip a little out of your grasp. The walls trembling and the drawers and cabinets opening and closing. The both of you have gotten used to the noise, know how to drown it out, and just focus on each other. 

One of these days, you’ll need to figure out a way to have sex with him without bringing the room down around you. That’s a problem for later though. His whispered praises and grunts of your name filter through your mind until there’s nothing left inside you but him. 

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, “you’re so fucking tight around me. You close?” He grunts, hand drifting down to rub tight circles on your clit. You dig your nails into his shoulders, nodding your head frantically against his neck. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Shit,” you can barely think of your own damn name. Let alone what you want from him. “Fuck off,” you hiss. He chuckles at the attitude and you almost expect him to stop, just to be a dick because you were a brat. 

But he’s just as close as you are and he’s too selfish to tease. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on you as your body shakes against his. He follows quickly after you, warmth shooting up inside you and almost leaking down your thighs. You feel stuffed, like your body’s been pushed to the limit and further. 

You both sit together in silence for a while. You ignore the way your skin sticks to his uncomfortably, instead reveling in the warmth he provides you. Anyone else, and you’d be rushing to get away from them. 

You’re always extra sensitive after sex, every little thing setting you off. But there’s a comfort to the way his hairy ass chest brushes against your breasts and his arms squeeze around you. It’s a nice grounding feeling. 

The tips of your fingers drift over his arms, following the path of his veins and brushing against his fingers lazily. He flips his palm over, encasing your hand in his own wordlessly. Little things like that ease your worries. Makes you feel like something more than just a quick fuck. 

He breaks the silence first, which is rare for him. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

You frown and peer up at him. “I told you, I don’t care about the fighting.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “Not that. I shouldn’t have gotten so fucking mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You want to interrupt him, assure him that you both acted pretty childishly. 

But you understand it’s difficult for him to express himself verbally. He usually prefers silent acts of apologies and expression, you don’t want to mess him up before he can get out what he wants to say. 

“I don’t want to be like your father.” Your face screws up a little and you shift uncomfortably on his lap. He loosens his grip, giving you room to leave if you want to, but you stay put. “I’m trying not to coddle you, sweetheart, or hide you away from the world. But I don’t like you seeing that shit.”

“You’re not my dad, Logan. He wouldn’t give me a choice,” you try and joke but it just seems to make him more irritated. Sighing you straighten up, bracing yourself on his chest and staring down at him. 

Your head tilts to the side in contemplation and he almost looks uncomfortable under the attention. “I’m not so fragile or sheltered that I’m going to shatter at the first taste of the real world, Logan. I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve had acid thrown at me and bodyguards since I could walk. I know how dangerous it is. Whatever you want to hide from me, I’ve seen worse.”

You let your words sink in for a moment and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You know that it’s odd for him, to comprehend a girl who was afraid to go into a bar swallowing down an illegal fighting ring like it’s nothing. But you’re not lying. Everyday little things are what you’re unused to. But you’ve lived alongside violence your whole life. 

“Look, fighting, sleeping in shitty motels, and your truck, that doesn't bother me. But I don’t like when you hide things and I don’t,” you take in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the worst. This is what you’ve been trying to tell him for weeks. 

A few little words have your tongue tied and make you desperate to cover yourself up again. He can see the shift in your expression, and feel how tense you get. He sits up a little more, thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand. 

“I don’t want to just be someone to fuck you, Logan. I didn’t come with you so you’d have easy access pussy,” he looks thoroughly amused at your crude words, but there’s something else lingering in his expression. Something like hurt. 

“Is that what you think?” He asks, tone distant. You can’t find the words so you simply nod. He sighs and shakes his head. He eases you off his lap and you worry you’ve truly fucked this up somehow. 

He goes into the bathroom, returns with a wet washcloth. He still doesn’t speak and you’re on edge the entire time he cleans the both of you up. You can see he’s thinking, biting his tongue, and trying to figure out what it is that he wants to say to you. 

You’re impatient, five seconds away from just demanding a response from him. He tosses the cloth and drops into bed beside you. You draw the sheets up to your chest, glaring down at him while he rubs his hands over his face with a tired sigh. 

When he opens his eyes again he laughs at how close you are. “Jesus,” he wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you down into his chest even though you fight him. It must be easier for him to speak when you’re not staring at him. 

“I didn’t go back for you so I could fuck you, kid. I… care about you,” there’s a long pause before he says the word care. You think it’s funny, that he can’t bring himself to admit what he actually feels. But you’ll take it, you’ll give him the time he needs to come to terms with the truth. 

For now, you let yourself fall asleep, feeling just a little bit better about the road ahead. 

Things get easier between the two of you. And somehow harder at the same time. You don’t walk on eggshells around each other, no longer afraid of scaring the other off now. Which also means that you find it easier to bicker with him about little things. Like, not just tossing his trash everywhere in the truck. You’re practically living out of the trailer, the least he could do is help you keep it tidy. 

You know it’s weird for him. Suddenly having someone nag at him not to be a slob or to take breaks in between driving so he doesn’t wear himself out. It’s an adjustment you see him struggle with sometimes. 

You try not to be too pushy, but there’s only so many times you can flick crumbs from his burgers off your seat before you lose it. “Logan!” You snap, glaring at him as you stand up only to find chip crumbs squished into the fabric of your leggings. 

He glances over at you and shrugs, “What?” 

You glance between the crumbs and him with a glare but he doesn’t seem to be connecting the dots. “Fucks sake,” you grumble, passive-aggressively wiping the truck seat off before you slam the door and storm towards the diner. 

You’re sick of being cramped in the truck. You’re sick of the greasy food. You’ve begun to crave salads lately. Which is beyond weird. But the novelty of shitty food and milkshakes wore off a hundred miles ago. 

Logan catches up to you, huffing with irritation as he swings the door open for you. You take a seat in the booth near the corner, snatching up the menu and pointedly staring at it and not him. “Really?” He demands. When you don’t answer he tips the menu down, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What is your problem?” He hisses, trying not to draw attention to you both. 

You lean in, voice a harsh whisper. “How hard is it to just not make a mess? We live out of that damn truck, the least you could do is keep your crumbs on your side.”

He rolls his eyes and leans back in the booth. You’re both sick of having the same fight. But there’s really nothing else to do anymore. When you’re stuck together for so long, it’s the small things that get to you. 

You’re going to say more but the waitress pops in front of you out of nowhere. “Hi!” She beams and gives you her name, the bows in her hair trembling at how hyper she is. “What can I get you both today?”

You and Logan place your orders, and he shoots you an odd look when you only order the salad. “We’ve got a couple more hours ahead of us, you’re gonna get hungry.”

You cross your arms and shrug, “No, I won’t.”

He licks his lips, sucking on his teeth and leaning against the table. “Yes, you will,” he argues with a stern voice. 

You narrow your eyes at him and give him a bitter smile. “Kiss. My. Ass.”

Your stomach grumbles for the third time and you know that Logan can hear it. You’re pointedly not making eye contact with him. It feels like it's louder than the music at this point and you really don’t want to prove him right. 

Without a word, he begins to dig around in the center console. You glance towards him, confused, “What’re you doing?”

He doesn’t say anything, just tosses whatever he’s grabbed onto your lap. You glance down at it and frown. It’s somehow cold as you unwrap it. You pull the parchment paper away and let out a relieved sigh. 

He ordered you a wrap from the diner without you realizing. You take a bite, your hunger steadily easing away. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, pointedly looking out the window. 

He glances over at you and scoffs. “What was that? Couldn’t hear ya, kid.” 

You roll your eyes and turn to glare at him. He’s already looking at you, a teasing tilt to his lips. “I said I’m sorry,” you snap. “I shouldn’t have been a bitch.”

He shakes his head and waves you off. “I haven’t exactly been pleasant myself. I’ll,” he huffs lowly and forces the words out, “clean up more.”  

“I think we’ve just been stuck on the road too long. We’re gonna end up driving each other insane.”

His eyes glance along the signs on the highway. There’s a notice for food and shopping at the next exit and he nods towards it. “We’ll stop at a motel for a few nights. Take a break.” You want to ask him if he’s sure that’s smart. 

It seems risky, to slow down for so long. But you need to walk around, breathe fresh air, and stretch your legs. You’re too selfish to tell him not to stop and keep going. Instead, you nod and smile at him. “That sounds really nice.”

He gives you a slight smile that’s gone as quickly as it came, reaching over and resting his hand on your thigh. You move closer to him and he turns the radio up. You wonder why he doesn’t want to talk anymore but you don’t push it. You’re too excited to finally get out of the truck again. 

The town is nice enough. It’s small, with only a few shops where you buy some new shirts to replace one’s that Logan has torn up. The motel you’re staying at doesn’t have a washing machine so you have to use the laundromat to wash your clothes. 

Logan says he’s going to see if he can find a quick job nearby. You wonder if that means a real job or a more bloody one. You decide not to ask questions, instead taking the little change you have and figuring you’ll try to get the smell of grease out of all your clothes. 

As you load the machine up and put your quarters in you can’t escape the feeling of someone watching you. You’ve been on high alert ever since Logan stole you away from the house. But this is different. 

You’ve gotten used to your own paranoia, you know when it’s real or not. You walk away from the machine, glancing out at the glass walls near the front and trying to see if there’s someone out there. This, oddly enough, doesn’t feel like a police stakeout where they’re going to track you back to the motel and bust Logan. 

This is something different. There is a deep-seated primal fear in you that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your heart races as your eyes search the dark street outside. What little glow comes from the streetlights isn’t enough for you to clearly make anything out. 

But you feel them, tracking your every move. They’re somewhere nearby, you can’t see them but they see you. You feel sick to your stomach. You glance at the door before racing towards it. You turn the lock, slowly backing away and keeping your eyes trained on the street. 

You look into the shadows and find shapes and movements where there are none. Your eyes spin as your brain crafts a horrible image of some monster waiting outside for you. When the timer for the washer goes off you let out a sharp scream, spinning around and clutching your chest as you glare at it. 

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, angrily running your hand over your face and trying to catch your breath. You put the clothes in the dryer and by the time you're done, the feeling is gone. You don’t know if they were never there to begin with, or if they got bored and left. 

You’d told Logan that you didn’t need a ride, you’d just walk the short distance back to the motel. Now, you use the phone on the front counter and call him, telling him you’ve changed your mind after all. 

By the time he picks you up, he looks incredibly concerned. You know you sounded panicked when you called him. You still feel upset about the whole thing. But when he asks what’s wrong you just tell him you got a little scared walking back in the dark. 

You don’t tell him someone was watching you because you know he’ll make you pack up and leave again. You want some stability. Even if it's just for a week. So, as stupid as it is, you lie to him and say everything’s fine. 

When you try to go to sleep that night you feel like you’re being watched again. Even with the curtains closed their eyes burn into you. You toss and turn under the heavy weight of the sheets, struggling to get comfortable. 

There’s a low grumble behind you before Logan throws his arm over your waist and tugs you back into his chest. “Stop movin’ around,” he demands, his voice barely audible. You smile a little at how tired he sounds before forcing yourself to settle down. 

He doesn’t give you much choice, using his body as a weight to keep you pinned. You still feel their gaze, even more now, but his proximity brings you enough comfort to get a little bit of restless sleep. 

Logan’s up before you, he always is. He comes in with cheap coffee and free breakfast from the lounge. You push the sheets off your legs, your shirt sticking to your back from the cold sweat of your nervous sleeping. You feel a little more at ease this morning. 

You wonder if you’re developing some late-in-life fear of the dark. You don’t know why you were so upset last night, you feel perfectly fine now. It’s almost like it was all one bad dream. Logan walks over, handing you the coffee wordlessly and rustling around in your bag for something. 

He pulls out the envelope of cash you keep stashed away and frowns at the contents. “Found a job,” he mutters, stuffing the envelope away and turning back towards you. He leans against the desk, face pensive. 

You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a bit more so you sound coherent. “What is it?” You take a sip of the coffee and your face screws up at the aftertaste. 

“Fighting,” his tone is clipped and you wonder what’s got him up in arms. He walks past you, heading into the bathroom, and closing the door behind him. You tilt your head, gaze following him curiously. He doesn’t normally close the door, he usually likes to invite you to join him. 

Something happened and you wonder if he’s hiding the same thing you are. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and closing your mind off to the fear from last night. 

By the time Logan is done in the bathroom, you’re feeling more awake. You can’t just dismiss what happened last night. You’ve never gotten scared like that before. You refuse to ignore your instincts, but you’re also not going to let whoever that was terrify you into going back on the road. 

You don’t want things between you and Logan to grow more tense than they already are. The time away from each other yesterday helped a lot. You no longer want to strangle him when you hear him breathe. You’ll just stick closer to him today and see if you feel the eyes on you again tonight. 

“So,” you start, testing the waters to see if he’s still in a bad mood. He glances over at you, eyebrows quirked in curiosity but you’re tongue-tied as you stare at him. However many weeks you’ve been with him and you’re never gonna get used to seeing him straight out of the shower. 

The towel is draped low on his hips, giving you a taunting look at what lies underneath the white cloth. Droplets drip down his abs and you’ve never wanted to be water more than you do right now. It’s unfair, just how attractive he is. 

You always forget what you’re going to say. You can’t think when he has a shirt off, it’s infuriating. Scoffing, you turn away from him and shake your head. You hear him chuckle, you know he knows what you’re thinking about. 

“What’s wrong?” He creeps up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you back into his chest. 

“Logan, dammit,” water soaks into the back of your shirt uncomfortably and you tilt your head to glare at him. 

He smirks down at you, “Cat got your tongue, kid?”

You roll your eyes and push away from him. “I can’t even remember what I was going to say.” You snatch a shirt from the dresser and shove it into his hands. “Put this on.”

He scoffs and gives you a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?” You wait for him, gaze expectant. You’re not gonna be able to think when he looks like this. Sighing, he acquieses and tugs the shirt on. His lips fall into a sarcastic line, “Happy?”

Like a switch being flipped you finally remember what you were going to ask him. “The job you told me about. Where is it?”

You can see on his face how little he wants to divulge that information to you. But you know he’s going to tell you. You two made a deal not to hide things, although, you might be breaking your side of that right now. 

“Some shitty bar a few miles from here. Listen-”

You’re not gonna like it. 

I don’t want you tagging along. 

You should just stay here and read or some shit.

You wonder which one he’ll pick today. “You wouldn’t like it, it’s just a shitty little place where I can make some quick cash.” Look at that, it’s rarely ever your first pick excuse. You must be getting better at reading him. 

“I’ll come with you,” you tell him because you’re not asking. You’re not staying by yourself tonight and you both need the money. You grin at him even as his face falls in disappointment. “Maybe I’ll fight.”

He doesn’t even say anything and you immediately regret what you said. The look he’s giving you would put you six feet under if it could. “It was just a joke,” you mutter.

“Wasn’t funny, kid,” he tells you, tone clipped as he moves around you to grab his jeans. “I don’t even want you in those places, let alone fuckin’ fighting.”

You purse your lips and take a seat on the bed, handing him his jacket when he begins looking for it. “I have abilities too, you know. Maybe I could win a fight.”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “I win because I can take the hits people deal me. You can’t,” you don’t bother arguing with him that you heal too. You understand what he means. You might be able to recover physically, but there’s a mental aspect to being knocked on the ground. There’s humiliation and fear in cage fights, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle that side of it. 

He waits for you to say anything else but when he realizes you’ve dropped the subject he lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ll stay in the truck,” he tries. 

You give him a deadpan look, slipping the keys out of your purse and handing them to him. “No way in hell, but I’ll stay by the bar if it makes you feel better.” He stays silent and nods but you know he’ll try and convince you otherwise when you actually get to the place. Tough luck, though, you don’t think it’s safe for either of you to be apart tonight. Even if it’s just staying in the truck. 

The setup of these places is always the same. Though, this bar seems to be particularly disgusting in comparison to other ones you’ve been to. You position yourself near the corner, your back to the wall so you’re less likely to be noticed in the crowd. 

The fights never last more than a few minutes. And that’s if Logan is feeling generous. Most of the time you only need to be here an hour before people get pissed off and go home. Someone bumps into you and you hear a small, “I’m sorry,” before they rush to claim a stool. 

The crowd’s already begun to die out. Most leave while they still have a little money left in their pockets. You duck your head down, catching the eye of the girl who’d bumped into you. She looks young and incredibly skittish. Her eyes keep darting to the tip jar near the bartender. 

She quietly asks for water but the bartender just shakes his head, tugging the jar closer to him. You don’t know why you’re drawn to her, maybe it’s because she looks like one of those sad pound puppies, but you take a seat beside her. 

“Water,” you order, slipping him some change. When he gives it to you, you pass it off to her, spotting the greedy way she eyes it. You know a runaway when you see one, she clearly needs a little help. But Logan’s got enough on his shoulders, you’re not gonna bug him with adding another person to the mix. 

“Thank you,” she gulps it down like she hasn’t drunk anything in days. You feel your stomach twist with empathy. What little cash you have in your wallet, you slip into her bag as you pass by her. Logan will have made enough for it to be spared and it's the least you can do. 

Not everyone is as lucky as you to have someone help them navigate a new life. 

Logan grabs his jacket, wiping blood off from under his nose and heading towards you. You know he’ll want a drink before you go, he always does. Before he can say anything someone’s shouting the name he uses in the cage. “Hey, Wolverine! I want my fucking money back.”

The big man he’d knocked down earlier takes a step towards him. His friend tries to hold him back, but there’s no stopping him. He’s already had his ass kicked once, what makes him think this is going to be any different?

“Not your money anymore, bub.” Logan scoffs and turns back towards you. You just want to leave now. You don’t want to stay for a drink or go get something to eat. You feel the eyes on you again, but when you turn to find them there’s no one there but the girl. 

And she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are wide and staring at something else. “Behind you!” She screeches, and both you and Logan whirl around to find the man barreling towards him with a knife outstretched. 

Logan moves so quickly that you stumble back slightly. He grabs the guy's arm, twisting his wrist until the knife drops to the ground. He shoves him back against the wall, claws out and pinning him there.

“Shit,” you whisper, glancing around as the few patrons of the bar stare in horror at Logan. The people counting his money stop and tuck it back into the cash box. You clench your eyes shut in irritation, he’s not gonna be getting paid tonight, that’s for sure. 

There’s a strange noise behind you, like someone cocking a gun. You turn around slowly, gasping when you see the bartender pointing the barrel of his shotgun at your chest. He’s not aiming it at Logan, he’s aiming it at you. Like he somehow knows that’s the only way to get him to back off. 

It’s not like he was going to kill the guy, besides, he came at him with a knife first. What’s the difference if Logan’s a mutant? He’s defending himself. Why does no one understand that?

“Get out of my bar,” the old man warns lowly, taking a step closer to you. Logan turns around and finally spots what’s going on. 

“Pay me and I’ll be on my way.” You know you’d be able to heal from the shotgun blast, but you don’t exactly want to go through it. 

The old man laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not getting paid, buddy. Get the fuck out of my bar before I put a hole in your little girlfriend.”

Your eyes narrow in disbelief. You debate with yourself for a moment, if this is smart or not. But the guy’s being a prick and you’re sick of people treating mutants like they’re less than nothing. You flick your wrist and the shotgun goes flying out of his hand. 

You glance over at the cashbox and it comes floating towards you, landing easily in your outstretched palm. “Be thankful I’m not blowing a hole in you,” you warn, glaring at the cowering man. You walk forward and he stumbles back and you try not to focus on the sick feeling of satisfaction it brings you. You grab the tip jar and shove it towards the girl at the end of the bar. “Good luck, kid.”

Logan releases the man from the before, taking a step towards you. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and rush towards the exit of the bar. You need to just get the fuck out of this town as quickly as possible, you’re not safe here anymore. 

Logan seems to agree with you. He gets into the truck and doesn’t turn back to the motel. Instead, he turns onto the highway while you keep your eyes peeled on the trees outside your window. There’s someone out there, still following you. 

“Something’s wrong with the suspension,” you glance up from where you’d been working on breaking open the cashbox and frown. Logan’s glaring down at the steering wheel, it seems like he’s struggling to get it to turn properly. 

“What?”

He scoffs and glares at you, “How should I know?” He pulls over to the side of the road, opens his door, and lets in a rush of cool air and snow. You toss the cashbox to the back of the trailer and follow after him. 

He goes to where he’s pulling his motorcycle and you feel like you notice an extra bump under the tarp. “What’s that?” You take a step towards it just as Logan pulls it back. You have to bite back a laugh when you see the girl from last night curled up next to his motorcycle. 

She gives you both guilty looks and slowly sits up. “I’m sorry,” Logan offers her a hand and she gets out of the trailer. He grabs her bag and drops it at her feet. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Find a different ride,” he growls, already heading back to the truck. You open your mouth, prepared to argue, but you can’t force her on him. As much as you might want to help her. She’s better off away from the two of you.

“You’re just gonna leave me here?” She snaps at him, a little attitude finally showing through. 

“Yep!” He gets in the truck and you know he wants to drive off immediately but he has to wait for you. You shoot her an apologetic look as you follow after him, slipping into the seat beside him. He starts the engine, driving off slowly, eyes drifting towards the rearview mirror. 

You bite your tongue, trying not to point out how cruel he is leaving her on a snowy highway in the middle of nowhere. He glances over at you, “What?” He snaps. 

You shake your head and shrug. “Nothing.” You’ve barely finished speaking before he’s slamming on his brakes. 

“God dammit,” he mutters, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw. You can’t help the grin on your face, reaching over to open your door. It doesn’t take long for the girl to catch on, scooping up her bag and chasing after you. 

“You’re such a softie,” you tease him. 

“Shut the hell up.”

Rogue is nice, if not a little odd. She claims to be a mutant too but doesn’t want to give specifics on her abilities. You don’t want to push her but you are curious about the gloves she wears. “What kind of name is Wolverine?” She asks, spotting Logan’s tags. 

He glances over at her and smiles slightly, “What kind of a name is Rogue?”

She goes to say something but you throw your arm out, holding her back as you shout, “Logan, watch out!” He tries to hit his brakes in time but the tree’s already coming down. The truck slams into it and it’s like time slows down, only for a moment. 

You can feel the impact of your body against the windshield, the glass dragging along your scalp and skin. It’s like a million razors each slicing into you. And then, you’re flying through the air, head snapping so hard against the ground you can’t see anything. 

You hear something happening around you, a roar that doesn’t sound human echoing through the air. There’s the sound of metal crunching and someone is screaming in the distance but you can’t see. It’s not like a total void of darkness, there’s just nothing. 

You feel the blood slowly leaking down the back of your skull and something lands harshly against your head. You don’t think much time has passed. When your eyes finally open, however, you’re not lying on the pavement. 

The world around you is foreign. It smells like a hospital but it’s not like any you’ve ever seen. X-rays are hanging on the wall and paperwork is scattered on a desk near the bed you’re lying on. 

Your mind is blank for a moment. Slowly turning back on while you process the sudden change of scenery. You don’t even remember closing your eyes, you don’t know when your vision came back to you or how long you’ve been here. 

The terror sets in quickly. You throw the blankets off your legs, staring down at the pajamas you wear in disgust. Someone had changed you. They’d run tests and done X-rays on you and you don’t remember a second of it. 

You rip the needle out of your arm, tossing it to the floor and running towards the door. Your feet slip on the metal floors as you run but you’re afraid to stop. Everything around you looks more and more like a lab. 

Did someone from the bar call some government agency? You’ve heard horror stories from your father about the tests the military has run on mutants. You’re starting to worry that’s what's happening to you. 

But you doubt the military would make it so easy for you to escape. This has to be something else. You’d heard other voices when you’d been lying on the ground. People who had been trying to help. Could that be who took you?

“You caught on quicker than your friend.” You nearly fall flat on your face, flipping around to see who spoke. But no one’s there. You’re completely alone. “I’m just grateful you didn’t choke out one of my associates.” it’s coming from beside you now. 

It’s all around you, the voice floating through the walls until you think he might be in your mind. “Much faster than your friend,” he sounds gleeful and it makes you even more anxious. “I’m a telepath, darling, nothing to fear. If you’d just take that elevator and come up to meet me.”

You’d have to be an idiot to actually listen to the voices in your head. But you don’t see another way out of here. So, reluctantly, you follow the floating voice’s instructions and slip inside the elevator. 

When the door opens up again you don’t have a chance to step inside before someone’s pushing you back. Logan stands in front of you, hands clamped tightly around your shoulders while he looks you over. 

You sink into his arms, hugging him tightly to you. You’d been terrified you were all alone here. It’s more than a relief to see him again. “You’re okay?” He asks, pulling back to look at you one last time. 

You nod, throat too dry to try and form a coherent sentence. You glance over his shoulders brows furrowed at the people awkwardly watching you reunite. There’s a man in a wheelchair smiling at you, “Ah, glad you could make it.” The floating voice, of course. “Logan here was quite worried about you.”

Logan turns to glare at the man and you offer a slight smile. There is something comforting about him. You’re not exactly threatened by an old guy in a wheelchair. The redhead behind him, however, is bugging you. Something about the way she’s looking at Logan doesn’t sit right with you. 

“Welcome to my school for the exceptionally gifted,” something about the way he says that makes you tilt your head in confusion. You don’t know what he means until there’s a puff of smoke behind him and some kid is walking by with their hair on fire like it’s nothing. 

Mutants. It’s an entire school for mutants. You think you could pass out again. 

“It’s the best place we could have ended up, Logan. This is amazing.” You’ve been going back and forth for an hour. He won’t see reason. He keeps saying you need to leave. That you don’t know these people and it could all be one big trap. 

You don’t understand him, why he’s so desperate to get away from people like the both of you.  You’re rejected in every other corner of society. You could have something real here. 

It hits you at once. That’s the problem. He’s not ready for something real. He’s not used to it because he’s never had it before. At least you could pretend at a sense of normalcy living at home. It’s an entirely new concept to him, sticking to one place for so long. 

“We don’t know these people,” he hisses, leaning over the bed to argue with you. You narrow your eyes but your conversation is cut off by a knock on the door. You sigh, walking away from him and swinging the door open. 

Jean is on the other side, a surprised look on her face when she sees you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to drop these off to Logan.” You glance down at the towels in your hand and give her a strained smile. That’s a flimsy excuse if you’ve ever seen one. “I must have the wrong room.”

You step to the side, opening the door wider so she can see him. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy angrily unmaking the bed. “No, you have the right one.” You hold your hands out expectantly, “I can just take those for you.”

The look on her face is priceless and finally causes a real smile to grow on your lips. She wordlessly hands you the towels, looking disappointed. You don’t know if it's because of what she was trying to do, or because she couldn’t do it. 

Before she leaves you call out a quick, “Tell Scott I said thank you again. Wouldn’t be here without him, after all.” Her shoulders tense and she rushes back down the hall. Whatever little crush or interest she has with Logan is going to need to be dealt with on her own. 

You’ve got enough shit going on without having to worry about her too. You shake your head and slam the door shut, tossing the towels on the desk. Logan sits on the bed, watching you with an odd look. 

“What was that about?”

“She’s into you,” you tell him bluntly, waiting for his reaction. He doesn’t even blink, just glances between the towels and you before shrugging. 

“Not interested.” You don’t want to admit that you feel any relief. There was never any real doubt. But it’s still nice to be reassured. 

You slip into bed beside him, taking his hand and forcing him to meet your gaze. “I know that this isn’t what either of us was expecting, but this is good, Logan. We don’t have to worry about pretending we’re something we’re not. We don’t have to worry about my dad or anyone finding us.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But he lets out a heavy sigh and drags you closer to him. He tucks your head under his chin, placing a brief kiss against your forehead. “If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But I’m not putting on that fucking costume.”

You laugh a little, peering up at him with a grin, “Deal.” 

There’s a place for you here, even if there isn’t in the rest of the world. You can be safe here, you don’t have to worry anymore. You don’t have to fear the eyes on the back of your head because they can’t get you here. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡ 

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allilium @insomniachox  ♡ 

Asked for part two: @enchantedbutterflies @strawberrylore @ittoscumdump @enananawoah @wotcherboo

@cali0101 @fluffy-b33z @pcrushinnerd @izbelross @saltwaterburns

@likeficsinthewnd ♡ 

[seratopia]

miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - intoxicated → she/her pronouns!

modern ceo au! what happens when miguel is drunk

It's extremely rare when Miguel goes out to drink with coworkers, it's rare enough when Miguel gets out to go anywhere in general. He's either cooped up in his office, glued to his work, or glued to you at home.

You suggested to Miguel earlier this week about getting out to a bar, along with a few of the other higher-ups of the company. It's healthy to get out, you said, even if all he's going to be doing is drinking alcohol and eating meat.

Miguel's only good with people in a more professional sense; he's not the best at being all buddy-buddy with people he usually works with. He's quiet the entire time he's at the bar, occasionally taking a bored nibble at a bowl of loaded fries.

He kind of regrets this; surrounded by loud music, loud people, TV's with sports games playing in the background. He just misses you, he wants to come home and make food with you.

One of his coworkers, nudged him in the side a bit, obviously gesturing towards the wide array of various drinks and juices.

"Might as well have a drink while you're at it." He says, and Miguel is just stone-faced the entire time. The man walks away towards the remaining group of coworkers, possibly to either go dance, or to stare at girls from afar.

Considerably, it's been a while since he's had a drink. One or two wouldn't hurt, especially as a last minute scrounge for enjoyment in this god-awful bar.

Slowly, Miguel nurses on a drink provided by a suspiciously sleek bartender, leaning his cheek into his palm whilst taking a couple sips. He can feel the wolfish eyes of various women & men staring at him, feeling somehow exposed in his tight white button-up and simple pants. If only you were here, to sit in his lap and run your little hands against his chest.

The thought makes his head spin, a violent hot warmth running up his cheeks, his mind being blurred like a smudge on someone's reading glasses. The room's almost tilting sideways, the thoughts in his head dissolving away. (miguelito is a lightweight because i say so)

Miguel's drunk, for the first time in literal years.

He doesn't like it; he feels out of control of his body, unable to think or function correctly. He feels like a different person entirely, his eyes replaced with jelly and the tips of his ears turning scarlet.

The drink tasted good and all, but Miguel's thoughts on you feel magnified, every feature, every action you do running through his head like a cassette tape. He misses you more, and he really wants to see you.

Cleverly, he pulls out his phone, sighing to himself on the counter. It takes him a moment to put in his phone password correctly, fingers drunkenly tapping on the screen until he can find your contact.

. . .

You receive a text notification at about 9:43. Expectedly, you knew Miguel probably wouldn't make it through the whole night, but you're proud of him for trying. You open up your phone, amidst watching a show in bed.

miguelito💞💓: My love, I am intoxicated.

The text makes you giggle a little, imagining him all red-faced and tripping over himself with his coworkers.

Conveniently, you receive another text, one from the person you asked to keep an eye on Miguel.

It's a picture of Miguel with his head leaned against the counter, lovingly zooming in on a picture of your face with his phone. His ears are red, and there's a half-drunken drink beside him.

james q: he says he misses you. want me to take him home? you: it's okay, thanks tho. i'll be there in 10 to get him. james q: 👍

Assuming Miguel's still on his phone, you shoot him a text.

you: i see u looking at me

You giggle to yourself, and Miguel is visibly both shocked and excited, peering left to right as if you were magically in the bar.

miguelito💞💓: Please pick me up. I hate it here. you: ok sweetie, be there in 10

. . .

Despite the hour, the bar is bustling as ever, populated with underage girls wearing slip dresses and drunk frat boys. You worm through the building, searching left and right for your husband through the cacophonous bar.

Finally, you spot him where the counter is, big head tucked into crossed arms.

Gently, you slip your hand onto his shoulder, warmly rubbing him awake. At first he flinches, staring at you as if you were a stranger. He relaxes a few seconds later, lovingly and drunkenly fixating on you.

"Hey hun, I'm here to take you home." You say, and Miguel feels so warm, so comforted in contrast to the rash environment of the pub. He wants to kiss you, but he's too drunk to focus.

Without a word, Miguel rises from his bar stool, arms and hands immediately inching around your shoulders. He doesn't realize it, but he's pressing more of his body weight onto you, leaning on top of you like a slug.

Seeing you roll away the finest, sexiest piece of man as if it were nothing makes the party around you fume, their thoughts of asking for a number shattered within a minute or two.

Miguel trails after you, gluing himself to your back as you maneuver yourself out of the stuffy bar. Finally, you're out in the cool air of the dark, muffled edm music booming from the block's other counterparts.

The sidewalk is somewhat barren, scattered with a few people smoking or walking.

"I missed you, s'much." Miguel slurs, seeing the outline of your car in the dark parking lot.

"I know you did, baby. Now you get to come home with me and we can do whatever you want, like we promised." You say, unlocking your car with the press of your key.

He smiles just a teensy bit, his heart warming at the thought of snuggling up to you in bed, or cooking a late-night meal of sorts with you while a show plays in the background.

Miguel's the passenger princess tonight, adjusting the seat backwards so he can actually sit. He stares at you the entire time through bleary eyes, watching you start the car as if it were the most artistic and most beautiful thing ever.

"I love you." Miguel says, and you can feel the gratuity in his voice.

"I love you too."

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[x-hollywoodghoul-x]

"See, it is a boasting point: I lasted like at least ten generations of bloatflies."

Oh, she didn't actually know the exact lifecycle length of a bloatfly, did she? That made her response to his throwaway insult even funnier.

"Yeah, ten months is real impressive, swee'heart."

The Ghoul drawled back, voice thick with sarcastic amusement. From context, he could infer what the raider had probably been trying to convey - and sure, ten years in the raiding lifestyle was actually quite a feat. Most folks died, or came to their senses and switched career paths, well before then. The ones that stuck around this long and had lackeys, well. They'd usually stirred up enough chatter for him to have heard about them by now.

Maybe this one would have a name he'd recognise more than her face.

"We had a sniper. He got greedy and got his head blown off. Bloaty style."

He was actually a little surprised that she'd admit that to him. Granted, it didn't guarantee she had nobody out there covering her and her two lackeys - but after her little speech about how she was such a generous boss who invested in paying skilled people what they were worth, it was rather ironic that she'd just had to put one down for getting greedy. Clearly there had been a disagreement over how much the sniper's skills had been worth.

"Shame," he commented, with the mordant humour of someone who'd just seen all the cards in his opponent's hand and knew he could take the winning pot.

No sniper, no problem.

Another clear reaction at his pointed choice of words. Instead of bristling at his blatent button pressing, however, the raider averted her gaze. Oh, that was interesting.

"I'm in a "I wanna fuck with the Enclave today" kinda mood."

She was really keeping her manners on, wasn't she? That was sensible, even if it wasn't very sporting. The Ghoul magnanimously decided to let the subject go. After all, he had more important matters to focus on than needling this stranger for the sake of seeing her squirm. And by the look that just crossed her face, she was already off her game enough that she'd forgotten introduce herself.

"Right. I'm Coop."

The Ghoul's expression went abruptly, unsettlingly blank.

He barely registered the names of the two men as she finished off her side of introductions; a haze of static was setting in, bouncing the old nickname around in his mind, turning it over. Trying to discern whether this was some sort of sick joke. Trying to discern whether or not she knew.

There was no way she could know. She hadn't delivered it like a punchline; she hadn't paused to take in his reaction, or given any indication that she'd expected there to be one. It was just a stupid coincidence.

Then, one of the newly introduced raiders (Pat?) raised his hand and actually waved hello at him. That was nonplussing enough to pull The Ghoul back out of his head, and watch as Coop and her other buddy collectively cringed at the social faux pas.

"... he's our Brahmin, ignore him."

Ah, so he'd been right. That one was the weakest link. The one who carried the bags because he didn't shoot as good or think as fast.

If this went to shit, Pat was going to make a good meat shield.

"As for my friend, if I went around giving the names of people I work with and for, wouldn't be good publicity, would it?"

The Ghoul's eyes narrowed knowingly. So this friend was the real big fish - and probably the source of all these promised caps, given this raider was so reluctant to risk being cut out of the deal.

"Oh, I get the feelin' your friend's had plenty of publicity already," he remarked, low and shrewd. Certainly he'd put money on them being someone more familiar than these strangers.

"You, on the other hand... Maybe you oughtta hire a publicist, 'cause I've heard a marked lack o' chatter about you."

Maybe because she'd been a lackey herself for most of her career, and some big-name boss had been taking all the credit. Or maybe because she just hadn't really done shit outside of scavenge easy pickings and mug some small merchants, and that was why she'd survived so long in the first place.

"You'll hear more from me if you join us. If not, find the answers out there. You'll find me too, if you ever need caps."

For all her purported confidence in what she had to offer, this woman really did seem set on giving him an easy out. Was that big ol' minigun of hers out of bullets from her disagreement with her former sniper, or something?

The Ghoul's lips quirked.

"Well, I'll tell you what," he started, with offhanded cheer, as he stepped in close enough to clap a faux-friendly hand on Pat's shoulder.

"Y'all are some of the politest raiders to ever point a gun at me, an' I'll admit that tickles me a bit, so -"

With the deft speed of a viper, he made his move. His other hand firmly clamped down on Pat's elbow - using his newfound leverage point, The Ghoul sidestepped behind his quarry, and smoothly twisted the young raider's weapon arm up behind his back to divest him of his nice looking gun.

"- I'll take it under advisement," The Ghoul finished with that same affected equanimity, releasing Pat almost as quickly as he'd grabbed him with a patronising little pat to the head.

Nothing personal, bucko. Just how the game goes.

He retreated with his newly procured gun - how good it felt to be armed again at last - and kept it pointedly levelled at Coop, while he gauged the reaction to his little breach of niceties. Just in case she wasn't feeling so kindly any more now that he'd robbed one of her own, or so inclined to let him walk away.

"Consider this my advance, for dealin' with your Dom Pedro problem," he gave by way of simple explanation, and tipped his hat for good measure - a sardonic little thank you for what he knew he hadn't had permission to take.

And if you have any sense, you'll realise how lucky you are that this is all I'm charging you for the mistake of unleashing me for a recruitment pitch.

He'd have shot and looted the lot of them, but, well. They had technically done him a favour, and they hadn't tried to threaten or extort him yet.

If this Coop was serious about being willing to let him walk away, with the chance of future jobs still on the table and no grudges held, then he had a feeling it was probably more advantageous to not completely burn this particular bridge right now.

Either way, he was definitely about to find out who this weirdly polite old raider actually was - folks always showed their honest character when things started going wrong.

@savingthrcw

"Please. Look at me, cowboy, I'm an old raider."

Was she trying to strike up a rapport with a bit of banter? Adorable.

The Ghoul gave her a yellowed, knowing smile that didn't meet his eyes.

Oh, kiddo, you don't know what old is.

An "old" raider was a spit in the bucket compared to him; the lifestyle killed most of the trigger-happy, caps-hungry idiots who gave it a go within three years.

And given he'd never heard of this woman or her little crew, he doubted she'd been in the raiding business that long.

"Ah, now, swee'heart, that ain't much of a boasting point - 'cause most of y'all don't last longer than a bloatfly, " he quipped back lightly, the faux-friendly tone of his voice belying the very measured way he was circling closer. The two lackeys accompanying Miss Minigun looked nervous about his approach, but they seemed to be holding their nerve so far, which was a little disappointing.

He was itching for an excuse to shoot something, and that was a nice gun the twitchy lad on the left with the bags was holding.

Go on. Give me a reason. I know you want to.

Miss Minigun was continuing her pitch, either unaware or unworried by the way The Ghoul was sizing up her people; making a note of which one was the weakest link in the three-person chain, which one would make the best meat-shield and give him the advantage he needed to quickly dispatch the others, if it came down to it.

"I'm still here because I plan and I prepare. Then I overprepare. You'd be when the 'over' bit starts. Which is what lets me be so 'nice' about it."

The Ghoul turned in a slow, thoughtful circle on the spot, peering out across the wide open field of the dark graveyard, making a show of looking for the invisible backup sniper team that must be making her so confident in her preparation skills.

If she truly thought bringing just two men and a minigun was enough to ensure her safety, well, that was actually a little insulting. Not that he was going to have any complaints about a mistake if it worked in his favour, of course.

"Here's the deal. Apparently a scientist stole from the Enclave and ran with his dog."

That got his attention.

...Enclave scientist, huh? Running away with a dog?

Oh, that scientist was definitely scurrying off with some kind of highly classified military tech that folks would pay a whole mountain of caps for. He doubted the dog was the stolen property that the Enclave was so pissy about.

"The Enclave got its panties in a twist, and offered a thousand caps to bring him back. But we both know they ain't gonna give that to ya. 'Cause you are a ghoul, and people are stupid about that."

The Ghoul's lips twitched; a small ripple of acerbic amusement.

Oh, you'd be surprised.

Sure, most folks were stupid, discriminating assholes. But most folks were also pretty quick to reevaluate their priorities, when the right leverage was applied - and his practiced brand of persuasion was pretty effective at making even the most proud and stubborn fellow suddenly experience the pressing inclination to be more accommodating.

After all, he wasn't just any ghoul.

"They'll want someone in a shiny armor to do it."

Well, there was what someone wanted, and there was what they actually got. He had a feeling the Enclave wouldn't be splitting hairs over the appearance of whoever bagged their bounty, when it came down to the urgency of getting their property back intact - and keeping it out of the hands of whoever this defecting scientist was undoubtedly angling to sell it to.

"Who'll really pay a lot is a friend of mine, if I bring the scientist to them."

...Ah. So Miss Minigun knew a higher bidder, and wanted to capitalize.

It didn't really matter who got the prize, in the end. It was probably just some new kind of fancy military-grade weapon for the wasteland gangs to squabble over and kill each other with, as if that wasn't all they'd been doing for the past 200 years anyway.

"If you are with me, it's a job worth 500 caps for you alone. You are free to go and check if anyone is offering more. But... if it's true that you are as good as they say, I'll throw in an extra 200."

The Ghoul arched a hairless, pock-marked brow at her, and gave a low whistle through his teeth - a deliberately performative display of amused surprise at the upfront offer.

"Wow." He drawled out, taking his time with the word, so that it was nicely marinated in sarcasm on delivery.

"Y'all really trekked all the way out here to dig ol' me up and offer 700 caps for some help with a bag n' delivery? My, my, someone's feeling in a real kindly mood."

He enjoyed the way Miss Minigun's face had twitched when he used that particular word, so it was pure vindictive curiosity to see what happened when he poked that little button he'd discovered again. Being called kindly had clearly touched some sort of nerve - maybe because she knew he wasn't using it as a compliment, maybe for some other reason. Either way, it was a flicker of an honest reaction, a hint of her true nature beneath this show of playing nice she was serving him right now.

I bet you're not so civilised when folks don't follow your little script.

The payday for this one must be big; if she was so willing to offer such a lump sum with a bonus tacked on top up-front, without even haggling, this so-called friend of hers must've quoted a much higher price than the Enclave's set reward.

A soft-footed scientist and his dog would be easy to track down, given they'd leave two sets of tracks, and have double the need to stop at the few places that supplied safe drinking water to travellers. Outsiders stuck out like a sore thumb from the locals at settlements, so it wouldn't take many friendly memory-jogging conversations to piece together where the target was going. Somewhere he assumed he'd be out of the Enclave's long reach, presumably, which helped narrow down the options.

It sounded like a lucrative deal. Which meant there had to be some kind of nasty catch, of course.

When something sounded too good to be true, in his experience, it always was.

"Not because I'm kind-hearted, but because that's what I call an investment. Paying skilled people the right amount instead of fucking them up... usually means they'll come back to work with me later."

Yeah, there was the flash of that metaphorical leash in the little tip of her hand. So this was supposedly about more than just one job, and she considered this an investment. A way to try and hook herself a notorious ally that was now conveniently the enemy of one of her latest enemies, and keep his services on a retainer to get a leg up on her competition.

...Did this raider really think she could convince him to drop the independent autonomy of his unaffiliated freelance status, and join her motley crew, by talking all nice-like and waving a big enough bag of money?

Well. She wasn't the first to make the assumption that he could be bought, and annoyingly The Ghoul doubted that she'd be the last, either. Even though his method of declining such offers had become increasingly emphatic over the years, there was always someone who thought they could change his mind.

"So take this as an incentive not to shoot me in the back whether you wanna do it or not, I'm worth more caps alive, 'cause they can keep coming and you never know when you may need a job."

The only original spin on this particular approach was that Miss Minigun seemed to be clued into the importance of emphasising she could take no for an answer. Her explicitly expressed preference for his answer to not be delivered with a bullet indicated that, on some level, the raider knew the fine line she was walking here. That she was ballsy enough to approach and ask for his allegiance, but not entitled enough to expect and demand.

"Pitch over. I won't lie, the fact that Dom Pedro will shit his pants knowing you're out and about? Makes me feel aaaall warm and fuzzy. It's good reason to try you first."

The bare-basic show of respect was a pitifully low bar, really, but enough folks had tripped over it that The Ghoul was, admittedly, kind of entertained by the novelty. And for a moment, it even showed on his malformed face - before he felt that all-too-familiar tightness in his chest, that burning itch in his throat.

An innocuous dip of his head obscured his expression under the broad brim of his hat; he raised a fist to his mouth and managed to turn his stifled coughing fit into a rasping, sardonic chuckle.

"Y'know... I didn’t catch your name. Or the name of this well-paying friend o' yours, come to think of it."

@savingthrcw

[akanemnon]

EGG ANON

*Throws eggs from the chicken coop*

🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚

✋︎ 👍︎✌︎☠︎🕯︎❄︎ ❄︎☜︎☹︎☹︎ ✋︎☞︎ ✋︎❄︎🕯︎💧︎ ✌︎ 💧︎☹︎✌︎✡︎☜︎☼︎ 💧︎⚐︎☹︎⚐︎ ⚐︎☼︎ ✋︎☞︎ 💣︎✡︎ 👍︎⚐︎💣︎🏱︎🕆︎❄︎☜︎☼︎ ✋︎💧︎ 💧︎👍︎☼︎☜︎✌︎💣︎✋︎☠︎☝︎ ✋︎☠︎ ✌︎☝︎⚐︎☠︎✡︎

Again, the wingdings are always quotes from the person who inspired TR!Gaster's mannerisms. That's not me, the author, replying to the ask.

[charliedawn]

Hi! Could I request a Five hargreeves fluff of any kind, I just watched season 4 of umbrella academy and I wanted a litte Five fluff.☺️

(Here you go ! Hope you’ll like it ! 😁👍)

Five had been cooped up in his office for days—barely eating to survive as he desperately tried to find a way to save the world and his family. His head was overwhelmed and he hadn’t slept in more than 24 hours. He was exhausted, frustrated and angry at himself for not finding some answer or equation to make it all better. He stared at all the papers with all the notes and calculations he had written down. He stared at them and felt the anger bubbling up inside him…until it burst.

He suddenly screamed in rage and threw all the papers on his desk to the floor.

"Why can’t I get it ?! Why can’t I find anything ?!"

He slumped down on his chair and raked his fingers through his hair. He wanted to teleport away—far away. But he knew that no matter how far he went, he couldn’t escape. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling…How could he save the world when he couldn’t even find the answer to a simple equation. No matter how many times he replayed the multiple endings in his history, he couldn’t save the world without…

He closed his eyes and was on the verge of tears.

…without sacrificing one of his siblings.

He would have happily sacrificed himself but then, there would be no way to ensure results. To make sure the end of the world never came. He then thought about Sir Hargreeves. The old man who had decided to put them all in this tricky mess and bail on them. That…coward. He felt more anger and resentment towards the old man. Anger and resentment he wanted to get rid of by punching or killing somebody. He was about to do just that when he saw someone standing in his office.

Y/N.

What were you doing here ?

"Get out, Y/N. Now, is not the time." He tried to dismiss you, but you didn’t move. You simply took a few steps towards him—a box in your hands. He ignored the box and just started glaring at you.

"Didn’t you hear me ?! I said—!"

"I heard you." You replied and Five blinked twice in astonishment. He then sighed and forced himself to smile.

"Fine. What can I do for you, Y/N ?" He asked with a sarcastic grin on his face. You looked at him and could tell that something was wrong and instead of answering, you approached even closer and put the box of cookies on his desk. He frowned and took one before looking back up at you with a skeptical raised eyebrow.

"Really ? Cookies ?"

You smiled and shrugged.

"I needed someone to taste them. Make sure they are good."

Five rolled his eyes.

"Y/N. Your power is to heal people with your cooking. Of course it is good, you literally cannot bake ANYTHING bad."

You kept your smile and shrugged again.

"Who knows ? Maybe you will find the taste different this time ?"

He kept himself from rolling his eyes a second time and just took a bite—knowing that it was the only way for you to scurry off and leave him to his mumbling and brooding.

"See ? Like I said, perf—." He started, but suddenly paused.

He chewed. He paused. He chewed again.

He frowned a little before licking his lips—his brow furrowed in concentration. He took a second bite. A third.

Then, when the cookie was gone, he looked at you. He was obviously puzzled.

"This…wasn’t one of your healing cookies." He finally said.

You grinned and nodded.

"You’re right. I tried a new recipe. You like it ?"

Five stared at you before taking a second.

"It’s…fine. I guess…"

He took a third.

And a fourth.

And a fifth.

And in a matter of minutes, all the cookies were gone.

He stared at the empty box and his heart suddenly felt…lighter. He sighed contentedly and leaned back in his chair—his eyes slowly closing. It felt like the days of baited exhaustion were finally taking their toll on him. You smiled and covered him with a blanket.

You took the empty box…looks like the new recipe was a success.

You smiled to yourself. You were about to leave when you suddenly felt someone grab your arm from behind and before you knew it—the empty box was on the floor and Five had his arms around you.

"…Thank you." He mumbled sleepily.

You were momentarily stunned before smiling and turning around to hug Five back.

"No problem."

You then stayed in each other’s arms until you both fell asleep. You didn’t need words to calm down Five, you had only ever been kind and patient with him. You took care of each other and that was perhaps the reason he trusted you so much. Because he knew that whatever happened, you would be there to hold him and reassure him that everything would be alright.

[hailtothepumpkinqueen]

Headcanons for the Shane Stardew Valley that lives in my Switch because I wanted to put them down somewhere lol 💙🐔

•He's 35 years old. When Farmer tells him that's not old he replies "Old for a gridball player" and shrugs. (basing this on mid-30's apparently being old for a lot of sports lol)

•Definitely not as "weak" as he thinks he is either. The man helps Marnie around the farm, including hucking around heavy bags of animal feed and hay. And probably hauling heavy boxes around JojaMart. So great upper body strength, just gets tired and out of breath more easily than he used to.

•Strong arms and soft tummy 👍

•5'7" but wishes he was at least 6'1". A little insecure about it, especially since Farmer is taller than him.(she's 5'10")

•Favorite color is blue 💙

•His last name is Cooper. (Purely because I find it funny for him to have "coop" in his name. Like chicken coop lmao)

•Ears are pierced. I imagine 10mm gauges and two other piercings. Doesn't wear them super often, but enough so the holes don't close up.

•I think he'd be a Taurus. Stubborn but also down to earth.

•Started showing signs of depression as a teenager, but got dismissed as being "moody" and "lazy".

•Both parents had issues with alcohol and were distant/absent. His dad physically distant, as he was gone a lot and often came home drunk. His mom emotionally distant due to untreated depression.

•Leaving Shane to care for himself a majority of the time. So lots of microwaved pizza rolls and frozen dinners.

•Started drinking before the legal age because there was always alcohol in the house.

•Has not spoken to either parent since he moved out.

•Gridball was initially a good distraction for all the shit going on in his life and a way to get out of the house. Discovered he had a genuine love for the game and was really good at it. Good enough to play for the varsity team in college.

•Definitely a bit of a hot shot in college. Pretty popular for his goofy and easygoing personality and had a lot of friends(including Jas's parents). A few flings and serious relationships too.

•Ended up tearing his ACL, which put an end to his dream of going pro with his gridball career.

•Which exacerbated his depression and worsened his dependency on alcohol as a coping mechanism...which lead to a pretty bad breakup with his partner at the time. (This literally came to me in a dream lol)

•Light sleeper, particularly sensitive to noise. On top of having trouble sleeping a lot of nights because his brain won't shut off. Hence why he'll have a beer or two before bed, it helps him sleep.

•When that doesn't work he goes on walks. Nighttime is a preferable time to walk anyway because less chance to run into someone and have to make annoying small talk.

•Has dark circles under his eyes pretty much all the time due to lack of good sleep.

•Runs hot, basically a walking space heater. Which is great in the winter but MISERABLE in the summer.

•Was the best man at Jas's parents' wedding.

•And one of the first people to hold Jas after she was born. He was afraid he'd drop her or something and in awe of how tiny she was.

•Loves that little girl SO much, but when her parents died...he was in no position to be taking care of her. Not with his worsening depression and even worse alcohol dependency. So he signed over custody of her to Marnie, who was more of a mother figure to him than his own mom ever was(In my head, Marnie is Shane's mom's older sister).

•Used to spend summers on Marnie's farm as a kid. It was a nice break from his home life and gave him things to do.

•Was living with Marnie and Jas for about 6 months when Farmer moved to Pelican Town.

•It was his idea to pay rent, because he'd rather eat his shoe than feel like more of a burden than he already does.

•Listens to predominantly rock, but secretly knows the words to a lot of pop songs thanks to Jas.

•Lets Jas paint his nails or put makeup on him. Will wear the nail polish until it flakes off, no matter the color or glitter content.

•Has an armband tattoo of fairy roses around his bicep. For Jas, obviously.

•Definitely friends with Emily (they swap bird facts and just vibe) and and considers Sam a work friend(absolutely talk shit about Morris when not talking about music). He just seems to attract bright, friendly people lol

•Not a people pleaser by any stretch of the imagination (there's a reason he stocks shelves instead of being behind the counter at JojaMart), but loves making the people he cares about happy.

•Him being standoffish and prickly is definitely a defense mechanism. Can't get hurt again by losing someone if you never get close to them in the first place, right?

•Can tell when it's gonna rain because his bad knee starts hurting. When Emily teasingly calls him clairvoyant, he goes into a spiel about the scientific evidence that the drop in barometric pressure affects joints and it's not magic. It's basically an inside joke between them.

•Swears like a sailor but tries to censor himself around the children. So "sugar" and "fudge" and "son of a biscuit". Lot of food words lol

•Walks quietly. Accidentally scares people all the time because he just "appears out of nowhere".

[azu1as]

dumb rotmhs fanfic idea: one hundred years after his death, tang bo reincarnates as the son of a wealthy merchant family in shaolin.

—basically, a tangcheong reincarnation ficlet set during the shaolin tournament arc 👍

»—————————–✄

Part 1 2 3

the zheng family was the leader of a wealthy merchant guild in shaolin. while they were not on the same level as the hwang, they were still influential enough for rumors to run amok.

And rumors always circled their eldest son.

zheng bo was as much of an enigma to his family as he was to those within their village. he had always been a quiet child but, one day, something happened that /changed/ the then five-year old.

the zheng family's son cried tears upon tears. he was absolutely inconsolable. his small body shook, overcome with emotions so heavy that his entire body was painfully heaving.

and when he woke up, eyes bloodshot and distant, it was as if the childhood spark in his eyes disappeared along with his tears the previous night.

off-handedly, his father noted the history book that was dropped haphazardly on the floor. several of its pages were scrunched up terribly.

the zheng partiarch mistook it as his son's desire to learn martial arts, but quickly learned the opposite as his son glared at the instructor with so much vitriol it was poisonous.

no matter how many instructors he sent his son's way, he all turned them back—uncaring whether they were decades-long martial artists, instructors of renowned ones, or teachers from the shaolin sect itself. if anything the latter worsened zheng bo's mood to the nth degree.

ashamedly and with deep regret, both the zheng patriarch and matriarch had to give up on their son as they realized the teaching him how to inherit their merchant guild was a futile endeavor. zheng bo would rather stay cooped up in his room in complete silence.

the zheng family had three more children after their eldest yet none of their births affected the dark veil of mourning that shadowed their eldest brother.

A veil that no one could ever seem to lift.

other families often asked after him, most in hopes of marrying off their daughters, but the zheng matriarch stiffly laughed them off.

they had tried once to set a play date with another merchant family's daughter, but it ended up with her in tears and vomiting with an upset stomach. the same occured with the next and third ones.

they catch zheng bo slip a vial with an unknown substance back into his sleeve and understood the lengths he would go to avoid such a thing from happening again.

many years go by and their second son inherited their family's merchant guild, much to the confusion of many.

it stirred up interest in zheng bo. rumors went around about his inability to perform his duties as the eldest son; some said that he was actually a bastard which was why he was overlooked.

former servants and workers from the zheng family whispered about the eldest son's madness and how his mania could not be cured by even the best of doctors and healers.

but as with all rumors and public interest, it died down when no new information sprung forth.

zheng bo was simply a crazy son who was better kept within the walls of the zheng estate than be let out for fear of what his madness would lead him to do.

when the shaolin tournament began with warriors and fighters from the ten great sects and other notable families, the zheng patriarch tried to urge zheng bo to attend and simply watch the battles with the rest of the family.

zheng bo scoffed at him.

their second son placed a comforting hand on his father's shoulders and suggested that they just let him be, "the winner has already been decided. i'm sure eldest brother would end up bored."

but the world had a funny sense of irony.

mount hua was the competition's dark horse. they were nigh unstoppable, flicking away their opponent's swords with absolute ease and twisiting around them as if they were falling petals themselves. it was an unexpected but amazing start to the competition.

as the finals approached, discussion about the upcoming fight between mount hua's divine dragon and shaolin's hye yeon run rampant outside of shaolin's walls. inside the zheng estate, no one could stop talking about the unexpected showing from what should have been a fallen sect.

tang bo, by chance, overheard the praises heeped on mount hua's divine dragon who had beaten everyone he had faced undeniably and soundly.

a part of him felt guilty that he had been too overwhelmed by his own grief and pain to even step out and check on his family and hyung's sect—especially after what he had learned about the aftermath of the battle against the demonic sect one hundred year ago.

so felt a strong wave of relief at the knowledge that mount hua had regained its footing somehow and that it was doing well enough to receive awed praise.

he felt imensely grateful towards whoever this divine dragon was because he seemed to the center of mount hua's revival.

tang bo idly wondered if chung myung was berating him in the afterlife. he asked him to take care of tang bo's family, but couldn't offer the same for his sect, he imagined that the other man would just exaggeratedly roll his eyes and tell him to start doing better then, you bastard.

and so tang bo, for the first time in a decade, knowingly chose to leave his room and approach his second-life father first.

thirty years was a long enough period to mourn, even if his heart still aches with regret.

but tang bo supposed supporting mount hua's divine dragon in the finals was a start.

[arminsumi]

hm.. shy vampire armin who’s scared to admit that he’s a vampire to you. when he finally does, you obviously have millions of questions! one of them being about sucking blood 👀 - let’s just say he’s not so shy after he gets a taste of your sweet blood

IM SORRY I DIDNT MEAN TO MAKE IT LONG SISBIWS IM SORRY JAYYY

DRINK ME

↳ ARMIN アルミン + fem!reader

Note : V-VAMPIRE ARMIN?! you needn't apologize when u have blessed my inbox with vampmin 🧛‍♂️❤️ i used to be obsessed w the idea of vampire armin n even made a vampy ver. of him and me in the sims lol it was a whole jay era no one saw. anyways i think i deviated a bit pls forgive i was in a vampy daze 😵‍💫 and p.s. the length of ur req is all good!! no worries 👍

Warnings : vampirism, 🔞 suggestive/smutty content : mdni/mdnr, blood, blood drinking, possessiveness, marking, biting, it's a lil goofy i'm ngl

🍒 More from Jay : Armin works

He bows his head in shame, avoiding your gaze after telling you the truth one night, while the two of you were cooped up in your dorm rooms like two very normal students. Er... well, one normal student now.

"Min... that's..." you begin, too surprised for words.

"... I'm so sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. I just couldn't bear lying to you anymore. Do you... hate me for it?" he asks sheepishly.

"Not at all. I'm just surprised... kinda into it..."

"WHAT." he widens his eyes.

"Nothing." you backtrack, giggling nervously. "I didn't say that. You didn't hear that."

"Nahhh..." he looks at you with an intense gaze. "You definitely just said that... what, do you, like... have a kink for vampirism?" he jokes but your sheepish smile tells him he's right.

His heart pangs.

"Wow... that's freaky." he giggles.

Ooh... his fangy teeth are so subtle, so cute. Lil' chompers craving nothing more than to sink into your warm flesh.

"Sorry..."

"... don't be." he creeps closer to you. "It's cute... but... don't tempt me. Or I'll bite you. Joking... of course."

"Min... I'd let you bite me."

"What... 😳"

"... not to turn me! Just... for a snack."

"... a snack...? Angel, I can barely control myself when you have a tiny cut on your finger, I think I'd lose it if you let me suck your blood. It would be too sweet..."

He'd get a sugar rush, for sure, from gulping down your saccharine blood.

"I wouldn't mind. I lov— I uh... I'll offer it to you anyways. Um... incase you ever want to."

Well now he's looking desirously at your neck, struggling to maintain eye contact. He was so taken aback by you forwardly permitting him to take a sip of you.

He stares at you silently for a moment.

"Uh... would it hurt...?" you ask.

He drops his tone into a serious, concerned voice.

"Yeah... it would hurt quite a bit..." he informs you, "And it takes a while for the mark to heal... but if you're o-okay with... me having just a taste..."

"I am..." you say, "Mmm... weird question, but is it possible for you to drink all my blood in one go?" you suddenly ask, curious.

He chuckles a little, "Um, considering there's like... about five liters of blood in your body... no, I couldn't drink it all in one go." he lightens the darkening atmosphere with a joke, "It'd give me a major tummy ache."

"So... how much would you drink from me right now, to replenish yourself?" you inquire further, pawing closer to him.

He gulps, enticed by your scent.

"Probably a glass' worth...? That's typical." he looks away, too shy to say more. The thought of drinking a glass of your blood felt like asking for too much. "More than a glass would just be greedy..."

"Would it get messy and ugly?"

"Nah... I pride myself on being a clean eater." he winks, endeared by your giggly reactions to his subtle flirting.

It's bizarre to Armin; he expected you to be repulsed by his vampirism. But you're not. You're still flirting as hard as you did before he told you tonight.

"Armin... drink from me." you say seriously, seeing how he was holding his hands behind his back so tight when really he just needed to give into his raw desire.

"Uh—" he gulps as if his mouth is watering, "Are you sure you know what you're offering me?"

"Yes." you say more serious than ever. "Drink me."

Did you intend for that last part to sound so seductive? He can't tell.

He looks at you with eyes blown open, and bats his lashes in disbelief.

Then a a few moments later... he's pinning you to the bed and slotting his slender leg between your thighs.

His lips graze your neck, he kisses it... licks it... takes his time with it. You ask a bit more, breath staggering at his feverish licking.

"Do you always lick this much?"

"Mhm..."

"Why?"

"It's um... like a taste test..."

You feel your cheeks and chest warm up. "Oh... I see."

It's a minute later and he's sloppily making out with the area he intends to bite and drink from, while you happily allow him and run your fingers through his tawny blond hair.

"A–angel... your neck is so..." he swallows his drool, "so pretty... I'll be as gentle as p-possible... promise..."

"You don't have to be..."

"... really?" he asks breathlessly.

"Mhm."

He anyways encourages you to hold his hand and squeeze it if it's too much pain. "I'll stop if you tell me to... I have good discipline, I swear."

When his fangs fully come out, he slowly grazes their sharp point across your skin and gives testing pokes across the sweet curve of your neck. He exposes your neck more, pinning your shoulder with his hand.

One small gasp escapes you as he sinks just a tiny bit of his fangs in. He's trying his best to make it a smooth and clean incision. He's good and disciplined, he reminds himself, he can't just tear into you like you're nothing but a blood filled sac.

"Ah...!" you hiss in pain. It hurts way more than you anticipated, two sharp fangs pricking into your skin.

The way he sucks your blood out feels... sensual. Romantic. Like it's intimate... because it is. How many vampires does he know of that suck necks? It's the most erotic place to suck. It's an unspoken rule in his world to avoid the neck... because it's such an erogenous zone. Usually only lovers poke their fangs there...

Simply said? Armin sucked blood from your neck just to slyly turn you on. Because he had the hots for you. The cute human who wormed into his sexual fantasies.

"Mmm!" you squeal softly for him.

"Mmm..." he groans back, sinking his fangs as deep as they can go, spiraling into pleasure as his lips press flesh against your skin and squish flat.

"Min..." you moan, and now he knows he's got you.

Some blood dribbles down your chest and forms rivulets down his chin. He pulls his fangs out and licks at the wound lustfully, eyes lidded and breath heavy.

"F-fuck..." he curses, feeling himself getting a bit too excited after that intimate moment.

He's quietly patting himself on the back for not losing control even though the taste of your blood made him dizzy.

He inhales deeply to stabilize himself. Then he checks on you, caring eyes peering into your soul.

"Are you okay?" he asks, voice deep and low.

"Y-yeah..." you nod.

"It stings a bit, right?" he asks with a slight glint of sadism in his eyes.

You nod, "Not too much..."

He smiles at you, fangs cutely poking udner his upper lip and peaking out a bit.

"Good... don't wanna hurt my sweet Y/n."

Oops... did he just get a little possessive? Mhm yeah he did. And you don't realize it, but he made sure is fangs sunk deep enough to leave a longlasting territorial mark... he had to let the world know you were claimed as his little human possession.

"Min... you okay? You zoned out." you laugh.

An hour has passed. He cleaned up all the blood and now laid snuggling with you in bed. For the first time, he was spooning you; a small show of dominance that he never showed before biting you up.

"Yeah... just a bit dazed."

"In a bad way?" you ask.

"No. I just get dazed after drinking sweet wine." he says.

"Hm...? Is that so? Dazed and dizzy 'cause of me?"

He smirked, eyes admiring your bite marks in the dim moonlight. He thumbs the skin around them.

"Yeah... dazed and dizzy for you..." he says slowly, voice washed with drowsiness.

He clutches you tight and sleeps.

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[singole07]

Here’s what the Prototype’s head looks like. Only a face another massed up face could live (Sawyer) They used Elliot’s actual body for the framework work but the damage it sustained basically left the actual lower jaw unusable so they had to install a lot of machinery in the head to keep it from collapsing. P.s he used to have hair for a very short while and well it decayed off. I tried to make the gums look like they’re decaying. And prototype can take off the whole skull cause he basically has a metal replica underneath but he would’ve had to tear flesh.

Angst time: Elliot is still Elliot he still cares about the kids and his daughter. And so with Poppy and him being both being experiments the scientist decided to let the father daughter duo reunite and well it could have not gone worse. Poppy didn’t see 1006 as her father still wanting to believe he’s dead and not turned into that thing so ever since their first meeting Poppy despised 1006 still up to the games and that broke his heart. But also of course being cooped up as an experiment is prone to personality change to survive so 1006 became less kind and how we know of him in the games but if your close to him like a certain tv head (cough cough Sawyer) you get to see the person he buried underneath the tuff exterior he put up for so long.

I now need to figure out how to do his body YAY. :}

I might tweak the design abit but this is mostly what are large as fuck robo scorpion looking fuck is going to look like.👍

[alexvals]

btw guys roier is legally obligated to say cellbit after every word he says when they're in coop game 👍 hope it helps

[pennaraptor]

coop cleaned 👍

[andizoidart]

Y’all should read Fox In The Coop by @/Dustingrayves on AO3 because it’s so good and baller and he’s so cool 👍

[brandy-sawyer]

What if you just kidnapped adopted an animal?

How would your brothers react?

TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE AS YOUR FAMILY LETS GOOOOOO

(I FORGOT, MARTHA IS THE CHICKEN 👆)

(Don't worry, I'll write more later, I'm just lazy and it takes a while for things to flow, you can request stuff if you want👍)

Note:

No animal death! Roadkill mentioned, but not actual descriptions of animals dying of your wondering!

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Drayton

(Raccoon/trash panda)

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Goodness. You are practically begging your older brother day and night. He's getting annoyed. The twins used to do the same thing. Quit givin' him flashbacks of the twins annoying the hell out of him!!

"Sister, Darlin', the only ray of sunshine on this god forsaken farm. Please. We are not getting a dog."

"I don' want a dog! Brother please he's right-"

"For fucks sake I said no!"

"...right outside."

"What?"

Then you showed your lovely little friend. 'Bark'. He was caught in a trap, and had been cowering in fear. All the loud noises scared the poor raccoon kit. Man you definitely scared the crap out of bark at first!..

N' till you fed it. Then he disregarded everything, you where so sweet!

"Kiddo. Please explain how you.. no, don't. I don't even wanna know. Please understand we CAN'T keep it. So don't name-"

"His name is bark."

~Long pause of silence.~

"...yer gonna whine and cry till I say we can keep it, aren't ya?"

"He likes blueberries."

"I'll take that as a yes."

Well, unannounced to you, that's no longer just your raccoon. He grows fond of it. It'll help him collect eggs out of the chicken coop.. it's definitely quite a nice cooking buddy.

Drayton even made him a little hat for Halloween, Drayton had to sew up everyone's clothes every once in a while. You of course helped make the little tie.

Yes, that's right. A little red tie.. and tiny chef hat.

Drayton made sure that little chef hat fit perfectly.

He had help around the kitchen, surprisingly Bark was quite a helpful boy. He would understand the difference between words. Sadly often getting sugar and salt confused, there both white, give him a break.

He doesn't mind Martha, including even stealing an egg for her to try and hatch. And even went outside to steal some berries for her.

Bark was a bit of a thief, sometimes you'd get little presents.. Nubbins knife.. Maybe one of Chop-Top's CDs.. Drayton's favorite ladle.. definitely has stolen knives and other sharp objects for you to use.

Bark was treated like a little prince, being snuck little food scraps.. either from you or Drayton. And it sure didn't mind eating human, heck. When you got a bit older, he screeched when someone got inside the house.. 'How dare they get inside the house!! Who the fuck are you! FUCKING OUT YOU- oh hi Chop-Top!!' kind of attitude.

Have you thought about putting him in a show about raccoon cooking? Yes.

Was it made up by you?

Yes.

Will you admit that? Probably not.

Of course, you see Bark as not only your best friend, but your pet.. you both get in trouble equally.

Bark was definitely part of the family now, the most protected 'coon in all of Texas.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Chop-Top & Nubbins

(Coyote.. except there's 4.)

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Well. Their plans where definitely.. cut short? No ruined in all honesty. You where outside at 2 am, feeding your new friends. Your new dogs.

..You mistook them as dogs.

Or maybe you refused to think they where anything else.. I mean they where so friendly!

You named them already. Josie, Cutler, Terry, and Michael. You know Josie has a cut in her ear, and Cutler had strawberry blonde fur, and white paws. Terry was the definition of midnight. You could only see his eyes. And Michael was named Michael because of those.. black beady eyes. How cute.

..Who would've guessed they eat human. Scavengers to the fullest.

Meanwhile, Chop-Top and Nubbins where planning to sneak out, probably to go mess some shit up, and make someone's day tomorrow horrible. By accident they caught you taking care of your four.. dogs. Oops?

"W-what the ff-uck are you doing up at t-two am?!" Nubbins said, half-yelling half-whispering.

"Uh.. well.. uhm.." you said quietly. the coyotes began growling. They haven't met the twins or any of your family yet.

Chop-Top immediately tried to get to you, thinking the coyotes where growling at you. Cutler snapped at him.

Chop-Top grabbed the coyote by the scruff of its neck.. you calmed down Josie, Terry, and Michael. And immediately grabbed Cutler out of Chop-Top's hands!

"The hell?! It was growlin' at you! What the fuck are ya doin'?" Chop-Top said.. man if the commotion didn't wake up Drayton, the yelling would.

"Cutler wasn't growling at me! They're not used to you guys.. this is why I feed em' in the mornin'..

"Y-.. you w-what. How l-l-long have ya been d-doin' this?!"

Nubbins was extremely confused, wouldn't they have realized this by now? They're pretty damn smart.. then again they did eat tide pods as a kid so.

"Well, Terry was first, than Cutler, then Michael, than Josie, and I think-"

"Ya fuckin' named em?" Chop-Top said, almost confused. There where 4, how could you remember all of them? "A-and how long have you b-been f-f-feeding them?!" Nubbins said after a second..

'Jeez, gimme time to answer'.. ya thought.

After a moment of calming down the coyotes, you said, "Well.. It's been a few months.. and I did name them. ~You explained how you told them apart.~ and I feed them because they gimme little things!"

You showed the twins your other bracelet. You had two, one you and your family shared, the teeth bracelet Nubbins made everyone, and your other one, it was old, and had little feathers, beads, some string, and a few other things on it.

"Ya realize Drayton is gonna have your ass- ~Nubbins elbowed him really hard, they are trying to curse less, plus having a baby sister made them all sort of realize they need to have a less "fuck around and find out" attitude.. you where their only sister.~ I mean.. your gonna get in trouble when Drayton finds out."

"If he finds out."

Yep, definitely their sister.

"What? What do you mean 'if'?"

"If. If he finds out."

The twins kind of stare at ya. Wow. You take after them a scary amount.. That's a bad thing. At least for Drayton.

Immediately you pull them over to the spot under your window, which is where your coyotes decides to mostly hide off too.. you had put a bunch of brush in the way to hide them. You kept showing them your coyotes.. Josie really liked Chop-Top! And Michael really liked Nubbins! Of course Terry and Cutler were not as happy that the twins are well. Your brothers.

But they still didn't bite them. The twins shared all the times they captured animals.. and tried to keep them as pets. Surprisingly only 2 out of the 9 died of starvation. Drayton had made them take the animals back out.. but the twins were going to keep these coyotes.

If that includes getting hit with a broom, or depending potentially shot, so fucking be it. Granted they won't get shot, Drayton loves them even if he hates them at the same time. But your partly the unspoken favorite like Bubba.

In the morning, well. Shit. Shit indeed. Drayton was pissed. Obviously.

Too bad, ya are keepin' the coyotes.

And he of course asks how you'll feed them..

You take them to the barn you are pulling your older brother along sort of forcefully, to show that they'll follow you anywhere.. and come out with an arm, and fucking YEET that shit across the yard.

(Excuse my 2018 language)

And everycoyote went after it! Josie needed some assurance that yes, you can go get it, but they did! And man! Did they tear that arm up. They where scavengers, they were hungry. And they brought you back the simi-clean bone.

Bubba was honestly giddy about the whole situation, signing "They are just like dogs"

You got to go to town that day! The coyotes stayed in the bed of the truck, and sat peacefully. You got them all collars.. and food bowls.

The twins got to help pick out the tags for them! You picked out a star for Terry, a heart for Michael, and the twins picked a flower shape for Cutler, and a plain circle for Josie. Cutler got a dark blue color, Josie got a pink color, Michael got red, and Terry got green.

It was a nice day. And an even nicer day when you got back to the farm, to show you can practically sick your little puppers on victims.

Nubbins favorite picture is still you, his twin, Drayton, Bubba, and the puppers over a freshly dead body, laughing as the coyotes destroy the victims face.

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Bubba

(He signs, I just make it dramatic)

(Snake)

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You'd think he had a heart attack when you came in with your snake.

No no, it's not that's it is a snake.

The problem is that it's a cottonmouth.

Wrapped around your throat.

After a moment you heard thundering steps you guessed it was either a REALLY pissed off Drayton', or one happy Bubba. Ya hoped it was the second one. He ran up to you signing quickly. Almost too quick to understand.

"Are you okay? Do you need me to pull it off?! Why do you even have it?!"

You couldn't make out the 17 other questions.

"No, no, Snappy isn't choking me, he's actually quite sweet!"

Spoiler, you've taken care of this snake for 3 or 4 weeks. Naming him included. You thought Snappy was a good name because of how he would snap at you when he first saw you.

"You named it? Why? Why is it wrapped around your throat?"

"Because he got tired, and I move a lot faster than him. Plus I wanted to get him some water."

"What"

His confusion is obviously known, and a bit funny. You explained you found Snappy trapped and almost being eaten by a few owls. Those owls became lovely stuffing for pillows, and now you have a cottonmouth that won't leave you alone.

Bubba did not trust this snake whatsoever. What if it hurts you? It's a snake. He literally had to throw them across the yard like a bad Frisbee.

Snappy liked him tho! Throughout the day Bubba tried to stand near and close to you. Snappy kept thinking that was an invitation to keep trying to crawl on his shoulder.

Haha. No.

He was holding himself from throwing it. Technically everyone was. Especially Chop-Top. Man he hated snakes. Especially after time in Vietnam.

Drayton said it wasn't allowed on the floor, near any food, and nowhere near Grandpa. And especially not anywhere it can cause trouble!

Nubbins was indifferent. It's. A snake. Yippers.

Get it far away from him this instant.

Chop-Top was 🤏 close to finding a new creative way to plan a snakes murder.

Grandpa used to have to deal with snakes all the time, he ain't excited. As long as you're happy tho.

Throughout the next few days it kept slithering towards Bubba. Snappy really likes Bubba in general.

You are so lucky he's your brother. He would've killed it by now if not. Snappy and Bubba got along better after a while.. Snappy was a nice company while chopping up bodies.

It's not like you had too many people to scare with your new snake. Snappy really likes human tho. You had a few bites on your arms, not deep, but the poor boy accidentally did bite a bit hard. Ya should've fed him breakfast!!

Bubba wasn't always within your vision.. none of your brothers were. You often fend for yourself, it ain't too hard, if ya need food ya just go inside and take whatever is in the fridge.

So having a friend was nice, And Snappy loves you, otherwise he would've bitten you and your brothers in their sleep.

That would be a lovely lecture in hell as you get bitched out by Drayton for letting Snappy bite everyone >:(

So you may or may not have gotten him a cage- well sort of. Kennel. One of the old ones in the house when you guys used to have a dog.

Snappy acted like a dog, tail wagging included.

(more like half of his lower body?)

Your brothers were a little worried that your lack of human interaction was taking a toll on you, you already talked to yourself a lot.. and sometimes accidentally answered yourself! And now they can't tell if you're talking to Snappy, or yourself.

Drayton and Bubba, heck even the twins surprisingly were able to teach you some things,

Usually you'd rather run around and help around the farm, not learn. Cannibal children are feral, ya can't do much to keep them contained.

They are lucky they scared you enough to wear shoes! You didn't want to step on a scorpion.

With the few things they taught you, you made many hats for your snake. Snappy wore each one with pride.

Your favorite is the little plushy knife Bubba helped you make for Snappy. Snappy indeed loves it too!

Everyone slowly warmed up to Snappy. Including Bubba. Who now carried him around like a little ball of spaghetti.

He secretly fed him scraps off of the butchering table.

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Bonus:

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Grandpa

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Nope, get it out of the house.

No butts, get that ------ out of the house now.

Don't make him get your older brothers.

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The END WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

TOOK ME TOO LONG TO WRITE THIS

Am I proud of it? Yep

Am I sad I lost all my ideas for Drayton? Yes.

Thank you for reading regardless! <3