I Just Came Back On Here After A Pretty Stressful Week Of School And Saw So Many Notifs. THANK YOU. Most

Heavenly Christmas

another present for you? 👀

Castiel Novak x Reader

No Pronouns used!!

Summary: Castiel experiences Christmas traditions for the first time with the Winchester brothers and the reader. As they decorate the tree and exchange gifts, Castiel learns about the holiday spirit. The story culminates in a magical moment under the mistletoe, where Castiel and the reader share a sweet kiss, making it a Christmas to remember for everyone involved.

Heavenly Christmas

It was Christmas Eve, and the bunker was adorned with twinkling lights and the scent of freshly baked cookies wafted through the air. You were busy decorating the Christmas tree with Sam and Dean, the festive atmosphere filling your heart with warmth.

Suddenly, the familiar sound of fluttering wings echoed through the room, and there stood Castiel, his trench coat slightly dusted with snow. He looked at the tree with curiosity, his blue eyes reflecting the lights.

"What is the purpose of this tree?" Castiel asked, his voice as serious as ever.

You chuckled, handing him a string of lights. "It's a Christmas tree, Cas. It's a tradition. People decorate it to celebrate the holiday season."

Castiel examined the lights in his hands, then glanced at you. "I am not familiar with Christmas traditions. How does one properly celebrate?"

Sam grinned. "Well, we exchange gifts, have a big feast, and spend time with loved ones. And tomorrow, we'll open presents under the tree."

Castiel nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I would like to participate in this celebration."

As the night progressed, the four of you decorated the tree together, sharing stories and laughter. Castiel listened intently, absorbing the concept of Christmas with genuine interest.

Later, you all gathered around the fireplace, enjoying the warmth it provided. Castiel sat next to you, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames.

"Hey, Cas," you said, handing him a beautifully wrapped box. "Merry Christmas."

Castiel took the gift, examining it carefully. With a nod, he began to unwrap it, revealing a cozy scarf.

"I noticed you don't get cold, but I thought it might be a nice addition to your wardrobe," you explained.

Castiel smiled, a rare expression that lit up the room. "Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate the sentiment."

The evening continued with laughter, music, and shared moments that made it a truly magical Christmas. As the clock struck midnight, you found yourself under the mistletoe with Castiel.

He looked at the plant curiously, then back at you. "What is the significance of this?"

"It's a tradition," you replied, smiling. "If two people stand under the mistletoe, they have to kiss."

Castiel nodded, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It was a soft, sweet moment that seemed to pause time, creating a memory you would cherish for Christmases to come.

In that moment, surrounded by friends and love, you couldn't help but feel that this Christmas was truly heavenly.

And so, in the warmth of the bunker, with snow falling gently outside, you celebrated a Christmas that would forever be etched in your heart, filled with love, laughter, and the unexpected joy of sharing traditions with an angel named Castiel.

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i swear if anyone hurts this angel, everyone near me will be dead

there's still one more part!!! i'm also in denial too :,(

A Wolverine's Heartache - Part II

Part I

Logan/James Howlett x Reader

She/Her Pronouns

Summary: The Sentinel battle takes a turn for the worst causing Logan to lose someone dear to him.

Before the Sentinels descended upon them, there had been a quiet undercurrent of tension between Logan and Y/N, an unspoken dynamic that lingered beneath the surface of their friendship. The Xavier Institute, a haven for mutants, had become a place where emotions and connections were heightened, but not always openly acknowledged.

Logan and Y/N had shared moments of camaraderie, their friendship deepening over time. Yet, a subtle dance of longing and hesitation played out between them, unnoticed by others but felt in the quiet glances and stolen smiles. Each held a key to the other's heart, but the lock remained unturned.

In the tranquil moments before the storm, Y/N often found herself stealing glances at Logan, a flutter of uncertainty in her chest. She admired his strength, both physical and emotional, and valued the camaraderie they shared. Yet, there was an unspoken desire for something more, a connection that hovered in the uncharted territory between friendship and something deeper.

Logan, too, grappled with his own conflicting emotions. He had always been a lone wolf, accustomed to the solitude of his own thoughts. However, Y/N's presence had become a soothing balm to his restless soul. There were times when he caught himself staring at her, a vulnerability in his gaze that betrayed the unspoken depths of his feelings.

Their interactions were laced with a delicate balance, a dance around unexplored territories. A brush of hands during training, a shared moment of laughter by the fireplace – each encounter left an indelible mark on their hearts, pushing them closer to a truth neither was ready to confront.

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The battle with the Sentinels unfolded in a crescendo of chaos and destruction. The ominous hum of their massive metal bodies echoed through the war-torn landscape as the mutants of the Xavier Institute rallied to fend off the relentless onslaught.

The sky crackled with energy as Storm unleashed her powers, attempting to create a barrier against the relentless advance of the towering machines. Colossus, his metallic form glinting in the harsh light, clashed with the Sentinels in a display of brute strength. Cyclops fired optic blasts with precision, desperately trying to hold the line.

Amidst the chaos, Logan moved like a feral blur, his adamantium claws slicing through the mechanical monstrosities with unmatched ferocity. The air was filled with the acrid scent of burning metal and the distant cries of mutants in peril.

Y/N fought valiantly alongside the team, her powers contributing to the defense, but the fear of being overshadowed by the more powerful mutants gnawed at her. In the midst of the mayhem, she kept glancing towards Logan, seeking reassurance, but his attention was consumed by the battle.

As the Sentinels closed in, a momentary distraction led to a tragic turn of events. Y/N found herself isolated for a brief second, and in that moment of vulnerability, a Sentinel seized the opportunity. A deafening scream pierced the air as Y/N was ensnared in its metallic grip.

Logan, several yards away, sensed the danger too late. His instincts kicked in, and he sprinted towards Y/N with an urgency that defied the chaos around him. With a primal roar, he lunged at the Sentinel, claws slashing through its armored exterior. The metallic giant released its grip, but the damage was done.

Time seemed to slow as Y/N crumpled to the ground, Logan catching her in his arms. The battle raged on, but in that harrowing moment, everything faded into the background. Logan's heart pounded as he held Y/N, the world collapsing around them as her life slipped away.

Logan's world shattered as he held Y/N's lifeless form in his arms. Time seemed to freeze, and the chaos of the battle faded into a distant murmur. The weight of grief pressed down on him like an unrelenting force, threatening to consume him whole.

In that agonizing moment, Logan's senses, normally keen and alert, dulled to the outside world. The smell of burning metal, the distant clashes of mutant powers, and the acrid taste of despair in the air became distant echoes. All that remained was the profound silence that accompanied Y/N's departure from the living.

Logan's heart, usually a steady rhythm amidst the storm, now pounded with a raw, aching intensity. His hands trembled as he cradled Y/N's lifeless body, unable to comprehend the reality of her absence. The world around him blurred, and tears – a rare expression of vulnerability – welled up in his eyes.

Regret and guilt gnawed at Logan's soul. If only he had been quicker, more vigilant. If only he had protected her better. The weight of responsibility bore down on him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed the one person who had silently meant more to him than he had ever admitted.

A guttural, primal scream tore from Logan's throat, reverberating through the battlefield. It was a scream of anguish, of a grief so profound that it echoed the depths of his soul. In that moment, the Wolverine, known for his stoic demeanor and unyielding strength, crumbled under the weight of loss.

As Logan clung to Y/N's lifeless body, the reality of her absence sank in, leaving him stranded in a sea of sorrow. The battlefield continued to rage around him, but in his world, everything had come to a standstill. The connection he had shared with Y/N, the unspoken bond that had grown between them, was now a painful void that threatened to engulf him entirely.

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ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!! this made my heart break :,( i just wanna give him a real big hug now

A Wolverine's Heartache - Part III

Part I Part II

i'm so sorry it took so long for me to post this!! i've been drowning in work :,(

Logan/James Howlett x Reader

She/Her pronouns used!!

Summary: Logan struggles after seeing a person he loves alive. Will he be able to save her?

In the moments leading up to Logan's journey back in time, the Xavier Institute was a hub of frantic activity, a beacon of hope in the face of impending doom. The threat of the Sentinels loomed large, casting a shadow of fear and uncertainty over the mutant community.

Logan, haunted by the memory of Y/N's tragic death and driven by a desperate need to prevent further loss, had become the linchpin in a daring plan to alter the course of history. With the help of Professor Xavier and a handful of trusted allies, Logan prepared to embark on a mission that would defy the very fabric of time itself.

The decision to send Logan back in time was not made lightly. It required sacrifices – sacrifices that weighed heavily on the hearts of those left behind. Yet, in the face of imminent destruction, there was no room for hesitation.

As Logan stood before the makeshift time-travel device, his resolve hardened like steel. The weight of his mission bore down on him, a burden he carried with grim determination. He knew the risks – the possibility of altering the timeline, of facing enemies both old and new – but the chance to rewrite history and save those he loved was a gamble he was willing to take.

Before he could second-guess himself, Logan braced himself for the journey ahead. With a final glance at his comrades, a silent promise etched in his eyes, he stepped into the swirling vortex of energy, disappearing into the unknown depths of the past.

In that pivotal moment, the fate of the world hung in the balance. For Logan, it was a journey fraught with peril and uncertainty, but it was also a journey fueled by hope – hope for redemption, for a chance to right the wrongs of the past, and for a future where Y/N's death would be nothing more than a distant memory.

As Logan's consciousness shifted through time, propelled back to a pivotal moment before the devastation wrought by the Sentinels, a sense of urgency gripped him like a vice. His mission was clear: to prevent the cataclysmic events that had led to Y/N's tragic demise.

Arriving in the past, Logan found himself in a world that was both familiar and yet subtly different. The Xavier Institute bustled with life, its halls alive with the laughter of students and the gentle hum of telepathic conversations. But for Logan, it was a world tinged with sorrow, a reminder of the losses he had endured.

As he navigated the bustling corridors, searching for allies to aid him in his quest, Logan's heart quickened at the thought of encountering Y/N. She existed in this timeline, vibrant and alive, yet unaware of the role she would play in shaping their shared destiny.

When Logan finally came face to face with Y/N, his breath caught in his throat. She was different here – a younger version of the person he had known, her features softened by innocence and untainted by the scars of war. And yet, there was an undeniable familiarity in her presence, a connection that transcended the boundaries of time.

As their eyes met, Logan felt a surge of emotions wash over him – longing, regret, and a fierce determination to protect her at all costs. In that fleeting moment, he saw echoes of the Y/N he had lost, a reminder of the bond they had shared across time and space.

But for Y/N, Logan was a stranger – a mysterious figure with haunted eyes and a sense of purpose that seemed to emanate from his very being. And yet, there was something in his gaze, a depth of emotion that stirred something within her – a feeling she couldn't quite place.

As Logan reached out to Y/N, his hand trembling with the weight of unspoken truths, he knew that convincing her to join him would be no easy task. But for Y/N, Logan's presence ignited a spark of curiosity, a whisper of destiny that beckoned her towards a future she could not yet fathom.

As Logan stood before the younger version of Y/N, his heart clenched with a mixture of emotions – longing, regret, and an urgent sense of purpose. He knew that convincing her of the impending danger would be no easy task, especially considering she had no recollection of their shared history.

Y/N regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice tinged with a hint of defiance.

Logan took a deep breath, steeling himself for the difficult task ahead. "I know this is hard to believe, but you need to listen to me. I'm from the future, and I've seen what happens if we don't act now."

Y/N's eyes widened in disbelief, a scoff escaping her lips. "From the future? That's impossible. Why should I trust you?"

Logan knew he had to choose his words carefully, to break through the wall of skepticism that surrounded her. "I know this is a lot to take in, but I've seen the devastation caused by the Sentinels. They've hunted us down, taken everything from us. If we don't stop them now, there won't be a future for any of us."

Y/N's expression softened slightly, but her hesitation remained palpable. "And why should I believe you? You could be anyone, spinning tales to manipulate me."

Logan's jaw tightened with frustration, but he forced himself to remain calm. He understood her skepticism – after all, he was asking her to believe in the impossible. "I understand your doubts, but you have to trust me. Lives are at stake here, including yours. We need to work together to stop this."

Y/N's gaze flickered with uncertainty, torn between disbelief and a nagging sense of curiosity. She wanted to dismiss Logan's words as the ramblings of a madman, but there was something in his eyes – a depth of sincerity that gave her pause.

As Logan pleaded with her to heed his warning, Y/N felt a surge of conflicting emotions wash over her – fear, anger, and a flicker of hope. In that moment of uncertainty, she grappled with the weight of the decision before her, knowing that the fate of the world rested in her hands – and in the hands of the enigmatic stranger who claimed to hold the key to their salvation.

The moment hung suspended in time, a fragile balance between doubt and determination. Y/N stood before Logan, her gaze locked with his, uncertainty etched into the lines of her face. Logan's plea echoed in the air, a whispered promise of redemption and salvation, and for a fleeting instant, Y/N hesitated.

But then, something shifted within her – a spark of resolve that ignited in the depths of her soul. It was a quiet realization, born from the depths of her own courage and fueled by the unwavering belief that together, they could make a difference.

With a steadying breath, Y/N met Logan's gaze, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging within her. "Alright. I'll help you."

The words hung in the air like a beacon of hope, a testament to the strength of her conviction. In that moment, a weight lifted from Logan's shoulders, replaced by a surge of gratitude and relief. He had expected resistance, perhaps even outright rejection, but Y/N's willingness to trust him filled him with a sense of purpose unlike anything he had ever known.

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As the tension reached its peak in the crowded conference room, Logan and Y/N moved with precision and determination, their eyes locked in silent communication. They had trained for this moment, prepared for the pivotal role they would play in altering the course of history.

Amidst the chaos, Mystique, disguised as a government official, made her move, her gun trained on Trask, the architect of the Sentinel program. But before she could pull the trigger, Logan sprang into action, his instincts honed by years of combat.

With a swift motion, he intercepted Mystique's shot, deflecting the bullet away from its intended target. The room erupted into chaos as panic spread like wildfire, but Logan remained focused, his gaze never wavering from Mystique's determined form.

Beside him, Y/N moved with a grace and precision that belied her years, her powers weaving through the air like a symphony of light and shadow. With a flick of her wrist, she immobilized Mystique, her telekinetic abilities holding her captive in a shimmering cocoon of energy.

As the dust settled and order was restored, Logan and Y/N shared a fleeting glance, a silent acknowledgment of the pivotal role they had played in preventing catastrophe. In that moment, the bond between them deepened, forged in the crucible of adversity.

But as they stood amidst the aftermath of their actions, a sense of uncertainty lingered in the air. The future remains uncertain, and the threat of the Sentinels still loomed large. Yet, for the first time in a long time, Logan allowed himself to feel a glimmer of hope – a hope that with Y/N by his side, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead, together.

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As Logan's consciousness shifted back to the future, his senses reeled from the disorienting transition. The world around him was a blur of chaos and destruction, the aftermath of the battle against the Sentinels evident in the smoldering ruins that surrounded him. But amidst the devastation, one sight stood out like a beacon of light in the darkness.

There, among the ragged survivors, stood Y/N – her presence a ray of hope amidst the despair. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Logan's gaze locked onto her familiar form, his heart swelling with a mixture of relief and gratitude.

Without hesitation, he moved towards her, his steps fueled by an overwhelming urge to reach her side. As he drew closer, their eyes met, and in that instant, a flood of emotions washed over him – longing, regret, and a fierce determination to protect her at all costs.

Unable to resist any longer, Logan closed the distance between them in a single stride, his arms enveloping Y/N in a tight embrace. It was a gesture born from the depths of his soul, a silent vow to never let her go again.

In that poignant moment, as Logan's arms enveloped Y/N in a tight embrace amidst the wreckage of their war-torn world, a whirlwind of emotions stirred within him, threatening to overwhelm his senses.

First and foremost was an overwhelming sense of relief – relief that Y/N was alive and standing before him, a beacon of hope amidst the devastation. The mere sight of her, her presence a comforting reminder of their shared history and the bond they had forged, filled his heart with a profound sense of gratitude.

But alongside relief, there was also a deep-seated longing – a longing for the lost time, for the moments they had shared before the world had descended into chaos. Seeing Y/N again awakened a flood of memories, memories of laughter and camaraderie, of unspoken connections and shared moments that now felt like distant echoes in the wake of tragedy.

Mixed with longing was a potent undercurrent of regret – regret for the pain and suffering they had endured, for the lives lost and the futures stolen. Logan couldn't help but wonder if there was more he could have done, if he could have somehow prevented the devastation that had torn them apart.

Yet, amidst the tumult of emotions, there was also a fierce determination – a determination to protect Y/N at all costs, to ensure that she would never again face the horrors of war alone. In that moment, as he held her close, Logan made a silent vow to do whatever it took to keep her safe, to carve out a future where they could finally find peace.

And underlying it all was a profound sense of love – a love that transcended time and space, a love that had endured despite the odds. In Y/N's arms, Logan found solace amidst the chaos, a glimmer of hope in a world consumed by darkness.

After the embrace had ended, Logan held onto Y/N's hands tightly, his gaze locking with hers with a newfound intensity. In that moment, the weight of his unspoken emotions pressed heavily upon him, urging him to finally lay bare the truth that had long been buried within his heart.

"Y/N," he began, his voice rough with emotion, "I… I need you to know something. I've been a fool, blind to what's been right in front of me all along."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her heart fluttering with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. She waited with bated breath as Logan continued, his words carrying the weight of a lifetime's worth of regrets.

"I love you, Y/N," Logan confessed, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with an undeniable sincerity. "I've loved you for longer than I care to admit, but I was too damn stubborn to see it. I let my fears and insecurities cloud my judgment, and for that, I'm sorry."

Tears welled in Y/N's eyes at Logan's confession, her heart swelling with a rush of emotions she could hardly comprehend. In that moment, the walls she had built around her heart crumbled, leaving her vulnerable but unafraid.

"Logan," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion, "I love you too. I've loved you for as long as I can remember, but I was too afraid to say it. Too afraid of what it might mean, of what we might lose."

Their hands tightened around each other's, a silent vow passing between them. In that shared moment of vulnerability, Logan and Y/N laid bare their hearts, their love for each other a beacon of hope in a world shrouded in darkness.

And as they stood together, tears mingling with smiles, they knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as they were together, they would face them with unwavering courage and unyielding love. For in each other's arms, they had found a home – a sanctuary amidst the chaos, where their love could flourish and grow stronger with each passing day.

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again, i'm so sorry it took me so long!!! this term has been so exhausting :,(

i really hope you guys liked the final part!! i hadn't meant to make it this long but i got a little carried away lol. i know it's not fully canon to the movies, sorry bout that.

this is everything i could have asked for and more ;~;

Exchanging Pleasantries / Cooper Howard Imagine

Request: Could you please do hurt/comfort with The Ghoul? Like, maybe you got hurt during a fight with Raiders and he's being mean while stitching you up. Thanks pookie bookie ily

Omg bb @itsyellow ily too I couldn't wait to write this!! Hit me with that hurt/comfort that's my jam son

Also did I make this full of unresolved sexual tension? Frick yeah I did

As always, if you enjoyed please drop a comment to help me out and let me know!

Warning: slightly NSFW/ making out, mentions of injury and violence, slight mention of a choking kink? and some strong language!

(I do not own Fallout or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

'Y'know, you may be one of the stupidest goddamn people left on this planet. And I've seen a hell of a lotta stupid people.'

You know better to think that the one and only Ghoul: the slinking shadow that steadily tails and entraps every inch of the starkly barren world he can reach, the infamous bounty feared in every town, from Philly to Rivet City, would be one for pleasantries. Yet, even during your brief period travelling with the man across the wake of the formerly 'glorious' West-coast America, his callousness often left you wishing for the sweet silence of a Nuclear Winter.

Even Cooper Howard himself recognises the fact that he doesn't exactly, well, radiate off anything that could be called close to a succouring nature. Hell, he would be happy to radiate off anything that wouldn't have you spending his valuable time making detours to wandering doctors holed up in blood-splattered tents to use his hard-earned money in bartering for caps off your next bottle of Rad-X. He supposes, as you had shaken the bottle in front of his frowning face and wandered back off into the crowning desert sun, that if he could work himself back up to being unenthused, he would be able to count it as his first win in over two hundred years.

'Well, if you tried to stop fighting every single person still left out here I wouldn't have to risk my ass stupidly running in to save you', you retort, gnashing your teeth and trying your best not to squirm against his chest as he rips a fragment of broken plate from the back of your shoulder.

It wasn't often that you were allowed to light a fire in the wilds of the Wasteland: far too many radroach nibble bites littered your legs, far too many gash-covered tentacles slashes from the repulsive Centaurs marked your outer arms. However, as the two of you had spent your seemingly so lovely afternoon out on the highway being ambushed by a group of bloodthirsty Raiders, you had browbeaten the Ghoul into allowing the two of you such a special treat. An empty bottle of Nuka Cola lies by your faded makeshift floor covering that acts as your mattress, and you sigh in relief as the warmth of the flames licks across your tired arms.

Your soon drawn out of your repose by the feel of The Ghoul's cowboy boots thumping against either side of your legs; he awkwardly tries to leave enough room that he's not straddling your back, but his legs won't quite dip down enough to be more than halfway off the floor.

It leaves him having to scrape himself forward until his groin is nearly pressed against your tailbone, and you can feel the hem of his hat brush up your neck as he idly surveys the extent of your injuries. As he fidgets the strap of your vest down past the joint of your shoulder, you have to breathe in sharply to stop yourself grunting at the sharp scratch of his glove's rough seams as he drags his hand down.

'You're right', he runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, dragging a strip of musty cloth out of his satchel bag and pressing it against your oozing wound. 'Your ass really is fucking stupid if you think that you were helpin'.' You grimace as a flash of stimulation and mortification flashes through your body; whether the pain in your gut is from the flesh wounds or from the clutch of thick leather as the Ghoul tantalisingly rakes his fingers up the tender skin of your shoulder and grips, you're too distracted to try and find out.

Sweeping your eyes over the fire-brushed ground that cracked and and crumbled underneath your heel, you can understand his frustration at you. At the world. Scorch marks litter the dusty ground around your make-shift campsite, the plasma rifles and energy weapons the Fiends had managed to barter, steal, and smuggle out from the Van Graffs stock lying in blasted pieces around the fragments of rusted metal once shielding the long gone diesel pumps. The violence - the anger, it always seemed never ending. Gosh, what you wouldn't give for a canopy right now: to stop the sun burns from blistering your face, to hide the sudden hush of shame and embarrassment that rose flush up your face like a mushroom cloud.

'Yeah, well, I did come running- you're welcome, by the way-', you start, but the Ghoul, as venomous a man as he is, cuts short your reply by prodding the point of one of the needles holding the tail edge of his coat together into the hanging flaps of your skin. Your hand balls into a fist as you feel the sharp tip scrape over muscle; you try your best not to whimper as his poison slits through your veins and slithers down to corrode your very soul, but the relief. Oh, god, corruption has never felt so good as the Ghoul's free hand sliding down to cup your ribcage. His middle and ring finger took turns tapping against your waist, a slight huff coming from his mouth and tingling against the shell of your ear.

At first, you think the Ghoul is mad at you: pissed off that if any of the Raiders had survived and scampered off back to their chem-den to frenziedly retell their confrontation with a certain duster-clad gunslinger, a certain ruthless reputation - a certain long upheld persona, would be tarnished. That he was aggravated in having to waste his dwindling supply of bullets in wasting the spiky-hair fiend that had sprung out from the door of the thought abandoned Red Rocket Truck Stop just as you were busy body slamming his friend to the ground. That he was embittered at the fact that you had the incredibly anserine idea to stop off in the middle of goddamn nowhere: somewhere straight off your Pip-Boy map to nestle down for the night on your route to the New Vegas strip.

Enraged, indeed, by the fact that he may have to admit that he wanted to save your life.

'You call that running?', he puffs out a chuckle, unceremoniously wiping the blood of the needle by using the back of your vest. 'I call that leaping up yonder head over ass across that Nuka-Cola machine.' He lets go of your side, much to your disappoint, and looks at you disapprovingly as you turn around to face him. He's waving the syringe edge of a stimpak in your general direction, and you make sure to slap his hand extra hard as you grab it off him.

'You know, cowboy, you were the one that asked me to tag along. Not the other way round', you groan in exhilaration as you stab the needle into the knife wound on your thigh, and that first hit of the Stimpak courses through your muscle. Cooper has to clench his fingers into the leather of his fist to stop himself from going feral right there and then. He sniffs loudly, scrunching up his nose and casting his gaze to the fireside to try and hide his displeasure.

'Well', he manages to choke out between clenched teeth, gripping onto his own leg so harshly he wonders if he's drawn blood between his claws, 'you are such delightful company.'

For the first time in his life, Cooper Howard wants to just... ride away from his problems. That's all you were supposed to be: a solution. A resource. Another object to exploit, to foist upon his own callous needs so that he may survive another day in this merciless hell pit. A life for a hundred and fifty vials felt like a mighty fair trade in the disintegrating shit-show of post-apocalyptic commerce.

It had been easier that way, luring you away from the only small shack left among the rubble of the underground Subway Station that the Fiends hadn't left splattered with blotted rivers of crimson and half-mangled body parts. It had been so much simpler, as he had shoved the still fresh bodies of the murderers and cannibals off the side of the Metro escalator, that he was here to save you. That he had no knowledge of the bounty held over your head by the Enclave, or of the reasons that you had become so... acquainted with the New California Republic during your month long travels for the Crimson Caravan Company. As the door had groaned open, he was left pointing his pistol in your face: a towering penumbra, larger than life, that seemed to swallow every inch of swinging lamplight around your doorway in a veiled sinfulness. He had found it so much easier, as he peered down at your gloomy face and smirked as the unmistakable sound of a Ripper reared closer to his head, that he was here to be your saviour.

That's right. As he had offered you protection: a safe route away, a constant presence, your second shadow on your journey back to the Strip for only a measly few caps, he had found it so much easier to pretend that this wasn't personal. That the way you shook his hand hadn't made his skin prickle, hadn't been the first thing his nerves had alighted at since the last fading memory he had of caressing his wife. That the way you had strapped your leather armour pauldron around your left shoulder, and pulled up the hem of your trouser leg to strap a hidden knife to your calf didn't have him unconsciously dragging his tongue along the cracks of his bottom lip, and left him staring in bemusement. The incredulousness that had his eyes glazing over and the bottom of his stomach clenching as the two of you pried open the doors back up to the surface, and he had nonchalantly inquired as to who had... disposed of the Fiends before his arrival here. You had just shrugged, throwing a smirk at him from behind your shoulder, and he couldn't help but feel his own mouth twitch up to mirror your reaction.

It had been so, so much easier to pretend that you were just another bounty. That you were the first person, since he had lost Janey in another life, that had made him feel something other than contempt. Or worse, nihility. Nothingness. Just a hodgepodge script of fabricated and fictional lines that he reeled off as if it were more than just second-nature; an amalgamation of everything hollow and horrid that he had spent so much of his long-lost life trying desperately to bury.

But Cooper knew better than anyone, that nothing, and no one, could stay buried forever.

And with every returned smile: every lingering brush of some Caravan Trader's fingers on your arm as they tried to sell you some over-priced snake oil, every repulsive simper of a NCR trooper as they tried to buy you a bottle of vodka during your rare stops at some remote barrack, had the rot he had constructed within his soul become that little bit more mutilating.

The silence between you is deafening. And so you do something really stupid: you decide to ask him about his dirt-stained outfit.

'So', you drawl, turning yourself around so your legs are crossed out by your side, doing your best to stay firmly seated between the tensing muscles of the Ghoul's thick thighs. He draws his spurs in a line across the sand, but to your astonishment, and wild delight, he doesn't pull his legs open any further. 'Did you rob a real cowboy or something? I didn't think they were real. The only ones we ever saw were those rugged, way too contrived looking ones on those old movies.'

Your fingers curl over the edges of his collar, tentatively letting your fingers drop to rest against the sharp gap against his breastbone.

A muscle in Cooper's jaw jumps.

Oh. Oh. You'd never seen him actually angry before, behind all that cowboy western shooter charade.

For a moment, you're worried you've offended him somehow; a faraway look seems to draw him into the pale billows that smoke up from the orange flames, and a look that you've never seen before- never could even contemplate drooping the face of the suddenly so haggard looking man sitting by your side flitted across his scrunching face.

Forlorn. He looked so forlorn.

Neither of you are sure if he's even conscious of his arm moving, snaking itself across the small of your back to clutch almost painfully against the meat of your hip. His thumb strokes against the outline of your bone: probing, testing, clawing and pinching as if he had repeated the action over and over and over again in his mind.

'This? This is as old as the dirt and the worms.'

He doesn't react, doesn't move the frozen stone of his stoic face when you hesitantly grip onto his fingers, and slowly... god, so slowly, pull his glove off and drop it on the ground. Suddenly feeling so exhausted, your droop your head down against the dried sweat on your neck and watch yourself place your hand gingerly over his own, holding him in a wary vice against your side.

'What... what's a worm', you tentatively ask, your eyes wide open in worry that your question might break the provisionary affinity of this moment.

Cooper actually... snorts, a smirk threatening to break across his face as he looks out of the corner of his eye at you. 'An 'ol creature that used to live under the soil.' His eyes burn a hole into your irises, and he finally cracks out in a sallow grin as he contemplates the fact that he has your whole, enraptured attention. 'In fact, almost a whole lot like you.'

You smack his shoulder, but he only tilts his head back with an inquisitive gloat on his lips. He tips his head down, moving his other free hand to grab and squeeze the other side of your waist, making you woefully buck back against the bottom button of his shirt as the pit of your bottom begins to thrum with a devastating heat.

'Now', you can hear the teasing in his voice as he dips his spine down to hover over the shell of your ear. 'The real question is, where in the sweet hell would you have seen such heinous films such as those?'

His hand crawls like sweet spiderwebs across to your bellybutton, taking your breath away as he cups his palm against your skin and carts you back till your resting against the side of his chin, entangling you against the last vestige of the man he's entombed within the Stygian shadows.

'My ma used to show them to me and my brother if we had been extra good. She spent a whole three months saving up whatever metal scraps she could scavenge to go trade over at the General Store in Goodsprings and buy ourselves a real life television. The picture was blurry as shit, and we only had one holotape that I swear I ended up being able to quote back to front by the time I was sick of watching it. But hell, if we didn't crowd around the floor in wonder and dream about being a mysterious, rifle swinging stranger that roamed around the wastes saving people.'

Cooper purses his lips, swallowing thickly as he lassos your words in a whirlwind around his mind. After what seems like an eternity of listening to the soft whistle blow through the cartilage of his nose, of noting the quiet scurry of Bark Scorpions barbing through the pale tufts of faraway brushes, and the sound of your own heart hammering against your ribcage, each hit cracking your ribcage open with a sledgehammer, Cooper grumbles a reply.

'Y'know, there's an old saying back where I'm from - one that those folks in those movies you... respected use' to say. Feo, fuerte y formal. It means you're ugly, strong, and dignified. And shit, I can say for sure that you've got ugly ticked off that list.'

'You cheeky shit-', you start, but you can't help but shove your hand against your mouth to stop yourself from laughing. With a jolt forward over your stomach, you wince at the pain that flashes through your body at your only recently closed wounds. The Ghoul snarkily utters a tut tut, making you actually fucking whimper aloud this time when his hands grab your love handles, lifts you up, and slaps you down atop his lap. A faint slip from the curve of your buttocks sliding down to settle against his inner thigh has him hissing against the back of your head.

Even though there was no chance of it ever occurring, the Ghoul loosely clenched his fingers around your throat and tilted your head back until your throat went dry, as if daring you to move away from him again.

'Ain't your fault darlin'', he twangs out in that hoarse voice of his, his tongue flicking as smooth as molasses against the shell of your ear: his pointed edge darting a sticky trail up to your inner ear. 'It ain't your fault that you look like a molerat.'

You snort, and Cooper finds himself smiling at the sound of a noise he hasn't heard since his daughter was... since his daughter was...

'You remind me of someone I used to know, you know that? She was... she was far too sweet. Far too good for all this shit too.'

'Aha, there he is.' You wrestle out of his grasp and turn your head disbelievingly. The Ghoul looks almost taken aback, before he draws back into himself and fixes himself to stare you down. 'Finally making an appearance after all this time, are we? Good to see I'm finally getting through to you.'

'Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?', he bares his teeth, gnashing them together almost instinctively.

'I mean, I think that was as close to an honest exchange with the man inside you I'm ever going to have.'

That makes him start.

Pensively, he watches you, assessing and appraising the quirks and emotions that wander across your face as he waits for you to finish your accusation.

'And unless you stop sticking your blaster in the face of every creature that walks and talks, probably your last as well.'

The Ghoul swallows thickly, doing his best to seem as straight laced as usual, but growing more and more discourteous in his manner by the almost sinful way he's darting your eyes down to your lips and allowing them to hover there. 'Now darlin', I'm only exchanging pleasantries.'

'Is that really what you'd call yourself? And here I thought it was cantankerous.'

'Considering the literal crap-hole you grew up in I'm surprised you even know that word, now.'

'The sewers are empty, Cowboy - I'd say there's more piss on you from Dogmeat than down there. Besides, I lived in a Subway Station... asshole', you spit out at your feet, hitting the fragmented remains of one of your assailants helmet spikes.

A jab pokes at your inner thigh; the clenched thumb of the Ghoul branding into your skin as he finally looks you dead in the eyes with a cold stare. 'And there you are.'

And yet there's something. There's something lingering there, in the dark. In the swirl of his irises. In the only part of his body that still remains fully intact. Fully him. Something valorous. A convolution of steadfastness and pride. An imploringness.

'Suppose...', you inhale sharply, not realising that the two of you have managed to claw and scrape and crawl inch by inch closer to each other during your... showdown. 'Suppose', you buck your knees forward until you have enough leverage to haunch yourself up and turn, using the exertion to swivel yourself round and straddle the Ghoul's legs. Your gaze dips down to watch the purse of his strangled lips, his head slowly raising itself to unmask itself from the murk. 'That we aren't so different after all.'

Before you have time to regret your words, the stout pressure of clashing thumbs and fingers have jerked against your chin and pulled you down to smash against Cooper's mouth. Gnashing teeth pull at your bottom lip without a moment's warning, slicing down to draw blood. Cooper pulls back to snarl, before diving back in and licking away the thin trail of blood driplets that dribble down your chin dimple with the flat edge of his impoverished tongue.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession as the man leaning his weight eagerly against your stomach ravishes you, growling as he reaches down to pull at the bottom of your thighs, and raise your knees up so he can cup your ass and knead the sweet flesh.

Part of you wants to rip his clothes off him right there and then, part of the recesses of your mind worries about the impending danger of the Wastelands: a roaming gang of looters, the unlucky shimmer that forewarns the arrival of a Nightstalker, but all of you wants to slam your hands around the side of this man's face and knock him straight to the ground with the ferocity of your kiss.

Before you can even make it past the squishing his cheeks phase, you’re distracted from your plan by the pressure point of his fingers teasingly prodding against the outline of your inseam. You can't enact your plan - you can't, not when you can feel the tip of his finger run slowly... slowly... god! So agonisingly slowly up your inner thigh. Can feel the warm, almost ruinating nibble of his top teeth against the pulse point of your neck, before he leaves an apologetic slide of his inner lip against it: something bright and burning and beautiful making the nerves of his body scream as it gnaws away at their rot.

Perhaps, perhaps there was still time for the Ghoul to exhume the mouldering remains of Cooper Howard after all.

Angelic Apologies

i finally wrote for Cas!!!! i love this man so much 🤣😭

Castiel Novak x Reader

No pronouns used

Summary: When a routine day in the bunker takes an unexpected turn, the reader accidentally punches Castiel in the face. Filled with guilt, apologies pour forth, only to be silenced by a surprising and passionate kiss from the celestial being. As the reader hesitates and pulls away, Castiel delivers a romantic yet slightly creepy declaration, showcasing his unique understanding of human interactions.

Angelic Apologies

In the dimly lit library of the bunker, you sat engrossed in a dusty tome, the weight of ancient knowledge pressing against your temples. The room was filled with a hushed quiet, the only sound being the faint rustle of pages and the occasional creak of the old floorboards. Little did you know, an unexpected visitor was about to disrupt your solitude.

Out of nowhere, a fluttering of wings announced Castiel's arrival. The air displaced, and with a soft whoosh, he stood behind you, his trench coat brushing against the floor. Unbeknownst to you, his piercing blue eyes studied the words on the pages before him. In the eerie silence, you sensed a presence and, acting purely on instinct, you whirled around and threw a punch.

Cas barely had time to register the surprise on his face before your fist connected with his nose. His head snapped back, and a low groan escaped his lips. "What the hell?" you exclaimed, only to realize that the celestial being you had just cold-cocked was none other than Castiel.

Panicking, you reached out to him, stammering an apology. "Cas, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to punch you. I thought you were… someone else?"

Cas straightened, holding his nose gingerly. "It's fine, [Y/N]. I understand that you were taken aback."

Your remorseful babbling continued, the words tumbling out like a waterfall of apologies. Cas, growing increasingly impatient, raised a hand to silence you. "Enough, [Y/N]. It's fine, really."

But you couldn't stop. "No, Cas, seriously, I feel awful. I can't believe I—"

In an unexpected turn of events, Cas cut you off, closing the distance between you and capturing your lips with his own. The suddenness of it left you breathless, and you could feel the warmth of his kiss melting away your worries. The apology lodged on your tongue was forgotten as the kiss deepened, your hands instinctively finding their way to Cas's coat.

When the kiss finally broke, you were left gasping for air, your eyes meeting Cas's intense gaze. His voice, calm but laced with a hint of something unfamiliar, spoke words that sent shivers down your spine. "You don't need to apologize, [Y/N]. In fact, I find your instincts rather endearing."

You blinked, the romantic sentiment juxtaposed with Cas's typical lack of understanding of human nuances. "Cas, that's… kind of creepy."

A small, bemused smile tugged at the corners of Cas's lips. "Is it? I've been observing human behavior, and I thought it might be an appropriate response."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Cas, you're a strange one."

His eyes softened as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. "Perhaps, but I am learning. And I believe that in this moment, my actions speak louder than words."

You couldn't help but smile, realizing that even an angel could be surprisingly charming in his own peculiar way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AHHHHH i'm so happy i finally wrote fro Cas lmaooo i just love him so much

idk

Unspoken Connection

Sameen Shaw x Reader

No pronouns used

summary: In the bustling world of espionage and intrigue, a chance encounter sparks an unspoken connection between the enigmatic Sameen Shaw and an unsuspecting reader. As they navigate the complexities of their dangerous profession, they find solace in each other's presence and discover a bond that transcends words. "Unspoken Connection" explores the unspoken understanding between two individuals drawn together by fate in a world filled with secrets and uncertainty.

Unspoken Connection

You walked into the bustling precinct, your heart pounding in your chest as you headed to your desk. It was just another day at work for you, but little did you know, today would be different.

As you settled into your chair, you couldn't help but glance over at the enigmatic Sameen Shaw. She was leaning against her desk, a coffee cup in hand, her expression as stoic as ever. Shaw had always intrigued you with her mysterious aura, and you found yourself stealing glances at her whenever you could.

Today, however, was different. You felt her gaze on you, and when you turned to meet her eyes, a flicker of something unspoken passed between you. It was a momentary connection, a spark that you couldn't explain.

Over the next few weeks, you couldn't shake the feeling that Shaw was watching you, even when you weren't in her line of sight. You tried to focus on your work, but your thoughts kept drifting back to her.

One day, as you were leaving the precinct, you found yourself walking alongside Shaw. It was a rare occurrence, as she usually kept to herself.

"Hey," you said, trying to sound casual. "Do you ever get the feeling that someone's watching you?"

Shaw didn't answer immediately, but after a moment, she spoke in her usual monotone voice. "All the time."

You chuckled nervously, not sure if she was being serious or not. "Yeah, it's a weird feeling, isn't it?"

Shaw nodded, and for the first time, you saw a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. It was a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

From that day on, you and Shaw began to exchange more words, more glances. You discovered that beneath her tough exterior, there was a vulnerability that she rarely showed to anyone else. And she learned that you were someone who could see through her walls.

As your connection deepened, you realized that the unspoken bond you shared with Sameen Shaw was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. It was a connection that transcended words, a silent understanding that brought the two of you closer together.

And in the midst of a world filled with danger and uncertainty, you found solace in each other's presence, knowing that no matter what the future held, you had found a kindred spirit in Sameen Shaw.

hey bozos

i know i haven’t written in a very long time. i need some help with ideas and who to right about. send any requests my way, please!

Ryan Gosling is very handsome.

That’s it.

That’s the post.

Like or reblog if you agree.

A Messy Christmas Surprise

alright so i'm making little christmas drabbles for Dean, Sam, Jack, Cas, and Rowena! for all of the Dean lovers out there, here is a special little treat!

Dean Winchester x Reader

No pronouns used!!

Summary: Dean and the reader are baking Christmas treats at the bunker while Sam is on a hunt. Amidst the festive chaos, Dean cracks an egg on the reader's head, leading to a playful flour fight. Dean then picks the reader up over his shoulder, and they share a laughter-filled moment. Sam returns, finding the kitchen in disarray, and discovers Dean and the reader surrounded by flour and baking ingredients. The messy holiday surprise becomes a memorable Christmas memory for the Winchester trio.

A Messy Christmas Surprise

The bunker was adorned with twinkling lights, and the aroma of cinnamon and vanilla filled the air as Dean and you gathered ingredients for your Christmas baking extravaganza. Sam had headed out on a solo hunt, leaving you and Dean to tackle the holiday treats together.

As you worked side by side, measuring flour and cracking eggs, the atmosphere was festive and filled with laughter. Christmas music played softly in the background, creating the perfect backdrop for your baking escapade.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Dean slyly reached over and cracked an egg on your head, leaving you stunned and dripping with gooey egg whites. "Dean!" you exclaimed, wiping the egg off your face. He burst into laughter, thoroughly amused by his impromptu prank.

"Oh, that's payback for all those times you beat me at poker," Dean chuckled, still laughing at his own cleverness.

You shot him a playful glare before concocting a plan for retaliation. Grabbing a handful of flour, you tossed it at Dean, coating him in a powdery white cloud. He blinked, momentarily taken aback, before breaking into a grin.

"You asked for it!" you declared, holding back giggles. Dean mock-growled, attempting to feign anger but failing miserably as he burst into laughter once again.

The flour-covered kitchen now looked like a battleground of holiday chaos, but you were both having the time of your lives. However, Dean had one more surprise up his sleeve. With a swift motion, he scooped you up over his shoulder, causing you to squeal with surprise.

"Dean Winchester, put me down!" you laughed, lightly smacking his back.

"Nah, you've got flour on your hands. Can't risk you retaliating again," Dean teased, carrying you around the kitchen as you continued to protest.

Just as the two of you were lost in your playful banter, the bunker door swung open. Sam, covered in dried blood, walked in with a tired yet satisfied expression. He took in the scene before him – the messy kitchen, the flour-covered couple, and the unmistakable sound of laughter.

"Am I interrupting something?" Sam asked, a bemused smile playing on his lips.

Dean, still holding you over his shoulder, looked at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Just a little Christmas baking surprise, Sammy."

You grinned, feeling the warmth of the holiday season and the joy of being surrounded by family, even in the midst of floury chaos. As Sam chuckled at the sight before him, Dean gently set you down, and the three of you shared a laughter-filled Christmas moment in the bunker.