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sinisterexaggerator · 5 months ago

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Hancock x F!Reader [ A03 ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get back here, scavver!”

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

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

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

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

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

Hancock almost shivered.

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hancock didn’t take the bait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing to lose but each other.”

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hitomisuzuya · 1 year ago

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Threesome hybrid brainrot. CatHybrid! Scaramouche x fem!reader Fox hybrid!Childe x fem!reader. Smut. Yandere!Scaramouche. Possessive and obsessive behavior. Cunilligus. Biting. Degradation.

As promised, here is the third in the series. Best of luck to everyone wishing tomorrow❤️

Your head was resting in Scaramouche's lap. You could tell how irked he was. His eyes were narrowed in a lethal glare at Childe, who was slotted between your legs, his tongue ravenously working over your cunt.

He wanted to shove his fingers into your mouth, hating that you were moaning for that ginger fox shithead instead of him. His cheeks were flushed, his cock hard watching you thrash and squirm in the throes of pleasure, rolling your hips up into Childe's mouth.

Scaramouche knew Kunikuzushi wouldn't be able to handle watching someone else fuck you besides himself and Wanderer, so he had Wanderer take Kunikuzushi out for the day.

He swore Childe actually whimpered when you tugged on his ear, pressing his face further into your cunt. He wasn't going to deny you what you wanted, but he couldn't stand Childe.

Ever since he got here, Scaramouche swore he saw Childe with his cock shoved down your throat at least twice a day, thrusting sloppily into your mouth while he moaned pathetically. He sounded a lot like Kuni.

And he would be damned if Childe was going to get you to himself yet. Even if this was his first time fucking you, Scaramouche wanted to be there. He didn't let Childe so much as touch you until he had marked you up first.

Childe had to know you were his mate first.

Scaramouche rolled his eyes. Childe slurping on your cunt sounded obnoxious. "Control yourself, mongrel," He hissed.

Childe held your cunt against his face, squeezing your hips as his nose nudged over your cunt. His tongue swept inside. His tail flicked, his tongue swirling between your walls in a way that made you see stars. "She tastes so good," His moaned in bliss, his cheeks flushing when you walls clamped around his tongue. "Fuck, she's getting ready cum.."

You were. Crying out, your fingers dug into his scalp, your release gushing onto his tongue. Scaramouche put a hand over your mouth, muffling your cry of Childe's name. "Quiet, slut," He growled.

Sitting up, Childe wiped his mouth, and took Scaramouche's hand off of your mouth so he could kiss you just as sloppily as he had eaten you out. "Let's see if I can make you cum harder, my girlie," He said gleefully, sucking on your tongue as he pulled away.

"Wait your turn, mutt," Scaramouche put a hand on Childe's forehead, pushing him away from you. He glared at Childe when he growled. "Be lucky I even let you lick her cunt first." Lifting your head off of his lap, he crawled on top of you.

The force with which Scaramouche thrust his cock inside of you made you gasp, breathless. You still hadn't come down from your orgasm yet, his cock nudging firm against your sweet spot. Your loud moan bled into a scream of pleasure.

"That's it, let him hear you scream for me, whore," He groaned, roughly thrusting into you every time your walls clamped tight around his cock. You wrapped your arms around him, clinging to him, hooking your leg over his hip.

You are his, and you would cry louder for him than anyone else, Scaramouche always made sure of that. "Fuck, this slut is going to cum already," He groaned, his fingers pinching anf pulling on your nipples for extra stimulation, determined to make you cum harder than Childe had.

The way you screamed his name when you squirted on his cock sounded heavenly to him. His claws digging into your skin, Scaramouche shushed you when you whimpered from the dull ache of overstimulation. "Shhh, I'm close to cumming in your whore cunt, don't worry," He cooed taunting, laughing when you begged for it between broken moans and sobs of pleasure.

Your noises were only winding Childe up, his cock throbbing to be buried inside of you as he jacked himself off.

He could barely stop himself from grabbing you, pulling you down the bed to him once Scaramouche fingered his cum back into your cunt. He smacking a hand against your still throbbing clit in praise for taking him so well. The hybrid cat's smirk was so smug.

"Shit, your cunt feels as good as your mouth," Childe's body shuddered in pleasure, slowly pushing his cock inside of you. He started thrusting relentlessly once he bottomed out inside of you.

Childe bit into the other side of your throat, sucking a deep bruise as he slammed his cock inside of you. You are his mate now to, he had to leave his own marks on you.

He whimpered and moaned, muffled into your neck, his tail swishing excited from how tight you were clenching around his cock. Childe he had been aching to cum inside of you since you'd first come to see him at the sanctuary.

And now he finally had you underneath him, enjoying and relishing in your sounds and pleading cries as you clung to him.

Childe couldn't stop thrusting inside of you until his cum painted your walls white. Even better he made you cream on his cock the moment it throbbed his cum inside of you, your eyes half lidded in a haze of fucked out bliss.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #modern au #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche brainrot #childe #tartalgia #childe smut #childe x you #childe x y/n #childe x reader #childe brainrot

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dirty-trash-mongrel · 2 months ago

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girlfriends

#genuinely can’t believe i’ve never posted art of the two of them on tumblr yet.i've failed as a vizzy shipper #murder drones #murder drones fanart #vizzy #v x lizzy #pink lemonade #serial designation v #v murder drones #sd v #lizzy murder drones #lizzy md #alley scribbles #mongrel behavior

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goodeapple · 3 months ago

Note

how much do i have to pay you to write something with current canon show Aemond and Ysilla

absolutely CERO dollars (bc this has been in my drafts bEGGING to come out teehee)

“it is just gossip, my prince. something to pass the time between the smallfolk. words fill the mind when there’s no food to fill the belly-”

“i said,” aemond cuts off the squabbling squire, his tone icy. “tell me what was said about the princess ysilla.”

the boy pauses, the blood draining from his face and leaving behind a sunken gray parlor. when he speaks again, his voice quivers like a blade of grass in a storm.

“they’re saying she’s pregnant. quick work by the blacks to solidify ties with the north. or with the riverlands. the word is, she is some moons along. so the… union must have taken place soon after your business with the late prince lucerys. many are saying cregan stark, the wolf of the north, must be the father as he is very committed to the black’s cause. very committed to the princess and their coming child-”

“leave me.”

the squire doesn’t need to be told twice. he turns tails and scurries off, the heavy chamber door thudding shut behind him. the prince regent sits alone in the council room. all else is quiet, save for the war raging in his mind.

aemond shouldn't be surprised- he's not, in a way. bastards are rhaenyra’s specialty. certainly, she would implore her daughter to spread her legs and whelp out an alliance in the form of a babe. and if the father is indeed stark that fucking mongrel, how aemond wants to carve into his belly and pluck out his entrails until they are but a noose to hang him with then aemond knows he needs to tread cautiously.

‘this war will not be won with dragons alone.’ fucking horseshit. he'll burn down winterfell on the morrow if he wishes, until there's nothing left but ancient ash and stone. he'll kill the wolf in his own den, lest he has not already made room for himself in ysilla’s bed.

unbidden, fantasies of his niece swollen and plump with life rush forth. pregnancy would suit her: the swell of her hips filling out, the golden gleam from her skin glowing bright, the blessing of her bosom busting out of her neckline.

another vision, of a swaddled little thing in green and gold blankets, cradled in her arms so tenderly. ysilla would coo and shush them with her sugar sweet voice, all the while the babe would suck milk out of her heavy, aching breast, the dusty rose of her nipple bitten and spit shiny.

green and gold blankets. a foolish fantasy… but fantasies, have no chance of coming true.

“you’re pathetic. you and your lush of a brother ruin dinner and taunt my brothers into behavior that is unlike them, and you won’t even think of apologizing? our families are balancing such a fine line, and yet you dance on it with glee.” ysilla judges with such a biting clarity, she leaves no room for argument. she barged into his room like had the right to, and plucked the book he was reading right out of his hands and sent it flying into his wall. and now, she subjects him to this? her righteousness makes him choke.

“your poor poor, bruised brothers.” aemond pouts mockingly, before erupting into laughter. his niece flinches, more frightened by that then she would be if he shouted. “i hope aegon rang luke’s head like a bell. and i? i should’ve struck jacaerys the same as he attempted to strike me.”

ysilla regards him with something close to sympathy, but there's too much detestment alongside it to be at all good-natured.

“what a sad, small man you make, aemond. my pity is the only piece of me you may have. never my respect, never my admiration, just my pity.”

aemond takes her words and swallows them down, lets the sharp edge of them carve a jagged line down his gullet. if she wants to try her hand at cruelty, aemond will show her how it is done.

“the word of a bastard born girl means little to me. i do not have your respect? the only value you have within you is that of your last name. and that name ysilla, is not Velayr-”

ysilla’s palm crashing into his cheek stops him short. he toys with the idea of praising her- she hits harder than her brother could ever hope to. even in her brutality, her touch upon him is warm and the heat spreads to the rest of him as if he's being engulfed in a forest fire.

“do you think that hurt? come on, you can do better than that.” aemond taunts, pulling upwards into his full height. he towers over his niece but she does not yield, straightening her spine in an admirable attempt to seem formidable. “hit me.”

so she does- striking him again and again. a slap, a shove, a scratch, the next harder than the last. but still, he advances, accepting it all with a greed that has drawn open a pit inside his belly. ysilla spits and snarls, her adrenaline making her blows land soundly but sloppily until her back collides with the edge of his table. aemond catches her wild hands in his own and pins her wrists behind her to the tabletop. the smooth expanse of his cheek will soon begin to bruise like a ripe peach but for now, it glows ruby red, the very color of ysilla’s wine stained lips.

“not a dragon at all, i see. mayhaps, you’re more akin to whatever your father’s sigil is- whatever that may be.” oh how he wants to devour that fury that springs to life within her valyrian eyes. maybe not velaryon, but undeniably targaryen.

“you’re sick. you’re as sick and twisted as that fucking scar on your face-”

their kiss is more fight and fury than anything sweet. teeth catch tongues, and they battle for an upper hand neither are willing to give.

aemond sweeps his arm across the table, books, cups, and papers careening to the ground. he spins ysilla around, humming in appreciation as she arches back into him. she places both hands on the table, trying not to seem too eager as she widens her stance and therefore, opens her legs.

“don't care to look at me?” she asks primly, her haughty tone only dampened by the lust heavy on her tongue. the one-eyed prince can't wait to hear what she'll sound like when she's praying to him for release.

“quite the contrary, issa dõna. unless you wish to leave here in tatters, let me unwrap you like a gift and take my spoils as such.”

his words strike the right chord as he hears ysilla take in a shaky breath. she clutches at one of his hands pinching at her hip and guides his touch upwards, until aemond has a handful of her breasts. maybe it will be him that prays to her for salvation.

every button on her dress he pops apart reveals slips of skin he mouths at hungrily. she tastes of honeysuckle and salt, and he'll bet a million gold dragons her cunt tastes even better.

ysilla’s hands go behind her, fumbling and toying at his belt until she unlatches it. her hand dives into his breeches, cupping the pulsing thickness of his hard cock. he voices a warning groan into the nape of her neck, grazing his teeth along her skin in a promise.

“aemond, do it. take me… ruin me.”

and when she begs like that, he cannot find it in himself to deny her.

it was the night before his father died. the last night they were all together- the last night he’d seen her. only a handful of days before he and luke met for the final time in storm’s end…

he can’t be… it’s not possible. well… it’s possible but his niece isn’t stupid- she must’ve drank moon tea the morning after they…

but what if she hadn’t?

aemond snarls, sending the spherical stone once in his fist across the room in a vociferous clatter. all of his thoughts- aegon, harrenhal, his mother, the iron throne- melt away and leave behind a thread that has begun to unravel. ysilla, ysilla, ysilla.

he has to see her. he has to know for certain.

#this takes place sometime in between episodes 5 & 6 #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #nonnie mail

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whumped-by-glitter · 15 days ago

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Chapter 2 Part 2: Shattered Glass

⚠️CW: Institutionalized slavery, torture, dehumanization, humiliation, angst, bullying. If I missed anything, please let me know.

A special thanks as always to @3-2-whump and @generic-whumperz for listening to my babble, talking things out is the best way for me to world build. Sorry its been a hot minute everyone, but I needed a shutdown period for a bit.

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Story under the cut.

The large, muscular Drar with short cropped black hair and an air of insolence walked in. The Mongrel was just a few steps behind him, eyes downcast. The difference between the two slaves couldn’t be more stark. Even Balor himself had to admit that the Dog’s manners and obedience were much finer, as was expected. The Mutt has been much more thoroughly trained. Additionally, after everything, it owed him absolute obedience.

“What do you want?” Zan asked hostilely.

Balor noted that the other slave’s response made The Mutt flinch ever so slightly. Balor smirked, The Mongrel knew what was coming. He tucked away The Runt’s reaction, making a mental note to punish it for breaking bearing later.

“Leave us, Mutt,” Balor ordered, his voice echoing slightly in the large marbled entry room of the mansion.

The Mongrel bowed deeply, once again displaying perfect form, before wordlessly leaving.

“Now…” Balor circled Zan a bit, like a raptor circling his prey. “….Care to rephrase that last little comment?”

“Fuck you, you aren’t my master, I don’t owe you courtesy. You’re just a spoiled child. I’m not like that damn simpering dog that just walked out.” Zan glared at Balor, fists balled.

“Funny, your Master put me in charge. And last time I checked I’m both a Tallisian and a noble, thus entitled to respect from a mere slave.” He grinned ear to ear, “You could afford to be more like that simpering dog, maybe we should arrange that.”

Balor watched with glee as Zan’s eyes grew wide with horror. It had been a stab in the dark, but to his pleasure he had hit a soft spot.

“Basement, now.” Balor hissed the order in a dangerously quiet tone. The bands would ensure that he would obey.

*****

Once outside The Dog took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool autumn air. The scent of dying leaves and sweet ripening fruit wafted around him in the breeze. It was soothing to his raw nerves.

He walked around to the backside of the slave house, to the outside corner furthest away from the mansion. The Mutt suspected that Sir would be busy with Zan for a while, and decided he could risk a look at his one and only possession he has ever had.

Other slaves might be allowed a few small trinkets, but for him, it was forbidden. Of course he would be forbidden, dogs and tools are only owned, they don’t own things, they don’t even own themselves. The Dog would be in so much trouble if this was ever discovered, but it wasn’t like he was hoarding anything valuable.

The Mongrel dug up the tiny pouch he kept safely hidden away. The smell of damp dirt and leather tickled his sensitive nose. The scent was comforting. It wasn’t lost on him how dog-like this behavior was, ‘Master is right,’ he sighed to himself.

The contents of the pouch jingled slightly as The Dog plopped himself down on the soft grass. With trembling hands, he dumped the contents into his palm. A colorful collection of broken glass bits tumbled out. Hues of blues and browns danced across his skin as the sunlight hit them.

They were just bits of trash, not unlike himself, but they were beautiful, and they were the only thing truly his. The Mongrel didn’t have a mat or a pillow like the other slaves or even a name, and clothing was a privilege that could easily be revoked by his master. These bits of glass were HIS and served as proof that even he could be liked one day.

Though, did he really deserve it. The years old familiar guilt crept in. He hadn’t thought of that incident in ages. He earned this treatment. He was the reason she left. Because of him Balor wore a scar to this day across his chest. He truly wasn’t a person; he didn’t deserve to be liked. Nobody liked monsters.

The Mutt was so caught up in his thoughts and glass, he wasn’t paying attention to his senses. He jumped when he went to hold a piece up to the sun, only to see Balor standing of too the side.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Balor’s voice tore The Dog’s fragile moment of peace. His tone was not unlike the sound of ice cracking, and equally as cold.

The Dog fell to a kneeling bow, quickly trying to hide the glass under his torso. His- its- throat constricted in fear. He, no, its thoughts raced. Balor was not predictable like its master, he wasn’t safe like his - its master….. Balor relished reading minds, just looking for an excuse to hurt them, but mostly it, which it deserved. Its Master usually didn’t waste the energy. He disliked it when The Mutt thought of itself as a person, but didn’t care if it used the same terms you would refer to a dog as. Master would just take its glass and make it sleep outside for a while, but that wasn’t Balor’s style.

The Mongrel knew better than to try to lie. It didn’t even know how long he’d been standing there. It took a quiet breath. “This slave was looking at broken glass,” It replied honestly. It didn’t risk a glance up; it could smell the danger it was in for rolling off the man in front of it.

Again, unwanted memories surfaced. That scent of danger used to be the scent of warmth and happiness. Thirteen years ago, with its first taste of Divinity’s Downfall, was its last taste of friendship.

“Is that right?” Balor hissed. “And just where did you get this glass? Sounds like you’ve been stealing.”

The Mongrel visibly flinched, which was the wrong move. Flinching only ever made things worse. “No Sir, this slave would never steal. It….”

“Liar, I know for a fact you stole food a few days ago!” Balor yelled, cutting The Dog off holding up a hand of silence. “I’ve heard enough, I forbid you from speaking further. Now give them to me.”

Unable to resist a direct order, it fell silent. Its bands glowed bright purple with the difficulty of the request, yet their pleasant hum could not dull the sting. This collection was the only thing it had to its name. The pieces were just going to be thrown away, The Mongrel didn’t understand why it couldn’t have this one thing, this one small good. It had no bedding, shoes, or even a name. The only positive in its life was the glowing purple thrum of the bands when it obeyed. It was an artificial comfort, but it was all it was allowed.

‘No, dogs don’t own, and it’s a dog not a slave,’ it reminded itself, swallowing back the impulse to use “I”.

It could talk and think like other slaves, it could even walk on two legs when permitted. It didn’t look like a dog either. Master called it a dog though, Master couldn’t be wrong…. Dogs get bones and toys and beds though; it was definitely not a dog…. Being a dog meant being cared for…. Being a dog would be a luxury.

‘It’s just a tool, tools don’t own. Tools don’t get people names. tools were nothing, had nothing beyond their usefulness. It was definitely a tool. A slave shaped tool.’

That was the mantra it repeated frequently, to lessen the suffering. It can’t suffer if it’s just a thing. Its master called it an ‘important tool’ once, and it grew in The Mongrel’s head from there.

It shook its head, tool, dog, it didn’t matter. Tremoring hands collected up the glass, returning the colors back into the dark. The Mutt knew it was in for it. Trying to brace itself, it handed the pouch to the man in front of it as it bit back a bitter, heavy feeling it only vaguely understood as sadness, this was all it had. Clawing through the sadness was also a growing fear.

“ZAN! BRING OUT A TRASH CAN!” Balor bellowed. There was no glass in the windows of the slave quarters, so Zan would have been able to hear him without the yelling.

About 30 seconds later Zan appeared around the corner of the brick building. The breeze kicked up and The Mutt could smell the metallic scent of blood on the slave. It risked a slight glance up, not enough to see Zan’s face, but enough to see his lips dripping with blood.

Before The Mongrel could react to the blood, Balor snatched the waste bin from Zan and approached the….. the tool, yes tool.

“Take off your trousers, put in your leather bite.”

The order was as crisp as the autumn air and it scrambled to obey. It folded them and laid them neatly to the side, allowing the gentle thrum to soothe its nerves. The taste of the thick leather that it kept on a cord around its neck filled its mouth. A taste that signaled pain was soon to follow, a taste that always turned its stomach with dread.

The leather was one privilege the others never got, something to bite down on during punishments. It wasn’t for its own comfort though; it was simply to protect its tongue from any accidental bites. That was the only part of The Mutt its master valued after all….

The younger Tallisian man crouched in front of it. “Put on your blindfold, I don’t want to see your creepy eyes or feel you staring at me.”

The Mongrel did as it was told, almost automatically. Another wave of the band’s warmth flowed through its veins. The world around it dulled only slightly with the loss of its sight.

Its acute hearing picked up the subtle tinkle of the glass in the pouch, followed by a sharp pain in its thigh, then another, and another. To The Dog’s horror and relief, it realized one by one, its glass was being embedded into its flesh. With its stunted healing the wounds would almost certainly get infected, but it would at least still have its glass. The one thing in this world that caught the sun and gave it to it, the warmth it was desperate for.

After the last one-it had been keeping count- It heard Balor stand, something thudded in front of it, and then another hollow thud that it recognized as the trashcan.

It came as no surprise when there was more pain. The Mutt came to expect pain and humiliation whenever Balor was around. It could feel the noble use his shoe to press down on its freshly bloodied thighs, driving the glass deeper.

It gasped. The Dog gritted its teeth, it could feel some of the pieces break inside of its flesh. It was desperately trying to hold and vocal sounds of pain in as Balor ground his foot into its thigh. Sounds would only cause the bands to add to the cacophony of pain. For now it took some small comfort in their gentle thrum, a small reward for staying silent.

“Remove your blindfold.”

The Mutt did as it was told once again. Once its eyes adjusted, it realized the source of the first thud was a knife sticking out of the ground.

“Now, dig each piece out and throw it away, one by one.” Balor’s voice was disturbingly amused as he snapped for Zan to lower to his hands and knees to provide a stool for him to sit and watch.

The mongrel felt like its stomach fell out of its belly. This was too much….. The hesitation caused the bands to begin their warning tingle. It reluctantly picked up the knife to avoid the pain.

A single, unbidden tear slid down its cheek as it began to slice into its own thigh to dig out the first piece. It recognized the shape as its favorite, but the blood coating it denied a final look at all of the little cracks and bubbles inside of it.

“I don’t know what you’re crying about, dogs own nothing,” Balor scoffed.

The pain was excruciating but it barely registered as it placed another shard into the bin. ‘Just a tool.’

The knife and glass were slick with blood and Balor had pushed the pieces in deep. This all made the removal process arduous and painful. Some pieces broke inside of it as well, further complicating getting everything out.

Finally, after what felt like hours, it fished the last piece of glass out of its thigh. It made a small tink in the bottom of the bin. It was probably only 2 hours judging by the sun, but it felt like an eternity.

Balor stood, getting off of Zan. “Don’t worry, I’ll be telling my father when he gets home as well. He will definitely be interested in knowing about this little hoarding habit you’ve picked up. I’ll let you two rest for now, I’ve got big plans for the two of you this evening, so clean yourselves up.” He whistled as he walked off with the bin of bloody glass.

@whumpsandbumps, @whumperofworlds, @skittles-the-whumpee, @wounds-seen-and-unseen, @emptycalories-splitlip

It was incidents like this that made The Mongrel wonder if Balor even remembered that they had once been friends at all.

Masterlist

Next 🔜

@pigeonwhumps, @i-eat-worlds, @starfields08000, @onlywhump, @snakebites-and-ink

@aloafofbreadwithanxiety, @turvuren, @whumps-and-bumps, @paingoes, @spectral-whumpy-writer,

@vampiresprite, @whumping-in-the-dark, @saffitaffi, @ichortwine

#whump #whump community #whump writing #whumpblr #devros #my whump writing #tw institutional slavery #torture

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 months ago

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HotD S02E08

I do not want to do this but I also want to be fucking done with this season so I'm powering through.

TL;DR: What the fuck even was that finale? Also, a relevant question - WHERE is the finale? 'Cuz, like, nothing happened except for more setup and the total assassination of the source material. This is gonna be full of negativity.

gif by oscarwildebutwilder

(Couldn't resist when I saw Freddy Fox.)

Tyland Lannister was the only good part of this episode. He was having such a bad time but he did not give up and not only did he secure allies for the war, but he also got to sleep with a whole harem. Good for him!

The way that they have Larys smuggle Aegon out of King's Landing to protect him from his own brother instead of from Rhaenyra... Though, he also inadvertently ends up protecting him from Rhaenyra but that whole thing is purely because of Alicent. I just... RIP any sort of integrity this show fucking had. But I'm gonna talk about that later. At least that provides us with an interesting parallel between Alicent and Larys. She was horrified when he killed his family but now she's the one sacrificing her son and Larys ended up saving him? Again, for his own benefit but that doesn't change the fact that he has taken on the burden that caring for Aegon will be for the next however many months while Alicent just... did that (*whispers* what the fuck). What we need now is for Alicent to get Helaena's development from the book. She knowingly chose to give up Aegon to death but then he is the last of her children that evades death. Imagine her seeing him come back to King's Landing and being unable to look him in the eye, knowing she chose to let him die but at the same time wanting to hug him because he is all she has left... because of Larys. Insane!

I can see how much everyone cares for Rhaena since she disappeared from the convoy and no one even fucking noticed apparently! Or if they did, they just didn't give a shit. They really are putting her through the wringer for that dragon... and they didn't even give it to her. I cannot believe that they just decided to fucking leave it there. At least let her claim it to close the season. That way the Blacks would gain even more power even if no one knew it yet. It would have been some kind of closure if only on 1 out of 10 fronts. But no!

Jace and the horrible, terrible, no good, really bad days. His face when Rhaenyra asked Addam to go with her AND left him to deal with the "mongrels". Ooh, sorry for that rough patch, buddy, hang in there! (Not Baela only appearing when she has to tell him how awesome and totally Targaryen and fit for the throne he is after her last appearance was her telling her grandfather how awesome and totally fit for the throne of Driftmark Joffrey would be. Hmm... almost like there's a fucking pattern!) I think it would have been more interesting if Jace had suggested that they get bastards to ride the dragons. That would have required them to write him an arc during this season where he confronts his feelings on it first but think about it! He knows he's a bastard and that's enough to let him have a dragon. So it should be enough for other Targaryen bastards. Rhaenyra would be the one to protest based on her ideas of the dragons being the Targaryens' key to ruling but she's already bending the rules for her own sons. What if she bends them further to win this war? And that way Jace would be the one to slowly but surely be dismantling the pillars upon which the Targaryen supremacy is built like he's already done with his very existence. Rhaenyra would have still started this but it would be Jace realizing that he's probably going to face another war for his own succession anyway and he decides to pull out all the stops and prove himself in this war plus simultaneously watch out for those who would be future obstacles to him and weed them out right now.

Fucking clown behavior from Corlys once again. I am so glad Alyn just ripped into him like that.

What exactly was Gwayne thinking bringing up Criston and Alicent's affair so publicly and drawing everyone's attention? There's no way none of the other soldiers around them didn't hear what they were discussing. Great way to protect your sister's virtue, buddy! The way Criston also went through an existential crisis this season - just like Alicent - and has come out of it just as jaded, having lost his faith and his sense of purpose. The writers really fucking copy-pasted that arc, huh? On both characters obsessed with Rhaenyra. As if they're trying to imply that without Rhaenyra the world will end. Oh, wait! Did I say imply? They are outright stating it! But yeah, I want to be invested in the Alicole angst of him sniffing her handkerchief but I can't, knowing that Alicent was on her way to betray him and everyone else on her side. (*whispers* what the fuck)

Aemond is coming up so desperate and this could be interesting if they explore how he was so sure he could do it himself but now he has to face the fact that he's not a one-man(-and-dragon) army and he needs help. Which would have been easier to get if he hadn't torched his brother. He might have even persuaded Helaena to join him then, or at least Aegon could have if they had fucking let him and Helaena seek comfort in each other over their son's death. Aegon, due to their extenuating circumstances, could have chosen to stoke her feelings of anger and grief over Jaehaerys contrarily to how he tried to avoid that in 2x02 when he didn't say anything to her on the stairs because all he had was rage and she wasn't looking for that. The world we could have been living in! But no! We have this instead where Aemond is now turning on all of his family members and threatening their lives while Daemon has overcome his ideas to overthrow Rhaenyra and is now a loyal little soldier. At least can they give us some Aemond and Jacaerys parallels? Both feel that that is something making them not enough rn and if Aemond is to have a relationship with Alys, it would be interesting to see him struggle the same as Jace, who is also a bastard like her.

Apparently, if you are tripping balls for long enough, you will completely change your entire personality and start believing in magic and fate and the divine right of kings - oops, sorry, queens - even though you were the one character that openly admitted that it wasn't some magic-prophecy bullshit that got your house the throne but your flying nuclear lizards. Good to know! At least the writers had the decency to give us two different visions that clearly intersect somewhere but also wildly diverge. We didn't get to see Helaena's vision but she was just as certain in Aegon sitting the throne as Daemon was in Rhaenyra sitting it. Though, clearly Helaena sees further since his vision ended at that point but Helaena was also there and has seen beyond it. At least that way they keep the intrigue because if we know for certain one side is ordained by the gods to save the realm, then what's the point of watching the show further? That is to say, they could have fucked this up even more but they managed to not destroy their basic premise.

Love how they kept Helaena's dreamer side so vague until now and suddenly bam! She has a very clear map of when and how Aemond will die. She might not know the exact day but that was pretty specific, especially compared to her other visions. I am at least relieved that it's mostly because of the visions that she doesn't want to join Aemond, since she knows what will happen. It still feels like "women don't like war because they're so gentle" but a little less annoying nonetheless. (Not Rhaenyra saying that Helaena doesn't like riding Dreamfyre. And that on the heels of Aegon saying that Sunfyre is dead which is a confirmation because he would be able to feel it. My inner monologue rn: kill kill die kill.)

Ser Alfred when Daemon declared for Rhaenyra:

I was starting to think that he had just decided to cut his losses and fuck off to another kingdom. Rhaenyra clearly sent him away to get rid of him and showing up at Harrenhal to demand from the Daemon that left Dragonstone to check with his wife would have gotten him killed. It would have made sense for him to bail. Why did it take him so long to arrive? I know he wasn't on a dragon but this seems like some awfully convenient timing.

Rhaenyra still wringing her hands after she had 30-40 people die a horrifying, excruciating death AND broke the rules so bad that she pissed off all her dragon tamers is ABSOLUTELY. FUCKING. RIDICULOUS. Crack? Is it crack you smoke? Mysaria being there to urge her further into war while telling her how right and just she is is starting to feel a whole lot like they're setting up Mysaria to be the devil on her shoulder while Alicent, who wants peace, is the angel on the other shoulder. It's completely devoid of logic and stupid. I wish they would just cut that shit out.

This episode completely turned me off from Rhaenicent. I just cannot support this bullshit. I don't care how many parallels they've woven in between Alicent and Rhaenyra and how they were always each other's answer because they had what the other wanted and balanced each other out. This behavior is just completely unacceptable from a storytelling perspective, from a character perspective, from any kind of perspective, especially from Alicent.

What the fuck are they implying that Alicent is now fReE and she has shed the chains that kept her suffering and self-sacrificing?! She just agreed to let her son get killed so that she could save the realm from a war. That sounds exactly like self-sacrificing! Except that it's worse because she's not just sacrificing herself, but her child! (Also, fucking watch the writers imply that being disabled means you're completely disposable because you'd be better off dead anyway!) And that's coming after she spent 15-20 years agonizing over the fact that Rhaenyra will kill her sons just because they're a challenge to her claim to the throne! That was the whole reason why she put Aegon on the throne in the first place! How did it even occur to her to go to Rhaenyra at all when now more than ever there is no way to end this war without one of the claimants to the throne dying?????

Season 1 Alicent: *stands in front of a dragon for Aegon*

Season 2 Alicent: *agrees to let Rhaenyra execute Aegon*

Like??????????? WHAT. THE. FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I hate, haTE, HATE how they are still trying to present Rhaenyra's bid for Aegon's head as just or at least deserved because Lucerys got killed. Aren't you fucking forgetting that her husband ordered the decapitation of Aegon's six-year-old child????????? There was a son taken! Rhaenyra was allegedly horrified but now she is still thirsty for blood and wants Aegon's head. And when she kills him, she'll want Aemond's head - for Lucerys and because of all the innocent people he's killed, of course, not because he's also a threat to her claim. And when he's dead, she'll want Daeron's head if he dares to join his family and try to fight her. The attempts to present her as the hero are so outrAGEOUS... Why am I even watching this show? I should stop watching this show!

Otto being imprisoned was both "I fucking knew it!" and "Thank god he's alive at least!" I knew to be worried when Aemond wanted him back and Alicent said he hadn't responded to her letters.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd season 2 #hotd spoilers #*snorts*#anti hotd writers #alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #jacaerys targaryen #aemond targaryen #anti rhaenicent

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makoto-shizumu · 3 months ago

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A Long Rant About the 2024 Olympics Boxing Gender Row

Disclaimer: DO NOT REPOST. This post contains personal opinions and information gathered over the past week concerning female boxers and Olympic finalists 🇩🇿 Imane Khelif (left) and 🇹🇼 Lin Yu-Ting (right), as well as their opponents. You are welcome to share your thoughts, but if you come to me with hate or an attempt to convince me they are men through claims such as that of XY chromosomes (which have never been proven, mind you), especially if you or your source(s) cite the corrupt, biased and discredited International Boxing Association (IBA), will be blocked and have your comment(s) deleted. If proper fact-checking is too much work for you, I suggest you save your energy and block me instead. On the other hand, if there are relevant updates or information that I may have missed, do let me know in the comments, and I will edit this post accordingly. Lastly, I do not condone the harassment of any of the individuals involved - that time is better spent on more valuable causes such as 🇵🇸 helping Palestinians, 🏳️‍⚧️ supporting trans people, and calling for the rearrest of convicted child rapist Steven van de Velde. Thank you for reading.

Angela Carini is not a hero.

We all know Carini abandoned her match not even a minute in and complained about being “punched too hard” by Khelif - who made the women’s lightweight quarterfinals in Tokyo. The cop competed in the welterweight division and lost her opening bout 2-3 to 🇹🇼 Chen Nien-Chin (who will join Khelif on the Olympic podium, fuck yeah).

Carini’s involvement has gradually garnered less attention since her apology, but she will have a long way to go before she can be forgiven, especially by Khelif. An Italian posted and translated her deleted tweet before the infamous 46-second bout clearly alluding to Khelif as a man, and Algérié Football Média recently released a recording of Khelif, where she explains how Carini’s club and the Italian media took advantage of her.

What’s worse, the IBA decided to offer Carini a hundred grand as a “consolation prize.” At least this time the Italian federation values their dignity more and refused the money.

Luca Hámori is not a hero.

Remember the Instagram story reshares that she had to take down? Besides the bull-headed giant, Hámori reshared another which called Khelif a korcsot - a dehumanizing Hungarian slur which Google interprets as “monster” or “freak,” but more accurately translates to “mongrel.”

Hámori entered the ring expecting to walk out as a “savior,” but it was Khelif who turned out to be the bigger person that day. Upon her victory, Khelif called out the IBA for their abuse towards her, but she fights on because of her faith in justice.

Svetlana Staneva is NOT A FUCKING HERO. Neither is her equally ill-informed coach, Borislav Georgiev.

This case makes me especially furious not just because I’m also a Taiwanese woman like Lin Yu-Ting, but also the abysmal immaturity of 34-year-old Staneva, THE SECOND OLDEST BOXER IN THE FEATHERWEIGHT DIVISION. Even Hámori has shown more decency in the ring, and she’s eleven years younger!

If you, like me, have watched their full match, you should acknowledge that Yu-Ting was undoubtedly the better boxer that day - same case in her RO16 bout against Sitora Turdibekova.

On the other hand, you’ll see that Staneva doesn’t need “protecting,” considering she literally held Yu-Ting by the head and SLUNG HER ACROSS THE RING (around 3:25-3:30). I’m sorry, Staneva, did you ever realize the audience was there to watch boxing and not wrestling?! And she calls herself a “proud XX woman.” Our commentators did not witness that gesture, but if they did I trust they would’ve been fuming as much as I have the past few days.

If she truly were a proud woman, she would not play dirty the entire time, then give up five seconds before the final bell. Look me straight in the eyes and tell me that you would want to be represented by such behavior. I feel sorry for the Bulgarians and her other supporters who had to witness such a shameful performance.

Oh, one more thing… Guess who the IBA gave a bronze medal in the 2023 World Championships after disqualifying Yu-Ting?

That’s right, it was Staneva. No wonder her coach was willing to give up all professionalism and pander to the IBA’s lies. And look what that got them - now they’re not allowed anywhere near the Olympic podium! This could be unlikely, but let’s hope they are punished by the IOC and/or any relevant departments back in Bulgaria.

(I’m not going on Twitter for a better resolution of this photo. This one fries my eyes enough.)

Esra Yıldız Kahraman is not a hero.

I am at a loss of words.

What the actual fuck, Kahraman. We thought you were better than this.

I will only say this once. DO NOT confuse bad sportsmanship, disinformation, transphobia, (inter)sexism, and racism with “defending women’s sports.”

Reducing womanhood to chromosomes, genitalia, physical appearance, and/or some other bullshit is the most despicable and disgusting thing to come out of such hatred, and I will die on this hill. And gender tests? They were abolished due to their ineffectiveness at identifying maleness after Atlanta 1996, but the IBA won’t admit it. And considering their latest mess of a press conference, they would rather stay relevant with empty claims and unnecessary threats. Stop giving them the time of day! Listen to the podcast Tested instead for more info on this matter.

Imane Khelif and Lin Yu-Ting did not make the podium in Tokyo, but they will both leave Paris with their heads high up and medals hanging down their necks - all the while the likes of “fEmInIsTs” and bigots such as J.K. Rowling, Elon Musk, Donald Trump, and Logan Paul can only COPE AND SEETHE. Their victory is a victory for women, a victory for Algeria, a victory for Taiwan, and a victory for the boxing world that I never thought I’d care so much about.

I’m counting on Khelif and Yu-Ting to win gold and dunk on all the haters all over again. But respect to every other medalist in the welterweight tournament for being great sports - 🇨🇳 Yang Liu, 🇹🇭 Janjaem Suwannapheng, and our dearest Nien-Chin. You all deserve the podium! 💖💖💖

#olympics #boxing #feminism #women #transphobia #transgender #intersex #misogyny #imane khelif #lin yu ting #lin yu-ting #i stand with imane khelif #i stand with lin yu-ting #fuck terfs #fuck transphobes #fuck the iba #fuck jkr #taiwan is finally boycotting harry potter #i really needed to get this out of my system #some of you need to get a life fr #there is a reason the medical field is for the highly qualified #do your research before you speak #this shitshow is just as braindead as zionists stealing pro-palestine slogans #the fact that the smear campaign had been so horrible that both algerian and taiwanese officials had to step in #khelif and yu-ting are women and more gorgeous than you and I will ever be #the fact that both of these fine ladies will soon step onto the podium makes me believe there is a god #pardon me i just have really strong feelings on this matter #makoto yaps

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thekinkyleopard · 1 year ago

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Move-in Day

A Sven and Elex Canon Snz Fic

⚠️Content Warning⚠️

Snz Fet, Smut, Slight Domestic Bullying, Bj

Author’s Notes: I wanted to write something before October of the new boys 🥹 @aller-geez did the art and owns Sven!

Description: The boys are finally moving in together which is going to come with quite a few challenges. Such as boundaries. Something Elex struggles greatly with as he realizes his boyfriend can no longer hide his secret.

“Yo, 7! Where the fuck am I putting these boxes at? And why, or more so, HOW DO YOU HAVE SO MUCH SHIT?!” Elex exploded over the mountain of packed objects he carried through the threshold of their new rented home.

“Just set them in the living room, Lex…I gotta arrange this bathroom real quick…” the cat sounded distant, lost in his current task of getting their home looking like a home. “Also, you’re lucky I have all this shit or else we’d be sitting on lawn chairs watching some bunk ass TV you found on the side of the street,”

“Hey! I’m resourceful, and it’s handy, don’t act like it’s an inconvenience now,” rolling his two toned eyes. The grumpier of the two finally walked through the abode and set the large boxes down with a THUD. “Okay, so there’s this shitload in here and still 48 more shitloads in the truck..how the fuck do you expect to fit all this stuff? Where the fuck were you keeping it all??” The green haired mongrel looked about the small space of their two bedroom one and a half bath home.

“I had a storage unit, and decided to collect home decor the second I started getting a paycheck,” Sven now came walking out of the bathroom, fiddling his hands with some sort of plastic between them. “I figured I was going to need stuff if I was to inherit the family business…til Drae got adopted,” rolling his orange slitted eyes as he now stood in front of his grouchy boyfriend. “You’re welcome,” he stuck his tongue out at the other who swiftly grabbed it in between his index and thumb, giving the organ a light kiss before releasing it. “Hey!” Sven lapped his tongue and tried to remove the taste of Elex’s salty fingers.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not the one fuckin’ luggin’ it all in here!” Snickering at his own cheeky behavior, and the other’s narrowed eye response.

“Go grab the rest of the shit tons you cretin,” snorting a bit through his nose, truthfully in hopes the man would skitter away faster because truthfully he could feel, deep within his sinuses, it was coming. He forgot to take his allergy meds, in all actuality, he packed them. That’s why he was unpacking the bathroom first. Yet, it seemed, he did not pack them according to his memory so he thought. Which means his allergy medication was floating somewhere in the several boxes he had recently packed. He sighed deeply.

“Why are you so antsy today? Like there’s a fire under your ass, chill,” Els looked the cat up and down almost worried he may explode into flames.

“Can you please just go get the other fucking boxes?!” Sven finally cracked, it was any minute before he started up, and he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for Elex to see him actually sneeze without it somehow being stuffed behind something or completely swallowed back.

“Alright! Fuck! Someone’s on their Fuckin’ period,” the badger scoffed before taking his apparently needed exit, grumbling the whole way as he did so. He was alone. Sven looked around and quickly fell into disarray. He outwardly sighed and allowed himself to feel like he was full of rocks. Body visibly slumped from his perfect posture. The second he did, there it was, having been waiting in the dark depths of his allergetic sinuses. His nose began to twitch, and as he scrunched it back and forth…a sneeze came shooting out.

“H-!! H’Tshhkt!” He shook his head back and forth, puffs of spray hitting the air as he almost looked like he was fighting off a ghost. Hands flailing. “Ktch! N’GSH!” He groaned swiping at his nose with the sleeve of his white button up. “Stupid…N’GT! Allergies…H’tshh!!” He continued as he scrambled around the home full of boxes for anything he could use. “Bathroom!” He quickly shouted running back towards the area, snagging a string of toilet paper off the roll he’d set up. “Thank god…” he mumbled before blowing his nose, roughly, violently, with real purpose. He wanted not a single drop left when he was finished. He rubbed at his nose so adamantly there was a gentle clicking sound emitting from the area. Unbeknownst to him, Elex had re-entered the home, with another armful of boxes, muttering about heavy useless garbage, why not get stuff at the dollar tree. Sven’s head snapped to the bathroom door and he quickly shut it with panic. Locking the knob.

Elex sat the boxes down and at the same moment, heard the bathroom door click, as it were being secured. “Sven?” He called out curiously, his head tilted to the right as he walked towards the bathroom now. “…Sven??” Starting to feel a bit worried his voice picking up to that of slight panic. His boyfriend wasn’t the silent type, and he knew the badger was nosey, so typically calling for him would have triggered some sort of response in update. Yet there was nothing. Elex furrowed his brows and stepped forward to jiggle the knob.

From the other side Sven sat up against the wall, fighting for his life. ‘Fuuuuuck why are you so nosey Elex ?!’ He screamed internally as his body worked against him. “I’m uh…” he called out trying to speak without interruption. “I’m..Nn..trying to shit…do you..KT! … mind?!”coming up with something he seemingly found less embarrassing than sneezing…..shitting? He panicked. Wiping desperately at his nose in hopes it would keep it settled.

“Uh…k my fuckin’ bad,” Lex held up his hands defensively and smoothly turned from the door to give his partner some privacy. He plopped himself down onto..well…one of the sturdier boxes, and started scrolling through his media news feed. Every so often snorting a chuckle through his nostrils. He could be shoveling in more boxes, but why would he do that right now?

Sven gasped for air as he finally realized Elex was no longer standing by the doorway. He grabbed a handful of toilet paper and formed a perfect little nest, because he was surely going to need it. He huffed, hitched and his watering orange eyes rolled into the back of his head before he blew his mess into the handful of paper. “Hh’gsch!! K’GNSH!” Though his sneezes were relatively quiet, not too much to be bothered by the average listener, Elex just barely heard the whispering end of it. He looked up from his phone. The man was a walking question mark symbol as he slowly got up from where he sat and quietly crept closer to the door. “H’tshhkt!! Hppt’CH!” Sven tried muffling them into the now dampening piece of mulched tree, but unfortunately for him, the sound traveled quite fluently in this new home.

Elex was standing at the door, ear pressed tightly against it with one palm flattened beside him to keep him steady, his darkened patchy skin, illuminated a bright pink. Sven was sneezing? Openly? Without him?! Clearly the cat was trying to hide it…but why? What was he so ashamed of? Frankly…his little sounds were quite delightful. He bit his lip before listening in for more.

“Fuck…Nkch! Ngt’ch!! KTCH! Pleeeease…” he tried to reason with the universe to allow him just a smidge of freedom from this darkened, evil curse. This was supposed to be a blissful day. He was supposed to enjoy this new found independence and be able to enjoy his new life with his boyfriend. Not held up in the bathroom sneezing his brains out of his ears. “Hh’gsch!! Hptt’CHHH!”

Elex couldn’t stand it anymore by this point, so he pulled his head back and gently knocked again. “Sven? Come on puss, why you still in there?”

“Go away Lex! I can’t let you…H’GNXT! see me like this…” stifling into his hand, long abandoning the soiled tissue. He couldn’t allow Elex to see him this way, he couldn’t! It was humiliating! The opposite of manly! He couldn’t do it.

“Babe…seriously just open the door,” The badger began to grow impatient. “You either open it, or I knock it the fuck down, pick your poison cause this hiding secrets shit isn’t going to fly with me,” now feeling a bit more grudgeful. Why was the man acting like this? Reserved and hidden? He was usually so passionate and proud! An open book almost, but this was starting to concern the green haired male.

“No! You’re going to laugh at me…” a muffled, insecure voice was heard through the thin wood of the bathroom door. It almost made the Badger soften, almost. That wasn’t like him though.

“Barker, I’ll take ‘Things That’ll Never Fuckin Happen’ for 800 please…Puss, open the damn door,” trying to reason with the other by sprinkling in some light humor, his knuckles still tapping against the wooden material. Eventually, the green haired male heard the click of the lock and the door came slowly creeping open. “Puss?” He called open from his position, before sneaking his head in first.

He saw Sven a mess on the ground, sniveling and sniffing as he rubbed his reddened nostrils, clearly having been fighting a battle in here, surrounded by discarded tissues. “Don’t look at me..” he whimpered with his head hanging low, the loose strands of his aqua hair hiding the disdain behind those glossy orange orbs.

“Oh Puss…” he chuckled shaking his head back and forth, taking a seat next to the smaller. “You sick?” He asked curiously, placing a flat hand on the other’s back and rubbing him lovingly.

“No…I can’t find my Allergy medication…” Sven sighed pitifully, shaking his head slowly back and forth, hugging his knees as he tried his best to starve off what was surely inevitably coming back for more.

“You have allergies too?” Els turned his head, cocking his pierced green brow with curiosity. Surely, he knew the other had some allergens but, so severe? No wonder he never noticed if he was always on meds or stifling….

“Yeah…myself…I’m allergic to MYSELF! K’TCHH!” His face fully vermillion now as he sneezed into the crook of his elbow, trying to avoid a mess across the two of them. Ashamed and embarrassed by his very existence.

“Oh babe…” Elex clicked his tongue and ran his once back rubbing hand, now through the strands of soft colored hair. “What can I do?”

“Not perceive me..SNNDDFF…Nkch!” The quick sniffle to clear his sinuses only made it infinitely worse as he twisted his nose in large circles across his face, then scrunching it with vicious fervor. “Ktch! K’GNSH!”

“Well, that ship has long fuckin’ sailed my face exploding lover, but I can at the very least offer you a distraction,” now bringing both his hands up to massage each of Sven’s shoulders, causing the Cheshire to relax a bit under the touch, his tension slowly melting under Elex’s hands.

“What do you…K’GTCH! Have in mind?” Forcing it out into the palms of his hands as he tried to stay intrigued and engaged within the conversation with Lex, who in turn couldn’t wipe the brightened blushing red hue off his own cheeks.

“Oh you know…” trailing his hand down the front of his boyfriend’s chest, he stopped at his audibly clinky belt, fiddling with the mechanics as he leaned closer into Sven’s soft, orange cat ear. “Suck you senseless?” Starting to work the main belt pieces loose, as it clanked open swiftly with expertise.

“Ng…I might..h’…might quite..nkcht! Enjoy that…actually…sndf,” struggling to make it through his sentence as he grabbed another load off the toilet paper roll, finding it almost needing replacement yet again. Jesus.

Elex licking his lips and swiftly began chewing on his lower lip ring. “I honestly don’t know why you were hiding those sounds from me Sevvy~ I reeeeaaallly enjoy them…” already working his partner’s belt loose from his pants as he slid it out completely and tossed it to the side of the bathroom. “I find it actually…”

“KTCH!” Sven couldn’t hold back another, snapping his hand back up to his face to cover himself, he blushed brightly, his crying eyes now looking over to make contact with Elex’s hungry glare. Whom was bringing his hand back to his mouth.

“Mmm, fairly selfish, that you would hide such an arousing fact about yourself….” Spitting into his palm with a lustful force that made the cat swallow harshly.

“A-Arousing? What are y-you even talking about…Hh’GSCH!” Humbled again, his body shook with the force against the side of Elex’s body, that now hovered him.

“I think you know…Stud,” diving his newly dampened hand into the hem of Sven’s boxers, and taking hold of the other’s hard cock now, Els continued to chew his piercing.

“N-Nuh…uh! Aah~” the aqua haired man tried to argue but it was no use as his pleasure receptors began to buzz and vibrate within his entire body, feeling his boyfriend’s slick hot hand now working his awakening length.

“You’re so shy?? For what reason my strong, handsome, pussy cat? It’s just me…” Lex’s hand twisted expertly, knowing all the right spots to make his normally in charge boyfriend, purr. Els squeezing with lustful power as his digits worked to please him.

“Y-You’re so Lu-lucky I can…t…Hnn..K’gnsh!!” Falling back against the wall, his hair fell beside him, sticking to his slowly dampening temples as his sneezes continued to make him jolt and spray. His nose relentlessly leaked despite how many times he swiped and rubbed at it with the dryer sides of his handful of paper.

“Can’t wait? Toss me around and stick it up my ass? Treat me like the slut I deserve to be?” Snickering lightly into the other’s ear before nipping it playfully, his thumb dipping and teasing at Sven’s aching head.

“Elex…” he moaned loosely, sniffling with soft reserve as his eyes shut tightly. “…Jesus do something with that dirty fucking mouth besides talk shit hm? Sndfff,” snorting back a sneeze, some congestion and a whole lot of vulnerability, Sven took a fistful of Elex’s hair now and dragged him to the space between his legs. “If you’re gonna…hptt’ch!” Using his free hand to brush the leaking fluids from his face. “Be about sucking my dick, then be about it…you foul mouthed whore,” his wet orange gaze now snapped open and narrowed down at the taller of the two, who blinked several times with his multi colored gaze before a devious smirk slid across his lips.

“My pleasure, boss,” settling comfortably between Sven’s thighs, the Badger slowly pulled the cat from behind a wall of boxer and forced open pants. Face to face with it, the green haired man shivered in anticipation, sticking his split pierced tongue out he wrapped it delicately around the head, slipping each side up and down, opposite of each other. This caused the cat to gasp loudly, his grip on the forest locks only tightening.

“Shiiiit…” the warm metal balls rubbing and teasing the ridges of his head was almost enough of a distraction to keep his allergies at bay, but almost doesn’t pay the bills. “K’tchh! Ngt’chh!” Using his free hand like a tissue, though it was already pretty used up and clammy by now, it was all he had. The toilet paper was inconveniently out of reach now. The sounds and scene of his feline boyfriend blowing out, only fueled the naughty badger even more as he spoke once.

“Don’t stop doing that…” Elex now swallowed Sven’s length in one swoop after his plea, slipping the large cock furthest down his throat he could. Taking his right hand he began to fish it inside his own jeans, needing to release at the sight of this. A special occasion, a new secret unlocked. Everyday he learned more and more about the elusive cat and it only drove him further in love with the asshole. His tongue, caressed and hugged around the cat’s length in a whole new way no other without a surgery like his could. It was almost one Sven’s most favorite things about the slightly younger, beside his overall personality. He liked his boys a little, spicy. Sven would loosen his grip upon the other’s hair only to tighten it back up the second his cock would hit the back of his throat.

“H’h…aah~ nn..El…H’tshhkt!! Nkch! Ngsh!” The older of the two cried out gently, his small explosive light sneezes dusting and decorating the space now between them. Cascading down onto Elex’s face causing the badger to moan around the other’s thick length. “I’m-..so…H’NgXt! Nnch! Hah…close…” fighting to at least finish the thought while his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Elex sucking purely on his tip before pushing down again. The taller’s head continued to bob gracefully, each side of his tongue working over time to massage and press at every individual dip and vein. His hand pumping quickly at his own leaking, needy member.

As each second passed, with Elex’s mouth on his cock, and the new found freedom that the other was less than a bully about this exposed secret, his groin tightened. “Elex…” he groaned his lover’s name, pushing his head with each downward suck, he couldn’t take it anymore. The badger was simply too fucking good at pleasing him. His back straightened against the wall and he threw his head up with existential pleasure. Sven came, hard inside the other’s working mouth. His hips stuttered and he forcibly shoved Lex’s throat down almost drowning the other in his explosive seed.

No matter the difference. Els swallowed every drop as his own shaking fist began to stagger and suffer. Trying to keep pace but finding himself lost in ecstasy and before long his efforts were just enough to send him over the edge, filling his boxers with cum. “Fucking shit….” He hissed plopping Sven’s cock from his mouth as a thin white line of fluid dribbling down his chin now. Sven chuckled, watching his mate in the throes of an intense orgasm, he reached over with his thumb and swiped the line of cum from the other’s face. He held his hand there for a moment , caressing the other’s discolored cheek, while Elex tried to catch his breath.

“Sndfff…Thanks…” he huffed, out of breath between the allergy attack and his lover’s mouth.

“For the blowjob? No problem,” chuckling playfully as El now too sat back, but against the lower cabinet of their sink.

“No…for not making fun of me,” he shrugged. “I know it’s one of your favorite past times but…this time it meant a lot that you didn’t,” Sven smiled over at the badger who met him with a cocky grin and a roll of his duo colored eyes.

“Hey I might be an asshole, but I can read a room…plus…you’ve grown on me through the years…I can’t make you wanna kill yourself ALL THE TIME…” chuckling loosely before reaching over and lightly gripping the other’s chin lovingly before letting go.

“Touché…” the cat responded with a carefree smirk and a quick reach to grip, and hold onto Elex’s hand.

“I love ya, Puss, stop keeping secrets, alright?” The badger said softly, his thumb rubbing over the top of Sven’s embracing hand.

“Yeah, alright. I love ya too, kid,” his orange eyes sparkled with slight mischief but overall love for the bratty male.

“Don’t fuckin call me that,” his green and brown eyes shifted to a narrow glare, sizing the other up now and ripping his hand away from Sven’s loving grasp.

“I’ve told you several times to stop calling me puss,” the Cheshire shrugged almost unphased by this sudden mood swing the other was having, since he was always having one.

“Puss is cute! You’re a cat! Kid is fuckin’ weird…makes me feel less manly, stop it,” pouting now, folding his arms across his chest he certainly fit the description more than ever now. It was more or less not helping his case.

“Whatever you say, kid,” shifting slightly the badger jerked forward and slugged the cat in his arm, hard, no holding back, he did not care and there would surely be a bruise the next day. “Ow! You god damn animal!” His voice said stern but his facial expression said bring it, always ready for some rowdy action.

“Yeah well, maybe it’ll teach you to listen! Dick for brains!” Sticking his tongue out with defiance, Elex continued to uphold his protests, folding his arms back up over his chest.

“Zip it, you neanderthal, and get up…help me find my damn meds…Sndfff…” Sven snuffled loudly again and finally began to lift himself off the bathroom floor, extending a hand out to his partner, offering help but was met with a very stubborn badger.

“Maybe I don’t want to…I’ll have you sneezing all over this house for my personal enjoyment,” turning his head swiftly away to avoid looking at his boyfriend, still pouting, crossed up and avoidant.

“There really is something mentally wrong with you,” bringing his hand back in, Sven now also crossed his arms over his chest and slowly shook his head at the very bratty man on the floor in front of him.

“Yes, but you knew this, and still chose to go out with me, so what’s that say about you? Huh Einstein?” Sharply turning his head back to deliver his final argument it actually made the cat shrug his shoulders and nod his head in agreement.

“You make a sincerely valid point, now please help me unpack all this shit…” again, the cat unfolded his arms and reached a hand out to offer, one more time, his mate a lift back up to solid footing.

“That’s better, a please never hurt no one,” finally, Elex took the offering of the cat’s hand, and connected their palms in a hitch. The shorter of the two promptly pulling himself up on to his feet again. Elex subconsciously began to wipe down his pants and wash his hands.

“I fear I may have made a mistake moving in with you….” Looking the other up and down, he sincerely was starting to question whether or not he made a good choice. He did after all move in with an unhinged criminal that he often stood toe to toe with many times through out their childhood together. This surely, was going to be a rollercoaster ride.

The End

Author’s Notes: What better way to break in the new couple than some smutty snz action. I hope you all enjoyed the new OCs and their sexy, slightly abusive and toxic dynamic. 🫠🫠🫠 I’m sorry y’all we needed something with a bit more umpf. Elex is so BabyGirl 🤭🤭 he just won’t ever admit it 🤪

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