#hughie campbell drabble

[hughiecampbelle]

Unornamented (Hughie Campbell Oneshot)

Character/s: Hughie

Word Count: 1,691

Requested: Not requested, but here are the prompts I used :) 13.) Hum, 36.) Scraped Knees 34.) “Still awake?”

Inspired By: Foxglove by Haley Heynderickx

A/N: I love him, I love him, I love him!!!! Anyways, just an appreciation fic for your patience!!! Thank you my loves!! I actually kinda love how this turned out. I think it's very soft and sweet, even a little sad. Heavily inspired by the song/album. Slowly working through my writers block so that once I start posting again, my work will be what you deserve!!! Feedback is always appreciated!! 💜💜💜

The cicada's sharp pitch moves with the wind, seeping through the open window screens. You never knew what that peculiar sound was, the screaming, bleating, wailing, only that it swept through you each night on your long, humid walks home. A kind of begging. A performance. A tongue you have not yet mastered. Shakespearean tragedies, you imagine, wars between families, between forbidden lovers and bitter marriages. Feuds. They step out into costumes covered in ruffles, pearls, thick collars and high stockings. The children dress as fauna and flora, roaring like cubs, nipping at one another playfully. On stage, they are someone else. Largely unseen as the sun sets, they intend to make their presence known. The rest of them, the crowds for miles and miles, sing their songs in appreciation. A hum that vibrates through the leaves, the open air, their roaring praise and applause settles goosebumps across your flesh. They’ve grown accustomed to sweet summer shows and they will be forever grateful. Harmless, they went about their time as you wished to do. No biting, nor stinging. Without violence. They draw out these shows, afraid they will be left alone to bear their lives, their thoughts, mundane and overpowering respectively. 

Beneath you, the springs of the mattress puncture the thin fabric, poking at the spokes of your spine the way a mother would her child. It tickles, her bony knuckles, the sharpness of the spring. Interchangeable. A comfort you have forgotten of, one that fills the cavity of your chest with dread. What else have you forgotten? What else have you given up for a life like this? The sheer curtains blow with the breeze. Thoughtlessly, they move and dance and grab at one another, like sisters. They must be laughing, you think, for they are warm underneath the butter yellow street lights and safe and together. They must be laughing, because they are together and that is who they’ll only ever need: their twin. Leaves rustle underneath the insect melodies. A bass, low and of the earth, the tone of an old man telling stories of his youth. You can hear him smiling. 

The sheets are soft, newly washed, and sticking to you. Wrapped around your torso, your legs free to breathe, kissed by the thick air. Lying like this, with your knees tented, you can see the scrapes across them. Earth scorched. What was once torn open, alive and mouthy, had healed only slightly. The skin is pale and thick and chewy. Shiny. They don’t hurt as much as they did. You’re not sure how it happened, only that it must’ve been recent. There are other aches and pains. Healed and unhealed, bruised and not. Old wounds stitched together. Deep purples, cobalt blues, sickly greens. They’ll yellow soon enough. You were always getting hurt. You were always in some sort of danger. Unwise, you knew, and yet there was something about the thrill. The taste of blood in your mouth. Last time – the last time – you’d almost been sliced in half. Not yet a scar, the settled skin inching its way across your belly remained snakelike. Sensitive, you were careful to wash and dry, to dress and dress again. Your fingertips brush where it rests beneath your shirt. You don’t like looking at it. It remains too much of a reminder. On that day. Of what you were attempting to leave behind. Too soon to joke, to laugh, the both of you still a little rattled. 

It’s how you ended up here. 

There is a body beside you. Not unfamiliar. His skin is warm, and though forgiveness was never one of summer's virtues, you find yourself curling into him, all his nooks and crannies, despite the humidity in the air. His chest rises and falls evenly. His lip is split and there is a scab at his temple. How many times have you kissed that very spot? How many times had you checked on it, to make sure it was healing properly. Free of infection. His shirt is worn and thin and it smells of him: soap and sky and the dinner he burned earlier. One arm rests beneath you, your head, the other thrown behind the pillow, perching it up further. His rest is not easy, not without effort, but there is a certain softness to his features. Maybe it’s the light, the setting sun, the deep, bright blue of the night sky. Maybe not. Either way your eyes follow the slope of his nose, the curve of his cheek, the furrow of his brow. His hair is wild, some of it slicked back. It is his best effort not to overheat. His dreams are still water, not yet broken by growing, gruesome waves. Not yet entering the heart of the storm. It will, of course. And when it does, he will startle awake. Panting. Gasping for air. Clinging to you. 

For now, though, he is quiet. 

The bedroom is cozy. Cozy, you think, is a nice way of saying it’s small. No matter. You had little with you anyways. A lamp. A mattress. You have yet to get a frame, a bedside table. Frivolities. A single dresser you split down the middle, neck to groin. Autopsy-esque. Photos of friends. Notes and doodles. Passports, fake IDs. Enough clothes to get you through the season. You know, when the snow threatens to fall and the cicadas are long gone, you will need more than what you’ve got. The drawers stick and, embarrassed, as quiet as he can, he’ll shake it open. He has done this since you got here. Untethered himself from you, from the bed, gentle enough not to startle you. He’ll dress, and kiss your head, and leave a note: Be back soon. XO Hughie. He’ll disappear in the early morning. Wandering, you suppose. It is the only way he can breathe easily, if he knows where you are. If he understands the layout of the land. You weren’t in the city anymore. The crowds you’d slipped into, becoming just another strange face, were no longer an option here. The hiding places were minimal. Open roads, nothing for miles. The underbelly you could run to for safety, the trains you could crouch into, your hoods up, your faces low, were unavailable. Nonexistent. You’d traded one anonymity for another. You’d pretend to be asleep, watching him, wide eyed, as the morning sun enveloped him. The rays are subtle, not yet full, and they stretch out towards him. Sometimes you’ll fall back to sleep. Sometimes you’ll lie there, soaking in every inch of the room, wondering what became of everyone you’d ever cared about. Wondering if you could make a life like this. When he comes back, he will make you coffee. The only two mugs you brought with you. Chipped and worn. He’ll place his on the dresser, careful with yours, as if it were something precious. He doesn’t voice what he’s seen, what he’s taken into account, but his features are quick to give him away. You will reassure him: he could never find you here. You are both safe. Everyone is safe. The words are hollow, You know this. As long as Homelander is alive, you are in danger. There is only so much of you you can give to him anymore. There is only so much of your mind, your body, your fears, that you can dole out to him. Hughie nods, the steam from his cup bringing color to his face. You will find something else to talk about. The strangers you met on your long walks. The pets you wave to through fences, through windows. The long summer you’ve been granted. How lucky you’ll be when the weather chills and the leaves begin to turn. Anything but Vought. Anything but him. 

That isn’t for many hours, of course.

Your thoughts spread like fog through the apartment. The kitchen (tiny) and the bathroom (even littler). Enough utensils for two. A spongy bath mat. Anything that would fit in the backseat, really. Silly things you grabbed without thinking. The kitschy salt and pepper shakers. A dozen mismatched socks. Only the case of Hughie’s mouth guard. Half a set of slippers. A handful of books. The rest? You would never be sure what happened to them, to anything. You had what the old tenants left behind. The dresser, the lamp, a table for four with three chairs, a shower curtain. There are other things here as well. Spiders in the corners, weaving their webs. Occasionally, you might find one on the bar of soap by the sink, crawling across the counter tops, making its way through the length of the apartment. A mouse or two. If you’re quiet enough, you might hear them scurrying in the walls. Worse, you suspect, though that’s as far as you can name definitively. The first thing he did was get you a mattress. Paid in cash under another name, beaming with pride, he pushed it up the stairs and through each doorway. It was perfect.  The cicadas sing their songs, harmonizing with one another. The sky has darkened. There are so many stars here. That was the first thing you noticed. Driving for days on end, you watched the inky black glitter, thousands and thousands of holes opening up, letting the twinkling light through. It wasn’t like this in the city. It had never been this clear. Perhaps it was the running, the escaping, the tiresome ways you’d been living since you left. Perhaps it was the first beautiful thing you’d been allowed to take in in a long time. There were wildflowers and small towns and houses built long before you, but the time to look in awe, to appreciate, had been so fleeting. Mere moments, that’s all you were allowed. This would go on forever. The scars embedded in your skin ache just a little. You readjust, placing your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Hughie, coming to, wraps his arm around you, pulling you even closer. “Still awake?” He asks in his sleepy voice, and you know he is smiling.

[sunnyfuffly]

Soldier boy looking at you when you ain't looking, when you're all relaxed pretty and smiling at everyone and everything, you hate him, or atleast find him disgusting, he knows that, he knows people can't take a 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 man like him. People are too soft and sensitive to take him, you are, but you're so goddamn beautiful he can't even take you, because you're too precious, too nice and kind for someone like him that carries weed to sleep, drinks drugs with no care for anyone else than himself, is too much.

But yet, he's here again, staring as you talk with Hughie, and he sees it, jaw clenching while he tries to keep a low profile. Sees how he 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 you and you love him back, how he treats you just right and you let him take care of you, while you don't let anyone else, anyone else that isn't Hughie is already doomed to not be loved by you, atleast not romantically; but Benjamin craves it, he needs it to be able to breathe straight, his breath hitches when you brush past him, hard to get and yet, so difficult to feel loved by you like how Hughie has it, and he's jealous because he knows he will never have it.

He creeps on the door and turns to leave, he must look like a stalker staring at you like that, cigarette mushed by his teeth and he doesn't care when it falls to the ground, because yeah he's an asshole but he loves you, and the best thing to do is to not let you love him back, because what you and Hughie have is so real and precious he might actually vomit because it is so cursi, because he's used to taking things even if they aren't his, but he madured, and the best way to love, is to let go.

[billystrunk]

Keep you hurt to keep you safe.

Not as bad as the title makes it sound lol.

-

Spelade ingen roll, skulle Hughie inte lyssna på ham. Han har velat gå med i aktionen som han tidigare har gjort, men Butcher skulle inte tillåta ham. Inte längre. 

“Men jag kan vara nyttig,” bad han. Billy visste det redan, och erkände honom lika mycket.

“Sedan varför tillåtar du mig inte att göra mer?”

“För att jag bryr mig om dej, din dumma fitta.”

Hughie blinkade av förvåning. “Va?”

Billy sugade in ett andetag, försökte att bita tillbaka sin frustration. Han har insett han har kommit att bry sig mycket om ungre mannen, men han visste inte hur han skulle uttrycka det ännu. 

“Är du fan döv eller?”

Pojken såg bara bedövad ut. Han sväljde, sedan nickade som om han förstod det den äldre mannen menade. “Jo. Jag… bryr mig om dig också, Butcher.”

Och uppenbart han inte. Billy suckade. 

“Kid, du sköter bäst på insidan. Här är precis där jag behöver dig va'.”

“Men…”

“Nej! Inget av det,” väste han och viftade med fingret som om han skällade på ett barn. “Du ska stanna här, och så blir det!”

Han gillade inte höja rösten på Hughie. Han gillade inte att se blickan av besvikelse på ansiktet, medveten att han hade fick ham att känna sig små… Men om det menade att den andra skulle förbli säker, skulle Butcher såra ham så mycket som behövs.

[librababe99]

Welcome to my Blog!

(Updated: January 22nd 2025)

Hi everyone! My name is Veronica₊˚⊹♡.

❥・I'm 25 years old ❥・She/Her pronouns ❥・I'm currently a graduate student working towards my Masters of Public Health degree

Minors please DO NOT interact-- this is strictly an 18+ blog*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Interests:

❥・Marvel Universe ❥・DC Universe ❥・The Boys ❥・The Last of Us ❥・Jack Reacher (TV series)

Characters I will write for:

Logan Howlett, Scott Summers, Remy Lebeau, Wade Wilson, Young!Erik Lensherr, Young! Charles Xavier, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Hal Jordan, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Billy Butcher, Hughie Campbell, Solider Boy, Homelander, Joel Miller, Jack Reacher (Alan Ritchson's version), John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Gerrick, König

Requests are Open ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Feel free to send a request through my "ask" button or send me a direct message! ❥・I write "character x reader" fics (no use of Y/N here) ❥・Gender Neutral reader or Female Reader is what I lean towards ❥・I will write smut, fluff and angst ❥・One shots, headcannons, longer stories, series, etc

Masterlists

❥・Marvel Masterlist

❥・DC MasterList

❥・Answered Asks and Drabbles

[impala-dreamer]

16 Stories Featuring Soldier Boy

An Amazing Fire

~ Turns out, Y/N is better than any drug he’s ever tried…~ Ben (Soldier Boy) x Reader 2,233 Words Warnings: NSFW, Breeding!Kink, Filthy Talk, Somehow Romantic, Very Dirty. 2025

And You Don’t Stop

Ben (Soldier Boy) x F!Reader 444 Words  NSFW Drabble 2022

Captive Audience

~Y/N gets invited to a party but fails to realize that she’s the favor…~ Soldier Boy (Ben) x F!Reader 1,700 Words Warnings: NSFW. Sex and Drug Use. 18+ ONLY 2024

Fading Colors

~Soldier Boy gets what he wants and tonight it’s to feel all of you again and again…~ Ben (Soldier Boy) x F!Reader 1,165 Words Warnings: NSFW. Smut Without Plot. Rough Sex. Choking. Slapping. Loss of Consciousness. Lots of Orgasms.  2023

G.B.A.

~Spend the 4th with America’s first and greatest superhero~ Ben (Soldier Boy) x Reader 400 Words  NSFW 2022

Give Us A Smile

Jensen (as Soldier Boy) x Reader 637 Words  NSFW Drabble 2022

Good To Go

Butcher x Reader x Soldier Boy 370 Words  NSFW Drabble 2022

Hold On

Soldier Boy x Reader 480 Words  NSFW 2022

It’s Fucking Unprofessional

~ While working as a PA for Vought, Y/N has made one promise to herself: to stay the fuck away from Soldier Boy. Some promises are too easily broken…~ Soldier Boy x F!Reader 2,434 Words NSFW. Snark. Cursing. Assholery. Fucking.  2024

Let’s Dance

~If there’s one thing she knows, it’s that she fucking hates Soldier Boy. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that he can change her mind.~ Soldier Boy (Ben) x F!Reader 1,650 Words Warnings: Show typical grossness and sexual situations. NSFW. Amazing Soldier Boy sex talk… 2024

Like An Animal

~Left alone with Soldier Boy, Y/N has to try to hold her own against America’s First Superhero and his deliciously dirty ideas~ Ben (Soldier Boy) x F!Reader 2,854 Words Warnings: NSFW, Cat and Mouse, Rough Sex, Breeding!Kink, Filthy and Delicious 2022

Prey For Me

~Nothing’s worse than being chased through the woods by an all powerful supe… except, maybe, getting caught… ~ Soldier Boy (Ben) x F!Reader 1207 Words Warnings: NSFW, Cat and Mouse Play, Biting, Breeding, Beautiful. It’s porn… 2023

Riding Him

Soldier Boy x Reader NSFW Drabble 2022

The Ultimate

Soldier Boy x F!Reader 700 Words  NSFW 2022

The Way My Hand Looks On Your Face

~It’s not like Y/N doesn’t find her husband incredibly sexy, but something about his new character is doing more for her than any other…~ Jensen x F!Reader; Soldier Boy x F!Reader 3,248 Words Warnings: NSFW, Role Play, Rough Consensual Sex, Choking, Slapping, Overstimulation, Degradation, Breeding Kink, Dom!Jensen, SexyBastard!SoldierBoy 2024

You Only Want Me When You’re High

~ As the newest and most useless recruit to The Boys, Y/N is tasked with keeping an eye on Soldier Boy while Butcher sorts things out. Annoyed to be given such a ridiculous job, she tries to keep the defrosted supe at arm’s length, but there’s something in the drugs and in his eyes that makes him hard to resist…~ Soldier Boy (Ben) x F!Reader, Hughie Campbell, Billy Butcher 5,426 Words NSFW, Sexual Acts, Excessive Drug Use, Just NSFW all around…  2024

[guizika]

Hey! I'm Guilherme, a Brazilian reader and writer. Well, English is not my first language so there may be some writing errors, but I will try to do my best.

I write for fun, maybe it takes a while because I have some other things to do.

Well, you can just call me Gui, I hope you like it and that's it!

This is a reader x character blog!

Requests: Open

Characters I write for:

MK1 - Bi-Han (Sub-Zero), Johnny Cage, Syzoth and Tomas (Smoke).

JJK - Gojo Satoru, Itadori Yuuji, Megumi Fushiguro, Sukuna.

SPN - Castiel, Crowley, Dean Winchester, Jack Kline and Sam Winchester.

Tokyo Revengers - Ken Ryuguji (Draken), Takashi Mitsuya and Shuji Hanma

The Boys - Billy Butcher, Frenchie, Homelander, Hughie Campbell and Kimiko.

TWD - Daryl, Glenn, Negan and Rick.

Scream - Billy Loomis and Stu Matcher.

(More characters and even fandoms may be added over time.)

Request rules:

◎ i will not write incest, pedophilia, homophobia, racism, etc.

◎ i will not write character x character or oc x character.

◎ i will not write things that make me uncomfortable.

◎ I only write for Male, FTM and GN readers.

◎ I will respect requests and will accept those that follow the rules.

Masterlist

Drabbles

More about me

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

(go to main masterlist)

MINI-SERIES

[10.6k] two hearts, one home — soldier boy : ben hears something when he holds you close (complete)

SOLDIER BOY

[0.3k] lazy morning : an early morning drabble

[1.0k] cat's out : (requested) soldier boy kisses butcher's sister

[1.4k] more than a spider can : (requested) soldier boy is dating spider-woman!

[0.5k] suddenly : (requested) a love drabble

[1.6k] a compliment a day : (requested) soldier boy gives black canary a genuine compliment each day

[5.2k] trust : soldier boy doesn’t realize just how scared of him you truly are

BILLY BUTCHER

[1.4k] fixing bad dreams : without even realizing, you've been using your powers to turn butcher's bad dreams into good ones

[4.3k] i guess so : butcher is furious when he learns you’re a supe

HUGHIE CAMPBELL

[0.8k] a perfect bad day : you call in sick to the bureau and hughie rushes to you

[nvrngl]

ೀ ｡˚ ༘ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

© 𝐧𝐯𝐫𝐧𝐠𝐥. do not steal, repost, translate and/or claim these work as your own.

⋆.˚ ★— 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍 ⭑.ᐟ

the man who stared at rocks ★ kim namjoon ⭑ drabble ⭑ idol!au + slow-burn

mona lisa ★ jung hoseok ⭑ drabble ⭑ idol!au + smut

27B ★ park jimin ⭑ drabble ⭑ slice of life!au + fluff

backstage ★ kim taehyung ⭑ drabble ⭑ idol!au + smut

paris ★ kim taehyung ⭑ drabble ⭑ idol!au + soft smut ⭑ request

webs between us ★ jeon jungkook ⭑ drabble ⭑ spiderman!au + fluff

⋆.˚ ★— 𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐈

off-limits ★ drabble ⭑ slice of life au ⭑ smut

⋆.˚ ★— 𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐒

take one ★ drabble ⭑ actors au ⭑ fluff

⋆.˚ ★— 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋

devil in the back seat ★ dean winchester ⭑ drabble ⭑ smut

study break ★ sam winchester ⭑ drabble ⭑ smut

⋆.˚ ★— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒

bacon n' eggs ★ hughie campbell⭑ drabble ⭑ fluff

bruised, not broken ★ hughie campbell⭑ drabble ⭑ fluff

for you ★ butcher⭑ drabble ⭑ angst

monster ★ soldier boy ⭑ drabble ⭑ angst

too late ★ soldier boy ⭑ drabble ⭑ angst

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ navigation : all works ; guidelines ; let's be friends .ᐟ

[mystic-writings]

HUGHIE CAMPBELL

nothing here... yet

series

one-shots

drabbles & hcs

other

[hughiecampbelle]

Cagey (Hughie Campbell Oneshot)

Character/s: Hughie

Word Count: 2,121

Listening To: Julianna by Zoe Stroupe

Trigger Warnings: sa/sa mention

A/N: Me writing about my issues again 😅 I'm so grateful to be home, but it's also really complicated, and my step dad just makes things hard. He's been really stressed out about his job, which makes him angry, and he's been taking it out on everyone like it's our fault. I told my Nana what he's said/done to me, but she said to just get through it to help my mum. I know that's what I'm supposed to do, but there wasn't even a second of understanding, yknow? It was hard opening up in the first place and now it feels like it's all my fault. I didn't deserve it though. I didn't. My family always talks about what he's done to my mum or my brother, and I know it's impossibly selfish, but I wonder what I did to make it seem to them like I deserved what he's done. Writing has been really hard lately and I'm just a big crybaby mess lol. Thank you for being patient my loves and just being there for me in general. 💓💘🩷💝💗💖💕

You weren’t always a bad dog. 

An unlikeable thing. All teeth and spit, gums and gore. They say you like the taste of blood, but they are wrong. They say it to make themselves feel better, to sleep better, to name you a monster. Weaned on fury and shame, you never had a chance. You gnaw at your wounds as a reminder of this, red pooling between your incisors. Constantly forgetting, little pup, believing what’s happened will not repeat itself. Surely, this will be the last time, you think, you convince yourself. They have proven this a lie so many times, but you choose to forget. Forgive. Pretend as if your scars have faded when they are gaping, screaming mouths across your skin. They are hungry and so are you. You bare your teeth in hopes that, one day, someone will see through the facade. See through the violence, the aggression. You fear (quietly – this want, as all wants are, are unspeakable) that no one will. You growl and stare and pant. No one is allowed to get close. The naive, the arrogant, place their fingertips in front of your lips. They believe themselves different. They have put their faith and trust into an animal that does not act rationally. In your eyes, they are all him. They are all hostile, explosive men who punish you for being born a rotten dog. Men who laugh when you cry. Men who make you believe you have done something wrong when all you have done is defend yourself, your blood. You don’t want to do this, you never have, but they must pay as you have. It’s the only justice you know how to serve. So, you open wide, tasting them. They think they have won. They think you have unlearned to be feral. And just as they begin to gloat, and just as they begin to grin, that is when you bite. That is when you sink your teeth into their fleshy, soft forearms and chew them to ribbons. To bits. That is when you give them a taste of their own medicine. And they will beat you, and they will berate you, and that is when you will go back to the familiar, your solitude, and curl into yourself and wait for the men to come again. For now, you are safe. For now, the danger has passed. 

They have not learned their lesson and neither have you. 

You are still a bad dog. Older now, your fur pale, your eyes tired, though (foolishly) just as forgiving. Just as forgetful. Someone, though, has finally seen right through you. Past your mouth, your sharpness, to your humility. Humanity. Your nakedness. He does not unlike you. He does not unlove you. You are not a pet or a plaything, but something beyond words. It’s the cynic in you, to seek like mindedness. To seek ruin. To be seen like that, like this – just as you are – is too much. Sometimes, you wish to bite and gnaw and scare him off. Bark and see if he backs away. Test the limits. You wish to be thrown back in that cage, to be screamed at, just to know he is like them. There is order in men like them, there is a sense of security in their cycles. Brace for impact. They all loved the way you flinched. But he does not. He has yet to do so. He has yet to flee. Instead, he sits. He waits. He cleans the wounds you have torn open in seeking the feeling of home. He offers what he can, unsure of how to put it in a language you can understand. Your mother tongue is violence. He does not reciprocate. He asks you questions, but does not expect answers. He never minds filling in the silences, the gaps, the cavities where your response should be. He is there through the messiness. He listens, patiently, starved for information. He watches you in awe. Here is someone wild, untamed, undomesticated. Here is someone who has no problem turning on others if it means keeping themselves in tact. And yet, you are still capable of love. You are still capable of caring. Slowly, you relearn. You wake each morning different than the day before. It's a long, painful process. Realizing how wrong it all was, how young you really were when it happened. It leaves you wondering what you might have turned out like if things were different, if they hadn't done what they did, taught you what they did. That it was your fault. That you were asking for it. You were a dog, but before that, before everything, you were just a little kid. A child. 

The thought will drive you mad, but you cannot help but wonder. 

 You drink too much, in need of help getting home. The room falls on its axis. The cracking, broken feeling in the middle of your chest has grown numb. Your thoughts, wasp-like, have settled into a deep sleep. Those drives are long and full of tears. They slip down your face easily, effortlessly, as if you were made to do it. You can’t hold them back. There’s no stopping them. Memories, flashbacks, they meld and mix, playing before your eyes. You talk yourself down. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. You ball your fists and suck in air. And in between breaths, and in-between gasps, small pieces of the story come out. You weren't born bad. Rotten, perhaps, but not bad. And certainly not a dog. There was a kindness to you, a self-sacrificing manner that let you lay in the road and wait to be struck, happy, eager to be killed so that others may survive. Those things happened, and you let him. Those things happened, and you didn’t say a word, afraid. Keep the peace, she told you. You thought that’s what you were doing. You hoped you were saving her from the truth, from reality, that you were his prey. His chew toy. And then, tired of the shame, you said something. But that still didn’t change anything. You became worse. Began growing claws and fur. Began sleeping in a cage. More men came after that, before them boys. They named you cagey, refusing to see the root of the issue. It's all my fault, you think, you feel, you say in desperate moments like this. It's all my fault. The sentence plays on loop. Thoughts. Thoughts of failure, of dread, of terrible things happening because you deserve them, because you exist. The first time it happened, he was startled. Shocked. Scared, even. In front of them you are quiet, and calm. You smiled and laughed when you were supposed to. You never let on. You listened, offering advice, a shoulder to cry on, expecting nothing in return. You have put that other side of you in a muzzle. Locked it away and threw away the key. At least, that’s what you thought. This is the real you, though. Drunk and crying, angry and feeling bad for getting angry. Your sharp edges have come out. Struggling to breathe. Grieving everything. Every loss, every touch, every word. Every last bit of you. 

Now he waits, he offers what comforts he can afford, he grabs your hand without ever taking his eyes off the road. The story is broken, fragile and frail, like the spine of a beloved book. The flimsy foundation paints a story of a man, a woman, and a child. A family of sorts. An unhappy one full of secrets, and blame, and anger. Not just bursts or sparks, but a fury only the sun could mimic. Somewhere between the beginning and now, you were created. Monstrous, you think, but he doesn’t see it that way. You used to be barefoot and wild hair. Unruly, but not feral. Wild. You don't know where that person went, but you miss them. You miss them every day. Unafraid. Now, when someone raises their voice, their hand, panic sets in. It picks up the beat of your heart. Pounding, thrashing, banging its head against the wall. You fear it will stop completely. It sends tingles down your arms and hands. They’re going numb. They’re detaching from you. Your stomach churns and flips, practicing her acrobatics. The middle of your chest has cracked open, a gaping wound where something crucial is missing. You can dig, and claw, but you will never find what it is you’re looking for. You clutch at the emptiness, grasping at nothing, hyperventilating, like the wounded dog you were made to be. Crybaby, you think. You vocalized this once, only once, because the despair and guilt in his expression was too much to face. You keep it to yourself. 

He squeezes your hand. He promises just a few more minutes (you will hit every red light). He will open the door for you, helping you out, up. He will walk you through the apartment and into your room. It is the same song and dance and yet, you expect something to happen. Something awful. He will hurt you or you will hurt him. You will forget yourself: you will growl and he will grow angry. He will kick you out. He won’t show up when the bar calls in the first place. He will mock, and scold, and laugh at your tears. Thousands of variations play out in your head, before your eyes, but not once have they ever come true. He will sit you down on the bed. Delicately, always asking first, he will pull your shirt over your head. He will untie your shoes and fold down your jeans. You will sit, exposed, wincing, waitting. He doesn’t act as they have. He isn’t greedy, he does not expect things from you because he has shown an ounce of kindness. He will appear just when you begin to worry, to become afraid, with something to sleep in, warm and soft and smelling of fabric softener. I put them in the dryer for a few minutes, he beams, and you are relieved. He is gentle, grazing you, your scars, just barely. His skin is warm. He smiles at you as if nothing has happened, as if you have not burdened him another night, as if you are not a mangy animal sitting on the clean bed you share, too drunk to dress yourself. Or, maybe not. You’ve done it in the past. Pick yourself up off the bathroom floor. Flung your clothes where they could no longer touch you. Slept violently in whatever you could find.

Maybe you just like the feeling of being taken care of. 

Come here, he says, and you feel like breaking. He pulls you into an embrace, wrapping himself around you. It’ll get better, he says, and he sounds so sure. You’re not sure why, but a small, sober part of you believed him. It will be. Eventually. When he lets go he moves towards the bed, undoing the blankets and duvet, placing the pillows just how you like. While you sink in, he grabs a glass of water, some painkillers, anything to help the hangover in the morning. He’s always doing that: trying to ease something in you. Worries mostly, but also illness, aches and pains, nightmares and panic attacks. You don’t want to bite him. You don’t want to scare him off. You don’t want to be put down because of your anger, your rage, your wrath. You want to be good. You want to deserve this, but even now, your thoughts muffled by the vodka, say you don’t deserve him or any kind of goodness. Before he leaves, his laptop opens in the living room, the tv quietly showing a different angle of another uninteresting Homelander interview, he kisses your forehead. He’ll stay up, work, and when the time comes to join you he will slip by your side. He won’t make the first move, instead he waits, but does not expect, until you roll over, nuzzling yourself into him. It’s his favorite part of the day.  When you wake in the morning you’ll watch him sleep, his chest rising and falling under your head. Hughie doesn’t look at you and see you as a bad dog. You’re neither bad nor a dog. You’re not feral, or cagey, or untamed. You’re not a mutt with claws and sharp, bloodstained teeth. You’re you. The person he loves. The person he shows every piece of himself to. The person he cares about most. A struggling person, sure, but that isn’t a moral failing.

And he’s right: it will get better. Perhaps slowly, perhaps painfully, but it will. It always will.

[ao3feed-superbat]

Smut drabbles

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/HnUIfjV by RitzCrackerCat Random drabbles of random ships of my totally random fandoms Words: 310, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Ritz drabbles Fandoms: One Piece (Anime & Manga), Mouthwashing (Video Game), Justice League - All Media Types, The Boys (TV 2019), Hamilton - Miranda, Eddsworld - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Relationships: Franky/Nico Robin, Roronoa Zoro/Sanji, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Lois Lane, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, The Female | Kimiko Miyashiro/The Frenchman, Hughie Campbell/Starlight | Annie January, Tom/Tord (Eddsworld), Tamara/Tori (Eddsworld), Ell/Matilda (Eddsworld), Edd/Matt (Eddsworld), Curly/Jimmy (Mouthwashing), Monkey D. Luffy/Trafalgar D. Water Law Additional Tags: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, i wrote this because of a random funny haha, i don’t care if a ship is considered “doomed” these AUs are TOXIC FREE, I love them all, i wanna smooch and hug them, Drabble, Not Beta Read read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/HnUIfjV

[sunr1seblvd]

HUGHIE CAMPBELL MASTERLIST

all works are rated e for everyone :))

: ̗̀➛ blurbs n drabbles patching hughie up night drive w/ hughie

[creativekat]

Be There

Pairing: Hughie Campbell x Annie January (sort of)

Gif from tenor.com

Word Count: 645

Rating: G

Warnings: None 

A/N: A Hughie Drabble inspired by @annie000expatriated​ who requested a fic in which Hughie is faced with the dilemma of finally seeing his mom again or coming to Annie’s rescue. We both agreed that Hughie’s heart is so big and pure that this would be a difficult choice. 

The slip of paper was so small. Only about 1 ½ x 2 inches of notebook paper, torn off at the corner. The ragged edges were sharp but beginning to soften as Hughie continuously rubbed his fingers over them. Four lines written in black ink on an ordinary corner of college ruled paper. A name, a location, and a time. And the young man’s life turned upside down. 

He wasn’t even sure who had slipped it to him, but it was about his moth. His mother who he hadn’t seen in a couple decades, was apparently back in town and would be at Tully’s Diner across town at 2 pm today. Should he go? He broke out in a sweat thinking about it. Excitement or panic attack? Maybe both. 

Butcher had caught him looking at the slip and when Hughie told him what it was, the older man had scoffed, “What’re you some kinda cunt? Probably a trap ya know.” But, then he’d placed his hand on Hughie’s shoulder and squeezed before walking away. That was about as loving a gesture as the younger man ever expected from his leader/mentor. Hughie smiled to himself and tucked the slip back into his pocket. 

It was nearing 2 pm as Hughie stepped off the train he’d used to get to the other side of the city. He felt as if he’d swallowed a boulder, or Homelander’s fist. Both were large and immovable. The young man looked to either side of himself as he stepped onto the platform and began to head up the stairs into the sun. He didn’t see anyone following him. His plan was to check out the area around the diner and then the patrons inside to make sure he wasn’t walking into a trap. He felt confident he would recognize his mother when he saw her. 

What would they talk about? They had more than twenty years worth of stories to tell. That was if he didn’t completely lose his shit when he saw her. He still resented her leaving, even if he had tried to squash the feelings. They were there, slithering in his belly like an eel. 

He approached the diner carefully, on full alert for enemies, and then he saw her through the window of the restaurant. His dad had told him he resembled her and when he saw her face, he remembered what she’d looked like. She was older of course, but her eyes were still the same. She looked nervous and looked around the diner expectantly. Clearly she was waiting for someone. For him? 

“Mom,” he mouthed the word soundlessly and began to move toward the entrance, all thoughts of scoping the building out gone from his mind. He had just reached for the door when his cell phone buzzed from his jacket pocket. He considered ignoring it, but not that many people knew his number and it was almost always important when they called or texted. 

The screen read Annie. No last name, because no last name was needed. She was the only Annie as far as he was concerned. And it had been far too long since she’d reached out. 

He stepped away from the door and connected the call, “Hello?”

“Hughie?! I need you…” She sounded breathless and afraid. 

He couldn’t imagine what she would need from him. She was the one with all the powers. She could take care of her and has saved him far more than he could ever hope to return the favor. He was moments away from meeting his mom for the first time since he was a child. But, he knew none of that mattered. 

His Annie needed him. She’d been there for him when it counted. He loved her. He took one last look at his mom before walking away. Into the phone he asked, “Where are you?”

[spohkh]

blindspot [butcher/hughie]

Word Count: 410

Hughie has a post-fuck reflection session.

--- 

“Is this fucked up?” Hughie suddenly says, staring up at the ceiling.

Butcher turns his head against the pillow to look over at him. “Be more specific.”

“Uh— This.” Hughie just barely stops himself from saying us. It’s so cliché, but it feels taboo. It doesn’t feel right.

Keep Reading... 

[seancekitsch]

hughie 6’1” campbell & comparing hand sizes 😵‍💫

this isn’t exactly a drabble but its also not NOT a drabble.

Okay but imagine you’re hiding away with him, a quiet moment while you’re both working or a just a little down time where you and Hughie can get away from the others. Its just a cute little moment where your hands brush against each other. Its not the first time this has happened, and its not like Hughie doesn’t know about your crush on him. You’d had that talk with each other and you’re not really sure where you stand. Its complicated. You’re not friends, not when he looks at you like that, and he grabs your chin when he kisses you in the stairwell, and when he texts you until sunrise, even if you fall asleep before then. 

But you’re also not dating, and its kind of on both of you that isn’t happening. Things are complicated. His ex is still in the picture (although she’s encouraged you to go for him more than once), there is still at least one vial of Temp-V in the building, and Homelander is more unstable than ever. One of you could literally die later today. Any moment. That thought scares the fuck out of you, but makes you kiss him harder every time you do.

“Oh, sorry I-“ he stammers, as if he has anything to be worried about around you. 

But he stops himself because you make this little noise. A tiny gasp that passes your lips. This encourages him to stay transfixed on your hands, to trace your fingers and the bumps of your knuckles with his fingertips. His long fingers wrap around your wrist and turn it, then he flattens his palm against yours, curling his fingers over the tops of your shorter ones. Hughie laughs, one of those little laughs that you breathe out instead of forcefully make. 

“Huh, wow,” he muses, flexing his fingers over yours.

You grin as you playfully knock your shoulder into his.

“Oh what, should I swoon because your hands are nice?” you tease, laughter in your tone.

“Oh Hughie, your hands are like, so big compared to mine! Wow!” you tease, but it really feels nice to have his hand flat against your own, to feel the warmth of his palm, to feel his heartbeat in that one vein that’s prominent near the base of where his thumb and his wrist meet. 

“Okay, okay haha fuck you,” Hughie jokes as he starts to pull his hand away, but you interlock your fingers with his, keeping him in your grip. 

“Don’t! Don’t,” you pull his hand closer to your lap, “I like how big and warm your hands are. I like feeling them.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, leaning further into you, his tall frame leaning down towards you. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, nodding as you move a little closer to him, like you could pull him into a kiss. 

“How much?” he asks, and you know this is insecurity seeping in. He does this a lot, but he doesn’t think he doesn’t.

“Enough to want these hands all over me.”

And how can he deny you? Hughie removes his hand from yours so both can find a home against your hips as he pulls you in for a kiss, leaning down to catch your lips on his own. 

[stranger-nightmare]

All Other Characters ~ Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Angst = ❤︎

Fluff = ✿︎

Smut = ⚠︎︎ (minors DNI please)

Dark themes = ☾

Personal fave = ☆

Oneshots

Drabbles

I’m No Kid ❤︎⚠︎ (Dean Winchester x F!Reader)

Quickie with James Keene ⚠︎ (Kinktober 2022)

Blood Kink with Roman Godfrey ⚠︎ (Kinktober 2022)

Praise Kink with Sam Winchester ⚠︎ (Kinktober 2022)

Pegging with Hughie Campbell ⚠︎ (Kinktober 2022)

Choking with Dean Winchester ⚠︎ (Kinktober 2022)

Headcanons

dividers by @firefly-graphics | consent / feedback banners by me