#oh baby I’m back with a vengeance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eupheme · 3 months

Text

— Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On

Hancock (FO4) x Sole Survivor!F!Reader

Rated E - 5.8k

Tags - 3rd person very loose pov, sole survivor!f!reader (no descriptors), canon-typical raider violence & death, mutual pining, teasing, partners to lovers, two idiots in love, waiting out a storm, mention of food/eating, SS!reader gets dicked down wearing Hancock’s coat, the hat stays on, fingering, oral (f receiving), spitting, manual restraints, multiple orgasms, PiV, creampie, mention of a cigarette/smoking, references to chems

started this while doing research for wasteland, baby - and was consumed with thoughts of a slightly softer “oh fuck, I’m in love” Hancock

It’s a dangerous thing - to have feelings for the person you’re traveling with. Too many things can go wrong in an instant and yet… here they are. Steadfastly ignoring the something that has been building, thick enough to taste.

Luckily, an incoming rad storm might just be the push they need.

He’s fucked.

Figuratively, not literally. Unfortunately.

That’s part of the problem, if he could call it that. And he probably shouldn’t - because it’s not her fault. Just his.

It was a rookie move, falling for his traveling companion. Should have kept it just professional - strictly business. No ‘get to know you’s, no inside jokes.

But he had never been the professional type. Not his style.

And somewhere along the way - between getting the shit kicked out of them, the close calls, the long miles of barren road - something had started to grow. Curling around his ribs and filling his guts up like ripe tarberries.

Letting it grow and flourish.

Unable to shake it.

It hadn’t been long before he had known something was up.

That it was something besides that urge to get away from it all, to wander, that kept him sticking with her.

That along the way, the idea of this stranger having his back became comforting. That he knew he had hers - even if he half-thinks she have a death wish, with the way she rushs into things half-cocked.

He can’t understand, but he tries. The bits he’s gleaned from late nights - passing the bottle of whisky back and forth even though it makes her grimace. The pieces of her past that have slowly been revealed, forming a half-completed picture.

It’s enough to make his blood boil, that scorching feeling of vengeance curling in his chest, eating up his insides. It’s been a long time since he felt that way - making him think back to the night where he had stained his hands with all that red.

He’d do it again, for her.

It’s that realization made him think that just maybe - he cares.

And not just in a friendly kind of way.

He thinks it began in the middle of a firefight.

Bullet whizzing past their heads. A nest of raiders flowing out from a jutting wreck of scaffolding they had missed.

Several downed already, lost among the ruins. A souped-up pistol in her hand, as the other shielded shrapnel from a hand-made grenade.

Missing the two that snuck up, flanking them.

He had taken one down. A nasty shot to the gut, the Raider gurlging as his legs gave out. Her shot going wide - he can still remember the look on her face as she reached for the gun on her back.

The other Raider taking the moment to bowl him over, a padded shoulder to the chest. Knocking them both against a piece of metal fencing that creaked under their weight - his shotgun clattering to the pavement.

An arm pressed against his throat, choking him - as the other fumbled for a knife. Ironic, he thought, that he’d be gutted, after all he’s done.

But she had swooped down. Fingers twisted around the barrel and forestock of her rifle. Bringing it down on the raiders head like it was a louisville slugger, snarling like she herself had gone feral.

Her hand, warm in his as she hauled him up, the other splaying across his chest. Face streaked with grease and splattered with blood but in that moment, she was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

“Thanks, sunshine.” He had murmured.

Her smile had been small, as she pressed the gun back into his hand, “Can’t have you getting stabbed. I’d miss that mouth of yours.”

Such a small thing - her own joke. The way he filled the space with chatter on the road. But he’d been smitten.

He had been good looking, before. He wasn’t half-bad now. Charisma could get you a long way, and his silver tongue hadn’t rotted like the rest of him.

Charming words - flirty and sometimes filthy - slid easily from him in the heat of battle, the wind-down after. When he was feeling good about things, the words coming without thought.

Choking on them, when she turned to give him a look - embarrassed, sometimes. So goddamn cute and flustered, it made him want to do it more.

Other times - a look, that was soft and lingering.

“Yeah?”

Almost a challenge in the way she said it.

He could never follow it up.

Follow through.

Because back home, it wasn’t an issue. A rejection meant nothing other than a soft blow to his ego. Brushed off with a hit of a favorite indulgence, finding company in another.

But here - it had a weight. It could ruin something he truly has enjoyed. Throwing in with her had been one of the best decisions he had made. He couldn’t fuck that up. Not this time.

So he swallowed his words - before she was racing off, and he was following at her heels. Off to trouble that could be their last, and here he was - that clever tongue tied in a knot.

That’s when he knew that he had it bad.

Bad enough that out of the two of them, he had been the one peering up at the sky overhead. Where the muted hazy grey was rolling into a sickly green, rain starting to drop down. A rumble of thunder.

The first to suggest stopping at the next place they could, as the spaces between the raindrops started to dwindle.

“We can make it.” She had shrugged, as his jog slowed to a walk.

Catching her arm at the elbow, gesturing with the muzzle of his shotgun to the side.

“Not if you don’t want to end up like me, sister.”

Ignoring - but not missing - the chastising look she shot him. His head tilting towards the roof that looms just over the ridge.

An old diner - rusting chrome and shattered windows, but it would do. Well past soaked by the time they scrambled over the hill and down. Grateful to find that it was abandoned.

Picked over, for sure - but as long as there was a roof over their heads, he hadn’t cared. Combing through junk was her thing, anyways. He was just the pack mule.

Now - he’s multi-tasking. Trying not to think about what he’s thinking about.

About her changing in the room behind him. Peeling the patchwork raider gear off her curves. All that soft, smooth skin underneath.

Distracting himself by eyeing the radroach that is skittering across the pavement outside the front door - just out of range of his shotgun.

Because of course, out of everything in the wasteland, that was the thing she was scared of. Not super mutants, not even the pack of mirelucks that had them cornered, just the week before.

A goddamn bug.

He laughs, a soft hushed thing. Catching himself with a grimace.

Because, like he said.

He’s fucked.

The rain that patters overhead would be calming - if it had been 200 years ago, and not dripping with radiation.

She shivers, draping the tattered pants and worn shirt over the back of two rotting, wooden chairs - a makeshift drying rack. Missing that insulated warmth of her Vault Suit, trading it back at Sanctuary for worn clothes - old and salvaged Raider gear.

It had become hard to blend in, in all that blue.

It had made sense at the time, but in the dark and chilly backroom, she finds herself regretting it. Thinking that next time - she’ll pack it with her.

Trying to find the dampest parts of the packed gear to lay out, next. Lining up the bedroll next to the glow of the lantern.

Don’t need any more must or mold than there already was.

Pawing through her bag afterwards, coming up with something to pass for dinner. A can of cram, their only good fork wedged between two knuckles. A sweet roll split in two - the sticky crumbs clinging to her fingers as she nudged the door open.

Feeling vulnerable in the faded undergarments she wore underneath. Dreading facing him, not because of what he’ll say - that part, she is actually curious to hear.

She’d given up on the idea of modesty long ago. Traveling on the road and through the dirt and blood and grime will do that.

It was almost freeing.

No. It’s because - it makes her hope. Makes her think that dressing down might actually get him to notice her, in a way that’s more than the surface-level, flirty conversation she’s seen him have with dozens of people.

In the old world, maybe she’d wear a dress for him. Something red and cut low in the front - bare arms and legs.

Now, it’s faded cotton and vulnerability.

A “I can trust you like this” and a “Maybe if you like it, it will make me brave enough to ask.”

Rejection dressed like this would sting, surely. Even if it’s her fault, for having a crush on someone who doesn’t see her that way.

Her eyes linger on his back, where he stands watch. Where he hadn’t heard her open the door just yet, drifting to the other side of the counter to watch the rumbling, green storm roll in.

The tin clatters on the counter, drawing his attention. A flicker of lightning illuminating his profile as he turns, eyes widening.

Hancock’s eyes drop automatically. Quickly and then a slow drag - it’s like watching him after she’s taken a hit of Psycho.

Dark and glittering under her own careful watch, before they’re snapping back up, and he’s blinking.

Pulling himself back.

“Is that dinner?” He asks, clearing his throat when the words come out rough and low.

Her face falls, just for an instant. A small smile replacing it, as she scoops up the tin of cram before tossing it his way. He catches it neatly - popping the lid open, plucking the fork from her fingers.

She should have known better.

Hancock was just a flirt, never taking her bait. It was a good thing, she thought. Honorable, despite the grey that’s soaked into both of their moral codes.

He digs the fork in, breaking off a piece of the preserved meat. Handing the first bite to her, unable to help another quick look as he lowers himself to one of the stools that curves around the diner countertop.

Not that he hasn’t seen her before. Never quite this bare - but close enough, from the quick times they’ve had to change clothes.

It didn’t mean anything.

“So uh, what’s with the getup?” Hancock can’t resist asking, his tone deceptively light, “Or should I say, lack thereof?

“Clothes are soaked,” She snorts around the mouthful, trying to sound disinterested, “Besides, you’re always telling me it’s not good to let the rads soak in.”

He’s curious now, catching that slight edge. Not usually so defensive - that expression she makes when she’s flustered. It makes him want to nudge at it, poke at that little crack.

“Hey, you don’t hear me complain’, sister.” Hancock grins, taking the fork back, “That’s a real good look for you.”

Always a joke.

Her eyes roll as she sits down on the stool to his left, her knee knocking against his. The halves of sweet roll balanced on the curling, discarded tin, for after.

They share the makeshift dinner. Passing the fork back and forth, trying not to think about how easy it feels to be like this.

Companionable silence, beneath the rumbling, dark green sky. Tucked away and sheltered from the storm.

She stares out across the wasteland, lost in thought. Moving on to other things, already planning for the morning. If there’s any stops they need to make on the way back to Sanctuary.

While his eyes wander - a sideways glance that drifts down her form greedily, only to shift away when her own lift.

A breeze cuts through the building where windows once lived, making her shiver. Arms moving from the countertop to wrap around a bare middle, curling in on herself.

“You cold, sunshine?” He asks with concern, bringing her back.

She hadn’t noticed, but now she does. The chill starting to sink in, now that she’s not moving, not covered in the layers and padded armor.

Goosebumps raise on her skin. Arms crossing tighter across her chest, as her lips part to answer.

But Hancock is already shrugging off his maroon frock, swiveling in his seat to swing it around her shoulders.

She rarely seen him without it. Fuck, he even sleeps in the damn thing - a prized possession, if he ever had one.

“Thanks.” The word is layered with sincerity, as she pulls it close around her, the high collar brushing her cheek.

Warmer already. The inside is soft against her skin, the fabric worn and stained and smelling like him.

Silence lingers for a moment, as they stare at the darkening sky. The heavy blanket of rain that still patters on the rooftop, a slow drip down to the tile floor on the other side of the room.

"Hope this lets up by morning," She says as she leans, warmer now - elbows pressing into the stained laminate counter.

Eyes out of focus, thoughts already running off without her. "Stop by Sanctuary, pick up some things for Tenpines. Haven't been there in a bit, been wondering how they've been holding up."

He mirrors her - feeling bare without his coat. A heavy lean on his left elbow, the swivel of the chair bumping his knee against hers, "’m sure they're fine. Gotta be better off than they were before."

A smirk crosses his features, a glance from the corner of his eye, "'Sides, not every day you get saved by the fearless leader of the Minutemen. That oughta keep 'em going for a while."

There's a groan as she slumps, the heels of her hands pressing into her eyes. Garvey's enthusiasm and her recent promotion to General a source of embarrassment, even if she bore the weight of it well.

"Yes, the fearless leader," She mocks, her head turning his way. Pushing herself up, her arms spreading wide, "If only they could see me now."

And they might not be able to, but he can.

Not just the soft expanse of her skin, peeking out from beneath his coat. The hollow of her throat, the curve of her breast and the strain of her tits against worn fabric that will be forever seared into his mind.

Not only just that, though. That something that he can see inside her - that was there when he had decided to leave Goodneighbor. That lingers with him, tethering them together as he follows at her side. And yes, he does stretch the truth - who doesn’t? He wouldn’t make half as many deals, otherwise.

But he’s isn’t, now.

She is unaware of the thoughts that tumble through his mind, quick as old snapshots. A curling amber film strip, tucked into a canister.

Instead, there’s a roll of her eyes as her comment of "really, only you could pull this coat off" lands on ears that had been muted, in the way his mind drifts. How the low pooling of warmth in his belly turns sharp and cramps, at the thought of Preston Garvey spending time in such company. Like this - without him.

"I wouldn’t say that." He hears himself saying. Voice a little lower, raspier, than usual.

Maybe it's bravery. Maybe it's him finally seeing her intent - maybe it's the moment where he's realizing that after tonight, she's no longer just his again.

His eyes drag over her again, slower this time. And he lets her catch them.

"From here, things are looking pretty good."

She stills, eyes rounding. A swivel of her chair until knee-to-knee becomes thigh-to-thigh- something akin to hope slipping into her tone.

“Yeah?”

He reaches - fingers tracing the collar of his coat, thumb rubbing against the hollow of her throat.

“I’d say so.” Hancock tells her, “Look like a goddamn dream, if I’m being honest.”

She’s tired of waiting. She’s done enough of it. Eyes on his as her chin tilts up, just hovering.

He’s tired, too.

With a lean, he takes the offering. Ruined lips press against soft ones. Ones that part for him, a soft sound at the greedy dart and swipe of his tongue, until she’s meeting him.

She’s sweet - he can taste the sugar on her tongue, melding with the taste of her. Fingers press against his chest, where his heart hammers. Sliding over lithe shoulders until they’re wrapping around, pulling him closer.

He’s stronger than he looks. The seat squeaks when he leans, his palms tracing her waist, her hips. Tucking beneath her thighs - right against the curve of her ass as Hancock lifts his hips, taking her with him.

She moves, his name a soft sound in her throat. Letting him lead, letting him ease her onto the edge of the counter. A sense of relief and hope floods through her, dripping down to settle warm and wanting between the thighs that spread open so he can step between them.

His cock swells, where it’s trapped inside his pants. Easing the ache with a roll of his hips, pressing himself against the thin fabric covering her core. The breath she inhales in response is shaky. Another soft sound, so different than the assured tone he’s used to.

He wants to hear it again.

It’s easy to set the pace - the pointed press of his hips. Her hand finding his, drawing it up to her breast. Letting him cup her, the soft weight. Letting him press his thumb against that tight peak, catch it between his fingers until she’s gasping against his grinning mouth.

Her mouth drops, catching his chin. The tip of a tongue between parted lips press against his cheek, warmth breath against his jaw making him growl.

“Please-” She’s murmuring, against his skin. Against muscle and sinew, as his own lips follow.

Fingers biting into his skin, as his teeth graze her jaw. Her head tilting back, baring her throat to him, as her hips rock to meet his. Eyes fluttering shut as her chest heaves, as his other hand curls against the curve of her hip, keeping her close.

His tongue peeks out, dragging against sweat and rain-dewed skin. A groan rattles in his throat, his own voice distant and rasping.

“Fuck, I need to taste you.” He can feel her moan, against his lips at his words, “Lean back for me, doll.”

She’s soft, pliable. Unwinding herself from him as she obeys, only for those hazy eyes to open - meeting his beetle-black ones.

“Wait,” She’s protesting, hands slipping to press flat against on his chest. A sudden realization - shoulder curling back so his coat slides off it, “Let me take this off.”

“Leave it.” Hancock’s head lifts to kiss her again, his hand curling around the back of her neck.

She huffs against his mouth, before it turns into a sigh. His tongue brushing against her lower lip, before she pulls back again.

Not wanting to forget her train of thought.

“What if I make a mess on your coat?”

He groans at that, the hand on her hip drifting lower. Cupping her over the thin piece of fabric, fingers pressing down.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He husks, “I’d fuckin’ love that. Never gonna take it off.”

It makes her scoff, cheeks burning, “You never do, anyways. You-”

He shuts her up with his fingers - tugging at the elastic waistband, pulling them down until she’s bare. Letting her kick them off, before he’s pushing her back against the counter.

Arching over her soft form as his mouth wanders, his hips grinding against hers. Teeth nipping at her throat, lips brushing where her heartbeat flutters. Clever fingers tracing the seam of her sex, brushing over soft lips - teasing.

She’s so fucking wet, he can feel how his fingers glide over her skin. How it smears on her thighs, as they spread wider for him.

“What do you want?”

It makes her sigh - that voice, so low and rasping - and she’s clenching around nothing already.

“You,” She’s unable to help but whine, “Please, you-”

His laugh is rough, a rattling chuckle in his throat, “You have me, sunshine.”

Middle finger parting her, teasing at her entrance, the calloused pad of his thumb circling around the bud of her clit. Sinking into the wet heat as she groans, starting a slow pump of his textured finger.

Pressing deep with a slow thrust. Another, and then another, until she’s taking a second. Stretching her wide, as her fingers twist in his stained shirt. Grasping for his shoulders as her hips buck into his touch.

“Should say how do you want it?” The kiss he presses against her throat is almost reverent, “Because I don’t think I have it in me to go slow right now.”

“Slow, later.,” She moans, as his fingers press deep, “Need you.”

He grins, “Love how you think, sweetheart.”

Hancock’s head ducks, moving down to her collarbone, then lower. She’s already reaching to tug the cups of her bra down, baring the curves of her breasts to him.

“Fuckin’ beautiful.” He hums, fingers brushing over the soft weight again, cupping one in his hand. Still fucking her open with the other, curling and stroking until she’s panting.

Tongue peeking out to flatten, and then drag across the tight peak of her nipple. Her hands grasping for him again, as there’s the briefest pinch of teeth.

“Hancock.” She grits out, a swivel of her hips against his, grinding into his fingers.

His own rocking against the back of his hand, where he’s hard and aching. Never thinking he’d know what it’s like to have his partner begging like this.

He wants to hear more. Every little sound she makes, as his mouth moves lower. Licking wet stripes against her stomach and abdomen.

Until he’s plunking down on the padded chrome stool he’s been straddling. Gazing at where she’s wrapped around his glossy fingers.

Watching how she twitches and bucks and gasps when his thumb swipes across her clit, his name on parted lips again.

“Love hearin’ you say my name like that.” He purrs, “Can’t wait to hear how it sounds when you come.”

Leaning forward, inhaling her scent before his tongue swipes above his fingers. Her hips leave the countertop, the moan loud as he laughs - his other hand pressing flat against her stomach.

Holding her down, as he teases her again. Short, pointed licks against her throbbing clit. Her cunt is as sweet as her mouth, his own groan caught in his throat as his tongue dips inside her.

Mourning all the nights he could have spent like this. Spending the time as evening turns to night, then again as night turns to dawn. Drowning in the taste of her instead of clenching his teeth until his jaw aches, as he tries to keep quiet. Dreaming of this.

He leans back, just enough to press a wet kiss against her clit. The soft suck a sharp contrast with the texture of his rough fingers as he fucks her open.

She was right - it’s messy. Dripping down the curve of her thighs, the damp stain mixing with others on his weathered coat.

Everything is so dry, in the wasteland. Dirt roads and dead trees. He relishes in the wet suck of her cunt, how it’s this way right now because of him.

His cheeks hollow, a swirl of his tongue before he’s adding to it. Leaning back to let his spit drip down, his thumb dragging it across the tight bud.

She’s whimpering. It’s been ages since she’s had anyone - the low throb in her belly swiftly building.

In the before - she thinks she’d be embarrassed to be splayed out like this. Stripped near-bare on the counter of a diner, thighs spread wide as his fingers pump into her aching cunt.

But he eats her like a meal, left hand moving from her belly. Wrapping around a thigh to tug her closer, hiking it over a shoulder.

Groaning into her pussy as his tongue flicks against her clit, smearing slick across his chin. Pressing closer, unhindered by the usual curve of cartilage and flesh as he molds himself against her.

“Hancock.” His name is a sharp gasp, as she clenches around him. Breath held in her throat as she watched with half-lidded eyes.

Focused on the tight string that winds with each careful curl of his fingers. He slips in a third and she all but sobs, chasing her pleasure with a needy rock of her hips.

Chanting him name as it curls low in her belly.

“Hancock. Hancock-”

And then, the prettiest of all.

“John. Fuck, John, I’m going to come-”

It’s goddamn music to his metaphorical ears. Better than that - better than the sing of gunfire in his favor, of the sweet rush and hum of that first hit of Jet.

He watches through those dark eyes as she falls apart. Her cry loud in the empty diner, as she’s struck - the livewire crackle of her orgasm ripping through her.

Better than she can ever remember. Thighs squeeze around his neck but it only makes him moan - breath hot against her cunt as his fingers continue to pump. And his tongue dips to taste her, slipping between knuckles.

The pleasure throbs - the stained ceiling spinning, looking like the clouded stars high above them to her hazy mind.

A disbelieving and dazed laugh caught in her throat as his mouth moves. Pressing against her mound, the sensitive curve where thigh meets hip.

It’s only then that she’s unhooking her thighs - a heat blazing in her cheeks at the brazenness. Too caught up in the moment to see herself - splayed out across the countertop, heels digging into his spine.

But she does see him - the need etched across his face under the tip of his hat, the wet shine against his lips and chin. Deadly in a new kind of way, mixing with the prowess he shows on the battlefield.

There’s another low throb, deep inside her. The lithe way he moves, rising - a hand planting next to her hip, the other working the heavy buckle open.

She meets him - pushing herself up. A hand coming to cup him, feeling the hard length that strains against his trousers. Tasting herself on his tongue when her head ducks to kiss him, swallowing his groan as her fingers palm and squeeze.

“Drivin’ me crazy, sunshine.” His voice is like gravel, as he works at the zipper - her fingers slipping past to wrap around hot skin, “Enough to make a ghoul go feral, you know that?”

Her smile is pretty - pleasure-drunk, and he hasn’t even fucked her yet. Her hand soft and warm where she eases him out, the brush of her thumb over the head making his cock throb.

“Me too. I need you.” She begs, and he knows it’s more than that just that.

That it’s not just fucking, right now. That a line has been crossed, that they’ll never be able to not want this again. More than ready to tumble over into the unknown, together.

“My mouth wasn’t enough?” Hancock grins. Fully intending to have her every way she’ll let him. Unable to resist making her squirm.

The look she gives him makes him chuckle - the gentle pull of her fist, the little frown. The way her thighs spread again, aiming the flushed tip of his cock over slick skin. Against the tight nub of her clit as she shivers, lips parting with a gasp.

“Hancock, don’t tease-” Some of that bite is back, desperate. Not begging but it’s close, as her hips lift against him again.

“I’ll give you anything you want.” He promises, “Just like hearing you say it. Come on, sweetheart.”

It’s hard to hold himself back, when she’s notching him against her opening. His hands sliding to her hips, liking the way his fingers sink into her skin.

How it dents around his calloused ones, soft as the rest of her.

“Fuck me.” Her eyes are on his, watching where they drag from his fingers to her pussy. Watching how his chest heaves beneath his vest, where his chest peeks from loosened buttons.

“I need you in me. I need you to fuck me, I want to come on your cock-”

“Fuck.” He groans, and then his hips are snapping forward. Feeling the tight, warm squeeze as he buries himself in her, as she cries out at the intrusion.

“Goddamn, sunshine.” He has to hold himself there for a moment, hilted inside her. Feeling the way she clenches down around him, fingers mirroring it where they wrap in his shirt.

Almost sharing a breath as he inches out, only to press deep again. Again, and then again - until there’s the slick slap, the creak of the floorboards beneath his heavy boots as his feet spread wider.

It’s better than his fingers. He’s deeper, filling her completely, stealing her breath. Those hands tugging at her hips, urging her to meet each thrust, as he picks up speed.

Hearing the changes in her pretty sounds - the gasps and the scrape of fingernails against his skin. Spearing her on his cock, where she can feel the worn and rough ridges gliding against a spot that has been sighing.

But, he wants more. Wants her like before - splayed out. At his mercy, in a way that he knows she’d only do for him. Knowing that she trusts him - wondering if he would be worried that the thought makes his cock jerk inside her.

“Give me your hands.” He rasps - and slowly, her finger uncurl from the edge of the counter, the vice-like grip on his shirt.

Hancock grasps at her wrists, joining them together with one of his own. Pushing her back, dragging them above her head and pressing them down hard against the countertop.

Arching over her as his eyes sweep over soft curves and bare skin. His coat spread out beneath her, the worn red so pretty next to her skin. Better than his best fantasy, and he’s already thinking about a next time.

The choked out “oh!” she makes with the next rock of his hips shoots straight to his cock - knowing full-well she could break free if she wanted.

Instead, she lets him take.

Giving up the control as he ruts into her, spearing his cock deep again and again. Trying to meet the messy swipe of his fingertips that drifted down to press against the bundle of nerves - her pleasure in his hands.

“Look good like this, sunshine.” His eyes drag over her breasts, still shining from his tongue.

“Real fuckin’ good.”

Down to where her thighs tighten around his hips, arching into him, “Should keep you like this all the time. Just in my coat. Wear it better than I do.”

A sharp edge to his voice, one that fuels the aching pressure that builds and builds. Her head thunks back against the laminate counter, eyes falling shut.

The words starting slow, growing louder, then running together.

“Feels so good-”

“Hancock don’t stop. Oh my god-”

There’s an electricity in the air that has nothing to do with the storm. His hand biting into her wrists so hard that it hurts, but the pain only loops into her mounting pleasure.

It’s different than his dalliances before.

Before, it had filled his time. Finding someone to spend the night with a couple times a week, enjoying the shared company with another.

That frequency dwindling after they joined up, though he hadn’t been the type to stop. He just no longer had the time, that same desire.

Finding that he no longer focused on chasing his own pleasure. His interest shifting - until there was only one face that drifts through his mind, in the stolen moments at night when his hand slipped beneath his trousers.

Embracing the crave of a new kind of addiction, the urge hooking its claws into his brain.

“Say my name again.” He tells her, feeling his own release winding and tightening. Trying to stave it off, as he tries to think about anything else, “Fuckin’ scream it for me.”

Her eyes are on his when she says it.

“John.”

First soft, and then pitching up - louder.

And in the moment, he’s just John. The John before and the John now, man and ghoul and so focused on the circle of his fingers, on her cries.

It’s too much - all she can do is lean into it. Never realizing how much she’d like letting go for him, knowing that just like in the Wasteland, he had her.

Always liking his quips and rasping tone but never experiencing it like this - honey-sweet and hungry.

Learning so quickly what she likes - how quick he was to adjust the angle, the slick swirl of his fingers.

His name is on her lips again as he brings her over the brink. More like a prayer this time, her body stringing taut beneath him, eyes wide. Mouth rounding on a high gasp as the pleasure shudders through her, radiating up her spine and down her limbs.

Seeming to reach across from where they’re joined, that steady rhythm stuttering as she flutters tight and warm around him.

“Fuck. Fuck, sunshine. You feel so fucking good, gonna make me come-” His teeth grit, a silent question.

Her answer coming in the way her thighs tighten around him. Keeping him pressed deep inside her, until his thrusts turn short and sloppy.

“Oh, fuck yes.” His grin is closer to a snarl, “Thank you-”

His fingers bite into her hip. Her name hissed through clenched teeth as the pressure builds, before spilling over.

As his hips rut until he’s pressed as deep as he can, a choked groan as he comes. His cock twitching with each throb of his orgasm, as he fills her. Emptying himself into her heat - until she’s milked him dry. Until he slows, leaving himself buried, deep and warm.

His eyes drop, as he comes back down. Where she’s watching, just as hungry as he was.

Leaving them staring at each other. His back arched over where his hand has slipped. Loosening on her wrist, until her fingers has twined with his.

There’s no going back.

His cock hangs heavy between his thighs. It’s night - dark now, but the flickering of lightning following the peals of thunder cast green shadows over her body. Eyes drifting up to where the rain patters on the metal roof.

A languid exhale, breathing out the smoke from the cigarette he fished out of the coat pocket. Dangling between two fingers, the cherry gleaming in the dim light.

Then back down, to where she still rests - beautifully drowsy and limp-limbed. Thighs still parted, where she gleams with him.

He’s certain he’ll be dripping into those clothes of hers for days.

It does something to him, an interested twitch from his cock. Stepping closer to fit himself back between those thighs, where they close to bracket his hips again.

“Didn’t you say somethin’ ‘bout slow, later?” Hancock asks, his hand petting down a hip, thumb brushing against her skin.

Stubbing the rest of his smoke out on the counter, letting it fall to the tile below.

Her smile is sweet as she pushes herself up. No use leaving while the storm raged on - and she’s pretty sure the bedroll was well on its way to dry by now.

Fingers catch on the collar of his ruffled shirt, starting to push it from his shoulders. His own hands tugging at her, until he pressed snug against her again.

“Mm. Is it later, now?” She asks - as more of him is a bared - her hands running across rough skin.

Hancock grins.

“I sure as hell hope so.”

I know this dropped out of nowhere for a 9 year old game but I can’t get the mayor out of my mind 💕 thanks for reading!!!

#the tags on this are going to sound cursed ->#john hancock x reader #John Hancock x sole #John Hancock x Sole Survivor #hancock x sole survivor #hancock x reader #john hancock #fallout 4

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transtravisstoll · 18 days

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Batkids Age Reversal List

want to do a age reversal AU for the batkids but why do the comics keep fucking up their ages this has taken me weeks of trying to figure out i’m gonna off the DC comic writers. if you have any better ideas for their ages pls let me know im going to gouge my eyes out if i have to do any more math.

alfred: ???

-immortal. fuck you. he looked death in the face and told him to stop tracking mud all over his freshly mopped floors and that dinner was at eight.

bruce: 39

-had damian at eighteen bc i wanted it to be as close to his age gap with dick in canon as possible but i am not having this man fathering a child at 15

damian: 21

-came to gotham at age 8, refused to be a normal kid bc he was literally raised an assassin and bruce doesn’t know how to encourage nonviolent activities in children so letting him fight crime seemed… better than being an assassin. he, at the age of eight, could not come up with a name that wasn’t fucking Terrifying so whenever gordon asked for his “little shadow”‘s name they were suspiciously silent bc no, damian, you can not call yourself Vengeance or Malice. the media called him shadow and it stuck.

duke: 18

-wanted to keep his age gap with tim similar, but with duke being the older one, instead of doing dick and jason’s age gap bc it makes more sense this way.

-his parents got jokerified when he was 12, and so did a Lot of people in the Narrows. it absolutely decimated their little community so duke became signal. he didn’t fight crime, he gave back to his community, he helped with the cleanup. bruce ended up basically kidnapping the poor kid. (duke ran away from his foster home because he wasn’t a glorified babysitter or maid, fuck you, he can crash on couches.)

STEPH: 16

-again, wanted to keep the age gap between steph and tim the same but keeping steph the older one. makes more sense this way!! leave me alone.

-became spoiler at 13, was only spoiler for a year before she became shadow at 14 for about six months in between damian and jason. there was a six month period as well where bruce didn’t have a shadow and alfred literally had to bribe steph to be shadow bc he wasn’t abt to let a kid run around the gotham night without knowing batman was two steps ahead of them. plus, having a kid with him made bruce more cautious.

TIM: 15

-FINALLY got to mimicking the age gap between dick and jason in canon

-never becomes shadow, actually, he takes bab’s spot as their computer wiz. doesn’t call himself oracle though because he fucking sucks at making names. calls himself override (barf).

-also, steph is the only one who hes told he’s override to and also knows the batfam’s identities

-duke knows tim is override bc he’s scary like that!! tim doesn’t know duke knows he’s override, but duke knows that tim knows their identities and tim Also doesn’t know that. duke is fr terrifying. love him.

-tim figured out the batfam because of duke’s meta abilities bc he’s also scary like that

Jason: 14

-oh, he’s… currently out of commission. became shadow at 12.

-didn’t die in ethiopia, because fuck that plot. he was doing a stakeout but the joker had kidnapped this itty little baby (an eight year old boy) who he found running around the gotham night. jason went out of commission saving that little boy. what does out of commission mean? who knows. could be dead. could be severely injured. kidnapped. the possibilities are endless.

-i think it’s fucked that the comic fans voted for a fifteen year old to die by the joker. y’all are crazy.

cass: 13

-mimicking jason and cass’ age gap with cass being younger bc it makes more sense leave me alone

-isn’t a Batman approved shadow (yet) but she shadows batman anyways after jason’s… indisposed. the bonus is that batman doesn’t Know he has a shadow but gotham is kept in the dark abt shadow being (redacted) because cass and jason had the same exact fucking build, okay, jason hasn’t gotten his growth spurt yet (because of childhood malnutrition) . weird how batman lost weight though, after he went on that rage incident after the latest arrest of the joker. he’s leaner now. (is it the same batman? who knows.)

dick: 8

-mimicking the tim and damian age gap, bc it’s six years in my head leave me alone.

-huh, jason went out of commission saving an eight year old and dick is eight… suspicious. coincidence? hm.

babs: 7

-mimicking the babs and dick age gap but with babs being younger bc i think she��s older in canon? unsure. DC please i’m going to kill you and then me.

#batkids #batman #dick grayson #stephanie brown #tim drake #damian wayne #duke thomas #jason todd #reverse robins #dc comics

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tommysversion · 1 year

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That’s My Girl - [ Joel Miller x Reader 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ ]

Anon requested jealous, possessive Joel with a filthy mouth, so here you are! General CW for spice, unsafe sex, Joel with a filthy mouth, & a slightly red flag possessive streak.

Joel slammed the door behind you, expression mutinously annoyed as he crossed his arms and turned to you.

“What the fuck was that back there?” He demanded.

You had to resist the urge to smirk; if you weren’t so annoyed yourself, you’d feel smug about pissing him off. Joel liked to pretend he didn’t give a rat’s ass about you, but it was obvious that you were more than… whatever he thought you were. A quick fuck. Something casual. There was nothing casual about the way he’d grabbed your hand and practically dragged you out of the bar.

“What was what?” You asked sweetly, enjoying the way his eyes darkened.

“You know damn well what.” He glared, “letting that random fucking informant buy you drinks.”

“Maybe I like free booze?” You suggested, innocent. Oh, you knew exactly what you were doing.

“Not enough to let someone like that put their hands on you, surely?”

Your own temper flared. “What’s it to you, Joel? I’m not your goddamn property. Besides, you can’t lecture me on exclusivity when-“

You stopped, still angry, still hurt, by what you had seen. By what had driven you to provoke him, to try and draw out his jealous side in blatant vengeance.

“When what?” He demanded, exasperated. Honestly he had no damn clue what had possibly driven you to act the way you had, flirting with anyone and everyone. You were his, dammit. Nobody else should be able to hold your attention. Nobody else was worthy of it.

You were so angry at the memory, you wanted to cry.

“When I show up at your place looking for you and Tess answers the door wearing your fucking shirt and says you’re busy.” You snapped, glaring at him. “You don’t get to demand I don’t look for attention elsewhere when you’re clearly more than happy to fuck both of us.”

He stared at you. He hadn’t been home at the time, had been at work. He knew which shirt you were referring to, though. It was an old one he’d given her on a laundry day, almost a year ago.

“That… is not what’s happening here.” He said flatly.

“No? You think I’m stupid?” You demanded. Honestly if he wasn’t so worried about fixing this, wasn’t so pissed about you letting that fucking rat touch you, he’d almost find this funny.

“I haven’t been with Tess like that for… Fuck, almost five years.” He shook his head, “that shirt was too small for me, I handed it down on a laundry day when she had nothing clean. And I was at work, by the way.”

You cut your building tirade, mouth open but nothing coming out, feeling monumentally stupid.

“Oh.” You manage, knowing full well how lame you sound.

“Yeah, oh.” He frowned at you, “you know better than to let her rile you up.”

He was already making a note of talking to Tess, though. He’d have a few choice words for her, that was for damn sure. But that wasn’t his focus.

“Now we’ve cleared that up, you wanna tell me again why you were getting so cosy with our good friend the local rat, there?” He backed you right up against the wall, one arm on either side of you, effectively trapping you there.

“I-“ You had absolutely no good answer for him.

“I’m gonna take a guess,” he suggested, “that you thought it would be a good idea to piss me off, by acting like a complete slut.”

“No, I-“

“No? You weren’t? Cause that’s not what it looked like to me, baby.”

You could feel the heat coming from him; in a very short sentence: you’d fucked up. Big time.

“I just-“

“I don’t care what your damn reason was, honestly. But I have a suggestion for you.” He was leaning in close now, mouth so close to yours. You leaned in, wanting so badly to kiss him. He turned his head at the last minute.

“You want to put that mouth to use? Get on your knees and show me.”

Fuck, he was mad. You were only starting to realise just how far you’d pushed him now, but there was no going back, and no hiding the thrill you were getting from it as you dropped to your knees to obey him, hands going to his belt.

“Not making a case for yourself here, are you darlin’?” There was a sort of wry amusement to his voice as you unzipped his jeans, wrapped your hand around his already hard length.

He kept one hand on the wall, the other reaching down to stroke your hair.

“Be a good girl now and I might be less mad.”

You looked up at him, staring into those depthless dark eyes, as you leaned in to lick a slow stripe along his cock, watching his reaction before you took him into your mouth. You didn’t hold back, sucking him eagerly.

“This what you were gonna do to that other bastard? Or am I special?” He was taunting you, he knew deep down you’d never have let anyone else touch you, but fuck, he was angry about it. You were his. His. Nobody else got to touch you. Even thinking about it made him see red.

You, of course, couldn’t answer, mouth otherwise occupied as he started to thrust shallowly into your throat. He groaned softly when you sucked him, swallowing around him. He knew exactly what you were doing, pulled out of your mouth and tapped you sharply on the lips with his cock.

“Not yet. Get up.”

You got up, a little shaky, only to find yourself pinned against the wall, your dress being pushed up around your hips.

“Tell me, is this what you’d let anyone else do to you?”

“N-no,” you admitted, voice shaking with a little fear, a lot of desire.

“No? Are you sure?” His lips grazed your throat, teeth nipping the skin.

“I’m sure…” you were absolutely soaked; you could feel your own wetness drenching your panties as he dragged them aside, wrapped your leg around his waist.

“Good.” He almost growled it, “you’re mine.”

He slid into you in a single, deep, rough thrust, drawing a cry of surprised pleasure from your lips.

“I don’t give a damn if you want to be a whore, as long as it’s only for me.” He kept one hand wrapped around you to steady you, keeping you braced against the wall with his other hand as he fucked you, harder and faster with each deep thrust.

“Fuck-“ you whimpered, tightening your leg around his waist, bringing him in deeper.

“None of that.” He slapped your ass sharply, “talk to me, baby, use your words. Tell me who you belong to.”

He was barely thinking straight himself, driven by a deep and primal feeling of jealousy, rage, and possessiveness. You brought out the best in him, but that was a double edged sword. You could also bring out the worst, when needed.

Luckily, you understood, knew how to play him.

“You, Joel,” you cried out as he hit your sweet spot, again and again, “I’m yours, I promise!”

Your cries faded into incoherence, loud and desperate sounds of pleasure as he brought you closer and closer, finally reaching the apex of your pleasure, tightening around him, soaking every inch of him that was buried inside you.

“That’s goddamn right,” he agreed, pressing a searing kiss to your mouth, “you’re all mine, darlin’, don’t ever forget that.”

He could feel his own pace start to get erratic as he drew closer and closer to his own release, incoherent growls and groans falling from his lips.

“Fuck, darlin’, you feel so fuckin’ good, prettiest damn pussy I ever felt, gonna fill you up so good…” he punctuated each word with a sharp snap of his hips, “gonna make you forget anyone else you ever had… fuck…”

He couldn’t control it any longer, feeling himself throb and ache inside you as he filled you with his release; usually he was so careful about pulling out of you, but well… accidents happen. And if that accident so happened to keep you around and with him? All the better for it.

“Mine, darling. You’re all mine.” He murmured into your ear, holding you close.

You sighed, kissed his throat.

“I’m sorry…” you admitted; you’d pushed him too far, and you knew it.

He gave you a small smirk. “Don’t be sorry, baby. You more than made up for it.” He paused, and then, “just don’t do that shit again.”

You smiled back, rested your forehead against his.

“I won’t. Promise.”

He kissed your lips gently. “That’s my girl.”

#my writing #Joel Miller #Joel Miller smut #Joel Miller x Reader #Joel Miller x You #joel miller fanfiction #tlou smut #Pedro Pascal #tlou fanfiction

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emo-batboy · 1 year

Note

thoughts on battinson with his like seven kids and they have to suffer through everyone wanting to fuck him cause have you seen him??

Alright so this response kinda works in a competely separate realm of canon than what I usually post. I’m gonna preface that right now, but BOY do I have thoughts :D

So when I think of Battinson and his (non)accidental orphan acquisition, I see Battinson as being on a much more even playing field emotionally than most other iterations. He’s not really as stoic and put-together, so having kids (especially multiple) would cause a LOT more chaos and drama. So in this case, I like to think that it happens at a very rapid rate. (Again, I’m saying this because this require straying from the film’s canon to a much larger degree than I usually do.) SO by the time he’s 32, he has an 11yo Dick, a 9yo Jason, and an 8yo Tim. And they probably grow with him much like teen parents do with their kids. He’s not as authoritative as most parents. Instead, he starts out as like half older brother, half dad, then graduates to the roll of batdad after his whole vengeance era.

THAT ALL BEING SAID!! BECAUSE THEY’RE SO MUCH OLDER AND BRUCE IS YOUNGER, THEY DEAL WITH A LOOOOTTTTTT OF CREEPY LADIES TRYING GO GET WITH THEIR DAD. (AND THEY ARE VERY. SMART. FOR THEIR AGE)

Dick, older brother and the leader of the “Save Dad and Our Childhood Innocence” brigade teaches the three everything there is to know. He is the most experienced with these awful public events like galas and charity auctions, so he is in control.

And it is SO much easier to get the creepy suitors to back off when they work as a team

Dick talks everyone’s ears off. He’s the golden boy (getting perfect grades and gold medals in his school’s gymnastics team) so he EASILY gets away with distracting people

Dick will insert himself into adult conversations all the time, and Bruce always lets him, which allows Jason and Tim to wreak havoc on whatever target they chose.

Whenever it isn’t too obvious or it’s late enough in the night, Jason will fake a cold or a headache sometimes (he’s prone to falling sick) and Bruce will insist that he take his kid home and tuck him into bed himself, very fatherly

Tim uses his Youngest Child points to woo the nicer ones and direct them away from Bruce, but it doesn’t usually works on the gold diggers (and thank god because Tim HATES acting cute) so he’ll use it on Bruce instead

When those three plans don’t work, the three gremlins start getting Creative TM

Jason, taking a swig from some wine glass and proceeding to spray it all over Vicky Vale’s white dress: “This isn’t grape juice!”

Tim, resident iPad kid and (despite popular belief) The Most Evil of the Three, sees some lady touching his batdad so he finds her phone number on an online directory and prank calls her every time she gets too close

Suitor: “Your father is very handsome.” Dick: “My father’s dead :(” “…” “Oh wait, you mean Bruce! Yeah, he’s nice.”

One lady starts hanging off of Bruce, but he needs to run off to say hello to an investor. Jason appears from nowhere in his dapper little tux and the lady just says, “So uhh, you like the Wiggles, right?” Jason: “Nope! Have you ever read Crime and Punishment? :)”

Dick “accidentally” slaps some obnoxious guests with his wild hand gestures “Oh no! I’m so sorry :(( Let me get you an ice pack” and pulls them away while the other two hide their laughter

One of the ladies who is WAY too comfortable and forward when flirting with Bruce is forced to sit down with Tim and he goes in head first “what are you doing with my dad?” “oh you know what adults do, honey. Messing around, having fun” and he’s like “well My dad doesn’t look interested” “of course he is! who knows? Maybe we’ll hit it off and make another one of you one day” which gives Tim intense psychic damage, but he’s a horrible little brat so he doesn’t give up. He hits her with the innocent doe eyes and asks in the cutest fucking voice “Where do babies come from?” she BOOKS IT (they never see her again)

Anyway, to answer your question: they are little terrors. and Bruce knows they’re little terrors, but he doesn’t care because he hates the creepy attention even more than they do, but this way it comes with a show :D

#battinson #bruce wayne #batman #the batman 2022 #the batman #batman 2022 #batdad #batfamily #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #dc universe #you get ‘em kids

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imababblekat · 9 months

Text

Pushing Buttons

Anon Request, “ Love your content it’s sooo cute! Can I get a snarky sarcastic reader who calls April for a chat on speaker phone then gets into a funny argument with Ralph trading jabs. Like he tries to get April to hang up because their in the middle of something important but reader gives him a snappy comeback. They keep going with everyone listening. Tired of this April is gonna hang up on them but before that happens “Wait wait! give that guys digits he sounds hot! You know how I love pushing a guys buttons!”

A/N: I hope this is okay, gonna be honest I struggled to write this one for some reason. Hope it’s still at the very least readable \TvT/

~xXx~

April hadn’t meant to answer the phone, but Mikey curiously nudging into her had caused her to ultimately accept your request. As if to make a point at your horrible timing as April and the boys were in the mist of a game plan to take down a new gang, you’re voice rang loud through the speaker causing everyone to simultaneously jump.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!! April you are not going to believe what happened to me at work today!!”

April sighed, giving the ninja turtles apologetic glances.

“I can’t really talk right-”

“I’ll make it quick! I swear! Okay, so I got up at seven like I usually do, right? I was really tired though, so I went to snooze my alarm and-”

Before April could politely ask you to skip ahead to what had happened at your job, the human girl was thrown for a shock when Raphael had suddenly snatched the device straight out of her hand. She went to reprimand him but all he had done was hold a large hand up to block her as he angrily snapped into the call.

“She’s busy. Call back later.”

*click*

April’s eyes had never been as wide as they were in that moment. No way did Raphael just hang up on you of all people. Said terrapin, with a triumphant grin, reached out to hand her back the phone, when it had suddenly started going off again right in his palm. If it weren’t for the growing agitation, he could have sworn it seemed to vibrate with a vengeance. With a hard tap, he answered the call ready to repeat what he had done only a few minutes ago.

“I said-”

“Excuse me!!”

Raphael felt himself fumble at your sudden shout, April standing across from him with a knowing look.

“And who the hell do you think you are, huh?! You do not cut me off when I am talking to my gal pal!!”

Raphael sputtered, caught off for but a second before snapping back.

“Who do I-?! April’s busy! I’m sure whatever little issue you got goin on at work ain’t that important!”

“Oh, and how would you know that?! You read minds huh?! I’d ask if you’re some sort of phycologist but frankly just from your voice alone I’d say you’re need of one.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“I think you know what I mean, big boy.”

Raphael felt his blood boiling in that moment, his brothers Mikey and Donnie doing their best to stifle their laughter behind him while Leo simply smirked at his dismay. All the while all April could do was hide her face in her hands at the embarrassment she felt for her close friend on the line.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What? Would you rather I call you big baby instead? Ya gonna cry about it? Good, cuz sounds to me like you need to shed a few tears. It’s perfectly healthy by the way. Just thought I’d let you know that since you give off the vibe that you’d rather walk around with a stick up your ass then express your emotions.”

“A stick up my ass?! Seriously?! How about I come over and shove one up yours?! You’re just all bark and no bite!”

“Ooo, don’t promise me with a good time~.”

If it were possible, Raph’s face would match the color of his mask at your raunchy response, the suave to your tone not making things any better. It was at the sudden burst of laughter behind him from his brothers and Aprils own snickering that the brute decided in that moment the best course of action was to, once again, hang up the damn phone.

A groan bubbled up from his throat at he tossed April back her phone, sending a glare to his still cackling siblings.

“Will ya all stop laughin. Let’s just get back to the stupid plan.”, he glared, arms crossing.

It was Leo, who had to take a few breaths to gather himself, that brought back the others to focus.

“Okay, okay, you heard the big boy. Let’s ready up.”

Green eyes glared daggers at the leader in blue for his jab, the other winking back with a shit eating grin. Raphael stepped forward to make a quip in response to Leo, when a chortle behind him had alerted all the turtles. It was from April, who’s eyes crinkled in the corners as she did her best to bite back some giggles, holding up her phone to show what had caused such a reaction out of her. Each brother leaned in, squinting at the small text on screen and then let out more laughter, Mikey rocking a groaning Raph’s shoulders with congratulations.

On the screen before them, read a text sent by the very person who riled him up quicker then anyone on record.

*Hey girly, you gotta get me your friends digits! Dude sounds hot af 😉💗*

~xXx~

#bayverse raphael x reader #bayverse raph x reader #bayverse raphael #bayverse tmnt x reader #bayverse tmnt #aged up tmnt #anon request #imababblekat's writing

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rookthorne · 11 months

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐭

Playing innocent with Bucky never worked — it didn’t mean you wouldn’t try, not when the payoff was precisely what you craved.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✰ Biker!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✰ 1.7k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✰ Fluff, Possessive!Feral!Bucky and his absolutely fucking filthy mouth ჻჻჻ SMUT: Fingering (F receiving), innapropriate use of a motorcycle seat ჻჻჻ KINKS: Praise, ring

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ✰ Who knew I would ever type that warning, huh? ✰ I have missed my Biker!Bucky, so here he is, back with a vengeance.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ✰ Break My Baby by KALEO

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✰ @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer ჻჻჻ Week 1 — "What should I wear?" — Masterlist

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Wearing the coveted leather kutte that belonged to Bucky wasn’t something taboo, per se. Sure, you had made him wear it during certain moments, it was a weakness – you couldn’t help it; being the one to reap the rewards of Bucky being in control was something to sing to the heavens about.

But, wearing only his kutte, with his favourite burgundy Henley that rested and brushed against your thighs as you made morning coffee? You would get more than a reward that you were fucking sure of.

The quiet tink of the coffee mugs hitting the countertop echoed through the kitchen, and you started to hum quietly as you gathered ingredients for breakfast – pancakes and bacon, Bucky’s favourite.

“Well, well,” Bucky rasped, voice thick with sleep, and you jumped. The fridge door closed with a slam, and you stood facing Bucky – grey sweatpants low on his hips and arms crossed across his chest, all whilst leaning on the damn doorway. “What do we have here?”

“Nothing,” you blurted, the kutte on your back suddenly cumbersome and warm. “I’m making coffee. Do you want breakfast?”

Bucky shook his head, still staring you down – the heat in his gaze pinned you where you stood. “I was plannin’ on taking you out today, sweetheart,” he said, brows furrowing as if he was considering something. “But, I have one problem. D’you know what that is, baby?”

Slowly, you shook your head, biting your lip. The action didn’t go unnoticed, and Bucky just stared at your lips as you spoke, “No, what is it, babe?”

Darkened eyes met yours, and you suppressed a shiver. “My kutte,” Bucky began. Your heart stuttered as he stepped forward, gesturing at your clothed chest. “It’s currently on the sexiest woman walkin’ this fuckin’ earth, and she isn’t sittin’ on my bike. You see how that’s a problem now, sweetheart?”

Heaven above, help me, you prayed, looking down at your fidgeting hands. “N-No, I don’t see–”

“Oh, baby girl, don’t play dumb with me just yet,” Bucky purred. Heat pooled low in your stomach, and you took a slight step back, but he only neared closer, ignoring the way you shifted in place – you hated how he broke down your defences so fast. “Look me in the eye, sweetheart.”

You did, and you whimpered. The blazing stare turned your insides to lava, scorching and writhing. Helplessly, you stood rooted to the spot as Bucky grabbed your chin to tilt your face up. “Say it, go on. I’m waitin’.”

“I see the problem,” you mumbled, and Bucky smirked.

“And what is it, sweetheart?” Bucky cooed. “What is my problem?”

“I’m not sitting on your bike.”

Bucky’s bright grin blindsided you, and you shuffled your feet, only just keeping a whine in your throat. “Atta girl, and you know how we can fix that?” You shook your head in his grip. “Get your ass into that garage and stand next to my bike, baby. Do not take off my kutte.”

You scampered into the garage as Bucky moved to lean on the counter to watch you go. Breathe – in and out, in and out; you soothed yourself. The black and gold Indian loomed as you opened the door, and you padded over to it – only realising just now how big the seat was.

The door suddenly slammed, and you looked up. Bucky was stalking towards you with a wolfish grin. “Good girl.” The lack of keys in his hand made you nervous, you opened your mouth to speak, but Bucky cupped your face in his hands. “Don’t you worry ‘bout a damn thing, baby girl.” He pulled away and swung a leg over the frame, sitting comfortably astride his chariot; however, he was sitting further back than what he would do if he were to ride.

Confused, you furrowed your brows. “Wha-”

“No,” Bucky interrupted, pointing at the space between his thighs. “Sit down.”

You blanched. There would be just enough room for you to fit, and your bare thighs would sit just as Bucky’s did when sitting properly in his seat. “But-”

“Do as you’re told, sweetheart,” Bucky growled, patting the seat. “Sit the fuck down.”

You hastened to lift your leg up and over, and Bucky smiled softly, guiding you to sit comfortably and resting his hands on your waist to settle you in place – bare and on the leather seat of his Indian. The thought alone made you quietly keen. “Was that so hard, baby?”

“No,” you mumbled, and Bucky hummed, running his hands up and down your sides over the leather of his kutte. “What’re you doi-”

“Shh,” Bucky hushed. The cool metal of his rings against your hip startled you. “Just listen to me, alright?” You nodded. Thoughts had started to turn into molasses – Bucky had hardly done anything, and you were pliant, just how he liked it.

“‘M gonna need you to hold the handlebars, sweetheart,” Bucky mumbled, his breath hot on your neck before he trailed open mouthed kisses from your shoulder to your ear. “Go on, baby.”

“Bucky, please, I- I need-” You tried, fumbling to grab hold of the handlebars when Bucky’s hand cupped your breast over his Henley.

“I know what you need, baby girl,” Bucky breathed, “c’mon, do as you’re told.”

“Oh,” you moaned as Bucky’s hand squeezed, the other trailing to your lower stomach. The handlebars were cold in your grip, starkly contrasting with the fire consuming you. “Please.”

“I like hearing you beg for me, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured. The cold bite of his rings against your inner thigh made you whimper. “But ‘m feelin’ generous today, you see? I wake up to seein’ my everythin’ paradin’ around the kitchen in nothin’ but my Henley and my kutte. Do you know what that did to me, baby girl?”

You trembled in his hold and squeaked when his palm resting on your stomach pulled you closer, and you felt his hard cock against your lower back. “That’s what you do, baby.”

“Please,” you breathed. The ache had settled between your thighs, and you glanced down at the seat to find a small patch of slick. Bucky clicked his tongue.

“Can’t have my girl hurtin’, can I?” Bucky mused. The pressure on your hips increased, and you sighed; the feel of Bucky’s fingers circling towards your cunt made you shiver. “Remember,” he warned, voice low in your ear, “you let go of those handlebars, I stop–you don’t want that, do you, sweetheart?”

“No, I don’t- Just, please, touch me, Bucky!”

“So sweet,” Bucky purred, tucking his face into your neck. “Hold on now, baby girl.”

The first graze of Bucky’s fingers on your clit made you cry out, you tried to move back against him, but he held you fast – the heat seeping from his chest and through the leather of his kutte to your back became suffocating. “Fuck, Bucky- ohmygod,” you gasped as he applied more pressure.

“So wet for me, sweetheart, fuck,” Bucky mumbled. His grip around your middle tightened, and you heaved for breath. “Stay still for me, baby; I know you can. Lemme just,” he continued, his movements practised and thorough in their exploration. His fingers pushed achingly slow into your cunt, and you moaned aloud, only to keen loudly when he curled them. “There we go, good girl.”

Unbeknownst to you – unable to think nor feel anything but the incessant touch of Bucky’s fingers, your fingers started slipping from the handlebars while you squirmed. The abrupt stop in his movements pulled a whine from your lips. “Ah, ah, you know the rules, baby,” Bucky scolded, pressing into your back and pushing you closer to the damn handlebars.

You cried and groped for the now hot rubber of the accelerator and brake. “That’s it, sweetheart,” Bucky soothed. “Here we go.”

The litany of cries pulled from your lips as Bucky started his rhythm in earnest would have embarrassed you. Still, here you were, trapped against his chest while wearing his kutte, and making a mess of his seat.

“You look so beautiful, baby girl,” Bucky breathed, moving his arm to tilt your head back with his hand. You felt so enclosed in his grip, and you moaned in response, at a loss of words with his fingers pumping in and out of your cunt. “I think I can get you to cum a lot faster than this, don’t you think?”

“Oh, god- Yes, I need more-” You babbled, and Bucky chuckled darkly.

“I know you do, sweetheart.” Time froze when Bucky moved his wrist and angled his hand, the change of pressure making you gasp. “You don’t hold back on me, baby; I want you to fuckin’ soak my bike.”

Bucky’s ringed and tattooed fingers pumped so fast in and out of your cunt that the sounds echoed off the garage walls. “Fuck!” You cried, trying to twist away from the onslaught, the pressure becoming unbearable. “Bucky!”

“Handlebars,” Bucky snapped, and you sobbed, gripping them for dear life again. “You wanna cum, baby? You close for me?” Your fervent nod only served to make Bucky growl, a low rumble in his chest. “You don’t know how fuckin’ hard you make me wearing my kutte, fuck, baby girl, cum for me; I need you to fuckin’ cum.”

“Bucky! Don’t stop, oh fuck- Ah!” You could have sworn Bucky went faster, his grip only becoming tighter and forcing you to sit still. “Don’t stop! I’m-”

Bucky groaned, moving his thighs to cradle yours. “Be a good girl; give it to me, c’mon.”

The tension snapped – violent in its waves, and you screamed, writhing in Bucky’s grip while he continued to pump his fingers in and out, curling them to ride out your release. “Tha’s it, sweetheart, god fucking damn, fuck, baby girl,” he rambled, his voice barely audible over the roar of blood in your ears. “S’good for me, perfect.”

Shudders gripped your body while you came down, quiet whimpers and heavy pants for breath, second most to the coos of praise from Bucky behind you, his hand now splayed on your stomach over his Henley, the other holding you close to his chest. “Oh my god,” you huffed.

Bucky laughed. “You alright?”

“Y-Yeah, what the fuck possessed you?” You asked, resting back in a slump, letting him take your weight.

“I told you,” Bucky murmured, kissing the side of your head. “You look fuckin’ sexy in my kutte–next time, I want you in nothin’ but my kutte.”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #hotbuckysummer2023 #rookthorne's works #Chariot

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ohforficsakelibrary · 4 months

Text

Barbados

Summary: You've been carrying on with whatever this is for months, pushing and pulling, until one night Frankie wants control.

masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2K

Rating: Explicit 18+ for smut/ Unprotected piv, edging, multiple orgasms (f), creampie, a hint of dom!Frankie, a dash of brat-tamer!Frankie, still a Consent King, a pinch of blasphemy, y'all are gonna get a noise complaint / Minors DNI

A/N: As with Dominica, this is written about these two idiots, but flipped to the reader's perspective. Can be read as a standalone, only a few tiny, non-critical nods to the series.

Happy Frankie Friday to all those who celebrate.

Eight months into whatever this is, Frankie pulls noises from your throat that you’ve never made in your life.

And to think, you had fought him on it.

You’d been working each other up all evening, spiking heated glances over the dinner table as you listened to Pope go on about something.

Can’t remember what.

You’d both unceremoniously deposited Santi in his room next door, each smacking your key cards against the reader so quickly that it took three tries to unlock as Frankie groaned into your mouth and you pawed at his belt. This room was one of yours.

Can’t remember whose.

It doesn’t matter, one key eventually worked.

In your haste to have each other after a month apart you’d skipped his mouth, and his fingers, and everything you would have demanded if you’d had more sense.

Sense. The thing he simultaneously robs you of and delivers in spades to every starving nerve ending.

The two of you hadn’t even made it to the bed.

Frankie’s behind you on the couch, your upper body draped over the armrest as he works his way inside you.

“Mmfh, hold on, wait, wait, wait,” your hand finds his where it’s wrapped around your hip and immediately he stills as you hiss through clenched teeth.

“Shit. Baby, talk to me.”

“Just. A little sharp.”

“No, I should have…” he makes a move to pull out completely.

Your hand flies back to his hip, “Francisco Morales, don’t you dare.”

“Baby, just let me taste you,” he barely has the tip of his cock inside you now as he cranes to drop kisses along your spine, “get you all warm and ready for me. ”

“I’m fucking ready for you now.”

Stubborn as a moose is not the saying, but Frankie reckons it should be.

“Baby, please, I’m not doing this if it hurts.”

He’s mad at himself, more than anything. Frankie doesn’t fuck around with this. He knows what he is.

He’s normally so methodical. He has his procedures. His checklist. You blew right through it and in his haze of want—he let you.

You’re doing it even now as your nails bite into his hip when he makes a move to pull away.

“Baby…” he urges again.

“No.”

Talons of irritation tug at the back of his scalp.

And he gives in to them.

“You know what, fine,” he growls, hands leaving you completely as something shifts, “you do it then.”

You move to bring one of his warm palms back to your skin but he snatches it away.

“No. That’s all you. You wanna take me? Take me. Go ahead.”

Oh.

A Frankie Mood.

He hasn’t had you in a month and already they’ve returned with a vengeance.

You throw him a look over your shoulder, half expecting to see his arms crossed over his chest. One hand’s braced on the back of the sofa, and you can feel the heat from the other where it hovers over your hip.

His bottom lip is trapped between teeth.

Okay, Frankie.

You prop yourself up off the arm of the sofa with one hand, reaching down with the other to guide the tip of his cock against your entrance, gently shifting your hips and rocking back onto his hard length at your own pace, moaning as you do.

A pace you’ve slowed way down for his torture benefit.

It smarts a little less and you take a little more.

But this stopped being about that a few inches ago.

You can hear Frankie sucking sharp breaths in through his nose. The back of the sofa creaks with the white-knuckled pressure he’s subjecting it to.

While his words are bold, his body’s barely held together.

But he’s composed enough not to give you the satisfaction of the moan that’s bursting at the back of his throat.

“God, Frankie,” you breathe when the curve of your ass meets his stomach.

He barks a dark laugh.

“Oh, I thought you could take this whole thing,” he leans to cover you with his body, nose skimming the shell of your ear.

“I’ve still got two more inches here for you, babe,” he continues to taunt just before he bites down on your earlobe, soothing it with his tongue.

“What are you gonna do about that?”

You have half a mind to flip him off of this couch and onto the floor.

Instead you drop your chest back down to the arm of the sofa, tip your hips forward, and squeeze around him.

It makes him give you the last two himself.

It hadn’t taken long for you to discover how to short his brain and send his hips slamming into yours in search of more.

“Ohh, you little…” he’s growling but you can feel the smile against your ear.

He loves this.

The push and pull.

You guide his hand to your clit, where he immediately starts rubbing slow circles with his middle and ring fingers.

He’s gonna drag this out.

You tip your face to meet his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip before he gives you his tongue.

“You okay?” He whispers softly when you break for air.

“Yeah, baby.”

Frankie drops a kiss in your hair before he bucks his hips against you without pulling out.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“Mmmm,” he rumbles, sitting up and holding your hips with both hands. He gives you a few tentative strokes, slowly, palms mapping the contours of your back until you take it upon yourself to push against him.

“You’re so fuckin’ impatient, aren’t you,” his hips don’t falter from their lazy pace as one hand grabs the back of your neck. “So fucking greedy for me. For this cock.”

You clench down around him to make your point, smiling when he groans, his hips stuttering.

“You know what?” He brings his face to your ear, “let me have it, baby.”

Control.

Let him have control.

He can’t see the way you arch an eyebrow in challenge, but he knows it’s there on your face.

“Fine,” you whisper and cant your hips back against him.

“Need a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ gatita.”

“Yes. Frankie.” It’s sour in your mouth as you say it. But you trust him. Trust that he’ll take care of you. That he’ll work you up and over and through until “yes Frankie” is all that you can scream.

You trust that he’ll take you past the point of words.

And so “yes Frankie” it is.

He rewards you by picking his pace up to something you luxuriate in, humming with approval as warmth builds low in your belly. You instinctively reach down between your legs and Frankie immediately pulls your hand away.

“That’s mine,” he growls, “and I’m not ready for it yet.”

You bury your face into the armrest and moan in petulant protest.

The hand on the back of your neck soothes, rubbing down over your shoulder blades. He follows the motion with his mouth and you arch up into him.

You can feel his eyes on you, reading your body in the absence of your face. He slows his pace when your breath goes shallow and waits for it to deepen again before building you back up.

When your fingers dig into the armrest, he nearly stops, holding you in place by the hips, grinding his pelvis against you. He leans forward to drop kisses at the base of your neck and scrapes the scruff on his chin down your spine, the prickle of it giving you another sensation to latch on to. After a few moments, he skates a massive palm over your skin to wipe the feeling away, hooking it over your shoulder and yanking you backwards faster against him.

The next time he pulls you back from the brink it’s with a hand in your hair and teeth in the curve of your shoulder.

He unwinds you like rope, pulling at each cord, twisting until it frays, until all that’s left is you pleading and panting in front of him.

By the fourth time you’re telling him to go fuck himself, and he’s purring in your ear that no you feel much better between thrusts that drag the crown of his cock over every spot inside you with the capacity to light you up, he’s just doing it too slowly to cause a spark.

“Frankie, I swear to God…”

“You can swear all you want, gatita, God isn’t here. Just me.”

And oh but He is, in the searing palms that hold you firm, the thick, clever fingers that finally slip down to where he fills you to rub tight circles against where he knows you need him most.

In the way your ears ring when he speeds his hips and his hands up—and finally allows you to break.

A gasp, a captured breath, and a cry when you exhale again.

Except now, he doesn’t stop.

“Frankie, fuck, Frankie, Frankie, Fr…Fran…FranKIE,” discretion abandoned in favor of open-mouthed pleasure. His pace is brutal and you don’t care who knows that he handles you with a pilot’s precision, one hand encouraging the arch in your back, pulling where it’s wound in your hair, fingers of the other working faster over your clit.

You’re keening as you claw at fabric and bury your face in the armrest, Frankie never letting up as your walls clamp down around him again.

He grits his teeth through your torture, grunting as he continues.

He continues until you’re laughing deliriously.

Until you’re growling.

Whining.

Sobbing.

Jesus, Catfish. Don’t kill her. Frankie’s phone buzzes with a text from Santiago.

Neither of you notice.

You’ve angled your hips to take all of him, hair in your face, death-grip on the armrest because it’s the only thing keeping you here.

He cracks you one last time, has you crying and moaning and screaming for him in the seconds before he holds you fast, deafening you with the guttural scream that rips from his chest as he pumps you full of him, stuttering hips fucking hot spend into you as desperate cries escape his throat.

His teeth sink into your shoulder and his weight becomes yours to bear when he finally quiets and collapses, sucking open-mouthed kisses into your sweat-damp neck between gasps for air.

You stay a moment like this.

Feeling his lungs fill at your back.

Feeling his heart hammer against your spine.

He finds himself enough to take his weight, but your hand grips his hair before he can move much further.

“The couch,” you pant a warning and he catches your logic in his hormone-addled brain, wrapping an arm around your waist and rolling you with him down to the hardwood floor.

His body breaks your fall.

Broad palms roam your stomach, up over your breasts and down again, hot, ragged breath rasping over the shell of your ear and catching in your curls.

He guides your hips up enough to allow him to pull out with a groan before he encourages you over, one hand immediately flying to the base of your skull to bring your mouth to his.

You can feel the warm rush of him between your thighs.

“Was that okay?” He sighs against your lips.

“More than, baby.”

“I missed you.”

And you hum with a smile, raking damp hair out of his face.

You missed him too.

Both of your phones clatter repeatedly against coffee table glass and it finally spurs Frankie to his feet.

You both still alive?

You need electrolytes?

Fish, rub some sugar on her gums.

You read the group texts aloud from your back on the floor and Frankie laughs, returning with a warm washcloth and your underwear.

All good, Santi. So good.

Frankie sits on the couch and kisses your stomach as you stand and shimmy your panties up your legs. He pulls you to curl against him where he can still trail his nose over your sweat-slick neck.

How do I know Fish didn’t take your phone? Proof of life.

It’s tossed offhandedly with a smile. He doesn’t expect his screen to light up with a photo from Fish.

The look on your face in the photo is apologetic, one hand raking the hair out of your eyes, the other holding your phone with the screen lit to display the date and time. Frankie is behind you with his nose pressed into your hair and a Cheshire cat grin playing on his lips.

God, on the COUCH?

Sorry, not sorry, Pope. Is his answer.

Santi offers only the eye-roll emoji in response.

_____

Fifteen minutes later, when you’re both showered and in bed, Frankie’s head resting on your stomach and your hand gently raking through his freshly washed hair, your phone fills the room with blue light.

From Santiago to you alone.

You’re better for him than you know.

The truth is, he hasn’t seen the man smile like that since his daughter was born.

I can’t save him, Pope.

No. But you can make him feel.

And you understand exactly what he means because someone once did the same for you.

You stretch and Fish moves, rolling you onto your side where he can fit against your back, solid arm locked around your waist, breath brushing peacefully against your neck.

Yeah.

You can make him feel.

And sometimes that’s enough.

#frankie morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #ohforficsake

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suzukiblu · 5 months

Text

Day sixteen of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

TTK does, apparently, protect Kon from callouses, which Tim learns the hard way as Kon laces their fingers together and rubs his thumb across the back of Tim’s hand. His skin is so much softer than it should be, Tim thinks accusingly. Couldn't he at least have the decency to have chapped hands? Sweaty palms or something, even?

Unfortunately, what Kon has is soft, warm, strong hands whose fingers lace easily through Tim's own, and Tim just has to deal with that somehow, apparently. Apparently that's just his problem now.

Bastard.

Tim needs to not melt into an incoherent pile of mush, so he just acts like this is fine and normal and normal and fine and walks into the store with Kon and leads him over to the phones. Kon seems smugly pleased. Tim pretends to not be an incoherent pile of mush.

It doesn't particularly work, but he at least puts in the effort.

“Any preferences?” he asks, tugging Kon towards the closest display.

“For a phone?” Kon says. “Not really. I mean, whatever works.”

Tim is going to take full advantage of that “whatever”, he immediately promises himself. Full and total and complete.

“Okay,” he agrees, then starts looking at the high-end models. No point in going cheap, though he's definitely going to make sure to pick a durable brand with the least possible degree of planned obsolescence involved. If it comes to it, he'll either upgrade one or build Kon something outright later, but for now the standard retail models are gonna have to do.

“Uh,” Kon says, cocking his head with a bemused expression and then gesturing towards the wall with his half-empty smoothie cup. Tim is perfectly normal about the fact that they're still holding hands. All kinds of it. Completely and totally. “The burners are over there, man.”

“Why would I get you a prepaid phone?” Tim asks, making a point of putting on a skeptical expression. “Most of those models don't even have a decent camera.”

“That is a nine hundred dollar smartphone that you are currently looking at,” Kon says incredulously.

“Given your powerset involves the ability to decide to make anything you're touching invulnerable, I'm not particularly concerned about you breaking it,” Tim replies reasonably. “Like, are you even capable of dropping things?”

“Technically no, but I still fight supervillains on the daily, dude,” Kon says.

“Then I'll spring for the accident insurance,” Tim replies reasonably. “I'd have to come back to buy you a new burner anyway, so it's just easier all around if you can duck in and pick up a replacement without needing to wait for me.”

“It is nine hundred dollars,” Kon says.

“There's an eight hundred dollar model, if you don't mind a little less memory,” Tim says.

“The burners are like, twenty bucks,” Kon says. “And you don’t need to sign up for a plan or anything.”

“Yes, but if you run out of minutes or break it, you’ll need me to come reload or replace it,” Tim says. “This way you can do it yourself and you can talk as much as you want.”

“How much exactly are you expecting to want to talk to me, man?” Kon says with a self-deprecating little laugh. Tim thinks vicious thoughts, makes room for a few more spaces on his supervillain vengeance list, and then just shrugs.

“Up to you,” he says. “I mean, I have school and extracurricular stuff, but that only fills up so much of the day, you know?”

“You cannot possibly have researched me thoroughly enough to be that sure we’re gonna get along,” Kon says, frowning faintly at the phones.

“You’re seriously underestimating my capacity for research,” Tim informs him, taking a sip of his smoothie. “Also I’m really just going on how well we’ve been getting along so far.”

“Oh,” Kon says, and his face flushes again. “Uh . . . okay.”

“How about this one?” Tim suggests, tipping his head towards one of the mid-range models. Decent brand and sturdy build, but not quite as expensive.

“That’s still five hundred bucks,” Kon says.

“I am intending to spend a lot more than five hundred bucks on you today,” Tim says. “And anyway, five hundred bucks for both our conveniences is a small price to pay, don’t you think?”

“I guess,” Kon says, glancing towards him for a moment before looking back to the phones. “Um . . . maybe, then. If you’re–sure.”

“I’m sure,” Tim says firmly. “Seriously, I’m not texting you on your work phone, that’s a terrible idea.”

“If you say so, man,” Kon says, ducking his head a little like he’s trying to hide his smile. It’d work better if he weren’t taller than him, probably.

The bastard is still holding his hand, so it’s only fair, Tim figures.

God, since when is Kon this cute, anyway? He's always annoyingly hot, obviously–leaning more strongly towards the “annoying”, for obvious reasons–but he isn't usually cute. Tim wasn't prepared for that. He hasn't had the time to build up the necessary defenses against it.

“I say so,” Tim says. “What color do you want?”

“You're a very weird dude, you know,” Kon says with a little laugh, shaking his head.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young just us #young justice #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon #long post

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mundivagantsoul · 7 months

Text

✩ Bookshopist Moonboys✩

Part 1: Nerds, Dead Trees and Dust

Moon Knight System x Reader

A/N: Hi all! This is my first time posting my writing. I apologies for poor grammar and spelling, my only excuse is daydreaming throughout school when I was was supposed to be learning this stuff. If you have any feedback or comments please let me know, I'd love to hear from you! Hope you enjoy ♡

Warnings: mentions of violence (nature documentaries), coarse language, British lingo?

Word Count: 1K

Masterlist | Next ->

-------------------- ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ---------------------

Seated in the dim living room light with tea-steamed glasses, a certain chocolate-curled Brit scrolls aimlessly through job adverts until a particular post catches his attention

Full-time bookseller- The Old Town Bookshop

Taking a sip of his Earl Grey, Steven opens the listing, greeted with the classic rhetorical questions and enthusiasm only found in job adverts.

Love books? Are you a passionate reader who wishes to share your enthusiasm for literature with others? Come work at “The Old Town Bookshop”, where you can expand your literary knowledge and create a meaningful career with fellow book lovers!

“Living amongst books isn’t enough for you?” Marc quips from a small mirror placed deliberately on the desk's corner.

“I thought you cared about animals and the environment, and yet here you are, further supporting an industry that indoctrinates the destruction of their homes?” Jake nonchalantly adds from an adjacent mirror, oblivious to the surprised faces of his headmates.

Marc raises a brow, “Since when did you become an animal rights advocate?”

Jake shrugs, gaze subconsciously finding Viejita lazing on the lounge before returning back to Marc. “Dunno. Guess I actually pay attention when Steven puts on his nature documentaries”.

Marc mocks being insulted. “Oh I’m sorry, I just don’t find watching baby antelopes getting mauled to death entertaining”.

“Of course, you much rather maul people to death yourself”, Jake's voice mimics Marc’s, enticing a scoff from the latter.

“You’re one to talk Mr. I abuse wheelchairs and kidnap patients from psych wards and then murder them in the back of my fancy car”.

Steven interrupts the dispute before it can get out of hand.

“Bloody hell, Lads’ shut it! Look, if I’m being honest, I’m not gonna take animal ethics from either of you carnivores”, then adding, “And need I remind you two, you’re the reason we’re in this dire situation”.

It’s true, between Marc, Jake and Khonshu’s shenanigans, they’d managed to lose their only legal job, and unfortunately, being an ancient Egyptian deity’s ‘fist of vengeance’ doesn’t pay well.

Marc begins to grasp at any logic that means they don’t have to work amongst nerds, dead trees and dust. “Well… Jake and I aren’t avid readers, and the job description says we must be ‘passionate readers’”.

“Well… I’d say with the number of ‘adult’ novels you read, you’d be classified as a passionate reader”. Steven states matter-of-factly, earning a snort from Jake and a finger from Marc.

“Look, capitalism exists, fish need feeding, and it’s either this, working at the laundromat on 6th, or grovelling for my old job back. You pick”.

Sharing a glance, they sigh, “Fine, we’ll work at your nerd hub”.

Triumphantly, Steven opens the application form.

-------------------- ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ---------------------

A weathered sign inscribed with “The Old Town Bookshop” hangs atop the quaint corner store. Parallel white arches and a broad window decorate its petite structure with morning sunlight reflecting off the seemingly fresh coat of indigo, enriching the buildings' otherwise aged aesthetic.

Breathing out a puff of warm air, Steven adjusts the strap of his shoulder bag, a nervous habit he’d picked up over the years. Peering at the lit window, he opens the door. Greeted by the homely smell of paper and ink, Steven gazes around at the array of books and colours, marvelling at the unexpectedly large floor plan.

"Like the Tardis". Marc hums from the window reflection whilst Jake observes their surroundings, habitually checking for threats.

Strolling further into the store, a warm pressure rubs itself along his calf. Peering down, Steven’s met with honey eyes and golden fur.

“¿Gatito?” Jake chirps, seemingly forgetting about surveying the area.

The cat meows in return as if replying to Jake’s comment.

“Great, now we’ll be covered in dust and cat hair”. Marc comments, trying to remain apathetic about their adorable feline coworker.

Kneeing down, Steven scratches the tabby’s head, earning a delightful purr from their new acquaintance. Checking the collar, ‘Dorian’ is engraved on a fish-shaped name tag.

Dorian huh? Makes sense, you’re a pretty lookin’ fella. Steven observes before returning to the task at hand.

Following the familiar monotonous sound of a sticker gun, the Brit finds himself walking towards the counter where, surrounded by a pile of new releases, you are busy at work. The boys take in your features, entranced as the morning light caresses your face, highlighting the soft beauty that adorns your profile. Eyes roaming over your features, they notice your slight frown of concentration and inaudible movements of your mouth.

As Steven approaches the counter, your words become interpretable.

“How are we already getting Christmas and holiday content when it hasn’t even been Halloween yet?” you grumble, condemning whoever decided it was a suitable practice. “I swear if I start hearing Mariah Carey, I’m gonna…”.

Someone clearing their throat interrupts your malicious thoughts. As your head shoots up, you notice the fidgeting man in front of the counter. Shit. How long has he been standing there? You think, face heating up at the possibility of him witnessing your moral decadence.

“So sorry to bother you love. I’m here for my shift? I was supposed to start today… I’m Steven, by the way”.

The realisation smacks you in the face like a flying stop sign. Crap, it is already 8 o'clock? Internally criticising yourself for losing track of time, you scramble for an apology. “Right- yes, Steven, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise the time”. Sticking out your hand, you introduce yourself.

God, your name sounds as beautiful as you look, They simultaneously think.

A warm, calloused hand engulfs your own as Steven rolls your name over his tongue. “All good love happens to the best of us”.

You smile warmly, and suddenly, the prospect of spending 9 hours a day surrounded by nerds, dead trees and dust doesn't seem too bad.

Thank you for reading ♡

Also please go check out the fabulous @viejita-n-co who created Viejita! You’ll find a bunch of fanart and pictures of the boys too ♡

#steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight #moonknight #bookshopist moon boys

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bwabys-scenarios · 6 months

Text

Pampering

Kurapika x Fem!Reader x Leorio

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

warnings: period sex, breeding, cockwarming, reader gets eaten out on her period, cum eating, threesome

A/N: this is super self indulgent, I woke up to my period and needed to write something sweet and comforting with my favorite boys<3

summary: If Kurapika and Leorio can agree on one thing when it comes to you, it’s that you deserve all the love and pampering in the world. So when you get your period in the middle of the night, they’re determined to make you as comfortable and happy as possible, given the situation.

taglist: @desiray562 @lovelyxkazuha @ashdownunderscorebeloved @stygianoir

if you would like to be added to the NSFW taglist, comment a ❤️!! make sure you have your AGE in your bio, and that you’re able to be tagged/mentioned!

On most nights, you slept in bed with Kurapika. These days, after gathering all of his clans eyes and giving up on his vengeance with the Phantom Troupe, Kurapika became a stay at home boyfriend and you a stay at home girlfriend. Kurapika didn’t have to work, he had enough money from his days as a blacklist Hunter to last him several lifetimes, and neither of your boyfriends ever allowed you to spend a single dime on anything but yourself. Even then, they still just LOVED to pamper you.

Leorio often worked night shifts at the local hospital, and came back in the early morning for some sleepy cuddles with you. This left you and Kurapika alone together during the night.

This night was no different. Kurapika had held you, whispering words of love and adoration as the two of you fell asleep. Unfortunately, the blonde had a tight grip on you, even in his sleep, which meant when you woke up covered in blood, you had to wake him up too.

“(Name)? Oh, oh my god are you okay?”

The blonde immediately began to panic, his eyes searching you for any wounds before you stopped him. “It’s not like that, I’m okay. It’s…”

You become flustered, looking away from your boyfriend. “I started my period.”

He seems relieved, but his expression switches back to worry in an instant. “Are you in pain? Are you supposed to bleed this much? Shit, Leorio knows more about this sort of thing than me…”

Kurapika notices your flustered expression. “(Name), my angel, what’s wrong?”

“… I made a mess, this is really embarrassing for me.”

He blinks, glancing down at the blood stained sheets before his eyes soften. “My angel, there’s nothing to be embarrassed of. You can’t help it, your menstrual cycle is natural.”

Kurapika holds onto your hand, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “I’ll start you a bath, then wash the sheets while you clean up, okay? Good thing you thought to buy extra sets of sheets. Neither Leorio or I thought it was necessary. You have all the common sense, that’s our lovely girlfriend for you.”

You blush, and allow him to carry you to the bathroom. You cringe when you spot a patch of blood on his sleeve from holding onto you, but he simply drops his shirt into the hamper.

Kurapika starts you a bath, helping to undress you. He’s a very hands on boyfriend, and has a bad habit of babying you, but in this moment you really appreciate how sweet and caring he is. He places your dirtied clothes in the hamper before leaving to wash the sheets.

You sit in the warm water, letting it soothe your cramping body. A few minutes later he returns with a new set of pajamas and panties for you. “I hope this is okay, I picked out something more soft and comfortable.”

When you start to cry he quickly scampers to pick up the pajamas. “Y-you don’t like these? I can get you a different pair-“

You shake your head and he stops. “No, sorry I’m just feeling emotional right now. You’re being so sweet to me, I just…”

He kneels next to the bathtub, pulling you closer and placing a kiss on your cheek. “Shh, I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do as your boyfriend. You deserve all the love and sweetness in the world, let me take care of you, okay?”

Kurapika helps you out of the bath, giving you reassuring kisses as he dries you off. He offered to help dress you and even help put your pad on, but you shooed him out of the bathroom. “I can do that myself!”

The blonde sat in the bedroom waiting for you, his eyes a little tired. When you finally walk out of the bathroom, he smiles, tucking you into bed before climbing in with you.

As you fall asleep, he texts Leorio, updating him on the situation. Just like Kurapika, he becomes worried, instructing the blonde on how to help soothe your cramps and take care of you until he gets home.

———————

You wake up to the sounds of someone rustling around in your shared bedroom’s closet. A soft groan escapes your lips, causing the noise to stop. “(Name), are you awake? Are you hurting?”

Kurapika crouches down next to you, pushing your hair out of your face to get a good look at you. “Yeah, I am cramping a bit…”

The blonde sighs, seemingly pained to know you aren’t feeling well. “I see, it’s good that Leorio told me some ways to soothe your pain. I just found the heating pad, would you like it?”

That explains the rustling sound. You nod, and he plugs the heating pad up, placing its cover over it before laying it on your abdomen. “Mmm…”

He seems beyond relieved when you relax at the comforting heat, his head moving to rest on your lap. “Is that helping, love?”

“Yes, I’m already feeling better. I think…” you yawn, playing with his hair, causing him to nuzzle further into your lap. “I think I’ll sleep in a little…”

“That’s perfectly fine with me, angel. You need your rest.”

He sighs contentedly. “Leorio will be home in a few hours, he’s going to grab some more pads and little treats for you on the way home.”

You nod sleepily, your fingertips caressing your cheek. “That’s so… sweet..”

You drift off again, and eventually feel Kurapika climb back in with you. The two of you share the warmth of the heating pad. Sometimes, you swear your boyfriend has to be half cat with the way he almost purrs and insists on cuddling with you, nuzzling into your body as much as he can.

When you woke up next, it was to the smell of breakfast foods. This confused you however, since you’re the only person in the relationship that can cook.

“Yeah, yeah I got the chocolates. And some extra Midol.”

You move out of bed, stepping into your bunny slippers before walking into the living room.

Your boyfriends were standing in the kitchen nearby, unloading groceries and looking over a few takeout boxes. “Guys?”

The two look up, both giving you a worried look before they rush towards you. “Princess, are you feeling any better? After you eat I can give you some Midol.”

Leorio hugs you, his big, warm hands rubbing gently at your lower back. Although you’ve dated Kurapika longer, the blonde wasn’t around much, so you spent a lot more time with Leorio, even before you started dating him too. He knew where your aches were and how to make you feel better, and you sigh in relief when he massages your sore spots.

“‘Mmm… yeah, I’m starving. Kurapika, how long did I sleep in?”

The blonde peeked at her from behind Leorio, pushing the tall man out of his way before giving her a hug of his own. “Its only 11 am, you didn’t sleep in long. I just woke up an hour ago myself, so I got some cleaning done.”

And you start to tear up again, giving him a kiss. “I love you both, so much…”

You pull Leorio in for a kiss of his own, hugging your boyfriends tight. The two smile and kiss your cheeks, laughing. “Okay princess, let’s get you fed.”

———————

After eating some waffles, eggs, and sausage for breakfast, Leorio gives you some Midol and plops you down on the couch. He’s quick to sit with you, pulling up into his lap so he can massage your lower back and abdomen.

“Ahh…”

You sigh contentedly, almost mewling. This alone was enough to make the both of them clear their throats, but when you start to push Leorio’s hand down your tummy until his finger dips under the waistband of your panties, suddenly there’s something poking into your ass.

“(Name)?”

Leorio swallows, but you seem oblivious to how the situation looks. You’re just wanting him to massage where it hurts. “Hurts… right here…”

Kurapika sits next to the two, pulling you a little closer so he could help massage you. “Leorio, get your mind out of the gutter.”

He pulls you into his lap, slipping his hand under your panties to rub exactly where you asked. “Is that better, angel?”

You sigh in contentment, nuzzling into his chest. “Mhm…”

Leorio huffs, scooting closer to pull you until you’re sitting in both of their laps. “I can put aside any horniness for my princess…” he says softly, gently massaging your sore breasts.

You feel so happy and content as your boyfriends do their best to make you feel better. They’re so sweet, giving you reassuring kisses and soft touches when you feel pain because of a cramp or ache.

“How does takeout for dinner sound, princess?”

You nod, stretching a little. “Mmm… I wanna bath… the warm water helps…”

Neither of them argue, despite the fact you took a bath earlier. Leorio carries you to the bathroom as Kurapika starts the bath, the two undressing you before undressing themselves.

When the three were picking an apartment, they made sure there would be enough room for the three of them to bathe and sleep together. It would only be fair, because if only one of the got to hold you at a time, jealousy would rise between them.

Once in the bath, you sat between Kurapaiks legs as Leorio washed you, taking his time to massage the soap into your skin. “You’re tense, hopefully this will help…”

As a doctor, Leorio worries over you constantly. He just wants the best for you, and can’t pamper you enough, especially when you’re hurting.

He reaches your pussy, glancing up at you for your permission before he washes you. He knew not to use any soap there, gently rubbing to clean you. “That feel okay, princess?”

Kurapika reaches for your breasts as Leorio’s thumb rubs circles into your clit. “Mhm… feeling… a lot better…”

You feel Kurapika’s cock harden against your back, and can see Leorio’s sticking out of the water. “Mmm…”

You wiggle a little, scooting so your hips lined up with Kurapika’s. He smiles, sliding into you, keeping you balanced in his cock as the two tend to you. “That’s my pretty girl. I heard sex is supposed to help relieve some of the pain during your period.” Leorio says, leaning forward to lock your lips with his as he stimulates your little bundle of nerves.

It feels nice to have Kurapika inside of you while the two pamper you. Leorio scrubs your hair, moaning when you stroke his needy length. “Mmph, thank you princess…”

Kurapika whispers sweet words of love and adoration as he washes you, lathering soap over your tits. “You’re so pretty, (Name). My precious angel, I’d do anything to make you feel better.”

You make such cute sounds, Leorio can’t help but speed up his movements, rinsing off your tits before taking a nipple into his mouth. “Hnn, Leorio!”

Kurapika gasps softly, holding onto your thighs. He tries not to bounce you on his cock, if you wanted him to move you would ask him, instead, he just focused on the feeling of you squeezing around him. “Mm, fuck (Name)…”

He massaged your breast as Leorio suckled on the other one, pushing you close to your climax. “G-gonna!”

You cum, squeezing Kurapika’s cock and moving your hand around Leorio’s faster. They both groaned, but didn’t cum. They finished washing you, helping you out if the bath and dressing you in pajamas. It wasn’t night time, but they wanted you to be as comfortable as possible.

Though they still pamper you and take care of you, their touches linger in certain places, and you can tell they’re still horny. Honestly, your hormones are Nanking you got and bothered too, and after dinner you whine and pull them both into bed. “P-please… I want… I want you both so much…”

And how can they say no when their precious princess was in pain and needy?

Leorio was quick to tug off his pants, Kurapika running to the bathroom to grab a towel to place under your hips. “Hey, wait a second Leorio!”

He pouts at his friend, then lifts up your hips so Kurapika can place the towel under you. “Thank you, Pika. That’s a good idea…” you coo, and he comforts you as Leorio pushes into your bloody cunt.

“F-fuck, so good princess…”

You whimper, and Kurapika shushes you with sweet kisses, propping your head up on his lap as he plays with your hair. “It’s okay, angel. Such a good girl, taking it so well…”

He gives you his fingers to suck on as Leorio thrusts into you. Leorio is gentle, his movements more sensual and loving than usual. This is all for you, to help your pain and to make you feel better, his own pleasure comes second. He wants to pound into you, make you gasp and whine out his name, but he takes his time, leaning down to suckle on your breasts.

Leorio keeps his hands on your hips, whispering sweet nothings into your ears. Kurapika can feel his cock hardening in his pants, and it pokes into your cheek. You give him a smile, placing a kiss on his bulge. “Love you… love you both more than anything…”

Leorio pulls out and cum on your tummy, a little bit of your blood dripping from his cock turning his cum a pretty pink color. Kurapika takes this chance to pull you into his lap, his cock out and ready for you.

“C’mon angel, let’s get you filled up. Gonna have my baby, right?”

You nod frantically, whining and wiggling your hips. “P-please! C-cum inside me lots!”

Leorio takes a moment to recover before sitting in front of the two of you as Kurapika bounces you on his cock, the dark haired man smiling and rubbing your blood soaked thighs. “You’d be so cute with a little baby bump, princess.”

Although Leorio doesn’t want to be the one to get you pregnant yet, he still desperately wants to see the changes your body would go through. Kurapika was all for rebuilding his clan with you, and had made it clear to you at the beginning of your relationship. The three of you have been trying for a baby for the past few weeks, and every time you had sex, Kurapika went feral with the thought of this being the time he got you pregnant.

“That’s my pretty girl, gonna get you nice and full, I promise.”

You whine as he raises his hips to meet yours, his movements a bit rougher. Usually, Kurapika would scold Leorio for being too rough with you, but now it was Leorio’s time to place a hand on Kurapika’s hip. “Hey, careful. She’s sensitive right now.”

Kurapika pants, nodding before slowing down to a steady, sensual rhythm. He wanted to make you feel good, to ease your pain if only a little. “So sorry angel, lemme make it up to you.”

He rubs circles into her clit, placing kissed and gentle bites on her neck. This was enough to help her relax. “Mmm… so sweet to me…”

This went on for a while, and after Kurapika came inside of you a few times, Leorio took over.

When Leorio would accidentally cum inside of you, Kurapika was quick to drop to his knees and eat Leorio’s cum out of you. “It’s okay, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry for a second, love.”

By the end of the night, you were full of cum and completely satisfied. Your boyfriends helped clean you up, whispering praise as they took turns eating you out. “So pretty…”

After getting changed into a new set of pajamas and cleaning up the sheets, the three of you eat ice cream and watch a movie, cuddled up together.

Having two boyfriends can be a bit hard sometimes, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. They loved you more than anything, and made sure you felt beautiful and loved with every opportunity they got.

“I love you, boys…” you say softly as you begin to drift off. They kiss your cheeks, smiling before nuzzling into you.

“Love you too, princess.”

“I love you dearly, angel.”

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danikamariewrites · 8 months

Note

hello! I just read the Cassian taking care of the reader who has depression and it made my day so much better! Can you please write a similar one with Azriel as well? 💕

Let Me Be Your Sunshine

Azriel x reader

Warnings: mental heath struggles and depression

You woke up late, again. This was the third day in a row that you slept in. Usually if you sleep in Azriel wakes you up when it’s still morning, but it’s afternoon now.

You did need to catch up on your sleep though. After two weeks of waking up early and going to sleep at ungodly hours you were exhausted.

Padding into the bathroom you look at yourself in the mirror, rubbing at your face. Your hair was in knots, you’d been too lazy to brush them out so you had just been throwing your hair up. And the bags under your eyes were deep purple they were almost black.

Letting out a long sigh you lean over to rest your head on the cool marble counter. It was time to admit that things were bad. Your depression was clearly back with a vengeance. Hell, you couldn’t even lift your arms to brush your hair.

You needed Azriel. He always knows what to do.

Exiting the bedroom you set out to find Azriel. You found him sitting in the living room perched on his favorite arm chair reading. “Az,” you croaked out. As soon as he laid eyes on you he was rushing over to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

Your eyes slid shut as you pushed into his chest soaking up his warmth. Az was so comfortable you just wanted to stay in his arms forever.

He tried to run his fingers through your hair but hit a knot. Picking up strands of your hair to inspect it you heard his heart beat increase slightly. Azriel pulls away from you, your eyes opening, cupping your face in his hands to inspect you.

A sad look crept onto his face when he saw how tired you were. “Oh, baby,” he said softly. Rubbing his thumb across your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered closed again at the feeling of his fingers. “I’m tired Az. I’m so, so tired.”

Azriel picked you up, resting your head on his shoulder, carrying you back to the bedroom. “I know baby. I got you, it’s ok.” He sets you down on the bed, grabbing your hair brush and sitting behind you. Azriel was gentle when it came to detangling your hair. He never pulled like you did.

Once he was done, he braided your hair in a loose plait making sure the hair tie wasn’t too tight either. Azriel kissed the back of your head, whisper, “Do you want something to eat?” You nod slowly nod.

“Let’s get you changed first. Getting dressed might make you feel a little better.” You nod again giving Az a weak smile. Az picked out a sweater and comfy pants for you. After he helps you change you cling to him again. Picking you up he takes you down to the kitchen.

Placing you on the counter he places a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. “What would you like?” You shrug because honestly you could eat anything right now. “Soup? Or something more filling?” You shook your head, “Soup and some bread would be good.” Your voice comes out small as your eyes meet his.

Azriel gives you a sad smile and moves away to make you your soup. He decides to make two bowls so he can eat with you. Azriel knows you’ll feel bad if it’s just you eating and he doesn’t want to give you something else to spiral about.

You two eat in silence. You brain the bowl and seem more awake than you did earlier. That makes Azriel relax a little bit. It’s good that you’re eating, you need to keep your strength up. To give yourself something to do you pick up both bowls, bringing them over to the sink to wash them.

Padding back over to Azriel you slide onto his lap, curling into him. “Do you wanna talk about it?” “Yeah. I need to or it’s going to eat me up and I don’t want to get that bad again.” You sigh out through your nose. “I’m here for you, y/n.” He says against your hair.

So you begin to tell Azriel everything. Your current worries, your anxiety, and anything else bothering you. And he listened to every single word while holding onto you tightly.

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane @aroseinvelaris @twsssmlmaa

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader imagine #acotar reader fic #acotar imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel imagine #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger

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alovesongtheywrote · 6 months

Note

holy crap girl… nightmare academia, i just wanna smush them into a locked room together AHHHHH

♥ Summary: oh man, you're not the only one. in this chapter of nightmare academia, morgan and garcia hijack a prank. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings: none?

♥ A/N: careful babes, the plot's getting closer

♥ Word Count: 1402

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

“BABY GIRL, YOU’RE NOT GONNA BELIEVE THIS!” Morgan exclaimed as he burst into Garcia’s Batcave. He probably wasn’t loud enough to warrant all-caps, but he was definitely excited enough to warrant all-caps, and that’s why Garcia spun around in her chair, preemptive excitement building up inside of her.

“What is it? Is someone dead? Is someone pregnant? Are you pregnant? Am I gonna be a god-mom? Again?”

“What? No. Guess who I just got off the phone with.”

“Savannah? JJ? Hotch? Blake? Reid?”

“Well, it's none of those, but you’re close enough with that last one, so I’m just gonna give it to you,” Morgan leaned in, showing Penelope his phone screen as she clapped her hands together in excitement. Your name was the first one in the call log.

Garcia’s perfectly glossed lips popped open, “Is that-!? Is that Spencer’s-!?”

“And are they-!?”

“They are just as perfect for him as we suspected, if not more.”

“Wh- well, why did they call, what did they want?”

“Well, first, they wanted information on the rabies case, which I thought was weird until-”

Penelope cut him off with a gasp, “He’s using horrific case facts to keep them at a distance!”

“Something like that? Apparently, he’s using horrific case facts for quote-unquote, vengeance. The lovebirds aren't as romantic as we thought.”

"Is it a case of enemies to lovers?"

Morgan paused, raising an eyebrow, "I'm gonna need you to elaborate, baby girl."

"You know! Enemies to lovers! The romantic trope where they go from bitter enemies to the most adorable of spouses! Oh, that is right out of a rom-com!”

"Whatever you say, doll," Morgan continued, “But I'm pretty sure there aren't a lot of rom-coms that involve rabies in any capacity."

"That's because you haven't seen enough of them. Anyway, tell me more about the call! What happened next!"

"Well, initially, they told me they were a criminal justice student, but they made the mistake of using their real name.”

“What did you do!?”

“I played along with it until I asked them where they’d heard about the case- they folded fast, but I assured them that when it comes to Reid, I am the prank master.”

Garcia kept a smile on her face, even though she knew her friend was technically wrong, “I mean… technically you’re not. He beat you with that screaming thing, on the plane. Remember?”

“Oh yes, I remember. I also remember that you had a lil’ something to do with that, which means, Reid cheated and I am the prank master.”

“Well, technically I am the prank mistress- but whatever, it’s all digressions, what happened next?”

“Well, I volunteered to be a part of their next prank.”

“Which is?”

“Stealing all of pretty boy’s mugs and rigging the cabinet they’re stored in to scream at him every time it opens.”

“Ah, so this is revenge for both of you.”

“Perhaps,” Morgan’s smile betrayed the truth.

“I love it. There’s just one thing- Morgan, my lovely, do you have the technical knowledge to make that happen?”

“Well, I’ve definitely got the physical knowledge. Cabinets are easy, the mechanical parts are all in the bag- but we do need a little assistance from you.”

“From moi?” Penelope gasped, though it sounded like she had been expecting this outcome. Mostly because she had.

“We need a little bit of programming work that the genius won’t see coming. So, are you in?”

“Now that, gorgeous, sounds like a conspiracy. I’m in.”

Garcia spun in her chair, turning back to face her monitor before immediately turning back to face Morgan, “For the record, we will be sabotaging this plan so that it backfires on both of them and makes them fall in love, oui?”

“Baby girl, would I have come to you if that wasn’t the plan?”

“You would not, and that is precisely why I love you.”

You did your best not to sing the Mission Impossible theme as you carried out your part of the prank. You failed. The theme just came out of you as you took the mugs two by two from Reid’s office and into yours.

Once you’d stolen Reid’s horde of mugs, you set the trap in place. You had to be incredibly careful. Derek Morgan’s instructions had been very specific, and you followed them to the letter. While you wouldn’t usually work with the FBI, this was a special case. This was necessary.

And lord, was your little mechanism a beautiful one. You gave it a quick test, closing the cabinet door before swinging it open again- once the dulcet sounds of screaming met your ears, you slammed it shut again.

You’d done so just in time.

“Professor (L/N), I’m not sure if you’re aware, but this isn’t your office.”

“I’m not aware of anything, Reid- I mean, we’ve been over this, honey, I’m fucking stupid. Y’know, I’m starting to worry about that eidetic memory of yours.”

“Don’t,” he stepped into the office, standing with you behind the desk, “It’s none of your concern.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, close enough that you could almost feel his breath across your lips. If you wanted to, you could reach out and touch his chest- you could fuck with his perpetually crooked tie, but god, why would you?

It was clear that he was waiting for you to move. When you actually did move out of his way, it shocked him.

He kept his eyes on you, watching wearily as you wandered through the small box of his office. You examined every book and every doctorate the room had to offer- and he never stopped looking. He expected you to say something, do something, or hurt him superficially with a mean comment or a dumb prank, but you didn’t do anything.

With his focus still on you, Reid opened the mug cabinet.

Screams filled the room. Spencer jumped back, smacking into one of his bookshelves before sliding halfway down the wall. He took several books down with him, knocking them to the ground as his slender fingers grasped helplessly for purchase somewhere.

Your laughter echoed in his ears, a grating, awful, beautiful sound mixed in with the clatter of falling objects. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Adrenaline filled each and every one of his limbs.

He was going to kill you for this.

“(L/N)!” he yelled out your name, struggling to pull himself up from his half-bent position. You’d never heard him sound so angry- and you couldn’t stop laughing.

“Are you-” you wheezed, “Are you okay?”

“No! Come here and help me up!”

There he was- his voice took on a higher pitch, signalling his indignation. You walked over, offering him a hand up. Of course, he immediately pulled you down to his level. You both collapsed to the floor, you with a screech and Reid with a triumphant cry.

He sat against the bookshelf, a little dishevelled but overall okay. You just gave up, lying on the floor with your head inches from Reid’s thigh. The mechanism in the cabinet kept screaming in the background.

“So, how’d you pull this one off?” Spencer asked, speaking over your laughter.

“Made a couple of calls. Got in touch with the FBI. I’d tell you more, but I’d have to kill you.”

"Wow, you contacted the FBI about me? I must really bother you, doctor."

"Not in the slightest. You're a minor nuisance at best."

“I'm sure. So, did Morgan help you with this? Did Garcia?”

“Maybe both of them. Maybe a little bit.”

Spencer sighed, “You are all terrible.”

“I wish I could say I was sorry.”

The two of you stayed there on the ground for a moment, just listening to the sound of screaming. Then, the sound changed- smooth saxophone emanated from the cabinet. You recognized that melody. Was that? No, it couldn’t be-

“Is that Careless Whisper?”

You and Reid stayed frozen on the floor. The voice of George Michael spilled over you, barely covering the awkward silence. Eventually, you sat up and shut the cabinet. The song didn’t stop. You bit your lip, and when you spoke again it was through clenched teeth.

“Do- do your friends want us to fuck?”

“I hate to say it, but… I think they do,” he paused for a moment, “Hey, (L/N)? Where are my mugs?”

♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #x reader #nightmare academia

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months

Text

Unexpected 37

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You lazily eat the penne, noodle by noodle, from the plate balanced on your stomach. The evening air cools as Suzanne sits close by, her pasta mostly untouched as she sips non-alcoholic wine from a glass.

Lloyd has been elusive since his return, though you've heard some telltale banging. He continues to haunt you like some Poe horror.

"I couldn't do it," Suzanne trills, "I can barely stand more than an hour with the jackass and I get paid to."

"Mmm, yeah, wasn't exactly my first choice, but accidents happen. Actually, you know him, no such thing as an accident, more a lack of accountability."

"Oh, ew," she scrunches her nose, "he didn't strike me as the baby type."

"Me either which is why… well, nevermind."

You spear another noodle and carefully angle it past your lips, trying not to dribble any sauce. It's been a while since you had someone you could just talk to. Dottie is a great support but she's still Lloyd's mother.

"What?" She prompts as she leans her chin in her hand.

"Oh, you know, I'm the mother. Means I'm gonna be doing all the work. And why? Because he thought it would be fun… he gets to have the shiny bright moments and I'll be changing diapers and cleaning up puke."

"Typical," she snarls. "Never likes to get his hands dirty."

She takes another sip of wine and she slowly puts the glass down. Her lips slant as a thought sparks in her eyes. She points at you and clicks her tongue.

"What happened with the mustache?"

"What do you mean?"

"He shaved. Months ago. Was that you?"

You cackle as you recall that. It was rather amusing to witness the shame and panic of his drunken mistake. You rest your fork against the rim of the plate.

"Did it himself. Got blitzed off his face and just, shoop, gone," you make a motion above your lip, "idiot."

“Ha, wow. Damn. I was hoping you had a bit of vengeance on the prick. I mean… you still could. Wait til he falls asleep…” she smirks, “you know once, were were on a flight and I probably could’ve done it.”

“I’m already expecting one baby, I don’t need another,” you scoff. “Here, can you get this?”

You lift the plate and hold it out to her. She’s quick to take it and puts it beside her own. You plant your hands on the sides of the chair and grunt, pushing yourself up with excruciating effort. You manage to sit forward, breathless.

“Jeez, you need help?” She hovers near you.

“Probably,” you struggle to turn your legs over the edge.

“Is it really that miserable?” She asks.

“What? Being with him?”

“I mean, that too, but being pregnant,” she offers her arm.

“Eh, it’s just the cherry on top of an already stacked shit sandwich.”

“I see why he’s with you,” she snorts, “you are both very creative. Disgustingly so.”

You roll your eyes and grab onto her arm. Before you can stand, you hear your name. Not ‘peaches’, not ‘baby face’, not ‘sweet cheeks’, your name. Lloyd stomps out, waggling his finger.

“Suzanne, step away from my wife.”

“Huh?’

Suzanne twists to face Lloyd, “Christ, I’m helping her.”

“No, you’re not,” he storms down, shoulder back, nostrils flaring, “she’s not supposed to be walking around.” He comes up to you and puts his palm up to stop you, “I’ll take care of her.”

“Lloyd, I can make it inside.”

“The doctor said–”

“God, I know what the doctor said,” you hiss.

“So listen. Neither of us wanna end up back in the hospital, now do we?”

You sigh. You and Suzanne share a look. You recognise the dull twinkle in her eye. You’re kindred spirits. Cursed with the nuisance of this man, only she gets to walk away.

“So, Suzanne,” Lloyd plants a hand on your shoulder as he faces his colleague, “you on your way out?”

“Um, I guess, but–”

“That’s great, I don’t need to show you out, do I?”

She smiles dryly and tilts her head, “not at all. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Lloyd sputters.

“Oh yeah, we’re doing lunch, right, babe?” She looks at you expectantly.

Your brows lift and you take a second to register what she’s doing. You nod. “Uh, yep, yeah, that’ll be great.”

“Peaches, you should be relaxing. You’re all tense,” Lloyd squeezes your shoulder, “I can feel it–”

“So that probably means she needs a nice back rub, huh,” Suzanne suggests with a devilish glint in her eye.

Lloyd clucks, “yeah, I guess it does so… leave.”

Suzanne chuckles. She raises her palms and backs away. “Fine, I’ll fuck off. For now.”

Lloyd sneers at her as she slowly turns and she struts off proudly, fishing in her pocket until her car chirps and unlocks. You watch her get in and deflate, just a little. It’s just you and him. Again.

You shrug Lloyd’s hand away and rub your stomach, keeping one hand on the lounger. As Suzanne backs down the driveway, you issue a glum sigh. Without her to distract you, you feel ever pang and pinch in your muscles.

“Alright, where to?” Lloyd faces you.

“Huh?”

“Sofa, bath… bed?” He winks, “I think I could help ease the tension.”

“Just… inside,” you mutter, “please.”

He pauses. You avoid his gaze as you look out across the yard. It’s only then the heavy epiphany settles over you. This place is a prison. It’s the last place you’ll live for the rest of your life. With him and soon his child. You’ll never be without a warden to keep you in line.

“Alright,” he bends and scoops you up, slowly, with effort. You feel horrible as he turns cautiously, steps stunted and stiff.

“Lloyd, you’re going to hurt yourself doing this,” you hook your arm around his shoulders and try to ease the weight.

“I’m fine,” he grunts as he gets to the door.

You reach for the door to open it. He turns and sidles in awkwardly. It’s a tight shuffle but he makes it inside. He carries you back to the living room and sits you on the couch. He stands, cheeks tinged and forehead sweaty.

“Tea?” He offers.

“No,” you recline with a groan, “why are you being nice?”

“I’m your husband.”

“You were yelling at me an hour ago.”

“Because I’m worried.”

“About me or the baby?”

He sniffs and grips his hips, “both.”

“Eh, sure,” you dismiss him flatly, “I just wanna lay her. Alone.”

“Well that’s not going to happen,” Lloyd states.

“Of course,” you grumble.

“I am going to rub your back and you’re going to relax. You need to, peaches, for yourself as much as the kid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. “Really, don’t bother–”

He pushes you up, grasping your shoulders as he angles onto the couch behind you. He sits between you and the arm, hooking his leg around you as he settles in. He rolls his thumbs into you, forcing a moan from your lips as you muscles contract in response.

“Feels good?” He asks.

“Erm,” you refuse to indulge him.

“Come on, baby face.”

You’re quiet as you hang your head forward. You’ll enjoy it but you don’t have to admit it. You hug your stomach as he slides his hands down your back, pressing his knuckles into each knot.

“Do you always have to ruin everything?” You ask at last.

“What?”

“Chase away everyone. What am I not allowed to have friends?”

“What–”

“If you don’t want me… like this,” you gesture helplessly, “you have to give me something, anything, that doesn’t make me absolutely miserable.”

He exhales and his hands keep moving. You let your head drift to the side as you laze into his touch.

“You don’t know Suzanne. She’s… well, she’s a lot like me.”

“Funny, cause she said the same about me.”

“Oh, really,” he scoffs.

“Yeah, think you’ve rubbed off on me.”

“Hell yeah I have,” he snickers, “rub off to you and over you, on you…”

“Would you– do you ever just stop?”

He hums and puffs out through his nose, “alright, peaches, you’re right. You can’t be all alone all the time. Just…keep those walls up. You got good instincts.”

“Mmm, yeah, just bad luck.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #dark!lloyd hansen #drabble #au #series #unexpected #the gray man

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mixtape-racha · 8 months

Text

it's a scream, baby | hyunlix

chapter fourteen: you look like you've seen a ghost

words: 961 // warnings: car crash, graphic depictions of dead bodies, description of internal body parts, use of a gun, knives

OFFICIAL GHOSTFACE KILL COUNT: 011

with her heart thumping in her chest, (y/n) trudged down the road, feeling more and more sick as changbin’s house came closer into view. it was torture, bringing herself back to the place she had only just escaped, but she would do anything to save hyunjin. even if she had to sacrifice herself. even if she had to take someone else’s life. she’d do it all to not lose him too.

there was a small turn-off into the outskirts of the woods as she approached changbin’s house - it was on his parents’ land, and it meant she wouldn’t have to walk down the main road. the walk felt longer on the main road, anyway, seemingly endless, whereas at least in the wooded area she’d be able to watch nature as she forced herself to keep walking.

she knew if she followed the line of bushes next to the main road, within maybe 5 minutes she’d be at the bottom of changbin’s ridiculously large front garden. as soon as she hit the lining of oak trees, she’d be able to see his front door and save hyunjin - hopefully. she prayed that it wasn’t just another sick game, and she wouldn’t arrive to see hyunjin’s dead body, telling her she was too late, or worse, that he would’ve died either way.

she was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t realize she had reached the line of oak trees, huffing out a breath of air as she looked around. almost as quickly as she moved, she froze, something catching her eye that made her stomach turn. even from the back, she could tell it was jisung - her best friend in the entire world. she was so caught up in the hope that he got away, the fact that he might be dead hadn’t even crossed her mind.

the branches of the tree were so high that his feet were at her eye-level, those stupid platform converse that he always wore. as she approached and saw the front of his body come into view, she felt sicker than she ever had in her life. he had been completely gutted, all of his insides hanging out on display. there was dried blood all over his figure, and his skin had a horrible blue tint to it.

he’d been hung from the tree by his own intestines, and (y/n) could only pray he was dead already before he was lifted up to that height.

a new-found rage had been sparked in her soul, and she gripped the gun in her hand tighter as she trudged up to the house. she was going to kill the killer herself, getting vengeance for all her friend’s she’d lost along the way. for the innocent people who died, for yeji who had suffered so much. this was going to end now.

she had no care of hiding herself as she kicked the front door open, face hard like stone and an inextinguishable anger roaring inside of her.

“come on out then you fucking coward. you’ve got me where you want me, might as well make it worth my time.”

gun cocked and grasped tightly in her hand, she was ready to shoot at any slight movement.

“(y/n)...” a quiet whimper of her name had her whipping her head around, catching sight of hyunjin tied to a chair in the center of the living room. his pretty face was covered in bruises, cuts littering his skin. he looked more than disheveled, and utterly exhausted. she rushed over to him, working fast to make her shaky hands untie the knots keeping him hostage.

“oh, hyunie…” she breathed, helping him get out of the chair and gently placing him onto the couch, lifting his injured legs to give him more comfort. “don’t worry. i’m going to end this, they’re not going to hurt you anymore, i swear.”

a grimace was plastered on the boy’s face, which hurt the deepest parts of your heart before he shook his head and lifted his arm up to point behind you.

“no, (y/n)...”

she heard the footsteps crossing the hall before she managed to turn around, her body instinctively stepping in front of hyunjin to protect him. gun raised and pure hatred in her eyes, she finally came properly face-to-face with the psychopath behind all of this.

“this is over, now. no more. if i have to kill you, i’ll do it.”

the figure chuckled, sending goosebumps all over (y/n)’s body as she tried to place where she knew it from.

“don’t be silly, (y/n), you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

she gasped as all pain and tiredness had disappeared from hyunjin’s voice, the boy feeling a lot closer to her as she felt something press against her side. she looked down to see hyunjin looking up at her with a smirk on his face, a knife pressed against her side, ready to delve into her flesh at any given moment. her eyes searched his, utterly confused and betrayed, tears welling up in her eyes.

“hyun–”

“don’t be rude,” he seethed, a devilish smirk on his lips and he nodded his head back towards the figure and pressed the tip of the blade against her hip harder, nicking the flesh ever so slightly. “someone’s been waiting to talk to you.”

with her body shaking uncontrollably, she lifted her head to look the figure in its masked eyes. her head was swirling, making her feel dizzy as she tried to piece together what the fuck was going on. her heart shattered as the figure reached to remove its mask, shaking its head to sort out its hair and look her in the eyes to reveal…

felix.

oh, god, no.

“surprise, love.”

taglist: join taglists here @pretty-racha @chubbyanarkiss @queen-klarissa @queenfelix @taeriffic @mits-vi @myeg1993 @demetrisscarf @chanssmiles @changbinisabigboy @5kayzee @skz-streamer @iweirdthingsblog @sinforsuccubus @bunniie0325 @torixx80 @fawnpeaks @bangtanmix73 @savluvsmingi @boi-bi-ahaha @moondustmemories @4evrglow @marrivmel @littlepotatooooo @selxmeow @carpioassists

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cuubism · 2 years

Text

part 2 of Hob Accidentally Yeets Dream from Baby Jail with the Ruby

“There are… many weapons on your person,” Dream observed with a frown. Just with a quick glance, he could count two knives, three throwing stars, what looked like a short sword, and a handgun.

“Oh, yes,” Hob agreed, tucking said gun into his belt. “This is far too high stakes to go in unprepared.”

Dream refrained from mentioning that he was already unprepared, having no idea of any of the context of this situation. On the other hand, maybe context didn’t matter. If someone got in their way, Hob would, evidently, cut them down. Perhaps it didn’t have to be more complicated than that.

The thought caused a funny feeling in his core. It had been a long time since Dream had felt anything other than anger or despair, so the new feeling was tricky to identify.

He thought it might be… tenderness.

Tenderness for Hob, who’d apparently decided he was going to ride with Dream wherever this expedition took them. And tenderness from Hob – his careful questions, the tea he pushed into Dream’s hands, the fierceness with which he said, I’m going with you.

The way he tucked the blanket around Dream’s shoulders.

It was a feeling Dream instinctively wanted to shy away from, but he’d been locked away for some time and his defenses against such things weren’t as strong as they once were.

“It is unlikely that you will have to fight someone,” he told Hob. “I will take care of them.”

“I believe you, but just in case.”

Dream looked out the car windshield at the Burgess mansion across the way. He had never seen the place from the outside, and it looked far more normal than one would expect the prison of an Endless to be. He found that, however much he was craving vengeance, he was not particularly looking forward to going back inside.

Hob made to reach across the center console, as if to straighten the lapel of Dream’s coat, but let his hand fall halfway. “Hey. You okay?”

Dream nodded. “Let us go.”

------

Every single light in the manor was on, and chaos rang out through the windows. Dream was sure everyone had awoken in an uproar the moment he’d disappeared from his glass prison.

“Guess they’ve noticed you’re gone,” said Hob, as they stood half-hidden in the shadows by the front door.

“The guards would have seen it,” said Dream absently. If only he still had his sand, he could have so easily blinked into the basement, accomplished his task, and disappeared again before anyone could react. It was possible he could manage it as he was, but testing the boundaries of his power while it was still bound by the circle might be… unwise.

“Guards?” repeated Hob, and swore colorfully. Dream couldn’t help a small smile in response. He hadn’t heard some of those curses for a few centuries.

“I guess our one saving grace is they can’t exactly call the police for help with their escaped eldritch being,” Hob continued.

Dream raised an eyebrow at him. “Eldritch being?”

“Hey, if you aren’t gonna tell me what you are I’m just gonna have to start making it up.”

This was said teasingly, but Dream thought about it. “I do believe… you may have earned that information.”

Hob looked at him, surprised. “Seriously? I wasn’t fishing for details, you know. I’ve long since come to respect that you have your reasons for your secrets.”

“Perhaps, but from what I have heard, there should not be so many secrets between—” Dream hesitated over the unfamiliar shape of the word— “friends.”

He would not have been surprised to receive some irritation in response to this long-belated admission, but instead Hob looked – delighted didn’t begin to cover it. He grinned so wide.

“As friends, then,” he said, and managed to tug a smile from Dream with the determination in the words, “shall we go set you free?”

Dream simply nodded in response, and went about his task of bringing the house’s occupants to sleep.

The summoning circle limited his power more than he'd anticipated. In his usual state, he could have put the entire house to sleep with a snap of his fingers. As it was, even with the ruby bolstering him, he wasn’t quite sure he managed it, or how long their sleep would last.

Hob watched him with a concern that rankled as the clamor inside the manor died down to a sudden silence. Dream yanked open the front door and stepped inside.

The grand foyer was like a tomb, but eerily flooded in bright lights. Everything was still on, lit, abuzz, but everything human had dropped to the floor. Or to couches, chairs, slumped against walls. Dream didn’t recognize anyone; they must have been house staff. No guards. No Alex Burgess, the boy – now man – who had once held such promise but let him down so utterly.

Hob sucked in a breath through his teeth, but otherwise didn’t make a sound. Dream, likewise, stayed silent; until his full power was restored, there was no telling how easy it might be to wake them.

Dream stared at one of the sleeping, unrecognized bodies for a long moment. More disconcerting than not knowing how long they had was the fact that these people’s identities still hadn’t come to him. Normally, Dream knew, instantly, who he was looking at, knew it from their dreams.

But he hadn’t touched the Dreaming in a long time. That knowledge was apart from him, right now. And half of these people… they were young enough to have been born after Dream was captured. He had never touched their dreams at all.

He tore his attention away. That would all be remedied shortly.

It was easy enough to pull the house’s layout from a sleeping mind. Dream quickly found the basement staircase, Hob at his heels, moving soundless as an ex-soldier could be expected to. They crept, two shadows, down into the basement, where Dream abruptly ran up against two feelings that were equally discomfiting.

The first was unease, a crawling sense that would have set his hair standing on end, if he were human. Dream didn’t even have to look at his glass prison to feel it; it crept up his arms and the back of his neck, prickled at his hair. It was like staring into a dark bedroom and finding two eyes staring back.

Rather like how a dreamer encountering one of his nightmares might feel, Dream thought.

The second was relief. Relief at having Hob at his side, at his back. Relief at having a human, a… friend, as if he wasn’t Endless, as if he wasn’t more powerful than all of this.

“Christ Almighty,” Hob hissed, gaze moving from the glass orb, to the circle and moat binding it, to the company they’d stumbled upon. “Jesus— what the fuck.”

Because here, of course, were the guards missing from upstairs, sleeping now on the cold stones. One had slipped into the moat; Dream didn’t bother pulling him out, and neither did Hob, though Dream saw his gaze glance over and catalogue it.

Here, too, were Paul and Alex Burgess, close to Dream’s prison, clearly in the middle of examining it for his means of escape when they’d been knocked unconscious.

“You were…” Hob whispered, and swore again.

Dream stepped towards the circle, weaving around fallen bodies. It felt like a sick game – make it across the room without waking anyone up, and you might be able to win your freedom.

“It was the only way to hold my physical form,” Dream murmured in response to Hob’s unasked question. He knelt beside the circle, a hair’s breadth from Alex’s prone body.

He stared down at the painted runes. Such a small thing, this, to cause so much torment. And so easily undone, had anyone considered it worth the effort.

Dream smeared his coat sleeve through the circle.

Hob sounded vicious as he repeated, “The only way to—”

Dream’s power exploded back into him before he could finish.

White light burst around them. Wind swirled in terrible gusts, blowing detritus around the basement; a howling rose in pitch until it became a scream. Power burned through Dream’s body, painful, ecstatic, euphoric.

Then it died, all at once. And Dream felt… normal again, for the first time in nearly forty years. He still needed to find his sand, his helm, but he could touch the dreams, the Dreaming. All the familiar voices swirled around him in a rising, chaotic chorus. He felt like himself.

Unfortunately, the interruption in Dream’s power meant that everybody else in the house felt like themselves, too.

Dream, momentarily lost in the swell of his returned senses, did not catch onto this immediately.

Hob, fortunately, did.

Two gunshots. Dream felt the disturbance in the air as they whizzed past before he heard them. In slow motion, he turned to watch a guard who’d been rushing for him go down, then spun back to face Hob. Hob’s gun was raised, brow set in determination, and as Dream watched, still frozen, he shot down another guard who’d leapt to his feet to rush at Dream. There wasn’t a single moment of hesitation in any of it.

Dream was not made for this world, the waking world. He rarely felt substantial here, rarely felt that he belonged, and his powers, though still considerable, were nowhere near as absolute as in the Dreaming. But this— this was reminding him that while he may not be made for this world, Hob very much was.

As he watched, Hob pulled one of his knives and threw it at a guard who’d gotten too close for his gun’s range; it landed true and dropped the man to the floor. For all that Dream was fairly certain it had been quite some time since Hob had been actively soldiering – and humans weren’t really using knives anymore, were they? At least not in the last war Dream had seen, though he hadn’t actually seen how that one had ended, now that he thought about it – he didn’t seem to have lost any of the skills. He fought with a vicious efficiency that was so transfixing Dream forgot he was standing right in the middle of a gunfight.

“Get down!” Hob yelled at him, and Dream came back to himself. Hob’s attention was already shifting to another potential threat – this time it was Alex, lurching to his feet at Dream’s side, a stolen gun clasped in his shaky hand. His eyes were lit with terror, matched only by that of Hob over his shoulder as he realized that he now had no clear line of fire, that he could so easily hit Dream instead, should he shoot.

But this boy… this boy, who Dream had once felt compassion for, who he had once hoped could deliver them both to something better. This boy – man – who had become a more fervent jailer than Dream’s original captor…

…he was no threat to Dream now.

Dream touched his forehead and the gun fell from Alex’s limp grasp. “No….” Alex whimpered, and Dream could see, now, his nightmares over the years, how he had dreamt in terror of Dream himself, in the form that Alex supposed might make up his true power; how he’d spent decades fearing horrible revenge, dreaming of it over and over. Ironic that, in the end, he had visited it upon himself by his inaction. Dream would have shown mercy, once. No longer.

“Don’t kill me,” Alex whispered, eyes growing hazy under Dream’s power.

“It is not in my prerogative to kill humans.” Dream’s voice was a breath expanding to fill all of the chamber, all of Alex’s head, a gust of icy wind. “And I need not. I can make you suffer far worse than that.”

Alex’s eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to the floor, already deep in the claws of nightmares. Looking around, Dream found everybody else either dead, or unconscious – knocked asleep as an afterthought as he unleashed his powers on Alex.

Everybody except, of course, Hob, who was staring at him, slack-jawed. Dream met his gaze, which only seemed to aggravate whatever had him stunned.

“Your…” he murmured. “Your eyes.”

Ah. Dream blinked, and his eyes returned to their more human appearance.

Hob, too, shook himself back into focus. “We should get out of here; everybody upstairs will have heard the gunshots.”

“Asleep,” Dream told him. “I can be sure of it now.”

“Alright, then.” Hob took in a deep breath, let it out, and finally tucked his gun back into his waistband. He stepped over to one of the bodies, yanked his knife out, and stashed that away, too. Dream watched this, the bloody human mechanics of it, so far divorced from the ways he usually found himself fighting, when he had to.

Finished, Hob looked around at the scattered bodies. “Am I going to hell if this felt kind of good?”

“You are not going to hell regardless,” Dream said automatically. “I would not allow it.”

Hob squinted at him. “Thought you weren’t the devil?”

“I am not.”

“Cryptic,” Hob muttered. “Alright. Onwards, my friend. I am very ready to get out of this wretched basement, and I’m sure you are more so.”

This was undoubtedly true.

Hob shepherded him up the stairs, a hand hovering over his lower back. It was strange, this. To be shepherded as if he could possibly need protecting when he’d just put the entire house to sleep with a thought.

Still, Dream allowed it. And didn’t look back.

#soon there will be part 3 of escaping baby jail #the sandman #dreamling #my writing #magnusbae

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