#i thought it was one that kept coming back after i take it outside but i just saw a trio so

[cliosunshine]

𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐬

Jason Todd x dragon trainer!reader

Summary: after a portal mysteriously opened in your world, setting all of your dragons loose, you must find a way to take them all back home before it's too late and before you catch feelings for a certain cute guy in a red helmet

Warnings: none; some mild cussing, reader wears glasses and jay's a bit awkward lol

Word count: 3.8k

A/N: first fic ever yay! I was rewatching HTTYD and this idea came to me and who am I to deny the muses of writing

Jason knew this patrol was going to be a tough one.

The usual gloomy Gotham night had a sort of electric tension to it, putting everyone on edge.

As he finished securing the guns on his holsters, a deafening roar made him jump out of his skin.

It was nothing like he had ever heard before: the sound seemed like it came from above his building complex, akin to that of a thousand lions. A loud thump shook the whole building and Jason peeked his head out of the window, watching as people on the streets were running away from flames, screaming in terror.

He sighed warily, grabbing more magazines than usual and hurrying down the fire escape, too preoccupied to reach his bike and go to the Batcave to tell them what the fuck was going on than to look back out of the kitchen window, where a pair of giant eyes was watching him leave his apartment.

As he rounded the corner of his building in a hurry, so close to reaching his bike in the garage, he abruptly stopped as he was face to face - or better yet, face to snout - with the humongous muzzle of a giant lizard.

Or at least that's what he thought it was until the creature opened his mouth and emitted scorching flames too close for his comfort.

Jason backed up, his mind running a hundred miles an hour.

"Hey there, buddy..." He tried to coax the thing, whowas eyeing him with a blood-lust gaze.

Jason gulped, not too sure about his helmet's fire resistance anymore.

The thing was at least 10 feet tall and just as big, if not more. The scales on its body reflected the streetlamp light, giving it a more menacing look and steam seemed to come out of every pore on its body.

As both of them kept looking at each other, none of them relenting, Jason swiftly pulled out his gun, aiming it at the creature just as quickly.

Frightened by the sudden movement, the giant lizard thingy that he didn't want to call a dragon but that looked scarily similar to one, screeched, causing Jason to let go of his gun and clutch at his helmet in pain, the noise unbearable.

The dragon -yes, he was going to call it that- stumbled again and zeroed in his fire breath directly on his garage door, melting the metal panel.

"Shit!" Jason took several steps back to shield himself from the heat.

The dragon kept at it for several seconds, but all the damage was already done. As it took one final look around, it flew away, its huge wings taking out the flames.

Jason stood there in silence, the chaos of the outside world drowning out all of his thoughts as he stared at his bike, just the two silver handles barely visible in the otherwise pile of melted metal and burnt leather.

His chest heaved uncontrollably, just know realizing what he saw.

Suddenly, his comms activated, the shrill of Dick's screaming making him frown in irritation.

"Everybody, we've got dragons in Gotham!"

"No shit, Dickhead," Jason deadpanned, still looking at what remained of his bike.

"Oracle, I need a ride to the Batcave. Now."

You had spent the whole day tending to your dragon, Obsidian, as he had quickly gotten bored of his play buddies that he usually hung out by the lake with and had decided to bother you while you were studying.

"You big baby," you cooed at him, scratching his chin with your left your hand as you continued typing on your laptop, one paragraph of your final essay almost finished.

After completing your bachelor degree, you had decided to open a dragon sanctuary with your best friend from college after seeing so many of them getting mistreated and abused.

In the area where you lived, dragons were sadly thought as being more of a nuisance than loyal companions, thus leading everyone to think that they weren’t worthy of love and shelter.

The first dragon you had ever rescued was Obsidian, discovering him near your local park after a morning jog.

His little paws were sticking out of the half-burned box he was laying in and you couldn't resist his big amber eyes staring at you, so you took him home, much to your parents' chagrin.

Now here you were, nearly two years later and almost finishing your thesis with a huge, sassy dragon resting his head on your lap and demanding scritches behind his horns.

"You're so cute, Obi," you smiled down at him.

The dragon responded by gently nuzzling his head further into your lap, a low purring rumbling through your whole body.

"So cute, such a cutesy, lovely-" your cooing was cut short by a large swooshing sound and screeches coming from the lake.

You furrowed your brows as you felt the way Obsidian's body tensed up and started growling at the direction the noise came from.

You set your laptop aside as you made your way towards the lake, your dragon hot on your tail, his black scales reflecting the moonlight.

"What the hell's going on?", you muttered to yourself as you reached the premises.

Your eyes widened as you saw all the dragons of your sanctuary lose their minds, their wings flapping erratically as they screeched in fright.

Slowing approaching the flock, you noticed how they were huddled around a sparkle of some sort.

You took your utility belt and your trustworthy lasso from the nearby hut in case something came out to harm you.

The sparkle was emitting blue light and it kept keeping bigger and bigger, opening up like some sort of portal, and as it grew in size, the dragons freaked out more and more, to the point where you had trouble controlling Obsidian as well.

"Easy now, easy, Obi," you tried to reassure him. Your bond with him was extremely solid and transcended everything you had felt before, so you could calm him down enough for him to still listen to you, but it was too late for the rest of them.

Now too far gone, they became skittish and as the both of you approached them, they ran through the portal, one by one.

You ran after them, swiftly getting on Obi's back as you saw the portal getting smaller again.

"Shit, Obi, run faster!"

As you shouted at him, you felt his wings sprawling out and you took flight, passing through the portal.

You looked around as you took in your new surroundings, but you quickly had to clutch your nose at the pungent reek of smog and overall dirt that seemed to cling to the city below you.

You furrowed your brows in disdain as you saw skyscraper after skyscraper, not a single ounce of green in sight.

It all was so different from your home, but you quickly had to regain your composure as you saw your dragons already wreaking havoc through the city, squishing cars under their weight and setting things on fire.

"Obi, fly low," you instructed him.

He grunted in acknowledgement as he slowly lowered himself from his previous stance and you instructed him to land on a rooftop.

Getting off, you took a once over at Obsidian, checking for anything out of the ordinary that might have happened as he flew through the portal.

Reassured that he was all set, you released a breath you didn't know you were holding.

Everything here seemed so...strange.

It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck the city and you could feel the static that was left in its wake.

Where were you anyway?

You didn’t have much time to ponder on the question as you saw one of your wind dragons, Helix, making his way towards the outskirts of the city, gusts of wind quickly encircling him as he flew away. The white dragon couldn’t have been too far away from you, so you decided to follow him in attempt to lasso him back and tranquilise him. You hated carrying the tranquiliser gun, but you knew that it was better to be safe than sorry when dealing with these giant creatures.

As you hopped back onto Obsidian’s back, a light caught your eye.

It was being shone from a near-by building, and it represented a…bat?

You contemplated on the image a bit, but then got pulled back to reality by you dragon suddenly taking flight.

You yelped as you reached for his horns, trying to hold onto them, completely caught by surprise.

“Whoa, Obi, what has gotten into you?” you screamed at the dragon, who huffed in response, tailgating Helix.

You held tightly to your dragon’s back, the absence of a saddle not bothering you, as that’s how you first learned to ride.

You quickly approached Helix, the white dragon’s movements erratic and confusing you.

As you got closer to him, you let go of Obi’s horns and unravelled your lasso, positioning yourself upright, ready to catch one of his legs or, more hopefully, one of his wings.

The pursuit lasted several minutes and you couldn’t get a clear opening.

Just as you thought you had a car view of his hind legs, Obi suddenly stopped and remained still, his black wings still flapping to keep the both of you in the air.

You were about to question him but the words died in your throat as you saw that Helix was headed straight to what seemed like a manor’s rooftop.

Your eyes widened in shock, but you knew you couldn’t do much and just looked with your mouth agape as he made full contact with the building, the great force of the collision seemingly rattling the manor.

Meanwhile, Jason and the others were in the Batcave, contemplating what to do.

“You know,” chimed Damian, “if these dragons are anything like Goliath, we’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said as he looked up at his pet dragon, who was lazily lounging next to him.

Both Dick and Jason deadpanned at that.

Dick was the first to speak up, his arms moving all over the place, “Have you seen them?” he asked, incredulous at his little brother’s words, “they’re freaking huge, much bigger than Goliath and much, much scarier,”

“One of them set my bike on fire.” Was all that Jason said, his arms crossed in irritation, wanting to get rid of them already.

Stephanie wheezed, holding her stomach as she doubles over in laughter, “Is that why you asked Barbara for the Batmobile to be brought to you?”

All she received was a dirty look.

“If that’s of any consolation, another one of them almost stomped me to death,” added Tim, shivering at the memory of almost becoming a human patty mere minutes ago.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a contemplative sigh as he thought on what to do next.

Before he got a change to open his mouth, a loud crash with a following roaring sound shook the Batcave and the manor, making everyone brace themselves onto the console so they wouldn’t fall.

Jason locked eyes with Cass as he shouted a “what the fuck is going on?”, voicing everyone’s thoughts.

Bruce put on his cowl and gestured for them all to follow him, not waiting for them as they all put on their domino masks and helmets and got out of the cave as well.

“I hope to God that wasn’t a fucking dragon crashing right into the manor because if it is-”

Dick’s threat fell on deaf ears as they all reached the left wing of the building and saw a huge white dragon trying to wiggle out of his spot on the rooftop, as it had completely caved it in when it crashed.

All they could do was watch in horror as the creature seemed to flap its wings trying to escape, sending bricks and debris flying everywhere.

They all swiftly dodged the moving objects, when all of a sudden, a person’s screaming voice pierced through the chaos.

Jason looked to the left right of the manor and could hardly make out the silhouette of another dragon, this time pitch-black, who had…a person on its back??

He had to do a double take to confirm that what he saw wasn’t something his mind was conjuring up: on the dragon’s back there was a woman with a lasso in her hands, yelling something at the white dragon who continued to thrash on – or should he say in – the manor’s roof.

Her yelling stopped as she spotted them on the ground, all of Gotham’s vigilantes staring with a mixture of confused and awe-struck expressions on their faces as she told something to the black dragon she was on and quickly landed on the manor’s grounds, the dimensions of the creature really showing when its horns brushed against the top branches of one of the oak trees planted by the entrance.

“Fucking hell…” was all that Jason could mutter as he took in the creature’s large body, covered in black scales that reflected the garden lights in hues of metallic blue and purple. Its spiked tail swishing back and forth as it started down at the group with its beady amber eyes, almost as if it was challenging them to try and come closer to you, now standing in front of it.

You held a hand to his snout and whispered something to the lines of “calm down, bub, I’m just going to talk to them”, and the dragon visibly relaxed but still kept a guarded stance.

You hesitantly approached Jason and the others, who were all sizing you up to determine if you were a possible threat or not, but upon reading your relaxed and submissive body language their shoulders slightly sagged.

You walked until you were a few meters from them, then stopped and pointed back at the creature on the manor’s roof with your thumb.

“My dragon’s on your roof,” you said with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of your head.

No shit, Jason thought, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth nonetheless.

He was admiring the way you purposely carried yourself with a calm and composed, albeit quite awkward, demeanour, having probably realized that dragons weren’t an everyday sighting here.

Your eyes sparkled behind your glasses as you latched your lasso back onto your utility belt. Jason noticed how you were wearing civilian clothes, quite similar to the ones you could find in most stores here in Gotham, so he wondered how on earth did you look like some sort of dragon-cowboy back there, up in the air, with the lasso hovering over your head as you swung it with expertise.

Bruce was the first one to talk, taking a few steps towards you. You widened your eyes in surprise, not having noticed the black-clad man until now. A shiver run down your spine as you saw the menacing cowl he was wearing.

“Who are you and why are you here.”

You released a shaky breath as you started talking, feeling everyone’s eyes on you.

“Listen, I don’t know where I am but I was just minding my own business when all of a sudden, a portal bigger than my house opened up in my backyard and that may have heavily triggered my dragons and they kinda went through it and are now here and I know they are wreaking havoc and are overall being so naughty I’m so sorry-” you said all in one breath, your apologetic nature getting the best of you as you pleaded them not to hurt them.

Dick held his arm up, shutting you up, “They’re yours?” He said, an incredulous look clearly shown on his face despite his domino mask covering his eyes.

You nodded as if that were the most normal thing ever, giving him a strange look.

“Uh, yeah?” You said, looking back at Obsidian, pointing at him, “Well, he’s technically mine, but the others are, too, since I’ve rescued them and they’re now staying at my sanctuary-” you got interrupted again, this time by Damian, who received a concerned gaze from you, shocked to see a kid.

“You have a sanctuary for dragons?” He asked, trying to sound nonchalant but feeling very excited to have someone to talk about dragons to.

You smiled in excitement, your sudden change in body language not going unnoticed by Jason as he kept quiet, memorizing your every feature.

God she’s pretty.

Jason caught Cass’ gaze and felt himself blush as she gave him a knowing look, having clearly read his body language as well.

He was so grateful to have his helmet on at that moment.

Your laugh pulled him out of his thoughts and he caught you answer to one of Bruce’s questions.

“-yeah, so I don’t know where it exactly was, I only was some skyscrapers after I passed through it,” you quickly explained.

Bruce nodded in contemplation, lowering his gaze to the ground, before your next question made him snap his stern eyes back at you.

“So, what’s up with the costumes and the masks?” You asked, slightly confused at the funny looking people in front of you. Maybe they were having some sort of party?

“You don’t know who we are?” Asked Stephanie in slight surprise.

You chuckled, looking at her, “Should I?”

“Duh, we’re Gotham’s best – and only – vigilantes!”

“What’s a…vigilante?”

Uh?

“UH?”

Everybody’s incredulous gaze snapped to you and sensing your discomfort, Obsidian growled in warning at the group, still not getting too close to them per your command.

“Easy, Obi,” you reassured your dragon, smiling to comfort him. He huffed and turned his head to look at Helix, who had since stopped struggling and was looking at you curiously from his place on the manor’s roof.

“Uhm, so…” you continued, staring back at the group, “where I come from, we don’t have vigilantes…so, care to explain what you guys do, exactly?”

Jason huffed a laugh at Dick’s defeated expression, his pride noticeably shrinking by the second as you stared at him as he were a lunatic.

“We fight crime,” he said, turning your attention to him. He noticed your perplexed gaze, probably caused by the helmet he was wearing, “but we do it in suits and masks to conceal our identity since, you know, we have day jobs and carry normal lives during the day.”

You mouth opened in realization, bashful for having mistaken them for randos but also relieved to have struck conversation with people who might be able to help you.

“So, you’re like dragon protectors!” you said in awe, “they basically do the same stuff you guys say you do, but while riding dragons so they can cover more land.”

“Wait that’s actually so cool-”

“I know, they’re the coolest people where I come from!!”

“Wait, where do you come from?”

You furrowed your brows, thinking of an answer that will probably help them understand your world better.

“Earth.”

“What do you mean Earth, this is Earth”, said another one of the vigilantes, a quite lanky one with black bangs falling on his eyes.

You shrugged in response.

“We call it Earth, so I don’t know what to tell you, really”

“Well, then, we must figure out where the signal of the portal came from so we can understand if it was opened from your Earth or ours, and then we’ll help you bring the dragons back-” Bruce’s plan was interrupted by Helix’s roar, this time in desperation as he wanted to be freed by the bricks that were digging into his scaled body.

You signed, turning back to them with an apologetic smile, “I’ll get that.”

“Do you want us to help?”

You shook your head, thanking them, apologizing for the dragon-sized damage.

Bruce dismissed you with his hand, telling you not to worry about it.

As you walked back towards Obsidian, he turned back to the others, his tight-lipped expression evaluating the possible outcomes this situation could bring upon Gotham.

“So, what do we think?” said Tim, his gaze not leaving your figure as you hopped onto your dragon’s back.

“She’s nice, I like her.”

“We’re not talking about that. We need to know if we can trust her not to use the dragons to turn the city to literal ashes,” said Damian, receiving a groan in response by Stephanie.

“You’re awfully quiet, Todd,” Dick jabbed his little brother with his elbow, earning a stomp on his foot.

“What do you want me to say?” he responded, truly at a loss of words, “I mean, dragons? In Gotham?”

“What about Goliath, then?”

“Well, he isn’t from here as well, you know,”

“I should show her him! Maybe she could tell us why he’s been itching like crazy for the last few weeks-”

The banter stopped as Tim’s “Guys, look!” made everyone turn back around and watch with wide eyes at the scene before them.

You were now a good 15 feet from the ground, the wings of your dragon flapping steadily as you got up to your feet, positioning your body sideways to stabilize your core.

You took the lasso into your hands and started rotating it in a circular motion at the white dragon in front od you, who had begun to wriggle again out of fear of staying stuck there, his frightened gaze unable to clearly see you.

It was safe to say he’d never been the sharpest dragon amongst your flock.

Jason stared in awe as you swinged the rope one last time before flinging it at the dragon, catching him by one of his crooked horns. You secured your hold on it, tightening the rope quickly and then putting it in Obsidian’s mouth, who pulled once, twice, and at the third time successfully released his friend, setting him down onto the ground with a loud thump that shook the trees and bushes surrounding the premises of the manor.

You quickly got off of your dragon’s back and with some sort of weapon in hand, made your way towards the creature. Jason furrowed his brows in confusion at your “I’m so sorry buddy”, thinking the worst when you aimed the gun at his throat, but taking a breath in relief when he saw it was a dart gun.

The dart now jabbed in Helix’s throat had a quick effect on his, as he slumped over, his chin squishing a finely shaped topiary, turning the squirrel-shaped bush into a sad blob of leaves.

You smiled to yourself and petted Obsidian’s snout, praising him for a job well done.

Turning back to the group, you shouted happily, waving your arms to attract their attention but stopping mid air as you saw them all already staring at you.

“Can he stay here for a while?”

[yanderedrabbles]

Sunk and Gone

Yandere! Gangster x Mafia Boss! Reader

Fluff, needy yandere, age difference, slightly suggestive content

He was just some dumb kid who played with fire.

Before he knew it, he was getting his ass kicked by the real deal, the big time guys.

He dropped your name out of pure desperation. He had no clue who you were really. He just wanted to save his own skin.

He never expected you to actually show up.

In your white tailored suit, you were like some mafioso guardian angel.

You tilted his chin up to face you and he couldn't bear to meet your eyes. You were goddamn terrifying.

"This little punk says he's one of mine?"

You lazily blew your cigar smoke into his face. It was black cherry, high class stuff. He can still remember the taste of it on his tongue, the way it made his whole body tingle.

He thought he was done for. You were probably gonna set your own guys on him for dropping names he had no business knowing.

He never expect you to save him.

His beat down gurus were cussing up a storm, saying he practically maimed one of their guys, he wouldn't even be able to walk for a week.

What bullshit. The most he did was give the guy a shiner before he was getting his own ass kicked.

You smiled at him then, like you knew exactly how much crap they were spewing.

You nodded and your guys threw a fat stack of cash on the table. All 100s. God, there must have been at least 5k just sitting there.

You hauled him to his feet and that's when he realised you were stronger than you looked too.

"Why?"

He barely even managed to ask that.

You were trying to light a new cigar and get back in your fancy car, but your lighter was just throwing up sparks.

He found himself reaching into his pocket and pulling out his shitty gas station lighter. He struck a flame and held it out to you.

You leaned in and caught his eyes for the second time that night. The flame was dancing in your eyes and you looked just like the devil.

He was sunk right then and there and he knew it.

He showed up outside your office everyday, waiting with his lighter clasped in his sweaty palm.

Everyday without fail, you would give him a chance to light one of your smokes for you.

"Don't you got someplace better to be kid?"

"No ma'am."

And he kept doing it, rain or shine or snow. On bad days, he'd bring his umbrella and unfurl it for you before you even stepped out of the car.

"You shouldn't keep hanging around kid. It ain't safe."

"I know ma'am."

He stayed, despite the dirty looks from the gangsters, despite the way they bumped into him hard enough to bruise. He stayed, stubborn as a goddamn mule, until you gave up on getting rid of him.

"I got a job for you kid."

"Anything you ask ma'am."

Oh he was a sucker for you. You had him hook, line and sinker without even trying.

And he worked hard. Running errands and then pushing drugs and then beating down the folks you set him loose on. There weren't any limits anymore, no line he wouldn't cross for you.

After a while, you let him in your guard rotation. And he was in bliss. He watched you constantly.

Hell, he couldn't take his eyes off you even if he wanted to. The capo himself said he was impressed with his diligence.

"Come here kid. You ever had oysters before?'

"No ma'am."

You were in one of your favourite restaurants, finishing up your meal and just drunk enough to have given yourself a pretty flush across your cheeks.

You made him lean toward you and gripped his chin before tilting the oyster into his mouth. It was salty and soft and his mind was going awful dirty awful fast.

After that he would order oysters whenever he could. He could almost feel your fingers on his skin when he ate them.

And soon he was part of your interrogation crew. His shirt sleeves rolled up and his forearms splattered with blood. He was putting on muscle now too and his punch hurt worse than a hammer to the face.

One unlucky son of a bitch made the mistake of insulting you right in front of him. God help him, when the anger cleared, the man's face was nothing more than pulp.

And you were watching him. One arm crossed under your breasts with the other balanced on it, a cigarette held up to your lips.

"You're a real good guard dog, you know that kid?"

"Thank you ma'am."

The next time you summoned him, you were in your office. Your heels were off and your legs were crossed, your stockings showing off the curves of your feet.

"Grab that pen for me."

It was on the floor under a side table and he had to get down on his knees to get it. When he moved to stand, you interrupted him.

"Don't get up. But bring it here."

"Yes ma'am."

He was grinning like a dog in heat. He put the pen in between his teeth and crawled on his hands and knees to you.

He sat at your feet like a goddamn puppy, his boner so fucking hard he thought it would rip through his trousers.

You cupped his chin in your palm and looked down at him. From down here, your legs looked a mile long and he wanted to lick every inch.

"You're such a loyal little thing, you know that?"

"Ysss mmm."

It was muffled because he still had that fucking pen in his mouth. And he was damn thankful for it too. Without something to bite onto, he was sure he'd actually be panting.

You took it carefully out of his mouth. A string of saliva followed it and you twitched your thumb across his lips to break the connection.

"Good boy."

You turned away from him, shaking the pen off a little and getting back to the books you were balancing.

He whimpered.

He actually fucking whimpered.

You smirked a little at that and shooed him away with one perfectly manicured hand. He dragged his feet walking out of there, his boner killing all higher thinking. Just hoping and praying you would call him back.

He turned to look at you before he closed the door. You had your face resting in one hand and you were tapping the pen against your lips with the other. Your eyes were entirely focused on your books.

He was your loyal dog. Now and always.

And he felt it all over again. He was sunk - hook, line and sinker.

[soleilapproves]

Boxer!Sukuna loves to show off his moves to his crush aka his best friend (feat. Boxer!Toji)

Notes: sukuna is a jealous little hoe, Toji finds reader attractive, Pre-relationship, fem!reader (she/her), depictions of fighting so read at your own discretion. Uraume is a nonchalant baddie. Not proofread, I’m sorry for torturing you all.

masterlist

Thump!

A gloved fist lands against Sukuna’s tattooed cheek as he stumbles back into the boxing ring’s roped borders.

He quickly flicks off the sweat dripping down from his nose to his upper lips and gets back into fighting stance. His opponent / friend, Toji Fushiguro, smirks at him as he bounces in his spot, bracing for what’s to come.

“You’re boring me here, Ryomen!” The raven haired man barked from the opposite end of the ring. “Quit fightin’ like a pissy little boy and hit me like a man!” He further taunted his opponent.

Sukuna leaped from his spot and swung his arm only for Toji to dodge him with a duck and attack his legs.

“Fuck!” Sukuna yelled out as he fell down. His body bounced against the ground, force acting against him.

“Time out!” Coach Yaga yelled out. Toji removed his gloves and took off his helmet, lending out a helping hand to Sukuna.

Sukuna stared at Toji’s calloused hands and back at him. His glare deepened with every heavy breath he took.

He could not stop thinking about the conversation he had with Toji in the gym locker room a few days ago.

“She your girl?” Toji asked as he applied another heat patch to his sore shoulder.

“Who?” Sukuna asked while he packed his gym bag.

“The girl you came in with today. You know, the one who wouldn’t stop talking.” Toji chuckled as he said that. Sukuna’s eyes momentarily flickered away from Toji has he remembered how you were going off on a tangent about your favorite show.

“Nah, why do you wanna know?”

“I wanna take her out.” Sukuna’s hand froze after hearing Toji’s answer.

It never occurred to Sukuna that other men wanted to talk to you. He always thought that he was the only man in your life even if there wasn’t anything romantic between you two.

But then again, Sukuna had made it his mission to drive away any man that even showed a shred of romantic attention towards you. It was easy for him since he was a well known boxer that could probably smash concrete with one punch if he tried.

It was his favorite thing about being so strong.

However, it wasn’t going to work in this case. Not when his opponent was on par with him.

“You don’t get it, man. She’s not that kinda girl. She’s the relationship type and you hate all that commitment stuff.”

“I wouldn’t ask to date your friend if I wanted to leave her high and dry. I’m ready to do all that redemption shit now. I wanna get serious.”

Sukuna’s blood boiled at the thought of Toji even looking in your direction. What made him think that you would even say yes? You had hardly ever said three sentences to the man (the sentences being “hi, Toji,” “bye, Toji,” and “where’s sukuna?”)

But he also knew what Toji was like in the ring. A relentless fighter that was always ready to improve where he lacked. And he also knew what you were like.

All he could do was hope that you’d reject Toji.

“Do whatever you want. Fuck do I care about?” Sukuna shoved in his shower gel in his bag and stomped out of the room.

He pushed Toji’s hand away and walked out the ring to hydrate himself. Toji mumbled a quick “asshole” before heading out towards his water bottle right outside the fight room.

“You were exceptionally bad today. I believe there must be something emotionally affecting you.” His manager (more like henchman), Uraume said as they handed him a bottle of sugar free Gatorade.

“Fuck off.” Sukuna tiredly said as his leaned back into the leather couch facing the ring. The spotlights above him burned his retinas but his mind kept him distracted with thoughts about you.

The way you laughed at his banter with Uraume, the way you’d comfort him after lost matches, the way you’d stare at him with your arms crossed when he’d forget to text you.

Like you were doing now.

“Some nerve of you to leave me on read last night.” You huffed out in anger. Sukuna immediately sat up, rubbing his eyes. You were definitely real and standing in front of him.

You looked positively adorable with a pout on your face and your foot tapping angrily on the ground. If Sukuna didn’t have any self control, his lips would’ve been planted on yours right now.

“You said you’d bring me to the gym to watch your practice match and then forgot to tell me when your match was!”

You were lucky to have Uraume’s number and contacted them to get to the gym yourself.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’ll make it up-“

“Hey, nice to see you.” Toji sauntered around you, interrupting Sukuna. “This creep giving you any trouble?” Toji sneered with his hands on his hips.

“Yes, in fact, he promised that I could watch today’s match but didn’t even bother picking me up.” You complained to Toji, who was towering above you.

Sukuna could practically see Toji’s blood rush to his ears. The man was smitten and it irritated him to see that.

“Toji, get the fuck out of here. We’re having a private conversation.”

“She literally aired your dirty laundry in front of me, man. There was no privacy to begin with.” You let out a small laugh at Toji’s response and he proudly beamed in your direction.

Sukuna was going to further defend himself, stating that it was a conversation between best friends but Coach Yaga was quick to swoop in with smacks to both the boxers’ heads to resume their match.

The men went towards the ring, ducking under the ropes as they entered. Sukuna needed your eyes on him no matter what. So he did what he thought was best- take his compression tank off.

His chest gleamed with sweat as he threw the piece of clothing out the ring. The tank accidentally landed on Uraume’s face and their body began to shudder in anger. You grimaced at the sight as you used your pointer finger and thumb to pluck off the sweaty garment from their head.

Sukuna’s face turned red out of embarrassment

“Sorry, dude.” Great, he was supposed to look sexy but he ended up making a fool of himself.

“You know what? keep fighting like a little kid. I wanna make sure I win in front of the pretty lady before I ask her out.” Toji whispered in Sukuna’s ear before he wore his mouth guard.

The tattooed man was seething. There were so many emotions affecting him at the same time- anger, jealousy, sadness, and insecurity.

But then all of that was erased when he saw you intently looking at him while you stood next to an irritated Uraume. Not to mention, you were still holding his sweaty compression tank like it wasn’t something that would disgust any other person.

Sukuna wasn’t feeling as defeated as anymore. In fact, there was a new surge of energy in him when he saw you standing outside the ring with hopeful eyes.

He had an advantage over Toji because right now, the one you were rooting for was him. Not his green eyed opponent.

You were here to see him win. You were here to see your man- okay, best friend who’s a man, win.

And he wasn’t going to disappoint you.

Coach Yaga blew his whistle and both men began walking in circles, eyes staring into one another’s to predict their opponent’s next move.

Sukuna remembered to always wait for the opponent to make the first blow so he could dodge them. This way, he’d be able to expend their energy and use their one second of being distracted to his advantage.

Toji did exactly as he predicted and he countered his punch with a hit to his chin. You gasped and Sukuna could see you smile in his peripheral view (maybe he was imagining it but whatever. To him, you were smiling while he punched Toji).

Toji growled as his body moved backwards but he got back into position quickly and charged at Sukuna with a punch but Sukuna crossed his arms to dodge the blow. He wanted to hit but needed an in somehow. He began to think long and hard as he dodged Toji’s incoming punches.

His eyes momentarily landed on you and he couldn’t help but think about Toji kissing you after your date, his non-tattooed, muscular arms wrapped around your waist. Your breasts pushed against his chest as you gasped for air.

He imagined Toji taking you home, sleeping in the same bed as you. Patting your head as you fall asleep.

Sukuna could not let that happen. As selfish as he was, he could not let his sparring mate take away the one thing that mattered most in his life- you.

He landed punch after punch to Toji’s ribs and you excitedly clapped at the sight. The sound of your hands only further fueled Sukuna’s fury as he continued to batter Toji.

The fight went on for a quite a while, neither fighter giving in to losing. But by now, Toji had been punched the most and was beginning to lose his balance.

Coach Yaga’s shrill whistle squeaked and the match stopped before Toji could be rendered immobile. You wanted to feel bad for the man when you saw all the bruises on his face and body but you could help but smile when you looked at Sukuna. He wasn’t smiling but the look on his face showed he was satisfied.

Sukuna turned to find you smiling and he mirrored your expression.

Yeah, there was no way he was going to let you go. He was going to win every fight against Toji whether if it was in ring or for your heart.

-•-

I’m just adding lore to Sukuna and Toji’s rivalry in both boxing and pursuing the reader.

[loveandleases]

G's, M's and Isaac's most embarassing memory (for G with and without MC if possible?), most fond, most cherished?

Sure thing! Going to put it under a cut because it got quite long.

💙 G

Most Embarrassing: The first time G's parents came to visit them at Uni, a certain roommate was having sex in the room, and G's parents thought it was G x Chris.

Most Fond: Back in Uni, G, Cam, and MC would pull all-nighters at the cafe. Early on G was following in their parent's footsteps of going to medical school with the end goal of becoming a surgeon. They really struggled and one of their ways of coping was drawing in the margins of their books or even Cam and MC's. The pages would have a little dog or a cat, just dressed in a lab coat.

One late night, after a long cram session, G was exhausted and a bit vulnerable. Cam was listing off random get-rich-quick schemes so that he could drop out and just become a photographer. (Each idea worse than the previous one). MC glanced over at G, noticed one of their doodles, and said, "You'd probably treat patients better if they had fur."

It was such a simple, offhanded comment. But that night, something about it just resonated with G. The thought just lingered, and for the first time, they were considering what they might want. That one little sentence from MC became a catalyst, it planted a seed of doubt about their future - and it threw their plan on its head. Regardless of what happened between them, they can fondly reflect on that moment in time. Because that comment changed their life for the better.

Most Cherished: (Ex) Their first kiss with MC (which was also G's first kiss.) It was unexpected, yet everything they could have hoped for if they allowed themselves to dream big. (Ex/Friend) When G was in the process of figuring out if they wanted to be a Vet, they had gotten Cam to agree to come with them to volunteer at an animal shelter. They were tasked with bathing the animals. Which was fine....at first. About 6 animals in, G had noticed that Cam kept scratching, to the point that he thought he was having an allergic reaction. Nope, Cam just caught fleas. So, every Christmas. G gifts Cam flea shampoo. The tag always says “Just a little something for our favorite shelter stray.”

💛 M

Most Embarrassing: Before M was a writer, they used to work at the cafe. One day a person walked up to them and asked them out.

“Hey, would you maybe want to go out sometime?”

M, as oblivious as ever, misunderstood completely and thought they were being asked if the person wanted their order taken outside. Without missing a beat, M grabbed the person’s coffee, nodded enthusiastically, and said, “Sure, I can take that outside for you.””

The person was so confused as M casually walked to the door, set the order down on the sidewalk, and gave a little wave. “There you go, all set!”

In the person’s eyes, not only did they get turned down for a date, but M had essentially kicked them out while smiling.

Most Fond: M had struggled for years trying to get published. There would be days when they were supposed to be helping in the kitchen of the cafe, but instead, they were jotting down things for their book on stray pieces of paper. They read all the books you will find in the Cafe, leafing through them hoping that each bit of knowledge they gained would help them become a better writer.

It wasn't needed, but M was certain there was just something wrong with their work. Until one day, it just happened. Their manuscript was accepted. The first people they called were their mom's. It was one of the best moments in M's life thus far. Even though they were barely able to afford rent, and the only food in their fridge was a jar of marmalade.

Most Cherished: After their first book was published and it picked up traction, it became quite popular. M was struggling with writer's block, which they tend to do. So they visited the cafe and the first thing they saw on the counter, was a copy of their book. M had thought about giving up so many times, but to be in that place it was a full circle moment for them.

💜 Isaac

Most Embarrassing: Isaac and Ardent used to have a thing. One day the two of them are in the little elevator of Ardent's apartment building. Their hands are roaming one another's bodies, sliding underneath fabric, both of them caught up in the heat of the moment. Now imagine their surprise when the first face and voice they see is Ardent's mother when the elevator door opens.

Most Fond: When they became sober, truly sober. Kara really kept Isaac in check, and reminded him what he was doing it for. Who he was doing it for. It took a lot to get to that point, and Isaac doesn't believe they could have done it without Kara there to support them.

Most Cherished: Spoiler, but I can say it involves their mother.

[chobblesomewrites]

Grumbo Professional Esports AU (abandoned work)

A collection of drabbles/scenes rearranged in chronological order featuring Team Coach Mumbo x Pro Player Grian. Warning; makes use of League of Legends/MOBA Mechanics. Unrealistic depiction of the esports scene.

No, this will not be fully written or edited. Prepare for weird pacing and incoherence. I'M JUST POSTING THIS SO I CAN STOP BEING ASKED ABOUT IT </3

—————

[ READ BELOW ]

Mumbo wasn't one for competitive games, but he had made exceptions from time to time. Those times mostly due to his online best friend wanting to drag him to experience almost anything and everything with him.

He wouldn't have even dreamed of touching MOBA games if it weren't for Grian begging him to, excusing that no one else but Mumbo was actually willing to deal with his competitive nature. He had first refused, firmly wanting to stick to his farming simulator games, but Grian knew too well how to act like a brat to get what he wanted.

So he found himself on [                ]’s tutorial screen, anxiously going through it while Grian remained in the Discord call with him, giggling at every noise he made every time he jumped from the sight of an enemy NPC.

“You lied when you said this game had a farming mechanic,” Mumbo accused his friend with a whine as he spam clicked on a highlighted enemy minion, clicking his tongue when he missed the gold.

Grian cackled, “Well, killing minions for gold is called farming. So technically I wasn't lying?”

Mumbo let out an audible huff of betrayal, which made Grian laugh even more as he tried killing his character to the minions out of spite.

—

Mumbo had thought he wouldn't be playing the game as often, for the main reason he had the game at all was because Grian occasionally didn't have anyone to play with, as he said. But he had plenty of friends so Mumbo didn't feel the need to open the game as he would probably be the last person on Grian's friendlist to be asked.

But dear lord was he wrong.

After getting bullied for his lack of game knowledge for one night, Grian kept inviting him to duo queue every single day. Mumbo would've been led to believe that Grian actually didn't have friends except for him if it weren't for their friends occasionally coming by to 5 man queue with them. But even then, that led Mumbo questioning even more of Grian's motives to specifically invite him of all people, adding to the fact that Grian apparently hated playing ADC but specifically only played it when in duo queue with Mumbo.

It was confusing. So, so confusing. Mumbo was so pants at the game yet Grian just kept inviting him nonetheless!

So, Mumbo thought; if Grian wanted to play with him that badly, he'd have to adjust his mentality to make sure that his best friend was actually having fun. He wasn't just here to keep Grian company anymore, he was here to now help Grian actually enjoy his games.

On weekday nights Grian would be too busy to get online, Mumbo used his free time to get on custom and try out other heroes outside of just support. He specifically tried mid laners in hopes to give Grian more opportunities to play roles outside of ADC, trying to prove that Mumbo was more than capable of handling himself!

He learned the map, how to invade, how to dodge, how to properly farm– everything. He needed to learn everything.

If it was for Grian, he'll take on everything.

–

[ DEFEAT ]

“....”

The call was silent, save for Grian who did horribly to muffle his laughter. Mumbo groaned in embarrassment into his hands, “Midlaning is hard,” he admitted in a mumble, which caused Grian to outright laugh into his mic.

“You didn't have to force yourself to try.”

“But you like playing jungle.” Mumbo pouted.

“Not all the time! Who on earth even says they like playing jungle?”

Mumbo sighed as he clicked off the after-game stats, returning back to their party lobby to see Grian already waiting to start the queue. The man already set himself back to the ADC role and it made Mumbo slump even more in guilt over his desk.

By some magical force, Grian probably felt his bad mood and he reassured with a smile, “I still think it's more fun if we're laning together.”

“You get to spoil me and you'd only have eyes for me!” Grian teased.

Mumbo felt himself flush red at that. Not knowing how to quip back, he simply said, “Shut up.”

–

5 man queues are always fun. It means Mumbo could just turn off his brain and listen to his friends talk and trash talk without having to say much because there's enough of them to hold the conversation together.

Mumbo was about to fully zone out while watching Grian’s character farm freely in their lane when he heard him speak up about something in their team's idle conversation on call.

“You know, I actually plan to be a professional gamer.”

From whatever conversation the call was going through, everyone in their friend group broke into laughter at Grian's admittance. Mumbo could hear Grian's pout as he tried to defend his dream, “I'm serious here!”

Their friends laughed even more, “How plausible would that even be as a job? We're just teenagers, dude. Who would wanna sign kids like us?”

Their words were obviously just trying to tease Grian, but Grian didn't take it lightly. The ADC went quiet as the friends in call continued on about how ridiculous of a scene it would be if anyone of them were to actually turn out to be 

Out of nowhere, Mumbo suddenly spoke up, “I think it's not impossible.”

The conversation paused and Mumbo suddenly felt conscious of the attention on his words. Nonetheless, he continued on, “I believe in you, if you are still going to try.”

“I'll try it with you.”

The call bursted into laughter again, even Grian couldn't help but giggle, which made Mumbo feel hot in the face from embarrassment. He spent the rest of the game making so many mistakes because the entire call kept teasing him for making such bold declarations.

He was able to live through 2 games of that until the other 3 friends in their team decided to log off, leaving him with Grian. Mumbo had thought that he would log off too, but he simply clicked the queue button without saying anything, leaving 

2 minutes into the queue, Grian finally spoke up, “I'm holding you up to that promise, you know.”

“You better go professional with me.”

Mumbo wonders if he's gonna regret promising that, given how ominous Grian makes it sound as if he's sold his soul to the devil. But if the devil were Grian, he finds that he doesn't really mind missing a part of himself.

–

Ever since that promise, Grian had been relentless with playing with Mumbo. Not that he wasn't always relentless before, but Grian was now determined to actually help Mumbo catch up to his level. They've even started custom 1v1s in hopes to improve.

Other people, if they were in Mumbo's position, would've been annoyed. Given how Grian tends to get frustrated eventually, Mumbo just takes it as a sign to be better. He couldn't slack.

He knew that Grian wasn't specifically frustrated at his skills, he was frustrated and anxious of the possibility that Mumbo wouldn't be able to sign with him if he didn't improve. They needed to do it together, Grian was stubborn to make sure of that fact.

So Mumbo didn't fault him for he loved him.

–

“Are you signed to a team?”

An account that was obviously a smurf had privately messaged him one time after a solo queue game Mumbo played while waiting for Grian. He ignored it, assuming that it was a scammer pretending to be a professional. He even went to quickly unfriend the account with this thought in mind and sat in the party lobby for a few minutes before a friend request came in.

“Xvoid,” Mumbo murmured out. He frowned and leaned back on his chair in thought, wondering if he's seen that username before. Probably in his other games, but Mumbo doesn't really actively pay attention to the randoms he and Grian match up with.

It was when he was about to decline the friend request that Grian joined the lobby with a very loud, “Mumbo Dumbo Bumbo Jumbo!”

“Grian,” Mumbo returned the sentiment, sounding more exasperated than excited like Grian. His friend must've realized something from that tone difference as he immediately questioned, “What's up?”

“Someone messaged me about signing to a team and now I'm trying to remember who this XVoid person is.”

Grian made a noise of surprise, “XVoid? Xisuma?”

“Who?”

“The Captain of [            ]! I thought we watched enough live streams together to know this?”

“... Grian, I only know Etho in that team!”

Grian made a noise of offense and went off on a tangent about each and every member of the team that was not Etho, scolding Mumbo for being a ‘solo fan’. Mumbo ignored him, hovering his mouse over Xisuma's friend request.

If it is the captain of that team, Mumbo can only assume that this was probably just a fan account. It didn't hurt to accept it. He's had a lot of friends in his friend list that he decidedly ignored a lot anyway. He just accepts them for the sake of filling that friend list.

With that over with, Mumbo started the queue, still ignoring Grian who was scolding his ear off.

–

Mumbo should've known there was going to be more to the friend request than he realized. What he assumed was a fan account was actually just the professional player's sub account.

Xisuma's team had taken notice of Mumbo, and even personally invited him to be their main team's support rather than simply being a substitute. Mumbo was about to disagree at first, discussing with Grian that he still wanted to play professionally with him, but Grian didn't stall him. He simply said;

"Go," and Mumbo had thought Grian hated him for being noticed by a team until he added, "I'll catch up."

And they left it at that. Mumbo signed with Xisuma's team as their support player but didn't even get to react properly that his online best friend didn't message him at all anymore as he was forced to move to a team provided account, leaving his personal one to the dust.

–

Mumbo's esports career didn't last longer than four years, but it was a good start for a while. He didn't have any experience whatsoever but his team was kind enough to help him throughout. He also found that a lot of people seem to like his awkward attitude so he didn't feel the need to upkeep a certain persona.

But with the constant change of meta to aggressive supports, his steady gameplay had no use in any team comps. It didn't help that, at every tournament, he got sadder and sadder the more he realized he couldn't see a certain username anywhere in both domestic and international teams even after a while. 

Grian wasn't there. The reason he was here at all, wasn't there. 

He had been moved to a substitute player midway through his career, replaced with someone more younger and aggressive in playstyle, his other teammates had also either retired or moved to better teams. The team’s management was still fond of him and he was only really kept for the fans' sentiments, but Xisuma didn't want him to live the rest of his life as a decoration, noticing the way Mumbo didn't enjoy his current status. The team they were in contract with wasn't getting any better either. They weren't going anywhere like this. Their skills could be put to more use somewhere. 

They couldn't accept the current state of things when they hadn't even won a single international championship to their name. Xisuma owed Mumbo at least a trophy for signing him up for the big leagues at such a young age that he could've used the time to explore more of his life.

He had offered Mumbo two things; Xisuma would pay so he could go back to college, or he could sign to Xisuma's budding esports company for a new chance.

As a coach, that is.

Mumbo had almost been tempted to say he would rather go back to studying, but Xisuma added more to his offer that he couldn't refuse; "You can choose the team. You'll be their main coach, after all."

Mumbo remembered that someone still promised to catch up, and he'd be willing to be a coach if it meant dragging him up here.

He promised. They promised they'd go together.

For the first time in a few years, Mumbo logged back in to his old account and clicked on a familiar user on his friend list.

"Grian,"

"You there?"

–

Mumbo wasn't confident for a while that Grian would reply back. It had been a good long while, after all. Would Grian even remember him? Mumbo's sure he himself hasn't forgotten the other, but he doesn't know if the sentiments are the same. 

Mumbo didn't really have the time to be too anxious about it either, busy helping Xisuma with properly setting up the company while also looking for managers and analysts to help him with forming the team.

The next time he finally checked his account again, he was disappointed when there was no message back. But one thing that gave him hope was when Grian’s user was lit up. He was online. And Mumbo could see damn well that his best friend, if he could still call him that, was actually just struggling to come up with a reply, especially when the indication of the other person typing kept popping up and disappearing over and over.

At least, with that, Mumbo knows that he wasn't fully ignored.

After a bit of waiting, he decided to give mercy to whatever message Grian is taking this long to send.

"Queue?"

And then the indication of Grian typing stopped. Then replying,

"You literally returned from war after how many and your first message is to ask to queue?? Not even gonna say hi to the kids?"

Mumbo burst out laughing. Somehow, it feels as if he never left for the professional scene and is back to his teenage self.

"How are you?"

"Got wife and kids."

Mumbo frowned at that, "Seriously?"

"No, you idiot. I'm this young and you think I'd have a kid already?"

"..." Mumbo rolled his eyes

"So what have you been doing this entire time?” I waited for you to catch up. Did you lie to me?

“Well one of us had to go to college, Mumbo.”

“Low Blow.”

“My bad.” Grian then typed, “Queue?”

“So now you’re trying to distract me by asking to play?”

“It's also been a while. I'm itchin’.”

Mumbo checked the time. He's fairly free for the rest of the day. And it's been a while since he's had genuine fun in the game, “Well, we ‘oughta scratch it!”

“Attaboy!”

–

They queue together for a while. Mumbo's old account had considerably ranked down so they were in lower elos. It wasn't that hard to win easily.

Grian was still good at the game, probably even better. He could catch up with Mumbo’s thinking, and Mumbo’s got the professional experience. One thing that bothered him was that Grian didn’t initiate a call like they always did years ago. Comms and all. Mumbo was left with Grian’s spam pinging and visual cues. Mumbo was too shy to ask about it, so he forced himself to be happy enough with Grian playing around with the emotes when they were idle in lane.

But surprisingly, when Mumbo thought they were about to log out, Grian told him to get in-game party call;

“Mumbo.” Oh, Mumbo has not heard that voice in a long time. Grian sounds less like a squeaker now. The long duration of having not spoken to each other was now extremely evident.

Mumbo forgot to greet back, and he didn’t get a chance to, as Grian spoke up again, “Why exactly did you message me again? Surely it's not to play, not when we could've done this for the past years.”

Mumbo didn’t know what to say for a moment. Would it be too rude to ask Grian about his previous interest in esports? Would that seem like he’s trying to flaunt at him or mock him?

His mouth twitched in hesitation, “Are you… still interested in going professional?”

“...” Grian didn’t reply, and Mumbo somehow felt even more desperate.

“You said you’d catch up.”

“I…” Grian sighed into the mic, seeming a little agitated, “Opportunities don't come as easily for me as it did for you, Mumbo.”

Mumbo furrowed his eyebrows, staring at Grian's little cat icon in disbelief, “...And so you gave up, just like that?”

“It wasn't just like that!” Grian defended. He sounded a little pissed off that Mumbo couldn't help but go quiet. At the silence, Pesky muttered an apology and calmed his tone, “Look, I- I really tried, alright? It was pressuring.”

Mumbo opened his mouth to ask what exactly pressured him but Grian beat him to it as he rambled on, “I lost my everyday duo to some team I couldn't even enter myself. Mum kept urging me to give up and go to college, but–” the voice on the other end cracked slightly but he took a long enough pause to steady himself, “I didn't want to- You, you were waiting, up on those big stages, looking around those stadiums like some lost little dog abandoned by their owner–”

“I was not some lost little dog!” Mumbo squeaked out in embarrassment, wondering if he really looked like that in the game livestreams, “How would you even know I was looking for you?!”

Grian’s smug smile could be heard in his tone, “I didn't say you were looking for me.”

Mumbo went quiet and murmured whinily, “You implied….”

The call was filled with Grian's giggling and Mumbo let himself enjoy the embarrassment for a brief moment before moving the topic along, “Anyway, I did say I was going to disagree to join them, but you urged me to accept it. I said I could've waited until we could sign together–”

“But you like the game, don't you, Mumbo?”

Caught quite off-guard, Mumbo gave his question a thought. He did like the game. Understanding the mechanics and strategy of it is fun. Winning a game was actually exciting since the winning conditions needed good skill and awareness to achieve, but… 

He only ever truly loved playing it because Grian was there. His best friend was a part of everything he loved about the game.

Mumbo was quiet and he couldn't find it in himself to actually admit his true opinions. Grian assumed that he was just embarrassed to admit that he liked the game and decided to move on, “So it was unfair to you. I couldn't drag you down. I know we promised to do it together, but that doesn't have to cost your possible futures.”

Mumbo chewed on his lip and once again quietly asked, “But are you still interested in playing?”

“Mumbo, I never stopped playing despite,” Grian said. An indirect message admitting that; he wants to play. He's always wanted to play. He never once gave up on the dream to. He's just a little late. “I wouldn't have queued with you today if I wasn't.”

Mumbo was hopeful at that admittance and he was quick to say, “Then play for me.”

“What?”

It was Grian's turn to be caught off-guard this time, sputtering in confusion and in disbelief. Mumbo could hear him sit straight on his chair, judging by the squeaking picked up by his mic, “No, that's- You shouldn't be practicing nepotism, Mumbo-”

Mumbo made a noise caught between a whine and a groan, “It's not nepotism if it's the coach's job to assemble a team of good players,” he defended. Grian was in even more disbelief this time as he caught on as to what Mumbo was getting at.

“Coach? What happened to your original team–? They still had you as a substitute…���

“Capt– X paid for the separation fee.”

Grian’s voice raised a little, “Then who and what the hell are you coaching for?”

Mumbo took a deep breath, needing to steady himself to be able to explain to Grian the situation without making it worse, “Look, I know you said you specifically wanted to play for a well-known team and, currently, X's company is just fairly knew–”

“Oh my god…” Grian muttered, his voice was muffled like he was burying his face in his hands. Mumbo ignored him as he continued to explain.

“He invited me to be the main coach, to set up the team to how I see fit since he had trust in the way I was at least aware of what was right, who was capable– Well, not to be blunt, but I have the skills to be able to strategize for an entire time and–”

Grian cut his ramble off, “You… you didn't do all this just for me, did you?”

Yes, I did. 

But, “No,” was what Mumbo said instead. “I still like the game, but I'm still not overly aggressive and competitive enough to be successful as a player, as you know.”

Silence that befell the call after that and it worried Mumbo as he didn't know if Grian could trust that reason. He was just about to continue his little persuasion when he was cut off again.

“I'm joining.”

“Before you– Wait, you are?!”

“Well, someone's gotta make sure you're not making wrong decisions! Who do you think taught you the game?! And you're planning to be the coach!?”

Mumbo couldn't even be sheepish at the underlying tone of being scolded. He was happy enough to hear Grian agree to joining even when doubt was evident in the other’s tone.

He’ll just have to show he’s capable of being Grian’s support, like always.

–

“Grian!” Mumbo had called out excitedly, approaching the man who held such a name. Maybe he was jogging more than politely approaching. Who was to blame him for being excited by the idea of finally meeting his long time online best friend face to face?

Grian’s shoulders jumped in surprise and he couldn't help but turn to look, looking even more stunned as he wasn't given time to react to the sudden hug Mumbo forced him into. His arms couldn’t find where to place itself, eventually relaxing on Mumbo’s back as he hugged back with equal eagerness.

The shorter man couldn’t help but laugh, “You’re surprisingly taller in real life, coach!”

Mumbo froze and pulled away to look at him weirdly, “Already calling me coach?”

“What? Were you actually not planning to sign me?”

Coach Mumbo winced and shook his head panickedly, “Goodness, of course we’re still planning to sign you, it’s just–” he hunched over and pouted a bit, “Isn’t coach a little too formal for us?”

Grian nudged Mumbo playfully, “Get used to it. You wanted this job. Didn’t you, coach?”

Mumbo pouted even more, slightly red in the face, “You don’t find me calling you jungler, do you?”

“I’m not signed yet so you can’t officially call me that yet,” the dirty blonde man then grinned wide, “For now, you can refer to me as darling.”

“Oh, stop it.”

–

Officially signing Grian up as the company’s first player was like a fever dream, even Grian himself would agree, and he’s had plenty of disbelieving things happening to himself. Even now when he was fully acquainted and settled into the residence provided by the team, he couldn’t believe that he was actually… what he dreamed of.

Grian glanced to his side, watching his coach scroll through some gameplay videos for possible teammates. Somehow, it felt right that the online best friend who nerds out about strategies that he can’t apply himself, was the tall man beside him.

Though honestly, Grian still expected Mumbo to be some hunched over nerd like he was. Who knew the man had not only looks and height, he had better posture than Grian.

The dirty blonde slumped in his chair and zoned out as Mumbo started introducing possible teammates, offering him options to form whatever team he wanted.

Grian didn’t listen much, still a little out of it. It is fairly weird that the coach of all people was asking the player who he wanted as teammates when it was supposed to be mainly the coach’s and the management’s job.

“Can I really pick the rest of my teammates?” He cut off Mumbo’s muttering in a familiar manner. Mumbo, as always, didn’t take offense and answered him.

“Of course.”

“And you’d support me?”

They held each other's stare longer than they should've. Mumbo broke into a smile.

“As I always have.”

–

“You’re stressing out Pearl again.”

Grian was half laying on his chair and lazily scrolling through the Grumbo tag on social media when Mumbo had come up to him with an unamused frown. Grian had half the respect for his coach to fix his seating arrangement and sat up properly to flash an innocent smile at Mumbo.

“I don’t seem to follow.”

Mumbo tugged at his hair in distress, familiar with Grian’s pretend dumb strategy. As a coach, you’d think that understanding strategies would be kept to the game, not applied even to his troublesome players.

“Sorry, let me rephrase then. You’re giving both Pearl and the PR team an extremely hard time to defend your honor.”

Grian sighs wistfully, “But you are my honor.”

Mumbo groaned and flushed red at that, “You’ve made that extremely clear with your interview!”

The dirty blonde shrugged and didn’t seem at all unapologetic. Seeing that he was once again going nowhere with attempting to horribly scold Grian, he leaned down and apologetically pecked the man on the forehead. Grian visibly perked up at that and blinked at Mumbo like he was expecting more.

Mumbo didn’t give him more, simply rolled his eyes and turned to leave, “Redo the interview tomorrow and you can negotiate for more.”

“MUUUUUUUUUUMBOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” Grian’s complaints fell to no one’s ears as Mumbo left the training room.

[narutomaki]

Kiroumaru.... 🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭

I miss you !!!!

[nosygay]

sorry boss can't work because this one particular kind of silly little beetles keep flocking to my rubber tree for some reason and I need to take them outside on a piece of paper because im concerned for their safety

[ceilidho]

I’ve been watching Spartacus with my dad and I must share with you the vision I had.

Gladiator 141 and the sweet little thing they got as a reward after a fight well fought.

this is very old:

Sometimes he spends as much as an hour staring at you through the bars of your cell. 

You haven’t yet worked up the nerve to say something to him. Not while he still wears the silver-plated galea that obscures most of his face. You can still see thin lips through the middle slit of his helmet, where the cheek plates don’t meet and the thin strip running down the bridge of his nose gives way to his philtrum, and the barest slivers of dark eyes. 

Apart from his helmet, he wears little else—sometimes the customary leather pteruge around his waist or a simple tunic belted at the waist. Nothing that would hinder his movements. It keeps the bulk of him on display. A prized fighter then, you surmise, as if the helmet weren’t enough to make that known. 

He still gleams bronze from his fights under the sun. Perhaps he’s counted at least a full hand’s worth this week alone. He comes to you sometimes after those very fights, still dripping sweat and prowling the length of your cell like one of the lions kept beneath the arena. You never know what to say to him then. There’s little you can do apart from curl up into yourself in the far corner of this cell you’ve come to know as a temporary home and eye him warily. 

It’s hard to reckon with the size of him. That’s what keeps you wary, watchful of him when he comes to keep you company for reasons unbeknownst to you. He hasn’t made them known yet, in any case. 

There isn’t an augur to warn you the day he chooses to speak. 

“Where'd they take you from, pretty bird?”

You flinch at the sound of his voice. It comes from the pure depths of him, Tartarus deep. You think it would take nine days for it to reach you, like a bronze anvil falling alongside it. In the days that he’s spent at your side, haunting the length of your cell like a sentry bound to his post, you’ve never once heard so much as a whisper.

His words take a moment to register. Across from you, he sits back on his haunches, thick thighs bunched up under the fan of his pteruge. It’s hard to tell how long he’s been there—the hallway outside your cell is relatively dark, the only windows being on the leftmost side of the building, near the door where he must have quietly slipped in. 

“East of here,” you answer hesitantly.

He hums, nods his head. Ruminates on your words. 

In truth, you can only guess—the village where you grew up, where you suckled at your mother’s teat and played with the other children in the glen surrounded by mountains jutting up from the earth and ochre yellow and green wildgrass, the fog sometimes sitting so low in the valley that you could lose yourself in it, is far from here. At least a month’s walk, perhaps more (you lost time along the way). Your feet are still blistered from the march back to Rome, legs still covered in sores and bruises; even now your cell is a poor comfort, the dirt floors harsh on your knees and shins, abrasive to the partially healed skin of your feet. 

You’ve never been very worldly though, never known more than the four walls around your bed. Perhaps the walk wasn’t nearly as long, as treacherous; maybe you came from the west instead, or the south. You can only guess. 

“I came from the north,” he says, breaking the silence again. That startles you somehow. The thought of him under the thumb of another feels inexplicably gut-wrenching; if a man with a virile, sweat-laden chest like his, arms corded with muscle that yours will never see in a thousand years, has been yoked to Rome’s chariot, what hope do you have? 

You wonder for a moment if he’ll tell you more, but he falls silent after that simple revelation. The weight of his gaze still pins you in place.

“…You’re a prisoner then?” you ask, considering briefly whether to say like I, before discarding the thought. Like I, like me. Are you too in a cage, like me?

It’s difficult to suppress the urge to ask him more, but you do. It does you no good to endear yourself to men that move and stare like beasts. There’s something malignant in him, you think, a rot burrowed in deep. You can feel it stir in you too when your eyes dip too low, halted by the muscles of his thighs and the thick slabs packing his arms. You’ve seen beasts copulate; you imagine he’d be much the same. 

He tilts his head, considering your words. Wolf-like, and you’ve seen wolves before. Though the ever-present helmet obstructs most of his face, the sharpness of his eyes pierces through. “They don’t put me in a cage anymore. What would you call that?”

Your chest collapses under his words. Hopes dashed. Does he go in the cage of his own accord then? Does he lock the door himself, deliver the key to the guard standing watch? You think people taken from their homes should see their plight in each other, but the gladiator before you doesn’t look at you like the two of you share a fate. 

“A slave?” you postulate, perhaps too boldly. Worry crawls inside the walls of your belly when his lips flatten, almost imperceptibly.

“Do I look like a slave to you?” he asks, and you can hear it this time. A gentle warning. A rebuke. A question that tells you all that you need to know about this man and how he sees the two of you. 

You remain silent, cowed under his stare and the tone of his voice. Perhaps he’s right, in a way; he’s not the one in the cage. He seems free to come and go as he pleases, his movements unrestricted. Unlike your own. You’ve hardly left this cell once since a faction of the legionaries left you at the gates of the city to be handled by those in charge, watching slave after slave made empticii, helpless, until finally you were dragged to the stand for viewing. 

You flinch when he grabs one of the bars of your cell, thick fingers coiling around the metal and overlapping easily. 

“What did they take you for, pretty bird?” His fingers tighten around the bar, knuckles whitening. “Every day I fight and yet they never offer you as a prize.”

The new scars on his body make sense then, fresh lacerations across his arms and legs that have multiplied by the days since he started visiting you. Why he gleams with fresh sweat every day, correlating with the fights you hear in the arena above you, the cacophonous chants and stamping feet. You can imagine him in front of a crowd frothing at the mouth for blood and gore. 

He comes stained in it sometimes. You hold your breath until he leaves on those days, reminded too much of your village in the aftermath of the plundering. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper, tucking your legs into your chest and trying to get as close to the wall behind you as possible. 

It’s the truth. No one tells you anything. No one told you what would happen when they ransacked your village and burnt it to ash, the bodies of everyone you’ve ever loved still burning char black in the tall grass, whittled down by the flames. No one told you what would happen after they dragged you back a thousand passus to a city scorched in white marble and stone and immaculate gold. They dragged you here and shut the door. 

He seems frustrated at your words, lips thinning like he has to hold back his rage.

“I’ll slaughter a hundred more if that’s your price,” he says, his helmet knocking into the bars with a rough clang and making you jump when he leans in. His chest lifts with his quickened breaths, working himself up at the thought of more bloodshed. “Then give you their hearts. No other man will take you. I’ll rend their limbs if another man tries. Make you taste their blood on my fingers and lap it up when I split you on my—”

Your heel skitters across the ground, digging a small groove into the dirt and scattering small rocks across the cell. “I don’t k-know what they intend—”

You stare at him when he rises back up to his feet, words dying on your tongue. Standing, he towers over you, shoulders rolling back to puff out his chest. 

“You wait, little bird. Flutter your wings. Soon you’ll see the sun.”

You can only imagine what he means. The thought of sunlight on your face fills you with dread for the first time in your life. 

He leaves without another word, heavy footsteps carrying him to the door until you hear him pry it open, sunlight streaming in for a second before it slams shut. The silence in the absence of him feels monstrous, gargantuan. 

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath.

[megalony]

You Called My Wife?

This is a new Jake Seresin imagine, my first request for Jake and I hope you will all like it. Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro

Masterlist

Summary: The Dagger squad don't know much about Jake's personal life. And when he gets hurt during an exercise, they are surprised who comes to look after him.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reaching into his back pocket, Jake pulled out the pair of sunglasses he had been carrying around with him for the last few weeks. The sun here back at home was intense and he couldn't stand the migraines it gave him. Even when he was up in the air, he often had his sunglasses on. He didn't care about the way the glasses pinched his ears or gave him splitting pains in the sides of his neck.

If Bob could wear his prescription glasses to see, then Jake could wear his sunglasses to stop him squinting so much and relieve the headaches he got that were becoming chronic.

His hands fell to his hips once his visors were perched on the bridge of his nose and he looked around.

It hadn't taken Jake nearly as long as he thought to complete his physical. They were doing physical assessments and training every other day to get them ready for their next assignment. They were going to be going against gravity, travelling up to G9 range and it would cause problems with breathing, taking in oxygen and could starve their brains for a few seconds, if not longer.

They all needed to be at their best physically and mentally to prepare for this and up to now, Jake was ready and rearing to go.

Today was training exercises on the ground rather than in the air. They were all doing different activities and now that Jake was rejoining the rest of the squad after his physical, he was supposed to be doing safety and maintenance checks.

He took a look around the open air field. Bradley was over to one side, looking like he was trying to do some physical exercises, but he kept stopping to quietly argue with Maverick who was following him around like a dark, looming shadow. Jake wasn't going to be going over there. He noticed Phoenix and Bob were at their aircraft in the middle of their maintenance. While Coyote was off to one side doing pushups; he had messed up somewhere if that was his punishment. And Jake had already passed Fanboy who was on his way for his own physical.

He busied himself finding one of the clipboards and he jogged over to his aircraft, smiling and patting his hand against the bulk like it was an old friend he was meeting up with.

He circled the aircraft like a vulture, checking the wings, the engines- which had had a run in with a flock of birds two days ago which Jake had been lucky hadn't completely ruined his left engine. He checked the wheels and made sure they were all clipped and chained down so the craft wasn't going anywhere without him.

Once all the outside checks were done, he climbed up the ladder and hopped inside.

It always felt weird to sit in the plane without his proper flight suit or his signature red helmet, but he wasn't going anywhere today. He was only turning the engine on to check everything was working and making sure he got all the right responses to show he would be ready for whatever training exercise he had to go out on next.

He slouched back in the seat, spreading his knees apart with the clipboard in front of him and the pen twisting between his fingers.

After ticking a few boxes, Jake tilted his head back and poised the pen behind his ear while his hand shifted to undo the first button on his uniform. He slid his hand beneath his shirt until his fingers found the familiar silver chain hanging around his neck.

He imbedded the ring into his palm that hung on the end of the chain, always tapping and jostling against his chest whenever he moved.

It felt safer to have his wedding ring on his chain rather than his finger. If he had any accidents and needed to be taken for a scan or for surgery, they would cut his ring off. Rings got in the way, jewellery got in the way and got lost but a chain around his neck was private and secure and more importantly, Jake had that ring as close to his heart as possible.

A soft look crossed his face as he brought his hand to his mouth and kissed the ring that had created a halo indent in the centre of his hand.

"I'll be home soon." He murmured against the ring as a picture of (Y/n) flashed before his eyes.

The last deployment Jake had been on had almost killed him. Three and a half months away from home. Three and a half months where he couldn't see, touch or feel his wife in his arms or have her lips against his or her body pressed up against his own. All he got were a few brief phone calls or five minutes of faceTime every other day, if he wasn't being shipped straight out from dawn until dusk.

He was much happier here where he could spend each night in his own bed, safe in his home with his wife. He didn't have to sleep alone or feel like he was going insane from having absolutely no physical touch or contact with (Y/n). Never before had Jake thought or believed in having withdrawal symptoms for another human being until he got married and had to face the prospect of leaving (Y/n) behind.

When he was done with his checks, Jake heaved himself up to his feet and climbed down back to level ground again.

He waved his clipboard up and down in front of his face like a fan, relishing the slight breeze it created to his melting skin. If he were back home in this heat his shirt would already be off and he would be lounging around in a pair of shorts. Or be would be on the beach in this weather. Either of those thoughts sounded very appealing right now.

He stood still for a few moments, taking in his surroundings and wondering what the next task would be, but his mind kept wandering off to the girl waiting at home for him. Exactly where he wanted to be right now.

"Bob, are you almost done?" Phoenix tilted her head back with an exasperated sigh, one hand clamped around her hip as she the other held onto the ladder Bob was perched on top of.

He was filling up their aircraft with fuel, they had half a tank but it was better to be safe than sorry because they didn't know how long they would be out on their next flight exercise. The last thing they needed was to be marked down and sent to do two hundred push ups because they thought half a tank would be sufficient.

"Almost." His voice was as passive as ever while he swiped his arm across his temple, wiping away the beads of sweat glistening in the afternoon sun.

"Bob, come on we've got other stuff to do."

He didn't know what happened.

One moment Bob was pushing his glasses further up his nose, rolling his eyes at his impatient partner calling up the orders below him. But the next, a shockwave was rattling up the ladder he was perched on and set him off balance.

His hands scrambled to steady himself before he fell off and he subsequently dropped the fuel line that had been in his right hand just as he unclipped it from the air craft that was now fuelled up. Bob scrambled for balance, bashing his legs into the side of the plane and earning a cut down his left forearm that scraped along a jagged edge on the ladder.

But it was the fuel line he was concerned with. It wasn't like filling up a car at the fuel station. The air crafts were large with tanks high up at the back. They had to use large funnel lines that looked like double sized garden hoses with a large round metal clip on the end the size of Bob's hand. That metal created a sizzling sound that sliced through the air when he dropped it.

The line swooped through the air like a bird trying to land but Bob could of cried when he heard a sickening crunch below him. He didn't want to imagine what it collided with- who, it collided with. His eyes snapped closed and he clung to the ladder, trying to gain his balance back so he didn't fall and break an arm or a leg.

The resounding crack echoed around the base and shuddered through everyone within close range. It was a sound no one expected to echo through the open air like that, it travelled far and wide and had everyone coiling in on the spot.

The metal end of the fuel line pelted down, gaining strength and speed as it swung past the ladder, lifted slightly into the air and smacked straight into the right side of Jake's head. Upon impact, his sunglasses snapped and flung off his nose and took flight on a course of their own, six feet across the base.

An awful crack shuddered through Jake's ears and rattled through his head as his eyes automatically snapped closed and his shoulders hunched up. Both arms recoiled into his chest as his clipboard slipped through his fingers that twitched and spasmed, unsure what to do as his body seemed to shutdown and recalibrate all at once.

The force sent his head snapping backwards until his neck got whiplash and his body followed his head's sense of direction, thrusting backwards until he landed harshly on the concrete floor.

Shockwaves rattled through his body causing his legs to shake and spasm out against the floor as if he was kicking and throwing a tantrum and all the air left his lungs when his back hit the floor. It took a few seconds for his diaphragm to loosen and allow his lungs to take in a deep breath, but when he did, a choked moan escaped his lips.

It felt like he'd been shot in the head.

He could feel his pulse throbbing through his temple and circulating all around the circumference of his head like someone pelting round a relay race. He could feel his veins throbbing and the blood steadily trickling down the right side of his face. The feeling of blood oozing down the bridge of his nose and around his eye socket made his nose scrunch up in disgust.

His hands curled and twisted against his chest, desperate to move but the sudden onset of trembling in his bones made it impossible for Jake to coordinate his body properly.

The trembling continued even as Jake suddenly realised he couldn't hear anything around him. He couldn't open his eyes. No sounds broke through the static barrier building up in his ears. He had no control over moving a single part of his body. It felt like his head had been severed from the rest of his body.

"Jesus Bob, what the Hell?!" Bradley spun on his heels and made into a sprint towards the three of them, Maverick hot on his heels.

The sight of Jake, laid out on his back, body overwrought with trembles and blood pooling steadily down one side of his face was a sickening sight none of them ever wanted to witness.

"I wasn't- didn't you see the ladder?" Bob hissed like a snake as he shakily slid down the ladder onto unsteady feet.

His hands began to rake up and down his thighs, wiping the sweat onto his trousers as his glasses started to fall down the bridge of his nose. He hadn't done that on purpose. He didn't just let go of the fuel line; Phoenix bashed into the ladder and knocked him off course. He would have fallen if he didn't scramble for his balance. It could just as easily have been Bob's head split open if he fell the other way or completely lost his footing on the ladder.

"I'm sorry-"

A groan spluttered past Jake's lips and stopped all their ramblings. He managed to curl his fingers around the middle of his shirt and he scrunched it up in his fists as tightly as possible. His legs continued to thrash against the floor but when he tried to open his eyes, he couldn't seem to do it.

"Oh God." He tried his best to reach his hand up towards his head but he could barely lift either arm from trembling against his chest.

Without his glasses that had been broken and flung off somewhere on the base, the sun was beating down on him with unwavering strength. His right eye was blinking furiously to try and stop the blood from getting into his eyes that were rolling to the back of his head that was pounding like a drum.

"Everyone shut up." Maverick's voice snapped through the air like a whip and stopped all their ramblings at once.

He crouched down beside Jake with Bradley on his other side with Bob and Phoenix hovering anxiously in the background and Coyote running over at the sound of commotion.

The wound looked bad. Maverick tilted Jake's head back and tried to touch his hairline to get a proper look. A large slash line went from his hairline towards his eyebrow and the skin had been split apart so neatly it looked like it had been cut with a sharp knife. Blood oozed out in every direction and splattered across Jake's temple and down his nose towards both his eyes like a jam donut had been tossed at his head.

He couldn't see his skull or any bone which was a good sign, but the blunt force could have been enough to crack his skull and give him a fracture. He most definitely had a concussion which meant he could have side effects.

He could start throwing up, he could black out or go fully unconscious, he could have a seizure if the impact was bad enough.

"Get him down to the medbay now." With a click of his hand over to the left, Coyote hurried forward and knelt down behind Jake while Bradley shuffled forward.

The pair of them carefully took one of Jake's arms each and looped them around the back of their necks.

"Alright, up. Let's get you up Hangman." Bradley looped his right arm around Jake's waist while his left hand gripped Jake's wrist. He held his breath and slowly pushed up onto his feet, slowly pulling Jake with him who looked very worse for wear.

Jake's head flopped forward as soon as he was sitting up. He groaned again, spluttering through a moan, spit forming on his lips and blood still trickling down his face. He could feel the shock setting in because even his neck was shaking now and once he was on his feet, his knees wavered and his legs felt oddly heavy and useless. He could barely stay upright and when his knees gave way, he slumped down like he was trying to sit on an imaginary chair.

His hands scrunched down around Coyote and Bradley's shoulders as each of them held his waist and kept him up on his feet.

Both Jake's feet bent awkwardly and the toes of his shoes scraped against the floor as the pair of them dragged him slowly towards the open hanger doors. He tried to move his legs and he did somewhat help them, but he relied on them to drag him along because he felt like collapsing to the floor and curling up into a ball.

He managed to find the will to open his eyes once they were inside, but the sight of the tiled floor disappearing and all the lines blurring before his eyes made his head swoon.

He found his eyes rolling around in his skull before he jolted forward with a croaky "Gonna puke."

True to his word, Jake tossed up his lunch the moment the boys paused in their quick shuffle towards the medbay. He felt a little better after that and he managed to lift his head once the three of them began their awkward tandem walk together.

By the time they were near the medic bay, Jake managed to place one foot in front of the other. He did an awkward walk and started to help them so they didn't have to heave him the whole way there.

"We've had an accident. The fuel line cracked Hangman straight in the temple and knocked him out. He threw up on the way down here." Bradley looked between the two medics idling around and waited for one of them to point towards the bed in the left corner of the large bunker space.

They trotted to the left and turned around, carefully easing Jake down until he was sat in the middle of the bed.

He felt more alive and a bit better once he was sat down. His head flopped back until the base of his head was touching the back of his shoulders and his shaking hands gripped the edge of the bed with intensity to keep himself sitting upright. It took all his effort to stop himself trembling and he tried to take deep breaths to ward off the sickness and the wave of dizziness that overwhelmed him.

"Okay Seresin, let's take a look."

Coyote and Bradley backed up until they were stood to one side. Neither of them fancied going back outside to finish off their exercises when Jake didn't look in his best shape. They would rather wait here to make sure he was alright and then head back to the rest of the team and tell them how he was fairing up. It was clear that Jake would be going home early today, he was lucky not to have been killed with that force, there was no way he was carrying on with any work today after this.

Jake begrudgingly lifted his head when one of the doctors stood in front of him. He let the man hold his chin and tilt his head from side to side to assess the damage and when he shone a pen light across his eyes, Jake winced.

A frightful yelp left his lips when the man tried to touch the wound and he reeled back with a groan.

"Afraid I'm gonna need an X-ray before I can stitch it. I'll clean the wound and get you some painkillers first." They were lucky the wound was on his head as they had a small, portable X-ray scanner in the back room they could use just to double check they didn't have to send him to hospital for urgent treatment. But if it looked okay, he could get some pain relief, be stitched up and sent home for the day.

"Great." Jake winced, trying to form a lopsided smile, but he couldn't quite manage it.

At least he would get to go home earlier than he thought.

***

"Hey," Bob groaned as sweat dripped off his body and onto a small puddle forming on the stone beneath him. His arms trembled as he tried to continue his push ups now that he was well into the hundreds. "Who's that?"

He nudged his nose against his shoulder to push the glasses further up his nose while he indicated his head to the left, signalling Phoenix's attention towards the person advancing across the base.

Maverick had told Bob and Phoenix to finish off Jake's safety checks, prep his fuel tank too and then do a set of two hundred push ups. They both knew they should have been more careful and they shouldn't have started squabbling like children when Jake was hauled off to the medic bay.

Phoenix lifted her head and glanced her eyes around, trying to find out who Bob was referring to. When her eyes set on a woman walking their way, her brows furrowed and she watched where she was walking.

She wasn't in uniform, whoever she was. She had on a baby blue tank top and a pair of denim shorts that stopped just before her knees. Her bag was hung on her shoulder, the strap clutched tightly in her hand and there was a nervous look plastered across her face.

The woman seemed to spare them a glance, noting that they were both sweating through their uniforms, before her eyes set on Maverick and she made a beeline for him.

"Mav, where is he?" (Y/n) bit her lower lip nervously when she reached Maverick who greeted her with a warm smile and a hand on her elbow.

"He's with a doctor, come with me."

(Y/n) nodded and let Maverick lead her inside the base. She couldn't quite believe how high up the ceilings were or how large the bay doors were, it was like everything was amplified as if giants worked and lived here. It felt strange to be walking round here with Maverick when Jake always said he would give her a tour round one day. Plans changed.

She had been expecting much worse when Maverick rang her and said Jake had had a 'minor accident' at the base, but knowing it was nothing to do with a crash or him being in a plane at all made (Y/n) feel better. It stopped her from having a breakdown or a panic attack as she drove down here, but she couldn't fathom what had happened. What kind of accident would her husband have when he was supposed to be safe here on the ground?

She glanced over her shoulder, noticing that the two others who had been doing press ups were now following after her and Maverick, presumably so they could see Jake too. They must be part of his team.

"What happened?"

"Phoenix and Bob, behind you," Maverick tossed a look over his shoulder and pointed his thumb in their direction. "Had a mishap when they fueled their plane. The pipeline dropped and caught Jake in the temple. I think he's got a mild concussion, but he'll be fine."

(Y/n) brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, hearing her shoes clicking loudly against the tiled floor as she followed Maverick around three corners and down a long corridor until they were in front of a medical wing.

That didn't sound too bad. That wasn't nearly as bad as she had been expecting, but it still wasn't good.

Her husband shouldn't be getting into accidents like this at work. He shouldn't be getting smashed in the head with their equipment. He was a pilot, an aviator. He was training every day to be in top physical performance and here he was with a concussion because his team had clearly lacked concentration.

It took all the effort (Y/n) had not to run ahead once they walked into a large open unit almost the same size as the open field outside. There was only one patient in here and (Y/n) set her sights on him immediately.

Jake was sat on the side of a bed, his legs swinging back and forth like a child at a doctor's appointment. His hands were clutching either side of the bed, his lips were set in a firm line and he kept squinting and closing his eyes as a doctor was stood in front of him, cleaning his wound.

Once they were close enough, (Y/n) hurried past Maverick and dropped her bag down by the foot of the bed. She didn't want to get in the way when the doctor was clearly trying to assess Jake and sort him out, but the moment Jake glanced to the left, his eyes widened and he jerked out of the doctor's grip.

"Baby." The surprise was evident in his voice and he let go of the bed to reach an arm out in (Y/n)'s direction. As soon as he started curling his fingers in a grabbing motion, (Y/n) smiled and moved forward.

Jake immediately coiled his arm around (Y/n)'s waist and reeled her closer until she had to plant her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. His fingers squeezed her hip tightly and he kissed the top of her chest before he glanced over her shoulder towards Maverick.

"You called my wife?"

The shock was evident in Jake's voice, but it was the looks of the rest of the team that made him wince. He hadn't mentioned to any of them that he happened to be married, that knowledge was on a need to know basis and as his superior, Maverick was the only one who needed to know. For emergency situations like this if Jake ever got hurt or shot down or sent to hospital.

There was no way they could let him drive home and since he had been injured, Maverick knew it was best to call (Y/n) and let her know so she could come and pick him up.

"You got concussed and you won't be able to drive home. Yes, I called your missus. You're welcome."

Maverick placed his hand on his hip and tilted his head to one side. Once Jake was silenced with that one look, Maverick nodded to himself and turned to leave. He knew none of them would be doing any more exercises today and he was okay with that, they would call it a day and start again tomorrow.

"You're married?"

"You never mentioned you're married to such a stunning girl."

(Y/n) tilted her head to the right, figuring the man that said that must be Bradley, the one Jake said was close to Maverick. He had a raised brow and his lips quirked into a smile beneath his moustache while both arms folded tightly over his chest.

She could feel the glares Jake was sending towards Bradley, squinting and glaring over in his direction before he looked back up at his wife.

With a quiet groan, Jake moved his hands from (Y/n)'s hips so he could bind his arms tightly around her waist. His hands feathered up and down her back and he pushed forward until his lips attached to her exposed chest just beneath her collar bone.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Why did you need to know?" He countered, smirking tiredly against (Y/n)'s chest and he twisted his head so the left side of his face could press down against her skin. His cheek nuzled into her chest and he looked over at the team, watching the blush that rose to Bob's face that tilted down to look at his shoes and the way Phoenix rubbed the back of her neck bashfully.

He hadn't told them because it wasn't their business, they didn't need to know. He was in love, he was head over heels in love with his wife and in Jake's eyes, she was his little secret.

He didn't want the team teasing him or asking about her or trying to make jokes that he was tied down. He had dealt with that in the past with other people he worked with and he didn't like it. He smiled when people flirted with him in bars, but he kindly turned every one of them down and didn't let them get too close. (Y/n) was the reason why.

Sometimes it felt safer to keep (Y/n) as his little secret. What they did was dangerous, they had all lost friends in this job and it was hard to bring friends and family into this life. Jake didn't know if introducing (Y/n) to his team would be too much.

For him, it felt better to keep work and home life separate.

With a sigh, Jake lifted his cheek from (Y/n)'s chest, his lips forming a thin line as he stared up at her despite the headache that was swirling around behind his eyes. He scanned his eyes around the team who were all watching on eagerly like this was their favourite tv soap.

"Darlin', this is the dagger squad," Jake waved his hand around, muttering their call signs to which (Y/n) nodded earnestly. "Guys, this is my wife, (Y/n)."

"Nice to meet you all, even under strange circumstances," (Y/n) quirked a brow when Bob tipped his head down with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Clearly he felt guilty for the accident and (Y/n) was sure she heard him mutter a soft 'sorry again' clearly directed towards Jake.

He wasn't going to hold a grudge. It had been an accident and a few stitches was much better than some of the injuries he'd gotten on this job. But he would be holding this over them in the future and he knew he had earned himself a few free beers down at the Hard Deck for this.

"How bad is it then?"

Jake felt shockwaves coursing through his blood when (Y/n)'s hands moved from his shoulders to gently cup his face in her hands.

He loved the feeling of her thumbs brushing across his cheekbones just beneath his eyes and the way her fingertips tapped behind the tip of his jaw near his ears. His lips curved into a smile, despite the aching in his temple that had gone down a little when he took the aspirin and painkillers he was given.

His eyes squinted up at his wife whose lips curved into a pouting smile while her head tilted to the side, inspecting the wound on his temple.

All the blood had been cleaned from Jake's face and neck and his head had been X-rayed and dabbed with anticeptic, all he needed now was stitches.

"What am I gonna do with you?" (Y/n) murmured softly while she tilted Jake's head down in her hands so she could pepper kisses against the middle of his temple which no doubt would be aching. She didn't want to touch or go too near the wound, she knew even a light touch was going to hurt and she didn't want to hurt him. But he leaned into her touch and groaned, tightening his arms around her waist while his hands slid further down her back.

"I can think of a few things."

"I don't think I wanna see that." Coyote ran a hand down his face and patted Bradley's chest before he began to walk. He would see what Maverick wanted them to do, whether they were all getting the afternoon off or just Jake. He murmured a soft "Nice to meet you, Mrs Seresin." And laid a hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder as he passed her.

"Yeah, us neither. Sorry again, Hangman, we'll owe you a few rounds when your back in action." Phoenix waved her hand towards Jake and dipped her head before she headed out with Bob following in her wake.

He uttered a soft "Nice to see you, sorry Hangman." before he followed Phoenix, silently praying they wouldn't have to finish the last twenty six push ups they had skipped when they followed Maverick and (Y/n) down here to the medic bay.

"Well, you look like your in good hands, so I'll catch up with you later. Maybe we'll see you soon, Mrs Hangman."

Once Bradley disappeared, (Y/n) managed to untangle herself from her husband's arms, causing him to grunt and pout dramatically. His hands reached out for her but she didn't move far. She stepped out from between his legs and moved to stand on his left side near the end of the bed he was perched on. Her arm looped around his back and her hand gave his shoulder a squeeze while she kissed the good side of his temple.

"When can I take him home?"

"I'll just do the stitches and then he's all yours."

Jake couldn't hide the grimace that flooded his face when he saw the needle and thread. He didn't like the inconvenience of stitches. His eyes briefly glanced up at (Y/n) before he shimmied round on the seat so his back was towards her. And he slowly reclined his head until the back of his head was settled down on (Y/n)'s shoulder.

He did his best to keep his head steady and his eyes fell closed when he saw an injection needle coming close. The numbing agent to make the stitches more bearable.

A low whistle passed his lips and when (Y/n)'s free hand curled over his thigh, Jake reached down and curled his hand over hers. He squeezed tight and tried to take slow, deep breaths when the needle finally started puncturing through his skin. It didn't exactly hurt, but he felt a sharp sting and each time the thread was pulled tight, Jake could feel his brow lifting as the skin was dragged back together.

Six stitches later and (Y/n) could barely feel her hand from how tightly Jake was squeezing it. She leaned her head down and kissed the top of his head, nudging her nose against his soft wavy hair as Jake finally opened his eyes.

"You're good to go with a mild concussion, Seresin. No flying for twenty-four hours, and if you go any higher than G7, I'll need to see you back here for a check over."

"Copy that."

"Thank you for patching him up."

When Jake hopped up from the bed, (Y/n) moved her arm lower to secure around his waist and she pressed a quick kiss to the side of his jaw which caused his lips to pull into a wide grin. He draped his arm over her shoulders, feeling much better than he did earlier.

The last thing he wanted to do was lean on (Y/n) and have her dragging him out of here like the guys had heaved him in earlier. He could walk on his own two feet again.

"That's going to leave a scar." (Y/n) murmured softly, reaching her left hand up to graze her fingers over his brow just beneath the row of navy blue stitches on his temple. It wasn't going to leave a dent or a prominent, deep line, but it would leave a faint streak of white like a dash of paint across his skin.

She pressed another kiss to Jake's jaw until he tilted his head down and captured her lips in a soft, burning kiss instead. "I know," He muttered softly against her lips, kissing her again and again as they walked as slow as possible out of the base.

"But I know you love my war wounds."

[adragonprinceswhore]

Make You Feel My Love

Aemond Targaryen x Ex-Girlfriend

Summary: A few months after you break things off with your boyfriend, Aemond, you start receiving strange messages and phone calls from an unknown number. Things escalate when you’re sent a video secretly filmed half a year ago, of you and Aemond having sex.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), obsession, stalking, exhibitionism, blackmail, threats of violence, emotional manipulation, DUBCON (drunk sex), degradation, dirty talk, fingering, deepthroat, breathplay, spanking, P in V, hairpulling

A/N: Based on a request by anon, I hope you like this! Another spooky fic for the spooky season, Happy All Saint's Eve! 🖤

Word Count: 5100

Your breath turns into small clouds in the cold air as you step out of the office building, the chill of late autumn biting through your wool coat. 

It’s already dark outside. The tall lamp-posts lining the empty streets cast a pale light over Cobbler’s Square, the business hub of King’s Landing. As you fumble with your gloves to put them on, your phone vibrates, breaking the silence of the still night. You glance down and see a message from an unknown number:

"Working overtime again?"

Your eyes linger on the screen. The message makes you shiver, it’s uncomfortably familiar yet oddly unsettling. You scan the sidewalk, wondering if someone from work might be pulling a prank at your expense, but there's no one around, just the faint murmur of traffic in the distance. 

After a second of consideration, you decide it must’ve been someone texting the wrong number, so you slip the phone back into your pocket, and head toward the underground.

The one good thing about staying late at the office is that there’s always a free seat on the train. You take a seat, put in your earbuds and close your eyes, relieved that another stressful day is behind you. 

Still, the strange text you’d received leaves a knot of unease tightening within you. 

Your mind drifts to recent news reports about a man harassing women across the city. He’d been lurking around office buildings, the stories said, learning his victims’ routines, showing up at the same places, always at the wrong times. 

The coincidence is eerie, almost too frightening to think about. So you pull out your phone, trying to distract your wandering mind. 

You scroll through recent news, and just as you feel yourself relax a bit, another reminder of your recent distress pops up on your screen,

Aemond Targaryen.

It’s hard to keep up with recent affairs and not bump into him. 

A member of the Targaryen family, one of the most powerful media dynasties in the country, he was untouchable, the kind of person people said was destined to rule the world. At first, he’d seemed like the everything a woman could wish for: captivating, attentive, always ready with grand gestures.

But as time passed, his attention turned darker. 

His texts became constant, then invasive. 

He’d ask where you were at all hours, demanding you kept your location tracker on at all times. He would question your friends, arguing they were ‘beneath you’. He even hinted at you quitting your job as a political reporter, a position you had studied and fought for for 8 years, to come work for him. “I’ll make you my personal assistant”, he’d said, “Keep you close in case I need anything.”

His controlling tendencies, paired with his arrogant worldview was what ultimately led you to break things off with him . And when you finally did, he’d accepted it with chilling calm; no fight, no anger, just a quiet nod.

You force the thought from your mind, stepping off the tube and onto the platform. 

Once you’re home, you kick off your shoes, lock the door, and sink into the quiet solace of your apartment. You’re pouring a long-awaited glass of wine when your phone vibrates again. 

The screen lights up, the same unknown number.

"I hope you got home safe."

The pit in your stomach returns.

It started off with little things. 

Strange texts that seemed harmless enough. Then came the letters, always printed and neatly folded, never including a return address. 

At first, you brushed them off. It was easy to wave away the unease, convincing yourself that it was a prank, a mix-up, maybe just a wrong number. They were never addressed specifically to you anyway. 

A little discomfort, nothing more. But as the days turned into weeks, the messages began to change. 

They weren’t just random or generic anymore; they became specific, too personal, with a familiar vocabulary that made your skin crawl. Whoever was sending them seemed to know you intimately; your routines and habits. 

Things you had never shared with anyone. 

The messages were like an invisible set of eyes, always watching from places you couldn’t see.

You still remember the first time you felt true fear. It was a Friday night when your phone rang, and you answered to hear nothing but dead silence. 

No voice, no background noise, just the suffocating, empty void on the other end of the line. Stunned into silence, you waited, but the call never broke the silence. 

Eventually, you hung up, convincing yourself that it was nothing, probably a misdial. But then the calls started coming more frequently. And with each passing second you had to listen to the silence on the other end, your unease grew. 

The letters were even worse. 

They began appearing not only in your mailbox, but slipped under your door as well, tucked into the gaps like sinister little secrets. 

You remember holding one, your fingers trembling as you read the words, each line making your apartment feel smaller, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. The messages never outright threatened, but their tone was unsettling, implying that the sender knew where you lived, what you did, even how you spent your quietest, most private moments. 

Before they were impersonal, now they included your name as well. 

You really shouldn’t walk alone at night. 

The city is full of dangers, and someone as precious as you deserves better. I watch you sometimes, you know. 

I watch the way you clutch your bag a little tighter when the shadows loom over you, how you shiver when the wind cuts through your coat. It makes me want to keep you safe.

You work so hard, staying late at the office. It must be exhausting, always pushing yourself. But don’t worry. I’m never far away. Watching. Waiting. Ready to step in if you ever need me.

Sleep well tonight. 

I’ll be thinking of you.

The animalistic fear the letters brought out in you caused tears of despair to shine in your eyes. Never before had you felt so unsettled; robbed of your sanctuary and stripped bare under the unrelenting gaze of an unknown threat. 

When you thought things couldn’t get worse, you notice it in the corner of your eye whenever you get off the tube. Someone has started following you home. 

As with the other terrors, it began subtly. 

A shadow moving just out of your line of sight, footsteps that kept the same rhythm as yours, only to fall silent when you turn to look. 

Initially, you brushed it off as paranoia. The strange texts, calls and letters had made your nerves stand on high alert at all times. So you walk faster, clenching your keys in your hand, telling yourself you were imagining it.

But by now, it’s become undeniable. 

On more than one occasion, you’ve glanced back and caught the outline of a figure lingering just far enough away to melt into the darkness. 

Once, you thought you saw someone duck into an alley when you turned around too quickly, and the image haunted you for days. 

Each night, the walk from the tube station to your building feels longer, the streetlights casting distorted shadows that play tricks on your mind. In retaliation, you cross the street randomly, change your route, but the feeling never fades.

The worst part is that the presence doesn’t make itself known. 

It doesn’t shout or approach. 

It simply waits. 

Watches.

Now, whenever you walk home, every gust of wind and rustling of leaves makes your heart beat fast and hard. You know someone is out there, tracking your every move. 

Always lurking just out of reach. 

The world around you has become a riddle of dark mysteries and hidden threats, and the sense of safety you once had feels like a distant memory.

You feel it every evening, that unnerving prickling sensation of being watched. 

At the office, you catch glimpses of people who seem too familiar, faces that never linger but somehow stay with you. 

On the train, you feel eyes on you, shadowy figures that seem to mirror your every move. Once or twice, you’ve even taken detours down different streets, slipping into shops just to lose whoever’s following you. But somehow, they’re always there, just at the edge of your vision, close enough to make your skin crawl but too far to confront.

Tonight, as you step onto the station platform, your heart hammers in your chest. It’s crowded, people weaving through the tiled halls, but even among the sea of strangers, you feel that presence nearby, watching. 

You keep your head down, slipping into the crowd with hurried steps, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. Your throat feels tight, and each breath becomes an effort as you board the train and move toward an empty seat.

Sitting by the window, you try to focus on the reflection in the glass. Your face looks pale and unfamiliar; a distorted version of yourself, yet it’s the background you watch carefully, searching for that familiar silhouette or lingering stare. The lights flicker across the train’s interior as it pulls away from the platform, the steady hum of the tracks doing little to calm the creeping dread in your chest.

You finally reach your destination and exit quickly, walking down the street to your house in hurried steps. 

Your eyes scan the dimly lit surroundings, every shadow and alleyway filling with the possibility of someone lurking. Halfway to your building, you spot it—a figure across the road, barely illuminated by the faint glow of the surrounding lamp-posts, watching you. 

They don’t approach.

They don’t call out. 

Just watch.

A chill crawls up your spine, but you force yourself to keep walking.

Each step feels like a lifetime as you quicken your pace, the distance to your front door stretching endlessly before you. The familiar sound of footsteps follows behind, soft but persistent, a reminder that you’re not alone. 

You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking far too much for you to be graceful, and the moment the door swings open, you slip inside, pushing it shut and twisting the lock with a desperate click.

Safe. 

At least, you think so.

You move to the window, pulling the curtains tightly closed and double-checking every lock, heart still racing. The eerie silence of your apartment only serves to amplify the tension, and you try to steady your breathing, pressing your back against the wall, reassuring yourself that you’re alone. But then your eyes fall to your phone on the counter, the screen lights up, casting a cold, unsettling glow across the room.

Another message from the unknown number.

“You looked scared tonight. No need to be. I’m just looking out for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and the room suddenly feels colder. 

They were there, watching, close enough to see the fear in your eyes. You swipe through the messages, reading the last few words again and again, each one making it feel like the blood in your veins slowly turns to ice. 

Every instinct tells you to delete everything, to block the number, but it won’t change the fact that they were there. They saw you. They know where you live, and they know you’re alone.

You check the locks once more, willing yourself to believe it’s just a cruel prank. But deep down, you know this is no mistake, no accident.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself, you’ll file a report. You’ll talk to the police, maybe find a friend to stay with for a few nights. But as you lay down, staring into the dark, the words echo in your mind,

"No need to be scared. I’m just looking out for you."

You close your eyes, but the sleep you need feels too far away to be attainable, and all you can feel is that presence. 

Just beyond the walls. 

Watching.

Waiting.

It’s late at night when your phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up the dark room. 

You’ve become almost numb to the sound of notifications, each one feeling like another weight to the stones of anxiety heavy on your chest. 

You almost dismiss it, too exhausted to care for more ominous messages, but then that rush of fear washes over you once more. 

It’s not a text message. 

It’s a video, sent from the same unknown number that’s haunted you for weeks.

You hesitate, one finger hovering over the screen as dread, dark and thick like petrol, pools in your stomach. 

Slowly, you tap to open it, holding your breath in fear of moving even slightly. The video is shaky, filmed through a crevice from a distance, as though captured by someone hiding just out of sight. 

Still, you recognise the setting instantaneously. 

The Targaryen summer house. 

The video depicts two silhouettes; one laying on the bed of one of the many guest rooms of the vast mansion, the other with their head between the first person’s thighs. 

The filmer zooms in on the long, silver hair of the person kneeling next to the bed, and your heart beats so fiercely it feels like it’ll leap out of your chest as the camera moves upwards, until it lands on your face, twisted in pleasure. 

You remember the day clearly. 

It was Aemond’s brother Aegon’s yearly summer party, an elaborate excuse for the Targaryen’s oldest boy to get shit-faced with the elite of Westeros. 

Aemond, never a fan of crowds or parties, had lured you into one of the guest bedrooms for some ‘quality time’ together, which quickly escalated into sex on the crisp, expensive cotton sheets. 

You raise the volume, and can clearly hear the shameless moans leaving your mouth as your ex boyfriend makes you come on his tongue. 

Your stomach turns. 

The camera lingers far too long on your face, zooming in and out, capturing not only the sounds of your bliss, but each twitch and change in your face. 

An overpowering sense of nausea washes over you as you realize that even then, someone was there. 

Someone was watching, recording your most vulnerable moments from the shadows.

The video cuts off abruptly, and a new message appears beneath it,

“Even then, I was closer than you thought.”

Your blood runs cold, and your hands start to shake. 

The message confirms your deepest fear. 

This isn’t a recent obsession. 

Whoever this person is, they’ve been watching you for far longer than you imagined, lurking in the background of your life, inserting themselves into your most private memories. 

You try to breathe, to think clearly, but the walls of your apartment once again close in on you, trapping you inside your body, fighting to run yet with nowhere to go. 

The sense of violation is suffocating, and questions flood your mind. 

How long have they been there? 

How much have they seen?

Desperate and out of options, you swipe your thumb over the screen of your phone, and call the only other person who might have some answers. 

Aemond’s fingers tap restlessly against the rim of his coffee cup. The twitch in the corner of his mouth tells you he's annoyed, and the speed of which his eye darts around the coffee shop, refusing to look directly at you, lets you know it’s your fault. 

You’re not sure if he can see the tears shining in your eyes, he’s barely looked at you since you came. He always saw crying as a sign of a weak mind, and so you do your best not to blink, scared a tear will fall and reveal just how pathetic you feel. 

It’s not like you’re doing a good job hiding it anyway. The dark circles under your eyes and the paranoid pleading in your gaze betray all your recent troubles. 

“I-, I’d like to thank you for coming here after how things… ended”

Your voice is steady, yet there is a thickness in your throat that makes you sound a bit strange, like you’re trying too hard to remain neutral. A performance you’re not quite pulling off, despite your best efforts. 

“Mm”

He’s still not looking at you, stern face reflecting both disinterest and agitation. The relentless tapping of his finger continues, practically screaming at you to hurry up and confess why you asked your ex to meet up. 

“I’ll get straight to it. Yesterday, I received a video of… us. At that party where we-”, you search his face for recognition, chase his eye so it meets yours. Your voice lowers, practically a whisper, 

“-you know” 

“No, I don’t” 

“Aegon’s summer party… We snuck off to the guest room and-, you know”  

Aemond finally lets his gaze meet yours, inspecting your features with a narrowed, suspicious eye. 

Does he not believe you? 

Before he can call you crazy, or dismiss your clear distress with a condescending laugh, you pull out your phone and show him the video. It’s a bit dark and gritty, but it’s clear that it’s the two of you, Aemond’s head between your legs, your own thrown back on the bed in bliss. 

“Do-, do you know who could’ve done this?” 

Aemond takes your phone and watches the video closely, pausing and zooming in on your half-naked body. He’s seen you bare and crazed with desire countless times when you were dating, yet your cheeks heat up and you feel unexplainably vulnerable as he carefully examines the video. 

After a few moments of contemplation, he hums again and hands your phone back, 

“I’ve no clue. I’ll ask Criston for the guest list, probably just one of Aegon’s insufferable friends having a laugh” 

He stands to leave, and you momentarily panic at the thought of being alone again. Just as he turns towards the door, your hand desperately grabs the fabric of his coat, and those tears that had been threatening to spill from your eyes do just that, 

“Aemond, please, I have more” 

You sound so small. So defeated. 

He looks at you with the same harsh, unimpressed look even as you silently cry. 

So cold. 

Maybe it’s what you deserve? 

“I need you, Aemond. Please just stay for a few more minutes and let me explain” 

He’s frozen for a while, contemplating whether he should indulge you or leave, surely eager to dismiss you just as you had done to him, only a month ago. 

With a sigh, his features soften somewhat, and he steps back, once again taking the seat opposite you. 

“Go on then” 

“I-, I’ve been getting all these-”, your voice breaks into a sob as you speak about your recent nightmare. 

You hadn’t dared speak to anyone about your recent terror, too afraid to acknowledge that what had occurred wasn’t simply some insane fever dream. 

“-all these messages and letters from the same number that sent the video. I don’t know why but this person seems obsessed with me” 

You hide your face behind one of your hands, mortified by the humiliation of openly crying at a cafe, next to your ex nonetheless. 

Aemond observes you for a moment before reaching out to place his hand over yours, warming the skin of your cheek. He catches one of the tears falling from your lashes with his thumb, 

“Send me screenshots of it all and I’ll have Criston’s team look through them. You know we own majority of King’s Guard Security, we’ll find whoever’s harassing you” 

A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe without a heavy stone of anxiety crushing your lungs. 

You grab Aemond’s hand, warm and strong in your trembling grip, and squeeze it slightly, 

“Thank you, Aemond” 

Aemond convinces you to take a taxi home, lock the door, and distract your unease with something calming, like taking a bath. 

You do just that, and the warm water enveloping you feels wonderfully comforting. 

You sink deeper in the tub, disappearing into the calm warmth. Just as you breathe out a deep breath that had been stuck in your throat for far too long, a sharp knock to your front door disturbs your peace.  

It’s as if a bucket of ice cold water has been dumped over you, and suddenly you shiver in the warm bath, feeling a chill overtaking you from within. 

Another knock. 

You’re frozen in place.

Immobile.

Stuck in fear. 

You don’t know how long you sit in the tub, waiting for the courage to stand, dry off, and peek out of the bathroom. 

There are no more knocks, and when your fingers are wrinkly and stiff, you finally get out. 

Peering out of the bathroom and at your front door, everything looks the same. Your eyes dart around the room until they fall on the small, white piece of paper on the floor. 

You pick it up with trembling fingers, and open it. 

Before, the letters you’d received had been neatly placed in envelopes and never hand-written. 

This note is different. 

Let me in. 

Tears of desperation well up in your eyes once more and you toss the piece of paper away as if it had burned you. 

Utterly hopeless, you reach for your phone, dialing the number to the one person that had been occupying your mind all day. 

Aemond sends for a car to come pick you up, going as far as instructing the driver to personally come get you from your flat since you feared the stalker was still somewhere nearby, watching you. 

It was Criston Cole himself that showed up at your door, a high-ranking security specialist at King’s Guard Security, often invited to do risk analyses for the government. 

Being reduced to a chauffeur was definitely far below his station, but when Aemond Targaryen hands you a task personally, you comply. 

You wearily eye the pistol strapped to his waist as he walks you to his car. Your glad that precautions are taken to ensure your safety, but also devastated by the fact that it's even necessary. 

Will this be your new normal? 

The drive to Aemond’s place doesn’t take long, and when you arrive, he offers you a slightly awkward hug in reassurance before pouring you a double whiskey,

“To calm your nerves” 

You accept the drink and take a seat on the leather sofa placed in the middle of the large room. In front of you, tall windows show an exquisite view of King’s Landing, including all famous landmarks like Maegor’s Holdfast. To your right, tall bookcases of dark wood line the wall, cutting into the modern sleekness of Aemond’s home, making it more him. 

You take a large sip of the whiskey, not minding the sharp taste that overtakes your mouth. The numbness of alcohol feels inviting after being on edge for so long. 

Aemond takes a seat next to you, his knee bumping into yours as he sits closer than necessary on the wide sofa, 

“You can stay here as long as you want” 

“Thank you, Aemond. That’s very kind of you” 

A small smile forms on his lips at your compliment, and he looks down at his hands. It’s almost a bashful look, and suddenly you guilty for the way you had so cold-heartedly dumped him. 

Sure, he had been controlling, but if the last couple of weeks had proven anything, it was the fact that danger really lurks around every corner. 

Maybe he had only been so controlling because he knew how dangerous King’s Landing truly is for young women? He had direct access to all cases filed with King’s Guard Security, he’s surely seen a lot. 

When you’ve finished your glass, Aemond wordlessly tops it up. 

You finish that too, chatting a bit about work and what you’d been up to recently, prompted by Aemond asking and eagerly listening. 

Your cheeks feel hot from the whiskey, and when you’ve finished your second drink, you place it on the glass-covered coffee table and lean into Aemond only a little more, surprisingly relaxed. 

Your eyes feel heavy as you look up at him, 

“Thank you. For everything today” 

When he smiles, those dimples that you once adored appear in his cheeks. He’s so beautiful in the soft light. So inviting. 

“Don’t mention it. The only thing I care about is that you’re safe” 

You’re not sure if it’s a sudden wave for adoration, the long-awaited relief, or the whiskey, but when you stretch your neck to kiss him, Aemond cups your cheek and runs his tongue over your lower lip. 

Your fingers feel tingly as they play with the buttons of Aemond’s crisp shirt. Your face is still comfortably warm, and when his kisses travel down to your neck, you sigh in content and throw your head back. 

You watch the skyline of King’s Landing through the tall windows of Aemond’s home; white lights decorating the skyscrapers competing in height. There’s a strange, red dot decorating one of them, occasionally blinking. 

Your eyes narrow to inspect it further, but quickly close as Aemond’s fingers slip into your underwear, 

“I’ve missed this”, he murmurs into your neck, and sucks at the skin. 

“Me too”, you sigh. 

His fingers know exactly how to work you, and after a few more tender kisses to your neck and deliberate flicks to your clit, you meet his fingers with your hips, desperate for more. 

Just as you’re about to fall apart, Aemond withdraws his hand. 

He slowly licks your essence from his sticky fingers, amused by your pathetic frown, 

“Please, Aemond. Don’t be mean” 

Seeing him savour the taste of your cunt only makes it ache more. 

“I’m not. You know what I want” 

Maybe if you had less alcohol in your body, you’d realise how bad this is.

Fucking your ex is never a good idea. 

But the heat of the whiskey warming your senses makes you reckless, and you smile as you kneel on the floor in front of him. 

With eager fingers, you pull down his zipper and take his cock in hand, already hard and pulsating in arousal. Wasting no time, you lean forward to lick the tip before ungraciously taking him into your mouth, sucking as if your life depended on it. 

Aemond tuts above you, a disapproving noise you know from when you were dating. You look up just as he moves his hands to cradle your face, mischief dancing in his eyes,

“You can do better than that” he says and pushes deeper, until his cock is in your throat and you can’t breathe. 

He releases a prolonged sigh and stays buried in your throat, stealing air from you. 

The harsh pounding between your thighs intensifies as the oxygen to your brain cuts off. You look up at Aemond, who regards you with a sinister grin, and shoves his foot between your kneeling legs, pushing at your clit.

It’s the last push you need, a playful kick to your swollen nub, and you come with his cock still deep in your throat. 

With no air to inhale and an excruciatingly consuming orgasm coursing through your body, you feel too light-headed to keep your eyes open, ready to succumb and disappear into the abyss of bliss that is the orgasm Aemond forces out of you. 

Before you lose consciousness, Aemond pulls out, a glistening sting of spit falling from your lips and spilling down your chin. 

Your ears are pounding from the rush of finally being able to breathe again, yet you hear it, like an echo in the distance. 

He’s laughing. 

“Fuck, that’s a good little slut”, he praises you, “Getting off on choking on my cock” 

He catches the drool on your chin with one hand, and forces you to stand with the other. Your legs still shake, and you stagger forward, almost falling into him. 

He laughs again, amused or condescending, you can't tell, and manoeuvres you to kneel on the sofa facing away from the city landscape. 

He brings the hand covered in your drool between your cheeks, and trails it down to your clit. You gasp at the sting of overstimulation, but Aemond’s hand doesn’t budge,

“You weren’t supposed to come from that, dirty girl”, he taunts you with a playful yet harsh smack to your ass. You whine and try to pull away, it’s all too much. 

“I wanted to tease you for a bit longer”, he whispers into your ear, and you can feel the leaking tip of his cock press between your cheeks, 

“I won’t be mean though. My precious girl deserves better” 

He slides in easily, the mess of your slickness, spit, and Aemond’s precum easing his path. 

You lean forward to brace yourself against the backrest of the sofa as he starts to fuck you, pace quick and hard, just as you remember him liking it. 

"Aemond", you moan and he goes harder, the smacks of his hips hitting the meat of your ass loud and vulgar in the quiet night, 

“Say it again”, he orders and pulls at your hair so your head falls back, “Just like that, baby, you look so fucking hot when I fuck you”

When you don’t comply fast enough, he pulls at your hair harder. You cry out his name, and he rewards your submission with a kiss to your cheek, 

“Good girl” 

After that day, things change. 

Aemond sends cars to pick you up from work so you won’t have to get on the tube. He distracts you from the eerie shiver that’s settled into your bones by bringing you out to dinner, to the cinema, to a new wine bar. 

He allows you to lean against him whenever you talk about the nightmare that the last few weeks have been. He even puts an arm around you, and occasionally presses his lips to the crown of your head. And he always listens carefully. 

The controlling tendencies that had previously chased you away now provide comfort. 

He knows where you are at all times, so no one can steal you away. 

He always answers your calls, so you never have to feel alone. 

He always meets your needs, whether it’s letting you talk shit about your boss for hours, or excitedly chat about a book you just read. 

He's always near. 

Always ready. 

Always watching.

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you liked this and want more, check out my fic The Commune!

[harmonic-intervention]

Got a little inspired by Tim saying Buck wasn't spending as much time with Eddie because of his new relationship. Wouldn't leave me alone so enjoy my word vomit.

When Buck woke up, he did so gradually, slowly gaining awareness of the mattress and the frankly unholy amount of pillows under him, of the warmth settled right next to him, of the gentle stroke of a thumb over his lower arm.

Sighing, he moved, stretched like a cat in a sunbeam, and turned over onto his side, rolling right into the source of that pleasant warmth.

He didn't even open his eyes. Instead, he blindly found his way to his destination, burying his nose in the space right under a very nice jaw. He felt the vibration of the resulting chuckle right against his skin.

"Good morning," Tommy mumbled. "Sleep well?"

Buck nodded, but it ended up being more of a nuzzle. "The best."

A large hand found its way into the curls at the back of Buck's head and began gently scratching at his scalp, twirling a curl around a finger, the usual.

Buck finally found the will to move his face away from Tommy's throat and actually open his eyes. The light of the room was dim, the dark curtains keeping most of the sunlight out.

Tommy looked beautiful lying there with his hair all soft and fluffy. To be fair, Buck thought he always looked beautiful, and every time he looked at him, it was as if he became more and more so.

"Morning," Buck finally returned the greeting. He leaned in to steal a chaste kiss, but quickly found he wasn't satisfied with just one.

The same way that Tommy apparently wasn't satisfied with just a couple short ones, as a hand along Buck's jaw kept him close, and when his thumb found its place on the bolt of Buck's jaw, he opened up easily.

They hadn't been dating for all that long, but most of their mornings off were spent like this - in bed, luxuriating in the cozy, intimate atmosphere.

They both had come off of a long shift of not seeing each other, and now had the next 48 hours off together, so Buck had gone to Tommy's place after the end of his shift. He was going to spend the next two days glued to Tommy's side. A crowbar would not be able to pry him off.

Things were heating up steadily, the space between them being reduced down to nothing. Buck's hand started to make its way beneath the sheets to slide down Tommy's torso when he was interrupted by his phone vibrating on the nightstand.

Buck was determined to ignore it - whoever it was could just send him a message and he would get back to them - and sighed his relief right into Tommy's mouth when the call ended. His fingers skirted along the waistline of Tommy's boxers when the vibrating picked back up.

Still on his path of disregarding the existence of the outside world, Buck moved closer to Tommy, slotting a leg between his, and just when he was finally about to stop teasing them both and actually put his hand on Tommy's dick, his phone started acting up again.

Much to his dismay, Tommy moved his mouth away from his. "I think it's important."

Buck grumbled as he turned over to grab his phone, one hand still firmly in place on Tommy's body, "Whoever it is better have life insurance."

He ignored the soft snort that came from his boyfriend in favor of taking a look at his phone screen.

"It's Eddie."

"Better pick up."

Buck might have been ready to just turn his phone off, but Tommy's suggestion was much more reasonable. He nodded and turned back on his other side.

Tommy's eyes flitted down between them. "You gonna take your hand off my dick?"

"No," Buck replied with a wink and accepted the call. "Hey, Eddie."

Tommy shrugged and leaned in, finding something for his mouth to do. Namely go to town on Buck's throat.

"Buck, where are you? I'm at your place and it's empty."

It took a moment for Eddie's words to register, mostly because Buck was distracted by the hint of teeth against his adam's apple. "What- my place? We have a 48 off."

"Yeah, I thought we could hang out. You didn't mention any plans, did you have something?"

He didn't mention any plans because going over to Tommy's place had become the rule, not the exception.

"I'm at Tommy's." Syllables were getting harder to form when most of his brainpower was used to concentrate on hands sliding up and down his back, stopping just shy of his ass every time.

"Oh! Are both of you up, I could come by there, then."

Eddie started talking about something - probably what he had wanted to convince Buck to do with him, something about something, Buck would full-heartedly admit that he was not listening to a single word. Not when his super hot boyfriend was being a tease.

"Listen, man, that sound's great," probably, "but I'm kinda busy at the moment."

"What?"

Tommy chuckled against Buck's jugular, clearly having heard Eddie's confusion through the phone.

Buck was about to say something that would probably traumatize his best friend forever, when seemingly, he connected the dots by himself.

"Oh, ew, Buck! What the fuck?"

"Don't 'what the fuck' me, you wouldn't stop calling!" Buck exclaimed.

This time, Tommy let out an actual laugh, definitely loud enough to be picked up by the phone. Eddie groaned on the other side, sounding very much like he was regretting all of his life choices.

"Listen, we'd love to hang out, but maybe a bit later, yeah? Give us ..." Buck looked down at Tommy and raised an eyebrow, "like, an hour?"

Tommy's reply of, "Two hours," was muffled against Buck's collarbone. He had quickly gone back to ignoring the phone call in favor of biting at the edges of Buck's body.

"Two hours. Then you can come over."

Hands free and mind not pulled in two different directions, Buck immediately buried a hand in Tommy's hair and pulled him off. He narrowed his eyes at the spark of mischief in Tommy's own ones.

After getting Eddie's confirmation and the beginning of him lamenting his life, Buck simply hung up and tossed his phone onto the nightstand, uncaring whether it actually landed there or not.

"Having fun?" he asked with a put upon frown.

Tommy didn't even have the decency to look bothered by the grip that Buck had on his curls. "So far, yes."

Buck hauled him back in into a biting kiss, using the momentum of his own body to turn them over into the pillows.

He ignored the smug grin pressed against his mouth for now. He'd take care of that soon enough.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞'𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦

↳ summary: the x-men can't seem to leave you alone, even if you've made it clear that you want nothing to do with them. as a last-ditch effort, they send logan, who's a little different than the rest

↳ notes: man writing this fucked me up. i kept editing it because i didn't like how it sounded, so some feedback would be much appreciated

↳ warnings: mentions of blowing things up in a past instance, but no one died. reader is a mutant and their powers are kept ambiguous, but it is implied they can somehow cause explosions

↳ song: promiscuous—nelly furtado

masterlist | commissions | carrd

The first time they sent someone, you had been excepting it

You weren't dumb. You knew the difference between an innocent bystander and a hired gun; or at least something along those lines. The way people walked talked and carried themselves was always a dead giveaway, and recently you had been surrounded by a few too many intense stares and stiff shoulders for your liking. A lot more than you were used to, in fact. Maybe that's what prompted you to start taking a new way home from work instead of the usual combination of cross walks and dirty bus seats.

The quick guy with silver hair was their first attempt at contact. You had found him waiting outside your apartment for you to get home all but a week after noticing the new attention on you, and you would have ignored him too if it wasn't for the fact that he was sitting on the outside your balcony, kicking his feet merrily off the side about ten stories above the pavement below without a care in the world. And with what looked like a twinkie in his hand, too.

You'd closed the blinds without a second thought, tossing him a fake grin and a little wave when he eventually turned around as you slammed them shut. You were fairly certain he could have stopped you in no time flat, if the way you would watch him zip away in the blink of an eye later said anything, but you took a heat-of-the-moment gamble and were satisfied when all your efforts got was a whine from the other side of your window pane. His mouth was too full of pre-packaged pastry to say anything in the moment, you realized

"Not interested." You called over your back as you began to retreat into your kitchen without another moments notice.

"You haven't even heard what I want!" He said thickly, clearly trying to swallow as he spoke. You must have startled him a little then. Good.

"And I don't need to."

He left a few minutes later when his one sided conversationalist skills got him no where, and you responded by throwing a frozen pizza in the lower half of your oven.

You had been craving pepperoni all day anyway.

The second person try was a bit more aggressive.

They didn't have the decency to wait for you to come home this time. Instead, you found yourself looking up from your laptop as a chair was pulled out across from you at the quaint table you sat at. It made a scraping noise, and you tensed the muscles in your hands for a moment at the sound.

"Can I help you." Your eyebrow quirked up as you looked at the woman across from you. She had blonde hair, and what you thought were the brownest eyes you had even seen. You had trouble looking anywhere but into them for a second. When they hit the light, you swore they turned yellow just for a moment, and she looked about as annoyed as you were that she was sitting by you. You didn't have to wait long to find out why.

"We've been trying to reach you." The surrounding noise of the café hardly disturbed the hard tone in her voice. "You're avoiding us."

At least this time these people had the common sense to approach you in public. If you were any form of confrontational, which you very much weren't, you could have started a fight the last time. Who knows if you would have won against super speed and whatever else the first guy had— you weren't exactly sure about the extent of his powers, and at this point didn't care —but the point remains that some damage could have been done. Now, in the middle of a coffee shop on a busy afternoon, it would be a bit harder to start a fight. Not that you were seriously concidering it. If anything, you wanted to duck into a large crowd just to loose this new recruiter, or whatever they were called. You didn't exactly know if they had a name for this type of situation.

"I have no idea who you are." Your tone matched her own, dealing out the half lie nonchalantly. You weren't technically wrong, really. You didn't know her, nor did you know that other man that had shown up before. But you knew what they wanted, and you'd be damned if they didn't pin you down without a bit of a struggle.

Moving with a speed quick enough to get your message across, but not fast enough as to alert any of the surrounding coustomers that something was up, you closed your laptop, abandoned your now lukewarm drink, and started for the door. You only paused in your movements after a weight settled over the back of your shoulder, and you carefully turned your neck to look down at the hand resting firmly on you.

"I don't recommend doing that." You said with a bit of a warning tone in your voice, looking her right in the eyes as you did so. They had since shifted from dark brown to an almost hazel shade, and you filed that information away for later use.

Her grip remained where it was for a moment. Then a thought seemed to cross her mind, and she let go of her hold on your shirt; even if a bit reluctantly.

You didn't stick around to see if anything else would happen. You just made your way out of the shop and into the bustling street, not caring if she followed. They already knew where you lived anyway.

"Taxi!!"

The final person they sent for you, you hadn't seen coming.

Every other time— from the teleporting blue kid, to the woman with white hair and fair skin, and even the tall guy in glasses that had turned a little blue when you pushed your way past him —you had been able to prepare beforehand. At the very least you were able to lock your doors before going out and about your day. You knew that wouldn't stop them in the slightest, but it was a silent message to stay out of your business.

But this guy? This guy just didn't care at all.

"You know, you're really nailing this first impression thing."

A gruff voice sprang to life at the same moment that your hallway lights did, doing a fine job at catching you off guard. You managed to not jump, but with the way the intruders lips tilted up, you figured he knew he had surprised you.

"Oh, fuck my life."

You were really not feeling like another impromptu visit tonight. You had gotten home from a rough day of work a couple of hours ago, only to realize that you had finally blown through all your food, and was once more sent back out into the city to look for a grocery store. You had been looking forward to finally resting your feet, and maybe your eyes a few hours earlier than planned, and you most certainly weren't in the right state of mind to entertain this hulking figure of a man and the proposition that came with him.

You looked at him harshly. He had muscles for days, and a brown leather jacket to accentuate just how large he was. You knew for a fact that he was a few weight classes up from the last guy that had been sent to your house, and you wondered if this was their way of trying to intimidate you into forcefully accepting their offer.

Tiny scars dotted his face and the skin on his neck. You wondered why there were so few, considering that you already knew what he did for a living, but also knew better than to question someone like him. Especially since he was already standing in the doorway to your home, looking like he owned the place.

"Go away." You didn't grant him any sort of emotion in your voice as you walked in the direction of your fridge. The plastic bags full of your food for the week swung in your arms, and for a moment you thought this new guy was going to block your way into the rest of the house before he backed off with a roll of his shoulders.

You clocked his broad chest and bruised knuckles out of the corner of your eyes as you opened the ice box and slowly placed some frozen veggies in side by side. He had either gotten here straight from a fight, or was itching for one. You figured it was probably the former considering he hadn't jumped you the second you walked through the door. Or you know, maybe he just had fucked up hands. You could never tell with people at this point.

"You're pleasant." The mans wry smile was nothing but headache educing as you finished putting the cold groceries up. You snorted with hollow amusement.

"Try being stalked for a month and a half. It really makes you feel like being hospitable."

"Try being the guy that gets sent to get in contact with you. It ain't exactly the way I wanted to be spending my Friday night either." He parroted back your words while running a hand down his face and across what you had since recognized as mutton chops in the process.

"When are you going to tell that professor of yours that I'm not interested in his little passion project." You think that might have been the first time you ever directly acknowledged what exactly was going on. Every other time you had just told the other person to get lost or slammed a door in their face to really get the point across, but the way this guy was looking at you gave you the feeling that he wouldn't be as easy to shoo away as the others, and you weren't really feeling up for a giant display of effort right about now.

"You could always tell him yourself, bub." His eyes followed your face as you crossed the room to stop in front of him, hand outstretched with something that ignited a small smirk on his face.

"Trying to bribe me?" He asked, going to take the fresh beer you offered him all the same. You shook your head.

"No. My master plan actually consists of getting you shit-faced drunk so you guys will finally leave me alone." You watched as his hand hesitated in mid-air slightly, and you misinterpreted his silent amusement at your jab for skepticism. "I've just got too much beer and a stranger in my apartment that's not going to leave me alone anytime soon, that’s all." You relented with a shrug.

"Fair enough." He took the brown bottle by the neck and popped open the top without so much as looking around for a bottle opener. When the cap went rushing to the floor less than a second later, you squinted.

"What are you then? Super strong? Or is your power alcoholism." That got a rough chuckle out of him. He swallowed about half of the bottle in one go before answering, and you sucked at your teeth as he did so.

"Something like that."

"Wow. Really feeling the comradery here." You didn't miss the way he deadpanned at that, and you figured he was thinking about all of the times you had kicked every other pursuer to the curb without even letting them get a word in edge wise. Still, you pushed on. "Remind me how its fair that you and your friends know all about me, but I have a new hero-of-the-week showing up on my doorstep every other day without so much as a clue as to what they could do to me?"

"About as fair as your little accident in Colorado." He responded without a seconds hesitation. You felt a little perspiration form on the back of your neck, and chalked it up to the lack of a.c in the room. Even if it was anything but.

"If you're here to try and convince me to join your little superhero team, I hate to tell you, but it isn't going to work. Just like it didn't work the past ten times." You ignored his last comment and made yourself comfortable on your living room couch. "Do you have a name? I've never really stuck around to talk to one of you this long before, and it's annoying to keep rendering to you as 'some guy' in my head."

He paused abruptly while drinking the beer, and you barely held back from rolling your eyes at his change in mood.

"It's Logan." He finally bit out reluctantly. You got the feeling that the only reason he told you was because he was here by request. If it has been any other circumstances, you had no doubts that he would have told you to fuck off. He gave off that energy.

"You already know mine, so I'm not gonna bother." You kicked your feet up and let your head hit the back of the couch with a sigh. "Just let me know when you finally get bored and head out. I want to make sure my landlord knows to blacklist you from the building after you're gone."

"Is this how you got everyone else to leave? By annoying them to death?" Logan sounded more entertained then you would have liked, and you blamed it on the beer.

"Depends. Is it working?"

"I've been sleeping at a school filled with screaming kids for the past few weeks. You're going to have to try harder than that to get me out of here." He took another swig.

"What will it take to get you to leave me alone. All of you." Your voice dipped out of it's usually casual tone for a more annoyed one. You were used to playing the long game when it came to getting people to leave you alone, but at this point it was getting ridiculous with the amount of people that they were throwing at you, and it was starting to wear you out. You weren't sure if Logan could tell your patience was being tested, and you weren't sure if you wanted him to.

Logan raised one eyebrow in your direction as an answer to your question, and you sighed.

"I'm not taking a stupid fucking spot on the X-Men if that's what you're implying. What do I have to do to convince you guys that I'm not up for it; blow up a building on accident or something?" The word 'again' went unsaid, but the implication was there.

You watched as Logan seemed to throw something around in his mind for a moment.

"Do you want to know why I joined the X-Men?" He eventually asked.

"Because you had nothing else to do with yourself other than styling your hair real stupid? Seriously what's with this horn thing you've got going in."

"I joined because they helped pull me off a dark path, kid." He barreled past your sarcasm, shutting you down quicker than you would like to admit. His tone was laced with something you recognized all as hatred, and you knew it wasn't directed at you, but rather himself. You knew the feeling all too well.

"I was running from something that I didn't even know I was trying to avoid." He continued. "And if it wasn't for the Professor and his 'stupid fucking team', I wouldn't have ever stopped."

For the first time in the past few minutes, you allowed one of your walls to come down as he spoke. You stared at him with a tired look lingering behind your gaze, choosing this time to listen rather than to ignore.

"I'm not running from anything." Even as you said it, you knew it was a lie. Logan didn't even have to look at you for you to sigh and lean forward again.

"I can see why the Professor wants you on the team." You felt the cushions on the opposite end of your couch dip slowly as he sat down. The now empty beer bottle was still in his hand, but as you looked over at Logan, you found his eyes filled to the brim with nothing but the honest truth.

It was a strange, tense moment. Both you and Logan could admit that. You were clearly filled with regret for your past actions, no matter how accidental they might have been, and conflicted with yourself because of it. Logan could do nothing more but watch as you battled with yourself over his words. His original plan had been to come here, show off a claw or two if needed, and bring you back to the school with a characteristic scowl on his face. But all that was thrown out the window when you offered him a beer, and when he was finally able to get a good look at you.

You looked exactly how he used to before one of his old cage matches. Detached and losing yourself. He could see it in your eyes.

The room delved into silence. You wrung your hands together and planted your feet. Logan watched as you seemed to have a silent conversation with yourself, and he began to regret not pacing himself with the beer. He wasn't anywhere near affected by the alcohol, that's to say. He just wished he had something to do other than sit in your home with squared shoulders and a furrowed brow.

"If I took one trip over to the place, would you guys let up on whatever this is?" You finally asked. Logan pushed down a faint smirk as you turned your neck to look at him.

"Sure."

You didn't say anything else, and you didn't have to. You got up without another word and grabbed a bag from a nearby closet. Logan found himself leaning on your doorframe as you stuffed a few essentials down into your travel bag in the room over, and he remained there until you finished.

"Still curious about my powers?" Logan decided to bait you just a little further as you shut the door to your apartment with a click of your keys, and he had trouble keeping a straight face when you looked back at him with curiosity dancing across your features.

Without saying anything, he held one of his hands up, and let you watch as his trademark claws popped up slowly. Like seasonal weeds in a garden full of flowers. The appendages let out a slight sliding noise as they did so, and you blinked once. Twice. Three times.

"And I thought my powers were bad." You finally said after a moment, and Logan scoffed at you.

"Kid, everyone thinks their powers are bad at first."

You seemed to take that as a challenge, and Logan watched as a bit of that fire that he'd heard about from Storm and the others flared up in you.

"Yeah? You ever accidently blow up a boiler room and take out half your high school's classes, big guy?" Your grin was all teeth as the two of you made your way down the complex hallway. Logan slowed his pace so you could keep up, and turned around so he could fully look at you as he walked backwards.

"Big guy?" He questioned you with a tilted of his head, looking about as unimpressed as he could.

"I mean yeah." You snickered. "Just look at your, well, everything." You took to gesturing at his entire being, something that got you a huff from the other man.

"Maybe you're just small." He shot back. You laughed and shook your head, looking down at yourself. Yeah right.

"And maybe I'm right, and you're just freakishly big."

Your banter continued all the way down to the elevator, where you had a hard time holding in your laughter as Logan accidentally almost stabbed the down button with his claws, apparently having forgotten that they were even out.

You couldn't help but wonder if he was always like this; if everyone at the school was like this.

Maybe going for a visit wasn't as much as a bad idea as you'd thought.

[eudaimaniacs]

strawberries (logan howlett x female reader) | part ii

character/universe: logan howlett/wolverine (x-men/marvel)

word count: 806 words

warning/s: implied future smut and pregnancy

notes: i am sick and can't focus on anything right now. here's a new imagine since i haven't posted for five days. i might write a sequel to this if i have the energy again. enjoy!

“Daddy, look at the strawberries I picked!”

The high-pitched, sweet, and jolly voice makes Logan kneel and look at the small figure before him. He softly smiles as he picks up Holly, giggling as she feels the scratch of Logan’s beard tickling her.

“Those strawberries look nice, princess. What are you going to do with them?” Logan squeezes her cheek as he takes the small basket and puts them on the countertop.

Holly hums and points to you, fixing your dress and washing other produce you picked up. Logan smiles as he sees your figure basked in the sunlight and hard at work. He looks at his daughter to see the exact features you passed on to her—your sweet smile, ethereal and wavy hair, and those beautiful eyes Logan loved to stare at.

“I’m going to make strawberry jam with Mommy!” Holly exclaimed as she grabbed one strawberry and tried to put one on Logan’s mouth. The pair laughed as the older man put her down, and she ran to her mother. Settling his hands on his hips, Logan made his way to you and embraced you. You stopped the faucet as you leaned against his chest.

The sound of Holly giggling as she counts the strawberries makes you and Logan sick with laughter, too. You sighed as you grasped Logan’s hand and bent a bit to kiss his jaw. It felt nice to have a quiet life after Logan’s tumultuous journey and quit the X-Men. You never thought that after many fights, close calls, cries, and almost leaving each other, you two would be together. Logan was tired from the constant wars and missions; all he wanted was to settle down and be at peace.

“What’s on your mind, honey?” You whispered as you slowly swayed to the breeze. Logan hummed as he kissed your head.

The older man said, “To make another little one with you.” You chuckled as you playfully slapped Logan’s hand. You turned around to see if he was joking. Holly was accidentally conceived during Logan’s final months as a member of the X-Men. You were scared that he would abandon you with a possible mutant child. You kept the pregnancy a secret until a bald man offered you a solution. He promised to convince Logan to leave the team and have a safe place for your budding family. It sounded too good to be accurate; however, knowing Logan, he would give up this violent life to spend the rest of his years peacefully.

Charles and some X-Men members escorted you to a remote area where they built a pleasant and comfortable house. You listened to the bald man’s instructions about waiting for Logan to go to this place. One member, Storm, cared for you as you anxiously waited for weeks for your lover to come. You nervously admitted to her to know and see Logan’s reaction as he saw you with a protruding belly. Storm assured you that Logan would accept and love you as he was offered the life he had always wanted.

One sunny day, you watched the television and knitted when you heard knocks. Storm left to return to the mansion, and you were sure it was her outside the door. As you unlocked the barrier, you met Logan, dressed in his plaid button-up and tight bootcut jeans. You cried as you hugged him tightly, welcoming him to this new life.

“I missed you, bub,” Logan kissed your cheek as he rubbed your back. You tried calming yourself as you explained the pregnancy and Charles’ proposal. Logan grabbed your hand and told you that he knew all about it. You asked him if he was angry that he left the team and had a child coming his way. Logan smiled as he touched your belly and asked how far along you were.

After three-and-a-half years of serenity, you were adjusting to the calm family and rural life. There were no threats, disruptions from the X-Men, and other troubles. Logan couldn’t be happier to have the life he constantly desired. Now, he wanted to build a bigger family.

“Holly would love a sibling to play with,” Logan remarked as he tied off the apron on your waist. You hit his chest as you replied that Holly was in the living room playing. You didn’t want your daughter walking in as Logan fucked another child inside you.

“You have to wait until tonight, Lo. I have to make strawberry jam with Holly,” you chuckled as you went to the living room to prepare your daughter for the activity. Logan squeezed and slapped your ass as you gave him one more kiss. “Can’t wait for tonight, bub,” Logan smirked as he saw you carrying Holly. He looked forward to seeing you carrying his child again in a few months.

eudaimaniacs - 2024

[vivwritesfics]

I need just the tip with hangman

Heed the warnings for this one - but at the same time I need this Hangman to rail me within an inch of my life lmao, I could write so much for these two

Warnings: smut, age gap, power imbalance, virginity taking, innocence kink, fingering, p in v

The Squad didn't know that Maverick had a daughter when that mission happened. No, they found out about his daughter after, when things were normal and Penny invited them all over for a barbecue in the garden.

Upon hearing that Maverick had a daughter and she was on her way, they all expected her to be Bradley's age or near enough.

They didn't expect her to be in her early twenties.

They didn't expect her to be a stunner.

Maybe it was the beers that gave Hangman such loose lipped. But he couldn't stop that 'holy shit' from slipping out. Who could blame him, though?

But then...

"Bradley!" She ran into Roosters arms and wrapped her own arms around his neck. Figures, Jake couldn't stop himself from thinking as he looked at them.

He didn't interact with her at that barbecue, but he was acutely aware that her eyes didn't leave him. After a few more drinks she whispered something in Bradley's are, something that had him standing up and saying 'No way!'

The next time Jake saw her was at the beach. She giggled, waved and batted her eyelashes at him before she ran back to her friends.

Jake couldn't take his eyes off of her if he wanted to. Everything she did, it was like she was putting on a show for him and only him.

But, even then, Jake didn't approach.

It was only when he found her at the hard deck. He didn't know she was there looking for him, the handsome aviator that her dad knew.

She sat alone, drinking as she waited for Jake to walk in. And, when she did, she was on her feet, standing beside him as he leant against the bar, ass sticking out.

Jake was sweating. Here was Mavericks daughter, pressing her ass against his dick.

"Hey, Hangman," she said as he turned towards him and wrapped her lips around the neck of her bottle, deep throating it.

Jake visibly gulped. His hands were on her hips ss he stared down at her and leaned forward. "Does this shit work on the boys your age?"

She shrugged her shoulders in such a sweetly, innocent way. "I wouldn't know," she said, breath hot on his ear.

Holy fuck, she was a Virgin.

There wasn't much that could restrain Hangman at that point. But Penny's eyes on him certainly did. He kept her near him thought, kept an eye on her while they drank.

And, at the end of the night, he took her back to his truck.

"Is your dad gonna kill me when I drop you home?" Jake asked when he began driving.

Her fingers danced up his thigh and she let out a hum. "Not if you take me back to yours ," she mused as she popped the button on his trousers.

How was Jake supposed to say no to that? He sucked in a breath as he went past her place, continuing on to his own. Her breath hitched when she realised, but Jake didn't notice.

Jake parked up outside of his place. He helped her out of the truck, but they didn't get further than that. No, Jake had her against the truck, lips bruising against her own.

She moaned against him, hands pulling at his hair. Jake threw his head back, a moan coming from the back of his throat. "Holy shit," he groaned as she attached her lips to his neck.

With her legs around his waist, Jake carried her into his house, with his hands under her ass, squeezing and kneeding at the flesh. He managed to open the door and dropped her on the bed.

But then his hands were on her thigh, pushing her skirt up. Suddenly, she was nervous under his pretty gaze. "Wait," she squeaked, grabbing his wrists.

Jake let out a breath as he looked at her. He moved his hand to her knee and moved his thumb from side to side. "What is it?"

"I-I've never done this before," she whispered, and Jakes eyes softened.

He leaned down and kissed her, softly this time. "I'll take care of you," he whispered against her lips.

She nodded. "I've got you, Bug," Jake whispered as his hand moved down from her knee. His fingertips brushed her thighs and touched her through her underwear.

"Holy fuck," she whispered.

Slowly, he pushed her underwear to the side. His rough fingertips were gentle against her clit, and every touch had her crying out for him. And, each noise she made was music to Jakes ears.

The way she writhed beneath him, Jake couldn't stop watching her. He kept his thumb pressed against her clit, his long fingers pushed inside. One at first, but even that had her gasping.

"Hangman," she cried, throwing her head against the arm of the sofa, back arching.

There was something about that, something about her calling him by his Callsign. It unlocked something animalistic in him. But he was still taking things slow and gentle.

As he worked her open, he freed himself from his trousers. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, looked down at where his hard on hit his stomach.

"Jake," she squeaked, and he stilled his fingers. "I-I don't think I can take that," she whispered.

He didn't mean to smirk, but he couldn't help himself. "Too big for you, Bug?" He whispered as he pulled his fingers out of her cunt. He placed them between his lips, tasting her, releasing a hum. "So sweet, Bug."

She whined beneath him, hips moving on their own.

"How about just the tip?" He asked almost sweetly, and she rapidly nodded her head.

Jake rolled the condom into his length. He stood before her and she reached down to wrap her fingers around him. It was such a pretty sight, one Jake didn't think he'd ever get enough of.

He eased himself forward, nestling the head of his cock between her folds. She let out a whine and grabbed his hand, squeezing as he eased himself forward.

"Just the tip," he reassured her, squeezing her hand.

The way she squeezed him, it was almost too much to handle. Jake pulled back and eased himself in again, this time a little further. Her breath caught in her throat and he pulled back again.

"Sorry, Bug. Just the tip, I know."

Jake couldn't wait to have her bent over the arm of the sofa, cock splitting her folds as he ravaged her.

[blueicequeen19]

Eight

Warnings: dark, mean Rafe, Non-Con, oral, face fucking, public-ish setting, blackmail, sex for money

You stop at the edge of the in ground hot tub, crossing your arms when you see the way he's eyeing you like a prize. You hate that smug smirk and how good he looks no matter what. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. No one realized how deadly he really was beneath the nice guy act.

"What do you want, Rafe?" You ask, diverting your eyes when he stands in all his naked glory. Every inch of your body heats uncontrollably. Why was he naked in a hot tub at a party?

"Now, now, that's not a good tone to have. You should be happy you’re here." You level him with a glare as he comes to stand at the side of the hot tub closest to you, looking up under his lashes.

"I thought I wasn't allowed at your parties."

"You're not but I'm bored." Rafe shrugs a shoulder.

"You summoned me out of bed because you're bored?"

"Get used to it, darling. You're mine for a month, remember?" How could you forget? You kept waiting for the moment that he demands you spread your legs for him. So far it had just been running errands, answering his work phone, or cleaning up after him. But he’d made it clear in the beginning that he could have whatever he wanted from you.

"Let's play a game. Pick a number."

"I don't want to play."

"Pick a number, one through ten. I promise you'll love it." You bite your lip, hating yourself for the mess you'd got yourself into.

"Eight."

"Like Figure Eight, your new home."

"Rafe--."

"Okay, so if you can endure me for eight minutes, I'll let you leave, no questions asked."

"Endure you?"

"If you lose, then you have to take care of me too." You swallow the lump in your throat, the look in his eyes telling you this wasn't a game you wanted to play.

"Or you can refuse and find another way to pay your tuition." Rafe smiled, knowing he'd won as he sat back down on the opposite side of the tub. Your legs shook as you looked for a way out but once again, Rafe had you cornered.

"Fine." You bit out, looking around to make sure no one else was outside from the party.

"Strip." There was no use arguing so you quickly slipped off your sleep shirt and shorts, leaving you in just your panties as you quickly crossed your arms to conceal your breasts.

"Get in." Rafe's breathing became labored as you slowly descended into the hot water. You couldn't believe the way he was looking at you. Like you were the most desirable thing he'd ever seen. It was nearly impossible to keep from looking under the water to see how much you affected him. Rafe took your hand, guiding you to plant your feet on either side of his hips on the seat, his head eye level with your panties.

"What are you going to do?" You whimpered, watching as he kept his eyes trained on you while he brushed his nose against your panties.

"Savor this." His nose nudged your clit and your knees nearly gave out. Two firm hands found the back of your thighs, holding you in place as he continued to tease with his nose.

"Rafe, please. This is humiliating." What if someone came outside and saw?

"So? I can feel how wet you are for me." Rafe breathed, jutting out his tongue and flicking it against your clit. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you bit back a moan, a wicked look in his eyes as he continued his torture.

"Eight minutes." Rafe said, setting a timer on his phone then tugging your panties aside with one hand while his free hand tightened on the back of your thigh. How could you endure eight minutes of this? You were already shaking.

You gasped when his hot, wet tongue swiped up your slit, circling your clit a few times before sucking it into his mouth. Again and again. Rafe set a perfect rhythm. The pleasure was unlike anything you'd ever felt. Your hands found his hair as you fought to remain standing. Rafe groaned like you were the best thing he'd ever tasted, the vibrations going straight to your core.

"Please Rafe, this isn't fair." You whined as he applied more pressure, his hands squeezing your ass to hold you in place. A sound like a growl and a groan left him before he plunged his tongue inside you, fucking you like he would with his..

You came with a cry, your entire body nearly dropping into the water if not for his hold on you. There was a sudden feeling of being weightless then your back was on his towel on the deck, his mouth attached to your pussy again.

"Rafe, please." You cried, squeezing his head with your thighs just as the timer went off on his phone. Rafe pried your legs back open and your body bowed off the towel as another release hit you. Rafe sucked and slurped the tiny nub until it was too much. Until the pain overruled the pleasure and you were trying to roll away.

Finally, Rafe released you, his lower half still in the hot tub as he wiped his mouth. Even his nose glistened with your release. Your entire body shook as you watched each other. You'd never felt anything so powerful. His cock flexed between his legs, drawing your attention to the angry looking member.

"My turn." Rafe pulled himself up on the side of the tub, jerking you into a sitting position before you could grasp what he meant. His fingers knotted in your hair then he was forcing your head down. You opened your mouth, gagging as soon as he hit the back of your throat. Tears sprung in your eyes as you tried to get your bearings but his cock was impressively long.

"Suck." Rafe demanded, his own body trembling as you pulled your teeth back and wrapped your lips around him. His hips jerked up with each push and pull of your head, each time making you gag. Despite hating the circumstances of the events, you wanted him to enjoy it. There was nothing worse than rumors about being a terrible lover but the angle was awkward.

"I'm cumming." Already!? A throaty groan filled the air as he held your head down, spilling down your throat so you had no choice but to swallow all of it. When your tongue met his shaft, he shuddered as he emptied every drop. You swallowed repeatedly, your throat tightening around his shaft until he was tugging you free by the hair.

"Fuckkkkk." Rafe dropped down on the towel next to you, his cock glistening and still standing to full attention. You reached for your shirt but Rafe snagged it, tossing it away before pulling you onto his lap as he sat upright.

"Rafe." You breathed, your throat sore and your head pounding from the lack of air. His cock pressed against your panties and your clit throbbed harder than ever. The night air was cool compared to the hot tub, making your pebbled nipples press hard against his chest.

"You're lucky I didn't cum all over your face like you did mine." The look in his eyes was crazed, thirsty for more.

"Please let me leave." You murmured, cheeks heating with humiliation. You could smell yourself on him. Rafe chuckled, reaching to turn the timer off on his phone before turning his attention back to you. His hands rocked you on his lap, making you grind against his hardening erection as your nipples rubbed against his chest.

"You lost, baby. You don't get to leave now. I still need to be taken care of."

[moonlitdesertdreams]

On the Surface

A/N: Nothing important, please enjoy and send me more ideas! Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader, Lucy MacLean WARNINGS: None Summary: Lucy knew traveling with the Ghoul would be tough, but no one told her it would be so... weird. Especially when he stops to pick up another companion along the way.

Word count: 1.2k+

(GIF credit to @talesfromthecrypts)

Lucy surely didn’t know what to expect when she trudged along after the Ghoul and Wilzig’s dog, charmed by its new companion. 

She followed, weighed down by the revelations Moldaver had laid bare. It had pulled the curtain away from her entire life and ripped her heart to shreds. Between seeing her father flee and leaving Maximus, her mind was heavy with pain. 

The Ghoul was absolute zero on the comfort scale. He walked silently, only breaking it to mutter hypothetical questions at the dog- so affectionately called Dogmeat- and cough dryly. Lucy decided they had to have been walking for hours through sparse woods and dry ground before a flickering light appeared on the horizon. 

And after everything she’d been through, she fully expected another fight. 

But the Ghoul seemed to gain some motivation at the sight, and moved along at a quicker pace than they had been. Lucy was able to make out the shape of a small campfire burning, less than ten feet away from a fairly large, but crudely-built cabin. It was tucked into a patch of dead trees, and had what she thought to be clothes hanging on clotheslines outside. Even the dog was excited, barking loudly and jogging up to the cabin. 

Lucy stopped a few yards away, apprehension freezing her limbs into place. The Ghoul continued on, hopping lithely onto the front porch and knocking at the door. Again, she expected the occupant to come out, guns blazing, and be killed by the man at her door. 

Maybe he’d even make Lucy carve pieces of them off to make jerky again.

What she didn’t expect was the door to open, and the Ghoul to crack a smile she’d never seen. A figure- a woman- stepped out onto the porch. Lucy watched them exchange a few words before the woman leaned in towards the Ghoul and…. hugged him?

What the fuck even was this place?

The Ghoul, always cold and callous with Lucy, chuckled out loud. “Miss me, sugar?”

When she pulls away, the woman is beaming. “Every day.”

Lucy probably looks like a whole fool, jaw gaping and brow furrowed in confusion. She stares at the woman, who eventually turns an eye to her. 

“What’s this? Gettin’ some on the side, Cowboy?” The still unnamed woman trots off the porch towards the Vault-Dweller. 

Upon closer inspection, the woman doesn’t appear as angry as her statement. She’s got long hair wrapped into a complicated braided style to keep it up and out of her face. There’s a smattering of freckles over her sunburnt nose, and a jagged scar running the length of her right cheek. The gnarled tissue pulls her mouth into a scowl, but she’s otherwise well-kept. She’s probably three or four inches shorter than Lucy, but no less intimidating. 

“Calm down, woman.” The Ghoul bites. “This is Lucy MacLean.”

The woman pauses, looking back to him for confirmation before staring back at Lucy. “MacLean, eh? I can see it.”

Spurs clank as the Ghoul takes those slow, scary steps towards the woman. “Thought you might be interested in comin’ along. We’re followin’ her dad. Hank.”

A smile twists the lady’s lips, fighting against the wretched scar on her face. “Come on in. We can leave in the morning.”

And that’s how Lucy finds herself in the rickety cabin. The woman- who still hadn’t offered up a name, much like her Ghoul friend- had led her to a room and tossed a scratchy blanket and pillow in behind her. Despite her gruff exterior, she had told Lucy there was a pantry in the kitchen full of non-perishables, and cans of purified water hidden in the back. And though water sounded beautiful, Lucy was more stoked about the water purifier connected to the house. She was told there was cold but clean water in a makeshift wash room to clean up.

So Lucy took her time to freshen up in the first relatively put-together place she’d been since coming up from the Vault. The little cabin did have lights, thanks to a generator that hummed along outside. She was able to scrub the grime from her face and hands, and attempted to do the same with her Vault-suit. There was an old Nuka-cola  bottle on the floor in the washroom with ‘SOAP’ scratched across it in cursive. It lathered like any other that Lucy remembered, and she felt like a new person walking out of the wash room and back into her own little space. 

Unsurprisingly, her empty stomach reared its head in protest, and she decided she’d make one last trip to the pantry before bed. There were no voices outside of her room, just the humming of an old Television setup she’d seen on her way in. Lucy tiptoes back to the junction of the living area and pantry, but stops dead in her tracks. The lights are all off, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. 

The living area right inside the door, the one she’d passed by on her way in, was occupied by both the Ghoul and his mysterious friend. However, instead of the simple sofa she’d observed prior, it was now pulled out into a bed. 

A bed in which the woman and the Ghoul were curled up,  completely unconscious. 

Lucy almost feels bad intruding on the situation, but she’s more bewildered that anyone could show such affection towards the irradiated man she’d come to hate over the past few days. And they’re not even just sharing the bed, they’re tangled together and… cuddling? The Ghoul is on his back, head propped on a pillow and hat still on his head but tipped down low to hide his disfigured face. The long coat he’d worn day in and day out is hanging over the armrest beside his bandolier, guns easily accessible. And the woman, looking relaxed as ever, is curled up on her side with her head on his chest. The Ghoul has one arm curled around her shoulder, the other loosely gripping his inhaler device as he sleeps. 

Lucy collects her jaw off the floor and scoots along to the pantry, snagging a couple ration bars and a can of water before heading back. She tries not to look again as she goes back to her room, but the temptation is too great. She pauses, turning back only to hear the click of a gun being cocked. 

In the darkness, she can only see the whites of the Ghoul’s eyes and a flash of teeth. “Move along, Vaultie.”

Lucy obeys, and practically dashes back to her room. 

So when they move out in the morning, Lucy pretends not to notice anything. When the pair stops their trek and leans in close to murmur directions at each other, Lucy taps away at her Pip-Boy. 

There’s even a time where she returns from gathering water to find them locked in a kiss, coats swaying in the Wasteland wind. And Lucy had immediately backed up, lingering in the treeline until they broke apart. 

The displays of affections continue with the travels, and it wasn’t odd to wake up to the sight of the woman curled beneath her Ghoul’s arm, content as ever. Days pass, and Lucy doesn’t mention it. It’s kind of cute, she comes to think. She didn’t dare mention anything in fear of the Ghoul’s wrath. 

So their odd trio trots along through the desert, letting Dogmeat take the lead. 

And Lucy? Well, she's learning to be blissfully ignorant towards the abnormalities on the surface.

----

thanks for reading, much love ❤️

Read More: Fallout Masterlist