space

@spacepastiche side blog - 19 - she/her jacking my quaid

[hughiepilled]

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Hi ! This is my writing blog. My name is Space and I use she/her pronouns.

Updates will be pretty inconsistent, so please bear with me.

Rn I only write for The Boys (really just Hughie and my oc), but who knows how I'll feel in the future.

This isn't explicitly an 18+ blog, but a lot of my work might be nsfw so minors beware!!

MASTERLIST

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[vadersassistant]

Dating My Adventures With Superman's Clark! (Headcannons)

Gender neutral headcannons to keep us alive and thriving will I write up a much longer fic.

Clark's most prominent love language is acts of service.

If he's out early saving the city, he'll text you a good morning with an update about his whereabouts. If not, he's your ride to work, and loves taking you above the clouds to watch the sunrise on the way.

He always get your coffee/tea and breakfast from your favorite cafe. Flies into your apartment and drops it off on the nightstand as quiet as possible so not to disturb you. On the days he's not busy fighting crime he likes to make you breakfast to wake up to, although its rare.

He also takes it upon himself to have a note in his phone or list in his apartment with all of your food orders and favorite things.

While he's out casually patrolling he has a habit of taking photos of things that remind him of you.

Dates are rare for you two, and you've mutually agreed there's no hard feelings on that. It's the little things like sharing a meal together or even just working on articles together that he tries to prioritize, and sometimes he'll fly you both over to his parent's home for dinner just to get out of the city.

Cuddling? He's an expert.

The best big spoon you have ever met. Clark loves pulling you in close to his chest and rests his head in the crook of your neck. When you're facing him, he always has a habit of memorizing your facial features, running a hand through your hair and making sure you're warm.

Out flying late at night or early in the morning when it's cold? Clark always wraps his cape around you, or gives you his jacket. His arms are just as good though, and his first priority is your comfort. He's always worried about squeezing you too hard, but sometimes he can't help it. Especially after big events or fights, holding onto you is a must.

At the beginning of your relationship Clark was incredibly cautious about physical touch. He would ask to kiss you, visibly tense when thinking of touching you, and was shy as all get out. The thought of making you uncomfortable or hurting you lingered far too much for his own good until you two talked it out, and soon enough holding hands transitioned into hugs from behind and soft kisses on your neck.

He's a big fan of forehead kisses too. Just hugged? Forehead kiss. Dropped off breakfast for you while you're still asleep? Forehead kiss. About to go save the city? Forehead kiss.

The best protective teddy bear.

Clark is incredibly understanding, however, he feels it's his duty to take care of you as your boyfriend, and will ensure you eat, sleep, and are both physically and mentally well at all times.

Even if you don't think he's listening, he pays attention, and takes note of your habits to ensure you're not backtracking or hurting yourself.

As someone who has been rejected by the world for his differences he is incredibly supportive of yours and wants to help you in anyway he can, whether that's helping you be organized, reminding you of things, calming you done, etc.

PLEASE REQUEST MORE SUPERMAN FICS/HEADCANNONS!!

[starrkuma]

FARM-BOY CHARM !

sypnosis: you are a new, up-and-coming reporter at the Daily Planet; clark kent, the nerdy smallville man quickly becomes your office crush and (un)official work husband who is infatuated with everything you do. w.c. 4.6k content warning: reporter!clark kent x black!reader (mention of protective hair styles), height difference, best friends jimmy and lois, mix of superman 2025 and maws depiction (aka nerdy, well-intentioned clark) tooth-rotting fluff, slow burn, mutual pining, flirting & eventual kissing authors note: this is my first attempt at writing for dc ahhh! this fic is very black cat girlfriend x golden retriever boyfriend. a love letter to all my fellow black readers.

Clark Kent's office crush was painstakingly obvious to everyone within a ten mile radius of the Daily Planet.

All of your coworkers pick up on the little signs — the way Clark is so attentive to you, the way his eyes follow you around the office, even the way he hovers around your desk to do miniscule tasks like refill your coffee like a lovesick intern. Or an overzealous puppy.

Everyone knows, except for the most important person. You.

You were recently offered an offical reporting job at the Daily Planet after moving to the big city of Metropolisis to create a name for yourself. 

You were sharp, calculated and organized both out in the field and in the office. You would usually be the first to clock in the morning and the last one to clock out, always with the confidence and compsure that seemed to radiate from you. 

Clark and you were polar opposites, graviating to each other like a moth to a flame.

And the office loved you. You pride yourself in the high standard that you kept yourself, truly believing that a good manifestation on the outside contributed to your mood — especially on long nights spent hunched over your keyboard.

You would come into the office with a new look almost every week — freshly mancured nails, a new bag or purse and a different hairstyle that framed your face perfectly.

You sauntered into the office this week with long braids dropping down your back, adorned with gold hair jewerly and slick edges. The jewels caught the early morning light filtering through the dusty office windows, framing you in a golden halo as you greeted your coworkers.

You brought sun and light into the room, lifting up spirits of a long work Monday. Cat switched her hips over to you with a pleased smile, patting your waist as she passed. "Beautiful as always, love."

You tap her hip with your own and smile warmly. "Thanks Cat." However, you seem distracted, cutting quick glances around the cubicles.

Lingering on one desk in particular.

A snort breaks you out of your pondering. Jimmy pushes over to you in his swivel chair with a knowing look. "Clark isn't here yet, as always. The guy just has to be late." 

"I... wasn't looking for him," you mumble. Lois is standing beside your desk under the televison, watching the newscast of a breaking story.

She shakes your head at your clear lie. You slide in place beside her, eyes flickering up to the screen.

She's chewing absentmidely on the tip of her pencil, watching the streak of blue and red on the screen with a sharp percision in her light-blue eyes. 

"Another train derailment?" you question. There were two last week and now one today — your brain already firing on an investigative lead into Metropolis old subway lines. 

She hums. On the screen, strong arms push back the train before it crashes onto its side. A red cape billows to the side, revealing the man everyone's been talking about for the past couple months since his debut. Superman.

His face is blurry in the footage, but you catch the kind tilt of his smile and crinkle of his eyes as he helps passagers out the train with a delicate touch that betrays his strength.

He was the obvious news lead — but no one could seem to get an interview with him. Except for one curly-haired member of the office, making first page whenever Superman saved yet another life.

Your brain drifts off as you watch the solid frame fly off in a blur, avoiding the camera pointed at him for questioning. So elusive.

However, you were more focused on the passagers of the train as one lady, a mother of three, said she didn't know how she was going to cover her late shift in time.

Those stories interested you — not so much the talk of the town, the reporters dream study. 

Metropolis old subway lines… maybe you could contact your lead in the local government to inquire where the funds are going for new construction…

"Get back to work in there! We have deadlines, people." Perry's voice booms from his office, causing you and all the other journalists to scatter to their desks.

Commotion from the elevator makes you pause from tidying up your desk. A familar large figure sporting messy dark curls easily comes into view— towering many of the other staff members.

You hear him mumble out an apology as he almost crashes into someone, weaving through the office to get to his chair.

Clark stumbles a bit as he meets your eye. A warm smile curls his lips as he takes you in, looking more like a deer in headlights than a six-foot-two man. 

"Golly…" you hear Clark say clear as day, still staring at you as if in a trance. His framed eyes flicker across your apperance. That crooked, heart fluttering smile spreading on his lips makes your heart jump traitorously.

You blink. “Golly?” you say incredulously, wondering if you heard him right. “Did you just say… golly?”

Clark immediately stutters out a response, breaking eye contact as his ears flush pink. He pushes up his lopsided glasses on his nose as he sits down at his desk. "I—I meant to say… you look good. Great! You look great. As always." 

You feel a laugh bubble in the back of your throat. Clark was always like this —your polar opposite. A bit of a fumbling mess, but well-intentioned. You both balance each other out and despite yourself, you always look forward to his late entrances.

“You said that last week, too. That’s all you got, Smallville?” your mouth quirks in a smirk at his flustered state. The flush spreads down his neck at the nickname you fondly call him.

Jimmy whisles from his desk, putting a call on mute to laugh out "Get to work, lovebirds. Perry's really gonna fire you one day, buddy."

That makes you both flush, turning away from each other to get to work and ignore the unsaid thing simmering between you two.

Today is different. Today is not one of your good days. 

You briskly exit out the elevator and scurry to your cubicle, hoping no one realizes your late entrance. 

Of course, your coworkers do.

“You’re fifteen minutes late!” Jimmy saids with evident shock on his face, popping his head up from his cubicle to look at you.

“Fifteen more minutes later than Clark, might I add. Which is like, a record.” Lois chims in helpfully from the coffee machine, tapping her watch. “What’s kept you?" 

Her blue eyes wisfully watch as you cross across the tile towards your desk. Taking in your haggard appearance — clothes wrinkled, bags under your eyes, no jewerly dangling from your ears or outwardly casting your shine into the room.

You look uncharastically dull, as if a real raincloud was hovering over you since you entered the Daily Planet.

You grumble under your breath as you scan the office for your boss. Hoping and praying to the gods above that Perry doesn’t catch you coming in this late. You never come in late, and you didn't want your perfect track record to be tarnished — or to be chewed out by him with everyone watching.

"Thanks for the observation, guys.” you hiss, out of breath but thankfully seeing no Perry.

As you approach your desk you see a familiar mess of black curls from the cubicle across from you. Clark is so large that you can easily make out his broad shoulders from across the room.

You feel some of the anxiety roll off your back at the sight of him— something about his mere presence made you feel secure. Safe. Protected.

“Morning Clark.” you sigh, sliding into your office chair and starting to quickly unpack your materials.

“Morning.” Clark sweetly says back, that little lopsided smile on his face as he turns in his chair to see you. It quickly falters as he takes in haggard apperance.

“Long morning?” he says softly and you hear the scrape of his office chair as you groan loudly. “You could say that again. My microwave and oven broke this morning and my stupid landlord won’t come to fix it. Says it’s a user error—“

You don’t realize your ranting at this point, putting down your items with more force than needed as you yank open your laptop. “And on top of that my cat decided to scratch up my brand new couch to shreds last night—!” 

Failing your arms in the air, you hear a soft grunt behind you. A solid block of muscle, similar to a concrete wall, collides into your elbow.

“Oh god— Clark I'm so sorry!” Your eyes widened as you yank your hands down. Clark just smiles kindly down at you. He was leaning on the wall of your cupicle with a cup of coffee in his hand, silently listening to your worries.

“It’s okay. Here.” he slid the coffee to your desk and you take a sip — of course just how you like it. Your stomach did a funny little flip at the taste.

You curl your hands around the cup and hide a smile against the rim, letting the warmth ground you for a second. "Thanks Clark. You're so sweet to me." 

You hear him clear his throat at that, spying a soft blush rising above his collar.

There was a beat of silence as he lingered at your desk, shuffling his feet. You watched him fix the crooked black frames on his face before glancing down at you with those cerulean blue eyes. 

"You know.." he hesitantly mumbles, “I… I could come help you with all that after work, if you want.”

You look up at him with wide eyes —a small hush goes through the newsroom as the coworkers around you turn to do the same. 

Lois gives you a knowing look as her heels click past to the break room. Jimmy is smirking into his mug off to the side of you, lips jutting out in a funny purse.

“I-I mean! Y'know it just seems like a lot of work and… and you look stressed.” Clark fumbles, neck and cheeks further heating up under everyone’s stare. His Kansas accent comes out when he gets embarrassed — low and warm like honey in your throat.

His voice drops to something softer as he meets your stunned eyes, “I’m stronger than I look. Farm boy remember? Let me help you?”

And how could you say no to your deceptively cute coworker, bascially pleading to assist you?

Your face breaks into a bashful smile.“I would appreciate that a lot. Wait for me after the evening debrief?”

His smile is radiant as he beams down at you. Like it was molded by the sun itself. “Of course. I’ll let you get to it then… and don’t worry about Perry. You’ve covered for me plenty, if he asks I’ll just say you went on a run for me.”

A saint. Clark Kent is a saint — you're personal angel. You thank the heavens a thousand times over and try not to dewell on the fact that your office crush is coming over to your apartment in the next few hours.

You burrow into your thick jacket with a shiver on the steps of the Daily Planet. It's nearing the end of fall, which means the nights are becoming more brisk and chillier. 

A familiar ginger man and dark-haired woman exit the building towards you. You wave before stuffing your hand back into your pocket, wishing you brought gloves.

You watch as Jimmy slips Lois a ten dollar bill — trying to be descrete, but failing when his large nylon coat makes noise. You blink between them, raising your eyebrows in disbelief. "Did you two bet on me?!"

Lois shrugs. "Not on you, on Clark." She pats your shoulder affectionately before hopping in a taxi. "I'll see you tomorrow. Have fun!"

You whip your head to glare at Jimmy. He gives you a toothy grin before stuffing his hands in his pockets. "In our defense the whole office is in on it. I bet he wouldn't have the guts to ask you out by the end of the month."

Jimmy winks at you, "I'm glad I was wrong though. Clark's a great guy. See ya'." 

You shake your head and bite back a smile as he retreats away down the street. Although he left, your friends words linger in your head. You might have feelings for Clark, but it was hard to tell if he felt the same way.

His farmboy upbringing taught him manners that he carried wherever he went. He was polite and kind to everyone. What if he was just… being nice by offering to help you fix up your apartment? Playing the role of a concerned coworker?

The metallic taste of blood wets your tounge. Snapping out of your daze, you realize with a start that you've been chewing on your lip. Your watch reads way past the meeting time. Clark should've came out after Jimmy and Lois.

Frowning, you go to rifle through your bag to give him a call. A dull pang shoots through you — did he stand you up? Or did he forget entierly?

However before you can dial him, a sudden gust of wind pushes you almost clear off the steps. Yelping in surprise you fumble with your phone — and try to catch yourself before meeting an untimely demise in the front of your workplace.

A firm arm presses against the small of your back, saving you from your tumble. You blink up in disarray to meet familiar blue eyes. 

Clark.

He looks equally as frazzled, panting as if he just ran a lap downtown. You both stand almost chest-to-chest on the steps, his warm hand keeping you from falling backwards onto the cobblestone.

His glasses are completely skewed on his face as if he had just shoved them on, face flushed a light pink at the proximity. And his curls look devastatingly soft this close up…

You realize your staring — and haven't moved — a little too late. Quickly you detach from him with a hoarse laugh. "Clark! There you are. I've been waiting here for the past couple mintues…"

He cleares his throat, looking up at the sky before back at you with an apologetic face. "I didn't mean to be late. Perry, um… Perry had to pull me aside to talk about my next article."

That seemed very unlikely, as your boss hated people in his office past hours. Or during hours, to be exact. But he did look genuinely apologetic — and so you let it go with a nod. You don't point out his wind-ruffled clothes or hard breathing.

You tell him that your apartment isn't close to the building and that you would need to take the train. Clark quickly refuses, bringing up the derailment earlier today before calling a cab on his own expense.

The ride is quiet, save for the festive singing on the radio although it's still a bit early for Christmas carols. Clark is so large that he's practically bent in his seat, trying his best to shrink and give you more space in the tight cab. 

You try to ignore the feeling of his body heat radiating from his hunched form. Or the way his eyes look over to you before darting to watch the streets wizz past out the window.

Your knee brushes against his — neither of you pull away.

Soon you both are dropped off at the front of your complex.

"Excuse me if I'm about to sound rude…" Clark slowly says, his neck on a swivel as you enter your apartment complex. "But you live.. here? Crimes really high around this place."

You sigh as you make your way up the stairs. You know you don't live in the glamorous parts of the city. You live farther on Metropolis edge, where rent is cheaper and crime is higher. "I'm well aware. It was the only place I could find in a pinch when I first moved here."

And it's in my price range… you thought silently. It wasn't a secret that a journalist salary wasn't high, but you knew that before leaving your hometown for the busling city. It wasn't ideal to live out here, sure, but it was your chance to make a name for yourself.

You fiddle with the key before pushing open the door to your apartment. "Welcome in," you say a bit shyly, showing him where to hang his coat. 

Nerves suddenly bubble in your throat — this was the first time you've had someone over. Usually, you opted to spend time at other — nicer — apartments in the better parts of the city. You felt a bit exposed as Clark turned to walk further into the living room.

Warm string lights hung around the room, casting the space in a warm glow. It was cozy — it was clear you did the most you could to make the small space welcoming. The couch looked worn but soft, with a tv and coffee table full of notebooks and scribbled pads of paper.

"I like what you've done with the place. It's… homey." Clark says earnestly, his voice betraying something almost… intimate, that soft drawl that has you squirming. He looks at the framed photos lining the wall, stopping in front of a gold-rimmed frame. 

Your first atticle at the Daily Planet is framed in the walkway. He smiles at the sight of it — it isn't front page, but clearly meant a lot to you. Your first published article at your dream job.

A meow from under the couch makes you chuckle. You coo at the furry shape underneath the cusions, two large eyes staring up at Clark wairily. "She's not use to guests, but she's harmless." 

Clark slowly steps closer and spies the scratch marks along the foot of the couch. "Well, maybe not completely harmless." you grumble, before crossing to clear off the coffee table.

Acutely aware of his large side, Clark stands a respectable distance from the couch and your cat, instead glancing down at your notes curiously. 

There was a lot of research — articles on local law and governemnt, contacts, all potential stories. But one thing was missing in your collection: a distinct figure that was head of all major news outlets.

"I've always wondered. Why don't you want to get a interview with him?" Clark asks hesitantly. His shaky voice betrays his nerves, as if worried your answer would be some hateful spew about the superhero in red.

You laugh and pick up one of the notes littering your coffee table. "It's not that I don't want to. Everyone wants a piece of Superman. Landing a interview with him is like, immediate front-page quality."

You look up and arch an eyebrow at Clark. "Which I'm sure you know well."

Your voice is teasing but he still looks away from you, embarrassed as he swallows dryly. His hands push up his dress shirt past his forearms, and you're momentarily distracted by the appreciatve size of them.

When you continue, your voice is softer. "I just… want to focus on the smaller voices too, you know? Local issues in Metropolis. Like the train this morning that sets hundreds of hard-workers late for their jobs, or LexCorp possibly embellishing money from local businesses—“

Clark visibly tenses up then at the mention of the multi-billion dollar company. Your reporter brain immediately wants to latch onto it, and you open your mouth to speak, but he quickly steers the conversation back before you get the chance.

"What I meant by my question is that not a lot of people care about that stuff. I think it's really important, and honest. You… you're someting special."

He doesn't stumble over his words when he says it. When you look into his blue eyes you see a warmth similar to the one he levels with you in the office.

Your heart stutters at his soft voice. Suddenly, your very aware of how close you two are in your small living room. How quiet everything is. That thing again — something unsaid, swelling tenfold at his words.

You laugh to clear the tension, defalting back to your teasing remarks in a dire attempt to hide the flush you feel searing your bones. "I don't know how I should take that, coming from Superman's number one fan."

Clark makes an indignant noise in the back of his throat. "I-I am not!"

"Mhm, sure. And you also didn't get three interviews with him last month. My toolbox is in the closet to the left."

You busy yourself with cleaning up your apartment as Clark fixes your applicances. You hear humming from Clark in the kitchen — some punk rock, upbeat song that makes you smile secretly to yourself. 

He returns thirty mintues later with a satified smile. "Fixed," he says proudly.

"That fast?" you say in surprise, but sure enough, the microwave is back on and so is the oven. 

You whisle low. "Wow Smallville. You're pretty useful. I might just have to keep you around."

Clark smiles bashfully at that. A silence stretches between you two. He hovers at the edge of your kitchen, leaning slightly on the frame. The way he looks at you… that soft, silent look that has your stomach tying itself in knots.

He then clears his throat, glancing at his watch with a sigh. "I… better go now. Early work day tomorrow." His laugh tries to be light, airy, but it sounds almost regretful. 

You feel yourself deflate slightly. Your hands wring at the decorate towel on the oven, eyes flickering from him to the door.

It was late. And it was definitely indecent for him to stay. But… but…

Before he can reach for his bag you quickly stop him. "Why don't you stay for dinner?" Your voice cracks on the last work and you cringe inwardly. So much for smooth. 

But the chance, this chance, a rare moment of having Clark Kent — bumbling, kind, sweet, strong Clark who you've silently been obsessed with all these months — all to yourself. You would be damned to let it slip from your fingers this easily. 

His blue eyes met yours and you hope you don't mistake the spark of joy in them. A grin stretches across his face at your words, shoulders slumping as if he let out a breath he was holding all night. 

"That would be amazing!" Clark says earnestly and your grin mirrors his own, letting out your own tense breath. 

You swing open your fridge door — but upon closer inspection you quickly realize you might have gave the invitaiton too soon. The only thing sitting on the shelves was a loaf of bread, half a carton of eggs and some bacon.

Laughing awkwardly, you glance back at him with an apologetic grin. "I meant to go grocery shopping after work…"

Clark eases into your space to look over your shoulder. You gulp, feeling his sturdy back brush against your shoulder. The sheer size of him was almost comical, casting a shadow over you. 

His breath, warm against your ear, hummed out a casual "I can work with this."

He reaches around you with ease, grabbing the ingredients and going to stand in front of the stove. You blink owishly at him.

"Breakfast?" you question.

"For dinner." he completes, throwing a boyish grin over his shoulder. "It's my favorite thing to make after a long day."

The laughter that bubbles out from you is light and infectious. You take his prior place, leaning against the frame of your kitchen. "As long as it's edible." you tease. You watch his shoulders shake in mirth.

You then slide into place beside him, popping toast into the toaster as Clark whisks the eggs. Something about the routine feels oodly domestic — the way your bodies naturally weave around each other in the kitchen, grabbing cups and setting down plates.

And you can't ignore the way your hands brush against each other… but don't quickly pull away. When he reaches above you for seasonings at your request and his shoulder bumps yours. Or when he steps around you and your hips touch.

Every little fleeting touch sends lighting strikes through you, hope blossoming in your chest at every smile he gives you, every chuckle you pull from his lips.

You steal a glance at Clark whisking the eggs. He looks relaxed, with his sleeves pulled up on strong forearms. His eyes are concentrated down towards the metallic bowl, glasses slipping down his nose as turns to toss them in the sizzling pan.

He catches your eye and tilts his head. "What's on your mind? You've been quiet." he mumbles across the space to you, looking sideways at you while adding in the bacon.

You shake your head with a soft laugh, re-focusing back on the hot tea you were brewing. "Just wondering how you're so good at everything. Cooking, fixing up around the house. You're like, the perfect man. Everyone in the office thinks it."

Clark chuckles at that — but his breath catches too. He pulls his lips between his teeth, eyes darting from you and back to the pan. The wooden spacula in his grip whines as his fist clenches.

"Is— do you… think that too?" His voice is hesitant and low, rough in a way you haven't heard it before. The heat in it is unmistakable, trembling in his throat. 

You freeze over the mugs below you. Clark shifts towards you, food forgotton as his voice carries closer. The air felt spiked, different, charged in only the blink of an eye.

"I…" you hesitate over the words. Two large hands settle on your waist before spinning you around. You gasp out in suprise, hands coming up to press against his chest. 

You feel the erratic beat bump bump bump of his heart underneath your fingertips. 

"Forgive me… if I'm being too forward." His hand takes yours in his before pressing a sweet kiss to it. Reverent. Soft. Lingering. You want to burn the feeling of his soft lips and delicate touch on you forever.

Clark looks up into your eyes, pupiles dark and blown. You spied the familiar flush on his face, eyebrows furrowed and lashes pulled low.

"This is probably inappropriate for— for the office. But I've always thought you were amazing. Ever since you first came in. You care so much about others. It's… inspiring. You inspire everyone."

His voice cracked in emotion, "and most of all you inspire me."

He took a shuttering breath before his words tumbled from his mouth, "I want to be there— helping you chase every case. Finding leads. Helping you grow both in the office and in your daily life. Even hopefully getting in good graces with your cat—"

You surge forward and press your lips to his. Clark's nervous rambling dies in his throat — his pulse falters. But he quickly adapts. He presses you to the counter with a light groan.

The kiss is searing — his arms lifting you up and onto the counter as you wrap your arms around his neck. "I like you too Clark." you mumble against his lips, breathless as his lips chase your when you pull away. His dimple pokes out in a grin. 

He pecks the corners of your mouth, basking in your laughter. "Gods— you don't know how long I've been waiting for this. For you." 

You press your forehead against his with a content sigh. You simply breath each other in — that is, until an unpleasent aroma has you jolting up.

Smoke. "The eggs!"

Clark's eyes widen comically and he detaches from you, snatching the forgotton charred lump from your stove. You can't help but giggle at his pout. "It's alright. We can order something in."

"But… for burning the last of my eggs, you'll need to help me get a new couch tomorrow after work," your voice curves in a mischievous lit, eyes sparkling in unmasked joy.

Clark grins at that with a quick peck to your cheek. "Of course. Whatever you want. I'm yours."

@ starrkuma 2025— all rights reserved. please support by reposting / leave a comment !

[hughiepilled]

qiara

[hughiepilled]

Qiara and solbell art dump

[st4rlights-gf]

hii I was the anon who requested the alphabet thing for hughie. And yeah I meant as in prompts

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ sfw alphabet challenge; hughie⋆.°

hey girl!! i will get round to doing the nsfw alphabet some point this week or next. i hope this is what you meant!! i hope you like it <3

Affection‧₊˚ Hughie would be extremely affectionate, even when you’re not dating. He would find any excuse to touch you, to be near you. He thrives when it comes to physical affection.

Best Friends‧₊˚ Hughie would make a great best friend. He’s so attentive and supportive. His humor and his awkward charm are what make him the best to be around.

Cuddles‧₊˚ Spooning. You laying on his chest. His head in your lap. Like I said, he’d do anything to touch you.

Dates‧₊˚ He would have so many dates planned for you, he wouldn’t know where to start. He’d love to take you to a drive-in cinema, to take you to some low-key bar and get wasted together. Just getting to spend time with you makes him so happy.

Emotions‧₊˚ Hughie is already a very emotional guy, which makes communication flow so smooth. He’s not afraid to show you how he feels—when it comes to you, he’s sure he can trust you completely with not judging him.

Flirting‧₊˚ He’s so awkward it’s kinda laughable. His adorable smirks and light teasing are really what keeps you hooked. He compliments you like it’s nothing—yet it says everything. He doesn’t throw words around like they don’t mean anything.

Gifts‧₊˚ Hughie is the gifting type. Anything you mention, you’ve got it. A book you once mentioned in passing, a mixtape that reminds you of your childhood, or even something silly like a keychain with your name on it.

Hugs‧₊˚ Hughie is the best hugger. In any situation, he knows that they’re the best medicine. Besides laughter, of course. He’s a clinger. Meaning, his whole body will stick to you, face tucked into your shoulder, his hands trailing in your hair. He’s so warm and gentle.

Innocence‧₊˚ In my opinion, I think despite everything he’s ever said or done with The Boys, he enjoys his quiet moments where he can truly be himself. Pokemon would be his favourite downtime, something nerdy and completely innocent where he can just fully relax and not have jarring thoughts flood his mind.

Jealousy‧₊˚ He lets it eat at him until he can’t take it anymore. He gets fidgety, panicky—like he has too much in his head to actually voice. His eyes say everything.

Kisses‧₊˚ He kisses like he means it. He’s always been shy about kissing, maybe a little hesitant, but he means every one. He has full intention and love in every one.

Love Language‧₊˚ His strongest one is words of affirmation. He loves to tell you that he adores you. That you’re strong and willing and downright badass. He always tells you how lucky he is to have you in his life. He’s also big on acts of service. He loves to learn things just because you’re into them.

Marriage‧₊˚ Hughie isn’t big on having a whole ceremony, or a perfect plan. What matters to him the most is the principle of it. The promise. He’s always dreamed of having quiet domesticity, waking up next to someone he can call his lifelong partner. His wife.

Nicknames‧₊˚ He’s always loved nicknames. Especially stupid ones. Once that come from an inside joke, or from pure sleep deprivation. The worst ones usually come out when he’s vulnerable like that.

On Cloud Nine‧₊˚ You’ll catch him smiling to himself when you’re not even doing anything special. You just being there is more than enough for him. The glimmer that resides in his eyes is all because of you.

Pet Names‧₊˚ Hughie was never big on pet names at the start. He always thought they were weird. The words coming from his mouth felt foreign. Sometimes, the words sweetheart, and babe often slip from his lips as he’s comforting you. He also likes to call you his girl.

Quirks‧₊˚ Everyone and their mother knows Hughie rambles when he’s nervous. Especially if he’s trying to impress you. He’ll begin explaining something really niche, like some Billy Joel song or the history of some obscure comic book he read as a kid. He’d stop mid-sentence and say, “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Rainy Days‧₊˚ Rainy days are his favourite exccuse to stay in and lay next to you. He would throw on a hoodie, a loose pair of joggers and make some popcorn and find a funny movie to put on so you can laugh together.

Singing‧₊˚ Hughie hates singing in front of people unless he’s really comfortable. He would hum along to the radio, or softly sing whilst he’s brushing his teeth.

Teasing‧₊˚ He’s got a quiet kind of teasing. Lots of dry humour, sarcastic little jabs and the occasional mock complaint. There’s no real bite to it, as his teasing is always laced with affection.

Unwinding‧₊˚ Hughie is one to get overwhelmed quickly. He craves a calm and quiet environment. He loves curling up on the couch with you, some silly hour-long YouTube video playing in the background as he decompresses. He feels the safest when he’s with you.

Valentine’s Day‧₊˚ Hughie LOVES V-Day. It’s the best day to absolutely shower you with love. Your favourite chocolates, that one thing you’ve been pestering him about. He loves to plan out the most romantic date, to make sure you know you’re adored.

Wild Card‧₊˚ Hughie sometimes keeps notes about you but has never shown you. They’re tucked inside of a journal hidden in his bedside drawer. Tiny paragraphs about what he loves about you, what he wants to do with you. He doesn’t think they’re good enough, but they’re full of truth.

X’s and O’s‧₊˚ He’s so affectionate once he’s comfortable. Once he knows what you both like. He’s always wanting to hold your hand, kiss your forehead. Constantly. He loves to hug you from behind when you’re doing daily chores. Physical closeness grounds him and helps him regulate his emotions.

Yearning‧₊˚ Hughie would be a slow-burn romantic. He’d stay up late with overwhelming thoughts, dreaming of ‘what ifs’. And when he falls, he falls hard.

Zzz‧₊˚ He’s a cuddly sleeper. He adores spooning, falling asleep holding your hand, wrapping around you like a blanket. He would watch you sleep, wishing he could tell you how much untold love he has for you, and you have no idea.

[st4rlights-gf]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ patching up; hughie⋆.°

summary; after an awful day, hughie comes to you to help patch him up. word count; 986 pairing; hughie x fem!reader

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

The door swings open, Hughie in front with the rest of the Boys behind him.

You’re sitting on the sofa next to Annie, who thought to keep you company as you decided to sit this fight out. Hughie throws the car keys onto the counter, his face ridden with frustration.

His eyes meet yours, passing you an awkward smile. Annie jumps up to assist Kimiko and Frenchie, Butcher going straight to his room. The tension is palpable, and it makes you wonder if there’s something deeper than just a bad day.

You look at Hughie—properly look—dried blood on his forehead, and his lip’s busted. He has blood on his hands, too, and you’re unsure if it’s his or someone else’s.

You joined the Boys before Hughie did, and you took a liking to him almost instantly. You definitely do not have the balls to do something about it, though, so you basically admire from afar. Each time you see him, your heart skips a beat, and sometimes you wish you knew if he felt the same. Standing up, you make your way over to him.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, the strain is practically radiating from him. “Yeah. Just a bad day, that’s all.” He huffs, shrugging his hoodie off of his shoulders. He hisses in pain, pressing his hand against his shoulder. You move behind him to help him take it off, laying his jacket across the counter, glancing at the blood seeping through his shirt. “Hughie…” you inhale, recoiling at the sight of the injury.

“It’s not that bad,” he chuckles softly. “Not that bad? Hughie, look at you. You’ve got blood everywhere.” You reply, concern taking over. You like Hughie, like, really like. It’s no surprise he comes back with new cuts or wounds, but it still upsets you.

Hughie sits down on the bar stool, waiting for you to finish digging out the first aid box. It’s cute that he knows the deal by now, that when you stay behind, you look after him. Hughie watches you dig through the drawers and cupboards for it.

You pick the kit up, placing it next to him. His eyes are still on you, watching the way your fingers are sifting through the plasters and medical tools, picking out bandages and antiseptic wipes. He knows he’s been staring for a little too long, but thankfully you don’t notice. He couldn’t be in a relationship—he can’t. It’s too dangerous. There’s nothing less than what he’d want. Right?

You tear open the packet of wipes with your teeth, spitting the tip onto the counter and removing the wipe. Moving toward his face, you unfold the wipe and tilt his head with your pointer finger. Hughie’s breathing freezes for a second, a small piece of your hair falls in front of your face as you lower yourself to his level. He reaches up and tucks it back behind your ear.

“Thanks,” you smile at him, you glance at him once, just once—before looking away completely. It feels wrong. Totally, utterly wrong.

Until it doesn’t.

Naturally, you don’t touch someone who isn’t your close friend or partner. So why did he tuck that piece of hair behind your ear? Why is he staring at you when you’re doing the simplest of tasks? He doesn’t even know himself, never mind you. You’re completely oblivious to him falling in love with you right in front of your face.

You slide the wipe across his face, removing the dried blood and then gently dabbing the cuts that remain fresh. He hisses slightly, but doesn’t move an inch. There has been far too many times where you’re patching him up, it’s like it’s routine by now.

You finish up cleaning his face, stepping back from his face. “Take your shirt off.” You turn around quickly, picking up the long tweezers and unwrapping the bandages and padding. “You’re not gonna ask me to dinner first?” He jokes, and you snort. “Unfortunately not, Hughie.” You reply as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his slightly toned chest and exposed collarbones.

-

It takes a little bit of time to nosy at what the hell has happened to his shoulder. There’s a couple of tiny shards of glass in his wound, so you pick them out and place them on some tissue on the counter. “He stabbed you with a bottle?” You repeat what he’s just told you, and he nods. “Believe it or not, yeah. He did. Fuckin’ hurt.”

You share an awkward smile, and he gives you a look.

“What?”

“I just… I feel really bad that you have to patch me up every time.” He admits, his eyes darting to the floor, avoiding eye contact with you.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I feel like it shouldn’t be your job to make sure I’ll make it to see tomorrow. It’s too much for you.” He replies, his glossy, chocolate eyes meeting yours. There’s something amiable behind them, something that resembles his late father.

“No, it’s not. I kinda like it.” You admit, it’s probably something you didn’t really think about admitting, but it makes him smile. “How come?” He asks, tilting his head.

“Because I get to look after you, Hughie. Someone has to.” You declare, sighing quietly to yourself.

He exhales a small laugh, shaking his head. “Lucky me, huh?” he jokes, but there’s something in him that softens, like he’s searching for a real answer. You remain quiet, wrapping the bandage around his shoulder, pretending like you don’t feel his eyes on you.

“All good?” You step back, flashing him a warm, loving smile. He returns one.

“Yeah.” He says, quieter this time. In his head, all he can hear is what you just said.

Someone has to.

And for some reason, he wishes—just for a second—that it wasn’t out of duty. That maybe, just maybe, it was something more.

[bohemianblasphemy]

hear me out…Hughie baby making/pregnant reader head cannons🙂‍↕️ very new to Tumblr but I fear I have gone through soooo many of your works in the last 24hrs and I LOVE ALL OF THEM! Don’t see a lot of Hughie on here and I just love him sm. 😚

A/N: no bc I love this so much 😭 I got carried away but idc idc

Hughie would be such an amazing dad idc idc.

When it comes to wanting to settle down with you, a stable and quiet environment away from the chaos he has experienced for years is what is needed for your relationship.

You both see families and kids out in public, seeing the glee and excitement that the giggling children would have when their parents would push them on the swings, going down slides- even just watching them push prams with little bundles of joy fast asleep in them, Hughie couldn’t help but imagine how perfect it would be to start a family with you.

Hughie couldn’t hold it in anymore before he blurted out how much he wanted to have kids and start a family - it was an almost jumble of words but everything said was an outpour of his evergrowing love for you.

And when you reciprocate in the way he feels, wanting to start a family too there was no stopping the bone crushing hug and bruising kiss he gave you… which lead to the affection becoming heated like no other.

That passionate, sweet sweet love you both made was more than you could imagine. The press of your bodies, the sounds that you both made, even if it got a little weird you were both okay with it because it was you two and that was all that you needed.

Hughie just needed to look at you, all of you as he pressed into you, every little crease of your face that flexed in pleasure, the warmth of your body… he’s just so in love with you.

Hughie would whisper sweet words, talking about how good you’d be as a mum, how beautiful you’d look whilst carrying your baby, how he’d take such good care of you both and keep you both safe. He’d get teary just because it’s what he’s wanted for so damn long and he’s finally got that with you.

After you both tried for what seemed like forever, when your body started to change in the early days you checked with a test, and Hughie was overwhelmed whilst you both waited for it to give a reading, and when the red lines appeared and confirmed that you were pregnant he almost fainted with excitement, tears forming as he hugged you tightly.

“Oh my god I love you.” He’d whisper, sniffling with happy tears. “You’re going to be a mom, a-and me a dad fuck- this is the best day of my life.”

[samdeancass]

A Different Kind of Soft

Requested by Anonymous

Pairing: Hughie Campbell x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff

Characters: Hughie, Y/N

Description: Y/N realises she has feelings for Hughie when he's a little mean because he's acting so differently from how he normally is.

Hughie Campbell had always been soft.

That was what everyone noticed first: the pause before his words, the way his eyes flickered like they held a secret, and how his voice melted even further when he spoke your name. It had been like this for as long as you'd known him—years measured out in shared coffees, midnight phone calls, and the kind of laughter that only comes after knowing someone's weaknesses and loving them anyway. Being near him felt like stepping into a sunbeam after a long, shivering winter; gentle, intentional, and quietly dazzling. You’d grown so accustomed to it, the comfort almost invisible. Maybe too accustomed.

So when he snapped at you, the shock didn’t just surprise you—it stuck, prickling and raw. The day was already battered by mounting deadlines and a barrage of clipped texts from his brother, leaving both of you strung tight. Tension hung heavy, every word threatening to ignite. The room seemed to shrink, air thick with chaos. Hughie looked spent, his shoulders hunched, jaw set, patience unravelling thread by thread.

You couldn't help but wonder what was churning behind his quiet exterior. Maybe he was remembering his father raising his voice, shadows thrown long across childhood evenings, or maybe it was the endless expectation to be the peacekeeper, never the one who broke. These days, pressure seemed to seep into everything he touched—work piling up, family leaning on him without asking what he needed, the weight of being everyone’s gentle and steady one. No space left for himself. Sometimes it felt like every small irritation was just another pebble added to a growing pile, and today everything threatened to spill over. Hughie glanced at you, just long enough for something wounded and tired to flicker through his eyes.

You hadn’t meant anything by it. Just a comment. Something light, maybe even teasing. But Hughie turned to you, his eyes sharper than you’d ever seen, and said, “Can you not right now? Seriously, I don’t have the energy for it.” His words weren’t loud. They weren’t cruel. But it was firm. And it hit you harder than it should have. For a moment, the world seemed to pause. You blinked at him, surprised, waiting for the immediate backtrack, the apology that usually followed any hint of tension from him. But it didn’t come.

Instead, he broke eye contact first, raking a hand through his hair and letting out a breath that sounded like it was holding him together. Something strange fluttered in your chest—a knot of confusion and unease—as you tried to decipher this new version of him. This wasn’t the Hughie you knew. This one, worn thin and edged with something nearly fierce, felt unfamiliar. You hated how sharply you noticed the shift, resentment and curiosity twisting together inside you. You tried to shrug it off. You really did.

The moment kept looping in your mind: his voice dropping, his refusal to soften, the way he stood his ground instead of folding like he always did. It shouldn’t have mattered. It definitely shouldn’t have made your stomach twist in that strange, electric way. But it did. And the strangest part? You started seeing it everywhere. Not because he turned cruel—he didn’t. Hughie was still Hughie. Still gentle, still thoughtful, still the one who’d quietly check if you’d eaten or hand you something before you even knew you needed it. You remembered that night last winter, when he silently wrapped his scarf around your neck after you left the bar, both of you laughing about the world’s worst nachos. It was those small, unspoken gestures that made the changes stand out even more. But now you glimpsed another side of him, too. The side that bristled. The side that snapped when pushed. The side that didn’t always yield. And once you noticed it, you couldn’t look away.

You kept circling around the feeling, trying to name it. Part of you recoiled, uncertain and unsettled by the way his sharpness disrupted the softness you’d always relied on. There was comfort in predictability, and witnessing this shift made you question what else you never saw coming. But underneath that unease was a hum of excitement you could not ignore. You wondered if, deep down, you’d grown hungry for something more real, more unguarded from him. The fear of change tangled with the thrill of seeing him refuse to retreat or swallow down his frustration. It made you uneasy, like standing too close to a fire, but it also lit something restless inside you. The truth was you wanted to understand both sides, wanted to find out where these shifting boundaries between comfort and conflict would leave you, and what it meant that you could be drawn to both.

It happened again a few days later. This time, you were alone, which somehow made it sting more. Or maybe it made it better. You couldn’t tell. You’d been nudging him, nothing serious, just questions he clearly didn’t want to answer. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was something deeper—a worry that gnawed at you, the hope that if he let you in, you could help carry whatever weighed him down. You thought if you kept pressing, he’d finally open up. Instead, he stopped what he was doing and fixed his gaze on you.

“Why? Why do you do that?” he asked, his voice softer this time but still carrying that edge. “You don’t have to prod everything, you know.” Your breath caught. Because again—that tone. That firmness. That lack of apology. And instead of feeling hurt, instead of pulling back as you should have… You felt something else. Something warmer. Something that sent your heart racing, nerves and intrigue tangled up in this new intensity. You became acutely aware of the small things: the warmth of his arm brushing yours, the light scent of his cologne mingling with the air, and even the muffled hum of the refrigerator in the background. "I just…" You began, but your voice wavered beneath his steady gaze.

He stepped a little closer, not aggressive or threatening, just enough to erase the space between you. “You just what?” There it was again. That difference. That subtle shift from gentle to something sharper. Your thoughts scattered. This shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t be reacting like this. But the realisation crashed over you, sudden and inescapable. You liked it. Not because he was being harsh, but because it was him, unfiltered. This was Hughie without hesitation, not cushioning every word or shrinking to fit someone else’s comfort. Somehow, that made your chest tighten in a way that felt thrilling. It awakened something restless and electric in you—a sense of being truly seen, challenged, almost invited to meet him on new ground. There was a strange exhilaration in witnessing him drop the gentleness, as if part of you had been waiting to know this braver, starker version all along. Your voice came out softer, more honest than you meant. “I think I like it when you don’t hold back.”n shifted instantly. Confusion replaced the edge, his brows pulling together as he searched your face. “What?” You felt heat creep up your neck, but you didn’t look away. “When you’re a little mean,” you admitted, the words sounding strange even as you said them. “It’s different. It’s… kind of nice.” Silence fell between you. Hughie blinked at you, clearly trying to process what you’d just said. “I—” He let out a short, almost disbelieving laugh. “You like it when I’m being a dick?”“That’s not what I said,” you shot back, but there was a small smile tugging at your lips now. “It’s just… you’re always so careful. It’s nice seeing you not be, for once.” He stared at you for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Then, slowly, that familiar softness began to return, but not fully. Not quite. “Yeah?” he said, voice lower now, stepping a fraction closer. Your breath caught. “Yeah.” He tilted his head, studying you like you were something unexpected. Then, almost testing the waters, he said, “You’re weird, you know that?” It wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t gentle either. It landed somewhere in between, leaving you both exposed and buzzing. The thrill of it made your answer tumble out before you could stop it.

“Maybe,” you said, meeting his gaze. “But you don’t seem to mind.” For a second, neither of you moved. Then Hughie’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, something a little more uncertain, but real. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I guess I don’t.” And this time, when the silence settled between you, it didn’t feel awkward. It felt charged. Like something had shifted, something small but important. Because now, you weren’t just seeing the soft version of Hughie Campbell.

You were seeing all of him now. And that realisation felt like stumbling onto a secret you never knew you needed, a clarity settling in, bright and unexpected. His sharpness, his exhaustion, his rough edges were suddenly as much a part of him as the warmth and patience you’d always cherished. In that moment, you knew you didn’t want the careful version, the one who shrank to fit what others needed. You wanted the messy, stubborn parts too. It made you wonder what else might emerge if you let him be wholly himself with you, if you stopped expecting only gentleness and learned to welcome every layer. Maybe next time you would let your guard down first, or ask him what he needed, even when it was hard. You wondered if you would be brave enough to meet him in those honest moments, to step into the unknown together, and see what would unfold when both of you stopped hiding.

And somehow, that made you like him even more.

[letstalkalatte]

wounded!hughie x f!reader

Summary: hughie, adrenaline pumping after standing his ground with homelander himself. unfortunately, it's not the only thing you're worried about and need to address with him.

Content tags + warnings: SMUT (18+) Somewhat angsty (?) Reader ontop and unprotected sex. Alternate events, but mostly inspired from S3 Ep4.

Note: 1.2k+ wc Anywayys, have some Hughie! No title since I wrote this on a whim tonight, cuz I've had a slight block on continuing some of my other stuff. It's a first draft, and not meant to be long, and probably isn't worth the waits inbetween to other more fleshed out ideas. Generally, it's just been kinda hard to write lately. All I seem to do is outline occasionally. - speaking of, I may rewrite some of these lines 😖

"Hughie," you breathed, nearly hyperventilating at the very state of him.

"It's— definitely not as bad as it looks." he sighed.

You were about to fold, and creature of habit you were, began chewing at your fingernails for the first time in months. "I thought— shit, Hughie you said you were done with… with—"

"It's not what you think." he attempted. His excuses were starting to sound like he had a lover on the side, and the boys might as well had been just that, as far as you were concerned.

You stared even harder at him for even attempting such a flimsy lie.

"Alright. Yeah, it's… exactly that."

There he was, sitting on the bed, looking so much more broken than the last time you were over, and it was hardly a couple of days before. And with the look in his eyes, they seemed so much more wounded about what he had to say next.

"Hey," he gently said.

You didn't move from where you stood. Maybe if you kept silent, he would say or do anything to quell your worries.

He reached out with his left hand, and although it was still wrapped, your mind echoed to just pull away from his reach. But that's not what happened. Taking the opportunity, his fingertips ghosted past the skin of your knuckles, and with your fist shaking by your side, his touch was just as lethal as it had always been.

Your eyes were honed in on his own, leaning your forehead into his for a moment, as you hovered yourself over his lap. You had to be proactive in working him out of his jeans, and you were nearly there yourself, as your panties remained snug on your hips.

"Look, I know I'm a shithead," he swallowed.

"That's a given." you exhaled.

You were moving against Hughie, leaving the slick evidence that had soaked through your panties at this point, all over his own tenting underwear. And you hardly felt bad for him, especially with how he'd gotten himself mixed into this kind of insanity.

"But I'm your shithead, that's got to count for something…"

His nostrils flared ever so slightly, and you felt yourself reaching between your bodies, effectively making room for yourself to become cozy and more acquainted to the size of him.

"You shouldn't be going anywhere," you warned. Your breath hitched, and you were shifting enough of the fabric aside so that you could hopefully persuade him to stay and not get on that flight.

"It's only a couple of days." he pleaded.

You were poised at the tip of him, holding him hostage to your depths. And as much as you would have loved to tease him further, it was already torturous enough for you as you carefully maneuvered yourself down about halfway, pausing there as you shut your eyes.

"You don't have to go." you cooed, hoping that if you just gave him something, anything—he would feel indebted and you'd have your way this time, too.

You pressed the side of your face by his ear, just breathing as you caught the familiar scent of him. Grasping onto the back of his head, you felt your fingers instinctively raking through his curls, as you continued to gently rock yourself ontop of him.

"Fuck, fuck I'm so…" he faltered, nearly wheezing. "Sorry,"

It was all so much, and he could hardly focus on the right words he could even gather to keep you happy. But he also knew that this was simply one of those things that there was no winning, at least not while things were left this way. In a world where if he remained indecisive, or didn't take the risk, the lives of those he cared about could be snuffed out.

And if he hadn't already lost others already, and he wasn't about to lie down and die either, and maybe someday you would understand that. But there was a price he was willing to pay if you never did, so long as you were alive, safe, and happy. Even if it was without him.

"Hughie, I love you so… so much, please…" you pleaded.

Your back arched slightly, as you rode your man with renewed passion, hoping you could communicate something else beyond anything you could fathom now, with him inside of you, fucking you till your mind was mush, despite how enraged you should be that he was so keen on running towards danger.

As if you could ever count on an actual domestic life with Hughie Campbell. But it was not lost on you, the way the moment felt so very him, the way he was always on the cusp on deserting everything, willing to do whatever it took just to please you.

"I love you, I love you—" he echoed, repeating himself as he pleaded, hoping you would meet his eyes. "I'm coming back, I promise—"

You whimpered, feeling the shudders running down your spine suddenly due to your momentum. You had to bite your lip, as you motioned yourself upwards as you furrowed your brows. You were so intent on getting him to just stay in bed with you, that you both had forgotten about wearing protection, "I'm… close."

"Okay, okay…" Hughie, out of breath, realizing what you must have been insinuating. "We should stop."

"Mmph," you hummed, trying to keep your bliss in check. Rocking yourself back carefully on his length, the way you gyrated yourself and kept busy, had his eyes fluttering shut. And who was he to argue if you told him no. "No, it's fine…"

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, shut up."

Your reply was terse, and you while you sat ontop of his lap, you felt the rhythmic breathing of his chest against yours as, edging the two of you off to stall for time. And it was not like Hughie had the means to grasp onto your thighs in assistance. Though his left hand wandered up and down your side, and he captured your lips with his own, sealing them from any further arguing.

The slick sounds from every movement filled the room, and had you moaning into the kiss while you began to pick up your pace once again. It seemed like your goal involved him having a moaning fit, as you worked him in ways that would likely leave him with something to linger on, to help him keep these remnants of you close while he was away.

It only took a few more purposeful thrusts, and your own hand stimulating yourself, which was usually Hughie's job in getting you off, but he only had himself to blame; those empty-headed actions causing his incapacitation.

Though, as you worked yourself ontop of him to your climax, although the moans nearly died in your throat, the muscles in your thighs felt anything but soundless. And Hughie watched as the gorgeous sight of you falling apart on him.

You buried your face into his collarbone, pecking his neck as you then straightened your posture, and then locked eyes with him again. "Hurry back," you whispered.

Hughie nodded, pressing his lips into yours, and right as he pulled away. The look in your eyes startled him.

"If you don't, I'm breaking the other arm."

The grin that graced his face as he realized just how in love with you he truly was, had your face softening as well. And as much as you weren't enthused about Hughie leaving now, you were entirely unprepared to deal with the reason why he ended up coming back without the cast.

[jacaeryssgf]

HARD TO THINK

Warning: kissing and Hughie being cringe towards the end 

Summery: After another exhausting and dangerous day, Hughie Campbell finds comfort in the only person who makes him feel safe — you. What starts as teasing and soft

a/n: I’m so in love with Hughie Campbell.

The apartment was quiet except for the soft sound of rain tapping against the windows.

Hughie Campbell sat beside you on the bed, one hand resting nervously against your thigh while the other toyed with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“You’re staring again,” you teased softly.

“I am not.”

“You totally are.”

Hughie laughed under his breath, cheeks already turning pink. “Can you blame me?”

Your heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice.

No matter how long you’d been together, Hughie still looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You leaned closer slowly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“That’s really embarrassing for me.”

“Mhm.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face gave him away completely.

Before he could make another sarcastic comment, you kissed him.

Hughie froze for half a second in surprise before immediately kissing you back, soft and eager all at once. His hand slid up to your waist carefully, almost hesitant, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you like this.

The kiss deepened slowly.

Warm.

Messy.

Addictive.

You shifted closer into his lap, and Hughie let out the quietest breath against your lips, fingers tightening slightly against your hips.

“Jesus,” he mumbled between kisses, making you laugh softly.

“What?”

“You make it really hard to think.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

He smiled against your mouth before kissing you harder this time, more confident now. His hands wandered carefully along your back while yours tangled into his curls, tugging just enough to make him shiver.

The sound he made nearly ruined you.

“Hughie…”

Your voice came out quieter than intended, and the way his expression changed at hearing his name from your lips made your stomach flip.

He kissed you again immediately, deeper this time, all desperate affection and pent-up feelings he never really knew how to put into words.

By the time you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless.

Hughie rested his forehead against yours, smiling lazily.

“I think,” he whispered, still catching his breath, “I could stay here forever.”

You grinned, brushing your thumb across his cheek.

“Good,” you murmured. “Because you’re not going anywhere.”

[livingintheserendipity]

Vienna Waits for You (1/3)

AU Hughie Campbell x fem!reader (18+) CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT

word count: 3,367

taglist: @thatdndgirl

warnings : pet names (use of baby), smut; unprotected p in v, swearing, (I suck at warnings I apologize in advance). Please feel free to message me if I forgot anything - I want all audiences to be able to enjoy!

The late afternoon sun floods into the record shop, reflecting its light onto its sage green walls. The front door was propped open, allowing the early-fall wind to blow in. The smell of freshly-brewed coffee wafts in from the café across the street, allowing for a certain coziness to settle upon the store.

You walk over to the vinyl player in the corner, turning a record over in your hands to look at the song selections it offered. Removing the record from its case, you pop side one face up onto the platter and place the tonearm gently. Fleetwood Mac’s “Silver Springs” filled the room, and you let out a small sigh. By the time this album is wrapping up, it’ll be about time to close the store, you think to yourself.

It had been a long day, and you couldn’t wait to retreat to the haven of your apartment above the record store. You were incredibly lucky to have your own place only a set of stairs away from your job, especially on days like this one where the day dragged on.

You slowly strut over to the other side of the store, rolling up the sleeves to your flannel as you mouthed along to the words of the song. Turning your back to the door, you began to pick through the albums under “Alternative, A”, starting your closing tasks of organizing the vinyls after a day of people picking through them.

“Oh, so that’s where my Hall and Oates shirt went.”

You were halfway through the “C” section when a voice behind you almost made you jump out of your skin.

“Holy shit!” You jump, clutching at your chest as you turn around.

Your boyfriend put his hands up in mock surrender, a shy, embarrassed smile forming on his lips.

“Hughie!” You cry as you slapped playfully at his chest, laughing off your jumpiness.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly replied, chuckling as he ran his hand through his hair.

It’s true what they say - fall is all about falling in love.

The fall time suited Hughie, you thought to yourself. And it really did.

Here he stood, the crisp city air leaving his bearded cheeks just a hint rosy, his rich brown curls messy from the breeze outside. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his green jacket, leaning into the adjacent wall and crossing one of his feet over the other.

You knew he wanted to look cool so bad - the mysterious guy who wandered into your shop to ask you what underground albums you would recommend.

But instead, he just looked like your boyfriend - this shy, handsome man who carried a scent of strawberries and the pages of an old book that you choose to reread over and over again.

Comforting, safe, and all yours.

“How was your day?” He asks, eying the record player. “I dunno what it means when Fleetwood Mac is playing.”

He loved how you based the music in the shop on the mood you were feeling. It gave him another opportunity to look into his girlfriend, know exactly what was on her mind.

You laugh, eyes still scanning the vinyls you were organizing. “I’m not sure either, but every day is a perfect day for Stevie Nicks. Sorry about the shirt.” You gesture to the shirt under your open flannel.

His blue eyes flicker to yours, then down to the faded Hall and Oates shirt you had stolen from Hughie’s closet that morning. You loved the feeling of wearing his clothes, the embrace they held you in as they hugged your body.

“Hey, no worries” he said, straightening from the wall and walking towards you slowly. “I think living together constitutes the right to my shirts.”

“Good,” you beamed at him. “I wasn’t going to give it back anyways.”

He smirks, placing his hands on your hips and pulling your body to face his. He wraps one of his hands around you to pull you in closer by the small of your back. His arms felt protective, warm as they hugged your body in just the right way while the cool breeze drifted inside of the store.

“Little do you know,” he purs, his eyes burning into yours. “I love seeing you in my clothes.

You blush, eyes darting towards the ground, wrapping your arms around his neck. Hughie moves his hand resting on your waist to under your chin, his index and forefinger gently tipping your head upwards and your eyes once again meeting his.

The way he looked at you could only be described as insatiable. You were his world, the sun and the moon, and being the lover boy he was, he always wanted you to know it.

“What would you say if I closed up a little early tonight?” You ask slyly, breaking away from his touch and walking towards the front door to close it. You stand with one hand on the lock, turning to face your boyfriend as if awaiting his response.

Hughie stands awkwardly in the middle of the store, mouth breaking into one of his signature boyish grins. In the two years you’ve been dating Hughie Campbell, there were so many aspects of him that you have fallen in love with.

You loved the way his hair was messy when he woke up every morning. You loved the way he left your breakfast out on the kitchen counter before he went to work with a sweet little note to start your day. You loved when he wore nothing but an old Billy Joel T-shirt and boxers after showering at night before bed. You would fall asleep laying on his chest, your nose entangled with the scent of him as sleep overcame you.

But that grin - oh, it made you want to tear him apart every time.

With a quirk of his eyebrows, he strides over to the sign hanging in the window and turns it counterclockwise, changing the “Open, come on in!” to “Closed, see you next time!”

You two run up the stairs leading to the flat, laughing all the way. Even though you’ve been together quite some time, you two had never lost that touch of playfulness with each other. You were still two crazy kids in love, head over heels for each other.

You could be yourself with Hughie, as could he. That spark that you first felt for each other is still burning bright today, and damn, that says so much.

Unlocking the door to the apartment, Hughie stands behind you, arms wrapped around your waist. He presses kisses to the back of your neck, laughing when you can’t find the key to the apartment on your giant ring of miscellaneous keys.

“I know, I need to organize this thing a little better,” you chuckle, notioning the key ring.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hughie jokes as you turn the lock. “That thing jangling on your jeans at the shop is a real turn on. That’s why I can’t keep my hands off you.”

You roll your eyes at him as you push open the door to your flat. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, and one Hughie.

It was all yours.

He plops himself on the couch, kicking off his Converse. “C’mere baby,” he calls.

You give him a small smile, walking over to your own personal record player in the apartment to put on a record. Hughie loves when you put a little music on during intimacy, he feels less awkward when there’s background noise. Jeff Buckley’s “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” fills the emptiness of the living room as you turn your attention back to Hughie.

Your hand reaches out to caress his stubble-covered cheek, your thumb resting on his bottom lip, pulling softly. You gently thread your fingers into the brunette curls on the nape of his neck, your eyes meeting his. He stares back at you with an aching, burning desire - one that makes your heart flutter while the fire in your stomach grows brighter. You blush, feeling all the heat rise to your cheeks, biting your bottom lip as the top one curves into a smirk.

Hughie has a name for that when you do it -

It’s called going in for the kill.

In one swift motion, he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you on top of him. You bend your knees for stability, straddling him as he rests his hands on your hips - firmly, lovingly. Your hands find their place on his chest, his breath hitching as you run them down towards his abdomen.

“You say the words,” he begins, a smile pulling at his lips. “Tell me what it is you want, and it is yours.”

“I want you,” you purr back. “It’s always been you.”

And it really has, since that first day he walked into your store two years ago.

You sat behind the counter, pressing price stickers onto new inventory when you heard the bell at the top of the door sound.

“Hello,” you called out, not taking your eyes off your task. “Welcome in.”

There was no response - only then did you look up to see your future boyfriend standing at the far corner of the store, browsing the albums thoroughly. You paid attention to how he meticulously picked through the albums, so gingerly.

You noted his height, his messy hair, the same black Converse on his feet. The way he turned an album over in his hands. How handsome he was.

You had to pretend to act busy when he came up to the counter to check out. You totally weren’t staring at him the whole time he was in your store.

“The Nylon Curtain,” you announced, gently putting the vinyl into a paper bag. “Great pick.”

“Thanks,” he muttered back with a small chuckle. “Billy Joel, he’s cool.”

“Yeah, he is.”

And with a small smile, he was gone- no name, no number. It kept you awake that night, thinking about that man that came into your shop.

It saddened you that the only thing you knew about this man was that he may have a liking of Billy Joel.

Thank goodness, the next week, he came back. And you learned his name - Hughie.

After that, Hughie came back to your store every Thursday.

He asked you when you opened your store the following Thursday.

You asked him what his favorite album was the next week.

He asked you what you liked to do for fun outside work the week after.

Then he asked you out. And the rest is history.

You smile back at him, leaning forward to press your lips to his. He graciously kisses back, slow and tantalizing, bucking his hips up while his fingers traveled down to your thighs. You could feel his hardness in his jeans, grinding your hips to press yourself into him and making him whimper under you.

Not breaking the kiss, you slide your flannel down your arms and off your back, dismissing it to the other side of the sofa. As Hughie smiles into your lips, he cups your cheek with his large hand, his thumb placed under your chin to keep your lips to his. Opening his mouth slightly wider, he forces his tongue into your mouth, yours begging him to continue.

Clamping down gently, but surely, on Hughie’s bottom lip with your upper teeth, he moans into you, his fingers digging into your inner thigh. “Fuck, baby,” he groans against your lips, the hunger in his eyes burning brighter.

Hughie uses his thumb hooked under your chin to tilt your head upwards before once again meeting his lips to your bottom one. He sucks gently, his lips brushing from your chin and down to your jaw. You whine with pleasure as your head tilts farther back, allowing him to continue his teasing. Your fingers find their way to the nape of Hughie’s neck, gently digging your fingernails into his beautiful curls, grounding him in pleasuring you.

His other hand leaves your thigh, slipping so sneakily under your tshirt. He travels up your hip and over the side of your breast, provoking a series of goosebumps under your skin from his touch. He moves at a deliberate pace, tracing your collarbone with his fingertips as if he was an artist admiring his newest work.

“Is this okay?” He asks, lips muffled by the kisses he’s showering over your skin. Your comfort is his first concern when getting intimate, always.

“Perfect,” you mumble back, feeling ravenous for him. His touch, his kiss, his cock - all of it.

His mouth moves onto your throat, nipping your skin with his teeth. Your fingernails rake down his back, earning a deep moan from within his throat.

Hughie finally breaks away from your skin, his hands reaching to unclasp his belt buckle. In a hurry, he undoes his belt, reaching next for the bottom hem of your shirt. He curls his fingers around it, removing it over your head.

“God, you are so beautiful,” he coos, his blue eyes bright. “So fucking beautiful, baby.”

You crash your lips into his, trembling fingers working his jean fly. Hughie’s hands travel up your abdomen to cup your breasts, gingerly pinching your nipples between his thumb and index finger, making your mouth open against his in pleasure.

Leaning forward, he moves his large hands under both of your thighs, lifting you onto his waist. Your legs dangle behind his back, his strong body supporting you as he walks you over to the kitchen island. He sets you down on the counter, his hard cock threatening to break free from his boxer shorts.

Your hands travel to the bottom hem of his tshirt, fooling around with the fabric between your fingers, silently pleading for him to take it off. He nods, lifting his arms to help you guide his shirt off his skin.

You admire him, your eyes and hands scanning every inch of his exposed skin. With another quirk of his eyebrows, he slowly begins to pull down your jeans, glancing to you with his eyes as asking permission. You nod, hands moving to rest on his bare shoulders.

“Yes, please baby,” you plead, gasping as your bare ass met the coolness of the island. Your jeans remain around your ankles as he began to leave kisses up your legs.

“Please, what?” He asks between kisses. He looks up at you from behind his eyelashes, with his big, blue eyes. They were surely feeding off of your pleasure.

You tangle your fingers in his hair as he moves slowly, seductively, hungrily. He starts to suck lightly on your inner thighs, leaving small marks that are sure to be hickeys tomorrow. Your head tilts back in pleasure, whining as he nips at the sensitive skin with his teeth.

“Please…mmm…I need you,” you hum. His hand travels up your body to rest in between your thighs, thumb rubbing small circles on the soaked fabric of your panties.

His eyes once again lock with yours, your breath hitching as he notices your arousal. “Need me?” He asks.

“Yes,” you beg as your head rolled in pleasure as he continued to tease you. “I always need you.”

With a devious shine in his eyes, he takes his second and ring finger into his mouth, lubricating them. You bite your lip as you watched him, knowing you were driving him crazy.

Hughie uses his other hand to hook your panties to one side, inserting his fingers into you. You whimper, head falling back in pleasure as you tighten your grip on his tendrils around your fingertips.

The way he pumped in and out of you was hypnotizing, curling his fingers upwards across your warm walls as he pulled out, resetting as he moved back in. The walls of your pussy contract around him, pulsing with every thrust of his hand.

“Is this good, baby?” He asks, grabbing your hip with his free hand, grounding you into the counter. “Wanna make sure you feel good.” You nod vigorously, the coils in your stomach burning hot irons, getting warmer by the second.

“Yes, Hughie, you feel amazing. Fuck…”

It always excites Hughie when you get close to your release, because he always aims to please his girl however he can. He absolutely fucking loves getting you off, more than he loves himself getting off. Your pleasure and comfort are always his first priority.

With your eyes closed and lips parted, you channel into each pump of his fingers, in, out, in out. You feel his tongue on your inner thigh, moving towards your center. You sit up a bit straighter, taken aback by his change in direction. His hand on your hip digs into you a bit harder, his head dipping to your pussy.

As he continued to finger you, he begins to lightly suck on you, making you yelp as his lips find your clit. He lightly grazes your clit with his teeth, looking up at you with his hungry eyes. The stubble of his beard runs rough against your skin, heightening the ecstasy of his touch.

“Holy fuck,” you choke out, feeling your release creeping up on you. “Please…keep going…don’t…stop.” He was making you beg for him, and he loved it.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers lowly against your folds. “Come for me.”

“Hughie…I…Holy fuck…”

The coil in the pit of your stomach snaps, sending a raging fire to your cunt. You fall apart at his fingers when your orgasm overcomes you, waves of pleasure cooling your whole body.

“Hughie…I’m coming,” you whine, riding your orgasm.

“You’re so perfect, baby,” he praises you, lips still grazing your folds while his fingers slow. “Tell me what you need.”

“Baby…” you whisper, still drunk off of the high you just reached. “I want you, all of you.”

He gives another boyish grin, one that showed his top set of teeth. He absolutely loved knowing what made you tick, what made you feel good. And when he made you feel good, he felt euphoric.

Sitting up, you grab his jeans, pulling them down his hips with an impatient giggle. He laughs back, grabbing the waistband of his boxer shorts, pulling down to allow his cock to spring free.

Bending over you, he eagerly aligns himself with your folds. As he enters you, you bury his head in the crook of your neck, his moans a sweet sound in your ear.

Your fingernails scrape at his shoulders, legs twisted together behind his back so he could bottom out inside of you. Your hips begin to move with his, legs pulling back into your chest, his tip reaching towards your cervix. With each thrust, your head falls back into the countertop as you feel the throb of his cock.

His mouth travels the curves of your body, his lips settling on the skin covering your collarbone, pressing light kisses. His hand claw at your bra, pulling it down to expose your nipples to his teeth. He swirls your nipple with his tongue while he toys with the other with his thumb.

Your fingernails dig into his back, traveling down towards his hips, Your hips buck with sexual tension, forcing Hughie to hold them down with his hands. He grounded you when you needed it, especially when he was busy fucking you.

He quickens his pace, slamming his hips into yours as he thrusts into your pussy. “Does this feel okay, baby?” He questions, his sweaty brow furrowed with concentration. “Just shut up and fuck me, Hughie!” You snap with a small laugh, wrapped in savoring the moment.

His lips curls into a smile, he encapsulates both of your hands with his. He loved to show you sweet physical touch during your fucking, because he just wanted to make you feel as loved as possible. He laces his fingers into yours, deciding he was in fact making you feel incredible, grounding himself in his intrusive thoughts.

“I’m getting close,” he pants, holding both of your hands above your head with one of his hands as the other traveled to your hip. Holding your hip steady, he rams into you over and over, his dick rubbing against your walls in the best possible way. Your pussy was begging for him, taking in every inch of him.

“Fuck,” he moans, feeling his hot cum fill spill into you. He finally allowed your hips to move with his as he rode out his orgasm, a deep chuckle coming from deep in his throat. “God, that was amazing. You’re amazing…”

“Mmm,” you agree, sex brain catching up with you. You wrap your arms around his neck, giving Hughie a lazy smile as his cock remains inside your walls.

“You feel okay?” He asks, cupping your cheek in his hand.

“Hughie,” you say, reassuringly. “I am beyond okay, I am perfect. You are perfect. I love you.”

He smiles, kissing you gently on the lips. “I love you, too. So fucking much.”

Read part 2 here!

Read part 3 here!

Ahhhh guys!!! My first PUBLISHED fanfic!! I have to be honest with y’all - I’ve had all three parts finished for a few days now - but imposter syndrome REALLY had the best of me and I’ve been putting off publishing this for real.

Please reach out to me if you would like to be included on my tag list for the other two parts, coming very very soon! I hope you guys enjoy!

In the meantime, stay serendipitous!

- love always,

living in the serendipity 🤍

[castielthinkr]

hii can I request prompt 3. patching each other up with Hughie Campbell for the 1k follower event !! nsfw (or if you think sfw works better that’s fine too 😊)

prompt 4: patching each other up

lowk skipped like 20 reqs for this bc i saw it and immediately had thoughts thank u anon cw -18/ageless blogs dni, nsfw but not smut? idk no p in v but they dryhump #superior, written on my phone so formatting is weird until i get to my laptop

1k follower event

you’re really not that hurt. that’s what you’ve been telling hughie, at least. the way your shoulder throbs and your head spins say different, but he doesn’t have to know that. he’s bleeding, you’re not, ergo: you’re really not that hurt.

besides, you’re more focused on how close hughie is than how much pain you’re in. he’s supposed to be checking your shoulder for a sprain or whatever (you weren’t really listening), but you can hear how strange his breathing sounds, almost like he’s breathing manually.

he’s so close, you could angle your head just right and kiss him.

“i think you’re okay,” he murmurs, breaking you out of your thoughts. “probably just bruised. i still need to check whether you have a concussion, though.”

“i don’t have a concussion,” you say, eyes still glued to his face. he flushes a little.

“you might. let me check.”

“you’re bleeding.”

“it’s stopped. let me check you for a concussion.”

“fine. bossy,” you concede.

you shouldn’t have. he makes direct eye contact with you, and your body almost shuts down. you’ve told him how insane it is that after being with him as long as you have, you still react the same as when you first started dating, and it still persists today.

your heart skips a beat as he leans in closer to check your pupils, breath hitching when he gently grabs your chin to keep your head straight while he makes you follow his finger.

he hums eventually. “i’m pretty sure you’re good for now.”

“pretty sure?” you tease. “you wanna check again?” please, god, let him check again. you could sit there staring into his eyes as he holds your face for hours.

“no, i’m more than pretty sure. just gonna keep an eye on you.”

you hum and nod. “your turn.”

he’s got a cut on his hairline that’s gradually been trickling blood onto his forehead. it’s a small cut, and the bleeding has slowed, but you still can’t stand seeing it.

you take an antiseptic wipe and gently scrub at the drying blood, and now it’s hughie’s turn to be completely mesmerised. he stares up at you as you clean his skin, your hand tangled in his hair to keep his head still. when you finish, you press a soft, chaste kiss to his hairline, right beside the cut.

when you pull away slightly, he pulls you back in. his lips meet yours more forcefully than yours met his forehead. you tilt your head almost immediately, reciprocating with the same vigour. he hums into the kiss, parting his lips slightly as they move against yours. your hands slide under his shirt, palms flattening against his warm back, soft skin meeting subtle raised scars from years of fighting.

he pulls away to breathe. “good?”

you nod, breathless, and go back in. one of his hands comes to rest on your waist, squeezing gently. you’re too caught up in the kiss to feel embarrassed about the noise you unwillingly let out, but you feel hughie’s reaction underneath you.

he moves both his hands to rest on your ass, taking a moment to feel before pulling you fully onto his lap. he manoeuvres your legs to rest beside his, and you shift to get comfortable as you straddle him. he lets out a soft sigh as you move against him, the sound going straight through you.

you grind down again, and he pulls back to let out a groan. “god.”

“yeah?” you say breathlessly, going again.

he lets out a choked moan, his head falling to rest against your chest. you can feel the tent in his pants straining against you at the perfect angle, and it almost sends you to heaven.

he grabs your head again, almost squishing your cheeks, and slams his lips back against yours. he rolls his hips up against yours this time, and you gasp into the kiss. he moves his tongue against yours at a perfect rhythm with his hips, and you almost see stars.

“hughie,” you moan against his lips. “hugh.”

“god, you’re so perfect. perfect f’me. always,” he says, strained. his movements start becoming more erratic, and you pull away again.

“st— oh, stop. we shouldn’t do this here.”

he whines, and you almost give in right there.

“you’re not gonna enjoy coming in your pants,” you say breathlessly, “and even if you did, we should probably do this in a place where the others can’t walk in on us.”

hughie groans, his head falling back. he’s still holding you on top of him, both hands on your waist. “you’re gonna blue ball me?”

“i’m just saying—“

“i know, i know. you might be right.”

“i’m definitely right. butcher walking in would ruin the mood more than this.”

he laughs breathily, looking back at you. god, he’s gorgeous.

“we should probably shower, too,” you say, trying to convince him more.

“yeah, you’re a little stinky,” he teases.

“oh, shut up. you smell like supe shit.” you get off his lap, immediately missing the perfect pressure of his hard on between your legs. you offer him a hand, belatedly wondering if he’ll just pull you back down, but he doesn’t. he takes your hand and stands.

“shower?” he asks with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous smile.

you roll your eyes good-naturedly. “shower.”

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Idk if you’ve seen the newest episode of the boys but it’s given me an idea, fem reader who realizes she likes when hughie is a little mean to her and it like leads into smut

If that’s not your thing then you can totally ignore this lol

I haven’t seen any of the new ones yet! I’m waiting- but I’ll work off what you said and try to create a situation where Hughie gets mean and dominant ish, I feel like I struggled with this one wah makes me wanna watch instead of waiting for it all to release ugh. I hope you enjoyed it regardless!

warnings: SMUT, creampie, no protection, nothing too rough or scandalous really, I feel like I’m terrible at warnings, sex! there is sex, thats what there is that’s what is written and I’m unsure of what else to put the smut wasn’t very long I apologize for that :) not proofread

word count: 1,194

The Boys Masterslist

Hughie was the best boyfriend you could’ve asked for; attentive, sweet, brave and smart. He was what anyone would ask for in a partner. When he got mad, he was rarely careless with his words, he barely raised his voice and never truly insulted you during moments of tension.

Though this time you had slipped up on a mission, causing things to go amiss. With all the bloodshed, death, Butcher's tumorous-powers worrying Hughie the last thing he needed was the possibility of you being hurt, or worse, killed. It was like he was like he was a rubber band pulled taut, and your mishap was what snapped the band sending him spiraling until you got to your shared apartment.

Then after a silent car drive, he was mean. His voice raised, he was cussing left and right, the veins in his arms bulged, his eyes were dark and he truly looked intimidating as he got up in your face.

—

“I’m not fucking kidding, I may not be Butcher or MM, but I’m not stupid either. You need to listen to me sometimes, or you’re just gonna end up killed!” He shouted his expression genuinely pissed, and it made you angry such a slight accident made him this mad. “I’m not some crybaby damsel Hughie, I’m part of The Boys too.” You snapped back.

Hughie got up in your face, just when he was going to back off. “I can’t have you dying too! That was fucking stupid, what you did was stupid and if you do something like that again I’ll- I’ll make sure you’re not in The Boys.”

Though he sounded unsure, his face was crunched with anger and he had gripped your shoulders mid way through his sentence shaking you gently. “You don’t get to control me,” You scoffed in disbelief, your head jutting back slightly in indignation though you weren’t able to move away from him.

“Yes! In this case, I absolutely will control you!” Hughie exclaimed, eyes wide looking at you incredulously almost as if he was shocked you thought you had a say. Staring at him you took a minute to lament over what he was saying, while looking over his somewhat disheveled appearance with desire

His anger; the incessant stance on controlling your position in this, and fierce protection that presented itself in the form of anger, was all arousing to you, especially when it was such a rare occasion.

“Fuck you Hughie, Butchers rubbing off on you and I don’t fuckin like it.” Hughie scoffed at you slapping his hands down against his thighs. “I’m trying to keep you safe, this isn’t a game!” He stressed, making you slightly pissed off.

“Don’t act like I don’t know what I’m involved with, like I’m some airheaded clutz going to run headfirst into death!” Hughie growled frustratedly at your response, like you seriously weren’t understanding why he was angry, and worried, to begin with.

Seeing as words weren’t doing him justice, he cupped your face, lurching forward with a drive and passion he hadn’t felt before, capturing your lips.

You made a muffled noise of surprise against him, eyes widening but soon fluttering shut. There was no melting into this kiss; it was a kiss where Hughie took, pushed and didn’t wait for you to catch up. Clumsily, Hughie began walking you back, until your back hit the wall. He was breathing heavily through his nose as he forced his tongue into your mouth, making you gasp.

You gripped his t-shirt, a mixture of emotions coursing through you including arousal, and a bit of anger. Pulling away he looked into your eyes, expression more pained than angry. “I’m sorry,” He murmured somewhat breathless. “I just… I need to keep you safe.”

There was a moment of silence between you two as you absorbed what just happened, and the fact you’d never seen Hughie so aggressive. “I forgive you. I just… want to help.. don’t make me feel like some dummy., but… that anger of yours….” You trailed giving him a coy smile, your hands traveling up to the nape of his neck where you toyed with his hair.

Hughie tried to hide the way your touch made him feel, but there wasn’t much he could do about the bulge against his jeans or the chills littering his skin at the sensation of your touch.

“I kinda liked you getting all mean, and bossy.” You hum, directly contradicting your earlier statement when you said you didn’t like Butcher rubbing off on him. “You do?” Hughie smirked slightly, his upper teeth slightly visible as he did.

“I do, and I think you should show me how mean you can get, and we’ll call this argument a truce.” Hughie left out a soft huff of laughter tugging you against his body with a newfound fire.

—

Hughie hissed through his teeth, your body bent over the nearest surface, your leg lifted up on it as he pounded into you. His anger, fear, frustration and adrenaline fueled his rough pace. “Hughie!” You cried out clenching around his cock, as he continually slammed that area inside you that filled your veins with lava.

“Fuck,” He panted, chest sweaty reflecting the amber overhead lights, his long hands pawing your ass, spreading you apart as he bent his knees to angle deeper making you choke on a gasp.

“You like it when I’m pissed?” Hughie spoke through puffs of breath, his hand moving up to your shoulder to pull your body back onto his dick. “Yes! Fuck,” You squealed your toes curling in delight as his free hand came down against your ass roughly, he himself whimpering at the pleasure feeling of you clench.

“Oh shit I-I’m not gonna last,” His breathy whine made your eyes roll back and body tense with anticipation, your clit bumping against the surface in a way that wasn’t entirely pleasurable, but stimulating enough to pull you over the edge.

With a broken cry your body locked up, Hughie's name falling from your lips repeatedly with the pace of his thrusts, the veins and ridges of his cock scratching every inch of what you needed as you came. Hughie's chest met your back, his lips against the shell of your ear, moaning deeply as he chased his own release.

One of his hands dug into your hip, the other gently around your neck as he panted. “Just a little more, please, oh god,” Hughie whined in your ear, thrusting into your jittering body. Overstimulation set in making you wiggle and mewl as he groaned out your name. Hughie bit your shoulder, his hips slowing as he pumped himself into you, moaning with his teeth gently pressed into your skin.

Hughie slumped slightly, hugging your body, his sweaty chest against your back as you both panted. “I love you, and you should be mean more often,” You murmured dazed. “Yeah, yeah that was good,” Hughie swallowed his mouth, reluctantly, pulling away from your shoulder. “Wanna go get cleaned up then ill make you dinner as a proper sorry?” You snorted at that, smiling at how sweet he truly was. “Yeah let’s do that.”

[aarontveit]

THE BOYS | 2019 - 2026 S05E08 ("Blood and Bone")

[kamillahn]

Jack Quaid in The Boys - S05E07

[my-whumpy-media]