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ariesangelxo · 1 day

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mornings, part three

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DNI

cw: rafe x fem!reader, talk about use of drugs, dealing, one minor head injury, sad!rafe, soft!rafe, a little bit of angst, fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), nipple sucking, makeup sex, piv, creampie, pet names during sex, praise, etc.

an: i hope you all like part three! i want to quickly thank you again for the love shown for parts one and two. i cannot wait to continue writing. the interactions mean more than i can ever express.

part one part two

the silence that enveloped you was a strikingly peaceful contrast from the loud echo of a gunshot that rang in your ears.

sarah’s scream the moment you hit the ground ran a deep chill through rafe’s body. it was the sight of you, crumpled up on the beach, that snapped him out of his cocaine-fueled rage.

as people at the boneyard ran from jj firing off the gun, you lay perfectly still. rafe jumped into action, running over to you. he cradled your head and to his horror, he felt liquid on one of his hands. you had sustained a small cut to the back of your head when you passed out, an unfortunately placed rock being in the same landing spot as your skull.

when rafe pulled one of his hands away from the back of your head his skin turned nearly white. he looked up at sarah, tears forming in his eyes as he yelled for her to get kie. something in him changed, he realized in that moment how close he was to truly losing you.

kie told rafe to move as she lifted your head, supporting your neck so that she could try and feel for the injury. rafe stood up, walking absentmindedly to the ocean where he rid his stomach of the alcohol he’d drank earlier to try and numb the pain of seeing you again. he felt a hand rubbing his back and looked over to see sarah.

“she’s okay, rafe. she just got a cut from a rock. kie said everything else feels okay.” rafe felt a surge of relief go through him.

he went back over to you, salty tears cascading down his cheeks as he gently held you, “i love you. i’m so sorry, baby. i’m so, so sorry. you need to wake up though, we gotta get you out of here.”

you began to come out of unconsciousness, just barely catching rafe’s words as the pounding in your head hit you. you harshly shut your eyes, the noise from kie and pope yelling at jj only intensified the pain.

rafe hushed them, shooting a glare towards jj. “hi my sweet girl,” he whispered softly to you, running his hand gently over your forehead.

you opened your eyes to see him. your heart began racing, it had been so long since you’d been this close to him. the way he looked at you, his usually icy blue eyes now warm with concern, filled your stomach with butterflies. “rafe,” you croaked out, your face twisting at the sound of your own scratchy voice, “my head hurts.”

“i know. just hang in there f’me, okay? we’re gonna get you home.” he picked you up bridal style, silently looking over to sarah to ask her to come with. she quickly nodded, following after him.

the drive back to tannyhill was quiet. you were in the backseat, lying down with your head on rafe’s lap as sarah drove.

the anger you’d been harboring towards the cameron boy was set aside. it was difficult for you to have the energy to be mad when his eyes were glossy with unshed tears, holding you like his life depended upon it.

rafe carried you into the silent home, bringing you to the bathroom where he grabbed a first aid kit. he dabbed at the cut on the back of your head, holding your chin to keep you still.

“this might hurt a little, just stay still,” he murmured as he focused.

you winced at the initial contact, letting out a slight whimper, “shhh, you’re doing so good for me, baby.”

the gentle tone in his voice made you want to cry. it felt like it had been stolen away from you so long ago, a precious artifact that was a mere memory of your once perfect relationship.

rafe caught the slight wobble in your bottom lip, quickly pulling away from the back of your head. your eyes opened at the sudden lack of contact to see the frown on his lips, “are you okay? was it hurting too much?”

“no, no, it’s okay.” you responded, holding his gaze. rafe nodded softly, finishing up cleaning the small wound before looking you over. you could tell his head was swarming with thoughts, the way he furrowed his brows and brought his bottom lip between his teeth was a dead giveaway.

a part of you was tempted to question him, to ask what he was thinking about and pick his brain to pull out the answers you so desperately wanted. the other part of you told you not to. the possibility of some of your worst fears becoming the truth would completely break you now.

it took you a moment to register the sound of rafe's voice, your eyes snapped up at him, "i'm sorry, what was that?"

"i asked if you needed help walking back to my room."

"why would i be going to your room?" you questioned him, a bit thrown off by his firm tone.

"because you hit your head, it's getting late, and you don't have a way to drive home right now. plus, somebody needs to watch over you to make sure you're okay." he responded, his voice matter-of-fact.

"and that means i'm supposed to crawl into your bed and act like everything's normal?" you laughed humorlessly, the bubbling anger in the back of your mind beginning to rise again.

rafe brought his fingers up to the bridge of his nose, pinching it as he took in a deep breath to keep his cool. "don't argue with me right now. you're not going home. you are going to get into bed and let me watch over you."

your shoulders slumped, you knew he was right. with a small huff you jumped down from the countertop, walking into his room and immediately going to his closet to grab one of his t-shirts to sleep in. rafe had followed behind you, not saying a word as you fell into what used to be your normal routine before bed with him.

he stripped down to his boxers while you wanted to hit your head against the wall, your heart betraying your brain as it began to race at the sight of his muscular body.

you rubbed your eyes, attempting to rid yourself of those thoughts before you crawled into your side of his bed. you couldn't help but wonder to yourself if anyone else had slept in this spot, your spot, since you broke up. the idea made you feel nauseated and had your skin crawling.

you shivered at the idea, turning over so that your back was to rafe. you knew you couldn't look at him, not when this felt far more intimate than you were comfortable with. your entire body lay stiff, the tension between you two could have been cut with a knife.

"rafe?" you whispered out, keeping your eyes focused on the small sliver of moonlight that seeped its way through his curtains.

"yeah, kid?"

"why'd you do it?" you felt adrenaline rush through your body, the type of feeling you get after you send a risky text and throw your phone away from you, wanting to know the response but also being terrified of what may be coming.

he was quiet for a moment, "do what?"

"cheat."

"i didn't... i didn't cheat on you." his voice held a vault of emotions. you couldn't bring yourself to face him, unknowingly missing the key to that vault, the way he looked at you like the thought of choosing someone over you would kill him.

"what were you doing with her then?"

"will you please look at me?" rafe's voice wavered slightly, the fear of you rejecting him was unmistakable.

you hesitated, your breath catching in your throat. it was easier to have this conversation when you couldn't see him, it was easier to pretend as though this was just in your head and not a part of your current reality. however, the way his voice wavered tugged at your heart. his vulnerability, that you'd missed so much, made you feel like you had to turn over.

once you moved so you were facing him, you could tell he was holding back his emotions. it was a look you were all too familiar with, one you'd seen many times when rafe would come to you after he'd been in a fight with ward. he always feared that crying made him weak, ward had instilled that into him from a young age, among other things.

he inhaled a shaky breath, "i-i would never cheat on you. i fucked up, badly, but not in that way."

you gave him a confused look, "what do you mean? and if you weren't cheating on me, then why did you let her touch you? why'd you look at her like that? you... you changed rafe. the last few months of our relationship you became a completely different person, you weren't the man i fell in love with."

he winced slightly at your words. "i know," he looked upset with himself, "i- i lost a lot of my dad's money. it was a stupid deal i thought i was in on and the guy ended up fucking me over. i started using again, but i didn't want you to know. i knew how disappointed you'd be. i thought i could just do it a couple times, to feel better. but that turned into me owing barry more and more money. he told me i could pay him back by working for him, selling at parties."

you were disappointed in him, disappointed that he didn't tell you sooner. "rafe... why didn't you say something? instead of leaving me in the dark, literally. i can't count on two hands the number of times i waited for you to come home, just to cry myself to sleep in your bed. this also doesn't explain what happened at the country club." your tone was firm, but not angry.

"her name is sofia. she saw me at one of top's parties and wanted to buy, but by the time she meant to, i'd left. i didn't like her touching me, but she wanted to buy a lot. it would have paid off a decent amount of money i owe."

you analyzed his face, his words, the tone of his voice, anything and everything to try and figure out if he was telling the truth. you knew the way his eyes would dart around the room when he lied, eye contact made it too hard for him, the way he'd pick at the skin around his fingernails as a distraction from the guilt that would arise in his stomach. he wasn't expressing any of his usual tells.

"have- have you been with anyone? since i left?" you asked nervously.

"no- god, no. baby, i've been a wreck. i... i stopped trying to reach out because i knew you needed space. i'm so sorry for how i treated you, i love you more than anything in the world." rafe professed to you, spilling out his emotions that could no longer be held back.

a tear slipped from the corner of his eye and you gently reached your thumb up to wipe it away. the way he leaned into your touch truly made the walls you'd built up crumble away. the small action was a bulldozer, taking them out like they were made of snow.

"i love you too, rafe. i just... i'm scared that you're going to drift away again. that broke me, i've been a shell of a person for the past month. i can't go through that another time." your voice came out just above a whisper, a sad smile on your face as a tear of your own fell down your cheek.

he shook his head, "i promise i won't shut you out again. i can't lose you. you're everything to me, i don't- i won't ever go through another day not talking to you."

he wrapped his large arms around you, pulling you close against his bare chest as he rested his chin on top of your head. you couldn't stop the tears that began falling. you'd be the world's worst liar if you said you didn't miss him, that this wasn't the only thing you'd truly wanted the last month, that you didn't love this man with your entire heart.

he placed a firm kiss on your hairline, "i love you."

"i love you too, rafe."

"let me make it up to you," he whispered against your forehead, moving you back slightly so he could look you in the eyes. you nodded, wanting to be as close to him as humanly possible.

he gently flipped you over, laying you on your back as he crawled over you. his arms rested on both sides of your head, caging you in. he brought his rough thumbs to your cheeks, wiping the tears away and placing kisses were they once were.

"you're so beautiful, my perfect girl." he murmured against your skin. you felt a rush of electricity jolt through you, going straight to your core at his words.

his lips met yours. the initial kiss was gentle, sweet, and full of love. they quickly became heated though, the rough dance of your lips was full of unspoken words telling of how badly your bodies needed each other.

your hands moved up and down his torso. the feeling of his warm skin underneath your fingertips made your cheeks heat up. he lifted the hem of his shirt on you, breaking apart your kiss momentarily so he could take it off of you.

his lips went to your jawline, trailing down your neck and to your collarbone. he sucked on your sweet spot, undoubtedly leaving marks that you'd attempt to hide when you went home tomorrow.

your soft moans were a melody to his ears, his favorite song that he'd never get tired of hearing. his mouth moved down to your nipples. he gently took one between his teeth, applying just enough pressure to bring you a sensation of pain that was incredibly pleasureful. his hand reached up to your other nipple, twisting it between his fingers. you squeezed your thighs together, trying to bring yourself a little bit of relief.

rafe tsked, he pulled away from your tits, the loss of contact making you whimper. though he moved down, spreading your thighs apart as he left a trail of wet kisses down your stomach. he hovered over you, the spot you needed him most radiating heat.

he smirked at you, bringing his thumb to circle around your clit softly through your panties. "rafe, please," you whined out.

"please what, baby? use your words." he taunted.

"need you to touch me." your slightly swollen lips forming into a pout.

he couldn't deny you now, not when you looked so sweet, so needy, like an angel sent just for him. "that's my good girl." he said as he pulled down your last bit of clothing, revealing your wet cunt to him.

"such a pretty pussy." you couldn't tell if rafe was speaking to you or to himself. he gazed at your core like a starved man. in a swift motion, he brought his arms underneath your legs, hooking them over his shoulders as his lips attached to your clit. your breath caught in your throat, the moans that fell from your lips were impossible to silence.

he groaned as your fingers moved down to tug at his hair, the vibrations causing you to screw your eyes shut tightly. he could never, would never get tired of tasting you.

his cock throbbed against his boxers. he began grinding his hips against his mattress, you could have sworn it was the hottest thing you'd ever seen.

"need you inside of me, please." you whined out, trying to pull him up closer to you. he pulled away from your dripping mess, meeting your lips with his. his tongue pried its way into your mouth, making you taste yourself.

you tugged at his boxers, moving the fabric down so his cock sprung out. the sight of him, red with pre-cum smeared around the tip, only encouraged you further. you pushed them as far down as you could reach and he helped you out by taking them off.

"lay back." he demanded, and you complied. he licked his lips at your nude body, "you're so perfect. all mine. my angel."

he grabbed his cock, pumping it a few times before he lined it up with your cunt. the initial push in stole your breath away. the stretch of him always taking you a moment to get used to. he moved slowly, hips going inch by inch until he was all the way inside of you.

"fuck, sweetheart. always so fuckin' good for me." he bit his lip as he groaned.

"please, rafe. need you to move." he didn't think he could deny you anything when you spoke like that, not that he would ever want to. he moved back, pulling away until just the tip remained inside of you, before thrusting back in all the way.

your back arched at the feeling. he filled you perfectly. the sound of his balls slapping against your ass and both of your moans filled the room. they bounced off the walls, echoing your need for each other. he grabbed the backs of your knees, folding your legs up so you were nearly in half. the new position allowed him to reach a deeper angle.

"rafe, feels- feels so good. missed you s'much." he sped up his thrusts at your whimpers. he was overcome by the lust that swirled around his head, clouding his thoughts so he couldn't think of a single thing other than how amazing you felt wrapped around him.

when rafe brought his thumb down to your clit, you saw stars. you felt tears come to your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure.

"just like that, just like that, please. 'm so close." rafe's eyes rolled back at your pleas. the way you begged him made him pushed him closer and closer to his peak.

"cum for me, my sweet girl. cum around my cock, you've been doing so good f'me. i'm right behind you." his permission is what send you over the edge. your walls clenched around him as you threw your head back, your vision going white. you yelled out his name, telling the entire world that you were his and he was yours.

rafe was telling the truth, seconds after you fluttered around him he gave one last thrust into you. he held you close to him as his cock pulsed inside of you, filling you up with his cum.

"i love you. i love you. i love you." he moaned out as he orgasmed. his words were a promise to you. he's loved you since the day he met you, nothing could ever change that.

you both breathed heavily as he fell next to you. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to his chest as he kissed your forehead. you looked up at him, giving him a tired, but very satisfied, smile. he couldn't help but give you one in return. the rafe you'd missed so dearly was back, you saw him in the way he looked at you now.

"as badly as i don't want you to get up, you need to go pee." he reminded you gently, giving you a soft pat on your butt.

you groaned, "think you need to carry me. my legs aren't gonna work right now."

rafe let out a laugh, a genuine laugh. it was your favorite sound in the world, it made your heart flutter like you were a school girl who was just noticed by her crush for the first time.

he picked you up, walking you over to his bathroom as he set you down on the toilet. he cleaned himself up and put a clean pair of boxers on, grabbing a new t-shirt for you to sleep in.

that night you fell asleep in his arms. you didn't need to take a benzo to sleep. you didn't pass out with tear-stains on your cheeks or your throat sore from crying. you slept through the entire night, not once having a nightmare that ended in an explosive breakup between you and rafe. and in the morning, when you woke up, rafe was right next to you. he was asleep, his features being illuminated by the morning sun, his limbs tangled with yours, his gentle breathing that had his chest rising and falling beneath your head, it was all him. it was perfect. you couldn't stop the large smile that spread across your face, you could stay like this forever. mornings with him will always be your favorite, after all.

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mariaace · 2 days

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100 followers event + collab with @transmascaraa

(cuddling headcanons-PM+Hunting Dogs)

A/n:sooo hello guys I've reached 100 followersss and my bf had reached 400, so we decided to make this collab as an event for them💜 Those are basically some cuddling headcanons. I am writing for the port mafia and the hunting dogs. Nyx is writing for ADA and DoA. You can find his work right here.

P.S. I am so thankful to all of you for 100 followers it really means a lot to me<33

Port Mafia

Chuuya

Cuddles with this man are rather rare ngl. He's busy with his job and everything, buuuut he always makes up for it

He is so gentle with you and careful with how he touches you. This man is a gentleman, you can't expect anything else

He refuses to be the little spoon. Like no chance. He feels like he can protect you more that way even if it's just cuddles.

Most of time, when his head is in your lap, he would expect you to play with his hair. (Maybe would get offended when you don't 😅)

Hug his waist pleasee!! You can't cuddle with that man and don't wrap your hands around that waist. He will also love it<3

Akutagawa

Now with this you've really gotta work to get to cuddling lmao. This is the most unaffectionate person from bsd maybe.

Bue still when you do get to it he would be sooo akward for him at first, but he will get used to it..maybe...after a lot of time...

Still cuddles would be like, with him literally crushing you while just laying on top of you, but still he is underweight so you won't feel it a lot

Probably would feel asleep, but would not admit it after that

He always acts like he hates when you ask him for cuddles, but (very) deep down he actually loves it, because it calms him down and his thoughts.

Tachihara

This boy is soo underrated please

Anyways that wasn't the theme. Cuddling with Tachihara is an often thing

He loves to cuddle and be touchy with you. So almost every day after work, he'll just drop his body weight on top of you lmao

In this case tho, he would want to play with your hair. "It calms me down!!" He always says- and maybe it does, after a long day at work

Hand holding while cuddling is something soo important for him. Like he loves holding your hand and because he can't do it more often he insists on doing it while cuddling

Gin

Ohhhhh now this sweet.. powerful... gorgeous woman. I need a Gin in my life

Anyways cuddling with her would be you two facing eachother, laying in the bed, with your legs interlocked and her arm around you

She would like for you to tell her how your day has been while you play with her hair. She might fall asleep tho

After that she will tel you about her day and would be like turning around and gesturing with her hands while talking, so you get to pull her back to cuddling

Cuddles before going to bed are her favourite, because then you both fall asleep in each other's arms

The Hunting Dogs

Tecchou

Ehh >< sweet guy i i love him so much.

He is the big spoon. Always. Like most of them, he needs to have the assurance that he can protect you immediately if something happens.

Doesn't talk much while you cuddle. He would just close his eyes and burry his face in the crook of your neck

Would most likely to ask you to talk though, because he loves listening to your voice, so don't blame him if he falls asleep, but this doesn't happen very often

Also he doesn't move around when you two are laying down. Like he'll get in one position and not move until he actually has to get up to go to work

Jouno

Omg i have already talk about that before but anyway

So like I've said in my Jouno headcanons, i think he has sensory issues, because of the fact that he is blind and is very sensitive towards any kind of physical affection

So in that case cuddles wouldn't happen often, because he gets easily overwhelmed by them

However on days he is very tired or you had a bad day/are also tired, he would. You have to be careful with him though

He likes cuddling with you in general, just pls be careful with him

Teruko

She would pop onto you like a starfish

Would start ramble, ramble, ramble..until zhe actually falls asleep in your arms

Honestly in order for you to cuddle either one you is veeery tired or you were playfully fighting or tickling eachother, then it turned into cuddles

Her rambles are soo cute. Like she would tell you every single thing about her day, to the smallest detail

Like i said, she would probably fall asleep after that AND would expect you to hug her tight while she is sleeping

Reblogs are highly appreciated!

@dazailoveschuuya @transmascaraa

#mariaace 🪼#x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #chuuya x reader #akutagawa x reader #gin x reader #jouno x reader #tecchou x reader #teruko x reader #tachihara x reader

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d10nyx · 18 hours

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LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE - JOEL MILLER

ft. joel miller x puppy hybrid!reader

a/n: i'm actually very proud of this fic ngl to you guys. been wanting to write for tlou for the LONGEST time and... you know i had to make my debut w joel :3 first time trying to dive into writing more than just smut, so lemme know what you think !! rbs and feedback always appreciated !! thank you @ama-szn for betaing x

cw: 18+ content, brief mention of sarah and guilt, grinding, p in v, creampie, grinding, slight cockwarming, praise, puppy gets used a lot... joel being snappy and a mild asshole at times, tail play???

word count: 4.1k words

Now, Joel isn't always the smartest guy around. He has a tendency to get a little blunt, to put it nicely, and he isn't the type to do charity work. Being nice has never done him any favours, so he sees no point in acting all buddy-buddy just for the hell of it.

In saying that, he's starting to think he has a problem collecting strays. It started with Ellie, and now he's starting to see a habit forming when he comes across you. By all accounts, he should have left you in the corner of that beat up store. You'd been a good enough distraction to the Clickers with your incessant whining that Joel could have snuck by undetected.

Well, like he said, he's got a stray problem — and it's hardly good manners to leave a girl in trouble when he can help out. He aims his pistol, frowns as you flinch at the sounds of the shots as he takes them down. Lucky for the both of you, there's only two of them, but he still uses way more ammo than he'd like.

Joel has to double take when he gets a good look at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he crouches in front of you. He has half a mind to put a bullet through your skull, but something about the way you look has him hesitating. You're a cute enough girl, a little scruffy looking, maybe, but cute nonetheless. That isn't what has him staring at you like you're some kind of exhibit, though.

"You got... are those fuckin' ears, kid?" He tries to keep his voice low, not only 'cause you're shaking so hard you're practically vibrating, but he doesn't want to find out if those Clickers had any buddies nearby. He tenses up slightly when he notices movement behind you, his brows furrowing as he squints to get a closer look. "Don't tell me that's a tail you're hidin' back there."

Your ears perk up slightly at the sound of his voice, your eyes flicking over his face as your whines die down. You lift the tail, showing off the dirt-ridden, matted fur before letting it flop to the floor once again, tilting your head to the side.

"I'll be damned... Now I'm seein' things." Joel is almost sure that you're a hallucination, or maybe he's finally snapped. He reaches out, pokes the tip of your right ear. It's hard for him to stop himself from frowning when the fur is soft and warm underneath his fingertips, the thing twitching under his touch. They sure don't seem fake. He isn't seeing things, you're real and you're sitting right in front of him. "Can you talk, girl? I'm startin' to feel like a crazy old man, here.”

You blink at him slowly for a moment, like you have to think hard about his words. You nod your head softly, your eyes not straying from him. Your voice is quiet when you reply, breathless and shaky. “Y-yeah… I can talk.”

"Well. That's somethin’.” Joel lets out a breath he didn’t realize he'd been holding in. There's a moment of relief that washes over him in a wave. At least he isn't going completely insane, unless he's hallucinating your voice, too. "We gotta get movin', girl. The gunshots would've gotten every infected for miles gatherin' round, we don't have much time before they come sniffin' around here to see what's goin’ on.”

You nod once again, pushing yourself to your feet. He can see your features a little better now, and he tries not to let his eyes linger on that tail of yours for too long.

You don't seem like much of a talker, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. At least you won't go yapping at him when he's gotta concentrate. It wouldn't do either of you any good if he went and got killed because you couldn't keep your trap shut. You're probably the quietest stray he's managed to pick up. Ellie can talk for hours when she gets going, which...is most of the time, if he's being honest. You're more cautious than she ever was, though, watching him carefully as he stands and takes a look around the room to gather supplies.

Joel checks back on you, not missing the way you're shivering. He frowns, taking off his jacket before holding it out to you. "Here, put this on.”

You don't take the jacket, or so much as answer him. His frown deepens, and he lets out a frustrated sigh, pulling the jacker over your shoulders. “It's just a damn jacket. It won't kill ya.”

The way you stare at him is starting to get unnerving, so he turns away from you to continue throwing anything of use into his backpack. Store's already been raided, though, so he seems to be left with the scraps. Just his luck — scraps and strays. All he ever seems to get.

“Thanks.” You end up saying softly after a moment, and when Joel looks back at you again, that little tail is wagging and you're wearing his jacket properly. He catches himself smiling, so he's quick to turn away, grabbing the map from his backpack before zipping it up. He's always had a thing for pretty girls in his clothes, but he's not gonna admit that.

“Don't mention it, kid.”

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

It's been about a week since Joel first saw you, and he's doing his best to keep his distance. You seem to settle in fairly nicely in Jackson — or, at the very lease, you fit in well enough with Ellie. Joel's having more than enough conflicting feelings around you to last a lifetime, and you're just a pup. You're already having to adjust to a new environment, you don't need someone like him confusing things.

That doesn't mean he can't watch you from afar, though. He's not sure he'd be able to stop himself if he tried. He can't help but watch as you and Ellie play together, noting how much brighter and happier you look since that day he saved you. Your tail wags so fast it's a blur behind you, your fur soft and fluffy now that it's been washed and brushed out.

Joel likes you more than he'd care to admit. He's already got enough people to worry about, between Tommy and Ellie, and everyone else in the damn community. He doesn't need to add you to that list.

Problem is, Ellie's gotten to know Joel, and she still hasn't grown out of being a little shit. As soon as she catches him sitting a little ways away from where she's playing with you, she decides it'd be real funny to throw the stick right at him. Joel barely has the time to catch the thing before you're on him, practically tackling in an attempt to get it from him.

“Alright… alright.” His tone comes out a little harsher than intended, and he can't help but feel bad as you shrink back, those fluffy ears pressing down against your head. Your tail stopped wagging, too, and you're giving him that kicked dog look. Makes him feel like a monster.

“Shit, I didn't mean-” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose after he sets the stick down, patting his lap for you to come closer again. He reaches out, scratching the base of one of your ears with a small smile. “You're alright, girl. Just… easy, yeah? No need to jump all over me.”

That seems to placate you enough, and all seems to be forgiven. You nod and lean into his touch, that cute tail of yours picking up tenfold. There's something oddly soothing about petting you, so he decides to indulge you a little, leaning back against the porch railings as he sits on the steps.

It isn't until he notices your droopy eyes and the way you're slowly inching closer to him, practically curled up on his lap, that he realizes the sun is setting, and he wasted most of the day with you. He can't bring himself to mind.

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

What is it they say about stray dogs? You feed them once, and they're yours? Joel can't recall, but he's sure he's somehow managed to adopt a little pup with how you cling to him. He tried locking you out of his room one night, and he couldn't sleep with the way you clawed at the door, whining and whimpering to be let in.

You sleep with him now, and he can't say he dislikes the warmth your body brings when he curls up with you every night.

He's got his arm curled around your waist, that fluffy tail of yours resting between his legs and still somehow wagging as he spoons you. He can't help but rub little circles into your stomach with his thumb, his nose pressed against the nape of your neck. For a moment, he finds himself wondering how receptive you'd be if he started kissing the skin there, letting his breath ghost the spot where your baby hairs rest.

That's a dangerous line of thinking, one that he quickly snaps out of. He lets out a sigh, closing his eyes to try and get some rest. You must sense that he's tense, cause you start wriggling around in his arms until you're facing him.

“Joel?” You breathe out, nuzzling his neck with your nose. He can feel your breath on him, and he grits his teeth not to make an audible sound as you lick at him. It's supposed to be a comforting gesture, but it has him squirming for a whole number of reasons.

“I can feel you worryin’, pup. You ain't gotta stress about me.” He murmurs, gripping your hair gently to pull your face away from his neck. He can't focus with your tongue on him like that.

“You look sad.” You whine, pulling against the grip of his hair to keep licking at him. He knows you're just trying to cheer him up, but it's really not helping the way his dick is starting to swell. It's not your fault, you don't know what you're doing to him, but he feels sick letting himself get turned on by your innocent actions.

“Just - go to fuckin’ bed, alright?” He snaps, tugging you away hard enough he knows it probably stung a little. His mouth grows dry, an apology on the tip of his tongue as he watches you retreat, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“C'mon, girl. I didn't mean that, I just…” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, his features etching into a frown. “Look, just… c’mere, alright? I'm sorry.”

He shifts so he's lying on his back, doing his best to make sure you don't press up against him when he's in this state. He holds an arm out, and you come rushing forward, tucking yourself against his side. You really are like a dog, always running back to him. He doesn't like how it makes him feel.

His jaw tenses as he shuts his eyes, trying to block out the guilt festering in him as he feels wet tears against the front of his shirt. He can hear your quiet sniffles, but he has no idea how to comfort you, so he doesn't.

Joel does what he does best — pretends the issue isn't there. He scratches behind your ears until you drift off, but sleep doesn't come for him that night. He spends the rest of his time staring at the ceiling, waiting for the morning sun to come through the widows before he carefully removes himself from your slumbering form.

He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, tucking the covers around your body before he leaves the room. What he needs right now is a cold shower and a little hunting trip with Tommy to keep his mind off of things.

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

The first thing he's greeted with after returning from his supply run is a sobbing pup. He didn't expect to see you so worked up — barely giving him enough time to dismount his horse before you were clinging to him, ears pulled back on your head and tail limp as you cried into his chest.

“Hey… hey, now. What's the matter, girl?” He whispers, dropping his bag to the floor so he can hug you back, one hand sliding down your back to scratch the base of your fluffy tail. “C'mon, now. I wasn't gone for that long, was I?”

“You didn't say bye.” Your words are muffled against his chest, that whiny tone still in your voice, but he can see the way your tail starts moving at his touch. Makes him feel a bit better about leaving you so suddenly. “You always say bye…”

“I didn't do it on purpose, sweetheart. You were sleepin’.” He says with a chuckle, unable to hide his amusement as you pressed against him. Felt like you were trying to become a part of him with how desperately you attempted to get closer.

“But… you were gone, and… I didn't know where you went.” You whisper, hands gripping onto his shirt tight enough that the fabric stays wrinkled when you let go in favor of hugging him.

“Doesn't mean I was leavin’ you. Just had to get some supplies.” He replies, even if it's technically a lie. It can never hurt getting some more stuff, but a group only went patrolling the day before he left. He did need the time away from you, to clear his head. He just couldn't let you know that.

“And, hey. I was thinkin’ of you the whole time. I even got you a lil’ somethin’.” He says after a moment, grabbing your shoulders to pry you off of him. He ignores the ache in his heart at your little whine in favor of unzipping his bag, holding something up and squeaking it.

Your eyes light up at the sound, and he really can't help the smile that spreads across his face at the sight. He throws the squeaky ball and watches you chase after it, laughing when you return with it in your mouth, biting down over and over to hear the noise.

“There we are. That's my girl.” He murmurs, ruffling your hair before wrapping an arm around your shoulder, squeezing you against his side. “C'mon, let's go and find Ellie. We got some catchin’ up to do, don't we?”

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

Joel must be getting soft with old age. That's really the only explanation for what's going on. He's letting you sit on him like you're a damn lapdog all because you looked like you wanted a cuddle.

You look so damn cute, too. That tail of yours is going to be the death of him. Joel's heart does not flutter when you smile all prettily at him, nor does it flutter when you rub your face against his neck like you're trying to get his scent all over you.

No. Joel's heart is as cold as ice. He doesn't get warm, fuzzy feelings from cute puppy hybrids, and he certainly doesn't clear his throat to stop himself from saying something unbelievably sappy and embarrassing.

“You comfy there, darlin’? Like havin’ me take care of ya?” He murmurs, not missing the way his breath catches in his throat when you hum in agreement, licking at his skin. You don't seem to notice, so he doesn't mention it. Small mercies.

Maybe it's the whiskey, or maybe it's the way your warmth seeps into him and makes his heart race that has his brain malfunctioning, but he can't stop himself from saying what's been on his mind the past few weeks.

“You're such a pretty girl…” He whispers, nuzzling his nose against your hairline before pressing a gentle kiss there. His hands slide down to your waist, giving you a little squeeze. “So fuckin’ pretty. My pretty pup, ain't ya, sweetheart?”

That tail picks up again and he chuckles, sliding a hand down your back to scratch the base of your tail, tuning in to the steady thump, thump, thump of it slapping against his thighs. He gives your tail a little squeeze, stroking his hand over the fur.

“Ain't no hidin’ how you really feel with a tail like that.” He says with a small laugh, eyes locked onto the way your tail moves as he leans forward, pressing kisses down the side of your throat. He grins against your skin as your tail starts wagging faster, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh.

“Yeah? Y’like that, puppy?” He coos, the hand on your tail shifting to grab your ass, giving the plump flesh a little squeeze. The feeling of it has him groaning, his cock already starting to fill out. It's been a long, long time since he's gotten laid, and he'd be lying if he said he hasn't been having some conflicting feelings surrounding you as of late.

All he gets is a whine in response, your body shifting just a little closer to him. Joel grabs your hips, pushing you down against his lap so he can grind up against you, a grunt spilling past his lips. He glances back at your tail, rutting against you with more force when he sees the steady wag, the sight of it making his cock twitch with interest.

“God. Good fuckin’ girl.” He breathes out, rocking you against him for another minute before it gets too much for him. He can feel you soaking the fabric of your shorts, and he’s starting to get a little dizzy with all the blood in his body rushing south. He’s so hard it hurts, and he can’t help himself as he tugs off your shorts and underwear in one tug, unbuttoning his jeans and yanking his boxers down just enough so he can free his length from the constricting fabric.

You’re so wet he can sink into you in one thrust, holding you steady as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, panting softly as he takes a moment to catch his bearings. He presses his lips to the skin there, trailing kisses along the column of your throat. You’re so wet and tight and warm, and it's a struggle for Joel not to blow his load early with how much you’re squeezing around him.

”Pretty, pretty girl. You’re doin’ so well.” He murmurs as he starts to thrust up into you, the sounds of your little gasps and moans making his head spin. His grip on your hips tightens so he can guide you up and down his length, helping you move with every drag of his cock. The room fills with slick sounds as he fucks up into you, his head tilting back as he lets out a breathy moan.

He leans forward to kiss you, swallowing your whimpers as he slides his tongue into your mouth. The taste of smoke and whiskey lingers between the two of you, his teeth biting down on your bottom lip to give it a little tug before he pulls away, running his tongue over his teeth. He starts to bounce you on his cock, grunting as your walls flutter around him as he pounds into you. He reaches around to grip your tail, tugging on it to encourage you to keep riding him. His fingers play with the fur there, the upper half of your tail continuing to wag where it’s free from his hold.

”Makin’ such a mess, sweetheart. Soakin’ my jeans.” He huffs, grinding his tip against your sweet spot before he pulls you up by the tail, leaving only the tip of his cock in before yanking you back down with a groan. You’re so wet you’re dripping all down his shaft, soaking his balls and making the fabric bunched up beneath them wet with arousal.

”Gonna make you cum for me, pup. Then I’m gonna fill you up. You want that, girl?” He grits out between thrusts, brows pinching together as he watches you nod eagerly. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning too loudly as his words make your cunt clench around him, trying to milk him dry.

”Alright, alright. I got you, doll.” He lets go of your tail, grabbing your hips to bury himself to the hilt inside of you. He adjusts the both of you a little so he can make you grind against his pelvis while keeping him nice and deep. He rocks your hips, making you grind your clit against his happy trail, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment at the friction the movement brings.

”Shit-“ He hisses as he feels you tensing around him, your orgasm sending him over the edge right after you. His jaw clenches as he shoots ropes of cum deep inside of you, his body slumping against the couch when he’s left spent and twitching inside your needy cunt.

”Just…” He starts after a moment, hands moving to rub up and down your back gently, coaxing you to lean against him. “Stay like this for me, yeah? You did good, pup. Such a good girl.”

He relaxes when you snuggle up to him, his softening cock nestled deep inside of you. There’s something oddly comforting about it, and it’s not long before he’s got his face buried in the crook of your neck, slowly dozing off as he runs his fingers through the fur on your tail. He thinks he could get used to this. He’s really starting to like having you around.

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

Joel's gotten into the habit of leaving you with Ellie when he has to go on those long patrols. He's never sure if he's gonna make it back, and there's no one in the world he trusts with you more than Ellie. He knows if something went wrong, the two of you would look after eachother, and that's enough to lessen the gnawing anxiety building in his chest whenever he has to leave.

Last thing he expects to see when he pushes open the door to his room is you and Ellie sleeping all curled up on his bed. It catches him off guard for a moment, but it's not long before a small smile breaks its way onto his face. He brushes some hair out of Ellie's eyes and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, giving you a small scratch behind the ears.

He sneaks his way out of the room, settling himself on the couch. He knows his back’s gonna be protesting the sleeping arrangement, especially after slumming in the past few days on the ground, but he can't find it in himself to care. He curls up awkwardly, letting out a grunt when his too-big frame can't fit fully on the couch.

Despite his discomfort, he feels content for the first time in a long while. He hasn't felt this kind of happiness since Sarah. For once, the thought that he could be happy without her, no matter how much he mourns her, doesn't fill him with dread. The guilt is still there, the thoughts of 'what if', but he lets himself feel them. He knows they're never gonna leave him, and there's no point trying to force them away.

He never wants to forget Sarah, to replace her. There's always gonna be a massive space in his heart that's taken up by her, and there's no one that's gonna change that. But for once, he thinks he's happy with the little family he's got. The strays he's collected. He knows he can honor her memory by doing his best to survive, act like a dad she could've been real proud of.

Joel isn't a very religious man, but he knows he'll see his daughter again, one day. He cries himself to sleep that night, but for once the sobs that rack his body aren't filled with dread. It isn't him giving up, sitting around feeling sorry for himself.

They're tears of exhaustion, yes. But also relief. Hope. He can start again, live his life how he should've been these past few years. Really live, instead of just forcing himself to keep pushing through. Not just for you, but for Ellie. Tommy, too.

His family.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut

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lanabuckybarnes · 17 hours

Note

BABYGIRL, Challenge for you:

Slutty little Drabble, kinky and the first character you think about.🤭🤭

| CottageCore | 18+ MINORS DNI

Everyone Knows to steer clear of the small cottage in the woods. Everyone except the Princess. Now she must deal with the consequences of her own actions — not that she’s complaining.

✧ Pairing ✧ Beast!Ari Levinson x Princess!Reader

✧ Warnings ✧ Size Kink, Dom!Ari, Rough PinV sex, Unprotected Sex, Dacryphilia, Breeding, Dirty talk, Squirting, Dumbification, Overstimulation, Belly bulge, Cum swelling, Knotting, A little Aftercare but definitely not enough for what you’ve been through - Any more lemme know!!

✧ Author Note ✧ Ohhh bbg thank you for the request, I’ve got a lil something for ya ~ ALSO my first time writing for someone that isn’t a Sebby character but @buckys-wintersoldier will tell you I have been OBSESSED with this man, I’ve written so many little drabbles about him and annoyed her with them 🤭🤭

✧ Word Count ✧ 799

Skirting about the palace halls unseen is virtually impossible when you’re 7ft tall. Yet Ari does it effortlessly. Each night since you invaded his cottage some time ago, professing your name and title he’s come for a piece of you. And every time he’s left you writhing underneath him.

You slipped on the silk sleep gown, sighing satisfyingly at the feeling of it draping down over your bare ass before slipping under your heavy sheets. Your eyes tugged downwards with sleep when the soft nocking has them snapping open again.

You should’ve been more embarrassed at the feeling of your slick arousal coating the tiny gusset of your thin panties. Behind the door, in all his glory was The Beast. Or as you’d come to find he preferred, Ari.

You’d heard stories of Ari from when you were a wee one “Don’t go into the cottage in the woods” this and “there is a hideous creature who calls that place home, people who have gone seeking it have not returned” that. You didn’t think the man eyeing you like prized venison was ugly at all, he was huge; his thin shirt ripped and ragged, barely covering his corded muscles each time he moved a little, the coarse hair over his chest and arms making your mouth dry.

Then there was that thing between his legs. You didn’t think you could ever go back to another man after Ari had plunged himself into you the first time, almost splitting your hungry snatch in two. That definitely wasn’t ugly.

✧ ✧

“Ari! Ari Ari” you moaned like a madman, hips pushing back to meet every one of the beast’s delightfully hard thrusts, tears flowing down your cheeks. His huge hand clapped over your mouth, thumb running up and down the bridge of your nose soothingly.

“Gotta be quiet little queen, don’t want the king to hear you” he snarled, sharp canines nicking the stretched skin of your neck as he pulled your face back.

For someone so concerned about your father hearing you both he certainly didn’t care about the loud squeaking of your thick mahogany bed, the headboard thumping dents into the wall it rested on. No, it was his beastly nature to have full control over you, that meant subduing your noises when he saw it fit.

Every time his thick, heavy cock pulled out a stream of your juices squirted onto the steadily soaking sheets, your walls singing at the small reprieve before squealing again when he speared it back in. Your cervix was most definitely bruised, the pain was almost too much for you to bear each time his plush tip kissed it.

“Aughh little queen, nothing but a village whore for your beast’s cock. What would your kingdom say when I pumped that belly full of cum, giving you my cubs…mmm shit squeezing me, you want your belly swollen because of me?” He groaned animalistically, his free hand pressing down into your tummy. His pace slowed for a second, a whimpering sound falling from his lips before he pulled you up into his chest, his paw for a hand grabbing your clenched one and pressing it to where he just had.

When you felt it you came undone, his head poking against your belly each time he sunk in; it was too much, far too much to hold back.

“Mmm flower you’re milking me, you like the feeling of me in there? So deep in that little body…fuck…oh little Queen beg for my come, beg for it inside that little womb” Ari’s voice wavered, his thrusts increasing to an almost impossibly fast pace and leaving you almost completely dumb with overstimulation.

“Want you cum Ari…fuckfuckfuck! Please Ari need you to swell me up please please ahhhh” you screamed, uncaring of volume as you came again with Ari, your vision going white as he held your body still, strumming your little clit as he filled you.

His hand moved with yours, running it over your now swollen tummy. His knot sitting thick and heavy at your entrance stopping any of his thick cream from slipping out.

He lay you on your side, his heavy body plastered on your back, his lips kissing up your neck before licking at your ear.

“Good little queen, all swollen with beast’s essence, make adorable babies…keep you to myself and make sure my queen is happy for the rest of her life” Ari mumbled, his settling finally and his arms holding you tighter.

You weren’t sure how much of it Ari meant, was it just talk from his high or was he planning on giving you everything he proclaimed? You weren’t sure and you were too dumb to think right now, but the thought of living in his small cottage away from the limelight, having his babies. It made you safe.

✧ ✧

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except on this page I have not given consent for it to be used.

Comments, Reblogs & Likes are always appreciated. They let me know that you are enjoying what you read and give me motivation to write more

Thank you for reading~

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domreader-headcannon-scenarios · 2 days

Note

If you’re willing could you maybe write a little thing (idk the word for it sorry 😭) about replaced God MC getting annoyed with Gabriel and choosing to get energy from Michellel instead??

Yes! I love this, I was thinking of cucking em with lower demons but it would get their heads turning if you chose one of them!

(I really hope you like it I feel like I messed it up!)

Wrong Move (Gabriel)

Cw: technically c*cking?, pining, one sided relationship, angel energy exchange, slight edge play,

Gabriel knew you wouldn’t forgive him easily for…branding you…liking your best friend and charging a war against Hell, then kidnapping you…

Gabriel sighs as he watches you tremble as Michael Carrie’s you to your room for some…angel energy….he wished you’d give him a chance! He’s gotta be better! No angel has done…such activities until you came around so they all have the same experience level…

It hurt since it wasn’t just once…this is the with time…it irked him to know you chose the cry baby to him…he could hear his whimpers and moans…it made his heart ache…

He thought about the brand marking he left on you, it hurt to know…he scared your perfect vessel. But…you gave him no chance to make it up, he could heal it! But…you ordered him to deal with and live with the scars there…

He whimpers as he hears Michael moaning loudly, enjoying himself with you…Gabriel had gotten so upset he even tried peeking in in you two a few times.

Each time Michael just…was so obedient, only doing as you say…even letting you edge him.

“A-aah! M-my Lord…I’m close! Please have mercy!”

Gabriel paused, he’s never heard Michael sound like that, he’s never seen him look like that…

Gabriel’s own body heated up at the thought often of you doing this to him…he can feel his cock throbbing in its cage and as he glances towards the other angels groin, he notices…the lack of a chastity cage….

His eyes widen realizing you took off Michael’s cage.

He sobs in frustration quietly, leaving, trembling in a mix of embarrassment and frustration. He needs to make this up to you…

The next day you wake up to Gabriel having made you breakfast. He has your clothes laid out and is smiling to you. “My Lord, I’m sorry…I’ve been very…dare I say inappropriate.”

Gabriel sighs and looks away trying to think of what to say.

“Have I said before? That I love you, I deeply value you and will do all I can to protect my Lord…” Gabriel leans forwards and rest his forehead on yours. “Please, please Master…let me heal the wound I have you, I’m sorry…I regret it.”

You barely seem bothered, making him feel wounded, his smile falters but he gets his hopes up when you brush his hair to the side so you can look in his eyes.

“Gabriel. I knew you were watching.”

Gabriel freezes and lowers his gaze. “I-I’m sorr-“

You interrupt him. “Don’t be a brat, I’m not going to chose you next time because your pride wants it…”

You grab his halo and yank it so he flops on the bed, landing beside you. Gabriel looks to you in surprise but since you don’t key go of his halo he decides to behave and stay down. He looks up to you nervously.

“Maybe next time I’ll let you sit in the room, gagged and tied up so you can sit back and enjoy the sight without bothering us.” You coldly tease, leaning over you pluck a feather from Gabriel’s wings. “Get Michael. I need some more energy.”

Gabriel whimpered as you let go of his halo.

“M-Master please give me a chance! I will prove myself to you! I’ll do anything you want! My entire being is just for your pleasure!” He pleaded…you hated his desperate tantrums whenever you decline him something like this. “Once chance is all I’m asking for please…”

As you sit up on the bed he gets on the ground on your side of the bed and gets on his knees and bow, his head on the ground as he bows to you. You know it’s a sign of respect but you grin and place a foot on his head, pushing his face against the ground.

“What a whiny bitch you are…now get Michael and I’ll let you watch.”

Gabriel held back a whimper and hurried away, trying to hid the tears in his eyes from your rejection…he’s sure he can make it up later…just not now…

#whb #dom reader #sub whb #sub gabriel #sub michael #nsft #what in hell is bad #gabriel x reader #michael x mc #michael x reader #Gabriel x mc

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ramshacklefey · 2 days

Text

The thing about instant text communication (eg, text messages, Discord, etc) is that they actually feel more disjointed than either other forms of correspondence or talking in-person/on the phone.

When you send a letter or email, you can write your thoughts out fully, the way you might in a blog post. When you talk in-person or on the phone, there's a constant and immediate back and forth.

But texting in any form is a weird hybrid of these. Sometimes it's a back and forth conversation, but these days it's also normal to just. Stop responding mid-conversation for anywhere from a few minutes to a couple hours with no indication why. Not even a "brb" or "gotta go run an errand."

And I just don't know what the polite thing to do when that happens is. So I put it to you, Tumblr:

Assume this person is a friend and the conversation is casual, not business or Serious Talks.

No option for "I don't know" or "It's complicated." Pick the one you think is usually best and expand in the tags.

#polls #digital etiquette

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sinisterexaggerator · 9 hours

Text

Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

Summary: You are important to John Hancock; there is a radstorm brewing. As a skilled and reformed scavver, you’re after a part for a decommissioned lounger—it belongs to Doc Amari’s famed Memory Den.

Hancock's tense; he should have gone with you, but it’s not too late to search you out. He would be glad to have you home safe in his arms, only things don’t always go as planned, nor do you go unpunished for your negligence.

Explicit: NSFW / 18+ for PWP, PiV sex, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, whump / hurt and comfort, angst, gun violence, light bondage, praise, light sub/dom undertones, edging, use of chems, alcohol, foul language, and canon-typical violence and behavior. Other worthy mentions include fluff, romance, a worried and protective Hancock, and love confessions.

Notes: I am normally a Star Wars writer. This is my first time writing for Hancock, and my first fic for the Fallout fandom. I see Hancock as multifaceted, which I am having fun exploring. I have many ideas, but one fic can only contain so much! I used a few lines of dialogue from the game because they stuck with me T__T. I will also most likely try my hand at Nick Valentine at some point, (and maybe even Coop), but this ghoul stole my heart.

6.8k+

Feedback appreciated. Like? Reblog! <3 Requests accepted!

Eyes as black as tar pits searched the ground at his feet, though no answers would present themselves, the cold, grimy filth of the Commonwealth something he could relate to on an atomic level. Flecks of barren soil and bits of detritus vaulted upward in a stagnate aggregate of dust, cavalier leather boots—having seen better days—leaving a swirl of varied particulates in their wake.

Hancock paced, the Mayor of Goodneighbor impatient as a hungry mole rat, the man left to stalk before the door that led to the Financial District. A dreary, dark green pall signaled to anyone with brains that there was a storm looming on the horizon, and yet you had not returned.

“Where the hell is she?” a raspy voice asked its sparse audience, two ghouls dedicated to his cause doubling as bodyguards, though if he felt safe anywhere, it was here among his brethren. Besides, it wasn’t his safety he was worried about, it was yours, and he wasn’t afraid to convey his feelings to the whole of town.

“Startin’ to get antsy. Gotta hand it to her, she’s got me sweatin’ like a whore in church over this. Hope she’s havin’ fun at my expense.”

Scavenging was lucrative, or it could be if you managed to score the right loot. You had to know where to look, or where not to look; danger was always in the cards. It was a game Hancock didn’t like to play, and especially not now, not when lightning streaked the sky, rain clouds pregnant with radiation threatening to burst open like a feral’s head looking down the muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun.

He knew what it was like to be forced to scour the bare bones of buildings, filching anything that was ripe for the picking. A single find could feed a man for weeks, and places like Goodneighbor just didn’t just build themselves. People needed things. Lucky for them, Hancock was able to provide. It was his one claim to fame—his rep was solid—but he didn’t look down on you for being one to scout for buried treasure.

“She’ll turn up,” one of his companions offered. It was a piteous attempt to console him, Hancock all but ignoring his dismissive comment. He felt his concern was obvious, yet his bedfellows were none of their business. Either way, he brushed it off like a decent man instead of snapping like he wanted to—the guy’d done nothing wrong.

Thunderclaps echoed through town, the first of many droplets pelting his marred face, the ghoul’s faithful tricorn not doing much in the way of shielding him from the dirtied water that had begun to trickle down onto its weathered surface.

He rued allowing you to go out on this wild-mongrel chase to begin with, not to say that you weren’t capable. What he might say is that you’re too good for this world, too good for him, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels.

You weren’t anti-social like most of your kind; you had a good heart, gave paying customers fair deals, and somehow you had kept the ruins from tarnishing your cheerful outlook; you sported a chipper disposition even at the worst of times.

In other words, you were his little ray of sunshine; Hancock had no qualms with telling you that to your face. And things as precious as you were to him? They needed protecting. It was becoming more obvious by the minute that he should have done the job himself.

“If this is her definition of ‘fast,’ we’re going to need to have a little chat to clear a few things up. Should have fucking gone with her, don’t know what I was thinking,” fried vocal cords scratched out, words tinged with worry as he made his way to the reinforced slab of steel that was Goodneighbor’s single entry point, not counting the alley behind Rexford.

“Maybe you weren’t thinkin’ at all, John…” that little voice inside his head nagged at him, reminding himself at every turn of the ways he’d failed, this on the verge of being one of them.

“Want us to look?” the other rejoined, aware you had been sent out on a job to find a replacement circuit board for Doctor Amari, as one of the memory lounger’s had been marked out of service. The doc would pay you well; everyone’s gotta eke a living somehow. Hers was made by sellin’ a man’s own memories back to him, and yours was made by sellin’ spare parts.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t have skipped out on his Mayoral duties for one evening, Hancock mentally scolding himself, his sentiments leading him toward the need to kick his own ass.

Quick, adept and clever, he had no doubt you could pull it off, but you were used to traveling in a group, used to back up and a lookout. You had willingly ditched your crew and settled here for him, making Goodneighbor more or less your permanent home. He couldn’t help but feel like he was ultimately responsible for you and your well-being—so far, so good. He’d be damned if anything happened to you on his watch.

The coming radstorm was starting to sound like a stampede of angry Brahmin. Not even those of his ilk should be out in this mess. Technically immortal, sure, but not immune to accumulating all that bad stuff brewing in the atmosphere; he was comfy right where he was, but not without his lady by his side.

Their self-elected leader ignored the question, reaching into the confines of his red frock coat to unveil the firepower hidden just out of sight. His break-action, double-barreled 12-gauge had most of its stock removed for easy concealment; he knew better than to step foot outside Goodneighbor without packing heat.

“No, you might say this is a personal problem. Not to say she wouldn’t make a damn fine Ghoul,” he stated with deadly calm, kicking the door open with reckless abandon despite his unflappable demeanor, not caring what awaited him on the other side.

“I’m going with you, ain’t safe,” words spoken over harsh winds, a breeze not in the least bit refreshing having descended upon the Commonwealth as Hancock slipped out into the mounting tumult, both men following close behind. Truthfully, he was grateful for their loyalty.

“Suit yourself, but don’t go gettin’ yourself killed. Would defeat the purpose of a search and rescue, ya feel me?”

A question not needing a response, he ventured forward, running headfirst into the growing tempest, chaos reigning overhead in the form of a blinding light show.

Hancock called out for you, yelling your name over the deafening commotion that was going to get worse before it got better, not about to go home empty-handed, even if it took the whole damn rest of the night. He hoped you were smart enough to know when to quit, or that you’d taken those Mentats he’d stuffed in your pocket on the way out.

“Get back here, scavver!”

Footfalls echoed in the dark, brisk in pace, inky, depthless eyes narrowing as the ghoul searched out the source. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps before he was forced to witness you at a full-fledged run, two burly raiders belting out insults and expletives hot on your trail.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, but he was stone-cold sober, time standing still as you dove into Hancock’s open arms.

“There’s my girl,” the scoundrel purred into your ear, sinewy limbs enshrouding you as the sound of gunfire and discarded ammo casings nearly went unnoticed. Hancock let his own weapon fall to the ground to accommodate you, your pursuers dispatched like the trash they were. The members of the Neighborhood Watch who had accompanied him outside the walls made short work of both men; they deserved a drink and some chems on his dime.

“John,” you breathed out, smiling up at him, eyes sparkling with mirth as you held up that piece of scrap you were so proud of. His name off your tongue was musical, a warm sensation spreading through him like wildfire, better than drugs—it was a high he would never come down from.

“I—I got the part,” you spoke softly, your tepid breath tickling the remnants of a disfigured ear.

Hancock almost shivered.

But oh, no. He wasn’t about to let you off that easy, not when he’d felt that pang of anxiety and the sickening feeling in his gut like someone had shanked him with his own knife. He held you back by the shoulders, breaking your embrace, his face taking on a displeased, stern shade.

“What’s wrong with you, huh? Makin' me all kinds of nervous. Scarin’ me half to death. And some might say I don’t look too far off.” He breathed in nice and slow, exhaling through exposed nasal cavities, Hancock emitting a sigh to emphasize his disappointment. “Can’t be doin’ things like that, or you’re liable to give this old ghoul a—”

“—Sunshine?” His heart sank, as if the universe was out to prove he had every right to worry, Hancock’s attention inexplicably drawn to the red staining your fingers—it neared the color of his coat. You only now seemed to notice, that radiant light swept from your beaming face as you acknowledged the presence of your own blood on your hands; no wonder it had been so hard to take those last few steps.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, eyes blown wide as you apologized for upsetting him. You would collapse into a heap, the adrenaline that had carried you home seeming to dissipate all at once—at least your fight-or-flight response had done its duty.

---

“Move over, out of the way. I ain’t askin’ twice,” Hancock seethed, the distraught man’s threat to bowl over anyone who stood in his way not to be taken lightly, though his tone was traitorously even and his despondency well-masked. He stormed the Old State House, ascending the spiral staircase to the second floor, carrying your limp body to a tattered red couch.

Refuse and empty Jet inhalers, along with half-drunk bottles of alcohol and boxes of Mentats, were all swept aside, Hancock throwing open cabinet doors and dislodging drawers in his haste.

“Oh, you’re really in it now, aren’t you, sister? Just had to make a few extra caps!” he chided, the ghoul’s husky voice rising in volume as he took to another part of the room.

Having not yet succumbed to blood loss, you were barely cognizant as you fought to stay awake, your beloved Mayor nothing more than a blur of motion and splotches of red as he systematically searched every nook and cranny for the syringe that would save your life.

“Hang on, dollface, you’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it—and you know how much I love to run my mouth.” Hancock spoke to reassure you and himself, filling the silence with something other than the curses he wanted to dish out every which way to the wind. You couldn’t help but to smile again despite your predicament, eyelids drooping as you thought about the idea of sleep.

“There you are,” he growled, your vision starting to glaze over, though you were aware Hancock had come back to your side. His scarred, yet deceptively handsome face hovered inches above your own; it was an acquired taste you had no trouble in accepting.

“This is gonna hurt, but it’s better than the alternative,” he provided in short warning, withered fingers fumbling to unbutton your top, exposing first your sternum, your ribs, and then your belly.

“Shit, they got you good,” Hancock grumbled, your hand rising to cradle his jaw as he had peeled back the flaps of fabric to inspect the wound in your side. You were surprisingly calm, thinking that if today was your last day on Earth, at least you had been blessed to experience his company.

“I’m glad it’s you here with me,” your voice, meek and mild, declared. Hancock hesitated for one precious second, caught off guard, but pleasantly so.

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me! Ain’t like these are your final moments or nothin’,” he assured, an audible tremble causing his words to waver, voice rising in pitch. He went on to stab you without ceremony, the needlepoint of a stimpak and its revitalizing medicine at once injecting itself into your damaged flesh and pulsing through your bloodstream.

You moaned in pain, hips arching as you lifted slightly up off the cushions before you settled once more, allowing yourself to finally relax as Hancock watched the regenerative process take hold, much to his relief.

---

You awoke, finding yourself supine atop a mattress, with Hancock crossed legged on the floor beside you. He had brought it down from upstairs, wanting you to have somewhere more comfortable to recover; the drifters weren’t using it, but he was sure he could scrounge another one up should the need arise.

The door was shut, the rest of the room empty, the man teetering off the edge of a high he wished he could prolong; he had pumped himself full of all those things that made him feel better. Riddled with guilt, he had imbibed both chems and alcohol, his body slightly swaying from left to right as he could not sit entirely still, yet he was too far off in his own head to notice you had come back to him.

You shifted, realizing he had draped his frock across your body to act as a temporary blanket. This simple gesture caused a flutter behind sore ribs, biceps activating so that you might push up and rest on the flat of your palms.

John was idle, near-dead to the world, eyes closed as he kept up that gentle rocking, back and forth, as if lost in music or in deep meditation. You only desired to watch him, studying the intricate, striated patterns of his ravaged flesh, gazing over the hollow of his once human nose, and admiring his sullied, foppish tunic that was a part of his infamous ensemble.

While some might consider him a monster, he was a being of light. He had superficial, obvious flaws, but he was no more guilty of sin than anyone else in this day and age. He was a beautiful soul, inside and out, and your opinion was the only one that mattered to you. Hancock always tried to do the right thing—it’s what drew you to him—even if that meant taking out a few loose ends.

Your heart stirred, natural chemical processes taking hold that would prompt you to touch him, your hormones dictating that you wanted this man carnally.

The ghoul’s eyes bolted open as you shuffled forward on your behind; you set his coat aside almost reverently, folding your legs like his, knees brushing as you leaned forward to kiss his wiry lips. Soft flesh against textured skin, rough in comparison, felt no less wonderful, Hancock groaning out a throaty sound of appreciation as he slowly shut his eyes again.

That was all the encouragement you needed, pressing closer, crawling onto Hancock’s lap as his hands found the meat of your ass to give it a squeeze. “Someone’s feelin’ better…” he quipped, allowing himself to lie back on the floor. His smile was lackadaisical and content, his touch roving to your thighs as he gazed up at you, noting you were tugging off your already unbuttoned top to reveal your shapely breasts.

“How’d a guy like me get so damn lucky…” he drawled, Hancock’s normally assertive way of speaking temporarily replaced by a calming cadence—it was dreamy—his indolent tone arousing your most base instincts.

You didn’t answer at first, thinking you’re the one who’s lucky. You had wanted and needed a change of pace, not happy with the way your business partners were operating, willing to bring death to others in order to get what scrap they could. You only took things from the ruins, or from those who deserved to be robbed, the idea of senseless violence proliferating thanks to people like your ragtag group something you decided you couldn’t live with.

You’d come to Goodneighbor looking for work; Hancock had been willing to give you a chance, and you didn’t disappoint. After a few heady conversations and risqué flirtations at the Third Rail, you had wound up in his arms—a place you found yourself never wanting to leave.

“I could ask you the same question,” you finally muttered, grazing his mouth, kisses repeating, small pecks placed from one side to the other in a physical show of adoration. The ghoul laughed a wry, salacious little laugh, head turning to allow for this impromptu bout of affection, stretching one arm out behind his head to act as a pillow as he relished the attention.

Then, his smile faded, the chem’s effects lingering like background radiation, less intense than before—the high lasted mere minutes if that, his faculties gradually returning. The hand left free gingerly touched your side, just below where he had administered the stimpak hours earlier. Concern was apparent in glistening eyes, so dark and lovely, starry pupils reflecting the faint luminescence of his surroundings.

“Not lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he promised, every shred of levity fleeing to be replaced by austerity, low, somber notes causing a visceral reaction as the onset of something warm and fuzzy spread throughout your core.

“Bein’ out here with me? Means you don’t gotta work, but I should have had your back, sunshine. Ain’t got no excuse.”

“You can have me on my back,” you playfully retorted, the simple suggestion unleashing a purr from the bowels of the ghoul’s throat. The idea of being a kept woman pleased you, but you were more interested in pleasing him.

“You better watch your mouth, or I can’t be held responsible for all those things I’m going to do to you,” Hancock countered. He talked big game, but he was still feelin’ shook. He didn’t want to risk getting too frisky on the off chance your body needed more time to heal; you were only human, after all.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” you simpered. Hancock was quick to snark back.

“I know that’s a lie, ‘cause you’re not wearing any.”

You gasped as Hancock flipped you without warning, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He drank in the smooth, supple flesh of your curves, hungry eyes making damn sure to get their fill.

He couldn’t stop himself, exploring the swell of a perfect tit, Hancock’s mouth becoming newly acquainted with the sensitive flesh of your nipple. He flicked its pert tip with the point of his tongue; you brazenly rolled your hips as you tried to contain the lewd sound that threatened to escape you.

“I double dog dare you, ” you tempted, not in the least bit afraid of what he might have in store.

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t want to hurt you, love, but let’s say I give it to you nice and slow… Or as slow as I can give it; hard to keep promises, lookin’ the way you do,” he argued, ruined lips applying pressure as he began to suck, his growing erection gently grinding into the meat of your thigh.

“You won’t hurt me.” You shuddered as he pulled back, gazing into murky, otherworldly eyes, their glow hypnotizing. You half-assed a struggle, wanting to pull your hands free if only to touch him, Hancock chuckling mildly at your efforts.

“Don’t be so sure, ‘cause I got a hankerin’ for human,” his voice dropped emphatically lower, toying with you, his dire inflection sending tingles down your spine. Coming from a ghoul, most people would run the other way, but you knew from experience, Hancock had a twisted sense of humor—it was something you loved about him.

“Eat me,” you jeered, snapping your teeth playfully like some creature that roamed the wasteland, Hancock pulling his head back just enough to satisfy you, as if he had a nose to bite off to begin with.

“That’s the plan, sister,” he snickered, finally releasing his grip on your arms.

You took the opportunity to take hold of Hancock’s already tousled vest, guiding him down to meet your lips. Your fingers busied themselves with its unbuttoning as the ghoul had his hands full, cradling the plump, healthy tissue of your blushing cheeks in the crooks of his palms.

Hancock fed a grating moan into your mouth before asking a pointless question he already knew the answer to, not one to miss out on a chance to have his ego stroked. “Somethin’ about me.. turnin' you on? Don’t know why you’d go for this ugly mug,” he conceded, fishing for a compliment.

“You. You turn me on,” you whined plaintively, “everything about you,” you confessed, furling your tongue around his, willing him to shut his trap long enough for you to kiss him properly. He aided in the undressing, whipping his sash off in one fell swoop, an idea blossoming only to come into fruition shortly thereafter.

“That why you’re actin’ so desperate for me?” Hancock laced that bit of ragged flag around both your wrists, constricting them once more, his own arm extending to tauten its hold. He wouldn’t give you the chance to kiss him the way you wanted to, cinching its loose ends around the legs of the coffee table just behind your head, giving it a good tug to make sure you couldn’t break free.

In reality, it would have been easy to wiggle loose, but he knew you were the type to play along.

“What are you doing?” you asked, feigning alarm. The ghoul only grinned a shit-eating grin, crawling backward across your lap to adjust to a better position for his next course of action.

“Makin’ sure you can’t skip out on me,” he said matter of fact, a mischievous lilt to his voice, “gonna have to punish you for all that worryin’ you made me do.”

“But, Hancock—” you protested, realizing he was barring you from the one thing you wanted—full access to his person, unable to grope and caress all those parts of him you were so eager to touch and kiss.

“—Hmm?” he hummed, the bastard having the nerve to stand. He left you in a recumbent position with hands tied, unable to do anything but gaze up at the seductive set of motions he was now subjecting you to.

The ghoul painstakingly unfastened the remainder of his buttons, wizened digits fondling each in turn, his manner suggesting something that for now would remain unspoken. Then, Hancock shrugged his vest off, allowing his arms to hang as the garment dropped silkily to the floor. It was followed by a festooned shirt, leaving the man bare chested and amused; he wasn’t sure you had blinked even once.

“Like what you see?” he asked lazily, tracing a line across his gaunt pecs toward his navel with the curl of a finger, black eyes glinting impishly at the sight of you jostling your wrists as you failed to liberate yourself.

“Yes,” you breathed out shamelessly, unable to deny the effect his little striptease had on you. This in and of itself was torture, finding his brand of punishment entirely unfair.

“Good,” Hancock crooned, doing the unthinkable as he vanished from view. He even went so far as to walk beyond your peripheral vision. Instead, you were reduced to listening out for him, the ghoul shuffling around somewhere behind you.

“John,” you whined, sitting up and scooting back against the coffee table the best you could. You endeavored to crane your neck, hearing the clink of glass preceding other innocuous sounds, the gentle thud of Hancock’s boots echoing across the rotting floorboards as he made his way back around.

“You can say my name all you want to, princess, but it ain’t gonna change a damn thing,” Hancock stressed, words clawing their way out of cracked pipes as he nudged your knees apart with his foot; he knelt between your legs, a dispenser of Jet in one hand, and a dose of Rad-X in the other. “Open wide,” he instructed.

You should have known what he’d been after, the drug-addicted ghoul popping the lone anti-radiation capsule inside his mouth after dispensing a heavy spray of the illicit substance into his lungs; its potency was limited in his case, but you were easily susceptible to its high.

You gratefully obeyed, wanting any excuse to be close to him, Hancock’s silver tongue molesting you as easily as it had persuaded you to listen. He deposited the pill into your mouth, kissing you deeply, your beloved Mayor giving you a shotgun of thick, odorous chems without so much as a single protest on your part.

Your heart thrummed, Jet leeching its way into your bloodstream to trigger a bodily response via your nervous system. In the meantime, you had almost forgotten to swallow your dose of Rad-X, Hancock prompting you by trailing the full length of your throat with a single, sallow finger.

He massaged it down, feeling for the activation of those muscles that would help ferry it along, his thoughts drifting to the memory of his cock once upon a time being slopped on by the wet whorl of your tongue. His prick had throbbed almost painfully, sequestered snugly inside your zealous gullet, the powerful suction of your hollow cheeks threatening to wrench his soul from his body, or it sure as hell had felt that way.

He was drawn back to the present moment by the look in your eyes, your pupils dilating to rival the circumference of dinner plates. You gazed at the man before you; Hancock pulled back the edge of your bottom lip, exposing your gumline, the ghoul snaking another of his fingers inside your partially open mouth.

The slender extremity would bypass your blunt teeth, saturating itself in your saliva. Even in this state, you had the wherewithal to pucker up, intaking that explorative digit to the knuckle, your plush maw behaving like a deluxe pre-war vacuum cleaner.

The ghoul shuddered, though keeping his cool intact, lost in the depths of your unwavering stare. He slowly slipped back out, releasing your lip for it to snap gently back into place, Hancock satisfied with the knowledge you had swallowed the pill.

“Look at you, bein’ such a good girl for me,” Hancock praised, speaking in a low, sultry whisper. You did not reply, your desire for the man at its all-time high, that warmth in your belly having spread to complement the unparalleled ache of your loins.

“Hancock,” you whimpered, once more tugging at the cloth that bound you. You felt delirious with longing, your heart racing as you saw stars, euphoria overtaking all of your senses. You pushed forward, halted partway by that fucking flag that had you fettered like some common criminal, too blazed to even think about squirming loose.

“Please,” you begged, lips reaching for his. Hancock evaded you, trailing a divot devoid of cartilage across your sateen cheek, directing it toward your lovely, intact nose.

“Please, what, sister?” he ruthlessly teased, watching as your tongue tried to skirt his teeth; its vertex barely met its goal. Still, Hancock would return the gesture with a sweep of his own, flitting his against yours, inhaling deeply the scent of Jet off your breath as he was suddenly consumed by an almost feral need to taste your neediness—it was nearly palpable.

“Please.. touch you? Please kiss you? Please.. fuck your pretty little hole?” he asked in a derisive tone, though his movements were languid, Hancock in no rush to oblige you, even as his veiny hands glided over every inch of your sleek skin.

“Is that what my little ray of sunshine wants?” the ghoul taunted, moving to unbutton the clasp at the top of your pants, then pinching the pull of your zipper, teeth parting to reveal clean cotton. You were nearly embarrassed by how damp your panties were, the chems only making your arousal ten times worse; Hancock wasn’t helping matters, a lecherous moan reaching your ears as the man slid back and realigned himself, bending forward to bury his face in the moist outline staining your skivvies.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet—” he marveled breezily, “—is it all for me?” Hancock rasped, nipping you through the fabric, a desiccated finger tucking itself into its elastic hem. Hancock dragged it down just far enough to expose your sweet-smelling sex, the ghoul’s tongue slithering easily between slick folds.

You inhaled a disjointed gasp for breath, voice cracking as you cried out in ecstasy, Hancock having barely swiped your thrumming clit. That alone was almost too much, your hips bucking beneath him of their own volition as you pleaded with him to keep his promise.

“Don’t tease,” you sighed, naked breasts rising and falling with every labored breath. Hancock’s eyes traveled up your fine as fuck body before meeting your gaze, a twisted hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his ghoulish mouth.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he snickered, fingers grasping the entirety of your waistband to help you shimmy off your bottom layer of clothes. Your hips wriggled all too desperately, overjoyed to finally be free of their constraints.

“But that’s not fair!” you entreated, unabashedly spreading your legs in the hopes of providing him a suitable meal, ready and willing to be devoured if you could only convince him to take the plunge.

“And why not?” he asked in all seriousness, nuzzling into the lush flesh of your labia as his silky tongue entombed itself, gathering your moist heat from its source. He dipped back out to your chagrin—you had inhaled sharply in preparation only to be left disappointed—Hancock licking a stripe to the cusp of your throbbing bud.

“Because I’ll die,” you replied, overexaggerating, writhing in bliss, albeit temporary; Hancock seemed out to drive you mad, retracting once more to glance back up at you, reedy lips downturned in a disapproving frown.

“No, you won’t,” he asserted, voice taking on a sobering, sincere quality; even if you were being hyperbolic, after the events that had just transpired, Hancock didn’t find it funny, resolving to dine on you good and proper, as if it would be the thing to save your life.

“I—” You were cut off mid-thought, lightning crashing thunderously outside, the ghoul introducing two coarse fingers into your clenching cunt as the radstorm raged on. Hancock’s neck sank low as you arched your hips, the flat of a thick tongue bringing you toward rapture as he succinctly lapped your clit in delicious combination, playing you like some Old World violin.

“Aren’t you glad you’re trapped in here with me instead of out there cookin’ alive?” Hancock asked offhand, digits curling to find the seat of your pleasure, warm, wet muscle dancing slow, precise circles across your sensitive nerves. You halfheartedly yanked at your bindings once more, wishing for nothing more than to ravish him like a woman starved, deprived of sustenance.

“Yes, yes— please, just like that,” you answered, urging him on, the man encouraged to keep at it, long, languorous strokes titillating you toward release.

Then, he simply stopped, fingers glossy upon exit, Hancock sucking your slick clean off with a scarecrow smile, tilting his head like a curious animal as you bemoaned your plight, left to suffer on the edge of an orgasm.

“Relax, I ain’t through with you yet,” Hancock remarked, lifting himself up to a seated position on his knees. You whined indignantly, made to watch as he unbuckled and unzipped his own pants.

The rogue stood completely, giving you another show, kicking one boot off after the other before slinking out of the rest of his clothes.

You took a moment to admire him, skin pockmarked with scars, deep pits of tissue missing where cells had inevitably healed all too quickly, John a mosaic of gnarled, misshapen flesh and keloid. Yet he was so handsome, charming, and cavalier, the man leaving nothing on but his tricornered hat, returning to his previous enterprise by way of interring his roiling tongue into your aching center.

“Oh, John,” you murmured, voice hushed, the man’s thumb working itself concentrically atop your little pearl.

For once, he was quiet, his strokes inside you meticulous, the nearly silent room filled with a plethora of obscene sounds as he feasted on you like a Yao guai over a fresh kill. Just a little attention was all it took, nails digging into the palms of your tied hands as you twisted beneath him, vocalizing loud enough you were sure the whole State House would hear.

A shiver rocked you to your core, riding out your climax for as long as you could stand it. You were unable to push Hancock’s head back even if you wanted to, the ghoul finding a new way to punish you, continuing to stimulate your already oversensitive clit.

“Hancock, please—” you begged him under different circumstances, the ball of your foot gingerly pushing against his blatant hard-on. The ghoul finally let up just enough to chortle dryly, obviously nonplussed.

“Done already? Thought we were just gettin’ this party started,” he flouted, sitting up properly, probing fingers caressing the curve of your slit as they trailed upward, ghosting over your navel to tweak your nipple. They didn’t stop there, reaching just behind you to nab a cigarette off the edge of the coffee table, your expression giving away your confusion as he struck a match to ignite the end.

“No, John— you’re supposed to fuck me!” you berated, another devious little chuckle let loose from wilted lips. The ghoul inhaled a deep drag of nicotine laced with radiation, though the amount contained therein was so trivial he didn’t bat a lash—not that he had any.

He gazed at you through a thin veil of smoke exuded from eroded nasal passages—a short burst of pressure from his lungs propelling it outward—a freakish sight to some, but you had grown accustomed to it.

“So, that is what you want,” Hancock digressed, snubbing the end of his cig on the floor after a few more laggard puffs. The Jet was wearing off, Hancock having already sobered completely, its side effects leaving you feeling used-up and exhausted. Hancock had forgotten what it felt like to come down from such an intense high; you pouted pathetically up at him.

“Baby,” you whined, immediately capturing Hancock's attention. He dropped the act, eyes softening around the edges, colorless voids somehow the most expressive you had ever seen them.

“What is it, sunshine? Feelin’ all right? Need somethin’ to take the edge off?” he asked gently, concern present in his tone, the ghoul finally being kind enough to reach over your head to free you from your bindings.

“I need you,” you implored, your speech sounding childishly irritable, tired, heavy arms lifting to wrap themselves around John’s neck; you couldn’t help yourself, having been prohibited from touching him for what felt like hours, when in reality it had only been a short length of time.

“I’m all yours,” Hancock vowed, whisking a stray strand of your hair away. A soft kiss was pressed into even softer lips; the man was two sides of the same coin, like night and day. Part of you prayed you would never cross him, his temper volatile, like an active volcano lying dormant until such a time the right conditions were met, inevitably causing an eruption.

But he was also kind, genuine, and a good person, only wanting to make the Commonwealth a better place; he held within him a righteous anger, and for good reason, determined to stick by him through thick and thin.

"Nice and slow?" you asked, bringing the conversation full circle, ushering the ghoul down on top of you as you laid back, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes. He searched your face, as if double-checking for something, needing to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing was wrong—you were only sulking.

“You got it, sister,” Hancock replied coyly, the fullness of a finger returning to you as he tested the waters; you were still so unbelievably wet. It was a stark contrast to the dry, desolate landscape that stretched for miles just beyond his little town, the ghoul humming in gratitude as you kissed him once again.

You wasted no time, slipping your hand between the depression of your bodies where hip meets hip, his weight a warm, inviting presence that comforted you like nothing else. Your fingers toyed with his variegated shaft, thumbing a bead of loosed pre-cum to moisten its tip; Hancock moaned lustfully as he buried himself deeper into the column of your throat, teeth raking tender flesh, barely withholding the intention to bite.

“I’m thinkin’ you must be the single best thing to ever happen to me,” Hancock confessed in a dulcet whisper, voice quavering with emotion as you carefully escorted his cock inside you, one delicious inch at a time. Jagged breaths found their way into your ear, distorted, ribbed flesh, more than adequate in length and girth, stretching you open, a subdued sound of longing and relief birthed from parted lips.

“I love you,” you blurted out, unable to keep your feelings at bay, any and all movements ceasing before they had wholly begun.

You had closed your eyes; they fluttered open, fear wheedling its way inside your heart as Hancock gazed at you in silence. You cursed yourself, having never before expressed such a sentiment out loud, unsure how the man would take it, or if he even felt remotely the same—all signs pointed to yes, but you refused to be presumptuous.

Then, he pushed up into your tight cunt with one slow, smooth stroke of his cock along your anterior walls, stimulating your G-spot. Pleasure radiated through you as you emitted a stilted breath, Hancock cradling your cheek, resting his forehead against yours to stare penetratingly into your eyes.

“Took you to be smarter than this, but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that,” he breathed against your lips, slipping a motile tongue into your mouth, wanting to desperately deepen your connection.

You readily accepted, your own tongue writhing and contracting in unison with his, heart beating fervently behind a wall of blood and bone. Your fingers clawed and grasped at his narrow shoulders and the tendinous flesh of his back, exploring every inch of your ghoulish lover, from head to jutting hipbone.

Hancock drove his cock into you, back and forth, keeping a steady, equal rhythm like the beat of a drum. “Why now?” he asked, voice tempered, each pump of his thick prick inside you unhurried and sensuous.

“Nearly dying may have had something to do with it,” you jested in-between indecent, muted moans, Hancock’s deliberate pace driving you toward orgasm. The arm not supporting his weight curled tightly around you. He clutched you to his chest, and you wrapped your thighs around his waif thin waist in return.

“Mmn.. that it?” Spindly fingers moved to grip the back of your head, digging into tufts of your hair; your back bowed to support you in joining with him more fully, Hancock massaging your scalp as he massaged your insides, debauch, rich sounds filling both your ears.

“And because I have nothing to lose,” you reluctantly answered, breath picking up speed as you pushed back against firm, rawboned pectorals with the palm of your hand; you had the intention of arranging yourself at just the right angle to please— a simple slant of your hips would make things all too easy.

Within moments, you came, pinpricks of light overwhelming your senses. You were elated, as if your consciousness had been overtaken by a nebulous cloud of love and electromagnetic radiation, a soul set adrift in a swirling haze of thoughts, feelings and emotions that would amalgamate into something beautiful—it caused you to cry out a sound of intense, heartfelt bliss.

Your mind went blank, only registering that John had simultaneously shared in the experience. It would take you both a moment to calm.

Then, you squeezed Hancock tightly between your legs, a signal for him to not withdraw, but to stay awhile, the tension in your body settling as you laid back down.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Hancock would smother you with his scant weight, caressing the point of your chin, his thumb snaking across your bottom lip. He gave a faint exhalation of breath, the concave outline of his nasal cavity grazing the convex shape of your nose; it tickled.

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

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hier--soir · 20 hours

Text

exit music

pre-outbreak tess servopoulos x f!reader

pairing: tess servopoulos x f!reader rating: mature, 18+ mdni summary: in late september, 2013, you drive home from an interstate trip, eager to reunite with tess and your son. warnings/tags: it's outbreak day in detroit, tess and reader are in a long-term relationship with a young child, cigarette smoking [r] [a/n: man i miss smoking menthols], major angst, descriptions of blood and injury, mention of a gun, SPOILERS-> infected child, imminent loss of a child, grief and dissociation, unhappy ending, inferred death of the reader. word count: 3.1k masterlist a/n: i wrote this months ago and it's inspired by the background story for tess' character that got scrapped for the show. i'm sorry, i just couldn't stop thinking about it so i banged an angsty one out. short and sharp aka ouch. anyways i haven't posted anything in months and just remembered this existed so thought i'd share follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing

It’s evening in late September, and Summer just won’t quit.

The thick, obtrusive heat swims in through the open window of your Ford Focus, dampening the leather steering wheel beneath your palms. It leaves the skin inside your elbows damp and turns the hair on your neck slick and curly beneath the collar of your shirt.

It’s pitch black out, only headlights and the dull yellow hum of a streetlamp lighting your surrounds.

Idling at a red, you glance at the blinking 11:57 on your dash and crank the window shut. Slip the phone from your pocket and dial the only number you know by heart.

She picks up on the second ring, just as you pull onto the interstate. “What time do you call this?”

A grin splits your face, teeth clacking in delight at the sound of that familiar husky voice.

“Hey pretty mama,” you whisper, voice low and longing. “I wake you?”

A sharp click sounds through the receiver; that shitty old lamp on your bedside being turned on.

“Hey, doll,” Tess softens. “Naw, how’s the drive? Tell me you aren’t far.”

“Drive’s killing me slowly,” you sigh, straightening in your seat. The phone stays balanced on your thigh, fingers hooked over the wheel. “But I just passed Paw Paw; pretty much a straight shot through now.”

“What’s that,” she says. You imagine her checking her watch. “Five hours you been driving already?”

“Something like that,” you tell her. “Stopped for dinner near Chicago. Fucked up the timing of it all.”

“It’s late, baby. You gotta be tired.”

“Mhm, think I’ll pull over soon. Get some shut eye around Kalamazoo.”

A short huff of laughter bursts down the line. “Good old Kalamazoo. Sounds like a fucking hoot.”

When that beautiful sound dies down the sound of tires on road and wind against the hood rushes back in and you frown a little.

“Tell me about you day?” you ask softly.

“Well, your son’s giving me grief out here.”

“Oh, my son?”

“Yeah.” You can so easily picture the grin on her face; the glint in her eye as she teases you. You wish you were home, staring at it in person. “My kid’s a saint. Dunno who this little devil is.”

“Come on now.” You smile. “What’s he doing?”

“The kid won’t eat,” she groans. “Cooked his favourite, and he screamed my damn ear off still.”

“You do the potatoes how I do them?”

“I did my best, thank you, Martha Stewart.”

You hum, fingers falling lax against the wheel. The 131 stretches out in a straight shot ahead, black bitumen and white lines lit up only by the high beams of your beat-up car.

Tess’ voice shifts lower, coarser around the edges as she breathes into the phone. “Think it’s too late to return him? Get our money back?”

A rough bark of laughter escapes you, and you welcome the warm swell in your chest. She laughs too, but the sound is a little choked. A long day, you can tell.

“What’d the day care say?”

“The usual,” she replies. “Said he was good, played well, napped well. Apparently, they had pancakes for lunch.”

“Pancakes,” you repeat wistfully. Your stomach pulls taut and hungry at the thought of sticky syrup and sweet buttermilk.

“He misses you,” she says. “Keeps asking for you.”

“I’d hope so.” You pinch your cheek. Just a quick grab of flesh between thumb and middle finger, eyes watering at the shot of pain. It sharpens your senses. “Four days is a long time to be away from a parent. ‘Specially at his age.”

She goes quiet for a minute. You hear something soft, maybe the sheets rustling as she rolls over in bed. The low whir of a fan in the background.

“Can’t say I blame him,” Tess says finally. “Four days is long.”

An old road sign rushes forward to meet you, a blur of green as your car whips past. Kalamazoo: Next Exit. You flick the indicator on.

“I miss you too, baby,” you murmur. “Get some sleep, alright? I’m pulling over, need a few hours of shut eye, but I’ll be home by morning, you hear?”

“I hear you.” Another soft click – the lamp turning off again.

“Hey, Tess?” you say quickly.

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

The line crackles a little, and her low voice fills the car one last time. “Hurry up and get home so you can say it to my face, doll.”

You wake with a jolt, sucking down deep lungful’s of hot air as your eyes roll and struggle to adjust to wakefulness again. The car still feels hot, parked in a six-space lot outside an old diner and a gas station. You fumble with the keys, pressing them into the ignition and cranking the window down as soon as the engine thrums to life.

Head lolled drowsily out the window, you gulp fresh air and catch your bearings. The blue numbers on the dash read 5:04, telling you that you slept longer than you meant to. And then blue, more blue, blue and red, red and blue. Flashing across the lot, shining through the passenger window.

The hairs on the back of your neck rise as you lean forward, struggling to see across the lot where the ambulance idles. The side door hangs open, a gaping mouth that reveals a brightly lit medical bay, and the lights atop it pulse in a never ending strobe. You can’t see anyone around. Not even inside the gas station, despite the rig being parked haphazardly by the entrance.

The diner to its left is much the same. The façade is all glass. Inside, a long white counter, linoleum tables, cherry red booths, a gaudy checked pattern on the wall. Not a soul in sight.

A grinning hamburger on the front door leers at you, with a speech bubble drawn from the lip of its mouth that reads You Hungry?

Still glancing around, your hand pats across the passenger seat and weasels its way into your bag. You pluck out a smoke and pinch the filter between your forefinger and thumb until you feel the little ball inside pop. Tuck it between your lips, only looking away for a second to light up, eyes already returning to the gas station by the time cool smoke hits the bottom of your lungs.

“Don’t think they’re comin’ back.”

You flinch, head snapping to the side to locate the origin of the voice. The cigarette tumbles from your lips but you pay it no mind.

The man sits on the curb, legs splayed out in a wide V as he sips a beer. Face gaunt, eyes sunken, he stares at you through the open window. The label on his Budweiser is damp with condensation, peeling off where his bony fingers have gripped it too tight. The sight of it makes any remaining saliva in your mouth dry up.

“What’s that?”

He jostles his beer in the direction of the ambulance. “They’re gone.”

“The paramedics?”

“Yeah, them.” He takes a sip. “And the boy.”

Something uncomfortable curls in your gut and you grip your seatbelt, dragging it across your body to click it into place. Slowly, so the man doesn’t notice. And then you wince, looking down to see the lit cigarette in your lap, burning a perfect little hole through your jeans.

“Fuck,” you whisper. Snatch it up quickly, fingers rubbing away the ash and the ache. Tuck it back in your mouth and take a quick, wary drag.

“Where’d they go?”

“Lord knows,” the man grumbles. He hisses between his teeth as he stands, knees popping as he takes a step towards your car. He adjusts his cap, revealing a flash of thinning white hair beneath. You rest a hand on the gear stick and try to remember if there’s still an old tennis racket on your backseat. “Where you live?”

“Not far.” Your voice cracks around the lie.

He stares for a moment, face placid. Unimpressed.

“S’funny,” he says. “No one livin’ not far sleeps in the middle of a lot in Kalamazoo.”

You take another drag and don’t respond, heart beating something fierce in your chest. The man seems to sense your reluctance, that spike of fear warming your blood, and he nods a little.

“Should get gone,” he warns you. “Somethin’ bad in the air tonight.”

“Yeah,” you respond, throat tight around the words, unsure of what exactly you’re agreeing to. “Okay.”

He tilts the lip of his bottle towards you. “Got a spare?”

You pass a smoke through the window and tear out of the lot as he lights up, leaving blue and red behind in your rear-view mirror.

Tess doesn’t pick up when you call.

Not the first time, a few hundred metres down the road from the man and the flashing lights, when all you have is a half-smoked cigarette and a bad feeling.

Not the second time either, when you drive through Marshall and see a house on fire with the sun rising behind it turning the sky a deep heady red.

Not the third time or the fourth.

Not the fifth when you see those Detroit skyscrapers come into view, and there’s smoke billowing around them.

You lose count after that. Don’t know how many times you call, watching cars blur past yours, heading in the opposite direction. Don’t know what’s going on, don’t know what’s wrong, don’t know anything that will help quell this blistering panic that curdles in your veins. All you know is foot on the gas and that two hours feels like ten.

The battery on your phone is dead by the time you reach the suburbs, drained by fingers jamming against her contact over and over, persistent, unrelenting. Familiarity cloaks the car as you speed through the winding streets, but fails to offset the dread splashing its way up your chest, burning at the back of your throat.

The dash reads 7:49 when you shift the Focus into park halfway up the curb, leaving the door wide as you stagger out and up your own front lawn. If it weren’t for the roaring in your ears, you’d notice how quiet the street is; how eerie, caked in the early morning light. The Jacobsen’s front door is split open two houses down, hanging off its hinges, but you pay it no mind, fumbling for your keys.

“Tess?” Your voice wavers and you curse under your breath, jamming the key in the lock and twisting. “Tess!”

The house shakes with the force of the door slamming behind you. “Tess? Danny?”

No sign of them in the front room or the kitchen. Eyes hot and sharp now, you move down the hall, their names the only thing you can think to say. Over and over again, you call out for them, and when you reach the end of the hall, your stomach goes wet and watery.

“Tess.” You drop to your knees where she sits at the top of the stairs, head cradled in her hands.

With shaking fingers, you pry her palms from her face; tilt her trembling chin up so you can look into her eyes.

Her long locks are tied back, revealing a deep gash across her forehead. The edges of the cut have already begun to scab, but there’s red smeared across her browbone, down the thin bridge of her nose. She sniffles, jaw going tight, balking at the sight of you.

“Didn’t you hear me? I was calling yo—what are you doing back here?”

You glance down the stairs to the entrance of the basement. Door closed, as always.

Your heartbeat is deafening in your ears. So loud you almost miss it when she says your name, only noticing from the way her lips tilt and curve around the word as you look back at her.

“You’re here,” she’s saying. “You’re alive.”

Badoom boom, badoom boom. You can hardly hear her over the heavy beat of it.

“What?” you grimace, searching her face for some kind of explanation. “That’s not funny.”

“Had to…” she frowns back, hands trembling as she reaches out to touch your hip. “I had to do it, I’m sorry.”

It sharpens all of your senses, seeing her like this. Watching and listening as nonsense spills from her mouth; the love of your life, all apart on the floor of your home.

“Talk to me.” You cup her cheek, shaking her a little when her eyes stay dazed and foggy – like the lights are on but no one’s home. “Tess, hey, what happened? You’re bleeding.”

“Fell,” she mumbles.

You spare a glance and think you spy her blood a few stairs down—a little pool of it on the pale wood, like she laid there for a moment, stunned after colliding with the step.

And then there, by her side, you see the gun. The one she always kept locked in the safe in your shared bedroom, hidden away. The one only to be removed in case of emergencies.

You freeze, fingers stilling against her face. “You…? Babe, where’s Danny?”

“Danny?” she whispers, empty gaze shifting to something over your shoulder. Her face tightens. “Did you lock the door?”

“What?” You pant, face pinching in confusion. “Tess, you need to tell me what the fuck is going on. What happened to your face?”

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head and a lone tear spills past her waterline, rolling down just to spill into her mouth. “You have to lock the door, you need to—they’re gonna to get in here, they’re gonna find us—”

“Who?” You grip the back of her neck now, forcing her to look at you. “Honey, I can’t help unless you tell me what’s wrong.”

“They’re biting people,” she whispers then, and her eyes are wide, eyebrows pinched. A clammy sweat beads across her forehead, mixing with a fresh trickle of blood, and her eyes… those eyes you love, they look hollow. Sunken and lost. “Biting… eating them, I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“What?” Disbelief sharpens your voice. Badoom boom, badoom boom.

“I called an ambulance,” she continues, voice raising now. Loud enough to match that rough drum of blood rushing in your ears. So loud, it’s so loud. “But they wouldn’t come, baby, they wouldn’t come for him.”

“For…” No. Your chest feels tight. You aren’t sure if you’re breathing anymore as you stare, unblinking. Hardly feeling the tears that wet your own face, mirroring hers. “Tess, where’s Dan?”

There’s a beat, a long, lonely, pause, and then it’s like things shift into slow motion as she raises an unsteady hand and points toward the basement door. You move fast, turning to move, and her face crumples in on itself, spit pooling in the corners of her mouth as she says your name, grasping your hand to hold you still.

“No,” she pleads, voice rough and rasping, nails digging into the soft flesh of your forearm. “I had to, I had to do it, don’t you understand? You can’t go down there.”

“What the fuck are you saying?” You’re yelling now, fear turning you mean and rough, spittle flying, fingers tangling with hers, trying to pry her grip from your skin.

But she doesn’t need to tell you. Because that rough drumming, that incessant roar of blood in your ears—it isn’t your heartbeat anymore.

No, you can see it now, the way the door shakes on its hinges.

The rhythmic pounding of a little body slamming against wood floats up to you on the landing. Relentless, like a song you’ve heard one too many times and have grown to hate. Badoom boom, badoom boom. And noises, ones you’ve never heard before but are sung in your little boy’s voice. Grunts and wails, high-pitched sounds that turn to screeches as they tear from his throat. Those thumps and cries blend together in your ears and your stomach drops, ass falling to the ground as you slump beside Tess, staring down.

“I had to do it,” she mumbles, repeating it like a mantra. The words blend with Danny’s symphony. “He wouldn’t stop, I had to, I had to, I had to, I couldn’t make him stop, I couldn’t do it.”

“What did you do?” You shout, voice fierce and tight now as you try to shake her off. “Tess—Tess, stop. Jesus, you’re acting fucking insane.”

“Baby, please—"

“He’s just a little boy,” you try to reason, jostling her away. “Listen to him, I-I need to see him.”

“Not you too,” she shakes her head and begs, mouth hung open, a gaping maw. “Please, baby, not you too.”

“Tess,” you whimper, pleading as you slide down to the next step. Her fingers twist in the collar of your shirt, and she’s crying. Desperately hoarse little cries like you’ve never heard her make before, but you don’t look back. Heart aching as you listen to your boy behind the door. “I just need to see him, wanna make sure he’s okay, I’ll be one minute, I’ll—I’ll be one minute. Don’t you hear him? He’s scared, baby, please, don’t you hear him? That’s our boy—”

“No it’s not,” she shrieks.

A siren begins to keen somewhere nearby, piercing enough to make you cringe, and Tess’ fingers loosen on your shirt.

“You can’t,” she sobs, fingers sliding down your sweaty back as you slink another step down. “Not you too, you can’t. Please, I had to, you can’t.”

But as you creep lower, and then lower again, you feel her fingers fall away. Her blood on the stairs soaks into your jeans, warm and thick, as you approach the door, and soon you can’t hear anything but that haunting medley of sounds. The door rattles, your boy screams, and the woman you love cries Not you too, I had to do it, you can’t, I had to, I had to, I had to.

It’s all you can hear.

Badoom boom as you flip the lock.

Please don’t as you grip the handle. I had to.

It floods your ears; the click of the safety on her gun as the door cracks open, and Tess crying as you collide with your little boy, cradling his face against your neck and trying to calm the odd way his little limbs trash against your body. You open your mouth to soothe him, and hardly feel the blur of his mouth on your skin.

thank you for reading, feels weird but nice to post some writing again after so many months x

#my writing #fic: exit music #tess servopoulos x reader #tess servopoulos fanfiction

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incorrectmarvelquotesss · 2 days

Note

Hi!!! I wanna start off with saying how much I love your work. I just find myself rereading ambience and your flufftober one shots. I’ve also read hallucinations a couple of times now. I’m just in love. Second thing was that I feel like you’re a nice person and you’ve probably been told that before because you are very nice.

But basically I had a request for Dad!Bucky just braiding his daughter’s hair perfectly because she didn’t like the way her mother did it. And I just would love to see you write about it.

It’s okay if you can’t by the way. I totally get it.

— braiding —

Warnings: fluff, mentions of minor injuries, hint of angst

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky braids his daughter’s hair.

A/N: Thank you! Some people do say I’m nice (my sister would tell you that I’m too nice but also very much a “meanie” lol). And thank you for reading my work! I loved writing hallucinations, but, idk if you guys can tell, I suck at writing endings. They’re either very abrupt or very cheesy. Anyway, I would love to write about dad!bucky with his daughter.

Can be read with Day Sixteen

“Daddy!” Little Becca was running across the dining room just a second later, socks cladding her feet that made Bucky’s heart race. She had slipped just last week on that one corner close to the stars and bumped her nose against one of the stairs.

It had been one thing to see one of his boys get hurt, but completely another to see his baby girl—a mini you—get hurt. It sounded stupid, to be more concerned for Becca and not the boys, but it seemed to him that even the boys couldn’t help but be protective over their sister. Bucky couldn’t have been more proud of them when they went from play fighting to having tea parties with her.

Bucky’s heart only steadied when Becca came to a stop in front of him in the kitchen, one hand out for him while the other hid something behind her back.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Her curly hair—one thing she seemed to inherit from Bucky—was half done, two very messy braids sticking up in two different direction at the front. She brought out the hand behind her back and shoved a brush into his outstretched hand.

“Can you do my hair?” She asked in her little voice, playing with the front of her baby blue dress. Her words were just a hair off at four-years-old. It was the most cutest thing to Bucky.

Bucky placed his coffee mug down. “Wasn’t mommy doing your hair today?” He crouched down to get to her level, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face with gentle fingers. Her wide eyes and a quickly forming pout made Bucky’s heart clench.

“Mommy was pulling my hair,” she said timidly, eyes averting from Bucky’s face. His eyes flickered up to the movement behind her and his eyes landed on you, crossing your arms and leaning against the door frame between the dining room and kitchen. You shook your head.

That meant that Becca was lying. It wasn’t often she did, but it still didn’t sit right with you or Bucky. Lying wasn’t something you wanted your kids to do with you guys.

“Okay,” he said slowly, picking her up as he got up. You pushed off the wall and silently walked over behind where he sat her on the kitchen island. “Are you sure mommy was pulling your hair? ‘Cause then I gotta have a little chat with her. She can’t be pulling anyone else’s hair.”

You rolled your eyes when he sent you a subtle wink over an oblivious Becca.

Becca wringed her hands together and huffed out a breath, knowing she had to tell her dad exactly what had happened and why she wanted him to do her hair.

“I like your braids a little tiny bit more than mommy’s,” she admitted softly. “Don’t wanna tell mommy that ‘cause I don’t want her to be sad.” Bucky and you shared a glance and a gentle smile in which it was obvious to the both of you that you two had done a good job raising your kids.

“Okay, I won’t tell her,” Bucky promised, holding out his pinky as you walked away without getting detected. “Now, what type of braids are we doing today?”

———

Taglists:

Bucky Barnes: @kandis-mom @yeehawbrothers

Any Marvel Character: @pinkposttragedy

Everything: @gen-genevieve @pigeonmama

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distort-opia · 3 days

Note

I will forever be thinking about Red Hood's fall in the vat. Just the angst of it is just *chef's kiss*

The sentiment of betrayal from Joker at Batman, the shame and guilt of Batman for failing Joker. I bet they both think about that moment a lot, wondering what could've been (specially Bruce on that) Did they remember the exact date? Have nightmares about it?

I wish comics would dwell on that more

Not entirely sure if you're the same Anon, but it felt like these two asks are connected. And I gotta say, yes, 100% agree.

I love the original portrayal of the fall into the vat, the way it was done before Zero Year. I do love what Snyder did with Joker, but I really dislike what he did with his origin in that comic. Making Red Hood obsessed with Batman from the very start, making him let go and smile as he does it to spite Batman... it entirely redefines his motivations and makes him too much about Batman. The way I personally reconcile Zero Year and The Killing Joke plus all other depictions of the acid vat fall (like in It's Joker Time) is through what Bruce and Joker need to believe.

Snyder's already established that Bruce and Joker remember things differently. In Endgame, Joker accuses Batman of having pushed him off a cliff in Death of the Family, when in actuality it was Joker himself who let go. In a similar manner, I think that Bruce is remembering Red Hood's fall as done intentionally to spite him because he'd rather not see it as a suicide attempt, done by someone scared and at the end of his rope. It's easier to think of it that way, isn't it? Red Hood was crazy and refused to let Batman save him on purpose; it wasn't that Batman failed to do it, it wasn't that he scared the guy so much he chose to go over a railing.

But well, I do forgive Snyder for this, because he's the one to write most of these moments of conflict when it comes to Joker's feelings towards Batman... like in Endgame, and Batman (2011) #48.

I can't help but gush over some more depictions of it though, like in the following story:

Batman: Black and White (2020) #2 -- The Spill

I love this little comic for this, for showing Joker pissed off at his supposed dependence on Batman and being like "You know what, fuck you, this time I'm letting you die". And then Batman being incapable of not saving him, even after Joker was going to walk away.

Then there's Joker's nightmare in Knight Terrors, even more recently:

Knight Terrors: The Joker (2023)

Beautiful imagery of Bruce stuffing his mouth with lobster aside... Joker's nightmare is basically Batman dying, and then him being incapable of finding another purpose. Him managing to kill Batman isn't shown as something victorious for him, it's realizing that he put too many of his eggs in one basket and thinking that perhaps he doesn't like that. That being so obsessed with Batman is not something he wants. God, there's so much to say about Knight Terrors and Joker's portrayal in it, but perhaps the most potent imagery is at the end of his nightmare. Joker's always wanted to infect everyone else with his laughter, with his way of thinking... and it finally happens. But then, he doesn't want it, because what Gotham wants to do now is destroy Batman. To kill order, sense:

Knight Terrors: The Joker (2023)

This is a literal depiction of Joker's conflicted feelings over Batman, because his psyche split after Batman's death. Part of him became Batman in the absence of him, and part of him remained a Joker who refused to admit Batman was dead. And then these two parts each acted in different ways, gave different orders... the part of him that was pure Joker ordered his followers to not listen to the part of him that needed Batman. Rosenberg, I am kissing you on the mouth for this one.

Oof, I got this long and didn't even mention Joker War, but yeah! In case you haven't read these two stories, I recommend them for showcasing Joker's conflicted love/hate relationship with Batman, and what he means to him.

#batjokes in your divorce era... my beloved #asks #long post #batjokes #batjokes meta #joker #joker meta #batman #tw suicide mention

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vanishingstarrs · 1 day

Text

midnight dreams

katsuki bakugo x reader, slow burn, hurt x comfort, anxiety, fluff, sfw

part 2/3; not too sure how i feel about this yet... thinking one more part to this little drabble ?? (funnily enough only post these after midnight)

It was late. Again.

You’d actually managed to fall asleep pretty early that afternoon, but woke up shortly from a nightmare. One where your class failed at bringing Midoriya home and things went awry quickly after that, the guilt from your dream not being so far from reality plagued your conscious now as you sat in the living room by yourself. You had considered passing by Bakugo’s room since last time he'd extended the surprising offer to just... be there.

Despite this, you didn't have it in your heart to actually take him up on it. You'd made it as far as his door before marching yourself back the other way.

You sighed as you read the same page of your book for the third time without actually taking it in.

Bakugo still occupied your thoughts.

The morning after you two had spoke you had awoken to find all your dishes already clean for you. When you asked your friends which one of them you had to thank for the favor, they all looked at you with raised eyebrows and confused frowns, they’d believed you’d cleaned up after yourself. You thought long and hard about whether you did and maybe you’d just been hallucinating, but you remembered vividly writing a second note in regards to doing them later when you woke up. Momo had said she’d been the first one up and saw no such note, just the one to help themselves to freshly baked cookies.

And so that only left your sort of late night partner in crime…

Surely Bakugo hadn’t came back to the kitchen after walking you to your room to clean? Or wake up extra early to? You racked your brain for answers, but couldn’t think of a logical explanation for why he’d do any of that for you.

You felt a frown take over your face as these things resurfaced on your mind.

“What are you doing?”

You jumped, turning around to find Bakugo standing there staring at you as if you’d grown two heads.

“What?”

“Kirishima said you went to bed hours ago.” He stated,“Why aren’t you asleep.”

It didn’t even sound like a question the way he spoke to you. You stared at him now as you thought about it, and it was true, you had seen Kirishima last. You had noticed him making sure all the doors were locked and bid him a good night before going your separate ways. Your attempt at rest hadn't lasted very long.

You patted the space next to you as invitation just in case he wanted to sit down next to you, you gave him a shrug as he actually came around to your side of the sofa,“Slept. Didn’t take. How are your injuries?”

You hadn’t been brave enough to ask last time, and you couldn’t help notice he was still wearing bandages even now.

Bakugo placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward,“They’re fine. Getting better. It’s mainly just the arm now, I gotta change the bandages every now and then. I woke up ‘cause I forgot to before I fell asleep and now Kirishima’s snoring loud as fuck, couldn’t wake him.”

“I can help.” You offered before you could change your mind. Your mouth had a knack for getting you into things like this, you’d just blurt things out and before it was too late…

He looked back at you,“Nah, it’s okay.”

“No, really, I can help.” You stood up, adamant as you grabbed his good arm and pulled him up with all your might,“C’mon, I’m pretty good actually, my father had a healing quirk.”

“Had?” Bakugo asked.

You didn’t turn around as you led him into the main bathroom where you knew there was a first aid kit, all you did was shrug.

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You sighed, you didn’t really want to get into that. You flicked on the lights and pointed to the toilet,“Sit.”

He listened surprisingly and you dug around the cabinets for only a few seconds, successfully finding all that you needed and turning around to face your patient when you realized something. His injuries… they spanned well into his shoulder and they'd be hard to get to, unless...

You swallowed nervously,“Shirt off.”

Bakugo’s eyebrows flew up.

“Not like that.” You blushed,“Just need it off so I can get your bandages off. It’s on your shoulder, isn’t it?”

“And my stomach.” He revealed at the same time as he removed his shirt, exposing his chest,“Got stabbed a couple times.”

A couple times?!

Dear god, help me... was all you could think.

At first, you couldn’t help stare for all the wrong reasons, at him, at the hard work he’d put into his body. He was strong, that much was obvious. But he’d also been injured terribly. Your lips turned downward, no longer distracted by his abs and instead focused on removing the old bandages,“You’re brave, but it was stupid when you did that, no offense.”

“We’re heroes, aren’t we?” He asked.

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing.” He faced the other way, like he was avoiding your gaze,“It’s what we signed up for, they needed our help, besides... my body moved before I could think.”

“We’re students actually.” You corrected,“Don’t you think it’s too heavy a burden for a bunch of dumb kids? And what about Midoriya? He’s still out there.”

“We’re not dumb. He is.” He rolled his eyes,“Thinks we’re better off, safer without him. He doesn’t know. But I’ve been talking to the others, we might have a plan.”

“Dangerous?”

“What do you think?” He asked.

Your eyes landed on the scar tissue on his shoulder, it wasn’t pretty. They’d done a good job getting him on the path to healing, nevertheless he still had a ways to go. If Bakugo could blindly take all this for someone he claimed to hate, what was stopping you from reaching the same level of bravery?

You'd been thinking about this a lot lately, you couldn't help feel they were asking too much of you guys sometimes. Then you felt guilty for thinking that. When you started at U.A. you'd made a vow to train like heroes, to learn from them. This was what your future would look like, why was it so hard? You thought back to your mentors and how they were always there to encourage you and your classmates, how they never hesitated to protect everyone against the several attacks you'd faced.

You worked in silence for a second, seeing him wince out of the corner of your eye as you cleaned up the area a bit.

"Sorry."

"It's fine."

“Count me in.” You said decidedly as you reached for gauze and tape,"Also you might wanna start letting these breathe, they're looking a lot better and I think that would help."

He looked up, shocked,“What?”

“Your cuts—"

"Not that, dumbass."

"Oh." You shrugged,"You know, whatever you and the others are planning. Include me, I wanna help."

He looked hesitant,"You sure?”

“Mhm.” You adjusted your glasses before pointing at his stomach,“Want me to check that one?”

He hesitated before sitting up straighter and nodding.

You quickly, but carefully removed the tape and peeled away the gauze. This one might’ve been worse, but you didn’t say a word as you prepared a few cotton rolls to clean around it as best as you could. You were sure both of you were holding your breath as you did so, and he inhaled sharply when you pressed a little too hard.

“Sorry.”

“Quit it, you're doing me a favor." He leaned back a little to give you better access,"You sure you're up for helping?"

You sighed,"I'm sure." Your fingers hovered over the injury, and you looked up just in time to find him already looking at you. “Kinda makes you seem like you don’t hate Midoriya, after all.”

He scoffed and you grinned.

“Bakugo—”

“Katsuki.” He cut you off, gesturing to his exposed chest,“You may as well call me by my first name at this point.”

“Okay…” you inhaled deeply, before saying,"Katsuki…”

You were sure he was expecting something serious as you finished covering up his injury, but you wanted to lighten the mood.

“Wanna watch some tv with me?” You smiled big,“There’s a new show I’ve been meaning to start.”

He eyed you in a way that was unfamiliar to you, it was hard for you to read him. It was making your head spin, and you quickly stopped trying.

He put his shirt back on and started helping you put everything away, he didn’t agree, but he didn’t disagree, and so you led the way back to the living room and sat back where you’d been before and then... he left the room.

You sighed, guess not. You reached for the remote anyway and glanced back again just in case he’d been messing with you, then again... he wasn’t the kind of guy that made jokes. At least, you didn’t think he was.

You turned on the tv and put it at a low volume, going through the provided streaming services in order to find the one you needed. You were just about to click start when he spoke.

“Weren’t gonna wait for me, brat?”

A blanket was tossed onto your head and you quickly removed it, surprise written on your face as Bakugo came around the same end and sat next to you. You stared at the blanket and then looked back at him.

“You get cold easily.”

You nodded, dumbfounded, it was true, but how did he know that? You were cold all the time, actually, it was a side effect of your quirk.

You placed the blanket over your lower half and pressed play, a part of you fixating not only on the fact that he’d noticed enough about you to bring you a blanket, but also that it was his blanket. For the first five minutes of the show, you couldn’t focus, you were surrounded by his smell. It was so strong with him next to you and his blanket on your lap. He smelled amazing.

Eventually, you relaxed. Both of you did.

Bakugo had initially scoffed at the choice of show, but didn't demand you change it and you took it as a good sign.

“These characters are fucking stupid.” He scowled and you giggled, you were wondering when he’d break the silence to make a comment. It surprisingly took more than one episode.

“He’s in love with her, Katsuki.” You didn’t notice how easily his first name slipped past your tongue as soon as that barrier had first broken, you went on to explain further,“People do lots of stupid things when they’re in love.”

He rolled his eyes,“The guy still sucks.”

You shrugged, but didn't disagree.

"No baking tonight?" He asked, out of the blue.

You shrugged. "Maybe tomorrow. Those cookies were gone before I even got to 'em, did you manage to snag one?"

"One." He said,"Or two."

You lit up,"Really? You liked them that much?"

He shrugged.

"Any requests for next time?"

Somehow, you’d gotten closer and you could feel his warmth just from the touch of his thigh. You couldn't cover up your shiver, hoping he took it as you still being cold.

He seemed to think about it,"Like muffins, I guess."

"Chocolate chip? Banana? Strawberry...?" You gave a few options, you wanted to make sure you knew exactly what he liked. He was doing you a favor as much as you'd done him one considering he was always the first one to head to bed. His company was… nice. You may as well bake him something as thanks after tonight.

"Apple cinnamon. And I like that shit they put on top—"

"The crumble?" You laughed at how he explained it.

"Yeah." He leaned back against the sofa. Neither of you had been watching the show anymore and the tv seemed to know since the screen had gone black and the words "Still watching?" took over. You didn't care to click yes or no, knowing it'd shut down on it's own.

"I'll make some especially for you." You said around a yawn.

He stood up,"C’mon, I’ll walk you.”

You couldn’t help it; you pouted. You really wanted to keep talking to him, you found that he was actually a good listener and when he did speak, his voice was soothing. Different from how you'd known him before, you didn't know what it was that had changed.

He rolled his eyes,“That shit's not gonna work on me, come on. You gotta sleep. And I’m tired.”

Bakugo extended his hand to you and you took it as a sign to return his blanket to him, he scoffed and moved it into his other hand before placing the same hand out to you again.

You didn't need help standing, but you took it and he helped you up before placing the blanket around your shoulders. Okay...

You started walking and thought you might've felt his hand at your back.

"I'll leave my door open again." He said, unprompted.

There was that offer again. Your heart felt full.

"Mine will be too." You smiled up at him just as you reached your room,"Night... Katsuki."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #part two #unedited

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hauntedpearl · 1 day

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oh wait. chewing chewing chewing. none of this might make sense to you and I'm sorry but it makes sense to me. mmm. dean on the back porch. he's drinking coffee i think..his brother won't let him spike it. he's inside and he's talking to someone about something. there's a lot of words that have everything to do with what dean's been doing to himself over the past few months, and sam tries to talk quiet and fast, but dean hears him anyway because he's keyed up and also because he's attuned to Sam's movements like that, can't help it. anyway. he's sitting. on the back porch. and his brother won't let him spike his coffee. the view from the backyard is not anything to write home about. the house is in the middle of nowhere and the lawn slopes down a little into woods that crowd the edge of the property. he likes it here, even tho it's landlocked, and nothing like the house he dreams about with a lake and a pier and a little dinghy tied to it and a town not half a hand away, and friends and. well. it's still nice, tho. he's looking at the trees. it's almost time for sunset and they are tall, still things, old things, and it's comforting being around them.

but then the sky splits open.

and there's cas. (and jack. also. obviously.)

but there's cas! is the thing!

he doesn't know what it is, if he's fallen into a stupor of some kind, if he did manage to spike his coffee somehow and he's just forgotten, and considering how his life's been lately, he wouldn't be surprised if that really did happen.

still, his body moves before his mind stops spinning and he pulls cas into his arms. somewhere behind him, he's aware of the house and his brother and the coffee sinking into the porch steps that he'd rebuilt not a week ago. he thinks god, thank god, thank god. says, baby, sweetheart, I'm sorry. says, I didn't think I'd see you again. I don't know what the fuck happened, but I'll — I'll fix it all. I'll fix everything. I'll make it up to you.

he cups cas' cheek and thinks, here, this here is my second shot at this. I won't get out. i won't rock the boat this time. I won't let anything ruin this.

but then cas looks at him like he doesn't understand, like he's a little scared, and his eyes go round and glassy and he says dean? the way he's never said it before, not even in dean's head.

yeah? he says, and his mouth is dry, and there's a moment when cas tilts his head and frowns and dean swears he sees a star light up behind those ridiculous eyes.

oh, cas says, mouth parting in a sigh. and dean's gotta be going crazy because he's back where he's wanted to go ever since sam came to him, but everything feels wrong and his skin itches and the forest is still there, although dean is wishing the lake back with everything in him, and cas is stepping back from him. he's digging his fingers into dean's arms. he's shaking him, and dean feels it in his teeth, weak that he is in this body.

what did you do?! and cas sounds hysterical in a way that should not have been familiar to him, but is, because he's wretched, and he doesn't know how to not destroy the things he loves.

i — he says, and what excuse does he have really, for anything. i —

the door at his back clicks open, and the world comes back to dean, all in a breath.

this is not a dream and this really is cas and dean's touching him like he's allowed to. behind him, footsteps rushing, and the catch of breath.

christ, said in wonder. fucking christ. is it really you?

dean pulls his hands back like he's burned and steps away from the only person that's ever wanted him the way he's wanted them. he stumbles as he slips out of cas' grasp, disbelief, and terror, and worst of all, hope, making his skin buzz.

this is real, he says to himself. (but it couldn't be, could it? maybe he's lost sense of it, whatever real is supposed to he..and now. now cas is here. and he's...empty.) he turns his gaze to his hands, his hands, shaking, but his. they have to be his.

he hears more than feels the scrape of his brother's palm against his shirt.

hey, he says, and he's using that voice on him, the one he uses when he's talking to victims and widows and children that have too much fight in them for their own good. hey, dean, come on. hey.

from far away, he hears, what did he do? and let's just. let's just go inside, alright? we'll talk about it and oh, dean. and that's why I couldn't find you and dean's ears are ringing now, because what the fuck..

what the fuck.

someone leads him back up the wooden steps by his arm, and he kicks the fallen mug onto the grass. he looks behind him and sees the trenchcoat, and backwards tie, and windswept hair and tired, tired eyes and behind him, another face, one dean's tried to erase from his mind like a coward, now pinched and pitying, and dean cannot take it, feels like he's going to explode. (like a ripe melon on the sun.)

he frees himself of his brother's grip. turns to face cas again. it's me, cas says, before he can say anything. really me. and dean says, do you remember? was it you in there, too? and cas says, not all of it. not really. it's complicated. and dean looks at the face, and thinks about him the last time they were this close, and alone, and running from death and God, the way tears pooled in his eyes.

i hurt you, he says and cas presses his lips together. swallows. says, yes.

and dean says, and it was you.

and cas says, yes.

and dean steps back, breathing hard. says, god. god. says, I'm sorry. and cas' lips turn up on a corner, a small smile that is all sadness, like forgiveness sits in his lungs, all the time, like it is easy as breath. dean can't take that either. dean wishes cas would get mad, for once. wishes he would raise his fists like he used to, wishes he'd stick the right end of hsi blade in his heart, and let him sink into his lap.

but cas is cas, and cas is good, and dean cannot — should not — be here.

I'm sorry, he says again. turns on his heels and takes off.

he drives for a day and change, sleeps in his car under an overpass, until he ends up somewhere cold and by the ocean (idk where!!!) and he climbs up one of those cliffs and sits there watching the water like silk in the night, and letting the wind slice his skin, and trying not to let thought take form in his mind.

dean thinks he's barely calmed down when he hears the snap crackle of electricity and the beating of wings and cas appears at his side, his sleeves rolled up and his trenchcoat open and his knees under his chin.

dean doesn't know what to say to him. so he says nothing. an eternity later:

it isn't like that, cas says. i don't remember everything. i don't *know* everything. just...images. snippets. feelings.

dean clenches his eyes shut. then, broken, and wet, I couldn't stand it. I couldn't live with myself. I didn't know how to do it. without you.

and cas is silent. when he speaks, his voice is deeper, and cracking just a little, I didn't think. i didn't think you would care. so much.

and dean laughs, because why would he have thought that. what reason did dean give him to think that.

yeah, he says. yeah. no. I know.

cas' hand trembles when it lands on dean's shoulder. the same one that he's marred twice now.

tell me about it, cas says. the good stuff. the — the breakfasts and. and the holidays. the boat. fishing. he breathes, even though he's never needed to. leans towards dean, like he can't quite bear the weight of his own body. please. dean. tell me —

I loved you, dean says, abrupt. twists his torso, and cas is so close, he's practically breathing into his mouth. it comes out harsh, and strange and not at all like the soft thing that dean had been chasing through everything. he shakes his head. lifts a finger to touch cas' cheek. it feels real, so real. skin and stubble and warmth. he tries again, pressing his voice into the shape of his feelings. I loved you. and you loved me. that — that was it. for a while. that was the good part.

cas says nothing, and dean takes the moment to finally let his eyes wander up to his face. to finally look. the moonlight paints him in shadows, and dean folds his index finger under his thumb, lets himself trace the cut of his cheek with it. in the night, Cas' eyes are grey and blue and bright, and they sinks into his skin, rippling into soft folds. precious things, cushioned in lines and laughter and time.

cas' lips tremble. I forgive you, he says. for the bad part. for all the — for everything else.

dean can't help himself. he leans his forehead against Cas' presses his crooked nose into his cheek. lets his hand slip to the back of his neck.

you shouldn't.

is that what you want? cas asks. for me to be angry?

[the muses are breaking up with me. also it's 2 am and I have work tomorrow.]

but basically. sth sth. cas saying something along the lines of. im angry. im so angry. but it's like he's angry at dean for doing the things he was doing and he's angry that dean never told him how much he was keeping inside and he's angry that he's home and dean fled from him (godbless this man he's so stupid <3 he really said torture what) and he's like and i will be angry for the rest of my life if that's what you want but please. please come home with me.

and dean says. okay. and cas says okay?

and dean says okay.

love confession. kisses. etc.,

#doe is talking again #THIS IS SO UNNECESSARILY PROSE-Y FOR A POST #anyway.#possible ending for the evil love persevering au #girls this fic literally does not have the most important middle lmaooooooooo #fine it's whatever #destiel stuff #all this talking about resolving and not resolving things gave me a burst of inspo i think #bye bye my favourite wip i have 30-40.0 #pages of written notes about.#one day i hope to write you

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